Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

“I did. Attended the visitation. She was a nice lady.”

“She was indeed. Now, get busy. You don’t want to miss your supper ’cause you’re stuck here.”

He went back to the front and we both sat cross-legged by the trunk. Candace released all three brass latches and lifted the lid. Papers were crammed to the brim and some fell out and scattered around us.

“Guess we should separate any lost-cat flyers from the rest,” I said.

“Exactly.” Candace reached in with two hands and grabbed as much as she could hold, then handed the mass of papers to me. She repeated the process, putting a pile on her lap.

The sorting took almost ninety minutes with neither of us taking time to look closely at what we had. I did notice several of my own flyers, but far fewer than I expected. Perhaps someone else was out collecting paper, too. Finally we had what we needed—information on plenty of lost cats. Candace and I then “refiled” the rest of Ed’s finds, which included not only garage sale signs but Frisbees, tennis balls and even a dog leash.

We decided to take all the cat flyers to my house so we could examine them, take down names and numbers and perhaps get a feel for what had been happening to Mercy cats in the last several months. But first we needed to eat. So after thanking Ed and saying our good-byes, we went back to the car.

Candace said she didn’t want to go to the Little Pig, even though she was craving slaw dogs—a regional favorite I had yet to try. Seemed any cops on duty usually went there on their break.

“Let’s eat at McMurtry’s Pub,” she said, her RAV4 peeling around a corner and onto Main Street.

I held on for dear life and vowed to drive if we ever went out on another search-and-find mission.

She said, “The Pub is a touristy spot with a weird menu, but they have their own special recipe for sweet tea that beats about anything I’ve ever tasted.”

Turned out the weird menu was typical pub fare, bangers and mash, fish and chips, that kind of thing. But there were also the hamburgers typical for the area, “a-plenty burgers,” where the fries and onion rings were mounded so high they fell off the plate. The sweet tea sure did have something extra—but the waitress wasn’t about to give up the secret, even though I asked more than once.

As we shared a trifle for dessert, Candace said, “That cat I took in is so hilarious. Cries like a baby.”

I took out my phone. “That reminds me, I haven’t checked on my crew in hours.” Once I was connected to the cat-cam, I saw I had nothing to worry about. They were all asleep in the living room.

“My mom’s keeping Boy today—that’s what I call him, Boy. Didn’t want to leave him alone on the very first day he’s free from the likes of a mean old man like Flake Wilkerson. Those cats may have something to do with him being murdered, but I can’t help thinking what if it’s something else? I know the chief is looking into other things.”

“What would those other things be?” I said.

“Well, there’s the missing computer. I can tell you about that because you heard it was missing the day we found the body. It’s a safe assumption something on the hard drive connects the killer to Wilkerson, especially since we saw no evidence of robbery. The man had several thousand dollars in a bedroom drawer.”

“Wasn’t the computer keyboard gone, too?” I said. “Why take—oh, I get it. Fingerprints.”

She pointed her spoon at me. “That’s right. Wiping down a keyboard would be tough, especially if you were in a hurry. Then there’s his daughter. I can also tell you about her because when we notified her about Mr. Wilkerson, she said she was coming in from Columbia tomorrow to make the arrangements. That’s probably common knowledge in this town already. Chief Baca had me make the phone call to her, and I have to say, she didn’t sound all that upset that he was dead. If something like that happened to my daddy, I’d be hysterical. We need to know what she was up to around the time of the murder.”

“Columbia’s not that far away, right?” I scraped the edge of the trifle dish to get every morsel of whipped cream.

“No. She coulda come into town, killed off Flake and been back home by nightfall—if she had a reason to knock him off. Could be there’s money involved. I haven’t heard anything about the vic’s finances yet.”

“Bet Baca hasn’t shared anything about her possible motive or alibi with you, huh?”

“No,” she said, her expression morose. Candace eyed the empty trifle dish, cleaned inside the bowl with her index finger and licked away the last of our dessert.

“What’s the daughter’s name? Maybe I could go over there and offer my condolences. I do feel terrible about my part in all this, and she might tell me something we don’t know about Mr. Wilkerson. Like why he was collecting cats.”

“That’s an idea. Her name is Daphne, and she didn’t sound all that friendly. Maybe I’ll go with you.”

“Good, because the last time I went to that house—well, you know what I found.”

Candace said, “And don’t be mentioning this to anyone. I’m off the case and might get myself in some boiling-hot water if the chief finds out.”

Back at my house a short time later, we switched from sweet tea to white wine, which helped Candace and me deal with the tedious task of writing down names and numbers off about fifty stained, wrinkled and mildewed flyers. Who knew so many cats would get themselves lost—but the pile we had went back more than six months.

We’d laid them out on my dining room table, to the joy of all four cats. At one point Merlot even stretched out on the paper-covered space between Candace and me. Cats always have to be in your business.

The tedium was interrupted when I came to a particular cat picture. I tapped the faded photo, the one a person named Dale Bartlett had added to his or her plea for help finding the lost cat Beatrice. “That’s the Tonkinese we found at Wilkerson’s house.”

Candace was looking a little blurry-eyed anyway, and now confusion clouded her features even more. “Tonka-what? I thought we were talking about cats, not little trucks.”

“Tonkinese is a cat breed,” I said.

“Oh. Gotcha.”

“I think that cat is with Shawn. Now that we have the owner’s phone number, we can reunite them. I wonder if we’ll find a flyer for the tuxedo, too,” I said.

“Trucks and tuxedos? One of us has had too much wine. What in heck are you talking about?”

“Sorry. Tuxedo cats are black and white—marked, sort of like penguins. Remember, I told you about the cat that escaped the day before the murder?”

“The cat that ran off into the woods?” she said.

“Yes. The one Shawn picked up by the side of the road after we left.”

“Save that for sure, because every cat is a possible lead.”

“I’m not sure I even told Baca about Shawn picking up the tuxedo. Guess I’ll do that tomorrow,” I said.

“I never got the chance to tell him, but it is in my report,” she said. “Maybe he’ll begin to understand the importance of the cats if you mention it. I got the feeling he couldn’t care less. Make sure you tell him you forgot and that’s why you failed to mention that penguin cat.”

“Tuxedo.”

“Whatever. And now that I’m considering this full-disclosure idea, I definitely have to give the chief our lost-cat list tomorrow, even though he’ll probably laugh me out of his office and order me back to answering phones.”

“Can I copy it first?” I still had to find out about these missing cats, with or without Baca’s help.

“It’s your list, not mine, so of course.” She paused and her expression grew worried. “But maybe there will be no laughing, Jillian. Maybe I’ll be suspended for not following orders. Maybe you should keep the list to yourself.”