Murder on the Prowl Read online

  Herb Jones joined Sandy Brashiers and some of the faculty on the lower bench seats.

  Harry met her co-official, Lily Norton, a former All-American, who drove over from Richmond.

  “I'm a last minute fill-in, Miss Norton. Bear with me.” Harry shook her hand.

  “I was a freshman at Lee High the year you-all won state.” She warmly returned the handshake. “You'll do fine, and please, call me Lily.”

  “Okay.” Harry smiled.

  They both synchronized their watches, then Lily put the whistle to her lips, blew, and the two captains trotted out to the center of the field.

  Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, on the gym side of the field, watched closely, too.

  “Tucker, stay on the center line on this side. You know what to do?”

  “Yes,” Tucker answered forcefully.

  “Pewter, you hang out by the north goal. There's a maple tree about twenty yards back from the goal. If you get up in there, you can see what's going on. If anything worries you, holler.”

  “You-all won't be able to hear me because of the crowd noise.”

  “Well”—Mrs. Murphy thought a minute—“about all you can do is run down the tree. We'll keep glancing in your direction.”

  “Why can't we stay on the edges of the field?” Tucker said.

  “The referees will chase us off. Mom will put us in the truck. We've got to work with what we have.”

  “That field is a lot of territory to cover,” Pewter, not the fastest cat in the world, noted.

  “We'll do what we can. I'll stay under the St. Elizabeth's bench. If I get shooed away from there, I'll head down to the south goal. We clear?”

  “Yes,” they both said.

  “Why can't Coop shoot if Jody or Irene goes nuts?”

  “She can, but let's hope she doesn't need to do that.” Murphy exhaled from her delicate nostrils. “Good luck.”

  The three animals fanned out to their places. Mrs. Murphy ducked feet and the squeals of the players who saw her. She scrunched up under the players' bench, listening intently.

  The first quarter provided no fireworks but showed off each team's defensive skills. Jody blocked an onrushing Chatham Hall player but got knocked sideways in the process. She leapt up, ready to sock the girl, but Karen yelled at her, “Stay in your zone, Miller.”

  “Up yours,” Jody shot back, but she obeyed.

  The first half passed, back and forth but no real excitement.

  Pewter wished she were under the bench because the wind was picking up. Her perch was getting colder and colder.

  The second half opened with Brooks stealing a Chatham Hall pass and running like mad toward the goal where, at the last minute, now covered, she fired off a pinpoint pass to Karen Jensen, who blazed her shot past the goalie. A roar went up from the St. Elizabeth's bleachers.

  Susan jumped up and down. Irene, too, was screaming. Even Sandy Brashiers, not especially interested in athletics, was caught up in the moment.

  The big girl whom Jody had blocked took advantage of the run back to the center to tell Jody just what she thought of her. “Asshole.”

  “It's not my fault you're fat and slow,” Jody needled her.

  “Very funny. There's a lot of game left. You'd better watch out.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Jody ignored her.

  Chatham Hall grabbed the ball out of the knock-in. The big player, a midfielder, took the pass and barreled straight at Jody, who stepped out of the way, pretended to be hit, rolled, and flicked her stick out to catch the girl on the back of the leg.

  Harry blew the whistle and called the foul.

  Jody glared at Harry, and as Chatham Hall moved downfield, she brushed by Harry, close enough to make Harry step back and close enough for Harry to say, “Jody, you're the killer.”

  A hard shot on goal was saved by the St. Elizabeth's goalie. Another roar erupted on the sidelines. But the game became tougher, faster, and rougher. By the end of the third quarter both sides, drenched in sweat, settled in for a last quarter of attrition.

  Whether by design or under the leadership of the big Chatham Hall midfielder, their team kept taking the ball down Jody's side. Jody, in excellent condition and built for running, couldn't be worn down, but they picked at her. Each time she'd lose her temper, they'd get the ball by her.

  Finally Coach Hallvard took her off the field, substituting a talented but green sophomore, Biff Carstairs.

  Jody paced in front of the bench, imploring Renee Hallvard, “Put me back in. Come on. Biff can't handle it.”

  True enough. As they flew down the right side of the field, Biff stayed with them, but she hadn't been in a game this good, this fast, or this physically punishing.

