Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

"You know her?" Billy was amazed at their professional detachment.

"Yes. She works for the county. She's a building inspector."

21

The wind, out of the west, carried a sharp edge. Tree branches swayed against a still blue sky. Harry walked out of St. Luke's at nine-thirty. She liked to attend the earliest service, matins, which was at eight-thirty on Sunday morning since the eleven o'clock service was packed. Vespers, at seven P.M., also pleased her. The eventide service exuded a cozy, quiet quality, especially in winter.

She didn't know how Herb preached three sermons each Sunday, but he did. He needed an assistant, a young pastor, but so far the diocese couldn't find their way to sending him one, saying there weren't that many to go around. Although overburdened, Reverend Jones thoroughly enjoyed his labors.

Tazio Chappars also liked matins. She hurried along to catch Harry.

"Sorry, Tazio, I didn't know you wanted company." Harry pulled her cashmere scarf, a present from Miranda, tighter around her neck.

"Isn't it funny how the seasons remind you of people, past events?"

"Yes, it is."

"This time of year makes me think of my mother. She hated winter and complained nonstop from the first frost to the last. But right about the third week of January she'd say, 'A little more light. Definitely.' Then every day after that we'd have to read the newspapers together, myself and my brothers, to find the exact number of daylight hours versus nighttime hours."

"You know, I've never met your brothers. I'd like to."

Tazio quickly put her hand on top of her hat, for the wind kicked up. "Jordan and Naylor, twins. Can you imagine growing up with twin brothers? They were horrid. Anyway, they about died when I moved here. Like a lot of people they have visions of po' black folk being oppressed each and every day. I tell them it's not like that and in many ways it's as sophisticated here as back home in St. Louis, but I'm talking to a brick wall. If I'm going to see them I have to go to them."

"Gee, I'm sorry. If they ever do come, though, let me know."

"I will. It's hard to believe the creeps who put tadpoles in my Kool-Aid are now doctors. Dad's an oncologist, Jordan followed Dad. Naylor specializes in hip replacements. I'm the oddball who didn't go into medicine."

"I couldn't do it." Harry shook her head. "You picked the right career for you." She turned her back on the wind. "Boreas."

"The north wind." Tazio remembered her mythology. "I loved those stories. And the Norse sagas. In college I read the African myths, went on to Native American myths. And you know, all those stories are filled with wisdom. Not that I learned to be wise. I'm afraid that only comes the hard way."

They reached their respective trucks, each one carrying their animals. Brinkley stood up, tail wagging, when he saw Tazio.

"I wish I could take my cats and dog to church," Harry mused. "It would do them a world of good."

"Mrs. Murphy on the organ? Think again, Harry."

"You do have a point, but she is a musical kitty."

"Would you like a cup of coffee? I'll treat. I'm beginning to worry about repairs to the rectory and maybe we could have our own meeting before the meeting." Tazio's lipstick, a shiny burgundy gloss, accentuated her nice teeth when she smiled.

"Sure."

They walked into the coffee shop, quiet on Sunday morning. Harry ordered a cappuccino with mountains of frothy milk. The animals, pleased to be allowed in, actually sat by the table without making a fuss.

"Brinkley, you're looking better," Tucker complimented the young Lab.

"She's feeding me a high-protein diet because I'm still growing. And last night she put chicken gravy on it. The most delicious thing I've ever tasted."

"I killed a live chicken once," Pewter boasted. "A Rhode Island Red and she was huge. Laid huge eggs, too."

"Brinkley, don't listen to her. She is such a storyteller." Mrs. Murphy rubbed against the Lab's light yellow chest.

"I did so kill a chicken. She walked out in front of the barn. The biggest chicken in the universe and she tried to chase me but I jumped on her back." The gray cat drew herself up to her full height, becoming more impressive.

"Now for the real story." Tucker chuckled. "She really did jump on the back of the chicken and it was a most plump chicken. But Pewter scared the dumb bird so much she dropped dead of a heart attack. It wasn't exactly a life-and-death struggle."

"That doesn't change the fact that I killed the chicken. Brinkley, they never want to give me credit for anything. They've never killed a chicken."

"No." Tucker clamped her long jaws shut. "Harry would throw me out of the house if I did. And you were lucky she was in the barn watching you or you would really have gotten into trouble. She knew the bird had had a coronary."

"How many chickens do you have?" Brinkley asked.

"Not a single one." Mrs. Murphy laughed.

Brinkley put his nose down to touch Pewter's. "Did you kill them all?"

This went straight to Pewter's head. She puffed out her chest, she swished her tail, she tipped up her chin. It was the Mighty Puss pose. "I did not but I could have if I wanted to."

"Then what happened to the chickens?" The younger fellow was puzzled.

"Well, first you have to understand that our human is the practical sort. But every now and then she gets an idea that doesn't exactly work out. The money-saving venture actually loses and, well, she goes through three pencils doing her sums trying to figure it out. The chickens were one of those kind of things." Tucker smiled.

"At first things were okay." Mrs. Murphy picked up the story. "She bought peepies, put them under an infrared light. Well, Brinkley, you won't get one little egg for six months. But finally the great day arrived and a puny egg appeared. In time more eggs appeared from these twenty hens and the eggs got bigger and bigger as the hens got bigger. Finally, when the chickens became ever so plump, the red fox down the lane would just yank one out of the chicken coop. Locked doors, screened top, nothing stopped him except that one big Rhode Island Red. He never could kill that chicken until heart disease did her in. Too much corn, I reckon."

The front door opened and Cynthia Cooper came in and sat down. "Herb told me you all left church together. I checked around and here you are."

Harry knew Cooper fairly well. "What's the matter?"

"Another killing at the Clam." She motioned and the waitress brought her a cup of double latte.

"You're kidding!" Harry sat up straight, as did the animals.

"Mychelle Burns stuffed in the broom closet."

"What?" Tazio's hands shook for a moment.

"If I were the kind of person who jumped to conclusions, I'd say someone was trying to spook the team." Harry slapped her napkin next to her fork.

"At this point no theory seems far-fetched." Cooper took a deep draught of the restorative coffee. "But H.H. and Mychelle?" She turned to Tazio. "Harry told me that Mychelle was unpleasant to you at the Mountain View Grille?"

"She said she wanted to see me. It was important. Usually when she wanted to see me it was about one of my buildings. We never discussed anything but work."

"But wouldn't she give you a hint, something like, 'The copper pipes at the new house are crooked'?" Harry shrugged. "I know I'm not using terminology correctly but you know what I mean. To kind of get you thinking about the problem, real or made-up."

"Made-up is closer to the mark. You know, being a sister, I wanted to like her but I couldn't stand her. Not that I wished her dead. We had nothing in common and I felt she singled me out for particular abuse."

"At lunch the other day when she nabbed you, what did she say?" Harry jumped right in whether she had any business asking these questions or not.