Booty came in, then Ward and Benny followed.
The others looked at them but said nothing.
Booty picked up the bottle of champagne. “Let’s drink to Charly’s recovery. He’d hate it if we let this go to waste.” He handed the bottle to Joan, but she politely declined.
Harry, Fair, and Renata also passed.
“I don’t think Charly’s health can be restored,” Renata claimed.
“He’ll be fine.” Booty offered the bottle to Ward, who took a swig. “He’s tough as bad weather.”
Benny then took a sip of the wonderful champagne.
“He’s dead,” Renata said.
“How do you know?” Booty didn’t want the mood to further plummet. He took a deep drink when Benny handed the bottle back. “Did you call the hospital? Actually, they wouldn’t tell you, because you’re not family.”
“I just know.” She was beyond tears, feeling a bit numb.
“Now, Renata, he’ll be fine. I know you’re mad at him and—”
“What about me!” Miss Nasty shrieked.
“There you are, my pretty.” Booty pretended that he wasn’t mad at her.
“ME, ME, ME, and I have this sparkle on my chest!”
She crept down, her eyes on Pewter, but she kept just out of Booty’s reach. Bottle in hand, he coaxed her. “Good girl.” Then he saw the Baccarat fluted glass on its side. “That was dumb. Could have used the glass.” He picked it up and poured a little champagne in it before anyone could stop him.
He held out the champagne glass to Miss Nasty to tempt her, but he had no intention of giving it to her. Being much faster and stronger than Booty imagined, she eagerly grabbed the glass with both paws and yanked it from his fingers. She gulped down half the contents, spilling the rest.
“No!” Booty yelled. Then she hopped around in circles, defying the cats, just beyond Booty’s grasp or anyone else’s. They kept still, both out of horror and because she’d race up to the rafters again.
She swaggered near Pewter. “I told you I had the pin. What do you have? Worms!” Shrieking with delight, she sped around the gray cat as Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Cookie tensed to grab her if they could.
“Dungdot,” Pewter hissed.
“You were the dungdot. You looked lovely in horse poop. You should wear more.” Miss Nasty spun around to dash into a stall to find a suitably large piece of poop.
She spun smack into Spike, who had been silently creeping up behind her.
“Hello, my pretty,” he said with menace, echoing Booty’s name for her, as he pounced, both paws around the monkey, fangs sunk in her neck.
She howled, her arms and legs, even her tail, standing stiff, then she died.
“Hooray,” Pewter cheered.
Spike shook her like a rag doll, breaking her neck, then dropped her. “Death to vermin!”
Booty, distraught, ran to his pet, as Pewter did, too.
“Pewter, you get back here,” Harry ordered.
“I want to make sure she’s dead.” Pewter stopped midway to her goal.
“Let’s drive a stake through her heart,” Cookie suggested.
Booty picked up the lifeless monkey and said, “Oh, Miss Nasty.”
Sheriff Cody finally appeared. Renata and Ward noticed him as he was making his way down from the other barns.
“What’s the sheriff want?” Ward wondered.
Harry should have kept her mouth shut, but she blurted out, “Booty, you tried to stop Miss Nasty from drinking out of the glass.”
Holding Miss Nasty in his arms like a baby, he looked hard at Harry. “I—”
“You knew the glass was coated in poison.” She let her anger get the better of her.
Ward suddenly got it and said, “You son of a bitch, you tried to kill me!” He lunged for Booty.
Much as Booty loved Miss Nasty, dead was dead. He needed to save himself. He flung her body hard in Ward’s face, then turned to run out the back of the barn.
Cookie and Tucker easily kept apace with him, biting his ankles as he ran.
“Death from the ankles down.” Joan couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing.
Benny tore after Ward, who had regained his balance to chase Booty.
Sheriff Cody walked into the barn, looked down at Miss Nasty, and just caught sight of Benny at the far entrance to the barn.
Fair said, “Booty. It’s Booty. They’re after him.”
The sheriff pulled out his gun but walked the length of the barn as he called his men on his phone. Sooner or later, Booty would be trapped.
Pewter pounced on Miss Nasty’s body. “Dead! Whoopee.”
