Рита Браун - The Purrfect Murder

“Lattimores used the same marble when they built Raven’s Roost.” Mike enjoyed passing on these tidbits. “She’s already adding a wing. Penny can’t stop building.”

Tazio had been a guest of the Lattimores from time to time, so she already knew this. She simply smiled. Why take away Mike’s little moment? “Penny and Marvin are a bit more understated than the Paulsons.”

“Christ.” Mike shook his head. “Waste. That’s what I see but, hey, gives me a job.”

“Me too.” Tazio smiled, hoping this meeting wouldn’t be lengthy, for Mike liked to hear himself talk.

The more he talked, the smarter he thought he was—not that he was stupid, but he needed attention.

“Let’s go to the kitchen.”

They walked through the living room, which was being painted then sponged to create a dappled effect. They passed from there through the “transition room,” as Carla called it. It was really a discreet bar. Then they moved into a truly magnificent country kitchen.

The appliances weren’t in yet, of course, but the cabinetry was up. Carla’s ideas for the kitchen proved she could get it right if she just thought things through. She did spend money here, but it wasn’t quite so gaudy. The cabinets, glass fronted, had six panes of beveled glass.

The wood, a lovely warm simple pine, had been lightly stained. The floors, beautiful blue slate with radiant heat underneath, set off the whole room, which was full of light.

“Every time Carla drops one piece of glass, poof.” Mike spread his fingers wide to indicate the flying bits.

“Yes, but it does look fabulous.”

“Does. Didn’t use Buckingham slate, did she?”

“No. For some odd reason, she thinks anything local can’t be that good. She wants wormwood for the library. Good old cherry, walnut, or mahogany won’t do. Well, mahogany isn’t local, but you know what I mean.”

“Do.” He stopped in front of the space where the six-burner stainless-steel Vulcan stove with grill would be placed. “Before I get into this, what do you think about Wylde’s murder?”

“Terrible.”

“Think the antiabortionists did it?”

“Well, I don’t know, but it certainly seems most likely. What do you think?” she asked, knowing what he really wanted to do was expound.

“Loony. Smart loony though. Cased the buildings. I mean, you have to do something like that exactly right or you’re toast yourself. You know, the way things are today, I’d never go into women’s medicine if I were in medical school.”

“You mean OB/GYN?”

He nodded. “All it takes is one mistake and everyone’s down your throat. Can you imagine the cost of insurance?”

“You’re right, but an OB/GYN usually has happy customers. There aren’t that many problems in pregnancy. I’d hate to be in oncology.”

“Got a point there.” He paused, put one hand on his hip. “What do you think of abortion?”

“That it’s a woman’s decision.”

“You don’t think it’s taking a life?”

“No.” She held up her hand. “Mike, I can’t imagine anyone dancing in the street saying, ”Hooray, I just terminated a pregnancy,“ but isn’t it better than just outright killing girl babies like they do in India and China?”

“That is pretty terrible.”

“I read in the Manchester Guardian from March 2007—I saved the issue because it was so upsetting—that the rough guess is that in the last ten years, God knows how many million girls have been destroyed either in the womb or at birth.”

His eyes popped. “God.”

“In some places in China the ratio of males to females is one hundred twenty-eight to one hundred. That spells disaster. It also points to mass violence, because most crimes are committed by males between the ages of fifteen and twenty-nine. Didn’t the governments of those countries think of that? And how will they find enough jobs for all those men? It’s a sure bet they won’t want to work in day care. They’re planting the seeds for their own overthrow, especially China.”

“You’ve made quite a study of it.”

“Oh, well, I was forced into it by Folly Steinhauser. When I designed her house last year, she peppered me with Planned Parenthood information plus everything else she could find.” Tazio shrugged. “At first I resented it, I’ll be honest, but then I actually became interested. Global warming is caused as much by overpopulation as by cars. I mean, who drives the cars? Who uses electricity, furnaces? If you have six billion people, you have more emissions. If you have 7.2 or 9 billion by the end of this century, what do you think will happen? And what about the water table?” She threw up her hands.

“Never really thought of it that way.” Mike reached into his back pants pocket for his small notebook. “Funny, all those people breeding so easily, and Noddy and I never could. We’re still in the game,” he smiled, “but you know we don’t have but so much longer.” He flipped open his notebook. “All right…”

A car drove up outside, and Carla emerged from her burnt-orange Range Rover. “Hello,” she called as she walked through the front door.

“In the kitchen,” Tazio called back, then under her breath said to Mike, “She said she was too upset to come.”

Wearing lime-green driving loafers with tiny rubber pebbles on the soles, Carla silently walked into the kitchen. Her eyes were swollen. “There you are.” She turned to Mike. “What do you think?”

“Coming along. We have a problem here. You need a larger out-take for the stove you’re putting in.”

“Why?” Carla walked into the alcove where the stove would be located, looking up at the four-inch opening.

“Six inches.”

“Why?”

“That’s the code for this type of stove. You could change the stove, of course.” He knew perfectly well she wouldn’t.

“Why didn’t you know this?” Carla turned on Tazio.

“I thought I did.”

“She did.” Mike came to her defense. “This has been under discussion for the last two months.”

“Is it code yet?”

“Yes and no.” He hesitated. “Let me put it this way: it will be in writing by the time your stove gets here, and then the kitchen will be finished and you’ll have to tear things up, make a mess, wash all this glass. Just do it now.”

Face reddening, Carla took it out on Tazio. “I expect this done in the next week, and if you can’t get Arnie back”—she named the fellow responsible for ductwork—“I expect you to do it yourself!”

“Now, Carla, it’s not her fault.” Mike winked at Tazio, which Carla saw.

“I don’t give a damn! I want it done and I want it done now, and if there’s anything else, Mike McElvoy, find it now, because I’m not backtracking.”

He stiffened. “I’m doing my job.”

“Sure. That’s what everyone says, but I know you can do it better for some people than for others.”

“That’s not true.”

She turned silently on her heel and walked out.

Mike called after her, “Carla, I resent that.”

She stopped, wheeled to look at him. “You know, Mike McElvoy, you’re not as smart as you think you are, and I’m on to you.”

As Carla left, Tazio noticed Mike’s hands shaking as he slapped shut his Moleskin notebook. “I hate that bitch.”

“Join the club.” She did wonder why he’d misinformed Carla, though. The building code didn’t change that quickly. This house was under way. The county couldn’t make the code retroactive. There was nothing wrong with her four-inch outtake duct.

He took a deep breath. “Can’t let it get under my skin. You know how these people are. I thought Penny Lattimore was a pain in the ass. Hell, she’s an angel compared to this one.”