Cat's Eyewitness (16 page)

“Comes in Cinnamon Bay, Tangerine Breeze, Highland Mint, Ginger-Lemon. There are other variations. I have a big tin of hand salve, too.”

A long pause followed this. BoomBoom knew it was eleven-thirty, late for both of them. “Roads will be icy.”

Alicia rose to check the thermometer in the window. “Still forty-two degrees Fahrenheit. You’re in luck, although there might be a few places where the road is packed down. It’s the black ice that gets you.”

BoomBoom blushed. “I’d be in luck if the roads were icy.”

Alicia laughed. “You say.”

“I don’t get it. If you were a man you’d have lunged for me months ago. Maybe I do get it. I’m not your type.”

“BoomBoom.” Alicia’s voice sounded like dark honey. “You are very flattering. You’re full of energy and ideas. You’re a beautiful woman. I’m not immune to you.”

“You’re not?” BoomBoom brightened.

Alicia laughed. “Of course not, but you’ve taken a year off men. And furthermore, you haven’t walked down this road before. It’s not about gender, it’s about learning another person. That takes time. And you’re barreling down on your midlife crisis, if you’ll indulge me in being older and a tiny bit wiser at this exact moment.”

“You aren’t part of my midlife crisis. I’ve got three years left.” She smiled. “But I see it in Harry and Susan and even Little Mim. Forty lurks just over the horizon, so they must see it in me. That shift. That discarding what doesn’t work, finding what really matters in life.”

“It’s only a number, but our culture makes such a to-do about it. I’m not that far from sixty, and you know what, I don’t give a fig.” She snapped her fingers.

“Does this mean you aren’t going to jump my bones? I mean, what do women do? Who makes the first move? You’re driving me crazy. I don’t know what to do. Am I supposed to hit you with a flying tackle?”

“Bruising.” Alicia felt every molecule of air in her lungs, going in, going out.

“Well, what am I supposed to do? I know what to do with men. I haven’t a clue what to do with you, but I know that I have felt happier with you, even without sex or declarations of, what,
amor,
than I have ever felt in my life. I feel”—she searched for the word—“connected. Like I know you. Like I’ve always known you. I just don’t know about the romance part of it, and I don’t know how you feel. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“You couldn’t wear out your welcome. I never thought I’d feel this way again,” Alicia honestly replied. “And I suppose deep down I didn’t think I should make a move. I was afraid I might spoil our friendship.”

“You mean you didn’t know how I felt?”

“I hoped, but I wasn’t going to push it.”

BoomBoom got up, walking over to the window where Alicia remained. “Alicia, for the first time in my life I can’t hide.”

Alicia reached for BoomBoom’s hand, and the younger woman felt a bolt of lightning blast up her arm.

She wasn’t the only person who couldn’t hide that night, but for the other one, the circumstances couldn’t have been more alarming.

21

B
lack asphalt glistened as the snow runoff covered the road with a sheen of water. Nordy Elliott, hopes raised by his conversation with BoomBoom, drove too fast past the supermarket and Patterson’s Florist. His spirits remained high even though he suffered bouts of irritation at driving into Crozet this late. No sooner had he clicked off with BoomBoom than his cell rang. The voice on the other end demanded that Nordy meet him at the Crozet Post Office.

Irritated though he was, the bright lights of the Amoco station amused him. Clean and well located, the modern station seemed out of place.

Turning left, he dipped beneath the railroad underpass, the senior home immediately to his right on the south side of the tracks. To his left, a series of small shops were strung out, including two restaurants. Ombra, with its booths, was Nordy’s favorite. Right now Nordy wasn’t hungry. He wanted to get this impromptu meeting over with and hurry back home to write copy for J&J Tire Service.

Being a reporter, he had grown accustomed to strange demands, personal meetings, behavior calculated for airtime. By now most Americans had learned that the more outrageous you looked and talked, the better your chances of getting your face, product, or cause covered. Anyone who appeared sober, reliable, and thoughtful was at an immediate disadvantage. Nordy had learned to puff them up, egg them on, thereby getting even better stories.

Within a hundred yards the new post office construction, set back, was visible. On Nordy’s left, a temporary post office had been set up in a brick building, and that’s where his contact had asked to meet him. Post offices are unlocked, with the back part shut up but postboxes available to their patrons. Occasionally, Sheriff Shaw of Albemarle County or his deputy, Cynthia Cooper, responded to a call about a drunk sleeping in the P.O. when the weather was bitter. Apart from that, anyone going into and out of the building, even in the wee hours, would attract scant attention.

