The Purrfect Murder

How fortunate we were to have him in our lives. To Will.”
    “To Will,” all repeated in unison.
    She sat back down and leaned toward her daughter. “How he would have loved this.”
    The day passed quickly enough with all the family around. An hour before sunset, under the direction of Will, Jr., they all piled into cars and drove west to watch the sun set over the Blue Ridge.
    Not until their return home did Benita give way. When Will, Jr., turned the car down the drive, they saw that it had been lined with sugar maples, one for each year of their marriage.
    At Big Mim’s behest, Tim Quillan had put everyone he had at Waynesboro Nurseries on the job, and they’d planted those maples, six feet each, in two hours’ time and left without a trace.
    Will, Jr., stopped the car; the cars behind him stopped, as well. One by one, they all got out of the vehicles.
    “Oh,” was all Benita could say before her legs gave way.
    “Mother.” Will, Jr., grabbed her.
    She rested her head on his shoulder. “Who did this?”
    “We all did. Big Mim arranged everything and paid for the lion’s share. But we all pitched in. You know Dad and his maple.” He cried; he couldn’t help it.
    Later that night, when Benita crawled into bed, she cried and cried. She cried for Will. She cried because she was wrapped in the love of her wonderful family. She cried because Big Mim had proven to be such a good friend.
    She thought a moment about what Big Mim had said about how people can take advantage of you when you suffer from a ferocious blow. She’d pull herself together and keep on top of the billing and the money. She couldn’t play golf twenty-four hours a day, no matter how much she loved it. She needed a focus, a job, and tending to the business part of Will’s practice would suffice, for now.
    She hadn’t discussed business with the children, but she would before they left. The choice would be to close the practice or sell it. If they closed, then the three women in the office would be out of work. Sophie would land a job first, because everyone needed a good nurse and she was the most experienced. Will would want Benita to do all she could for his staff.
    But who would buy his practice after this?
    The whole medical community had stepped forward to help with those patients in need. Again, she was overwhelmed at how good people were, how ready to work.
    She had a little time. She was praying someone would step forward, a young doctor just wrapping up a residency, perhaps.
    Then the oddest thought flitted through her head. Jonathan Bechtal looked familiar to her. The FBI had showed her photographs. She didn’t recognize him. But now, in her exhausted state, she thought there was something familiar.
    She closed her eyes. Big Mim was right about how huge emotional events distort your mind, wear you out. She was going to have to be vigilant.

17
    Y ou have it easy.” Harry wiggled in her seat. “All you have to do is shave, comb your hair, and put on your clothes. Okay, maybe tying the bow tie is difficult, but the rest is easy.”
    “You look beautiful.” The line into Poplar Forest, a quarter mile long, demanded patience.
    “You like this color on me?”
    “Honey, I like every color on you. You can wear anything.”
    The full-length dress, adjusted to fit perfectly by a seamstress, felt confining to a woman used to jeans, work boots, and a T-shirt or sweatshirt.
    Harry’s mother used to say, “A woman must suffer for beauty.”
    Harry’s reply was, “Let someone else suffer. I’m happy to look at her.”
    Her suffering wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought it was. She’d never endured plastic surgery, she didn’t spend bags of money once a week for facials and manicures. She’d only once enjoyed a massage. She dabbed on mascara, blusher, and lipstick. That was it. However, she had spent a pretty penny on the gown, and it showed.
    So exclusive was the fund-raiser that it was white tie, not black. Years ago, Fair had bought a bespoke suit of tails, two tuxedos, and one white dinner jacket with a satin shawl collar. Like Harry’s mother, his father had sought to prepare him for many of the social functions one needed to frequent. Nothing looked better than clothes cut for you, and if a man kept his weight steady, he need never buy more.
    “I didn’t paint my fingernails.”
    “I didn’t paint mine, either.” He smiled.
    She looked out the window at the sun, forty-five minutes from setting. “I think