The Cat, the Collector and the Killer

by Leann Sweeney

  Osborne took in the room, his gaze darting from one corner to another. “You’ve called in a volunteer, that much is obvious.” He looked at me. “No offense, Mrs. Stewart.”

  “None taken.” I smiled a smile that was as fake as it probably appeared. “And it’s Ms. Hart, though I prefer Jillian.”

  “Sorry. Don’t tell on me when you talk to Tom. You’re a strong, modern woman. I totally get that.”

  No you don’t, I thought. Not for a minute. But I kept my smile as earnest as I could, hoping to warm up the cold war between him and Candace.

  “We don’t need the county’s help,” Candace said. “Especially since we’ve done all the work to get warrants for Chester’s financials, for all this merchandise and for searches. As you can see, we’re kind of busy right now, so if that’s all you came for—to offer to take our case away—mission accomplished. But we’ll handle this and we’ll solve it.”

  Osborne sighed heavily. “I hoped to avoid this, but maybe I should speak with Tom.”

  Ah. Time for me to play the wife card, I thought. I pulled my phone for my pocket. “I have a direct line. I’ll call him for you.”

  “No need. I’ll stop by the department and—”

  “Hey there, Tom.” Speed dial is a wonderful thing. I already had him on the line before the guy could blink. “I’ve got Captain Brad Osborne here from the sheriff’s department and—”

  “Let me guess. He wants the case.”

  “He does,” I said solemnly, trying not to give away the irritation I’d just heard in Tom’s voice.

  “Let me talk to him. He’s got a hell of a nerve.”

  Not long after, Captain Osborne was gone with hardly a good-bye, his expensive white teeth hidden by a frown and his earlobes red with anger. Now I remembered a conversation I’d had with Tom a couple of months ago about territorial issues between Mercy PD and the county officers. His pleas for them to be respectful and share resources, to not simply take over whenever they wanted, always fell on deaf ears. If the case was one they wanted, one that would grab headlines, it was all or nothing for them. Now I’d seen it unfold before my eyes. Would this be the last we’d see of that condescending man? I had no idea, but I sincerely hoped so.

  With B.J. once again behind the camera, Candace finally used her pocketknife to slit open the first box.

  Her expression changed from surprise to confusion. “What the heck?” she said as she leaned back on her heels.

  Sixteen

  I peered into the large box. “Why would Minnie have a box of universal TV remotes? I didn’t even see a television in this house, now that I think about it.”

  Candace shook her head in confusion. “Exactly. Yet there must be two dozen in here.”

  “You want to take one out?” B.J. had shut off the camera. “See if a remote is really what’s in those smaller boxes?”

  “Yes.” Candace nodded. “Who knows? Maybe Minnie Schultz was smuggling drugs via discount stores.”

  But as I wrote down the number of remotes as Candace carefully opened each sealed package to check the contents, they were indeed remote controls. She even checked the battery cases to make sure nothing had been stashed inside. They held batteries and that was all.

  This weirdness only continued as we went about the business of opening more boxes. One held late-model cell phones—though not the very newest ones. Another box was packed with Crock-Pots. There were laptop computers and digital tablets, as well as toasters, blenders and food processers. One particular box in the hallway was quite heavy, and Candace needed help moving it to an area where we had room to open it. It was packed full of robotic vacuum cleaners.

  While I dutifully recorded everything in the notebook, Candace droned on about the contents into her recorder and B.J. videoed the process. By lunchtime we were tired and baffled. Maybe the exhaustion came from not understanding why a woman who didn’t even know what a cell phone was had packed her house full of electronics and appliances she probably wouldn’t know what to do with—at least in the state she was now.

  That thought was a reminder of Minnie in the hospital, probably undergoing brain surgery as we rifled through her house. At least writing down the contents of these boxes had kept my mind off her and poor Dr. Ross. But right now, everything seemed wrong—from a man like Chester befriending a sick woman, to a house full of cats and retail items, to a car accident that was not an accident.

