Nine Lives to Die

by Rita Mae Brown

  “What are you saying up there?” Odin swept his ears forward.

  Pewter opened her mouth and Mrs. Murphy said low, “He’s also bigger than us.” She stared down at the golden eyes looking up at her. “She’s wishing you a Merry Christmas, Odin, as do I.”

  “I hate this.” Harry threw grosgrain rolled ribbons, a tape measure, Scotch tape, old ballpoint pens onto the counter as she rummaged through the catchall drawer in the kitchen.

  “She’s making so much noise,” Pewter complained, watching from the kitchen chair. “My delicate ears.”

  “Keys,” Mrs. Murphy said.

  “The keys aren’t in the drawer. They’re in the station wagon.” Tucker also observed the fuss.

  “Aha.” Triumphant, Harry plucked the metallic key ring, and the key to the storage unit dangling from it, from between the pages of the phone book, where it had migrated.

  “If she’d buy a key holder, screw it beside the door, this would never happen,” the dog posited.

  “Too logical.” The tiger cat moved toward the door.

  Pausing a moment, Harry plucked the gold buckle bracelet out of the oversized shot glass where she had dropped it yesterday. She had grown to love that bracelet. She moved to the door, lifted her winter work coat off a hook, slipped it on, wrapped a scarf around her neck, checked the pockets for gloves, opened the door.

  Pewter surprised everyone by shooting past Harry. “You can’t go without me.”

  Happy in the back seat of the vehicle, the animals remained on the warm seat cover made for animals on the ride to the grocery store.

  “Hope she buys chicken.” Pewter watched the human trudge toward the large supermarket after parking the wagon. “I’d like roast chicken.”

  “What about tuna?” the dog inquired, as she’d heard enough about the wonders of tuna in their life together.

  “Time for a change,” the gray cat replied.

  The supermarket was jammed with people running out of food for the holiday. Harry checked her list, hoping she could make short work of it.

  Being a farmer, she marveled at the fresh produce. Here, in the dead of winter, crisp lettuce, carrots, endive, squash, and all kinds of fruits were displayed. It often crossed her mind how rich Americans were and how much we take for granted. She bagged some potatoes, lettuce, then headed for the meat department. She actually was going to buy a capon. If Pewter had accompanied her, the cat would have jumped into the case and tried to steal everything. Pewter believed “Never steal anything small.”

  “Harry.” Esther Toth rolled her shopping cart next to Harry’s. She stared at the beautiful bracelet, then looked directly into Harry’s eyes. “I hope you had a happy Christmas. You certainly made ours one.” She smiled. “You, Fair, and that nice Deputy Cooper, all the trouble you went to to find my sister. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “We wanted to find her,” said Harry. “She found a warm place. I think that was a lot of the motivation of her taking off.” She smiled back.

  “Well, Al and I didn’t know if she was sick or injured. We couldn’t reach her by phone.” She took a deep breath. “Flo’s means are slender, but I want you to know that Al and I don’t want her sitting there with only a fireplace and a small heater to keep heat in the house. We are more than willing to install a new furnace. She won’t hear of it.”

  “Maybe she’ll come around now. It’s a cold, cold winter.”

  “I hope so. Sorrowful, in a way, that she hid at the old Valencia place. So many fond memories for Flo, I guess, and, well, Mrs. Valencia was such a kind person.”

  “She was. I can’t decide if more people were nicer then or if they were kind because I was young.”

  “Maybe a bit of both,” Esther replied. “My sister has her odd moments, but she is clever, really. She knew the stable wouldn’t be too patrolled. I hear that Watts has as much or more money than Mrs. Valencia. Not much of a social person, though. Well, it’s a beautiful place. Al and I drove down once.”

  “Yes, it is,” Harry agreed. “Is Flo all right today? She didn’t want to leave the tack room at River Run.”

  “Let’s say she’s composed.” Esther tightly smiled. “One day she’s fine and the next day she runs off or accuses me of keeping her from seeing people. I just don’t know.”

