Catch as Cat Can

by Rita Mae Brown

  “She did?” Harry was surprised.

  “You're a lot more fun than tight-ass Lottie.” Coop whistled. “And he is gorgeous.”

  “Pretty is as pretty does.”

  “Oh, Harry, that's what you always say about horses.”

  “Well, it applies to men, too.”

  Coop laughed as she turned right, out toward Harry's farm. “Who knows what men say about us?”

  “That we're beautiful, sexy, and wonderful. Right?” Harry laughed, too.

  “I'm sure.”

  “Do you have to go to the autopsy tonight?”

  “No, I get the night off. Things are returning to normal, finally.”

  “Miranda, Susan, and I are going to Tracy's apartment over the pharmacy to paint. Miranda's bringing all the food. How are you with a paint brush?”

  “Picasso.”

  When Harry walked inside her house she noticed how silent it was. Not a kitty in sight. It wasn't until she went into the living room that she beheld savaged lampshades, pillows tossed on the floor, and her bowl of potpourri strewn all over the carpet.

  “Mrs. Murphy! Pewter!”

  “You don't think they'll show their faces, do you?” the dog intelligently asked. “They're both in the barn in the hayloft, I guarantee it.”

  Harry looked at the old clock on the mantelpiece. “Damn. Well, come on, Tucker, I was going to take them to Tracy's but not now.”

  She grabbed her old white painter's pants, a white T-shirt, then headed out the door with a bouncy Tucker at her side.

  Once at Tracy's she blew off steam about the depredations of felines. It made her paint faster but she was careful with her brush and didn't make a mess. Miranda had chosen a rich, warm beige for the living room, the windows trimmed in linen white.

  Once Cynthia arrived the pace really picked up. They had the living room and all the trim knocked out by eight. Miranda had set up two card tables in the kitchen. Susan went off her diet. She couldn't help it, the food was too good.

  Tracy had fought in Korea right out of high school. He stayed in the army, got his college degree, and after years of outstanding service was wooed away from the army by the CIA. He wasn't a right-wing fellow; he'd seen enough government mismanagement to cure him of any blind patriotism. However, he revered the Constitution and loved his country, warts and all. He had a logical mind, a mind good at detail. When he retired to Hawaii he thought all would be well, but his wife had died three years earlier. His fiftieth high-school reunion brought him home and back to his high-school flame, Miranda, herself widowed. It was as though they had never parted. So he flew back to Hawaii, attended to business there, sold his house, and returned.

  Both Tracy and Miranda were of a generation where you didn't live with a member of the opposite sex unless you married them. He could walk to Miranda's from his apartment and everything would be proper.

  “When do you move the furniture in?” Susan asked. “Do you have furniture?”

  “Some.” He looked at Cynthia Cooper. “Did you notice the knot on the hanging rope? Not to change the subject.”

  “Just looked like a knot to me.”

  “You saved the rope for evidence, of course.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mind if I come down and look at it tomorrow? And who notified next of kin?”

  “Augusta County Sheriff's Department.” A cloud crossed Cooper's face. She didn't want to trespass on another law-enforcement agency's jurisdiction, but she thought she probably should have gone with someone from the Augusta department. She'd go over there tomorrow.

  Already a few pounds thinner thanks to his wired-up jaw, Officer Everett Yancy hopped out of his seat when Deputy Cooper walked through the doors of the sheriff's headquarters.

  “Coop!” He hustled her to his desk, sat her in his chair, leaned over, and punched in a code. “What do you make of this?”

  On the computer screen appeared a message from their contact at Richmond's Department of Motor Vehicles, Carol Grossman. The DMV, efficient, processed information from satellite DMVs statewide as well as mailings from individual drivers.

  The message read:

  Hey, you asked for this driver's license Saturday night.

  Here's our record.

  Yrs, Carol

  Yancy reached in front of Cooper to scroll up more text. Before her eyes was Wesley Partlow's license. But the photo on the license wasn't Wesley Partlow.

  For the first time, Cooper felt the ground give way beneath her. She knew they were going out into deeper water.

  She glanced up at Yancy. “These guys are good—real good.”

