“Oh, I don’t think,” Alfreda said. “I know you can’t remember. She’s here, so take your medicine before you have a stroke.”
I believed I might have found the two crankiest people on the planet. “I don’t want to upset you, Mr. Green, but—”
“My name is Cole. And what’s yours, little lady?” Did I see a sparkle in his cloudy brown eyes?
“Jillian. Mind if I sit down?”
“Of course you’ll sit,” he said.
Alfreda said, “He promised he’d take his medicine when you got here.” She stared down at her patient, her hands on her hips. “Didn’t you?”
“That would be a good idea,” I said. “I don’t want you to fall ill while I’m here.” I sat on the edge of an old leather wing chair adjacent to him.
“See how nice she said that, Alfreda?” Mr. Green said. “You could take a lesson. Bring me the horse pills. And bring Miss Jillian here a cup of that hot cocoa you make.”
Alfreda’s full lips hinted at a smile. “And I’m supposing you’d like a cup of cocoa yourself?”
“You would be correct, woman. One of the few times in your life, sorry to say.” But he was holding back a smile, too.
I’ll bet this goes on all day, I thought. These two actually shared a fondness for each other, but they would never admit to it.
When she left the room, Cole Green said, “There’s a conspiracy, isn’t there? I’m not getting a new Banjo.”
I almost did a “huh?” and then remembered that was the name of his cat. “Banjo was an Abyssinian?”
“Didn’t know that’s what he was until he took sick. Vet told me. Can’t hardly pronounce it, much less spell it. Woman at the paper helped me out with the spelling when I called to say I needed a new cat.”
The answers to why he hadn’t used the Internet or visited animal shelters were obvious. Classified ads served the needs of his generation for things like finding a new pet.
“Abyssinians came from ancient Egypt. An Abyssinian cat was considered a child of God,” I said.
Mr. Green nodded and smiled. “Banjo was that indeed.”
“What happened to him?” I asked.
His eyes instantly grew rheumy. “Cancer. Cancer’s gonna take over the earth. I’ve had it myself, but I survived. Not poor Banjo.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
Alfreda returned with a tray holding the cocoa. “Kindly help me by setting up one of those TV tables in the closet by the front door,” she said to me.
Soon the folding table was between us, and Alfreda gave Mr. Green a handful of pills and a glass of water to wash them down. He grumbled but did take the medicine.
“I got laundry to do,” Alfreda said. “Need anything, you holler.” She pointed at Mr. Green. “And that means she can holler, not you. I’ve had enough of your hollering for one day.”
She turned and walked out of the room.
The smell of chocolate had filled the air, and one taste of Alfreda’s rich, sweet concoction soothed me from head to toe.
Mr. Green must have noticed the change in my demeanor because he was smiling. “Now, that’s nature’s best medicine.” He nodded at my cup. “A decent dose of cocoa. I keep telling her I don’t need all those pills, just two cups of this every day.”
“You could be on to something.” I set down the cup and leaned toward him. “Tell me about Banjo and this person who answered your ad.”
“You first. What’s it to you?”
“That’s a long story, but I’ll try to give you a quick summary.” The summary took long enough for us both to finish our cocoa. “Did you follow all that?” I said, using one of the small paper napkins Alfreda had provided to wipe away my chocolate mustache.
“I may be half deaf and nearly blind, but I got the rest of my faculties,” he said. “This man stole your cat, and you’re on a quest for answers. That about sum it up?”
I smiled. “True enough. Was it a man who answered your ad?”
“It was, and he came with a picture. The cat was sitting in someone’s big picture window. Taken from the outside, not the inside.” Mr. Green stroked his chin. “Struck me as odd he’d take a picture of the cat from the outside of a house. That shoulda clued me something wasn’t right.”
I had a picture window and an Abyssinian. Everything seemed to fit so far. “Alfreda mentioned you gave this man money, that he came here?”
