Рита Браун - Murder On The Prowl

"Thanks. What time?"

"Eleven."

He cheerfully said, "I'll see you at eleven, and, Harry, I can tack my own horse. Who do you want me to ride?"

"Tomahawk."

"Great. See you then. 'Bye."

" 'Bye ."

The animals said nothing. They knew she was talking to Blair, and they were divided in their opinions. Tucker wanted Harry to get back with Fair. She knew it wasn't unusual for humans to remarry after divorcing. Pewter thought Blair was the better deal because he was rich and Harry needed help in that department. Mrs. Murphy, while having affection for both men, always said that Mr. Right hadn't appeared. Be patient.

The phone rang again.

"Coop. How are you?"

"Tired. Hey, don't want to bug you, but did you have any idea who might have put that false obit in the papers?"

"No."

"Roscoe says he hasn't a clue. Naomi doesn't think it's quite as funny as he does. Herb doesn't have any ideas. April Shively thinks it was Karen Jensen since she's such a cutup. BoomBoom says Maury McKinchie did it, and he'll use our reactions as the basis for a movie. I even called the school chaplain, Father Michael. He was noncommittal."

"What do you mean?"

Father Michael, the priest of the Church of the Good Shepherd between Crozet and Charlottesville, had close ties to the private school. Although nondenominational for a number of years, St. Elizabeth's each year invited a local clergyman to be the chaplain of the school. This exposed the students to different religious approaches. This year it was the Catholics' turn. Apart from a few gripes from extremists, the rotating system worked well.

"He shut up fast," Coop replied.

"That's weird."

"I think so, too."

"What does Rick think?" Harry referred to Sheriff Shaw by his first name.

"He sees the humor in this, but he wants to find out who did it. If kids were behind this, they need to learn that you can't jerk people around like that."

"If I hear of anything, I'll buzz."

"Thanks."

"Don't work too hard, Coop."

"Look who's talking. See you soon. 'Bye."

Harry hung up the phone and picked up the small throw-out pile. Then she carefully divided the newly cut rags, placing half by the kitchen door. That way she would remember to take them to the barn in the morning. She noticed it was ten at night.

"Where does the time go?"

She hopped in the shower and then crawled into bed.

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker were already on the bed.

"What do you guys think about Roscoe's fake obituary?" she asked her animal friends.

Like many people who love animals, she talked to them, doing her best to understand. They understood her, of course.

"Joke." Pewter stuck out one claw, which she hooked into the quilt.

"Ditto." Tucker agreed. "Although Winston said Naomi is furious with him. Mad enough to kill."

"Humans are boring—" Pewter rested her head on an outstretched arm.

"See, you think like I do." Harry wiggled under the blankets. "Just some dumb thing. For all I know, Roscoe did it himself. He's not above it."

"Winston said Roscoe's running the women. Can't leave them alone." Tucker was back on her conversation with the bulldog.

"Maybe this isn't a joke." Mrs. Murphy, who had strong opinions about monogamy, curled on Harry's pillow next to her head.

"Oh, Murphy, it will all blow over." Tucker wanted to go to sleep.

5

The woody aroma of expensive tobacco curled up from Sandy Brashiers's pipe. The leather patches on his tweed jacket were worn to a perfect degree. His silk rep tie, stripes running in the English direction, left to right, was from Oxford University Motor Car Club. He had studied at Oxford after graduating from Harvard. A cashmere V neck, the navy underscoring the navy stripe in the tie, completed his English-professor look.

However, the Fates or Sandy himself had not been kind. Not only was he not attached to a university, he was teaching high-school English, even if it was at a good prep school. This was not the future his own professors or he himself had envisioned when he was a star student.

He never fell from grace because he never reached high enough to tumble. Cowardice and alcohol already marred his good looks at forty-two. As for the cowardice, no one but Sandy seemed to know

why he hung back when he was capable of much more. Then again, perhaps even he didn't know.

He did know he was being publicly humiliated by headmaster Roscoe Fletcher. When the ancient Peter Abbott retired as principal of the upper school at the end of last year's term, Sandy should have automatically been selected to succeed Abbott. Roscoe dithered, then dallied, finally naming Sandy principal pro tern. He declared a genuine search should take place, much as he wished to promote from within.

This split the board of directors and enraged the faculty, most of whom believed the post should go to Sandy. If Roscoe was going to form a search committee each time a position opened, could any faculty member march assuredly into administration?

Fortunately for Brooks Tucker, she knew nothing of the prep school's politics. She was entranced as Mr. Brashiers discussed the moral turpitude of Lady Macbeth in the highly popular Shakespeare elective class.

"What would have happened if Lady Macbeth could have acted directly, if she didn't have to channel her ambition through her husband?"

Roger Davis raised his hand. "She would have challenged the king right in his face."

"No way," pretty Jody Miller blurted before she raised her hand.

"Would you like to expand on that theme after I call on you?" Sandy wryly nodded to the model-tall girl.

"Sorry, Mr. Brashiers." She twirled her pencil, a nervous habit. "Lady Macbeth was devious. It would be out of character to challenge the king openly. I don't think her position in society would change that part of her character. She'd be sneaky even if she were a man."

Brooks, eyebrows knit together, wondered if that was true. She wanted to participate, but she was shy in her new surroundings even though she knew many of her classmates from social activities outside of school.

Sean Hallahan, the star halfback on the football team, was called on and said in his deep voice, "She's devious, Jody, because she has to hide her ambition."

This pleased Sandy Brashiers, although it did not please Jody Miller, who was angry at Sean. Ten years ago the boys rarely understood the pressures on women's lives, but enough progress had been made that his male students could read a text bearing those pressures in mind.

Karen Jensen, blond and green-eyed, the most popular girl in the junior class, chirped, "Maybe she was having a bad hair day."

Everyone laughed.

After class Brooks, Karen, and Jody walked to the cafeteria—or the Ptomaine Pit, as it was known. Roger Davis, tall and not yet filled out, trailed behind. He wanted to talk to Brooks. Still awkward, he racked his brain about how to open a conversation.

He who hesitates is lost. Sean scooted by him, skidding next to the girls, secure in his welcome.

"Think the president's wife is Lady Macbeth?"

The three girls kept walking while Jody sarcastically said, "Sean, how long did it take you to think of that?"

"You inspire me, Jody." He cocked his head, full of himself.

Roger watched this from behind them. He swallowed hard, took two big strides and caught up.

"Hey, bean," Sean offhandedly greeted him, not at all happy that he might have to share the attention of three pretty girls.

If Roger had been a smart-ass kid, he would have called Sean a bonehead or something. Sean was bright enough, but his attitude infuriated the other boys. Roger was too nice a guy to put someone else down, though. Instead he smiled and forgot what he was going to say to Brooks.