The Purrfect Murder

cocktail when the sun passed over the yardarm. Worked a treat.
    “Aren’t you the best,” Aunt Tally enthused as Harry handed her a bottle of Bombay Sapphire adorned with a huge blue bow. “Come on in.” As she led them toward the sunroom, she asked, “What did you think of Herb’s sermon this morning?”
    Fair answered, “Provocative.”
    “But dead on.” She swung out her cane, then planted it on the hard maple floors.
    Old maple trees still dotted the landscape of the original land grant.
    “What he said about the sanctity of life was eloquent. That voice of his, you know—well, you believe everything that comes out of his mouth. Voice like Orson Welles. Maybe better.” Aunt Tally nodded as she sat down in a large, comfortable “summer” chair, which meant intricately woven willow, graced with wonderfully comfortable pillows.
    “Doodles.” Harry greeted the year-old Gordon setter.
    “You know, when my old buddy died I just went to pieces. Swore I’d never have another dog. Then every time I’d visit Alicia I noticed how lovely her Gordon setter was. When she gave me a puppy I was half thrilled. Now I’m all thrilled.” She smiled. “I think I’ll always have a Gordon setter.” She paused. “Where are your three hooligans?”
    “In the truck.” Harry leaned back in the seductive chair. She could have fallen asleep.
    “Well, for goodness sake, bring them in.”
    “Their paws will be wet,” Fair said.
    “That’s what mops are for.” Aunt Tally lifted up her cane like a marshal’s baton.
    “I’ll get them, honey.” Fair stood up, then left the room.
    “Smartest thing you ever did, remarrying that divinely handsome man. He’s a good man.”
    “He is.”
    Aunt Tally, shockingly white hair in a French twist, leaned forward. “Hell to pay. I’m so glad you’ve come over to talk to Little Mim. I know you’ll try to get her to come ’round, and I quite agree.” She shook her head. “Don’t think she’ll do it. She finally has an issue where she can square off against my niece, the tyrant, and it won’t look like a mother–daughter blowup.” She inhaled deeply. “Which, of course, it is.”
    “It’s delicate.”
    Aunt Tally leaned even farther forward. “I know exactly why, which is why I’m glad Fair went out to the truck. She told me
everything.
Riven with guilt. I understand—I do, you know.”
    “Yes, Aunt Tally, you would know better than anyone how painful this can be.”
    Tally had had an affair with Harry’s grandfather, a rollicking handsome devil of a man. Tally’s father put a stop to the affair and broke his daughter’s heart. The pain subsided, the scar remained.
    “You and Susan are the only other people who know. Blair knows nothing, and I told her to keep it that way.”
    “Right.”
    “We’re here!”
In raced Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter, although the gray cat, in sight of the humans, slowed down to affect a nonchalant entrance.
    “I have a fuzzy toy! Wanna see?”
The glistening Gordon setter immediately picked up a well-worn green froggie, which Tucker grasped for tug-of-war.
    “I wouldn’t dirty my mouth with that thing,”
Pewter sniffed.
    “Me, neither.”
Mrs. Murphy found a wet, chewed toy unappealing.
“Wouldn’t mind a ham biscuit.”
    “Think she has some?”
Pewter showed some excitement.
    “Aunt Tally always has ham biscuits and cheese straws,”
Mrs. Murphy replied.
    “She can keep the cheese straws.”
Pewter hated those things almost as much as a slobbery toy.
    Fair didn’t sit down, but he said, “I’ll go over to Blair.” He patted his sport-coat pocket, where the cigars were. He couldn’t wait to try the H. Upmann Corona Junior. He also had a Romeo y Julieta Short Churchill for Blair.
    Just as he left, Little Mim came in and kissed Aunt Tally as well as Harry on the cheek.
    The two younger women, quite different in temperament and not good friends as children, had grown closer over the years. Both were remarried months apart, so discussing their upcoming weddings had brought out the happy side of each woman.
    “Precious, there’s a tray in the fridge. Would you bring it in? And the lemonade and tea, too?”
    “Of course.”
    Tally’s maid—really a majordomo—had Sundays off.
    When Little Mim returned, Aunt Tally gracefully excused herself under the pretext of catching up on her correspondence. Well, she did go to the den and sit at her desk, but not before she swept past the bar and poured a shot of