The Purrfect Murder (16 page)

“I don't have the patience to use cake mascara—standing there over the sink, wetting the brush, applying it, doing it over two or three times—but it does give your lashes the best look. I know that, but I guess I'm like most other people in the world. I'm getting lazy.”

“Overcommitted is more like it.” Big Mim liked how smoothly the mascara rolled on her lashes.

“There's blusher in there, too.”

“You could do makeup for a film shoot with what you've stashed in there.” Big Mim teased her and then that mind clicked on again. “You know, I don't believe you are the only woman to receive those letters.”

Little Mim's hands suddenly gripped the steering wheel with added pressure. “I hadn't thought of that. I was so caught up in my own misery.”

“My experience is that emotions cloud the mind, although in some rare instances they sharpen the mind and one has epiphanies. Something terrible is going on around us. I don't know what it is. Well, I assume blackmail, but I don't know who. The motive would be clear enough—money, perhaps revenge. But, mmm, do you remember seven years ago when we were down at the stables? Snowed. We knew it was going to snow, but it turned into a blizzard, and we couldn't see the hand in front of our faces.”

“Yes, we wanted to get back to the house, and you realized we might not make it, we might wander around in circles. Luckily, you turned me back before even the stable was swallowed up in white, and we weren't ten yards from it.”

“You couldn't hear anything but the wind and the snow blowing back into one's ears. Stung. But we managed to get back into the stables and we spent the night there. When we woke up, it was still snowing, but we could see. This is like that. We can't see. We can only hope that, in time, there's a clearing.”

“It can't go on.”

“Were you ever physically threatened?”

“No. My career was the focus. Like a fool, I was so angry and upset I burned the letters.”

“Understandable. Did you check the postmarks?”

“22905. At least I had the presence of mind to do that and remember.”

“I hope whoever else is receiving letters will come forward. I doubt their careers are being threatened.”

22

W
hat is it about Mondays?” Cooper sat down at her desk and viewed the pile of paperwork with distaste.

A law-enforcement officer saves lives, pulls injured and dead people out of car wrecks, faces armed men hopped up on crank, endures abuse from angry people over whatever it is that has gone wrong in their lives, and listens to lies, a tidal wave of lies. However, the paperwork, mounting with each year as Americans became ever more dazzled by worthless litigation, seemed much worse than the physical dangers.

“Court appearance.” She tossed that aside. “Why do people protest speeding tickets?”

“Because sometimes they win.” Rick also faced a daunting pile. “Big Mim called. She and her daughter are on their way.”

“She was just here this morning.” Surprise, then resignation, filled her voice. “We can't do a thing about Tazio Chappars. Surely she must understand that. The murder took place in Bedford County.”

“What Big Mim wants, Big Mim gets.” He smiled wanly. “One way or the other. And she might be on to something about payoffs to our beloved building inspector.”

“Ah, yes, Mike McElvoy. Actually, I look forward to poking around in his business.”

“I do, too. Something's rotten in Denmark.”

“The king dies, the queen dies, Ham dies, they all die.” Cooper smiled, remembering the old joke about
Hamlet,
a play she didn't like.

She didn't like Shakespeare, but if she breathed a word of it, Harry, Susan, Alicia, BoomBoom, Big Mim, even Fair, would be scandalized.

“Come on outside with me for a minute. I need a nicotine hit before they get here. I have no idea why I am being treated to Big Mim twice in one day. More curious, she's coming to me.”

The two rose, walked down the narrow hall and out the back door. Rick reached into his shirt pocket, fetching a pack of Camels.

“A black pack?”

“Little different coffin nail, so the package is black. Actually, they're pretty good. Want one?”

Coop looked around like a criminal might before breaking and entering. “Yeah. Did I ever tell you about the time I gave Harry a cigarette and she smoked it? Funniest thing I ever saw.”

“That was during the monastery case.”

“Good memory.”

“Susan's great-uncle.” He thought a moment. “A good fellow. Shame about how he died. People.” He shook his head. “But then, if this were a crime-free world, you and I wouldn't have a job.”

“Not one so exciting.”

“Except for the paperwork.” He winked at her.

“Got that right.” She used the old expression with the correct intonation, a Tidewater lyricism.

“This is a good cigarette. Burns too fast, though.”

He replied, “Does. If I were a rich man I'd smoke Dunhills and Shepherd's Hotel, but this is a good compromise. Some of the cheap stuff that's out there.” He inhaled gratefully. “Don't know how the French can smoke what they do.”

“Or eat snails.”

“I like snails.”

