The Cat, The Quilt And The Corpse

Twelve

Since Merlot seemed upset about the Persian invasion, I gave him a plum spot close to me when I went to bed. He was gone when I awoke the next morning—probably busy cornering my little invader and making sure she didn’t get her fair share of food or a chance at the litter box. While I showered, I thought about how Shawn and I had gone on that mission to find my cat just days ago. He’d helped me, and now I felt like I’d betrayed him. We had to talk.

An hour later, I drove to the Sanctuary, but it was Allison, not Shawn, who came outside to greet me. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she gripped a coffee mug with both hands. She looked as tired as I felt.

“Long night?” I asked as we stood in the packed dirt driveway.

“Shawn didn’t sleep and neither did I,” she said. “He’s so upset, Jillian.”

“I had to tell the police what I knew, but that doesn’t mean I believe he had anything to do with that man’s death.”

“He doesn’t quite see it that way,” she said. “He thinks you pointed the finger at him to take the spotlight off yourself.”

“But that’s wrong. Can I talk to him?”

Allison glanced back at the Sanctuary. “He saw you drive up and he doesn’t want to talk to you. Did you know they took his fingerprints? And that the police have been all over the Sanctuary and our house? This whole thing is humiliating to both of us.”

“If it means anything, they searched my house, too.”

“Can’t say that helps. Give him time to get his head straight. As for me, I think you’re a sweet person and maybe one day we can be friends.”

Her words stung. “One day? But not now?”

“I have to support Shawn, and he’s not feeling friendly right now.”

“We’re on the same side, Allison. Please ask him to listen to me for a few minutes. Mr. Wilkerson stole cats and Shawn was certain he broke into your shelter. He could shed light on the thefts as a possible motive. The cat thefts are important, at least to me. I need to understand why Mr. Wilkerson was doing what he was doing.”

She smiled down into her coffee—which had to be as cold as the fall air. “Don’t you think coming up with motives and suspects is the police’s responsibility?” But then she looked past me. “Someone’s coming.”

I turned in time to see a Mercy Police squad car pull in and halt behind my van.

“Great,” Allison said under her breath.

Chief Baca and Morris Ebeling got out of the car.

“Well, if it isn’t the cat lady herself,” Morris said. “Fancy finding you here.”

Wearing a grave expression, Baca said, “Ms. Hart, Ms. Cuddahee.”

Oh, this is not good.

“Your husband here, Ms. Cuddahee?” Morris said.

Shawn emerged from the shelter. “I’m here. You forget something last time you messed up the place?”

Morris looked at Baca and the chief nodded a silent affirmation.

“You’re coming with us for a more formal interview.” Morris walked toward Shawn.

“Is that cop lingo for you’re arresting me?” Shawn’s fair skin reddened.

Baca said,“Not arresting you yet. We had to borrow video equipment from the county to record your statement—and discuss a few other matters.”

“What does all this mean, Mike?” Allison said. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We need his statement again, that’s all,” Baca said.

Morris tried to take Shawn by the elbow, but he pulled away. “I know how to walk without help.” He marched to the squad car with Morris on his heels.

I hoped I was wrong, but this sure looked like an arrest.

Baca turned to Allison. “We’ll get this straightened out and he’ll be home in no time.” He started toward the car, but then stopped and looked at me. “Hope you’re here simply as a friend, Ms. Hart.”

What the heck did that mean? But he was apparently delivering a warning, not looking for an answer, because he walked away.

Allison didn’t take her eyes off the car until it was out of sight. Then, tears in her eyes, she said, “See what you’ve done?” and hurried back toward the Sanctuary.I stared at her as she retreated. Nothing I could have said would have made a difference. Not now.

I wouldn’t find answers to what had just transpired by going home and hiding—which would have been the comfortable and cowardly thing to do. Instead, I drove into town and went straight to Belle’s Beans. One thing I’d learned about Mercy in the last few days was that people spread the word about anything and everything. Someone surely knew why Shawn had been taken in for questioning again, and the only way I could find answers was by planting myself in the center of town and hoping someone would share the latest gossip.

