The Purrfect Murder (9 page)

12

I
wish I'd never said I'd do this.” Tazio slumped down in the passenger seat of Susan's Audi station wagon.

“You really didn't have a choice,” Susan consoled her.

“Mim's going to think I'm disloyal. And I don't want to put pressure on Paul,” Tazio moaned.

Paul de Silva, Tazio's boyfriend, managed Big Mim's stables. Tazio found him charming and irresistible. Fortunately, the feeling was mutual.

Harry was half dozing in the backseat since the ride was so smooth, plus she was surrounded by the warmth of Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, Owen—Tucker's brother—and Brinkley, Tazio's yellow lab.

She opened one eye. “It was Big Mim's idea.”

“I know.” Tazio nodded. “But the way things are breaking, she might forget and take it out on me.”

“She's not like that. She can be despotic, but she's fair.” Susan had known Mim all her life.

“Besides, she's taking it out on Junior.” Marilyn Sanburne, Jr., was Little Mim's correct name. “Junior” was a term loathed by Little Mim.

“Got that right.” Susan checked her speedometer and slowed, for she was doing eighty on Route 29.

“You don't know how fast you're going in this car.” Tazio liked the wagon. “Good thing you slowed. Look up on the curve.”

There sat a cop car waiting to feast on speeders. It was quota time, although the local police, sheriff's department, and state police would never, ever, admit they met a monthly quota. The state laws had been changed. Going fifteen miles an hour over the limit netted a Virginian a one-thousand-dollar fine. Out-of-state drivers could go as fast as they wanted but only pay the old lower fees determined by a judge. The results, predictably, were that troopers and cops went after the Virginians. If anything, the new law, in effect July 1, 2007, made the roads more dangerous.

“Mmm, on the one hand, I'm glad they're out here. On the other hand, I'm not,” Susan commented. “Given the way cars are built today, the speed limits are outdated and the new laws are beyond absurd. I'm waiting for the citizen revolt.”

“Wait until you drive the autobahn.” Tazio had piloted a BMW M5 two years ago when visiting Germany.

“That will be the day.” Harry sat up straight now. “Back to this Poplar Forest do. Big Mim suggested you to head the decorating committee—”

Tazio interrupted. “Sure, so I could build the scaffolding. You know this fund-raiser is about as elaborate as a Louis the Fourteenth fete. Little did I know.”

“At least the committee has gotten the materials donated. Can you imagine the cost otherwise?” Susan checked her rearview mirror.

“Thirty-five thousand dollars.” Tazio's voice was clipped.

“What!” Harry grabbed the back of Tazio's seat.

“Thirty-five thousand dollars.”

“Oh, my God.” Harry flopped back. “The fund-raiser won't make that. Good thing the stuff is donated.”

“Are you kidding? With Folly Steinhauser heading the committee, they've already received fifty thousand dollars in tables. She's nabbed corporate sponsors for those. By the time individual contributions roll in—the silent auction plus the two live-auction items—this thing could very well clear two hundred thousand dollars.”

“That's big money for central Virginia fund-raising.” Susan was astounded. “You know we aren't unfeeling, but Southerners are taught to take care of our own. What's left over goes to people you don't know. That's why charities can't raise as much here as they do in the Northeast.”

“No one told Folly. I'd like to know how she vacuumed this cash out of pockets.” Tazio smiled. “Big Mim had no idea what she'd unleashed when she handed over this charity to Folly.”

“She is overcommitted,” Harry replied.

“Big Mim could run the country.” Susan laughed. “She thought she was adding new troops by allowing Folly the glory of spearheading the Poplar Forest fund-raiser and ball. Little did she know she gave her rival a plum.”

“But she didn't know Folly's ambitions at the time.” Harry appreciated how intelligent Big Mim was, how subtle and political, too.

“And there we have to give the nod to Folly. She shrewdly kept her ambitions under wraps. Even now she's not saying anything. Her deeds speak for her. She's become a power, one that isn't going to bow before Her Highness,” Susan said.

“Majesty,” Harry corrected.

