Рита Браун - Rest In Pieces

“Everybody knows, Tucker. You’ll probably get your name in the newspaper—again.” Green jealousy swept through the fat gray body. “Mrs. Murphy, turn around so I can talk to you.”

“I can’t.” She backed out of the box, hung for a moment by her paws, and then dropped lightly to the ground.

Usually Susan and Harry were amused by the athletic displays of the agile tiger cat but today no one paid much attention.

Blair called Harry to tell her Rick Shaw had elected not to tear up the cemetery just yet, and to thank her for being a good neighbor.

Naturally, with Blair being an outsider, suspicion immediately fell on him. After all, the severed hands and legs were found in his—well, Herbie’s really—graveyard. And no one would ever suspect Reverend Jones.

The ideas and fantasies swirled up like a cloud of grasshoppers and then dropped to earth again. Harry listened to the people jammed into the post office even as she attempted to complete her tasks. Theories ranged from old-fashioned revenge to demonology. Since no one had any idea of who those body parts belonged to, the theories lacked the authenticity of personal connection.

One odd observation crossed Harry’s mind. So much of the conjecture focused on establishing a motive. Why? As the voices of her friends, neighbors, and even her few enemies, or temporary enemies, rose and fell, the thrust was that in some way the victim must have brought this wretched fate upon himself. The true question formulating in Harry’s mind was not motive but, Why is it so important for humans to blame the victim? Do they hope to ward off evil? If a woman is raped she is accused of dressing to entice. If a man is robbed, he should have had better sense than to walk the streets on that side of town. Are people incapable of accepting the randomness of evil? Apparently so.

As Rick Shaw sped by, siren splitting the air, the group fell silent to watch. Rick was followed closely by Cynthia Cooper in her squad car.

Fair Haristeen opened the door and stepped outside. He knew that Rick Shaw wasn’t moving that fast just to dump off hands and legs; something else had happened. He walked over to Market’s to see if anyone had fresher news. Being in Harry’s presence wasn’t that uncomfortable for him. Fair considered that women were irrational much of the time, a consideration reinforced by BoomBoom, who felt logic to be vulgar. He’d already forgiven Harry for punching a hole in his coffee cup. She chose to ignore him to his face, then watched him saunter next door. She breathed a sigh of relief. His presence rubbed like a pebble in her shoe.

“You know, I want my knuckle bone.” Tucker started to pout. “That was the deal.”

“Deal?” Pewter’s long gray eyelashes fluttered.

Before Tucker could explain, the door flew open and Tiffany Hayes, still in her sparkling white apron, burst in. “Miz Sanburne’s got a headless nekkid body in her boathouse!”

A split second of disbelief was followed by a roar of inquiry. How did she know? Who was it? Et cetera.

Tiffany cleared her throat and walked to the counter. Susan came up from the back. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter jumped on the counter and made circles to find papers to sit on, then did so. Tucker ran around front, ducking between legs to see Tiffany.

The Reverend Jones, a quick thinker, dashed next door to fetch the folks in the market. Soon the post office was over its fire code limit of people.

Once everyone was squeezed in, Tiffany gave the facts. “I was serving Little Marilyn and Mr. Fitz their eggs. She was complaining, naturally, but so what? I walked back into the kitchen and the phone rang. Roberta’s hands were covered with flour, and Jack wasn’t on duty yet so I picked it up. I recognized the voice as Miz Sanburne’s, but lordy, I couldn’t understand one word that woman was putting to me. She was crying and she was screaming and she was gasping and I just laid down that phone and left the kitchen to tell Little Marilyn her mother was on the phone and I couldn’t understand her. I mean I couldn’t say ‘your mother is pitching a fit and falling in it,’ now could I? So I waited while Little Marilyn picked up the phone and she couldn’t understand her mother any better than I could. Well, the next thing I know she runs upstairs and starts to put on her makeup, and Mr. Fitz is waiting downstairs. He was so anxious he couldn’t stand it no more so he bounded up those steps and told her in no uncertain terms that this was no time for makeup and to get a move on. So they left in that white Jeep thing of theirs. Not twenty minutes pass before the phone rings again and Jack, on duty now, picks up but Roberta and I couldn’t help ourselves so we picked up too. It was Mr. Fitz. We could hear both Marilyns ascreaming in the background. Like banshees. Mr. Fitz, he was a little shaky, but he told Jack there was a headless corpse floating in Mim’s boathouse. He told Jack to call and cancel all his business appointments for the day and all of Little Marilyn’s social engagements. Then he told Jack to get hold of Mr. Sanburne in Richmond if in any way possible. The sheriff was on his way and not to worry. Nobody was in any danger. Jack asked a few questions and Mr. Fitz told him not to worry if he didn’t get his chores done today. Thank God for Mr. Fitz.”

She finished. This was possibly the only time in her life that Tiffany would be the center of attention. There was something touching about that.

What Tiffany didn’t know was that the hands and legs had been dug up at Foxden. So now Miranda Hogendobber was able to tell her story again. Center stage was natural to Miranda.

Grateful to Mrs. Hogendobber for taking over the “entertainment” department, Harry returned to filling up the post boxes. She was glad she was behind the boxes because she was laughing silently, tears falling from her eyes. Susan came over, thinking she was upset.

Harry wiped her eyes and whispered, “Of all people, Mim! What will Town and Country think?”

Now Susan was laughing as hard as Harry. “Maybe whoever it was made the mistake of sailing in her pontoon boat.”

This made them both break out in giggles again. Harry put her hand over her mouth to muffle her speech. “Mim has exhausted herself with accumulating possessions. Now she’s got one that’s a real original.”

That did it. They nearly fell on the floor. Part of this explosion of mirth was from tension, of course. Yet part of it was directly attributable to Mim’s character. Miranda said there was a good heart in there somewhere but no one wanted to find out. Maybe no one believed her. Mim had spent her life from the cradle onward tyrannizing people over bloodlines and money. The two are intertwined less frequently than Mim would wish. No matter what story you had, Mim could top it; if not, she would tip her head at an angle that made plain her distaste and social superiority.

Nobody would say it out loud but probably most people were delighted that a bloated corpse had found its way into her boathouse. More things stank over at the Sanburnes’ than a rotten torso.

14

The deep glow from the firelit mahogany in Reverend Jones’s library cast a youthful softening over his features. The light rain on the windowpane accentuated his mood, withdrawn and thoughtful, as well as exhausted. He had forgotten just how exhausting turmoil can be. His wife, Carol, her violet eyes sympathetic, entreated him to eat. When he refused she knew he was suffering.