The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse acitm-1

by Leann Sweeney

  Poor Chablis was struggling in the air, trying to turn this way and that to free herself. My mouth was dry, my stomach tight with fear. Chablis was unable even to cry out because Marian Mae was holding her so tightly.

  Merlot’s “I couldn’t care less” act—and it had been an act—was over with this new development. He leaped from what had to be five feet away. Being the big strong cat he is, and with surprise on his side, he knocked Marian Mae off balance.

  This is your only chance.

  I was across the room in a second and rammed Marian Mae against the wall. She let go of Chablis, but not the gun.

  I gripped her right wrist, and when she tried to twist free, we both ended up on the floor. But I had the advantage. She was on the bottom, and I was able to press my knee into her gut.

  “Daphne, call 911,” I shouted.

  “Already did,” Daphne said calmly.

  Marian Mae released her grip on the gun, but as I shoved it away, I must have let up on her. That allowed her enough freedom to grab my hair. She pulled my head back until I feared my neck might break.

  But suddenly Marian Mae was screeching and she released her hold. At first I thought she’d finally lost it because Daphne, thank God, was holding the gun on her. But that wasn’t the entire problem.

  Syrah had clamped down on her ankle with his very sharp teeth, and he wasn’t letting go. I could almost hear him whisper, “Revenge is so sweet.”

  To add to the confusion, not to mention the noise coming out of this lunatic woman, someone knocked on the door. They must have heard Marian Mae’s continuing wails, because that someone invited themselves to the party by bursting in.

  Candace had her gun drawn when she rushed into the living room.

  The very agitated Marian Mae was pretty well pinned, but I thought it only right to say to Candace, “A little help from a friend would be appreciated.”

  Twenty-Eight

  The number of people in my living room was making me claustrophobic. But we were waiting for Mike Baca to arrive. Seemed odd he would take his sweet time getting here.

  Candace had cuffed Marian Mae, and Morris, who had also responded to the 911 call, was sitting at my dining room table with Marian Mae, trying to get her to explain her behavior.

  But she’d clammed up, hadn’t said a word. Billy Cranor and his firemen friends were here, too. I was beginning to accept the fact that everyone showed up everywhere for emergencies in Mercy.

  Marian Mae had needed the puncture wounds on her ankle cleaned and bandaged. The paramedics could have left right afterward, but they hung around. Each emergency was a potential story to be passed along at Belle’s Beans.

  Convincing Daphne to give up the gun had been interesting. She hadn’t wanted to part with it. Trust issues, I’d decided. I was the one to convince her the gun was evidence and Candace couldn’t make a case against Marian Mae without it.

  The wait for Baca was an agonizing thirty minutes. But when he arrived wearing golf spikes and a ridiculous argyle sweater vest, I understood. He took the shoes off at my front door before entering the living room.

  When he saw Marian Mae sitting across the room in handcuffs, he said, “What have you done, Mae?”

  Seemed she’d been thinking hard during her prolonged silence. “I came here to tell Miss Marple to allow you to do your job and this wacko”—she pointed at Daphne, who was sitting in John’s recliner—“this woman pulled a gun on me. It’s obvious they were in on Mr. Wilkerson’s murder together.”

  I think my jaw dropped to my knees, but Daphne responded by jumping up from the chair in an instant. I believe I heard her say, “You lying bitch,” before Candace grabbed her from behind with some kind of fancy police maneuver.

  Candace whirled Daphne around so they were nose to nose and said, “Sit down or I’ll have to cuff you, too.”

  The two of them stared at each other, with Candace’s grip on Daphne’s upper arms so tight her knuckles were white.

  I stepped toward them. “Do what she says. Please?”

  Once Daphne reluctantly sat back down and stuck a cigarette in her mouth, the tension in the room lowered a few notches. Not taking any chances, Candace positioned herself between Daphne and Marian Mae, who sat at the dining room table.

  Meanwhile, Baca took a seat next to his girlfriend. The three extra police officers and the four firemen edged closer in unison so they could hear the conversation that was about to take place.

