Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

Tom hung his head and mumbled, “You’re right.”

“I’m sorry,” Hilary said. “I came hoping my son would talk to me.”

“He won’t,” Tom whispered harshly. “So leave and quit bugging Jillian. Now and in the future.”

I never saw this side of him before, I thought. He was so bitter. I wondered if he still had feelings for Hilary since lingering animosity can signal a relationship is far short of closure.

“You know what?” I said. “You two seem to have plenty of unfinished business. Why don’t you talk, settle a few things, if only for Finn’s sake. I’ll be inside making coffee.”

Before either of them could respond, I left them together. But as I made the coffee, I glanced out the window at them pointing fingers and seemingly talking at the same time. I didn’t see any progress in the peace department. But at least they were speaking. I also noticed Finn edging ever closer to them. He wanted to know what was going on and I couldn’t blame him.

I went back outside, if only to offer Finn support by my presence. But I was thinking, How can such a beautiful morning seem so stifling?

Just as I closed the door behind me so my curious feline friends wouldn’t join us, more visitors arrived.

Candace and Morris.

By the serious look on Candace’s face, I could tell this wasn’t a friendly drop-in.

“Hey there,” she said, her gloomy tone further indicating something was wrong.

“What do you two want?” Tom said. He was on the defensive.

“We need to talk to Finn,” Candace said.

“He won’t come near the house as long as she’s here.” Tom nodded at Hilary.

“Guess I’ll have to go get him.” Morris took a step in Finn’s direction.

Tom grabbed his arm. “Wait. Can I go with you?” He’d dropped the attitude and I saw alarm in his expression.

“Sure enough,” Morris said. “You know the kid and I don’t.”

As they walked toward Finn, Hilary spoke. “What’s this about, Officer?”

“We need to ask your son a few questions,” Candace said.

“You already asked him questions yesterday,” Hilary said.

“This will be a more, um… formal interview.” Candace averted her gaze, attending to what was happening between Morris, Tom and Finn.

I heard Tom say, “He’s not a murderer,” before Finn handed Yoshi over to him.

All three walked toward us, the little dog squirming in Tom’s grasp.

The whole scene made me sick to my stomach. I managed to find my voice and say, “What’s this about, Candace?”

She looked at me, a sadness in her eyes that scared me more than her earlier tone of voice.

“It’s about evidence, Jillian,” she said. “About blood and fingerprints.”

At least when Candace and Morris took Finn away in their squad car, they didn’t put him in handcuffs. But from what I’d learned in the past from Candace, the words formal interview were a euphemism for “we’re about ready to arrest you.”

Could Candace still believe in Finn’s innocence in light of whatever evidence she now had? From the look on her face, I doubted it.

Tom knew this, too, and he told Candace and Morris he’d be right behind them. He handed me a whining, trembling Yoshi and disappeared around the house in the direction of the driveway.

Hilary had watched in silence as her son was led away by police officers. Once Tom was gone, she said, “They think Finn killed Nolan? He would never do any such thing. He’s been sullen and angry, yes, but—”

“He needs your support right now,” I said. Yoshi wiggled in my arms and I swear if I let go, he’d chase the police car all the way to downtown Mercy.

“Should I follow them?” she said.

“That’s up to you.” The fact she was asking me told me more about her parenting than anything I’d learned about her up until this moment. “I need to put Yoshi inside.”

Hilary looked dazed. “Poor Yoshi.” She reached her hand out to him, but he buried his head in my chest.

Without another word, Hilary Roth left.

Yoshi and I went inside, and after I set the dog down, I reset the security alarm, the thought of the volatile Rory Gannon ever present.

How could I help Finn and Tom? Should I stay here or join the crowd at the police station? Since Tom still didn’t have a cell phone, I couldn’t even call and ask him what he wanted me to do. I had to help, but how?

I decided to call Kara and ask her opinion. I needed a level-headed person like her to guide the newly frazzled me.

She answered on the first ring and said, “What’s happening? I heard they’re taking Finn down to the station to question him again.”

I should have known Kara had her finger on Mercy’s pulse. “They just left here. Candace talked about blood and fingerprint evidence, so I’m assuming they’ve got something important.”

“It’s called hard evidence, Jillian,” she said, “and something I doubt is good news for Finn.”

“I feel so helpless.” I explained how Finn, Tom and Hilary had been here when Candace and Morris arrived.

“I take it Tom went with Finn to the police station. What about the mother? Where’s she?”

“I’m guessing she followed, too. Do you think Finn’s fingerprints were on the gun?”

“Probably,” she said. “If the blood on his clothes belonged to Nolan Roth, well, I’m not sure why they didn’t read Finn his rights and arrest him.”

“True. Can you find out what they’ve got?” I said.

“I can try. No promises. Will you do me a favor, too?” she asked. “The contractor wants my approval on the brickwork on my new house. I’d like your opinion.”

“It won’t take long, will it? I’m not sure if I should join Tom at the police station or—”

“What can you do there? Nothing, really. Why not wait until you have more information? Besides, you need a distraction, Jillian. Yesterday I could see how this situation is stressing you out. You may believe you keep everything inside, but I’ve learned to read you pretty well.”

She told me she’d make a few calls and then pick me up. In the meantime, I made a call myself. Though I’d committed to a booth at the last craft fair of the season, I knew I couldn’t leave town now. I’d agonize my way to Greenville and back. The woman who managed the event was more than kind and I told her I’d overnight the raffle quilt they’d been advertising, the one I’d hand quilted. The proceeds would go to a children’s charity.

I’d just finished packing up the quilt—a plaid pinwheel design with a flying-geese border—when Kara knocked on the dead-bolted back door. No walking right into the house like she usually did, not with Rory Gannon lurking around town.

We drove to One Stop Ship, a mom-and-pop shipping business in the center of Mercy. The store bore Mercy’s requisite green awning and the gray-haired Phoebe Langstrom stood behind the counter wearing a green polo shirt.

She said, “Why, if it isn’t two of my favorite ladies in all of Mercy. Sending quilts to some lucky folks today, Jillian?”

“One quilt, anyway. It needs to go overnight.” I placed the box on the scale. While I filled out the form and Phoebe calculated the charges, we chatted about her grandchildren, her husband who was home with the gout and the new desserts Belle recently added at Belle’s Beans. This was normal Mercy chat and for a few moments, I almost relaxed.

Kara had taken a call while I’d been talking to Phoebe and when she hung up, she said, “No prints on the gun.”

“How very interesting,” Phoebe said. “The only gun you could possibly be talking about is the one that killed the man in Tom Stewart’s car.”