Cat on the Scent

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Have you anything to say?” Cynthia stood up, facing Sarah.

  “Sarah, you have the legal right to remain silent,” Vane-Tempest forcefully said. “This has been a dreadful situation. You take a deep breath. You’re safe now.”

  “Am I?” She put her face in her hands.

  “Put your hands behind your back, sir.”

  “Rick, I killed him in self-defense. You’re making a mistake.”

  “That may be true, but for right now, the handcuffs go on.” Rick snapped the steel bracelets on quickly.

  “Don’t handcuff him. He had no choice.” Sarah wiped her eyes. “Archie abducted me from our home after locking H. in my closet.”

  “Why would he do that?” Rick put his gun in its holster.

  “Because I was having an affair with him. He wanted us to ride off into the sunset together.” She didn’t realize the irony of her words as the gorgeous sunset deepened.

  “You knew about this?” Cynthia directed this to the handcuffed Sir H. Vane-Tempest.

  “I did. Yes.”

  “Oh, H., I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never thought he’d try to kill you.” She walked over to her husband and threw her arms around his neck.

  “I’m an old man. You’re a young and beautiful woman. Maybe one of the most beautiful women on the face of the earth,” he whispered.

  Another squad car pulled up along with the Crozet Rescue Squad. Diana Robb had had a busy day.

  Rick motioned to his officers to go slow, then he put his hand under Vane-Tempest’s elbow. “Let’s go down to HQ.”

  “May I phone my lawyer?”

  “When we get there.”

  “Do I have to wear these?”

  “Until we get to the station, you do. Come on, before the goddamned television crews get out here.” That made the old man pick up his feet.

  Sarah slid into the backseat next to her husband. She never looked backward at Archie, sprawled on the ground, her snub-nosed .38 in his right hand.

  * * *

  57

  Mim watched with her aunt as the last of the police cars drove out.

  “Shall we go down there?” Mim asked.

  “Not in the dark. Let’s go in the morning.” Tally watched the flickering red-and-blue lights. “Mimsy, stay here tonight, please.”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  58

  News of Archie’s death spread like a prairie fire.

  Susan Tucker burst through the kitchen door to tell Harry, who’d already heard it via telephone from Mrs. Hogendobber, who’d heard it from Mim, who’d heard it from Rick Shaw.

  “I can’t believe Archie would kidnap Sarah.” Harry lay at one end of the sofa while Susan stretched out on the other end. The cats joined them, stretched across the back. Tucker curled up on the wing chair nearby.

  “Well, he did,” Susan matter-of-factly stated.

  “Bull,” Pewter said.

  “Sex does short-circuit people’s brains,” Tucker agreed with Susan. “But why would Archie shoot Blair?”

  “Her car was parked at Blair’s when we found him,” Mrs. Murphy said.

  “Well, why would she go to Blair’s?” Pewter stretched her hind leg straight out for grooming.

  “Pewter, do that later. I hate that licking sound when I’m having a conversation,” Harry ordered.

  “Priss,” Pewter complained, but nonetheless tucked her hind leg under her.

  “All the girls go to Blair’s,” Tucker said.

  “Archie was at Blair’s, too. He didn’t kidnap Sarah,” Murphy said.

  “Blair must know that. When his mind is clear and he feels better.” Pewter tried to think who else might know.

  “Archie was moving out,” Mrs. Murphy continued. “She went there for him. Archie didn’t kidnap her.”

  “He’s not here to defend himself,” Tucker sagely noted.

  Murphy lay down. “A wasted life, Archie’s.”

  “H. is out on bail.” Susan put her hands behind her head. “Big surprise.”

  “Was Sarah harmed?”

  “No. She says Archie kidnapped her. He wanted to live with her. He wanted her to run away. He didn’t mean to harm her.”

  “What do you think?” Harry asked.

  “I don’t know what to think. I’m glad it’s over.”

  “Is it? We still don’t know who killed Tommy Van Allen.”

  “Sarah confessed to Rick Shaw that Archie confessed to her that he killed Tommy over a drug deal gone sour.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Harry said.

  “He did not,” Murphy protested.

  “Hush. You’ve had enough to eat.”

  “Sarah shot H. Vane. I don’t know who killed Tommy Van Allen but she shot H.” Murphy stuck to her guns.

  “She gets a notion . . .” Harry commented on Murphy’s conversation.

  “And they’re usually on the money,” Tucker said.

  “Thank you.” Murphy rested her head on her paws. “We’d better get over to Tally’s place tomorrow. First light.”

  “Why so early?” Pewter moaned.

  “Before people start crawling over it. The ghouls will show up whether Tally wants them or not.”

  “Weird. Humans fear death but they can’t stay away from it,” Pewter remarked.

  * * *

  59

  A line of gray illuminated the eastern horizon. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker were already on the ridge above Rose Hill.