Spike grinned his snaggle-toothed grin.
The cats didn’t need to pretend they weren’t thrilled at Miss Nasty being dispatched by Spike and the poison. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Spike, and the barn cats surrounded the hateful creature.
Harry strode over. “Leave her alone.” She unfastened Joan’s pin and handed it back to her.
Renata said, “That ginger cat won’t die, will he? I mean, he bit into Miss Nasty.”
“He’ll be fine.” Fair figured Spike didn’t chew her or bite deep.
A shot rang out in the parking lot. Everyone ran to the far end of the barn in time to see Booty, blood pouring down his leg, hopping away. Ward and Benny tackled him, Ward pulling his right arm up behind his back. Sheriff Cody walked up, as did the deputy who’d shot Booty, moving from the opposite direction.
Pewter, Mrs. Murphy, Spike, and the barn cats had run down to that end of the barn, too.
Mrs. Murphy looked from Booty to Miss Nasty. “No more monkey business.”
The white truck, loaded and ready to go, sat in the Kalarama drive.
Harry and Fair had come to say good-bye to Joan and Larry at nine A.M. on Sunday morning. Clients and customers would start showing up around ten. The two weeks between Shelbyville and Louisville heated up business, as did the weeks following the Kentucky State Fair.
Krista, on deck, had the sitting room clean. A small breakfast buffet had been squeezed on the coffee counter, pot already bubbling outside her office door.
Harry, Fair, Joan, and Larry were drinking coffee and tea and eating doughnuts. Harry, not much for sweets, found she craved sugar this morning.
Harry and Fair sat on the sofa, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker right with them. Joan sat opposite, and Larry kept popping in and out from the long main aisle to confer with Manuel.
“Would you have guessed?” Harry asked Joan, since Joan knew the people involved better than Harry did. They both had run out to the parking lot last night when Booty bolted for his freedom. Once shot, Booty couldn’t move. They heard everything as they drew close to him.
Joan tapped the edge of the heavy mug, maroon with “Kalarama” emblazoned on its side in gold. “I thought it was Ward at first. He’s young, needs money, and he did take Queen Esther from Jorge—that was conjecture, but I was pretty sure that’s how it happened, and now we know.”
In pain and knowing the game was up, Booty confessed at the parking lot while waiting for the medics. Like many people, when hope was lost he just babbled. Ward, standing right there, didn’t deny that he was in business with Booty and Charly, especially since Booty pointed the finger at him. Better to confess to smuggling illegal workers than be thought a murderer. Ward came clean about stealing, so to speak, Queen Esther.
“I’m sorry Ward was part of it,” Harry said. “Whatever money he’s made will go to lawyers.”
“Think he’ll go to jail?” Fair asked. “I don’t know Kentucky judges. Virginia’s are pretty conservative.”
“Most are here, too.” Joan thought a long time. “I don’t think he’ll go to jail. He’ll pay a fine, be sentenced to community service, but Ward was the driver, not the mastermind. He’s already exonerated Benny, who he said knew nothing.”
“Ah, good for Ward,” Fair said.
“Good for Benny.” Harry laughed.
“And Renata says she will st
and by Ward about Queen Esther. Of course, that cat is out of the bag.”
“I resent that,” Pewter grumbled.
“How bad will it be for her?” Fair asked.
Larry popped back in, heard the question, leaned over the divider, and said, “More publicity, wrong kind.”
Just then Renata drove up, parked, and walked in. She poured coffee, snagged a doughnut, and leaned over the divider, as well.
“We were talking about you,” Joan said.
“I deserve what I get.” She started to bite the doughnut, then stopped for a second. “Charly didn’t deserve to die, though.”
“Booty sure thought he did.” Harry leaned back.
“‘What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.’” Joan put down her mug. “Booty claims Jorge wanted more money, so he made calls to whoever it is in Texas. Booty says Jorge knew the man, who is a Mexican himself.”
“The smuggling agent? I mean, what do you call someone like that?” Renata wondered.
“‘Agent’ sounds good.” Joan smiled at Renata. “Same function, different business than yours.”
