“Not very often. As they get older they don't do it at all, I think,” Mrs. Murphy answered. “You see so much more from up here. You'd think they'd want to keep doing it.”
“No claws. Must be hard for them.” Pewter kept her claws dangerously sharp.
“Everything's hard for them. That's why all their religions are full of fear. You know, hellfire and damnation, that sort of thing.”
“And being plunged into darkness.” Tucker agreed with the tiger cat.
“If they could see in the dark as well as we do, their gods would be dark gods.” Mrs. Murphy pitied humans their wide variety of fears.
“If they were bats their gods would be sounds.” Tucker suffered no religious anxiety. She knew perfectly well that a corgi presided over the universe and she ignored the cats' blasphemous references to a celestial feline.
“How long do you think Harry will live?” Pewter rubbed against the cobbled trunk of the tree.
Walnuts, beautiful trees, possessed the exact right type of bark for cats to sharpen their claws on—and it was good to rub against, too.
“She's strong. Into her eighties, I should say, maybe as long as Tally Urquhart,” Murphy replied.
“Then why are humans scared, really? They live much longer than we do.”
“Nah. Just seems longer.” Tucker giggled.
The cats laughed.
Mrs. Murphy watched Harry hum to herself, swinging her legs as she enjoyed the slow shift of colors from pink to salmon to bloodred shot through with fingers of gray. She truly loved this human and wished Harry could be more like a cat. It would improve her life.
Harry suddenly noticed the animals all observing her.
She burst out laughing. “Hey.”
“Hey back at you,” they replied.
“Isn't it beautiful?”
“Yes,” came the chorus.
“It's time for supper.”
“Pewter,” Mrs. Murphy corrected her.
Pewter fell silent. If she complained she'd probably be stuck out in the walnut tree longer. With luck, Harry's bucolic rapture would pass soon.
“Do you ever worry about who will take care of Mom when we're dead?” Tucker soberly asked Murphy.
“She'll bring in a puppy and a kitten by the time we're old. We'll train them.”
“I'm not training any kitten,” Pewter huffed.
“That's because you have nothing to teach the next generation.”
“Aren't we clever?” Pewter boxed Murphy's ears.
Murphy boxed right back, the two felines moving forward and backward on the heavy branch as Harry laughed at them. Pewter whacked Murphy hard and the tiger slipped. She grabbed at the branch with her front paws but her hind legs dangled over the edge.
“Here.” Harry reached over and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, pulling her up. She put the tiger cat in her lap.
Pewter advanced on Murphy.
“Don't you dare or I'll fall off.” Harry shook her finger at Pewter, who grabbed her finger. She sheathed her claws but her pupils were big so she appeared ferocious.
“Who will open the cans if Harry gets hurt?” Murphy spit in Pewter's face.
“Now that's enough!” Harry tapped the tiger's head with her index finger.
It didn't hurt but it was irritating.
A sweet purr attracted everyone's attention. A pair of headlights, a mile off, swung into view. Blair pulled into his driveway. He got out of his car, then opened the door for Little Mim.
“Can she see?” Pewter asked Murphy.
“It's clear enough. She can see that far. Interested, too.”
“Who wouldn't be interested in the Porsche,” Tucker said.
“She's curious about him.”
“Oh.” Tucker watched a twig by the creek. “What was that about Biddy Minor? Miss Tally said curiosity killed him?”
“I don't know. Long before my time. That's way back in our great-grandmothers' time, I guess.”
“You'd think they'd talk about it.” Pewter backed down the tree. If the others weren't going home, she was. There might be some dried crunchies left in the bowl on the countertop.
“Maybe they did and we didn't hear it. But I don't think Harry's talked about it.” Mrs. Murphy hopped out of Harry's lap and backed down the walnut also. She talked as she felt for her footing, the slight piercing sound of her claws sinking in bark audible even to the human. “Maybe she made a passing reference. It would have happened in the twenties, I think.”
“That long ago?”
Murphy reached the bottom as Tucker walked over to her. “Well, if Biddy was Harry's great-grandfather, you figure he was born in the 1880s, not much later than 1900 for sure.”
“Let's look it up in the family Bible,” Tucker suggested, “when she's asleep.”
“Okay.” Pewter would have agreed to anything just to get to the house.
Harry “skinned the cat,” turning upside down from the branch and dropping to the ground below.
“Very good,” Murphy praised her.
As they walked back together Harry asked them, “Did you all know about Tommy Van Allen's plane?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Murphy and Tucker replied.
Pewter said nothing because she hadn't seen it before, even though Mrs. Murphy had told her everything.
Harry smiled at them, oblivious to their answers.
“Smart kids.”
“Sometimes,” Tucker, more modest than the cats, responded.
“What I don't like about this is it's too close to home.” Murphy emphasized home. “Tally Urquhart's only four miles away.”
“It doesn't concern Mom no matter how far away or how close it is.” Pewter had taken to calling Harry Mom even though she had been raised by Market Shiflett and she occasionally helped out in the store.
“This is a small town. Everything concerns everybody and we led Mom to what may become damaging evidence for someone else. We were stupid.” Murphy realized her mistake.
“I never thought of that.” Tucker pressed closer to Harry.
“Me neither. I wish I had.”
“Don't worry until they find a body,” Pewter said.
“Whoever landed that plane had guts. The fog that night was thick as Mrs. Hogendobber's gravy. Bold ones like that do things other people don't dream of, they take wild chances. Whoever was with Tommy probably killed him, which means I saw the killer. I couldn't tell you one thing about him, though, except that he was shorter than Van Allen. But whoever killed Tommy can't be but so far away.”
“You don't know that.” Pewter played devil's advocate.
“But I do.” Mrs. Murphy dashed ahead a few paces. “What would someone far away have to gain by removing Tommy Van Allen—”
“And removing H. Vane-Tempest,” Tucker interrupted.
“He's still hanging on.” Pewter wasn't convinced.
Mrs. Murphy continued her thoughts. “If Van Allen has some distant relatives who might inherit his construction business, well, it might be someone far away, but I doubt that's the case.”
“Everyone will know when his will is read.” Pewter shrugged.