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  Coop and Rick reached Harry within a half hour of her call. So did Fair. He canceled his last appointment—hoof X-rays for a purchase exam.

  Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker sat by Harry and Fair, although as the men dug deeper the pleasing aroma of decay enticed Tucker. The humans couldn’t smell it until one man’s spade hit a rib cage.

  He stepped back, eyes watering.

  Rick and Cooper moved to the grave’s edge. The other digger stopped, too.

  It was time to call in the forensics team. By early evening they knew they had Professor Forland.

  Harry and Fair were aghast at the news but not entirely surprised once it was apparent the remains were human.

  Coop had dropped by to tell them.

  “Do you know how he was killed?” Harry asked.

  “He had been shot, but that doesn’t mean that’s what killed him. The coroner will know soon enough.” She then spoke to Fair. “You found Toby, and we found Professor Forland on your property.”

  “So I’m under suspicion?”

  “You are.” She adored Fair, but she was also a very good law-enforcement officer.

  “Are you going to arrest him?” Harry’s hands shook slightly.

  “No. I’m just letting you know where things stand, and,” she paused, “I’m sorry.”

  As soon as Cooper drove off, Fair called Ned. “Ned, I need you.”

  After Ned agreed to represent Fair, Harry called Patricia Kluge and Bill Moses, since they were the last people to see Professor Forland alive, apart from the killer. Harry then asked Bill if she could bring over a strip of the flypaper with the strange insect.

  If Bill didn’t know what it was, he’d find out fast enough, since he had every conceivable program for his computer relative to wine-growing.

  Then Harry, Fair, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker glumly sat in the living room.

  Finally Harry said, “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “I hope so, honey. Innuendo can ruin one’s reputation. Sometimes I think the facts are irrelevant once the media gets hold of you.”

  “We’ll come through.” She put her hand on his. “In the meantime, we carry on. Business as usual.”

  He was glad she was by his side. “Right.”

  Pewter, on the back of the couch behind Fair, faced Mrs. Murphy, who was behind Harry. Tucker curled up at the end of the sofa.

  “Thought of something,” Pewter piped up.

  “What?” Mrs. Murphy’s tail swayed slightly.

  “Jed heard two trucks.”

  Tucker lifted her head. “Hy’s and Fair’s.”

  “He couldn’t have heard Fair’s truck. Jed had jumped out and was on his way by then. That’s why Fair couldn’t find him.” Pewter sat up.

  Mrs. Murphy looked at Pewter, then at Tucker. “She’s right.”

  27

  It cuts the water supply, cuts off the nutrients going through the xylem, like our veins.” Bill Moses studied the sharpshooter on his computer screen.

  Harry had taken the strips to Bill and Patricia. Hy Maudant might know of the glassy-winged sharpshooter, but Harry had considered his position and hers. Also, Patricia and Bill could quickly command help if needed. Right now, Hy could not.

  Patricia leaned over her husband’s shoulder as he brought up a picture of the odd-looking insect. “How long does it take to get established?”

  “That’s just it.” Bill hunched forward as he scrolled up more information. “The sharpshooter shouldn’t be here at all. We’re too far north.”

  “But it is here.” Harry absorbed their rising concern.

  “It just doesn’t make sense.” Bill then answered his wife’s question. “If this insect introduces the bacteria into the vine, it can kill all of them in one to two years. According to this, some vines may survive five years, but the glassy-winged sharpshooter shouldn’t be able to survive frosts.”

  “What were the sharpshooters doing in my peach orchard?” Harry asked.

  “Because the bacteria can infect peaches, plums, almonds, as well as grapes. It may not take hold in your orchard, but you don’t want to wait to find out.”

  “No.” Angry, Harry’s heart beat faster. “No. And why does someone want to harm my peaches? There are hardly any Alverta peaches left. Bad enough Professor Forland’s body was there. I just can’t believe it.”

