The Cat, the Vagabond and the Victim: A Cats in Trouble Mystery Read online

  “Stop worrying and get out your phone,” Candace said. “Look at your cat cam and chill while I drive you home.”

  “Good idea.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and tapped on the app that allowed me to see what was going on in several rooms of my house. As I swiped the screen and checked every room that had a camera, I found all three of my fur kids sound asleep in different places. They looked peaceful and content. If Clyde was hanging around my house, Syrah and Merlot would have been on watch at a window. I knew I wouldn’t find the big cat I’d let escape, at least not now.

  • • •

  As I expected, Clyde was nowhere to be seen or heard when I arrived home. I spent an anxious afternoon waiting for Candace to pick me up so we could head out to the Jeffrey house to search for him there. I occupied my time surrounded by purring and playful cats as I finished several quilt orders. Thank goodness for my fur friends. Both Shawn and Tom called me to ask whether Clyde had shown up. Shawn apologized again for sounding angry last night and told me about a solution for the roaming problem when Clyde finally did show up again—a GPS collar. He rambled on about how to set it up, but it sounded like I’d need pretty thorough instructions—if Clyde did return to my care. And that was a big if.

  Tom was sweet during our talk, saying he knew how anxious I was about the cat. Though he wanted to help look for him, he was stuck longer than anticipated installing a security system across the lake. He told me he’d drop by my house later tonight.

  Seven p.m. finally rolled around and Candace picked me up in the RAV, her uniform abandoned for street clothes and her blond hair loose on her shoulders. The early-evening air was thick with humidity and I feared impending rain might send Clyde seeking shelter under shrubbery or some crawl space. This would make it extra difficult to find him—if he was even at his old house.

  “I have a good feeling about this.” Candace sounded a lot more optimistic than I was as we pulled out of my driveway. “But what can we do about Clyde’s penchant for wandering if we do round him up?”

  “I talked to Shawn and he has a GPS collar we can use. If Clyde gets out again, we can track him. He told me he should have put the thing on Clyde before he even had Allison bring him to my house.” I smiled over at her. “He and I are both on a guilt trip.”

  “I don’t see why,” she replied, sounding a little exasperated. “Animals do what they do. This particular cat has an agenda that will not be interfered with.”

  “That’s for sure. But this GPS collar sounds like a solution—if we find him, that is.”

  “He’ll be there. I know he will.”

  “I sure hope you’re right,” I said.

  We arrived in Norm Jeffrey’s neighborhood after a few minutes’ drive. The houses were a lot like Tom’s home—small and either red or brown brick. The tall trees and mature landscaping told me this was one of the older subdivisions in town. Not that there was a whole lot of new construction in Mercy aside from apartment complexes like the one Candace lived in.

  We pulled into the driveway of Mr. Jeffrey’s house, which stood on a winding, hilly street. The grass was in serious need of cutting. Who would do that now? I wondered. The city? The family? And what about the empty lot next to his, which was even more overgrown? The house on the opposite side of the Jeffrey place had been updated with a garage rather than a carport, and lovely baskets of ivy and flowering plants hung from hooks on the porch. It was a cute, inviting home in contrast to Mr. Jeffrey’s shabby, sad house.

  But my thoughts were interrupted.

  I saw Clyde.

  Concern and worry melted away immediately because Clyde was sitting close to the garage—as if he’d been waiting for us to arrive.

  “Oh my gosh. There he is.” I was out of the car before Candace could even kill the engine.

  But if I thought he’d sit and wait for me to scoop him into my arms, I was wrong.

  He bounded away toward the back of the house with me stifling the No! I wanted to scream. I would scare him even more by yelling.

  I walked toward him and he looked back as if this were a game. I sure hoped that game wasn’t hide-and-seek. Clearly this was a cat as independent as they came. As I approached, hoping not to lose sight of him, heavy raindrops began to splat on the driveway, on my head, my shoulders and probably on Clyde. Then he disappeared behind the house.

  “Don’t hide,” I muttered as I followed. “Please don’t hide.”

