"Has she shown any remorse?" Mrs. Hogendobber inquired.
"None."
"Ottoline says Aysha is being framed. She insists that Kerry is the culprit while she killed Norman to spare her daughter a dreadful marriage." Mim rose to signal time to eat. "But then, Ottoline always was a silly fool."
"Whose blood was on the saddlebag?" Harry asked.
"What blood?" Mim motioned for Little Marilyn to join her. "I don't know anything about blood."
"A few drops of blood on Mike Huckstep's saddlebags." Cynthia checked her hands and decided she needed to wash them before eating. "Aysha's. She must have had a small cut."
By now the humans had invaded the kitchen. Much as they wanted to wait for Fair, their stomachs wouldn't. Besides, with a vet, one never knew what his hours would be.
Little Marilyn had cooked crisp chicken.
"Don't forget us," came the chorus from the floor.
She didn't. Each animal received delectable chicken cut into small cubes. As the people carried their plates back into the living room, the animals happily ate.
Miranda asked, "What about Kerry?"
"Aysha was slick, slick as an eel." Cynthia put down her drumstick. "First she used the term Threadneedle because she knew Kerry worked for a bank in London, near the Bank of England, on Threadneedle Street. She figured by the time we unearthed that odd fact, Kerry's neck would be in the noose. Aysha had a fake driver's license made with her statistics and photograph but with Kerry's name, address, and social security number, which she pulled out of the bank computer in Norman's office. She bought the gun at Hassett's that way."
"Fake driver's licenses?" Miranda was surprised.
"High school kids are a big market—so they can buy liquor," Harry said.
"How would you know that?" Miranda demanded.
"Oh—" Harry's voice rose upward.
"It's a good thing your mother is not here to hear this."
"Yes. It is." Harry agreed with Miranda.
"But why would Aysha kill Norman? He was her cover," Marilyn wanted to know.
"She didn't," Harry blurted out, not from knowledge but from intuition and what she had observed at Ash Lawn.
"Norman chickened out after Hogan's murder. White-collar crime was all right, but murder—well, he was getting very shaky. Aysha was afraid he'd crack and give them away. Ottoline, terrified that her daughter might get caught, really did strangle him. I'm sure the old girl's telling the truth about that, although we don't have any proof."
"So Ottoline knew all along." Harry was astonished.
"Not at first." Cynthia shrugged. "When Mike Huckstep's body was found, Ottoline got her first seismic wake-up call. When Hogan was killed, she had to have known. Aysha may even have told her. Like I said, Aysha denies everything and Ottoline confesses to everything."
"She killed to protect her daughter." Mim shook her head.
"Too late. And planting the weapon in Kerry's Toyota—that was obvious and clumsy."
"Then it was Aysha driving the motorcycle out from Sugar Hollow?" Harry remembered her close call.
"Yes." Cynthia finished off a chicken wing as the others chatted.
"You know," Mim changed the subject, "Ottoline was forever Aysha's safety net. She never let her grow up in the sense that the woman was never accountable for her actions. The wrong kind of love," Mim observed. "Hope I didn't do that to you."
Her daughter answered, "Well, Mother, you'd be happy to live my life for me and everyone else's in this room. You are domineering."
A silence descended upon the group.
Big Marilyn broke it. "So…?"
They all laughed.
"Didyou think it was Aysha?"l?ewter spoke with her mouth full.
"No. We just knew it wasn't Kerry. At least we were pretty sure it wasn't, "Tucker replied.
"I'm happy we're alive.''Murphy flicked her tail. "I don't understand why humans kill each other. I guess I never will."
"You have to love them for what they are. "Tucker snuck over to sniff Pewter's plate.
Pewter boxed Tucker on the nose. "Watch it. I don't have to love a poacher!"
"You take so long to eat. "Tucker winced.
"Ifyou'd eat more slowly you'd enjoy it more," Pewter advised.
They heard the vet truck pull up outside, a door slamming, then Fair pushed open the screen door. The friends, intent on their dinners, greeted him. Then one by one they noticed.
"What have you done?" Mrs. Hogendobber exclaimed.
"Curled my hair a little," he replied in an unusually strong voice. "Didn't come out quite the way I expected."
"Might I ask why you did it?" Harry was polite.
"Works for Blair." He shrugged. "Thought it might work for me."
The End
Dear Highly Intelligent Feline:
Tired of the same old ball of string? Well, I've developed my own line of catnip toys, all tested by Pewter and me. Not that I love for Pewter to play with my little sockies, but if I don't let her, she shreds my manuscripts. You see how that is!
Just so the humans won't feel left out, I've designed a T-shirt for them.
If you'd like to see how creative I am, write to me and I'll send you a brochure.
Sneaky Pie's Flea Market c/o American Artists, Inc. P.O. Box 4671 Charlottesville, VA 22905
In felinity,
SNEAKY PIE BROWN
P.S. Dogs, get a cat to write for you!