Candace sighed and I could tell she was frustrated. “Duh, yeah. I sure have plenty of them. I simply hope we could find the will and read it first. A money angle, when we have reason to believe the victim was wealthy, is definitely important.”
I said, “LouAnn told me Mr. Jeffrey kept most of his valuables in a safe-deposit box. Seems like a likely place to keep a will.”
Candace shook her head at me, still irritated. “Don’t you think I know? Unfortunately I can’t just take the word of what one relative said to you about a million-dollar motive, Jillian. I need a look at the financials—at the facts. And the bank isn’t exactly bending over backward to rush over information concerning Mr. Jeffrey’s accounts. No one knows better than I do that serious money equals serious motive, but I need evidence first.”
“Could the executor get you into that box without a subpoena?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “and if Dirk’s the executor, I hope he’ll cooperate. Once I read the will, we’ll know who benefits most.”
“Maybe money’s not the only motive,” I said.
Both Candace and Tom looked puzzled, and Tom said, “What are you thinking, Jilly?”
“When I spoke with LouAnn, she told me something you might not know—and it’s important.” I related the details of Mr. Jeffrey’s relationship with Birdie and that they had a son. After relating what I knew, I asked, “Do you think Birdie might be named in that will? And maybe even their child?”
Candace said, “I never met Birdie’s son—he’s a professor I think—but you’re saying he’s also Norm Jeffrey’s child? Unbelievable.”
Tom said, “Hold on. Are you sure LouAnn is right about all this?”
“I don’t know it for a fact but believe it’s true. He supported that child—probably supported Birdie. What I found odd is that although LouAnn was much sharper than when you and I visited her, she seemed to have no clue that this information about Mr. Jeffrey and Birdie was important.”
Candace finally spoke. “This entire family wants us to believe they’re clueless. I’m not buying it.” She shook her head, still seeming astonished by what I’d told her. “This could take the case in a completely new direction. I’d never suspect Birdie of harming anyone, especially for money—before today, that is.”
“Why do you know so little about her son?” I asked. “I mean, you and Birdie seemed close when we went to her house.”
“First off, Birdie’s son is not in my generation. He’s much older than me, so I wasn’t around him at school or anything.”
“Okay, Birdie had a kid, yet you never saw him, never met him,” Tom said. “Was he sent off to boarding school or raised by another family?”
“Absolutely not. At least I don’t think so. When she’d come over to visit with my granny, she just seemed . . . hesitant to speak about him. Much later, when I was old enough to understand, I learned that Birdie wasn’t married—can’t remember who told me—and I decided she was ashamed. This is Mercy, remember, not the big city. Heck, this town runs on gossip and as a police officer, I do listen. But as far as the father of Birdie’s son? Never heard a word. Or maybe I wasn’t paying attention. No, obviously I wasn’t paying attention. Sheesh.” She thunked her forehead with her palm.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” I said. “Folks here may not believe everything they hear, but they sure like to repeat tidbits—and apparently those tidbits didn’t include anything about Birdie and Mr. Jeffrey.”
Candace squinted as if she were looking into her past to see what else she could remember. “Once, I recall asking after Birdie’s son—you know, just being polite. She changed the subject. Later, Granny told me not to ever question Birdie about her life—that she was a private person and I should respect that.”
“In other words,” Tom said, “you already had a little anecdotal proof that what LouAnn told Jillian is true, but you just didn’t know it. If this son is named in the will, he’s got motive, too. Even without adding money to the equation, he could have been harboring bad feelings about his absent father for his entire life.”
Candace gripped the back of her neck and began massaging it. “And I don’t even know the man’s name. Birdie just always called him her boy.”
“She mentioned to me that he was coming to town. After they found the drugs and the gun in Buford’s room, she was frightened and wanted his support. You can talk to him face-to-face,” I said.
“Oh, you can bet that’s gonna happen,” Candace said. “My problem is, what if Birdie never told him who his father was?”
