The Purrfect Murder (5 page)

6

T
his is the second time in two days that you've questioned me,” Harvey Tillach, beefy-faced but not unattractive, grumbled.

“I appreciate your continued cooperation, especially over the weekend,” Rick simply replied.

“Didn't know you worked Saturdays.”

“Sometimes.” The genial sheriff nodded, then leaned forward slightly. “The acoustics are incredible. Can't hear the guns. Can't hear the downpour outside, either.”

“Still coming down in buckets?” Harvey's light eyebrows raised.

“A day for accidents.” Rick sighed, hoping none of them would be fatal.

As Harvey snorted agreement, the manager of this exclusive gun club ducked his head in the office. “You two need anything—a drink, hot or cold?”

“I'm fine, thanks, Nicky.” Harvey smiled.

“Me, too.”

“All right, then. Holler if you need me.” He shut the door.

Central Virginia Gun Club was snugged right up to the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Boasting clays, skeet, a fabulous indoor range, and organized pheasant hunts, as well, the waiting list was years long. The owner pushed women's names up the list, since if the Second Amendment was to be saved it would only be with the help of women. A few of the men moaned, but most of them realized how imperiled their constitutional rights had become.

Two former Olympians were on the staff, one wildlife conservationist, and a variety of groundsmen and gamekeepers. Classes were quite popular; the place hummed.

“You've been a member of CVG a long time?” Rick asked.

“Twenty-three years. Last year we all traveled out to Reno for a clay competition and, you know, the air is different. Had to swing that gun up a little faster,” he recalled. “Do you mind getting to the point?”

“Sure. You ever shoot handguns?”

“Rarely. I'm a clays guy. Don't think I'll be out today, but I can still work on my hand–eye down at the range.”

“How long have you competed?”

“Since med school. I was at New York University. Not much outdoor sports. I stumbled on an indoor firing range, so you can say I started out with a handgun. Got completely hooked. Also started playing squash then. It's easier playing squash in Manhattan than tennis. Better workout, too.”

“That's what I hear. And you met Will Wylde when you moved here?”

“We both started at Martha Jefferson at the same time.” He named one of the area's hospitals.

“Did he enjoy shooting?”

“No, although he did admire my Purdy.” Purdy was an exquisite brand of shotgun. “I'll bequeath it to my daughter. Thirteen and she's club champion for clays. Men or women. No wasted motion.” He meant her technique.

“It's something you can do together.”

Harvey laughed. “Well, she beats the pants off her old man, but we have a lot of fun together. She'll even go duck hunting with me. I'm very, very blessed.”

“You and your first wife had no children?”

“No.” His voice shifted, became more clipped.

“Ever see her?”

“No. She moved to Savannah.”

“Remarried?”

“One of the richest men in Georgia. That woman can smell a bank account a mile off.”

“Remind me: you own shotguns but no rifle?”

“I own a few rifles. Jody and I are going to Idaho this winter, going to pack in the mountains and hunt elk. A first for both of us, so, yes, I own rifles.”

“Can you repair your own equipment?”

This surprised Harvey. “I could. I used to have my own repair workshop, but as my practice increased I just didn't have the time.”

“What'd you do with all your tools?”

“Sold them to Mike McElvoy. He's good, too.”

“I didn't know Mike was an enthusiast, if that's the right term.”

“He's not. He likes the money and the quiet, I suppose. At least, that's what I liked, but I'm glad I sold my equipment. I wanted to spend more time with Babs and Jody.”

Babs was his second wife.

“Could you get a silencer if you wanted one?”

A pause followed this question. “I believe I could.”

“Illegal.”

“So's dope, and you can buy that on the streets, at the barber's, in restaurants. Supply and demand.”

“Don't I know it.” Rick slouched back for a moment in the chair. “Will Wylde was killed by a rifle with a silencer.”

“Makes sense. Don't expect me to utter the formulaic phrases concerning his death. I'm not that big a hypocrite.”

“Yes.” Rick had gotten a blast from Harvey during their first questioning session, the evening of the murder. “Remind me again of the circumstances of your rupture.”

“I already told you.” Irritation flashed across Harvey's face.

“Tell me again,” Rick coolly commanded.

“Like I said”—Harvey's tone registered his continued irritation—“we started out at Martha Jefferson together. A whole group of us just beginning our careers were there, and we had a pretty lively social group. Of course, we worked like dogs, too, but when we weren't working we partied hard. Will and I were close then; so were our wives. It helped that we weren't in competition. He was OB/GYN and I was in oncology. Back then most of us hadn't started our families, so we had more time to stay up late.”

“Anyone other than you interested in guns?”

“Not that I know of. Golf was the big sport. You don't need to be entirely sober to play golf, but you'd better damned well be sober if you have a firearm in your hands.”

