The Cat, the Vagabond and the Victim: A Cats in Trouble Mystery

by Leann Sweeney

  I returned to the house at the same moment LouAnn walked back into the living room carrying two glasses of tea. She immediately saw what I was holding and her eyes grew wide. I caught a glimmer of life once again.

  “Four cats and two quilts will never do.” I held the quilts out to her. “One of these is a nine patch and the other is a log cabin.”

  Good thing Tom stood and grabbed the tea glasses from her because LouAnn appeared so surprised, I feared she might drop them.

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I couldn’t possibly accept such a valuable gift from a stranger.” But her gaze never left the quilts.

  “Of course you can—because we are no longer strangers.” I walked closer to her.

  She kept staring at the quilts. “You have no idea what this means to me.” She took them as if someone had offered her spun gold. When she looked up to thank me, her eyes filled. Then she actually laughed. “I won’t be crying. I don’t want to shed any tears on these. Thank you, sweet lady.”

  She spent the next few moments examining each quilt and then took all four and covered the cat beds one by one. It didn’t take long for her fur friends to waltz in from the kitchen and sniff at the new additions to their future comfort. LouAnn slowly eased to the floor, knelt and watched them.

  Tom set his glass on the old maple lamp table between the wing chairs. He put an arm around me, pulled me close and whispered, “Another reason to love you more.”

  After a few minutes, Tom helped up LouAnn so she could return to the kitchen and fetch her own tea. We then sat down again. Meanwhile, the cats continued to test out their quilts. Cinderella and Snow White actually ended up in the same bed and seemed proud they’d both won the “Who gets a new quilt?” game.

  With LouAnn seemingly less distracted, Tom decided to start over about the money issue. “From what I hear, Mr. Jeffrey lived a quiet life in a small house. Where did his wealth come from? An inheritance?”

  “Oh no. None of us comes from money.” She went on to explain that Mr. Jeffrey had been a CPA and financial adviser. We learned through her halting narrative that he’d lived alone and worked from home, crunching numbers and investing for others. He kept one cat after another as his sole companion—but never more than one at a time—and all of them named Clyde. I learned that the current Clyde visiting my home was number seven.

  She went on. “He helped us, or rather I should say, helped Oliver, my dear husband, make wise investments. We paid off our mortgage and I still watch my spending as he taught me to do. I have enough for me and my kitties for as long as I live. And it would have been plenty to take care of Oliver, too. Until he . . . left me. It’s been the longest five years of my life.” She began twisting the simple gold band on her ring finger.

  “I lost my husband several years ago, Mrs. Rafferty. I understand what you’re going through.” I peeked at Tom. He knew how I felt about John, how much I’d loved him. I worried Tom would take what I said the wrong way, that I wasn’t ready to marry him. And that begged the question. Was I? I swallowed hard. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about my love life.

  Tom cleared his throat, eager, no doubt, to get back on track. “If your cousin didn’t take his own life—and I believe you when you say he wouldn’t do that—can you think of anyone besides Buford Miller who might want to harm him?”

  “No. Norman and I are a lot alike—we keep to ourselves—but he is . . . was a good man.” She shook her head and I saw tears welling again. “Someone hurt him, stole what little time he had left on Earth. That’s plain evil.”

  “I agree,” Tom said. “That’s why anything you can tell us about your cousin is important. We can’t understand a crime until we know the murder victim.”

  She nodded slowly, her eyes thoughtful slits. “That seems right. I’ve just never known anyone who was murdered before.”

  Tom clasped his hands between his knees and leaned toward LouAnn. “Can we talk about the rest of the family now? Your cousin Millicent has a son and you have other cousins, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you explain the relationships for me?” Tom took out his notebook and pen.

  “My cousins Norman and Millicent were brother and sister, and my two other cousins, Wayne Jeffrey and Ida Lynn Ford, are also brother and sister. I was an only child. Ida Lynn and Wayne both live in Woodcrest, and Millicent and Dirk live in the low country.”