  Baca may have been blind when it came to Marian Mae, but not to them. “Everyone but Morris, Candace, Ms. Wilkerson and Ms. Hart can wait outside.”

  “Does that mean I can leave?” Marian Mae said with the sickest, most smug smile I believe I have ever seen. But Mike’s look kept her in her seat. As people filed out of my house, grumbling all the way, Mike Baca leveled a stare at Marian Mae Temple that was filled with both shock and disgust.

  He said to Marian, “You’re saying Ms. Wilkerson pulled a gun on you?”

  Marian Mae lifted her chin. “That’s right.”

  Baca looked at Candace and said, “Can I see the gun, please?”

  Candace being Candace, she’d already bagged the weapon as evidence. She’d put the Ziploc holding the gun inside a large brown paper sack, and now she lifted the gun by the corner of the plastic so Baca could see it.

  He rubbed between his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “That’s my service revolver, Mae.”

  She said, “That Daphne person must have snuck into your house and stolen it before—”

  “Did anyone tell you that you have the right to remain silent?” Baca said.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then I’m reminding you again of your rights,” Baca said wearily.

  “But I have to tell you what happened,” she said, sounding a tad desperate now. “These women attacked me and that awful cat bit me.” She seemed to be working hard to summon up tears, but it wasn’t happening, so she extended her ankle for some sympathy. “Look at this. I might get rabies. Now take off these silly handcuffs and we can go to the hospital where I can be adequately treated. And get Candy and Morris to take these two violent people to jail.”

  He ignored the speech by saying, “You’re waiving your rights?”

  Marian Mae stared at her once-future husband for several long seconds. Finally she said, “Should I do that? You’re the policeman; you tell me.”

  “That’s not how this works,” Baca said. “It’s your decision. We need to search your house, Mae. Do I need a warrant or do you give me permission?”

  “You’ve been in my house, for heaven’s sake. What could you possibly expect to find there that you don’t already know about?”

  I pulled the picture of Sophie from my pocket, held it up and said, “A cat that looks like this. This cat may not be proof of murder, but if it proves to be Daphne’s, it will explain why you might have been angry with Flake Wilkerson when he told you he wanted the cat back.”

  Those frigid eyes narrowed, a look from Marian Mae I’d seen way more times than I’d wanted to. She said, “You’ll need a warrant, then. And get me that lawyer, Mike.”

  Candace and Morris took Marian Mae away on Baca’s orders. Once he’d placed a call to a judge for his warrant, he addressed Daphne and me.

  “I’m sorry about all this. Neither of you were injured, I hope?” he said.

  I would certainly feel the effects of the scuffle tomorrow, but that didn’t matter. “I’m fine, Chief,” I said.

  “She never touched me.” Daphne’s cigarette danced with each word.

  “Good. Right now I’m at a loss to understand how a person I thought I knew so well could . . .” His words trailed off. “Anyway, about your cat. If Mae does have—what’s its name again?”

  “Sophie,” Daphne said. “You want me to spell it?”

  “No. And I apologize again for coming in late on the cat angle. Maybe if I’d been on it sooner, this confrontation today could have been avoided,” he said.

&nbs
p; “Confrontation? You mean the attempted murder, don’t you?” I said. I was thinking more about poor Chablis as well as the two of us. She’d run off once Marian Mae let go of her, and I was sure it would be a while before she came out of hiding.

  “Assault will be on the table,” he said, “as well as your father’s murder, Ms. Wilkerson. As you know, a few things only came to light yesterday. The online cat business, for example. I would have seen things differently once—”

  “Seen things differently? You mean realized you were wrong about Daphne? Wrong about me?” I was upset at Baca’s offering up what seemed like platitudes.

  He took a deep breath. “You’re right and I’m sorry. Anyway, I’ve been examining your father’s financials, Daphne. Most of what you inherit will come from the rather large insurance policy he took out a year ago. That change in beneficiaries is more important than ever now.”

