“Go on,” Kara said. “I didn’t know about this part.”

Neither did I. Candace must have learned this from Lieber earlier today.

Candace’s face remained impassive, but I was sure she was mentally kicking herself for saying too much. “That’s all. The professor was upset with his situation.”

“I get it,” Kara said. “Ongoing investigation. But I’ve been a good girl and told you all about today.”

“And I thank you,” Candace said. “Did you learn anything else that might help us find the killer?”

“Only that Sarah VanKleet had lots of questions about who would inherit the property,” Kara said. “Brandt said he couldn’t be sure until they know if there’s a will. You didn’t happen to find a will in the house?”

Candace just smiled. She wasn’t about to spill anything else. “Sounds like you spent time with Mrs. VanKleet today, too.”

“We did stop by the bed-and-breakfast where she’s staying. They do a nice lunch there.” Kara stood. “As for that will, I’m sure somebody in town will know. One thing I’ve learned is that people sure like to talk in Mercy. Belle is a wealth of information, and she might know by tomorrow.”

“That’s so true, I’m actually ashamed to call myself a cop,” Candace said with a laugh.

I wanted to say, “See how fun it is to share, girls?” as if these two were five-year-olds. But I kept my mouth shut, appreciating the ease in tension between them.

Kara said, “Think I’ll go to my room and talk to my little recorder before I forget what I learned today.” She walked past us, Red Bull in hand, and left us alone.

“Tonight’s information settles it,” Candace said. “We’re going to that college tomorrow to get the truth about what went on there.”

“I’m game,” I said. “But what’s your focus now?”

“I need answers about what really went on in Denman. Brandt claims the professor was faking. Evan thinks he was a sick man. What’s the truth?”

“I’m betting the truth lies somewhere in between,” I said. “What about Kara?”

“She can’t come. I’m charged with protecting you, but I’d have a hard time explaining her need to go with us. She stays here,” Candace said.

“But I’m worried Ski-Mask Guy will come back.” I thought for a second, then said, “I might have a partial solution, though.”

“Partial works for me. What’s your plan?” Candace said.

“I get Tom to give her a job to do tomorrow. Any job,” I said.

“Think he’ll be a willing spirit?” she said.

“Definitely. I get the feeling the more time he spends with her,” I said, “the better he’ll understand her. And then maybe he can explain her to me. I need all the help I can get.”

Though rain fell throughout the night and thunder woke me several times, by morning the sun snuck through the slats of my wood shades and one beam of light fell right across my eyes. There was no sleeping through that. Besides, we needed to get moving.

I shook Candace’s shoulder, and she moaned in protest. “Five more minutes.”

No five minutes for me. I needed coffee. When I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I was surprised to see Chablis sitting on the floor and staring at me. “Hey, sweetie,” I whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

In response, Chablis offered one of her more insistent meows and, fluffy chocolate-colored tail in the air, hurried out of the bedroom.

I knew that voice and that behavior. She wanted me to follow her. Cats do talk in their own way and have so many different sounds-more than a hundred by some estimates. I hurried after her.

Chablis led me to the basement, as expected. I filled one dish with dry food, even though it wasn’t empty. I noticed that no one seemed interested in food-even the kittens were curled in the cutest little pile, fast asleep. But Chablis was licking away at Dame Wiggins back near the shoulder blades-and really going at it. She stopped for a second, looked at me and then started up again. This wasn’t normal grooming.

I knelt by the cats and saw that Dame Wiggins’s fur around this area was downright wet. “What are you doing, Chablis? Does she have an injury we don’t know about?”

Wiggins could definitely have been bitten and developed an abscess after being around so many cats, so I lifted Chablis and set her next to me while I examined the area. Not an abscess at all. But definitely a small bump just below the skin.

Aloud, I said, “If they scanned her, no one told me. Bet they forgot.” Indeed, Dame Wiggins had a pet-locator chip embedded under her skin. I’d have to get Shawn over here pronto. Dame Wiggins and her litter probably had a home to go to.

Candace’s voice made me start when she said, “I’ve called the chief, and he wants us to go to Denman in a squad car. This is official police business. Let’s get going.”

This from the woman who wanted five more minutes of sleep? I told her about the implanted microchip and how I had to notify Shawn.

“It’s been four days,” Candace said. “Waiting another day to scan the cat won’t be a problem. You’re sure Tom can keep Kara occupied?”

“He was more than happy to help when I called him last night,” I said.

“Let’s go.” Candace’s eyes were bright with the promise of police work that was a little more challenging than babysitting a grown woman.

We took my van to the courthouse and drove around behind the building where the squad cars were parked. Kara had been awake when we left and questioned why Candace was wearing her uniform, and then asked where we were going. She’d noticed I had my purse and was fiddling with my new phone to make sure I knew how to bring up the cat cam. But Candace didn’t get a chance to answer because Kara’s phone started ringing. Candace pulled me out the back door, but not before I heard Kara say Tom’s name. Great timing, my friend, I thought.

Soon we were on the road, and though Candace was driving, I felt fairly safe because she was always more careful when she drove a squad car. Once we were out of town and on the highway heading toward Denman, Candace shut off the police radio so we didn’t have to endure hearing B.J. screwing up more police radio codes. But her phone rang a minute later.

She had her cell attached to the car somehow, and all she had to do was press a button and the call came out on the speaker feature. It was Mike Baca.

“Candace, I got the info you wanted on Rosemary Bartlett. She lives in town with her parents, and they said she’s home.”

“Good. What was your take when you spoke to her?” Candace said.

“I spoke to her parents. They didn’t seem all that surprised that a police chief was calling. I got the feeling the father wanted to say, ‘What’s she done now?’ but he just said she’d be waiting for you, that he’d make sure of it.”

“Great. And the head of the college?” she asked.

“That’s another story,” Baca said. “I had to work him pretty hard, saying we didn’t want to involve the college in our investigation beyond a few simple questions about the professor. Once he knew we were aware of why Professor VanKleet was fired, he said he’d cooperate.”

“Sounds like we’re all set. I downloaded a campus map, but give me the Bartletts ’ address.” Candace pulled her notepad from her pocket and tossed it to me.

I wrote down the address Baca rattled off.

He said, “I’ve got to go. Lydia ’s decided to hand deliver the autopsy report, and I think she’s just arrived if that shrieky voice I hear outside my office is an indication. What did I do to deserve this personal delivery? And what was I thinking-never mind.”

He hung up, but I could have finished that question. What had he been thinking when he got involved with her several years ago? Miss Upstate Winnebago, as Lydia had once been titled, was a certifiable nutcase.

With all the rain, the South Carolina landscape was lush, and I was enjoying this ride. I’d brought several quilts to finish, but just when I was in a good stitching rhythm, it was my turn to receive a phone call-and thank goodness I’d practiced with the new contraption. The caller ID read ROBIN WEST, but it was Jack.