Murder on the Prowl

by Rita Mae Brown

  “I heard April was released from jail today, and she didn't want to leave,” Fair remarked. “She must know what's going on, too.”

  “That's so strange. She doesn't look like a criminal, does she?”

  “I always thought she was in love with Roscoe and that he used her,” Fair said.

  “Slept with her?”

  “I don't know. Maybe”—he thought a moment—“but more than that, he used her. She jumped through all his hoops. April was one of the reasons that St. E's ran so smoothly. Sure as hell wasn't Roscoe. His talents rested in directions other than details.” He rose and tossed another log on the fire. “He ever offer you candy?”

  “Every time he saw me.”

  “Never offered me catnip,” Pewter grumbled.

  “Mom's got that look on her face. She's having a brainstorm.” Tucker closely observed Harry.

  “Humans are fundamentally irrational. They use what precious rationality they have justifying their irrational behavior. A brainstorm is an excuse not to be logical,” Pewter said.

  “Amen.” Murphy laughed.

  Harry tickled Murphy's ears. “Aren't we verbal?”

  “I can recite entire passages from Macbeth, if you'd care to hear it. ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps—'”

  “Show-off.” Pewter swished her tail once. “Quoting Shakespeare is no harder than quoting ‘Katie went to Haiti looking for a thrill.'”

  “Cole Porter.” Mrs. Murphy sang the rest of the song with Pewter.

  “What's going on with these two?” Harry laughed.

  “Mrs. Murphy's telling her about her narrow escape from death.”

  “That's the first thing I did when we got home.” Mrs. Murphy sat up now and belted out the chorus from “Katie Went to Haiti.”

  “Jesus,” Tucker moaned, flattening her ears, “you could wake the dead.”

  Pewter, on a Cole Porter kick, warbled, “When They Begin the Beguine.”

  The humans shook their heads, then returned to their conversation.

  “Maybe the link is Sean's connection to Roscoe and Maury.” Harry's eyes brightened. “He could easily have stuffed Roger's newspapers with the second obituary. Those kids all know one another's schedules. They must have been using Sean for something—” Her brow wrinkled; for the life of her she couldn't figure out what a teenage boy might have that both men wanted.

  “Not necessarily.” Fair played devil's advocate. “It really could be coincidence. Just dumb luck.”

  Harry shook her head, “No, I really don't think so. Sean is up to his neck in this mess.”

  Fair cracked his knuckles, a habit Harry had tried to forget. “Kendrick Miller stabbed Maury. Maury's murder has nothing to do with Roscoe's. And the kid liberated the BMW, so to speak, and just got carried away. Started something he didn't know how to finish.”

  “But Rick Shaw's guarding him in the hospital.” Harry came back to that very important fact.

  “You're right—but connecting him to Roscoe's murder and Maury's seems so far-fetched.”

  Harry leapt off the sofa. “Sorry, Murphy.”

  “I was so-o-o comfortable,” Murphy moaned angrily. “Pewter, let's give it to them. Let's sing ‘Dixie.'”

  The two cats blended their voices in a rousing version of the song beloved of some folks south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

  “You're a veterinarian. You shut them up,” Tucker begged.

  Fair shrugged, laughing at the two performers.

  “Here.” Harry tossed Fair a bag of treats. “I know this works.” It did, and she dialed Susan. “Hey, Suz.”

  “Miranda's here. Why didn't you tell me!”

  “I am.”

  “How long have you been home? Oh, Harry, you could have been barbecued.”

  “I've been home an hour. Fair's here.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I will, Susan, tomorrow. I promise. Right now I need to talk to Brooks. Are you sending her to St. Elizabeth's tomorrow?”

  “No. Although she wants to go back.” Susan called her daughter to the phone.

  Harry got right to the point. “Brooks, do you remember who Roscoe Fletcher offered candy to when he waited in line at the car wash?”

  “Everybody.”

  “Try very hard to remember, Brooks.”

