Рита Браун - Whisker Of Evil

Tavener walked to the front door, where the sight of the reporter bagging people on their way to the post office infuriated him. “I have half a mind to tell that jerk I’ll show him where Mary Pat was found.”

“Why?” Fair asked.

“Because I’ll haul him up to those high meadows, to the corner of the stone wall, turn around, and leave him there. Let him find his way down in the dark.” He slapped the mail against his leg, opened the door, and called over his shoulder, “Harry, he’s a great vet and a good man. Say yes.”

50

T he uproar over rabies and Carmen’s disappearance continued through the rest of Tuesday and Wednesday. By Thursday, July 1, Rick Shaw, Jim Sanburne, and Tavener Heyward made public appeals for people to calm down.

Not only were people shooting animals, they were shooting one another. This, as much as a desire to restore public confidence, prompted the televised appeal.

Shootings occurred in Brown’s Cove, Boonesville, and Sugar Hollow, places where impulsive action independent of law enforcement was not unknown; but they were also happening in tony locations like Ednam Forest and Farmington Country Club.

One person would fire at another’s dog and pretty soon it would erupt into the gunfight at the OK Corral. Rick and Cooper were exhausted. So were the veterinarians in town, who had to patch up the animals while Bill Langston and Hayden McIntire patched up the people.

The lawyers would reap the benefits of this disorder. Of course, if it kept up, the undertakers would experience a blip in profits, as well.

Everyone with a grain of sense kept their pets out of the public eye. But dogs especially can foil human intentions. Digging under fences or climbing over them caused many a problem.

Both Rick and Cooper were praying the upcoming Fourth of July weekend would find people focusing on their parties. Hopefully this scare would die down.

Big Mim spent Tuesday and Wednesday with Alicia since St. James was under siege. When the reporters packed up and left the front gate, Mim thought it safe to leave.

Harry and Miranda finished up Tuesday working with Amy Wade. Wednesday, both women stayed in their respective homes.

Thursday afternoon, Cooper drove out to Harry’s farm. She’d put in so much overtime that Rick gave her the afternoon off. She brought wonderful sandwiches from Bodo’s, a bagel place in town. No sooner had Harry set the picnic table outside than Fair came down the drive with sandwiches from the service station at the intersection of Route 250 and Miller School Road.

“Jackpot.” Pewter licked her lips.

“How do you know she won’t put some in the fridge?” Tucker hoped Pewter was right, though.

“Look adorable. Show lots of tummy.” Mrs. Murphy opened her mouth slightly, inhaling the delicious aroma of sliced turkey, ham, and roast beef.

“Good idea.” Pewter ran across the lawn to the picnic table.

Harry and Cooper brought out drinks and condiments from the kitchen while Fair placed three plates and utensils on the oilcloth tablecloth.

The three humans sat down to eat. Harry cut the sandwiches in quarters. That way everyone could have a little bit of everything.

“I’m starved.” Harry bit into a turkey sandwich in which she had placed crisp pickles.

“How can you eat pickles like that? You didn’t even slice them lengthwise.” Cooper, working on roast beef sliced paper-thin, marveled.

“I’ve known Harry to open a jar of sweet gherkins and demolish the contents in less than fifteen minutes.”

Harry, mouth full, shook her head. “No.” She swallowed, then said, “Takes twenty minutes.”

“I am so hungry I feel faint.” Pewter hit the pathetic note.

“Me, too.” Tucker tried looking terribly sad.

“Well, I’m here for whatever you’ll give me,” Mrs. Murphy flatly stated.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Harry tore off a bit of turkey and fed it to Pewter. She was rewarded with purrs so loud they sounded like a feline diesel engine.

Fair and Cooper followed suit, so Mrs. Murphy and Tucker were happily engaged, too.

The food revived Cooper. She really had been tired. “Oh, that’s good. I’ll try some ham now.” Harry handed her the plate with the sandwiches piled on it. “Thank you.” She grabbed the mustard jar, slathering the tangy condiment on the rye bread. “I’ve been on the force for thirteen years, since college graduation, and, guys, I have never, ever been through what I’ve been through the last two days. People are totally irrational about their animals.”

“Tell me.” Fair reached into a bowl of Utz potato chips.

“I’m not,” Harry fibbed.

Everyone, animals included, laughed at her.

“I thought people were blind about their children. They’re worse about their pets!” Cooper took some potato chips, as well. “Rick has smoked more from Tuesday morning to this afternoon than the whole month of June put together. Chain smoking.”

“All it does is divert us from what’s important,” Fair added.

“That thought has occurred to me.” Cooper put her sandwich quarter on the plate for a moment; she’d been gesticulating with it in her hand. The animals were ready for something to fall out of it. “Well, here’s news, too. Haven’t had time to tell you. I’ve been too busy eating. Actually, all of us were hungry.” She noted the refilled plates. “The news is that Marshall Kressenberg isn’t coming to the service Saturday. He’s in Ireland. His secretary said he left on a horse-buying trip. I don’t believe it, but we’ll get him. Don’t worry.”

“He did it?” Fair thought a pickle would be delicious. Harry glared at him when he picked up the jar. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave plenty for you.”

“Good.” Harry fed Mrs. Murphy a piece of roast beef. This was her third sandwich quarter and Mrs. Murphy’s second.

Cooper said without hesitation, “Oh, yeah. We have to prove it, but he’s our man.”

“Well, it occurred to me that Ziggy Dark Star’s tattoo could tell the tale. We didn’t discuss that,” Harry said.

“Fair did,” Cooper replied.

“You did?” Harry’s voice rose at the end of the question.

“I did.”

“Was there a Ziggy Dark Star?” Harry was puzzled.

“No. I expect Ulysses Malone, the owner of Old Wampum Farm, was paid off. He bought Ziggy Flame’s mother in the dispersal sale in 1974. And he bought the foal born in 1967, the result of Mary Pat’s breeding back Ziggy Flame’s mother to Tom Fool. But before he could register that colt, it ran through a board fence in a thunderstorm and killed itself. Now, there would be no reason to register the death with the Jockey Club, since the colt hadn’t been registered yet in the first place. He hushed it up because he didn’t want people to think he didn’t take proper care of his horses. He also fired his farm manager.”

“Marshall would know the letter sequence. He altered the tattoo.” Cooper was still hungry.

“Wait. Let me get this straight. Ulysses Malone and Marshall Kressenberg create an imaginary horse, send in the paperwork and the blood work to the Jockey Club, and are issued a tattoo number starting with a W for 1967?” Harry couldn’t believe the simplicity yet daring of the plan.

“They sent in Ziggy Flame’s blood,” Fair said.

“But what about Ziggy’s tattoo?” Harry, irritated that she hadn’t thought of this, questioned.

“First off, how many people do you know who have a mare to breed who are going to walk up to a stallion and hold his upper lip?” Fair replied. “And V is easy to turn to W. Who would suspect anything?”