Cat of the Century (15 page)

“Women who inherit wealth are kept stupid by it, and kept from it, I might add. I’ve been telling you that for years. Just look at how Mariah’s customers were robbed, so to speak. They didn’t pay attention.”

“Watches and stocks are not similar.” Aunt Tally’s face turned red. “Anyway, Mim has an interest in it. Bores me to tears. If anything is amiss, she’ll tag it. You forget, Inez, that our generation usually had one member—male—of each generation who was to manage the family money. I didn’t have a brother, so the job passed to my nephew, Mim’s brother, who as you know died in 1942. Mim didn’t exactly take over, but she browbeat Scott and Stringfellow into more participation. But women just didn’t
do
money.”

“You sure spent it.” Inez couldn’t resist.

“Not so much.” Aunt Tally wasn’t profligate.

“I’m being mean. Worry makes me … well, you know. I’m sorry.”

“You take everything to heart. Look, Flo’s investigation—if that is what it was; vendetta is more like it—is bad news, but don’t dwell on it.” Aunt Tally turned to Harry. “Put her in the truck with Fair tomorrow. Will keep her occupied.” She then turned back to Inez. “Really, relax. All this fuss is halfway across the country. Nothing we can do.”

“You’re right.” Inez nibbled another sandwich—egg salad, at the perfect consistency.

“I like egg salad.”
Pewter opened her nostrils wider.

“Me, too.”
Mrs. Murphy always liked eggs, any way she could get them.

The two cats sat on either side of Harry, faces turned upward, whiskers forward, the picture of concentration and concentrated affection.

Harry couldn’t help but notice. She tried to ignore them.

Pewter put a paw on her leg.

“Damn,” Harry muttered.

“Oh, break up a sandwich and give it to them. They won’t leave crumbs, and if they do, the vacuum cleaner will suck them up. That’s what it’s for,” Aunt Tally commanded.

“You’re such a good woman,”
Pewter thanked Aunt Tally, as the much-desired sandwich piece came her way.

“Ditto,”
Mrs. Murphy agreed.

Inez looked at her watch, an old Bulova made just before World War II. “There’s still some daylight left. Harry, will you drive me to where Ralston Peavey was found?”

“Why do you want to go there?” Aunt Tally put her cup in the saucer with a
clink.

“You’ve mentioned it. I think we drove by it years ago and you said something, but I don’t have a mental picture of the place.”

“You’re just doing it to distract yourself. An old trouble is better than a new one.”

“Well, maybe,” Inez agreed halfheartedly.

Once down the driveway from Rose Hill, Harry headed east toward Crozet. She slowed down as she came to the spot. “Here. He was facedown, across the middle of the road. Run over forward and backward.”

“You think once would have been enough.”

“Maybe it’s like pumping extra bullets into someone you’ve shot. Sometimes I think about that when I read the papers or see a TV report about a store owner or someone in their home. A robber comes in. The person has a gun. Shoots the intruder. Well and good. But then he or she empties more into the robber. When the whole sorry thing goes to court, the defendant goes to jail. It makes sense to me that when you’re so angry, so scared, maybe you do keep firing. What do you think?”

“Same as you. I think any citizen has a right to defend himself,
even if he becomes brutal in so doing. Your property, your person, are sacred. But these days the sympathy seems to be toward the criminal, not the victim.”

“Insane, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” Inez looked at the road, as Harry made a U-turn since there was no traffic. “Lonely place to die.”

“Yes. We come in alone and we go out alone.”

“That we do, but to die surrounded by those who love you surely is better than this.”

That evening at around seven, Flo was working late in her office, papers covering her desk, a small notebook in front of her. She heard the front door open; she hadn’t thought to lock it. She looked up with surprise.

“What are you doing here?” were her last words, pencil poised in hand.

The only evidence, which melted by the time she was found, was a large snowy rubber boot print.

F
lo had been shot once through the forehead at close range. Any hope of tire track molds perished with the dwindling but still persistent snow. She often worked late at the office, but when she didn’t answer Dick’s calls, he drove over, found his wife, and immediately called the police.

A small puddle of water in front of her desk was all that remained of the boot print. Flo was slumped forward. When the police moved her, they found her body covering a notepad on which she had scribbled “NE.” The pencil was still between her thumb, forefinger, and middle finger. No one had heard the shot because the other offices were empty.

The next morning, Thursday, April 2, Kenda Shindler called Inez at Tally’s, for she knew she was staying there. Inez told Aunt Tally, and they were both aghast. “It appears Mariah got her revenge. Who else would kill Flo?” Aunt Tally said.

Later that day, Liz Filmore called Aunt Tally to see if she and Terri Kincaid could come by to visit her and Inez. Tally told her that Inez would be at Harry’s, helping to repair old tack. Inez might be ninety-eight, but her fingers were nimble. Liz said her husband was in San Diego, she was bored, business was slow, and the dreadful news about Flo gave her an excuse to visit Terri.

Before Liz and Terri came, Harry ran the vacuum cleaner, then
warmed up shepherd’s pie that she’d made the day before. When the two ladies arrived, the pleasing aroma pervaded the kitchen.

