The Purrfect Murder

by Rita Mae Brown

  “A person walking to the parking lot wouldn’t seem out of place.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. They could have slipped back into the house, though that’s less likely with Melvin there.”

  “So either they changed or got rid of the bloody towel, if they had one. Stuck it in the car.”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll swing back to Poplar Forest and nose around outside. Open to the public, so I can’t very well charge inside. Taz, I’m sorry. We’ll get you out of here. Another week and I think we’ll make bail. You’d be surprised at how many people are chipping in.”

  Her eyes misted over. “I’m lucky. I have good friends.”

  “You are a good friend.” Harry changed the subject. “Herb’s called a vestry-board meeting. Marvin’s back but I don’t know if he’s going to be there, because Penny’s been missing since Tuesday. Penny, according to her husband, could go off on a shopping toot and forget to call, but she’d call if she would be late getting home.”

  Tazio’s eyes widened. “Another client of mine. Harry, what’s going on? Penny and Carla were friends, sort of.”

  “I don’t know. Could be she’s fine or she’s not fine. If she had a stroke she might not be able to tell people who she is. What if she fell over at a mall? Someone could have stolen her purse. You never know. Stranger things have happened.”

  Tazio twisted her fingers together nervously. “She’d be in a hospital. Given the call of her disappearance, someone at the hospital would notify the sheriff. No, Harry, something is wrong.”

  “Both women used you as their architect.”

  She leveled her eyes at Harry’s. “Both had to put up with Mike McElvoy, too.” She sighed. “He’s not going to kill anyone. He’d be killed first.”

  “You never know.”

  When Harry left, she drove straight to Poplar Forest. On the way she told her four-legged friends of the conversation with Tazio. They appeared interested. At Jefferson’s summer home, Robert Taney told Harry she could come inside, but she declined. The killer just couldn’t have been that stupid to go back into the house with Melvin Rankin in there. They may have lurked in some part of the house, initially slipping by Melvin when he was elsewhere, but they surely wouldn’t go back in after the dirty deed. Harry felt certain about that.

  “Let’s see if we can find the rats.” Mrs. Murphy bounced across the lawn, tail to the vertical.

  The three trotted around the house to the south portico.

  Tucker called out in a loud voice, “Randolph, come on out.”

  “Randolph, Sarah.” Pewter meowed.

  Mrs. Murphy, hearing footsteps above, said, “They can’t come out from the west window. People are up there.”

  “Drat!” Tucker sat down, looking around.

  A minute later a deep voice called from the west side of the arcade under the south portico. “You again.”

  Two bright dark eyes appeared by the edge of the arcade. Then two more. The rats, half obscured, could duck back in if people walked outside. The last thing they needed was someone squealing about rats. They belonged here more than the humans, those two-legged twits.

  “Did you find a bloody towel last Saturday?” Mrs. Murphy drove right to the point.

  “What’s it to you?” Randolph twitched his whiskers.

  “Our mother thinks—well, her friend in prison thinks—maybe the killer used a towel. The lady in prison is a nice lady. The one killed was nasty. Think of her as rat poison. But if we can’t find the real killer, our friend may well spend the rest of her life behind bars.”

  “You ask a lot of questions, and you don’t bring treats.” Randolph stalled, sorry that he and Sarah had initially offered information about the cigarette without exacting a price.

  “Wait.” Mrs. Murphy, lightning-fast, ran to the truck.

  The open windows were high, but she jumped into the truck bed, onto the cab roof, then insinuated herself through the open window. She clamped her jaws around a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, Harry’s favorite candy, and leapt out the window onto the ground below.

  “Fast,” Sarah observed. “We’d better remember that.”

  Randolph boasted, “We’re almost as big as she is.”

  Mrs. Murphy dropped the candy before Randolph.

  “These are good!” He pushed it toward his spouse. “Half for you, my sweet. You’re sweeter than the candy.”

  Pewter looked nauseated at this, but Tucker shot her a “behave” look.

  “Your mother doesn’t smoke, does she?” Sarah was hopeful.

  “No, sorry.” Mrs. Murphy prayed the candy would do the trick.

  “We found a bloody towel, soaked, under the front steps.”