“For Great Britain,” Tazio replied. “Later wasn't it ‘Your Imperial Majesty'?” She paused. “Let's not get off on that. Here's my problem. Every person that Folly placed on the steering committee is a new person and someone for whom I have designed a house.”

“That's why you had to take the decorating committee. Everyone knows that, Taz, especially Big Mim.” Harry petted Tucker, sound asleep, as was Pewter.

“But Folly has invited Little Mim and Blair to join her at her table,” Tazio told them.

“What!” Harry sat bolt upright again, which disturbed the two sleepers.

“Bother.”
Pewter dropped her head back on Tucker's flank.

“I wanted to see if I could hold my tongue until we were halfway to Poplar Forest.” Tazio smiled.

“You succeeded,” Harry dryly commented.

“Little Mim and Blair at Folly's table”—Susan counted couples—“along with the Paulsons, the Steinhausers, obviously, the Lattimores, and who else?”

“Elise Brennan,” Tazio added.

“Who's her date?”

“Major Chris Huzcko.” Tazio cited a very attractive blond marine, who would dazzle in his “ball” uniform.

“Are they an item?” Susan was curious.

“I don't know. At any rate, they'll need a marine at the table if Big Mim launches artillery fire.” Tazio smiled.

“Chris can handle it,” Harry said confidently. “And you know that Tracy Raz can handle it, too.”

Tracy Raz, in his seventies, had seen combat in Korea. After his army career, he served in the CIA, and when he finally retired, he came home to Crozet and wooed his high-school sweetheart, Miranda Hogendobber. Both had married others and had lost their spouses. When Tracy returned from living in Hawaii, the embers reignited. For a man in his seventies, he was in better shape than many a forty-year-old, plus he was bull-strong.

“I assume Miranda and Tracy will be near Big Mim and Jim's table?” Harry said.

“Yes, so we'll have one tough army guy at one table and one rugged marine at another. Maybe the two men can keep the peace.” Tazio sighed. “Meanwhile, I've got Folly on one hand and Big Mim on the other. Of course, my loyalty is to Big Mim. After all, she gave me the commission to design her steeplechasers' stable, and that was my ticket in, truly. I feel I owe her a great deal.”

“In our own way, we all do. For all her ordering us about, she does a lot of good.” Susan slowed again as she noticed everyone else doing the same. “And if you're really worried, go talk to her, Taz. She really will understand. She knows these people have been clients, are clients. She knows you have to make a living. Go talk to her before the ball. Don't wait until something ugly happens, and remember that she didn't know this challenge was coming.” Susan made a sensible suggestion.

“I will.”

“What about Little Mim's statement this morning?” Harry had heard on the six o'clock morning news that the vice mayor of Crozet stated she would do everything she could to help the authorities find and prosecute Dr. Will Wylde's killer. She said nothing about abortion, which meant her mother would not be satisfied.

“Slight progress.” Susan noticed another cop car ahead.

She didn't mind cars slowing to the speed limit, but it irritated her when they crawled below the limit as though that made them a better driver in the cop's eyes.

“Wonder if they have made any progress.” Harry worried, as did they all. “Coop has worked day and night. She can't tell me much, but I do know Rick had the presence of mind to demand patient records from Margaret Westlake. Margaret was worried, but Rick assured her the names of those who had abortions would be confidential. Kylie Kraft pitched a fit and fell in it.”

Susan lifted her hand dismissively. “Kylie Kraft is an airhead. She goes through boyfriends like potato chips. She must be good as a nurse, though, or Will wouldn't have hired her.”

“She's young and sympathetic. Most women having abortions are young. I can see why she'd be a valuable member of the team. Sophie Denham is a good nurse, but she's in her fifties now.”

They rode along in a brief silence.

Tazio said, “I appreciate you two coming down here with me.”

“A break in the routine, plus I'm dying to know what you've planned,” Susan said.

“You'll see.” Tazio smiled.

“Are you all building the platform and scaffolding at home, then transporting it?”

“No,” Tazio replied to Harry. “There's a local construction company that is donating their labor. Good thing, because it makes it easier on everyone. They'll get business out of this.”

