Murder on the Prowl (19 page)

46

The cherry wood in the fireplace crackled, releasing the heavy aroma of the wood. Tucker, asleep in front of the fire, occasionally chattered, dreaming of squirrels.

Mrs. Murphy curled up in Harry's lap as she sat on the sofa while Pewter sprawled over Fair's bigger lap in the other wing chair. Exhausted from the trauma as well as the climb back up the deep ravine, Harry pulled the worn afghan around her legs, her feet resting on a hassock.

Fair broke the stillness. “I know Rick told you not to reveal Sean's condition, but you can tell me.”

“Fair, the sheriff has put a guard in his hospital room. And to tell the truth, I don't know his condition.”

“He was mixed up in whatever is going on over at St. Elizabeth's?”

“I guess he is.” She leaned her head against a needlepoint pillow. “In your teens you think you know everything. Your parents are out of it. You're invincible. Especially Sean, the football star. I wonder how he got mixed up in this mess, and I wonder what's really behind it.”

“I heard April was released from jail today, and she didn't want to leave,” Fair remarked. “She must know what's going on, too.”

“That's so strange. She doesn't look like a criminal, does she?”

“I always thought she was in love with Roscoe and that he used her,” Fair said.

“Slept with her?”

“I don't know. Maybe”—he thought a moment—“but more than that, he used her. She jumped through all his hoops. April was one of the reasons that St. E's ran so smoothly. Sure as hell wasn't Roscoe. His talents rested in directions other than details.” He rose and tossed another log on the fire. “He ever offer you candy?”

“Every time he saw me.”

“Never offered me catnip,”
Pewter grumbled.

“Mom's got that look on her face. She's having a brainstorm.”
Tucker closely observed Harry.

“Humans are fundamentally irrational. They use what precious rationality they have justifying their irrational behavior. A brainstorm is an excuse not to be logical,”
Pewter said.

“Amen.”
Murphy laughed.

Harry tickled Murphy's ears. “Aren't we verbal?”

“I can recite entire passages from
Macbeth,
if you'd care to hear it. ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps—'”

“Show-off.”
Pewter swished her tail once.
“Quoting Shakespeare is no harder than quoting ‘Katie went to Haiti looking for a thrill.'”

“Cole Porter.”
Mrs. Murphy sang the rest of the song with Pewter.

“What's going on with these two?” Harry laughed.

“Mrs. Murphy's telling her about her narrow escape from death.”

“That's the first thing I did when we got home.”
Mrs. Murphy sat up now and belted out the chorus from “Katie Went to Haiti.”

“Jesus,”
Tucker moaned, flattening her ears,
“you could wake the dead.”

Pewter, on a Cole Porter kick, warbled,
“When They Begin the Beguine.”

The humans shook their heads, then returned to their conversation.

“Maybe the link is Sean's connection to Roscoe and Maury.” Harry's eyes brightened. “He could easily have stuffed Roger's newspapers with the second obituary. Those kids all know one another's schedules. They must have been using Sean for something—” Her brow wrinkled; for the life of her she couldn't figure out what a teenage boy might have that both men wanted.

“Not necessarily.” Fair played devil's advocate. “It really could be coincidence. Just dumb luck.”

Harry shook her head, “No, I really don't think so. Sean is up to his neck in this mess.”

Fair cracked his knuckles, a habit Harry had tried to forget. “Kendrick Miller stabbed Maury. Maury's murder has nothing to do with Roscoe's. And the kid liberated the BMW, so to speak, and just got carried away. Started something he didn't know how to finish.”

“But Rick Shaw's guarding him in the hospital.” Harry came back to that very important fact.

“You're right—but connecting him to Roscoe's murder and Maury's seems so far-fetched.”

Harry leapt off the sofa. “Sorry, Murphy.”

“I was so-o-o comfortable,”
Murphy moaned angrily.
“Pewter, let's give it to them. Let's sing ‘Dixie.'”

The two cats blended their voices in a rousing version of the song beloved of some folks south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

“You're a veterinarian. You shut them up,”
Tucker begged.

Fair shrugged, laughing at the two performers.

“Here.” Harry tossed Fair a bag of treats. “I know this works.” It did, and she dialed Susan. “Hey, Suz.”

