The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

an inch from his chest.

“Your resources happen to be one assistant—that is, unless the county’s added staff that I don’t know about. We need him here.” He made a sweeping gesture. “Look at all this blood. You’ve got to collect specimens, cart stuff to the forensics unit and get this body out of here for autopsy so we can get going on this investigation.”

“I see you are intent on telling me how to do my job, Mike Baca. Guess that means you’ve been to coroner school since we last crossed paths.” She smirked at him and in her heels was tall enough not to have to look up. “Course we all know that isn’t true, is it, Mike?”

Baca handed Lydia a pair of shoe protectors. “I believe you’ll be more comfortable in these.”

Indeed, those heels aren’t exactly crime-scene-friendly, I thought.

She snatched the protectors. “I got my tennies in the truck. Now be a good boy and fetch them. And while you’re at it, can you get me the crime scene kit, too?”

Billy Cranor piped up. “I’ll go, Mike.”

Lydia removed her shoes and handed them to Billy before he eagerly took off through the entry to the kitchen. A minute later she was wearing the tennis shoes, the protectors and latex gloves. She stepped toward the body, but then spotted me. “Who is she?”

“The woman I told you about. She found the body,” Baca said.

Lydia’s red lips spread in a smile. “Is that so?”

She slowly walked into the parlor, her eyes intent on me. “I’m Lydia Monk and you’re . . .”

“Jillian Hart,” I said.

“And you found this man dead? Must have been very traumatic for you, Ms. Hart.” Her tone dripped with concern that I found bewildering.

Why is she being so nice? Is this some kind of trick?

“Yes . . . my cat . . . Well . . . it’s kind of a long story and—”

“I’m sure it is. Did you know this man?”

“Not really. I came by because I believe he stole my Abyssinian and I—”

“That some kind of Egyptian artifact?” she said.

“Um, no. It’s a cat and he’s—”

“Whatever. You don’t need to be staying here, Ms. Hart. You need to get away from this awful place. Candy will take you on home and get your statement there.” She beamed at Candace, pageant style. “I’m sure she’s spoken with you or the chief, but we need her statement in writing. You can do that, can’t you?”

Baca walked over to join us. “But Ms. Hart is—”

Lydia jerked her head in Baca’s direction. “I can read your mind, Mike Baca. You think this poor woman had something to do with that man’s death. But unless she went home and changed her clothes, that’s not what happened.”

Mike tried again. “But—”

“Did you notice the interrupted arterial spray on that dining room wall?” she said.

“Yes, I did. But we were waiting on you to—”

“And I’m here now. You let me do my job or I might have to discuss this with my boss. See, I am a trained investigator—but then, you already know that. You know everything.”

Oh, I was beginning to get it. She must have a history with Mike Baca. A history that probably had ended unpleasantly.

She went on. “Look at this woman. You see any blood all over her? No, you don’t. You gotta find a messy suspect somewhere or discarded bloody clothes. See, that dead man took it in the abdominal aorta. And my, my, my, aortas do like to spread their wealth when you poke ’em with a knife.”

Baca said, “I planned on taking Ms. Hart’s formal statement myself after you arrived and—”

“Nope. You need to let her go home so she can gather herself. She’s probably not your murderer, but she’s your best witness. Candy can take the statement, and if you insist, she can look for any bloody clothes at Ms. Hart’s home once we get a warrant.” She smiled at me again. “And I apologize, but that’s what we gotta do. Check your house for any bloody clothes or other evidence. Doesn’t mean I believe you did anything wrong. I can tell by those sad green eyes that this is just your worst nightmare.”

Maybe it was, but I wasn’t leaving without Syrah. “My cat might be in this house somewhere. Is there any way—”

Tom Stewart appeared as if on cue. “I got your cat. He was hiding in the closet with that other little ball of fur.”

He’d just made up for his three crimes of not hooking my alarm up to the police, not getting here quickly enough and acting like he suspected me. I stood and took Syrah in my arms, nestled my face in his neck. “Thank you, Tom.”

He’d smiled as he handed him to me, so I guessed he was glad to have made up for something. But before he could speak, Lydia was between us.

“And what are you doing here?” she asked Tom. Then she held up her hand. “Never mind. Mike can tell me after you leave. Now, Candy, please take Ms. Hart and her cat home immediately.”

I snuggled Syrah close and he began to purr. It felt wonderful to have him in my arms.

Baca spoke again, addressing Candace and me rather than trying to get in an entire sentence with Lydia. “A warrant won’t be required if you give permission for Candace to search your house, Ms. Hart.”

“She can search all she wants. I do have video of—of—” I glanced toward the body. “Of Mr. Wilkerson chasing my other two cats all over my house this morning.”

This news elicited a radiant smile from Lydia. “The chief mentioned that you came here about cats or something. I am sure delighted to hear about that bit of video. That could help me narrow the time of death. Now go on, you two.”

But Baca wasn’t done. “And your car? Can we search that, too?”

Lydia looked at him like he’d grown another set of ears. “You think she stashed bloody clothes in her car? Doesn’t make sense. You said you found her upstairs with the cats. Everything you’ve told me about the timing— when Candace and Morris left her house and her arrival here—makes it pretty clear she didn’t have time to kill a man, change her clothes and then take herself to a bedroom to visit with the animals.”

Baca said, “Maybe you’re right. But I’m sure you’ll agree Mr. Wilkerson’s orphaned computer monitor needs to be investigated. If it’s in Ms. Hart’s van, then—”

“What do you mean—orphaned?” Lydia seemed flustered now.

He said, “What’s a monitor for without the rest of the computer? I don’t think the missing parts and pieces walked off on little cat feet.”

Nine

If I’d thought I would be home in five minutes, I was way off in my timing. Candace took a battery-powered handheld vacuum from her squad car, put in a new filter, then took my van apart so she could suck up every lost M&M, toothpick and cat hair. She emptied this collection of junk into what I assumed was an evidence bag.

I stood beside Tom on the road, holding fast to Syrah and watching this meticulous deconstruction of what I’d thought was a fairly clean vehicle. Menacing clouds had assembled to the west, and I sure hoped we wouldn’t get wet while we waited.

Tom had come outside with us and had been silently watching Candace work beside me. Finally he said, “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re angry at me for yelling at you in there. I’m sorry, but that was not a good situation.”

I glanced over at him, touched that he wanted to apologize. “We were both stressed, and all I could think about was the cats. Easier to focus on the living rather than the dead, I guess.”

“I never thought about that, but it does help me understand you better. You love cats. I’m saying you