I held the phone in front of Minnie. “The one on the couch is Chablis. She loves to cuddle.”
Minnie’s eyes widened. “Pretty Himalayan. You took movies of them?”
Nancy leaned over to take a look.
“No, this is real time. It’s what they’re doing right now.” I pointed to the three boys all looking out the window to the lake beyond. “There’s Syrah, Merlot and Dashiell.”
Minnie pulled the phone closer. “Is this yours? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“This is my phone. Where’s yours?”
She pushed it away and shook her head. “At the house, of course. If you take me there I’ll show you. He had one of those, one like yours.”
“He?” I said. “You mean Otto?”
“No, that other man. I can’t remember his name.” She looked at me and I saw that her brown eyes had filled. “Why can’t I remember so many things?”
I decided without a further thought this woman needed comfort. I placed a hand on her shoulder. “This all must be so difficult.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
This would be the third reminder. I felt so sorry for Minnie. “Jillian. Jillian Hart.”
“That’s so pretty. You showed me your kitties, so let me show you mine.” With that, she reached in the bag and pulled out a sleepy tuxedo kitten. He looked to be about six to nine months old.
“Otto is beautiful.” And he was. He had a smudge of black on his nose, sleek black hair and white feet. I made no move to touch him. We’d made progress and I didn’t want to upset Minnie or the kitten any more than they probably both were already.
Minnie cocked her head. “Otto. That name sounds so familiar.”
I felt an ache in my chest, like my heart had just broken. This must be the Alzheimer’s—the disease she might have—revealing itself completely. Yet she couldn’t be more than ten years older than me. What a terrible illness. What a vicious thief.
“No matter what, Otto seems like the perfect name for this guy.” I smiled at her and then at the kitten.
The tuxedo boy looked at me, opened his mouth and let out a series of plaintive meows.
Minnie held him out to me. “You take him. He’s hungry and there’s nothing in this place for him to eat.”
I was surprised at how abruptly this had happened. “Okay. Can I take him to my house and feed him there?”
“He still needs kitten food, you know. He’s growing. I have plenty at my place.” She hesitated, looking confused. “But I can’t remember how to get there or where I left my keys.” This time tears spilled down her cheeks.
I took the kitty, who was suddenly pretty squirmy and tired of what he probably considered nonsense. I pointed to the tote bag. “May I?”
“Yes. Take it.” She was rubbing tears away with the heel of her hand.
Nancy, who had gone quite still in the last minute, handed her a tissue. After Minnie blew her nose, she held out her hands to Nancy, palms down and touching. “You can put the cuffs on now.”
I blinked several times, speechless.
Nancy said, “What are you talking about, Minnie?”
“I killed him, right? The man in my house. I killed him.”
Six
With Otto tucked in the tote and the bag cradled in my arms, I resisted the urge to get on the phone and call Tom immediately. Thank goodness Otto was a mellow boy now that he was back in the bag. He was purring so loud I could hear him through the fabric, so he was pretty darn content as I carried him out of the emergency room as fast as I could. I felt like a thief escaping from a house I’d just burgled. I needed to get this baby safely in my van before I made a call—because a phone call might distract me and lead to disaster. If Otto ran off, I’d never forgive myself.
I’d prepared a crate with one of the kitty quilts I’d made and the small carrier sat on the passenger seat. I petted and soothed Otto before putting him inside. He sniffed the quilt and curled up in a back corner. I poured a little bottled water into a dish I always kept in the van. He wasn’t interested. I’d be a little freaked-out myself. No. I was freaked-out. I’d just heard a woman confess to murder.
My hand trembled as I punched Tom’s speed dial. Thank goodness he answered right away, saying, “How did it go?”
“She said she killed a man in her house, Tom. She confessed to murder.”
“Really?” He sounded so calm that it unnerved me even more.