  Candace caught up with me and as we turned around the corner of the house, we saw Clyde’s striped tail disappear through the slightly ajar back door.

  Candace stopped in her tracks. “What the hey? We didn’t leave that open. I hope the place hasn’t been vandalized.”

  I said, “Mr. Jeffrey’s death has been all over the news. Doesn’t that sometimes draw thieves or vandals to a home they know could be abandoned?”

  “That’s true. Let me get my gun. You stay here.”

  My heart thumped harder against my chest as soon as she said the word gun.

  She returned within seconds, her weapon in one hand, her cell phone pressed against her ear as she spoke to the Mercy PD dispatcher. “B.J., I need backup at the Jeffrey place. Could be an intruder.” She disconnected, slipped the phone into her pocket and handed me the umbrella she’d tucked under her arm.

  “We have to wait?” I opened the umbrella and tilted it to give her shelter from the rain.

  But she stepped away. “You have to wait. I’m going in.” She went to the door and carefully widened it with her sandaled toe so she could enter.

  But I was right behind her and whispered, “I’m coming with you. For Clyde.”

  Then neither of us spoke. I was stunned by what the fully opened door revealed. I know Candace was, too. Clyde or a possible intruder wasn’t the only problem in this house.

  Peering over her shoulder, I saw Buford sprawled on the kitchen floor, his wide, sightless eyes staring up at nothing.

  Seven

  Candace squeezed beside me under the umbrella while she made a few more calls—to the police chief, to paramedics and to the coroner’s investigator, Lydia Monk. When she finished, she pulled me by the elbow to her car and opened the passenger side door despite my pleas that I should be allowed to find the cat first.

  “Stay here,” she said. “If I find Clyde, I will bring him to you. This is the scene of a suspicious death—two now. Though I called the paramedics, I assure you, that man is dead.”

  “But the cat will contaminate the crime scene, if this is a crime scene, and you wouldn’t want that, right?”

  Candace saw right through me. “Nice try, Jillian. Wait here.”

  I closed the umbrella, and as soon as I slid into the passenger seat, a Mercy PD squad car came screeching to a halt behind Candace’s RAV, its lights turning like gaudy lit-up pinwheels in the lightning-streaked sky.

  The newest member of Mercy PD, rookie Lois Jewel, exited her vehicle. Short, compact and African American, she may have appeared to be Candace’s opposite, but the two women had the same no-nonsense attitude. She walked up to the RAV and said, “What you got, Candace?”

  “DB. Don’t know much more than that. I need to clear the house. You can help, but remember your training. Do not contaminate this scene. You got any booties handy?”

  Lois, who had the sense to be wearing the forest green rain slicker provided by the department, went back to the squad car.

  Candace turned back to me. “I’ve got a flashlight rolling around on the back floor. Can you reach it?”

  I found it and handed it to her. Her hair was stringy wet by now, but I knew Candace couldn’t care less. She was focused on the terrible find in that house.

  Lois returned and handed a pair of shoe protectors to Candace, who shoved them in her pocket. They walked side by side toward the house, with Candace’s flashlight beam trained on the ground. Her head moved with the light as she swept it back and forth. She was looking for clues, footprints, anything that might be quickly wa
shed away by the rain. Soon the two disappeared around the side of the house.

  I heard sirens in the distance, and not long after, the circus was in full swing. Paramedics, the fire department, Chief Mike Baca, and my least favorite person on the planet, Lydia, filled the tiny street with their lit-up vehicles and their faces marred by urgency. The next-door neighbors stood on the adjacent lawn and watched in horrified silence under a giant golf umbrella, its yellow, green and red stripes suitable for the big top.

  When I saw Lydia in the side mirror walking up the driveway, I slunk down in the seat and lowered my head, hoping she wouldn’t see me. Thank goodness for umbrellas. With hers being a giant black one, it was nearly impossible for her to see anywhere but straight ahead.

