The Cat, The Professor and the Poison

by Leann Sweeney

  “I get it,” Kara said. “Ongoing investigation. But I’ve been a good girl and told you all about today.”

  “And I thank you,” Candace said. “Did you learn anything else that might help us find the killer?”

  “Only that Sarah VanKleet had lots of questions about who would inherit the property,” Kara said. “Brandt said he couldn’t be sure until they know if there’s a will. You didn’t happen to find a will in the house?”

  Candace just smiled. She wasn’t about to spill anything else. “Sounds like you spent time with Mrs. VanKleet today, too.”

  “We did stop by the bed-and-breakfast where she’s staying. They do a nice lunch there.” Kara stood. “As for that will, I’m sure somebody in town will know. One thing I’ve learned is that people sure like to talk in Mercy. Belle is a wealth of information, and she might know by tomorrow.”

  “That’s so true, I’m actually ashamed to call myself a cop,” Candace said with a laugh.

  I wanted to say, “See how fun it is to share, girls?” as if these two were five-year-olds. But I kept my mouth shut, appreciating the ease in tension between them.

  Kara said, “Think I’ll go to my room and talk to my little recorder before I forget what I learned today.” She walked past us, Red Bull in hand, and left us alone.

  “Tonight’s information settles it,” Candace said. “We’re going to that college tomorrow to get the truth about what went on there.”

  “I’m game,” I said. “But what’s your focus now?”

  “I need answers about what really went on in Denman. Brandt claims the professor was faking. Evan thinks he was a sick man. What’s the truth?”

  “I’m betting the truth lies somewhere in between,” I said. “What about Kara?”

  “She can’t come. I’m charged with protecting you, but I’d have a hard time explaining her need to go with us. She stays here,” Candace said.

  “But I’m worried Ski-Mask Guy will come back.” I thought for a second, then said, “I might have a partial solution, though.”

  “Partial works for me. What’s your plan?” Candace said.

  “I get Tom to give her a job to do tomorrow. Any job,” I said.

  “Think he’ll be a willing spirit?” she said.

  “Definitely. I get the feeling the more time he spends with her,” I said, “the better he’ll understand her. And then maybe he can explain her to me. I need all the help I can get.”

  Twenty-one

  Though rain fell throughout the night and thunder woke me several times, by morning the sun snuck through the slats of my wood shades and one beam of light fell right across my eyes. There was no sleeping through that. Besides, we needed to get moving.

  I shook Candace’s shoulder, and she moaned in protest. “Five more minutes.”

  No five minutes for me. I needed coffee. When I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I was surprised to see Chablis sitting on the floor and staring at me. “Hey, sweetie,” I whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

  In response, Chablis offered one of her more insistent meows and, fluffy chocolate-colored tail in the air, hurried out of the bedroom.

  I knew that voice and that behavior. She wanted me to follow her. Cats do talk in their own way and have so many different sounds—more than a hundred by some estimates. I hurried after her.

  Chablis led me to the basement, as expected. I filled one dish with dry food, even though it wasn’t empty. I noticed that no one seemed interested in food—even the kittens were curled in the cutest little pile, fast asleep. But Chablis was licking away at Dame Wiggins back near the shoulder blades—and really going at it. She stopped for a second, looked at me and then started up again. This wasn’t normal grooming.

  I knelt by the cats and saw that Dame Wiggins’s fur around this area was downright wet. “What are you doing, Chablis? Does she have an injury we don’t know about?”

  Wiggins could definitely have been bitten and developed an abscess after being around so many cats, so I lifted Chablis and set her next to me while I examined the area. Not an abscess at all. But definitely a small bump just below the skin.

  Aloud, I said, “If they scanned her, no one told me. Bet they forgot.” Indeed, Dame Wiggins had a pet-locator chip embedded under her skin. I’d have to get Shawn over here pronto. Dame Wiggins and her litter probably had a home to go to.

