The Cat, The Professor and the Poison

by Leann Sweeney

  I was touched, and I had to admit surprised, that he was so concerned. I realized I wasn’t used to someone worrying about me like that. I softened my voice. “I’m fine. And Candace is here for—oh, but you already know.” I lowered my voice. “Kara told you. I’m beginning to think she’ll fit right into this town. It only took her a couple days to join the grapevine.”

  “That’s what reporters do. I spent several hours with her, and she’s bright and funny.”

  “She is, but she’s hardly ever shared that side with me,” I said quickly and with instant regret. “I’m sorry. That’s my problem, not yours. Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

  “Okay, on to a safer topic. You’ll need a new phone.”

  “I did plan to call you about that. Do they still make the model I had so I can get my live cat-cam feeds?” I said.

  “They stop making the same model of anything techlike the day after it’s on the shelf. I’ll look at a few phones on the Internet that will support your videos, and then we can order one or maybe see if your local wireless provider has what we need.”

  I liked the way he said what we need.

  Then he said, “Pass me back to Kara, would you?”

  “Are you putting her to work?” I said.

  “I’m thinking about it,” he answered with a laugh.

  I went back into the living room and handed Kara the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

  I then went down the hall and met Candace coming out of my office.

  Her face was tight with anger. “What that guy did to you was downright vicious. But the audio wasn’t any good, and I didn’t see anything that you haven’t already described in excellent detail. Wait, I did learn one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “I’m taking that man down, and when I do, he’s gonna get some of what he likes to dish out.”

  At first Kara didn’t seem thrilled with the idea of heading into town, saying she wasn’t afraid of anyone sneaking in the back door. But when I said we’d be dropping her off at a coffee place where she could literally drink in Mercy’s atmosphere, she abandoned her reluctance.

  We piled into my minivan, and once we arrived, we decided we all could use a fix of the best coffee in the South-east. We gave our orders to Candace and, no surprise, Kara ordered a large black coffee with a double shot of espresso. I pulled enough money from my purse to cover the tab. The white-haired and oh-so-sweet owner, Belle, sat at a corner table, and I led Kara over for introductions. Since I wasn’t sure whether Kara liked my calling her my stepdaughter, I simply told Belle that Kara was John’s daughter.

  “Aren’t you the cutest thing?” Belle said. Her coral lipstick, as usual, was misapplied. The top lip had a straight line today, but the color on the bottom went well below her lip. Sometimes the top lip was as messy as her lower lip, but two things never changed: It was always wrong, and it always made me want to take out a tissue and fix it.

  Kara’s cheeks colored, and I guessed she’d decided that cute was not her favorite word. But to her credit, she kept quiet about this and said, “Thanks. This place of yours is cute, too.”

  Belle leaned close to me and whispered, “We got a whole lot of visitors in town since the murders. I heard you was with Candace when she found that first body. Horrible thing, poison. Just a miserable way to die. Heard they found strychnine at Rufus’s place of business, too.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Morris was in for his coffee and a nice big Danish—all sniffly and out of work on a sick day. He’s the one who told me.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “Morris is usually more careful about keeping the details of a case from the public,” I said, glancing Candace’s way. She wouldn’t like this slip one bit.

  “The man’s sick. Blame it on a fever and forget you heard what I said.” Belle held her thumb and forefinger—both fingernails painted coral like her lips—an inch apart. “He’s this close to retirement. And we don’t want to get him in trouble.”

  “Probably best if you don’t tell anyone else, don’t you think?” I said.

  Belle examined those well- manicured nails to avoid my question.

  “You already have?” I was again thinking how Candace would react to the leak in the case. And then I reminded myself that this was Mercy and I should quit worrying about who knew what.

  “I mentioned it to a few people. Poor Rufus is dead, Jillian. What are we gonna do? Talk about the rain?”

  “You’re absolutely right.” I glanced at Kara and could see by her wide eyes that she was surprised at how much Belle knew about the case.

  “Have these visitors you mentioned earlier been in here?” I asked.

