The Cat, the Sneak and the Secret

by Leann Sweeney

  “There’s no hole in the bottom, Shawn,” Ed said. “I woulda seen it.”

  “So she can get out, but she’s choosing not to.” Shawn smiled wryly. “Typical cat.”

  Sure enough, Magpie began to worm through the space and finally Finn couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed hold under her front legs and eased her out.

  It was then that we saw she had a thin gold chain wrapped around one front leg.

  “Ah. So you were Dumpster-diving again.” Finn held her up and looked into her eyes so Shawn and I could free the chain. It seemed to have an etched gold locket attached.

  Magpie, with her mottled black-and-gold fur and pale green eyes, was indeed a beauty. Shawn held her back legs firmly so I could untangle the jewelry. I felt the same stickiness on her paws. Had someone spilled a soft drink on the sofa? An entire soft drink? Because that was what her fur felt like.

  When we were finished, Finn held his new friend close. I stared down at the locket and saw something grimy on my hands.

  Wait a minute. What’s gotten all over me?

  I slipped the jewelry into my pocket. My palms were rusty red and I held my fingers to my nose. I immediately recognized the smell.

  Blood.

  Two

  “I—I have blood on my hands.” I tried my best not to sound as panicked as I felt. “Shawn, please check Magpie. She might be injured.”

  I stared down at my palms again and realized my hands were shaking. Did the cat sneak into that sofa because she was wounded? Or vomiting blood? Cats usually hide when they’re ill or hurt, so that might explain why she was hunkered down in an old piece of furniture.

  Finn held her firmly for Shawn’s inspection, and after a thorough examination, Shawn smiled at me. “She’s fine. Looks as healthy as the last time I saw her before she managed to open her crate and get out the cattery door.”

  “Then there’s blood on that sofa. Or under the cushions.” I glanced at Ed. “Could there be a dead animal in there? Because this is not just a little bit of blood.” I held my hands out to him.

  He grimaced. “Guess we have to tear the thing apart and then I’m takin’ it to the dump. Sure as heck can’t trade this old thing to anyone and I don’t want it around. I’ll get my big knife and start taking it apart . . . see what we got.”

  “You find this outside somewhere, Ed?” Shawn asked.

  The old guy had already wrangled around the sofa and was behind the store counter. “Yup. By the clothing donation box they got set up on Harkins Road.” Ed held up a container of disinfecting wipes. “Catch, Jillian.”

  He tossed them to me and I started cleaning my hands, grateful to be rid of the mess. Meanwhile, Finn fetched the crate from my car and brought it in. With my help, Finn put his new kitty in. Within seconds she began fiddling with the latch.

  All of us now had blood somewhere on us and I passed the wipes around.

  Ed said, “That’s what you get for sticking your hand in there. I wasn’t about to get chewed up by an angry cat.”

  “She’s not angry, Gramps. She’s scared.”

  “Whatever you say, son.” Ed sounded unconvinced.

  Shawn put his face close to the sofa cushions. “Can’t hear anything, can’t smell anything but blood. Probably any animal in there was freshly killed by our friend Magpie.”

  “You think so?” I didn’t want to believe it, but cats are predators.

  Shawn read my mind. “You’ve been around cats long enough to know that’s probably what happened. A bird or squirrel or a rat, no doubt. I’ll help Ed take this old thing to the dump after we find out what’s inside. A critter that needs burying, if you’re up to the job.”

  Finn said, “Are we dismantling the sofa right now? I hate to leave Yoshi locked up much longer.”

  I had plenty to do myself and didn’t want to end up with the task of burying a poor, dead animal. I did have a wedding in my imminent future, after all. Then something caught my eye—a coppery glint between the cushions. I almost touched it, but Shawn grabbed my hand. He’d seen it, too.

  I looked at him, my heart beating a lot faster than seconds ago. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Looks like a bullet to me. Guess we won’t be touching this thing until our favorite evidence collector checks it out first. I’m sure you or Ed can call up Deputy Candace Carson, tell her we’ve just made her day.” Shawn glanced at Finn. “I need to get back to the shelter. You coming?”

