The Purrfect Murder

know, Mike McElvoy, you’re not as smart as you think you are, and I’m on to you.”
    As Carla left, Tazio noticed Mike’s hands shaking as he slapped shut his Moleskine notebook. “I hate that bitch.”
    “Join the club.” She did wonder why he’d misinformed Carla, though. The building code didn’t change that quickly. This house was under way. The county couldn’t make the code retroactive. There was nothing wrong with her four-inch outtake duct.
    He took a deep breath. “Can’t let it get under my skin. You know how these people are. I thought Penny Lattimore was a pain in the ass. Hell, she’s an angel compared to this one.”
    Tazio, no fan of Mike’s, did appreciate his task. “Call her tonight. Spread a little oil on the waters.”
    “I can make her life more miserable than she can make mine.”
    “That you can, but how often do you want to attend special hearings or, worse, testify in court if she brings suit against the county? She’s the type, you know.”
    Jamming his notebook back in his pocket, he grumbled, “Right.” He paused. “You know, I’m against abortion. But I tell you, Carla Paulson makes a strong case for free abortion on demand. If only she’d been flushed out of the womb.”
    Shocked at Mike’s harsh statement, Tazio wondered what was happening in his life to make him so crude.

5
    R ain poured at long last. At times Rev. Herb Jones’s cats, Elocution, Cazenovia, and Lucy Fur, could barely see out the window. Dutiful, the three felines attended every vestry-board meeting. Sometimes, Harry’s cats and dog also attended, but not this morning, Saturday, September 20.
    Harry, Susan, Folly, BoomBoom, and Herb eked out a quorum. Nolan Carter, the local oil supplier, was in Tulsa on business. Marvin Lattimore, Penny’s husband, was also out of town on business. He bought used airplanes, from Piper Cubs to 747s, refurbished them, and sold them to rich individuals and to corporate clients. For the heck of it, five years back, he’d started a small charter airline, and business had boomed.
    “We should table this until Marvin can study the figures,” Folly insisted.
    “We can’t put this off indefinitely.” Tazio didn’t think Marvin knew all that much about heating systems, but Folly was dazzled by him. This fact was not lost on Penny Lattimore, although Ron, Folly’s usually jealous husband, didn’t seem to notice. Twenty years older than Folly, Ron Steinhauser—brash, controlling, opinionated—had begun to slump into a slower gear. At seventy-five, he’d pushed himself hard, drunk too much at times, and finally his body was rebelling.
    “When does Marvin come back from Moscow?” Harry asked the obvious question of Herb.
    “Next week. I’ll be sure he gets the study, and I will also be sure he knows we are operating under some time constraint. The last thing we want is for the furnace to be torn up when a cold snap hits us.”
    Folly listened to Herb, then replied with a lilt of humor in her well-modulated voice, “Doesn’t seem likely.”
    BoomBoom said, “One October—first week, I think—we had a freak snowstorm, and the weight of the snow with the leaves still on the trees brought down branches all over Virginia. You could hear the creaking and breaking.” She paused a moment. “Actually, we don’t have to wait until next week. We can e-mail this to Marvin.”
    “Good idea.” Susan nodded.
    Folly, not an obstructionist, had never lived in a structure built shortly after the Revolutionary War. She had little sense of how cold it could get even with a half-decent heating system. “Well, do be sure that he doesn’t feel pressured. We want Marvin on board.” She smiled at her little pun.
    “We do.” Harry smiled at Folly, trying to do as Susan asked.
    “All right, then.” Herb turned to BoomBoom. “You do it.”
    “Happily,” BoomBoom agreed.
    It was not lost on the group that Herb asked BoomBoom instead of Folly to communicate with Marvin. Obviously, he’d heard the gossip, too.
    Shortly thereafter, the business part of the meeting frittered away and the group focused on what they really wanted to talk about: Dr. Will Wylde.
    Herb glanced at his agenda, noted the request for smokeless tapers, and figured it could wait. He was amazed that he’d kept the lid on it this long.
    A gust of wind splashed so much rain on the handblown windowpanes that it sent the cats jumping off the ledge. They joined the group.
    “Usually, these political