Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

“You’re lookin’ a might ragged,” the Belle of the Day behind the counter said. Her cornrowed hair sections were tipped with vibrant colored beads that clicked together with every movement.

I ordered the biggest latte they offered, and as I handed over the money she added, “ Course you been through the wringer and back.” This stranger probably knew more than I did about the current events in my life.

“What’s your real name?” I said, managing a smile.

She grinned. “You’ve become a real Mercyite. You know the secret. My name is Shondra. Now let me fix your coffee. We’re usin’ Sumatra beans today. Sumatra is in Africa. Didn’t know until I started working here how good African beans are. These are nice and smoky.”

I waited for my coffee, wishing the original, very talkative Belle was here, but she wasn’t sitting and reading like she had been the other day. Maybe I’d have to head for the tea shop down the street and have chicken salad for lunch, or buy flowers at the little florist place in the other direction. I could maybe strike up a conversation in one of those places.

Shondra handed over my coffee and I thought about chatting her up, but Tom Stewart arrived and boomed, “Hey, Shondra, I thought this was your day off.” Then he spied me. “That is one big coffee. You planning an all-nighter?”

Boy, was I glad to see him. “Maybe. You want to join me?”

I took my drink to a corner table. Tom might know why Shawn had been taken in for another interview. While I waited for him, I checked my home video feed, and what I saw on my cell phone screen made me grin. Little Dove had wormed her way into Merlot’s heart, at least while he thought I wasn’t looking. They were curled up together on the couch. Gosh, she was a sweetheart, and Merlot was such a big softie.

“Everything working okay?” He took the stool across from me.

I closed my phone.

“Yes, the security cameras work great. And I guess the threat to my cats is gone now anyway—though not in a way I would ever have wished for.”

“Wilkerson died a pretty ugly death; that’s for sure. He pissed someone off royal,” Tom said.

I sipped my coffee. Shondra was right. Delicious stuff.

“Back in my law enforcement days—”

“You were a cop?” I said, surprised. But then, it made sense—and actually explained a lot of what I had considered odd behavior before. For instance, how he had reacted to me when he’d discovered me at Wilkerson’s house.

“Police officer. For ten years. And back then I would have honed in on you as a suspect. That cat means the world to you and Flake stole him. The knife holder was right by that apple he’d just cut up and—”

“I never even noticed the knife holder, and you surely know the man was dead when I got there. And the police do, too, right?”

He held up both hands. “I am not privy to their thoughts on you as a suspect. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t suspect you, even though my acting like a jackass yesterday may have left you uncertain about that.”

“You did kind of scare me a bit. But that’s behind us.”

He smiled at me. “I like a forgiving woman. I’m glad you decided to try Belle’s Beans.”

“Why?” I said.

“Because I found you here today. I was thinking last night how rough you’ve had it in the past year and how it’s not getting much better. But you seem to have handled what life’s thrown at you with mettle.”

“You must have me confused with Miss Upstate John Deere or Candace. I am not the least bit brave.”

He laughed. “Winnebago. Miss Upstate Winnebago. She’s something, huh?”

“I kinda like Lydia,” I said.

“Because she let you off the hook yesterday?” he said. “Don’t be fooled by that.”

“She considers me a suspect?”

“Can we not go there? I don’t know much of anything except not to trust Lydia. She’s a nutcase. So let’s talk about something else. I heard you took in one of Wilkerson’s cats.”

“No secrets in Mercy,” I said. “But what’s this about Lydia?”

“You do not want to know. Just let me say she’ll show her true colors soon enough. I also heard Shawn’s got himself in trouble.”

“What exactly have you heard?” I said.

“He’s down the street at the police station this minute trying to dig himself out of a hole.”

“I know that much. I was at the Sanctuary when they took him in.”

“Whoa. Really?”

“You think they’ll arrest him?” I said.

“You’re worried, huh?” he said. “Because you two are friends, I take it?”

“He’s a good guy,” I answered. “Why is he being interrogated again?”

“It’s about his fingerprints, I hear. Fingerprints found in the wrong place.”

“No way,” I said, horrified. “Shawn’s fingerprints were on the knife?”

Tom’s ears reddened. “I didn’t say that. I heard his fingerprints were found somewhere other than the places you’d expect—not just upstairs where the cats had been kept.”

“Then they might not have been in all the wrong places.” A morsel of relief eased the knot in my gut. “That makes me feel better, because I helped get Shawn into this mess.”

“Hey, Jillian, you didn’t make him do anything. You told the police the truth. That’s what you’re supposed to do. And maybe this is news to you, but most people in town know he can get into trouble all by himself.”

“What does that mean?” I said.

“He has strong opinions about his animals,” Tom said. “Mostly the way the county quickly carts off dogs and cats to county or state facilities rather than checking with Shawn to see if he has room to take them at the Sanctuary.”

“That sounds like a passionate man who wants to take care of a problem,” I said. “Gosh, I wish we hadn’t gone to the Pink House the day before.”

“The day before?” His blue eyes were wide with surprise.

I took a hefty swig of much-needed coffee before I explained about the visit Shawn and I made to Wilkerson’s house and that I felt I’d gotten him in trouble by telling the police about it.

“You shouldn’t be too worried about a small disagreement at Wilkerson’s front door. I’m betting that’s not the first time around for Shawn.” Tom removed his cup lid so he could drink the dregs of his coffee.

“Still, it doesn’t look good for him. He and Allison told me they refused to adopt cats out to Wilkerson,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “Shawn mentioned Wilkerson when I installed their security system. He said he suspected him of breaking in. But Shawn had a bad rep with the county. Guess he cussed out more than one person when he complained, and he figured Morris Ebeling didn’t bother to do much investigating after the Sanctuary break-in.”

“But that’s so wrong,” I said. “Animals were taken and—”

“This is small-town America, Jillian. You make friends and they’re yours for life. You make enemies and the same thing is true.”

“That doesn’t make it right for the police to ignore—”

“Wait. I’m not saying they ignored Shawn’s complaint. I don’t have all the details. I was hoping to reassure you that the fact that he had a beef with Wilkerson isn’t fresh news.”

“I still want to help Shawn. He didn’t kill that man.”

“Help him? Then I hope you have information on other possible suspects, because the cats sure didn’t stick a knife in the man. Unless you’re talking about yourself as a suspect—which doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I got the feeling Baca thought I was a suspect yesterday, but Lydia Monk was so nice and seemed to understand I wouldn’t have had time to get to the house, kill the man, change my clothes and—”