“Another cat? You have got to be kidding me.” She reached out and stroked the baby’s cheek. He began to purr.
“He was in the hall closet. He’s got to be starving,” I said.
Candace smiled at the hefty boy. “We had every door in this place opened and closed several times, especially on day one of the investigation. He was probably slinking around and no one noticed, then took refuge in that closet.”
She followed us into the kitchen and I asked her to find a dish and a can of cat food. I wasn’t putting this fella down until he had something to eat. Once this was accomplished, he had interest only in the food and chowed down voraciously.
I filled another bowl with water. Though I didn’t want to leave him, I really wanted to talk to this neighbor with the missing cat. Any cat in trouble was important to me. B.J., who has a cat and dog of his own, was quite happy to cat-sit Simon while we went around the block to the neighbor’s house. I got the feeling anything seemed better to him than numbering endless boxes.
Much to our surprise, Shawn’s pickup was parked in front of the address I’d noted on my smartphone. Candace pulled into the driveway so fast I had to hold on to the grip on the roof.
“This isn’t an emergency,” I muttered.
Candace heard me. “But Shawn’s here. He’s talking to a potential witness before I can get information first. I don’t like that.”
“Oh, I can tell.” I said this under my breath, but she must have a dog’s hearing.
“I heard that, too. Hurry up.”
I had to smile. Her intensity and dedication to her job were amazing. Who could stay irritated with a woman like that? Even if I’d nearly had my head slammed into the passenger window.
The man’s name was Ferris Humphrey and he greeted us with a smile so big he knew sunshine helped build strong bones and teeth—because the sun sure was shining on him in more ways than one. The cat he held in his arms was a brown tabby with green eyes.
I saw Shawn standing behind Ferris, also wearing a huge grin. This was the best part of his job.
“I’m Detective Carson with Mercy PD, Mr. Humphrey. Can I ask you a few questions?”
He stood aside to allow us to enter and kept staring at me. “You’re the police chief’s wife, right? The one who helps cats? Mr. Cuddahee was telling me about you.”
Shawn offered a shrug, palms up.
“That’s right. Jillian Hart. What a beautiful cat.” I wanted to pet this baby, but Mr. Humphrey was clinging to the cat so tightly, I thought better of it. This one, like the others, had been stressed mightily in the last few months.
We walked into a house with a layout similar to Minnie’s. But it was cluttered by so much furniture rather than by boxes that it seemed very different.
Shawn backed up and took a seat in a leather recliner. Two cups of coffee sat on the small table situated between the recliner and an easy chair. The men had apparently been chatting.
“What’s your kitty’s name?” I asked as Mr. Humphrey gestured toward matching brocade wing chairs opposite the recliners. A love seat in gaudy floral was parked against the front window.
“Princess.” He looked down at her with a doting smile and stroked her. The man was perhaps midsixties and bald with tufts of unruly silver fringe. Princess seemed to be getting restless in his arms, but he held fast to his recovered pet.
Candace sat on the edge of one wing chair and I eased into the other one. She took her smartphone from her shirt pocket and poised the stylus over the screen. “I’m glad you have your cat back, Mr. Humphrey. You must be so relieved.”
“Relieved isn’t the word.” He stared down adoringly at the cat. “But I think she’s a bit tired of me fawning over her.” He set the cat down and she scampered into the hallway. Ferris Humphrey had no South Carolina drawl. He sounded like a Yankee despite the Southern-sounding name. “How can I help? Because Shawn has been telling me that Minnie had other cats that didn’t belong to her. No surprise, though.”
“Why is that?” Candace asked after sending a withering look in Shawn’s direction.
“That awful animal control man answered Minnie’s door when I passed out flyers in the neighborhood right after Princess disappeared. He didn’t have to be so rude. I mean, I’d already told Chester Winston when I’d called animal control and reported Princess missing that I’d pay twice the recovery fee.”
