The Litter of the Law (15 page)

Also staring out the window, Tucker said,
“She had to get to St. Luke’s before sunset. She wanted to recheck the roof work.”

“The roof work is fine,”
Pewter spoke louder.

The three watched as Harry slowed, then turned in to the old gravel driveway to the three abandoned school buildings.

“Hey, there’s Brinkley.”
Tucker stood on her hind legs as she saw her yellow Lab friend sitting in front of the faded clapboard building with paint peeling.

After parking, Harry stepped out, then opened the door for the animals, all of whom rushed to the big sweet dog.

“Hey,” Tazio Chappars called out as Harry stepped through the schoolhouse door, which creaked.

Harry looked around. “I’ve never been in here.”

“Few people have after 1965, I guess.” Tazio dropped her hand to pet Brinkley’s head. “What do you think?”

“Has character. Public buildings don’t anymore. Plus they look so cheap. Ugly boxes.”

“You’re talking to an architect.” Tazio laughed. “ ‘Ugly’ is too kind a word. And these three distinguished buildings were built for the underclass, for lack of a better word. We have beautiful examples throughout the state of what was built for the middle classes and the rich. Maybe builders had a better feel back then for space, light, warm materials. I don’t find reinforced concrete warm.” She smiled. “Hester railroaded me. Now I’m going to railroad you, girl.”

“Let me sit down.” Harry sat at one of the old-fashioned desks and took a deep breath. “I’m ready. Have at me.”

Tazio sat at the desk across from Harry, as she once had done with Hester. “You know so many people. Your people have been here since the Revolutionary War. They’ve worshipped at St. Luke’s since that time.”

Harry crossed her arms over her chest. “With a lead-in like that, this is going to be a biggie. I know it.”

“Uh, yes.” Tazio leaned toward Harry a bit. “I believe Hester knew she was going to die.” Tazio held up her hand, sensing that Harry was about to interrupt her. “She knew she was in danger. When she asked me to take on the fight—the project of bringing these buildings back to life—I said I would only do it if she led the charge. She agreed but then she made me promise before we parted that if something happened to her, I would carry on.”

“Dear God.” Harry’s hand flew to her face.

“It’s a promise I must fulfill. I, well, I just must.”

“Of course, Tazio. It’s a debt of honor, and think of how much she trusted you.”

“I do.”

“You told this to Cooper?”

“I did. Gives her not one more solid fact, but she did say it’s possible Hester knew more than she was telling. We’ll never know, but what I want to know is, will you work with me, Harry, use your contacts to help save the schoolhouses?”

Harry thought a bit, then replied, “I will, but you and I have to be clear about the future use of the buildings. That means involving other people, asking their opinions, and, well, I don’t want to put the cart before the horse. Let’s do the Halloween Hayride first. I see you’ve started on Frankenstein’s table.”

Harry looked at the red lights that accentuated the fake pools of plastic cut-out blood on the table and floor. Strangely cut lampshades cast ominous shadows with low light.

A flat table, straps across it, stood in the middle of the classroom. Tazio had moved some of the desks aside to make room for it. “This is the mad doctor’s operating room,” she stated with faux solemnity.

“Sure looks convincing,” said Harry.

“Good. I want to make this year special,” said Tazio. “This has to be the best Halloween Hayride ever. Raise tons of money for the library.”

“Who is going to be Frankenstein, or will he be a cutout figure?” Harry inquired.

“Buddy Janss volunteered to be the monster. Wesley Speer said he’d be the doctor. Has a lab coat, sort of, and clothes they wore back in Mary Shelley’s time.”

“Wesley Speer. Good for him.” Harry smiled at the thought of her fellow vestry board member being Dr. Frankenstein.

“I heard that Neil Jordan has sold one hundred hayride tickets in just a few days,” said Tazio. “That’s something. He must be twisting every arm he knows.”

“He can be persuasive, and it is a tradition. Also, in a sick way,
the scarecrow and the witch deaths have kind of promoted the horror aspect, driving up sales.” Harry looked around. “Built solid, this schoolhouse.”