Cooper made a face. “You would. Well, boss, if we start rooting around Mike McElvoy, we'd better do the same with Tony Long. Otherwise, we'll frighten Mike more than we need to, and this way we can make it look like a department check.”

“Authorized by whom?” Rick had to face the county commissioners.

“By Carla Paulson's murder. We can say we are working with the Bedford County Sheriff's Department—no lie—and we need to check everything and everybody involved with her.”

“Tony Long and Mike take different construction jobs.”

“True, but that doesn't mean if Mike were indisposed that Tony wouldn't go out to the site to inspect. So we have to be fair-handed and check both.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He looked up at the bright September sky. “Isn't it something how the haze disappears come fall?”

“Love that sky blue, that deep sky blue.”

“Looks good on you.”

“When did you see me in sky blue?” She was surprised.

“July. You wore a T-shirt that color. I stopped by the farm.”

She tried to remember and finally did. “Oh, yeah. The women's magazines say men don't remember clothes, details.”

“Wrong. Men remember a lot. All that stuff is bunk. Anyway, I'm a cop. It's my job to remember, and you look good in sky blue.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Which women's magazines?”

Blushing slightly, she answered, “
Cosmopolitan
and
O.
”

He grunted. “Helen reads them all. House is littered with them. I'll give her credit, she reads my
Men's Health
from cover to cover, too.” He crunched the cigarette butt again, for he spied a dim glow. “I think I have to accept that I am not going to stop smoking.”

“Oh, you might.” Cooper put out her Camel. “I stick to one a day.”

“From me.”

“All right. All right. I'll buy a pack just for you. After all, I have that five dollars I won from you. Want the black kind?”

“No, I want Dunhills.” He grinned.

Cooper's eyebrows lifted. “Well, I do owe you.”

A rap came on the door, then the front desk officer stuck his head out and said, “Herself is here, along with Junior.”

The two friends and partners looked at each other. Then Rick held out his hand and Cooper swept through the door, as the young officer smiled devilishly.

“Lucky man, boss. Twice in a day.”

“Shut up, Dooley.” He smacked the young man in the stomach, hard and flat. “Working out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, try working the brain, too,” Rick kidded him.

Cooper said, “Your closed office or the big room?”

“Office.”

“Too bad you don't have a floral display. She'd feel more at home.”

Rick growled, “Big Mim would be at home in a flooded house in New Orleans or the Taj Mahal. Woman is remarkable.”

The two met Big Mim and Little Mim as though this was the highlight of their day.

The cops ushered them into the private office, which Rick kept scrupulously clean mostly because he usually sat outside at a desk in the bullpen. He liked being among his “men”—even though one was a woman—and this way, his glassed-in sheriff's office was tidy.

The sheriff did not sit behind his desk. Mother and daughter sat in two worn but comfortable leather chairs, Rick leaned against his desk facing them, and Cooper sat on a stool.

Wordlessly, Little Mim produced the airmail envelope, handing it to Rick.

As he read, his face betrayed a hint of questioning. He passed it to Cooper.

“Arrived in today's mail.” Little Mim started the ball rolling.

Cooper handed the letter and envelope back to Little Mim. “What a scam.”

“Exactly,” Big Mim spoke at last.

“I've received three letters before this, all before Will was killed. Each asked for ten thousand dollars in a postal order made out to Jonathan Bechtal.”

“You paid.” Rick knew she had; it was a given.

“I did.”

Cooper put her hands on her knees. “What I want to know is, how did he get this letter out of jail? We'd know. He's allowed to write, this isn't a hellhole in the Sudan.”

“No hellholes. They're too busy killing one another to bother with incarceration,” Big Mim said without sarcasm. “Do you read the letters?”

“I don't, but there is censorship. There has to be, because some of these creeps would write vile stuff to the people they hold responsible for their plight and they'd go right onto someone's blog. So, yes, the letters are read.”

“Paid someone off?” Cooper hated the idea.

“I don't think so.” Big Mim repeated what she had said to her daughter earlier. “There's someone on the outside.”

“Then why send the money orders to Love of Life?” Cooper wasn't discounting the idea, just pondering, as well as realizing Big Mim was one step ahead of her.

“I don't know,” Big Mim replied. “It's more than possible that his accomplice is an officer or member of Love of Life. Someone who can access the treasury or bogus accounts. Most charities have a variety of very imaginative slush funds.”

Rick and Cooper glanced at each other. They had questioned the officers of the organization as well as those of other right-to-life groups.

Rick spoke. “Who else knows about this?”

“No one. Not even my husband.” Little Mim, finding her courage, spilled her story in an abbreviated fashion. “I had an abortion in college. Will was my doctor. The other letters threatened to expose me. So I paid like a stupid—cow.”

