Leann Sweeney

by the Quilt;the Corpse The Cat

  “But Mr. Cuddahee helped you the day before. Like Ms. Monk said, why not call him?” Baca said.

  Perhaps I’d been so disturbed by Shawn’s behavior with Wilkerson the day before, I’d never even thought of phoning him instead of Tom. But mentioning that might hurt Shawn even more as far as suspect status. I had to say something, though. “I guess Tom came to mind because he’d put in my security system Saturday night. He’d helped me.”

  “And Mr. Stewart could be of more assistance than a man like Mr. Cuddahee, who we all know tends to be confrontational?”

  “That wasn’t my first thought when I called Tom.”

  “Sounds like you did think about it, though,” Baca said. “Mind if I look at your cell phone? Confirm this call was made?”

  “You think I’d lie?” I was surprised how much his words upset me.

  “I have to confirm the call, that’s all,” he said.

  Tom finally spoke. “Take mine. Like I told you, the call was short and sweet.” He shoved his phone across the desk.

  Baca pressed buttons on the phone and apparently found what he wanted because he read off my cell number, then said, “That yours?”

  I nodded.

  He pressed another button, and I heard my muffled ringtone coming from my jeans pocket. It stopped when Baca closed Tom’s phone.

  “Thanks,” Baca said, handing the cell back to Tom.

  Despite Tom’s warning to say as little as possible, I felt the need to explain further. The police do seem to have a way of making you feel guilty even when you’re not. “I do remember the conversation better now. Tom said he knew where Flake Wilkerson lived when I asked if he needed directions. He agreed to meet me there, and that was about it.”

  “He said he knew where he lived?” Though he was speaking to me, Baca was looking at Tom.

  Uh-oh. What had I done now? I quickly added, “I also said something about Tom meeting me in five minutes. I’ll admit I was upset with Mr. Wilkerson for breaking into my house and I was sure he had stolen my cat. I’m certain that even if Tom hadn’t agreed to help me with that problem, I would have gone to the Pink House no matter what.”

  “Really?” Baca settled back, hands intertwined behind his neck, and said, “You were that angry?”

  “Angry?” I said. “No. That’s the wrong—”

  “I don’t think you should say anything else,” Tom said.

  “You got a law degree, too, Mr. Stewart?” Baca said.

  “Would you quit with the cop crap? I’m Tom and you’re Mike. We’re friends, remember?”

  “The cop crap? Is that what murder was to you when you were on the force?” Baca said.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” Tom said.

  I stood, tired of all these complicated Mercy relationships coming into play. “You know what?” I said. “No matter what Flake Wilkerson did, I would never kill him. That’s not the kind of person I am. Now, I’m leaving.” I walked out of the office, my heart beating so fast I had trouble breathing. Could you actually walk away from the police without ending up in handcuffs?

  Seemed I could, because no one called my name and told me to stop, and no one followed me. Candace might have, if she’d been in the waiting area—but a new person sat behind the desk, a young man who could have passed for twelve. Since he was wearing a Mercy Police uniform, he was probably closer to eighteen or nineteen.

  I hurried down the hall and out of the building, making a beeline for my minivan. The sun was desperately attempting to break through the cloud cover. A warm change was imminent—the humidity told me as much. Yes, in many ways this was a different world than it had been a few days ago. But it would not be a world where I hid in my sewing room trying to pretend none of this had happened. I had to find out why Flake Wilkerson stole my cat and what, if anything, that had to do with his death.

  On the drive home I considered how I could accomplish those two things. I wasn’t a police officer. I didn’t know anything about being a detective. Yet I was smack in the middle of a mystery where people were thinking the worst of me and keeping secrets. People like Mike Baca, who was only doing his job, but it still hurt my feelings. And people like Tom. Had he been protecting me when he offered his cell phone? Was he afraid there might be something incriminating on mine? I had no idea.

