Santa Clawed

“Forget it.”

“I could go to Bryson for money.”

“No. Anyway, he’s made a contribution, and that is Brother Luther’s job.”

“Maybe Racquel would like to give something. We could put her name on something.” Brother George was desperate. “When I stopped by his office, Bryson mentioned that Racquel is interested in what we do. He also mentioned that she thinks he’s having an affair. He was a little worried. His marriage is important to him.”

“Given the social status she brings him—old blood—I guess it is. Listen to me.The money is gone. Ten thousand dollars isn’t worth you making a bigger mess of things. I seriously doubt Racquel would give us money, especially if she doubts her husband and we are his main charity, not her.”

“Actually, I think he loves her.”

Brother Morris shrugged. “Perhaps. I’ve never been able to untangle love from dependency. She all but wipes his ass for him.” A hint of venom escaped Brother Morris’s lips.

“I’ve let you down. Please let me make it up.”

“At this point, you’d screw up a two- car funeral. Do nothing. Say nothing. Well, you can pray.”

“Yes. I’ve grown to like praying.”

“Then get on your knees and pray that Harry Haristeen isn’t dead. If she is, there will be hell to pay.”

“But no one knows I hit her.”

“Not now and maybe not ever, but murder is a terrible crime.You know”—he wiggled his toes on the heating pad— “so many of the operas I’ve sung involved the consequences of dreadful deeds. I believe it.”

“Yes, well.” Brother George never thought of himself as a murderer.

“And we are under scrutiny because of the deaths of Brother Christopher and Brother Speed. We can’t afford a misstep. When the sheriff or his deputy come back, make yourself scarce. I don’t trust that you won’t give yourself away.”

“I won’t say anything. I know you think I’m an idiot, but I’m not that stupid.”

“It’s not what you say. It’s how you act. Don’t give them a chance to read you.”

“I’ll try.” He then asked, “I do wonder who killed those two. They were lovely men. Lovely.”

“If I ever get my hands on who did it, I’ll risk going to jail myself.” He looked at Brother George. “Perhaps there was no other way to retrieve the money. She wouldn’t have left it there, but to leave a woman in the snow, in the cold, a storm brewing—Goddamnit, the least you could have done was call someone. Me, for instance.”

“I panicked. I told you, all I thought of was protecting our interests.”

Wearily, Brother Morris said, “Leave me. Don’t worry. I’m not going to make you suffer. George, you made a mistake, let’s leave it at that.”

After Brother George slunk away, Brother Morris killed the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.

27

“You are too much!” Susan threw open the kitchen door and yelled.

Harry, in the living room, contemplating wrapping paper strewn all over the floor, heard her best friend’s voice. “So are you!”

They collided in the kitchen with the hugs, kisses, and usual screams of Southern women who adored each other and had been apart anywhere from twenty- four hours to twenty- four years.

“Where’s handsome?”

“In the barn. One of my Christmas presents was that he would do all the chores. Did them yesterday, too. Want to feed Simon and the owl with me? They get Christmas treats.” Harry wore a baseball cap to cover her wound.

“Sure.” Susan walked into the living room. “I can see your crew has had a big Christmas.”

“Tearing up the paper—that’s okay. It’s when they climb the tree that there’s a problem.” Harry surveyed the scene, deciding the hell with it. “I love my present.”

“Love mine, too. Whatever possessed you to buy me a rotisserie?”

“Whatever possessed you to buy me a vacuum for the horses?”

At this they burst out laughing, realizing that for the last year each of them had repeatedly mentioned how much the rotisserie and the vacuum would ease their respective chores.

“What’d your honey- do husband get you?”

Susan clapped her hands together. “He bought me season tickets to the Virginia Theater in Richmond and a day at the spa, but, best of all, look!” She held out her right arm, on which dangled an intricately wrought bracelet of eighteen-karat gold. “Can you believe? At today’s prices, no less.”

“That’s gorgeous.” Harry held Susan’s arm, pretending to unlock the bracelet.

Susan slapped her hand. “How about you?”

“A huge thermos so I can make his coffee the nights he’s on call. He says I need my sleep and, much as he loves me getting up to hand him a thermos, he wants me to sleep. There’s the thermos.” She pointed under the tree. “I mean, you could water a platoon with that.”

“He’ll need both hands to carry it. What else?” Susan’s eyebrows raised expectantly.

“A necklace to match the ring he bought me last summer when we visited the Shelbyville Saddlebred show.” Harry knelt down, lifting up a luxurious presentation box. “Look at this.”

“Spectacular. He really does have good taste.”

“But here’s the best present of all. I can’t believe he bought me one.” She breathed in deeply, as if to contain her excitement. “A Honda ATV. I mean, this thing is four hundred horsepower. And, thank God, he didn’t buy one in camouflage. It’s a pleasing shade of blue. I can go seventy miles an hour on it if I want and through anything.”

“If you go seventy miles an hour on that beast, I will beat your ass with a wooden spoon. Where is it?”

“In the shed. Come on.” Harry walked back to the kitchen, pulled a coat off the peg.

Susan, who’d thrown her coat on a kitchen chair, zipped it back up. As Harry tried to slide the baseball cap down against the weather, Susan noticed the edge of the nasty cut, plus some bare scalp.

“Hey. What’d you do?”

“Oh, a little accident.”

“Bullshit, Harry.” Susan snatched the Orioles cap off her head. “Stitches. Whoever did it was careful to shave just around the wound. But, girl, you need help. Better call Glen at West Main.” She cited a fashionable hair salon.

“I clunked my head on a beam.”

“None of your beams are that low.” Susan folded her arms across her chest. “Furthermore, I know you better than you know yourself. ’Fess up.”

“I can’t.” Harry sounded morose.

Susan knew Harry shared most everything with her, so her conclusion was easy to reach. “You’re in trouble and Rick told you to button it.” She touched her lips.

“Well—”

“Harry, I know you found Christopher Hewitt. Made the papers, and you told me everything. At least I think you did.”

“I did tell you. When Dr. Gibson found the obol, I told you that, too. However, Rick and Cooper let me know I had to keep quiet about this.” She took the cap back, clapped it on her head, then walked out onto the screened- in porch.

