Рита Браун: Cat On The Scent

“Was not,” Mrs. Murphy called from the living room.

“Was too,” Tucker tattled.

“Shut up, you little brownnose,” Mrs. Murphy yelled at the dog.

“Blair, thank you again for letting me drive a dream.” She opened the refrigerator door, removing corn bread and butter. Not that she had made the corn bread; Miranda had given her a big pan of it Friday after they left work.

“Any time.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Susan drove by while I was waiting for you and the sheriff. She said Ned expects you in the First Virginia for reenactment at Oak Ridge.”

“I'll call him.”

“I didn't know you were into that battle stuff.”

“I'm not. They're short of bodies.”

“Isn't it expensive to get the gear?”

“Yeah, but I can't complain if I've just bought a Turbo, can I?” He laughed. “Some of these guys are a little extreme, but I'm looking forward to it.”

“Extreme?” Mrs. Murphy sardonically replied as she walked back to the kitchen, pointedly not paying attention to Harry. “They're a quart low.”

“I think it's fascinating.” Tucker sat down on Blair's foot.

“You think anything's fascinating that has dead bodies in it.”

“Well, dogs eat carrion. That's what they're for, I guess.” Pewter pressed against the refrigerator door. “Nature's garbage collectors.”

“People hang out deer for a few days,” Tucker rejoined.

“Better gut them the minute you kill them or you'll have some terrible-tasting deer.” Mrs. Murphy wasn't fond of venison, but she could eat it if prepared in buttermilk.

Pewter moved back to the table. “There aren't going to be any dead bodies at the reenactment, just people pretending to be dead.”

“The way things have been going, the commission meeting coming up might have a few dead bodies.” Tucker giggled.

Pewter turned her full attention on Harry, who had set out some thinly sliced roast beef.

“Stay on the floor.” Harry read her mind, not difficult under the circumstances.

“One teensy piece,” Pewter begged.

“Me, too.” Tucker had been transformed into Miss Adorable.

“No,” Harry said, but without much oomph.

“She'll weaken if you sit by the chair.” Pewter hurried to get on Harry's right side.

“You say that every time.” The tiger cat laughed but she hurried to Blair's side, figuring he'd weaken before Harry.

“I had no idea that Sir H. Vane-Tempest pestered Sheriff Shaw so often.”

“Tempest in a teapot is what Miranda calls him.” Harry stuck her knife into a pot of creamy homemade mustard. “But Archie's picking fights with everyone. Even though he and H. Vane seem to be in a phase of political agreement. He's even fighting Mim.”

“Not a smart move.”

“Getting on the wrong side of Sir H. isn't smart either. His net worth is more than the gross national product of Chile.”

“Mrs. Murphy, what do you know about H. Vane?” Tucker never took her eyes off Harry's hands.

“He doesn't have cats or dogs, which bespeaks an empty life.”

Blair dropped her a sliver of roast beef, which she daintily ate.

“Are you going to the commission meeting?” Harry asked her guest.

“You bet. It's going to be the best show this spring.”

4

Archie Ingram, a handsome man in his early forties, smiled at the assemblage. The only hint that he was nervous was the tension in his cheek muscles. The classroom at Crozet High School spilled over with people, many standing in the hall. A topographical map of the county was on a bulletin board behind the front table.

“I told you we should have used the auditorium,” Archie complained to Jim Sanburne, the mayor of Crozet, as well as Mim's husband. As mayor he chaired the county meeting in his town.

“Archie, these meetings usually number three people, each of whom wants a zoning variance for a trailer, a business, or a nursing home. The only reason all these people are here is that you've stirred up a hornet's nest.”

“Bullshit,” he growled at the large, genial man.

Jim ignored him, waving a greeting to the Reverend Herbert Jones.

“Jim, I brought my dowser.” Herb held up the wooden divining rod, which worked well despite naysayers.

“Spare me,” Archie muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room, resting a second on the beautiful Sarah Vane-Tempest before darting away.

“What?” Jim asked.

“Where's Tommy Van Allen?” Archie demanded. “I'm not delaying this meeting one more time for him.”

“I don't know. I called and he wasn't at work.”

“Typical.” Archie tapped his pencil on the tabletop. “The only reason he ever wanted this thankless job was to find out when and where we'd be making road improvements and granting commercial zoning permits. Gives him more time to put together a good bid.”

“Come on, Arch, you don't believe that.”

“The hell I don't.” Archie snapped his mouth shut like a turtle.

Harry, Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter sat in the middle next to Harry's colleague in the post office, Miranda Hogendobber. Also there were Susan and Ned Tucker; Harry's ex-husband, Fair Haristeen; and BoomBoom Craycroft. The widow Craycroft was not Harry's favorite person.

Blair accompanied Mim's daughter, Marilyn.

Little Mim, as she was known, stood up in front with her mother, who was already poring over the large map of the county.

Sir Henry Vane-Tempest—called H. or H. Vane by everyone—sat off to the side, his horn-rimmed spectacles sliding down his long nose. He had taken the precaution of bugging each county commissioner's office. Once a week the transcript was discreetly brought to him at his farm by Tareq Said, head of Said and Trumbo Investigations. Vane-Tempest made certain that his wife knew nothing of this. No one knew and H. would keep it that way. Next to him was Ridley Kent, a rich ne'er-do-well whose primary occupation was staring at women's bodices. He happened to be sitting beside a good one. Sarah Vane-Tempest was H. Vane's trophy wife, an elegant blonde whose cool beauty owed little to the expensive clothes she wore.

“The gang's all here,” Susan said to Harry.

“Frightening, isn't it?” Harry sarcastically replied.

“Holding negative feelings will eat you up and destroy your good health,” BoomBoom crooned.

“Shut up, Boom.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about.” BoomBoom cast her violet eyes at Harry.

Archie noticed Mrs. Murphy sauntering up to the map. “Get that cat out of here.”

“I beg your pardon.” Mrs. Murphy stared at him.

“Mary Minor Haristeen, those animals have no place here.” Archie pointed to Pewter, on her lap, and Tucker, seated at Fair's cowboy-booted feet.

“Hey, Murphy, jump on the table and blow a tuna fart right in his face,” Pewter called out.

“How rude.” Mrs. Murphy giggled but she did jump on the desk to stare Archie directly in the eye.

“Murphy—” Harry called to her.

“You are a sorry excuse for a mammal.” Mrs. Murphy insulted Archie, who blinked as she spoke.

“She's saying that she's a resident of Albemarle County, too, and the water supply affects her.” Mim's upper-class voice hushed the room.

“That's right, honeybun,” Jim, not upper-class, said.

Everyone laughed.

“Then at least keep this feline with you,” Archie told Harry.

Mrs. Murphy, the full attention of the room on her, flopped on her side, cocking her head at the audience.

“Isn't she adorable. She knows we're talking about her,” one of the older ladies said.