The Cat, The Professor and the Poison Page 5

  “Dehydrated,” Shawn finally said. “I’ll give him some IV fluids under his skin.” Shawn looked me up and down. “Did any of the cats scratch you?”

  I held out my hands, glanced down at my legs. “These? No, these are from sneaking around in the country on my belly. Mother Nature bites sometimes. We have a situation that needs immediate attention—but I don’t know where to start.”

  I gave him a hurried summary of what I’d seen, where I’d found the gray cat and how I knew about this professor.

  Shawn’s reaction was instantaneous anger. “I’ve got to see this for myself. Can you stay with this guy after I give him fluids?”

  “Hang on. There’s too many cats—at least fifty by my quick count. You can’t handle fifty cats alone.”

  He took a deep breath, the tips of his ears scarlet. “But I have to do something.”

  “I feel the same way,” I said gently, hoping my tone would transfer an air of calmness to him, even though I felt less than calm myself. “But we need help.”

  “If this professor has a cattery license and those cats aren’t being properly fed, he’s in big trouble.” Shawn walked over to a cabinet and retrieved a clear plastic bag of what I assumed were the fluids the gray needed. “But that means we have to go through the animal control officer. Last thing I want to do is call that dumbass Chester. I’ll go over to that farm and see what’s what first.”

  I’d left the door to the office open, and Snug took the opportunity to pipe in with “Chester’s a dumbass. Chester’s a dumbass.” I guessed the parrot had heard that refrain plenty of times.

  “Not a good idea to go there alone, Shawn,” I said. He’d been suspected of murdering a catnapper last year thanks to the combination of his quick temper and his passion for the well-being of animals. I wasn’t sure he could be trusted to keep his anger in check once he saw what I’d witnessed.

  He threw up his free hand. “You’re the one who came back with this poor animal asking for help, and now you don’t want me to do anything?”

  “I didn’t say that. Listen, Candace did the stakeout at the West place, where we caught that professor red-handed. She’s already warned this man about his questionable behavior. If he’s doing something illegal, she can step in. Meanwhile, you start calling volunteers to be ready to take in cats. I’ll gladly take the calico and her litter.”

  “I don’t have a long enough list of volunteers around here to handle fifty cats. So you’re right. We do need a plan.” He paused, scratched his head. “I have friends in other parts of the state who’ll help. The cats might have to stay at this idiot’s so-called farm until volunteers can get here.”

  “You sure you can’t call on Chester? I mean, how will we get around him?” I asked.

  “Chester’s a dumbass,” Snug called.

  I had to smile.

  Shawn sighed. “I probably can’t keep him out of this, but I sure as hell wish I could. Okay, phone Candace. Meanwhile, I’ll make some calls, check the state licensing board online about new catteries—’cause I sure haven’t heard a peep about any new ones around here. If there’s no license, well, seems to me this professor’s in big trouble every which way you look. This poor guy is evidence of mistreatment if he came from that farm—and I’m sure he did.”

  While Shawn tended to the gray cat, I went outside to call Candace. A late-afternoon breeze helped me feel a little less grungy. Seeing all those cats locked up had me thinking of my own three. All of them had stayed in shelters after Katrina, and that’s no life for a cat, even when the animals are surrounded by loving volunteers. Before I called Candace, I checked my cat cam.

  My three weren’t sleeping as I’d expected. Chablis and Merlot were crouched nose to nose, staring down at something between them—what, I couldn’t tell. Syrah circled them, he, too, intent on whatever they’d captured this time. Maybe that spider had given birth before they killed it and my house was now infested. Sheesh. I didn’t need this right now.

  I disconnected from the feed and speed-dialed Candace. She sounded tired when she answered—I remembered then that she’d told me she had to go in on the evening shift this afternoon. She told me she was at Belle’s Beans getting a coffee fix. No criminal activity was happening in Mercy at the present time, and she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. Man, I envied her that coffee.

  When I told her about the professor and what I’d seen, she said, “That’s horrible. I’ll call this in to county animal control right now. I can’t promise they’ll move quickly, though. They’ve got one guy.”

