Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

Sugar leaned forward. "Are you suspicious about Fred? Like he killed Mychelle?"

"No."

She exhaled audibly. "Good. I really don't want to be here if that's what you're working on."

"Do you think he could have killed Mychelle?"

"Nah."

"Why?"

"Just don't. He really liked Mychelle. Her death has hit him hard."

"Most murders are committed by someone who knows the victim, often quite well."

"I know. I read the papers. I watch TV, but Fred, nah."

"Sugar, how long have you worked here?"

"Two years. I graduated and got a job."

"Charlottesville High?"

"Murray." Sugar mentioned a high school specializing in gifted young people who often had trouble flourishing in the big high schools-Charlottesville, Albemarle, Western Albemarle.

"Ah. Didn't want to go on?"

"No. School bores me. I'm lucky I graduated." She twirled a pencil. "I was kind of rebellious, you know."

"That comes as a big surprise to me."

Sugar laughed. "Yeah, well, what can I say?"

"A couple more questions. Did you ever notice Mychelle making large expensive purchases, like a leather coat or just something that caught your eye?"

"No."

"Fred?"

"Um, no. Fred always goes someplace good on his vacation. That's about it."

"Well, thanks. Now you can say anything you want to Fred, but if you tell him how upset Matthew really was when he charged in here I expect I'll be getting a call." Cooper pointed to the mess on the floor. "You going to leave that there?"

"Do you want me to?"

Cooper considered this. "Up to you but it will fan the flames."

"Fred would take a picture. He's just the type." Sugar sniggered. "For future use."

"We're thinking along the same lines."

As Cooper reached the door Sugar asked quietly, "Am I in danger?"

"I don't think so. But if anyone frightens you or you think something is weird, you call me, I don't care if it's three in the morning, you call me." She gave her her card with her personal number and her cell number.

"I will." Sugar paused, then slipped the card in her skirt pocket. "Is Matthew right? Is some kind of gambling going on?"

"I don't know," Cooper honestly replied. "I wish I did, but that's my job. I'll find out. You can bet on that."

31

The St. Luke's Parish Guild gathered as usual in the welcoming meeting room. Cherry logs crackled in the fireplace. The old rugs, worn through to the backing in some places, remained on the floor. The carpet men absolutely, positively, without fail would be there Friday morning to start work. By this point no one was holding their breath.

Matthew Crickenberger, composed, chaired the meeting. Herb added information as needed. Herb believed the chair should rotate and so it did. He thought this fostered leadership. If one didn't wish to be a leader, then it taught appreciation for those who were.

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, Brinkley, Cazenovia, and Elocution considered raiding the communion wafers again. Given that their initial depredations had not been discovered, they all voted to leave well enough alone. And since this upcoming Sunday was a communion Sunday their misdeed would most likely be discovered. Instead they settled into Herb's office, all sitting on the large chesterfield sofa. Herb, like Susan Tucker, liked chesterfield sofas. The one in his living quarters was dark green, this one was a rich maroon.

They could hear Tazio and BoomBoom in the next room discussing fund-raising ideas.

"How come St. Luke's has so many poor parishioners?" Brinkley wondered.

"Doesn't. All the churches cooperate to help with the food drive," Cazenovia, the senior kitty, replied.

"Humans eat strange stuff. Asparagus," Tucker said.

"I like asparagus," Elocution demurred.

"You do?" Tucker was aghast.

"I like greens every now and then," Elocution replied, "especially with my communion wafers."

"What does Tazio feed you?" Tucker loved hearing about food.

"Puppy chow mixed with canned food. Sometimes she gives me the fat off meat, too."

"Oh, that sounds delicious." Tucker licked her chops.

"Tuna." Pewter closed her eyes, purring.

"Chicken." Mrs. Murphy smiled.

"Mouse tartare," Cazenovia declared.

"A giant knucklebone, jammed with marrow." Tucker wagged her nonexistent tail.

"Gee"-Brinkley's soft eyes were puzzled-"how do you get your human to give you such treats?"

"Since you can't go into the market with them, it's hard," Tucker advised. "Seize the day. If you walk by a restaurant with big picture windows, wag your tail if someone is eating steak or a hamburger. Point with your right paw. Gets them every time and they really figure it out. You can train them with food."

"Don't expect miracles," Cazenovia added.

"Well, you need to practice being cute." Mrs. Murphy rolled over showing her beige tummy with the stripes lighter than on her back. "Like this."

"Do I do that in front of a restaurant?" Brinkley innocently asked.

"No, no. Your human will pitch a fit because you've rolled in dirt or whatever is on the sidewalk. Just point." Tucker demonstrated a point. "Trust me, they get the point."

"Very funny," Pewter dryly said.

"How long does it take to train a human?"

"Brinkley, all your life. Now some lessons they retain such as your feeding time because it's tied to their feeding time." Mrs. Murphy liked the yellow Lab. "Going to sleep, waking up at the same time, they learn that pretty quickly, too. Truth is, we're usually on similar schedules so it's not too taxing for them. But other things, getting them to notice something out of the ordinary or warning them that another human isn't right, oh, that's hit-and-miss."

"Really?" He nudged the tiger cat who patted his nose.

"Now our human is very smart." Pewter puffed up.

"Our human? I thought you didn't claim any human," Mrs. Murphy teased her.

"I changed my mind." Pewter tossed her head. "And she is smart."

"Highly trainable." Tucker nodded in agreement.

"She's a country person so she's not so far away from her real self," Pewter added.

"Real self?" The growing fellow was curious.

"You know, the animal in them." Mrs. Murphy thought this would be self-evident.

"They don't know they're animals?" Brinkley was astounded.

"No, they really don't." Pewter turned up her nose.

"And the more they live away from other animals, the worse it gets." Elocution, a lively girl, held the tip of her tail in her paw but forgot why she had picked it up in the first place.

"What about your human? Is he smart?" Brinkley asked.

"Depends," Cazenovia, who had lived with Herb the longest, answered. "He's smart about fly-fishing. He pays attention to the signs in the runs and branches when he's fishing but he can walk right through a meadow and miss fox poop. Or worse, bear poop."

"Can't he smell it?"

Cazenovia hopped onto the back of the sofa to be at eye level with the Lab, who was sitting upright. He was already so big he couldn't stretch out on the sofa. There wouldn't be room for the others.

"They can't smell." Cazenovia delivered the shocking news.

"Can't smell?" Brinkley felt terrible. This was his sharpest sense.

"Now that's not true." Mrs. Murphy countered the longhaired calico. "They can smell a wee bit. If they don't smoke they can smell better. But for instance, if you put out a piece of bread, say, fifty yards from them, they wouldn't smell it even if it was fresh. A smell has to be very strong or right under their noses to affect them."

"Those poor creatures." Brinkley's ears drooped for a moment.

"Eyes. They rely on their eyes." Elocution kept staring at her tail tip. "'Course their eyes aren't nearly as good as a cat's but they aren't bad. They're better than your eyes."