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

by Leann Sweeney

  He stared down at his chili dogs. “She wasn’t looking for me, was she? I promised her we’d have lunch, but if I’m forced to eat one more chicken salad sandwich at that doily-infested Victorian B and B, I’ll lose my mind.”

  I smiled. “She was expecting to talk to Deputy Carson at the police station.” I looked at Candace. “Or was she mistaken?”

  “I figured I’d see her at the Pink House when we went there to talk to Mr. Boatman, but—”

  “Please. Call me Dirk, Deputy Carson.” He looked at me. “My mother left before I woke up. I had a few too many scotches last night and overslept. Scotch is required whenever I spend more than a day with my mother.”

  Perhaps he wasn’t as devoted to her as she had led me to believe. “She just went back to the police station, determined to finish giving her statement.” I rested a hand on Tom’s knee. “But the Main Street Diner seems like an unusual place for this interview. What’s going on?”

  Candace said, “We’re headed for the bank after we eat. Mr. Boatman—I’m sorry—Dirk surprised us by revealing a safe-deposit box key he found.”

  “Surprised you?” I was a little confused.

  Tom, who wasn’t about to let his hot roast beef sandwich get cold, had been shoveling in food, but now he said, “Dirk and his uncle Wayne went to the funeral home yesterday to take clothes they’d brought for Mr. Jeffrey to wear for the viewing. The funeral director gave him this little envelope with the key. It had been stuck in the lining of Mr. Jeffrey’s pants pocket.”

  “It was missed at the autopsy?” I asked.

  “Remember,” Candace said, “Mr. Jeffrey’s death wasn’t deemed suspicious at first. His clothes were bagged and no one thought to go back and check them. Miss Monk and I will speak about that issue at another time since one of her responsibilities when a body comes in is to examine the clothing and remove belongings from pockets.”

  I could only imagine how that talk would go down and I surely didn’t want to be present. “I’m not sure how it works after someone dies. Will you be given access to the box, Dirk?”

  Candace had her cheeseburger poised for her first bite, but paused. “According to the bank, Mr. Jeffrey attached a codicil to the leasing document for the box. Seems only Dirk may access its contents—which saves me from having to wait to get that subpoena.”

  “Do you know the terms of the will, Dirk?” I asked.

  “Here’s the only thing I understand.” Dirk glanced at Candace. “Can I tell her what I told you?”

  “No problem,” Candace mumbled around a bite of her burger.

  Dirk looked at me. “The last time I came up here to visit him, Uncle Norm said Wayne had been hounding him for money—apparently for an investment. He told me he’d made me executor and said Wayne wasn’t getting anything from the estate since the man had never listened to his advice about how to manage finances.”

  “So,” Candace said, “if Wayne knew he gets nothing, that tends to send him to the bottom of the suspect list. Did he know this for certain, Dirk?”

  “I got the impression from Uncle Norm that he’d told Wayne as much. It was a difficult conversation because my uncle rarely shared anything personal.”

  I reached for the glass of tea the waitress had just placed in front of me. “Sounds like your uncle trusted you. Is that why he made you executor?”

  “Maybe, but I deal with contracts all the time. Uncle Norm said I was the smart choice because I would understand what needed to be done.”

  I nodded. “Ah, makes sense. Sounds like your uncle knew exactly what he was doing.”

  “He was a great guy.” Dirk stared at his food again—the two chili dogs he hadn’t touched.

  I realized then that for the first time, I was talking to a person who truly seemed to care about the victim and was feeling the loss. I swallowed hard. “You came here often to see him?”

  “Yes—and I should have seen that he was in danger. I’ll never forgive myself for hiring Buford Miller to care for him. I know he killed my uncle. I’m sure of it.” Dirk’s voice had risen and he was drawing stares from other folks in the diner. He noticed this and mumbled, “Sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for, man,” Tom said. “We’ll figure this out. Your uncle’s will and maybe other things in that box will help us solve his murder.”

