The Cat, the Vagabond and the Victim: A Cats in Trouble Mystery
Page 11
“Not yet, but they will. Candace won’t rest until she knows everything.”
She nodded, her eyes red-rimmed behind her glasses. “That’s good. The man deserved better than to die alone.”
I opened her car door and stayed close as she slowly edged behind the wheel. After she drove away, I tried to reach Tom, but my call went straight to voice mail. I left a message, but he was probably too busy tracking down Mr. Jeffrey’s other cousins to answer calls. Then I remembered he’d be at the police station at three when Millicent arrived for her appointment with the police. I could catch him before he sat in on the interview with Candace. Maybe he could find a way to fit in an assessment of Birdie’s house while her son was in town—because she was right about the drug dealers. She needed security and her son couldn’t hang around forever.
First, however, I had to catch some nourishment. I’d had nothing to eat since that delicious Danish at Belle’s Beans. I decided to microwave a frozen organic-beans-and-rice burrito. Healthy canceled out Danish, I decided—but it could never cancel out how yummy that pastry had been.
Fourteen
The Mercy police station is in the back portion of the city courthouse. The building sits in the town square and is old and beautiful, with pillars and marble steps. Walking into the lobby, I never failed to appreciate the elegance of a time long past and the craftsmanship that went into construction in that bygone era. The tile gleamed, the oak doors and banisters smelled of lemon oil and the plaster walls had recently been painted a creamy white. One of the reasons this lobby was shining walked toward me, a broad smile on her face, her broom and dustpan at the ready.
Audrey had worked in the courthouse for most of her adult life—probably for fifty years. She swept up any scrap of paper or piece of dust that a visitor shed so it was immediately out of sight. We exchanged a hug—Audrey loved hugs—and she immediately checked the floor at my feet for cat hair. It was her routine. I was guilty of bringing in fur from time to time.
Finding nothing, she looked at me with brown eyes growing cloudy with age. “You use that sticky roller thing before you came today?”
“I didn’t, but I guess the cats decided you had plenty of work to do without my offering a contribution.”
She laughed. “Deputy Candace is busy, busy, busy. She call you to come in ’cause you got that cat who’s been all over the TV?”
Everyone knew about Clyde, it would seem. “Candace didn’t call me. I was hoping to catch Tom. Did you see him come through?”
Audrey shook her head. “Nope—not unless he came in the jail entrance downstairs.”
“Good. I haven’t missed him, then. I’ll head on to the police station.”
“You take care, Miss. Good seeing you.”
Though the hallways, courtrooms, judge’s chambers and clerk offices were well maintained, it was a different story where the police offices were housed. A trek to the left down a long corridor led to the police station. Here lay the shabby side of the building—and not shabby chic. Discomfort never failed to gnaw at my gut when I saw the row of old benches where people waited to speak with the police or to pick up a relative released on bail.
But when I entered through the police office’s scarred door, Dispatcher B.J. greeted me with a cheery, “Hey there, Jillian,” and the small knot in my stomach eased.
“Is Tom here yet?” He could have come in through the basement and up the stairs as Audrey mentioned, though I doubted it.
“Nope. Is he supposed to be?”
“He said he’d be here to meet with Candace and Millicent Boatman.”
A female cleared her throat. A person I hadn’t even noticed sat in one of the chairs that lined the wall in the small waiting area.
I turned to see a woman in her late sixties or early seventies with florid red hair and wearing a bright pink Jackie O–type suit. From the furrow of down-turned lines near her mouth, I decided this person had done plenty of frowning in her time. She wore a fuchsia hat, cream-tinted panty hose and what were probably vintage pink leather heels. Had I walked into the 1960s version of The Twilight Zone?
I smiled and she repaid me with a stone-cold glare. “What’s your business with Millicent? I know for a fact that you are not a police person.” She raised her dark penciled brows at B.J. “Would that be the correct terminology, young man?”
