Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

After I’d told her every detail again, aside from Shawn’s helping me, she said, “I’m glad you didn’t bump into the murderer when you went up those stairs or you might be gone now, too.” I saw her swallow hard. “That would have saddened me to no end.”

“Guess I wasn’t thinking straight.” But the truth was, I probably wouldn’t have done anything any differently. I could never ignore the cries of a helpless animal.

Candace placed her hands on the clipboarded statement and stared up at the high ceiling.

“I don’t have a secret hiding place up there,” I said.

“Oh, I wasn’t even thinking about that. I was wondering who coulda done that to Mr. Wilkerson. He may have been a mean son of a gun, but a knife in the gut isn’t exactly the best solution to a problem.”

Though I didn’t want to involve Shawn, I had to tell the whole truth. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then said, “I have something to tell you, Candace. It could mean nothing, but you—and I mean you as a policewoman —should know.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

But before I could say another word, all three cats joined us. I said, “They’ve been so busy playing, they’ve missed out on our conversation. Merlot especially likes human talk. And I have to admit I speak to the three of them all the time.”

Candace said, “Then tell your friend Chablis to be careful.”

The Benadryl was finally doing its job—she had a slight problem putting one paw in front of the other. She kept running into sofas and ottomans.

I swooped her up before she hurt herself, and she was happy to curl up in my lap.

Candace said, “Okay. What else do you need to tell me?”

“Shawn went with me yesterday—to see Mr. Wilkerson,” I said.

“Jeez. Why didn’t you say so before?”

“I didn’t want to get him in trouble. He seems like a great guy, and he cares so much about his rescues,” I said.

Candace leaned back against the sofa, looking depressed. “This is bad. Real bad. Shawn is the nicest guy you’d want to meet, but he has had his share of problems when it comes to his furry friends.”

“What do you mean?”

“For one thing, we got this county dogcatcher who comes around once a week or so. Shawn gets a little, well, passionate about what he considers mistreatment of the animals at the hands of the dogcatcher. But some of those loose dogs are nasty. And the feral cats? I wouldn’t want to meet one of them in a dark alley.”

“Passionate how?” I said.

“Let’s just say the guy’s got a restraining order against Shawn.”

“I had no idea. Any other, um, issues ?” I was beginning to wonder if our visit to Flake Wilkerson had been the last straw, the one that could have led Shawn to kill the man.Candace said, “I shouldn’t be talking about any of this. It’s police business and I have to tell the chief right away. But before I leave, let’s take a look at this video you have of Wilkerson inside your house.”

“You don’t really need that for establishing a timeline.” I reminded her that I’d looked at the video on my phone in the coffee shop and checked again when I got to the quilt store. That was a pretty tight window—no more than ten minutes—and Martha at the Cotton Company could verify the time I left the store.

But of course Candace wanted to see the video anyway, and so I took her to the office and she burned a DVD of Wilkerson chasing my cats.

When she stood up from my computer desk, disk in hand, she said, “Perfect. Time-stamped and everything.”

How’d she do that? I certainly needed to start figuring out all my computer’s features now that I had this video security system.

“Guess I’m done here,” Candace said. “I’ll phone the chief and find out when I can hitch a ride back to my car.”

“I’d be glad to take you anywhere you need to go,” I said.

“Nah. You look like you could use a day at one of them spas to relax. Someone will come and get me.”

“You’re looking pretty frazzled yourself.” I tucked a wayward strand of blond hair behind her ear. We had become friends, and I now felt guilty for my self-absorption. She was stressed out, too. “Thanks for being so patient with me. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier about Shawn. I wanted him to get those cats out of that place, and the chief might have stopped that process to question him.”

She smiled. “Darn right he would have. I’ll help the chief understand your reasoning—which he won’t consider reasonable, by the way.” She took out her phone and called Baca. Turned out he was already on his way to pick her up.

After she hung up, she said, “I know Baca upset you today. But he’s a nice guy. He just needs to loosen up. Always so uptight. Even more so since he’s been seeing that divorced woman from the rich side of town. My guess is she has him on a short leash.”

“I wouldn’t think a police officer, especially the chief police officer in town, would like to be on any leash, short or long.”

Candace pointed at me. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

We walked into the foyer to wait, and Syrah decided to say good-bye by rubbing against Candace’s calves and leaving plenty of his own brand of evidence on her green uniform trousers.

“I told you he’d forgive and forget,” I said. “If he could talk, he’d be saying thank you right now.”

I heard approaching footsteps on the walkway and opened the door before Chief Baca could knock.

But it wasn’t Baca.

Shawn stood there with two cat carriers, and neither was empty. One held the Persian and the other the noisy Siamese.

“Um, Jillian, I hate to surprise you like this, but we’re at capacity at the Sanctuary. These two have been bathed and vaccinated, so could you—”

“Tell me something, Shawn,” Candace said. She sounded calm, but her tone was cold. “When you were over there at Wilkerson’s with all those fine officers present, did you happen to mention your relationship to the vic?”

“The vic ? Did I just walk in on a filming of CSI: Mercy ?” Shawn grinned.

During the ensuing silence, the foyer seemed to grow as frigid as a winter night.

Shawn’s smile faded, and his expression went from smart-ass silly to stunned. Then he turned a harsh stare my way. “Just what have you been saying about me, Jillian Hart?”

“Shawn, please understand,” I said. “I had to tell them about—”

“I’ll handle this, Jillian,” Candace said. “But not here. As for these cats, they need a temporary home?”

Shawn’s mouth was now white-ringed with anger. “After this kind of greeting, I should walk back to my truck and forget about asking you for help. But I’m strapped for space and these two cats need placement immediately.”

The Siamese began wailing its head off, and my three ventured to the foyer entrance to check out the noise. Merlot took one look at those crates, hissed and hightailed it back to wherever he’d come from. But apparently Syrah wasn’t bothered, and Chablis was too drugged to care about possible unwelcome visitors.

Shawn put the two carriers down, and Candace knelt to talk to the cats. Unlike my attempt at Wilkerson’s place to calm the Siamese, Candace was able to quiet it by slipping her fingers through the door grid and letting it rub its head against her hand.

“I could take this one,” she said. “If my mom comes over I’ll give her some of that Benadryl that works for Chablis’s allergy.”

“Good. Jillian, you willing to deal with the Persian until we know what to do with her?” His tone was brusque.

“Sure. She and Syrah have already bonded.”