Santa Clawed

by Rita Mae Brown

  Tucker advised, “Wouldn’t do that. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. She won’t give you your presents.”

  “You’re right,” the tiger acknowledged. “We could go for a walk.”

  “There’s a storm coming. Besides, why get your paws cold?” Pewter enjoyed her creature comforts.

  “Well, I can’t rip anything to pieces. I don’t feel like sleeping just yet. I’ll go visit Simon.” With that, Mrs. Murphy bounced down from the sofa, walked to the kitchen, and slipped out the dog door, then through the second dog door in the screened-in porch.

  “Hey, wait for me.” Tucker hastened after her.

  Pewter thought they were nuts.

  Tucker caught up with the sleek cat just as she slipped through the dog door at the barn. Once inside, they both called up for Simon.

  “Shut up down there, groundling,” Flatface, the great horned owl, grumbled from the cupola. “You two could wake the dead.”

  Simon shuffled to the edge of the hayloft. “Got any treats?”

  “No,” both replied.

  The gray marsupial sighed. “Oh, well, I’m glad to see you anyway.”

  “Mom will bring you treats for Christmas. You, too, Flatface. I think she has some meat pies with mince for you,” Mrs. Murphy called up to the fearless predator.

  Flatface opened one eye, deciding that her afternoon nap was less important than hearing about her present. She dropped down, wings spread so she could glide, and landed right next to Simon, who was always amazed at her accuracy.

  “Mom would even give Matilda a Christmas present if she weren’t hibernating.” Tucker laughed, for her human truly loved all animals.

  Matilda, the blacksnake, grew in girth and size each year and had reached impressive proportions. In the fall she had dropped onto Pewter from a big tree in the backyard, nearly giving the fussy cat a heart attack. Both Mrs. Murphy and Tucker were careful not to bring it up, because Pewter would rant at the least, swat them at the worst.

  “What’s mince?” Flatface asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tucker replied.

  “It’s things cut up into tiny pieces,” answered Mrs. Murphy. “Mom makes a meat pie; the meat is minced, but she adds other things to it and it’s kind of sweet. I saw her baking pies, and I know she made a small one for you.”

  “What’s she giving me?” Simon hoped it was as good as a mince pie.

  “She’s making you maple syrup icicles. She’s got a bag of marshmallows, too, and I think she’s made up a special mash for the horses. I saw her cooking it all, but I don’t know what she’s put into it. She’ll warm it up Christmas morning. Maybe she’ll give you some.”

  “Goody.” His whiskers twitched.

  Flatface, not always the most convivial with four-legged animals, was feeling expansive. “I saw something strange.” When the others waited for her to continue, she puffed out her considerable chest and said, “I was flying up along the crest of the mountains. Wanted to see what was coming in across the Shenandoah Valley. When I came back, I swooped down toward all those walnut trees in the land that Susan Tucker inherited from her uncle, the old monk.” She paused, shifted her weight, then continued. “Well, you know there are all those old fire trails leading off both sides of the mountain’s spine. I saw two men in a Jeep heading down toward the walnut stand. So I perched in a tree when they stopped. They got out and put a big green metal box next to the first set of boulder outcroppings. They opened the box—it was full of money—counted it, put the money back, and shut the box. They left it there.”

  Simon stared at Flatface. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker looked at each other, then up to the owl.

  “Did you know who they were?” Tucker inquired.

  “No, but a sticker with the caduceus on it was on the windshield of the Jeep.” Flatface, with her fantastic vision, could pick out a mouse from high in the air. Seeing a sticker was easy.

  Tucker swept her ears forward. “That sounds like a lot of money.”

  “Is,” Flatface chirped low.

  Mrs. Murphy, mind flying, inquired, “Was there a lock on the box?”

  “No. It’s one of those toolboxes like Harry uses. I can lift up the latch with my talon and then slip the U ring over the latch. Easy as mouse pie.” She glanced down at Mrs. Murphy’s paws. “Your claws are long enough to lift up the latch. Don’t know if you could pull over the U ring. Might could.”

