Cat on the Scent

            “You’re angry at me because I won’t leave H. right now. I can’t, Archie. We’d have a year of passion if we were lucky, but sooner or later the outside world would tear us apart. My way takes longer but the result is more solid. H. is an old man.”

            “Old and healthy. Old and frighteningly intelligent.”

            “But still old.” She put her forefinger to his lips to silence him, then kissed her forefinger and his lips simultaneously.

            “Arch, let me keep saying dreadful things about you. It’s the only hope we’ve got. It’s the only cover we’ve got. You know the truth and you know every chance I get, I’ll come to you.” She ran her finger across his lips, then along the side of his jaw.

            He kissed her hard. “That fool doesn’t know what he has in you.”

            “As long as you know.”

            “It’s funny. I would have thought you’d have the affair with Blair, not me. He’s a lot better-looking than I am.” He still didn’t know whether to believe what Ridley Kent had told him.

            “Chemistry.” She brushed her hair with a few practiced flips of her wrist. “Besides, Little Mim would die. We’ve got to leave her something.”

            “Ridley told me you had a brief fling with Blair.” Archie couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to hear her response.

            Coolly, too coolly, Sarah said, “Ridley’s put out that I refused his advances. Why listen to him? I can’t believe you listen to him.”

            “I don’t know.” His voice wavered.

            “Well, I do.” She kissed him again and then left for home.

            47

            The underside of a Porsche is sealed. It’s as though the bottom is covered by a series of interconnecting skid plates. The mechanic, in white overalls, removed one gray underbody rectangle. Rick peered up as the mechanic shone a light.

            “Couldn’t hardly hide a tin of snuff up there,” the mechanic said.

            “Would you like us to remove each panel?” Mike Gage, the owner of Pegasus Motor Cars, politely asked the sheriff.

            “No, bring her down. Body panels make more sense.”

            “Of course.”

            Blair Bainbridge watched. “You aren’t going to cut the upholstery, are you?” He had cooperated with the search, not demanding a warrant, but he wasn’t sure what he’d do if it went that far.

            “I don’t know.” Rick ducked his head in the car once it returned to earth. “There’s no place to hide anything in those backseats. Hardly big enough for a cat.”

            “Somebody could remove the padding in the front seats and replace it with cocaine. I think you’d be able to feel it, though.” Mike pressed down on the seat.

            “Harvey, bring up the new Targa. Let him feel those seats so he has a point of comparison.”

            Within minutes a lush polar-silver Targa gutturally announced its arrival. Rick opened the door. The smell of a new car made him giddy with possibilities. Dutifully, he pressed on the seats, then pressed again on the seats of Blair’s Turbo.

            Blair, clasping and unclasping his hands, murmured, “Look, I don’t know why you’re doing this. You know I’m not involved in drugs.”

            “Your buddy Tommy Van Allen sure was. Cocaine packed behind his hubcaps—come on, it must have given you a charge to fake out everybody.”

            “No,” Blair flatly replied.

            “Fast money. Fast cars.”

            “I don’t sell drugs.”

            Mike Gage interrupted the increasingly tense exchange. “Let me show you something, Rick. See these air inlets on the front end?”

            “Yes.” Rick pressed at the small sloops in the metal.

            “Could stash small amounts of coke in them but it would lead to undesirable consequences later.” Mike had briefed Rick earlier on the basics of an air-cooled engine.

            Blair spoke up. “If I was going to deal drugs I’d find a better place than that.”

            Rick ignored him as Mike continued to point out small areas where drugs could be secreted.

            Blair shifted his weight from foot to foot. “You know I’m innocent.”

            “You knew about Tommy.” Rick pushed him.

            “Tommy didn’t run drugs. It’s crazy. A Porsche attracts attention. It’d be crazy to carry drugs in a Porsche.”

            “If you don’t calm down I’ll haul you out of here,” Rick threatened.

            “Listen, I’m allowing you to search my car out of courtesy. You don’t have a warrant. I have nothing to hide, so give me some credit.”

            Mike looked away as Rick scowled.

            Rick hesitated a moment, then spoke to Mike. “Don’t rip up the leather. Keep searching, though. Mr. Bainbridge and I will be right over there in the squad car if you need me.”

            “Okay.” Mike nodded.

            Blair slid into the squad car passenger seat, slamming the door.

            Rick wedged himself behind the wheel. “Would you like to tell me the purpose of Teotan? I have Tommy’s maps. I know you’ve sunk wells. Let’s have it.”

            Blair waited a moment, then cleared his throat. “Teotan’s purpose is to supply potable water to the northwest quadrant of the county while saving the taxpayers considerable expense. We were intending to present our plan at the next water commission meeting—next week, in fact.”

            “No new reservoir?”

            Blair shrugged. “My hope would be no. Teotan could save this county a fortune in construction costs. There’s enough water running underground to fill the need. Millions of gallons.”