The Cat, the Vagabond and the Victim: A Cats in Trouble Mystery

by Leann Sweeney

  Emily Nguyen made her entrance into the station and said, “My gut told me all the action was going on down here—and I was right.”

  B.J. stood, perhaps hoping to act like this was indeed a police station and not Emily’s TV set in Asheville. “How can I help you, Miss Nguyen?”

  She eyed Ida Lynn as if she were a marlin she’d landed on a deep-sea fishing excursion. “Tell me who you’ve got here, besides Jillian? A suspect, maybe?”

  Uh-oh. But before I could stop the confrontation, Ida Lynn shot back. “Who are you to call me a suspect, young woman?”

  “Emily Nguyen, Channel Five News, Asheville. Your name, ma’am?” She looked like she would have shoved a mic in Ida Lynn’s face if she had one with her.

  “I am no suspect and I will not give you my name.” Ida Lynn glowered over at B.J. “Is this your doing? Did you invite this . . . this media person here?”

  “I would never do that, Mrs. Ford—” B.J. stopped, realizing his mistake too late.

  Emily jumped on it. “Ford? As in Ida Lynn Ford? Mr. Jeffrey’s cousin?”

  Her triumphant smile made me a little sick to my stomach. Emily wanted more than a story about a cat, and she fully understood she was onto something now.

  Ida Lynn pursed her lips and said nothing as she appraised Emily, her stare hot enough to roast marshmallows. She clutched her bag, and her gloved fingers drummed the gold clasp.

  Emily turned to me. “Jillian? Why is Mrs. Ford here?”

  I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to think of a way to defuse this situation. The swollen silence that ensued was too much for me to stand. “Emily, I am not your source for everything you want to report on in our town. I will not answer your questions, and that interview I promised featuring Clyde? If you persist in bothering this woman, it’s off the table.”

  Emily turned one hand palm up. “We have a cat story over here.” She turned the other palm up. “And we have a major-crime piece over here. Hmm. Which story do you think I care about more right now?”

  “There are good people who could be hurt by your prematurely reporting on the . . . the problems in Mercy.” I dared a glimpse at Ida Lynn. She was livid and I didn’t blame her.

  “The problems? Don’t you mean the unexplained deaths?” Emily pulled a cell phone from her trouser pocket. “I need a news team down here right now.”

  I stood and stepped toward her. “Wait. Please don’t bring the media circus back here. Think about this. You won’t get the story—because . . . because they’ll give it to someone who isn’t a weather girl.” If Emily wanted to coerce me or Ida Lynn or anyone else into revealing information by threatening us this way, she had another thing coming. Didn’t she realize her ego was far bigger than her actual ability to nab this story alone?

  It was Emily’s turn to contemplate her next move. I could tell from the way her shoulders sagged that she quickly understood she wouldn’t get the story. It would go to a more experienced reporter.

  Ida Lynn finally spoke to Emily, derision dripping from each word. “You do the weather? My, my. Why am I not surprised at your lack of professionalism, barging in here and acting like you are entitled to intimate knowledge of my family?”

  But Emily apparently wasn’t the least bit intimidated. “I will get a news-anchor position one day, and it won’t be in Asheville. This story could be my ticket out of that market and on to a big city.” She turned to me. “If I promise to keep this on the down low for now, do I get access to inside information?”

  “That isn’t up to me.” I looked at Ida Lynn. “I respect your privacy, Mrs. Ford—as well as that of your cousins. But this story will get out eventually. There have been crews from major news stations down here already. A whole bunch of them parked on my front lawn because they were covering the story of Clyde’s journey home. Now, things have turned ugly. Between my stepdaughter, who is the editor of our local newspaper, and Miss Nguyen here, perhaps we can control the sensationalism. What do you say?”

  “Can you control her?” Ida Lynn waved a hand at Emily.

  The phone rang and I don’t believe I have ever seen B.J. more grateful to get back to the business of being a dispatcher. He sat and took the call.

  About now, I wished I were the dispatcher. But I couldn’t give up on trying to mediate this mess now. “I’ll talk to Miss Nguyen and help her understand that your family should be treated with respect. I have had several conversations with her already. She is capable of doing this the right way—with a little guidance from my stepdaughter.”

