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

by Leann Sweeney

  “I’m betting Penelope Webber thought the same thing.”

  * * *

  Unsettled by the determination I’d seen in Kara’s eyes when we parted with a hug outside Belle’s Beans, I left a message on my way home for Candace to call me. I wanted her to know about this conversation. Kara wouldn’t print anything yet, but she did intend to dig a little deeper into the backgrounds of both Ward Stanley and Lucas Bartlett, something, she said, she should have done when the proposals for the mill came in anyway.

  As I pulled into my driveway, I told myself Kara was compelled to investigate in her role as editor of the newspaper. That was just how she operated. But I couldn’t quite convince myself her eagerness today wasn’t my doing.

  Three cats sat waiting for me when I walked in the back door, but I’d only managed to kneel and pet my friends before my phone rang. Not Candace. It was a number I didn’t recognize.

  “Hello?” I said after I connected.

  “Mrs. Hart? This is Pastor Mitch. Do you have a moment?” he said.

  “Sure.” I tossed my empty Belle’s Beans cup in the trash and walked into the living room. Chablis followed and the other two cats stayed back. Did that mean Boots had come inside with me? I so wished she would stay with Jeannie.

  “Elizabeth and I talked to the doctor. We told him we’re willing to take Jeannie to our home when she’s ready to be released. If she agrees, this is what will happen. But the timing is much quicker than we realized. She can come home the day after tomorrow.”

  “But she had a big operation, didn’t she? That seems so soon and—”

  “I agree, but the doctor assured us in this time of high technology for a surgery like hers, three to five days is routine.” His tone darkened when he said, “It would seem three days is more common when one has no insurance and no funds.”

  “I see. How can I help?” I stroked Chablis. She’d crawled into my lap the minute I sat down and was already purring like a diesel engine.

  “Jeannie trusts you,” he said. “She will need rehabilitation, although they were getting her up for a walk when we left the hospital. The doctor explained the rehab process, but perhaps you could be involved, maybe to simply hold her hand, motivate her a little. Is that possible?”

  “Absolutely possible,” I said.

  We talked more about the rehab center where she would go a few days a week, the walker he’d learned Jeannie would need and how best to help her through what would probably be the biggest shock—that she could not return to the mill.

  I had just hung up from my call when I heard the slamming of car doors in my driveway. Seconds later I was leading Lydia and Candace into my living room. The assistant coroner’s arrival sent poor Chablis racing for my bedroom. Merlot and Syrah hadn’t come around me since I’d come home. They were obviously preoccupied—and I feared I knew why.

  Lydia wore a fringed purple suede jacket and dark pink jeans. At least today her hair was tamed by barrettes. I could tell by Candace’s demeanor she was none too happy to be accompanying Lydia here.

  “So you found the body, huh?” Lydia said as she plopped down on my sofa. “Let’s chat about that discovery and exactly why you were over at Penelope Webber’s house in the first place.”

  An exasperated Candace said, “I’ve told you twice already I sent her there. What is it about—”

  Lydia held up a commanding hand. “My job as an assistant coroner in the state of South Carolina and Mercy County is to investigate suspicious deaths. Not with hearsay. With direct knowledge. You got that, Candace?”

  Candace rolled her eyes. “Got it.” She looked at me. “Tea, anyone?”

  “Not for me. This is not a social call,” Lydia said.

  I’d never name any visit from Lydia a social call, but I wasn’t about to say it aloud.

  “I’m having tea. Jillian?” Candace raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Not right now, but you go ahead,” I said. As Candace walked into the kitchen, I sat on the chair opposite Lydia. “What do you need to know?”

  “Time of day you found the body, how you got in that house and why in heaven’s name you did go inside, for starters.” She pulled her small tape recorder as well as a notebook from her oversize satchel-slash-purse—the one with a zebra print.

  After she turned on the recorder, I again related the events of last night, trying to be as detailed as possible so Lydia would leave quickly.

