The Purrfect Murder Read online

  “Come on.”

  Mrs. Murphy and Tucker followed.

  “I need a nap.” Pewter hesitated.

  “I’m sure you do,” Mrs. Murphy agreed.

  The tiger’s ready reply made Pewter suspicious. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker must be hiding something.

  Harry walked along, Tucker alongside her, Mrs. Murphy behind, and Pewter bringing up the rear.

  “Thought you wanted a nap,” Tucker called over her shoulder.

  “Decided I needed the exercise.” Pewter’s dark-gray fur shone, a sign of her overall health.

  As they walked through the sunflower rows, insects buzzing, Harry paused, ran her fingers over a large head, then moved on. “Time for some rain.”

  A huge fake owl on a stake had thwarted some birds, but the blue jay paid no mind. Consequently, he’d eaten so much over the last month that his speed suffered. A red oak in the pasture next to the sunflower acres provided him with a refuge. He unfurled his topknot once the cats came into view. Lifting off, he circled the party once.

  “Pissants.”

  Pewter glanced up. “Butt ugly.”

  The jay swooped low, just missing Pewter as he emitted what he’d eaten earlier. Satisfied, he returned to the red oak.

  “One day,” Pewter grumbled.

  “Least it wasn’t a direct hit.” Tucker tried to look on the bright side. The dog swiveled her large ears, then barked, “Susan.”

  The cats stopped, turning their heads to listen for the Audi station wagon. It was a quarter mile from the house, but they, too, could hear the motor. Few humans can distinguish the unique sounds each set of tires produce, but for the dog and cats this was as easy as identifying someone wearing squeaky shoes.

  As the wagon approached the house, Harry finally heard it and turned to behold an arching plume of dust. “Damn, we really do need rain.”

  They walked briskly toward the house.

  Susan met them halfway. “Hey, sugar.”

  Sweeping her arm wide, Harry beamed. “Can you believe it?”

  Susan stopped, putting her hands on her hips. “Promiscuous in fertility and abundance.”

  “Worried about rain.”

  “Me, me, me.” Susan bent down to scratch Tucker’s ears.

  “More.”

  “Me, too.” Pewter rubbed against Susan’s leg, so she petted the gray cannonball.

  Harry slipped her arm through Susan’s as they stood there for a moment admiring the yield. “Agriculture is still the basis of all wealth. Can’t have industry or high tech if people can’t eat.”

  Susan nodded. “Course, most people have forgotten that.”

  Harry smiled as they walked back to the house, the blue jay squawking after them.

  As they passed the barn, Simon, the opossum, stuck his head out of the open loft doors. “Save me some cookies.”

  Harry and Susan looked up at him, for he was semitame.

  “If I don’t eat them first.” Pewter giggled.

  “You need a diet, girl.” Mrs. Murphy arched an eyebrow.

  “Shut up.” Pewter shot in front of everyone to push open the screen, then squeezed through the animal door into the kitchen.

  Once in the kitchen, Harry poured sweet tea and put out some fruit and cheese.

  Susan approached the reason for her visit to her best friend. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?” Harry leaned forward.

  “Folly Steinhauser pledged to pay for the entire St. Luke’s reunion on October twenty-fifth.”

  “What!”

  “She did.”

  “But she’s only attended St. Luke’s for two years. I mean, she’s only lived here for two years and,” Harry thought a moment, “been on the vestry board for one.”

  “Herb was politically shrewd to call her to the board.”

  “Well, Susan, if she’s going to cough up what will amount to thirty thousand dollars, give or take, I don’t wonder.”

  “He didn’t know that originally.” Susan closed her eyes in appreciation as she sipped the tea, a sprig of fresh mint from the house garden enlivening the taste. “He was smart because she’s a come-here and she knows how to talk to the other come-heres.”

  “I wasn’t aware that one talked to them. I thought, dumb rednecks that we are, we simply listened to their cascade of wisdom.”

  “Don’t be snide.”

  “All right, then. How about I’m tired of them telling me how they do it up North.”

  “Harry, they aren’t all from the North.”

  “Oh?”

  “Some are from the Midwest.”

  “That’s just as damned bad.” Harry burst out laughing.

  “You are so prejudiced. Now, shut up and do listen.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She sighed. “Maybe turning forty has allowed me to enter the realm of crankiness.” She raised an eyebrow. “But I will listen to you.”

  “Folly’s on the board of Planned Parenthood, and she’s gotten the other new girls—Carla Paulson, Penny Lattimore, and Elise Brennan—to all pitch in with stuff for the silent auction. She’s even gotten some of the doctors who work at Planned Parenthood to give a free consultation.”

