“We’re in luck, Arvid. I’ll bet the only reason this cat wouldn’t let Fran get close to it is there might be a slight odor of the woman’s bulldog clinging to her shoes or slacks. The poor thing is tame, lonesome, and has decided it loves me. Of course, it’s actually the chicken I’ve been doling out that tipped the balance, but I am very loveable.” She didn’t tell him she’d also been doling out salmon treats from the bag in her pocket.
“Of course, you are,” he said skeptically. Very slowly, he put the cat carrier down near Jessie. She handed him the bowl just as slowly.
“There’s still some chicken in it. Put it inside the crate.”
Arvid reached inside and, again in slow motion, placed the bowl toward the back.
“I think the cat will smell it. At least, I hope it—”
Before Jessie could finish her sentence, the cat stood, jumped off her lap and trotted to the carrier to find the rest of the chicken.” As soon as it stepped inside, Arvid shut the door and latched it. The tabby chewed, not even bothering to turn around. “Got it,” Arvid whispered.
“Well, look at that. It’s used to a carrier. This cat must belong to someone who took very good care of it and is probably missing it.”
“Yeah, but you know what? This was stupid of me.”
“How so, Arvid?”
“Here we are worrying about a darn cat, and I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you…supposed to be making sure you’re safe. And I went off and left you alone without even thinking.”
“Oh, calm down. I wasn’t even alone when you left.”
“Hmph,” he grunted. Then he peered into the carrier. “Mighty pretty markings on that cat. Wonder if Esther likes tabbies.” He looked again into the crate and wiggled his fingers through the mesh. “Hey, baby,” he crooned. “Here, kitty, kitty. Come to Arvid.”
Jessie turned her face to hide her grin.
*.*.*
Twenty minutes later, the vet waved a scanner over the cat’s shoulder-blade area and announced. “We’re in luck. The cat is microchipped. But of course, that only helps if the owner registered the chip with the proper information. In this case, I’m not sure it matters.”
“Why not?” Arvid’s voice was belligerent. “It’s a perfectly nice cat.”
The young vet looked startled. “Well, yes. It certainly is. What I should have said is that I think I know whose it is, because several weeks ago we had a call about a missing cat—one of my feline patients. And this little girl looks like the right cat,” He picked up the cat and handed it to Jessie. “However, the tabby is a common breed, so don’t get your hopes up. The chip registration will make it certain. It’s a great practice. Sometimes you find a missing pet with a chip several years after they’ve been lost.”
“Fantastic,” Jessie said. “But you said the cat reminded you of one of your patients? One who’s been missing?”
“Yes, I think so. But let me have my assistant take a look and see where the chip was registered and check the number. There are several registries. Why they don’t standardize them is beyond me.”
A few minutes later, he came back with a smile from ear to ear and said, “As I suspected, the tabby belongs to someone we know. This little girl is Moxie. She belongs to Althea Heath, who is in a facility here in town called ‘The Foothills Assisted Living’. A staff member calls periodically to see if we’ve located her cat. She’s going to be overjoyed.”
“Wait a minute,” Arvid said. “I know who you mean, but doesn’t she have dementia…or Alzheimer’s? How can she care for a pet? Wouldn’t it be better to find a new home for it?” He looked at the cat in Jessie’s arms with a skeptical expression.
“Are you talking about Glen Heath’s step-mother?” Jessie looked dumbfounded.
“Yes.” The vet’s face became guarded. “But it is my understanding that if the cat were found, Mr. Heath didn’t want it.”
“Interesting,” Jessie said with narrowed eyes.
“The staff member from Foothills said that finding the cat would be a boost to Althea’s well-being, and that they’d be glad to care for it. Pets are very beneficial for seniors—in some cases it lowers blood pressure just to pet an animal.”
Arvid asked, “Would you like us to take the cat over there? We’d be glad to.”
The vet looked at the cat. “That would be fantastic, but if you don’t mind waiting just a few minutes, we’ll give Moxie a quick check-up and a bath.”
“A bath?” Arvid asked.