  “Uh, okay . . . when I first saw him he was almost out on Route Twenty-nine. I don't think he talked to anyone unless it was the guys at the Texaco station. I didn't notice him again until he was halfway to the entrance. Uh—” She strained to picture the event. “Mrs. Fletcher beeped her horn at him. He got out to talk to her, I think. The line was that slow. Then he got back in. Mrs. Miller talked to him. Karen walked over for a second. He called her over. Jody, when she saw him, hid back in the office. She'd been reamed out, remember, 'cause of losing her temper after the field hockey game. Uh—this is hard.”

  “I know, but it's extremely important.”

  “Roger, once Mr. Fletcher reached the port—we call it the port.”

  “Can you think of anyone else?”

  “No. But, I was scrubbing down bumpers. Someone else could have walked over for a second and I might not have seen them.”

  “I realize that. You've done a good job remembering.”

  “Want Mom back?”

  “Sure.”

  “What are you up to?” Susan asked.

  “Narrowing down who was offered candy by Roscoe at the car wash.”

  Susan, recognizing Harry was obsessed, told her she would see her in the morning.

  Harry then dialed Karen Jensen's number. She asked Karen the same questions and received close to the same answers, although Karen thought Jody had been off the premises of the car wash, had walked back, seen Roscoe and ducked inside Jimbo's office. She remembered both Naomi and Irene waiting in line, but she couldn't recall if they got out of their cars. She wanted to know if Sean was all right.

  “I don't know.”

  Karen's voice thickened. “I really like Sean—even if he can be a jerk.”

  “Can you think of any reason why he'd take Mrs. Craycroft's car?”

  “No—well, I mean, he's sort of a cutup. He would never steal it, though. He just wouldn't.”

  “Thanks, Karen.” Harry hung up the phone. She didn't think Sean would steal a car either. Joyride, yes. Steal, no.

  She called Jimbo next. He remembered talking to Roscoe himself, then going back into his office to take a phone call. Harry asked if Jody was in the office with him. He said yes, she came in shortly after he spoke to Roscoe, although he couldn't be precise as to the time.

  She next tried Roger, who thought Roscoe offered candy to one of the gas jockeys at the Texaco. He had glanced up to count the cars in the line. He remembered both Naomi and Irene getting out of their cars and talking to Roscoe as opposed to Roscoe getting out to talk to his wife. He was pretty sure that was what he saw, and he affirmed that Jody emphatically did not want to talk to Roscoe. He didn't know when Jody first caught sight of Roscoe. She was supposed to be picking up their lunch, but she never made it.

  The last call was to Jody. Irene reluctantly called her daughter to the phone.

  “Jody, I'm sorry to disturb you.”

  “That's okay.” Jody whispered, “How's Sean? It's all over town that he wrecked BoomBoom Craycroft's new car.”

  “I don't know how he is.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “I can't answer that.”

  “But you pulled him out of the vehicle. He must have said something . . . like why he did it.”

  “Sheriff Shaw instructed me not to say anything, Jody.”

  “I called the hospital. They won't tell me anything either.” A note of rising panic crept into her voice.

  “They always do that, Jody. It's standard procedure. If you were in there with a hangnail, they wouldn't give out information.”

  “But he's all right, isn't he?”

  “I can't answer that. I honestly don
't know.” Harry paused. “You're good friends, aren't you?”

  “We got close this summer, playing tennis at the club.”

  “Did you date?”

  “Sort of. We both went out with other people.” She sniffed. “He's got to be okay.”

  “He's young and he's strong.” Harry waited a beat, then switched the subject. “I'm trying to reconstruct how many people Mr. Fletcher offered strawberry drops to since, of course, anyone might have been poisoned.” Harry wasn't telling the truth of what she was thinking, although she was telling the truth, a neat trick.

  “Everyone.”

  Harry laughed. “That's the general consensus.”

  “Who else have you talked to?”

  “Roger, Brooks, Karen, and Jimbo. Everybody says about the same thing although the sequence is scrambled.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did Mr. Fletcher offer you candy?”

  “No. I chickened out and ran into Mr. Anson's office. I was in the doghouse.”

