“Good place to hide your jewelry. Who’d think to look?” The tall blonde woman bent over, picked up the golden object, handing it to Harry.
“Oh, no!” Mrs. Murphy wailed. “There goes our Christmas gift.”
“I didn’t put the bracelet there,” Harry said, surprised. “It’s not my bracelet.” She studied the well-made piece. “Really pretty. Really expensive. It seems familiar somehow.”
Leaning over Harry, Cooper commented, “My grandmother had one sort of like that. Way back when, lots of women wore buckle rings and buckle bracelets or ones with a simple golden knot.”
“That’s probably why it looks familiar. How did it wind up in my old helmet?”
“Couldn’t have been in the lining?”
“Coop, I would have felt it. It’s good luck, a found treasure.”
“Guess you would’ve noticed it in there. Well, it’s yours now.”
“I’ll clean it up and wear it.”
“Now what do we do?” Pewter asked.
Tucker sighed. “The usual. Hope that Fair buys a present and puts our names on it.”
After Cooper left, Harry reviewed her friend’s numerous questions. Something was most definitely amiss.
Outside, snow fell steadily as Mrs. Murphy sat in the hayloft with Simon the possum. Although it was early Saturday morning, the sky remained dark. The horses slept in their stalls. Tomahawk, the old gray Thoroughbred, sprawled on his side snoring, his blanket keeping him snug. The others slept standing up. When Harry opened the barn door, they’d open their eyes, whinny “Hello,” and begin banging their stalls. That sweet feed dumped into their buckets made every morning an exciting time.
The two friends sat side by side, Simon on his haunches as he played with a broken browbrand from a bridle.
“Doesn’t it smell good?”
“Does.” The cat knew to praise his treasures.
“I wish they made blankets for possums.” Simon’s obsidian eyes glittered. “I can keep really warm in my nest, but I’m not going outside.”
“Fortunately, you don’t have to. There’s enough dropped sweet feed in this barn to feed a mess of possums,” the cat remarked.
“Wouldn’t go out anyway. There’s a coyote coming round, especially now that it’s snowy and cold.”
“A male? Medium-sized? Youngish?”
“You’ve seen him, too?” The gray fellow swung his rat tail around his feet.
“For the first time, almost a week ago. He was running across the far pastures. Had a human arm in his mouth. All bones. He didn’t drop the bones, but a bracelet slipped off the wrist when some little bones broke off.”
“All the coyote had to do was turn. He could have killed you all in a flash. And sometimes he comes in here,” Simon added in a dark voice.
“Ah, so that’s the smell. Tucker’s mentioned it, but we weren’t really sure and it doesn’t seem to happen often. The scent.” Mrs. Murphy thought about this. “We’ve never had coyotes before.”
“We’ve got them now. I have to be very careful. They’ll kill and eat anything.”
“Does he try to get you?”
“No. He eats whatever’s dropped on the center aisle. He can’t get into the stalls, so he can’t eat my pickings. He takes anything Tucker drops, too. He only comes when the back door is open, so he won’t be in here in the bitter cold.”
“Have you ever talked to him?” the tiger cat asked.
“No. I just watch. He’ll keep coming close until spring. Game is hard to find now, but he must be a successful hunter, because he’s not ribby.”
“Smart.” The cat half closed her eyes. “Not as smart as a fox, but smart.”
“Pewter ever make up with the fox in the west pasture?” Simon had heard from Pewter all about the torrent of insults the cat had endured last fall.
“Pewter hasn’t even made up with Tucker.” Mrs. Murphy laughed.
Simon, laughing as well, said, “Pewter always has to be the center of attention. Good or bad.”
“Our very own diva.”
Later, back in the house, everyone now awake, Mrs. Murphy told her two companions what Simon saw.
“Tucker, go over the garbage after breakfast, take anything that smells good, you know, like eggshells or a package meat has been in, especially if she makes sausages. That odor really carries.”
“She’ll pitch a fit.” Tucker was not convinced.
“Well, don’t do it when she’s in the house.” Pewter waited to hear what else Mrs. Murphy was thinking.