  “They’re here now.” She nodded quickly at the other corner without looking at the four people seated at a table.

  A woman and three men. I recognized the woman from the newspaper photo I’d found on the Internet the other day, despite the change in hair color from blond to brunette: Sarah VanKleet. I assumed the two young men with her were her sons, and the older man with his wavy head of steel gray hair and matching goatee was the boyfriend. But he was no boy; that’s for sure. He looked like an actor in one of those Viagra ads.

  Kara said, “That’s the dead man’s family?”

  “Well, aren’t you cute and smart. You must be proud of her, Jillian,” Belle said.

  “I am proud, but I can’t take credit. She’s an accomplished young woman,” I said.

  Candace arrived at the table with our coffee. Kara picked up the largest cup and sat down in the chair that offered her the best view of the town visitors.

  Candace took her seat, and the strangers captured her attention, too. Out of the side of her mouth she said, “That’s them, isn’t it?”

  Belle laughed, and her generous belly jiggled with the effort. “See what I was saying, Jillian? There are no secrets in this town.”

  “Hush,” Candace whispered. “Don’t want them noticing us as much as we notice them.”

  “Oh, Candy, you are such a naive young thing,” Belle said. “That woman over there is no dummy. By the way, I’m taking up a collection for Rufus. Word is he was about broke. Might not be enough for a casket or a burial.”

  I reached in my bag and pulled out my checkbook. I wrote a fifty-dollar check from my money-market emergency fund since I’d used up most of my routine monthly cash. I gave it to Belle. Candace pulled a crumpled twenty from her pocket and handed the cash to her, too.

  “Thank you, ladies,” Belle said.

  Without glancing our way, Kara said. “You two can leave. I’ll be happy here with my laptop and my excellent coffee.” Kara had already set her computer case on the table.

  Candace glanced at her watch. “The family should be leaving soon. They have a meeting with Chief Baca in about twenty minutes.”

  “Then we need to get to your place and fetch your overnight bag.” I looked at Belle. “Kara is a writer, and she would love to hear some stories about Mercy.”

  “Does she have all day? ’Cause you know me, Jillian,” Belle said with another laugh. “But what’s this about an overnight bag?” She glanced back and forth between Candace and me.

  “Um . . . they might be painting my apartment, so I’m staying with Jillian,” Candace said.

  “Now, don’t go lying to Belle. I won’t pass on that you’re staying with Jillian to protect her,” Belle said. “Even though it was passed on to me not an hour ago. I just wanted you to confirm my source.”

  “Let me guess. Billy told you,” Candace said through her teeth.

  “I swear that boy knows everything,” Belle replied. “He came in on the heels of that bunch in the corner. Think he followed them over here?”

  “It would not surprise me,” Candace said.

  I tugged on Candace’s arm. “We need to go.” I looked at Kara. “I don’t mind you sitting close and listening in on the conversation over there, but you need to pass anything important on to Candace.�
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  “I do?” Kara looked momentarily confused. “Oh . . . to help with the case. They’re suspects, aren’t they?” Belle put her hand on Kara’s forearm and looked straight into her eyes. “You should act like you’re busy, but keep both ears open. I’ll sit here with you and show you how it’s done.” She winked at Kara and then made a shooing gesture with her free hand at Candace and me. “Go on about your business. We got this covered.”

  We hurried out, and once we were back in my minivan headed toward Candace’s apartment, she burst out laughing.

  “What a great idea dropping Kara with Belle. Kara will get the complete lowdown on Mercy, and we might end up with useful information.”

  “You know Belle believes every citizen of Mercy is her child,” I said. “I feel so calm when I’m around her. And speaking of that, promise me you’ll stay calm when I tell you what I just heard.”

  “Of course I’ll stay calm. I’m always calm,” she said.

  “And I’m Michelle Obama. Let me just spit this out. Belle announced to Kara and me that they found strychnine at What’s Bugging You.”

  A long silence followed, and I took my eyes off the road for a second to look over at Candace. Her jaw was set, and she didn’t appear calm at all.

