Рита Браун - The Purrfect Murder

“Nothing I guess, unless you swing the shotgun out the window.” She exhaled. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things.”

“Because I’m your best friend. Because you love me.”

Susan smiled. “I do, but you drive me crazy.”

“Not a far putt.”

They both laughed uproariously.

“Yeah, well.” Susan shrugged.

“I love you, too.” Harry waited a beat, then whirled around again. “I’m watching.”

“Two-legged toad. You’ll get back trouble before I do,” Pewter sassed, but her anger toward Mrs. Murphy ebbed.

“Miss Hemorrhoid,” Mrs. Murphy added, a devilish glint to her eyes.

Triumphantly, the gray cat sang out, “Now who’s talking about anuses.”

Mrs. Murphy froze, considered another retaliatory attack, but thought better of it, for Harry meant what she said.

The two-story frame house, painted a Williamsburg blue with white trim, came into view. It was at the end of the street, which afforded a bit more quiet, not that Woolen Mills was particularly noisy. It was a pleasant neighborhood, the only drawback being when the winds changed at the city sewage-treatment plant.

“Hey, those boxwoods are gorgeous.” Susan noted the boxwoods lining the walkway to the front porch.

“English. Tight as a tick.” Harry craned her neck to see the shed. “Slow down.”

“I’m going five miles an hour,” Susan dryly replied.

As she turned in the small cul de sac, Harry caught sight of the shed at the rear of the verdant lawn. “Hey, that is nice, and he has a gravel drive up to it. He could do all kinds of things there, and who would notice?”

“Presumably Noddy?”

“Naw.” Harry shook her head. “If he’s there working away or using a computer or something, she’d be busy herself.”

“Where did I read that Internet porn sites have become a big problem in marriage?” Susan tried to recall the magazine as she drove out of the cul de sac.

“You’d think it would be better than hiring prostitutes.”

“That’s not the point,” Susan, more thoughtful on these matters than Harry, replied. “The point is that instead of communicating with his wife or his girlfriend, a man watches porn sites with those icons of physical perfection. Empty sex.”

“That’s probably true. I’ve never seen a porn site.” Harry turned to Susan. “Who has the time to sit down and watch a computer or TV? You know, I didn’t watch one baseball game all the way through this summer, and I love my Orioles.”

“You and I are in the minority. Americans squander millions of hours in front of the TV. I read somewhere that it totals eight years of a life. And then there’s the computer screen. It’s sad and frightening.”

“Here’s what I don’t get. Why do men watch porn when there’s a living, breathing woman in the next room?”

“Because they aren’t communicating, like I said. That is one thing I will give Ned. He’ll talk. Oh, I might have to goad him into it or charm him, but he will. It’s one of the reasons we’ve weathered some of the storms we have.” She picked up speed. “He’s a good man.”

“That he is.” Harry was quiet, looked in the back again with a glare, then returned her attentions to Susan. “Fair communicates better than I do. I don’t know. I can’t get the words out. Hell, most of the time, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

“I know.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“That those of us who know you and love you know that speaking about your emotions isn’t your forte. But when you must face them, you do. Course, it takes a damned disaster.”

She replied ruefully, “I don’t understand how I can be smart in one area and just dumb as a sack of hammers in another.”

“We’re all like that. You’ve seen me struggle with math. If it weren’t for you, I’d never have gotten through geometry and algebra in high school.”

“I love math. There’s always an answer.”

“Exactly.” Susan smiled broadly. “Emotions aren’t clear-cut like that. But don’t you find, as you get older, that you improve in the area where you’re, say, not so gifted?”

“Kinda.” Harry changed the subject, since she never could think what to say about her emotional reticence. “If I had the money, do you know what car I would buy? If practicality weren’t an issue?”

“A big Mercedes?”

“They are stupendous. But that’s still practical. I’d buy a Porsche 911 C4.” Animation filled her body. “Oh, that sweet, short throw between gears, the top note of the engine. God, I love it.”

“Gearhead.”

“I am, but you know, so is BoomBoom.”

“Wonder why she never bought a Porsche?”

“She switched to Mercedes because of BMW’s iDrive. She likes big cars, so Porsches are too small. But now Mercedes has Command system, just as ridiculous as iDrive. Bet she does buy a Porsche next.” Harry shook her head. “The Germans may well be the most intelligent people on the face of the earth when it comes to engineering, music, and I would have to say war, but they do tend to overcomplicate.

“War. How can you say that?”

“Look at what they accomplished since Frederick the Great. Their fatal mistake was not learning the painful lesson of World War One.”

“Which was?”

“Germany can’t fight a war on two fronts, and Germany can never defeat the United States.”

“Ah.” Susan liked history, although modern history fascinated her less than the eighteenth century, her favorite time. “But have we learned anything from World War One and World War Two?”

“I think we did. The real question is, did we learn anything from Vietnam?”

“God, Harry, I hope so.”

They drove along, thinking about these issues. These two dear friends, born with lively minds, might delight in daily doings and local events, but they could and did consider larger issues. Chances are, the Founding Fathers and Mothers would see in them a vindication of their hopes for an enlightened citizenry. What else the Founding Fathers and Mothers might think of the times was anybody’s guess.

“Susan, I have got to get into that shed.” Harry was allowing her desperation to free Tazio and to pin the crimes on Mike to muddy her usually clear head.

“Don’t you dare.” Susan’s voice rose.

“There might be evidence.”

“If that man is a killer, you’re putting yourself in grave danger, forgive the pun.”

“You’d do it for me.”

“I’d like to think I would.” Susan turned onto the ramp heading west onto 64.

“Tazio deserves it. She’s not close like you and I are close, but she deserves help.”

“Let Paul do it. Tell him.”

“Susan, I can’t do that and you know it. Paul wouldn’t be any good at something like this.”

“You may be right about that, but, Harry, don’t even think about it. If you’re that worried, send Cooper or Rick there.”

“Can’t do that without compelling evidence of either corruption or murder or both. I have to find some evidence. We know Carla loathed him. We know he’s antiabortion.”

“That’s hardly enough to convict a man, and being antiabortion doesn’t make him Bechtal’s accomplice. I beg you, don’t do this.”

As they rode in silence, everyone in that Audi station wagon knew that Harry would not listen to Susan’s good sense.

31

Sunday, October 5, nourished under the stationary high-pressure system that had ushered in the heartbreakingly beautiful weather of yesterday. The sky, intense blue, domed an emerald-green Virginia quickening to the accelerated pace of fall.

Harry dutifully sat in church with her equally dutiful husband. She soon forgot to be antsy, because Herb gave a sermon based on Mark, Chapter 10, Verse 16.