Cat's Eyewitness

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Yes. Anyone else?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Think. Have you ever sent anyone to pick up blood without you or Brother John?”

  “Never.”

  “No one else ever went with you?”

  “No. Just Brother Thomas.”

  “Would Brother Thomas ever have reason to steal a packet of blood?”

  “No.” Brother Andrew shrugged. “I can’t think of any reason.”

  “Well, I can if the Blessed Virgin Mother is crying tears of blood.”

  This stopped Brother Andrew breathing for a moment. “Good Lord!”

  “Seems obvious to me. And really, it should be obvious to you. Your surprise doesn’t convince me or let me put it this way, it’s a good thing you went into medicine and not acting.”

  “I resent that.”

  “Thought you might.” Rick smiled. “You do confess that you have broken the law by keeping blood and administering transfusions?”

  “I do,” was the terse answer.

  “Well, if you are willing to bend the rules in one area, I expect you would bend or break them in another area.”

  “Sheriff Shaw, I try to follow a narrow path. But sometimes one must break the rules.”

  A long silence followed this. Rick finally said, “I’m arresting you for the murder of Brother Thomas. You have the right to a lawyer. You waived it earlier. Would you like to reconsider?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know where to turn. And I only have one phone call, right?”

  “Don’t worry about that.” Rick rubbed his forehead. “The state will appoint a lawyer if you don’t have one. Or you can call someone you trust to find one. I’m not going to stick to one phone call. Your situation is unique because you have withdrawn from the world for the most part. Perhaps there’s someone you treated whom you would trust.”

  “I trust Ned Tucker.”

  “Why Ned?”

  “Brother Thomas. Susan would visit from time to time. Brother Thomas loved her and thought highly of Ned.”

  “Mmm. You can try. He might decline since you are accused of killing his wife’s great-uncle.”

  “Are you going to lock me up?”

  “Yes.”

  Brother Andrew’s face registered his uneasiness. “I see. Will I be in a cell with other men?”

  “No. I’ll put you in your own cell. But remember, Jesus died with criminals. I would think being with the fallen would be an opportunity for you.”

  Brother Andrew dropped his head a moment, then looked up. “I will do my best, but I wish you wouldn’t lock me up.”

  “Brother Andrew, you’re my best suspect at this point.” Rick lowered his voice. “And if you didn’t kill Brother Thomas and Nordy Elliott, being in jail may just save your life.”

  35

  We cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard.” Miranda quoted Acts, Chapter 4, Verse 20.

  “Miranda, what have I seen?” Harry bent over the large dining-room table at Miranda’s house, where Miranda had spread the plans for her expanded garden and the blueprints for a small gardening shed. “Wow, this thing has running water, slanting windowpanes for forcing bulbs, staggered shelves, even long sinks for potting, watering, and replanting. You’ve thought of everything.”

  “Tazio was a great help to me. What a mind that young woman has; she can see things in three dimensions.”

  “That’s why she’s an architect.” Harry admired the clapboard structure, a small weathervane on top. “What kind of weathervane will you buy?”

  “Have to think about that final touch.” Miranda put her hands on her hips. “This is a lifetime dream. Harry, I am so excited.”

  “You deserve it. I’m good with a hammer and nails, you know.”

  “You’ll be called.” Miranda hugged her.

  “Now, about this quote, seeing and hearing. That’s witnessing, right?”

  “Yes, but witnessing isn’t talking as much as it’s living the Lord’s word. You bear witness, you don’t talk witness.”

  “I understand, but Herb said something to me and I can’t get it out of my mind. It’s this eye stuff. The tears, Nordy’s death. I don’t know, I’m fixated on eyes, and Herb said, ‘What do eyes do but bear witness?’ ”

  “It’s a moot point, Harry. Brother Andrew is in custody.”

  “Circumstantial evidence, I say. Until we know why, well, let me put it this way: even if Rick has enough for a conviction, I can’t rest until I know why.”

