Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

“Yeah. Makes sense. Whatever screwed up my brain happened today. You didn’t upset me, by the way. I’m just mad at myself ’cause I can’t remember.” He stroked Yoshi but didn’t look at me.

“Which is not your fault.” I handed him the bowl of kibble Yoshi was staring at intently.

“Maybe it is. Maybe I did something stupid… or knocked myself stupid,” he said.

“Quit beating yourself up.” I glanced at the dog. “You plan to feed your poor animal?”

“Yeah, right.” He set both the dog and the food on the floor next to him.

I peered over the raised breakfast bar. Yoshi was making short work of his food. Meanwhile Syrah now had his head in the backpack while Merlot supervised this exploration.

Finn laughed. “I’ve never had a cat. But from what I’ve seen tonight, dogs need a boss, but cats are the bosses.”

“You got that right.” I looked down at the dog. “Let me get him more water.”

“Can Yoshi and I crash?” Finn picked up the empty dish and handed it to me. “I’m pretty tired even though the sandwiches and stuff made me feel better.” Finn’s pale cheeks did have a bit of color now. “And I didn’t thank you for helping me. Sorry. Thanks, Mrs. Hart.”

“Call me Jillian. And no thanks needed. I have the feeling you’d do the same for me if our positions were reversed.” I smiled. “Now, come on. You deserve a real bed to sleep in rather than the backseat of my van.”

First, I set Finn up in the bathroom with a fresh towel. After he’d showered, he put on the clean T-shirt and sweatpants I’d provided. He was thin enough to wear mine. Honestly, he looked more like a fifteen-year-old than an eighteen-year-old. I almost felt like tucking him in once he and Yoshi were settled in the guest room. Instead, I brought in Yoshi’s bowl of water, and a glass for Finn, too. After I wished them a good night’s rest, I closed the door.

Now to hunt down Chablis. I found her in her favorite hiding place, under my bed. She didn’t seem anxious to come out. But with a few “I love you’s,” words she could never resist, she was soon in my arms.

When I came back out into the hallway holding her, I saw Merlot and Syrah positioned outside the guest room. Syrah was pawing under the door and Merlot was sitting like a statue, observing this game. The two of them hoped to engage the dog in a little paw peekaboo, I was sure. For my three cats, a closed door is a challenge, and a fun one at that. They could always lighten my mood, and today, though it had been an awful day to say the least, they cracked me up. Kudos for cat behavior, I thought.

I nuzzled Chablis as I walked into the living room, and again wondered why Tom hadn’t called yet. We left for the emergency clinic at dusk and now it was close to midnight. He was obviously concerned about Finn and would want an update, and yet I hadn’t heard from him. I could call his house, but a call might mean a conversation with Bob—which was the last thing I wanted right now.

Unfortunately the very last thing I wanted was about to happen. I’d changed into flannel drawstring pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, not exactly dressed for company—but company arrived. The knock on the front door made my heart skip. Kara, Candace and Tom are back-door friends. So who could this be?

I checked the peephole and almost moaned out loud when I saw the person standing on my front stoop.

Lydia Monk. The craziest assistant coroner on the planet.

I sighed heavily and unlocked the door. “Hey, Lydia,” I said with far more enthusiasm than I felt. “I was about to head off to bed, so—”

“Let me in,” she said brusquely.

No please , no may I , just Lydia being Lydia. Nor did she wait for me to step aside before brushing past me and marching on her high-heeled black boots into my living room. I noticed her bleached hair was held back by a large jeweled clip—plenty of rhinestones and a variety of brightly colored fake gems to be had, enough to decorate a tiara.

She sat on my sofa, dropping her patent leather bag beside her. There seemed to be no dress code at the county coroner’s office, or perhaps the coroner himself was too afraid of this woman to address the issue of her gaudy wardrobe. What kind of assistant coroner wears skinny jeans and a leather jacket to the scene of an accident? I assumed that’s where she’d been—the spot Tom had also been called to. She’d probably spoken with him and something he’d said upset her enough to bring her here—because she was certainly on a tear. Lydia’s obsession with all things Tom never failed to surprise me. One day, when I wasn’t exhausted, I’d love to sit down and have a heart-to-heart with her about when she first fell “in love” with a man who never gave her any encouragement in the romance department. Maybe I’d learn more about what made Lydia tick and even begin to understand her.

She didn’t waste any time letting me know just how upset she was. “Jillian Hart, when will you learn to stay out of the murder business? You should be the one sitting in the police station right now, not Tom.”

My eyes widened in surprise. Tom was still at Mercy PD after all this time? And did she say murder ? “I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about, Lydia,” I said as evenly as I could. But my stomach was doing somersaults.

I eased myself into my late husband’s recliner, hoping to find comfort in his old leather chair. I was still holding Chablis and clutched her close. From the corner of my eye, I saw Syrah sitting on the foyer tile at the entrance to the living room, his gaze fixed on Lydia. Those two had a little history and did not like each other one bit.

“Before Candace and Morris put Tom in the squad car, I heard him tell Candace to call you.” Lydia’s ruby-colored lips tightened. “Why would he tell her to do such a thing?”

Though Lydia had never had so much as a cup of coffee alone with Tom, she was fixated on him and had decided I was a threat to their imaginary relationship. “He probably told Candace to call me because we’re friends?” I stated it as a question, hoping to avoid bringing up Finn. Tom probably wanted Finn to know he was delayed so he wouldn’t think Tom had abandoned him.

“Nice try, Jillian. You heard about that car wreck and you know something about the victim, don’t you? Tom was sending you some kind of message.”

“W-why would you think that?” But my slight hesitation apparently stirred even more paranoia in the Queen of Paranoia.

“Are you sure you want to lie to a county official?” she said. “I’m betting your best buddy Candace has already called you.”

“Haven’t heard from her,” I said a little too forcefully. I had to keep my cool. It was always better to try to get more information than I gave when it came to Lydia. I could never tell what she was up to. “I understand Tom’s car was in an accident and there was a fatality. That’s all I know.”

Lydia leaned back on the sofa with a satisfied smile. “If you didn’t talk to Candace, how did you find out?”

“Tom told me after Candace called him to help identify the victim. But I know nothing about any murder and I certainly had no idea Tom was still at the police station.” I swallowed, trying to make sense of this. Why is he still there after so many hours? I went on, saying, “You, of all people, realize he would never murder anyone.”

She smiled smugly, gloating, I supposed, over my acknowledgment that she was a friend of Tom’s—even though she really wasn’t. But then she blinked slowly and I saw her glittery purple eye shadow was smeared, almost giving her eyes a bruised look. “He must know something or Candace wouldn’t still be interviewing him. What has he told you, Jillian?”