Syrah gave me the cold shoulder when I arrived home. Though the other three cats were happy to greet me, he sauntered into the living room. I had been a poor kitty mom—that’s for sure.
I checked Dashiell’s blood sugar before doling out treats, but my guess was he’d probably been sleeping most of the day. Sure enough, his blood sugar was perfect. I then went into the living room and sat on the couch, hoping Syrah would get over his snit. It didn’t take long, especially when I tempted him with a catnip mouse on a wand. It was his favorite toy and we sat on the floor and played for a good twenty minutes.
The other cats knew better than to interrupt Syrah’s playtime. They waited for their turn. Merlot was more of a bush cat, which meant he liked lying low, hiding and pouncing. Syrah was a tree cat. He preferred high spots—like the top of the entertainment center—and he was also quite the jumper. As for Dashiell, he was getting on in years, but did pay close attention to what the other cats were doing. Chablis preferred lap time to playtime any day. She curled up on my legs as I teased the other cats with toys.
Once they tired of all this, I went downstairs. Simon and Otto had eaten every bite of their kibble. I refilled their bowls and decided after they ate, I’d try to integrate Simon upstairs. Maybe Dashiell would be mellower now.
I left them to their food, making sure to close the door to the cat room or Dashiell would find his way down and steal their meal. I was mounting the stairs when I heard the doorbell ring.
My good friends never ring the front bell, so I was curious. Who could be calling on me? My stomach growled as I made my way to the front door. That lunch at Minnie’s house had been a long time ago.
Merlot and Syrah followed me to the front door and sat waiting to satisfy their curiosity. I looked through the peephole just as Lydia Monk pressed the doorbell again. Someone was standing directly behind her. What was this about? Did I have the energy to deal with her and her companion right now?
But like my cats, curiosity got the better of me. I opened the door.
As usual, Lydia marched past me. She waved her cohort to come right in as if she owned the place. I hadn’t even uttered a word of welcome. Harris Schultz at least made eye contact—and I noticed the whites of his eyes were bloodshot and most of his shoulder-length hair had escaped the elastic he used to hold it back. His lids were so heavy I guessed he was exhausted.
“Come right in,” I mumbled as I followed them into my living room.
“Watch out for the cats,” Lydia said. “Especially the sneaky one with the big ears. He’s vicious.”
She was talking about Syrah, who was far from vicious, but who took great delight in tormenting Lydia when she visited here.
“Um, have a seat.” I gestured at the sofa.
“Just know you’ll be covered in cat hair by the time you leave here,” Lydia told Harris as the two sat side by side. She added an extra dose of snide as she said this.
I took the overstuffed chair across from them.
Syrah, I noted, was already eyeing the fringe on Lydia’s eggplant-colored tunic top worn over patterned leggings.
Dashiell had taken a keen interest in Harris’s pant leg and was sniffing it almost like the guy had filled his rolled-up jeans cuff with catnip. Approaching a stranger so quickly was unusual for him. Merlot stretched out between the sofa and my chair, almost as if he was creating a barrier between us. But that barrier already existed in the form of Lydia’s hostility. I’d never done a thing to her—not once. But I had married Tom. Lydia still clung to the delusion that he was her soul mate.
Since I hoped this visit would end quickly, I didn’t offer them anything to drink. Glancing between them, I said, “What can I do for you?”
Lydia said, “This young man needs assistance since he believes the police suspect him of harming Chester Winston. Tom is apparently too busy to take my calls and because Harris tells me he invoked his right to a lawyer—he is an intelligent young man—I’m here to find out what the heck is going on.”
“Why do you think I can help?” This was the most messed-up thing Lydia had done since I’d first met her. What was she doing helping a murder suspect? She wasn’t a lawyer or a victim’s advocate, last I heard. How had Harris Schultz ended up talking to her?
