Interior Book design

1. RITA MAE BROWN & SNEAKY PIE BROWN234
father’s Skylark, her body bare save for shorts and the illu-
sion of a tee-shirt, the basketball cradled against her breasts.
But as I winced to think that my fabulous ascent would be for
nothing, she passed to me, the ball finding my hands and lift-
ing me high above the rim where I gave it down into the
hoop, my view of the world changed forever.
She is still there, thirty years gone by, kissing me back
from death with her rapt attention, vanquishing the shame I
feel for doing what I love.
My name isVictorWorsley,Vic to my few friends,Worsely
to my legions of detractors. I’m a syorts writer, basketball my
main game. Perversely compulsive, I write longhand in fast
black ink, seven columns a week. I’ve been doing this for fif-
teen years without a break. I used to write at a desk in a quiet
room far from my fellow human beings. Now I write every-
where—hotels, coffee houses, train stations, park benches.
Anywhere but in my office.
However, onTuesdays, my favorite day of the week in San
Francisco, I do go down to the Chron to taunt my editor, the
lugubrious Lucas McCormack, a man terrified of offending
anyone. Poor Luke will no doubt be fretting about the widen-
ing rift between yours truly and Jim Hathaway, the coach of
the Warriors, the most annoying man in my life. Why?
Because he won’t let the men play without strict orders from
the bench, and it’s killing the game. It has become a point of
honor with me now. I want him to give the game back to the
players, to free them to improvise.
Agray sleet morning–I stood on the western edge of
my father’s driveway, focused intently on hi finest gift to me–
a shiny orange rim mated to a whitewashed backboard–a
fresh net awaiting my throw, the summer sun warming my
bare skin. I was a rosy tan white boy, longing to flee the op-
pressive confines of suburban dependency. Nearly all my he-
roes were great black men who could fly. Elgin Baylor, Oscar
Robertson,Wilt Chamberlain, Earl the Pearl Monroe.
My greatest wish was to drive the lane, that narrow cor-
ridor leading to the goal, to leave the ground and soar high
into the air, there to float in defiance of gravity before releas-
ing a delicate shot that kissed the board and tumbled through.
I could jump and shoot. But to float, to fly, that was what
eluded me.
And on that day, that once in my life, I transcended my
wish. I ran toward the basket and leapt into the air, discover-
ing as I left the earth that I had forgotten the ball. It was still
in the hands of the love of my life, the sweetest sixteen I’ve
ever seen. She was leaning back against my father’s Skylark,
24

2. RITA MAE BROWN & SNEAKY PIE BROWN
father’s Skylark, her body bare save for shorts and the illu-
sion of a tee-shirt, the basketball cradled against her breasts.
But as I winced to think that my fabulous ascent would be for
nothing, she passed to me, the ball finding my hands and lift-
ing me high above the rim where I gave it down into the
hoop, my view of the world changed forever.
Dear Deputy Cooper,
I do not recognize Donald Cletterback nor does anyone on my
staff.However,we recognize the man with him.He comes in about
once a month usually in the company of a local business man,Bill
Boojum.
Let me know if I can be of further service to you.
Yours truly,
Tara Fitzgibbon
However, onTuesdays, my favorite day of the week in San
Francisco, I do go down to the Chron to taunt my editor, the
lugubrious Lucas McCormack, a man terrified of offending
anyone. Poor Luke will no doubt be fretting about the widen-
ing rift between yours truly and Jim Hathaway, the coach of
the Warriors, the most annoying man in my life. Why?
Because he won’t let the men play without strict orders from
the bench, and it’s killing the game. It has become a point of
honor with me now. I want him to give the game back to the
players, to free them to improvise.
But the real reason I go downtown, ever, is to flirt with
Greta Eagleheart, our divine section manager. And I do mean
divine. Greta is a most successful melange of peoples, a
Nefertiti with the cunning eyes of a fearless wolf. I’ve known
her for three years, dreamt of loving her from head to toe, but
234 SANTA CLAWED
Worsely to my legions of detractors. I’m a syorts writer,
basketball my main game. Perversely compulsive, I write
longhand in fast black ink, seven columns a week. I’ve been
doing this for fifteen years without a break. I used to write at
a desk in a quiet room far from my fellow human beings.
Now I write everywhere—hotels, coffee houses, train sta-
tions, park benches.Anywhere but in my office.
However, onTuesdays, my favorite day of the week in San
Francisco, I do go down to the Chron to taunt my editor, the
lugubrious Lucas McCormack, a man terrified of offending
anyone. Poor Luke will no doubt be fretting about the widen-
ing rift between yours truly and Jim Hathaway, the coach of
the Warriors, the most annoying man in my life. Why?
Because he won’t let the men play without strict orders from
the bench, and it’s killing the game. It has become a point of
honor with me now. I want him to give the game back to the
players, to free them to improvise.
Hey, you asked for this driver’s license Saturday
night.
Here’s our record.
Yrs, Carol
My greatest wish was to drive the lane, that narrow corri-
dor leading to the goal, to leave the ground and soar high
into the air, there to float in defiance of gravity before releas-
ing a delicate shot that kissed the board and tumbled through.
I could jump and shoot. But to float, to fly, that was what
eluded me. Dazzling in a silky blue dress, she greets me today
235

