Cat on the Scent

by Rita Mae Brown

  “He folded himself into that car and flew down the road in the direction of home. Makes me wonder.”

  “Let’s go over there tonight after work,” Murphy suggested.

  “Yes, let’s,” Pewter chimed in.

  One by one the townspeople left. Cynthia, Tally, and Mim lingered.

  Miranda made Tally a bracing cup of tea, as she was flagging a bit.

  “Not every question has an answer.” The old lady sipped her tea, straight.

  “I think they do. But we don’t always want to hear it.” Mim contradicted her aunt.

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “No one wanted to know the answer when Jamie shot Biddy Minor.” Big Mim hated being contradicted, even by Tally—or especially by Tally. “Every place has unsolved crimes because people don’t want to know.”

  “What good would it do to know? Everyone is dead. How they arrived at that state is irrelevant!” Tally snapped.

  The cats knew better than to leap on the table with Tally present. They hung out in the canvas mail cart instead, heads peeping over the top. Tucker sat under the table.

  “Moonshine,” Harry called over her shoulder as she emptied the wastebasket into a plastic garbage bag. “I know that’s not the reason but that was the excuse given.”

  “My brother didn’t make any more moonshine than anyone else in Albemarle County in those days,” Tally said. “Bad blood.”

  “Had to be awfully bad if Jamie shot him,” Miranda said. “Both such handsome men. I’ve seen their pictures.”

  “Never see their like again.” Tally stared off in the distance.

  “Didn’t Jamie have a gambling problem?” Big Mim asked her aunt.

  “Mim, my brother had many problems. You name it—gambling, horses, women, wine. Prudence was not his watchword.”

  “Wasn’t Tommy Van Allen’s either.” Harry, finished with her chore, leaned on the sink behind them.

  “Somewhat similar personalities. You’d have thought it would have been Jamie who got shot, not Biddy. Biddy was a sensible man most ways.” Tally allowed Miranda to refill her cup.

  “Guess we’ll never know.” Harry walked to the divider and folded up the newspaper. The back section fell on the floor. She picked it up without reading it.

  “People do terrible things. They just do,” Tally said. “We’re animals with a gloss of manners.”

  “I resent that.” Murphy’s tail twitched.

  Harry opened a jar of Haute Feline, giving each cat a fishy.

  “Hey.”

  She handed Tucker a Milk-Bone.

  “You remind me of your great-grandfather, Mary Minor. You have his eyes and you have his curiosity.”

  “Did you like my great-grandfather?”

  “I adored him. Had a schoolgirl crush. Biddy was the handsomest man. Curly black hair and those snapping black eyes. And the biggest smile! He could light a room with that smile. He bet on horses and cards, chickens . . . everyone did. He and Jamie bred fighting cocks together. Often wondered if that wasn’t it. But it wasn’t moonshine, I’m sure of that.”

  “Where’d they fight chickens?” Miranda said. “Didn’t you have a pit out on the farm? Oh, I barely remember. My momma wouldn’t allow me anywhere near.”

  “A beautiful pit out by the back barn.” She pointed to Harry. “Out where you found the airplane. Nothing left of it anymore. It’s full of rusted trucks and tractors. All illegal now.” She shrugged.

  After Mim and Tally and Cynthia left, Harry picked up the paper to throw it into the garbage bag. She glanced at the back page. “Miranda, did you read this?”

  “What?”

  They bent over the story. A big photo of a golden retriever behind the wheel of a Dodge Ram made them giggle.

  Harry read aloud. “‘Maxwell, a golden retriever owned by Stuart Robinson of Springfield, Massachusetts, received a ticket today for driving without a license. Robinson said the dog was in the cab of the truck when he got out at the gas station, leaving the motor running. He doesn’t know how but Maxwell drove the truck down the street, finally running into a mailbox.’”

  Miranda laughed. “Art Bushey will kidnap that dog and put him behind the wheel of a Ford.”

  They laughed harder.

  Pewter said, “I could drive a truck if I had to.”

  “You could not,” Tucker said. “You don’t have the strength to hold the steering wheel.”

  “I do so.”

  “She could.” Mrs. Murphy took Pewter’s part.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  After work the cats crawled into the parked truck and practiced.

  “This is harder than I thought,” Pewter confessed.

  “Yeah, and we aren’t even moving.” Murphy laughed until she rolled over.

  “Come on, let’s go over to Blair’s.”

  * * *

  34

  The cats reached the deep creek separating Harry’s land from Blair’s before Tucker caught up with them.

  Running flat out, she skidded to a stop, her hind end whirling around, leaving a semicircle in the grass. “Cheaters!”

