Claws and Effect (24 page)

“Get up and push with all your might!” the deputy said be-tween gritted teeth.

Harry's foot went through one rotted rung but the rest were okay. She pushed and the top opened with surprising ease. She reached down, picking up Murphy, whom she tossed up. Then she did the same for Pewter and finally she carried Tucker, much heavier, under her arm.

She turned back for Coop, who extinguished the flashlight so as not to give their pursuer, who was approaching the right-hand turn, a target. Cooper, in great shape, leapt up, grabbing the top rung. She was out of the tunnel in moments.

“Where are we?”
Pewter asked.

Harry quickly flopped down the heavy lid. “Let's get out of here.”

“We're in the old switching station.” Cooper was amazed. “My God, they literally put them on the trains.”

“Smart people, our ancestors.” Harry opened the door to the old switching station and they plunged into the darkness, running for all they were worth.

“Down here.” Cynthia scrambled down a ditch by the side of the railroad tracks, the typical drainage ditch. “Lie flat. If he comes out I might be able to drop him.”

They waited for fifteen minutes in the bitter cold but the door to the switching station never opened.

The railroad, begun by Claudius Crozet in 1849, had been in continuous use since then, with upgrades. The small switching station had been replaced by computers housed in large stations in the major cities. A nerve network fanned out from there, so the individual stations had fallen into disuse.

“Let's go back.” Coop, shivering, stood up, brushing herself off.

“Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, I think we owe you big time.”

“We're not out of the woods yet.”
Murphy's senses stayed razor sharp as Tucker's hackles rose.

“I vote for warmth.”
Pewter moved ahead toward the hospital parking lot.

Cynthia checked her wristwatch. “Eight-ten.” As they drew closer to the front door she noticed Rick's squad car. “Well, we might get our asses chewed out but let's find him.”

They walked into the main reception area just as Sam Mahanes, disheveled, was greeting Rick. Cooper's hands were torn up and the sleeves of Harry's jacket were shredded where her arms had slid against the stone wall when her foot went through the rotted rung of the ladder to the switching house.

“You look like the dogs got at you under the porch.” Rick frowned. “And just what are you doing here?”

It took a second but both Harry and Coop looked down at Sam's shoes, scuffed with dirt on the soles.

“Harry, you've got to take those animals out of here. This is a hospital,” Sam reprimanded her as he moved toward the front door.

“He smells like the tunnel!”
Tucker hit him from behind. If they'd been playing football the corgi would have been penalized for clipping.

Harry may have been a human but she trusted her dog. “Coop, it's him!”

Sam lurched to his feet, kicked at the dog, and ran for all he was worth.

“Stop!” Cooper dropped to one knee.

He didn't stop, reaching the revolving door. Coop fired one shot and blew out his kneecap. He dropped like a stone.

The few people in the hospital at that hour screamed. The receptionist ducked behind the desk. Rick ran up and handcuffed Sam's hands behind him.

“Call a doctor,” he shouted at the receptionist.

“Call two,” Cooper also shouted. “There's a man badly injured in the basement. I'll take the doctor to him.”

Sam was cussing and spitting, blood flowing from his shattered kneecap.

“How'd you know?” Rick admiringly asked his deputy.

“It's a long story.” She smiled.

49

“That's so awful about Tussie Logan.” Miranda wrung her hands.

The group of dear friends gathered at Miranda's house that Sunday morning. The article about Tussie's murder was front-page news. Harry and Cooper filled them in on all that happened.

“He made enough money. He didn't have to steal any.” Big Mim was horrified by the whole episode.

“‘And he said to them, Take heed, and beware of all covetousness; for a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.' Luke, chapter twelve, verse fifteen.” Miranda recalled the Scriptures.

“Well, that's what's wrong with this country. It's money. All anyone ever thinks about is money.” Mim tapped her foot on the rug.

“Mimsy, that's easy for you to say. You inherited a boatload of it.” Miranda was the only one in the room who could say that to Mim.

Fair sat so close to his ex-wife he was glued to her. “I'll never forgive myself for not keeping a closer watch over you.”

“Fair, honey, it's breeding season. You can't. You have to earn a living. We all do. Well, most of us do.”

