30
“Mrs. Murphy and Tucker are at the back door.” Susan interrupted Harry, who was sorting the mail and telling all simultaneously.
“Will you let them in?”
Susan opened the back door and the two friends raced through, meowing and barking.“They’re glad to see you.”
“And in a good mood too. Market handed out bones today.”
“We think we’ve got part of the puzzle,” Mrs. Murphy announced.
“They were in cahoots, Kelly and Maude, with something—” Tucker shouted.
“In the nighttime when no one could see,” Mrs. Murphy interrupted.
“All right, girls, calm down.” Harry smiled and petted them.
Mrs. Murphy, discouraged, hopped into the mail bin.“I give up! She’s so dense.”
Tucker replied,“Find another way to tell her.”
Mrs. Murphy stuck her head over the bin.“Let’s go outside.” She jumped out.
Tucker and the cat dashed to the back door. Tucker barked and whined a little.
“Don’t tell me you have to go to the bathroom. You just came in,” Harry chided.
Tucker barked some more.“What are we going to do when we get out?”
“I don’t know, yet.”
Harry, exasperated, opened the door and Tucker nearly knocked her over.
“Corgis are a lot faster than you think,” Susan observed.
After replaying yesterday’s conversation with Fair one more time, both Susan and Harry were depressed. Harry shook out the last mailbag, three-quarters full. Susan made a beeline for the postcards. They both held their breath. A series of Italian postcards scared them but there were no graveyards on the front, and when turned over they revealed a number in the righthand corner and the signature of their traveling friend, Lindsay Astrove. They exhaled simultaneously.
“I’ll read you Lindsay’s cards while you finish stuffing the mailboxes.” Susan sat on a stool, crossed her legs, put the postcards in order, and began.
“‘Being abroad is not what it’s cracked up to be. I took a train across the Alps and when it pulled into Venice my heart stopped. It was beautiful. From there, everything went downhill.
“‘The Venetians are about as rude as anyone could imagine. They live to take the tourists for all they can. No one smiles, not even at each other. However, I was determined to transcend these mortal coils, so to speak, and drink in the beauty of the place. Blistered and exhausted, I tramped from place to place, seeing the Lord in painting after painting. I saw Jesus on the cross, off the cross, in a robe, in a loincloth, with nails, without nails, bleeding, not bleeding, hair up, hair down. You name it. I saw it. Along with the paintings were various other art forms of the Lord and his closest friends and family.
“‘Naturally, there were many, many, many pieces of the Virgin Mother. (A slight contradiction in terms.) In all of Venice, however, I was not able to find a snapshot of Joseph and the donkey. I could only conclude that they are ashamed of his stupidity for believing Mary’s story about her andGod and the conception thing and they only bring him out for Christmas.
“‘I did arrive at one possible conclusion. Since all of this artwork looks exactly alike, maybe one man is to blame. I find it plausible that one man did all of it and used many names. Or maybe all the little Italian boys born between 1300 and 1799, if their last name ended in “i” or “o,” were given a paint-by-number kit. I am sure there is a logical explanation for all this.
“‘One closing thought and I will move on to my visit to Rome. I am grateful that Jesus was Italian and not Spanish. All of that art would have been Day-Glo on velvet instead of oil on canvas.
“‘On to Rome—the Infernal City.
“‘Rome combines the worst of New York and Los Angeles. The one thing the Romans do well is blow their horns. The noisiest city in the world. The Romans rival the Venetians for rudeness. The food in both cities is not nearly as good as the worst Italian restaurant in San Francisco.
“‘As you can probably guess, I got to go to the Vatican Museums. I also got to leave the Vatican Museums because I proclaimed in an audible voice that it is just disgusting to see the wealth the church is hoarding. On the interest alone, they could cure cancer, AIDS, hunger, and homelessness inless than a year. All of a sudden the people who did not speak English were fluent in the language. I was ushered out. I didn’t even get to see the Pope in his satin dresses.
“‘The rest of Rome was no big deal either. The Colosseum was in shambles, the Spanish steps were littered with addicts and drunks, and the Trevi fountain was like any cruise bar.
“‘The designer shops were a delight. A designer outfit is one that does not fit, does not match, and does not cost less than your permanent residence. Did not shop in that city.
“‘I left Rome wondering why the Visigoths bothered to conquer it. However, Monaco was fabulous. The people, the food, the attitude, the absence of Renaissance culture!
“‘I’ll see you all in September when I will have soaked up about as much of the Old World as I can possibly stand. I’m beginning to think that Mim, Little Marilyn, Josiah, and company are gilded sheep to rave on about Europe, furniture, and a facelift in Switzerland. Oh, well, as you know,I think Mim impersonates the human condition. And don’t show this to Mrs. Hogendobber! Do show Susan.
“‘Love, Lindsay’ ”
Susan and Harry laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. Once they finally got hold of themselves they realized they hadn’t laughed, true laughter, since Kelly’s murder. Stress was exacting its toll.
“How many postcards did that take?”
Susan shuffled them like playing cards.“Twenty-one.”
“Who are they addressed to?”
“You. You’re the only one she could write this to.”
Harry smiled and took the postcards.“I’ll be glad when Lindsay comes home. Maybe this will be over by September.”
“I hope so.”
“Shred it up, like this.” Mrs. Murphy ripped into the sparrow corpse, and feathers flew everywhere. A squeamish expression passed over Tucker’s pretty face.“Oh, come on, Welsh corgis are supposed to be tough as nails. Tear that mole I caught into three pieces.”
“She’s going to hate this.”
“So she hates it. Our message might sink in subliminally.”
“She’s smart for a person. She knows there’s a connection between Kelly and Maude.”
“Tucker, stop shilly-shallying. I want her to know we know. Maybe she’ll start to listen to us for a change.”
Tucker, with singular lack of enthusiasm, tore the still-warm mole into three pieces. If that wasn’t bad enough, Mrs. Murphy made her carry the hunks to the back door of the post office.
The cat reared up on her hind legs and beat on the door. A soft rattle echoed in the post office.
Harry opened the door. Neither animal budged. Instead they sat next to their kill, carefully placed together by Mrs. Murphy.
“How revolting,” Harry exclaimed.
“I told you she’d hate it,” Tucker snapped to the tiger cat.
“That’s not the point.”
“What?” Susan called out.
“The cat and dog brought back the remains of a mole and what must have been a bird only a short time ago.” Harry peered for a closer look. “Ugh. The mole’s in three pieces.”
Susan stuck her head out the back door.“Like Maude.”
“That’s horrible. How could you say that?”
“Well—it’s not hard to think of those things.” Susan petted Tucker on the head. “Anyway, they’re doing what comes naturally and they brought these pathetic corpses back to you as a present. You should be properly grateful.”
“I’ll be properly grateful after I clean them up.”
Whether or not the bird and mole corpses inspired Harry, the animals couldn’t say, but she did drive her blue truck to Kelly’s concrete plant, leaving them outside while she went in for a chat.