“Do I look like I could drive around town meeting up with people? Course he came here,” he said.
“Was he about sixty? Messy hair with plenty of dandruff on his shoulders?” I said.
“You think these old eyes could see dandruff? I can’t even tell if I have it. But the man who came—Mr. Barney Smith, he said—was gray-headed, and I had a bad feeling about him. But I was so wanting a new Banjo, I didn’t listen to what my insides were telling me. And now the cat’s not arrived, and I’ve got enough smarts to figure out this man is your corpse, Mr. Flake Wilkerson.”
“That’s my guess. You think you’d recognize the cat he showed you if you looked at my Abyssinian?” I said.
“Since the cat I was supposed to receive looked exactly like Banjo, probably.”
I opened my bag and took out the picture. I handed it to Mr. Green.
He stared down at Syrah and then slowly his hand came to rest against his heart. “That’s him. That’s Banjo all over again.”
“How much money did you give Mr. Wilkerson?” I said softly.
“Five hundred dollars.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the photo.
“And how much more were you expected to pay?” I said.
“You’ll be thinking I’m crazy when I tell you. Alfreda thinks I am.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy for a minute. Just tell me.”
“Two thousand.” He looked up at me then, his eyes wet with tears. “You can’t put a price on getting your best friend back.”
I smiled, feeling an immense sadness. “No, you can’t.”
“This your cat? The one he stole?” he asked.
“It is. His name is Syrah.”
He handed over the picture with a trembling hand. “I’m glad he’s home where he belongs.”
“Do you have a photo of Banjo?” I asked.
“Got a million of them.” He shouted, “Alfreda? Get yourself in here.”
She bustled into the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I told you not to holler at me.”
“Get me the album. This lady needs to see Banjo. And you’ll be happy to know that man who came here has met his Maker, as well he should have. He was a liar and a thief.”
I left shortly afterward with the only picture of Mr. Green’s beloved cat that he was willing to part with. The resemblance between Banjo and Syrah was amazing. Sure, there are bound to be similarities in certain breeds, but these two could have been twins. No wonder the man was willing to spend twenty-five hundred dollars hoping to replace his old friend.
Despite my sadness that Wilkerson had taken advantage of Mr. Green, I was also glad that I now had proof that this murder could very well be about cats and money—just as Candace and I had believed from the start.
It was despicable that Flake Wilkerson had taken advantage of the poor man. The question now was how many more desperate people like Mr. Green had Wilkerson made deals with?
Twenty-two
I drove straight to the Mercy city hall, convinced I now had proof that cats plus money were behind Wilkerson’s murder. I had pictures of two very similar cats and a story to tell Baca. He’d better pay attention for once.
But the first person I saw when I walked into the police office was Candace. Her surprise was evident.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, glancing back toward the hall that led to the chief’s office.
“I’ve made a small breakthrough. Remember those newspapers Daphne gave me?”
She nodded, but before I could tell her what I’d learned, Baca walked out of his office. He was conc
entrating on putting on his jacket, but when he looked up and saw us, he quit halfway through the process. “What are you two cooking up now?”
I lifted my chin. “Nothing. You said to tell you if I learned anything interesting connected to the case, so here I am.”
“Is this about cats again?” He seemed ready to leave and looked at Candace, not me. “Is it?”
“I have no idea, sir,” she said.
“I don’t believe that for a minute.” He leveled a hard stare my way. “What’s this about?”
“It will take me a minute to explain. Can we go into your office?” I didn’t add, “And can Candace come, too?” though I wanted to.
“I have dinner plans,” he said, starting past us. “But if it’s that important, come along.”
I hadn’t expected this response. I was hoping we could talk here, but instead I ended up following him out.
Candace grabbed my arm and whispered, “Get with me later.”
I mouthed, “I will,” and hurried to catch up with Baca.
He said he was headed to the Finest Catch, a restaurant less than a block away. We walked there, and I practically had to run to keep up with him.
