Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

"He wasn't shot. He wasn't stabbed. He wasn't run over. That leaves poison." Herb made a steeple out of his fingers, leaning forward. "Who knows you were at the Clam?"

"Rick."

"Pass anyone in the halls?"

"No. It was really quiet."

"The only place you can hide a car is at the service entrance. Did you?"

"No. It was Susan's station wagon."

"Harry." He was upset.

"Well?" She held up her palms in supplication.

"And then you went up to the New Gate shopping center. Who saw you there?"

"The men working to finish the discount store. Rob Collier's moonlighting. Uh, Peter Gianakos is the foreman. I don't know the other guys. Oh, the assistant building code inspector, Mychelle Burns. She and Peter were at it so maybe she noticed me and maybe she didn't. Uh-"

"Harry"-his voice lowered-"the murderer, if there is one, thinks that no one knows yet."

"Not necessarily. Rick had his crew at the Clam. The person might know that."

"But it is not public knowledge at this point and Sheriff Shaw's wily. He could have told people at the auditorium that this was strictly routine. They may or may not have believed him but late Friday night no one is there. The roads did not invite cruising around. By Saturday morning, okay, a few more people might have noticed the squad car and other official vehicles, but still, it's not public knowledge and no one is talking about it because our phones would be off the hook. People are all saying he dropped dead of a heart attack. People in their twenties can drop dead of a heart attack. There hasn't been word one about a questionable death. So-"

"You were stupid, Mom. I love you but you blew it." Mrs. Murphy hopped into Harry's lap.

The animals sat, faces upturned to Harry.

"I've got an audience here." She half-laughed.

"My point, but you've got an audience that may be dangerous. The killer may now know that you know."

"Oh, Rev, maybe he's not a local." Harry was hoping against hope.

"Sure, he flew through bad weather, rented a car, went to the basketball game, then killed H.H. in the parking lot." Herb stopped a moment, digesting just how H.H. could get poisoned. "The murderer knows you, Harry."

A chill edged down Harry's spine. "Yeah, yeah, I guess he does."

"And you've dragged Susan into it."

Harry now felt really wretched. "Damn, I am such an ignorant ass." She glanced out the window then back to Herb. "Sorry."

"I say worse when no one's around."

"That's the truth." Cazenovia corroborated his admission.

"What can I do?"

"Hope that killing H.H. has settled his score. Whatever that score might be."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, her voice faint.

But the score wasn't settled. The killer had every intention of putting more points on the board.

12

Someone else was running ahead of the storm. A yellow Lab, perhaps eight months old, abandoned by its humans, hungry and frightened, was looking for a place to hide. An expensive house under construction, set back on fields west of Beaverdam Road, held promise. He loped up to the rear, checking the doors. He moved around counterclockwise until he reached the garage, where the automatic door had not yet been installed. Shivering, the thin fellow ducked in.

Within a few minutes Tazio Chappars, the architect for this edifice, turned down the drive. She wanted to check it before the storm's battering to make certain every window was double-locked. She'd hurried from Matthew's office.

As she parked her half-ton truck, a forest-green Silverado, she opened the front door with the key. Methodically, she started at the top floor, working her way down. She set the thermostat at sixty degrees Fahrenheit. The foreman had it at forty-eight degrees. Much too low, she thought. Satisfied, she locked the front door from the inside, passed through the mudroom off the kitchen, and opened the door into the garage.

The dog, tired, didn't run. He wagged his bedraggled tail. "Will you help me? I'm very hungry. I'll be your friend for life. I'll love you and protect you if you'll help me."

Tazio's mouth dropped open. "You poor guy."

Lowering his head, still wagging his tail, he came to her, sat down and offered his right paw. "You're very pretty."

"No collar." She shook her head, for she knew a bit about dogs. Labs weren't wanderers like hounds on scent. "Buddy, I need you like a hole in the head."

"You do need me. You just don't know it." He smiled shyly.

Struggling with herself, she reached down to pat the broad head. "I can at least get you to the vet. Come on."

"Whatever you say, ma'am." He obediently followed.

She had a folded canvas in the bed of the truck and a couple of old towels behind the seat. She shook out the canvas, placing it on the seat, then she toweled off the dirty, thin dog. "I can count every rib. Goddamn, what's wrong with people?"

"I got too big. I had too much energy so they put me in the car, drove up from Lynchburg, and dropped me along Route 250. I've been moving for two weeks and the weather's been bad. No one would help me."

"Come on."

He hopped in, curled up, grateful for the warmth and the attention. "I won't make a sound."

She punched in the numbers for information on her cell phone mounted beneath the dash. A small speaker was in the upper left-hand corner of the driver's side so she could keep both hands on the wheel after she dialed. She asked for the number of the vet right outside of Crozet, Dr. Shulman.

A pleasant receptionist, Sharon Cortez, answered. She recognized Taz's voice from the Pilates class they took together.

"Hi, I know a storm is coming, but-"

Hearing the distress in Tazio's voice, Sharon said simply, "Where are you?"

"Ten to fifteen minutes from your door."

"We'll be here."

The Lab went willingly into Dr. Shulman's office although the medicine smells weren't enticing. Humans missed most of the pungency.

"Tazio, what have you here?" The handsome bearded veterinarian bent down to run his hands over the dog's frame.

"I found him in the garage at the Lindsay house. I don't think this fellow has had a meal in a long time."

"Just what he could catch and with this weather that wouldn't be much." Dr. Shulman checked the dog's eyes, ears, opened his mouth. "Not quite a year, I'd say eight or nine months." He took a small stool swab, checked under the microscope. "Okay, no tapeworms, which should come as no surprise. No fleas or ticks thanks to the cold. Tapeworms come from infected fleas, so the cold has been useful. Given what he must have gone through he's in pretty good shape. We'll get some muscle and pounds on him in no time."

As Dr. Shulman quietly gave orders, Sharon gathered up some cans of food, a large bag of dry food, a brush, a collar, a leash, and a dog bed. Then he closed the door and efficiently gave the dog a barrage of shots.

"Dr. Shulman, I-" Tazio stuttered.

"Oh, don't worry. You just pay for the exam and the shots. I've given him his basic shots. Put his rabies tag on the collar. You can buy a commercial dog food, certainly, but given the weather the stores will be crowded so I thought maybe you'd best take some home. This will get you started."

"Oh, that's fine, but-" She picked up the collar.

"You know"-he knelt down to clean out the sweet dog's ears-"Mindy Creighton came in today. She had to say goodbye to Brinkley. He was almost twenty years old." Dr. Shulman fought a little mist in his eyes. "She left his collar, leash, and bed, asking me to give them to someone who might need them. Said she just couldn't bear to bring them back home. So next time you see her, thank her, not me."

"I thought I'd pay to get this boy back on his feet and find a good home for him."

"No! I want you." The Lab put his head under her hand.