  “Could those mood swings be a sign of dementia?”

  Esther took a long time, then said, “Yes. But I don’t think someone has to have senile dementia or Alzheimer’s to be angry. Maybe it’s fury at your own body, your mind slipping. I don’t think Flo is ill exactly. Or maybe I don’t want to face it.”

  As Esther and Flo were close in age, Harry wanted to say, “But you aren’t failing,” but she thought better of it. “Maybe she’ll snap out of it.”

  “Take some advice from your old teacher: Stay involved in things and with people. I really believe that’s Flo’s problem. She’s not involved with the church anymore. Occasionally she’ll visit Cletus Thompson, but she really doesn’t have friends, and she used to have a circle of pals. No stimulation other than Buster. I truly think that’s the problem, and I can’t pull her out of it, nor can Al. She gets along with Al better than with me, but that makes sense.”

  “Maybe she wants to be alone. Some people are solitary by nature, or life makes them so.”

  “True, but Harry, you didn’t know my sister when she was young. By the time you met her, she was already middle-aged. Flo was pretty, outgoing. I don’t think she missed a party within a fifty-mile radius when we were young.” Esther smiled. “Well, you don’t need my trip down Memory Lane. Again, I do thank you.”

  That Thursday, the day after Christmas, Cooper sat across from Arden in her peach-colored living room. Somehow the blue and silver Christmas decorations clashed with the peach. The women had been talking a bit, Cooper easing Arden into the more pointed questions.

  “So you never brought the Silver Linings books home?”

  “No,” Arden stated. “As you know, Jessica does the church books. I do Silver Linings. We thought it best to have two different people keep track of things, even though we’re both involved in many of the same activities. Also, this way, if we run into a snag, we can check each other.”

  “The drawer of the desk is unlocked?”

  Arden nodded. “We both use the big double bottom drawer. I expect it will be locked from now on.”

  “Anyone can walk into the office?”

  “No. The door to the hall is locked when no one is in the room, but the door between the office and Father O’Connor’s usually isn’t.”

  “When you’re in the office, do you open the door to the hall?”

  “Usually.”

  “Are you and Jessica ever there together?”

  “When we can. The work seems to go faster if we are. I’d say half the time.” She shrugged. “I’m not being very precise. I’m sorry.”

  “Mom.” Tyler walked into the room, saw Cooper in uniform. “Are you here to arrest me?”

  With a wry smile, she answered, “Not yet.”

  He smiled in return. “Mom, Mark Turner’s mom will pick us up and take us to the shooting range.”

  “When?”

  “Half an hour.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know. Come on, Mom, let me go.”

  “Will Mrs. Turner stay there?”

  “Mom, she’s one of the best shots in the place.”

  “Tyler, that doesn’t answer my question.”

  He handed her his cellphone as he punched in the Turner number.

  Looking at Cooper, Arden apologized. “Hello, Karen. Tyler tells me you’re willing to pick him up and take the boys to the range. Will you be there?” A pause. “Fine. Thank you for including Tyler.” She handed his cellphone back. “You can go.”

  “Mom, can I have some money?”

  Arden looked apologetically at Cooper again. “Go get my purse. It’s in the hall.”

  He returned, she opened her expen
sive Bottega Veneta bag, plucked out a fifty-dollar bill. “You take Mrs. Turner and Mark to lunch.”

  Shoving the bill in his pocket, he beamed. “Thanks, Mom.” He left the room.

  “Deputy, think twice before you have children.”

  Cooper laughed. “I need to get married first.”

  “Think twice about that, too,” she said. “Would you like something to drink? Something hot, perhaps?”

  “No, thank you.” Cooper returned to business. “You come to the church on days other than Fridays?”

  “Not too often. I usually do Silver Linings’s books once a week, unless there is a special need, then I go in. The end of the month takes an extra day. The end of the year, more than that. So much paperwork. The officers of the organization can see the books any time they wish, but they cannot issue a check. All checks are under my signature because years ago before I came on board there was an officer who drew money from the account. He replaced it, but, well, this seemed a better way.”

