Puss 'N Cahoots

central Kentucky reminded Harry of Virginia. Missing were the dense oak and hickory forests of the Appalachian states, as well as the allure of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
    However, the picturesque towns testified to the fact that, with few exceptions, Kentucky had emerged from the War Between the States relatively intact.
    Whether Paris, Versailles, or Harrodsburg, the towns evidenced a tidiness, a coziness, that could beguile even the snottiest Virginian.
    Neither Harry nor Fair was particularly arrogant about their old bloodlines, back to the first quarter of the seventeenth century, so central Kentucky charmed them without recourse to reciting Virginia’s many virtues.
    At this moment, lack of virtue was on their minds. Fair, upon hearing of Harry’s plan to sneak around Ward Findley’s, figured he’d better go with her. No telling what hornet’s nest she’d stir up. He didn’t say that.
    What he said was how much he’d like to cruise the countryside, no particular destination or timetable in mind.
    As the two cats, the dog, and two humans were pulling away from the main Kalarama barn, Cody Howlett and two deputies arrived to go through Jorge’s effects.
    In the rearview mirror, Fair saw Larry leading the law-enforcement officials to Jorge’s trailer.
    No sooner had Fair and Harry turned onto Route 55 than they passed the sheriff of Washington County, the one in which Springfield was located, two counties south of Shelby.
    “Turf war,” Fair remarked.
    “You think?” Harry watched the cruiser slide by.
    “Oh, someone from Washington County will have to supervise. The newspapers will call it interdepartmental cooperation.”
    “The murder took place in Shelby County. What’s there to fight over?”
    “Publicity.”
    Harry smiled. “Ah.”
    “Humans like getting their picture taken.”
Pewter figured the Washington County sheriff wanted to be seen on TV, too.
    “Unless it’s a mug shot.”
Tucker settled on Harry’s lap.
    Fair turned off the highway in a half hour, and soon they cruised on blacktop two-lane roads. They passed through Versailles, the impressive public buildings evoking admiration.
    Within another fifteen minutes they drove by the new Thoroughbred lay-up facility.
    “Spent the bucks,” Fair laconically noted.
    “Did.” Harry observed what she could. “I really like Paula Cline’s place, Rose Haven—the right balance between high-tech and a real farm.”
    Breeding establishments such as the august and successful Lane’s End Farm would send some horses to Paula for rest, rehab, and relaxation. As Paula was a longtime friend of Joan’s, the two pushed each other along, each seeking to know more about the latest medical advancements than the other.
    Joan, knowing Harry’s active mind and Fair’s profession, had introduced them to Paula years ago.
    Somehow, good horse people always found one another and never ran out of things to talk about.
    “Must be the aquatic building.” Fair slowed. “My God, they’ve got an outdoor pool, too.”
    “Fair, every horseman in North America, maybe the world, owes a great deal to the Thoroughbred industry and to Kentucky.”
    “We do.” He slowed again as a hay truck coming from the opposite direction swayed toward his truck. “Honey, intersection coming up. Left? Right? Straight?”
    She checked Joan’s notes on her map. “Straight. Then the next left.”
    The left appeared so fast, it was more of a dogleg turn. Fair braked.
    Pewter, aroused from her snooze, stretched.
“Are we there yet?”
    “Just about.”
Mrs. Murphy, ears forward, had her hind paws on Harry’s knees, her front paws on the long dash.
    “Huh.” Fair grunted.
    “More four-board fencing. Ward may not be in the big bucks like Larry, Charly, and Booty, but he’s not on food stamps.”
    “Not by a long shot.” Fair whistled. Four-board fencing cost more than three-board fencing.
    A dirt farm road snaked between two pastures. Fair turned in and cut the motor. “Wonder if anyone can see us.”
    “If we can’t see them or a building, I reckon we’re okay.” Harry had already opened the door.
    Mrs. Murphy and Pewter shot out of the truck.
    “Hey, you two.” Fair lifted Tucker down. “Tucker, herd those cats, will you?”
    “Fat chance.”
Pewter, running quickly for an overweight girl, blasted into a verdant pasture.
    “If anyone does come after us, we can say we had to let the cats go potty and they ran away.” Harry put her boot on the bottom