“Good.” Harry thought if someone pitched in for a charity, those attending the function should employ their services if they liked what they saw.

Once off 29, the long road from Lynchburg down to Poplar Forest was crammed with subdivisions.

“I can't believe this,” Susan cried.

“When was the last time you drove down here?” Tazio inquired.

“Must be two years ago,” Susan answered.

“At least the developers have taken some pains with landscaping.” Harry peered out the window. “For some of them, anyway.”

When they at last pulled into Poplar Forest, they let the animals out to go to the bathroom. Harry carried water and treats.

“You all go ahead. I'll attend to these guys and then I'll join you.”

“We'll be outside in the back,” Tazio told her.

“I want to go in the house.”
Mrs. Murphy liked prowling in old houses.

“We have to stay outside,”
Tucker, usually obedient, replied.

“Mom might need help with her plans,”
Brinkley, even more obedient than Tucker, said.

Pewter, drinking, couldn't care less one way or the other. What she wanted were the dried fish and chicken treats she knew reposed in a Ziploc bag in Harry's food tote.

“Harry, Harry!” Susan ran toward them, a big smile on her face. “They got him!”

“Who?”

Susan, chest rising and falling, reached her friend. “The man who shot Will Wylde. Robert Taney just told us. Was on the radio.” She caught her breath. “He confessed and made a big statement. Walked right in to the station and turned himself in.”

Robert Taney was the director of Poplar Forest.

“I can't stand that we let people run their mouths when they've killed someone. We make celebrities out of them.” Harry's eyes narrowed.

“That's so, but we can all rest easy now.” Susan put her hand on her chest.

“I wouldn't.”
Mrs. Murphy flicked water droplets from her whiskers.

“Why not?”
Brinkley asked.

“Too easy,”
the tiger replied.

13

T
he south lawn at Poplar Forest afforded views of both the house and the Blue Ridge Mountains, the perfect outdoor setting for the fund-raiser.

Tazio, mindful of the staff's time pressures, spoke to Robert Taney for fifteen minutes, then returned to Harry and Susan.

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter prowled the grounds. The house, filled with people, would be difficult to get into without being detected.

“We'll get in. Maybe not today but someday,”
Mrs. Murphy grumbled.

“We may not be back,”
Pewter reasonably replied.

“Mother's curiosity will be lit. She'll come back when she has time to really go through the building and the outbuildings. But for now we might as well enjoy the grounds. Lots of goldfinches to harass.”
For once Pewter looked on the bright side.

The mercury climbed to the mid-seventies this September 22. The dogs rested in the shade.

“So the platform isn't just for speeches. I should have asked you that in the first place.” Harry noted the dimensions that Tazio told her: twenty feet by fifteen. “You know, this is going to be big.”

“Building it in sections. We won't drive one stake in the lawn.” Tazio, hands on hips, stood where she planned for the center to be. “Well, of course, there will be speeches after dinner. There always are. We're even hiding a Porta-John behind the platform, in case someone up here has to go. Given the length of speeches, that seems inevitable.”

“I'd give more money if there weren't speeches.” Susan smiled.

“Wouldn't we all,” Tazio agreed. “However, the organizers need to be thanked, the chair always has to blab, and the politician of the moment really blabs on. And, of course, the director of restoration must speak. That I'll enjoy. The rest of it is pure torture.”

“Aren't you going to speak?” Susan asked.

Tazio's hand flew to her bosom. “Me? God, no. I hate speaking in public.”

“Ned can give you lessons. He's become one of those politicians, you know.” Susan loved her husband but had noted a certain amount of garrulousness creeping into his conversation.

“Bet he can,” Tazio wryly replied.

Harry, ever eager to keep on track—except when she veered off—said, “This is a big platform.”

“There will be a lattice behind it with fake ivy and wide ribbons woven through. That will be backlit. I've got to keep the generators somewhat quiet. With the restoration there's a lot we can't do, but the house isn't wired for this kind of draw, anyway, hence the generators.”

“When you figure out how to silence a generator, let me know.” Harry appreciated the problem.

