The Hiding Place Page 7

  “What about your own practice?”

  “My partner can cover me for a while. But Patience is going to need more help now that she’s in that cast. I’ll stay until she can hire a veterinary assistant.”

  “I can help, too.” Mercy worked at the animal clinic off and on, whenever her grandmother needed her.

  Claude smiled. “Your grandmother has needed a full-time veterinary assistant for years. It’s time she got one.”

  “We agree completely,” said the Cat Ladies in unison as they scurried into the room, followed by an elegant woman who looked vaguely familiar. Doris and Maureen were the silver-haired sisters who ran the estate known as the Cat House, which their very wealthy great-aunt Clara had left in trust for “cats in need.” As her devoted trustees, they were so in sync that they tended to speak in the “royal we” and finish one another’s sentences.

  “Claude is right,” said Doris, the older and more outgoing sister, shaking her head. “What has happened here.”

  “A bomb,” said Maureen, her eyes bright with excitement.

  “Intended for Patience,” said Doris, with a hard look at her younger sister.

  “Our wonderful Patience.” Maureen cast her eyes down as if in apology.

  “Unthinkable.”

  “But it happened,” said Maureen, looking around the clinic as if she’d never seen it before.

  “Right here.” Doris cut her off. “We’re so relieved.”

  “That she’s all right.” Maureen nodded vigorously.

  “But a broken arm,” Doris went on.

  “Will slow her down,” said Maureen.

  “A bit,” said Doris. “We know that.”

  “Are you okay?” Maureen leaned in toward Mercy and patted her arm.

  “You must have been hurt, too.” Doris leaned in, and patted her other arm.

  Mercy half expected them to examine her right then and there. She straightened her spine. “I’m fine, really. It’s Patience I’m worried about.”

  “You must be careful,” said Maureen as if she hadn’t heard. “That brute.”

  “Is still running about,” said Doris, looking at Troy as if that were all his fault. “We all need to be careful.”

  “We’re doing everything we can to bring the perpetrator to justice,” said Troy.

  Maureen dismissed him with a wave of a tiny hand and addressed Mercy. “You’ll find the culprit.”

  “That’s your métier now,” said Doris.

  “Solving mysteries,” said Maureen.

  “Our own little Jessica Fletcher!” Doris and Maureen looked at Mercy, eyebrows raised, waiting for a reply.

  Troy looked away, studying Claude and his daycare of obedient dogs, and Mercy knew that he was struggling not to laugh. She ignored him and took advantage of the pause to acknowledge the woman who’d come in with the sisters and had been waiting patiently as the sisters chattered. She was petite and pretty, with shoulder-length dark hair brightened by a thick bolt of white that began at her widow’s peak and ran the length of her sleek bob, giving her a look of sophistication reinforced by the stylish red knit tunic she wore over velveteen black leggings with black suede wedge boots. A look Mercy’s mother, Grace, would no doubt applaud.

  She stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Mercy.”

  “Bea Garcia.” She shook her hand with a friendly and firm grip. “I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced, but I feel like we’ve run into each other somewhere.” She smiled. “I know your grandmother. And Lillian Jenkins.”

  Lillian Jenkins was Patience’s oldest and dearest friend. Between the two of them they knew everyone in southern Vermont, if not the entire state.

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “I’m happy to help Patience and the animals in any way I can.” Bea shook her head. “Such a terrible thing.”

  Mercy introduced Troy and the dogs.

  “Of course.” Bea looked from Mercy to Troy and back again. “The Wild Game Supper.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mercy was not going to talk about the Wild Game Supper with this woman or anyone else. She could feel her pale freckled skin start to boil with embarrassment. The ruddy curse of the redhead. She didn’t dare look at Troy, but she knew he was looking at her.

  “I’m so sorry.” Bea had obviously realized her faux pas and was now as red-faced as Mercy. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “Bea is a very talented amateur photographer,” said Doris, interrupting her.

  “She takes lovely portraits,” said her sister breathlessly.