I wondered then if Tom truly believed Harris was a suspect. I had no idea. What would be his motive to harm Chester? Obviously I didn’t know everything about the investigation and that was as it should be. So should I even engage in this conversation? But if Harris talked to me, I could at least relay information to Tom. I looked straight into Harris’s eyes. “How did you end up talking to the coroner’s investigator?”
“Lydia came to the hospital and—”
She put a hand on his arm. “I’ll do the talking.” She leaned toward me, unaware that Syrah was watching every tiny movement of her tunic. “Since no one is telling me anything to help me file my reports, I went to the hospital to speak with that woman who owned the house where the crime occurred.”
“But surely Harris told you Minnie can’t talk to you. She’s very ill.” I sounded as incredulous as I felt.
“How was I supposed to know that when I went there?” she shot back. “Like I said, no one is telling me anything. I need information to do my job and—”
“To do what part of your job?” I asked.
“Just like you, I was at the scene of the crime—only I had a right to be there. It wasn’t Chester’s house. What was he doing there? Has Tom located the murder weapon? What does Harris’s mother have to do with this? Does Acting Police Chief Stewart believe she could have killed Chester?” She turned to look at Harris. “Does that about sum it all up?”
“I—I . . . don’t really know,” he replied. “I believe I did tell you that things were off with Mama for months.” He reached down to pet Dashiell, but our tabby cat took one sniff of Harris’s hand and hurried off.
“Has the autopsy been done?” I asked. “That would answer questions about the cause of death so you can do the death certificates. That is what you do, and as far as I know, cause of death to this point shouldn’t be discussed with Harris.”
“You have no idea all that goes into me performing my duties or what I can say to whoever I want. When there is a disturbing death, all of those affected parties are included in my investigation.” She leaned back and the tassels moved so much that Syrah leapt onto her lap and latched onto the tunic hem.
Lydia stood, trying to push Syrah off, but his claws were caught in the fabric.
Before I could even bridge the gap between us to protect my cat, Harris made the huge mistake of grabbing Syrah from behind. My boy turned and bit his hand before taking off and racing away into the kitchen.
While Lydia muttered angrily and examined her hem, Harris clutched his bleeding hand.
“Let me help you with that. And for future reference, never come at a cat from behind—especially one who doesn’t know you.” I took him by the elbow as he stared at his own blood in horror. It wasn’t much blood, but it obviously upset him.
I led him into the kitchen and put his hand under warm water and gently rubbed a little soap into the wound. I whispered, “What are you doing with her?”
“I don’t know.” He couldn’t take his eyes off his hand. “There were things at the house in boxes and she asked if they belonged to me. She said she heard the items were things a young guy might have ordered and had shipped to my mother’s house. Expensive things like cell phones. I’m low on cash and I thought maybe my mother had come to her senses and—”
“Wait a minute. She told you what was in those boxes?”
“What are you two talking about?” It was Lydia, who was obviously unaware that now both Merlot and Syrah were interested in those tassels. Their eyes didn’t waver from her.
I had this secret wish that Syrah would jump onto her shoulder and hang on, maybe play
with that rhinestone barrette holding back her hair on one side. That would make her leave.
Harris closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of what seemed like relief. “It’s stopped bleeding. Thank God it’s stopped.”
I glanced at him and saw he’d gone pale as Elmer’s Glue. “Are you bothered by the sight of blood?”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “I did pretty good this time. I didn’t faint. Used to faint when I was a kid.” He offered me a smile. All the sullenness I’d seen at the hospital had faded. Harris Schultz had become a little boy right before my eyes.
I said, “Is Henry like this, too?”
His left eye twitched and I saw his features tighten at the mention of his brother. “We’re way more alike than people think. Yeah. Same thing for him.”
“Do you have a Band-Aid?” Lydia said. “I mean, come on, Jillian. We don’t have all day.”
I pointed behind Lydia. “You still have kitties quite interested in what you’re wearing.”
