Tail Gait

by Rita Mae Brown

  Paul shook his head. “I don’t know. But it would make a hell of a story.”

  The cats, on their way to the truck, took a different view.

  “She should keep her mouth shut,” Mrs. Murphy grumbled.

  “True. She just opens that mouth and out spills whatever.” Pewter leapt onto the truck seat as Harry opened the door. “But here’s the thing, what if a murderer, THE murderer, sitting at another table, overheard her?”

  “She’s asking for trouble,” the tiger sagely meowed as Harry cut on the motor.

  “If she gets in trouble, that’s one thing. But she’ll drag us through it, and that’s another,” prophesied Pewter.

  August 1, 1781

  “It’s so bloody hot even the mosquitoes aren’t biting,” Edward Thimble cursed.

  The men had their shirts off. Sweat rolled down their chests and backs as they carefully fit thick planks onto the last bridge over the ravine.

  The bridges toward the barracks, traversing the gullies and the ravine, had been constructed with a mild arch to bear more weight. The task took longer than Corporal Ix anticipated. Delays, while not uncommon in any form of building, rarely bring out the best in people. The men cursed the heat, cursed the long grinding war, and finally cursed one another.

  While laying the planks took care—no large gaps should occur—it was still easier than sinking the support beams and positioning the cross beams between them. Three men had broken bones. No one had died, but the incidence of heatstroke, abrasions, and exhausted muscles took its toll.

  Charles worked alongside the men. Piglet slept under a large walnut tree, where he had been told to stay. Charles wistfully looked at his dog, wishing he were sleeping there, too.

  The men, American and British, knew the French had arrived at Newport, Rhode Island, good news for the rebels. Charleston, South Carolina, had been captured by the British and the Continentals were crushed at Waxhaw Creek, South Carolina.

  Despite Mad Anthony Wayne’s being beaten back at Green Springs Farm, east of Charlottesville, the rebels grew more confident. The sheer landmass of the colonies, as well as the territories inland, meant the British would need to commit thousands and thousands of men for victory. And after they won, they would need thousands and thousands of men to keep the peace.

  Charles, receiving scant letters from home, more from his elder brother than his father, knew that Lord North’s sufferings continued, intensifying unpopularity. His brother, much shrewder about politics than their father, wrote that sooner or later North’s government would fall. The British people were weary of a war that was to have been swift. They didn’t much like the increased tax burdens. If the colonists wanted to go, let them. The British still held New York, Savannah, and Charleston, but they no longer controlled Philadelphia, the largest city in the New World. The victories they won had little effect upon the rebels, who kept on fighting, wearing down the invaders. Reputations were ruined; a few were made, but very few. Those men who hoped to rise from this war, receiving larger commands and financial reward from a grateful king, had long since realized little gratitude was forthcoming.

  Captain Graves called to him. “Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Tell your men to take a rest. Wash in the creek. The waters are somewhat cool.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Charles obeyed the senior officer from the Royal Irish Artillery.

  He called to his men, and the call went down the line of workers.

  Men happily left their tasks, stripped naked, and waded into the swift creek.

  “Shall we join them, Sir?” Charles smiled at the older officer, a scar alongside his neck from an old saber wound.

  “An excellent idea.”

  The two peeled off their clothes, which stuck to them thanks to the sweat, and waded in. Piglet ran from the tree, launching himself into the water, where he paddled furiously.

  “Come here, fellow.” Charles put his arms under the low-built dog, holding him in the water while he sank up to his chin.

  How good it felt.

  They cooled off for fifteen minutes, then emerged, shaking water off like Piglet himself. Another ten minutes and the men were dry enough to wiggle back into their breeches and torn pants, some shredded tatters at the bottom.

  Weymouth, the butler’s son, walked along with a bucket and ladle.

  Captain Graves ordered them back to work, but held back Charles by his forearm. “A moment, please,” he said.

  Charles and Piglet followed the short, lean man to the tree where Piglet had been sleeping.

