Murder, She Meowed

by Rita Mae Brown

“Come on, Mom.” Mrs. Murphy brushed alongside her.

  Tucker, feeling guilty, emerged from the house. Her claws, not as sharp as Murphy’s, offered no purchase on the ice so she stayed put unless called.

  “Crawl on your hands and knees,” Tucker advised.

  Harry scrambled up only to go down again. She did crawl on her hands and knees to the back door. “How did I get to the barn in the first place?”

  “You moved a lot slower, and the sun is making the ice slicker, I think,” Mrs. Murphy said.

  Finally Harry, with Mrs. Murphy’s encouragement, struggled onto the screened-in back porch. She removed her duck boots and opened the door to the kitchen, happy to feel the warmth. Mrs. Murphy kept thinking about the mouse saying enemies were relative. Then another thought struck her. She stopped eating and called down to Tucker, “Ever notice how much bigger we are than mice, moles, and birds? Our game?”

  “No, I never thought about it. Why?”

  “We are. Occasionally I’ll bring down a rabbit, but my game is smaller than I am.”

  “And faster.”

  “Oh, no, they’re not!” Mrs. Murphy yelled back at Tucker. “No one is faster than I am. They have a head start on me, and half the time I still bring them down. Anyway, they have eyes on the sides of their heads. They can see us coming, Tucker.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Tucker, pleased that she had twitted feline vanity, rested her head on her paws, her liquid brown eyes staring up at angry green ones.

  “I’m not going to continue this discussion. I’ll keep my revelation to myself.” Haughtily she turned her back on the dog and walked the length of the kitchen counter. She stopped before the painted ceramic cookie jar in the shape of a laughing pig.

  “Don’t be so touchy.” Tucker followed along on the floor.

  “I don’t see why I should continue a discussion with an animal who has no respect for my skills.” She was feeling a little testy since she couldn’t nail the barn mouse.

  “I’m sorry. You are amazingly fast. I’m out of sorts because of the ice.”

  Eagerly the cat shared her thoughts, “Well, what I’ve been thinking is how small jockeys are. Like prey.”

  25

  Tricky November. The mercury climbed to 55°F. The ice melted. The earth, soggy from the rain, slowly began to absorb the water. One confused milk butterfly was sighted flying around Miranda’s back door.

  Harry and Mrs. Hogendobber sorted through the usual Monday morning eruption of mail. Pewter visited but grew weary of Mrs. Murphy and Tucker describing their dramas on the ice. She fell asleep on the ledge dividing the upper from the lower post boxes. Lying on her side, some of her flabby gray belly hung over.

  “Now you are coming, aren’t you?” Mrs. Hogendobber asked about her church’s songfest. “It’s November nineteenth. You write down the date.”

  “I will.”

  Mrs. Murphy stuck her nose in Mrs. H.’s mailbag. “Mrs. Murphy, get out of there.”

  “Don’t be an old poop face.”

  Mrs. Hogendobber reached down into the bag, her bangle bracelets jangling, and grabbed a striped kitty tail.

  “Hey, I don’t grab your tail!” The cat whirled around.

  “Now I told you to get out. I don’t even like cats, Murphy. For you I make an exception.” Mrs. Hogendobber told half the truth. When Harry took over her husband’s job, bringing her animals to work, Mrs. Hogendobber had been censorious. During her period of mourning she would find herself at the post office, not sure how she’d arrived at that destination. She’d helped George for the nearly four decades that he was postmaster. An unpaid assistant, for the Crozet post office, small and out of the way, did not merit more workers. Of course, the volume of mail had increased dramatically over the years. When Harry took over as postmistress, as they preferred to call the position, her youth allowed her to work a bit harder than George could at the end of his career, but even she couldn’t keep up with the workload. Entreaties for an assistant fell on deaf federal ears. No surprise there. Out of the 459,025 postal employees, less than 10 percent worked in rural areas. They tended to be ignored, a situation that also had its good side, for rural workers enjoyed much more freedom than urban postal employees, trapped in a standard forty-hour week with some power-hungry supervisor nagging them.