  “Somebody probably shot a squirrel or something, huh?” Finn said, sounding concerned.

  Shawn and Ed exchanged skeptical glances. Shawn said, “Looks like .22 ammo to me. Not exactly a hunting gun. But we can’t make assumptions. Lord knows Candace has drilled that into me by now.”

  “I promised to help Shawn with the bales of hay he has to move or I’d stay until you and Candace get this figured out.” Finn looked at Ed. “I can come back and we can move this out of here later, okay, Gramps?”

  “Son, I got it in here and I can get it out. Been hauling stuff for years, long before you were born.”

  “Um, hello?” I said. “What’s with y’all? You think I can’t lift a little piece of furniture? Ed, Candace and I can handle this. Go on, you two.”

  Finn smiled. “Sorry. We’re sounding like a bunch of macho guys, aren’t we? I’ll let Yoshi out, say good-bye and meet you outside, Shawn.”

  Soon they were gone, leaving Ed, Yoshi and me alone with a dirty love seat and a determined cat. How long before she got out of that crate?

  I focused on the sofa and felt a stirring inside that told me we wouldn’t be finding any dead animals today. Maybe because after all the times I’d helped Candace on cases, she’d taught me well, taught me to pay attention to my instincts and even the tiniest of fears.

  I tossed the dirty hand wipes into the wastebasket by the shop door and pulled my phone from my jeans pocket. Tom had installed a brand-new cat cam with all sorts of amazing features last month. I could interact with my Chablis, Syrah and Merlot. The cameras in my house moved so I could see them anywhere, and if I wanted to tell them I would be home soon or I missed them, I could turn on the “talk feature.” Technology was so fantastic.

  I resisted the urge to activate a chat, though. This whole sofa mystery came first.

  I hit the speed dial for Mercy PD, and B.J., the dispatcher, answered and put me through to Candace.

  “Hey there,” she said. “I hope you’re calling to meet me for lunch. I’m starving already.”

  “You realize it’s only ten in the morning?”

  “I know. Long, boring day. What’s up?”

  I told her and you’d have thought a bag of gold just landed smack in the middle of her desk. She didn’t even bother to say she was on her way, but of course she was.

  While we waited, Ed squatted and secured the crate latch with a wire before Magpie worked her way out. Candace would probably treat her as evidence even if we ended up finding a dead squirrel.

  It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before my best friend and the finest police officer in Mercy burst through Ed’s door.

  Her forest green uniform pants and khaki shirt hid her curves, but she was a beautiful young woman. Candace agreed to actually wear a dress when she and my stepdaughter stood up for me at my wedding this coming Saturday. I’d seen the dress and I was sure she’d be gorgeous that day even if she felt less than comfortable.

  She tucked a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. “I take it this nasty-looking thing is the sofa in question?”

  She set her evidence kit on the floor, put her hands behind her back and leaned over to give the love seat a thorough visual inspection. “I see the bullet you told me about. I can smell the blood, too. From my experience, I’d say the stain’s not that old.”

  I said, “Since Ed found this thing outside and there was a cat hidin
g under the cushions, it’s probably animal blood, right?”

  Candace nodded. “I see plenty of cat hair. Could be another cat in there. Maybe a dead one.”

  “No way.” I couldn’t stomach the thought. Any animal we found would be terrible, but a cat? No, no, no.

  She took her camera from the evidence bag and snapped a lot of pictures—front and back, above and below, and finally focused on the bullet. “Now, let’s find out what we’ve got here.” She removed a small jar and a pair of thick tweezers from the satchel. “I’ll collect this bullet. Looks like a .22 caliber.”

  Ed nodded his agreement.

  The bullet wasn’t embedded in the cushions, just sort of tucked between them. When Candace grasped it and held it up, a speck of blood was barely visible on the small copper object. Candace dropped it in the jar, and it clinked when it hit the glass. Such an innocent, almost pretty sound. I found it grating and . . . wrong.

