Leann Sweeney - The Cat, The Professor and the Poison

She looked up at him with a venomous stare.

He held up both hands in mock surrender and said, “Okay. I understand. Let me check with the constable. See where he’s at.”

Candace didn’t turn around but shouted, “Get Hoffman’s plate number and put out an APB. If you don’t, you’ll be sorry. He is one bad wannabe cop.”

Just then Lawrence Johnson appeared as if out of nowhere. But I had been a little preoccupied, as in terrified, so no surprise I wasn’t paying attention to anyone but Candace.

“What’s happening out here?” he said.

Candace had the car jacked up now and said, “Here’s what’s happening. Your campus cop is a bad guy. He could be a murderer. Can you pull the personnel files on Patrick Hoffman?”

Dooley said, “You never said anything about murder.”

“I just did.” Candace removed the slashed tire, and I swear she almost kicked it once she laid it on the pavement. “Does he drive a squad car?” she asked.

“They use bikes. It’s a small campus.” Johnson picked the spare up and positioned it for Candace so she could complete changing the tire.

She didn’t give him the evil eye, just accepted his help. “Guess I won’t find any evidence on his bike.” She wiped her forehead and left a grimy streak on her skin.

Between the messy hair, the dirty face and her obvious anger, Candace seemed about as stressed out as I’ve ever seen her.

“I’ll finish this,” she said to Johnson. “Meanwhile, can you give me everything you’ve got on Hoffman?”

Johnson nodded and headed back toward the administration building. Seems he was wise enough to assess the situation and realize he needed to help any way he could.

Dooley’s cell phone rang, and he answered. He turned away from Candace, probably hoping he wouldn’t agitate her by anything he might say to the caller.

As Candace was easing the cruiser down with the jack, Dooley turned back around and said, “Hoffman’s van is gone, and no one answered the door at his place. He’s probably skipped. But the constable did get the plate number from the database. He’s put out the APB.”

“Van? What kind of van?” Candace said.

“White. He has a commercial license, but why, I don’t know,” Dooley said.

“White van. That fits,” Candace said as she held her hand out to Dooley. “Sorry if I’ve been a jerk. I’m just pissed that rat bastard got away from me.”

They shook hands.

Lawrence Johnson came back to the parking lot and brought us all very welcome bottles of cold water as well as copies of Patrick Hoffman’s personnel files. The constable, Hank Myers, showed up a few minutes later, wanting to get a more complete picture of the situation. South Carolina has a constable system made up of retired officers or volunteers with police experience.

Constable Myers said he’d be glad to lead us over to Hoffman’s neighborhood so Candace could poke around there, check with the neighbors about what kind of person he was. Candace took him up on the offer.

Unfortunately, Hoffman lived in a section of small homes that turned out to be rentals mostly occupied by students. At least the one student who hadn’t left town told Candace and Constable Myers as much. Candace decided she’d be wasting her time canvassing this neighborhood. Before we took off for Mercy, Myers said that if that guy was anywhere in his territory, he’d find him.

We drove home in silence for the first hour, but I kept checking my cat cam, fearing that Patrick Hoffman would show up at my house and make good on his threats to hurt my cats, or perhaps harm Kara. But the two cats who still liked to live above the basement were sound asleep. No Kara, and thank goodness no Hoffman to be seen.

“We’re missing something, aren’t we?” I finally said.

“Maybe, but we’ve found a huge piece of the puzzle: Patrick Hoffman. Now we have to figure out how he’s connected to VanKleet’s death.”

I nodded. “Since he was on campus all the time, he could have seen what the professor was doing.”

“Maybe he was upset about the cats and the ferrets, too,” she said, “but was he working alone? Lawrence Johnson said he didn’t know anything about Hoffman’s private life, or who his friends were aside from the other campus cops.”

“Could students have been helping him?” I asked.

“Perhaps. Though after interviewing Rosemary, I think Evan was right. This student group doesn’t seem all that organized. Rosemary just wanted to be heard about something-about anything. Militant activism-and I don’t see her as that kind-seems like a cause that you carry with you, and is pretty secretive, right?”

“True. But there is one person who might know more about Patrick Hoffman than we learned today,” I said.

Candace smiled and pressed down on the gas so hard, we almost lurched. “You’re absolutely right.”

We rolled back into Mercy around dinnertime. I’d made a call to the Tall Pines Motel, hoping to talk to Evan-the person who probably knew more about Patrick Hoffman than anyone else we could think of. Now that we knew Hoffman drove a white van, we were pretty certain he was the person I saw at the crime scene, which made me fear that Evan may not have told us the entire truth about his relationship with that campus cop. But Evan didn’t answer his motel- room phone, and I’d never thought to get his cell number.

Since we were both famished, we stopped at the Main Street Diner. Candace and I were craving those Texas chili dogs. Old- fashioned French fries in a white cone were on our minds, too. Neither of us had eaten anything but the stale protein bars in the cruiser’s glove box since this morning.

But before we even went inside the restaurant, I pointed down the street. “That’s Kara’s car,” I said. “Wonder what she’s been up to.”

Candace kept walking, reached the door and held it open for me. “Come on.”

We went inside and saw Kara sitting with Tom. He immediately waved for us to join them.

They were sitting across from each other in one of the larger booths, and both slid to the inside to make room for us. They had Cokes in front of them, so maybe they hadn’t ordered and we’d all be having dinner together.

I sat next to Tom, but Candace told me to order her a large tea and went off to the restroom. She took my purse with her, I assumed so she could use a comb and some makeup.

“What happened to her?” Kara said. “She looks like a train ran over her.”

“We got a lead on a suspect, and Candace got very busy doing things that police officers do,” I said.

“A suspect? Who?” Tom said.

I rested my foot next to his. “If Candace wants to discuss her case, that’s up to her. Right now, bring on those hot dogs smothered in chili and onions.”

Candace joined us a minute later, her hair neatly pulled back in the elastic band it had escaped from earlier. The waitress arrived and took our orders.

Kara said, “I found out a few things today that you might want to follow up on.”

I glanced at Tom and then at Kara. “You worked with Tom today, right?”

“You don’t think for one minute I truly needed a baby-sitter?” Kara said.

“I thought you’d be safer with him while we were gone; that’s all,” I said.

“Sorry,” Tom said. “She can take care of herself and told me so in no uncertain terms. But she did do a little work for me.”

“Filing,” Kara said. “Not exactly how I want to start my career as a crime writer. So I texted Brandt and we got together.”

“Again?” Candace said. “Are you falling for the guy or what?”

“He’s a jerk. But he knows things. Like how badly his mother wants to get her hands on that farm the professor left behind.”