Santa Clawed

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Put it on the counter.” Miranda pointed.

  Harry went over to greet her two foxhunting buddies.

  “There’s enough food here to feed an army.” BoomBoom unknowingly repeated Harry’s sentiments after kissing her on the cheek.

  “Out-of-town people will begin arriving tomorrow and for the rest of the week. We’ll go through all of this,” Miranda informed them.

  Alicia offered, “Why can’t we all take some home and then bring it back in the morning?”

  “Might work. Let me check with Jean.” Miranda looked up as the kitchen door swung open and yet more food arrived.

  Just then Jean pushed through the door. “How are you doing, Miranda?”

  “Doing,” Miranda said, then told her of the distributing food idea.

  “Yes, that ought to solve the problem.” Jean turned to leave as the doorbell rang again and she heard Bill’s voice greeting more people.

  “Harry.” Miranda pointed to an overflowing garbage bag.

  “That was fast.” Harry carried it out to the porch. Returning, she mentioned, “We need more garbage cans.”

  Miranda said, “I’ll run by Wal-Mart. Can’t do anything now.”

  “Ah.” Harry had opened her mouth to say more when a loud voice in the living room riveted all their attention.

  “I don’t care!” Racquel shouted.

  Harry and Susan hurried into the room to see if anything could be done.

  Tom, at fifteen Racquel’s oldest son, tugged at her arm. “Mom, Mom, come on.”

  She shook him off, then bore down once more on Brother Luther. “He’s dead because of you! They’re all dead because of you.”

  Shocked, Brother Luther took a step back. “I thought Brother Morris—”

  “I was too tired to put two and two together.” Her face turned as red as Christmas wrapping paper. “I can add now.”

  “Perhaps I should leave.” Brother Luther turned and headed out of the room.

  “They’re all dead because of you. Because of that damned monastery! I know it.”

  Reverend Jones, who had been there for about fifteen minutes, leaned over to take both of Racquel’s hands in his. “Let’s walk for a bit.” Herb was always good in situations like this.

  She allowed herself to be pulled up. Tom walked with his mother. Dr. Everett Finch, a colleague of Bryson’s, walked with them, as well. With some persuasion, the three managed to get her upstairs. Everett administered a sedative.

  When the three men returned, the room was buzzing.

  Tom joined his friends. They were shocked into silence and had the good sense to keep quiet. The adults proved another matter.

  Alicia listened politely as Biddy Doswell offered her insights. “Phantoms. At first I thought the murders were committed by gnomes—you know, the ones who live under ground and have mole feet and human hands.” Alicia feigned fascination, so Biddy blathered on. “No, it’s phantoms of the angry dead. They are taking revenge on those of us living who resemble the humans that hurt them. Phantoms never forget, you know. Why, some are even in this room now.”

  Finally, Alicia pulled herself away while Biddy lassoed another victim. Alicia hurried into the kitchen, the door swinging behind her.

  “That bad?” BoomBoom was wrapping food in tinfoil.

  “Biddy.”

  “Oh,” came the chorus from Miranda, BoomBoom, Harry, and Susan, who had returned to the kitchen.

  “Gnomes again?” Harry, like everyone, had been bagged by Biddy to hear this theory.

  “Phantoms now.” Alicia stifled a laugh despite the circumstances.

  “Good God.” Susan threw up her hands, then asked, “What is going on up at the monastery? Maybe the phantoms are there.”

  “Maybe the killer is one of the monks,” BoomBoom said logically.

  “Could be. Bryson may have figured it out.” Harry tied up yet another garbage bag. “We’re going to need more of these things.”

  “I’ll pick up some on the way home,” Alicia volunteered.

  “The thing is”—Susan paid no attention to the garbage bags—“something is wrong up there.”

  “The monks are probably making moonshine. A lucrative trade if you’re good at it,” BoomBoom said.

  “Two monks weren’t killed over moonshine. Moonshine boys know how to get even, but murder wasn’t necessary. It’s something we can’t imagine. But what could have aroused this fury, this frenzy?” Harry hated not knowing something.

