Wish You Were Here Page 4

  Harry, without thinking, touched Josiah’s arm. “Not old Dr. Johnson.” He had been her childhood physician and was becoming stooped and frail.

  “He’ll live to be one hundred. Don’t worry.” Josiah patted her hand.

  The ambulance turned south on the Whitehall Road, also known as Route 240.

  Big Marilyn Sanburne’s Volvo sped to Shiflett’s Market. She stopped and slammed the door of her car.

  She thumped over to the group. “I damn near got run off the road by the Rescue Squad. They probably scare to death as many people as they save.”

  “Amen,” Josiah agreed. He started to leave.

  Harry called him back. “Josiah, you’ve got to sign and pay for a Turnbull and Asser package.”

  “It came.” He beamed and then the glow went into remission. “How much?”

  “One hundred and one dollars,” Harry answered.

  Josiah bore the blow. “Well, some things one cannot postpone from motives of economy. Consider the people I am compelled to meet.”

  “Di and Fergie,” Harry solemnly intoned.

  In fact, Josiah was in the vicinity of the Royals whilst in London buying up George III furniture before taking a hovercraft across the channel to acquire more of his beloved Louis XV.

  Mim wheeled on Josiah, her constant escort whenever she could dump husband Jim. “Still dining out on that story.”

  “My dear Mim, I merely do business with royalty. You know them as friends.” An allusion to the obscure Romanian countess much touted by Big Marilyn, who, when she was eighteen, paraded the European beauty about Crozet.

  In the late fifties, Mim had looted Europe for Fabergé boxes and George III furnishings, her favorite period. Jim Sanburne didn’t know what he was getting into when he married Mim—but then, who does? In Paris, Mim encountered a friend of the countess who told her the woman was a bakery assistant from Prague, albeit a beautiful one. Whoever she was, she was smart enough to outwit Mim, and Mrs. Sanburne did not take kindly to a reminder, nor did she appreciate the fact that the countess seduced Jim—but then, he was an easy lay. She made him pay for that indiscretion.

  Pewter thundered out of the market as a customer opened the door. She was so fat that when she ran, her stomach wobbled from side to side.

  Susan giggled. “Someone ought to put that cat on a diet.” She diverted the topic of conversation but didn’t mind Mim’s moment of discomfort.

  Pewter stood on her hind legs and scratched the post office door. “Let me in.”

  Harry opened the door for her as the humans kept talking outside. Pewter burst into the P.O., filled with importance. Even Mrs. Murphy paid attention to her.

  “Guess what?” The gray whiskers swept forward and Pewter leaped onto the counter—not easy for her, but she was so excited she made it in one try.

  Tucker craned her head upward. “I wish you’d come down here and tell your tale.”

  Pewter brushed aside the corgi’s request. “Market got a call from Diana Farrell, of the Rescue Squad. You know Market does duty on weekends sometimes and they’re friends.”

  “Get to the point, Pewter.” Mrs. Murphy swished her tail.

  “If that’s your attitude, I’m leaving. You can find out from someone else.”

  “Don’t go,” Tucker pleaded.

  “I am. I am most certainly going. I know when I’m not wanted.” Pewter was in a real huff. She puffed her tail, and as Harry opened the door to come in she ran out.

  “You’re so rude,” Tucker complained.

  “She’s a windbag.” Mrs. Murphy did not feel like apologizing.

  Josiah was paying out money and grumbling.

  “She may be chatty,” Tucker said, “but if she ran over here in this blistering heat, it had to be something big.”

  Mrs. Murphy knew Tucker was right, but she said nothing and curled up on the counter instead. Tucker, out of sorts, whined for Harry to open the door beside the counter. Harry did and Tucker lay down on her big pillow under the counter.

  An hour passed with people coming and going. Maude Bly Modena opened her copy of Vogue and she and Harry read their horoscopes.

  Maude declared that there were only twelve horoscope readings. Whatever the horoscope was for your sign, it would be moved to the next sign tomorrow. So if you were a Scorpio, your reading would move to Sagittarius the following day, and Libra’s reading would then be yours. It took twelve days to complete the cycle. When Harry giggled with disbelief, Maude said people don’t remember their horoscopes from one day to the next. They’d never remember twelve days’ worth.