Susan, hot on her tail, said, “Listen, I don’t want to have this conversation in front of Fair, but if you’ve stuck your nose into the two monks being killed, the killer must have found out.”

“I haven’t. I swear I haven’t.”

“Then who hit you on the head hard enough to split it open like that?”

“I don’t know. He—or she, but I think he—came up behind me as the blizzard started.”

“On the farm? That person came here?” Susan was aghast.

“No.” Harry slipped her arm through Susan’s as she opened the screen door. “I can’t tell you any more, even though I’m dying to.”

“It’s the dying I’m worried about. Is that why you didn’t want me to tell anyone I’d talked to you?”

“Yes.” Harry walked slowly as they navigated the cleared path, now turned to ice. “Forgot the treats. Wait a minute.”

She carefully walked back to the house, pulled out a small Tupperware full of mince pie, and grabbed molasses icicles from the freezer and a bag of marshmallows from the pantry.

On returning, she handed the Tupperware to Susan. “Now, if we hold hands, we’ll be in balance. We each have something to carry with the other.”

“Sure.” Susan smiled at her.

“And, Susan, I’m not scared much, but I’m scared enough. No point in pretending otherwise to you.”

“What kind of person would show up in a snowstorm? A desperate one, I think.”

“I don’t know. But if it is Christopher’s or Brother Speed’s killer, why didn’t he kill me?”

“I don’t know, but I’m exceedingly grateful.”

They entered the barn, the horses nickering a greeting. Fair was sweeping up the center aisle.

“Merry Christmas.” He leaned the big push broom against a stall and kissed Susan.

“Those were some presents you gave your wife.”

He grinned. “Seen the Honda yet?”

“No.”

“Four hundred horsepower, much of which translates into torque, as opposed to on a motorcycle. What a difference it will make on the farm, and it burns less gas than one of the trucks.”

“I cleaned up this Christmas.” Harry looked at the ladder to the hayloft just as Simon was looking down. “Simon, merry Christmas.”

“Goody.” He smelled the molasses, for she’d unzipped the plastic bag.

“You wait one minute while I put out the owl’s present.” She handed the bag to Susan, and Susan gave her the Tupperware container. She climbed the ladder, which was flat against the wall and well secured.

On reaching the hayloft, she pulled the top off the container and put it on a high hay bale. As she turned to reach for the offered Ziploc bag from Susan, she heard a slight whoosh as the predator opened her wide wings to glide down. Harry didn’t look back at the owl, letting her pick her treats in peace.

“We got good presents, too.” Tucker loved gifts.

“All right, Simon, just another minute.” Harry reached into the Ziploc and took the icicles from it. She also dumped the marshmallows on the loft floor.

“Think gelato started this way in ancient Rome?” Susan eyed the icicles.

“They had everything we do but without machines.They had ice, gelato, better roads than ours, interesting architecture, cooling gardens, running water. If you had money, life was sweet.”

“Like today.” Fair picked up the broom to finish his job.

Susan joked, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

Simon waited a respectful distance away, but the minute Harry backed down the ladder, he grabbed one molasses icicle, eagerly devouring it. Next he selected a marshmallow.

“I got catnip. And a fleece bed.” Pewter thought some attention should be paid to her.

“Me, too.” Mrs. Murphy liked having her own bed.

“I got a new collar and leash and a big fleece bed.” Tucker happily recounted her gifts. “Dog bones.”

As the three humans and three animals left the barn, Cooper came down the long drive. She parked, flung open the door, and hugged Harry, then Fair.

“Merry Christmas.” Fair hugged her back.

“What a great present! A power washer. I am so excited. I can clean the squad car, the outside of the house. I can’t believe it.”

“Oster clippers are pretty special. You conferred with Susan, didn’t you?” Harry smiled as she mentioned a powerful brand of clippers favored by horsemen.

“Did.”

“Come on in. We’re having a party. Susan escaped the home fires for a little bit,” Fair told Cooper.

“On my way to the morgue.”

“Why?” All three stared at her.

“Because I’m free this Christmas. When Mom and Dad moved to New Mexico this spring, that solved the Christmas to-do. Rick has Helen, so when he called me, I told him to go home.” She realized she’d said too much, as they didn’t know about Bryson, so she hastened to add, “Probably one of the drunks froze at the mall. Still, I’d better check.”

“You wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important. Has there been another murder?” Fair asked.

Cooper kept mum, which told them everything.

Susan jumped in. “Another Brother of Love?”

“Oh, all right. The family has been notified and it will be in tomorrow’s paper. Bryson Deeds.”

“What!” Fair exclaimed.

“Throat slit.” Cooper got back in the squad car. “I’ll know the rest of it after the autopsy. God bless Doc Gibson, because he came in to do this.”

The corpse had been thawing since three in the morning. Dr. Gibson and Mandy Sweetwater straightened the limbs and examined the body before cutting Bryson open.

A patient soul, Dr. Gibson was a bit irritated that the dead monks’ tissue samples he’d sent to the Richmond lab still hadn’t been examined. Granted, it was the holiday season, but sometimes, if very lucky, a DNA sample will match one already on record.

Cooper noted what the older doctor dictated. Mandy, interning in pathology, also made a few comments.

Although Bryson’s jaw was a bit tight, Dr. Gibson pried it open, retrieving an obol.

Cooper put down her notebook. She felt a nagging sense of failure. And what was the significance of the obol?

28

Boxing Day, December 26, was one of Harry’s favorite days. Both Harry and Fair, accustomed to early rising, watched the eastern sky send out slivers of gray, which brightened to a dark periwinkle blue with the first blush of pink outlining the horizon.

“Did you call the huntline?” Fair, groggy until a huge coffee mug was placed before him, asked.

“Honey, I did last night before we went to bed. There’s no Boxing Day hunt, because many of the secondary and tertiary roads remain unplowed. Also, the footing will be so deep in spots, we’d have to paddle our way through.”

Both foxhunted, which was prudent considering Fair’s practice. They wearied of telling people not accustomed to country life that, no, the fox was not killed. Couldn’t do it even if they wanted to, thanks to the animal’s lightning-fast intelligence.

For any couple, sharing activities keeps the flame bright, yet each partner should have one or two activities that belong to him or her alone. That activity for Harry was growing her grapes, although Fair helped when asked. For him it was golf, a game he had taken up five years ago. Fair couldn’t decide if the relaxation outweighed the frustration. Harry kept her mouth shut about it.

