Pawing Through the Past

by Rita Mae Brown

  “I hope you’re right.” Rick reassured her, by his tone of voice, that he felt the same way. “Has he called today?”

  “No. He usually calls in the evening to check on the kids. He has them next weekend.”

  “You met just out of college?” Cynthia referred to her notes from an earlier questioning.

  “Yes. I was working for a travel magazine. Just started. A researcher.”

  “Dede.” Cynthia leaned toward her. She knew her socially, as they took dance classes together. “Did you ever get the feeling Dennis had a secret—even once?”

  “I had hunches he was unfaithful to me.” She lowered her eyes.

  “Something darker?”

  “Cynthia, no. I wish I could help but he’s not a violent man. He’s an undirected one. A spoiled one. If he had a dark secret, he kept it from me for twelve years. You have to be a pretty good actor to pull that off.”

  Rick cleared his throat. “Did you ever think that your husband might be a homosexual?”

  Dede blinked rapidly, then laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  * * *

  52

  Monday proved to be even more chaotic than Sunday. Print reporters snagged people at work, and television vans rolled along Route 240 and the Whitehall Road as reporters looked for possible interviews.

  Harry and Miranda refused to speak to any media person. Their patience was sorely tested when the TV cameras came inside anyway, the interviewer pouncing on people as they opened their mailboxes.

  “Ask me,” Pewter shouted. “I discovered the garotte.”

  “I discovered the body. I smelled it out!” Tucker tooted her own horn.

  “You two better shut up. This is federal property and I don’t think animals are supposed to work in post offices,” Murphy grumbled. “They don’t listen. They never listen. It’s Dennis Rablan—dumbbells—Dennis and someone drenched in English Leather cologne.”

  “Bull! The government rents the building. As long as they don’t own it we can do what we want.” Pewter had learned that fact from Miranda, though she had neglected to confirm that the renter could do as they pleased. But then the federal government did whatever they wanted, pretending to have the welfare of citizens at heart. The fact that Americans believed this astonished the gray cat, who felt all governments were no better than self-serving thieves. Cats are by instinct and inclination anarchists.

  “Pewter, if we appear on television, all it takes is one officious jerk to make life difficult,” Murphy, calmer now, advised her.

  “I’ll fight! I’ll fight all the way to the Supreme Court!” Pewter crowed.

  “Animals don’t have political rights or legal ones, either.” Tucker sat under the table. “Humans think only of themselves.”

  “Be glad of it.” Mrs. Murphy watched from the divider. “If humans decided to create laws for animals, where would it end? Would chickens have rights? Would we be allowed to hunt? Would the humans we live with have to buy hunting licenses for us? If we killed a bird would we go to jail? Remember, we’re dealing with a species that denies its animal nature and wants to deny ours.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that,” Pewter mumbled, then threw back her head and sang out. “To hell with the Supreme Court! To hell with all human laws. Let’s go back to the fang and the claw!”

  “Someone has.” Murphy jumped down as the TV camera swung her way.

  Bitsy Valenzuela opened the door, saw the commotion and closed it. A few others did the same until the television people left.

  “Damn, that makes me mad!” Harry cursed, her voice actu-ally huskier than the day before. Her throat hurt more, too.

  “They hop around like grasshoppers.” Mrs. Hogendobber walked to the front window to watch the van back out into traffic. The sky was overcast. “‘But if any man hates his neighbor, and lies in wait for him, and attacks him, and wounds him mortally so that he dies, and the man flees into one of these cities, then the elders of his city shall send and fetch him from there, and hand him over to the avenger of blood, so that he may die.’” She quoted Deuteronomy, chapter nineteen, verses eleven and twelve.

  “What made you think of that?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” Miranda flipped up the hinged part of the divider and walked into the mailroom. “There’s a pall of violence over the land, a miasma over America. We must be the most violent nation among the civilized nations of the earth.”

  “I think that depends on how you define civilized. You mean industrialized, I think.”

  “I suppose I do.” Mrs. Hogendobber put her arm around Harry. “You could have been killed, child. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Tears welled up in their eyes and they hugged.

  “The strange thing was, Mrs. H., that I wasn’t scared until I got home. I was glad to have Fair there and Tracy, too.”

  “Tracy is very fond of you. He’s . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence. Bitsy slipped back in now that the television crew had left.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, Bitsy.” Miranda greeted her.

  “Just came for my mail.”

  Chris pushed open the door, said hello to everyone, then exhaled sharply. “It’s like a circus out there. Do you think there’d be this many reporters if someone in town had won the Nobel Prize?”

  “No. Goodness isn’t as interesting as evil, it would seem,” Harry said.

  “Still under the weather?” Chris came up to the counter, followed by Bitsy.

  “Laryngitis. Can’t shake it.”

