“Freezing my butt off, that’s what I missed. You two are lucky to be alive. What if Odin called down other coyotes? They’d have dug you out. As for you, Murphy, you would have been trapped up there for days. And maybe you wouldn’t have lived either.”
As the animals argued about whether Odin was or was not trustworthy, Harry dialed Cooper and the lights went out, the phone with it.
Fair pulled a flashlight from the drawer by the sink. “Bet someone ran off the road and hit a pole.”
“I’m going to drive over.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter started for the door.
“Stay,” Harry commanded.
“Bother,” Pewter said and pouted.
Mrs. Murphy and Tucker, now really put out, as they were exhausted, crawled into their special fleece beds.
Fair drove this time. He had respect for bad driving conditions.
They reached Cooper’s house within fifteen minutes, whereas it usually took five. A pinpoint of light shone from the living room window; smoke rose from the chimney, then flattened out.
Out of the truck, they walked to her back door and knocked. Within a few minutes, Cooper—holding a flashlight, as were Harry and Fair—opened the door.
“Come on in. It’s the usual.”
“Coop, I’ve been trying to call you on my cell, but the service isn’t working.”
“Come on into the living room. The fire helps. That and the fact that the power just went off, so it’s not cold inside yet.”
“Pain in the you-know-what.” Harry followed her neighbor into the living room, as did Fair.
“Coop, let me get to the point,” Fair said. “We found a skeleton up in the walnut grove.”
Now on the edge of her chair, the blonde woman asked, “In what condition?”
“Bleached, tree roots growing through it,” Harry matter-of-factly reported.
“It was missing the left arm from the elbow down, but that could be in the ground,” said Fair. “Most of the skeleton is suspended,” he added.
They told her how they heard the howls of Tucker and the coyote, of their shock at seeing the bones.
“This snow will complicate matters.” Cooper checked the weather report on her Droid. “It will be mostly light, with a few heavy periods tapering off tomorrow afternoon.” She looked up at her two friends. “And tomorrow is the big delivery day. I’m in charge for the department. Everyone off duty will be helping. ’Course, I really don’t know who will be off duty tomorrow, thanks to finding Lou.”
“A wonderful thought, but it is four days before Christmas.” Fair lifted his feet to put them on the hassock, then thought better of it.
“Go ahead. I don’t care if your boots are wet.” Cooper didn’t either. “I’ll be at St. Luke’s. Actually, the department is pretty well divided up among the churches. If someone attends a church, it made sense for them to help with deliveries that day. Tomorrow is going to be a long, long day, and there’s no way we can get back up there without you two.”
“True. GPS is no help.” Fair nodded.
“Neither is the weather,” said Harry. “The mountain road is treacherous even when it’s dry. Plus, you can’t reach the switchbacks.”
“Why not?”
“Trees down.” Harry knew the mountains. “Those fall windstorms, and now all this snow. You know, trees have to be blocking the switchbacks. They are closer to the top, more wind.”
“It’s good to have open access from a few directions, in case there’s trouble,” Cooper prudently mentioned. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it for now.”
“The killer isn’t coming back anytime soon, I expect,” Harry flatly stated. “I mean, this has to be a murder victim. People don’t get buried at the base of trees.”
“I actually enjoy cold cases.” Cooper inhaled the aroma of hardwood. “Makes me think.”
“You’ve got so many more tools now,” said Fair. “Things like DNA.”
“DNA helps, but we’d need to find a living relative of the deceased to be sure. And if a body has been long buried and can’t be identified, then you have a problem.”
“Dental records?” Fair queried.
“We send out the information, pictures of the teeth and jaw, and hope local dentists will check their records. And we hope whoever the dentist was for the victim isn’t retired or dead. Even today, there are unclaimed corpses in every morgue in every city. No one knows who they are. Some of those people most certainly have been murdered.”
