The Big Cat Nap (28 page)

They chatted a bit more, then Harry thanked her profusely, making
a mental note to send over some special canned foods she’d put up last year. Harry knew she’d be back. Something about Mildred touched her. She didn’t dwell on it, she just knew she’d be back.

Mildred gave her a big hug as Harry put her hand on the doorknob, the three furry friends at her feet.

“Millie, what do you drive?”

“Ha.” Mildred clapped her hands. “A big-ass 1962 Impala convertible. They can all get out of my way.”

Driving out of the salvage yard, Harry pictured the round little lady in the big Chevy.

Bored with I-64, she drove to Waynesboro the back way.

“Hey, let’s go to the drag strip. No one’s there.”

Tucker’s brown eyes registered worry.
“You’d better not do anything with this car.”

Fifteen minutes later, the black WRX STI glided onto the grounds of Central Virginia Hot Rod Track. Harry drove right up to the Christmas tree.

“That’s a lot of lights,”
Mrs. Murphy remarked.

“I so want to do the quarter mile.” Harry’s hands gripped the steering wheel. “Well, I can’t. It’s not right to do that in a car I haven’t paid for, but how can I do it otherwise? I mean, they’ll never let me race here, and I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.”

“Don’t,”
Pewter howled.
“You do enough crazy stuff.”

“What the hell?” Harry exclaimed. Coming around the bleachers in front of her at a fast clip was a charcoal Porsche 911. She checked her rearview: Behind her was a yellow Camaro. Harry couldn’t see the drivers, but she knew if she didn’t do something she’d be trapped. She put her foot on the brake, gunned the motor, took the brake off, and shot down the track so fast that the Porsche braked hard.

“Something’s wrong,”
Mrs. Murphy cried.

Tucker, trying to balance herself, looked through the two front seats.
“They’re trying to trap her!”

Pewter, crouching on the footwell behind the seat, shouted,
“Make her stop.”

Mrs. Murphy summed up the situation.
“If she stops, we’re toast.”

The jet acceleration gave Harry confidence. At the end of the quarter mile, she turned sharply, skidding out, for the Porsche hung hot on her tail. The Camaro driver seemed to hesitate. Perhaps he had the brains to know if he tried to block her she’d plow right through him, maybe killing them both.

Harry had guts: She called his bluff. The Camaro accelerated out of her way, and she felt the shock waves as she blew by that beautiful yellow tail. As she rocked by the Camaro, she saw Latigo Bly behind the wheel.

Harry now headed for the state road, praying that someone would see them and call the police. No way could she reach her cellphone.

She was running for her life, very glad the seat belts were good.

She hooked left, skidding out again. This time the Camaro disappeared, only to reappear emerging from the back way into Central Virginia Hot Rod Track.

Fearlessly, Harry aimed straight for him again. Latigo backed up in a hurry, stones flying from under the wheels.

As they were not yet near housing or commercial buildings, her two pursuers had two miles to bring her down. Given the quality of their cars and the skill with which they handled them, they just might succeed.

Sweat poured down her forehead, between her breasts. Senses razor-sharp, she’d never felt more alive than at this moment.

She heard the beautiful yowl of the 911 coming up on her right, on the lip side of the road, which was wide enough to take the car. She recognized Victor Gatzembizi in the gorgeous 911. On her left, the Camaro hurtled down a paved two-lane road. Both cars closed in. She was between them now. She couldn’t take her eyes off the road for an instant.

The Porsche bumped her as the Camaro swerved close to her. The smaller car shuddered but took it. The pursuers drove about a foot away, then came toward her again to slam the hell out of the WRX
STI. Harry hit those brakes, which bit into the pavement. The screech of the wheels had to have been heard in Richmond. So quickly did the pocket rocket stop that the Porsche and Camaro crashed into each other. The big Chevy shouldered the Porsche right off the road at such a high speed that the Porsche plowed into a field, but it didn’t turn over. The Camaro, right fender now bent into the right wheel, made a screaming sound as the tire blew. The car spun around, stopping like a wounded animal. Latigo leaned out the open driver’s window with a gun and fired a shot Harry’s way. He missed, the bullet skidding over the Subaru hood.

