Cat on the Scent

            “Miranda, your husband was the postmaster. It’s something else entirely.”

            “Oh?”

            “She graduated from Smith College in art history.” Herb hoped this would explain his point of view without further insulting the memory of Miranda’s husband.

            “I graduated from Mary Baldwin,” Tally said, “and I never worked a day in my life. Of course, we weren’t expected to then.”

            “You did work,” Miranda said.

            “Of course I worked. I worked harder than a stevedore but you know what I mean. For money. I think it’s better now.”

            “You do?” Herb pressed.

            “Yes. People ought to be able to pursue their talents.”

            “My point.” Herb beamed. “Harry is not pursuing her talents.”

            “But perhaps she is,” Tally said. “She enjoys life. She appreciates the clouds and the peonies and us. She has before her every day at the post office the peerless entertainment of the human comedy.”

            “I never thought of that.”

            “Of course not, Herbie, you’re thinking of your next sermon.” Tally flicked her cane out at him. “Now, what are we going to do about Little Mim and this Bainbridge fellow? She’ll perish if she doesn’t land him. I tell her she’s better off alone but I don’t think a young woman like Marilyn believes that.”

            “Nor do I.” Herb folded his hands behind his back.

            “Naturally. Men need women. Women don’t need men.” Tally sounded triumphant.

            “Fiddlesticks.” He restrained himself from saying bullshit.

            Harry headed down to join them. “Why is everyone suddenly shutting up?”

            “Because we were talking about you,” Tally replied.

            “Only good things.” Miranda smiled.

            “That’s a relief.”

            Mim trooped down to the lake a few moments after Harry’s arrival. “What are you all doing down here? I need you in the garden. You all are the social spark plugs of Crozet.”

            The small gathering looked at one another with resignation, then Miranda piped up. “And what are you doing here, Mim, dear?”

            “Came here to get away from all of them.”

            They laughed together, which lightened the unexpressed tension and worry.

            44

            The day started quietly enough. It had dawned crimson, then gold. Harry knocked out her chores quickly, then decided to walk to work, given the exceptional beauty of the morning.

            Pewter complained long and loud about Harry’s decision. Pewter hated being stranded without wheels.

            Harry hadn’t gone a half mile down the road before a low rumble captured her attention. Blair Bainbridge snaked around the corner, saw her, and braked. He opened the door from the inside.

            “Hop in.”

            “I’ve got the critters.”

            “We’ll squeeze in.”

            “I’ve been dying to ride in this car.” Murphy sat in Harry’s lap, forcing Tucker and Pewter onto the small backseat.

            Blair turned toward the farm.

            “I’ve got to go to work.”

            “You need the truck. Didn’t you listen to the radio this morning?”

            “No.”

            “Big storms are moving up from the south. Fast. You need the truck.”

            “When they come from the south they’re wet. How long before they arrive?”

            “The weatherman isn’t sure, of course. They always cover their butt. There’s a high off the coast that might hold it up for a bit.”

            “Oh, goody,” Murphy sarcastically said.

            “Not fair that you’re in the front.” Tucker stuck her nose between the seats.

            “Get over it.”

            “Selfish.” Pewter leaned on Tucker as they turned down the long dirt driveway.

            “Are you coming or going?” Harry asked.

            “Ever hear the one about the duke who died in the prostitute’s arms? The bobby asked what happened and she said, ”He was coming and going.“” Blair scratched his head. “Did I get that right?”

            “I don’t know, but you’re certainly in a good mood.”

            “I have four hundred horsepower at 5,750 rpm. Of course I’m in a good mood.” He pulled up next to Harry’s truck. “I’ll see you later.”

            “Come on, gang.”

            Pewter stubbornly waited to be lifted into the truck. “I told you to take the truck. Nobody listens to me.”

            “Pewter, stop bellyaching.” Tucker found an old rawhide chew wedged in the seat just under the unused middle seat belt. Harry turned the key; that old familiar cough-then-shake was followed by the motor turning over.

            “See that?” Pewter put her paws on the windshield.

            “What?”

            “The blue jay is sitting on the lamppost by the back door. Because he sees us pulling out.”

            “Could be because Mom throws out birdseed there for Simon and the birds.”

            Miranda was carrying a big tray into Market Shiflett’s just as Harry pulled into her parking space in back of the post office.

            “Let me help.”

            “There’s a second one on the kitchen table. You fetch that one.”

            Harry brought the light, flaky biscuits to Market’s.