  “Chester, right?” I said. “Shawn won’t be happy.”

  “Shawn knows there are steps we have to follow,” she answered, sounding more than a little irritated.

  “Can’t you tell Chester this is an emergency? Because those cats sounded miserable.”

  “You think that will make a difference to him?” she said. “Don’t repeat this, but my opinion of Chester matches Shawn’s.”

  “Okay, tell Chester I’m about to call the Mercy Messenger . Animal stories like this one draw lots of media attention, and—”

  “Jillian. Are you resorting to extortion?” She was definitely tired, and I’d pressed the wrong button.

  “I won’t really do it,” I said quickly. “But you could tell him I will.”

  “Oh. So I deliver the extortion message?” She sighed wearily. “All right. I’ll call you back.”

  And she did. Seems Chester succumbed easily to threats of bad publicity. He would be meeting her at the property, which she’d already located on her police cruiser computer.

  “Can I come with you?” I asked. “I promise I won’t get in your way.”

  “Only if you stay in the car,” she said.

  “Yes. Absolutely,” I answered.

  “Pick you up in five,” she said.

  She arrived at the sanctuary several minutes later, and she’d brought me a big cup of rich, dark coffee. I almost kissed her.

  She gave me the once-over. “You look like you fell in a thicket.”

  “Nothing a shower and a little Neosporin can’t fix.” I took the lid off the coffee so it would cool quicker, while Candace went inside the sanctuary to talk to Shawn.

  I climbed into the passenger seat of the green and white squad car. When Candace returned and slid behind the wheel, she said she’d told Shawn to stay here and wait for a call from her or from Chester.

  “Bet he liked that.” I sipped at my coffee. Man, I needed this, I thought.

  “He did a quick computer check, and no cattery or kennel licenses have been issued for these parts in years. Looks like we do have cats in trouble. Again.”

  We took off and ended up on a different road from the one leading to the other farms we’d been to in the last two days. I was grateful that Candace was driving more carefully. I could actually drink my hot coffee instead of wear it.

  Chester had not yet arrived when we pulled up to a mailbox that bore the number 911. Prophetic, I thought. We might need a special 911 emergency number for cats in a little while.

  Candace said, “We’ll wait on Chester. He gets paid to deal with these situations.” She parked the cruiser on the side of the road next to a driveway similar to Ruth’s and left the engine running.

  No cow grate, I thought. That’s why Harriett had been able to leave and wander on home. “You mean situations that might be considered animal neglect?” I said.

  “Right. Kinda makes me sick even to think about,” she said.

  “My stomach’s been churning since I saw what’s going on here. Dirty outdoor runs. Unhappy cats. And some that might be in bad shape like the gray.” I checked my watch. Almost seven p.m., with the sun hanging below the tree line and painting the sky blood orange.

  We waited in silence, the tension in the car as steady as the loud purr of the engine.

  When Chester hadn’t arrived by seven twenty and he wasn’t answering his phone or his page, Candace finally spoke. “For pity’s sake,
I can’t sit here forever waiting on this man.”

  I felt the same way—anxious and worried.

  Before Candace got out of the car, she pointed a finger at me. “I know you. You want to see if those cats are okay. But stay put. If the animal control wagon arrives, tell Chester I’ve gone to check this place out.”

  “I’ve got a bad vibe, Candace. Let me go with you. My gut told me from the minute I met him that he’s got serious issues, and—”

  She patted the weapon on her hip. “I have help right here.” Then Candace slipped from behind the wheel.

  I called, “Be careful,” before she slammed the door.

  Once she was out of sight, I shut off the air-conditioning and rolled down the window. The evening’s muggy warmth and the smell of jasmine engulfed me. On another day and another occasion, that combination might have been soothing. Not today.

  I poured what was left of my coffee into the dirt. The coffee seemed only to have made my stomach feel worse. Candace had been thoughtful to bring me the boost I needed, but I would have preferred a purring Chablis in my lap. A purring cat helps me through any tough time.

