The Cat, The Professor And The Poison

Six

Iran to Candace and knelt beside her. “What’s wrong? Are there… d-dead cats?” I rubbed circles on her back, noting that sweat now dampened her brown and green uniform shirt.

She took a deep breath. “No. A dead professor. I’ve called for backup.”

My hand covered my mouth in shock, and I mumbled, “Oh no. Is it awful?”

“Yup. Pretty darn awful. But that’s not what made me sick. It’s all the raw meat. Looked like a hind quarter of beef on the counter.”

“Deep breath,” I said. “You’re hyperventilating.”

She closed her eyes and took in a huge breath, let it out slowly. “This is so stupid. But when I was a kid, my daddy used to make me lend a hand dressing the deer he shot. The last time he forced me into helping, I threw up on his shoes. That was the end of that.”

“I have some Pepto chewables in my purse,” I said.

She swiped at her mouth. “Nope. I’m fine. Got to get myself together before all the boys show up. Don’t want to hear them say I’m acting like a little girl.”

“Are you sure the professor’s dead?” I said.

“Oh yeah. He was all twisted up, and his eyes were bugging out. I couldn’t find a pulse.” She took another deep breath before she stood.

I stood as well. “He was alive a little more than an hour ago,” I said. “You think he had a seizure or something?”

“Maybe, but that was one hell of a seizure, if you ask me.” She stared down at the pool of coffee she’d vomited up. “Damn, I wish I hadn’t done that.”

“You’re human,” I said.

She started walking away from the house, her eyes trained on the ground. “If a crime’s been committed, we have to preserve any evidence we can, so we’ll walk back to my patrol car exactly the way we came and wait for backup.”

Follow exactly the way we came? Seemed impossible, considering I had no idea where I’d walked, but Candace needed the comfort of trying to preserve evidence, so I kept my mouth shut.

Unfortunately, the backup came in the form of one Morris Ebeling, who arrived in his own SUV wearing street clothes-cargo-style khaki shorts and an orange Hooters T-shirt stretched over his generous paunch.

“What’s going on, Candy? You’re as white as my new Reeboks,” he said.

“What are you doing here, Morris? You’re off duty,” Candace said.

She had to be rattled, because she didn’t bother to correct him when he called her “Candy.”

“Who’s the acting chief?” he said.

“You are,” she mumbled.

“Then you got your answer. We got a suspicious death here? Or natural causes?” He started to walk past Candace, and she grabbed his arm.

“I’m not sure, so wait until I get my evidence kit and some crime-scene tape before you go traipsing down to the house. Is anyone else responding?” Her color was returning, thanks to Morris. He usually did bother the heck out of Candace.

“Fire truck and paramedics should be here any minute.” Morris turned to me. “Why are you here, Citizen Hart? Another ride-along?”

He sounded so sarcastic, I nearly bit my tongue holding back some sarcasm of my own. He wouldn’t get to me. Not today. “There’s a situation here concerning the possible neglect of cats. We came because I brought this to Candace’s attention. She agreed to check it out, and I… well… I had to show her where the cats were.”

“Really? She couldn’t find her way over here alone?” he said.

“You know me. Couldn’t get that map thingie on the computer to work,” Candace said quickly. “But Jillian had a good idea where the house was.”

“And then Candy happens to find another dead person right after you’ve been here?” He shook his head. “This is sounding way too familiar. After all, you are the one who discovered the last dead body we had here last year.”

“She never went inside the house today, Morris,” Candace said. “And you know she didn’t kill anyone last year.”

“All I can say is that some folks in Mercy might be wishing you’d take yourself back to Houston once they hear about this, Ms. Hart.”

“And you’d be one of them?” I couldn’t stop myself this time.

His face relaxed. “Actually, no. Much as an old coot like me hates to admit it, I like you. But I’d sure be happier if you’d quit seeing dead people.”

“I haven’t seen any dead people today,” I said.

“My mistake. Just more cats you have to help. I’m slow, but I’m beginning to understand.”

