The Cat, the Sneak and the Secret

by Leann Sweeney

I turned into the break room and saw Candace with her head resting on folded arms at the table. How long could everyone go without sleep?

  I put the sandwiches and tea in the center of the table.

  When I rested a hand on Candace’s back, she lifted her head and mumbled, “Just a little catnap.”

  “You need more than a nap. Everyone must be exhausted.”

  She blinked away the fatigue and stretched. “First forty-eight is no lie. You gotta get a break with whodunits and—”

  “And we just got one. No, two.” It was Tom, standing in the door, holding two pieces of printer paper.

  Candace tucked loose hair behind her ears. “Ballistics?”

  Tom nodded. “As soon as the pathologist removed the bullet from—from Mike, they compared it like you suggested to the bullet you found in that sofa and bingo.” He shook the two reports and uttered a ferocious “Yes.”

  “Didn’t the sofa bullet have Rhett’s blood on it?”

  Candace nodded. “It sure did. But now they need to compare the gun that was in Mike’s hand to Rhett’s bullet so we’ve got all our ducks in a row for a future murder trial.”

  “They’re doing it now, but this connects the two deaths. Now we know why Mike had that gun in his dead hand.” Tom nodded, glancing between Candace and me.

  “You’re saying someone tried to frame Mike for Rhett’s murder?” I said.

  “You bet they did,” Candace said. “Mike supposedly kills Rhett and then commits suicide. Does this murdering turd believe we fell off the stupid truck?”

  Tom came to the table and sat, pulled a sandwich out of the bag. Candace followed his lead, hunting for her favorite—the kind I’d been sure to include in the order.

  After Tom took a giant bite of a turkey club, he said, “Now we can start asking questions. Why him? Why Mike?”

  “That’s what’s been driving me crazy.” Candace unwrapped her buffalo chicken sandwich with the bleu cheese dressing she loved. “Why this victim? Why did he have to die? Why now?”

  Tom gestured her way with his sub. “Exactly.”

  “Since Lois knew Mike the least amount of time, I asked her to look into his personal stuff. I know you asked me to do it, Tom, but I couldn’t. It felt like I was prying.”

  “That’s fine,” Tom replied. “I shouldn’t have asked you. Glad someone is thinking straight around here. Lois is good at her job. She’ll get what we need.”

  I contemplated what they said and knew there had to be a reason someone wanted Mike dead. What was it? What would the investigation uncover? I had a bad feeling about this.

  Candace, whose sandwich was already half-gone, stopped eating for a second. “Preliminary tox screen done yet?”

  “Oh yes. Another lead to follow and I’ll take this one. Small amount of alcohol, big dose of flunitrazepam.”

  “Huh? What the heck is that?” I said.

  Candace said, “You might know it by its other name. Rohypnol.”

  I blinked a few times, stunned. “The date-rape drug? Wow. Surely the person who killed Mike would know you’d find it in his system.”

  “Only if we looked for it,” Candace said. “The killer assumed this would be ruled a suicide and probably no autopsy would be done. See, that’s why we had Lydia come to the scene—even though it was the last call I wanted to make. A coroner can rule that no living person caused the death and therefore no autopsy is required. That’s the law in South Carolina. Lydia took the evidence about Mike always using his right hand to shoot straight to her boss, and the cause of death was ruled homicide immediately and an autopsy ordered.”

  “I had no idea the coroner held so much power. And he’s not even a doctor, is he?”

  “Not in our county,” Tom said. “Elected, remember?”

  “I forgot. Despite all those election billboards I pass on the highway to Greenville.”

  Tom grinned and it was so good to see his smile. “Aren’t you older than me? Does that explain the memory malfunction?”

  “By six months. Doesn’t count.”

  Lois, looking less tired than her colleagues, appeared in the door of the break room. “Not much on Mike that I can find. He did eat out a lot and from the credit card bills I’ve looked at, he wasn’t eating alone. Or he had one huge appetite.”

  Tom looked at me. “You want to go out to dinner tonight?”

  “What? You need to work and—oh, I get it. We’re headed to wherever Mike ate, right?”

