Рита Браун - Pay Dirt

Mrs. Murphy scratched in the magazine box. The sound of claws over shiny, expensive paper delighted her. Tucker contented herself with nosing through the old clothes. If Harry tossed a sweatshirt or a pair of jeans in a carton, they really were old. She was raised in the use-it-up wear-it-out make-it-do-or-do-without school. The clothes would be cut into square pieces of cloth for barn rags. Whatever remained afterward, Harry would toss out, although she swore one day she would learn to make hooked rugs so she could utilize the scraps.

" Find anything?"Tucker asked Mrs. Murphy.

" Lot of old New Yorker magazines. She sees an article she wants to read, doesn't have time to read it then, and saves the magazine. Now, I'll bet you a Milk-Bone she'll sit on the floor, go through these magazines, and tear out the articles she wants to save so she'll still have a pile of stuff to read but not as huge a one as if she'd saved the magazines intact. If she didn't work in the post office, Gossip Central, she'd work in the library like her mother did ."

"My bet is the broken bridle will get her attention first. She needs to replace the headstall. She's going to pick it up, mumble, then put it in the trunk to take to Sam Kimball."

" Maybe so. At least that will go quickly. Once she buries her nose in a book or magazine, she takes forever."

"Think she'll forget supper?"

"Tucker, you're as bad as Pewter."

" She fooled us both , "the dog exclaimed.

Harry, armed with a pair of scissors, began cutting up the old clothes. "Mrs. Murphy, don't rip apart the magazines. I need to go through them first."

" Give me some catnip. I can be bought off ." Mrs. Murphy scratched and tore with increased vigor.

Harry stopped snipping and picked up the magazine box. It was heavier than she anticipated, so she put it back down. "I was going to shake you up."

" Catnip ." Murphy's eyes enlarged, she performed a somersault in the box.

"Aren't you the acrobat?" Harry put the box on the oak table. She looked at the hanging herbs placed inside to dry. A large clutch of catnip, leaves down, emitted a sweet, enticing odor.

Murphy shot out of the box, straight up, and swatted the tip of the catnip. A little higher and she could have had a slam dunk.

"Catnip!"

"Druggie." Harry smiled and snapped offa sprig.

" Yahoo . "Mrs. Murphy snatched the catnip from Harrys hands, threw it on the table, chewed it a little, rolled on it, tossed it up in the air, caught it, rolled some more. Her antics escalated.

"Nuts. You're a loony tunes, out there, Blue Angels."

"Mother, she's always that way. The catnip brings it out more. Now, me, I'm a sane and sober dog. Reliable. Protective. I can herd and fetch and follow at your heels. Even with a bone, which I would enjoy right now, I would never descend to such raucous behavior. "

" Bugger off ,"Mrs. Murphy hissed at Tucker. The weed made her aggressive.

"Fair is fair." Harry walked into the kitchen and brought out a bone for Tucker before returning to her task.

As the animals busied themselves, Harry finished off the box of clothing. She reached into the magazine box and flipped through the table of contents. "Umm, better save this article." She clipped out a long piece on the Amazon rain forests.

" Someone's coming "Tucker barked.

" Shut up . "Murphy lolled her head. " You're hurting my ears ."

" Friend or fie ?" the corgi challenged as the car pulled into the driveway.

"Do you really think a foe would drive up to the back door?"

"Shut up, yourself. I'm doing my job, and besides, this is the South. All one's foes act like friends."

" Got that right , "the cat agreed, rousing herself from her catnip torpor. " It's Little Marilyn. What the heck is she doing here at seven in the evening ?"

"Come on in," Harry called. "I'm doing my spring cleaning, in August."

Marilyn opened the porch door. "At least you're doing it. I've got a ton of my stuff to sort through. I'll never get to it."

"How about an iced tea or coffee? I can make a good pot of hot coffee too."

"Thank you, no."

"If you don't need the iced tea, I do." Harry put down her scissors.

The two humans repaired to the kitchen. Harrys kitchen, scrupulously clean, smelled like nutmeg and cinnamon. She prided herself on her sense of order. She had to pride herself on something in the kitchen, since she couldn't cook worth a damn.

"Milk or lemon?" Harry wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Oh, thank you. Lemon. I'm going to keep you from your chores." Marilyn fidgeted.

"They'll wait. I've been on my feet all day anyway, so it's good to have a sit-down."

"Harry, we aren't the best of friends, so I hope you don't mind my barging in on you like this."

"It's fine."

She cast her eyes about the kitchen, then settled down. "I don't know what to do. Two weeks ago Kerry asked me for a loan. I refused her. I hated to do it, but, well, she wanted three thousand dollars."

"What for?"

"She said she knew her father's cancer was getting worse. If she could invest the money, she could help defray what his insurance won't cover. She said she'd split the profit with me and return the principal in a year's time."

"Kerry's a lot sharper than I thought."

"Yes." Litde Marilyn sat stock-still.

"Have you told Rick Shaw or Cynthia?"

"No. I came to you first. It's been preying on my mind. I mean, she's in so much trouble as it is."

"Yeah, I know, but"—Harry held up her hands—"you've got to tell them."

Mrs. Murphy, sitting on the kitchen counter, said, " What do you really think, Marilyn ?"

"She's hungry." Harry got up to open two cans of food for Mrs. Murphy and Tucker. Tucker gobbled her food while Mrs. Murphy daintily ate hers.

"Thanks for hearing me out. We were all such good friends once. I feel like a traitor."

"You're not. And horrendous as the process is, that's what the courts are for—if Kerry is innocent, she'll be spared. At least, I hope so."

"Don't you know that old proverb? 'Better to fall into the hands of the Devil than into the hands of the lawyers.'"

"You think she's sunk, don't you?"

"Uh-huh." Little Marilyn nodded in the affirmative, tears in her eyes.

32

Every spare moment she had, Kerry punched into the computer in a back office. Cynthia told her she could go to work. She'd be formally arraigned tomorrow. Rick told the acting president, Norman Cramer, to allow Kerry to work. He had a few words with the staff which amounted to "innocent until proven guilty." What he hoped for was a slip on Kerry's part or the part of her accomplice.

The thick carpeting in die officer branch of the bank muffled the footsteps behind her as she frantically pulled up records on the computer. Norman Cramer tapped her shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Fooling around. Kind of like you, Norman." Kerry's face burned.

"Kerry, this is none of your business. You'll interfere widi Rick Shaw's investigation."

What neither of them knew was that Rick was monitoring

Kerry's computer. An officer down in the basement saw everything she called up.

"Hogan Freely's murder is everybody's business. And I'd rather be chewed out by you than not try and come up with some clue, any clue."

His sallow complexion darkened. "Listen to me. Forget it."

"Why don't you and I go outside and talk?"

"And risk another scene? No."

"I knew you were a coward. I hoped it wasn't true. I really believed you when you told me you'd leave Aysha—"

He sharply reprimanded her. "It's not appropriate to discuss personal matters at work."