  Candace’s voice made me start when she said, “I’ve called the chief, and he wants us to go to Denman in a squad car. This is official police business. Let’s get going.”

  This from the woman who wanted five more minutes of sleep? I told her about the implanted microchip and how I had to notify Shawn.

  “It’s been four days,” Candace said. “Waiting another day to scan the cat won’t be a problem. You’re sure Tom can keep Kara occupied?”

  “He was more than happy to help when I called him last night,” I said.

  “Let’s go.” Candace’s eyes were bright with the promise of police work that was a little more challenging than babysitting a grown woman.

  We took my van to the courthouse and drove around behind the building where the squad cars were parked. Kara had been awake when we left and questioned why Candace was wearing her uniform, and then asked where we were going. She’d noticed I had my purse and was fiddling with my new phone to make sure I knew how to bring up the cat cam. But Candace didn’t get a chance to answer because Kara’s phone started ringing. Candace pulled me out the back door, but not before I heard Kara say Tom’s name. Great timing, my friend, I thought.

  Soon we were on the road, and though Candace was driving, I felt fairly safe because she was always more careful when she drove a squad car. Once we were out of town and on the highway heading toward Denman, Candace shut off the police radio so we didn’t have to endure hearing B.J. screwing up more police radio codes. But her phone rang a minute later.

  She had her cell attached to the car somehow, and all she had to do was press a button and the call came out on the speaker feature. It was Mike Baca.

  “Candace, I got the info you wanted on Rosemary Bartlett. She lives in town with her parents, and they said she’s home.”

  “Good. What was your take when you spoke to her?” Candace said.

  “I spoke to her parents. They didn’t seem all that surprised that a police chief was calling. I got the feeling the father wanted to say, ‘What’s she done now?’ but he just said she’d be waiting for you, that he’d make sure of it.”

  “Great. And the head of the college?” she asked.

  “That’s another story,” Baca said. “I had to work him pretty hard, saying we didn’t want to involve the college in our investigation beyond a few simple questions about the professor. Once he knew we were aware of why Professor VanKleet was fired, he said he’d cooperate.”

  “Sounds like we’re all set. I downloaded a campus map, but give me the Bartletts’ address.” Candace pulled her notepad from her pocket and tossed it to me.

  I wrote down the address Baca rattled off.

  He said, “I’ve got to go. Lydia’s decided to hand deliver the autopsy report, and I think she’s just arrived if that shrieky voice I hear outside my office is an indication. What did I do to deserve this personal delivery? And what was I thinking—never mind.”

  He hung up, but I could have finished that question. What had he been thinking when he got involved with her several years ago? Miss Upstate Winnebago, as Lydia had once been titled, was a certifiable nutcase.

  With all the rain, the South Carolina landscape was lush, and I was enjoying this ride. I’d brought several quilts to finish, but just when I was in a good stitching rhythm, it was my turn to receive a phone call—and thank goodness I’d practiced with the new contraption. The caller ID read ROBIN WEST, but it was Jack.

  “Hi, Jack,” I said when I answered.

  Candace gave me a puzzled sideways glance.

  “I wanted you to know that my mom took your excellent advice. I ev
en got to play in the mud.”

  “That’s great, Jack. Are you off from school?” I said.

  “Yeah. Spring break, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. My cat, Lucy, has new friends. Two of them. One is black-and-white and the other one is orange. Of course, Mom won’t let them in the house.”

  “Two new cats? Did you go to Shawn and Allison’s shelter to pick them out?” I asked.

  Candace said, “Ah,” while nodding.

  “No,” he said. “They just showed up. Very smart cats to find shelter during that awful storm we had the other night. They’ve been staying in the barn, and they don’t seem to want to leave. And that’s fine with me.”

  “How’s Lucy handling two new friends?” I said.

  “She wasn’t thrilled at first. Lots of hissing and spitting the first day, since felines are very territorial. She’s coming around.”

