The Cat, the Mill and the Murder: A Cats in Trouble Mystery (10 page)

“Um…” I met his gaze. “Um…”

“Are you feeling sick?” I heard the concern in his voice and saw it in his eyes as he strode to me.

“No. No, I’m fine.” I watched as Syrah and Merlot walked across the kitchen in their sauntering, “we’re in charge here” style. They were following her. Following
Boots
.

“Take off your coat and sit down. You’ve gone an ugly shade of gray.” He helped me slip out of my jacket.

“It’s been a long day,” I said.

He felt my forehead. “You look sick to me. You might have breathed something toxic in that mill.” Tom took my elbow and led me into the living room.

Chablis followed, meowing the whole time in fear I’d forgotten her treat.

I sat in my usual spot on the sofa and it did feel good to be in familiar surroundings. I picked up the remote and turned off the muted episode on Animal Planet—a rerun of
Big Cat Diary
.

Tom looked down at me. “There’s my Jilly. She’s coming back to me. So, is it hot chocolate or coffee?”

“The dark hot chocolate I just bought sounds good,” I said. “And would you mind giving Chablis a treat? But only one. She’s already had more than her share today. Gobbled up Syrah’s and Merlot’s before they could blink earlier.”

While Tom fixed our hot drinks, I watched what could only be described as a cat dance. No doubt in my mind that Merlot and Syrah saw what I could only feel—Boots’s spirit. My two must have boxed her in, because they sat staring at the corner next to the entertainment center.

The mug of chocolate and its aroma soothed me, not to mention Chablis purring in my lap as we all sat on the sofa. Soon, I was relating everything that had gone on—Jeannie’s injury, Dustin’s finding bones from what Candace had said was probably a woman, Penelope’s arrival, the summons of the anthropologist.

“Wow,” Tom said after I’d poured everything out in rapid-fire fashion. “No wonder you look stressed out. The mill has bigger secrets than we thought.”

“It sure does,” I said.
Including a ghost cat
. I left that part out of the story, however. I didn’t want Tom questioning my sanity. I was doing enough of that for both of us. I noticed how Merlot and Syrah still guarded the corner and I realized I found a bit of comfort at the sight. They saw what I felt. I wasn’t completely nuts.

“I’ll bet they find an entire skeleton in that fireplace, what with the tarp and all,” Tom said.

“The mill office was a tomb,” I said, half to myself. I turned to Tom, whose shoulder was touching mine. “A
holy place.
Jeannie knew what was in the fireplace, Tom. I’m sure of it.”

Tom nodded in agreement. “Question is,
how
did she know?”

The next morning, I woke to my cell phone’s ringing. I fumbled around on my nightstand, found it and squinted at the display.
Candace
.

I connected but barely got out a hello before she started talking. “I need your help, Jillian. The woman needs an operation but won’t sign the consent before she talks to you.”

“Jeannie needs surgery?” I said.

“Broken hip,” she said. “Can you go with me to the hospital? Please?”

I sat up and Chablis, who’d been sleeping next to me, rose and stretched. “Sure. She’s at County?”

“Yup. I’ll pick you up in twenty.” She disconnected.

I stared at the phone.
Twenty minutes?
Jeez.

Before Candace arrived, I’d managed to wash my face, dress in jeans and a sweatshirt and eat a blueberry yogurt. I sensed all my activities were being watched by not only my three cats, but by Boots as well.

Gosh, how would I explain this to anyone?
I wouldn’t. No one would believe me anyway. But I did realize that during the night, a peace must have been forged. My three fur friends sat waiting as I poured kibble into bowls, but there was a space between Merlot and Syrah.
Did ghost cats eat?
I didn’t want to find out, so I set only three dishes on the floor and turned away.

No time to brew coffee because I heard Candace’s car pulling into the driveway. But I needn’t have worried. She brought me a vanilla latte from Belle’s Beans. I went out the back door and engaged the security system before Candace could even knock.

She was in uniform and we drove in her squad car to the county hospital—about a forty-five-minute drive for regular folks. We made it in thirty. I still had a full cup of coffee when we arrived because drinking anything with Candace behind the wheel was like trying to down a milkshake on a roller coaster.

