Cat of the Century (21 page)

That had stuck with Harry. Although she carried a fear of poverty, she vowed that no matter what financial blows life might deal to her, she would never sell even one book. She had also vowed to read every volume in the cases. On that, she was making slow progress. She had read
War and Peace
in her twenties. It was time to read it again.

While Harry was giving in to the urge to read
War and Peace
instead of dusting the bookshelves or cleaning out the broom closet, Fair and Inez were driving up to Middleburg to see an injured mare who had been injected with her own stem cells. The tendon injury was healing rapidly, in only three weeks’ time. It was a miracle.

The windshield wipers swept rhythmically left and right.

“What a counterpoint to the last three years of drought—light drought, but drought nevertheless.” Inez liked that Fair’s truck had a separate button for heat and air-conditioning for the passenger side.

“Certainly is.” They passed Madison County’s high school on the right. “For a small school, they sure can put together good football teams.”

“Love high school football, baseball, track and field—you name it. I like seeing young people discipline their bodies.”

“I figure if they’re exhausted from practice, the number of teenage pregnancies will fall.”

She laughed. “Don’t count on it.”

He laughed, too, then changed the tone. “You know, I’ve been thinking about Mariah sending people messages again.”

“We all have.”

“Didn’t you mention to me that Mariah and Flo had a spat in the hallway? I mean at Aunt Tally’s centennial celebration.”

“I was too far down the hall to hear it myself. It was in the doorway to the ladies’ room. There were a number of board members in the hallway who said they heard the whole thing.”

“Hearsay.”

“I didn’t pay too much attention to it.” She paused. “Why?”

“Thought there might be a clue.”

“You’re starting to get like your wife. Curious. That’s a nice way to put it.”

He laughed. “You’re right.”

“Well, what more than one of the board members repeated was that Flo set her—Mariah—up for a financial fall.”

“Flo wasn’t her broker. That would be crazy.”

“No, but Mariah would occasionally ask Liz questions about stocks. Apparently Liz freely babbled her knowledge.”

“Surely the D’Angelos had their own broker.”

“His and hers, I believe.” Inez crossed her arms over her chest. “Liz wants to avoid conflict. It could look like playing both ends against the middle.” She sank down in the captain’s chair, then sat up straight. “Forgive me. I’m going to make a call, and feel free to listen in.”

She dialed Liz’s office number. “Liz.”

“Inez, how are you?”

“Fine. Any more messages?”

“No,” Liz sarcastically replied. “No one has ever promised to barbecue my fingers before. Actually, the strangulation message that preceded the barbecue message was more imaginative.”

“Jahnae and I were not treated to a bun. As you know, our message was ‘Catch me if you can.’ But I’ve been meaning to ask, how much financial advice did you give Mariah?”

A long pause followed. “Too much.”

“Did she have an account with you?”

“Yes. Small.”

“Liz, what do you call small?”

“About $150,000. For Tim and me, that’s small. I’m surprised the St. Louis police haven’t questioned us. Surely they’ve gone through her papers by now.”

“No papers. The police have found nothing. Her husband says she never shared her business news or problems with him.”

This got a reaction. “What?”

“Cooper, Harry’s deputy friend, has been in contact with the St. Louis police. They aren’t too willing to share, but the detective in charge of the murder investigation said they have been unable to find personal records. They have the business records. They’ve checked the recorded watch ID numbers with the various manufacturers, confirming that they are false.”

“She destroyed her papers.” Liz’s voice returned to a calmer tone. “She had to have planned this.”

“So it would appear.” Inez paused. “Aren’t you somewhat concerned for your well-being?”

“Tim is. I’m watchful, but why would she want to kill me? I had nothing to do with the scam being exposed.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

A long pause followed Inez’s discomforting statement. “I guess she doesn’t, but I had nothing to gain by it. I had something to lose: a client. Hers was a small account, her real money was with her Kansas City broker, but it still was an account. Why would I hurt her?”

“I don’t know, but best not to assume she’s a hundred percent rational.”

O
n April 10, Good Friday, Fuji Wertland and his crew at William Woods reached the last big manure pile. Patches of snow still lay on the north side of the hills, but for the past two days they’d been moving the manure piles in dump trucks. The school had an arrangement with a local nursery. William Woods delivered the manure to acres owned by the nursery out of town. The manure was turned and monitored; long thermometer probes gauged core heat. Once the manure “cooked,” it was ground up into a fine mixture. It could then be applied to small pastures or large gardens. If lime or calcium needed to be added, that was done at the small plant on the acres. It was quite a profitable operation.

While Fuji and his crew used the front-end loader to fill the dump truck, Trudy Sweetwater and Jahnae went over the sum raised by Aunt Tally’s centennial. A few pledges had not come in yet, but they could make a fairly accurate accounting. Including Big Mim’s large contribution, which pushed the sum way up, it came to $605,332.91.

“I can’t believe it.” Jahnae was ecstatic.

Trudy, thrilled herself, said, “God bless Tally Urquhart.”

“This is just wonderful, wonderful. Does Tally know?”

“I thought I’d let you call her.” Trudy wisely gave the credit to the president.

Jahnae, however, much as she might like that, demurred. “Trudy, you did the scut work. You call her. I’m not stealing your thunder.”

“I’ll remember every syllable.”

