“Like a serial killer, you mean?” Tucker was very concerned for Harry’s safety.
“It’s bad enough that humans kill once.” Pewter sucked in her breath. “But every now and then they throw one who wants to kill over and over.”
Mrs. Murphy murmured, “I liked Maude.”
“I did too.” Tucker hung her head. “Why don’t people kill their sick young like we do? Why do they let them live and cause damage?”
“Well, as I understand it, these psychos”—Pewter had an opinion on everything—“can appear mentally normal.”
“That’s no excuse for the ones they know are nuts from the beginning.” Mrs. Murphy couldn’t cover her distress.
“They think it’s wrong to weed out litters.” Tucker’s claws clicked on the pavement.
“Yeah, they let the sickies grow up and kill them instead.” Pewter laughed a harsh laugh. “No one better come after Courtney or Market. I’ll scratch their eyes out.”
Harry noticed the three animals were attentive to one another.
“Whoever this is has something to cover up,” Mrs. Murphy thought out loud.
“Yes, they have to cover up that they’re demented and they’ll kill again, during a full moon, I bet,” Pewter said.
“No. I don’t mean that.” Mrs. Murphy’s eyes became slits. Tucker had lived with Mrs. Murphy since she was a six-week-old puppy. She knew how the cat thought. “This person is after something—or has something to hide. It might not be a thrill killer.”
“Don’t you find it peculiar that he or she leaves the bodies about? Doesn’t a killer try and bury the body?” Pewter figured that’s what vultures were for, but then, people were different.
“That struck me about Kelly’s body.” Mrs. Murphy ignored a caterpillar, so intense was her concentration. “The killer is displaying the bodies . . .” Her voice drifted off because Market Shiflett emerged from his store and was waving at Harry.
“Harry, Harry!”
Harry heard the fear in his voice and ran down to the store. “What’s the matter?”
“S’awful, just awful.”
Harry put her arm around him. “Are you all right? Want me to call the Doc?” She meant Hayden McIntire.
Market nodded he was fine. “It’s not me, Harry. It’s another murder—Maude Bly Modena.”
“What?!” Harry’s color fled from her cheeks.
“I’m keeping my girl inside. There’s a monster out there!”
“What happened, Market?” Harry, shocked, put her hand against the store window to steady herself.
“That poor woman was tied to the railroad tracks like in some silent movie. The fellow saw her—the brakeman, I guess, on the morning passenger train—but too late, too late. Oh, that poor woman.” His lower lip trembled.
“Who else knows?” Harry’s mind was moving at the speed of light.
“Why do you ask?” Market was surprised at the question.
“I’m not sure, Market, I . . . Woman’s intuition.”
“Do you know something?” His voice rose.
“No, I don’t know a damn thing but I’m going to find out. This has to stop!”
“Well”—Market rubbed his chin—“Courtney knows, Rick Shaw and Officer Cooper, and Clai and Diana of the Rescue Squad, of course. Train people know, including the passengers. Train stopped. A lot of people know.”
“Yes, yes.” Her voice trailed off.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I wish so many people didn’t know already. Controlling the information might have been a way to snag a clue.”
“Yeah.” The phone rang inside. “I’ve got to pick that up. Let’s stick together, Harry.”
“You bet.”
Market opened the door and Pewter scooted in, calling her goodbyes over her shoulder.
A miserable Harry unlocked the door to the post office, Mrs. Murphy and Tucker behind.
“Come on.”
Mrs. Murphy looked at Tucker. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Tucker replied, “Yes, but we don’t know where.”
“Damn!” Mrs. Murphy fluffed her tail in fury and walked dramatically into the post office.
Tucker followed as Harry picked up the phone and started dialing. “It could be miles and miles from here.”
“I know!” Mrs. Murphy crabbed. “And we’ll lose the scent—if it’s there.”
“It held a little bit the other time. That day was stinky hot too.”
Mrs. Murphy leaned up against the corgi. “I hope so. Buddy-bud, we’re going to have to use our powers to get to the bottom of this. Harry’s smart but her nose is bad. Her ears aren’t too good either. People can’t move very fast. We’ve got to find out who’s doing this so we can protect her.”
“I’ll die before I let anyone hurt Harry!” Tucker barked loudly.
“Susan, there’s been another murder.”
“I’ll be right there,” Susan replied.
She started to dial Fair at the clinic but hung up the phone. It was a knee-jerk reaction to call him.
“Rick Shaw came by for Ned,” Susan said as Harry unlocked the front door. It was 7:30 A.M.
“What’s he want with Ned?”
“He wants him to organize a Citizen’s Alert group. Harry, this is unbelievable. This is Crozet, Virginia, for Pete’s sake, not New York City.”
“Unbelievable or not, it’s happening. Did Rick say anything about Maude?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, was she alive when she was run over?” Harry’s entire body twitched at the thought and a wave of nausea engulfed her.
“I thought of that too. I asked him. He said they didn’t know but they believed not. The coroner would know exactly when she died.”
“If Rick said that, it means she was dead already. I mean, you’d have to be pretty stupid not to tell after a certain point. Did he say anything else?”
“Only that it happened out near the Greenwood tunnel, out on that first part of track.”
Harry said, almost to herself, “What was she doing out that far?”
“God only knows.” Susan sniffed. “What if this—this creature starts after our children?”
“That’s not going to happen. I’m sure of it.”
“How would you know?” A note of anger crept into Susan’s voice.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore your concern for the children, and you should keep the kids in at night. It’s just that—well, I don’t know. A feeling.”
“There’s a madman loose! Tell me what Kelly Craycroft and Maude Bly Modena had in common! Tell me that!”
“If we can figure that out, we might catch the killer.” Command rang through Harry’s voice. She was a born leader, although she never acknowledged it and even avoided groups.
Susan knew Harry had made up her mind. “You aren’t trained in this sort of thing.”
“Neither are you. Will you help me?”
“What do I have to do?”
“The police ask routine questions. That’s fine, because they learn a lot. We need to ask different questions—not just ‘Where were you on the night of . . . ?’ but ‘How did you feel about Kelly’s Ferrari and how did you feel about Maude’s big success with her store?’ Emotions. Maybe emotions will get us closer to an answer.”
“Count me in.”
“I’ll take Mrs. Hogendobber and Little Marilyn for starters. How about if you take BoomBoom and Mim. No, wait. Let me take BoomBoom. I have my reasons. You take Little Marilyn.”