Whisker of Evil

by Rita Mae Brown

  “No, but it’s logical. You aren’t involved in outdoor work, breeding horses, animal control. You’re not in danger from silver-haired bats—if any of us is—and I don’t think you’re in danger of knowing whatever Jerome knew or someone thought he knew.”

  “You’re right, but I still feel terrible.”

  “I do, too.” Harry glanced down at Mary Pat’s ring on her right pinky. The Episcopal shield, inscription underneath, glowed. “It’s funny. I’m staring at Mary Pat’s ring, and I feel like it’s bringing me luck even though right now doesn’t seem a propitious time.”

  “I hope so.”

  After Harry hung up the phone it rang again almost immediately.

  “Harry, this is Pug Harper.”

  Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, now on the desk, strained to listen.

  “Good morning, Pug.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard of the terrible circumstances of Jerome Stoltfus’s death. It was on the early-edition news.”

  “Susan Tucker just told me. I don’t know the details.”

  “Nor do I. But this does change things. I will look the other way if you want to come back to work.”

  “Pug, that’s very kind of you.” She took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “And it might work for a while. But who’s to say the next animal-control officer won’t barge into the post office and order me to remove the cats and dog? And really, Pug, when that new building goes up, everything changes. I know that Amy Wade can handle it. She’s the best of the temps, and now that her kids are in school, I bet she’d be happy for the job.”

  “Why don’t you take the weekend to think it over?” He hoped she’d change her mind.

  “I made up my mind. For the record, you’re a good postmaster, and I’ve enjoyed all my years on the job.”

  “Thank you.” Pug hated to lose Mary Minor Haristeen. “Look, if you do have a change of heart, you call me.”

  “I will.”

  As she placed the phone back in its cradle, the cats cheered, “Hooray!”

  “You’ll find something better. You might even make more money,” Tucker, ever the optimist, prophesied.

  She smiled at the animals, then frowned slightly. “Gang, Jerome Stoltfus is deader than a doornail.”

  “Goody.” Pewter licked her lips, her pink tongue in sharp contrast to her luxurious dark gray fur.

  “Pewter, that’s not very Christian.” Tucker didn’t like Jerome one bit but thought it better not to cheer his demise.

  “And you ate communion wafers.” Mrs. Murphy referred to an episode where, together with the Rev. Jones’s cats, Cazenovia and Elocution, they had opened the closet containing the communion wafers. The four cats and dog demolished boxes of the round, white, thin wafers.

  Harry dialed Miranda, who said she was just getting ready to call Harry.

  “What in the world is going on?” Miranda fretted.

  “I guess if we knew that, someone would be behind bars,” Harry replied. “Did Pug Harper call you?”

  “No. He’d call you first.”

  “Well, he did, but I declined to return. He even said I could bring the kids, but, you know, in the long run it wouldn’t have worked out, so why not just get on with it, whatever it is.”

  “You’re right. But it’s going to seem awfully strange not walking across the alley in the morning. How will you live without my orange-glazed cinnamon buns?”

  “Drive into town.”

  “Or I’ll drive out there,” Miranda offered.

  “Thanks for getting so many signatures so fast. Susan told me.”

  “You’ll be happy to know that everyone is on your side.”

  “Really?”

  “People think highly of you and, of course, they adore Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker.”

  “That makes me feel good. I”—Harry, about to get emotional, stopped herself—“I’m grateful. By the way, I told Pug that Amy Wade would do a great job. I think everyone will work out at the post office. What I’m worried about is rabies. Or whatever is going on.”

  “Me, too. When I heard about Jerome I thought of First Peter, Chapter Four, Verse Fifteen; ‘But let none of you suffer as a murderer, or a thief, or a wrongdoer, or a mischief-maker.’ And Jerome suffered being none of those things. He let a little power go to his head, but he wasn’t a murderer or a thief. And really, all he was trying to do, apart from be important for the first time in his life, was protect the public good.”

  “You’re right. Maybe I’ll drive down to the sheriff’s office and—”

  Miranda interrupted her. “Harry, you’ll give Rick a fit. He’ll think you’re criticizing the way he’s handling this.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Harry paused. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Why don’t you call Cooper? If you have an idea or whatever, call her. I would imagine right now that Rick is under a lot of pressure.”

