Cat on the Scent

            Miranda bustled out, surrounded by her church friends. They sang in the choir at the Church of the Holy Light. “See you tomorrow, Harry.”

            “Bright and early.” Harry smiled.

            Fair caught up to her and leaned down. “Do you think someone has paid Archie off to be so obstructionist? It doesn’t make sense. He’s so touchy.”

            “He’s opposed to anything that will allow more people to move into the area. A reservoir would do that. At least, I think that’s what’s going on. He’s saying one thing but doing another.”

            Fair smiled at his ex-wife’s shrewd observation, but wondered what had happened to Archie Ingram, never the most likeable man but always a principled one.

            BoomBoom, her back to Harry, was talking to Blair about his Porsche.

            Sir H. Vane-Tempest and Sarah hurried by, glancing over their shoulders. Archie was in slow pursuit. They escaped out the front door as Ridley Kent bagged Archie, demanding to know when the next meeting would be.

            “I don’t know.” Archie shoved him aside.

            Don Jackson, together with Jim Sanburne, caught up with Archie. “Jesus, Arch, what’s the matter with you?”

            “Nothing. These studies will take forever. I’ll be an old man before we come to any conclusion, and the state will do whatever they want, which would be the rape of Albemarle County, her natural resources, her extraordinary beauty, and her historical value.”

            “Can’t be that bad.” Jim frowned, worried for Arch, who had a promising political future if he could learn to control his temper.

            “It will take forever. Christ, some of us will be pushing up daisies.” Then he stormed out the door.

            “He’s scared,” Mrs. Murphy said to her friends. They could smell the fear, too.

            5

            Harry shot mail into the brass mailboxes as Mrs. Murphy sat on the ledge underneath the top section of boxes. The bottom section contained the big boxes, big enough for Murphy to sit in. Harry hummed to herself as Miranda played with the computer at the right side of the open counter.

            As much as Miranda hated computers, the tiny post office had finally received one and Miranda had applied herself to the instructions that came with it. Being a bright woman, she had figured the machine out but she didn’t like it. The green letters on the screen, a touch fuzzy, hurt her eyes.

            Also, every time the power fritzed out, which happened often in the country, down went the computer. She could figure much faster with her trusty scale. No matter what the computer said she still double-checked with the scale.

            Both women, early risers, came to work at seven. Usually, by the time residents opened the front door of the post office much of the mail was sorted—except during holidays. In late spring a few love letters filtered in, a few postcards from those taking early vacations, and the bills never stopped. Harry’s secret ambition was to burn everyone’s bills, announce she’d done it, and see what happened. The night of April 15, when lines curled across the railroad tracks as people hastened to dump their IRS forms in the mail, her ambition flamed beyond disposing of bills—she wanted to tear down every IRS building in America. She figured every other postal worker felt the same.

            Low clouds and a light drizzle didn’t dampen her mood. The warmth of spring brought out the best in Harry.

            A squawk from the computer elicited “I know I did it right, why is it talking to me?” from Miranda.

            “Zero out and try it again.”

            “I don’t feel like it.” Miranda, chin up, strode away from the offending machine.

            A knock on the back door awakened Tee Tucker. Before she could bark, Susan Tucker, her breeder, jumped inside. She held her umbrella out the door, shook it vigorously, then closed the door, propping the umbrella to the right of it.

            “Gloomy day, girls.”

            “Good for my irises,” Mrs. Hogendobber, a passionate gardener, replied.

            “Miranda, did you make orange buns again?” Susan sniffed the beguiling scent.

            “Indeed, I did, you help yourself.”

            Susan gobbled one before Miranda finished her sentence.

            “Pig.” Harry laughed at her best friend.

            “It’s true.” Susan sighed as she licked her lips. “I might as well live up to my billing.” She ate another one.

            “She’ll ask for a rowing machine next Christmas,” Mrs. Murphy remarked.

            “Won’t use it. No one ever uses those things,” Tucker said.

            “BoomBoom uses hers.” Pewter opened one eye. She’d been snoozing on the chair at the small table in the rear.

            “She would.” Mrs. Murphy stuck her paw in an open mailbox. “Don’t you love the way the clear window on bills crinkles when you touch it?”

            “Bite it.” Pewter egged her on.

            “Better not. Mom’s still mad at you for your shameless display at the meeting last night.” Tucker, ever obedient, chided her.

            “Hee-hee.” Mrs. Murphy’s whiskers twitched forward.