Santa Clawed

by Rita Mae Brown

  Completing her morning ablutions, she threw on a terry bathrobe and went into the living room to rekindle the fire. The deep ash bed contained a layer of bright orange embers once she stirred it, so getting the fire up took no time at all.

  Mrs. Murphy padded in. “How do you feel?”

  Harry scooped up the cat, kissing her cheeks. “I don’t know how either of us got down the mountain, Murphy, but I’m so glad we’re home.”

  Tucker and Pewter walked in.

  “Carried you down. You can’t believe how hard Fair and Cooper worked,” Pewter informed her. “I’ve never been so cold in my life.”

  “You say that every time the thermometer dips below freezing,” Mrs. Murphy teased her.

  “This was worse.” Pewter hoped something good would soon appear in the kitchen.

  “It was. I’m a little stiff today. And still a little tired,” Tucker admitted.

  “Small wonder.” Mrs. Murphy put her paws around Harry’s neck.

  “Come on.” Harry, her knees hurting although she didn’t know why, walked into the kitchen to make a hot breakfast for all of them.

  Her knees hurt because she had fallen curled up, knees bent. Harry, rarely incapacitated, was surprised when anything ached.

  As she looked out the window over the sink, she was greeted by a magical land of pure white, dotted with bare trees and enlivening evergreens, boughs bent with snow. Flakes still fell, a light but steady drift. The clouds were low, medium to dark gray.

  She knew she’d gone up the mountain; she was trying to remember why.

  She was smart enough to know she’d suffered a concussion and grateful that she perceived no ill effect other than the thumping cut on her head. Her vision was fine. She had a dim memory of throwing up in a plastic bag in the ambulance, but her stomach now felt normal. She gave a silent prayer of thanks.

  Frying some leftover hamburger for the animals, she pulled out another cast-iron skillet, rubbed it with butter, and put it on a cold burner. She intended to make scrambled eggs. When she put down the mix of warm hamburger and dry food, the three animals went crazy with delight. Made her happy to see them so happy.

  Fair appreciated good coffee. She opened the freezer to grab a bag of ground beans. The others were whole-bean. She liked making coffee, even though she didn’t like drinking it. Once the coffee was put up, she plugged in the electric teapot and dropped a good old Lipton’s bag in a cup. She began mixing ingredients in a smallish Corning Ware bowl. Then she’d wake Fair.

  Harry looked around her kitchen as though seeing it for the first time. Free of unnecessary adornment, her home reflected her in so many ways. She noticed the pegs by the door, coats hanging, a long bench with a lid underneath, boots within. A sturdy farmer’s table sat in the center of the room, and there was random-width heart pine on the floor, worn thin in places of high traffic by close to two hundred years of feet and paws.

  A burst of love for her life, this kitchen, the farm, and, above all, her husband, friends, and animal friends, welled up. She didn’t know why she’d been hit. She felt lucky to be alive. She was determined to get to the bottom of it. She also decided to carry her .38. Thank God for the Second Amendment.

  The teapot whistled and Harry shook her head at herself. Here she was trying to be quiet, but she’d forgotten about the whistle.

  Fair, hearing the piercing note, awoke, feeling refreshed. Sleeping on the floor often made his back feel better. He smelled the coffee and rushed into the kitchen.

  Harry laughed when her naked husband rushed into the kitchen, the floor cold on his bare feet. “Honey, put your robe on before you turn blue.”

  He hugged her. “Are you all right?”

  “Actually, I am, but my head stings. It’s pretty tender.”

  He kissed her. “Thank God that’s all. I was afraid your skull had been cracked, but the X-rays and MRI proved what I have always known: you’re very hardheaded.”

  She kissed him back. “Big surprise. Now go put your clothes on before you catch your death. Not that I don’t like seeing you in your birthday suit. You’re an impressive specimen, you know.”

  “If you say so.” Fair had not one scrap of vanity, unusual for so well-built and handsome a man.

