Cat on the Scent Read Free

couldn't believe the surge of power or the handling. They hit 0 to 60 mph in 4.4 seconds. The balance of the car astounded her. The old farm Misfit blurred by, then Mirador (Misfit's big sister), then Blair downshifted, turned right, and headed back toward the Greenwood school, the road snaking and the car sweeping around each sharp curve without a shudder, a roll, or a skid.
    â€œDon't you love it?” Blair laughed out loud.
    She sighed. “Deep love.”
    A short stretch of flat land beckoned. He smoothly shifted. The speedometer glided past 100, then Blair expertly down-shifted as a curve rolled off to the right.
    Unfortunately, Sheriff Rick Shaw was rolling, too, right out of Sir H. Vane-Tempest's driveway. He hit the siren and snapped on the whirling lights.
    â€œDamn,” Blair whispered.
    â€œWhat's he doing out here in the boonies? He ought to be on Route 29.” Harry glanced in the rearview mirror.
    â€œIs it Rick or Cynthia?” Blair squinted at the distant object, which was fast approaching.
    â€œRick. Cynthia doesn't wear her hat in the squad car.”
    â€œThat makes sense. Turn your head and the brim hits the window.”
    â€œRick's balding, remember.”
    â€œThere is that.” Blair half smiled as he pulled over. The Porsche stopped as smooth as silk. He lowered the window and reached in the side pocket of the door for the relevant papers as Rick lumbered up.
    â€œAs I live and breathe, Blair Bainbridge.” Rick bent over. “And our esteemed postmistress. License, please,” he sang out.
    â€œOh.” Blair fished around in his hip pocket, pulled out his crocodile wallet, and handed the license to Rick.
    â€œBlair, do you have any idea how fast you were moving?”
    â€œUh—yes, I do.”
    â€œUh-huh. You know, of course, that the speed limit in the great state of Virginia is fifty-five miles per hour. Now I don't think that's the smartest law on the books, but I have to enforce it.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œWhen did you get this vehicle?”
    â€œThis morning.”
    â€œUh-huh. Why don't you get out of the car a minute.”
    In a show of sympathy, Harry unfastened her seat belt and got out, too.
    â€œLemme see the engine.”
    Rick popped up the back, revealing a giant turbo covering the engine.
    â€œThat's a pain in the ass,” the sheriff grumbled.
    â€œIt's the turbo, chief, it forces air back in here,”—Blair pointed to the inlet side—“which boosts the horsepower to four hundred. Here's the delivery side.”
    â€œFour hundred horsepower?” Rick whispered reverently.
    Blair smiled, knowing the sheriff was hooked. “The intake, or flow, is split toward the left and right exhaust turbochargers. The air gets reunited, flows past the throttle, and goes into the cylinder heads in virtually direct sequence.” He paused, realizing he was getting too technical. “The pollution level falls below government requirements, which is a good thing. Drive a turbo and be environmentally responsible.”
    â€œUh-huh.” Rick ran his hand over the rear fender, which slightly resembled a horse's hindquarters, then ducked his head inside the driver's side. “Not much room in the back.”
    â€œBig enough for Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter.” Harry finally said something.
    â€œI'm surprised they aren't with you.” Rick pushed his hat back on his head. “Now in order to be fair here, I need to know a little more about this car. Can we all fit in?”
    â€œSure,” Blair said.
    â€œTell you what, guys, I'll stay with the squad car. You two roll on,” Harry said.
    Rick furtively looked around. “Well—”
    â€œNo one will know a thing. If anyone stops, I'll say you're investigating a rustling call and I came along for the ride. You're out in the pasture.”
    â€œWell—all right,” Rick agreed. “If H. Vane-Tempest happens to