Harry took off, speeding toward Waynesboro. Eventually she slowed, grabbed her phone, dialed 911. After giving the location of the two wrecks, she pulled into the Rite Aid parking lot to calm down.

“That was close.”
She reached over, putting Mrs. Murphy in her lap and turning to pet Tucker.

“I could have been killed,”
Pewter cried.

“Pewter, come on up here. Come on.”

Wobbly-legged, the gray cat, belly low, slunk into Harry’s lap. She’d peed on herself, but neither Harry nor anyone else said a word. They’d near done it themselves. Then Harry called Cooper.

“Coop, I’m in Augusta County—Waynesboro, at the Rite Aid. Victor Gatzembizi and Latigo Bly tried to kill me. I’m safe, I think. Will you come get me?”

“Hang on.” Harry heard Coop hit the siren and start roaring through Albemarle toward Augusta County.

By the time Cooper reached Harry, the animals were cleaned up. Harry had gone into Rite Aid to get bottled water for everyone and had bought a little plastic bowl and some paper towels for cleanup. Behind the counter Belinda—a pug owner and animal lover herself—pretended not to notice the cat-pee smell on Harry.

It wasn’t until Harry saw Coop that she about cried, her relief was so great. Coop shot out of the squad car, saw the scar marks on the right side of the Subaru, the thin bullet line on the hood.

“Jesus Christ, Harry, what happened?”

Harry explained as best she could, from the beginning. “How did they know I was there?”

“Easy, neighbor. Someone slapped a tracking device on your car. Same thing as on hunting-dog collars. They’ve known where you are ever since Victor Gatzembizi dropped off this car.” Cooper leaned into her squad car, called the Augusta sheriff’s department.

She identified herself and gave the location of the accident, asking if anyone was there. If so, were the drivers safe? Could they give her a positive ID?

She clicked off the phone. “Victor Gatzembizi and Latigo Bly.”

“I was so stupid. So incredibly stupid!” Harry leaned against the car, put her head in her hands. “How could I not have known?”

“Hindsight is always clear.” Coop put her arm around her friend. “The good news is you’re alive. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker are alive.” She looked over the car. “I think you can drive this thing home.”

“This car saved my life.”

“That and the fact that you can drive.” Cooper hugged her with the arm draped over her shoulder. “Wish I’d seen it. We’ll get this figured out. Those two will have their asses in the slammer. Rick and I will pay them a visit later. Come on, girl; I’ll follow you home.”

“Can I ride with you?”
Pewter meowed loudly.

“Pewts, Mom needs you. The worst is over,”
Tucker counseled.

“Why does everything happen to me?”
the gray cat wailed.

R
ays slanting through mountainsides and steep ravines, the golden late sun pierced the eastern meadows and pastures along the Blue Ridge.

“Why is it that the light before the sun sets is so much richer than at any other time of the day?” Harry wondered aloud to herself.

Her friends had gathered at the farm this Saturday before the Fourth of July to rejoice in her escape, talk about the capture of the two culprits, and, of course, talk about one another.

Fair, like 90 percent of American men, showed off his considerable grilling skills, ably assisted by Reverend Jones. Since the reverend loved to eat, you wanted him helping you. Anyone who likes to eat is usually a good cook.

Cooper brought fresh greens to make a salad. Alicia and BoomBoom brought all the biscuits and also a big cake. Other friends dropped by, had a drink, and left. The place had buzzed, but now it was those closest and dearest, eating, drinking, laughing, and perhaps enjoying the recent scandal of Yancy Hampton being caught falsifying his organic foods.

“It isn’t all that terrible,” Alicia defended him. “So he sells some genetically modified foods. Big deal.”

Franny Howard jumped into the conversation. “False advertising. String him up by his shoelaces.” Franny plopped down with a thud.

“He wears sandals,” BoomBoom quietly replied.

“Jesus boots,” Franny giggled.

“Franny, you’re in a mood.” Cooper pointed to the huge salad bowl.

Franny did get up to investigate.

Trolling along the two picnic tables placed together, she filled her plate and a salad bowl. “I’m happy Harry has solved the crimes and I’m happy my tires are home.”

“Laying rubber, are you?” Fair pointed a long grilling fork at her.

Franny shook her finger. “Don’t go there.”

Reverend Jones, happiest when among his friends, sat down with a long, cool summer drink, into which he had added two raspberries and fresh mint. “Coop, when are you and Rick going to reward our girl here? She apprehended two dangerous men.”

“I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘apprehend,’ but she did bring them to justice, so to speak.”

Harry pointed to the WRX STI. “That car did the trick.”

They knew the details, but all asked to hear it again, so Harry, who couldn’t help herself, spilled all the details once more.

“Nothing about us,”
Pewter lazily said, having eaten offerings from the people plus what she could steal.

“Wasn’t much we could do in the car except hang on,”
Mrs. Murphy added.
“This was one time we couldn’t help her.”

“Wild ride.”
Tucker grinned.

On a different branch than Matilda, who reposed higher up now, perched the blue jay, Pewter’s nemesis. Brazenly, the bird swooped down, flew over the table, stopped for a split second, then flew back up into the tree with a morsel of fresh-baked bread.

“Blue jays don’t like bread. They like seeds,” Susan, a birder, said.

Fair laughed. “He hasn’t read Audubon.”

The blue jay then opened his beak, letting the bread drop.
“I can do anything. You can’t catch me.”

“Did you see that?” Harry’s mouth fell open.

“Cheeky fellow,” Reverend Jones roared, then held up his hands. “Lord, is this your way of telling us we aren’t the crown of creation?”

“Listen to him.”
Pewter sat upright.
“He gets it.”

The blue jay jumped off and flew sideways, one wing toward the ground, right in front of the gray cat. Pewter’s whiskers moved with the air current. Then he returned to the table, this time plucking a seed off one of the special biscuits.

Harry, hands on hips, stood up. “What good are you cats? This is your job.”

“You get upset if we kill birds,”
Mrs. Murphy fired right back.

The blue jay, sitting a bit too near Matilda, swallowed the seed. Matilda opened her jaws and flicked out her tongue. The saucy bird dropped a few branches below. He wasn’t done yet, but he wanted that juicy seed to settle for a moment.

“You two look lame,”
Tucker ever so helpfully said.

“Well, you try to get him.”
Pewter was incensed.

“I’m not a cat. Not my job.”
The corgi dropped under Fair’s chair.

“We wouldn’t have you,”
the gray cat snidely spoke.

As the three animals complained to one another and about one another, the blue jay began to imitate other birds for the joy of irritating everyone.

He was successful.

Ignoring the racket, Reverend Jones asked, “Coop, what have they confessed to?”

“That’s why I drove out here, to find out,” said Franny. “Did Victor and Latigo steal my tires along with their other crimes?” She gleefully shoved divine barbecue into her mouth.

“No,” Cooper replied. “It’s going to take time to crack your case. Is it a large interstate ring or is it local? We’ll get it, Franny, just give us time.”

“Bet you will.” Alicia licked her fingers, while BoomBoom rose to get her a small little wet towel at the end of the table.

“The three remaining mechanics, Jason Brundige, Sammy Collona, and Lodi Pingrey, want to save themselves, and they want to prove they didn’t kill anyone, so they’ve been singing like canaries.”

“Do you think they did kill their co-workers?” Reverend Jones asked the tall deputy.

“No. I’m pretty certain Victor and Latigo did the killing. And that’s what Jason Brundige is saying. The murders weren’t professional
grade, if you will, but they were clever, bold, and left no fingerprints. These two thought they were clever by using a different M.O. for each murder. Jason said they killed Bobby together, just like they tried to kill Harry together.”

“The killings were messages to the others,” Harry simply said.