Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

“Transfer?” I said.

“Trace evidence transferred from your animals to his clothing,” Lydia said impatiently. “Do you have everything you need?”

Candace went on, “See, I need to exclude your cats’ hairs and focus on the ones I might not be able to connect to your three or to any of the other cats we found in the house.”

“You mean a cat might have been taken from the Pink House before I got there?” I said. “And you could find that out by looking at cat hair? That’s amazing.”

Candace’s eyes were bright. “See, it’s all about the evidence. Stuff you can examine and learn from and—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lydia interrupted. “Can we please get out of here?”

“What about cat nose prints?” I asked. “Did you find any of those?”

“What are you talking about?” Candace said.

“A cat’s nose print is like a human fingerprint. One of a kind. If there’s a nose print that doesn’t belong to any of the cats that were in the house, then—”

“I imagine that a lot of cats passed through Mr. Wilkerson’s hands,” Candace said. “And just like human prints, we would have no idea when this unique nose print was left. It’s also not like we have a database of cat nose prints to match up with what we find. Cat hair is a different story.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling deflated. “Just trying to help.”

Candace said, “But that is really cool—the nose prints, I mean. Where did you learn about that, anyway?”

“There was a vendor at a cat show once who was selling pendants she made with a cat or a dog’s nose print on them,” I said. “In case the pet got lost or stolen. She told me all about nose prints.”

“Trouble is, how often would we need to use something like a nose print?” Candace said. “Never had a case on Forensics Files that used cat nose prints. And I swear I’ve seen every episode twice. Cat and dog hair, however, can be very useful in solving some crimes. I read a research article not long ago about the DNA of cat hair and how cat hairs have led to suspects who were eventually convicted. The hair evidence was even presented in court. It had been left on both the corpse and the murderer.”

Lydia sighed heavily. “Listen, I’ll check with the FBI— that being the Feline Bureau of Information—about all this cat hair and nose print stuff—maybe in my next life. But right now I have got to get home and get my beauty rest.”

That got a laugh from all of us, and they left not long after. I returned to the living room and closed the blinds to shut out the night.

That eerie moon still hung low in the sky. It went well with that word corpse . Too well.

Since Merlot seemed upset about the Persian invasion, I gave him a plum spot close to me when I went to bed. He was gone when I awoke the next morning—probably busy cornering my little invader and making sure she didn’t get her fair share of food or a chance at the litter box. While I showered, I thought about how Shawn and I had gone on that mission to find my cat just days ago. He’d helped me, and now I felt like I’d betrayed him. We had to talk.

An hour later, I drove to the Sanctuary, but it was Allison, not Shawn, who came outside to greet me. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she gripped a coffee mug with both hands. She looked as tired as I felt.

“Long night?” I asked as we stood in the packed dirt driveway.

“Shawn didn’t sleep and neither did I,” she said. “He’s so upset, Jillian.”

“I had to tell the police what I knew, but that doesn’t mean I believe he had anything to do with that man’s death.”

“He doesn’t quite see it that way,” she said. “He thinks you pointed the finger at him to take the spotlight off yourself.”

“But that’s wrong. Can I talk to him?”

Allison glanced back at the Sanctuary. “He saw you drive up and he doesn’t want to talk to you. Did you know they took his fingerprints? And that the police have been all over the Sanctuary and our house? This whole thing is humiliating to both of us.”

“If it means anything, they searched my house, too.”

“Can’t say that helps. Give him time to get his head straight. As for me, I think you’re a sweet person and maybe one day we can be friends.”

Her words stung. “One day? But not now?”

“I have to support Shawn, and he’s not feeling friendly right now.”

“We’re on the same side, Allison. Please ask him to listen to me for a few minutes. Mr. Wilkerson stole cats and Shawn was certain he broke into your shelter. He could shed light on the thefts as a possible motive. The cat thefts are important, at least to me. I need to understand why Mr. Wilkerson was doing what he was doing.”

She smiled down into her coffee—which had to be as cold as the fall air. “Don’t you think coming up with motives and suspects is the police’s responsibility?” But then she looked past me. “Someone’s coming.”

I turned in time to see a Mercy Police squad car pull in and halt behind my van.

“Great,” Allison said under her breath.

Chief Baca and Morris Ebeling got out of the car.

“Well, if it isn’t the cat lady herself,” Morris said. “Fancy finding you here.”

Wearing a grave expression, Baca said, “Ms. Hart, Ms. Cuddahee.”

Oh, this is not good.

“Your husband here, Ms. Cuddahee?” Morris said.

Shawn emerged from the shelter. “I’m here. You forget something last time you messed up the place?”

Morris looked at Baca and the chief nodded a silent affirmation.

“You’re coming with us for a more formal interview.” Morris walked toward Shawn.

“Is that cop lingo for you’re arresting me?” Shawn’s fair skin reddened.

Baca said,“Not arresting you yet. We had to borrow video equipment from the county to record your statement—and discuss a few other matters.”

“What does all this mean, Mike?” Allison said. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We need his statement again, that’s all,” Baca said.

Morris tried to take Shawn by the elbow, but he pulled away. “I know how to walk without help.” He marched to the squad car with Morris on his heels.

I hoped I was wrong, but this sure looked like an arrest.

Baca turned to Allison. “We’ll get this straightened out and he’ll be home in no time.” He started toward the car, but then stopped and looked at me. “Hope you’re here simply as a friend, Ms. Hart.”

What the heck did that mean? But he was apparently delivering a warning, not looking for an answer, because he walked away.

Allison didn’t take her eyes off the car until it was out of sight. Then, tears in her eyes, she said, “See what you’ve done?” and hurried back toward the Sanctuary.I stared at her as she retreated. Nothing I could have said would have made a difference. Not now.

I wouldn’t find answers to what had just transpired by going home and hiding—which would have been the comfortable and cowardly thing to do. Instead, I drove into town and went straight to Belle’s Beans. One thing I’d learned about Mercy in the last few days was that people spread the word about anything and everything. Someone surely knew why Shawn had been taken in for questioning again, and the only way I could find answers was by planting myself in the center of town and hoping someone would share the latest gossip.

I walked inside, but even the wonderful smells—coffee and butter-rich pastries—couldn’t obliterate the guilt I felt about what had happened at the Sanctuary. How could someone like me, who at one time had every detail of her life carefully planned out, have a year like this? Everything seemed so . . . so out of control.