“You should talk to Birdie first,” I suggested. “She is worried about Buford’s criminal friends coming around. That would be a good excuse to bring her here and have that conversation.”
Candace sighed. “Chief Baca sure picked a perfect time to go to that convention. He’s not close to Birdie like I am. He could handle this with tact and gentleness, but still keep it professional. Of all the people on this growing suspect list, I’d cut her first—but her son? No way can I eliminate him right off the bat. I don’t know him from Adam. So, besides Dirk and the group of seniors who either border on crazy or are as mean as snakes, I’ve got a stranger to contend with.”
Candace’s jaw clenched and I decided this new information was a little overwhelming. Police work in a small town was nothing like in the city. She knew most people she arrested by name—might even know their dog’s name. I said, “You’ve got so much on your plate. Can someone else talk to Birdie?”
“No,” came her abrupt reply. “No way.”
“Okay,” I said quietly. “I get it. Birdie is your friend. What about Buford’s murder? Who’s handling that investigation?”
“Morris and the new officer, Lois . . . Lois . . .” Tom drummed his fingers on the table, trying to remember.
“Jewel,” Candace said.
“That’s right. Anyway, they found Buford’s father in a church-sponsored homeless shelter way over in Faith’s Path. Lois told me she learned a lot watching Morris work the grapevine to find the guy. The man was in such bad shape, they took him to the county hospital for detox. That’s all I know.”
“He won’t be any help,” Candace said. “All I know is Buford’s murder is obviously connected in some way to Mr. Jeffrey’s murder—first by Buford having been ever-present in the man’s life, but second by his landlady Birdie knowing both victims so well.”
“The Buford case is complex,” Tom said. “He had criminal ties that could have gotten him killed, but you’re right. His connection to the murdered man is no coincidence.”
“We need to know what’s in that will.” Candace looked at Tom. “Change of plans. Can you talk to Dirk Boatman? This whole Birdie thing has thrown me off my game. I have to figure out exactly how to approach her.”
“Sure. Need me to do anything else?”
“No . . . not that I can think of.” Candace sounded as if she hadn’t been paying attention.
No doubt her thoughts were with Birdie and a long-kept secret Candace believed she should have known about.
I stood, gathered the trash on the table and walked to the wastebasket. “I’ll help you both any way I can.”
But Tom and Candace seemed miles away, their thoughts on a complicated double murder with little evidence and too many suspects.
Twenty-three
I slid behind the wheel of my minivan and decided to check the GPS tracking app, hoping to find Emily far, far away. Where had this day gone? And how long had it been since I’d checked my phone? I wanted to go home and take a late-afternoon nap, but first I had to make sure Emily wasn’t waiting down the street for a chance to talk to me again.
But when I took out my phone, I was stunned to see a half dozen alerts generated by Clyde’s GPS system on the password log-in screen.
My pounding heart threatened to burst through my chest as I read through the messages. The first said Exit through back entrance. The second was Tracking established. What followed were several GPS coor
dinates that I didn’t understand.
Clyde had escaped again.
I got out of the van and raced up the courthouse steps to find Tom. We nearly collided in the lobby and apparently one look at my face told him something was wrong.
“What’s the matter, Jilly? You’re white as a sheet.”
I handed him the phone with a shaky hand. “Clyde got out. He’s gone again. But how?”
Tom stared at the screen and began tapping buttons and swiping through screens.
But I couldn’t stand around while Clyde was out there again. He might not survive this latest escape. I tugged on Tom’s shirtsleeve. “What are you waiting for? We have to find him before he gets hurt.” I grabbed his free hand and tried to pull him toward the exit.
He held me back. “Jilly, did you lock up the house? Set your security alarm when you left?”
“Of course, but we have to go and—” Then it dawned on me. “Are you saying someone broke in? That a stranger might be in my house this minute?” I dropped my hand from his arm and ran for the door, panic constricting my throat.
