The Big Cat Nap by Rita Mae Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

and how you rush in where angels fear to tread. Once you’re in a mess, you miss very little.”
    “I’m not really in a mess. I just discovered Walt’s body, along with Herb and Susan.”
    “Harry.” Franny lifted an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me all this?”
    Harry shrugged. “Dunno.”
    Franny shrugged, too. “Whatever this was about—could have been anything, an outraged husband, a deal gone sour—I personally am not going to worry unless tire dealers go missing.”
    Back in the truck, the animals stayed silent until they reached the farm. Murphy and Pewter spilled out of the truck, ran around the yard and to the barn, glad to be away from all those machine odors. Pewter sashayed to the house.
    Pewter sat under the enormous walnut tree next to the house. Matilda, the huge blacksnake with glittering eyes, silently crawled down the tree—bark easy for her to grip—until she reached the lowest branch, about ten feet up. Wrapping her tail around the thick branch, she swung down above the gray cat’s head. While she wasn’t near enough to touch, the blacksnake was close.
    “S-s-s-s.”
She flicked out her forked red tongue.
    Pewter, ears so good, looked up. She let out a scream, ran through the screened-in porch door, which had an animal door in it, and then through to the kitchen itself.
    “Ha.”
Matilda was full of herself.
    Mrs. Murphy, sitting in the center aisle, saw Pewter run, then saw the source of the dash.
    “Hey, Tucker. Come here.”
    The dog joined her feline friend, who gave her the story. They watched the large snake swing back up onto the big branch.
    “She has an evil sense of humor.”
Mrs. Murphy laughed.
    “Should we go into the kitchen? Pewter will be very upset.”
Tucker did love the gray butterball.

    “We’ll need smelling salts.”
    The two laughed uproariously.
    Flipping hay flakes into the stalls, Harry heard the meows and little barks, then saw her animals leaning on each other and thought about how love knows no boundaries.
    For that matter, neither does hate.

T he next day, Franny Howard, almost always the first person at work, unlocked the door to the showroom. The immaculate garage behind the showroom had three large drive-in bays where tires could be put onto vehicles. Franny ran a tight ship.
    Fresh morning coolness brushed her too-rouged cheeks. No sooner did she hear the
click, click
of the large lock than she sensed something wrong. Opening the door, she looked at the long countertop, the desks behind that, and her own office behind that. Everything looked to be in order. She checked the counter, the shelves underneath. Nothing amiss. She turned on each of the three computers, punched up information she considered sensitive. Nothing had been stolen that she could discern.
    Then she unlocked the door to her office. Again, everything was as she’d left it last night before meeting friends for an intimate dinner at Keswick Sports Club.
    Hands on hips, she breathed in. Why did she feel such unease? Turning on her mid-height heel, Franny walked out from her office to the front of the long polished counter, then opened the door into the garage just as Mackie Rogan hit the button to roll up one of the doors to a big bay. He turned to face the inside of the service area at the same time as Franny stepped into it.
    Both of their mouths fell open.
    “What the hell?” Mackie finally gasped.
    Franny hurried over to the area where the various brands of tires were kept, each clearly marked. “Goddammit! Goddammit to hell!” she cursed, a rarity.
    Mackie, now next to her, intoned as though reciting a litany, “Goodyear Eagle F1 GS-D3, empty. Continental ContiSportContact 2, empty. Yokohama ADVAN Neova AD07, empty. Michelin Pilot Sport PS2, empty. All of them.”
    Arms across her chest, trying to assess the damage, Franny nodded. “Whoever cleaned us out knew tires and was a high-performance freak. A real high-performance freak.”
    “Boss, this is terrible.” Mackie