Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

The Web site URL was at the bottom of the crumpled paper and I picked it up. I slowly read each letter and punctuation mark and Karen typed with one trembling finger. After what seemed an eternity, she leaned back in the chair and looked up at Karen. “There it is. This is the screen I always see.”

“You’ll probably need a password,” I said, glancing at Finn. He definitely was concentrating on something himself.

“I keep them written down in my little day planner,” she said. “It’s in my purse.”

“You don’t remember your password?” Hilary said.

“N-no. Let me get it.” Karen opened her bag and I noticed Hilary’s breathing had quickened. This drawn-out process was wearing on her patience—or maybe her pain.

I sure didn’t like our chances with an impatient, gun-wielding sociopath in the room. It certainly wouldn’t make any sense to kill us—how would she get her money then? But could I count on this terrible person to think through what she was doing? No way.

A good thirty seconds later, Karen entered the password. But because of added levels of security, she had to answer several questions before her account finally appeared on the screen—all one million plus dollars.

Syrah had been sitting by Finn, watching the other cats, but suddenly he snapped to catlike attention, listening to something. He ran out of the room and the three other felines rushed after him.

They’d heard something.

But Hilary was paying no attention. She’d told Karen to find the “transfer funds” page, then had to point it out with her left hand.

Karen clicked on it.

I was paying close attention to Hilary’s face. She’d reached the money page and was about to make herself rich. That’s clearly all she was thinking about.

Though the gun was still pointed in my direction, she was honed in on the computer, not me.

I glanced over at Finn and he gave me a slow nod.

I pounced like a cat.

With my one hand I grasped her right wrist and pointed the gun to the ceiling. With my other hand I reached around and took hold of her injured left wrist. I twisted as hard as I could.

Hilary screamed in pain, but she was pumped full of adrenaline and began to wrench free.

I feared she’d kill Finn.

Then I felt a surge of my own. But I didn’t have to struggle too long.

“Drop the gun,” said Candace from the doorway. She held her own weapon in two hands and it was pointed at Hilary’s head.

But she remained engaged in our horrific dance, swaying back and forth, trying to free herself.

Then Tom appeared out of nowhere. He hit Hilary’s gun hand with his joined fists so hard I thought he’d broken her other wrist. The weapon fell from her grip and toppled onto the desk.

Candace grabbed the gun and stashed it in the back of her utility belt. Then she helped restrain Hilary, while I slipped from beneath struggling bodies and went to Finn’s side.

The two of them pulled Hilary away from the desk and into the hall.

“You okay, Karen?” I said, as I untied Finn’s hands.

She seemed frozen, her face gray, her eyes wide. “I—I… Yes.”

Finn grinned as he rubbed his wrists. “It may be an old word, but I can’t think of a better one. That was awesome , Jillian.”

“Thanks. I’ve never been in a cat fight before.” I smiled, relief and the remaining adrenaline making me feel nearly euphoric.

Finn laughed.

I cocked my head at him. “What’d you do to get help?”

Finn picked up my phone. He tapped a button and played a video. At first it wasn’t exactly clear what I was seeing—but then I recognized tied fingers and many cat paws swiping and pulling at the quilt bindings tied around Finn’s hands.

He said, “Since the call to Tom was the last one made, it was easy to send him the video. I was sure he’d be smart enough to figure out something was wrong here. I mean, we had to be here with these cats, right?”

“But you did this without looking?” I said, dumbfounded.

He said, “Come on, Jillian. What self-respecting kid my age doesn’t know how to work a smartphone practically blindfolded?”

“Ah yes,” I said with a laugh. “‘Geek’ isn’t a derogatory word anymore.”

Finn and I helped a shaken Karen walk out of my office. Tom met us to warn us Hilary was still in the house.

Karen stopped in her tracks. “I can’t see her right now. Can I wait until she’s gone?”

“Sure,” I said. “I have the perfect spot for you.”

We took her to my sewing room, and she sat in the most comfortable chair in the house. As soon as she was settled, she released an audible sigh. Chablis appeared from who knows where and jumped in her lap. At times, my girl kitty could heal by her presence alone. Karen began to stroke her gently.

Tom addressed Finn. “You want to stay here with Nana?”

“I will, if you want me to,” he said. “But I’d sure love to see my mother leave here in a cop car.”

I was glad to see Finn angry. He needed that anger to help him deal with what he’d been through. Both his mother and father had left him with a tragic legacy, and I knew he’d need our help in dealing with it in the years ahead.

Karen said, “Go, Finn. I need the time to collect myself, anyway. Seems appropriate to say I’m still as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

I reassured her she would be safe in here and we all went to the living room.

Hilary sat on my couch, her right wrist cuffed to the end table leg. She had her head down, hair surrounding her face.

The look I gave Candace must have betrayed my confusion because Candace said, “Her wrist is so swollen I need a zip tie rather than cuffs. Morris is getting one from the squad car.”

“Why, Hilary?” Tom said. “How could you do this to your own son? What kind of monster are you?” All the bitterness I’d heard in his voice over the last four days was gone. He just wanted to know everything—and so did I.

She jerked her head up. “You don’t have a clue. Do you, Tom?”

Candace held up a hand like a traffic cop and quickly said, “Hilary Roth, you have the right to remain silent…”

When Candace finished reciting the Miranda rights, Hilary said, “No lawyer can help me now. Besides, I hate lawyers. A lawyer and judge put a kid I never wanted in my home. Made my life hell.”

Tom gave Hilary a bewildered stare. Finn chose to look at the floor.

Candace took a small tape recorder from her pocket. “I will repeat your rights, Mrs. Roth.” She clicked on the recorder and held it in Hilary’s direction. She went through the Miranda rights again and said, “Do you understand these rights?”

“Yes,” she said. “I said I don’t want a lawyer. I want out of here. Out of this house and away from these idiots.”

“We have a jail cell ready and waiting,” Candace said. “Just have to make sure we take you there in a fashion worthy of a person who murdered two people.”

Just then, Yoshi started barking—a hoarse, faint sound. He’d yelped away his voice, poor thing. No wonder we hadn’t heard him since being herded to my office for Hilary’s desperate attempt to get her hands on the money. I wasn’t a financial wizard, but I truly believed her ploy never would have worked. Her desperation to get her hands on the money had obliterated all logic.

Finn looked at Candace. “Can I let Yoshi out?”

“Sure. If the cats don’t mind, that is,” she said. She almost smiled, but I was sure she wanted to remain professional—and what had gone on in Mercy over the last week was no laughing matter.

Dashiell was lingering close to Tom and my two boys were sitting side by side at the far end of the couch, their eyes trained on Hilary. They conveyed the disdain only cats are capable of offering with a simple look.