Leann Sweeney (6 page)

We started toward the driveway, Shawn’s head hanging in defeat. “I’ll get that bastard another day.”

I thanked Shawn and then we both climbed into our vehicles. But we hadn’t gone a hundred yards when Shawn’s brake lights came on up ahead of me. I had to stop quickly to keep from slamming into him.

But then I saw why. He was out of his truck in a flash and soon kneeling by the side of the road. The tuxedo cat, its tail in the air, was rubbing against a slim maple. Shawn held his hand out, and soon the cat came to him. Wearing a satisfied expression, he swept up the kitty, turned and smiled at me. He gave me a thumbs-up before he put the cat in his truck and we took off again.

Uh-oh
.
I believe I’m a witness to a catnapping
.

Four

A
fter I’d arrived home and released Merlot and Chablis from their crates, they took off as if their tails were on fire. Seemed they’d had enough of traveling around town. Their absence while I ate made me a little sad. I needed to discuss today’s events with them. No, I don’t hear their voices while I jabber on, but they can be attentive. And sometimes they’ve helped me see things I might otherwise have missed. Maybe later on I could advise them to never go near any pink houses.

I’d picked up a bag of boiled peanuts from a roadside vendor, and now I made a lunch of sweet tea and nuts. Only quasi healthy, but great comfort food. I wondered whether what I’d seen Shawn Cuddahee do—grab that tuxedo cat off the side of the road—was exactly what had happened to Syrah. And would I ever get an answer to that question?

The tuxedo would fare well in Shawn’s care, and the cat hadn’t been on Wilkerson’s property when Shawn had found him, so maybe that didn’t qualify as catnapping. I still felt guilty about what I’d witnessed, though, and for the next several hours I kept busy picking out quilt patterns and fabrics for recent orders rather than think about it.

Merlot and Chablis finally joined me in the sewing room. Peanuts and tea didn’t interest them, but fabric sure did. I engaged them in my one-sided chat about all that had happened and how much I missed Syrah. Every time I said his name, Merlot meowed and Chablis blinked. They knew I was sad, and I was betting they were, too.

Tom Stewart, the security expert, arrived in his van about three p.m. When he got to the house, I saw that he was about my age and had dark hair and pale blue eyes. The combination was strikingly handsome. He was holding a large to-go coffee from Belle’s Beans, the Mercy answer to Starbucks—an establishment I’d wanted to visit more than once but never had.

I welcomed him inside with a smile and said, “Boy, do I need your help.”

“Had a break-in, I hear,” he said. “That’s pretty rare around here.”

“Rare?” I said, leading the way into the living room.

“I say rare because nothing was taken. I mean, we have the usual amount of vandalism and petty theft in this area. Crying shame kids have nothing better to do than sneak into people’s houses when they’re not home.”

I wasn’t sure how to react to his knowledge that nothing of material value was missing. “H-how . . . I mean, where did you—”

“You’re fairly new in town,” he said. “You’ll get used to everyone knowing your business soon enough.”

“Something important
was
taken, though,” I said.

“Forgive me, Ms. Hart. Didn’t mean to imply your cat isn’t important. You wouldn’t have called me if you didn’t think so. Now, if you’ll show me around, I can determine what equipment can protect you from this happening again.”

“You know about my cat, too?” I said.

“Yes, I know about your cat,” he was saying, “and I know about your husband’s death—my condolences, by the way. I’m also aware you’re making a go of it with a home business. Cat quilts. Luxury items for pets are big business these days. Smart idea, if you ask me—which you haven’t.”

“Thanks,” I said. I realized then just what a recluse I’d been. Clearly everyone in town knew these things about me, but they didn’t know if I was smart or crazy or just plain ordinary because I’d met almost no one. It was time for that to change. “Even in a small town, I’m impressed you know all this.”

He said, “Well, it’s my habit to pay attention to things. I do some private eye work, so I have to keep my ear tuned to the town buzz. Good thing you’ve decided to protect your investment with what I have to offer. I install alarms, cameras and—”

I held up a hand. “I’m not a fan of sales pitches, especially since you already have my business. But tell me this. Who would need a private detective in Mercy?”

