The Gift of the Magpie

by Donna Andrews

  I turned and fled. Maybe I could make it into the kitchen and out the back door or—

  Whack! The sledgehammer hit the kitchen doorframe. I veered in the other direction and kept on going. Past Harvey’s bedroom and into the office. I spotted a hammer lying on the floor—only a claw hammer, unfortunately, but maybe I could use it to break a window and climb out.

  I leaned down to get it and slipped on a patch of damp floor, falling face forward and knocking the hammer out of reach in the process. I scrambled onto my back and found myself looking up at Morris. He had gripped the sledgehammer handle with his right hand just below the head, which he was tapping into his left hand.

  “I got rid of Harvey—my own cousin,” he said. “You think I’m gonna be squeamish about getting rid of you? Where is it?” Tap. Tap. “I know you know.” Tap. Tap. “I can smash your knees.” Tap. Tap. “And then smash your elbows.” Tap. Tap.

  Years ago I’d taken martial art lessons, learning just enough to be dangerous, mostly to myself. But every so often, bits of what I learned came back when I needed them. I took my eyes away from the hammer and focused on his face. His eyes. His mouth. If I could predict when he was going to strike, I could roll sideways, and maybe wrest the sledgehammer away from him. I had to try, anyway.

  And I spotted the moment when he tensed to raise the sledgehammer, and was in the act of rolling aside when the head of the hammer hit the low ceiling, smashing a huge hole in it.

  Gold coins started pouring out onto his head. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.

  Morris was so astonished that he stood there for a few moments, looking up at the ceiling and watching the gold coins hit him in the face. Then he dropped the sledgehammer with a thud and began catching the coins as they fell and shoving them into his pockets.

  I rolled to my feet and felled him with a tackle. Then I snatched up the sledgehammer and thrust it up under his chin, in much the same way people were always holding swords to each other’s throats in historical dramas. I wasn’t sure how effective this would be, but it was either that or bash his skull in. I liked this option better.

  “Don’t move,” I said. “Or I’ll smash your windpipe.”

  He froze.

  “Just for the record,” I said. “Not only did I not know there was gold here in Harvey’s house, until those coins started falling out of the ceiling I thought you were completely bonkers for thinking so. You have my apologies for doubting you.”

  He made a growling noise.

  I started when from somewhere behind me, a cat meowed.

  “It’s okay, Meg.” Clarence. I heard his footsteps coming down the hall. “I came to check the cat trap and noticed there was something going on here. Why don’t you stand down and let me take over guarding him?”

  Clarence loomed into the room, six feet four and almost as wide, even without the bulk added by his puffy down jacket. He set down the cat trap he was holding and held out his hand. I took the sledgehammer away from Morris’s throat and handed it to Clarence. I could see Morris considering the idea of making a break for it and thinking better of it.

  “What happened to your face?” Clarence asked. “Are you okay?”

  “My face?” I put my hand up to touch it and felt something damp. And realized that my left cheek and temple hurt. “I think I scraped it when I fell. Nothing major. Want me to call nine-one-one?”

  “I called before I came in,” he said. “On my police radio.”

  Was it just my imagination, or was I hearing sirens in the distance?

  I sat down beside the cat trap and looked inside. At first all I saw was what looked like a wad of dark matted fur, and I wondered if Clarence had caught something else by mistake. Like a small rat. Then the kitten opened her enormous blue eyes and hissed softly at me.

  “She’s sopping wet,” I said. “And shivering. I think we left a couple of hand towels in the bathroom for convenience—I’m going to dry her off.”

  “She’s feral, remember,” Clarence warned, without taking his eyes off Morris. “She’ll scratch and bite.”

  She tried, briefly, but long experience of wrapping our two barn cats for their trips to see Clarence had made me a reasonably adept cat wrangler. By the time the sirens came to a stop outside and Vern burst into the house, she had stopped struggling against the towel and was even purring softly.