I walked inside, but even the wonderful smells—coffee and butter-rich pastries—couldn’t obliterate the guilt I felt about what had happened at the Sanctuary. How could someone like me, who at one time had every detail of her life carefully planned out, have a year like this? Everything seemed so . . . so out of control.

“You’re lookin’ a might ragged,” the Belle of the Day behind the counter said. Her cornrowed hair sections were tipped with vibrant colored beads that clicked together with every movement.

I ordered the biggest latte they offered, and as I handed over the money she added, “ Course you been through the wringer and back.” This stranger probably knew more than I did about the current events in my life.

“What’s your real name?” I said, managing a smile.

She grinned. “You’ve become a real Mercyite. You know the secret. My name is Shondra. Now let me fix your coffee. We’re usin’ Sumatra beans today. Sumatra is in Africa. Didn’t know until I started working here how good African beans are. These are nice and smoky.”

I waited for my coffee, wishing the original, very talkative Belle was here, but she wasn’t sitting and reading like she had been the other day. Maybe I’d have to head for the tea shop down the street and have chicken salad for lunch, or buy flowers at the little florist place in the other direction. I could maybe strike up a conversation in one of those places.

Shondra handed over my coffee and I thought about chatting her up, but Tom Stewart arrived and boomed, “Hey, Shondra, I thought this was your day off.” Then he spied me. “That is one big coffee. You planning an all-nighter?”

Boy, was I glad to see him. “Maybe. You want to join me?”

I took my drink to a corner table. Tom might know why Shawn had been taken in for another interview. While I waited for him, I checked my home video feed, and what I saw on my cell phone screen made me grin. Little Dove had wormed her way into Merlot’s heart, at least while he thought I wasn’t looking. They were curled up together on the couch. Gosh, she was a sweetheart, and Merlot was such a big softie.

“Everything working okay?” He took the stool across from me.

I closed my phone.

“Yes, the security cameras work great. And I guess the threat to my cats is gone now anyway—though not in a way I would ever have wished for.”

“Wilkerson died a pretty ugly death; that’s for sure. He pissed someone off royal,” Tom said.

I sipped my coffee. Shondra was right. Delicious stuff.

“Back in my law enforcement days—”

“You were a cop?” I said, surprised. But then, it made sense—and actually explained a lot of what I had considered odd behavior before. For instance, how he had reacted to me when he’d discovered me at Wilkerson’s house.

“Police officer. For ten years. And back then I would have honed in on you as a suspect. That cat means the world to you and Flake stole him. The knife holder was right by that apple he’d just cut up and—”

“I never even noticed the knife holder, and you surely know the man was dead when I got there. And the police do, too, right?”

He held up both hands. “I am not privy to their thoughts on you as a suspect. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t suspect you, even though my acting like a jackass yesterday may have left you uncertain about that.”

“You did kind of scare me a bit. But that’s behind us.”

He smiled at me. “I like a forgiving woman. I’m glad you decided to try Belle’s Beans.”

“Why?” I said.

“Because I found you here today. I was thinking last night how rough you’ve had it in the past year and how it’s not getting much better. But you seem to have handled what life’s thrown at you with mettle.”

“You must have me confused with Miss Upstate John Deere or Candace. I am not the least bit brave.”

He laughed. “Winnebago. Miss Upstate Winnebago. She’s something, huh?”

“I kinda like Lydia,” I said.

“Because she let you off the hook yesterday?” he said. “Don’t be fooled by that.”

“She considers me a suspect?”

“Can we not go there? I don’t know much of anything except not to trust Lydia. She’s a nutcase. So let’s talk about something else. I heard you took in one of Wilkerson’s cats.”

“No secrets in Mercy,” I said. “But what’s this about Lydia?”

“You do not want to know. Just let me say she’ll show her true colors soon enough. I also heard Shawn’s got himself in trouble.”

“What exactly have you heard?” I said.

“He’s down the street at the police station this minute trying to dig himself out of a hole.”

“I know that much. I was at the Sanctuary when they took him in.”

“Whoa. Really?”

“You think they’ll arrest him?” I said.

“You’re worried, huh?” he said. “Because you two are friends, I take it?”

