Cat's Eyewitness

by Rita Mae Brown

  She checked her speedometer. The monastery was just a half mile from the inn.

  “The icicles are blue.” Susan noted the ice covering the rock outcroppings. “True ice blue.” She folded her hands on Tucker’s back. “I really am crazy to listen to you.”

  “Hey, takes your mind off your troubles.” Harry’s concentration was intense, although it did flit through her mind that she had not told her best friend of Fair’s latest proposal and deadline.

  Seemingly out of nowhere, the great iron gates loomed. Harry wisely did not hit the brakes but slowly applied pressure. The truck skidded slightly to the left, toward the drop side of the road. Susan gasped, reaching for the Jesus strap hanging over the window of the passenger door. Harry calmly corrected, slowly stopping.

  She got out as Susan, grumbling, also stepped into the snow, a foot deep now.

  “Dammit!” Susan stomped her feet, her Montrail boots leaving a distinct tread print.

  “Calm down, Susan. God, you’re edgy these days.” Harry regretted this the second it escaped her lips. “Sorry. Really. I would be, too.” She reasoned that in Susan’s current state she really ought not to discuss Fair.

  Tucker and the two cats jumped into the snow. Each time Mrs. Murphy and Pewter sank in over their heads, they’d fight their way back up, pyramids of snow between their ears. They resembled kitty coolies. Tucker, who was larger, had an easier time of it.

  The cats squeezed through the iron gate. The humans remained on the other side. Tucker looked for a way in, since she was too big to squeeze through the bars.

  “Girls, don’t go far,” Harry admonished them.

  “We won’t,” they lied, plowing through the snow.

  “If we had a brain in our head we’d have figured out that the brothers would circle the wagons. I don’t blame them. It’s all rather bizarre.”

  “Someone else has been here. Three someone elses.” Harry pointed to tracks already filling with snow as another squall descended upon them.

  “Hmm.” Susan knelt down to inspect the frozen imprint of a boot tread in the compressed snow. “Men or women with big feet.”

  “We know it wasn’t the brothers. They wear sandals despite the weather.”

  “It doesn’t mean squat, Harry. There’s nothing wrong with people coming up here. We did. The gates are usually open.”

  “Yeah, but the news about the statue—” Harry stopped talking mid-sentence as she witnessed her two feline friends disappearing in snow, reemerging, throwing snow everywhere. When the cats would hit a smooth, windblown patch where they didn’t sink in, they’d chase each other.

  “Can you imagine feeling such joy?” Susan looked at the cats with envy.

  “Yes.”

  Tucker wormed her way under the fence, digging out snow. She finally made it and tore after the cats. “I’ll get you.”

  Both cats puffed up, standing sideways. “Die, dog!” They spit.

  Tucker roared past them, a spray of snow splashing both cats in the face. Their whiskers drooped a bit with the debris.

  They shook themselves to run after Tucker, though it was harder for them because of the varying snow depths. They persevered.

  “Tucker! Mrs. Murphy! Pewter!” Harry called in vain.

  “Don’t even think about it.” Susan put her hand on Harry’s forearm, the fabric of her parka crinkling.

  “I won’t.” Harry was considering climbing the fence.

  The animals gleefully frolicked. They enjoyed many opportunities to play at home, but Harry’s discomfort added to the moment. They paused, hearing buzzards lift up to circle overhead. As it was deer season, a few irresponsible hunters had left carcasses. Most dressed the deer where they dropped. Deer season was feast time for vultures.

  Before they knew it, the animals came upon the statue, snow swirling about her, frozen blood on her cheeks. They stopped in their tracks.

  There, kneeling in the snow, hands clasped in prayer and resting on the boulder base, no gloves, hood over his head, was one of the brothers.

  “Shh,” Tucker respectfully ordered the cats.

  Mrs. Murphy lifted her nose, followed by Tucker, then Pewter. In the deep cold, the mercury hung at eighteen degrees Fahrenheit; at this altitude, they couldn’t smell a thing. That was the problem. A live human at normal body temperature would emanate scent.

  The three cautiously crept forward. Tucker sniffed the back of the thick gray robe, white with snow, as white as the wool mantle worn with the robes.