“Miranda's here. Why didn't you tell me!”

“I am.”

“How long have you been home? Oh, Harry, you could have been barbecued.”

“I've been home an hour. Fair's here.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I will, Susan, tomorrow. I promise. Right now I need to talk to Brooks. Are you sending her to St. Elizabeth's tomorrow?”

“No. Although she wants to go back.” Susan called her daughter to the phone.

Harry got right to the point. “Brooks, do you remember who Roscoe Fletcher offered candy to when he waited in line at the car wash?”

“Everybody.”

“Try very hard to remember, Brooks.”

“Uh, okay . . . when I first saw him he was almost out on Route Twenty-nine. I don't think he talked to anyone unless it was the guys at the Texaco station. I didn't notice him again until he was halfway to the entrance. Uh—” She strained to picture the event. “Mrs. Fletcher beeped her horn at him. He got out to talk to her, I think. The line was that slow. Then he got back in. Mrs. Miller talked to him. Karen walked over for a second. He called her over. Jody, when she saw him, hid back in the office. She'd been reamed out, remember, 'cause of losing her temper after the field hockey game. Uh—this is hard.”

“I know, but it's extremely important.”

“Roger, once Mr. Fletcher reached the port—we call it the port.”

“Can you think of anyone else?”

“No. But, I was scrubbing down bumpers. Someone else could have walked over for a second and I might not have seen them.”

“I realize that. You've done a good job remembering.”

“Want Mom back?”

“Sure.”

“What are you up to?” Susan asked.

“Narrowing down who was offered candy by Roscoe at the car wash.”

Susan, recognizing Harry was obsessed, told her she would see her in the morning.

Harry then dialed Karen Jensen's number. She asked Karen the same questions and received close to the same answers, although Karen thought Jody had been off the premises of the car wash, had walked back, seen Roscoe and ducked inside Jimbo's office. She remembered both Naomi and Irene waiting in line, but she couldn't recall if they got out of their cars. She wanted to know if Sean was all right.

“I don't know.”

Karen's voice thickened. “I really like Sean—even if he can be a jerk.”

“Can you think of any reason why he'd take Mrs. Craycroft's car?”

“No—well, I mean, he's sort of a cutup. He would never steal it, though. He just wouldn't.”

“Thanks, Karen.” Harry hung up the phone. She didn't think Sean would steal a car either. Joyride, yes. Steal, no.

She called Jimbo next. He remembered talking to Roscoe himself, then going back into his office to take a phone call. Harry asked if Jody was in the office with him. He said yes, she came in shortly after he spoke to Roscoe, although he couldn't be precise as to the time.

She next tried Roger, who thought Roscoe offered candy to one of the gas jockeys at the Texaco. He had glanced up to count the cars in the line. He remembered both Naomi and Irene getting out of their cars and talking to Roscoe as opposed to Roscoe getting out to talk to his wife. He was pretty sure that was what he saw, and he affirmed that Jody emphatically did not want to talk to Roscoe. He didn't know when Jody first caught sight of Roscoe. She was supposed to be picking up their lunch, but she never made it.

The last call was to Jody. Irene reluctantly called her daughter to the phone.

“Jody, I'm sorry to disturb you.”

“That's okay.” Jody whispered, “How's Sean? It's all over town that he wrecked BoomBoom Craycroft's new car.”

“I don't know how he is.”

“Did he say anything?”

“I can't answer that.”

“But you pulled him out of the vehicle. He must have said something . . . like why he did it.”

“Sheriff Shaw instructed me not to say anything, Jody.”

“I called the hospital. They won't tell me anything either.” A note of rising panic crept into her voice.

“They always do that, Jody. It's standard procedure. If you were in there with a hangnail, they wouldn't give out information.”

“But he's all right, isn't he?”

“I can't answer that. I honestly don't know.” Harry paused. “You're good friends, aren't you?”

“We got close this summer, playing tennis at the club.”

“Did you date?”

“Sort of. We both went out with other people.” She sniffed. “He's got to be okay.”

“He's young and he's strong.” Harry waited a beat, then switched the subject. “I'm trying to reconstruct how many people Mr. Fletcher offered strawberry drops to since, of course, anyone might have been poisoned.” Harry wasn't telling the truth of what she was thinking, although she
was
telling the truth, a neat trick.