  Emily cocked her head and looked at me with an expression of surprise combined with a hint of gratitude. There was hope for this girl yet. She said, “I can be respectful—if I know what I need to be respectful of.”

  Ida Lynn sighed. “I suppose you’re correct about the press inserting themselves into our lives.” She leaned toward me and whispered, “But before I talk to this young woman, I need to speak with LouAnn, Wayne and Millicent. We cannot be at odds with one another while a spotlight shines on us.”

  I was sure Emily had heard every word, but I pretended she hadn’t. “Good idea.” I looked up at the eager face of the wannabe reporter. “Can you sit tight and let me get back to you? I’ll be like a liaison between you and the family.” As soon as I used the word liaison, I felt ill all over again. What had I just gotten myself into?

  Emily pivoted to leave, but then over her shoulder she addressed Ida Lynn. “Love the suit. Vintage is so now.”

  She left, thank goodness, and as soon as the door closed behind her, Candace appeared. Could that be just a lucky break or had she been around a corner listening and waiting until the coast was clear?

  Candace said, “Mrs. Ford, if you could join the interview now?”

  Ida Lynn stood. “It’s about time. But I want you to include Jillian. Seems we have a problem with this little weather girl hanging around your town and—”

  “Emily Nguyen?” Candace’s frustration was evident. “That young woman reminds me of a fruit fly hovering around rotting bananas.”

  “Jillian has kindly offered to deal with her so my family doesn’t have to. I have accepted this solution.” Ida Lynn smiled, her smeared lipstick looking almost comical. “If you are about to inform me exactly what is happening concerning the death of my cousin, I want Jillian to know so she can filter out anything that might be, well, embarrassing to us. We don’t want unpleasant details passed along to Miss Nguyen.”

  Candace looked at me with questioning eyes.

  “Is this arrangement okay, Deputy Carson?” I asked, nodding slightly to affirm this was what Ida Lynn and I had discussed.

  She took a few seconds to consider her answer before saying, “Anything to keep from having to deal with Emily Nguyen myself sounds like a good plan. Now, y’all come on back.”

  Ida Lynn stood. “At the very least, Millicent should have a say before we firm up our agreement.”

  “You can ask her yourself.” Candace started down the hall, fully expecting us to follow her.

  Ida Lynn hesitated. “I have to speak to her now? We’ll be in the same room?”

  Candace turned. “Is that a problem?”

  “Um, no. Absolutely not. I was hoping to have a few hours to consider exactly what to say to someone I haven’t seen in years. But carry on, Deputy Carson. A Southern woman such as myself can handle anything.” Ida Lynn lifted her chin and moved forward, wavering on her pink heels.

  I wanted to grab her elbow to keep her from falling, but I had a feeling any goodwill I’d managed to manufacture between us would disappear in an instant if I touched her.

  Tom and Millicent sat chatting and smiling when we entered the chief’s office. The woman didn’t seem the least bit distraught about her brother’s death as far as I could tell.

  But she stood and held her arms wide in greeting when we stepped into the room. “Why, Ida Lynn. I am so glad you decided to join us. I have truly missed your company. Why is it that tragedy
so often rebuilds bridges we thought we’d burned forever?”

  Candace walked over to the wall where Chief Baca’s framed credentials and commendations hung and dragged over two straight-back chairs. Tom stood and offered Ida Lynn the more comfortable, padded seat next to her cousin, and though she looked up at Tom with suspicion, she did accept the spot.

  Millicent grabbed Ida’s hands in hers and stared into her eyes. “Can we put the past behind us, Ida Lynn? Please?”

  What past? I wondered.

  “As long as I get to say what’s been on my mind for several years,” came Ida Lynn’s taciturn reply.

  Candace took the chief’s leather chair behind his polished mahogany desk. “Unless the past has something to do with the death of Mr. Jeffrey, can we please leave the reunion for later?”

  Millicent laughed. “It has nothing to do with the present. Please ask your questions, Deputy Carson. Ida Lynn and I will have a nice dinner together and work out our troubles.”