Shawn’s eyebrows knitted and his smile faded to straight, tight lips. “What recovery fee?”
Candace held up her hand. “Shawn, I understand your passion for animals, but you’ve returned the cat. Perhaps you could leave now? I need to question Mr. Humphrey and—”
“I’m not leaving.” Shawn sat back, arms folded across his chest. “But I’ll be quiet—if that’s okay with Ferris.”
“You can move in if you want, I’m so thrilled you brought Princess home. You, my friend, are a hero.” Mr. Humphrey certainly looked more than happy and I would have felt the same way.
Shawn, true to his word, kept quiet as Candace questioned the man about this recovery fee, his relationship to Minnie Schultz and also if he had any knowledge about other pets going missing.
While he related that he didn’t know Minnie all that well, but that she used to take wonderful care of her garden and lawn up until about six months ago, Princess sauntered back into the room and jumped into my lap.
“You’re a cat person and she knows it,” Mr. Humphrey said. “She’s a very affectionate kitty, and since my wife died, she has been my saving grace.”
Candace said, “Did you see Chester Winston in the neighborhood often?”
“You mean the dead man? He made regular rounds in that prison on wheels he drove. But if he was questioning Minnie, that means he was onto her. If he’d lived long enough, perhaps I would have gotten Princess back several days ago.”
“Onto her?” I blurted. I quickly said I was sorry, that I’d keep my mouth shut.
“Thanks.” Candace’s tone indicated I wasn’t in as much trouble as Shawn, thank goodness. “You believe Mrs. Schultz stole your cat?”
“Of course she did,” Mr. Humphrey said. “Shawn informed me there were dozens of cats in her house and that they were probably also stolen. What was that woman doing? Or maybe she and the animal control man were splitting the recovery fees.”
Shawn flushed to his hairline. “That’s not what I said, Ferris. Mrs. Schultz is ill and—”
“Shawn? Please?” I could tell Candace was using up every ounce of what little patience she possessed.
He stood. “Maybe I should be going, but there’s one thing everyone in this room needs to know. The county does not charge a recovery fee for reuniting owners with lost pets. Your taxes pay for that.”
He stomped out, with Ferris hot on his trail. But Shawn was too fast for the older man and I heard him revving the engine of his truck and the squeal of his tires as he took off.
Eighteen
Ferris Humphrey could tell Candace little more than the gossip now making the neighborhood rounds that more than implied Minnie was a murderer. She set him straight and informed the man that she had been ruled out as the killer. Right before we left his place, he apologized profusely for misinterpreting Minnie’s involvement and said he would spread the word that she was innocent.
As we drove back to the Schultz house, Candace asked me to call Shawn and ask him not to visit any more of these owners who’d lost pets until she could at least speak with them over the phone.
“Can I wait on that? Knowing Shawn, he’ll need time to calm down.”
“Not for long. I don’t want him heading back to his shelter and making more phone calls. We’ll take charge of the list, and once Morris is done searching Chester’s office, he and Lois can start calling people.”
She opened Minnie’s front door and B.J. met us with Simon in his arms.
&
nbsp; “Maybe B.J. could make those calls?” I suggested. “Morris isn’t exactly an animal lover and Lois will be back at the hospital if she isn’t already.”
“Jillian, I don’t have to tell you that Morris is far more experienced in questioning witnesses. These supposedly lost pets and this whole recovery fee thing is a new angle. If need be, I’ll do it myself and Morris can take over box duty with B.J.”
B.J. looked like he’d been kissed by someone with the plague. Morris was a serious curmudgeon who had no patience for someone brand new at the job.
B.J.’s reaction didn’t go unnoticed. Candace said, “Okay, okay. We’ll work it out. After Jillian calls Shawn.” She turned my way and stared at me pointedly.