  “Right now your Alverta peaches seem to be a magnet for evil.” Patricia put her arm around Harry’s shoulders, then asked her husband, “Bill, how does the disease spread? I know the insect carries it, but how quickly can it spread?”

  Bill scrolled up more information. “Mmm, a sharpshooter can fly a quarter of a mile. Once established, the insect population explodes. And the bacteria can be transmitted to the host within an hour’s worth of feeding.”

  “That’s a long time to eat,” Harry ruefully joked.

  “What else?” Patricia moved from Harry to lean over Bill again.

  “One good thing: not all sharpshooters are infected.”

  “So maybe these bugs are clean?” Harry said hopefully.

  “We should call the USDA.”

  “Yes. We need to send some of these strips to Virginia Tech, too. They’ll work fast.” Bill looked back at the screen. “Today. We have to do this today. In the 1880s, the sharpshooter destroyed thirty-five thousand acres of vineyards in southern California. When the sharpshooter migrated to the Hill Country of Texas after five unusually warm winters, it killed every vine in every vineyard, and that was after 1995.”

  “My grapes are more than a mile from the peach orchard.” Harry felt a ripple of despair. “Isn’t there anything I can do to protect my peaches or my grapes?”

  “Put up sticky strips to keep an eye on your insect population. There isn’t a tried-and-true remedy.” He stood up. “I’ll run these strips down to Blacksburg.”

  Blacksburg, home of Virginia Tech, was in the Shenandoah Valley, a good two-and-a-half hours away.

  “I’ll take some to the USDA office, then,” Patricia said. The agency kept a small office off Berkmar Drive in Albemarle County.

  “I’m going back to my peach orchard. Maybe I can trap whoever is doing this. Put up a sticky strip for a human.”

  “Harry, don’t do that,” Bill commanded. “I mean it. You don’t know who did this. Considering everything that’s been happening, it could be dangerous.”

  “Killed for a peach.” Harry rolled her eyes.

  Bill’s brows furrowed. “People have been killed for less. Until we really know who killed Professor Forland, we’d better be as vigilant around people as around these sharpshooters.”

  Patricia punched a button on her cell phone for a prerecorded number. As she waited she asked Harry, “Are you going right home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sixty-four?” Patricia named the interstate.

  “Yes.”

  Patricia diverted her attention from Harry. “Hello, this is Patricia Kluge. Is Deputy Cooper there?”

  Within seconds, Cooper picked up. “Deputy Cooper here.”

  “Coop, will you meet Harry at her farm in a half hour? Apart from last night’s grisly discovery, someone has been tampering with her peach orchard, and it could have disastrous consequences for many of us. She’ll explain when you get there.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Harry, get moving.” Bill kissed her on the cheek.

  As she drove out, Harry noted that Kluge Estate sat at the same elevation her farm did, from eight hundred to one thousand feet. That elevation was perfect for apples and certain grape varieties.

  Virginia ranked sixth in the nation for growing apples, and the state was moving up in the grape-growing numbers, too.

  When Harry arrived home, two disgruntled cats and one joyful dog greeted her.

  “You left without me.” Pewter coolly received Harry’s hug.

  Mrs. Murphy wasn’t much better. “We should be with you at all times!”

  “Hi, Mom. Hi
, Mom.” Tucker ran in circles.

  “She is so obsequious,” Pewter remarked.

  “Dogs—” Mrs. Murphy didn’t finish her sentence, as she heard the squad car coming down the drive.

  As soon as Coop pulled in, Harry hopped into the squad car along with her three animals. She told the deputy about the sharpshooter as they drove.

  They had to drive back out, turn right on the state road, and go a mile to the old Jones driveway.

  “You going to rent this place?” Coop asked as the gray number-five stones rattled off the skid plate.

  “Up to Herb. He owns ten acres and the house.”

  “When’s he moving out?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. He swears he will retire next year, but we all know that’s not going to happen.”

  “Think he’d rent it to me?”

  “What a good idea!” Harry’s countenance brightened, as she was happy to have her mind off events if even for a moment. “Ask him.”

