"I have a few uncharitable thoughts in the post office from time to time," Harry giggled.
"Oh, Harry, you couldn't kill anyone-unless it was self-defense, of course," Isabelle said.
"It's not a subject I've thought much about. What about you, Coop? You're the professional."
"Most murders have a motive. Jealousy, inheritance money. The usual stuff. But every now and then one will come along that makes you believe some people are born evil. From my point of view our whole system allows them to get away with it."
"Are we going to have the discussion about suspending civil rights?" Harry asked Coop.
"No, we are not because I'm going to hit the showers. I've got a date tonight."
Both Harry and Isabelle perked right up. "With who?"
"Whom," Harry corrected Isabelle.
"With Harry's ex."
"For real?" Isabelle leaned forward.
"Take him. He's yours." Harry nonchalantly waved her right hand.
"Oh, don't be such a hardass. He loves you and you know it." Coop laughed at Harry; then her voice became animated. "That's it. Confess. You could have killed BoomBoom Craycroft when they had their affair."
"Ah, yes," Harry dryly replied. "The affair that ended my marriage. Actually, that's probably not true. Marriages end in a variety of ways. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Could I have killed BoomBoom? No. She was no better than she should be. I could have killed him."
"So-why didn't you?" Isabelle, having not yet fallen in love, wanted to know.
"I don't know."
"Because you aren't a killer," Coop answered for Harry. "Everyone in this world has had times when they were provoked enough to kill but ninety-nine percent of us don't. I swear there are people who are genetically inclined to violence and murder, and I don't give a damn how unpopular that opinion is."
"Why are we sitting here discussing my former marriage?"
"Because I'm going on rounds with Fair tonight."
Fair Haristeen had invited Cynthia Cooper to accompany him when she expressed an interest in his work.
"I didn't know you were interested in horses." Isabelle stood up as Harry handed her her crutches.
"I like them but what I'm really interested in is seeing some of the farms from the back side. Meeting the barn workers. There might be a time when I need their help. And I'm curious about the technology."
"A lot of the stuff that's eventually used on humans is used in veterinary care first."
"Like the operation on my knee." Isabelle swung her leg over the bottom bleacher, stepping onto the wooden floor. "I wonder how many dogs, cats, and horses tore their anterior cruciate ligaments before I did." She paused a moment. "Har, I'm sorry if I put you on the spot about when your marriage broke up."
"Here, let me carry your purse." Harry picked up the alarmingly large satchel, throwing it over her shoulder. "Everyone in Crozet knows everything about everybody-or thinks they do. He fooled around and I got sick of it. And being married to a vet is like being married to a doctor. You can't plan on anything, really. Emergencies interrupt everything and sometimes days would go by and we'd hardly see one another. And I married too young."
They both watched with lurid fascination as BoomBoom Craycroft pushed open the gym doors. "Speak of the devil."
"Hi, girls." The buxom, quite good-looking woman waved to them.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, since BoomBoom had skipped gym in high school. Her only physical outlet, apart from the obvious, was golf.
"I saw everyone's cars parked outside and thought I might be missing something."
"You did. We beat the pants off them and then discussed whether we were capable of murder," Harry deadpanned.
"Ah. Well, the other reason I stopped by was that I saw Sheriff Shaw at Market Shiflett's store. Coop, he knows you have plans but will you work tonight? Bobby Yount came down with the flu and he thinks it's going to be one of those nights. He asked for you to call him in his car."
"Damn. Oh well. Thanks, Boom." Cynthia turned to Harry and Isabelle. "There goes my date with Fair." She knew this would tweak BoomBoom's raging curiosity.
Eyes widening, BoomBoom edged closer to Coop, hoping to unobtrusively pull her away from the other two women, to get the scoop on what sounded like a romance or at least a real date.
Harry took care of that by saying, "Gee, Boom, maybe you ought to fill in."
"You can be hateful. Really hateful." BoomBoom turned on her heel, the heel of an expensive snow boot bought in Aspen, and stormed off.
Isabelle's jaw dropped at the adults' antics.
"Spike." Coop clapped Harry on the back.
4
In one of those weather shifts so common in the mountains, the next few days witnessed temperatures in the middle fifties. The sounds of running water, dripping water, and sloshing water filled everyone's ears as rivulets ran across state roads; thin streams crossed the low spots of meadows spilling into creeks; streams and rivers rose halfway to their banks, and were still rising.
The north faces of ravines held snow in their crevasses, lakes of pristine snow trackless since animals avoided the deep drifts. Ice, turquoise blue, was frozen in cascades over rocks on the north face of outcroppings.
Fearing the onslaught of another sweep of Arctic air soon, farmers scrubbed and filled water troughs, suburban gardeners added another layer of mulch on spring bulbs, car dealers washed their inventory.
An early riser, Harry knocked out her farm chores, rode one horse and ponied the other two, climbed up on the ladder to sweep debris out of the barn gutters and the house gutters also.
Mrs. Murphy hunted mice in the hayloft, careful not to disturb Simon, the sleeping possum, the hibernating blacksnake, or the huge owl dozing in the cupola. Pickings were slim, since the owl snatched everything up, so Simon ate grain from the tack room. However, neither the owl nor Murphy could eradicate the mice living in the walls between the tack room and the stalls. The mice would sit in their cozy home and sing just to torment the cat.
Pewter, not one to get her paws wet, reposed in the house, flopped on her back on the sofa. Tucker followed Harry, whom she considered her human mother, which meant her stomach was filthy but she too felt a great sense of accomplishment. She picked up the small twigs and branches which had fallen, dragging them over to the toolshed. Small though the corgi was, she could pull four times her weight.
She'd grab the fat end of a branch, plant her hind legs, jerk the weight up a bit, then backpedal. Her yard work always made Harry laugh.
By eleven Harry was ready to go to town this Saturday. Fox-hunting was canceled since the rigs and vans would get stuck in the mud. Parking was always a problem on rainy or muddy days.
"Tucker, let's clean you up in the wash stall. You're not getting in the truck like that."
"I could sit in one spot. I won't move." Her ears drooped since she wasn't thrilled about a bath in any way, shape, or form. On the other hand she'd happily sit in a puddle, leap into the creek. But there was something about soap married to water that offended her canine sensibilities.
"Come on."
"Why don't you wash off Mrs. Murphy's paws, too?" A gleeful malicious note crept into Tucker's voice as she headed into the barn.
"I heard that, you twit." Murphy peeped over the side of the hayloft.
"Any luck?" Harry called to her beloved cat.
"No," came the growl.
"Slowing down, aren't you?" Tucker wanted to get a rise out of her friend. She was successful.
"I could smoke you any day, lardass. Tailless wonder. Dog breath."
"Ha. Ha." Tucker refused to glance upward, which further infuriated the sleek, slightly egotistical cat.
"All right. If you won't stand I'm going to put you in the crossties," Harry warned the little dog.
Turning on the warm water, she hosed off Tucker's stomach, which now returned to its lovely white color.