“All right. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth but that doesn't mean I don't understand this nation's malaise. I do. I can't help being born who and what I am any more than the rest of you,” Mim said.

“Of course, dear, but I simply wanted to point out that it's rather easy to declare money the root of all evil when one is secure.” Miranda's voice was soothing.

Susan, rather disappointed to have missed the action, asked, “I thought Sam Mahanes had an alibi for Hank Brevard's death?”

“He was in his work space, as he calls it.” Cooper nodded. “Rick questioned Sally Mahanes in a relaxed way. The night of Hank's murder she didn't see him come in. He used the private entrance to his shop. It was easy for him to slip in. He left the radio on. Easy. Hank got greedy, threatened him, and Sam took him out. Quick. Efficient.”

“And Larry?” Mim's lower lip trembled a moment.

“We'll never know what Larry knew.” Cooper shook her head. “But he was such an intelligent man. Sam took no prisoners. Poor Tussie, after Hank's murder she must have lived in terror.”

“Caught in a web and couldn't get out.” Miranda felt the nurse's life had been squandered.

“And how much money are we talking about?” Mim got down to brass tacks.

“Close to a million over the years. Just out of Crozet Hospital. He confessed that they billed for more than infusion pumps. They worked this scam on anything they could fix, including air conditioners. But the IVAC units—easy to fix, Tussie knew them inside and out—were the cash cow.”

“Well, I thank you for apprehending Larry's killer. I feel I owe you a reward, Cynthia, Harry.” Mim's voice was low but steady as she fought with her own emotions.

“I was doing my duty, Mrs. Sanburne. You don't owe me a thing.”

“And I don't deserve anything either. The real detectives were Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. How they figured out where the hiding room was, I'll never know, and then they discovered the tunnel. They're the ones.”

Mim eyed the three animals eagerly looking at her. “Then I shall make a large contribution to the local SPCA.”

“No! Food!”
Pewter wailed.

“Good God.”
Murphy grimaced.
“At least, ask for catnip.”

“Perhaps my largesse is unappreciated.” Mim laughed.

“No.” Harry smiled. “They want treats.”

“And they shall have them!” Mim smiled. “Liver and kidneys and chicken. I'll cook them myself.”

“This is wonderful.”
Tucker turned a circle. She was that excited.

A knock on the door drew their attention.

“Come in,” Miranda called out.

Little Mim, face flushed, let herself in, hurriedly taking off her gorgeous sheepskin coat dyed hunter green; even the baby lamb's wool was dyed hunter green. “I'm sorry I'm late but Daddy and I just had a meeting. I'm going to run for vice-mayor and he's going to create the position. So now, Mother, will you support me?”

“With enthusiasm.” Big Mim smiled.

“Why does it take people so long to find the obvious solution?”
Pewter tilted her head as she spoke to Murphy.

“Too much time on their hands.”
Tucker turned another circle just thinking about kidneys.

“She's probably right. When they had to fight lions and tigers and bears, when they had to till the soil and run from thunderbolts, they didn't have time to think about themselves so much,”
Pewter thoughtfully added.

“Who was it said, ‘The unexamined life is not worth living'? That contradicts your point,”
Tucker said.

“Yeah, who said that?”
Pewter asked.

“Not a cat so who cares?”
Mrs. Murphy burst into uproarious laughter.

Dear Reader,

You'll never guess what just happened. My Aunt Betty makes catnip sockies. She brought in two huge bags full, two hundred little toys just loaded, jammed, stuffed, reeking of potent, powerful, intoxicating home-grown Virginia catnip. She placed the bags on two kitchen chairs and then left the room. I expect something diverted her attention because Pewter and I shredded the bags, wallowed in all those toys.

Mother walked in to find us sound asleep, burrowed in those sockies. Now Aunt Betty has to make a bunch more since we've “tested” these. Mother says she can't send them out. I argued that they'd be even more valuable but she said I really ought to shut up.

A few other things. No, Mother still hasn't gotten up the money to totally repair her bridge. Many of you write and ask. More dogs seem interested in our bridge than cats. This doesn't mean I think dogs are reading. No. I bet their humans read to them.