“I’m definitely not a police officer,” I told her, and quickly sidestepped to block her view of B.J. I had the feeling she’d talk right past me to him if I didn’t make that move. “I hoped to meet up with a friend who is supposed to be here when Millicent arrives and—I’m Jillian Hart, by the way.” I walked the few steps to where she sat and offered my hand.
She ignored the gesture but in her thick South Carolina drawl said, “Oh, I know who you are. My name is Ida Lynn Ford and I am wondering what you or your friend wants with Millicent.”
I dropped my hand to my side. So this was Ida Lynn—one of Mr. Jeffrey’s cousins from Woodcrest. “My friend is—” I turned to B.J., who gave me the “Don’t say anything else” stare. “My friend has business here, is all. But it can wait.” I pivoted toward the exit, only to have the door open before I could take a step.
Tom walked in and held the door for a woman about Ida Lynn’s age, who had straight white hair cut in a stylish bob. They seemed to be sharing a joke because they were both laughing. She was dressed in an expensive-looking baby blue linen outfit.
The resemblance between this woman who now clung to Tom’s arm and Ida Lynn Ford was remarkable; the two had to be related. They could have been sisters except for Ida Lynn’s frown lines. Millicent’s flawless pale skin shone through even under the room’s harsh lights. Her expertly applied light pink blush, rose-colored lipstick and sculptured brows accentuated her features.
A surprised Tom said, “Hey, Jillian. What are you doing here?”
I glanced at Ida Lynn. She stood, her eyes wide. The expression she now wore made the look she gave me earlier seem downright friendly. Millicent, however, seemed too wrapped up in Tom to even notice her.
Ida Lynn spoke, her tone stiletto sharp. “What did you do to your brother that has brought you under suspicion, Millicent?”
Millicent blinked and had to crane her neck to look past me at Ida Lynn.
The waiting area was so small, I had to move back against B.J.’s desk so they could greet each other—but greet was obviously too kind a word. The room swirled with unspoken wrath. The reasons Mr. Jeffrey’s family didn’t communicate much were written all over the ensuing silence. Too bad I couldn’t read the words.
“Suspicion?” Millicent said in a whispery voice that reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. “Whatever are you talking about, Ida Lynn? I am under no suspicion.”
Ida Lynn smiled the most spiteful smile I’d ever seen. “Perhaps they’ll change their minds once they talk to me.” She looked at Tom then. “I see we meet again, Mr. Stewart.”
Millicent glanced up at Tom, her scrutiny offering much less enthusiasm than before. “You know my cousin?”
Tom’s ears reddened, a sign I understood. He was embarrassed. “I did speak with Mrs. Ford earlier in the day,” he said hesitantly. “But I had no idea she’d be coming here.”
Ida Lynn clutched her pink leather bag tightly to her abdomen. “You come to my home, question my loyalty to my family and don’t expect me to march directly to the source? To this disgusting little hole in the wall they call a police station?”
I glanced at B.J. and saw a smile playing on his lips. It was a good thing Ida Lynn couldn’t see his face or she might go off on him. He was rather enjoying the verbal onslaught. Not me. I thought the experience of sharing a tiny space with these two women was rather like chewing on glass.
Thank goodness I caught a glimpse of Candace from the corner of my eye. She strode down the hallway toward the low swinging gate that separated the waiting area from the rest of the police offices.
I read the surprise on her face when she saw me, but
she immediately addressed Tom and the two women. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Mr. Stewart, I didn’t expect you.” She glanced between the cousins. “Which one of you is—”
“I’m Ida Lynn Ford, Norm Jeffrey’s cousin. I need a word, Officer. Or is it Captain, or Chief or—”
“It’s Deputy Carson. Actually, I’ll be speaking with Mrs. Boatman first. We had an interview already scheduled.” Candace looked at Tom, who still had Millicent hanging on his arm. “I see you’ve already met Mrs. Boatman.”
