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  “I see.” Alicia maintained a calm tone.

  Arch spoke again as Toby dropped back so hard into the sofa that Arch bounced up slightly. “There’s bad blood between Hy and Toby. Hy could introduce infected stock or insects, but I don’t think he would, because it could backfire.”

  “What do you mean backfire? He would bring me down.” Toby gripped the edge of the sofa cushion.

  “He might bring himself down, too.” Arch kept his eyes level with Alicia’s. “Hy knows that one mistake, one spore on his pants leg, and he risks his own vines. That’s why I think his revenge—if he really is planning to do something—will be in a different form.”

  “Like what, for goddamned example!” Toby raised his voice, then lowered it. “Sorry, ladies.”

  “That’s all right, Toby. This is unsettling. After all, your livelihood could be in jeopardy.”

  “Like what?” Toby tried to sound reasonable.

  “Well,” Arch measured his words, “Toby, you can’t do anything but worry about Hy, at least that’s how it looks to me. So as I see it, he’s winning. Your mind is not where it belongs—on your vines, on your business.”

  “Hard not to worry when he killed Professor Forland.”

  “Toby, you don’t mean that,” Alicia blurted out.

  “Yes, I do. Professor Forland was on to Hy. He knew he was intent on ruining me.” Toby offered no explanation as to how Professor Forland could know this, but then Toby, seemingly irrational, was not asked for one.

  The humans were quiet for a moment, since no one knew what to say to this ludicrous accusation.

  As the humans talked, Mrs. Murphy and Pewter ran the length of the stable, leaping up at the barn swallows, who swooped down to bedevil them. Great fun that it was, it became tiring.

  The two cats repaired outside to take a sunbath, the mercury hovering at sixty-five degrees with not a hint of breeze. The skies, robin’s egg blue, arched over a perfect spring day.

  “Look at those stupid dogs,” Pewter sniffed.

  “Better hope it’s a cast-off shoe, or someone will pay.” Mrs. Murphy wondered how any self-respecting creature could sink his jaws into one end of a shoe and tug while the other dog did the same at the opposite end.

  The growling sounded ferocious.

  “Ha!” Pewter laughed, because Max had dragged Tucker, who refused to release her grip, across the cobblestone walk.

  Never one to lay about, Mrs. Murphy roused herself, stretched, then shook. She sauntered to Arch’s truck; the window was open, but that was a higher leap than she cared to make. She knew she could do it if pressed, but no one was chasing her, nor was there anyone for whom she could show off. Instead she leapt onto the hood to peer into the interior. Then she jumped up on the cab top, leaned over to slide into the open window. Tricky, but easy for her.

  His captain’s chair was empty. A nice pair of sunglasses rested on the dash. The passenger seat overflowed with notebooks, soil maps, a tin containing small vials for soil samples, a laminated page with pictures of insects. A worn leather vest lined with fleece had slid onto the floor.

  Nothing interested Mrs. Murphy there, so she hopped back to the hood, then to the ground, and jumped up on Toby’s new green Dodge to look through the windshield. His interior, pin-tidy except for mud bits on the driver’s floor, offered no tidbits. She had hoped for some Fritos or even a sandwich. The center armrest was pulled down. She repeated her feat of going from the cab top into the wide-open window.

  Pewter lifted her head to watch. Curious, she sat up.

  “Hey,” Mrs. Murphy called. “Come here.” She had popped up the lid of the armrest.

  Pewter walked over. “What?”

  “You gotta see this.”

  Pewter measured the distance to the truck’s hood. Her rotundness crossed her mind. She might be able to jump on the back bumper, haul herself into the truck bed, then jump onto the cab hood. This lacked appeal.

  “Open the door.”

  Truck doors were easy pickings for a smart cat. Mrs. Murphy pushed forward the latch, then pushed open the door. The bell announcing the door was open while the keys were in the ignition started ringing.

  “I’d cut the wires to that darned thing. How can someone be so dumb they don’t know their truck door is open?” Mrs. Murphy hated the sound. “Pewter, look here.”

  Pewter peeked into the middle armrest storage bin. A brand-new Ruger P95PR 9mm handgun nestled inside, the blued steel accentuating the efficient design of the powerful weapon. Some ten-round magazines were also there.

