"That's my job." Rick coasted to a stop at Sam Mahanes' large, impressive home in Ednam Forest, a well-to-do subdivision off Route 250. "Bobby, come on in with me."

The two men walked to the red door, a graceful bra.s.s knocker in the middle. Rick knocked, then heard kids yelling, laughing in the background.

"I'll get it," a young voice declared, running feet heading toward the door.

"My turn," another voice, feet also running, called out.

The door swung open and two boys, aged six and eight, looked up in awe at the sheriff.

"Mommy!" The youngest scurried away.

"Hi. I'm Sheriff Shaw and we're here to see Daddy. Is he home?"

"Yes, sir." The eight-year-old opened the door wider.

Sally Mahanes, a well-groomed, very attractive woman in her middle thirties, appeared. "Kyle, honey, close the door. h.e.l.lo, Sheriff. Hi, Bobby. What can I do for you?"

Kyle stood alongside his mother as his younger brother, Dennis, flattened himself along the door into the library.

"I'd like to see Sam."

"He's down in his shop. The Taj Mahal, I call it. Sam owns every gadget known to man. He's now building me a purple martin house and-" She smiled. "You don't need to know all that, do you?" She crossed over to the center stairwell, walked behind it, opened a door, and called, "Sam." Music blared up the stairs. "Kyle, go on down and get Daddy, will you?" She turned to Rick and Bobby. "Come on in the living room. Can I get you a drink or a bite to eat?"

"No, thanks." Rick liked Sally. Everyone did.

"No, thank you." Bobby sat on the edge of a mint-colored wing chair.

Sam, twenty years older than his wife, but in good shape and good-looking, entered the living room, his oldest son walking a step behind him. "Sheriff. Bobby?" He tilted his head a moment. "Bobby, is everything all right?"

"Uh-no."

"Boys, come upstairs." The boys reluctantly followed their mother's lead, Dennis looking over his shoulder. "Dennis. Come on."

Once Rick thought the children were out of earshot he quietly said, "Hank Brevard has been murdered in the boiler room of the hospital. Bobby found him."

Thunderstruck, Sam shouted, "What?"

"Right after sunset, I'd guess."

"How do you know he was murdered?" Sam was having difficulty taking this all in.

"His throat was cut clean from ear to ear," Rick calmly informed him.

Sam glanced to Bobby. "Bobby?"

Bobby turned his palms up, cleared his voice. "I came down the service elevator from the fourth floor. I checked the hot line for messages. None. So I thought I'd check the pressure of the boiler. Supposed to be cold tonight. I walked in and Hank was flat on his back, eyes staring up, and it's kind of strange but at first I didn't notice his wound. I noticed the blood on the wall. I thought maybe he threw a can of paint. You know, he had a temper. And then I guess I realized how bad it was and I knelt down. Then I saw his throat. I took his pulse. Nothing. I called the sheriff-"

Rick interrupted. "Sam, I ordered him not to call anyone else, not even you. I was there in five minutes. Coop took seven. He would have called you."

"I quite understand. Bobby, I'm very sorry this has happened to you. We'll get you some counseling."

"Thank you."

"Sam, running a hospital is a high-pressure job. I know you have many things on your mind, lots of staff, future building plans, but you did know Hank pretty well, didn't you?"

"Oh sure. He was there when I took over from Quincy Lowther. He was a good plant manager. Set in his ways but good."

"Did you like him?"

"Yes." Sam's face softened. "Once you got to know Hank, he was okay." A furrow crossed his brow, he leaned forward. "Have you told Lisa?"

"I have an officer over there right now."

"Unless you need to question her, Sally and I will go over."

"Pete will ask the basics if she's capable. I'll see her tomorrow. I'm sure she would be grateful for your comfort." Rick never grew accustomed to the grief of those left behind. "Do you have any idea who would kill Hank or why? Did he have a gambling problem? Was he having an affair? I know it's human nature to protect friends and staff but anything you know might lead me to his killer. If you hold back, Sam, the trail gets cold."

Sam folded his hands together. "Rick, I can't think of a thing. Bobby told you he had a hot temper but it flared up and then was over. We all shrugged it off. Unless he had a secret life, I really can't think of anyone or anything."

Rick reached in his shirt pocket. "Here. If you think of anything, tell me. Coop, too. If I'm not around, she'll handle it."

"I will." Sam shifted his gaze to Bobby. "Why don't you take off a few days-with pay. And"-he rose-"let me get those counselors' names for you."

"Sam, you get on over to Lisa. I'll give him some names." Rick stood up, as did Bobby.

"Right." Sam showed them to the door.

Rick drove Bobby home and as he pulled into the driveway of his rented apartment he asked, "Who's in charge of night maintenance?"

"Me."

"Upstairs?"

"You mean, who stands in for Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Usually the a.s.sistant director, Jordan Ivanic."

Rick clicked on the overhead light, scribbled the name on his notepad, tore off the sheet. "Can't hurt."

"Thanks." Bobby opened the squad car door, stepped out, then bent down. "Do you ever get used to this?"

"No, not really."

On the way back to the hospital, Rick called Coop. She'd questioned Jordan Ivanic. Not much there except she said he had nearly pa.s.sed out. The body had been removed thirty minutes ago and was on its way to the morgue. The coroner was driving in to get to work immediately. She had ordered Ivanic to sit tight until Rick got there and she hadn't called the city desk at the newspaper, although she would as soon as Rick gave her the okay. If she helped the media, they would help her. It was an odd relationship, often tense, but she knew she'd better do a good job with the media tonight.