“Oh.” He tested the coffee, still a bit too hot.

“Waffles.” She heated up the portable griddle.

“You’re spoiling me.”

“That’s the point.” She flashed a grin at him. “You don’t have to do the chores. I’m fine. And I’m packing my thirty- eight.”

“We’ll do them together. Not on call until tomorrow. Boy, it’s great when I have Christmas off. So many Christmases I’ve been on call.”

“Well, once you started swapping weekends with Greg Schmidt”—she mentioned a highly respected equine vet, and one fabulous horseman to boot—“life did pick up. I keep telling you this, but how about for a New Year’s resolution: find a partner. Maybe two.”

The coffee was the perfect temperature now.

Fair chugged half the big cup, then replied, “I know, I know. Give me a day to think about making that New Year’s resolution.”

“Okay.” She poured the batter onto the griddle, the sizzle alone enticing the three extremely attentive animals on the floor.

“All right, you beggers.” Fair knocked back his coffee and rose to feed Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker.

Harry refilled his cup.

“I like my bowl better than yours.” Pewter’s new ceramic bowl had “Diva” in large letters around it.

“Good. Then you’ll keep your fat face out of mine,” Mrs. Murphy replied as she bit into her favorite beef Fancy Feast, an expensive cat food.

Tucker kept eating. That was more important than talking. Her bowl, larger than the kitties’, read “Fido,” for faithful. Mrs. Murphy’s read “Catitude.”

Fair picked up his cup, took another big swallow, then turned on the small flat- screen TV on the kitchen wall. Harry didn’t like having TV in the kitchen, but once she realized that watching her beloved Weather Channel here proved more convenient than running into the bedroom, she accepted it.

Fair clicked on the early- morning local news. Before he could sit down, the somber face of Sheriff Rick Shaw speaking from his office was intercut with clips of a snowy Barracks Road Shopping Center, empty except for the Tahoe. Then clips of Bryson’s office were shown as the latest shocking murder was revealed.

Mug poised midair, Fair stood motionless.

Harry left her griddle to stand next to him. Both of them were shocked and very upset.

Fair finally spoke. “The Tahoe in the parking lot makes it... I don’t know, real. Worse somehow.”

“It’s like a killing frenzy.” Harry put her arm around his waist. “The other two were monks. None of us felt in danger. I thought the key was that the victims were monks.”

“Guess we can all throw that key out the window.” He returned to his chair, sitting with a heavy thump.

The three cohorts on the floor said nothing but had listened as intently as the humans.

Harry turned off the griddle, flipping the contents onto a big plate. The syrup and honey sat on the table along with butter, utensils, and two plates. She poured herself a second cup of tea and sat across from Fair.

“Maybe not.”

Fair drenched his waffles with honey. “Maybe not what?”

“Monks may still be the key. Bryson treated some of them, you know.”

Fair cut his waffles into neat squares before spearing one. “Right. It’s a wonder he didn’t take out an ad in the paper to announce his pro bono work. He made sure we all knew of his charitable deeds, that being one. I never liked the man, but I didn’t wish him dead, especially like this.”

Tucker lifted her head and barked, “Intruder.”

Fair rose, then went onto the porch to open the door. “Brother Morris, come right on in.”

Fair, like just about every Southerner you will ever meet, acted as though this unexpected visit was the most natural thing in the world and a big treat.

Brother Morris, who hadn’t worn a coat because the distance to the door from his car was short, stepped inside.

Harry had already poured his coffee. “Sit down, Brother. How good to see you.”

His visit meant others would know she was alive. Susan would keep her secret until the workweek started, but she couldn’t tell Brother Morris to do so.

“I apologize for dropping by without calling. Oh, thank you.” She put the half-and-half and cubed sugar before him. “You know the news, I assume, since the TV’s on.”

“We just watched it. You mean Dr. Deeds’s murder?” replied Fair, who rose to turn off the TV.

Having a TV on when a guest is in the room is considered rude in Virginia, unless they are there to watch with you.

Harry placed waffles in front of Brother Morris, who knew he should wave them away but they smelled so delicious. He weakened immediately.

“Fellows, I’m making more, so don’t hold back.” She turned the griddle back on and poured more batter. “Brother, what in the world is happening?”

“I don’t know. Sheriff Shaw called me at six yesterday. I must pay a call to Racquel and the boys today. The Deedses have been so supportive of our order. I thought I’d stop by here first, because you’re on the way but also because you know—I should say knew—Bryson in another context than I did. St. Luke’s, I mean.” He looked over to Harry at the counter. “I thought maybe you had some insight. I feel like I should put up barriers to the monastery.”

“Unless it’s someone within,” Harry blurted out as Fair tried not to drop his head in his hands.

Sometimes Harry could open her mouth before weighing her words.

“Never. I’d know. Can you think of anyone or any reason?” Brother Morris didn’t take offense.

“I can’t. Fair and I were just discussing that.”

Fair carefully placed his fork on his plate. “Whoever is doing this can’t live far. How would they get to Crozet or Afton Mountain with the weather? Brother, this person may not be in your brotherhood, but it must be someone with an intimate connection.”

At the word “intimate,” Brother Morris raised his dark eyebrows. “I’ve sat with Brother George and Brother Luther, our treasurer. We’ve gone over the list of people who have supported us. We’ve even made lists of delivery people. No one jumps out at us, and no one has even had cross words with any of us. It’s baffling and frightening.”

“Maybe it’s someone who’s mentally ill.” Harry flipped more waffles onto a plate.

“Perhaps.” Brother Morris sounded mournful, even though he’d just inhaled two waffles.

Harry had never seen food disappear so quickly in her life, and Fair could eat a lot himself.

“I wish we did have some ideas,” Fair said.

“Ah, well, it was a hope that maybe you knew something of Bryson’s character that I didn’t.”

“The only thing I can say about Bryson is that his exceedingly high opinion of himself grated on some people,” Harry said. “But he also had some close friends, like Bill Keelo. Some people could take him and some couldn’t.”

“That could be said of us all.”

