Free Murder at Monticello by Rita Mae Brown Page B

pronouncement, or how tragic.
    As Samson left, Danny Tucker and Stuart and Breton Randolph boisterously rushed into the post office. Danny looked like his mother, Susan. Stuart and Breton also strongly resembled their mother, Ansley. Every mouth jabbered simultaneously as the teenage boys reached into the mailboxes.
    â€œEii—” Danny let out a yell and jerked back his hand.
    â€œMousetrap?” Stuart’s sandy eyebrows shot upward.
    â€œNo such luck,” Danny sarcastically replied.
    Breton peeped in the mailbox. “Gross.” He reached in and pulled out a fake eyeball.
    Harry whispered to Mrs. Hogendobber. “Did you do that?”
    â€œI won’t say I did and I won’t say I didn’t.”
    â€œHarry, did you put this eyeball in the mailbox?” Danny, accompanied by his buddies, leaned on the counter.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMother’s not fond of rubber eyeballs,”
Mrs. Murphy disclosed.
    Reverend Herb Jones walked into the hubbub. “A prayer meeting?”
    â€œHi, Rev.” Stuart adored the pastor.
    â€œStuart, address Reverend Jones properly,” Miranda ordered.
    â€œI’m sorry. Hello, Reverend Jones.”
    â€œI always do what Mrs. H. tells me.” Reverend Jones put his arm around Stuart’s shoulders. “I’d be scared not to.”
    â€œNow, Herbie . . .” Miranda began to protest.
    Breton, a sweet kid, chimed in. “Mrs. Hogendobber, we all do what you tell us because you’re usually right.”
    â€œWell . . .” A long, breathless pause followed. “I’m glad you all realize that.” She exploded in laughter and everyone joined in, including the animals.
    â€œHarry.” Herb put his hand on the counter as he laughed. “Thanks for calling me the other day about my flat tire. Fixed it—now just got another one.”
    â€œOh, no,” Harry responded.
    â€œYou need a new truck,” Market Shiflett suggested.
    â€œYes, but I need the money, and so far—”
    â€œNo pennies from heaven.” Harry couldn’t resist. This set everyone off again.
    â€œReverend Jones, I’ll help you change your tire,” Danny volunteered.
    â€œMe too.” Breton jumped in.
    â€œMe three.” Stuart was already out the door.
    As they bounded out, Danny flashed his rubber eye back at Harry, who made a cross with her fingers.
    â€œGood kids, I miss Courtney. She’s loving her first year at college. Still hard to let go.” Market, a widower, sighed.
    â€œYou did a wonderful job with that girl,” Miranda praised him.
    â€œToo bad you didn’t do better with Lardguts,”
Mrs. Murphy called out.
    â€œThanks,” Market replied.
    â€œI resent that,”
Pewter growled.
    â€œWell, back to the salt mines.” Market paused. “Pewter?”
    â€œI’m coming. I’m not staying here to be insulted by a—a string bean.”
    â€œOh, Pewter, where’s your sense of humor?”
Tucker padded over to her and gave her a nudge.
    â€œHow do you stand her?”
Pewter liked the corgi.
    â€œI tear up her catnip toys when she’s not looking.”
    Pewter, at Market’s heels, gaily sprang out the door as she thought of a catnip sock shredded to bits.
    Harry and Miranda returned to their chores.
    â€œYou are the culprit. I know it.” Harry giggled.
    â€œAn eye for an eye . . .” Mrs. H. quoted her Old Testament.
    â€œYeah, but it was Susan who put the rubber spider in the box, not Danny.”
    â€œOh, darn.” The older woman clapped her hands together. She thought, “Well, help me get even.”
    Harry tipped back her head and roared. Miranda laughed too, as did Mrs. Murphy and Tucker, whose laughter sounded like little snorts.

13
    Samson Coles’s bright red Grand Wagoneer stuck out like a sore thumb on the country roads. The big eight-cylinder engine harnessed to a four-wheel drive was