“How do you do that?” My voice sounded strained. I was having a hard time maintaining my composure, but the poor kitty had been through a lot and I needed to be careful not to upset him. Cats are quick to pick up on human emotion.
“Do what?” Now he seemed distracted and I could tell he was moving around. I heard voices in the background.
“Stay so calm.”
“I shouldn’t have made you go there, Jilly. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I got the kitten away from her and now they can go about the business of helping that poor woman. But what about this confession? The problem for you, I’m guessing, is that because she’s not all there, her statement is unreliable. She might be committed to some sort of psychiatric facility, and then what kind of case can you make?”
“How tall is she, would you guess?”
How tall is she? What an odd question. “She was in bed, so I can’t be sure, but she’s a small person. At the most, she’s about five foot four.” I tried to blink away my confusion. “What does her height have to do with anything?”
“The killer was at least five foot six, according to Candace’s estimation. Remember, she took that CSI course last month about blood spatter, wound analysis, touch DNA and more? Anyway, she did a few quick calculations and a small person like Minnie Schultz would have had to be standing on a chair to deliver the blow to the head that killed the man.”
I swallowed. I was hearing things I didn’t want to know. But I’d learned that Tom often needed to talk through situations to make sense of them, and his cases were no different.
I said, “He was hit on the head so hard it killed him? That’s terrible.”
“Actually,” Tom replied, “he might not have died if he hadn’t bled so much—but that’s a guess. We have to wait on the autopsy.”
“Definitely not a suicide or an accident?”
“No chance. This was an assault that resulted in death. It’s manslaughter at the very least. Mrs. Schultz may know something, but from what I’m hearing from you and the night shift officer who picked her up wandering around town this morning, she’s an unreliable witness at best.”
“That’s what I said. Unreliable. I do have her adorable kitten—his name is Otto, after her husband. Shawn said she’s a widow, but from what I heard her say, she might not remember her husband is dead. It’s so sad to see a person so confused, especially at her age. She’s relatively young—maybe midfifties.”
“I was wrong, Jilly. I’m so sorry I asked you to go there. I didn’t realize she was that bad off.”
“No, it wasn’t wrong at all. She needs help. It’s just sad, that’s all.”
“I can assure you that her husband is dead, by the way. That was public record. He died in a car wreck about five years ago. We found the death certificate and insurance documents. The lady may be mixed-up, but at some point in time she was well organized.”
“Except for the house that could pass for a mini-Costco.” I put the keys in the ignition. “I’m taking Otto straight to Doc Jensen’s for a checkup. Hopefully he’s fine and can stay with us until this mess is sorted out.”
“Drive safely. Love you, Jilly.”
Once I disconnected and hooked up to Bluetooth for any future calls, I went on my way to visit the vet. The kitten, Doc Jensen told me, was in perfect health, already neutered and most likely about nine months old. In no time, he was chowing do
wn in my basement cat room—the one where I first put any foster cats before introducing them to my own crew. As I watched him eat, I wondered how Dashiell would do with a visitor. I hadn’t fostered any cats since he came to live here.
Our newest friend seemed tuckered out from all he’d been through today. He liked the little quilt I’d wrapped around him to carry him inside. By the time I shut the door, he was already curled up on it. I went upstairs to properly greet my kitties. I petted the three who rubbed against me, but Chablis sat by the pantry door, waiting for me to dole out treats.
“Okay, I get the message,” I said.
I gave Dashiell freeze-dried pieces of chicken to limit his carb intake. Merlot and Chablis received their favorite tuna crunchies. Syrah, however, wanted nothing to do with treats. He crouched at the top of the basement stairs, and I imagined he’d soon make his way down, hoping to get a good sniff of Otto. Nothing got past Syrah, not for a second.