  “Yes, she’ll be best buddies with them soon enough,” I said. “I have three cats myself.”

  “Are they house cats, or do they stay outside?” he asked.

  “They’re indoor cats. But, Jack, glad as I am to hear from you, I sense a hidden agenda,” I said.

  “Yes. I am determined to have an indoor cat myself. And since you did so well with my mother before, well . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “You want me to convince her to let you have a cat in your immaculate house? That’s a tall order. Cats can destroy things, and your mom’s vacuuming, which I’m guessing is already very time-consuming, might increase a whole lot more.”

  “Do your cats destroy things?” he said.

  “No, because they have scratching posts and early on I trained them to behave.”

  “Here’s my idea, though,” he said. “My mom needs to quit obsessing. A cat might be a way for her to realize that she can enjoy something without having to constantly clean around it. She does love animals.”

  How did such a young kid get so smart? “Did you try to convince her with your logic?”

  “I haven’t brought it up. I thought I’d let you do that part because she doesn’t listen to me.”

  He sounded so hopeful, how could I turn him down? But this would be a challenge. “I’m out of town on a little trip today. Can I meet your new cats another day?”

  “Sure. I’m off school all week.”

  “I’ll call you, Jack. Take care,” I said.

  “Bye, Miss Jillian. And thank you.” He hung up.

  I looked at Candace. “Did you get the gist of that?”

  “You honestly believe that Robin West will allow a cat in her house? I don’t think so,” Candace said.

  “At least I can try. Plus, those cats that showed up will need their shots and should be checked for parasites and feline AIDS, like we did the night the professor—oh my gosh.”

  “What?” Candace said.

  “Ruth Schultz and Robin West don’t live that far apart,” I said. “Ruth had at least one stray that came from the professor’s property that we know about and probably a couple more. What if these two that showed up at Robin and Jack’s place came from the professor’s farm, too?”

  “Do you believe some of the cats escaped the evening of the murder and weren’t carried off?” Candace said.

  “It’s very possible. And if there are more, Shawn will have his hands full,” I said. “They’ll come his way eventually.”

  “And he’s so overloaded now that Allison’s in school, we had to work a night shift,” Candace said. “Not that I minded. It was fun.”

  “That seems so long ago now, doesn’t it? I have to volunteer more there,” I said. “He needs the help. I hate to even tell him about the microchip I found on Dame Wiggins this morning because he’ll have to make a trip to my place to scan her.”

  “Chief Baca told me that lazy Chester called the station to make sure Shawn scanned the cats left at the house,” Candace said. “Chester’s looking for any reason to bust Shawn. Scanning rescued animals is the law.”

  “Then we’ll make sure Chester doesn’t get Shawn in trouble,” I said.

  We settled into silence. I so loved the South Carolina countryside. Focusing on the budding trees and blooming flowers along the way relieved the stress I feared would return full force once Candace started asking questions at Denman College. Everything about the VanKleet family seemed to be connected to stress with a capital S.

  Twenty-two

  Denman is a tiny town, and according to what Candace told me, most everyone who lives there is connected to the college. We stopped at the police station first, or should I say the police shack. If I thought Mercy’s police headquarters was ridiculously small, I never could have imagined that police officers in this country would be forced to work out of what was practically one of those backyard storage sheds you can buy at Home Depot. Only one officer was present, Officer Dooley, and he told Candace she was welcome to question anyone she could find who wasn’t out of town.

  “Courtesy call,” Candace said as we got back in her squad car. “Don’t want it to get around to any officers in town that I’m stirring up trouble on their turf. Let’s talk to the college president now. Maybe we’ll get new information about the professor from him. His name is Lawrence Johnson, by the way.”

  “How will you explain my presence?” I asked.

  “Since I’m not about to let you out of my sight, we’re back to Plan A, the one that started this whole thing. You’re a ride-along—taking one of those citizen police-academy courses.” She checked her small campus map and then put the car in gear.

