“Here.” Mrs. Murphy dropped her shells to the left of the big barn doors in the back.
Her two friends followed suit.
“I really don’t see the point.” Tucker again doubted Mrs. Murphy’s plan.
“Trust me,” advised the cat, fur fluffed out to help ward off the cold.
That night, December 14, the sky was clear. Three days from a full moon, the animals hurried to the barn, slipping through the small animal door in the big barn doors. Tucker really had to squish and squeeze through.
The two cats climbed the ladder up to the hayloft while Tucker waited in the toasty tack room. Clever, both cats opened the hayloft’s small doors just a crack. Usually Harry kept them open unless it was very cold, as she liked air to circulate over the stored hay. Horses need clean air, too. Building a too-tight barn was a typical mistake of someone who did not grow up with horses, the result being respiratory problems. Fair dealt with this all the time. He often felt that he was teaching Horse Care 101.
Simon snuggled in his nest, a tidy deep hole in a back hay bale.
“Here he comes,” Mrs. Murphy whispered to Pewter. “Go get Tucker.”
Excited at the espionage, Pewter climbed backward down the ladder, raced into the tack room, woke up the corgi, who then hurried to the back doors to listen while Pewter clawed her way back up the hayloft ladder.
Mrs. Murphy, eyes focused on the coyote, listened to the eggshells crack. She figured the young fellow must be about fifty pounds, quite a bit more than he would weigh if he were in Wyoming or Utah, anywhere in the West.
“Coyote,” she called down.
Swallowing a pulverized eggshell, he looked up. “Who are you?”
“I could ask you the same thing. You’re on my farm.”
“Odin,” came his reply.
“Mrs. Murphy.”
“Pewter.” The gray cat raised her voice.
“Who’s the dog behind the door?” Odin could smell the corgi.
“Tucker. She can’t get out that way. She’s listening,” the tiger cat said. “We’re the animals who chased you last week when you carried the bony human arm.”
“How’d you lose your tail?” Odin called mockingly at Tucker through the closed barn door.
Incensed, Tucker barked back, “I didn’t lose it. We’re bred to herd cattle and we have no tails.”
Knowing he was safe, Odin asked, “So you three live with the humans in the white house? I see them sometimes when I hunt here. They never see me.”
“Be grateful,” Tucker warned.
Mrs. Murphy got to the point. “Can you tell us where you found the arm?”
“Up in the huge walnut grove, not too far. A tree blew over in that bad windstorm. The bones were buried under the tree. Now the skeleton is tangled in the roots. It’s easy to see. No meat, but bones are good for you.” Odin stood on his hind legs, front paws on the barn door. “Been there a long, long time.”
“When Tucker and I chased you, a bracelet fell off.” Mrs. Murphy leaned farther out the hayloft doors, opened a crack, and a blast of cold air hit her. “Did you notice anything else, like a watch?”
“Maybe there’s stuff, but I wasn’t looking. I just wanted bones to gnaw.”
“If you leave the skeleton alone, we’ll put out better bones, other stuff for you back here,” Mrs. Murphy promised. “We want to see the skeleton.”
“Snow’s deeper up there. Can’t get to it now. I won’t bother it, but why do you want to see old bones?” Odin thought this very odd.
“A human buried outside a cemetery.” Mrs. Murphy paused. “Always means evil.”
“Not to you,” the gray-coated fellow said.
“No, but I live with two humans. Bones upset them. We don’t want them worried,” Mrs. Murphy informed him as Tucker pressed her ear more tightly to the lower barn door.
Odin thought a bit. “I don’t understand it, but if you bring me food I promise I won’t disturb the long dead.”
“Deal,” Mrs. Murphy swiftly replied.
“Deal,” Pewter echoed.
“Deal,” Tucker also agreed.
As Odin loped off, the two cats slid back the hayloft doors.
“Thank goodness. That air is like a knife.” Simon sighed, then said, “I’d be careful if I were you.”
“We will,” the two cats promised as they backed down the hayloft ladder to join up with Tucker, who was awaiting them.
The three rushed back to the house, eager for the kitchen’s warmth.
Tucker shivered for a moment. “Mrs. Murphy, there will be hell to pay.”
“Whoever is out there already paid it,” the tiger cat replied.
Advent’s music, as well as the vestments and church décor, always pleased Harry and put her in a holiday mood. She looked forward to this time of year, as did Lucy Fur, Elocution, and Cazenovia.
The candles, garlands in the hallways, the wonderful smell of Christmas, and the enormous tree in Reverend Jones’s office were all a cat could ask for, but this year the overflow of goods in the meeting room down the hall made it the best Christmas ever.
Elocution had investigated every toy box, pulling out what moved or squeaked. Lucy Fur and Cazenovia, however, preferred to burrow deep into blankets, sweaters, even some especially plush towels.
This Sunday, December 15, after another good sermon preached, Reverend Jones, the cats, and the ladies in charge of the gifts to the poor wrapped toys after the service. The blankets and towels were tied up with red and green raffia, placed in clear plastic bags.
The door of the meeting room swung open, and the ladies from St. Cyril’s came in.
Jessica Hexham walked up to Reverend Jones. “Have you all heard? Lou Higham is missing.”
“No,” Reverend Jones answered.
Jessica spoke louder. “Arden, who is a wreck, said he’s been missing since Friday afternoon.”
Harry, looking up from folding jackets, did not mention Cooper’s stopping by the barn Friday afternoon, nor the deputy’s being called in Saturday to help with the search.
BoomBoom wondered, “Why isn’t it on the news?”
Jessica shook her head. “I don’t know, but I bet it will be.”
Reverend Jones put his arm around Jessica. “Let us know if we can help Arden if you hear of anything.”
Looking around the room at all the boxes, Jessica said, “What we can do is make these deliveries until we hear otherwise. It’s just so upsetting,” she said to the others. “Well, I’m sure there will be a good explanation.”
“Ladies,” Susan called to the St. Cyril’s women, all talking, pouring through the door, “let’s go over the list and you all can decide who takes what.”
The Catholic women, Susan, and BoomBoom huddled in a corner at a long table. Susan, ever organized, had maps that she had colored in Father O’Connor’s unique code indicating drunkenness, et cetera.
“Better not take my toys.” Elocution pushed a fuzzy ball on the floor.