The Purrfect Murder

to please you brutes.”
    “You’ll never find shoes big enough.”
    “Oh, yes, I will. There have got to be drag queens as big as you are.” She glanced up at him, his face baby-smooth, as if he had used a five-bladed razor. “Ever do drag?”
    “Hazing for Phi Delta Theta when I was a pledge.” He named his college fraternity. “I actually liked the silk and the colors, and I loved being hairless. You know, I hadn’t really seen my chest muscles or my arms so clearly since I hit puberty. I could see every muscle, plus it felt so smooth. Sexy, really, and then the hair started to grow out. Itchy. Awful. Awful.” He giggled.
    “Were you a pretty girl?”
    “Not as pretty as you.”
    “Right answer.”
    A gentleman in attire from the second decade of the nineteenth century held out his gloved hand for Harry, and a young lady in pale-salmon silk held out her hand for Fair.
    They walked through a promenade of shaped boxwoods in huge glazed pots, which led to the back lawn. The effect was that of walking through a corridor and suddenly coming into the light.
    What light it was. The three hundred guests glowed in the long, slanting rays of the sun, its bottom a few degrees above the Blue Ridge.
    Servants in livery opened glass lanterns on wrought-iron stands to light the beeswax candles within, using long tapers.
    Small hanging lanterns, strung high, surrounded the stage, and occasional fanciful lanterns suspended from trees added to the extraordinary effect.
    Harry could only glimpse the tables beyond the first gathering level. She and Fair would be ushered into the seating area later. But she could just see red, gold, white, and deep-purple floral arrangements.
    On a broken Corinthian column in the center of the lawn towered a floral arrangement using the same colors again, with trailing ribbons of silver and gold and one baby-blue ribbon.
    Thomas Jefferson would have loved it. The symmetry gave structure to everything and echoed the symmetry of the house. The occasional whimsical items, such as the lanterns or another boxwood carved as a rabbit on its haunches, would have amused him. The animal boxwoods were in large glazed vases.
    Could Jefferson have seen Tazio Chappars, in a gown with crisscross chiffon straps over her bosoms, a long waist, and flowing skirts to the ground, all in the palest of pinks, he would have fallen head over heels. Those green eyes flashing above the pink added to her potent appeal.
    Paul, sleek in his white tie, noticed every man looking at his date. Well, she was more than his date—he was wildly in love with her and didn’t mind telling her so.
    She appeared cooler, but sooner or later Tazio would have to admit that she loved him, too.
    The young couple fielded all the praise from people who knew that Tazio was responsible for the look of the evening.
    Folly Steinhauser sported an emerald-and-diamond necklace with matching earrings and bracelet, which cost a hefty six hundred thousand dollars if one penny. Her husband, Ron, was by her side and engaged in an intense discussion with Marvin Lattimore. Ron’s gray pallor accentuated his age. He kept a grasp on Folly’s right hand with his left, but he couldn’t follow her eyes since he was talking business with Marvin. Folly could hardly keep her eyes off Marvin.
    As for Penny Lattimore, she’d already ditched her husband to talk to Major Chris Huzcko, much to the annoyance of Elise Brennan, herself swathed in diamonds and sapphires.
    The first couple Harry and Fair ran into were Marilyn and Urbie Nash. Marilyn’s white gown, pink ribbon wound through the bodice, wider pink ribbon as a sash at the waist, accentuated her good features.
    “Stunning,” Harry complimented her after everyone’s initial greeting.
    “We both clean up pretty good, don’t we?” Marilyn smiled.
    “We’re waiting for the dancing so we can watch you and Urbie.”
    The Nashes had taken up ballroom dancing, finding that it kept them in shape, plus they had such fun doing it.
    They chatted for a few minutes more, mostly about Marilyn’s animal-rescue work, then moved on to other couples, as is customary in such circumstances.
    Big Mim glided up, husband, Jim, in tow. “Harry, you’ve never looked so radiant.”
    Fair gently lifted Big Mim’s right hand, brushing his lips over it. “Nor you.”
    “Fair, you flirt.”
    “Watch it, buddy.” Jim Sanburne, a working-class boy made good, glared with mock anger at Fair.
    “We all envy you,