Feline Fatale, page 1
Feline Fatale is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by American Artists, Inc.
Illustrations copyright © 2024 by Michael Gellatly
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Bantam & B colophon is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Hardback ISBN 9780593357637
Ebook ISBN 9780593357644
randomhousebooks.com
Book design by Diane Hobbing, adapted for ebook
Cover design: Victoria Allen
Front-cover illustrations and hand lettering: Sara Mulvanny
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Cast of Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Author Note
Books by Rita Mae Brown & Sneaky Pie Brown
About the Authors
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CAST OF CHARACTERS
THE PEOPLE
Mary Minor Haristeen, “Harry,” was the postmistress of Crozet right out of Smith College. As times changed and a big new post office was built, new rules came, too, such as she couldn’t bring her animals to work, so she retreated to the farm she inherited from her parents. Born and raised in Crozet, she knows everyone and vice versa. She is now forty-five, although one could argue whether maturity has caught up with her.
Pharamond Haristeen, DVM, “Fair,” is an equine vet specializing in reproduction. He and Harry have known each other all their lives. They married shortly after she graduated from Smith and he was in vet school at Auburn. He generally understands his wife better than she understands herself.
Susan Tucker is Harry’s best friend from cradle days. They might as well be sisters and can sometimes pluck each other’s last nerve, as only a sister can. Susan bred Harry’s adored corgi. Her husband, Ned, is the district’s delegate to the General Assembly’s House of Delegates, the lower house.
Deputy Cynthia Cooper is Harry’s neighbor, as she rents the adjoining farm. Law enforcement is a career she is made for, being meticulous, shrewd, and highly observant. She works closely with the sheriff, Rick Shaw; adores Harry; and all too often has to extricate her neighbor out of scrapes. Harry returns the favor by helping Coop with her garden. It probably isn’t an equal exchange but they are fine with it.
Tazio Chappers is an architect in her late thirties, born and raised in St. Louis. Having been educated at Washington University, she received an excellent education, winding up in Crozet on a fluke. Just one of those things, as Cole Porter’s song lets us know. Warned off a job at an architectural firm by many people back in Missouri, due to her being half black and half Italian, she came to Virginia anyway. No one can accuse her of being a chicken. Now owner of her own firm, getting big jobs, she is happy, married for two years, and part of the community. She is also terrifically good looking, which never hurts.
Amanda Fields is a first-term Republican delegate to the Virginia statehouse, the House of Delegates. She is a smashing-looking former TV reporter in middle age. Bright, self-possessed, she usually knows how our political system really works.
Aidan Harkness—Facile, in his late thirties, a rising star among the Democrats. Reasonably intelligent, good at avoiding the tough issues, he goes head-to-head with Amanda. He struggles to contain his emotions.
Lucas Dennison is Amanda’s right-hand man, a dear friend from William and Mary days. He wears many hats: secretary, campaign planner, willing ear. He loves her deeply but is not in love with her.
Ellis Barfield shoots Assembly meetings, which are streamed in real time. He makes a good living creating alluring videos for small businesses and individuals. The state job is steady money. He pays attention to what goes on on the floor and is good at capturing events and personalities.
Reid Ryder is a fourteen-year-old page; like all of them, he is enraptured by state politics. He has been handpicked to be a page, which means he is an outstanding student.
Miranda Hogendobber worked with Harry for years at the old post office. In her early eighties, she knows everyone and she herself is well known for her beautiful singing voice.
Aunt Tally, who is now 103, has become frail. Her mind is very good, but her body is slowing down. Given the harsh winter, she is lonely and snowbound. Harry drops in on her. There is not one person in Crozet who knows life without Aunt Tally.
THE ANIMALS
Mrs. Murphy is Harry’s tiger cat. She is bright, does her chores, keeps the mice at bay when need be. Harry talks to her but not baby talk. Mrs. Murphy just won’t have it.
Pewter is fat, gray, and oh so vain. She irritates Tucker, the corgi. She takes credit for everyone else’s work. However, in a pinch the naughty girl does come through. She’s also quite bright.
Tucker, the corgi bred by Susan Tucker, runs around everyone. She’s fast, loves to greet every person once she has checked them out, and particularly likes to herd the horses. The horses are good sports about it, which is a good thing. Tucker is brave and she loves Harry totally.
Pirate is a not-yet-fully-grown Irish Wolfhound who landed in Harry’s lap as a puppy when his owner died. Huge, able to cover so much ground, he can be dominated by Pewter sometimes. Tucker has to give him pep talks. Like Tucker, Pirate has great courage, loves being part of the family. He is trying to understand people. The others help. A sweet, sweet animal.
