If I looked past this cardboard jungle, I could see how Minnie’s room must have been a comforting place for her. Several cat beds sat close to where the woman had slept and looked to be freshly laundered. Then I noticed the framed picture on her bedside table. Her wedding photo.
While Candace helped Dr. Ross gather the items on Minnie’s list, I examined the wedding photo more closely. From the style of Minnie’s gown, I guessed the wedding had been in the late seventies or early eighties. The satin-and-lace dress reminded me of Princess Diana’s, and Minnie’s small fingers rested on her husband’s arm. Her engagement ring sparkled as much as her eyes. Otto Schultz had worn a vested wool suit to his wedding and the chain of a pocket watch was clearly visible. He had kind brown eyes, as did Minnie. Their smiles reflected a sweetness I’d sensed when I’d met the woman yesterday. Yes, I’d found out firsthand that her kindness could not be disguised by any mental illness.
Finding the quilt that might bring Minnie some comfort was far more difficult than collecting clothing and toiletries. We were about to give up when Candace determined that there seemed to be more to the closet than she’d noticed before. She mumbled that the dimensions between the hallway and the bedroom seemed off. Sure enough, she was soon pushing aside the hanging clothes to reveal a panel secured by screws. She used a coin to turn those screws while Dr. Ross and I stood side by side watching with wide-eyed interest.
Candace removed a piece of thin plywood and set it aside. She said, “Pay dirt,” so loud both the doctor and I started. Candace took a small but powerful flashlight from her utility belt and shined the light inside the compartment.
I bent to see what Candace was looking at and apparently my mind was on other things because I said, “I don’t see any quilt. Of course, why would she keep a quilt hidden away? Maybe if it was a family heirloom she would have kept it locked up, but obviously it’s not in there.”
Candace looked over her shoulder. “Look at this stack of journals. And this.” I could see what I assumed was a jewelry box.
Candace said, “The late husband was a jeweler. I wondered why I couldn’t find anything he might have given Minnie. Bet this is the answer.”
“Open it.” I wanted to see inside as much as she did now.
“I’m inclined to bag all this as evidence and take it to the crime lab. The new ways of lifting DNA are beyond my expertise. But it is fascinating.”
“Could I just peek at those journals?” Dr. Ross asked. “If I want to reach Minnie, those could offer valuable insight into her personality—that is, if she was the one who wrote in them.”
“Sorry, Doc. Like I said, it’s evidence.” Candace stood. “We have a quilt to find, right? Then I’ll bag and tag what I just found and we can get out of here.”
Dr. Ross hadn’t taken her eyes off the stack of small notebooks. They each had brightly colored floral covers and a few looked pretty tattered. She said, “I understand where you’re coming from, Detective. But your find has given me a hint on how to reach into Minnie’s clouded mind. I’ll give her a new journal and see if she’ll reveal something that way.”
“Sounds like a great idea. Now let’s find that quilt.” Candace sidled past us.
“Do you have any idea what’s in these boxes?” Dr. Ross asked as we continued the hunt for the quilt. “That might also offer insight into Minnie.”
Candace hurried out of the room without answering. As we followed, I explained that the last time Shawn had been here aside from yesterday, there had been only a few boxes.
“That’s odd. Maybe she’ll write about this change in her life when I give her a journal.” Dr. Ross seemed genuinely concerned about her patient, but like me, she was also curious.
We continued through the house, and on top of the washer we found a laundry basket filled with linens. I asked Candace if she’d seen anything resembling a quilt in the dirty clothes.
“I wasn’t the one to search the laundry room, so—”
“There.” I pointed at the basket. I saw what we were probably looking for through the slats in the plastic basket. “Can I get it out or do you need to do that, Candace?”
Candace took out her phone and snapped a few pictures. “Just to be safe,” she said, “even though B.J. searched this area and had a camera with him.”
Seconds later I was holding a small plaid quilt—one I recognized. As I held it, I mumbled, “I made this.” I looked between Candace and Dr. Ross. “She probably got this from Shawn, since I make them for the kitties at the sanctuary all the time.”
“You made that?” Candace stared from the quilt to me and back to the quilt.
I nodded, unsure how I felt about this discovery.
“You’re connected to her, Jillian.” Dr. Ross smiled. “That might prove to be a tremendous help.”
“I—I guess.” The hairs at the back of my neck prickled. A quilt is a special thing—I felt as if every single one I made and sent out into the world held a piece of me. I was connected to Minnie.
Dr. Ross touched my upper arm gently. “Can you be there when I give this to her? It might be just the thing to orient her to reality. Right now she resides in a confusing and stressful world.”
“Um, sure. Be glad to help.” I glanced at Candace, who still eyed the box and the journals like a bird dog on a hunt. “Is that okay with you?”
“Is what okay?” Candace looked at me reluctantly. I’d interrupted her thoughts.
I explained about the hospital visit and she agreed it was fine. She seemed so distracted, however, that I wasn’t sure she’d even heard what I said.
Dr. Ross typed the names of Minnie’s children into her phone as Candace recited them. Then she said, “Can you bring the quilt to the hospital? You made it and it will mean more if she can connect it to you. Her room is on the third floor.”