  I now realized her distinctive laugh, the odd smiles, her clinging to a stranger as she had with Tom earlier, meant that Millicent dealt with uncomfortable situations by appearing cheerful and sociable. Why she hid behind this mask of affability, I didn’t know, but I had complete confidence in both Candace and Tom. They’d figure it out.

  Candace folded her hands on the desk, a yellow legal pad beneath them. She didn’t pick up the pencil that was lying there to take notes. Instead, she focused completely on Ida Lynn. “Mrs. Ford, first of all, I am sorry for your loss. I also apologize for the wait. I have to sort through the facts in a precise way so I can gather information about the deaths of both your cousin and Buford Miller.”

  Ida Lynn started to speak, but Millicent broke in. “Can we wait for one second, Deputy?” A box of tissues sat on the chief’s desk and Millicent pulled one out. “Ida Lynn has had a bit of a makeup malfunction. Look at me, sweetheart.” She gripped Ida Lynn’s chin and turned her face so she could correct the smeared lipstick.

  I watched this small scenario, observing Ida Lynn’s compliance, and decided there had been a time when these two had probably been close.

  Candace, however, showed no interest in this renewed bonding between the two elderly women. “Moving right along, when was the last time you spoke in person with Mr. Jeffrey?”

  The question seemed to transport Ida Lynn back to the here and now—and reminded her she was none too happy with her cousin. She pulled away from Millicent. “Did you ask Millicent when she last visited with Norm?”

  Candace smiled stiffly and I could tell her patience tank was running on empty. “I did. And now I am asking you.”

  She sat straighter, clutching her precious pink purse tightly in her lap. “Actually, I am a bit challenged with short-term memory. I can’t tell you the precise date. He was missing his cat and—” She turned to Millicent. “He apparently had no idea the creature had disappeared from your house. Dirk lied and told him the animal was fine—but from the news reports, we know he’d been gone from Hilton Head for months.”

  “Why, Ida Lynn, do you think I wanted to tear a dying man’s heart out by telling him about that horrible mistake? I am not that cold.”

  “She is making herself sound so innocent, so caring,” Ida Lynn said. “Ask her son how many times she’s been to town to visit with Norm.”

  Candace’s gaze fell on Millicent. “Did you lie to me not fifteen minutes ago about the last time you visited your brother in person, Mrs. Boatman?”

  Millicent sighed heavily. “It just sounded better if I said I came here. We talked on the phone. It’s the same thing.”

  “It makes a difference,” Candace said slowly, “because that means you did not have a face-to-face conversation with Mr. Jeffrey at the time you claimed you did. You told me he said he only had a few months to live when you came to see him—in fact you related this story in great detail.”

  “The conversation took place, simply not here in Mercy.” Millicent let out another nervous laugh. “I am still not sure what the difference is.”

  Tom cleared his throat. “Lying to the police about even the smallest detail is never a good idea, Millicent.” He probably hoped to give Candace a moment to regroup, because she looked downright exasperated.

  Millicent leaned around Ida Lynn and smiled at him. “When you put it like that, Tom, I fully understand. I am so very sorry for the confusion.” But her apology seemed only directed at him and not at anyone else in the room.

  Candace turned her attention back to Ida Lynn. “When you last spoke to your cousin, did Mr. Jeffrey tell you he only had a few months to live?”

  “He never said a thing about that.” Ida Lynn cast a sideways glance at Millicent. “He was quite optimistic about his treatment. I must say, he appeared unwell during the chemo. Very thin, very weak. That is why when Mr. Stewart came to my home and started questioning me about whether Norm would ever take his own life, well, I had to come here immediately and set the police straight. He would never do such a thing.”

  Millicent nodded her agreement. “Norm was always an optimist. Ida Lynn, however, did not grow up in the same house with my brother, and I saw him often when I was living here in Mercy. He did have his dark moments. Cancer is such a difficult thing and—”

  “But here’s what’s bothering me right now,” Candace said in a firm tone I understood to be her cop mode. “Even though Norman Jeffrey’s fingerprints were all over every other bottle of medicine in his cabinet, the heart pill container had been wiped clean. No prints. Not one. Can either of you ladies make sense of that?”