  No sooner had she studied Carol Grossman's message than the phone rang for her.

  “Hello.”

  “Deputy Cooper, Officer Vitale. I'm sorry to be a little behind. I went over to the Partlows' like you requested. No one's dead.”

  “Thank you, Officer Vitale.” She put the phone down. “Someone sure is dead, along with my brain!” She stormed out of the room.

  22

  You've got ants in your pants.” Miranda re-inked the stamp pads, then closed the lids, sliding them under the counter.

  “I want to know what's going on.”

  “We all want to know what's going on. That's why Tracy drove down to the sheriff's office this morning.”

  “Well, why hasn't he called?”

  “Harry, he left a half hour ago. Will you calm yourself?”

  “Yes. It's time for my morning nap. I need quiet.” Pewter yawned.

  The front door swung open. BoomBoom came in, wearing bib overalls, large hoop earrings, and a bright green T-shirt. “Good morning, ladies.”

  “I can see you're going to spend a day on the tractor.” Harry thought she'd like to be on her old John Deere.

  “No,” came the brief reply as BoomBoom slid her key in the lock of her postbox, swinging open the brass door with the glass window.

  “Bills,” Tucker told her as the corgi helped sort the mail this morning.

  “Why, hello, Tucker. I didn't notice you when I came in.”

  “Where are you off to in your overalls?”

  “Harry, I'm not accustomed to you being so interested in my schedule.” BoomBoom sorted through the envelopes as though they were cards in a deck. “What gives?”

  “Nothing.” Harry appeared nonchalant.

  BoomBoom sashayed to the counter, leaned on it, and purred, “You want to know if Thomas has said anything about Diego.”

  “Not me.”

  “I hate it when humans try to purr.” Mrs. Murphy stuck one leg straight up, contorted her head under it to lick the back side.

  “If I made her do that people would say it's cruelty to animals.” Harry pointed to the agile tiger kitty.

  “You can't do that.” Miranda smiled. “I know I can't. I bet the Dalai Lama couldn't do it either.”

  “What's the Dalai Lama got to do with it?” BoomBoom, mystified, wrinkled her nose, a habit when she was puzzled.

  “Doesn't he twist himself into a pretzel, sleep on nails?” Miranda's eyes grew larger. “Walk through fire.”

  “No, that's a master yogi.”

  “Yogi Bear.” Harry giggled.

  BoomBoom said, “But honestly, they can do things like that. There are some who can have out-of-body experiences.”

  “I have out-of-body experiences when I get the flu.”

  “Harry, gross.” BoomBoom stacked her mail on the counter, flipped it on the side, and tapped the envelopes evenly together. “Anyway, do you want to know what Diego said to Thomas?”

  “Sure,” she shrugged.

  “Mother, don't try to be so cool.” Mrs. Murphy still had her hind leg over her head.

  Tucker walked back behind the counter when Harry tipped it up. “Murphy, I wish you wouldn't do that. It hurts just to look at you.”

  “If you didn't have such stumps, you could do it, too,” the tiger cat said with malicious glee.

  “Ha, ha,” the dog dryly repli
ed.

  “Why isn't anyone paying attention to me?” Pewter pouted.

  “You said you wanted to take a nap,” Murphy fired back.

  “Am I asleep?”

  “Pewter, you are so perverse.”

  “All cats are perverse.” The little dog headed for the back animal door.

  “Where are you going? What are you doing?” Mrs. Murphy demanded.

  “Hey, there's nothing in here but two bitchy cats.”

  “Is that so?” Pewter fluffed her fur.

  “Guess you won't find out what Thomas told BoomBoom.” Mrs. Murphy cleverly dangled the bait.

  “Oh, yeah.” Tucker stopped, returning to the counter.

  “Well?” Miranda expectantly leaned over the counter.

  “Thomas said that Diego hopes to see Harry again.” BoomBoom hooked her thumb under her overall strap. “Has he called you?”

  “No, Thomas hasn't called me,” Harry said.

  “You know what I mean. Don't be such a smart-ass, Harry.”

  “Yes, Diego has called me. Is everyone happy now?”

  “You didn't tell me.” Miranda was hurt.