During the drive, I managed to relay my suspicion that Jeannie might have known about the skeleton in the fireplace and, taking it one step further, perhaps suspected the skeleton was that of her missing daughter.

Candace silently took this theory in during our ride, but after we got out of the squad car in the hospital parking lot, she popped the trunk and strode around to the back. “You could be right about that skeleton.” She scrounged around in her evidence kit. “That means we’ll need Jeannie’s DNA.” She held up a tube and long cotton swab packaged in paper and cellophane. “Your job will be to convince her to let me swipe inside her cheek.” She started toward the hospital entrance.

“Um, okay—I guess.” I hurried to catch up with Candace while unsealing the drink opening on my coffee cup. Surely I could steal a few sips before we reached Jeannie’s room.

We rode in the elevator to the fourth floor and no one asked any questions of a uniformed officer and her harried companion as we hurried along the corridor toward room 410.

Jeannie’s wild hair was spread out like a giant gray
halo on the white pillow surrounding her pale face. She looked like a different person here in this well-lit room—younger and more peaceful at first glance. Then her eyes popped open and she focused immediately on Candace. The uniform. She’d forgotten how Jeannie felt about cops and so had I.

“I didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” Jeannie said immediately, defiance in her voice. “I was protectin’ the holy place and makin’ sure those creepers didn’t steal nothin’.”

“No one said you did anything wrong,” Candace said in a quiet and soothing tone. “I have a few questions, is all.”

But Jeannie switched her focus to me. “And you. You stole my cat.”

“I-I’m sorry.” What else could I say? I wasn’t about to admit in front of Candace that perhaps Jeannie wasn’t wrong.

Candace must have taken my response as meaning I wanted to placate Jeannie, because she said, “You’ll get your cat back when you’re well again.”

“Is that why you asked for me to be here?” I said. “So you could tell me how angry you are about Boots?”

“Nothin’ like that,” Jeannie said, turning her face toward the window. “Cats’ll do as they please.” She faced me again. “Tell me just how they’re gonna fix a busted leg? ’Cause I need to get back to the mill right quick.”

Candace started to speak and then shut her mouth when I sent her a sharp look. We knew Jeannie was never returning to the mill, but now was not the time to tell her.

“May we sit down?” I approached the bed.

“No one’s stoppin’ you,” she said.

I set my coffee on the bedside table and Candace and I pulled up two chairs. I sat closer to the head of the bed. I noticed Jeannie was clinging to one of those buttons that administered pain medicine through her IV tubing.

“I don’t have to tell no one when it starts to hurtin’,” she said when she saw I was staring at her hand. “Newfangled way, but I like it. Less folks to deal with.”

“Does it hurt much?” I asked.

“Not no more,” Jeannie said with a grin. For the first time I noticed her teeth. No decay, no tobacco stains. She actually had a nice smile.

I smiled back. “They’ll be taking you to the operating room. The next thing you know, you’ll be back here in this room with your hip all fixed. Of course, you’ll have to stay here a few days so they can help you heal. Doctors do this kind of thing all the time, so you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t like that doctor. He’s a smarty-pants,” Jeannie said.

“Are you talking about me?” came a voice from the doorway.

We turned to see a short man, perhaps in his fifties, wearing a white lab coat over an expensive-looking tailored shirt and silk tie.

“I am.” Jeannie faced the window.

Candace rose and extended her hand. “Deputy Candace Carson, Mercy PD.”

The two shook hands and I looked up with a smile. “I’m Jillian Hart.”

“Ah. You’re the one Miss Sloan has been asking for. I’m Dr. Worthy, the surgeon on this case. Are you related to my patient?”

Jeannie’s head jerked in his direction. “I ain’t got no relations. Not no more. And not Miss Jillian, and surely not the likes of her—” She waved a hand at Candace. “None of you but Miss Jillian seems to care anyways.”

She sounded so fierce and yet beneath her harsh words, I understood her pain wasn’t all physical.

“You know what, Miss Sloan?” Dr. Worthy said. “You don’t have to like me, you don’t have to believe I care, but I am taking your case free of charge. I’m taking it
because you need your hip fixed. And you need it done as soon as possible before a large blood clot causes you more problems. Will you sign the paper to let me help you get back on your feet?”

Jeannie suddenly looked more relaxed than I’d seen her in the last two days. “Now there’s a man who knows how to take charge. No pussyfootin’ around. Maybe you ain’t so bad after all.”

