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

by Leann Sweeney

  Beatrice lifted her chin. “I want to know what she found in that mill. Because I know it’s there.”

  “What’s there?” I said. “What do you think she found?” Does Beatrice know about the skeleton? Is that what she’s talking about?

  “You have conditions?” she said defiantly. “Well, so do I. You take me to her and you’ll see. Because that woman knows.”

  “How about this afternoon?” I said, keeping my tone even. She was beginning to frighten me a tad.

  “I get off at three. I’ll be at that preacher’s house by three thirty.” She stood and started to walk away.

  “But what if I can’t arrange it for today? Can I have your phone number or—”

  She whirled and pointed a finger at me. “You wanted it your way. Make it happen.”

  As she left, I felt a pulse throbbing in my throat. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, Jillian.

  Tom called me as I drove back to Mercy and, perceptive as always, he said, “Something’s wrong. What happened?”

  I told him about last night’s visit with Ward Stanley and this morning’s meeting with his mother. “She’s so…angry, Tom. They both are. I guess I should have done more research about the family. I thought I knew their story, but I’m beginning to believe there’s a lot more. But I need to know how Jeannie fits into all this. I just don’t get that part.”

  “I’ve talked to Kara, so I know what the two of you did, but you should have asked me for help yesterday,” he said. “Since you aren’t seeing Beatrice until this afternoon, we’ve got enough time to tap a certain source. His name is Ed and I’ll meet you at his shop.”

  “Sounds perfect. But aren’t you working on Earl Whitehouse’s background check?” I said.

  “Why do you think Kara called me?” he said.

  “Because she works for you?” I stated this as a question, knowing there was more to this.

  “True,” he said. “She does, though not as much as I’d like. But now that your lovely stepdaughter has learned about Earl Whitehouse, she wants to do the background check on him. I told her to go for it. She’s sometimes better than I am at hunting up dirt.”

  “Especially when she’s sniffing out a good story,” I said.

  “Exactly,” he said. “See you soon.”

  I arrived at Ed’s Swap Shop first and found him eating a turkey sandwich in the kitchen section of his workplace.

  “Well, lookee here,” he said, standing to greet me. “One of my favorite people back to visit again in less than a week. I’m thinkin’ this has something to do with all this trouble in town. Plenty of trouble, too.”

  I took a seat and he sat back down across from me. I said, “You have your finger on Mercy’s pulse. Where else could I get information?”

  “I heard they found bones in that mill,” he said, picking up the rest of his sandwich off the paper plate in front of him. He took a large bite and ended up with mayonnaise on the corner of his mouth.

  I tapped my mouth to show him and he wiped his face with a napkin.

  “Who told you about the bones?” I asked.

  He grinned. “I have connections with that lady, Laura, the one who runs the Pink House. She comes in here all the time lookin’ for old linens, lace doilies, stuff like that. Uses them to create the right…What was her word? Atmosphere. Anyways, I guess she has this smart kid from Greenville stayin’ with her and he’s goin’ a little wacky wantin’ to get back to work inside the mill. Did some talkin’ about what was found in the fireplace.”

  “Oh boy. More and more information is leaking out all over town,” I said, wondering if Candace ever told Dustin to keep his mouth shut.

  “That’s how things go in Mercy, Jillian. You know that.”

  I heard the bell tinkle in the front of the store and soon Tom joined us. After he and Ed shook hands, Tom sat beside me and took my hand. His was cold and I put my other hand around his to warm it.

  He said, “We need more on the Stanleys than you told us before, Ed. Do you know anything else?”

  Ed rubbed his chin. “The Stanleys. Never thought I’d see the day they’d be ruined. Gotta know they ran through lots of money.”

  “You sound surprised,” I said.

  “Most folks I talk to think the medical bills did them in,” Ed said. “Old man lingered on for months in that hospital with the wife and kid hoverin’ like vultures. They got a rude surprise when he finally died. Judge Whitehouse—he does probate sometimes—anyways, he came in here one day lookin’ for tools. He’s a real collector. He was tellin’ me he couldn’t understand why there was nothin’ left except the house. Course that meant Beatrice and Ward had no money to run the place. Big old mansion like that owes a big tax bill every year and about as big electric costs every month.”