Tom said, “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting all of Mr. Jeffrey’s female cousins, though Mrs. Ford’s brother has been difficult to track down. I ran into Mrs. Boatman in the hallway and introduced myself. She’d like me to accompany her into the interview.”
Ida Lynn pointed at Candace. “You hold on just one minute, young lady. I have been waiting patiently for more than thirty minutes to have a word with you.”
I felt the icicles in her voice stab at me. What was wrong with this woman? Why was she so angry?
Candace smiled. “I understand how that would be upsetting, but I will speak with you after I talk to your cousin and Mr. Stewart. As I said, I already scheduled a talk with Mrs. Boatman. Come on in, you two.” She opened the gate and extended her arm in the direction of the hall.
After Tom and Millicent passed Candace, she looked at me. “Would you mind staying here with Mrs. Ford, Jillian? Looks like you have questions for me, too.”
“I actually came to—”
“Thanks.” She turned and hurried after the other two, calling to Tom to head for the chief’s office.
“Talk to Tom,” I finished under my breath. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply before daring a glance at Ida Lynn. Her cheeks almost matched her red hair.
She plopped down on the chair she’d vacated earlier, reminding me of a toddler put in a time-out after a temper tantrum. I wasn’t sure if the tantrum was over or just beginning.
Fifteen
I guessed B.J. understood that redirecting Ida Lynn’s negative energy might be needed, because he smiled and said, “Would either of you like a soft drink or a bottled water?”
Ida Lynn turned her head away from him and refused to acknowledge the offer, but I asked for water. Actually, I would have preferred a giant tumbler of white wine.
I took a seat kitty-corner to the unhappiest of cousins. “I’m sorry you have to wait, but it’s great you came down here. You must have cared a lot about Mr. Jeffrey.” This was an assumption and perhaps wishful thinking on my part, but I hoped to start a conversation with the woman. As much as her demeanor made me uncomfortable, I couldn’t help being curious about why she was so upset.
“You know nothing about me or my family. All you know about are cats, including the one that ended up at the center of this nasty business.”
“So you know about Clyde.”
“I’ve known about Clyde a lot longer than you have. I saw your little interview on TV. Hardly a mention of Norm. It was all about the cat.”
“You are absolutely right and I felt terrible about—”
“Terrible?” Ida Lynn said. “Not terrible enough to mention my family.”
“True, but I have met LouAnn since that interview. She seems like such a nice person. I am so sorry for your family’s loss.” And I was. But was Ida Lynn sorry? I couldn’t tell.
A tiny slackening of the muscles around her neon pink lips told me, however, that I might be on the right track. She still hadn’t made eye contact with me, but she didn’t seem as intense and I’d apparently piqued her interest. She said, “LouAnn talked to you?”
“She did. She seemed to think highly of Mr. Jeffrey.”
“But not highly of me.” Now her cold gray eyes met mine.
“She said nothing unkind about you, if that’s what you mean.” At least not directly, I thought. I remembered LouAnn saying that the cousins didn’t care for her and the feeling was mutual. But perception was reality to many people and perhaps a mere lack of communication had these relatives at odds with one another.
“Did she even mention me at all?” Ida Lynn’s forehead creased as she raised her dark penciled eyebrows.
Ah. So perhaps I had hit on an issue that mattered to Ida Lynn. “She did. I got the sense she feels as if all of you have drifted apart.” Okay, this was pure conjecture, but my instincts told me to keep her talking.
“Drifted apart? That’s putting it mildly. She didn’t come down here to this godforsaken police station, did she? I mean, the poor woman is a hermit. Talks to cats all day. So what if her husband died and left her in perpetual grief? Mine’s dead, too, and I say good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“She does seem to miss her husband, but certainly not all widows react to their loss the same way.”
Renewed anger flared Ida Lynn’s cheeks with color. “What do you know about me and my husband?”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I know nothing about him. It’s just that you . . .” I let my words trail off. I’d driven this off in the ditch and to get information flowing again, perhaps I needed to be quiet and let her calm down.
