Leann Sweeney - The Cat, The Professor and the Poison

After filling their bowls, I went to check on the cats in the basement. Chablis didn’t come to the steps to greet me; that’s how dedicated she was to her new family. When I entered the room, several cans of cat food in hand, she was again cleaning Dame Wiggins on that shoulder. She might lick the poor cat raw if she kept this up.

This behavior reminded me that I had to call Shawn right away. Maybe he could scan Dame Wiggins tomorrow.

After I spent time petting everyone, I finally relaxed a little. I went back upstairs and sat at the breakfast bar, ready to phone Shawn. Syrah took up residence on the counter within petting reach. Merlot was on the window seat and gave me a sleepy-eyed glance. But he was apparently too tired to move.

As I was dialing, I heard Kara’s key in the back door, and she came in a second later. I gave her a small wave and a smile. She smiled back and walked past me. I turned and saw her go through the living room and down the hall.

Shawn answered on the third ring, and by his gruff “hello” I feared I’d called at a bad time.

“Hi. It’s Jillian,” I said.

“Oh, glad you called. We’ve got a problem,” he said.

“We do?”

“A stray-cat explosion. Ruth Schultz had six more show up at her house this morning, and I’ve had people bringing me cats all day,” he said.

“Uh-oh. I heard Robin West had two cats appear at her farm, too.” I was stunned by my next thought, but mostly because I hadn’t considered it before. “Could this mean the cats from the professor’s farm were actually let go, not taken away?” I said.

“That’s what I’m thinking, and if there are fifty strays running around, I’ll need all the help I can get,” he said.

“I’ll do whatever I can. I know a few people who can foster cats,” I said.

“Good. Doc Howard’s coming back tomorrow to give more immunizations and do stool and blood tests. Thank goodness Allison is off school this week, or I’d really be going nuts,” he said. “But I’m sure you didn’t call to chat. Is Dame Wiggins okay?”

“She’s fine. Sweet as can be, and her kittens are getting fat. But there is something. Did you or Doc Howard scan her for a chip?”

Silence followed before Shawn finally said, “I was trying to go back over that night in my head, and you know what? I don’t think so. I’ve got to take care of that, and the sooner the better.”

“She could have a home to go to, Shawn.” I told him about the small lump on her shoulder blade.

“Tomorrow morning, okay?” he said.

“Sure,” I said.

We settled on a time, and he hung up. I remembered Patrick Hoffman’s words, how he said something about how the cats should be free. At the time, that seemed to me like a militant. If he really was-though his words had sounded scripted to me-he was the type who thought no cats or dogs should be owned by humans. But maybe he didn’t care about the cats at all.

Candace walked into the kitchen a few minutes later dressed in a pair of my shorts and a T-shirt. “Forgot a few things when we swung by my apartment. Hope you don’t mind I’m wearing your stuff.”

“What’s mine is yours,” I said.

She poured herself a glass of water and pulled out a barstool.

I told her what I’d learned from Shawn, how lots of stray cats were showing up around town.

“Meaning they were let go, not taken?” she asked.

“That’s what we’re thinking,” I said. “And for some reason, I don’t think Patrick Hoffman was an activist with an agenda. I’m thinking he tracked VanKleet to Mercy.”

Candace said, “That could be true and fits with something I realized while I was in the shower. Sarah VanKleet lied when she said she needed directions to get here the night she was notified her ex was dead. But from what Kara told us, she obviously knew the professor was here because she’d taken him to court about that farm. Maybe she told Hoffman where the professor was and didn’t realize she was sealing her ex’s death warrant. But why would Hoffman want to kill the professor?”

“I don’t know, but Hoffman seemed to be reading off a script when he came here. Like someone told him what to say.”

“You’re saying Hoffman wanted it to seem like activists were to blame for the murder?” Candace considered this for a moment. “If that’s true, someone else is behind all this and maybe for more mundane reasons. Like money. I definitely need to talk to Sarah VanKleet. But let’s keep everything on the table, not completely discard this activist theory. Can Shawn help us identify exactly which group Hoffman might belong to if there really is a connection there?”

“I have no idea,” I said.

“That could be a way to find Hoffman. If he’s a domestic terrorist, he has to have friends exactly like him,” she said.

Kara walked up to the breakfast bar on her own little cat feet. “Maybe I should have closed my ears,” she said. “I heard the name Hoffman. Is that your suspect?”

Kara’s dark hair was pulled back, and she had white night cream on her forehead, under her eyes and along the sides of her nose.

“Yes, that’s our suspect,” Candace said. “We all have to be careful because we don’t know his whereabouts. He’s the guy who attacked Jillian, and he got away from me today.” She shook her head. “I was so close to taking him down.”

“Why would he come back here?” Kara said. “He’s busted now. If I were him, I’d run as far away as I could get.”

“She has a point,” I said to Candace.

“I get that,” she said. “He probably murdered two people, he’s on the run and he’s desperate. But if he’s connected to the VanKleet family in any way, he might expect them to help him. And they’re in Mercy.”

“Help him with money, I assume? But they don’t have any,” Kara said.

Candace looked frustrated for a second but then seemed to relax. “Brandt told you that?”

Kara nodded.

“You realize people lie,” Candace said. “What evidence do you have that he told you the truth? I agree, there appear to be money issues, but we haven’t had a chance to find out if there’s money hidden somewhere that we don’t know about.”

Kara seemed to ponder this, and then said, “You didn’t find any money in the farmhouse, right?”

“No, but let’s focus on Patrick Hoffman. Something tells me this guy is coming back. For one thing, he’s had contact with Evan VanKleet on at least two occasions, and I’m willing to bet he’s had contact with the rest of family. After all, Denman is smaller than Mercy, so there are no strangers there. Bottom line, you need to be careful.” Candace went on to describe Hoffman.

“He talks like he’s reading off a bad script, too. And he smells like limes,” I said.

“What?” Candace said.

“Remember? That’s what I told you about him-and those are the good things,” I said.

Candace leaned close and hugged me. “I am so sorry I didn’t nail him today.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I was so amazed how you didn’t hesitate. Just went after him.”

“That’s the job,” Candace said.

Kara held out a small glass jar to Candace. “You look so tired. This stuff is great for those dark circles.”

Candace cocked her head and didn’t speak for several seconds. Then she took the jar and smiled. “Thanks, Kara.”

Shawn arrived at eight the next morning, before Kara and Candace were even awake. The coffee was on, and he smelled it the minute I let him in through the back door.

Merlot and Syrah were at his feet almost immediately, and he knelt down to greet them. They adored Shawn, seemed to love the way his strong hands massaged them. They probably missed John’s masculine touch, and Shawn’s kind of petting seemed to make up for their loss a tiny bit. “Where’s Chablis?” he asked.