Tom returned as promised and, of course, I had to know what he wanted with Candace.
He took my hands off the water I held and gripped them in his own. “I wanted to confirm something. Do you know you’re a hero? That you took down a murderer tonight?”
“What? No. You knocked him out. Besides, his father is the one who killed Kay Ellen. Ward may be a bad person, but I believe him.”
“I’m not talking about Kay Ellen,” he said. “I’m talking about Penelope Webber.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. Penelope was ready to vote through the condo proposal, just like Stanley wanted her to. She wanted to cash in on the deal, but someone found out—Landon Burgess, no doubt—and she was murdered to keep her from swaying the vote.” I paused, considering this. “Stanley had to know which way she was leaning, so why would he want her dead? Once the mill was in his hands again, he could tear it completely apart looking for the money he believes his father hid.”
“You mean the bearer bonds, diamonds and cash Dustin Gray helped Candace locate?” he said.
“No way,” I said, smiling broadly. “They found it?”
“They found it thanks to Dustin’s skill as an engineer,” Tom said. “Who knows when that secret little room was constructed? Years ago, no doubt. But obviously son Ward knew nothing about it—nor did his mother.”
I said, “But let’s back up. You said he murdered Penelope. Why would he do that when she was about to help him get his proposal approved?”
“Here’s the deal. I learned who the shadow investor was today. Penelope Webber had maxed out every credit card, drained her bank account and turned over her stocks to Stanley.” He smiled. “That’s how I found out she was the mysterious investor—because of the stocks she put in his name.”
“That still doesn’t explain why Stanley would kill one of his cash cows,” I said.
“Your friend Dustin had a hand in that, I’m afraid,” he said. “After he’d been to the mill, he voiced serious doubts to Penelope about the condo proposal. Told her the renovations for residential living would be far more costly, especially the insurance part. There wasn’t enough in the condo till to cover it.”
“Dustin did tell me something about that tonight. So, Penelope asked Stanley for her money back, didn’t she?” I said.
“I think so, because she still had an investor offering up a real estate component—Landon Burgess. Penelope wouldn’t cash in as quickly as with the condo project, but an urban village still could work for her down the line. She could become involved as a commercial real estate agent once the shops in the urban village were created,” he said. “Candace and Morris will sweat the entire truth out of Stanley, I’m sure. Plus, that weapon he used—what’s it called again?”
“A heddle hook,” I said.
“It came from inside the mill. Who do we now know has been in that mill probably more times than we can count over the years?”
“Ward Stanley,” I said, nodding slowly.
“A piece of circumstantial evidence, but it makes sense.” He smiled. “Candace said I can take you home. What you told her in the car on the way over has given her plenty of ammunition to hold Stanley—but knowing her, she’ll get him to confess. She said she’ll get your formal statement tomorrow morning.”
As we were walking out, Kara blasted through the door in the waiting area. When she saw me, she pressed her hand to her heart. “I’ve never been so glad to see you in my life.”
Tom held the gate open and she grabbed me in a bear hug. Then she gripped my forearms and held me back so she could look at my face.
“Did he do that to you?” she said, staring at what was probably an ugly bruise.
“It’s okay. I’m fine. We were just going home and I’d love it if you came, too.”
Tom told me he’d help me pick up my van tomorrow and we drove to my house in his Prius, with Kara’s SUV on our tail.
The cats were lined up and I could tell they knew something had happened. All three rubbed against me and wound between my legs. When I knelt to pet them, Syrah sniffed at my swollen cheek and then rubbed his head against my biceps.
They followed on my heels, but once I’d poured myself a glass of sweet tea—the cure for everything, in my opinion—they seemed to know that the world was right again. Only then did they greet Kara and Tom.
I took my tea with me when I went to change. When I took off my clothes, I decided I never wanted to see them again. I tossed them in the trash when I came back to visit with Kara and Tom.
