Рита Браун - Santa Clawed

Cooper saw Bill in the dining room when she made her way through the people. She whispered to him, “Come with me.”

“Why?” A belligerent note crept in his voice.

“It’s better if you do. I’m sure you can give us the information we need. If you resist, I will arrest you. How will that look?”

Bill blanched. “I have a right to know what this is about.”

“The murders.”

“I have nothing to do with that.” He was really belligerent now.

“Well, you were sleeping with Christopher Hewitt and maybe Brother Speed, too.”

His face crumpled. He whispered, “I’ll go.”

“Do you know where Alex is?”

“With Racquel.”

He followed Cooper to the foyer, where she opened the door. Bill was surprised to see an officer standing outside.

“Take him in.” Cooper stepped back inside.

Racquel, ears perked up, cast her eyes upward as the two officers came into the room. She assumed, like everyone else, they were paying a social call.

Harry had left the kitchen, joining everyone in the living room. She observed Cooper’s face and realized this was not a social call.

Cooper walked over to Alex, who was standing behind Racquel. As she whispered to him, his face registered fear.

“Something’s up,” Mrs. Murphy said, and her two friends felt it, too.

Rick leaned down. “Mrs. Deeds, could we have a moment of your time?”

“Now?” Her face registered suspicion while she tried to look a proper widow.

“We have some urgent questions. I’m very sorry, but it’s critical we talk to you now in private.” Rick’s voice stayed low.

Racquel shot up, pushing him away. To his extreme embarrassment—for he had never considered the possibility— she snatched his revolver right out of the holster and grabbed Harry, who had come up to stand next to her.

Putting the gun to Harry’s head with her right hand while wrapping her left arm around Harry’s throat, she said in a not-unpleasant voice, “Harry, I truly like you, but you’re my shield. Don’t be stupid. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.”

Harry, speechless because Racquel’s left arm pressed hard against her throat, backed up as Racquel walked backward.

“Mrs. Deeds, don’t make the situation worse than it is. Let her go,” Rick commanded.

“No.” Racquel kept backing up, looking over her shoulder. She shouted to her visitors, “Don’t try anything. All I want is to get out of here and get away. Keep your distance and no one will get hurt.” She looked at her two sons. “Boys, I can explain this later. Stay where you are. I don’t want you in the middle of this.”

They didn’t even twitch.

“We could rush her,” Pewter suggested.

“Need a better spot with less people.” Mrs. Murphy assessed the situation.

“I can get behind her and trip her,” Tucker offered. “Then you two can rip her face off while I turn her legs into hamburger.”

“Our best chance is the back door, when she has to reach back for it. If she turns around, then Harry will be in front of her. That won’t work for Racquel. She’ll have to open the door while still facing the people,” Mrs. Murphy said.

Without further coordination, the three animals silently hurried to the back door.

As Racquel continued to carefully back up, she said in a normal conversational voice to Harry, “I don’t know how you accepted Fair as you did. In some ways I admire you for it. In other ways, I think you’re a fool. Once a player, always a player. But let me tell you, so at least one person knows why I did what I did: Bryson was despicable. Completely despicable.”

They reached the back door and, before getting her hand on the knob, Racquel slightly loosened her grip on Harry’s throat.

Hoping to distract her, to slow her down, Harry rasped, “You killed them, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Although I may have made a mistake with Christopher. Too late now.” Her voice was almost cheerful. Her heel struck Tucker, who was lying down. The corgi stood up and bit her calf.

As Racquel started to tumble backward, Mrs. Murphy leapt up toward her face, delivering a slashing blow, while Pewter sank two serious fangs into the flesh between Racquel’s thumb and forefinger.

Racquel still held the gun in her hand, which was pulled downward. She pressed the trigger without taking aim, shooting a hole in the floor.

Harry wrenched free. The cats now attacked Racquel’s face, and Tucker, with greater jaws and more pressure per square inch, clamped onto her gun hand, biting so hard she severed a tendon and ripped through other muscles. Her grip shredded, Racquel dropped the gun. The mighty little corgi grabbed it in triumph and gave it to Harry. Harry quickly turned it on Racquel, who was still trying to swat away the cats.

“Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, let her go,” Harry commanded.

“Oh, pooh,” Pewter fussed, for her bloodlust was up.

Mrs. Murphy ripped out her claws. Pewter, knowing she had to as well, did, but not without the satisfaction of noticing some tiny bits of flesh dangling from them.

Rick and Cooper, who had followed from a distance so as not to provoke Racquel to harm Harry, now rushed forward.

Rick took back his gun.

Harry, wisely, said nothing.

Cooper had Racquel on her feet. The woman’s well-tended face was bleeding all over her and the floor, and her right hand shook with pain.

“Folks, after Sheriff Shaw puts Racquel in the squad car, best you all return home or to your hotels.” Miranda, now out of the kitchen, took charge.

Coop called out to Harry, “Go home. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Harry knelt down to thank her animal friends, then stood up to follow Cooper’s orders.

Jean seconded Alicia’s request. “People, none of us knows what’s going on. Please go. I’ll call you if I know anything.” She turned to Alicia. “I’ll stay with the boys until their grandparents get here. They said they’d be coming by at about five.”

Once out the door, Pewter puffed up. “She didn’t have a chance.”

“Yes, Rocky.” Mrs. Murphy smiled.

34

Hurrying home after his wife called and thankful that no equine emergencies had sprung up, Fair blew through the door. “Honey! Honey, where are you?”

“In the living room.”

He walked in to find Harry stretched out on the couch, two cats on her chest and one corgi on her feet. “Don’t get up. Tell me everything.”

“I will. Could you bring me something to drink? I’m a little shaky. I don’t have a scratch on me except for my head, but that doesn’t count.”

“I’ll bring you some hot tea with lemon and a tiny touch of something special.”

Harry rarely drank, but Fair thought a dollop of good whiskey wouldn’t be amiss. As he heated the water, Coop drove up.