  “I sure hope so. But can we change the subject? I don’t want to completely lose my appetite now that I can enjoy something other than chicken salad.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes and after Dirk finished one dog, he sat back. “I want to apologize again for making that call to the prosecutor’s office.” Dirk flushed and looked at me. “Like I told them earlier, my mother asked me to call and ask questions. She wanted to know what steps we had to take once we arrived here. She thought it would seem as if all she cared about was Uncle Norm’s money when she only wanted to know what procedure to follow. Neither of us have ever dealt with the logistics of a funeral before. It is more complicated than I thought.”

  “It is,” Candace said. “But like I told you back at the Pink House, do not lie about anything to the police again. It just creates trouble for everyone.”

  “I know that now. And I am sorry,” he replied.

  I stayed around for a few more minutes, hoping I’d be invited to go with them to the bank. I couldn’t help but be curious about what was in that box. But that didn’t happen. We said our good-byes outside the diner.

  As I slid behind the wheel of my van, I decided it was probably a good thing, since I’d been away from Kara’s house and my fur friends for too long. Before I drove off, I checked my buddy Emily’s GPS location and saw she was at the newspaper office. Maybe she actually was taking Kara’s advice to heart and wanted to learn how to prepare herself for a career in the news industry.

  Since I’d made the mistake of trusting Emily before, I decided it might be wise to call Kara and make sure Emily wasn’t annoying her. After all, I was the one who had brought them together.

  When Kara answered, I said, “Emily’s there, right?”

  “Yes, we can do that.” Kara’s random reply told me Emily was probably in the room with her.

  “Is she bothering you?”

  “I’m on a deadline, so I’ll have to call you back.” Kara didn’t sound happy.

  “I am so sorry, Kara. Should I come and take her to lunch or something? Get her out of your hair?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay, but if you need rescuing, let me know. I’m headed back to your place.”

  “Thanks for calling.” She disconnected.

  From Kara’s tone, I guessed Emily was making a pest of herself. Perhaps she wasn’t simply an overeager young woman, but rather a narcissist. Despite what Kara had told her, Emily probably truly believed she could get a news-anchor job by presenting her station with an exclusive story about Clyde and the murders. I drove to Kara’s house, feeling guilty for pulling my stepdaughter into this situation.

  I disengaged the security system and came in through the back door. My spirits definitely got a reboot when six cats swarmed me in the mudroom, which also was home to the washer and dryer. I sat cross-legged on the tile floor and let them nudge me and vie for attention in their own ways. Chablis immediately crawled into the gap between my thighs. Syrah stared at me, blinking slowly in his regal style. Merlot lay down next to me and rolled onto his back for a belly rub. Pulitzer and Prize meowed in unison, begging for scratches under the chin—something they both enjoyed. Clyde watched all this and finally planted his huge paws on my shoulders and rubbed his face along my chin. Now this was cat heaven.

  Time to feed this crew. My kitties were given regular meals, but Kara’s cats always had food left out for them so they could eat whenever they desired. I knew if all the dishes were empty, one of my happy campers had probably eaten more than his fair share. She kept the food and water in here, so I stood with Chablis in my arms and checked the d
ishes in the far corner.

  Sure enough, the kibble had been cleaned out. Merlot and Clyde, the big boys, topped the list of suspects. I went to the kitchen, found a larger bowl and filled it, thinking about the human suspects a little more. I recalled what Dirk had revealed about Wayne: He’d asked Mr. Jeffrey for money and had been turned away. Could this have been a murder about anger and revenge? Had Wayne enlisted Buford’s help to get rid of Mr. Jeffrey and then murdered Buford before he could spill the beans?

  I rinsed the water dish and refilled it, deciding that my theory made little sense. Mr. Jeffrey was already dying. If Wayne got Buford to overdose the poor man, he’d probably have to pay Buford to do the deed. If Wayne needed money and was getting nothing from the estate, he’d only be hurting himself. But, maybe Wayne then killed Buford so he wouldn’t have to pay him. I’d come full circle to revenge as a motive.

