The Cat, the Mill and the Murder: A Cats in Trouble Mystery

by Leann Sweeney

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Been better,” he said. “These haven’t been my finest days. Chief’s pissed at me, Candace is pissed and we got an old body and a fresh one. I’m thinkin’ I’m gettin’ too old for this.”

  “Mistakes were made, man,” Tom said. “Cops make them sometimes.”

  “Our quota of mistakes should be lower than civilians’ and you know it,” Morris said. “At any rate, I’m gonna make this right before I retire. I let Jeannie Sloan and her daughter down with bad police work ten years ago. That ain’t happenin’ again. And havin’ said that, I’ll back my car out and let you go, Jillian.”

  He moved slowly, as if his joints hurt, and I wanted to tell him that I believed in him, grouchy old guy or not. But he was already behind the wheel of the patrol car. I gave Tom a quick kiss and went to my van. A few minutes later I was on my way to the county hospital.

  I stopped and bought a vase of white roses in the gift shop before I made my way up to Jeannie’s room. No sign of Boots this morning, so perhaps she’d decided her work was done. I kind of miss her, I thought as I entered Jeannie’s room.

  A woman in dark blue scrubs was checking Jeannie’s blood pressure while another woman in turquoise scrubs stood beside her, stabbing the screen of a computer tablet.

  Jeannie’s eyes were closed.

  “Is she all right?” I whispered.

  The woman in turquoise turned to me. I read L. REED, RN on the picture ID hanging from a lanyard around her neck. “She’s fine. She had her first time sitting up and it was tiring,” she said. “Are you the Kay Ellen she keeps asking for?”

  I walked across the room and set the roses down on the windowsill, saying, “No. I’m a friend.”

  The lady in dark blue—who had JODY and MEDICAL TECHNICIAN on her picture ID—smiled at me. “She’ll be glad to see a friendly face. What’s your name?”

  “Jillian Hart. But I can come another time. She needs her rest and—”

  “Please don’t leave,” the nurse said. “She’ll heal faster with the support of friends.” She then touched Jeannie’s shoulder and said, “Miss Sloan, your friend Jillian has come to visit.”

  Slowly Jeannie’s eyes opened. I saw her wince and glance down at her left side, but then she looked around and settled on me with a surprisingly bright look. “Ah. Where’s Boots, then?”

  The aide placed the call button close to Jeannie’s hand. “Remember, Miss Sloan. You press this and one of us will come help you, okay?”

  Jeannie nodded and the two women left.

  “Did she come with you?” Jeannie asked, twisting to raise herself so she could see past me.

  “Let me help you,” I said. I showed her the controls on the bed rail and how she could raise her head up.

  “This is some fancy bed, huh?” she said. “Clean sheets, too.”

  The idea that this woman’s spirit would be buoyed by a hospital bed and clean sheets made my heart ache. “I brought you flowers. I hope you like roses.” I pointed toward the window.

  Jeannie smiled broadly at what she saw. “I do. And so does Boots. She might eat those petals if we let her stay on that windowsill. Thanks for bringing her.”

  Strange, but now I can’t see the cat and Jeannie can. If Boots decided to stay here, I was sure it would help Jeannie recover more quickly. Listen to yourself, Jillian. This ghost cat has you convinced she’s real.

  “I heard you sat up,” I said, dragging over a chair and placing it at her bedside.

  “I did.” She glanced up at her IV tubing. “The medicine they put in this here tube makes it not hurt. Okay, not hurt much.”

  “I’m amazed. You’ll be walking before you know it,” I said.

  “Today, they said,” she replied. “And I’ll be needin’ to walk if I want to get back home. That’s a holy place, you know. It’s my job to protect it.”

  “Protect what?” I asked.

  “They was my Kay Ellen’s bones, right?” Jeannie said. “I was sure she was there, been knowin’ she went to a better place all these years. When they prove my spit matches her bones, I’ll need to go back and watch over her spirit.”

