The Cat, the Collector and the Killer

by Leann Sweeney

I sat beside him and immediately felt Dashiell rubbing against my shins. Merlot lay on the Oriental carpet nearby so he could look back and forth between us. “What about Chester’s family? Have you talked to them already?”

  Tom rested a hand on my leg. “They’re coming to the station tomorrow, too. The daughter-in-law asked if they needed a lawyer. It should be so awesome visiting with those folks if they’re as pleasant as Chester never was.”

  I smiled. “Greta Kramer, Minnie’s daughter, said her brothers were drunk and maybe Chester’s family was, too. I don’t envy you interrogating any of those people. I had a thought when I was visiting Minnie and—”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “Her operation is tomorrow. Brain surgery sounds scary, but the good thing about her condition is that she probably won’t realize what’s happening.”

  “Somehow that last part sounds scary, too,” Tom said.

  “She’s a sweet lady and I hope the doctors can work some magic,” I said.

  Tom put his arm around me and I leaned close to him. “Enough sad talk,” he said. “Shawn told me to call him first thing in the morning because he should be done examining all of Minnie’s cats. Only about seven are her original cats. We know those felines have something to do with the case. We also hope the contents of the boxes will shed light on what was happening inside Mrs. Schultz’s house in the last few months. We need to leave no stone unturned.”

  “Before I head over to Minnie’s place tomorrow, I’ll call Shawn and see if he can return Minnie’s kitties to her by the time she comes home from the hospital. She’ll need her friends with her. That is, if she can even care for them.”

  “Whenever you’re ready in the morning is fine,” Tom said. “We’re getting a warrant for not only Chester’s financials, but Minnie’s as well. My instinct tells me there’s a connection between all those boxes and Chester’s interest in Mrs. Schultz. We can match purchase records to the contents of those packages in her house. Many of them seem to have come from big-box stores.”

  “Before I forget, Minnie was vague about this, but she said she had a cell phone—or thinks she had one—and that it came from Chester.”

  “Okay, I’ll make sure Candace is on the lookout for more than one cell phone when y’all are over there tomorrow. Lydia told me Chester did not have a phone on him, which I found odd and not understandable. He had to have one for his job. Where the heck is it?”

  “That is weird. I can see Minnie not having a phone since she believes mine is a miniature television. But Chester? That makes no sense.”

  “We can’t find his work phone, either. Worst-case scenario is the killer took the phones—maybe even Mrs. Schultz’s phone—because he or she was worried they would connect him or her to Chester.”

  “What about those journals Candace found. Are they helpful?”

  Dashiell decided that since Tom didn’t seem about to get up, he could settle in his lap. As soon as Tom stroked him, Dashiell closed his eyes and began to purr. “Yes, the journals. We haven’t had time to thoroughly look through them. Unfortunately, the last one she dated was about three weeks ago and completely filled with scrawling cursive that made no sense. She must have already been falling apart.”

  I sighed. “That is so sad. No leads there, I take it?”

  “There could be journals missing. As I said, they were dated, and there seems to be a gap from her making perfect sense to making no sense whatsoever. There’s another thing to add to the list for tomorrow’s search—missing journals.”

  “Lucky us,” I said with a laugh. “Either you or Candace can give me a call when you need me. But what about Morris? Will this make him feel like I’m taking over something he could be doing?”

  “Morris will be heading to Chester’s apartment to do another, more thorough search. We need evidence connecting him to Mrs. Schultz—evidence aside from the cats. Meanwhile, I’ll be interviewing both the Schultz and the Winston families. Those twin brothers have to provide me with a plausible explanation for lying about their whereabouts.”

  “I’d say they’d been visiting some bar, from what I witnessed at the hospital. And by the way, Lois is spending her off duty time visiting Minnie. I do believe she’s quite fond of her. I’ll bet she’d like to be around when the poor woman comes out of surgery.”

