The Cat, The Quilt And The Corpse

Twenty-Two

I drove straight to the Mercy city hall, convinced I now had proof that cats plus money were behind Wilkerson’s murder. I had pictures of two very similar cats and a story to tell Baca. He’d better pay attention for once.

But the first person I saw when I walked into the police office was Candace. Her surprise was evident.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, glancing back toward the hall that led to the chief’s office.

“I’ve made a small breakthrough. Remember those newspapers Daphne gave me?”

She nodded, but before I could tell her what I’d learned, Baca walked out of his office. He was concentrating on putting on his jacket, but when he looked up and saw us, he quit halfway through the process. “What are you two cooking up now?”

I lifted my chin. “Nothing. You said to tell you if I learned anything interesting connected to the case, so here I am.”

“Is this about cats again?” He seemed ready to leave and looked at Candace, not me. “Is it?”

“I have no idea, sir,” she said.

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” He leveled a hard stare my way. “What’s this about?”

“It will take me a minute to explain. Can we go into your office?” I didn’t add, “And can Candace come, too?” though I wanted to.

“I have dinner plans,” he said, starting past us. “But if it’s that important, come along.”

I hadn’t expected this response. I was hoping we could talk here, but instead I ended up following him out.

Candace grabbed my arm and whispered, “Get with me later.”

I mouthed, “I will,” and hurried to catch up with Baca.

He said he was headed to the Finest Catch, a restaurant less than a block away. We walked there, and I practically had to run to keep up with him.

He asked for a table for three. Once we were seated near a window that looked out on a garden between this building and the next, he said, “Mae is always late. So, tell me this important piece of information.”

I explained about the newspapers and the circled ads, my visit to Mr. Green and how the man he’d dealt with sounded very much like Flake Wilkerson. But it was the price Mr. Green was willing to pay for a cat that finally hit home with Baca.

“I had no idea cats could cost that much,” he said.

“I’ve been to hundreds of cat shows.” I sipped the white wine I’d ordered. “A champion sire cat can bring plenty. But as you see, even when a cat doesn’t have pedigree papers, people might have other reasons to be willing to pay a lot.”

“But what you’re talking about is an old man replacing a dead pet.” He’d ordered a calamari appetizer, and now he picked up a deep-fried ring with his fork.

“It’s called desperation. What if Wilkerson double-crossed someone he’d promised a cat to? Took their down payment and never came through? They might be mad enough to find him. Maybe he and some angry person who’d been conned had a fight and Wilkerson ended up dead.”

He chewed for a second, looking thoughtful. “I suppose that’s possible. Cat fanatics like you and Shawn certainly have taught me about how obsessed cat people can be, if nothing else. I’ll consider what you’ve told me. Maybe this motive bears more investigative work.”

“Did you call me obsessed?” I said.

His ears reddened. “That came out the wrong way. Passionate, maybe? Is that a better word?”

“Who’s getting passionate with whom?” Marian Mae said. She’d arrived at the table as quietly as one of my cats.

Baca rose and smiled. “Hey there, Mae. Hope you don’t mind, but I asked Jillian to join us.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not staying.” I gulped down the remaining inch of wine. “Have a fabulous dinner.”

With a cup of cocoa and a glass of wine the only things in my stomach, I would need to make a sincere effort not to stumble my way out of the restaurant. But once again, before I’d gone five feet, I heard Marian Mae speak.

“What is going on between you two?” she said.

Why did she care? Or was every woman in Mercy as jealous as Lydia? I started down the sidewalk, walking carefully. I wasn’t drunk, just a little light-headed, but I am clumsy enough that I could do a face plant on the uneven sidewalk even without an overload of sugar and alcohol. I was concentrating so hard on watching out for high spots that I might trip over, I nearly shot three feet in the air when Candace jumped out from between two buildings.

“You have to tell me what this is about. Right now,” she said.

“Did you follow me?” I said.

“You’re damn straight. Now tell me why you came in so hot to see the chief,” she said.

“Hot is not the word I’d choose. And I need food before I can talk about anything,” I said. “That restaurant smelled like heaven.”

“We’ll pick up something. I’ll drive.” She took my arm and yanked, but I didn’t budge.

