November 19, 2016 Saturday

“How can people let themselves get like that?” Harry blurted out, looking out the window of Liz’s Barracks Road shop.

Susan chided her. “Harry, you can’t say things like that.”

“Why not? Fat is fat and if you’re fat you’re courting lots of sickness, plus you don’t walk, you waddle,” she shot back.

“Just don’t say it,” Susan replied.

Liz moved a bracelet on the counter. “Isn’t that part of the problem? No one can say anything anymore? You hurt someone’s feelings and you’re a monster. Now, I don’t think Harry should push open the door and tell that lady that she’s one step closer to the grave for being fat, but she can say it to us. Which reminds me, I need to lose fifteen pounds.”

“Liz, baloney,” Harry said.

“Not baloney. Fat.” Liz pinched her waist and a small roll of flesh did indeed stay between her fingers.

“If you want to lose that little bit of weight come on out to the farm and work with me for a week. Poof. That will be the end of that,” Harry promised.

“She’s got a point there,” Susan agreed. “When I was young I don’t remember so many overweight people, but then a lot of people worked outside jobs, physical labor. And housework qualified as physical labor. Our mothers had it easier than our grandmothers, but doing the wash, cleaning the floors, polishing furniture, keeping the fires going in the fireplace, women carried, toted, bent over, or got down on their hands and knees and scrubbed.”

“We’re spoiled.” Liz nodded. “Now, Harry, what have you found out about the bullet in your Volvo?”

“The bullet in my Volvo. Same gun that killed Pierre Rice,” Harry matter-of-factly reported.

Liz had not heard this so she froze for a moment. “Harry, that’s—”

“Frightening.” Susan spoke for her. “And you said you didn’t see anything or anyone when you left the meeting.”

“No, I didn’t. The rain poured down.” Liz looked behind her. “Someone stole that expensive dress. You are shot at. A man, successful, is killed. For what?”

“Don’t forget the tombstones at St. Luke’s,” Harry added.

“What has that got to do with you, the Tahoe, all that stuff?” Susan leaned on the counter, taking the weight off her feet.

“I don’t know. All I know is there’s a string of weird stuff, murder, and that’s weird, too. And you all can’t point the finger at me and say I’ve stuck my nose in all this. I did not. But I’m in it somehow so I want to get to the bottom of it.”

They both turned to her then, shut up as the door opened, and MaryJo Cranston pushed through it.

“Hey, what’s up?” MaryJo smiled.

“The bullet in Harry’s Volvo came from the same gun as the one that killed Pierre Rice,” Liz stated.

“No!” MaryJo’s hand came up to her heart. “No, it can’t be.”

Harry simply replied, “It is.”

“I drove out that driveway before you did. I’m telling you there wasn’t a car there or a lurking person. Nothing.”

“Even if there were could you have seen it?” Susan exhaled.

“Maybe. A glint of light on a fender, movement behind a tree. I mean it was raining cats and dogs but I might have seen something. Nada. Nothing. Zero,” MaryJo emphasized.

“Well, we aren’t going to solve this here.” Harry’s voice carried an edge. “Anyway, we popped in here to see if you really are selling out, Liz.”

MaryJo half laughed. “Me, too. Hard to shove away from the desk during the week, so here I am. Liz, are you?”

“I am. Thought I’d hang on through Christmas. I do good business around the holidays. Then I won’t renew my lease. I’ll close shop. Andy and I have done well, a good living for which I’m grateful. I’d like to travel. He swears if I go through with this then he’ll turn the business over to our daughter once she graduates from the Darden School.” Liz named the highly regarded graduate school of business at the University of Virginia. “Oh, he won’t just quit, he’ll work with her for a year but then we’ll be free. I’m actually excited about it and I feel like I’ll get to know my husband all over again.”

“Sounds wonderful.” MaryJo beamed. “I’m not sure I want to know Bruce all over again. I know him pretty well now.” She smiled. “He’s a good guy.”

“We four married good men,” Susan added. “Much as I love him there are times when I look at Ned and I want to just throw up my hands. I, of course, am perfect.”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you that.” Harry reached over to poke Susan in the arm.