  Maude said that instead of remembering an entire reading, remember the phrase “Opposite sex interested and shows it.” That phrase will move through each sign in succession.

  By the time Maude finished, Harry was laughing so hard she didn’t care if Maude’s theory was true or not. The important thing was that it was fun and Harry needed to know she could still have fun. Divorce was not the end of the world.

  Harry’s projection for August was “Revise routine. Rebuild for future. Important dates: 7th, 14th, and 29th.” Important for what, this stellar prophecy declined to reveal. Harry swore she’d test Maude’s theory after Maude left. She clipped the horoscope but within fifteen minutes it had gotten mixed up with postal patron notices.

  Little Marilyn Sanburne came in and cooed about her wedding, sort of. With Little Marilyn a coo came from the more obscure regions of her throat. Harry pretended to be interested but personally felt Little Marilyn was making a huge mistake. She couldn’t even get along with herself, much less anyone else.

  A full hour passed before Market Shiflett pushed through the door.

  “Harry, I would have come over sooner but it’s been bedlam—sheer bedlam.” He wiped his brow.

  “Are you all right?” Harry noticed he looked peaked. “Can I get you something?”

  He waved no, and then leaned up against the counter to steady himself. “Diana Farrell called me. Kelly Craycroft—at least they think it’s Kelly Craycroft—was found dead about ten this morning.”

  Tucker jumped up. “See, Mrs. Murphy? I told you she knew something big.”

  Mrs. Murphy realized her mistake but couldn’t do a damn thing about it now.

  “My God, how?” Harry was stunned. She thought maybe a heart attack. Kelly was at that dangerous age for a man.

  “Don’t rightly know. The body’s all tore up. Found him in one of the big cement grinders. He’s not even in one piece. Diana said that if he was shot in the head or any other part of the body, they’d never know. Sheriff’s Department has impounded the mixer. Guess they’ll search for some lead in there. You know, Kelly was always climbing to the top of that mixer to show it to people.”

  “Murder—you’re talking about murder.” Harry’s eyes widened.

  “Well, hell, Harry, a big strong man like Kelly don’t just fall into a cement mixer. Someone pushed him in.”

  “Maybe it isn’t him. Maybe it’s some drunk or—”

  “It’s him. Ferrari parked right there. Didn’t show up at the office. Since his car was there, everyone figured he was on the grounds somewhere. They didn’t really know until one of the men started up the grinder and it sounded funny.”

  Harry shuddered at the thought of what that poor fellow saw when he looked into the mixer.

  “He wasn’t a saint but who is? He couldn’t have made anyone mad enough to kill him.”

  “Made someone mad enough.” Market exhaled. He didn’t like the news, but there was something special about being the messenger of such tidings and Market was not a man immune to those few moments of privileged status. “Thought you ought to know.”

  As he turned to leave, Harry called out, “Your mail.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Market fished out the mail in his box and left.

  Harry sat down on the stool behind the counter. She needed to order her mind. Then she went to the phone and rang up Appalachia Equine. Fair was out, so she left a messag
e for him to call her pronto. Then she dialed Susan.

  “Doodle, doodle, doodle.” Susan answered the phone. She’d grown tired of “Hello.”

  “Susan!”

  Susan knew from the sound of Harry’s voice that something was amiss. “What’s wrong?”

  “Kelly Craycroft’s body was found in a cement mixer. Market just told me, and he said it was murder.”

  “Murder?!”

  3

  Rick Shaw, Albemarle County sheriff, hitched up the broad Sam Browne belt. His gun felt even heavier in this stinking heat and it didn’t help that he’d put on a pound or two in the last eighteen months. Before he became sheriff he had been more active but now he spent too much time behind his desk. His appetite did not diminish, however, and he began to think that the red tape he had to wade through actually increased his appetite through frustration. The sheriff who preceded him died fat as a tick. This was not a happy thought.

