The Purrfect Murder

of mind to demand patient records from Margaret Westlake. Margaret was worried, but Rick assured her the names of those who had abortions would be confidential. Kylie Kraft pitched a fit and fell in it.”
    Susan lifted her hand dismissively. “Kylie Kraft is an airhead. She goes through boyfriends like potato chips. She must be good as a nurse, though, or Will wouldn’t have hired her.”
    “She’s young and sympathetic. Most women having abortions are young. I can see why she’d be a valuable member of the team. Sophie Denham is a good nurse, but she’s in her fifties now.”
    They rode along in a brief silence.
    Tazio said, “I appreciate you two coming down here with me.”
    “A break in the routine, plus I’m dying to know what you’ve planned,” Susan said.
    “You’ll see.” Tazio smiled.
    “Are you all building the platform and scaffolding at home, then transporting it?”
    “No,” Tazio replied to Harry. “There’s a local construction company that is donating their labor. Good thing, because it makes it easier on everyone. They’ll get business out of this.”
    “Good.” Harry thought if someone pitched in for a charity, those attending the function should employ their services if they liked what they saw.
    Once off 29, the long road from Lynchburg down to Poplar Forest was crammed with subdivisions.
    “I can’t believe this,” Susan cried.
    “When was the last time you drove down here?” Tazio inquired.
    “Must be two years ago,” Susan answered.
    “At least the developers have taken some pains with landscaping.” Harry peered out the window. “For some of them, anyway.”
    When they at last pulled into Poplar Forest, they let the animals out to go to the bathroom. Harry carried water and treats.
    “You all go ahead. I’ll attend to these guys and then I’ll join you.”
    “We’ll be outside in the back,” Tazio told her.
    “I want to go in the house.”
Mrs. Murphy liked prowling in old houses.
    “We have to stay outside,”
Tucker, usually obedient, replied.
    “Mom might need help with her plans,”
Brinkley, even more obedient than Tucker, said.
    Pewter, drinking, couldn’t care less one way or the other. What she wanted were the dried fish and chicken treats she knew reposed in a Ziploc bag in Harry’s food tote.
    “Harry, Harry!” Susan ran toward them, a big smile on her face. “They got him!”
    “Who?”
    Susan, chest rising and falling, reached her friend. “The man who shot Will Wylde. Robert Taney just told us. Was on the radio.” She caught her breath. “He confessed and made a big statement. Walked right in to the station and turned himself in.”
    Robert Taney was the director of Poplar Forest.
    “I can’t stand that we let people run their mouths when they’ve killed someone. We make celebrities out of them.” Harry’s eyes narrowed.
    “That’s so, but we can all rest easy now.” Susan put her hand on her chest.
    “I wouldn’t.”
Mrs. Murphy flicked water droplets from her whiskers.
    “Why not?”
Brinkley asked.
    “Too easy,”
the tiger replied.

13
    T he south lawn at Poplar Forest afforded views of both the house and the Blue Ridge Mountains, the perfect outdoor setting for the fund-raiser.
    Tazio, mindful of the staff’s time pressures, spoke to Robert Taney for fifteen minutes, then returned to Harry and Susan.
    Mrs. Murphy and Pewter prowled the grounds. The house, filled with people, would be difficult to get into without being detected.
    “We’ll get in. Maybe not today but someday,”
Mrs. Murphy grumbled.
    “We may not be back,”
Pewter reasonably replied.
    “Mother’s curiosity will be lit. She’ll come back when she has time to really go through the building and the outbuildings. But for now we might as well enjoy the grounds. Lots of goldfinches to harass.”
For once Pewter looked on the bright side.
    The mercury climbed to the mid-seventies this September 22. The dogs rested in the shade.
    “So the platform isn’t just for speeches. I should have asked you that in the first place.” Harry noted the dimensions that Tazio told her: twenty feet by fifteen. “You know, this is going to be big.”
    “Building it in sections. We won’t drive one stake in the lawn.” Tazio, hands on hips, stood where she planned for the center to be. “Well, of course, there will be speeches after dinner. There always are. We’re even hiding a Porta-John behind the platform, in case someone up here has to go. Given the