Cat on the Scent

            Needing no prompting, Susan did just that. “Since you guys are on dessert I’ll assume everything else is mine.” She smiled.

            “Pig out, Suz.”

            As she shoveled food into her mouth, Susan’s bright eyes danced. “You won’t believe what happened to me. Mmm, can’t talk with my mouth full.”

            “We’ll talk to you. When you’ve slowed down you can tell us everything.”

            Susan held up her hand, indicating that was a good idea, and kept eating.

            Mrs. Murphy jumped onto the kitchen counter. The sun was setting; a shaft of scarlet spiraled into the sky. Very unusual, just that one vertical column of color. She dropped down on top of the closed plastic garbage can, then to the floor, and walked out the door. Pewter and Tucker ignored her.

            Susan recovered enough to talk. “I was on the fifteenth hole at Keswick. I like to play once a week there and once a week at Farmington. Actually, I’d play every day if I could, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, there I was moving along at a pretty good clip when who should roll by me in her personalized golf cart but Sarah Vane-Tempest. She was by herself, so I asked if she wanted to join me. She said no, she was on her way home. She’d lost track of the time. She wanted to be there when H. Vane got home. Said she was furious with him because he was driving his car and she didn’t think he should be doing that. Then she zoomed on by.”

            “She’s overprotective.” Harry reached for another brownie.

            “Treats us like dirt.” Cynthia shrugged. “But then, a lot of people do.”

            “What have we here?” Susan noticed Mrs. Murphy carrying what looked like folded paper in her mouth.

            Pewter stopped eating. “Won’t help.”

            Murphy dropped the map at Cynthia Cooper’s feet.

            She bent over to pick it up, carefully opening it. The name in small block print on the right-hand corner read TOMMY VAN ALLEN.

            Her expression motivated both Harry and Susan to rise out of their chairs and lean over her shoulder.

            “Good Lord!” Susan exclaimed.

            Harry picked up her cat and kissed her cheek. “Where’d you find this, pusskin?”

            “In the airplane.”

            Cynthia traced the outlined blocks with her forefinger. She quickly folded the map back up and headed for the door. “Not a word of this to anyone. I mean it. Not even Miranda.”

            Harry followed her out to the car as Susan cleared the table.

            Cynthia slid behind the wheel, buckled up, reached over onto the passenger seat, and gave Harry a folder. “I came over so we could read this together, but I don’t think it matters too much if you keep it for tonight. I’ll pick it up from you at work tomorrow.” She started the motor. “Do you have any idea where Mrs. Murphy could have gotten this map?”

            “Not one.”

            Cynthia handed her the file, labeled BARBER C. MINOR, and drove off.

            40

            “Umph.” Pewter bit at her hind claws, trying to pull out the mud caked there.

            “Why don’t you relax? The stuff will fall out tomorrow,” Mrs. Murphy advised.

            “I’m not going to bed with mud in my claws.”

            “Least you’re not complaining about how you came by it.”

            “Wish I’d been with you guys.” Tucker lay down with her head between her paws, her expressive eyes turned upward to the cats, each of which sat on an arm of the old wing chair. Harry was intently reading the file on her great-grandfather.

            “You’re good at what you do,” Murphy complimented Tucker.

            “Anything big happen in the P.O.?” Pewter yanked out another tiny pellet of mud.