Рита Браун - Murder On The Prowl

"Mother, what does that have to do with Roscoe's and Maury's fake obits?"

"Rude. Bad manners." She tapped the magazine sharply on the edge of the counter.

"Hey!" Little Mim blurted, her head swiveling in the direction of the door.

Maury McKinchie pushed through, beheld the silence and joked, "Who died?"

"You," Harry replied sardonically.

"Ah, come on, my last movie wasn't that bad."

"Haven't you opened your paper?" Little Mim edged toward him.

"No."

Herb handed the insert to Maury. "Take a look."

"Well, I'll be damned." Maury whistled.

"Who do you think did this?" Miranda zoomed to the point.

He laughed heartily. "I can think of two ex-wives who would do it, only they'd shoot me first. The obit would be for real."

"You really don't have any idea?" Herb narrowed his eyes.

"Not a one." Maury raised his bushy eyebrows as well as his voice.

Big Mim checked her expensive Schaffhausen watch. "I'm due up at the Garden Club. We vote on which areas to beautify today. A big tussle, as usual. Good-bye, all. Hope you get to the bottom of this."

" 'Bye ," they called after her.

Maury, though handsome, had developed a paunch. Running would remove it, he hoped. Being a director, he had a habit of taking charge, giving orders. He'd discovered that didn't work in Crozet. An even bigger shock had befallen him when Darla became the breadwinner. He was searching for the right picture to get his career back on track. He flew to L.A. once a month and burned up the phone and fax lines the rest of the time.

"Mother wants to create a garden around the old railroad station. What do you bet she gets her way?" Little Mim jumped to a new topic. There wasn't anything she could do about the fake obituary anyway.

"The odds are on her side." Harry picked up the tall metal wastebasket overflowing with paper.

"I can do that for you." Maury seized the wastebasket. "Where does it go?"

"Market's new dumpster," Miranda said.

"Take me one minute."

As he left, Little Mim said, "He's a terrible flirt, isn't he?"

"Don't pay any attention to him," Harry advised.

"I didn't say he bothered me."

Maury returned, placing the wastebasket next to the table where people sorted their mail.

"Thank you," Harry said.

He winked at her. "My pleasure. You can say you've encountered an angel today."

"Beg pardon?" Harry said.

"If I'm dead, I'm living uptown, Harry, not downtown." He laughed and walked out with a wave.

Susan Tucker arrived just as Miranda had begun her third degree on the subject of Fair staying over.

"Miranda, why do you do this to me?" Harry despaired.

"Because I want to see you happy."

"Telling everyone that my ex-husband spent the night isn't going to make me happy, and I told you, Miranda, nothing happened. I am so tired of this."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much." Mrs. Hogendobber coyly quoted Shakespeare.

"Oh, pul -lease." Harry threw up her hands.

Susan, one eyebrow arched, said, "Something did happen. Okay, maybe it wasn't sex, but he got his foot in the door."

"And his ass in the guest room. It was raining cats and dogs."

"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Murphy, lounging in the mail cart, called out.

"All right." Harry thought the cat wanted a push so she gave her a ride in the mail cart.

"I love this. ..." Murphy put her paws on the side of the cart.

"Harry, I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"For what's going on with you and Fair."

"NOTHING!"

Her shout made Tucker bark.

Pewter, hearing the noise, hurried in through the back animal door. "What's the matter?"

"Mrs. H. and Susan think Mom's in love with Fair because he stayed at the house last night."

"Oh." Pewter checked the wastebasket for crumbs. "They need to stop for tea."

Susan held up her hands. "You are so sensitive."

"Wouldn't you be?" Harry fired back.

"I guess I would."

"Harry, I didn't mean to upset you." Miranda, genuinely contrite, walked over to the small refrigerator, removing the pie she'd baked the night before.

Pewter was ecstatic.

Harry sighed audibly. "I want his attention, but I don't think I want him. I'm being perverse."

"Maybe vengeful is closer to the mark." Miranda pulled no punches.

"Well—I'd like to think I was a better person than that, but maybe I'm not." She glanced out the big front window. "Going to be a nice day."

"Well, my cherub is playing in the field hockey game, rain or shine," Susan said. "Danny's got football practice, so I'll watch the first half of Brooks's game and the last half of Danny's practice. I wish I could figure out how to be in two places at the same time."

"If I get my chores done, I'll drop by," Harry said. "I'd love to see Brooks on the attack. Which reminds me, got to call and see if my truck is ready."

"I thought you didn't have the money to fix it," Susan said.

"He'll let me pay over time." As she was making the call, Miranda and Susan buzzed about events.

"Miranda, do you think these false obituaries have anything to do with Halloween?" Harry asked as she hung up the phone.

"I don't know."

"It's only the first week of October." Tucker thought out loud. "Hallow een is a long way away."

"What about all those Christmas catalogs clogging the mail?" Pewter hovered over the pie.

"Humans like to feel anxious," Tucker declared.

"Imagine worrying about Christmas now. They might not live to Christmas," Mrs. Murphy cracked.

The other two animals laughed.

"You know what I would do if I were one of them?" Pewter flicked off the dishcloth covering the pie. "I'd go to an Arab country. That would take care of Christmas."

"Take care of a lot else, too," Mrs. Murphy commented wryly.

Miranda noticed in the nick of time. "Shoo!"

Harry grabbed the phone. "Hello, may I have the obituary department?"

Miranda, Susan, the two cats, and the dog froze to listen.

"Obituary."

"Janice, have you heard about the insert?"

"Yes, but it's only in the papers of one route, Roger Davis's route. I can't be blamed for this one."

"I wouldn't want to be in Roger Davis's shoes right now," Harry said.

15

"I didn't do it." Roger, hands in his pants pockets, stared stubbornly at the headmaster and the temporary principal.

"You picked up the newspapers from the building at Rio Road ?" Sandy questioned.

"Yes."

"Did you go through the papers?" Roscoe asked.

"No, I just deliver them. I had no idea that death notice on Mr. McKinchie was in there."

"Did anyone else go with you this morning? Like Sean Hallahan?"

"No, sir," Roger answered Roscoe Fletcher. "I don't like Sean."

Sandy took another tack. "Would you say that you and Sean Hallahan are rivals?"

Roger stared at the ceiling, then leveled his gaze at Sandy. "No. I don't like him, that's all."

"He's a bit of a star, isn't he?" Sandy continued his line of reasoning.

"Good football players usually are."

"No, I mean he's really a star now for putting the false obituary in the paper, Mr. Fletcher's obituary."

Roger looked from Sandy to Roscoe, then back to Sandy. "Some kids think it was very cool."

"Did you?" Roscoe inquired.

"No, sir," Roger replied.

"Could anyone have tampered with your papers without you knowing about it?" Roscoe swiveled in his chair to glance out the window. Children were walking briskly between classes.

"I suppose they could. Each of us who has a route goes to pick up our papers . . . they're on the landing. We've each got a spot because each route has a different number of customers. We're supposed to have the same number, but we don't. People cancel. Some areas grow faster than others. So you go to your place on the loading dock and pick up your papers. All I do is fold them to stick them in the tube. And on rainy days, put them in plastic bags."