Leann Sweeney - The Cat, The Professor and the Poison

“What are you so happy about, Kara? Guess you haven’t lost a father lately like we have,” he said in annoyance.

“Oh, but I have,” she said quietly. The gleam was gone in an instant.

Lieber gripped Evan’s shoulder so hard, his knuckles turned white. “Cool it, Evan. I know you’re stressed, but let’s not take it out on strangers.” He turned to Kara. “Douglas Lieber,” he said, holding out his hand to shake hers.

Kara’s small step into grief was over. She introduced herself, again referring to me as her stepmother. “What are you a professor of?” Kara asked.

“I teach sociology and an occasional chemistry course. Dual PhDs,” he said. “I try not to be too boring, but fresh-men are a tough audience.”

“I wouldn’t be bored,” Kara said. “I just left my job as a newspaper columnist. I wrote about social networking, pop culture and trends, so I’m a big fan of sociology.”

Evan looked at me with a silly grin. “Aren’t they the intellectuals? What do you do, Ms. Hart?”

“I’m a quilt maker,” I said.

“The simple life. Good for you,” Evan said.

Sarah VanKleet marched down the hall toward us, her high heels clicking on the tile. She motioned to Evan. “Go talk to Chief Baca. And remember what Brandt told you earlier.”

Evan rose, hiking up his loose jeans. “Certainly, Mommy.”

B.J. started to get up and lead Evan down the hall, but Evan said, “I read every one of those Where’s Waldo? books and found him every time. Sit down, bro.” He took off for the chief’s office.

Sarah glanced back and forth between Kara and me, her smile tight. “ Douglas, who have you been talking to?”

Lieber gestured at me and said, “This volunteer who helped us earlier is Jillian Hart.” He waved a hand at Kara. “And this is her stepdaughter, Kara.”

I glanced at B.J. He was looking at me, obviously puzzled at that volunteer reference. But to his credit, he didn’t say anything about charity work he knew nothing about.

Sarah examined the metal folding chair Evan had vacated, obviously looking for grimy police station crud. Apparently satisfied it was safe, she sat down. Lieber picked up her hand and held it between his own. She looked up at him, appearing nervous.

“That interview wasn’t so awful, was it?” he said.

“I had to provide an alibi, so yes, it was awful,” Sarah said. “Even the suggestion that I would be involved in murder is absolutely ludicrous. These people have a lot of nerve.”

“I wish I’d been home with you Friday,” Lieber said. “That would have made things easier.”

Kara waved her hand back and forth between the two of them. “So you can’t help each other out. That’s too bad.”

Douglas Lieber, it would seem, wasn’t under Kara’s spell, because he said, “Yes, too bad,” in a curt tone.

Sarah looked at Kara. “I know why your stepmother is here, but what’s your reason?”

“Just like you, I’m a stranger in town. Here for a visit. Jillian thought I should see more of the town. And for a writer, what better place to start than the police station? This is the pulse of Mercy, South Carolina.”

What a load of dirty kitty litter, I thought smiling inwardly. The girl was quick. Good for her.

“I see,” Sarah said. She again looked up at Lieber. “I want this whole sordid mess over. But I have to identify his body. I’m not prepared to walk into a morgue, Douglas.”

“Maybe they’ll allow me to do that,” he said.

“If it helps any, you won’t have to get near the body,” Kara said. “They’ll show his face on a video feed or wheel the body into a room. You’ll be in an adjacent room with a window for viewing.”

“Is that so?” Lieber said. “That should make things easier, right, Sarah?”

“I suppose.” She sighed heavily.

“You seem to know a lot about that procedure, Kara. How’s that?” I said.

“I once covered a rapper who’d come to Houston for a concert,” she said. “Rap music remains an evolving and interesting part of the social landscape. Anyway, this man was shot in a drive-by outside his hotel before the concert. Since I’d done the research on him, the crime reporter let me share a byline. Part of the story involved interviewing the medical examiner-or trying to. All I got was a tour of the morgue’s outer offices.”

As she told us the story, Kara dropped her guarded facade. She seemed like that eighteen-year-old girl I’d met so many years ago. I could tell she’d enjoyed covering that shooting, and for me, that partly explained her interest in the murders. Maybe she was meant to be a crime reporter.

“That’s horrible,” Sarah said. “Murders there, murders here. It’s making me ill.”

Lieber said, “She was trying to help you feel more comfortable with the process; that’s all. Knowledge is power, Sarah.”

“So is prayer.” Sarah bent her head, her hands clasped in her lap.

That certainly shut us all up. Sarah VanKleet remained in that position until her sons both came down the hall almost simultaneously.

She stood. “Were the officers polite with you?”

“We can leave, Mother,” Brandt said. “That’s all that’s important.” He allowed Lieber, his mother and Evan to go first, and before he left, he made that double-thumb signal at Kara again.

Down the hall I saw Candace walk across the hall and enter the chief’s office.

B.J. said, “No one told me about you volunteering. That is so nice of you, Ms. Hart.”

“I’m here to help,” I said.

The phone rang, and he picked up.

“Do you really volunteer here?” Kara whispered.

“I did today,” I said with a smile. “You did a little volunteering yourself.”

She said, “I did make a genuine connection with that family, didn’t I? I’ll have Brandt VanKleet eating out of my hand-”

“Eating out of your hand?” Candace had arrived in the waiting area without either of us noticing.

“Just a figure of speech,” Kara said.

“You keep away from our witnesses, understand?” Candace said. She was carrying a folder and said, “Let’s go back to your place, Jillian. I have to transfer these statements to my computer.”

Kara rose, her expression revealing what I interpreted as restraint. She’d wanted to fire one back at Candace, but she didn’t. Instead, she followed Candace out the door. I suddenly felt like a mother with feuding daughters. Which made me about as comfortable as a cat being subjected to a bath. I started to leave, too, but stopped to wave good- bye to B.J. before we left. He was on the radio trying to explain what a 10-58 was to poor Officer Dufner.

When we got to my house, Candace carried her laptop and case files to my office. Kara left her laptop on the kitchen table, opened the fridge and popped the top on her first Red Bull of the day. She’d also taken one of her sushi packages out and asked whether I wanted some. I declined and grabbed several cans of cat food and the bag of kibble from the pantry. Then I went downstairs thinking that the cats would probably enjoy sushi if there were any leftovers. Dame Wiggins was nursing her kittens. I swear those four were twice the size they’d been when they’d arrived three days ago, especially the orange and white one. Chablis, meanwhile, was giving Wiggins a thorough cleaning about the head and shoulders. She didn’t even stop to acknowledge my presence.

But when Syrah and Merlot came up behind me at the door, that got her attention. Chablis bounded across the room, swiped at Syrah and missed, but planted a paw squarely on poor Merlot’s nose. My boys retreated to the center of the game room. Syrah, who’d stood up to a threatening stranger only yesterday, was scared to death of Chablis. Go figure.