“I think this is a job for Superman.” I took out my cell and called Tom. After filling him in on what we’d learned and how upset Shawn was that he couldn’t reunite every cat with its owner within the next hour, he said, “I’ll have Shawn bring me the list and we can make the calls together. But this is an intriguing lead. Good work. May I speak with Candace for a second?”
I saw Candace blush and smile a tad at whatever Tom had said to her. He’d probably praised her for what had been uncovered with Shawn’s help. Then it was back to recording the contents of boxes, which was far less fun than anything I can remember in my recent life history.
We kept documenting retail purchases for hours, and finally I told Candace we should stop for the day. I couldn’t leave my kitties alone any longer.
“What about the extra cat?” she said.
Simon had followed us around the house and now, as we worked in the living room, he slept on a club chair we’d relieved of several boxes. I was pleased to see another one of my quilts protecting the chair from cat hair. Since I was the designated feline person, I happily volunteered to take Simon to the sanctuary so Shawn could check him out. “I’ll need a carrier, though I haven’t seen any. Maybe in the garage?”
B.J. said, “I saw quite a few stacked in the basement the day we started searching.”
I groaned. “Oh no. Does that mean there are more boxes down there?”
“Nope,” Candace said. “And that strikes me as odd. The basement is big enough to have handled three-quarters of this stuff. Storing all the merchandise upstairs tells me the contents of these boxes might have been headed elsewhere.”
Her wheels were turning but mine definitely were not. I felt drained. “I’ll get one of those carriers and be on my way. My kitty amigos might make me pay for being gone so long yet again.”
The basement was as tidy as Minnie probably had kept the upstairs before Chester came into her life. I noticed a shelf full of home-canned peaches and tomatoes. There were also several cat boxes filled with litter. She had a Litter Genie and I stopped to clean the one box Simon had probably been using. Then I made my way past them to where cat carriers were neatly stacked against one wall. I wondered exactly when Chester had latched onto Minnie. Though the boxes we’d searched upstairs had been addressed to her, with all the invoices inside naming her as the buyer, we all suspected this was somehow Chester’s doing—that he had convinced a confused woman she needed all sorts of tech stuff, televisions and small appliances. But to what end? Candace suspected he planned on selling it and that seemed like the only logical explanation.
I grabbed one of the larger carriers and made my way back upstairs. I set it on the kitchen floor and opened the top door, readying it for an unwilling traveler. I wasn’t sure there was a cat on the planet who enjoyed being crated. Just then, the doorbell rang.
I heard Candace’s footsteps cross the hardwood floor in the living room—the polished hardwood uncovered after we’d rearranged the boxes we’d searched to allow us to move freely. Since crime scene tape still surrounded the yard I wondered if Captain Osborne had returned. Who else would dare to interrupt a police investigation?
I hung back in the kitchen doorframe but had a good view of the front door. Yes, I was as curious as my cats.
“Is Chester here?” came a man’s voice.
“I’m Detective Carson. What’s your business with Mr. Winston?”
I stepped quietly into the living room and saw B.J. leaning against the entry to the bedroom hallway. He was interested, too.
The young man, who was maybe in his early twenties with shaggy, dirty blond hair, held up his hands. His eyes were trained on the gun at Candace’s waist. “I’ll come back. I’ll—”
“You’ll stay right where you are,” Candace said. “Name?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” the guy said.
“No one said you did. And that’s a very strange name.” Candace took his forearm and pulled him inside. “Let’s chat.” She kicked the door closed with her foot and, still hanging on to his arm, led him into the living room.
“Hey, you can’t do that,” the guy said, shaking free of her grasp.
“But I did. See, here’s the thing. You can’t cross a police barrier, and the fact that you did tells me a lot about you. For instance, you’re not afraid and you don’t care if you break the rules. What kind of person is that, Mr. . . . ? Oh, that’s right. Mr. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“The crime scene tape was already broke and I was curious, is all. What’s going on here?”
Candace stared him straight in the eye. “I’ll ask the questions. What’s your name?”
