Edward nodded gratefully and turned to the next guests, who happened to be Vera and Lenore.
“Miss Vixen,” he said. “What a wonderful piece you wrote in the paper about my mother. I think you really captured her life in a way few others could.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Springfield.” In truth, Vera thought he’d been a bit annoyed with her when they last spoke. But he simply must be under stress. “Your stories were so much help in writing it.”
He smiled sadly. “Stories are all I have left. But please, ladies, come in, come in. Coat rack is at the end of the foyer, and you’ll find food and drink in the large parlor. I’m so overwhelmed by how many folk have come.”
They passed into the house, which was indeed getting crowded already. Vera instinctively looked at the floor, and saw that an entirely new rug covered it, this one in a midnight hue. “Hmm,” she said softly. “That’s different.”
“The rug?” Lenore asked. “It’s a rat thing. They claim it’s a very practical method of preventing damage and dirt to the floors during a large event. The color shouldn’t matter, but for funerals and wakes and whatnot, they’re always black. I tell you, rats can claim they’re not superstitious, but no rat is going to have a pink floorcloth at a funeral!”
“You’re a font of information,” Vera told her friend.
“I took a class at university all about the rituals of death among various species.”
“Of course you did,” she murmured.
They helped themselves to wine and chatted with the other guests. Vera probed gently for opinions on the incident with Dorothy, and the consensus seemed to be that Dotty just needed some time to relax and Edward would be able to talk her back to sense in a week or so.
“Such a couple, you know,” one slightly tipsy rat confided to Vera. “They got married practically the first day they legally could. For the school yearbook, we voted them the couple most likely to stick together forever.”
“I hope you turn out to be right,” Vera said. But she was no longer focused on the case of Dorothy Springfield, because she saw a bear across the room.
Orville.
At the funeral earlier, she’d ignored him, not ready to get into yet another fight about whether she was right or wrong to pursue an investigation on her own. But now, having heard about Edward and Dot’s lifelong love story, she wondered if she was only hurting herself by avoiding Orville.
He caught her gaze and she nodded cautiously. He took that as a cue to come over, parting the crowd as he did so, thanks to his sheer size. However, he did get stopped several times as folks shook his paw or spoke to him, presumably about the election. He chatted and shook and nodded, but he continued to make his way toward Vera.
“I’m gone,” whispered Lenore, and promptly faded into the crowd.
Then Orville was standing in front of Vera, neither of them speaking.
“You look very nice tonight,” Orville said at last.
“Thank you.” Vera wanted to say that the bear looked quite well turned out himself, but the words that came out were: “Let’s stop fighting.”
“That’s a great idea,” he agreed with a relieved exhale. “There’s nothing like attending a wake alone to remind you of how much there is to lose.”
“I get that. I mean, I came here with Lenore, so I wasn’t alone. But I was…except now I’m not.” She reached out a paw and touched his sleeve. “You know, it’s a little stuffy in here. How would you feel about a walk along the lake?”
He smiled. “Fine idea, Miss Vixen. Meet me at the door, and we’ll get out of here.”
And that is what they did.
* * * *
The day after the wake, Vera wrote a short article about the event, avoided BW’s questions about whether Dotty was seeing ghosts, and dashed out to Joe’s for a coffee, all before her visit to Professor Heidegger’s in the afternoon. She brought along a treat from Joe’s bakery case—a sticky nut roll, which she knew the professor was especially fond of.
At the base of a tall tree, Vera called out for Heidegger. In response, a basket dropped from above, attached to a thin rope. A moment later, a more substantial rope ladder tumbled down as well.
“Put your things in the basket and then climb up!” the owl called down. “I shall handle the rest. I have a very precise system in place.”
Vera deposited the bakery bag and coffee in the basket, and slung her own pack around her shoulders. She climbed nimbly up the ladder and soon arrived at the top, which ended on a branch broad enough to dance on. Heidegger was a few feet away turning a crank, which winched up the basket.
“Good afternoon, Miss Vixen,” he said. “I trust the libations of the previous evening did you no ill? Adora would have enjoyed her wake, I must say.”
“It was quite the event,” Vera agreed, watching as the basket came into view. She leaned over to pluck out the bakery bag and her coffee (which was still upright, since the basket had several loops designed to hold fragile items). “I brought you a sticky roll, just in case you needed a snack.”
“Ooooh, delightful!” he hooted. “And much needed, for I’ve not yet been able to get my marketing done, and my larder is shockingly destitute.”
“About that,” Vera said as he ushered her into his home. “I wanted to ask if you were able to learn any more about the creature who apparently broke in a couple weeks ago.”
Heidegger gave a hoot of indignation. “Alas, no. But I have now compiled a list of items missing from my home.” He grabbed a long sheet of paper and began to recite:
Cookies (chocolate)
Books (twenty-three)
Nut mix (one can, Ms. Muncie’s brand)
Peanut butter (one jar, same brand)
Multiple pages from Shady Hollow’s Neighborhoods scrapbook (torn out)
Pencils (seven)
“You know how many pencils you own?” Vera interrupted.
“Of course!
