The Purrfect Murder

pulled the shades just in case. Noddy wouldn’t come home from work for another hour, given the traffic. Still, one couldn’t be too careful.
    He walked into the tool part of the shed, came back with an old towel, put it on the floor, and rolled the chair onto the towel. Mike was as fussy as Noddy. Then he pulled the mat away. Down on his hands and knees, he slipped his forefinger through the recessed brass half ring, which was painted black, and lifted the trapdoor. He stepped down into the small area, not four feet by six feet, which was low but he could stand. Shelves lined the four walls, but only one side of the shelves was filled. He pulled out a key, squatted down, and opened a metal strongbox on the bottom shelf. He counted the cash: sixty-two thousand dollars collected over the years. He examined the jewelry, much of it very valuable. Someday way off in the future he would take the jewelry up to New York and fence it, if he could bear to part with it. Mike appreciated beauty. He shut the small heavy metal door, listening for the sweet click of the automatic lock.
    His knees creaked when he stood up. Colored wooden boxes lined the next shelf. He opened one box to gaze at the lace panties within, each one snatched from a conquest—most not terribly willing—over his years as inspector. Smiling broadly, he picked up an emerald-green pair and slipped his hand through a leg opening to gaze at the fine handiwork on the lace. Made by hand, the lace testified that these select undies belonged to a woman of taste and money. Penny Lattimore, in fact. He folded the panties, putting them back in the box.
    He loved his victories. He loved the power over women. Hurting a woman wasn’t his goal. Mike wasn’t a mean man, simply a weak and screwed-up man. He liked making them pay. From some he just took jewelry and money. Others, sex. Still others, both. You never knew in this world, and cash was hard to procure. As for the jewelry, he thought of the ears, necks, wrists, and fingers on which they had sparkled. The panties—now, there lay a prize. Oh, he had to wear them down to get those panties off, but he’d learned over the years that most women had secrets, secrets they wanted kept from their husbands, even a child out of wedlock. He’d learned to read the signs: not much communication with their husbands, obsession with their looks. Being unfulfilled, their energies were directed elsewhere, and sometimes he could catch their nervousness when the subject of sex out of wedlock came up. He made sure it filtered into early conversations with a woman; usually he disguised it as a joke. Finding something wrong in the building code occurred after patient research of the lady of the house.
    Noddy bragged to friends how hard Mike worked, how dedicated he was to his job. Little did she know.

26
    C laustrophobia gripped Benita Wylde. Not the suffocating kind, where a person becomes terrified in an elevator, but the soft claustrophobia of staying in the house. She needed to get out and do something.
    She’d been to the office only once since Will was shot, and that seemed like it had been years ago during the day, seconds ago during the night. Time confused her. Somehow it seemed absurd, marking time. Everything seemed absurd and empty without Will, but she forced herself to not lose those threads that bind a life. Bills will come in and must be paid. Keep on keeping on.
    Margaret Westlake sat at the front desk area, which had a sliding-glass window. She looked up from a schedule book, where she had written the names of doctors filling in for Will until a permanent solution could be found.
    Surprised to see his widow, she jumped out of her chair and gave Benita a big hug.
    “I came by to see how you girls are doing; you’ve all been so good to come by the house every day.”
    Hearing Benita’s voice, Sophie Denham came out of an examining room, and Kylie Kraft came up the hallway, folders in hand.
    After exchanging kisses and some tears, Benita said to the three women, “I thought perhaps I could help with outstanding accounts. I know all of Will’s patients were devoted to him, but his passing might encourage a few to delay their payment. So I thought I’d go over those accounts if you have them separated out. If not, I can separate them out. I have a rough idea of the system.”
    Margaret replied, “You and I are on the same wavelength. I’ve been working on it.”
    Benita looked at Kylie and said, “Since