The Cat, the Mill and the Murder: A Cats in Trouble Mystery by Leann Sweeney Read Free Book Online Page A

glad we found you—but if you’re busy—”
    “Jillian Hart? The lady with the smart cats?” he said.
    I smiled. “Why yes, but how—”
    “Can I see them? The cats, I mean?” He sounded genuinely excited. “Several of my parishioners tell me you watch your cats on your phone.”
    People do talk in Mercy, but I was surprised to learn they were apparently discussing
my
small life. I took my phone out of my jeans pocket and we spent a few minutes observing Chablis sleep on the sofa. When Syrah and Merlot finally sauntered into the kitchen, Pastor Mitchell laughed and sat down.
    “What mellow cats,” he said.
    “You can say that now,” I said. “You should have seen them earlier.” Just then, I felt pressure against my calf, same as when Syrah rubs against me. I looked down. Nothing. I glanced behind me, wondering if the pastor had a sneaky cat of his own. “You seem to love cats. Do you have one or two lurking around here?”
    “No. I’d love a cat to keep me company, but my wife is worried about allergic parishioners who might have problems if we had animals in the church,” he said.
    “I understand, but cats and dogs can be therapeutic and I am sure you counsel troubled souls in this very office. If you ever get her to change her mind, please go to the animal shelter run by Shawn and Allison Cuddahee and adopt,” I said.
    “I will do just that.” The pastor looked back and forth between Tom and me. “Are you two looking for a new church home?”
    “Not right now. We’ve come to ask about someone you know,” I said.
    His face grew serious. “You understand if this person shared a confidence, I cannot speak with you about such matters.” Though his tone was formal, I sensed he was a warm and caring man.
    “Clara Jeanne Sloan? Remember her?” Tom said, sounding a little too coplike. It made me uncomfortable and I wondered if the pastor felt the same way.
    “Oh my, indeed I do,” he said, seemingly nonplussed by Tom’s official tone. “She left Mercy a long time ago.”
    “We found her living in the mill this morning,” I said.
    “What?”
If a person could be
plussed
, the pastor was now. “Oh no. Are you saying she’s…homeless? That she came back to Mercy and couldn’t call on us to—”
    “We’re not sure how long she’s been there,” I said. “We could use your help before we…Well, we need to understand her better. Can you help us?”
    “Most certainly I’ll help. We could go over to the millright this minute. We should. We need to help the poor lady.” He started to rise.
    Tom held up a hand. “Hang on, Pastor. From what Jillian tells me, we can’t barge in like the savior patrol.”
    “He’s right,” I added, hoping the crack about the
savior
patrol would be forgotten. Still, I couldn’t help but like how passionate Tom was about helping Jeannie.
    “Do you have a plan, then?” Pastor Mitch eased back into his chair.
    “Can you tell us about her history?” I said. “When we do go in and assist her to leave, I want her to feel we understand her.”
    The pastor nodded. “You seem like a wise woman. All right. Before we get started, would you two care for tea? I was just about to ask my wife to bring a pitcher over from the pastorium. If you’d prefer hot tea, we can arrange that. It is chilly today.”
    “I am a confirmed iced tea addict,” I said.
    Pastor Mitchell smiled broadly and asked Tom, “What can I offer you?”
    “Whatever you two are having,” Tom said.
    “Iced tea it is. Meanwhile, please have a seat.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the two leather padded chairs facing his desk.
    Tom helped me take off my coat while the pastor made the call to his wife.
    As we waited for the tea, Pastor Mitch filled the time by asking more questions about my cats, about Tom’s job and about my stepdaughter, Kara. Apparently he had met her when she did a piece about rural churches for the small local paper. Kara was editor-in-chief and owner of the
Mercy