  “You were asleep.”

  “I was not. I was resting my eyes.”

  “Sure.” Pewter viewed the steep bank with zero enthusiasm, but vaulted over.

  Archie Ingram’s U-Haul was parked next to the divine Porsche.

  The animals inspected it thoroughly, then Murphy bounded onto the Porsche, leaving delicate paw prints on the hood and roof.

  “Babe magnet.” She leaned over from the roof and stared inside at the luscious leather.

  “He hardly needs that.” Tucker sniffed the tires. “He’s been over to Little Mim’s. That ridiculous Brittany spaniel of hers has marked it.”

  “You can’t stand him because he’s perfectly groomed.”

  “Murphy, that’s silly.” Tucker turned her back on the cat and walked to the house.

  “You can’t go in there without us.” Pewter fell in next to the dog.

  “Don’t go in,” Murphy commanded as she carefully slid off the car.

  “Why not?”

  “We’ll interrupt them.”

  “They won’t pay any attention to us. Blair will open the door, feed us something, and then go back to whatever he was doing.” Pewter pulled open his back porch door, which was easy since it was warped.

  “The truth comes out.” Murphy whapped her paw from the door. “Listen to me. Don’t you find it odd that Archie Ingram has pulled into Blair’s driveway with a U-Haul? You and I should climb up in the tree. We can see everything—the windows are open.”

  “You climb in the tree. I’m sitting on the kitchen windowsill.” Pewter walked to the window and jumped up on the sill.

  If there hadn’t been a screen in the window she would have vaulted into the kitchen.

  “What about me?”

  “Tucker, I’ll open the door for you a crack. Lie down with your nose in the door. You can see and hear everything that way. If they notice you, act glad to see them and go right in. I’m staying in the tree.”

  Pewter watched as Blair brewed coffee. His top-of-the-line machine cost more than the industrial Bunn at Market’s store. A pint of cream sat on the counter next to it. Archie was slumped in a chair at the table, his head resting in one hand.

  * * *

  * * *

  “Come on, Arch, this will start your motor again.”

  Archie sighed, toying with his cup. “Yeah.”

  “Will you snap out of it? She didn’t shoot you. She isn’t running around town telling tales.” He handed him the cream. “You’re being given a vacation to sort things out.”

  “Yeah.” He drank some coffee.

  “Good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dazzle me, Arch. Vary your vocabulary. How about ‘Yes’?”

  The corner of Archie’s mouth curved up. “Yes.” He drank more coffee.

  “If this doesn’t enliven you we’ll have to look for
cocaine,” Blair joked.

  “People are saying that’s why Tommy was killed. That you and Van Allen bring in cocaine in the hubcaps of your Porsches.”

  “People will say anything.”

  Archie shrugged. “You use it?”

  “I have in the past. I don’t now.”

  “Get you in trouble?”

  “No.” Blair sat across from him. “I saw it get a lot of other people in trouble and figured I’d quit while I was ahead.”

  “Aileen wants me to resign my seat on the county commission.”

  “Not a good idea.” Blair drained his cup, rose to pour another.

  “H. would shoot me.” Archie laughed a dry laugh. “That damned Sarah is screaming all over the county that I shot H. Christ, I wouldn’t shoot him. Strangle him, maybe, but not shoot him.”

  “What went down between you two? One minute you were—”

  Archie slapped the table with his open palm, startling Blair and the watching animals. “I got sick of taking his shit. Who was taking all the risks? Me! Whatever I did wasn’t enough. He wanted to know more and he wanted it yesterday. Damn, how many times can I run up and down the road to Richmond?”

  “Our peer of the realm likes to give orders.” Blair checked the time on the old railroad clock on the wall, a duplicate of the one in the post office. It was six-thirty.

  “If my involvement comes out, I’m down the tubes.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Blair admonished him. “The law is murky in this area. Someone would have to prove that you abused your office for personal gain. Furthermore, the information you passed on to us concerning road development is public knowledge.”

  “The timetable is not public knowledge.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “The real timetable,” Archie shot back, in no mood for Blair’s rebuke.

  “So? It would have to be proved. Archie, for chrissake, you knew what you were getting into. Information is bought and sold every day in every profession. If you’re smart enough to get on the inside track, you win.” Blair, leaning against his refrigerator, shoved his hands into his back pockets. “We’re almost finished with our buying. All that’s left is the Catlett property. But even without it, we’re in good shape. After that, Arch, it’s all over but the shouting.”

  “It’s the shouting I’m worried about.”

  “Toughen up. Are you hungry?”

  “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “I haven’t,” Pewter called from the windowsill.

