Рита Браун - Pawing Through The Past

"He could have pulled off on a dirt road," Miranda said, "or he could have used someone else's car or a closed garage."

"Yes." Cynthia put down her cup.

"When I started up the stairwell, he was waiting. I think he was waiting for Hank. He knew Dennis had left-that is, if it wasn't Dennis. He wanted the reunion to be his killing field-he set us up with Charlie and Leo. They were the overture. The reunion was going to be the big show. I swear it! And I got in the way."

"But the class of 1950 was in the cafeteria, that's what galls me." Miranda smacked her hand on the table. "Right there. He was over our heads and we never heard him. Nor did we see him come in and we may be old but we aren't blind."

"He never left," Harry said. "He may have gotten in his car when everyone drove away but he just circled around and hid his car. He'd been up there for hours. I can't prove it but it makes sense. You had the building covered. And even if you'd walked the halls, there are plenty of places to hide: broom closets, bathrooms. He could have stood on the john. You wouldn't have seen him. I tell you, he was there all the time."

"And you believe that he was going to kill Hank Bittner." Cynthia started to rise but Miranda jumped up and refilled her cup, handing her the half-and-half.

"If the stories are true then there are two witnesses or . . . participants alive from that rape." Harry thought out loud. "If Hank Bittner had been killed and Dennis lived, I guess we'd have our answer." She stopped abruptly. "Dennis has a car phone. Has he used it?"

"No. We checked that, too."

"And you've called Hank Bittner, of course," Miranda pressed.

"We did. He left on the six forty-five A.M. flight for New York and showed up for work. We called again this afternoon to see if anyone from the class had called him. Nobody had. He didn't seem frightened but that could be a bluff."

"What if you bring him back to flush the game?"

"No go. He's not coming back to Crozet until we find the killer."

"Doesn't mean the killer won't go to him." Harry folded her arms across her chest. "Another thing. The gun that killed Rex and Bob. A different gun than Marcy Wiggins'?"

"Yes."

"With a silencer?"

"Exactly."

"They're illegal," Miranda exclaimed.

"So is murder," Harry said, and then they burst out laughing, relieving some of the tension.

54

That evening, Tracy Raz and Fair took turns staying awake while Harry slept. Pewter again stayed in the bedroom with Harry while Tucker rested by the kitchen door and Mrs. Murphy curled up at the front door.

At one in the morning Mrs. Murphy opened one eye. She heard the crunch of tires about a half mile away. Had she been wide awake she would have heard it earlier. With lightning speed she skidded down the hallway, turned through the living room, and soared through the kitchen, leaping over Tucker's head. The corgi, eyes now opened wide, shot through the animal door after Mrs. Murphy. The two best friends ran under the three-board fence, down over the sloping meadow, jumped a ditch and culvert, zigzagged through the protective fringe of woods by the front entrance, and came out on the paved road in time to see the taillights of a late-model car recede in the darkness.

"Damn!" Tucker shook herself.

"Make that a double damn. Even a minute earlier, we might have identified the car. You can bet it wasn't someone lost and turning around. No, that was our killer all right. Coming down the driveway. Saw Tracy's car and Fair's truck."

They turned, trotting over the light silvery frost covering the ground. The storm clouds still gathered at the mountaintops. The weather in the mountains varies from minute to minute. Although it appeared in the afternoon that a storm would hit by early evening, it waited. When the winds changed, those inky masses would roll down into the valley. Deer, raccoons, fox, and rabbits scampered about, each hoping to fill their bellies before the storm pinned them down.

As the cat and dog broke into the open meadow, a low swoosh flattened them to the ground. Mrs. Murphy twisted her head to look upward. A pair of huge talons, wide open, reached for her.

"Ha! Ha!" Flatface called as she brushed the edge of Mrs. Murphy's fur. Then she rose again in the dark air.

"She's got a sick sense of humor," Tucker, rattled, growled.

"Flatface. Flatface. Come back," Mrs. Murphy called out to the enormous owl.

Huge shadowy wings dipped, the owl banked, then silently settled before them. Rarely were the ground animals this close to the owl, easily three times taller than they were, with a massive chest and fearsome golden eyes. When they spoke to her or were reprimanded by her, she was usually in her perch in the cupola in the barn.

Speechless for a moment, Tucker swallowed. "You scared us."

"Groundlings," came the imperious reply.

"Did you see the car that drove partways down the drive?" Mrs. Murphy refused to back up even though Flatface took a step toward her, turning her head upside down for effect.

"Wasn't a car. It was a van. It flashed the lights on when it turned into the driveway, then cut them off. Drove down the road with no lights. Fool."

"Did you see who was driving it?" Murphy asked.

"No."

"We think whoever is driving that van, most likely Dennis Rablan, will try to kill Mom," Tucker, ears forward, said.

"Humans don't concern me."

"She's different." Murphy puffed out her fur a bit.

Flatface swiveled her head around; a field mouse moved under the dried hay leavings. Full, she let the tiny creature pass. "If you were a kitten I'd eat you for supper." She let out a low chortle, then stretched her wings out wide, a sight that would have frozen the blood even of the forty-pound bobcat who prowled this territory. To further emphasize her power she stepped forward, towering over the cat and dog.

Mrs. Murphy laughed. "Have to catch me first. Maybe I'd put pepper on my tail."

Flatface folded her wings next to her body. She admired the sleek tiger cat's nerve. "As I said, I don't care about humans but I like the barn. New people might change the routine. One never knows. Then again, Harry seems less human than most of them. I shouldn't like to see her killed."

"If you see anything or if that van returns, fly down and see who is driving it. We think it's Dennis Rablan." Tucker finally spoke up.

"All right."

The wind shifted. Mrs. Murphy beheld the first inky octopus leg of the storm slide down the mountain. "Have you had any luck catching any of the barn mice?"

The owl blinked. "No-and they sing the most awful songs."

"Ah, it isn't just me then." Murphy smiled.

Flatface hooted, opened her wings, and lifted off over their heads, a rush of air from her large wings flowing over their faces as the wind from the west picked up.

By the time they reached the screened-in porch, the first tiny ratshot of sleet slashed out of the sky. It hit the tin roof of the barn like machine-gun fire. Within seconds the rat-tat-tat increased to a steady roar.