Рита Браун - Santa Clawed

Nothing new transpired with her phone calls. Harry then called a local coin dealer, Morton Nadal, and was surprised to find a very upset man on the line.

“Why are you asking me about the obols?” he demanded.

“Uh, well, curiosity.” The small detail had not yet found its way into the ever- intrusive media. “Are you in on it?”

“Sir, in on what?”

“You’re the third person to call me about my obols. I have coins from Alexandria, Athens, Corinth, but it’s all obols.”

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Mrs. Fair Haristeen. I live in Crozet.”

“Hold on a moment.” After a brief interlude he again spoke: “Well, that’s a real name, but it may not be yours. The other two people gave fake names, although I didn’t check when they first called.”

“Again, Mr. Nadal, I’m sorry. I only wanted to know if you’d sold any.”

“Not a one. Some were stolen the night before last, I think, but I didn’t find out until today.” Before she could say anything, he added, his voice raised, “I’m meticulous, and no one broke in to the front of the house where I keep my collection.”

“How do you think they were stolen?” “What’s it to you?” “I’m sorry, Mr. Nadal. I can see I’m a bother. I assume you called the sheriff.” “Did.” He hung up the phone. Harry then called Cooper, relaying the conversation. “He’s a piece of work and looks just like you think he would—a large ant with glasses.” Cooper exhaled. “Two people went into his house, a woman and a man. He gave a lax description, only that they were more young than old, the man distracted him, the woman took the obols.”

“Why didn’t he find it out then?”

“She’d put fake coins in their place—same size, anyway— and I guess he was in a hurry. I don’t know. He’s a weird little thing and so excitable.”

“Nothing useful?” “Only that the man was largish, had a mustache and a big

laugh.”

“Anything else?”

“Three obols were stolen.”

“Three?”

“Three.”

10

“Who died and made you God?” Pewter, tail moving slightly, spit at Tucker.

“Jealous.” Tucker smiled, then walked away from the angry gray cat.

Tucker had stayed with Harry as Harry made all the phone calls. The cats had been in the barn.

Mrs. Murphy, irritated herself, prudently did not insult the corgi. “If you piss her off, she’ll never tell.”

Pewter, upset though she was with the idea that a mere dog could consider herself superior to a cat, hated the idea of being uninformed even more. An argument could be made that the rotund kitty lived for gossip. Pewter thought of it as news.

“You’re right.” Pewter’s admission nearly floored the tiger cat. “But I’m not going to make it up to her. You can do that.”

Sighing deeply, Mrs. Murphy walked after Tucker, who had repaired to the living room to flop in front of the fireplace.

Harry and Fair sat at opposite ends of the large sofa, a throw over their legs, slippers on the floor, each reading a book.

The aroma of burning wood pleased Mrs. Murphy, so long as the smoke didn’t invade her eyes. She sat next to the dog.

Tucker lifted her head. “Too bad we couldn’t have gone to the coin dealer. We pick up things the humans might miss.”

“Mother isn’t leaving a stone unturned about the ancient coins.” Mrs. Murphy settled down next to the dog, who had informed her of the conversations.

“Pewter still having a cow?” The dog laughed, which came out as little wind puffs.

“Given her state, I think she’s having a water buffalo.” Mrs. Murphy kneaded the rug.

“May they be happy together.”

This made Mrs. Murphy laugh so loudly that Harry and Fair looked up from their books and started laughing.

Pewter, in the kitchen, heard it all and was doubly furious. “You’re talking about me. I know it!”

“Yes, we are,” Tucker called out.

Pewter shot out of the kitchen, into the living room. Upon reaching Tucker, she puffed up and jumped sideways.

Mrs. Murphy dryly commented, “You’ve scared Tucker half to death.”

“Serves her right.” Pewter flounced next to Mrs. Murphy.

“We weren’t really talking about you,” Tucker fibbed.

This disappointed Pewter, who felt she was the center of the universe.

Quickly changing the subject, Tucker said, “Maybe whoever put the coin under Christopher’s tongue is crazy. There’s no logic to it.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s camouflage,” Mrs. Murphy said.

Pewter gave up her anger to curiosity. “Why do you say that?”

“Humans pretend they’re crazy to cover up bad things. They get away with it, too. At least, I think they do.”

Tucker, alert now, roused herself to sit up. “Isn’t it odd how people miss so much about one another? I can understand that they can’t smell emotions—just the sweat of fear, for instance—but they listen to what people say instead of watching them.”

“Maybe they don’t want to know.” Pewter blinked as an ember crackled and flew up against the fire screen.

Mrs. Murphy, the end of her tail swishing slightly, remarked, “Could be. Then again, theft, graft, political violence—that’s human behavior. Corruption”— she shrugged —“just the way they do business, a lot of them, anyway, and it’s always the ones who make the most fuss about morals. Humans rarely kill one another over corruption or political ideas short of revolution. When they kill, it’s usually personal. When I think about Christopher Hewitt being killed, I try to find that link to another human. Something close.”

“Hmm.” Pewter watched Harry take her yellow highlighter to run over something in her book. “But isn’t that the thing about monks: they aren’t close. They’ve withdrawn from the world, pretty much.”

Tucker lifted her head. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Pewter, listening intently to what Mrs. Murphy just said, replied, “I resent getting involved in human messes. I don’t give a fig about Christopher Hewitt. Harry drags us in.”

As the animals chatted, Harry’s cell rang. “Hello.”

Brother Morris answered, “Hello, Harry, Brother Morris here. In all our grief and upset over our loss, I forgot your sorrow. After all, you and Fair knew Brother Christopher longer than any of us. I am sorry you found him. I’m so sorry you’ve had to see a high school friend like that.”

Harry responded, “Thank you. We will all miss him.” She then asked, “How are you doing? I know this is hard for you.”