The wail of a siren drew our attention. The bright red fire truck was speeding toward us so fast, I almost ducked for cover behind the patrol car.

Billy Cranor, a muscled hunk Candace had a crush on, was the first to jump off the truck after it halted behind Morris’s Ford Explorer.

Billy said, “Paramedics are right behind. But we all know CPR, so if you need me-”

“CPR won’t do any good here,” Candace said. “But you can help me string crime-scene tape.”

“Did you hear me say we need crime-scene tape, Candy?” Morris’s short-lived patience had expired.

“Sorry, sir. Seems to make sense we treat a suspicious death with the utmost care.” Candace’s tone was calm, but I could tell by the way her blue eyes had darkened that she was seething.

“And we will. Billy, you and the boys string tape across this driveway so no idiots drive right up to the house. Plenty of trees on either side to attach it to.”

The “boys” were four other volunteer firemen who had gathered around us, their eyes alive with curiosity. Anything out of the ordinary grabs people’s interest in Mercy-something I’d learned firsthand.

“Heard on the scanner there’s a dead guy, Candy,” one of them said.

“It’s Candace,” she said through gritted teeth.

The knot in my stomach relaxed a tad. She was back to her old self.

Another patrol car and the paramedics arrived as the firemen were stretching the tape. Candace instructed me to stay in her cruiser yet again, as she, Morris and two uniformed police officers started up the driveway toward the house.

In my heart I understood a sudden death was important, but my thoughts returned to the cats. Were they okay? And exactly where was Chester? I sure as heck didn’t know how to get in touch with him. Since I hadn’t been instructed to keep my mouth shut, I took my phone from my pocket and called Shawn-a better option than Chester any day.

When he answered, I said, “The professor is dead. Right now, I don’t know about the cats, but do you have volunteers yet? And crates? You’ll need plenty of crates.”

“What happened?” he said.

“I don’t know. They won’t let me near the house, and Chester hasn’t shown his face.”

“Surprise, surprise. Allison is on her way to man the fort here, and then I’ll come. But where exactly are you?”

I remembered a few road names and the turns we’d made getting here. When I offered these to Shawn, he said, “The old Taylor place? Didn’t know anyone moved in. Hang on, Jillian. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Afternoon had given way to dusk and brought cooler air. I waited for what seemed like hours, though when I checked the time on my cell phone, only about forty minutes had passed. It was now eight p.m. and totally dark, on this, one of the longest days of my life.

I saw headlights in Candace’s passenger-side mirror. Thank goodness Shawn was finally here. Or maybe it was Chester, whom I’d never met and didn’t exactly want to meet. I was already stressed to the max. I opened the door and got out.

But it wasn’t Shawn or even the dog catcher.

“What in the holy hell are you doing here, you little man-eater?” Deputy Coroner Lydia Monk said when she spotted me.

Oh brother. Here we go. “Waiting,” I said. Keep it simple, Jillian. Best not to get her any more riled than she already is at the mere sight of you.

“For Tom Stewart? What’s he doing here?” She was looking me up and down, her disdain obvious.

“He’s not here,” I said.

“Guess I’ll find out how big a liar you are once I get inside. But as a reminder, you know he belongs to me, Miss Prissy. I’ve told you more than once to keep your distance from him.”

This woman, with her teased blond hair, 38D implants and low-cut spangled T-shirt, was delusional when it came to my friend Tom Stewart. Who was just a friend and not my lover as she kept insisting.

“As I said, Tom’s not here, Lydia. But the dead man I believe you came to see is,” I said.

We both turned in the direction of the driveway when Candace called, “ Lydia? Is that you?”

“Yeah,” Lydia said. “Just assessing the scene out here.”

“Hurry and come see this. The body is changing. Something’s happening,” Candace said. “And, Jillian, there are sick cats in the house. Can you come, too?”

I ran in the direction of Candace’s voice, but since Lydia wore her usual spike heels, she was forced to take her time. I didn’t want to be within three feet of her anyway, so this worked out for the best.

Once I reached Candace, who was waiting about halfway up the drive, she took my elbow and led me to the front door.