  “Let’s get food in our bellies and try to make sense of this,” Candace said. “I’m beginning to feel as if I’ve been on a shopping spree at Sam’s Club.”

  B.J. and Candace took the squad car, and though she offered me a ride to the Main Street Diner, I told her it was better if I drove my van in case they had an emergency that needed their attention.

  Candace gave me a look that said I wasn’t fooling her for a second. She knew how I felt about her NASCAR-esque driving style. I did feel sorry for B.J., but he’d have to get used to it because Candace wasn’t about to change.

  Before I turned the key in the ignition, I pulled up my cat cam on the phone and spoke with the clowder. I was pleased to see that Dashiell seemed alert since he’d had his breakfast a little earlier than usual today. When his blood sugar plunged, he’d pass out, but only after wobbling around on shaky legs. I saw none of those signs. Chablis meowed for treats and Syrah showed his contempt for this method of remote communication by walking away. He would much rather I stayed home. Little Otto batted at the microphone as I spoke to them, and Merlot watched him do this. I sure hoped Merlot didn’t get any ideas, since he was big enough to bring the whole camera and microphone down if he put his mind to it.

  I said good-bye and took off for the diner. Minutes later, I walked in and passed the stainless art deco–style eat-in counter with its red leather stools. I joined Candace and B.J. in one of the old-fashioned wooden booths at the back of the restaurant. They’d already ordered and Candace asked me what had taken me so long.

  “First of all, I observed the speed limit,” I answered with a smile. “But I also needed a dose of kitty love.” I looked up as the waitress appeared. I ordered a salad, sticking to my quest for a healthier diet. Sweet tea is a good thing, but too much sweet tea for a middle-aged woman can make buying new clothes a necessity rather than fun. Besides, Kara had convinced me I’d feel more energetic if I reduced my meat intake, and she was actually teaching me a few vegetarian recipes that I could manage. I wasn’t much of a cook. In fact Tom enjoyed playing chef more than I did.

  But I did order sweet tea today, figuring I’d be canceling out the sugar by eating salad. My comfort drink seemed a necessity at this juncture.

  Candace’s face grew solemn as she checked her messages. Then she set the phone down. “Mrs. Schultz went into surgery at eight this morning. They expect the surgery to take seven or eight hours.”

  “Holy crap.” B.J. reddened. “Sorry. I meant holy cow. It’s that bad?”

  “Delicate surgery,” I offered. “She doesn’t have cancer, though, so that’s a good thing.” I looked at Candace. “And Dr. Ross?”

  “Still in a medically induced coma, but she made it through the night with no further emergencies.”

  The waitress appeared and placed fries, chili dogs and hamburgers in front of B.J. and Candace. The young woman looked my way. “Be right back with that salad.”

  B.J. used a knife and fork to attack his hot dog, probably because he wasn’t about to sully his new uniform with chili sauce.

  Before Candace could take a bite of her hamburger, she focused over my shoulder, her eyes widened in surprise. “Morris. What the heck happened?”

  I turned in the booth to see Morris Ebeling striding toward us. He had a lump on his forehead about the size of an egg and it was already turning reddish purple. I slid over so he could sit.

  “That gosh-darn Winston family.” He touched his forehead and
winced. “They didn’t much take to my searching Chester’s apartment again.”

  Candace’s cheeks flushed with anger. “I hope whoever did that is in a holding cell right now.”

  “Nah. Grief is strange thing. You know that as well as I do, Candace. No matter what kind of man Chester was, these folks actually cared about him. I got an apology.”

  My salad arrived, and as the waitress set it in front of me, I asked her for an ice pack.

  She looked at Morris and gasped. “Why, Deputy Ebeling, you surely do need some ice, honey.”

  She returned with it quickly and brought with her a steaming mug of black coffee. Morris was a regular here. He thanked her, and once he’d pressed the ice-filled plastic bag gingerly to his forehead, Morris let out a small sigh.

  “You could have a concussion,” B.J. said.