After finishing his waffles, Brother Morris thanked them profusely, and he thanked Harry again for the pitch pipe. When he reached the door he appeared to notice Harry’s deep cut for the first time as her baseball hat, a bit loose so as not to irritate the wound, slipped a little.

“Harry, what did you do to your head?”

“Low beam,” she replied with half a smile.

“I thought that was something on a car,” he replied, half-smiling to himself as he left.

29

The afternoon of Boxing Day, Harry, Fair, Susan and Ned drove to Racquel’s, where Jean and Bill Keelo greeted them. Jean had organized everything, from answering the phones to keeping a notebook with information of who brought food. Miranda Hogendobber placed food on the dining-room table and kept the coffee going. The place was jammed with people.

Bill Keelo and Alex Corbett made sure people had enough to eat and drink. They acted as unofficial ushers, in a sense.

Susan carried a large casserole, while Harry had made a huge plate of small sandwiches. The two Deeds teenagers had their friends there. Everyone must have realized that teenagers eat a lot, because there was enough food to feed the entire high school senior class.

After handing over the food, the next thing that the Haristeens and the Tuckers had to do was properly visit the new widow. Racquel sat by the fireplace in the living room. Tears flowed, but that was natural. Upset as she was, vanity probably saved her. What does a new widow wear? In Racquel’s case it was a suede suit, a heavy gold necklace, and small domed gold earrings to match her domed ring. Flanked by her sons, who didn’t quite know what to do, Racquel accepted proffered hands and kisses on the cheeks. Racquel did rise to greet Harry and Fair, Susan and Ned behind them.

“Please don’t get up.” Fair gently seated her.

“What was he doing at Barracks Road? What?”

No one could answer this question.

Susan bent low to say, “Racquel, I am so terribly sorry.”

Ned kissed her on the cheek, while Harry and Fair shook the boys’ hands and hugged them, too.

The contrast of the house—all red and gold for Christmas—with the emotional misery only underscored how awful everyone felt.

A new stream of classmates entered. Harry knew they’d be at sixes and sevens, too. It takes some time to learn how to handle these events, but the good thing was, the boys would be surrounded by their friends. In years to come, they would remember who came to console them.

Both Harry and Susan went into the kitchen, where Miranda was in command.

“Dreadful! Dreadful!” Miranda wrapped her arms around Harry, then Susan.

“Frightening.” Susan began garnishing a huge plate of sliced ham with parsley.

These women had attended those who were bereaved many times. They worked hand in glove.

Harry pulled the overflowing trash bag out of the can, tightened the drawstring, and walked it out to the porch to place it in one of the large garbage cans.

On reentering the kitchen she said, “Remind me to take the trash when I go.”

“Thank you, Harry. I was beginning to worry about that.” Miranda deftly stacked biscuits on a plate. “There will be a few runs to the dump today.”

“There’s enough food here to feed an army.” Harry glanced around at the incredible abundance.

“That’s problem number two.” Miranda kept stacking biscuits. “I don’t know where to store all this food. She’s going to need it.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang and another flood of people washed through the front door. BoomBoom helped carry the largesse into the kitchen. Alicia, also burdened, followed behind her.

“Put it on the counter.” Miranda pointed.

Harry went over to greet her two foxhunting buddies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t care!” Racquel shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When the three men returned, the room was buzzing.

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

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

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

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

“Biddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Until the next wagon train pulls in.”

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

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

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

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

“Tucker! Tucker!”

“I’ll kill you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’d told him about Tucker and Brother George.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

30

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

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

She knocked on the large wooden door. No answer. She knocked harder this time. Finally the door swung open. Brother Luther invited her inside. “Is Brother Morris expecting you?” “No.” “Let me see if he’s available.” Brother Luther started to shuffle off. After a ten-minute wait in silence, Brother Morris swept in. “Officer Cooper, please come into my office.” She followed him. “Where is everybody?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was extremely generous.”

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

This surprised Brother Morris. “No.”

“Did you ever see him in the hospice?”

“Yes. He tended to our patients sometimes.”

“Was any patient ever angry with him?”

“No. Quite the contrary.”

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

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

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

A silence followed this.

Brother Morris cleared his throat. “People talk.”

“Tell me.”

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

“No trouble with your brothers?”

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

“Do you know what an obol is?”

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

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

Brother Morris paled slightly. “How very strange.”

“Racquel thinks all these murders point here.”

He met her eyes. “They do. But why?”

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

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

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

31

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

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

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

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

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

“It can wait.”

She pulled on her long, warm socks, followed by a quilted long-sleeve undershirt. “Racquel’s been unhappy for

months, maybe longer. I didn’t see it then. I see it now.”

“Socially she seemed fine.”

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

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

She looked out the window. “I’ll be.”

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

The grill was on the back lawn.

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

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

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

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

“What is it?”

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

“Sounds intriguing. What’s the name?”

“Topsy-Turvy.”

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

32

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She interrupted. “That much?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rick knocked on the door. Knocked again.

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

“Brother Luther, what’s happened?” Rick quickly stepped inside, as did Cooper.

“Brother Morris and three of the brothers have disappeared. Brother Sheldon, Brother Howard, and Brother Ed rounded up whoever is left.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I was knocked out, and the others had been locked in their rooms. I finally found the keys.”

“Where are the brothers?”

“In the kitchen.” Brother Luther led them there without being asked.

Shocked faces turned toward the sheriff and his deputy.

Brother Sheldon wailed, “We’re ruined!”

“Will you kindly shut up.” Brother Ed’s nerves were frayed enough; he couldn’t withstand increased histrionics.

“Let him be, Brother Ed,” Brother Howard, sagging in his bulk, said. “Sheriff, we were going to call you, but first we wanted to figure out what happened.”

The other brothers nodded in agreement.

Cooper flipped open her notebook.

Rick began. “When did you discover you were locked in?”

“This morning. Rose for matins and couldn’t open the door,” Brother Howard, in charge due to his strong personality, informed them.

“They did it in the middle of the night,” Brother Ed, furious, spat out.

“Brother Luther, how did you wind up with jewelry?” Rick asked.

“Beg pardon?” Brother Luther’s head hurt.

“Sorry: jewelry, wounds,” Rick replied.