“No matter how bad it is here, imagine living in Argentina, years ago—all those people who just went poof,” said Harry. “Never to be found and no records.” She thought this incredibly sad.
A flicker, and the lights came back on. The refrigerator hummed.
“That’s a record.” Fair grinned.
“It really is,” Cooper agreed. “I’ll call the boss. We’ll get up there after tomorrow’s delivery day, and once the weather cooperates. It’s important, but it’s not pressing. We will get up there, though, with your help.”
“That skeleton isn’t going anywhere,” Harry remarked.
December 20, the snow continued but was light. However, the blustery wind demanded alert driving, especially on the back roads. As the plows first cleared the interstates, then the big state highways like Route 29, the back roads often piled up with snow. No one in their right mind would be out in anything but four-wheel drive.
At seven-thirty in the morning, cars lined up at all the churches, often a police squad SUV among them to pick up the cartons, the food, the toys.
At the door to the St. Luke’s meeting room, Susan Tucker checked off people and cartons as they carried out boxes for delivery. Each table also had a St. Luke’s person checking who took what box. If anything, Susan had overorganized, but she was determined not to overlook anyone in need. Even with all the early deliveries, everyone there knew this would go on until sundown. They hoped not much beyond, but you never knew.
Susan had called her counterparts at the other churches. Managing her husband’s campaign for the House of Delegates burnished her already formidable skills. Difficult as that was, this day was also a lot to handle, compressed by time.
Strong and willing, Harry helped carry out boxes for some of the other ladies. Fair did the same, along with Brian Hexham, who’d closed his office to help.
The clergy present—priest, pastors, reverends, rabbi—all were astonished at the labor and how many parishioners had closed offices or taken the day off, doing whatever they could to help the poor. Everyone understood that these were hard times, and everyone also understood that one day a year can’t begin to address the problem. So they worked with full hearts and frustrated minds.
“Harry,” Susan addressed her dearest friend as she came back into the meeting room for another load, “go out in the hall and bring in the extra dog and cat food and all the animal treats.”
“Did we already load up all that we have in here?” Harry’s eyebrows rose.
“We did.” Susan showed her the clipboard and then Harry looked at the back table.
“Okay. Everyone has to have a Christmas present.”
By nine, everything was on its way—except for the last loads that Harry and Susan were taking. Fair had already left with an entire truckload of horse cookies, for the horses at the rehab centers and retirement places, many awaiting homes. There was little hope in the winter. He also carried some boxes for Almost Home Animal Shelter in Nelson County, as well as the sparkling, large Albemarle County SPCA.
Next to Susan, Harry rode shotgun in the Audi, list in her lap. “First stop, behind Miller School, and then we can work our way up Dick Woods Road, all those little side roads. And then—”
“Harry, I drew up the list.”
“Right.” Harry realized Susan had been putting out brush fires for weeks, each day more intense than the one before, and she was one minute away from cranky.
“I brought th
ose nutrition bars you like. Want a chocolate one?”
“I would kill for chocolate.” Susan held out her hand.
Harry reached into the small cooler at her feet, retrieved a bar, unwrapped it halfway, handed it to Susan. Then she launched into everything that had happened last night.
“I was going to call you last night, but I know how busy you are and it was getting late. You know I tell you everything.” Harry finished the story.
“Most times.” Susan smiled. “God knows it’s bizarre. When the sheriff finally gets up there, call me, I’ll come up, since it’s on my land.”
Susan’s late uncle, a man who retired to a monastery, had willed her the huge acreage on the side of the mountain that abutted Harry’s acreage. The difference was that Susan’s side contained the large stand of black walnut, along with other hardwoods. One black walnut could fetch thousands of dollars. The market slid up and down, but one lone tree could add considerably to the comfort of one’s bank account. Harry managed the timber, a job she loved. Anything involving timber, farming, or animal husbandry, and Harry reveled in her element.
“Seeing a human skeleton suspended, tree roots growing through it, it’s awful, but at the same time I think, well, the body was put to good use,” Harry said matter-of-factly.
