She shushed the small brown dog, waved aside the ID
Dwight tried to show her, and held the door open wide.
“Come on in out of the cold, Major—Bryant, did you say? Such an awful thing. Mr. Johnson was right, wasn’t he? That man really is dead, isn’t he?”
“I’m afraid so, ma’am. Did you know him?”
Mrs. Harper shook her head. “I’ve seen the truck lots of times, but I never met the driver. Didn’t even know his name till Mr. Johnson said it. Probably wouldn’t recognize him if he walked through the door.”
The house was small—what real estate agents call a
“starter home”—and was almost obsessively neat and orderly. Cozy, but nothing out of place. Magazines were stacked according to size on the coffee table, and a family portrait was precisely centered above the couch.
Dwight recognized a much younger Mrs. Harper. The child on her lap was probably the married daughter Mrs.
Johnson had mentioned. The older man seated next to her was no doubt her father. He wore an Army uniform, as did the younger man who stood in back, almost like an afterthought. Colonel and captain.
“My dad,” said Mrs. Harper, when she saw him looking at the picture. “I was an Army brat who went and married one.”
“They’re not with you now?”
“No. Bill and I split up about a year after that was painted, and the Colonel died three years ago this month.” Pride and love mingled in her voice as she spoke of her father. “He was a wonderful man. Would have been eighty- five if he’d lived.”
More family pictures and framed mementos hung in neat rows along a wall that led down a hallway. “Those his medals?” Dwight asked. He had similar ones stowed away somewhere from his own Army days.
Mrs. Harper nodded. “But do come and sit. May I get you something? Coffee? A nice cup of tea?”
Through the archway to the kitchen, Dwight could see a teapot and a single mug on the table. “Hot tea would be great this cold night,” he said, taking off his gloves and stuffing them in his jacket pocket.
He trailed along as Mrs. Harper went out to the kitchen stove and turned the burner on under a shiny red kettle. She put a tea bag in a second mug and laid a spoon beside it. The kettle was hot from before and began to whistle almost instantly. “I always find that a good cup of tea helps settle my nerves,” she said.
Even so, she was still so rattled that hot water splashed onto the Formica tabletop as she filled his cup. “I’m sorry. It was such a shock. The Colonel used to say—but he was in battle and war is different, isn’t it? I never . . .”
Dwight took the kettle from her shaking hands and set it back on the stove, then pulled out a chair across the table from her.
“Could you tell me what happened? Cold as it is, I’m a little surprised that you were out walking so late with night coming on. It’s not terribly safe.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said sharply, then immediately softened her sharp words with a smile toward the dog. “She doesn’t look fierce, but she’s very protective. But you’re right. It was later than usual. I always mean to go early but I’m not a morning person and, I don’t know, one thing and another, I just seem to piddle around till it’s usually four o’clock before Dixie and I set out.”
The little dog cocked an ear at hearing its name.
“The Johnsons say you were picking up trash along the roadside?”
Mrs. Harper smiled and nodded. “I adopted Rideout Road two years ago to honor my father. Maybe you saw the sign at the crossroads? Colonel James T. Frampton?”
As part of its anti-littering campaign, North Carolina allows individuals or corporations to “adopt” a road or a two-mile stretch of highway and will put up a sign to that effect if the volunteers agree to clean their stretch at least four times a year.
“My wife’s family has the road that cuts through their farms,” Dwight said, “but I don’t think they’re out picking up litter every week. And for sure not when the weather’s this cold.”
Mrs. Harper shrugged her rounded shoulders. “It’s not bad once you get to moving good. I just can’t bear to see trash build up on a road dedicated to the Colonel.
Besides, it’s good exercise for Dixie and me and neither of us is getting any younger, I’m afraid.”
This time, the corgi put a paw on her mistress’s trousered leg and she smiled down indulgently. “With all the excitement, I forgot all about your treat, didn’t I, girl?”
Dwight waited while she took a Milk-Bone from the cut-glass candy dish in the center of the table and gave it to the dog.
“Tell me about this evening,” he said.
“There’s really not much to tell.” She lifted the mug to her pale lips, then set it down again. Despite her obvious distress, though, she was able to convey a good sense of the circumstances. “It’s so cold that the wind made my eyes water. I had picked up what little there was on the eastbound side and we were on our way back down the westbound side. It was too early for what you’d call rush hour out here and the road doesn’t get all that much traffic anyhow. There’s only fourteen houses till you get to this subdivision, and most of the people who live here and work in Raleigh usually take Old Forty-Eight. It’s a little more direct, although enough do use Rideout.
Maybe because it’s still country along here? Used to be an older man who would park out of sight of any houses and have himself a couple of beers before going home and he’d just dump the evidence on the shoulder. When I called him on it, he apologized and started getting out and hiding his empties in the trunk. And another time—oh, but why am I going on like this? You don’t want to hear about litterbugs. You want to know about tonight.”
