Рита Браун - Murder On The Prowl

"No, it isn't." The tiger trotted back to reassure the two wavering humans. "Come on. We've got an idea. It's more than any of you have."

"I could use some fresh air." Cynthia felt the first snowflake of winter alight on her nose.

"Me, too. Miranda will have to wait."

They crossed the quad, the snowflakes making a light tapping sound as they hit tree branches. The walkway was slick but not white yet. In the distance between the main building and the gymnasium, the snow thickened.

"Hurry up. It's cold," Pewter exhorted them.

The humans reached the front door of the gym and opened it. The animals dashed inside.

Mrs. Murphy glanced over her shoulder to see if they were behind her. She ran to the girls' gym door at one corner of the trophy hall. The other two animals marched behind her.

"This is a wild-goose chase." Cynthia laughed.

"Who knows, but it gives you a break from Rick. He's just seething up there."

"He gets like that until he cracks a case. He blames himself for everything."

They walked into the locker room. All three animals sat in front of 114. The line of dead ants was still there.

Since each locker wore a combination lock like a ring hanging from a bull's nose, they couldn't get into the locker.

But it gave Cynthia an idea. She found Coach Hallvard, who checked her list. Number 114 belonged to Jody Miller. Cynthia requested that the coach call her girls in to open their lockers.

An hour later, Coach Hallvard, an engine of energy, had each field hockey player, lacrosse, basketball, track and field, anyone on junior varsity or varsity standing in front of her locker.

Harry, back at work, missed the fireworks. When 114 was opened, an open can of Coca-Cola was the source of the ant patrol. However, 117 contained a Musketeer costume. The locker belonged to Karen Jensen.

54

Rick paced, his hands behind his back. Karen sobbed that she knew nothing about the costume, which was an expensive one.

"Ask anybody. I was Artemis, and I never left the dance," she protested. She was also feeling low because a small amount of marijuana had been found in her gym bag.

Rick got a court order to open lockers, cutting locks off if necessary. He had found a virtual pharmacy at St. Elizabeth's. These kids raided Mora and Dad's medicine chest with regularity or they had a good supplier. Valium, Percodan, Quaaludes, speed, amyl nitrate, a touch of cocaine, and a good amount of marijuana competed with handfuls of anabolic steroids in the boys' varsity lockers.

Hardened though he was, he was unprepared for the extent of drug use at the school. When he pressured one of the football players, he heard the standard argument: if you're playing football against guys who use steroids and you don't, you get creamed. If a boy wants to excel at certain sports, he's got to get into drugs sooner or later. The drug of choice was human growth hormone, but none of the kids could find it, and it was outrageously expensive. Steroids were a lot easier to cop.

The next shocker came when Cynthia checked the rental of the Musketeer costume using a label sewn into the neck of the tunic. She reached an outfitter in Washington, D.C. They reported they were missing a Musketeer costume, high quality.

It had been rented by Maury McKinchie using his MasterCard.

55

The snow swirled, obscuring Yellow Mountain. Harry trudged to the barn, knowing that no matter how deep the snow fell, it wouldn't last. The hard snows arrived punctually after Christmas. Occasionally a whopper would hit before the holidays, but most residents of central Virginia could count on real winter socking them January through March.

The winds, stiff, blew the fall foliage clean off the trees. Overnight the riotous color of fall gave way to the spare monochrome of winter.

A rumble sent Tucker out into the white. Fair pulled up. He clapped his cowboy hat on his head as he dashed for the barn.

"Harry, I need your help."

"What happened?"

"BoomBoom is pitching a royal hissy. She says she has to talk to someone she can trust. She has a heavy heart. You should hear it."

"No, I shouldn't."

"What should I do?" He fidgeted. "She sounded really distressed."

Harry leaned against a stall door. Gin Fizz poked his white nose over the top of the Dutch doors, feed falling from his mouth as he chewed. Usually he'd stick his head out and chat. Today he was too hungry and the feed was too delicious.

"Mom, go along. That will give BoomBoom cardiac arrest." Murphy laughed.

"I'll tell you exactly what I think. She was sleeping with Maury McKinchie."

"You don't know that for a fact." He removed his hat and shook his head.

"Woman's instinct. Anyway, if you don't want to hear what I have to say, I'll go back to work and you can do whatever."

"I want to know."

"The more I think about the horrible events around here, the more it points to the battle between Roscoe and Sandy Brashiers over the future direction of St. Elizabeth's." She held up her hand. "I know. Doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

"Well, I hadn't thought about it that way."

"Comfort BoomBoom—within reason. She might have a piece of the puzzle and not know it. Or she may be in danger. On the other hand, BoomBoom won't miss a chance to emote extravagantly." She smiled. "And, of course, you'll tell me everything."

56

What was working on BoomBoom was her mouth. She confessed to Fair that she had been having an affair with Maury McKinchie. She had broken it off when she discovered he was having affairs with other women or at least with one important woman. He wouldn't tell her who it was.

She thought that the Other Woman, not his wife, of course, might have killed him.

"What a fool I was to believe him." Her expressive gray-blue eyes spilled over with salty tears.

Fair wanted to hug her, console her, but his mistrust of her ran deep enough for him to throttle his best impulses. One hug from him and she'd be telling everyone they had engaged in deep, meaningful discussions. Gossip would take it from there.

"Did he promise to divorce Darla?"

"No. She was his meal ticket."

"Ah, then what was there to believe? I'm missing a beat here. I don't mean to be dense."

"You're not dense, Fair, darling, you're just a man." She forgot her misery long enough to puff up his ego. "Men don't look below the surface. Believe? I believed him when he said he loved me." She renewed her sobs and no amount of light sea kelp essence could dispel her gloom.

"Maybe he did love you."

"Then how could he carry on with another woman? It was bad enough he had a wife!"

"You don't know for certain—do you?"

"Oh, yes, I do." She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. "I ransacked his car when he was 'taking a meeting,' as he used to say, with Roscoe. He kept everything important in that car. Here." She reached into her silk robe, a luscious lavender, and pulled out a handful of envelopes, which she thrust into his hands. "See for yourself."

Fair held the light gray envelopes, Tiffany paper, wrapped in a white ribbon. He untied the ribbon. "Shouldn't you give these to Rick Shaw?"

"I should do a lot of things; that's why I need to talk to you. How do I know Rick will keep this out of the papers?"

"He will." Fair read the first letter rapidly. Love stuff only interested him if it was his love stuff. His mood changed considerably when he reached the signature at the bottom of the next page. In lovely cursive handwriting the name of "Your Naomi" appeared. "Oh, shit."

"Killed him."

"You think Naomi killed him?"

"She could parade around in a Musketeer costume as easily as the rest of us."

"Finding that costume in Karen Jensen's locker sure was lucky for Kendrick." Fair raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't let him off the hook yet myself. That guy's got serious problems."