I curled up in the corner of the sofa with Chablis. My boy cats decided they weren’t ready to rest, but they still needed to be near me, so they crouched at my feet, staring up at me.
After I’d filled Kara in on all that had happened since I’d last seen her at the restaurant, I said, “Did you talk to Morris about Earl Whitehouse?”
She nodded. “Related everything to Morris right after I dumped my date. I’d told Earl he wasn’t my type. He was so drunk, I doubt he’ll remember, so Morris said he’d have a chat with him about lying to the police and also promised to tell Whitehouse he wasn’t to contact me ever again.”
“Will they need him to testify about—” I stopped. “Oh. Kay Ellen’s killer is dead. There won’t be a trial.”
“No trial for that murder—if Stanley is telling the truth,” Tom said. “That guy is such a turd.”
Kara said, “I’d love to see Earl Whitehouse get up on the witness stand, admit he dated a mill village girl and that the last place she probably went was to the mill to confront the intruder. And I’d like his father right there listening to him spill it.”
“I have to say, I’m glad Jeannie won’t have to face a trial,” I said. “She’s had enough heartache for a lifetime.”
“What will happen to her?” Kara asked.
“There’ll be a spot for her through UHP in a setting where she can learn new skills, maybe eventually earn money again. Plus they’ll help her file for social security—something she probably knows nothing about.”
“She’s at the pastorium now, though? Until she recovers?” Kara said.
“Right.” Sorrow came over me then. She didn’t know how her daughter died; she didn’t know her remains had been removed. I had to be the one to tell her. She deserved to know.
“What’s wrong?” Tom asked.
“I’m just thinking about Jeannie,” I said. “I’ve come to care about her.” And her little cat, I thought. The little cat who saved me.
* * *
The next morning, I showered as soon as I woke up, even though I’d showered the night before. The hot water soothed my aching muscles. Stanley had shoved me, hit me, pulled me all over that mill kitchen, and my body made sure to remind me. But I’d be fine in a few days.
I put on jeans and a dark pink sweatshirt and walked out to the living room, three cats leading the way. Tom was still asleep on the sofa. Last night Kara had to leave to write up the story for the Messenger and Tom had adamantly refused to leave me by myself.
I tiptoed past him into the kitchen and quickly fed my three amigos before they started meowing for their breakfast. I didn’t want to wake up Tom. I couldn’t grind coffee beans, either, I’d decided, but it all became moot when Candace’s familiar knock sounded on the back door.
She took one look at me and said, “Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.”
“Not too bad,” I whispered, hoping she’d take the cue and keep her voice down.
But Tom called out a sleepy, “Hi, Candace,” and I turned and saw his hand raised in greeting.
“Hey, Tom.” She looked back at me. “Glad you weren’t alone last night. What an ordeal that lowlife put you through.”
“I don’t know about the two of you,” I said, “but I need coffee. Then you can tell me what happened after I left the station last night.”
Fifteen minutes later we all sat in the living room. After Candace took her first sip of coffee, she said, “He confessed. People w
ould be amazed at how criminals fold when confronted with the evidence. He spilled everything—but then, he’d already admitted most of it to you. He thinks his confession will get him a reduced sentence. It won’t.”
I did a fist pump and said, “Yes. Go, Candace.”
“He’ll be charged with assault on Jillian, too, right?” Tom said.
“He will. He’ll be charged with as much stuff as we can come up with along with the murder charge—multiple counts of breaking and entering, accessory to Kay Ellen’s murder. It’s a long list,” she said.
“Tell me about what you found in the office,” I said.
“Wonder boy Dustin led me to a fortune,” she said. “He told me the small room we found had probably been there for decades—that old buildings often have secret spaces. A small door had been plastered over and painted—probably by the elder Stanley after he hid the bonds and jewels from his wife and son. There may have even been a safe in there at one time, though all we found was a steamer trunk filled with his fortune. We collected this evidence and we don’t yet know the exact worth of what the elder Ward Stanley squirreled away. Of course, once the mill renovation got under way, someone would have found it.”
