Whisker of Evil

by Rita Mae Brown

  “When have I had time? Or you?”

  “Well, when did you figure this out?”

  “Over the weekend. When I did all the bloodline and color research. I told you about most of that, but the tattoo slipped my mind, really.” Fair apologized. “And one other thing I haven’t had time to tell you. I’ve only told Rick and Cooper.

  “I read Mary Pat’s notes. This was the book that Barry found and probably read. She used a kind of shorthand.

  “Once you get used to Mary Pat’s system you can figure it out easily enough.

  “Mary Pat suspected the nick between her mare and Tom Fool blood would be golden. She jotted it down. Of course, she died before she could have been sure just how good their cross was, but even the late foals that old Malone got out of the mare did very well at the sales and track.”

  “Barry must have figured this out.” Harry rubbed her chin. “The real question is what in God’s name did Barry do with this information? Jeez, I must be slipping!” Harry said worriedly. “I didn’t even badger you to read Mary Pat’s notes.”

  “You’ve been more rattled than you realize.” Cooper took the bull by the horns. “The whole post-office business is upsetting. I mean, Har, even if you were ready to leave, to move on, it would have been nice if you could have done it your way. Pug Harper—well, it was really Jerome—pushed you.”

  “But I thought I was okay,” Harry plaintively said.

  “Honey, you are okay.” Fair soothingly draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She kept her hand on the pickle jar, however. “It’s just your way. Everyone who loves you knows that. You aren’t a person who shows much emotion. It kind of works on you from within.”

  “Meaning, I don’t know what’s going on?” She thought a minute. “I guess that’s kind of true. If it’s outside me, I can figure it out. If it’s inside me, it takes a long time.”

  “Breakthrough.” Tucker smiled.

  “It’s a pity she’s not a cat,” Pewter mused. “Life would be so much more clear for her.”

  Mrs. Murphy climbed up on the plank seat. She snuggled next to Harry. “Her eyesight would be better, anyway.”

  “Okay, I missed the tattoo. Signs point to Marshall Kressenberg’s having something to do with Mary Pat’s death. There are a lot of blank spaces, though, lot of loose ends.”

  Cooper leaned her elbows on the table. “Once we get our hands on Kressenberg, I think those ends will get tied up.”

  “So the rabies is just that. Not connected?” Fair asked.

  “Certainly seems to be the case. Except we have the murder of Jerome Stoltfus hanging over our heads. Marshall, I hope, will spill the beans on who killed Jerome. I’m thinking that somehow, in Jerome’s mania to find the cause of the rabies case, he found damning evidence against Marshall Kressenberg. Jerome figured out that Ziggy Flame was Ziggy Dark Star. Jerome proved much more resourceful than we ever imagined. He’d started doing color research.”

  “I’ll be,” Harry sighed. “And you’re sure Alicia doesn’t have a hand in this?”

  “No, I’m not sure.” The tall, blond woman folded her hands together over her plate. “But Alicia Palmer hasn’t cracked over all these years.”

  “Neither has Marshall Kressenberg,” Fair responded.

  “But she had all the money in the world. Why help him?” Harry wondered.

  “Because she wanted the fortune. She didn’t want to wait until Mary Pat died an old lady and she herself would be much older. She wanted to be her own woman. As long as Mary Pat lived, Alicia would have to dance to her tune. As it was, they fought over Alicia’s desire for an acting career.” Cooper had seen a lot of mischief over inheritances.

  The three humans and three animals sat quietly for a minute or two.

  Fair rose, walked to his truck. He held up a white paper bag. “Chocolate chip cookies!”

  “Hooray!” Harry clapped her hands.

  “It’s not that exciting,” Pewter grumbled.

  “Chocolate is the human version of fresh mouse.” Mrs. Murphy closed her eyes, swaying slightly.

  “Or marrow bones.” Tucker, full, rested her head on her paws.

  “So we’re not out of the woods yet?” Harry returned to the subject at hand. “There might be an accomplice or two?”

  “Yes,” Cooper simply replied.