  When I made the last turn for home, I saw a squad car in my driveway. Apparently I hadn’t made a clean escape after all. When I pulled in behind the car, Candace got out and walked toward me. Maybe they needed a female officer to put me in jail and that was why I hadn’t been stopped when I left.

  Oh God, I’m going to jail.

  “What happened in there with you and the chief?” Candace’s eyes were dancing with interest.

  “You’re not here to arrest me?” I said.

  “What?” came her confused reply. “Remember? I’m off this case. The only thing that makes the taste in my mouth a little less bitter is that Lydia’s been kicked off, too. She made sure I knew as much, and for some reason she thinks it’s all your fault.”

  “But that’s crazy,” I said.

  “And you expected … what, exactly?”

  I shrugged. “I have so much to learn about this town.”

  Candace glanced toward my house. “It’s my lunch break, so can we talk inside? I want to know every detail of what went on in that office.”

  I smiled and waved for her to follow me. Once inside, I fixed us tall sweet teas, and then Candace and I settled in the living room. Dove, who I’d decided was the inspiration for the song “We Are the World” because she seemed to love everyone, jumped into Candace’s lap. Merlot sat close to me on the couch, and the other two sniffed and rubbed on Candace before they went off to find a dark, quiet spot to sleep. They’d been stressed in the last few days and needed to catch up on their z’s.

  I related my rather perplexing visit with the chief and Tom and summed up by saying, “I think I’m still a suspect. But there’s an issue between Tom and Mike, one they sure didn’t share with me.”

  “Interesting,” Candace said. “Tom stays pretty busy between the security setups and his PI work. Maybe he and Wilkerson had a history.”

  “That might explain things,” I said. “I can’t help but feel that my calling Tom yesterday got him in trouble, too.”

  “You were smart enough to know you needed help at the Pink House. You did the right thing. The only mistake you made was a lack of patience. You should have waited for Tom to get there.”

  “I couldn’t wait. Not when I saw Syrah in the driveway,” I said.

  “I understand, but I don’t think the chief does. He doesn’t trust you, Lydia’s pissed off, and he and Tom aren’t on good terms. I mean, what a mess. I have a mind to solve this case myself and show those boys how to get answers without antagonizing the entire town at the same time.”

  “Lydia was like a different person from the minute she saw me with Tom,” I said.

  Candace laughed. “She was bouncing mad when she stormed outta Baca’s office. And we both know what was bouncing the most.”

  “I’d like to clear my name and Shawn’s, too. Can you and I work on that?” I said.

  “As long as they don’t make me the paperwork princess, I would love to. But only as your friend—not while I’m on the clock. Got to do what I can to keep from getting fired—at least until I can save enough to go back to school and get a job in forensics. This small-town stuff is wearing me out.”

  She had to leave then but told me her shift was over at three and she’d be back to brainstorm on how we should proceed. At the back door she gave me a big hug and said, “I do so like you, girlfriend. You and me are gonna get to the bottom of this.”

  I busied myself with my quilt orders for the next several hours and then went to the computer to send e-mails to a few customers. Several of the Syrah flyers that hadn’t printed well were in the wastebasket near my desk, and I thought about how I’d put them around town before kno
wing they’d be gone within hours thanks to the sign ordinance.

  That got me wondering who removed signs for the city. I recalled Belle mentioning that she’d wanted to put up signs when her cat had disappeared, too. How many other people had done the same when their pet went missing? Could this “sign remover” know about any missing cats? Like the three cats Shawn took from Wilkerson’s place after the murder? This might not lead anywhere, but I would run it by Candace when she came back later today. Maybe it would help us find other people who had reason to be upset with Wilkerson for stealing their cats.

  My cell phone rang and I hurried to the kitchen, where I’d left it. Syrah found this entertaining and chased me. When I reached the phone, he leaped onto the counter and sat down, ready to listen.

  “You okay?”Tom said when I answered.

  “Fine. I take it this isn’t your one phone call from jail,” I said.

