The Cat, The Quilt And The Corpse

Nine

If I’d thought I would be home in five minutes, I was way off in my timing. Candace took a battery-powered handheld vacuum from her squad car, put in a new filter, then took my van apart so she could suck up every lost M&M, toothpick and cat hair. She emptied this collection of junk into what I assumed was an evidence bag.

I stood beside Tom on the road, holding fast to Syrah and watching this meticulous deconstruction of what I’d thought was a fairly clean vehicle. Menacing clouds had assembled to the west, and I sure hoped we wouldn’t get wet while we waited.

Tom had come outside with us and had been silently watching Candace work beside me. Finally he said, “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re angry at me for yelling at you in there. I’m sorry, but that was not a good situation.”

I glanced over at him, touched that he wanted to apologize. “We were both stressed, and all I could think about was the cats. Easier to focus on the living rather than the dead, I guess.”

“I never thought about that, but it does help me understand you better. You love cats. I’m saying you really love cats. I get that now. Anyway, if it’s all right, I’d like to go back to your house and finish that phone connection.”

“It’s more than fine with me, but Candace might not agree,” I said. “She’ll be conducting her search, after all. And then there’s the dreaded formal statement to contend with.”

“Just tell her exactly what you and I told Baca earlier. The truth.”

“Seems like people on TV always get in trouble for telling the truth,” I said, thinking about Shawn. The truth might get him in big-time trouble. “Oh, by the way, Wilkerson took a mallet to the security system control panel.”

“He what?”

By the bulging veins in his neck, I’d say I learned a little more about Tom at that moment. He loved his control panels. Really loved them. I’m sure that was what upset him, not the idea that it was my control panel that had been attacked. But I had to smile to myself.

He ran a hand through his dark hair and said, “I’ll have to pick up new equipment. Meet you at your house.” His van was parked near the ditch and he took off in that direction.

I watched him leave, grateful for his help and glad I’d be seeing him again so soon. The wind picked up, swirling fallen leaves around my feet and making Syrah dig his claws into my arm. I sure wished Candace would hurry up. It was getting colder out here by the minute. Then the sound of an approaching vehicle caught my attention. I looked down the road and saw Shawn’s pickup rumbling toward us.

He pulled into the driveway behind one of the squad cars. After taking several pet carriers from the truck bed, he waved my way, offered a grim smile and proceeded to the house.

Good. They must have called him to take the cats. For a second I felt immense relief, but then I recalled Shawn’s anger with Flake Wilkerson yesterday and how he’d snatched that escaped tuxedo from the side of the road. I had to tell Candace he was with me yesterday—as soon as I got the chance. And, God, I didn’t want to.

Finally, after what seemed like a year since I’d departed on my mission to confront the man who’d stolen my cat, Candace and I left. We soon pulled into my driveway, with her in the passenger seat holding Syrah. She told me Chief Baca would arrange for someone to pick her up in an hour or two. Tom Stewart arrived seconds after we did. As he gathered his tools, we went inside.

Syrah immediately leaped from Candace’s arms. He looked up at her, arched his back and hissed, then ran from the kitchen.

“Don’t take it personally,” I said to the befuddled-looking Candace. “I’ve pissed him off myself by putting him through the torture of a car trip. And he’s been through much more than that in the last few days. He’ll get over it.”

She smiled. “Then there’s hope he and I can still be friends. And now—I’ve never searched a place without a partner, so I’m gonna ask you to stay with me. I don’t think the chief would like it much if I left you alone in one room while I searched another.”

“Because I might hide those bloody clothes I don’t have?” This was all so ridiculous that I felt like laughing. But I didn’t think Candace would appreciate it. I knew she was only doing her job.

She squinted at me. “Know something? You’re not looking so hot. Bet you haven’t had so much as a drink of water since those sips the paramedics gave you after you fainted.” She patted my arm. “Come on. Let’s get you something to bring the color back to your cheeks.”