“I couldn’t sleep. So I got up around midnight and went to my office. I double- checked the books. They balanced, but I wanted to be sure. I’ve had a funny feeling about money lately, and I’ve learned to trust my instincts. There was a knock on the door. I answered. Brother Morris stood before me and that’s all I remember.”

“Did he take the books?” Rick appeared relaxed, but he was certain he was on the right track, eager to den his quarry.

“No. Left them as he found them.”

“Brother Luther, do you think he’d been pilfering funds?” Rick folded his hands together.

“It’s worse than that.” Brother Luther’s voice shook.

On cue, Brother Sheldon wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

“Shut up!” Brother Ed seized Brother Sheldon’s arm, holding it in his vise grip. “None of us knew. Why the hell do you think we were left here?”

“It appears he left you funds to continue your work and to live here,” Cooper interjected.

“We can scrape by,” Brother Luther replied dourly.

“I thought your order had received big contributions,” Rick said.

“Yes, and that’s when I became suspicious,” Brother Luther said. “Those checks were given directly to Brother Morris or Brother George. I never saw them. Brother Morris always said he instantly put them into bonds. What a fool I was.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Brother Ed consoled him.

“I do the books. I should have asked to see those bonds. I didn’t.”

“If you did, you might be dead.” Brother Sheldon’s voice lifted to the teary note.

Brother Ed cast him a stern eye. “You’ve got a point there, Brother Sheldon.”

Calmly and deliberately, Rick asked, “Do you know where the money is?”

“Presumably with Brother Morris and Company.” Brother Luther dropped his head in his hands. “I think it’s a lot of money.”

Rick glanced at Cooper, a hint of triumph in his face, which soon enough shifted to disbelief. “So people gave large sums in gratitude for your services in Brother Morris’s name.”

“No, Brother Morris isn’t that dumb. He had to have an account with a bank or with a brokerage house similar to the one here.” Brother Luther was sharp as a tack in his own way.

“What do you mean?” Rick unfolded his hands.

“Since I never saw the account, I can’t give you a specific name, but an easy one would be to have the checks made out to BOL instead of Order of the Brothers of Love.” Brother Luther’s mind crept into underhanded accounting byways in an attempt to figure this out.

“A fairly straightforward scam.” Rick’s eyes met each brother’s gaze.

“No. It’s far more clever.” Brother Luther nodded to Brother Howard, who took over.

“My task for the order involved meeting people. You might say I am our public relations expert. I scheduled Brother Morris, I called on people. Brother George did, too, and I began to notice over the last two years . . . well, let me say that it wasn’t obvious to me at first, since my mind doesn’t run on that track.”

Rick almost uttered the words, “What track?” but he waited patiently.

“I swear I didn’t know,” Brother Sheldon whimpered again.

“I called on the more middle-class people. Brother Morris and Brother George called on the richer ones.”

“I’m not sure what the significance is,” Rick replied honestly.

“Bigger checks, obviously, but I also think that Brother Morris and Brother George identified people with Achilles’ heels.” He paused. “I expect they threatened to expose them.”

Cooper half-smiled. “Lucrative.”

Rick continued questioning. “What kind of Achilles’ heels?”

Brother Luther answered. “Gambling. Affairs. Shady business deals. And some of the affairs were married men with other men.”

“How do you know that?” Rick pressed.

Brother Sheldon, misty-eyed again and looking guilty, confessed, “Brother Christopher told me.”

“Brother Sheldon, you withheld evidence.” Rick sounded stern.

“How could I have revealed that?”

“What did Brother Christopher have to do with it?”

“He owed money,” Brother Sheldon said.

“To whom?”

“Alex Corbett.” Brother Sheldon’s chin wavered again.

“Don’t start blubbering, Brother Sheldon.” Brother Howard pointed a finger at him.

“Oh, shut up.” Brother Sheldon surprised everyone, then turned to Rick. “Alex runs a little betting business: football, horses, any large sporting event. Brother Christopher couldn’t resist the idea of winning money.”

“So?” Rick shrugged.

“He didn’t win.” Brother Sheldon stated what he thought was obvious. “He had to pay it off somehow.”

“How did he do that?” Rick kept his voice even.

“Sex for money.” Brother Sheldon cast down his eyes. “It was wrong, but I wasn’t going to rat on a friend.”

“With women?” Rick had to admire Brother Sheldon’s loyalty, even if somewhat misplaced.

“One man.” “Let me be clear: Christopher Hewitt sold his body to a man?”

“He didn’t like it but the money was good. The man was head over heels.” Brother Sheldon wanted to make sure no one thought Brother Christopher was gay. “Brother Christopher was weak where money was concerned.”

“Who was his partner?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Guess.” Rick pushed harder.

“Bill Keelo or Bryson Deeds.”

Rick’s eyebrows shot up. “Your reasons?”

“Those were the men I saw him with, and they became increasingly helpful to our order.”

Brother Howard butted in. “You think Brother Morris figured it out?”

“Of course,” Brother Sheldon replied. “Blackmail.”

Brother Luther shuddered. “I knew it!”

“Why didn’t you come forward?” Rick forced his anger down.

“Didn’t know for sure.”

Cooper asked, “Was Brother Speed in debt, too?”

Brother Sheldon nodded. “He bet on the ponies.” He sighed deeply. “Money. Money is the root of all evil.”

“So they just wanted to pay off their debts?” Rick asked.

“Yes. They swore they’d stop gambling.” Brother Sheldon had believed them.

“And Brother Speed . . . uh, serviced a man, too.” Rick said more than asked, as he watched Cooper’s pencil fly over her notebook.

“The money is with men, Sheriff. I don’t think women will pay a lot for sex,” Brother Howard interjected.

“So it seems.” Rick was surprised, for he didn’t see this coming. “Speed’s client?”

“Either Bryson or Bill,” Brother Sheldon answered.

“And Bill and Bryson knew about each other.” Rick focused on Sheldon.

“They’d met the brothers together. At the Christmas tree farm or at the hospice. And they had good reasons to be there. They didn’t arouse suspicion.”

Brother Luther allowed himself an acid comment. “Bill Keelo tried to cover himself by being publicly homophobic. Ass.”

Brother Sheldon, scandalized at the language, chided, “That’s enough.”

“Two men are dead and you’re worried that I said ‘ass’?” Brother Luther snorted.

“So the question is, who was blackmailed and who killed?” Rick rubbed his jaw.

