“Losing time?” I said.
“The first forty-eight hours are crucial in any investigation, and I spent the entire night and this morning collecting evidence.” She began whispering then. “See, I know the professor was murdered.”
“Not suicide and not an accident? You’re sure?” I said.
“Yes, because—”
But Candace was interrupted by the waitress, who’d reappeared with our drinks and was ready to take our orders. We all chose Texas chili dogs—which, from their description, sounded like nothing unusual, but since they were touted as “the special” we all decided we had to try them. Tom ordered fries and Candace added onion rings, but my mind wasn’t on food any longer. My instincts had told me that man was murdered, so I was eager to hear what Candace had to say.
“Won’t you get in trouble for talking about this with us?” I said.
“She knows we won’t say anything,” Tom said.
“But that means not saying anything to Kara, Tom. You understand that?” I said.
“Who’s Kara?” Candace looked back and forth between us.
I hesitated.
“Okay, if there’s a person who you might talk to about this case, then I’ve said enough.” Candace looked ready to vent on me now. Her arms were crossed across her chest, and her lips were a tight pucker.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Kara is John’s daughter. She arrived this morning, right after the bug man left.”
“He had a daughter? And you never told me?” Candace said. She sounded hurt.
“Never told me, either,” Tom added, who obviously sympathized with her hurt.
The whole thing made me pretty uncomfortable. It was hard for me to talk about Kara and explain to others why we weren’t very close. It was one of those things that was easier left unsaid. “Can I explain when we’re both not so . . . so tired and cranky?” I said.
“I’m not tired,” Tom said.
“But you want to help Kara with her writing career, and—”
“Hold on, Jillian,” Tom said. “I thought you understood.” His knee moved away from mine. “Helping Kara does not involve telling her anything Candace says about the case. If the professor was murdered—and I have no doubt that’s true if Candace says so, then—”
“Kara’s a writer? What kind of writer?” Candace asked.
I sighed. And then I explained.“She lost her job and needs your support. I get it.” Candace seemed to relax, and so did I. No secrets between the three of us now.
When our food arrived, Tom said, “Let’s take a break from talking about Kara and the professor, eat these chili dogs and then get coffee over at Belle’s. I, for one, will feel better about the three of us conversing as trusting friends once my belly is full.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Stressful day. Nothing like a chili dog and fries to cure what ails you.”
Turns out the “Texas chili dog” was like nothing I’d tasted back home in Texas. Instead, this dog had a chili sauce touched with cinnamon and came loaded with grated sweet onions. It had to be the best bad-for-you food I’d ever eaten. No one talked. We’d all gone to heart- attack-on-a-bun heaven.
When we were done, we walked one block to Belle’s Beans in silence, but in a far better mood. Food is the quicker fixer-upper. As we made our way down the block, I could almost smell the impending rain, but the aroma of coffee was stronger.
As we entered the coffee shop, I wondered whether Belle had been exaggerating about losing revenue. The place was packed. After we gave our coffee orders to Tom, he stood in line while Candace and I went back outside. Belle set up wrought-iron tables on the sidewalk when the weather was nice, and we grabbed the only one that was unoccupied.
“Tell me why you think it’s murder,” I said. I glanced through the window to my right and saw that Tom still had three people in front of him. “Or should we wait with the questions until he comes with the coffee?”
But the questions would have to wait, thanks to the arrival of Lydia Monk. She stopped at our table and smiled. “If it isn’t Cagney and Lacey.”
I snuck a peek through the window. Please stay in there, Tom. Please. The last thing I need is a crazy Lydia moment.
“What are you doing in town?” Candace asked.
“Talking to Morris. He’s not taking this case as seriously as he should.” She glared at Candace. “Because strychnine is serious business. Surely you can find the poison source if you’re as smart as you think you are.”
