The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

“Yes, we did leave together,” I said.

When I didn’t add any more information about Tom or Finn, Hilary addressed Karen. “No one was home at Tom’s house, so I figured he brought Finn here. Can I see him now?” Hilary walked toward the dining room. “We need to talk. I need to tell him how sorry I am for—”

“He’s not here,” Karen said. “At least not right now.”

Hilary halted. “Oh.” She looked crestfallen.

Bob said, “You know how stubborn Tom can be. You staying in town?”

Guess he’d gotten over his hurt feelings where his family was concerned. Especially since someone as lovely as Hilary was around to divert his attention.

She said, “I found this wonderful little B&B. Reasonably priced with fantastic food.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed under her nose. “It’s been nice to have such a comfortable place to stay under such stressful circumstances.”

“Yes, well, Nolan was a troubled man,” Karen said, “though as you told me not long ago, you had no idea how troubled until he was released from prison.” Karen looked at me. “Mr. Roth used to be a police officer and Tom’s partner. Poor Tom was forced to turn him in to the authorities.”

“Forced?” Bob said. “Tom ruined Finn’s family because he was jealous.”

I wanted to sock Bob Cochran in the mouth about then. I’d had about all I could stand of this self-serving man-child. Instead, I said, “I’m not sure you completely understand, Bob.”

“Really? And you do after knowing my brother for how long? A year, tops?” Bob said.

Hilary rested a hand on Bob’s arm. “Please. Don’t blame Tom, and be kind to Jillian. She has been so kind to my son. Nolan fooled me. He fooled a lot of people. Now that they’ve cleared Finn, I believe they should start looking at who Nolan was doing business with.”

“Drugs again?” Karen said.

Hilary nodded solemnly. “I tried to tell the police chief as much. But they seemed fixated on Finn and even Tom. He does seem to have been in a fight. Do you know how he got so banged up?”

“He won’t tell me,” Karen said. “But I’m sure it has nothing to do with Mr. Roth’s demise.”

“Oh, of course not. Because Tom can do no wrong,” Bob said.

Karen leveled one of her famous steely stares at Bob. “It could have been that terrible man who came here last night.” Karen turned to Hilary. “Knowing you, it’s impossible to picture you with Mr. Gannon. He’s a frightful person.”

Hilary paled. “Rory? Here? Oh my goodness. Nolan must have called him before— Oh, this is not good. Did Finn talk to him?”

She sounded frightened—and who could blame her? But I didn’t want to listen to a rehash of Rory Gannon’s visit, so I decided it was time to leave. I said, “I have quilts to finish for Christmas orders. I did enjoy lunch, Karen. Thanks for having me.” I sidled past Hilary and Bob, muttering my good-byes to them.

Once I reached my van and started the ignition, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Why do Southern-raised women like me have to be so darn polite? And why did I want to slug all three of those people?

Nineteen

On my way home to get a much-needed dose of kitty and puppy love, I called Tom’s landline. When he answered, sounding gruff and as agitated as I felt, I said, “I’m headed home. You can drop Finn off anytime.”

Tom said, “Sorry if I sounded rude, but I didn’t even look at the caller ID. I thought my mother or Bob was calling, hoping to get me back over to Mom’s house for the reunion. Someone needs to tell my mother there’s no such thing as time machines.”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“She wants things to be like they were before Hilary decided to sleep with my partner,” he said. “Everything went downhill after Hilary hooked up with Nolan.”

“Five years ago? What did your marriage problems have to do with Karen and Bob’s issues?” I pulled into my driveway, relieved not to see a beat-up blue sedan hanging around the neighborhood.

“Long story,” Tom said.

“I wish you’d trust me enough to tell me. What’s this something Bob believes rightfully belongs to him?”

Tom lowered his voice. “Finn’s in the kitchen, about ten feet away. He doesn’t need to hear this. Can we talk later?”

“Promise?” I said, wondering if later would ever happen.

“I swear,” he said.

“Good. Now, I know a dog who needs a visit to the nearest tree. When you drop Finn off, maybe we can have some alone time.”

We said good-bye and soon Yoshi was racing for his favorite white oak, dried leaves scattering in his wake. When he came running back up the lawn, he checked out the van, sniffing the air for any hint of Finn. We went inside the house and I squatted to pet him. He was such a darling dog, but even though he enjoyed my company, he obviously missed Finn.

Merlot appeared, and he and Yoshi went nose to nose since they’re almost the same size. Yoshi dropped his front legs to the play position, but Merlot appraised him as if to say, “I’m not playing chase right now, dog.” Seemed like these two were at least getting along, in pleasant contrast to everyone at lunch at Karen’s house.

I switched my attention to Merlot, scratching him behind his ears.

Soon Syrah joined us and I saw the cat dishes were empty. With the dog around, I wondered exactly who had licked those bowls so clean. Syrah did figure eights between my legs as I hunted for just the right flavor of cat food. I swore they knew what was available and if I chose the wrong flavor, they’d turn and walk away after the first whiff.

Yoshi still had kibble in his bowl and when Merlot and Syrah started eating—I’d chosen Savory Salmon—he decided to finish his food. Chablis didn’t show up, even though with her ability to hear a quilting pin drop, I was sure she’d heard the pop when I opened the cat food. I took a small bowl of tuna cat food— her favorite—and went to my bedroom.

At least she wasn’t hiding under the bed, but rather crouched in the center of the mattress. When I set the dish on the floor, she sniffed the air and finally stood, stretched and decided she liked her meals delivered.

I sat next to her and stroked her while she ate, wishing she’d stay out of hiding. Every cat is different, however. Chablis was not dog friendly, that’s for sure. The memory of cats is about two hundred times greater than dogs, and like people, they have both long-term and short-term memory. I believed Chablis had a memory about a dog—and not a pleasant one. Poor Dashiell did, too. If Finn ended up living with Tom, the adjustment period could be long and difficult.

Yoshi came bounding into the bedroom a moment later and Chablis scurried under the bed. The adjustment period here wasn’t going so well, either.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in my sewing room finishing up my Christmas orders—an applique on one quilt for a cat in New York named Ralph and some hand quilting on two others. Yoshi, Merlot and Syrah joined me. Late afternoon was nap time for them.

In the last few months, I’d discovered I needed reading glasses for handwork as well as a good, strong light. My eyes were telling me I was no longer young, and though I didn’t appreciate the message my body was sending, I accepted it. Anything to keep quilting for as long as my eyes and hands allowed. There is something akin to meditation about the rocking movement of the needle, the in and out, the back and forth. It took me to such a peaceful place. Worries faded while I quilted.

When someone knocked on the back door, Yoshi jumped to attention and barked. I set my work aside—my last order—and realized it was already dark. As I went through the house flipping on lights, I saw the DVR display read seven p.m.

I let Tom and Finn in, and Yoshi went wild with joy. He jumped into Finn’s arms and licked his face.

Tom glanced at the reading glasses dangling from a chain around my neck. “You, too, huh?”