“I’d be most grateful.” Josiah did sound relieved. “Do you know of anyone who might have a plot, who could help us out there?”
“I’ll ask Herbie Jones. He’ll know.” Herbie Jones was the minister at Crozet Lutheran Church.
“Do we even know what denomination Maude was?” Josiah asked.
“No, but Herb has always had a wide embrace. I don’t think he’d mind if she were a Muslim. Would you like me to inquire about a service also?”
“Yes—I think we should. And one more thing, Ned: I’d like to run her store and buy it when that’s feasible. I don’t know what paperwork will be involved but Maudie built a good business. It was her love, you know. I’ll keep it up in her honor, and for the profit too. She’ll come back to haunt me if I don’t make a profit.”
“She left her estate to the M.S. Foundation, so we will need to negotiate with them.”
“Really?” Josiah was consumed with interest but refrained from boring in.
“She had a brother who died from the disease.”
“You know more about Maude than any of us.” Josiah was envious.
“Not really. But I’ll do what I can. It would be wonderful to keep the shop going and I can’t see that the M.S. Foundation has the personnel or the desire to come out here to Crozet and sell packing materials. I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.”
“No, Josiah, thank you. I wish Maude could know what good friends she had.” And he thought to himself that good friend or not, Josiah was quick to see a way to make more money.
18
A persistent owl hooted in the distance. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker padded in the moonlight toward Maude Bly Modena’s store. Tucker, restless, jauntily moved along, her tail wagging. They’d be back long before Harry woke up, so Tucker treated herself to small sniffs and explorations along the way.
As they approached the building Mrs. Murphy stiffened. Tucker stopped in her tracks.
“There’s someone in there,” Mrs. Murphy whispered.“Let me jump up on the window box. Maybe I can see who it is. You come sit by the front door. If he runs out, you can trip him.”
Tucker quickly hopped up the steps and lay flat against the door. The only sound was the click-click of her claws and the tinkle of her rabies tag.
Mrs. Murphy tiptoed the length of the window box. She pressed her face against the glass panes. She couldn’t see clearly because whoever it was had crawled under the desk.
Mrs. Murphy carefully dropped onto the earth.“S-s-st, come on.”
They circled to the back as Mrs. Murphy explained why she couldn’t see.
“I can’t smell anything with the windows and door closed but we can pick up the scent by the back door or by a window.”
Tucker, nose to the ground, needed no encouragement. She hit the trail by the back door.“I got him.”
Before Mrs. Murphy could put her nose down to identify the scent the back door opened. Tucker crouched down and tripped the man coming out as Mrs. Murphy, claws at the ready, leaped onto his back. He stifled a shout, dropping his letters, which scattered in the light evening breeze.
He thrashed around but couldn’t reach Mrs. Murphy, who was far more agile than he. Tucker sank her fangs clean into his ankle.
He yowled. A few houses down, a light clicked on in an upstairs bedroom. The man gathered up the letters as Mrs. Murphy jumped off and scurried up a tree. Tucker scooted around the corner of the house and they both watched Bob Berryman run with a limp down the back alleyway. In a few moments they heard the truck start up and peel out onto St. George Avenue.
Mrs. Murphy backed down the tree. She liked climbing up much more than she liked coming down. Tucker waited at the base.
“Bob Berryman!” Tucker couldn’t believe it.
“Let’s go inside.” Mrs. Murphy trotted to the back door, which Bob had left open in his haste to escape his attackers.
Tucker, head down, followed this trail. Berryman had entered through the back door. He passed through the storage room and went directly to and under the desk. He stopped at no other place. Tucker, intent on the scent, bumped her head into the back of the desk.
Mrs. Murphy, close behind her, laughed.“Look where you’re going.”
“Your eyes are better than mine,” Tucker growled.“But my nose is golden, cat. Remember that.”
“So, golden nose, what was he doing under the desk?” Mrs. Murphy snuggled in next to Tucker.
“His hands slid over the sides, the top, and the back.” She followed the line.
Mrs. Murphy, pupils open to the maximum, stared.“A secret compartment.”
“Yeah, but how’d he get it open?”
“I don’t know, but he’s a clumsy man. It can’t be that hard.” Mrs. Murphy stood on her hind legs and gently batted the sides of the desk.
A loud slam scared the bejesus out of both of them. They shot out from under the desk. Mrs. Murphy’s tail looked like a bottlebrush. The hair on the back of Tucker’s neck bristled. No other sound assailed their sensitive ears.
Mrs. Murphy, low to the ground, whiskers to the fore, slowly, one paw at a time, headed for the back room. Tucker, next to her, also crouched as low as she could, which was pretty low. When they reached the storage room they saw that the door was closed.
“Oh, no!” Tucker exclaimed.“Can you reach the doorknob?”
Mrs. Murphy stretched her full length. She could just get her paws on the old ceramic doorknob but she couldn’t turn it the whole way. She exhausted herself trying.
Finally, Tucker said,“Give up. We’re in for the night. Once people start moving about I’ll set up a howl that will wake the dead.”
“Harry will be frantic.”
“I know but there’s nothing we can do about it. We’re already in her bad graces for our work at the railroad tracks. Boy, are we in for it now.”
“No, she won’t be mad.”
“I hope not.”
Mrs. Murphy leaned against the door catching her breath.“She loves us. We’re all she’s got, you know. I hate to think of Harry searching for us. It’s been a terrible week.”
“Yeah.”
“If we’re stuck here we might as well work.”
“I’m game.”
19
Pewter, hovering over the meat case, first heard Tucker howl. The sound was distant but she was sure it was Tucker. A huge roll of Lebanon baloney, her favorite, beckoned. Courtney lifted the scrumptious meat from the case. Sandwich duty occupied her morning. By 7:00 A.M. the farm crowd had wiped out the reserve she’d made up Sunday night.
“Gimme some! Gimme some! Gimme some!” Pewter hooked a corner of the roll with a claw.
“Stop that.” Courtney smacked her paw.
“I’m hungry!” Pewter reached up again and Courtney cut her a hunk. Buying off Pewter was easier than disciplining her.
The cat seized the fragrant meat and hurried to the back door. Her hunger overwhelmed her curiosity but she figured she could eat, and listen at the same time. Another protracted howl convinced her the miserable dog was Tucker. She returned to Courtney, was severely tempted by the Lebanon baloney, summoned her willpower, and rubbed against Courtney’s legs, then hustled to the back door. She needed to perform this identical routine three times before Courtney opened the back door for her. Pewter knew that humans learned by repetition, but even then you could never be sure they were going to do what you asked them. They were so easily distracted.
Once free from the store Pewter sat, waiting for another howl. Once she heard it she loped through the backyards, and came out into the alleyway. Another howl sent her directly to the back door of Maude Bly Modena’s shop.
“Tucker!” Pewter yelled.“What are you doing in there?”
“Just get me out. I’ll tell you everything later,” Tucker pleaded.
Mrs. Murphy hollered behind the door:“Are there any humans around?”
“In cars. We need a walker.”