Murder at Monticello by Rita Mae Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

anything?”
The cat asked her companion.
    â€œOld smoke. A cold trail—this fellow’s been dead too long for scenting.”
The corgi wrinkled her black nose.
    Mrs. Murphy pawed a piece of the skull.
“Pretty weird.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWell, the guy’s had his head bashed, but someone put this big piece of skull back in place.”
    â€œYeah.”
The dog was fascinated with the bones, but then, any bones fascinated Tucker.
    â€œHey, hey, you two, get out of here!” Harry commanded.

    Tucker obediently left, but Mrs. Murphy didn’t. She batted at the skull.
“Look, you dummies.”
    â€œShe thinks everything is a toy.” Harry scooped up the cat.
    â€œI do not!”
Mrs. Murphy puffed her tail in fury, squirmed out of Harry’s arms, and jumped back to the ground to pat the skull piece again.
    â€œI’m sorry, Cynthia, I’ll put her back in the truck. Wonder if I could put her in Monticello? The truck’s a ways off.”
    â€œShe’ll shred Mr. Jefferson’s bedspread,”
Tucker warned.
“If it has historic value, she can’t wait to get her claws in it. Think what she’ll say to Pewter, ‘I tore up Thomas Jefferson’s silk bedspread.’ If it has tassles on it, forget it. There won’t be any left.”
    â€œAnd you wouldn’t chew the furniture legs?”
the cat shot back.
    â€œNot if they give me one of those bones, I won’t.”
The corgi laughed.
    â€œStop being an ass, Tucker, and help me get these two nincompoops to really look at what they’re seeing.”
    Tucker hopped into the dig and walked over to the skeleton. She sniffed the large skull fragment, a triangular piece perhaps four inches across at the base.
    â€œWhat’s going on here?” Harry, frustrated, tried to reach for the cat and the dog simultaneously. They both evaded her with ease.
    Cynthia, trained as an observer, watched the cat jump sideways as though playing and return each time to repeatedly touch the same piece of the skull. Each time she would twist away from an exasperated Harry. “Wait a minute, Harry.” She hunkered down in the earth, still soft from the rains. “Sheriff, come back here a minute, will you?” Cynthia stared at Mrs. Murphy, who sat opposite her and stared back, relieved that someone got the message.
    â€œThat Miranda makes mean chicken.” He waved his drumstick like a baton. “What could tear me away from fried chicken, cold greens, potato salad, and did you see the apple pie?”
    â€œThere’d better be some left when I get out of here.” Cynthia called up to Mrs. Hogendobber. “Mrs. H., save some for me.”
    â€œOf course I will, Cynthia. Even though you’re our new deputy, you’re still a growing girl.” Miranda, who’d known Cynthia since the day she was born, was delighted that she’d received the promotion.
    â€œOkay, what is it?” Rick eyed the cat, who eyed him back.
    For good measure, Mrs. Murphy stuck out one mighty claw and tapped the triangular skull piece.
    He did notice. “Strange.”
    Mrs. Murphy sighed.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
    Cynthia whispered, “Oliver’s deflected us a bit, you know what I mean? We should have noticed the odd shape of this piece, but his mouth hasn’t stopped running.”
    Rick grunted in affirmation. They’d confer about Oliver later. Rick took his index finger and nudged the piece of bone.
    Harry, mesmerized, knelt down on the other side of the skeleton. “Are you surprised that there isn’t more damage to the cranium?”
    Rick blinked for a moment. He had been lost in thought. “Uh, no, actually. Harry, this man was killed with one whacking-good blow to the back of the head with perhaps an ax or a wedge or some heavy iron tool. The break is too clean for a blunt instrument—but the large piece here is strange. I wonder if