The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse acitm-1 Page 8

“Are you telling me how to allocate my resources?” She’d moved close enough to him that her breasts were an inch from his chest.

  “Your resources happen to be one assistant—that is, unless the county’s added staff that I don’t know about. We need him here.” He made a sweeping gesture. “Look at all this blood. You’ve got to collect specimens, cart stuff to the forensics unit and get this body out of here for autopsy so we can get going on this investigation.”

  “I see you are intent on telling me how to do my job, Mike Baca. Guess that means you’ve been to coroner school since we last crossed paths.” She smirked at him and in her heels was tall enough not to have to look up. “Course we all know that isn’t true, is it, Mike?”

  Baca handed Lydia a pair of shoe protectors. “I believe you’ll be more comfortable in these.”

  Indeed, those heels aren’t exactly crime-scene-friendly, I thought.

  She snatched the protectors. “I got my tennies in the truck. Now be a good boy and fetch them. And while you’re at it, can you get me the crime scene kit, too?”

  Billy Cranor piped up. “I’ll go, Mike.”

  Lydia removed her shoes and handed them to Billy before he eagerly took off through the entry to the kitchen. A minute later she was wearing the tennis shoes, the protectors and latex gloves. She stepped toward the body, but then spotted me. “Who is she?”

  “The woman I told you about. She found the body,” Baca said.

  Lydia’s red lips spread in a smile. “Is that so?”

  She slowly walked into the parlor, her eyes intent on me. “I’m Lydia Monk and you’re . . .”

  “Jillian Hart,” I said.

  “And you found this man dead? Must have been very traumatic for you, Ms. Hart.” Her tone dripped with concern that I found bewildering.

  Why is she being so nice? Is this some kind of trick?

  “Yes . . . my cat . . . Well . . . it’s kind of a long story and—”

  “I’m sure it is. Did you know this man?”

  “Not really. I came by because I believe he stole my Abyssinian and I—”

  “That some kind of Egyptian artifact?” she said.

  “Um, no. It’s a cat and he’s—”

  “Whatever. You don’t need to be staying here, Ms. Hart. You need to get away from this awful place. Candy will take you on home and get your statement there.” She beamed at Candace, pageant style. “I’m sure she’s spoken with you or the chief, but we need her statement in writing. You can do that, can’t you?”

  Baca walked over to join us. “But Ms. Hart is—”

  Lydia jerked her head in Baca’s direction. “I can read your mind, Mike Baca. You think this poor woman had something to do with that man’s death. But unless she went home and changed her clothes, that’s not what happened.”

  Mike tried again. “But—”

  “Did you notice the interrupted arterial spray on that dining room wall?” she said.

  “Yes, I did. But we were waiting on you to—”

  “And I’m here now. You let me do my job or I might have to discuss this with my boss. See, I am a trained investigator—but then, you already know that. You know everything.”

  Oh, I was beginning to get it. She must have a history with Mike Baca. A history that probably had ended unpleasantly.

  She went on. “Look at this woman. You see any blood all over her? No, you don’t. You gotta find a messy suspect somewhere or discarded bloody clothes. See, that dead man took it in the abdominal aorta. And my, my, my, aortas do like to spread their wealth when you poke ’em with a knife.”

  Baca said, “I planned on taking Ms. Hart’s formal statement myself after you arrived and—”

  “Nope. You need to let her go home so she can gather herself. She’s probably not your murderer, but she’s your best witness. Candy can take the statement, and if you insist, she can look for any bloody clothes at Ms. Hart’s home once we get a warrant.” She smiled at me again. “And I apologize, but that’s what we gotta do. Check your house for any bloody clothes or other evidence. Doesn’t mean I believe you did anything wrong. I can tell by those sad green eyes that this is just your worst nightmare.”

  Maybe it was, but I wasn’t leaving without Syrah. “My cat might be in this house somewhere. Is there any way—”

  Tom Stewart appeared as if on cue. “I got your cat. He was hiding in the closet with that other little ball of fur.”

