Santa Clawed

“Ha.” Harry appreciated that. “Wouldn’t that be fun? I can barely get Fair’s feet off the ground, and he even helps by standing on his tiptoes. He can bench- press me with one hand.”

“He is one big, strong man. Good thing, too. His patients outweigh him by about a thousand pounds.” Cooper returned to the murders. “Both men had good personalities. People liked them. The calls I made to Phoenix—despite what Christopher did, people mentioned over and over again how likable he was. Can you think of anything I missed?”

“Both were estranged from their families.”

“Right. Forgot that. They were likable but not to their folks.”

“I expect they were still likable to them, but when you go through alcoholism and drug abuse with someone, I think a lot of times the family gets burned out. Plus, they don’t believe anything the addict tells them. Too many lies. Christopher’s family couldn’t handle the scandal,” Harry added.

“Anything else?”

“Their manner of death appears to be the same. Killed from behind. I take it there was no sign of struggle with Speed?”

“We’ll know more after the autopsy, but no apparent sign of struggle.”

“And I assume Brother Speed was killed quickly, too. You’d think someone would have missed him up at the monastery.”

“Rick called. Brother George said they figured he’d stayed overnight in town, given the roads and the fact that the party rolled on. George was scared.” She paused. “You know, when we catch the killer, I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets off somehow.”

Harry nodded. “Everything’s backward. We punish the victim. We give money to people who won’t work. Old men sit in the legislature and send young men and women to their deaths. It’s all backward.”

“You and I aren’t going to fix it.”

“I think we can, but it’s going to take more than just us. Like these murders. We can’t bring back the dead, but if we use our wits and have a bit of luck, we’ll get him.”

“Think it’s only one person?”

“I don’t know. You’d know better than I do.”

“I’m not sure. If only I could figure out the Brothers of Love connection.”

“Doesn’t seem to be coincidence.” She frowned. “We don’t know what we don’t know.”

“Yep.” Cooper drained her hot chocolate. “Mind if I make another?”

“Course not.”

“Need more?”

“I’m good.”

Cooper filled the teakettle. Harry always kept a couple of bottles of distilled water in the tack room for that purpose. “I’ve even tried to make odd connections. For instance: facial hair.”

“No connection. Speed was clean shaven and Christopher had that flaming beard.”

“I know.” A note of irritation crept into Coop’s voice. “I’m saying that I’m looking at everything. The things that are important to a killer are not immediately obvious.”

“I understand that. Kind of like the serial killer who kills women who resemble his high school crush who rejected him.”

“Exactly.” Cooper stood over the teakettle.

“A watched pot never boils,” Harry intoned the old saying.

“Right.”

Cooper flopped down in the director’s chair.

“They were both nice-looking. So far no ugly brothers have been killed,” Harry said.

“Well, that’s something.”

“See, I told you they don’t know a thing,” Pewter said smugly. “Crabby Appleton.” Mrs. Murphy used the childhood insult.

“They know a lot. Didn’t you listen?”

“She only listens to herself talk.” Tucker rolled her eyes.

“I am sick and tired of being insulted by one snotty cat and one bubble butt.”

Pewter showed her claws for effect. “It’s someone who hates Christmas.”

Her idea was as good as anyone else’s.

18

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Racquel, I’m not lying to you.” Bryson felt exhausted.

“I know the signs.”

“I’m distracted, tired, and Christmas isn’t my favorite season.”

Both their sons were at the ice rink in downtown Charlottesville. Without the restraining influence of her children, Racquel let her emotions get the better of her.

“Who is she?”

“I swear to you I am not having an affair with a nurse, a secretary, a nurse’s aide, or any other woman.”

“One of those caretakers at the hospice is pretty. I noticed when I visited Aunt Phillipa.”

“I’m not.” He walked to the bar to fix himself a scotch on the rocks. “I am worried about the Brothers of Love. The murders could hurt donations. No one does what they do. They’re... well, you’ve seen the care.”

“Have.” Her eyes narrowed. “You do seem depressed. Maybe the affair is over.”

“Racquel, sometimes you make it hard to love you.”

“Ditto.” She strode to the bar. “Martini.”

He fixed her a dry one and they sat by the fire. “I’ve made mistakes. I was wrong. I can’t say more than that. How can we go forward if you mistrust me?”

“It’s hard to trust you. You’re accomplished at deceit.”

He took a long draft. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t men ever consider the damage they do for what amounts to fifteen minutes of pleasure?”

“Obviously not. But I am not having an affair. I told you that. You are the only woman in my life.”

“What would you do if I had an affair?”

“I don’t know.”

“It might be painful to have the shoe on the other foot.”

“Yes. Look, can’t we call a truce? It’s Christmas. The tension is so thick in this house you can cut it. For the boys’ sake.”

“I’ll try.”

“Thought I’d go over to Alex’s later for a poker game, but I’ll cancel. It’d be nice to have a little time together before the kids come back.”

She brightened at this and downed her martini. “Good idea.”

19

The snow-covered Leyland cypress swayed hypnotically in the wind. Harry, once again up since five-thirty, surveyed the orderly plantings of Waynesboro Nurseries’s stock on Tuesday morning. She’d arranged to have twelve of these lovely trees planted at Fair’s office as a Christmas present. Naturally, the evergreens wouldn’t go in the ground until spring, but she wanted to double- check to make certain of her decision.

Landscaping came naturally to Harry, probably because she loved it. She joked with her husband that if God gives you the skills in one department, he often leaves out another. This was by way of explaining her terrible taste in any clothing that didn’t involve equine pursuits. Once every two or three years, Susan would drag her to Nordstrom’s, often aided by BoomBoom, a clotheshorse.

After she’d conversed with Tim Quillen at the nurseries, she felt that itch to get something for herself, so she called Jeffrey Howe at Mostly Maples and ordered two good old-fashioned sugar maples, also to be planted in the spring.

She cranked the motor on the 1978 Ford, but before she could leave, her cell rang. Harry didn’t like to drive and talk on the phone, so she stayed put.

“Hello.”

“Honey, can you swing by Southern States and pick up extra halters and lead shanks? I forgot,” Fair said.

“Sure, honey.” Fair always kept extras in his truck just in case.