  Daphne said, “Tell me about that. Who was the original beneficiary?”

  “That’s a problem,” he said. “The insurance company is not cooperating. I had to ask the DA to subpoena them, and we don’t have the name of the original beneficiary yet. See, they’re dragging their feet, probably because if you went to jail for killing your father, the company wouldn’t have to pay.”

  “But if that previous beneficiary killed him, they will,” I said.

  Baca nodded.

  “You had to know Marian Mae was acquainted with Mr. Wilkerson,” I said.

  “She never mentioned him. But once we get the information from that insurance company subpoena, my guess is I’ll find out they did know each other well enough that he was ready to take care of her for life. Why, I don’t know. They aren’t exactly two folks you’d expect to be friends.” He sighed. “We will get the whole story, though. From what Candace described to me on the phone when she called, Mae terrorized the two of you. I apologize.”

  “And she terrorized someone else,” I said. “Excuse me if I don’t see you out. One of my cats needs me.”

  Twenty-Nine

  I found Chablis hiding under my bed, and it took some serious coaxing to get her to come out. I soothed her for several minutes, and she seemed relieved that I, rather than some crazy woman, came to find her.

  I took her into the living room and asked Daphne if she’d sit in John’s chair again and hold Chablis for a while. I thought it would be good for both of them. Daphne was more than happy to comply and so was Chablis. Meanwhile, I called the other cats, and soon they ventured into the living room, checking every nook and cranny for signs of strangers.

  I sat on the floor, tickled to congratulate my heroes. Merlot immediately plopped down beside me and turned over for a tummy rub, while Syrah found a comfy spot in the center of my crossed legs.

  “Do you really think Marian Mae has Sophie?” Daphne asked.

  Before I could answer, someone knocked on the door. Merlot and Syrah took off, ready to lie in wait for another takedown, perhaps. Chablis was happy right where she was.

  “Who could this be?” I rose. “The local reporter? Is there even a local reporter in Mercy?”

  Daphne laughed. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

  As I went to answer, relief washed over me when I saw how calm Daphne seemed. Chablis was a hero, too.

  I opened the door to find Tom holding two steaming cups of coffee from Belle’s Beans.

  “Thought you could use a fix. What in heck’s been going on, anyway?” he said.

  “As if you haven’t heard,” I said. “This is Mercy, after all. But Daphne’s here, so you didn’t bring enough java.”

  Daphne ended up with Tom’s latte while he warmed up what was left in the bottom of my pot for himself. When I protested that I could drink the old stuff, he said, “Not if what I heard is true. You need the fresh stuff.”

  As Daphne and I related all that had gone on, he kept shaking his head in disbelief, occasionally interjecting, “Unbelievable.”

  “The chief is waiting on his warrant, but I have the feeling that will be all she wrote for Marian Mae,” I said. “I’m betting Baca wants to take a very close look at Marian Mae’s cat. Maybe her computer, too.”

  “Ah,” he said. “She’s the one who took down the Match-a-Cat site.”

  I blinked. “I never thought about that. But yes. She was probably in business with him.”

  “That’s why she took the computer from the crime scene and tried to destroy it,” Tom said. “She knew there were links back to her. Her home computer will probably finish off any hope she has of denying a relationship between her and Daphne’s father.”

  I said, “Though why a woman who the chief seemed to be taking care of would sign on with him is baffling.”

  “Remember? I had to sic a bill collector on her to get paid for her security system,” he said. “She could have plenty of debt Mike didn’t know about.”

  “Must have been in major debt to do what she did,” I said.

  “So she actually needed money,” Daphne said, “and my father was her go-to guy? She must have been desperate.”

  “Still,” I said, “why would he take out a life insurance policy with her as beneficiary—? They couldn’t possibly have been involved romantically, could they?”

  “Marian Mae is by no means stupid,” Tom said. “He was a frail-looking guy, and if they went into business together she might have insisted on life insurance. You mentioned that the insurance company wasn’t exactly cooperating. I’ll bet we’ll soon discover that Marian was the original beneficiary.”