  Mrs. Murphy circled around, as did Pewter. Both cats stiffened, jumping back.

  The brother’s eye sockets were filled with snow. Snow had collected at his neckline, covering halfway up his face. His face, though, remained uplifted to that of the Blessed Virgin Mother, who looked down, her own face lined with snow.

  “He’s frozen stiff!” Pewter finally could breathe. “A human frozen fish stick!”

  Mrs. Murphy stepped forward boldly as Tucker came around. “I can’t make out his features.”

  “Even if you could, we might not know him. There are many of the brothers we don’t see,” Tucker spoke quietly. “The ones who work in the shops and talk to us are hand picked.”

  “Why would anyone come out in bitter cold—and he’s been here awhile”—Pewter’s dark whiskers swept forward and then back—“to kneel and pray? This is beyond devotion. Why would the Virgin Mary want someone to suffer like that? No.” The gray cat shook her head, snowflakes flying off like white confetti.

  “Maybe he had big sins to expiate.” Tucker couldn’t believe her eyes.

  “Mmm, whatever they were, they had to do with humans. They never pray for forgiveness for what they do to us.” A bitter note crept into Mrs. Murphy’s voice. “Humans think only of themselves.”

  “Not Mom. Not Fair.” Tucker stoutly defended his beloved Harry and her ex-husband.

  “That’s true,” Mrs. Murphy agreed.

  Pewter sat in the snow, her fur fluffing up. “It’s hateful cold. Let’s go back. There’s nothing we can do for this one. Maybe he’s found Mother Mary.”

  “We ought to check for tracks,” Tucker sagely noted. “In case there’s more than one pair.”

  The three fanned out, soon returning to the frozen corpse.

  “Tucker, there’s so much wind and snow this high. The statue’s on the highest point here. If there had been someone else, the tracks are covered, which makes me believe he’s been here since the middle of the night,” Mrs. Murphy said.

  “Why did we look for tracks, anyway?” Pewter realized she’d cooperated without putting up a fuss or demanding a reason.

  “Maybe he didn’t die in prayer,” Tucker simply replied.

  “Or maybe he died with a little help,” Mrs. Murphy added, finding the sight of those snow-filled eyes creepy.

  “Absurd. Who would want to kill a praying monk?” Pewter again shook off the snow.

  “Maybe I should bark and get someone up here.”

  “The buildings are down that hill. The brothers can’t hear you, and if Mother can, you’ll only make her frantic.” Mrs. Murphy started down the hill, dropping into deep snow here and there.

  Tucker pushed in front of her. “I’ll go first. You and Pewter can follow in my wake.” She put her head down, pressing forward as the wind suddenly gusted out of the northwest.

  Pewter grumbled from the rear, “I still can’t imagine going out in the middle of a snowy night to pray in front of a statue, even if she does have blood on her face.”

  “On her hands.” Mrs. Murphy fired back, then corrected herself. “No. Not Virgin Mary. She is love.”

  “He froze to death in prayer or had a heart attack or something. We’ve all been around Harry too much. She can’t resist a mystery. She’s still trying to find out who had Charlie Ashcraft’s first illegitimate child almost twenty years ago. She’s rubbing off on us.” Pewter laughed at her friends and herself.

  “You’re right. The brothers will eventually find whoe
ver that is, then there will be a burial and prayer service. That will be the end of it.” Tucker dropped over snow-covered stones.

  “Yeah. Who would want to kill a monk? They don’t have anything to steal.” Pewter could hear Harry calling faintly in the distance. They’d traveled farther than she remembered.

  “Like I said, the service will be in the paper and we’ll know who it was and that will be the end of it.” Tucker, too, heard Harry. “Murph, you’re not saying anything.”

  “I don’t think that will be the end of it. This is the beginning.” The tiger felt the snow turn to tiny ice bits between her toes. She wanted to hurry back to the truck. She wished the strange, uneasy sensation washing over her would ebb away, a sensation deepened by the sound of wings passing overhead, the snow so thick she couldn’t see the buzzards. “Buzzards’ luck,” she thought to herself.