“How’s your day so far?” Harry inquired.

“Good, but it will be better when I’m home with you.”

When she clicked off her cell, she had a smile on her face.

In about thirty- five minutes she was back in Charlottesville, and she dropped by Bryson Deeds’s office. Harry had washed and dried Racquel’s pottery dishes from St. Luke’s Christmas party and offered to drop them off at the house, but Racquel told her to leave them at Bryson’s office. He would still be seeing patients right up to Christmas Eve, and she was doing last-minute shopping.

No one sat at the reception desk, so Harry put the dishes on the reception counter. As she walked out into the hall of the medical office building, she heard a door close behind her.

Brother Luther strode up to her.

“Merry Christmas, Brother Luther.”

His eyes darted around. “Merry Christmas to you.”

Noticing how nervous he was, she thought to console him. “If you’re a patient of Bryson’s, you’re in good hands. He’s a wonderful cardiologist.”

“Oh, I have a little heart murmur. Nothing to worry about. It’s extra fluttery. All these terrible events.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He grasped her hand. “Harry, if anything happens to me, call my brother in Colorado Springs.” He pulled a little notebook out of his coat pocket and scribbled the name.

Harry read it, “Peter Folsom. I didn’t know your last name was Folsom.” She smiled at him. “Your heart will tick along, but I promise I’ll call him. But, really, Brother Luther, don’t worry. You’ll just make yourself sick.”

He let go of her hand. “Someone out there is killing us. Our order. I could be next.”

“Maybe it isn’t about the order. Maybe it’s those brothers’ pasts catching up with them.”

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, even though no one was around. “It’s the order, and the past catches up with all of us.”

“Brother Luther, forgive me, but I can’t imagine what Christopher—I mean, Brother Christopher—or Brother Speed did to provoke such an”—she searched for the right word— “end.”

“You don’t want to know.” With that, he scuttled down the hall.

20

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, upset that Harry did not take them along for her errands, sat in front of the living-room fireplace. Embers still glowed from last night’s fire, a testimony to slow- burning hardwoods.

“Low- pressure system coming in,” Pewter drowsily announced.

“Windy now.” Tucker could hear the reverberations at the top of the flue as well as see the trees bending outside the windows.

“Something’s behind it.” Mrs. Murphy felt the change in atmospheric pressure, too.

“It’s cozy right here. I wish Mom would get back, to start up the fire.” Pewter snuggled farther down in the old throw on the sofa.

“She should have taken us,” Mrs. Murphy grumbled. “We can’t even tear up the tree, because she hasn’t decorated it. Of course, we could shred the silk lamp shades.”

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.

21

“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.”

“Is Harry all right?”

“I don’t know. She was unconscious when I left, and Murphy is with her.”

Pewter, now running with the corgi, said nothing. Insouciant as she might appear, at bottom she loved her little family, and if that meant going out in what was becoming a whopper of a storm, then she was going.

Tucker, realizing the humans couldn’t keep up, slowed. She’d forgotten for a moment about the fact that they followed on two feet, encumbered by winter wear.

She barked loudly.

Fair responded, “Hold hard, Tucker.”

Pewter, waited, closed her eyes. The snow, coming hard in swirling winds, stung her eyes.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” Tucker panted.

“It’s my new exercise program.” Pewter saw Fair’s huge frame loom in the snow, Cooper’s smaller one beside him.

Tucker knew how worried Pewter was. For one thing, she would never admit she was fat—and she just did. The dog turned to face the onslaught, Pewter shoulder to shoulder with her.

The humans kept up, since Tucker trotted now. Fortunately, the snow wasn’t deep yet. Footing could be dicey in those places where the old snow had hardened like vanilla icing, and in some spots, there was nothing but ice.

They pressed on, balloons of steam coming from four mouths, four heads down against the wind, which sounded like a Mercedes at full throttle.

As they began to climb, conditions worsened, but the exhausted dog never faltered, nor did the gray cat. Behind them, the humans—who were wiping the snow from eyes and eyelashes, breath coming sharper now—knew they had to keep going and stay together.

Slowed by conditions, they reached the walnut stand in forty minutes instead of thirty.

Tucker called, “Murphy!”

“Here!”

Even with the wind, the two humans heard the piercing meow.

Pewter raced to her friend, Tucker alongside, with Fair and Cooper almost at their heels, rejuvenated by Mrs. Murphy’s voice.

They found the cat draped over Harry’s head, her tail swishing to keep the snow from pasting Harry’s eyes and filling up her nostrils.

Fair and Cooper knelt down, and Cooper gently lifted the cap.

“God damn, that’s nasty,” she cursed.

Fair took Harry’s pulse, fingers cold since he’d pulled off his glove. “Strong.”

The snow had already covered the blood as well as Brother George’s tracks.

“Maybe we can rig up a sled like the Indians used: two poles crossed. I’ll put my coat on them to hold her,” Cooper offered.

“No tools. I can carry her down, but it will take a while.”

“I can do the fireman’s carry. Spell you.”

“You’re a good woman, Coop. Remind me to tell you that more often.”

Tucker and Pewter huddled around Mrs. Murphy, who was half frozen herself.

“Can you make it?” Tucker asked.

“Yeah.” Mrs. Murphy stretched, then shivered.

Fair touched the cat’s snow- covered head. “God bless you, Mrs. Murphy.” He looked over to Cooper. “You could carry her for a bit.”

“Will do.”

Fair stood back up, shook his legs, then knelt down and lifted Harry. Since he was accustomed to patients that weighed 1,200 pounds, Fair’s five- foot- seven- inch, one-hundred- forty-two pound wife felt light enough. He knew as time wore on she’d feel heavier and heavier, though.

He used the fireman’s carry and they began the trek down, at times hardly able to see. The ruts in the old wagon trail began to fill up, pure white with no rocks protruding. A few saplings here and there helped keep their bearings. Tucker and Pewter, better able to keep on track, also helped. Tucker barked if anything needed to be sidestepped or if the humans began to lose their way.

After twenty minutes, slipping and sliding now, Fair gently laid down Harry. He bent over, hands on knees, and gulped in air.