“I'm building domed ventilated housing. You'll hear a hum but it will be muted, and the roof of the small little hives will be soundproofed.”

“That is so clever.” Susan admired Tazio's creativity as an architect and practicality as a woman.

“Taz, what are you going to do on the platform?” Harry was impatient.

“It's supposed to be a surprise, but I can tell you a few things. Okay, when people park, they will be led back to the lawn by servants in livery. And all the manner of the early nineteenth century will be in force. So each person will be addressed with their honorific, which was terribly important then, as was a graceful bow.”

“Great. I can be introduced as Farmer Haristeen.”

“You all will be Doctor and Lady Haristeen. Ned and Susan will be the Honorable and Lady Tucker, and so forth. Anyway, trays of drinks will be circulated, plus there will be a discreet bar under the arcade right over there.” She pointed to the arcade under the southern portico. “Then trays of hors d'oeuvres from the periods. Okay. So far so good. Nothing unusual. Then it's time to sit and eat what would have been a feast in 1819. A feast now, too. I'm not giving away the menu. Folly would shoot me. But there will be a presentation, a tableau, and music while people eat.”

“A play?” Harry didn't like the idea.

“No, Harry, a tableau. People will be in scenes, then the scenes will change. We aren't doing a play, because you can't really eat and watch a play. Dinner theater never works.”

“A pretty thing but no major distraction.” Susan figured it out.

“Right. Plus, it's set on the southern side here, and people can watch the sun set over the Blue Ridge Mountains, as well, since the views are good to the west. It should be fantastic unless it rains.”

“Long-range predictions?” Harry watched the Weather Channel the way some people watched porn. “Clear. Cross your fingers.”

Tazio exhaled. “Okay, then come the speeches, and I will do everything in my power to keep them short, but you know how that goes.”

“Then what?” Harry was becoming intrigued.

“Then a little surprise.”

“On the platform?” Harry prodded more.

“Umm, some on the platform. You'll see. It really will be so lovely, and this place deserves it. Everyone knows about Monticello and the University of Virginia as expressions of Jefferson's creativity in architecture. Some even know about the state house in Richmond, but so few know about Poplar Forest, even in Virginia, which surprises me.”

“Oh, we learned about it in fifth grade, but it went in one ear and out the other.” Susan recalled their venerable fifth-grade teacher at Crozet Elementary. “You were in St. Louis, so you missed Mrs. Rogers's breathless reenactments of Virginia history.”

“The moans while she died of tuberculosis were particularly compelling.” Harry grinned.

“Don't forget her yellow-fever death,” Susan said.

“Or being shot by a minnie ball.”

Tazio stopped this romp down Memory Lane. “Was her husband an undertaker? One death after another.”

“Mr. Rogers ran the Esso station. Exxon now. She was a frustrated actress and figured out that death scenes carried more impact than pretending to be on a bateau rolling down the James River.”

“She did that, too,” Harry reminded Susan.

“Actually, she did.”

“See what I missed growing up in St. Louis,” Tazio replied. “Well, I've done my due diligence here. Let's go back. I'll have to make a few calls from the car, and I apologize.”

“Noticed your cell didn't ring.” Harry never turned hers on unless she had to make a call.

“I needed a break. If Folly isn't bugging me, it's Carla. My other clients are okay. Oh, that reminds me, I need to get updated quotes on those furnace systems. Did a little more work on that. Haven't had time to send it over to Herb, but it can wait until tomorrow. And, of course, thanks to Folly, I have to present all this to Marvin Lattimore.”

“Think Folly's sleeping with him?” Susan could say this among friends.

Given Folly's dazzlement by Marvin at vestry-board meetings, the possibility had become obvious to all.

“I don't know. Penny won't much like it.” Harry had wondered the same thing.

“She can't be naive.” Tazio stooped to pick up her plans from the deep-green lawn. “He runs a charter airline. People who travel a lot, especially in those circumstances, have ample opportunity to indulge in affairs.”

“Marvin doesn't strike me as the affair type,” Susan said.

“One-night stands.” Harry winked.

“Well…” Susan's voice trailed off.

“All right, kids,” Harry called, and Tucker, Owen, and Brinkley scrambled to their feet.

