Whisker Of Evil

44

The sweet smell of honeysuckle filled the late-afternoon air. Midsummer could fall anywhere between June twenty-first and June twenty-third, but Harry celebrated the entire week right up to July, since she loved the festivals and myths surrounding the longest day of the year.

However, this last Sunday in June she was anything but celebratory. That morning, as soon as Cooper called Rick regarding the long bone proudly displayed by Tucker, part of her was thrilled that this might be one of Mary Pat’s bones and part of her was sickened. The idea that the vivacious Mary Pat was killed, then dragged to a lonely grave undiscovered until now, made her sad, far sadder than she could have imagined.

Cooper, to protect Harry, Fair, and Susan, waited for Rick Shaw. When he arrived she asked Harry to direct Tucker to lead Cooper to the spot. But both Cooper and Rick sent the three humans partway down from the meadows. The two law-enforcement officers didn’t want any of them to know the exact spot if more bones were buried there. Why take the chance that Harry, Susan, or Fair might slip, say something to the wrong person?

Once Tucker took Cooper and Rick to the site, Cooper walked the corgi down to Harry, ordering all of them to go home.

Fair promised he’d visit Harry tonight after he checked pedigrees on his computer. He said he had an idea. Before leaving he also asked Rick to call him at the clinic should the sheriff find the remains of Ziggy Flame, as well.

Rick promised he would but cautioned them all not to jump to conclusions. One bone that looked like a femur did not constitute the solution to the disposition of Mary Pat Reines’s remains. Nor were they even sure the bone was human. Rick especially cautioned Harry, who was known to jump the gun.

Harry, as always, sought solace in hard work. She was installing large rectangular trellises reaching from the ground to the roofline of her new shed. Her tools already hung neatly inside. The old but serviceable 1958 John Deere tractor rested inside, the manure spreader hooked up to the PTO. Her two-horse trailer was now sheltered along with the big Ford F350 dually that pulled it. Only the 1978 Ford endured the elements. That venerable machine remained parked near the back door. That way, should it rain, she could make a dash for it.

As she worked, she talked to her animals. Tucker would get up each time Harry took more than three steps. The cats reposed in the shade of the long barn overhang, but they could hear everything Harry said to them. Matilda, the four-foot-long black snake, hung from a huge old walnut tree in the back lawn. Her hunting radius started on the paddock by the western side of the barn, and over the summer she would make a big counterclockwise circle until, by fall, she was back at the barn, where she would hibernate throughout winter. Matilda evidenced no fear of the cats, dog, or Harry. Being a reptile, she rarely conversed with the mammals, but she kept one glittering eye on them always. Pewter bragged too much about her hunting prowess, and Matilda was determined to give the gray blowhard a vicious bite she would never forget if the fat kitty so much as looked cross-eyed at her.

“I just painted that eave.” Harry squinted up as she carefully placed the trellis straight against the outside wall.

A thin powder of sawdust spiraled out of a perfectly round hole, where a carpenter bee had already made an impressive home for herself and her offspring.

“Can’t keep up with them. They’re as industrious as beavers,” Tucker sympathized.

Carpenter bees really didn’t do damage, but the sight of those round holes in overhangs, eaves, and doorjambs offended human aesthetics. Some people worried that the large flying bombers, often mistaken for bumblebees, would sting them, but the carpenter bee with its smooth black bottom wasn’t a stinger.

“Beavers built another dam on the creek. Low down this time. I walked over there last night,” Mrs. Murphy informed them.

“Good. That will give us a good pond.” Tucker, wary of beavers, appreciated their engineering skills.

Anyway, who could afford to dig out a pond these days? The beavers really were doing them a favor.

Harry walked back to the barn, shaded her eyes with her hand, checked to make certain she’d lined up the trellis perfectly. She had. She walked back, climbed the ladder next to the trellis. Gently she tapped in long thin nails to secure the top. Then she climbed down and nailed in the bottom. She subsequently put in a row of nails across the middle.

“There.”

“Perfect.” Pewter, considering herself an expert on all things demanding a critical eye, praised her human.

“Now the big question. Do I plant climbing roses, clematis, or morning glories?”

“Morning glories are running wild over the back pastures. I say roses. That will bring out all the bees. I like to hear them,” Tucker suggested.

“I vote for that.” Mrs. Murphy half-dozed. “Plant the clematis around the lamppost by the back walkway.”

“Clematis has those big showy flowers. Purple. Hmm, maybe white. Of course, I could do both purple and white.” Harry paced along the building. “I’ll do that on the lamppost. If I put out climbing roses the fragrance will be spectacular, plus I think the clematis will go better on the back there because I’ve got the ivy lining the walkway. That’s it.” She walked inside, plucked a shovel off the wall, and began digging a bed for the rosebushes. The good soil would be enriched from the compost heap.

