The Purrfect Murder

Crozet, Harry’s mind returned to what she’d promised Miranda. Despite Pewter’s begging for Harry to stop at the market and pick up treats, Harry kept her mind on her worry.
    Harry’s husband had been covering for another vet who was on vacation. When Fair came home, she recounted the conversation. In fact, she was so focused on talking about Little Mim, she forgot to tell him about Kylie buying a gold Rolex. He listened intently.
    “Fair?”
    “Yes, honey.”
    “Say something.”
    “I’m thinking. It’s sticky.” He sliced a succulent cooked chicken. He’d stopped on the way home and bought supper, along with treats for “the kids.”
    “I don’t want Big Mim mad at me.”
    “She isn’t going to be mad at you. You’re trying to bring Little Mim around.”
    “What if I fail—and I probably will?”
    “First of all, baby doll, don’t underrate yourself. Tell yourself you’re going to succeed. And if, for some reason, you don’t, Big Mim will know you tried your best. Here.” He handed her a heaping plate.
    While they listened to the conversation, the cats, on the counter, chewed their chicken bits with delight, as did Tucker, who loved chicken almost as much as beef.
    Harry, with a small voice, said, “Will you go with me? I know you can’t be part of the conversation but I’d feel better if you were close by.”
    “Of course I will. You talk to Little Mim by yourself, I’ll chat with Blair. I was going to drop by, anyway, because Alicia gave me some cigars today and I thought he’d enjoy a good smoke.”
    “Horses okay?”
    “Fine. She dropped by the office. Actually, that damned place was Grand Central today. Only had one call, a client of Dean’s.” Dean Vargas was the vet who’d taken the weekend off. “But every time I turned around, someone was walking through the door.”
    Harry exhaled. “I feel much better now. I really didn’t want to go over there by myself.” She filled her fork with sliced green beans. “These are good. Why do you think people were coming by the office on a Saturday?”
    “Oh, hunt season’s started, so some people had questions about this and that, some wanted to pick up vitamin supplements, and all of them wanted to talk. The murder has upset everyone. Will was a much-loved man, and he delivered half the people we know.”
    “Do you think there’s a chance his murder has nothing at all to do with abortion?”
    “It’s possible.” He nodded. “Back to your conversation with Miranda: she’s right. If Little Mim won’t come around, it will make the ball difficult socially. Who would dare cross Mim and host Little Mim after this?”
    “Someone who wants to challenge the queen,”
Mrs. Murphy sagely noted.

8
    R ose Hill, harking back to 1810, was nestled under a low ridge, this ridge being the last line before the Blue Ridge Mountains rose up in their ancient glory. Eons ago these were the highest mountains in the world.
    The drive to the lovely peach-painted clapboard house, four miles from Harry’s farm as the crow flies, took a little longer on the two-lane state road.
    The pink, red, yellow, and white climbing roses on the stone fences enlivened the winding drive. The rain had ended at four this Sunday morning, September 21, leaving a sheen on everything. Fair drove slowly, and Harry could see tiny raindrops tucked into the folds of the rose blooms.
    She’d called Little Mim last night after supper, and Little Mim said she’d be happy to see her. Harry felt that her friend needed to give her side of the story to someone sympathetic, which Harry was, although she truly believed the vice mayor needed to make a forceful public statement.
    Aunt Tally, silver-headed cane in hand, greeted them at the door. In her nineties, Big Mim’s mother’s sister had deeded her wonderful farm to Little Mim and Blair, with the proviso that she had life estate. The newlyweds lived in a stone two-story cottage one hundred yards from the main house, with a glorious formal garden between the structures. Aunt Tally’s high spirits bubbled over even more ebulliently, because she loved having them near.
    Old as she was, she evidenced not a jot of slowing down, apart from the cane, which she needed thanks to years of riding and a bit of hip damage. Nor did she pop pills. Long ago, in her forties, she discovered the medicinal benefits of doping her coffee. Each morning she poured in a dollop of Bombay Sapphire gin, another hit at noon, and one true