Free Leann Sweeney by the Quilt The Cat, the Corpse

happy sharing space and swatted poor Chablis on the nose. She jumped from the table onto the keyboard. I’d just started booting up, and her landing did strange things to the start-up screen.
    I was forced to turn off the computer, put Chablis in my lap, start the whole procedure over and still try to stay composed enough to remember all the steps to bring up the camera feeds.
    At first I couldn’t figure out how to get to the stored video rather than the live feed currently recording my empty living room. Chablis was ready to help, and I had to grab her playful paw right before she shut me down again. Then I remembered the file Tom had set up on my computer desktop. I clicked on the icon and chose the last hour’s worth of video, hoping I could discover exactly what went on when my poor control panel met the business side of a hammer.
    And there it was. On feed number two. First the alarm shrieking, then the back door opening. But the stupid camera was positioned too low and too far to the left. I must have moved it inadvertently when I made coffee this morning—it was in a potted plant right by the coffee canister. Then I saw a dark-clad figure taking a mallet to the control panel. The time stamp read 10:37 a.m.
    I’d been chatting with Belle while this—this miserable excuse for a person broke into my kitchen. Trouble was, all I could see was an arm and a gloved hand. Small hand. A woman? Why had I been thinking all along that the perp was a man? Perp? Candace’s influence was creeping into my vocabulary again.
    But I was getting excited. Surely I hadn’t missed every shot of this person—not with all the cameras Tom had installed. I switched to the living room—feed number four. Merlot came into the small video square at full speed, and behind him raced the intruder complete with ski mask.
    What ? This is crazy.
    I watched the lamp crash to the floor when the person knocked it over with an elbow as he or she chased my cat. Then they came back into view running from the other direction, Merlot not even at full speed.
    The scene reminded me of something Charlie Chaplin or Jackie Chan might have choreographed. I glanced over at my hero Merlot and gave him a thumbs-up.
    He closed his eyes, his expression saying, “I am a ninja warrior. My evasive actions are quite effective.”
    Seeing the stranger in relation to Merlot, I decided the height as well as the stride was definitely male. But those small hands . . .
    Wait a minute .
    I rewound and looked at the intruder’s feet. Small feet, too. Feet very much like I’d seen yesterday.
    I stood so abruptly that poor Chablis ended up hanging on to my thighs for dear life. I hardly felt the pain of her claws digging into my flesh.
    I pried her loose, held her to my face and kissed her nose. “I have to see a man about a cat. Right now. A man who must have gotten greedy after he’d had time to think about two more beautiful cats living here.”
    Minutes later, I was in the minivan on my way to Flake Wilkerson’s house. But after only a few seconds on the road, I thought twice about confronting him alone. He’d had the audacity to break into my house not once, but probably twice, and as was evidenced yesterday, he was a hateful man. Plus the police were definitely tied up and might be for a while.
    But I wanted my cat back in the worst way, and I was sure I knew where to find Syrah.
    I reached over and grabbed my phone. Tom Stewart answered on the second ring.
    “Guess what,” I said.
    “I know,” he answered. “You called the police and figured out you’re not connected yet. I’m sorry I didn’t get the hookup done. I planned to call you as soon as—”
    “We can sort through that later. Meet me at Flake Wilkerson’s house right now. I’m certain he has my cat, and I need you to help me deal with this situation. I’d already thought about hiring you to find Syrah anyway and now it’s settled. We can talk about money later. Do you need directions to the