Rita Brown - Whiskers in the Dark

“That’s true.” Harry should have been frightened but her curiosity overrode her fear.

“She was my friend. I loved her. Imagine if someone had killed Susan. Wouldn’t you seek revenge if they went unpunished, were wildly successful to boot?”

“I—” Harry thought a long time. “Yes.”

“She was my friend. I loved her. I even loved her little beagle. When they disappeared, I somewhat consoled myself by knowing she didn’t die alone. Silly.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No. I admire you. I like you, Harry. You don’t give up. And if you turned me in, it would be your word against mine. And the law-enforcement people would have to figure out how I killed them. Well, Jason is obvious. I am hoping you will choose silence.”

“Clare?”

“She had a headache. I had those pills, had them for months thinking I would eventually slip them into a drink. Instead, I handed them to her. She took them. Who would notice? Blowfish is undetectable in the bloodstream, flushes out within hours.”

“It stays in the urine for up to four days. In consideration of the circumstances of Jason’s death, the medical examiner’s office decided to run a more extensive toxicology panel. There is a slim possibility that it was from accidental ingestion of tainted food, even though we didn’t have anything on the menu like blowfish.” Harry smiled wryly. “It’s like super food poisoning. Kind of like ‘The Purloined Letter.’ It wasn’t hidden. Out in the open.”

Arlene nodded. “More or less. Easily available for someone with contacts all over the world.”

She stood up. “I think Paula’s here. She would have readily met them here, or one of them. I don’t know if Jason or Clare did the deed or if they both did. Aldie is the perfect place. Killing her on their territory wouldn’t be wise, nor on hers. Here, well, it’s full of ghosts. If we haven’t been able to find the cavalrymen from 1863, we won’t find Paula.”

Harry stood up, too, looked again at the expanse. “I don’t understand people.”

“I understand them only too well.” Arlene exhaled. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t know her, of course, but she did her duty for us. I’ll pray for her.”

They turned to walk back to the Institute.

Ruffy smiled at his friends. “She can be at peace. Justice is one thing. Peace is another.”

“She had a good friend,” Tucker said. “Arlene.”

“Come on, you rascals.” Harry called to her friends.

Arlene smiled. “If I had made a move toward you, I think I would have been attacked.”

“Scratch your eyes out!” Pewter spat.

“Bite your legs,” Tucker promised.

“Push you over,” the ever-growing Irish wolfhound threatened.

“Climb up your back and claw your face while Pewter climbed up your front.” Mrs. Murphy said exactly what Pewter wanted to hear.

As they took a few steps onto the farm road, Tucker turned around to see Ruffy walking with his human.

“Look,” the corgi announced.

The other three watched, Ruffy’s tail wagging, looking up at the human ghost.

“Love never dies,” Mrs. Murphy said.

Dear Reader,

Pewter’s message reeked of unearned self-regard. I took it out of here.

Hope you are well.

Dear Reader,

I found my letter. See what I live with? A thief. What does Mrs. Murphy contribute to these books? Dull. The cat defines tedium.

I, on the other hand, burst with ideas and excitement.

As for human history, who cares? All they do is repeat the same stuff over and over. Only the clothes change.

Cats are far more interesting except for you-know-who.

Dear Reader,

Someone save me from these cats.

P.S. Pirate doesn’t know his ABCs yet. He can’t write. But he, too, has to live with this.

For Professor Iris Love

She has held the past in her hands

Therefore she knows the future.

THE NATIONAL BEAGLE CLUB

Founded in 1887 by farsighted and good people, the National Beagle Club benefits from continued solid leadership. If only we could send them to Congress.

I am certainly grateful to Lis Kelly, the archivist. She certainly has a task.

Liz Reeser, the assistant treasurer of the National Beagle Club, an events coordinator, and a major contributor to Hounds F4R Heroes, took a lot of time with me and made me laugh in the bargain.

Arie Rijke, M.D., Master of the Waldingfield Beagles, allows me to bedevil him. Watching him hunt his hounds, listening to tales of the past, needs of the present, has been invaluable. The other staff members of the club have also been wonderful.

Kathleen King, formerly of Ashland Bassets, whose late husband, Al Toews, was Master of Bassets, as always finds me odd tidbits of information when asked. She hunts with Oak Ridge Foxhunt Club and we have hunted behind bassets with intense pleasure.

Amy Burke Walker, Jt. MB of Holly Hill Beagles, cochair of the Triple Challenge and a member of the board of directors at the National Beagle Club, endured far too many questions from myself. We both whip-in to the Waldingfield Beagles and she whips-in to me with the Oak Ridge Foxhounds. On foot, I simply imitate her if I am able. Amy has won the Best in the Nation award two times, maybe more, for whipping-in. When she is whipping-in to me, on horseback, I know that side is covered. But I keep asking her questions and she bears it in good grace.

Hounds F4R Heroes was started by Steve Fox, ably assisted by his wife, Trish, and Matt Lafley is a cofounder. If you Google Hounds F4R Heroes, you will see if your state has such a group. This is a relatively new development and one worthy of our support.

Allow me to give thanks for the Waldingfield Beagles who left us and are now in the Happy Hunting Grounds after a life doing what they loved. I love it, too, and owe them a great deal, as I do to the people of the above-named pack. A good time is had by all.

Without Geoffrey Ogden and Jan, his wife, this novel would not have been possible. Given their long careers in service of our nation, postings overseas to sometimes dangerous places, I was astonished and sobered by their information. Geoff, among his other successes, was president of the Middleburg Hunt Club. When I talk to him I never want him to stop, whether it concerns our State Department or foxes. As for Jan, I look older, she does not. Grateful as I am for her service, I find this deeply unfair.

Finally, Joy Cummings and Harriett Love, her sister, came up with all manner of ideas about poisons. I hope to stay on their good side.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Ideally, the eighteenth- and twenty-first-century story lines should neatly tie up at the end. You, even if this is your first Mrs. Murphy mystery, know the past impacts the future. In truth, it is never past.