  “Because he called last night after our painting party. I forgot to tell you because there's so much else going on. Anyway, Diego has to fly back to Montevideo this week, but he hopes to be down for the Wrecker's Ball.”

  “Oh. What painting party?” BoomBoom asked.

  Mrs. Murphy, bored with the humans, put her hind leg down finally, swept her whiskers forward, and stared right down at Tucker. “What a pretty doggie.”

  Tucker looked up but a fraction of a second too late because the cat swooped down on her, bowling her over. “Oooph.” The dog had the wind knocked out of her and was rolled over by the force of Murphy's aerial bombardment.

  Pewter, ears up, inched closer to the tangle. “This looks good.”

  “Banzai! Death to the emperor,” Murphy sang out.

  “You watch too many war movies,” Tucker snapped as she scrambled to her feet. She bolted out the animal door, Mrs. Murphy in hot pursuit.

  Pewter hesitated a moment. After all, puddles dotted the alleyway; but the screams from outside finally lured her out the animal door, where both cat and dog pounced on her, knowing she'd fall for it.

  “Nonstop party.” Harry laughed.

  “What, painting?”

  Both Harry and Miranda told her about the painting party at Tracy's apartment and Tracy asking Coop to see the rope.

  Just then the phone rang. Miranda picked it up and Harry crowded next to her. BoomBoom hurried behind the counter to listen in.

  “Oh, hello, Mim.” Miranda tried to hide the disappointment in her voice.

  “Has my package arrived from Cartier? I sent my tank watch up to New York to be fixed weeks ago.” Big Mim emphasized “weeks.”

  “No package today. I'm so used to you being my first customer. Where are you?”

  “I'm on my way to Richmond with Marilyn. I promised I'd take her to Monkey's.” She mentioned a dress shop much frequented by ladies such as herself. “I'm on the car phone. Clear as a bell, isn't it?”

  “You two have a wonderful time. Bye now.” Miranda hung up the phone.

  Lottie Pearson walked through the door. “Hello.” She opened her postbox, gathered her mail, and walked right out.

  “Can you believe?” BoomBoom's eyebrows shot upward.

  The phone rang again. They all reached for it but Miranda was first.

  Miranda picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Hi, sugar.” Tracy's baritone sounded deep. “I'm heading back. Need anything?”

  “What'd you think?” Harry, leaning over, spoke into the receiver.

  “Did you grab the phone from my beautiful girlfriend?”

  “No. She's right here. BoomBoom, too. We're hanging on your every word.”

  “Oh.” He inhaled. “Heavy rope, climber's rope. You know when you see movies of hangings in the Old West, how the rope has a special kind of noose?”

  “Yes,” they said in unison.

  “That's what I wanted to see. If Wesley took the time to make that noose, assuming he killed himself, or if his killer did, assuming he was murdered. The noose isn't as easy to tie as you would think.”

  “And?” Harry's tone raised up.

  “No. A simple knot like you tie when you're tying up a package.”

  “Honeybunch, what does that mean?” Miranda breathlessly asked, having regained full access to the receiver.

  “That either Wesley or his killer didn't know how to tie the knot, didn't care, didn't have time. Or that the climber's rope would hold.”

  “I don't follow.” BoomBoom honestly didn't.

  “One of the reasons the noose knot was used to hang people is that it would hold the weight of the body and snap the neck. It's more humane than choking to death, which is what happens if you tie a common package knot. In time the common knot will give even on good quality rope.”

  “This gives me chills. You come on home.” Miranda half laughed.

  “I will. Say bye to the girls.”

  Miranda hung up the phone as the three animals pranced through the animal door, best friends again.

  “I didn't know that about a noose.” Harry's hand instinctively flew to her neck. “Choking and swinging at the same time. What an awful way to die.”

  “I think we missed something.” Mrs. Murphy quietly sat down on a chair by the table in the back.

  “We have only to wait. They're bound to tell another human. You know how they are.” Pewter jumped on a chair at the table and began biting out the mud between her toes. She hated dirt.

  “All this talk of death . . .” Boom's voice faded away, then increased in strength. “Roger's funeral is tomorrow. Are you all going?”

