Рита Браун - Murder On The Prowl

"We might as well laugh now," Tucker said. "We aren't going to laugh later."

70

Mrs. Murphy worked feverishly catching field mice, moles, shrews, and one sickly baby bunny, which she quickly put out of its misery. Pewter opened the kitchen cabinets while Harry slept. She had a knack for flipping open cabinet doors. She'd grab the knob and then fall back. She rooted around the shelf until she found a bottle of catsup. Fortunately, the bottle was plastic because she knocked it out of the cabinet, shoving it onto the floor for Tucker to pick up.

The corgi's jaws were strong enough to carry the oddly shaped object out to the truck.

"I can put all the kill here in the bed," Mrs. Murphy directed the other two. "If you'll help me, Pewter." "Harry's going to find all this." "Not if Tucker can drag out the old barn towel." "How are we going to get it up in the bed of the truck?" "Pewter, let me do the thinking. Just help me, will you?"

"What do you want me to do with this bottle of catsup?"

"Put it behind the front wheel of the truck. When Harry opens the door for us, pick it up and jump in the truck. Pewter and I will distract her. You can drop it and kick it under the seat. Remember, gang, she's not looking for this stuff. She won't notice."

Tucker hid the catsup behind the front wheel, then strolled into the barn and yanked the towel off the tack trunk with Harry's maiden initials on it, MM. She tripped over the towel as she walked to the truck, so she dragged it sideways.

Murphy and Pewter placed the small dead prey at the back corner of the truck bed.

"Pewter, perch on the bumper step."

"You'd better do it. You're thinner." Pewter hated to admit that she was overweight.

"All right." Murphy jumped down on the back bumper step while Pewter hoisted herself over the side of the tailgate. Tucker sat patiently, the towel in her mouth.

Simon, returning home in the early dawn from foraging, stopped to wonder at this activity. "What are you-all doing?"

"Trying to get the towel into the bed of the truck. It's too big to put in my mouth and jump in," Mrs. Murphy informed him. "Okay, Tucker, stand on your hind legs and see if you can reach Pewter."

Tucker put her paws on the bumper, her nose edging over the top.

Mrs. Murphy leaned down, grabbing the towel with her left paw. "Got it."

Pewter, half hanging over the tailgate, quickly snatched the towel before Murphy dropped it—it was heavy. With Pewter pulling and Mrs. Murphy pushing, the two cats dumped the towel into the truck bed. Mrs. Murphy gaily leapt in, and the two of them placed the towel over the kill, bunching it up to avoid its looking obvious.

"I'll be," Simon said admiringly.

"Teamwork," Mrs. Murphy triumphantly replied.

"What are you going to do with those bodies?" Simon giggled.

"Lay a trail to the killer. Mom's going over to St. Elizabeth's today, so I think we can get the job done."

The possum scoffed. "The humans won't notice, or, if they do, they'll discount it."

The tiger and the gray cat peeped over the side of the truck. "You might be right, but the killer will notice. That's what we want."

"I don't know." Simon shook his head.

"Anything is better than nothing," Murphy said forcefully. "And if this doesn't work, we'll find something else."

"Why are you so worried?" Simon's furry nose twitched.

"Because Mother will eventually figure out who the murderer really is."

"Oh." The possum pondered. "We can't let anything happen to Harry." He didn't want to sound soft on any human. "Who else will feed me marshmallows?"

71

The animals, exhausted from running back and forth across the playing fields, sacked out immediately after eating.

Pewter and Mrs. Murphy curled up on either side of Tucker on the sofa in front of the fire. Pewter snored, a tiny little nasal gurgle.

Fair brought Chinese food. Harry, good with chopsticks, greedily shoved pork chow mein into her mouth. A light knock on the door was followed by Cynthia Cooper, sticking her head in. She pulled up a chair and joined them.

"Where are the critters?"

"Knocked out. Every time I called them, they were running across the football field today. Having their own Homecoming game, I guess. Can I get you anything else?"

"Catsup." She pointed at her plate. "My noodles."

"You're kidding me." Harry thought of catsup on noodles as she opened her cabinet. "Damn, I had a brand-new bottle of catsup, and it walked away."

"Catsup ghost." Fair bit into a succulent egg roll, the tiny shrimp bits assaulting his taste buds.

"What were you doing at St. E's?"

"Like a fool, I agreed to help Renee Hallvard referee the field hockey games if she can't find anyone else. She can't for the next game, so I went over to review the rules. I wish I'd never said yes."

"I have a hard time saying no, too. The year I agreed to coach Little League I lost twenty pounds"—Fair laughed—"from worrying about the kids, my work, getting to practice on time."

"Is this a social call, Cynthia? Come on," Harry teased her.

"Yes and no. The corpse, Winifred Thalman, was a freelance cinematographer. I called April Shively before anyone else—after I stopped at the post office. She says Thalman was the person who shot the little movies the seniors made their first week back at school."

"Wouldn't someone have missed her in New York? Family?"

Cooper put down her egg roll. "She was estranged from her only brother. Parents dead. As a cinematographer, her neighbors were accustomed to her being absent for months at a time. No pets. No plants. No relationships. Rick tracked down the super in her building."

"You didn't stop at the post office to tell me the news first, did you?" Harry smiled.

"Saw Irene's car."

"Ah."

"Kendrick's got to be lying. Only reason we can come up with for him to do that is he's protecting his wife or his daughter."

"They killed Roscoe and Maury?" Fair was incredulous.

"We think one of them did. Rick's spent hours going over Kendrick's books and bank accounts, and there's just no evidence of any financial misdoing. Even if you buy the sexual jealousy motive, why would he have killed this Thalman woman?"

"Well, why would Irene or Jody have done it?" Harry asked.

"If we knew that, we'd know everything." Cynthia broke the egg roll in two. "Irene will be at the field hockey game tomorrow. We'll have her covered by a plainclothesman from Waynesboro's department. You'll be on the field. Keep your eyes open."

"Irene or Jody stabbed Maury? Jeesh," Fair exclaimed. "Takes a lot of nerve to get that close at a public gathering."

"Wasn't that hard to do," Harry said. "Sometimes the easiest crimes are the ones committed in crowds."

"The killer confessed twice to Father Michael. Since Kendrick has confessed, Father Michael hasn't heard a peep. Nothing unusual about that—if you're a murderer and someone has taken the rap for you. Still, the impulse to confess is curious. Guilt?"

"Pride," Harry rejoined.

"Irene or Jody ... I still can't get over it."

"Do you think they know? I mean, does one of them know the other is a killer?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. But I hope whoever it is gets sloppy or gets rattled."

"Guess this new murder will be on the eleven o'clock news"— Harry checked the old wall clock—"and in the papers."

"Whole town will be talking." Cynthia poured half a carton of noodles on her plate. "Maybe that'll rattle our killer. I don't know, she's been cold as ice."

"Yeah, well, even ice has a melting point." Fair tinkled the ice in his water glass.

"Harry, because you're in the middle of the field, you're secure. If it is Jody, she can't stab you or poison you without revealing herself. Are you willing to bait her? If we're wrong, there will be plenty of time to apologize."