  She’d recalled the visit from Candace and me—but she had no clue the bones would be moved. She would find out soon enough, and I wasn’t about to upset her while she was fresh out of surgery, so I said, “We can figure that all out later. I was wondering about the night you fell. Do you remember what happened?”

  “Them creepers again,” she said. “Always sneakin’ around. I used to shove the desk up against the door so they wouldn’t come in where I stayed. They mean to do harm, them creepers.”

  “But you weren’t in…the place you lived when we found you. You were out in the mill,” I said.

  She glanced at the window and smiled. “I was look-in’ for silly Boots. Wasn’t sure if one of the stray cats got hold of her or what. And then I heard them. The creepers. So I started to run back to my place and I fell.”

  “Have you ever seen the creepers?” I asked.

  “Nope. Just hear ’em. They’s always pulling up boards, tearing at plaster. At least that’s what it sounds like they’s doin’. Hard to see much of anything in that old place once they bricked up the windows.”

  “You remember them bricking the windows?” I said.

  “I was just a kid. Mama and Daddy brought me to work with ’em and I ran errands and stuff for the workers. One day Mr. Ward Stanley himself comes and says they was gonna make the place better with nice cool air. But they took away the sunshine to do it.” She shook her head. “I thought it was a sad day that we couldn’t look out and see the sun and the trees.”

  “You worked in the mill from the time you were a child, then?” I said, thinking she was speaking not about the Ward Stanley I’d met, but probably his father.

  She nodded. “Stayed on, too. Worked there until they closed the place up. But I didn’t want my Kay Ellen to be without the sunshine her whole life. She was gonna go to the kinda school they let you go after high school. She had dreams, my Kay Ellen. Big dreams.”

  A lump formed in my throat and I slid my fingers between the bed rails and took Jeannie’s hand. “But you said you understand she’s gone, right?”

  “Like I said, I was knowin’ that way back when, not that anyone would listen. So I had to protect her restin’ place.” She said this so matter-of-factly, it struck me then that this was a woman who followed a path she’d felt destined to follow, who had a child she needed to protect even in death.

  No, I most certainly couldn’t mention they had to move Kay Ellen’s remains. Telling Jeannie about what was happening would have to wait. So I decided to get back to her life inside the mill.

  “How long have you been living in that old office?” I said.

  “Don’t know. Long time. Once I figured out where Kay Ellen was goin’ the night she disappeared, I went there. And then I knew I’d found her. Felt it—here.” She tapped her chest with her free hand.

  “How did you figure out where she went?” I asked.

  “I found the boy. The one Kay Ellen fancied. He told me.” Her lips tightened into a line and she nodded curtly. “Yup. Soon as I walked into Mr. Stanley’s old office, I knew I’d found my girl.”

  “This boy? You didn’t say anything about him to Deputy Ebeling, did you?” I asked.

  “The policeman kept sayin’ she ran off and I wasn’t thinkin’ about this boy. Besides, they wasn’t about to do nothin’. I was from the village, see?”

  “So you knew who this kid was?” I said, wondering why she’d never told anyone.

  “When I remembered the name, I went to see him. He felt shame, that boy,” Jeannie said. “Told me his mama and daddy would throw him out if they heard he liked my Kay Ellen. And he was afraid, too.”

  “Afraid of what?” I said.

  “That Morris Ebeling would come after him. Blame it all on him,” she said.

  “Blame him for Kay Ellen’s disappearance?” I sa
id.

  “I guess. I could see Morris Ebeling doin’ that, too. He always wanted the easy answer.” I heard bitterness in her voice for the first time.

  “But maybe this boy did hurt her,” I said gently.

  She shook her head vehemently. “Nope. I could tell he never done nothin’ to my girl. He was tore up. Brokenhearted. Just like me. I knew where my girl was. I went to the mill and was with her again. That was all I wanted.”

  “What’s the boy’s name?” I said.

  She stared straight ahead. “I promised I’d never say. And I keep my word. Don’t want to bring shame on the boy—and he would be shamed because one of his kind loved a mill girl.”