“Joshua Meyers.” The young man’s gaze darted around the room at the boxes.
“Okay, Joshua Meyers. Why are you looking for Mr. Winston here? This isn’t his residence.”
As Candace spoke, B.J. had quietly come all the way into the room. He made his way past Candace and Meyers, taking a spot so he could guard the front door.
“He told me this was where I could pick up my order. I already paid him half, and I want my order.”
“So, stepping over crime scene tape was worth whatever you paid him? Even though it was obvious that officers were on the premises?” Candace’s tone was more measured, less abrasive. There was information to be had, and her tough attitude might not get her what she now wanted.
“I paid him a lot, so yeah.”
“How much?”
“A thousand.”
“And that was half?” she said.
Was Chester Winston running a store out of Minnie’s house? How did that happen? But then, her mental state had made her ripe for exploitation.
Meyers was nodding. “Bargain prices for headphones and smartphones. Do you know how much those go for?”
“If I run your name, I won’t find any priors, will I, Joshua?”
Meyers flushed. “Minor possession. A few speeding tickets. But I swear, that’s all.”
“Nothing like receiving stolen goods?” She sounded deceptively sweet now, pleased that this idiot had rung the doorbell.
“No. I swear. Would I come here if I thought this stuff was stolen?” Meyers glanced around the room again, but this time I didn’t believe he was looking for his merchandise.
“You forgot the part about me asking the questions.” She looked over Joshua’s shoulder at B.J. “Joshua, you and I and Deputy Henderson are taking a trip to my . . . office.”
Joshua backed up and nearly ran into B.J. “Whoa. You can’t do that.”
“There you go again with the memory problems. Remember the part about crossing a police barrier?”
He swore under his breath.
Candace looked at me. “Would you mind taking care of the cat and locking up?” She pulled the keys from her pocket and tossed them to me. “Give those to Tom tonight.”
I sure hoped he’d be home, but if not, I’d take the keys down to the station this evening.
Once they were gone, I picked up Simon and put him in the carrier, which he treated like an act of betrayal by meowing so loudly I was sure they could hear him down the block.
; Turned out, this sweet, loving boy quieted as soon as I started the engine. When I arrived at the sanctuary, Shawn recognized him right away, but scanned his microchip to make sure this was indeed Minnie’s cat. He also checked to see if Simon might be dehydrated after hiding for three days, but he was fine. He’d probably been hiding under beds and chairs or even down in the basement before hunkering down in the closet.
Problem was, Shawn had no room to keep Simon and so he came home with me. I could now be considered Mercy’s newest cat collector. How would the new fur friend be greeted? I would soon find out.
On the way home, I thought about the conversation Shawn and I just had concerning the cats who were chipped and who had owners in the area. He told me that after e-mailing the list to Tom, he made calls to a few owners out of curiosity—no surprise there—and the story was the same every time: that darned fake recovery fee. Looked like Chester was a crook in more ways than one, charging people a hundred dollars each to reclaim their beloved cats.
What did Minnie have to do with this scheme? I couldn’t imagine her willingly participating—that is, unless she had been convinced by Chester that it was all on the up and up. It wasn’t, of course, but in her state of mind, she might well have believed anything the man told her.
Nineteen
Bringing Simon into a house with five cats already in residence proved more difficult than I’d imagined. Since so many cats had been in Minnie’s place, I believed this would have been a smooth introduction. The hissing game started the minute I walked in the back door with yet another feline in tow.
Maybe my crew had just about all they could take. How could I blame them? I’d been absent for three days running, and during that time, they’d had to put up with a very energetic Otto. My absence meant little petting or conversation—both of which were quite important to my kitties. Since marrying Tom, I had become a homebody for the most part, having given up many of my craft show attendances. Instead, I did almost twice as much quilting and sold everything from home. My projects were selling online just fine. And my feline friends enjoyed this change.
The Cat, the Collector and the Killer Page 13