  She continued to purr all throughout the dramatic arrival of most of the Caerphilly police force and the reading to Morris of his Miranda rights—which he interrupted more than once with loud and unprintable insults. She didn’t much enjoy being put back into the trap so Clarence and Vern could finish demolishing the ceiling and the chief could take all of Harvey’s hidden gold into custody. I could understand how she felt. I fought the idea of being dragged down to Caerphilly Hospital to be checked out.

  “I don’t like the look of those abrasions on your cheek and forehead,” Clarence said. “If you fell hard enough to do that, you could have a concussion.”

  “I didn’t even notice them until you pointed them out,” I said. I wasn’t lying—I’d been much too busy trying not to get killed to worry about a few minor scratches.

  “Clarence is right,” the chief said. “Even if the abrasions are only minor, a hoarder’s house isn’t the most hygienic place to be injured in. Last I heard, your dad was down at the hospital visiting his patients. I’ll just take you by there, let him check you out, and then I can run you back to Trinity. And I’m sure he’d like to hear about this evening’s events from you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But I want to stay until they’re finished bashing in the ceilings.”

  It was nearly one o’clock before we arrived at the hospital, and I was actually hoping Dad had gone home to bed. I was perfectly happy to let whoever was on duty in the ER check out my minimal injuries.

  To my surprise, the chief didn’t pull up to the ER entrance. He just parked in one of the staff parking slots near the front door and led the way in.

  “We’ll just drop in on your dad and his patient,” he said.

  We took the elevator up to the second floor. The chief nodded to the nurse on duty and then led the way down to the far end of the hallway, past quite a few empty rooms. Puzzling—why would they stick either of Dad’s patients so far away from the nurse’s station? If they’d had something contagious maybe it would make sense. The only other reason I’d ever seen them exile someone like this when there were closer rooms available was when Grandfather had been in the hospital. He’d been so loud and unruly that they’d had to move him as far as possible from the other patients. But I couldn’t imagine either of the police casualties being that annoying.

  I could ask Dad. Meanwhile it was nice to see how happy the chief was, now that he’d caught his killer. He was grinning ear to ear as he knocked on the open door of the last room along the hallway. I glanced in, but although the door was open, the privacy curtain inside was closed.

  “Okay to come in?” the chief called. “I’ve brought Meg.”

  “Bring her in,” Dad answered.

  The chief bowed and waved me in.

  I slipped through the privacy curtains and glanced curiously toward the bed to see which of Dad’s patients was here—George, the newly appendix-free desk clerk, or the concussed deputy.

  My mouth fell open when I saw who was in the bed.

  Harvey.

  Chapter 30

  “You’re alive!” I exclaimed.

  “Not so loud,” Dad cautioned. “Only a few people know he’s here.”

  Harvey was sitting up slightly. The top of his head was swathed in bandages, as if someone had set out to wrap him up like a mummy and then given up when the ears proved complicated. He looked pale. But he was grinning.

  “I guess I have a pretty hard head,” he said.

  “He’s lucky to be alive,” Dad said. “If you hadn’t found him when you did—”

  “And if you hadn’t hauled him off to the hospital as fast as you did,” the chief
added.

  “It was still touch and go at first.” Dad gazed at Harvey with satisfaction. “But he’s a fighter.”

  “And you decided to pretend he was dead,” I said. “I assume that was to protect him.”

  “Yes.” The chief sighed. “I was worried that if word got out that he was alive—alive, but still unconscious—whoever had tried to kill him might come back to finish the job. Even if we put out the word that he couldn’t identify his attacker, they’d want to get rid of him, just to be sure. And I was already so shorthanded that it would have crippled the department if I had to put someone here round the clock to guard him.”

  “So we announced that he was dead,” Dad said. “And recruited Sammy to help out.”

  I hadn’t noticed him before, but Sammy, the deputy who’d broken his leg, was sitting in an armchair in the far corner of the room with his leg up on a footstool and his service weapon on a small table beside him. He waved and grinned at me.

  “And even after Harvey woke up, he couldn’t tell us who’d done it,” the chief said.

  “Retrograde amnesia?” I guessed.

