Рита Браун - Catch As Cat Can

“H-m-m.” Harry walked around the tree, searched the ground, then checked the tree bark. Her curiosity was getting the better of her, a condition her pets feared.

After ten minutes she returned to the truck, Pewter racing ahead of everyone. The skies grew dark gray rapidly. Harry opened the driver's door a crack, reached behind the seat, pulling out a towel. She wiped off each animal's paws before allowing them in the truck. Then she climbed in herself, opened the window about two inches, and sat. A fine mist slowly enveloped the old folks' building.

The front door opened. Sean O'Bannon, his hand under his mother's elbow, guided her to her car. The mist thickened, heavy with moisture.

“I forgot about that,” Harry said to herself as she observed Sean slide behind the wheel of his mother's car, turn on the motor, and drive out.

“What?” Mrs. Murphy nudged her.

“Sean's grandmother lives here now. She's too old to properly take care of herself.”

“She understood you?” Pewter's jaw dropped.

“Coincidence.” Murphy laughed.

Harry thought out loud. “Seems Wesley was murdered at night, during the storm—of course, it's been one storm after another. Even without the cover of rain it would be pretty easy to get back in there without anyone noticing. But why back there? There's nothing there and even if there had been fresh tire tracks they'd been washed away by the time the body was found. Maybe going behind the home wasn't in the plan.” The first raindrop struck the windshield, a circle of tinier droplets spraying upward after the contact. “Maybe this was an easy place to meet or maybe it was an easy place to jump the train as it slows for the curve to go through town. Plus easy to find if one doesn't know Crozet. Big parking lot. In the rain you could sit here with your lights off and who would notice, driving by? The question is, how long was Wesley alive after he was released from jail? I found the Mercedes star three miles from here. What was he doing out in the woods? There's nothing there.”

“Nothing that you know about,” Murphy corrected her.

The rain arrived full force. Harry rolled up her window. The temperature dropped with the arrival of the rain, skidding into the low sixties so fast that the animals huddled together.

Harry reached behind her seat and pulled up an old sweatshirt, slipping it over her head.

“It's so raw.”

“Let's go home where it's warm,” Pewter pleaded.

Finally, Harry turned on the motor, reached over, flipping the heat on—low—as well as the windshield wipers. She cruised by Miranda's. Tracy's car sat in the driveway. Although he now lived within walking distance, he must have decided it was going to rain.

She turned out toward O'Bannon's. The rain fell harder. She could barely see the wrecker's ball. She drove east for a few miles, then turned back for home.

The second she opened the passenger door, the animals flew from the truck to the house. She, too, dashed through the downpour.

No messages on her answering machine disappointed her.

Thanks to the constant rains she'd reorganized every closet, her library, the linens and towels, even the socks. The only indoor chore left to do would be to repaint the living room. She didn't feel up to that.

Restless, she rambled from room to room, then finally grabbed a county map from her map section in the library. She opened it on the coffee table, placing paperweights on each corner, shooing off Murphy and Pewter, who felt compelled to sit on paper, any paper.

She used a number four pencil, a light line, to trace the distance from the jail to the place at Marcus Durant's where she'd found Wesley's Mercedes star. Then she drew a line from there to the old folks' home. From the jail to Durant's would be a long distance to walk, close to twelve miles if you knew how to cut over meadows and pastures. Following Route 250 West to Route 240 West would increase the distance from the jail to Durant's by another two miles.

“Someone picked him up.”

Murphy, back on the coffee table, but not on the map, peered down. “Draw a line to Booty Mawyer's farm. Draw a line from the place where you found the star at Durant's to Mawyer's. Just for the heck of it.”

Pewter hopped up next to Murphy. “Why not from the old folks' home to Booty's?”

“Could but I don't think that's the way it played out.”

Tucker, on her hind legs, studied the map also.

“I have an audience here.” Harry smiled, then jumped when a loud clap of thunder exploded right over the house. “Big one.” She sheepishly grinned. “Okay, what else? Murphy, get your paw off the map.”

Murphy pointed from the river spot to Booty's. She did this three times before Harry caught on.

“Do you think their minds just aren't wired right?” Pewter wondered. “They'd forget their head if it weren't attached to their neck.”

“No, the problem is their heads are filled with junk. Whatever they see on TV or hear on the radio or hear at the corner store. Empty stuff, eats up brain cells.”

Tucker loved Harry so she felt she should defend her. “But Mother's better than most.”

“H-m-m. Booty's backs up on Durant's. He could have hidden in the shack. It wouldn't be that far to park the truck and walk to the shack.”

“Or to Donny Clatterbuck's!” Pewter raised her voice.

Harry, believing the cat was afraid of the storm, petted her. “Wesley wasn't seen driving the truck by the time Coop was looking for it. Unless he drove the old farm roads, but for what?” She bent low over the map. “Railroad's not far.” She sat up. “Doesn't compute.” Then she stood to get the county map of Culpeper off the shelf. She unfolded it as the animals watched. “White Shop Road.”

“Right off Route 29. Easy to find,” Pewter noted.

“Easier driving from the south to the north than vice versa unless you know the road. See, it's at a sharp angle,” Murphy pointed out. “But once you know where it is, it's easy.”

“Back way to Bull Run Kennels,” Harry said.

“Hey, someone's coming down the drive. Intruder! Intruder!” Tucker raced to the back door, the fur on the back of her neck standing up.

A door slammed, feet could be heard running for the back door. The screened porch door opened with a creak and then a knock reverberated with the thunder at the back door.

“It's Lottie Pearson,” Tucker barked.

36

Harry hopped up, surprised to see who stood at her back door. “Lottie, come in.”

Lottie stepped through, removed her coat, hanging it on a peg. “I'm sorry to barge in.”

“It's a pleasure to see you,” Harry replied, just as her mother had taught her. “How about a hot cup of coffee or tea? I have cider and hot chocolate, too. It's easy to take a chill in this kind of weather.”

“Actually, I'd love a hot chocolate.” She moved toward the kitchen table, remembered her cigarettes, and returned to retrieve them and a matchbook from her coat pocket, which she slid under the cellophane of the cigarette pack. “This is the coldest, wettest spring.”

“Sit down. I'll have this ready in no time.” Harry pointed to the kitchen chair. “We could go in the living room.”

“The kitchen is fine. Everything important happens in there anyway.” She dropped in a chair, Tucker sitting next to her, on guard.

“Let's plop by our food bowls. We won't look as nosy there,” Mrs. Murphy whispered to Pewter.

“Good idea.” Pewter crouched, gathered steam, then soared up on the counter. Sitting by the food bowl was her natural position.