Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

"Lardass." The little dog laughed.

"Carrion breath." Mrs. Murphy joined in the fun.

"Tuna fart." Tucker thought she could gross them out.

"I don't pass gas," the cat haughtily replied.

"You burp a lot, though." Pewter giggled.

"Whose side are you on?" Murphy crossly questioned the gray cat who prudently stepped close to Harry.

"Hey, kids, we can't hear ourselves talk," Harry reprimanded them.

"If you only knew." Tucker rolled her eyes.

"That's the great thing about humans. They don't know squat." Pewter erupted in a loud laugh, startling the others.

"Perhaps they need to go out." BoomBoom rose and opened the kitchen door. The screen door had another animal door to the side of it which Harry kept unlocked.

The three refused to budge.

"Sit down, BoomBoom. They get like this whenever I leave them home. Now back to your research. The killer must have highly specialized knowledge, like a chemist. If the killer had no conscience, zip, food or drink might be the answer. If the killer does have a conscience, then he or she had to find another way to administer the poison or probably more people would be dead."

"You know." BoomBoom pointed at Harry with her forefinger.

"I do not."

"You're way too calm. You've already figured it out and I bet you've been to the Clam."

"Uh-well, I have been there, yes, but I don't know any more than you do. In fact, you know more than I do."

Harry swung her legs to and fro under her seat. She was getting excited. "Fair was present at the autopsy. He said there was a mark on the left side of H.H.'s neck, a thin penetration wound. And I bugged Coop who confirmed it and said they'd checked his clothes, they'd checked the parking lot. No small dart, not even a tiny needle. Nothing."

"Go back to the Clam with me. Come on."

"I've got chores." Harry wavered.

"All right." BoomBoom stood up. She wanted to check the scene. Would she remember something she had suppressed? She was also hoping spending time with Harry would further repair their relationship.

"It is bizarre"-Harry rose to walk BoomBoom to the door-"that he could be stabbed and we didn't see it. Nor did he yell. It doesn't make a bit of sense."

"If the weapon had been smeared with something like Novocain"-BoomBoom turned to face Harry-"H.H. might not have felt the wound. It's possible."

"It is!" Harry froze in her tracks.

"Come on, let's go." BoomBoom tapped Harry on her shoulder.

They piled into BoomBoom's mammoth Expedition. Her BMW was in the shop after being sideswiped. She had lots of cars and could converse for hours on the merits of a BMW 540i versus a Mercedes AMG 55, or any other models. The animals merrily joined them. Boom loved animals and she didn't care if her seats had pawprints on them.

They parked in the sea of asphalt and hurried to the basketball court where the girls were practicing.

Both Harry and BoomBoom waved as they trotted to their respective seats, the animals with them.

Harry closed her eyes. "I swear I felt something whizz by the left side of my face. It may not be important . . . but sitting here, I, yes, I remember a whizz, kind of."

"The whoosh you felt, it could have just been a noisemaker unfurling." Boom turned to Harry from her seat.

"I didn't turn around. My focus was on the game." She threw up her hands. "But then why wasn't there a dart or a metal point in his neck?"

"H.H. pulled it out?"

"That I would have seen. No." Harry shook her head.

"What if the killer jabbed his neck when we were leaving or even in the parking lot then pocketed the knife or needle or whatever?" BoomBoom mimicked a quick jab.

Pewter had returned to the hairline crack in the wall. She sniffed. The trickle of water continued, no doubt from melting snow. Pewter could smell the dampness.

As the humans left she scampered after them. They carefully walked along the circular hall in the direction of the main entrance. Tucker stopped, lifted her nose.

Mrs. Murphy stopped, too. "Oh."

"I smell it, too." Pewter, eyes large with excitement, followed the dog now in front of a locked door.

Tucker put her nose to the ground. "Blood. Fresh."

The two cats inhaled deeply. "Very, very fresh."

"There are other smells. This must be a broom closet." Tucker processed the information her incredible nose was compiling. "Disinfectant. Soap, bar soap. I can smell water, not much, but there must be a sink in there. But the blood, yes, quite strong and human. Oh, and perfume."

The cats crowded at the door, curling their upper lips toward their noses to direct more scent into their nostrils. Yes, a hint of perfume.

"The janitor could have cut himself." Pewter lifted her nose for fresher air. "Guess it would be a feminine janitor. One who favors floral perfume."

"Pewter, there's a great deal of blood. Someone is dying."

"Or dead," Mrs. Murphy grimly responded.

Tucker cocked her head, swiveling her ear to catch any sound at all. "Not yet. I can hear the human breathe, ragged."

"Mother, someone is hurt. Hurt bad!" Mrs. Murphy screamed.

"Help!" Pewter hollered.

"Help!" Tucker added, her bark frantic.

Harry stopped, turning toward them. "Come on."

"Help!" they all bellowed.

Harry turned to BoomBoom. "Ever since Tucker took to chasing that rat at O'Bannon's Salvage yard she imagines she is the world's greatest ratter. 'Course, she never caught the rat in the first place."

"Help!"

"That's it!" Harry strode back, reached down, picking up a cat in each arm. "I have had about enough of this." She charged out of the building, Mrs. Murphy and Pewter wriggling. BoomBoom hurried in front of them.

She opened the door for Harry to toss the cats in the Expedition. They jumped up and down as though on pogo sticks. Pewter screamed her head off.

BoomBoom, now in the driver's seat, tried to soothe them. "There, there, she'll be right back."

"Oh, BoomBoom, you have no idea what's wrong," Mrs. Murphy cried.

Harry ran back into the building where Tucker was making a fuss. As it was Saturday no one was around to pay attention to the dog. The girls were still at practice.

Seeing Harry, Tucker stood on her hind legs, scratching at the door.

"Get a grip," Harry furiously commanded.

"You've got to open this door!"

Harry, as if understanding, placed her hand on the doorknob. Locked. "That's one rat that will live another day."

"No, no, someone is dying in there. I can hear them breathe. I know that sound! I know the-"

"Tucker, we are going to have a Come to Jesus meeting right here if you don't behave." She bent down, grabbing Tucker and carrying the twenty-eight-pound whimpering dog to the car.

"They are so upset." BoomBoom worried that they might be sick.

"Spoiled is more like it." Harry shut the door to the passenger side. "I apologize."

Tears welled up in the dog's brown eyes. "Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, I tried."

"You're the best dog, Tucker, the very best dog." Mrs. Murphy licked Tucker's face as Pewter rubbed against her white chest.

"I feel so terrible. That person is dying."

19

The day faded. A sliver of white creamy cloud snaked over the Blue Ridge Mountains, with rich, deep gray-blue clouds filling the sky above. When the sun set, the white transformed to scarlet, brilliantly offsetting the mountains. So unusual was the sight that Harry, pitchfork in hand, at the manure pile mostly unfrozen thanks to the sudden thaw, stopped to appreciate the panorama.

The manure pile, contained in a pit housed by three sides of pressure-treated two-by-fours, was step one in Harry's mulch process. Once the manure and shavings cooked for a year, she'd take the front-end loader of the tractor and move it all to the second pit. If the year had had a lot of moisture, the pile would be ready to use and sell. She made a little pin money selling a pickup-truck load for thirty dollars. If it had been a drought year, she waited another year for the mixture to properly cook.