“Right,” Dabny agreed as Harry rose to fetch a tablet out of the drawer along with a pen.
Noticing the button Harry had also put on the table, Flo exclaimed, “Her sweater! That was on Margaret’s sweater. She had thistles on everything. Well, maybe not everything, but she was proud of her heritage.”
Cooper was on the phone, reporting to HQ that Flo and Cletus were with them.
“Cletus, did you know about this?” Dabny asked.
“No. Not until Flo came to me yesterday. She was afraid of Esther.”
“There are a few things I still don’t understand,” said Fair. He leaned forward. “Can you tell me why you brought Margaret here? And Flo, why did you or Esther remove Margaret’s bones from the upturned tree?”
“Esther panicked when she heard the body was found,” said Flo. “The weather worked in her favor. I let her boss me around. The first time around, I helped her because she’s my sister. This time I was afraid of what she’d do to me if I didn’t. We untangled poor Margaret from the tree in awful weather! We wrapped her in a plastic tarp, then wrapped another one around that. She was so light. We slid her up the hill to the old road on the spine, above here. Esther said the shed behind Random Row would be a good place for a few days to stow her until we found another hiding place. She’d thought about this. Said no one would be there. That’s where we stashed her.” Flo reached for another swallow of coffee. “I shouldn’t have done any of this. When this first happened, I was worried that Esther would be found guilty of murder. I loved my sister. I don’t now, but I did then. And over time, especially these last few months, I started to think she might kill me. If she gets a chance, I do believe she will. But who will believe me?”
Cletus vowed, “We’ll find a good lawyer.”
“How can I pay for it?” Flo threw up her hands.
“Don’t worry about that now.” Harry didn’t know what to believe.
Formerly sullen, snappy, and odd, Flo was certainly in possession of herself now.
“You two stay in here,” said Cooper. “We’ve got to go outside and finish up.” She stood, as did the others.
They worked outside, taking photos, checking everything. Twenty minutes later, they all heard a big eight-cylinder motor come down the drive. A huge Suburban pulled up.
Al and Esther quickly disembarked. “Where is she?” Esther appeared very worried.
“She’s fine, Mrs. Toth.” Cooper smiled. “We’re taking her in.”
“Taking her in?”
“Yes. After all, she stole your car,” Cooper cleverly replied.
“Oh, that.” Esther was ready to say more when Al noticed the skeleton.
“What is that?”
Esther turned and saw Margaret’s bones as well. Her face betrayed no recognition.
Cooper quietly said, “We believe it’s Margaret Donleavey.”
Al howled. “No. No, it can’t be.” He sagged against the car.
Dabny rushed toward him, held him up.
Al regained his footing, tears streaming down his face.
“How can you be sure?” asked Esther. She now looked upset but not stricken.
“Flo,” came Cooper’s clipped remark.
“But Flo’s having mental problems. Surely she can’t be counted on to tell the truth.” Esther’s voice oozed reason.
“I have to run her in, Mrs. Toth.”
Just then, Flo, unable to stand it, ran outside wearing one of Harry’s jackets. Cletus, without any overcoat, was followed by Fair.
Esther turned to see these three. “Flo. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“Mrs. Toth, I have to take her in.” Cooper was firm.
“Surely not.” Esther was equally firm.
“She may be a murderer or an accessory to murder.” Cooper dropped one shoe but not the other.
Taking a step back now, Al appraised his wife with a new eye. He said nothing as the tears dripped off his chin.
“She drove here in your stolen car,” said Cooper. “And Flo also provided us with valuable information regarding the remains.” Cooper pressed ever so slightly.
Esther blanched, then color flushed back into her cheeks. “Surely, Deputy, you aren’t going to listen to my mentally impaired sister and her dipsomaniac companion.”
“Oh, but I am.” Cooper turned to Dabny. “Better take her in now, Dab.”
As Dabny gently pushed Flo into the four-wheel-drive squad SUV, Flo turned to Cletus. “Take care of Buster.”
“I will,” he answered. “I will. You don’t worry about a thing, Sweetheart.”
“Sunshine! I can’t believe it.” Harry tossed horse manure into the wheelbarrow, doors open to the barn.
“Too much white.” Pewter squinted.
“Do you always have to find something to complain about?” The dog brushed past her, deliberately trying to provoke the gray cat.
Pewter reached out with her right paw to snag Tucker, who easily avoided the smack.
“Fatty, fatty,” she mocked.
Pewter puffed up, danced sideways. “You’d better be afraid. I can bloody your ears, shred your nose, and, if I feel really furious, blind you.”
“Ta, ta!” The corgi bumped her again.
Pewter, enraged, leapt toward the dog, who shot down the center aisle. Her claws clicked on the brick carefully put down in the 1840s.
Mouth open, eyes bright, Tucker charged through the aisle, ran right out into the snow, hooked a left, dropped down in the snow so only her ears showed.
“Peon!” Pewter ran after her, miscalculated the depth of the snow if she’d even considered it, and sank out of sight.
Tucker dug out, ran over to where the cat disappeared, turned around, and kicked snow all over the spitting feline. “Weenie!”
“What is going on?” Harry asked the tiger cat. Prudently remaining on a tack trunk, Mrs. Murphy was the epitome of good reason.
Stepping outside, Harry arrived just in time to see a gray cat with a dunce cap of snow on her head crawl out of a hole. Tucker, flat on the snow, egged her on.
The cat did look funny. Harry laughed.
“You’ll pay. You’ll both pay.” Pewter shook her head, strode toward the barn, a study in wounded dignity.
“Tucker, don’t play so rough,” Harry chided.
“Every now and then, Mom, even a good dog breaks her chain.” The corgi offered the old excuse.
Back in the barn, with stalls picked clean of droppings and the wheelbarrow resting to the side of the barn, Harry knew she’d need to dig out a path to the manure spreader. Each morning, Harry picked stalls, rolled the wheelbarrow to a level spot. The earth had been dug out, secured with heavy logs. The manure spreader in good weather rested there. Harry would tip over the wheelbarrow into the manure spreader. Later, she’d hook up the tractor, pull out the spreader, and spread the manure and straw, which would be churned up, cut up, by the blades at the end of the wagon. Couldn’t do that today.
Always looking for ways to be more efficient, Harry put everything to good use. Depending on the weather, she would pile the manure up, let it molder, turn it with a fork attachment on the tractor. Eventually, all this transformed into rich fertilizer, which she then shared with Miranda and Susan. She spread the rest on her pasture.
Looking up at the wall clock, she hurried out of the barn, closed those doors, dog and two cats in tow.
“I don’t know where the time goes.” She lifted Tucker into the old truck.
The cats hopped up, and she fired the engine. She waited just a bit, then churned out her long drive, using the ruts. Harry plucked her sunglasses from the visor.
“I need a pair of those,” Pewter said.
“Fetching, I’m sure. How about cat’s-eye sunglasses with rhinestones?” Tucker suggested.