“I’ll take a turn.” Cooper was taller than Harry and accustomed to lifting human burdens on occasion—since a cop’s duties require many strange moments with truly strange people. The deputy grunted, but she hoisted Harry on her shoulders and stood up. “I won’t last as long as you did.”

“A breather helps.” He scooped up Mrs. Murphy, opening his coat and putting her inside, then zipping it back up, with her head outside for air.

To her surprise, Cooper lasted fifteen minutes, almost the rest of the way down the mountain.

She and Fair exchanged burdens. Mrs. Murphy noted that Pewter, quick to want to be carried, made not one peep.

Tucker and Pewter, wind to their tails now, pushed ahead. Occasionally the wind would swirl, a white devil blowing snow into their eyes and mouths again, but they turned their heads sideways, keeping on, always keeping on.

When they reached the creek, Fair again took a breather, sweat pouring over his forehead, little icicles forming.

Cooper picked up Harry again and struggled through the creek, as there was no way to jump it. Some water crept into her boots where the soles had worn. The shock of the frigid water energized her for a little bit, although her legs had begun to weaken. Her back was holding up, but her quads burned. She knew she couldn’t make it too long, and she hoped she could get back to the farm on her own steam.

Ten minutes seemed like a lifetime. Cooper faltered, lurched, and slowly sank to her knees so as not to drop Harry.

“You okay?” Fair knelt beside her.

She nodded, gasping for breath. “You hear stories,” she gulped again, “about guys carrying wounded buddies for miles in wartime.” Gulped again. “Heroes.”

In a quiet voice he said, “Love comes in many forms.

Sometimes I think it’s disguised as duty. Are you sure you can make it?”

“I’m sure. Get her back. I’ll get there.”

“I’m not leaving you. This will turn into a real whiteout. You could be one hundred yards from the barn and not know it. We’ve got to stick together or we might not make it.”

“Okay. Let me see if my cell will work now.” She knew she usually couldn’t get a signal on the mountainside.

Fair handed Mrs. Murphy to Cooper, who put her in her coat, and Fair hoisted up Harry again.

Finally Cooper got a signal and called an ambulance. The line crackled, but she could hear and so could they. She told them to come to the Haristeens’. Next she called Rick.

Twenty minutes later, after Fair and Cooper took more breaks, they finally stumbled through the back door.

The ambulance arrived a few minutes after they did. Fair hadn’t even taken his coat off before the attendants bounded the gurney into the living room, where he and Cooper had placed Harry on the sofa.

“I’ll go with her,” Fair said.

“I’ll follow you with the truck,” replied Cooper.

“Don’t do that. You’ve done enough.”

“Won’t be long before the roads are treacherous and the only thing out there will be emergency vehicles. Also, I have my badge just in case.With any luck you can bring her home.”

Too tired to argue, he gratefully acceded. “I’ll see you there.”

Given the weather and the wrecks on the road, they made it to the emergency room in fifty minutes. Normally the trip would take thirty minutes.

Rick met Cooper there.

Back at the house, a warming Mrs. Murphy licked her paws. “Thanks, Pewter.”

“Don’t think I’ll do it again.” Pewter was feeling sufficiently relieved to sass.

Tucker and Murphy looked at each other, then the tiger cat rubbed across the dog’s broad chest, thanking her.

“Let’s pray that Mom is okay,” Tucker said.

“Take more than a crack on the head to keep her down,” Mrs. Murphy said, and the other two hoped she was right.

22

Since it was December 23, the staff at the hospital functioned at skeleton level. Fortunately, Dr. Everett Finch a friend of Fair’s, was on duty in the ER. He X-rayed Harry’s skull and, to be safe, ran an MRI.

Fair, worn out, slumped on a bench in the corridor, Cooper beside him. She’d fallen asleep from the tremendous effort of getting Harry down from the walnut stand.

The doors swung open and Everett walked up to them. “She’s fine. No cracked skull. A concussion, sure enough, but she’ll be okay.”

Tears welled up in Fair’s blue eyes. “Thank God.”

Cooper, awake now, also misted up.

“She’s coming to. She may be nauseated, throw up. And there is some chance her vision will be blurred. You never really know with these things. And I can just about guarantee you that she will remember nothing, maybe not even the pain of being clobbered.” He paused. “Any idea who did this?”

“No,” Fair answered. “We don’t know why she walked halfway up the mountain with a storm coming. She can read the weather better than the weatherman, so you know whatever happened up there, it was important. I hope she can tell us something.”

“I suggest we keep her overnight and you pick her up in the morning.”

Alert now, Cooper asked, “You’re at bare- bones staff, right?”

“Holidays.” Everett smiled.

“Fair, we can’t leave her here. We know whoever attacked her is at large. And whoever attacked her risked a blizzard as much as she did. Our numbers are down, too.” She meant that most people in the sheriff’s department were home for Christmas. “She can be better protected at home.” Cooper stood up to face Everett. “Doc, this is a dangerous situation.”

Upset by this news, he quietly inquired, “You really think someone would come into the hospital?”

“I do. And they will be armed. I’m pretty sure this may be connected to the murders of the two monks.”

What she didn’t want to say was that, if someone came in unarmed, given low staff numbers and part- time help, they might easily slip by a police guard. Also, the animals proved a good warning system at home.

“Jesus.” He whistled.

“You would help us if you’d instruct anyone who has seen Harry, and this includes the ambulance driver, not to tell anyone. They might actually keep their mouths shut if you inform them they could be in danger themselves if the perp finds out they had contact with her today.” Cooper breathed in. “We’re dealing with someone who is both twisted and ruthless, someone who arouses no suspicion.” Cooper thought to herself that Everett had no idea how ruthless.

“I’ll see to it.” Everett compressed his lips, then turned to his friend. “Keep her quiet.”

The ambulance crawled on the way back to the farm.The snowplows worked, but there weren’t enough of them to adequately deal with the weather. Virginia, blessed with four distinct seasons, benefited from mild winters compared to Maine. But winter did arrive, and Crozet rested near the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, so it was colder there. Often the mountains and the close foothills got more snow than even Charlottesville.

Fair sat next to Harry, as Cooper followed in her squad car. Her feet felt like ice blocks since her pants and socks remained wet. The department allowed the officers to take their vehicles home. Cooper used the car for work, obviously, but when Fair had called, suspecting trouble, she prudently drove over in the squad car. She talked to Rick as she drove.