  “Me hanging around might make your job more difficult, though. I can wait in the car, or you can drop me at McDonald’s and I’ll get coffee. Every college town has a McDonald’s.”

  “Nope. That’s not how this works. We are joined at the hip until this case is solved.”

  I sighed. “All I’m saying is that we’re far from Mercy and any danger right now.”

  “Ski Mask could have followed us—though I was paying close attention and didn’t pick up any tail. But who knows? Rosemary Bartlett might turn out to be more like Rosemary’s Baby,” she said.

  “I give up. You’re the one in uniform, and I must obey,” I said with a laugh.

  A few minutes later we drove onto campus, and Denman College turned out to be far different than I’d imagined. The buildings were a blend of very old and very new. We passed the infirmary, which obviously had been someone’s home at one time, but there was also a residence hall that looked modern and was about six stories high.

  The administration building turned out to be a beautiful large redbrick structure with white pillars. The landscaping was well tended, with shrubs surrounding steps on both sides that led to the main wide set of steps. We parked in a spot marked RESERVED right next to the president’s parking place.

  “Let them try and give a police car a ticket,” Candace said as we got out and headed toward the administration building.

  A cement plaque set into the brick next to the huge oak double doors said BUILT: 1910.

  “Wow,” I said as we went inside. “This place is a hundred years old, and everything looks like it’s in perfect condition.”

  We learned from a posted building map that the administration offices were housed on the third floor. I saw a sign with an arrow pointing right that said MAIN DINING FACILITIES but heard no voices. The place was pretty much deserted.

  We walked through what had once been the huge foyer of the building. Couches, chairs and coffee tables made for a nice relaxing place for students to visit. But not a soul was around.

  The two elevators beyond this area seemed far more modern than the building. I’d expected old-fashioned cage-like protecting doors to close before the main doors shut, but that didn’t happen.

  President Johnson’s office, as another sign told us, was at the far end of the hall to our right. There was no secretary in his reception area. Candace went up to another lacquered and gleaming tall door with a PRESIDENT LAWRENCE JOHNSON p
laque prominent, and I hurried to keep up. I had been lagging behind admiring the high ceilings and beautiful arched windows.

  She knocked, and a deep voice told us to come in.

  President Johnson sat behind his massive desk, a slew of papers in front of him. Two dark wooden armchairs with padded blue silk striped seats and backs sat in front of the desk facing the president.

  He stood and nodded. “Deputy Carson.” Then he looked at me. I had left behind the jeans and T-shirt and had chosen a khaki linen skirt and blouse, but as nice as my outfit was, I in no way looked like a cop. His puzzled look was no surprise.

  “Jillian Hart,” I said to the man, who had to be Harry Belafonte’s long-lost twin. The guy was gorgeous.

  Candace quickly added, “She’s in the Citizen’s Police Academy. And she’s signed confidentiality documents. Ms. Hart’s learning how we do the people’s business in South Carolina.”

  He’d been looking skeptical before she said “the people’s business,” but that phrase seemed to have worked, because he said, “Very well. Have a seat, ladies. This is an unpleasant business, something I certainly didn’t think I would have to revisit.”

  “We know what happened with Professor VanKleet here at your college. All I’m looking for is corroboration. Let’s get right to it. Why did you fire Professor VanKleet?”

  Lawrence Johnson sat back in his leather swivel chair and rested his intertwined fingers on his abdomen. Bet he had a six-pack under that starched white shirt. The man seemed to be in awesome shape, so much so that it was impossible to tell how old he was. Since his dark head was shaved and shiny, there was no gray hair to give away his age.

  “Why did I fire Hubert?” Johnson said. “Let me first say, I did not like doing it. At one time he was one of the most brilliant minds on the faculty.”

  “At one time?” Candace said.

  “The man was ill.” Johnson tapped his temple. “Everyone knew that, but in higher education, eccentrics are common. Oftentimes it accompanies genius—and that was the case with him.”