Nordy pulled to the back and parked. His mind returned to BoomBoom. Every single woman in his viewing area thought he was hot. A young, single man, he took advantage of that, but the one he really wanted was the tall, cool blonde. There was something about her, not just her obvious physical attributes, that pulled him toward her. He knew her reputation as a heartbreaker. He could turn the tables. After all, he was handsome, slick as an eel, and on the way up.

He walked around to the front of the post office, opened the door. As the door was closing, his attacker leapt at him so quickly Nordy didn’t have time to step back. He threw up his left hand, too late. He dropped like a stone from a ballpoint pen driven up through his left eyeball clean into his brain. Not a drop of blood fell on the floor.

The killer calmly took a chamois cloth to wipe the footprints where he had stood, flattened against the wall. Then he wiped up prints as he backed out the front door.

When Amy Wade entered the back door at seven
A.M.,
she hung up her coat, then unlocked the thin corrugated metal pulldown, which came down to the countertop like a garage door, and pushed it up over her head. It took a moment for her to realize a dead man lay on the floor. She flipped up the divider, hurried over, and beheld the grisly sight. She sucked in her breath, holding it, and raced for the telephone.

Cynthia Cooper happened to be cruising through town, and when she arrived minutes later, she noted the position of the body and saw that the small muscles had gone into rigor. She’d never seen anyone killed with a ballpoint pen. She wasn’t an unfeeling woman but one who, like every other law-enforcement officer who has to witness brutal things, had developed a balancing sense of humor. When her boss, Sheriff Rick Shaw, pushed open the door, she gave him a moment to assess the situation, then said, “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

22

T
he orange cordon around the area where Nordy’s body had been discovered stopped everyone walking into the post office. Human nature being what it is, plenty of people who didn’t rent a postbox in Crozet filed through the door.

Harry and Miranda feverishly worked to sort the mail, deal with people who truly did wish to buy stamps, fend off inquiries, and smile at their friends.

Amy Wade, undone by the horrible sight, had asked to go home for the day. The postmaster called Harry and she immediately filled in, as did Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. Miranda, always a port in a storm, hurried from her home across the alleyway to help.

The two friends worked like a well-oiled machine.

Big Mim strode in, removed her Robin Hood hat with the pheasant feather with one hand as she supported her ancient aunt Tally with her other. Aunt Tally used an ebony cane, elegant with a silver hound’s head for the handle, but Big Mim liked to keep close when sidewalks were slick or steps wet.

“Incomprehensible!” the queen of Crozet pronounced judgment.

“Mimsy, it’s perfectly comprehensible.” Aunt Tally gently shook off her niece’s hand to study the outline of the body chalked on the worn wooden floor. “He was uncommonly handsome, a little cock of the walk.”

“Roosters are stupid.”
Pewter lounged on the counter, the better to see everyone.

Mrs. Murphy, next to her, agreed.

Tucker, sitting patiently by the table in the back, called out,
“Yeah, but they’re fun to chase.”

“’Til they hit you up with those spurs.”
As a kitten, Mrs. Murphy learned the hard way that even the lowly rooster had survival tools.

“What has that got to do with a gruesome end?” Big Mim didn’t at first follow her aunt’s line of thought.

Harry, slipping mail into the boxes, listened, as did Miranda, who sorted through the mail that arrived in canvas bags and was then dumped into a rolling cart.

“Couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“Oh, Aunt Tally!”

“Sex. He jumped the paddock and mounted the wrong mare. Bet you even money.” The old lady, still quite attractive although thin as a blade, tapped her cane on the floor.

“Doesn’t murder usually come down to sex, money, or power?” Harry peeked out from around the back of the brass mailboxes.

“That’s what they say.” Miranda paused for a moment. “But such an end. So violent.”

“And clever.”
Mrs. Murphy spread open her toes, unleashed her claws, then retracted them.

“What’s so clever about jamming a ballpoint pen in someone’s eye?”
Pewter wondered.

“Simple. Nothing to trace. The pen was left in the eye, and I guarantee you—in fact, I’ll give you my catnip if I’m wrong—there won’t be one print on that ballpoint pen, no fibers or anything, either.”

Tucker, interested now, padded over to sit beneath the kitties.
“And cheap. Everyone in the universe has ballpoint pens.”

The very tip of Pewter’s fat, thick tail moved to and fro as she thought about this angle.
“Because the weapon was a pen, does that mean the killer was opportunistic or thought it out? I mean, anyone could grab a ballpoint pen, right?”

