Catch as Cat Can

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Not at all, brother, not at all. Tell you what, I'll call Jack right now and ask him if you all can come along tomorrow night. What about you, Harry? Fair?”

  They nodded yes.

  “You'll hate it,” Lottie declared.

  “I'm going, too.” BoomBoom, for all her perfect fingernails, clothes, etc., was a country girl, after all.

  “All right. Jack should have been here tonight along with his wife, Joyce, but when I told him it was white tie he begged off. He said if I put a gun to his head maybe he'd wear a monkey suit—actually, Joyce would be the one to make him do it—but he's not wearing tails.” Jim's deep laugh rumbled. “Tell you one thing, the man can hunt. Wife can, too. And gentlemen, I'll bring along a little something to cut the night's chill, a little something we do better in the mountains than they do anywhere else.”

  “Better keep your voice low.” Fair winked. “Cooper's right behind you.”

  The deputy was talking to Tracy and Miranda and turned when she heard her name. “I didn't hear a thing.”

  “Good. Always thought a deaf woman would be an advantage.” Jim winked.

  “You mean dumb, don't you? One who can't talk.” BoomBoom winked back.

  “Is that what I meant?”

  “Sexist pig.” Harry stuck her finger in Jim's stomach.

  “Awful. You can dress me up but you can't take me out. Come to think of it, I'm not out. This is my home.” Jim roared with laughter, then shambled off to the telephone.

  “How can he say that?” Lottie fumed.

  “He's pulling your leg, our legs.” Harry's eyes returned to Diego. “Every woman in this room knows that Jim Sanburne would do anything to help; his heart is bigger than he is.”

  “That doesn't excuse sexism.” Lottie pursed her lips. “You make excuses for men, Harry.” The “you” was loaded with innuendo.

  “Lighten up.” Don stifled a giggle. “Otherwise I'll have to give you a stuffed shirt.”

  At this they all laughed except for Lottie.

  Miranda and Tracy joined the group just as Gretchen, the majordomo, butler, servant, you name it, strolled through playing the glockenspiel. She repeated the same three notes, which meant time to go to the dining room.

  Mim and Jim Sanburne enjoyed the resources to host a sit-down dinner for sixty guests, seven courses, each with a different wine, champagne, sherbets, and cakes at the end. Mim had grown up with wealth, never knowing anything but abundance although she'd suffered bouts of emotional famine. She married Jim Sanburne on the rebound. He was big, strong, handsome, poor. Over the years he'd proved hot as a forty-balled tomcat. His licentiousness had as much to do with his sex drive as the fact that having a rich wife isn't all it's cracked up to be. In time they worked it out. He stopped running after women, she stopped giving him orders.

  After dinner the orchestra played in the ballroom, which was decorated with dogwoods, pink and white, and viburnum, providing fragrance as well as beauty. Lottie sat next to Don, who didn't ask her to dance. Finally she pulled him onto the dance floor, hissing, “Getting cold feet?”

  “No, I'm just not much of a dancer,” Don replied.

  Miranda had left her purse in the Falcon. Needing her lipstick, she rose from one of the small tables arranged on the sides of the dance floor. “Honey, do you have the car ticket?”

  Tracy reached inside his cutaway, the inside pocket. “I do. But you sit right here. I'll get your bag, sweetie.”

  “Why don't we get it together?” She winked.

  The older couple strolled through the rooms to the front of the house, where they gave the attendant the ticket. He picked up a cell phone and called in the number. In the distance they heard the old engine fire up.

  When the car was delivered, the parking lot driver emerged, a young, slender man with sandy hair and a thin mustache.

  “Wait, don't get out. I just need to grab the lady's purse. You can take the car right back.”

  “All right, sir.”

  As Tracy reached in for her small, beaded purse Miranda fixed her gaze on the young man driving her precious vehicle. She noticed that his left eye sagged and there was a red scar over his eyebrow running through to below the eye. It took a moment for this to register, then she blurted out, “You, you stole my hubcaps!”

  He blanched, shot out of the car, running flat out into the darkness.