  “Mrs. Schultz has become a key witness rather than a suspect, so maybe she needs protection if she comes out of that brain surgery and remembers what happened the other day. I mean, who knows what she might say that could put her in danger? Still, it will be difficult sparing Lois to stay there. I have only two officers on the night shift right now.”

  “Well, maybe Lois doesn’t need to be there tomorrow. Minnie’s daughter will probably be at the hospital all day. Could be her sons will show up there too, that is, if they’re allowed back after their shenanigans. I understand it will be a long operation. She’ll surely be in ICU afterward, and getting in there is like trying to keep your eyes open when you sneeze. That’s a pretty safe place.”

  “Okay, maybe Lois could stay at the station and help with interviews for a day or two. I could sure use her help to sift through all the tips we’ve received. As for Mrs. Schultz’s sons, if those young men are hanging around at the hospital, I’ll interview them there. They aren’t wiggling out of a long talk with me.” Since Dashiell was now sound asleep, Tom reached back and stroked Syrah. Our Abyssinian began to purr so loud the neighbors across the lake probably heard him.

  Then I had a thought. “Will asking me to help out at Minnie’s house come back to bite you? Jeopardize the case? I’m not a police officer, last time I checked.”

  Tom smiled and the weariness in his eyes was evident. “I pretty much can make the rules. Police chiefs in small towns who are good friends with the mayor can do that. We did give Candace the title of detective, didn’t we? Now your new title is citizen volunteer—and a volunteer I can rely on.”

  “I’m a willing one. Did I tell you I met Dr. Ross’s brother Peyton at the hospital? He told me he got an unfinished text message from his sister. He was hoping you found her phone. He said she often left messages to herself on that phone. Maybe there’s a clue there.”

  “Why all the missing phones? This is so weird because her phone wasn’t with her belongings. Wow. Coincidences like this should not exist in a murder investigation.”

  “Do you think someone stole it from her wrecked car?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Pretty cold to leave an injured woman at death’s door while you dig around for her cell phone.”

  I shuddered at the thought. “Okay, enough talk about awful people doing terrible things. You, my sweet Tom, need sleep. But I’m not sure if five cats will allow you to rest. I can take the fur friends into the guest room if you think that will help you rest better.”

  Tom lifted Dashiell and held him close. “Are you kidding me? I’ve never slept better in my life since we got married. Without you and all these guys with me, I’d be tossing and turning all night.” He stood. “Let’s get on with our routine. Treats first.”

  Routine was important, that was for sure. The thought of Tom close to me tonight had me grinning like the Cheshire cat I’d become since we’d married.

  Fifteen

  Tom left home in the early-morning hours, about the time the cats first wake us. We usually go back to sleep, but not today. I finally got out of bed after Chablis sat on my head and Otto snuck under the covers and began biting my toes. Cats will have their way.

  Because of Dashiell’s diabetes, I could no longer leave out a dish of kibble at night. He would devour any food he could get his paws on. Once I gave him his insulin, all the cats sat happily on the floor chowing down—all except Dashiell. I fed him his special diet in the pantry with the door closed. Though Dashiell had learned to leave the other cats’ food alone, I wasn’t sure that Otto would leave poor Dash
iell alone to eat in peace.

  While they ate and coffee was brewing, I called Shawn, updated him on Minnie’s medical condition and asked about her cats.

  He said, “I have them all accounted for except one. I microchipped the ones she adopted from me, so I have the records.”

  “Exactly how many cats are definitely hers?”

  “Six. Unfortunately, there’s one missing. A ginger Persian named Simon. He’s young, so if he passed away, something bad happened suddenly and I was never told. She only got him from me maybe eighteen months ago, when he was a kitten.”

  “Uh-oh. I don’t believe anyone should tell her about that. Let’s keep it to ourselves for now.”

  “She won’t hear it from me. Those cats were like her children, Jillian. But if she gets well enough to come home in the near future, someone needs to tell her we couldn’t find him.”

  An uneasy feeling mushroomed in my gut. “You think I should be that someone?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind. You know how I am about delivering bad news.”