“Well, I can tell you Brother Christopher never blackmailed anyone.” Brother Sheldon got misty again. “He tried to reform. He did. But easy money corrupted him. The flesh is weak.”

“Obviously.” Cooper’s comment was fact.

“Blackmail.” Brother Luther said the chilling word again and shook his head.

“I don’t know if the order can recover from this,” Brother Howard mournfully said.

Brother Luther replied, “People will always need help with the dying.”

Driving down the mountain, Rick immediately sent out a call to pick up Brother Morris and his cohorts. Clever though the opera singer might be, hiding that bulk could prove very difficult.

“Think we’ll get him?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know when.” Rick noticed how the water running over the rocks on the mountainside had turned to blue ice. “I hope we can get him to tell us exactly who they blackmailed. And mind you, Coop, this doesn’t solve the murders.”

Rick then called to have Bill Keelo and Alex Corbett picked up for questioning.

“They might be with Racquel,” Cooper suggested.

“We’ll swing by, then.”

33

People continued to come and go at the Deedses’, food being devoured with each successive wave of visitors. Racquel seemed more level, less prone to outbursts, at least so far. People understood that a sudden death unnerves those close to the deceased. Everyone made allowances for her.

Rick instructed the officers he called in to form a barrier on both ends of the street. He also sent some on foot to the back of the house, in case Bill or Alex made a run for it.

He parked the squad car alongside another car immediately in front of the house. Cooper couldn’t get through on the Deedses’ phone or Harry’s cell, but she was right in thinking Bill and Alex were both there.

“Let’s see if we can’t do this calmly.”

Coop, seeing Harry’s truck as well as those of their friends, truly hoped this would be the case.

They knocked on the door, and Jean Keelo opened it. Initially, she wasn’t surprised to see them, assuming they’d come to pay their respects.

This changed when Rick whispered, “Do you think you can get your husband and Alex Corbett to the front door without arousing suspicion?”

Too late, for Biddy Doswell, not one to turn from any heightened emotion, squealed as she caught sight of Rick in the front hall. “Sheriff Shaw, how good of you to come.”

Harry, in the kitchen with Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, heard Biddy bray.

“Bother.” Harry sighed.

Cooper saw Bill in the dining room when she made her way through the people. She whispered to him, “Come with me.”

“Why?” A belligerent note crept in his voice.

“It’s better if you do. I’m sure you can give us the information we need. If you resist, I will arrest you. How will that look?”

Bill blanched. “I have a right to know what this is about.”

“The murders.”

“I have nothing to do with that.” He was really belligerent now.

“Well, you were sleeping with Christopher Hewitt and maybe Brother Speed, too.”

His face crumpled. He whispered, “I’ll go.”

“Do you know where Alex is?”

“With Racquel.”

He followed Cooper to the foyer, where she opened the door. Bill was surprised to see an officer standing outside.

“Take him in.” Cooper stepped back inside.

Racquel, ears perked up, cast her eyes upward as the two officers came into the room. She assumed, like everyone else, they were paying a social call.

Harry had left the kitchen, joining everyone in the living room. She observed Cooper’s face and realized this was not a social call.

Cooper walked over to Alex, who was standing behind Racquel. As she whispered to him, his face registered fear.

“Something’s up,” Mrs. Murphy said, and her two friends felt it, too.

Rick leaned down. “Mrs. Deeds, could we have a moment of your time?”

“Now?” Her face registered suspicion while she tried to look a proper widow.

“We have some urgent questions. I’m very sorry, but it’s critical we talk to you now in private.” Rick’s voice stayed low.

Racquel shot up, pushing him away. To his extreme embarrassment—for he had never considered the possibility— she snatched his revolver right out of the holster and grabbed Harry, who had come up to stand next to her.

Putting the gun to Harry’s head with her right hand while wrapping her left arm around Harry’s throat, she said in a not-unpleasant voice, “Harry, I truly like you, but you’re my shield. Don’t be stupid. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.”

Harry, speechless because Racquel’s left arm pressed hard against her throat, backed up as Racquel walked backward.

“Mrs. Deeds, don’t make the situation worse than it is. Let her go,” Rick commanded.

“No.” Racquel kept backing up, looking over her shoulder. She shouted to her visitors, “Don’t try anything. All I want is to get out of here and get away. Keep your distance and no one will get hurt.” She looked at her two sons. “Boys, I can explain this later. Stay where you are. I don’t want you in the middle of this.”

They didn’t even twitch.

“We could rush her,” Pewter suggested.

“Need a better spot with less people.” Mrs. Murphy assessed the situation.

“I can get behind her and trip her,” Tucker offered. “Then you two can rip her face off while I turn her legs into hamburger.”

“Our best chance is the back door, when she has to reach back for it. If she turns around, then Harry will be in front of her. That won’t work for Racquel. She’ll have to open the door while still facing the people,” Mrs. Murphy said.

Without further coordination, the three animals silently hurried to the back door.

As Racquel continued to carefully back up, she said in a normal conversational voice to Harry, “I don’t know how you accepted Fair as you did. In some ways I admire you for it. In other ways, I think you’re a fool. Once a player, always a player. But let me tell you, so at least one person knows why I did what I did: Bryson was despicable. Completely despicable.”

They reached the back door and, before getting her hand on the knob, Racquel slightly loosened her grip on Harry’s throat.

Hoping to distract her, to slow her down, Harry rasped, “You killed them, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Although I may have made a mistake with Christopher. Too late now.” Her voice was almost cheerful. Her heel struck Tucker, who was lying down. The corgi stood up and bit her calf.

As Racquel started to tumble backward, Mrs. Murphy leapt up toward her face, delivering a slashing blow, while Pewter sank two serious fangs into the flesh between Racquel’s thumb and forefinger.

Racquel still held the gun in her hand, which was pulled downward. She pressed the trigger without taking aim, shooting a hole in the floor.

Harry wrenched free. The cats now attacked Racquel’s face, and Tucker, with greater jaws and more pressure per square inch, clamped onto her gun hand, biting so hard she severed a tendon and ripped through other muscles. Her grip shredded, Racquel dropped the gun. The mighty little corgi grabbed it in triumph and gave it to Harry. Harry quickly turned it on Racquel, who was still trying to swat away the cats.

“Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, let her go,” Harry commanded.

“Oh, pooh,” Pewter fussed, for her bloodlust was up.

Mrs. Murphy ripped out her claws. Pewter, knowing she had to as well, did, but not without the satisfaction of noticing some tiny bits of flesh dangling from them.

Rick and Cooper, who had followed from a distance so as not to provoke Racquel to harm Harry, now rushed forward.

Rick took back his gun.

Harry, wisely, said nothing.

Cooper had Racquel on her feet. The woman’s well-tended face was bleeding all over her and the floor, and her right hand shook with pain.

“Folks, after Sheriff Shaw puts Racquel in the squad car, best you all return home or to your hotels.” Miranda, now out of the kitchen, took charge.

Coop called out to Harry, “Go home. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Harry knelt down to thank her animal friends, then stood up to follow Cooper’s orders.

Jean seconded Alicia’s request. “People, none of us knows what’s going on. Please go. I’ll call you if I know anything.” She turned to Alicia. “I’ll stay with the boys until their grandparents get here. They said they’d be coming by at about five.”

Once out the door, Pewter puffed up. “She didn’t have a chance.”

“Yes, Rocky.” Mrs. Murphy smiled.

34

Hurrying home after his wife called and thankful that no equine emergencies had sprung up, Fair blew through the door. “Honey! Honey, where are you?”

“In the living room.”

He walked in to find Harry stretched out on the couch, two cats on her chest and one corgi on her feet. “Don’t get up. Tell me everything.”

“I will. Could you bring me something to drink? I’m a little shaky. I don’t have a scratch on me except for my head, but that doesn’t count.”

“I’ll bring you some hot tea with lemon and a tiny touch of something special.”

Harry rarely drank, but Fair thought a dollop of good whiskey wouldn’t be amiss. As he heated the water, Coop drove up.

Once in the house, Cooper closed the door and leaned against it.

“Harry, bless you.”

“Drink?” Fair was anxious to know what had happened.

“Beer. I want a big, fat, cold beer.”

He opened the refrigerator and handed her a St. Pauli Girl, her favorite.

Within minutes all were seated in the living room, Harry upright now, her feet on the coffee table.

Cooper first told them about visiting the monastery and the forlorn abandoned brothers who’d been locked into their rooms, except for Brother Luther, who’d been knocked out. “As it happens, the North Carolina state police picked up the perps as they headed for the coast. Brother Morris wanted the others to disperse, but no one trusted him to give them the money once they were safe. A falling- out among thieves.” She half-smiled, then took a sip. “And Brother Luther and Brother Howard were right: Brother Morris had a separate account; he was definitely blackmailing men. But he’s not a killer.”

“Good Lord,” Fair exclaimed.

“Where does Racquel come in?” Harry burst with curiosity.

“Bryson had had affairs at the hospital. The ones she initially pounced on over the years were with women. But as time went on, he couldn’t submerge his true nature. She sensed it. Over the last year and a half, his constant visits to the monastery for ‘medical reasons’ sent her red flags up. She started snooping. He really did think he was smarter than anyone else, didn’t take too many precautions. He assumed no one would dream he had fallen in love with Speed. Racquel found condoms, the occasional cryptic note in what seemed to be a man’s handwriting. Bryson made two fatal mistakes: he underestimated his wife, and he fell in love with Speed. At least that’s what Racquel says.

“Racquel initially thought he was in love with Christopher.” Cooper took a breath. “She was so humiliated that her husband was sleeping with a man that she lost it. She confronted him. He denied it.”

“Did she overpower them in some fashion?” Fair asked.

“No. Racquel is very attractive. She offered herself to them. Remember, both men like women, or liked them. All she had to do was slip behind them and slit their throats before they knew what hit them. Neither man dreamed he was in danger.”

“Didn’t their murders upset Bryson? If he was in love with Speed he would be devastated,” Fair said.

“He tried to hide it, but he was. His suppressed grief made her even angrier,” Cooper said.

“And Bryson didn’t suspect his wife?” Harry wondered how Bryson could be so obtuse.

“He was getting nervous, but he didn’t think Racquel was the killer. He thought he had her under his thumb. Apart from his inborn arrogance, he had a touch of smugness about women. He thought men were superior, or so Racquel says. He didn’t treat her badly, but she felt tremendous humiliation, and her desire for revenge overcame even her maternal affection for the boys. She never thought she’d be caught, though. She was so blinded by rage she didn’t think about being separated from her sons.”

“Those poor kids. Their mother killed their father. They love both parents.” Harry felt terrible for the boys. “Do you think Racquel would have killed me?” she asked Cooper.

“Probably. I don’t think she wanted to, but if it came down to your life versus her freedom, she would have shot you.”

“Lucky I have fast friends.” Harry dangled her arms over each kitty, now in her lap, and Tucker on the floor.

“No one messes with us,” Pewter bragged.

“Here’s something: Brother Morris won’t confess to blackmail. Big surprise. He only says people gave as their hearts moved them.”

“That’s not what was moving,” Fair said laconically.

The two women laughed.

Harry then inquired, “He’s not saying where the money is, is he?”

“Hell, no. He’ll hire a great lawyer, serve his time, and come out to unearth the money. Here’s something else: he admitted that Bryson was generous and that Bill Keelo made a sizable Christmas donation.”

“Bill is currently in jail, since he was uncooperative.” Cooper liked the idea of the lawyer cooling his heels. “Alex swears he’s not involved, but he fits the description of the man who accompanied Racquel to the coin store.” She paused. “He’s in love with her, of course.”

“Bill Keelo.” Harry was surprised.

“Hoping to draw attention from himself, all that homophobic rant.” Cooper smiled ruefully. “People can be pretty nasty. When they can’t face who and what they are, it’s a real cluster you- know- what.”

“Yep.” Harry liked the tang in her tea.

“I’m willing to bet that Racquel’s lawyer will use in her defense that she was frightened that Bryson would commit incest with their sons.” Cooper knew how legal things

worked.

“Gross.” Harry wrinkled her nose.

“And it will be very effective.” Fair, too, had seen enough legal arguments to know some slick lawyer could get Sherman’s March to the Sea reduced to trespassing.

“So Bryson never went out for milk?”

