“Must be the job calling at this hour,” she mumbled before she answered. But she didn’t even get to say hello before I heard a frantic female voice on the other end. Candace listened, rolled her eyes, listened some more. Finally she said, “Robin, calm yourself. I understand this is important to you, so I assume you’ve called the station?”
Robin’s voice bordered on shrieky when she started up again. I heard Candace inhale deeply and let the air out slowly. After she listened again for several seconds, she said, “What you were told is true. The night-duty crew has the whole town to cover, and if they say they can’t get there—”
More agitation spewed from Candace’s phone, and she held it away from her ear. After she let Robin go on for another fifteen seconds or so, Candace said, “How’s this? I’ll come by a little after six. That’s as soon as I can get there. We’ll have plenty of time to figure this out before little Jack leaves for school.”
When Robin spoke this time, she must have been relieved by this offer, because I couldn’t hear her response. Seconds later, Candace closed her phone.
“You could leave now if someone needs you,” I said. “I’ve got a handle on the kittens.”
She held up one finger, her jaw tight. “First off, the last thing I want to do is deal with this now.” Another finger went up. “Second problem. I don’t have a ride because a certain someone by the name of Jillian Hart wouldn’t let me do the driving tonight.”
“Oh. I forgot about that,” I said. Candace drove like she and Danica Patrick were sisters, so I do the driving when we go anywhere together. “Who’s Robin?”
“Robin is the most overprotective mother in Mercy. Don’t get me wrong; she’s got a great heart and loves her boy, but I guess since I’m the only female on the police force, they turned her over to me after all the 911 calls.”
“I’m not following,” I said.
“Robin was calling 911 for everything from Jack’s splinters to when he’d come down with the flu. So now, instead of calling 911, she calls me.”
“Everything is okay, then?” I said.
“It’s no emergency, but since you insisted on doing the driving, I’ll let you go with me to her place when we leave here. Then you can see for yourself.”
I could hardly refuse, considering that Candace had agreed to stay up all night before her day off to keep me company here. “Can I have a hint what this is about?”
“We’re gonna see a woman about a cow.”
Two
The drive to Robin’s house took longer than I thought, considering that every destination I knew of in Mercy was about five minutes from every other destination I knew of in Mercy. But we traveled over a country road I was unfamiliar with. The sunrise in front of us was muted by a flimsy fog, so no sunglasses were required. Candace kept me on a mostly southeastward track away from Mercy. Since I’d moved to South Carolina from Houston only a little more than a year ago, I shouldn’t have been surprised that there were rural parts of town I’d never explored.
Shawn had arrived from home to take over kitten duty at six a.m. on the dot, but the man was cranky and there had been little conversation. If he lived inside the shelter he’d probably be even more of a grouch. Everyone needed their sleep, Shawn included. He said he had a new volunteer, a tech who worked for the veterinarian, Dr. Jensen. She would handle the next night shift. Allison would take over for the weekend and beyond since her spring break was coming up next week. I felt a little sad that I wouldn’t be seeing the kittens again for a while. I could already tell them apart and had named each one before the dawn broke: Binky, who tried to suck the thin feeding tube; Pokey, whose little paws moved in slow-motion; Sleepy, the one who didn’t like waking up; and Lovebug, the one who enjoyed nestling into my palm the most. Their beautiful mackerel tabby mother, whom Shawn called Clara after his grandmother, was precious and lovable. But she was weaker than her offspring, and when she wouldn’t eat on her own, I’d had to give her a bottle of watered-down baby-food meat.
After twenty minutes, Candace directed me to turn left onto a long dirt driveway. The battered mailbox we passed bore the name West. The sun shed pale streaks of light across the fertile green fields on either side of the drive. Ahead I saw a small blue clapboard house and behind that a dilapidated red barn.
“Robin’s husband left her about five years ago—just up and took off,” Candace said. “This used to be her parents’ home, so at least he didn’t leave her with a mortgage. But raising a kid like Jack alone? That’s been tough.”