  This was not a happy case. Rick had grown accustomed to the vileness of men. He’d seen shoot-outs, drunken knife fights, and corpses of people who had been bludgeoned to death. The traffic accidents weren’t much better but at least they weren’t premeditated. Albemarle County suffered about two murders a year, usually domestic. This was different, and he sensed it the minute he stepped out of the car.

  Officer Cynthia Cooper had arrived on the scene first. A tall young woman with sense as well as experience, she had cordoned off the area. The fingerprint team was on the way but Rick didn’t hope for much there. The staff at Craycroft Concrete stood in the sun, too hot to be standing around like that but they were dazed.

  Someone was screaming somewhere, and according to Officer Cooper, Kelly’s wife was at home, sedated. He regretted that and would have to have a word with Hayden McIntire, the doctor. Sedating should be done after the questioning, not before.

  A BMW screeched through the entrance. Kelly Craycroft’s wife vaulted from her seat and raced for the mixer.

  “BoomBoom!” Rick hollered at her.

  BoomBoom soared over the cordoning and roughly pushed her way past Diana Farrell of the Rescue Squad. Clai Cordle, another nurse and squad member, couldn’t stop her either.

  Cynthia Cooper made a flying tackle but it was a second too late and BoomBoom was climbing up the ladder to the opening of the mixer.

  “He’s my husband! You can’t keep me from my husband!”

  “You don’t want to see that, girl.” Rick moved his bulk as quickly as he could.

  Cynthia scurried up the ladder and grabbed BoomBoom’s ankle but not before the raven-haired woman lifted her head over the side of the mixer. Immobile for a second, she fell back into Cynthia Cooper’s arms in a dead faint, nearly knocking the young policewoman off the ladder.

  Rick reached up and held Cynthia around the waist as Diana ran over to help. They got BoomBoom to the ground.

  Diana broke open the amyl nitrite.

  Cynthia snatched it from her hand. “All she’s got are these few moments before this hits her again. Let her have them.”

  Rick cleared his throat. He hated this. He also hated that BoomBoom might throw up when she came to and he fervently hoped she wouldn’t. Blood and guts were one thing. Vomit was another.

  BoomBoom moaned. She opened her eyes. Rick held his breath. She sat up and swallowed. He exhaled. She wasn’t going to throw up. She wasn’t even going to cry.

  “He looks like something in the Cuisinart.” BoomBoom’s voice sounded flat.

  “Don’t think about it,” Officer Cooper advised.

  “I’ll remember the sight for the rest of my natural life.” BoomBoom struggled to her feet. She swayed a bit and Rick steadied her. “I’m all right. Just . . . give me a minute.”

  “Why don’t we go over to the office. The air conditioning will help.”

  Officer Cooper and BoomBoom walked over to the small office and Rick motioned to Diana and Clai to get the body pieces out of the mixer. “Don’t let BoomBoom see the bag.”

  “Keep her inside,” Diana requested.

  “Do what I can but she’s a wild one. Been that way since she was a kid.” Rick took off his hat and entered the office.

  Marie Williams, Craycroft Concrete’s secretary, sobbed. At the sight of BoomBoom she emitted a wail.

  BoomBoom stared at her in disgust. “Pull yourself together, Marie.”

  “I loved him. I just loved him. He was the best man in the world to work for. He’d bring me roses on Secretary’s Day. He’d give me time off when Timmy was sick. Didn’t dock my pay.” A fresh outburst followed this.

  BoomBoom hit the chair with a thump. Behind her a huge poster of a sitting duck slurping a drink, bullet holes in the wall behind him, gave the room a festive air. If Marie kept this up she’d throw her in the mixer. BoomBoom loathed displays of emotion. Circumstances did not alter her opinion on this.

  “Mrs. Williams, why don’t you come into Mr. Craycroft’s office with me. Maybe you can explain his daily routine. We can’t touch anything until the prints men come in.”

  “I understand.” Marie shuffled off with Officer Cooper, shutting the door behind her.

  “You don’t really know if that’s my husband in there.” BoomBoom’s voice didn’t sound normal.

  “No.”

  She leaned back in the chair. “It is, though.”

  “How do you know?” Rick’s voice was gentle but probing.

  “I feel it. Besides, his car is parked here and Kelly was never far from that car. Loved it more than anything, even me, his wife.”

