The Purrfect Murder

Kylie’s apartment, she was gone. Her clothes and furniture remained. Cooper checked the bathroom; her makeup bag was gone.
    Cooper found a pack of Virginia Slims, which they put in a plastic bag.
    They put an alert out for her car, which was found at the Charlottesville Airport parking lot. However, her name did not appear on any flights.
    Either she had been picked up by a friend or she stole a car from the parking lot. That wouldn’t be evident until the owner returned to an empty space days or maybe weeks later.

    At nine-fifteen that morning, Rick and Cooper interrogated Jonathan Bechtal.
    “Do you know Kylie Kraft?”
    “No.”
    “Did she tell you to kill Dr. Wylde?”
    “No,” he answered Rick.
    “Was Dr. Wylde on to her stealing the records?”
    “How would I know?”
    The only flicker of emotion in Bechtal’s face came when Rick said, “She left town in a hurry with all the money you’d raised.”
    Rick didn’t know that. He was baiting Bechtal. But he was reasonably certain it was true.
    When Bechtal said nothing, Cooper slyly mentioned, “She will continue your work.”
    A beatific look infused his face. Again he said nothing.
    Rick and Cooper ended their interrogation and left the jail. Once in the car, Rick started the motor. Before he pulled out, he reached into a dash cubbyhole, extracting two dollars and fifty cents. “Here.”
    “What’s this for?”
    “Half and half. I bet a woman. You bet a man.”
    She smiled. “We’ll get her.”
    “Might take years, but she’ll make a mistake. They always do.”
    “Do you think she’s a true believer?”
    He pulled out of the parking lot. “I don’t know. If she is, she’s in some ways more frightening than he is. And smarter.”
    “True.”
    “Still,” he smiled, “I have this vision of her in a beautiful hacienda in Uruguay or an opulent seaside house in Chile, living high on the hog.”
    “And?”
    “There’s a revolution.” He laughed.
    “Probably not in those two countries, but she’ll tip her hand and we’ll get her. She killed a woman; she orchestrated the death of a doctor.”
    “And she’s a nurse. You know, I never connected with that. Carla was killed by someone who understood anatomy, understood what happens when you slit a jugular. Somehow, she got out of the way of that mighty gusher.”
    “I’d like to know how.” Cooper stared out the window at clouds massing up in the west.
    “Well, when she turns up, wherever she turns up, we’ll find out.”
    “At least Mike didn’t kill Carla. That’s some comfort to his widow.”
    “Cold comfort,” Rick grunted.
    Cooper turned to look at his profile. “If nothing else, this showed Little Mim’s mettle, and I bet there are women—we’ll never know who—who talked to their husbands or friends and resolved their burden about their past. Some good came of it.”
    “We can hope.”
    “Smoke?” she asked.
    “Have you ever known me to refuse?”
    She reached for the hardpack she’d slid in her front pocket, fishing out a long cigarette. “Coffin nail, just for you.”
    He quickly glanced at it. “Dunhill Mild.”
    “It’s true, you’re corrupting me.”
    “Damn,” was all he said, as she held a match for him when they reached a stoplight.
    “If you have no objection, I’ll drive out to Harry’s and give her the scoop.”
    “That is one lucky woman.” He inhaled. “What are we going to do about her? She’s a damned nuisance, and one of these days she’s going to get herself or one of us killed, I swear.”
    “Ask her to join the force.”
    Rick laughed. “That will be the day. I’d sooner ask Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. In fact, they demonstrate more sense than she does.”
    “They’ve saved her on more than one occasion.”
    He rode along, silent for a while. “We use German shepherds. Why not a corgi and two cats?”
             
    Cooper related this to Harry as she cleaned tack in the barn.
    “Guess he’s mad at me.”
    “Do you blame him?” Cooper’s eyebrows raised.
    “I did find a criminal. Okay, Mike wasn’t the killer, but he sure was guilty of plenty of other stuff.”
    “Paid for it,” Cooper tersely replied. “Harry, you’ve got to be more careful. You can’t just go do these things on a whim.”
    “It wasn’t a whim. Well, okay. It was.”
    “I can’t believe she admitted it!”
Pewter listened to the mice behind the tack trunk.
    “There. That’s finished.” Harry hung the tack on the