  “I will.”

  As they passed the house, turning left by the cattle barns, the dust from the road kicked up behind like a rooster’s plume.

  “After all the rain we’ve had this spring, I can’t believe how dry this road is.”

  “That’s central Virginia, isn’t it? Walk ten paces and you’re standing on a different kind of soil. One type drains well and another doesn’t.”

  “I didn’t think you were interested in such things,” Harry replied.

  “I’m not a farmer, but I am observant. Part of my job.” She smiled as she pulled over. “Wish these squad cars had four-wheel drive. Wouldn’t be as good in a car chase, I guess.”

  They got out then walked the rest of the way to the orchard. Yellow tape cordoned off the grave site. It would be removed and the dirt filled back in once Rick felt certain they hadn’t overlooked anything.

  “How many strips did you say there were originally?”

  “Twenty.” Harry touched Cooper’s arm. “Coop, you know I’m not a scaredy cat.”

  “I resent that,” Pewter complained.

  “You’re tough as nails.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  Cooper carefully held the bottom of a strip, examining the sharpshooter. “Someone has snuck onto your land. Maybe two someones: one to bury the body, the other to bring in insects.”

  “I feel like they know my schedule. Fair’s, too.”

  Cooper considered this. “It’s possible, but your house and barn are two miles away as the crow flies. And you can’t see the peach orchard. You can’t even see it from the old Jones house.”

  “I know.” She interlocked her fingers. “I feel like I’m being set up.”

  “Fair,” Cooper replied. “It’s more like Fair is being set up.”

  28

  Twilight lingered in the spring. An hour of fading light enlivened by brilliant sunsets brought many Virginia residents outside to watch. Cloud wisps looked as though painted with a flat brush swirling upward, turned white then gold. After ten minutes the horizon line over the farther mountains deepened, but over the Blue Ridge themselves a brilliant turquoise line appeared as outlining on what were once the highest mountains in the world.

  Fair noticed the sky, streaks of pulsating scarlet mingled with gold and copper, as he walked back from the barn with Harry. “My God, that’s beautiful.”

  Harry looked up. “Sure is.”

  “When that sun goes down the chill comes on fast, doesn’t it? Always amazes me.”

  “Yeah, but then we get into summer and the nights are languid. I love that feeling of warm nights with a light breeze to keep the bugs off.”

  “Girl, you’ve got bugs on the brain.” He wrapped his arms around her waist as they watched the sky.

  “I do, Fair. I’m baffled. And I can’t help but think, two men are dead, both of whom had a great deal of knowledge about pests, about black rot, about grapes.”

  “I still don’t see those deaths being connected.”

  “If Professor Forland were studying insect-borne diseases, he could have told Toby.”

  “He probably did. But all the vintners or their managers are scientists of a sort. Hy, Arch, Bill, and Patricia know how to look through a microscope to identify diseased tissue or what chemicals to use to kill their fungus on that.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Isn’t that something about Toby’s sister refusing to claim his body? What’s wrong with people?” Fair shifted the subject. “Doesn’t matter if they weren’t on good terms. He’s still her brother.”

  “Maybe she killed him,” Harry flippantly replied.

  “At this point, honey, I’m ready to believe anything.”

  “Inheriting a large farm under intense cultivation isn’t a slim motive.” Harry watched a great blue heron fly overhead, croaking as she headed for her nest.

  “What an awful voice. You think she’d shut her bill,” Pewter remarked.

  “Ever notice how ugly people are often more vain than good-looking ones? Maybe it’s the same with birds. She thinks she has a lovely voice,” Tucker observed.

  “I’d feel better if I didn’t think the two murders were related.” Harry wasn’t giving up on this idea.

  “Suppose this was about bioterrorism: wouldn’t it be easier to send out anthrax?” She flipped up her coat collar. “You’ve been to seminars about this. Professor Forland certainly scared people at the panel. Maybe he was working for our government.”

