Рита Браун - Pawing Through The Past

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Each member of the class of
1980 has received the letter.
Mary Minor "Harry" Haristeen,
who is on the organizing
committee for Crozet High's twentieth reunion, decides to
take it as a compliment. Others
think it's a joke.
But Mrs. Murphy senses trouble.
And the sly tiger cat is soon
proven right ... when the class womanizer turns up dead with
a bullet between his eyes. Then
another note followed by
another murder makes it clear
that someone has waited
twenty years to take revenge. While Harry tries to piece
together the puzzle, it's up to
Mrs. Murphy and her animal pals
to sniff out the truth. And there
isn't much time. Mrs. Murphy is
the first to realize that Harry has been chosen Most Likely to Die,
and if she doesn't hurry, Crozet
High's twentieth reunion could
be Harry's last.

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"Will be a hard night of it." Murphy shook herself, as did Tucker.

"Wonder where he hides that van?" Tucker shook the sleet off her fur.

"Right under our noses."

"Do you believe Pewter slept through everything?" Tucker was appalled.

"Tracy's wide awake." Murphy watched as the older man pored over Harry's high-school yearbook.

"If this is Dennis, he knows that Tracy is our lodger. He doesn't take him seriously. I think it was Fair's truck that backed him off."

"Maybe he was checking us out for later."

55

The sleet turned to ice bits which turned to snow by mid-morning. The first snow of the season arrived punctually, right on November first.

Harry felt prepared, having driven her four-wheel drive F350 dually to work.

It was also the day of Bob Shoaf's funeral in Buffalo, New York, and Rex Harnett's in Columbia, South Carolina, where his mother was living. No one had organized memorial services in Crozet. When shopping in Market Shiflett's store, Ted Smith, a fellow in his seventies, displayed a little gallows humor when he said, "Funeral. You guys need a bulldozer to dig mass graves." Market didn't find that funny.

Nor did he find it funny when he asked Chris Sharpton to the movies and she allowed as to how he was a good man but she wasn't going out with anyone from his high-school class ever again, and if she ever saw Dennis Rablan again she'd tell him a thing or two.

In a fit of loneliness he asked Bitsy Valenzuela, later that morning, if she had any unmarried girlfriends from her hometown. He'd travel for a weekend date. She very kindly said she couldn't think of anyone off the top of her head, but if she did she'd let him know.

Morose, he waved but didn't smile when Harry threw a snowball at his window. She entered the post office as Miranda hung up the phone.

"They found Dennis's van!"

"Where?"

"Yancy's Body Shop." Yancy's also specialized in painting automobiles.

"No one noticed?" Harry was incredulous.

"Yancy's on vacation, hunting in Canada. The shop's been locked since the weekend. Cynthia said they've cordoned off the place and are dusting for prints, searching for any other evidence."

"Locked, but is there anyone in town who doesn't know where the key is? Over the doorjamb. It's been there since we were kids." She unwound her scarf. "Hey, it's something, I guess."

Tracy came in, bringing them a pepper plant. "Needed something cheerful on the first snowy day."

"Tracy, I appreciate you keeping watch, but really, I have the animals."

The three furry creatures smiled.

"Yes, but now you have me, too. And while it's on my mind-"

"Honey, they've found Dennis Rablan's van!" Miranda interrupted him, then told him everything she'd just heard.

Harry called Susan, who called Bonnie Baltier in Richmond. One by one the remaining senior superlatives heard the news, including Mike Alvarez in Los Angeles. BoomBoom called Hank Bittner in New York. More worried than he cared to admit, he thanked her for her thoughtfulness.

"Dennis has to be hiding somewhere close by." Pewter felt drowsy. Low-pressure systems did that to her.

"Underground." Tucker used the old term from the underground railroad days.

In a manner of speaking, he was.

56

The following day, clear in the morning, clouded up by noon. The bite in the air meant snow, big snow. Snowstorms usually did not hit central Virginia until after Christmas and then continued up to early April. Then spring would magically appear. One day it is a gray, beige, black, and white world and the next, pink, yellow, white, and purple cover the hills.

The earliest snowstorm within Harry's memory was an October snow, when the leaves were still on the branches, and the weight of the snow with the leaves brought down huge limbs throughout the region. She remembered doing her homework that night to the sound of branches being torn down, screaming since the sap was still in them.

Market dashed in to get his mail. "No more toilet paper. Miranda, I put a six-pack inside your back door. People are crazy. You'd think the storm of the century was approaching." He paused. "The barometer sure is dropping, though. Ought to be a couple of days' worth or one big punch."

"I've got my snow shovel at the ready." Miranda winked.

"And Tracy to shovel it." Harry tossed a pile of fourth-class mail into the canvas cart.

"He'll do yours, too. He is a charitable soul."

"Bet the supermarket is running low on canned goods. I should have ordered more last week. But you know, I watch the weather and you'd think it was one volcano eruption, tornado, or hurricane after another. It's not weather anymore-it's melo-drama. So I don't much listen."

"I go by my shinbone." Miranda reached down on the other side of the mailboxes. "Hey, almost forgot, Market, here's a package from European Coffees." She handed it over the counter, worn smooth and pale from use.

"Thanks. Oops, looks like Bitsy at the store. Better head back."

As he left, Harry waved. They'd discussed the finding of the van yesterday. There wasn't much more to say. Market didn't like being in the store alone but he had to make a living. He said he didn't think he was in danger. He wasn't part of the Ashcraft-Burkey-Shoaf "in" group but things were so crazy, how could one be sure?

"I'm going to walk about before the snow gets here. Anyone want to come along?"

"Murphy, it's twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit out there," Pewter protested.

"I'll go," Tucker volunteered.

"You two are always showing off about how tough you are." Pewter hopped in an empty mail cart, curling up with her tail draped over her nose.

"See ya!" Both animals pushed through the dog door in the back. It hit the wall with a magnetic thwap.

Harry looked up in time to see the gray door flop back. She figured they had to empty their bladders.

Mrs. Murphy lifted her head, inhaling the sharp cold air. She and Tucker moved along, since they stayed warmer that way. They headed toward Yancy's Body Shop, a block beyond the railroad track underpass. Both animals stayed well off the road, having seen enough squashed critters to know never to trust a human behind the wheel.

They reached the closed-up shop within ten minutes.

Rick Shaw had removed the yellow cordon tape but a few pieces of it had stuck to the big double doors of the garage. They circled the concrete structure. At the back a black plastic accordion-style drainpipe protruded from the corner. A cinder block was loose next to it, the mortar having crumbled away years ago.

"Can't you push it out? You're stronger than I am."

"I can try." Tucker leaned her shoulder against the cold block. Little by little it gave way.

"Good!" Murphy wriggled in and turned around. "Can you make it?"

"If I can push out the second block, I can." Tucker wedged the cinder block sideways just enough so she could flatten and claw her way under.

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