Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

No, I would call Candace the minute I got Lydia out of here and tell her what I knew.

Get her to leave, Jillian, I told myself. Finn might wake up and walk out here, or Yoshi might start barking.

But she seemed settled in, even comfortable, so I said, “Do you think Tom will be free to go soon? It’s getting really late.”

Her demeanor changed abruptly. “If you’d tell me what I need to know,” she said with fire in her eyes, “I could relay information to Candace and he could go home in a New York minute. But if you don’t come through with anything helpful, they might make him sleep in the jail tonight.”

Now she was trying to make me feel guilty. I wanted to scream with frustration. Instead I repeated, “I don’t know anything more.” To myself I added, Because you, Lydia, aren’t the one who holds the key to him leaving the police station. It’s Candace.

“Back to my earlier question. How did Tom get so banged up? Was he in the Prius when it crashed?” she said.

I wanted to thunk myself on the forehead with my palm. Of course. Candace and Lydia could be assuming his injuries came from being in the car with Nolan when it crashed. “You’re an expert at seeing folks who’ve suffered injuries. Did his face look like he’d been in a wreck, Lydia?”

She sat straight up and leaned toward me, realization brightening her face. “No. Absolutely not. For once we’re on the same page. Now that I think about it, his face looked like he’d been in a fight, not in any car accident.”

“But Candace wants to hear what happened directly from him. Makes sense to me,” I said. “Could be he’s helping her piece evidence together and it’s taking longer than you expected.”

She pointed at me again. “You know something. Why won’t you help me help Tom?”

For once her instincts were right. I knew about a troubled, sleeping eighteen-year-old in my guest room. What I didn’t know was if he was somehow connected to Roth’s death. And I wasn’t about to speculate on that with Lydia Monk. Fortunately, Merlot ambled in from the hallway, probably having grown tired of waiting outside the guest room door for the dog to reappear.

Lydia threw up her hands in disgust. “Oh, for crying out loud, here’s the other cat. I have got to get out of this… this cattery.” She stood. “I hope you can sleep tonight knowing you refused to help a good and decent man who is supposed to be your friend.”

She stood and took a wide path around Merlot since he had stopped and was staring up at her, his big tail twitching at the tip.

“Bye, Lydia,” I called after her.

She responded by slamming my front door after she went out.

I’d left my phone in the bedroom when I’d undressed earlier. I picked up Chablis and went to my room, the other two cats beating a path ahead of me. They were ready to settle down for the night.

I sat cross-legged on my bed and dialed Candace. Her phone went straight to voice mail. Since I knew Tom didn’t have a phone, I decided to call the Mercy Police Station.

B. J. Harrington, a part-time dispatcher, answered.

“Hi, B.J., it’s Jillian,” I said.

“Hey, Mrs. Hart. You got a problem over at the lake?” He sounded concerned.

Such a sweet kid, I thought. “No problems,” I replied. “I’d like to talk to Candace, if she’s still there.”

“Oh, she’s here. Everyone the city council hasn’t laid off is here.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “There’s been a murder.”

“I heard, which is kind of why I wanted to talk to her,” I said.

“You know something about this case?” he said.

“I don’t know anything directly. I just need to talk to Candace as soon as possible.”

“Sounds like you do know something,” he said.

“You practicing what you’re learning in those criminology classes on me now?” I said with a laugh—though I’d never felt less like laughing in my life.

“Guess I am. Sorry, Mrs. Hart, but I can’t interrupt Deputy Carson’s interview. She’s been collecting evidence, trying to find witnesses and has been talking to Tom. She’d have me for lunch if I stuck my head in the interview room.”

“You’re right. Candace might get upset,” I said. “Is Chief Baca there, too?” I asked. “Maybe he could—”

“He’s in the room with Tom, too. I can have one of them phone you back. How’s that?”

“Sure,” I said. “Have Candace call me when she’s free.”

I disconnected, feeling disappointed. All three cats had settled on their cat quilts at the foot of my bed. But Syrah lifted his head and looked at me when I just sat there, phone in hand.

“How will I ever get any sleep? Tom’s been hurt and must be exhausted. He should be home by now,” I said.

Syrah stood, stretched and walked over to me. He rubbed his head against my knee and then sat and meowed quietly, as if telling me everything would be okay.

As I stroked Syrah’s silky coat, I considered getting in my van and driving to the police station. Then reconsidered. Tom wouldn’t want that. He would want me to stay with Finn.

I turned off the light and slipped under my winter quilt.

Sleep would not come. After an hour of tossing and turning, I took the flashlight from my bedside stand and got up. The cats didn’t budge. This had been a long day for them and they were sleeping soundly, but they would probably wake within minutes of me leaving them. I made sure to close my bedroom door so they wouldn’t follow me.

I went to the guest room. Though Finn had appeared to feel much better when he turned in, I wanted to make sure he was okay. I slowly turned the knob and immediately Yoshi barked.

“It’s me, Yoshi,” I whispered through the small opening in the door.

Seconds later, his muzzle appeared in the crack. I knelt and petted him, whispering for him to stay quiet. I opened the door wider and, keeping the flashlight trained on the floor, I peered into the room.

Finn apparently hadn’t heard the dog because he was snoring softly.

He seemed comfortable and at peace. The only way I could help Tom was to make sure someone he loved was safe—at least for now.

After a fitful night’s sleep, the sound of my cell phone woke me at seven a.m. It was Candace. Before I could say more than hello, she told me she was on the way to my house and disconnected. She sounded abrupt, to say the least. My guess was, she was tired, too.

Since Mercy is small enough that the longest drive is about five minutes from one place to the next, she’d be here soon. I got up, splashed water on my face and changed into jeans and a rose-colored henley T-shirt.

The cats had already left my room. Dawn and dusk are the busy times for felines. I wondered if they’d been sticking their paws under the guest room door to bother Yoshi. More likely, however, they were sitting by various windows, checking out birds and squirrels and anything else on the move outdoors. That’s how they usually began their day, and nothing was as important as routine in their animal world.

As I walked down the hall I heard Yoshi whining and guessed he needed to go outside. I cracked the door and he squeezed out into the hall and took off. I checked on Finn and he was still sleeping. I shut the door and hurried after the dog before he and the cats got into a fracas.

But Yoshi made a beeline for the back door and was doing his jack-in-the-box thing as when I’d first seen him on the side of the road. Merlot and Syrah sat outside the utility room door observing his actions with interest. Though cats can jump up to seven times their height with ease, they don’t bother unless their life is in danger or they’re playing with feathery objects. A cat’s philosophy is this: Why expend energy if not absolutely necessary?