  “You bet he is.”

  Later that morning, as Harry scrubbed out the large outdoor water troughs, the soft breeze rustled the early green leaves, the light color beautiful against the robin’s egg blue sky. As her wet hand caught the sunlight, the ring glistened intensely.

  “That’s it, you know?” Harry spoke to Tucker, at her heels. “Someone is shielded by money, power, or position. If only I knew what was at stake.”

  36

  The deep golden rays of the late-afternoon sun drenched the racing barns at St. James Farm. All the outbuildings on the property were painted crisp white. The eaves, the doors, and the window frames all shone bright white. On the middle of each post of the shed row barns, Mary Pat’s racing colors gleamed.

  Alicia Palmer, Aunt Tally, and Harry stood at the training track, the racing barns behind them.

  Harry had called Cooper, who suggested if she wanted to help, she should go over to St. James and go through the barns one more time and look around. Since Harry was a horsewoman and Cooper wasn’t, Cooper was sincere in her request.

  Aunt Tally happened to be visiting Alicia when Harry arrived.

  While the humans walked out to the deep grassy center oval of the track, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker inspected the last of the racing barns.

  “Everyone has trooped through here.” Tucker sniffed. “Raccoons, possums, foxes, mice by the busload, and, ah, yes,” she closed her yes and inhaled, “bobcat.”

  Overhead, the barn swallows, always correctly dressed, their wings sweeping back as beautifully as a dark blue morning coat, complained, “Out of our barns. You’re a threat to our children.”

  “I’ll eat your children,” Pewter ferociously replied. “They’ll be brunch, just like Tostitos. Those little birdy bones will crunch like corn chips.”

  “MAMA!” Thirty little babies squealed throughout the barn, sending their parents darting and bombing the three animals on the ground.

  “Bother.” Mrs. Murphy swatted at one bold fellow. “Tucker, do you think the animals were here when Sugar and Barry were here?”

  Tucker’s luminous brown eyes opened wider. “That scent’s gone. I can still smell the boys, mostly on the old shirts in the tack room, a wipe-down cloth here and there. Human oil will stay on cloth for quite a while. But the pad scents,” she shook her head, “gone. These tracks”—she meant scent tracks—“are within the last three days.”

  “The grain’s still in the feed room. That’s why you’ve got all this traffic. Harry should take the grain,” Pewter suggested.

  “You’re right,” Mrs. Murphy agreed. “But even when Barry and Sugar were alive, I bet the foxes came in. Maybe not everybody else, but you know how opportunistic foxes are.”

  “MAMA!” the babes squealed from deep in their well-built nests.

  Another barn swallow swooped so close, the air brushed against Pewter’s fur.

  “We aren’t going to eat your children,” Mrs. Murphy called out. “Pewter’s a comedian.”

  “I am not,” Pewter hissed, voice low.

  “Pewter, even if yo
u killed one, you’re too lazy to tear off the feathers. Remember when the pileated woodpecker died outside the back door? You didn’t pull out one feather.”

  “That was different. He was already dead. The thrill of the kill gives me energy.”

  Mrs. Murphy and Tucker looked at each other but said nothing. Then Mrs. Murphy asked Tucker, “Bats?”

  The corgi shook her head. “No.”

  Pewter, nose still out of joint, complained, “Why defer to Tucker? Cat noses are as good as dog noses, but we don’t work for humans the way dogs do, so no one really notices. You’ll never get a cat to dig up truffles. Only dogs and pigs do that.”

  The sleek tiger cat knew her sense of smell was acute but she thought Tucker’s nose a tiny bit better. Plus, Tucker used her nose before her eyes, whereas Mrs. Murphy used her eyes before her nose.

  “Get out!” Two barn swallows headed straight for the three animals, then sheered off at the last second, one turning left, one right.

  “Truce!” Mrs. Murphy meowed while the baby birds shrieked.

  The swallows perched on the edge of their nests, some in the rafters, and one defiant male sat on the floor right in front of them, just out of paw’s reach.