“Who’ll get the money?” Tom said.
“Beatrice Stanley’s husband died before their divorce was final,” Candace said. “I imagine it will go to her unless we find out she was complicit in either of the murders. Her son swears she knew nothing about any of it.”
“Do you have any indication of her involvement?” Tom asked.
“Not a thing,” she said. “Unless her son turns on her, she’s free and clear. And will be rich again.” Candace looked at me. “We have to go through the tedium of your formal statement. You up for that?”
“Sure. Down at the station?” I asked.
She said, “We can do it here. I brought my trusty notebook and tape recorder.”
Tom stood, his coffee mug in hand. “In that case, since you’ll be with Jillian, I’ll head home to shower.” He came over to where I sat and bent to kiss me gently. “I’ll be back, though, making a pest of myself.”
I laughed and found that laughter did hurt my face a little.
Candace spent an hour taking me through last evening’s events step by step. I found myself trembling at one point as I relived it. She noticed, stopped and put her hand over my clenched fist. “You did amazing. And look who helped you? Cats, of course.”
I smiled, thinking about Boots. I would always think of her not as a ghost, but rather as my guardian angel from this day on.
When we were finished with the statement, I told her I had to call Jeannie, see if I could come over and break the news to her about who had murdered her daughter.
Elizabeth Truman answered the phone and said I was welcome to come by. Jeannie would be back from her rehab treatment within the next half hour.
After I hung up, Candace said, “Do you want me to go with you?”
“You’re in uniform,” I said. “You know how Jeannie feels about that. Besides, Tom said he’d take me to pick up my van. I’ll ask him to go with me.”
Once Tom arrived, Candace departed after giving me a gentle hug. I told him the plan and after cat treats were dispensed, we were on our way to the mill village one more time. I was grateful for daylight and relieved a certain someone was locked up.
In fact, the morning was turning out to be bright and beautiful, the sun happy to shine on the truths that had been exposed.
Jeannie smiled when Elizabeth showed Tom and me into the parlor. She was sitting with both feet propped on a footstool and the quilt I’d made her across her lap.
Elizabeth said, “If we could make that quilt into a coat or a dress, I swear Jeannie would wear it all day.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Jeannie said, her voice filled with concern.
I said, “Nothing’s wrong. Why do—”
“Your face,” Elizabeth said. “I was wondering what happened, too.”
“A bad man hit me, but he’s in jail now,” I said.
Elizabeth said, “He hit you? I read about the incident in the paper but it didn’t mention you were assaulted. What a terrible man he turned out to be.”
“Jail for him. Good,” Jeannie said.
“I have some correspondence to take care of,” Elizabeth said, “but I can make tea or coffee—”
I raised a hand. “We’re fine. We need to tell Jeannie a few things.”
Elizabeth nodded knowingly. “I understand. But if you need me or the pastor, just ring us over at the church.”
Tom and I sat on the sofa across from Jeannie and I felt butterflies in my stomach. This wouldn’t be easy. Tom sensed my anxiety and took my hand.
“He likes you,” Jeannie said. “That’s good.”
“He does,” I said, smiling at Tom.
And then there she was. Boots had crawled into Jeannie’s lap, ready to be her guardian angel again.
“There you are, Bootsie. I been missin’ you.” She stroked the cat and I noticed Boots was translucent, not as fully visible as she’d been last night.
Tom shifted uncomfortably.
Jeannie said, “You don’t see her. Just me and Jillian can.”
I cleared my throat. “Many things have happened in the last week and a lot of them weren’t good. The creepers you’ve been hearing all these years?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yup. Are they in jail, too?”
“Turns out it was only one person,” I said. “Ward Stanley.”
She paled. “But you told me he’s dead. Don’t go tellin’ me I was seein’ more than a ghost cat.”
“His son. That Ward Stanley,” I clarified.
Her mouth formed an O.
