She circled the edge of the cavity. Kneeling down, she took her penknife out of her pocket, opened it, and stuck it into the snow. She wanted to gauge the depth. The knife disappeared in the snow. She fished it out, wiped it on her coat, closed it, and stuck it back in her pocket, guessing the snow was about eight inches at that one spot.
“Let’s dig,” Mrs. Murphy urged Pewter.
Snow flew beneath their paws like white rooster tails.
“All I do is get hung up in more tree roots.” Pewter complained but kept at it.
“Me, too.”
Tucker called down, “Murphy, something flew up behind you.”
The tiger cat turned around. A silvery rounded button, the Scottish thistle imprinted on it, stood out against the snow.
“Look,” Mrs. Murphy loudly meowed.
The three animals sang a chorus so Harry finally knelt down again, spied the button next to the tiger cat. She placed one foot onto a thick root to balance herself, held on to another tree root. Despite her efforts, she slid into the cavity.
“At least you’re out of the wind,” said Pewter, which was her idea of consolation.
Harry felt the snow creep into her boots. She picked up the button, studying it, before putting it in her pocket.
A chill gave her the creeps as she realized she was in the hole where the body had been buried. The roots had grown through whomever it was, and for a moment Harry imagined them grabbing her, too.
She reached up for a thick root, wiggled one foot out, had a time freeing the other one, then, with all her might, she pulled herself up and out.
“Winter clothing sure adds the pounds,” she wheezed once topside.
Tucker was ready to say something about Pewter and pounds but shut her mouth as Mrs. Murphy gave her a look. The crack would have been too easy.
The two cats, claws sinking into cold roots, popped out of the hole with more ease than the human.
Harry noticed old coyote tracks as she moved a bit away from the tree. The wind stiffened, roaring now.
“Let’s get out of this weather.” Harry put her head down.
Once in the truck, she turned on the ignition, waited for the heater, as her feet were now cold. Pulling off her heavy gloves, she held her hands to the vent to warm up faster. Once warm, she pulled the pretty button out of her pocket.
“Whoever it was was Scottish or perhaps wanted to be,” said Harry. “Such a distinctive national symbol.”
“Mom, get out of here. The truck’s rocking from the wind,” Pewter advised.
Finally home, the animals sat before the fire while Harry called Cooper to tell her of her find.
“We found it,” said Harry, and Pewter, surprisingly, did not try to steal the credit.
Hanging up, Harry dropped the button in the catchall drawer in the oversized shot glass.
As Harry was closing her kitchen drawer, Arden Higham sat with Jessica Hexham in the church office, books laid out before them.
“It’s odd to be using these books after they’ve been dusted for prints.” Arden turned over pages. “People think I stole those three checks.”
“No one thinks any such thing,” Jessica told her. “And, really, Arden, you don’t have to do this. Take a break.”
“I don’t want a break. It makes it worse.” Arden was argumentative. “And, of course, people think I took them. I do the books.”
“Well, I certainly hope not, and the checks haven’t been cashed.”
“Jessica, how do you know that?”
“Deputy Cooper questioned me, and I questioned her back. As best I could. They never tell you everything. I guess they hope you’ll blurt something out if you’re the guilty party.”
Arden’s face reddened. “Just makes me crazy. People thinking I’m guilty.” She changed the subject. “Listen to that wind.”
“It’s already been a ferocious winter, hasn’t it, and there’s still three long months to go.” Jessica pulled the arm on the tabulator.
Both women liked to see the numbers on the roll of paper. They also used a small computer to double-check everything.
“I can’t concentrate. I’ll take a little walk and be back.”
“Arden, go home. Or take your mind off things. Go to a movie.”
“No. I will do my job. I just need a walk.”
To save money, the office buildings were kept at a low temperature, sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Given the howl of the wind, the windows and doors rattling, it seemed even colder. Arden wrapped her arms around her torso as she walked down the hall, up and back a few times. Then she went downstairs to the rec room. The large meeting room felt even colder. She pulled a tattered throw off the sofa, cushions sagging, and dropped into a fairly well-upholstered wing chair. She pulled the throw over her, picked up a newspaper, a few days old, off the table next to the chair. She’d hardly got any reading done before she fell asleep. When she awoke, she checked her watch. She’d dozed off for forty minutes. Rising, she fluffed the cushion, replaced the throw, brushed off her sweater, as she didn’t think the throw was too clean.
As she replaced the paper on the table, out of curiosity she opened the drawer.
Inside was a cheap tin about five and a half inches by three inches and one quarter of an inch high. It was a good size for pins, buttons, paper clips. Opening it, she picked up shredded bits of one check.
Pencil behind her ear, Jessica looked up. “Almost done. Good walk?”
“You won’t believe what I found in the rec room.”
“Yes?” Jessica’s eyebrows raised, she took the pencil from behind her ear.
“A shredded check. One of the stolen ones.” She dropped the tatters on Jessica’s desk.
Jessica paused, pursed her lips, then said, “Oh, Arden, this isn’t good.”
“Where are the other two?”
Arden dropped into her chair. “This is all too much. Dear God.”
“Prayer might be in order.” Jessica, disturbed, pieced the paper bits together. “Arden, let me talk to Brian about this. Really. There’s been enough—well, we all need some calm right now.”
“I have to call Deputy Cooper.” Arden put her palms on her cheeks, then dropped them.
Jessica made a note in a small notebook, lifted the long paper from the tabulator, and neatly stapled the note to the numbers. “All in order. That’s some good news, and yes, you do need to inform Cooper. I’ll leave these check pieces on my desk.”
“Good.”
Jessica had gone over Silver Linings’s books while Arden slept, and she wrote out checks for Arden to sign. The women often helped each other going over the books, but this was a special favor. She slid the big checkbook over to Arden.
“Sign.”
“You did all this?”
“What are friends for? You sign them, we’ll stick them in envelopes, stamp them, and toss them in the mail with all the St. Cyril’s checks.”
“Oh, Jessica.” Arden swallowed, tears filled her eyes.
“Come on, girl. Sign. Can’t sign if you’re crying.”
This brought a rueful smile, and Arden began signing the checks. “You balanced the books, too.”
“Apart from the now two missing checks, not a penny missing.” Jessica smiled. “Has it occurred to you that whoever took and tore one up downstairs is dumb as a sack of hammers?” she said, using the old southern expression.
“Perhaps I should be grateful.”
Blue snow reflected twilight. The sunset, brilliant against a winter sky, held Harry’s attention as she finished up her outdoor chores. She observed the flaming sky—reds, golds, and hot oranges—as it was infiltrated by dark fingers of encroaching clouds. She shut the back barn doors, which she’d left open to freshen the air. The temperature, mid-forties, dropped with the sun. Sweet-smelling hay, the tang of fresh water in the bucket, the rich, comforting odor of the horses themselves made her barn the one place in the world where Harry always felt better no matter what. Walking the aisle, she checked and double-checked. Everyone’s blankets stayed on properly, a miracle, given the hijinks in the pastures that afternoon. Lots of kicking forward with forelegs, snow flying off their hooves, the crystals like tiny little rainbows shooting through the clear air.