  “Yes, I can imagine.” Cooper shifted in her seat. “Do you know or suspect that any Silver Linings officer is in financial trouble?”

  “No. Given the downturn, some people’s businesses are doing better than others, but no. No one’s on food stamps.” She tossed her long, well-groomed hair.

  “Right.” She scribbled in her notebook. “Did your husband or does Tyler accompany you to the office?”

  “Occasionally Tyler comes with me. Lou drove his Acura. He didn’t like my car, but then he rarely had to haul groceries. Sometimes I would be in the office during Silver Linings meetings. Jessica, too, since Brian is president. We would try to be there. It was easier for me to talk to the officers since everyone has such full schedules. Just being able to grab someone if I have a question is a plus. But no matter what, the checks must go out by the end of the week.”

  “I see. How many people know your routine?”

  “Oh, uh, Father O’Connor, my late husband, Tyler, I suppose, if he thinks about it, the Silver Linings officers, my girlfriends. A lot of people.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it the usual practice if someone is going to steal checks they take them from the back of the book?”

  “It is.” Arden, like all bookkeepers, knew that and from time to time would flip through the large checkbook to make sure all was in order.

  “Yet these missing checks were pulled from the front. You couldn’t help but spot the theft once you returned to the office.”

  “That’s why I think they were taken by an amateur.”

  “They’re still not cashed.”

  “I don’t understand any of this.” She looked at the tree then back at Cooper. “The fingers in my pen cup. Were they Lou’s? I really should know and I would think there’s been enough time to … to identify them.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I’ve called on you: to tell you that they are your husband’s forefinger and middle finger.”

  She grimaced slightly. “Whose fingers hung from the Christmas tree?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Deputy.” Arden’s voice was sharp. “What is this about?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I will.” Cooper slowly asked, “Did Lou have heart trouble?”

  “No.”

  “I assume he went for annual checkups.”

  Arden exhaled through her nose. “A fight. Always a fight.”

  “But eventually he would go?”

  “Yes, and I would double-check to see that he kept the appointment. Honestly, Deputy, Tyler is more mature about doctor’s appointments than Lou. How difficult is a checkup?”

  “Well, if he learned he had a condition, say prediabetes, do you think he would have told you?”

  “That’s the real question.” Arden ran her tongue over her lower lip. “No. Truthfully, no. I’d have to worm information out of him, but I could often tell when he was hiding something. Usually about money. At least I thought I could.”

  “Would it be easy for him to hide medication from you?”

  Arden tilted her chin upward. “He could keep it in his office or even in the car. Neither of us scanned the other’s papers, calls, emails. Sometimes, Deputy, you don’t want to know.”

  “Would his doctor tell you?”

  “No. He would let me know if Lou kept an appointment but nothing else. I guess they have to be private that way, same as priests in confession.”

  “Yes.” Cooper took a breath. “Mrs. Higham, your husband died from taking too much Coumadin.”

  “The blood thinner?” Arden’s voice raised up.

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s rat poison. Really, Coumadin is rat poison.” Her voice was high and loud now.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this.” Cooper kept her voice low.

  “How could that happen? How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Rat poison.” Arden’s eyes widened. “Rat poison. Lou bled to death!”

  Cooper did not reveal that she had interviewed Lou’s physician, who had prescribed Coumadin. He wanted to try low doses, look for improvement, and if not, then he would discuss a bypass operation. The doctor felt certain there would be future heart problems if Lou did not take action now.

  Cooper also said nothing about Pete Vavilov’s disfigurement. Both men had played football for Coach Toth in the late 1980s. Both worshipped at St. Cyril’s, giving generously to the church as well as to Silver Linings. Two successful men, well regarded, fathers of sons, and both in seemingly strong marriages. They were community leaders, and both died in their cars.

  There was the remote possibility that Lou had committed suicide. No possibility that Pete had done so.