“For a woman being blackmailed, you've remained sensible.” Cooper smiled.

“Coop, I should have come to you right away, but I was ashamed and, even more embarrassing, I put my career first.”

Rick exhaled from his nostrils. “Most people who find themselves in your situation pay if they can and hope their tormentor will go away. Naturally, it emboldens the blackmailer.” He shifted his weight while he leaned against his desk.

“Mother knew nothing. She didn't even know I'd had an abortion.” Little Mim wanted the two officers to know that her mother hadn't helped her make the payoff. “I'm done with it. I don't look forward to what happens next.”

“What do you mean?” Cooper spoke as though this were an ordinary conversation, no hard edge to the questioning.

“They go public and try to ruin me. How they'll do this, I don't know, but the deadline for payment is this Friday.”

Cooper reached for the letter again, which Little Mim gave her. “P.O. Box Fifteen, 22905.”

“I noticed that, too,” Rick mentioned. “We'll have this dusted for fingerprints, test the seal on the envelope to see if whoever did this licked it. You'd think by now people would wear rubber gloves and sponge envelopes shut, but there are still a lot of stupid people out there, thank God.”

“I hope so.” Little Mim sighed, knowing the hard task would be finding whoever did lick the envelope, DNA notwithstanding.

“I'll keep this, then?” Rick's tone of voice asked more than demanded.

“Of course,” Little Mim agreed.

“Do you have the other three letters?” Cooper hoped she did.

“I burned them.” Little Mim held her forehead for a moment. “I've been abysmally stupid. I didn't want Blair to find them.”

“No phone calls?” Rick pressed.

“No.”

“If my daughter has received these letters and the threat is to end her political career, I think we can surmise that other women have received letters, as well. More than likely exposure was promised, too, and for all we know, their lives may be threatened. Prying money out of the unwilling often takes force.”

“No one has come forward with any complaint,” Rick said.

Cooper, sensitive to the situation, met Rick's eyes. “If a woman can keep paying, she might not come forward. There are good reasons not to, as you know.”

“Well, yes,” Rick agreed.

“And if Little Mim's medical past is broadcast in some way, that will do one of two things.” Coop took a breath. “Drive someone out or drive them further in.”

After more discussion, Rick told Big Mim that he would be visiting Tony Long on site tomorrow and Coop would find Mike. “Have to check out both. If Mike is corrupt, no point waving the red flag at him alone.”

“Wise.” Big Mim rose and put her arm around Little Mim's waist for a moment, then dropped it. As the two were turning to leave, Big Mim said, “I think, Rick, that Carla may have received these letters, too.”

Cooper and Rick remained in his office for a few minutes after the two women left.

Coop dialed the Barracks Road Shopping Center to check on Box 15, which was in Bechtal's name. Then she called Love of Life. The lady answering the phone gave their street address. They had no box at the post office, and she was upset that someone had used their name for a P.O. box.

“Well, what a surprise,” Rick said, without surprise.

“If they killed Will Wylde, they'll kill again,” Cooper said flatly.

“That has crossed my mind. And you can be sure it's crossed Big Mim's, as well. Even if her daughter's political career is smashed, it may be what saves her life.” He sighed. “Let's go to the post office and check the paperwork for whoever rented Box Fifteen.”

“So you think there are more letters?”

“Yep.”

“Me, too.”

And there were.

         

Later that evening, sitting outside in the twilight, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker watched barn swallows dart in for their night's rest. Next the bats came out, their tiny little cries tantalizing to the other animals. The humans could hear a squeak now and then, but the two cats and dog heard the entire concerto, the dominant key being A—at least, they thought so.

Harry and Fair leaned over a paddock fence, watching the three fillies and one colt.

“Time to wean.” Harry never liked that chore; the screaming upset her.

“Yes, it is. Won't be long before I'll need to geld the fellow, too.” He pointed to Venus, huge and bright above the Blue Ridge. “She's impressive. I like it when Mars is in the sky, too, that pulsating red dot—a dot compared to her, anyway.”

“They had an affair, remember?”

“I do. Her husband threw a net over them.” He squeezed her hand. “The myths ring true.”

“Powerful stories that reveal to us what we are. Maybe that's why the Christians felt the need to suppress them.”

“Didn't work.”

“No. The truth will out. That's why I know we can help Tazio.”

“Honey, everyone will do their best.”

“We have to help Tazio.”
Mrs. Murphy noticed a small moth zigzag in front of her, then lift straight up.

“Why?”
Pewter preferred a more sedentary routine than chasing after culprits.