Nine Lives to Die

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Susan, there is no way Arden Higham stole money from a nonprofit.”

  “Stranger things have happened in this world.”

  “Strange, yes. This stupid, probably not.”

  Harry, Fair, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, the horses, and even the hayloft animals—Simon and Flatface, the great horned owl—didn’t open their presents until Christmas morning. Matilda, the hibernating blacksnake, didn’t receive fresh eggs until spring. Harry thought of that as an Easter present. While giving a snake eggs may seem strange, a blacksnake in one’s barn does a world of good, cleaning out vermin.

  The temperature climbed to thirty-eight by noon. Water rattled down gutters, flowed in ditches alongside roads. For all the melting, the snow wouldn’t disappear unless a week of warm weather stayed over Central Virginia, and even then snow would pack in the crevices on the north side of the mountains or in deep, narrow ravines.

  The robin’s-egg-blue sky, the snow, the drip, drip of melting icicles, with sunshine passing through them pleased Harry to no end. Outside, doing her chores, she’d stop to listen to the music of the water.

  “Boy, this will pack the snow down,” she said to her crew as she swept out the center aisle.

  “More snow is coming,” Mrs. Murphy chatted as she walked alongside. “I can feel it.”

  “She can’t.” Pewter reposed on a center-aisle tack trunk bearing Harry’s initials front and center.

  “You don’t think if she stood still outside, lifted her nose, she wouldn’t smell the edge of the front?” Tucker could never understand diminished human senses.

  “No!” Pewter declared.

  “She’ll feel it where she broke bones when it draws closer,” said Mrs. Murphy. “By tonight. But, Tucker, you know she can’t smell much. You have to stick whatever it is right under her nose.”

  “I can’t imagine anything worse,” the intrepid dog said.

  “Simon’s got a decent nose.” Pewter liked the possum. “But he’s a night creature, and I think scent is stronger at night.”

  “It most certainly is.” Tucker was happy to discuss scent, a favorite subject. “And that’s why women should be careful how much and what type of perfume they put on at night. The scent is always stronger. Too strong and it makes my eyes water.”

  “That’s why Harry spritzes her Amouage perfumes.” Mrs. Murphy loved to sit on Harry’s small makeup table. “Just a hint and it carries her through the evening. She’s smart about some things, but then again, she spends a lot of time with us.”

  The high whine of an old four-cylinder engine sounded at the end of the long driveway.

  Tucker rushed to the barn doors. “Stranger! Stranger!”

  A beat-up old Toyota, a wire coat hanger twisted on for an aerial, skidded to a stop. No four-wheel drive and bald tires meant the driver was either poor, lazy, or just stupid.

  Flo Rice crawled out, slamming the door. Poor seemed to be her category.

  Seeing the dog in the open doors, then Harry, who stopped to turn around, she strode in.

  “Give me that bracelet!”

  “Miss Rice, I found that bracelet fair and square.”

  “I found it!” Pewter crowed.

  “We found it!” Tucker corrected.

  “Bother.” The cat unsheathed her claws. She was on guard, thanks to Flo’s behavior.

  Mrs. Murphy had climbed up to the hayloft. “Pewter, get up here. If there’s a problem, we can leap off and knock this lady off her feet.”

  “I’ll do the rest.” At Harry’s heels, Tucker raised the hackles on her ruff.

  “Where’d you find it?” Flo eyed her suspiciously.

  “In the tack room. I’ll show you.” Harry walked to the room, opened the door, and the two walked in, Harry first.

  “Rats!” Mrs. Murphy exclaimed, hurrying to back down.

  Pewter was thinking ahead. “If we climb onto the highest saddle on the rack, we can still dive-bomb her.”

  “Right.” Mrs. Murphy blew through the tack room animal door.

  “The upturned helmet was here,” Harry explained. “My friend picked it up and out fell the bracelet. Finders keepers.” She smiled, hoping to diminish Flo’s anger.

  “It’s not yours.”

  “No. Is it yours?” Harry attempted her sweetest voice.

  “No, no, but I should have it.” Flo’s voice quivered. “I worked hard. I should have something pretty.”