  “Nope,” he said. “Looks like both of us lucked out today. I can’t tell you what Mike was referring to in that odd interview because I don’t know. Maybe he thinks you and I conspired to commit murder together.”

  “Yeah, right. Having never been interviewed by even one police officer before all this, I couldn’t tell you if it was odd or not.”

  “You want to get a bite tonight?” Tom blurted out.

  The ensuing silence was deafening. I was completely taken aback. Was Tom asking me out? If he was, I had no idea what to say. He was attractive and smart, and I liked him, but the only man I could really think about, even now, was John.

  After the silence had become awkwardly long, Tom said, “I get it. It’s okay.”

  “I-I’m not sure,” I stammered. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “I guess I am,” he said.

  Before I could think through my response, I said, “I don’t know, Tom. The coffee was great this morning, but I don’t think I’m ready for dinner.”

  “Sure. I didn’t mean to push you or anything. Take care.” He disconnected abruptly and I found myself holding the dead receiver.

  And then, suddenly, my feelings surprised me, and I realized I was sorry I hadn’t taken him up on his offer.

  Fourteen

  Candace arrived at four p.m., dressed in blue jeans and an Atlanta Braves T-shirt. Her blond hair rested on her shoulders, the first time she’d worn it like that since we’d met. Without the police uniform she was one hot chick, and if fireman extraordinaire Billy Cranor didn’t notice, he was an idiot.

  I mentioned my idea about the guy who removed the signs. Candace knew who that was and thought talking to him was a good idea. We agreed to do so right away.

  After I engaged the security system, we left through the back door and she said, “Ed Duffy is the guy’s name. He’s hired by the city for odd jobs—removing graffiti, cleaning up after the Little League and Fourth of July parades, stuff like that. Taking down the signs for garage sales and lost pets keeps him pretty busy.”

  We sped through town in her small SUV, a beat-up RAV4, and she blasted “Sweet Home Alabama” on the stereo all the way to our destination. Classic rock is great but not played loud enough that Martians can hear the music. My ears and brain were immensely grateful when we arrived at Ed’s Swap Shop. The temperature had risen probably twenty degrees over the course of the day, and I shed my sweater before I got out of the Toyota.

  The “shop” was actually a small one-story house desperately in need of fresh paint. The gutters sagged, and a broken window had been repaired with duct tape. Reminded me of the problem that had led me here today. That stupid broken window.

  Once we passed through a rusty front gate, I realized the house was in better shape than anything else on the property. The yard overflowed with tires, lawn mowers, cement birdbaths, old bed springs and so much other decrepit stuff that we had to zigzag as if we were walking through a minefield to get to the weather-beaten front door.

  Candace was far more adept at zigzagging than I was; I nearly fell twice. I decided she must do obstacle courses in her spare time. Either that or she’d made this trip many times before. She didn’t bother to knock but called out, “Ed Duffy, where you at?” as we went inside.

  “That you, Candy?” A man with shaggy gray hair and a full beard that reached his shirt collar stood squinting at us from behind a long glass display case. He wore overalls and a welcoming smile.

  Witness Protection Program? I thought.

  Candace said, “How you doing?”

  “Fine, now that you’re here. But who’s the pretty lady with you?”

  We had to meander through Ed’s “merchandise” to reach him—magazines and newspapers piled as high as the ceiling, baskets filled with crocheted or embroidered linens, toys and ancient end tables and so much more.

  “This here is a newcomer to Mercy,” Candace said. “Jillian Hart.”

  “Oh,” he said, still smiling, “you’re that lady who killed off Flake. ’Bout time someone did what needed doing.”

  I felt my eyes widen. Thank goodness for Candace, who quickly said, “She did no such thing. And don’t you be spreading that around town, neither.”

  I’d noticed her lapse into what I now understood as the “native language.” If I wanted to learn how to converse in the “upstate” voice and perhaps set people at ease, I needed to pay attention to the dialect.