  I sat in the car for what seemed like hours, though the time that passed was probably more like forty-five minutes. I kept asking myself the same questions over and over. How had Buford died? What had happened inside that house? Why had he come here? And where was Clyde? Had he sneaked out the back door undetected and slipped off into the night? Finally I opened my phone and checked on my cat crew at home. Chablis was giving Merlot a bath and Syrah was playing with his catnip banana. I felt the tight muscles in my neck and shoulders relax as I watched them.

  But all at once the Clyde question was answered. Lois came walking toward Candace’s car, holding him tightly in her arms.

  I opened the door and she handed him to me, saying, “He’s a cute guy, but he doesn’t belong in that house.”

  “Thanks so much, Lois. What happened in there?” I took Clyde, who had the courtesy to purr the minute I wrapped my arms around his damp body.

  “Can’t talk about it. Procedure. But this big fella kept wailing and wandering around. Couldn’t catch the son of a gun. He knew every hiding place. It was kinda like he was looking for something he couldn’t find. Anyway, he finally gave in and let me pick him up.”

  “He was probably searching for Mr. Jeffrey.” I scratched Clyde’s head between his ears and he settled on my lap to begin the process of grooming his wet body.

  “Ah. You’re probably right.” She abruptly turned and hurried back toward the house as the rain began to fall harder.

  Clyde had never gotten the chance last week to complete his mission to reunite with his best friend. Perhaps his hunt around his former home told him what he needed to know—that the man was gone for good. Clyde’s wandering and cries might have actually been his way of expressing grief.

  The stress of seeing poor Buford lying on that floor and then hearing about Clyde’s behavior finally got to me. Tears welled and I was grateful for a cat in my lap. Nothing could be more soothing to me.

  But a rap on the car window startled me. I wiped my eyes and found a face staring at me through the rivulets of rain streaming like a glistening curtain between me and the woman outside. It was Emily Nguyen.

  No, I nearly cried out loud. Not her.

  “Can I get in the backseat?” she yelled far louder than necessary. “It’s raining really hard.”

  I sure wouldn’t have put it past her to march up to the house and stick her nose into police business if I didn’t do what she wanted. I nodded in affirmation, making sure the door was unlocked.

  She removed her industrial-weight yellow raincoat and shook the excess water out the open door after she sat down, then laid it at her feet.

  Placing her hands on the front headrest so she could get closer to me, she said, “What’s happening? Did someone break into the Jeffrey house or—” She stared at my lap. “Oh my gosh. Is that Clyde? The Clyde? Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.”

  Not only was she tiny enough to be twelve years old; she was acting prepubescent.

  “Does he bite? Or can I touch him?” she said.

  I quickly decided that if keeping her occupied with Clyde would stop her from asking questions about the police presence here, I was willing to do that. “He won’t bite. He’s quite friendly.”

  She wiped her wet hand on the front of her blouse before reaching over and awkwardly patting his head. “He’s so soft.”

  “He likes it if you scratch between his ears—in fact most cats like that. I’m guessing you’ve never had one?”

  “I haven’t. We weren’t allowed. My mother said they were messy, left hair everywhere and then there’s that whole litter-box thing to deal with.”

  “Not everyone is a cat lover,” I said. “But this guy might grow on you. He’s so sweet.”

  As I’d suggested, she’d begun to lightly scratch Clyde’s head. He closed his eyes and began to purr again.

  She grinned. “Oh my gosh, that means he likes me, right?”

  I nodded and had to smile. I was always surprised when people who had preconceived notions about cats were introduced to one. Usually, their fear or distaste or whatever they had been harboring in their minds fell away like leaves off a tree in autumn.

  Hoping to keep her focus off the house, I said, “How did you find me? You weren’t following me, were you?”

  She tapped her temple. “Have to think logically when you’re a journalist. See, I wasn’t interested in you—okay that sounded bad. You’re a nice lady. But I’m in town because of Clyde. I thought about where he would go and this seemed like the common-sense answer.” I caught her satisfied smile out of the corner of my eye. “And I was right—wasn’t I?”

