Whisker of Evil by Rita Mae Brown

least not that we could see. No dirt on his right arm or bruises or blood. It’s—”
    â€œUnnatural.”
Pewter finished her thought for her.
    â€œEven if a huge raptor swooped down on him, he’d still throw his arm up.”
Mrs. Murphy considered other possibilities.
    â€œOkay, suppose the bird hit him from behind with his talons balled up. Barry stumbled and somehow fell faceup. Well, he’d have a big knot on the back of his head.”
    â€œThought you didn’t care much about humans except for Harry and a few of her friends.”
Mrs. Murphy taunted Pewter just a bit.
    Pewter drawled,
“I don’t. But I was thinking about what kind of animal would kill Barry without him having any time to defend himself at all.”
    â€œYou’re it!”
Tucker roared by, too close for comfort, as she chased her brother.
    â€œWatch it!”
Mrs. Murphy swiped at the white rear end.
    The possum, Simon, awakened for a night’s foraging, peered out of the hayloft door, open to let the breezes through the hay.
“Pipe down.”
    The cats looked up at Simon, whom they liked well enough.
“Good luck. Tucker’s about to go into her frenzy. Give her another minute and she’ll chase the tail that isn’t there.”
    Simon, half-domesticated, had endured every shot and test for EPM, a degenerative, complicated disease that would be passed to the horses, and emerged a remarkably healthy possum, if a disgruntled one.
    â€œI’m not coming down until those two are in the house. They’ll chase me. Tucker forgets her manners when Owen’s around,”
Simon grumbled.
    As Susan stepped out back to ring the large bell hanging by the screen door, the dogs decided that the prospect of food was more alluring than chasing each other to exhaustion.
    â€œSimon, have a good evening.”
Pewter shook herself, then trotted to the screen door.
    Pewter was never one to hang back when food was on the table.
    Mrs. Murphy called up,
“Peppermints in Mom’s barn coat. She forgot to give them to the horses.”
    â€œThanks!”
Simon could taste those candies already.
    Harry, hungry, pulled her tractor into the old shed the minute she heard the bell. Johnny Pop, the old John Deere, belched a few times, black puffs of exhaust rising like smoke signals from the exhaust pipe. Harry disengaged the PTO—the power takeoff—a rotating axle that powered attachments. Tomorrow before climbing back on she would dutifully check fluids on her old tractor. She had a mania for maintaining all equipment properly because she assumed she’d never be able to buy any more.
    The two friends caught up on their own doings as well as everyone else’s. The animals gratefully ate the chicken that Susan had made for them.
    â€œSusan, no wonder Ned married you.” Harry smiled as Susan put apple crisp before her for dessert.
    â€œBet he has days when he wonders,” Susan laughed as she sat down to the apple crisp topped with vanilla ice cream. “Oh, ran into Fair, and he said he’s off this coming weekend if we want to go to the furniture stores in Farmville.”
    â€œDo you want to go?”
    â€œCan’t make up my mind. If I go I’m afraid I’ll buy that chest of drawers I keep dreaming about. My husband won’t be happy about it.” She sighed, then smiled as she delivered ice cream and apple crisp to her mouth.
    â€œLet’s wait until we get closer to the weekend. I don’t want to be tempted, either.” Harry savored the crunch of another mouthful of apple crisp. She changed the subject. “Is Mim going to Keeneland this year?”
    â€œShe’s waiting for Saratoga.”
    â€œI’d love to go!” Harry adored Saratoga Springs, a beautiful city north of Albany, New York, and the center of the thoroughbred world in August.
    â€œShe’s selling this year.”
    â€œShe had those two yearlings by,