“I’ll still get it because you all can’t pull over the garbage cylinder,” said Tucker. “I can.”
The three animals eyed the cylindrical garbage can with the swinging lid.
“True,” Mrs. Murphy agreed.
Harry put down their breakfast, which halted the conversation. She did indeed fry up sausages for herself and Fair along with eggs and corn bread. After the table was cleared, the two left for the barn.
“Okay, now! Knock it over,” Mrs. Murphy urged the corgi.
“You still haven’t told me why I should do this,” Tucker balked.
“We’re going to take whatever is best and put it behind the back barn doors, off to the side a little. It’ll bring in that coyote. I want to talk to him.”
“Murphy, he’s not going to smell it from far away. It’s too cold.” Tucker sat immobile.
“No, but as he comes close to the barn he will. You canines have amazing powers that way.”
“I don’t know,” Tucker stalled.
“Bother!” Pewter, on her hind legs, reached up, just hooked her claws under the bottom of the swinging lid and hung on.
Mrs. Murphy jumped up and helped Pewter. The garbage can began to totter.
“I’ll be blamed anyway!” the dog cried.
Mrs. Murphy raised her voice. “Right. Help us out.”
Tucker reluctantly trotted over, stood on her hind legs to push over the can. It fell with a crash, the lip popping off.
“Pewter, you take the sausage package. Tucker, you and I will carry the eggshells. I can do two, I think.”
The three animals wedged themselves out of the animal door in the kitchen door and the outside glassed-in porch door. Carting these treasures over the new fallen snow wasn’t too bad, as the snow below had become hard.
“Here.” Mrs. Murphy dropped her shells to the left of the big barn doors in the back.
Her two friends followed suit.
“I really don’t see the point.” Tucker again doubted Mrs. Murphy’s plan.
“Trust me,” advised the cat, fur fluffed out to help ward off the cold.
That night, December 14, the sky was clear. Three days from a full moon, the animals hurried to the barn, slipping through the small animal door in the big barn doors. Tucker really had to squish and squeeze through.
The two cats climbed the ladder up to the hayloft while Tucker waited in the toasty tack room. Clever, both cats opened the hayloft’s small doors just a crack. Usually Harry kept them open unless it was very cold, as she liked air to circulate over the stored hay. Horses need clean air, too. Building a too-tight barn was a typical mistake of someone who did not grow up with horses, the result being respiratory problems. Fair dealt with this all the time. He often felt that he was teaching Horse Care 101.
Simon snuggled in his nest, a tidy deep hole in a back hay bale.
“Here he comes,” Mrs. Murphy whispered to Pewter. “Go get Tucker.”
Excited at the espionage, Pewter climbed backward down the ladder, raced into the tack room, woke up the corgi, who then hurried to the back doors to listen while Pewter clawed her way back up the hayloft ladder.
Mrs. Murphy, eyes focused on the coyote, listened to the eggshells crack. She figured the young fellow must be about fifty pounds, quite a bit more than he would weigh if he were in Wyoming or Utah, anywhere in the West.
“Coyote,” she called down.
Swallowing a pulverized eggshell, he looked
up. “Who are you?”
“I could ask you the same thing. You’re on my farm.”
“Odin,” came his reply.
“Mrs. Murphy.”
“Pewter.” The gray cat raised her voice.
“Who’s the dog behind the door?” Odin could smell the corgi.
“Tucker. She can’t get out that way. She’s listening,” the tiger cat said. “We’re the animals who chased you last week when you carried the bony human arm.”
“How’d you lose your tail?” Odin called mockingly at Tucker through the closed barn door.
Incensed, Tucker barked back, “I didn’t lose it. We’re bred to herd cattle and we have no tails.”
Knowing he was safe, Odin asked, “So you three live with the humans in the white house? I see them sometimes when I hunt here. They never see me.”
“Be grateful,” Tucker warned.
Mrs. Murphy got to the point. “Can you tell us where you found the arm?”