“All three of them have stood the test of time. One for the little children, then the middle school, and the last building was for the big kids. I went through drawers and found old test tubes and stuff. I’m going to set it all up, see if I can’t get some things smoking and bubbling and then backlight it.”

“Creepy and perfect. However, don’t let Brinkley in. That tail could be lethal.”

“I’ll put everything over his head. I learned the hard way, he can clean off a coffee table. He’d make a real mess in here.”

As though on cue, Brinkley pushed open the front door, letting in a rush of cold air.
“I’m here. I’m watching everything.”

“What can you see?”
Pewter said, marching in behind.
“My eyes are a lot better than yours.”

Brinkley, a natural diplomat, replied,
“They are. I wish I could see as good in the dark as you and Mrs. Murphy do.”

Harry walked to the door to close it. “Boy, that temperature drops with the sun.”

“That’s another thing,” said Tazio. “This old heating system works. I checked it out, cast iron. The boiler is enormous but solid cast iron. The boiler room was installed right about the time of World War One.”

Harry wondered, “Who would know how to repair the boiler?”

“Same company’s been servicing it since installing it in 1915. Couldn’t stand it—I hopped on my computer, and sure enough, the information is online.”

“That’s a piece of luck.” Harry smiled.

Tazio agreed. “It is. Harry, thank you for signing on. You and I will make a great team. I hope Hester’s looking down on us and giving a cheer.”

“Me, too, but she might be saying, ‘Not Harry!’ ”

Tazio smiled. “Not a chance. Well, I think we’ve got the ride in good order.”

“This ride scares me before I even get on the hay wagon.” Harry’s eyes widened. “It’s going to be spectacular.”

“Let me show you the little bathroom.” Tazio stood up.

The two walked to the door at the back of the large room. Tazio opened it.

“Water still runs.” Harry turned the faucet on and off. “The old towel dispenser still works, too.” She gave the white towel a tug and more came down as the used portion fed up into the metal dispensing box. “Gets me excited. The quality of the workmanship, the layout.”

They closed the door and walked to the front of the room. Harry, always curious, sat behind the large teacher’s desk, which was set on a dais so the teacher could view the entire classroom.

“You will now recite your ABC’s,” Harry ordered.

Tazio, before her, ran through them quickly, then shoved Harry from the seat.

“Harry Haristeen, what is twelve times twelve?”

“One hundred and forty-four,” Harry victoriously answered.

“I gave you an easy one,” Tazio teased as she pulled out the middle desk drawer. “Hey, look.”

Harry stepped back up on the dais. “Pencils, a hand sharpener, a wooden ruler.”

“Grandpa’s Tar Soap,” Tazio said, reading the advertising printed on the ruler. “And here’s an old piece of paper.”

Harry read out the name printed on the paper: “Walter Ashby Plecker.”

“If Walter’s name was in the teacher’s drawer, he must have been a bad boy,” said Tazio.

T
hursday, October 24, the service for Hester Martin was finally held at St. Francis Catholic Church in Staunton. Harry quietly sat in the pew, next to Susan, BoomBoom, Alicia, Big Mim, and Miranda Hogendobber. Fair, up in Leesburg at a veterinary conference, couldn’t attend, but most everyone else who knew Hester was there. Wearing a suit, Buddy Janss made people look twice, since the portly farmer was nearly always seen wearing overalls.

Harry appreciated the dignity of the Catholic service. She thought that being a Lutheran, as she was, was sort of like being a Catholic but without the incense. In her mind, people divided up into high church and low church. She admired Miranda, staunch member of the Church of the Holy Light, a charismatic church, for her strong feeling of a personal relationship with God. But Harry needed the liturgy, the ritual. Obviously, Hester had needed it, too.

Fortunately, Hester’s niece, Sarah Price, raised Catholic, had made sure the ceremony was done just right. She had spoken at length with the priest and had picked out appropriate hymns. A woman in her mid-thirties, Sarah quite resembled her eccentric aunt.

