Nine Lives to Die

by Rita Mae Brown

  “You want to stay here?” His eyebrows and voice raised.

  Flo nodded. “If you help me hide my car when she drives by, I should be safe.”

  Cletus didn’t answer that straight up. “We never had bad words, Esther and I. But she’s like everyone else, doesn’t want to waste time on a drunk.”

  “She doesn’t want to waste time or money on me either. She doesn’t need me anymore. Tonight, I’ll prove to you that Esther wants to kill me. You’ll understand everything then. We’ll need to go out, but not far.”

  “Supposed to snow.”

  “I know.” Flo held the coffee cup in her hands. “You have to promise me not to drink.”

  He shrugged. “Easy promise. I’m all out of hooch.”

  “And whatever I eat, I’ll replace. I have money.” She pulled forty dollars from her pocket, slapping it on the table. “I can’t go out and buy food because someone might see me. I don’t think Esther knows I’m gone yet. She calls in and checks every day. If I don’t call back after a couple of hours, she drives over.”

  He put his hands in his lap. “Keep your money. We can get by on the canned food.”

  “Well, I’ll pay when I go, which will be tomorrow at the latest because when you see what I have, I’ll be in the right. I can go up against Esther before she finds me. She will eventually. She’ll call the sheriff’s department again. The fact that it’s New Year’s Eve helps. Everyone’s busy. Take the money now.”

  “No. I’ll buy bourbon. I don’t trust myself. I’ll want to buy food for both of us, but I don’t trust myself. Especially on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Then I’ll give you the money later.”

  “Flo, don’t worry about it. Let’s go hide your car. First, I have to move my truck. You drive your car. I’ll push if you get stuck.”

  “Where are we going to hide it?”

  “Only place I really have is behind the woodshed.”

  Going slow, Flo steered her dilapidated vehicle around the back of the house, the domicile’s curl of smoke from its chimney the one sign of habitation. Behind her, Cletus kept his hands on the car’s trunk. Once she did slide out a bit. The right rear wheel spun, but he gave a hard push and the car straightened out. Cletus made Flo drive around so the car nosed out the way it had come, just in case. Then he moved his truck back in place in the driveway.

  From the state road, a person wouldn’t see the tracks to the side of the house unless they looked carefully. And if it did snow, that would somewhat cover them. The woodshed behind the house did the rest.

  Back in the house, they stomped their feet. Both dogs woke up. The Terminator barked. Buster followed suit, but neither dog moved off the pile of old towels they’d burrowed into.

  Back in the kitchen, Flo bent down to pet her dog and Cletus did the same. He opened a can of soup, poured it in a saucepan.

  “Made me hungry, and I know you are, too.”

  She didn’t deny it. “Cletus, you’ve tried to stop drinking. I didn’t help in the past, bringing a bottle. I thought I was being sociable.”

  He nodded. “Longest I went was a year. I stopped and then I don’t know. Just started up again. No reason.”

  “Does it make you feel good?”

  “Used to. I crave it sometimes. Can’t explain it. Then I’ll take a drink, next it’s two and I don’t know. When I wake up, the bottle’s empty.”

  “So you get these cravings, the booze doesn’t make you feel good anymore, but you still drink it?”

  He thought a long time as he stirred the soup in the saucepan. “Well, kills the pain.”

  “Maybe I should try it.”

  “Don’t.”

  Standing in her cowboy boots at the fund-raiser, Harry felt the hot flush of embarrassment creep onto her cheeks. The usual: She’d spoken before thinking, or as Susan would put it, “No edit button.”

  “How can I ask her that?” Father O’Connor, also in cowboy boots as well as his clerical collar, demurred.

  “Well, I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” Harry stammered.

  In front of them, on the other side of the solid low wall, people danced on a raised wooden floor built specially for tonight’s event.

  Financed by the de Jarnettes, the affair for the Youth Riding charity was held in their indoor riding arena. The arena, heated at God knows what cost, was filled with people, all in western wear, dancing to a country and western band. So many people attended at $150 a pop that latecomers would have to sit in the bleachers. And while $150 per person paled before the $10,000- and $100,000-a-plate political campaign dinners, it meant a married couple needed to cough up $300. For many, that wasn’t easy.