  “No,” Harvey said. “I remember everything that happened—even the part that hurt like the dickens. I just didn’t see anything useful. It was maybe five in the morning—still dark, and I heard mewing outside. I thought maybe the feral kitten was hurt, so I went out to check, and the noise seemed to be coming from the garage. I went inside, and was looking around, and then something hit me on the back of the head. I never saw who it was.”

  “We’re going to keep the fact that he’s still alive quiet a little longer,” the chief said. “Just until I can locate the rest of his cousins. Mr. Morris Haverhill may be the one who struck the blows, but we can’t discount the possibility that the other two were accomplices.”

  “I won’t say a word,” I said.

  “I hope you find them soon,” Harvey said.

  “I’m sure you’ll feel safer when we do,” the chief said.

  “Yes,” Harvey said. “And the sooner I can come out of hiding, the sooner we can finish with my house. That is still on, isn’t it?” He turned to me with an anxious look.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “By the way, we caught the gray kitten you were feeding. Clarence seemed to think you might be interested in adopting her.”

  Harvey frowned.

  “I hate to disappoint him,” he said. “I mean, cats are okay. But what I really want is a dog. A big friendly one I can take on long walks.”

  “I’m sure Clarence can help you find one,” I said. “And don’t worry—I already have a plan for the kitten.”

  “We should let Mr. Dunlop rest,” the chief said. “And get your injuries checked out so you can head back to Trinity. Remember, mum’s the word!”

  I nodded. And I noticed he didn’t actually order me not to tell anyone. Which was a good thing. I knew I’d burst by morning if I couldn’t tell Michael about this.

  Chapter 31

  Thursday, December 24

  “No, we’re not keeping the kitten,” I said, for about the twentieth time since my brother had arrived at the furniture store. I looked up from my sweeping—I’d mainly come in to clean up the mess the various burglars had made in the store. And to do a little planning about what came next. Just because I couldn’t share the good news about Harvey yet didn’t mean I couldn’t get a plan ready.

  Across the room, Rob was playing with Shadow, as we’d provisionally named the rescued kitten.

  “Two barn cats are enough,” I added. “And I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring a kitten into the house with Tink and Spike.”

  “Tink wouldn’t hurt her,” Rob protested. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “Spike would,” I said. “At least he’d try, and they’d both end up the worse for wear. For that matter, mild-mannered as Tink is, I’m not sure what Shadow would do to her if you left them in a room together.”

  “Oh, Shadow’s not that bad.” Rob reached out to pet the kitten, who retaliated with yet another set of tiny lacerations.

  “Keep an eye on her, will you?” I said. “She could do a lot of damage if she got into some of those boxes.”

  “So if you’re not keeping the kitten, why is she here?”

  I had half a mind to answer “why are you here if you’re not going to help clean up things?” But no sense taking out my brief but cranky reaction on Rob. Although it was useful to let myself feel just a little bit cranky. I was finding it hard work keeping from grinning at the thought that Harvey was alive. Would be coming back here to the furniture store to claim all his family treasures—the slab of marble that used to be a bank counter, the mourning brooch with the dead children’s hair in it, and the antique blown glass Christmas ornaments his great-grandmother had brought over from England. Claiming his treasures, but almost certainly letting us get rid of the lion’s share of the junk.

  I forced a solemn look on my face.

  “Mother is dropping by any time now,” I said aloud. “She might be ready for another cat, and I’m hoping if she sees Shadow she’ll fall for her, and Clarence will have one less mouth to feed.”

  “Great idea,” Rob said. “I know she misses old Boomer.”

  “Sebastian,” I corrected mechanically. “You know she hated the ‘Boomer’ nickname. Anyway, keep playing with Shadow, will you? Tire her out, so Mother will think she’s a quiet, docile, well-behaved little ball of fluff, not the hyperactive homicidal ninja we already know her to be.”

  “Does Mother know you’ve invited her here so you could play feline matchmaker?” Rob asked, as he led Shadow a merry dance with the cat toy—a tuft of feathers on a resilient wand.