Hester’s niece had relied on Susan Tucker to help her with the
other necessary arrangements after finding her name in Hester’s address book. She’d placed a gold star next to Susan’s name. Hester used different colored stars and gold meant the best.

Sarah also had the presence of mind to give the address book to the sheriff.

As the mourners filed out after the service, they walked down steep steps to the parking lot below. Wesley Speer and Buddy assisted the elderly down the hazardous steps, the older folks grasping the railing for all they were worth.

Slowly descending next to Harry, Big Mim said, “Staunton is a town of hills. One can find a wonderful view for a reasonable price.”

“True,” Harry replied.

“Mary Baldwin has the best spot in town,” remarked BoomBoom, just behind them.

Mary Baldwin College did indeed have a wonderful setting. The prestigious school had been continually graduating women since 1842, and most of those alumnae had flourished, often bucking the odds against women.

Woodrow Wilson’s house rested not far from the college, and Harry wondered whether as a boy he had watched the girls walk by. It was hard to imagine the former president as a man being dazzled by women. In photographs, he appeared rather cold.

“Well, on to the cemetery. It’s really beautiful,” Alicia noted. On the west side of town, the graveyard was a refuge for the living to think and reflect, and a fitting place for the departed.

The graveyard was glowing with October sunlight when Hester’s Crozet friends reached it. Again, the burial service for the dead was dignified and brief.

The reception that followed was held in Hester’s home and started at four. It took most of the crowd about forty-five minutes to drive to the simple brick two-story house, a graceful structure
that had belonged to Hester’s grandparents. The paint on the brick, a creamy yellow, had flaked in spots, and the soft paprika of old brick shone through. The old place felt warm and lived in.

Having never been inside Hester’s house, Harry was curious to see it, and paused in the entryway.

Cooper, right next to her, also paused a moment. “Some of this furniture has to go back to the Revolution.”

“Heppelwhite,” Big Mim, close by, crisply filled her in. “And the silver is Georgian, but not just any George. George II.”

“I had no idea,” Harry exclaimed.

“That was her way.” Big Mim removed her hat. “Hester lived simply. She wanted it that way.”

Always proper, Big Mim wore a hat in church, as did most of the older women. Harry and Susan also wore hats, mostly because their mothers had long ago drummed it into them. Neither woman much liked hats.

Big Mim knew Hester better than the others. “She inherited most of what one needs in life. Not an ounce of the snob in her; she would never have called attention to the quality of the furnishings, the fabrics, and, of course, the elegant silver. I will miss her.” The older woman smiled sorrowfully, then began moving about, a pure political animal regardless of circumstance. Big Mim was of that generation that worked through men. Her husband, Jim, was mayor of Crozet.

“Well, old girl, ready for the shake and howdy?” Harry teased Cooper, who had not been born and bred in the region.

“I’m getting ready.” Cooper followed Harry.

Susan stood next to Sarah, introducing her to the guests.

“Sarah, please meet my best and oldest friend in the world,
Harry Haristeen, and with her, one of our sheriff’s department deputies, Cynthia Cooper.”

Sarah shook their hands. “Thank you so much for helping to celebrate my aunt’s life.”

“The service became her: simple and elegant,” Harry complimented her.

Cooper stepped up to the plate. “And the gravesite is so beautiful.”

“Thank you. Please have some refreshments,” said Sarah. “Buddy Janss made the punch. He said it was my aunt’s favorite.”

The two moved on, glancing at each other with raised eyebrows.

Harry pushed Cooper through the crowd. “You first.”

“I am not drinking that stuff.”

“A sip. Come on, girl. You can do it.”

They arrived at an enormous silver scalloped punch bowl; the family initials in elegant script were intertwined on its front.

Between laughter and tears, Buddy ladled out a full silver cup.

“Buddy,” warned Coop, not yet committed to this alcoholic endeavor.

“Come on, Coop. You’re not on duty.”