Santa Clawed

washed and dried Racquel’s pottery dishes from St. Luke’s Christmas party and offered to drop them off at the house, but Racquel told her to leave them at Bryson’s office. He would still be seeing patients right up to Christmas Eve, and she was doing last-minute shopping.
    No one sat at the reception desk, so Harry put the dishes on the reception counter. As she walked out into the hall of the medical office building, she heard a door close behind her.
    Brother Luther strode up to her.
    “Merry Christmas, Brother Luther.”
    His eyes darted around. “Merry Christmas to you.”
    Noticing how nervous he was, she thought to console him. “If you’re a patient of Bryson’s, you’re in good hands. He’s a wonderful cardiologist.”
    “Oh, I have a little heart murmur. Nothing to worry about. It’s extra fluttery. All these terrible events.”
    “I’m so sorry.”
    He grasped her hand. “Harry, if anything happens to me, call my brother in Colorado Springs.” He pulled a little notebook out of his coat pocket and scribbled the name.
    Harry read it, “Peter Folsom. I didn’t know your last name was Folsom.” She smiled at him. “Your heart will tick along, but I promise I’ll call him. But, really, Brother Luther, don’t worry. You’ll just make yourself sick.”
    He let go of her hand. “Someone out there is killing us. Our order. I could be next.”
    “Maybe it isn’t about the order. Maybe it’s those brothers’ pasts catching up with them.”
    He leaned down and whispered in her ear, even though no one was around. “It’s the order, and the past catches up with all of us.”
    “Brother Luther, forgive me, but I can’t imagine what Christopher—I mean, Brother Christopher—or Brother Speed did to provoke such an”—she searched for the right word—
    “end.”
    “You don’t want to know.” With that, he scuttled down the hall.

M rs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, upset that Harry did not take them along for her errands, sat in front of the living-room fireplace. Embers still glowed from last night’s fire, a testimony to slow-burning hardwoods.
    “Low-pressure system coming in,”
Pewter drowsily announced.
    “Windy now.”
Tucker could hear the reverberations at the top of the flue as well as see the trees bending outside the windows.
    “Something’s behind it.”
Mrs. Murphy felt the change in atmospheric pressure, too.
    “It’s cozy right here. I wish Mom would get back, to start up the fire.”
Pewter snuggled farther down in the old throw on the sofa.
    “She should have taken us,”
Mrs. Murphy grumbled.
“We can’t even tear up the tree, because she hasn’t decorated it. Of course, we could shred the silk lamp shades.”
    Tucker advised,
“Wouldn’t do that. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. She won’t give you your presents.”
    “You’re right,”
the tiger acknowledged.
“We could go for a walk.”
    “There’s a storm coming. Besides, why get your paws cold?”
Pewter enjoyed her creature comforts.
    “Well, I can’t rip anything to pieces. I don’t feel like sleeping just yet. I’ll go visit Simon.”
With that, Mrs. Murphy bounced down from the sofa, walked to the kitchen, and slipped out the dog door, then through the second dog door in the screened-in porch.
    “Hey, wait for me.”
Tucker hastened after her.
    Pewter thought they were nuts.
    Tucker caught up with the sleek cat just as she slipped through the dog door at the barn. Once inside, they both called up for Simon.
    “Shut up down there, groundling,”
Flatface, the great horned owl, grumbled from the cupola.
“You two could wake the dead.”
    Simon shuffled to the edge of the hayloft.
“Got any treats?”
    “No,”
both replied.
    The gray marsupial sighed.
“Oh, well, I’m glad to see you anyway.”
    “Mom will bring you treats for Christmas. You, too, Flatface. I think she has some meat pies with mince for you,”
Mrs. Murphy called up to the fearless predator.
    Flatface opened one eye, deciding that her afternoon nap was less important than hearing about her present. She dropped down, wings spread so she could glide, and landed right next to Simon, who was always amazed at her accuracy.
    “Mom would even give Matilda a Christmas present if she weren’t hibernating.”
Tucker laughed, for her human truly loved all animals.
    Matilda, the blacksnake, grew in girth and size each year and had reached impressive proportions. In the fall she had dropped onto Pewter from a big tree in the