The Tail of the Tip-Off

by Rita Mae Brown

  “I should hope to holler.” Elocution blinked and smiled.

  “You know, I’d better check the closet. Tomorrow is communion and Charlotte didn’t get in to work Friday. She usually checks the supply.” He stood up.

  “I’m outta here.” Elocution burnt the wind scrambling out of the office.

  “Dope!” Cazenovia called after her. “You look guilty as sin.”

  Elocution ignored her, gracefully leaping up and over the exposed rubber cement part of the hall and clutching onto the side of the stairwell. Deep claw marks attested to the fact that she had done this before. She pulled herself up, squeezing through the banisters, hopping over the rolled padding, then raced up the stairs. She’d hide up there until the tempest blew over.

  Cazenovia meowed prettily as Herb stepped into the hall. “Look at the vestibule.” She took a few steps toward the vestibule then returned to her human.

  He paused then walked out to the vestibule. “Hey, this looks good. You think so, too.”

  “I love it when you understand.” Cazenovia rubbed against his pants leg while she purred.

  “That border—such a nice finishing touch. I’ll have to be sure to write Matthew a thank-you.” He folded his arms across his chest, smiled then turned to go back down the hall, his rubber-soled shoes quiet on the new carpet.

  He stepped over the large roll of carpet at the edge of the vestibule. This would be used in the hall. He didn’t look down as he walked to the closet and he stepped right into the rubber cement before he realized it. The other foot slopped into it, too.

  Cazenovia prudently remained where the vestibule connected to the hall. She saw him wobble a minute and then he tumbled over. Now his hands were in it. He pulled up one hand, the goo stringing out like a fat spiderweb off his fingers. He tried to reach a banister but couldn’t. With all his might he yanked the other hand out of the ooze, which was affixing itself to his rubber soles.

  Leaning forward he grasped for the closet door handle but he couldn’t quite make it. He tried to pick one foot up but it wasn’t budging.

  “Dammit to hell!”

  “I’m not coming down the stairs,” Elocution called out.

  “You’re missing a good one.” Cazenovia laughed out loud.

  “He’s opened the closet?”

  “No, he’s stuck in the glue and he’s got it all over his hands, too. He can’t even untie his shoes and step out of them until he cleans off his hands. Oh, it’s not a pretty sight.”

  Elocution, curiosity raging, crept to the top of the stairs. “If he falls backwards he’ll knock over the drum and the carpet tacks.”

  “He’s in a pickle,” Cazenovia guffawed.

  “If he has any sense he’ll stay where he is until JoJo and Carl come back.” Elocution tried not to laugh at Herb’s predicament, but it was funny.

  “What are you looking at?” Herb roared as he beheld the cat peering down at him through the banisters.

  “You. I came down for a closer look.” She slipped halfway through the white banisters.

  “Elo. Don’t you dare. Stay where you are.” Herb had visions of Elocution getting stuck in the glue with him.

  A knock on the front door startled them.

  “I’ll see who it is.” Cazenovia turned, her long hair swirling out from the speed.

  “I’m in here!” Herb bellowed.

  The door opened and Harry gingerly stepped through, accompanied by Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. Cazenovia quickly filled them in—except for Harry, of course.

  The animals rushed forward to see. Harry didn’t lag behind.

  “Rev.”

  “This goddamned carpet has been nothing but a trial!” He lurched to and fro.

  “Uh, well, let me go find cardboard or something so you can step onto it.”

  “I can’t pick my feet up.”

  “No, but you can untie your shoes.”

  He held up his fingers. “The laces are too thin.”

  “Can’t you pull that stuff off your hands?”

  “What do you think I’ve been trying to do!” he crossly said. “It just transfers from one hand to the other and then my fingers get stuck.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll find something I can kneel on and I’ll untie your shoes. Then you can step out.”

  “Does he know?” Mrs. Murphy asked the church cats.

  “Not yet,” Elocution answered in a singsong voice.

  “Boy, will you all be in trouble.” Tucker affected an innocent air.

  “You lying sack of you-know-what! You ate as much as we did.” Pewter boxed her ears.

  “Prove it.” Tucker loved tormenting the cats.

  “I have ways to get even.” The gray cat flattened her ears. Quite a scary sight.

  Harry, who had dashed to the little kitchen, came back with Coke cartons she’d flattened. She carefully put them on the rubber cement then stepped onto them. She only had two and she put them side by side so she could kneel down on one knee. She slipped a little, her arms flailing, but righted herself.

  “That’s all we need, two of us stuck. I will wring their necks! I will bless them in every language I know.”

  “Right.” Harry put one knee down, holding her foot over the goo. It wasn’t that easy. She quickly untied both shoes, secretly thankful that he hadn’t been able to bend over and try it himself because he would have smeared the powerful glue over the laces and then she would have had to cut him out. She stretched out the laces so he could step out, then she slowly stood up on one foot while bringing the other foot over and down onto the red Coke cardboard carton.

