Cat on the Scent

            “Shut up, you little brownnose,” Mrs. Murphy yelled at the dog.

            “Blair, thank you again for letting me drive a dream.” She opened the refrigerator door, removing corn bread and butter. Not that she had made the corn bread; Miranda had given her a big pan of it Friday after they left work.

            “Any time.”

            “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Susan drove by while I was waiting for you and the sheriff. She said Ned expects you in the First Virginia for reenactment at Oak Ridge.”

            “I’ll call him.”

            “I didn’t know you were into that battle stuff.”

            “I’m not. They’re short of bodies.”

            “Isn’t it expensive to get the gear?”

            “Yeah, but I can’t complain if I’ve just bought a Turbo, can I?” He laughed. “Some of these guys are a little extreme, but I’m looking forward to it.”

            “Extreme?” Mrs. Murphy sardonically replied as she walked back to the kitchen, pointedly not paying attention to Harry. “They’re a quart low.”

            “I think it’s fascinating.” Tucker sat down on Blair’s foot.

            “You think anything’s fascinating that has dead bodies in it.”

            “Well, dogs eat carrion. That’s what they’re for, I guess.” Pewter pressed against the refrigerator door. “Nature’s garbage collectors.”

            “People hang out deer for a few days,” Tucker rejoined.

            “Better gut them the minute you kill them or you’ll have some terrible-tasting deer.” Mrs. Murphy wasn’t fond of venison, but she could eat it if prepared in buttermilk.

            Pewter moved back to the table. “There aren’t going to be any dead bodies at the reenactment, just people pretending to be dead.”

            “The way things have been going, the commission meeting coming up might have a few dead bodies.” Tucker giggled.

            Pewter turned her full attention on Harry, who had set out some thinly sliced roast beef.

            “Stay on the floor.” Harry read her mind, not difficult under the circumstances.

            “One teensy piece,” Pewter begged.

            “Me, too.” Tucker had been transformed into Miss Adorable.

            “No,” Harry said, but without much oomph.

            “She’ll weaken if you sit by the chair.” Pewter hurried to get on Harry’s right side.

            “You say that every time.” The tiger cat laughed but she hurried to Blair’s side, figuring he’d weaken before Harry.

            “I had no idea that Sir H. Vane-Tempest pestered Sheriff Shaw so often.”

            “Tempest in a teapot is what Miranda calls him.” Harry stuck her knife into a pot of creamy homemade mustard. “But Archie’s picking fights with everyone. Even though he and H. Vane seem to be in a phase of political agreement. He’s even fighting Mim.”

            “Not a smart move.”

            “Getting on the wrong side of Sir H. isn’t smart either. His net worth is more than the gross national product of Chile.”

            “Mrs. Murphy, what do you know about H. Vane?” Tucker never took her eyes off Harry’s hands.

            “He doesn’t have cats or dogs, which bespeaks an empty life.”

            Blair dropped her a sliver of roast beef, which she daintily ate.

            “Are you going to the commission meeting?” Harry asked her guest.

            “You bet. It’s going to be the best show this spring.”

            4

            Archie Ingram, a handsome man in his early forties, smiled at the assemblage. The only hint that he was nervous was the tension in his cheek muscles. The classroom at CrozetHigh School spilled over with people, many standing in the hall. A topographical map of the county was on a bulletin board behind the front table.

            “I told you we should have used the auditorium,” Archie complained to Jim Sanburne, the mayor of Crozet, as well as Mim’s husband. As mayor he chaired the county meeting in his town.

            “Archie, these meetings usually number three people, each of whom wants a zoning variance for a trailer, a business, or a nursing home. The only reason all these people are here is that you’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest.”

            “Bullshit,” he growled at the large, genial man.

            Jim ignored him, waving a greeting to the Reverend Herbert Jones.

            “Jim, I brought my dowser.” Herb held up the wooden divining rod, which worked well despite naysayers.

            “Spare me,” Archie muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room, resting a second on the beautiful Sarah Vane-Tempest before darting away.

            “What?” Jim asked.

            “Where’s Tommy Van Allen?” Archie demanded. “I’m not delaying this meeting one more time for him.”

            “I don’t know. I called and he wasn’t at work.”