Free Cat on the Scent by Rita Mae Brown

way of boring straight to the heart of a problem. The truth was that Archie, a small printer by trade, didn't make much money. The county-commission post carried no stipend and the time it sucked up diverted his attention from a business that could have been more lucrative.
    â€œHe'd never give up his business.” Vane-Tempest betrayed his own thoughts, which was exactly what Mim had hoped to achieve by being forthright. Being an Englishman, he couldn't have known she was baiting him. The Virginians knew exactly what she was doing, which was why they fell silent after she spoke.
    â€œAileen could run it.” Little Mim worked well with her mother despite her irritation with her overbearing parent. “She runs it anyway.”
    â€œArchie lacks the common touch and a good printer has to be able to deal with people who have little idea of how long it takes to print anything or what it costs. You're right. He ought to turn the whole business over to Aileen. As for why he wanted to be a county commissioner, well, he has his pet concerns, but truthfully, he wanted the power.” Vane-Tempest cracked a knuckle, revealing his rare nervousness.
    â€œHuman meetings waste time,”
Pewter blandly noted.
“Everyone has to express an opinion. Then everyone else has to rebut it or add to it. I say shut up and get the job done.”
    â€œThey can't,”
Mrs. Murphy shrewdly observed.
“Most cats are roughly equal, if you think about it. I mean, we can all jump about the same height, run about the same speed. They're very different from one another. Their talents are wildly different. The only way they can survive is to talk to one another and reach a consensus. All herd animals are like that. We're not herd animals.”
    â€œNeither am I,”
Tucker protested.
    â€œYou're a pack animal. Same difference.”
    â€œI am an individual.”
    â€œI never said you weren't an individual, Tucker. But dogs tend to run in packs and kill in packs.”
    â€œI herd cows, sheep, anything. I'm not a hunting dog.”
    â€œYou're an argumentative one.”
Mrs. Murphy flicked her tail.
    â€œTucker is the exception that proves the rule.”
Pewter didn't feel like a fight. Hearing Archie and H. Vane was enough for her.
    Vane-Tempest threw back his shoulders. “I can't talk to Arch, obviously, but I do think some of you can. Maybe you can cast oil upon the waters.”
    â€œâ€˜Yet man is born into trouble, as the sparks fly upward.'” Miranda quoted Job, Chapter 5, Verse 7.
    â€œWhat's that supposed to mean?” the Englishman mildly inquired.
    â€œI don't know. Just popped into my head.” Mrs. H. laughed at herself.
    Just then the Reverend Herbert Jones pushed open the door. Everyone stopped to stare at him.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Herb asked.
    He stood there, shoulders back, head erect, wearing his Confederate sergeant major's uniform with the red facings of the artillery.
    Then everyone started talking at once.
    â€œOdd,”
Tucker said.
    â€œWhy?”
the cats asked.
    â€œLike the dead coming to life, isn't it?”

12
    The Reverend Herbert Jones, accustomed as he was to the confessions of his flock, still managed to be surprised by them.
    He ushered Archie Ingram into his cozy library, where Herb's two magnificent cats, Lucy Fur and Elocution, snoozed on a bearskin rug before the fire. Herb had shot the bear as a boy. Lost in the woods, he had riled the normally passive animal although he didn't know how he had done it. All he knew was that a black bear was charging him. Luckily he had his .22 rifle, but it was too light to bring down the animal. He stood his ground, waited, and then fired, hitting the beast in the eye and killing it instantly. And then he started to shake all over. His daddy, thanks to the gunfire, found him.
    Archie Ingram took a seat near the fire.
    â€œI'll be brief, Herb. I'm having an affair. My wife suspects. Sooner or later