  “I’ve had my head in the sand. Wonder what else I’ve missed. Maybe I missed something that would help. I’m upset. At the risk of bragging on myself, I’m usually pretty sharp about details, people, clues. At least I think I am.”

  “Harry, you are. You are.” Cooper smiled. “But you are going through a big life change.”

  “You mean I have to find a job?” Harry laughed.

  “A career. Something you love.” Fair put in his two cents.

  “Kind of a muddle right now.”

  “Honey, this has all happened fast. Give yourself the summer to think things through and explore options. Everything will be fine.”

  “When you say it, I believe it. When I’m home alone, doubt creeps in.” She sighed.

  Fair resisted the obvious riposte that she shouldn’t be home alone, he should be with her.

  It was true. Harry was rattled. Her mind was clouded by quitting, by questions about her future. She was also rattled, although happy, because she realized she did love Fair. This was a quiet, growing realization, and she’d address it when all this settled down. She knew she ran away from emotion, but she swore to herself she wouldn’t do that about Fair and she’d sit down to talk to him. She gave herself an August 1 deadline. She was again in love with him.

  Had Harry been on course, she would have realized she had been given a clue Tuesday, a disturbing and dangerous clue.

  51

  A soft rain pattered down Saturday, July 3. Tiny drumbeats resounded throughout central Virginia as leaves bowed then bounced back with each raindrop.

  The service for Mary Pat Reines was held at eleven-thirty A.M. at St. Luke’s. The simple interior of the old eighteenth-century church invited all who stepped inside to consider the spiritual side of life. For those aesthetically attuned, the clean lines, crisp whiteness of the walls, dark forest-green long cushions on the original maple pews, and deep pure colors of the stained-glass windows made sitting in St. Luke’s a visual delight.

  A balcony along the back wall also contained the organ. The long pipes, looking golden, were in the walls behind the front of the church. St. Luke’s couldn’t afford to purchase an organ until the boom years under James Monroe’s presidency. The one they bought had to have been the best, because it was still in use today.

  The church was full but the balcony held only the organist, Merilee Kursinski, and her assistant, the ever-jolly Meredith McLaughlin. Elocution and Cazenovia, Herb’s cats, sat on a front balcony pew, as did Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. The Reverend Jones loved animals, taking St. Francis as a personal saint, so if the balcony was not in use, he thought a small four-footed congregation was in order. For Herb, all souls, including his beloved cats, were equal before God. Although at times he wasn’t so certain about Elocution, given her tendency to desecrate communion wafers. She had been the one who led Cazenovia, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker into this misdeed during the winter, causing no end of trouble when communion Sunday came due. Poor Herb opened the closet door only to discover the tattered remains of the communion boxes. Telltale kitty-fang marks pointed to the culprits.

  Down below, the front pew contained Alicia Palmer, Tavener Heyward by her side, the elder Sanburnes, and Aunt Tally. Immediately behind them sat Harry and Fair, Miranda—alone since Tracy Raz was still out of town—Susan and Ned Tucker, Little Mim Sanburne, and Blair Bainbridge.

  BoomBoom, Tazio Chappars, Paul de Silva, Amy Wade, and Bill Langston sat in the third pew.

  Many of Mary Pat’s friends—the older generation—had passed on. Those in the church knew her, but most were from younger generations, such as Harry, Fair, and Susan, who wer
e still in grade school when Mary Pat disappeared.

  When Herb entered from behind the lectern, he wore his full robes of office, an impressive sight. The green of the Trinity surplice contrasted with the black of his robes. With his deep Orson Welles voice, blue-gray eyes, and silver-gray hair, Herb exuded authority and something quite special: compassion.

  “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.

  “I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though this body be destroyed, yet shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger.

  “We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

  Outside, Cooper heard the organ, then the voices of the congregation as they sang. Although little of Mary Pat had been recovered, that little was to be interred at the family cemetery back at St. James. Cooper was the escort and would drive in the front of the hearse.