  “Would you like something to eat?” Harry frantically thought of things to distract Flo, and then she hoped to send her on her way.

  “No.” She paused. “Don’t tell Esther I came over here, please. She hates me. She has always hated me.”

  “Oh, I hope not.”

  Pleased to be able to recount old disagreements, Flo nearly shouted, “You don’t know. I was the pretty one. Esther hated me for that. I had more beaus. She’d try to steal my beaus. Ha. Never worked. Esther always wants what she can’t have. Finally, when I went away to college, I thought I was rid of her.”

  “And?”

  “She followed me to Mary Washington. She’s like a giant tick! I hate her.”

  “Miss Rice, I am sorry.”

  “Give me the bracelet.”

  “No.” Harry spoke with firmness.

  Now downhearted, Flo started to cry. “I never get anything.”

  “Miss Rice, please. I am sorry you’re upset. I’m sorry you feel your sister has been unfair to you.”

  “No, you’re not. You have something that I should have for hard work. I never get anything. Esther promised me a car. Where is it? She wants me to die in a wreck in my old car.” Flo headed for the open doors, the cold air flowing into the barn. “I’m going to see Cletus.”

  Harry, following Flo, knowing there could be more trouble, queried, “Cletus?”

  “How many Cletuses do you know? Of course it’s Mr. Thompson.”

  “He’s a nice man. I’m sure you know Mr. Thompson has a drinking problem?”

  Flo turned on her heel, put her face almost into Harry’s as Tucker growled low. “How do you know he’s not thirsty?” she asked. With that, she got into her car, turned the key.

  The cats, now at Harry’s feet, stepped back just a little.

  “Let’s pray she doesn’t get stuck or we’re stuck with her,” Pewter said.

  With the rear of the car sliding out, Flo took her foot off the gas for a moment and steered into the swerve. Her driving skills remained sharp.

  She rolled down the window. “You’ll be sorry,” she warned Harry. “You shouldn’t wear things that don’t belong to you.” She fishtailed out of the long driveway.

  Harry walked back into the barn, closing the big doors behind her.

  “People are crazy,” Harry exclaimed.

  “That one is,” Pewter agreed as she, too, walked into the tack room. “I’m exhausted. I don’t know why that made me so tired.”

  The cat, on the desk, had no answer.

  Tucker did. “When it’s over, danger makes you tired.”

  Harry opened the phone book. It seemed to grow larger every year. She found Al Toth’s number and called.

  “Mrs. Toth, it’s Harry Haristeen.”

  “Harry, I’d know your voice anywhere,” Esther warmly responded.

  “I am sorry to trouble you on Christmas Eve, but your sister just left my farm and she was upset and angry.”

  “Flo? Angry at you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That old gold bracelet, she wants it. She said it doesn’t belong to her but she should have it. She was very put out.”

  A brief silence followed this. “She’s getting worse. I’m sorry she—well, really, this is my fault. I don’t want to put her in some kind of assisted living. She’s healthy, she can take care of her little place, but her mind just isn’t what it should be. I’m the one who is in the wrong. I don’t want to admit it. I don’t want to put my sister away.”

  “Has she always seen you as a competitor?” Harry’s curiosity got the
better of her.

  “Oh, what sisters don’t fight? If it wasn’t one thing, it was another, but for the most part we got along. This sullenness started in the late 1980s. I always thought it was her divorce and then Momma’s death that started this.”

  “That’s why she goes by Rice instead of Mercier?”

  “I told her to take our name back, but she said she was tired of hearing people mispronounce a French name. She refused to be addressed as Mrs. Oh, I don’t know. I’m not making much more sense than she is right now.”

  “This is upsetting news. And she’s on her way to Cletus Thompson if her car can stay on that back road. Should be plowed out by now.”

  “Cletus Thompson? Good Lord.” Esther sounded at her wit’s end. “Well, I’d better drive over there and get her home. I really am so sorry you have to deal with this on Christmas Eve, and I thank you for telling me where she is.”

  “Despite all, Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  “How long, O Lord, how long?” Pewter dramatically complained as she sat under the fragrant Christmas tree, idly batting a glass ornament.

  “Another hour,” Tucker guessed.

