"At least you have a mess, a past."

"Coop?"

"All I meet are deadbeat dads, drunks, drug addicts, and the occasional armed burglar. The armed-robbery guys are actually pretty bright. You might even say s.e.xy." The pretty officer smiled.

"Really?" Harry pushed out the last of the lo mein with her chopsticks. "If you want more of this you'd better holler."

"I'll finish off the chicken."

"Deal. So the armed robbers are s.e.xy?"

"Yes. They're usually very masculine, intelligent, risk takers. Unfortunately they don't believe in any form of restraint, hence their profession."

"What about murderers?"

"Funny you ask that. Murderers are usually quite ordinary. Well, set aside the occasional whacked-out serial killer. But the guy who blasts his girlfriend's new lover into kingdom come, ordinary."

"No electricity?"

"No."

"Maybe murder is closer to us than we think. We're all capable of it, but we aren't all capable of armed robbery. Does that make sense?"

"Yes. Given the right set of circ.u.mstances or the wrong set, I believe most of us are capable of just about anything."

"Probably true."

"Drop one last little piece of chicken," Pewter meowed.

"Pewter, I don't have anything else unless you want fried noodles."

"I'll try them."

Harry laughed and put down a handful of the noodles, which the cat devoured in an instant because Tucker was moving in her direction.

"Your claws click. That always gives you away." Pewter laughed.

"There are more important things in this life than retractable claws."

"Name one," Pewter challenged the dog, although she sounded garbled since her mouth was full.

"The ability to scent a dead body three feet underground."

"Gross!" Pewter grimaced.

"She's trying to get a rise out of you." Mrs. Murphy watched as Simon re-entered the barn. "Simon's heading for the tack room. I guess he walked around the barn and decided no bears were near. He's a funny fellow."

"I'd like to know what good possums contribute to the world." Pewter licked her lips with her shockingly pink tongue.

"Think what possums say about cats," Tucker needled the gray cat.

"I catch mice. I dispatch vermin."

"Not lately," came the dry canine reply, which so enraged the fat cat she bopped the corgi right on her sensitive nose.

"Pewter. Hateful." Harry noticed.

"I'm leaving." Pewter turned, sashaying into the living room with the hauteur of a disgruntled cat.

"I think cats and dogs are more expressive than we are." Cynthia laughed as Pewter exaggerated her walk for effect. "They can use their ears, turn them back and forth and out, they can wiggle their whiskers and their tail, they can make the hackles rise on their neck and back. They have lots of facial expressions."

"Pewter's major expression is boredom." Tucker giggled.

"Don't start with me."

"Start? She hasn't stopped," Murphy called from the window.

"Lots of talk. Lots of talk." Harry pointed her finger at each animal in succession, then returned to Coop. "I agree. They are more expressive."

"I'm beat."

"Go in the living room. I'll bring you a cup of coffee and dessert. What is it, by the way?"

"Phish Food. I put it in the freezer."

"Ben and Jerry's. Coop, the best." Harry raced for the freezer, retrieved the pint of ice cream, pulled two bowls out of the cupboard. "The ice cream can soften while I make coffee. I've got Colombian, hazelnut, chicory, and regular. Oh, I've got decaf, too."

"Colombian." Cynthia sat on the sofa, bent over, and removed her shoes. "Oh, that feels too good. Foot ma.s.sage. We need someone in Crozet who can give a good foot ma.s.sage."

"Body ma.s.sage. It's been years since I had a ma.s.sage. Oh, they feel so good. I get such knots in my back." She waited for the coffee to run through the coffeemaker, filling the kitchen with rich aroma.

Cynthia got up to retrieve her briefcase, which she had put down by the kitchen door. She reached the sofa and lay down. She couldn't resist. When Harry brought in the coffee and a bowl of ice cream she sat up.

"Work?"

"Yeah. I need just enough energy to go over these bills from the hospital."

"I'll help you."

"It's supposed to be confidential."