“We don’t have anyone to spare to set up a guard.”

“I know, boss. I’ll take turns with Fair. By December twenty- sixth, we might be able to round someone up or maybe I can find personal security. Fair will spare no expense.”

“Harry won’t stand for it.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid of that myself. I don’t know who’s out there and I don’t usually worry. I mean, we deal with thieves, con men, assault and batteries all the time, plus the occasional murder, usually fueled by alcohol or infidelity, but this—this is different. And I’m scared.”

“I know what you mean. I don’t think the killer is going to come after her, but we sure could find ourselves surprised.”

“Yeah, I know. I think this is someone who is acceptable to the community, someone we see most every day,” she replied.

Rick sighed. “Yeah. We’re lucky Harry didn’t have her throat slit.” He stopped. “I think the storm saved her. That and Mrs. Murphy and Tucker.”

Cooper had already told him about the animals. “Could be right. Keep me posted.” She clicked off, concentrating on the faint taillights in front of her. Initially, she’d been disappointed when Lorenzo went home to Nicaragua for the holidays, but now she was glad, because she wouldn’t have been able to spend much time with him. She liked him—more than liked him— cherishing every moment they could be together. He’d be with her for New Year’s. That was a happy thought.

In the ambulance, Harry finally regained full consciousness. She tried to sit up, but Fair gently kept her down.

“Where am I?”Then she put her hand to her head, wincing, feeling the tight stitches on the part of her scalp that was shaved.

“On the way home.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Here.” He held a plastic bag for her, since Everett had told him she might well throw up. She did. Not much to it except excruciating pain. She flopped back on the gurney.

“I’ve never felt so bad in my life.”

“Keep quiet, honey. You’ll feel much better tomorrow.”

“What happened?”

“You got hit over the head. Can you tell me why you were up there?”

She whispered with her eyes closed, as if that would diminish the pain: “At least one hundred thousand dollars in a green toolbox.”

He held her hand. “That’s enough for now. Do you think you can sleep?”

“Maybe. I’m dizzy.”

“Can you see clearly?”

“I can see you. Looks white out the back ambulance window.”

“Blizzard. Sleep, sweetie.”

She conked out again. He held his palm to her forehead. She was sweating a little, but he couldn’t discern a fever. A concussion doesn’t bring on a fever, but the vet in him made him want to check everything.

Once at the farm, the ambulance driver and his assistant rolled Harry into the bedroom and gently placed her on the bed. She awoke, then fell back to sleep again as all three animals sat quietly on the floor.

Fair gave the two men a one-hundred- dollar tip, reminded them to say nothing, and then wished them a merry Christmas.

With Cooper’s help, they got Harry out of the hospital shift, slid her under the covers, and walked back to the living room.

“Cooper, you go on home. I don’t think anyone is going to invade the farm in a blizzard, and Tucker will sure let me know if anyone does.”

Cooper sank into a wing chair and thought about this. “I’ll be over in the morning to take a turn. I don’t even trust leaving her alone while you do the barn chores.”

Relief flooded his face. “Thanks, pal.”

Tears formed in both their eyes again, a combination of recognizing what a near miss this was, pure physical exhaustion, and wondering what in the hell would happen next.

Cooper now struggled to get up from her chair.

“She told me there was about one hundred thousand dollars in a toolbox up there.”

Cooper dropped back down. “Damn!”

“Why the hell leave it by the walnut stand—” He stopped himself. “I think I know. Some of the monks know that stand. It belonged to Susan’s uncle. They may have seen it when they checked timber growth with him. And I expect there were some hard feelings when he didn’t leave it to the brotherhood, the old brotherhood.”

“Money can sure bring out the worst in people.The walnut stand isn’t all that far from the monastery.” Cooper rubbed her forehead with her right hand. “Ten thousand dollars on your kitchen table. How that money got here is anyone’s guess, but if Harry says there was a cornucopia up the mountain, then you know there was.”

“I brought the money.” Tucker looked at them with her deep-brown eyes.

Fair reached out to pet the silky head. “I hope whoever hit her doesn’t know we have some of the money.”

Cooper shrugged. “No way to tell.”

“Well, we know one thing more than we did yesterday: the finger points to the top of the mountain.”

“Yes, it does. Well, let me get home. And let’s hope the power doesn’t go off or there will be pipes bursting all over central Virginia.”

“You’ve got a generator?”

“Do. Hooked up just in case.”

“Good.” She pushed herself up once again. At the kitchen door,

Fair hugged Cooper and kissed her on the cheek. “I can never repay you, Coop.” “That’s what friends are for.” She hugged him back.

When she put on her coat, they both noticed some blood on the back. Fair’s coat also had blood drippings. They’d been too distracted to notice before now. “I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning bill.”

“Fair, no.” She called when she made it home. Fair stoked the fire. Next he warmed special food for the animals, because they had braved this storm, too. He owed them as much as he owed Cooper.

Then he stripped and took a hot shower, which almost got the chill out of his bones, and he stoked the fire one more time. He wanted to crawl in bed with Harry, but he was afraid if he turned in the night or bumped her, he’d hurt her. He pulled out four blankets, put two on the floor at the foot of the bed, two over him, and used one pillow. The three animals cuddled with him. He fell asleep the minute his head hit the pillow.

Miraculously, the power stayed on.

23

Faint light shone through the windows at seven-thirty on Christmas Eve morning. Harry reached over for Fair, touched empty space, and quickly sat up. The cut on her scalp hurt. Her head throbbed.

She tiptoed to where Fair, sound asleep, was spread out. Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter snuggled with him.

She put her finger to her lips. Tucker knew that signal. Harry went into the bathroom and tried to look at her scalp in the mirror. The blood had been washed from the wound, but a little had seeped afterward. Since the wound was on the back of her head, she couldn’t see it. She picked up a washrag, wet it, and pressed it to the wound. Stung like the devil. Tears sprang up, but she kept the warm washrag there, then rinsed it out. She brushed her teeth, quite grateful that she was no longer dizzy or nauseated when she bent over. She had to laugh at her “do” and figured she’d be wearing baseball hats until the hair grew over the shaved wound.

