Рита Браун - A Hiss Before Dying

The skeleton, lying faceup on top of a lidded casket, shreds of mustard-colored silk still intact, wore her necklace, for it had to be a woman, a necklace of incredible value and the pearl, the centerpiece, was gigantic. Smaller, matching pearls were earrings. Given the size of the pearl in the necklace, smaller for the earrings was relative.

“Whoever she was, she was rich,” Cooper declared.

“No doubt.” The Reverend shook his head. “How did she wind up stashed on top of the Taylors? Whoever put her here knew the community well. Obviously knew that Michael and Margaret had died together. The earth would be easy to dig.”

“Whoever killed her wasn’t a thief,” Harry posited. “Had to be hate.”

The two fellows who had dug up the grave asked Reverend Jones, “What should we do, Reverend?”

“Coop?” The Lutheran minister looked to the deputy.

“Well, it is a body, so I have to call in the forensic team. Once we get all the photographs we need, you can fill this back in.” She paused, smiled slightly. “I don’t think anyone is in danger. Think we’ve had enough of that.”

“Maybe.” Harry considered the situation. “But someone had an idea about this, else why were the tombstones knocked over and knife marks in the soil?”

“True,” Reverend Jones replied. “Let’s do as Cooper said. This will be a big story for TV and the papers. Arouse a lot of curiosity. Someone may come forward. Really, no harm was done.”

“You dug up the tomb?” Cooper inquired.

“Yes. I just got to thinking and my curiosity got the better of me.” He smiled. “Usually it’s Harry who gives in to her curiosity. I’m glad I did. I will pronounce the service for the dead before she’s taken away.”

“Old bones. What can they tell?” Pewter sniffed.

“Sometimes if a bone is cut or smashed they know how a person was killed. And they most always can determine gender. ’Course, that’s easy with these bones. Sometimes they can determine race and age, too. We’ll see,” Mrs. Murphy pronounced.

While the five humans, two cats, and one dog waited for the forensic team to show up, Reverend Jones did read the service for the dead and the humans acted as witnesses and mourners.

Not only did the sheriff’s department get there, but so did Channel 29, Channel 6 had a stringer, and The Daily Progress sent a reporter. This was going to be a big story.

As the skeleton was removed the Progress reporter asked Harry what she thought.

“There are so many stories about buried treasure at the old estates. Well, one turned out to be true.”

“Reverend Jones,” the reporter asked, “did you hear stories about buried treasure in the graveyard?”

“No, but I believe everyone in here is a buried treasure.”

Finally on the way home, Mrs. Murphy said to her two friends and Harry, if she could understand, “I wonder who will get the pearl necklace?”

“It should go to the church,” Tucker forcefully said.

“Nothing is that easy,” Pewter grumped. “That necklace is worth a fortune.”

“A bloody fortune,” Mrs. Murphy added.

Harry commented as she turned down the dirt and gravel road to the farm. “It’s been quite a day.”

The blue jay swooped in front of the Volvo, screaming at Pewter inside.

“Fatty Fatty!”

“I understand why people will kill one another. I will kill that blue jay. I will. I will,” the gray cat vowed.

Harry finished up the early-evening chores, her mind whirring. She never saw it coming with MaryJo. She never imagined a richly laden pile of bones would be tucked away in St. Luke’s graveyard, either.

Petting Shortro, one of the horses, as she brought him in, she said to the handsome gray fellow as the cats and dog listened, “Shortro, I’m not as smart as I’d hoped I’d be.”

“Humans worry too much.” The gentle horse nuzzled her. “Some things you’re not supposed to know.”

Pewter piped up. “And even when you find out, if you do, what difference does it make?”

Harry walked Shortro, followed by his friends, into the barn. She looked at the evening star, large and luminous light in the sky, and wondered if it shone that brightly on the night the woman was killed.

Then wondered who desecrated the grave.

Shrugging, she stared again at the blazing star, said to her animal friends, “I wonder if we’ll ever know who is behind this. If stars, trees, rocks could talk, we’d know most everything. Maybe it’s better we don’t.”

Pewter blinked. “I can’t believe she said that, the world’s most curious human.”

Mrs. Murphy’s whiskers swept forward. “It’s true, though. What do we really need to know? The evening star saw as we changed from saber-toothed tigers to house cats.”

“Oh, Murph, the saber-toothed tiger turned into a tiger.” Tucker laughed.

“Well, the evening star can watch you get swatted!” Pewter reached out to smack the dog, who dashed away.

So the evening star observed one puzzled, tired human as well as a merry chase.

October 15, 1786 Sunday

S t. Luke’s structure, washed in late-afternoon sun, testified to the progress Charles and the builders had achieved. The church itself, framed up, stood in the middle of the two wings, more or less roughed in as were the two smaller buildings, duplicates of each other at the ends of the arches. Charles decided to build with wood first, then cover that with stone. Usually the stone was done first but the press of oncoming winter encouraged him to try something different. The large log structure, now hidden behind the church, could serve indefinitely, but Charles learned if people could see progress they chipped in more readily.

The entire congregation of St. Luke’s gathered in the new graveyard in the rear, the stone walls already constructed. The Taylors, respected and admired, drew friends from St. Mary’s, as well as the Episcopal Church along with the various smaller Baptist churches. Father Donatello came, as did clergy from the other houses of worship.

Michael and Margaret Taylor, formerly strong and productive had wasted away. The cause was deemed the sweating sickness, malaria. At the end, both had lost so much weight as to be almost unrecognizable. In early middle age, they worked hard. He built snake fences, showing others how to do it, as well as stone fences. Michael oversaw the lovely stone fence for St. Luke’s graveyard. It was he who told Charles that while buildings, important though they were, excited the parishioners, a proper graveyard needed to come first. The dead must always be respected and cherished. Who could have believed he and his wife would be placed there together on a brilliant mid-October day? Margaret expired first, Michael two hours later.

He had whispered to his eldest child, eighteen years of age, that he was sorry to leave her and her brothers, but he couldn’t imagine life without his perfect Margaret.

To find the right mate provided progress, love, and respect. Catherine and John stood next to Rachel and Charles. Each of these young people knew of the fragility of life and each, like Michael, couldn’t imagine a life without his or her partner.

The funeral was late in the afternoon so people from the other churches could attend. The Taylors had died that morning. As it was not unexpected, word traveled fast. The number of mourners testified to that.