  Mrs. Hogendobber began coming once or twice a week to pitch in. At first, Harry had welcomed her company but asked her not to work because she couldn’t pay her. But Miranda knew the ins and outs of the routine, the people at the central post office in Charlottesville on Seminole Trail, even the people in Washington, not to mention everyone in Crozet. She proved invaluable. Since George, prudent with money, had left her with enough to be comfortable, and she was making more with her baking, she didn’t need the money. More than anything, she needed to be useful.

  Over time she and Harry grew close. And over time, despite her reservations, Mrs. Hogendobber grew to love the two furry friends at Harry’s side. She’d even learned to love the fat gray cat presently knocked out on the ledge. Not that she wanted anyone to know.

  Murphy, having pressed her luck, backed out of the bag, danced sideways to the counter, and leapt on it. She collapsed on her side and rolled over, showing lots of tummy.

  “Murphy, you’re full of yourself this morning.” Harry patted her stomach.

  “I’m bored. Pewter’s sacked out. Tucker’s snoring under the table. It’s a beautiful day.”

  Harry kissed her on the cheek. A light knock at the back door put a stop to the kissing. Mrs. Murphy could take but so many human kisses.

  Miranda opened the door. “Adelia, come right in.”

  Addie, still wearing her chaps, stepped inside.

  “Breeze all your babies?” Harry asked as Tucker lifted her head, then dropped it back down again.

  “Oh, yeah.” Addie sniffed as the vanilla odor from hot sticky buns reached her nostrils.

  “Your mail’s on the table,” Miranda said as she carried two handfuls of mail to the big bottom boxes used by the small businesses in town.

  “Thanks.”

  “Ready for the Colonial Cup?” Harry referred to the famous steeplechase in Camden, South Carolina, which had also been started by Marion duPont Scott.

  “Well, Ransom Mine is coming along. You remember, he came in second at Montpelier. Royal Danzig, dunno, off these last couple of days, and Bazooka—I think I need a pilot’s license to ride him. Mickey Townsend sent over two horses right after Nigel was killed.” She paused a moment. “He said he wanted me to work them. They’re really going great. Mickey’s always backed me, you know. Chark’s crabby about it, but he knows it’s extra money so he shut up.”

  “What are you all talking about, ‘breezing’ a horse?” Miranda paused, oblivious to Pewter who was rolling over in her sleep.

  “Watch out!” Mrs. Murphy called.

  Too late. Pewter tumbled into one of the large business mailboxes.

  “Pewter.” Mrs. Hogendobber leaned over the befuddled cat. “Are you all right?” She couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

  “Fine.” Pewter picked herself up and marched right out of the box, over to the table where she tore out a hunk of pastry with her claws before Harry could stop her.

  “Actually, I think you all have more work with these critters than I do with the horses,” Addie observed. “Breezing—uh, I limber up the horse a little, jog a little, and then I do an exercise gallop around the track. Chark gives me the distance. You work a horse for conditioning and for wind. I guess that’s the easiest way to describe it.”

  “Aren’t you ever afraid up there?” Miranda asked.

  “Right now I’m more afraid down here.”

  “Why? Has someone threatened you?” Mrs. Hogendobber walked back to Addie.

  “No.” Addie sat down on the chair by the sticky buns. “Everything’s a mess. Arthur bombards me with daily lectures about how to handle my inheritance when I turn twenty-one. Mim’s giving me the same lecture but
with a lot more class. My brother shrugs and says if I blow it it’s my own fault and he’s not keeping me, but then I never asked him to. That’s on a good day. On a bad day he yells at me. Everybody’s acting like I’m going to go hog-wild.”

  “Pewter’s the one who goes hog-wild,” Murphy snickered.

  “Shut up,” Pewter replied, sitting on the other chair at the table. She thought the humans, engrossed in conversation, wouldn’t notice her filching another piece of bun.

  They did. Addie stretched over and lightly smacked the outreached paw. “You have no manners.”

  “I’m hungry,” Pewter pleaded.

  Mrs. Hogendobber reached into her voluminous skirt pockets and pulled out a few tiny, tiny fish, Haute Feline treats. She lured Pewter away from the table. Mrs. Murphy leapt off the counter and hurried over, too.

  “I never thought I’d live to see the day.” Harry laughed.