“While I’m here, I want to buy that turquoise necklace I’ve been salivating over.” MaryJo walked to the display case containing the necklace, which Liz removed.

“A knockout,” the proprietor remarked as MaryJo turned around so Liz could come out from behind the case and fasten the necklace.

Harry and Susan oohed and aahed, and it was gorgeous and gorgeously expensive. MaryJo whipped out her checkbook and wrote a four-figure check on the spot.

“Would you like a box for it?” Liz inquired.

“No. I want to feel it on this sweater.”

Then Liz reminded Harry, “You said you had an idea about all this stuff.” She looked at MaryJo, filling her in. “Harry reminded me of how many truly odd things have happened. The murder, the theft of the dress from my shop, which was hacked, really, and the eagle feather—”

“I’m dying to hear. Being shot at after our meeting would scare me no end,” MaryJo confided.

“I think this had to do with contraband.” Harry folded her hands for a moment. “Exactly what, I don’t know, but I suspect it has something to do with illegal smuggling of animals or animal parts. The eagle feather points to that.”

MaryJo’s mouth dropped open. Susan and Liz stayed quite still for a second.

“Harry, you mean like what MaryJo told us from her research at an earlier meeting?” Liz’s memory was sharp, as always.

“Kind of. It might be otherwise, but for me the Tahoe was another clue. Whoever is behind this knew where to park that vehicle to hide it. And it may be that the storage building has been used for months or even a year or so to hide or store illegal goods. We don’t thoroughly check it. When we do go to the schools we’re concentrating on the actual schoolrooms. The other thing is whoever did this has a key or has cut the lock and had a duplicate lock made to match our keys. Isn’t much but it’s something.”

“It can’t be!” MaryJo was aghast.

“What else can it be? Even if this isn’t about contraband, someone knows how to get into the storage building.” Harry noticed the sky darkening.

Susan, speaking very slowly, putting this together, replied. “What you’re saying could be true, but whoever is doing this took a risk.”

“They did, but remember, whatever vehicles they parked in there were probably to be loaded or unloaded. And this was done quickly. In and out. If we’d stumbled upon a car or truck in there, whoever is behind this might have had a ready-made excuse. Surely they would have considered the possibility. But they are bold and sure of themselves.”

“Harry, that creeps me out.” MaryJo fingered her new, beloved necklace.

“Me, too,” Susan and Liz said in unison.

“Harry, if you’re right, you’d better be careful. You shouldn’t be alone.” MaryJo fretted.

“I’ll be careful. Plus I have Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter. Their senses are better than mine.”

“Harry, don’t be facetious.” MaryJo’s voice sounded like a schoolteacher’s.

“I’m not. I’ll be careful.”

Once back in Susan’s Audi station wagon, heading west for home, the first tiny snowflakes twirled down.

The weather, dramatic, changing, never failed to interest them or most people in central Virginia.

“First snow.” Harry smiled. “Do you want to have a hot chocolate at my house or yours? Or mulled wine, I can make that.”

The two of them always tried to celebrate the first snow with an impromptu party if possible.

“Yours.”

“Good. I’ll call your husband, my husband, Coop, that should do it. Oh, Miranda. Haven’t seen her in an age.” She mentioned the older woman she used to work with in the old post office now subsumed by a big new post office, burdened with so many federal rules. When Harry and Miranda ran the old, small P.O., they managed it with common sense. Those days and ways were gone. Everything had to be centralized, controlled, watched.

“Harry, have you told Coop what you think?”

“Yes.”

They drove and the snow fell a bit heavier.

“A squall.”

“The first snow, even if it’s just a few flakes, is always such fun.” Harry punched in numbers on her phone.

“Before your call, if you’re right, the problem, the murderer, is close to home.” Susan gave the wagon some gas as they climbed the steep hill on the other side of the creek, the eastern borderline of former Cloverfields and Old Rawly.

“I know.” Harry turned to look at her dearest friend. “I know, but I don’t know enough and I don’t know why I’m the target. Did I blunder onto something? Could you do the same? I hope I find out before it’s too late.”

“Harry, don’t say that.”