  Seventeen

  Ida Lynn paled and seemed at a loss for words.

  Millicent gripped the arms of the chair tightly. “Are you saying someone gave him too many pills on purpose?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Candace said.

  “It had to be that awful boy who supposedly cared for Norm,” Ida Lynn said. “No one else visited except for LouAnn, Dirk and on occasion myself—and we’d never harm him.” Her eyes shifted in Millicent’s direction as if to point out that her name had not been mentioned on this harmless list.

  Millicent, however, seemed oblivious. “Yes. It had to be that Miller boy.”

  “Mr. Miller might have been the logical suspect before yesterday,” Candace said. “But like I said, he’s dead, too. Someone bashed him over the head in Mr. Jeffrey’s kitchen yesterday.”

  Millicent winced and Ida Lynn clutched her purse so tightly, her knuckles whitened.

  I understood why Candace was being so blunt. She wanted to gauge their reactions and by my estimate, the ladies seemed equally shocked by the jolt she delivered.

  Ida Lynn found her voice first. “Whatever was Buford Miller doing in Norm’s home after the poor man had been dead for a week?”

  Candace leaned back in the chair. “Information we obtained through a search of Mr. Miller’s rented room indicates he might have gone to your cousin’s home to steal items that could be sold.”

  “But he was being paid by the agency Norman contracted with, wasn’t he? He had an income.” Ida Lynn no longer had an abrasive edge to her voice. Instead, she was subdued and even curious.

  Tom said, “Some folks never have enough cash for whatever reason. Was there anything of value in the house, something Buford Miller might have believed he could sell or pawn? Or perhaps he kept cash hidden somewhere? A secret safe, maybe?”

  Millicent shook her head. “Norm would never keep cash in the house. His job for the better part of his life was to take care of money—other people’s and his own.”

  “Besides, he was a frugal man,” Ida Lynn added. “He had no use for expensive items. And no use for those who might believe objects equal happiness.” She glimpsed at Millicent, but again, her cousin seemed oblivious to what Ida Lynn might be trying to imply with her suggestive looks.

  Ida Lynn’s expressions weren’t lost on Candace, however. For the first time, she picked up the pen and jotted down a few word
s on the legal pad. She then looked up and glanced back and forth between Millicent and Ida Lynn. “Did Mr. Jeffrey play any part in why your family seems so . . . fractured?”

  Millicent blinked several times and remained silent.

  Ida Lynn stared down at her purse and mumbled, “Fractured. That does sound appropriate.”

  Candace said, “I’d like to eliminate family members as suspects since there is another angle I can pursue, but unless you ladies are more forthcoming, I’ll have to start talking to your acquaintances to get to the truth.”

  “What other angle?” Ida Lynn said quickly.

  “Sorry. In any murder investigation, the police keep certain facts to themselves.” Candace rested her folded arms on the desk and leaned toward Ida Lynn. “Why are you so upset with your cousin, Mrs. Ford?” She nodded at Millicent.

  “You’ve just informed me Norm was most likely murdered. Why wouldn’t I be upset?” Ida Lynn’s hostile attitude was back in full force.

  “But I’m guessing you somehow blame Millicent. You two obviously haven’t spoken about Mr. Jeffrey’s death before today. Why is that?”

  Millicent cleared her throat. “It’s my fault, Deputy Carson. I should have telephoned Ida Lynn, LouAnn and Wayne the minute I learned of Norm’s passing. They have every right to be angry with my lack of communication.”

  Ida Lynn shifted in her chair so she could look at Millicent directly. “And what about the years of your lack of communication, Millicent? You certainly can’t blame Norm’s death for that.”

  “Sometimes it takes a tragedy like this to bring family back together. I am so sorry, Ida Lynn.” Millicent took one of Ida Lynn’s gloved hands in both her own. “I have missed you so.”

  “This is all very touching,” Candace said evenly. “But I am not Dr. Phil. We are investigating two murders and I need answers.”

  Tom said, “Maybe all that money Norman saved over the years will bring you ladies together if he’s decided to leave it to family members who seem to have had a few differences.”