Santa Clawed

Her feet felt like ice blocks since her pants and socks remained wet. The department allowed the officers to take their vehicles home. Cooper used the car for work, obviously, but when Fair had called, suspecting trouble, she prudently drove over in the squad car. She talked to Rick as she drove.
    “We don’t have anyone to spare to set up a guard.”
    “I know, boss. I’ll take turns with Fair. By December twenty-sixth, we might be able to round someone up or maybe I can find personal security. Fair will spare no expense.”
    “Harry won’t stand for it.”
    “Yeah, I’m afraid of that myself. I don’t know who’s out there and I don’t usually worry. I mean, we deal with thieves, con men, assault and batteries all the time, plus the occasional murder, usually fueled by alcohol or infidelity, but this—this is different. And I’m scared.”
    “I know what you mean. I don’t think the killer is going to come after her, but we sure could find ourselves surprised.”
    “Yeah, I know. I think this is someone who is acceptable to the community, someone we see most every day,” she replied.
    Rick sighed. “Yeah. We’re lucky Harry didn’t have her throat slit.” He stopped.
    “I think the storm saved her. That and Mrs. Murphy and Tucker.” Cooper had already told him about the animals.
    “Could be right. Keep me posted.”
    She clicked off, concentrating on the faint taillights in front of her. Initially, she’d been disappointed when Lorenzo went home to Nicaragua for the holidays, but now she was glad, because she wouldn’t have been able to spend much time with him. She liked him—more than liked him—cherishing every moment they could be together. He’d be with her for New Year’s. That was a happy thought.
    In the ambulance, Harry finally regained full consciousness. She tried to sit up, but Fair gently kept her down.
    “Where am I?” Then she put her hand to her head, wincing, feeling the tight stitches on the part of her scalp that was shaved.
    “On the way home.”
    “I think I’m going to be sick.”
    “Here.” He held a plastic bag for her, since Everett had told him she might well throw up.
    She did. Not much to it except excruciating pain. She flopped back on the gurney. “I’ve never felt so bad in my life.”
    “Keep quiet, honey. You’ll feel much better tomorrow.”
    “What happened?”
    “You got hit over the head. Can you tell me why you were up there?”
    She whispered with her eyes closed, as if that would diminish the pain: “At least one hundred thousand dollars in a green toolbox.”
    He held her hand. “That’s enough for now. Do you think you can sleep?”
    “Maybe. I’m dizzy.”
    “Can you see clearly?”
    “I can see you. Looks white out the back ambulance window.”
    “Blizzard. Sleep, sweetie.”
    She conked out again. He held his palm to her forehead. She was sweating a little, but he couldn’t discern a fever. A concussion doesn’t bring on a fever, but the vet in him made him want to check everything.
    Once at the farm, the ambulance driver and his assistant rolled Harry into the bedroom and gently placed her on the bed. She awoke, then fell back to sleep again as all three animals sat quietly on the floor.
    Fair gave the two men a one-hundred-dollar tip, reminded them to say nothing, and then wished them a merry Christmas.
    With Cooper’s help, they got Harry out of the hospital shift, slid her under the covers, and walked back to the living room.
    “Cooper, you go on home. I don’t think anyone is going to invade the farm in a blizzard, and Tucker will sure let me know if anyone does.”
    Cooper sank into a wing chair and thought about this. “I’ll be over in the morning to take a turn. I don’t even trust leaving her alone while you do the barn chores.”
    Relief flooded his face. “Thanks, pal.”
    Tears formed in both their eyes again, a combination of recognizing what a near miss this was, pure physical exhaustion, and wondering what in the hell would happen next.
    Cooper now struggled to get up from her chair.
    “She told me there was about one hundred thousand dollars in a toolbox up there.”
    Cooper dropped back down. “Damn!”
    “Why the hell leave it by the walnut stand—” He stopped himself. “I think I know. Some of the monks know that stand. It belonged to Susan’s uncle. They may have seen it when they checked timber growth with him. And I expect there were some hard feelings when he didn’t leave it to