  He finally did go put on slippers. His had fox masks embroidered on the toes. The terry-cloth robe felt good against his skin. By the time he returned to the kitchen—his teeth brushed, his hands washed, hair combed—breakfast was on the table.

  Admiring the snowscape, they chatted. Fair avoided the obvious subject until he was on his second cup of coffee, she on her second cup of tea.

  “Honey, how did you wind up on the mountain?”

  The reason started to come back to her. “I came home from errands and Tucker and Mrs. Murphy were missing. When they finally came back, Tucker dropped a packet with ten thousand dollars on the floor. Put on my coat and hat and followed Tucker, who was dying to lead me somewhere. Well, on and on we went, and finally, at the walnut grove, Tucker and Mrs. Murphy led me to the low rock outcropping. Fair, there was at least a hundred thousand dollars in a green toolbox! I couldn’t believe it. That’s all I remember.”

  “Brother George hit her on the head with the butt of a pistol,” Tucker informed them.

  “Don’t waste your breath,” Pewter noted.

  Fair then told her his part of the story. Harry got out of her chair, hugged and kissed the two cats and the dog. She stayed on the floor for a while, Fair finally joining her to play with and praise the animals.

  “Cold down here,” Fair remarked.

  “You know, I’d like to finally build a fireplace in the kitchen. There’s an old covered-up flue where Grandma hooked up the wood-burning stove. Might still work.”

  “Might not work, but we’ll try. I’ve been thinking that if we turned the screened-in porch into an extension of the kitchen, a big step-down fireplace could be built at the end. Fieldstone.”

  “That would be beautiful.”

  And behind it we could build another screened-in porch. It’s nice to sit there when the weather’s good. Pleasure without the mosquitoes.”

  “It will be expensive.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t take it with you.”

  Given her close brush with eternity, she nodded. “Let me call Coop and thank her.” She rose. “Not that I can ever thank her or these guys.” She smiled down at Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. “Did Pewter really go all the way up there with you?”

  “I did!” Pewter stood on her hind legs.

  “Every step of the way. Poor Tucker, she fought her way up and down that mountain three times yesterday,” Fair remarked.

  “Well, the first time the weather wasn’t bad. After that, well, I…” Tucker said no more.

  “And, Mrs. Murphy, you stayed with me the whole time. I’d have a frostbitten nose without you.”

  Murphy rubbed against her leg.

  As Harry walked over to the old wall phone, Fair advised, “I know you’ll want to talk to Susan, but don’t. Not yet.”

  “Why? I tell Susan everything. Well, almost everything.”

  “Whoever hit you probably thinks you’re dead. Given this blizzard, it’s possible he thinks you haven’t been found. But it’s Christmas Eve, so we have two days, thanks to the weather and the holiday, where your disappearance not being in the news isn’t strange. If there isn’t something in the papers on Boxing Day”—Fair referred to the December 26 holiday that was celebrated by some people in the country—“then he’ll know you’re alive. And then”—he breathed deeply—

  “we can’t take any chances.”

  “I’m not. I’m carrying my thirty-eight.”

  He shook his head. “Not enough. Someone is going to be with you twenty-four hours a day.”

  She knew enough not to argue, plus she felt a shiver of fear. “Not in bed with us, I hope.”

  He came right back at her. “You know, we never tried that. Any candidates?”

  She punche
d him on the arm and picked up the phone. She reached Cooper on her landline, so the connection was clear.

  “Harry!” Cooper’s voice was jubilant. “You sound like yourself.”

  “I am, except for the clunk on the head. Thank you. Thank you a thousand times over, and am I glad I got you a good Christmas present.”

  Cooper laughed. “You could paint a rock. I’d be happy.”

  “You say. But really, Coop, I don’t know how you two got me down from the walnut stand with the winds and the blowing snow. It’s still snowing.”

  “Found out how strong I am, and Fair’s stronger. I’m just so glad you’re all right. Wow. What a gust. This thing isn’t over. It’s snowing hard now. My house is shaking.”

