The Cat, the Mill and the Murder: A Cats in Trouble Mystery Page 3

  Dustin said, “From what little I’ve seen and heard, the South sure is different from New York, where I grew up. But I’ve been with the company such a short time, I don’t even have an apartment in Greenville yet. That’s why I’m staying in town for this job.”

  “You’re just out of school?” I said as we climbed the deck stairs.

  “I graduated in December,” he answered. “If your town council wanted a more experienced engineer, my bosses would have charged twice my hourly rate. That doesn’t mean I can’t do the job, though. I’m excited to get started.”

  “From what I’ve seen so far, you’ll do just fine.” I disarmed the security system and we entered the mudroom. I gestured at my three cats in waiting. “There’s my family. Merlot, Syrah and Chablis.”

  They sat in a row, ready to greet us—the red Maine Coon, Merlot; the amber Abyssinian, Syrah; and Chablis, the seal point Himalayan. I felt a calm settle over me when I saw their precious, curious faces. All Hurricane Katrina rescues, these three cats meant the world to me.

  Dustin knelt and extended a hand. “They’re not afraid of strangers?”

  Syrah answered by starting toward Dustin, but all of a sudden he stopped, arched his back and hissed. Strange thing was, he didn’t seem to be hissing at Dustin. The cat was focused on something behind me and I wondered if a bug or a little lizard had come in the door behind us. I turned and looked at the floor. Nothing.

  The little green chameleons so prevalent in the summer usually hid under stones in the winter. But maybe one of them had come inside. They move so fast, I could have missed one sneaking in the door. No matter what, any bug or other creature coming in here chose the wrong place. My cats could be relentless in their pursuit of small intruders.

  Chablis, meanwhile, about-faced and hurried into the kitchen, ready for a treat—her usual routine when I came home. Merlot continued to sit and stare in the direction of my right calf. What was wrong with my boy cats? They were usually so friendly when I brought a new person into their home.

  “I apologize for their rude behavior,” I said to Dustin. “Maybe they’re hearing something we can’t.”

  Dustin still had his hand outstretched in Merlot’s direction. “What’s this big one’s name again?”

  “Merlot. Syrah is the one with the amber fur and big ears.”

  At the mention of his name, Syrah finally walked up to Dustin and rubbed his head against my visitor’s knee.

  Merlot chattered as he did when he spotted a bird, but he didn’t move. His gaze was still focused beyond me.

  After petting Syrah, Dustin rose and approached Merlot. He put his fingers down near Merlot’s face. My big boy swiped his face against Dustin’s hand.

  “They’re a pretty good judge of character and I believe you just passed muster,” I said with a laugh. “Though I’m not sure what’s with the hissing and the chattering. We’ll chalk it up to weird, feline behavior.”

  Dustin followed me into the kitchen. First order of business was treats for my fur babies. After I doled out several pieces of salmon-flavored goodies, I said, “Can I get you a drink? Sweet tea? Coffee?” I wanted to add milk as a choice since Dustin, with his boyish, dimpled face, seemed so young.

  “Sweet tea,” he said with a smile. “Since arriving in this state I’ve become addicted to the stuff.”

  “Popular choice in this house,” I said. “You went to school in New York and from your accent I’m guessing you are a complete Yankee.”

  “Complete. I’m from Niagara Falls,” he said, still watching the cats.

  I followed his gaze. Though Chablis had finished her treats, neither Syrah nor Merlot had touched theirs. They stood stock-still, staring at the window seat in the breakfast nook. What in the heck? They never passed up treats.

  No sooner had I handed Dustin his tea than Candace rapped on the back door and stepped inside.

  She wore her forest green uniform and her blond hair had this lovely side braid to show off the magenta highlights she’d recently added. The braid was pulled back and pinned up at the nape of her neck.

  She smiled at Dustin. “Deputy Candace Carson, Mercy PD. Don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance.”

  Dustin seemed frozen for an instant, his mouth slightly agape. “D-Dustin Gray.” He strode toward her, hand out, never taking his eyes from hers. As they greeted each other, I noticed Dustin held on to her hand.

