The Cat, The Professor and the Poison

by Leann Sweeney

  “And he had a plan to make a lot of money,” Candace said. “Have I got that right?”

  Whoa, Candace wasn’t falling for the tearful act; that was for sure. But I wasn’t so sure it was an act.

  Lieber laughed. “You mean his experiments? The man was mentally ill and getting worse by the day.”

  “Did you know about the experiments?” I said.

  “Only what he told me,” Lieber said. “None of it made sense. I’m no biologist like he was, but I do have a science background. I couldn’t follow anything he said.”

  “Maybe it will make sense to me,” Candace said. “Go ahead. What was his plan?”

  “Something to do with animal nutrition. That’s all I know,” Lieber said.

  Sarah seemed to have pulled herself together. “But Hubert’s research isn’t why I asked you here, Jillian. And I didn’t count on you bringing the police along.”

  “She did, though,” Candace said. “Back to the big question that you seem to be dancing around. What was the professor’s big secret experiment, Mrs. VanKleet?”

  “Oh, what’s the difference if I tell you? You know all about him now. He was obsessed with a formula for pet food,” Sarah said. “His dream was to be the scientist on board with a major pet food company. Then he would have more freedom to develop this new food.”

  “Why is that such a big secret? Or did he have something in the works already?” Candace said. “Something he could sell to, say, Purina, for a lot of money?”

  “He might have thought so,” Lieber said with a smile. “Hubert was a dreamer.”

  “Are you saying you knew nothing about him having stray cats all over the place and that he was controlling their diets?” Candace said.

  “Evan did mention a few cats, but that’s all we heard,” Lieber said.

  “If you’re not being truthful, we’ll find out,” Candace said. “You already told one little lie, didn’t you, Mrs. VanKleet?”

  She looked confused. “I never—”

  “About needing directions to Mercy. You knew exactly where Mercy is,” Candace said.

  “Oh. That,” she said, raising a hand to her throat.

  “What does Sarah seeking the income she was promised have to do with murder?” Lieber said.

  “She lied because she knew we’d be curious about her money issues,” Candace said.

  “It was a mistake,” Sarah said, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry.”

  “But you asked me here,” I said. “Why?”

  She glanced nervously between Candace and me. “Well, I spoke with the coroner, Lydia Monk, and—”

  “Deputy Coroner Monk,” Candace corrected.

  “Yes. Anyway,” Sarah went on, “Deputy Coroner Monk is in charge of issuing the death certificates, correct?”

  “That’s right,” Candace answered even though Sarah continued to look at me.

  “She told me that you, Jillian, were her good friend,” Sarah said.

  Really? What is Lydia up to now? I thought. “We know each other, yes. What else did she say?”

  She cast a quick look at Candace and then focused on me. “She told me you were quite friendly with the police and perhaps you could encourage them—” She paused and turned her gaze on Candace. “I suppose since you’re here I should appeal to you directly. We need to know when the house will be released to us so we can get in there and see if Hubert left anything of value. My sons have to go to school, and that means I need money.”

  “First of all, Chief Baca will decide when the crime scene will be released, not me,” Candace said. “But I’m not sure the house will be released to you. You divorced the professor.”

  “Semantics,” she said tersely. “I’ve consulted an attorney, and my sons will probably be awarded that property.”

  She seemed awfully impatient about that farm. Did she think it was worth a fortune? Because I sure didn’t. “But the police have to follow their timeline concerning this crime scene,” Lieber said. “Isn’t that right, Deputy Carson?”

  “True,” she answered.

  “Can you guess when the house might no longer be under your . . . what’s a good word? Your jurisdiction?” Lieber said.

  “A couple days to a week,” she said. “We’ll want to get back in there for one more thorough search.”

  “That long?” Sarah said.

  “That long,” Candace replied.

  We heard the knocker on the front door, and a few seconds later, Anita escorted Brandt into the parlor.

  “What are you doing here?” he said when he spotted us.

  “Your mother invited me,” I said.

