Рита Браун - Pawing Through The Past

As Rick questioned Fair, who sat next to Bitsy, E.R., and Chris, Mrs. Murphy and Pewter prowled the hallway, sticking their heads in every classroom.

"Nothing here. If someone were dead and stuffed in a closet we could smell him," Pewter remarked. "Fresh blood carries."

"You know we have ten times the scent receptors in our nostrils than humans do," Murphy casually said. "And they say that hunting hounds have twenty million receptors. More even than Tee Tucker."

"I'd keep that to myself. You know how proud Tucker is of her scenting abilities." The tiger peeked into the cafeteria, where the class of 1950 was again getting settled, disquieted though they were. "Pewter, let's go upstairs."

The cats turned around and walked to the stairway to the second floor. There was one stairwell at the end of the building but they walked up the main one, the wide one, which was in the middle of the hall. The risers bore thousands of scuff marks; the treads, beaten down also, bore testimony to the ceaseless pounding of teenaged feet. Although the school sanded and finished the stairs once a year the wood had become thin, concave in spots, the black rubber of sneakers leaving the most obvious marks on the worn surface.

The cats reached the second floor. A chair rail ran along the green walls; small bits had broken off and were painted over. The floor was as worn as the stair treads.

Mrs. Murphy turned into the first classroom, hopped on the windowsill, and looked down.

Pewter jumped up to join her. As she looked down she saw a bluejay dart from a majestic blue spruce. "Hate those birds."

"They don't like you either."

"What are we looking for?" Pewter sneezed. "Dust," she said.

"Dennis Rablan. First order of business. Second order of business is to memorize the school. We can see a lot from here."

"Wonder if Dennis is dead?"

"I don't know." Mrs. Murphy put her paws on the wall, gently sliding down. "He was an average-sized man. There aren't too many places a killer can stuff a fellow like that. Closets. Freezers. Let's check out each room, go down the back stairway, and then we can check out the cars. I don't remember what kind of car Denny drove, do you?"

"No. Wasn't a car. It was one of those minivans."

They inspected each classroom, each bathroom, then trotted down the back stairs. They jumped on the hood of each car in the parking lot but no bodies were slumped over on the front seat.

"Don't jump on Mom's hood. She gets testy about paw prints." Pewter giggled.

A sheriff's department car pulled into the parking lot. Sitting in the front seat next to the officer was Dennis Rablan. The cats watched as the officer parked, got out, and Dennis, handcuffed, swung his feet out, touching the ground.

"Please take these off," Dennis pleaded. "I'm not a killer. Don't make me walk into the reunion like this."

"You left your reunion in a hurry, buddy, you can walk right back in wearing these bracelets. Eighty miles an hour in front of the Con-Agra Building. If you aren't guilty then you're running scared."

The cats followed behind the humans, who didn't notice them. As the officer, a young man of perhaps twenty-five, propelled Dennis into the gym, people turned. Their expressions ranged from disbelief to mild shock.

"I didn't do it!" Dennis shouted before anyone could say anything.

"Sheriff, I searched his van and found a hunting knife and a rope. No gun."

"Let me see the rope." Sheriff Shaw left for a moment as Dennis stood in the middle of the room.

He quickly returned, wearing thin rubber gloves, rope in hand. "Rablan, what's this?"

"I don't know. I didn't have a rope in my van this morning."

"Well, you sure have one in your van now."

"I didn't do it. I thought Rex Harnett was a worthless excuse for a man. I did. A useless parasite." He turned toward his classmates. "I can't remember him ever doing anything for anybody but himself."

"Maybe so but he didn't deserve to die for it." Hank Bittner, back from the bathroom, spoke calmly.

"Tucker," Mrs. Murphy softly called, "sniff the rope."

The beautiful corgi walked over to the sheriff, her claws clicking on the gym floor. She lifted her nose before Rick noticed. "Talcum powder."

When the sheriff looked down at the dog looking up, he paused as if to say something but didn't. He stared at Harry instead, who whistled for Tucker. She instantly obeyed.

"I didn't do it." Dennis set his jaw.

BoomBoom folded her arms across her chest. "Sheriff, he's not the type."

"Then who is?" the sheriff snapped back. "I have seen little old ladies commit fraud, fifteen-year-old kids blow away their parents, and ministers debauch their flocks. You tell me, who is?"

"If none of you are going to stand up for me, I'll tell everything I know about our senior year," Dennis taunted the others.

"You bastard!" Bittner lunged forward, reaching Dennis be-fore Cynthia could catch him. With one crunching uppercut he knocked Dennis off his feet.

Rick grabbed Hank's right arm as the young officer pinned the other one.

"He's a liar. He doesn't know anything about anybody," Hank snarled.

Bob Shoaf confirmed Hank's opinion. "Right, Rablan, make up stories to save your own ass."

Dennis, helped to his feet by Cynthia, sneered. "I'll tell what I want to when I want to and I'll extract maximum revenge. It was never my idea. I just happened to be there."

"Be where?" Rick asked.

"In the showers."

"Let me get this straight." Rick motioned for Jason, the young officer, to unlock the handcuffs. "You're talking about today? Or 1980?"

"He's scared out of his wits," Pewter whispered.

Dennis looked around the room and his bravado seemed to fade. "I don't remember anything. But someone planted that rope in my van."

"Fool's blabbing about the rope before it's tested." Market Shiflett was disgusted with Dennis.

"Can I go home?" Chris sighed.

"No," Rick curtly answered.

Harry, next to Fair, said, "What did happen my senior year?"

Susan, on her other side, whispered, "Those that know are rapidly disappearing."

"Yeah, all part of the in-group clique." Harry felt dreadful, half-queasy over the deaths and the lingering presence of in-tended evil.

"All men," Susan again whispered.

"So far," Fair said. He was worried for all of them.

41

"Now what's the story." Rick folded his hands on the wooden desk with the slanted top, and leaned forward.

Cynthia remained in the gym checking everyone's hands for residue from firing the gun. She also checked their purses and pockets for surgical gloves. As lunchtime approached Rick de-cided the class of 1980 could enjoy their lunch as planned. Susan, in charge of the food, was rearranging tables with help. It would be a somber group that ate barbecue.

Rick meanwhile commandeered a classroom down the hall. Then he intended to interview the senior superlatives since they were the ones dying off, the men, anyway.