Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

“Does that mean I can leave?” Marian Mae said with the sickest, most smug smile I believe I have ever seen. But Mike’s look kept her in her seat. As people filed out of my house, grumbling all the way, Mike Baca leveled a stare at Marian Mae Temple that was filled with both shock and disgust.

He said to Marian, “You’re saying Ms. Wilkerson pulled a gun on you?”

Marian Mae lifted her chin. “That’s right.”

Baca looked at Candace and said, “Can I see the gun, please?”

Candace being Candace, she’d already bagged the weapon as evidence. She’d put the Ziploc holding the gun inside a large brown paper sack, and now she lifted the gun by the corner of the plastic so Baca could see it.

He rubbed between his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “That’s my service revolver, Mae.”

She said, “That Daphne person must have snuck into your house and stolen it before—”

“Did anyone tell you that you have the right to remain silent?” Baca said.

“Yes, but—”

“Then I’m reminding you again of your rights,” Baca said wearily.

“But I have to tell you what happened,” she said, sounding a tad desperate now. “These women attacked me and that awful cat bit me.” She seemed to be working hard to summon up tears, but it wasn’t happening, so she extended her ankle for some sympathy. “Look at this. I might get rabies. Now take off these silly handcuffs and we can go to the hospital where I can be adequately treated. And get Candy and Morris to take these two violent people to jail.”

He ignored the speech by saying, “You’re waiving your rights?”

Marian Mae stared at her once-future husband for several long seconds. Finally she said, “Should I do that? You’re the policeman; you tell me.”

“That’s not how this works,” Baca said. “It’s your decision. We need to search your house, Mae. Do I need a warrant or do you give me permission?”

“You’ve been in my house, for heaven’s sake. What could you possibly expect to find there that you don’t already know about?”

I pulled the picture of Sophie from my pocket, held it up and said, “A cat that looks like this. This cat may not be proof of murder, but if it proves to be Daphne’s, it will explain why you might have been angry with Flake Wilkerson when he told you he wanted the cat back.”

Those frigid eyes narrowed, a look from Marian Mae I’d seen way more times than I’d wanted to. She said, “You’ll need a warrant, then. And get me that lawyer, Mike.”

Candace and Morris took Marian Mae away on Baca’s orders. Once he’d placed a call to a judge for his warrant, he addressed Daphne and me.

“I’m sorry about all this. Neither of you were injured, I hope?” he said.

I would certainly feel the effects of the scuffle tomorrow, but that didn’t matter. “I’m fine, Chief,” I said.

“She never touched me.” Daphne’s cigarette danced with each word.

“Good. Right now I’m at a loss to understand how a person I thought I knew so well could . . .” His words trailed off. “Anyway, about your cat. If Mae does have—what’s its name again?”

“Sophie,” Daphne said. “You want me to spell it?”

“No. And I apologize again for coming in late on the cat angle. Maybe if I’d been on it sooner, this confrontation today could have been avoided,” he said.

“Confrontation? You mean the attempted murder, don’t you?” I said. I was thinking more about poor Chablis as well as the two of us. She’d run off once Marian Mae let go of her, and I was sure it would be a while before she came out of hiding.

“Assault will be on the table,” he said, “as well as your father’s murder, Ms. Wilkerson. As you know, a few things only came to light yesterday. The online cat business, for example. I would have seen things differently once—”

“Seen things differently? You mean realized you were wrong about Daphne? Wrong about me?” I was upset at Baca’s offering up what seemed like platitudes.

He took a deep breath. “You’re right and I’m sorry. Anyway, I’ve been examining your father’s financials, Daphne. Most of what you inherit will come from the rather large insurance policy he took out a year ago. That change in beneficiaries is more important than ever now.”

Daphne said, “Tell me about that. Who was the original beneficiary?”

“That’s a problem,” he said. “The insurance company is not cooperating. I had to ask the DA to subpoena them, and we don’t have the name of the original beneficiary yet. See, they’re dragging their feet, probably because if you went to jail for killing your father, the company wouldn’t have to pay.”

“But if that previous beneficiary killed him, they will,” I said.

Baca nodded.

“You had to know Marian Mae was acquainted with Mr. Wilkerson,” I said.

“She never mentioned him. But once we get the information from that insurance company subpoena, my guess is I’ll find out they did know each other well enough that he was ready to take care of her for life. Why, I don’t know. They aren’t exactly two folks you’d expect to be friends.” He sighed. “We will get the whole story, though. From what Candace described to me on the phone when she called, Mae terrorized the two of you. I apologize.”

“And she terrorized someone else,” I said. “Excuse me if I don’t see you out. One of my cats needs me.”

I found Chablis hiding under my bed, and it took some serious coaxing to get her to come out. I soothed her for several minutes, and she seemed relieved that I, rather than some crazy woman, came to find her.

I took her into the living room and asked Daphne if she’d sit in John’s chair again and hold Chablis for a while. I thought it would be good for both of them. Daphne was more than happy to comply and so was Chablis. Meanwhile, I called the other cats, and soon they ventured into the living room, checking every nook and cranny for signs of strangers.

I sat on the floor, tickled to congratulate my heroes. Merlot immediately plopped down beside me and turned over for a tummy rub, while Syrah found a comfy spot in the center of my crossed legs.

“Do you really think Marian Mae has Sophie?” Daphne asked.

Before I could answer, someone knocked on the door. Merlot and Syrah took off, ready to lie in wait for another takedown, perhaps. Chablis was happy right where she was.

“Who could this be?” I rose. “The local reporter? Is there even a local reporter in Mercy?”

Daphne laughed. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

As I went to answer, relief washed over me when I saw how calm Daphne seemed. Chablis was a hero, too.

I opened the door to find Tom holding two steaming cups of coffee from Belle’s Beans.

“Thought you could use a fix. What in heck’s been going on, anyway?” he said.

“As if you haven’t heard,” I said. “This is Mercy, after all. But Daphne’s here, so you didn’t bring enough java.”

Daphne ended up with Tom’s latte while he warmed up what was left in the bottom of my pot for himself. When I protested that I could drink the old stuff, he said, “Not if what I heard is true. You need the fresh stuff.”

As Daphne and I related all that had gone on, he kept shaking his head in disbelief, occasionally interjecting, “Unbelievable.”

“The chief is waiting on his warrant, but I have the feeling that will be all she wrote for Marian Mae,” I said. “I’m betting Baca wants to take a very close look at Marian Mae’s cat. Maybe her computer, too.”

“Ah,” he said. “She’s the one who took down the Match-a-Cat site.”

I blinked. “I never thought about that. But yes. She was probably in business with him.”