"Good work." Rick sighed over his car phone. "Coop, it's going to be a long night."

"This one's out of the blue."

"Yep."

7.

At ten o'clock Sat.u.r.day evening, Harry, already snuggled in bed, Mrs. Murphy on her pillow, Pewter next to her, and Tucker on the end of the bed, was reading Remembrance of Things Past. This was one of those books she'd promised herself to read back in college and she was finally making herself do it. Amazed at Proust's capacity for detail and even more amazed that readers of the day had endured it, she plowed through. Mostly she liked it, but she was only halfway through Volume I.

The phone rang.

"Has to be Susan or Fair," Pewter grumbled.

"h.e.l.lo." Harry picked up the receiver; the phone was on the nightstand by the bed.

"Har." Susan's voice was breathless. "Hank Brevard was found murdered at the hospital."

"Huh?" Harry sat up.

"Bobby Minifee found him in the boiler room, right after sunset. Throat slit. O-o-o." Susan shuddered.

Susan, one of Crozet's leading younger citizens, was on the hospital board. Sam Mahanes, responsible and quick, had called every member of the board, which also included Mim Sanburne and Larry Johnson.

"Oh, I wish I hadn't picked on him." Harry felt remorse. "Even if he was a crab."

"You know, Harry, a little expression of grief might be in order here."

"Oh, b.a.l.l.s, Susan. I did express grief-a little, your qualifier! Besides, I'm talking to you."

A light giggle floated over the line. "He was a downer. Still-to have your throat slit."

"A swift death, I a.s.sume."

The animals p.r.i.c.ked their ears.

Susan paused a second. "Do you think people die as they lived?"

"Uh, I don't know. No. No. I mean how can you die as you lived if someone sneaks up behind you and s-s-s-t."

"You don't have to produce sound effects."

"And how can you die as you lived if you're propped up in a hospital bed, tubes running everywhere. That's a slow slide down. I'd hate it. Well, I guess most people in that position hate it."

"Yeah, but I wonder sometimes. What I'm getting at is even if you're on that deathbed, let's say, you would approach death as you approached life. Some will face it head-on, others will deny it, others will put on a jolly face."

"Oh that. Yeah, then I suppose you do-I mean, you do die as you lived. Makes Hank's death even stranger. Someone grabs him and that's the end of it. Swift, brutal, effective. Three qualities I wouldn't a.s.sign to Hank."

"No, but we'd a.s.sign them to his killer."

Harry thought a long time. "I guess so. What's so weird is why anyone would want to kill Hank Brevard other than to stop hearing him talk about how our country is a cesspool of political corruption, Sam Mahanes works him too hard, and let's not forget Hank's theories on the Kennedy a.s.sa.s.sination."

"Fidel Castro," Susan filled in.

"I count that as part of the Kennedy a.s.sa.s.sination." Harry changed the subject slightly. "When do you have a board meeting? I'm a.s.suming you'll have an emergency one."

"Which Mim will take over as soon as Sam opens it."

"He'd d.a.m.n well better smile when she does it, too. She's one of the hospital's largest contributors. Anyway, imperious as Mim can be, she has good ideas. Which reminds me. I was going to call you tomorrow and tell you that Little Mim wants to run for mayor of Crozet."

"Tomorrow. You should have called me the minute you walked in the door," Susan chided her.

"Well, I kinda intended to but then I mopped the kitchen floor because it was a mud slide and then I trimmed Tucker's nails which she hates, the big baby."

"I do," Tucker replied.

"Has Marilyn lost her senses?"

"I don't know. She pressured me a little bit but not in a bad way. She said her father had done a pretty good job but she and he were falling on opposite sides of the fence over the development of Crozet, especially where industry is concerned, and you know, she did make a good point. She said it's time our generation got involved."

"We have been slugs," Susan agreed. "So what are you going to do? Between a rock and a hard place."

"I said I'd think about it. She'll ask you, too. We're all going to have to make choices and publicly, too."

"M-m-m, well, let me call Rev. Jones so he can get the Lutheran Church ladies in gear. Miranda will organize the Church of the Holy Light group. We'd better all get over to Lisa Brevard's tomorrow morning."

"Right. What time are you going?"

"Nine."

"Okay. I'll be there at nine, too. See you." Harry hung up the phone, informed her three animal friends of the bizarre event, then thought about the morning's task.

Sitting next to grief disturbed her. But when her mother and father had died within a year of each other, she had cherished those people who came to share that grief, brought covered dishes, helped. How selfish to deny yourself to another person in need because their sorrow makes you uncomfortable. People feel uncomfortable for different reasons. Men feel terrible because they can't fix it and men are raised to fix things. Women empathize and try to soothe the sufferer. Perhaps the categories don't break down that neatly along gender lines but Harry thought they did.

She reached over and set her alarm a half hour early, to five A.M.

Then she clicked off the light. "Who in the world would want to kill Hank Brevard?"

"Somebody very sure of himself," Mrs. Murphy sagely noted.

"Why do you say that?" Pewter asked.

"Because he or she knew his way around the bas.e.m.e.nt, probably he. He left the body. Humans who want to cover their tracks bury the body. At least, that's what I think. There's an element of arrogance in just leaving Hank crumpled there. And the killer either knew the schedule, the work routine, or he took the chance no one else would be in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"You're right," Tucker said.