  “The sheriff has been up there. Don’t you think if something were out of whack, he’d notice?”

  “Apparently not.” BoomBoom then said, “Honey, write down who takes what. I’m going to round up the girls and have everyone take a dish or dishes. Are you ready, Miranda?”

  “Until the next wagon train pulls in.”

  “While you all do that, let me go let Tucker out of the truck to go to the bathroom.” Harry walked into the front hall and retrieved her coat. The cats had stayed home today, although not by choice. She was glad for the cold, fresh air as she walked carefully over the icy sidewalk.

  Despite the rock salt on it, the ice was so thick that only patches of it had melted.

  Just as Harry opened the door for Tucker, Brother George and Brother Ed pulled up.

  When Brother George opened the door, Tucker attacked. “You hit my mother!”

  “Tucker! Tucker!”

  “I’ll kill you.”

  Brother George screamed as the fangs sank through his pants. Finally Harry got the corgi off, bustling her back into the truck.

  “He’s the murderer! He hit you and left you in the blizzard.”

  She ran over to Brother George, who had pulled up his pants leg, where blood was trickling down.

  “I am so sorry. I’ll pay for any doctor bills. I don’t know why she did that. She’s never done that.”

  Brother George knew exactly why Tucker had attacked. “No need, no need. Given all that’s happened, this is a small worry.”

  Brother Ed, on his knees and nearly stuck to the snow, examined the puncture wounds. “You’ll be all right. Let’s go inside and see if we can wash this with alcohol.”

  “Don’t,” Harry bluntly ordered them. “Racquel told Brother Luther that he was responsible for Bryson’s death, that the whole monastery is responsible. Best not to show your faces right now.”

  “Where is Brother Luther?” Brother Ed couldn’t believe this.

  “He must have left about twenty minutes ago,” Harry replied. “Look, it’s nuts, but she’s understandably out of it, and you…well, you all won’t be helpful at this moment.”

  “Thank you.” Brother Ed propelled Brother George into the old Volvo, another of the beat-up vehicles owned by the order.

  Before he closed the door, Brother George said again, “Don’t worry about this, Harry. Really.”

  It was a toss-up as to who felt most relieved when the two monks left, Brother George or Harry.

  After another hour of organizing, cleaning, throwing garbage into the back of trucks so people could dispose of it, Harry and Fair drove back to the farm.

  She’d told him about Tucker and Brother George.

  “Not like Tucker. For some reason she’s taken an extreme dislike to Brother George,” he said.

  “Won’t anybody listen to me?” the dog whined in frustration.

  Back at the farm, the dog relayed events to the two cats. All three animals agreed to continue being alert.

  Finally in bed, Fair breathed a sigh of relief. “Emotional scenes exhaust me.”

  “Me, too. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Well, she’s drinking a lot. I expect she’s been loaded ever since the news was broken to her. I don’t know if she can control it anymore.”

  “I don’t know, either, but Racquel, who’s not a shrinking violet, still isn’t the type to scream at somebody in front of everyone, no less.”

  Harry flopped back on two propped-up pillows. “What else can go wrong?”


  She really should have known better than to ask that question.

  Saturday, December 27, promised more snow. Cooper volunteered to work that weekend so she could have the next weekend off, when Lorenzo would be in town.

  Harry told her of the scene at Racquel’s. As it turned out to be a slow day, Cooper thought she’d drive to the monastery and ask a few more questions. Since no one was expecting her, she hoped to catch a few of the brothers off guard.

  She knocked on the large wooden door.

  No answer.

  She knocked harder this time. Finally the door swung open.

  Brother Luther invited her inside. “Is Brother Morris expecting you?”

  “No.”

  “Let me see if he’s available.” Brother Luther started to shuffle off.

  After a ten-minute wait in silence, Brother Morris swept in.

  “Officer Cooper, please come into my office.”

  She followed him. “Where is everybody?”