  Before I could press Jeannie further about this important piece of information, I heard cheerful hellos coming from the door. I turned and saw Pastor Mitch and Elizabeth come into the room.

  Jeannie turned her face away from them, but at that instant, I saw Boots—yes, saw her again—jump on Jeannie’s stomach. She was so surprised and so happy, the sulky attitude brought on by these new visitors disappeared. She let go of my hand and rested it on Boots’s back.

  The Trumans stood at the end of the bed, their smiles genuine and caring.

  Jeannie looked at me. “You the one told ’em I was here?”

  I nodded.

  “Guess it’s okay then.” She lifted her eyes and took in the pastor and his wife. “We’re over our troubles?”

  “We are,” the pastor said, his bald head gleaming under the fluorescent lights in the hospital room.

  Elizabeth opened the tote bag slung over her left arm and pulled out a multicolored afghan. “Remember Cora? She made this, wants you to be comforted by her handwork.”

  Jeannie’s eyes widened like a child at Christmas. “That’s for me?”

  Elizabeth spread it over Jeannie’s feet. Immediately Boots scooted down to the end of the bed and curled up.

  Jeannie glanced my way. “Did you see that?”

  Before I even knew what I was doing, I smiled and nodded.

  “See what?” Pastor Mitch said.

  I could feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Nothing. What else do you have there?” I said to Elizabeth, who was pulling a tin out of her bag now.

  “My lemon cookies.” Elizabeth walked over and set them on the small table beside the bed. “For when you’re ready to eat.” Then she came in close to the older woman and took Jeannie’s face in her hands. “I missed you, Jeannie Sloan. The Lord has missed you in his house of prayer, too.”

  I stood. “I’ll leave y’all to visit.” I looked at Jeannie. “But I’ll be back.”

  I left quickly after saying good-bye, a mix of emotions swelling in my chest—and thoughts about what she had told me swirling in my brain.

  Who was this boy? We had to find out.

  Twenty

  Driving home, I received a call from Kara. She wanted me to meet her at Belle’s Beans. Neither of us said anything about the events of the last two days, but I was sure that was what she wanted to talk about. I never passed on an opportunity to have coffee with Kara, and no matter what she wanted to talk about, today was no different.

  When I walked into Belle’s thirty minutes later and the smell of fresh-made coffee and baked goods hit me, I felt tension leave my body. Funny how the comfort of food and drink can reduce stress better than any drug. It worked almost as well as a cat on my lap.

  Kara was sitting at a back corner table and when I started for the counter to order a latte, she gestured for me to come over. I saw then that she’d ordered for me. I waved at the “Belle of the Day” barista behind the counter and bypassed her. Belle Lowry, who owned the place, had every barista wear a BELLE nametag—no matter what the barista’s gender. This was her special way of advertising.

  After I kissed Kara on the cheek, I slid onto a stool opposite her and said, “Thanks for the coffee.” I pulled off my gloves and stuffed them in my pocket. It was chilly in here—or I’d brought the chill with me—so I kept my jacket on.

  “Vanilla latte for you,” she said.

  “Thanks. Just what I need.” I gripped the tall paper cup with both hands and enjoyed the warmth.

  “We’ve passed on the road twice in the last few days, so I thought we should sit down for a talk,” she said. “This is not for publication in the Messenger. I’m just concerned about you. I heard you found Penelope Webber’s body.”

  “I did. Pretty awful, I have to say.” I picked up my latte and sipped the rich milk and vanilla-laced coffee. Belle used Madagascar vanilla and this made the drink a customer favorite.

  “You okay after such a horrible discovery? You sure look tired,” Kara said.

  “Didn’t sleep well after all the trouble last night,” I said. “Plus I’ve already been to the hospital this morning.”

  “To the county hospital? Why?” she said.

  “It’s kind of a long story—one you might want to write about after the police are ready to release information. For now, it’s just the two of us talking.” I stared into her brown eyes—the ones so like her father’s—and I saw her concern. She wouldn’t print anything until she knew the time was right.