  “You ditz!” Murphy would have boxed her ears if she could. Pewter had no restraint.

  The cat’s meow startled the two men.

  Blair laughed. “Pewter, you shameless eavesdropper.”

  Tucker pushed open the door, waltzing in. “Hi.”

  “Wonder if Harry’s around?” Archie rose, walking outside to check. He came back in. “No, but I hear her on the tractor.”

  “That thing is a museum piece.” Blair put out cream for Pewter and gave Tucker stale bread he’d been saving for the birds.

  Furious, Mrs. Murphy backed down the tree, practically vaulting into the kitchen.

  “Idiots!”

  “Party pooper.” Pewter licked her lips; a drop of cream dribbled from her chin.

  The aroma of rich cream overcame Murphy’s scruples. She hopped up next to Pewter.

  “Full house.” Blair scratched the base of Mrs. Murphy’s tail.

  “Damn cat.” Archie, eyes squinting, glared at Murphy.

  “She had a big time at the meeting.” Blair laughed.

  Archie held on to his coffee cup with both hands as though it might fly away. “Do you think Sarah cheats on H.?”

  Blair raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Ridley said she was going at it with Tommy.” Archie, cunning, did not divulge that Ridley also told him Sarah had slept with Blair.

  “Was Ridley drunk or sober?”

  “Sober.”

  “I don’t know.” He did know, of course, because Tommy had told him about the affair, but Blair had given his word not to repeat it. “Sex gets us all into trouble.”

  The phone rang. Blair picked it up. “Hello.” Then he covered the mouthpiece. “H. Vane.”

  Archie got up and put his ear to the receiver. Murphy joined them. Archie pushed her away but she was persistent.

  “Blair, I’d like to have a meeting with you and Archie tomorrow at three. Can you make it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Arch? I know he’s with you. He drove past the post office and people saw you run out. You know how small this town is.”

  “He’ll be there.”

  Archie grabbed the phone. “I’ll be there.”

  “Did you shoot me?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Where’s Sarah? I can’t believe she’d let you call me after the stuff she’s saying.”

  “She drove down to the market. The way she drives, that will take two minutes. I figured I’d call while I could.”

  “How will you get away for a meeting? And where do you want to have it?” Blair asked.

  “Your place. I can drive.”

  “Goody,” Murphy told the others. “H. Vane will be here tomorrow at three for a meeting.”

  “We’ll be at work.” Tucker was disappointed.

  “Leave that to me.” Murphy strained to hear more.

  “If Sarah knows you’re going to meet with me she’ll bring out the cannon,” Archie said.

  “She’ll do what I tell her. I pay the bills, remember?”

  “I remember,” Archie replied, a splash of acid in his tone.

  * * *

  35

  “Where is that cat?” Harry opened closet doors to make certain she hadn’t shut the nosy Mrs. Murphy in one.

  The phone rang. Harry figured the caller was Miranda or Susan, early risers like herself. Sometimes Fair called after returning home from an all-night emergency.

  It was six o’clock. She’d been up for half an hour.

  “Good morning, camper, zip, zip, zip. We sing a song to start the day.”

  Before Harry could launch into the second obnoxious lyric, Mrs. Hogendobber tersely said, “More violence.”

  “What?”

  “Mrs. Woo’s shop burned down. They think it’s arson.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “On the news. If you’d ever turn on your television, you’d . . . Just turn it on. It’s the lead story on Channel 29. Her shop burned to a crisp.”

  “Roger. See you at work.” Harry hung up, stretched over the counter, and clicked on the small TV, which she hated with all her heart. Since Fair had given it to her for her birthday this year she couldn’t toss it out.

  “. . . high today expected to be seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit, a light breeze from the south, clouds moving in tonight, and a fifty-percent chance of rainfall after midnight. Back to you, Trish.” Robert Van Winkle, the weatherman, smiled.

  Soberly facing the camera, the young woman said, “Our top story this morning, Expert Tailoring Shop behind Rio Road Shopping Center was burned to the ground last night. Nothing is left except the charred remains. Chief Johnson says . . .”

  The fire chief faced the camera in the tape from the night before. “We are fully investigating this incident. If anyone saw or heard anything out of the ordinary in the area around two o’clock in the morning, please call the fire department.” He rattled off the number, which was shown on the screen.

  “Do you think it was arson?”

  Pure frustration on his face, Ted Johnson spoke directly into the camera. “We are investigating all possibilities.” He repeated himself. “If you have any information concerning these events, please call our hotline. It’s manned twenty-four hours a day.” The number ran again several times at the bottom of the screen.

  “Then you have no leads?”