  I told myself that with Candace on the job, the cats would be taken care of. I should just calm down.

  A mere thirty seconds passed before I realized I couldn’t calm down and was too restless to remain in the car. I turned off the engine, took the keys and began to pace at the end of the driveway. I heard the rumbling sound of an engine and looked out on the road. A white panel van sputtered by, and the driver waved his hand out the window as he passed. I waved back—that’s what you did in Mercy. But I was distracted by the situation at hand. I began to gnaw on my index fingernail. I was listening for cat cries. But I heard nothing. Maybe they were happier than the last time I’d been here—which seemed like a hundred years ago.

  Or perhaps the breeze was carrying their pleading voices in the other direction. I ventured several steps down the curving, hedge- lined gravel driveway, hoping I could hear something—anything. Soon the peaked house came into view. White clapboard—or used to be white. More like gray now.

  Still hearing nothing, of either the cat or the human variety, I edged closer to get a full view of the house.

  And that’s when Candace bolted out through the front door, pressing the walkie-talkie she usually wore on her shoulder close to her mouth.

  Her already pale skin was sickly white, and suddenly she dropped the walkie-talkie and fell to her knees.

  She began to retch.

  Six

  Iran to Candace and knelt beside her. “What’s wrong? Are there . . . d-dead cats?” I rubbed circles on her back, noting that sweat now dampened her brown and green uniform shirt.

  She took a deep breath. “No. A dead professor. I’ve called for backup.”

  My hand covered my mouth in shock, and I mumbled, “Oh no. Is it awful?”

  “Yup. Pretty darn awful. But that’s not what made me sick. It’s all the raw meat. Looked like a hind quarter of beef on the counter.”

  “Deep breath,” I said. “You’re hyperventilating.”

  She closed her eyes and took in a huge breath, let it out slowly. “This is so stupid. But when I was a kid, my daddy used to make me lend a hand dressing the deer he shot. The last time he forced me into helping, I threw up on his shoes. That was the end of that.”

  “I have some Pepto chewables in my purse,” I said.

  She swiped at her mouth. “Nope. I’m fine. Got to get myself together before all the boys show up. Don’t want to hear them say I’m acting like a little girl.”

  “Are you sure the professor’s dead?” I said.

  “Oh yeah. He was all twisted up, and his eyes were bugging out. I couldn’t find a pulse.” She took another deep breath before she stood.

  I stood as well. “He was alive a little more than an hour ago,” I said. “You think he had a seizure or something?”

  “Maybe, but that was one hell of a seizure, if you ask me.” She stared down at the pool of coffee she’d vomited up. “Damn, I wish I hadn’t done that.”

  “You’re human,” I said.

  She started walking away from the house, her eyes trained on the ground. “If a crime’s been committed, we have to preserve any evidence we can, so we’ll walk back to my patrol car exactly the way we came and wait for backup.”

  Follow exactly the way we came? Seemed impossible, considering I had no idea where I’d walked, but Candace needed the comfort of trying to preserve evidence, so I kept my mouth shut.

  Unfortunately, the backup came in the form of one Morris Ebeling, who arrived in his own SUV wearing street clothes—cargo-style khaki shorts and an orange Hooters T-shirt stretched over his generous paunch.

  “What’s going on, Candy? You’re as white as my new Reeboks,” he said.

  “What are you doing here, Morris? You’re off duty,” Candace said.

  She had to be rattled, because she didn’t bother to correct him when he called her “Candy.”

  “Who’s the acting chief?” he said.

  “You are,” she mumbled.

  “Then you got your answer. We got a suspicious death here? Or natural causes?” He started to walk past Candace, and she grabbed his arm.

  “I’m not sure, so wait until I get my evidence kit and some crime-scene tape before you go traipsing down to the house. Is anyone else responding?” Her color was returning, thanks to Morris. He usually did bother the heck out of Candace.

  “Fire truck and paramedics should be here any minute.” Morris turned to me. “Why are you here, Citizen Hart? Another ride-along?”