  Reaching into his pants pocket, torn at the side, the sandy-haired man pulled out a folded piece of paper. Carefully, Captain Graves unfolded it, handing it to Charles.

  “Have you ever seen discharge papers?”

  “I have not.”

  “I took them off one of my men who fell at Saratoga. Cruel. He’d been discharged but could find no way back to Ireland, so he thought one more battle and he’d make his way home. He was killed in the first volley. I thought to save his papers, things.”

  Charles nodded. “Yes, I did the same if I had time. Thought I’d send them back.”

  Graves nodded, too. “Bits of paper, a few coins, all to show for a life.”

  “This war has to end sometime,” Charles sensibly replied.

  Graves folded his arms across his chest, sighing. “You are well born, Lieutenant. I am less so. To what do we return, regardless of station?” He leaned toward the younger man. “If we go home as part of a losing army, there will be no fetes for us, no rewards. We’ll be lucky to collect what pay is due to us. The Valley Road on the other side of these mountains reaches north into Pennsylvania, south down into North Carolina. It’s safer across the mountain.”

  “Perhaps best not to head south, given events.”

  Captain Graves smiled, revealing a crooked incisor, but he had all his teeth, a blessing. “Wise. I intend to escape, which should be obvious. I need discharge papers and I have heard from the men you have beautiful penmanship as well as your drawing capabilities.”

  “I am flattered.”

  “You can copy this and insert my name. I have equivalent paper.”

  Hesitating, Charles replied, “What of the seal?”

  “I have wax in my quarters and I paid the blacksmith to make me a seal. Just copy this word for word with my name, Captain Bartholomew Graves, Royal Irish Artillery.”

  “Captain, what if you are apprehended and taken for a spy?”

  He leveled his gray eyes at Charles. “I’ll face that if I must.”

  “You’ve no provisions, no weapons.”

  “I can fend for myself. You’re a young man and an intelligent one. These rebels will win. Listen to me, Lieutenant, this isn’t India, where the people are accustomed to submission, to a potentate. Oh, the people here are alive to wealth and power. They aren’t fools, but have you not noticed each man believes he can stand up to any other man? I tell you, Sir, they won’t give in.”

  Thinking hard about this, Charles heard himself utter, “I don’t think they will either.”

  “Then look out for yourself, Sir. I am a man of middle years, but I think I can thrive here. You are young. This is a place for young men.” A flash of passion crossed the older man’s face, and that caught Charles off guard.

  “I will give your thoughts consideration.”

  “King and country, is it?” Captain Graves half smiled.

  “Yes,” Charles simply said.

  “If you leave, if you slide into the forests, become a new man, or if you remain Lieutenant West but you do not take up arms against the king, I don’t feel you or I have violated our oath.” He unfolded his arms. “And why should I stay strapped by my birth, my position, pleasant though it can be? I will never rise above a captain, and should I return I would be a man of some property in Ireland, but there you have it. I was raised in Ireland. It is different for me.”

  “Yes.” Charles struggled. It sounded
almost like treason but not quite. What was it?

  “Again, Lieutenant, will you draw me these papers? I will pay you fifteen pounds.”

  “I—”

  “Twenty!”

  “I will. May I have a few days? I’d like to practice my hand on rough paper.”

  Captain Graves clapped him on the back. “Yes. And I hope you see reason over time. For yourself.”

  As they walked back to oversee the men, Catherine and Rachel, with food baskets and cold tea, rode down to them in a wagon, accompanied by Captain John Schuyler. As though overnight, Rachel had matured.

  Captain Graves stopped for a moment, then smiled at the sight of pretty girls. “Oh, to be young again.”

  May 8, 2015

  Twilight’s silver-blue gave the early evening a magical feeling. Venus shone brightly over the mountains, but most of the stars would be more visible later as the last reflections from the sun died.