“No way am I riding with you. Pick up chicken and meet me at my house.” I pulled a twenty from my bag and gave it to her. That was when I noticed the two pictures of the very similar Abyssinians. What an idiot. Those pictures were the reason I’d wanted to talk to Baca. If I’d remembered, maybe he would have been a little more excited about what I’d learned today.

Candace headed off to pick up the food, perhaps realizing that discussing this on the street, mere steps from where her boss was having dinner with his girlfriend, might not be such a great idea.I’d had a chance to offer affection as well as food to my three kids by the time Candace arrived with boxed fried chicken dinners, though the offerings at the Finest Catch would have been far more enjoyable.

Once we were sitting at the counter in my kitchen and I was practically inhaling the greasy yet wonderful chicken, Candace was ready for the explanation.

After I was done telling her about Mr. Green’s quest to replace his Abyssinian and my conversation with Baca, she said, “That’s excellent information. But I happen to know the chief’s already been persuaded by the financial evidence he’s discovered that the cats might be more important than he ever wanted to believe.”

“No wonder he sounded so nonchalant when I told him what I’d learned. What about this financial evidence?” I said.

“I wouldn’t have known if I didn’t have a partner who loves to run his mouth—especially after he’s decided the boss might have this case all wrong. Morris told me some stuff that’s pretty interesting,” she said.

“So share.” I took another bite of a chicken leg.

“Get this. Flake Wilkerson had an account with a flight shipping company. He was sending cats everywhere. It costs a lot to ship an animal across the country in this age of unstable fuel prices. Guess that’s one reason he was charging an old man on a fixed income twenty-five hundred dollars for a cat. Maybe that’s what he charged all his customers, and selling to locals like Mr. Green helped him make an even bigger profit.”

“That’s how he made his money? Stealing cats and selling them?” I said.

“After what you’ve learned, it makes sense,” she said. “Another thing I overheard directly about Wilkerson is that he didn’t have a landline. So how was he doing business?”

“Good point,” I said.

“I was hoping Chief Baca’s realizations would make him pay attention not only to the lack of a phone—not even a cell phone was found in the house—but I’ve collected cat hair samples I know could be useful. And if he would have listened to me from the beginning—”

“But he didn’t. You’re right about the phone, though. Mr. Wilkerson would need one, right?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Or else he did everything over the Internet.”

I wiped my hands on the paper towels I’d brought to the counter, and Candace did the same. “Maybe like the computer, the killer knew the cell phone could be incriminating. We should ask Ed about any new additions to his mobile phone collection—because I’m sure he has one.”

Candace smiled. “Since Ed is the one who found the computer, my guess is the chief already asked about phones. He may be difficult, but he’s not stupid.”

“We didn’t ask Ed. Does that make us dumb?” I said.

Candace’s face fell. “Darn. Guess it does.”

Leaving her to recover from the shattering realization that we’d missed an opportunity, I put the empty chicken boxes in the garbage can outside so the cats wouldn’t be tempted to raid the kitchen trash. I heard thunder rumble in the distance. Another weather change was on the way.

Candace had settled on the sofa with a big glass of water, her police utility belt lying on my coffee table. She wore her gun in a shoulder holster and had removed that, too.

“I am stuffed and feeling like an idiot,” she said.

I didn’t like looking at a gun in my living room, so I averted my eyes from her weapon. Weapons like hers were meant to take people down. I appreciated the fact that we had folks like Candace to protect us, but that gun was plain scary.

Candace stretched out and crossed her legs at the ankles. “Know what else Morris told me?”

“Seems you have a whole lot more to tell me than I had to tell you,” I said.

Her eyes glittered with excitement.

“Get this. Apparently that county computer expert Baca was counting on to help with the damaged hard drive is not available and won’t be for at least a month. That’s where the secrets are—in that computer—and Baca’s gonna need serious, expert help.”

“Does that mean he’ll have to wait until the computer person can work on it?” I asked.

“Maybe not. Remember what Karen said about Tom’s abilities with computers? Well, I planted that seed with Morris. If I know my partner, he’ll be in Baca’s office tomorrow ready to persuade him to hire a consultant—Tom Stewart.”

“Morris would do that?” I said.

“Any way he can play the hero is fine by him,” she said.