“You’d be surprised how many rich people like you live in this part of South Carolina. The town of Mercy may be small, but the area around the lake is getting more and more populated. They require my services for all sorts of things—most of them involving the tawdry, the nasty and the downright stupid.”

“I am
not
rich by any stretch, but I do have a missing cat and a house that needs protecting. Let’s get busy.” The house was paid for and I had inherited John’s retirement account, but it was untouchable if I wanted a secure future. For now, I lived on my savings and what I could make off my quilt business. But if I told him all this, I feared the entire town would know everything by tomorrow. And I didn’t really want that to happen.

We started with a tour of the house, and if the two hours that followed didn’t confuse the heck out of me, nothing could. “Security speak” is a foreign language, and I understood little of what Tom was telling me aside from the words “wireless cameras” and “motion sensors.”

After his careful scrutiny of every room, we went outside into the dreary, cold dusk and he examined the gutters, the roof and all the windows. As we stopped at a corner of the house that faced the lake, I wondered if I could put a wireless camera there or if it would be damaged outdoors. But lots of places had outdoor cameras—like convenience stores and other businesses. Though I had questions, I kept quiet since Tom was consumed by studying angles and possible mounting points. I just shivered alongside him.

Finally he said, “I have what I need.” He held up the cardboard coffee cup he’d been sipping from throughout his appraisal of the property. “Except for this. I’m empty. Would you happen to have any coffee?”

“Sure. I could use a cup myself,” I said.

While I brewed a pot of Italian roast, Tom scribbled on clipboarded forms. He took his coffee black, and his eyes widened in appreciation after his first taste.

“This is damn fine coffee, Ms. Hart. Not everyone knows how to make a decent cup of java.”

“Please call me Jillian.” I glanced at his clipboard. “And tell me what you’ve learned and how we can do this.”

Just then Chablis jumped on the table, carefully avoiding our hot drinks. She settled on the clipboard and raised her crystal blue eyes to Tom. He rubbed his knuckles on the top of her head and she began to purr.

I said, “How did you know she loves to have her head rubbed? And don’t tell me Mercy is talking about that, too.”

He laughed. “I have a cat. Dashiell appreciates exactly the same treatment.”

He had a cat? And Chablis had quickly given him her approval? Why did that make me want to smile? I stood and lifted Chablis from her spot, saying, “You’d sleep on the man’s paperwork the rest of the day if I let you, sweetie.” I held her close and we rubbed noses. Then I sat and offered her a new spot in my lap. Never thwart a cat, though. She ran off to sulk, since she’d had other plans.

“First,” Tom said, “I need to know your budget. Cameras are pretty cheap these days, but if you want to be wired to my security service, that will cost more.”

“Do I need to be set up with your service?” I asked.

“Not necessarily. I can rig your phone to alert the local police if there’s another break-in. And you can check your own wireless cameras for anything suspicious, both inside and outside of your house. I can even set up a feed to your cell phone when you’re out. We’ll call it your cat-cam.”

I smiled. “I like that. Cat-cam.”

“Is your computer networked?”

“I have two computers, a desktop in the office and a laptop that I take with me on business. Do I need a network?”

“You do—to monitor your cameras. But that’s part of what I do. Set up the computer network for you. I can use your desktop as the hub. And since the town is so small, the police hookup is probably all you need rather than a line directly to my security service.”

“You’re turning down money?” I said.

He smiled. “It’s not that much.” He went on to tell me what everything would cost, a figure that was higher than I would have liked. Tom assured me he would mount the cameras to capture everything going on inside, as well as motion detectors with floodlights outdoors that would scare away man and animal alike, and told me that was what I needed. But when he said he’d get started tomorrow, I balked.

“No. Today. You have to do this today.” I gave him my best tight-lipped determined expression. I couldn’t haul my cats around town all the time, and I had to get busy on the quilt orders I’d taken at the Greenville show—especially since this system would cost more than what I’d made the other day. I would need at least an hour at the Cotton Company tomorrow to purchase fabric, and I didn’t want to cart Merlot and Chablis along with me or leave them here without safeguards in place.

