Рита Браун - Catch As Cat Can

“Abraham,” Tucker called loudly to him as they approached. “How are you?”

“Tucker? Who's with you? Are those Chihuahuas?” He squinted.

“I resent that,” Pewter flared up.

“Pewter, he's nearly as old as Booty.” Mrs. Murphy bumped the gray just to put her in her place.

“Mrs. Murphy and Pewter are with me,” Tucker answered.

“Hello, girls,” Abraham greeted them, his manner courtly. “I apologize for my human but as you can surmise, he's struggling with the elements and if my nose is any good at all, we'll be wet within the half hour. He'll need another tractor to pull out this one. Oh, me.” He let out a long, long sigh.

“No need to ever apologize for a human.” Tucker laughed.

“He's right about the rain,” Pewter whispered to Mrs. Murphy. “I feel it coming. If I get wet it will take me hours to dry. I can't stand it when my hair gets matted down. Murphy, are you listening?”

“Stop worrying.” She edged up to Abraham, then rubbed against his chest.

“Mrs. Murphy, you smell like nutmeg.” He chuckled. “Pewter.”

“Here I am.” Pewter rubbed against him also.

“We're hoping you can help us.” Tucker sat down as Booty cursed to high heaven. “There's a farm truck parked behind the curing shed. I chanced by not an hour and a half ago and now on my return, it's gone. Might you know of its whereabouts?”

“No. I didn't hear the truck being driven off but then I don't hear so good anymore.”

“Do you recall Booty driving the truck to town?” Mrs. Murphy spoke up.

“Farm truck. Don't know how it would make it to town and back, really,” Abraham answered.

“I thought when I came by that Booty was out with his team of horses,” Tucker wondered. “And I thought he didn't own a tractor.”

“What a memory you have, Tee Tucker. He worked the little field, the garden patch field, I call it, with the horses but Dimples threw a shoe. So he unhitched the horses and he was going to hitch up the second pair, you know he has the young ones he's bringing on, fine matched pair, ah, but I digress here. Well, he checked the weather and thought he'd return Marcus Durant's tractor to him. He'd borrowed it to dig fence holes. Marcus has every attachment made in the U. S. of A. and Booty's getting on in years, he just didn't feature digging fence holes with the hand digger. Luckily he finished that job, earth's soft, has to set the fence posts, of course, so he wanted to return the tractor. Now he's got to hitch up the young horses to pull out the tractor and he'd better wash off the tractor, too. Rain'll help.” He exhaled and his flews fluttered out with his breath.

“Abraham, would you do me a great favor?” Tucker's pink tongue hung out slightly.

“If I can, I would certainly not like to disappoint a lady.”

“Will you walk over to the curing shed with us and work the ground where the truck was parked? Your nose is better than mine.” Tucker flattered the bluetick hound but in truth hound noses were the best of the best.

“Why, I'd be delighted although I'm sure your nose is keen as can be.” He stood up on all fours, stretched, and moved toward the shed, happy to be useful. Hounds need to be useful or they sink into a torpor.

Booty turned around and beheld the four animals leaving. “Abraham, Abraham, you are useless as tits on a boar hog.” He sputtered, needing to take out his anger on someone.

“Going deaf has its advantages,” Abraham chuckled. Once at the shed, he put his nose to the ground, working in small circles around the spot where the truck had been parked. “Grease. Gas. Now, that's odd. Pump's down by the shed. And—” He lifted his head, sniffed in fresh air to clear his nasal passages, then put his nose to the ground again. “Something, something, a chemical? Tucker, get over here.”

Tucker also put her nose to the ground as the cats watched. A stiff breeze came up quickly, blowing their fur toward their heads.

“It's not fertilizer yet it smells organic. The man-made chemicals are harsh. This is—h-m-m, familiar.” Abraham inhaled another deep draft. “Acidic. Natural. Ah, I have it. Yes, tannic acid. Yes. Use it sometimes on the backs of new Oriental rugs to make them look old. Use it on skins. That's it.”

“Any association with a human?” Mrs. Murphy asked as she lowered her head, the wind picking up considerably.

“Don.” Abraham nodded slowly. “Guess he borrowed the truck. Funny, though, he didn't leave his car. I can't think of anyone else with that scent. The moisture's holding it down pretty good. I don't know if Don did take the truck but I'm sure this is tannic acid.”

“Forgive me, Abraham, I'm not an initiate into the mysteries of scent.” The tiger smiled, her green eyes glittering. “But isn't it possible that the odor could be from the leather on the bottom of shoes or from the leather upper? It's muddy enough here for a shoe to sink in.”

“Wouldn't be this pungent.” Abraham's deep voice reverberated. He lifted his head south, to the wind. “Going to be another blow. You'd better head back or stay here if you'd like. Booty will get over himself.”

“Thanks. We'll go back. Oh, one more question.” Tucker also lifted her head. “I don't recall Booty being a Dallas Cowboys fan. I thought he was Redskins all the way.”

“Is.”

“There was a Cowboys windbreaker on the back of the truck seat,” Tucker said.

“No one in our family roots for any team but the Redskins. I'm not a football fan myself but I can tell you that. Go on now. You haven't much time.”

“Thanks again, Abraham,” Tucker said.

“Yes, thank you,” the cats replied.

“Glad to be of service.” Abraham turned, ambling back to the house. He'd given up on Booty and the tractor.

As the three hurried back the first raindrop splattered down behind the grade school.

“I knew it. I just knew it,” Pewter railed as Mrs. Murphy and Tucker forged ahead, and as the storm worsened her volume level rose. “I should have never left the post office. I should have trusted my first impulse. When am I going to learn to do that? What do I care about an old truck? I mean I don't care about Wesley Partlow. I didn't know Wesley Partlow. I wouldn't care if half the human race vanished. All they do is make a mess. I should have never let Tucker talk me into this. I hate those two. I hate them. Really!”

27

Rick Shaw stopped off at Pantops Shopping Center to grab a snack. He'd slipped back into the car with the sandwiches as Cynthia Cooper returned with drinks and two cartons of cigarettes since the price was so good.

He turned on the engine. Just as he did he heard the dispatcher's voice. “Sheriff, Sheriff Zakarios of Culpeper needs to talk to you. I've been trying to get you.”

“Say what he want, Sheila?”

“No. But he said it's important.”

“See if you can get him for me. I'll be in the car.”

“Righto.”

“Wonder what Zak wants.” Coop bit into a ham-and-cheese sandwich. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she took her first bite.

“Rick,” Zakarios's voice boomed over citizen's band radio.

“Yes, Zak. What's cooking in Culpeper?”

“Albemarle resident found on White Shop Road just about a half hour ago. Shot through the temple, slumped over the steering wheel. Don Clatterbuck.”