“Thought out. Well executed.”
Mrs. Murphy watched the nonagenarian. Aunt Tally reminded her of a twenty-four-year-old cat that she had known years ago. The fire of life burned brightly, more brightly with age. The gift of any animal that old is they know a lot and they no longer care much what other cats or people think.

“Has anyone spoken to Rick?” Big Mim asked Harry and Miranda, who both knew that Big Mim had nabbed him the instant she heard of the death.

“No. What did he say?” Miranda, being Big Mim’s contemporary, could let her know they were on to her question.

“Well”—the elegant lady made no attempt to explain her asking them first—“he said there was no blood. Of course, when they remove the pen there will be blood, I guess.” Big Mim stopped herself, because the image was too gross. “Sorry. Anyway, he said they will go over Nordy’s clothing and an autopsy will be performed, naturally. But he warned me that there wasn’t one footprint by the body and the runoff of the melting snows took care of any hopes for one outside the building.”

“This killer is too smart to leave a footprint,”
Mrs. Murphy offered her opinion.

Aunt Tally walked over to pet the cats, while Big Mim retrieved the mail, then joined her aunt at the counter.

The door opened. BoomBoom and Alicia came in.

“We just left Amy,” BoomBoom said.

“How is she?” Harry liked Amy Wade, as did everyone in town.

“Shaken.” BoomBoom’s face reflected concern.

“But not stirred,” Alicia said, then added, “She’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

“She sends her thanks.” BoomBoom studied the chalk outline. “Dropped like a deer.”

“Between the eyes or, in this case, in the eye.” Aunt Tally ran her forefinger under Pewter’s chin, then repeated the pleasing stroke for Mrs. Murphy. “These cats have big motors.”

“Purr machines.” Harry loved her cats. She flipped up the divider as well as opened the half door so Tucker could visit the people.

Big Mim told BoomBoom and Alicia what Sheriff Shaw had told her.

Alicia remarked, “Whoever committed the murder has to be quick as a cat.”

“Why do you say that, darlin’?” BoomBoom casually called her “darlin’,” but then, Southern women rained “sugar,” “honey,” “honey pie,” and other sweet names upon their friends.

“Didn’t Rick say there was no struggle? That Nordy’s body crumpled?”

“Yes,” Big Mim replied.

“Then the killer literally struck like a cat and Nordy had no time to react,” Alicia said.

“If it was someone he knew, he might not have reacted quickly.” A vague notion was forming in Harry’s mind, something disquieting, still unfocused.

“True.” BoomBoom nodded. “But even if he knew his killer, that person hit fast and hard. It takes a lot of force to drive an object into the human body.”

“He didn’t hit the socket, either. If he’d hit the bone it would have been a real mess.” Aunt Tally allowed the cats to rub against her offered cheek. “Think about it. This killer knew what he or she was doing.”

“What an awful thought.” Miranda shuddered.

“You know, I spoke to him last night.” BoomBoom stepped back from the cordoned area. “Like most men, he was tragically transparent.”

Alicia smiled. “That he was not, Boom. He may have been transparent sexually, but he could be opaque about other things or he wouldn’t be dead. The man was hiding something.”

“Hard to believe.” Harry folded her hands on the counter, then remembered she had a lot more mail to put in the boxes. The disruption had put them hours behind. “He was arrogant. I didn’t like him, but I’m sorry he died like this.”

“It is pretty awful.” BoomBoom walked behind the counter. “Do you two need help? I’m happy to stay here.”

Miranda smiled warmly. “Boom, if you really want to help, we will use you.” She pointed to the overflowing mail cart. “Magazines.”

“Boom, you are sweet.” Alicia walked behind the counter, too. “Many hands make light work.”

Aunt Tally glared at her niece for a moment, since this wasn’t the type of labor Big Mim was likely to do. “Mimsy, I think we should at least help for half an hour.”

“Quite right.” Big Mim sighed, removed her lush silver fox short-cropped jacket, walked behind the counter, and draped the jacket over the chair in the back.

The six women worked well together, chatting, going over the dreadful event and then drifting away to other subjects like the college basketball season about to begin. They all followed the University of Virginia men’s and women’s teams.

Susan blew through the door, stopped cold when she beheld the outline, then walked to the counter and, without a word, flipped up the divider, took off her coat, and attacked the large packages that had to be on industrial shelving. The shelves bore letters of the alphabet. If a person’s last name began with “A,” their large package would go on the “A” section.