  “Could we have it?” Tucker panted expectantly.

  Randolph laughed. “We ate it, you ninny.”

  “Tasty. Fresh.” Sarah licked her lips as she admired the bright waxed candy wrapper, just waiting to rip into it.

  “Ah.” Tucker understood. “We hoped to use it as evidence. It was the murdered woman’s blood.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Randolph, Sarah, are you sure you didn’t see anyone?” Mrs. Murphy felt desperate, wanting to help Tazio because she liked the architect but mostly doing this for Brinkley.

  “Only other thing we found was the cigarette. We knew someone was in the house besides Melvin. But it’s nothing to us. And we have to be careful.”

  “Yes, you do.” Pewter finally opened her mouth.

  “Why didn’t you tell us about the towel in the first place?”

  “I don’t put all my cards on the table first time I talk to someone,” Randolph sensibly replied.

  “Thank you. You’ve been a big help.” Mrs. Murphy meant that, but if Tucker could have carried the towel back to the truck, what a victory that would have been.

  It wouldn’t have proven Tazio’s innocence, but it would have been one more piece to fit into the puzzle.

  Once all were back in the truck, Harry closed the windows, turned on the ancient AC since the day had begun to warm, and drove away.

  “You know, buddies, Carla and Penny must have had some secrets worth killing for, but I can’t think of any beyond paying off Mike. And we don’t know that. Think. If he did take money, he wouldn’t have put it in the bank. Too obvious. If it was a sex thing, his word against theirs. He knows construction. I wonder if he’s hidden things, like the rat stuff Robert Taney showed us when we walked through.” She turned on the radio, low. “Maybe I’d better go over Tazio’s blueprints. And then, if there’s something in the blueprints that looks promising, maybe I’d better see if I can get into the houses. Course, if you know what you’re doing, you can create all kinds of hiding places.”

  “Why would he hide something at one of their houses?” Pewter, like the others, felt disappointment over the towel.

  As if understanding the gray cat, Harry said, “He’d hide it in his truck or, more likely, his home.”

  Seeing Tazio’s state had spurred Harry onward.

  “I hope she doesn’t break into his house.” Tucker’s brown eyes showed deep worry.

  “For once, I agree with her.” Mrs. Murphy watched the road, looking for cats walking about houses or sleeping in windows. “The stakes are high and Tazio is a friend. Whatever Mom does, I’m doing it with her.”

  Harry reached to the center of the bench seat. “Hey, where’s my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup?”

  No one uttered a peep.

  At a stoplight Harry looked on the floor. If the animals had eaten her candy, the wrapper would be shredded. Not a trace. “I can’t believe that. Someone reached into my truck and stole my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup!”

  29

  Saturday, October 4, was glorious with sunshine and radiated with the first flush of color, which would peak in about a week. Oaks blushed orange, yellow, russet; maples screamed scarlet. Zinnias stood huge and colorful. Willows bent over in yellow.

  Herb called an emergency vest
ry-board meeting. The spectacular weather provoked him to keep a tight rein on it, because he wanted to be outside himself.

  At eight in the morning, Harry, Susan, Folly, BoomBoom, and Nolan Carter showed up, so Herb had his quorum. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker also attended, but the exhaustive discussion of the furnace choices drove the animals down the hall, the thick carpet pleasing underfoot.

  Elocution demonstrated how to hit the wall with four feet and do a flip. Cazenovia and Lucy Fur also performed this acrobatic feat, and Mrs. Murphy got the hang of it. Pewter observed but declined the opportunity.

  “Come on, Pewts, it’s fun.” Mrs. Murphy hit the wall again, four clear pawprints on the light-beige paint.

  Pawprints covered both sides of the hallway wall, because the three Lutheran cats practiced their skills daily. Herb pretended not to see all the marks, because then he’d have to kneel down to clean them. He could bend down just fine. It was the getting up that ached.

  “Nolan, oil’s your business. I would expect you to vote for the oil furnace as opposed to a heat pump,” Herb genially teased him, although all were preoccupied with recent events.