“Um . . . sure. I’d be glad to,” I said.
Dr. Ross explained she had calls to make before heading to the hospital and also hoped to find a few blank journals to offer her patient.
She left the laundry room that led to the kitchen and we heard the front door close seconds later.
“Dr. Ross seems like a very caring person,” I said.
Before Candace could reply, her phone rang. She listened to the caller and then said, “She’s where?” Her free hand was on her hip and I saw her close her eyes in what I recognized as frustration. “Why did you tell her, B.J.?” She listened and then responded with, “Call Lois. She needs to be prepared. I don’t want her to let the woman in to see Mrs. Schultz until I get there. I’m on my way.”
She sighed heavily after she disconnected. “Come on and bring that quilt. The daughter has surfaced at the hospital and we need to intercept her.”
Ten
Candace arrived at the hospital sooner than I did because, well, she had a vehicle with flashing blue lights and enjoyed taking advantage of the speed those lights permitted her.
I found her in the third-floor hallway taking a tongue-lashing from a very pregnant young woman who was angry—and to my way of thinking, understandably so. I heard her clearly state that she hadn’t been informed about her mother’s problems and she should have.
I walked up to them just as Candace said, “A man was murdered, Mrs. Kramer. You have to understand that our priorities lie with getting answers for the victim.”
“I heard he was found in my mother’s house.” She sounded very angry, but at least she’d lowered her voice. “Why doesn’t that make her family a priority—especially after she was discovered wandering around in her nightgown? Did she have blood all over her and you were trying to keep that information from us?”
This young woman, with a face so flushed the redness nearly hid her spattering of freckles, must have been Minnie’s daughter, Greta. Her tawny brown hair was held back by clips, but many strands had escaped and surrounded her face. Her hair only a
dded to how frazzled she seemed. This certainly wasn’t a pleasant conversation for either of them, and the tension now spread to me. I don’t do well with confrontations like this and I clutched Minnie’s quilt to me as if it were a security blanket.
“I apologize.” Candace tone was about as contrite as she could manufacture. But she didn’t answer the question about the blood, and that had me wondering if there was a connection to the murder that Candace and Tom hadn’t shared.
“Thank you for that, even if you didn’t mean it.” Greta rested a hand on her swollen abdomen and rubbed in circles.
Was she in pain? Was this tiff with Candace sending her into labor? I had the silly thought that it was a good thing we were in a hospital.
“Now, I want to see my mother.” Greta had lifted her chin and the smug attitude didn’t quite fit. I saw something in her dark brown eyes that told me she felt a tad guilty about her outburst. She might also be a little scared, if I was reading her right.
Deputy Lois Jewel, previously avoiding this clash from the safety of Minnie’s room, stepped out into the hall. She straightened her shirt, tucking it more securely into her uniform trousers, all the while keeping her gaze on the floor. She spoke so quietly, her words were almost unintelligible. “Mrs. Schultz isn’t in her room. She went for a scan. Don’t know when she’ll be back.”
Greta glanced back and forth between Lois and Candace. “You have a policewoman in my mother’s room? What’s that about? And what kind of scan is she talking about? Who authorized it?”
Before Candace could address any of these questions, Dr. Ross came upon us so quietly I actually flinched.
She said, “The neurologist I consulted ordered a lot of tests.”
Greta turned her attention from Candace and Lois. She looked first at Dr. Ross and then seemed to notice me for the first time. “And who are these people? What the heck is going on?”
Dr. Ross held out her hand. “I’m your mother’s psychiatrist.”
Greta stared at the doctor’s hand, and after several seconds of awkward silence, she said, “You’re a shrink? Does everyone who finds a body in their house require a psychiatrist?”
Dr. Ross dropped her hand. “When your mother was discovered on Main Street, no one knew about the dead man. She was very confused and I was assigned to her case because I was the doctor on call. She needs help, Greta.”
The sincerity and gentle way she delivered this information had a calming effect on the young woman. Greta’s features softened and she murmured, “Well, that’s for sure,” before turning her attention back to Candace. “Why are the police here? Is my mother under arrest?”
“We can answer all your questions in her room, okay?” Candace glanced at Dr. Ross as if seeking her approval.
The doctor said, “If Minnie returns to find a room crowded with people, I’m afraid that might upset or confuse her even more. We can go to one of the conference rooms.”
“Let’s do it,” Candace said.
After giving Lois the personal items collected for Minnie, she instructed Lois to find Minnie and stay with her. The implication was she should have done this to begin with. Between Greta’s arrival at the hospital and Lois’s not accompanying Mrs. Schultz, my friend Candace was not a happy camper.
Dr. Ross led us to a frigid room on the first floor. A long, shiny table was surrounded by padded armchairs that rolled quietly on casters. The place smelled like . . . nothing. No sweetness from air fresheners, no disinfectant odors. It was a cold, sterile room with pictures of the hospital administrators on the wall. The aging unsmiling men’s faces only added to the chill I felt in this room.
We took seats at the end of the table with Candace at the head. Greta and Dr. Ross sat to Candace’s left and I sat to her right. I’d hung on to the quilt and folded it in my lap.