  I wondered if he was rethinking his decision to become a police officer as he stared at Morris.

  “This hard head? Are you kidding? My problem is, I found nothing in that apartment that remotely looked like evidence of his involvement with anyone. I’m heading to his office next.” Morris readjusted the ice pack. “I hope that girl who answers the phones doesn’t have a temper.”

  Candace had pretty much ignored her food even as B.J. continued to eat. “Who hit you and with what? ’Cause you do remember our victim was smashed over the head, too.”

  “It was the daughter-in-law. I was bent over in the bedroom going through a pile of stuff on the bed. She snuck up behind me and asked me what I thought I was doing. When I turned, she hit me with a wine bottle. I’m just lucky it didn’t break.”

  Candace was shaking her head with disgust. “She must have seen the squad car in the driveway, not to mention your uniform. She had to know who you were and what you were doing.”

  “My impression of that particular woman is that she ain’t quite hooked up right.”

  “You’re going soft in your old age, Morris. Five years ago you would have thrown that woman in jail without a second thought. I take it this is the daughter-in-law who was in the altercation at the hospital last night.”

  “One and the same. Lucinda Winston. She’s pretty worked up about Chester’s death, while her husband—that would be Chester’s son, Earl—just stood behind her looking like he didn’t have any more sense than a melon sittin’ in the field.”

  B.J. had just taken a sip of his tea and nearly did a spit take after hearing this description. He quickly dabbed tea off his chin with a napkin.

  Morris said, “You called me to meet you three here, so tell me what’s in all those gosh-darn boxes over at Mrs. Schultz’s abode.”

  Candace summarized between bites of food, but she managed to eat only about half of her burger before pushing her plate to the side. I, meanwhile, cleaned my salad bowl, not realizing just how hungry taking inventory at a crime scene could make a woman.

  Morris finally set the dripping ice bag on the table. “That is strange as strange can be. You think Mrs. Schultz got herself addicted to the Home Shopping Network? I heard that can be a problem for shut-ins. And she sure seemed like a shut-in.”

  Candace pointed at Morris. “You’re right. She was a shut-in. We need to figure out when that all started and add it to our timeline leading up to the crime. We also need to know what she planned to do with those purchases and what Chester Winston’s part was in all of it. Maybe nothing. But I sure as hell am certain he had something to do with those cats.”

  “Shawn can help with that,” I said. “He’d chipped all of Minnie’s cats himself, but I didn’t get the chance to ask him if any of the newer cats at the house were microchipped by different shelters or veterinarians. That information could lead to something, right?”

  “It sure could. But it’s like we have too much evidence, the pieces all jumbled together like an unsolved giant jigsaw puzzle.” Candace sat back, looking tired and a little confused.

  “You gonna eat your fries?” B.J. asked Candace.

  She pushed her plate toward him. “Hurry up, B.J. There are a bunch of boxes still waiting for us back at the house.”

  When they finally got up to leave, I picked up the bill and said I’d pay. Meanwhile, the waitress returned. She squeezed Morris’s shoulder. “You feel like eatin’ now, honey?”

  Morris stood to let me out of the booth. “I’m starving. Bring me breakfast for lunch. My regular.”

  I hurried after Candace and B.J. and told them I would meet them back at the house before stopping at the register. I sure hoped we’d find something important this afternoon.

  Soon I was on my way back to Minnie’s neighborhood, but before I was halfway there, my cell rang. The caller ID identified Shawn.

  I answered and before I could get out so much as a hello, Shawn started talking so fast I almost didn’t understand him. “Those cats we took from the house, Jillian? Those cats all have homes. That Chester Winston was a liar and a thief.”

  Seventeen

  Shawn had apparently figured out on his own that the microchipping could be important. He went on to say that most of the cats were indeed chipped and he was able to find the names and phone numbers for the owners. Two people he’d phoned confirmed they had called county animal control to report their cats missing. I thanked Shawn and told him I would notify the police since I was working with them today.