  As they dropped down into the fertile plain the golden rim of the sun pushed over the horizon and shafts of gold, like spokes on a wheel, radiated into the lightened sky.

  By the time they reached the barn and stone buildings they were surprised to find Big Mim and Tally already there.

  A pool of blood, dark brown, stained the dirt road where Archie had fallen. Big Mim and Tally stood in silence in the circle of buildings. When Mim finally spoke, she said nothing of the evidence of murder. The women knew each other too well for Tally to be surprised.

  “Why don’t you let me restore these?”

  “I’ve got no use for them,” Tally replied.

  “You could rent them out. Make a little money. After all, you were going to rent one to Archie.” Mim smiled suddenly as Mrs. Murphy and Pewter came up to her. “Why, look who’s here.” Tucker lingered at the blood until Murphy sharply reprimanded her.

  “You characters certainly cover the miles.” Mim petted the cats’ heads.

  “I say let the whole damn place fall down.” Tally thumped the ground with her cane.

  “That’s foolish.”

  “Who are you to tell me what’s foolish? I knew you in diapers.”

  “The day may come when you want to sell Rose Hill. You need to keep up the place. I can repair all this. I have a good crew.”

  “I don’t know.” She paused, looking skyward as the colors changed from gold to pink to red to gold again and the sun flooded the world with light. “Crazy.”

  “Hmm?”

  She pointed with her cane to the pool of blood.

  “Yes. It’s all over now.”

  “It certainly is for Archie. Damn fool. This is the South. You don’t steal another man’s wife without expecting retribution.”

  “That’s why the rest of the country thinks we’re uncivilized. We erupt. Underneath the veneer of manners we’re animals.”

  “Are you an animal, my dear?” Tally raised a silver eyebrow.

  “Yes. If pushed hard enough I am. Why kid myself?”

  “The question is, what pushes people? Love? Money? Prestige? Property? I don’t know. What people kill and die for seems thin gruel to me.”

  “You’re old. You forget.”

  Tally whirled on Mim, her cane over her head. “Damn you.”

  “Passion, Aunt Tally. You see, you still have it.”

  Tally brought her cane down, then laughed. “You are clever. Sometimes I forget how clever you are.”

  “Back to business.
” Mim deflected the compliment.

  “Oh, what!” came the irritated response.

  “First order of business, let me get my men in here and clean this barn. I’ll bring this place back to the way it was when I was a child. How I loved to play back here. And the barn dances! Mother would wear gingham dresses and Daddy would laugh and laugh. What days those were before—well, before everything changed so.”

  “Change is part of life. Sometimes it’s good and sometimes it’s not. Most times it’s both. A change can be bad for me but good for the man down the road.”

  “Maybe I can get them to look at the suitcase.” Tucker wagged her tailless bottom as Mim winked at her.

  “You can try.” Pewter shrugged.

  Tucker bounded into the thicket, barking like a maniac.

  “What’s she got in there?” Mim wondered.

  “Tractor graveyard. Rats or mice.”

  The two women returned to arguing about the stone houses but Tucker continued to bark.

  “I’ll go see. Maybe she’s hurt.” Mim pushed through the budding bushes, which included nasty thorns. She heard the little dog under the Chevy.

  Raised in the country, Mim was hesitant to squat down and find herself face-to-face with a snarling fox or other burrowing creature. But Tucker’s entreaties overcame her natural caution. She knelt down, noticing dirt fly up as Tucker dug furiously in the loam.

  “Look!” Tucker tugged at a corner of the suitcase.

  Mim reached in and grabbed the corner sticking out. She edged it toward her, grasping the handle. As soon as Mim had the suitcase Tucker shut up.

  “This is what you want?” Mim stared into the beautiful round eyes.

  “Open it.”

  Mim clicked open the top. “Oh, God,” she gasped, stepping back.

  “What are you doing in there?!”

  “Tucker dug out an old suitcase with a tiny skeleton in it and what’s left of a lace headcap and dress.” She closed the suitcase, fighting her way back through the foliage, Tucker at her heels.

  “I don’t want to see it.” A ghastly pallor covered Tally’s face. “Put it back, Marilyn.”

  “I can’t do that. I have to turn this skeleton over to Rick Shaw. The child was murdered. Why else would she or he be stuffed in a suitcase?” Mim noticed Tally clutch at her chest and falter. “Aunt Tally.” She dropped the suitcase, the skeleton tumbling out, and grabbed her aunt.

  “Oh, no.” Tally saw the child’s bones.

  Mrs. Murphy and Pewter silently watched. Tucker sat by the skeleton.

  “Put it back,” Tally sobbed.

  Mim sank to her knees with the old lady. No fool, she said, “What do you know about this child?”

