The Quilt - Leann Sweeney

“Sign ordinance. They’re probably all snatched up already. I’m surprised the cops didn’t tell you. Who came out to take your report? Morris?”

I nodded. “Morris and Candace.”

“Morris needs to retire—and that’s me being nice. Candace is a whole other story. She was probably too busy looking for cigarette butts or picking up pebbles to tell you about the sign thing. But you’re saying no jewelry or computers or electronics were taken?”

“Taken from where?” The door that I assumed led to the shelter area had opened, and a tall redheaded man who looked to be in his early thirties joined us with this question. He put a freckled hand on the back of Allison’s neck and rubbed gently.

“Jillian, this is my husband, Shawn. He does the heavy lifting around here.” She smiled up at him. “Someone broke into Jillian’s house, and one of her cats is gone.”

Shawn focused his hazel eyes on me. “I heard about a break-in. Lake house on Cove Lane?”

Seemed the network was alive and pumping out information. “That’s the one.”

“And nothing was taken except your cat?” he said.

“I didn’t say he was taken,” I said.

“But that’s what you think, right?” Shawn said.

“I guess I do,” I said. “Candace found a clump of his hair out by the road and tire tracks nearby. Am I stupid for thinking someone would steal my cat?”

“Course you’re not. Don’t go beating yourself up, girl,” Allison said. “I can tell you’ve had enough stress in the last twenty-four hours.”

I smiled. “That’s for sure.”

“Maybe we can help get your cat back,” Shawn said. “What’s he look like?”

“He’s a sorrel Abyssinian. But why would someone steal a cat?” I said.

Shawn nodded toward the parrot. “I asked myself the same question after we had a break-in here. Lost two cats and a dog. Snug told us all about it. But think about it. Pretty cat sitting in your window? Person decides they want him? Wouldn’t put it past some jerk.”

That was when I noticed the camera in the ceiling corner facing the entrance. “You have security cameras?” I said.

“Yup,” Shawn answered. “That’s why you’re sitting in a folding chair. You skimp in some areas so you can have the best equipment in others. Listen, you need security, so call up—”

“Tom Stewart?” I said.

Shawn smiled for the first time. “Tom does fine work. We haven’t had any trouble since he did his thing here. Ask Snug. He’ll tell you. No trouble, huh, Snug?”

The parrot walked back and forth on his dowel, bobbing his head. “No trouble. No trouble, Snug.”

I shook my head and smiled. He sounded so human. Then I looked at Allison. “I have my two other cats in the van. I’m not leaving them home alone until I see Mr. Stewart about a plan to protect my house.”

Allison said, “Two more? Why didn’t you say so? Let’s bring them in. Then maybe you’d like to see some of our clan. They need good homes. You could become a part of our very important network and help find them places to live.”

I stood. “I’d be happy to do that. All three of my cats were rescues.”

Shawn helped me bring in Chablis and Merlot and after a good fifteen minutes of visiting—with Merlot far more interested in Snug than any of the people—the Cuddahees were ready to show me the shelter.

As we started for the door that led to the rest of the building, I said, “If I can’t put up flyers, what can I do?”

“You came here. That’s what will help the most,” Shawn said.

“Come visit our friends. It’s good for the spirit,” Allison added.

They led me to the lost or abused animals that had found sanctuary with these kind people. I counted ten cats and the four dogs I’d seen earlier. Every cage was clean, every dish full of food and every water bowl brimming. The dogs—two Labs and two mixed breeds—seemed happy. But I did notice that the cats had clean but tattered blankets to curl up on. I needed to fix that. Each cat should have a quilt of its own. I had some in my van and would give them to Allison before I left.

I cuddled with a few kitties, their soft fur soothing beneath my touch. When one after the other closed its eyes and purred, I wanted to take all of them home. But that wouldn’t work. I couldn’t seem to hang on to the three I had. After I petted the four exuberant dogs, we started back to the office.

I said, “When was your break-in?”

“Last spring,” Shawn said.

“Do you think they were stolen because someone thought they could make a buck?” I asked.

“Snug would have been the one to take, then. He’s worth a lot of money. I have to say that the missing dog was a handful of trouble. Pretty yellow Lab, but way too full of herself.”

As we reentered the office single file, I still had those kittens on my mind. “What’s your adoption fee?”

“The cost of altering,” Allison said.

“That’s all? Then how do you keep this place running?” I asked.

“The kindness of strangers,” Allison said. “Plus Shawn makes furniture. We have a Web site business and word of mouth has drawn customers from plenty of places.” She smiled at her husband. “He is an extraordinary craftsman.”

Shawn’s ears reddened and he focused on the floor, obviously embarrassed by her praise.

“But where do you build?” I said. “I don’t see—”

“A shop at the house. No room here,” Shawn said.

“Duh. I should have figured you had another place,” I said. “But back to your break-in. You ever get any clues as to who the culprit was?”

“I had my suspicions, but old Morris didn’t much care to follow up. I’m guessing you got the same treatment.”

I nodded my agreement.

Allison said, “We think Flake Wilkerson took the cats. See, only the two purebreds were gone. He was always coming around here looking for purebreds. Since the break-in, we don’t let him near our place.”

“ Flake? Is he a local?” I asked.

“Local hermit,” Shawn said with disgust. “Who knows how many poor cats he’s got holed up in that big house of his. You think I could get anyone to check him out? No, ma’am. Know why? He pays a lot more taxes than we do.”

“He’s wealthy?” I said.

Shawn’s jaw tightened. “He—”

Allison rested a hand on her husband’s arm. “Calm down, baby. We don’t know anything about Mr. Wilkerson except that he eyed the purebreds with . . . well, lust . Gave me the creeps. We pay close attention to prospective owners, and no matter how many times he came here, we never let him adopt.”

“Pissed him off royal, too,” Shawn said with a smile.

“You’re saying he could have seen Syrah sitting in my window and broke in?”

“Maybe,” Shawn said. “Don’t know if he trolls neighborhoods looking for cats, but I wouldn’t put it past him. He doesn’t have a job in town that I know about. I figured he was living on his pension.”

“Where does this man live?” I asked.

Allison’s sweet face grew tight with concern. “Wait a minute, Jillian. We shouldn’t have said anything. He’s a weird guy, and you shouldn’t go knocking on his door. Besides, we don’t know for sure if he took our cats.”

“This is the only lead I have. I want my cat back. I’ll go anywhere, do anything—”

“Okay, then, I’ll take you there.” Shawn picked up my cat carriers. “Come on.”

“Baby, do you think that’s a good idea?” Allison said.

“Wouldn’t be going if I didn’t.” By the steely look in his eyes, it seemed as if Shawn was on more of a mission than I was.

I handed Allison the half dozen quilts I had in the van and she fingered them lovingly and thanked me several times. After we hugged good-bye, I followed Shawn’s beat-up Ford 150 as we took off toward Wilkerson’s house. If not for a traffic delay on the one-lane bridge that ran over a stream feeding into the lake, we would have made the trip in five minutes.