"I won't tell anyone. Cross my heart and hope to-"

"Don't finish that," Mrs. Murphy hollered as she jumped off the kitchen counter. "Enough has happened around here."

"Murphy?" Harry wondered if something was wrong with her cat, who hurried over, leaping into her lap.

"Okay, here are the procedure billings, you know, cost of a tonsillectomy. I'll go over the equipment bills."

"What am I looking for?"

"I don't know. Anything that seems off."

Harry's eyes fell onto a bill for a gallbladder operation. "Jeez, two thousand dollars for the surgeon, a thousand for the anesthesiologist, two hundred a day for a semi-private room. Wow, look at these medication prices. This is outrageous!"

"And this is a nation that doesn't want comprehensive health care. It will kill you-getting sick."

"Sure will at Crozet Hospital." Harry smiled weakly. "Sorry."

Coop flipped her fingers, a dismissive gesture. "You develop gallows humor after a while. Otherwise you lose it."

"Here's a bill for breast removal. When you break down these bills it's like an avalanche. I mean every single physician bills separately. The rent on your room is separate. I can imagine you'd think you'd seen the last bill and here comes another one."

They worked in silence for about an hour, occasionally commenting on the cost of this or the fact that they didn't know so-and-so's sister had a pin put in her leg.

"Hank Brevard kept meticulous records," Harry noted.

"He wrote them out by hand and then I think someone else entered them on the computer. Hank wasn't that computer literate." Coop paused. "Boy, am I dumb. I'd better find out who did that for him."

Harry frowned. "I guess so. After a while everything and everyone seems suspicious. It's weird."

"Salvage Masters."

"Oh, that's a good one. The Dumpster people?"

"No, a company that rehabilitates infusion pumps. You know, the units next to a patient's bed that drip saline solution or morphine or whatever." She studied the bill. "Middleburg postmark. I think I'll drive up there Sat.u.r.day if Rick says okay."

"He will."

"Want to go with me?"

"Yeah. I'd love to go."

35.

"Mug shot." Mrs. Murphy scrutinized the lost-dog photo taped on the wall by the postboxes.

"Ever notice you hardly ever see photographs of lost cats? We don't get lost." Pewter ran her tongue over her lips.

"Ha. It means people don't care as much about their cats," Tucker said, malice intended.

"Bull!" Pewter snarled and was about to attack the st.u.r.dy canine when the first human of the day entered the post office.

Reverend Herb Jones picked up the church's mail, then strode over to the sign. "Now that's a new one."

"What?" Harry called out from behind the divider.

She was dumping out a mail sack, letters cascading over the table, onto the floor.

"Bristol. I thought I knew every dog in this district. Who owns Bristol?" Herb frowned.

"You know, I don't know. The notice was slipped under the front door. I put it up. I don't recognize the pooch either except that he's awfully cute."

"Yeah. Hope he's found," Herb agreed.

"Where's Miranda?"

"Home. She said she'd be a little late this morning."

"Well, I'd better get a move on. The vestry committee meets this morning and I have to deliver the blow that we must replumb the rectory."

"That will cost a pretty penny."

"Yes, it will." He leaned over the counter for a second. "If money is your objective, Harry, become a plumber."

"I'll remember that."

He waved as he left.

A few minutes later BoomBoom Craycroft, tanned, came in. "I'm back!"

"So I see."

"She really is beautiful," Tucker had to admit.

"A week in Florida in the winter restores my spirits." She stopped. "Except I've come home to such-such sadness."

"No one quite believes it." Harry continued to sort through catalogues.

BoomBoom glanced at the lost-dog notice, said nothing, cleaned out her mailbox, then went over to the counter. "More."

Harry walked over, taking the yellow slip indicating there was more mail than the mailbox could hold. She put the overflow in a white plastic box with handles. She retrieved it, heaving it over the counter.

"Here you go."

"Thanks." BoomBoom picked up the box.

Harry flipped up the divider, trotting to the front door, which she opened. "It's slippery."

"Sometimes I think winter will never end. Thanks."

Harry closed the front door as Miranda entered through the back.