“She’s filthy. I’m sure the Foothills will be happier taking in a well-groomed, clean animal than a filthy-looking one. Although, I have to say, they are wonderful in allowing the elderly to keep their pets. It’s hard for people to give up their animals…they’re like children to many of the old folks.”
Arvid looked bemused. “We’ll wait.” He pointed to the tabby. “But I’d like to see how you get that cat in a tub of water.”
The vet laughed. “Well, come on back. You can help.” Giving Arvid a droll look, he said, “This is a medical office.” He paused, then said, “We have an excellent supply of bandages and antibiotics.”
“Huh,” Arvid grunted. “Guess I’ll pass.”
“But we will wait,” Jessie said with a chuckle. “And we’ll take Moxie to her owner.”
She plunked down in a waiting room chair by Arvid as the vet took the tabby and handed her to an assistant.
“I can’t imagine Glen saying he wasn’t interested in taking care of his step-mother’s animal. I’m disappointed in him.”
“Don’t know him that well,” Arvid muttered. “But I know that right now he has a lot on his plate. He’s waiting to hear if remains found near Savannah are those of his step-brother, Harris Freeman. I’m not sure how close they were. Maybe not close at all. And maybe he isn’t planning on sticking around.”
“True,” Jessie said.
“I know he’s a friend of yours Jessie, and according to Sheriff Fischer, Glen has a solid alibi, but his step-mother isn’t well. If something happened to Harris, maybe Glen figured he’d inherit when his step-mom passed away. Didn’t he tell you he thought his ship was about to come in?
“Yeah, but Glen just talks that way. Glen’s ship is always about to come in. He talks a big bluff and he talks big. Everything is always either terrible or fabulous.” She waved her hands around to emphasize her words.
“Well, all I can say is that I have a gut feeling that Benny’s murder, the Nielson’s deaths, and now this possible murder of Harris Freeman—another local who stood to inherit a ranch—might all be connected. And even though they have Evan Hansen in jail for Benny’s murder, it doesn’t quite tie together. I wouldn’t be surprised if they wind up letting him go.”
“Have they charged him yet?
“Nup. And they can only keep him 72 hours before they do. Last I heard they were going over every bit of his pickup, checking fingerprints and looking for any other kind of evidence. Personally, I tend to agree with you that perhaps Evan’s being set up by the killer.” Arvid looked thoughtful. “Of course, maybe he’s just a good actor. Let me tell you, linking the evidence together on these deaths is like trying to tie a bow in a piece of barbed wire. And it’s so twisted it makes you wonder if everybody in Crooked Creek is exactly that—crooked. I’d sure like to have you look at that trail cam video and see if you notice anything we missed.”
“Push harder on Fischer. If he’ll agree to it, I’d be glad to look at it. One thing I feel certain of is that there’s more than one person involved.”
Arvid stared at her. “Why do you think that?”
She looked embarrassed. “You know me. I always look at everything the way I look at a painting.
“What’s that got to do with Benny’s murder? Or the Nielson’s, or poor Harris Freeman’s?” Arvid leaned his elbow on his knee and put his chin on his fist.
“Oh, it’s silly. Every painting is made of bits and pieces but should be based on one strong idea. When I paint, I work w
ith a focal area in mind for each painting. If Adele Nielson’s death, her father’s, her brother’s, Harris Freeman’s and Benny’s murder are all tied together there should be one specific goal the killer is working toward. The deaths are all different, though. Almost like haphazard events. But I did learn that Benny owned 600 acres bordering the Nielson’s place.” Jessie shrugged. “So, the only common thread I can see seems to be land, Arvid.”
“This is Montana…lots of people own land. It might mean nothing.”
“Maybe. Who inherits Benny’s 600 acres?”
“I don’t know. So far, Sheriff Fischer is in the dark. Neighbors say he didn’t have any close relatives, and no will has turned up yet. I’m not sure what the procedure is. I think it begins with the Montana court system appointing a representative. They’ll go through his belongings with a fine-toothed comb to try and locate a will. They’ll hunt for debts that need to be paid. They’ll open bank boxes, go through correspondence, and that kind of thing. Maybe they put a notice in the paper about the death asking that any creditors contact the executor. I’m not sure how they go about hunting for heirs, but I know it’s got to be a can of worms.”