  But I remembered that Morris said he would be heading to Chester’s office next, so I made a U-turn at the last stoplight in town and headed back to the Main Street Diner. Morris never answered his phone unless Candace was calling—especially if he was eating.

  I found him mopping up fried egg with toast and he was surprised to see me. “You forget something, Jillian?”

  “No. I just talked to Shawn and there’s something you should know before you head to Chester’s office.” I went on to tell him about the cats that had been reported missing to Chester and how they’d been now located as ones found in Minnie’s house.

  He continued eating as I sat across from him. He polished off his brunch in what I considered record time and now sat back with a freshly filled coffee mug in hand. “Okay, so you’re implyin’ he mighta found those cats and given them to Minnie Schultz? Why in the heck would he do that?”

  “I’m not sure. Something else was going on. Chester should have scanned those cats for microchips first chance he got. He would have had access to their information and been able to return them to their owners. Why didn’t he do that?”

  Morris appeared a tad confused for a second. “So these microchips can be traced back to the owners? Like GPS or something?”

  “That’s not how it works.” I went on to explain to Morris, who was very tech-challenged, that the tiny chips were injected under a cat’s skin, either by a vet or by the shelter. “Companies like HomeAgain maintain a database with all the owner information in case the cat ever gets lost. All my cats are chipped.”

  “Ah. I get it. And you think there might be evidence at Chester’s office telling us why these cats weren’t returned home?”

  “Maybe.” But now I wondered if he’d find anything there. “I suppose if he was doing this for some nefarious reason, he wouldn’t keep records, would he?”

  Morris sipped his coffee before speaking. “That’s what I was thinking. This may sound far-fetched, but what if he fancied Mrs. Schultz? What if he realized she was sick in the head and thought taking care of lost cats would make her feel better? I mean, you always say your cats can mend your heart when you’re blue.”

  I sighed, understanding what he was saying but not really believing that’s what happened. “That’s one explanation. But it sure doesn’t fit with what Shawn believes about the guy. He was pretty darn angry about Chester not returning these cats to their owners.” I pulled out my phone. “After Shawn told me this, I saved the names and addresses of two people he’d spoken to with cats found at the house
. One of them lives in Minnie’s neighborhood.” I held the phone out so he could read the names.

  He took out his pocket notebook and jotted down the names and addresses. “I’ll look for records about these two folks, maybe call Shawn and get more names if he has them. Meanwhile, you go back to the Schultz place and tell Candace. Maybe she’d like to pay this one person a visit since they live in Mrs. Schultz’s neighborhood.”

  I said good-bye and left again, facing more questions from Candace once I arrived at the Schultz house.

  When she let me in, she said, “Why did it take you so long? I was worried. You and that Dr. Ross got chummy and I was afraid maybe whoever hurt her had their sights set on you, too.”

  “Sorry.” I went on to explain all that had happened in the short amount of time I was missing in action.

  Candace’s interest was certainly piqued. “Why don’t we pay this cat owner a visit?” Leaving me standing in the tiny foyer of Minnie’s home while she went to give B.J. instructions about what to take care of in her absence, I suddenly heard a little scratching noise. I looked to the ceiling, thinking maybe there were raccoons in the attic. This was a wooded neighborhood like my own. Raccoons can do some serious damage to a house.

  Then I realized where the noise was coming from—inside the hall closet. Not sure what I would find—a rat, a ’coon or even a possum that might have wandered inside when doors had been opened frequently during the last few days—I was careful to only crack the closet door.

  When I heard a pitiful meow, however, I flung the door open and knelt. A ginger Persian cat lay on the closet floor, one paw extended and touching the inner doorframe.

  I scooped him up and realized this was probably Minnie’s cat Simon, the one who had been unaccounted for. I sat on the floor with him in my lap, making sure he wasn’t injured. His mews grew louder as I stroked him, and when he struggled to get away, I clung tighter to him. I didn’t want him disappearing again. He stopped resisting when I stood and made my way to the kitchen. I ran into Candace, who had just emerged from the hall.