Nine Lives To Die

Standing in her cowboy boots at the fund-raiser, Harry felt the hot flush of embarrassment creep onto her cheeks. The usual: She’d spoken before thinking, or as Susan would put it, “No edit button.”

“How can I ask her that?” Father O’Connor, also in cowboy boots as well as his clerical collar, demurred.

“Well, I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” Harry stammered.

In front of them, on the other side of the solid low wall, people danced on a raised wooden floor built specially for tonight’s event.

Financed by the de Jarnettes, the affair for the Youth Riding charity was held in their indoor riding arena. The arena, heated at God knows what cost, was filled with people, all in western wear, dancing to a country and western band. So many people attended at $150 a pop that latecomers would have to sit in the bleachers. And while $150 per person paled before the $10,000- and $100,000-a-plate political campaign dinners, it meant a married couple needed to cough up $300. For many, that wasn’t easy.

However, unless one moved in only UVA circles, a resident of Albemarle County sooner or later had to attend some form of equine activity. If nothing else, it eased social life, and in this and other cases, it raised monies for worthy causes.

“I’m sorry, Father, I know you’ve been under great stress,” Harry apologized. “I’m trying to find answers and am not doing a good job.”

Placing his hand under her elbow, he escorted Harry to a quieter place, which meant the enormous feed room. There was a covered walkway between the barn and the indoor arena so Darlene and students could ride from the barn into the huge arena without facing bad weather.

Placed at the corner of the barn, the feed room was filled with sweet feed, crimped oats, dried molasses. It smelled heavenly.

Father O’Connor hit the light switch. “I don’t think Max and Dar will worry that we’re stealing feed.”

“No.” Harry wondered why he had taken her away.

“You suggested the missing checks were taken to throw law enforcement off the track. I can’t say I’ve thought of that, Harry, but you may not be far wrong. Since the Silver Linings checks haven’t been cashed, it seems to me they were taken by someone who had no intention of cashing them. It’s puzzling, disquieting, especially given the deaths of two of the church’s most generous members.”

She took a deep breath, then launched into her theories. “Father, I don’t think it’s just the checks. I think it’s a message, someone who can’t speak up out of fear.”

He leaned against a large built-in feed bin. “But I can’t imagine where uncashed missing checks would lead.”

“Tyler knows his mother’s schedule. If she left him in the office for a time, she wouldn’t worry about him stealing.”

“What could Tyler fear that he couldn’t tell his mother?”

“What if he has a good idea about how his father really died? And then there’s the ugly reality of those fingers.”

Father O’Connor whitened. “Yes, yes, of course. Harry.” He reached out and took her hand. “Perhaps we both might call on Deputy Cooper. Tomorrow.”

“Usually she tells me not to be so nosy.” Harry grimaced slightly.

They heard footfalls by the feed room, which had a large window in the door.

Esther and Al were walking through the beautiful stable, headed back to the dance floor in the arena.

Noticing that Father O’Connor held Harry’s hand, Al good-naturedly opened the door and said, “None of that.”

Esther slid in behind him, took Harry’s hand away from the young priest, her own hand covering the found gold bracelet on Harry’s wrist. “Now, Al.”

The genial coach slapped the priest on the back. “All in good fun, Father. Happy New Year.”

As he turned, Esther squeezed Harry’s wrist. “Happy New Year.”

Harry didn’t think a thing about it. She’d pay for that.

Light snow fell as Flo and Cletus drove in his old but serviceable four-wheel-drive Dodge truck, bought a year before he was fired from the school district in 1994.

“Go beyond the storage unit, go down the road, then turn to where the three abandoned schools are—you know, Random Row?”

“Okay. Flo, how long is this going to take, because this snow is going to come down harder.”

“Not long.” She held a powerful flashlight in her lap.

They turned on the snow-covered gravel road, reached the three old lovely schoolhouses: white-frame buildings with almost two-story floor-to-ceiling paned windows.

“Turn into the parking lot of the schools.”

Cletus did just that. He parked the truck and pocketed the key because he found if his elbow hit the door the wrong way he could lock himself out, shutting the door as he heard the click too late.

Flashlight on, Flo highlighted the snowflakes. Outside she slipped, as the lot hadn’t been plowed since the storms started. Numerous times the snows had melted a bit, and more snow packed on top. Flo pushed along, picking her feet up with care.

Cletus followed. Catching up, he walked beside her. She led him to a small shed at the back of the buildings.

Opening the door, she shined the flashlight on a skeleton, laid out, one arm missing from the elbow down.

“Flo, we need to go to the sheriff’s department.”

“No, Esther’s got everyone thinking I’m crazy. If they do believe us enough to come out here, she’ll blame this on me.”

He considered this. “I imagine you’re right, Flo. Al will back Esther up so it will be two against one. Does he know about this?”

Flo vigorously shook her head. “No.”

“Is it who I think it is?”

“Yes.” Tears rolled down Flo’s cheeks. “I didn’t kill Margaret, Cletus. I had nothing against her.” She took a shuddery breath. “But I helped Esther bury her body. I should have gone to the sheriff, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t turn on my sister, but now, now she’s turned on me.”

“Is this when you started to drift away? You know?”

She nodded. “Help me.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound.” He turned up the collar of his threadbare coat.

“I have a plan,” Flo quietly said.

That New Year’s Eve, Margaret Donleavey made yet another journey. Covering the bones in an old tarp and coat, Flo and Cletus drove her to Harry’s farm. They propped her up against the barn door, the Chinaman’s hat shining over her. Flo arranged the loose bones as best she could.

Then Flo returned with Cletus to his house to hide out. She figured she could call Cooper tomorrow. Yes, the deputy would eventually speak to Esther, but if Flo could just state her case, all might be well.

For the first time in twenty-five years, Margaret Donleavey was aboveground—a social occasion of sorts.