  “Of the cats.”

  “Even the wild ones,” said Maureen.

  “Will sit for her.” Doris pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket and started swiping through the photos on her phone, holding them up for them all to admire. “See?”

  The pictures were remarkable, thought Mercy, all beautifully lit and shot against a black matte background. There was a pale ginger kitten in pearls, a close-up of a majestic Maine coon with golden eyes, an adorable trio of sleeping calicos, twin tabbies peeking out of a basket, and a one-eyed Siamese in a ruff worthy of Queen Victoria.

  Bea was talented. Mercy could see how these appealing pictures could help the Cat Ladies find even the most hard-to-place cats forever homes.

  “These are great,” said Troy.

  Mercy could hear the relief in his voice. And she could feel her coloring returning to normal.

  Saved by the Cat Ladies.

  She smiled at Claude. “You all seem to have everything under control.”

  “We’ll be fine as soon as we get that assistant. I’ll hire one myself if I have to.”

  “And we’ll do whatever needs to be done,” said Doris.

  “We need to get back,” said her sister.

  “To the phones,” said Doris.

  “There are still some animals that need picking up,” said Bea.

  “Thank you,” said Mercy. “I know my grandmother appreciates it. We all appreciate it.”

  She gave the Cat Ladies each a hug and nodded at Bea. She watched the three of them go, grateful that her grandmother’s patients were in such good hands. That was one less worry off her mind. But another popped up in its place right away.

  “What about Patience’s cats?”

  “Don’t know,” said Claude. “No one has seen them. They must have scattered when the explosion hit.”

  “So we don’t know if any of them were hurt.” Patience had so many rescue cats, and it would break her heart if any had suffered. She’d blame herself, even though it wasn’t her fault.

  “We don’t think so.” Claude shook his head. “We haven’t found any evidence of that. We think they’re hiding in the main house.”

  “Let’s hope so. It’s freezing outside. What about the kittens left on the doorstep?”

  “I don’t know anything about any kittens,” said Claude.

  “Maybe they’re hiding, too,” said Troy.

  “They were in a play yard in the kitchen.”

  “Susie Bear and I will help you find them.”

  Mercy kissed Claude on the cheek. “Thank you for all your help.”

  “De rien.” He snapped his fingers and the room zoomed back to life. The dogs scampered over to Claude, tails wagging. The chihuahuas chittered like angry birds as they careened around their little pen.

  “Come on, Susie Bear,” said Troy when the Newfie mutt balked at leaving her newfound canine friends behind in the Rufus Ruckus Room. “We’re going to find some cats.”

  “You, too, Sunny,” said Mercy.

  That promise prompted the big dog to shamble along with the golden after Mercy and Troy. They left the hospital wing and entered Patience’s kitchen. The room was much as it was before the explosion—no evidence of foul play here. She saw her Jeep keys on the island, next to the layer slicer. The Cat Ladies must have cleaned up the rest of the cake-making mess. Poor Patience. With her forearm in a cast, she wouldn’t be doing much baking for
a while. Her grandmother would have to find another way to deal with stress. Maybe yoga, Mercy thought. She and Elvis could share their practice with her.

  Mercy pocketed her keys and looked around.

  No kittens anywhere.

  The play yard was askew, having fallen on its side.

  “Let’s search the rest of the house,” said Troy.

  At the sound of the word “search,” Susie Bear was off. She ignored the hallway, which was cordoned off with crime scene tape, and headed straight upstairs. Sunny looked at Mercy.

  “Go on,” said Mercy, and the golden raced up the steps after the Newfie.

  “What about me?”

  “You, too. I want to stay down here. See if I can remember anything.”

  She watched as Troy charged up the stairs, two steps at a time. When he disappeared around the stairwell, she swiveled to face the blast site. There wasn’t much to see. The parts of the walls, floor, and ceiling affected by the detonation of the pipe bomb had been removed by the investigators. Right down to the studs.