  He sounded so sarcastic, I nearly bit my tongue holding back some sarcasm of my own. He wouldn’t get to me. Not today. “There’s a situation here concerning the possible neglect of cats. We came because I brought this to Candace’s attention. She agreed to check it out, and I . . . well . . . I had to show her where the cats were.”

  “Really? She couldn’t find her way over here alone?” he said.

  “You know me. Couldn’t get that map thingie on the computer to work,” Candace said quickly. “But Jillian had a good idea where the house was.”

  “And then Candy happens to find another dead person right after you’ve been here?” He shook his head. “This is sounding way too familiar. After all, you are the one who discovered the last dead body we had here last year.”

  “She never went inside the house today, Morris,” Candace said. “And you know she didn’t kill anyone last year.”

  “All I can say is that some folks in Mercy might be wishing you’d take yourself back to Houston once they hear about this, Ms. Hart.”

  “And you’d be one of them?” I couldn’t stop myself this time.

  His face relaxed. “Actually, no. Much as an old coot like me hates to admit it, I like you. But I’d sure be happier if you’d quit seeing dead people.”

  “I haven’t seen any dead people today,” I said.

  “My mistake. Just more cats you have to help. I’m slow, but I’m beginning to understand.”

  The wail of a siren drew our attention. The bright red fire truck was speeding toward us so fast, I almost ducked for cover behind the patrol car.

  Billy Cranor, a muscled hunk Candace had a crush on, was the first to jump off the truck after it halted behind Morris’s Ford Explorer.

  Billy said, “Paramedics are right behind. But we all know CPR, so if you need me—”

  “CPR won’t do any good here,” Candace said. “But you can help me string crime-scene tape.”

  “Did you hear me say we need crime-scene tape, Candy?” Morris’s short-lived patience had expired.

  “Sorry, sir. Seems to make sense we treat a suspicious death with the utmost care.” Candace’s tone was calm, but I could tell by the way her blue eyes had darkened that she was seething.

  “And we will. Billy, you and the boys string tape across this driveway so no idiots drive right up to the house. Plenty of trees on either side to attach i
t to.”

  The “boys” were four other volunteer firemen who had gathered around us, their eyes alive with curiosity. Anything out of the ordinary grabs people’s interest in Mercy—something I’d learned firsthand.

  “Heard on the scanner there’s a dead guy, Candy,” one of them said.

  “It’s Candace,” she said through gritted teeth.

  The knot in my stomach relaxed a tad. She was back to her old self.

  Another patrol car and the paramedics arrived as the firemen were stretching the tape. Candace instructed me to stay in her cruiser yet again, as she, Morris and two uniformed police officers started up the driveway toward the house.

  In my heart I understood a sudden death was important, but my thoughts returned to the cats. Were they okay? And exactly where was Chester? I sure as heck didn’t know how to get in touch with him. Since I hadn’t been instructed to keep my mouth shut, I took my phone from my pocket and called Shawn—a better option than Chester any day.

  When he answered, I said, “The professor is dead. Right now, I don’t know about the cats, but do you have volunteers yet? And crates? You’ll need plenty of crates.”

  “What happened?” he said.

  “I don’t know. They won’t let me near the house, and Chester hasn’t shown his face.”

  “Surprise, surprise. Allison is on her way to man the fort here, and then I’ll come. But where exactly are you?”

  I remembered a few road names and the turns we’d made getting here. When I offered these to Shawn, he said, “The old Taylor place? Didn’t know anyone moved in. Hang on, Jillian. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Afternoon had given way to dusk and brought cooler air. I waited for what seemed like hours, though when I checked the time on my cell phone, only about forty minutes had passed. It was now eight p.m. and totally dark, on this, one of the longest days of my life.

  I saw headlights in Candace’s passenger-side mirror. Thank goodness Shawn was finally here. Or maybe it was Chester, whom I’d never met and didn’t exactly want to meet. I was already stressed to the max. I opened the door and got out.