I ate yogurt, slices of cheese and an apple after my stomach growled loud enough for Merlot to turn his attention away from the basement entrance. He was curious about the latest visitor, too. It was almost three o’clock and had been such a crazy day. Since I was already getting quilt orders for kitty Christmas gifts despite its still being spring, I was about ready to hunker down in my sewing room. The appliqué quilts would take the longest because those were always hand done. Today, I needed the hum of a sewing machine to drown out thoughts of a murdered Chester and a muddled Minnie.
I got in a good hour of work before my phone rang. The caller ID confused me. Mercy PD. Tom or Candace always called me on their cells. I couldn’t remember either of them ever using the landlines in the police department.
I mumbled, “Must be someone there wanting to give me a message from Tom. Even B.J. would call me on his mobile if he was charged with delivering a message.” But B.J., the young man who’d been the dispatcher for several years, had now joined Mercy PD as a deputy.
After I said hello, I was more than surprised to hear Shawn’s voice. “Jillian, I need a lawyer. I don’t know any. And maybe call Allison. I can’t bear to talk to her right now.” He spoke so fast I barely understood him.
“Slow down, Shawn. What’s happening?” I wasn’t sure if calling Allison was necessary quite yet—especially since Tom had asked me to wait.
“I’m in custody.”
“You’ve been arrested for Chester’s murder?” I was shocked to my sandals. Shawn would never hurt anyone.
“No good deed,” he said. “You can finish the rest. I’m pretty sure I need a lawyer.”
“Shawn, have you really been arrested?” I spoke calmly and slowly. He was so agitated, I was hoping I could calm him down.
“They put cuffs on me, so you tell me. And by ‘they,’ I mean Tom.”
Tom spoke in the background. “Okay, Shawn. That’s enough.”
“Whatever.” Shawn sounded so hostile, I felt panic constrict my throat. What the heck is going on?
Tom came on the line, and I could tell he was exasperated. “He wants a lawyer. Can you help him out?”
Tom’s voice calmed me almost instantly. “Sure, but did you actually arrest him?”
He sighed heavily. “No. He came back to the Schultz house after dropping off the cats at the sanctuary. He said he needed to make sure there were no more cats hiding in the house. I told him it was not the time for that because we were still processing the scene. He got agitated, said the cats came first. He marched into the house and began moving boxes. That’s when I cuffed him and brought him to the station. I told him he needs to cool off so he can understand that we have a job today that takes precedence right now. He’s not getting it, and who am I to deny a man the right to a lawyer?”
Tom’s exasperation had turned to anger.
I heard Shawn shout, “You think I killed him. I know you do.”
“I get it.” I lowered my voice. “I know Shawn well enough to tell you that this is about the cats—because he probably thought you’d scare any lurkers with your search. Can I offer a suggestion?”
“Anything.” His tone was soft and stoic. Calmer, thank goodness.
“Put him in an interview room, give him a Coke and leave him alone for about thirty minutes. He’ll settle down. Meanwhile, I know just the lawyer to call.”
I told Tom I loved him and said calling Allison might not be needed and disconnected. My stepdaughter Kara’s boyfriend was Liam Brennan. He’d been an assistant district attorney—they call them solicitors in South Carolina—but made the decision only a few months ago to leave and start his own practice. He wanted to be with Kara seven days a week. Not only did they live together in her big house now, they worked in the same building. Kara was the owner and editor in chief of the town newspaper—the Mercy Messenger. Their relationship was definitely serious and I was happy for them both.
Soon I was off to see Liam, blowing kisses to my cats before I left. The Messenger offices were located in a hundred-year-old renovated building on Main Street. The newspaper was on the ground floor and Liam’s new office was on the second level. I’d called ahead and Liam’s assistant stood up when I entered the reception area. This was no fancy law office. A ceiling fan squeaked in protest against the poorly air-conditioned space. Old paneling, recently painted off-white, and mismatched chairs for waiting clients filled the narrow space.
Sue Ann, Liam’s legal assistant, whose sweet Southern charm sometimes fooled people into believing she might be an airhead, greeted me with a smile. Nothing could be further from the truth. She had a quick, sarcastic wit that took some getting used to, but I’d learned to appreciate how smart she was.