She turned and stomped a foot in their direction, but neither of my boys moved. They just sat there looking up at her. Meanwhile, Chablis and Dashiell watched the action from the window seat, and if a cat could have looked amused, I’d say that was Dashiell’s expression. Chablis simply seemed bored. She’d seen all this before.
While Lydia kept trying to shoo away the cats, I took the antibiotic ointment and a Band-Aid from my first aid basket in the pantry and fixed Harris up.
He held up his hand and examined my work, then smiled at me. “Thanks. It doesn’t really hurt. But blood? I can’t take the sight of it.”
“What are you? Twelve?” Lydia, more irritated with the cats than with him, no doubt, made the mistake of taking it out on Harris, the person she’d used as an excuse to find out what I knew about the investigation.
Harris didn’t like it. “At least I’m not a walking fashion disaster.”
Her eyes widened and the hostility she felt for me seemed to be transferred to Harris Schultz now.
Worried that a war of words might break out, I said, “Why are you really here, Lydia?”
“I am supposed to be informed about this case so I can pass that information along to the coroner. I repeat, no one is talking to me.”
“You decided I could tell you something?” I said. “I’m not a police officer.”
“Lydia told me that since you were married to the police chief, you knew things. If my mother bought me and my brother gifts, they belong to us, right? Because I am getting super low on cash and—”
“Are you saying you want to sell things from your mother’s home? I don’t think the police will hand over evidence.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized my mistake.
Lydia leaned on my kitchen counter and smiled, her mauve lipstick jarring against her white teeth. The shade didn’t suit her tanning salon complexion. It made her look more clownish than usual. “So, this merchandise I’m hearing about, the items in all those boxes I saw? It’s considered evidence?”
“Why don’t you wait for Tom to return your call, Lydia? He will eventually.” I wanted desperately to get off the topic of what I’d seen in the house. “When is that autopsy, by the way? You do all the scheduling, if I remember right.”
“It already happened earlier today. But if you think I’m telling you anything about it, you’re wrong. Come on, Harris. Let’s go.”
She whirled and stomped toward the foyer, but Syrah got in one last swipe and came away with the tassel he’d had his eye on earlier. He marched proudly in the opposite direction toward the mud room, the purple tassel clutched between his teeth.
Twenty-five
I’d fallen asleep on the sofa again, surrounded by cats. That’s where Tom found me after he came in through the back door. I’d even managed to bring Simon and Otto upstairs and the transition, though not without hissing and a little swiping at Simon on Dashiell’s part, had gone better than I expected.
“Look who’s the crazy cat lady now,” Tom said as six pairs of sleepy eyes—seven if you counted mine—stared up at him.
I eased Chablis off my chest and sat up, trying hard not to disturb Otto, who had chosen a spot between my knees. “It’s quite the crew. What time is it?”
“Past midnight. I hear you had visitors. I called Lydia earlier and she said she was just driving away from our house. Is that true?”
“For sure. She brought Harris Schultz with her. I will never figure that woman out, but I guess she thought his presence would make me open up about all the things we’ve found at Minnie’s place. Apparently word leaked out about the contents of those boxes.”
Tom picked Otto up and I moved my legs so he could sit next to me. He held the sleepy boy to his chest. “This town is a leaky bucket of information. The autopsy was finished today, but Lydia apparently needed to hear me ask politely for the report before she’d send it to me.”
“Did you learn anything you didn’t know?”
“Not really. Blunt force trauma. As for other evidence, the fingerprints on the empty litter pail we found near Chester’s body came back to Mrs. Schultz. I’m guessing she saw all that blood and believed she needed to clean it up like I’d clean up an oil spill in the garage. Litter absorbs all sorts of things. Who knew a brain tumor could make her behave in ways she’d probably never done before?”
“Seeing that body and all the blood could have triggered her trip down Main Street with Otto,” I said.
He nodded. “My theory is she saw a dead man and it scared her out of the house, but we can’t ask her, can we? I talked to that shrink’s brother when I went to the hospital to speak to Minnie’s sons. Did you know he’s a doctor, too?”