  “Do we have to get pregnant first?”

  “They aren’t all OB/GYNs, smart-ass. Come on, now, give Folly some credit. This is wonderful and takes so much pressure off Herb. Every year he had to scramble to get the money for the reunion.”

  “That’s a sore point with me. I’ve said for years, charge enough to cover the food.”

  “He won’t do that. Herb says everyone should come home to St. Luke’s without feeling they have to write a check.” Susan reminded Harry of what she already knew.

  “Fishes and loaves.”

  “Boy, there have been some years when we’ve had to pray for a miracle, but this year it’s delivered.”

  “Well,” Harry cupped her chin in her hand, her elbow on the table, which would have infuriated her long-departed mother, “it is, it is, but it irritates me that these people want to buy their way in.”

  “To St. Luke’s?”

  “Susan, you’re a political creature. You know as well as I do that the Episcopal church and the Lutheran church are the two most socially prominent churches. Worship is one thing. Mixing with people who can help business or make you feel like you’re with the A group is another.”

  “Where does that put us?” Susan sliced a thin wedge of Brie, positioning it on a large Carr’s cracker.

  “We were born to it. I don’t feel socially prominent. I don’t care about that stuff. I think it hurts people’s feelings.”

  “It does, but people need their little groups. It comforts them.”

  “You’ve been reading Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France again.” Harry smiled, as both she and Susan read voraciously, and not fluff.

  “Mmm, no, but I remember it well enough. Back to your point. Yes, it can hurt feelings. Being excluded from a group is painful.”

  Harry shrugged. “Find another group.”

  “Stop being thick. We need to thank Folly at the next board meeting, and I suppose whatever she wants to do in the future we’d better go along on at least one project.” Susan stopped. “Do you hear me?”

  “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 t
he 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.”

  “He’d have to walk down the hall with a rifle or get inside the office and assemble it quickly, if the weapon was one that can be broken down. I expect it was.” Rick watched the emergency squad finally place the body in the ambulance; they’d had to wait for Rick’s officers to thoroughly inspect everything. “So he came up here—easy enough, since few people use the stairs—waited, fired, walked down, and drove away.”

  “Car parked on the side of the building near the stair door?”

  “Yep. Macadam. No print.”

  “And no one saw anyone drive away?”

  “Coop, that’s just it. Cars pull in and out of here all the time. No one saw any vehicle leave in a hurry, and no one knew Wylde was shot until probably five minutes after he was hit, which makes me think the perp ma
y have used a silencer. No one came out of either building. So whoever drove out, it just looked like business as usual, or so it seems. The only people identified so far who drove off the lot close to this time are Dr. Harvey Tillach and Kylie Kraft, one of the girls in the office. She came right back with four frosties for everyone.”

  “They’re a mess in Will’s office, but that’s understandable.”

  “What if the killer had help on the inside?” Rick kept trying to put the pieces together.

  “Ah.” Coop once again appreciated her boss’s mind.

  “The antiabortion extremists have become more sophisticated and patient. I say extremist because I don’t think most antiabortionists are willing to kill doctors to prove their point; it does the reverse.”

  “Can’t say you revere life, then take it away.” Coop nodded. “Well, boss, this one’s going to bring the press down like vultures, as well as every local and state politician on both sides of the issue. And in the process, people will forget that Will was a talented OB/GYN, who also performed terminations.”

  He turned toward the door leading out onto the roof. “I know.” He opened the door for Coop and they both descended the stairwell, their steps reverberating.

  Before going outside, Coop stopped a moment and knelt down. Rick knelt beside her and reached in his deep breast pocket for a small plastic Ziploc.

  “Could be nothing.”

  “One smoked Virginia Slims cigarette is still worth bagging.” He used the tweezers she handed him, plucked it up, and dropped it in the bag, sealing it.

  “Not my brand.”

  “Mine, either.” He paused. “I didn’t know you had a brand. I thought you just bummed fags off me.”

  “That’s a low blow.” She stood up, her left knee creaking even though she was in her thirties. “I’ll bet five bucks this didn’t belong to Wylde’s killer.”

  “Why?”

  “Men don’t smoke Virginia Slims, number one. Number two, I know of no case where a woman has killed a doctor who performs abortions. It’s always men.”

  “This could be a first.” Rick pushed open the door into the bright light.

  “Take the bet?”

  “Sure, what’s five bucks?” They crossed the parking lot and entered the building. Then turned right to Will’s office.