I thought about mentioning Rufus Bowen and how I’d questioned him about strychnine this morning, but that might have been disastrous. Lydia had no idea whom she was messing with on this particular evening, but I did. From Candace’s expression, I could tell it wouldn’t take much for her to engage Lydia in an argument.
Candace stood, her coral Henley T-shirt and blue jeans a tad ordinary in comparison to Lydia’s bejeweled and beaded black shirt with the plunging neckline.
“Are you trying to start something, Lydia?” Candace said.
“Hold on, you two,” I said, hoping to avoid a public catfight. “You’re both competent women who know how to do your jobs. Can we leave it at that?” Okay, lying to Lydia about Lydia tweaked my conscience a tad, but I was more interested in getting the woman to move along before Tom walked outside. And that would happen soon, I noted, since he was giving our order to the young woman behind the counter this very minute.
“Start something?” Lydia said, ignoring me. “I’m not that unprofessional.”
Except for the hoop earrings, the tattooed eyeliner and the teased hair, I thought. Not unprofessional in the least.
I caught Candace checking inside the coffee shop, and she obviously realized what might happen if she kept up this disagreement. “Sorry, Lydia. You’re right. Nice seeing you without a corpse nearby.” Candace sat back down and folded her arms on the table.
Lydia narrowed her eyes and stared at Candace for a few tense seconds. Then she cracked a smile. “You know how to apologize. That’s progress, Candy.”
She looked at me. “Good night, Jillian. And stay away from crime scenes and certain security experts, would you?”
I mustered what I hoped came off as a sincere smile. “I’ll try.”
Lydia turned, and the rhinestoned spike heels she wore glittered in the light from a nearby streetlight. I watched as she walked away and released the breath I’d been holding.
Then Tom arrived with our coffee, and before he could speak, I raised a finger to my lips and nodded in the retreating Lydia’s direction.
Tom set down the cardboard tray with two cups of coffee marked DECAF on the side and his own small espresso in a china cup. “That was close,” he whispered.
“Okay,” I said to Candace. “I’m anxious to know why you think the professor was murdered.”
“Sometimes, when you find little or no evidence, that tells you a lot,” she said. “Although I do prefer a nice fingerprint or DNA.”
“And what didn’t you find?” I asked.
“Strychnine. At least I don’t think there was any strychnine in that house or outside. We found rat poison in the shed. But it was your usual grocery-store variety made with warfarin. And it was pellets, not powder.” She sat back with a satisfied smile.
“Could strychnine have been substituted for the warferwhatever? Sheesh. I can never say that word.”
“Sure. But why? Do you think he was snacking on warfarin pellets and the murderer somehow knew that and made a substitution?” she said.
“You’re right. Dumb question. I’m not thinking too clearly today.”
Tom said, “I take it you didn’t find any suicide note?”
“Nope,” Candace said. “I’d say you’d have to be pretty damn sorry about something to strychnine yourself to death. I’ve been reading up on it, and you won’t find me within a country mile of that poison.”
I sipped my coffee, and it was just right. Tom had added milk to mine and none to Candace’s. We hung
out at Belle’s at least a couple of times a week, and he knew how we liked our coffee.
Tom poured three packets of sugar into his high- test and stirred the pitch-black espresso with a tiny spoon. He said, “I worked a murder case involving strychnine once. Multiple deaths from bad cocaine. Dealers sometimes cut the coke with strychnine powder. But Candace probably already knows that.”
“One of your private investigations?” I asked.
“Nope.” His gaze was fixed on his cup. “This was back when I was on the force. Do you know why Morris doesn’t think this is a murder case?”
“Morris wants the easiest solution,” Candace said. “Thing is, no one knows much about this professor.”
“Or why he was feeding cats that red goop and raw cow’s milk,” I said. “Research, maybe?”
“Yes. We’ve already tossed around the idea he was doing some kind of experiment with the cats’ diet. But you know me,” Candace said. “I hate guessing. No one seems interested in what I have to say, though.”
