The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

Thirty

I heard a slight rustle behind me and turned around in time to see Merlot bounce from behind the fern and streak right in front of Hilary’s feet.

She fell forward and I heard her yelp in pain.

Finn started for her, but she hadn’t let go of the gun and quickly pointed it up at him. “I don’t need you anymore. Take one more step and I’ll prove it.”

I grabbed Finn’s arm. “Don’t. She won’t get away with this. You know that.”

“Aw,” Hilary said as she got to her feet. “Aren’t you good at playing Mommy already?”

She shook her left hand and I saw her wrist was beginning to swell. But she just said, “Keep going.”

I stopped at the door to the sewing room. “The bindings are in there. Can I get them?”

“Bindings. I like the term. Karen, Finn, why don’t we stand in the doorway and watch? Make sure Jillian doesn’t have any tricks up her sleeve.”

She sounded so confident—and so nasty. My concern for our safety was starting to transform to anger. I grabbed a handful of my quilt bindings, the ones my cats love to play with. I always sew them up ahead and have them on hand for when I finish a quilt.

We walked farther down the hall. My office is a small room and we were all close together until Hilary directed Karen behind my desk and told her to sit. She went around and stood over her shoulder.

She pointed the gun at me and said, “Have him sit on the floor and you tie him up. Tight. No fooling around. I’ll check your work.”

Finn was breathing hard, but I knew he was seething inside. I only hoped he could think clearly through the rage.

Hilary said, “Hands first. Behind his back.”

I hoped Hilary Roth had just made her first mistake.

Finn glared at his mother as he put his hands behind his back. I began to tie them together, and when I did, I slipped the phone from his pocket and shoved it under his right butt cheek, making sure his fingers could reach it. I came around and bound his feet under Hilary’s watchful eye.

Karen, still sounding petrified, said, “Is this really necessary, Hilary? We’ve cooperated completely and—”

“Shut up,” Hilary snapped. I could see pain in her eyes and glanced at her wrist. The swelling had grown. She was definitely injured.

And perhaps vulnerable.

Hilary walked over to Finn and me. “Stand on the other side of him where I can see you,” she said to me.

I wasn’t close enough to the bookcase where a heavy hardback might be reachable and useful to bash this horrid woman over the head.

Holding both the gun and her stare on me, she tested Finn’s bonds with her left hand. With each tug, I heard a sharp intake of air. She was definitely hurting.

She then walked back around to face the computer. Poor Karen was visibly trembling now and I sure hoped she didn’t have a heart condition.

“Come over here,” Hilary said to me.

I did so, but as I passed the open door, I saw four cats sitting by the entry, two on either side. By the time I made it to the desk, Syrah and Merlot were already in the room.

“More cats?” Hilary practically shouted. “What are you? A crazy cat lady? Get them out of here.”

But before I could make a move, Chablis and Dashiell entered the room, too. I said, “Do you know how hard it is to herd cats?”

Syrah, my bravest boy, made a graceful leap onto the desk from at least five feet away. Karen was so startled, the wheeling chair she sat in moved back about a foot.

“Get it off of the desk,” Hilary said through clenched teeth.

I gathered Syrah in my arms, afraid for him now. He’d jump on this woman given half the chance and she wouldn’t hesitate to throw him across the room.

Hilary said, “Tell her how to boot up your computer—and hurry. I’ve wasted too much time here already.” Hilary was definitely distracted by Syrah, whose low growl directed her way sounded ominous.

But I noticed with a furtive glance in Finn’s direction, the other three cats were behind him, their interest in the quilt bindings obvious. Or perhaps their interest was in Finn’s fingers moving on my phone. I sure hoped so.

I set Syrah on the floor and gave Karen directions on how to boot up my computer and click on the browser. Unfortunately, her hands were shaking and she was so upset, the process took far longer than the impatient Hilary could tolerate. She kept muttering, “Hurry up, old woman.”

I said, “I could handle the transfer if I had Karen’s account password.”

“You keep thinking I’m some clueless Southern belle,” Hilary said. “If I let you do this, I doubt I’d end up with a red cent. Karen can do this if she’d just concentrate.”

“Hard to concentrate when someone is waving a gun around,” Finn said.

From where I was standing, I could detect movement behind him. But was it from the cats inspecting the bindings or from Finn using my phone?

Hilary removed the paper with Karen’s account information from her skirt pocket with difficulty. Her wrist might actually be broken.

She set the paper on the desk next to Karen and said, “You told me at your house you have an online account.”

“Yes,” Karen said, her voice wavering, “but Ed always helps me get to the site. I don’t think I can do this without him.”

“You can and you will,” Hilary said. “If you don’t, Finn might not make it out of this house alive.”

My growing anger turned to fury with this latest verbal assault on her own child. It made me sick. “You’ve gotten the browser up,” I said to Karen, hoping my anger didn’t spill into my tone. “I can read you what you need to type into the bar at the top of page.”

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.”