  When I was done talking, she said, “This murder weapon. Exactly how is it that you knew it was—” She flipped through notebook pages. “Ah, here it is. How did you know it was a heddle hook when no one else did?”

  “Because my background is in fiber arts,” I said.

  “Who in the heck has a background in fiber arts?” she said. “And what does that mean, anyway?”

  Candace came into the room, carrying a glass of sweet tea. “It means, unlike you, this woman has a master’s degree in stuff you couldn’t begin to understand. You do know what a master’s degree is, right?”

  I withheld the smile that almost betrayed how grateful I was for Candace’s presence.

  “You can be quiet, Deputy Carson,” Lydia said. “This is my part of this murder investigation and I don’t need any attitude from you.”

  Candace waved a hand. “Go on then. Ask what you came to ask.”

  Lydia refocused on me. “You said B. J. Henderson told you to walk into that house. Is that right?”

  I nodded.

  “Please say yes or no for the tape,” she said curtly.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Do you always do what an inexperienced dispatcher—who’s not even a police officer—tells you to do?” she said.

  “If Penelope needed help, like CPR, I felt I had to go inside. I made the ultimate decision, not B.J.” Just then I caught sight of Syrah slinking around the side of the couch, Lydia in his sights.

  “How sweet of you to protect Henderson,” she said. “Both of you could have seriously compromised this investigation. You do realize that?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have gone in—but what if she’d still been alive?” I said.

  I saw a look of triumph on Lydia’s face then. “You admit you were wrong? That evidence could have been destroyed?”

  “But it wasn’t,” Candace said. She had remained standing over by the picture window that allowed a breathtaking view of Mercy Lake. Candace may have been hoping the lake view would calm her, but from the sound of her voice, it hadn’t worked.

  “Lucky for both of you that Jillian didn’t walk through blood or move anything,” Lydia said. “Especially since you, Deputy Carson, were so consumed by some fancy professor and a pile of bones that it took you fifteen minutes to respond to the scene. That’s going in my report, by the way.”

  Candace took a step toward Lydia, her fury showing in every tense muscle all the way up to her forehead. “That pile of bones happens to be the remains of a sixteen-year-old girl. Maybe I’ll call up the coroner and tell him what you just called Kay Ellen Sloan.”

  Lydia smiled and wrote something in her notebook. “Ah, so that’s the other victim’s name. Thank you, Deputy Carson. I’ll be leaving now.”

  She stood and walked toward the foyer, but not before Syrah managed to pounce on her boot and wrap himself around her lower leg. I hurried over to grab him before he bit her—which he was quite capable of doing.

  “You’ve got to do something about that stupid cat,” Lydia said before rushing out the door.

  I set Syrah down and he bounded off in the direction of the kitchen.

  Candace dropped into one of my easy chairs and threw her head back. “Why do I let her get to me?” She looked at me then as I took the spot Lydia had vacated. “I gave her Kay Ellen’s name and now she’ll be all up in our business.”

  “Lydia gets to me, too. She would have found out eventually anyway,” I said.

  “You were cool as a cucumber, but then you didn’t have her riding your bumper all the way ov
er here,” Candace said. “I swear she was ready to run me off the road. Didn’t want me coming here while she interviewed you. But now I’m sure she’s glad I came.”

  “Let it go. You’ll be concerned about more important things after I tell you what Jeannie said.” I related what had happened during my hospital visit and how Jeannie had confirmed there was a boyfriend—and that this boyfriend wasn’t a mill villager. But this kid apparently knew Kay Ellen was headed for the mill the night she disappeared.

  Candace set down her empty tea glass on the end table next to the chair. “This is important information, but several questions come to mind. Why didn’t Jeannie tell anyone years ago? Why would that girl head out to a mill that had just been stripped of equipment and fenced up? And last of all, did Morris know anything about this?”

  “You answer those questions and I’ll bet your cold case heats right up,” I said.