“Good. I’ve scheduled your surgery for this afternoon. My nurse practitioner will be round with the paperwork. See you this afternoon.” He smiled curtly, turned on his heel and left.

“You’ve made the right decision,” I said.

“I was gonna sign anyways. Only way I got a chance of walkin’ outta here. Still, I got you here, didn’t I?” Jeannie gave me a sly look.

Candace cleared her throat and I knew that her packaged cotton swab was burning a hole in her pocket.

“I would have come anyway,” I said. “And so would Candace. She helped you last night—called 9-1-1.”

“She never said she was no cop, though,” Jeannie said.

“I understand you’ve had your issues with Mercy PD in the past,” Candace said. “But—”

“You don’t understand nothin’,” came Jeannie’s harsh reply. “My daughter went missin’ and not one of your kind gives a rat’s ass.”

“I heard what you said to the doctor,” Candace said. “I can tell you want the straight story about your daughter—good, bad or ugly. Am I right?”

“Maybe so,” Jeannie said begrudgingly.

Candace had made progress, because Jeannie was speaking directly to her now. But my heart sped up at what Candace was about to say. How would this poor woman handle what she was about to hear?

“You believe your daughter is dead. Am I right?” Candace said.

Jeannie’s lips tightened and she nodded.

“And you’re sure that mill has something to do with her death.” Thank goodness Candace’s tone showed her compassion and showed she cared. “Isn’t that right, Jeannie?”

“It’s a holy place now,” Jeannie said softly. Tears filled her eyes.

I reached for Jeannie’s hand. “Candace is a different kind of officer than you’re used to. She’ll find out what happened to your daughter. But you need to help her do that.”

“How’m I supposed to do that from this place?” Jeannie said, regaining her composure.

Candace pulled out the DNA kit. “With this. All I need is for you to open your mouth and let me touch your cheek with this long stick.”

Jeannie’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

“You and your daughter share the same blood,” I said. “You get that, right?”

“Course we do. But what does a long stick have to do with our blood?” she replied.

“Blood and spit and bone are made of the same stuff,” I said. “Candace will get some of your spit on that cotton swab and…and—”

“And then,” Candace went on, “when we find your daughter’s body, we can test her against what I collect on this swab, just to be sure it’s her.”

The silence that ensued made my heart speed up. Then my stomach tightened as I searched Jeannie’s face for clues as to what she understood.

“You found her, didn’t you?” Jeannie’s lower lip quivered.

When Candace didn’t answer right away, she said, “Go on. Tell me, girl.”

Candace took a deep breath. “We found bones. They might belong to Kay Ellen.”

Candace and I remained mostly quiet on the drive home to Mercy. Back at the hospital, we’d helped Jeannie understand how the bones or maybe even any traces left on the tarp could be compared to her saliva. She’d let Candace take the DNA sample then.

When I told Jeannie I would return tomorrow and check on her, she’d asked me to bring Boots. I said I’d try, all the while wondering how I would communicate with a ghost cat. Then, on the way to the elevator, Candace had asked if anyone could ever help Jeannie understand there was no cat—implying, of course, that I should be the one to present this reality to the woman. I told Candace I didn’t think I was the person for the job—that maybe a therapist would be needed down the road. We’d left it at that. I mean, how could I convince Jeannie no cat existed when I myself believed Boots might still be around in a different form?

As Candace drove up next to the back door of my house, both our cell phones rang. I got out of the car and spoke with Shawn, who told me a shipment of portable feral cat shelters had arrived and he was directing the truck to the mill. He wanted me to meet him there and help talk the police into allowing him to unload the shelters so the driver wouldn’t have to be paid to wait
around. He’d heard that something was going on inside the mill and there might be a problem. I agreed to meet him there but told him I wasn’t sure how much influence I would have getting him inside the place.

When I disconnected, Candace stepped out of the squad car, her phone pressed to her ear. She said, “I’m on my way,” then hung up and looked at me. “The bone doctor is at the mill. But she wants Dustin there to help pull the bricks out. She figures he’ll know how best to do the job without disturbing any remains. Apparently she’s never excavated from a chimney full of cement before. Can you phone him to come or even bring him to the mill?”