Santa Clawed

I should leave.” Brother Luther turned and headed out of the room.
    “They’re all dead because of you. Because of that damned monastery! I know it.”
    Reverend Jones, who had been there for about fifteen minutes, leaned over to take both of Racquel’s hands in his. “Let’s walk for a bit.” Herb was always good in situations like this.
    She allowed herself to be pulled up. Tom walked with his mother. Dr. Everett Finch, a colleague of Bryson’s, walked with them, as well. With some persuasion, the three managed to get her upstairs. Everett administered a sedative.
    When the three men returned, the room was buzzing.
    Tom joined his friends. They were shocked into silence and had the good sense to keep quiet. The adults proved another matter.
    Alicia listened politely as Biddy Doswell offered her insights. “Phantoms. At first I thought the murders were committed by gnomes—you know, the ones who live under ground and have mole feet and human hands.” Alicia feigned fascination, so Biddy blathered on. “No, it’s phantoms of the angry dead. They are taking revenge on those of us living who resemble the humans that hurt them. Phantoms never forget, you know. Why, some are even in this room now.”
    Finally, Alicia pulled herself away while Biddy lassoed another victim. Alicia hurried into the kitchen, the door swinging behind her.
    “That bad?” BoomBoom was wrapping food in tinfoil.
    “Biddy.”
    “Oh,” came the chorus from Miranda, BoomBoom, Harry, and Susan, who had returned to the kitchen.
    “Gnomes again?” Harry, like everyone, had been bagged by Biddy to hear this theory.
    “Phantoms now.” Alicia stifled a laugh despite the circumstances.
    “Good God.” Susan threw up her hands, then asked, “What is going on up at the monastery? Maybe the phantoms are there.”
    “Maybe the killer is one of the monks,” BoomBoom said logically.
    “Could be. Bryson may have figured it out.” Harry tied up yet another garbage bag. “We’re going to need more of these things.”
    “I’ll pick up some on the way home,” Alicia volunteered.
    “The thing is”—Susan paid no attention to the garbage bags—“something is wrong up there.”
    “The monks are probably making moonshine. A lucrative trade if you’re good at it,” BoomBoom said.
    “Two monks weren’t killed over moonshine. Moonshine boys know how to get even, but murder wasn’t necessary. It’s something we can’t imagine. But what could have aroused this fury, this frenzy?” Harry hated not knowing something.
    “The sheriff has been up there. Don’t you think if something were out of whack, he’d notice?”
    “Apparently not.” BoomBoom then said, “Honey, write down who takes what. I’m going to round up the girls and have everyone take a dish or dishes. Are you ready, Miranda?”
    “Until the next wagon train pulls in.”
    “While you all do that, let me go let Tucker out of the truck to go to the bathroom.” Harry walked into the front hall and retrieved her coat. The cats had stayed home today, although not by choice. She was glad for the cold, fresh air as she walked carefully over the icy sidewalk.
    Despite the rock salt on it, the ice was so thick that only patches of it had melted.
    Just as Harry opened the door for Tucker, Brother George and Brother Ed pulled up.
    When Brother George opened the door, Tucker attacked.
“You hit my mother!”
    “Tucker! Tucker!”
    “I’ll kill you.”
    Brother George screamed as the fangs sank through his pants. Finally Harry got the corgi off, bustling her back into the truck.
    “He’s the murderer! He hit you and left you in the blizzard.”
    She ran over to Brother George, who had pulled up his pants leg, where blood was trickling down.
    “I am so sorry. I’ll pay for any doctor bills. I don’t know why she did that. She’s never done that.”
    Brother George knew exactly why Tucker had attacked. “No need, no need. Given all that’s happened, this is a small worry.”
    Brother Ed, on his knees and nearly stuck to the snow, examined the puncture wounds. “You’ll be all right. Let’s go inside and see if we can wash this with alcohol.”
    “Don’t,” Harry bluntly ordered them. “Racquel told Brother Luther that he was responsible for Bryson’s death, that the whole monastery is responsible. Best not to show your faces right now.”
    “Where is Brother Luther?” Brother Ed couldn’t believe this.
    “He must have left about twenty minutes ago,”