Рита Браун - Whisker Of Evil

The corgi shook her head. “No.”

Pewter, nose still out of joint, complained, “Why defer to Tucker? Cat noses are as good as dog noses, but we don’t work for humans the way dogs do, so no one really notices. You’ll never get a cat to dig up truffles. Only dogs and pigs do that.”

The sleek tiger cat knew her sense of smell was acute but she thought Tucker’s nose a tiny bit better. Plus, Tucker used her nose before her eyes, whereas Mrs. Murphy used her eyes before her nose.

“Get out!” Two barn swallows headed straight for the three animals, then sheered off at the last second, one turning left, one right.

“Truce!” Mrs. Murphy meowed while the baby birds shrieked.

The swallows perched on the edge of their nests, some in the rafters, and one defiant male sat on the floor right in front of them, just out of paw’s reach.

He spoke. “I don’t mind barn cats, but you two aren’t barn cats. How do I know you won’t do us harm?”

Tucker lay down, resting her head on her paws so she was eye level with the swallow. “You have my word, and even though you may not believe it, these are honorable cats.”

“Don’t be gulled, Madison,” another swallow warned. “All cats are killers.”

Pewter puffed out her considerable chest. “Of course we’re killers, but what makes you think I’d waste my time on you? Why, you aren’t even big enough for an hors d’oeuvre.”

“Daddy, get off the floor!” Madison’s children were hysterical.

Mrs. Murphy thought the best course was flattery. “Madison, my gray friend is a good hunter.” She bit her lip for a second. What a terrible fib. “But we’re here on a peaceful mission, and all we want to know is, have bats ever lived in here?”

Madison hopped from one foot to the other. “No. The bats live out in the huge old conifers. Might be some up at the big house, but I don’t think so. The humans swept through here looking for them, too.”

“Ever see any sick ones outside?” Tucker inquired.

“No, but we keep different hours, you know. We swallows work during the day, and the bats work at night. The humans, silly beings, drive the bats outside, but between the bats and ourselves, we keep this place insect-free. Well, almost.” His russet and buff chest plumage expanded. Madison was quite handsome.

“They are stupid. They don’t like vultures. Can you imagine what the earth would be like without vultures? Piles of dead things, kind of like piles of cars that never rust. No room for the rest of us!” Madison’s mate, Thelma, called out. She was keeping a sharp eye on her husband. That Pewter bragged too much, and if she even moved a muscle, Thelma would go for the eyes.

“If a plague swept through the bats, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” Mrs. Murphy tried to keep to business.

“Sure. Their corpses would be under the conifers,” Madison replied. “There’s no rabies here. We’ve heard all about it, of course, and I swear upon my tail feathers: no rabies.”

Mrs. Murphy, her voice musical and low, said, “I think the rabies is a diversion.”

“How can it be a diversion when two men had it and maybe even Jerome, too? I mean, he might test positive.” Tucker thought Mrs. Murphy totally wrong.

“What exactly do you mean, Murph?” Pewter’s curiosity was aroused.

“Rabies is a dreadful disease, a horrible, horrible death. It’s bound to cause violent reactions among the humans, right?” Everyone nodded in agreement, including Madison. “Well, I think Barry was supposed to die of rabies, not from a torn throat. Somehow, Barry became too threatening or something and the killer couldn’t wait. I am convinced both Barry and Sugar were purposely infected. Cat intuition but, nonetheless, we have to take the rabies seriously. After all, we’re all susceptible to the virus. If it turns out this was the work of silver-haired bats, then we can expect the raccoons, skunks, and other groundlings to start dying from it. It won’t just stay with the bats. And as far as I know, that hasn’t happened.”

“Not around here,” Madison avowed, as the other swallows chimed in.

“It’s possible Barry infected Sugar. Dumb things happen. I mean, he could have bitten him. It’s possible.” Mrs. Murphy was thinking out loud.

“Barry was dangerous but Sugar wasn’t?” Tucker sat up, which made Madison hop backward. “But Sugar still had rabies.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Barry could have given it to Sugar. Terrible luck. I know it sounds funny to say Barry may have bitten Sugar, but what if they were play-fighting or something? Dumb things happen.”

“Or they both could have been deliberately infected and, somehow in the time it takes to die from rabies—one to three months, that’s what the humans have been saying—” Pewter was getting excited now, “Barry became more of a nuisance or got closer. I think that’s what happened, and I think that whatever this is about has to do with St. James.”

“Oh, no,” the swallows said in chorus.

Madison said quite firmly, “There’s nothing here. Nothing out of the way; I mean, Barry and Sugar bred broodmares, trained horses, took in lay-ups. People came through—customers, vets, friends—but it was all business. I never even heard an argument, except with Carmen.” He asked his friends, “Did any of you?”

“No,” they answered in unison.

Madison hopped one step closer. “I can appreciate that you’re curious. Cats are notoriously curious. I’m sure you’d like to figure this out, but all your thoughts, if you’ll pardon me, seem convoluted.”

“They are,” Mrs. Murphy warmly agreed with him. “Because we don’t know what this is about. Once we understand the motive, this will be crystal clear and simple.”

Thelma flew down next to Madison.

“Mama!” Their children really squealed now.

“Hush,” Thelma commanded. She looked the three groundlings in the eye. “There is one other thing. The girlfriend, Carmen. She was sleeping with both of them.”

“Aha!” Pewter smiled.

“Barry and Carmen had broken up,” Tucker said.

“Oh, they’d break up and get back together, and even when they’d break up, she’d sleep with him.” Thelma shrugged.

“Did each man know about the other?” Tucker thought Carmen’s schedule demanding.

“Sugar knew about Barry, of course, but Barry didn’t know about Sugar,” Thelma, her eyes bright and black, responded. “Didn’t last long with Sugar, though. That Carmen is a no-good tart, if you ask me.”

Up at the racetrack, Alicia pointed out to Aunt Tally and Harry where Ziggy Flame’s paddock used to be. After Ziggy disappeared and Mary Pat never came home, over the years the five-board paddock fell apart. As no other stallions came to St. James, there was no reason to build a stallion paddock.

“You have a good memory,” Aunt Tally said.

“It seems like yesterday. It’s odd. Time plays tricks on you.” Alicia folded her arms across her chest. “Harry, you’re too young to understand.”

“I know it’s flying by.” Harry smiled.

“I walked out the other morning in the heavy fog. At first I couldn’t breathe for the emotions, but now,” Alicia looked around at the estate, each building laid out with care, everything aesthetically pleasing, “I love it all over again.”