You know that if you found a hand it means the body wasn’t packaged.”
“So what? It’s my hand!” Tucker hollered at the top of her lungs, although with a moment to reflect she knew that Mrs. Murphy was right. Humans didn’t cut up their dead.
“Tucker, if you destroy that hand then you’ve destroyed evidence. You’re going to be in a shitload of trouble and you’ll get Mother in trouble.”
Dejected, Tucker squatted down next to the treasured hand, a gruesome sight. “But it’s mine.”
“I’m sorry. But something’s wrong, don’t you see?”
“No.” Her voice was fainter now.
“A dead human not in a box means either he or she was ill and died far away from others or that he or she was murdered. The other humans have to know this. You know how they are, Tucker. Some of them kill for pleasure. It’s dangerous for the others.”
Tucker sat up. “Why are they like that?”
“I don’t know and they don’t know. It’s some sickness in the species. You know, like dogs pass parvo. Please, Tucker, don’t mess up that evidence. Let me go get Mother if I can. Promise me you’ll wait.”
“It might take her hours to figure out what you’re telling her.”
“I know. You’ve got to wait.”
One miserable dog cocked her head and sighed. “All right, Murphy.”
Mrs. Murphy skimmed across the pastures, her feet barely grazing the sodden earth. She found Harry in the bed of the truck. Nimbly Mrs. Murphy launched herself onto the truck bed. She meowed. She rubbed against Harry’s leg. She meowed louder.
“Hey, little pussycat, I’ve got work to do.”
The twilight was fading. Mrs. Murphy was getting desperate. “Follow me, Mom. Come on. Right now.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Harry was puzzled.
Mrs. Murphy hooted and hollered as much as she could. Finally she sprang up and dug her claws into Harry’s jeans, climbing up her leg. Harry yelped and Mrs. Murphy jumped off her leg and ran a few paces. Harry rubbed her leg. Mrs. Murphy ran back and prepared to climb the other leg.
“Don’t you dare!” Harry held out her hand.
“Then follow me, stupid.” Mrs. Murphy moved away from her again.
Finally, Harry did. She didn’t know what was going on but she’d lived with Mrs. Murphy for seven years, long enough and close enough to learn a little bit of cat ways.
The cat hurried across the meadow. When Harry slowed down, Mrs. Murphy would run back and then zip away again, encouraging her constantly. Harry picked up speed.
When Tucker saw them coming she started barking.
Breathing hard, Harry stopped at the bank. “Oh, damn, Tucker, how’d you get over there.”
“Look!” the cat shouted.
“Mommy, I found it and it’s mine. If I have to give this up I want a knuckle bone,” Tucker bargained. She picked up the hand in her mouth.
It took Harry a minute to focus in the fading light. At first, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Then she did.
“Oh, my God.”
----
10
Albemarle County Sheriff Rick Shaw bent down with his flashlight. Officer Cynthia Cooper, already hunkered down, gingerly lifted the digits with her pocket knife.
“Never seen anything like this,” Shaw muttered. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.
The sheriff battled his smoking addiction with disappointing results. Worse, Cooper had begun to sneak cigarettes herself.
Tucker sat staring at the hand. Blair Bainbridge, feeling a little queasy, and Harry stood beside Tucker. Mrs. Murphy rested across Harry’s neck. Her feet were cold and she was tired, so Harry had slung her around her neck like a stole.
“Harry, any idea where this came from?”
“I know,” Tucker volunteered.
“Like I said, the dog was sitting on the creek bank with this hand. I ran back home and called, then hopped in the truck to meet you. I don’t know any more than that.”
“What about you, uh . . .”
“Blair Bainbridge.”
“Mr. Bainbridge, notice anything unusual? Before this, I
“So what? It’s my hand!” Tucker hollered at the top of her lungs, although with a moment to reflect she knew that Mrs. Murphy was right. Humans didn’t cut up their dead.
“Tucker, if you destroy that hand then you’ve destroyed evidence. You’re going to be in a shitload of trouble and you’ll get Mother in trouble.”
Dejected, Tucker squatted down next to the treasured hand, a gruesome sight. “But it’s mine.”
“I’m sorry. But something’s wrong, don’t you see?”
“No.” Her voice was fainter now.
“A dead human not in a box means either he or she was ill and died far away from others or that he or she was murdered. The other humans have to know this. You know how they are, Tucker. Some of them kill for pleasure. It’s dangerous for the others.”
Tucker sat up. “Why are they like that?”
“I don’t know and they don’t know. It’s some sickness in the species. You know, like dogs pass parvo. Please, Tucker, don’t mess up that evidence. Let me go get Mother if I can. Promise me you’ll wait.”
“It might take her hours to figure out what you’re telling her.”
“I know. You’ve got to wait.”
One miserable dog cocked her head and sighed. “All right, Murphy.”
Mrs. Murphy skimmed across the pastures, her feet barely grazing the sodden earth. She found Harry in the bed of the truck. Nimbly Mrs. Murphy launched herself onto the truck bed. She meowed. She rubbed against Harry’s leg. She meowed louder.
“Hey, little pussycat, I’ve got work to do.”
The twilight was fading. Mrs. Murphy was getting desperate. “Follow me, Mom. Come on. Right now.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Harry was puzzled.
Mrs. Murphy hooted and hollered as much as she could. Finally she sprang up and dug her claws into Harry’s jeans, climbing up her leg. Harry yelped and Mrs. Murphy jumped off her leg and ran a few paces. Harry rubbed her leg. Mrs. Murphy ran back and prepared to climb the other leg.
“Don’t you dare!” Harry held out her hand.
“Then follow me, stupid.” Mrs. Murphy moved away from her again.
Finally, Harry did. She didn’t know what was going on but she’d lived with Mrs. Murphy for seven years, long enough and close enough to learn a little bit of cat ways.
The cat hurried across the meadow. When Harry slowed down, Mrs. Murphy would run back and then zip away again, encouraging her constantly. Harry picked up speed.
When Tucker saw them coming she started barking.
Breathing hard, Harry stopped at the bank. “Oh, damn, Tucker, how’d you get over there.”
“Look!” the cat shouted.
“Mommy, I found it and it’s mine. If I have to give this up I want a knuckle bone,” Tucker bargained. She picked up the hand in her mouth.
It took Harry a minute to focus in the fading light. At first, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Then she did.
“Oh, my God.”
----
10
Albemarle County Sheriff Rick Shaw bent down with his flashlight. Officer Cynthia Cooper, already hunkered down, gingerly lifted the digits with her pocket knife.
“Never seen anything like this,” Shaw muttered. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.
The sheriff battled his smoking addiction with disappointing results. Worse, Cooper had begun to sneak cigarettes herself.
Tucker sat staring at the hand. Blair Bainbridge, feeling a little queasy, and Harry stood beside Tucker. Mrs. Murphy rested across Harry’s neck. Her feet were cold and she was tired, so Harry had slung her around her neck like a stole.
“Harry, any idea where this came from?”
“I know,” Tucker volunteered.
“Like I said, the dog was sitting on the creek bank with this hand. I ran back home and called, then hopped in the truck to meet you. I don’t know any more than that.”
“What about you, uh . . .”
“Blair Bainbridge.”
“Mr. Bainbridge, notice anything unusual? Before this, I
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