  “It’s the Hepworth in you.” Miranda mentioned her maternal line. “Curious as cats, every one. That’s why your mother spent so much time in the library. Kept her from meddling, but she satisfied her curiosity.”

  “Well, that’s a nice way of saying I’m nosy.”

  The older woman smiled. “You are wonderful as you are. Nothing wrong with being curious.”

  “Don’t even think of it!” Harry snapped at Mrs. Murphy, who was wiggling her haunches, ready to spring onto the table. “Pawprints on your plans.”

  “Spoilsport.” Mrs. Murphy complained but didn’t jump up.

  “Gets crabby when she hits a dead end,” Pewter observed.

  “That’s what worries me. What if it is a dead end? A man’s in jail. She should leave it be.”

  “When she stops poking around we’ll know she’s ready to die. She wouldn’t be herself.” The tiger sauntered into the kitchen, the others following.

  “Give me another example of witnessing.”

  Miranda rubbed her chin with her forefinger, then quoted. “So we are ambassadors for Christ, God making His appeal through us. We beseech you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.”

  “New Testament, right?”

  “Second Corinthians, Chapter Five, Verse Twenty. We aren’t being asked to go around and preach so much as we are charged with living Christ’s teaching. Of course, some are called. They go out and preach. I couldn’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m afraid of speaking in public.” She laughed.

  The door flew open and Susan, madder than a wet hen, blew through it, shaking in her hand an expensive fly-fishing rod and reel. “Another mystery solved! I will kill him. He promised me he wouldn’t buy this. I’m scrimping to paint the inside of the house. Do you know what this cost?” She answered her own question. “A thousand dollars. There isn’t a fish in the James River worth a thousand dollars. I will strangle him.”

  “Susan, he’s had that since summer.” Harry opened her big mouth.

  “Oops.” Mrs. Murphy giggled in the kitchen, turning on her heels to better watch the show.

  “Someone better pour Susan a drink. She’s stressed out,” Pewter sensibly suggested.

  “You knew!” Susan’s eyes widened. “You knew and you didn’t tell me. I ought to strangle you, too.”

  “Now, wait a minute, Susan—”

  Susan threw the rod on the table, saw that it plopped on blueprints and plans, and quickly picked it up. “I’m sorry, Miranda.”

  “Girls, a late-afternoon sherry might be in order.”

  “Thank God.” Pewter rubbed against Miranda’s legs.

  “I’ll take a baseball bat, thank you.” Susan’s eyes burned.

  “Oh, Suz, come on. Take a drink. Sit down. I can explain, really, I can.”

  Once settled in the living room, Miranda handed each woman a sherry glass. Harry wasn’t a drinker, but a sip of sherry on a cold day can provide a touch of warmth.

  “You two sort this out and I’ll bring in scones and tea. A bit of hot tea with sherry works wonders.”

  As Miranda bustled in the kitchen, the animals with her because she tossed them treats, Harry started in, “It’s like this: Herb borrowed the new rod and reel. He made a bet with Ned last summer and, I don’t remember what it was, but anyway, he won, so he got to use Ned’s fancy rod and reel for a fishing trip over in Monterey on the Jackson River. Ned feared your wrath, so Herb kept the rod and reel at his house. Guess Ned took
it back. Where did you find it?”

  “In his clothes closet in the back. I usually don’t go in there, but I wanted one of his Brooks Brothers shirts. How could you keep this from me?”

  “Everyone needs their secrets. It seemed harmless enough. And isn’t it better to know this than to think he’s having an affair?”

  “He could still be doing that.”

  “He probably has a guilty conscience about this. He knows how much you want to get those rooms painted. It’s so much money.”

  “For just two rooms, seven thousand dollars.” Susan slumped back in the chair. “The whole house needs it. I guess I could try to do it myself, but I just hate painting. The fumes make me woozy. And we just spent all that money on the apartment in Richmond. How could he!”

  “Look, I’m not working. It’s winter, so I can’t put in any crops. I’ll do it for you. Let that be my Christmas present to you. You buy the paint. I’ll do the work.”