  Nolan, whose waist was expanding but not yet fat, stroked a neat Vandyke, which looked good on him. “Tell you what, there are two sides to this issue. The first is always what is cost-effective over the long run. The second is what provides the most efficient heat.” He laid his palm flat on the big report that Tazio had prepared before the Poplar Forest fund-raiser horror. “A heat pump works great until it becomes bitter cold, down in the teens. Then your electric bill skyrockets and, for whatever reason, the heat is insufficient.”

  BoomBoom interjected, “Plus you feel the air from the vents. It’s below body temperature, so it always feels cold.”

  “Yes, it does.” He nodded. “However, how many days does the temperature sink like that?” He held up his hands, questioning. “A total of three weeks in the winter. Granted, you might not be as comfortable as you’d like during those three weeks, but you have fireplaces and that helps.”

  “Smells great, too.” Harry used her fireplaces throughout the cold, plus she had a wood-burning stove in the basement, which worked wonders in keeping costs down. She kept the door to the basement open; the big stove was equipped with a blower, and the warm air curled up the stairs and throughout the house. She kept her thermostat at sixty-seven degrees, but the old frame house remained toasty.

  Depend on Harry to find the least expensive way to do something without compromising value.

  “What about oil prices?” Susan asked the obvious, pressing question.

  “They’re going to stay erratic, and it’s not just the Middle East.” Nolan leaned back on the big sofa. “As long as Nigeria is unstable and they blow up oil fields, it’ll cost us. That’s a high-grade oil, some of the best in the world. The short answer is: beware.”

  “Puts you in a spot,” Folly said.

  “Folly”—he turned to her—“it’s more than a spot. I have elderly people on fixed incomes. They won’t be able to pay their heating bills. If I don’t deliver, they’ll freeze. What do I do? Hurt myself or be a good Samaritan? And it’s going to get worse.”

  “You are a good Samaritan, Nolan,” Herb praised him.

  “I think, at this time, go with the heat pump. The system she’s selected here should be good for at least thirty years. By that time there has to be better technology available.”

  “Nolan, why couldn’t we put in the oil furnace and burn ethanol?” BoomBoom liked technical problems.

  “No, no.” He shook his head. “I know that’s hyped as the answer. Someone touts a new technology as the answer and then it isn’t. We’ve got real problems, and I don’t see any shortcuts, despite what the press tells you. Get the heat pump.”

  Herb scanned the gathered. “What do you think? Shall we vote on it?”

  “I move we vote to buy the heat-pump system selected by Tazio,” Harry said.

  “I second the motion.” BoomBoom knew her Robert’s Rules of Order.

  “All in favor signify by raising your right hand and saying, ‘Aye.’” Herb knew them, too. “The ayes have it.” He chuckled because it was unanimous. “Now for the next question. Do we just do here or do we replace the church system, as well?”

  A silence followed this. No one wished to scoot the budget into the red, but all realized if they put it off it would cost more later, possibly as much as twenty-five percent more.

  Folly had been quieter than usual, but she did smile warmly at Harry, who was glad that she, herself, didn’t carry heavy secrets.

  While this discussion unfolded, the cats and corgi played soccer with a canvas frog jammed full with aromatic catnip.

  When Pewter got the frog, she inhaled deeply, her pupils enlarged, then she batted the frog and rolled over.

  Tucker liked the catnip aroma, but it didn’t have the same effect on her.

  After ten minutes of this, the cats were silly. They flopped on their sides and giggled, the frog now between Cazenovia’s paws.

  The cats’ giggling—little puffs of expelled air—made Tucker giggle, too. She expelled air, too, but it came out with a bit more force and sounded like, “Ho.”

  Most people don’t think that animals can laugh, but cats, dogs, and horses can.

  Elocution, on her side, reached out to snag the frog.

  “No you don’t.” Cazenovia sank her claws in the canvas with a pleasing crunch sound.

  “Did I tell you Mom visited Tazio yesterday?” Mrs. Murphy said to Lucy Fur.

  “No, how is she?” Lucy asked.

  “Going downhill, Mom thinks. Said she looked worn, thin, just drawn out.” Pewter supplied the information.

  “But the big news is, the two rats that live in Poplar Forest destroyed evidence,” Tucker exclaimed.

  Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker eagerly related how Randolph and Sarah had eaten the bloody towel, as well as how Sarah “smoked” the Virginia Slims.

  Lucy Fur licked one paw, then sat up, eyes still large. “Poppy could be in danger.”

  “You’re not supposed to tell.” Cazenovia sat up, too.

  “We can tell. Poppy can’t tell.”

  “What did he do?” Pewter loved Herb, as did they all.

  “He didn’t do anything,” Lucy Fur announced firmly. “Letters. Some of his parishioners received threatening letters, and when Will was killed they came to him. Others came when Little Mim stepped forward about her own past.”

  “Great day.” Tucker sighed.

  “Why didn’t he go to Rick straightaway?” Pewter thought this very strange.

  “He can’t. He’s a minister, and if a person confesses to him, that information is sacred. He has been carrying this around, knowing what could happen.” Cazenovia thought her poppy very brave.

  “Do you know what was in the letters?” Pewter had a good idea.

  “Sure. We all sat there during these tearful confessions. The first letters asked for money, not huge sums, but then the sums escalated. After Will was shot, they really skyrocketed,” Lucy Fur informed them.

  Elocution, head more clear now, added, “Greedy.”

  Cazenovia, her long calico hair lustrous, worried. “Penny Lattimore came in Tuesday. Her latest letter from Jonathan Bechtal—supposedly from him, anyway—reminded her she was number two on the list if she didn’t pay up. She decided she had to go to Rick and she’d have to tell her husband. She asked Poppy to go with her.”

  “Did he?” Mrs. Murphy wanted to be certain of her facts.

  “He did. I guess the hard part was telling Marvin that she’d had an affair; the abortion was due to that. Whatever became of that talk, I don’t know.” Elocution took a deep breath. “I do know that Rick and Coop have taken her into protective custody. Even Marvin doesn’t know where she is. They’ve put out this story that she’s missing to see if they can flush out the blackmailer.” Lucy Fur eyed the front of the house.

  “Well, that might work,” P
ewter said.

  “Might,” Cazenovia agreed but qualified it. “But what we’re worried about is, what if the blackmailer figures out that some of his victims have confessed to Poppy? He’ll come after him.”

  “I hope not.” Tucker’s voice rose. “Mom thinks that Mike McElvoy may have killed Carla. But if you think about it, he could be part of this. He’s against abortion—Tazio told Mom that—but he presents himself as a reasonable person. So he makes money twice, first through his job, if he has been inventing problems at these construction sites and getting paid off, then through this.”

  “I don’t know.” Mrs. Murphy inhaled, for the catnip scent remained strong. “Mike would have to have his hands on Will Wylde’s records and he’d have had to set up Jonathan Bechtal.”

  “Set up? Jonathan confessed.” Cazenovia thought that was that.

  “I think that Jonathan Bechtal is being used as a cat’s paw, forgive the expression.” Mrs. Murphy’s tiger coat glistened. “Is he a fanatic? Obviously. Does he expect to get out in a few years’ time to enjoy whatever money he and whoever have extorted from the patients? Maybe. But even if he isn’t in this for the money, I’m willing to bet one of my nine lives that he believes the money goes to Love of Life, all the money. If he finds out otherwise, it could get ugly for whoever is on the outside.”

  “Mike McElvoy would be that person. And he might have a way into Will’s records if he’s a computer whiz.” Elocution was considering all that had been said.

  “He’s up to no good, but is it that bad?” Tucker had learned that Mrs. Murphy eventually found the right path.

  Cazenovia, thinking about all this and remembering the conversations women had with Poppy, piped up, “Who was number one if Penny is number two?”

  “Dr. Wylde.” Lucy Fur stated this with conviction.

  “But he wouldn’t have been blackmailed.” Mrs. Murphy felt sure of this. “He’d stood up to death threats before. I don’t think he was number one.”

  “Little Mim,” Pewter declared.

  “More likely, but I don’t know.” Mrs. Murphy flicked the tip of her tail. “What I do know is that the other women who have been paying off have not gone to Rick. Herb knows those of his parish. He can’t be the only minister hearing their stories. The other thing is that Harry will blunder right into it. We’ve got two of our people to protect.”