"Better." Tucker's pink tongue hung out. "Wrinkle music, you know."
"What do you mean, wrinkle music?"Thc cat cocked her head at the soothing music.
"For old people. Haven't you noticed that no one wants to admit they're old? So radio stations advertise that they play hits from the fifties, sixties, seventies' up to today. That's bunk. It's wrinkle music, but the listener can pretend he's hip or whatever word they used when they were young."
"I never thought of that. "Mrs. Murphy admired her friend's insight. "So how come we don't hear Benny Goodman?"
"The Big Band generation is so old, they're going deaf."
"Savage, Tucker. Wait until you get old and I make fun of you." The cat laughed.
"You'll be old right along with me."
"Cats don't age like dogs do."
"Oh, bull!"
The news crackled over the radio. Harry leaned forward to turn up the sound. "Pipe down, you two. I want to hear the news and thank you, Mrs. Murphy, for manning the stations. Catting the radio? Doesn't sound right."
"You're welcome. "Mrs. Murphy put her paws on the dash so she could see through the windshield.
"The state's largest banks are reporting computer breakdowns. For the last week technicians have been working to restore full function to the computer systems of Richmond Norfolk United,
Blue Ridge Bank, and Federated Investments, all of which are reporting the same problem. Smaller banks are also experiencing problems. Roland Gibson, president of United Trust in Roanoke, counsels people to have patience. He believes this is fallout from the Threadneedle virus, which hit businesses and banks on August first but caused no serious damage, so it was believed. Don't withdraw your money—"
"What do you think of that?" Harry whistled.
"I think I'd call my banker." Murphy arched a silky eyebrow.
"Yeah, me too, "the dog echoed.
Harry pulled up behind the post office. When she opened the door the tantalizing aroma of orange-glazed muffins greeted her. Miranda, in a house-cleaning mood, put a checkered tablecloth on the little table. She was measuring the chairs for seat-cover fabric.
"Morning."
Harry's nostrils flared to better capture the scent. "Been reading Howe and Garden again?"
"Threadbare." She pointed to the chair seats. "Couldn't stand another minute of it. Have an orange muffin. My latest."
Harry shoved the muffin in her mouth and said thank you after she ate it. "I sure hope you took some of these next door. These are the best. The best ever." She gulped. "Threadbare. Threadneedle."
"What?" Miranda's lipstick was pearly pink.
A knock on the door diverted Harry's attention from her musing. Susan pushed through the back door. "Where's Rob?"
"Late. Why, are you offering to sort the mail?"
"No." Susan sniffed. "What is that divine smell?"
Harry pointed to the plate of muffins.
Mrs. Hogendobber nodded and Susans hand darted into the pile. "Oh, oh—" was all she could manage. Swallowing, Susan licked her lips. "I have never tasted anything so delicious in my entire life."
"Now, now, base flattery. You know what the Good Book says about flatterers."
Susan held up her hand for stop. "I don't know what the Good
Book says, but I am not flattering you. These are absolutely out of this world!"
"Well, I want ow/"Tucker yelped.
Mrs. Hogendobber gave the dog a morsel.
"What's up, Susan? It must be pretty good if you're here this early."
"I get up early." She brushed crumbs off her magenta T-shirt. "However, the buzz is that Mim is fit to be tied—in a total, complete, and obliterating rage."
"Why?"
"She owns a large, as in thirty-seven percent, chunk of Crozet National."
"So?" Harry reached for another orange delight.
"Two million dollars is missing from the bank."
"What!" Miranda shouted.
"Two million smackers." Susan ran her fingers through her blond curls. "Ned's on the board and Hogan called him last night to tell him that he has given Norman Cramer until Wednesday night to finish his audit. He's also called in computer whizzes, since that's where the mess seems to have started, but he believes die money is gone. He wants to prepare everyone before he gives a press statement Friday morning. He's not one hundred percent sure about the sum, but that's what the computer types are telling him as they piece the system back together."
"Good Lord." Mrs. Hogendobber shook her head. "What is—"
"It's the Threadneedle virus. Oops, sorry, Miranda, I interrupted you."
Mrs. Hogendobber waved her hand, no matter.
"/ changed the station. That's how she found out, * the cat bragged.
"But Crozet National?" Susan continued. "It's small beer compared to United Trust. Of course, they aren't reporting missing funds—yet."
"The Soviets." Miranda smacked the table and scared Tucker, who barked.
"There aren't any more Soviets," Harry reminded her.
"Wrong." Miranda's chin jutted out. "There is no longer a USSR, but there are still Soviets. They're bad losers and they'd love to throw a clinker into capitalist enterprise."
"At Crozet National?" Harry had to fight not to laugh.
"Banks are symbols of the West."
"That's neither here nor there. I want to make sure my money is safe. So I called Hogan myself. Ned could have killed me. Hogan assured me that our money is safe, and even though two million is a terrible loss for the bank, it can absorb it. And the money may yet be found."
"Is Norman Cramer up to the job? I know he's head accountant over there, but—"
"Harry, what does he have to do but punch numbers into a computer? An audit's an audit. It's time consuming, but it doesn't take a lot of gray matter." Miranda, a good bookkeeper, still thought an adding machine could do the job.
The back door swung open. A depressed Mim came in, then brightened. "What is that marvelous—" She spied the muffins. "May I?"
"Indeed." Miranda held out her hand as if bestowing an orange muffin on her old acquaintance.
"Mmm." Mim brushed off her fingers after making short work of the delicious treat. "Susan tell you?"
"Uh—" Harry stalled.
"Yes."
"We can't do much until tomorrow afternoon, when the audit is complete. Worrying won't help." She poured herself a cup of coffee. "Anyone?"
"Any more caffeine and I'll be—"
"A bitch. "Tucker finished her mother's sentence.
"Hello!" Pewter arrived through die animal door. "What a beautiful day."
"Hello, gray kitty." Susan stroked Pewter's round head. "What do you know that's good?"
"I just saw Kerry McCray tellAysha Cramer to go to bloody hell."
"What?" the cat and dog asked.
"Isn't she cute?" Mrs. Hogendobber pinched off some muffin for the cat.
Rob Collier tossed the mail bag in the front door as Market Shiflett hustled in the back. Everyone yelled hi at everyone else.
"What a goddamned morning!" Market cursed. "I'm sorry, ladies. Even my cat had to get out of the store."
"What's going on?"
"Cynthia Cooper drove in the minute I opened. She was joking, her usual self, bought coffee and an orange muffin, ah, you brought some here too, Miranda. I'm sold out and it's not even eight. Anyway, Aysha zipped in, and as luck would have it, Kerry followed. They avoided each other just as you'd expect, but they both came to the counter at the same time. Cynthia was leaning against the counter, facing the door. I don't know what kicked it off, but Kerry told Aysha to move her fat butt. Aysha refused to move and called Kerry a cretin. The insults escalated. I never knew women could talk like that—"