The Purrfect Murder

food.
    “We’re worth it,”
Pewter replied saucily.
    Harry then opened a small can of dog food, which she mixed into kibble for Tucker. Tucker could put on weight quickly, so she monitored the corgi’s diet.

    “Here you go, Wonderdog.”
    “Thank you.”
    Harry checked the time on the old railroad wall clock. Six-thirty. She walked outside; the sun was setting behind the mountains. Whatever time was listed for sunset in the papers, it was earlier on her farm because of the mountains. Once the equinox approached, a chill seemed to descend upon the earth along with the sun. Along lower ridges, long golden slanting rays still pierced through. No one day looked like any other, and that pleased her.
    She walked back inside and dialed Cooper. “You on your way home?”
    “Yep.”
    “I made a tuna casserole and need help eating it.”
    “Glad to be of service.” Cooper laughed.
    Figuring she had about twenty-five minutes before the deputy showed up, Harry popped the casserole in the oven on low. She’d made it last night. Although not much for cooking, occasionally she could be roused to culinary labors—simple labors, nothing fancy.
    She used the time to check the mares and foals, now six and seven months old. Time to wean. The hunters greeted her. She brought them in the barn in the mornings to eat a bit of grain and to have some alone time, then back out in the pastures they’d go. In winter’s bitter cold she’d usually bring them in at sunset, turning them out again in the morning. But the late-September nights, though carrying a chill, would stay in the high forties, low fifties. Pleasant enough, especially for horses, as these were their optimum temperatures, in contrast to those of humans.
    No sooner had she come back in and set the table than Tucker announced Cooper’s arrival.
    “I hate Mondays.” Cooper, in uniform, strode through the door.
    “What would you like to drink?”
    “A beer.”
    With Fair back in the house, there was always good beer in the refrigerator. He limited himself to one a day, but he really wanted that one.
    Out came the beer, the beer glass placed before Cooper. Harry, hotpads to the ready, pulled out the casserole, the aroma filling the kitchen.
    “Do you want a salad?”
    “Let’s eat the casserole. If I have room left, I’ll make it myself.” Cooper was delighted to have supper with her neighbor and friend. “Where’s Fair?”
    “At the office doing the billing.”
    “He needs help.”
    “You tell him.” Harry put the casserole on a trivet, a large spoon alongside it, and sat down herself. “Dig in.”
    Cooper did just that when Harry filled her plate. They ate in silence for a few minutes.
    “Can you believe they’re not running their mouths?”
Pewter thought it amusing.
    “They will,”
Tucker predicted.
    Halfway through her first helping, Cooper started the conversation. “What a day. If I have to talk to one more person, I will just blow up.”
    “Person or media?”
    “Both. Reporters are already digging up reasons why Jonathan Bechtal is a killer.”
    Cooper’s worldview was black and white. If you as an individual broke the law, you went to the slammer. Her job was to find you and arrest you. The rest was up to judge and jury, and usually her work was undone in the courtroom. You do wrong, wham. That was Cooper’s attitude. Gender, race, a bad mother had nothing to do with it. Thousands upon thousands of people endured similar circumstances and they didn’t rob, maim, or kill. But someone would make out Bechtal to be a victim.
    Harry, on the other hand, did think about mitigating factors.
    Coop fired up again. “And this creep, Bechtal—full beard like an Old Testament prophet—is screaming about how God talks to him. How he is an instrument of the Lord. Damn!”
    “Well, honeybun, it must have been quite a day.”
    “It was. This was one of the most irritating days of my whole life. I’m glad the perp turned himself in, but I don’t want to listen to him. The media is making a celebrity out of him.”
    “Take another drink.” Harry, not usually one to push alcohol, thought this a wise course tonight.
    Calming a little, Cooper leaned back in the chair. “This is really good. If you don’t watch it, you can get fat as a tick being a cop.” She laughed. “I go to the gym three times a week, and now that I have that place to take care of, I work outside a lot. That helps. Helps to just be away from