Рита Браун - Probable Claws

“What was it?”

“Goblins,” came the terse reply.

The two women worked for another two hours. What Tazio wished to keep was placed in the carton with tissue paper and newspapers.

“Keeping his pencils and T-square?”

“You bet. I’m keeping the files, too, as I said. It’s not a bad idea to have the building codes. He made marginal notes that would be helpful if I ever need to rebuild something built in 1979. I can download the codes but his notes are on the papers. A computer stores tons of material but you never get the marginal notes, the squiggles. And who is to say that a former client might not come in here someday and want an addition? It’s just a good idea. If we had building plans for the Colored School I would have poured over them. I mean, I haven’t studied them but I did notice odd citations regarding stresses, insulation ratings, new materials. Small initials, but I don’t know what they mean. Still, I’m keeping the files.”

“Well built, those three frame school buildings.”

“Sure are. I love the floor-to-ceiling windows. Natural light is always better than artificial. There was no electricity. Gary was right about structures from the past.” She sighed. “He was right about a lot of things.”

“What do we do with the cartons?”

“No inheritors. Well, no one wants his work things. I shouldn’t put it that way. No children. I’ll save stuff. You never know when something might be needed. There isn’t much storage space here. I can rent a storage unit for a hundred dollars a month, a small unit is less. This won’t even fill a small unit.”

“Think it will stay dry?”

“Oh sure. Can you imagine the lawsuits if those U-Stor things were sloppy? But this way it’s near but not in the way.”

Harry walked over to his desk. “I always like the blue light on his atomic clock.”

“Me, too.”

“And you’ve moved the tooth over here. Why are you keeping the tooth? It’s a big tooth.”

“It’s a dinosaur tooth.”

“No kidding.”

“I take it you weren’t one of those kids fascinated by dinosaurs?”

“No. I take it you were and Gary must have been if he kept a tooth.”

“I think this is from a meat-eater called Acrocanthosaurus. Big but not gargantuan compared to some other meat-eaters. I’ll find out when I have time.”

“Big. Big is the spider.” Pewter spoke from the floor.

“Spiders don’t have teeth,” Tucker said.

“No, but their mouth is sideways. Like little pincers.” Mrs. Murphy had observed spiders and other little crawlies. “Can bite you and inject poison.”

“Ugh.” Brinkley closed his eyes.

“Are we done?”

“We are. I’ll be open for clients next Monday. This location is so much better than where I was stuck in that cubbyhole at the edge of town. The rent isn’t bad.”

“Are you keeping his sign?”

“I’ll put it in here on the wall. Virginia Signs will hang mine tomorrow.” She was pleased. “It’s beginning to feel just right.”

They locked the door to the back as well as the front when they left. Cold air smacked them right in the face.

“This doesn’t only tighten your pores, it tightens your eyeballs,” Harry observed.

“Feels like snow, doesn’t it?”

Harry nodded, hurried past the space where Gary was shot. For one brief moment she, too, had been looking down the barrel of that gun. Then the killer slipped it back into his motorcycle jacket.

Harry didn’t know anything worth killing her over. Not yet.

18

March 18, 1787

Sunday

The glow of the fire behind her snatched some years from Maureen Selisse Holloway’s face. Very feminine, narrow nose, full lips, blond hair maintained with a secret remedy, she proved attractive. In her youth she exuded a potent allure. Two sumptuous perfect breasts added to this, as well as a very sizable inheritance. Now perhaps fifteen pounds heavier, in her early forties, she remained attractive but no longer devastating. She vowed to regain her girlish figure but those French sauces, the piecrusts so light they might fly away, and the fine wine. Too much temptation.

Sitting across from her in her petite parlor as she called it, was Catherine. Unlike Maureen, she didn’t much care about looks or allure. Yes, she wore beautiful clothes because her sister and Bumbee worked her over. No one would describe Catherine as warm, friendly but not especially warm, whereas Rachel was so warm she drew people like a magnet. In ways, Catherine frightened people. She was too beautiful, too logical, too in possession of her emotions. She loved the horses, loved commerce. People she endured. Working with her father opened the world to her.

Maureen, shrewd, silver quick with money, appreciated Catherine’s qualities although she wished the younger woman was less beautiful.

“Have you ever attended mass?” Maureen asked as a well-dressed young servant poured tea.

“Yes. Mother took me once when we visited Philadelphia. Very dramatic, colorful, magical for a child.”

“Your mother must have been a woman of wide interests.”

“She had such curiosity about the world. She’d whisper to me that an Anglican was just a Catholic with an English accent.”

Maureen laughed. “There’s truth to that. Of course with Mother being Irish and Father Spanish not only did I go to mass, I was schooled by nuns. Oh, they were so strict.” She shook her head. “Much of the Caribbean is Catholic, most of the New World is except for America and Canada.”

“This room shines. You have a touch.”

Maureen beamed. “Color, fabrics, furnishings. Mother trained me to look for proportion, color, harmony. She would say, ‘Fashion is one thing but be cautious. You don’t want to look like everyone else!’ ”

“Indeed.” Catherine liked that thought.

“Did you, John, and Ewing go to church this morning?”

“Roads were treacherous but we managed. Father says it makes him feel close to Mother.” Catherine nibbled a tiny meat pie. “Wonderful.”

“High praise from a woman who has the best cook in Virginia. Bettina is a treasure.” She paused. “A treasure with many opinions.”

They both laughed for Bettina was not shy, but she was smart enough to keep much to herself. Then again, people expected an outgoing cook.

“Do you know, driving over here, I realized you and I have never been alone to chat,” Catherine remarked. “I have always been curious as to your farsightedness concerning things like the foundry down by the James, your surprising and successful importation of French fabrics, even some Italian ones.”

“Father entertained ships’ captains. He would pose questions to the Englishman, the Frenchman, the Spaniard, his countrymen. He would inquire about where the aristocrats were putting their money. This provoked a laugh because have you ever met an aristocrat or a royal who could turn a profit? But of course their managers must or they would get the sack. And my father was trusted by these captains to handle their money. I listened. I was usually in the next room pretending to embroider with the governess, after they would leave, I asked my father questions.”

“Seems we both learned from intelligent men. Quietly, of course.”

Maureen nodded. “It would never do for a woman to discuss business but I learned how to work through Francisco.” She inhaled. “That could be a chore. My late husband thought he knew everything.” She lifted a bit of crust with her fork. “My current angel has no head for business. I tell him what to do and he readily does it. I must add that he does understand timber whereas I, from the islands, am weak in that crop, if you will. He is a sweet man, Jeffrey.”