  “Yeah. Well, it was still a great game, and you played superbly.”

  “Really?” She brightened.

  “You could make All-State. That is, if St. Elizabeth's has a season. Who knows what will happen with so many people taking their kids out of there.”

  “School's school.” Jody confidently predicted, “I'm going back, others will, too. I'd rather be there than”—she whispered again—“here.”

  “Uh, Jody, are your mother and father near?”

  “No, but I don't trust them. Dad's truly weird now that he's out on bail. Mom could be on the extension for all I know.”

  “Only because she's worried about you.”

  “Because she's a snoop. Hear that, Mom? If you're on the line, get off!”

  Harry ignored the flash of bad manners. “Jody, can you tell me specifically who Mr. Fletcher offered candy to, that is, if you were watching from Jimbo's office?”

  “Mr. Anson went out to talk to him. I sat behind the desk. I didn't really notice.”

  “Did you see Mrs. Fletcher or your mom get out of their cars and talk to Mr. Fletcher?”

  “I don't remember Mom doing anything—but I wasn't really watching them.”

  “Oh, hey, before I forget it, 'cause I don't go over there much, the kids said you were on lunch duty that day. Where do you get good food around there?”

  “You don't.”

  “You were on lunch duty?” Harry double-checked.

  “Yeah, and Roger got pissed at me because he was starving and I saw Mr. Fletcher before I crossed the road so I ran back. If I'd crossed the road he would have seen me. The line was so long he was almost out at the stoplight.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “I don't think so. He saw me in the office later. He wasn't even mad. He waved.”

  “Did you give Jim his money back?” Harry laughed.

  “Uh—no.” Jody's voice tightened. “I forgot. It was—uh—well, I guess he forgot, too.”

  “Didn't mean to upset you.”

  “I'll pay him back tomorrow.”

  “I know you will.” Harry's voice was warm. “Thanks for giving me your time. Oh, one more thing. I forgot to ask the others this. What do you, or did you, think of Mr. Fletcher's film department idea?”

  “‘Today St. Elizabeth's, tomorrow Hollywood,' that's what he used to say. It was a great idea, but it'll never happen now.”

  “Thanks, Jody.” Harry hung up the phone, returning to the sofa where she nestled in.

  Mrs. Murphy crawled back in her lap. “Now stay put.”

  “Satisfied?” Fair asked.

  “No, but I'm on the right track.” She rested her hand on Mrs. Murphy's back. “I'm convinced. The real question is not who Roscoe offered candy to but who gave him candy. Rick Shaw must have come to the same conclusion.” She tickled Murphy's ear. “He's not saying anything, though.”

  “Not to you.”

  “Mmm.” Harry's mind drifted off. “Jody's upset over Sean. I guess they had a romance and I missed it.”

  “At that age you blink and they're off to a new thrill.” He put his hands behind his head, stretching his upper body. Pewter didn't budge. “Everyone's upset. BoomBoom will be doubly upset.” He exhaled, wishing he hadn't mentioned that name. “I'm surprised that you aren't more upset.”

  “I am upset. Two people are dead. Sean may well join them in the hereafter, and I can't figure it out. I hate secrets.”

  “That's what we pay the sheriff to do, to untie our filthy knots of passion, duplicity, and greed.”

  “Fair”—Harry smiled—“that's poetic.”

  He smiled back. “Go on.”

  “BoomBoom Craycroft.” Harry simply repeated the name of Fair's former lover, then started laughing.

  He smiled ruefully. “A brand-new BMW.”

  “She's such a flake. Pretty, I grant you that. I think I could have handled just about anyone else but BoomBoom.” Harry took a sideswipe at Fair.

  “That's not true, Harry, a betrayal is a betrayal, and it wouldn't have mattered who the woman was. You'd still feel like shit, and you'd say the same thing you're saying now but about her. I am rebuilding my whole life, my inner life. My outer life is okay.” He paused. “I want to spend my life with you. Always did.”

  “Do you know why you ran around?”