But Tom came up behind to grip both my shoulders and stop me. He put an arm around me and held the phone in front of my face. “The feed to your cat cam has been cut and I got no alert on my phone about your system being compromised. I should have. So yes, something is wrong.”
“You mean Syrah, Merlot and Chablis could have gotten outside, too? Please tell me that’s not true.”
He held my face in his hands, forcing eye contact. “It’s okay. We have Clyde’s location right here.” He held up the phone again. “I know your house’s coordinates by heart and he’s right nearby. If the other cats got out, they’re probably with him. But we need Candace’s help on this one. A crime has been committed. Someone or something compromised your security system and cameras.”
“Candace. Yes. Get her. But I have to go.” I took off again, not responding to Tom’s call for me to stop.
When he caught up with me, he was on the phone, talking to Candace. I was already behind the wheel when he hung up.
“I’ll be right behind you.” He handed me my phone. “Promise you won’t go near your back door without me?”
“Promise. Now come on. We’re wasting time.”
But though I drove like a maniac, I was no match for the green-and-white squad car with Candace behind the wheel. She’d responded to Tom’s call for help immediately. I felt immense relief when she passed me. Thank goodness she was the one to lead our little convoy to my house.
But as I pulled in front and parked—Candace had driven straight up the driveway to the back entrance—I realized I was trembling all over. Those cats had to be all right. What would I do if anything happened to them?
Tom’s van pulled in behind the squad car and when I started hurrying up the driveway, he held his hand up like a traffic cop to stop me.
I was about to ignore his silent plea for me to stay back, but when I saw his big black automatic weapon in his other hand, I complied. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I stared at my phone screen and saw the numbered coordinates for Clyde suddenly change. He was on the move. My hands shook and my thoughts were scattered—I wished I could connect to a screen with a map, but I couldn’t recall how. By comparing the numbers, I could tell his GPS coordinates hadn’t changed that much. Tom said Clyde was close. Surely we could find him. But first I had to know about my other fur kids. Were they all right?
Please let them be all right.
What seemed like an eternity later, Tom came walking toward me, his expression calm.
“Are they okay?” I asked.
“They’re fine, Jilly. Whoever did this is gone. Come see for yourself.”
I ran to him and he took my hand. We jogged toward the back door.
He said, “Someone destroyed your security system—and they knew what they were doing. They cut wires and cables. They disabled cameras inside and out. Don’t touch anything but your cats when you get inside. Candace already has her evidence kit out. She’s dusting for prints and checking for clues to figure out what happened.”
We went up the back steps and Tom pushed open the door with his elbow so as not to put his prints over fresh ones made by the intruder. I could see that the lock had been completely removed and when we entered the mudroom, I saw it lying on the tile.
I had a million questions, but first I had to see Syrah, Merlot and Chablis. Only then would I be able to think straight again.
Candace was in the walk-in pantry, checking the control panel for the security system. I glanced in as I passed and saw she had a flashlight focused on the buttons and switches, examining them closely.
Merlot and Syrah sat in the middle of the kitchen, taking in the action with curious stares. Chablis had chosen what I supposed she considered a safer position. There are “bush cats” who go low when threatened and “tree cats” who move to high ground when they’re in trouble. Chablis was a “bush cat” and she crouched under the table in the breakfast nook, her fur so puffed out she looked like a stuffed animal.
I squatted in front of Merlot and Syrah. “How are my boys? You okay?”
But they seemed absolutely unbothered and fascinated by Candace’s activities. After petting them both, I walked over to the table where Chablis had taken refuge. As soon as I knelt down, she came to me and rubbed against my knees, back arched. If whoever had broken in had dandruff, she might have a problem. Chablis is allergic to human dander—or dandruff, as most people call it. But after I examined her thoroughly, I could tell that her fluffed-out appearance was probably due to fear and not an allergy attack.
I picked her up and cradled her like a baby, and the minute I did, I felt my jangled nerves quiet. Time to find Clyde.
