The Purrfect Murder

the woman you are.”
    “Oh, Marilyn, you are your own woman, and you had to fight me to get there. I’m no example.” She released her daughter. Tears ran down both their faces. “And you are smart.”
    “Mother, your mind flies at the speed of light. I’ve never met anyone like you. Sometimes you scare me. You scare all of us.”
    “I don’t mean to, darling, truly, I don’t. Don’t compare yourself to me. My failings would fill the house.” She breathed deeply. “Do you have Kleenex in the car?”
    Little Marilyn laughed, the laugh of one for whom a great emotion had been resolved. “Yes. Come on. We need to repair our makeup before getting to the sheriff’s office.”
    Pressman hopped in the backseat as the two wiped away their tears and their mascara, too. As Little Mim drove, her mother flipped down the sunshade with the mirror on the back on the passenger side. She didn’t have her purse, but Little Mim, well armed, always filled the center console with the necessities of a woman’s life.
    Big Mim plucked out a long tube of mascara. “You know, I’ve never tried Lancôme. I’m still using Stendhal. I wonder if they named it for
The Red and the Black
, one of my favorite novels.”
    “I don’t have the patience to use cake mascara—standing there over the sink, wetting the brush, applying it, doing it over two or three times—but it does give your lashes the best look. I know that, but I guess I’m like most other people in the world. I’m getting lazy.”
    “Overcommitted is more like it.” Big Mim liked how smoothly the mascara rolled on her lashes.
    “There’s blusher in there, too.”
    “You could do makeup for a film shoot with what you’ve stashed in there.” Big Mim teased her and then that mind clicked on again. “You know, I don’t believe you are the only woman to receive those letters.”
    Little Mim’s hands suddenly gripped the steering wheel with added pressure. “I hadn’t thought of that. I was so caught up in my own misery.”
    “My experience is that emotions cloud the mind, although in some rare instances they sharpen the mind and one has epiphanies. Something terrible is going on around us. I don’t know what it is. Well, I assume blackmail, but I don’t know who. The motive would be clear enough—money, perhaps revenge. But, mmm, do you remember seven years ago when we were down at the stables? Snowed. We knew it was going to snow, but it turned into a blizzard, and we couldn’t see the hand in front of our faces.”
    “Yes, we wanted to get back to the house, and you realized we might not make it, we might wander around in circles. Luckily, you turned me back before even the stable was swallowed up in white, and we weren’t ten yards from it.”
    “You couldn’t hear anything but the wind and the snow blowing back into one’s ears. Stung. But we managed to get back into the stables and we spent the night there. When we woke up, it was still snowing, but we could see. This is like that. We can’t see. We can only hope that, in time, there’s a clearing.”
    “It can’t go on.”
    “Were you ever physically threatened?”
    “No. My career was the focus. Like a fool, I was so angry and upset I burned the letters.”
    “Understandable. Did you check the postmarks?”
    “22905. At least I had the presence of mind to do that and remember.”
    “I hope whoever else is receiving letters will come forward. I doubt their careers are being threatened.”

22
    W hat is it about Mondays?” Cooper sat down at her desk and viewed the pile of paperwork with distaste.
    A law-enforcement officer saves lives, pulls injured and dead people out of car wrecks, faces armed men hopped up on crank, endures abuse from angry people over whatever it is that has gone wrong in their lives, and listens to lies, a tidal wave of lies. However, the paperwork, mounting with each year as Americans became ever more dazzled by worthless litigation, seemed much worse than the physical dangers.
    “Court appearance.” She tossed that aside. “Why do people protest speeding tickets?”
    “Because sometimes they win.” Rick also faced a daunting pile. “Big Mim called. She and her daughter are on their way.”
    “She was just here this morning.” Surprise, then resignation, filled her voice. “We can’t do a thing about Tazio Chappars. Surely she must understand that. The murder took place in Bedford County.”
    “What Big Mim wants, Big Mim gets.” He smiled