Fruit of All Evil (14 page)

“According to what we've found, she doesn't have many expenses, and you said her land has been in her family for some time. This is probably her life's accumulation.”

“Not a bad showing.”

We searched the rest of the drawers but found nothing that told us anything important about Jeanine.

“But why was Madeline trying to call her?” I asked as we replaced everything we'd removed and then closed the drawers.

“We'll have to hope we find Jeanine or she comes home so we can ask. Come on, let's get you back to Bailey's.”

I knew one person who might help. Allison might know more about Jeanine's financial situation, but getting her to share would be next to impossible.

As I thought about the best way to approach my sister, something sauntered down the hallway toward us, greeting us with a high-pitched howl and a hiss that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Hello, there,” Sam said to the unfriendly cat. “Are we invad
ing your space?”

His soothing voice calmed the black cat to something slightly more sociable. The fur on its back relaxed, and its green eyes went from suspiciously slanted to wide and blinking. It meowed again, but more with curiosity than with anger.

“I think we've been found,” he said. He smiled at me and then back at the cat.

“You like cats?” I asked.

“I like animals. Come on, I don't think we're going to learn much more from the papers. I'll talk to someone at the bank.”

I listened to what he said but I watched the cat, who looked back and forth at the two of us. It was up to something.

“Sam, I think it's trying to tell us something.” I crouched. “What's up? Are you trying to tell us something about Jeanine?”

“Uh, Becca, I'm not sure we speak the same language,” Sam said.

I looked up at him. “Well, not technically, but Hobbit and I communicate very well. Maybe . . .”

I didn't get a chance to finish my thought before the cat darted into the kitchen.

“I guess that's the end of the communication,” Sam said.

I stood. “Sam, is the back door closed and locked?”

“No, the screen door is closed but not locked. It was like that when we got here.”

“Do you think the cat can get out? And isn't it a bad idea for a cat to mix with all those chickens?”

I'm sure he and I shared the same vision of flying feathers and splattering chicken blood. As far as I knew, cats and birds didn't get along. I suspected the cat took us for the fools we were, and used our presence to escape to some easy hunting.

“Damn,” Sam said before he ran into the kitchen. Sure enough, the screen door was open just enough for the beast to escape.

I followed Sam into the smelly chicken yard. The cat was in the middle of the noisy chickens. It was licking a paw.

“Hey, come here,” Sam said in an official tone.

I couldn't help but laugh. “I don't think cats follow police commands.”

He rolled his eyes. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

It was either the tone of his voice or his words that made the cat stand on all fours again and paste an evil look on its face.

“Uh-oh. That doesn't look good,” I said. “Sam, I think we'd better get it before it . . .”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

“I don't know. Come on, cat . . . kitty, come here,” I pleaded. I've always been a dog person, though I have nothing against cats. Until today. When I was little, we always had cats, but they were outside animals, meant to keep down the rodent population on our farm. My current barn was modernized enough that a rodent never so much as darkened its door. Plus, when I needed such help, Hobbit was a pretty good mouser in her own right. I might have wrangled a cat or two in my day, but not when there was so much temptation all around. The cat was bound to choose chasing a chicken over listening to our pleadings.

“What's going on?” Officer Norton appeared from behind the coop. She carried the black container I'd seen her with earlier.

“We're trying to get the cat back into the house,” Sam said.

“Do you want me to shoot at it? Scare it back in?” she asked as she put down the container and placed her hand on her gun.

“No!” Sam and I exclaimed together.

“Hey,” I said, watching Officer Norton reluctantly move her hand away from her gun, “let's move in together. It will run some way, and the one who's closest can grab it.” I wanted to leave the cat and the chickens to figure it out for themselves, but if Jeanine came back to a bunch of dead fowl, I'd feel horrible for having contributed to the bloodbath.

The three of us looked at the paths we'd have to take to close in on the cat. There were no choices other than walking through at least some chicken poop.

Sam muttered something under his breath that I couldn't make out.

“Let's step together,” I said. “Ready?”

We stepped toward the cat, who looked around at the three of us as if it knew the jig was about up.

There was nothing pleasant about walking through the chickens and their yard. It was mushy, and we disturbed the chickens enough that I thought a couple pecked at my ankles, but I was so focused on the cat that I couldn't be sure.

The cat looked at me, at Sam, and then at Officer Norton. We were getting closer, and it sat back on its haunches as if preparing to take off.

“Get ready,” Sam said, and he bent over a bit more.

Suddenly, the cat took flight and ran toward Officer Norton. Fur flew from her fingers as the cat made it past her and ran straight into the coop.

“Damn,” she muttered.

“Sam, the cat's in the coop!” I yelled, sounding like a panicked line from a Dr. Seuss book.