  Harry, hearing and feeling it, too, replied, “That must have been a sixty-mile-an-hour gust.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Harry repeated to her what she’d told Fair as he washed the dishes. “I don’t remember anything after that.”

  “If something should occur to you, call me. I’ll be over to help Fair with the horses, too.”

  “I will.” Harry felt another blast, plus the cold air seeping through cracks here and there. “Got enough firewood?”

  “Yep. I watched the Weather Channel. Doesn’t look like this will let up until late afternoon.”

  “Hard on the store owners. It will keep everyone at home.”

  Not quite.

  Many families gather together on December 24, go to vespers for the traditional Christmas Eve service, return home for a late supper, and then open gifts. Others go to Christmas Eve service but wait until Christmas morning to open presents.

  Despite the weather, the Reverend Jones held the St. Luke’s service, attended mostly by those who could walk through the snow or who drove 4×4 vehicles. Even though attendance was low, Herb enjoyed the special event. Two enormous poinsettias, flaming red, graced the altar. Red and white poinsettias filled the vestibule, too. The glow of candles added to the soft beauty of the night service.

  Dr. Bryson and Racquel Deeds made it, as did Bill and Jean Keelo. Susan and Ned Tucker attended. They lived not far from St. Luke’s. Susan had carried her shoes while walking in her boots, Ned teasing her as they plowed through the snow. Once at church, she left her boots in the cloakroom and laughed to see the rows of boots, other women making the same choice she did. She was happy that her son, now out of college, and her daughter, still attending, had accompanied her.

  Alicia and BoomBoom, although living farther out, took this as an opportunity to test the Land Cruiser. Worked like a treat.

  The cats entered the church’s back entrance with Herb at 6:30 P.M. The service was at 7:00 P.M. Lucy Fur, Elocution, and Cazenovia sat off to the side where they could view the congregation. Cazenovia, tempted to scoot under the altar, decided against it, since she’d be peeping out from under the embroidered altar covering. She wanted to see everything but knew her poppy would either laugh or be furious. She felt she was a good Lutheran cat, but Reverend Jones didn’t always see things her way.

  She remarked, “Racquel is cool to Bryson.”

  Lucy Fur looked at them. “Even has her shoulder turned away from him.”

  Elocution, tail curled around her paws as she sat straight up, evidenced scant interest in the Deedses’ marriage. “Good thing we aren’t Catholic. They have midnight Mass for Christmas. Roads will be even worse then.” She couldn’t see out the large stained-glass window.

  Afterward, when Susan finally got home, she called Harry.

  “Beautiful service.”

  “Always is.”

  “Can you believe it’s still snowing?” Susan sipped on a delicious hot hard cider that Ned handed her.

  “It’s been so many years without a white Christmas, without enough snow, that I’m glad for it.” Harry added, “Helps keep the bug population down come summer.”

  Harry wanted to tell her best friend about what had happened, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “You know, the entire choir made it. That was a big surprise.”

  “What about the congregation?” Harry was curious.

  “About half. Made it more intimate. Brother Luther came, which surprised me. They have their own service.”

  “He was raised a Lutheran—plus his name, you know.”

  Susan laughed. “Let’s hope the original Luther displayed more personality than Brother Luther.”

  “Dour,” Harry agreed. “The rest of them seem cheerful enough, or they were.”

  “Don’t think I’d be too happy being one of the brothers right now.” She switched subjects. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in eons.”

  “I know. But this time of year is crazy enough, and when you add the weather, it’s amazing anything gets done. Susan, do me a favor. Don’t tell anyone you’ve spoken to me. I’ll explain later.”

  Brother George, not happy that Brother Luther drove down the mountain in the first place, complained, “You’d better get your ass back up here by midnight. We have our own service, you know.”

  “I’m on my way now. You’ll be pleased to know that Bill Keelo, overflowing with Christmas spirit, made a generous donation to our order. I knew if I went to St. Luke’s service, I’d see him.”

  Brother George’s tone became warm. “Good. Much as we appreciate Bill’s legal work for the order, coins help. Liquid assets, Brother Luther, liquid assets. You as treasurer understand how vital they are more than anyone else.”