  But after a deep breath, she said, “I am most surely glad I heard this before I walked into the station. A cop who’s the last to know about a key piece of information looks stupid.”

  A long and very quiet five minutes later we pulled into the apartment complex parking lot.

  We always visit at my place because Candace’s apartment remains mostly barren. There’s a mattress, a treadmill, a futon and a television, but that’s about it. She spends little time at home and only rents the place to have space away from her overprotective, overinterested mother, who would have preferred that she still live at home.

  I packed her underwear, a few T-shirts and jeans into a canvas tote she threw at me. Meanwhile, she grabbed her toiletries and a uniform that had just come from the dry cleaners. We were almost out the door when Candace realized that the telephone-and-answering-machine combo that sat on the living room floor was blinking with at least one unchecked message.

  “Wait,” Candace said. “That’s probably from my mom. She might need something.” She set her bag and uniform down and went over to the telephone.

  But when she knelt and pressed PLAY, a familiar raspy whisper made my heart skip. The male voice said, “Don’t think you can protect her. You want your friend safe, you tell her she’s done playing investigator.”

  Candace stood and pointed at the phone. “You don’t tell me what to do, you turd. You don’t tell Jillian what to do, either.” She looked at me. “He’s not getting close to you. I promise.”

  I nodded, but I couldn’t speak.

  Candace’s expression was steely as she pulled the cord from the wall and picked up the phone. “Now. We go to the station and I let the chief listen to this. Gives me a decent excuse to show up there.” She walked over and put her free arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “He’s a brute and a coward, Jillian. And I like nailing those types.”

  I nodded again, but now I was frightened for her as well as for myself.

  Since Candace lives practically around the block from downtown, we reached the courthouse in less than five minutes. That’s where the police station is located.

  I had to run to keep up with Candace when she raced up the courthouse stairs with her answering machine. We entered the lobby, and the security guard manning the metal detector opened a gate so we could bypass this part of entering the building. We headed left down the long corridor that led to police headquarters.

  Wrong name. That sounds way too fancy. Benches and molded plastic chairs lined the hall leading to the police station in this, the older and unrenovated part of the historic courthouse. A woman with a swollen jaw and black eye was holding a squirming toddler. She was the lone person outside the police station door.

  Candace stopped dead. “Margie?”

  The woman looked up at Candace with sad eyes. The little boy freed himself and waddled across the hall. He climbed onto one of the benches and stuck his thumb in his mouth. He wore a diaper and a T-shirt bearing a red truck.

  “You’re here to press charges, right?” Candace said.

  Margie hung her head.

  Candace put her hands on her hips. “No. You are not bailing that bastard out. Please tell me that’s not why you’re here.”

  No response came from Margie, and Candace’s frown showed her frustration. “I can’t stop you. But you’re making a mistake.” She looked at me. “Come on, Jillian.”

  As Candace opened the door that led into the police offices, I thought about Kara. She should be here to see this side of Mercy. It wasn’t so different from Houston or from any other part of the country, for that matter. Crime, domestic violence, even prostitution met up with law enforcement here.

  Inside was another very cramped waiting area that had one advantage—it wasn’t as smelly as the corridor outside. B. J. Harrington sat at the cluttered desk to the left. I nodded at him in greeting, but Candace was already headed down the hall.

  Over her shoulder she said, “Wait here while I talk to Chief Baca. I’m thinking this guy is too smart to have used a traceable phone to call me, but we have to go through the motions.”

  I took the seat in front of the desk and smiled. “Hey, B.J. How’s it going?” B.J. was a new addition to the Mercy PD. He was taking criminal justice classes at the local community college and did dispatch and paperwork when not in class.

  “I’m thinking about sandwiches,” he said. “There’s a lot of different sandwiches these days. There’s your regular kind, but then there’s quesadillas and flatbreads and Hot Pockets, not to mention anything wrapped in lettuce. And if you fold your slice of pizza, that’s sort of a sandwich, and—”

  “You hungry, B.J.?” I said with a laugh.