  “You are a smart one.” We fell silent and I scrambled to make small talk before she decided that the activity outside the car was more important than petting a cat. “You don’t have a southern accent, Emily. Where’s your original home?”

  “California. Oh my gosh. Just try to get a TV job there. I couldn’t get past security in the studios to apply for so much as an internship in any part of the state. But I persisted, expanded my horizons. And look where I am now. Finding Clyde is a major deal, Jillian. I might get a weekend anchor spot when I bring this story home. You will give me the story, right?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I said immediately. Heck, if I had my own car, I’d take her and Clyde straight back to my house and let her interview me until dawn. But we were stuck, and if I thought I would keep her occupied any longer, I was wrong.

  She said, “Why are the police and the fire trucks still here? Obviously they’ve already found the cat.”

  “Um, I’m not sure.” Hoping to distract her, I held up my phone. “If you like this cat, I can show you the ones who own me.” I laughed nervously. “You can never truly own a cat. They own you.”

  She did seem interested, but not in the cats. She took the phone from me and brought it closer to her face. “What is this app? It’s so cool with the split-screen video and all. Does it drain your battery fast?”

  “Not really.” I leaned toward her and started to point out each of my cats by name, but she wasn’t interested.

  Her gaze had switched to the back of the house. Lights had been turned on, shedding a golden haze that highlighted the driving rain. “Whatever is happening here isn’t about the cat, is it?”

  “I—I couldn’t tell you,” I stammered unconvincingly.

  “Then I guess I have to find out on my own.” Her stiff, rubbery raincoat squeaked as she picked it up.

  I touched her shoulder. “Wait. Those people have a job to do and you can’t interfere.”

  “But I’m a journalist and this is probably breaking news. Is it about Mr. Jeffrey? Was it a break-in after all?”

  “You could say that. At this point I’m not sure of the facts and you wouldn’t want to report on a piece before you have everything straight. Right now, I’m not sure who would have the time to stop and answer your questions. This is a small town with limited police resources.”

  “But he was an old man, right? Natural death is what we all assumed. Does this break-in mean there’s more to this story than a wandering cat?”

  Oh boy. She was about to latch onto this like a tick on a dog. Here I was, a virtual prisoner with her in this car and without a clue as to how to handle a gi
rl who considered herself a reporter, but whose behavior was nothing like the professionalism my Kara exhibited at crime scenes. “Emily, can you just—”

  “If you can’t answer my questions, then I’m sure someone in that house can.” She handed me my phone, struggled into the raincoat and opened the car door.

  But before she could get completely out of the car, Lois came striding toward us.

  “Your name, ma’am?” Lois held up a hand to stop Emily’s progress. She bent and glanced at me, looking confused, before her gaze settled on Emily again.

  Emily stood. “Emily Nguyen, Channel Five News, Asheville. Can I have your name, Officer?”

  “You don’t need my name,” she said. “You need to stay in this car and not contaminate our crime scene.”

  I wanted to groan an Oh no when Lois said the words crime scene.

  But Emily did sit down.

  Lois spoke to me through the open back door. “Deputy Carson suggested you call someone to pick you up, Mrs. Hart. Perhaps Mr. Stewart? Or you can get a ride home in the fire truck. They’re about to leave.” She turned back to Emily. “As for you, I can escort you back to your vehicle—you did come here in a vehicle, I assume?”

  “Yes I did, but—”

  “Because I am about to run crime scene tape across the driveway and you don’t belong inside that tape. We clear?”

  Emily said, “Why don’t I wait here while you do that and then I’ll—”

  “I’m taking you to your vehicle, ma’am.” Her head cocked, eyebrows raised, Lois stared at Emily.

  “But if Jillian can wait here, then—”

  “You’re not Jillian. Come on now. Get out of this car right quick before you get yourself in trouble.” Lois stepped back so Emily could get up. “I’ll just shine my flashlight for you down the driveway.”

  Emily mumbled unintelligible words under her breath, but she complied. As Lois led her away, Emily called back over her shoulder to me. “I could drive you to your house and get that interview about Clyde. How about it, Jillian?”