  The missing fingers were the link. Cooper knew that.

  Then again, so did Harry.

  Tree branches moaned as they rubbed against one another. Bending low in the wind, the conifers added a whooshing sound to the dolorous moan. The wind slashed down the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  With her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, Harry stood at the base of the uprooted tree. Ugly as the morning was, she had driven the old truck to the turnaround spot, then walked to the site. Bits of snow flying off the branches stung her face.

  Mrs. Murphy and Pewter carefully picked their way into the cavity, roots icy but protected in the hole. Tucker moved to the opposite side so the wind lifted up her fur. Harry also turned her back to the wind, then came round, felt it full in the face. She wanted to study the spot as it was when she first saw the skeleton.

  She circled the edge of the cavity. Kneeling down, she took her penknife out of her pocket, opened it, and stuck it into the snow. She wanted to gauge the depth. The knife disappeared in the snow. She fished it out, wiped it on her coat, closed it, and stuck it back in her pocket, guessing the snow was about eight inches at that one spot.

  “Let’s dig,” Mrs. Murphy urged Pewter.

  Snow flew beneath their paws like white rooster tails.

  “All I do is get hung up in more tree roots.” Pewter complained but kept at it.

  “Me, too.”

  Tucker called down, “Murphy, something flew up behind you.”

  The tiger cat turned around. A silvery rounded button, the Scottish thistle imprinted on it, stood out against the snow.

  “Look,” Mrs. Murphy loudly meowed.

  The three animals sang a chorus so Harry finally knelt down again, spied the button next to the tiger cat. She placed one foot onto a thick root to balance herself, held on to another tree root. Despite her efforts, she slid into the cavity.

  “At least you’re out of the wind,” said Pewter, which was her idea of consolation.

  Harry felt the snow creep into her boots. She picked up the button, studying it, before putting it in her pocket.

  A chill gave her the creeps as she realized she was in the hole where the body had been buried. The roots had grown through whomever it was, and for a moment Harry imagined them gra
bbing her, too.

  She reached up for a thick root, wiggled one foot out, had a time freeing the other one, then, with all her might, she pulled herself up and out.

  “Winter clothing sure adds the pounds,” she wheezed once topside.

  Tucker was ready to say something about Pewter and pounds but shut her mouth as Mrs. Murphy gave her a look. The crack would have been too easy.

  The two cats, claws sinking into cold roots, popped out of the hole with more ease than the human.

  Harry noticed old coyote tracks as she moved a bit away from the tree. The wind stiffened, roaring now.

  “Let’s get out of this weather.” Harry put her head down.

  Once in the truck, she turned on the ignition, waited for the heater, as her feet were now cold. Pulling off her heavy gloves, she held her hands to the vent to warm up faster. Once warm, she pulled the pretty button out of her pocket.

  “Whoever it was was Scottish or perhaps wanted to be,” said Harry. “Such a distinctive national symbol.”

  “Mom, get out of here. The truck’s rocking from the wind,” Pewter advised.

  Finally home, the animals sat before the fire while Harry called Cooper to tell her of her find.

  “We found it,” said Harry, and Pewter, surprisingly, did not try to steal the credit.

  Hanging up, Harry dropped the button in the catchall drawer in the oversized shot glass.

  As Harry was closing her kitchen drawer, Arden Higham sat with Jessica Hexham in the church office, books laid out before them.

  “It’s odd to be using these books after they’ve been dusted for prints.” Arden turned over pages. “People think I stole those three checks.”

  “No one thinks any such thing,” Jessica told her. “And, really, Arden, you don’t have to do this. Take a break.”

  “I don’t want a break. It makes it worse.” Arden was argumentative. “And, of course, people think I took them. I do the books.”

  “Well, I certainly hope not, and the checks haven’t been cashed.”

  “Jessica, how do you know that?”

  “Deputy Cooper questioned me, and I questioned her back. As best I could. They never tell you everything. I guess they hope you’ll blurt something out if you’re the guilty party.”