  However, unless one moved in only UVA circles, a resident of Albemarle County sooner or later had to attend some form of equine activity. If nothing else, it eased social life, and in this and other cases, it raised monies for worthy causes.

  “I’m sorry, Father, I know you’ve been under great stress,” Harry apologized. “I’m trying to find answers and am not doing a good job.”

  Placing his hand under her elbow, he escorted Harry to a quieter place, which meant the enormous feed room. There was a covered walkway between the barn and the indoor arena so Darlene and students could ride from the barn into the huge arena without facing bad weather.

  Placed at the corner of the barn, the feed room was filled with sweet feed, crimped oats, dried molasses. It smelled heavenly.

  Father O’Connor hit the light switch. “I don’t think Max and Dar will worry that we’re stealing feed.”

  “No.” Harry wondered why he had taken her away.

  “You suggested the missing checks were taken to throw law enforcement off the track. I can’t say I’ve thought of that, Harry, but you may not be far wrong. Since the Silver Linings checks haven’t been cashed, it seems to me they were taken by someone who had no intention of cashing them. It’s puzzling, disquieting, especially given the deaths of two of the church’s most generous members.”

  She took a deep breath, then launched into her theories. “Father, I don’t think it’s just the checks. I think it’s a message, someone who can’t speak up out of fear.”

  He leaned against a large built-in feed bin. “But I can’t imagine where uncashed missing checks would lead.”

  “Tyler knows his mother’s schedule. If she left him in the office for a time, she wouldn’t worry about him stealing.”

  “What could Tyler fear that he couldn’t tell his mother?”

  “What if he has a good idea about how his father really died? And then there’s the ugly reality of those fingers.”

  Father O’Connor whitened. “Yes, yes, of course. Harry.” He reached out and took her hand. “Perhaps we both might call on Deputy Cooper. Tomorrow.”

  “Usually she tells me not to be so nosy.” Harry grimaced slightly.

  They heard footfalls by the feed room, which had a large window in the door.

  Esther and Al were walking through the beautiful stable, headed back to the dance floor in the arena.

  Noticing that Father O’Connor held Harry’s hand, Al good-naturedly opened the door and said, “None of that.”

  Esther slid in behind him, took Harry’s hand away from the young priest, her own hand covering the found gold bracelet on Harry’s wrist. “Now, Al.”

  The genial coach slapped the priest on the back. “All in good fun, Father. Happy New Year.”

  As he turned, Esther squeezed Harry’s wrist. “Happy New Year.”

  Harry didn’t think a thing about it. She’d pay for that.

  Light snow fell as Flo and Cletus drove in his old but serviceable four-wheel-drive Dodge truck, bought a year before he was fired from the school district in 1994.

  “Go beyond the storage unit, go down the road, then turn to where the three abandoned schools are—you know, Random Row?”

  “Okay. Flo, how long is this going to take, because this snow is going to come down harder.”

  “Not long.�
�� She held a powerful flashlight in her lap.

  They turned on the snow-covered gravel road, reached the three old lovely schoolhouses: white-frame buildings with almost two-story floor-to-ceiling paned windows.

  “Turn into the parking lot of the schools.”

  Cletus did just that. He parked the truck and pocketed the key because he found if his elbow hit the door the wrong way he could lock himself out, shutting the door as he heard the click too late.

  Flashlight on, Flo highlighted the snowflakes. Outside she slipped, as the lot hadn’t been plowed since the storms started. Numerous times the snows had melted a bit, and more snow packed on top. Flo pushed along, picking her feet up with care.

  Cletus followed. Catching up, he walked beside her. She led him to a small shed at the back of the buildings.

  Opening the door, she shined the flashlight on a skeleton, laid out, one arm missing from the elbow down.

  “Flo, we need to go to the sheriff’s department.”

  “No, Esther’s got everyone thinking I’m crazy. If they do believe us enough to come out here, she’ll blame this on me.”

