Leann Sweeney - The Cat, The Professor and the Poison

When I heard Lydia ’s loud voice, I said, “Is she okay with me… um… participating?”

“Oh, perfectly happy now that she’s checked every nook and cranny to make sure Tom Stewart isn’t here and won’t be called upon to help out,” Candace said. “Why does the county designate someone like her to be in charge of suspicious deaths, anyway? It makes no sense.”

“You think the government is supposed to have common sense?” I said.

“I’d say ‘how true’ except I am part of the government,” she reminded me.

I smiled and said, “But back to Tom. Why would you call in a security expert for something like this?” I said.

“I wouldn’t. But you know Lydia. She believes if Jillian Hart’s around, well, Tom must be lurking, too, ready to jump your bones right in front of her,” Candace said.

A blush warmed both my cheeks. “She is so frickin’ crazy, it’s ridiculous.”

“For now, she’s in charge. Try to ignore her, okay? In her defense, she does seem to have some knowledge about the cause of death.” Candace stopped at the end of the hall, where it made a hard right turn. “We’ll pass quickly through the kitchen and out the back door. Stay right behind me.”

“I’d love to ignore her, but she’s the one-”

“Forget about her, Jillian,” Candace whispered harshly. “Frightened cats need you right now.”

Lydia Monk and Morris Ebeling were in the kitchen, a room that could have traveled through time from the set of Father Knows Best with fifty years of dirt added. The meat that had so upset Candace was spread out on a dirty countertop, and an old-fashioned grinder was clamped to the counter’s edge. Professor VanKleet had obviously been making food for the cats, but in a place the FDA would have shut down in a nanosecond.

A gloved Lydia knelt by the body in the other entrance to the kitchen, the one that led to the living area. She said, “The contractions caused by the strychnine are wearing off, Morris. That’s why the body is relaxing. I told you this was no rigor mortis you were seeing when-” She stopped talking and smiled up at me as if nothing had happened between us earlier. “Glad you’re here to help with the animals, Jillian. Mercy has such concerned citizens. Truly heartwarming.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, as Candace practically dragged me past the meat-covered counter to the back door.

“This is the worst suspicious death I have ever worked,” Candace said once we were outside. “And before you say anything, I’m not calling it murder until we know for sure. Maybe the guy overdosed. Sometimes dealers use tiny amounts of strychnine to cut cocaine. Could be the professor’s supplier slipped him bad stuff.”

“You’re thinking he was on drugs?” I said.

“If his thinking was impaired, it could explain his doing crazy stuff like stealing cows and grinding meat,” she answered. “But that’s just a wild guess. And I shouldn’t be guessing.”

“Is strychnine what they sell in the feed store to kill rats? Because I thought they used something else,” I said.

“ Lydia told us it used to be a standard rat killer. Not so much anymore,” Candace said. “Dangerous, and as I explained, used to cut illegal drugs.”

I inhaled the fresh night air and felt my shoulders relax. “But if the poison is off the market, then-”

“I can’t say any more about the evidence, okay?” she said.

“Got it. Sorry,” I said.

The shed stood maybe ten feet ahead, and we walked toward it down a stone path. Before Candace opened the flimsy screen door, she said, “This is where you have to be especially careful. We haven’t searched this building thoroughly yet.”

As Candace led the way, I didn’t even bother to glance around. We were through the shed and out to the cat runs in seconds. Two county sheriffs were setting up their halogens, though I couldn’t see much more than their silhouettes. And still, no cat cries. God, please don’t let them be dead like the professor.

To our right, Shawn and a man and woman I’d never met stood waiting for the lights to come on. Meager reinforcements for fifty cats… but of course if the cats were-no. The cats were alive when I’d seen them earlier.

“Hi, Shawn. Hi, Shawn’s friends.” I offered a small wave, noting the stack of crates that had been broken down and brought outside on a flatbed dolly. Bet that trip through the possibly evidence-laden shed had given Candace nightmares.

Their smiles were grim when they nodded my way. They had no idea what they were about to see, and the fact that it was so darned quiet out here made goose bumps rise on my arms.

The bright blast when the lights came on made me shut my eyes reflexively, and when I opened them, I was not prepared for what I saw.

Shawn said, “What in hell happened here?”

We did not see fifty cats. Instead, we saw that the chain-link fence had been cut open at the bottom of each small jail cell.

And the cats were gone.

“Where did they go?” I said. “They were here. I saw them.”

“You saw them?” It was Lydia, who, unfortunately, had decided to join us.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s why I called Candace. That’s how she found the body… because I told her that cats were possibly being mistreated here, and-”

“You can explain all that later,” Candace cut in. “I think I see a few cats in those end runs.”

“Oh my gosh. You’re right.” I started in that direction.

Candace grabbed my arm. “You, Shawn and the others need to wait. I have to photograph this place, look for evidence. Then we’ll see about the cats.”

“But-”

“No buts, Jillian. The cats will be okay for a few minutes.”

“She’s right.” Lydia looked at Candace. “You’ve got this covered, though I believe Jillian and I need to talk later about what she saw and when she saw it.” She smiled, turned and went back through the shed.

We stood there for more than thirty minutes, not the few that had been promised, as Candace did her job. Meanwhile, Shawn introduced me to the volunteers. Sam Howard was a retired veterinarian with snowy hair and a warm smile. Jane Haden, a soft-spoken black woman, had intelligent dark eyes and beautiful posture that exuded an air of authority. Since she was a school principal, that authority was probably put to good use.

I explained my presence, and the three of us ended up sharing photographs of our beloved pets. Sam Howard laughed at the cat cam, but Jane was intrigued and asked lots of questions. I was afraid to tell her that Tom Stewart had set it up for me for fear that if I mentioned his name Lydia would come running out in psychotic mode again.

A county deputy was showing Candace how to lift a footprint off the walkway with what looked like giant Scotch tape. From the adoring look she gave the guy, I knew he’d just made her day. She had evidence. Then both county officers helped reposition the lights so Candace could photograph each enclosure. She used her flashlight to closely examine the fence areas that had been cut away. I’m no police person, but it sure didn’t look like fingerprint territory to me. Then Candace began photographing each enclosure and the cement path that allowed access to them.

As we waited, we decided to put together three large crates to take away the remaining cats when Candace was finished.

Doc Howard, who was kneeling next to me as we worked, said, “I’ve dealt with some pretty radical animal rights groups, but killing someone has never been in their bag of dirty tricks.”

“As Candace would say, there’s no evidence yet that whoever removed these cats killed the man,” I said. “We don’t even know if he was murdered.”

“You got me there. I am jumping to conclusions,” he said. “I’ve just seen way too many people go off the deep end and act foolishly when it comes to domesticated animals. Let’s hope whoever took the cats was on the animal welfare side.”