“But that’s not all I have to tell you, and some of this might be difficult to hear,” I said. “But you need to know.”
In a soft, profoundly sad voice, Jeannie said, “I know she died by another’s hand.” Tears began to slide down her cheeks. “I don’t need to know who done it. Don’t want to.”
“Are you sure?” I said.
“I am.” She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand.
“There’s more,” I said. “They had to move Kay Ellen—so she can be put to rest in a proper place. So you won’t have to stay by yourself and watch over her anymore.”
Tom tightened his grip on my hand. He’d heard my voice crack and knew I was close to tears myself.
“They moved her when I wasn’t there?” Her grief seemed even more magnified. “Why’d they go and do that?”
“You were in the hospital, Jeannie,” I said. “But now, she can be put in the ground and you can visit her there. Isn’t your mother in the ground?”
She waved her arm in the direction of the kitchen. “Right behind the church in the graveyard.” She was quiet for a minute and then her expression changed. She began to smile. “I can lay my girl right beside my mama.”
Just then we heard the kitchen door open and Pastor Mitch and his wife talking.
“Pastor Mitch,” Jeannie called, “come quick.”
He hurried into the room with Elizabeth right behind him.
“We can lay my girl to rest right by my mama, Pastor. And you and me and Miss Elizabeth can say a prayer for her every day.”
He smiled broadly. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”
Boots gave me one of her smiles, too, and then ever so slowly, she disappeared—at least to me. But I saw Jeannie’s hand resting oddly in midair. It seemed the cat was still there for her.
I would miss Boots, but I was glad Jeannie would always have her precious companion.
Not long after, Tom and I left. As he drove me to my van, I let out a huge sigh of relief.
“People amaze me,” I said. “She took the news far differently than I imagined.”
“Because the person who delivered the news did such a beautiful job,” he said. “One more reason to love you.”
I looked over at him and reste
d a hand on his shoulder. “Know something? I love you, too.”
He didn’t speak until we were out of the car and he’d walked me to my van. “Last night was the scariest night of my life. I heard you scream from behind that locked door and I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t help you.” He took my face in his hands, being careful to avoid the bruise. “Thank goodness you’re okay, because I don’t want to live without you.”
I felt tears sting my eyes. “You know, when I was in that kitchen, I thought about you and Kara and Candace and my cats and all the love that surrounds me every day. I had to get back to you. I knew I would.”
“You didn’t panic. You kept your wits. You are amazing.” He kissed me.
Then, in the shadow of a ruined mill and a culture I hoped this country would never revisit, Tom spoke softly.
“Jillian Hart, will you marry me?”
Read on for a look at the first novel
in the Cats in Trouble series,
The Cat, the Quilt
and the Corpse
Available in print and e-book from Obsidian
My cat is allergic to people—yes, odd, I know—so when I came in the back door and heard Chablis sneeze, I stopped dead. Why was she sneezing? This couldn’t be a reaction to me. I use special shampoo, take precautions. Chablis and I are cool.
Besides, she hadn’t been near any humans for more than twenty-four hours, since I was just arriving back from an overnight business trip to Spartanburg, a two-hour drive from my upstate South Carolina home. I’d left her and my two other cats, Merlot and Syrah, alone in the house, as I’d done many times before when I took short trips out of town. So how did human dander, better known as dandruff, find its way up her nose?
I released my grip on the rolling suitcase and started for the living room, thinking there could be a simple explanation for a sneezing cat other than allergies. Like an illness.
The thought of a sick Chablis pushed logic down to the hippocampus or wherever common sense goes when you have more important matters to attend to. I dropped my tote on the counter and hurried past the teak dining table. Since my kitchen, dining area and living room all blend together, the trip to where I’d heard Chablis sneeze wasn’t more than twenty feet. But before I’d taken five steps, I stopped again. Something else besides a sneezing cat now had my attention.
The Cat, the Mill and the Murder: A Cats in Trouble Mystery Page 25