  Chatham Hall scored on that series of plays, which made Jody scream at the top of her lungs. Finally, Hallvard, fearing another quick score, put Jody back in. The St. Elizabeth's side cheered anew.

  Fair murmured in a low voice as the crowd cheered, “Irene, give yourself up. We all know it wasn't Kendrick.”

  She whirled around. “How dare you!”

  A pair of hands behind her dropped to her shoulders so she couldn't move. The plainclothesman ordered, “Stay very still.” He removed one hand and slipped it inside his coat to retrieve a badge.

  “I didn't kill those people.” Irene's anger ebbed.

  “Okay, just sit tight,” the plainclothesman said quietly.

  Perhaps Jody felt an extra surge of adrenaline. Whatever, she could do no wrong. She checked her woman, she stole the ball, she cracked the ball right up to her forwards. She felt invincible. She really could do no wrong. With Jody playing all out at midfield and Karen and Brooks lethal up front, St. Elizabeth's crushed Chatham Hall in the last quarter. The final score was four to two. The crowd ran off the bleachers and spilled onto the field. Mrs. Murphy streaked down the sidelines to escape the feet. Pewter climbed down from the tree, relieved that nothing dangerous had happened. The animals rendezvoused at the far sideline at center with Tucker.

  “I thought she'd whack at Mom with her stick. I thought we rattled her enough.” Pewter was dejected that Jody had proved so self-possessed.

  “Oh, well.” Tucker sat down.

  Mrs. Murphy scanned the wild celebration. Harry and Lily slowly walked off the field. Jody watched out of the corner of her eye even as she jumped all over her teammates.

  “Nice to work with you.” Lily shook Harry's hand. “You did a good job.”

  “Thanks. Aren't you going back to change?”

  “No, I'd better get on the road.” Lily headed toward the parking lot behind the gym.

  As Harry entered the gym, Jody drifted away from the group. There was nothing unusual in a player heading back to the gym.

  Cynthia, caught in the crowd, fought to get through the bodies when she saw Jody leave.

  The three animals raced across the grass, little tufts of it floating up in the wind as it flew off their claws. They reached the door just as Harry opened it.

  “Hi, guys.” She was tired.

  Within a minute Jody, stick in hand, was also in the gym. As Harry turned right down the hall toward the faculty changing room, Jody, on tiptoes now, moved down the hall, carefully listening for another footfall. Without speaking to one another, the animals ducked in doorways. Only Murphy stayed with Harry in case Tucker and Pewter failed.

  Jody passed Pewter, who ran out and grabbed the back of her leg with her front claws. Jody howled, whirled around, and slapped at the cat, who let go just as Tucker emerged from the janitor's door. She ran hard at Jody, jumped up, and smashed into her knees. Dog and human collapsed in a heap, and the hockey stick clattered on the shiny floor.

  “Goddammit!” Jody reached for her stick as Tucker grabbed the end of it.

  They tugged from opposite ends. Tucker slid along the floor, but she wouldn't let go. Jody kicked at the dog, then twisted the stick to force her jaws loose. It didn't work. Pewter jumped on Jody's leg again as Harry, hearing the scramble,
opened the locker room door and came back into the hall. Mrs. Murphy stuck with Harry.

  “Good work,” the tiger encouraged her pals.

  Jody, seeing Harry, dropped her hockey stick, lunging for Harry's throat.

  Harry raised her forearm to protect herself. She stumbled back against the concrete wall of the gym, which gave her support. She lifted up her knee, catching Jody in the crotch. It slowed Jody, but not enough. Pewter, still hanging on to Jody's right leg, was joined by Murphy on the left. They sank their fangs in as deep as they'd go.

  Jody screamed, loosening her grip on Harry's neck. The enraged girl lurched for her hockey stick. Tucker was dragging it down the hallway, but the corgi couldn't go fast, she being small and the stick being large.

  Jody yanked the stick hard out of the dog's jaws. Tucker jumped for the stick, but Jody held it over her head and ran for Harry, who crouched. The hallway was long and narrow. She would use the walls to her benefit. Harry, a good athlete, steadied for the attack.

  Jody swung the stick at her head. Harry ducked lower and shifted her weight. The tip of the hockey stick grazed the wall. Harry moved closer to the wall. She prayed Jody would crack her stick on the wall.

