The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

Fifteen

The next morning, I woke up feeling disoriented because I’d slept so hard. But with Chablis on my chest, kneading away and purring, the feeling didn’t last long. Her usual morning behavior reintroduced me to the comforts of my daily routine in a week that had been anything but.

Last night, Finn explained to Tom that he wasn’t about to stay away from Yoshi overnight. I couldn’t blame him. He and his little dog had a tremendous bond.

Tom reluctantly agreed to allow Finn to come with me after he checked Dashiell’s blood sugar and found it was high. He didn’t feel like he could trust Bob to monitor Dashiell if he were to leave his cat behind and stay at my house. But he alerted Candace to the situation and followed us to my place to make sure all my outside security cameras were operating perfectly and the lenses were clean. He could monitor my house from his computer at home, a setup I appreciated. Last night it had indeed been reassuring to have a security expert as a trusted friend.

After I got up, I took a long, hot shower, with three cats waiting anxiously for me to hurry up and feed them. The house seemed less chilly than when I’d gone to bed, and I suspected the cold front we’d experienced had passed through. Late fall in South Carolina was always a mixed bag of warm days interspersed with cold.

I was surprised when I walked down the hall and found the guest room door open and the bed neatly made. Uh-oh. Had Finn risen early and decided to take off? This town—the one where he’d hoped to find happiness—had not offered mercy, so I couldn’t blame him if he’d fled.

My fear was short-lived, however. He was sitting on the window seat in the living room looking out at the sun rising over the lake. Yoshi was curled beside him.

“Morning,” I said.

Finn stood. “I like how quiet it is here. Funny how I never thought the world could be quiet.”

“Nolan and your mom fought a lot, didn’t they?” I said.

He nodded, eyes on the cushion. “She’d break things; he’d yell. So I’d put on my earphones and plug into a game on my computer or listen to music on my iPod. Sometimes Yoshi and I would walk to the park and he’d chase a Frisbee for hours.”

“Our fur friends can sure take us to a better place, huh?” I said.

“Yup. He needs to go out, but I didn’t want to mess with your security alarm,” Finn said.

After I fed the cats and disabled the alarm under Finn’s watchful eye, we went out on the porch. Finn and Yoshi chased each other between the big trees. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt Kara had picked out. The clothes fit perfectly, thank goodness. The day looked to be much warmer—it had to be sixty already—and the still lake shimmered in the morning light. I thought about what Finn had said a few minutes ago and wondered how quiet it was inside his head with all that had gone on both in his past and since his arrival here. Maybe playing with his dog would help empty his mind for a few minutes.

I wanted to make coffee but didn’t feel comfortable leaving Finn alone out here. Rory Gannon knew where I lived, after all. So when I heard a car pull into my driveway, my mouth went instantly dry. I reached into my pocket for my phone in case we needed help.

“Finn,” I called and gestured for him to come back to the house. But Yoshi was so invested in this game of chase, the usually obedient dog wouldn’t cooperate and come to Finn. He wanted to keep playing.

“Run toward the house and he’ll probably come after you,” I yelled.

But yelling was a mistake. Our visitor must have heard me.

Hilary Roth appeared at the steps leading up to my deck. Finn had been doing as I suggested and was halfway to the house, but when he saw his mother, he stopped in his tracks. Yoshi caught up with him and sat, staring up at Finn. He held out his arms for his dog and Yoshi leaped up. Finn remained where he was.

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Hart, but I wanted to thank you again for caring for my son,” she said.

She hadn’t looked toward the lake, and thus apparently didn’t see Finn standing in the shadows of the pines and oaks.

“No need to thank me,” I said.

“I heard you call Finn’s name just now and—” Finally she looked to her left and spotted him. “Oh, there you are.” She held out one hand. “Can we talk? Please?”

Finn remained where he was, clutching his dog to his chest.

“Can I offer a suggestion?” I said.

She focused on Finn but spoke to me. “Certainly.”

“Give him time to recover,” I said. “He’s hurting right now, both physically and mentally.”

“You think his problems are my fault, don’t you?” she said.

I would have expected her to be angry but she only sounded resigned.

“I don’t have all the facts,” I said, “and besides, I’ve found blaming others isn’t very productive.”

“You’re being nice. All I know is I’ve made some poor choices. Except for Tom. I regret how I treated him.” She kept looking in Finn’s direction.

He turned away and walked toward the lake.

Interesting how she mentioned regret when it came to Tom and yet said nothing about her son. Maybe she truly didn’t think she was part of the problem. From Tom and Finn’s remarks, the issues between Finn and his mother were long-standing. Maybe I needed to hear her side of the story.

“Tell me a little about yourself. Do you work?” I asked, hoping to ease into conversation and get her to tell me about her life before her husband’s murder.

From the corner of my eye I saw Finn pick up a stick and toss it for Yoshi.

“I lost my job. This economy has been brutal,” she said.

“What did you used to do?” I asked.

She finally took her eyes off Finn. “Administrative assistant positions, mostly for executives. No college education, I’m afraid, but I’m a quick learner. Lately things have been pretty tough.”

Having two former inmates for ex-husbands meant not a lot of alimony or child support came her way. Still, if money was tight for Hilary, she was certainly well dressed, her hair looked salon cut and her creamy complexion seemed to have benefited from plenty of expensive care. She was either in debt up to her ears or had some other source of income.

My doubt about her tough times must have shown on my face because she said, “I have family money we’ve been living on. Nolan hasn’t worked since he left prison. He only knew how to be a cop. He couldn’t even find private security work.”

“Ah. Did he envy Tom for setting up a successful security business?” I said.

“Oh yes. He hated Tom. Jail gives a man plenty of time to simmer. Nolan couldn’t forget Tom was the one who sent him away.” She examined a rose-painted fingernail. “Despite Nolan’s faults, I loved him. And he cared about my son, just didn’t know how to show it.”

“That’s a lie,” said Tom, who had just appeared around the corner of the house. “Nolan cared about Nolan. And he sent himself to jail.”

I’d been so involved in the conversation I hadn’t heard him arrive. I wondered if he’d seen Hilary on his home computer feed from the security camera fixed to the eaves, the one pointed directly at her. Seeing her would have made him hightail it over here.

“You’re wrong, Tom,” she said quietly.

He pointed to the fading bruises on his face. “He did this to me while you watched from somewhere. I don’t care what line of bull you fed Mike Baca; you were there.”

Tom isn’t about to beat around the bush when it comes to Hilary, I thought.

“I wasn’t even in town during the time the police chief told me Nolan brought you to North Carolina,” she said.

“That’s your story?” Tom laughed derisively and took a step toward her.

I walked down the deck steps and stood between them. “If both of you care as much about Finn as you say you do, you shouldn’t argue in front of him.”

Hilary glanced in Finn’s direction. He may have been pretending to keep his distance, but I could tell he was paying close attention to this confrontation.

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.”