Cat on the Scent

            Rick dropped his head a moment, then raised it. “Sir H. Vane-Tempest said the same thing.”

            “It is a good plan.”

            “Have you approached Archie Ingram? He opposes any idea of Vane-Tempest’s.” Rick didn’t know of Archie’s involvement, for Vane-Tempest, true to his word, had said nothing.

            “Archie’s a weathervane.” Blair sounded noncommittal. “He’s not the same man since his wife kicked him out.”

            “Wasn’t impressed with the original.” Rick sighed a long sigh. “I’m a paid public servant. I’m not supposed to harbor political opinions.”

            Blair shrugged. “Won’t go past me.”

            “Changing the subject, what are you going to do if the county rejects your concept? I suppose you have supporting figures?” Rick asked.

            “We do. Much of the seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars apiece we each put up to create Teotan went for a feasibility study. We used a firm out of Atlanta. Washington, New York, and Richmond were too close in the respect that too many people from Albemarle work in those cities or have strong ties there. What we are about to offer this county is economical and sound.”

            “What if they reject it?”

            “If we can get it on the ballot as a referendum, I think we’ll prevail despite the vested interests in a reservoir and dam. But, should we fail, we’ll sell the water as bottled water.”

            “You’ll have to tap-dance again on that one. Environmental studies and water purity.” He shook his head. “We’re so over-regulated. It’s lunacy. Generations of Virginians drank water right out of the ground. They had more common sense. They didn’t build on drained marshland or put their homes where runoff would leak into the well. People sit in front of computers and know nothing of the real world.”

            “We’re prepared for the bottled-water battle. We’ve retained Fernley, Stubbs, and Marshall in Richmond.”

            “Then you are prepared.” He tapped on the steering wheel. “One member of your company is dead. No suspects. One member was shot. Many suspects, including Mr. Ingram. Is there something about Teotan I ought to know?”

            “No.”

            Rick warned Blair, “If I were you, I’d look over my shoulder. I don’t think it’s coincidence but I still couldn’t say why, exactly.”

            “Unfortunately, I don’t know why either. If our plan works it means a steady flow of profits for as long as we live. If one partner dies, his share is equally divided among the survivors. On the surface of it that would be motivation for murder.”

            “Blair, have you seen this ticket before?” Rick reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a white locker ticket, Number 349.

            Blair examined the Greyhound locker ticket. “No.”

            “We found this in Tommy’s car.”

            “I assume you went to the locker?”

            “Yes. We found accounting books for cocaine deals.”

            “That’s too easy. I know Tommy Van Allen wouldn’t sell drugs. No way!”

            Rick paused. “Actually, Blair, I think you’re right but I have nothing else to go on.”

            “I don’t sell drugs. Tommy didn’t sell drugs. I don’t know what this is all about or why, but it’s not true.”

            “Is there something about Teotan I don’t know? That might have a bearing on this case? Blair, for God’s sake, a man has been killed and another wounded. Tell me.”

            Blair inhaled sharply. “Archie is a hidden partner.”

            “Arch doesn’t have that kind of money. You other boys put up big bucks.”

            “He put in work.” Blair left it at that.

            Rick whistled. “He’s using public office for private gain. And H. Vane-Tempest risks nothing. Archie risks everything.”

            “H. Vane risks the start-up money.”

            “That’s nothing to him and you know it.” Rick turned to face Blair. “This changes everything.”

            “I don’t know. I mean, yes, it compromises Archie politically but people’s attention span is two minutes. Look at all the crap politicians get away with, Rick.”

            “I’d say Archie Ingram has more motivation to kill than any of you. He’d be sitting atop a fountain of profits.”

            “It doesn’t seem possible.”

            “A lot of things don’t seem possible but they happen anyway. Blair, I’d be careful if I were you.”

            48

            Mrs. Murphy slept on the divider counter, her tail hanging down. Pewter, on her back on the small table, meowed in her sleep. Tucker snored under the big canvas mail cart.

            Harry felt like sleeping herself. A low-pressure system was moving in.

            The front door swung open as her head nodded. She blinked. Dr. Larry Johnson waved.

            “I’m ready for a nap, too, Harry. Where’s Miranda?”

            “Next door. She’s planning a menu for Market. He wants to sell complete meals. It’s a good idea.”

            “And Miranda will cook them?”

            “Part of them. She works hard enough as it is, and the garden comes first.”

            Larry eyed Murphy’s tail. “Tempting.”

            Harry stood on her tiptoes, leaning over the counter. “She’s proud of that tail.”

            Mrs. Hogendobber entered through the back door. “Hello,” she sang out.

            Mrs. Murphy opened one eye. “Keep your voices down.”

            Sarah and Sir H. Vane-Tempest came in with Herb right behind them.

            “Glad I ran into you,” Larry said. He walked back outside and returned, handing Vane-Tempest his Confederate tunic top. “Is this genuine homespun?”