  “You know we will.” Miranda frowned for a moment. “Now, why would you even ask?”

  “I don't know.” BoomBoom's shoulders hunched up, then she relaxed. “I'm a little distracted. Aren't you?”

  “Well, it has been a strange couple of days but we may be making too much of it all.” Miranda noticed the tiny mud pellets falling to the floor since Pewter was sitting in one of the chairs next to her. “Pewter, pick up after yourself.”

  “I'll clean it up.” Harry opened the small broom closet in the back, fetching the dustpan and brush.

  “Well, I'm off.”

  “You never said why you're wearing overalls.” Harry knelt down, brushing up the mud bits.

  “I'm going to work.”

  “What work?” Harry rather impolitely replied.

  “Welding. I have an order to make a hen and chickens for Opal Michaels.”

  “Better make it a chicken with attitude,” Harry said.

  “If I were making it for Big Mim I'd put a crown on that bird.” BoomBoom laughed as she opened the front door.

  Miranda picked up Mrs. Murphy to pet her. “I'm glad to see you and BoomBoom are getting along better.”

  “She's always made more of an effort than I have.”

  “Well, I'm glad to see you recognize that. Remember your Proverbs. ‘A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.'” Miranda quoted Chapter Seventeen, Verse Seventeen.

  “I wouldn't go that far.” Harry winked at her.

  Mrs. Murphy listened as the tiny mud bits hit the floor. “Pewter, you have more mud between your toes than an elephant.”

  “And you don't?”

  “Not as much as you.”

  “Why aren't you grooming yourself?” the gray cat wondered.

  “I'm waiting until she sweeps up your mess. Then I'll make another one.”

  “Murphy, you're awful,” Tucker giggled.

  23

  St. Luke's Lutheran Church, pleasing eighteenth-century architecture with clean brick and white lintels, filled with those wishing to pay their last respects to Roger O'Bannon. The town residents crammed into the pews, the light streaming through the stained-glass windows.

 
All rose when Sean O'Bannon and his mother, Ida, entered by the door next to the lectern to take their seats in the front row. The once numerous O'Bannon clan had dwindled over the decades. As neither Roger nor Sean had ever married, the line might well end with Sean.

  As the mother and son seated themselves, the congregation also sat down.

  People were surprised at the change in Sean's appearance. He'd cut off his dork knob, gotten a good haircut, and was clean shaven. A well-cut dark gray suit gave him a substantial, solemn air. No one could remember Sean wearing a suit since high school; he'd always been low-key, counter-culture. The Reverend Jones solemnly came out of a door recessed behind the pulpit. He bowed his head before the altar, then turned to face the congregation. Herb, no stranger to funerals, tried to invest this last event with meaning. He avoided platitudes, the easy phrase.

  Fair sat with Harry. Susan and Ned Tucker, Miranda and Tracy were on the other side of Harry. After the service they drove to the cemetery south of town, a pleasant site with a beautiful view of rolling pastures. When the casket was lowered into the grave, tears rolled down Sean's cheeks. He'd held up until then. His mother put her arm around his waist.

  When Harry drove away with Fair, Susan, and Ned in Ned's car, Sean was still standing at the gravesite.

  “Depressing,” Susan tersely said.

  “Harry, do you want to go back to the post office or do you have time for lunch?” Ned turned left toward town.

  “Work. Miranda's having lunch with Tracy.”

  “Want me to bring you a sandwich?” Susan volunteered.

  “Yeah. How about chicken, lettuce, tomato, and mayo on whole wheat.”

  “Do you have cat and dog food at the P.O.?” Ned pulled up at the post office.

  “Susan, you know I do. I'll go hungry before they do.” Harry smiled as she hopped out of the car.

  “I've got a call at Quail Ridge Farm.” Fair rolled down the window. “Take you to the movies over the weekend?”

  “Sure,” Harry replied.

  The post office was only fifteen minutes from the cemetery by foot but she had liked being in the car with her old friends. As Harry walked in the back door she caught a glimpse of the two cats, paws fishing in the backs of the postboxes. They jumped down as she closed the back door and walked across to unlock the sliding door—like a small garage door—that separated the public section of the post office from the workers' section.