  He’d just made up for his three crimes of not hooking my alarm up to the police, not getting here quickly enough and acting like he suspected me. I stood and took Syrah in my arms, nestled my face in his neck. “Thank you, Tom.”

  He’d smiled as he handed him to me, so I guessed he was glad to have made up for something. But before he could speak, Lydia was between us.

  “And what are you doing here?” she asked Tom. Then she held up her hand. “Never mind. Mike can tell me after you leave. Now, Candy, please take Ms. Hart and her cat home immediately.”

  I snuggled Syrah close and he began to purr. It felt wonderful to have him in my arms.

  Baca spoke again, addressing Candace and me rather than trying to get in an entire sentence with Lydia. “A warrant won’t be required if you give permission for Candace to search your house, Ms. Hart.”

  “She can search all she wants. I do have video of—of—” I glanced toward the body. “Of Mr. Wilkerson chasing my other two cats all over my house this morning.”

  This news elicited a radiant smile from Lydia. “The chief mentioned that you came here about cats or something. I am sure delighted to hear about that bit of video. That could help me narrow the time of death. Now go on, you two.”

  But Baca wasn’t done. “And your car? Can we search that, too?”

  Lydia looked at him like he’d grown another set of ears. “You think she stashed bloody clothes in her car? Doesn’t make sense. You said you found her upstairs with the cats. Everything you’ve told me about the timing—when Candace and Morris left her house and her arrival here—makes it pretty clear she didn’t have time to kill a man, change her clothes and then take herself to a bedroom to visit with the animals.”

  Baca said, “Maybe you’re right. But I’m sure you’ll agree Mr. Wilkerson’s orphaned computer monitor needs to be investigated. If it’s in Ms. Hart’s van, then—”

  “What do you mean—orphaned?” Lydia seemed flustered now.

  He said, “What’s a monitor for without the rest of the computer? I don’t think the missing parts and pieces walked off on little cat feet.”

  Nine

  If I’d thought I would be home in five minutes, I was way off in my timing. Candace took a battery-powered handheld vacuum from her squad car, put in a new filter, then took my van apart so she could suck up every lost M&M, toothpick and cat hair. She emptied this collection of junk into what I assumed was an evidence bag.

  I stood beside Tom on the road, holding fast to Syrah and watching this meticulous deconstruction of what I’d thought was a fairly clean vehicle. Menacing clouds had assembled to the west, and I sure hoped we wouldn’t get wet while we waited.

  Tom had come outside with us and had been silently watching Candace work beside me. Finally he said, “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re angry at me for yelling at you in there. I’m sorry, but that was not a good situation.”

  I glanced over at him, touched that he wanted to apologize. “We were both stressed, and all I could think about was the cats. Easier to focus on the living rather than the dead, I guess.”

  “I never thought about that, but it does help me understand you better. You love cats. I’m saying you really love cats. I get that now. Anyway, if it’s all right, I’d like to go back to your house and finish that phone connection.”

  “It’s more than fine with me, but Candace might not agree,” I said. “She’ll be conducting her search, after all. And then there’s the dreaded formal statement to contend with.”

  “Just tell her exactly what you and I told Ba
ca earlier. The truth.”

  “Seems like people on TV always get in trouble for telling the truth,” I said, thinking about Shawn. The truth might get him in big-time trouble. “Oh, by the way, Wilkerson took a mallet to the security system control panel.”

  “He what?”

  By the bulging veins in his neck, I’d say I learned a little more about Tom at that moment. He loved his control panels. Really loved them. I’m sure that was what upset him, not the idea that it was my control panel that had been attacked. But I had to smile to myself.

  He ran a hand through his dark hair and said, “I’ll have to pick up new equipment. Meet you at your house.” His van was parked near the ditch and he took off in that direction.

  I watched him leave, grateful for his help and glad I’d be seeing him again so soon. The wind picked up, swirling fallen leaves around my feet and making Syrah dig his claws into my arm. I sure wished Candace would hurry up. It was getting colder out here by the minute. Then the sound of an approaching vehicle caught my attention. I looked down the road and saw Shawn’s pickup rumbling toward us.