Another question you ask is are there other cats on the farm. Mother says I have to name them, that I'm selfish and hogging all the limelight. Oh? Do my friends write mysteries? No. They chase mice, moles, birds, skinks, lizards, and even the chickens (who chase right back). I'm the one who works around here! But to keep the peace allow me to introduce my friends. First my daughter, Ibid. She looks just like me except she has green eyes. Pewter you know, of course. Every time someone knocks on the door, Pewter rushes out to greet them since she believes they've come to see her. Oh, the ego. She has a double, Gracie Louise, and together they play tricks on people. One jumps out from the left then runs away and a few seconds later the other one jumps out from the right. Personally, I think they've read too many plays, from Plautus to Shakespeare, about twins. Then there's Mr. Murphy, a large tiger cat named for Mrs. Murphy, obviously. He's hunting quite a bit, but a nice fellow. There's another tiger cat, Nenee. The calicos are Pippin and Peaches. All very pretty, young, slim. Loretta is about four months old. She follows me around when she isn't shadowing Mother. Usually I can put up with her questions but some days she plucks my last nerve. Maybelline guards the lower barn and Zydeco commands the upper.

As you can see there are many of us. Everyone has all their shots and everyone gets spayed. If a stray has kittens, she gets spayed after her babies are weaned.

Mother gives speeches for various animal shelters and SPCAs. She loves animals, sometimes to the despair of her friends because she's always taking in some stray. She's even fed and gotten shots for fox cubs.

We also have ten dogs. With the exception of Liška, an ancient Shiba Inu, and Godzilla, the Jack Russell, they, too, are strays or hounds rescued from the pound.

Together, over the years, Mother and I have placed many abandoned animals in homes. We're proud of our efforts.

We don't understand how humans can bear children or have animals and then mistreat them. Cats don't do that. Nor dogs.

I was talking to Pewter the other day and I said, concerning humans, “They left Eden. We didn't.”

Nuff said.

Oh, one lovely thing happened to Mom. As you've probably gathered, all her money goes toward animals and she doesn't have very much left for herself. She doesn't mind but when her best clothes were stolen a few years ago on a book tour she hadn't the money to replace them, especially at today's prices. One day the postman dropped off a large box. She signed for it. I helped her open it. Four beautiful Turnbull & Asser shirts were inside, made to Mom's pattern, registered at that British company. I wanted to wear them but she wouldn't let me touch them. The colors: lavender, silky blue, and a black patterned one, and a pink—ain't life grand!

We called Turnbull & Asser in New York (the home company is on Jermyn Street, London). Yes, they had taken the order but they wouldn't tell us who sent the shirts.

Now, that's a mystery.

I love everyone.

Affectionately Yours,
Sneaky Pie

www.ritamaebrown.com
or
Sneaky Pie Brown
P.O. Box 696
Crozet, VA 22932

Books by Rita Mae Brown with Sneaky Pie Brown

WISH YOU WERE HERE

REST IN PIECES

MURDER AT MONTICELLO

PAY DIRT

MURDER, SHE MEOWED

MURDER ON THE PROWL

CAT ON THE SCENT

SNEAKY PIE'S COOKBOOK FOR MYSTERY LOVERS

PAWING THROUGH THE PAST

CLAWS AND EFFECT

CATCH AS CAT CAN

THE TAIL OF THE TIP-OFF

WHISKER OF EVIL

Books by Rita Mae Brown

THE HAND THAT CRADLES THE ROCK

SONGS TO A HANDSOME WOMAN

THE PLAIN BROWN RAPPER

RUBYFRUIT JUNGLE

IN HER DAY

SIX OF ONE

SOUTHERN DISCOMFORT

SUDDEN DEATH

HIGH HEARTS

STARTING FROM SCRATCH:
A DIFFERENT KIND OF WRITERS' MANUAL

BINGO

VENUS ENVY

DOLLEY: A NOVEL OF DOLLEY MADISON IN LOVE AND WAR

RIDING SHOTGUN

RITA WILL: MEMOIR OF A LITERARY RABBLE-ROUSER

LOOSE LIPS

OUTFOXED

HOTSPUR

FULL CRY