  “But Simon might turn up, right?” Before he could reply, the call waiting sound beeped in my ear. “I have another call. Talk to you later, Shawn.”

  It was Candace telling me to meet her at the Schultz house in an hour. That gave me plenty of time to get dressed and eat a piece of toast. When I left the house, the stares from our cats as I closed the door said it all. You will pay for leaving us three days in a row, human.

  Just as I arrived at Minnie’s house, a Mercy PD squad car swerved into the driveway from the other direction. I pulled up to the curb in front of her place. Candace and B.J. exited the cruiser and B.J. had an expression my grandma used to call “the green apple nasties.” Candace’s driving will do that to a person.

  I hugged each of them as the scent of honeysuckle wafted toward us. I realized I hadn’t even noticed the pale pink flowers and vines creeping toward Minnie’s roof the other times I’d been here. Too many disturbing things had been on my mind. Unattended, those vines would take over the front of her house. I wondered who had helped her care for her yard as her mind began to shatter. Chester? The thought made me shiver with distaste. He died as no one should die, but I couldn’t deny that I had never liked the man.

  B.J. took a small video camera from the trunk of the car and Candace grabbed her evidence satchel. As she unlocked the front door, I hoped these boxes would reveal something—anything—about why Chester had inserted himself into poor Minnie’s life.

  I felt claustrophobic again once we were inside. Thank goodness the cardboard corridor would be coming down. It couldn’t happen soon enough. Candace pulled a folded sheet of legal paper from her pocket and handed it to me, along with a pair of latex gloves.

  “Here’s my plan for this search. First, I need a more thorough examination of that cubicle cut into the back of her closet. As long as we’re in that room, we can unpack the boxes there. After that, we follow my list. But any evidence we find might change the plan.” Candace held her evidence kit with two hands in front of her so she could fit through the narrow space leading to the bedrooms.

  B.J. stayed back and recorded our progress and then joined us in Minnie’s bedroom. We were intruding into the woman’s most personal space.

  “Does it ever bother you?” I asked.

  “Does what bother me?” Candace snapped her gloves on and I followed her lead.

  “Going through people’s things.”

  B.J. seemed to be all ears, waiting for Candace’s answer.

  “Not anymore. Used to, but I’ll bet when a doctor has to stick his hands inside a person on the operating table, that feels even weirder. It’s the job.”

  “Ah.” I nodded. “That makes sense.”

  Candace began narrating into her handheld recorder, and her voice was loud enough that B.J. could pick up the sound on the video camera.

  I got a better view of the cubicle where the journals and jewelry box had been stashed. The space was wider than I’d realized and the ceiling matched the height of the closet. There was no light in there, and though the front closet light was on, it was impossible to really see into the corners of this back closet. Candace’s solution was to stick a small LED light onto the wall and also turn on the Maglite from her bag.

  I knelt so B.J. could record the closet and the space behind the closet. Soon Candace was on her hands and knees, her flashlight focused on the farthest corner.

  “B.J., hand me my tweezers and a couple of small evidence bags.”

  She put something in the first bag—I couldn’t tell what—and next she picked up something with her gloved fingers and deposited it in the second bag. It appeared to be a pink button. She wrote on the bags after sealing them using a Sharpie she’d taken from her pocket.

  “Take these and put them in my satchel, Jillian.” She handed me the bags.

  “Are those torn fingernails?” I said before stashing them carefully away. They actually looked like chewed fingernails bearing tiny specks of blood.

  “That’s my guess.” Candace continued to examine the floor and the walls for anything else that might offer a clue into this mystery within a mystery. “Maybe Mrs. Schultz hid in here to write in her journals. But why hide in your own home?”

  “Could she have been hiding in here from Chester Winston?” B.J. asked.

  “From him or from whoever killed him. I sure hope we get to ask her.” Candace glanced back at me as I wrote down what evidence had been collected in the notebook I’d taken from the evidence kit.