  He narrowed his eyes at Sarah. “She’s lying, right?” Candace stood and walked up to him. “What is it with you, Brandt? Got something to hide?”

  Lieber stood and put a hand on Brandt’s shoulder. “Calm down, son. We were hoping to get a few answers about the house, that’s all.”

  He craned his neck to look around Lieber and spoke to Sarah. “Didn’t I tell you that the police always suspect the family first? You shouldn’t be talking to them at all. And where the heck is Evan? Is he here?”

  “No, I thought he was with you,” Sarah said.

  “You need help finding Evan?” Candace said, sounding worried.

  “We don’t need anything from you,” Brandt said.

  “Fine. This conversation is over.” Candace looked down at Sarah. “If you want information about your ex- husband’s belongings, property or whatever else might have to do with the crime scene, you go through Chief Baca.” She gestured for me to follow her. “Come on, Jillian.”

  She marched past Brandt, brushing her shoulder against his arm. I went with her, even though I was a little disappointed I wouldn’t get to taste what was for lunch at the Pink House.

  Twenty-eight

  Candace fumed in silence on the drive back to my house, and I was so glad I was driving. The angrier she gets, the faster she drives, so we would have made it home in record time. Or we would have found ourselves wrapped around one of the hickory or pecan trees that line my driveway.

  “One of those VanKleets did those murders,” Candace said as we came in through the back door.

  “You said yourself that Sarah wasn’t strong enough to kill Rufus.” After I petted our greeters, Syrah and Merlot, I opened the fridge looking for something to eat.

  “Yeah, but what about poison?” Candace said. “She could do that. They do say women are usually poisoners, not men.”

  “I don’t want to talk about poison when I’m hungry.” I’d skipped breakfast, anticipating a big lunch. Sadly, I was confronted with Red Bull and sushi rolls. The chicken had somehow disappeared, so I took out the container of Greek olives and the tea pitcher. I poured us both a glass. I needed to get to the grocery store soon. Heck, I was even out of bread. Kara’s disdain for carbs was a definite problem. We’d have to work on that.

  Candace picked up her tea and gulped down half the glass. “Sarah looked strong enough today to smash anyone’s head in, so maybe I was wrong. She is such a manipulator. Fake tears, fake nice. She thought she could get you over there and sweet-talk you. Then you’d do her bidding and get the crime scene released so she could raid the house for buried treasure.”

  I popped an olive and ate it before I answered. “She does seem a little desperate. Maybe her new boyfriend is refusing to come up with the tuition for Evan. Did you notice how she attempted to play on our sympathies there?”

  “Oh, I noticed. Little does she know, we’re aware that Brandt doesn’t have to pay a penny for his schooling.” Candace opened the pantry door and stepped in.

  Merlot joined her immediately. One door that always stayed closed was the pantry door, and he wasn’t about to miss a chance to explore in there.

  Candace emerged with potato chips. “I am starving, and olives aren’t my favorite.” She tore open the bag.

  Meanwhile, Syrah had joined Merlot in the pantry, and before I could shoo them out, Syrah emerged ca
rrying a bag of catnip. He took off before I could catch him, Merlot on his tail.

  I laughed. “I guess they deserve a treat. It’s been tense around here the last week, and I know they feel it,” I said.

  “Can I have some of that catnip, too?” Candace said. “Doesn’t it make cats all happy and playful?”

  “Some cats,” I said, grabbing a handful of chips from the bag Candace held. “Some are completely unaffected. Scientists believe it’s genetic whether a cat gets a tiny high off catnip.”

  “You had to say the word scientist,” Candace said. “I’ve decided I don’t like experiments or labs or even scientist’s kids.”

  “Or their friends or their ex-wives,” I added.

  “Them, too,” she said and popped a chip into her mouth.

  “Do any of those people have an alibi for the evening of the murder?” I said.

  “Brandt refused to answer, saying he didn’t have to—are you surprised?” she answered. “Sarah said she couldn’t remember.”