  “Do you have any idea how this could have happened?”

  “Apart from someone pushing him into the mixer, no.” Her eyes glittered.

  “Enemies?”

  “Pharamond Haristeen—well, that’s old. They aren’t enemies anymore.”

  Rick knew the story of Fair making a pass at BoomBoom at last year’s Hunt Club ball. Much liquor had been consumed but not enough for people to forget the overture. He’d need to question Fair. Emotions, like land mines, could explode when you least expected them to . . . years after an event. It wouldn’t be impossible for Fair to be a murderer, only improbable. “What about business troubles?”

  BoomBoom smiled a wan smile. “Kelly had the Midas touch.”

  Rick smiled back at her. “All of central Virginia knows that.” He paused. “Perhaps he got into a disagreement over a bill or a paving bid. People get crazy about money. Anything, anything at all that comes to mind.”

  “Nothing.”

  Rick placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll have Officer Cooper drive you home.”

  “I can drive.”

  “No, you can’t. For once you’ll do as I say.”

  BoomBoom didn’t argue. She felt shakier than she wanted to admit. In fact, she’d never felt so terrible in her life. She loved Kelly, in her vague fashion, and he loved her in return.

  Rick glanced up to see how the body removal was progressing. It wasn’t easy. Even Clai Cordle, stomach of iron, was green around the gills.

  Rick opened the door, blocking BoomBoom’s view. “Clai, Diana, hold up a minute, will you? Officer Cooper’s going to run BoomBoom home.”

  “Okay.” Diana suspended her labors.

  “Officer Cooper.”

  “Yo,” Cynthia called out, then opened the door.

  “Carry BoomBoom home, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Find anything in there?”

  Marie followed behind Officer Cooper. “Everything’s filed and cross-filed, first alphabetically and then under subject matter. I did it myself.”

  As BoomBoom and Officer Cooper left, Rick went into the small, clean office with Marie.

  “He believed in ‘a place for everything and everything in its place,’ ” Marie whimpered.

  Rick scanned the top of Kelly’s desk. A silver-framed portrait of BoomBoom was on the right-hand corner. A Lamy pen, very bulky, was placed on a neat diagonal over Xeroxed papers.

  R
ick leaned over, careful not to touch anything, and read the top sheet.

  My Whig principles have been strengthened by the Mexican War. It broke out just as I was preparing to depart for Europe; my trunks were actually ready; that and the Oregon question, made me unpack them. Now my son is in it. Some pecuniary interest is at stake, the political horizon is clouded and I am forced to wait until all this ends. Since I have had my surfeit of war, I am for peace; but at this time I am still more so. Peace, peace rises at the top of all my thoughts and the feeling makes me twice a Whig. As soon as things are settled I cross the Atlantic. I might do it now, of course, but I do not wish to go for only a few months and my stay might now be curtailed by events.

  Very respectfully, Y’r most obed’t.

  C. CROZET

  “I don’t recall Kelly being interested in history.”

  Marie shrugged. “Me neither, but he’d get these whims, you know.”

  Rick put his thumb under the heavy belt again, taking some of the weight off his shoulder and waist. “Crozet was an engineer. Maybe he wrote about paving or something. Built all our turnpikes, you know. Route 240, too, if I remember Miss Grindle’s teachings in fourth grade.”

  “What a witch.” Marie had had Miss Grindle too.

  “Never had any disciplinary problems at Crozet Elementary when Miss Grindle was there.”

  “From the War Between the States until the Korean War.” Marie half giggled, then caught herself. “How can I laugh at a time like this?”

  “Need to. Your emotions will be a roller coaster for a while.”

  Tears welled up in Marie’s eyes. “You’ll catch him, won’t you? Whoever did this?”

  “I’m gonna try, Marie. I’m gonna try.”

  4

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Susan peered into Harry’s face.

  “You know I have to.”

  Not paying her condolences to BoomBoom would have been a breach of manners so flagrant it would be held against Harry forever. Not actively held against her, mind, just remembered, a black mark against her name in the book. Even if she had more good marks than bad, and she hoped that she did, it didn’t pay to play social percentages in Crozet.