“You’d better.” Jahnae laughed. “Before she left, Tally asked me to remember how William Woods began. She requested that this money be used for scholarships for orphans, male or female. She also requested that we pay special attention to those children fathered by American servicemen but abandoned. You’re too young to remember how many children were left in Vietnam, despised by their countrymen and with no way to come over here. You know, when the French left Vietnam in 1954, the French government arranged to bring over twenty-one thousand children and Vietnamese women, but we jettisoned our Ameriasians. It was one of the most shameful things we ever did, ever.” Her face reddened. “Our government finally did try to make amends. Tally never forgot. She said to me, considering the dreadful treatment of women in Iraq and Afghanistan, surely there will be orphans. She’s pulled us right back to our founding principle.”

Trudy softly replied, “It’s easy to forget, isn’t it? How people can be left behind?”

“You don’t mind if I share. Inez said if she makes it to one hundred, her request will be that any monies raised in her honor go to abandoned horses.” Jahnae paused. “You know, Trudy, this university really does turn out remarkable, responsible people.”

The phone rang. Jahnae picked it up, because it wouldn’t be coming straight through if it weren’t important. “Hello.” Within seconds, her face changed. “Good Lord! Did you call Deputy Sorenson?” She paused. “Good. Fuji, do what you can to keep everyone away and to keep things calm. You know the TV reporters listen in to the routing calls. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Jahnae, face ashen, hung up the phone. Trudy asked, “What?”

Jahnae exhaled. “When the maintenance staff broke up the last of the manure piles, Mariah’s remains were at the bottom. Fuji said her jewelry had not been stolen and she was fairly well preserved.”

“Oh, my God! But I thought she recently sent you a message!” Trudy felt queasy. “Did Fuji say how she was killed?”

“No.”

Jahnae quickly pulled on her boots and a heavy coat. She blasted out of the building. She drove her car to the stables, cleverly blocking the stable road with it. That would keep the TV station’s minivans back a bit. The reporters would walk around the car, but as far as she was concerned, every minute counted. She hoped the ambulance could remove the body, but she knew the sheriff wouldn’t allow that until he felt his men had thoroughly investigated the site.

A bad wreck just west of Fulton on I-70 involving a pinned-down tractor trailer had occupied the only mobile news unit. This worked in Jahnae’s favor. As the local TV station was small, they could afford only one unit. It would be some time before the reporters descended upon her. Even if the station pulled them off I-70, it would take a half hour to reach Fulton.

By the time the TV van did reach the stables, Mariah had been zipped up in a body bag and taken to the morgue.

Jahnae was pretty tough, but she didn’t like seeing a corpse. She made a brief statement to a TV reporter, then walked back to her car.

Once back in the office, the first call she made was to Inez.

Inez, calm, collected, said, “Do you want me to call the alumnae board? You have a great deal to do.”

“Inez, yes. Thank you.” A pause followed. “Although campuses are safer than most environments, they still reflect our society, and we are a violent society. I never thought Mariah would turn up here.”

“You can take comfort in the fact that this involves no students and that perhaps, in some way, Mariah brought it on herself.”

“Oh, Inez. Selling bogus watches isn’t worth murder. Surely not.”

“You’re right.” Inez sighed deeply. “I’m so very sorry for what you are about to endure. I’ll help in any way I can.”

“I know you will, and I thank you in advance.”

Inez first called Aunt Tally, who was stunned, then she informed Harry and Fair.

“What can we do for you?” Fair’s deep voice and his tone brought the animals into the kitchen, where Inez had been using her computer on the kitchen table.

“Bring me hot tea. I’ve got to call the board members, and some of those calls will go on.” She rubbed her temples. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“I told you!”
Tucker sat right up.

“Tucker, you said you smelled blood in the manure pile, but how could it have been Mariah’s? She’s been emailing people. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
Mrs. Murphy, rational as always, rubbed her head on the dog’s chest.

“Missouri is a long way away. This has nothing to do with our people or Inez.”
Pewter, on her haunches, wrapped her tail around her body.

“Better stay a long way away,”
Erno growled.
“Anyone tries to hurt Mommy, and I’ll rip their throat out.”

Inez now had Liz on the phone, who was gasping in shock. “Liz, Liz, are you there?”

“Sorry, I’m just … I don’t know. It’s unbelievable.” She swallowed audibly, then spoke. “I’m both horrified and relieved.”

“I can well understand,” Inez sympathized.

“What next?”
Tucker’s pink tongue hung out.

“I don’t know. I’m a cat, not a clairvoyant,”
Mrs. Murphy replied crossly, for she hated not knowing things.

The humans were upset. The animals, whose senses were much sharper, their minds not cluttered with ideologies that screened or blunted reality, often knew things before the humans did. But they knew nothing, except for Tucker, who did truly smell blood in the manure pile. Whose blood was it?

A
velvet black sky, clear; the moon, close to total fullness, cast its silver spell at three in the morning on April 11. Mrs. Murphy paid careful attention to the moon phases. Full moons brought out many night animals. There was more activity than usual. This was true for humans, too—hence the word “lunacy,” since “luna” meant moon in Latin. For thousands of years, sentient creatures understood that the full moon, the pull of the tides, affected minds.

Passover was this week. Mrs. Murphy knew about human benchmarks, mostly because she heard about them from her humans, but she thought cat holidays or major events should be on the calendar, as well. What about the cats that guarded grain supplies throughout history? Surely cats assisted in feeding the allied armies huddled before Waterloo, just to name one cataclysmic event. And what about the cats that kept Mark Twain, along with so many other great writers, thinkers, artists, and statesmen, company when they wrote? Then she considered the feline solace and advice given to kings and queens throughout history. It was true: Cats moved history.