The Purrfect Murder

Wylde, but the people it sent off into the deep end were only those hovering on the precipice anyway. His family and friends, overwhelmed by deep grief, remained calm. It had always been in the back of their minds that this could happen, but nothing really prepares one for the dolorous reality.
    Carla Paulson was all but suffering grand mal seizures because of the shooting. Weeping, she called Tazio Chappars, informing her that she wouldn’t be at the construction site today, Friday, but she advised—which meant ordered—Tazio to go.
    The house, which was situated on a three-hundred-foot-high knoll, commanded 270-degree views. The 90-degree area behind the house was filled with large rock outcroppings, which blocked the view in that direction. Carla, who was determined to improve nature, had worked on drawings with a San Francisco landscape company to stick wondrous plants in crevices. Eventually, the outcroppings would underline Carla’s vibrant creativity. That was the plan. Surely, a spread in
Garden Design
would follow.
    Interior work goes more slowly than the initial framing up and roofing, and this house proved no exception.
    Tazio and Mike McElvoy stood in the cavernous living room while the marble, green-veined and hideously expensive, was being placed around the fireplace. The Italian workmen had a gift for the task.
    With arms folded across his chest, Mike watched Butch Olivera supervise. One tiny crack meant another slab would be cut, which would mean more delay, more expense. Carla would spend money, but she possessed little tolerance for other people’s mistakes. Then, too, she harbored the not entirely unfounded suspicion that she might be charged more than the “old families”—or “tired blood,” as she dubbed those Virginians only too ready to recite their pedigree. Her pedigree was her bank balance; it was also a crowbar to open doors and windows.
    “Lattimores used the same marble when they built Raven’s Roost.” Mike enjoyed passing on these tidbits. “She’s already adding a wing. Penny can’t stop building.”
    Tazio had been a guest of the Lattimores from time to time, so she already knew this. She simply smiled. Why take away Mike’s little moment? “Penny and Marvin are a bit more understated than the Paulsons.”
    “Christ.” Mike shook his head. “Waste. That’s what I see but, hey, gives me a job.”
    “Me too.” Tazio smiled, hoping this meeting wouldn’t be lengthy, for Mike liked to hear himself talk.
    The more he talked, the smarter he thought he was—not that he was stupid, but he needed attention.
    “Let’s go to the kitchen.”
    They walked through the living room, which was being painted then sponged to create a dappled effect. They passed from there through the “transition room,” as Carla called it. It was really a discreet bar. Then they moved into a truly magnificent country kitchen.
    The appliances weren’t in yet, of course, but the cabinetry was up. Carla’s ideas for the kitchen proved she could get it right if she just thought things through. She did spend money here, but it wasn’t quite so gaudy. The cabinets, glass fronted, had six panes of beveled glass. The wood, a lovely warm simple pine, had been lightly stained. The floors, beautiful blue slate with radiant heat underneath, set off the whole room, which was full of light.
    “Every time Carla drops one piece of glass, poof.” Mike spread his fingers wide to indicate the flying bits.
    “Yes, but it does look fabulous.”
    “Does. Didn’t use Buckingham slate, did she?”
    “No. For some odd reason, she thinks anything local can’t be that good. She wants wormwood for the library. Good old cherry, walnut, or mahogany won’t do. Well, mahogany isn’t local, but you know what I mean.”
    “Do.” He stopped in front of the space where the six-burner stainless-steel Vulcan stove with grill would be placed. “Before I get into this, what do you think about Wylde’s murder?”
    “Terrible.”
    “Think the antiabortionists did it?”
    “Well, I don’t know, but it certainly seems most likely. What do you think?” she asked, knowing what he really wanted to do was expound.
    “Loony. Smart loony though. Cased the buildings. I mean, you have to do something like that exactly right or you’re toast yourself. You know, the way things are today, I’d never go into women’s medicine if I were in medical school.”
    “You mean OB/GYN?”
    He nodded. “All it takes is one