The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

your medicine before you have a stroke.”

I believed I might have found the two crankiest people on the planet. “I don’t want to upset you, Mr. Green, but—”

“My name is Cole. And what’s yours, little lady?” Did I see a sparkle in his cloudy brown eyes?

“Jillian. Mind if I sit down?”

“Of course you’ll sit,” he said.

Alfreda said, “He promised he’d take his medicine when you got here.” She stared down at her patient, her hands on her hips. “Didn’t you?”

“That would be a good idea,” I said. “I don’t want you to fall ill while I’m here.” I sat on the edge of an old leather wing chair adjacent to him.

“See how nice she said that, Alfreda?” Mr. Green said. “You could take a lesson. Bring me the horse pills. And bring Miss Jillian here a cup of that hot cocoa you make.”

Alfreda’s full lips hinted at a smile. “And I’m supposing you’d like a cup of cocoa yourself?”

“You would be correct, woman. One of the few times in your life, sorry to say.” But he was holding back a smile, too.

I’ll bet this goes on all day, I thought. These two actually shared a fondness for each other, but they would never admit to it.

When she left the room, Cole Green said, “There’s a conspiracy, isn’t there? I’m not getting a new Banjo.”

I almost did a “huh?” and then remembered that was the name of his cat. “Banjo was an Abyssinian?”

“Didn’t know that’s what he was until he took sick. Vet told me. Can’t hardly pronounce it, much less spell it. Woman at the paper helped me out with the spelling when I called to say I needed a new cat.”

The answers to why he hadn’t used the Internet or visited animal shelters were obvious. Classified ads served the needs of his generation for things like finding a new pet.

“Abyssinians came from ancient Egypt. An Abyssinian cat was considered a child of God,” I said.

Mr. Green nodded and smiled. “Banjo was that indeed.”

“What happened to him?” I asked.

His eyes instantly grew rheumy. “Cancer. Cancer’s gonna take over the earth. I’ve had it myself, but I survived. Not poor Banjo.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Alfreda returned with a tray holding the cocoa. “Kindly help me by setting up one of those TV tables in the closet by the front door,” she said to me.

Soon the folding table was between us, and Alfreda gave Mr. Green a handful of pills and a glass of water to wash them down. He grumbled but did take the medicine.

“I got laundry to do,” Alfreda said. “Need anything, you holler.” She pointed at Mr. Green. “And that means she can holler, not you. I’ve had enough of your hollering for one day.”

She turned and walked out of the room.

The smell of chocolate had filled the air, and one taste of Alfreda’s rich, sweet concoction soothed me from head to toe.

Mr. Green must have noticed the change in my demeanor because he was smiling. “Now, that’s nature’s best medicine.” He nodded at my cup. “A decent dose of cocoa. I keep telling her I don’t need all those pills, just two cups of this every day.”

“You could be on to something.” I set down the cup and leaned toward him. “Tell me about Banjo and this person who answered your ad.”

“You first. What’s it to you?”

“That’s a long story, but I’ll try to give you a quick summary.” The summary took long enough for us both to finish our cocoa. “Did you follow all that?” I said, using one of the small paper napkins Alfreda had provided to wipe away my chocolate mustache.

“I may be half deaf and nearly blind, but I got the rest of my faculties,” he said. “This man stole your cat, and you’re on a quest for answers. That about sum it up?”

I smiled. “True enough. Was it a man who answered your ad?”

“It was, and he came with a picture. The cat was sitting in someone’s big picture window. Taken from the outside, not the inside.” Mr. Green stroked his chin. “Struck me as odd he’d take a picture of the cat from the outside of a house. That shoulda clued me something wasn’t right.”

I had a picture window and an Abyssinian. Everything seemed to fit so far. “Alfreda mentioned you gave this man money, that he came here?”

“Do I look like I could drive around town meeting up with people? Course he came here,” he said.

“Was he about sixty? Messy hair with plenty of dandruff on his shoulders?” I said.

“You think these old eyes could see dandruff? I can’t even tell if I have it. But the man who came—Mr. Barney Smith, he said—was gray-headed, and I had a bad feeling about him. But I was so wanting a new Banjo, I didn’t listen to what my insides were telling me. And now the cat’s not arrived, and I’ve got enough smarts to figure out this man is your corpse, Mr. Flake Wilkerson.”

“That’s my guess. You think you’d recognize the cat he showed you if you looked at my Abyssinian?” I said.

“Since the cat I was supposed to receive looked exactly like Banjo, probably.”

I opened my bag and took out the picture. I handed it to Mr. Green.He stared down at Syrah and then slowly his hand came to rest against his heart. “That’s him. That’s Banjo all over again.”

“How much money did you give Mr. Wilkerson?” I said softly.

“Five hundred dollars.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the photo.

“And how much more were you expected to pay?” I said.

“You’ll be thinking I’m crazy when I tell you. Alfreda thinks I am.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy for a minute. Just tell me.”

“Two thousand.” He looked up at me then, his eyes wet with tears. “You can’t put a price on getting your best friend back.”

I smiled, feeling an immense sadness. “No, you can’t.”

“This your cat? The one he stole?” he asked.

“It is. His name is Syrah.”

He handed over the picture with a trembling hand. “I’m glad he’s home where he belongs.”

“Do you have a photo of Banjo?” I asked.

“Got a million of them.” He shouted, “Alfreda? Get yourself in here.”

She bustled into the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I told you not to holler at me.”

“Get me the album. This lady needs to see Banjo. And you’ll be happy to know that man who came here has met his Maker, as well he should have. He was a liar and a thief.”

I left shortly afterward with the only picture of Mr. Green’s beloved cat that he was willing to part with. The resemblance between Banjo and Syrah was amazing. Sure, there are bound to be similarities in certain breeds, but these two could have been twins. No wonder the man was willing to spend twenty-five hundred dollars hoping to replace his old friend.

Despite my sadness that Wilkerson had taken advantage of Mr. Green, I was also glad that I now had proof that this murder could very well be about cats and money—just as Candace and I had believed from the start.

It was despicable that Flake Wilkerson had taken advantage of the poor man. The question now was how many more desperate people like Mr. Green had Wilkerson made deals with?

Twenty-Two

I drove straight to the Mercy city hall, convinced I now had proof that cats plus money were behind Wilkerson’s murder. I had pictures of two very similar cats and a story to tell Baca. He’d better