The Purrfect Murder

piece of work.”
    “Is, isn’t she?” Susan hid her smile behind her hand, even though it was just the two of them.
    “A three-dollar bill.”
    “She has enough of them. You know, Harry, this is a case of what your mother would say: ‘Praise a fool that you might make her useful.’”
    Harry sighed. “Mother was so much better at those things than I am.”
    “It’s not too late to learn.” Susan sliced more Brie, handing one cracker to Harry. “You’re not rude. It’s just that sometimes you say what you think too directly.”
    “I know.”
    “You can say the exact same thing with more flourish.”
    “I know. Fair tells me the same thing.”
    “So at the next board meeting, shine on Folly.”
    Another car pulled up in the driveway, a county squad car, and Tucker barreled outside to say hello to their next-door neighbor, two miles away as the crow flies.
    Officer Cynthia Cooper stepped in; she’d been driving home after work. “Heard there was a tea party.”
    “We’re plotting revolution.” Susan got up before Harry could and fetched a glass, plate, and utensils.
    “What’s up?” Harry liked Coop.
    “Two wrecks at Barracks Road Shopping Center. One robbery at the bank up on Rio Road, and you’ll love this.” She leaned toward them. “He pulled out a gun and dropped his driver’s license on the floor. How dumb is that?”
    “Not as dumb as the guy who rammed the stand-alone kiosks at Wachovia.” Harry laughed, naming a large interstate banking chain.
    “He did get money, but it sure was easy to trace the car.” Coop laughed, too.
    The three enjoyed one another’s company.
    Susan told Coop about Folly’s generosity. Coop asked if she could pile up a truckload of manure for her garden.
    Her cell phone played “Leader of the Pack.”
    “Thought you were off duty,” Harry said.
    “Am.” Coop flipped the small phone open. Hearing the sheriff’s voice, she simply said, “Chief.” Then she was ominously silent, getting up from the table with the phone still to her ear.
    Harry and Susan stood up, too, as Coop hurried for the door.
    They ran out with her as she flipped the phone closed.
    “Can we help?” Harry asked.
    “No. Will Wylde has been shot.”
    Dr. Will Wylde, OB/GYN, was on the board for Planned Parenthood.
    The two best friends watched Coop peel out of the drive. Thoughtfully, she didn’t hit the siren until she reached the paved road.
    “Antiabortion nut,” Susan uttered through taut lips.
    “So it would seem,” Harry replied.
    Susan turned to Harry. “Why would anyone else want to shoot Will Wylde?”
    “I don’t know, Susan, I really don’t know, but I have learned that the obvious answer isn’t always the correct answer.”

3
    T he Madison office complex, a pair of inoffensive brick two-story buildings with basement offices as well, was tucked in between Route 29, Route 250, and the back way into Farmington Country Club.
    Dr. Wylde’s office was there, making it convenient for his patients, most of whom lived in the western part of the large county. He lived in a lovely home on the country-club grounds, golf being his passion, as well as that of his wife, Benita. Convenient for him, too.
    Coop stood on the roof of the building catty-cornered to Wylde’s office. Sheriff Rick Shaw stood with her, the heat seeping up through the thick soles of their shoes.
    “No shells?” Coop asked.
    “No. Too smart for that.” Rick paused. “Kind of like a rapist using a condom.” He paused again and, knowing Coop as he did, knew she wouldn’t take that the wrong way.
    She knelt down so her eye would be level with the top of the roof. “The trajectory of the wound will no doubt confirm your thoughts. And it makes sense, because if he shot from an office window, he’d need to move through the office. Can’t do that and go undetected. All these offices are full up.”
    “He’d have to walk down the hall with a rifle or get inside the office and assemble it quickly, if the weapon was one that can be broken down. I expect it was.” Rick watched the emergency squad finally place the body in the ambulance; they’d had to wait for Rick’s officers to thoroughly inspect everything. “So he came up here—easy enough, since few people use the stairs—waited, fired, walked down, and drove away.”
    “Car parked on the side of the building near the stair door?”
    “Yep. Macadam. No print.”
    “And no one saw anyone drive away?”
    “Coop, that’s just it.