  “Lois, if you get me a list of those restaurants Mike went to, I’d appreciate it.”

  “You got it, sir.” She disappeared before I could tell her to grab a sandwich.

  Tom mumbled, “I’m not a sir. I don’t ever want to be called sir.” The intensity was back, the pain in his eyes evident. Tom was just helping out here, determined to find a friend’s murderer. He didn’t want to be their boss during this difficult time. He simply wanted to lead them in the right direction.

  Candace said, “Can I go out to dinner, too? And give you the bill?”

  “I think everyone should go out to dinner. Let’s make that happen. Spread out to different places and talk to people who might have seen Mike and any dinner companions. Show the wait staff and hosts or hostesses a picture of Mike and maybe we can get a description of who he was with.”

  I stood. Time for me to—oh, wait. I came here with a little history concerning Rhett Marner’s family. Ed knew plenty about the Rebecca Marner family and I had to share it. I summarized what I’d learned about Seth, Lindsey and Rebecca and said, “That divorce seems like it was pretty traumatic for the kids. So why are Rebecca and Zoe so buddy-buddy?”

  “Same social circle?” Candace was hunting in the bag for another sandwich. This time she chose a Philly cheesesteak and grabbed a cup from the counter for some of the Milo’s Sweet Tea I’d brought. Almost as good as what I made. Almost.

  I considered Candace’s hypothesis. “Could be the reason. Maybe the two women wanted to avoid any awkward tension when they’re around other people. It certainly wasn’t to avoid inflicting any further pain on Lindsey and probably Seth, too. She doesn’t even seem to care that the girl is staying with us.”

  “Good line of inquiry,” Tom said. “How do Rebecca and Zoe truly feel about each other? Maybe the ladies who volunteer at the charity store have thoughts on that. I know we won’t get the truth out of the other kids.”

  “What other kids?” I asked.

  Candace said, “Toby and Owen. Everything is a joke to them, even their stepfather’s death. Of course, I don’t think there was any love lost between them and Rhett from what I could tell after interviewing them.”

  “And then there’s Lindsey,” I said. “What do you make Lindsey being sent to a special school?”

  Tom looked at me. “What kind of special school are teenage girls sent to?”

  “Oh.” My brain really must be on overload. “Why didn’t I think of that? She got pregnant.”

  “Exactly,” Candace said. “Might be worth following up on, but I don’t see how a pregnancy from five years ago could be related to our murders. You’ve been getting to know Lindsey. Why not just ask her?”

  “Are you kidding?” I paused, knowing I sounded way too protective. “Talking to her should be as gentle as possible. The girl has her guard up all the time. If she gets upset, she’ll shut down.”

  Tom put a hand over mine, the one now clutched tightly around a napkin. “You have the finest set of kid gloves I know. Why not handle her with those?”

  “I—I can’t. Her trust in everyone is so tenuous and I’ve worked hard to try and be a friend to her. If she believes for a second that I’m probing into her past—and that means judging her—she’ll clam up completely.”

  Tom’s voice was calm. “Take your time and if you don’t feel comfortable asking her about this, then don’
t. Like Candace said, it could be a lead, but we have a lot more pressing clues to pursue. Bo Strickland alibied out, however. He was at defensive driving school, and then he and his mother went out of town after a cousin died. So he didn’t take the truck. Seems like he’s in the clear.”

  Candace wiped a napkin across her mouth and sat back in her chair. “I thought we might have something when we found out about his love for borrowing that truck. I’ve been interviewing laborers since early this morning. Zoe Marner seems to be the only person on this earth who cared about Rhett.”

  “Lindsey cares,” I said. “But she’s conflicted, doesn’t know what to do with her grief.”

  Candace balled up her two sandwich wrappers and threw them at the wastebasket. They landed inches shy. “After my talk with Seth, I’m thinking he cared, too, but that kid is a mess. The person he cares about the most is his sister and she abandoned him. Even so, he’s not angry. He’s worried about her.”

  “She promised to talk to him today. She’s consumed with school and I’m guessing she uses her studies as a shield, just like she uses sarcasm and hostility. Her head is down and she’s plowing forward, not wanting any help.”