  “How convenient,” I said.

  “Lieber said he was at home, but he didn’t supply an alibi for his live-in friend, Sarah,” she said. “He said he thought she was playing bridge.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to get caught in a lie,” I said.

  “That’s the feeling I got,” she said. “He may act like he adores Sarah, but if she’s involved in a crime, I’ll bet he runs as fast as he can in the other direction. Anyway, Evan said he was driving around that night. I love the ‘driving around’ alibis. So helpful.”

  I was done with the potato-chip-and-olive lunch and grabbed a paper towel for my messy hands. Candace took one, too. Good timing, because my cell phone rang and I wouldn’t have wanted to get oil all over the new phone.

  It was Shawn, and he said he and Doc Howard would like to come over if it was convenient. I told him yes, and he said to expect them in about fifteen minutes.

  “One mystery will be solved today. The mystery of the enormous microchip,” I said.

  “Enormous?” Candace said.

  “I’m being silly. This has been a bad week, and if we can find Dame Wiggins’s family through that microchip, that will be a sign things are turning around.”

  When Shawn and Doc Howard arrived as expected fifteen minutes later, Candace, Syrah and Merlot came with us down to the basement.

  Doc Howard brought his medical kit as well as his scanner. After he made friends with Syrah and Merlot, who continued to stay behind the imaginary line in the sand drawn by Chablis, we all went in the bedroom.

  Chablis was not happy about so many invaders at once and arched her back and hissed. I went over and picked her up, holding her close to settle her. A few seconds later she was purring as Doc Howard talked to her.

  “Gorgeous cat,” he said before he focused on Dame Wiggins and her litter. “Those kittens are twice as big as the last time I saw them. But that will be her last litter if I have anything to say about it.”

  After he gently made friends with Wiggins—not hard to do—he located the spot on her shoulder and separated her fur.

  I saw his brow furrow, and he bent to get a closer look. “Hmm. I brought a four-protocol scanner.”

  “Is that what you have?” I asked Shawn.

  “Yeah,” Shawn said. “There are four common types of animal microchips, and I never know who will have which kind when I do a rescue—that is, if I find one at all. But maybe my scanner was not reading whatever type Dame Wiggins has implanted.”

  Doc Howard raised his scanner over the cat’s shoulder and pressed the button, just as Shawn had done earlier. He looked at the results on the readout screen and said, “This is not a pet chip. It is some kind of integrated circuit, though, because data is being transmitted. But not an ID number.”

  “Why would she have this thing in her, then?” Candace asked.

  “I don’t know, but whatever it’s for, it may not be encased in the biocompatible material that’s used for pet chips.” He set the scanner aside and separated Dame Wiggins’s fur even more. “Look here. She’s getting irritation around the microchip.”

  “Chablis has been licking that shoulder like crazy,” I said. “Could she have caused that?”

  Doc Howard shook his head. “No. See this red delineation around the chip? If Dame Wiggins will cooperate, I think I’ll take this object out. She’s reacting to it.”

  “How will you do that?” I said. And will Chablis allow this? I thought.

  “A little local anesthetic, a tiny cut, maybe one stitch,” he said. “The skin in this area is not all that sensitive. Since she’s nursing, I can’t take her to my mobile clinic and put her under. Anesthesia in Dame Wiggins’s system might harm the kittens through her milk.”

  “This won’t hurt her?” I said, feeling as if I needed to ask for myself and for Chablis.

  Shawn said, “He’s the best. This will take five minutes max, right, Doc?”

  “That’s right,” he answered. “But I prefer it if just Shawn stays in here to help. Chablis seems very nervous about me even touching her friend, so take her and wait upstairs, okay?”

  Candace and I left for the kitchen, and sure enough, five minutes later Shawn and Doc Howard came back upstairs. Doc went to the sink and used a damp paper towel to wipe off what he held so carefully between his gloved thumb and index finger.

  He then offered it to me. It looked like a tiny glass capsule. “This is a microchip, but not like anything I’ve seen used in animals.”