“A kid like Jack?” I said.
“Little genius. Mercy Elementary has its hands full trying to teach him anything he doesn’t already know. And he’s sensitive, too. To the food, to the smells, even to what fabrics touch his skin. Never knew smart kids could be as tough to deal with as the ones without as much gray matter.”
As we approached, a black cat slunk out from behind the house and sat on the walkway as if waiting to greet us.
“What a beautiful baby,” I said as I parked behind a white Chevy truck.
“Did you ever meet a cat that wasn’t beautiful?” Candace asked.
“I definitely have not.” I killed the engine, got out and knelt near my van. I reached out, and the cat didn’t hesitate. It came straight to me to be petted.
“That’s Lucy, the barn cat. If you have a barn, you have mice. Lucy has important duties,” Candace said.
Lucy was purring up a storm, her green eyes narrowed to slits.
“Hi, Miss Candace,” I heard a young voice say.
I looked up to see a dark-haired boy wearing Spider-Man pajamas. I guessed his age at about eight or nine.
“And who’ve you brought with you today?” he added.
Candace climbed the two porch steps and gave him a hug before saying, “This here is my friend Miss Jillian Hart.”
“Not ‘this here,’ Miss Candace. Just ‘this’ is all you need to say,” Jack said. He smiled at me. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Jillian.”
“Back at ya. And that’s a colloquialism, by the way,” I said with a grin.
“I know. And ‘this here’ is a regionalism. But people often look down on Southerners because of their grammar, and we can—”
“Jack, what do you think you’re doing?” The woman who spoke sounded irritated. She must have come around from the barn. Her dark brown hair was the exact same shade as Jack’s, and she wore pressed, immaculate blue jeans that contrasted sharply with her muddy but brightly flowered Wellington-style boots.
“Greeting our visitors, Mom. And before you get started, I know I’m wearing my pajamas outdoors. I happen to like them.”
Robin West sighed heavily. “Your teacher will not applaud your choice of clothing if you go to school like that, Son. Please go get dressed.”
Jack hung his head. “I’d prefer to stay home today, but if you insist.” He turned and went into the house.
“He wants to stay home because I’m freaked-out about the cow. He thinks he has to take care of me,” Robin said.
From what I’d overheard on the phone earlier, she was indeed freaked-out about the cow, the one Candace had told me was missing. That left her poor kid with a job—taking care of Mom. But though I only thought these things, Candace had no trouble saying them out loud.
“And who exactly made him decide he had to take care of you? You are putting a burden on that boy, Robin,” Candace said.
Robin stared at her boots. “You’re right. You’re always right, Candy.”
“Don’t go all wimpy on me, girl. I’m just stating the truth, and you can take it. Invite us in so I can find out what happened to Harriett.” Candace glanced at me. “Harriett is the milk cow.”
“Ah,” I said, as if this explained everything.
Robin removed her Wellies and placed them beside the door. We followed her inside the house, with Robin making sure Lucy didn’t sneak in with us. We walked through her small and supremely tidy living room into a spotless kitchen. She offered us coffee, but
I couldn’t have drunk another cup if someone had put a funnel in my mouth and poured. Candace must have felt the same way, because we both opted for water.
Robin made herself a cup of tea in the microwave, a ritual that would have taken me two minutes. But Robin, it was becoming apparent, had a little OCD problem. She took her time lining up the tea bags in their box, each one as close to the next as possible. Then she wiped down the microwave, even though all she’d done was boil water. After that, she measured out a quarter cup of milk and stirred it into her tea. I almost dozed off as she washed the spoon, dried it carefully and put in the dishwasher. Finally she joined us at the round kitchen table.
“There,” she said with a sad smile. “And now please help me find Harriett.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Candace took a small notebook from her back jeans pocket. “How far do you think a cow can wander overnight?”