“What do you mean?”
“What good does it do to put people in a box where decomposition doesn’t enrich the soil, or if you put them out, wild animals could eat them? It really is wasteful.”
Tension evaporating, Susan laughed. “Harry, only you.”
Harry laughed, too. “Well—”
They chattered on about everything, the deaths of the two men, the skeleton, the fingers in the pencil cup, the bills currently on the floor of the House of Delegates, who was an idiot in Richmond and who was not.
After delivering a box, Susan hopped in the Audi, Harry closing the back door, and they rode toward the last of their drops. Susan returned to a never-ending fund of gossip, much of it about sex. “Ned says most of those guys in Richmond are cheating like mad and lying through their teeth. The more righteous they present themselves, the bigger the whoremaster—his words.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I think if you’re a young woman and you want to rise in the world, go to work in a politician or lobbyist’s office. You’ll sleep your way to the top faster than in Hollywood.”
“How stupid was I to go to work at the post office when I graduated from Smith?” Harry smacked her open hand on her forehead.
“Well, Sugar, there’s still time.”
Off and running, they blabbed about infidelity, Internet porn, non-porn people posting pictures of their genitals on same.
“You know, that’s not a good idea.” Harry wiped tears from her eyes, as she was laughing so hard. So much had gone wrong just lately, the laughter lifted their spirits.
“Last stop?” Harry turned around to double-check the back of the plush wagon.
“It is.”
The young couple, trimming a tree they had cut themselves, welcomed the two inside. Harry picked up a baby crawling on the floor. While the two may not have had much in life, they were happy with each other, happy with the baby.
When leaving, Susan and Harry kissed the baby and hugged the parents.
Back in the wagon, Susan sighed. “I loved it when the kids were little.”
“Babies are usually ugly—I mean, they are, but your two weren’t.”
“All babies are beautiful.” Susan slowed as they were descending an old tertiary road.
“Hey, you aren’t on the campaign trail with Ned,” Harry teased her.
A pause, then Susan admitted, “Have you ever noticed that some babies look like old men or old women? You won’t know what they will look like at fourteen, but you have a good guess at what they will look like at seventy, unless they’ve had plastic surgery.”
“Same with foals. There’s a brief period of time when you know what they’ll look like in their prime. Then it disappears. Horses go through the same awkward phases humans do. Look how their backs sway when they get really old.”
“Right. Hey, we’re above St. Cyril’s. Let me stop by for a moment. Here.” She handed Harry her cellphone. “See if I have messages?”
“Wouldn’t it make that noise? The message beep?”
“Yeah, but these last few days the phone hasn’t been right. I keep losing power, then charge it up in the car.”
“Couldn’t call Coop last night on the cell. Most times they work, except for the hollows. Mountains are gorgeous, but they are the devil with electronic stuff.”
Susan drove onto the plowed St. Cyril’s lot, with cars parked and a few coming in and out. The sun had set.
The two women walked into the church.
Charlene Vavilov, her sons, and their teammates from football and baseball carried out the last of the boxes.
Susan called out, “Need a hand?”
Charlene fought to close the door as a gust hit it. “This is it.”
“We’re finished, too,” said Susan. “I’ll call everyone once I get back to St. Luke’s to see how it’s going, but I don’t have any messages on the phone, so it must be okay. By the way, thank you for helping, given all that’s happened lately.”
“Arden was undone.”
“Poor thing.” Susan uttered the southern formula, but she did mean it.
“Susan, you did a great job with this Christmas drive, and I must say, the sheriff’s department has been terrific,” Charlene said, sounding tired.
“They have. Every year this grows.”
“That’s both a good sign and a bad sign,” Charlene noted.
A loud voice was heard down the hall, coming closer. Harry and Susan looked at each other and then at Charlene.
Ahead of Esther, Flo Rice blasted into the room. Esther followed, out of breath.