Terri, never one to eschew emotional display, hugged Inez. “Inez, you must be so distressed. I know I am, and I didn’t even know Flo as you did.”

“It’s unfathomable,” Inez replied.

Liz also hugged Inez. “What can I do to help?”

“Think,” came the wise reply.

“Ladies, come sit. It’s bitter cold. A little shepherd’s pie ought to help. Here’s some water crackers to get started.”

Harry propelled them to the kitchen table, filled their glasses, then sat down to join them.

Pewter eagerly circled the table. Tucker and Mrs. Murphy sat on the floor but were less obvious in their intentions.

Tucker said,
“Fear.”

“Liz.”
Mrs. Murphy sniffed.

“Terri, too,”
Pewter added.

“Funny, Inez isn’t afraid.”
Tucker thought the lamb in the pie smelled fabulous.

“Maybe because she’s lived her life. The other two are young. Inez knows death can’t be very far away,”
Mrs. Murphy wisely noted.

“Does anyone know how Dick is? It seemed to be a good marriage,” Liz asked as she enjoyed the food.

Inez responded, “Kenda said his brother and sister-in-law are with him. According to Kenda, Dick is alternating between rage and tears.”

“Poor man.” Terri’s hand shook slightly as she raised the fork to her mouth.

“Flo was very, very good to me.” Liz misted up.

“She was good to everyone but Mariah.” Inez found the crackers unusual and delicious.

“Any more tea? Water’s boiling,” Harry asked.

“I can always drink a second cup.” Terri watched as Harry rose to fill the large teapot with a horse painted on it.

“Give it a minute or two.” Harry put a small silver strainer on Terri’s saucer, for the tea inside the pot was loose.

Terri, always one for dramatization, squeaked, “I’m scared. I don’t
mind admitting it. How do I know what’s out there or who’s out there?”

Liz said drily, “Terri, I’m sure you’re quite safe.”

Terri glared at Liz for a second, then softened her gaze. “You’re probably right, but until this is resolved and Mariah is apprehended, I’m scared.”

“How do you know Mariah killed Flo?” Inez didn’t bother to ask why Terri came to that conclusion. It was obvious Liz had filled her in on the watch scam.

“Who else?” Terri’s eyes widened. “If she were dead, you’d think someone would have found the body.” Her voice rose. “I mean Flo threatened her. Mariah had to know an ugly arrest and court case would follow. She disappeared. Flo should never have opened her mouth. She should have gone directly to the police. For a smart woman, Flo was stupid.”

“Emotions cloud judgment,” Harry simply said.

“It does seem that Terri has hit on the most likely chain of events.” Liz sighed, pushing back her saucer and cup.

Inez answered, “Things are rarely what they seem, Liz.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Harry nodded grimly.

I
hate it when mud gets between my toes.”
Mrs. Murphy sidestepped a large slush puddle.

“Better than ice. Cuts my pads to ribbons,”
Tucker replied.

The tiger cat stopped and lifted her head. Overhead, the great horned owl flew back to the barn. She dipped her wing slightly in acknowledgment.

“Must have been a good night. She’s happy,”
the cat noted.
“Between Flatface,”
she named the owl,
“Matilda,”
the blacksnake,
“Pewter, and myself, we keep the varmint population low.”

“What about the mice in the wall behind the tack trunk?”
Tucker leapt over a log.

“Doesn’t count. We made a deal with them.”

They reached the creek, which ran deep and strong between Harry’s property and Blair Bainbridge’s. Blair, having married Little Mim, now rented his land to Deputy Cynthia Cooper.

Pewter, loathing the cold and hating wet paws even more, refused to accompany her friends. She was sound asleep on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

“Know what? We aren’t getting over this.”
Tucker, brave but not foolhardy, studied the rushing water.

“We could try the beaver dam,”
Mrs. Murphy, more nimble than the corgi, suggested.

“Worth a look.”
The mighty little dog trotted northward toward the large beaver complex.

When Harry’s animals arrived, a slap of a tail on the churning water alerted the rest of the beavers, who dove under the water up into the huge lodge.

“The water’s about at the top of the dam.”
Mrs. Murphy knew if she made one mistake, she’d fall into the flying waters.
“If we get any more rain or snow, there will be flooding for sure.”

“So much for that idea. Let’s head home.”
The dog, although a strong swimmer, didn’t want to land in the drink, either.
“I really wanted to check up on Coop’s.”

Cooper was in Atlanta. She’d be home tomorrow, Friday, April 3. Given her high performance, she’d been selected along with other law-enforcement officers for a special one-week training session focusing on community relations. One of the rewards was, during the weekend, the officers were given a special tour of the vibrant city. Officer Doak, a young fellow from the Albemarle sheriff’s department, had accompanied her. He had been chosen to study cybersecurity. Albemarle, a county of about ninety thousand souls all told, happened to be quite rich—disgustingly rich, really. Still, Sheriff Rick Shaw had to fight for money for his force from the county. He did manage to get the funds to send Cooper and Doak off to Atlanta, though.