  The phone rang, and B.J. listened for a few seconds and then said, “We’ll take care of that, ma’am.” He hung up and got on his radio. “Deputy Dufner. Over.”

  “What is it?” came the staticky reply.

  “We have a 10-79 near the residence.” B.J. rattled off an address and said, “Over,” again.

  “A bomb threat? And not at the high school where they always are?” said the officer.

  B.J. blinked rapidly. “Th- that’s wrong. Wait.” B.J. picked up a sheet of paper and scanned it. “I mean a 10- 91b. Sorry. Over.”

  “Would you quit with the codes and tell me what this is, B.J.?” Dufner said.

  I stifled a laugh, but I didn’t hear B.J.’s response because the professor’s family walked in at that moment.

  Sarah VanKleet began talking to B.J. even though he was still on the radio, saying, “We have an appointment with the chief of police.”

  B.J. held up his hand as the officer asked for a repeat on the address.

  I stood. “Maybe I can tell the chief you’re here.”

  The gray-haired man, who looked like he could have been related to the Kennedy clan, looked me up and down. “You’re a plainclothes officer?”

  “Uh, no. But I can help.” I hurried down the hall before they could say anything else and rapped on the chief’s office door.

  I heard him say, “Enter,” and cracked the door. I saw Candace sitting in the chair on the other side of Baca’s desk.

  “They’re here,” I whispered. Why I was whispering, I didn’t know.

  “Good. Candace, Sarah VanKleet is mine. You’ll interview the boyfriend. The kids will have to wait since Morris decided he needed a day off. Says he sick.” Baca rolled his eyes. “Thanks for letting us know they’ve arrived, Jillian. Seems like we need volunteers in this place.”

  Candace followed me out to the waiting area.

  B.J. started to apologize for being occupied, but Candace waved him off. “Mrs. VanKleet, you’ll be speaking with Chief Baca.” Candace looked at the man. “Professor Lieber, i
s it?”

  The distinguished-looking man nodded.

  “You’ll be talking to me. I may not look the part, but I’m Deputy Candace Carson.” She pointed to the badge she’d pinned on her jeans waistband. “As for your sons, Mrs. VanKleet, we’ll be interviewing them when we’re done with you two.”

  I took notice of the young men, who both looked to be in their early twenties, having paid little attention to them over at Belle’s. One had wavy brown hair and dark brown eyes; the other had shaggy dirty blond hair and green-gray eyes. The only trait they seemed to share was their height. Both were over six feet and lanky. The professor had been a small man, but Sarah VanKleet was at least five foot ten, so they must have gotten their height from her.

  Sarah VanKleet scowled. “Why can’t we all talk to the chief of police together?”

  “That’s not how we do things,” Candace said. “B.J., please take Mrs. VanKleet to the chief’s office. Professor? Follow me.” She turned and started down the hall, leaving Sarah sputtering in protest.

  B.J. stood and smiled at Sarah VanKleet, but her mood didn’t improve. She ignored him and looked at her sons. “I’m sorry about this, but it seems you’ll have to wait here.” She glanced around. “In this place.”

  The blond one spoke. “What about the death certificates? Don’t we need those to get Dad’s affairs in order? He’s probably left us a mess.”

  She raised her eyebrows and offered him a “You better shut up” look.

  The other son said, “Later, Evan.”

  Mrs. VanKleet smiled and said, “Thank you, Brandt.” Then she followed B.J. down the hall.

  I smiled at Brandt. “Hi. I’m Jillian Hart. I sort of volunteer around here.” Baca said it, not me, I thought. I looked at the other young man. “Hi, Evan.”

  “Hey, what’s happening?” He offered a straight arm and a fist, and we bumped knuckles.

  “You guys want a Coke or something?” I said.

  “Yeah, sure,” Evan said.

  B.J. came back around his desk, and I said, “You got money for the machine?”

  “Oh. Sure.” He opened a drawer and gathered several coins. But it wasn’t enough.