  “If anyone can get to her, it’s you,” Tom said. “But you might be opening a Pandora’s box. She’s held in a secret for a long time—and for a reason.”

  “Shame. Guilt. Those are gigantic issues for adolescents. I mean, she was fourteen when she went to that school if my math is accurate.” Though Finn could talk to her about anything else, a pregnancy might be more in my wheelhouse. I paused and realized this might not be her truth. “You are speculating about a pregnancy, though. You don’t have any records or anything, right?”

  I was met with two skeptical stares.

  “Okay. Maybe I’m being naive. And it’s time for me to leave so you can get back to solving these murders.” I stood. “Please make sure everyone knows about the sandwiches. Especially my good friend Morris. Y’all need to feed your minds and come up with answers.”

  Candace rose, too. “Morris went to the bank with a subpoena so we can look at records for the construction business as well as the families. And I’m expecting a guy to come in for a second interview right about now. Marner fired him only a couple days before our victim went missing. His first interview did not go well. The guy was still pissed and said he was glad Marner was dead. Doesn’t he know you don’t say that kind of stuff to the police?”

  Once Candace left the room, Tom took me in his arms and hugged me tightly. “Thanks for coming here. You made this day easier to handle. And don’t forget we’ll be eating out tonight. Where, I don’t know yet. I’ll text you with the time and place so you’ll know the details.”

  As I left the courthouse, Candace’s words stayed with me. How could this man she was about to interview be glad someone died violently? But I was being a Pollyanna. Some people did feel that way about their family or coworkers. Candace had drilled into me that most folks know their killer, that they are often related. Mike probably knew his murderer, too. He’d been drugged and you have to get up close and personal to drug your victim.

  As I was driving away, I noticed the new barista walking down the sidewalk. Her shift must be over. Beside her, holding the woman’s hand, was a child who looked to be four or five years old. What was the lady’s name again? Lucy. Maybe they needed a ride.

  I pulled over and rolled down the window. “Hi, Lucy. Remember me?”

  She stopped. “What do you want?”

  “You look tired. Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  “No, thanks.” She started walking, but the little girl didn’t move and tugged at her mother’s hand.

  “It’s a long way, Mommy. Can we get an ice cream first?”

  Lucy crouched and talked to her daughter, something I couldn’t hear. The result was a full-blown, fall-down-on-the-sidewalk tantrum.

  I pulled to the curb, got out of the car and approached them, but stopped a few feet away as the child continued to wail and kick.

  Lucy stood watching her, looking helpless.

  I said, “I don’t mind a crying little girl. Pick her up and let me take you wherever you need to go.”

  Lucy didn’t refuse this time. She glanced my way and said, “Only because I don’t want someone to think I abused my child and that’s why she’s acting like this.”

  She swept her daughter up while I used the remote to open the side door of my van. I stood back as Lucy strapped in the suddenly calm girl. She was so cute, with big brown eyes and long lashes. Even her pouty little mouth was endearing. No booster seat, of course, but these two needed help and I figured the car seat police were all rather busy. I’d get these two safely to their destination.

  On the drive to a neighborhood not far from Ed’s Swap Shop, I learned the little girl’s name was Amelia and their last name was Rucker. Lucy wasn’t as irritable as she’d been once we were on our way. She apologized for her attitude saying she was simply exhausted. They’d only moved here from Charleston a week and a half ago. Amelia wasn’t sleeping well and that meant Mom wasn’t, either.

  Turned out they would have had a considerable walk. Lucy lived in a tiny clapboard home that looked pretty darn old. Since Amelia had fallen asleep within seconds of her being belted into the backseat, Lucy carried her while I took her bag, found her keys and unlocked the front door.

  Lucy whispered, “Please come in. And excuse the mess.”

  The house seemed dark, probably because of the paneling and deep brown wooden floors. Boxes were stacked in one corner of the small living room, and a leather sofa faced a flat-screen TV. There was no other furniture if you eliminated the pile of toys to my left. It included a play kitchen set and small table and chairs for tea parties. An American Girl doll in a pink faux leopard print outfit sat in one of the chairs. Nice stuff in a tiny, musty old house with a parent who worked a job that didn’t pay well. The contradictions confused me.