  Although she didn’t like funerals, she did like driving the big Harley-Davidson motorcycle, which she’d parked under a tree. She put plastic over the seat due to the rain. Although not part of the motorcycle patrol, Rick allowed her to pull funeral duty so she could ride the Hog. One of the advantages of being part of a small force was she wasn’t hemmed in by so many restrictions.

  She leaned against the hearse to chat with the driver and assistant, who held a huge golf umbrella. A large casket was not in order. Alicia requested the bones be cremated, so a beautiful small casket, two feet square, contained Mary Pat’s ashes.

  This small, elegant mahogany casket reposed on a plinth in the center front of the church, below and between the lectern and the pulpit.

  The service, somber yet beautiful, concluded. Tavener and Fair acted as pallbearers. Each gentleman took one of the curving brass handles. Going before everyone, they carried Mary Pat out of the church.

  They placed the mahogany casket in the back of the hearse, then each waited for the lady he was escorting.

  Fair stood out in the light rain as people filed by. Harry, two kitties and one doggy in tow, slipped out the back door of the church. Her high heels sank in the thick, sodden grass.

  “Damn. These things are worthless.” She pulled her feet up high with each step.

  “I heard that,” BoomBoom half-whispered.

  Harry turned around. “Why’d you come out the back?”

  “Stopped at the bathroom.” BoomBoom reached over and took Pewter, whom Harry was carrying like a loaf of bread.

  “She’s heavy.” Harry smiled.

  “She is.” BoomBoom bent over in jest. “Hard to carry two cats at once.”

  Harry and BoomBoom put the animals in Fair’s truck. Harry hurried to Fair as fast as she could in her heels. “Sorry it took me so long.”

  “That’s okay. Had a chance to see everyone.”

  They climbed into the truck and drove out to St. James for the graveside ceremony.

  The graveyard was high behind the main house. One could see the back of the house, some of the barns, and the training track from the location. The graveyard, surrounded by trees, did not attract attention when one was at the house or the barns.

  A small, square canvas tent had been erected over the grave, which the grave-diggers had mistakenly made full size. People gathered under the tent. Others stood outside, their colorful umbrellas adding festive color to the dolorous occasion.

  Herb stood at the head of the grave. Alicia stood, although there were chairs, to his right. Tavener was next to Alicia. Harry was next to Tavener. Fair was next to her.

  Across from the grave stood all the Sanburnes. Aunt Tally, cane in hand, rested on a chair.

  Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker sat under the huge black gum tree at the back of the graveyard. Although only thirty yards away, no one noticed them. Harry had given them a lecture on being very, very quiet.

  “Why does it always rain at funerals?” Pewter whispered.

  “To irritate you,” Mrs. Murphy replied.

  “Did you know there’s a gravestone where Stonewall Jackson’s arm is buried near Chancellorsville?” Tucker informed them. “There’s not much left of Mary Pat. A couple old bones. They should give them to me. I’d bury them.”

  “You’re terrible.” Pewter giggled softly.

  “Well, I ask you, what good does burying bodies and bones in a casket do? Nothing. All that protein goes to waste.” Tucker kept her voice low. “And what carrion eaters don’t use will enrich the soil.”

  “Spoken like a true dog.” Mrs. Murphy wrinkled her nose.

  “Bodies spread diseases, especially if they get in the water supply. That’s why humans bury their dead,” Pewter resolutely stated.

  Tucker cocked her head. “All they have to do is find a place far away from water, put the bodies there, and vultures, dogs, and bugs will do the rest. It’s not right to waste resources.”

  “You’ll eat anything.” Mrs. Murphy rolled her eyes.

  “If it doesn’t eat me first,” Tucker whispered, a little too loudly.

  A few raindrops slipped through the leafy canopy, dribbling on Pewter’s gray fur, which she had groomed to perfection. “Bother. Why are they taking so long? Herb said words at the church. That ought to be good enough.”

  “Have to do the ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Tucker stood up for a better look, but she beheld only legs and shoes.

  “Humans have to talk. Jibber jabber.” Another cascade of droplets dotted Pewter’s fur.

  “I’ve noticed how silent you are,” Mrs. Murphy commented.

