The Cat, the Mill and the Murder: A Cats in Trouble Mystery (7 page)

“Nope,” I said with a grin. “But then, I’m not a guy.”

“And I am so glad you’re not.” He grabbed my hand and we started for his car.

But before we’d gotten ten feet, it happened again.

I felt as if a cat had sideswiped my leg.

Tom and I stopped at Belle’s Beans and picked up coffee for Candace. We got some for us as well since I needed more caffeine than the iced tea had provided. This busy day had started a little too early for me.

We headed for Mercy PD, located in the back of the courthouse. I saw only two of the six squad cars in the lot. Candace’s RAV4 was there as well. With the police offices in the back of the building and the jail in the basement, it sure streamlined the trip through the justice system for anyone caught drunk and disorderly or defacing property. Most crime in Mercy consisted of those two offenses.

Candace hugged me when she saw we’d brought coffee from Belle’s. As she led us through the squeaky gate separating the waiting area from the offices and interrogation rooms, I waved a hello at B.J., the gawky college student and part-time dispatcher. Since he was talking on the phone, he simply waved back.

We entered the break room with its scuffed-up table, small fridge and vending machine. The drafty room sent a chill through me and I was glad we’d stopped for hot drinks.

Candace hungrily eyed the coffee Tom carried in a cardboard tray. “Which one is mine?”

Tom nodded at the cup on the left. “Just how you like it.”

Candace gripped the coffee with two hands and stared up at the ceiling. “Praise the Lord for decent coffee. And thank you both for bringing it.” She looked at me and said, “My mind needs a kick start after trying to piece together Kay Ellen Sloan’s disappearance and then her mother’s a few months later. Morris would never win any cursive awards. These reports are not typed. Even now he makes me do all the computer work since he hates ‘the machines.’ And at times a
machine
can even be a cell phone to him.”

“That sounds like Morris,” I said.

Tom put the tray on the table and when he offered to help me with my coat, I told him I’d leave it on.

We took seats around the table and Candace filled us in on what she’d learned from Morris’s case notes. He’d spent about a week questioning people in Kay Ellen’s old neighborhood as well as her high school classmates. The girl left without any of her belongings—and that raised a red flag. Plus Kay Ellen adored their cat, but she left it behind with her mother.

However, when Jeannie went missing a few months later, Morris conducted only two interviews in the woman’s neighborhood. These people speculated Jeannie heard from her daughter and joined her in another town. Morris seemed to accept this because he never investigated further.

Candace finished her coffee and tossed the cup in the wastebasket behind her. “Thousands of people disappear every week in this country. Unless it’s a small child or we find a puddle of blood where the person was last seen, not much happens. Adults are free to come and go. Every cop knows that making the assumption a person has gone missing because they wanted to might cause problems down the line. But the sheer volume of disappearances makes following up on every single case impossible.”

Tom said, “And when there’s no pressure from family to look for the missing person, those cases are shelved pretty quickly. Unfortunately, both Jeannie’s and Kay Ellen’s investigations went cold almost at once.”

Candace nodded her head in agreement. “No one looked too hard for either of them.”

“We talked to a minister today who took Jeannie and her daughter in when they lost their home,” I said. “He told us the church did a search for both of them. Gathered folks from the congregation and tried their best.”

“Really?” Candace said. “Morris didn’t mention any searches other than the ones he and his partner back then did. They checked along the creeks that feed into the lake. Made a few searches along Mercy Lake. What church are you talking about, by the way?”

“Mill Village Baptist Church. The preacher is Pastor Mitchell Truman,” I said.

“Ah. The mill village. Figures. Why is it that whenever I have to go down to the mill neighborhood to find out who stole someone’s bicycle or to respond to a domestic disturbance call, no one will talk to me? Same holds true for Mercy residents outside the village. Town folk always tell me they don’t know anything about what happens in the village. There’s some kind of divide, but I don’t know what it’s all about.”

I said, “That’s because no one talks about prejudice—and there’s a long history of it when it comes to mill villagers all over the South.” I went on to explain a little of the history, how most textile workers were considered poor white trash, called names like linthead and worse, and had been discriminated against for generations. But, like blacks who’d suffered even worse discrimination, mill villagers remained a proud bunch. They’d learned to walk tall but say little.