  “Did you say Judge Whitehouse?” I said. “Earl Whitehouse’s father?”

  “Yup. Why?” Ed said.

  “Because his son’s name has come up in the last couple days,” I said. “I was told he was dating Kay Ellen Sloan.”

  Ed’s bushy gray eyebrows rose in surprise. “First I heard of that. Him bein’ a judge’s son and her being a mill girl, well, I’m bettin’ that didn’t go over too well at young Earl’s house.”

  “Did the judge say how much money they’d run through by the time Mr. Stanley died?” Tom asked.

  “Nope, and I couldn’t venture a guess,” Ed said. “Money’s just paper to me. Recyclable just like everything else.”

  I said, “What did the Stanleys do when they lost their house?”

  “They got relatives everywhere in town, but they kept gettin’ kicked out,” Ed said. “Those two aren’t easy to live with, is my guess. Ward hadn’t even applied to college after he got his high school diploma. Ended up takin’ real estate courses at the community college. Even then he couldn’t make it, but that probably wasn’t all his fault with the economy the way it was. Bad time to be takin’ up real estate. He works at the insurance company now. Too much of a sourpuss to be much of a salesman, though.”

  I nodded my agreement.

  “They live over in them duplexes by the railroad tracks,” he went on. “The man is still livin’ with his mama, if you can believe it.” Ed sighed. “Those folks used to be all dressed up and struttin’ around Mercy like they owned the place. And come to think of it, they did own the place.”

  “Could Ward’s father have run through a lot of money before he had that stroke?” Tom asked. “I mean, was he a gambler? Speculator? Anything like that?”

  Ed considered this for several seconds. “I don’t think so. He ran that mill all his life. That was all he knew. Maybe he got bamboozled by the foreigners that come in and bought up the equipment.”

  “You mean he never got paid for the looms and threaders and other machinery he sold them?” I said.

  “I’m just guessin’, Jillian. I don’t recall any talk about what happened to all their money, except one day it was gone.”

  “What about Beatrice Stanley?” I said. “Does she ever come in here?”

  “She’s been in,” Ed said with a nod. “Anyone who’s fallin’ on hard times has been in here. Sold her lamps one time, an old coffee table another. But you know what the Good Book says. Pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall. To my way of thinkin’, haughty comes after the fall, too.”

  I smiled. “Yes. Haughty. Perfect word for her. How would you go about getting her to open up and drop her ‘I’m better than you are’ act?”

  Ed cocked his head and squinted. “Tough question. She likes pretty things—always eyeing my jewelry under the glass counter out front. Woman still thinks the world owes her everything. I’d say, if you was to meet up with her, you shower her with compliments. Find anything you can about her that you can pat her on the back for.”

  I smiled. “Perfect. Thank you, Ed.”

  Thirty-one

  Tom and I lunched together and when he headed back to his office, I went to the pastorium. I wan
ted to get there before Beatrice Sloan showed up so I could fill everyone in on who would be arriving soon and why.

  When Pastor Mitch led me through the hallway to the pastorium’s kitchen, he said, “Elizabeth is doing charity work in Greenville for a few hours. Jeannie seems quite well today and I know she’ll be glad to see you.”

  As Jeannie emerged from the room off the kitchen, her walker leading the way, I could tell from her expression that she was indeed happy to see me.

  “Wow,” I said with a smile. “You’re moving faster than yesterday.”

  “This hip don’t hurt nothin’ like when I fell,” she said. “Never told you how glad I was you showed up with my Boots that night. I might still be lyin’ on that cold floor.”

  I glanced at Pastor Mitch, but he kindly ignored the reference to Boots. He clearly was getting used to Jeannie’s ways and taking them in stride.

  “I’m happy I could help,” I said. “Maybe we should all sit for a minute? I have something to tell you two.”

  The pastor helped Jeannie ease into a ladder-back chair at the large table in the center of the room. He offered tea or coffee, but I refused, anxious to get on with my confession that I’d invited Beatrice Stanley here.