  Nimbly she stepped back onto the safe part of the hall holding out her hand for a grateful but angry Herb.

  “Thank you.”

  “It was an adventure.”

  “I will kill them.” He stomped to the kitchen to try and peel off the cement.

  The animals stayed behind to gossip.

  Harry walked into the kitchen. “Can I help get that stuff off? If you have rubber gloves maybe I can pull it off more easily.”

  “No. It’s worse with rubber. I think that’s why I got stuck in the LaBrea Tar Pits. Rubber-soled shoes.” His sense of humor was returning. “Of all the damned, dumb things. To walk off and leave that shit on the floor. Sorry.” He apologized for swearing in front of a lady.

  “I’d say worse.”

  “Is there worse?” He used a paring knife to peel off the blackish stuff.

  “Oh sure,” she cheerfully replied.

  “Where do you hear such stuff? Your mother would have been horrified.”

  “All you have to do is tune into rap music. Every other word is the F-word and it’s filled with romantic notions of rape, pillage, and revenge. It’s probably what the Norsemen would have sung in the seventh century A.D. if they’d known how to rap.”

  “I see. A true cultural advance.” He’d cleaned one hand, holding it under the cold tap because it burned a little.

  “Hey, we can’t take all the credit. The English went to an art museum to see a dead sheep.”

  “I thought they got over that. The dead sheep. I remember reading about that.”

  “Maybe they have but as I said Americans can’t take all the credit for these cultural improvements.”

  “You’re right. My patriotism got the better of me.” He’d held the other hand under the water now even though little round bits adhered between his fingers. “This stuff is nasty.”

  “I’ll say. Got any hand cream?”

  “Charlotte has some on her desk.”

  Harry walked outside to Charlotte’s office, nabbed a blue jar of Nivea off her desk, and came back to Herb. He rubbed the soothing cream onto his hands.

  The door opened, and JoJo and Carl, full and happy, clomped down the hall. Herb emerged from his kitchen, keeping his temper in check. He described his ordeal.

  Blushing, they apologized, said not another word and immediately returned to their task. The first thing they had to do was liberate
Herb’s shoes, ruined.

  All four cats watched from the stairway. Tucker, who couldn’t leap over the glue, watched from behind the brothers.

  “Can’t even give those to the Salvation Army,” Pewter remarked.

  “Since when have you given anything to the Salvation Army?” Mrs. Murphy said.

  “I haven’t. Humans can take care of themselves. These guys are sure working fast, aren’t they?”

  “Fear and guilt will do that to you.” Elocution wanted to bat JoJo’s ponytail.

  “Look who’s talking.” Cazenovia then informed the others about Elocution racing up the stairs when Herb headed for the closet.

  Back in the kitchen, Herb made Harry a cup of tea, one for himself, too. They sat down to go over the calendar. Since Harry was on the Parish Guild, the calendar wasn’t her responsibility but Herb wanted feedback so she dutifully listened.

  “—tricky.”

  “April is. Why don’t you have the church picnic the first weekend in May? It shouldn’t be too hot and the only real worry you’ll have is rain. If it rains we’ll have it here.”

  “I like to get the jump on spring but—you’re right. On a day like today you have to have faith to believe in spring. ‘O ye of little faith,’ ” he mused. “Uh, tomorrow’s Gospel reading.” He had told her of his two choices.

  “Jesus and the disciples in the boat and the waves crash over. They wake Him up and He calms the wind and the waves. My vote.” Harry smiled.

  “I guess I suffered my own tempest,” he sheepishly admitted.

  She whispered, “They were dumb. I mean I like the Gentrys but they can’t chew gum and walk at the same time.”

  He laughed. “Let’s see how far they’ve gotten.”

  They both walked into the hall. The brothers had gotten the padding down to the foot of the stairs. Next would come the carpet.

  “It’s going to make such a difference.”

  The four cats watched with apprehension as the two humans approached the closet. Tucker, on the stairs with the cats, lowered her head.

  The Gentry brothers were now at the vestibule end of the hall. On their knees, they were unrolling the lovely carpet.

  “You know, I started down the hall to check on communion wafers. I can’t remember if Charlotte reordered some or not. I’ve got enough to get through tomorrow but I’d better check. That’s how I got stuck.”

  Harry followed him back. He didn’t notice that Cazenovia and Elocution disappeared. Mrs. Murphy, determined to stand her ground, watched her tail swishing. Why would he think she had eaten the wafers? Pewter leaned on Murphy, but she wasn’t so certain they wouldn’t come in for a blast. Tucker headed up the stairs in the church cats’ footsteps.

  Harry, knowing her children well, sensed they were guilty of something.