“I’m interested,” I said. “Maybe some animal welfare group found out what he was doing and didn’t like it. But that doesn’t explain the cats that were left behind. True animal lovers wouldn’t have left them.” I sipped on my coffee. “That still bothers me.”
Half to himself, Tom said, “Interrupted.”
“What?” I said.
“Maybe they were interrupted and couldn’t take all the cats.” He sipped at his espresso.
“Yes,” I said, nodding as I realized that what he said could well be true. “Interrupted by someone else. By the killer. Maybe the people who went to get the cats weren’t the same people who killed him.”
Candace groaned. “Don’t start making stuff up. I need evidence, and so far, all I have is a footprint. And from the size, it looks like it will come back to the professor. Oh, and a few fibers off the fence.”
“The barbed- wire one? You might find all kinds of me on that particular fence.” Like my skin. But the scratch on my backside was nothing, not even worthy of a tetanus shot. Now that the tension had finally seemed to dissipate, I felt more relaxed with my friends.
“I got a few strands of fabric off the chain- link enclosure, where someone probably reached through to grab a cat. Cat hairs, too, but those were all over the place and pretty much useless.”
Tom said, “Wouldn’t he be keeping notes about this possible experiment? Like on a computer or even talking into a recorder?”
Candace said, “Oh, he was. Jillian saw him writing things down. But that’s actually an ‘absence of evidence’ and pretty darn suspicious. All I found in the house were lots of textbooks on animal nutrition, but no notebook and no computer. I think the computer must have been taken, because the professor did have a DSL line, and we found an instruction manual for a laptop.”
“He had a PhD in animal nutrition,” I said. “Do you consider his education evidence that he could have been researching cat food?”
“Who told you about his schooling?” Candace said. “I was with you the entire fifteen minutes we spent with the man, and I never heard him say anything about that.”
“I Googled him. He had a wife. Has she been notified?” I said.
“Ex-wife. And two sons. The ex is on the way from Denman, but I don’t know about the kids,” Candace said. “All’s I can say is, I sure hope the pathologist can get that grimace off the professor’s face before the woman is asked to give an official identification.”
“Did she sound upset?” I asked.
“Not so much, I have to say,” she said. “But she said she had no idea he was living here and that she needed directions. She mentioned she’d need several copies of the death certificate and asked about insurance. No, the ex-Mrs. Professor wasn’t too upset about anything but those nonhuman details.”
Tom said, “I’m stuck on this notebook. Where did it go? Jillian saw it and, what, an hour later the guy’s dead and the notebook’s gone?”
“That’s what I was talking about. Circumstantial evidence that makes me think this was a murder,” Candace said.
“Most whodunit cases are built on circumstantial evidence,” Tom said.
More cop talk, I thought. I sure wanted to hear about his cop days, as he’d told me very little before, but I needed to wrap my mind around the case at hand.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Here’s something I know that might be useful. There’s a difference between activists. The welfare types like Shawn and so many like him, and the fringe types that are more radical. More political. Maybe the notes will surface on the Internet if some group wanted to expose the professor’s actions. But if people interested primarily in animal welfare took those cats, my bet is, you won’t hear another thing. And those kinds wouldn’t hurt anyone. Period.”
Candace said, “Yes. Different kinds of activists. I’ve never met up with any of these folks, but if they carry strychnine around, I don’t want to get anywhere near them.”
“Welfare activists usually want to save animals from mistreatment, but the more militant types want humans to have no access to animals. Even as pets,” I said.
“That’s . . . almost impossible, I’d say,” Tom said. He looked at Candace. “I’m still hung up on my interruption thing. What if you were the one who interrupted what was going on at that farm?”
“You mean the folks who took the cats were on the property when I showed up?” she said. “How would they—” Her hand flew to her mouth, and between her fingers she whispered, “I sorta screamed when I saw the meat on that counter. They could have heard me.”