  “And she killed him in a rage when Mr. Wilkerson told her he’d made that switch,” I said, half to myself. I didn’t say aloud my other thought—that this might have had nothing to do with Sophie. Daphne would be so disappointed if the gray cat called Diamond really was Diamond.

  Tom said, “If Marian Mae’s as smart as I think she is, she’ll make a deal with the prosecutors. It didn’t look like a premeditated crime to me, and it probably wasn’t.”

  I looked at Daphne and said, “Tom used to be a cop,” like I was his proud mother or something. I wondered if I sounded plain silly to him.

  “You think she has Sophie?” Daphne asked. “Because I’m too afraid to hope.”

  Yup. Here it was. And I felt a little sick to my stomach.

  “We’ll know once the warrant is completed,” Tom said. “Bet they turn over whatever cat they find to Shawn.”

  But a call from Candace an hour later surprised us. She asked us to meet her outside Marian Mae’s house, so we all piled in Tom’s Prius and hurried over there.

  We had to park on the next block, and we saw why when we walked up to the crime scene tape tied to several trees. The search warrant was being executed, and gloved police people were removing items from the house. I saw a laptop in one officer’s hands. And Mike Baca standing well away from the house, hands clasped behind his back, head hung.

  And then I saw why. Lydia emerged from the house, her hands gloved, her hair piled high. She wore purple today, but the satisfied smile on her face was more prominent than anything else. She was in charge again and loving it.

  Candace came down the walkway and approached me from the other side of the tape. “This is pretty awesome, huh?”

  “Very,” Daphne said. “That woman was crazy.”

  I had to smile at that one.

  “One thing I didn’t get to tell you back at your house was that I’d gathered a little more evidence,” Candace said. “We might not need it now, though.”

  “But tell me first how you answered the 911 so fast?” I said.

  “Um, you’ve driven with me, right?” She grinned.

  “Oh yeah. Guess I do appreciate your timing.” I pulled my oversize cardigan tighter around me, thinking that didn’t mean I wanted another ride with her in the near future.

  “Is my cat in there?” Daphne was wearing my jacket, which hung on her thin frame. She was looking past Candace toward the house.

  “Let me explain about this evid
ence,” Candace said excitedly. “I noticed the chief had gray cat hairs on his coat yesterday—not the suit jacket he was wearing the day he came to the crime scene, either. So when he left for a bathroom break, I took some Scotch tape and grabbed a sample off the coat he’d left on the back of his chair.”

  “What does that have to do with Sophie?” Daphne said.

  “Here’s the deal,” Candace said. “I took many cat hair samples from your father’s house, but I also took some from his clothing—what he was wearing when he died. That gray hair on his pants legs didn’t appear to match anything in the house—and believe me, I examined a ton of cat hair under the microscope. See, cat hairs are pretty distinctive, and—”

  “Please. What about Sophie?” Daphne said.

  “The cat hair on the victim’s pants appears very similar to the cat hair I pulled off the chief’s coat,” Candace said with a smile.

  “I’m confused,” I said. “What does that mean?”

  “I think I follow,” Tom said. “You took a sample from the gray cat that I assume you just found in that house. You think it matches those other two samples?”

  Candace leaned back, pointing at him. “You got it. We know the chief has been inside Marian Mae’s house before, but now we know either Wilkerson was at Marian Mae’s house the morning he died or she transferred her cat’s hair onto him when she killed him. My guess is the latter. It’s proof. Animal hair has been used over and over in court and—”

  “Is my cat in that house?” Daphne said tersely. She had the silver cigarette case in her hands, and from the look on her drawn face, she’d had about all she could take of Candace’s enthusiastic explanation.

  “There is a cat in there. Lydia says that since we’ve taken the hair samples, there’s no need to keep her. We can turn her over to Shawn if she’s not yours—but there is a little surprise. Wait right here.” Candace took off running back toward the house.

  Like she was worried we’d leave if she didn’t hurry? Candace was something else.