  Herb opened the door. “Here we go.” He reached in. No box on the shelf. He looked down. Shredded cellophane. Torn boxes. Communion wafer bits scattered like Hansel and Gretel’s crumbs.

  “Elo! Cazzie!” His face turned beet red.

  “The dog did it,” Elo called from her hiding place.

  Harry stared at the desecration, then threw back her head and laughed. She laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Herb sputtered. He fumed. He kicked the tattered boxes out of the closet. He sighed. Finally he laughed, too. “Give me a sign, Lord.”

  “He has.” Harry wiped her eyes, laughing even harder. “He’s sent you two very holy cats.” She wondered if her animals had participated in this. After all, they attended the Parish Guild meetings. She knew Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker were capable of it. She thought it wise not to point the finger.

  Mrs. Murphy and Pewter watched, their eyes large, their tails twitching too much.

  Tucker, flat on her belly, was just around the corner at the top of the stairs. “Elo, I’ll kill you for that,” the dog threatened.

  Harry knelt down to pick up the wafer bits.

  “Wonder if Father O’Mallory has any to spare?” Herb’s brow furrowed as he held a box, cellophane tatters spilling over his reddened fingers which still stung. More evidence covered the floor.

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll go to the market and buy crackers, you know, little cocktail crackers. If you bless them why aren’t they as good as communion wafers?”

  “Well, they might be but if they’re salty everyone will be sitting in their pews thirsty.”

  “Give them more wine.” Harry smiled devilishly.

  “Harry, you’ve got a point there. Wait, don’t go until I know.” He hurried into his office, handing her one of the fang-marked boxes. She tagged after him.

  “Thanks, Dalton.” Herb hung up the phone. “He’s got them. Oh dear Jesus, thank you for Father Dalton O’Mallory. Well, I’d better go pick them up.” He stopped. “Harry, you know I forgot to ask why you dropped by.” He slapped his hand against his thigh. “I’m sorry.”

  “You had a lot on your mind and, uh, don’t you need shoes?”

  “Uh—yes.” He walked to the closet in his office, pulling out a pair of galoshes and a heavy loden coat.

  “I dropped by to tell you Tracy Raz closed on the old bank building yesterday and I thought if we all chipped in twenty dollars each we could afford to have a sign painted for him, whatever he wants, ‘Raz Enterprises’ or something.”

  “Why, sure.” He slipped his foot into the rubber boot. “More rubber. I’ll watch where I put my foot down.” He stared at the old wooden floor for a minute. “When I come back, hopefully this will be covered up. Good thing Fred Forrest isn’t here. He’d find something wrong with the floor. You don’t notice the tilt when it’s covered up.”

  “It’s a couple of centuries old. He can get over himself. Anyway, all he can do is make trouble on new construction.”

  Herb shook his head. “No. If he wants to be a butthead he can march right in here and declare this floor unsafe.”

  “No way.”

  “He can. If Fred has it in for you, watch out. I’m not just worried about Matthew’s taking on the sports complex. I wouldn’t put it past Fred to worry him over buildings already up, and let me tell you, that gets really, really expensive.”

  “He wouldn’t. There’s enough upset in his office.”

  “He would. Something’s wrong with Fred.”

  Yes, there was.

  * * *

  41

  Later that day Harry shopped with Susan at Foods of All Nations. As she owned two trucks, no car, a big market shopping tested her ingenuity—especially where to put the stuff when rain or snow poured into the bed of the truck.

  Usually she borrowed Susan’s wagon or they both shopped together, which was the case today. Also in “Foods” as it was known was BoomBoom.

  The three women emerged, heading to their vehicles in the cramped parking lot.

  Harry closed the back wagon door and noticed out of the corner of her eye two cars side by side, noses in opposite directions. BoomBoom observed it, too, as she filled up her Explorer. Matthew Crickenberger was in one. Fred Forrest was in another.

  Harry couldn’t hear what they were saying but she noticed that Fred rolled up his window, driving off without looking to the right or the left. Matthew’s electric window glided up as he shook his head in anger, his face red.

  “See that?” Harry asked Susan who had been moving stuff in the wagon’s backseat.

  Susan, sliding behind the wheel, answered, “What?”

  “Matthew and Fred. Appeared they had another, uh, moment.”

  “Missed it.”

  BoomBoom walked over. “Well, I didn’t. Fred said, ‘Cover your ass.’ Wish I’d caught the rest of it.”

  “Been a day of moments,” Mrs. Murphy observed.

  “Yeah and it’s only one-thirty.” Tucker wanted to stick her nose in the grocery bags.

  “Saturday’s Harry’s day off. And we’re spending it shopping. I want to do something fun.” Pewter slid over the gearshift onto the front seat and
Susan’s lap. Harry bid BoomBoom goodbye and got into the passenger seat as Susan started the engine.