  Susan burst into tears, got up, threw her arms around Harry. “I love you!”

  Harry, surprised, hugged Susan back, although she had to get out of the chair to do it. Susan was so overcome, they both fell back into the chair just as Miranda walked into the room.

  “Girls, don’t you dare hurt each other!” She put the tray down.

  Susan, tears rolling down her cheeks, extracted herself from Harry, who was wedged in the big chair. “We fell over. Really, Miranda, I wasn’t hurting her.”

  “Child, what is wrong?”

  “Harry is going to paint the inside of my house for a Christmas present.” Susan bawled all over again.

  “What a special gift. That is the best Christmas present ever.” Miranda put her arm around Susan’s waist. “Now sit down. I’m going to serve you scones and tea while you sip your sherry.” When Susan sat back down, Miranda brought over the large tray, placing it on the graceful old coffee table. “Honey, you’ve been under quite a bit of heavy weather. You’ve been so troubled about Ned and you loved Thomas. It’s been a very hard time. It’s in God’s hands. You relax and let’s enjoy one another’s company.” She then served Harry, and Harry had to shoo away Pewter, who was perishing of lust for the clotted cream.

  “If I beg like George Packard, that long-haired red tabby, think she’ll give me cream?” Pewter mentioned a local cat who imitated the dogs.

  “Here.” Miranda put down a little bowl of the rich cream as Pewter’s new trick worked.

  “If she gets any fatter I’m going to have to get her one of those children’s car seats where you strap them in.” Harry laughed at her cat, whose dark gray whiskers now had a cream coating.

  Mrs. Murphy stuck her face in there, too, while Tucker contented herself with a large Milk-Bone.

  “I spoke to Coop this morning,” Susan said. “Andrew did not confess.”

  “Not surprising,” Harry replied.

  “You’d think a monk would be truthful.” Susan thought the scone, with little currants in it, was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten.

  “Guess that’s why the different orders of monks have had cleanup periods over the centuries. They become corrupt.” Harry broke open a scone, the aroma and heat within rising.

  “The question is, Susan, are you satisfied? Do you think justice is being served?” Miranda drove straight to the point.

  “I don’t know. I told Harry right around Thanksgiving that I had this odd sense of foreboding. I still have it.”

  “What we need to do is crawl over the Virgin Mary.”

  “With all those praying people?” Susan’s eyebrows shot upward. “Can’t, and you can’t do it at night. Also, its snowing again on the mountains. If she has been tampered with you aren’t going to find it in the snow.”

  “If she’s been tampered with it will be up through the middle, a line buried from underneath. We won’t see it. Wish we had one of those heat-imaging things. If the line is wrapped in heat tape, we’d know.”

  “God, I never even thought of such a thing.” Susan was dismayed.

  “Has to keep the line warm somehow or it will burst.” Harry munched, paused, then said, “Unless the line is drained each night.”

  “Now, there’s a thought. If the line comes out far enough away from the statue, someone could sneak out and drain it. But it would still be under the snow, don’t you think?” Susan pondered this.

  Harry got up, brought Miranda’s plans back to the coffee table. “See how Tazio’s laid out her water lines?”

  Miranda and Susan studied the gardening shed. “Yes,” they said in unison.

  “Miranda is going to install leaky pipe. All she has to do for her gardens is turn on the spigot, set it to a timer. She doesn’t have to turn it off if she forgets or is busy. The pipes will drain out. Now, granted this is a leaky pipe, has those little holes so it will drain, but the regular water line here into the gardening shed is regular pipe, copper pipe. She’s got the pipe packed in PVC up from the frost line, and between that and the copper it’s going to be wrapped in heavy-duty insulation, the kind that won’t blow up if it gets wet. The insulation runs into the gardening shed, so in theory, those pipes should never freeze. And the gardening shed is heated. Now, she didn’t set those pipes up to drain, because it ought to be unnecessary, but if she wanted to, she could set up a small drain field over here, put a runoff pipe to it, and drain it nightly in the cold. See?”