Completing her morning ablutions, she threw on a terry bathrobe and went into the living room to rekindle the fire. The deep ash bed contained a layer of bright orange embers once she stirred it, so getting the fire up took no time at all.

Mrs. Murphy padded in. “How do you feel?”

Harry scooped up the cat, kissing her cheeks. “I don’t know how either of us got down the mountain, Murphy, but I’m so glad we’re home.”

Tucker and Pewter walked in.

“Carried you down. You can’t believe how hard Fair and Cooper worked,” Pewter informed her. “I’ve never been so cold in my life.”

“You say that every time the thermometer dips below freezing,” Mrs. Murphy teased her.

“This was worse.” Pewter hoped something good would soon appear in the kitchen.

“It was. I’m a little stiff today. And still a little tired,” Tucker admitted.

“Small wonder.” Mrs. Murphy put her paws around Harry’s neck.

“Come on.” Harry, her knees hurting although she didn’t know why, walked into the kitchen to make a hot breakfast for all of them.

Her knees hurt because she had fallen curled up, knees bent. Harry, rarely incapacitated, was surprised when anything ached.

As she looked out the window over the sink, she was greeted by a magical land of pure white, dotted with bare trees and enlivening evergreens, boughs bent with snow. Flakes still fell, a light but steady drift. The clouds were low, medium to dark gray.

She knew she’d gone up the mountain; she was trying to remember why.

She was smart enough to know she’d suffered a concussion and grateful that she perceived no ill effect other than the thumping cut on her head. Her vision was fine. She had a dim memory of throwing up in a plastic bag in the ambulance, but her stomach now felt normal. She gave a silent prayer of thanks.

Frying some leftover hamburger for the animals, she pulled out another cast-iron skillet, rubbed it with butter, and put it on a cold burner. She intended to make scrambled eggs. When she put down the mix of warm hamburger and dry food, the three animals went crazy with delight. Made her happy to see them so happy.

Fair appreciated good coffee. She opened the freezer to grab a bag of ground beans. The others were whole-bean. She liked making coffee, even though she didn’t like drinking it. Once the coffee was put up, she plugged in the electric teapot and dropped a good old Lipton’s bag in a cup. She began mixing ingredients in a smallish Corning Ware bowl. Then she’d wake Fair.

Harry looked around her kitchen as though seeing it for the first time. Free of unnecessary adornment, her home reflected her in so many ways. She noticed the pegs by the door, coats hanging, a long bench with a lid underneath, boots within. A sturdy farmer’s table sat in the center of the room, and there was random-width heart pine on the floor, worn thin in places of high traffic by close to two hundred years of feet and paws.

A burst of love for her life, this kitchen, the farm, and, above all, her husband, friends, and animal friends, welled up. She didn’t know why she’d been hit. She felt lucky to be alive. She was determined to get to the bottom of it. She also decided to carry her .38.Thank God for the Second Amendment.

The teapot whistled and Harry shook her head at herself. Here she was trying to be quiet, but she’d forgotten about the whistle.

Fair, hearing the piercing note, awoke, feeling refreshed. Sleeping on the floor often made his back feel better. He smelled the coffee and rushed into the kitchen.

Harry laughed when her naked husband rushed into the kitchen, the floor cold on his bare feet. “Honey, put your robe on before you turn blue.”

He hugged her. “Are you all right?”

“Actually, I am, but my head stings. It’s pretty tender.”

He kissed her. “Thank God that’s all. I was afraid your skull had been cracked, but the X-rays and MRI proved what I have always known: you’re very hardheaded.”

She kissed him back. “Big surprise. Now go put your clothes on before you catch your death. Not that I don’t like seeing you in your birthday suit. You’re an impressive specimen, you know.”

“If you say so.” Fair had not one scrap of vanity, unusual for so well- built and handsome a man.

He finally did go put on slippers. His had fox masks embroidered on the toes. The terry- cloth robe felt good against his skin. By the time he returned to the kitchen—his teeth brushed, his hands washed, hair combed—breakfast was on the table.

Admiring the snowscape, they chatted. Fair avoided the obvious subject until he was on his second cup of coffee, she on her second cup of tea.

“Honey, how did you wind up on the mountain?”

The reason started to come back to her. “I came home from errands and Tucker and Mrs. Murphy were missing.

When they finally came back, Tucker dropped a packet with ten thousand dollars on the floor. Put on my coat and hat and followed Tucker, who was dying to lead me somewhere. Well, on and on we went, and finally, at the walnut grove, Tucker and Mrs. Murphy led me to the low rock outcropping. Fair, there was at least a hundred thousand dollars in a green toolbox! I couldn’t believe it. That’s all I remember.”

“Brother George hit her on the head with the butt of a pistol,” Tucker informed them.

“Don’t waste your breath,” Pewter noted.

Fair then told her his part of the story. Harry got out of her chair, hugged and kissed the two cats and the dog. She stayed on the floor for a while, Fair finally joining her to play with and praise the animals.

“Cold down here,” Fair remarked.

“You know, I’d like to finally build a fireplace in the kitchen. There’s an old covered- up flue where Grandma hooked up the wood- burning stove. Might still work.”

“Might not work, but we’ll try. I’ve been thinking that if we turned the screened- in porch into an extension of the kitchen, a big step-down fireplace could be built at the end. Fieldstone.”

“That would be beautiful.”

And behind it we could build another screened- in porch. It’s nice to sit there when the weather’s good. Pleasure without the mosquitoes.”

“It will be expensive.”

He shrugged. “Can’t take it with you.”

Given her close brush with eternity, she nodded. “Let me call Coop and thank her.” She rose. “Not that I can ever thank her or these guys.” She smiled down at Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and

Tucker. “Did Pewter really go all the way up there with you?”

“I did!” Pewter stood on her hind legs.

“Every step of the way. Poor Tucker, she fought her way up and down that mountain three times yesterday,” Fair remarked.

“Well, the first time the weather wasn’t bad. After that, well, I...” Tucker said no more.

“And, Mrs. Murphy, you stayed with me the whole time. I’d have a frostbitten nose without you.”

Murphy rubbed against her leg.

