Рита Браун - Catch As Cat Can

Lottie exhaled through her nostrils. “Do you get the Weather Channel?”

“Yes.”

“Every blip is treated as though it's the beginning of some millennial trend. First there's a warming trend. Then it's El Niño followed by La Niña. Seventeen-year cycles more or less. How can anyone predict a trend? We haven't kept accurate records long enough.”

“I wonder about that, too.”

The milk warmed in the saucepan. Harry poured some cold milk for the kitties and gave Tucker a treat. When the temperature in the milk reached perfection, just before boiling, she poured the milk over the powdered cocoa, stirred it, grabbed a can of whipped cream out of the refrigerator, and spritzed a mound on top. Then she lifted an orange out of the fruit basket and skimmed a thin strip of orange peel. She placed that on top of the whipped cream, setting the concoction before Lottie.

“How pretty it looks.”

“Give it a minute, still hot.” Harry, with her extra-large mug of chocolate, sat down opposite her.

“I like the glaze on your mugs. They're almost big enough to be soup bowls.”

“Bought them in the kitchen shop in Middleburg.”

“Such a beautiful town. I wonder for how long.” Lottie dipped her spoon into the whipped cream. “M-m-m.” She grew serious again. “Washington encroaches. The big cities will swallow the entire East Coast in our lifetime.”

“God, I hope not.”

“West Coast, too.” Lottie pressed on with her pessimistic conviction. “Everyone goes to the city then leaves the city and for whatever reason they all want to live in the beautiful countryside, which they immediately desecrate. If we were smart we'd restore passenger train service. Spur lines. Would cut the pollution by half if not more. Trains pollute eight times less than airplanes and four times less than cars. And you can read the paper while you commute. I can't read the paper while I drive. In fact, I can't do anything when I drive except drive. I'm so worried about someone slamming into me or jumping the meridian. You can't trust anyone these days.”

“I suppose.” Harry wondered how long it would take Lottie to reach the point of her impromptu visit.

Lottie fiddled with her cigarette pack, which she'd dropped into her lap. She couldn't light up until after the hot chocolate, much as she wanted to—wouldn't be proper to smoke and eat simultaneously.

“We've heard about the weather and urban sprawl.” Pewter licked the milk off her lips. “What's next?”

As if in response to the gray cat, Lottie propped her right elbow on the table. It wasn't perfect etiquette but under the circumstances she thought Harry wouldn't mind. One can be too proper. “You know, Harry, that my position at the university requires a lot of socializing. I enjoy it. I enjoy meeting people and cultivating relationships. And,” she quickly tacked on, “not all those relationships will result in major gifts to the university. Big Mim will never write us a check. Her money goes to her alma mater and I appreciate that. After all, when she was young the university was males only. Her son attended Cornell. So as I said not all of my socializing revolves around donations.”

“That's nice to know.” Harry drank half of her hot chocolate. She hadn't realized she was thirsty.

“I'm a people person.” Lottie smiled.

“You'd have to be to be good at your job.” Harry smiled back at her, wondering if she should heat more milk.

“I meet all kinds of people and I have to get along with all kinds of people. But mostly what I do is woo the wealthy. They are more alike than different.” She drained her cup.

“I'm going to have some more.”

“Oh, I couldn't.”

“I bet you could and forgive me for not putting cookies on the table. I don't know where my mind is these days.” She opened the cupboard, put some cookies on a plate, then heated more milk.

The rain drummed steadily outside; the night was blacker than black.

“Thank you. What I find is that most, now I said most, not all, people with money react to visual cues. They're quick to size other people up, if you know what I mean. What kind of earrings does she wear? What kind of watch does he have on and what does she or he drive? The cut of one's clothes. The cues are very, very important. The way in which one speaks. One's manners at the table. I swear that's why Southerners are so successful at fund-raising. We know how to act if nothing else.”

“Good manners beaten into our skins.” Harry laughed as she had heard a constant stream of corrections from her mother, aunts, adults as a child.

“That's one way to put it.” Lottie turned in her seat toward the stove as the milk simmered. “You'd be amazed to know how much I spend on clothing alone. And I'm not really a clotheshorse but I have to look good.”

“You're one of the best-groomed women I know. You, the two Mims, and BoomBoom, always.”

“Boom's too flashy.” Lottie waved her hand, dismissing even the thought of BoomBoom Craycroft. “It takes time, imagination, and money on my budget. After all, I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth.”

“I often wonder what life would be like if I had been,” Harry mused as she finished making another delicious cup of hot chocolate. This time she shook a little powdered nutmeg on top, placing the orange rind on top of that. She'd forgotten the nutmeg the first time around.

“We'd both be in a better place.” Lottie turned back toward the table as Harry sat down. “It's grinding. I love what I do but it's exhausting to pay bills, keep up appearances, pay taxes. There's so little left for me.”

“Yes, I know the feeling but we have our health, we live in one of the most beautiful places in the world.”

“That's true.” Lottie breathed in, lifted her heavy cup, then put it down. Still too hot. She spooned up some whipped cream. “Apart from your company, I dropped by to pose two questions to you. The first is, did you put Cynthia Cooper up to questioning me?”

“No,” Harry abruptly said. “I didn't know she had questioned you.”

“You two are close. You're a, what shall I say, amateur sleuth. She came to my office and that really upset me. She could have picked another place.”

“I suppose she could have but if she was really worried or suspicious she probably would have met you somewhere else or simply hauled you in. If she came to your office it means she needed your help. I'd think that your superiors would know that.”

“Maybe. It made me quite nervous.”

“Lottie, two men have been murdered. I should think that would take precedence over any of us feeling nervous or put out.”

“Yeah, and Lottie may have poisoned one of them,” Pewter catcalled.

“Hush, Pewter. Don't call attention to us. Besides, the humans think Roger died a natural death and our smelling what we think is poison in the cracks of Aunt Tally's floor doesn't constitute proof. For all we know it could have been ant poison.”

“It wasn't,” Tucker rumbled.

“Be that as it may, let's be quiet.” Mrs. Murphy half closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.

Pewter followed suit so Tucker walked a bit away from Lottie's chair and flopped down with her head on her paws. She never took her eyes off Lottie, though.

“It is gruesome. I know.” She sighed. “I never even saw that hanged man. He didn't park my car. And as for Donald, well, it's too bizarre, just too bizarre.”

“Okay, I answered your first question.”

“Thank you. I feel better. I was terribly upset when Coop came in uniform and everything.”

“Lottie, I assume you explained her presence to the people around you. You're making too much out of it.”