Рита Браун - Santa Clawed

“Hey. What’d you do?”

“Oh, a little accident.”

“Bullshit, Harry.” Susan snatched the Orioles cap off her head. “Stitches. Whoever did it was careful to shave just around the wound. But, girl, you need help. Better call Glen at West Main.” She cited a fashionable hair salon.

“I clunked my head on a beam.”

“None of your beams are that low.” Susan folded her arms across her chest. “Furthermore, I know you better than you know yourself. ’Fess up.”

“I can’t.” Harry sounded morose.

Susan knew Harry shared most everything with her, so her conclusion was easy to reach. “You’re in trouble and Rick told you to button it.” She touched her lips.

“Well—”

“Harry, I know you found Christopher Hewitt. Made the papers, and you told me everything. At least I think you did.”

“I did tell you. When Dr. Gibson found the obol, I told you that, too. However, Rick and Cooper let me know I had to keep quiet about this.” She took the cap back, clapped it on her head, then walked out onto the screened- in porch.

Susan, hot on her tail, said, “Listen, I don’t want to have this conversation in front of Fair, but if you’ve stuck your nose into the two monks being killed, the killer must have found out.”

“I haven’t. I swear I haven’t.”

“Then who hit you on the head hard enough to split it open like that?”

“I don’t know. He—or she, but I think he—came up behind me as the blizzard started.”

“On the farm? That person came here?” Susan was aghast.

“No.” Harry slipped her arm through Susan’s as she opened the screen door. “I can’t tell you any more, even though I’m dying to.”

“It’s the dying I’m worried about. Is that why you didn’t want me to tell anyone I’d talked to you?”

“Yes.” Harry walked slowly as they navigated the cleared path, now turned to ice. “Forgot the treats. Wait a minute.”

She carefully walked back to the house, pulled out a small Tupperware full of mince pie, and grabbed molasses icicles from the freezer and a bag of marshmallows from the pantry.

On returning, she handed the Tupperware to Susan. “Now, if we hold hands, we’ll be in balance. We each have something to carry with the other.”

“Sure.” Susan smiled at her.

“And, Susan, I’m not scared much, but I’m scared enough. No point in pretending otherwise to you.”

“What kind of person would show up in a snowstorm? A desperate one, I think.”

“I don’t know. But if it is Christopher’s or Brother Speed’s killer, why didn’t he kill me?”

“I don’t know, but I’m exceedingly grateful.”

They entered the barn, the horses nickering a greeting. Fair was sweeping up the center aisle.

“Merry Christmas.” He leaned the big push broom against a stall and kissed Susan.

“Those were some presents you gave your wife.”

He grinned. “Seen the Honda yet?”

“No.”

“Four hundred horsepower, much of which translates into torque, as opposed to on a motorcycle. What a difference it will make on the farm, and it burns less gas than one of the trucks.”

“I cleaned up this Christmas.” Harry looked at the ladder to the hayloft just as Simon was looking down. “Simon, merry Christmas.”

“Goody.” He smelled the molasses, for she’d unzipped the plastic bag.

“You wait one minute while I put out the owl’s present.” She handed the bag to Susan, and Susan gave her the Tupperware container. She climbed the ladder, which was flat against the wall and well secured.

On reaching the hayloft, she pulled the top off the container and put it on a high hay bale. As she turned to reach for the offered Ziploc bag from Susan, she heard a slight whoosh as the predator opened her wide wings to glide down. Harry didn’t look back at the owl, letting her pick her treats in peace.

“We got good presents, too.” Tucker loved gifts.

“All right, Simon, just another minute.” Harry reached into the Ziploc and took the icicles from it. She also dumped the marshmallows on the loft floor.

“Think gelato started this way in ancient Rome?” Susan eyed the icicles.

“They had everything we do but without machines.They had ice, gelato, better roads than ours, interesting architecture, cooling gardens, running water. If you had money, life was sweet.”

“Like today.” Fair picked up the broom to finish his job.

Susan joked, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

Simon waited a respectful distance away, but the minute Harry backed down the ladder, he grabbed one molasses icicle, eagerly devouring it. Next he selected a marshmallow.

“I got catnip. And a fleece bed.” Pewter thought some attention should be paid to her.

“Me, too.” Mrs. Murphy liked having her own bed.

“I got a new collar and leash and a big fleece bed.” Tucker happily recounted her gifts. “Dog bones.”

As the three humans and three animals left the barn, Cooper came down the long drive. She parked, flung open the door, and hugged Harry, then Fair.

“Merry Christmas.” Fair hugged her back.

“What a great present! A power washer. I am so excited. I can clean the squad car, the outside of the house. I can’t believe it.”

“Oster clippers are pretty special. You conferred with Susan, didn’t you?” Harry smiled as she mentioned a powerful brand of clippers favored by horsemen.

“Did.”

“Come on in. We’re having a party. Susan escaped the home fires for a little bit,” Fair told Cooper.

“On my way to the morgue.”

“Why?” All three stared at her.

“Because I’m free this Christmas. When Mom and Dad moved to New Mexico this spring, that solved the Christmas to-do. Rick has Helen, so when he called me, I told him to go home.” She realized she’d said too much, as they didn’t know about Bryson, so she hastened to add, “Probably one of the drunks froze at the mall. Still, I’d better check.”

“You wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important. Has there been another murder?” Fair asked.

Cooper kept mum, which told them everything.

Susan jumped in. “Another Brother of Love?”

“Oh, all right. The family has been notified and it will be in tomorrow’s paper. Bryson Deeds.”

“What!” Fair exclaimed.

“Throat slit.” Cooper got back in the squad car. “I’ll know the rest of it after the autopsy. God bless Doc Gibson, because he came in to do this.”

The corpse had been thawing since three in the morning. Dr. Gibson and Mandy Sweetwater straightened the limbs and examined the body before cutting Bryson open.

A patient soul, Dr. Gibson was a bit irritated that the dead monks’ tissue samples he’d sent to the Richmond lab still hadn’t been examined. Granted, it was the holiday season, but sometimes, if very lucky, a DNA sample will match one already on record.