Nine Lives to Die

by Rita Mae Brown

  Arden’s face reddened. “Just makes me crazy. People thinking I’m guilty.” She changed the subject. “Listen to that wind.”

  “It’s already been a ferocious winter, hasn’t it, and there’s still three long months to go.” Jessica pulled the arm on the tabulator.

  Both women liked to see the numbers on the roll of paper. They also used a small computer to double-check everything.

  “I can’t concentrate. I’ll take a little walk and be back.”

  “Arden, go home. Or take your mind off things. Go to a movie.”

  “No. I will do my job. I just need a walk.”

  To save money, the office buildings were kept at a low temperature, sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Given the howl of the wind, the windows and doors rattling, it seemed even colder. Arden wrapped her arms around her torso as she walked down the hall, up and back a few times. Then she went downstairs to the rec room. The large meeting room felt even colder. She pulled a tattered throw off the sofa, cushions sagging, and dropped into a fairly well-upholstered wing chair. She pulled the throw over her, picked up a newspaper, a few days old, off the table next to the chair. She’d hardly got any reading done before she fell asleep. When she awoke, she checked her watch. She’d dozed off for forty minutes. Rising, she fluffed the cushion, replaced the throw, brushed off her sweater, as she didn’t think the throw was too clean.

  As she replaced the paper on the table, out of curiosity she opened the drawer.

  Inside was a cheap tin about five and a half inches by three inches and one quarter of an inch high. It was a good size for pins, buttons, paper clips. Opening it, she picked up shredded bits of one check.

  Pencil behind her ear, Jessica looked up. “Almost done. Good walk?”

  “You won’t believe what I found in the rec room.”

  “Yes?” Jessica’s eyebrows raised, she took the pencil from behind her ear.

  “A shredded check. One of the stolen ones.” She dropped the tatters on Jessica’s desk.

  Jessica paused, pursed her lips, then said, “Oh, Arden, this isn’t good.”

  “Where are the other two?”

  Arden dropped into her chair. “This is all too much. Dear God.”

  “Prayer might be in order.” Jessica, disturbed, pieced the paper bits together. “Arden, let me talk to Brian about this. Really. There’s been enough—well, we all need some calm right now.”

  “I have to call Deputy Cooper.” Arden put her palms on her cheeks, then dropped them.

  Jessica made a note in a small notebook, lifted the long paper from the tabulator, and neatly stapled the note to the numbers. “All in order. That’s some good news, and yes, you do need to inform Cooper. I’ll leave these check pieces on my desk.”

  “Good.”

  Jessica had gone over Silver Linings’s books while Arden slept, and she wrote out checks for Arden to sign. The women often helped each other going over the books, but this was a special favor. She slid the big checkbook over to Arden.

  “Sign.”

  “You did all this?”

  “What are friends for? You sign them, we’ll stick them in envelopes, stamp them, and toss them in the mail with all the St. Cyril’s checks.”

  “Oh, Jessica.” Arden swallowed, tears filled her eyes.

  “Come on, girl. Sign. Can’t sign if you’re crying.”

  This brought a rueful smile, and Arden began signing the checks. “You balanced the books, too.”

  “Apart from the now two missing checks, not a penny missing.” Jessica smiled. “Has it occurred to you that whoever took and tore one up downstairs is dumb as a sack of hammers?” she said, using the old southern expression.

  “Perhaps I should be grateful.”

  Blue snow reflected twilight. The sunset, brilliant against a winter sky, held Harry’s attention as she finished up her outdoor chores. She observed the flaming sky—reds, golds, and hot oranges—as it was infiltrated by dark fingers of encroaching clouds. She shut the back barn doors, which she’d left open to freshen the air. The temperature, mid-forties, dropped with the sun. Sweet-smelling hay, the tang of fresh water in the bucket, the rich, comforting odor of the horses themselves made her barn the one place in the world where Harry always felt better no matter what. Walking the aisle, she checked and double-checked. Everyone’s blankets stayed on properly, a miracle, given the hijinks in the pastures that afternoon. Lots of kicking forward with forelegs, snow flying off their hooves, the crystals like tiny little rainbows shooting through the clear air.