  Candace gently pulled her hand free, cheeks brightening. “Nice to meet you, Dustin. You’re the engineer the town hired, right?”

  His head bobbed in agreement.

  Gosh. The kid is smitten, I thought.

  Candace helped herself to a glass of tea and we headed for the living area adjacent to the kitchen. Dustin waited until Candace and I sat before taking the easy chair opposite the sofa. I expected the cats to join us since they hadn’t properly greeted Candace. They do adore her—and like to sniff for traces of her own cat. But all the felines remained in the kitchen. I’d obviously allowed an invisible-to-me creature—maybe even an ant—into the house. Their job was to stalk and dispose of any non-human invaders.

  Candace said, “Since Mr. Gray is here—”

  “Dustin,” he said quickly. “Please call me Dustin.”

  “Sure. And I’m Candace. Never Candy, always Candace. Anyway, since you’re here, I assume Jillian called me because whatever help she wants has something to do with your new job.”

  “Always the good detective, huh?” I said. “We ran into a little problem at the mill. But first, for this conversation, can you simply be my friend and not a police officer?”

  Unsmiling, she said, “Police officers are always on duty, Jillian. You know that.”

  I knew Candace took her job seriously, and usually I respected and appreciated her for it. But this seemed like a special situation, and I wanted her to trust me on that. So I offered my best pleading look. “Please?”

  Candace sighed heavily. “Let’s call this off the record. Doesn’t mean—”

  “Off the record,” I said. “Sounds perfect. See, there’s a woman who seems to be living inside the mill. From talking to her, I’m sure relocating her will be difficult. She insists the mill is a holy place and—”

  “What?” Candace’s already flushed cheeks flamed even more. “How the heck did she get inside? We put up warning signs; there’s a tall fence with spikes; we patrol. Sorry, but off the record just went out the window.”

  “Please hear me out?” I said.

  Dustin was watching our exchange with intense interest. I was certain he would love to have Jeannie removed from the mill as soon as possible and perhaps saw an ally in Candace. But I considered the woman in the mill like the feral cats—she needed to be handled with great care and compassion.

  “Go on,” Candace said, sounding exasperated. Over time, I’d learned that her first reaction to almost anything was usually based on a black-and-white police view of the world. Beneath that façade, however, I knew Candace well. Nothing to her was as black and white as her new acquaintance Dustin might be led to believe.

  “Social service people are overworked,” I said. “What will they do with her? Ask you to put her in jail while they clear their calendar?”

  “Of course not. She’d go to a shelter.” She paused, seeming to consider this option further. “Although I have to say, it’s hard to find a decent one in this part of the state. Most of them are overcrowded. I give. You probably have a different idea. Tell me.”

  “I work with several charities.” I looked at Dustin. “See, I’m a quilter and I donate quilts to several organizations. I know people who might help.” I returned my focus to Candace. “Let me make a few calls before you drag Jeannie out of the mill, okay?”

  Candace’s eyes widened in surprise. “Jeannie? Does Jeannie have a last name?”

  “She said her name was Clara Jeanne, but everyone calls her Jeannie. We forgot to ask her for a last name.”

  “Oh. My. Gosh. Clara Jeanne Sloan.�
� Candace appeared more than a tad stunned. “She disappeared years ago. Rumor was she went off to look for her daughter, Kay Ellen. The teenager went missing and a few months later, Jeannie was gone, too. Morris knows the details. He talked about all the unsolved cases when I first joined Mercy PD. Said I should read about the missing mother and daughter as well as all the other old files for future reference. Now I wish I’d examined the case more closely.”

  “You’re saying there was an investigation?” I said.

  “I know they tried to find those two, but they were never found—until now. Was the daughter there, too?” Her fair skin had almost returned to its normal pink, though color remained high on her cheeks.

  Dustin said, “We didn’t get farther than the office where we discovered…the lady. There could be more people inside the mill, though.”

  “Great,” Candace said. “Why didn’t I listen to that old coot Morris for once and pay more attention to those files?”

  “Who’s Morris?” Dustin said.

