The Purrfect Murder (24 page)

36

B
enita, good with names and faces, remembered that she had once seen someone who looked like Jonathan Bechtal talking to Kylie Kraft outside Will's office. Benita had gone by to drop off a salad for Will since he was being careful about his eating habits.

She also remembered that when Kylie came back into the office after only minutes outside, she made a crack about men not understanding that no means no. Given Kylie's ever-changing string of boyfriends, Benita had discounted it.

However, Kylie had seen the photo in the paper, too. Taking no chances, she was at the airport one half hour after seeing the picture.

         

By the time Rick and Cooper reached Kylie's apartment, she was gone. Her clothes and furniture remained. Cooper checked the bathroom; her makeup bag was gone.

Cooper found a pack of Virginia Slims, which they put in a plastic bag.

They put an alert out for her car, which was found at the Charlottesville Airport parking lot. However, her name did not appear on any flights.

Either she had been picked up by a friend or she stole a car from the parking lot. That wouldn't be evident until the owner returned to an empty space days or maybe weeks later.

At nine-fifteen that morning, Rick and Cooper interrogated Jonathan Bechtal.

“Do you know Kylie Kraft?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you to kill Dr. Wylde?”

“No,” he answered Rick.

“Was Dr. Wylde on to her stealing the records?”

“How would I know?”

The only flicker of emotion in Bechtal's face came when Rick said, “She left town in a hurry with all the money you'd raised.”

Rick didn't know that. He was baiting Bechtal. But he was reasonably certain it was true.

When Bechtal said nothing, Cooper slyly mentioned, “She will continue your work.”

A beatific look infused his face. Again he said nothing.

Rick and Cooper ended their interrogation and left the jail. Once in the car, Rick started the motor. Before he pulled out, he reached into a dash cubbyhole, extracting two dollars and fifty cents. “Here.”

“What's this for?”

“Half and half. I bet a woman. You bet a man.”

She smiled. “We'll get her.”

“Might take years, but she'll make a mistake. They always do.”

“Do you think she's a true believer?”

He pulled out of the parking lot. “I don't know. If she is, she's in some ways more frightening than he is. And smarter.”

“True.”

“Still,” he smiled, “I have this vision of her in a beautiful hacienda in Uruguay or an opulent seaside house in Chile, living high on the hog.”

“And?”

“There's a revolution.” He laughed.

“Probably not in those two countries, but she'll tip her hand and we'll get her. She killed a woman; she orchestrated the death of a doctor.”

“And she's a nurse. You know, I never connected with that. Carla was killed by someone who understood anatomy, understood what happens when you slit a jugular. Somehow, she got out of the way of that mighty gusher.”

“I'd like to know how.” Cooper stared out the window at clouds massing up in the west.

“Well, when she turns up, wherever she turns up, we'll find out.”

“At least Mike didn't kill Carla. That's some comfort to his widow.”

“Cold comfort,” Rick grunted.

Cooper turned to look at his profile. “If nothing else, this showed Little Mim's mettle, and I bet there are women—we'll never know who—who talked to their husbands or friends and resolved their burden about their past. Some good came of it.”

“We can hope.”

“Smoke?” she asked.

“Have you ever known me to refuse?”

She reached for the hardpack she'd slid in her front pocket, fishing out a long cigarette. “Coffin nail, just for you.”

He quickly glanced at it. “Dunhill Mild.”

“It's true, you're corrupting me.”

“Damn,” was all he said, as she held a match for him when they reached a stoplight.

“If you have no objection, I'll drive out to Harry's and give her the scoop.”

“That is one lucky woman.” He inhaled. “What are we going to do about her? She's a damned nuisance, and one of these days she's going to get herself or one of us killed, I swear.”

“Ask her to join the force.”

Rick laughed. “That will be the day. I'd sooner ask Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. In fact, they demonstrate more sense than she does.”

“They've saved her on more than one occasion.”

He rode along, silent for a while. “We use German shepherds. Why not a corgi and two cats?”

         

Cooper related this to Harry as she cleaned tack in the barn.

“Guess he's mad at me.”

“Do you blame him?” Cooper's eyebrows raised.

“I did find a criminal. Okay, Mike wasn't the killer, but he sure was guilty of plenty of other stuff.”

“Paid for it,” Cooper tersely replied. “Harry, you've got to be more careful. You can't just go do these things on a whim.”