  Earlier, seeing Harry leaning on the fence watching had encouraged the horses to play harder until finally they’d raced up to the fence as though they were going to blast through. At the last minute, the boys stopped, turning sharply left or right, hollering like banshees as they did so.

  The girls, in their large pasture, took no part in the gelding foolishness.

  “Just wait, Tomahawk is going to rip Shortro’s blanket,” the oldest broodmare snorted.

  “Oh, Pots, that will make Harry furious,” Silver Cups replied to Pot O’Gold’s prediction.

  Just as Pots said, Tomahawk lunged out with his long Thoroughbred neck (he was a good 16.2) and grabbed the side of Shortro’s blanket. The rip had resounded through the pastures. Even Harry heard it.

  Now, as Shortro munched away in his stall, she investigated that rip. The side of his wonderful Rambo blanket bore a ragged scar, testimony to the force of the effort and Tomahawk’s teeth. Ripping a Rambo takes real strength.

  “Well, after I repair it with duct tape, this will get us through the winter, but I’ll have to get it sewn up after the last frost. You all live to make me spend money.”

  Shortro lifted his head, his deep brown eyes utterly sympathetic. “He did it.”

  “Wimp,” the old Thoroughbred called from his stall.

  Above in the loft, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Simon listened and laughed.

  Tucker, already sitting at the tack room door, knew the routine. Harry would go inside, check the barn phone for messages, sit for a moment, pull out her notebook, make notes on horsefeed and behavior, then shove the notebook back in the middle drawer of the desk.

  Next, she’d lean over and double-check the large wall calendar. She’d scribbled in the big squares. Tucker never interfered with this ritual, but she couldn’t understand why Harry would curse and throw pencils or ballpoint pens in the trash. This often happened when she’d write on the calendar.

  Why did she aggravate herself? Tucker didn’t see the logic of it.

  “Let’s go down and get in there.” Mrs. Murphy headed for the ladder.

  “You first,” Pewter said.

  “Such good manners!” said a surprised Mrs. Murphy, for it was right that Pewter, younger, show deference.

  “I like to keep you off guard.” The gray cat swept her considerable whiskers forward, then she said to Simon, “We’ll be out later, I think. Need to drag out some food for Odin.”

  “He’s been coming around regularly just lately,” the possum noted.

  “Winter’s hard, even on as good a hunter as a coyote,” Mrs. Murphy called as she backed down the ladder.

  “Luckily, I have Harry,” said Simon. “She even unwrapped some Jolly Ranchers for me. Yum. Watermelon.” The marsupial salivated at the thought of the hard candy he especially favored.

  “How can you eat that junk?” Pewter headed after Mrs. Murphy.

  “It’s so delicious. Every color is a different taste. I like them even more than jellybeans.”

  “More than molasses?” Mrs. Murphy called from the aisle.

  “Nothing is better than molasses,” came a firm reply.

  The cats shot through the animal door to the tack room, the deep fragrance of leather filling their nostrils.

  “We miss anything?” Mrs. Murphy asked.

  “She’s been writing notes,” Tucker replied. “Lots of good it does her.”

  Harry finished with the notebook and dialed Susan. “Do
you need anything for tonight’s meeting?”

  “No. I don’t think it will take that long. The Christmas drive was a tremendous success, due to everyone’s hard work.”

  “Especially yours. Not even a bottle of wine, something like that?”

  “No. I’m good. Your husband is picking up mine, I’m sure you know. Going to the movies. Ned says he’s not going to be in the house with a bunch of churchwomen. So I asked him, would he prefer a bunch of hookers?”

  Harry chuckled. Indeed, it seems politicians in general had a penchant for working girls. Birds of a feather, Harry supposed. “And?”

  “A big smile. Ned said if it got ex-Governor Spitzer a TV show, maybe it would get him one. We could use the money.”

  “How thoughtful.”

  “Yes, that’s what I said.” Susan laughed. “See you at six.”

  Harry left the barn, walked into the house, saw Fair at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. She relayed Ned’s conversation with Susan.

