Рита Браун - Probable Claws

Bettina felt if the child could pass for white, they should all protect her. She’d be free. Well, she was free and a handful.

Bettina hummed.

“What’s that?” Serena asked.

“I hear Rachel and Charles sing it. ‘A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.’ ” She hummed some, and Serena, a good ear, picked it up with her.

Footsteps alerted them.

Catherine stepped into the kitchen. “I had to walk away just for a minute. You know, I would consider drowning Maureen if I thought I could get away with it. She’s in there carrying on about how dreadful Yancy Grant is and moreover she knows, knows in her heart, that he wants her. That’s really why Yancy and Jeffrey fought that silly duel.” Catherine put her hands on her hips. “Wonderful meal.” Then she smiled slyly. “Just kills her. Her cook is, shall we say, serviceable.”

The three laughed.

“Is it true Maureen is trying to buy a title for Jeffrey?” Serena looked up into those astonishing eyes of Catherine’s.

“How did you hear that?”

“DoRe.” Serena named the head coachman at Big Rawly, courting Bettina, as both were widowed.

“Now that you mention it, he did refer offhandedly to it, but I really didn’t pay but so much attention. Rachel is the one mesmerized.”

“Miss Catherine.” Bettina’s voice hit the singsong register, meaning she knew Catherine was interested.

A moment of silence, then Catherine admitted, “Well, it’s just so absurd.” Then she burst out laughing. “All right. Back to Purgatory. They’re discussing the merits of shirred velvet versus heavy satin for winter balls. But Maureen did say that Yancy called on them to sell a horse. He promised this spring will be a banner race season, much money to be won.”

“Hmm.” Bettina wondered if DoRe counseled his mistress or if he’d let her throw her money about to make a big show.

“If he visited Big Rawly, you know he’ll come calling,” Serena predicted.

“And if he visited Big Rawly he must be desperate,” Bettina shrewdly asserted.

“You’re right.” Catherine considered Bettina’s insight.

More footsteps. Rachel stepped into the kitchen. “Your turn. I need a small escape.”

Bettina rose. “Miss Catherine. Here. This will help.” She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a jar. “Raspberry jam. She loves our raspberry jam.”

Catherine took the jar. “Good thinking. I’ll tell her it took me a while to find it.”

She turned and left.

Rachel sat down on the wooden bench. “Is it true Jeddie’s mother insists he marry?”

“He’s nineteen. Isn’t he nineteen?” Serena asked. Bettina nodded yes, he was.

“He doesn’t want to get married.” Rachel liked the young horseman who worked with Catherine.

“Says she’s going to throw him out.” Bettina clucked. “And you know how Felicia can get.”

“There’s an empty cabin near the weaving cabin. He’d be close to the women when they work. I mean if he came home early or something. That could be, well, you know.” Rachel was sensitive to such things.

“He hasn’t found the right one. He’s not going to chase the girls or he’d be doing it already,” Bettina wisely noted.

“I’m sure that’s the case.” Rachel smiled. “I’ll talk to Father to see if he’ll allow Jeddie to live over there alone.”

“It’s not good to live alone. Remember Noah’s ark? We’re supposed to go two by two.” Bettina said this with authority, biblical authority no less.

Serena gave the older woman a sideways glance then started to hum an old song about love.

Rachel smiled. “Two by two.” She grinned at Bettina, got up to rejoin the endless talk with Maureen. All about Maureen, of course.

Serena, voice low, said, “We all know you’ve got your eye on DoRe.”

“Honey, it’s better if DoRe has his eye on me. Tell you what, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life it’s that for a woman to make sure she gets what she wants…well, let’s just say it has to be the man’s idea.”

Serena, who married at seventeen, nodded. “It’s a lot of work.”

11

January 4, 2017

Wednesday

“One missing.” Coop crossed her arms over her chest.

Harry, walking along the row of file boxes, nodded. “1984. The year he moved here.”

The two, in Gary’s office, had placed the file boxes back on the shelf. All the contents had been examined, the boxes fingerprinted, scanned. The little rubber dinosaur toys, some tins, wooden boxes were replaced, not being considered important. He kept odd little things: animal teeth, old feathers, cat’s-eye marbles. Given the shock of the public death, Sheriff Shaw called other law enforcement people in for a few days’ help. The work flew along gratifyingly fast. But no fingerprints on the boxes other than Gary’s and few at that. He must have rarely consulted these papers. Whoever lifted the materials wore gloves. Given the cold surely they’d wear gloves outside but the books had been inside. Forethought.

The bad weather kept most businesses closed. The two women observed no foot traffic, not much car traffic, either. The silence was unusual.

Cooper stood scanning the inviting work space. “Nothing else was touched. The ceramic bowl on his flat work desk contained forty-five dollars in neatly folded bills. Still there. His bathroom, no medication. Of course, that could have been stolen.”

Harry responded, “The only pill I ever saw him take, ibuprofen. He hated medication. He’d always tell me if I ever had another operation the drugs could be worse than the disease. I argued back but then again, when my breast cancer was discovered, it was a small tumor. Not advanced. No radiation or chemo. I was lucky. Five years, clean.” She took a deep breath. “Sorry. This is about Gary, not me.”

Cooper waved the apology away. “Your operation affected him enough that he worried about you. And doctors push drugs. Maybe he had past experience.”

“I don’t think so but perhaps his ex-wife did.” Harry offered that thought.

“I guess I’ll drop in on the ex–Mrs. Gardner, now Hulme. Never hurts to do that anyway.” Cooper sat down in the desk chair while Harry sat on the stool in front of the impressive antique drafting table.

The dog and two cats sniffed at the back door.

“Faint. Grease. A hint of grease.” Tucker lifted her nose.

Mrs. Murphy checked out the faint line just inside the door. “Car grease or motor oil, you think?”

“Gary parked his car in the back. Could have been on his boots.” Tucker sat down. “Nothing on the door. Sometimes a door will brush against a person and you know where they were last, like, at the supermarket. Supermarkets always smell the same.”

“They use the same cleaners.” Mrs. Murphy looked at the doorknob. “If the person came in the back door, the person who removed the files, they had to leave their scent. It’s been too long. Nothing. Just nothing.”

“They knew how to open locks or had a key.” Tucker listened to the two women talking in the workroom. The back door opened onto a small entrance, a coatrack and bench against the wall. Just a small square space, a bathroom there, and then the door into the workroom.

Pewter, uninterested in their door examination, batted at the floor along the wall. “A major spider!”

The ground spider, not a web spinner, lifted its front legs, ready to fight. Pewter took a step back. The other two came over to look at the spider.

“That is a biggie,” Tucker agreed.