Cat of the Century by Rita Mae Brown Page A

ferried Aunt Tally to the passenger seat. Although they were only a short distance from the door, the winds almost blew the tiny old lady away.

O nce back at Fairchild Alumni House, the humans were greeted by the animals. Everyone sat in the living room as the lights flickered.
    “If the power goes, no heat. No hot anything. The stove is electric,” Big Mim announced.
    “This won’t be the first time William Woods has lost power. Let me rummage around. I bet there’s a propane heater somewhere.” Harry got up, with Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter right behind her.
    She checked the kitchen closets. Then she went into the basement. Sure enough, there was a propane heater, and it was full.
    She brought it upstairs and placed it in the living room. “Just in case.”
    “Better look for candles or flashlights,”
Mrs. Murphy suggested.
    Although Harry didn’t understand what her cat was saying, she began searching for those very items. If you live in the country, you tend to think ahead. She found candles on the shelves of the broom closet and one flashlight. She brought these back to the living room.
    “Detective work.” Little Mim reached for a candle.
    Inez and Tally had been discussing Mariah’s no-show.
    Aunt Tally turned a sharp eye on Inez. “What do you think?”
    “Something has happened to her.”
    “Like foul play,” Little Mim whispered.
    “Don’t jump the gun.” Aunt Tally’s voice rose. “She could have hada heart attack or a stroke. For all we know, she’s in the hospital. Or having an affair, slipping off before a big storm. That would give her an excuse. Power goes out. No cell phone service or landlines. It’s a possibility.”
    “Kenda Shindler called the hospitals. In Columbia. In Jefferson City. In Kansas City. In St. Louis,” Inez said. “No Mariah.”
    “She could have had a stroke and lost some memory. Maybe she doesn’t know who she is.” Aunt Tally then smiled. “Or she could know exactly who she is—people in love are resourceful. Like I said, the storm is a great opportunity.”
    “You know, we’re all probably overreacting, thanks in part to Liz Filmore. Silly and drunk.” Inez folded her hands across her chest. “Liz rubs some people the wrong way. I get along with her, but she’s a social climber—at least, that’s how I read her. But that tawdry ambition makes her work hard to make money. Good for me.”
    “Liz was loaded. Tim should have stuck a wine-soaked tennis ball in her mouth. Would have shut her up and pacified her at the same time.” Aunt Tally laughed.
    “Low-pressure systems don’t help,” Little Mim said. Then she explained, “People feel tired, some get edgy. Maybe it’s not so bad.”
    “This is awful to say, but we’re family.” Inez winked. “The meeting really was easier without Mariah. Of course, if the situation had been reversed—if Flo didn’t show up and Mariah did—it would have been just as easy.”
    As Inez spoke, the lights flickered again but remained on. “I’m sorry for the blizzard and I’m sorry for the worry. Casts a shadow over your big day.” She turned to Aunt Tally. “I hope it was wonderful.”
    “It really was. The biggest surprise was meeting Ralston Peavey’s granddaughter. I still can’t believe it.”
    “Me, neither,” Big Mim agreed, and this was echoed by her daughter.
    Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter could feel the barometer drop more acutely than the humans could. Tucker wanted to go back to the manure pile, even if it was freezing over and covered with snow. On the other hand, she was happy to be inside. Really, she was getting as bad as Harry: She hated not knowing something.

    Flo, plaid wool throw around her legs, was stretched out on Gayle’s sofa in the living room. Each woman would occasionally glance out the windows. Each time, they marveled at the volume of snow. They, too, were discussing Mariah.
    “You must have some idea?” Gayle was worried.
    “None. Look, Gayle, I couldn’t