  “Golly,” she exclaimed.

  “That could put a serious hole in someone.” Mrs. Murphy felt uneasy, not because of the $445 gun but because of Toby’s mental state. The animals could smell fear and agitation when they were around him.

  “Run!” Pewter heard and saw Harry come out of the main entrance, followed by the other humans.

  The two cats shot out of the seat, ducked under the truck, and scooted out the back. They reached the dogs before the humans noticed them.

  “I know I closed this door.” Toby started to slam the door shut, then noticed the center console open. “Hey, hey, there’s my new gun. I thought I’d lost it. How can it be here?”

  “Ghost trick,” Arch said. He knew better than to make a joke about Toby’s state of mind.

  Alicia and Harry walked over while Toby lifted out the good-looking gun. “In my truck.”

  Fearing his moods, Alicia smiled. “I find things all the time. Little leprechauns live in Virginia, I swear it.”

  His eyes bulged a moment. He started to say something, when Arch stepped in. “You’re lucky to find it. That’s a nice piece.”

  Toby studied the blued steel, the textured nonslip hold. “You know, the Army Tank-automotive and Armaments Command picked five thousand of these for a field assignment.

  “There’s even a Picatinny rail under the barrel so I can mount a weapon light.”

  “That’s something.” Harry admired good equipment.

  “Well, ladies, back to it.” Arch smiled and got into his truck.

  Toby, still puzzled about his P95PR, climbed into his truck, placed it in the center console, and closed the lid.

  After the men drove off, Alicia showed her babies to Harry, who thought they were everything that Alicia said they were.

  “Who’s the elegant fellow?”

  “Ah, that’s by Lycius. He’s by Mr. Prospector out of Lypatia, who, as you know from your study, was by Lyphard. You know how much I prize that Lyphard blood. He lived a long and useful life, that stallion.”

  “Who is the mare?”

  “Party Girl. Remember when you were a kid, Mary Pat imported that gorgeous Irish mare, Peat’s Girl? She wanted to hunt her, but the mare met with an accident in the pasture, fractured her cannon bone. Not the whole way, more of a splint. Anyway, Mary Pat didn’t want to pound on her even after she healed, so she turned her into a broodmare. This is the fourth generation.”

  Harry was impressed. “Why don’t you hunt her?”

  “Well, she was never made.” Alicia used the term “made,” which meant she was never trained. “And I haven’t been back long enough to sort all this out. So I thought I’d breed her and hunt this fall something already made. Of course, when I go looking, the price will triple.”

  “Let me handle that,” Harry offered.

  “I will. You’re charged with finding me a bold field hunter who is also stunning. I hate pedaling to the jumps. Give me a forward horse. And if you want to work with any three- or four-year-olds, let me know.”

  “I’ll do it.” Harry smiled, for she loved these kinds of challenges. As they walked back toward the stables and a hot cup of tea, Harry remarked, “Toby’s one brick shy of a load.”

  “Certainly seems to be the case.”

  “Alicia, Toby must have indigestion from all the shoe leather he’s eaten.”

  Alicia laughed her silvery laugh. “From putting his foot in his mouth.”<
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  Harry opened the stable door; the sunlight glinted off her wedding band. She smiled. “Will you speak to Rick?”

  “I will, but I expect our sheriff knows Toby is suffering from some kind of mental distress.” Alicia headed back to the large office to make a hot pot of tea.

  “Why was Arch here?” Harry sat at the coffee table.

  Alicia answered, “Toby wanted a witness who isn’t a friend but not an enemy. That’s how he phrased it. Very odd.”

  “It was good of Arch to come.”

  “I expect Arch knows Toby is falling apart. His presence did somewhat calm Toby.” She paused, her beautiful face delightful to behold. “How is it having Arch in Crozet?”

  Harry, relaxed with Alicia, told her, “It was funny. He showed up two weeks before my wedding. No one knew he’d made a deal with Rollie. Why would we? He was on the other side of the country and wasn’t in touch with anyone in Crozet—the old gang, I mean.

  “Mim knew first, of course. She called me. Then I called Susan.” Harry shrugged. “It didn’t seem like a big deal to me.”

