"No. I haven't even been offered a beer." The corners of his mouth turned up. Dimples showed when he smiled.

Rick opened the back door. "Well, if anything pops into your head, no matter how small it seems, you call me or Coop."

"I will."

The temperature had dropped below freezing. They climbed up the bank to the tracks.

"Ideas?"

"No, boss. Wish I had even one."

"Yeah, me, too."

It had never occurred to them to tap the floors in the bas.e.m.e.nt.

That same Monday evening, Big Mim and Larry Johnson dined at Dalmally. Jim Sanburne was at a county commissioners' meeting in Old Lane High School, now the county offices, in Charlottesville. Little Mim was ensconced in her cottage.

The two dear friends chatted over fresh lobster, rice, vegetables, a crisp arugula salad, and a very expensive white Chilean wine.

"-his face." Larry laughed.

"I haven't thought of that in years." Mim laughed, remembering a gentleman enamored of her Aunt Tally.

He had tried to impress the independent lady by his skill at golf. They were playing in a foursome during a club tournament. He was in the rough just off the green, which was surrounded by spectators. The day being sultry, ladies wore halter tops or camp shirts and shorts. The men wore shorts and short-sleeved shirts, straw hats with bright ribbon bands.

The poor fellow hit a high shot off the rough which landed right in the ample bosom of Florence Taliaferro. She screamed, fell down, but the golf ball was not dislodged from its creamy resting place.

No one knew of a rule to cover such an eventuality. He couldn't play the ball but he was loath to drop a ball and take a penalty shot. His contentious att.i.tude so soured the caustic Tally that the moment they turned in their cards, she never spoke to him again.

Larry cracked a lobster claw. "I'm amazed at what flutters through my mind. An event from 1950 seems as real as what's happening this moment."

"Y-e-s." She drew out the word as the candlelight reflected off her beautiful pearls.

Larry knew Mim always dined by candlelight; the loveliness of the setting proved that Mim needed luxury, beauty, perfect proportion.

Gretchen glided in to remove one course and bring out another. She and Big Mim had been together since girlhood. Gretchen's family had worked for Mim's parents.

"What do you think about my daughter opposing my husband?"

"Ah-ha! I knew you had an agenda."

"She shouldn't do it," Gretchen piped up.

"Did I ask you?"

"No, Miss Mim, that's why I'm telling you. I have to get a word in edgewise."

"You poor benighted creature," Big Mim mocked.

"Don't you forget it." Gretchen disappeared.

Larry smiled. "You two would make a great sitcom. Hollywood needs you."

"You're too kind," Mim replied, a hint of acid in her tone.

"What do I think? I think it's good for Marilyn but it creates stress for the residents of Crozet. No one ever wants to offend a Sanburne."

"There is that," Mim thoughtfully considered. "Although Jim has been quite clear that he doesn't mind."

"It still makes people nervous. No one wants to be on the losing side."

"Yes." Mim put down her fork. "Should I tell her to stop?"

"No."

"I can't very well suggest to Jim that he step down. He's been a good mayor."

"Indeed."

"This is a pickle."

"For all of us." He chewed a bit of lobster, sweet and delicious. "But people will pay attention to the election; issues might get discussed. We've gotten accustomed to apathy-only because Jim takes care of things."

"I suppose. Crozet abounds with groups. People do pitch in but yes, you're right, there is a kind of political apathy. Not just here. Everywhere."

"People vote with their feet. They're bored, with a capital B."

"Larry," she leaned closer. "What's going on at Crozet Hospital? I know you know more than you're telling me and I know Harry didn't cut her head on a scythe."

"What's Harry got to do with it?"

"There's no way she could stay away from the murder site. She's been fascinated with solving things since she was tiny. Now really, character is everything, is it not?" He nodded a.s.sent so she continued. "I'd bet my earrings that Harry snuck over to the hospital and got hurt."

"She could have gotten hurt sticking her nose somewhere else. What if she snuck around Hank Brevard's house?"

"I know Mary Minor Haristeen."

A ripple of silence followed. Then Larry sighed. "Dear Mim, you are one of the most intelligent women I have ever known."

She smiled broadly. "Thank you."

"Whether your thesis is correct or not I really don't know. Harry hasn't said anything to me when I grace the post office with my presence." He was telling the truth.

"But you have been a.s.sociated with the hospital for, well, almost fifty years. You must know something."

