The Purrfect Murder

can that evening. After all, he was a strong supporter of the restoration and sponsored a table.”
    Susan frowned. “In a way, I still can’t believe it.”
    Folly, head of the ball committee, added, “Benita won’t be there, but she’s encouraged the office staff to go and to fill out the table. An empty table at a fund-raiser looks forlorn, and as you said, Will would want the project supported.”
    “One good thing that’s come out of this dreadful event is that every priest, pastor, and preacher is meeting tonight at the Greek Orthodox Church out on Route 250. Even though we don’t agree about abortion, we all agree that a killing such as this is the work of man, not the will of God,” Herb interjected.
    “Gods may come and go, but greed and the lust for power remain.” Harry listened to the rain.
    “That’s hardly a Christian statement.” Susan knew Harry hadn’t meant to be disrespectful.
    “Well, I meant that the Egyptians worshipped a slew of gods, as did the Greeks, Romans, and Norsemen throughout history. Whenever they’d want to justify something, they’d declare it was to serve Ra or Thor. Whoever shot Will is pretty much part of the common herd. You twist religion to serve your own ends.”
    “Harry, that’s so cynical.” Folly neatly piled up her orange rind.
    “Realistic.” Susan shrugged.
    “Doesn’t mean we can’t strive to rise above it.” Herb reached for a large chocolate chip cookie. “I have never wanted riches or power, but I certainly weaken when it comes to cookies.”
    The people laughed, but Lucy Fur patted at Herb’s hand.
“Poppy, what about your diet?”
    Sheepishly, Herb broke a bit off the cookie to give to Lucy but regretted it, since Elocution and Cazenovia zipped right over; they liked chewy dough.
    “All right,” Herb sighed, sharing his cookie.
    After the meeting Susan drove Harry back to the farm.
    Harry found the rhythm of the windshield wipers hypnotic. “Funny crack about Carla wanting to be the bride at every wedding, the corpse at every funeral.”

6
    T his is the second time in two days that you’ve questioned me,” Harvey Tillach, beefy-faced but not unattractive, grumbled.
    “I appreciate your continued cooperation, especially over the weekend,” Rick simply replied.
    “Didn’t know you worked Saturdays.”
    “Sometimes.” The genial sheriff nodded, then leaned forward slightly. “The acoustics are incredible. Can’t hear the guns. Can’t hear the downpour outside, either.”
    “Still coming down in buckets?” Harvey’s light eyebrows raised.
    “A day for accidents.” Rick sighed, hoping none of them would be fatal.
    As Harvey snorted agreement, the manager of this exclusive gun club ducked his head in the office. “You two need anything—a drink, hot or cold?”
    “I’m fine, thanks, Nicky.” Harvey smiled.
    “Me, too.”
    “All right, then. Holler if you need me.” He shut the door.
    Central Virginia Gun Club was snugged right up to the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Boasting clays, skeet, a fabulous indoor range, and organized pheasant hunts, as well, the waiting list was years long. The owner pushed women’s names up the list, since if the Second Amendment was to be saved it would only be with the help of women. A few of the men moaned, but most of them realized how imperiled their constitutional rights had become.
    Two former Olympians were on the staff, one wildlife conservationist, and a variety of groundsmen and gamekeepers. Classes were quite popular; the place hummed.
    “You’ve been a member of CVG a long time?” Rick asked.
    “Twenty-three years. Last year we all traveled out to Reno for a clay competition and, you know, the air is different. Had to swing that gun up a little faster,” he recalled. “Do you mind getting to the point?”
    “Sure. You ever shoot handguns?”
    “Rarely. I’m a clays guy. Don’t think I’ll be out today, but I can still work on my hand–eye down at the range.”
    “How long have you competed?”
    “Since med school. I was at New York University. Not much outdoor sports. I stumbled on an indoor firing range, so you can say I started out with a handgun. Got completely hooked. Also started playing squash then. It’s easier playing squash in Manhattan than tennis. Better workout, too.”
    “That’s what I hear. And you met Will Wylde when you moved here?”
    “We both started at Martha Jefferson at the same time.” He named one of the area’s