Рита Браун - Whisker Of Evil

“They’re as expensive as an old Datsun.” Aunt Tally giggled as she tossed her junk mail in the trash.

“Don’t forget, we’re planning a big do for July seventeenth. It’s Herb’s thirtieth anniversary.” Harry suffered a moment of panic because she hadn’t yet contacted a band and the good ones booked far in advance.

“He came to St. Luke’s just as I left for Los Angeles.” Alicia knew little of the Reverend Jones but liked what she did know.

“Alicia, those were sad circumstances, made all the more dolorous by your vacating central Virginia.” Tavener propped one elbow on the counter. “Just think of the trouble we could have roused up had you stayed.”

“There’s still time!” Aunt Tally cracked.

“Miranda!” The cats and dog ran to Miranda, who entered through the front door.

“My little animals.” She knelt down for hugs and kisses.

“Where’s your beau?” Tavener liked Tracy Raz.

“My beau has been traveling throughout the South. Today he’s in Nashville.”

“Why?”

“Visiting friends. His expressed reason is he wants to look at small-town development.”

“Nashville isn’t a small town.” Tavener laughed.

“No, but he wants to study Franklin, Tennessee. Tracy has this wonderful vision for Crozet. Ever since he bought the old bank building he’s wanted to create a town square and who knows what else. I’ll be glad when he returns.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Alicia said.

“Bull. Absence makes the eye wander.” Aunt Tally rapped her cane on the floor for emphasis.

The door pushed open. Toby from Carmen’s salon, Shear Heaven, said with a wrinkled brow, “We don’t know where Carmen is. I called her sister for a phone number in Bermuda, because we’re almost out of shampoo, and her sister said they had no relatives in Bermuda. Where’s Carmen?”

Aunt Tally rapped her cane on the floor. “Hiding out. She knows more than she’s telling.”

Tavener put his arm around Toby’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. Carmen is just having one of her bad hair days.” He smiled at his little joke, then turned his attention to Aunt Tally. “What could Carmen possibly know?”

“She spent a lot of time out at St. James, Tavener. She’s not a dumb girl. She might have picked something up, listened to the boys and just put two and two together.”

Tavener laughed. He didn’t want to offend the nonagenarian, but he said, “With all due respect, she’s off on a toot or she’s found a hot date. We’re all a little on edge. Much as I loathed Jerome, his death was a shock. Like I said, we’re all on edge, but Carmen has nothing to worry about.”

Aunt Tally simply replied, “I hope you’re right.”

43

D ew glistened on mountain laurel, cockspur hawthorns, spruces, pines, hickories, oaks, and maples. The once-pristine high meadows, now overrun with Virginia creeper, thorns, and baby cedars, still afforded a sweeping view of the lands unfurling to the east. The soil remained damp from recent rains.

Harry’s eyes swept over these high acres—elevation about 1,500 feet above sea level—and she figured she could bring them back to good pasture with three years of hard work. While burning enriches the soil, she would never burn this high—too much wind, which shifted constantly. She’d have to rent a bulldozer, knock off the underbrush, carefully rolling it in large piles. Many small burrowing creatures would be thrilled with that. Then she’d fertilize and seed for three years running. The third summer, she’d bring stock back up here for the grass; roots should be strong by then.

She loved pasture management—indeed, any type of agricultural pursuit, just seeing these old high acres of Mary Pat’s set her to dreaming.

At eight-thirty in the morning, the light flooded over the trees, shrubs, and vines. A purple finch darted from one shrub to another as a kestrel soared overhead. Industrious spiders, lumbering beetles, and shimmering butterflies added to the activities of the meadow. A deep, narrow creek carried the mountain runoff down to Potlicker Creek.

Harry, Fair, Susan, and Cooper, using old topographical maps, divided the large acreage into manageable one-hundred-acre units. Each would take a corner of one unit and work inward. Given the heavy underbrush in parts, this took perseverance, good boots, and liberal applications of insect repellent.

They’d started at seven this Sunday morning. Being country people, that seemed like a late hour. Harry’s relentless curiosity had gotten the better of her and she roped in her friends to make the trek up to the meadow.

Fair drove his truck, followed by Harry in her 1978 Ford. They made it to a small turnaround about a quarter of a mile from the high pastures. Together with Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, they packed in the last quarter mile.

As the humans slowly moved along, the animals stayed together, walking along the westernmost outside stone wall.

“A good stone fence lasts for centuries. Needs a tap or two.” Mrs. Murphy, like Harry, appreciated value for work and effort.

“Aren’t many people who can build a stone fence. Takes a good eye and a strong back.” Tucker closed her eyes as she pushed through thorns. “And who can afford it?”

“Mom could do it—the work, I mean.” Mrs. Murphy stopped to sniff where a long-tailed mouse had scurried into a crevice. “Cootie,” she insulted the mouse.

“Domesticated twit,” came the saucy reply.

“Did you hear that?” Mrs. Murphy stuck her paw into the crevice.

Pewter joined her. “Mice go to school to learn how to insult cats.”

“Leave it. We’ve got a lot to cover.” Tucker, nose to the ground, pressed on.

“You’re lucky I have obligations.” Mrs. Murphy whapped at the stones, then left the unperturbed mouse, who stuck his head out of his refuge to see the two cats, tails high, moving down the stone line.

“Boy, that gray one is really fat.” He giggled as his friend came out from his nest in the stone fence.

“I heard that.” Pewter whirled around and in two pounces almost caught the smart-mouth.

“Pewter,” Tucker chided.

“Almost!” the gray called out triumphantly. “A split second earlier and I’d be enjoying mouse tartare.”

The two mice, who had repaired to the same nest, huddled together until Pewter rejoined her companions.

The younger mouse said, “Amazing how fat creatures are light on their paws.”

The cats and corgi scrambled over tumbled gray stones as a flash of blue, a skink, sped along the tops.

“It was nice of Cooper to come along, given that she worked late last night.” Tucker liked Cynthia very much and thought she should have a corgi.

“Susan fixed lunch. Wonder when the humans will take lunch break?” Pewter hoped a chicken sandwich had been made all for her, no sharing with Mrs. Murphy and Tucker.

“If we do find Mary Pat or some sort of evidence, Cooper needs to be here,” Mrs. Murphy sagely noted, ignoring Pewter’s focus on food.

“Harry won’t screw it up,” Pewter said.

“No, but—well, better that she’s here.” The tiger cat stopped, lifted her head, inhaling the tart odor of deer.

Pewter turned left at the corner, now moving along the southernmost wall.

Mrs. Murphy stopped, sitting on top of a flat stone. “Let’s take a quick breather. This stuff is tough going. So much has grown over the stone. You know, it’s wasteful to let a pasture go. Really.”