Puss 'N Cahoots

shirt stuck to his body.
    “Dad,” Joan simply said.
    Fair knelt down to touch Jorge’s wrist, confirming again that the murder was but minutes old. He stood back up. “Mr. Hamilton, this happened under everyone’s noses. He’s been dead ten minutes at the most.”
    Paul noticed the clean cut, the severed jugular. “Someone knew what they were doing.”
    “And had the tools to do it,” Fair corroborated.
    Manuel, still on the other side of the curtain, did not yet know his second-in-command and friend had been sliced from ear to ear.
    Paul, arms folded across his chest, ticked off orders in a low and calm voice. “Larry, go outside and keep everyone here. If you can find a bigger flashlight or anything, set it up so they aren’t standing around in the dark. Joan, is anything missing?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Count every piece of tack, every coat and vest.” His voice imparted strength. “Fair, is there any way you can better examine the body without disturbing evidence? It would be good if we knew before Sheriff Cody arrives. Given the circumstances, it would be easy for even the best forensics team to miss something.”
    “Fair, if you go back outside, the tack trunk with vet supplies is in the center aisle. It’s the one that stands upright like a cupboard. There are rubber gloves there,” Joan said.
    Fair borrowed Joan’s flashlight, stepped out, and groped his way uneasily through the talking people.
    Fair soon returned with his own flashlight, as there’d been one in the Kalarama vet trunk, and he returned Joan’s to her. As he carefully checked Jorge, Joan inspected all the clothes. Larry, following Paul’s orders, now returned with another flashlight, which he tied to the side of the door using baling twine.
    Joan held her breath. She was going to have to tell Manuel but not right this minute. She called out to him as Harry told her he was still inside the hospitality room. “Manuel, will you go count the saddles and bridles in the tack room, then come back here and call for me?”
    “Sí.”
    The two cats, not even twitching their whiskers, crouched on a tack trunk as they watched Fair. Pewter hadn’t been able to stand it any longer, so she’d come into the changing room. Tucker and Cookie sat in the corner, also watching.
    Outside, the storm moved east. Although the rains continued to lash, the lightning and thunder mercifully grew fainter.
    A siren in the distance gave hope that the sheriff was on his way.
    Fair, turning over Jorge’s right hand, noticed the two crosses. “Look at this.”
    Joan swung the flashlight onto Jorge’s palm. “Two crosses.”
    Harry, bending on one knee, whispered, “Double cross.”

I t was still pitch black, but the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Although it was only eight-thirty P.M ., Harry felt like it was one in the morning. The sticky hot days tired her, but being in semidarkness made her want to go to sleep. She struggled to keep alert.
    “Does anyone mind if I walk outside? I feel like I’m going to fall asleep,” Harry asked the small group in the changing room.
    “Go ahead, honey. When the sheriff arrives, you’ll know. If he needs you, I’ll find you.” Fair then quickly added, “Don’t go far. There’s a killer out there.”
    “Oh, Fair, he isn’t interested in me.” Harry, a logical soul, knew the double cross carved in Jorge’s palm had a special meaning to someone. She felt perfectly safe.
    Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker felt otherwise. Harry might not be in immediate danger, but her curiosity coupled with practical intelligence landed her in trouble too many times and made the animals want to stick close.
    As Harry pushed open the curtain, picking her way through the now-hushed crowd, Mrs. Murphy and Tucker followed. Pewter pleaded that one of them should stay in the changing room in case of developments. She fooled no one. The gray cat hated getting her paws wet. Cookie stayed there, too, to protect Joan.
    Leaning outside the barn, tucked just under the overhang, Renata smoked a cigarette. In the darkness no one could see her until right upon her. She was grateful for that, since her hands trembled.
    Harry leaned next to her. “Feeling better?”
    “A little. Would you like one?” Renata offered Harry a Dunhill menthol.
    “You know, I don’t smoke, but under the circumstances, I believe I would.”
    Renata plucked one out of the green pack and handed it to Harry, who lit it off Renata’s half-smoked