Today the only fragrance was the tangy hint of cold for no scent could rise up to Harry's nostrils off the frozen land. Even Tucker couldn't smell much and her olfactory powers far exceeded Harry's. As no animals had been about, the sturdy little dog couldn't even content herself with the aroma of a bobcat or a deer who had passed. Wild turkeys, in flocks of over seventy, gave off a distinct odor. Tucker chased a turkey hen once when she was a puppy and was quickly cured of that. That old turkey hen swirled around to chase her, gobbling hateful, scurrilous insults until Tucker raced into Harry's arms. Only then did the outraged bird stop. She turned and left with dignity.
But Tucker, happy to be alone with her human, knew there would always be a myriad of scents once the temperature climbed above freezing. Something it wouldn't do today. The swish of Harry's skis, the rhythm of her walking, hypnotized Tucker. It wasn't until the last moment that she heard the sharp feathers of a large hawk overhead. The bold animal swooped low then flew to a high tree limb where he gazed down on the groundlings.
"Scared you."
"Did not." Tucker bared her formidable fangs.
"Jeez, you're a big one." Harry stopped, looking up at the golden-eyed predator who stared right back at her.
"I'm big and I'd like a tasty mole, shrew, or mouse right now," he complained.
Harry reached into the pocket of her down coat and a tired pack of Nabs, the cellophane crinkling, was still there. She took it out, removed her gloves and crunched the Nabs once, then opened the cellophane, dropping the orange crackers on the snow. "Tucker, leave it. I'll make you breakfast."
Tucker did as she was told, and as they pushed off, the bird swooped down to eat the crackers. Tucker called over her shoulder, "You owe us one."
The large fellow thought a moment while tasting peanut butter, a new delicious taste, and he cocked his head. "You're right, little dog, I do."
Tucker stopped, turning to face the hawk. "If it gets really bad, Mother throws out seeds in front of the barn. She puts out a lot and sometimes bread. It's not flesh but it's better than going hungry. No one will bother you. The owl sleeps during the day."
"Flatface." The hawk respected the huge owl. "Best hunter around. She's conceited about it, too. Being domesticated, do you have to do everything that human tells you?" The hawk thought the collar around Tucker's neck a badge of slavery.
"You don't understand, I want to do what she wants. I love her."
The hawk swallowed another piece of Nab. "Incomprehensible."
"If you knew her, you'd love her."
"Never. Humans get in the way. They disturb our game, they tamper with migration patterns, they are the kiss of death."
"My human gave you food."
"Your human is the exception that proves the rule."
"Perhaps." Tucker chose not to argue. "I hope winter isn't too fierce. I hope you have plenty to eat. I won't chase you if you come to the barn. There are lots of mice in the barn and the outbuildings."
"Thank you. I'll see you again." The hawk opened one wing, each feather standing out against the sparkling snow.
Tucker scampered after Harry, puffs of snow shooting out from under her paws.
"There you are. Thought about that big hawk, did you?"
"Yes. I'm glad I'm not wild. I wouldn't get to live with you if I were."
Harry stuck a ski pole into the snow, launching herself down a mostly cleared path back into the pastures. Tears welled up in her eyes from the cold. Tucker dashed after her, once falling into a deeper bit of snow than she had anticipated.
When they were finally cozy inside the kitchen, Tucker gobbled her kibble, a drizzle of corn oil and a tablespoon of beef dog food on top.
The cats listened as she told them about the hawk.
"What kind?" Mrs. Murphy inquired.
"A marsh hawk." Tucker called the northern harrier by its common name.
"About two feet high?" Pewter didn't think that was that big but big enough.
"Yes, you know, plowing through the snow after talking with him I got to thinking about wild animals. They eat what they kill. Animals that aren't flesh eaters, say a squirrel, might stash some acorns but animals aren't greedy. Wild animals."
"And we are?" Pewter arched a gray eyebrow.
"Uh, well, we can all overeat, I suppose, but I think greed, true greed, is a human characteristic. How much does one human need to live? But they'll kill one another for more."
"That's true," Mrs. Murphy said.
"I don't think Anne Donaldson killed H.H. My instincts are better than a human's." Tucker, invigorated from her exercise, was chatty. "It's bigger than jealousy."
The phone rang and Harry picked it up to hear Susan's voice.
"Found Anne and Cameron." Susan had been called by Big Mim. She didn't believe the car story for a minute.
"Where were they?"
"BoomBoom's."
"Why didn't anyone call to tell me?" Harry complained.
"No one knew until"-Susan checked her wall clock-"seven-fifteen. Power went out on that side of town and it wasn't restored until early this morning. It doesn't appear to be anything sinister. Anne decided not to drive as the roads are treacherous."
"Sounds reasonable. Well, I'd better get down to the post office. I'm already late."
"No one's going out today. Stay home."
"Crozet might collapse without me."
"Pulease," Susan laughed and hung up.
Harry, usually punctual, had lost track of the time. She called Miranda. No one at home. She called the post office.
"Hello."
"Miranda, I'm late and I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. Nothing is moving in town this morning. You stay there. The roads aren't cleared, Tracy's with me."
"Coop told me he got clunked on the head. She also told me a lot of stuff has been walking out of the equipment room."
"Yes. I know Tracy can handle anything, but I don't think he or anyone should be in that building alone. Not until things are, well, whatever they are."
"Is Tracy sorting mail?"
"There isn't any. Rob Collier probably won't get through or, if he does, it will be late."
"Miranda, Coop said about twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of equipment had been stolen last year. She said they'll be able to determine what had been stolen from earlier years. More or less." She paused. "People kill for less than that."
"That they do," Miranda agreed.
"Nothing makes sense."
"No, it doesn't. But whether things make sense or not, there's something dangerous about. Now you stay there. If Rob makes it out and there's a lot of mail, I'll tell you, but I think the road plows will be running all day. You might as well build a snowman."
Harry hung up the phone, put her down vest and jacket back on, and went outside to do just that. The cats thought they'd play in the snow for a little bit until their paws became too cold, then they'd go back into the house. Tucker joined them. They raced around, threw snow over their heads, barked, meowed, ran in circles. Tucker chased Mrs. Murphy, who struggled because of the snow. Usually the dog was no match for the nimble cat, but although slowed by the snow, the tiger had lost none of her guile. She floundered over toward the barn, icicles gleaming from the roofline, and just as Tucker, fearsomely snapping her jaws, closed in on her, the cat arched sideways. Tucker, her momentum hard to stop, bounced into the side of the barn door. The icicles dropped, tinkling as they hit the earth. One small one fell onto Tucker's hind leg, the point so sharp it nicked the skin.