Catch As Cat Can

                A sharp breeze picked up as the two women and dog walked back.

                "Sure doesn't feel like spring today," Cooper commented.

                "Cuts to the bone. Coop, what's going on? You wouldn't be out here with me if you weren't worried."

                "I don't think Wesley Partlow committed suicide. Marshall Wells can't get to the autopsy until tonight. I'll withhold judgment until I get his results."

                "Isn't it hard to perform an autopsy on an exposed corpse that's been hanging?" Harry grimaced.

                "Those guys know what they're doing. They take tissue samples. I couldn't do it. I trust their opinion because they do such a thorough examination of the body, too. Rick and I have trained eyes but we're not doctors."

                "I wouldn't think a kid like Wesley could be hanged without a fight. Surely there are easier ways to kill someone than to hang them."

                "Not if all you have is rope. What if our killer, assuming there was one, didn't have a gun or a knife? Right now I don't know much of anything and I sure don't know why he was out here. I would figure from the time we released him to the time you found he Mercedes star would have been five to six hours."

                "He wouldn't knowingly throw away the star." Harry was

                thinking out loud."He could have lost it running or in a fight. From here to the elder-care home in Crozet is about three miles."

                "Yeah." Coop opened the door to the squad car.

                "Shut the door, Cynthia. Let me wipe off Tucker's paws first."

                "I can wash them," Tucker grumbled.

                Harry had had the presence of mind to throw an old towel in the squad car. She grabbed it, bending down to clean off the corgi's muddy paws."I'd never know you had white feet, Miss Pooch."

                Coop leaned against the car door."He wasn't on drugs. That's the first thing I think about. Wesley was dean as far as we know."

                "I'd have thought he'd take anything he could get. Maybe he had more sense than I gave him credit for-what little I saw of him. Some people are life's losers. It sounds harsh but it's true. Miranda gets mad at me when I say that because she believes everyone can be redeemed through the Lord. I hope she's right."

                "She hasn't been quoting as much scripture lately." Coop smiled."Tracy?"

                "Yeah, though she was never what I'd call a Bible thumper. Okay, there were times when she came close but she has toned down a little. I actually like it when she quotes the Bible. I'm learning something. I never did memorize much except for Hamlet's soliloquy, which I hate." Harry, meditatively rubbing Tucker's paws, got lost in thought.

                "M-m-m, come on, she's clean enough."

                "All right, Tucker. In you go."

                "I told you I could wash myself." Tucker sat down on the backseat and began washing her paws.

                As they drove down Whitehall Road, Coop asked, "Is there anything unique about the farms out here?"

                "Unique? Well, some of them are very beautiful but I can't think of anything unique. Many of them were filled with wounded soldiers during the War Between the States. They'd ship them in by train and folks would pick up soldiers, ours and the Yankees, down at the train station and take them home. God, it must have been a mess. Just about every house in central Virginia had soldiers in it."

                "Hard to imagine."

                "You were in as much danger from the surgeon as you were from the enemy. But no, there's nothing special unless you count architecture."

                "I sure wish I knew what he was doing down here."

                "Did anyone pick him up from the station?"

                Coop shook her head."Walked right out and kept going."

                "Creepy."

                "Wesley?"

                "The weekend. Kind of a weekend of death. Roger and then Wesley."

                Cynthia said, "I heard Lottie Pearson hired a lawyer."

                "You're kidding."

                "Just in case we accuse her of poisoning Roger. Now, there's a paranoid woman. No one is accusing her of anything. It was her dumb luck to hand him coffee and cake."

                "Who told you?" Harry could think of a few people who would get the news first.

                "Little Mim."

                "Lottie's been shining her on."

                "Oh, well, Little Mim knows it. She said she called BoomBoom to tell her she made the right decision in fixing you up with Diego and not Lottie."

                "She did?" Harry was surprised.

                "You're a lot more fun than tight-ass Lottie." Coop whistled. And he is gorgeous."

                "Pretty is as pretty does."

                "Oh, Harry, that's what you always say about horses."

                "Well, it applies to men, too."

                Coop laughed as she turned right, out toward Harry's farm. Who knows what men say about us?"

                "That we're beautiful, sexy, and wonderful. Right?" Harry laughed, too.

                "I'm sure."

                "Do you have to go to the autopsy tonight?"

                "No, I get the night off. Things are returning to normal, finally."

                "Miranda, Susan, and I are going to Tracy's apartment over the pharmacy to paint. Miranda's bringing all the food. How are you with a paint brush?"

                "Picasso."

                When Harry walked inside her house she noticed how silent it was. Not a kitty in sight. It wasn't until she went into the living room that she beheld savaged lampshades, pillows tossed on the floor, and her bowl of potpourri strewn all over the carpet.

                "Mrs. Murphy! Pewter!"