The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

Good thing the drive to my house wasn’t long. Belle and I had taken my car, and after I told her I might—and I emphasized the word might—have her kitten, she was absolutely giddy with excitement.

That meant she talked nonstop, saying things like, “He had my Java the whole time?” and “I was nothing but kind to that awful man.” Finally she said, “Do your cats have ‘special powers’?”

I was focused on pulling into the driveway, so it took a second for my brain to catch up. I decided I couldn’t have heard right.

“Huh?” I said.

“Have your cats told you what it was like for Java in that man’s house?”

My eyes widened. Though Belle seemed like a kind Southern grandmother, there was plenty I didn’t know about her. Stress will reveal much about character.

“They rarely talk to me,” I said with a small laugh. But I was thinking that little chocolate Persian better belong to Belle or the next thing I knew we’d be sitting down for a kitty séance.

Once we got inside, the official greeter was Merlot. Belle immediately knelt and extended a hand, but she was looking beyond him, waiting for her own cat to appear.

“Come on into the living room and—”

The Persian made her entrance into the foyer and Belle clutched her chest, her skin the color of Elmer’s Glue. I thought I might have to do CPR on the poor woman right here.

“My baby. Oh, my sweet baby. Where have you been?” she said.

Another cat mystery solved, I thought with a smile.

The fluffy little munchkin walked up to Belle and planted herself sideways against the woman’s bony, aging knees, her back arched, her bushy tail in the air.

Belle carefully picked up the cat and rose. “You found her. How can I ever thank you?” There were tears of happiness streaming down her face.

“You’re sure this is Java?”

“Of course.” She pointed at the cat’s face. “See the dark stripes between her nose and the light hair around her ears? This is my Java.”

“Let’s go into the living room, okay?” I said. “I need to call Candace, see if she can come over.”

“Why?” Belle said, one arthritic hand stroking Java’s cheek.

“Your kitten was found in a murdered man’s house. The police need to know that there’s another happy cat owner in town. All the cats in the house were originally considered to be evidence, and Candace keeps pounding into my head that we have to pay close attention to evidence. That means giving her a heads-up about Java.”

“Oh. I understand. But she won’t take her away from me, right?”

“Why would she? Two other cats—or three if you count mine—are already back with their owners. But the police still might want to talk to you.” From what Lydia said, it sounded like Candace was at least peripherally involved in the investigation again, so I was glad I could phone her and not Baca.

I led Belle, who was clinging to Java for dear life, into my living room and she settled on the sofa—which seemed perfectly fine by Java. She was happy to be reunited with Belle and vice versa. I walked around the counter and into the kitchen, slipped my phone from my jeans pocket and dialed Candace. “Hi,” I said.

“Hi back. What’s up?” she said.

“Do you have time to stop by my house?” I said. “The brown Persian belongs to Belle.”

“What? How did you figure that out?”

“Talking in this town will get you everywhere,” I said. “Can you come?”

“Maybe. Morris just went into Belle’s Beans to get a slice of cake—cake is his best friend. I could tell him to eat it there, that I have an errand to run for my mom.”

“Great.” I closed the phone and went back to the living room. “Candace won’t be long,” I said. “In the meantime, why don’t we have a glass of sweet tea? Unless you want more coffee, of course.”

“All I want is to take darling Java home. I still have her little pink bed and all her toys. I guess God knew Java would come home and that’s why He wouldn’t let me touch her things.”

Pretty soon my entire crew joined us, curious to meet yet another new person. There’d been plenty of traffic in this house lately—more than in the last ten months combined.

Five minutes later an elated Belle and a purring Java followed me as I went to let Candace in.

When she entered, Candace said, “Hi, Belle. What you got there?”

“Jillian found my kitten,” Belle said. “Do you know if Flake had Java the whole time?”

“Um,” Candace said, “we’re not completely sure. But I’d like to talk to you about her disappearance, if that’s okay?”

We all walked back into the living room, where Merlot chose to watch over Belle and Java. Maine coons are a lot like dogs in that way—always on the lookout when tension or excitement is in the air. My other two cats decided they needed their beauty rest more than visiting time and went off down the hall.

I offered sweet tea again, and this time Belle took me up on the offer. Candace followed me to the refrigerator. Since there were no walls separating us from Belle, Candace grabbed a magnetic notepad and pencil off the fridge door and scribbled, “You should have phoned me the minute you had a clue about this kitten.”

I mouthed “sorry” and poured the tea.

Once we were all settled with our drinks, Candace quizzed Belle about the specifics of when and how Java had disappeared. She got the same information I did: an open door and the belief that the cat left on her own.

Belle said, “I must say that it is extremely disappointing to learn Java was stolen. I had never been anything but kind to Flake, and then he goes and takes my cat. What did he intend to do with her?”

“Don’t know,” Candace said. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. I take it Wilkerson knew about Java?”

“Most certainly. You know I never met a stranger and I showed pictures to everyone I knew—even you.”

“You did?” Candace said.

“Young people,” Belle said, shaking her head. “You don’t pay attention to anything but television and tabloids. You might have been the one to bring me here to reunite with Java if you’d been paying attention.” Belle closed her eyes tightly, apparently fighting tears. “Seniors talk and no one listens. It’s a sad thing.”

“I’m sorry, Belle,” Candace said. “You’re absolutely right.”

“And I’m sorry for running my mouth. Free coffee for both of you next time you come in, okay?”

“That’s sweet,” I said, “but I didn’t do much. I was just looking for my cat and found Java, too.”

“Very brave of you, young woman. Very brave. Chase has Roscoe thanks to you, and now I have Java.”

“I have another question. It’s something we’re asking everyone we interview,” Candace said. “Where were you last Sunday morning?”

“I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast, much less what I was doing several days ago.” But when Candace kept staring at her, she got more serious. “I guess I did some baking . . . always make cakes for the shop on Sundays. Other than that, I’d have to think on this to come up with specific times.”

“Good,” said Candace. “Think on it. Maybe you’ll recall something someone said that might relate to the crime. You talk to plenty of folks, that’s for sure. The more information we have, the better we can handle this investigation.”

“You’ve never had to ask me these sort of questions, have you, Candy?” Belle said. “Must be hard for a sweet girl like you to be tough on the town folks.”

Candace laughed. “Some folks make it darn easy to be tough—but you’re right. I would never want to offend you.”

“I am a sensitive sort, but I know you’re a sweetheart,” Belle said.

“Would you mind if I called Chief Baca to make sure it’s okay if you take Java home? All the cats we found in the house are evidence.”

“That’s what Jillian said, but Java’s a living, breathing animal, not a piece of property.”

“I know. Don’t get me wrong,” Candace said. “Let me call and I’m sure he’ll allow you to take Java home.” She stood, took her cell phone from her police belt and beat a hasty retreat into the foyer and out of earshot.

Belle said, “I am trying my hardest to cooperate, but I want to take Java home right now.”

“I’m sorry, Belle. Candace is doing her job.” All of a sudden I’d been thrust into the role of “good cop.” But it