The Purrfect Murder

building code has not been retroactive.” Cooper smiled indulgently, which further discomfited Mike. “All right, the disposal. Let’s have a look.”
    By now he knew she was going to slide under the sink. He also knew he was sinking.
    Two hours later, everything had been measured and written in her notebook, plus she’d snapped photos with a disposable camera, which she’d slipped in her shirt pocket. Cooper wallowed in damning detail.
    “We’ve gone through the punch list.” Mike, no longer belligerent, wanted to get out of there.
    He wanted to call his lawyer.
    “Yes, we have, and you’ve been most helpful. I’m glad Jurgen will finish the house.” She looked up from her copy of the list, which she’d also written down while making him wait. Steely-eyed but quiet, she said, “I’ve kept you from your next appointment. Tell them it was my fault. They can call me if they want to do so.” She handed him two cards, one for him, one for the next poor soul building a house.
    He read it, slipped it in his back pants pocket. “You still haven’t told me why you’re doing this. I know the general reason, but this crawl”—he emphasized “crawl”—“seems more than that.”
    He used “crawl” in the old way, meaning she was crawling over him, not a crawl on a movie screen.
    “We’re working with Bedford’s sheriff department. I know building this caused a lot of stress for Carla and for you. Have to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”
    “Well, I didn’t kill her.”
    She chilled his blood when she said, “I hope not, but everyone is a suspect until we understand the motive. You were at Poplar Forest, and you’re on the list of those not at their table during the time of the murder.”
    “She pushed Tazio Chappars over the edge. Motive enough for me.” He flared up.
    “And convenient for you, too, Mike.” Coop needled him. “It takes strength to cut through the gristle and muscle of someone’s neck. Tazio, perhaps, could have sliced through, but I know you could have done it. You’re strong enough.”
    His jaw dropped slightly. He looked at her, mouth agape, then closed it. “Wasn’t me.”
    “I’m glad to hear that.”
    “I need to go.”
    “Mim Bainbridge—Little Mim,” Cooper added. “You’ve written down the name and address as well as the date, September thirtieth, Tuesday. The page behind this punch list. You saw me flip it up. Give her my apologies. I kept you too long.”
    He nodded curtly, closed the front door without slamming it.
    Cooper admired Orrie’s work. “I knew a lady once named Orrie. Guess it’s like Dana or Francis or Douglas. Spelling may be different between the male and female versions, but they sound the same.”
    “Sidney is another one. A lot of them when you start counting. I was named for my uncle.”
    “Can you tell me anything about this job?”
    “Beautiful house. No shortcuts. Best materials. Best architect.”
    “From your observation, do you think Tazio could kill someone like Carla? Let me be direct: would she?”
    “I don’t know about that.” Orrie wasn’t being evasive but truthful. “I could have killed Carla. She got right under your skin. Raised in a barnyard. No manners. Oh, she had them with people she thought were on her level or above her or she needed, but with the likes of me or Mike or Tazio, she was one hateful bitch.”
    “I can see you’re a fan.” Cooper laughed. “How do you feel about Mike?”
    “A piece of shit.”
    “Well,” Cooper laughed again, “tell me how you really feel.”
    “Never liked him. Known him all my life. I was standing on this ladder last Monday when Carla and Mike had their loud creative disagreement—is that the bullshit phrase? Anyway, they were back in the guest room, but I overheard Carla offer him money. She would have paid cold cash to get him the hell out of here, and he refused.”
    “Of course he did, Orrie, he knew you were on this ladder.”
    “Thought of that myself, later.”
    “Think he put the squeeze on people?”
    “I never heard any loose talk. On the other hand, he sure buys anything he wants.” Orrie carefully wiped the brush on the rim of the paint bucket, then laid it across the top. He climbed down the ladder to be level with Cooper and because he wanted to stretch.
    “Cramps?”
    “Get tight. Painting ceilings is the worst. I’ll keep that crick in my neck for days.”
    “You’ve won the contracts for a lot of these new houses, haven’t