  Harry loved this time of day. The foxes, owls, and other night hunters ventured out as the day birds and animals tucked up for the night. She saw a herd of deer way in the back pastures. Deer kept a hunting schedule somewhere, disappearing in mid-October, reappearing in January. Watching them graze, Harry knew they could wipe out an apple grove, grapes, young corn, and yet she never had the heart to shoot them. What she did have was Tucker, happy to be of service and chase them away.

  The horses were in for the night. Their schedule would shift as soon as she felt the day’s warmth would be steady and the night would be refreshingly cool.

  Sliding the barn doors half closed, she walked into the tack room, where Snoop was cleaning bridles and saddles, doing a good job.

  Tucker, at her heels, ran out again through the front barn doors. “Intruder.”

  The cats in the hayloft hurried to the open doors, saw a rooster tail of dust, and noted Cooper’s squad car.

  “Let’s go down to the tack room.” The tiger cat headed for the ladder.

  By the time Cooper reached the tack room, both cats reposed on saddles. Tucker followed close on her heels.

  “Hey,” Coop greeted Harry and Snoop.

  “Come on in and sit down.” Harry motioned for her to step inside. “Snoop’s been working with me today.”

  Cooper nodded to Snoop, now smelling of saddle soap. “Glad you’re here,” the deputy said. “Let me ask you a few questions.”

  “Sit down, Snoop. That old chair will hold you.” Harry pointed to a frayed director’s chair as she took the chair behind the desk.

  Flipping open her notebook, Cooper asked, “What made you call Harry, Mrs. Haristeen, yesterday?”

  “The guys looking for work crews came down on the mall. They parked up in the lot across from the library.”

  “Did you recognize anyone?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I don’t know who the paving crew boss was, somebody new, and I don’t work too much for them, but the landscaping man was Harley Simpson. He’s been picking up day crews for as long as I’ve been down on the mall, eight years.”

  “Did he speak to you personally?”

  “He did. He said the storm caused damage and they could use extra hands, get stuff on the market faster. The storm slowed them down. We’d be paid the day rate, minimum wage at the end of the day. In cash.”

  “Is that the usual arrangement?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. No one would work iff’n it weren’t cash. They can screw you with a check.”

  Cooper smiled. “I understand.” She did, too.

  Harry butted in. “What about withholding?”

  Snoop shook his head. “Don’t know about that. At the end of the day I have eight or ten hours, minimum wage. I don’t file income tax.” He laughed lightly.

  Cooper smiled a bit, then kept on. “What did you say to Harley Simpson?”

  “I said I had other things to do. I’m not getting back in that truck. Maybe like Frank, I won’t come back.”

  “Were you on the mall the day Frank took a job with Huber Landscaping?”

  “No. I never saw him take that job. Frank would work hard for a couple of weeks, then stop working. He needed more money, I think. He was ready to work, but I didn’t see him take the job.”

  “Do you know where he went when he wasn’t working?”

  He bent over to pick up a rag he’d been using, folded it neatly on his leg. “Sometimes. He’d go to the library. He’d take long walks to see what was happening downtown. Once or twice he even walked out to Pantops Mountain. Or he said he did.”

  “Ever mention anyone he saw or spoke with?”

  Shaking his head, Snoop answered, “No. People don’t come up and talk to us.”

  “But Frank was famous or had been a star,” Cooper reminded him.

  “A long time ago. When he’d let his hair and beard grow, few recognized him.”

  “Did you know Professor McConnell?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever think that Frank had gone to see him?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever go to charities, places where he might be fed?”

  “We’d all go down to the Salvation Army sometimes for a shower.”

  “Why not more often?”

  “They rub the Bible on you.”

  Cooper had grown up with that old Southern phrase, so she nodded in understanding. “Anyone on the mall that visited him sometimes?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know where he slept?”

  “Depended on the weather. If it’s clear and warm, we’d curl up anywhere where we couldn’t be seen. If it’s raining, we’d hang out in the parking garages until they threw us out. Sometimes the stairwells.”

  “What about when it was cold?”

  “The underpass was good. Late at night we could start a fire in a metal barrel and sleep close to it. Until you all would find us, but you didn’t sweep us too often.”