The horses, the big owl in the barn, and the possum aren’t in the forefront in this book but they are around and will be their usual selves in the future. This also applies to the barn mice, who have a really good deal at the farm.
1
A snowdrop peeked out, a little white bloom surrounded by glistening snow. Two inches fell last night. The six- petaled flower was protected by the farmhouse overhang.
Mary Minor “Harry” Haristeen knelt down to examine its pristine beauty.
“Spring.” She smiled. Snow or not.
Eventually a palette of color…peach, yellow, pink shimmering purple, and subtle lavender…would fill the yard, pastures would begin to turn electric green.
“Those bulbs she planted will all come up once it’s really spring,” Tucker, the corgi, informed the Irish Wolfhound, now mostly grown but still a puppy at a year and a few months.
“She spent a lot of time digging last fall,” the handsome fellow replied. “But she can’t eat flowers. So much effort.”
“Pirate, everything doesn’t need to be food. She likes color. Fragrance. Humans are like that.”
“Oh.” The big fellow sniffed the tiny bloom while Harry watched.
The summer screened-in porch was closed in winter with wooden siding, and windows to allow light in. The animal door remained in the wooden door to the kitchen. The screen door was removed, replaced by a solid door to the outside. This, too, had an animal door.
A gray cat head pushed out the flap, but nothing else. Pewter, the large gray cat, hated the cold. “I am not getting my paws wet.”
“Who asked you to?” Tucker sniffed.
“Everything is more fun when I’m involved,” came the saucy reply.
“You are mental.” Tucker sounded authoritative, then under her breath whispered to Pirate, “Nuts.”
“Oh,” the big youngster again said.
Mrs. Murphy, the pretty tiger cat seated on the old wooden bench alongside one wall, advised Pewter, “Don’t get her started. She’s been in a mood since you snitched her dog biscuit. You don’t even like dog biscuits.”
“Was fun to hear her whine.”
“Are you talking about me?” Tucker asked.
Pewter pulled her head back in, relieved to be away from even a br
Deciding she’d go into the kitchen in case Pewter decided to whap Tucker when the corgi’s face pushed through the door flap, Mrs. Murphy flicked her tail up and jumped on the kitchen table. The kitchen, warm, seemed to her the happiest room in the old white clapboard farmhouse.
Tucker, wisely fearing a slap, hung back, waiting for Harry to open the door. As she did, the corgi pressed next to her leg, Pirate behind the two of them. When the slender woman opened the kitchen door, Tucker shot inside, Pewter right behind her, a paw swinging at the tailless butt.
“Pewter, leave her alone,” Harry quietly commanded.
Leaping onto the kitchen table, the gray cat blinked, then washed her paw. “Dogs are a lower life-form. I don’t know why you bother.”
“What are you two doing on the table anyway?”
“All the better to see your pretty face,” Pewter mocked her, although Harry was pretty.
Opening a big porcelain jar on the counter under the window, Harry plucked out two kitty treats. Then she opened a cabinet door for two greenies for the dogs.
“Beggars.”
With everyone happily chewing, she flicked on her new electric teapot. In minutes she poured boiling water over a tea ball filled with loose orange pekoe tea. The aroma lifted her spirits.
Sitting down, she got up again to grab a paper napkin. Linen was so much better, but then you had to wash them.
“Off.” She slid the paper out from under Pewter’s considerable butt.
“I was going to read it,” the cat protested.
“You were going to shred it.” Mrs. Murphy wiped her mouth.
“What’s the difference?” the cat protested.
“I like the pictures.” Mrs. Murphy observed a full-page ad on the back of the paper for Jaeger-LeCoutre, a watch designed in the 1930s for horsemen so they could flip the watch face over, protecting the crystal while they rode or played polo.
“Watches are a waste of money,” Pewter announced. “Look at the sun.”
“What if it’s cloudy?” Pirate sensibly said.
“People pay too much attention to time. It’s not,” the cat thought for a moment, “natural.”
Mrs. Murphy picked at a few crumbs that had fallen while she ate her treat. “Pewter, there isn’t much about human life that is natural. Our mom and dad live closer to real things than most humans. She’ll finish the paper, look at the wall clock, worry about the time, and go get ready to leave.”
Tucker, half a greenie still in her mouth, dropped it but put her paw on it. You never know. “No fur. That had to be the start of it.”