Candace, who’d been sitting back and sipping her coffee, leaned forward, realization evident in her expression.
She said, “Now I get it. Nobody comes right out and says stuff like what you just told me, so I had no idea. See, I was about fourteen when they put the padlocks on those mill fences. My parents never spoke about the mill villagers, but now I understand. Jeez. Wounds inflicted by prejudice heal slowly, if at all. But as a cop, if I can go into a situation with a certain understanding…well, it can make all the difference in an investigation.”

“Sad to say we don’t have a complete understanding about our history because we stay silent,” I said.

Tom cleared his throat. “This is good conversation, but back to the matter at hand. Did you happen to tell Morris about Jeannie’s reappearance?” Tom said.

“I promised to look into the case files
first
, before we did anything about the Jeannie situation. That said, are you kidding me?” Her eyes had gone wide. “The man gets riled if his coffee isn’t the right temperature. Hearing about the woman squatting in an abandoned building would probably have him driving over to that mill faster than you can say Jeannie Sloan. He’d want to deliver her a lecture about how she wasted his time ten years ago.” Candace smiled at me. “Think I’ll let you tell him. He likes you.”

“Um, no. Not gonna happen,” I said. “Let Chief Baca tell him.”

Candace nodded. “Since Morris couldn’t locate Jeannie way back when, and since the town council won’t be thrilled about this state of affairs, Morris becomes the perfect scapegoat. Yup, I do believe this is a job for Chief Baca. Meanwhile, did you get in touch with anyone to help us convince Jeannie to leave the mill willingly?”

“I’m waiting on a call from the Upstate Homeless Partnership,” I said. “I’ve heard it’s a wonderful organization and I’m hoping they’ll step in.”

Candace glanced up at the clock above the fridge. “Sorry. It’s been hours since you told me about Jeannie.
We can’t wait. She’s trespassing and if I know about it and don’t do anything before I call it quits for today, I’m in trouble. Phone your friend Dustin and tell him to meet us at the mill with the keys. We’ve got to talk that woman out of there.”

I sighed heavily. She was right, of course. “But where will you take her? Not to jail, I hope.”

Tom stood. “I say she needs to be checked out at a hospital. By then, maybe your contact at UHP will call with a solution. Or Pastor Mitch might take her in. Wish I could go to the mill with you, but I have to meet with Penelope Webber about her security system. At least I can keep one council member busy while y’all work on the problem.”

Candace stood, apparently ready to roll.

“Wait,” I said, looking up at both of them. “Pastor Mitch said Jeannie dislikes the police—a lot. Maybe you need to change out of your uniform before we try to convince her of anything.”

“I will happily do that,” she said. “After you phone Dustin, would you mind calling the Main Street Diner and ordering a bunch of burgers and chili dogs? I’m starving. Then we can meet up at the mill, fill our bellies and bring in a bag of food for Jeannie. She’s more likely to cooperate if she’s not hungry.”

“Good idea.” I took out my phone and as we all walked out to the waiting area, I asked B.J. to give me the number for the Pink House. I then punched the numbers B.J. gave me into my contact list and couldn’t help but sneak a peek at my cat cam. My three amigos were all sleeping, but they would soon awaken. Dusk and dawn are the most active times of day for felines.

As we walked toward Tom’s car, I called the new owner of the Pink House, a sweet woman named Laura. Mercy draws a few tourists thanks to plentiful antiques and quaint shops, but nothing like Asheville to the northeast.
Most people choose to stay there when visiting the area. But Laura was eager to succeed in the B and B business where others had failed.

“Hi, Laura. This is Jillian Hart. Is Dustin Gray in his room?”

“Um, no. That young man has been pacing the floors, goin’ up and down the stairs, waiting for I don’t know what. Let me get him.”

Soon Dustin was on the line and I explained we wanted him to meet us at the mill so we could talk Jeannie into leaving. “Meet us in thirty minutes. We’re bringing food since—”

“Oh, Laura made this awesome beef bourguignon for an early supper,” he said. “I’m stuffed. See you there.”