  11

  Not necessarily.” Rev. Herb Jones’s gravelly voice had a hypnotic effect on people.

  “I’ve become a cynic, I fear.” Alicia’s lustrous eyes, filled with warmth, focused on Herb.

  They’d run into each other at Pet Food Discounters. Alicia was buying toys and pigs’ ears for Maxwell, while Herb carried flats of special cat food for his two cats. He’d placed them on the counter, then walked to the toy section for some furry fake mice, when he bumped into Alicia.

  The subject of the “miracle” came up and Alicia asked if Herb thought this might be a scam.

  “Your line of work taught you not to trust.” Herb placed his hand on Alicia’s shoulder, feeling a pleasurable twinge when he did so. No man was immune to her beauty.

  “And your line of work taught you the reverse.” She smiled at him.

  He reached for the furry mice with pink ears, little black noses, little beady eyes, the tail a dyed bit of thin leather. “I’ll ponder that, Alicia. I have learned to trust God in His infinite wisdom, but I don’t know that I always trust man—or should I say people?” He blushed. “Words change, you know. I’m beyond being politically correct. I, uh, well, I still think it’s proper to open the door for a lady.”

  “So do I.” Her laughter sounded like a harp’s glissando. “But, now, Herb, do you think I’m a hard-edged feminist and will take offense if you use ‘man’ to mean humankind?” His eyebrows raised and she continued. “I won’t take offense, but I will take note.” Now her eyebrows raised. “So long as ‘man’ is the measure of all things, women will be shortchanged. I guarantee you that.”

  “Point well taken.” He rubbed the fur on the mousies. “Antonia Fraser wrote a book some years ago. I wish I could remember the title but it was about men being the measure of all things in the seventeenth century, I believe. Quite good. I like her work even if I have forgotten the title.”

  “I do, too. That’s one of the things we share, you know, a love of books.” She selected a fake sheepskin doll, a sheepskin bone, and put them in her shopping cart. “Maxwell adores these toys. I tell him, ‘Bite the man,’ and he runs for the doll. If I say, ‘Bite the bone,’ he goes and shakes it and then brings it to me. You know, Herb, the love of a dog is the most perfect love in the world.”

  He chuckled. “Elocution and Cazenovia will disagree with you.”

  “Your communion cats.” She laughed again, because all of Crozet had heard the story of Herb’s cats eating the communion wafers, assisted in this desecration by Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker.

  “They’re very religious cats.”

  At this they both laughed.

  He accompanied her as she walked down the aisle, which was stacked with foods, medicines, toys, and new products. How marvelous it was to walk with a woman. His wife had passed away some years ago. Grief still sat heavy on his shoulders, although he tried not to burden his friends. Only within the last six months could he imagine dating again. Imagining and doing were still worlds apart. He fretted over his age. Was he too old? Was he too set in his ways? Was he too overweight? Yes. Would he go on a diet? Maybe. Food was a comfort. He’d tussle back and forth with himself until he realized he most likely wouldn’t do much of anything until he found a woman who caught his eye. Alicia did that. But, then, she knocked everyone for a loop.

  As he strolled with her, chatting, reaching up high on shelves for her, placing twenty-five-pound bags of feed in her cart, energy flowed through him. When young, his father and mother had patiently counseled him on the qualities of a good mate, and he’d listened. His wife, very attractive, had been his lover, his friend, his partner. He’d chosen wisely.

  He felt empty without a woman, and it wasn’t just sex. He loved doing for a woman. He loved picking up the twenty-five-pound bags of dog food for Alicia. She could pick them up herself, but he could do it with such ease. The thousand small attentions a Virginia gentleman pays to a woman made him feel like more of a man. Without a woman to care for, dote over, occasionally fuss with and then kiss and make up, what was life, really?

  “I’m so glad to be home. I don’t know why I waited so long to come back.” Alicia placed the furry mice in Herb’s cart.

  Herb put in a trial can of cat food that supposedly controlled hairballs. “If you want to get rid of hairballs, shave the cats.” He laughed.

  “Then you’d have to buy them little mink coats.”