“Up in the huge walnut grove, not too far. A tree blew over in that bad windstorm. The bones were buried under the tree. Now the skeleton is tangled in the roots. It’s easy to see. No meat, but bones are good for you.” Odin stood on his hind legs, front paws on the barn door. “Been there a long, long time.”
“When Tucker and I chased you, a bracelet fell off.” Mrs. Murphy leaned farther out the hayloft doors, opened a crack, and a blast of cold air hit her. “Did you notice anything else, like a watch?”
“Maybe there’s stuff, but I wasn’t looking. I just wanted bones to gnaw.”
“If you leave the skeleton alone, we’ll put out better bones, other stuff for you back here,” Mrs. Murphy promised. “We want to see the skeleton.”
“Snow’s deeper up there. Can’t get to it now. I won’t bother it, but why do you want to see old bones?” Odin thought this very odd.
“A human buried outside a cemetery.” Mrs. Murphy paused. “Always means evil.”
“Not to you,” the gray-coated fellow said.
“No, but I live with two humans. Bones upset them. We don’t want them worried,” Mrs. Murphy informed him as Tucker pressed her ear more tightly to the lower barn door.
Odin thought a bit. “I don’t understand it, but if you bring me food I promise I won’t disturb the long dead.”
“Deal,” Mrs. Murphy swiftly replied.
“Deal,” Pewter echoed.
“Deal,” Tucker also agreed.
As Odin loped off, the two cats slid back the hayloft doors.
“Thank goodness. That air is like a knife.” Simon sighed, then said, “I’d be careful if I were you.”
“We will,” the two cats promised as they backed down the hayloft ladder to join up with Tucker, who was awaiting them.
The three rushed back to the house, eager for the kitchen’s warmth.
Tucker shivered for a moment. “Mrs. Murphy, there will be hell to pay.”
“Whoever is out there already paid it,” the tiger cat replied.
Advent’s music, as well as the vestments and church décor, always pleased Harry and put her in a holiday mood. She looked forward to this time of year, as did Lucy Fur, Elocution, and Cazenovia.
The candles, garlands in the hallways, the wonderful smell of Christmas, and the enormous tree in Reverend Jones’s office were all a cat could ask for, but this year the overflow of goods in the meeting room down the hall made it the best Christmas ever.
Elocution had investigated every toy box, pulling out what moved or squeaked. Lucy Fur and Cazenovia, however, preferred to burrow deep into blankets, sweaters, even some especially plush towels.
This Sunday, December 15, after another good sermon preached, Reverend Jones, the cats, and the ladies in charge of the gifts to the poor wrapped toys after the service. The blankets and towels were tied up with red and green raffia, placed in clear plastic bags.
The door of the meeting room swung open, and the ladies from St. Cyril’s came in.
Jessica Hexham walked up to Reverend Jones. “Have you all heard? Lou Higham is missing.”
“No,” Reverend Jones answered.
Jessica spoke louder. “Arden, who is a wreck, said he’s been missing since Friday afternoon.”
Harry, looking up from folding jackets, did not mention Cooper’s stopping by the barn Friday afternoon, nor the deputy’s being called in Saturday to help with the search.
BoomBoom wondered, “Why isn’t it on the news?”
Jessica shook her head. “I don’t know, but I bet it will be.”
Reverend Jones put his arm around Jessica. “Let us know if we can help Arden if you hear of anything.”
Looking around the room at all the boxes, Jessica said, “What we can do is make these deliveries until we hear otherwise. It’s just so upsetting,” she said to the others. “Well, I’m sure there will be a good explanation.”
“Ladies,” Susan called to the St. Cyril’s women, all talking, pouring through the door, “let’s go over the list and you all can decide who takes what.”
The Catholic women, Susan, and BoomBoom huddled in a corner at a long table. Susan, ever organized, had maps that she had colored in Father O’Connor’s unique code indicating drunkenness, et cetera.
“Better not take my toys.” Elocution pushed a fuzzy ball on the floor.
“Get enough dirt on it and they’ll leave it,” Lucy Fur advised.
“Good idea.” The fluffy cat hurriedly rolled the ball over wet footprints.
Harry kept on wrapping, hoping to be able to add more jackets to the boxes, which could use them.
