Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

Daphne took a moment to think this through. Then she inhaled deeply and released the breath with her eyes closed. At last she said, “And you’re saying you don’t think I killed my father for his money?”

“I sure don’t,” I said.

Candace looked from me to Daphne and back to me and said, “I’m with her.”

“You two swear you didn’t come here because that cop sent you to see if my story’s changed since I talked to them?” Daphne said.

“He doesn’t know we’re here,” Candace said. “And if he finds out, I’m toast. I’ll be answering phones again.”

She stared at Candace for a long time, then me, before saying, “I may be the biggest idiot on the planet, but because of my own poor cat, and because I know plenty of cats passed through my father’s lying, thieving hands, I believe you.” She sat down again.

Relieved, I followed suit. For the first time I noticed how dark those circles under her eyes were, how her shoulders sagged. Now that honesty had robbed her of anger and cynicism, she looked defeated and exhausted.

“We want to find your father’s killer,” I said.

“I still don’t get why you care,” she said.

“I need to know why he was stealing cats. Added to that, I walked in here and found a dead man. And you know what? Chief Baca has no clue that a person who’s had a pet stolen can become desperate and unreasonable, and maybe capable of murder.”

“Then Chief Baca is plain dense, because you’re right,” Daphne said. “I saw firsthand how fixated the big bad policeman is on the money motive. He kept asking me if I knew how rich I was about to become. Well, guess what? I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“What else did you two discuss?” Candace asked.

“I found out they dug up records of all the calls my father made to me. The chief asked me about those and was especially interested in the ones that started about a month ago. I told him that was how things always went. My father came into my life, usually when he needed something. Then he’d leave. This last month? It was all a bunch of new lies.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“He said he was dying, for one thing. For sympathy, of course. One time he told me he was having open heart surgery just to get me here. You know what he wanted? My mother’s engagement ring. The one I used to wear all the time. Said he had a use for it and that it was his property.”

“Did you give it to him?” I asked.

“Yes. He did buy it originally, after all—and that made it tainted. Him reminding me of that? Well, he knew how I’d react and that I’d give him the ring. Besides, I was done arguing about every little thing. I have good memories of my mom, and that’s all that counts.”

“There was no heart surgery?” I asked.

“No way,” she said in a scoffing tone. “He was healthier than me. I swear if someone hadn’t stabbed him, he would have outlived everyone in this room.”

“Back to these recent phone calls,” Candace said. “What do you think his motives were this time?”

“I don’t know. He said he wanted to make things right between us before he died and that he could earn back my trust by reuniting me with Sophie,” Daphne said.

“Are you saying he admitted he stole your cat?” I said.

“Oh no. That would have confirmed what I knew all along—that he was a liar and a thief,” she said. “He’d never admit to that.”

“Then how did he plan to find Sophie if he wasn’t involved in her disappearance?” I said.

Daphne said, “Good question. I asked him and he just said, ‘Leave it to me. I have my ways.’ ”

“Did you believe he could make that happen?” Candace asked.

“Not for a minute. He wanted back into my life for a few months for some selfish reason and—” She bit her lower lip, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ve been stupid enough to let that happen over and over. Why not again?”

“Because no matter what kind of man he was, he was still your father,” I said.

Daphne sniffed and swiped at her nose with her sleeve. “Not anymore. Now, if you don’t mind, I have plenty to do. I’d like to get back to it.”

Candace and I stood.

“I’ll stay and help,” I said.

“You don’t have to. I can manage,” Daphne said.

“Then it’s settled. I’m staying,” I said with a smile. “Candace? What about you?”

“I have some errands—you know, the whole day off stuff—but I could come back later and lend a hand,” she said.

“Sounds good.” I was in rescue mode, just like I’d been after Katrina when so many pets needed homes. It felt good.

I quickly discovered why we hadn’t been invited into the living room earlier. Boxes sat on the floor, on the two worn leather sofas and pretty much everywhere else I looked. Daphne must have been packing all night. No wonder she seemed tired.

“What can I do that would help you the most?” I asked.

Daphne glanced around the room. “There are frames with glass, and I brought in some of the china that belonged to my mother.” She raised two trash bags. “This is shredded paper. Maybe it would make good packing material.”

“You want me to cushion fragile objects with this? Seems good for sending packages, but not sturdy enough to protect glass.”

“I don’t have much else,” she said. “Unless I want to pay for those Styrofoam peanuts at the UPS store fifty miles away.”

“What about newspapers?” I asked.

“There are stacks of those in the garage. Guess we could use them.”

She started to lead me out there, but I told her I could handle it, that she should keep doing what she’d been doing before we’d interrupted her. She went back to work in the kitchen while I went out to the garage.

The late-morning weather had warmed to a pleasant seventy degrees or so. I took off my sweater and tied it around my waist. Then I had an idea and called information for Ed’s number. When I had him on the line, I said, “Have you collected packing peanuts by any chance?”

“Sure. People don’t save nothing these days and I figured if I ever need to up and move, I—”

“Would you mind if I bought some?” I said.

“Wouldn’t mind a bit. How many bags should I pull?” he said.

“Big bags?” I asked.

“Huge. How many?”

“How about three? And I have a favor to ask. Could you deliver them to the Pink House?”

A brief silence followed and then he said, “The daughter’s in town and already starting to clear stuff out?”

I wondered if his mouth was watering at the thought. “Yes. I think she’ll have a bunch of trash, if you’re wondering. And she could use packing material.”

“I’m on it. Give me thirty minutes. I’m with a customer.” He couldn’t disguise the excitement in his voice. This place had to be Treasure Island in Ed’s eyes.

After putting my phone away, I went inside the garage. The place could have housed three cars. But there was only enough room for one late-model Lexus SUV. Hmmm. The man could afford a $50,000 car. That told me something. But it desperately needed a visit to the car wash, just as the house could have used a fresh coat of paint. Tools, fishing and hunting gear and a wall of pesticides, old paint, turpentine and other household chemicals caught my attention next. And there had to be a dozen pet carriers stacked in a corner near the lawn mower and a Weed Eater. I’d seen disassembled carriers in that bedroom upstairs, too. How many cats had passed through this man’s hands for him to need so many carriers?

The newspapers were bundled, bound and piled next to a freezer. I grabbed the top two packs and returned through the kitchen. The papers smelled as musty as the house, and I’d had to brush off several clinging bugs and spiders before I brought them inside.