  “There’s a dark red mark on your neck,” Chris observed. “Girl, you’d better go to the doctor. That doesn’t look like laryngitis to me. Come on, I’ll run you over.”

  “No, no,” Harry politely refused.

  “If there’s color on your neck, Harry, this could be something quite serious. You’re being awfully nonchalant.”

  “Chris, don’t tell me the seven warning signs of cancer,” Harry rasped, then laughed.

  “It’s not funny!” Chris was deadly serious.

  Miranda stepped up to the counter. “I’ll take her at lunch. You’re quite right to be concerned. Harry is bullheaded—and I’m being restrained in my description.”

  The animals watched as Chris and Bitsy left, each getting into separate cars.

  “Do you think those present can keep from telling what really happened to Mom Saturday night?” Tucker worried.

  “They’d better. Mom is in enough trouble as it is.” Pewter sat by the animal door. She couldn’t make up her mind whether to stay inside, where it was cozy, or whether to take a little walk. She was feeling antsy.

  “But that’s the deal. The killer will come into this post office. He’ll know that Mom doesn’t have laryngitis. If she pretends that is her problem, it could rattle his cage. I flat-out don’t like it and I don’t care what the humans say—this person will strike like a cobra. They think because there’s a human with her at all times, that she’s safe. Remember, this killer gets close to his victims. They aren’t threatened. Then—pow!” Tucker was deeply worried. How could two cats and one dog save Harry?

  Murphy, listening intently, hummed “The Old Gray Mare” under her breath.

  * * *

  53

  Coop, alone in her squad car, rolled by the post office at five in the afternoon. She knocked, then came through the back door.

  “More black clouds piling up by the mountains. The storm will blow the leaves off the trees by sundown.” She bent down to scratch Tucker’s ears. “I hate that. The color has been spectacular. One of the prettiest falls I remember.”

  “Storm’s not here yet.” Harry tossed debris into a dark green garbage bag with yellow drawstrings. She looked at the bag. “Silly, but I hate going out to that dumpster.”

  “Not so silly. Where’s Miranda?”

  “Next door. She ran over to get half-and-half for her coffee.” Diet or no diet, Miranda would not give up her half-and-half.

  “Weird.
”

  “What?”

  “It’s so quiet. This is the last place I would expect it to be quiet.”

  “Wasn’t this morning. Half the town dragged themselves in before ten o’clock but the media attention finally irritated them. What’s so unusual is, there’s no fear unless it’s one of my classmates. Oh, people are upset, outraged, full of ideas, but not afraid.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes,” Harry replied without hesitation. “I’d be a fool not to be. I scan each face that comes through that door and wonder, ‘Is he the one?’ I scan each face and wonder which one is scanning mine.” She sighed. “At least we haven’t gotten any more stupid mailings. That seems to be the signal.”

  “Any unusual conversations, I mean, did anyone call attention to your voice?”

  “Every single person who came in. Chris Sharpton wanted to take me to Larry Johnson to have him examine my throat. She was the only one who wanted to get a medical opinion. Big Mim suggested a hot toddy after taking echinacea. Little Mim said pills, shots, nothing works. It has to run through my system. Most comments were of that nature. Although, I must say that I was impressed with BoomBoom. She hasn’t spilled the beans—’course, I guess she has a lot on her mind.”

  “Indeed . . . but Boom has sense underneath all that fluff. She’s not going to willingly jeopardize you.”

  “Fair calls every half hour. He’s driven by four times. I’m sure his patients are thrilled.”

  Coop laughed. “Fortunately, they can’t complain.”

  “No, but their owners can.” Harry tied up the bag, setting it by the back door. “Any sign of Dennis Rablan?”

  “Not a hair. We’ve checked plane departures, the train, the bus. His van hasn’t turned up either.”

  “Coop, he could be dead.”

  “That thought has occurred to me.” Cynthia sat down at the table, licked her forefinger, and picked up crumbs.

  “You eat like a bird.” Harry opened the small refrigerator, bringing out two buttermilk biscuits that were left. “Here. Miranda’s concoction for today.”

  Just then Mrs. H. walked through the front door; the large brown bag in her arms testified to the fact that she had bought more than a container of half-and-half. “Cynthia, how are you?”

  “Frustrated.”

  “And hungry. She’s been picking the crumbs up off the table.”

  “I can take care of that.” Miranda lifted a huge sandwich from the bag. “You girls can share. I got a salad for me, but if you prefer that, Cynthia, I can divide it.” Cynthia said she’d like half of Harry’s sandwich. Miranda cut the turkey, bacon, lettuce, and provolone on whole wheat in half.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Harry smiled at Cynthia. “You’re saving me from making a pig of myself.”

  Chris Sharpton pulled up, stuck her head in the front door. “Did you go to the doctor?”

  “Miranda took me,” Harry lied.

  “And?”

  “Laryngitis. He said the red mark isn’t anything to worry about. I bruised myself but I can’t remember how.”