  “If I don’t do this, there won’t be anything left for us.” Miranda laughed, too. She turned her attention back to Addie. “One of the terrible things about wealth is the way people treat you.”

  “Well. Uh, well, I’m not wealthy yet.” Addie rubbed her finger on the table making designs only she could see. “Actually, I came by, Harry, to see if you’d lend me a hundred dollars. I’ll pay you right after Camden—speaking of money.” She smiled sheepishly.

  Harry, not an ungenerous soul, hesitated. First, that was a chunk of change to her. Second, what was going on? “Why won’t Chark lend you the money?”

  “He’s mad at me. He’s being a butthole.” Her voice rose.

  “So, what did you do with the money you won at Montpelier?” Harry juggled a load of mail on the way to the post boxes.

  “Uh—”

  “I’m not lending you a cent until I know why you’re short. The real reason.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Addie flushed.

  “Means your deceased boyfriend had a coke habit. How do I know you don’t have one?”

  This stunned Miranda, who stopped what she was doing, as did the cats and dog. All eyes focused on Addie, whose face transformed from a flush to beet red.

  “He was trying to stop. Until Linda got hold of him. I hope she gets a stiletto through her heart. Except she doesn’t have one.”

  “What about you?” Harry pressed.

  “I’m off all substances. Anyway, I had the example of Mother.”

  “Now, now, your mother was a wonderful woman. She was a social drinker, I grant you.” Miranda defended Marylou.

  “She was a drunk, Mrs. Hogendobber,” Addie’s voice became wistful. “She’d get real happy at parties and real sad at home alone. She leaned on Mim a lot, but a best friend isn’t a lover, and Mother needed that. She’d be morose at home . . . and out would come the bottle.”

  “Well . . .” Miranda was obviously reluctant to give up her image of Marylou Valiant. “At least she always behaved like a lady.”

  Harry crossed her arms over her chest. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why do you need a hundred dollars?”

  “Because I owe Mickey Townsend from a poker game the night before the Montpelier Races,” she blurted out.

  “He won’t wait?” Miranda was curious.

  “Mickey’s a good guy. I adore him. I wish Mother had married him. But when it comes to poker, I mean, this is serious.” She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together.

  “Come on, he won’t let you work off a hundred dollars with the horses he brought over?” Harry waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “I haven’t asked.”

  “Addie, I don’t believe a word of this!” Harry figured they were long past the point of subtlety. Mickey was a bum excuse.

  “I really do owe Mickey a hundred dollars. I just want to get it out of the way. And I don’t want Arthur to find out.”

  “Mickey won’t tell him.” Mrs. Hogendobber stated the obvious, which had no effect on the young woman.

  Out of the blue, Harry fired a question. “And how much did Nigel really owe Mickey?”

  Without thinking it through, Addie answered, “About two thousand. He’d have made good on it, you see, because he took a kilo from Linda and Will—”

  “A kilo!” Harry exclaimed.

  “Yes, he thought he could sell it off after cutting it and make a lot of money.” Addie realized she’d let the cat out of the bag. “Don’t tell Rick Shaw or Deputy Cooper!”

  “This could have some bearing on the case,” Mrs. Hogendobber replied sensibly.

  “Then why hasn’t anyone mentioned the kilo? Where the hell is it? Whoever killed him probably carted it away and is further enriching himself.” Harry threw her hands in the air, disgusted that Addie would hold back something so vital.

  “I have it.” Her voice was small.

  “You what?” The humans and animals said in unison.

  “My God, Adelia, you’re crazy. People have killed for less than a kilo of cocaine, and you know that Linda and Will will be on your tail soon.” Harry was emphatic.

  “They already are.” She put her head in her hands. “I put it in my big safe deposit box at Crozet National Bank when Nigel asked me to help him out. No one else knows. The sheriff from Orange County and Rick combed through his truck and his quarters. Nothing. Clean. Linda knows the cops haven’t found the coke. She wants it back.”

  “I’ll bet she does!” Harry exploded.

  “She says she’ll blackmail me if I don’t return it. She says nobody will believe that I’m not in on the drug sale, and if I accuse her, it’s her word against mine. She says that if I give her back the coke, that will be the end of it.”

