The Big Cat Nap

than any cat could ever be.”
    “Curiosity killed the cat. I hate that phrase. She’s come closer to death because of it than we have. If it weren’t for us, Harry would be dead.”
Pewter was most certainly right about that, too.
    Over the years, Harry’s desire to solve any puzzle had put her, the cats and dog, even her friends, in jeopardy. The animals, thanks to their superior senses, always knew the hammer was dropping long before their human did. Sometimes they could nudge her out of harm’s way. Other times she was knocked down with a thump. She never seemed to learn. Her husband had accepted this irritating personality trait. The animals were less flexible about it, although Pewter could always be brought around with fresh tuna.
    “What nearly killed her was giving that slug at the front desk twenty dollars to let us in here at lunchtime.”
Tucker laughed.
“Twenty dollars. She’s out of control.”
    “Out of control” may have been too strong a description of Harry’s behavior, but at the very least she was intrusive and foolhardy.
    Nose to the ground, the corgi shot straight over to where Walt’sbody once sprawled.
“Mmm. Old blood. Old brains. Nothing left, but the aroma is heaven.”
    The two cats, not carrion eaters, appreciated the canine stomach nonetheless. Even Pewter, now interested, passed up this opportunity to criticize the dog.
    After the forensics team left, Victor Gatzembizi had called in a special crew to clean up the mess before the next day’s work. The husband-and-wife duo couldn’t lift the bloodstains out of the concrete, but they’d managed to clean up all the tiny bits of hair and skull. The forensics team had collected most of it, but there were always tiny fragments left or stuck under a cabinet. It’s amazing what flies out of and off a body that has been dramatically violated.
    Good as the cleanup job had been, those kitty noses and that corgi nose could still detect information.
    “I think his head was here.”
Tucker stood on a spot.
    “Well, something was here.”
Pewter found the place where the tire iron had been.
    Harry saw where her animals were, once again reminded of how keen their senses were. “That’s the place. He didn’t have a chance.”
    She drew in a notebook. The garage, spotless as a matter of course, shone even more now after an incredible cleaning. Each of the four hydraulic lifts had a vehicle on it. Every workstation had a tall red toolbox with many pullout doors. Taped across the front drawer was the name of the mechanic. The boxes, on casters, could be moved about. Having each man responsible for his tools was another of Victor’s prudent decisions. Victor bought all the tools, but every man was held accountable for his toolbox. If anyone was fired, the contents of his red toolbox were immediately inventoried. Victor knew all about the old game of someone bringing tools to work but when the employee left claiming others. This way, Victor paid for tools but he paid only once.
    One large box, four feet high, had been rolled against the wall. The name “Richardson” was still on the top drawer, black Magic Marker ink on masking tape.
    The walls were covered by steel industrial shelving, with laddersattached at the top so they, too, could roll. On the shelves were air filters, fan belts, items easily stored. Ford, General Motors, Chrysler, Toyota, Subaru, Nissan parts filled boxes, all numbered to indicate the model and year.
    Harry knew that most jobs required a wait while the particular engine parts were shipped to the collision repair shop. No one had the space for the inventory required when repairing all makes and models. But the basic easy stuff was there: batteries, windshield wipers. No tires, however. This puzzled her.
    Wrapped up in her drawings, she lost track of time.
    Jason Brundige, a young mechanic, walked in from lunch. His buddy Nick Ashby walked next to him. “Who are you? Weren’t you the woman who found Walt?”
    “I am.”
    The animals stared at the medium-size fellow.
    “You shouldn’t be here.”
    “Don’t talk to my mother that way.”
Tucker curled back her upper lip.
    “You’re right.” Feeling the hostility, Harry headed for the open bay.
    As she strode past Nick Ashby, the young man smiled, happy to see a good-looking woman, whether she belonged there or not.
    As Harry walked out, with Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker at her heels, the other mechanics—Bobby Foltz, Lodi Pingrey, and Sammy