  “You take care.” Chris waved to the others, shut the door, and drove off.

  As Cynthia gratefully ate, Miranda put a steaming cup of coffee before her, half coffee, half cream, with a twist of tiny orange rind, a favorite drink.

  “If you have any leftovers, I’d be glad to eat them.” Tucker wagged her nonexistent tail.

  “Pig,” was all Mrs. Murphy said. Her worry soured her usually buoyant spirits.

  Pewter had eaten two biscuits earlier. She was full as a tick. “Murphy, would it do us any good to walk up to the high school? Maybe we’ve missed something.”

  “The only thing we’ve missed is the boiler room and the janitor’s been in there today. Besides, all the kids are back in school. No scent. I’m at a loss, Pewter. I have not one good plan of action. I don’t even know where to start.”

  Tucker, hearing this dispiriting talk, said, “We can read Harry’s yearbook tonight. Maybe that will guide us.”

  “I’ll try anything.” Murphy flopped down on her side, putting her head on her outstretched arm. She felt so bad it made her tired.

  “Dennis?” was all Mrs. Hogendobber asked Cynthia.

  “Vanished. I was telling Harry. His landlord opened the office and lab. We crawled all over it. We took a locksmith to his house. Nothing has been disturbed and he hasn’t been back. Luckily, he doesn’t have pets but his plants are wilting. His neighbors haven’t seen him. The state police haven’t seen him on the highway.”

  Cynthia sipped her coffee. “You think it was Dennis?”

  “He’s the only one left standing,” Miranda replied.

  “Hank Bittner,” Harry reminded her. “Lucky him. He’s back in New York.”

  “The killer had no opportunities to nail Hank,” Cynthia said. “At least, I don’t think he did.”

  Harry poured herself a cup of tea, putting a small orange rind in it, too. She couldn’t drink coffee. Made her too jumpy. “Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. Rex Harnett was killed in the bathroom. He wasn’t dragged there. I wasn’t keeping track of when the men went to the loo but our killer was probably in there or saw Rex in there and followed him. He worked fast. How he got out without anyone seeing him makes me think he crawled through the window. After all, the bathroom is on the first floor. And he was prepared for any opportunity. It’s frightening how clever and fearless he is.”

  “You’re right about him crawling through the bathroom window.” Cynthia confirmed Harry’s thesis.

  “You could have told us.” Mrs. Murphy was miffed.

  As if in reply to the cat, Cynthia said, “We can’t tell you everything. Well, Boss worries more than I do. I know neither of you did it. Anyway, yes, he dropped on the other side, maybe a six-foot drop. The grass wasn’t torn up, no clear prints, obviously, but the ground was slightly indented. He dropped over, brushed himself off, hid the gun somewhere, and strolled back into the gym.”

  “Wish we knew if he came back in before or after Dennis found Rex.”

  “Harry, Dennis could have done it, walked around, gone into the bathroom, and discovered the body. It would throw people off.” Miranda tapped the end of her knife on the table, a counterpoint to her words.

  “Why didn’t you arrest him?” Harry asked Cynthia.

  “Not enough proof. But Harry, go back to Hank Bittner. You said the killer didn’t have an opportunity to kill Hank if he was an intended victim.”

  “Remember when Hank asked you if he could go to the bathroom?”

  “Yes. I made him wait.”

  “And he did. If the killer hadn’t been in the gym with us, if he’d been upstairs, or outside or in the basement, he might have known Hank was alone. Well, probably not in the basement. But from upstairs he could have listened to the sounds coming up from the hall.” She held up her hand. “A long shot. Still, he might have known. If he was in the gym with us, he couldn’t follow anyone anywhere. You had us all pinned down. You had secured the bathroom where Rex was killed. Your men were out in the parking lot. You’d checked out the building and the grounds while we were penned up, right? I mean, that’s why you wouldn’t let Hank go to the bathroom. Not until your guys were done.”

  “You know, Harry, you’re smart. Sometimes, I forget that.”

  “The killer knew what was going on while we sat there. And he’s smarter than we are. Now it’s possible he could have run away after killing Rex and come back later. But I don’t think so. You would have known. You had that school covered.”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “All right. Later we had our dinner. Dennis makes a perfect ass of himself and leaves. You knew that, too. And I’m thinking Dennis’s behavior was part of a plan.”

  “You’re right. We had a man on the roof of the grade school across the street and we had a man in the parking lot in Tracy Raz’s car. We had another officer tail him, although he lost him.”

  “So he could have com
e back. He could have snuck up behind the school.”

  “It’s possible,” she agreed. “But your cats and dog ran out the back of the school. The dog barked and that alerted our man in Tracy’s car. Unfortunately, he didn’t put two and two together fast enough, but then he doesn’t really know your animals as I do. By the time he roused himself, all he knew was that someone had run across the lawn.”