Rita Brown - Whiskers in the Dark

Tears cascaded down Ewing’s cheeks. The three of them cried. Rachel, on her feet, now knelt before her father, kissing his hands. Catherine stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder.

Finally able to speak, he rasped, “I will see to it.”

When the sisters left, they briefly stopped to tell Bettina that they would do their best to get DoRe to Cloverfields. They promised to talk more in detail later, as both were overwrought and unexpectedly tired. Ewing, pipe in hand, put on his jacket, took a deep puff, and went outside to his wife’s tomb. He dropped the pipe into his pocket absentmindedly as he placed both hands on the recumbent lamb with the cross. He sobbed. He sobbed as hard as he had sobbed when he had buried this glorious woman.

“I am about to do something highly unusual, Isabelle, but I believe as our daughters have pressed me that this is your wish.” He continued to sob. Then he smelled his pocket burning.

Looking down, he saw that his pocket had caught fire, and little tendrils of smoke billowed out of his right pocket.

He slapped at his pocket, pulling out the pipe, dumping out the tobacco from the bowl where he stomped on the lit tobacco. His pocket was ruined. His coat was a mess. He stood there for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. He laughed until the tears flowed again, for he knew Isabelle had sent him a sign. She had a wicked sense of humor.

35

May 3, 2018

Thursday

Curiosity bit Harry like a mosquito. One bite, a scratch, then another. She couldn’t get Aldie out of her mind. Doing her chores, she ran through possibilities. The weather, perfect early May days, should have diverted her attention but no, she couldn’t get the two deaths out of her mind.

Sitting in her tack room, low sixties, a lovely light breeze, the door finally open, she could hear the horses outside playing. Spring fever didn’t just affect humans.

Mrs. Murphy sat next to Harry’s computer. Pewter, colossally bored since this wasn’t about her, snored, splayed out on the sheepskin saddle pads. Tucker sat by Harry’s chair.

“What’s she doing now?” Tucker inquired.

Mrs. Murphy peered over the top of the computer.

“Murphy, what are you doing?”

“ She’s looking at pictures of a car dealership, ” the cat answered her canine friend.

Lawsuits were public record. The very first thing Harry had done on Tuesday was to see if Montgomery County in Maryland had lawsuits on record. There was the one about drugs, and the dealership was dismissed from the case. The guilty party was still serving time. One case in 2009 proved a bit interesting in that a buyer sued for the entire replacement of the computer brains for a Mercedes that had been traded using a Lexus. Now there was a jump in taste. Harry read this with interest. The entire Mercedes had died, fritzed right out, for the rain had somehow driven up under the windshield wipers, seeping down into the brains of the car. Clearly human brains were becoming less and less necessary, according to carmakers. Anyway, the cost was well over seven thousand dollars, and that did not include the labor. The buyer’s insurance found a way to wiggle out. Understandably furious, one Mr. Samuel Bonfoy sued the dealership. This dragged on. Holzknect had inspected the car before the sale. Low miles, new tires, it seemed good, and it was until that unusual driving rainstorm. Harry, a motorhead, devoured the voluminous proceedings. Mercedes knew this was a design flaw but very few of their cars died in this fashion, sort of an automotive brain hemorrhage. They did not publicize the flaw. Holzknect again was exonerated. Fascinated, Harry checked on Mr. Bonfoy’s subsequent suit against Mercedes-Benz USA. Naturally, they initially refused to pay. Ultimately, they replaced his vehicle because Mr. Bonfoy hired the best law firm in the state of Maryland—and there were plenty—but these guys had fangs. Mercedes saw the wisdom of simply giving the plaintiff a brand-new car.

“Wow.” She continued to scroll.

It became clear that Jason and Clare were responsible people, took good care of their customers, plus they had the advantage of selling two of the most reliable brands in the country, if not the world.

“ She’s still scrolling. You’d think she’d go blind, ” Mrs. Murphy remarked.

“ Computer screens ruin your eyes, ” Tucker declared.

“How do you know that? You don’t have one.” The tiger cat teased her friend.

“Fair read it out of the paper. He likes to read aloud and I remember everything he reads. You know now he turns to the obituaries first.” Tucker was mystified.

“He turned forty and that is important to them. He’s what, forty-three? I forget, but I think he’s one or two years older than Mother.”

“Sets them right off, doesn’t it?” Tucker laughed.

“Sure seems to, but this death thing, I mean I understand the obituaries, sort of. She likes to send sympathy cards and go to services. She’s respectful that way, but unexplained death, she gets obsessed.”

“ Jason getting his throat cut, well ”—the corgi tilted her head upward—“ pretty awful and now this thing with Clare. She doesn’t believe that it was natural. You smelled everything. ”

“If Clare was murdered, it had to be without scent and clever, something we don’t know about. But Tucker, humans do keel over.”

Mrs. Murphy stuck her head over the computer again. “She’s trying to find Clare’s service record. Shouldn’t take long. Can’t be that many Lazos in the Navy. No matter when.”

“Why?” Tucker wondered.

Harry whispered to herself and the cat called down. “Clare’s discharge. It was honorable and now she’s seeing all the awards Clare won. Do they call them awards in the service?”

Tucker thought. “They get to wear ribbons on the left sides of their chests. But I don’t know if that’s called an award. It’s pretty, though all the colors and certain of those little ribbons mean wars. Then there’s the stripes on their sleeves. Humans put a big store by this stuff.”

“So Clare did well?”

“As did the dealership. Everything seems to be in order.” Tucker knew Harry still wouldn’t let this go.

Then Harry returned to the Google information on Jason, returned again to Facebook. She peered intently at the photographs, noting that the same Russian translator appeared, as did his Turkish counterpart. Given the centuries of tension between Russia and Turkey, this seemed in order. Jason’s linguistic abilities had to have been critical in assuring U.S. interest in both nations remained stable. Even with her limited understanding of foreign relations, Harry began to see Jason’s usefulness to the country’s political interests as well as economic ones.

The bribery, the threats, the military forays over the centuries added to the needs and dreams of the nations surrounding Turkey. For a mad moment Harry thought about Catherine the Great bribing Turks, Greeks, anyone to open that wedge to what was then called Constantinople, now Istanbul.

How much money was squandered the world over to buy friends, information, to open the back door?

She was suddenly glad she didn’t know but so much.

Harry got up out of her chair, walked into the center aisle of the barn to pace. Up and down, up and down.

“ Don’t watch her. You’ll get a crick in your neck, ” Mrs. Murphy advised.

Hands behind her back, Harry stopped in front of the open tack-room door, took a big breath, strode in, sat down, and picked up the old phone.