  Twenty-one

  Candace’s blue eyes had been bright with excitement when she left my house. We’d decided to meet at the Main Street Diner for supper at about five o’clock. She had paperwork to finish because of last night’s murder, plus more folks to interview in Penelope’s neighborhood—though she said Morris had been busy as a beaver canvassing the area. He’d been unusually quiet, she’d said, but busy.

  Needing distraction from the terrible events of the last few days, I decided Jeannie needed a quilt to welcome her back to the pastorium. Made with love and with focus, quilts healed those in need. I decided to pour myself into this project. The quilting would have to be all machine done, however, since she was being released from the hospital so quickly. I do prefer hand quilting, but I was certain Jeannie wouldn’t mind.

  Three cats followed me to my quilt room and soon, as I was choosing fabrics from my stash, I learned Boots was indeed here, too. She sat and watched as I picked out pastels—soft roses and pinks, pale greens and a tender brown. A log cabin seemed perfect since I could cut and piece that pattern in my sleep. I only stopped working for a quick lunch and soon all the blocks were ready to be sewn together. My three cats—or four if you counted the one who did not belong to me—slept through the afternoon, content that I was where they knew I belonged. Tomorrow I would hunt through my collection of larger yardage fabrics for a floral backing. I was sure I could have the quilt done by the time Jeannie was released.

  I’d just finished sewing the twin-size quilt top together when I realized it was time to meet Candace at the restaurant. I quickly washed up and changed and was halfway to the Main Street Diner when Tom called.

  “Sorry I didn’t phone you earlier. Been tied up all day with new security system orders. A murder does make people scared for their lives,” he said.

  “What are you doing for supper?” I asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same question,” he replied.

  I told him I was meeting Candace and he said he’d see us there in a few minutes.

  The Main Street Diner is a 1950s-style place with wooden booths, a long chrome counter and red leather stools. Candace had already arrived and I was surprised to see that Morris was with her, sitting across from her in the last booth on the right.

  The smell of grilled burgers, onions and French fries awakened my stomach. It seemed like ages since I’d gulped down cottage cheese and pineapple for lunch. I slid into the booth next to Morris, remembering the look on his face the last time I’d seen him. He’d needed a friend then, and it looked as if he and Candace might have mended fences. He actually offered me one of his begrudging and rare smiles.

  “I invited Tom. He should be here—” I turned and saw he’d just come in the door. I waved to him.

  When he joined us, he helped me take off my jacket and hung both our coats on an old-fashioned rack by the hall that led to the restrooms.

  He and Morris shook hands and I reclaimed my spot while Tom sat next to Candace. Tom immediately put his foot next to mine and I smiled at him.

  Once we’d all ordered and had iced teas in front of us, Candace said, “Morris and I finally had a chance to sit and talk about the cold case as well as the fresh one.”

  “Mistakes were made ten years ago,” Morris said. “Can’t take ’em back, but I can work my darnedest to right the wrongs.”

  “I’ve learned today that Jeannie might have put up a roadblock herself,” I said. I explained how Jeannie was protecting the name of her daughter’s boyfriend.

  I glanced at Morris and saw his shoulders slump. “A boyfriend? Jeez. I shoulda known those high school kids I talked to didn’t tell me everything.”

  “My question is,” Candace said when I’d finished talking, “how do we get her to give up the name?”

  “She’s pretty darn stubborn, that one,” Morris said. “But I hear she’s liking you, Miss Jillian. Think you could work on her?”

  Morris, who had complained of my involvement in police investigations in the past, was actually asking for my help. Miracles never ceased. After a sip of my tea, I said, “I tried talking to Jeannie today—without any luck. I know the ring they found with the skeleton pretty much confirms the victim is Kay Ellen, but do you have the DNA results yet?”

  “No. But we’ll have them day after tomorrow,” Candace said. “Still, I don’t think there’s much doubt.”

  “I’m still scratchin’ my head wondering what that girl was doin’ at the mill,” Morris said. “Who knows? Maybe she died elsewhere and her body was hidden there by this mysterious boyfriend.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Candace said. “We certainly don’t have a way to know if the mill was the crime scene. And she sure as heck didn’t die in that fireplace, so her body was moved at least once.”