“Well, I think it’s odd that three properties bordering each other have all had people murdered or at least die in suspicious circumstances.” Jessie looked toward the sound of approaching footfalls.
A vet assistant, wearing a pale green lab-coat with the name ‘Sheila’ embroidered over the left pocket, came through the swinging door holding a sparkling clean tabby who complained loudly. “She’s a chatty little thing,” she said cheerfully. “Moxie has a clean bill of health and is ready to go see Althea. I called the Foothill Facility and they’re expecting you. Were they ever thrilled.” Frowning, she said, “I guess Althea is having a pretty bad day. They hope having her cat back will take the edge off. She waved toward the stacked cat food and accoutrements for felines near the check-out desk. “Need a litter box, litter and food? If you asked Glen Heath, he might have those items at Althea’s home.”
“I think I’ll just spring for a new potty box and all the other cat things,” Jessie said as she and Arvid stood.
“Nup. They’re on me.” Arvid pulled out his wallet.
“Let me gather some things together for you.”
“And what do we owe for the bath and check-up?”
She gave Arvid an airy wave of the hand. “Not a thing. Dr. Brown says you were good Samaritans to bring her in, and the exam is a freebie. Moxie had lost so much weight that if it hadn’t been for the chip, we may not have realized it was her. Althea is going to be overjoyed.”
*.*.*
Twenty minutes later, Jessie gently placed Moxie into Althea Heath’s arms and the tabby immediately started to purr. The woman’s eyes shone with relief and joy. She looked up at Jessie, then back at the cat. “Please, both of you…sit.”
Jessie looked around the pleasant room—the walls covered in brightly colored botanical wall paper, the comfortable loveseat where Arvid seated himself and the small recliner with a soft afghan draped over the arm—the chair in which Althea sat and cuddled her pet. It was a cheerful apartment. She could see into the bedroom through an open door, and the bed was covered with a vivid blue chenille coverlet. The effect was homey.
“Glen used to bring her in to see me before she got lost. Or he would take me out to the farm for a day. He’s a good boy, that Glen. I told him Moxie’d be happier on the farm, but I was terribly lonely here. When she ran away, Glen wished I’d just kept her here to begin with. I’m so lucky you found her.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “But, maybe she didn’t. Run away, I mean. Maybe she rode all the way to town on the engine of his truck. Cats sometimes do that in cold weather, you know, climb up on the engine.” She stroked the cats head. “Moxie, you’re nothing but skin and bones,” she told the rumbling cat.
“She was lucky that some women from the lodge kitchen felt sorry for her and gave her table scraps every day. I can fill the litter box and put out food and water for her before we leave if you like.” Jessie said.
“Nonsense.” Althea leveled her gaze at Jessie. “I’m having a fairly good day. I can handle it myself. I moved into assisted living knowing that it would eventually be necessary. Instead of waiting, I wanted to make the transition while I still had the ability to make choices. I was getting forgetful enough that I worried about cooking. That kind of thing. You know what Mark Twain reputedly said? ‘The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated?’ That’s actually a misquote. Did you know that? Anyway, reports of my memory loss are greatly exaggerated.” She frowned. “That darn Jacob down at the Sheriff’s Office came to ask me some questions on a particularly stressful day—a day before I had my medication. I couldn’t remember the answer to several of his questions, and now all my old friends think I’m not only mentally incompetent, but at death’s door to boot. I used to be a very competent math teacher.” Looking into Jessie’s sympathetic eyes, she said, “Yes. I’ve had some very bad days since I heard my son was missing. Anyone would. He disappeared on the way home from an army base in Georgia. I…I can’t remember the name of the base.” She looked down at Moxie. “Of course, I have some very bad days.”
“I’m sorry.” Arvid’s rumbling tone was sad. “Have they...uh…”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Sheriff Fischer said they are almost certain a body found in Savannah is Harris. I know he’d never go AWOL. So, I am waiting for confirmation. My heart hopes against hope it isn’t Harris…then I seesaw and hope it is, so the waiting is over. Because he must be dead. Or he would have contacted his mother.”
