The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

particular question since I had no idea what information Tom had shared. He was the one who should be telling the story about what Nolan Roth did to him, not me.

“You are being intentionally difficult, Jillian Hart. Tom wouldn’t tell me anything at the scene, and I’m beginning to think you’re probably the reason why. Have you ever met this Nolan Roth person?”

“No. Never,” I said.

“Really? I’m not sure I believe you, but time will tell. It always does when it comes to crime. As for Tom, I suppose he has his reasons to keep quiet.” She smiled at me—a forced smile, in my opinion. “What you don’t seem to understand is that sometimes he needs help to understand what’s best for him. That’s not you, by the way. We both know who he really cares about.”

I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes. I certainly didn’t feel as if I had to say anything more. I most certainly didn’t have to tell her about the kid sleeping in my guest room. “I’m sorry, Lydia, but I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

Lydia’s features softened. “You’re being stubborn, probably because you believe in your heart you have a chance with Tom. You don’t, but that’s beside the point. Let me reassure you that if you’re worried I’m gonna run to Candace and give up information, you should know me better. I’ll help Tom any way I can, but you could help, too.”

This new tactic reminded me of a caramel apple—all sticky-sweet on the outside and sour on the inside. Did she believe I’d fall for this? I said, “Lydia, I know next to nothing about Nolan Roth and nothing at all about the accident.”

“Not an accident. Murder, remember?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Why do they think this man was murdered? All I heard about was a car accident.”

“Think he was murdered? I, the assistant coroner in this county, do my job well. A bullet hole in the skull with the absence of a weapon at the scene tells me this is murder. But here’s the thing—and I told your BFF Candace this, too. I know Tom owns a Glock, not a revolver. The fatal injury came from a much smaller caliber weapon than a Glock. Maybe a .38.” She raised her chin. “Seen my fair share of gunshot wounds, so I know what I’m talking about.”

I could feel the blood drain from my cheeks. I thought again about the gun found in Finn’s backpack. Was it a .38? I swallowed hard. “He was shot? How horrible.”

“News flash, Jillian. Murder is horrible.”

Despite the sarcasm, Lydia was finally giving out information. If she kept telling me things she probably shouldn’t be saying, then maybe I wouldn’t have to answer more questions. I didn’t want to offer anything else. Nothing. I felt protective, not only toward Tom, but toward Finn, too.

Finn. Why did I feel so protective? But I knew the answer. The kid was hurt, vulnerable and Tom cared about him. Still, I couldn’t stop the questions now filling my head.

I began to string the day’s events together. When we picked Finn up on the side of the road, he seemed dazed and was obviously injured. Could the bump on his head have come from being in a car accident? Perhaps. So, did Nolan drive the Prius to Mercy and find Finn on the road before we did? Did Nolan pick him up and the car crashed? Maybe when Finn pulled a gun on him? I shook my head to free myself of these thoughts. No. Finn couldn’t have done such a thing. After our conversation and seeing him interact with his beloved dog, I trusted this kid wasn’t holding back. He didn’t know where the gun had come from—of that much I was certain. Or at least, he couldn’t remember. Could he have forgotten he killed someone, though? Perhaps in self-defense? I wanted to scrub such a thought from my mind, but I couldn’t. The gun could have belonged to Nolan Roth, there could have been a struggle and—

“What’s going on, Jillian? I can tell your wheels are turning,” Lydia said.

I blinked several times, determined not to dwell on possible scenarios before I had all the facts. “I—I’m simply tired and I’m picturing my nice, comfy bed. I drove back here this morning from the craft shows and—”

“Oh, right,” she said with a sarcastic smile. “You’re a businesswoman. How does making those cat blankets, or whatever it is you do, give you enough money to keep you in this nice house?”

I wasn’t about to tell her that when John died, he left me enough to live comfortably even if I never made another cat quilt in my life. It was none of her business and, besides, mentioning John’s name in her presence seemed… wrong. “Sorry, I’m not sure what my financial status has to do with why you came here tonight.”

“Just always wanted to ask how you maintain this comfortable lifestyle. You’re saying you were gone part of today? What part?” she said.

Where was she going with this? “Why do you need to know?”

“You say you were out of town and yet you were with Tom when Candace called him,” Lydia said. “Do you always head straight for him when you come home? Because I’m certain he wasn’t waiting here for you.”

What would she do if she knew he actually was waiting here for me earlier today? I wasn’t about to offer that piece of information and set her off. Did she even realize we were at Tom’s house when the call came? Did she know anything about Bob? I decided it wasn’t my responsibility to enlighten her about anything. If I mentioned Finn, Tom’s being kidnapped, or the gun, I was certain Lydia would take the information, twist it and end up making Tom, Candace and probably the police chief pretty darn angry.

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.