Рита Браун - Rest In Pieces

“Hush, Tucker,” Harry advised the dog.

Rick opened his notebook. “Mrs. Hogendobber, I wanted to ask you a few questions. No need to cause Mrs. Hall further upset.”

“I’m glad to help.”

Rick looked at Harry. “You might as well stay. She’ll tell you everything anyway, the minute I leave.” He poised his pencil. “Have you noticed anything unusual in Cabell Hall’s behavior?”

“No. I think he’s exhausted, but he hasn’t been irritable or anything.”

“Have you noticed a strain in the marriage?”

“See here, Rick, you know perfectly well that Florence and Cabby have a wonderful marriage. Now this line of questioning has got to stop.”

Rick flipped shut his notebook, irritation, frustration, and exhaustion dragging down his features. He looked old this morning. “Dammit, Miranda, I’m doing all I can!” He caught himself. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. I haven’t even bought one Christmas present for my wife or my kids.”

“Come on, sit down.” Harry directed the worn-out man to a little table in the back. “We’ve got Miranda’s coffee and some Hotcakes muffins.”

He hesitated, then pulled up a chair. Mrs. Hogendobber poured him coffee with cream and two sugars. A few sips restored him somewhat. “I don’t want to be rude but I have to examine all the angles. You know that.”

“Yeah, we do.”

Rick said, “Well, you tell me how one partner in a marriage knows what the other’s doing if she’s asleep.”

Miranda downed a cup of coffee herself. “You don’t. My George could have driven to Richmond and back, I’m such a sound sleeper, but well, you know things about your mate and about other people. Cabell was faithful to Taxi. His disappearance has nothing to do with an affair. And how do we know he wrote that letter voluntarily?”

“We don’t,” Rick agreed. A long silence followed.

“I have a confession to make.” Harry swallowed and told Rick about the misshapen earring.

“Harry, I could wring your neck! I’m out of here.”

“Where are you going?” Harry innocently asked.

“Where do you think I’m going, nitwit? To Little Marilyn’s. I hope I get there before she mails off that earring to New York. If you ever pull a stunt like this again I’ll have your hide—your hide! Do you understand?”

“Yes,” came the meek voice.

Rick charged out of the post office.

“Oh, boy, I’m in the shit can,” Harry half-whispered.

Rick opened the door and yelled at both of them, “Almost forgot. Don’t open any strange Christmas presents.” He slammed the door again.

“Just what does that mean?” Mrs. Hogendobber kicked a bag of mail. She regretted that the instant she did it, because there was so much mail in the bag.

“Guess he’s afraid presents will be booby-trapped or something.”

“Don’t worry. We can sniff them first,” Tucker advised.

Harry interpreted the soft bark to mean that Tucker wanted to go outside. She opened the back door but the dog sat down and wouldn’t budge.

“What gets into her?” Harry wondered.

“She’s trained you,” Mrs. Hogendobber replied.

“You guys are dumb,” Tucker grumbled.

“There goes our expedition,” Mrs. Murphy said to her friend. “Look.”

Tucker saw the storm clouds rolling in from the mountains.

Harry pulled a mail bag over to the back of the boxes. She started to sort and then paused. “It’s hard to concentrate.”

“I know but let’s do our best.” Miranda glanced at the old wooden wall clock. “Folks will be here in about fifteen minutes. Maybe someone will have an idea about all this . . . crazy stuff.”

As the day wore on, people trooped in and out of the post office but no one had any new ideas, any suspects. It took until noon for the news of Cabell’s vanishing act to make the rounds. A few people thought he was the killer but others guessed he was having a nervous breakdown. Even the falling snow and the prospect of a white Christmas, a rarity in Central Virginia, couldn’t lift spirits. The worm of fear gnawed at people’s nerve endings.

52

Christmas Eve morning dawned silver gray. The snow danced down, covering bushes, buildings, and cars, which were already blurred into soft, fantastic shapes. The radio stations interrupted their broadcasts for weather bulletins and then returned to “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” A fantastic sense of quiet enshrouded everything.

When Harry turned out Tomahawk and Gin Fizz, the horses stood for a long time, staring at the snowfall. Then old Gin kicked up her heels and romped through the snow like a filly.

Chores followed. Harry picked up Tucker while Mrs. Murphy reclined around her neck. She waded through the snow. A snow shovel leaned against the back porch door. Harry put the animals, protesting, into the house and then turned to the odious task of shoveling. If she waited until the snow stopped she’d heave twice as much snow. Better to shovel at intervals than to tackle it later, because the weather report promised another two feet. The path to the barn seemed a mile long. In actuality it was about one hundred yards.

“Let me out. Let me out,” Tucker yapped.

Mrs. Murphy sat in the kitchen window. “Come on, Mom, we can take the cold.”

Harry relented and they scampered out onto the path she had cleared. When they tried to go beyond that, the results were comical. Mrs. Murphy would sink in way over her depth and then leap up and forward with a little cap of snow on her striped head. Tucker charged ahead like a snowplow. She soon tired of that and decided to stay behind Harry. The snow, shoveled and packed, crunched under her pads.

Mrs. Murphy, shooting upward, called out, “Wiener, wiener! Tucker is a wiener!”

“You think you’re so hot,” Tucker grumbled.

Now the tiger cat turned somersaults, throwing up clots of snow. She’d bat at the little balls, then chase them. Leaping upward, she tossed them up between her paws. Her energy fatigued Tucker while making Harry laugh.

“Yahoo!” Mrs. Murphy called out, the sheer joy of the moment intoxicating.

“Miss Puss, you ought to be in the circus.” Harry threw a little snowball up in the air for her to catch.

“Yeah, the freak show,” Tucker growled. She hated to be outdone.

Simon appeared, peeping under the barn door. “You all are noisy today.”

Harry, bent over her shovel, did not yet notice the bright eyes and the pink nose sticking out from under the door. As it was, she was only halfway to her goal, and the snow was getting heavier and heavier.

“No work today.” Mrs. Murphy landed head-deep in the snow after another gravity-defying leap.

“Think Harry will make Christmas cookies or pour syrup in the snow?” Simon wondered. “Mrs. MacGregor was the best about the syrup, you know.”