"Yeah, although I don't know how anyone can stand Bruce on a long-term basis."

Susan shrugged. "I guess in order to be a good surgeon you need a big ego."

"Need one to be postmistress, too."

"You know, in order to be good at anything I suppose everyone needs a touch of ego. The trick is hiding it. Bruce might be wonderful at what he does but he's stupid about people. That's one of the things I've always admired about Fair. He's great at what he does but he never brags." She sipped a moment. "And how is your ex-husband?"

"Fine. It's breeding season so I won't see much of him until mares are bred for next year and this year's mares deliver." Fair was an expert on equine reproduction, a veterinarian much in demand.

"Oh, Harry." Exasperated, Susan cracked Harry's knuckles with a spoon.

"You asked how he was, not how we're doing."

"Don't get technical."

"All right. All right. We were keeping to our Wednesday-night dates until now. We're having fun." She shrugged. "I don't know if lightning can strike twice."

"Me either."

"I get so sick of people trying to get us back together. We've been divorced for four years. The first year was h.e.l.l-"

Susan interrupted. "I remember."

"I don't know if time heals all wounds or if you just get smarter about yourself. Get more realistic about your expectations of other people and yourself."

"G.o.d, Harry, that sounds like the beginnings of maturity." Susan faked a gasp.

"Scary, isn't it?" She stood up. "Want more of your hot chocolate?"

"Yeah, let's finish off the lot." Susan stood up.

"Sit down."

"No, let me bring the cup to you. Easier to pour over the sink."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Harry picked up the pan and carefully poured hot chocolate into Susan's cup and then refilled her own. "The weatherman says it's going to warm up to fifty degrees tomorrow."

"You wouldn't know it now. I don't mind snow but ice plucks my last nerve. Especially with the kids out driving in it. I know they have good reflexes but I also know they haven't experienced as much as we have and I wonder what they'll do in that first spinout. What if another car is coming in the opposite lane?"

"Susan, they'll learn and you can't protect them anyway."

"Yeah. Still."

"Aren't you amazed that Miranda has kept to her diet in the dead of winter?"

"Still baking things for the store and her friends. I never realized she had such discipline."

"Shows what love will do."

Miranda had lost her husband over ten years ago. By all accounts it was a happy marriage and when George Hogendobber pa.s.sed away, Miranda consoled herself with food. Ten years of consoling takes a long time to remove. The incentive was the return of her high-school boyfriend, now a widower, for their high-school reunion. Sparks flew, and as Miranda described it, they were "keeping company."

"The football team."

"What?" Harry, accustomed to abrupt shifts in subject from her old friend-indeed she was often guilty of them herself-couldn't follow this one.

"I bet that's why Sam Mahanes is mad at Bruce Buxton. Because Bruce operates on all the football players, and didn't he just get a big write-up in the paper for his work on the safety? You know that kid that everyone thinks will make All-American next year if his knee comes back. And Isabelle Otey, the girls' basketball star. He gets all the stars. Jealousy?"

"Buxton's always gotten good press. Deserved, I guess. Being in Sam's position as director of the hospital I'd think he'd want Bruce to be celebrated, wouldn't you?" Harry asked.

"You've got a point there. Funny, every town, city, has closed little worlds where ego, jealousy, illicit love collide. Even the Crozet Preservation Society can be a tempestuous hotbed. Good G.o.d, all those old ladies and not one will forgive the other for some dreaded misdeed from 1952 or whenever."

"s.e.x, drugs and rock and roll." Mrs. Murphy climbed back up on the chair to join the kitchen discussion.

"What, p.u.s.s.ycat?" Harry reached over, stroking the sleek head.

"People get mad at other people over juicy stuff."

"Money. You forgot money." Tucker tidied up the floor, picking up her Milk-Bone debris.

"A little bit around here wouldn't hurt," Pewter, ever conscious of her need for luxury, suggested.

"Well?" Mrs. Murphy pulled forward one side of her whiskers.

"Well what?" The rotund gray kitty leapt onto the remaining free kitchen chair.

"You want money. Get your fat b.u.t.t out there and earn some."

"Very funny."

"You could do shakedowns. People do it. Ask a small fee for not tearing up gardens, not leaving partially digested mice on the front steps, and not raiding the refrigerator."

Before unflattering words could be spoken, Harry leaned over, face-to-face with the cats. "I can't hear myself think."

"They certainly have many opinions," Susan said. "Not unlike their mother."

"M-m-m." Harry glanced out the window. "d.a.m.n."

Susan turned to observe.

"More snow," Tucker lamented. Being low to the ground, she had to plow through snow. It was the only time she admitted to admiring larger canines.

3.

"Spike!" Isabelle Otey shouted from the sidelines as Harry, on the opposing team, rose up in the air, fist punching into the volleyball. Although Isabelle's main sport was basketball, she loved most team sports and she enjoyed knowing the "townies," as residents of the county were called by UVA students. Languishing on the sidelines, she supported her team vocally.

Isabelle's team, knowing of Harry's skill, crouched in preparation but not only was Harry strong, she was smart. She spiked the ball where they weren't.

"Game," the ref called as the score reached 21 to 18.

"Rocket arm." Cynthia Cooper slapped Harry on the back.

Isabelle, her crutches leaning against the bleachers, called out to Harry, "Too good, Mary Minor. You're too good."

