Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

The large fellow thought a moment while tasting peanut butter, a new delicious taste, and he cocked his head. "You're right, little dog, I do."

Tucker stopped, turning to face the hawk. "If it gets really bad, Mother throws out seeds in front of the barn. She puts out a lot and sometimes bread. It's not flesh but it's better than going hungry. No one will bother you. The owl sleeps during the day."

"Flatface." The hawk respected the huge owl. "Best hunter around. She's conceited about it, too. Being domesticated, do you have to do everything that human tells you?" The hawk thought the collar around Tucker's neck a badge of slavery.

"You don't understand, I want to do what she wants. I love her."

The hawk swallowed another piece of Nab. "Incomprehensible."

"If you knew her, you'd love her."

"Never. Humans get in the way. They disturb our game, they tamper with migration patterns, they are the kiss of death."

"My human gave you food."

"Your human is the exception that proves the rule."

"Perhaps." Tucker chose not to argue. "I hope winter isn't too fierce. I hope you have plenty to eat. I won't chase you if you come to the barn. There are lots of mice in the barn and the outbuildings."

"Thank you. I'll see you again." The hawk opened one wing, each feather standing out against the sparkling snow.

Tucker scampered after Harry, puffs of snow shooting out from under her paws.

"There you are. Thought about that big hawk, did you?"

"Yes. I'm glad I'm not wild. I wouldn't get to live with you if I were."

Harry stuck a ski pole into the snow, launching herself down a mostly cleared path back into the pastures. Tears welled up in her eyes from the cold. Tucker dashed after her, once falling into a deeper bit of snow than she had anticipated.

When they were finally cozy inside the kitchen, Tucker gobbled her kibble, a drizzle of corn oil and a tablespoon of beef dog food on top.

The cats listened as she told them about the hawk.

"What kind?" Mrs. Murphy inquired.

"A marsh hawk." Tucker called the northern harrier by its common name.

"About two feet high?" Pewter didn't think that was that big but big enough.

"Yes, you know, plowing through the snow after talking with him I got to thinking about wild animals. They eat what they kill. Animals that aren't flesh eaters, say a squirrel, might stash some acorns but animals aren't greedy. Wild animals."

"And we are?" Pewter arched a gray eyebrow.

"Uh, well, we can all overeat, I suppose, but I think greed, true greed, is a human characteristic. How much does one human need to live? But they'll kill one another for more."

"That's true," Mrs. Murphy said.

"I don't think Anne Donaldson killed H.H. My instincts are better than a human's." Tucker, invigorated from her exercise, was chatty. "It's bigger than jealousy."

The phone rang and Harry picked it up to hear Susan's voice.

"Found Anne and Cameron." Susan had been called by Big Mim. She didn't believe the car story for a minute.

"Where were they?"

"BoomBoom's."

"Why didn't anyone call to tell me?" Harry complained.

"No one knew until"-Susan checked her wall clock-"seven-fifteen. Power went out on that side of town and it wasn't restored until early this morning. It doesn't appear to be anything sinister. Anne decided not to drive as the roads are treacherous."

"Sounds reasonable. Well, I'd better get down to the post office. I'm already late."

"No one's going out today. Stay home."

"Crozet might collapse without me."

"Pulease," Susan laughed and hung up.

Harry, usually punctual, had lost track of the time. She called Miranda. No one at home. She called the post office.

"Hello."

"Miranda, I'm late and I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Nothing is moving in town this morning. You stay there. The roads aren't cleared, Tracy's with me."

"Coop told me he got clunked on the head. She also told me a lot of stuff has been walking out of the equipment room."

"Yes. I know Tracy can handle anything, but I don't think he or anyone should be in that building alone. Not until things are, well, whatever they are."

"Is Tracy sorting mail?"

"There isn't any. Rob Collier probably won't get through or, if he does, it will be late."

"Miranda, Coop said about twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of equipment had been stolen last year. She said they'll be able to determine what had been stolen from earlier years. More or less." She paused. "People kill for less than that."

"That they do," Miranda agreed.

"Nothing makes sense."

"No, it doesn't. But whether things make sense or not, there's something dangerous about. Now you stay there. If Rob makes it out and there's a lot of mail, I'll tell you, but I think the road plows will be running all day. You might as well build a snowman."

Harry hung up the phone, put her down vest and jacket back on, and went outside to do just that. The cats thought they'd play in the snow for a little bit until their paws became too cold, then they'd go back into the house. Tucker joined them. They raced around, threw snow over their heads, barked, meowed, ran in circles. Tucker chased Mrs. Murphy, who struggled because of the snow. Usually the dog was no match for the nimble cat, but although slowed by the snow, the tiger had lost none of her guile. She floundered over toward the barn, icicles gleaming from the roofline, and just as Tucker, fearsomely snapping her jaws, closed in on her, the cat arched sideways. Tucker, her momentum hard to stop, bounced into the side of the barn door. The icicles dropped, tinkling as they hit the earth. One small one fell onto Tucker's hind leg, the point so sharp it nicked the skin.

"Ow!"

Mrs. Murphy hurried to her friend, pulling it out with her claws. A little spot of blood stained the white fur. "Bet that hurt."

Pewter, at a more leisurely pace, joined them. She sniffed the tip of the icicle, the blood smell fresh and enticing.

Tucker twisted around to lick her leg just above her foot.

"That's it." Mrs. Murphy's eyes enlarged, her ears swept forward and back, her tail thrashed.

"What are you talking about?" Pewter half-closed her eyes, enjoying the blood odor.

"Ice. H.H. was killed with ice!"

Tucker stopped licking, and Pewter stopped smelling to stare at the excited tiger.

"Huh?" The dog was beginning to understand.

"If H.H. had been hit with a dart, he'd have to pull it out. If Anne had stabbed him with some thin thing like a needle she'd have to pull it out. If the weapon wasn't pulled out it'd be obvious, right? You'd think someone would notice, wouldn't you?"

"We've heard all this." Pewter crossly said.

"You could stab someone with ice, jab it into someone's skin. If there's a painkiller at the tip, the victim might not feel much and cold blunts feeling as well. When the ice melts, the toxin is delivered, it gets into the bloodstream but there's no weapon. It's absorbed into the body."

"God." Pewter's mouth hung open, her bright pink tongue even brighter against the white snow background.

"That's diabolical." Tucker rubbed her head against Mrs. Murphy's.

"If H.H. is outside the building, if he's hit with an ice dart or arrow, even though it's freezing, his body temperature will melt it. The killer can choose his or her best moment." Mrs. Murphy grinned.

"Like slapping him on the back to divert his attention, and with the other hand stick the little ice needle in?" Pewter's imagination began to work.

"Perhaps. We'll figure out how later, but I swear that's the weapon."

Tucker stood up and shook herself. "A person would need a tiny mold, pop it in the freezer. Of course, they'd have to be smart about toxins, wouldn't they?"

"Yeah, they would, but even a person with average research skills could find the right substance. There's stuff sitting on supermarket shelves that can kill you if you know what you're doing. You could mix up a lethal cocktail and not spend more than five dollars." Pewter even forgot the cold in her enthusiasm.