The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

“Everyone’s talking about the murder,” Tom said. He leaned away from Lydia, reminding me of someone dealing with a rattlesnake—paying close attention yet keeping his distance.

She said, “What better person to discuss this hot topic with than Mercy’s newest beauty? You haven’t wasted any time getting close to her, have you?”

“What do you want, Lydia?” Tom said.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Not you and me in private,” he said. “You know how I feel about that.”

“I will talk to you, and we won’t be as cozy as the two of you are right now. We’ll do the interview at the Mercy police station. Meet you there.” She started to walk away, but stopped and said, “Might as well join your new boyfriend, Ms. Hart. I’d like a word with you, too.”

She may have liked me yesterday, but things certainly seemed to have changed. I was beginning to understand Tom’s warning.

The Mercy police station, as well as the jail, was attached to the old city hall and court building in the center of town. We could have walked the two blocks, but both Tom and I took our vehicles. I checked my cat-cam before I started the engine. The clowder was sleeping the day away and I wished I was, too. I’d been on Lydia’s good side prior to her seeing me at Belle’s Beans. What was with her, anyway? I’d glanced Candace’s way when Lydia stomped out, but all she offered was a shrug that said, “You got me.”

Tom was waiting outside on the steps leading up to the old brick building when I pulled into one of the angled parking spots. As we started up the stairs, I said, “Okay, I’ve got to know. What’s the deal with you and Lydia?”

“She seems to think we’re destined to be together,” he said. “How she decided that, I have no idea.”

“She was so nice to me yesterday, I wasn’t prepared for her to be so—so—”

“Venomous? I sure hope you’re prepared now. My suggestion for when you talk to her is to say as little as possible. Thanks to being seen with me, you’ve landed on that woman’s bad side, and it’s not the nicest spot on earth. I live there. I know.”

“I’ve told the police everything. What could she want from me now?” I said.

“She hasn’t questioned me, so my guess is she brings me in, then checks with you to corroborate my story about meeting you at Wilkerson’s place. I’m guessing she’ll want to know why you called me. Again, don’t say much. She’ll think you have a personal interest in me aside from any murder investigation.”

“We’re friends and I asked you for help,” I said. “What could she possibly read into that?”

“Does the word stalker mean anything to you? Some of her questions won’t have anything to do with the case. She has this stupid . . . crazy . . .”

“Obsession with you?” I finished.

We reached the top step and stopped, and he said, “If she’s getting all worked up about what she thinks might be cooking between you and me—which of course is nothing—you might land at the top of the suspect list again.”

“That’s ridiculous. She believed me yesterday, so—”

He shook his head, smiling. “What makes you think she believed you?”

“She seemed so nice and—”

“And she can be,” he said. “No one knows that better than I do. Consider my advice and say as little as possible. We have a constitutional right to say whatever we want, but don’t forget we have a right to keep quiet, too. Now let’s get this over with.”

As we walked, I felt this odd sense of relief that Tom had no interest in Lydia—a woman so opposite from me. And this thought was immediately followed by another dose of guilt. John hadn’t even been gone a year and I was enjoying the company of an attractive man—and wanted to be attractive to him. But I pushed these thoughts aside as we entered the building.

I’d never ventured inside the courthouse complex before and was stunned by the old building’s magnificence. The dark marble floor gleamed, and the curving wall on the opposite side of the lobby showcased a giant painting of a trial that looked to have occurred in the early twentieth century, judging from the clothing worn by the men pictured. All of them white men. But the mural was beautifully painted.

Tom took my elbow and led me to the left. By the time we’d walked a good distance down a drafty hallway, the splendor of the old days had been replaced by the grimy, smelly present. I caught the odor of vomit tinged with stale whiskey, and my stomach rebelled against the strong coffee I’d finished in too much of a hurry.

Molded plastic chairs lined the corridor. A woman was lying asleep across two of them, one tattooed arm slung over her eyes. We passed her and came to a scarred door with an old-fashioned frosted window. MERCY POLICE was stenciled on the window in green paint. Curse words had been carved into the wood in a few places— they looked fresh—and I wondered how many times a week the door had to be sanded.

Tom turned the knob and allowed me to enter first, a gentlemanly gesture I wished he’d forgone this one time. I was nervous. I wanted more than ever to go home and cuddle up with the cats in my secure, sweet-smelling home.

And when I saw Shawn standing in the center of the small reception area nearly eye to eye with Lydia, I wanted to run back out that door. His face was florid with anger, and he was stabbing his finger in Lydia’s direction to emphasize each repetition of “I did not kill that man.” After four times he added, “And Baca’s an ass if he thinks different.”

That was when he turned to leave and saw me. He flashed an angry glance my way as he stormed past Tom and me.

“Ah, police business,” Tom said. “Gives you the warm fuzzies every time.”

“Shut up and get in Baca’s office.” Lydia pointed a bloodred fingernail at me. “You? Sit out here with your girlfriend.”

I hadn’t had a chance to notice the huge oak desk to my left or the fact that Candace was sitting behind it. A computer monitor held her attention until the door identified on a brass plate as the OFFICE OF POLICE CHIEF MICHAEL BACA slammed shut.

“You look a lot more upset than I’ve ever seen you. What’s going on?” I asked her.

“Lydia’s got the hots for Tom Stewart, and when she saw the two of you together she flipped out, started dissing you the minute we walked out of Belle’s Beans. I stuck up for you, and that was apparently a huge mistake. First thing she did when we got here was get the chief to kick me off the case because I’m too friendly with you to be objective.”

“And he agreed? But that’s wrong. You’re such a good officer and—”

She held up her hand. “Don’t say stuff like that right now because I might start crying—and girl cops aren’t supposed to cry. This was my shot at a big case and now—” She took a deep breath. “I’m thinking the chief only agreed to kick me to the curb because he wanted to calm Lydia down.”

“I am so sorry,” I said. “Somehow I feel like this is my fault and—”

“Nope. It’s Lydia and the chief’s fault. What I don’t get is how she can work with the chief after they had a damn affair while I get pushed aside because of a friendship.”

“Good question,” I said. “They’re not together, right? He has some other girlfriend, if I remember right.”

“He’s moved on, true. What he saw in Lydia I’ll never know. Maybe he went nuts after his wife ran off and he turned to Lydia for comfort. But they were the oddest pair. The chief is Mr. Conservative and Lydia’s gussied up most of the time.” Candace took another deep breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be saying any of this—at least not while I’m on the job. The two of them have just made me so darn mad.”

“Okay, let’s change the subject. I see Shawn didn’t end up in jail. That’s good.”

“Not enough evidence to hold him,” Candace said. “But tell me again what dumb notion sent you to the Sanctuary this morning? Because you should keep your distance from him.”

“He didn’t kill anyone, Candace,” I said.

“And I have heard him tell God and everyone that same thing about a hundred times today and yesterday. Police work isn’t about ‘you say it enough times and it’s true.’ ”

“Got it. Now, why am I here?” I said.

“Probably because you were sitting with the love of Lydia’s life and she didn’t like it. I can’t think of any other reason.”