  Jeannie said, “Miss Jillian is bustin’ at the seams to tell us something. Ain’t that right?”

  “Um, yes,” I said, distracted by the appearance of Boots. She’d jumped right on the table and sat close to Jeannie—and stared at me, her little mouth curved into her Cheshire cat smile.

  Jeannie said, “Is it a present like that quilt? I’m lovin’ that quilt and Boots loves hers.”

  “I’ve gone and done something perhaps I shouldn’t have—in hopes of getting a clue to help find out what happened to Kay Ellen. Thing is, I don’t know if this will lead anywhere, but—”

  In his soothing baritone, Pastor Mitch said, “We trust whatever you’ve ‘gone and done’ is the right thing. Just tell us.”

  Quickly I said, “I invited Beatrice Stanley here. She wants to talk to Jeannie.”

  Jeannie looked at me, puzzled. “Who’s that?”

  “She was married to Mr. Stanley. You remember him, right?” Pastor Mitch said.

  “The boss’s wife?” She seemed frightened now and I wondered why.

  “She’s not the boss’s wife anymore,” Pastor Mitch reminded her, and then turned to me. “Why does she want to talk to Jeannie?”

  I said, “She wouldn’t say, but I intercepted her outside this house yesterday. Word is out in town that Jeannie is back. Well, not that she ever really left, but—”

  “Mrs. Stanley never came to the mill village when the family owned the mill,” Pastor Mitch said, “but she would write the church a generous check every year at Christmas. She’s welcome here. Her generosity is not forgotten.”

  But Jeannie’s face had paled. “I’ve done somethin’ wrong. She’s mad at me, right? For sneakin’ into the mill?”

  “That’s not her business to be mad about anymore,” I said. “The mill no longer belongs to the Stanleys and Mr. Stanley died almost ten years ago.”

  Jeannie gasped. “Died? That’s terrible. He wasn’t a nice man, plain mean most days, but he’d let me bring Kay Ellen to work when she was sick. And in summer when school was out. He did that for all us workers.”

  And made Kay Ellen work, no doubt, I thought. “I told Mrs. Stanley I have to be in the room when she talks to you. She’s agreed.”

  Jeannie laid a hand on her chest and I saw how bruised it was from the IVs she’d had in the hospital. “That’s good. I like you bein’ around.”

  “I wish I could be here, too, but I have a sermon to prepare,” Pastor Mitch said. “If you need me, I’ll be in the church office.” He pointed to the back door. “You can get to the church right through there and just follow the path. Jeannie knows the way.”

  She nodded. “I do. But Mrs. Stanley will be wantin’ tea and—”

  “I can handle making tea,” I said.

  Pastor Mitch left after pointing to a sealed glass jar on the counter near the double porcelain sink. It was filled with tea bags.

  I smiled at Jeannie. “Let me help you into the living room—or would you rather talk to her in here?”

  “This is where I stayed most days back when me and Kay Ellen was here,” she said.

  She seemed to be getting nervous again and I said, “Then I’ll bring her back and we can all talk. I’ll be right beside you.”

  “You was sayin’ something about how it was that Kay Ellen passed,” Jeannie said. “What’s that mean, Miss Jillian?”

  But the loud rapping on the front door interrupted us—and I was relieved. Jeannie knew her daughter died, but she didn’t know how. That conversation might have to come soon, but not right now.

  I glanced at Boots and her presence relaxed me. At my house, at least two cats would want to greet whoever had come knocking, but Boots hunkered closer to Jeannie, her paws tucked under her. Jeannie stroked her and her expression calmed. That little ghost cat could work magic at times.

  I hurried down the hall and let Beatrice Stanley in. Immediately she said, “Where is she?”

  Remembering what Ed had advised, I said, “I’m so glad you agreed to allow me to be with Jeannie during this chat. I think that was gracious of you.” I hoped my words convinced Beatrice that she was in control—as she used to be once upon a time. “She’s in the kitchen waiting for you.”

  “The kitchen?” she said with disdain as we passed through the lovely parlor. She glanced around as if she deserved to own everything in the room.

