The Quilt - Leann Sweeney

“But that doesn’t answer why you seem so sure now that he took your cat,” Candace said.

“I’ve explained all this to the police, and it doesn’t really matter now that he’s dead, does it?” she said. “Sophie’s been gone more than a year. I’ll never see her again.”

“The police?” I said. “They asked about your cat?”

“No, they didn’t. I mentioned it to Chief Baca after he said my father had a bunch of cats here. He didn’t seem to care.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Candace said under her breath.

“You’re awfully interested in this,” she said, her scorn morphing to skepticism.

“Partly because of Shawn, the guy who owns that shelter,” I said quickly.

“I heard my father complain about him more than once,” Daphne said.

“He’s a friend of ours,” I said, “and apparently the main suspect. But we’re sure he couldn’t have killed your father, and we wish the police chief would listen to us. We believe the cats had something to do with your father’s murder.”

“We? Us? What are you, conjoined twins or something?” A new cigarette came out of the case and she put it between her lips.

“No,” Candace and I said in unison.

Daphne actually smiled for the first time. “Better check your hips for scars.”

“We’re curious types—maybe that’s why we relate to cats so well,” I said. “I’ve had a round or two with Chief Baca. I hope your experience was better than mine.”

“Does he suspect you, too?” she said.

“At first he did, mostly because I ... well, I found . . . your father.” I couldn’t help glancing toward the dining room.

Daphne tossed her head in the direction of my stare. “That’s where he was, huh?”

I nodded, knowing that the image of him lying there would never leave me. I could picture the whole scene so clearly, as if it had just happened.

“Thanks to me, looks like they don’t suspect you or Shawn as much as they do me,” Daphne said.

“The chief told you that you were a suspect?” I said.

“No, but I’m not stupid. I picked up on his suspicions,” she said.

“Did you come into town and go straight to the police station or did you stop by here first?” Candace asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Daphne spoke so quickly she lost the cigarette, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Candace flushed. “I was wondering if you went to the station first and they took your clothing while you were there.”

“Took my clothes?” Her eyebrows were raised and she looked completely confused. But then she got it, because she said, “You think that if I killed my father I’d be stupid enough to wear bloody clothes I wore days ago to an interview with the police?”

“No, no, no,” Candace said, shaking her head. “It’s about trace evidence transfer. If you didn’t come here to the Pink House before you talked to them, there’d be no cat hair on your clothing and—”

“Trace evidence? You’re a cop,” Daphne said. “You’re a damn cop. And you think I killed him.” She rose and pointed toward the foyer. “Get out of here.”

I stood, palms held out in a “wait a minute” gesture. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand. You came here while I’m sorting through years of memories that he took from our old house, pictures and letters that only bring me pain, and you pretend like you want to help me. That’s as cold as his heart.”

Candace’s head was down. Obviously she knew she’d screwed up big-time. “It’s not like that,” I said, my tone more forceful than I intended.

“Really? How is it, then?” Daphne said.

“True, Candace is a cop,” I said, “but since she’s friendly with me she’s not officially investigating the murder. Remember, I was a suspect, too, and maybe I still am.”

“You two buddies came here to find a new suspect. So she is investigating .” Daphne stared down at Candace.

“We did not come here for that,” I said emphatically. “I promise you. I’m here because of the cats. What I’ve learned today is that you were victimized by your father like so many others. And I want to help you.”

“What about her? What’s her plan, since we’re getting all mushy and honest and heartfelt?” Daphne folded her arms across her chest, her lips tight with anger.

Candace’s head jerked up. “I’m as pissed off as you are; that’s why I’m here. At first someone had me yanked off this case for no good reason. And now I can’t convince the chief your father’s death might have been about more than money. That’s why you’re his current target. Word is, you’ll inherit a pretty penny.”

Daphne took a moment to think this through. Then she inhaled deeply and released the breath with her eyes closed. At last she said, “And you’re saying you don’t think I killed my father for his money?”

“I sure don’t,” I said.

Candace looked from me to Daphne and back to me and said, “I’m with her.”

“You two swear you didn’t come here because that cop sent you to see if my story’s changed since I talked to them?” Daphne said.

“He doesn’t know we’re here,” Candace said. “And if he finds out, I’m toast. I’ll be answering phones again.”

She stared at Candace for a long time, then me, before saying, “I may be the biggest idiot on the planet, but because of my own poor cat, and because I know plenty of cats passed through my father’s lying, thieving hands, I believe you.” She sat down again.

Relieved, I followed suit. For the first time I noticed how dark those circles under her eyes were, how her shoulders sagged. Now that honesty had robbed her of anger and cynicism, she looked defeated and exhausted.

“We want to find your father’s killer,” I said.

“I still don’t get why you care,” she said.

“I need to know why he was stealing cats. Added to that, I walked in here and found a dead man. And you know what? Chief Baca has no clue that a person who’s had a pet stolen can become desperate and unreasonable, and maybe capable of murder.”

“Then Chief Baca is plain dense, because you’re right,” Daphne said. “I saw firsthand how fixated the big bad policeman is on the money motive. He kept asking me if I knew how rich I was about to become. Well, guess what? I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“What else did you two discuss?” Candace asked.

“I found out they dug up records of all the calls my father made to me. The chief asked me about those and was especially interested in the ones that started about a month ago. I told him that was how things always went. My father came into my life, usually when he needed something. Then he’d leave. This last month? It was all a bunch of new lies.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“He said he was dying, for one thing. For sympathy, of course. One time he told me he was having open heart surgery just to get me here. You know what he wanted? My mother’s engagement ring. The one I used to wear all the time. Said he had a use for it and that it was his property.”

“Did you give it to him?” I asked.

“Yes. He did buy it originally, after all—and that made it tainted. Him reminding me of that? Well, he knew how I’d react and that I’d give him the ring. Besides, I was done arguing about every little thing. I have good memories of my mom, and that’s all that counts.”

“There was no heart surgery?” I asked.

“No way,” she said in a scoffing tone. “He was healthier than me. I swear if someone hadn’t stabbed him, he would have outlived everyone in this room.”

“Back to these recent phone calls,” Candace said. “What do you think his motives were this time?”