  He lowered his gaze. “I meant no harm. Some things need doin’ is all.” He looked at Candace. “You understand, don’t you?”

  “I sure enough do,” she said. “No harm, right, Jillian?”

  I smiled at Ed. “No offense taken.”

  Ed’s features relaxed, and I realized that with all the sun damage to what little of his face I could see, he could have been fifty years old or a hundred.

  “What can I do you two ladies?” he said. “I’m hoping you came to shop.”

  “In a way,” Candace said. “Jillian, you want to explain about the signs?”

  “Sure.” I was surprised she handed this over to me. But then, I was the one who put up the signs in the first place. “I understand you take down signs people put up—for instance, in my case, I lost my cat and I stuck up flyers around town.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s my job. Keeps me busy, too. And that’s why you won’t hear me complaining to the town council about that kinda stuff.” He grinned, and it was such an infectious, happy smile I found myself letting go a little inside. Funny how you never know how wound up you are until you begin to let go.

  “Do you remember taking down my flyers last Friday? They had a picture of my lost amber cat along with my name and phone number,” I said.

  He hooked his thumbs in his overalls, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “A lost cat, you say?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “Can’t say as I do recall. See, I just go about my business, rip ’em down and toss ’em out,” he said.

  “Don’t you be lying, Ed Duffy,” a female voice said from behind us.

  Candace and I turned. A woman who seemed to be about sixty years old stood in the doorway, her patent leather purse on one arm, her free hand on her hip. She was in full winter gear—gray wool coat, tall boots and black gloves. Her short dark hair was pulled away from her face and held in place by rhinestone-studded bobby pins.

  Candace said, “Hi, Karen. Long time, no see. Karen, this is my friend Jillian.” She turned to look at me. “Karen is Ed’s closest, um, friend.”

  She nodded. “What Candy means is that we usually spend the night together. I assume this is our widow, Ms. Hart, the one we have all heard so much about?”

  “That’s me. Nice to meet you, Karen,” I said.

  She eyed me with an inscrutable stare that made my stomach tighten up again. Finally she said, “You are not at all what I pictured. Why, you’re immensely attractive. I suppose I was expecting the devil incarnate after I heard about the murder.” The smile she offered came more from her deep blue eyes than from her lips.

  Is this what peopl
e in town think of me?

  Candace came to my defense again. “She didn’t kill anyone.”

  “I’m sure you are correct. She doesn’t look the least bit evil.” Now Karen smiled.

  Ed said, “Sweet Pea, what brings you back?”

  “Forgot my hat,” she said. “You two ladies can surely understand why a woman might forget something in this place. I would be more accurate saying I lost my hat and I am hoping it’s not been crushed under a pile of junk.”

  Ed whipped out a black cloche from beneath the counter. “Would this be what you’re looking for, Sweet Pea?”

  “You know it would. But you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I seem to have arrived at precisely the correct moment.” She looked at me. “God works in mysterious ways, and though I believed I came about a hat, it would seem I have arrived to keep an otherwise kind and honest man from presenting a falsehood to, of all people, a policeperson.”

  Candace focused on Ed. “And what falsehood would that be?”

  “Why, I have no idea what Miss Karen is talking about.” But his cheeks were flushed.

  “Edwin Duffy, you tell the truth or I will be forced to do it for you,” Karen said.

  He hung his head. “Okay, okay,” he said, hands held up in surrender. “I don’t toss the flyers.”

  “There’s more,” Karen said. “God is offering you an opportunity to be forthright and you should honor His bidding.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ed said.

  Karen gave him a stern look. “You know I am perfectly aware of this affliction of yours, Ed. What exactly do you ‘toss’?”

  He took his time answering, but at last, in barely a whisper, he said, “Nothing.”

  “Oh my,” she cried. “I am so proud of you for speaking the truth out loud. So very proud.” And with that, she practically leaped over tables and toys and came around the counter. She hugged him for what seemed a very long time while Candace and I stood and watched. I didn’t know about Candace, but I was baffled.