The Purrfect Murder

furrowed his brow. “Ned was telling me and all I could think of is that it doesn’t matter what profession one’s in, we’re drowning in paperwork.”
    “Wasteful.” She wrinkled her nose.
    “It is that, but on the other hand, it creates a lot of paper-pushing jobs, which means fewer people are unemployed, more people are paying mortgages and have a stake in the system, hence political stability.”
    “Aren’t you smart.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it.
    “Just realistic. He said Little Mim has come through the firestorm and he thinks, although she’s lost the support of groups like Love of Life, she’s gained more from others. He thinks she can run for governor maybe in six or eight years.”
    “He wants it first.”
    “He did, but this first year down in Richmond has been a real eye-opener for him. I would guess any first-timer to politics faces entrenched interests and even more entrenched egos. Given his touch of idealism, it’s hard for him.”
    “There’s where Little Mim shines. She inherited her mother’s hardness. But Big Mim does have a vision, and I suppose it’s progressive. Just no illusions about how you get things done.”
    “She’s an honorable woman, but she knows you crack eggs to make an omelet.” He smiled.
    “I’m proud of Little Mim.” Harry waited as he opened the door for her. “Any word on Penny Lattimore?”
    “No.” He shook his head. “Ned called Rick, who said they hadn’t heard from her.”
    “I hope she’s not dead. This scares me. When someone like Penny disappears, it’s…” She didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Events were spinning out of control, and apart from Tazio’s bail, she perceived little progress.
    “I don’t know how much more of this our little community can stand.” He echoed her worry.

32
    M onday felt like the freight train that pulls all those cars behind it. Harry stoked the engine. She’d whipped through her basic farm chores like the proverbial tornado and then she gathered up her buddies—the cats still on the outs with each other—cranked up the F-150 enhanced by a new alternator, and drove to Woolen Mills.
    At two-thirty in the afternoon, she figured Mike would be on a job site, Noddy would be at the office, and she could sneak into his shed.
    Mike could come and go as he pleased, as long as he got to the job sites on his list for that week. She didn’t factor his flexible schedule into her plans.
    She parked the truck down the street. Most of the neighbors worked. A few dogs barked, but quiet reigned.
    She carefully walked up the front walk, flanked by those beautiful English boxwoods, then ducked between them. As she did, the peculiar odor of the plant rubbed on her. The cats and dogs scooted through, as well.
    She walked around the shed, hoping there’d be a door in the back, but there wasn’t. She tried the only door. Locked. No surprise.
    However, she had a thin file, a cigarette lighter, and a pocketknife. She kept the lighter in the truck, because she’d learned that sometimes you need to light a candle, burn off the end of a rope.
    Given that the house sat at the end of the road and the shed reposed on the back of the lawn, she didn’t worry about anyone seeing her.
    The lock, although simple, resisted her clumsy attempts at picking with the file. Exasperated, she opened the long blade from the pocketknife, wedged it in, and began slowly urging the tongue of the lock to move it back. Sweating, cursing, she finally managed to press it back after fifteen minutes, and she swung open the door, closing it behind her.
    “Wow,” she exclaimed as she admired the organized work space, tools hung up on Peg-Board, nails in jars, all marked in a row. The gun parts fascinated her. He’d know how to procure a silencer, she was certain, but a hunch wasn’t hard evidence. Still, it spurred her on. At the back of the work space rested a large red metal toolbox, about four feet high. She pulled open one drawer. Again, every implement was clean, carefully laid in place.
    She walked around the space. Nothing indicated wrongdoing. She tried the door to the office. Fortunately, it was unlocked. The cats scooted in first. Once inside the room, she unlocked the window, in case she needed to make a quick escape.
    “She’s more curious than we are,”
Pewter grumbled.
“And not as smart.”
    Tucker sat inside by the office door, which Harry had closed, watching, listening with those marvelous ears.
    Harry