He asked for a table for three. Once we were seated near a window that looked out on a garden between this building and the next, he said, “Mae is always late. So, tell me this important piece of information.”
I explained about the newspapers and the circled ads, my visit to Mr. Green and how the man he’d dealt with sounded very much like Flake Wilkerson. But it was the price Mr. Green was willing to pay for a cat that finally hit home with Baca.
“I had no idea cats could cost that much,” he said.
“I’ve been to hundreds of cat shows.” I sipped the white wine I’d ordered. “A champion sire cat can bring plenty. But as you see, even when a cat doesn’t have pedigree papers, people might have other reasons to be willing to pay a lot.”
“But what you’re talking about is an old man replacing a dead pet.” He’d ordered a calamari appetizer, and now he picked up a deep-fried ring with his fork.
“It’s called desperation. What if Wilkerson double-crossed someone he’d promised a cat to? Took their down payment and never came through? They might be mad enough to find him. Maybe he and some angry person who’d been conned had a fight and Wilkerson ended up dead.”
He chewed for a second, looking thoughtful. “I suppose that’s possible. Cat fanatics like you and Shawn certainly have taught me about how obsessed cat people can be, if nothing else. I’ll consider what you’ve told me. Maybe this motive bears more investigative work.”
“Did you call me obsessed?” I said.
His ears reddened. “That came out the wrong way. Passionate, maybe? Is that a better word?”
“Who’s getting passionate with whom?” Marian Mae said. She’d arrived at the table as quietly as one of my cats.
Baca rose and smiled. “Hey there, Mae. Hope you don’t mind, but I asked Jillian to join us.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not staying.” I gulped down the remaining inch of wine. “Have a fabulous dinner.”
With a cup of cocoa and a glass of wine the only things in my stomach, I would need to make a sincere effort not to stumble my way out of the restaurant. But once again, before I’d gone five feet, I heard Marian Mae speak.
“What is going on between you two?” she said.
Why did she care? Or was every woman in Mercy as jealous as Lydia? I started down the sidewalk, walking carefully. I wasn’t drunk, just a little light-headed, but I am clumsy enough that I could do a face plant on the uneven sidewalk even without an overload of sugar and alcohol. I was concentrating so hard on watching out for high spots that I might trip over, I nearly shot three feet in the air when Candace jumped out from between two buildings.
“You have to tell me what this is about. Right now,” she said.
“Did you follow me?” I said.
“You’re damn straight. Now tell me why you came in so hot to see the chief,” she said.
“Hot is not the word I’d choose. And I need food before I can talk about anything,” I said. “That restaurant smelled like heaven.”
“We’ll pick up something. I’ll drive.” She took my arm and yanked, but I didn’t budge.
“No way am I riding with you. Pick up chicken and meet me at my house.” I pulled a twenty from my bag and gave it to her. That was when I noticed the two pictures of the very similar Abyssinians. What an idiot. Those pictures were the reason I’d wanted to talk to Baca. If I’d remembered, maybe he would have been a little more excited about what I’d learned today.
Candace headed off to pick up the food, perhaps realizing that discussing this on the street, mere steps from where her boss was having dinner with his girlfriend, might not be such a great idea.
I’d had a chance to offer affection as well as food to my three kids by the time Candace arrived with boxed fried chicken dinners, though the offerings at the Finest Catch would have been far more enjoyable.
Once we were sitting at the counter in my kitchen and I was practically inhaling the greasy yet wonderful chicken, Candace was ready for the explanation.
After I was done telling her about Mr. Green’s quest to replace his Abyssinian and my conversation with Baca, she said, “That’s excellent information. But I happen to know the chief’s already been persuaded by the financial evidence he’s discovered that the cats might be more important than he ever wanted to believe.”
“No wonder he sounded so nonchalant when I told him what I’d learned. What about this financial evidence?” I said.