  Tracy tore out after him. He hadn't been a star halfback for nothing and he was still in great shape. Although the kid had a head start he was no match for the older man. When he turned to see Tracy gaining on him he misstepped and rolled, got up, tried to pick up speed, but Tracy knew how to throw a block. He leaned down and pushed off his right foot, sailing into the back of the young man. Tracy hit him so hard that the kid's body flew up in the air like a rag doll, then fell to earth with a sickening thud. Tracy was on him fast, squeezing his head in a hammerlock. A heavy object on a chain around the young man's neck popped out of his shirt when he was blocked by Tracy. It was a Mercedes star hood ornament.

  “I didn't steal nothin'.”

  “We'll see about that.”

  13

  As Tracy forced the young man back toward the house, he took no chances. Holding the kid's left arm up behind him with his other hand on the young man's collar, his grip was tight. Each time the kid tried to shake free, Tracy jerked the bent left arm upward, which evoked a howl. In the cool night air thunder over the mountains presaged an approaching spring storm.

  The main attendant had the presence of mind to find Big Mim, who in turn corralled Cynthia Cooper. The two women were waiting with Miranda Hogendobber as Tracy delivered his quarry.

  “It's the man Sean described,” Miranda said. What upset her as much as anything was the fact that a young person would steal.

  Cynthia stepped forward. “I'm Deputy Cynthia Cooper. Cooperate and maybe we can make this less unpleasant.”

  “I didn't steal nothin',” he sullenly defended himself.

  “Why don't we start with your name?” Cynthia then turned to Tracy. “You can release him. And thanks.”

  The scared youth grumbled, “Fast for an old man.”

  Miranda couldn't help but smile. “Son, you've been brought down by one of the best halfbacks this state ever produced.”

  The youth warily studied Tracy, who beamed thanks to Miranda's praise.

  “What's your name?” Big Mim betrayed irritation.

  “Wesley Partlow.”

  “Mr. Partlow, your address,” Cooper methodically asked.

  “Got none.”

  “You must sleep somewhere,” she pressed.

  He shrugged. “When I get tired I—”

  “Come on. Where do you live? You're clean. You're wearing a white shirt and black pants,” Big Mim said.

  “They gave me the shirt.” He nodded to the head attendant. “Company policy. All valet attendants wear a white shirt and black pants. The logo is over the pocket.”

  “So it is.” Mim crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Let's try this again. Where do you live?” Cooper patiently repeated her question knowing she'd hear more lies. She'd seen this type many times before: young, sullen, rebellious.

  “Noplace.”

  “You're homeless?”

  “Yeah,” he smirked.

  “Where's the 1987 GMC truck you drove to O'Bannon's Salvage yard? The one with the Dallas Cowboys jacket in it.”

  His eyes opened wider.

  “Where is it?” Cooper wished she could slap the smirk right off his white face.

  His eyes dropped to the ground.

  “Are you hungry?” Miranda, kind even under these circumstances, thought food might help him.

  “No, ma'am.”

  “I know you didn't mean to upset me but my Falcon means the world to me. If you'd cooperate with us we can settle this . . .” Miranda's voice trailed off.

  Tracy put his arm around Miranda's waist. “Honey, don't fret over it.”

  “Ther
e's a quick way to settle this before I take Mr. Partlow into custody. I'll run him over to Sean O'Bannon's.”

  Wesley's eyes darkened, his jaw clamped shut.

  Big Mim, not realizing that Cooper was laying a trap, said, “Cynthia, you can't do that. Not tonight. Not now. After all, Roger's not even cold yet. I don't think Sean is in any condition to identify a thief.”

  Wesley's head jerked up, senses alert, a flicker of fear in his eyes now. “Who's dead?”

  “Roger O'Bannon. Did you know him?” Cooper inquired.

  “No,” he unconvincingly answered. He became even more wary.

  Cooper sighed. No more dancing for her. “I have the strangest feeling, Mr. Partlow, that you and trouble are well acquainted. Tracy, will you stay with him while I call in for a squad car? I can't trust him to stay in the Jeep. He'd be out at the first stoplight.”

  14

  The Dogwood Festival, celebrating the state tree and springtime, provided ample opportunity for revelers to overindulge each mid-April. Automobile accidents, property destruction, and fights kept the sheriff's department busy.