“He did. But he thought he was going for an assignation at Barracks Road. Racquel had sent him a text message, name withheld, to meet for sex. The man was a fool for sex. She howled with laughter when she described walking up to the Tahoe. She’d parked behind the buildings, then walked out into the parking lot. She said if she sits in jail forever, she’ll cherish that moment when he realized the game was up and he wasn’t half as smart as he thought he was. She had a gun on him and marched him to the fountain. Then she put the gun to his temple, told him to hold still, and slit his throat. He didn’t expect that, either. She’s totally unrepentant.”

“And the boys will never admit their mother left the house on Christmas Eve. I expect they knew she’d left the house,” Harry said.

“Probably. What a burden they’ll carry.”

“What’s the significance of the obol?” Fair inquired.

“To throw us off. She won’t tell us who accompanied her when she stole them. She laughed again when we brought that up. She said they’ll all go to hell and she paid the fare. She’s gleeful.”

Suddenly Pewter shot off Harry’s lap, raced for the tree, and climbed to the top, where she batted the gold star. “I’m the top of the top.”

“Demented.” Tucker sighed. “I saved the day! Me. Me. Me.” “There’s no living with her.” Tucker sighed. “Can’t beat ’em, join ’em.” Mrs. Murphy leapt off the sofa and

climbed the tree, hanging on the trunk across from Pewter. The Christmas tree swung to and fro, the balls tinkling when they touched one another.

Harry got up and reached into the tree to steady it by grasping the trunk. Her reward was to be pricked by the sharp needles.

The cats hollered, “We’re the tops, we’re the cat’s pajamas.”

It was just as well that Cole Porter had gone to his reward and that Harry had no idea what those two were shouting about.

Ho Ho Ho

Isn’t Christmas the best? A trimmed tree to climb, presents to shred, food that falls under the table or is helpfully pushed off. Christmas is a cat’s favorite holiday.

There is one little quibble I have with how humans view Christmas. Who do you think kept mice away from Baby Jesus? Who curled up in His cradle to keep Him warm? The swaddling clothes weren’t worth squat. A cat. Oh sure, there was a donkey there and a cow and chickens, but it was a cat that did the work. A few humans remember because a tiger cat with an M on its forehead is a descendant of Mary’s cat.

Even if you don’t have a Mary’s cat, do shower your puss with tuna, chicken, beef, ham, capons, goose, catnip, and warm fuzzies to sleep on. It’s the Christian thing to do.

Sneaky Pie

Dear Reader,

For once I’ve read Sneaky’s missive to you all and I agree one hundred percent. Let me add one thing: give to your local humane shelter. Give as generously as you can. Some of the cats and dogs are there because their owner has passed away or is ill and can no longer attend to them. Most are there because of crass human irresponsibility. Personally, I’d like to bring back the stocks and put these sorry so-and-so’s in them for all to see. It’s humans who maim and abandon pets, not the reverse. So do remember Mary’s cat and all the others who are temporarily dependent on you. As Blanche DuBois said, “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.

About the Authors

RITA MAE BROWN is the bestselling author of several books. An Emmy- nominated screenwriter and poet, she lives in Afton, Virginia. Her website is www.ritamaebrown.com. She does not own a computer. God willing, she never will. Some times the website manager sends your queries. The safest way to reach her is in care of Bantam Books.

SNEAKY PIE BROWN, a tiger cat born somewhere in Albemarle County, Virginia, was discovered by Rita Mae Brown at her local SPCA. They have collaborated on seventeen Mrs. Murphy mysteries: Wish You Were Here; Rest in Pieces; Murder at Monticello; Pay Dirt; Murder, She Meowed; Murder on the Prowl; Cat on the Scent; Pawing Through the Past; Claws and Effect; Catch as Cat Can; The Tail of the Tip-Off; Whisker of Evil; Cat’s Eyewitness; Sour Puss; Puss ’n Cahoots; The Purrfect Murder; and Santa Clawed, in addition to Sneaky Pie’s Cookbook for Mystery Lovers.

Santa Clawed

WISH YOU WERE HERE REST IN PIECES MURDER AT MONTICELLO PAY DIRT MURDER, SHE MEOWED MURDER ON THE PROWL CAT ON THE SCENT SNEAKY PIE’S COOKBOOK FOR MYSTERY LOVERS PAWING THROUGH THE PAST CLAWS AND EFFECT CATCH AS CAT CAN THE TAIL OF THE TIP-OFF WHISKER OF EVIL CAT’S EYEWITNESS SOUR PUSS PUSS ’N CAHOOTS THE PURRFECT MURDER SANTA CLAWED

Books by Rita Mae Brown

THE HAND THAT CRADLES THE ROCK SONGS TO A HANDSOME WOMAN THE PLAIN BROWN RAPPER RUBYFRUIT JUNGLE IN HER DAY SIX OF ONE SOUTHERN DISCOMFORT SUDDEN DEATH HIGH HEARTS STARTING FROM SCRATCH: A DIFFERENT KIND OF WRITERS’ MANUAL BINGO VENUS ENVY DOLLEY: A NOVEL OF DOLLEY MADISON IN LOVE AND IN WAR RIDING SHOTGUN RITA WILL: MEMOIR OF A LITERARY RABBLE-ROUSER LOOSE LIPS ALMA MATER HOTSPUR FULL CRY OUTFOXED THE HUNT BALL THE HOUNDS AND THE FURY THE TELL-TALE HORSE THE SAND CASTLE HOUNDED TO DEATH

Published by Bantam Dell A Division of Random House, Inc. New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Copyright © 2008 by American Artists, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 2008 by Michael Gellatly

Bantam Books is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Brown, Rita Mae. Santa clawed : a Mrs. Murphy mystery / Rita Mae Brown Sneaky Pie Brown ; illustrations by Michael Gellatly.

p. cm. eISBN 978-0-553-90592-2

:

1. Haristeen, Harry (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Murphy, Mrs. (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 3. Women postal service employees—Fiction. 4. Women detectives—Virginia—Fiction. 5. Women cat owners—Fiction. 6. Cats—Fiction. 7. Crozet (Va.)—Fiction. 8. Christmas stories. I. Title.

PS3552.R698S26 2008 813'.54—dc22 2008034914

www.bantamdell.com

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