  He spoke. “I don’t mind barn cats, but you two aren’t barn cats. How do I know you won’t do us harm?”

  Tucker lay down, resting her head on her paws so she was eye level with the swallow. “You have my word, and even though you may not believe it, these are honorable cats.”

  “Don’t be gulled, Madison,” another swallow warned. “All cats are killers.”

  Pewter puffed out her considerable chest. “Of course we’re killers, but what makes you think I’d waste my time on you? Why, you aren’t even big enough for an hors d’oeuvre.”

  “Daddy, get off the floor!” Madison’s children were hysterical.

  Mrs. Murphy thought the best course was flattery. “Madison, my gray friend is a good hunter.” She bit her lip for a second. What a terrible fib. “But we’re here on a peaceful mission, and all we want to know is, have bats ever lived in here?”

  Madison hopped from one foot to the other. “No. The bats live out in the huge old conifers. Might be some up at the big house, but I don’t think so. The humans swept through here looking for them, too.”

  “Ever see any sick ones outside?” Tucker inquired.

  “No, but we keep different hours, you know. We swallows work during the day, and the bats work at night. The humans, silly beings, drive the bats outside, but between the bats and ourselves, we keep this place insect-free. Well, almost.” His russet and buff chest plumage expanded. Madison was quite handsome.

  “They are stupid. They don’t like vultures. Can you imagine what the earth would be like without vultures? Piles of dead things, kind of like piles of cars that never rust. No room for the rest of us!” Madison’s mate, Thelma, called out. She was keeping a sharp eye on her husband. That Pewter bragged too much, and if she even moved a muscle, Thelma would go for the eyes.

  “If a plague swept through the bats, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” Mrs. Murphy tried to keep to business.

  “Sure. Their corpses would be under the conifers,” Madison replied. “There’s no rabies here. We’ve heard all about it, of course, and I swear upon my tail feathers: no rabies.”

  Mrs. Murphy, her voice musical and low, said, “I think the rabies is a diversion.”

  “How can it be a diversion when two men had it and maybe even Jerome, too? I mean, he might test positive.” Tucker thought Mrs. Murphy totally wrong.

  “What exactly do you mean, Murph?” Pewter’s curiosity was aroused.

  “Rabies is a dreadful disease, a horrible, horrible death. It’s bound to cause violent reactions among the humans, right?” Everyone nodded in agreement, including Madison. “Well, I think Barry was supposed to die of rabies, not from a torn throat. Somehow, Barry became too threatening or something and the killer couldn’t wait. I am convinced both Barry and Sugar were purposely infected. Cat intuition but, nonetheless, we have to take the rabies seriously. After all, we’re all susceptible to the virus. If it turns out this was the work of silver-haired bats, then we can expect the raccoons, skunks, and other groundlings to start dying from it. It won’t just stay with the bats. And as far as I know, that hasn’t happened.”

  “Not around here,” Madison avowed, as the other swallows chimed in.

  “It’s possible Barry infected Sugar. Dumb things happen. I mean, he could have bitten him. It’s possible.” Mrs. Murphy was thinking out loud.

  “Barry was dangerous but Sugar wasn’t?” Tucker sat up, which made Madison hop backward. “But Sugar still had rabies.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Barry could have given it to Sugar. Terrible luck. I know it sounds funny to say Barry may have bitten Sugar, but what if they were play-fighting or something? Dumb things happen.”

  “Or they both could have been deliberately infected and, somehow in the time it takes to die from rabies—one to three months, that’s what the humans have been saying—” Pewter was getting excited now, “Barry became more of a nuisance or got closer. I think that’s what happened, and I think that whatever this is about has to do with St. James.”

  “Oh, no,” the swallows said in chorus.

  Madison said quite firmly, “There’s nothing here. Nothing out of the way; I mean, Barry and Sugar bred broodmares, trained horses, took in lay-ups. People came through—customers, vets, friends—but it was all business. I never even heard an argument, except with Carmen.” He asked his friends, “Did any of you?”

  “No,” they answered in unison.