"Until the incident I can't say that I noticed anything, how shall I say, untoward. The usual personality clashes, nurses grumbling about doctors, doctors jostling one another for status or perks or pretty nurses." He held up his hand. "Oh yes, plenty of that."

"Really." Mim's left eyebrow arched upward.

"But Mim, that's every hospital. It's a closed world with its own rules. People work in a highly charged atmosphere. They're going to fall for one another."

"Yes."

"But there has been an increase of tension and it predates the dispatch of Hank Brevard. Sam Mahanes has lacked discretion, shall we say?"

"Oh."

"People don't want to see that sort of thing-especially in their boss or leader."

"Who?"

"Tussie Logan."

"Ah."

"They avoid one another in a theatrical manner. But Sam isn't always working during those late nights." He held up his left palm, a gesture of questioning and appeas.e.m.e.nt. "Judge not lest ye be judged."

"Is that meant for me?"

"No, dear. We've gracefully accommodated one another's faults."

"It was me, not you."

"I should have fought harder. I've told you that. I should have banged on this front door and had it out with your father. But I didn't. And somehow, sweetheart, it has all worked out. You married and had two good children."

"A son who rarely comes home," she sniffed.

"Whose fault is that?" he gently chided her.

"I've made amends."

"And he and his wife will finally move down from New York some fine day. Dixie claims all her children. But whatever the G.o.ds have in store for us-it's right. It's right that you married Jim, I married Annabella, G.o.d rest her soul. It's right that we've become friends over the years. Who is to say that our bond may not be even stronger because of our past. Being husband and wife might have weakened our connection."

"Do you really think so?" She had never considered this.

"I do."

"I shall have to think about it. You know, I cherish our little talks. I have always been able to say anything to you."

"I cherish them as well."

A car drove up, parked, the door slammed, the back door opened.

Jim slapped Gretchen on the f.a.n.n.y. "Put out a plate for me, doll."

"s.e.xual hara.s.sment."

"You wish," he teased her.

"Ha. You'll never know."

He strode into the dining room. "Finished early. A first in the history of Albemarle County."

"Hooray." Mim smiled.

Jim clapped Larry on the back, then sat down. "Looks fabulous."

"Wait until you taste the rice. Gretchen has put tiny bits of orange rind in it." Mim glanced up as Gretchen came into the room.

"Isn't that just perfect."

"Of course. I prepared it." Gretchen served Jim rice, vegetables, then tossed salad for him.

The small gathering chattered away, much to Larry's relief. Had he continued to be alone with Mim she would have returned to her questions about the hospital.

Mim had to know everything. It was her nature, just as solving puzzles was Harry's.

And Larry did know more than he was telling. He could never lie to Mim. He was glad he didn't have to try.

23.

Each day of the week grew warmer until by Sat.u.r.day the noon temperature rose into the low sixties. March was just around the corner bringing with it the traditional stiff winds, the first crocus and robin, as well as hopes of spring to come. Everybody knew that nature could and often did throw a curveball, dumping a snowstorm onto the mountains and valley in early April, but still, the days were longer, the quality of light changed from diffuse to brighter, and folks began to think about losing weight, gardening, and frolicking.

Hunt season ended in mid-March, bringing conflicting emotions for Harry and her friends. They loved hunting yet they were thrilled to say good-bye to winter.

This particular Sat.u.r.day the hunt left from Harry's farm. Given the weather, over forty people turned out, quite unusual for a February hunt.

As they rode off, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and an enraged Tucker watched from the barn.

"I don't see why I can't go. I can run as fast as any old foxhound." Tucker pouted.

"You aren't trained as a foxhound." Mrs. Murphy calmly stated the obvious, which she was forced to do once a year when the hunt met at Harry's farm.

"Ha!" The little dog barked. "Walk around, nose to the ground. Pick up a little scent and wave your tail. Then you move a bit faster and finally you open your big yap and say, 'Got a line.' How hard is that?"

"Tail," Pewter laconically replied.

"How's zat?" The dog barked even louder as the hounds moved farther away, ignoring her complaints.

"You haven't got a tail, Tucker. So you can't signal the start of something mildly interesting." The tiger was enjoying Tucker's state almost as much as Pewter, who did have the tiniest malicious streak.

"You don't believe that, do you?" She was incredulous, her large dog eyes imploring.