Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

But I stopped before I’d gone out the door and about-faced. I hurried to the office, where I keep my personal photos, thinking a four-by-six picture of Syrah might come in handy rather than the photos on my cell phone. I had a feeling Mr. Green might have as much trouble seeing as he did hearing.

Mercy is small enough to share an area code with Taylorville, five miles to the south. That was where Mr. Green lived, in a tiny white house between other houses that looked exactly like his.

The woman I’d spoken with on the phone answered the red-painted door at once. She was a dark-skinned black woman, and if not for her graying temples, I wouldn’t have been able to venture a guess whether she was under or over forty.She wore the sternest expression I think I’ve ever seen, and she didn’t bother introducing herself. “You have agitated Mr. Green so much that he’s refusing to take his medication, refusing to do anything but wait by the window for you.”

“I’m truly sorry if I upset both of you,” I said. “My name is Jillian Hart.”

“I’m Alfreda, Mr. Green’s caregiver. Now get your skinny self in here and calm him down. This cat business is wearing me out.”

There was no question Mr. Green was old. His skin was a shade lighter than Alfreda’s and his hair was a mass of pearl gray frizzy tufts. He wore thick tortoiseshell glasses, and a wool blanket with tassels was draped around his frail-looking shoulders. His feet were elevated on an ottoman, and another blanket lay across his knees. The hearing aid in his right ear explained the difficulty we’d had on the phone.

Alfreda pulled me by the elbow over to where he sat near the window in the living room. “This is that woman who called. You can see she don’t have a cat with her.”

Mr. Green lifted a gnarled index finger and pointed at Alfreda. “She never said she was bringing any cat. You think I can’t remember what we talked about not thirty minutes ago.”

“Oh, I don’t think,” Alfreda said. “I know you can’t remember. She’s here, so take your medicine before you have a stroke.”

I believed I might have found the two crankiest people on the planet. “I don’t want to upset you, Mr. Green, but—”

“My name is Cole. And what’s yours, little lady?” Did I see a sparkle in his cloudy brown eyes?

“Jillian. Mind if I sit down?”

“Of course you’ll sit,” he said.

Alfreda said, “He promised he’d take his medicine when you got here.” She stared down at her patient, her hands on her hips. “Didn’t you?”

“That would be a good idea,” I said. “I don’t want you to fall ill while I’m here.” I sat on the edge of an old leather wing chair adjacent to him.

“See how nice she said that, Alfreda?” Mr. Green said. “You could take a lesson. Bring me the horse pills. And bring Miss Jillian here a cup of that hot cocoa you make.”

Alfreda’s full lips hinted at a smile. “And I’m supposing you’d like a cup of cocoa yourself?”

“You would be correct, woman. One of the few times in your life, sorry to say.” But he was holding back a smile, too.

I’ll bet this goes on all day , I thought. These two actually shared a fondness for each other, but they would never admit to it.

When she left the room, Cole Green said, “There’s a conspiracy, isn’t there? I’m not getting a new Banjo.”

I almost did a “huh?” and then remembered that was the name of his cat. “Banjo was an Abyssinian?”

“Didn’t know that’s what he was until he took sick. Vet told me. Can’t hardly pronounce it, much less spell it. Woman at the paper helped me out with the spelling when I called to say I needed a new cat.”

The answers to why he hadn’t used the Internet or visited animal shelters were obvious. Classified ads served the needs of his generation for things like finding a new pet.

“Abyssinians came from ancient Egypt. An Abyssinian cat was considered a child of God,” I said.

Mr. Green nodded and smiled. “Banjo was that indeed.”

“What happened to him?” I asked.

His eyes instantly grew rheumy. “Cancer. Cancer’s gonna take over the earth. I’ve had it myself, but I survived. Not poor Banjo.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Alfreda returned with a tray holding the cocoa. “Kindly help me by setting up one of those TV tables in the closet by the front door,” she said to me.

Soon the folding table was between us, and Alfreda gave Mr. Green a handful of pills and a glass of water to wash them down. He grumbled but did take the medicine.

“I got laundry to do,” Alfreda said. “Need anything, you holler.” She pointed at Mr. Green. “And that means she can holler, not you. I’ve had enough of your hollering for one day.”

She turned and walked out of the room.

The smell of chocolate had filled the air, and one taste of Alfreda’s rich, sweet concoction soothed me from head to toe.

Mr. Green must have noticed the change in my demeanor because he was smiling. “Now, that’s nature’s best medicine.” He nodded at my cup. “A decent dose of cocoa. I keep telling her I don’t need all those pills, just two cups of this every day.”

“You could be on to something.” I set down the cup and leaned toward him. “Tell me about Banjo and this person who answered your ad.”

“You first. What’s it to you?”

“That’s a long story, but I’ll try to give you a quick summary.” The summary took long enough for us both to finish our cocoa. “Did you follow all that?” I said, using one of the small paper napkins Alfreda had provided to wipe away my chocolate mustache.

“I may be half deaf and nearly blind, but I got the rest of my faculties,” he said. “This man stole your cat, and you’re on a quest for answers. That about sum it up?”

I smiled. “True enough. Was it a man who answered your ad?”

“It was, and he came with a picture. The cat was sitting in someone’s big picture window. Taken from the outside, not the inside.” Mr. Green stroked his chin. “Struck me as odd he’d take a picture of the cat from the outside of a house. That shoulda clued me something wasn’t right.”

I had a picture window and an Abyssinian. Everything seemed to fit so far. “Alfreda mentioned you gave this man money, that he came here?”

“Do I look like I could drive around town meeting up with people? Course he came here,” he said.

“Was he about sixty? Messy hair with plenty of dandruff on his shoulders?” I said.

“You think these old eyes could see dandruff? I can’t even tell if I have it. But the man who came—Mr. Barney Smith, he said—was gray-headed, and I had a bad feeling about him. But I was so wanting a new Banjo, I didn’t listen to what my insides were telling me. And now the cat’s not arrived, and I’ve got enough smarts to figure out this man is your corpse, Mr. Flake Wilkerson.”

“That’s my guess. You think you’d recognize the cat he showed you if you looked at my Abyssinian?” I said.

“Since the cat I was supposed to receive looked exactly like Banjo, probably.”

I opened my bag and took out the picture. I handed it to Mr. Green.He stared down at Syrah and then slowly his hand came to rest against his heart. “That’s him. That’s Banjo all over again.”

“How much money did you give Mr. Wilkerson?” I said softly.

“Five hundred dollars.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the photo.

“And how much more were you expected to pay?” I said.

“You’ll be thinking I’m crazy when I tell you. Alfreda thinks I am.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy for a minute. Just tell me.”

“Two thousand.” He looked up at me then, his eyes wet with tears. “You can’t put a price on getting your best friend back.”