Nine Lives To Die

The last Sunday in Advent, a special Sunday in that wonderful season, used special hymns, special liturgy, and special vestments at St. Luke’s, as well as at all the high churches, which is to say the Catholic and the Episcopal. The Baptists and evangelicals probably celebrated the most, but of course there were no vestments or other adornments. The Greek Orthodox church on Route 250 wouldn’t be celebrating for two more weeks, as they were still on the Julian calendar.

After the church service, Harry, Susan, BoomBoom, Alicia, and the various husbands and helpers settled in the meeting room—which was now clean and shining, a few late boxes of donations on one table.

“What do we do with these?” Harry poked her nose inside.

Susan, who had gone through everything and organized the donations, replied, “I’ll drop these off tomorrow. Cooper gave me a few more names.”

“Have the other churches received late boxes, too—foodstuffs and whatnot?” asked Harry.

Susan nodded. “Cooper has given everyone extra names, dependent on where the church or parish is. She and the sheriff’s department have been supportive, above and beyond.”

While bending down to pet the three cats, Fair’s deep voice rumbled, “Coop’s been extra-busy.”

BoomBoom picked up Lucy Fur, who felt any additional attention her due. “I believe you can judge any community by its police force,” said BoomBoom.

“Why do you say that?” Fair wondered.

“If the sheriff’s department or the police force are corrupt, I promise you the entire judiciary in that county is rotten. And trust me, there are places in Virginia that are still fiefdoms.” BoomBoom kissed Lucy Fur.

Cazenovia and Elocution investigated the boxes, as the meeting room had been shut to them until now.

“Nothing we can shred,” Elocution mumbled, disappointed.

“Or eat.” Cazenovia popped out of the box.

“I expect it isn’t just Virginia,” said Alicia. “There have to be fiefdoms throughout the country. The proverbial big mean fish in a small pond.”

“Makes for a lot of misery in that small pond,” BoomBoom agreed.

“On the other hand, maybe those places are well run even if undemocratic,” Harry postulated. “In fact, they’re well run because they aren’t democratic.”

“Aha, our dictator in training.” Susan urged Elocution to come out of the box. Susan clapped her hands once. “This is it. We’re done.” She pointed at Harry. “Mussolini and I can take care of this. You all did so much. I am grateful.”

BoomBoom answered, “Everyone did, Susan, but you had to organize it. We owe you.”

Harry’s phone beeped. She opened it, read the text. “What?”

All eyes riveted on her as the others watched her shocked expression.

“Honey, what?” asked Fair.

“Two more fingers showed up at St. Cyril’s.” Harry looked up from her Droid in disbelief.

“Who sent you that?”

“Jessica Hexham. Here.” Harry handed the device to BoomBoom, Alicia reading over her shoulder.

“Hanging on the Christmas tree in the meeting room.” Susan also read over BoomBoom’s shoulder. “Sick!”

Everyone started chattering at once. Harry wanted to tell the others about the skeleton, but she knew she shouldn’t. She had told Susan to come over tomorrow, as the sheriff was going up to the mountain. After all, the remains were on Susan’s timber tract. They could deliver the boxes after that.

“Body parts have significance,” Alicia remarked. “Or maybe I made too many historical movies. Heads on pikes, that sort of thing.”

“Fair and I have talked about what these missing fingers mean. We can’t figure it out. You point with your index finger. You flip the bird with your middle finger.” Harry absentmindedly stroked Cazenovia, who was sitting by the open box.

“I remember that piece of that Omar Khayyám poem,” Alicia incorrectly recited. “ ‘The moving finger writes; and, having writ, not all your piety nor your wit can hasten back a word of it.’ ”