The Cat, the Mill and the Murder: A Cats in Trouble Mystery (21 page)

“Not quite Mayberry in this part of the building,” I said.

“Huh?” he replied.

The reference to the
Andy Griffith Show
was lost on him. Too young. I pushed open the scarred door with frosted glass and
MERCY POLICE DEPARTMENT
stenciled on in green paint.

B.J. sat at his desk to our left. “Hey, Mrs. Hart,” he said. “She’s waiting for you in the break room.”

After I introduced Dustin and B.J., I pushed open the gate separating the waiting area from the corridor that led to the interview rooms and police offices. Dustin followed me to the end of the hallway and we found Candace sitting at the round table in the center of the room. Candace scrambled to her feet when we came in and she wiped cheese cracker crumbs from her mouth with a paper towel. She tossed the cracker cellophane and paper towel into the trash, saying, “Hey, Jillian. Dustin. Chief Baca’s not here, so we can use his office. I need a comfortable chair about now. Besides, my cubbyhole around the corner isn’t big enough for three people.”

She was right. When I visited Candace here, we either talked in the break room or in the chief’s office.

After we went across the hall, Candace eased into Mike’s leather desk chair with a sigh. We took the two armchairs across from her, Mike’s big shiny desk separating us.

“What’s all this about Penelope Webber?” she said, staring at Dustin.

His return gaze was accompanied by a rather slack-jawed, awestruck look. “It’s nothing really. Just some things she said.”

“For context,” I said, “I think you should see what Dustin has done on his tablet for his presentation to the town council. What he thinks can be done with the mill.”

“Okay,” Candace said, sounding skeptical.

But after she looked at what I had seen in the last hour, I saw a new respect for Dustin Gray in her eyes. “This is really something. I mean, you think this could happen in our town?”

“Certainly,” he said. “I mean, the investors will have their own architects and designers, but I took the existing space, saw what I thought it could structurally support and came up with these ideas.”

Candace was staring at the pictures, swiping through them for a third time. “They’re
great
ideas.” She looked at him. “I’m impressed.”

“Tell her about Penelope—about some of the things she said when you shared your ideas with her,” I said.

Dustin leaned back, eyes narrowed in thought. “I want to be as accurate as I can. See, I met with her in Greenville when I was first assigned the project last month.”

“Oh,” I said. “You didn’t mention that part.”

“I remembered on the drive over here. I guess it’s an accumulation of what she said that I was thinking about when I talked to you, Jillian.” He looked at Candace. “But in your job, I’ll bet you want everything to be very specific. Which is sort of like my job, too.” He smiled.

“You met with her in Greenville last month,” Candace said. “What happened?”

“She had drawings, the old blueprints of the mill, pages and pages compiled by the investors for their very different proposals,” he said. “She kept saying this had to be all very
above board
. I thought at the time, well, yeah, it does. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“That was a strange thing for her to say. Go on,” Candace said.

“That was the first time she mentioned she was a Realtor,” he said.

“What?”
Candace said. “No, she’s not. Or rather, she wasn’t.”

Dustin blushed. “Maybe she wasn’t, then. Maybe she wasn’t telling me the truth.”

Candace shook her head and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you off. It’s just that I haven’t finished looking into her background. But as far as I know, she was never a Realtor in Mercy.”

“Oh,” Dustin said. “She seemed pretty proud of it, so I thought she was a Realtor currently. Anyway, when I came here to Mercy and we talked, she started telling me how much the economy needed a boost through residential real estate. This was a conversation we had when I thought we were just making small talk. Not about the mill. Then she said it again later. I
still
didn’t put it together. Not until I told Jillian.”

Candace leaned back hard, her eyes on the ceiling, “Oh my goodness. I missed something somewhere. Seriously missed something.”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“You can’t just decide to become a Realtor one day. Either it’s in your past or you’re working on it. If she was involved in real estate investment of any kind—even if she wasn’t a certified Realtor—that would be a serious conflict of interest. She was the head councilwoman. She could influence others to vote the way she wanted them to. For the
condo
project, if residential real estate was her interest.” Candace looked at us, her gaze steely.

