Рита Браун - The Purrfect Murder

“Yes,” Harry said. “That reminds me. Stay put.” She rose and hurried out the door, the screen door flapping behind her, Tucker running along. She came back and placed Tazio’s papers in front of Susan. “Haven’t even looked at them.”

“She’s written a cover letter for you.”

Harry leaned over Susan’s shoulder as they read the letter together. “She’s right.”

In the letter, Tazio proposed that in the long run it would save money to also replace the furnace in the offices and at Herb’s house when they replaced the furnace in the church. “The cost of materials and labor would rise over the years as surely as the sun rises in the east. Do it now” were her polite but forceful last sentences.

“She is. Once the workmen are there, just do it all and then every dwelling or business will be on the same system. But, oh, the expense.”

“Well, if Folly’s given us thirty thousand dollars, why can’t we work really hard to keep the reunion costs down and throw the excess toward the heating overhaul?” Harry suggested.

“Makes perfect sense, but Folly would have to agree to it. After all, she earmarked the money for the reunion, and she won’t want to cut corners on a social do.” Susan quickly perused the different systems that Tazio included in the folder. “Willikers, I need a course in engineering.”

“I know.” Harry poured more tea from the large pitcher. “Jesus had it easy. All He had to do was walk around Judea in His sandals. No buildings to maintain. No cars.”

“Harry.” Susan shook her head.

“Of course, you’re deeply shocked.”

“No. I think Christ had it easier than we do because He was born before the credit card.”

Harry choked on the tea she’d just swallowed. Tears filled her eyes. Susan leapt up to slap her on the back.

Once recovered, Harry wiped her eyes and murmured, because she still had difficulty speaking, “Kill me. You’ll kill me.”

They both laughed.

Susan then said, “As you know, Planned Parenthood is mostly Democrats, so Ned has close ties. I wouldn’t be surprised if at some point Folly will want something for them.”

Ned, Susan’s husband, was serving his first term as a representative to the state legislature.

“I hope not. Religion and politics don’t mix.”

“James Madison showed us the way on that, but, Harry, you know as well as I do that religion is currently being used to divert us from the true political issues. Not that Planned Parenthood is religious, but it is a target of right-wing Christians.”

“America’s falling apart.” Harry leaned back in her chair, swallowing again to ease the ache in her throat. “It’s such an old trick and it amazes me that people fall for it. Get them lathered over something superficial but emotional so they won’t notice that our interstates need repair, we’re so in debt it’s horrifying, and we’re in a mess in the Middle East that will now last generations. And you know what? I intend to grow my grapes and sunflowers. I want to harvest the timber we share. I’m done worrying about the world. It will get on just fine without me.”

“It’s a vain hope to be left to private concerns.” Susan, like Harry, wearied of the manufactured crises as well as the genuine articles. Back to my point: be good to Folly.“

“I’m always good to Folly.”

“You don’t like her.”

“I’m nice to her.”

“Harry.”

Harry’s voice rose. “I am nice to her.”

“I’ve known you since cradle days. You can’t stand the woman.”

“She doesn’t know that.” Harry sighed.

“Of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t know how we do things in these parts. So keep being nice to her.”

“I will. Speaking of not liking someone, Carla Paulson was cussing out Tazio. She shut up when I walked into the office. There’s a piece of work.”

“Is, isn’t she?” Susan hid her smile behind her hand, even though it was just the two of them.

“A three-dollar bill.”

“She has enough of them. You know, Harry, this is a case of what your mother would say: ‘Praise a fool that you might make her useful.” “

Harry sighed. “Mother was so much better at those things than I am.”

“It’s not too late to learn.” Susan sliced more Brie, handing one cracker to Harry. “You’re not rude. It’s just that sometimes you say what you think too directly.”

“I know.”

“You can say the exact same thing with more flourish.”

“I know. Fair tells me the same thing.”

“So at the next board meeting, shine on Folly.”

Another car pulled up in the driveway, a county squad car, and Tucker barreled outside to say hello to their next-door neighbor, two miles away as the crow flies.

Officer Cynthia Cooper stepped in; she’d been driving home after work. “Heard there was a tea party.”

“We’re plotting revolution.” Susan got up before Harry could and fetched a glass, plate, and utensils.

“What’s up?” Harry liked Coop.

“Two wrecks at Barracks Road Shopping Center. One robbery at the bank up on Rio Road, and you’ll love this.” She leaned toward them. “He pulled out a gun and dropped his driver’s license on the floor. How dumb is that?”

“Not as dumb as the guy who rammed the stand-alone kiosks at Wachovia.” Harry laughed, naming a large interstate banking chain.

“He did get money, but it sure was easy to trace the car.” Coop laughed, too.

The three enjoyed one another’s company.

Susan told Coop about Folly’s generosity. Coop asked if she could pile up a truckload of manure for her garden.

Her cell phone played “Leader of the Pack.”

“Thought you were off duty,” Harry said.

“Am.” Coop flipped the small phone open. Hearing the sheriff’s voice, she simply said, “Chief.” Then she was ominously silent, getting up from the table with the phone still to her ear.

Harry and Susan stood up, too, as Coop hurried for the door.

They ran out with her as she flipped the phone closed.

“Can we help?” Harry asked.

“No. Will Wylde has been shot.”

Dr. Will Wylde, OB/GYN, was on the board for Planned Parenthood.

The two best friends watched Coop peel out of the drive. Thoughtfully, she didn’t hit the siren until she reached the paved road.

“Antiabortion nut,” Susan uttered through taut lips.

“So it would seem,” Harry replied.

Susan turned to Harry. “Why would anyone else want to shoot Will Wylde?”

“I don’t know, Susan, I really don’t know, but I have learned that the obvious answer isn’t always the correct answer.”

3

The Madison office complex, a pair of inoffensive brick two-story buildings with basement offices as well, was tucked in between Route 29, Route 250, and the back way into Farmington Country Club.

Dr. Wylde’s office was there, making it convenient for his patients, most of whom lived in the western part of the large county. He lived in a lovely home on the country-club grounds, golf being his passion, as well as that of his wife, Benita. Convenient for him, too.

Coop stood on the roof of the building catty-cornered to Wylde’s office. Sheriff Rick Shaw stood with her, the heat seeping up through the thick soles of their shoes.

“No shells?” Coop asked.

“No. Too smart for that.” Rick paused. “Kind of like a rapist using a condom.” He paused again and, knowing Coop as he did, knew she wouldn’t take that the wrong way.

She knelt down so her eye would be level with the top of the roof. “The trajectory of the wound will no doubt confirm your thoughts. And it makes sense, because if he shot from an office window, he’d need to move through the office. Can’t do that and go undetected. All these offices are full up.”