Tom was watching Candace work and I held my phone out to him. “Tom, could you take my phone and tell me where to locate Clyde? I can’t remember how this thing works.”
“Sure.” He spoke to Candace then. “Is it okay to check the perimeter of the house? I’ll make sure to watch for footprints around the places where Jillian has cameras.”
“You know better than I do where those are, but I could use some help with this panel. Where would the intruder have touched this thing to disable it?”
Chablis purred contentedly. I swayed with her in my arms while I waited for Tom to point out the places Candace should focus on in the pantry. Didn’t they understand that Clyde was more important? I needed to find him now. But not many people, even my two best friends in the world, could ever completely comprehend how much the safety of my animals mattered to me.
Tom finished his instructions, and I set Chablis next to Syrah and Merlot on the kitchen floor before we carefully stepped over the damaged lock and out onto the deck. He took my phone, tapped a few buttons and found the map with ease.
I waited impatiently while he switched his gaze between the screen and the landscape a couple of times. Finally he pointed to the empty lot next to my house. “He’s over there and right now, he’s not moving.”
I hurried down the deck steps that led to the backyard and the lake. Tom was on my heels. He said, “There might be footprint impressions close to the house, so let’s avoid going near there.”
But my mind was on Clyde. I had no idea if he was a bush cat or a tree cat since I’d never seen him frightened, but I soon found out. His orange body stood out in the lush green foliage and leaves of summer. He was sitting on a low branch of an ancient hickory, looking like Alice’s Cheshire cat.
I approached slowly, murmuring softly that he was going to be okay. He didn’t move, just blinked several times, his beautiful smile the best thing I’d seen all day.
“He’s within my grabbing distance. I can take him down if you think he’ll let me touch him,” Tom said.
“It might be better if I climb up and get him. Give me a boost?” I asked.
“Oh, I want to see this. I might even take a picture and give it to Kara. The headline will read, ‘Jillian Hart Sa
ves Another Cat in Trouble.’” He cupped his hands low so I could use his intertwined fingers as a step.
He gave me enough of a boost to grab the limb Clyde sat on, but as soon as I wrangled my way onto the branch, the cat jumped down and made straight for Tom.
“How ungrateful is that?” I said with a laugh.
“You need help getting down?”
“As Clyde just showed us, down is easier than up.” I gripped the limb, dropped to the ground and picked up Clyde. “I wish you could tell us what this was all about, fella.”
“He didn’t even give me a chance to snap that picture.” Tom laughed. “You looked pretty good up there.”
“The last thing I need is any more publicity concerning this cat. Please do not mention his little tree-climbing adventure to anyone.” But I had to smile. All the cats were now safe and sound.
While I went back to the house, Tom told me he would be checking around the house to see what damage had been done to the cameras and to look for any evidence that might help us figure out who did this.
When I got back to the house, Clyde content in my arms, I saw Candace bag the door-lock assembly as evidence. Her camera was on the floor nearby and fingerprint dust marked the paint on my back door. She said, “So you found the wandering cat. That’s a relief. But now it’s time for you to take an inventory.”
“Inventory?” I lifted my chin as Clyde rubbed my face.
“Your house was broken into, Jillian. That suggests a burglary, don’t you think?”
“Oh. Gosh, yes. I was so worried about the cats, I hadn’t even considered that anything might have been taken.”
I set Clyde down and he bounded through the mudroom, straight for the water dish. He didn’t turn and run to escape again. He was settling in. Then I wondered how long he’d been outside and felt terrible I hadn’t checked his GPS sooner. But Tom could probably tell when he did an autopsy on my poor, dead security system.
Candace placed the bagged lock and door handles in her evidence kit and picked up her camera. “I’m done with the door. We’ll take a look room by room. It helps that I’m almost as familiar with your house as you are.”
The Cat, the Vagabond and the Victim: A Cats in Trouble Mystery Page 17
