"Everything was all right around here until the day that motorcycle appeared. How can you ride around on it? How can you even touch it! What'd you do, slip Rick Shaw money under the table? I thought unclaimed property was to go to public auction held by the Sheriff's Department."
"Wait a minute." Blair relaxed. "That isn't the murdered guy's Harley. It's not even black. Go out and take another look. I just bought this bike."
"Huh?"
"Go look." Blair opened the door for Norman.
The two men circled the bike as the humans and animals observed from inside.
"Normans losing it." One side of Harrys mouth turned up.
"If you were caught between Kerry and Aysha, I expect you'd unravel too. Scylla and Charybdis."
"Steam was coming out of his ears. And how could he say something like that about Rick Shaw? Jesus, the crap that goes through people's minds."
"Don't take the name of Our Savior in vain."
"Sorry. Hey, here comes Herbie."
The reverend stopped to chat with the men, then entered the building. "Cheap transportation. Those things must get fifty miles to the gallon. If gas taxes continue to rise, then I might get one myself. How about a motorcycle with a sidecar?"
"You going to paint a cross on it? A little sign to hang on the handlebars, 'Clergy'?"
"Mary Minor Haristeen, do I detect a whiff of sarcasm in your tone? Haven't you read of the journeys of St. Paul? Imagine if he'd had a motorcycle. Why, he could have created congregations throughout the Mediterranean, Gaul even. Sped along the process of Christianization."
"On a Harley. I like that image."
"You two. What will you come up with next?" Miranda sauntered over to the counter.
"Imagine if Jesus had a car. What would he drive?" Herbie loved to torment Miranda, and since he was an ordained minister he knew she would have to pay attention to him.
"The best car in the world," Miranda said, "my Ford Falcon."
"Might as well go back to sandals." Harry joined in the game. "I bet he'd drive a Subaru station wagon because the car goes forever, rarely needs to be serviced, and he could squeeze the twelve disciples inside."
"Now, that's a thought." Herb reached down to pat Tucker, who walked out from under the countertop.
Blair rejoined them. Norman too.
"I'm sorry. I'm a little edgy." Norman cast down his eyes.
"Norman, you've got one woman too many in your life, and that's not including Ottoline." Mrs. Hogendobber was forthright.
He blushed, then nodded.
Blair lightheartedly said, "All those men out there looking for a woman, and you've got them to spare. How do you do it?"
"By being stupid." Norman valiantly tried to smile, then left.
"Well, what do you think of that?" Miranda exclaimed.
"I think he's about to check into Heartbreak Hotel," Harry replied.
"Depressed." Blair opened his mailbox.
"Now, now, if he loves Aysha, he'll work it out." Herb believed in the sacrament of marriage. After all, he'd married half the town.
"But what if he doesn't love her?" Harry questioned.
"Then I don't know." Herb folded his arms across his chest. "All marriage is a compromise. Maybe he can find the middle ground. Maybe Aysha can too. Her social climbing tries even my patience." t
As Herb left, Cynthia Cooper arrived. "Thanks for your notes."
"Couldn't sleep. Had to do something."
"I was up all night too," Blair added. "If I'd known that, I would have come over."
"You devil." Cynthia would have died to hear him say that to her. "Well, we checked out the signature card handwriting with the signature on Mike Huckstep's income tax statements and driver's license application with the graphologist from Washington. They are authentic. And Mrs. Huckstep's signature is not his handwriting. He didn't forge a signature. It's not Kerry's signature either. Two people signed the card."
"How'd you find out so fast?"
"Wasn't that fast. Try getting the IRS to listen to a tiny sheriffs department in central Virginia. Rick finally called up our congressman and then things started to move. The DMV part was easy."
"Did Mike actually go into the bank and sign cards?"
"Well, no one at the bank remembers seeing a man of his description. Or won't admit to it."
"Coop, how did he sign?" Blair asked.
"At gunpoint?"
"Have you been able to question Laura yet?" Mrs. H. inquired. "She might remember something."
"She's cooperated to the max. Once the shock wore off, she's helped as much as she can because she wants to catch Hogans murderer. Dudley and Thea are doing all they can too. Unfortunately, Laura says she's never seen anyone matching Huckstep's description. Hogan would occasionally discuss bank problems with Laura, but usually they were people problems. The tension between Norman Cramer and Kerry McCray disturbed him. Other than that, she said everything seemed normal."
"And there's nothing peculiar in anyone's background at Crozet National?" Mrs. Hogendobber played with her bangle bracelets.
"No. No criminal records."
"We're still at a dead end." Harry sighed.
"You know, Harry, you're the only person who has seen die killer," Cooper replied.
"I've wondered about diat."
"What do you mean?" Blair and Miranda talked over each other but basically they said die same thing.
"Whoever was riding that motorcycle when it almost side-swiped Harry at Sugar Hollow was most likely our man. Unless Huckstep rode out and rode back later."
"And all I saw was a black helmet with a black visor and someone all in black leather. A real Hell's Angel."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Miranda wanted to know.
"I did. I told Rick and Cynthia. I've racked my brain for anything, a hint, an attitude, but it happened so fast."
After Blair left to go riding around the countryside, Cynthia stayed on for a little bit. People came in and out as always, and at five the friends closed the post office to go home.
Susan Tucker drove over with Danny and Brookie. They left Harrys house about eight. Then Fair called. The night cooled off a bit, so Harry gratefully drifted off to sleep early.
The jangle of the phone irritated her. The big, old-fashioned alarm clock read four-thirty. She reached over and picked it up.
"Hello."
"Harry. It's Fair. I'm coming over."
"Its four-thirty in the morning."
"Norman Cramers been strangled."
"What?" Harry sat bolt upright.
"I'll tell you everything when I get there. Stay put."
35
Cinnamon-flavored coffee perfectly perked awakened Harry's senses. She'd brought the Krups machine into the kitchen from the barn. It was so fancy, she thought it was too nice to keep in the stable. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker ate an early breakfast with her. The owl, again furious at the invasion of privacy, swept low over Fair's head as he trudged to the back door.
"What happened?" she asked as she poured him a cup and set out muffins on the table.
His face parchment white, he sat down heavily. "Bad case of torsion colic. Steve Alton's big Hanoverian. He brought her over to the clinic and I operated. I didn't finish up until three, three-thirty. Steve wanted to stay with her, but I sent him home to get some sleep. I came in through town and turned left on Railroad Avenue. Not a soul in sight. Then I passed the old Del Monte plant and I saw Norman Cramer sitting in his car. The lights were on, and the motor too. He was just kind of staring into space and his tongue was hanging out kind of funny. I stopped and got out of the truck, and as I drew closer I saw bad bruises around his neck. I opened the door and he keeled over out onto the macadam. Called Rick. He arrived in less than ten minutes—he must have gone a hundred miles an hour. Cynthia made it in twenty minutes. All I'd done was put my fingerprints on the door handle. I didn't touch the body. Anyway, I told them what I knew, stayed around, and then Rick sent me home."
"Fair, I'm sorry." Harry's hands trembled. "If you'd been earlier, the murderer might have gone after you."