I said, “That’s what I thought. Choosing the condos would put money in her pocket down the road. But she could have been lying to Dustin.”

“What do you mean?” Dustin said, sounding upset by the suggestion.

“What if she wasn’t ever involved in real estate before?”
I said. “What if she got big ideas when the proposals came in and how they could benefit her? Luxury apartments could mean big commissions, whereas a museum and urban village wouldn’t exactly help someone trying to cash in right away. From what I understand, the commercial shops of the museum project would only come down the road—well after the museum was set up.”

“You’re right,” Candace said, pointing at me. “As far as Ms. Webber becoming a simple real estate agent, rather than, say, a Realtor, you can learn that stuff online—how to buy and sell property. Eventually maybe learn enough to actually do it or find out what classes to take and where. If she was looking into a new career, I need the forensics report on her computer
yesterday
.” She grabbed the phone on the chief’s desk but then set it down. “Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself.” She reached behind her and grabbed paper from Mike Baca’s computer printer, then took a pencil from the penholder to her right.

“Dustin, I want you to tell me every word Penelope Webber ever said to you.”

*   *   *

After Candace finished writing down Dustin’s conversations with Penelope, she made the call to the county crime lab asking them to get her any information they’d uncovered on the woman’s computer as quickly as possible. She thanked Dustin and gave him her card with her cell number, telling him to call her if he remembered anything else.

Dustin and I walked out together into what was turning out to be a surprisingly sunny, warm day and I swear he couldn’t have stopped smiling if he’d tried. When we reached our cars, he told me he had to make a trip to the office in Greenville, but he would be back. He still had work to do inside the mill. What he’d shown Candace and me on his tablet was just the beginning.

Before I left, I decided to check my cat cam. I saw Chablis asleep on the sofa in her favorite spot. But I’d tuned in just in time to watch a major cat chase. Since Syrah never chased Merlot, I knew Boots was involved. What could I do about this ghost cat in my life? And why did she need to stay around me?

I’d set the phone down on the front passenger seat and was about to put the van in reverse when a face appeared in my side window. Startled, I blinked, but then I let out a sigh and pressed my hand to still my heart. I rolled the window down. “Hi, Morris. You scared me.”

Puffy pillows of fatigue under both eyes told me the man was exhausted.

“Hey, there,” he said. “What are you up to?”

I told him about Dustin’s information concerning Penelope.

He paused, looking thoughtful. “We should be taking a sharp look at those museum investors, then. Can’t find out much about one Mr. Lucas Bartlett, that’s for sure. But I did find Rachael Franklin. Married name is Pickens. Anyway, she didn’t want me comin’ to her house. Said she’d come to me.”

“This is the young woman who might know the name of Kay Ellen’s boyfriend?” I said. “She’s meeting you here?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “Thought I’d take a page out of Candace’s book. She can get folks to talk by makin’ them feel comfortable. As you may know, I have no friends—human or otherwise—because I’m not good at that stuff. Ask my ex-wife. She’ll tell you.”

Morris had been married once? Who would have thought? “How do you plan to make her feel comfortable?” I said.

“I hadn’t quite thought it through, but she is meeting me at Belle’s. Guess I’ll buy her coffee,” he said. “Take it from there.”

Why was he telling me this? And why was he lingering? Then I understood. “Do you need help, Morris?”

His features relaxed and he almost smiled. “I do. I screwed up Kay Ellen’s case and I want to make it right, but I’m beginning to see what others see—a cranky, impatient old man. But you could give me a few pointers, seein’ as how you’re the nicest person I know.”

The Grinch’s heart really can grow a few sizes,
I thought. “When’s this meeting?”

“In twenty minutes,” he said. “Thought I’d change into street clothes. Less intimidating, don’t you think?”

I smiled. “Good idea. You sure you want me to go with you?”

His shoulders slumped with relief. “Would you? I’ve seen you help Candace with interviews before. I mean, it’s not like this is some criminal I’m dealin’ with. But I do need help getting her to remember stuff from ten years ago.”

I grinned. “I’ll meet you over there—and I cannot wait to see you in street clothes. That will be a first.” He ambled off in the direction of the courthouse, his pace more labored than I’d noticed before. Change was a difficult thing—and for a curmudgeon like Morris, probably especially difficult.

