"I'm proud of Mom," Tucker said. "She figured this one out all by herself. I couldn't tell her about Nigel being Sargent, although we still don't know all that we need to know about him."
"Humans occasionally use their deductive powers." Mrs. Murphy wedged close to Harry's leg, Pewter next to her, as they huddled down to get warm.
"But if she figured out about the knife place, don't you think Rick Shaw and Cynthia have figured that out as well?" Pewter asked.
"Maybe, but only Mom knows the signatures."
"Maybe he's afraid of exposing her to risk. Whoever this is is ruthless. Let's not forget that this started years ago," Mrs. Murphy prudently noted.
The parking lot of the Church of the Holy Light, jammed from stem to stern, testified to the popularity of the evening's entertainment. The choirfest, one of the church's biggest fundraisers, drew music lovers from all over the county. They might not be willing to accept the Church's strict message, but they loved the singing.
Harry scanned the lot for a place to park but had to settle for a spot along the side of the road. She noticed that the squad car was near the front door. Mim's Bentley Turbo R, Susan and Ned's Conestoga—as they called their station wagon—were there, Herbie's big Buick Roadmaster; in fact, it looked as though everyone was at the choirfest but her.
She forgot to tell the animals to stay in the truck. They hopped out when she opened the door, following her into the church just as the choir made its measured entrance to enthusiastic applause. Intermission was over and the folks could expect a rousing second half.
Harry noticed her little family as did some of the other people who turned to greet her. Tucker quietly sat down next to Fair. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, not exactly sacrilegious but not overwhelmed either, decided to check out the gathering before picking their spot.
"You kitties come back here," Harry hissed, staying at the back of the church.
"Don't look at her," Mrs. Murphy directed her fat gray sidekick.
"Mrs. Murphy! Pewter!" Harry hissed, then stopped because the choirmaster had lifted his baton, and all eyes were on him. The organist pressed the pedals and the first lovely notes of "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" swelled over the group.
Tucker, realizing Harry wouldn't chase after her, decided to follow the cats, who generally led her into temptation.
Chark Valiant sat in the front row with the Sanburnes and Arthur Tetrick. Rick and Cynthia stood off to the side. Harry, not finding a seat, leaned against the wall, hoping to catch Rick's or Cynthia's eye unobtrusively.
Mrs. Hogendobber stepped forward for her solo. Her rich contralto voice coated the room like dark honey.
"Mrs. H.?" Mrs. Murphy was so astonished to hear the good woman that she walked right in front of everyone and sat in front of Miranda, her pretty little head tilted upward to watch her friend, the lady who formerly didn't like cats.
Miranda saw Mrs. Murphy, now joined by Pewter and Tucker. The two kitties and the dog, enraptured, were immobile. A few titters rippled throughout the audience, but then the humans were oddly affected by the animals listening to Miranda singing one of the most beautiful spirituals, a harmonic record of a harsher time made endurable by the healing power of music.
Herb, also in the front row, a courtesy seat from the church, marveled at the scene.
When Miranda finished, a moment's hush of deep appreciation was followed by thunderous applause.
"You were wonderful," Mrs. Murphy called out, then trotted down the center aisle to check over each face in her passing.
"What ate we looking for?" Pewter asked.
"Someone guilty as sin."
"Ooh-la," she trilled.
"And in church, too," Tucker giggled.
"Will you get back here!" Harry whispered.
"Ignore her. No matter how red in the face she gets, just ignore her."
"You're going to get it," Pewter warned.
"She has to catch me first, and remember, she left me to go to Montpelier and then Camden. I just pray"—she remembered she was in a church—"we can get her out of here before the fur flies."
The next song, a Bach chorale, held everyone's attention. Mrs. Murphy jumped onto a low table along the back wall near Harry but far enough away so she could jump off if Harry came after her. Pewter followed. Tucker lagged behind.
"Count the exits."
"Double front doors, two on either side of the nave. There's a back stair off the balcony but that probably connects with the doors off the nave."
"And I'm willing to bet there's another back door." She swept her whiskers forward. "Tucker, get up here."
"Tucker, there are four exits. The one behind, two on the side, and one behind the proscenium, I think. If something goes wrong, if he gets scared or anything, we can run faster than he can. You go back to the nave exit, we'll stay by this one. If anything happens, stay with Mom and we'll go out our door and catch up with you. We'll be out the door before the humans know what hit them."
"Well, let's hope nothing happens." Pewter, not the most athletic girl, wanted to stay put.
Rick edged his way toward Harry, careful not to make noise. Cynthia moved to the front door.
Harry reached in her back pocket and pulled out the fax. "Come outside with me for a minute."
The sheriff and his deputy tiptoed out with Harry. Keenly, Miranda observed them as she sang. A few other people noticed out of the corners of their eyes.
"Harry, you've been meddling again," Rick said in a low voice as they closed the doors behind them.
"I couldn't help it. I figured if we could trace the knives we'd have a first down, goal to go."
Cynthia studied the fax sheet with a little pocket flashlight.
Rick held it steady in his hands, as Harry told him whose handwriting it was. "I'm not surprised," he said.
"Was the body Marylou Valiant's?" Harry asked.
"Yes." Cynthia answered. "Dr. Yarbrough brought the dental records right over a half hour ago. It is Marylou."
"Did you have any idea?" Harry asked Rick.
"Yes, but I thought this was about money. It's not." He rubbed his nose, the tip of which was cold. "The cards and knife in Mickey Townsend's car—right over the top. That brought me back to the real motive: jealousy." He shook his head. "When you get down to it, motives are simple. Crimes may be complicated, but motives are always simple."
"What do we do now?" Harry shuffled her feet.
"We don't do anything," Rick said as more applause broke out inside. "We wait."
"He's got good alibis," Coop commented.
"But if you broke down each murder, minute by minute, wouldn't you find the loophole?"
"Harry, it's not that easy. We've pinpointed the time of the murders as close as we can, but that still gives him a healthy thirty-minute comfort zone. A good lawyer can chip away at that very easily, you know, try to get the jury to believe the coroner's report is fuzzy. Things like the temperature inside the barn versus the temperature outside would affect the corpse, as would the victim's health while alive. They'll erode the time frame of each murder as well as planting doubt in the jury's mind as to how he could have escaped notice at Montpelier. Then they'll indulge in character assassination for each prosecution witness. Right now it's a cinch he'll get off with a good lawyer. Case is totally circumstantial." Rick hated the way the system worked, especially if a defendant had money.
"Yes, but what about Marylou's murder?" Harry's lips trembled she was so angry. "Can't we pin him down there?"
"Maybe if Coty were alive," Coop said. "He obviously knew where Marylou was buried."
"Rick, you can't let that son of a bitch go free."
"If I arrest him before I've built my case, he will go free, scot free, Harry." Rick's jaw clenched. He folded the fax. "This is a big help and I thank you for it. I promise you, I will do everything I can to close in."