  He considered this. “I imagine you’re right, Flo. Al will back Esther up so it will be two against one. Does he know about this?”

  Flo vigorously shook her head. “No.”

  “Is it who I think it is?”

  “Yes.” Tears rolled down Flo’s cheeks. “I didn’t kill Margaret, Cletus. I had nothing against her.” She took a shuddery breath. “But I helped Esther bury her body. I should have gone to the sheriff, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t turn on my sister, but now, now she’s turned on me.”

  “Is this when you started to drift away? You know?”

  She nodded. “Help me.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound.” He turned up the collar of his threadbare coat.

  “I have a plan,” Flo quietly said.

  That New Year’s Eve, Margaret Donleavey made yet another journey. Covering the bones in an old tarp and coat, Flo and Cletus drove her to Harry’s farm. They propped her up against the barn door, the Chinaman’s hat shining over her. Flo arranged the loose bones as best she could.

  Then Flo returned with Cletus to his house to hide out. She figured she could call Cooper tomorrow. Yes, the deputy would eventually speak to Esther, but if Flo could just state her case, all might be well.

  For the first time in twenty-five years, Margaret Donleavey was aboveground—a social occasion of sorts.

  “I thought we’d never get out of there.” Harry stretched her legs as far as she could in the Volvo station wagon.

  With the windshield wipers on high speed, Fair drove at thirty-five miles an hour. “If we’d stayed until midnight and rung in the New Year, we’d have been there until three in the morning. For one thing, people trying to get out of the parking lot, loaded as they would be, we’d never make it. We’d be stuck.” He half laughed. “There were some happy people.”

  “I swear, some of it is the relief that the holidays are over.” She peered into the darkness, snow falling harder. “We’ll be home right about midnight. No way you can drive fast in this stuff, and no way the road plows can keep up with it.”

  “I just want to get home before someone else knocks over a telephone pole.” He checked the gas gauge. “We’re half full. Hours sitting at idle will wipe that out.”

  “True.” She smiled. “What do you think of Father O’Connor?”

  “I like him.”

  “If he or Father O’Brien heard a confession from a killer or the killer, would he keep it to himself?”

  “Yes. They have to, honey.” He squinted into the darkness ahead. “Do you think he knows more than he indicated to you?”

  “I hope not, but I believe the root problem is at St. Cyril’s.”

  “That’s a depressing thought.” He slowed for a curve. “Rats.”

  Harry leaned forward as she saw the flashing lights. “Looks like we can eventually get by.”

  That eventuality took a half hour. A car had slid off the road. Half was in one lane, and while there wasn’t much traffic, cars began to form a longer line waiting for the police cars to get out of the way. By the time the Haristeens chugged down their driveway, it was 12:30. They’d heard the bells, whistles, and firecrackers earlier while waiting in the car.

  “It’s going to be a good year,” Fair wished.

  “Don’t we hope that every year?” Harry smiled as they approached the barn, and the headlights flashed on a gruesome sight. “Fair, what’s that?”

  Harry jumped out of the car as soon as Fair came to a stop. As she wore her cowboy boots, she slid in the snow, her feet moving in opposite directions. Down she went.

  Fair reached her as she managed to get on all fours. Putting his hand under her armpit, he hauled her up.

  The two of them approached the barn doors.

  Margaret’s eye sockets, filled with snow, stared back at husband and wife.

  “It’s the skeleton from the tree!” Harry felt the cold enveloping her feet.

  “Missing part of an arm.” Fair brushed snow from his eyelids. “I never thought we’d see this again. I never wanted to.”

  Tucker charged out of the house. “Flo and Cletus. Old truck. We came out. I barked.”

  Surfing through the ever-deepening snow, Mrs. Murphy joined her corgi friend. “They didn’t touch anything, go anywhere. Just leaned these bones against the door.”

  “Let’s go inside, honey.” Fair, hand still under Harry’s arm, walked his wife to the porch, animals stepping in their prints.

  “Fair, shouldn’t we move that person inside?” Harry fretted.