  “Ha!” was his reply.

  “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. I’m taking a shower, then heading out for the meeting. Pasta’s in the fridge. Just heat it up.”

  “Thanks, honey. Ned and I are going to eat on the mall. I made him promise not to talk about politics. Actually, with the topic of hookers to discuss instead, that might be easier than I thought.”

  Harry threw up her hands, said nothing, hurried back to her shower.

  Once cleaned up, wearing a plaid wraparound skirt and white blouse, a sweater tied around her neck, she walked into the kitchen. He looked up. “You look good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t your legs get cold?”

  “Sometimes. The high socks help, and I guess there aren’t as many nerve endings in your legs as elsewhere.”

  “Maybe women have less than men, because my legs would be blue. But you look like a college girl. Really.”

  “Hold that thought.” She kissed him. “I really hope this meeting won’t drag on. I’m shooting to be home by nine-thirty.”

  “I should be back around then, too.”

  By the time Harry reached Susan’s house, all the girls were there from St. Luke’s and St. Cyril’s. Jan McGee sat at the dining room table, too. The other paired-off churches also had meetings on this night, Sunday, December 29. They wanted to review the deliveries while memories were fresh. Then the heads of each church’s food drive would meet in a week, and any new suggestions for improvement would be thrown on the table. The system worked quite well, for each year they did better. Pressure stayed high, however, for each year the numbers of those in need rose, and this provoked a lively discussion from all. Charlene Vavilov, Arden Higham, and Jessica Hexham tried to help Susan in keeping the meeting moving. Charlene and Arden, it seemed, just wanted to be with friends, anything other than being home at dark without their husbands. While Harry thought their attendance at the meeting was perhaps too early to be out in public, she wasn’t scandalized, as her mother’s generation would have been. The old rules had a logic to them, but some folks needed to find their own way.

  Owen, Susan’s corgi, was sleeping through this vigorous meeting. Food would have kept him awake.

  BoomBoom rapped her pencil on the table. “Why can’t we keep tabs on the needy throughout the year?”

  Cooper, who was in charge of the sheriff’s department group, was also present, especially since she was close to the St. Luke’s group. “BoomBoom, that’s an enormous amount of work.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but why can’t we have a liaison with Human Services and each month go over those who are new to the list of needy and those who have gotten jobs or improved?”

  Charlene stepped in. “We do use Human Services. The county’s been very helpful, but BoomBoom, a lot of our information is word of mouth through the church or friends.”

  “Well, can’t we figure out a way to sweep up information from a variety of sources?” BoomBoom persisted.

  Alicia, a good long-range thinker, had heard all about this before from BoomBoom, who’d taken the bit between her teeth. She wanted to support her partner without appearing to disagree with others. BoomBoom could sometimes forget to smooth feathers.

  “First, we have to identify the sources.” Alicia quietly put forward the obvious. “It may be as easy as setting up a website or using email or whatever comes next. We can’t have meeting after meeting. Technology can speed the process.”

  “BoomBoom has come up with an idea that will help us more accurately predict need so we can go back to our churches and ask for specific items apart from food.” Harry liked the idea. “I don’t see why email won’t work with one person in charge.”

  “We need to get this idea out to the other churches. We don’t want to look as though we’re running the show,” Arden sensibly suggested.

  “The only woman who could take on this job if anyone wanted it would be someone who is retired,” Jan said. “Once you get into this, it will take a lot of time. Email is one thing. You need to talk to people face-to-face. I’d add to BoomBoom’s idea that it wouldn’t be amiss to sometimes visit the people throughout the year. The other thought I had is talk to the doctors in your congregations. As you know, Frank, my husband, is a doctor. He often knows who is in financial distress as well as physical. People can’t pay their bills.”

  “Good idea.” Susan nodded.

  Jessica had brought a detailed county map, which she flattened out on the long mahogany table. “If you look at where we made deliveries, the areas of greatest need jumps out at you.”

  Susan spoke up. “Who is behind on their property taxes is another clue. Kind of the same thing as Jan’s suggestion about medical bills.”