  “No—she and Mrs. Whatzit from the antique store are going to look over all the china and vases and stuff. Identify anything that might be valuable.” She’d be delighted when she heard the good news about Harvey, and knew she’d be doing her sorting and appraising for him, not for his wretched cousins.

  We heard a car stopping outside.

  “That could be Mother now,” I said aloud.

  The old-fashioned bell over the furniture store door had jingled. We both looked up to see Judge Jane Shiffley entering.

  “Hard at work already—good! And in such a good cause.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I grumbled. “I’d much rather be organizing stuff for Harvey than for those wretched cousins of his—don’t Ernest and Josephine end up with all of this? And what about all of Harvey’s gold?”

  “The gold he probably never knew he had,” Judge Jane said, shaking her head sadly. “I bet if he’d known he had a ceiling full of gold he’d have given Clarence a lot more money for the shelter.”

  He probably would. Not smiling at that idea was hard.

  “Still—it was in his house,” I insisted. “Unless someone can prove otherwise, I’m assuming whoever decides these things will say it was his. I hate to see the praying mantis people get their claws on it. And Morris Haverhill doesn’t get any of it, does he?”

  “I doubt it,” Rob said. “Like most states, Virginia has a slayer statute.”

  There were times when I forgot for weeks on end that Rob had graduated from law school before finding his true vocation as an inventor of computer games. For that matter, I suspected Rob forgot about it for months on end.

  “So what happens under a slayer statute?” I asked.

  “They treat it as if the murderer died before his victim,” Rob said. “Right, Your Honor?”

  Judge Jane nodded.

  “So it goes to Morris’s heirs,” Rob said. “Whoever they are.”

  “The other two Haverhills—as I thought.” I sighed. “Pity. Harvey didn’t like them much better than Morris. Although if the chief is right that they were aiding and abetting Morris—”

  “Actually, nothing goes to any of the Haverhills,” Judge Jane said.

  I gave her a sharp look—had word about Harvey’s survival leaked out?

  “If Harvey had d
ied intestate, it all would have gone to the cousins,” Judge Jane went on. “But he was smart. He made a will.”

  She sounded as proud of Harvey’s foresight as if he were one of her own kids.

  “Smart move,” I said. “Given how much he supposedly hated his cousins. Do we know who does get the loot?”

  “The Caerphilly Animal Welfare Foundation.” Judge Jane beamed with approval. She’d adopted more than a few of her dog pack from Clarence’s shelter. Any hunting dog, no matter how old or sorry looking—or for that matter any dog that looked as if it might have hunting blood somewhere in its ancestry—ended up at her farm if no one else wanted it. “I found out this morning and let Clarence know as soon as I heard.”

  “Good for Clarence,” Rob said. “I know the shelter can use it.”

  “We should probably keep that quiet for now,” I said. “We have no idea how much the gold’s going to be worth, and we don’t want people thinking the shelter’s rolling in dough and doesn’t need donations or adoptions.”

  “Good point,” Judge Jane said.

  “And besides, are we sure the will will stand up?” I asked her.

  “Odds are good,” she said. “I never say ‘of course’ because strange things can happen in a court of law. But Kate Warren’s very solid. Got a nice way with a will. Then again, as I told Clarence, if I were him I’d hire me a good litigator to fend off all the nonsense that’s going to come his way, from the Haverhills and that gun-crazy woman from the hoarder site and who knows who else.”

  Oh, dear. She’d already told Clarence. Well, at least with him, the disappointment of learning that the shelter wasn’t getting a windfall would be more than made up for by the joy of learning that Harvey was still alive.

  Judge Jane looked up as the bell over the door jingled again. “In fact—ah, there he is now. Clarence, did you take my advice?”

  “Of course.” Clarence ambled in, looking a little stunned. “I called the only attorney I could think of.”

  “You didn’t call me,” Rob looked indignant.

  “Okay,” Clarence rolled his eyes. “I called the only attorney I could think of who’d actually ever represented anyone in a courtroom. Meg, your cousin Festus says hi, and can he stay with you when he comes down tomorrow, because the Caerphilly Inn’s completely full?”