Tom and I stared at each other in silence for a few uncomfortable seconds. He finally said, “If not for your amazing coffee I wouldn’t agree to a Saturday-night job. Hope you have plenty of java. This could be a long evening.”

And it was. Tom didn’t complete his work until almost one a.m. He’d finished off two pots of coffee and a delivery pizza while he worked. But I was grateful, and he must have known my thanks were sincere, because he gave me a kind and engaging smile when he finally said good night.

After he was gone, I sat in John’s recliner with my laptop. The network was working fine, and I practiced all the skills Tom had taught me—how to do split-screen monitoring, how to check the cat-cam feeds from the half dozen wireless cameras and even get the live picture on my cell phone.

My head was aching from all the new things I’d learned in such a short time. If the house alarm was triggered, it would alert the Mercy police—something Tom would inform them about in the morning. Seemed they needed my information and a code. That worried me a little. I could picture Morris Ebeling rolling his eyes if a call came from my house and then taking his time getting here.

One thing bothered me—the possibility that Syrah might return but be scared away by the motion lights. Cats like their environment to remain unchanged—but things had certainly changed around here in two days. If he came home, maybe it would be in the morning. That would be a dream come true.

After I’d brought up the feeds on the laptop over and over, I still wasn’t the least bit tired. Besides the headache that wouldn’t go away, I’d had too much coffee coupled with too much stress. I closed my computer and leaned back.

Merlot, who’d been asleep at my feet, raised his head, and his amber eyes seemed to ask, “Can we go to bed now where it’s warm?”

Chablis, tucked beside me, didn’t move a whisker. She was happy right where she was.

I ran my hands along the leather arms of John’s chair, realizing how good it felt to sit in the same spot where he had spent so much time talking to me or reading or listening to Bach on the stereo. I’d be across from him on the sofa, hand-quilting a special gift or reading a mystery. Such a dull and wonderful life we’d had together.

Then I noticed with surprise that my eyes didn’t fill with tears as I recalled these simple joys. I felt warm inside. I felt lucky to have known such a special man. I felt wrapped in love in his worn, comfy chair.

It was the best good-night kiss I could have had.

Five

Despite Chablis and Merlot remaining as close to me as possible, I spent another fitful night considering life without Syrah—my playful, agile, brilliant kitty. Even when I went to the kitchen at dawn to feed the other two, I was unable to push away those sad thoughts. As I opened cans of tuna and refilled their food bowl, I hoped I could consider the problem logically rather than with emotion leading the way.

If Syrah had left through the window and had been roaming outside, he would have come home by now. Cats, like birds, have homing devices that use the earth’s magnetic field and the angle of the sun, so he could easily have found his way back. Yes, I know way too much about cats—a hobby of mine. Anyway, since he wasn’t coming home on his own, that meant someone either took him on purpose or invited him in when he landed on their doorstep. With the kind of weather we’d been having, Syrah would have welcomed such an invite.

While Chablis and Merlot chowed down—and I hoped they wouldn’t get used to breakfast at dawn—I took the pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge and poured a glass. I’d had enough coffee last night to wake up all of Mercy. The first cold swig sent a shiver from my gut to the top of my head. Who else but me would drink sweet tea at six in the morning when we were probably having the first freeze of the season?

“You think this will be the day Syrah comes home?” I said.

Merlot stopped eating and looked up at me, offering a sympathetic meow. Chablis left the dish and rubbed my ankles.

They didn’t seem as upset as the previous two days, so maybe they knew something I didn’t.

With Chablis at my heels, I walked into the living area and grabbed a throw quilt from an antique chest alongside the sofa. After I set my glass on the end table by John’s chair, I wrapped myself in the quilt and again sat in his recliner. It felt just as welcoming as it had last night. Chablis was in my lap in an instant, and as I petted her I looked out at the rising sun bleeding scarlet onto the water. What a breathtaking sunrise. Maybe my two remaining friends were right—this would be the day we would find Syrah.