  Jody, oblivious to the damage the cats were doing to her legs, she was so obsessed, swung again. The stick splintered, and that fast Harry pushed off the wall and flung herself at Jody. The two went down hard on the floor as the cats let go of their quarry. Tucker ran alongside the fighting humans, waiting for an opening. Her fangs, longer than the cats', could do more damage.

  Sounds down the hall stopped Jody for a split second. She wriggled from Harry's grasp and raced away from the noise. Tucker caught her quickly and grabbed her ankle. Jody stopped to beat off the dog just as Cynthia Cooper rounded the corner and dropped to one knee, gun out.

  “Stop or I'll shoot.”

  Jody, eyes glazed, stared down the barrel of a .357, stared at the bloody fangs of Tucker, then held up her hands.

  73

  Because of their bravery, the animals were rewarded with filet mignon cooked by Miranda Hogendobber. Harry, Fair, Susan, Brooks, Cynthia, and the Reverend Jones joined them. The animals had place settings at the big dinner table. Miranda went all out.

  “This is heaven,” Pewter purred.

  “I didn't know Pewter had it in her.” Susan smiled at the plump kitty.

  “There's a lion beneath that lard,” Mrs. Murphy joked.

  As the humans put together the pieces of the murderous puzzle, Tucker said, “Murphy, how did you figure it out?”

  “Mother was on the right track when she said that whoever killed Roscoe Fletcher did it at the car wash. Any one of the suspects could have done it, but not one person recalled anyone giving Roscoe candy, although he offered it to them. Jody walked past the Texaco station on her way to the deli. The station blocks the view from the car wash. She gave him the candy; no one saw her, and no car was behind Roscoe yet. She could have worked fast, then run back to the office. It would give her a good alibi. She was waiting for an opportunity. She was smart enough to know this was a good shot. Who knows how long she carried that candy around?”

  “I don't know whether to pity Jody or hate her,” Susan Tucker mused.

  “‘Behold, these are the ungodly, who prosper in the world; they increase in riches!' Psalm Seventy-three, verse twelve,” Miranda recited. “Roscoe and Maury did increase in riches, but they paid for it. As for Jody, she was very pretty and vulnerable. But so are many other young people. She participated in her own corruption.”

  “The slush fund ledger gave me part of the motive—money—but I couldn't find the slushers. Drugs weren't it.” Cynthia folded her arms across her chest. “Never would I have thought of porno movies.”

  “It is ghastly.” The Reverend Jones shuddered.

  “What tipped you off?” Pewter asked Murphy.

  “It took me a long time to figure it out. I think finding that address label at the bottom of Roscoe's desk was my first inkling. Neptune Film Lab. And wonderful though it might be to have a film department at a private secondary school—it seemed like a great expense even if Maury was supposedly going to make a huge contribution.”

  “Kendrick was more of a man than we've given him credit for,” Susan said.

  “He guessed Jody was the killer. He didn't know why.” Cynthia recalled the expression on his face when Jody confessed. “She'd told Irene and Kendrick that she was pregnant by Sean. It was actually Roscoe.”

  “I'd kill him myself.” Fair's face flushed. “Sorry, Herb.”

  “Quite understandable under the circumstances.”

  “She had slept with Sean and told him he was the father of her child. That's when he stole the BMW. He was running away and asking for help at the same time,” Cynthia continued. “But she now says the father might be Roscoe. And she said this is the second film made at St. Elizabeth's. Last year they used Courtney Frere. He'd pick one favorite girl for his films. We tracked her down at Tulane. Poor kid. That's what the sleeping pills were about, not low board scores. The film she was in was shot at Maury's house, but then Roscoe and Maury got bolder. They came up with the bright idea of setting up shop at St. Elizabeth's. It certainly gave them the opportunity to troll for victims.”

  “Monsters.” Miranda shook her head.

  “There have always been bad people.” Brooks surprised everyone by speaking up. “Bad as Mr. Fletcher and Mr. McKinchie were, she didn't have to kill them.”

  “She snapped.” Susan thought out loud. “All of a sudden she must have realized that one mistake—that movie—could ruin the rest of her life.”