“He’s a good guy,” I answered. “Why is he being interrogated again?”

“It’s about his fingerprints, I hear. Fingerprints found in the wrong place.”

“No way,” I said, horrified. “Shawn’s fingerprints were on the knife?”

Tom’s ears reddened. “I didn’t say that. I heard his fingerprints were found somewhere other than the places you’d expect—not just upstairs where the cats had been kept.”

“Then they might not have been in all the wrong places.” A morsel of relief eased the knot in my gut. “That makes me feel better, because I helped get Shawn into this mess.”

“Hey, Jillian, you didn’t make him do anything. You told the police the truth. That’s what you’re supposed to do. And maybe this is news to you, but most people in town know he can get into trouble all by himself.”

“What does that mean?” I said.

“He has strong opinions about his animals,” Tom said. “Mostly the way the county quickly carts off dogs and cats to county or state facilities rather than checking with Shawn to see if he has room to take them at the Sanctuary.”

“That sounds like a passionate man who wants to take care of a problem,” I said. “Gosh, I wish we hadn’t gone to the Pink House the day before.”

“The day before?” His blue eyes were wide with surprise.

I took a hefty swig of much-needed coffee before I explained about the visit Shawn and I made to Wilkerson’s house and that I felt I’d gotten him in trouble by telling the police about it.

“You shouldn’t be too worried about a small disagreement at Wilkerson’s front door. I’m betting that’s not the first time around for Shawn.” Tom removed his cup lid so he could drink the dregs of his coffee.

“Still, it doesn’t look good for him. He and Allison told me they refused to adopt cats out to Wilkerson,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “Shawn mentioned Wilkerson when I installed their security system. He said he suspected him of breaking in. But Shawn had a bad rep with the county. Guess he cussed out more than one person when he complained, and he figured Morris Ebeling didn’t bother to do much investigating after the Sanctuary break-in.”

“But that’s so wrong,” I said. “Animals were taken and—”

“This is small-town America, Jillian. You make friends and they’re yours for life. You make enemies and the same thing is true.”

“That doesn’t make it right for the police to ignore—”

“Wait. I’m not saying they ignored Shawn’s complaint. I don’t have all the details. I was hoping to reassure you that the fact that he had a beef with Wilkerson isn’t fresh news.”

“I still want to help Shawn. He didn’t kill that man.”

“Help him? Then I hope you have information on other possible suspects, because the cats sure didn’t stick a knife in the man. Unless you’re talking about yourself as a suspect—which doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I got the feeling Baca thought I was a suspect yesterday, but Lydia Monk was so nice and seemed to understand I wouldn’t have had time to get to the house, kill the man, change my clothes and—”

“Hold on. Remember what I said about her? Do not trust that woman,” he said.

“But she wants to find the truth, right? That’s her job,” I said.

“This has more to do with her personality than how she does her job. You should know that even though I don’t suspect you, if I were still a cop, I couldn’t rule you out simply by looking at you.”

“She’s trying to be the good cop when she talks to me?” I said.

“That would imply there’s a bad cop. Are you thinking of Chief Baca? I’m sure she wants him to appear that way, believe me,” he said. “In my opinion, this shows the coroner system is flawed. Mike Baca is better equipped to handle this case.”

“I don’t pretend to understand any of it, so I believe you. Now, back to Shawn. Even if he does have a temper, there’s this wonderful compassionate side to him. He seems—”

“Yeah, yeah, so you like the guy. But surely you saw that he’s happily married?”

“It’s not like that.” I was surprised at Tom’s reaction—that I might be interested in Shawn as more than a friend. And though I felt a little guilty because John came immediately to mind, I realized the very good-looking Tom Stewart was acting, well, jealous. And it made me feel something I hadn’t expected to feel again. Attractive.

“Then what is it like between you two?” Tom cocked his head.

I paused after that question. “I met him the other day and was impressed with the Sanctuary. I had already come to think of him as a friend. Like you’ve become. And that means I have to do something to help him. And besides, you see a person dead by such violent means and you . . . you . . . well, that makes it even more important to make sure justice is done. Especially since I’m certain Baca is wrong about Shawn.”