Throwing a towel around her neck, Harry joined the coach of the opposing team. Coop, a deputy on the county's police force, joined them.

"Isabelle, they need you. Basketball team, too." Cynthia sat next to her.

"Four more weeks. You know it isn't really painful, the swelling went down fast but I don't want to go through this again so I'm doing what Dr. Buxton told me. What scares me more than anything is going out to the car, walking across the ice with crutches."

"Calling for rain tomorrow." Harry wiped her face with the white towel. "The good thing is it will melt some of the snow. Bad thing, won't melt all of it and at night everything will be more ice."

"Keeps me busy." Cynthia grinned. "I have to earn my salary somehow. You know, most people are pretty reasonable about fender benders. A few lose it."

"You must see a lot of stuff." Isabelle couldn't imagine being a law-enforcement officer. She envisioned a career as a pro basketball player.

"Mostly car wrecks, drunks, a few thefts and"-she smiled devilishly-"the occasional murder."

"I wonder if I could kill anyone."

"Isabelle, you'd be amazed at what you could do if your life depended on it," Cynthia said, running her fingers through her blonde hair.

"Sure. Self-defense, but I read about these serial killers in the paper or people who just go to a convenience store with a shotgun and blow everyone to bits."

"I have a few uncharitable thoughts in the post office from time to time," Harry giggled.

"Oh, Harry, you couldn't kill anyone-unless it was self-defense, of course," Isabelle said.

"It's not a subject I've thought much about. What about you, Coop? You're the professional."

"Most murders have a motive. Jealousy, inheritance money. The usual stuff. But every now and then one will come along that makes you believe some people are born evil. From my point of view our whole system allows them to get away with it."

"Are we going to have the discussion about suspending civil rights?" Harry asked Coop.

"No, we are not because I'm going to hit the showers. I've got a date tonight."

Both Harry and Isabelle perked right up. "With who?"

"Whom," Harry corrected Isabelle.

"With Harry's ex."

"For real?" Isabelle leaned forward.

"Take him. He's yours." Harry nonchalantly waved her right hand.

"Oh, don't be such a harda.s.s. He loves you and you know it." Coop laughed at Harry; then her voice became animated. "That's it. Confess. You could have killed BoomBoom Craycroft when they had their affair."

"Ah, yes," Harry dryly replied. "The affair that ended my marriage. Actually, that's probably not true. Marriages end in a variety of ways. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Could I have killed BoomBoom? No. She was no better than she should be. I could have killed him."

"So-why didn't you?" Isabelle, having not yet fallen in love, wanted to know.

"I don't know."

"Because you aren't a killer," Coop answered for Harry. "Everyone in this world has had times when they were provoked enough to kill but ninety-nine percent of us don't. I swear there are people who are genetically inclined to violence and murder, and I don't give a d.a.m.n how unpopular that opinion is."

"Why are we sitting here discussing my former marriage?"

"Because I'm going on rounds with Fair tonight."

Fair Haristeen had invited Cynthia Cooper to accompany him when she expressed an interest in his work.

"I didn't know you were interested in horses." Isabelle stood up as Harry handed her her crutches.

"I like them but what I'm really interested in is seeing some of the farms from the back side. Meeting the barn workers. There might be a time when I need their help. And I'm curious about the technology."

"A lot of the stuff that's eventually used on humans is used in veterinary care first."

"Like the operation on my knee." Isabelle swung her leg over the bottom bleacher, stepping onto the wooden floor. "I wonder how many dogs, cats, and horses tore their anterior cruciate ligaments before I did." She paused a moment. "Har, I'm sorry if I put you on the spot about when your marriage broke up."

"Here, let me carry your purse." Harry picked up the alarmingly large satchel, throwing it over her shoulder. "Everyone in Crozet knows everything about everybody-or thinks they do. He fooled around and I got sick of it. And being married to a vet is like being married to a doctor. You can't plan on anything, really. Emergencies interrupt everything and sometimes days would go by and we'd hardly see one another. And I married too young."

They both watched with lurid fascination as BoomBoom Craycroft pushed open the gym doors. "Speak of the devil."

"Hi, girls." The buxom, quite good-looking woman waved to them.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, since BoomBoom had skipped gym in high school. Her only physical outlet, apart from the obvious, was golf.

"I saw everyone's cars parked outside and thought I might be missing something."

"You did. We beat the pants off them and then discussed whether we were capable of murder," Harry deadpanned.

"Ah. Well, the other reason I stopped by was that I saw Sheriff Shaw at Market Shiflett's store. Coop, he knows you have plans but will you work tonight? Bobby Yount came down with the flu and he thinks it's going to be one of those nights. He asked for you to call him in his car."

"d.a.m.n. Oh well. Thanks, Boom." Cynthia turned to Harry and Isabelle. "There goes my date with Fair." She knew this would tweak BoomBoom's raging curiosity.

Eyes widening, BoomBoom edged closer to Coop, hoping to un.o.btrusively pull her away from the other two women, to get the scoop on what sounded like a romance or at least a real date.

Harry took care of that by saying, "Gee, Boom, maybe you ought to fill in."

"You can be hateful. Really hateful." BoomBoom turned on her heel, the heel of an expensive snow boot bought in Aspen, and stormed off.

Isabelle's jaw dropped at the adults' antics.