  Even the animals studied the plans.

  “She’s got it.” Mrs. Murphy simply said with admiration.

  “If the Virgin Mary is rigged,” Miranda shook her head, “who could do it without drawing attention to himself?”

  “Brother Thomas,” Harry replied. “He’s the only one with the knowledge.”

  “Oh, God.” Susan sat back down with a thump.

  “And he was the one who repaired her last summer.”

  “With Brother Mark’s help. At least, I think so. Brother Mark was his apprentice.”

  “Girls, I just can’t believe, not for a single second, that Thomas would stoop so low to create a false miracle.” Miranda’s face flushed with emotion.

  36

  Worn down by questioning, anger, and grief among the brethren, and the press of people worshiping at the base of the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mother, Brother Handle felt his mind was fraying. He knew his temper was, but he would have to go over the same question, the same info, two or three times before it lodged in his head. Never a sound sleeper anyway, he would lie awake, eyes wide open.

  Although the news of Brother Thomas’s demise had been given to him only days ago, the time seemed like weeks since so much had been compressed in those days. Badgered by Rick, questioned in a nicer manner by Deputy Cooper, the stony faces of the monks contributed to his wondering if he should step down from his post. On the one hand, he would clear the way for a more vigorous Prior; on the other hand, it would look as though he ran away from trouble. Miserable though he was, he decided to stick it out. He told no one of his inner struggles. Even if Brother Handle had thought someone would be willing to listen, he would not have divulged his torments.

  “I know this is the second time I’ve been in here,” Brother Handle stood in the middle of the infirmary examination room, “but show me one more time.”

  “The morphine?” Brother John raised his bushy eyebrows.

  “The routine. Go through the whole routine.”

  Indulgently, Brother John walked into the large supply closet, with Brother Handle close behind. “Everything is kept here. As I’ve told you before, the medicines, the needles, the linens, bandages, whatever we might need is kept here. In the examining room, the surgical implements are in a locked drawer. If Brother Andrew or I needed them, they were placed on the stainless-steel tray. Everything sanitized, of course.”

  Brother Handle pointed to the white metal cabinet, lock prominent by the handle. “It’s in there.”

  “Yes.” Brother John pulled a key from a chain around his neck. “Only Brother Andrew and mys
elf have a key.”

  Brother Handle knelt down, peering at the lock as Brother John slowly opened it so as not to smack him in the face with the door. “Someone with dexterity could pick the lock.”

  “Yes, if someone were especially dexterous I guess they could get away with it.” Brother John pointed to the bottles, most of them dark brown with white labels; a few were in white boxes.

  “The morphine is clearly marked. Mmm, flu shots.”

  “Have you had yours yet? I didn’t give it to you? Did Brother Andrew?”

  “No, but—”

  “Brother Handle, you need the flu shot. You’re due and it’s going to be a bad year.”

  “We can do it tomorrow.”

  “Today. It stings for a second and that’s that.”

  Resigned to his fate, Brother Handle sat in the wooden chair. “Get it over with. I hate these things.”

  “Do you know anyone who likes them?”

  “No.”

  Brother John took out the bottle. With his thumb he flicked off the hard plastic cap covering the top. He peeled the clear plastic wrapper off the needle, allergy-size, stuck the point into the rubber, and with his left hand turned the bottle upside down, drawing out the liquid with his right hand as he pulled back on the needle plunger. “Simple. Anyone can draw liquid out of a bottle. I know Brother Andrew is under arrest because he didn’t report the missing bottle, but it doesn’t take specialized knowledge to use a needle. They’re being too hard on him.” He checked the milligram bars, turned the bottle upside down, and removed the needle. He dabbed alcohol on a cotton ball and rubbed that on Brother Handle’s left triceps. Straight as an arrow, he quickly inserted the needle, pressed the plunger with his thumb, removed the needle straight, held the cotton swab on the spot. “You’ll live.”

  “I wonder,” Brother Handle pessimistically groaned.