“Mrs. Heath, I’m helping Sheriff Fischer on Benny Potter’s murder. Do you mind my asking a couple questions?”
She looked startled. Then she narrowed her eyes and seemed suddenly quite canny. “I don’t mind.”
“How well did your son know Benny Potter?”
“Not well. I know they think he went to Savannah and killed Harris. But it doesn’t make sense. Not at all.” She closed her eyes and when she opened them, they had a vacant look.
“Who will take over the farm if Harris is gone?”
“Our farm?” She looked blankly at Arvid. “Why, my son will take over. He’s just in the Army for another year. He’s such a good man. And one of his Army friends is coming to meet me.” She snuggled her face against the tabby’s fur. “And look! He’s found my Moxie.”
Jessie and Arvid looked at each other. Then Jessie got up, took the litter pan to the bathroom and filled it. She poured dry food into the new dish and put water in the new bowl. When she came out, she grasped Althea’s hand and thanked her for a lovely visit.
Althea glowed. “You come again, dear. And bring this big man along.” She shrugged. “Hmph. I’ve forgotten your names. But names are overrated, you know…a rose by any other name and all that.”
Arvid nodded to her, his eyes full of compassion. “Yes, Ma’am, they’re overrated. You have a lovely rest of the day.”
She smiled at him. Then she gave a start. “Roses go in pots. Pots. Benny Potter would not kill my son. You tell the Sheriff I said so. And tell that snotty young Jacob my mind isn’t gone yet.”
As they left, they heard her tell the cat, “My mind isn’t gone, Moxie. It’s just doing some major long division and can’t figure out the polynomials.”
*.*.*
“I hope that never happens to me—or to Esther. I can’t imagine anything worse,” Arvid trudged down the hall as though the visit had weighed him down.
Jessie’s answer was to wipe her eyes and pull a tissue from her pocket.
A man in a wheel-chair rolled by in the hall, cheerfully greeting Arvid and looking appreciatively at Jessie.
“Well,” Arvid said after the old man passed by, “being wheel-chair bound would be hard, too.”
“Yes, it would. Life tosses everyone a curve ball as we get older.”
“Shoot, if I ever need a wheel-chair, I want one with an extra wide seat and a
big engine…maybe studded tires and lawn-mower blades.” He made a rolling motion with his big hands. “That would cut my time waiting in the rest home cafeteria line.”
“Oh, Arvid, really. ‘Cut your time’?” She grimaced.
“No pun intended,” he joked. “A wide seat, a drink holder in the arm rest…”
Jessie changed the subject. “I was relieved when she said Glen had been bringing her cat to visit her. I’ve been fond of him for years, and I hated to think of him not taking care of her cat, or Althea Heath herself. Did you pick up on what she said, Arvid?”
“About the cat or the polynomials?”
“Neither. About her son’s military friend that was going to come and see her.”
“You’re right. I wonder if it’s true, or just a figment of her imagination.”
“I think it’s something legitimate that just came to mind as she spoke. We should tell Fischer what she said. He can ask the desk person to call if someone new in town shows up to visit Althea Heath.
“You’re right.” He pulled out his phone, then stopped in the hall and stared down at it. “Hey, Esther sent a text. We’re invited out to Joe Helland’s woodshop. Want to go? He included you in the invitation.”
“It would have to be tomorrow. I have to paint in the quick draw again this evening at seven and want to look at my reference photos and get set up. But sure. I’d love to see his carvings.”
“Huh.” Arvid was still reading through his text. “And he included Russell in the invitation. And Grant.” He looked up at Jessie with a puzzled expression. “I don’t remember introducing him to Russell and Grant, do you?”
“No. But then, I’ve been busy, and stressed over these darn tractors and notes. And now I’m bummed, too.”
“About poor Althea Heath?”
“Yeah. And because I don’t even remember what a polynomial is. I’ll bet in her prime that woman had a brain that beats mine six ways to Sunday. Deep in her mind, she thinks Benny Potter couldn’t have killed her son. I’ll bet she’s right.”
2 Death at Crooked Creek Page 31