  “Do. Well, I’ll be up there in an hour or so. Slow going, but it’s going.”

  “How much, by the way?”

  “Ten thousand dollars. Bill handed me an envelope and I didn’t open it until he was back in the Jeep. But he did say that he knew we’d lost business at the Christmas tree farm from being closed two whole days, so he hoped this would help us.”

  “How thoughtful.” Brother George’s voice crackled a little on the cell. “I’m losing you. See you soon.”

  Soon was an hour and a half later. Brother Morris met Brother Luther at the door, thanking him for the foresight to see Bill Keelo at the Christmas Eve service.

  “Called ahead.” Brother Luther smiled slightly.

  “Yes, yes, sometimes it takes a gentle prod.” Brother Morris winked, then headed to his quarters to rest before the service.

  As Brother Luther headed to his own quarters, he passed Brother Sheldon, hands in his long sleeves. The hallway was cold.

  “Your hands must be cold,” Brother Luther said.

  “Everything is cold. I wish you’d told me you were going down the mountain. I would have liked to go to St. Luke’s service. It’s such a pretty church.”

  “Ah, well, next time.”

  “Next time is a year away.”

  “Sheldon, maybe by then you’ll stop crying at the drop of a hat.”

  Brother Sheldon’s face flushed crimson. “We’ve lost two good young men.”

  “Yes, we have, but you can be glad of one thing.”

  “Which is?” Brother Sheldon glared at Brother Luther.

  “At least it wasn’t you.”

  At midnight, Racquel called the sheriff’s department. After St. Luke’s, Bryson had dropped her off at home and said he was going to see if the convenience store was open, as they needed milk. They didn’t. She’d checked the fridge the minute she walked inside the house.

  Furious, she called on his cell, but he didn’t pick up. She was beyond suspicion that he was having an affair. Now she just knew it. How stupid was he to leave his wife and family on Christmas Eve? She thought he’d be back in an hour. He wasn’t back by midnight.

  She reported him as a missing person and devoutly prayed he’d be picked up if his SUV had slid off the road, or perhaps an officer would cruise by the house of whomever he was sleeping with, to find his vehicle in the driveway, a mantle of snow already covering where he’d cleaned it off.

  Still, she couldn’t believe he’d be stupid enough to do this on Christmas
Eve.

  What was his game?

  When Officer Doak received the call from the dispatcher, he was driving back from a wreck on I-64. Some fool, filled with good cheer and in a nice Nissan Murano, had disregarded the treacherous conditions, only to sail through a guardrail and down an embankment. The loaded twenty-six-year-old bank teller didn’t even have a scratch. The Murano was totaled.

  Much as Officer Doak wished he wasn’t working on Christmas Eve and now early Christmas morning, he knew Rick would be taking over at four. The sheriff had many good qualities as a leader, one of his strongest being that he would pull duty on days when others really wanted to be with their families. Rick and Helen had no children. Their parents still lived, so they’d visit both sets over the holidays. However, Rick often worked during a holiday, feeling those people with children needed to be home. If the boss worked in the middle of the night on Christmas, no one in the department could complain about their schedule.

  So Doak cruised slowly in his squad car. All the people in the department had special driving training, which paid off on nights such as this.

  Racquel, wide awake and still dressed in her Christmas best, greeted him at the door. The boys, both teenagers, slept, unaware.

  Once in the kitchen, far away from the stairs up to the second floor, Racquel filled him in on the time frame of the evening.

  “A navy-blue 2008 Tahoe with Jamestown plates.” He checked the number on the plates, which she’d provided for him.

  Officer Doak marveled at her coolness, her ability to supply necessary information. “This has been going on for six months. Late calls, emergencies at the hospital.” She tapped a painted fingernail on the hard surface of the table. “Not that there aren’t emergencies for a cardiologist, but let’s just say there was always one too many. We’ve been married eighteen years. I know the drill as well as he does.”