Ed squared his shoulders. “It is my belief that what is offered to me on the streets of Mercy is valuable, even though the city wants to throw it all out. See, you two have come searchin’ for something, and I believe that’s proof that I have collected an important piece of—well, I don’t know, but it’s something.”
I cocked my head. “You know what, Ed? You might just be right.”
Karen rolled her eyes. “Please do not encourage the man.”
“That’s not our intent,” Candace said.
“Oh, sweetheart, I know that. It’s just that Ed and I have been working on his problem with him collecting stuff, mostly because we need to downsize. I read all about this downsizing idea in the money magazines. When you’re ready to retire, that’s one of the first steps.”
“Could we have a look at all the papers you’ve collected over the last few months?” I said.
“It’s only a bunch of paper,” Karen said.
“But what Ed’s collected might provide a clue as to who killed Flake Wilkerson,” Candace said. “Might tell us other people who’ve lost cats in the last few months. See, a few kitties were found in the house, and maybe somebody is sorely missing them.”
“Missing them enough to kill the man?” Karen asked.
“I’m not saying that for sure,” Candace explained. “But it’s a place to start.”
Ed turned on his amazing smile. “In that case, have at it, ladies.”
The two of them led us to a hallway to the right—no easy task with a treadmill and a slew of old computer monitors in the way. We had been standing in what must have been the living room of the old house, and now we passed a kitchen on our right—at least I thought I saw a refrigerator and a stove. But this had apparently become the kitchen item collection spot. Blenders, microwaves, tables, even sheets of Formica filled the space.
To the left, however, was a tidy and usable bathroom, and up ahead a bedroom that was neat and habitable.
Karen was quick to point out that this was her doing. “The man has to have facilities and a place to lay his head when he needs a nap. You two will find later on in life that naps are quite the necessity. Ed does take his meals with me, though. That kitchen here is too much for me to deal with. And that reminds me, I need to get home and fix his supper. Ed’s metabolism keeps him thin as a bed slat. He needs his meals.”
She told us good-bye and left.
We’d reached the end of the hall, and Ed was dragging around an old steamer trunk stacked with file boxes. Candace hurried in to help him, and together they pushed it into the hallway, where there was actually space for us to open it.
“What time period are we looking at with these particular contents?” I asked.
Ed squinted into the room at the file boxes. “Looks like last time I filed was the end of March.”
“Seven months’ worth of paper?” Candace said, sounding overwhelmed already.
“Trees died and men and women labored to make this paper, Candy. Destroying it just don’t seem right.”
An eco-friendly hoarder. In his peculiar and obstinate way, he made sense.
He said, “You two go ahead and look for what you want. Use my bedroom if you’re too cramped. Meanwhile I got all of Helen Harper’s costume jewelry from her daughter. She swapped it out for a new toaster oven. Did you know Helen passed two weeks ago, Candy?”
“I did. Attended the visitation. She was a nice lady.”
“She was indeed. Now, get busy. You don’t want to miss your supper ’cause you’re stuck here.”
He went back to the front and we both sat cross-legged by the trunk. Candace released all three brass latches and lifted the lid. Papers were crammed to the brim and some fell out and scattered around us.
“Guess we should separate any lost-cat flyers from the rest,” I said.
“Exactly.” Candace reached in with two hands and grabbed as much as she could hold, then handed the mass of papers to me. She repeated the process, putting a pile on her lap.
The sorting took almost ninety minutes with neither of us taking time to look closely at what we had. I did notice several of my own flyers, but far fewer than I expected. Perhaps someone else was out collecting paper, too. Finally we had what we needed—information on plenty of lost cats. Candace and I then “refiled” the rest of Ed’s finds, which included not only garage sale signs but Frisbees, tennis balls and even a dog leash.
We decided to take all the cat flyers to my house so we could examine them, take down names and numbers and perhaps get a feel for what had been happening to Mercy cats in the last several months. But first we needed to eat. So after thanking Ed and saying our good-byes, we went back to the car.
Candace said she didn’t want to go to the Little Pig, even though she was craving slaw dogs—a regional favorite I had yet to try. Seemed any cops on duty usually went there on their break.
“Let’s eat at McMurtry’s Pub,” she said, her RAV4 peeling around a corner and onto Main Street.
I held on for dear life and vowed to drive if we ever went out on another search-and-find mission.
She said, “The Pub is a touristy spot with a weird menu, but they have their own special recipe for sweet tea that beats about anything I’ve ever tasted.”
Turned out the weird menu was typical pub fare, bangers and mash, fish and chips, that kind of thing. But there were also the hamburgers typical for the area, “a-plenty burgers,” where the fries and onion rings were mounded so high they fell off the plate. The sweet tea sure did have something extra—but the waitress wasn’t about to give up the secret, even though I asked more than once.
As we shared a trifle for dessert, Candace said, “That cat I took in is so hilarious. Cries like a baby.”
I took out my phone. “That reminds me, I haven’t checked on my crew in hours.” Once I was connected to the cat-cam, I saw I had nothing to worry about. They were all asleep in the living room.
“My mom’s keeping Boy today—that’s what I call him, Boy. Didn’t want to leave him alone on the very first day he’s free from the likes of a mean old man like Flake Wilkerson. Those cats may have something to do with him being murdered, but I can’t help thinking what if it’s something else? I know the chief is looking into other things.”
“What would those other things be?” I said.
“Well, there’s the missing computer. I can tell you about that because you heard it was missing the day we found the body. It’s a safe assumption something on the hard drive connects the killer to Wilkerson, especially since we saw no evidence of robbery. The man had several thousand dollars in a bedroom drawer.”
“Wasn’t the computer keyboard gone, too?” I said. “Why take—oh, I get it. Fingerprints.”
She pointed her spoon at me. “That’s right. Wiping down a keyboard would be tough, especially if you were in a hurry. Then there’s his daughter. I can also tell you about her because when we notified her about Mr. Wilkerson, she said she was coming in from Columbia tomorrow to make the arrangements. That’s probably common knowledge in this town already. Chief Baca had me make the phone call to her, and I have to say, she didn’t sound all that upset that he was dead. If something like that happened to my daddy, I’d be hysterical. We need to know what she was up to around the time of the murder.”
“Columbia’s not that far away, right?” I scraped the edge of the trifle dish to get every morsel of whipped cream.
“No. She coulda come into town, killed off Flake and been back home by nightfall—if she had a reason to knock him off. Could be there’s money involved. I haven’t heard anything about the vic’s finances yet.”
“Bet Baca hasn’t shared anything about her possible motive or alibi with you, huh?”
“No,” she said, her expression morose. Candace eyed the empty trifle dish, cleaned inside the bowl with her index finger and licked away the last of our dessert.
“What’s the daughter’s name? Maybe I could go over there and offer my condolences. I do feel terrible about my part in all this, and she might tell me something we don’t know about Mr. Wilkerson. Like why he was collecting cats.”
“That’s an idea. Her name is Daphne, and she didn’t sound all that friendly. Maybe I’ll go with you.”
“Good, because the last time I went to that house—well, you know what I found.”
Candace said, “And don’t be mentioning this to anyone. I’m off the case and might get myself in some boiling-hot water if the chief finds out.”
Back at my house a short time later, we switched from sweet tea to white wine, which helped Candace and me deal with the tedious task of writing down names and numbers off about fifty stained, wrinkled and mildewed flyers. Who knew so many cats would get themselves lost—but the pile we had went back more than six