  Sheriff Rick Shaw had the whole force out working tonight. When Cooper called him concerning Partlow he drove out in a squad car himself. It would never do for Big Mim to be unhappy. His presence as the highest elected law-enforcement official in the county usually mollified the grand lady. He'd also learned when he'd been elected twenty years ago to call Mim first when something broke. It made his life easier but also with her wide net she often could help him.

  As a man ages his judgment usually improves. If it doesn't he's either dead or a drunk. Rick Shaw had learned to trust his judgment. He followed procedure to the letter of the law but he also trusted his instinct. In the past, when Mary Minor Haristeen would blunder onto a crime scene accompanied by her animals, he used to fume. Over time he had learned that help comes from unusual quarters. Once the corgi found a human hand, which eventually led him to a murderer. Harry and her furry cohorts had a funny way of blundering onto things.

  So he wasn't surprised when he drove up to Mim's front door to find Big Mim, Miranda, Tracy Raz, Harry, and Diego, to whom he was introduced.

  Harry couldn't resist an event. When she saw Mim head for Coop she knew something was up so she followed the deputy. Diego found her curiosity amusing.

  Rick smiled at his favorite deputy. “Coop, enjoy yourself. This is the only night off you've had in two months. I'll take the perp back.”

  “You can't lock me up for stealing hubcaps—which I didn't do.” He snarled as he put the Mercedes star, which had slipped out again, back under his shirt.

  “Boy, I can lock you up for just about anything.” Rick genially pulled Wesley's arms behind his back, cuffing his hands together.

  BoomBoom and Thomas happened to walk out front.

  “Mim, there you are. We had a wonderful time.” BoomBoom noticed Rick pushing Wesley into the back of the squad car as she finished her sentence. “What's happening?”

  “Miranda thinks he stole the hubcaps off her Falcon earlier,” Harry said.

  “We're lucky he didn't steal our jewels.” BoomBoom's hand protectively covered the priceless sapphire and diamond necklace at her throat.

  “The jewels are nothing. The woman is everything. I'd be afraid that he'd steal you.” Thomas kissed her on the cheek after casting a jaundiced eye at Wesley, who cast it right back.

  “That would be a first,” Mim wryly responded, as Thomas gave the head attendant his parking ticket.

  Diego whispered to Harry, Silver tongue.”

  “How long have you known Thomas?”

  Diego shrugged. “Our families know one another. He's a bit older so we didn't go to school together. Since working at the embassy I've gotten to know him. Before that,” he shrugged again, “social. Like tonight.”

  “A lady-killer,” she whispered, eyebrows lifting upward.

  “He thinks so,” Diego giggled back, a giggle that made him irresistible, especially since American men rarely allow themselves a good giggle.

  “BoomBoom eats it up.”

  “There is a type of woman who does, and you're not that type,” Diego said with insight.

  “Well—no.”

  Their attention was drawn away from one another as Wesley Partlow turned around in the backseat of the squad car and with his handcuffed hands managed to shoot the bird as Rick started the motor.

  “What an asshole,” Coop muttered under her breath.

  Tracy, next to her, said, “Used to see guys like that all the time in the service. We had the draft back then so there was always a small percent who thought the rules didn't apply to them. Usually that was beat out of them during basic training. Seems to me that Wesley Partlow will miss the experience of being in the armed services. Too bad. Makes a man out of punks like that.”

  “Well, there's one thing for sure, he's going nowhere.” Cooper removed her left high heel to shake out a small pebble. “Miranda, I didn't think we'd find your hubcap desecrator so soon.”

  “Me neither. I bet he stole the truck, too.”

  “That's a given.” Cooper rubbed her bare arms as the lightning flashed on the side of the mountains. “Looks like the storm finally rolled up over the Blue Ridge.”

  15

  Within seconds the wind roared through Crozet at forty miles an hour, lifting party tents into the heavens, shredding striped awnings, sending Big Mim's guests shivering to the fireplaces as the temperature dropped violently.

  Overhead, black clouds, blacker than night, scudded over treetops; white, pink, and even bluish lightning ripped through the swirling clouds to strike below. A brilliant bolt hit the tin roof of Mim's gardening shed, the flash temporarily blinding those who beheld it. Luckily the shed didn't catch fire.