  “What can you tell me about Mr. Jeffrey’s sister, Millicent?” Tom said.

  “She is full of herself—that’s for sure. Been married more than once. Dirk visits me when he’s in town and he said she’s not with anyone now. She kept the Boatman name because that was Dirk’s daddy. After her last wedding, she and her husband went off to live near the ocean. I hear tell the man left her. He had a bunch of money, but along with the money came a roving eye. She lives in some big fancy house on Hilton Head Island now, but I’ve never been invited there.”

  “I understand that Mr. Jeffrey decided Clyde should live elsewhere,” I said. “Why?”

  “Guess he figured he was too sick to care for Clyde properly—that’s the only thing I can come up with. When I went over to his place—I went to do some tidying up every now and then—I saw Clyde was gone. I asked what happened and he wouldn’t say except to tell me Clyde needed better care than he could give him at the time. He was getting the chemo and it made him plenty sick.”

  This puzzled me. “But you obviously love cats. Why couldn’t Clyde stay here with you?”

  “Norman believed Clyde needed to be the one and only cat. As you can see, that wouldn’t happen here. Dirk finally told me about Clyde disappearing, but I don’t think either he or Millicent ever did tell Norman when his cat up and ran off.”

  “Really?” Tom said.

  “Norman kept saying how good Clyde was doing, how happy he was. He would have been devastated if he knew what happened.”

  Hansel jumped into my lap again, apparently tired of attempting to share a new quilt with a stubborn Peter Pan. “Did you find out about Clyde’s journey from watching the news?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I knew Dirk had to be relieved because he was pretty upset about Clyde’s disappearance. He was hoping against hope the cat would come back when he was ready. Cats are known to do such things, so I didn’t worry too much about it. Dirk told me not to bother Norman with it since he was so unwell, and I agreed. I’m just glad that wandering boy showed up back in town.”

  Since Dirk had come here after the cat disappeared, maybe he’d known Clyde would return to Mr. Jeffrey’s home and hoped to catch him before his uncle saw him and got upset. No, that didn’t make sense. How could Dirk know a cat would make a two-hundred-mile journey? I had a feeling there was more to the story. “Dirk came here often, did he?”

  She nodded. “He cared for his uncle Norman more than Millicent ever did. Visited quite a bit. Norman and Dirk had some kinda business going on, if you ask me. But I wasn’t privy to whatever it was.”

  Tom gave me a sideways glance that indicated this was good information. Then he said, “Did Dirk visit the other cousins while he was here? Woodcrest isn’t that far away, after all.”

  “I wouldn’t know. They don’t care much for me and”—she glanced upward—“may the good Lord forgive me, the feeling is mutual.”

  I decided that if this had been another time in her life, LouAnn might have been the one to find her cousin’s body. And perhaps she would have convinced him not to give his beloved cat away in the first place. Now that she had engaged in our conversation and trusted us, it seemed the right time to let her know about the other murder.

  “Before we leave,” I said, “there’s something you should know. We don’t want you to learn about it on television or read about it in the Messenger.”

  She seemed to withdraw almost at once, shook her head slightly. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “It’s about Buford Miller,” Tom said softly.

  For the first time
since we’d arrived, her cheeks took on color. “He did hurt my cousin. Why didn’t you tell me the minute—”

  I held up a hand. “No. It’s not that. He was murdered, too. In your cousin’s house.”

  Her hand covered her heart and she closed her tired eyes. “Oh sweet Jesus.” She looked upward again. “Forgive me, Lord, for speaking ill of the dead.”

  Thirteen

  We left LouAnn Rafferty’s house about thirty minutes later. Tom had explained the circumstances of Buford’s death and told her as much as he felt necessary—which wasn’t a whole lot. He didn’t mention how Buford died, just that he must have had a key to Mr. Jeffrey’s house since there was no forced entry.

  LouAnn, not used to talking to anyone for this length of time—never mind strangers bearing stressful news—seemed to shut down as the discussion went on. Tom and I both realized it was time to leave. At least if he had to return for more questions, she would willingly open the door.

