Cat on the Scent

6

Later that afternoon the clouds grew darker still.

Deputy Cooper walked through the back door. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Harry answered.

“Where's Miranda?”

“Ran home for a minute.” Harry pointed to a chair. “Sit down.”

“Have you seen Tommy Van Allen?”

“No.”

The two cats, dozing in the canvas mail cart, woke up, sticking their heads over the top.

“He's been missing for two days—two days that we know of—and his plane is missing, too.”

Mrs. Murphy put her paws on the edge of the cart, with rapt attention.

“Cynthia, how could his plane be missing for two days and the airport not realize it?”

“They thought the plane was in Hangar C, the last hangar for repairs. Apparently Tommy had scheduled a maintenance check for Monday morning.”

“How could the plane take off and not return without anyone noticing?”

“I wondered about that myself. The airport closes at midnight. He could have gone off then, and he is in the habit of staying a night or two at his destination. Still, it's odd.”

“I know where the plane is!” Mrs. Murphy shouted.

“Quiet.” Harry shook her finger.

The cat jumped out of the cart and bounded into Cynthia's lap. “I don't know where Tommy is but I know where the plane is.”

“She's affectionate.” Cynthia scratched her ears.

“Don't waste your breath,” Pewter advised Mrs. Murphy.

“Do you really know where the plane is?” Tucker asked.

“Tally Urquhart's old barn. I'll take you there.”

Rain rattled on the windowpane.

Pewter settled back down in the mail cart. “Wait for a sunny day.”

Mrs. Murphy jumped off Cynthia's lap back into the mail cart, where she rolled over Pewter. “You don't believe me.”

“I don't care.”

“Sunday night when I came to bed wet—that's when I saw the plane.” She swatted the inattentive Pewter.

“Temper tantrum.” Harry rose and separated them.

“Has anyone picked up Tommy's mail?” Cooper asked.

“His secretary.” Harry held Mrs. Murphy on her shoulder.

Miranda came through the back door. Cynthia asked her about Tommy.

“He'll show up. It's hard to hide a six-foot-five-inch man,” Miranda advised. “He's done this before.”

“He stopped drinking,” Harry reminded her.

“Maybe he slipped off the wagon.” Miranda frowned.

“I know where the plane is!” the cat bellowed.

“God, Murphy, you'll split my eardrum.” Harry placed her on the floor.