  Alicia smiled. “Good, but I bet Susan wanted amplification.”

  Harry waved her hand. “Girl talk. Susan loves it. I can’t stand it. Funny, she’s my best friend. We’re so different.”

  “Maybe that’s why you’re best friends.”

  “Could be. Fair asked me last night if Arch’s return changed anything. Why?” Now Harry threw up both her hands.

  “Harry, for a smart woman you can be dumb.” This was said with good humor.

  “I know.” She did, too. “I told him I had fun while it lasted but that was then and this is now. I didn’t bring up BoomBoom. We’d been all through that.” Harry stopped, gulped. “Did I put my foot in it?”

  “Of course not. No one comes into your life without a history.”

  “Whew.”

  “And Fair is divinely attractive.” Alicia’s eyes danced.

  “BoomBoom, too. She’s so . . . uh, womanly. I never felt I measured up. I used to wonder if I was really a woman.”

  “Harry.” Alicia was surprised.

  “Well, I’m not very feminine.”

  “Of course you are. You’re outdoorsy. Natural.” Alicia sipped more tea, then thoughtfully added, “Feminine and masculine are social constructs. Male and female are physical reality. As long as a person frets over whether or not they are feminine enough or masculine enough, they’ll always be someone’s victim.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “An insecure person looks for another person or an organization to affirm them. My business,” Alicia referred to her acting career, “is full of gorgeous people who really don’t believe in themselves deep down.”

  “You did.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “I had the great advantage of country life as a young person. I was grounded, literally. And I had Mary Pat to guide me at a critical time in my life.” She leaned forward. “Harry, I don’t think of myself as especially feminine, despite my public persona. And I don’t care. I’m happy within. If the world sees me as a middle-aged sex bomb,” she laughed uproariously, “that’s their problem.”

  “Alicia, I wish I were more like you.”

  “Harry, be more like you.” Alicia reached over and touched her hand. “There’s only one Harry Haristeen. Be that wonderful person.”

  When Harry finally drove back through St. James, she thought of something her mother used to say to her when she didn’t immediately accomplish what she wanted. “God’s delay isn’t God’s denial.”

  “Hmm.” She grunted to herself. She’d lived long enough to know that friends and even strangers give one marvelous gifts and insights quite unexpectedly.

  “Is she going to hum? I hope not.” Pewter shifted in her seat.

  “You know, kids, I miss my mother,” Harry said with deep feeling.

  19

  Tick.” Pewter maliciously stuck one claw into Tucker’s fur.

  “Ouch.” The dog felt the point dig under her skin.

  “See.” Pewter flicked the offending insect onto the kitchen floor, where she gleefully speared it as the blackish red goo oozed out.

  “Thought Fair put that stuff on your neck.” Mrs. Murphy, like all cats, could rid herself of ticks more easily than a dog.

  Fleas were another story.

  “Washed off when we were caught in the thunderstorm.” Tucker hated ticks. “He put it on the first of the month, which was only the day before.”

  “But it’s still coolish and damp. They love that. You’ll be infested if you go into the wrong places.” Mrs. Murphy worried about her buddy.

  “Yeah, like the world.” Pewter stabbed the tick a second time.

  “That’s a happy thought,” Tucker grumbled.

  “What about that gun in Toby’s truck? No happy thought there?” Mrs. Murphy asked the corgi, whom she and Pewter had informed of the P95PR.

  “I’m surprised Harry didn’t jump the gun, forgive the pun, and assume he was going to shoot Hy—or himself maybe. She’s still reading about things that can attack her grapes. She’s occupied and no danger to herself,” Tucker replied.

  Harry, in the kitchen, stepped on the bleeding tick and slid. “What the—” She looked down. “The scourge of the earth.”

  “Tucker had the tick. Probably carrying Lyme disease.” Pewter was a font of optimism.

  “Shut up.” The corgi flattened her ears.

  “I’m terrified. I’m so scared I might widdle,” Pewter said.

  “You only do that on the way to the vet’s office,” Tucker fired back.

  “I do not,” Pewter huffed.