“Some of them have lots of fur.” Mrs. Murphy giggled. “Remember the badminton party they had last summer? Got hot. Some of the men took their shirts off. But I don’t see how that bit of fur can keep them warm. Maybe Tucker is right.”
“I am,” came the forthright answer. “Furthermore, they can’t smell but so much. Their hearing isn’t sharp. They miss a lot. I love our humans no matter what but they are easy prey. They can’t climb a tree like you cats. No claws. Okay, I can’t either, but I have a terrific sense of smell, a golden nose, and I run fast. They are really slow.”
“Their eyes are good.” Mrs. Murphy tried to find advantages.
“Can’t see in the dark.” Pewter really wanted another treat so she patted the newspaper page.
Harry shook the page. “I’m reading.”
“You can’t see in the dark. Big deal, reading,” Pewter huffed. “I’m hungry.”
“We had breakfast. I don’t think she’s going to get up and hand out more goodies,” the small dog predicted.
“Right,” the tiger cat agreed.
Sipping her perfect cup of tea, Harry wondered at the write-up of the county commissioner’s meeting. A contentious issue was whether to sell county-owned land to developers. No details were provided, so it seemed like a rhetorical issue. Then again, the county was growing, facing more demands than before. She then flipped to reading about what was going on in Richmond, seat of the state government. She slapped the paper down.
“Can’t anyone agree on anything?” Looking at the clock she gulped the last of her tea, repairing to the bathroom to smack on a bit of makeup.
“She’s fooling with her face.” Pewter thought it funny when Harry drew the mascara brush over her upper eyelids. Once Pewter had jumped on the sink to bump Harry’s arm. Harry had a big black dot of mascara on the side of her eye. Curses followed.
“Maybe Tucker is right. No fur. They have to buy fur or something.” Mrs. Murphy pondered this from the bed where she now reposed.
The dogs, in the kitchen, were already asleep. Nothing like a morning nap after breakfast to start the day.
As the cats talked, Harry emerged from the bathroom, flipped through her closet, and picked out a long tartan skirt. Then she opened drawers, finally settling on a dark green turtleneck sweater.
“Have no idea how warm or cold the statehouse is.”
“A shawl will take care of that.” The tiger cat had studied clothing.
As if understanding her much-loved cat, Harry walked back to the closet, snatching the shawl off a sturdy hanger.
After putting her clothes on she checked herself in the mirror. “Well, I’ve looked better, but I’ve also looked worse.”
“You look fine,” Pewter reassured her. “Now can I have a treat?”
“Ha.” Murphy laughed.
“Worth a try. Maybe I’ll rub on her leg.”
Pewter didn’t get the chance, because Harry pulled on her hunting boots. Given the cold, she would wear two pair of socks. Anything to help keep her feet warm. The long skirt reached the top of the boots. It was a good look, particularly in cold weather.
Back in the kitchen, she opened a drawer, pulling out a thin notebook plus a ballpoint pen. Slipping these in her winter coat, she again checked the clock. Almost eight-thirty. Just in case she and Susan, her best friend, had to walk far to get into the statehouse in Richmond, she would take her winter coat. Filled with man-made insulating stuff, it wasn’t fat like goose down, but the five-year-old Eddie Bauer kept her warm, plus she had the shawl and her sweater. She hoped she wouldn’t need to bring the coat into the statehouse.
“Susan.” Tucker woke up hearing the tire tread about a quarter of a mile away.
The cats, back in the kitchen, and Pirate, looked at the door.
“She doesn’t hear it yet,” Pewter remarked. “Plus she won’t know it’s Susan’s tires.”
“She’ll know it’s Susan because she’s expecting her,” Pirate chimed in.
“But she can’t identify tire treads. If it weren’t Susan, but say Cooper from the farm next door, she wouldn’t know. Humans can’t hear tire treads. They can hear tires but not the treads.”
“Really?” Pirate was fascinated by such things.
“Doesn’t matter. We can hear. They can’t hear details. If it’s a stranger we can bark, plus we can check out whoever that person might be. Our job is to protect Harry.”
“I can protect all of you.” Pirate surprised them.
“Cheeky for a big puppy, but you are big.” Mrs. Murphy liked Pirate.
“Okay, gang. Behave.” Harry swung the shawl over her shoulders, grabbed the coat, opened the door, and hurried outside. Opening the door to Susan’s Audi station wagon, she flung the coat in the backseat. The car was comfortably warm.
“We’re off.” Susan smiled.
So they were. The trip was the beginning of an adventure. If the two women had the keen senses of the animals, it might be more of an adventure; nonetheless, adventure sharpens all your senses. Even the weak ones.