  Fair thought awhile, then took her hand as the twilight faded, heading back to the warmth of the house. “Anthrax can be contracted through a cut. The bacterium enters the skin. If I handle a contaminated hide—not even the animal itself—I could contract anthrax if I have a break in my skin. You can breathe it in and you can get it from contaminated meat.”

  “What are the signs?”

  “Do I have to listen to this?” Pewter wrinkled her nose.

  “If a human ingests the bacterium, the intestinal track becomes acutely inflamed. Vomiting and fever, followed by vomiting blood and severe diarrhea, occur. And this kind of infection usually results in death in a very high number of cases, from twenty-five to sixty percent.”

  “That’s a big spread.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He opened the porch door just as Flatface flew out of the barn for a night of hunting, “But you have to consider the health of the individual who contracts it and the level of health service available. Someone who ingests anthrax in the Sudan will have a much worse time of it than someone who becomes infected in Canada. Obviously, chances of infection in Canada are next to nothing.”

  “What about a cut?”

  “Raised itchy bump like an insect bite. One or two days later a painless ulcer occurs on the site, a bit of necrotic skin in the center. The lymph glands swell. About twenty percent of infected people die. However, the last case of cutaneous anthrax occurred in our country in 1992. You see it in the developing countries. The real problem is airborne anthrax.” He turned on the flame under the teapot. “Breathe that stuff in and the bacterium races through your lungs and then is passed into your circulatory system. Fatal septicemia comes on very fast. The incubation time is anywhere from one to six days.”

  “Wouldn’t that make more sense as a bioterrorism weapon than stuff distilled from fungii?” She put a pot of water on the stove. Tonight was a good night for spaghetti.

  “Seems so to me, especially since the anthrax spores resist environmental degradation. But the trick to creating anthrax that can kill huge sections of the population is the size of the spores. A chemist has to transform the wet bacteria culture into dry clumps of spores. But when the spores are dried they glop together into larger lumps, and then they have a static electric charge, so they cling to surfaces just like laundry with static cling. If the spores do that, they won’t float through the air.”

  “Could a smart loner figure it out?”

  “The method of reducing the spores to the optimum size for penetrating the huma
n lung once free of static electricity has been closely guarded by what used to be the Soviet Union and by our government.”

  “But the secret really is out, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He handed her a packet of spaghetti. “One way to find out who knows the secret is to capture anthrax that has been used in an attack. Then you’d be able to tell how closely the stuff genetically resembles the weapons strain our government made before 1969.”

  “Why 1969?”

  “We agreed to destroy our stored biological weapons then. At one time, honey, our country had nine hundred kilos of dry anthrax made per year at a plant in Arkansas. I have not one shred of doubt that some was saved after we supposedly destroyed it all.”

  “And it’s possible some was stolen, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and over time those spores divided. Remember, they are living things, so they divide. And think about all the anthrax the Soviet Union made. That’s not all gone, either.”

  “Gives me the creeps.”

  “Ought to give every single American the creeps.” He paused. “How about I make clam sauce after I make you a cup of tea?”

  “Okay. Want a vegetable?”

  “You’re heading somewhere with this. Fess up.” He poured water in the teacups. “Uh, I don’t want a vegetable, but I’ll take a salad.”

  “I don’t think the murders have one thing to do with bioterrorism, and one of the reasons is that anthrax is easier, is available. I just wanted to hear the particulars. So I’d feel more convinced of my direction.”

  “Gut instinct?” he questioned her simply.

  “It may be that Professor Forland’s specialized knowledge plays into his murder—Toby’s, too, perhaps—but that’s not what’s underneath all this. I just wish I could find the reason.”

  “Not knowing is always worse than knowing. To change the subject, what’s the dress code for Mim’s party tomorrow?”

  “She doesn’t want us to call it a party. She says it’s a gathering of friends to relax and celebrate the redbuds.”

  He smiled. “Right. We both know Mim.”

  “Coat and tie.”

  “You, too?”