  Tom headed to Woodcrest in search of the other cousins, but he planned on returning to Mercy in time for Millicent’s three o’clock interview at the police station. Before I started for home, I checked my cat cam first. I saw four sleeping cats. Obviously everything was fine in their world. As I backed out of LouAnn’s driveway, I swore I saw Emily Nguyen’s car speeding away in the opposite direction, but I couldn’t be certain. If she was following me, I had no control over it.

  After traveling the few miles back to my house, I was surprised to see an ancient-looking but gleaming navy blue Ford sedan waiting in my driveway. When I pulled up, I saw Birdie, Buford’s landlady, clutching the steering wheel. I left my car at the end of the driveway and got out to meet her as she struggled out of the old Ford.

  “Good thing it only takes five minutes to get from here to there in Mercy,” she said as she greeted me. “I don’t much like driving. People are in such a hurry these days.”

  I gave her a hug and took her hand. “Come on in. Have you been waiting here long?”

  “Nope. Brought along a soda pop and sipped on it. I do allow myself one Pepsi a week. I know the stuff’s not good for me, but it sure does taste good.”

  We went around to the back door, but before we climbed the steps to the house, she stopped and looked out on Mercy Lake. “Sure is a fine view you have here, Miss Jillian. This lake’s always been pretty. And I know for a fact the fishing is good.”

  I disarmed the security system, turned back from the door and offered my hand to help Birdie up the steps. She accepted gratefully.

  “I hope you don’t mind cats. There will be four of them awaiting our arrival inside.”

  “My son has a lovely cat and everyone in town knows about yours. No secrets in Mercy, but then, you understand that since you’ve lived here a spell. As long as the cats don’t bite or scratch, I’ll be fine.”

  A few minutes later, we sat in my living room, me on the couch and Birdie in the chair across from me. She wore a bright floral skirt and a pale yellow shirt with ironed creases in the sleeves. Her flat-soled leather shoes were definitely made for walking. She’d been sniffed by the kitty residents and rubbed on by at least two of them—in other words, she’d passed the test. I noticed something different about Birdie as I studied her nearly ageless, round face. It wasn’t only that she refused my offer of tea or water or coffee and seemed anxious to get on with why she’d come to visit. She seemed . . . troubled.

  “I’m guessing this is about Buford, right?” I smiled, hoping to ease whatever was worrying her.

  “Yes, little lady. Needless to say, you know the police have been to my home. Or rather the county sheriff deputies have. Came with their official papers and their guns and badges. Half scared me to death.”

  “You’re saying Candace wasn’t the one to come and tell you about his death?”

  She shook her head, her lips tight. “I wish she had, but I guess she has other things on her plate. But see, I’d never in my life seen these gentlemen who barged in and searched Buford’s room—and callin’ them gentlemen is a kindness they don’t much deserve. Mean faces, rough voices. I understand a murder is serious business, but what did I ever do to deserve such rude behavior?”

  On rare occasions I knew that Mercy PD called on the County Sheriff’s Department for assistance. “I’m sure Candace would have come herself if she could. A search warrant is a little frightening, I’m sure.”

  “Child, you have no idea. They tore that boy’s room apart. And did they put his things back the way they found them? You can rest assured they did no such thing. So I called around and found Buford’s daddy—Buford only had his daddy left and the man’s a poor excuse for a father. Been an alcoholic for years. Anyways, I found him at one of the homeless shelters and told him to come by and take whatever he wants of Buford’s belongings. The rest is headed straight to Goodwill. Not quite sure if what I said registered. The man sounded drunk.”

  “I am so sorry you had to deal with that situation. Is there anything I can do to help?” Chablis jumped into my lap and curled up for a snooze.

  But Clyde must have heard something in Birdie’s voice that bothered him, because he now sat at her feet, looking up at her expectantly.

  She stared down at him, her head tilted. “Is that cat smiling or is my imagination getting the better of me?”

  “He does seem to wear a constant smile. I can see why Mr. Jeffrey was so attached to him.”

