Claws And Effect Part 23

"And that reminds me, if you don't think about reproducing soon the line stops with you." He spoke like a vet whose specialty was breeding. "You've got that good Hepworth and Minor blood, Harry. Time."

"I see. Who's the stud?"

"I'd thought that would be obvious."

33.

"You and I will never see eye to eye." Bruce Buxton slammed the door to Sam Mahanes's office.

Sam, on his feet, hurried to the door, yanking it open. "Because you don't see the whole picture. You only see your part, dammit."

Bruce kept walking but Sam's secretary buried her head in her work.

"Ruth, how do you stand that a.s.shole?" Bruce said as he walked by, ignored the elevator, and opened the door to the stairwell. He needed the steps to cool down.

Sam stopped at Ruth's desk. "He thinks I should open all the books, everything, to Sheriff Shaw. Says forget the lawyers. All they do is make everything worse. This was interspersed with complaints about everything but the weather."

"Perhaps he doesn't hold you responsible for that," Ruth dryly replied.

"Huh? Oh." Sam half smiled, then darkened. "Ruth, you're on the pipeline. What are people saying?"

"About what?"

"For starters, about Hank Brevard. Then Larry."

"Well." She put down her pencil, neatly, parallel to her computer keyboard. "At first no one knew what to make of Hank's murder. He wasn't popular and, well-" She paused, collecting her thoughts. "Larry's killing set them off. Now people think the two are connected."

"Are they criticizing me?"

"Uh-some do, most don't."

"I don't know what more I can do." His voice dropped low. "I'm not hiding anything but I can't just open our books to Rick Shaw. I will allow him to study anything and everything with our lawyers present."

"The Board of Directors will find some comfort in that decision, Sam." Her tone of voice betrayed neither agreement nor disagreement. As they were close, Ruth used his first name when it was only the two of them around. Otherwise she called him Mr. Mahanes.

"Bruce also wants me to issue a press statement emphasizing all the good things about Crozet Hospital and also emphasizing that-" He stopped. "What the h.e.l.l good is a press statement? Larry wasn't killed on hospital grounds. Until it's proven that his murder is connected to Hank's murder, I'd be a d.a.m.n fool to issue a press statement. All that would do is link the two murders in people's minds-those who haven't made that linkage. You ride out bad publicity. A press statement is just asking for trouble at this time. Now I'm not saying I won't do one-" he paused-"when the time is right."

"How long can we fend off the reporters? We can't stop the television crew from shooting in front of the hospital. We can stop them from coming inside but they've made the connection despite us."

"Six o'clock news." He sat on the edge of her desk. "Well, all Dee"-he used the reporter's name-"said was that a member of the staff was killed. She couldn't say Larry's death was related to Hank's."

"No, but she said Hank was killed two weeks ago. Was it two weeks ago?" Ruth sighed. "It seems like a year."

"Yes, it does." He ran his fingers through his hair, thick wavy hair of which he was quite proud.

"Sam, issue the press statement. A good offense is better than a good defense."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I hate for that jerk to think he's one ahead of me or that I listened to him."

"Oh, Bruce is Bruce. Ignore him. I do. If he's really obnoxious just imagine what he'd be like as an ob-gyn."

"Huh?"

"He'd think every baby he delivered was his." She t.i.ttered.

Sam laughed. "You're right." He slid off her desk, stretching his arms over his head. "Rick or Coop pestering you?"

"Not as much as I thought they would. Mostly they wanted to know hospital routine, my duties, anything unusual. They were to the point. That Coop is an attractive woman. I think I'll tell my nephew about her."

"Ruth, you must have been Cupid in another life."

"I thought I was Cupid in this one." She picked up her pencil, sliding it behind her ear, and turned back to her computer.

"All right. I'll write the d.a.m.ned press release." He trudged back to his office.

34.

Coop pulled white cartons of Chinese food out of a brown paper bag, setting them in the middle of Harry's kitchen table. Harry put out the plates, silverware, and napkins.

"Milk, c.o.ke, tea, coffee, beer?"

"Beer." Coop wearily sat down, narrowly avoiding Tucker, who had positioned herself by the chair leg. She appeared glued to it. "I'll have coffee with dessert."

"You got dessert?"

"Yes, but I'm not telling you what it is until we eat this first. Sit down."

"Okay." Harry sat down, reaching for the pork lo mein as Coop dished out cashew chicken.

"I don't do Chinese." Mrs. Murphy sat in the kitchen window.

"Worth a try. You can fish out the pork bits." Pewter extended one talon.

"I had enough to eat," said the tiger cat, who kept her figure.

"I thought you'd be spending the night with Fair after picking him up at the airport."