  The usual quota of car accidents for the Dogwood Festival dropped, because most people had the sense to get off the roads. Those few that stayed out skidded into guardrails. The sheriff's department and the wrecker services were working as fast as they could.

  Although she had looked forward to this night, Cynthia Cooper, overcome with a sense of duty and knowing that Rick Shaw would be on overload, bid her host and hostess good-bye, hopped in her Jeep, and drove to headquarters. She changed into her uniform and grabbed the lone squad car remaining, driving out into the lashing rains.

  “Coop to Sheriff Shaw.”

  “Hey,” came the familiar, tired voice.

  “I'm heading out to Boonesville. Accident at the crossroads.”

  “What are you doing at work?”

  “All hands on deck on a night like tonight. Yancy's squad car was lonesome. Where's Yancy?”

  “In the hospital with a broken jaw.”

  “What?”

  “Stopped a speeder, Din Marks, weaving all over the road. Guy got out of the car, Yancy shined the flashlight in his face, and the guy hit him broadside with a hammer. Held it behind his back, black as pitch tonight and Yancy never saw it coming.”

  “Damn.”

  “Filthy night. But Yancy will be okay. With his jaw wired shut he's bound to lose weight.”

  “There is that.” She smiled. “Did he nail the perp?”

  “Oh yeah. Sitting in the same cell with that little asshole, Partlow. Hey, I don't know when we'll wrap up this night but I'll buy you coffee and a doughnut when we do.”

  “Best offer I've had all week.”

  “Over and out,” he replied.

  As Cooper headed up to Boonesville, a small community north of Charlottesville proper, Harry and Diego danced the last dance at midnight. Big Mim invited everyone back to the library for coffee. Her eagle eyes noted if anyone was beyond driving. Her husband whisked off those few to the apartments above the stable. Jim's size and bulk guaranteed little resistance.

  Thunder roared overhead, the lightning illuminated the fields with eerie colors. The horses sensibly retreated to their run-in sheds. Even the cattle withdrew to the run-in sheds, standing patiently with the horse
s, who felt superior to cattle.

  Tucker covered her eyes in the bedroom at Harry's home. Pewter made a big show of not caring about the storm.

  Mrs. Murphy, curled up on the bed, said, “This is a bad one. I'm surprised there isn't hail.”

  The words were no sooner out of her mouth than a tremendous rattle pelted the roof. Hailstones the size of golf balls pounded down, bouncing high off anything they hit.

  “Wow!” Pewter hurried to the window.

  “It was a dark and stormy night,” Mrs. Murphy chanted in a ghostly voice.

  “That's not funny.” Tucker shivered.

  “Wimp.” Pewter tossed her head in the air.

  “Don't pick on her. She really hates these things and this is a hateful storm. Bet the horses are glad Mom opened their outside stall doors. She's got a sixth sense about the weather.”

  “She watches the Weather Channel.” Pewter, never one to be impressed with humans, jumped as a big hailstone smashed against the window.

  “Wasn't on the Weather Channel. I watched it with her. This is one of those wild storms that comes out of nowhere.” Mrs. Murphy knew how swiftly weather could change in the mountains. “People are lucky their crops aren't high enough to beat down but this will tear the dogwood blossoms right off the trees.”

  The sound of Harry's truck coming down the driveway sent them all to the back door. She floated through the door heedless of the weather. “Hello, babies.”

  “I'm glad you're home,” Pewter confessed.

  Tucker, thrilled that Harry was home, followed her human closely. “I hate this.” Pewter decided to follow Harry, too.

  Mrs. Murphy scampered ahead of them as the hail sounded like artillery fire. “Let's be glad we're inside tonight, safe and sound.”

  That was the same feeling Cynthia Cooper had when she finally pulled back into department headquarters. At four-thirty in the morning her eyes burned, her mouth was dry. It had been one fender bender after another.

  She pushed open the heavy swinging door. The odor of fresh coffee greeted her.

  Rick smiled. “Doughnuts right here. Krispy Kremes.”

  “I could eat a bug.” She poured coffee, grabbed a glazed doughnut, and slumped into her desk chair. “Where is everybody?”