Рита Браун: Murder On The Prowl

Murderon the Prowl

RITA MAE BROWN

SNEAKY PIE BROWN

BANTAM BOOKS NEWYORK • TORONTO • LONDON • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND

Cast of Characters

Mary Minor Haristeen (Harry), young postmistress of Crozet

Mrs. Murphy, Harry's gray tiger cat

Tee Tucker, Harry's Welsh corgi, Mrs. Murphy's friend and confidante

Pharamond Haristeen (Fair), veterinarian, formerly married to Harry

Mrs. George Hogendobber (Miranda), a widow who works with Harry in the post office

Market Shiflett, owner of Shiflett's Market, next to the post office

Pewter, Market's shamelessly fat gray cat, who now lives with Harry and family

Susan Tucker, Harry's best friend

Big Marilyn Sanburne (Mim), Queen of Crozet society

Rick Shaw, sheriff

Cynthia Cooper, police officer

Herbert C. Jones, pastor of Crozet Lutheran Church

Roscoe Fletcher, headmaster of the exclusive St. Elizabeth's private school

Naomi Fletcher, principal of the lower school at St. Elizabeth's. She supports her husband's vision 100%

Alexander Brashiers (Sandy), an English teacher at St. Elizabeth's who believes he should be headmaster

April Shively, secretary to the headmaster, whom she loves

Maury McKinchie, a film director who's lost his way, lost his fire, and seems to be losing his wife

Brooks Tucker, Susan Tucker's daughter. She has transferred to St. Elizabeth's

Karen Jensen, irreverent, a star of the field hockey team, and lusted after by most of the boys

Jody Miller, another good field hockey player, she seems to be suffering the ill effects of an evaporating romance with Sean Hallahan

Sean Hallahan, the star of the football team

Roger Davis, calm, quiet, and watchful, he is overshadowed by Sean

Kendrick Miller, driven, insular, and hot-tempered, he's built a thriving nursery business as he's lost his family ... he barely notices them

Irene Miller, a fading beauty who deals with her husband's absorption in his work and her daughter's mood swings by ignoring them

Father Michael, priest at the Catholic church, a friend of the Reverend Herbert Jones

Jimbo Anson, owner of the technologically advanced car wash on Route 29

Coach Renee Hallvard, a favorite with the St. Elizabeth's students, she coaches the girls' field hockey team

Murder on the Prowl

1

Towns, like people, have souls. The little town of Crozet, Virginia, latitude 38°, longitude 78° 60', had the soul of an Irish tenor.

On this beautiful equinox day, September 21, every soul was lifted, if not every voice—for it was perfect: creamy clouds lazed across a turquoise sky. The Blue Ridge Mountains, startling in their color, hovered protectively at the edge of emerald meadows. The temperature held at 72° F with low humidity.

This Thursday, Mary Minor Haristeen worked unenthusiastically in the post office. As she was the postmistress, she could hardly skip out, however tempted she was. Her tiger cat, Mrs. Murphy, and her corgi, Tee Tucker, blasted in and out of the animal door, the little flap echoing with each arrival or departure. It was the animals' version of teenagers slamming the door, and each whap reminded Harry that while they could escape, she was stuck.

Harry, as she was known, was industrious if a bit undirected. Her cohort at the P.O., Mrs. Miranda Hogendobber, felt that if Harry remarried, this questioning of her life's purpose would evaporate. Being quite a bit older than Harry, Miranda viewed marriage as purpose enough for a woman.

"What are you humming?" 'A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.' Martin Luther wrote it in 1529," Mrs. H. informed her.

"I should know that."

"If you'd come to choir practice you would."

"There is the small matter that I am not a member of your church." Harry folded an empty canvas mail sack.

"I can fix that in a jiffy."

"And what would the Reverend Jones do? He baptized me in Crozet Lutheran Church ."

"Piffle."

Mrs. Murphy barreled through the door, a large cricket in her mouth.

Close in pursuit was Pewter, the fat gray cat who worked days next door at the grocery store: nights she traveled home with Harry. Market Shiflett, the grocer, declared Pewter had never caught a mouse and never would, so she might as well go play with her friends.

In Pewter's defense, she was built round; her skull was round, her ears, small and delicate, were round. Her tail was a bit short. She thought of herself as stout. Her gray paunch swung when she walked. She swore this was the result of her having "the operation," not because she was fat. In truth it was both. The cat lived to eat.

Mrs. Murphy, a handsome tiger, stayed fit being a ferocious mouser.

The two cats were followed by the dog, Tee Tucker.

Mrs. Murphy bounded onto the counter, the cricket wriggling in her mouth.

"That cat has brought in a winged irritant. She lives to kill," Miranda harrumphed.

"A cricket doesn't have wings."

Miranda moved closer to the brown shiny prey clamped in the cat's jaws. "It certainly is a major cricket—it ought to have wings. Why, I believe this cricket is as big as a praying mantis." She cupped her chin in her hand, giving her a wise appearance.

Harry strolled over to inspect just as Mrs. Murphy dispatched the insect with a swift bite through the innards, then laid the remains on the counter.

The dog asked, "You're not going to eat that cricket, are you?"

"No, they taste awful."

"I'll eat it," Pewter volunteered. "Well, someone has to keep up appear ances! After all, we are predators."

"Pewter, that's disgusting." Harry grimaced as the rotund animal gobbled down the cricket.

"Maybe they're like nachos." Miranda Hogendobber heard the loud crunch.

"I'll never eat a nacho again." Harry glared at her coworker and friend.

"It's the crunchiness. I bet you any money," Miranda teased.

"It is." Pewter licked her lips in answer to the older woman. She was glad cats didn't wear lipstick like Mrs. Hogendobber. Imagine getting lipstick on a cricket or mouse. Spoil the taste.

"Hey, girls." The Reverend Herbert Jones strolled through the front door. He called all women girls, and they had long since given up hope of sensitizing him. Ninety-two-year-old Catherine I. Earnhart was called a girl. She rather liked it.

"Hey, Rev." Harry smiled at him. "You're late today."

He fished in his pocket for his key and inserted it in his brass mailbox, pulling out a fistful of mail, most of it useless advertisements.

"If I'm late, it's because I lent my car to Roscoe Fletcher. He was supposed to bring it back to me by one o'clock, and here it is three. I finally decided to walk."

"His car break down?" Miranda opened the backdoor for a little breeze and sunshine.

"That new car of his is the biggest lemon."

Harry glanced up from counting out second-day air packets to see Roscoe pulling into the post office parking lot out front. "Speak of the devil."

Herb turned around. "Is that my car?"

"Looks different with the mud washed off, doesn't it?" Harry laughed.

"Oh, I know I should clean it up, and I ought to fix my truck, too, but I don't have the time. Not enough hours in the day."

"Amen," Miranda said.

"Why, Miranda, how nice of you to join the service." His eyes twinkled.

"Herb, I'm sorry," Roscoe said before he closed the door behind him. "Mim Sanburne stopped me in the hall, and I thought I'd never get away. You know how the Queen of Crozet talks."

"Indeed," they said.

"Why do they call Mim the Queen of Crozet?" Mrs. Murphy licked her front paw. "Queen of the Universe is more like it."

"No, just the Solar System," Tucker barked.