Free Puss 'N Cahoots by Rita Mae Brown

searing lightning was followed by another bolt, which hit a transformer nearby. People, huddled in the barns away from the lashing rain, heard the sizzle, then pop, followed by another tremendous clap of thunder. Pink and yellow sparks from the transformer flew up in the darkness.
    Another scream ripped through Barn Five.
    Mrs. Murphy, who could see well enough, called to Pewter,
“Come with me.”
    “No.”
    “What did you see?”
    “Go see for yourself. The changing room.”
Pewter climbed up the side of the stall, backing down to be with one of the Kalarama fine harness horses. Each needed the other’s company.
    Tucker and Cookie, at the other end of Barn Five, ran like mad upon hearing the first scream. They reached the crowded hospitality room. Just entering the hospitality room they could smell fresh blood. They threaded their way through many feet. To make matters worse, people couldn’t see. They bumped into one another. They were scared.
    Joan called out, “We’ll have a light in just a minute, folks. Keep calm.”
    The buzz of worry filled the air.
    Harry kept a little pocket light on her truck key chain. She pressed it. A bright blue beam, tiny and narrow, guided Joan to the Kalarama tack trunks outside the hospitality room. Harry flipped up the heavy lid while Joan pulled out a large yellow nine-volt flashlight.
    Larry called in the darkness, “Joan, are you all right?”
    “Yes. I’m getting a flashlight.”
    Fair, who was with Larry, then called, “Harry?”
    “I’m with Joan. Where are you?”
    “Shortro’s stall. Checking him over,” Fair replied. “What’s wrong down there?”
    “We don’t know.”
    Outside, the rain pounded. One could barely make out headlights as cars pulled out of the parking lot before it became too muddy. No one wanted to get stuck. In the distance, the flickering lights were eerie, like white bug eyes that then switched to tiny nasty red dots.
    A fire-engine siren split the air as the truck hurried in the opposite direction.
    Mrs. Murphy slithered through the people.
“Tucker, can you bump your way through?”
    Cookie, smaller, worked her way toward the tiger cat.
“Here I come.”
    Mrs. Murphy thought to herself,
“Jack Russells,”
but said nothing.
    Tucker, tempted to nip a heel like the wonderful herder she was, resisted because there would have been more screams. Tucker saw better in darkness than the humans, but Mrs. Murphy had the best night vision.
    The three managed to reach the changing room just as Renata threw aside the heavy curtain, pushing her way through the crowd, blindly knocking people over. The animals dashed in as she bolted out, still screaming, tears flooding her face although no one could see them.
    “Oh”
was all Mrs. Murphy said.
    Tucker approached the corpse, which sat upright on the floor. The heavy, slightly metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils. Blood spilled over the front of his checkered cotton shirt.
“Throat slit, and neatly done, too.”
    Cookie used her nose, while Mrs. Murphy observed everything in the room, not just the body.
    A tack trunk had been knocked sideways; some clothes were off the hangers. Two slight indentations, like skid marks, were on the sisal rug thrown on the dirt floor.
    “He didn’t have time to put up much of a fight, but he tried,”
Mrs. Murphy noted.
“His killer dragged him backward, see.”
    Tucker walked over to Mrs. Murphy.
“His boot heels dug in.”
    The changing room was twelve feet by twelve feet, the size of a nice stall.
    Mrs. Murphy, pupils as wide as they could get, also noticed the tack trunk askew.
“A human could hide behind that. It’s a huge tack trunk.”
    “Maybe he didn’t have to hide,”
Cookie replied.
    “True enough,”
Tucker, now sniffing every surface, agreed.
    Apart from her formidable kitty curiosity, Mrs. Murphy possessed sangfroid. She walked onto the man’s lap, stood on her hind legs, and peered at the wound, a little blood still seeping; the huge