“It wasn't a whim. Well, okay. It was.”

“I can't believe she admitted it!”
Pewter listened to the mice behind the tack trunk.

“There. That's finished.” Harry hung the tack on the half-round bridle holder on the wall. “Come on in the house. I'll make you some Silver Queen.”

“Where'd you get Silver Queen in October?”

“I bought four bushels in August and put them in cold storage—you know the refrigeration plant downtown? Anyway, we tested two last night and they're still really good.”

“Four bushels?” Cooper asked as they left the barn, Simon looking out from the open top barn door in the hayloft.

“For the St. Luke's reunion.”

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker tagged along.

“Saturday after this; that's always such a wonderful day, isn't it?” Cooper smiled.

As they passed under the wide branches of the walnut tree, Matilda, swinging by her tail, dropped.

She just missed Harry, who was walking behind Cooper, and landed right on Pewter.

“Death from the skies,”
Matilda hissed.

Pewter screamed so loudly that everyone jumped. Matilda slithered toward the barn. Time to go in, because she knew in her bones that tonight would be the first frost.

“God!” Cooper exclaimed.

“She was going to wrap herself around my throat. She's a wicked, wicked snake.”
Pewter, beside herself, babbled on.

“Every now and then she does that,” Harry laconically replied.

“Why is she in the tree?”

“Birds' eggs in the spring and summer—birds, period. She's fast when she wants to be. Look how fast she's heading toward the barn.”

Harry knelt down to pet Pewter, who was recovering.

“Big baby.”
Mrs. Murphy giggled.

“Shut up.”
Pewter crawled into Harry's arms, allowing herself to be carried into the house.

The women chatted as the corn boiled.

“Sometimes things do fall out of the sky. Sometimes we miss things.” Cooper was still surprised at Matilda's bomber act. “If we hadn't shaved Bechtal, who knows? And we should have done that right away. We only had a high-school photograph of him, no beard. He'd erased most everything about his life.”

“Criminals fall into two camps: dumber than posts or extremely intelligent.”

“Yep.”

“I'm reasonably intelligent, but…” Harry didn't finish.

“You'd be lost without us.”
Mrs. Murphy smiled, then hopped on the kitchen counter to gaze out the window.

Mrs. Murphy knew they'd been very lucky this time. She and Pewter had used up one of their nine lives, and it was uppermost in her mind that Harry had only one.

Dear Reader,

         

I keep forgetting to mention that four books equal one year. Each mystery represents a season. I thought it was obvious, which it is to cats, but I overestimate human intelligence sometimes. You'd think after all these years with my typist that I'd figure out how dim they are.

I will give my human credit for a green thumb. She can grow anything and I reward her for her crop of fresh catnip by not shredding the furniture.

This isn't to say I don't love my human and like some others. I do, but the poor things are so limited. Can't see in the dark for squat. No claws. No fangs. Slow as molasses when running. Climb with difficulty. Besotted with ideologies that don't correspond to reality. It's a wonder they've survived, and really, they only began to flourish after we cats chose to assist them. Think what would have happened to the granaries of Rome if cats hadn't guarded them? But as usual, humans are so drastically self-centered, they ignore what we've done. They ignore dog contributions, too, although we all know dogs aren't as intelligent as cats. In some ways they are well suited to be companions to humans since dogs believe what humans tell them.

Not me. I know the emperor has no clothes; a pity, since naked humans are ghastly!

Ta Ta,

Sneaky Pie

Dear Reader,

         

She really is insufferable!

About the Authors

RITA MAE BROWN
is the bestselling author of several books. An Emmy-nominated screenwriter and poet, she lives in Afton, Virginia. Her website is
www.ritamaebrown.com
.

         

SNEAKY PIE BROWN,
a tiger cat born somewhere in Albemarle County, Virginia, was discovered by Rita Mae Brown at her local SPCA. They have collaborated on fifteen previous Mrs. Murphy mysteries:
Wish You Were Here; Rest in Pieces; Murder at Monticello; Pay Dirt; Murder, She Meowed; Murder on the Prowl; Cat on the Scent; Pawing Through the Past; Claws and Effect; Catch as Cat Can; The Tail of the Tip-Off; Whisker of Evil; Cat's Eyewitness; Sour Puss
; and
Puss 'n Cahoots,
in addition to
Sneaky Pie's Cookbook for Mystery Lovers.