  Lucy returned to the room after putting Amelia down. “I don’t have anything to offer you besides water, and that seems like a meager thank-you. I hope to get a car soon and we won’t have to walk so far. Not much public transportation in this town.”

  “I’m glad you accepted a ride. Amelia needed it and so did you.”

  “It’s been a difficult few months. My husband died suddenly. Heart attack, they said. He just dropped dead at work.”

  “We have a lot in common.” I swallowed down the lump in my throat that almost kept me from speaking. “The same thing happened to my husband about six years ago.” Here was another person in mourning. And this dank, gloomy house surely made things worse for the poor woman.

  “I’m sorry.” She rubbed away her tears so quickly and with such force I could feel her resentment at being robbed of someone she loved. I knew the feeling only too well.

  “Do you have family here?”

  She hesitated. After seeming to struggle to find what should have been an easy answer, she said, “No, not really.”

  “I’m asking too many questions. Forgive me.” But I still wondered why she’d moved here at such a difficult time.

  She replied to my unspoken question by saying, “It’s less expensive to live here than in Charleston.”

  “You chose a good place to relocate, then. Belle is a fine woman and she’ll help you any way she can.”

  “She’s been wonderful. And so are you. Thank you again for helping us out. I’m just a little overwhelmed right now.”

  “With good reason, but you—” My phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Finn. I let it go to voice mail so I could offer a polite good-bye. I’d forgotten all about picking him up so we could get Yoshi. “Anyway, we’re glad to have you in Mercy. Take care.”

  She thanked me again and I was glad to breathe fresh air when I left the house.

  Twenty-one

  The first
thing Yoshi did when we arrived back at my house was race around the backyard that sloped down to Mercy Lake. He acted as if he’d just gotten out of jail. Finn and I watched from the deck and had a good laugh. I needed a laugh after all I’d heard and seen today.

  But as I disarmed the alarm and we entered the house, thoughts of Mike took their sobering toll again. I felt guilty for laughing, for enjoying a moment—and then banished that guilt by reasoning with myself. Remembering his life was far more important than selfish reflection on my own emotions.

  Finn held Yoshi in his arms as we entered. It wasn’t as if I could sit down and have a talk with the cats about how the dog was coming to stay with them again, and they had to be on their best behavior.

  But as soon as Yoshi saw Syrah and Chablis sitting in their usual spot waiting for me to greet them, he squirmed loose and leapt out of Finn’s arms. He jumped over the cats and ran like a wild animal around the kitchen island, out into the other room and then back.

  Syrah’s ruff stood on end, but Chablis couldn’t have cared less. She was waiting on treats first and she’d worry about the dog later. Yoshi stopped abruptly in front of Syrah, front paws down, butt in the air. It’s the play position for dogs, and Syrah was having none of it. He offered Yoshi an openmouthed hiss. But Chablis seemed to think Yoshi might be the bearer of treats so she arched her back and rubbed up against him. This sent Yoshi off running again.

  “Let the chaos begin,” I said.

  Finn was watching all this with amusement. “I think Ed was putting energy drinks in his water.”

  I smiled. “No. He’s simply happy to be back with you.”

  Syrah retreated to sulk on the windowsill, but Chablis readily accepted a couple of treats. But even the rattle of the treat jar didn’t bring Merlot and Magpie out from wherever they were at the moment. I pulled out my phone and checked the cameras while Finn refilled the water bowl Yoshi had just sloppily emptied.

  What I saw on the camera feed in my craft room made my heart sink and I hurried to stop what was going on in there. One wall had a set of open shelving where I kept my fabrics folded and sorted by color group. Either Magpie or Merlot had pulled down fat quarters, and what had been neatly folded yards of fabric. They were all mixed together on the floor like a circular crazy quilt. Merlot, looking quite proud of himself, was curled up in the middle of the bed he’d made—no doubt with the mischievous Magpie’s help.