The Cat, The Professor And The Poison

Twenty-eight

Candace fumed in silence on the drive back to my house, and I was so glad I was driving. The angrier she gets, the faster she drives, so we would have made it home in record time. Or we would have found ourselves wrapped around one of the hickory or pecan trees that line my driveway.

“One of those VanKleets did those murders,” Candace said as we came in through the back door.

“You said yourself that Sarah wasn’t strong enough to kill Rufus.” After I petted our greeters, Syrah and Merlot, I opened the fridge looking for something to eat.

“Yeah, but what about poison?” Candace said. “She could do that. They do say women are usually poisoners, not men.”

“I don’t want to talk about poison when I’m hungry.” I’d skipped breakfast, anticipating a big lunch. Sadly, I was confronted with Red Bull and sushi rolls. The chicken had somehow disappeared, so I took out the container of Greek olives and the tea pitcher. I poured us both a glass. I needed to get to the grocery store soon. Heck, I was even out of bread. Kara’s disdain for carbs was a definite problem. We’d have to work on that.

Candace picked up her tea and gulped down half the glass. “Sarah looked strong enough today to smash anyone’s head in, so maybe I was wrong. She is such a manipulator. Fake tears, fake nice. She thought she could get you over there and sweet-talk you. Then you’d do her bidding and get the crime scene released so she could raid the house for buried treasure.”

I popped an olive and ate it before I answered. “She does seem a little desperate. Maybe her new boyfriend is refusing to come up with the tuition for Evan. Did you notice how she attempted to play on our sympathies there?”

“Oh, I noticed. Little does she know, we’re aware that Brandt doesn’t have to pay a penny for his schooling.” Candace opened the pantry door and stepped in.

Merlot joined her immediately. One door that always stayed closed was the pantry door, and he wasn’t about to miss a chance to explore in there.

Candace emerged with potato chips. “I am starving, and olives aren’t my favorite.” She tore open the bag.

Meanwhile, Syrah had joined Merlot in the pantry, and before I could shoo them out, Syrah emerged carrying a bag of catnip. He took off before I could catch him, Merlot on his tail.

I laughed. “I guess they deserve a treat. It’s been tense around here the last week, and I know they feel it,” I said.

“Can I have some of that catnip, too?” Candace said. “Doesn’t it make cats all happy and playful?”

“Some cats,” I said, grabbing a handful of chips from the bag Candace held. “Some are completely unaffected. Scientists believe it’s genetic whether a cat gets a tiny high off catnip.”

“You had to say the word scientist,” Candace said. “I’ve decided I don’t like experiments or labs or even scientist’s kids.”

“Or their friends or their ex-wives,” I added.

“Them, too,” she said and popped a chip into her mouth.

“Do any of those people have an alibi for the evening of the murder?” I said.

“Brandt refused to answer, saying he didn’t have to-are you surprised?” she answered. “Sarah said she couldn’t remember.”

“How convenient,” I said.

“Lieber said he was at home, but he didn’t supply an alibi for his live-in friend, Sarah,” she said. “He said he thought she was playing bridge.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to get caught in a lie,” I said.

“That’s the feeling I got,” she said. “He may act like he adores Sarah, but if she’s involved in a crime, I’ll bet he runs as fast as he can in the other direction. Anyway, Evan said he was driving around that night. I love the ‘driving around’ alibis. So helpful.”

I was done with the potato-chip-and-olive lunch and grabbed a paper towel for my messy hands. Candace took one, too. Good timing, because my cell phone rang and I wouldn’t have wanted to get oil all over the new phone.

It was Shawn, and he said he and Doc Howard would like to come over if it was convenient. I told him yes, and he said to expect them in about fifteen minutes.

“One mystery will be solved today. The mystery of the enormous microchip,” I said.

“Enormous?” Candace said.

“I’m being silly. This has been a bad week, and if we can find Dame Wiggins’s family through that microchip, that will be a sign things are turning around.”

When Shawn and Doc Howard arrived as expected fifteen minutes later, Candace, Syrah and Merlot came with us down to the basement.

Doc Howard brought his medical kit as well as his scanner. After he made friends with Syrah and Merlot, who continued to stay behind the imaginary line in the sand drawn by Chablis, we all went in the bedroom.

Chablis was not happy about so many invaders at once and arched her back and hissed. I went over and picked her up, holding her close to settle her. A few seconds later she was purring as Doc Howard talked to her.

“Gorgeous cat,” he said before he focused on Dame Wiggins and her litter. “Those kittens are twice as big as the last time I saw them. But that will be her last litter if I have anything to say about it.”

After he gently made friends with Wiggins-not hard to do-he located the spot on her shoulder and separated her fur.

I saw his brow furrow, and he bent to get a closer look. “Hmm. I brought a four-protocol scanner.”

“Is that what you have?” I asked Shawn.

“Yeah,” Shawn said. “There are four common types of animal microchips, and I never know who will have which kind when I do a rescue-that is, if I find one at all. But maybe my scanner was not reading whatever type Dame Wiggins has implanted.”

Doc Howard raised his scanner over the cat’s shoulder and pressed the button, just as Shawn had done earlier. He looked at the results on the readout screen and said, “This is not a pet chip. It is some kind of integrated circuit, though, because data is being transmitted. But not an ID number.”

“Why would she have this thing in her, then?” Candace asked.

“I don’t know, but whatever it’s for, it may not be encased in the biocompatible material that’s used for pet chips.” He set the scanner aside and separated Dame Wiggins’s fur even more. “Look here. She’s getting irritation around the microchip.”

“Chablis has been licking that shoulder like crazy,” I said. “Could she have caused that?”

Doc Howard shook his head. “No. See this red delineation around the chip? If Dame Wiggins will cooperate, I think I’ll take this object out. She’s reacting to it.”

“How will you do that?” I said. And will Chablis allow this? I thought.

“A little local anesthetic, a tiny cut, maybe one stitch,” he said. “The skin in this area is not all that sensitive. Since she’s nursing, I can’t take her to my mobile clinic and put her under. Anesthesia in Dame Wiggins’s system might harm the kittens through her milk.”

“This won’t hurt her?” I said, feeling as if I needed to ask for myself and for Chablis.

Shawn said, “He’s the best. This will take five minutes max, right, Doc?”

“That’s right,” he answered. “But I prefer it if just Shawn stays in here to help. Chablis seems very nervous about me even touching her friend, so take her and wait upstairs, okay?”

Candace and I left for the kitchen, and sure enough, five minutes later Shawn and Doc Howard came back upstairs. Doc went to the sink and used a damp paper towel to wipe off what he held so carefully between his gloved thumb and index finger.

He then offered it to me. It looked like a tiny glass capsule. “This is a microchip, but not like anything I’ve seen used in animals.”

“Then what the heck is it?” I said.

Doc Howard smiled. “I only know about radio frequency identification technology as it pertains to animals. I will leave this little thing for you to figure out.”

Shawn shrugged as if to say he had no clue, either.

“And,” the doc said, “I didn’t have to use a stitch. I used some surgical glue to close the skin. But I’d keep Chablis away from Dame Wiggins for a day so the area can heal.”

And then they left.

I placed the chip in a small jar and screwed a lid on, saying, “Get ready to be kept awake all night by one very nervous Chablis. She’ll probably howl and screech when she finds out she can’t get back to her adopted family.”

“What about this chip?” Candace said. “Maybe forensic tech services will have a look, since the cat was found at a crime scene.”

“How long will that take?” I said.

“Could be years,” she said. “Okay, I’m exaggerating, but months, maybe.”

“Then I’ll call my own tech expert,” I said with a smile.