Puss 'N Cahoots

beheads those who can truly challenge his authority. Seems like a big contradiction to me. Or cardinals who amass wealth and earthly powers. Another contradiction. ‘Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s,’ et cetera.”
    “Apart from the lack of good medical care, I envy those people in a way. No TV. No badgering by advertisers. No credit cards.”
    “The devil invented the credit card.” Harry laughed.
    Now Joan changed the subject. “You haven’t said anything about turning forty.”
    “Have four more days. Why rush time? It’s only August third.”
    “Harry.” Joan’s voice dropped, her register of disbelief audible.
    “Well, what do you want me to say? Big deal. It’s a number.”
    “Everyone makes it a big deal; it’s a turning point.”
    “I’m ignoring the whole thing.”
    “Harry, I don’t believe you.”
    “Believe me. I’m not getting sucked into the to-do.”
    “All right,” Joan said without conviction.
    Harry changed the subject. “When I was at the barn this morning about two o’clock, it was black as pitch. New moon was on the twenty-seventh, so you know how dark it can be. Well, anyway, I was walking the aisle with Jorge and I heard this big motor, then it cut off. But I didn’t hear horses unload. Now, I doubt I would have heard them walk off, but usually someone will whinny.”
    “Sometimes people bring in horses at night. Less stressful.” Joan thought a minute. “Did you hear anything at all?”
    “No. I heard the truck come in, a big diesel engine. Heard it cut off. Then maybe ten minutes later, the motor fired up again and the truck drove out, but I didn’t see it. You think maybe someone brought in feed or a load of hay?”
    “No.”
    “You’re right. They’d still be unloading when I drove out, I expect.”
    “The hay trucks come early in the morning, but not that early.” She paused a long time. “Did Jorge say anything?”
    “‘Feed’ was all he said.”
    “But he heard it?”
    “Sure. The night was quiet, plus those engines boom.”
    Joan turned left, roared east, and within fifteen minutes cruised down Shelbyville’s Main Street, now one way, which irritated her.
    “I know you like mystery.” She slowed at the intersection of Sixth Street and Main. “One of Kentucky’s most famous murders occurred right there.” She pointed. “Used to be the site of the Armstrong Hotel.
    “General Henry H. Denhardt, famous in his lifetime in Kentucky, was shot three times by the three Garr brothers. Two hit him in the back, one got him in the back of the head. This was September twentieth, 1937.” She pulled over to the curb but left her motor idling. “He crumpled in the doorway of the hotel. Kind of a slimy end for a World War One officer.”
    “Revenge killing?” Harry, being a Virginian, knew the South well.
    “He was accused of killing Verna Garr Taylor. She was a real beauty, according to Dad, who was a teenager at the time. She’d been widowed, and the general—he was about twenty years older—fell wildly in love with her.
    “Dad said she was murdered just inside the Henry County line on November sixth, 1936. Said he and his gang of friends even drove to the spot on Highway Twenty-two. It was really a big thing. Made all the national newspapers.”
    “Did he kill her?”
    “Said he didn’t, but the evidence pointed to him. He went to trial but got off because the jury deadlocked. Verna’s brothers waited close to a year, then avenged their sister.”
    “Sounds pretty dramatic.”
    “People still remember. The brothers went to trial. One, E.S., never made it to the trial because he was put in a sanitarium. Dad said the murder of Verna snapped his mind. He died there within a couple of years, I think.”
    “Other boys get off?”
    “Jack did, because no one could prove he fired a gun. They got off because of self-defense, even though the general was unarmed.”
    “Rough justice.”
    Joan frowned for a moment. “Rough justice is better than none.”
    “I agree there.” Harry nodded as Joan shifted into gear and they drove the three minutes it took to reach the fairgrounds.
    Once at Barn Five, Joan found Jorge grooming a three-gaited gelding owned by a Kalarama boarder.
    He smiled when he saw Joan. “Looking good.” He indicated the mare.
    “She does. Jorge, when Harry came over here this morning, did you hear a truck pull in?”
    “No, señora.”
    She didn’t reply, then smiled and walked the aisle, checking each