  “What did you see over the valley?” Tucker wondered.

  “Snowstorm’s building up. Be here in another two hours, maybe a little longer. It’s big. Can’t you feel it coming?”

  “Sure,” Simon piped up, then flattered the large bird. “But you can fly up the mountain and see everything. You’re the best weather predictor there is.”

  Flatface blinked appreciatively. “Batten down the hatches.”

  Their entrance covered by a tack trunk, the mice living behind the walls tittered as the two friends left the barn.

  The oldest male grumbled, “Mouse pie.”

  Once outside, Mrs. Murphy turned to Tucker and said, “Come on. We’ve got enough time.”

  The cat and dog, moving at a brisk trot, covered the back hundred acres in no time. The land rose gently on the other side of the deep creek. The angle grew sharper as they climbed upward. At a dogtrot, the walnut stand lay twenty-five minutes from the barn. The animals knew the place well, not only because Susan and Harry routinely checked the walnuts and other timber but because a large female bear lived in a den in one of the rock outcroppings. They knew the bear in passing, often chatting with her on the back acres or commenting on her cubs.

  As they reached the walnut trees, the wind picked up a little. At the edge of the big stand—acres in itself—they saw the green metal box, which had been tucked under a low ledge just as Flatface described it.

  Tucker put her paw behind it and pushed it away from the huge rock.

  “I can pop it.” Mrs. Murphy exposed her claws, hooked one under the small lip, lifted up the latch, then hooked the upper U latch and pulled it over.

  “I can press the release button.” Tucker hit the metal square button in the middle of the latch.

  The latch clicked and the lid lifted right up. Thousands of dollars, each packet bound by a light cardboard sleeve, nestled inside.

  “Wow,” Tucker exclaimed. “That’s a lot of Ben Franklins.”

  “Why put the box here? All this money?” The tiger was intrigued but confused, as well.

  “Why are there dead men’s faces on money?” Tucker touched her nose to the money.

  “It’s supposed to be a high honor.”

  “Murphy, how can it be an honor if you’re dead? Benjamin Franklin doesn’t know his face is on a bill.”

  “I don’t know. Humans think differently than we do.” Mrs. Murphy thought it was odd, too. “Tucker, carry one of these packets back. I’ll put the lid down.”

  The corgi easily lifted out the packet. Mrs. Murphy pushed the lid down, and the tongue of the latch fit right into the groove. She didn’t bother to flip the U over the top of the latch.

  The two hurried back down the mountainside. Every now and then Tucker would stop and drop the packet to take a deep breath. She was getting a little winded and needed to breathe from her mouth as well as her nostrils.

  By the time they reached the back door, Harry’s 1978 F-150 sat in the drive. They burst through the two dog doors.

  “Where have you two been? I’ve looked all over for you.”

  Pewter sat beside Harry. The gray cat was as upset as Harry. Lazy as she could be, she didn’t like being left out, and they had taken off without telling her.

  “Busy,” Mrs. Murphy replied as Tucker dropped the money.

  “What have you got?” Harry reached down and picked it up, her jaw dropping as she flipped through ten thousand dollars. “What the hell!”

  To hold ten thousand dollars in cash in her hand took her breath away. She sat down hard in a kitchen chair and recounted the money.


  “There’s more. You’ll be rich!” Tucker wiggled her tailless rear end.

  “Think of the tuna that will buy,” Pewter purred. “Let’s go get the rest of it.”

  “We can’t do it without Mom,” Mrs. Murphy advised. “The rest of it is in a metal toolbox.”

  “You carried that. We should all go, and we have to hurry because a storm is coming. We could bring it here. Think of the food, the catnip!” Pewter displayed a rare enthusiasm.

  Harry peered down at her friends. “Where’d you get this?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Tucker walked to the door, then looked over her shoulder at Harry.

  Over the years, Harry had learned to pay attention to her animals. For one thing, their senses were much sharper than her own. Then, too, they had never let her down, even Pewter, who grumbled far too much. She’d followed Tucker and the cats before, so she knew the signs and, clearly, Tucker had a mission.

