“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!”
“You don't think they'll show their faces, do you?” the dog intelligently asked. “They're both in the barn in the hayloft, I guarantee it.”
Harry looked at the old clock on the mantelpiece. “Damn. Well, come on, Tucker, I was going to take them to Tracy's but not now.”
She grabbed her old white painter's pants, a white T-shirt, then headed out the door with a bouncy Tucker at her side.
Once at Tracy's she blew off steam about the depredations of felines. It made her paint faster but she was careful with her brush and didn't make a mess. Miranda had chosen a rich, warm beige for the living room, the windows trimmed in linen white.
Once Cynthia arrived the pace really picked up. They had the living room and all the trim knocked out by eight. Miranda had set up two card tables in the kitchen. Susan went off her diet. She couldn't help it, the food was too good.
Tracy had fought in Korea right out of high school. He stayed in the army, got his college degree, and after years of outstanding service was wooed away from the army by the CIA. He wasn't a right-wing fellow; he'd seen enough government mismanagement to cure him of any blind patriotism. However, he revered the Constitution and loved his country, warts and all. He had a logical mind, a mind good at detail. When he retired to Hawaii he thought all would be well, but his wife had died three years earlier. His fiftieth high-school reunion brought him home and back to his high-school flame, Miranda, herself widowed. It was as though they had never parted. So he flew back to Hawaii, attended to business there, sold his house, and returned.
Both Tracy and Miranda were of a generation where you didn't live with a member of the opposite sex unless you married them. He could walk to Miranda's from his apartment and everything would be proper.
“When do you move the furniture in?” Susan asked. “Do you have furniture?”
“Some.” He looked at Cynthia Cooper. “Did you notice the knot on the hanging rope? Not to change the subject.”
“Just looked like a knot to me.”
“You saved the rope for evidence, of course.”
“Yes.”
“Mind if I come down and look at it tomorrow? And who notified next of kin?”
“Augusta County Sheriff's Department.” A cloud crossed Cooper's face. She didn't want to trespass on another law-enforcement agency's jurisdiction, but she thought she probably should have gone with someone from the Augusta department. She'd go over there tomorrow.
Already a few pounds thinner thanks to his wired-up jaw, Officer Everett Yancy hopped out of his seat when Deputy Cooper walked through the doors of the sheriff's headquarters.
“Coop!” He hustled her to his desk, sat her in his chair, leaned over, and punched in a code. “What do you make of this?”
On the computer screen appeared a message from their contact at Richmond's Department of Motor Vehicles, Carol Grossman. The DMV, efficient, processed information from satellite DMVs statewide as well as mailings from individual drivers.
The message read:
Hey, you asked for this driver's license Saturday night.
Here's our record.
Yrs, Carol
Yancy reached in front of Cooper to scroll up more text. Before her eyes was Wesley Partlow's license. But the photo on the license wasn't Wesley Partlow.
For the first time, Cooper felt the ground give way beneath her. She knew they were going out into deeper water.
She glanced up at Yancy. “These guys are good—real good.”
No sooner had she studied Carol Grossman's message than the phone rang for her.
“Hello.”
“Deputy Cooper, Officer Vitale. I'm sorry to be a little behind. I went over to the Partlows' like you requested. No one's dead.”
“Thank you, Officer Vitale.” She put the phone down. “Someone sure is dead, along with my brain!” She stormed out of the room.
22
You've got ants in your pants.” Miranda re-inked the stamp pads, then closed the lids, sliding them under the counter.
“I want to know what's going on.”
“We all want to know what's going on. That's why Tracy drove down to the sheriff's office this morning.”
“Well, why hasn't he called?”
“Harry, he left a half hour ago. Will you calm yourself?”
“Yes. It's time for my morning nap. I need quiet.” Pewter yawned.
The front door swung open. BoomBoom came in, wearing bib overalls, large hoop earrings, and a bright green T-shirt. “Good morning, ladies.”
“I can see you're going to spend a day on the tractor.” Harry thought she'd like to be on her old John Deere.
“No,” came the brief reply as BoomBoom slid her key in the lock of her postbox, swinging open the brass door with the glass window.
“Bills,” Tucker told her as the corgi helped sort the mail this morning.
“Why, hello, Tucker. I didn't notice you when I came in.”
“Where are you off to in your overalls?”
“Harry, I'm not accustomed to you being so interested in my schedule.” BoomBoom sorted through the envelopes as though they were cards in a deck. “What gives?”
“Nothing.” Harry appeared nonchalant.
BoomBoom sashayed to the counter, leaned on it, and purred, “You want to know if Thomas has said anything about Diego.”
“Not me.”
“I hate it when humans try to purr.” Mrs. Murphy stuck one leg straight up, contorted her head under it to lick the back side.
“If I made her do that people would say it's cruelty to animals.” Harry pointed to the agile tiger kitty.
“You can't do that.” Miranda smiled. “I know I can't. I bet the Dalai Lama couldn't do it either.”
“What's the Dalai Lama got to do with it?” BoomBoom, mystified, wrinkled her nose, a habit when she was puzzled.
“Doesn't he twist himself into a pretzel, sleep on nails?” Miranda's eyes grew larger. “Walk through fire.”
“No, that's a master yogi.”
“Yogi Bear.” Harry giggled.
BoomBoom said, “But honestly, they can do things like that. There are some who can have out-of-body experiences.”
“I have out-of-body experiences when I get the flu.”
“Harry, gross.” BoomBoom stacked her mail on the counter, flipped it on the side, and tapped the envelopes evenly together. “Anyway, do you want to know what Diego said to Thomas?”
“Sure,” she shrugged.
“Mother, don't try to be so cool.” Mrs. Murphy still had her hind leg over her head.
Tucker walked back behind the counter when Harry tipped it up. “Murphy, I wish you wouldn't do that. It hurts just to look at you.”
“If you didn't have such stumps, you could do it, too,” the tiger cat said with malicious glee.
“Ha, ha,” the dog dryly replied.
“Why isn't anyone paying attention to me?” Pewter pouted.
“You said you wanted to take a nap,” Murphy fired back.
“Am I asleep?”
“Pewter, you are so perverse.”
“All cats are perverse.” The little dog headed for the back animal door.