The Big Cat Nap

we still are.”
    “I’m not making it up. Mom has pictures in one of her history books of a cat statue with earrings.”
Mrs. Murphy looked out over the quarter-mile track.
    “I wouldn’t want to be a god,”
the corgi wisely stated.
“You’d never be real, never truly one of the pack. I want to belong to my pack, which”
—a long sigh followed this—
“I guess is Harry, Fair, and”
—another long pause—
“you two.”
    Mrs. Murphy kissed the dog, licking her nose.
    “Cats don’t belong in packs.”
Pewter thrust out her chest.
    “Well, you can stay by yourself, then,”
the tiger quickly said, as she bounded down the bleachers to follow the two women who’d started walking the track.
    “Did you know this place was this well organized?” Harry asked the beautiful BoomBoom.
    “No. I figured it was just a quarter-mile asphalt strip. Obviously the owners sank some bucks into this.”
    Both women observed the Christmas-tree lights for each driver’s lane. The top two were small amber lights; below these in a straight line were three large amber lights, then a green, and last a red light. It really was a mess of lights. A high control tower on the side afforded a clear view of everything. It resembled a small control tower at an airport, except it was built of wood.
    “Let’s go peek inside the tower.” Harry ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Putting her hands around the edges of her eyes, she peered through the window in the door. The tower top was all windows, 360 degrees.
    BoomBoom bounded up behind her. “It’s a panel like a big computer keyboard, kinda—headphones with a little speaker on one side, lots of switches. Two seats, so two people work this. The track lights have to be automatic, so they must set them off from up here.”
    “Good P.A. system. And those huge clusters of night lights like at baseball games have to cost a fortune!” Harry exclaimed. “Anything electrical, computer-driven, isn’t cheap.”
    “How about the salaries? I expect there are people groundside who are connected to the tower. There’s so much potential for danger—I mean, one blown tire as you’re hauling down that track. Can you imagine the cost of the insurance policy?” BoomBoom shook her head.
    “When we were in grade school, before all this technology, wasn’t there a death here?”
    “Wasn’t at this track but at the old dead-end road near what’s now the Augusta County offices. The car blew up; they couldn’t get the driver out.” BoomBoom grimaced. “Those days it was just guys getting together and racing. The sheriff’s men left them alone, because they weren’t creating traffic problems and the road was abandoned.” She thought a moment. “ ’Course, that eventually caused problems. As the road deteriorated, cracks and potholes appeared. I think that’s why the racers finally left. I don’t know who built this track. Must be successful, though—still here.”
    “Coop’s investigating the track, because Nick raced here. So do some other mechanics at ReNu. She’s not much of a gearhead, so she asks me questions. You know what was weird? The first guy who was killed, Walt, had photos of orphan cars with hoods that stretched into next week. Well, draped over engines, hoods, the trunk, or lolling inside those great leather interiors—tops down, of course—were women, uh, tops down.”
    Peals of laughter rolled out of BoomBoom. “You’re kidding. Car porn?”
    “Well, it wasn’t exactly porn. Think of it more as a deep appreciation of metallic and feminine curves.”
    They came back down, the wooden steps reverberating with their footfalls. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker awaited them.
    “Would a calendar of naked men and great old cars turn you on?” BoomBoom punched her old buddy on the arm.
    “I don’t know. Depends on the man. Depends on the car. Some hunk splayed over the hood of a 1961 Corvette would catch my eye.”
    “Fifty-seven Thunderbird,” BoomBoom fired back.
    “Pervert.”
    “Look who’s talking.” BoomBoom laughed, then became more serious. “Harry, curiosity killed the cat.” The blonde looked down at the tiger. “Sorry, Murphy. Harry, I know you found Walt’s body, and this other guy worked with him.” Harry nodded as BoomBoom continued, “I wonder if drag racing isn’t connected to Nick’s death. Don’t know about Walt—you said he didn’t race. But seems to me all of the mechanics at ReNu knew about racing. This drag track is