Рита Браун - The Purrfect Murder

Poplar Forest was Thomas Jefferson’s summer home, which was in the process of a painstaking restoration.

“Even if it is, the funeral will be in the morning and the fundraiser’s at night,” Tazio logically reminded her.

“But people will be… you know,” Folly countered.

“Let’s not worry about it until we know. And if the funeral is in the morning, we can all remind people that Will would want us to have a good time and to raise as much money as we can that evening. After all, he was a strong supporter of the restoration and sponsored a table.”

Susan frowned. “In a way, I still can’t believe it.”

Folly, head of the ball committee, added, “Benita won’t be there, but she’s encouraged the office staff to go and to fill out the table. An empty table at a fund-raiser looks forlorn, and as you said, Will would want the project supported.”

“One good thing that’s come out of this dreadful event is that every priest, pastor, and preacher is meeting tonight at the Greek Orthodox Church out on Route 250. Even though we don’t agree about abortion, we all agree that a killing such as this is the work of man, not the will of God,” Herb interjected.

“Gods may come and go, but greed and the lust for power remain.” Harry listened to the rain.

“That’s hardly a Christian statement.” Susan knew Harry hadn’t meant to be disrespectful.

“Well, I meant that the Egyptians worshipped a slew of gods, as did the Greeks, Romans, and Norsemen throughout history. Whenever they’d want to justify something, they’d declare it was to serve Ra or Thor. Whoever shot Will is pretty much part of the common herd. You twist religion to serve your own ends.”

“Harry, that’s so cynical.” Folly neatly piled up her orange rind.

“Realistic.” Susan shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t strive to rise above it.” Herb reached for a large chocolate chip cookie. “I have never wanted riches or power, but I certainly weaken when it comes to cookies.”

The people laughed, but Lucy Fur patted at Herb’s hand. “Poppy, what about your diet?”

Sheepishly, Herb broke a bit off the cookie to give to Lucy but regretted it, since Elocution and Cazenovia zipped right over; they liked chewy dough.

“All right,” Herb sighed, sharing his cookie.

After the meeting Susan drove Harry back to the farm.

Harry found the rhythm of the windshield wipers hypnotic. “Funny crack about Carla wanting to be the bride at every wedding, the corpse at every funeral.”

6

“This is the second time in two days that you’ve questioned me,” Harvey Tillach, beefy-faced but not unattractive, grumbled.

“I appreciate your continued cooperation, especially over the weekend,” Rick simply replied.

“Didn’t know you worked Saturdays.”

“Sometimes.” The genial sheriff nodded, then leaned forward slightly. “The acoustics are incredible. Can’t hear the guns. Can’t hear the downpour outside, either.”

“Still coming down in buckets?” Harvey’s light eyebrows raised.

“A day for accidents.” Rick sighed, hoping none of them would be fatal.

As Harvey snorted agreement, the manager of this exclusive gun club ducked his head in the office. “You two need anything—a drink, hot or cold?”

“I’m fine, thanks, Nicky.” Harvey smiled.

“Me, too.”

“All right, then. Holler if you need me.” He shut the door.

Central Virginia Gun Club was snugged right up to the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Boasting clays, skeet, a fabulous indoor range, and organized pheasant hunts, as well, the waiting list was years long. The owner pushed women’s names up the list, since if the Second Amendment was to be saved it would only be with the help of women. A few of the men moaned, but most of them realized how imperiled their constitutional rights had become.

Two former Olympians were on the staff, one wildlife conservationist, and a variety of groundsmen and gamekeepers. Classes were quite popular; the place hummed.

“You’ve been a member of CVG a long time?” Rick asked.

“Twenty-three years. Last year we all traveled out to Reno for a clay competition and, you know, the air is different. Had to swing that gun up a little faster,” he recalled. “Do you mind getting to the point?”

“Sure. You ever shoot handguns?”

“Rarely. I’m a clays guy. Don’t think I’ll be out today, but I can still work on my hand-eye down at the range.”

“How long have you competed?”

“Since med school. I was at New York University. Not much outdoor sports. I stumbled on an indoor firing range, so you can say I started out with a handgun. Got completely hooked. Also started playing squash then. It’s easier playing squash in Manhattan than tennis. Better workout, too.”

“That’s what I hear. And you met Will Wylde when you moved here?”

“We both started at Martha Jefferson at the same time.” He named one of the area’s hospitals.

“Did he enjoy shooting?”

“No, although he did admire my Purdy.” Purdy was an exquisite brand of shotgun. “I’ll bequeath it to my daughter. Thirteen and she’s club champion for clays. Men or women. No wasted motion.” He meant her technique.

“It’s something you can do together.”

Harvey laughed. “Well, she beats the pants off her old man, but we have a lot of fun together. She’ll even go duck hunting with me. I’m very, very blessed.”

“You and your first wife had no children?”

“No.” His voice shifted, became more clipped.

“Ever see her?”

“No. She moved to Savannah.”

“Remarried?”

“One of the richest men in Georgia. That woman can smell a bank account a mile off.”

“Remind me: you own shotguns but no rifle?”

“I own a few rifles. Jody and I are going to Idaho this winter, going to pack in the mountains and hunt elk. A first for both of us, so, yes, I own rifles.”

“Can you repair your own equipment?”

This surprised Harvey. “I could. I used to have my own repair workshop, but as my practice increased I just didn’t have the time.”

“What’d you do with all your tools?”

“Sold them to Mike McElvoy. He’s good, too.”

“I didn’t know Mike was an enthusiast, if that’s the right term.”

“He’s not. He likes the money and the quiet, I suppose. At least, that’s what I liked, but I’m glad I sold my equipment. I wanted to spend more time with Babs and Jody.”

Babs was his second wife.

“Could you get a silencer if you wanted one?”

A pause followed this question. “I believe I could.”

“Illegal.”

“So’s dope, and you can buy that on the streets, at the barber’s, in restaurants. Supply and demand.”

“Don’t I know it.” Rick slouched back for a moment in the chair. “Will Wylde was killed by a rifle with a silencer.”

“Makes sense. Don’t expect me to utter the formulaic phrases concerning his death. I’m not that big a hypocrite.”

“Yes.” Rick had gotten a blast from Harvey during their first questioning session, the evening of the murder. “Remind me again of the circumstances of your rupture.”

“I already told you.” Irritation flashed across Harvey’s face.

“Tell me again,” Rick coolly commanded.

“Like I said”—Harvey’s tone registered his continued irritation—“we started out at Martha Jefferson together. A whole group of us just beginning our careers were there, and we had a pretty lively social group. Of course, we worked like dogs, too, but when we weren’t working we partied hard. Will and I were close then; so were our wives. It helped that we weren’t in competition. He was OB/GYN and I was in oncology. Back then most of us hadn’t started our families, so we had more time to stay up late.”