She sat taller and reminded me of Syrah when he’s doing his “I am the king of the mountain” pose. She said, “I am allowed to say anything I want about my dead husband. That is not a privilege you possess.”
“You are absolutely right. I am so sorry.”
She smiled almost congenially and gave a slight nod. “I accept your apology. I suppose you and LouAnn have much in common. Speaking of which, you helped another cat lover I happen to know. Ritaestelle Longworth—you do remember her?”
Since Ritaestelle and her cat Isis lived in Woodcrest and so did Ida Lynn, I supposed it was no surprise they knew each another. “Ms. Longworth is a wonderful person.”
“Well, the dear soul happens to be a friend of mine. She spoke quite highly of you. But I must always judge for myself. You were quick to apologize when you were wrong, and that shows me at least one admirable character trait.”
I could feel my tight neck muscles loosen a tad. Apologies, even if rendered without the greatest sincerity, can work miracles. She no longer seemed angry, but I had the feeling anything I said might set her off again, so I had to be careful.
“LouAnn, I take it, wasn’t as reclusive before her husband died?”
“She and Norm always had that tendency to shut themselves off when they got their feelings hurt. I’ve been known to have a sharp tongue and they’d go crying in their milk when I supposedly offended them. But, hear me, young woman.” She pointed a finger at me. I noticed for the first time that she was wearing gloves that matched her outfit and it was all I could do to keep my eyes off them. “I loved Norm even if we didn’t have regular visits. These police officers have no right to question my loyalty to my family.”
She was getting worked up again and I was beginning to wonder what Tom had said to her—so I decided to ask. “Did your interview with Mr. Stewart upset you?”
She sat back, seeming to contemplate the question. “He’s a nice-enough gentleman. Very polite. It’s just all these insinuations that my cousin died an unnatural death and that somehow I might be involved have me flustered. I have to set these people straight, but they are too busy to talk to me. It is most infuriating.”
B.J. reappeared with a chilled bottled water and I took it from him gratefully. But when I saw Ida Lynn eye the water thirstily, I offered it to her.
“Why, thank you, Jillian. I suppose I am a bit parched after the drive here and the long wait.”
“And while you wait, why not tell me what you loved about Mr. Jeffrey? I’d really like to learn more about him—especially since his cat is staying with me.”
She unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long sip. It smeared her lipstick and made her appear even more unbalanced than the odd hair and the outfit did. “Norm. Such a good man. He would never take his own life and I am quite upset when I hear such rumors.”
“You heard that?” I asked.
Could be true, I thought. But then, who killed Buford? But I wanted to get back to what Ida Lynn had just told me. Lydia made two calls to her—and yet this woman wasn’t the nearest relative. Millicent was. That seemed odd. So, hoping to sound only mildly curious, I said, “The coroner’s investigator called you?”
“Oh no. I called her. Until there’s a cause of death and all the paperwork is done, probate cannot begin. My husband was a lawyer and I am fully aware of the process.”
“The death certificates go to Millicent, right?” I said.
“Well, I’m not sure, but I could not be certain she’d even show up here to take care of a funeral. I decided to start the process of caring for the dead. You see, Millicent thinks she’s too good for us with her big house on Hilton Head Island. Too good for Norm, as well.”
“But Mr. Jeffrey took his cat to live with her, didn’t he? So he must have placed some trust in her. He must have even seen her as recently as two months ago.”
“Dirk came and got that cat. Norm was in no shape to be driving anywhere. I would have taken in Clyde myself, but I travel. I have no time for pets. I told him I couldn’t give Clyde a proper home.”
So the story was a little different from what I’d heard from Dirk. But before I could contemplate this further or even ask Ida Lynn any more questions, my personal stalker walked through the door and into the waiting area.
It was all I could do to stay quiet.
Sixteen