She’d dressed for the heat in the building, wearing a cotton tunic over linen pants. Her platinum hair, streaked with deep purple, framed her face. I’d met her several times in Kara’s office downstairs—mostly because she had little work to do yet. That would change. Liam was a brilliant lawyer and word of mouth would bring him business.
Sue Ann said, “The AC guy is on his way—or so he told me about two hours ago. I told him it was hot as high school love in this place. But they got enough work they don’t need to rush anywhere. Course you’re here because we have a client. Best news I’ve had in a week. I’m bored as hell, so tell me all about him.”
I explained Shawn’s situation as she wrote the details on a legal pad in shorthand.
When I was finished, I nodded at the pad. “You still use shorthand, huh?”
“No one can read it but me. Isn’t that great?” She grinned and her nose wrinkled in this adorable way. It was the first time I’d wondered how old she was. She could have been anywhere from twenty to forty.
I glanced toward the door that led to Liam’s office. “Is he here?”
“He is. He promised me he wouldn’t come out until I phoned in to him. I need to practice doing things in a professional manner. Business is so bad I’m thinking of offering free boiled peanuts to anyone who’ll walk up those old stairs with a legal problem. I could put one of those placards for peanuts right outside the building.”
Liam’s office door opened. It squealed worse than the ceiling fan. “That’s good enough, Sue Ann.” He looked at me. “Hey there, Jillian. How are you?”
“I’m fine. But Shawn? Not so good.” I considered what a fine-looking man Liam was with his Irish eyes and tall, lean physique. But a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his rolled-up dress shirt sleeves told me he was hoping the AC guy arrived soon, too.
He addressed Sue Ann. “Go through your spiel and tell me what Jillian said. Practice what I’ve taught you about office etiquette. Then I need to get down to the police station and speak with my new client.”
She related to Liam everything I’d told her. He offered mock applause. “You don’t need any more practice. When folks call, you do exactly as you did with Jillian.”
She saluted. “Yes, si
r. Now get out of here, you two. You’re burning daylight.”
Seven
The Mercy Police Department, located in a side wing of the town square’s courthouse, seemed busier than usual. The murder of a county employee probably had a lot to do with it. Liam and I had driven in our separate vehicles after he assured me he wanted me to go with him to greet Shawn. Though Liam had met him before, had even visited the sanctuary with Kara once, knowing Shawn and really knowing him were two different things. His passion for helping animals ruled his life, and I believed that was how he’d ended up here at the police station.
B.J. Henderson looked quite different from the last time I’d seen him here. He was wearing one of the Mercy PD uniforms—forest green pants and the khaki short-sleeved shirt with green trim reserved for the warmer months. Apparently he was still doing some of the dispatch work until they found someone to replace him permanently. I remembered then that Tom had mentioned the part-timer they’d hired just wasn’t catching on and they were still searching for a permanent hire.
B.J. had stood when we walked through the old scratched-up door into the small waiting area. Plastic molded chairs lined three walls opposite him and all sat empty. “Hey there, Jillian. And Mr. Brennan.” He smiled stiffly and adjusted the heavy police utility belt.
“You’re looking fine, B.J.” I smiled. “That uniform suits you.”
He blushed. “Thank you, ma’am. Let me call Tom and tell him you’re here.”
Soon Tom joined us and swung open the gate that separated the waiting room from the long hallway leading to interview rooms and offices.
He greeted me with a quick kiss and shook Liam’s hand before inviting us back to his office. All of the former chief’s personal effects were gone. They had been replaced by a smaller desk, bookshelves and a computer station. Tom had even replaced the upholstery on the chairs. Chief Mike Baca, who had been Tom’s good friend, was gone and Tom wanted no daily reminders. He said it was too distracting.
The Cat, the Collector and the Killer Page 4