  “Working or praying. Here we are.” He swept his arm outward, indicating where she should sit. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No. I have a few questions. I won’t take up much of your time.”

  “Anything to help. These events are beyond terrible.” He settled in the oversize chair opposite hers.

  “Are you aware of Racquel’s outburst yesterday?”

  “Brother Luther told me. The poor woman. I’d called on her that morning and she showed no hostility toward me.”

  “Dr. Deeds treated many of the brothers, did he not?”

  “He was extremely generous.”

  “Did you ever have occasion to be with him during such times?”

  This surprised Brother Morris. “No.”

  “Did you ever see him in the hospice?”

  “Yes. He tended to our patients sometimes.”

  “Was any patient ever angry with him?”

  “No. Quite the contrary.”

  “Did you ever hear any whispers of Dr. Deeds making a mistake? Say a mistake that cost a patient his or her life?”

  This again surprised Brother Morris. “No. Again, Deputy Cooper, it was quite the reverse. He was above reproach in his profession.”

  “Ever hear or suspect he was having an affair or had had affairs?”

  A silence followed this.

  Brother Morris cleared his throat. “People talk.”

  “Tell me.”

  Shifting uneasily in his chair, he finally spoke. “There was talk about a liaison with a very pretty nurse. But you always hear that type of gossip. I certainly never suspected him of anything improper. I never even saw him flirting, and most everyone does that.”

  “No trouble with your brothers?”

  “No. Granted, Dr. Deeds wasn’t always sweetness and light. He was accustomed to giving orders.” He smiled. “I half-expected him to yell out, ‘Stat.’ He was a caring physician. Bryson truly cared about his patients’ welfare. I can’t believe he would be murdered, but then I can’t believe Brother Christopher and Brother Speed are gone, either.”

  “Do you know what an obol is?”

  “Of course. In ancient Greece, it was placed under the deceased’s tongue so they could pay Charon to ferry them across the River Styx. Why?”

  “Brothers Speed and Christopher and Dr. Deeds all had an obol under their tongues.”

  Brother Morris paled slightly. “How very strange.”

  “Racquel thinks all these murders point here.”

  He met her eyes. “They do. But why?”

  “I hope to find out. Brother Morris, I don’t think there is a human being alive who doesn’t harbor some secrets. If you’ve been withholding something, please tell me. If it’s something illegal, I’ll do what I can for you. Given the situation, I need all the help you can give me.”

  He sighed deeply. “I would have told you by now if there was something. That doesn’t mean a brother might not be covering up something, but there are no flashing red lights. The only thing that I return to is that Racquel was quite suspicious of Bryson. That’s not a secret, but perhaps she saw demons when there were none.”

  “Perhaps, but there’s certainly a demon out there now.”

  In the course of his practice, Bryson Deeds had treated people from all over the country. As they flew in to pay their respects, the house was never empty, which was a good thing, as it provided a distraction for Racquel. Miranda’s idea about the food turned out to be a good one. After St. Luke’s Sunday service, Harry and Fair swung by the Deedses’ house to deliver the food they’d kept overnight.

  Racquel appeared more in control. The Haristeens stayed briefly, making sure that Miranda didn’t need anything.

  Both breathed a sigh of relief when they walked through the door to their house.

  “It’ll be worse after the funeral.” Fair untied his silk necktie. “People go home; your close friends call on you but, over time, they return to their normal routine. Then it really starts to sink in.”

  “Does.” Harry pulled her slip over her head. “I’ll do the barn chores. I know you’ve got billings to send out.”

  “It can wait.”

  She pulled on her long, warm socks, followed by a quilted long-sleeve undershirt. “Racquel’s been unhappy for months, maybe longer. I didn’t see it then. I see it now.”

  “Socially she seemed fine.”

  “Most of us can pull it together socially. Looking back, though, I can see that she’s been increasingly unhappy, reaching for the bottle too much, I guess. She complained about Bryson a lot. Now I expect she feels guilty about it and has no chance to make it up to him.” She shrugged. “After this last week, I sure count my blessings.”

