The Big Cat Nap

until Harry saw Coop that she about cried, her relief was so great. Coop shot out of the squad car, saw the scar marks on the right side of the Subaru, the thin bullet line on the hood.
    “Jesus Christ, Harry, what happened?”
    Harry explained as best she could, from the beginning. “How did they know I was there?”
    “Easy, neighbor. Someone slapped a tracking device on your car. Same thing as on hunting-dog collars. They’ve known where you are ever since Victor Gatzembizi dropped off this car.” Cooper leaned into her squad car, called the Augusta sheriff’s department.
    She identified herself and gave the location of the accident, asking if anyone was there. If so, were the drivers safe? Could they give her a positive ID?
    She clicked off the phone. “Victor Gatzembizi and Latigo Bly.”
    “I was so stupid. So incredibly stupid!” Harry leaned against the car, put her head in her hands. “How could I not have known?”
    “Hindsight is always clear.” Coop put her arm around her friend. “The good news is you’re alive. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker are alive.” She looked over the car. “I think you can drive this thing home.”
    “This car saved my life.”
    “That and the fact that you can drive.” Cooper hugged her with the arm draped over her shoulder. “Wish I’d seen it. We’ll get this figured out. Those two will have their asses in the slammer. Rick and I will pay them a visit later. Come on, girl; I’ll follow you home.”
    “Can I ride with you?”
Pewter meowed loudly.
    “Pewts, Mom needs you. The worst is over,”
Tucker counseled.
    “Why does everything happen to me?”
the gray cat wailed.

R ays slanting through mountainsides and steep ravines, the golden late sun pierced the eastern meadows and pastures along the Blue Ridge.
    “Why is it that the light before the sun sets is so much richer than at any other time of the day?” Harry wondered aloud to herself.
    Her friends had gathered at the farm this Saturday before the Fourth of July to rejoice in her escape, talk about the capture of the two culprits, and, of course, talk about one another.
    Fair, like 90 percent of American men, showed off his considerable grilling skills, ably assisted by Reverend Jones. Since the reverend loved to eat, you wanted him helping you. Anyone who likes to eat is usually a good cook.
    Cooper brought fresh greens to make a salad. Alicia and BoomBoom brought all the biscuits and also a big cake. Other friends dropped by, had a drink, and left. The place had buzzed, but now it was those closest and dearest, eating, drinking, laughing, and perhaps enjoying the recent scandal of Yancy Hampton being caught falsifying his organic foods.
    “It isn’t all that terrible,” Alicia defended him. “So he sells some genetically modified foods. Big deal.”
    Franny Howard jumped into the conversation. “False advertising. String him up by his shoelaces.” Franny plopped down with a thud.
    “He wears sandals,” BoomBoom quietly replied.
    “Jesus boots,” Franny giggled.
    “Franny, you’re in a mood.” Cooper pointed to the huge salad bowl.
    Franny did get up to investigate.
    Trolling along the two picnic tables placed together, she filled her plate and a salad bowl. “I’m happy Harry has solved the crimes and I’m happy my tires are home.”
    “Laying rubber, are you?” Fair pointed a long grilling fork at her.
    Franny shook her finger. “Don’t go there.”
    Reverend Jones, happiest when among his friends, sat down with a long, cool summer drink, into which he had added two raspberries and fresh mint. “Coop, when are you and Rick going to reward our girl here? She apprehended two dangerous men.”
    “I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘apprehend,’ but she did bring them to justice, so to speak.”
    Harry pointed to the WRX STI. “That car did the trick.”
    They knew the details, but all asked to hear it again, so Harry, who couldn’t help herself, spilled all the details once more.
    “Nothing about us,”
Pewter lazily said, having eaten offerings from the people plus what she could steal.
    “Wasn’t much we could do in the car except hang on,”
Mrs. Murphy added.
“This was one time we couldn’t help her.”
    “Wild ride.”
Tucker grinned.
    On a different branch than Matilda, who reposed higher up now, perched the blue jay, Pewter’s nemesis. Brazenly, the bird swooped down, flew over the table, stopped for a split second, then flew back up into the tree with