Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

Baca said, “Maybe you’re right. But I’m sure you’ll agree Mr. Wilkerson’s orphaned computer monitor needs to be investigated. If it’s in Ms. Hart’s van, then—”

“What do you mean— orphaned ?” Lydia seemed flustered now.

He said, “What’s a monitor for without the rest of the computer? I don’t think the missing parts and pieces walked off on little cat feet.”

If I’d thought I would be home in five minutes, I was way off in my timing. Candace took a battery-powered handheld vacuum from her squad car, put in a new filter, then took my van apart so she could suck up every lost M&M, toothpick and cat hair. She emptied this collection of junk into what I assumed was an evidence bag.

I stood beside Tom on the road, holding fast to Syrah and watching this meticulous deconstruction of what I’d thought was a fairly clean vehicle. Menacing clouds had assembled to the west, and I sure hoped we wouldn’t get wet while we waited.

Tom had come outside with us and had been silently watching Candace work beside me. Finally he said, “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re angry at me for yelling at you in there. I’m sorry, but that was not a good situation.”

I glanced over at him, touched that he wanted to apologize. “We were both stressed, and all I could think about was the cats. Easier to focus on the living rather than the dead, I guess.”

“I never thought about that, but it does help me understand you better. You love cats. I’m saying you really love cats. I get that now. Anyway, if it’s all right, I’d like to go back to your house and finish that phone connection.”

“It’s more than fine with me, but Candace might not agree,” I said. “She’ll be conducting her search, after all. And then there’s the dreaded formal statement to contend with.”

“Just tell her exactly what you and I told Baca earlier. The truth.”

“Seems like people on TV always get in trouble for telling the truth,” I said, thinking about Shawn. The truth might get him in big-time trouble. “Oh, by the way, Wilkerson took a mallet to the security system control panel.”

“He what ?”

By the bulging veins in his neck, I’d say I learned a little more about Tom at that moment. He loved his control panels. Really loved them. I’m sure that was what upset him, not the idea that it was my control panel that had been attacked. But I had to smile to myself.

He ran a hand through his dark hair and said, “I’ll have to pick up new equipment. Meet you at your house.” His van was parked near the ditch and he took off in that direction.

I watched him leave, grateful for his help and glad I’d be seeing him again so soon. The wind picked up, swirling fallen leaves around my feet and making Syrah dig his claws into my arm. I sure wished Candace would hurry up. It was getting colder out here by the minute. Then the sound of an approaching vehicle caught my attention. I looked down the road and saw Shawn’s pickup rumbling toward us.

He pulled into the driveway behind one of the squad cars. After taking several pet carriers from the truck bed, he waved my way, offered a grim smile and proceeded to the house.

Good. They must have called him to take the cats. For a second I felt immense relief, but then I recalled Shawn’s anger with Flake Wilkerson yesterday and how he’d snatched that escaped tuxedo from the side of the road. I had to tell Candace he was with me yesterday—as soon as I got the chance. And, God, I didn’t want to.

Finally, after what seemed like a year since I’d departed on my mission to confront the man who’d stolen my cat, Candace and I left. We soon pulled into my driveway, with her in the passenger seat holding Syrah. She told me Chief Baca would arrange for someone to pick her up in an hour or two. Tom Stewart arrived seconds after we did. As he gathered his tools, we went inside.

Syrah immediately leaped from Candace’s arms. He looked up at her, arched his back and hissed, then ran from the kitchen.

“Don’t take it personally,” I said to the befuddled-looking Candace. “I’ve pissed him off myself by putting him through the torture of a car trip. And he’s been through much more than that in the last few days. He’ll get over it.”

She smiled. “Then there’s hope he and I can still be friends. And now—I’ve never searched a place without a partner, so I’m gonna ask you to stay with me. I don’t think the chief would like it much if I left you alone in one room while I searched another.”

“Because I might hide those bloody clothes I don’t have?” This was all so ridiculous that I felt like laughing. But I didn’t think Candace would appreciate it. I knew she was only doing her job.

She squinted at me. “Know something? You’re not looking so hot. Bet you haven’t had so much as a drink of water since those sips the paramedics gave you after you fainted.” She patted my arm. “Come on. Let’s get you something to bring the color back to your cheeks.”

I nodded in agreement. “Tea. I need tea.”

While Candace was opening the refrigerator, a three-cat speed race with Syrah leading the way nearly knocked me over. Chablis and Merlot hadn’t been this happy in two days. Candace handed me a glass of tea. “Are your cats always this crazy?”

“Yup. That’s my clowder for you,” I said.

“Clowder?” she said, pulling her eyebrows together.

“That’s what you call a group of adult cats. On the other hand, a group of kittens is called a kindle.”

“Learn something every day. So, I think I’ll start in the basement with the washing machine. As I said, I have to keep you near so that nothing gets moved or—”

I held up a stop-sign hand and smiled. “I completely understand.”

“Let’s get busy, then.” Candace started for the basement, but Chablis came back into the kitchen before we’d taken two steps and sat at my feet. She looked up and sneezed, a reminder that I had neglected my duties as her mom.

“Darn. I was so frantic about that man invading my house again, I forgot he must have left behind more dandruff. She needs Benadryl. You may not want to put this in any formal statement, but Chablis can testify that Flake Wilkerson didn’t get his nickname because he was goofy. He had a serious dandruff issue.”

Candace sighed and then smiled. “By the way, I did my research and discovered you can collect human DNA from dandruff.”

“Really?” I said.

“You’re not the only one who likes to gather information. I’ll wait while you give her some medicine. I feel bad for poor Chablis.”

I did this as quickly as I could, considering how much Chablis loved to take medicine, but Tom interrupted us the minute I was done wiping up the floor where she’d coughed out several drops of bright pink liquid. He needed access to the control panel and the phone. Candace told him she wasn’t willing to leave him unsupervised in the kitchen.

“You have got to be kidding,” he said.

“Can’t fool around when it comes to procedure, Tom. But I do have the flexibility to compromise. I’ll search the kitchen first while you work.”

And so she rummaged through every cupboard and drawer—all the while casting anxious glances at me as I teased the cats with a feather or at Tom fiddling with the wiring. Once he was done and promised me I would be hooked up to the police after one last adjustment outside, I thanked him for his patience and for helping me get through this tough day. Then he left. And this time I didn’t know when I’d see him again. Surprisingly, that bothered me.

The basement search came next, followed by the rest of the house. When Candace was done peeking in every corner and opening every drawer to look for those infamous bloody clothes, another hour had passed. Then we sat in the living room and she took my formal statement.