  “He’s Candace’s partner,” I said. “Kind of a bristly guy, but once you get to know him, he’s not so bad.”

  Candace checked her watch and stood. Dustin quickly rose, too, never taking his eyes off her.

  She said, “Okay, here’s the deal. I need to re-read the file before we take action. We keep them in a storage unit, so I’ll have to get the key, find the files. Might take a couple hours.”

  “You want to call me after you’re done?” I said.

  She nodded. “Meet me at the station around the end of my shift—about four.” She glanced at Dustin. “See, we need to know as much as possible about this woman before we go charging into that old mill like gangbusters.”

  My turn to stand and meet her gaze. “Wait a minute. Charging in? What are you talking about?”

  “Right now I have to entertain the possibility that Jeannie’s daughter didn’t go missing.” Candace said. “Maybe Kay Ellen is with her. Or what if Jeannie went into hiding because she did wrong by that girl?”

  “I said, “Could the reason she went into hiding be because she was heartbroken about losing her daughter?”

  Candace’s gaze went to the ceiling as she considered this possibility. Then she said, “Plausible, but I do recall Morris mentioning talk of foul play—at least as far as the girl was concerned. Gotta go back over the file.” She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Why didn’t I pay more attention to the details?”

  “You were a brand-new officer—how old were you five years ago? Twenty? You thought—”

  “That’s not an excuse. I was supposed to examine those cold cases and see if anything had been missed. And obviously I screwed up.” She looked at Dustin. “Nice meeting you. Welcome to Mercy.”

  She got up, hurried through the kitchen and out the back door.

  Dustin’s “Bye” came too late for Candace to hear.

  Wow. Candace seemed pretty upset with herself. I understood she felt the need to be perfect, to have the answers before anyone else, but obviously dismissing Morris’s suggestion bothered her—a lot.

  I smiled at Dustin. “Can we keep this business to ourselves until we see what Candace digs up? See, this town generates enough gossip to run a power plant. I want to call in a few favors from the charities I’ve worked with.”

  “Whatever Candace wants,” he said. “She seems to know what she’s doing even if she’s being hard on herself.”

  “She does know what she’s doing,” I said, smiling to myself. “We’ll give her a chance before the whole town council gets up in arms about more than feral cats.”

  Seemed I now had more leverage with Dustin Gray than I did prior to Candace’s visit.

  Nice.

  Four

  I didn’t need to tell Dustin that head Councilwoman Penelope Webber was the interfering type. He’d witnessed her behavior firsthand in several meetings. So before he left my house, he asked what he should say if she phoned for an update about our visit to the mill.

  I suggested he let his calls go to voicemail for the next several hours. Meanwhile, if I had news for him, I’d make a direct call to the Pink House, the local bed-and-breakfast where he was staying.

  Only Chablis joined me when I settled on the couch with my phone and my charity contact list. She loved when my lap was free for her—and since no boy cats were hanging around, she settled right down. Merlot and Syrah had journeyed down to the basement in pursuit of whatever creature I must have let inside earlier.

  I immediately started phoning people connected to the organizations where I donated my time and my quilts. Most of my contacts were with people who helped pets, children or returning soldiers. But I figured six degrees of separation applied here. Turned out it was only three degrees of separation. A friend of a friend gave me the name of a gentleman named Harry Williams who ran the Upstate Homeless Partnership—better known as “UHP.”

  Unfortunately, Dustin wasn’t the only person letting his calls go to voicemail. Forced to leave a message, I hoped Mr. Williams would get back to me before Candace made a decision on how best to help Jeannie. I wanted the chance to offer resources other than the local social services.

  My task completed, I gently lifted a sleeping Chablis off my lap and set her on the quilted throw at the other end of the couch. I decided this gloomy day required tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. But before I was done preparing lunch, my friend Tom Stewart called and said he was on the way over. I added two more sandwiches to the frying pan.