  “So why do you need the hundred dollars?” Miranda picked up the refrain.

  “For gas for the dually and for pocket change. I’ll drive the coke up tonight. I haven’t any spare money because I’ve been paying off money I owe Linda”—she paused, thinking—“over a horse deal.”

  “How much? Really, how much?” Tucker and Harry both asked.

  “Uh . . .” A long pause followed. “As of today, one thousand and fifteen dollars.”

  “Good God, Addie.” Harry sank into the chair that Pewter had vacated when she was offered the Haute Feline. She knew instinctively that Addie owed Linda Forloines on her own drug tab. Addie was lying to her.

  “Pretty stupid, huh?” She hung her auburn head.

  “Box of rocks.” Harry made a fist and tapped her skull.

  Miranda’s imposing figure overshadowed the two seated young women. “This is foolishness and will lead to more pain. ‘As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly,’ Proverbs twenty-six eleven.”

  “I resent that,” Tucker barked.

  “Gross,” Addie said.

  “I am not giving you one hundred dollars. And we’re calling Rick Shaw right this minute.”

  “No! He’ll tell Arthur, and Arthur’ll tell Chark. They’ll get the damn trusteeship extended. I’ll never get my money!”

  “Your mother’s will is your mother’s will. It can’t be broken,” Miranda told her.

  “Maybe not, but they sure can drag it out. It’s my money.”

  “But you’ve got to give the sheriff this information. You’ve got to get out before you get in too deep—you’ve already aided and abetted a felon.”

  “Coty Lamont was on cocaine, too, wasn’t he?” Mrs. Hogendobber inquired.

  Addie nodded.

  “For all we know, Addie, you deliver that kilo and you’ll wind up with a knife through your heart.” Harry sighed.

  “I can’t tell Rick,” Addie wailed.

  Miranda lifted the receiver from the phone as Addie bolted for the door. Tucker tripped her and Harry pounced on her.

  “Let me go.”

  “Dammit, Addie, you’re gonna get killed. You give Linda and Will that kilo and you’ll be in business with Linda for the rest of your life. She’ll bring you horses. She’ll want special favors. If you’re lucky, she’ll
take the kilo and blow town. If she stays . . .”

  “If you’re not lucky, cement shoes,” Pewter matter-of-factly stated.

  26

  Rick Shaw, being an officer of the law for all his adult life, never expected people to tell him the truth right off the bat. The truth, like diamonds, had to be won by hand, by pick, by dynamite.

  His anger when he heard the dismal story at the post office was not so much provoked by Addie’s withholding information, although he wasn’t happy about that, as by the way she had foolishly placed herself in jeopardy. He also made a mental note that Mickey Townsend had drastically downplayed the amounts of money Nigel and Coty owed him. He had never mentioned Addie’s debt at all.

  As soon as he dismissed Addie, after taking her back to his office for a full disclosure, he and Cynthia Cooper hopped into the squad car. He’d taken the precaution of calling the president of the bank, advising him not to let Addie into her safe deposit box. It could be opened only in Rick’s presence.

  “Did you call Culpeper?” Cynthia asked in shorthand, meaning the sheriff of Culpeper County.

  “Uh-huh.”

  They drove in silence. When they reached Dr. D’Angelo’s place, Romulus Farms, Sheriff Totie Biswanger was waiting for them.

  “Gone,” was all he said.

  “Both of them?” Cynthia asked.

  “Ey-ah,” came the affirmative. He pointed to their cottage on Dr. D’Angelo’s farm.

  “Neat as a hairpin. Nothing moved. Clothes in the closet. Food in the refrigerator.”

  “Kind of funny, ain’t it?” Totie folded his arms over his barrel chest and stared at his shoes.

  27

  “They dropped the whole damn thing!” Fair’s radiant face underscored the happy news.

  Harry had encountered him at Mim’s, where she’d gone to deliver an express package. Mim and Chark Valiant, also on hand, were nearly as excited as Harry was at Fair’s news.

  They were all gathered at the barn, where Mrs. Murphy and Tucker nosed around. Rodger Dodger and Pusskin were nowhere to be found.

  “Well, let me have a look at Royal Danzig,” Fair said. “Didn’t mean to talk so much.”