"Oh, I wasn't in the mood for manly bulls.h.i.+t tonight," Harry airily replied.

"Like what?"

"Like him telling me what to do and how to do it."

"Mother, that's not exactly the way Fair does things. He suggests and you get p.i.s.sed off." Murphy laughed.

"And what did he tell you to do? Something for your own good." Cynthia mixed soy sauce in her white rice, then dug in with her chopsticks. "Right?"

"Well-well, I know it's for my own good but I don't like hearing it. He told me not to go back to the hospital and not to snoop around anywhere by myself, and then he said I looked like a punk rocker who couldn't quite make it." She pointed to her st.i.tches. "I suppose I could spend the next six weeks wearing a beret."

"Not you, Harry."

"Okay, a baseball cap. Orioles or maybe the Braves. Nah, don't like the logo."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a black cowboy hat-with black chaps and black fringe."

"Coop, is there something about you I should know?" Harry's eyes twinkled.

"Uh-no." She bent her blonde head over the food. "Just a thought. Fair would like it."

"Maybe you ought to play dress-up." Harry giggled.

"For one thing I don't own a pair of chaps and I won't buy the ready-made ones. If you're going to have chaps you've got two choices and only two choices: Chuck Pinnell or Journeyman Saddlery."

"How do you know that?"

"You told me."

"Early Alzheimer's." Harry smacked her head with the b.u.t.t of her palm.

"Maybe it's not so early."

"Up yours, Coop. I'm a long way from forty."

"Oh-I suppose you were never a whiz at arithmetic. I count three years."

"Thirty-seven is a long way-" Harry smirked slightly. "And you aren't far behind, girlfriend."

"Scary, isn't it? What would I do with those chaps? No one to play dress-up with and I'm not going to wear them in the squad car."

"Oh, why not? It would be such a nice touch. Everyone thinks lady cops are butch anyway."

"You really know how to please a girl." Coop sighed because she knew it was true.

"Yeah, but I didn't say you were butch. You're not, you know. You're really very feminine. Lots more than I am."

"No, I'm not."

"You're tall and willowy. People think that's feminine until they see the badge and the pressed pleats in your pants. The shoes are winners, too. High heels. You could kick some poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d into next week but you'd never get your heel out of his b.u.t.t. Police brutality."

"Harry." Cynthia laughed.

"See what Fair does to me. Just turns me into an evil wench. I think unclean thoughts."

"You don't need Fair for that. It's just that usually you keep them to yourself."

"Can you imagine me talking like this to Miranda? Smelling salts. And when she came to she'd have to pray for me at the Church of the Holy Light. I love her but there are things you don't say to Mrs. H."

Chopsticks poised in the air, Coop put them down for a moment. "I bet she knows more than she says. That generation didn't talk about stuff."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yeah. I think they did everything we do but they were quiet about it. Not out of shame or anything but because they were raised with guidelines about proper conversation. I bet they didn't even discuss some of this stuff with their doctors."

"The chaps. I wouldn't discuss that either." Harry laughed. "Better chaps than some of those silk things at Victoria's Secret. They look good on the models but if I put something like that on I'd get laughed out of the bedroom."

"I wish they'd stop talking about s.e.x and drop some food," Tucker whined.

"Get on your hind legs. Coop's a sucker for that," Pewter advised. "I'll rub Mother's legs. It ought to be good for one little piece of cashew chicken."

The two performed their routine. It worked.

"You guys." Murphy giggled, then glanced back out the window. "Simon's on a food search." She saw the possum leave the barn.

"All he has to do is go to the feed room or get under the feed bucket in Tomahawk's stall. That horse throws grain around like there's no tomorrow. He wouldn't be so wasteful if he had to pay the feed bill." Pewter hated food being wasted.

"He's a pig. Wouldn't matter if he paid the bill or not." Murphy liked Tomahawk but was conversant with his faults.

"Any word on Tracy selling his house in Hawaii?"

Harry leaned over to grab another egg roll. "No takers yet but he'll sell it soon. He writes her every day. Isn't that romantic? It's much better than a phone call or e-mail. There's something so personal about a person's handwriting."

"I can't imagine a man sitting down to write me a letter a day."

"Me neither. I suppose Fair would write me a prescription a day-for the horses." She laughed.

"He's a good guy." Coop paused. "You love him?"

"I love him. I always loved him. I don't know about the in-love part, though. Sometimes I look at him and think it's still there. Other times, I don't know. You see, he's all I know. I dated him in high school and married him out of college. I dated a few men after our divorce but nothing clicked. Know what I mean?"

"Does the sun rise in the east?"

"I don't even know if I'm searching for anything or anyone. But he is a good man. And I'm over it."

"What?"

"Over the mess we made."