  “Then what the heck is it?” I said.

  Doc Howard smiled. “I only know about radio frequency identification technology as it pertains to animals. I will leave this little thing for you to figure out.”

  Shawn shrugged as if to say he had no clue, either.

  “And,” the doc said, “I didn’t have to use a stitch. I used some surgical glue to close the skin. But I’d keep Chablis away from Dame Wiggins for a day so the area can heal.”

  And then they left.

  I placed the chip in a small jar and screwed a lid on, saying, “Get ready to be kept awake all night by one very nervous Chablis. She’ll probably howl and screech when she finds out she can’t get back to her adopted family.”

  “What about this chip?” Candace said. “Maybe forensic tech services will have a look, since the cat was found at a crime scene.”

  “How long will that take?” I said.

  “Could be years,” she said. “Okay, I’m exaggerating, but months, maybe.”

  “Then I’ll call my own tech expert,” I said with a smile.

  Twenty-nine

  I phoned Tom, and while I waited for him to arrive, Candace started working. First she called Baca to tell him about the conversation with the VanKleets, and then she pulled out her laptop to update the case file.

  “The chief’s planning to have another talk with those people.” Candace sat on the sofa, waiting for her system to boot. “And guess what he told me? Evan does have an alibi. With Lawrence Johnson’s help, Chief Baca put out a few feelers in Denman. A convenience store owner spotted Evan’s car pass at least three times. Guess ‘driving around’ can be a real alibi after all.”

  “I knew Evan was being honest,” I said with a smile. “He’s probably the only person who cared about the professor at all.”

  I heard Tom’s familiar knock on the back door and went to answer. But only Syrah and Merlot came with me. Chablis had planted herself at the door to the basement bedroom, and I decided that’s where she would stay until she was again allowed to care for her precious family.

  I was surprised when Tom cupped my face and kissed me when he came in. But what a nice surprise. Then he held up a leather satchel. “Where’s this microchip your brilliant kitty wanted you to remove?”

  I handed him the glass jar from the counter.

  He held it up to examine the contents. “That’s a microchip all right. Let’s go to your office and see what the computer tells us.”

  “The computer? A
re you going to put that inside my computer?”

  He laughed. “No, but after I scan it and retrieve the data—”

  “Wait. They already scanned it, and they didn’t find any ID number, so—”

  “You mentioned gibberish, though. Did you see this gibberish?” he said.

  “Yes. It looked like a bunch of ones and zeros,” I said.

  Tom smiled. “That’s good. We call that binary code. I can scan that, record the information and input it. That should lead me to something.”

  “You can do that?” I said.

  “I’m in the security business. I know plenty about RFID technology. And spies know too much about it,” he said.

  “RFID? You’re hurting my brain. Just do what you do,” I said.

  “And tell us all about it when you’re done,” Candace called from her spot. “We need to solve something today.”

  Tom walked into the living room, carrying his satchel. “Hey, Candace. How’s it going?”

  “Could be better. Is there ever such a thing as cooperating with the police? Because I haven’t seen any cooperation lately,” she said.

  “I think that’s always an uphill climb.” Tom looked at me. “Come on, Jilly.” Tom tucked the jar into his briefcase, took my hand and pulled me with him to my office.

  I glanced back, and Candace mouthed, “Jilly?” with a questioning look. Then she gave me a thumbs-up.

  The minute the office door was shut, he took me in his arms and gave me a more intense kiss than the one at the back door. Though I loved this, the jar in his satchel was pressing into my back. And pressing on my mind. I pulled away.

  “Can we do this?” I said.

  “Sure. You want to see how I work?” he said.

  “That’s why I’m here,” I said. But though I am an extremely curious person, microchips seemed way over my head. And certainly not as fascinating as they seemed to Tom.

  He took from his satchel what I now and forever more will recognize as a scanner along with the microchip.

  “Why do you need one of those? Somehow I got the notion you’d have to take the chip apart,” I said.