  “Exactly.” Cynthia confirmed this. “She drove out with Winifred Thalman, thinking she could get the footage back, but Winifred had already mailed the rough cut to Neptune Lab. She only had outtakes with her, so Jody killed her. She threw the outtakes in the pond.”

  “How,” Harry asked, “did she kill her?”

  “Blow to the head. Maybe used her hockey stick. She walked across the fields after dark and arrived home in time for supper. After that she was driven by revenge. She wanted power over the people she felt had humiliated her—even though she'd agreed to be in these movies for money.”

  “The slush fund?” Harry asked.

  “Right. Forty-one thousand dollars withdrawn by Maury, as it turns out. Forty-one thousand dollars for her BMW . . . it all added up. Imagine how Kendrick must have felt when he saw that figure in Roscoe's secret ledger. The deposits were from other films. Maury and Roscoe shot porno movies in New York, too. There they used professionals. Roscoe's fund-raising trips were successful on both counts,” Cynthia said.

  “How'd she kill Maury?” Brooks was curious.

  “She slipped into the girls' locker room, put on the Musketeer outfit, and rejoined the party. She saw Maury start to leave and stabbed him, with plenty of time to get back to the locker and change into her skeleton costume. She may even have lured Maury out of the dance, but she says she didn't,” Cynthia answered.

  “Does she feel any remorse?” Miranda hoped she did.

  “For killing three people? No, not a bit. But she feels terrible that she lied to Sean about being the father. About goading him into calling in the false obituary and about following Roger on his paper route and stuffing in the Maury obit. That's the extent of her remorse!”

  “Do you believe she's crazy?” Fair said.

  “No. And I am sick of that defense. She knows right from wrong. Revenge and power. She should be tried as an adult. The truth is: she enjoyed the killing.” Cynthia stabbed her broccoli.

  “Why would a human pay to watch another human have sex?” Pewter laughed.

  “Boredom.” Tucker ate table scraps slipped her by Fair.

  “I wouldn't pay to watch another cat, would you?” Pewter addressed Murphy.

  “Of course not, but we're cats. We're superior to humans.” She glanced at Tucker.

  “I wouldn't do it, I'm superior, too,” Tucker swiftly
said, around a mouthful.

  “Yes—but not quite as superior as we are.” Mrs. Murphy laughed.

  Dear Highly Intelligent Feline:

  Tired of the same old ball of string? Well, I've developed my own line of catnip toys, all tested by Pewter and me. Not that I love for Pewter to play with my little sockies, but if I don't let her, she shreds my manuscripts. You see how that is!

  Just so the humans won't feel left out, I've designed a T-shirt for them.

  If you'd like to see how creative I am, write to me and I'll send you a brochure.

  Sneaky Pie's Flea Market

  c/o American Artists, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4671

  Charlottesville, VA 22905

  In felinity,

  SNEAKY PIE BROWN

  P.S. Dogs, get a cat to write for you!

  Books by Rita Mae Brown with Sneaky Pie Brown

  WISH YOU WERE HERE

  REST IN PIECES

  MURDER AT MONTICELLO

  PAY DIRT

  MURDER, SHE MEOWED

  MURDER ON THE PROWL

  CAT ON THE SCENT

  SNEAKY PIE'S COOKBOOK FOR MYSTERY LOVERS

  PAWING THROUGH THE PAST

  CLAWS AND EFFECT

  CATCH AS CAT CAN

  THE TAIL OF THE TIP-OFF

  WHISKER OF EVIL

  Books by Rita Mae Brown

  THE HAND THAT CRADLES THE ROCK

  SONGS TO A HANDSOME WOMAN

  THE PLAIN BROWN RAPPER

  RUBYFRUIT JUNGLE

  IN HER DAY

  SIX OF ONE

  SOUTHERN DISCOMFORT

  SUDDEN DEATH

  HIGH HEARTS

  STARTING FROM SCRATCH:

  A DIFFERENT KIND OF WRITERS' MANUAL

  BINGO

  VENUS ENVY

  DOLLEY: A NOVEL OF DOLLEY MADISON IN LOVE AND WAR

  RIDING SHOTGUN

  RITA WILL: MEMOIR OF A LITERARY RABBLE-ROUSER

  LOOSE LIPS

  OUTFOXED

  HOTSPUR

  FULL CRY

  Praise for

  The Mrs. Murphy Series