Рита Браун - Whisker Of Evil

“Guess you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“Guess I am.”

Rick slapped his hand against his thigh. “Damn. Damn! Yancy, I don’t know any more than when I started investigating Barry’s death.”

“You know more about rabies. I’ll send in brain tissue to Richmond on Jerome, by the way.”

“Christ, if he tests positive for rabies I suppose we’ll have to barricade the town.”

“People tend toward the irrational.” Yancy carefully picked up a bone fragment with tweezers as Jerome’s hand twitched.

“I hate that,” Rick said ruefully.

“I’ve had them sit bolt upright.” Yancy laughed.

“You and I get to see what nobody else wants to.”

“The human body is like a map. If you know how to read it, you’ll find your destination.” Yancy peered at the shattered skull. “Let’s keep his head just the way it is until Jason can take photographs tomorrow. Okay by you?”

“Of course.”

“Want to stay for the rest of his autopsy?”

“Sure. You got out of bed for this. The least I can do is keep you company.”

“You added a little excitement to my life.”

“Are you being humorous?”

“I’m a laugh a minute.” Yancy put down the long stainless-steel tweezers. “I’ve cut open two young men and now Jerome. He’s young, too, although there was something odd about Jerome. He always seemed like an old man who would wear cardigans.”

“Yeah.”

“Now, Sugar and Barry worked together. One was clearly murdered. The other could have picked up the disease at the same location. What I’m saying is the vector of infection was the silver-haired bat, and it’s not a far putt to consider they both may have been bitten in the barn or somewhere on that farm or some farm they visited together. But Jerome—well, I’d say this is getting very interesting.”

“Went over every building at St. James with a fine-tooth comb. Yancy, nothing. Nada. Zero.”

“Have you asked yourself what Barry and Jerome had in common?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“I think Jerome was figuring out how Barry and Sugar contracted rabies. I don’t know if he figured out what it was that made Barry dangerous to someone, unless it was about rabies.”

Both men looked down at the mortal remains of Jerome Stoltfus.

“Better hope he kept good notes.”

“Our computer wiz is in Jerome’s office right now. His logbook was on the seat of the car.”

Yancy pulled the sheet over Jerome, the blood seeping through it the minute it touched Jerome’s broken face. “Funny thing is, you know the killer knows that. You’d better believe he flipped through that logbook.”

“He couldn’t get to the computer.” Rick paused. “Well, I take that back. I don’t know who walks in and out of Jerome’s office, and I don’t know what Jerome put on his computer.”

“Did you send someone to his house?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve covered the bases.”

Rick spoke to the corpse. “Jerome, we underestimated you.”

35

A t six Thursday morning the phone rang in the tack room. Harry had already brought the three hunters in so they could eat peacefully in their stalls. She was heading out to the barn to check on the broodmares when the phone called her back.

“Hello.”

“Harry,” Susan breathlessly said, “Jerome Stoltfus was shot to death on Yellow Mountain Road.”

“You’re kidding.” Harry didn’t believe it, but, then again, so much was happening that was out of kilter.

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, hearing the change in Harry’s voice, trotted into the tack room to listen.

“I’m not kidding. Little Mim found him last night.”

“Good God.” Harry, who had been leaning over the desk, dropped into the old wooden office chair. “How’d you find out?”

“Little Mim called Ned when she left the scene. She wanted to know since she found the body what might be expected of her legally. Just her testimony, of course, but Little Mim’s careful—more careful than I perhaps realized. And then she wanted to ask his advice on how to handle this at the next town-council meeting. She and Ned have become political cronies even though they’re from different parties.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” A flare of anger escaped Harry.

“Because it was late and you were asleep. Don’t get testy,” her best friend said frankly.

“Anyone caught?”

“No.”

“Damn.” She grabbed a pencil and began doodling on a notepad. “I can’t pretend I’ll miss him. He was insufferable.”

“True, but we could count on our fingers and toes the number of insufferable people we know. We don’t kill them.”

“I know that,” Harry snapped, irritated at Susan’s moralizing. “And I know something else. If Jerome was killed he must have found out something about Barry’s death or about this rabies stuff. If Jerome had uncovered the link concerning the rabies infection, why would anyone kill him over that? You’d think the whole county would thank him. No, he dug up something out at a farm call or poring over paperwork. God, if only I had an idea, even a shadow of an idea.”

“The sheriff and Cooper no doubt feel the same way. On the surface of it, it’s crazy.”

“Most things appear that way until you find the connection. There has to be a connection between Barry’s murder and Jerome’s.”

“What crossed my mind is, what if Jerome had rabies, too.”

“Susan, don’t say that. Really.”

“I know.” And Susan did understand the potential for panic. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re not on your way to work, that’s why.”

“Oh. I forgot about that. The news.” She rapped the eraser end of the pencil against the tablet. “I suppose if I think about it, I’ll—oh, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem real yet.”

“Did you know that Miranda already has seventy-two signatures on the petition Ned drew up concerning Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter?”

“No.”

“Miranda gets things done. Of course, it doesn’t matter now. Her goal was five hundred signatures.”

Harry laughed. “We don’t have that many postboxes in the post office.”

“She was ready to walk the streets.” Susan sighed. “Harry, I wish I knew what was going on. It’s a bad time.”

“You’re safe.”

“How do I know?”

“Because I told you so.”

“Do you know something I don’t?” Susan asked, a note of suspicion in her voice.

“No, but it’s logical. You aren’t involved in outdoor work, breeding horses, animal control. You’re not in danger from silver-haired bats—if any of us is—and I don’t think you’re in danger of knowing whatever Jerome knew or someone thought he knew.”

“You’re right, but I still feel terrible.”

“I do, too.” Harry glanced down at Mary Pat’s ring on her right pinky. The Episcopal shield, inscription underneath, glowed. “It’s funny. I’m staring at Mary Pat’s ring, and I feel like it’s bringing me luck even though right now doesn’t seem a propitious time.”

“I hope so.”

After Harry hung up the phone it rang again almost immediately.

“Harry, this is Pug Harper.”

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, now on the desk, strained to listen.

“Good morning, Pug.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard of the terrible circumstances of Jerome Stoltfus’s death. It was on the early-edition news.”

“Susan Tucker just told me. I don’t know the details.”