  They laughed again. The glass front door opened. Harry and Susan swept through, Susan marching in front. She spied Alicia and Herb.

  “Herb, say prayers for me. I’ve lost my marbles. I mean it. Sssst.” She indicated that her brain circuits had fried.

  Harry caught up, quickly defending herself. “Don’t listen to her. She’s—”

  “No. Wait, let me tell them. First,” Susan held up her forefinger, “look out the window. Gray skies, snow falling, not nasty-nasty but not great. So if it’s that way down here, imagine what it’s like on the mountain. Did I consider that? I did. Did I let my best friend talk me into going back to Afton? I did. Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter ran through the iron fence—”

  Harry interrupted, “The monks locked the big iron gates.”

  “And we stood there in the cold—which was worse that high up—snow falling, and we waited for those three little shits to come back. Excuse me for swearing. We had no business being up there in the first place, and you can’t see the hand in front of your face. It’s a miracle we didn’t slide off the face of Afton Mountain.”

  “The Virgin Mary is working miracles,” Alicia said with a straight face, then laughed. Herb couldn’t help it; he did, too.

  “Herb.” Harry stared at him in mock horror.

  “I’m a Lutheran minister, not a Catholic. I don’t believe in miracles.”

  “You do, too.” Susan’s lower lip jutted out.

  “I do but not—mmm, how can I put this—let’s say that there’s a reliquary with the tooth of St. Peter. Do I believe it will cure your ills? No.”

  “But if you were a dentist it might improve business should you own the reliquary.” Alicia leaned on to him for a second.

  Even Susan laughed, recovering from her snit. It worried her that she couldn’t control her bad moods, her anxiety. Harry always talked her into stupid things. Susan would bark at her and that would be the end of it, but lately, every little thing about everyone—including her own self—irritated the hell out of her.

  “Locked the gates?” Alicia folded her arms together, leaning on the handrail of the cart. Alicia’s pearl necklace, which she wore often, glowed against her skin, each pearl the size of a large pea, perfectly shaped. Her shirt was open just enough to reveal delicious cleavage.

  Harry noticed, like most women looking at another woman. She saw Alicia’s beauty but it had no sexual effect on her. Seeing a beautiful woman was like seeing a beautiful horse. She appreciated it.

  Susan didn’t notice. Herb did, and a warm glow spread to parts of his anatomy he thought moribund.

  “I wonder what’s going on up there?” Harry hated not knowing things.

  “Nothing,” Susan sa
id.

  “Susan, you saw the statue. How can you say that?” Harry had had enough of Susan’s mood.

  “I did. I did. It moved me, but that doesn’t mean something’s going on. We should all let it go.”

  “Not going to happen,” Herb sagely replied. “It’s too good a story on many levels. And if it is something we can’t explain, so be it. Why must we try and explain everything? How about simply experiencing it and thanking God for the opportunity to experience it?”

  “Eloquently put.” Alicia nodded in agreement.

  “Tell that to Miss Marple.” Susan’s humor was returning.

  “Go ahead and laugh.” Harry tossed her head, effecting disdain, which made the others laugh.

  Herb glanced at his watch. “I hate to leave such pulchritude, but I told Tazio Chappars I’d meet her at her office today. She’s drawn up some preliminary plans for remodeling the meeting room in the annex. Doing a garden shed for Miranda, too. I’d like to see those plans when she’s finished.”

  “Wait one second, Herb.” Harry ran to the toy section, picked out a big shaggy doll, took the tag off, and gave it to Herb. “For Brinkley.” She mentioned the special yellow Lab that Tazio rescued last year. “I’ll pay for it.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I’ve got to pay for my things.” He looked at the long line. Pet Food Discounters was always jam-packed. He said, “Better put it back. I’ll never make the meeting on time.”

  “Herb, don’t give it a second thought. I’ll bring the cat food and toys to you this afternoon, if you’ll be home,” Alicia offered.

  “I will.” He’d break or move whatever appointment he had. “Let me give you the money.” He reached into his pocket.

  Alicia put her hand on his wrist. “We can settle up later. You go or you’ll miss your meeting. You know Tazio will work her magic. I can’t wait to see what she’s come up with.”