  Candace held up the jar and studied the bullet. “Not too damaged. I’ll bag and tag this even if I end up throwing it out. Can’t be too careful.” Out came an evidence bag and she took her time writing the where, when and whatever concerning the bullet using a permanent marker. Then she signed her name.

  Her slow and deliberate pace only made my anxiety grow. I was almost wishing for a dead squirrel about now, but immediately felt guilty. There could be a completely innocent explanation for the blood—one I couldn’t think of off the top of my head.

  Next, Candace snapped on a pair of latex gloves and removed a packaged swab. She smiled. “Science is great. This is a test for blood. Just have to rub it in one little spot.” She glanced between me and Ed, who’d retreated behind the counter. I got the feeling he was nervous, too. “By the way, this is just what we call a presumptive test. If we find anything suspicious, then—”

  “Can you please get on with it?” I sounded impatient and I’m usually a pretty easygoing person. Maybe my feelings about this sofa and its secrets had merged with my anxiety about getting married, because I was anything but calm about now.

  When Candace’s eyes widened as she saw the change in color on the swab, I understood what we were dealing with before she said a word.

  She spoke the words I didn’t want to hear. “It’s blood and it’s human.”

  Goose bumps rose on my arms.

  Ed piped in then. “Don’t have to be ominous, right? Nosebleed? Female troubles? Kid with a busted head from a fall?”

  “Yes. Some kind of accident, right?” I added.

  Candace nodded. “Sure. All possible. But see, there’s this bullet. Not an unused bullet, by the way. One that’s been fired and bears a spot of blood.”

  Ed’s eyes filled with sadness. “I should have followed my gut, left that thing where it was dumped. An uneasy feeling come on when I was shoving it up in my pickup. When I got back here and heard the cat inside, I thought that’s why I was all troubled inside.”

  “Ed, you did right.” Candace was staring at the love seat, hands on hips. “I’ll need your help, though. Tell me again exactly where you found this darn thing.”

  “I can write it down,” he said.

  “I’m the one who needs to write it down for my report,” she replied. “You, on the other hand, need to come with me to show me the exact spot where you found it.”

  “What you need me for? I don’t know nothin’ else, Candace.”

  “It’ll be fine. I simply need to know the position of the sofa when you found it, where you pulled your truck in . . . details like that. I’m a detail girl.” She smiled broadly, probably hoping to quell Ed’s obvious apprehension.

  “But who’ll watch my shop? And—”

  “I can do that,” I offered.

  Candace removed the gloves and took out her cell phone. “Nope. Need an officer here to keep this as official as possible. The furniture could be evidence or it could be nothing, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m thinking you got a cat and dog who could use your attention, Jillian.” She nodded at the crate. Yoshi was lying next to it, looking far too calm for Yoshi. Maybe he was scared, too.

  “Yoshi can stay with Ed. But are you saying Magpie’s not evidence?” I asked.

  “Not really. I’ll get a cat hair sample for comparison to what’s on the sofa. Other than that, I don’t need anything.”

  After she put a bit of Magpie’s fur in an evidence envelope, it was time for me to leave. Not wanting to get near the sofa, I blew Ed a kiss from the entrance rather than giving him the hug I was sure he could use about now. “I’ll be in touch. And don’t worry, Ed.”

  Soon Magpie and I were on our way, but my nervousness had merged with curiosity. How did that blood get on the sofa? And what would they find when they returned to the spot where Ed found it this morning? These thoughts would nag at me until Candace filled me in.

  I glanced at the crate on the passenger seat next to me. Magpie would have much preferred to be out of there if her continued clawing on the latch was any clue.

  “What do you know about blood and bullets, Magpie?” I said softly.

  Three

  I pulled into my driveway, feeling an urgent need for sweet tea, a cat on my lap and Animal Planet on the TV. But Magpie came first. I didn’t want a kitty smeared with human blood visiting with my three resident fur friends.