I nodded in agreement. “Tea. I need tea.”

While Candace was opening the refrigerator, a three-cat speed race with Syrah leading the way nearly knocked me over. Chablis and Merlot hadn’t been this happy in two days. Candace handed me a glass of tea. “Are your cats always this crazy?”

“Yup. That’s my clowder for you,” I said.

“Clowder?” she said, pulling her eyebrows together.

“That’s what you call a group of adult cats. On the other hand, a group of kittens is called a kindle.”

“Learn something every day. So, I think I’ll start in the basement with the washing machine. As I said, I have to keep you near so that nothing gets moved or—”

I held up a stop-sign hand and smiled. “I completely understand.”

“Let’s get busy, then.” Candace started for the basement, but Chablis came back into the kitchen before we’d taken two steps and sat at my feet. She looked up and sneezed, a reminder that I had neglected my duties as her mom.

“Darn. I was so frantic about that man invading my house again, I forgot he must have left behind more dandruff. She needs Benadryl. You may not want to put this in any formal statement, but Chablis can testify that Flake Wilkerson didn’t get his nickname because he was goofy. He had a serious dandruff issue.”

Candace sighed and then smiled. “By the way, I did my research and discovered you can collect human DNA from dandruff.”

“Really?” I said.

“You’re not the only one who likes to gather information. I’ll wait while you give her some medicine. I feel bad for poor Chablis.”

I did this as quickly as I could, considering how much Chablis loved to take medicine, but Tom interrupted us the minute I was done wiping up the floor where she’d coughed out several drops of bright pink liquid. He needed access to the control panel and the phone. Candace told him she wasn’t willing to leave him unsupervised in the kitchen.

“You have got to be kidding,” he said.

“Can’t fool around when it comes to procedure, Tom. But I do have the flexibility to compromise. I’ll search the kitchen first while you work.”

And so she rummaged through every cupboard and drawer—all the while casting anxious glances at me as I teased the cats with a feather or at Tom fiddling with the wiring. Once he was done and promised me I would be hooked up to the police after one last adjustment outside, I thanked him for his patience and for helping me get through this tough day. Then he left. And this time I didn’t know when I’d see him again. Surprisingly, that bothered me.

The basement search came next, followed by the rest of the house. When Candace was done peeking in every corner and opening every drawer to look for those infamous bloody clothes, another hour had passed. Then we sat in the living room and she took my formal statement.

After I’d told her every detail again, aside from Shawn’s helping me, she said, “I’m glad you didn’t bump into the murderer when you went up those stairs or you might be gone now, too.” I saw her swallow hard. “That would have saddened me to no end.”

“Guess I wasn’t thinking straight.” But the truth was, I probably wouldn’t have done anything any differently. I could never ignore the cries of a helpless animal.

Candace placed her hands on the clipboarded statement and stared up at the high ceiling.

“I don’t have a secret hiding place up there,” I said.

“Oh, I wasn’t even thinking about that. I was wondering who coulda done that to Mr. Wilkerson. He may have been a mean son of a gun, but a knife in the gut isn’t exactly the best solution to a problem.”

Though I didn’t want to involve Shawn, I had to tell the whole truth. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then said, “I have something to tell you, Candace. It could mean nothing, but you—and I mean you as a policewoman—should know.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

But before I could say another word, all three cats joined us. I said, “They’ve been so busy playing, they’ve missed out on our conversation. Merlot especially likes human talk. And I have to admit I speak to the three of them all the time.”

Candace said, “Then tell your friend Chablis to be careful.”

The Benadryl was finally doing its job—she had a slight problem putting one paw in front of the other. She kept running into sofas and ottomans.

I swooped her up before she hurt herself, and she was happy to curl up in my lap.

Candace said, “Okay. What else do you need to tell me?”

“Shawn went with me yesterday—to see Mr. Wilkerson,” I said.