“Where do you think it all went wrong?”

“Will was attracted to Linda,” he named his first wife, “and she returned the compliment. If you've ever seen photographs of Linda, you know she is a knockout. Always will be. Her vanity will ensure that. I was accustomed to men wanting her. I just wasn't accustomed to her wanting them back.” He paused a moment and then gallantly referred to his current wife. “Mind you, Babs is no slouch.” He folded his hands together. “You want to know the secret of happiness? Marry the right woman.”

“I did.” Rick smiled.

The two men relaxed for a moment.

“Lucky us.” Harvey smiled back.

“How did you find out about them?”

“She told me.”

Rick hadn't expected that. “She did?”

Harvey threw up his hands. “Oh, I'd caught her in some lame excuses about staying out late. She fessed up. I'll give her points for honesty.”

“Did you confront Will?”

“Damned straight I did. He lied through his teeth. Affected shock, then hurt, then anger. Quite the performance.”

“How long did your marriage last after that?”

“About two minutes.”

“Given the size of the medical community in this county, the various fund-raisers for disease cures, you must have run into Will and Benita a lot.”

“I did. I was polite. I am a Virginian, after all.”

“A special breed,” Rick sardonically added, since he, too, was one.

“No point in making everyone around you uncomfortable. Babs likes Benita. Well, who doesn't? Obviously, they weren't close.”

“How'd you meet Babs?”

“Blind date, would you believe it? At the end of the date—she lived in D.C. then, and I'd drive up to go to the Kennedy Center with her—well, anyway, she looked at me and said, ‘You're not the first man to be betrayed by his wife and best friend. If you stay bitter, they win.' I drove all the way back to Charlottesville furious. I mean bullshit mad. I got up the next morning and I was going to call her and tell her just what I thought about that statement. When I heard her voice on the line, I knew she was right. I asked her out. Any woman sensitive to me that way, telling me the truth, I wanted to know her.”

“And Will?”

“He knew better than to cast one sidelong glance at her. I swear I would have killed him, and I know I'm under suspicion now.”

“Harvey, did it ever occur to you that Linda lied to you?”

“Why?” His eyes grew larger, since it never had once crossed his mind.

“Some women like to hurt men, like power over us. Maybe she was one of them. She wanted to hurt you.”

As this sunk in, Harvey breathed deeply, then said, “She richly succeeded, but I'm grateful. I found the right woman, and she gave me a daughter who is truly the joy of my life.”

“You never could forgive Will, assuming Linda told you the truth?”

“No. Betrayal is betrayal. Maybe someone else could forgive, but I couldn't.” He folded his hands together. “In time the wound healed. Scar faded. It's still there, but I don't much notice it.”

“You had motive and the skill to kill him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“One clean shot straight through the heart.”

“An easy death.” Harvey struggled with conflicting emotions. “So be it.”

“Did you kill Will?”

“No. Wouldn't it have made sense for me to kill him a long time ago?”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

7

T
he rain continued, slackening at times only to pick up again. Harry, frustrated since she wanted to paint the tack room in the barn, decided to clean out the trunks in the center aisle. She no sooner opened the first one by the tack room than she closed it.

“It's too damp.” She looked at Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, all looking up at her. “Let's make a run for it.”

“Use the umbrella.”
Pewter didn't like getting wet.

“The one in the tack room?”
Tucker asked.

“Yes,”
Pewter said.

“Has holes in it,”
Mrs. Murphy answered.

“Then why doesn't she throw it out?”
Frustrated, Pewter walked to the end of the barn, knowing she'd be drenched by the time she reached the porch door.

Tucker laughed.
“Pewter, you know Harry never throws out anything.”

“What can anyone do with a Swiss cheese umbrella?”
the gray cat wondered.

“She'll convince herself that the silk can be cut up and used to patch things.”
Mrs. Murphy jumped back as a gust of wind sent rain inside the large open double doors.

“You might want to wait,”
Tucker advised Harry, who had jumped back also.

“Know what? Let's sit in the tack room until the worst of this passes.”

Before the sentence was completed, all three animals rushed to the tack room.

Once inside the cozy little place—its odor of cleaned leather was pleasing to Harry—she knelt down to turn the dial on the small wall heater.

“Chill in the air.”
Pewter snuggled on a lambskin saddle pad.

“September can fool you.” Harry dropped into the director's chair by the old desk.

The phone, an old wall unit, rang. Harry picked it up, smiling when she heard Miranda Hogendobber's voice. The two had worked together for years at the post office.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

“Waiting out the rain in the tack room.”

The older woman's voice was warm. “Going to be a long wait. I called to see how you're doing. Haven't seen you at all this week.”

