Leann Sweeney by the Quilt The Cat, the Corpse Page A

to.
    Finally, after what seemed like a year since I’d departed on my mission to confront the man who’d stolen my cat, Candace and I left. We soon pulled into my driveway, with her in the passenger seat holding Syrah. She told me Chief Baca would arrange for someone to pick her up in an hour or two. Tom Stewart arrived seconds after we did. As he gathered his tools, we went inside.
    Syrah immediately leaped from Candace’s arms. He looked up at her, arched his back and hissed, then ran from the kitchen.
    “Don’t take it personally,” I said to the befuddled-looking Candace. “I’ve pissed him off myself by putting him through the torture of a car trip. And he’s been through much more than that in the last few days. He’ll get over it.”
    She smiled. “Then there’s hope he and I can still be friends. And now—I’ve never searched a place without a partner, so I’m gonna ask you to stay with me. I don’t think the chief would like it much if I left you alone in one room while I searched another.”
    “Because I might hide those bloody clothes I don’t have?” This was all so ridiculous that I felt like laughing. But I didn’t think Candace would appreciate it. I knew she was only doing her job.
    She squinted at me. “Know something? You’re not looking so hot. Bet you haven’t had so much as a drink of water since those sips the paramedics gave you after you fainted.” She patted my arm. “Come on. Let’s get you something to bring the color back to your cheeks.”
    I nodded in agreement. “Tea. I need tea.”
    While Candace was opening the refrigerator, a three-cat speed race with Syrah leading the way nearly knocked me over. Chablis and Merlot hadn’t been this happy in two days. Candace handed me a glass of tea. “Are your cats always this crazy?”
    “Yup. That’s my clowder for you,” I said.
    “Clowder?” she said, pulling her eyebrows together.
    “That’s what you call a group of adult cats. On the other hand, a group of kittens is called a kindle.”
    “Learn something every day. So, I think I’ll start in the basement with the washing machine. As I said, I have to keep you near so that nothing gets moved or—”
    I held up a stop-sign hand and smiled. “I completely understand.”
    “Let’s get busy, then.” Candace started for the basement, but Chablis came back into the kitchen before we’d taken two steps and sat at my feet. She looked up and sneezed, a reminder that I had neglected my duties as her mom.
    “Darn. I was so frantic about that man invading my house again, I forgot he must have left behind more dandruff. She needs Benadryl. You may not want to put this in any formal statement, but Chablis can testify that Flake Wilkerson didn’t get his nickname because he was goofy. He had a serious dandruff issue.”
    Candace sighed and then smiled. “By the way, I did my research and discovered you can collect human DNA from dandruff.”
    “Really?” I said.
    “You’re not the only one who likes to gather information. I’ll wait while you give her some medicine. I feel bad for poor Chablis.”
    I did this as quickly as I could, considering how much Chablis loved to take medicine, but Tom interrupted us the minute I was done wiping up the floor where she’d coughed out several drops of bright pink liquid. He needed access to the control panel and the phone. Candace told him she wasn’t willing to leave him unsupervised in the kitchen.
    “You have got to be kidding,” he said.
    “Can’t fool around when it comes to procedure, Tom. But I do have the flexibility to compromise. I’ll search the kitchen first while you work.”
    And so she rummaged through every cupboard and drawer—all the while casting anxious glances at me as I teased the cats with a feather or at Tom fiddling with the wiring. Once he was done and promised me I would be hooked up to the police after one last adjustment outside, I thanked him for his patience and for helping me get through