The door opened again and Esther Mercier Toth walked in. “Girls, I’m late. Al and I had an argument over who would take the Explorer. Flipped a coin finally.”
“That means you won.” Jessica smiled at the older woman she barely knew.
Before Esther joined the St. Cyril’s ladies auxiliary, she stopped by Harry. “Thank you for visiting Flo. I take care of her. I don’t know how her name got on Father O’Connor’s list, but Flo will enjoy a good Christmas now.” She paused, thought for a moment. “How was she?”
“Uh.” Harry struggled to find a way to frame the visit in the nicest way possible.
“Say no more.” Esther smiled. “But she wasn’t hostile, was she?”
“No, Miss Mercier, I mean Mrs. Toth.”
This made them both smile.
“Old habits.” The former math teacher smiled. “Flo, brighter than I, is really a good sort. You just have to work with her, know what I mean?”
“I think I do. Her house is immaculate, coldish, but very clean. And what a library.”
“Yes, always the reader.”
As Esther joined the others, Harry realized Esther had not heard about Lou. One by one, the news was passing through the volunteers.
Esther joined the others, all making notations on their own maps. No way you could write on your GPS.
Harry kept folding, but she wondered at the various ways people cope with pain, disappointment, crushed dreams. Most people feel terrible, tears are shed, their friends take them out or talk to them. Little by little, they reemerge. Some bounce right back. If anything, they seem strengthened by the setback. Others never recover. Maybe Flo fell into that group.
Harry figured she belonged in the middle group. Noticing the women carrying boxes, she left off her task and began to tote box after box.
Once back inside, the women gabbed on as they worked.
BoomBoom closed up a box. “Lou better have a good story when he walks through the door.”
“He can always claim amnesia.” Esther picked up a light box to put in her car.
“If he’s alive,” Harry blurted out.
“Harry, that’s awful. There are all kinds of reasons why he might not have called or gotten through.” Esther had reached the door.
“You’re right.” After Esther had left the room, Harry said to Susan, BoomBoom, and Reverend Jones, “Since Friday afternoon? Something has to be wrong.”
“Maybe he was in an accident and no one knows who he is?” Reverend Jones speculated. “No ID for some reason.”
“He’d have to be a passenger in someone else’s car and he would have to have left everything in his car,” said Harry. “It is possible.”
“Yeah, well, if he was in an accident, who was driving?” Susan’s eyebrows shot upward.
The door opened and in walked Miranda. The service at her church had just ended and she wanted to join the others here to help. Plus, she liked being with her younger friends.
“Good to see you, Miranda,” said the Reverend. “Now that you’re here, I can leave. The girls are, uh, being girls.” He was glad to alter the drift of the conversation.
This made them laugh, but the cats protested.
“Don’t go. Not yet.” Elocution had indeed saved the now soggy ball.
“Come on, kitties.” He knelt down and picked up Cazenovia. “Come on.”
“The sacrifices I make!” Elocution trotted after him, as did Lucy Fur.
BoomBoom filled in Miranda on Lou, as well as Esther’s conversation with Harry.
“Flo Rice tried to attend the Church of the Holy Light, but it wasn’t for her,” said Miranda. “She had a fit when her Catholic church dispensed with Latin.” Miranda was more interested in Flo than in Lou, whom she didn’t know.
The Church of the Holy Light, an evangelical church, was Miranda’s church. She sang in the choir. Her magnificent voice brought people to services just to hear her. She had no ego about this gift at all.
“I knew Flo when she was young,” said Miranda. “We attended different schools, but Charlottesville, the county, so much smaller then, everybody knew everybody, or thought they did.”
Susan got right to it. “Was she peculiar?”
“Not at all. She was vivacious, bright, popular. ’Course she had hot competition from Esther. They battled over everything, but sisters do.”
“She’s not vivacious and popular now,” Susan said.
“She turned.” Miranda used the old southern word for a big change in behavior.
“Do you know why?” Harry inquired of her former coworker, a dear friend of Harry’s parents’.
Nine Lives to Die Page 7