  Pewter, crabby, removed herself to a place under the black gum where the leaf cover was thicker and where she was away from Mrs. Murphy and Tucker. This placed her on the opposite side of the grave from them.

  At the grave site, Herb prayed before the final blessing. “O Lord Jesus Christ, who by thy death didst take away the sting of death; Grant unto us thy servants so to follow in faith where thou hast led the way, that we may at length fall asleep peacefully in thee—”

  Harry, while listening to the prayer, saw Carmen Gamble step out of a squad car, high heels first, dressed in black. No one else saw her, as all were focused on the graveside service. Slowly Carmen began to walk up the rise to the site. She cast her eyes up toward the ridge, toward the high pasture where these whitened bones had been found. Harry remembered Tucker with the thigh bone, and then it hit her: She didn’t know where the other bones were found, because she, Fair, and Susan had been sent back when Rick arrived. Tavener had said at the post office, “At the corner of the stone wall.” She blinked, tensed, then shouted, “You! Tavener, you killed Mary Pat!”

  The shock of Harry Haristeen disrupting a sacred moment was quickly replaced by the sight of Tavener Heyward pushing Harry into the grave, then jumping in after her. With his right hand he pulled a small, flat handgun from his inside coat pocket and put it to her temple as he collared her, his left arm around her throat.

  “Everyone get out of here!” Tavener bellowed. “Now!”

  Fair moved toward the edge of the grave. “Let her go. Take me.”

  “Get out, Fair, out, or I will shoot her right now. After all, she’s in the grave,” he snarled.

  “So are you,” Harry choked out.

  Tavener jerked his left arm harder so she couldn’t speak. “One, two, when I get to three, this nosy bitch will be dead unless all of you run—and I mean fly—down to the house.”

  Alicia paused as she backed away. “You’ll go to hell for this.”

  “I’ll have lots of company,” Tavener coolly replied.

  Mrs. Murphy had climbed the tree on hearing the first commotion. “Pewter, stay on your side! Tucker, come with me. We’re going to the grave site.” The tiger cat had also seen Carmen Gamble walking up the hil
l.

  “Why?” Pewter was still mad at the tiger cat.

  Mrs. Murphy didn’t even back down the tree. She leapt off the branch. “No time to explain.”

  Pewter overcame her pique. Something important was happening. She needed to be there.

  Since the humans were slipping and sliding down to the house, the animals didn’t have to navigate through them. Within seconds both Tucker and Pewter saw Harry in the grave, gun to her temple.

  Mrs. Murphy and Tucker moved up behind Tavener. Pewter headed straight for him.

  Tavener loosened his grip on Harry, who gasped for breath as she tried to step back, staggered, took another small step back. He noticed the gray cat barreling for him but thought nothing of it. He didn’t hear Mrs. Murphy and Tucker behind him, because Harry made harsh rasping noises as she gratefully sucked in air.

  Without conferring with one another, each of Harry’s friends knew what she had to do.

  Pewter soared off the edge of the grave site. Mrs. Murphy did the same from the back. Tucker, paws spread out, legs stiff and straight, slid down.

  Pewter hit Tavener on the chest before he had time to react. He pointed his gun away from Harry’s head to shoot the brave gray kitty, but Mrs. Murphy landed on his head, claws sinking in his face. Harry, using her high heels, stepped on his foot with all her weight.

  Tucker, now in the pit, ran at him as hard as she could in such a shortened space. She slammed into the back of his knees. He buckled. His rib cage hit Mary Pat’s casket edge. Harry heard the crack.

  Harry leapt on him, grabbing his right wrist, while he clawed at her with his left hand.

  Tucker immediately bit Tavener’s left hand. The intrepid corgi wouldn’t let go.

  Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, clawing and biting his face and neck, spattered blood everywhere.

  Cooper, using trees and shrubs as cover, was sneaking up from the house. She saw her chance. Sprinting to the grave, she trained her service revolver on Tavener. “Harry, I’ve got him.”

  “Not until I get the gun, you don’t,” Harry hoarsely replied, fighting like mad to break his fingers.