Leann Sweeney полностью

This was how the grapevine worked. And if I wanted to be a part of it . . . well, no one told me not to say anything about the murder. I related the events of that terrible day, making sure to stick to what I saw and heard firsthand. The only thing I said about Shawn was that he’d picked up the remaining cats. He didn’t need me contributing to his reputation as a hothead, and that might happen if I shared details of the day before the murder.

When I’d finished, I said, “I understand Flake Wilkerson came here often.”

“He did. Not that I was always present, mind you, but I heard. He was always arguing with the men and I heard tell he and Shawn Cuddahee almost came to blows one time. I woulda kicked the two of them down the street if I’d been here. Anyway, when I was here, Flake went out of his way to make conversation. He wasn’t good at conversation, though. Not a Southern gentleman at all, our Flake.”

I said, “But he tried to be nice to you?”

“Tried and failed,” she said. “Your true spirit always comes through. And his spirit was troubled, maybe damaged by some long-ago injury. You never know what people are hiding.”

I stirred my coffee for a second. “What did Mr. Wilkerson talk about?”

“The weather. Road construction. Gas prices. All the boring stuff old men bring up when they don’t know what to say. I’m a widow and he knew as much. I had the feeling he wanted to inquire about me, ask me on a date. Do the young people still call them dates? Anyway, I am most certainly glad he didn’t.”

“I understand from Chase Cook that Mr. Wilkerson quit coming in here after Chase’s cat, Roscoe, disappeared. Since we know Wilkerson had Roscoe, maybe that was no accident.”

“Oh my. I had no idea Flake took Roscoe. That’s despicable. Bless his heart, Chase was sick with worry when his cat disappeared.”

“Roscoe’s home now, safe and sound,” I said.

She smiled broadly, making the lipstick mistake all the more prominent. “Wonderful news. But though Flake may have stopped coming in at the same time as Chase did, he still showed up and drank his large black coffees until the day before he died. You know, some folks should not drink coffee. Makes ’em downright spiteful.”

“Coming here was part of Mr. Wilkerson’s daily routine?” I asked.

She nodded. “Same as for lots of folks. Hope to see you here on a regular basis as well.”

“I’m already a regular,” I said with a laugh. “You have that bulletin board over there, and I recall you saying I could put up Syrah’s picture. Did Flake ever take an interest in that board?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my precious Jesus. What did that man do? Get information from my establishment and then steal cats he’d learned about?”

“I didn’t mean to upset you, but yes, that’s what I was thinking.” A little lipstick problem didn’t mean Belle wasn’t a bright, perceptive woman.

“Oh my. Very troubling,” she said.

“Please don’t worry about information coming from the worst wannabe detective in the world,” I said.

“You don’t understand. When my cat disappeared, I put her picture up there.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Do you think he took Java?”

“Oh my gosh. You lost a kitten, right?”

“Yes. She was only six months old.” The color seeped from Belle’s skin, leaving behind garish circles of coral blush on her cheekbones. “They didn’t find any cat bodies in that wicked man’s house, did they?”

“No. I promise. Not a one. What kind of cat was she?” I said.

“A brown Persian. Just like coffee. That’s why I called her Java.” A few tears trickled down her cheeks.

A brown Persian? Like the one at my house?

“Let me show you something,” I said.

“Show me what?”

“I have what’s called a cat-cam—a video feed connected to a camera at home. You can see my living room in real time.” Too late I realized that if the cat Shawn gave me to care for wasn’t Belle’s, she would be so disappointed.

Belle got down from her stool and stared over my shoulder. She said, “Why am I looking at your home?”

“I want you to see something, but the one time I need them to be sleeping in the living room, they aren’t there.” I turned and looked at Belle. “Do you have time for a trip to my house?”

Seventeen

Good thing the drive to my house wasn’t long. Belle and I had taken my car, and after I told her I might—and I emphasized the word might—have her kitten, she was absolutely giddy with excitement.

That meant she talked nonstop, saying things like, “He had my Java the whole time?” and “I was nothing but kind to that awful man.” Finally she said, “Do your cats have ‘special powers’?”

I was focused on pulling into the driveway, so it took a second for my brain to catch up. I decided I couldn’t have heard right.

“Huh?” I said.

“Have your cats told you what it was like for Java in that man’s house?”

My eyes widened. Though Belle seemed like a kind Southern grandmother, there was plenty I didn’t know about her. Stress will reveal much about character.