“Busy as cat's hair.” Harry smiled as Mrs. Murphy hopped onto her lap. “What about you?”

“Pretty much like you. Not enough hours in the day.” She paused. “I liked it better when we saw each other Monday through Friday.”

“Me, too.”

“Isn't it awful about Will Wylde? I can't believe it.”

“It's a shock, but I'm starting to think evil is the norm and good is unusual.”

Miranda paused. “Oh, I hope not, but people have changed. They'll say and do things we would never have done way back in my day.”

“True enough, but I expect even then there were murderers, cranks. You just didn't have twenty-four-hour media to inundate you. Actually, I think coverage encourages more crime. Just sets nutcases right off. They become antiheroes.” Harry noticed a mouse pop out from behind the tack trunk up against the wall, the one containing her special coolers. “I haven't seen the news or read the paper today. Spent the morning at a vestry-board meeting. Anything new?”

“No. Mim's in a tiz.” Miranda mentioned her old friend, Big Mim Sanburne, a very wealthy and imperious resident of Crozet.

Although only a size 4, Mim was called Big because her daughter—same name—was called Little.

Many whispered “the Queen of Crozet” behind Big Mim's back.

“About Will?”

“She can't stand things like that. I know there are times when she can pluck my last nerve, but she does have a strong sense of justice. She's been on the phone canvassing everyone since she found out.”

“What does she think she'll find that Rick won't?”

“She believes people will tell her things they might not tell the sheriff, especially other women.” Miranda summed up Big Mim's thoughts.

“She has a point there,” Harry conceded.

“And the other thing is, she's furious at Little Mim, so furious she won't speak to her.”

This past summer Little Mim had married a male model, Blair Bainbridge. Her mother spent a small fortune on her daughter's exquisite wedding, a second marriage at that, and she expected obedience. But then, Mim expected obedience from everyone.

“Now what?” Harry, like everyone else in Crozet, was accustomed to family spats.

“Little Mim won't make a statement declaring a woman has a right to choose and this murder is horrible.”

Harry was incredulous. “I can't believe that.” She thought a minute. “Well, no one has come forward to say they shot Will because he terminated pregnancies. She may be prudent.”

“Prudent! She told Big Mim she's the vice mayor of Crozet, elected as a member of the Republican Party, and her mother knows perfectly well the party plank about overturning
Roe v. Wade.
Now, mind you, I am very uncomfortable with this, and as you know, the Church of the Holy Light is dead set against abortion.” Miranda was a member of the small charismatic church. “But I'm not eighteen. I'm far from the danger of an unwanted pregnancy. Well, anyway, you know what I think about all this. It's Little Mim who's the fly in the ointment. Mim says if her daughter doesn't make some kind of statement, she is all but countenancing such a dreadful deed.”

“Mim's right. There's no reason that Little Mim can't say she feels deep sympathy for the Wylde family and she finds such an action repugnant. She doesn't have to go on about
Roe v. Wade.
”

“She's dug her pointy toes in. Of course, her father made a statement immediately.”

“Saw that.”

Jim Sanburne was the mayor of Crozet and a Democrat. It complicated family life as well as the running of the town.

“And Mim says that Little Mim and Blair can't sit at her table for the Poplar Forest fund-raisers. So Little Mim said she wouldn't go, and Big Mim about tore her hair out by the roots. I mean, I never heard such a thing, and the only reason I heard it is I was at Mim's to discuss her zinnias as well as this new kind of chestnut tree she is determined to plant, but that's neither here nor there. I tell you what, sweetie, it was scalding.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“My ears are still ringing. Anyway, Big Mim said if her daughter and her son-in-law missed the fund-raiser—one dear to Mim's heart—that she would cut her off without a penny.”

“Big Mim said that?”

“Did. Indeed she did, and I tell you what, we've been friends for all of our seventy-some years and I have never, ever heard Mimsy threaten her child like that. It's beyond comprehension. I mean, over this?”

But it wasn't beyond comprehension. Harry, Little Mim's contemporary, knew that Little Mim had had an abortion in her sophomore year at college. No one knew except Susan and Harry, not even Miranda.

“This is pretty upsetting.”

“Yes it is, because for one thing, how can Little Mim sit at anyone else's table? Whoever invites her will be in her mother's bad books, and no one is that foolish.”

“What a mess.” Harry sighed. “It's a week until the ball. Maybe it will work out.”

“I hope so, because it will cast a pall over the whole evening. As if what's just happened isn't bad enough.”

“Can't you talk to Mim?”

“I can and I will. Will you talk to Little Mim?”

Harry gulped. She hated to get in the middle of things. “Yes. I'm not very persuasive, but I'll try.”

“It's so important. For everyone. This is a time when we all must stick together.”