  Before Merlot, my red Maine coon, Chablis, my Himalayan, and Syrah, my Abyssinian, could blink—they were waiting by the back door—I quickly took our new friend to the basement for a bath. I shut the stairway door before Syrah could stick out a paw and stop me. I didn’t need company for this particular job.

  Cats and baths don’t often go well together. Perhaps they feel as if it’s humiliating. Two out of my three cats hated getting in the tub—because they believed they could clean themselves just fine, thank you very much. Chablis was different. Any and all attention was welcome, even if it involved water.

  Turned out, Magpie was like Chablis. She purred as I shampooed her. When I rinsed her off, the lather was rusty red and had I not known about the blood, I would have thought she’d been rolling in South Carolina clay. I finished the bath as quickly as I could, not wanting to dwell on what had just gone down the drain.

  The downstairs bathroom was always ready for guests—whether the guests were feline or human. Since Finn had already dropped off his bag in the bedroom down here, I used his hair dryer on Magpie. I was worried this part of the process wouldn’t go quite as well and kept my thick rubber gloves on to prevent scratches. But this little tortie seemed unflappable. She even rolled onto her back at one point to make sure I thoroughly dried off her tummy.

  Merlot and Syrah should have been watching this and maybe learning a lesson on how to behave when it was their turn. They rarely needed baths, but when they did, I often wished I owned a suit of armor.

  Worried that the carrier I’d used for this baby would have traces of blood left inside, I stowed it in a corner of the basement for now, knowing it was probably headed for the trash. I had a soft-sided carrier in the storage room and used that to take Magpie upstairs for the meet and greet.

  My cats were immensely curious when I set the carrier down on the window seat where the afternoon sun would warm Magpie up. Syrah offered an openmouthed hiss when he saw the new visitor and ran off. Chablis sniffed her and walked away, but Merlot was quite interested and parked himself next to the carrier and stared at Magpie through the mesh. It seemed she would have one friend right away—even though I was certain my other two would come around.

  After I had a PBJ sandwich for lunch along with some freshly made sweet tea, it was time to work on the hem of my wedding dress. When John and I had married, we’d chosen the courthouse in Houston. No dress, no flowers, no fuss, mostly because John’s daughter, Kara, in her late teens at the time, had been none too happy about her father remarrying.

  Kara and I were close now
. I loved her and she felt the same about me. After John’s heart attack seven years ago, his recliner was my haven. I’d sit there and feel wrapped in his arms. But now it had been moved to the master bedroom in Kara’s house. That chair had comforted me through the dark days following John’s sudden death. Now it belonged with her.

  For my wedding to Tom, I would be wearing my grandmother’s cream satin dress, and it needed alterations. I was almost done with the hem but would need help from Martha at the local quilt shop for the rest. She was an expert seamstress as well as a quilter. Before I got started with my needle and thread, I heard Magpie softly mewing. She was probably hungry. I opened the crate and set a dish of kibble on the window seat while Merlot continued to stare at our new addition to the family.

  Before the tortie even smelled the kibble, she bumped noses with Merlot. He blinked—that loving blink all cats use—and sat nearby to watch her eat.

  “Does my big red boy suddenly have a girlfriend?” I asked.

  Merlot warbled a response but kept his eyes on Magpie. How sweet, I thought.

  I usually felt comfortable leaving the cats to get to know each other, since I fostered kitties all the time for Shawn, but this baby was a little different. She was used to more outdoor time than indoor. I figured about ninety minutes was the max I could work on the hem.

  In the meantime, I hoped Magpie would be entertained by my three amigos. I went to my quilting room and set the timer on my phone. I heard no loud protests once I closed the door, nor did I hear sounds of a catfight as I worked. Paws appeared under the door several times, but the addition of a new visitor was probably more interesting than watching me sew. I was putting the finishing touches on the hem when I heard Candace’s familiar knock at my back door—a rather booming version because I no doubt hadn’t heard her the first time.

  I carefully boxed up the dress to keep it away from prying cats’ paws and hurried out to greet her. By the time I reached the kitchen, Candace had already let herself in and was taking the pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge. Syrah and Chablis watched her closely.