  Cooper smiled a bit. “Most times, Snoop, we have nowhere to put you, especially if the jail is full. You’d be surprised at how often the city jail and the county jail fill up.” She looked down at her notes.

  “We used to be able to sleep in the post office at night, but not anymore,” he said. “There’s always a cop who comes in the middle of the night.”

  “Because the post office is supposed to be open to the public at all hours, the P.O. Boxes anyway,” Cooper replied.

  “I know. People don’t want to step over us. In the old days, some were nice. They’d bring food and leave it if we were asleep.”

  “Any other places when it was cold or bad weather?”

  “We mostly knew where the construction sites were. The ones in town are close, but they’re patrolled. If we could thumb rides out of the city or walk, the new subdivisions were pretty good, although we couldn’t start fires. That’s why the underpass is so good. Nothing to burn except the wood in the barrel.”

  “Who would want to kill Frank?”

  “I don’t know. The crew bosses, especially Huber’s people, or the big construction dude, they all knew Frank pretty good. Doesn’t mean they wanted to kill him. Doesn’t mean I wanted to talk to them either.”

  “Did you ever see Paul Huber or—” She looked to Harry.

  “Marshall Reese,” Harry replied.

  “In passing. I never spoke to them until I found the letter opener in the truck. I told the crew boss; he called the sheriff’s office. We waited for you all. Mr. Huber drove in. That’s the closest I’ve ever been to him.”

  “Did Frank ever mention them?”

  He smoothed over the rag again, thought. “He said once that it was easier to work for Huber than Reese. They were at college before he was, but according to Frank, good players.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Kinda funny, I mean, I don’t get it. He said Paul Huber was a halfback like he was. He used the term same wavelength. Said Reese was different, defense. Frank said defense people are spoilers. Me, I ran track and field in high school. So I don’t know but he believed th
ere was a big difference.”

  “H-m-m.” Cooper considered this. “I never thought about that either.” She looked at Harry. “Your husband played football at Auburn.”

  “Did. Wide receiver. When you’re that tall and have good hands, that’s where you go.”

  “Did he ever mention this?” Cooper asked Harry.

  “You know, he doesn’t talk about it very much except to say he’d rather play offense than defense, no matter the sport.”

  “H-m-m.” She turned her attention back to Snoop. “I will try to find you a safe place. Even if it turns out to be jail, trust me. I don’t know if you’re in danger, but you found valuable evidence, you knew one of the victims, and the two victims knew one another.”

  “I think I’m safe here if they’ll keep me.”

  Harry opened her mouth, but Cooper immediately said, “For now, Snoop. But Harry has such a wide circle of friends, sooner or later someone will see you or know you’re here. I think we’d better be safe than sorry. Give me and the sheriff a little time to find you another place.”

  Sensing the interview was almost over, Harry thought she could ask some questions without irritating Cooper. “Snoop, did Frank have any other hangouts?”

  “No.” He paused. “Sometimes he’d walk down to the courthouse or old Lane High School.”

  “To get out of the weather? Stay warm?”

  “That helped, but he said he was looking for chains.”

  “Chains,” both women said at once.

  “That’s what he said, but he never brought any back.”

  May 9, 2015

  Marveling at the size of the homes under construction, Harry drove through Continental Estates. As it was Saturday, no workmen labored on rooftops or installed windows in the almost completed section. The subdivision followed a grid pattern, except the roads were curvy to accentuate the country feel.

  She wanted to find the border between Continental Estates and The Barracks. Across Ivy Creek, large homes were built about fifteen years ago on twenty-acre lots. East of that rested Ingleside, which was the old Jones land broken up into expensive houses.

  The old Jones land once covered both sides of Garth Road. What she wanted to do was look at this new development, paying particular attention to those homes that were ready to go on the market with landscaping finished. She figured it was from one of these sites that Frank was carried off. Where he was killed was unknown. How he was killed was finally known, as Cooper told her he was stabbed and the murder weapon was Snoop’s letter opener.