  “I’m amazed none of us did when we ran into the bear’s cave.” Mrs. Murphy thanked her stars the mother had a full belly and was nursing contentedly.

  “We were lucky. But like she said, she’d rather eat berries, honey, and sweets. Likes grubs, too. How can any animal eat a fat white grub?” Pewter grimaced.

  “Chickens love them.” Tucker liked chickens, although their clucking could get on her nerves.

  “Wonder if Harry will get more chickens? That last hen was Methuselah’s chicken. I bet she was the oldest Rhode Island Red in the world.” Pewter fondly recalled the ancient bird who cackled with delight to the last day of her uneventful life.

  “When Harry puts straw in the chicken coop we can bet on more chickens.” Tucker watched Harry wipe up the tick goo.

  “All right, you all, I’m going to warm up Miranda’s corn bread. Wish we hadn’t missed her.”

  Miranda Hogendobber had driven by when Harry was at St. James. Finding no one home, she placed a large tin of corn bread on the screened-in porch with a note.

  “Susan!” Tucker barked as she heard Susan’s Audi station wagon turn off the state road onto the farm road.

  Harry checked the old railroad clock on the wall, knew it was too early for Fair, but put up coffee since someone was coming. She trusted Tucker.

  Within minutes Susan burst through the door, tulips in a pot. “Can you believe the color?”

  Harry inspected the yellow tulips with deep red throats, red lines fanning out to the end of the petals. “They’re incredible.”

  “My garden,” Susan boasted. “For you.”

  “Thanks.” Harry kissed her on the cheek. “Coffee, tea, Co-Cola, what?”

  “Fresh coffee.”

  “Still percolating.”

  “I could use it. If it’s not coffee, then it’s my hot chocolate.”

  “You’ll like this coffee. It’s Javatra from Shenandoah Joe’s.”

  “What are you having?”

  “Co-Cola. Want some corn bread?”

  “Well . . .” Susan wavered.

  “Miranda’s corn bread.”

  “Yes,” came the decisive reply.

  As the two stayed there happily slapping on butter and jam, drinking their beverages, the cats leapt up to sit in the window by the sink. Tucker re
paired to her bed.

  “I’ve been riding All’s Fair.” Harry mentioned the four-year-old gelding by Fred Astaire that Fair had given her as a yearling. “He did very well last year just walking along. I like to bring them along slowly, but he’s got such a good mind.”

  “That was a wonderful present from your husband. I forget how old Tomahawk and Gin Fizz are getting.”

  “I forget how old I’m getting.”

  “Don’t push it. We aren’t forty yet.”

  “We aren’t far, honeypie.”

  “Say, I came by to tell you that wine people are lunatics. Are you sure you want to grow those Peti-whatever out there?”

  “What happened now?”

  “Tanking up at the Amoco—”

  Harry interrupted, something she rarely did. “Did you refinance your house?”

  “Ha.” Susan laughed drily. “Prices are so high that Ned and I talked the other night to see if we could get by with one vehicle and we just can’t. Those trips to Richmond he takes devour the budget. He sold the BMW by the way, in Richmond, of course.” She paused. “Filling the wagon. I hear these voices. Hy and Arch. Not angry but increasing in volume. Hy was worked up because Toby, I don’t know when, sounded very recent, had been ugly to Fiona on the phone.”

  “Toby’s really losing it,” Harry interjected.

  “Arch was telling Hy that Toby’s gone to pieces over this Forland thing and to let him be. Hy said that Toby’s rude and irresponsible, and everybody lets him get away with it. He’s not going to put up with him. When Hy called to explain why Concho was on Toby’s property, Toby blew up. Then he called back and blew up at Fiona. Hy’s version, anyway, and Hy said we all needed to slap Toby down hard.”

  “What did Arch say?”

  “He kept trying to soften Hy. I mean, it wasn’t an argument. More that they didn’t see eye to eye. Arch said he didn’t much cotton to Toby, either, but there was no point in making a bad situation worse.”

  The phone rang. “Drat.” Harry rose to pick up the old wall phone. “Hello. Hi, honey, where are you?”

  “I’m on my way to Toby Pittman’s,” Fair replied. “I hope it won’t be too long and then I’ll be right home.”

  “What’s going on over there?”