  “Or more,” Mrs. Murphy said. “They’re used to rising with the sun, and it comes up so late now. That’s why Mom sets her alarm clock.”

  “Doesn’t do any good. She rolls over and turns it off.” Pewter turned her attention to a blue ball decorated with frosted snowflakes.

  “Not always.” Tucker felt compelled to defend Harry.

  “Did you put more food out for Odin?” Mrs. Murphy asked Tucker.

  “Good scraps, some cookies. We could go out and see if he’s come by again.”

  “Too cold!” Pewter, on her back, batted everything she could reach.

  “Let’s go back to sleep,” Tucker suggested. “We’ll wake up when they do.”

  “M-m-m, catnip in some of these presents,” Pewter mused. “I can smell it. They put the toys in Ziploc bags, that’s the nasty hint of plastic, but I can still smell the magic weed.” A candy-cane-striped small package had her full attention. “Let’s open it.”

  “Better not,” Mrs. Murphy advised.

  “Oh, just one.” Pewter sweetly tempted her friend before biting into a corner of the box.

  ——

  “Those devils!” Harry exclaimed when she walked into the living room at 7:00 A.M.

  Fair surveyed the damage, then burst out laughing. Every present bore teeth marks. Those promising catnip or dried-food treats had been shredded, the corners chewed off, the contents devoured. The crinkle of paper, the excitement of the gifts themselves had been just too thrilling. Colored paper, ribbons, bows lay strewn about. A few ribbons dangled from the lower branches.

  The culprits who had desecrated most everything were nowhere to be seen.

  Tucker, awakened, padded in from the kitchen. “I told them not to do this.”

  Hours later—gifts now opened, despite the claw marks, and the mess cleaned up—the cats appeared, strolling through the house as though nothing had happened. They even went so far as to rub on the humans’ legs.

  “The gall.” Harry had to smile.

  “Merry Christmas,” Pewter purred.

  The kitchen phone rang.

  “Merry Christmas,” Cooper wished Harry when she picked up the phone. “Love my gardening tool set, and how you hid it in the shed I don’t know. But when I opened your card, I followed the directions and found it. How clever. Thank you. You know I will write a proper thank-you.”

  “I will, too. Fair must have told you I needed a lamp.”

  “He did.” Cooper then added, “Anyone who wanted a white Christmas got their wish this year.”

  “You sound a bit rushed or something.” Though now and then she could miss things, Harry was sensitive to her friend most of the time.

  “Oh, the dispatcher called. Not many people on duty today, so I was asked to help.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Flo Rice is missing.”

  Within fifteen minutes, Cooper showed up at their door, driving her Toyota Highlander. She’d gotten a good deal on a used one.

  Fair, Harry, and the animals climbed into the cushy vehicle.

  “You’ve got the full complement.” Harry smiled.

  “Flo might prove difficult if she’s found,” said Fair. “Anyway, if we all go out together maybe it will go faster. Then you can come to the house for Christmas dinner,” Fair gallantly invited Cooper.

  “Cooked the ham yesterday.” Harry settled in next to Cooper. “And I took off the bracelet you found in my tack room. Sets Flo off. If we find her, that’s the last thing we need.”

  The animals stayed in back with Fair.

  Cooper had called in to headquarters to inform the dispatcher that her neighbors were helping her search for Flo Rice. As it was a holiday, and the department was on skeleton crew, the dispatcher offered no resistance. That was Rick’s territory anyway. Why disturb him at home on the holiday?

  “What did Esther say about Flo?” asked Harry. “I assume she’s who declared her missing.”

  “Not much,” Cooper replied, pushing out from the driveway. “She’d spoken to her sister last night, and apart from being surly, Flo didn’t seem any worse than usual,” Cooper replied.

  “Think it’s senile dementia?” Fair wondered.

  “Who knows? They can be hard to handle,” Cooper said. “Sometimes Alzheimer’s patients can be difficult, too. They’re confused, more are frightened, others become angry. Many of them resist, and the last thing you want to do is jack up some old person against the car. I’ve had them take a swing at me. Fortunately, their reflexes aren’t that good. It’s fairly easy to get out of the way.”

