Cat On The Scent

48

Mrs. Murphy slept on the divider counter, her tail hanging down. Pewter, on her back on the small table, meowed in her sleep. Tucker snored under the big canvas mail cart.

Harry felt like sleeping herself. A low-pressure system was moving in.

The front door swung open as her head nodded. She blinked. Dr. Larry Johnson waved.

“I'm ready for a nap, too, Harry. Where's Miranda?”

“Next door. She's planning a menu for Market. He wants to sell complete meals. It's a good idea.”

“And Miranda will cook them?”

“Part of them. She works hard enough as it is, and the garden comes first.”

Larry eyed Murphy's tail. “Tempting.”

Harry stood on her tiptoes, leaning over the counter. “She's proud of that tail.”

Mrs. Hogendobber entered through the back door. “Hello,” she sang out.

Mrs. Murphy opened one eye. “Keep your voices down.”

Sarah and Sir H. Vane-Tempest came in with Herb right behind them.

“Glad I ran into you,” Larry said. He walked back outside and returned, handing Vane-Tempest his Confederate tunic top. “Is this genuine homespun?”

Vane-Tempest examined the material in his hands.

Miranda flipped up the countertop and walked out to the front. “I can tell you.”

“I wish everyone would shut up.” Mrs. Murphy opened both eyes.

Tucker lifted her head. “They complain when I bark.”

Miranda held the material in her hands, rubbing it between forefinger and thumb. “Machine.”

“How can you tell?” Vane-Tempest held the other sleeve.

“If this were spun on a home loom there'd be more slubs and the color dye wouldn't be as even. Also, the boys in gray were often called butternut. Dyes weren't colorfast, you see, and dyeing could be an expensive process. A foot soldier would wear homespun for so long that the color would go from a sort of light brown to a gray-white over time.”

Harry joined them. “Bet that stuff itches to high heaven.”

“Your shirt would be spun from cotton. Probably better cotton than what you buy today,” Miranda noted. “So you wouldn't feel your tunic so much.”

Harry took the jacket from Vane-Tempest, slipping it on.

Herb laughed. “You'll drown in that.”

Mrs. Murphy sat bolt upright. She soared from the counter into the mail bin. “Wake up.”

“Dammit!” Pewter, surprised and therefore scared, spit at Murphy.

Tally and Big Mim dropped by to pick up their mail.

“You know what I don't understand?” Tally put one hand on her hip. “If a man dresses as a woman, everybody laughs. They'll pay money to see him. If a woman dresses as a man, stone silence.”

By now Pewter had hopped onto the divider counter and Murphy roused Tucker, who padded out front to the people.

“Want to try?” Harry handed the tunic to Big Mim.

“I'll leave that to the boys.”

“That's it!” Murphy crowed.

Pewter blinked, thought, then she got it. So did Tucker.

That same afternoon, as Sarah fed the domestic ducks on her pond, private investigator Tareq Said discreetly delivered county-commission tapes to her husband, as he did once a week. He'd bugged Archie's office along with the others. Vane-Tempest did not fully trust Arch and wanted to make certain he was getting his money's worth. Also, this way he could keep tabs on the other commissioners. Surprisingly, Arch had not disappointed him. He really was working for Teotan's acceptance. He was all business.

However, this week's tape proved substantially different. Tareq handed over the legal-sized folder, then swiftly left.