  He pulled into the driveway behind one of the squad cars. After taking several pet carriers from the truck bed, he waved my way, offered a grim smile and proceeded to the house.

  Good. They must have called him to take the cats. For a second I felt immense relief, but then I recalled Shawn’s anger with Flake Wilkerson yesterday and how he’d snatched that escaped tuxedo from the side of the road. I had to tell Candace he was with me yesterday—as soon as I got the chance. And, God, I didn’t want to.

  Finally, after what seemed like a year since I’d departed on my mission to confront the man who’d stolen my cat, Candace and I left. We soon pulled into my driveway, with her in the passenger seat holding Syrah. She told me Chief Baca would arrange for someone to pick her up in an hour or two. Tom Stewart arrived seconds after we did. As he gathered his tools, we went inside.

  Syrah immediately leaped from Candace’s arms. He looked up at her, arched his back and hissed, then ran from the kitchen.

  “Don’t take it personally,” I said to the befuddled-looking Candace. “I’ve pissed him off myself by putting him through the torture of a car trip. And he’s been through much more than that in the last few days. He’ll get over it.”

  She smiled. “Then there’s hope he and I can still be friends. And now—I’ve never searched a place without a partner, so I’m gonna ask you to stay with me. I don’t think the chief would like it much if I left you alone in one room while I searched another.”

  “Because I might hide those bloody clothes I don’t have?” This was all so ridiculous that I felt like laughing. But I didn’t think Candace would appreciate it. I knew she was only doing her job.

  She squinted at me. “Know something? You’re not looking so hot. Bet you haven’t had so much as a drink of water since those sips the paramedics gave you after you fainted.” She patted my arm. “Come on. Let’s get you something to bring the color back to your cheeks.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Tea. I need tea.”

  While Candace was opening the refrigerator, a three-cat speed race with Syrah leading the way nearly knocked me over. Chablis and Merlot hadn’t been this happy in two days. Candace handed me a glass of tea. “Are your cats always this crazy?”

  “Yup. That’s my clowder for you,” I said.

  “Clowder?” she said, pulling her eyebrows together.

  “That’s what you call a group of adult cats. On the other hand, a group of kittens is called a kindle.”

  “Learn something every day. So, I think I’ll start in the basement with the washing machine. As I said, I have to keep you near so that nothing gets moved or—”

  I held up a stop-sign hand and smiled. “I completely understand.”

  “Let’s get busy, then.” Candace started for the basement, but Chablis came back into the kitchen before we’d taken two steps and sat at my feet. She looked up and sneezed, a reminder that I had neglected my duties as her mom.

  “Darn. I was so frantic about that man invading my house again, I forgot he must have left behind more dandruff. She needs Benadryl. You may not want to put this in any formal statement, but Chablis can testify that Flake Wilkerson didn’t get his nickname because he was goofy. He had a serious dandruff issue.”

  Candace sighed and then smiled. “By the way, I did my research and discovered you can collect human DNA from dandruff.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “You’re not the only one who likes to gather information. I’ll wait while you give her some medicine. I feel bad for poor Chablis.”

  I did this as quickly as I could, considering how much Chablis loved to take medicine, but Tom interrupted us the minute I was done wiping up the floor where she’d coughed out several drops of bright pink liquid. He needed access to the control panel and the phone. Candace told him she wasn’t willing to leave him unsupervised in the kitchen.

  “You have got to be kidding,” he said.

  “Can’t fool around when it comes to procedure, Tom. But I do have the flexibility to compromise. I’ll search the kitchen first while you work.”

  And so she rummaged through every cupboard and drawer—all the while casting anxious glances at me as I teased the cats with a feather or at Tom fiddling with the wiring. Once he was done and promised me I would be hooked up to the police after one last adjustment outside, I thanked him for his patience and for helping me get through this tough day. Then he left. And this time I didn’t know when I’d see him again. Surprisingly, that bothered me.