“Sorry I’m late. Brooks’s car died, so I had to run her to school. Took the opportunity to talk to her physics teacher.” She picked up a package to go to the “T” section. “Nordy’s death wasn’t on the early-morning edition but it ran as a ticker tape, or whatever you call that underneath the picture, by nine. Good God.”

“It will all come out in the wash.” Aunt Tally sat at the kitchen table in the back where she sorted mail. “Why don’t I toss this junk mail and save someone the trouble?”

“It has occurred to us many times.” Miranda rolled the cart over to Harry.

“Thanks,” Harry said as she continued to shoot mail into the back of the boxes. She checked the clock on the wall. “We’re catching up.”

The front door opened. A well-dressed woman who had parked her Mercedes SUV in the front came to the counter. Miranda reached the counter just as the woman placed a small, neatly wrapped package on the counter.

“Would you weigh this please?”

“Certainly.” Miranda lifted it, placing it on the stainless-steel scale. “First class?”

“Yes.” She glanced around. “What’s going on here?”

Since Miranda didn’t recognize the woman, she figured she either didn’t live here, was visiting for the holidays, or had moved in that second. “We’ve suffered an unfortunate incident.”

“What kind of incident?” She removed one of her gloves to reach into her Bottega Veneta purse for cash.

“The local news reporter, Nordy Elliott, was found dead here this morning.”

“What?” Her eyes widened.

“That’s all we know.”

“Nordy Elliott, that terribly attractive young man who does the news?” She paused a moment. “I’m here visiting my son and daughter-in-law, so I watch the local news. Oh, that can’t be.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“What’s this world coming to?” She fished out the amount, which Miranda told her was $3.20. “Before Christmas.”

“Do you want this insured?”

“No.” The woman noticed the gang in the back. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized Alicia Palmer, then they widened with pleasure. She leaned forward, whispering, “Is that Alicia Palmer?” Miranda nodded, and the woman continued, “Never forget her in
War Clouds.”
She snapped up her change.

“No. Might I ask who is your son?”

She smiled. “Dr. Trey Seddons. He’s just taken a position in the radiology department at Martha Jefferson, so I’ve come up to help him and Beth get settled.”

As she left, Big Mim muttered, “Carpetbaggers.”

“Now, now,” Aunt Tally reprimanded her. “Can’t be critical because she doesn’t speak the King’s English with the same perfection and lilt as do we all here. And carpetbaggers bring in money. Always have and always will.”

“I don’t mind the money, Aunt Tally, what I mind is they come here and want us to be like them. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

“What’s so great about the Romans?”
Pewter wondered.

“Empire lasted a thousand years.”
Mrs. Murphy loved history.

“Because of the work of dogs, horses, cattle, and you cats. How could they have lived off the grains of Egypt if cats hadn’t killed the mice? And how could they have had herds of cattle and sheep if we dogs didn’t herd them as well as drive off marauders? And do animals get any credit?”
Tucker shook her head.

“I don’t want credit. I want tuna.”
Pewter let out a meow.

Harry knew that tone of voice. She handed her fistful of mail to BoomBoom, standing next to her with her own fistful of mail. “All right.”

As Harry opened a can for the cats and a small one of beef for Tucker, Alicia and BoomBoom hummed and chatted. Susan talked to Big Mim, Tally, and Miranda as she shuttled packages to the shelves. Harry stopped for a moment and thought what wonderful friends she had, and then she noticed how Alicia and BoomBoom leaned toward each other; they glowed. Susan was right. She blinked, then thought to herself, “Lucky them.”

“These tubes roll off the shelf.” Susan stood on a small ladder in the “C” section, where Tazio Chappars’s blueprints were placed.

“I know. There’s a rubber wedge there, an old doorstop. I put one on each side,” Harry informed her.

“I would have thought all this was done by computers. Someone would send the blueprints to Tazio’s computer, she would print it and blow it up.” BoomBoom liked technology.

“Can,” Harry replied. “But Tazio says for the clearest blueprints, you have to get them done the old way. Also, this paper, the stuff in the tube here, stands a beating at construction sites. She says printers, laser printers, can’t print out on blueprint paper. Anyway, I don’t mind dealing with these. Kind of excites me, thinking of buildings going up.”

“You have the building gene,” Big Mim quipped.

“Your grandfather had it, too.” Aunt Tally, long, long ago, had been passionately in love with Harry’s handsome grandfather. She was in her late teens and he was married. People didn’t divorce in those days.

“Wish I had the money to indulge it.” Harry laughed. “But you know, being back here in the post office today is good for me. I know I’ve done the right thing. It really was time to move on, and I have got to make money.”