“I did. He’s such a nice man and so concerned about Brenda.”
“I agree. Anyway, I tapped his doctor brain about Minnie and asked if he thought she’d remember anything about the crime—because I’m guessing she was there when Chester was murdered.”
I stroked Chablis, who was now fully awake and nudging my hand for petting. Then she spotted Otto asleep on Tom’s chest and decided the kitten needed a thorough cleaning. She actually pulled him down to Tom’s lap and started licking him all over. “What was Peyton’s opinion about Minnie’s memory returning?” I asked this even though I’d already heard the answer. Tom needed to work through this case by talking as much as possible.
“The brain isn’t his specialty, but his educated guess was that her memory wouldn’t be reliable. We probably have an eyewitness to a murder who won’t be able to tell us anything.”
“Just seeing all that blood would have wiped my memory. And speaking of blood, Syrah bit Harris Schultz and—”
“What?” Tom stared at me as if I had two heads.
“I know. Not very Syrah-like, but he grabbed Syrah from behind and got bitten as a reward. Anyway, Harris had a small puncture wound on his hand and the guy nearly passed out at the sight of his own blood—and it was like a few drops, Tom. Not some gaping wound.”
His puzzled look turned to realization almost immediately. “Oh. Not the type to go bashing a person over the head with a heavy object if he’s afraid of a little blood. That’s not exactly proof of his innocence, but I see your point. If Mrs. Schultz has the same problem, it could explain why she poured kitty litter on Chester’s body.”
I nodded. “Could be. According to Harris, Henry Schultz has the same issue. And get this. Lydia heard about what we found in the boxes at Minnie’s house and generously shared that information with Harris—and maybe others. That was her excuse for bringing him with her when she came to visit. He had questions about whether his mother bought any of that stuff for him.”
Tom released a sigh laden with frustration. “Why would Lydia, someone who’s been trained to follow procedure at a crime scene, do something like that?”
“I don’t know. It baffled me for sure. Anyway, Harris was pra
ctically salivating over the contents of those packages. He mentioned more than once that he’s low on cash.”
“You think? He hasn’t had a job since he graduated from college with a degree in Spanish. Someone with that kind of skill could be a teacher or a translator. He could do something.”
“Spanish? Wow. What about Henry? Does he work?” I asked.
“He’s a banker, or rather a bank teller. But he does have a finance degree, so maybe this will help him climb the ladder. He and Harris live together, and from what I determined when I interviewed Henry, he’s tired of his freeloading brother.”
“Henry talked? He didn’t lawyer up like Harris did?”
“Henry seemed to understand I was only interviewing him, not getting ready to arrest him. If Harris laid off the weed, he probably wouldn’t have been so paranoid.”
“Ah. He did look out of it when he was here. If he’s broke, how does he afford marijuana?” I asked.
“Maybe’s he broke because he can’t afford it. But users always seem to find a way to get what they want. We’re trying to follow a lot of money trails—and how Chester is connected. All I know is, I could smell Harris Schultz coming a mile away.”
Then I remembered Dashiell sniffing at his jeans. “Oh. Is that why Dashiell was so interested in Harris’s clothing? And here I thought maybe the guy had stashed catnip in his rolled-up jeans. Silly me.”
Tom squeezed me closer. “You always imagine the innocent explanation first.” Then I felt Tom tense and he sat up. “Wait a minute. I’m always so quick to dog on Lydia, but what if she’s the innocent one this time?”
“What are you talking about, Tom?”
“Did you actually hear her say she told Harris about the stuff in Mrs. Schultz’s house?”
I tried to recall what had transpired today and found the details fuzzy at best. “I’m not sure, Tom. It seemed as if Lydia thought the way to get information about the case was to bring one of Minnie’s children here and somehow that would make me tell her things you supposedly told me. Ridiculous, I know, but Lydia is not known for being normal.”
The Cat, the Collector and the Killer Page 18