Leann Sweeney

Feeling low, but still not completely beaten into the ground, I decided to visit Shawn, find out what he might know about lost gray cats. If Marian Mae had done the same things I had when I lost Syrah, she might have gone to the Sanctuary hoping to find Diamond. Maybe she did get her cat back right away, but Shawn or Allison might know about the loss, could help me get a better read on Marian Mae Temple. Because despite only a flyer and two gray cats that looked a little alike, I couldn’t help but still suspect her, even if I didn’t know why. It was just instinct, and even Tom had said that instinct shouldn’t necessarily be ignored. Or maybe I was going to visit them because I needed to talk to people who understood how important this mystery was to me.

There was another car in the minuscule parking lot at Mercy Animal Sanctuary. I walked into the office and found a couple and their young son adopting a kitten. This is what’s good for the soul, I thought. This is what I need right now.

Snug the parrot seemed to mirror that idea, because he was bobbing and talking up a storm. Bringing a new pet into your life is one of the most special times ever, and the positive energy in the little room was almost palpable.

Shawn was attempting to coax the kitten away from the little boy, while Allison was taking care of the paperwork. She looked up and said, “Hi, Jillian. Be with you in a minute.”

“You know how you have to wear your seat belt?” Shawn said, kneeling in front of the child.

The kid nodded.

“Well, we have to keep your new kitty safe in the car by letting him ride in the box your mom and dad brought,” he said.

Safe. That reminded me I hadn’t checked on my crew in a while, so I opened my phone and brought up the cat-cam feed. I ended up nearly laughing out loud. I’d tuned in on a game of chase. I swear, those three could be the inspiration for a cartoon series. I was so intent on watching them that Allison had to ask me to move aside so the family could leave with their new baby.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping to my right. I looked at Shawn while Allison walked the family out to their car, motioned for him to have a look at what was happening at my house. He was smiling, too, after watching a few seconds of cat play. Syrah, as usual, was winning the race around the house.

“Fast cat,” Shawn said. “Handsome guy, your Syrah. Bet you’re relieved the Mercy catnapper is dead. I know I am.”

“Maybe relieved,” I said, “but sad, too. His murder was pretty darn brutal.”

“What goes around, as they say,” Shawn said. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m not completely sure. Mr. Wilkerson’s daughter is in town—but I think you were aware of that. Did you know her father stole her cat, too?”

“Oh yeah. First thing she did was rush to Mercy hoping to get Sophie back. She came here straightaway when her father told her he hadn’t taken the cat. We knew that wasn’t true. Anyway, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that a couple days before I’d had to call animal control for a dead gray long-haired. I figured Sophie escaped from Wilkerson—cats know when they need to get out of a situation—and got run over.”

“Wow. That’s not good.” My heart sank. Seemed simple explanations often escaped wannabe detectives. I’d brought in a set of my computer pictures and showed him Sophie first. “Was this the cat that you found, um . . . you know?” I didn’t even want to say the word, much less think about poor Sophie like that.

He glanced at the picture. “Daphne showed me a picture, too. Could be the cat in the road, but it was kinda hard to tell. See, I don’t take close-up looks at animals that have died for whatever reason. Can’t take it. I called that stupid, good-for-nothing animal control officer. It’s his job to take care of that kind of problem. I sat in my truck waiting five damn hours for him to show up.”

“You waited that long?” I said.

“You bet I did. He shoulda gotten his butt to town and picked up that cat right away. As it was, I had to steer cars around the poor thing more times than I want to remember.”

Hoping to distract him from the lazy animal control officer—who might not really be lazy but could have been extra busy that day—I showed him the pieced-together picture of Diamond.

Shawn looked at it for several seconds, appeared to be focused on the “lost cat” plea. He said, “Marian Mae lost her cat? Wait. Better question: Marian Mae had a cat?”

“Obviously you don’t recognize Diamond, and I take it Marian Mae didn’t come here looking for her last year?” I said.

“Nope. But the date on this flyer is right around the time I found that gray cat in the road. Could have been Diamond.” He held up the picture of Sophie. “Or it could have been her.”

Great. That helps complicate matters.

“How can you be sure of the timing?” I said.