  Kara glanced around the café. Since it was now late morning, the place wasn’t too crowded. “Just keep your voice down while you tell me what’s going on. There are plenty of ears in this town ready to share gossip with the first person they see.”

  “I know.” I leaned on the table to get closer to her and, in a low voice, explained about Jeannie and the skeleton. I talked about everything that had gone on since the day before yesterday.

  When I was finished, Kara sat back, her eyes wide. “Wow. I heard rumblings about bones in the mill. I was sure they’d find out it was some animal that died in there a long time ago. But this is the first I’ve heard about this Jeannie person.”

  “I’m glad her reappearance isn’t part of the town gossip talk yet,” I said. “I sure hope she’s left alone once people do know.”

  “The murder of Penelope Webber has grabbed the spotlight,” Kara said. “She was well-known, but finding any extended family has been difficult. I know because I tried so I could get a quote for the paper. I think that’s sad.”

  “Her house is so big. I thought she at least had out-of-town family—maybe even children,” I said.

  “Word on the street is she never married and never had children,” Kara said. “B.J. told me they’re looking into a sister who might live on the West Coast but I sure couldn’t find her. A stabbing is so personal—I mean you always hear that, right? The murderer in those kinds of cases is usually someone the victim knows well.”

  “Her door was unlocked—as though she’d let her killer in,” I said. “That’s another clue she knew who murdered her. Someone who was very angry, in my opinion.”

  “I’ve been covering this mill renovation story,” she said, “and the two groups vying for the…let’s call it the prize, don’t seem to like each other too well.”

  “I noticed that when I met them yesterday,” I said. “They sure seem to have different visions for the mill’s future.”

  “I agree,” she said. “Ward Stanley seems a little desperate—as if he wants vindication for the bankruptcy, for the loss of jobs and for the stain on the community that mill has become.”

  “But wouldn’t you say it’s more self-serving than altruistic?” I asked. “Seems to me he’s trying to save face rather than save the town.”

  “Yup,” she said. “I’ve been at every town council meeting. I mean, how many jobs will a condo project create in the long run? Sure you’ll have the renovators and contractors. And the bank will be happy if they can loan out mortgage money. But the urban village group will do the same and provide jobs for shop owners and museum keepers, and they plan to rent out a large common area for banquets and weddings.”

  I smiled. “I see which way you’re leaning. But we don’t get a vote. This is private money coming in. Either idea would work.”


  “Condos don’t draw tourists,” she said. “This town needs something new like the urban village, so yes, I’m hoping their investment group wins.”

  I took another long drink of my coffee. “Seems wrong to be talking about these projects when Penelope was the one leading the debate. Do you think her death might have been connected to these plans for Mercy’s future?”

  She cocked her head, her long dark hair blanketing her left shoulder. “I hadn’t thought about it—hadn’t had time to think about it. But there are people in this town who want everything to stay the same—that run-down mill included.”

  “Mill villagers or town people?” I asked.

  “Hmm. Good question,” Kara said. “I know next to nothing about the mill villagers and how they feel about living in the shadow of a decaying structure. If I lived there, I’d want it cleaned up. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d have to put myself in their shoes,” I said. “Their neighborhood would change. More traffic, more strangers around no matter which project goes forward. Change isn’t an easy thing for many folks and there would be plenty of change.”

  Kara rested her chin on her fist. “Would killing Penelope Webber stop the mill cleanup from going forward, though? I mean, the state’s mill renovation legislation with tax breaks for places like Mercy makes it pretty darn sweet to clean up that mess across town.”

  I had a thought then. A dark thought. Lowering my voice to barely a whisper I said, “What if her murder is about kickbacks? What if Penelope favored one project over another? What if that made someone very, very angry?”

  Kara nodded. “You know what? You could be right. My investigative journalism background could come in handy here. I sniffed out plenty of political backroom deals back when I was a reporter in Houston. I can do it again.”

  I felt my face drain of color. “How many of those investigations involved vicious murders? Now I wish I’d never even talked with you about this.”

  Kara reached across the table and gripped my forearm. “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”