“But I was right outside, and I didn’t hear—” My stomach clenched as I remembered the man in the van, the one who had waved to me.
“I can tell by your face that you remember something,” Candace said.
“Before you came out of the house, a van drove by. It came from the opposite direction from the way we’d arrived.” I closed my eyes, trying to picture what I’d seen. “The driver even waved at me.”
“This is big,” Candace said. “Can you describe this van?”
“White panel,” I said. “Is there ever a crime committed without a white panel van involved?”
“Did you see the driver?” Tom said.
“A man. Maybe. Gosh, I was so worried about the cats, I didn’t pay much attention,” I said.
“Don’t think too hard,” Tom said. “You’ve had a demanding day, and when you’re more relaxed, details might come flooding back.”
“And if they do, you call me right away,” Candace said. “I don’t care if it’s three in the morning. See, this fits, Jillian.
When I was out at the farm this morning, I confirmed what I thought I saw last night. The grass was pretty trampled around the outside of that chain- link fence, probably by whoever took those cats. It looked to me like they’d cut a path to the empty property next door.”
“Did you find anything over there?” I asked.
“Nope. And county records show the place has been empty a long time. I looked in the windows. No sign of anything amiss except that trampled grass,” she said. “Not even a stick of furniture inside that I could tell.”
“Not much cause for a search warrant if there’s no homicide ruling,” Tom said.
“You see why I’m a cranky-pants today?” she said. “Frustrating as hell that Lydia’s dragging her feet about getting a pathologist.” Candace lowered her head.
But her head snapped back up when a man came up behind her. “Let me help you out, then,” he said. “You need relaxing, I’m your guy.”
Tom stood and put out his hand. “Why, Darryl Tillson. Didn’t I just see you, fella?”
The two exchanged happy greetings while Candace gave me an eye roll. Darryl owned the local feed store and had been trying to date Candace for the last six months.
I had to agree with her decision not to jump at the chance, though. The man often smelled of manure, which would not top my list of characteristics for potential suitor
s. But in truth, I didn’t know him well enough to judge.
Tom said, “I put security cameras at Tillson Cattle and Feed last week.”
“Going high-tech on us, Darryl?” I said.
“Gotta keep up with the times, but I think my daddy might be rolling over in his grave at the thought that I even need them,” he said.
Candace kept her face down, her head supported by fists at her temples. “When you’re being robbed blind, you do what you gotta do,” she said.
“Candace, here, investigated the feed thefts. She’s a smart cop for a girl. She’s the one recommended you, Tom.” Then Darryl caught sight of me for probably the first time. Candace was his priority, after all. “And, Miss Hart. How’s the cat family? They like that new kibble I persuaded you to buy?”
“They love it,” I lied. I knew Darryl’s intentions were good, but in truth, Chablis refused to eat even one piece and moped the entire day. Syrah almost hissed at the dish, and Merlot walked off after one sniff. The next day I’d tossed out the bag and went back to their old standby. “But you do have to rotate with cats. Picky eaters. Next time I’m in, I might try something different.”
“Y’all was talking it up, and I interrupted,” Darryl said. “But I had to stop and say hey. See you all at the store.” He walked around our table and into Belle’s Beans.
As soon as he was gone, Candace stood. “I do not want to be here when he comes back out. Besides, I have to call Morris about that van.” She pointed at me. “You will phone me if you remember anything else?”
“Of course.” I came around the table and hugged her good-bye before she took off.
Tom and I talked for a few more minutes, and then I said, “I’m pretty tired myself. Mind taking me home?”
We walked back to the Main Street Diner, where we’d parked, and during the five- minute ride back to my place, we didn’t speak.
I was thinking hard, though.
When he pulled up behind Kara’s car, he turned off the ignition and said, “Don’t beat yourself up.”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“You’re kicking yourself for not remembering that van right away, for not paying attention.”
The Cat, The Professor and the Poison Page 10