“I wouldn’t have known if I didn’t have a partner who loves to run his mouth—especially after he’s decided the boss might have this case all wrong. Morris told me some stuff that’s pretty interesting,” she said.
“So share.” I took another bite of a chicken leg.
“Get this. Flake Wilkerson had an account with a flight shipping company. He was sending cats everywhere. It costs a lot to ship an animal across the country in this age of unstable fuel prices. Guess that’s one reason he was charging an old man on a fixed income twenty-five hundred dollars for a cat. Maybe that’s what he charged all his customers, and selling to locals like Mr. Green helped him make an even bigger profit.”
“That’s how he made his money? Stealing cats and selling them?” I said.
“After what you’ve learned, it makes sense,” she said. “Another thing I overheard directly about Wilkerson is that he didn’t have a landline. So how was he doing business?”
“Good point,” I said.
“I was hoping Chief Baca’s realizations would make him pay attention not only to the lack of a phone—not even a cell phone was found in the house—but I’ve collected cat hair samples I know could be useful. And if he would have listened to me from the beginning—”
“But he didn’t. You’re right about the phone, though. Mr. Wilkerson would need one, right?”
“Exactly,” she said. “Or else he did everything over the Internet.”
I wiped my hands on the paper towels I’d brought to the counter, and Candace did the same. “Maybe like the computer, the killer knew the cell phone could be incriminating. We should ask Ed about any new additions to his mobile phone collection—because I’m sure he has one.”
Candace smiled. “Since Ed is the one who found the computer, my guess is the chief already asked about phones. He may be difficult, but he’s not stupid.”
“We didn’t ask Ed. Does that make us dumb?” I said.
Candace’s face fell. “Darn. Guess it does.”
Leaving her to recover from the shattering realization that we’d missed an opportunity, I put the empty chicken boxes in the garbage can outside so the cats wouldn’t be tempted to raid the kitchen trash. I heard thunder rumble in the distance. Another weather change was on the way.
Candace had settled on the sofa with a big glass of water, her police utility belt lying on my coff
ee table. She wore her gun in a shoulder holster and had removed that, too.
“I am stuffed and feeling like an idiot,” she said.
I didn’t like looking at a gun in my living room, so I averted my eyes from her weapon. Weapons like hers were meant to take people down. I appreciated the fact that we had folks like Candace to protect us, but that gun was plain scary.
Candace stretched out and crossed her legs at the ankles. “Know what else Morris told me?”
“Seems you have a whole lot more to tell me than I had to tell you,” I said.
Her eyes glittered with excitement.“Get this.Apparently that county computer expert Baca was counting on to help with the damaged hard drive is not available and won’t be for at least a month. That’s where the secrets are—in that computer—and Baca’s gonna need serious, expert help.”
“Does that mean he’ll have to wait until the computer person can work on it?” I asked.
“Maybe not. Remember what Karen said about Tom’s abilities with computers? Well, I planted that seed with Morris. If I know my partner, he’ll be in Baca’s office tomorrow ready to persuade him to hire a consultant—Tom Stewart.”
“Morris would do that?” I said.
“Any way he can play the hero is fine by him,” she said.
“But won’t Morris mention that you were the one who told him about Tom?” I said.
“Are you kidding? Morris isn’t about to give credit to anyone but Morris.” Candace intertwined her hands behind her neck. “Nope. I believe I have this all set up. Then you can grill Tom for information about that hard drive.”
I’d been leaning back on the sofa myself, but that remark sat me straight up. “Grill him? What does that mean?”
“He likes you. That’s as plain as day,” she said. “I saw the way he looked at you when he found your cat. He was proud as punch and happy he could help you.”
“Oh. So I should use him?” I was not liking this idea.
“I used Morris. Now it’s your turn,” she said.
“But Tom won’t be permitted to talk about anything he gets off that hard drive, will he?”
Leann Sweeney Page 21