  “Maybe we could ask Belle about Kay Ellen?” I said. I was thinking how Belle loved to gossip, and she’d been in town long enough to know the girl when she was growing up.

  “Like right after we finish eating?” Tom said. “I already had thoughts of heading across the street for coffee when we’re done.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Candace said as she and Morris nodded in unison.

  “She’d just opened up right before the mill closed,” Morris said. “And that woman has a memory like an elephant.” His cheeks reddened and he pointed at Candace. “But don’t you go tellin’ her I mentioned her in the same sentence with elephants or I’m in for big trouble.”

  We all laughed and the sound warmed me. Deep down, Morris was a good man. Lazy at times, yes, but his heart was in the right place. Maybe this case that was now coming back to haunt him would make him a better cop in the long run. But the word haunt reminded me I had a secret, one I didn’t want to think about right now. Thank goodness our food arrived and I could put thoughts of a ghost cat aside. I needed to concentrate on a Texas chili dog with sweet onions—the Main Street Diner’s specialty.

  * * *

  When the four of us walked in, we found Belle’s Beans humming with activity—and music. Belle had apparently added a “live mike” night. A young man with bicolor hair, wearing an NC State T-shirt and plenty of earrings, was playing acoustic guitar in the far corner.

  I liked the idea, but Morris wasn’t pleased.

  He said, “Great. Belle moves out three tables for a hippie.”

  “Hippie?” Candace said. “There are no more hippies. Besides, sounds to me like the guy can play.”

  “Whatever,” Morris grumbled.

  Tom pointed to the left. “Jillian, you and Candace grab that table where those folks are just leaving. Morris and I will get the coffee and ask if Belle is around.”

  Low tables filled the center of the café, but the table Tom directed us to was one of the tall ones along the wall with barstool seats. Candace and I hung our jackets on the stool backs and settled in. A few seconds later, Belle Lowry appeared and put one arm around each of us.

  “Glad to see y’all—including them.” She nodded at the counter where Tom and Morris stood giving our order. “Heard you wanted to talk to me.”

&nb
sp; “I’m so glad you’re around tonight,” Candace said.

  “First night for Wesley’s gig and would you listen to this old woman using a word like gig? But that’s what it is.” She offered a smile made crooked by her coral lipstick. Belle obviously never looked in the mirror when she applied it since the color always ran below her lips, above her lips or too far past the end of her lips.

  “He’s good. Where’d you find him?” I asked.

  “He’s my nephew,” she said. “The boy’s takin’ a break from school to see if he can make it doin’ what he loves. I’m glad to help.”

  Tom came up behind Belle carrying a cardboard tray filled with steaming cups of coffee. She moved aside so he and Morris could sit down.

  “My Belle of the Day says you got some questions,” she said. “Think I’ll drag a stool over and—”

  Tom got up, saying, “I’ll find one. You wait here.”

  Belle squeezed my arm. “He is such a kind man. You snagged a good one, Jillian.”

  When we were all seated again, Morris spoke first. “Belle, we was wonderin’ if you recall that girl who went missin’ from the mill village about ten years ago.”

  Belle’s eyes widened and she tucked short strands of silver-white hair behind one ear. “Is she the skeleton in the mill?”

  Nothing gets past you, Belle, I thought.

  “Where’d you hear that?” Candace said, sounding exasperated.

  “Does it matter? Everyone’s speculating about all the activity over there and when that university professor came in here for coffee, I asked her why she was in town and what’s her profession. She does love her bones.” Belle smiled, a twinkle in her eye.

  “Can you keep that under wraps?” Candace said. “We’re still investigating.”

  She said, “Why, of course I’ll keep my mouth zipped about the skeleton. Besides, most folks in here are talking more about Penelope Webber than the mill. Horrible thing to happen to that woman. Hard to get a feel for her and now it’s too late.”

  Morris said, “For right now, we’re wonderin’ about Kay Ellen Sloan. Do you remember her?”