  “Fear.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of being trapped. Of not living. When we married, I'd slept with three other women. I was a dutiful son. I studied hard. Kept my nose clean. Went to college. Went to vet school. Graduated and married you, the girl next door. I hit thirty and thought I was missing something. Had I married you at thirty, I would have gotten that out of my system.” He softened his voice. “Haven't you ever worried that you're missing out?”

  “Yeah, but then I watch the sunrise flooding the mountains with light and I think, ‘Life is perfect.'”

  “You aren't curious about other men?”

  “What men?”

  “Blair Bainbridge.”

  “Oh.” She took her sweet time answering, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. “Sometimes.”

  “How curious?”

  “You just want to know if I'm sleeping with anyone, and that's my business. It's all about sex and possession, isn't it?”

  “It's about love and responsibility. Sex is part of that.”

  “This is what I know: I like living alone. I like answering to no one but myself. I like not having to attend social functions as though we are joined at the hip. I like not having a knot in my stomach when you don't come home until two in the morning.”

  “I'm a vet.”

  She held up her hand. “With so many chances to jump ladies' bones, I can't even count them.”

  “I'm not doing that.” He took her hand. “Our divorce was so painful, I didn't think I could live through it. I knew I was wrong. I didn't know how to make it right. Enough time has passed that I can be trusted, and I can be more sensitive to you.”

  “Don't push me.”

  “If I don't push you, you do nothing. If I ask anyone else to a party or the movies because I'd like to enjoy someone's companionship, you freeze me out for a week or more. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't.”

  “He's right, Mom,” Mrs. Murphy agreed with Fair.

  “Yeah,” Tucker echoed.

  “They talk too much.” Pewter, weary from her singing and all the spoon bread she'd stolen, wanted to sleep.

  “Cheap revenge, I guess.” Harry honestly assessed herself.

  “Does it make you happy?”

  “Actually, it does. Anyone who underestimates the joy of revenge has no emotions.” She laughed. “But it doesn't get you what you want.”

  “Which is?”

  “That's just it. I don't really know anymore.”

  “I love you. I've always loved you, and I always will love you.” A burst of passion illuminated his handsome face.

  She squeezed his hand. “I love you, too, but—”
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  “Can't we get back together? If you aren't ready for a commitment, we can date.”

  “We date now.”

  “No, we don't. It's hit or miss.”

  “You're not talking about dating. You're talking about sleeping together.”

  “Yes.”

  “I'll consider it.”

  “Harry, that's a gray reply.”

  “I didn't say no, nor did I say maybe. I have to think about it.”

  “But you know how I feel. You know what I've wanted.”

  “Not the same as a direct request—you just made a direct request, and I have to think about it.”

  “Do you love me at all?”

  “The funny part of all this is that I do love you. I love you more now than when we married, but it's different. I just don't know if I can trust you. I'd like to, truly I would, because apart from Susan, Miranda, and my girlfriends, I know you better than anyone on the face of the earth, and I think you know me. I don't always like you. I'm sure I'm not likable at times, but it's odd how you can love someone and not like them.” She hastened to add, “Most times I like you. Really, it's just when you start giving orders. I hate that.”

  “I'm working on that. Most women want to be told what to do.”

  “Some do, I know. Most don't. It's a big fake act they put on to make men feel intelligent and powerful. Then they laugh at you behind your back.”

  “You don't do that.”

  “No way.”

  “That's why I love you. One of the many reasons. You always stand up to me. I need that. I need you. You bring out the best in me, Harry.”

  “I'm glad to hear it,” she replied dryly, “but I'm not on earth to bring out the best in you. I'm on earth to bring out the best in me.”

  “Wouldn't it be right if we could do that for each other? Isn't that what marriage is supposed to be?”

  She waited a long time. “Yes. Marriage is probably more complicated than that, but I'm too tired to figure it out . . . if I ever could. And every marriage isn't the same. Our marriage was different from Miranda and George's, but theirs worked for them. I think you do bring out good things in me—after all, I wouldn't be having this conversation with anyone else, and that's a tribute to you. You know I loathe this emotional stuff.”