  Still, someone wanted Mr. Jeffrey dead before the disease took him. Someone desperate. That person could well have been Wayne, especially if Dirk was lying to Candace about Wayne’s being cut out of the will after asking Mr. Jeffrey for money. Dirk had lied once that we knew about. But why lie about any will provisions when he seemed so cooperative about going to the bank with Candace and Tom? They’d find out immediately when they read the document. Nope. Didn’t make sense.

  But what if there wasn’t a will in the safe-deposit box? Or what if Wayne and Mr. Jeffrey had mended fences and the will had been changed to include him?

  I shook my head, confused by all the possibilities. I went back to the mudroom, set the water and food bowls down, and decided to forget about all of this, at least for now. I smiled as the clowder went straight for the fresh kibble. This was what I wanted—to relax in Kara’s wonderful country house with no one around except a lot of cats. I’d brought several quilt squares to appliqué and I could sit in front of the television and stitch. Cats, quilts and a little HGTV would clear my mind.

  Twenty-eight

  By eight o’clock that evening, I was too anxious to sit still another minute. I’d finished three appliqué squares, binge-watched Rehab Addict until I was sure I could refinish one-hundred-year-old crown molding, given the chance, and played with the cats until they finally tired of chasing feathers and stuffed mice on strings. All of them except for Chablis slinked away to find spots to snooze. She stayed close to me as usual, especially since I’d been hearing thunder rumble in the distance for the last hour. Chablis did not like thunderstorms.

  Kara had called around five to say she was headed for dinner with Liam and then would be going back to the office. I’d heard nothing from Tom and Candace and was anxious to learn what they’d discovered in that safe-deposit box. Did they finally have a motive for the murders? I’d texted Tom thirty minutes ago, hoping he’d tell me, but he hadn’t replied. I was about ready to grab my keys and head for the police station when the doorbell rang.

  How strange. Who would be calling on Kara tonight? She never mentioned she was expecting anyone. I went through the foyer, the marble tiles cold on my bare feet. When I looked through the peephole, I couldn’t withhold a groan of displeasure. A drenched Emily stood waiting for me to open the door.

  How had she found me? And what did she want? I didn’t move or make a sound, considering whether or not to open the door. Did I want to deal with her tonight? No! shouted a voice in my head.

  “Jillian, I see your van,” Emily called. “I know you’re in there.”

  I sighed heavily. I couldn’t leave her out there in the rain. Besides, I knew she wouldn’t leave until I spoke with her. I let her in.

  She smiled after greeting me with a wet hug and then took in the curving staircase off the foyer. Her gaze, accompanied by slack-jawed wonder, drifted to the vaulted ceiling, took in the open space of Kara’s living room that flowed into the dining and kitchen combination. “This place is gorgeous,” she finally said.

  Her shoes were soaked and she’d tracked mud onto the previously immaculate floor.

  “Before we get into why you’re here, would you mind taking your shoes off?”

  She stared down at her feet, apparently realizing for the first time that she was soaked. Even her dark hair was plastered to her head.

  “Oh. Sorry.” She bent over and removed her open-backed slip-ons.

  No doubt about it, she needed dry clothes. I asked her to remain in the foyer until I could help her dry off. I’d noticed a basket of clean laundry in Kara’s room earlier and hurried to find something she could wear. Although Emily was shorter, they both had a slim build.

  I returned with a towel, yoga pants and a gray T-shirt. Once she’d dried off a little, I pointed out the powder room in the hallway off the living room. Fifteen minutes later, Emily sat on the opposite end of the sofa from me, clean and dry and sipping hot tea.

  “How did you find me here, Emily?” I’d chosen sweet tea for myself—a much-needed dose of sugar to counteract my exasperation at her having shown up.

  “You didn’t tell me about the break-in at your place, Jillian. That’s awful. Good thing you weren’t home at the time.”

  Cats began appearing from every nook and cranny. Chablis crouched between us on the couch, probably more spooked by the thunder and flashes of lightning than by this visitor. Visitors she could handle.

  “Please answer my question.” I was beginning to wonder if she’d stuck another GPS on my minivan.