“How can you be so sure about Shawn’s innocence? Are you relying on instinct?” he said.

“Yes—maybe that’s it. Though I do have a partial left brain,” I said with a laugh. “You need a few math skills for making quilts. Angles, numbers, precision—all come into play.”

He laughed. “I know nothing about making quilts. But if you want to teach me, that’s great. Just don’t tell anyone. Especially any guys.”

My turn to smile. “There are plenty of wonderful male quilters. But as for this instinct thing, maybe I should pay attention to what my gut is telling me.”

“Instinct I understand.” He was nodding. “Cops rely on it all the time.”

“You know how to run an investigation, so could you give me some pointers?”

“Huh? Why would you want to learn how to—Uh-oh.” He was staring over my left shoulder and I turned to see why.

Lydia Monk and Candace had come inside the café. I heard Lydia say, “Get us two coffees to go, Candy. Plenty of sugar for me.”

Candace put the order in with Shondra while Lydia walked over to us. She wore a tight denim skirt, a hot pink sweater that plunged nearly to her navel and high black boots with stiletto heels.

“I knew you’d be here, Tom, but Ms. Hart’s presence is a surprise,” Lydia said. “You two look plenty cozy in this corner. Are you talking about the murder? Or something more personal?”

“Everyone’s talking about the murder,” Tom said. He leaned away from Lydia, reminding me of someone dealing with a rattlesnake—paying close attention yet keeping his distance.

She said, “What better person to discuss this hot topic with than Mercy’s newest beauty? You haven’t wasted any time getting close to her, have you?”

“What do you want, Lydia?” Tom said.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Not you and me in private,” he said. “You know how I feel about that.”

“I will talk to you, and we won’t be as cozy as the two of you are right now. We’ll do the interview at the Mercy police station. Meet you there.” She started to walk away, but stopped and said, “Might as well join your new boyfriend, Ms. Hart. I’d like a word with you, too.”

She may have liked me yesterday, but things certainly seemed to have changed. I was beginning to understand Tom’s warning.

The Mercy police station, as well as the jail, was attached to the old city hall and court building in the center of town. We could have walked the two blocks, but both Tom and I took our vehicles. I checked my cat-cam before I started the engine. The clowder was sleeping the day away and I wished I was, too. I’d been on Lydia’s good side prior to her seeing me at Belle’s Beans. What was with her, anyway? I’d glanced Candace’s way when Lydia stomped out, but all she offered was a shrug that said, “You got me.”

Tom was waiting outside on the steps leading up to the old brick building when I pulled into one of the angled parking spots. As we started up the stairs, I said, “Okay, I’ve got to know. What’s the deal with you and Lydia?”

“She seems to think we’re destined to be together,” he said. “How she decided that, I have no idea.”

“She was so nice to me yesterday, I wasn’t prepared for her to be so—so—”

“Venomous? I sure hope you’re prepared now. My suggestion for when you talk to her is to say as little as possible. Thanks to being seen with me, you’ve landed on that woman’s bad side, and it’s not the nicest spot on earth. I live there. I know.”

“I’ve told the police everything. What could she want from me now?” I said.

“She hasn’t questioned me, so my guess is she brings me in, then checks with you to corroborate my story about meeting you at Wilkerson’s place. I’m guessing she’ll want to know why you called me. Again, don’t say much. She’ll think you have a personal interest in me aside from any murder investigation.”

“We’re friends and I asked you for help,” I said. “What could she possibly read into that?”

“Does the word stalker mean anything to you? Some of her questions won’t have anything to do with the case. She has this stupid . . . crazy . . .”

“Obsession with you?” I finished.

We reached the top step and stopped, and he said, “If she’s getting all worked up about what she thinks might be cooking between you and me—which of course is nothing—you might land at the top of the suspect list again.”

“That’s ridiculous. She believed me yesterday, so—”

He shook his head, smiling. “What makes you think she believed you?”

“She seemed so nice and—”

“And she can be,” he said. “No one knows that better than I do. Consider my advice and say as little as possible. We have a constitutional right to say whatever we want, but don’t forget we have a right to keep quiet, too. Now let’s get this over with.”