  “I do, too.” He leaned over and kissed her. “You know, it’s snowing again.”

  She looked out the window. “I’ll be.”

  “Hey, let’s do the chores, then I’ll make a steak on the grill.”

  The grill was on the back lawn.

  “Fair, it’s colder than a witch’s bosom.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, but the grill will work no matter what. You make a salad and then we can watch the movie I rented.”

  “You didn’t tell me you rented a movie.”

  “Every now and then it’s good to surprise you.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s about the partnership of Gilbert and Sullivan. Since you love their work so much, especially The Mikado, I figured it’d be worth a look. Alicia saw it and said it was one of the best films she’s ever seen about creativity.”

  “Sounds intriguing. What’s the name?”

  “Topsy-Turvy.”

  That phrase would apply to the unfolding drama right here in Crozet.

  On Monday, December 29, people kept talking about the weather and the murder of Dr. Bryson Deeds. The weather remained the main topic, particularly since large apple groves, hay fields, timber, corn, and soybeans added to people’s purses.

  Rick and Cooper drove up the mountain, subpoena in hand. Thanks to Cooper’s urgings, Rick had sent a young officer to watch over Harry so Fair could get back to work.

  “Coop, you have a way of pushing me in the right direction.”

  “As long as I don’t push you in front of a car.” She smiled.

  “When you called me after seeing Brother Morris, at first I didn’t think too much about it. Then I remembered that charity for dying children, remember?”

  “Yeah, back in 1994. The lady from Connecticut who set up the riding program for dying kids. Slick, slick, slick.”

  “She gets money for calm horses, a contractor builds a riding ring, another a barn, people see photos of these little kids hanging on to horses, and the money just pours in. All you have to do is show a picture of a child and people become instant suckers.” He sighed. “So I thought, what are the Brothers of Love doing? Sitting, praying, holding the dying. Granted, a dying adult lacks some of the heart-tugging appeal of a six-year-old hurtling toward the red exit light, but sti
ll, families grateful for their service might give large sums, and I’m willing to bet a tank of gas—”

  She interrupted. “That much?”

  He grimaced. “That much. One tank of gas that a lot have enriched the monastery’s coffers. Even the name ‘Brothers of Love’ could be a ploy.”

  “Didn’t that woman, Kendra Something, walk off with close to three million smackers?” Cooper couldn’t imagine having such a sum all to one’s self.

  “Damn straight she did. But she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was. They picked her up in ’97 in Belize. Sure lived the good life until then.”

  “You know, if I were going to be a crook, I’d go the charity route, too. It’s the easiest way to steal. For one thing, accounting practices are different for 501(c)3 nonprofit corporations.” She mentioned not-for-profit corporations that are charities. “For another thing, people want to help, so you appeal to their higher instincts and lighten their purses. Beats armed robbery.”

  “Except for robbing a bank or a Brinks truck. Gotta admit, there’s glamour to that, as long as no one is killed. Takes brains, planning, guts, and cool, cool nerve. When I think of the thousands of perps I’ve talked to in my career, most of them evoke disgust or fury. But those guys, I grant them a backhanded admiration.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” She sat up straighter. “Well, we’re here. Want me to wear my coat, keep my sidearm concealed, or do you want me to go in exposed?” She grinned at that.

  “If you went in truly exposed, I expect half of those guys would run screaming for their rooms. The other half would run for you.”

  “What a pretty thing to say.” Cooper evoked the old phrase used to great effect by Southern women for generations. One’s tone indicated exactly how one felt about whatever had been said.

  “Go in with sidearm showing. Just in case.” He cut the motor and they both sprang out.

  Cops surf adrenaline surges. While the willingness to face violence and personal danger is part of their personalities, it’s also part of the high.

  Rick knocked on the door. Knocked again.

  At last the door opened and Brother Luther stood before them, dried blood on the side of his head, a shiner coming up, too.