The Big Cat Nap Read Online Free PDF Page B

your karma.”
    Pewter’s eyes widened, her pupils filling out, her tail lifting slightly, her whiskers a little back.
“Tapeworms are yours.”

A mister on a timer released tiny droplets of cool water as Harry lingered over the various types of lettuce, some varieties named with imagination, like Tidewater Romaine and Low Country Early Lettuce. Taking a step back, Harry looked down at the produce section of Yancy Hampton’s grocery store. Harry marveled at the freshness of it all, beholding the bounty: shiny eggplants, deep oranges, tangerines, apples in every red and green imaginable. She also marveled that these sumptuous vegetables and fruits were truly organic.
    As a farmer, Harry knew how insects, blight, various fungi, too much rain or not enough, could affect a crop. Few organic goodies glowed as these beauties did. Any of them would have been at home in a still-life painting of superabundance.
    Then, too, how do you define organic? Fresh. Yancy stressed the point by naming his store “Fresh! Fresh! Fresh!” The market constantly advertised the purity of its goods.
    The store also heavily advertised that it bought from local farmers. Walking its aisles, Harry conceded that buying tomatoes might be easy after all. They were the number-four crop in the state. Tobacco was third, corn second, and soybeans first.
    While she’d never seen a tobacco leaf in any store, the varieties of corn and tomatoes were prominently displayed. Maybe they were trucked in.
    Virginia collected $1.8 million in wine liter tax revenue, and she could only imagine the monies that the big four brought to the state. Few people realized how crucial agricultural proceeds were to the economy of any state. They were all dazzled by green industry, high technology, electronics. At least Yancy was supporting Virginia farmers.
    Few people bought raw soybeans. They were hulled and roasted. Harry had no idea if Yancy’s soybeans came from Virginia or not.
    She didn’t know why she was suspicious, but she was.
    She crossed her arms over her bosom. The temperature under the morning sun had been seventy-two degrees F when she’d exited the station wagon. Just enough for the trickle of sweat to roll down her cleavage and under her breasts. A lady didn’t take a handkerchief and wipe down her glories any more than did a gentleman whose nether regions were prone to sweat. Harry couldn’t help but think that those very breasts, lovely as they were, might have killed her. She banished the thought, continuing to troll the fruits. The tangerines’ color was so deep, it just jumped out at her.
    The price, four dollars and ten cents for three, also jumped out at her.
    Reminding herself that she wasn’t here to buy citrus, Harry checked her watch: ten o’clock sharp. Time for her appointment with Yancy Hampton. Although Monday morning was not a time one usually associated with grocery shopping, the store was jammed with well-groomed women and the occasional man. Rolex watches captured the light; discreet good earrings or diamond studs created tiny rainbows. Perfectly pressed blouses and Bermuda shorts were worn with snappy espadrilles to complete the outfits. No one was fat.
    Yancy Hampton knew his market.
    Harry knocked on the natural-wood door; a thin voice called out, “Come in.”
    Yancy Hampton rose to greet her and shake her hand. He motioned for her to sit in an ergonomically perfect chair and then sat back down in his own version, designed to take pressure off the back.
    “Harry, last time I saw you was at the Cancer Ball.”
    “Thank you again for your support. We raised a lot of money fromthe five-K race, as you know, and then with the ball we raised a quarter of a million dollars. Of course, having the work of sports celebrities and media types sure helped.”
    “You know that Diane Long raised that or maybe a bit more for the Boys and Girls Club? Her husband, Howie, and Terry Bradshaw were the auctioneers. We should send that woman to