As we walked, I felt this odd sense of relief that Tom had no interest in Lydia—a woman so opposite from me. And this thought was immediately followed by another dose of guilt. John hadn’t even been gone a year and I was enjoying the company of an attractive man—and wanted to be attractive to him. But I pushed these thoughts aside as we entered the building.

I’d never ventured inside the courthouse complex before and was stunned by the old building’s magnificence. The dark marble floor gleamed, and the curving wall on the opposite side of the lobby showcased a giant painting of a trial that looked to have occurred in the early twentieth century, judging from the clothing worn by the men pictured. All of them white men. But the mural was beautifully painted.

Tom took my elbow and led me to the left. By the time we’d walked a good distance down a drafty hallway, the splendor of the old days had been replaced by the grimy, smelly present. I caught the odor of vomit tinged with stale whiskey, and my stomach rebelled against the strong coffee I’d finished in too much of a hurry.

Molded plastic chairs lined the corridor. A woman was lying asleep across two of them, one tattooed arm slung over her eyes. We passed her and came to a scarred door with an old-fashioned frosted window. MERCY POLICE was stenciled on the window in green paint. Curse words had been carved into the wood in a few places—they looked fresh—and I wondered how many times a week the door had to be sanded.

Tom turned the knob and allowed me to enter first, a gentlemanly gesture I wished he’d forgone this one time. I was nervous. I wanted more than ever to go home and cuddle up with the cats in my secure, sweet-smelling home.

And when I saw Shawn standing in the center of the small reception area nearly eye to eye with Lydia, I wanted to run back out that door. His face was florid with anger, and he was stabbing his finger in Lydia’s direction to emphasize each repetition of “I did not kill that man.” After four times he added, “And Baca’s an ass if he thinks different.”

That was when he turned to leave and saw me. He flashed an angry glance my way as he stormed past Tom and me.

“Ah, police business,” Tom said. “Gives you the warm fuzzies every time.”

“Shut up and get in Baca’s office.” Lydia pointed a bloodred fingernail at me. “You? Sit out here with your girlfriend.”

I hadn’t had a chance to notice the huge oak desk to my left or the fact that Candace was sitting behind it. A computer monitor held her attention until the door identified on a brass plate as the OFFICE OF POLICE CHIEF MICHAEL BACA slammed shut.

“You look a lot more upset than I’ve ever seen you. What’s going on?” I asked her.

“Lydia’s got the hots for Tom Stewart, and when she saw the two of you together she flipped out, started dissing you the minute we walked out of Belle’s Beans. I stuck up for you, and that was apparently a huge mistake. First thing she did when we got here was get the chief to kick me off the case because I’m too friendly with you to be objective.”

“And he agreed? But that’s wrong. You’re such a good officer and—”

She held up her hand. “Don’t say stuff like that right now because I might start crying—and girl cops aren’t supposed to cry. This was my shot at a big case and now—” She took a deep breath. “I’m thinking the chief only agreed to kick me to the curb because he wanted to calm Lydia down.”

“I am so sorry,” I said. “Somehow I feel like this is my fault and—”

“Nope. It’s Lydia and the chief’s fault. What I don’t get is how she can work with the chief after they had a damn affair while I get pushed aside because of a friendship.”

“Good question,” I said. “They’re not together, right? He has some other girlfriend, if I remember right.”

“He’s moved on, true. What he saw in Lydia I’ll never know. Maybe he went nuts after his wife ran off and he turned to Lydia for comfort. But they were the oddest pair. The chief is Mr. Conservative and Lydia’s gussied up most of the time.” Candace took another deep breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be saying any of this—at least not while I’m on the job. The two of them have just made me so darn mad.”

“Okay, let’s change the subject. I see Shawn didn’t end up in jail. That’s good.”

“Not enough evidence to hold him,” Candace said. “But tell me again what dumb notion sent you to the Sanctuary this morning? Because you should keep your distance from him.”

“He didn’t kill anyone, Candace,” I said.

