The Purrfect Murder

opened Mike’s desk drawers, checked the shelves. She checked her watch. Three forty-five. The trip to Woolen Mills from Crozet had taken forty minutes, thanks to traffic. She picked up the pace. She rapped on the walls. She located the studs, but nothing sounded as though it was filled with treasure. She hoped to hear that
thunk.
    She rolled the chair away and pulled back the heavy rubber mat. The trapdoor ring, black, caught her eye. Eagerly, she pulled it upright, tugged, and the door swung up, a musty smell rising with it.
    “Aha.” She climbed down, the cats readily following her, since they climbed the wall ladder at the barn daily. Harry pulled the string on the overhead light, which revealed rows of boxes. She began opening them.
    She found the jewelry, the money, and the panties. “I’ve got him! I’ve got him!”
    As she put the lids back on, closed up the metal box, too, they heard Tucker barking in the toolshed.
    “Dumb dog.”
Pewter’s eyes widened.
    Mrs. Murphy quickly said,
“Pewter, jump on a shelf.”
    “Why?”
    “Just do it.”
    “Mike!”
Tucker warned.
    “Shut up, Tucker.”
Mrs. Murphy commanded, but it was too late.
    As Mike ran toward his shed, Harry climbed up the ladder. But before she could reach the window, Mike blasted into the room.
    Without a word, he hit her hard across the face.
    Tucker jumped out from behind the door and bit his leg. He shook the dog off, grabbed a heavy coffee mug, and slammed Harry on the side of the head.
    It didn’t knock her out, but it made her woozy. He quickly kicked her down the hole, climbing down after her. Even the cats jumping on his back didn’t stop him. He stuffed his handkerchief in her mouth, whipped off his belt, and wrapped it around her hands behind her back.
    He climbed back up, slammed the door down, pulled the rubber mat over it, and rolled the chair back on the mat. He had forgotten to switch off the light, although no one would see it.
    He tried to catch Tucker, but those long fangs and her quick maneuvers prevented that. Instead, he shut the door behind him, leaving the dog inside.
    He hurried back to the house. He didn’t know what he was going to do; Noddy would be home soon. She left work at four every day because she went into the office at seven-thirty in the morning.
             
    “Lick her face,”
Mrs. Murphy ordered Pewter.
    The two cats licked, their rough tongues providing what a facialist would term “exfoliation.”
    Harry’s eyes fluttered. She grunted a little. “Damn, my head hurts.”
    “Tucker,”
Mrs. Murphy meowed as loudly as she could.
“Only bark if someone comes back.”
    They heard the claws click across the boards then soften as the dog walked on the heavy mat.
    “I drew blood.”
Tucker wished she could have reached his throat.
    “So did he,”
Pewter called up.
    “Is she all right?”
    “Cut on her forehead and temple. A lump is coming up, but she’s all right. We have to get the handkerchief out of her mouth so she doesn’t choke on it.”
    “I will, Murphy, I will,”
Pewter said.
    The mighty little dog sat down, deeply worried. Their only prayer was that Mike wouldn’t shoot. Too many people in the neighborhood would hear him, even if he closed the trapdoor. A gun makes a smart report. He probably wouldn’t slash her throat in his shed, because of the mess. He would have to get Harry out after Noddy was asleep.
    All three of the animals figured that out, and so did Harry.
    She struggled to free her hands from the belt. The cats bit on it. They might be able to bite through enough of it to weaken it, but it would take maybe a half hour, maybe an hour.
             
    Fair called her cell. She didn’t answer. He called home. He called the barn. Finally, he called Susan.
    “Susan, is Harry with you?”
    “No.”
    “It’s four-thirty. She’s a creature of habit, and on Mondays she’d be putting back bedding in the stalls she stripped and aired out yesterday. I think she’s done what you predicted. She’s not answering her cell. Something’s wrong.”
    “I’ll call Coop.”
    “Good. I’m going to Mike’s.”
    Susan gave him directions, and it took him until five-thirty to get there, because of rush-hour traffic. Fortunately, most of it was heading west, but there was enough to make him truly worry.
    Fair saw Harry’s truck parked on the street, and he hoped he was in time. He was so scared he wasn’t even mad at her.
    He parked, hurried out, but didn’t