  “I’d never thought of that,” Harry exclaimed.

  “It’s often the first sign that there’s trouble. So many people are sliding downhill.” Susan peered at the large map.

  Also studying the detailed map, Harry noticed the fire road on the spine of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the switchbacks down those slopes. Lumber and farm roads were not marked, but even without them she could see how easy it had been for someone to hide a body up above her house. Her mind kept wandering to the skeleton in the tree roots. A long time ago or at least however long it took to turn a corpse into bleached bone, someone had carried a body along that ridge, then dropped down to bury it. Getting on that line was easier than she thought. Curious as she was about the deaths and severing of Pete and Lou’s fingers, she’d seen that skeleton dangling. The smile of the skeleton haunted her.

  Leaning over to Cooper, she whispered, “After the meeting, look at this map with me.”

  The lively meeting moved along, thanks to Susan. All agreed BoomBoom had a solid idea, and Susan volunteered, with Jessica, to contact the other drive chairs at the various churches.

  “I move we adjourn the meeting,” Alicia said.

  “I second the motion.” Cooper smiled.

  “All agreed say aye.” Susan could do Robert’s Rules of Order in her sleep.

  The ayes were unanimous.

  “Jessica, may we borrow that map for a moment?” Cooper asked.

  “Of course.” Jessica rose, heading to the already crowded bar.

  Harry and Cooper bent over the folded-out paper, Harry tracing the route with her forefinger.

  “Whoever carried that body brought it down the mountain. It would be too, too hard to carry it up.”

  “Harry, why couldn’t someone drive up like we did?”

  “Because they’d have to drive past my barn.”

  Cooper smiled. “Yes, but those bones might be fifty years old, older. You weren’t always at the barn.”

  “Yes, but”—Harry took a deep breath—“you can find out the approximate age of bones. I know, I know—this isn’t on the front burner. You certainly have more pressing cases, but still, I found a skeleton, which is now missing. That’s pretty curious, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would.” Cooper nodded. �
��Okay. So what if you’re right? The body was carried down or even slid down, like on a canvas. Doesn’t prove who did it.”

  “But it might prove useful information sometime.”

  “Right.” Cooper looked over to the bar. “Come on. A cup of cheer will do us good.”

  Harry folded up the map and joined the ladies at the bar. Handing the map to Charlene, she said, “Thanks.”

  Emotions unrestrained, Arden blabbed about the torn check at St. Cyril’s, even though Jessica had advised against it.

  Jessica winced but did not admonish her, instead saying, “I spoke to Brian about that. Arden said she’d call Cooper. Who knows who put the torn check in that little drawer? Best we don’t jump to conclusions.”

  Everyone started talking at once.

  Finally, Charlene said, “Shouldn’t someone tell Father O’Connor?”

  “No,” Alicia forcefully replied, surprising everyone.

  “Why not?” Arden’s voice rose.

  “It’s better to find out if he knew,” Alicia evenly answered.

  “Really?” Arden knocked back another glass of white wine.

  Jessica knew she’d better stop her from guzzling a third.

  Alicia continued on. “Best not to stir things up. This is a job for the sheriff’s department. We will only muddy the water.”

  BoomBoom was instantly alert. “What are you saying?”

  “What if it’s an inside job? It certainly looks like one.” Alicia leaned against the bar.

  “But the checks haven’t been cashed.” Arden really shouldn’t have spilled the beans. Too much wine. Too much emotion.

  “How awful,” Arden said.

  “Theft is a loaded issue, especially with two leaders of Silver Linings recently dead,” Harry calmly spoke.

  Jessica looked into her glass, set it on the bar counter. “Since no monies are missing, it’s possible this is a bad prank. Brian operates on the assumption that boys will be boys.”

  “I guess it’s not the boys we’re worried about.” Harry crumpled her cocktail napkin. “First, this distracts attention from the loss of two powerhouses in our community. Secondly, who is to say the checks won’t be cashed at a later date? Leaving one behind is a surefire way to confuse people. We just might be dealing with someone smarter than we think.”