Free Rest In Pieces by Rita Mae Brown Page A

Hogendobber, positioned in front of the counter, told her gory tale to all, every putrid detail.
    A hard scratching on the back door alerted Tucker, who barked. Susan rose and opened the door. Pewter walked in, tail to the vertical, whiskers swept forward.
    “Hello, Pewter.”
    “Hello, Susan.” She rubbed against Susan’s leg and then against Tucker.
    Mrs. Murphy was playing in the open post boxes.
    Pewter looked up and spoke to the striped tail hanging out of Number 31. “Fit to be tied over at the store. What about here?”
    “Same.”
    “I found the hand,” Tucker bragged.
    “Everybody knows, Tucker. You’ll probably get your name in the newspaper—again.” Green jealousy swept through the fat gray body. “Mrs. Murphy, turn around so I can talk to you.”
    “I can’t.” She backed out of the box, hung for a moment by her paws, and then dropped lightly to the ground.
    Usually Susan and Harry were amused by the athletic displays of the agile tiger cat but today no one paid much attention.
    Blair called Harry to tell her Rick Shaw had elected not to tear up the cemetery just yet, and to thank her for being a good neighbor.
    Naturally, with Blair being an outsider, suspicion immediately fell on him. After all, the severed hands and legs were found in his—well, Herbie’s really—graveyard. And no one would ever suspect Reverend Jones.
    The ideas and fantasies swirled up like a cloud of grasshoppers and then dropped to earth again. Harry listened to the people jammed into the post office even as she attempted to complete her tasks. Theories ranged from old-fashioned revenge to demonology. Since no one had any idea of who those body parts belonged to, the theories lacked the authenticity of personal connection.
    One odd observation crossed Harry’s mind. So much of the conjecture focused on establishing a motive. Why? As the voices of her friends, neighbors, and even her few enemies, or temporary enemies, rose and fell, the thrust was that in some way the victim must have brought this wretched fate upon himself. The true question formulating in Harry’s mind was not motive but, Why is it so important for humans to blame the victim? Do they hope to ward off evil? If a woman is raped she is accused of dressing to entice. If a man is robbed, he should have had better sense than to walk the streets on that side of town. Are people incapable of accepting the randomness of evil? Apparently so.
    As Rick Shaw sped by, siren splitting the air, the group fell silent to watch. Rick was followed closely by Cynthia Cooper in her squad car.
    Fair Haristeen opened the door and stepped outside. He knew that Rick Shaw wasn’t moving that fast just to dump off hands and legs; something else had happened. He walked over to Market’s to see if anyone had fresher news. Being in Harry’s presence wasn’t that uncomfortable for him. Fair considered that women were irrational much of the time, a consideration reinforced by BoomBoom, who felt logic to be vulgar. He’d already forgiven Harry for punching a hole in his coffee cup. She chose to ignore him to his face, then watched him saunter next door. She breathed a sigh of relief. His presence rubbed like a pebble in her shoe.
    “You know, I want my knuckle bone.” Tucker started to pout. “That was the deal.”
    “Deal?” Pewter’s long gray eyelashes fluttered.
    Before Tucker could explain, the door flew open and Tiffany Hayes, still in her sparkling white apron, burst in. “Miz Sanburne’s got a headless nekkid body in her boathouse!”
    A split second of disbelief was followed by a roar of inquiry. How did she know? Who was it? Et cetera.
    Tiffany cleared her throat and walked to the counter. Susan came up from the back. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter jumped on the counter and made circles to find papers to sit on, then did so. Tucker ran around front, ducking between legs to see Tiffany.
    The Reverend Jones, a quick thinker, dashed next door to fetch the folks in the