“Not by much.” Sarcasm dripped off Renata’s tongue.
“So Jorge didn’t talk to Charly or Ward?” Larry was so tired last night that he wasn’t sure what he remembered and what he didn’t.
“Ward was the driver; pretty much that was it. Booty and Charly both handled the money, but Booty directed Jorge, and Charly contacted people receiving the workers. Division of labor,” Joan said. “Jorge went to Booty. That was his big mistake. If he’d asked all of them for more money, he might be alive today. Charly wouldn’t have agreed to murder. He just wouldn’t. Carlos may have known about the smuggling, but he wasn’t implicated. He was smart enough not to talk, but then, Booty talked so much who could get a word in edgewise? Guess the pain got to him, too. Funny, he really thought he could get away with it.”
“Booty killed Jorge.” Larry rested his chin on the palm of his hand, his elbow on the divider. “He could have found an easier way.”
“That was the point,” Harry filled in. “Booty wanted it to be gruesome and dramatic. The double cross on the palm was a theatrical touch.”
“Charly then knew Jorge had double-crossed them. Naturally, he figured Jorge had talked to Booty, but he couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t also talked to Ward. Charly was too smart to confront Booty, at least during the show.” He might have questioned Booty and Ward afterward, but he tried to keep things level during Shelbyville. He had a lot riding on the show, one of the reasons why he was stunned at Jorge’s murder. Could Booty or Ward be that cold-blooded? Joan added, “It’s strange how someone can put up walls around themselves like Booty did and then the walls come tumbling down. He couldn’t shut up last night. It was kind of embarrassing.”
“He’s lucky Ward didn’t kill him.” Renata had polished off her doughnut, not having eaten since lunch yesterday. “After all, Booty tried to kill Ward and make it look like Charly did it. He really was cold-blooded. He could go right out in the ring and put in a great ride.”
“That seems so stupid to me.” Harry threw up her hands. “Hadn’t enough gone wrong? I mean, after Jorge pushed Booty for more money and Booty refused, Jorge threatened to call the INS. You should have heard Booty about that. He thought he’d killed Jorge in time, even though it might have been an empty threat. Well, he found out differently the next night.”
“Maybe your mind goes.” Joan spoke slowly. “Maybe because what you’re doing is criminal, even if a lot of people don’t think it is—bringing in illegal workers, I mean. But anyone involved in crime leads a double life. That’s the real double cross. You get locked inside your mind, in a way. And then how can you really grasp what’s real and what’s your fear? Booty didn’t have to kill Jorge. Even though the INS did raid the show, Booty and Charly had enough money to hire good lawyers. The show was raided; no one said they smuggled in illegal workers, only that they used them. I think he just lost it.” She tapped her temple with her right forefinger.
“See, I think it was greed.” Harry shrugged. “The business had run smoothly up to Shelbyville. Booty wanted all the profits.”
“Or a combination. I think Joan’s right; Booty’s judgment did fail.” Fair interlocked his fingers.
“What a waste.” Larry put it in a nutshell, then turned to Renata. “What are you going to do?”
“Pay for Ward’s legal fees regarding Queen Esther if that becomes an issue. I don’t think it will. But I won’t leave him in the lurch. He made one mistake, egged on by Charly and myself. As to driving in the workers, well, that was a bigger mistake, and he’d better learn from it. I’m not paying those legal fees.”
“But what are you going to do about you?” Harry followed up on Larry’s intent.
“Oh.” She blew air out of her full lips. “I’ll be a laughingstock for a while, but I haven’t smashed liquor bottles over anyone’s head or taken videos having sex, stuff like that. It appears the American public laps up this kind of tripe.” She stopped suddenly. “What I am is sick of myself. If I had to do something as absurd as stealing Queen Esther to bump myself back up, you know, I need to leave. I don’t like myself.”
“You don’t mean leave Earth, you mean leave Hollywood, right?” Harry had a nervous moment.
“Right. Harry, I’m not the suicide type. And,” she drew in a deep breath, “I’ve always been hostile and pooh-poohed it, but I think I need to get some help, therapy. That’s number one. Number two is coming back home. I won’t be able to put myself together back there on the meat rack.”
