The Big Cat Nap

time—adult emotions, I guess.”
    “Coming from you, that’s a statement.”
    “Why?”
    “Harry, I think of you as a part-time adult.”
    “You know, I could cancel our lunch, even if you did turn my hay.
Mean
. You are just hateful mean.”
    Susan laughed. “The truth hurts.”
    They cruised along, secure in the love of deep friendship, cruising down Memory Lane, as well.
    Susan pulled in to the parking lot of The Blue Mountain Brewery,their favorite place. The restaurant, on Route 151 in Afton, had good food and was much less expensive than any equivalent place in Charlottesville.
    Charlottesville was working hard on appealing to the foodies, the result being an array of restaurants with small portions artfully displayed, followed by big bills.
    Once settled in their booth, orders given and tall, ice-cold glasses of Coca-Cola in their hands, they jabbered about this, that, and who shot the cat, to use the old Southern expression.
    When Susan’s rather big BLT arrived, a moment of guilt affected her. “I have no self-discipline. How can I lose weight eating bacon?”
    “Oh, Susan, shut up about your weight. You look great. If Ned still revs his motors when he sees you, there’s nothing to worry about.”
    “That’s the best way to look at it.”
    With a devilish smile, Harry added ever so sweetly, “And, Susan, a little fat fills the wrinkles.”
    Susan took her unused fork and jabbed Harry lightly on the hand. “You’ll eat those words instead of your salad. You’re too skinny anyway.”
    “A woman can never be too rich or too thin,” Harry replied. “Who said that?”
    “Someone who lived an unhappy life. Some days you have to eat fat or fried chicken or even a little sugar. I really do try to limit myself, but if I gave up everything, I’d be downright miserable.”
    “A lot of women sure are.” Harry speared a wedge of egg. “Susan, I’ve been thinking.”
    “God, no.”
    “Really. This is serious, and I can tell you, knowing it will go no further. I can’t get the murders out of my mind. With my dumb luck, I found two of the corpses. Well, the cats and dog found the second one. But no one can believe they’re unrelated anymore.”
    “No.” Susan’s eyes widened. She knew that Harry, in part because she didn’t have to observe law-enforcement protocol, often stumbled upon connections before others did. Then again, Harry often got it nearly right but not right enough, to the sheriff’s discomfort.
    “I’ve investigated the gambling angle—gambling rings—as best Icould. I called Tessa Randolph, who works at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. You remember her. Anyway, she told me that, no matter what type of illegal gambling, there has to be a drop or a mule, a place where the money is bet or a person who takes the bets. The drag track could be a good spot for an operation like that. But I can’t find a thing there. I’ve hinted to Sammy at ReNu that I want to bet. He races at the track, so I called him up. He said he didn’t know anything. He could be playing dumb.”
    “You’re not the brightest, honeybun.”
    “Well, do you have another suggestion?”
    “Yes. Don’t call anyone at ReNu, for starters. We pay taxes, so Sheriff Shaw and Coop will deal with it. If there’s an illegal ring, you just tipped them off.”
    “Yeah,” Harry paused, “but it bothers me that I’ve seen these dead men. I didn’t know them, but seeing them so close to life, so recently dead, it’s eerie, know what I mean?”
    “I think so. All right, Harry, what have you got?”
    “Questions. I’ve been in an early-morning fog. I could see shapes. Little by little, that morning fog is lifting. What I saw was that this could be tied to gambling or drugs, but now I don’t think so. But I definitely think it has to do with whatever the mechanics know at ReNu. Of course, that could still be gambling and drugs, but—I don’t know why I think it has to do with some kind of specialized knowledge. I’ve asked Coop to slip me the report on Tara Meola’s death.”
    “That was an accident.”
    “Was, but I want to read the disposition of her car.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “A deer caused her death. Official version, and indeed it likely was the catalyst, but I think there’s more to it.”
    “Oh, come on, Harry, she wasn’t murdered.”
    Taking a deep breath, then a deep swallow of Coca-Cola, Harry lifted her eyebrows just slightly. “Her air bags deployed.”
    “Hell, yes, they did.