  “All right.” She rose, pulled her heavy coat off the peg, wrapped a plaid scarf around her neck, and took the cashmere-lined gloves from the pockets.

  “How far is it?” Pewter inquired.

  “Walnut stand,” Tucker answered.

  “Mmm, well, since she’s got the message, I’ll hold down the fort.”

  “Pewter, you are so lazy,” Mrs. Murphy said. “You were the one who said, ‘Let’s go get the rest of it.’”

  “It’s cold. And there really is no reason for all of us to go.” With that, she turned and sashayed back into the living room, where Harry had restoked the fire.

  “Can you believe her?” Mrs. Murphy was incredulous.

  Tucker laughed. “Right, she volunteered to carry money.”

  “You’re talking about me,” Pewter called from the living room.

  “Because I’m so fascinating.”

  Harry opened the door, then the screen door, and stepped out to see a rapidly changing sky. Clouds rolled lower now, dark clouds piling up behind the Blue Ridge Mountains. Wouldn’t be long before they’d slip over. She could just make out gusts of snow in some high spots. If only the dog and cat could talk, she’d take the truck. She started walking behind the two, who were already shooting ahead of her. The Thinsulate in her boots sure helped, as did the wool-and-cashmere-blend socks. Much as Harry refrained from spending money, she had sense to spend it on good equipment and warm work clothes.

  The remnants of the last snow crunched underfoot. By the time they all reached the creek, she followed the two over the narrowest place, her heel just breaking the ice at the edge. She didn’t get wet, though, so she smiled and picked up her pace, since the animals had started trotting.

  “Sure hope we can get up and back before this hits.” Mrs. Murphy sniffed the air. “It’s higher up there, so I bet the flurries are already swirling.”

  “Even if it snows harder, we’ll make it,” Tucker replied optimistically.

  “As long as we can see. A whiteout scares me.” The cat felt the barometric pressure slide a bit more.

  “If only she could move faster.” Tucker looked back at Harry striding purposefully along.

  “She can run, but with all those clothes on she can’t run for long.” Mrs. Murphy fluffed out her fur, for it now felt even colder.

  Even with the weight of her coat and the sweater underneath, Harry could keep up, as long as the two kept it at a trot. She reached the walnut stand in a half hour, snow falling thicker now.

  “Over here.” Tucker bounded to the outcropping.

  “Someone’s coming.” Mrs. Murphy heard a motor cut off perhaps a quarter of a mile away.

  Tucker heard it, too. “We’d better hurry.”

  Harry reached the box protected by the low rock overhang. Just then a gust of wind sent snow flying everywhere. The denuded walnut tree bent slightly, and the pines beyond bowed as if to a queen.

  She knelt down, opened the box. The crisp bills, neatly stacked, promised some ease in her life. However, Harry, raised strictly by her parents, would never take money that wasn’t hers. She’d turn this over to Cooper, as she realized immediately that something was terribly wrong. This had to be blood money, more or less.

  She didn’t realize how wrong things were, even though Tucker barked loudly and Mrs. Murphy leapt up on the overhang. The wind, whistling now, obscured sound to human ears. Harry never saw what was coming. One swift crack over the head and she dropped.

  Tucker started to attack, but Mrs. Murphy screamed, “Leave him. He wants the money, not Mom.”

  She was right. Brother George hurried back up to the old fire road before the snow engulfed him.

  Tucker licked Harry’s face. Mrs. Murphy jumped down. A trickle of blood oozed down the side of Harry’s head. Her lad’s cap had fallen off.

  “I can’t wake her.” Tucker frantically licked.

  “She’s alive. I hope her skull isn’t cracked.” The cat sniffed Harry’s temples. “Tucker, Fair should be home. You have to get him. I’ll stay here. This storm is only going to get worse. Help me push her cap back on. At least she won’t lose so much heat from her head.”

  “I can’t leave you all.”

  “Tucker, you must. She’ll suffer frostbite if she’s here too long. She might even freeze to death. And if she wakes, what if she’s disoriented? I don’t know if I can get her home. You have to go NOW.”