After hanging up the phone, Harry regretted her promise. A promise made must be a promise kept. The rain accentuated her unease.

“I can't just sit here. Come on. To the truck. Make a run for it, kids.”

They dashed out, splattering as they ran. Harry opened the driver's door and lifted up Tucker as the two cats hopped in. She sat where wet paws had marked the seat, but so what.

Within twenty minutes she had pulled into the crowded parking lot of Keller & George on Millmont Avenue. Other people must have decided to use a rainy day to shop.

Harry had left off her father's old rectangular Bulova watch for repair. It was the only watch she wore.

As she breezed through the doors, she saw Marilyn Nash from Waynesboro, talking with Kylie Kraft. Both women did rescue work for their county's respective animal shelters.

“Harry.” Marilyn waved.

“What made you come over the mountain in the rain?” Harry smiled.

“Present for Lauren.”

Lauren was Marilyn's teenage daughter.

Kylie kept admiring the watch on her wrist, as Bill Leibenrod, the manager, folded his hands behind his back.

“I just love it,” Kylie gushed.

Marilyn, who had been admiring the gold Rolex with the heavy gold link band, said, “Fits you.”

“I have to have it.”

Harry, knowing full well that watch cost at least nineteen thousand dollars, couldn't restrain her shock. “Kylie, do you know how much that costs?”

“I do. My boyfriend told me to buy whatever I wanted, and he gave me a blank check. Can you believe it?”

“Best to keep that boyfriend,” Marilyn noted wryly, a slight Texas twang to her speech.

She wasn't raised in Richardson, Texas, for nothing. But there a Rolex was called a Texas Timex.

As Kylie squealed and hugged herself, red curls bobbing, Bill winked at Harry and Marilyn, moved from behind the counter, and motioned for Kylie to follow. He headed for the cash register.

“Jesus H. Christ on a raft,” Harry said under her breath. “I could build a big new hay shed for that.”

“You could. Most people couldn't.” Marilyn laughed, because she knew how practical and tight with money Harry could be.

Harry smiled. “Marilyn, not three days ago she was flattened with grief because Will had been shot, and here she is all giddy and silly over a watch.”

“It is a very nice watch. Common enough but nice, and they do last.”

“I'll never know,” Harry flatly stated. “I came to pick up my dad's watch. Howard is back there somewhere.” She nodded in the direction of the closed door where the “surgeons,” as she thought of them, worked.

Both Marilyn and Harry knew Howard because he was a bird aficionado, raising many with the help of his wife. He was also a Vietnam vet and tough despite his mild exterior.

“If anyone can fix your dad's watch, it's Howard.” Marilyn took a deep breath. “A terrible thing, what happened to Will Wylde.” She glanced at Kylie leaning over the counter as Bill rang up the sum. “No one has ever accused Kylie of being a deep well.”

“I don't know why I'm surprised.”

“Well, will I see you at Poplar Forest?”

“You will. Can't wait to see what you're wearing. I know what Urbie will wear.” Harry grinned, because the men would be in black tie.

“Men have it so easy.”

“They sure do. One good tux, one good dinner jacket, white for summer, one set of tails for white tie, and, if he's really social, a morning suit.”

“And if he's not social, all he needs is a pair of jeans. Doesn't even need a shirt.”

“Marilyn, we're being abused.” Harry affected anger.

“I don't think the men would mind if you just wore jeans.”

Harry laughed. “Well, my husband would pitch a fit, but how wonderful it must feel on a hot day to be out there without your shirt, sweating, and a soft breeze comes up. Must be heaven.”

The two women caught up, compared notes, then Marilyn walked over to the repair section of the store with Harry. They both waved as Kylie skipped out.

On the way back to Crozet, Harry's mind returned to what she'd promised Miranda. Despite Pewter's begging for Harry to stop at the market and pick up treats, Harry kept her mind on her worry.

Harry's husband had been covering for another vet who was on vacation. When Fair came home, she recounted the conversation. In fact, she was so focused on talking about Little Mim, she forgot to tell him about Kylie buying a gold Rolex. He listened intently.

“Fair?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Say something.”

“I'm thinking. It's sticky.” He sliced a succulent cooked chicken. He'd stopped on the way home and bought supper, along with treats for “the kids.”

“I don't want Big Mim mad at me.”

“She isn't going to be mad at you. You're trying to bring Little Mim around.”

“What if I fail—and I probably will?”

“First of all, baby doll, don't underrate yourself. Tell yourself you're going to succeed. And if, for some reason, you don't, Big Mim will know you tried your best. Here.” He handed her a heaping plate.

While they listened to the conversation, the cats, on the counter, chewed their chicken bits with delight, as did Tucker, who loved chicken almost as much as beef.