“Where are the fingers?” squawked Flo. “I want to see the fingers. Were they bones, or did they have flesh on them?”
“Flo, that’s enough.” Esther, fit to be tied, came alongside her sister. “The fingers are gone.”
“You lie! There are two fingers here. The paper said so.” Flo’s lower lip jutted out in defiance.
In a soothing voice, Charlene said, “Flo, you’re right. There were fingers here, but the sheriff took them away.”
Flo thought this over, since she was more inclined to believe Charlene.
Esther handed Charlene an envelope. In a low voice, she said, “It’s a small contribution. I’m sorry we couldn’t help with deliveries.”
Coats off, sleeves pushed up, Harry and Susan were ready to clean up and then go do the same at St. Luke’s.
Charlene noticed. “Girls, don’t bother. The boys will be back and, trust me, they can work harder and faster than we can.”
This made everyone smile except Flo, who appeared fixated on Harry. “Where’d you get that?” She grabbed Harry’s wrist, upon which was her found bracelet.
“Uh.” Harry tried to gently remove Flo’s hand, to no avail.
“Give it to me!”
“Flo, what’s the matter with you? You can’t take someone’s jewelry.” Esther pried her sister’s hand from Harry’s arm. “That’s an old piece. Lovely.”
“I want it. It belongs to me!” Flo screeched.
“Flo, you never had a bracelet like that.” Esther was firm. “Now stop this this instant.”
Esther forcibly propelled Flo from the room as the three women looked on.
“Give it to me! Give it to me!” Flo bellowed.
Even though the door had closed behind them, they could hear her as Esther shoved her down the hall. The three remained silent, then Charlene said, “What a pity. What a great pity!”
Marked for thousands of years by festivals, the longest night of the year retains its primitive power. All animals see the dying of the light, but only the human animal creates festivals of light to fight it off.
Wrapping gifts, Harry and
Fair sat at the wiped-off kitchen table among wrapping paper, ribbons, and two pairs of scissors.
The horses were cared for. Everyone was in for the night, with fresh water, even treats put up in the loft for Simon, and Harry and Fair could concentrate on Christmas duties. They started snipping paper, curling ribbon, hand-making big bows.
“Your mother was good at this.” Fair studied an antique level. He thought Blair, a young friend, would like the tool.
Married to Little Mim, Blair had become a new father, and everyone swamped them with baby gifts. Fair figured he’d find something just for Blair.
“Honey, the edges of that level are a little sharp. You need a heavier paper.”
“Oh.” Fair pointed to a thick paper dyed red. “That.”
Harry picked it up. “Yeah, just be careful at the corners.”
“Isn’t this women’s work?” he teased.
“Not this woman’s.” She took one arm of a scissors, ran it along ribbon off the big roll.
The gray cat ran with it, unspooling the ribbon.
“Hey! Hey!” Harry ran after the cat, who, naturally, dropped the ribbon and kept running.
“She’s mental.” Tucker believed this and pronounced judgment far too often.
“I remember Harry once saying that the mentally ill get worse at Christmas. More people get depressed. Lots of stress. More drinking.” Mrs. Murphy, tempted by the ribbons and papers, resisted for now.
“That doesn’t sound like much of a holiday,” said Tucker. The sweet-natured dog gnawed on her play bone.
“Saturday. Remember when we lived for Saturdays?” Harry stood up to get a better angle on tying a ribbon.
“Usually I was recovering from getting knocked around on the football field.”
“You did okay.” She handed him green ribbon. “Goes better with that paper.”
“Oh.” He took the ribbon, changed the subject. “Sometimes I think about the days being named for the gods, mostly Norse gods. Of course, Saturday is named for Saturn, and he’s an odd fellow, whether he’s Saturn or uses the Greek name, Chronos. I wonder why he was honored and not, say, Poseidon or Neptune? Then I think about Jupiter or Zeus. It gets a little confusing.”
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