Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

Molded plastic chairs lined the corridor. A woman was lying asleep across two of them, one tattooed arm slung over her eyes. We passed her and came to a scarred door with an old-fashioned frosted window. MERCY POLICE was stenciled on the window in green paint. Curse words had been carved into the wood in a few places—they looked fresh—and I wondered how many times a week the door had to be sanded.

Tom turned the knob and allowed me to enter first, a gentlemanly gesture I wished he’d forgone this one time. I was nervous. I wanted more than ever to go home and cuddle up with the cats in my secure, sweet-smelling home.

And when I saw Shawn standing in the center of the small reception area nearly eye to eye with Lydia, I wanted to run back out that door. His face was florid with anger, and he was stabbing his finger in Lydia’s direction to emphasize each repetition of “I did not kill that man.” After four times he added, “And Baca’s an ass if he thinks different.”

That was when he turned to leave and saw me. He flashed an angry glance my way as he stormed past Tom and me.

“Ah, police business,” Tom said. “Gives you the warm fuzzies every time.”

“Shut up and get in Baca’s office.” Lydia pointed a bloodred fingernail at me. “You? Sit out here with your girlfriend.”

I hadn’t had a chance to notice the huge oak desk to my left or the fact that Candace was sitting behind it. A computer monitor held her attention until the door identified on a brass plate as the OFFICE OF POLICE CHIEF MICHAEL BACA slammed shut.

“You look a lot more upset than I’ve ever seen you. What’s going on?” I asked her.

“Lydia’s got the hots for Tom Stewart, and when she saw the two of you together she flipped out, started dissing you the minute we walked out of Belle’s Beans. I stuck up for you, and that was apparently a huge mistake. First thing she did when we got here was get the chief to kick me off the case because I’m too friendly with you to be objective.”

“And he agreed? But that’s wrong. You’re such a good officer and—”

She held up her hand. “Don’t say stuff like that right now because I might start crying—and girl cops aren’t supposed to cry. This was my shot at a big case and now—” She took a deep breath. “I’m thinking the chief only agreed to kick me to the curb because he wanted to calm Lydia down.”

“I am so sorry,” I said. “Somehow I feel like this is my fault and—”

“Nope. It’s Lydia and the chief’s fault. What I don’t get is how she can work with the chief after they had a damn affair while I get pushed aside because of a friendship.”

“Good question,” I said. “They’re not together, right? He has some other girlfriend, if I remember right.”

“He’s moved on, true. What he saw in Lydia I’ll never know. Maybe he went nuts after his wife ran off and he turned to Lydia for comfort. But they were the oddest pair. The chief is Mr. Conservative and Lydia’s gussied up most of the time.” Candace took another deep breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be saying any of this—at least not while I’m on the job. The two of them have just made me so darn mad.”

“Okay, let’s change the subject. I see Shawn didn’t end up in jail. That’s good.”

“Not enough evidence to hold him,” Candace said. “But tell me again what dumb notion sent you to the Sanctuary this morning? Because you should keep your distance from him.”

“He didn’t kill anyone, Candace,” I said.

“And I have heard him tell God and everyone that same thing about a hundred times today and yesterday. Police work isn’t about ‘you say it enough times and it’s true.’ ”

“Got it. Now, why am I here?” I said.

“Probably because you were sitting with the love of Lydia’s life and she didn’t like it. I can’t think of any other reason.”

“Did Tom lead her on and then dump her or something?” I said.

“ Him? No way. He’s got better taste. Maybe something he said or did convinced Lydia he was interested, though. Something no one knows about.”

The phone rang and she picked up the receiver. “Mercy Police.”

While she took the call, I stood and wandered toward the chief’s office, hoping to catch some of the conversation. The door opened without warning and I started.

It was Chief Baca. “Join us, please, Ms. Hart. Seems you were planning on that anyway, in a fashion.”

I felt like a kid caught stealing a cookie. He held the door open and I sidled past him into the office.

Much nicer digs than the hall or reception area. The chairs were padded, the desk mahogany and the wall color a soothing pale green. But the air was thick with tension between a seemingly angry Lydia and what looked like a less-than-interested Tom.

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Hart.” Baca settled into his leather high-backed swivel chair.

“Anything I can do to help,” I said.

“Tell us about yesterday. Before you arrived at the Wilkerson house. You went there because you saw Mr. Wilkerson on video surveillance inside your home, correct?”

“Yes. I was certain he’d stolen my cat and—”

“This decision to go to his house without contacting the authorities—tell me more.”

“Am I in trouble for that? Because there was that fire and I saw my cat run into the house and Mr. Wilkerson’s door was open and—”

“You are not in trouble,” he said. “This is an informal interview, and I’m not even taking notes. We just want to figure this whole mess out.”

That brought the first sound from Lydia since I’d sat down—a noise reminiscent of Chablis hacking up a hairball. Lydia was apparently disgusted, but with him? With me? I had no idea.

Baca shot her a glance as if to tell her to quit with the attitude. “Go on, Ms. Hart.”

“I don’t need a lawyer or anything?” I said.

“We certainly can delay all this until you find one,” he said. “But I sense you don’t have anything to hide, right?”

I wanted to check Tom’s expression, see if I could read his eyes and if that would tell me what I should do. But I could tell that would certainly not help him, with Lydia fuming close enough to catch his clothes on fire, so I decided I should keep answering the questions—though briefly, as Tom had suggested.

“I’ve been talking with Mr. Stewart, and he tells me you asked for his assistance at the Wilkerson place? Why was that?” Baca asked.

“Yeah, I’d like to know the answer to that one, too, seeing as how Shawn Cuddahee seems to be your go-to guy,” Lydia said.

Baca started to speak but was interrupted by an obviously pissed-off Tom, who said, “Leave her alone, Lydia.”

Chief Baca slammed a fist on his desk and I nearly jumped a foot in the air. His voice, in contrast, was soft and controlled when he said, “Shut up, both of you. Deputy Coroner Monk, I appreciate your assistance and your need for information, but this is exactly why you will not be working this case except in a secondary capacity.”

“What?” She rose halfway off her chair. “That’s not the way this works.”

“I’ve spoken with Coroner Beecham, and he has decided that I will be running this investigation.”

She stood. “Why? Because I dumped you? Or because you can make a name for yourself if you solve this? Maybe run for county office down the road?”

Baca flushed. “Prior relationships have nothing to do with the decision. The coroner believes that the Mercy police have the resources to handle this case. We know the town better, and besides, you have a lot on your plate. You did your part by coming out and coordinating the evidence collection yesterday, and we’re grateful for—”