As Harry walked over to the old wall phone, Fair advised, “I know you’ll want to talk to Susan, but don’t. Not yet.”

“Why? I tell Susan everything. Well, almost everything.”

“Whoever hit you probably thinks you’re dead. Given this blizzard, it’s possible he thinks you haven’t been found. But it’s Christmas Eve, so we have two days, thanks to the weather and the holiday, where your disappearance not being in the news isn’t strange. If there isn’t something in the papers on Boxing Day”—Fair referred to the December 26 holiday that was celebrated by some people in the country—“then he’ll know you’re alive. And then”—he breathed deeply— “we can’t take any chances.”

“I’m not. I’m carrying my thirty- eight.”

He shook his head. “Not enough. Someone is going to be with you twenty- four hours a day.”

She knew enough not to argue, plus she felt a shiver of fear. “Not in bed with us, I hope.”

He came right back at her. “You know, we never tried that. Any candidates?”

She punched him on the arm and picked up the phone. She reached Cooper on her landline, so the connection was clear.

“Harry!” Cooper’s voice was jubilant. “You sound like yourself.”

“I am, except for the clunk on the head. Thank you. Thank you a thousand times over, and am I glad I got you a good Christmas present.”

Cooper laughed. “You could paint a rock. I’d be happy.”

“You say. But really, Coop, I don’t know how you two got me down from the walnut stand with the winds and the blowing snow. It’s still snowing.”

“Found out how strong I am, and Fair’s stronger. I’m just so glad you’re all right. Wow. What a gust. This thing isn’t over. It’s snowing hard now. My house is shaking.”

Harry, hearing and feeling it, too, replied, “That must have been a sixty-mile-an-hour gust.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Harry repeated to her what she’d told Fair as he washed the dishes. “I don’t remember anything after that.”

“If something should occur to you, call me. I’ll be over to help Fair with the horses, too.”

“I will.” Harry felt another blast, plus the cold air seeping through cracks here and there. “Got enough firewood?”

“Yep. I watched the Weather Channel. Doesn’t look like this will let up until late afternoon.”

“Hard on the store owners. It will keep everyone at home.”

Not quite.

24

Many families gather together on December 24, go to vespers for the traditional Christmas Eve service, return home for a late supper, and then open gifts. Others go to Christmas Eve service but wait until Christmas morning to open presents.

Despite the weather, the Reverend Jones held the St. Luke’s service, attended mostly by those who could walk through the snow or who drove 4×4 vehicles. Even though attendance was low, Herb enjoyed the special event. Two enormous poinsettias, flaming red, graced the altar. Red and white poinsettias filled the vestibule, too. The glow of candles added to the soft beauty of the night service.

Dr. Bryson and Racquel Deeds made it, as did Bill and Jean Keelo. Susan and Ned Tucker attended. They lived not far from St. Luke’s. Susan had carried her shoes while walking in her boots, Ned teasing her as they plowed through the snow. Once at church, she left her boots in the cloakroom and laughed to see the rows of boots, other women making the same choice she did. She was happy that her son, now out of college, and her daughter, still attending, had accompanied her.

Alicia and BoomBoom, although living farther out, took this as an opportunity to test the Land Cruiser. Worked like a treat.

The cats entered the church’s back entrance with Herb at

6:30 P.M. The service was at 7:00 P.M. Lucy Fur, Elocution, and Cazenovia sat off to the side where they could view the congregation. Cazenovia, tempted to scoot under the altar, decided against it, since she’d be peeping out from under the embroidered altar covering. She wanted to see everything but knew her poppy would either laugh or be furious. She felt she was a good Lutheran cat, but Reverend Jones didn’t always see things her way.

She remarked, “Racquel is cool to Bryson.” Lucy Fur looked at them. “Even has her shoulder turned away from him.”

Elocution, tail curled around her paws as she sat straight up, evidenced scant interest in the Deedses’ marriage. “Good thing we aren’t Catholic. They have midnight Mass for Christmas. Roads will be even worse then.” She couldn’t see out the large stained-glass window.

Afterward, when Susan finally got home, she called Harry.

“Beautiful service.”

“Always is.”

“Can you believe it’s still snowing?” Susan sipped on a delicious hot hard cider that Ned handed her.

“It’s been so many years without a white Christmas, without enough snow, that I’m glad for it.” Harry added, “Helps keep the bug population down come summer.”

Harry wanted to tell her best friend about what had happened, but she kept her mouth shut.

“You know, the entire choir made it. That was a big surprise.”

“What about the congregation?” Harry was curious.

“About half. Made it more intimate. Brother Luther came, which surprised me. They have their own service.”

“He was raised a Lutheran—plus his name, you know.”

Susan laughed. “Let’s hope the original Luther displayed more personality than Brother Luther.”

“Dour,” Harry agreed. “The rest of them seem cheerful enough, or they were.”

“Don’t think I’d be too happy being one of the brothers right now.” She switched subjects. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in eons.”

“I know. But this time of year is crazy enough, and when you add the weather, it’s amazing anything gets done. Susan, do me a favor. Don’t tell anyone you’ve spoken to me. I’ll explain later.”

Brother George, not happy that Brother Luther drove down the mountain in the first place, complained, “You’d better get your ass back up here by midnight. We have our own service, you know.”

“I’m on my way now. You’ll be pleased to know that Bill Keelo, overflowing with Christmas spirit, made a generous donation to our order. I knew if I went to St. Luke’s service, I’d see him.”

Brother George’s tone became warm. “Good. Much as we appreciate Bill’s legal work for the order, coins help. Liquid assets, Brother Luther, liquid assets. You as treasurer understand how vital they are more than anyone else.”

“Do. Well, I’ll be up there in an hour or so. Slow going, but it’s going.”

“How much, by the way?”

“Ten thousand dollars. Bill handed me an envelope and I didn’t open it until he was back in the Jeep. But he did say that he knew we’d lost business at the Christmas tree farm from being closed two whole days, so he hoped this would help us.”

“How thoughtful.” Brother George’s voice crackled a little on the cell. “I’m losing you. See you soon.”

Soon was an hour and a half later. Brother Morris met Brother Luther at the door, thanking him for the foresight to see Bill Keelo at the Christmas Eve service.