3. SantaClawed
R I TA M A E B R O W N
& S N E A K Y P I E B R OW N
I L L U S T R AT I O N S B Y M I C H A E L G E L L AT LY
BANTAM BOOKS NEWYORK • TORONTO • LONDON • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND

4. Books by Rita Mae Brown & Sneaky Pie Brown
WISH YOU WERE HERE
REST IN PIECES
MURDER AT MONTICELLO
PAY DIRT
MURDER, SHE MEOWED
MURDER ONTHE PROWL
CAT ONTHE SCENT
SNEAKY PIE’S COOKBOOK FOR MYSTERY LOVERS
PAWINGTHROUGHTHE PAST
CLAWS AND EFFECT
WHISKER OF EVIL
SOUR PUSS
PUSS‘N CAHOOTS
THE PURRFECT MURDER
SANTA CLAWED
Books by Rita Mae Brown
THE HANDTHAT CRADLESTHE ROCK
SONGSTO A HANDSOMEWOMAN
THE PLAIN BROWN RAPPER
RUBYFRUIT JUNGLE
IN HER DAY
SIX OF ONE
SOUTHERN DISCOMFORT
SUDDEN DEATH
HIGH HEARTS
STARTING FROM SCRATCH:A DIFFERENT KIND OFWRITERS‘ MANUAL
BINGO
VENUS ENVY
DOLLEY:ANOVEL OF DOLLEY MADISON IN LOVE AND INWAR
RIDING SHOTGUN
RITAWILL: MEMIOR OF A LITERARY RABBLE-ROUSER
LOOSE LIPS
ALMA MATER
HOTSPUR
FULL CRY
OUTFOXED
THE HUNT BALL
THE HOUNS ANDTHE FURY
THETELL-TALE HORSE
Santa Clawed

5. Dear Reader
Cats will conquer the world!Well, if not the world, the Inernet.
I now have my own domain on Mom’s website. Our adress is:
It’s not necessary to address meYour Most Exalted Striped Pre-
sence.A simple “Miss Pie” will do. My name isVictorWorsley,
Vic to my few friends,Worsely to my legions of detractors. I’m
a syorts writer, basketball my main game. Perversely compul-
sive, I write longhand in fast black ink, seven columns a week.
I’ve been doing this for fifteen years without a break. I used to
write at a desk in a quiet room far from my fellow human be-
ings. Now I write everywhere—hotels, coffee houses, train sta-
tions, park benches.Anywhere but in my office.
So mnay of you ask whether Harry and Fair will get back
together again. In my mystery following this one, TheYearbook
Murders, Harry prepares for her twentieth high-school reunion.This gets her all
wispy and misty about Fiar but then,humans are prone to nostalgia.
Cats don’t have twentieth high-school reunions.We’re too vain.
Others of you have visited Crozet,Virginia.You have discovered the post of-
fice does not exactly parrallel what I describe in my books.That’s because I’ve
blended the lok of the Crozet Post Office with that of theWhitehall Post Office.
Artistic Licience.other than that,Crozet physically is pretty much Crozet.The
characters are my own creations.
I dispatched seven field mice yesterday.Top that!
AffectionatelyYours,
Sneaky Pie
Dedicated to
John Morris and Robert Steppe
When they’re good, they’re good
but when they’re bad, they’re better!

6. Mary Minor Haristeen My name isVictorWorsley,Vic to my
Mrs.Murphy few friends,Worsely to my legions
TeeTucker,yof detractors. I’m a syorts writer, basketball my
main
Pharamond Haristeen (Fair) game. Perversely compulsive, I write
longhand in fast black ink
Mary Minor Haristeen My name isVictorWorsley,Vic to my
Mrs.Murphy few friends,Worsely to my legions
TeeTucker,yof detractors. I’m a syorts writer, basketball my
main
Mary Minor Haristeen My name isVictorWorsley,Vic to my
Mrs.Murphy few friends,Worsely to my legions
TeeTucker,yof detractors. I’m a syorts writer, basketball my
main
Pharamond Haristeen (Fair) game. Perversely compulsive, I write
longhand in fast black ink
Cast of Characters