"Where do you get these expressions?" He smiled at her. "I'm a Virginia boy and I haven't heard some of them."

"I get around." She winked.

"When are the Cramers coming?"

"This Sat.u.r.day."

"I'll try to get there for part of it, anyway."

"Roger."

"Let's cruise." He put the car in gear. "Maybe if we're lucky we'll catch this perp before there's more harm done."

What neither of them knew was that they were already too late.

42.

"Ran down over everything, part of my ceiling fell in." Randy Sands, bone white, coughed, composed himself, and continued, "so I banged on the door and shouted and then I opened the door. I guess that's when I knew something was-was not right." He coughed again.

Rick sympathetically put his arm around Randy's thin shoulders. "Quite a shock, Randy."

"Well, I yelled for her but she didn't answer so I went straight to the bathroom." His lower lip trembled. "The rest you know."

In the background the rescue squad removed the body of Tussie Logan. The fingerprint team had come and gone.

Coop figured from the body that Tussie had been in the tub perhaps four or five hours. Whoever shot her had come up behind her and shot down through the heart, one shot.

"Randy, how long have you owned this house?" Rick asked as Coop joined him.

"Since Momma died." Randy thought this information was sufficient.

"When was that?"

"Nineteen ninety-two." He fidgeted when the body was rolled out on the gurney even though it was in a body bag. "She was a good-looking woman. I hated to see her like that."

"Yes." Rick guided him to the sofa. "Sit down, Randy. Your first impressions are valuable to us and I know you're shaken but I have to ask questions."

Shaken though he was, it wasn't often that Randy Sands was the center of attention. He sat on the wicker sofa, brightly colored cushions behind him. Rick sat in a chair opposite the sofa. Coop quietly examined each room in the airy upstairs apartment.

"Did Tussie lock her doors?"

The clapboard house with the wraparound porch built in 1904 was halfway between Charlottesville and Crozet, situated back off Garth Road. The location was convenient to the hospital yet afforded privacy and a touch of the country. Randy couldn't always keep up with the forty-two acres. Tussie enjoyed mowing the lawn on the riding mower, edging the flower beds, and hanging plants on the porch.

"Where were you today?"

"At work. I came home around five-thirty. Finished a little early today. That's when I found Tussie."

"Where do you work, Randy?"

"Chromatech. Off the downtown mall. My bosses Lucia and Chuck Morse can verify my hours." A slightly belligerent tone infected his voice.

"I'm sure they can. Now do you have any idea who would kill Tussie?"

"No." He shook his head.

"Drugs?"

"No. Never."

"Drinking?"

"No. Well, socially but I never saw her drunk. I can't imagine who would do this."

"Is anything obvious missing? Jewelry? Money? Paintings?"

"I didn't check her jewelry box. I stayed right here in the living room. I-" He didn't want to say he was afraid to walk from room to room.

"Boss." Cynthia Cooper called from the gla.s.sed-in back porch, which had been a sleeping loft in the old days.

"Excuse me, Randy. You wait here." Rick walked down the hallway to the back.

The porch overlooked the meadows, the mountains beyond. Filled with light, it was a wonderful place to work. A bookshelf rested against the back wall. Her desk, a door over two file cabinets, was in the middle of the narrow room, coldish except for a s.p.a.ce heater on the floor.

"Here." Coop pointed to a very expensive computer and laser printer.

"Huh. Must have cost close to six thousand dollars."

"This computer and printer can do anything. The quality is very high."

"Invoices?" Rick wanted another cigarette but stopped himself from reaching for the pack in his inside coat pocket. "Maybe."

"Is everything all right?" Randy's querulous voice wafted back to them.

"Yes, fine," Rick called back. "Coop, can you get into the computer?"

"Yes, I think so."

"I'll keep Randy busy. Maybe I'll walk him outside. He can show me if there's a back way in." Rick winked and returned to the slender man in the corduroy pants.

Coop sat down, flicked on the computer. Tussie had lots of e-mail. She had been plugged into a nurses' chat room. She'd taped a list of pa.s.swords on the side of her computer, a defense against forgetfulness perhaps. Coop went through the pa.s.swords finally hitting pay dirt with "Nightingale." Coop perused the messages. She then pulled up the graphics package, which was extensive.

"I could sit here all day and play with this," Coop said to herself, wishing she could afford the same system.

Tussie had a code. Coop couldn't crack it.

After checking out what she could, she shut off the computer and walked to the bedroom. With gloved hands she lifted the lid on the leather jewelry box. Earrings, bracelets, and necklaces were thrown in together. She opened the top drawer of the dresser. Silk underwear was jumbled. A green savings bankbook rested under the eggplant-colored underwear.

She pulled it out, flipped the white pages to the last balance. "Wow." She whistled.

Tussie's savings account balance as of February 25 was $139,990.36.

"I'm beginning to get the picture," Coop said to herself.