“Good for you.” Fair turned around to look upward. “I went into therapy for three years, and it was the best thing I ever did for myself. Jesus, it can be painful, though.”
“No pain, no gain.” Larry summed it up, using the line espoused by the health guru Jack La Lanne.
“And who would have thought this would start with Grandmother’s pin being stolen and end up with it being found?” Joan mused, then looked at Harry. “Remember I said I didn’t think I’d like what we found if we found the pin?”
“Do.” Harry nodded.
“Honey, it’s an eight-hour haul.” Fair smiled at Harry.
“Wait one minute. Birthday present.” Joan rose and went into the office, returning with a dark green plastic bag with a big pink ribbon on it. “Happy birthday from Larry, Mom, Dad, and myself. I hope you have at least forty more.” She handed the bag to Harry, who could feel what it was.
Opening the bag, Harry held up a beautiful bridle from Fennell’s. “Just what I wanted. Oh, you all.” She dropped the oiled bridle back in the bag and got up to kiss Joan, then Larry. “I’ll kiss you, too. Thanks again for Shortro.” She kissed Renata.
“That was one thing I did right.” Renata smiled. “Happy birthday, Harry.”
Fair stood up. “This is your last day to be thirty-nine. Tomorrow I’ll give you your birthday present.”
“How can it top my bridle or Shortro?” she teased him.
“Well,” he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, then back to meet hers, “it comes along with me.”
“I like it already.”
The animals roused themselves, and Cookie walked out to the truck to say her good-byes.
“Don’t guess we’ll ever see the likes of Miss Nasty again. Imagine how Booty felt when she grabbed that glass from him that he’d loaded with snake poison. She was faster and stronger than he realized,” Cookie said.
Mrs. Murphy recalled the sight. “Funny, isn’t it, the look on his face when she grabbed the glass and how he picked her up when she died. He loved her.”
“They’re family.” Pewter giggled.
Dear Reader,
Don’t you just love Miss Nasty? Karin Slaughter likes monkeys, so I created Miss Nasty for her.
I hate monkeys, myself, but I do love horses. Mostly I play with Thoroughbreds, but there is a young Saddlebred on the farm, Blue Sky, and he’s such a sweetheart. F
or one thing he recognizes that I am far more intelligent than the human around here.
Hope all is well in your world. Don’t forget to give to your local animal shelter.
Yours in Catitude,
Sneaky Pie
Dear Reader,
There’s no point in responding to Sneaky’s gargantuan ego. I actually do some of the work around here.
Ever and Always,
About the Authors
RITA MAE BROWN is a bestselling author, an Emmy-nominated screenwriter, and a poet. She lives in Afton, Virginia. Her website is www.ritamaebrown.com.
SNEAKY PIE BROWN, a tiger cat born somewhere in Albemarle County, Virginia, was discovered by Rita Mae Brown at her local SPCA. They have collaborated on fourteen previous Mrs. Murphy mysteries: Sour Puss; Wish You Were Here; Rest in Pieces; Murder at Monticello; Pay Dirt; Murder, She Meowed; Murder on the Prowl; Cat on the Scent; Pawing Through the Past; Claws and Effect; Catch as Cat Can; The Tail of the Tip-Off; Whisker of Evil; and Cat’s Eyewitness, in addition to Sneaky Pie’s Cookbook for Mystery Lovers. She uses the above website, although she threatens to develop her own since she is much more exciting than her human.
Books by Rita Mae Brown with Sneaky Pie Brown
WISH YOU WERE HERE
REST IN PIECES
MURDER AT MONTICELLO
PAY DIRT
MURDER, SHE MEOWED
MURDER ON THE PROWL
CAT ON THE SCENT
SNEAKY PIE’S COOKBOOK FOR MYSTERY LOVERS
PAWING THROUGH THE PAST
CLAWS AND EFFECT
CATCH AS CAT CAN
THE TAIL OF THE TIP-OFF
WHISKER OF EVIL
CAT’S EYEWITNESS
SOUR PUSS
Books by Rita Mae Brown
Puss 'N Cahoots Page 24