But this wasn’t just about him. I glanced at my phone, the screen still lit, and suddenly had the answer to the questions I’d asked myself a few minutes earlier. This cat spirit, this charming little cat, wanted to make sure I attended to Jeannie’s business and that I followed every clue to bring peace to the poor woman. Maybe running into Morris in this parking lot had nothing to do with chance at all. If I hadn’t stopped to check the cats, and paused to watch them chase Boots, I would have left before Morris arrived. I would have missed him.

Belle’s Beans was just a few blocks down Main Street and I found a parking spot right in front. I checked the
time on my phone—fifteen minutes to four—and as I walked into Belle’s and paid for a decaf skim latte, I glanced again at my cat cam. I shivered when I saw little Boots staring straight at the camera on top of the entertainment center.

“Decaf skim latte,” called the Belle of the Day, whose real name was Joanne.

“Thanks, Jo,” I said, sliding the phone into my pocket.

The café had only a few customers and I sat at one of the center back tables with four chairs. One of Colbie Caillat’s cheerful songs played through the overhead speakers and the music, coupled with late-afternoon sun shining in through the big window, gave me a sense of calm and purpose.

I removed my jacket and hung it over the back of the lacquered chair. I was taking the first sip of my latte when a young woman walked in and glanced around. I’d never seen her before, so I assumed she’d moved to Woodcrest before I came to Mercy several years ago.

I got up, hurried over to her and said, “Are you Rachael?”

She seemed surprised and more than a little wary. “Who are you?”

“I’m Morris Ebeling’s friend,” I said with a smile. “He’s on his way, but I came to make sure to buy you a coffee.”

“No coffee,” she said, laying a hand on the baby bump I hadn’t noticed.

“They have wonderful green tea here—or hot chocolate,” I said.

She glanced at Joanne, who was waiting patiently at the cash register. “Um, green tea, no sugar,” she finally said.

I pointed to the table where my coffee sat. “Have a seat and I’ll bring your drink.”

When I joined her and placed her tea in front of her
a minute later, she seemed more nervous than wary. “He said he’d be here.”

“He will. I’m Jillian, by the way. When’s your baby due?”

“Four months.” She smiled and laid her hand on her belly again.

“Your first?” I asked after I’d taken a sip of coffee.

She nodded. “Only the doctor knows if it’s a boy or a girl. We want to be surprised.”

“You used to live in Mercy, I understand.”
Might as well jump right in,
I thought.

“Yes,” she said. “This is about that girl who disappeared. I tried to tell the policeman I didn’t know any girls from the mill village and didn’t want any police coming around my house. But Deputy Ebeling wouldn’t take no for an answer. When he said we could meet here…well…it brought back memories.” She glanced around. “The place is so different now. Mrs. Lowry’s kept up with the times.”

“She has plenty of energy,” I said. “But…did you say you didn’t know any girls from the village?”

Rachael rested her hand on her throat and averted her eyes. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t see the girl in the hall at the high school. But I don’t remember her except what people said afterward. That she ran away.”

I was so focused on Rachael’s body language and so convinced she was lying, I didn’t see Morris until he was standing right behind Rachael.

He slid a wallet-size picture in front of her. “Got this from the Mercy High School yearbook. Recognize her now?”

The young woman hardly looked at the picture. She pushed it away as Morris took the chair next to her. “I was just telling Jillian I knew
of
her. I take it you’re the policeman?”

Morris had tried his best to look less intimidating. He
wore a plaid wool shirt and had slicked his gray hair back. But even so, his whole demeanor screamed “cop.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Thanks for meeting us here, Mrs. Pickens.”

“I couldn’t have you come to the house.” She turned to me. “See, I live next door to my mother-in-law. She’d ask questions, believe I was in trouble, dream up a dozen ways to Sunday to imply to Rick that I’d done something wrong.”

“Rick is your husband?” I said.

“Yes,” she replied. “He’s a banker. His reputation in Woodcrest has to remain pristine. You do understand?” She glanced back and forth between Morris and me.