  The basement search came next, followed by the rest of the house. When Candace was done peeking in every corner and opening every drawer to look for those infamous bloody clothes, another hour had passed. Then we sat in the living room and she took my formal statement.

  After I’d told her every detail again, aside from Shawn’s helping me, she said, “I’m glad you didn’t bump into the murderer when you went up those stairs or you might be gone now, too.” I saw her swallow hard. “That would have saddened me to no end.”

  “Guess I wasn’t thinking straight.” But the truth was, I probably wouldn’t have done anything any differently. I could never ignore the cries of a helpless animal.

  Candace placed her hands on the clipboarded statement and stared up at the high ceiling.

  “I don’t have a secret hiding place up there,” I said.

  “Oh, I wasn’t even thinking about that. I was wondering who coulda done that to Mr. Wilkerson. He may have been a mean son of a gun, but a knife in the gut isn’t exactly the best solution to a problem.”

  Though I didn’t want to involve Shawn, I had to tell the whole truth. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then said, “I have something to tell you, Candace. It could mean nothing, but you—and I mean you as a policewoman—should know.”

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  But before I could say another word, all three cats joined us. I said, “They’ve been so busy playing, they’ve missed out on our conversation. Merlot especially likes human talk. And I have to admit I speak to the three of them all the time.”

  Candace said, “Then tell your friend Chablis to be careful.”

  The Benadryl was finally doing its job—she had a slight problem putting one paw in front of the other. She kept running into sofas and ottomans.

  I swooped her up before she hurt herself, and she was happy to curl up in my lap.

  Candace said, “Okay. What else do you need to tell me?”

  “Shawn went with me yesterday—to see Mr. Wilkerson,” I said.

  “Jeez. Why didn’t you say so before?”

  “I didn’t want to get him in trouble. He seems like a great guy, and he cares so much about his rescues,” I said.

  Candace leaned back against the sofa, looking depressed. “This is bad. Real bad. Shawn is the nicest guy you’d want to meet, but he has had his share of problems when it comes to his furry friends.”


  “What do you mean?”

  “For one thing, we got this county dogcatcher who comes around once a week or so. Shawn gets a little, well, passionate about what he considers mistreatment of the animals at the hands of the dogcatcher. But some of those loose dogs are nasty. And the feral cats? I wouldn’t want to meet one of them in a dark alley.”

  “Passionate how?” I said.

  “Let’s just say the guy’s got a restraining order against Shawn.”

  “I had no idea. Any other, um, issues?” I was beginning to wonder if our visit to Flake Wilkerson had been the last straw, the one that could have led Shawn to kill the man.Candace said, “I shouldn’t be talking about any of this. It’s police business and I have to tell the chief right away. But before I leave, let’s take a look at this video you have of Wilkerson inside your house.”

  “You don’t really need that for establishing a timeline.” I reminded her that I’d looked at the video on my phone in the coffee shop and checked again when I got to the quilt store. That was a pretty tight window—no more than ten minutes—and Martha at the Cotton Company could verify the time I left the store.

  But of course Candace wanted to see the video anyway, and so I took her to the office and she burned a DVD of Wilkerson chasing my cats.

  When she stood up from my computer desk, disk in hand, she said, “Perfect. Time-stamped and everything.”

  How’d she do that? I certainly needed to start figuring out all my computer’s features now that I had this video security system.

  “Guess I’m done here,” Candace said. “I’ll phone the chief and find out when I can hitch a ride back to my car.”

  “I’d be glad to take you anywhere you need to go,” I said.

  “Nah. You look like you could use a day at one of them spas to relax. Someone will come and get me.”

  “You’re looking pretty frazzled yourself.” I tucked a wayward strand of blond hair behind her ear. We had become friends, and I now felt guilty for my self-absorption. She was stressed out, too. “Thanks for being so patient with me. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier about Shawn. I wanted him to get those cats out of that place, and the chief might have stopped that process to question him.”