“But won’t Morris mention that you were the one who told him about Tom?” I said.

“Are you kidding? Morris isn’t about to give credit to anyone but Morris.” Candace intertwined her hands behind her neck. “Nope. I believe I have this all set up. Then you can grill Tom for information about that hard drive.”

I’d been leaning back on the sofa myself, but that remark sat me straight up. “Grill him? What does that mean?”

“He likes you. That’s as plain as day,” she said. “I saw the way he looked at you when he found your cat. He was proud as punch and happy he could help you.”

“Oh. So I should use him?” I was not liking this idea.

“I used Morris. Now it’s your turn,” she said.

“But Tom won’t be permitted to talk about anything he gets off that hard drive, will he?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” she said. “That’s not how things work in Mercy.”

“But I don’t know Tom well enough to—”

“You could get to know him better,” she said with a smile. “He treats me like I’m his little sister, but you? You could get plenty out of him.”

“I wouldn’t feel right about that, Candace.”

“But if Tom helps the department with the computer, then Baca might be able to solve the case. And won’t you be curious to find out what Tom might learn?”

“Yes, but—”

“This reluctance is coming from the woman who went to Taylorville today to question a man about a cat? Can you forget about everything you’ve done trying to solve this thing just because you feel uncomfortable?” She shook her head. “Nope. You’re too much like me. You can’t leave this alone for a minute.”

Of course she was right.

Candace left about an hour later, and I closed myself in the sewing room with the bags of shredded paper. I didn’t want to think about being sneaky with Tom, and what better distraction than a paper quilt? It might be a dead end, but I was intrigued.

Playing with paper, however, would be way too much fun for my cats. Any shreds I moved would become an instant toy, and soon the three of them would destroy any hope I had of piecing together even one flyer or poster. They had to stay outside the room for now—and they didn’t like it one bit. Paws appeared underneath the door the minute I shut the cats out, and then Merlot started meowing loud enough for the people across the lake to hear.

Trying to ignore them, I focused on the felt design wall that I used to arrange blocks or quilt pieces. Fabric will stick to the felt all by itself, but paper would have to be pinned. Embroidery pins would do the job.

First, though, I had to find strips of paper that went together. As a longtime quilter, I have an eye for what goes with what. I sat on the floor, a pile of shreds in front of me, and something interesting popped out immediately. The rich blacks and whites of what was obviously a flyer. A flyer I’d seen with my own eyes on Chase Cook’s computer.

I started searching for all the matching pieces I could find, my hands shaking with excitement. I didn’t find more than a third of the picture, but this was Roscoe, all right. My first discovery was that I could recognize some of these shreds as bills and some as computer-generated flyers like my own. I decided to lay one of my own lost Syrah flyers next to me as a guide. If I did put one of those back together, it would confirm that Wilkerson had gotten his hands on one or more and didn’t want any Good Samaritan interfering with the plans he had for Syrah, that being to deliver him to poor, unsuspecting Mr. Green.

After this find, I started placing other strips that seemed to go together in separate piles, a project that proved time-consuming but not all that difficult. There were plenty of colorful shreds and I actually enjoyed myself. Even though it was getting very late, I was determined to put at least one piece of paper back together.

Four hours later, fatigue finally got the better of me. But I had re-created parts of two different cats by pinning pieces on the design wall. I had half a face of one long-haired gray cat with aqua eyes as well as a chest and legs that surely belonged to a Siamese. I knew immediately that this was not the Siamese found at the Pink House and currently in Candace’s care, though. The markings and colors were wrong.

Why couldn’t I have been lucky enough to find the piece of either of these flyers that had a name or phone number on it? Someone could have gone to Wilkerson’s house last Sunday morning hoping to pick up a cat they’d paid for. One of these two cats, perhaps. Maybe the price was too steep, they’d argued and Wilkerson died. And then the killer left with one of these two cats. It seemed possible. I needed a name and phone number, but that would have to wait until I wasn’t cross-eyed from exhaustion.

I dragged myself to bed, making sure the sewing room door remained closed to keep my work safe from prying paws. The shredded paper had to yield something. Maybe then I could provide Baca with more evidence and I wouldn’t have to pump Tom Stewart for information.