“Called ahead.” Brother Luther smiled slightly.

“Yes, yes, sometimes it takes a gentle prod.” Brother Morris winked, then headed to his quarters to rest before the service.

As Brother Luther headed to his own quarters, he passed Brother Sheldon, hands in his long sleeves. The hallway was cold.

“Your hands must be cold,” Brother Luther said.

“Everything is cold. I wish you’d told me you were going down the mountain. I would have liked to go to St. Luke’s service. It’s such a pretty church.”

“Ah, well, next time.”

“Next time is a year away.”

“Sheldon, maybe by then you’ll stop crying at the drop of a hat.”

Brother Sheldon’s face flushed crimson. “We’ve lost two good young men.”

“Yes, we have, but you can be glad of one thing.”

“Which is?” Brother Sheldon glared at Brother Luther.

“At least it wasn’t you.”

At midnight, Racquel called the sheriff’s department. After St. Luke’s, Bryson had dropped her off at home and said he was going to see if the convenience store was open, as they needed milk. They didn’t. She’d checked the fridge the minute she walked inside the house.

Furious, she called on his cell, but he didn’t pick up. She was beyond suspicion that he was having an affair. Now she just knew it. How stupid was he to leave his wife and family on Christmas Eve? She thought he’d be back in an hour. He wasn’t back by midnight.

She reported him as a missing person and devoutly prayed he’d be picked up if his SUV had slid off the road, or perhaps an officer would cruise by the house of whomever he was sleeping with, to find his vehicle in the driveway, a mantle of snow already covering where he’d cleaned it off.

Still, she couldn’t believe he’d be stupid enough to do this on Christmas Eve.

What was his game?

25

When Officer Doak received the call from the dispatcher, he was driving back from a wreck on I-64. Some fool, filled with good cheer and in a nice Nissan Murano, had disregarded the treacherous conditions, only to sail through a guardrail and down an embankment. The loaded twenty- six-year- old bank teller didn’t even have a scratch. The Murano was totaled.

Much as Officer Doak wished he wasn’t working on Christmas Eve and now early Christmas morning, he knew Rick would be taking over at four. The sheriff had many good qualities as a leader, one of his strongest being that he would pull duty on days when others really wanted to be with their families. Rick and Helen had no children. Their parents still lived, so they’d visit both sets over the holidays. However, Rick often worked during a holiday, feeling those people with children needed to be home. If the boss worked in the middle of the night on Christmas, no one in the department could complain about their schedule.

So Doak cruised slowly in his squad car. All the people in the department had special driving training, which paid off on nights such as this.

Racquel, wide awake and still dressed in her Christmas best, greeted him at the door. The boys, both teenagers, slept, unaware.

Once in the kitchen, far away from the stairs up to the second floor, Racquel filled him in on the time frame of the evening.

“A navy- blue 2008 Tahoe with Jamestown plates.” He checked the number on the plates, which she’d provided for him.

Officer Doak marveled at her coolness, her ability to supply necessary information. “This has been going on for six months. Late calls, emergencies at the hospital.” She tapped a painted fingernail on the hard surface of the table. “Not that there aren’t emergencies for a cardiologist, but let’s just say there was always one too many. We’ve been married eighteen years. I know the drill as well as he does.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Could I offer you a Christmas drink?”

“Oh, no, thank you, ma’am. Can’t drink on duty.”

“Coffee?”

“No, thank you. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“No. At first I thought it was one of the nurses, but I’ve seen the nurses. I think not,” she said in a clipped tone. “But when doctors stray, they usually do so in the confines of the hospital. It’s a closed world, a hothouse.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stood. “I’ll be on the lookout for a navy- blue Tahoe.”

“The one thing that keeps me from picking up a shotgun and going after him myself is that it’s Christmas Eve—well, Christmas. I simply can’t believe he’d pull a stunt like this on Christmas.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Officer Doak politely took his leave.

He had two and a half hours remaining. He’d planned to go back to headquarters. With the exception of the one drunk on I-64, there wasn’t any traffic. Usually the state police handled I-64, and they had arrived a half hour after Doak. He was close by, so he hadn’t minded heading to the Deedses’ house when he heard the call. For one thing, it staved off boredom and loneliness.

Being unmarried and still under thirty, Officer Doak tried to imagine what he’d do if he were having an affair. If the woman was unmarried herself, he could go to her house, but most people would be with their families. Many people from other places would have been taken in by locals. No one should be alone on Christmas Eve and Christmas.

If it was a quick rendezvous, he supposed they could park under the football or soccer stadium, in a parking lot that was hidden. He slowly circled the university holdings on the west side of business Route 29. Didn’t see a thing except snow.

He rounded by the law school, part of a series of buildings erected from the ’70s onward and sadly out of character with the core of the University of Virginia. Not that they were butt ugly. The shape and proportion of the Darden School and the law school might have even been welcome in many a Midwestern university, but not here, where things should have been built in Mr. Jefferson’s style. Jefferson, could he have seen the new additions, would have suffered cardiac arrest.

Officer Doak’s heart ticked fine, but he possessed enough aesthetic sense to recognize a mistake—a quite expensive one, too—when he saw it.

Driving out of the university, he came up behind Barracks Road Shopping Center, which was still central to economic life in Charlottesville. The windshield wipers clicked as he turned into the center. One lone snow- covered car reposed in the parking lot in front of Barnes Noble, which was a real gathering spot during business hours.

He drove up, got out, wiped off the license plates to be sure. It was Dr. Bryson Deeds’s Tahoe, all right. He wiped off a window. No one was inside.

Snow fell on his nose. He pulled his cap down tighter around his head, but it offered little by way of warmth. He climbed back into the squad car, his feet already cold. He drove along the main row of buildings. Even with the overhang, the winds swept snow inward. He passed the small fountain areas and noticed a lone figure wearing a Santa Claus hat sitting on a bench. He kept the motor running, got out, and identified Bryson, throat cleanly sliced.

Doak immediately called Rick.

The minute the sheriff heard Doak’s voice, he was wide awake. “What?”

“Dr. Bryson Deeds is dead. M.O. like the monks.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Rick arrived in fifteen minutes. He lived up the hill behind Barracks Road but drove cautiously. “Thank God no one’s around.”