  Madison hopped one step closer. “I can appreciate that you’re curious. Cats are notoriously curious. I’m sure you’d like to figure this out, but all your thoughts, if you’ll pardon me, seem convoluted.”

  “They are,” Mrs. Murphy warmly agreed with him. “Because we don’t know what this is about. Once we understand the motive, this will be crystal clear and simple.”

  Thelma flew down next to Madison.

  “Mama!” Their children really squealed now.

  “Hush,” Thelma commanded. She looked the three groundlings in the eye. “There is one other thing. The girlfriend, Carmen. She was sleeping with both of them.”

  “Aha!” Pewter smiled.

  “Barry and Carmen had broken up,” Tucker said.

  “Oh, they’d break up and get back together, and even when they’d break up, she’d sleep with him.” Thelma shrugged.

  “Did each man know about the other?” Tucker thought Carmen’s schedule demanding.

  “Sugar knew about Barry, of course, but Barry didn’t know about Sugar,” Thelma, her eyes bright and black, responded. “Didn’t last long with Sugar, though. That Carmen is a no-good tart, if you ask me.”

  Up at the racetrack, Alicia pointed out to Aunt Tally and Harry where Ziggy Flame’s paddock used to be. After Ziggy disappeared and Mary Pat never came home, over the years the five-board paddock fell apart. As no other stallions came to St. James, there was no reason to build a stallion paddock.

  “You have a good memory,” Aunt Tally said.

  “It seems like yesterday. It’s odd. Time plays tricks on you.” Alicia folded her arms across her chest. “Harry, you’re too young to understand.”

  “I know it’s flying by.” Harry smiled.

  “I walked out the other morning in the heavy fog. At first I couldn’t breathe for the emotions, but now,” Alicia looked around at the estate, each building laid out with care, everything aesthetically pleasing, “I love it all over again.”

  “You were hurt.” Aunt Tally, as always, cut straight to the bone. “No wonder your inspection visits were short.”

  “Bad enough we didn’t know where Mary Pat and Ziggy were. Worse to be the prime suspect. The whispers, the cold shoulders.” She stared out across the infield. “All those people silently disapproving of our relationship could use this as an excuse to be ugly. While
Mary Pat was alive I was protected by her aura, her wealth. When she disappeared, the ugliness was unveiled. The people who were good to me were Harry’s mother and father, Miranda and George, Tally, Mim, and Jim. And that was it.”

  “They certainly ate crow when they found out you’d inherited the kit and kaboodle. Course, that took a year. Mary Pat had to be declared legally dead. It was complicated, but you emerged the winner.” Aunt Tally relished the tale. “What really shocked them was when they found out she’d adopted you. Smart, that Mary Pat. Very smart. It was the only way she could legally protect you. Did you know you’d been adopted?”

  “Yes.” Alicia closed her eyes for a moment. “Since gay people couldn’t get married, they had to find ways to protect one another. By adopting me, Mary Pat made it very difficult for someone to contest the will. Also, if she’d been critically ill, I would have been able to visit her in the hospital as next of kin. Heterosexuals don’t realize how many barriers there are for gay people in situations like hospitalization. It’s better now in some places where domestic partnership is recognized by the state, but when we were together it was still the Dark Ages. I live a marvelous life because of Mary Pat, but I’d give back every penny to see her walk out from those racing barns. You can’t compare money with life, you just can’t. And I know you know that, Aunt Tally.”

  “Speaking of eating crow.” Harry’s eyes narrowed, for bounding toward them were the three animals, with Pewter carrying feathers in her mouth.

  Before leaving the barn, Pewter asked the swallows if they’d houseclean. She wanted some nice long tail feathers or wing feathers.

  They complied, and she picked them up only to race out of the barn, followed by Mrs. Murphy and Tucker.

  “She is the biggest fake in the world,” Mrs. Murphy spat.

  Tucker, running alongside the tiger cat, said, “They’ll never believe her.”

  “She’s killed a bird.” Aunt Tally rapped her cane on the ground.

  “Pewter, how could you?” Harry disapproved.

  Pewter, upon reaching Harry, dropped the feathers and rubbed against Harry’s leg. “I am a mighty hunter.”