The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

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.”

Oh, Mercy was talking. Why should I be surprised? There were no secrets for long in this town.

Kara smiled. “What else have you heard, Phoebe?”

She smoothed the mailing sticker on my box and then put the box on the shelf behind her. “We do have a multitude of strangers in town thanks to the murder and people are talking. Saw Tom Stewart’s ex-wife over at Belle’s. Pretty thing. Never knew he had an ex. Did you?” She was addressing me.

“Not until recently,” I said.

“Hear tell her current husband was the victim,” she said. “Well, I suppose current no longer applies. Poor man was shot in the head. I’m wondering if he was killed before or after Tom’s car crashed. A bullet in your brain makes driving a bit difficult now, doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does, Phoebe,” Kara said. “So you heard the man who died was driving the car?”

“He was found in the driver’s seat,” Phoebe said. “Strange thing, that. Angie Martin and I were talking and we decided Tom and his ex-wife’s husband must have been on good terms if he let the man borrow his car.”

Nolan Roth and Tom on good terms? I thought. Not exactly.

“You ever consider working for my paper as an investigative reporter?” Kara said.

Phoebe tittered at this suggestion. “You could hire anyone in this town for such a job, don’t ya think?”

“I do believe you’re right,” Kara said.

We left, and as we climbed into Kara’s SUV she said, “Why didn’t I think about confirming where Nolan Roth’s body was found?”

“Because we knew he had Tom’s car,” I said. “I simply assumed the obvious.”

“As a reporter, I shouldn’t assume anything, even if it turns out to be true. Phoebe raised an important question, though. Was Roth shot before or after he crashed into the telephone pole?”

“Why is it important?” I asked.

She turned the key in the ignition. “Maybe it’s not. But I know the police are surely asking the same question as they examine the evidence. I may not be a cop, but sometimes I have to think like one.”

We drove to the west side of town to the property Kara had bought with money my late husband had left her. The last time I’d seen the construction, the house had only just been framed. Now Kara was much closer to owning her own home.

The contractor’s truck sat in the dirt path leading to the brick and stone house. No real driveway yet, but stones had been laid for the front walkway. We walked around the outside with the contractor and Kara examined the bricklayers’ work. I loved the natural warmth of the round stones used for the chimney and how nicely they contrasted with the gray bricks.

Once she signed off on the work, the contractor left. Kara held up a key. “Want to see inside?”

“Of course,” I said.

The front door was a builder’s substitute, not a permanent one, and none too sturdy. Since no appliances or light fixtures were in place yet, I supposed Kara didn’t need too much protection from potential thieves.

We stood in the foyer and my gaze first traveled up the curving staircase to our left. She’d decided on an open floor plan similar to my own. From here, we could see most of the first floor. What grabbed me next was the fireplace. The same round stones outside had been used and the effect was dramatic.