  I had a sinking feeling that this would not be a pleasant meeting. Nothing about Beatrice Stanley was the least bit pleasant and I feared no matter how much I complimented her, it wouldn’t matter. She might have lost material goods, but she hadn’t lost the notion that she was entitled to them.

  Jeannie was still stroking Boots when we entered the kitchen, but of course Beatrice couldn’t see the cat. I was sure Jeannie’s arcing hand rhythm in the air seemed odd at the very least.

  Never taking her eyes off Jeannie, Beatrice slipped out of her camel hair coat. I should have commented on that coat when she’d arrived because it was a classic, probably an item from her former life—an example of the expensive clothes she had probably once worn all the time. She folded the coat neatly and placed it on the chair next to her.

  Jeannie, meanwhile, had not made eye contact with Beatrice, and this conversation, like those before in the mill, would probably go through me. I offered to make tea, but Beatrice refused and Jeannie didn’t even respond.

  I sat down and said, “Mrs. Stanley, I believe you have a few questions for Jeannie?” I was breathing too fast and told myself to calm down. This was just three women in a room. No reason to be nervous.

  “You’ve been living in my mill for ten years? Is that right?” Beatrice’s tone was imperious and not a great way to start this dialogue.

  Jeannie didn’t answer. She put her arms around Boots and pulled her close.

  Again, this must have seemed odd to Beatrice. She looked at me and said, “What’s wrong with her? Does she have mental health issues I should know about?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with her,” I said. “She’s been through a trauma, that’s all. Maybe if you ask me what you want to know, I can help her tell you.”

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “Look at me, Jeannie Sloan.”

  But Jeannie’s focus remained on the cat invisible to Beatrice.

  In as even a tone as I could muster, I said, “Please have compassion for her situation, Mrs. Stanley. She’s been homeless a long time and isn’t used to being around people. Ask me your questions and I promise I’ll help you.”

  “Where’s the compassion for me?” Beatrice shot back. But she took a ragged breath and said, “Oh, all right. Have it your way. I know that conniving, deceitful husband of mine hid assets so I wouldn’t get them in the divorce. They’re in that mill. I just know it.”

>   “You mean money?” I said, taken completely by surprise.

  “Cash, my jewelry that went missing, anything he could grab without leaving a paper trail once he’d divorced me. To his great regret, I’m sure, he never got the chance to actually spend any of it.” She pointed at Jeannie. “And that woman has been inside the mill. She’s probably been helping herself to my money all these years. In fact, I’m certain she has.”

  Unbelievable, I thought. Jeannie had been scrounging through a Dumpster at night looking for food while she’d lived in the mill. She didn’t have this woman’s money. But denying it, I now knew from my experience with Beatrice, wouldn’t work. So I said, “From what I understand, you did still live in the family home while your husband was hospitalized. Wouldn’t such a big place be a more likely location to hide these assets? He would have easy access to—”

  “Don’t you think my son and I tore that place apart before we were tossed to the curb?” she said. “No, that bastard stashed it in the mill. I’m sure of it.”

  Jeannie whispered, “She said a bad word. That’s not right.”

  I wanted to agree with her, but instead addressed Beatrice. “Okay, what if your husband set up offshore accounts or—”

  “What don’t you understand about what I’m saying, Mrs. Hart?” Beatrice said through clenched teeth. “I know how my husband operated. What he took, what belongs to me, is hidden in that mill and this woman—” She pointed dramatically at Jeannie. “This woman knows where it is or she’s stolen it.”

  “Stealin’ is wrong,” Jeannie mumbled.

  “Yes, it is,” Beatrice said. “So cleanse your conscience. Tell me what you’ve been doing in my mill all these years. How did you survive if you didn’t take my money?”

  Her mill. Her money. The woman was living in the past. And with her condescending attitude, I was finding it difficult to remain patient. But I had to. For Jeannie’s sake. I turned and said, “Jeannie, Mrs. Stanley believes you took something that belonged to her. I don’t believe that, but I will ask you. Do you know anything about any money or jewelry in the mill?”