Cat on the Scent

            “How about that?” Tucker watched people drive by the post office. Spring worked its magic on everyone. People were smiling.

            It galled Cynthia that Blair could not remember whoever shot him. The bullet had never been found—the sign of a careful killer. She knew the other shoe hadn’t dropped and she suspected H. Vane-Tempest. Whatever her suspicions might be, suspicions weren’t facts, and Blair’s doctors confirmed he could have “lost” the hours leading up to his being shot. She sighed. “How is Blair today?”

            “His color is better.” Mrs. Hogendobber offered a biscuit to Cynthia after shooing Pewter off the table.

            Too late, though, for Pewter had yet another fresh biscuit firmly clamped in her jaws. She chewed some of it, then tore the remainder with her claws. “That’s what I’m going to do to that blue jay.”

            “Dream on.” Murphy listened, unmoved, to the details.

            “Doubting Thomas,” cooed Pewter, who at that moment felt glorious, since she had successfully stolen a biscuit.

            “We’re lucky.” Murphy hopped off the counter and rubbed against the corgi’s snow-white chest. She dearly loved that dog, although she wouldn’t say it out loud.

            “We saved Blair.” Tucker licked Murphy’s ear.

            “Yes.” She rubbed her cheek against Tucker’s cheek.

            Big Mim, Little Mim, Herb, and Tally came in. Cynthia didn’t tell them the news about finding the drug records because Big Mim already knew. If Rick Shaw didn’t call her the second he knew something, she’d make his life miserable. It helped that she made major contributions to various law-enforcement events and charities.

            “We’re all feeling better, thanks to you.” Mim shook Cynthia’s hand.

            “I don’t deserve any credit, really.”

            “You’re too modest. All those hours of questioning people, investigating sites, poring over evidence—no one sees how much work there is.” Mim smiled.

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            Tally spoke up abruptly. “This Saturday at three at my place, the old cemetery, you are invited to a funeral.”

            “Oh, no! Who has—” Miranda rushed to console Tally, who held up her hand for silence.

            “I’ll explain at the funeral. Reverend Herb will conduct the service and afterward I will serve refreshments with the help of my niece and tell you who died and why. I won’t live much longer myself. I need to tell you—” She paused, reaching for the counter to steady herself. “I need to tell you how things stay with you. The past, I mean. The past lives right through us. Even if no one ever reads another history book, even if whole nations resign themselves to ignorance, the past pulls like the moon on tides. Please come.”

            “Of course we’ll come.” Miranda’s voice, filled with warm sympathy, almost made Tally cry.

            “I’ll be there. Thank you for inviting me,” Harry said.

            “How about that?” Pewter was amazed.

            After the group left, including Cynthia, Harry and Miranda sorted, then swept the floors.

            “I wonder why Tally invited me to this funeral?” Harry asked.

            “I believe it has something to do with you.”

            “Me?”

            “Your blood. There was talk about Tally and your great-grandfather. I was too young to pay attention. But there was talk. This was before my time. Mother remembered, though.”

            “I guess we’ll find out on Saturday.”

            “You know that you were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your fathers, not with perishable things such as silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot.” She put the broom back into the broom closet. “Redemption. I should think that whatever she tells us, Saturday is about redemption.”

            “What chapter and verse?”

            “First Peter, Chapter 1, Verses 18 and 19.”

            “You amaze me.”

            “In my day we learned by rote. Stays with you.”

            Harry scooped up Murphy and kissed her head. She was thinking about the animals driving the Porsche and knowing she couldn’t tell anyone.

            “Miranda, do you really believe that people can be redeemed? A murderer can be redeemed?”

            “Certainly I do, if he but accepts Christ as his savior.”

            “What about Murphy and Tucker, and Pewter, even though she’s a little thief?” She smiled.

            “A thief is the only person guaranteed a place in paradise. Remember, it was a thief crucified with Christ who accepted him as the Son of God, and Jesus promised him everlasting life.”

            “Hope for Pewter.”

            Miranda, years ago, would have been offended at this discussion, at the idea that animals have immortal souls and spiritual lives… but working with them and watching them, she had changed her mind. Not loudly. Not even so much that others might notice by observation. “There’s redemption for Pewter. God loves all his creatures and I believe we will be reunited in heaven.” She stopped, and this, for her, was a revelation. “Harry, sometimes I think that animals are closer to God than we are.”

            “Not blue jays,” Pewter announced, being uninterested in theological discussions.

            “I do, too.” Harry looked around. “It’s a wrap, partner.”