When we stepped across the threshold, Candace said, “Try not to look. It’s ugly.”

I wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the body or to the raw meat-which I could smell now. Not the freshest meat from the market, if I were to guess.

Problem is, if someone tells you not to look, of course you have to. And I did as she guided me through a shabby living area toward a hall to my right. The professor’s body lay in the entrance to the kitchen on the left. He was so contorted, he reminded me of a bow ready to release an arrow. His back was arched so badly that the crown of his head and his twisted legs touched the floor, but not his spine.

What would do that to a person?

I paused, transfixed, and touched trembling fingers to my lips. “Oh my God. You can’t call that a natural death, can you?”

“Shh, we’ll talk later,” Candace whispered.

The hall was well lit, unlike the living room, and just as we entered a bathroom, I heard Lydia say, “I never thought I’d see the day. Look at that man, would you? And all you macho police people never thought to put on a mask?”

Panic gripped me. “Mask? We need masks?”

“I’d be dead by now if we did,” Candace said. “That’s Lydia being Lydia. We need to worry about these two critters.” She pointed at the bathtub.

A skinny long-haired orange cat and a small brown and gray tabby lay curled together at one end of the chipped and filthy bathtub. A disposable litter box sat at the other end of the tub. It must have been brand-new, because neither cat seemed to have used it. These two looked to be in a condition similar to that of the gray cat I’d found earlier.

I knelt and put my hand out so the cats could sniff me. Their rheumy, sad eyes stared up, and the tabby squeaked out a meow. I rested fingers against its face, and he or she rubbed against them. Then I did the same with the orange tiger. Neither made any effort to move. What had that professor done to these poor animals? I bit my lip, fought back tears.

“I called Shawn,” I said, my voice shaky. “Told him to bring crates. But we’ll need a vet for these two. Unless the animal control guy takes them. And where in heck is this Chester person?”

“His wife called me. She said he tried to impound a dog before he came here, and the owner took a shotgun to the dog-catcher wagon’s tires. Chester is being treated for shock at some emergency clinic.”

“Oh. Not a good day in Mercy for anyone,” I said.

“You got that right. Back to these cats. They need the vet, but they didn’t get all stiffened up and die like the professor. So what’s wrong with them?”

I said, “The one I found earlier was dehydrated, but look how skinny the bigger one is. Maybe malnutrition, too?”

Candace stayed in the bathroom entry. “I don’t see any cat food dishes, so maybe you’re right.”

“The meat you talked about could be spoiled or-”

“Do not even mention meat. Can you watch them until Shawn gets here? They don’t look all that mobile, but they could mess up evidence if they decide to get out of the tub,” Candace said.

“You didn’t want to close the door and leave them alone, did you?” I said.

She smiled sadly. “You know me too well. That’s why I brought you inside. See, one of them-don’t know which-was meowing something pitiful. But you’ve fixed that. They feel safer already.”

She left to do her job, and I sat cross- legged on the grimy vinyl floor next to the tub. My fear, the nerves and the panic all gave way to rage. When an animal is mistreated, that speaks to the dark side of human nature. And these two cats-not to mention the fifty or so outside-confirmed what I’d felt about the professor from the minute we’d met. Not a good man. Not good at all.

I took several deep breaths, working hard to quell the anger. Transferring my negative emotions to these helpless cats wouldn’t help them. They needed loving care right now. I leaned over the edge of the tub and stroked the tabby and then the orange guy-probably a male, since most orange cats are boys. He was big enough to be a Maine coon like my Merlot but so thin I couldn’t tell. Maine coons usually weigh in at about twenty pounds, but this one was nowhere near that heavy. I alternated the petting, and soon they were both purring.

Meanwhile, I kept hearing snatches of what Lydia was saying. She does tend to yell. She was saying something about coroner school and a textbook death. But the words that came next made my own spine straighten, made me recall the dead rodents I’d nearly walked on in the field when I was returning to Ruth Schultz’s farm earlier in the day. Her words?

Rat poison.