The Quilt - Leann Sweeney

“When I buy fabric, I tend to use it in several quilts until all the yardage is gone. And I also choose a certain pattern—say a rail fence or an Irish chain—for a batch of cat quilts. I recognized the quilts I saw at the house as some that I made maybe seven or eight months ago.”

“You didn’t decide to go to the Pink House because you remembered selling those quilts to Mr. Wilkerson and for some reason wanted them back?”

“Of course not. I didn’t even know he had them until the day of the murder—when I went upstairs and saw them. I went there the morning of the murder to get Syrah, not to recover quilts I didn’t know Mr. Wilkerson had.”

“Had to ask,” he said. “Moving on, your coming here and your working with Candy on that list tells me this investigation has grabbed your interest. It would grab mine, too, if I walked into a house—even if uninvited—and found a corpse.”

“I’m interested solely because of the cats. There has to be a connection to them and Mr. Wilkerson’s death, right?”

“Only if his activities concerning the animals angered Shawn Cuddahee enough to make him murder the man.”

“Shawn wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. It must have been someone else,” I said. “Maybe someone whose cat Mr. Wilkerson took.”

“Big maybe. Doesn’t feel right to me—killing someone over a cat. I’m considering other motives,” he said. “And now I’m hoping you’ve thought about the danger you put yourself in as much as you’ve thought about the rest of this case.”

“Wait a minute. You don’t believe the cats had anything to do with the murder?”

“There could be a connection, but it’s not exactly a motive I’d put at the top of my list,” he said.

“Aren’t you even going to question the person who owns the tuxedo cat, just to see how angry he was that Flake took his baby? And what about the business card idea and the list of people who put up flyers about lost cats? Why not ask them if they used the same vet? That veterinary hospital might be where Flake went to hunt for his prey.”

“Prey?” he said.

“Cats to steal. The man was a mean cat thief.” I felt warmth on my cheeks. Now I’d spoken ill of the dead. I hadn’t meant to do that.

“Okay, I’ll give you this much. If cat theft was the motive, we’ll find out. But right now, it seems far-fetched. I’m not inclined to believe someone stuck a knife in Mr. Wilkerson’s abdomen because he nabbed a pet. I’m not ruling it out, but I believe there’s more to it than that. I’m betting on the money.”

“The money ? I get it,” I said, excited now. “Mr. Wilkerson was selling those cats, wasn’t he? I knew it.”

“Not what I was thinking,” he said quickly. He seemed flustered by letting this money angle slip. I kinda liked him better flustered, rather than all uptight and oh-so-professional.

Baca pulled a sheet of paper toward him. “Let me confirm a few things.”

“But I’ve given a statement and—”

“This isn’t about the other day.” He glanced down at the paper. “According to what I’ve learned, you and your husband moved here less than a year ago, he died unexpectedly—a retired financial adviser, I see—and you started up this cat quilt business.”

“You’ve got that wrong,” I said. Why did he have to bring up John? He had nothing to do with this.

“What have I got wrong?” Baca said.

“I started the business before John’s death. We both loved cats, and since I’d been quilting for years and was stuck in a boring job, John encouraged me to combine the two. And I’m so glad I did.”

“I got the sequence of events incorrect. Sorry.”

“But what does my husband or our past have to do with anything?” I said.

“You’re new in town, so I had to do a background check. You’ve got no secrets that I could find. And I would think that the community is glad someone like you—who seems to be a kind and caring person, by the way—chose to move here.”

Maybe he did like me, but having the police nose around in my business was unsettling, to say the least. That was what I got for walking into a house uninvited and finding a dead man. But still, I felt even more heat on my cheeks. It was like someone had broken into my house all over again—this time my metaphorical house.

“I can tell you’re upset,” he said. “Please understand I’m only doing the police work the citizens of Mercy pay me to do.”

“I know. It’s just not much fun to be, well, investigated .”

“There’s more, but it’s good news again. I found no evidence on your cell phone bill that you spoke with Mr. Wilkerson at any time. Plus, no money seemed to have changed hands between the two of you—aside from him buying those quilts, of course. And we don’t have any evidence of that. My guess is he stole them when he stole your cat and you just don’t remember you had them lying around.”

“That’s not something I would forget, Chief. He got them some other way.”

“If you remember who you sold the quilts to, let me know.” He sounded like he was done with me.

“I promise you’ll be the first to know if I recover from my Alzheimer’s anytime soon,” I said.

He smiled at my lame joke. “Don’t believe I’m dismissing them. It’s just that those quilts could be one mystery we never solve, and it’s probably not important, just an odd connection between you and Mr. Wilkerson. You’ll be relieved to know we do not consider you a suspect in this murder.” He stood. “Thanks for coming in, Ms.—sorry—Jillian.”

I rose and took the flyer from my pocket, the one of the Tonkinese. “This is one of the cats Shawn has. You may want to call the owner so he can get his cat back. He’s someone who might have been angry with Mr. Wilkerson.”

He glanced at the paper. “Is this one of the people you were so anxious to have me call? As soon as the story broke, this man called us. Seems his cat had just disappeared and he wondered if it was in the Pink House. He’s already picked up his cat from the Sanctuary. And before you ask, this man has a solid alibi.”

“Another reason to believe this isn’t about the cats?” I said.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll try to be clear: I’m not crossing stolen cats off the list of possible motives. There could be very angry owners out there, but right now we have what, the five cats found in the house? I know you have more names from the flyers you went through, but we don’t have any connection between all those cats and the victim. If more evidence accumulates, I’ll—”

“I get it,” I said. “But perhaps this is about a cat not found in the house—maybe it’s about one that was there and was taken away when the killer left.”

Baca squinted at me, considering this. “I’ll keep that idea in mind.”

“You think that’s implausible, I know, but if that’s the case, you won’t mind if I try to reunite a few owners with the pets that Wilkerson might have stolen. After all, I have the same list of possibilities that Candace gave you this morning.”

His eyes darkened. Made him look all brooding in a Gothic novel sort of way. “Please don’t get in my way. A brutal crime was committed, Jillian. That should scare you. I know it scares me.”

“After what I’ve been through this past year, I’m done being scared about what life throws at me. I’ll try hard not to get in your way, but I won’t be sitting around, either. Cat people may have lost their friends because of this man.”

He sighed. “I can’t stop you—unless you interfere in my investigation. Then we call it obstruction of justice.”

“I call it finding justice—for those cats and their owners. They were victims, too.” And , I thought, if I follow the cats while you’re following the money, one of us might find a killer.