  “It’s mine!” Tally sobbed so hard Mrs. Murphy thought her old heart would break.

  “Is this why Uncle Jamie shot Biddy Minor?”

  “Yes. I wanted to die. I loved Biddy Minor. I loved him like no other man on earth and he loved me.”

  Mim put her arms around her aunt and softly asked, “Did you kill your baby?”

  “No, no, I could never do that.”

  “Did Biddy?”

  “No.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Daddy. He took the baby from my arms and he smothered her.”

  Mim shivered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I didn’t show much. I got away with being pregnant. Momma suspected but I lied through my teeth.”

  “What did Biddy do?”

  “Daddy said if Biddy set foot on his property he’d kill him—a married man trifling with a young thing, that’s what he called me, a young thing. But, oh, I loved Biddy Minor and I found a way to get a message to him. Veenie—do you remember our maid? She was born in slavery she was so old—Veenie told him I delivered the baby and Daddy killed her. I wanted that baby. She was all I would ever have of Biddy. He couldn’t divorce, you see. Nobody could then.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “And Daddy wanted me to marry well. If anyone knew I’d had an illegitimate child he couldn’t have married me off to the milkman.”

  “I see.” Mim stood up and brushed off her knees. She helped Tally up.

  Tally, once on her feet, walked over to the skeleton with hesitant steps. She knelt down. Tucker whimpered.

  Tally looked at Tucker. “She was the most beautiful little girl, with red curls, red curls just like mine when I was little.” She touched the hand. “And I’ll never forget when she wrapped her tiny fingers around my finger. She was my living memory of Biddy.” Tally put her head in her hands and sobbed, racking sobs.

  Mim, eyes wet, too, knelt down and gathered up the bones, putting them back into the suitcase.

  “I thought Daddy buried her but one night he got drunk and said he put her in a suitcase and threw her in with the junk. I thought about looking for her but I couldn’t, you know, Mimsy, I couldn’t.”

  “You were a girl and had no control over your life. How is it that Jamie shot Biddy?”

  “When Biddy heard what Daddy did to the baby, he came up here to kill him. I told Jamie I trusted him, and he loved me, I thought. Wild as he was, you could trust Jamie. But as soon as Biddy put one foot on our land Jamie killed him because he knew Biddy would kill Daddy for what he’d done. And I think in Jamie’s heart he thought he was protecting me. He knew I’d run after Biddy again and ruin all our lives. I never hated Jamie for what he did but I hated Daddy. I hated Daddy for the rest of his life and I hate him still.” She touched a piece of pink ribbon on the bonnet and pleaded, “Don’t give her to the sheriff.”

  “I won’t. We’ll bury her on the hill with the rest of the family. She’s one of us. You can tell or not tell.” Mim closed the suitcase as though it carried the most precious items in the world, then she helped up Tally and they both walked slowly back to Mim’s Bentley.

  Tucker walked over to the girls. “Poor Tally.”

  “It’s like a tom killing kittens,” Pewter said.

  “Bet old man Urquhart went to his grave believing he did the right thing.” Tucker watched as Mim opened the door for her aunt, setting the suitcase on her lap.

  “Humans can justify anything. Kill one. Kill millions. They’ll come up with a reason why it’s all right.” Pewter had the last word.

  * * *

  60

  On a glorious afternoon the following week, Sarah Vane-Tempest was directing her gardeners. H. Vane-Tempest, in a cashmere-and-linen turtleneck, worked in his secondary office, used only in good weather, a twenty-by-twenty glassed-in porch with French doors across the entire breadth. He could open all the doors on an especially good day.

  He had little sense of the ordinary work week. He did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and expected his help to be there. For this demanding schedule he paid quite well.

  Seated across from him, Howard Fenton organized blue-covered legal packets, twelve of them. His assistant, a young man fresh out of Yale Law, carefully double-checked each document.

  Vane-Tempest, using a fountain pen, the only appropriate writing utensil, signed the last one. Behind him stood his two secretaries, whose function today was to witness the documents and affix their signatures to the bottoms.

  Howard viewed the two men—Vane-Tempest would employ only male secretaries, multilingual at that. “Does the subject appear to be in full possession of his mental faculties?”

  “Yes,” they answered in chorus.

  “Does he appear to sign this document freely and without coercion?”

  “Yes.”

  Vane-Tempest raised an eyebrow. “Would you like my blood type?”

  Howard, humorless, replied, “Not necessary, sir.”

  “Next.” Vane-Tempest held out his hand, his ultrathin watch half hidden by his cuff.

  The Yale Law graduate handed him another legal-sized document. This one had beige covers to distinguish it from the others.

  “Mmm.” Vane-Tempest read quickly. He understood the law quite well for a civilian. Then
, too, those many decades of business, real estate, and one jarring divorce had taught him the basics: Screw them before they screw you.