  “I told you they took everything.” Ed appeared at her side.

  “They have to,” said Mercy. “This is a crime scene at its most three-dimensional. Fragments of glass, bits of electronics, chemical residue—any and all evidence must be found and analyzed, no matter where it ends up.” She waved her arms around the forlorn space. “And it can end up anywhere.”

  “Quite a job.”

  “Yeah, and it can take a while. Meanwhile, we have to keep Patience safe.”

  Ed frowned. “That won’t be easy. You know how she is.”

  “That’s why we need to nail this guy, the sooner the better.” Mercy closed her eyes and tried to remember. Nothing. Her mind was protecting her from the memory, and she was probably asking for trouble by trying to retrieve it. Once she remembered, she might not be able to forget. The way she could never forget the day Martinez died and she got shot and Elvis got PTSD.

  “What are you doing?”

  She opened her eyes. “I’m trying to re-create the moments before the blast.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  Mercy smiled at that. Ed was good shelter. He’s the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. She closed her eyes again and breathed deeply. In and out. In and out. In and out.

  She pictured her grandmother at the kitchen island. She pictured herself, separating the eggs. The rat a tat tat of the door knocker, the black and gray kittens in the cardboard box on the porch, wrapped in the pale pink blanket. She saw herself bring in the kittens, put them in the play yard. She heard Elvis bark, her grandmother head toward the hallway as the knocker sounded again. She saw herself run for the door. There was Elvis in his alert position. Patience’s hand on the knob. Her own voice, screaming. Elvis leaping. Patience tumbling. Light blinding. Darkness.

  Her own voice, screaming.

  Her eyes, wide open.

  Her body, falling.

  “It’s okay.”

  She felt her cousin’s strong arms steadying her as she teetered on the balls of her feet.

  “I got you.”

  She closed her eyes again and leaned against Ed the Oak. Grateful that he was not Troy. And disappointed at the same time.

  “Everything all right?” Troy stood at the edge of the crime scene tape, his arms full of squirming kittens.

  “You found them.” Mercy wriggled free of Ed and reached for the wayward inky black kitten crawling down Troy’s shirtsleeve.

  “Four here. Two more upstairs. Susie Bear and Sunny are standing guard.”

  “Six altogether. As it should be.”

  “Plus seven full-grown rescue cats,” added Troy.

  “That sounds about right,” said Mercy. “We can call Patience and make sure.”

  “The Cat Ladies will take the kittens,” said Ed. “Claude and I can handle Patience’s cats.”

  “You can just put the kittens back in the box they came in.” Mercy stopped short. “The box.”

  “What box?”

  Mercy handed the black kitty to Ed. “Hold this. I’ll be right back.” She ran into Patience’s kitchen, where she spotted the cardboard box in a corner by the recycling bin. The worn pink blanket was inside.

  She took the box back to Troy. “Right before the pipe bomb was delivered, the kittens were delivered in this, covered with this blanket.”

  “By the same person? The bomber?”

  “I don’t know. But I know how we can find out.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Patience had one of those motion cameras on the porch. So that she could see the people who left animals on her doorstep.”

  “I thought it was anonymous,” said Troy. “I thought that was the whole point of the rescue drop-off station.”

  “It was,” said Mercy. “It is. But in case anything goes wrong, she needs to be able to contact them. Like if the animals turn out to have rabies or some other communicable disease.”

  “Does that ever happen?” asked Ed.

  “I don’t know. But that’s not the point. The point is, we should have film of whoever left those kittens on the porch.”

  “And whoever left the bomb.” Troy grinned at her as he struggled to keep the kittens in his arms.

  “Exactly,” said Mercy, taking the little gray one from him, and stroking her.

  “I’m confused,” said Ed. “There’s nothing left of the porch. The camera is long gone. Destroyed.”

  “I don’t think that matters,” said Mercy. “I think that it’s one of those cameras that doesn’t store images.”

  “It sends the images to the cloud.” Troy grinned at her again. “Brilliant.”