  Truth be told, Tom and I were more than friends. I cared for him deeply and he’d recently told me he was in love with me. But though I had strong feelings for him, I still couldn’t get past the memory of my late husband. He had died of a heart attack only four years ago, and I still felt as if beginning a new relationship with another man was a betrayal. John had been the love of my life, the man I’d thought I would grow old with, and I still missed him every day. I couldn’t say “I love you” back to Tom. Not yet. The words stuck in my throat like a wad of cotton. Did I love him? Maybe. But I needed more time to understand my tangled emotions of grief and loss, not to mention quit feeling guilty over my newfound joy with Tom. Fortunately for me, Tom seemed to understand perfectly and said he would wait for me as long as it took.

  He arrived five minutes later and came into the kitchen. Before he could say a word, I turned and smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t lock the door. No lectures, okay?”

  He took me in his arms and kissed me. “No lectures. I will say this. My almost-perfect woman has one fault—she’s too trusting.”

  “No. Forgetful, that’s all.” I asked Tom to handle the soup in the microwave while I flipped the sandwiches over.

  Soon, we were sitting at the small table in the breakfast nook with a view of the lake, enjoying a little comfort food.

  “Does Finn have class today?” I asked. Finn was Tom’s stepson and had been living in Mercy since only last fall. He’d started community college a week ago and was glad Tom supported his dreams since his parents hadn’t seemed to think college was important.

  Tom nodded. “Since he took on a full load of courses,” he said around a mouthful of grilled cheese, “he won’t be home until late.”

  “He’s making up for lost time now that he’s living with you rather than your ex. He’s only one semester behind and he’s smart enough to ace every one of those classes. I’ll bet Yoshi misses him, though.” Yoshi was Finn’s rat terrier—a dog almost as smart as my cats. Almost.

  “Yoshi has plenty of company. He goes fishing with Ed almost every morning.”

  “With Ed? Go figure.” I shook my head and smiled. “The guy who swore he was afraid of dogs. What a liar.” Ed Duffy lived with Tom’s mother and owned Ed’s Swap Shop.

  “How did it go at the mill today?” Tom crumbled a handful of Ritz crackers into his soup.

  “Interesting. You won’t believe—” I was interrupted by a serious cat chase. Syrah, my speedster, raced through the kit
chen with Merlot hot on his tail. I shook my head, saying, “I have no idea what’s going on with those two. Before you arrived, they seemed to be stalking a bug or a lizard. Now they’re burning energy. But they have certainly forgotten their manners.”

  “Yeah,” Tom said. “They didn’t even say hello. What’s with that?”

  “Cat business, I guess. Anyway, let me tell you about the mill—and who we found living among the feral cats.” I went on to tell him about Jeannie and my efforts to delay yanking her out of a place she considered home. “You say Candace has heard of this woman?” Tom wiped the remnants of lunch from his mouth with his napkin.

  I did the same and as we carried our dishes to the sink, I said, “Apparently her story is well-known. I’m betting Ed knows plenty since he’s lived in Mercy all his life—unlike you or me.”

  “Ed knows almost as much stuff about Mercy as he has objects crammed into his junk shop,” he said. “Can you be a hoarder of information as well as a hoarder of, well, everything?”

  I laughed. “You can.”

  Tom faced me and held my arm. “Do that again,” he whispered.

  “Do what?” Gosh, I could get lost in his brilliant blue eyes.

  “Laugh. I love to hear you laugh.”

  Our kiss was interrupted by a cat chase headed in the opposite direction, one that continued down the basement stairs.

  “I hope they catch whatever it is they’re chasing. I don’t want any midnight visitor with eight legs or moth wings,” I said.

  I’d put on coffee when Tom had said he was coming over and now we both took mugs of hot brew into the living room. We sat on the sofa and I cuddled next to him like Merlot often cuddled next to me.

  “Aside from the homeless woman, what was the mill like inside?” Tom said.

  “Kind of spooky in the dark,” I said. “I’ll be excited to see the place once they turn on the electricity. When I met with the town council, Penelope Webber told us they’re working on getting power to the building, but the town will have to give a giant down payment to Upstate Energy because of how huge the place is. The mill went bankrupt and became a tax foreclosure, so there are no utilities.”