“And I have heard him tell God and everyone that same thing about a hundred times today and yesterday. Police work isn’t about ‘you say it enough times and it’s true.’ ”

“Got it. Now, why am I here?” I said.

“Probably because you were sitting with the love of Lydia’s life and she didn’t like it. I can’t think of any other reason.”

“Did Tom lead her on and then dump her or something?” I said.

“Him? No way. He’s got better taste. Maybe something he said or did convinced Lydia he was interested, though. Something no one knows about.”

The phone rang and she picked up the receiver. “Mercy Police.”

While she took the call, I stood and wandered toward the chief’s office, hoping to catch some of the conversation. The door opened without warning and I started.

It was Chief Baca. “Join us, please, Ms. Hart. Seems you were planning on that anyway, in a fashion.”

I felt like a kid caught stealing a cookie. He held the door open and I sidled past him into the office.

Much nicer digs than the hall or reception area. The chairs were padded, the desk mahogany and the wall color a soothing pale green. But the air was thick with tension between a seemingly angry Lydia and what looked like a less-than-interested Tom.

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Hart.” Baca settled into his leather high-backed swivel chair.

“Anything I can do to help,” I said.

“Tell us about yesterday. Before you arrived at the Wilkerson house. You went there because you saw Mr. Wilkerson on video surveillance inside your home, correct?”

“Yes. I was certain he’d stolen my cat and—”

“This decision to go to his house without contacting the authorities—tell me more.”

“Am I in trouble for that? Because there was that fire and I saw my cat run into the house and Mr. Wilkerson’s door was open and—”

“You are not in trouble,” he said. “This is an informal interview, and I’m not even taking notes. We just want to figure this whole mess out.”

That brought the first sound from Lydia since I’d sat down—a noise reminiscent of Chablis hacking up a hairball. Lydia was apparently disgusted, but with him? With me? I had no idea.

Baca shot her a glance as if to tell her to quit with the attitude. “Go on, Ms. Hart.”

“I don’t need a lawyer or anything?” I said.

“We certainly can delay all this until you find one,” he said. “But I sense you don’t have anything to hide, right?”

I wanted to check Tom’s expression, see if I could read his eyes and if that would tell me what I should do. But I could tell that would certainly not help him, with Lydia fuming close enough to catch his clothes on fire, so I decided I should keep answering the questions—though briefly, as Tom had suggested.

“I’ve been talking with Mr. Stewart, and he tells me you asked for his assistance at the Wilkerson place? Why was that?” Baca asked.

“Yeah, I’d like to know the answer to that one, too, seeing as how Shawn Cuddahee seems to be your go-to guy,” Lydia said.

Baca started to speak but was interrupted by an obviously pissed-off Tom, who said, “Leave her alone, Lydia.”

Chief Baca slammed a fist on his desk and I nearly jumped a foot in the air. His voice, in contrast, was soft and controlled when he said, “Shut up, both of you. Deputy Coroner Monk, I appreciate your assistance and your need for information, but this is exactly why you will not be working this case except in a secondary capacity.”

“What?” She rose halfway off her chair. “That’s not the way this works.”

“I’ve spoken with Coroner Beecham, and he has decided that I will be running this investigation.”

She stood. “Why? Because I dumped you? Or because you can make a name for yourself if you solve this? Maybe run for county office down the road?”

Baca flushed. “Prior relationships have nothing to do with the decision. The coroner believes that the Mercy police have the resources to handle this case. We know the town better, and besides, you have a lot on your plate. You did your part by coming out and coordinating the evidence collection yesterday, and we’re grateful for—”

“Save it, Baca,” she said. Chin high, breasts leading the way, she left the office, and I was thankful for no slamming of doors. I felt rattled enough.

Baca looked at me. “Do I need to repeat the question?”

“Yes, please,” I said.

“Did Mr. Stewart know why you needed his assistance at the Pink House yesterday morning?”

I hesitated, trying to think back to that brief conversation. “I’m sure I told him, but everything happened so fast and—” I glanced at Tom. “Did I tell you?”

He was looking down, shaking his head, his hand to his forehead.

Wrong answer, Jillian. First Shawn, then Candace and now Tom. Who else could I get in trouble?