Odin—A young coyote who lives behind Harry’s farm on the eastern slope of the Blue Ridge Mountains, leads Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker to a frightening discovery.
The Really Important Characters
Mrs. Murphy—She’s a tiger cat who is usually cool, calm, and collected. She loves her humans, Tucker the dog, and even Pewter, the other cat, who can be a pill.
Pewter—She’s self-centered, rotund, intelligent when she wants to be. Selfish as this cat is, she often comes through at the last minute to help and then wants all the credit.
Tee Tucker—This corgi could take your college boards. She is devoted to Harry, Fair, and Mrs. Murphy. She is less devoted to Pewter.
Simon—He’s a possum who lives in the hayloft of the Haristeens’ barn.
Matilda—She’s a large blacksnake with a large sense of humor. She also lives in the hayloft.
Flatface—This great horned owl lives in the barn cupola. She irritates Pewter, but the cat realizes the bird could easily pick her up and carry her off.
Shortro—A young Saddlebred in Harry’s barn who is being trained as a foxhunter. He’s very smart, young, and good-natured.
Tomahawk—Harry’s older Thoroughbred. He and Harry have been friends a long time.
The Lutheran Cats
Elocution—She’s the oldest of the St. Luke’s cats and cares a lot about the “Rev,” as his friends sometimes call the Very Reverend Herbert Jones.
Cazenovia—This cat watches everybody and everything.
Lucy Fur—While she’s not interested in church dogma, she is interested in the Very Reverend Herbert Jones whom she thinks of as “Poppy.”
“Gin!”
“I don’t believe it.” Susan Tucker stared at the cards that her childhood friend, Harriett Haristeen, “Harry,” had smacked down.
The six other women in the room, all slack-jawed, came over to view the winning card.
“Well, Susan, she did,” BoomBoom Craycroft, another childhood friend, said and smiled.
“Harry can’t play cards worth squat,” Susan complained.
“Well, I did tonight.” Harry beamed. “Susan, mark your calendar, Tuesday, December third, my best friend Harry knocked the stuffing out of me at gin.”
Jessica Hexham was petite and middle-aged, well dressed even though the evening was relaxed. She murmured, “Maybe something less exuberant for the calendar—just a red-letter day?”
“Do you remember when Miss Donleavey lectured us about red-letter days on the ancient Roman calendar?” Susan rolled her eyes.
BoomBoom, Susan, and Harry had been in the same class at old Crozet High School. While the buildings still stood, students now attended Western Albemarle High School, a large complex consolidating former small community schools. Jessica Hexham, Alicia Palmer, Charlene Vavilov, and Arden Higham had not. Jessica had attended Miss Porter’s; Alicia, Orange High School; Arden, Buckingham High; and Charlene, older than the others, had attended St. Catherine’s in Richmond.
With the exception of Jessica, all were central Virginia natives. Jessica, born and raised in Concord, Massachusetts, often found them amusing while contradictory at times, and they were reliably solid friends.
“Alea jacta est,” Susan pronounced with emphasis.
Harry translated. “The die is cast. Said when Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon in 49 B.C. at the head of the Thirteenth Legion. He knew civil war would follow.”
“Talk about a red-letter day,” said BoomBoom.
“Isn’t it something, though, how a device thousands of years old still works, I mean, a red-letter day? God bless Miss Donleavey. She taught us well.”
Jessica also recalled her Latin teacher at the expensive private school, perhaps less fondly. “I would never bless Miss Greely.”
The others laughed.
“Charlene, bet you took Latin at St. Catherine’s,” Alicia wondered.
“You couldn’t go to college without two years of it,” said Charlene. “I took four. It’s helped me more than I could know when I hated memorizing those conjugations.” She laughed.
“Funny, isn’t it?” the uncommonly beautiful Alicia said. “What we use? What we remember?”
“What I remember, apart from amo, amas, amat, was Miss Donleavey’s mysterious disappearance. Never found her.” Harry picked up the cards to shuffle.
Susan reached across the card table, placing her hand on Harry’s forearm. “Don’t you dare.”
“Huh?” Harry blinked.
“I’ll shuffle.”
“Are you calling me a cheat?” Harry’s voice rose.
“No, but you won the last hand, so it’s my turn to shuffle. Plus, what if you have a hot hand?” Susan used the gambling term.
“I’d better tell that to my husband.”
This evoked more laughter.
The lights flickered, once, twice, then no light.
“Dammit,” Susan cursed the dark. “Stay put, ladies. I’ll get the candles.”
“You need my little flashlight.” Harry reached into her pocket, pulling out a two-and-a-half-inch LED flashlight made in China.
Susan pressed the button. “Wow.”
“What else do you have in your pocket?” Jessica asked.
“One pocketknife,” BoomBoom answered for Harry. “She always has a pocketknife and a little money.”
“The emphasis is on little,” said Harry, emptying her pockets onto the card table as Susan returned with candles.
“Let me help you.” Thanks to the tiny LED flashlight, Alicia could see. She reached for some candles.
“There’s a hurricane glass lamp. Well, here, let’s do it together. Girls, we’ll be right back.”
True to her word, Susan and Alicia returned to the living room with small brass candleholders, which they placed about and lit. The large hurricane candleholder glowed on the card table. All held six- to eight-inch candles.
Susan noticed the small pile of debris.
“Harry, what’s your stuff doing on the card table?”
“Jessica wanted to know what was in my pocket.”
“In the dark?” Susan questioned.
“We knew there’d be light,” Harry shot back.
Jessica dutifully investigated the contents: one Case pocketknife, a folded cotton handkerchief, twenty-two dollars in small bills, one dog cookie.
Harry pointed out the cookie. “Never know when I might get hungry.”
The ladies laughed again as Alicia walked to the large triple-sash windows. “Girls, we’re in for it.”
“No kidding?” Harry hurried over, as did the others.
“The storm’s early.” BoomBoom, like all country people, paid intense attention to the weather.
“We have a little time before we need to worry about the roads,” Harry confidently predicted. “Everyone has four-wheel drive, right?”
“If not, I’m happy to sell you one.” Charlene smiled. She and her husband, Pete, owned the Ford dealership.
“We’re good,” the others replied.
“Well, let’s not play cards by candlelight. Ladies, I whipped up vegetable hors d’oeuvres, and they’re really tasty, if I do say so myself. I can’t eat them all. You have to help me. Harry, use your flashlight again and let’s bring the food out from the kitchen. BoomBoom, you know where the bar is. Give the girls what they want.”
BoomBoom picked up a candle as she glided to the well-stocked bar. Susan’s husband, Ned, was a delegate to the state legislature in Richmond, and the couple entertained frequently. In this part of the world, good liquor was considered an essential by any host and hostess. Southerners did drink wine, but many still preferred a high-octane bourbon or scotch, and then there were the legions of vodka drinkers who believed it didn’t linger on their breath.