Beef bourguignon, huh?
I thought, as I climbed in the car beside Tom. I might have to spend the night at the Pink House one of these days just for a decent meal.

*   *   *

Tom dropped me at my place. I turned on Animal Planet for the kitties and gave them a quick pet, found a flashlight and then went by the diner to pick up the food. Soon Dustin, Candace and I sat in her RAV4 outside the mill fence and ate. Well, Candace and I ate. Dustin just stared at Candace, his expression similar to one my cats wore when they were fixing on a bird out the window—as if he’d love to pounce but knew he didn’t dare.

Candace, now dressed in blue jeans and a short down jacket, held a wad of French fries close to her mouth and said, “You should do the talking at first, Jillian. You can get anyone to sing off your song sheet.”

Puzzled by her remark, I said, “I can?”

She shoved the French fries in her mouth and chewed a few seconds before saying, “You’re nice. Me? I tend to get a little pushy when I want something done in a hurry.”

I looked at Dustin and nodded. “She
can
be pushy.”

He smiled.

“Any which way,” Candace said, “that woman is coming out of that mill tonight. But I am deferring to you to encourage her to leave. At first.”

“Promise not to rush me, okay?” I said.

“My mama always told me the most important words she ever spoke were ‘Hang on a minute, Candace.’ She says she did manage to teach me a little bit of patience.” She grinned. “Now let’s get this show on the road.” She grabbed the sack containing a burger and fries for Jeannie and got out of the car.

With winter darkness well upon us, the mill loomed like an overpowering shadow as we passed through the gate and up the walkway. Our flashlights did little to penetrate the night. My heart sped up the closer we got to the door.

“Yikes!” I stopped suddenly. It felt as if I’d brushed up against something.

Candace and Dustin halted and she pointed her light at me. “What’s wrong? Did you trip?”

Dustin swept the brick path with his Maglite. “I don’t see any debris. You okay?”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Let’s hurry and get in there.” But it
was
somethin
g
—that feeling again, the brief touch against my leg. I’d heard back problems can cause strange sensations in the legs, but as far as I knew, my back was fine. Maybe this creepy place and Jeannie’s belief she had a companion cat no one else could see had seeped into my mind, because it definitely felt as though a cat had just touched me.

If the mill had seemed as dark as night in the daytime, it was even worse now. As we walked into the expansive old factory, I heard a scurrying noise and turned quickly enough with my flashlight to catch a glimpse of cats racing along the wall to our right.

“Shawn spoke at the town council meeting and said
those aren’t friendly cats,” Candace said. “But they look just like mine and yours.”

“They are definitely
not
friendly. They do not trust people,” I said. “And please keep your voice down or you’ll frighten them even more than they already are.”

“Sorry,” Candace whispered.

Meanwhile, Dustin forged ahead toward the hallway that led to the office where we’d found Jeannie this morning.

But we all froze when we heard a loud moan. All our flashlights veered in unison toward the sound. I could make out the silhouette of what looked like a mound on the floor.

But then the mound moved and cried, “Help me.”

We all rushed over and found Jeannie lying on the old plank floor.

Candace got there first and knelt beside her. Dustin and I followed right behind.

“Where are you hurt?” Candace’s flashlight spread an eerie glow over Jeannie’s anguished face.

“I—I busted somethin’,” she said.

I got on my knees beside Candace. “Jeannie, it’s Jillian. What happened?”

“I—I fell. They was chasin’ me and I fell.” Her eyes closed and I could tell the poor woman was in serious pain.

Candace stood and pulled out her phone. She tapped a few buttons and then sighed in frustration. “No signal. I’m headed closer to the door to call B.J.”

“Okay.” I rubbed Jeannie’s upper arm. The fabric of her shirt was thin. Looking up at Dustin I said, “She’s so cold.” I worried she might be in shock and not just freezing because it was so chilly in this building.

Dustin took off his jacket and laid it gently over the woman.

“Where does it hurt?” I asked.

“Here.” She rested a hand on her left hip. “Can’t get up and they’re gonna get me.” But her frightened expression vanished when her gaze fell away and she focused on the floor next to me. “She came back. I knew she would.”

“What are you talking about?” Dustin said, training his light on the empty space at my side.