“Right,” Doak replied.

Rick wished he’d put on more layers. “Until the coroner examines the corpse, we can’t assume it’s the same killer.”

“Copycat?”

“Possible. The variation in this murder is that Bryson is not a monk.”

Officer Doak informed him of Racquel’s call and his visit to the house.

Rick had called the ambulance squad and managed to rouse one person from the forensics team, since the rest were out of town. He checked his watch.

“Should I go back to his wife?”

“Not yet. You’re off duty in an hour. I’ll do it.”

The young man blew air from his cheeks. “Thanks, Chief. I hate that.”

“I do, too, but sometimes you can pick up useful information.”

Officer Doak looked at Bryson’s corpse and said, “Arrogant bastard.”

“Could be, but he was also one of the best cardiologists on the Atlantic seaboard. I expect his fan club consisted of those he’d saved and few others. Is the Tahoe unlocked?”

“Didn’t check.”

Rick pushed his coat sleeve back to check the time again. “The coroner will have to take a crowbar to pry him off the bench.”

Neither of them could help it—they laughed a little.

“Want me to go through the Tahoe?”

“In a minute.”

The young man folded his arms across his chest, stamped his feet a little. “Coop and I were talking about the murders. The killer believes he’s unassailable, which could be dangerous.”

Rick nodded. “Anyone that arrogant, if pinned down, will try to kill again.”

“Or hire an expensive lawyer.”

“Maybe,” Rick said, then continued, “but I’ve been a cop long enough to know that whoever is doing this has a gargantuan ego. The offense to that ego of being outsmarted by a ‘dumb cop’ like me or you or Coop, I’m telling you, is going to make the son of a bitch snap.”

26

It was a long night on top of Afton Mountain. After the simple Christmas Eve service infused with Gregorian chants, the brothers wished one another the compliments of the season and most retired to their cells. A few intended to enter into the spirit of the holiday. Bottles were liberated from safe places, with toasts quietly lifted to the order, to increased happiness, and, of course, to the departed.

Brother Morris asked Brother George to share a libation with him. The two men sat on a comfortable sofa. Brother Morris could take only so much denial of creature comforts. Given his girth, a supportive place to park was more than understandable, as was the heating pad on which he placed his aching feet. With the bulk they supported, it was a wonder he wasn’t crippled.

“Merry Christmas, George.” He lifted his glass.

George lifted his glass of excellent scotch. “The same to you, Brother.”

“Can this place be any more beautiful than it has been these last two days with the snow falling? The red cardinal sat on the outstretched hand of the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mother. A slash of color against pristine white.” Brother Morris savored the Johnnie Walker Blue Label. “Somehow it is easier to go without the enticements of modern life when one is surrounded by such beauty.”

“Yes, it is. Can’t help it, though, my mind goes back to my childhood Christmases. Usually snowed in Maine. We had a lot of fun.”

“Your sisters will carry on the tradition.”

“All except for getting dead drunk.” Brother George laughed.

“I’m glad we have this quiet time together. I went over the books last night.”

Brother George snorted. “Brother Luther will take offense. He balances those books to the penny.”

“No, not those books. Our books.”

“Oh.” Brother George’s sharp features changed, a feral alertness crept into his face.

“We’re missing ten thousand dollars. What happened?”

Uncharacteristically, Brother George gulped his entire drink, then poured another, knowing full well that a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue skated close to two hundred dollars a pop. “Yes, well, I was going to tell you about that after Christmas. No point in ruining a holiday.”

“Tell me now.” Brother Morris oozed warmth and understanding.

“Well, it’s a little embarrassing.”

“George, are you gambling again?” This, too, was asked with warmth.

“No, no. I’ll never do that.”

“Then tell me. Ten thousand dollars is a pleasing sum, pleasing in the eyes of the Lord.” Morris smiled broadly.

“The money was right where it was supposed to be. I got there just as the storm broke, and . . . uh”—Brother George stared deep into his glass for guidance—“and Harry Haristeen was bending over the toolbox. It was open, and I hit her over the head with my gun, took the box, and ran. Plus that damned dog of hers was there, and I’m scared of dogs.”

Astonished, Brother Morris first sputtered, “It’s just a corgi, you fool.”

“All dogs bite.”

His composure returning, Brother Morris, not radiating warmth now, said, “Yes, of course, how brave of you to face death from the ankles down.”

“It’s not funny. Dogs terrify me.”

“Did you search Harry for the money?”

“Hell, no. I ran for all I was worth.”

“How hard did you hit her?” Brother Morris needed a second scotch himself.

“Hard enough to coldcock her.”

“And the blizzard was starting?”

“Yes.” Brother George’s voice betrayed his nervousness.

“And you left her there!”

“What else could I do? She didn’t see me. The winds were howling. I’d come up from behind. The dog barked, and the cat was there, too.”

“Scratch your eyes out, I’m sure. Let me get this straight. You found one of Crozet’s leading citizens bent over the toolbox. You hit her on the head with your gun?”

“The butt of the gun.” Brother George was specific.

“All right. She was unconscious and you left. Did you call an ambulance later?”

“No. How could I do that?”

Brother Morris’s face turned red. “From a phone, not yours, and you can disguise your voice.” He lowered his to a belligerent whisper. “She might be frozen to death. Jesus Christ. Murder! Two of our most productive brothers have been heinously killed and now this. Are you out of your mind?”

“No, but I panicked. I could go down to her farm tomorrow. I could check around.”

“Idiot!” Brother Morris raised his voice, which even at a stage whisper could carry unmiked.

Brother George sank farther into the sofa. “I’m sorry. I am truly sorry. What can I do?”

“How about the Stations of the Cross?” Brother Morris sarcastically cited a ritual of deep penance.

“I don’t even know what they are.”

“Some Catholic you are.”

“I’m not a Catholic. I’m a Methodist, and you know it.”

“The Methodist Church has a lot to answer for if you’re a product.”

Helplessly, Brother George pleaded, “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” He uttered the second “nothing” softly. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Maybe I could drum up a contribution to make up what I lost?”

Brother Morris stared at him as though he were five years old with an ice-cream cone about to drip on the sofa.