Leann Sweeney

“There might be one thing you could help me with,” he said. “I’m a volunteer fireman and we put together this calendar. I know it’s late in the year, but if you’d be so kind as to buy one, that would sure help our charity. We donate the money to kids all over South Carolina who’ve been burned in house fires or accidents.”

That was where’d I’d seen him. “I bought one of those calendars way back when we first moved here. And aren’t you, um . . . featured?”

His cheeks colored to almost strawberry. “Ma’am, it’s for the kids.”

“I want two more calendars, then,” I said.“And by the way, I make quilts for charities. Children’s quilts, so I could—”

“I need another calendar, too,” Candace said quickly.

Billy’s eyes met hers for the first time. “Now that’s real nice of you two ladies.”

I caught a lingering gaze between them. Candace was catching on about how to make Billy pay attention.

“What I started to say was that I have some quilts in the other room looking for small bodies to keep warm,” I said.

“You’d give us those?” he said.

“That’s why I make them. Let me get you a few.”

As I left the room, I heard Billy say to Candace, “She’s one sweet lady, isn’t she? Young to lose a husband, though. Dan Meade caught that 911 call last January. Couldn’t do a thing for the man.”

I swallowed hard and picked up my pace. John’s death would always leave a wound, but the constant grieving had to end—and I’d been making progress. He would have wanted me to move on with my life. And I was trying my best.

When I returned, quilts in hand, Candace was busy dusting the rest of the entertainment center for prints.

“I thought you said the intruder wore gloves?” I said.

“I know.” She faced me. “I guess I’m as stubborn as my daddy always says. Bad guys leave things behind, even the smart ones, and I want to find something this one left.”

Just then Billy came back into the house with three calendars. We paid up and he left, again with Candace admiring him every step of the way.

As soon as he was gone, she flipped the calendar open to July and said, “Now here’s what I’m talking about. Can’t have enough of this.”

Billy was shirtless and wearing his volunteer fireman pants, suspenders loose over broad shoulders. The man was oiled, bronzed and had muscles Superman could only wish for.

After we stared for a few seconds, Candace wiped a damp strand of hair off her forehead—she was a bit sweaty even though the evening was beginning to cool the house down considerably. She said, “Let’s get back to work.”

“Obviously you think there might be a clue here, so tell me how that will help find my cat. If I don’t get Syrah home by dark . . .” I’d been distracted for a time, but now my eyes burned. I willed back the tears. Tears wouldn’t help anything.

“You really love these cats, huh?” Candace said.

“They’re all I’ve got.”

She nodded, as if to tell me she understood. “I collected a clump of what looks like cat hair out near the end of your driveway—can’t say that’s what it is ’cause I got no hard evidence, but you want to take a look? If it belongs to your missing cat I can surely find a match here in the house. Plus there were tire tracks. I took a picture, but matching the tire to make and model probably won’t happen. No way the town’s gonna pay a nickel to search for a match since they’d be with Morris—decide nothing was taken. But that missing cat is as good as gold to you.”

“Syrah might have simply run off. That’s what most people would conclude. But he wouldn’t go with a stranger,” I said. “He’s too smart for that. This voice in my head is telling me he was stolen. But why?”

“That’s what we need to find out—why he’s gone and where he is. Doesn’t matter to me if your Syrah ran off or was catnapped; I plan to help you,” Candace said.

“That means so much—you helping me on your own time.”

“I like you, Ms. Hart. Plus I need to practice my evidence-collection skills if I’m ever gonna get out of Mercy and get me a real police job. Sure, this is my home, but they’re not so hot here on using all the new scientific stuff that can help in police work. Just want to keep everything the same old same old.”

“Help me understand how any evidence you find will help you get a lead on Syrah.”

“Don’t rightly know. But you collect stuff, then you hope and pray the evidence leads you down the right road.”

I nodded. “I’ll buy that. Let me see what you’ve found so far.”

She’d brought in a little satchel that held her fingerprint kit and now took out a small brown envelope. “Haven’t sealed it yet. Wanted you to take a look first. But don’t go touching it, okay?”

She squeezed the stiff pouch open so I could look inside.

“Syrah is a sorrel color, so if it’s his hair it should be coppery ticked with chocolate . . . and the base of the hair should be a bright apricot. Together all these colors make him look amber.”

“Sorrel? Ticked? What’s all that mean?” Candace asked.