“Jeez. Why didn’t you say so before?”

“I didn’t want to get him in trouble. He seems like a great guy, and he cares so much about his rescues,” I said.

Candace leaned back against the sofa, looking depressed. “This is bad. Real bad. Shawn is the nicest guy you’d want to meet, but he has had his share of problems when it comes to his furry friends.”

“What do you mean?”

“For one thing, we got this county dogcatcher who comes around once a week or so. Shawn gets a little, well, passionate about what he considers mistreatment of the animals at the hands of the dogcatcher. But some of those loose dogs are nasty. And the feral cats? I wouldn’t want to meet one of them in a dark alley.”

“Passionate how?” I said.

“Let’s just say the guy’s got a restraining order against Shawn.”

“I had no idea. Any other, um, issues?” I was beginning to wonder if our visit to Flake Wilkerson had been the last straw, the one that could have led Shawn to kill the man.Candace said, “I shouldn’t be talking about any of this. It’s police business and I have to tell the chief right away. But before I leave, let’s take a look at this video you have of Wilkerson inside your house.”

“You don’t really need that for establishing a timeline.” I reminded her that I’d looked at the video on my phone in the coffee shop and checked again when I got to the quilt store. That was a pretty tight window—no more than ten minutes—and Martha at the Cotton Company could verify the time I left the store.

But of course Candace wanted to see the video anyway, and so I took her to the office and she burned a DVD of Wilkerson chasing my cats.

When she stood up from my computer desk, disk in hand, she said, “Perfect. Time-stamped and everything.”

How’d she do that? I certainly needed to start figuring out all my computer’s features now that I had this video security system.

“Guess I’m done here,” Candace said. “I’ll phone the chief and find out when I can hitch a ride back to my car.”

“I’d be glad to take you anywhere you need to go,” I said.

“Nah. You look like you could use a day at one of them spas to relax. Someone will come and get me.”

“You’re looking pretty frazzled yourself.” I tucked a wayward strand of blond hair behind her ear. We had become friends, and I now felt guilty for my self-absorption. She was stressed out, too. “Thanks for being so patient with me. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier about Shawn. I wanted him to get those cats out of that place, and the chief might have stopped that process to question him.”

She smiled. “Darn right he would have. I’ll help the chief understand your reasoning—which he won’t consider reasonable, by the way.” She took out her phone and called Baca. Turned out he was already on his way to pick her up.

After she hung up, she said, “I know Baca upset you today. But he’s a nice guy. He just needs to loosen up. Always so uptight. Even more so since he’s been seeing that divorced woman from the rich side of town. My guess is she has him on a short leash.”

“I wouldn’t think a police officer, especially the chief police officer in town, would like to be on any leash, short or long.”

Candace pointed at me. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

We walked into the foyer to wait, and Syrah decided to say good-bye by rubbing against Candace’s calves and leaving plenty of his own brand of evidence on her green uniform trousers.

“I told you he’d forgive and forget,” I said. “If he could talk, he’d be saying thank you right now.”

I heard approaching footsteps on the walkway and opened the door before Chief Baca could knock.

But it wasn’t Baca.

Shawn stood there with two cat carriers, and neither was empty. One held the Persian and the other the noisy Siamese.

“Um, Jillian, I hate to surprise you like this, but we’re at capacity at the Sanctuary. These two have been bathed and vaccinated, so could you—”

“Tell me something, Shawn,” Candace said. She sounded calm, but her tone was cold. “When you were over there at Wilkerson’s with all those fine officers present, did you happen to mention your relationship to the vic?”

“The vic? Did I just walk in on a filming of CSI: Mercy?” Shawn grinned.

During the ensuing silence, the foyer seemed to grow as frigid as a winter night.

Shawn’s smile faded, and his expression went from smart-ass silly to stunned. Then he turned a harsh stare my way. “Just what have you been saying about me, Jillian Hart?”