“Everyone.”

Harry laughed. “That's the general consensus.”

“Who else have you talked to?”

“Roger, Brooks, Karen, and Jimbo. Everybody says about the same thing although the sequence is scrambled.”

“Oh.”

“Did Mr. Fletcher offer you candy?”

“No. I chickened out and ran into Mr. Anson's office. I was in the doghouse.”

“Yeah. Well, it was still a great game, and you played superbly.”

“Really?” She brightened.

“You could make All-State. That is, if St. Elizabeth's has a season. Who knows what will happen with so many people taking their kids out of there.”

“School's school.” Jody confidently predicted, “I'm going back, others will, too. I'd rather be there than”—she whispered again—“here.”

“Uh, Jody, are your mother and father near?”

“No, but I don't trust them. Dad's truly weird now that he's out on bail. Mom could be on the extension for all I know.”

“Only because she's worried about you.”

“Because she's a snoop. Hear that, Mom? If you're on the line, get off!”

Harry ignored the flash of bad manners. “Jody, can you tell me specifically who Mr. Fletcher offered candy to, that is, if you were watching from Jimbo's office?”

“Mr. Anson went out to talk to him. I sat behind the desk. I didn't really notice.”

“Did you see Mrs. Fletcher or your mom get out of their cars and talk to Mr. Fletcher?”

“I don't remember Mom doing anything—but I wasn't really watching them.”

“Oh, hey, before I forget it, 'cause I don't go over there much, the kids said you were on lunch duty that day. Where do you get good food around there?”

“You don't.”

“You were on lunch duty?” Harry double-checked.

“Yeah, and Roger got pissed at me because he was starving and I saw Mr. Fletcher before I crossed the road so I ran back. If I'd crossed the road he would have seen me. The line was so long he was almost out at the stoplight.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don't think so. He saw me in the office later. He wasn't even mad. He waved.”

“Did you give Jim his money back?” Harry laughed.

“Uh—no.” Jody's voice tightened. “I forgot. It was—uh—well, I guess he forgot, too.”

“Didn't mean to upset you.”

“I'll pay him back tomorrow.”

“I know you will.” Harry's voice was warm. “Thanks for giving me your time. Oh, one more thing. I forgot to ask the others this. What do you, or did you, think of Mr. Fletcher's film department idea?”

“‘Today St. Elizabeth's, tomorrow Hollywood,' that's what he used to say. It was a great idea, but it'll never happen now.”

“Thanks, Jody.” Harry hung up the phone, returning to the sofa where she nestled in.

Mrs. Murphy crawled back in her lap.
“Now stay put.”

“Satisfied?” Fair asked.

“No, but I'm on the right track.” She rested her hand on Mrs. Murphy's back. “I'm convinced. The real question is not who Roscoe offered candy to but who gave him candy. Rick Shaw must have come to the same conclusion.” She tickled Murphy's ear. “He's not saying anything, though.”

“Not to you.”

“Mmm.” Harry's mind drifted off. “Jody's upset over Sean. I guess they had a romance and I missed it.”

“At that age you blink and they're off to a new thrill.” He put his hands behind his head, stretching his upper body. Pewter didn't budge. “Everyone's upset. BoomBoom will be doubly upset.” He exhaled, wishing he hadn't mentioned that name. “I'm surprised that you aren't more upset.”

“I am upset. Two people are dead. Sean may well join them in the hereafter, and I can't figure it out. I hate secrets.”

“That's what we pay the sheriff to do, to untie our filthy knots of passion, duplicity, and greed.”

“Fair”—Harry smiled—“that's poetic.”

He smiled back. “Go on.”

“BoomBoom Craycroft.” Harry simply repeated the name of Fair's former lover, then started laughing.

He smiled ruefully. “A brand-new BMW.”

“She's such a flake. Pretty, I grant you that. I think I could have handled just about anyone else but BoomBoom.” Harry took a sideswipe at Fair.

“That's not true, Harry, a betrayal is a betrayal, and it wouldn't have mattered who the woman was. You'd still feel like shit, and you'd say the same thing you're saying now but about her. I am rebuilding my whole life, my inner life. My outer life is okay.” He paused. “I want to spend my life with you. Always did.”