The Big Cat Nap

Daylight savings time starts so early now.” Harry washed snap peas in the sink, tossing them in a pot when clean.

“I like more light when I get off duty, but I don’t like getting up in the dark.” Cooper sliced little strips of bacon on the small butcher cutting board.

Pewter leaned on Coop’s leg as the tall woman performed this task.

“You’re not getting any,” Tucker predicted.

“Yeah, you’re just saying that to make me let my guard down. If she drops any, you’ll scarf it up.”

“You snooze, you lose.” Tucker blinked.

Mrs. Murphy, on her side, tail slowly rising and falling, stayed out of it. Her two companions had been sniping at each other all day. It wearied her.

Harry opened the oven. “Ought to be ready when he gets home. Now that foaling season is over, we can once again have regular meals. Fair works so hard.”

“Yes, he does.” Coop appreciated Fair’s many fine qualities, perhaps even more than Harry did, since she didn’t have to deal with any of the irritating ones.

“You’re staying for dinner.” Harry raised one hand. “You’ve had a long day, you’re helping me with the snap peas, so just agree with me.”

“I need to weed my garden.”

“I’ll help you do that tomorrow. Unlike most people, I actually like weeding the garden.” Harry paused long enough to pour a little butter over the roasting chicken, then closed the oven door. “When’s Rick get back?”

“He’ll be back at work tomorrow. I’ll be glad to see him. The crime-scene team, the photographer, they all did their usual professional job, but something about this murder doesn’t sit right. Usually, when you go to a crime scene, what happened is pretty obvious.”

“That’s not how the TV shows present it,” Harry wryly noted.

“Wouldn’t be any show if they did, now, would it?” Coop finished up with the bacon, scraping it into the pot with the snap peas. “What next?”

“You can wash the lettuce. I’m making a simple salad. I’ve got to get my husband to eat more greens.”

Pewter grimaced. “Rabbit food.”

“Yeah, I need to do that, too,” Coop said.

“So what’s different about this murder?”

“Oh, like I said, if you’ve been in law enforcement for a while, most of the murders you see aren’t premeditated. Some are, but most of them are fights that escalate, maybe domestic violence that got out of hand or the wife finally decided to fight back. It’s cut-and-dried. I’ll tell you what bothers me a lot about this murder. All those guys at the garage drag race. Walt, on the other hand, restored old cars. Still, they seem to have all gotten along. Setting aside Kyle, the five mechanics working that day all gave exactly the same statement.”

Harry turned to look at the younger deputy. “Which is?”

Coop wiped her hands. “Hold on.”

She ran out to her car, took out her reporter’s notebook.

“Maybe she’ll take the grease from the chicken and pour it on our crunchies.” Pewter would have made a wonderful chef had she been human—a step down, in her mind.

“Good idea.” Mrs. Murphy sat up.

Coop returned to the kitchen, leaving the door open. A light breeze wafted through the screened-in porch off the kitchen; all the windows were open, too.

“Okay. ‘We stayed late at lunch.’ ”She read from her notebook.

“That’s it?”

“Every single one of them said just that, followed by, ‘We figured we’d stay a half hour late and make up the time later that day.’ ”

“Hmm.”

“They also agreed that Walt left early for lunch and returned to ReNu earlier than the other workers.” She looked up from her reporter’s book.

“Sounds rehearsed,” said Harry.

“Well, it’s got me thinking. Usually in a situation like this, someone or another gets all shook up and rattles on. If there’s a group, they speak over one another, contradict one another. It can get emotional.”

“Well, some did go outside and throw up when they saw the gore.”

“Did you see them throw up?” Coop put the notebook on the table, grabbed the head of romaine lettuce, and began washing it.

“Coop, I’m not going outside to watch people puke.”

“I understand that, but I didn’t see any evidence of lunch.”

Harry made a face. “You looked.” She stopped, hands idle for a moment. “I used to think I’d make a good detective. You’re proving me wrong.”

“What you are is a nosy neighbor—a good neighbor, but a nosy one who stumbles on evidence.” Coop elbowed her lightly. “But you see things I don’t. I have to go by the book. You can rely on inspiration.”

They both laughed at that.

“Last thing our mother needs to hear,” Mrs. Murphy said. “Now she’ll really be nosy.”

“Odd that humans use that particular word when they have such terrible senses of smell,” Tucker mused.

“I gave a call to Susan and then Herb,” said Harry. “To check in. They’re okay.”

“When I first came to the department, the reverend was driving a big Bronco. They’re so cool. The old Jeep Wagoneers are, too.”

“Listen to you, and you’re not even a motorhead,” Harry teased her. “Speaking of motorheads, maybe you should go to the drag races. Just a thought.”

Cooper smiled. “If I don’t, you will.”

“Ah, come on, Coop. I love cars. Why shouldn’t I go?”

“Why haven’t you gone before?” Cooper shrewdly asked.

“I’m so busy with the farm. Get tired at night and the weekends. Fair’s home more now, but he’s not much for any kind of racing.”

“Odd. You think he’d like horse racing.” Coop waited a moment. “When’s your next checkup?”

“Next week.”

“You’ll be fine,” Coop said encouragingly.

“I think so, but it’s always in the back of my mind that the cancer may do a boomerang on me. Even when I pass the five-year mark, I expect I’ll still wonder. I know, I know, they say they got it all and nothing traveled.” She shrugged.

“I’d feel the same way. On the other hand, I reckon a scare like that makes you appreciate life more. You don’t sweat the small stuff.”

“That’s a fact, but, Coop, I’ve been looking out this kitchen window for forty years. Mom and Dad would hold me up or carry me out to the barn when I could hardly walk. For forty years I’ve looked at the Blue Ridge Mountains, heard the red-shouldered hawks, seen the raccoons, the deer, the fox, the bobcats, the dogwoods, redbuds, jack-in-the-pulpits, the wild roses. I’ve always appreciated life. The big difference is, now I know mine can end. Oh, we all know it.” She tapped her head. “But now I really know it.” She tapped her heart.

“Karma.” Coop wrapped the lettuce in a dish towel.

“What?”

“To know that. And for all of us to be here together. I believe it’s karma.”

“And what about what happened to Walt? Was that karma?” Harry wasn’t looking for an argument, just curious about Coop’s thoughts on the subject.

“Yes. Had no friends. Family in Iowa. That’s all I’ve found out so far, but, yes, his death is karma.”

A devilish gleam lit Mrs. Murphy’s gorgeous green eyes. “Hey, Pewts, that means the blue jay that keeps attacking you, it’s your karma.”

Pewter’s eyes widened, her pupils filling out, her tail lifting slightly, her whiskers a little back. “Tapeworms are yours.”