Whiskers In The Dark

15

April 19, 2018

Thursday

Digging into the bag of dog food, securely kept in a trash can with a tight lid, Harry inhaled the pleasant odor. She dipped the scoop in, filled it, then emptied it in two ceramic bowls, names painted on the sides.

“I hate waiting on them,” Pewter moaned.

“It’s easier to feed them first since the trash can is out on the covered porch. Our food is in the cupboard. Anyway, that’s the way she likes it.” Mrs. Murphy watched as Harry closed the kitchen door leading out to the porch, a waft of cold air sneaking in with it.

The slender woman hurried over to the cupboard, opened the door, pulled out a delicious-smelling bag of kitty food with a hint of bacon. She put this in two ceramic bowls on the counter, names also on the sides. Then she opened a small can of special moist food, spreading that into each bowl.

Pewter’s face was in the bowl before Harry could wash out the can. Then she made herself a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold tea that could wake up the dead.

Fair, called out early as a mare was foaling, had left her a note. Harry could sleep through most anything. She never heard him go.

The TV, new, on the wall, presented the weather. At least no snow was forecast, but neither was it going to be much warmer.

A blip on her cellphone caught her attention. She noted that Susan had just called her. The landlines proved better as Harry was at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Cell service depended on where you were on the farm. For the best reception, she’d need to go outside. She picked up the old wall phone with the long cord, dialed, and sat back down to her tea.

“What?”

Susan’s voice, clear, replied, “Amy Burke Walker texted me to go to the Middleburg newspaper. So I did. A long article about the murder.”

“Now?”

“Let me finish. It’s a weekly paper. Of course, the TV stations from D.C. carried it, but this is interesting because the writer took some time to nose around. It is now four days since Jason was killed. And the writer thinks this is related to his work.”

“Jason Holzknect’s work? He owned a Toyota dealership allied with Lexus. High and low. What could cars have to do with Jason’s murder?”

“Okay, this is conjecture, but the writer relates that questions about contraband came up more than once about Holzknect Motors. Drugs smuggled in the hubcaps. A salesman was charged back in 2009.”

“Jason?” Harry was disbelieving.

“He was rich.” Susan’s voice carried a hint of reproach. “He could have been in on it.”

“A lot of people are rich. Doesn’t mean they’re dealing drugs. He wouldn’t have been that stupid. Clare wouldn’t have let him be that stupid. I find that hard to believe.”

“Would you find other criminal activity hard to believe?” Susan pressed.

“I guess I would. I know, I know, that’s how crooks fool us, but I never got a weird feeling from him. He did what he said he would, worked alongside all of us, was good to his hounds. Could he have been some kind of crook? I suppose, but if he was, I sure missed it.”

“Somebody didn’t.”

“I wonder who the reporter interviewed?”

“I guess I do, too,” Susan agreed. “You know we’ll be questioned again. We’re not high on the totem pole, but we are on the totem pole.”

“What else could we be asked?” Harry was puzzled. “We were there for hours. Granted, it was pretty awful. It’s such a personal way to die.”

“What do you mean?” Susan asked.

“Your killer has to be so close to you. Touch you. A gun is impersonal. Sure you can hate that person’s guts, but you stand back and pull the trigger. Or even hitting someone with a car. You’re not close. This is so close. Like ancient wars, even medieval wars. You were close to your adversary.”

“I never thought of that.” Susan considered this.

“So it seems to me this is personal. Deeply personal.”

“Ew, Harry. Like a betrayed wife or friend kind of personal?”

“Don’t know. But I think it could be. The Institute is large. If someone knew the grounds, say, someone who had hunted with Jason, they could slip in and slip out. To the road through the trees. Clare could do that.”

Susan thought, then said, “She’s strong. Reach up, pull back his head, and cut through the throat. I don’t think Clare did it. It really seemed like a good marriage, a true partnership.”

“I don’t either, but this is something close.”

“Oh, Harry, I hope you’re wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because the killer would be someone at the Institute. Someone who just blends in.”

“Susan, the killer had to be there. Had to know the schedule, the territory, and had to know him. Jason probably liked the person.”

“Good God. How do we know this won’t happen again?”

“Susan, we aren’t close. I swear this was something very personal and close. We’re fine. We probably know the killer and have worked with him.”

“No way,” Susan exclaimed.

“We rub shoulders every day with people who have killed. On TV killers get caught, but in real life not so much.” Harry spoke quietly. “If property is destroyed or money stolen, the search is on. But if it’s another human being, there’s attention, then it fades away. I think this drives law enforcement crazy, the disengagement of the public. People often have information that could be helpful to catching whoever did it. We probably do and don’t know it.”

“That’s hard to believe. I know very little about Jason Holzknect.”

“You don’t have to know much. We worked with him. He hunted even before he bought the dealership, when he’d come back in the States. He mentioned it to me. Well, most everyone there has hunted for years. Nothing special about that. The killer, I’d bet on this, is a beagler or a basset person. I expect Jason had it coming, at least in their mind. You don’t kill without a compelling reason, to you at least.”

“Do you think we’re in danger?” A ripple of fear ran through Susan.

“No, of course not.” Harry paused. “Only if we get in the way. Or get too close ourselves.”