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter followed at a more leisurely pace.

At the parking lot, Susan lifted up the hatch on the station wagon and the animals jumped in. They'd stay in the back for a while. Sometimes the dogs fell asleep back there, but the cats always leapt into the backseat to keep the humans company.

No sooner did Susan pull out of the lot than Tazio's cell rang.

“On course?” was all Folly Steinhauser uttered in Tazio's ear.

“Yes,” came the equally terse reply.

“Good. Talk to you tomorrow. Have to meet again with the caterer.”

“Tazio, can you make calls if the radio is on low?” Harry asked.

“Sure.”

“Susan, see if you can get the news. I want to know about who shot Will.”

Susan clicked on the radio.

“Just press 103.5,” Harry said.

“NPR.” Susan knew the numbers. “That's not going to work south of Lynchburg.”

“Damn.”

“You've got ants in your pants today.”

“Well, I want to know. Don't you?”

“I do,” Susan agreed, while Tazio nodded as she punched in the number of the company building the platform.

As Tazio talked, Susan finally got a news station. First they endured the national news. The international was already over. Finally, local news came on, but it started with Richmond and the governor's latest push for new road construction.

“I don't care about northern Virginia.” Harry cupped her chin in her palm.

“Don't be ugly.” Susan smiled. “If Ned ever runs for governor, they'll vote for him up there.”

“I suppose.” Harry remained unconvinced.

“Today in Charlottesville, the sheriff apprehended Jonathan Bechtal, who confessed to the murder of Dr. Will Wylde. Bechtal stated that ‘Death must be met with death.'” The announcer continued on, then switched to baseball.

“The Orioles today—”

“Turn it off,” Harry groaned. “I can't stand the bad news.”

“Cards.” Tazio cupped her hand over the mouthpiece of her mobile, a big smile on her face.

“Every dog has his day,” Susan, another Orioles fan, promised.

Tucker lifted her head but decided a comment would be useless. The humans wouldn't understand, anyway.

“What a relief, they've got the killer.”

“Saves Little Mim's behind,” Harry succinctly put it.

“Maybe,” Susan slowly drawled, for she was processing the road, her speed, the news, “but he said he had Wylde's records. Who's to say he won't find a way to make them public? After all, he's now the center of attention.”

“Bluffing.” Harry paused. “I hope.”

Tazio ended her call and another came in. “Yes.” Long silence. “I did.” More silence. “Give me the punch list. I'll go over everything and I'll measure everything, too. He's blowing smoke up your fanny.” An even longer silence. “Good-bye.” This was said quite crisply. “I hate her!”

“What?” Harry leaned forward.

“Carla is having a cow because Mike McElvoy handed her a punch list of things that are supposedly not up to code at the house. It's bullshit. I know the code. Unfortunately, she offered him money.”

“Oh, good God.” Susan rolled her eyes.

“A box of rocks.” Harry tapped her forehead.

“Much as I can't stand her, Carla's not stupid. I think she underestimated Mike. And I don't know what his game is. I had some trouble with him on Penny Lattimore's house and on Folly's job, but nothing like this. I mean, Carla is raving mad, raving. She called me ‘incompetent,' ‘high-handed'—it goes on.”

“Bet she's sorry that the committee invited Mike and Tony Long.” Harry named the other building inspector going to the fund-raiser.

“That was the committee's decision. There's some sense to it. Mike and Tony get to see restoration in process, which can only help as more people try to be historically accurate. That's the thinking, anyway.”

Harry offered an explanation. “Tazio, maybe she drinks. I mean, to explode like that or do something stupid like try to obviously bribe Mike. We all know palms get greased every day, but for God's sake, she could have been subtle.”

“Now I have to deal with Mike pretending to be outraged. I loathe him, and she really was stupid,” Tazio complained.

Susan commiserated. “You've got your hands full.”

Tazio's phone rang again. Carla, with more expletives.

Harry smiled when Susan glanced briefly in the rearview mirror. “Glad I'm not building anything.”

Tazio pressed the off button. “I am going to kill that bitch!”