“I don’t know,” Robin said, her voice rising. “She’s never run off before. She hardly comes out of the barn. And now Jack won’t have his raw milk before school, and—”
Candace placed a hand on Robin’s forearm to hopefully control this escalation of emotion. “I know that’s what’s troubling you. But one day without raw milk will be—”
“Wonderful,” came Jack’s voice from the kitchen entry. “I dislike raw milk immensely.”
He was dressed in khaki shorts and a short-sleeved blue polo. I noticed his freckles for the first time—just a sprinkle over his nose, not the hundreds I’d had when I was his age.
Robin checked her watch. “You have your wish. There will be no raw milk today. The school bus will be here soon, so if you will excuse us, I’ll walk Jack down the driveway.”
I stood. “You talk to Candace about your cow. Jack and I can find that bus.”
Robin’s eyes widened, and she half rose. “But—”
“Mom. Please do not embarrass me. I like Miss Jillian. She is Miss Candace’s friend, so you can trust her. She and I can handle a walk down the driveway.”
“But sometimes the bus drives up so close, and—”
Jack had walked over to me and now took my hand. “Let’s go. And, Miss Candace, give Mom a chill pill if you have one handy.”
Before we even made it out the door, Jack’s questions began. “What do you do for a living?”
I turned to give him a smile and said, “I make quilts for cats. And I do charity work making quilts for soldiers’ children—kids whose dads or moms have gone to war,” I said.
“I’ve read a little about the conflicts in the Middle East. The United States needed a better understanding of theocracies before they went to war, wouldn’t you agree?” He kicked a stone at the beginning of the drive as we made our way toward the road.
“Um . . . yes. I think you’re right. What’s your favorite subject, Jack?”
“All of them.” He was continuing to chase the rock, and I smiled. At least something about this little guy was childlike.
“Why are you with Miss Candace if you make quilts?” he said. “I thought you were a new police officer in training, though you appear older than her. Starting police work at your age is unusual, I would imagine.”
Thanks, I thought. I explained about the premature kittens and our night at the shelter, and by then we’d reached the end of the drive. And right on time, too, because the bus rumbled to a stop next to us a minute later. Jack waved and said we had more to “discuss” about “the infant cats” before the bus doors closed and he was gone.
Even though I was no expert on children—I’d never had any of my own—I knew this was one unusual boy.
“Jillian,” Candace called as I was walking back toward the house. “Come check this out.”
I picked up my pace and soon was standing next to her and Robin in front of the barn.
Candace said, “Robin was right to be concerned. See that padlock?” She pointed at the barn doors.
I stepped closer for a better look and saw immediately that the lock had been cut apart, though the edges of the curve had been placed close together so the damage wouldn’t be quickly noticed. “Someone stole the cow?”
Robin had her arms wrapped around herself. “I just saw the door ajar. I didn’t realize the lock was cut. Unbelievable. I want Harriett back, and I want to know who would do this to my Jack.”
To Jack? That didn’t make sense at first, but then I got it. “Maybe they didn’t know about Jack and his raw milk,” I said gently. “Maybe they simply wanted a cow.”
“That’s a problem, too,” she said. “How did they know I even had a cow? Did they come sneaking around here in the dead of night? I mean, I have a precious child. What if they’d taken him instead of Harriett?”
I pictured a black-clad stranger standing between the barn and the house thinking, “Cow or kid? Hmmmm . . . guess I’ll go for the cow.” Then I immediately admonished myself for being so insensitive. Robin was upset, and for good reason.
Candace said, “You know how people talk in this town. The fact that you have a cow is well-known.”
Very true. I’d learned that everyone knew everything about everyone’s business in Mercy. Just then I was distracted by a glimpse of Lucy streaking from the barn. She kept running down the driveway. That cat was definitely on a mission.
Candace, meanwhile, was trying to calm Robin down. “I’ll look into this, Robin. But first I need some sleep.”
I was still watching Lucy, and then I saw why she’d been in such a hurry. “What color is Harriett?”
“She’s a black-and-white Jersey,” Robin said.
I pointed down the driveway. “Like that?”