Once she and Rick were together in the squad car she informed him of her finds. They wondered where and how Hank Brevard had hidden his profits. To date they'd found nothing in that department.

Rick picked up the phone, calling in to headquarters. He ordered the department computer whiz to see if he could crack Tussie's code.

"Screwy, isn't it?" Coop wiggled down in her seat, hunching her shoulders. "What's the plan, boss?"

"First we'll go to Sam Mahanes, which means he'll call for his lawyers."

"Right. Then he'll express grief."

"Then we'll go to Bruce Buxton."

"More shock and dismay but in a different way."

"We'll go to her Pediatric unit. And then you and I are going to walk through this hospital one more time. As many times as it takes over the next few days, weeks, or whatever. We know there are false billings. We know those infusion pumps have to be cleaned and rehabbed. They have to be in that hospital somewhere. d.a.m.n, it's right under our noses!"

Coop, having heard that before, sat up straight and said nothing. She was wondering why a woman like Tussie Logan got involved in the scam in the first place. Tussie seemed like a nice enough person. She knew right from wrong. She knew what she was doing was wrong-even before the murders. Maybe Tussie was one of the murderers. How does a woman like that get into something like this? She knew what Tussie Logan had done was wrong and she knew Tussie knew it was wrong.

Coop expected more of women than men. It surprised her. She'd never thought of herself as a s.e.xist but her response to Tussie's criminal behavior gave her a gleam of insight into her own self. She wasn't sure she liked it.

43.

The Church of the Holy Light, in order to raise money for Herb's G.o.d's Love group, was holding a bake sale at the small old train station. Given that the ladies of the church had earned fame for their skills, the place was mobbed.

Miranda Hogendobber baked orange-glazed cinnamon buns as well as luscious breads.

Harry held down the fort at the post office. She and Miranda spelled one another. Sometimes it was nice to scoot out of work early or take a long lunch.

Everyone noticed when the Rescue Squad ambulance pulled out of the brick garage and they also noticed when it drove by, heading out of town.

Big Mim, as Crozet's leading citizen, felt she should be informed of every single event the moment it occurred. She flipped out her tiny cell phone, dialing the sheriff's office.

"Mother." Little Mim thought her mother could have at least walked outside to call, but then again it was cold.

"Don't tell me what to do." She tapped her foot, clad in exquisite crocodile loafers. "Ah, h.e.l.lo. Is the sheriff in? Well, have him call me then, Natalie." She dropped her voice as she worked over the daytime dispatcher. "You don't know who just rolled by in the ambulance, do you? Well, have him call me on my cell phone. Thanks. Bye." She pressed the Off b.u.t.ton, folded her phone, slipping it in her purse.

"People do have heart attacks without consulting you." The daughter smiled sweetly as she drove home a light barb.

"They shouldn't. They shouldn't do anything without consulting me." Mim smiled sweetly right back. "I suppose I ought to buy some brownies."

"The orange cinnamons are all gone."

"Really, Miranda should open her own bakery. She's got a gift." Mim noticed the squad car with Rick and Coop stopping at the post office. "Here." She handed her daughter fifty dollars. "I'm going across the street."

"Without me?"

"Oh, Marilyn. Just buy the stuff and join me." Mim was out the door before she finished her sentence.

Rick and Cooper set foot in the post office but before they could open their mouths, Mim charged in. "Did Natalie call you?"

"About one minute ago." He exhaled from his nostrils. "I was going to call you as soon as I finished here."

Big Mim's eyebrows raised up. What could be so important that Harry had to be consulted first?

"Bad news." Pewter trotted over from the small table in the rear.

"Why don't you all come back here?" Harry flipped up the divider as Mrs. Murphy stretched herself on the narrow shelf behind the postboxes. Tucker, awake, watched.

Rick realized he was going to have to tell Mim something, so he thought he'd get that over with first. "Randy Sands found Tussie Logan in her bathtub shot to death."

"What?" Mim clapped her hands together, a gesture of surprise.

"How did he know?" Harry asked the pointed question.

"The water was running and it came through his ceiling below. He came home from work, noticed it, and ran upstairs. He's in a bad way. I called Reverend Jones to go on out there."

"Shot." Mim sat down hard in one of the wooden chairs at the table.

"Well, that's no surprise to us," Mrs. Murphy said.

"Being in on it and being dead are two different things," Tucker sagely noted.

"Ugh." Pewter hated the thought of dead big bodies. She didn't mind mice, mole, or bird bodies but anything larger than that turned her stomach.

"Good Lord. I wonder if it was Tussie who called me?" Mim was incredulous.

"Her death ought to tell you that." Murphy paced on the narrow ledge.

"If they knew what we knew, it would." Tucker had more patience with human frailty than the cat.

"How long had she been dead?" Harry was figuring in her mind whether the killer crept up by night or by day.

Rick added, "It's hard to tell. Tom Yancy will know."