Whisker of Evil (19 page)

34

C
oroner Tom Yancy bent over Jerome Stoltfus at twelve-thirty Thursday morning.

He had gotten out of bed and rushed down to meet Sheriff Shaw. The two men had worked together for over fifteen years. If Rick called him at midnight it was important.

Wearing a lab coat, Rick observed closely as Yancy inspected the wound.

“A great deal of damage to the skull.” He pointed to what was left of Jerome's face on the right side. “See the angle? The gun was held in the right hand, placed snug against the base of the skull—look at these powder burns—and fired upward at this angle. The bullet emerged above the right eye and pretty much took out that side of the head. Death was instantaneous. Did you find the bullet? Large-enough caliber to do this—thirty-eight, forty-five more likely.”

“No. Cooper's back where Jerome was found. Wasn't on the hood of the car or in front of it. She's good. If it's there, she'll find it.”

“Hmm.”

Rick nodded, as he knew what Yancy was thinking. “Our perp could have picked it up. It's a possibility.”

“Mm-hmm. He'd be a lucky devil, but he's been lucky so far.”

“Guess you're thinking what I'm thinking.”

“Guess I am.”

Rick slapped his hand against his thigh. “Damn. Damn! Yancy, I don't know any more than when I started investigating Barry's death.”

“You know more about rabies. I'll send in brain tissue to Richmond on Jerome, by the way.”

“Christ, if he tests positive for rabies I suppose we'll have to barricade the town.”

“People tend toward the irrational.” Yancy carefully picked up a bone fragment with tweezers as Jerome's hand twitched.

“I hate that,” Rick said ruefully.

“I've had them sit bolt upright.” Yancy laughed.

“You and I get to see what nobody else wants to.”

“The human body is like a map. If you know how to read it, you'll find your destination.” Yancy peered at the shattered skull. “Let's keep his head just the way it is until Jason can take photographs tomorrow. Okay by you?”

“Of course.”

“Want to stay for the rest of his autopsy?”

“Sure. You got out of bed for this. The least I can do is keep you company.”

“You added a little excitement to my life.”

“Are you being humorous?”

“I'm a laugh a minute.” Yancy put down the long stainless-steel tweezers. “I've cut open two young men and now Jerome. He's young, too, although there was something odd about Jerome. He always seemed like an old man who would wear cardigans.”

“Yeah.”

“Now, Sugar and Barry worked together. One was clearly murdered. The other could have picked up the disease at the same location. What I'm saying is the vector of infection was the silver-haired bat, and it's not a far putt to consider they both may have been bitten in the barn or somewhere on that farm or some farm they visited together. But Jerome—well, I'd say this is getting very interesting.”

“Went over every building at St. James with a fine-tooth comb. Yancy, nothing. Nada. Zero.”

“Have you asked yourself what Barry and Jerome had in common?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“I think Jerome was figuring out how Barry and Sugar contracted rabies. I don't know if he figured out what it was that made Barry dangerous to someone, unless it was
about
rabies.”

Both men looked down at the mortal remains of Jerome Stoltfus.

“Better hope he kept good notes.”

“Our computer wiz is in Jerome's office right now. His logbook was on the seat of the car.”

Yancy pulled the sheet over Jerome, the blood seeping through it the minute it touched Jerome's broken face. “Funny thing is, you know the killer knows that. You'd better believe he flipped through that logbook.”

“He couldn't get to the computer.” Rick paused. “Well, I take that back. I don't know who walks in and out of Jerome's office, and I don't know what Jerome put on his computer.”

“Did you send someone to his house?”

“Yes.”

“You've covered the bases.”

Rick spoke to the corpse. “Jerome, we underestimated you.”

35

A
t six Thursday morning the phone rang in the tack room. Harry had already brought the three hunters in so they could eat peacefully in their stalls. She was heading out to the barn to check on the broodmares when the phone called her back.

“Hello.”

“Harry,” Susan breathlessly said, “Jerome Stoltfus was shot to death on Yellow Mountain Road.”

“You're kidding.” Harry didn't believe it, but, then again, so much was happening that was out of kilter.

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, hearing the change in Harry's voice, trotted into the tack room to listen.

“I'm not kidding. Little Mim found him last night.”

“Good God.” Harry, who had been leaning over the desk, dropped into the old wooden office chair. “How'd you find out?”

“Little Mim called Ned when she left the scene. She wanted to know since she found the body what might be expected of her legally. Just her testimony, of course, but Little Mim's careful—more careful than I perhaps realized. And then she wanted to ask his advice on how to handle this at the next town-council meeting. She and Ned have become political cronies even though they're from different parties.”

“Why didn't you call me?” A flare of anger escaped Harry.

“Because it was late and you were asleep. Don't get testy,” her best friend said frankly.

“Anyone caught?”

“No.”

“Damn.” She grabbed a pencil and began doodling on a notepad. “I can't pretend I'll miss him. He was insufferable.”

“True, but we could count on our fingers and toes the number of insufferable people we know. We don't kill them.”

“I know that,” Harry snapped, irritated at Susan's moralizing. “And I know something else. If Jerome was killed he must have found out something about Barry's death or about this rabies stuff. If Jerome had uncovered the link concerning the rabies infection, why would anyone kill him over that? You'd think the whole county would thank him. No, he dug up something out at a farm call or poring over paperwork. God, if only I had an idea, even a shadow of an idea.”

“The sheriff and Cooper no doubt feel the same way. On the surface of it, it's crazy.”