Greta stared at me with narrowed eyes. “First of all, who are you? Another police officer in plain clothes? Are khakis and cotton shirts the new uniform for the Mercy Police Department?”
Her caustic tone had returned, and I doubted she really wanted answers to her multiple questions.
Before I could speak, Dr. Ross responded. “This is Jillian Hart. From what I’ve been told, she helped the emergency room staff yesterday because your mother had a kitten with her. She refused to let anyone take it, but Ms. Hart has a way with cats and with people. She and your mother had a great conversation and she willingly gave the kitten to Jillian. I understand he’s named after your late father.”
For the first time since I’d arrived here, Greta opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She blinked several times and glanced at each of us. Finally, she quietly said to no one in particular, “She had a cat named Otto with her?”
Candace nodded. “A young cat, from what I understand. That’s partly why the doctors in the emergency room decided to call in Dr. Ross to consult on your mother’s case. Mrs. Schultz is not . . . not—”
“All there?” Greta finished.
Candace blushed. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Has she ever had an episode like this before? Where she wandered away from home?” Dr. Ross asked.
Greta leaned back in the chair and used both hands to soothe her belly with slow circles. “No. She’s always been a little eccentric. She does have seven cats, a tiny fact that pushes her needle toward crazy cat lady, right?”
“She had about two dozen cats,” I offered. Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken, but this young woman needed all the information if she was here to help her mother.
“What?” Greta’s gaze trapped mine with shock and disbelief. She then turned to Dr. Ross, who nodded in confirmation.
“I take it you haven’t visited your mother lately?” Candace asked.
“I’ll state the obvious.” Greta’s irritation had returned. “I’m pregnant. I shouldn’t be around cats.”
“Actually, you shouldn’t be cleaning litter boxes, is all. This whole thing about . . .” I stopped myself. This wasn’t why we were sitting here. “Sorry. I’ve veered off topic. The important thing is, I’ll be keeping little Otto safe until your mother feels better. She seemed very protective of him. Now, I’m sure the doctor and Detective Carson have more questions for you.” I slid my chair back a little, determined to keep my mouth shut.
Candace began those questions and learned not much more than I’d heard from Belle yesterday about how Greta had lost her father and that she had twin brothers. It became obvious that Greta hadn’t even spoken to her mother in months, a realization that saddened me.
“You have no idea why your mother suddenly started collecting cats in the last year?” Candace asked.
“Started? You don’t consider seven a collection?” Greta said disdainfully. “My brothers and I wanted nothing to do with a hoarding situation, and that’s why we limited our contact with Mama.”
Candace looked at Dr. Ross. “Tell us about hoarding, Dr. Ross. Does it lead to confusion?”
Dr. Ross cleared her throat. “Hoarding includes pretty specific parameters. It’s actually an obsessive-compulsive disorder—or usually is, I should say. Confusion is not a typical symptom. Even though I saw an excessive number of large boxes stacked in Mrs. Schultz’s home, I’m not sure that I am ready to label your mother a hoarder. Her home was clean and pretty tidy. Hoarders are usually not tidy and organized.”
“What boxes? And you’ve confirmed she had way more than seven cats. But you’re saying she’s not a hoarder?” It was Greta’s turn to appear confused.
I thought about Shawn and how he didn’t consider Minnie a hoarder, either—and he’d seen plenty of them in his time running his no-kill shelter.
Candace said, “You want a full explanation, I know, Mrs. Kramer. Let’s try to keep this as simple as possible for today. I have a few more questions before you and Dr. Ross visit your mother.”
Thank you, Ca
ndace. But how could she get answers with Greta presenting these multiple-question sentences every time she spoke? Maybe the woman was nervous and this was how she dealt with it. But aside from her irritation, she seemed almost . . . detached.
“I’ve told you about our family,” Greta said. “I don’t even know who’s dead, so how can I answer questions about who my mother might have killed and why? Was it someone you think I know?”
I sighed inwardly. It seemed as if it might be impossible for Greta Kramer to not ask questions. Candace’s tight-lipped expression told me she was losing patience.
“First of all,” Candace said in a quiet, measured tone, “no one says your mother killed anyone. Second, the dead man’s name was Chester Winston. Did you know him?”
“The name sounds familiar, but that’s all. He’s not a relative or anything.” She glanced at the gigantic clock on the wall to her right. “Can we speed this up? I have errands to run before I return home. My due date is next week and I’m not sure I’ll make it that long. I need to stock the pantry and fridge. But before you judge me—and I can tell that’s what happening—I did come here to see my mother, not to be interrogated by the police.”
I blinked, troubled by how she’d reacted to hearing a dead man’s name. None of the emotions or lack thereof that Greta Kramer had displayed helped me understand her. Maybe the pregnancy and the obvious family estrangement had something to do with her behavior. Perhaps once she saw her mother, she’d be different. Or so I wanted to believe.
Candace continued on, not swayed by Greta’s demand that she hurry up. “Chester Winston was the animal control officer for our county. Did your mother ever mention his name—I mean, at a period in time when you were speaking to her?”
The Cat, the Collector and the Killer Page 7