Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

I smiled, feeling an immense sadness. “No, you can’t.”

“This your cat? The one he stole?” he asked.

“It is. His name is Syrah.”

He handed over the picture with a trembling hand. “I’m glad he’s home where he belongs.”

“Do you have a photo of Banjo?” I asked.

“Got a million of them.” He shouted, “Alfreda? Get yourself in here.”

She bustled into the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I told you not to holler at me.”

“Get me the album. This lady needs to see Banjo. And you’ll be happy to know that man who came here has met his Maker, as well he should have. He was a liar and a thief.”

I left shortly afterward with the only picture of Mr. Green’s beloved cat that he was willing to part with. The resemblance between Banjo and Syrah was amazing. Sure, there are bound to be similarities in certain breeds, but these two could have been twins. No wonder the man was willing to spend twenty-five hundred dollars hoping to replace his old friend.

Despite my sadness that Wilkerson had taken advantage of Mr. Green, I was also glad that I now had proof that this murder could very well be about cats and money—just as Candace and I had believed from the start.

It was despicable that Flake Wilkerson had taken advantage of the poor man. The question now was how many more desperate people like Mr. Green had Wilkerson made deals with?

I drove straight to the Mercy city hall, convinced I now had proof that cats plus money were behind Wilkerson’s murder. I had pictures of two very similar cats and a story to tell Baca. He’d better pay attention for once.

But the first person I saw when I walked into the police office was Candace. Her surprise was evident.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, glancing back toward the hall that led to the chief’s office.

“I’ve made a small breakthrough. Remember those newspapers Daphne gave me?”

She nodded, but before I could tell her what I’d learned, Baca walked out of his office. He was concentrating on putting on his jacket, but when he looked up and saw us, he quit halfway through the process. “What are you two cooking up now?”

I lifted my chin. “Nothing. You said to tell you if I learned anything interesting connected to the case, so here I am.”

“Is this about cats again?” He seemed ready to leave and looked at Candace, not me. “Is it?”

“I have no idea, sir,” she said.

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” He leveled a hard stare my way. “What’s this about?”

“It will take me a minute to explain. Can we go into your office?” I didn’t add, “And can Candace come, too?” though I wanted to.

“I have dinner plans,” he said, starting past us. “But if it’s that important, come along.”

I hadn’t expected this response. I was hoping we could talk here, but instead I ended up following him out.

Candace grabbed my arm and whispered, “Get with me later.”

I mouthed, “I will,” and hurried to catch up with Baca.

He said he was headed to the Finest Catch, a restaurant less than a block away. We walked there, and I practically had to run to keep up with him.

He asked for a table for three. Once we were seated near a window that looked out on a garden between this building and the next, he said, “Mae is always late. So, tell me this important piece of information.”

I explained about the newspapers and the circled ads, my visit to Mr. Green and how the man he’d dealt with sounded very much like Flake Wilkerson. But it was the price Mr. Green was willing to pay for a cat that finally hit home with Baca.

“I had no idea cats could cost that much,” he said.

“I’ve been to hundreds of cat shows.” I sipped the white wine I’d ordered. “A champion sire cat can bring plenty. But as you see, even when a cat doesn’t have pedigree papers, people might have other reasons to be willing to pay a lot.”

“But what you’re talking about is an old man replacing a dead pet.” He’d ordered a calamari appetizer, and now he picked up a deep-fried ring with his fork.

“It’s called desperation. What if Wilkerson double-crossed someone he’d promised a cat to? Took their down payment and never came through? They might be mad enough to find him. Maybe he and some angry person who’d been conned had a fight and Wilkerson ended up dead.”

He chewed for a second, looking thoughtful. “I suppose that’s possible. Cat fanatics like you and Shawn certainly have taught me about how obsessed cat people can be, if nothing else. I’ll consider what you’ve told me. Maybe this motive bears more investigative work.”

“Did you call me obsessed?” I said.

His ears reddened. “That came out the wrong way. Passionate, maybe? Is that a better word?”

“Who’s getting passionate with whom?” Marian Mae said. She’d arrived at the table as quietly as one of my cats.

Baca rose and smiled. “Hey there, Mae. Hope you don’t mind, but I asked Jillian to join us.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not staying.” I gulped down the remaining inch of wine. “Have a fabulous dinner.”

With a cup of cocoa and a glass of wine the only things in my stomach, I would need to make a sincere effort not to stumble my way out of the restaurant. But once again, before I’d gone five feet, I heard Marian Mae speak.

“What is going on between you two?” she said.

Why did she care? Or was every woman in Mercy as jealous as Lydia? I started down the sidewalk, walking carefully. I wasn’t drunk, just a little light-headed, but I am clumsy enough that I could do a face plant on the uneven sidewalk even without an overload of sugar and alcohol. I was concentrating so hard on watching out for high spots that I might trip over, I nearly shot three feet in the air when Candace jumped out from between two buildings.

“You have to tell me what this is about. Right now,” she said.

“Did you follow me?” I said.

“You’re damn straight. Now tell me why you came in so hot to see the chief,” she said.

“ Hot is not the word I’d choose. And I need food before I can talk about anything,” I said. “That restaurant smelled like heaven.”

“We’ll pick up something. I’ll drive.” She took my arm and yanked, but I didn’t budge.

“No way am I riding with you. Pick up chicken and meet me at my house.” I pulled a twenty from my bag and gave it to her. That was when I noticed the two pictures of the very similar Abyssinians. What an idiot. Those pictures were the reason I’d wanted to talk to Baca. If I’d remembered, maybe he would have been a little more excited about what I’d learned today.

Candace headed off to pick up the food, perhaps realizing that discussing this on the street, mere steps from where her boss was having dinner with his girlfriend, might not be such a great idea.I’d had a chance to offer affection as well as food to my three kids by the time Candace arrived with boxed fried chicken dinners, though the offerings at the Finest Catch would have been far more enjoyable.

Once we were sitting at the counter in my kitchen and I was practically inhaling the greasy yet wonderful chicken, Candace was ready for the explanation.

After I was done telling her about Mr. Green’s quest to replace his Abyssinian and my conversation with Baca, she said, “That’s excellent information. But I happen to know the chief’s already been persuaded by the financial evidence he’s discovered that the cats might be more important than he ever wanted to believe.”

“No wonder he sounded so nonchalant when I told him what I’d learned. What about this financial evidence?” I said.