He looked at me and grumbled something before turning to Officer Norton. “Vivienne, you go to that end of the coop, I'll go to the other. We'll scare it enough that it'll have to leave from one end. If it's yours, catch it this time. That's an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

I followed Sam, walking on my toes to avoid both chickens and chicken poop. He stopped at the entrance—or was it the exit?—of the coop and crouched down.

“Vivienne, do you see anything?” he asked through the opening.

As I glanced over his shoulder, I saw Officer Norton peering in the other end.

“No.”

“You in there, cat?” Sam asked. I thought he might be over liking animals.

The cat meowed from somewhere in the darkness of the coop.

“Come on out, then,” he said, exaggerating a patience he surely didn't feel.

I didn't want to laugh, but my cheeks suddenly stretched tight and I could feel a giggle begin in my throat. Sam's back was to me, so if I could keep it quiet he'd never know. Unfortunately, a
huff
-like noise escaped my mouth.

Sam turned and peered over his shoulder. “You think this is funny?” He wasn't amused.

“I'm sorry. Nerves,” I lied. Truthfully, I thought the whole ordeal was hilarious, but I knew I had to get a grip. I cleared my throat.

Sam turned his attention back to the coop. “Come out right now, dammit.”

I had to bite the insides of my cheeks.

Suddenly, I saw two glimmers of light.

“Sam, I think I see its eyes.”

“Yes, I think you do. Come on, kitty, come on. That's it.”

The cat was creeping toward Sam, but it was creeping in a way that made me think it might pounce. I didn't think Sam needed help, so I didn't voice my opinion.

Besides, I was wrong; it wasn't preparing to pounce, it was preparing to run again, really fast.

Suddenly, the cat took off in a sprint right at Sam. He held out his hands like he was going to catch a football. The cat's speed was alarming, however, so instead of making the reception, Sam's fingers grazed the speedy creature as it ran right through his open hands and directly into my arms.

I held tightly to the animal as I tried not to topple from the laughter that had taken over and couldn't have been controlled even if I wanted to.

Sam was flat on his back, covered in chicken poop. It was even in his perfectly groomed hair. To make matters worse, Officer Norton and her guns had come around the coop to join us. She didn't want to laugh, I could tell, but in a few moments all three of us fell into fits of uncontrollable hilarity.

As we let the moment happen, the cat purred contentedly in my arms.

Once we regained our composure, we got Sam out of the
chicken yard and the cat back in the house, and locked the back door before we left Jeanine's. We didn't know where she'd gone, but at least we'd found her chickens and her cat.

I hoped she hadn't met with harm or run away because she'd killed Madeline Forsyth, but I couldn't make either of those concerns fit with what I knew about her. She wasn't a killer. But still, where was she? Sam would continue to search, and before he dropped me at Bailey's, he promised he'd let me know if he found her.

As I stood outside of Bailey's and watched him drive away, I thought again about Alan showing up at Jeanine's. No matter what Sam said, Alan's surprise appearances bothered me. I wanted to know more about him. I pulled out my cell phone, called the Fuller Bank in Columbia and asked for Sally McNeil. They told me she wasn't in, but they'd be happy to give her a message. I left my name and number, hoping I'd hear from her quickly; something told me the best and safest person to ask about Drew's family was Sally.

Before I went back to my stall, I decided to try to catch my sister in her office that was located in the small brick building at the entrance of the market. I wanted to see if I was in trouble for leaving without letting her know, and I had a favor to ask her. Surprisingly, she was there and I wasn't in trouble, but my luck ran out when I asked for the favor.

“Becca, I can't do that,” Allison said firmly. “Plus, it would be wrong for Sarah to give such information.”

“One call, one question, that's all I'm asking,” I said as I made another try.

She was sitting behind her desk, and I sat in a chair across from her. As my sister, she'd do almost anything for me, but as the manager of Bailey's, she was a stickler for not breaking laws or invading others' privacy. It was, at times, very annoying.

I'd asked her to call a friend and find out what that friend knew about Jeanine and her potential issue or issues with the bank. We'd gone to high school with Sarah Nelson, who worked at Central Savings and Loan. Last I'd heard, she was a vice president of something there. She and I hadn't been close, but Allison, senior class president, had gotten along with everyone in our class. I knew that if she just called Sarah and worked her charms, Sarah might tell her everything we wanted to know about Madeline and Jeanine's relationship.

“Al, I'm worried about Jeanine. I don't think she killed Madeline Forsyth, but I think we all need to know where she is—or why Madeline called her. Maybe Sarah could shed some light.”

Allison took a deep breath and studied me intensely. “Close the door, Becca.”

I froze for a moment. Was she giving in that easily? I'd thought I'd have to try at least a few more times.

“Becca, the door, please,” Allison said.

I did as she asked and sat down again, this time on the edge of my seat.

“I'm not going to call the bank for you.”

I deflated and sat back in the chair. “Why did you want me to close the door?”

“I'm going to tell you something I shouldn't.”