Robin’s hands flew to her lips before she took off running toward the lumbering cow. The poor cow looked as tired as I felt.
We all met up with Harriett in the driveway, and Candace lifted a piece of a rope dangling from the cow’s neck. “This what you use to tie her up?”
Robin shook her head. “She doesn’t need to be tethered. She never wanders farther than the fields.”
“Looks like she escaped from whoever took her, then.” Candace carefully removed the rope remnant from Harriett’s neck with a smile. “And the thief left me a piece of evidence.”
Oh no, I thought, managing to keep myself from groaning. I’d seen that gleam in Candace’s eyes before. Anything that she considers evidence is a treasure. She had a bovine mystery this time, and for some reason, I had a sinking feeling I’d be involved in her quest for answers.
Three
I had never worked the graveyard shift, but I shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that there is nothing my three cats like better than my spending the day in bed. Even Merlot, my twenty-pound red Maine coon, had stretched out beside me. He rarely joins me for sleep, so I was surprised he chose to hunker down on the bed. Chablis, the Himalayan, planted herself on my chest, and Syrah, my Abyssinian, used my legs for a bed.
Robin’s cow was back home, and all was well with the world. Okay, her world, not Candace’s. My friend had been extra quiet during the drive to her house, tightly clutching the paper lunch bag where she’d stowed the piece of rope. As my threesome’s purring lulled me to sleep, I wondered whether Police Chief Mike Baca would let her work a case if the stolen “item”—not the best word for a cow, I admit—was no longer stolen. Somehow I didn’t think so.
I awoke at about three o’clock in the afternoon. My cats may have been used to sleeping away most of the daylight hours, but I wasn’t. I felt groggy, which I decided was due to a serious coffee hangover. I stumbled into the shower for a wake-up call, and when I came back into the bedroom, I saw all three cats circled around a bug on the floor. On closer inspection I saw it was a dead spider. They’d made quick work of the poor thing, and before one of them ate it, I grabbed a tissue from the bedside stand and tossed the spider in the trash.
The disappointed trio wandered in the direction of the kitchen while I made the bed. The quilt, which was large enough to cover the entire bed, had been
a favorite of my late husband, John. I’d completed it for him before we’d married—a bear-paw design made from plaids I’d bought during a trip to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Having something he loved close to me while I slept made the nights easier—and it was getting easier now that more than a year had passed. Grief was a fickle friend—embracing me at times and abandoning me at others. I supposed that was better than the constant companion it had been during the six months right after John died.
As soon as I’d smoothed out the quilt and propped the sham-covered pillows against the headboard, Chablis appeared and jumped back on the bed to settle down for another snooze.
Merlot was waiting for me in the kitchen. He’d changed into even more of a watch-cat than before. After all, last fall his best buddy, Syrah, had been nabbed, and then I’d allowed a murderer into our home—albeit unknowingly. Yes, Merlot had been in hypervigilant mode ever since, his usual warbly meow all but disappeared. His vocals were deeper, almost as if he felt he needed to sound strong. Every bedroom door had to be open, every noise attended to.
I fed Merlot and Syrah—Chablis enjoyed her naps too much to appear right now—and was making a fresh gallon of sweet tea when I heard Candace’s familiar rappity-rap-rap on my back door. Merlot sat down by the door, staring at the knob. I called to her that it was unlocked as I squeezed the tea bags over the big pitcher and threw them in the trash can under the sink.
“Hey there,” she said as she entered, bending to pet Merlot. He didn’t stay around, just sort of hopped playfully and took off to a new hiding place, one never far from me.
Candace looked so fresh, so wide awake, so . . . young. Boy, how I missed bouncing back awake like that.
“I can’t believe I didn’t have sweet tea ready for this awful afternoon awakening,” I said.
“Sweet tea can fix anything.” She wore blue jeans and a pink T-shirt, and her blond hair was loose on her shoulders. I considered her pretty even without makeup. Especially when her eyes still glittered as much as when we’d parted this morning.
The Cat, The Professor and the Poison Page 2