  “Oh, how did I find you? You do realize people talk in this town. I mean, a lot. Rumors were flying all over that coffee shop about what happened at your home—about the break-in and how Tom’s system wasn’t as foolproof as he thought. And although Kara is a great teacher—I did learn a lot from her today—her face gives away too much. I knew she was talking to you on the phone earlier and when I went to your place and discovered your house all dark, I asked myself where you’d go if you didn’t feel safe. But I knew. All I had to do was head back to the coffee place, ask someone where Kara lived and here I am.” She smiled so proudly, you’d have thought she’d found a Picasso at a garage sale.

  “Excellent sleuthing skills, Emily. Maybe you’re cut out to be an investigative journalist after all. But why not just call me? You have my number.” She probably had it memorized.

  Emily held her steaming mug close to her nose with both hands, taking in the fragrance of Kara’s peach green tea. “This is so good. I’ll have to hunt for this brand back in Asheville.” She sipped carefully and sighed with pleasure after she swallowed.

  “Again, why didn’t you call me rather than come here, Emily?” I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice—with difficulty.

  Syrah must have sensed I was out of sorts because he sat in front of Emily and stared at her. Pulitzer and Prize were too timid to make it all the way to the sofa and greet this new-to-them person. They crouched by a leather wing chair near the fireplace. But the other four had met her before and understood she was harmless. Well, harmless to cats, anyway.

  Merlot, still looking a bit sleepy, sat on the Oriental area rug next to Syrah. Clyde, who despite his size apparently considered himself a lap cat, jumped onto Emily to say hello. She raised her mug just in time to keep hot tea from spilling all over him.

  “I guess he likes me.” She put her mug down on the lamp table near her left arm, making sure to use one of the stone coasters Kara kept there.

  So Emily did have a few manners. But again, she was dodging the question about why she’d come here.

  “If I tell you a few other things I learned hanging around Belle’s Beans, will you please ask Kara if I can write the story? Because this is amazing stuff and I’d let her help me get it right.”

  Let her? Emily still had so much to learn. But I was intrigued, so I said, “Why don’t you ask her yourself? You did spend the day with her.”

  “Yes, and she told me that maybe it hadn’t been a good idea that I shadowed her while she created a morning edition layout. I think I asked too many questions.”

  “In oth
er words, you kept interrupting her.”

  “That’s about right. Would you ask her to give me another chance now that I have this awesome scoop?”

  “I’ll try, but I have no idea if she’ll agree to whatever you intend to write. Maybe you need to let her decide how important it is.”

  “Oh, it’s important.” She lifted Clyde off her lap and set him next to her on the sofa. “Gosh, you’re heavy. But you are one special cat.” She drew her legs up beneath her, facing my direction.

  Clyde, apparently unhappy with her decision not to offer him a lap, decided Merlot was a good substitute for some needed attention. He jumped off the couch and wrapped his big paws around Merlot’s neck. The two started wrestling playfully.

  Emily went on. “My concern is the timing. When I should send off what I write, what markets I should use, stuff like that. And I need to know if it’s okay to give away provisions in a will before the family’s been informed. Could I get in trouble for doing that?”

  She had my full attention now. “Yes, you could—with the police in this town, anyway. What do you know and how did you find out?”

  “Shoot,” Emily said. “I forgot how much Deputy Carson dislikes me. She might just arrest me, huh? But we do have freedom of the press in this country and I doubt she can keep me from telling this story.”

  “Back up, Emily. What exactly are you talking about?”

  “Okay, here’s the deal. I met Dirk Boatman—actually I saw him coming out of the police station and followed him to Belle’s Beans. He seemed worried, looked like he could use a friend. We’d talked before, so I became a better friend.” She smiled, obviously pleased with herself.

  “You talked about the will?”

  “Not at first. You have to slide into something as touchy as inheritance. When Clyde was discovered hanging around the Jeffrey house and we first learned about how far the cat traveled, Dirk and his mother both gave interviews to the TV stations. So we talked about how a vagabond cat gets a lot of interest. I mean, Clyde brought me here, didn’t he?”