The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

“I’m confused,” I said. “What does that mean?”

“I think I follow,” Tom said. “You took a sample from the gray cat that I assume you just found in that house. You think it matches those other two samples?”

Candace leaned back, pointing at him. “You got it. We know the chief has been inside Marian Mae’s house before, but now we know either Wilkerson was at Marian Mae’s house the morning he died or she transferred her cat’s hair onto him when she killed him. My guess is the latter. It’s proof. Animal hair has been used over and over in court and—”

“Is my cat in that house?” Daphne said tersely. She had the silver cigarette case in her hands, and from the look on her drawn face, she’d had about all she could take of Candace’s enthusiastic explanation.

“There is a cat in there. Lydia says that since we’ve taken the hair samples, there’s no need to keep her. We can turn her over to Shawn if she’s not yours—but there is a little surprise. Wait right here.” Candace took off running back toward the house.

Like she was worried we’d leave if she didn’t hurry? Candace was something else.

But Daphne wasn’t amused. She didn’t take out a cigarette, but she kept turning the case over and over as we stood there.

A minute later Candace came out carrying a cardboard box with my missing sixth quilt covering it.

“Oh no,” Daphne said, as Candace approached. “Is she hurt or something?”

Candace ducked under the crime scene tape and set the box on the grass in front of us. “Check this out,” she said, lifting the quilt.

Daphne’s hands flew to cover her mouth and she knelt in front of the box. “Sophie. Oh my God, Sophie.”

I went on my knees beside her, my smile so big it hurt.

Daphne only had eyes for her kidnapped cat and was gently petting her head.But I was melting at the sight of four beautiful silver kittens suckling at their mama’s teats.

Thirty

It was closing in on six o’clock and I was sitting in my living room with Chablis, Merlot and Syrah, waiting on Candace and Tom to arrive. The three cats had me surrounded—Chablis on my lap and Syrah and Merlot on either side.

Tom, Candace and I were headed out to dinner for a celebration. A week had passed since Marian Mae Temple’s arrest for murdering Flake Wilkerson, and evidence of her guilt had piled up. Her lawyer made a deal by Wednesday. Seemed her computer showed she’d accessed the Match-a-Cat Web site too many times to count.

And the e-mails exchanged between Wilkerson and Marian Mae explained their relationship—one created when Marian Mae mentioned her lost cat at Belle’s Beans and Flake Wilkerson came up with a plan to replace Diamond with his daughter’s cat—for a price.

Trouble was, Marian Mae didn’t have much money. But she’d had a plan. They’d become partners. If Marian Mae wanted a cat exactly like her lost Diamond, then there were probably others like her. Yes, there was a market out there, and she and Mr. Wilkerson would take advantage of it. Their plans were detailed in those e-mails, right down to their mutual insurance policies. She’d insured Flake Wilkerson, just as he had insured her. But the last e- mail from Flake was the most telling. He was dying and he owed his daughter not only money but the truth. And he wanted to give Daphne her cat back.

Marian Mae had bills—more than fifty thousand in credit card debt alone. No wonder she needed that insurance payout, one that she’d been counting on since she’d learned of Flake’s illness. She must have been enraged when she found out he’d switched beneficiaries. My guess, however, was that Flake’s demand to return Sophie was the straw that led Marian Mae right to a knife. The gray cat found in the road by Shawn a year ago must have been hers, but Marian Mae wasn’t about to give up Sophie, a cat she’d loved as her own for more than a year. That might be the one thing I understood about Marian Mae Temple. Her love for a cat.

Though Tom had called me every day, I wanted to wait on another date alone with him. I was more at peace than I had ever been since John’s death, finally understanding that he wouldn’t want me to shut my life down even though I still missed him so much. But I needed to go forward with baby steps. Tom and I would go out again, but for now, after all that had happened, I was glad to share an evening with both Candace and him.

The three of us had become good friends in the last week. Many secrets had come to light and a mystery had been solved. I only wished I hadn’t ignored Syrah’s warning when Marian Mae walked into my house with a gun. I would never doubt his people skills again.

As for my other new friend, Daphne—she had survived the estate sale and taken her new little family back to Columbia. She was a different person when I saw her off. Smiling, happy to be mothering Sophie and those gorgeous babies. The fate of the Pink House was yet to be determined. She said she had to give herself time away from the place to figure out what she wanted to do. Made sense to me.

When I heard the knock at the door, I had to extricate myself from my three cats. I snatched a pet roller on the way to answer and was getting rid of the cat hair on my jeans when I opened the door.

“Ready?” said Tom.

“Where’s Candace?” I said.

“She’s keeping the car warm for the cat. Shawn’s okay with the plan,” he said. “He’s tried everything to find the owner of that Siamese and has had absolutely no luck.”

“And Shawn would know how to do a thorough search.” I grabbed my jacket, but when I saw the RAV4 sitting in the driveway, my stomach sank. “She’s driving?” I wanted to add, “How could you let this happen?”

Since the crate with the cat was on the front seat with Candace, Tom and I sat in back. We had an important stop to make before we headed to dinner—we had to see a man about this cat.

I was already gripping the door handle as we left, wondering if this kind of car had backseat air bags. But I was unprepared for the almost placid driving on Candace’s part. Finally I had to ask.

I leaned forward and said, “Did you take defensive driving this week?”

She glanced at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes showing her amusement. “I have an important passenger. Boy doesn’t like to drive too fast.”

Boy. I sure hoped the Siamese that Shawn had rescued from the Pink House would soon have a better name.

We pulled up to Mr. Green’s house a few minutes later. Alfreda knew we were coming but had advised us against telling her boss. She’d told me he’d “get all stubborn” if we told him about Boy ahead of time, since he wasn’t an Abyssinian, and we’d be told to stay away.

Candace had toyed with the idea of keeping Boy, but said her mother was too allergic. Even though Candace had her own apartment, cat hair clung to everything. During the last two weeks, that had proved valuable. But not for someone who sneezed and wheezed like Candace’s mom. Besides, Boy demanded plenty of attention.

Tom carried the crate, and Mr. Green was completely surprised when Alfreda ushered the three of us into his tiny living room.

He smiled when he recognized me and said, “We havin’ a party or something? I hear that police business you came to see me about the other day is all resolved.”

I introduced Tom and Candace to Mr. Green and Alfreda. Tom set down the carrier without Mr. Green seeming to notice. But when Boy decided to make his presence known with a loud meow—the kind Siamese cats are famous for—Mr. Green sat taller and looked around.

He then met my gaze. “What you got there, missy?”

“Not exactly a new Banjo. But I think you might like this guy.” I knelt and opened the crate.

Boy stuck his head out to check the place out, but according to Candace, he wasn’t a stranger to anyone. He loved people, and the blanket across Mr. Green’s lap was just the kind of thing he lived for.

Boy walked out of the crate, took one look at Mr. Green and hopped into his lap.

Let the purring begin, I thought with a smile.