  The dog touched noses with her dearest friend, licked Harry one more time.

  “I’ll see you.” The mighty little dog left them.

  Tucker ran for all she was worth, goaded by both fear and love.

  Mrs. Murphy curled around Harry’s head. The low overhang offered some protection. It wasn’t so bad, the tiger told herself. She desperately wanted to believe that as the world turned white.

  Thanks, Coop. Call me on my cell, okay?” Fair punched the off button.

  He’d arrived home an hour ago. Harry’s beloved truck sat in the driveway. He assumed she was in the barn. But when Tucker failed to rush out and greet him, he poked his head inside. No Harry. Not a sign of her in the house. Pewter meowed incessantly, even though Fair had no idea what the cat was telling him.

  He wasn’t a worrier by nature, but what set him off was ten thousand dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills, bound by a cardboard sleeve, sitting on the kitchen table, big as you please.

  Where did Harry get the money? Why would she just leave it on the kitchen table? This was so out of character for his wife that he had called Cooper to find out if she was over there. Cooper’s farm was the old Jones family place, which the young detective rented from Reverend Herb Jones.

  Cooper, also at a loss over the money, was now worried herself.

  Fair called her back. “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you again, but I just noticed the sleeve on this wad of bills has teeth marks.”

  “Human?” Cooper was more than intrigued.

  “No. Looks like a dog or a very big cat.” He looked in Pewter’s direction and she pointedly turned away.

  “Fair, I’ll be right over.”

  “Coop, I don’t want to trouble you.”

  “Too late.”

  Within seven minutes she rolled down the driveway. Snow was falling steadily now.

  “Jesus, you burned the wind getting here.” Fair laughed, trying to make light of his fear.

  “Show me the money.” She smiled, but she was as worried as he was.

  He pointed to the kitchen table, Pewter now sitting on one chair.

  “They’re up at the walnut stand, and I bet you can’t see the hand in front of your face up there,” Pewter told them, even though she knew it was hopeless.

  Cooper sat down. She didn’t touch the money, just stared at the sleeve. “Teeth marks, all right.” She looked up at the tall vet. “Maybe she dropped the money and Tucker picked it up.”

  “That’s as good an explanation as any, but we both know Harry wouldn’t just put money like this on the table, and if she took it out of her bank account, she’d tell me.”

 
“Not if it’s your Christmas present.”

  “Cash?” He was surprised.

  “Maybe she’s buying something big.”

  “With cash?” He inhaled sharply. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “Yeah, about a lot of things, but not about your Christmas present.”

  He appreciated her humor, which took off the edge. “Right.”

  “I take it you keep separate bank accounts?”

  “We do, but we have a joint account to cover the farm costs.” He sat down opposite Cooper, who now turned the money over in her hands. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Maybe.” She thought so, too.

  “Should we call Rick?”

  “Not without a body.” The minute the words fell out of her mouth, Cooper repented. “I don’t mean that.”

  “I know. Unfortunately, there have been bodies.”

  “Harry’s not a monk. If she is, it’s news to me.”

  “Given that we found Christopher, she can’t help but stick her nose in it; that’s her nature. Much as I love her, I could smack her upside the head right now. What if she’s run up on the killer?”

  Cooper studied the money for too long, then her eyes met Fair’s. “I know. I guess I haven’t done the job of a friend, which is to calm and console you.”

  He smiled wanly. “I don’t want consolation. I want my wife.”

  Barking made them both sit up. Pewter ran to the dog door just as Tucker burst through it.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” The corgi turned in tight circles, pushed though the door, then leapt back in again, only to repeat the process.

  Fair threw his coat on, with Cooper right behind him. Pewter brought up the rear.

  “What’s wrong?” the gray cat asked the dog, who was tired but ready to go all the way back up again.

  “Brother George hit her over the head and took the money. She didn’t see him, and we didn’t, either, until the last minute. High winds, could hardly hear. Blew scent away, and sometimes you couldn’t see.” The dog caught her breath. “Heard the motor cut off way up on the fire road. That was it.”