“Most things appear that way until you find the connection. There has to be a connection between Barry's murder and Jerome's.”

“What crossed my mind is, what if Jerome had rabies, too.”

“Susan, don't say that. Really.”

“I know.” And Susan did understand the potential for panic. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“You're not on your way to work, that's why.”

“Oh. I forgot about that. The news.” She rapped the eraser end of the pencil against the tablet. “I suppose if I think about it, I'll—oh, I don't know. It doesn't seem real yet.”

“Did you know that Miranda already has seventy-two signatures on the petition Ned drew up concerning Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter?”

“No.”

“Miranda gets things done. Of course, it doesn't matter now. Her goal was five hundred signatures.”

Harry laughed. “We don't have that many postboxes in the post office.”

“She was ready to walk the streets.” Susan sighed. “Harry, I wish I knew what was going on. It's a bad time.”

“You're safe.”

“How do I know?”

“Because I told you so.”

“Do you know something I don't?” Susan asked, a note of suspicion in her voice.

“No, but it's logical. You aren't involved in outdoor work, breeding horses, animal control. You're not in danger from silver-haired bats—if any of us is—and I don't think you're in danger of knowing whatever Jerome knew or someone thought he knew.”

“You're right, but I still feel terrible.”

“I do, too.” Harry glanced down at Mary Pat's ring on her right pinky. The Episcopal shield, inscription underneath, glowed. “It's funny. I'm staring at Mary Pat's ring, and I feel like it's bringing me luck even though right now doesn't seem a propitious time.”

“I hope so.”

After Harry hung up the phone it rang again almost immediately.

“Harry, this is Pug Harper.”

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, now on the desk, strained to listen.

“Good morning, Pug.”

“I don't know if you've heard of the terrible circumstances of Jerome Stoltfus's death. It was on the early-edition news.”

“Susan Tucker just told me. I don't know the details.”

“Nor do I. But this does change things. I will look the other way if you want to come back to work.”

“Pug, that's very kind of you.” She took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “And it might work for a while. But who's to say the next animal-control officer won't barge into the post office and order me to remove the cats and dog? And really, Pug, when that new building goes up, everything changes. I know that Amy Wade can handle it. She's the best of the temps, and now that her kids are in school, I bet she'd be happy for the job.”

“Why don't you take the weekend to think it over?” He hoped she'd change her mind.

“I made up my mind. For the record, you're a good postmaster, and I've enjoyed all my years on the job.”

“Thank you.” Pug hated to lose Mary Minor Haristeen. “Look, if you do have a change of heart, you call me.”

“I will.”

As she placed the phone back in its cradle, the cats cheered,
“Hooray!”

“You'll find something better. You might even make more money,”
Tucker, ever the optimist, prophesied.

She smiled at the animals, then frowned slightly. “Gang, Jerome Stoltfus is deader than a doornail.”

“Goody.”
Pewter licked her lips, her pink tongue in sharp contrast to her luxurious dark gray fur.

“Pewter, that's not very Christian.”
Tucker didn't like Jerome one bit but thought it better not to cheer his demise.

“And you ate communion wafers.”
Mrs. Murphy referred to an episode where, together with the Rev. Jones's cats, Cazenovia and Elocution, they had opened the closet containing the communion wafers. The four cats and dog demolished boxes of the round, white, thin wafers.

Harry dialed Miranda, who said she was just getting ready to call Harry.

“What in the world is going on?” Miranda fretted.

“I guess if we knew that, someone would be behind bars,” Harry replied. “Did Pug Harper call you?”

“No. He'd call you first.”

“Well, he did, but I declined to return. He even said I could bring the kids, but, you know, in the long run it wouldn't have worked out, so why not just get on with it, whatever it is.”

“You're right. But it's going to seem awfully strange not walking across the alley in the morning. How will you live without my orange-glazed cinnamon buns?”

“Drive into town.”

“Or I'll drive out there,” Miranda offered.

“Thanks for getting so many signatures so fast. Susan told me.”

“You'll be happy to know that everyone is on your side.”

“Really?”

“People think highly of you and, of course, they adore Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker.”

“That makes me feel good. I”—Harry, about to get emotional, stopped herself—“I'm grateful. By the way, I told Pug that Amy Wade would do a great job. I think everyone will work out at the post office. What I'm worried about is rabies. Or whatever is going on.”

“Me, too. When I heard about Jerome I thought of First Peter, Chapter Four, Verse Fifteen; ‘But let none of you suffer as a murderer, or a thief, or a wrongdoer, or a mischief-maker.' And Jerome suffered being none of those things. He let a little power go to his head, but he wasn't a murderer or a thief. And really, all he was trying to do, apart from be important for the first time in his life, was protect the public good.”

“You're right. Maybe I'll drive down to the sheriff's office and—”

Miranda interrupted her. “Harry, you'll give Rick a fit. He'll think you're criticizing the way he's handling this.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Harry paused. “I didn't think of that.”

“Why don't you call Cooper? If you have an idea or whatever, call her. I would imagine right now that Rick is under a lot of pressure.”

“You bet he is.”

Later that morning, as Harry scrubbed out the large outdoor water troughs, the soft breeze rustled the early green leaves, the light color beautiful against the robin's egg blue sky. As her wet hand caught the sunlight, the ring glistened intensely.

“That's it, you know?” Harry spoke to Tucker, at her heels. “Someone is shielded by money, power, or position. If only I knew what was at stake.”