"Of course, dear, but I simply wanted to point out that it's rather easy to declare money the root of all evil when one is secure." Miranda's voice was soothing.
Susan, rather disappointed to have missed the action, asked, "I thought Sam Mahanes had an alibi for Hank Brevard's death?"
"He was in his work space, as he calls it." Cooper nodded. "Rick questioned Sally Mahanes in a relaxed way. The night of Hank's murder she didn't see him come in. He used the private entrance to his shop. It was easy for him to slip in. He left the radio on. Easy. Hank got greedy, threatened him, and Sam took him out. Quick. Efficient."
"And Larry?" Mim's lower lip trembled a moment.
"We'll never know what Larry knew." Cooper shook her head. "But he was such an intelligent man. Sam took no prisoners. Poor Tussie, after Hank's murder she must have lived in terror."
"Caught in a web and couldn't get out." Miranda felt the nurse's life had been squandered.
"And how much money are we talking about?" Mim got down to brass tacks.
"Close to a million over the years. Just out of Crozet Hospital. He confessed that they billed for more than infusion pumps. They worked this scam on anything they could fix, including air conditioners. But the IVAC units-easy to fix, Tussie knew them inside and out-were the cash cow."
"Well, I thank you for apprehending Larry's killer. I feel I owe you a reward, Cynthia, Harry." Mim's voice was low but steady as she fought with her own emotions.
"I was doing my duty, Mrs. Sanburne. You don't owe me a thing."
"And I don't deserve anything either. The real detectives were Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. How they figured out where the hiding room was, I'll never know, and then they discovered the tunnel. They're the ones."
Mim eyed the three animals eagerly looking at her. "Then I shall make a large contribution to the local SPCA."
"No! Food!" Pewter wailed.
"Good God." Murphy grimaced. "At least, ask for catnip."
"Perhaps my largesse is unappreciated." Mim laughed.
"No." Harry smiled. "They want treats."
"And they shall have them!" Mim smiled. "Liver and kidneys and chicken. I'll cook them myself."
"This is wonderful." Tucker turned a circle. She was that excited.
A knock on the door drew their attention.
"Come in," Miranda called out.
Little Mim, face flushed, let herself in, hurriedly taking off her gorgeous sheepskin coat dyed hunter green; even the baby lamb's wool was dyed hunter green. "I'm sorry I'm late but Daddy and I just had a meeting. I'm going to run for vice-mayor and he's going to create the position. So now, Mother, will you support me?"
"With enthusiasm." Big Mim smiled.
"Why does it take people so long to find the obvious solution?" Pewter tilted her head as she spoke to Murphy.
"Too much time on their hands." Tucker turned another circle just thinking about kidneys.
"She's probably right. When they had to fight lions and tigers and bears, when they had to till the soil and run from thunderbolts, they didn't have time to think about themselves so much," Pewter thoughtfully added.
"Who was it said, 'The unexamined life is not worth living'? That contradicts your point," Tucker said.
"Yeah, who said that?" Pewter asked.
"Not a cat so who cares?" Mrs. Murphy burst into uproarious laughter.
Dear Reader,
You'll never guess what just happened. My Aunt Betty makes catnip sockies. She brought in two huge bags full, two hundred little toys just loaded, jammed, stuffed, reeking of potent, powerful, intoxicating home-grown Virginia catnip. She placed the bags on two kitchen chairs and then left the room. I expect something diverted her attention because Pewter and I shredded the bags, wallowed in all those toys.
Mother walked in to find us sound asleep, burrowed in those sockies. Now Aunt Betty has to make a bunch more since we've "tested" these. Mother says she can't send them out. I argued that they'd be even more valuable but she said I really ought to shut up.
A few other things. No, Mother still hasn't gotten up the money to totally repair her bridge. Many of you write and ask. More dogs seem interested in our bridge than cats. This doesn't mean I think dogs are reading. No. I bet their humans read to them.
Another question you ask is are there other cats on the farm. Mother says I have to name them, that I'm selfish and hogging all the limelight. Oh? Do my friends write mysteries? No. They chase mice, moles, birds, skinks, lizards, and even the chickens (who chase right back). I'm the one who works around here! But to keep the peace allow me to introduce my friends. First my daughter, Ibid. She looks just like me except she has green eyes. Pewter you know, of course. Every time someone knocks on the door, Pewter rushes out to greet them since she believes they've come to see her. Oh, the ego. She has a double, Gracie Louise, and together they play tricks on people. One jumps out from the left then runs away and a few seconds later the other one jumps out from the right. Personally, I think they've read too many plays, from Plautus to Shakespeare, about twins. Then there's Mr. Murphy, a large tiger cat named for Mrs. Murphy, obviously. He's hunting quite a bit, but a nice fellow. There's another tiger cat, Nenee. The calicos are Pippin and Peaches. All very pretty, young, slim. Loretta is about four months old. She follows me around when she isn't shadowing Mother. Usually I can put up with her questions but some days she plucks my last nerve. Maybelline guards the lower barn and Zydeco commands the upper.
As you can see there are many of us. Everyone has all their shots and everyone gets spayed. If a stray has kittens, she gets spayed after her babies are weaned.
Mother gives speeches for various animal shelters and SPCAs. She loves animals, sometimes to the despair of her friends because she's always taking in some stray. She's even fed and gotten shots for fox cubs.
We also have ten dogs. With the exception of Liška, an ancient Shiba Inu, and Godzilla, the Jack Russell, they, too, are strays or hounds rescued from the pound.
Together, over the years, Mother and I have placed many abandoned animals in homes. We're proud of our efforts.
We don't understand how humans can bear children or have animals and then mistreat them. Cats don't do that. Nor dogs.
I was talking to Pewter the other day and I said, concerning humans, "They left Eden. We didn't."
Nuff said.
Oh, one lovely thing happened to Mom. As you've probably gathered, all her money goes toward animals and she doesn't have very much left for herself. She doesn't mind but when her best clothes were stolen a few years ago on a book tour she hadn't the money to replace them, especially at today's prices. One day the postman dropped off a large box. She signed for it. I helped her open it. Four beautiful Turnbull Asser shirts were inside, made to Mom's pattern, registered at that British company. I wanted to wear them but she wouldn't let me touch them. The colors: lavender, silky blue, and a black patterned one, and a pink-ain't life grand!
We called Turnbull Asser in New York (the home company is on Jermyn Street, London). Yes, they had taken the order but they wouldn't tell us who sent the shirts.
Now, that's a mystery.
I love everyone.
Affectionately Yours,
Sneaky Pie
www.ritamaebrown.com
or
Sneaky Pie Brown
P.O. Box 696
Crozet, VA 22932
Books by Rita Mae Brown with Sneaky Pie Brown
WISH YOU WERE HERE
REST IN PIECES
MURDER AT MONTICELLO
PAY DIRT
MURDER, SHE MEOWED
MURDER ON THE PROWL
CAT ON THE SCENT
SNEAKY PIE'S COOKBOOK FOR MYSTERY LOVERS
PAWING THROUGH THE PAST
CLAWS AND EFFECT
CATCH AS CAT CAN
THE TAIL OF THE TIP-OFF
WHISKER OF EVIL
Books by Rita Mae Brown
THE HAND THAT CRADLES THE ROCK
SONGS TO A HANDSOME WOMAN
THE PLAIN BROWN RAPPER