“Tucker!” Mrs. Murphy shouted with excitement.
“Let’s take this over to them.” Tucker, who had dropped the bone for the cats to inspect, picked it up again.
“First let’s see if we can get them here. Then you can lead them straight to the spot,” Pewter suggested. “And we won’t have to go back and forth through the underbrush.”
The three meowed, yowled, barked, and whined. Eventually Harry made her way over, thinking someone had cornered a snake or upturned a tortoise.
Upon seeing the bone she gasped, then put both fingers in her mouth and whistled.
Fair, Susan, and Cooper hacked their way toward her from their separate directions.
Upon seeing the whitened long fragment, Cooper immediately called Rick on her cell phone.
44
The sweet smell of honeysuckle filled the late-afternoon air. Midsummer could fall anywhere between June twenty-first and June twenty-third, but Harry celebrated the entire week right up to July, since she loved the festivals and myths surrounding the longest day of the year.
However, this last Sunday in June she was anything but celebratory. That morning, as soon as Cooper called Rick regarding the long bone proudly displayed by Tucker, part of her was thrilled that this might be one of Mary Pat’s bones and part of her was sickened. The idea that the vivacious Mary Pat was killed, then dragged to a lonely grave undiscovered until now, made her sad, far sadder than she could have imagined.
Cooper, to protect Harry, Fair, and Susan, waited for Rick Shaw. When he arrived she asked Harry to direct Tucker to lead Cooper to the spot. But both Cooper and Rick sent the three humans partway down from the meadows. The two law-enforcement officers didn’t want any of them to know the exact spot if more bones were buried there. Why take the chance that Harry, Susan, or Fair might slip, say something to the wrong person?
Once Tucker took Cooper and Rick to the site, Cooper walked the corgi down to Harry, ordering all of them to go home.
Fair promised he’d visit Harry tonight after he checked pedigrees on his computer. He said he had an idea. Before leaving he also asked Rick to call him at the clinic should the sheriff find the remains of Ziggy Flame, as well.
Rick promised he would but cautioned them all not to jump to conclusions. One bone that looked like a femur did not constitute the solution to the disposition of Mary Pat Reines’s remains. Nor were they even sure the bone was human. Rick especially cautioned Harry, who was known to jump the gun.
Harry, as always, sought solace in hard work. She was installing large rectangular trellises reaching from the ground to the roofline of her new shed. Her tools already hung neatly inside. The old but serviceable 1958 John Deere tractor rested inside, the manure spreader hooked up to the PTO. Her two-horse trailer was now sheltered along with the big Ford F350 dually that pulled it. Only the 1978 Ford endured the elements. That venerable machine remained parked near the back door. That way, should it rain, she could make a dash for it.
As she worked, she talked to her animals. Tucker would get up each time Harry took more than three steps. The cats reposed in the shade of the long barn overhang, but they could hear everything Harry said to them. Matilda, the four-foot-long black snake, hung from a huge old walnut tree in the back lawn. Her hunting radius started on the paddock by the western side of the barn, and over the summer she would make a big counterclockwise circle until, by fall, she was back at the barn, where she would hibernate throughout winter. Matilda evidenced no fear of the cats, dog, or Harry. Being a reptile, she rarely conversed with the mammals, but she kept one glittering eye on them always. Pewter bragged too much about her hunting prowess, and Matilda was determined to give the gray blowhard a vicious bite she would never forget if the fat kitty so much as looked cross-eyed at her.
“I just painted that eave.” Harry squinted up as she carefully placed the trellis straight against the outside wall.
A thin powder of sawdust spiraled out of a perfectly round hole, where a carpenter bee had already made an impressive home for herself and her offspring.
“Can’t keep up with them. They’re as industrious as beavers,” Tucker sympathized.
Carpenter bees really didn’t do damage, but the sight of those round holes in overhangs, eaves, and doorjambs offended human aesthetics. Some people worried that the large flying bombers, often mistaken for bumblebees, would sting them, but the carpenter bee with its smooth black bottom wasn’t a stinger.
“Beavers built another dam on the creek. Low down this time. I walked over there last night,” Mrs. Murphy informed them.
“Good. That will give us a good pond.” Tucker, wary of beavers, appreciated their engineering skills.
Anyway, who could afford to dig out a pond these days? The beavers really were doing them a favor.
Harry walked back to the barn, shaded her eyes with her hand, checked to make certain she’d lined up the trellis perfectly. She had. She walked back, climbed the ladder next to the trellis. Gently she tapped in long thin nails to secure the top. Then she climbed down and nailed in the bottom. She subsequently put in a row of nails across the middle.
“There.”
“Perfect.” Pewter, considering herself an expert on all things demanding a critical eye, praised her human.
“Now the big question. Do I plant climbing roses, clematis, or morning glories?”
“Morning glories are running wild over the back pastures. I say roses. That will bring out all the bees. I like to hear them,” Tucker suggested.
“I vote for that.” Mrs. Murphy half-dozed. “Plant the clematis around the lamppost by the back walkway.”
“Clematis has those big showy flowers. Purple. Hmm, maybe white. Of course, I could do both purple and white.” Harry paced along the building. “I’ll do that on the lamppost. If I put out climbing roses the fragrance will be spectacular, plus I think the clematis will go better on the back there because I’ve got the ivy lining the walkway. That’s it.” She walked inside, plucked a shovel off the wall, and began digging a bed for the rosebushes. The good soil would be enriched from the compost heap.
Yesterday she’d bought rosebushes and clematis starters at the big nursery, Eltzroth, on Route 29 south of Charlottesville.
Just as she pulled the last of the soil over the roots, the low motor rumble of Miranda’s Ford Falcon alerted Tucker.
“Miranda!” Tucker recognized the sound of all of Harry’s friends’ vehicles.
“We know that.” The cats could identify the sounds, too.
“That looks good. Roses are so tough.” Miranda, large basket in both hands, kicked the car door shut. “Thank you for calling me about your adventure this morning. I thought you might need refreshment and”—she smiled—“conversation.”
Wiping her hands on her jeans, Harry kissed Miranda on the cheek. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Well, come on. Let’s take a tea break. It’s almost teatime. Where would you like to eat? Kitchen? Screened-in porch? Backyard?”
“Let’s go in the kitchen. It’s nice and cool inside.”
Harry took the basket from Miranda and the two women made their way to the kitchen slowly, for Miranda had to stop and admire Harry’s flowers. The animals shot ahead of them. Pewter knew something good in that basket had her name on it.