  “No. Whoever that is can’t feel a thing. Let Cooper handle this. We can enter the barn through the back doors if she can’t get here until later tomorrow.”

  Inside, good coats off, Harry sat down to remove her cowboy boots. Her throbbing feet were cold and wet from the snow. The boots weren’t made for this weather.

  One eye open, Pewter called from her bed, “It’s almost one o’clock in the morning. Whatever and whoever is out there, nothing you can do about it now.”

  “Fair, I should call Cooper despite the late hour. We don’t want a repeat of last time, when someone took the skeleton.”

  He dropped in a chair. “All right.”

  Harry called Cooper, who had just crawled into bed after a long day and night. “Harry, are you all right?”

  “I am. Cooper, I’m so sorry to call you, but the skeleton is back, leaning against my barn door.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the animals rose from their beds as they heard the tires of Cooper’s Highlander crunching on the snow. Harry and Fair, knowing the keen senses of their friends, pulled on snow boots, heavier coats, hurried out to greet the weary deputy.

  Tucker accompanied Harry and Fair. Mrs. Murphy walked to the back of the barn, lifting her paws high after each step.

  The glow of the Chinaman’s light and the falling snow created a surreal scene.

  “This is no way to start the New Year,” the tall officer said and sighed.

  As Cooper investigated the bones without disturbing them, Mrs. Murphy checked to see if Odin had eaten the latest leftovers. He had. Trotting back to the front of the barn, she sat under the eave, a bit out of the falling snow, watching.

  “Let’s go inside,” Cooper suggested.

  Once there, she called in to the dispatcher, herself half asleep. “I know no one can get out here now, but put it on record that I called you at quarter to two, January first. Have someone call me on my cell when a team can get out here. We don’t want to lose this evidence one more time.” She ended the call, looked at her friends. “In my head, I keep hearing that song, ‘How Bizarre.’ Great song.” She rubbed her eyes.

  “What can we do to help you?” Fair asked.

  “Let me sleep on your couch. If anyone comes down your drive, Tucker will tell me.”

  “I will. I
will,” the dog promised.

  Pewter turned up her nose. “Tucker, you’re so obsequious.”

  “You think I don’t know what that means?” Tucker cocked her head.

  Noticing the glares and raised hackles, Harry stepped in. “Don’t you dare. Both of you.”

  Fair, sheets and blanket in his arms, walked into the living room.

  “I’ll do that,” said Harry. “You stir up the fire.” She smiled at her thoughtful spouse, then focused on Cooper. “I’ll bring you a robe. I really hope whoever did this doesn’t come back.”

  As Harry finished up making a bed on the sofa, she reminded Cooper she could stay in the guest room.

  “I know, but it’s at the back of the house. Short of sleeping in the barn, I want to be as close as I can. Just in case.”

  Tucker settled down near the fire, Mrs. Murphy curled up next to her. Pewter remained in her cushy bed in the kitchen. Why go too far from her crunchies?

  “Good night, Cooper.” Fair headed down the hall.

  “Night and thank you,” she replied.

  “See you in the morning.” Harry paused for a moment. “No matter what, Happy New Year.”

  “Happy New Year to you, too. All signs point to an exciting one!”

  The dawn of a new day and a new year provided no respite from the snow. When the sun rose, the clouds obscured most of the light. By 9:00, it was still coming down steady, snowplows working overtime. There was hope that by nightfall this would end. People stayed inside. It was a holiday, a hangover holiday.

  Outside by the barn with the three-person retrieval team, Cooper wore plastic gloves, as not to compromise the evidence.

  “You know, I shouldn’t really worry about fingerprints or blood.” She couldn’t help herself and laughed. “This defines a cold case.”

  Dabny, another officer she liked, fired back, “Cold, yes. Snow, yes. But, Coop, you never know.”

  Her cell rang. “Cooper.” Listening, she looked at the small crew, working on a holiday, too.

  Walking back to the house, Cooper, head down, pushed open the kitchen door. “Flo Rice is missing again. Her sister is having a fit that she’s frozen.”