  At Flo’s house, they found the door unlocked and her car gone. Her dog wasn’t there either, and the fire in her fireplace had gone out. The place was cold.

  “Let’s restart a fire real quick,” Fair said, on his knees by the fireplace. “Her pipes will freeze.”

  “Fair, she might not be coming home.” Harry expressed a dark thought.

  “Maybe so, but if she does, she ought to at least walk into a bit of warmth on Christmas.”

  Cooper looked through the rooms. “No tree. No cards. How sad.”

  Harry sighed. “That it is.”

  Fair quickly got the fire going, replaced the fire screen, and they left.

  “Has anyone seen her car?” Harry asked.

  “We put a call out, license plate number, but so few of us are on duty. Esther did mention that she told her sister to visit Cletus. She should say ‘Merry Christmas’ to someone. It may be that Esther hoped someone else would deal with Flo for a little bit.”

  “I know just where Cletus lives.” Harry gave directions to Cooper, who didn’t mind. “Fair and I were students of his in high school.”

  Fair rummaged through his pockets. “If we call on Mr. Thompson, shouldn’t we give him something for the holiday?”

  “Susan and I dropped by goods from the church. That will have to do.” Harry turned to look at Fair sitting in the back.

  “He’ll see us. That’s a treat,” Pewter smugly answered.

  When they reached Cletus Thompson’s house, Harry noticed the drive had been shoveled out.

  The three humans walked to the front door, cats and dog behind them. Fair knocked.

  In a few moments, Cletus opened the door and smiled. “Harry, Fair, come on in.”

  Harry, ever mindful of her manners, introduced Cooper. “This is Mr. Thompson, Deputy Cooper. Mr. Thompson, she’s our friend and neighbor.”

  “Come on, come on in.” He motioned for them to step inside. “Dog and cats, too. My old dog, The Terminator, is asleep in the kitchen. They can go visit.”

  While the aroma of whiskey clung to Cletus’s clothing, he seemed sober enough.

  “Mr. Thompson—” Cooper began.

  “Deputy, call me Cletus, and please sit down. Makes me nervo
us to see you all standing. Sit.”

  Tucker, on her way to the kitchen, sat, then realized the order was not for her. She rose and padded into the kitchen, warmer than the spare front room.

  Cooper took a seat and started anew as the old wing chair wobbled a little. “We were wondering if you’ve seen Flo Rice.”

  “No. I hope she’s all right.”

  “We do, too,” Cooper continued. “She’s just taken off. Her sister said they spoke last night. They haven’t been getting along, and now she can’t find Flo. She mentioned that you all were friends.”

  “I don’t get to see enough of Flo, but she’s a good girl. She and Esther haven’t gotten on for years now. They used to be close, but”—he shrugged—“don’t really know what happened. Once Esther got married, they drifted apart.”

  In the kitchen, the three animals spoke to the old dog. Half blind, mostly deaf, he lifted his age-spotted nose to sniff. Fortunately, he had a thick curly brown coat, which helped him stay warm.

  “Who’s there?”

  “I’m Tucker,” the corgi shouted. “And I brought two cats with me, Mrs. Murphy and Pewter.”

  “If you crawl on these old towels with me you can wiggle in and it’s warmer,” The Terminator offered.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Murphy replied. “We’re only here for a short visit. Our humans are visiting yours.”

  “That’s good. Cletus is alone too much and I’m slowing down,” the little dog forthrightly said. “I’m not long for this world. I don’t want him alone.”

  “We hope you’re wrong,” Tucker shouted.

  “Thank you, but I might as well accept it.” His milky eyes looked out from under shaggy brows. “See if you can’t get your people to pay visits to him.”

  “We will try,” Mrs. Murphy replied. “Was anyone here in the last day or so? Flo Rice?”

  “Not a soul.”

  “People think Flo is difficult, crazy,” said Tucker. “What do you think?”

  “Angry maybe, but I don’t think she’s crazy. At least when she comes here, she and Cletus talk about old times and current stuff.”

  “We hope we see you again.” Mrs. Murphy listened as the adults stood up in the next room.

  “My pleasure. It’s nice to talk to someone who knows what you’re saying.” He chuckled.