  “Not attached enough to keep him,” she said. “You’re sure he doesn’t bite?”

  “He hasn’t bitten anyone since he’s been with me. He seems like a friendly guy.”

  Birdie reached a tentative, gnarled hand to Clyde’s head and touched him. He stretched to enjoy more pressure from her outstretched hand and soon she was stroking his head. “Nice boy, this one.”

  My tone gentle, I said, “Birdie, I don’t believe you drove over here to meet Clyde or mention that search warrant. Tell me more.”

  “You’re just like a rooster that never misses the dawn—I can’t get nothing by you. It’s what those deputies found in Buford’s room that has me concerned. I’m hoping you’ll talk to Candace for me—because I could tell you two are like sisters.”

  “Of course I’ll relay anything you want me to—or make sure you can tell her yourself.”

  “She doesn’t need me bothering her right now. All I can say is, I have never in all my seventy years had something like this happen in my home—and once these crimes are solved, it’s my sincere wish that the police keep a close eye on my neighborhood.”

  “What did the deputies find?” I couldn’t hide the concern in my voice. Birdie was definitely scared.

  “A gun and drugs is what they found.”

  “What?” I was astonished.

  “And you know if that boy had a gun and drugs, other people with guns and drugs can’t be far away.”

  “Oh boy. You have every right to be concerned,” I said.

  “The way those deputies looked at me, you’d a thought I was the one that gave those bad things to Buford.” Her fear had given way to indignation. “A drug dealer? At my age?”

  “I’m sure they told Candace what they found during the search. She won’t let you down, Birdie. She’ll make sure you’re protected.” My mind began to whirl with possibilities. What if Buford had returned to Mr. Jeffrey’s house to steal whatever he could to buy more drugs or to pay off his dealer? He probably knew everything of value that Mr. Jeffrey owned and what items would net him the most cash. Dirk had mentioned no valuables were kept in the house, but maybe they were hidden away. Had Buford found watches or cash or jewelry that Dirk knew nothing about?

  Birdie’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Protect me? Maybe they’ll drive through the neighborhood once or twice, but the police have their hands full right now. They don’t have time for the likes of me. I’ve been afraid in my own home, Miss Jillian. I never in my life have felt such worry.”

  “I understand. I’d feel the same way. You never saw any
one suspicious hanging around your place? Never saw Buford bring people inside, people who seemed . . . less than upstanding?”

  “Not one of his friends seemed upstanding, but I never imagined they were criminals. What if he owed some terrible person money?” she asked, echoing my earlier thoughts. “Maybe they’ll decide to do their own kinda search—one that might include my whole house—with me tied up or even dead.”

  She was right to be concerned. “Listen, I’m sure you’re aware that my friend Tom does security work. He installed all the cameras for my house after I had a break-in here. He would love to help you feel safe in your home.”

  “How can cameras do that? By the time I see whoever is hanging around, it could be too late.”

  “Tom monitors his clients with technology—even when he’s away from his office. He can get the police out to your house fast—or he’ll come himself.”

  “I don’t know, Jillian. Things like that cost money and—”

  “We can work something out. You need to feel safe. That’s what’s important right now.” But I was concerned that Tom might not have time for a new job right now. I’d have to convince him this was important.

  “If you believe this can help, I trust you. I got an emergency fund. I suppose this is one of those times I should use the money.” She rose slowly, using the arms of the chair for support. “I knew you were the right person to come to. Even if Tom can’t help right away, I feel better having talked to you. Now I gotta get back. My son’s on the way. He took a few days off from his job at the university and said he’d stay with me until I got over my little fright as he called it.”

  “I’m relieved you’ll have someone there with you, Birdie. Meanwhile, I’ll talk to Tom and Candace about making sure you stay safe after your son leaves.”

  As I helped Birdie out to her car, she said, “Do they know what happened to poor Mr. Jeffrey? It’s a terrible thing for a man to die alone like that.” I heard a tremor in her voice and the hand gripping my arm tightened.