"'Ray!" they cheered.
The prized furry mice were kept in a cardboard box in the kitchen cabinet. Milk-Bones, catnip, and new squeaky toys were housed there, too, because the animals would throw them all over the house at once. They didn't believe in delayed gratification.
With three upturned faces at her feet, Harry opened the cabinet door, pulled out a squeaky bone. She tossed it for Tucker who skidded across the kitchen floor. Then she threw a white mouse for Murphy and a gray one for Pewter.
The cats pounced, grabbed the toys by their skinny tails, threw them over their heads, pounced again. Curiosity got the better of Pewter who ran over to see if Murphy's mousie was better than hers.
Mrs. Murphy growled. Pewter huffed but returned to her own mouse.
Harry placed another log onto the fire, settled herself again, but this time picked up the Whyte-Melville book.
The two cats knocked their mice around like hockey pucks. They collided into the kitchen cabinets and one another.
Pewter, eyes large from excitement, slapped one paw on her gray toy. She said in a low voice, "This mouse will die a good death. Crack." She imitated snapping its neck.
Mrs. Murphy whispered, "Mychelle-not a good death."
They both glanced at Tucker, under the coffee table in the living room, merrily chewing on the bone which squeaked with each chomp.
"It's a good thing Harry doesn't know. Think how guilty she'd feel," Pewter said. "I'm surprised she hasn't figured out that's why we were in front of the broom closet at the Clam."
"She has. She's not saying anything. It's one of the reasons she wants to solve this. She feels guilty."
"Could be," the gray cat mumbled, then her voice became clear. "BoomBoom was there. She knows then, too."
"BoomBoom's got a lot of unnecessary stuff up there, but I expect she kind of knows." Mrs. Murphy tapped Pewter's head.
The phone rang. Harry reluctantly rose to answer it, swearing she was going to buy a cordless phone. "Hello."
"Harry, it's Coop."
"Hey, girl, apart from a few cars sliding off the road maybe this will be a slow night."
"Actually, I'm not working tonight but on my way home I stopped by Anne Donaldson's. You haven't happened to see her, have you?"
"No. Is this light surveillance?"
"Uh-"
"Okay, don't answer that."
"Well, she could have stopped at a friend's or her sister's and decided to stay there."
"If you're calling me you've already called them."
"Sometimes I forget just how smart you are," Cooper half-laughed. "Yes, I have called them."
"Do you think she ran off?"
"I don't know. We've sent out her license plate number. Maybe someone will see her."
"Any officer on duty tonight can't see the hand in front of his face," Harry said.
"You're just hopeful tonight, aren't you?"
"I don't mean to sound negative but it is a difficult night."
"Yes."
"Is Rick worried?"
"Concerned. Not worried."
"Ah."
"Next question."
"I thought you were off duty."
"I am."
"And you're smoking a cigarette, too." Harry smiled.
"I already have a mother."
"Did I tell you to stop?"
"No. Harry, how well do you know the girls on the basketball team?"
"The only one I know is Isabelle Otey because she came to our volleyball games while her knee was healing from surgery. So you know her, too."
"Tammy Girond."
"No. Just see her at the games."
"Frizz Barber."
"Uh, she came into the post office once with a friend. But no."
"Jenny Ingersoll, Sue Drumheller, the Hall sisters?"
"No, I just watch them play."
"Well, you know the coach."
"Not well, but yes. She's terrific."
"Honest?"
"You know she is."
"Yeah, I do know but I'm interested in your opinion. What about Andrew Argenbright, her assistant?"
"M-m-m, seems pretty good. Occasionally I'll see him in Charlottesville out and about but I don't know him other than to say hello. Why are you asking me about the team?"
"Well, I've been sequestered in the equipment room with Tim Berryhill. There was so much stuff we finally brought in two other officers, and, Harry, we counted every single piece of gear in that huge room. I thought I'd lose my mind. I hate stuff like that."
"And?"
"And there's no doubt equipment is being pilfered to the tune of about twenty-five thousand dollars last year. We don't know about other years."
Harry exclaimed, "What tipped you off?"
"Tracy was hit on the head two nights ago."
"He never told me."
"He wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Now that we've run the inventory it's not quite so crucial."
"I hate not knowing these things." Irritation crept into Harry's voice.
"You're getting as bad as Mim."
"Did you call her?"
"About Anne Donaldson, yes. Not about this," Coop answered.
"She won't be happy when she finds out."
"Maybe. You watch people. You notice things. Did you ever see H.H. at the Clam other than for a game?"
"No."
"Any ideas who's stealing the stuff?"
"Not right off the bat, forgive the pun. Since you've been running inventory whoever's been stealing knows you know," Harry sensibly said.
"Well, sometimes guilt or fear or both will flush the pup right out of the woods." Coop inhaled again, grateful for the nicotine.
"Do you think this has something to do with the murders?"
"I wish I knew. I'm starting to get irritated."
"Me, too." Harry watched as a gray mousie was batted by her feet. "You called Mim about Anne and Cameron, of course-"
"Yeah, I told you that."
"I know but you interrupted me."
"Sorry. Yes, and Mim, as smart as you are, knew it would be too obvious if I called around, so she is doing it. Her excuse is she heard Anne's four-wheel-drive is in the shop and she's happy to lend Anne hers."
"Then Mim knows, too."
"What?"
"That Anne is your suspect."
"That's why she's calling and not me. Except for calling you."
"Are you worried that Anne's slipped the net?"
"Not yet."
"What if she's not your killer? What if the killer wants her?"
"That thought has occurred to me."
"Damn."
37
The sky, clear but pitch-black the next morning, was filled with stars. Some seemed white, others bluish, one had a red tint. The first hint of dawn, a slender thread of dark blue underneath the black, gave way to a lighter blue by six-thirty. A pink haze shimmered on the horizon.
Harry had already accomplished her barn chores. She was shoveling snow, making a walkway between the house and the barn. She stopped to watch the sun's rim, deepest crimson, nudge over the horizon. The snow, blue now, turned pink and then crimson itself. The icicles, some over a foot long, exploded into hanging rainbows. The dazzle was so intense, Harry had to squint.
The mercury shivered at seven degrees Fahrenheit but as long as Harry was working, she didn't mind. A muff covered her ears but they still stung a bit. She heaved snow to the right as the crimson, pink, and gold colors with blue still in the shadows made this an exceptionally beautiful morning.
The cats, after visiting the barn to check on the horses and Simon, returned to the house. Tucker, her luxurious coat perfect for a frosty day, chased each shovelful of snow.
Although hungry, when Harry finished shoveling, she couldn't resist putting on her cross-country skis and sliding silently over to the creek that bordered her land and that of her neighbor, Blair Bainbridge.
The massive lone oak at the family cemetery stood out against the sky. Beyond that she could see a plume of white smoke curling out from Blair's kitchen chimney.
The fresh snow barely had any tracks in it. Animals snuggled in their burrows and nests. She turned right, gliding past the huge domed beaver lodge and dam. Tucker growled but kept behind her human. She didn't like the beavers. It was mutual.
Harry pushed up the ridge, the first in a series of ridges, some with narrow, perfect little valleys between them, until finally one was in the Blue Ridge Mountains. She turned right again, heading north on the low ridge, perhaps eight hundred feet above sea level. It was good apple country and quite a few orchards dotted the land in western Albemarle County and Nelson County. Nelson County, home of the famous pippin apple, looked like snow in the spring when the apple trees blossomed. The fragrance all through this part of Virginia made everyone a little giddy.