Fox Tracks by Rita Mae Brown Page A

about the murders in the papers, too, and are baffled.”
    “Why? Because nothing was stolen?”
    Elizabeta sat upright. “It’s bizarre. If you’re running the risk of committing murder, you might as well go on a spending blowout before you’re caught.”
    Sister laughed. “That’s one way to look at it. But it’s also so odd that in each case a pack of American Smokes was on the victim’s chest. Do you carry the brand?”
    “We’ve never heard of American Smokes.”
    “What?”
    “When I read about the murders, I thought American Smokes might be a new brand, but we’ve yet to get a sales call. The market has room for old-time cigarettes—by that, I mean premium tobacco. Everything mass-produced is made cheaper and the companies figure no one will notice the drop in quality. But no salesperson has called on us. Other stores in the county and in Richmond don’t know anything about it either.”
    “You called around about American Smokes?”
    “Both Dad and I did. If anyone knows anything, they aren’t telling us.”
    “When you say cigarettes are made cheaper today, do you mean the grade of tobacco?”
    “Well, some high-priced brands are still using the finest grade, but most aren’t. What sends me into a spin is that cigarettes contain thirty percent less tobacco than they did years ago.”
    “I had no idea.”
    “That’s why they burn so fast. A couple of deep draws and the darn thing’s about to burn your nose off, even if you buy king size. It’s such a rip-off. Same price. Less product.”
    “You think this is due to the high taxes on cigarettes?”
    “Pfft.” Elizabeta waved her hand. “Smoking has dropped in America, but it’s booming in Asia, Africa, and much of South America. Booming.” She lifted her nose, sniffed. “I think I can smell some exhaled smoke right now blown across the Pacific.” She giggled.
    Sister giggled, too. “Next thing, we’ll be ordered to wear gas masks.”
    “Who knows what legislation will be passed next? But I can swear that tobacco is the most heavily taxed product in the country, even more than liquor.”
    Sister thought about this. She wasn’t going to question a woman whose income depended on the plant. She expected it was true.
    The younger woman continued, “It’s not like beer, you know all those microbreweries? Cigarettes and tobacco are a whole different ball game. A brewery has a physical place. People can go in and sample the beer. I can’t put out a cup full of sticks, like Dad did when he was young. You’d buy a cigarette for a penny, or maybe a few, and test them out at your leisure.” She paused. “Like beer, there are so many different tobacco tastes. Well, anyway, there’s no way to test a product unless you buy a couple of packs or you borrow a cigarette from a friend. Who is going to buy a bunch of expensive packs to see if they like the product? And for you, or any customer, a company needs shelf space. You come in here or you go to the supermarket or corner store for one of the huge brands, you can find it. A new brand from a start-up company would have to contact every single small outlet, as well as the people who run the big chain stores to beg for space. Obviously, the big boys want to hog as much shelf space as they can. Remember back when Coca-Cola and Pepsi had a soda war? It was all about shelf space.”
    “Fascinating,” said Sister. “I’ve never worked in retail.”
    “What was your trade?”
    “I was a geology professor at Mary Baldwin.” Sister slyly smiled. “I got my rocks off.” Then she laughed. “I think it would be funnier were I male.”
    The lady tossed her head, black hair shining. “Still, pretty good. Sometimes I wish I had gone to college. I’m not much for books.”
    “It’s overrated. We’re all born with special abilities, and college is only for some.”
    “Well, it wasn’t good for me. But retail is hard, especially when the laws keep changing.” She threw up her hands. “When