Leann Sweeney - The Cat, The Professor and the Poison

Unlike Candace, Kara was dressed in cropped pants and a peasant shirt. Made her look younger than twenty-nine.

“Shawn thinks the chip’s the problem, not the scanner.” I went on to explain about the chip being too large. “But his visit was valuable in other ways.”

“Can we sit and talk?” Candace said. “Chasing that stupid coward yesterday has taken a toll on my thighs. I haven’t been on my treadmill since this case started. And that’s not good for a cop who’s supposed to be in shape.”

We went into the living room and sat down, Kara in the chair that had become her favorite spot. “I am allowed to listen, right?” she said.

“Certainly. And I’m hoping you can help me understand something,” I said. “But first, we forgot about one piece of evidence-not that there haven’t been distractions. Remember the meat?”

“We’re gonna talk about that meat before breakfast?” Candace said. “I’ll try not to puke on your fine wood floors, Jillian.”

“Shawn understood why that meat was there, but he probably assumed we knew, too. At least he assumed I did. But I didn’t put two and two together until I talked to him today. I think the professor was experimenting with a raw-food diet for those cats.”

“That makes sense,” Candace said. “There was blenderized meat in those jars; that’s for sure. But we’ve learned the professor was two slices of bread short of a sandwich, right? That diet he was creating could have been completely bogus.”

“Maybe not. He was a pretty respected scientist, despite his mental health problems. And raw-food diets have gotten lots of attention and are now commercially available. Expensive, but available,” I said.

“They are?” Candace said. “In cans, like what you feed your cats?”

“No,” I said. “Grocery stores are putting in refrigerators just for raw pet food.”

“No way,” Candace said.

I nodded. “Yup. So maybe VanKleet’s missing notebook contains valuable information. He may have had issues, but President Johnson called him a genius. He could have been developing something innovative concerning the raw- food diet.”

“He did tell Evan he was about to win the lottery,” Candace said.

“This is about a formula for pet food? That’s the motive?” Kara said.

“Not very glamorous, huh?” Candace said. “But what if this formula or whatever he’d cooked up-or maybe didn’t cook up is what I should say. Anyway, what if this was all in his head?”

“Then why did someone take that notebook?” I said. “I saw it, and an hour later it was gone.”

Candace said, “Good point. We should be looking at people who knew about this experiment and believed the professor could make millions.”

“Who knew?” Kara said.

“Lots of possibilities. Evan, for one,” Candace said. “Or anyone else in the family. Maybe even the guy who fired him. And let’s not forget Hoffman. Maybe he and the professor were in cahoots.” Candace stood. “I need to get on the phone with the chief about this. Thanks, Jillian.”

“You should thank Shawn for reminding me what we all saw that night,” I said.

Candace left the room, and Kara looked at me. “You said there was something I could contribute.”

I explained what Shawn had mentioned about activists communicating on the Internet.

“He’s right. I don’t know about animal rights people, but remember the election rebellion in Iran? Twitter was invaluable at getting the word out of the country about the protests and the resulting brutality.”

“Lots of people use this way to communicate?” I said.

“Millions. It’s mostly innocent stuff, but I can see how a terrorist might use this form of social networking to talk to other terrorists. How can anyone possibly follow all the hundred-and-forty-character messages going out every second of every day?”

“One hundred forty characters, not words?” I said.

“Right. Tweeting is a new language full of abbreviations. It takes some studying to get the hang of it,” she said.

“Shawn said there are other sites like Twitter. What do you know about those?” I said.

“There are. Twitter is big business and wouldn’t want their network used for anything even bordering on illegal,” she said. “They suspend suspicious accounts all the time. But some of the clones probably aren’t as careful.”

“Can you show me on my computer how this works?” I said.

“I can show you on your new phone,” she said.

A few minutes later, Candace joined us as I learned how to join the Twitter world. She learned a few things, too, though she already did have a Twitter account herself. But the bad news was, Kara doubted we could ever backtrack to identify anyone who was sending messages this way. Social networking was her thing, and she said the technology wasn’t there yet. How could anyone track the millions of messages going out every second?

But at least I felt more up on this now. And then while I was closing down the application, my phone rang.

I nearly dropped the thing. “Is Twitter calling?” I said before I pressed the TALK button.

Not Twitter-not even close. The female voice said, “This is Sarah VanKleet. I’d like to talk to you, if you have time.”

“We’re talking,” I said.

“Not over the phone. Can you come here? To the bed-and-breakfast where we’re staying? It’s called the Pink House.”

I kept myself from admitting I knew. “What’s this about?”

“My sons. Please? Can you humor me?” she said.

“Sure. When?” I said, wondering why she was calling me instead of Chief Baca or Candace.

“They do a very nice lunch here. Say, eleven thirty?” she said.

“I’ll be there,” I replied.

After I disconnected, I told Candace we had a lunch date.

The Pink House is an old Victorian, one of the first houses built in Mercy. I knew the place well because it had also been the scene of the murder last fall. I had stayed away from the place since then, so I was amazed by what I saw today. Less than a year ago, the house had been about to fall down. Now it had a fresh coat of salmon pink paint, and all the gingerbread trim was once again white. Flowers and manicured shrubs lined the walkway up to the front stoop.

“This is amazing,” I said to Candace as we reached the front door. “I never thought I’d come back here, but I’m glad I did.”

Kara had promised she wouldn’t wait alone at my house while we were gone and would instead take her computer to Belle’s Beans, the place she called the “hotbed of Mercy gossip.” I knew she was right about that, and I realized I actually looked forward to what she might learn while she was there. I had to admit, I’d come to admire how intelligent Kara was. And she’d loved her dad, loved cats, and maybe one day she’d care for me, too. I wanted her in my life. She was my family.

I rapped on the door using the gleaming brass knocker-definitely a new addition-and a petite woman with short brown hair answered. She seemed about my age but probably had plenty of those little jars of face cream like the one Kara offered Candace last night, because her skin was creamy and smooth.

“Anita Stone,” she said, glancing back and forth between Candace and me. “Can I help you?”

“Jillian Hart. I’m having lunch with Mrs. VanKleet.”

Anita Stone smiled. “Ah yes, but we only expected one guest.”

I thumbed at Candace. “She goes where I go.”

Candace held out her hand. “Deputy Candace Carson, Mercy PD.”

I didn’t think Anita Stone’s skin could have gotten any paler, but she did lose color. She finally took Candace’s hand in greeting and said, “Please come in. I’ll tell Phillip we’ll have one more for lunch. He’s my husband and does all the meals.”