The Quilt - Leann Sweeney

Merlot’s “I couldn’t care less” act—and it had been an act—was over with this new development. He leaped from what had to be five feet away. Being the big strong cat he is, and with surprise on his side, he knocked Marian Mae off balance.

This is your only chance .

I was across the room in a second and rammed Marian Mae against the wall. She let go of Chablis, but not the gun.

I gripped her right wrist, and when she tried to twist free, we both ended up on the floor. But I had the advantage. She was on the bottom, and I was able to press my knee into her gut.

“Daphne, call 911,” I shouted.

“Already did,” Daphne said calmly.

Marian Mae released her grip on the gun, but as I shoved it away, I must have let up on her. That allowed her enough freedom to grab my hair. She pulled my head back until I feared my neck might break.

But suddenly Marian Mae was screeching and she released her hold. At first I thought she’d finally lost it because Daphne, thank God, was holding the gun on her. But that wasn’t the entire problem.

Syrah had clamped down on her ankle with his very sharp teeth, and he wasn’t letting go. I could almost hear him whisper, “Revenge is so sweet.”

To add to the confusion, not to mention the noise coming out of this lunatic woman, someone knocked on the door. They must have heard Marian Mae’s continuing wails, because that someone invited themselves to the party by bursting in.

Candace had her gun drawn when she rushed into the living room.

The very agitated Marian Mae was pretty well pinned, but I thought it only right to say to Candace, “A little help from a friend would be appreciated.”

Twenty-eight

The number of people in my living room was making me claustrophobic. But we were waiting for Mike Baca to arrive. Seemed odd he would take his sweet time getting here.

Candace had cuffed Marian Mae, and Morris, who had also responded to the 911 call, was sitting at my dining room table with Marian Mae, trying to get her to explain her behavior.

But she’d clammed up, hadn’t said a word. Billy Cranor and his firemen friends were here, too. I was beginning to accept the fact that everyone showed up everywhere for emergencies in Mercy.

Marian Mae had needed the puncture wounds on her ankle cleaned and bandaged. The paramedics could have left right afterward, but they hung around. Each emergency was a potential story to be passed along at Belle’s Beans.

Convincing Daphne to give up the gun had been interesting. She hadn’t wanted to part with it. Trust issues, I’d decided. I was the one to convince her the gun was evidence and Candace couldn’t make a case against Marian Mae without it.

The wait for Baca was an agonizing thirty minutes. But when he arrived wearing golf spikes and a ridiculous argyle sweater vest, I understood. He took the shoes off at my front door before entering the living room.

When he saw Marian Mae sitting across the room in handcuffs, he said, “What have you done, Mae?”

Seemed she’d been thinking hard during her prolonged silence. “I came here to tell Miss Marple to allow you to do your job and this wacko”—she pointed at Daphne, who was sitting in John’s recliner—“this woman pulled a gun on me. It’s obvious they were in on Mr. Wilkerson’s murder together.”

I think my jaw dropped to my knees, but Daphne responded by jumping up from the chair in an instant. I believe I heard her say, “You lying bitch,” before Candace grabbed her from behind with some kind of fancy police maneuver.

Candace whirled Daphne around so they were nose to nose and said, “Sit down or I’ll have to cuff you, too.”

The two of them stared at each other, with Candace’s grip on Daphne’s upper arms so tight her knuckles were white.

I stepped toward them. “Do what she says. Please?”

Once Daphne reluctantly sat back down and stuck a cigarette in her mouth, the tension in the room lowered a few notches. Not taking any chances, Candace positioned herself between Daphne and Marian Mae, who sat at the dining room table.

Meanwhile, Baca took a seat next to his girlfriend. The three extra police officers and the four firemen edged closer in unison so they could hear the conversation that was about to take place.

Baca may have been blind when it came to Marian Mae, but not to them. “Everyone but Morris, Candace, Ms. Wilkerson and Ms. Hart can wait outside.”

“Does that mean I can leave?” Marian Mae said with the sickest, most smug smile I believe I have ever seen. But Mike’s look kept her in her seat. As people filed out of my house, grumbling all the way, Mike Baca leveled a stare at Marian Mae Temple that was filled with both shock and disgust.

He said to Marian, “You’re saying Ms. Wilkerson pulled a gun on you?”

Marian Mae lifted her chin. “That’s right.”

Baca looked at Candace and said, “Can I see the gun, please?”

Candace being Candace, she’d already bagged the weapon as evidence. She’d put the Ziploc holding the gun inside a large brown paper sack, and now she lifted the gun by the corner of the plastic so Baca could see it.

He rubbed between his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “That’s my service revolver, Mae.”

She said, “That Daphne person must have snuck into your house and stolen it before—”

“Did anyone tell you that you have the right to remain silent?” Baca said.

“Yes, but—”

“Then I’m reminding you again of your rights,” Baca said wearily.

“But I have to tell you what happened,” she said, sounding a tad desperate now. “These women attacked me and that awful cat bit me.” She seemed to be working hard to summon up tears, but it wasn’t happening, so she extended her ankle for some sympathy. “Look at this. I might get rabies. Now take off these silly handcuffs and we can go to the hospital where I can be adequately treated. And get Candy and Morris to take these two violent people to jail.”

He ignored the speech by saying, “You’re waiving your rights?”

Marian Mae stared at her once-future husband for several long seconds. Finally she said, “Should I do that? You’re the policeman; you tell me.”

“That’s not how this works,” Baca said. “It’s your decision. We need to search your house, Mae. Do I need a warrant or do you give me permission?”

“You’ve been in my house, for heaven’s sake. What could you possibly expect to find there that you don’t already know about?”

I pulled the picture of Sophie from my pocket, held it up and said, “A cat that looks like this. This cat may not be proof of murder, but if it proves to be Daphne’s, it will explain why you might have been angry with Flake Wilkerson when he told you he wanted the cat back.”

Those frigid eyes narrowed, a look from Marian Mae I’d seen way more times than I’d wanted to. She said, “You’ll need a warrant, then. And get me that lawyer, Mike.”

Candace and Morris took Marian Mae away on Baca’s orders. Once he’d placed a call to a judge for his warrant, he addressed Daphne and me.

“I’m sorry about all this. Neither of you were injured, I hope?” he said.

I would certainly feel the effects of the scuffle tomorrow, but that didn’t matter. “I’m fine, Chief,” I said.

“She never touched me.” Daphne’s cigarette danced with each word.

“Good. Right now I’m at a loss to understand how a person I thought I knew so well could . . .” His words trailed off. “Anyway, about your cat. If Mae does have—what’s its name again?”

“Sophie,” Daphne said. “You want me to spell it?”

“No. And I apologize again for coming in late on the cat angle. Maybe if I’d been on it sooner, this confrontation today could have been avoided,” he said.