  Candace refocused on the corner. Using the tweezers again, she picked up a few ocher-colored cat hairs.

  Anticipating her need, I pulled out another small evidence bag and held it open. She dropped them into it. “Cat hairs, I assume. I’m surprised that there aren’t more. Why is that, cat expert?”

  As she wrote the date on the bag, I said, “For a woman with so many cats in residence, this place is amazingly clean. My guess is, Minnie Schultz spent her days vacuuming up behind her babies. Like all the time, every day.”

  “Maybe these cat hairs will be important at some point in the investigation, or they could be useless.” Candace handed the bag to me and I put it with the others.

  “Shawn told me that a ginger cat is missing,” I said. “One that belonged to Minnie before two dozen more came to live here. This feline business is all so strange, Candace.”

  “I’ll say.” B.J. had turned off the camera briefly. “Maybe this missing cat is important. Perhaps the entire case revolves around the cats.”

  Candace nodded. “You could be right. But all these boxes have to be important. We need to get busy.”

  The closet seemed to have given up all its secrets and we moved out into the crowded bedroom itself. First, Candace numbered all the unopened boxes, but just as we moved box number one away from against the wall, the doorbell rang.

  Candace, kneeling and ready to cut the tape with her pocket knife, sighed in frustration. “B.J., would you please see who that is and get rid of them? Curious neighbors are not on the agenda for today and your uniform will be persuasive. We’ll wait.”

  We waited in silence, though I knew Candace was dying to slit open the box.

  But when B.J reappeared, he wasn’t alone.

  “Deputy Candy Carson, right?” It was a big man in a Mercy County Sheriff’s Department uniform. He had a baritone voice and graying temples. Either he had visited a tanning salon or he’d already taken advantage of the sunny spring days. My guess was the latter. The fact that he’d called Candace by her most hated nickname did not bode well. Didn’t the man realize she was holding a knife?

  “Yes, I’m Detective Candace Carson.” She squinted at the name tag above his blue uniform pocket. “How can I help you, Deputy Sheriff Osborne?”

  “Actually, it’s Captain Osborne, head of the county’s criminal divi
sion. Are you new to plainclothes? I remember seeing you in uniform at Chief Stewart’s formal swearing in.”

  There was only one phrase for what was going on here in a tiny room that had become suddenly quite cold: Pissing contest.

  “Promotion.” Candace’s tone was clipped and as chilly as the room. “What can I do for you?”

  I noted that B.J. had taken a spot where he was almost completely obscured by one of the larger boxes. I stayed where I was, feeling like a surgeon who should be holding her hands up to keep them clean while unwanted conversation kept me from my operation. Instead, I grasped my hands behind my back.

  “First of all, can you introduce me to your officers—oh, wait a minute.” He grinned at me, his teeth all whiter than white. I had to admit he was a good-looking guy, maybe about Tom’s age. But his cocky attitude was off-putting to say the least. He said, “Aren’t you Tom’s new wife?”

  I almost put out my hand to shake his, but instead thought better of offering latex fingers. I also felt a tad guilty for not remembering him. “Yes, I’m Jillian Hart. Nice to meet you. But I didn’t catch your first name.” Maybe first names would help settle the tension that had taken over this room.

  “Brad. Nice to meet you.” He turned his attention to B.J. “Deputy? Or has everyone at Mercy PD risen in the ranks?”

  “Deputy B.J. Henderson, sir.”

  I saw Candace close her eyes briefly. Knowing her, she didn’t think this guy deserved a title like sir. “Again, what can I do for you, Captain Osborne?”

  “I’m here to make you an offer you won’t want to refuse. We can take over this case and—”

  “What are you talking about?” Candace’s disdain had turned to hostility in a nanosecond.

  “Detective Carson,” he said. “Surely you realize we have far more resources than Mercy PD. Chester Winston worked for the county and that technically makes this our jurisdiction.”

  “In whose technical world, Captain? This property, this house where a crime occurred, is in Mercy. This is our case. This is our jurisdiction, period.”