  “I hope so.”

  “How long does the cloud store them?” asked Ed.

  “I think it varies from camera to camera,” said Troy. “Twenty-four hours? Forty-eight hours? Longer?”

  “I don’t know. If you’re right, we may not have much time. So we need to find Patience’s laptop and take it to her right now. See if those images are still there. And who is on them.”

  Troy frowned. “If you’re right, then technically that laptop is evidence. As are any images on it. The same goes for the box and the blanket. We might be able to pull prints, DNA, and other forensics off them.”

  “You’ll find my prints all over them,” Mercy said.

  “Harrington will love that.”

  “That’s not good,” said Ed, who’d had his own run-ins with Harrington at town meetings over budgets and building codes.

  “You can turn it all over to Harrington as soon as we see what’s on that film,” Mercy said. “Promise.”

  She could see Troy weighing the options and considering the consequences of giving the evidence to Harrington later rather than sooner. “There may be nothing on it at all.”

  “The camera may not have been working,” added Ed. “You know how fragile technology is.”

  Mercy smiled. She knew that Ed preferred his old-school tools over tech toys any day.

  “Or the images may be so blurry we can’t recognize anyone,” Ed went on, warming to his subject. “Or maybe they wore a disguise.”

  “Okay, okay.” Troy laughed. “We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here.”

  “Troy’s right. Let’s set these kittens up in the play yard in the kitchen and then we can figure this out.”

  Together they all marched back to Patience’s kitchen, armed with kittens. Mercy righted the play yard with one hand and placed her little gray kitten inside with the other. Ed and Troy deposited their kittens in the pen, too. For a moment they all watched the feline cuties scamper all over each other.

  “I’ll get the last two,” she said, and trudged up the stairs. She could hear Troy on her heels, his boots heavy on the treads. At the top of the landing, a long antique church pew with a burgundy velvet cushion sat in front of a tall window. Mercy counted seven cats curled up there, nose to nose and tail to tail, snoring lightly.

  Pa
tience’s rescue cats. But no kittens. She turned to look at Troy.

  “First room on the right,” he said.

  Patience’s bedroom. A lovely long room that ran the length of the house, with high ceilings, light sage-colored walls, and a pale pink marble fireplace. When Mercy was a girl, she’d sneak into the big four-poster cherry bed on stormy nights and sleep with her grandmother, safe and snug under down comforters covered in pink raw silk. Patience would rub her back and sing James Taylor songs in her sweet mezzo-soprano voice until Mercy fell asleep. She could understand why the kittens had found refuge here in this room, just as she had when she was small.

  Susie Bear lay on the parquet floor at the foot of the bed, her colossal head out of view, plumed tail thudding away. Sunny stretched out beside the Newfie, head also under the bed, tail still.

  “I guess they’re under the bed,” said Mercy.

  Troy grinned. “Good guess.”

  Mercy lowered her sore body slowly to the floor, lying on her belly, and looked under the high bedframe. There she spotted one gray kitten and one black kitten knitted together like yin and yang, asleep, up near the head of the bed, their tails tucked against the tall stacked white baseboard. She scooted toward them, wrapping her arms together in a large circle and catching the kittens in its center. She pulled the dozing babies toward her, and carefully moved back out from under the bed.

  “Success,” she said, as Susie Bear and Sunny sniffed at the kittens to make sure they were all right. “That’s good,” she told the dogs, gathering the little felines in her arms and allowing Troy to help her to her feet.

  “Nice room,” Troy said, as he closed the door behind them and they started down the stairs.

  “Yes.” Mercy thought of those summer storms and “Sweet Baby James.”

  * * *

  WITH THE KITTENS romping in the play yard, and Ed watching over them until the Cat Ladies arrived to find them forever homes, Mercy resumed her search for Patience’s laptop. She found it on her desk in her office under a stack of billings, right where she always kept it. She promised Claude she’d bring it right back, since it was the computer her grandmother used for the veterinary office as well.