Yesterday she’d bought rosebushes and clematis starters at the big nursery, Eltzroth, on Route 29 south of Charlottesville.

Just as she pulled the last of the soil over the roots, the low motor rumble of Miranda’s Ford Falcon alerted Tucker.

“Miranda!” Tucker recognized the sound of all of Harry’s friends’ vehicles.

“We know that.” The cats could identify the sounds, too.

“That looks good. Roses are so tough.” Miranda, large basket in both hands, kicked the car door shut. “Thank you for calling me about your adventure this morning. I thought you might need refreshment and”—she smiled—“conversation.”

Wiping her hands on her jeans, Harry kissed Miranda on the cheek. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Well, come on. Let’s take a tea break. It’s almost teatime. Where would you like to eat? Kitchen? Screened-in porch? Backyard?”

“Let’s go in the kitchen. It’s nice and cool inside.”

Harry took the basket from Miranda and the two women made their way to the kitchen slowly, for Miranda had to stop and admire Harry’s flowers. The animals shot ahead of them. Pewter knew something good in that basket had her name on it.

Once the iced tea was poured and the herbed turkey sandwiches—along with extra turkey for the cats and dog—served, the two women sat down.

“Tucker found a bone.” Harry jumped right in.

“That’s what you said.” Miranda pushed over a jar of her homemade herbed mayonnaise should Harry want more.

“Did I?”

“When you called.” Miranda shook her head.

“I’m getting forgetful.” Harry frowned.

Miranda reassured her. “You have a lot on your mind and it’s a good mind. Don’t worry, you’re not losing your memory.”

Mrs. Murphy stoutly spoke up. “I worked hard this morning. More food, please.”

“Here, Murphy.” Harry gave her another morsel of turkey.

“Big Mim’s calling a gathering. She wants everyone at her house tomorrow evening.”

“About this?”

“No. Mim’s too smart to be that obvious. We are all to get there at six to go over details for Herb’s anniversary. He’ll come over at seven-thirty. You know Mim. She’ll find out as much as she can this way. It will appear spontaneous.”

“I don’t think Big Mim ever had a spontaneous moment.”

“Before you were born.” Miranda winked.

“Is that what happens, Miranda? I mean, as we go along in life there’s no time to be free, to just pick up and go.”

“And where would you go?”

Harry laughed. “I don’t know.” She dropped more turkey for each critter, then grew serious. “I know that bone was Mary Pat’s. I just know it.”

“My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” Miranda quoted Second Corinthians, Chapter 12, Verse 9.

“What made you think of that?”

“I don’t know. It popped into my head. Happens to me a lot. Eventually I figure it out.” She dabbed the napkin at the corners of her mouth, light-pink lipstick transferring to the napkin. “I trust in the Good Lord’s messages.”

“Which reminds me, how was church today?”

“Wonderful, even if Ruthie Dalsky did forget her robe. She never sings off-key, so what’s a choir robe compared to that?” The ice cubes tinkled as she lifted the tall glass. “Harry, I think the Good Lord brought Alicia back for a reason and I think she’ll stay. She’ll move back.”

“You think she killed Mary Pat and will come to get justice?”

“No. I don’t know what I think. It’s a feeling.”

“Well,” Harry exhaled, “my feeling is, whatever my pets found will be in Tuesday’s newspaper.”

“Did you see anything?”

“No.”

“I helped,” Pewter boasted.

“Eat your turkey, turkey.” Mrs. Murphy tapped her with her right paw.

“If they find Ziggy Flame it will be a different—mmm, not a solution to all this, exactly, but a different take than if they don’t. Because if Ziggy isn’t up there with Mary Pat, then I believe she was killed because of him.” Harry thought out loud.

“Isn’t it you who says people are killed for love or money—not horses?”

“Ziggy, at the time of Mary Pat’s death, was just proving himself at stud. Had he lived he would have been worth a fortune. It’s funny, Miranda, I feel like I’m walking in a fog and I can see shapes up ahead but I can’t quite make out what they are. I know I’m getting closer. I know that if Mary Pat is up there, more than her bones will be pried loose. Someone is going to break.”

“It takes them longer, but they do figure things out,” Pewter said between chews.

“We haven’t figured it out yet, Pewts. We just know that the murders are related.” Mrs. Murphy reached up, her claws digging into the tablecloth.

“Murphy!” Harry rapped her paw but gave her another piece of turkey nonetheless. Then she gave Pewter and Tucker a piece, as well.

“If that is Mary Pat, someone is going to be pretty darn nervous,” Tucker said.

While Harry and Miranda visited with each other, Fair was glued to his computer. What he was finding was extremely interesting, and he kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier.