The Cat, the Sneak and the Secret

by Leann Sweeney

  “You’ve been one busy girl, Magpie.” I sat on the bed next to her and stroked her head and the sides of her cheeks. She purred like a fine-tuned motor.

  And then I saw something that didn’t make me smile. She’d stolen the thread that matched my wedding dress perfectly and basically destroyed it. Such a shredded mess. Good thing Martha and I had an appointment. I would buy more today. But I couldn’t help fearing the symbolism of this battered spool I now held in my palm. Would my relationship with Tom become a shredded mess, too? Would we be better off leaving things the way they were? My traditional roots, my firm belief that certain things belonged only in marriage, wouldn’t gel with us remaining single. Tom loved me and wanted to love me completely.

  Maybe I was too old-fashioned, but that raised the question. Were we getting married just to share a bed? I shook my head, dismissing this notion. No way. We wanted to be together forever—because we loved each other. It was right. Case closed. The way I felt about Tom could never be shredded. It wasn’t that fragile.

  The smaller question confronting me now? What to do about these gathered items? Was Magpie claiming her territory here in Finn’s room? It was certainly better than her peeing on his pillow—because cats will do that kind of thing if they want to claim a spot.

  I decided to confiscate her collection. Magpie might not be happy, but living with three other feline friends involved certain sacrifices. I had the feeling, however, that she had no room in her kitty world for concessions. She was, after all, a cat.

  When I arrived at the Cotton Company close to five p.m., Martha still had one customer lingering. The woman was tiny, no more than four feet ten, and I guessed she had to be in her eighties. Her iron gray hair, fastened in a chignon at the nape of her neck, shined beautifully. I was a little envious and hoped I had hair as thick and healthy-looking when I was her age.

  Martha, a fifty-something quilting genius, smiled at me. “Jillian, this is Verline. She’s a cat lover and quilter like we are.”

  Verline’s mouth formed an oval, and the eyes behind her lenses gleamed with excitement. “The Jillian? The one whose patterns for cat quilts I’ve copied? I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I’d love to see what you’ve made sometime.”

  “Why not right now?” She whipped a smartphone from her giant leather bag—seemingly huge because the woman was so elfin. She beckoned me her way. “Come on, now. No need to stand by the door.”

  Since quilters these days used sewing machines that were actually part computer, too, I wasn’t surprised that she had what looked like a newer-model smartphone. I made my way around an old wash bin full of fabric scraps. A box of small Ziploc bags sat on an antique lamp table next to the bin with a sign that read AS MANY SCRAPS AS YOU CAN STUFF IN THIS BAG FOR $2.

  Several bolts of fabric lay on the cutting table in the center of the small store and drew my attention. New patterns for fall. So tempting. I bypassed them and walked over to where the two women stood. I needed to remain focused.

  Verline shoved the phone toward me. “That’s my Honey. He’s partial to anything with half-square triangles.”

  Honey was exactly that—a honey-coated, long-haired tabby. “He’s beautiful and that quilt is stunning.” I widened the picture to study the details before looking at Verline. “Your hand-quilting is exquisite.”

  “Years of practice. I’ve seen your work here at Martha’s store and you’re no slouch, young lady.”

  Young lady? Yes, since I was probably forty years her junior, I suppose I was a young lady to her.

  Martha smiled down on Verline. “Besides being an expert quilter, did you know this little woman is a funeral singer? She’s got the voice for it all right. Ethereal.”

  Verline’s cheeks pinked up. “You are too sweet, Martha. You know the Marners have already called me to sing. That’s quite speedy considering they just found the poor soul buried in the dirt this morning.”

  I’d never heard of a funeral singer before and I got distracted wondering about it, but the mention of the Marner family had all my attention now. “Really? Did Zoe call you?”

  “No, it was Rebecca. She told me she was calling on behalf of Rhett’s oldest stepson—Toby Nesmith.” Verline leaned toward me, her voice quiet. “Troublemaker, I hear. How a teenager knew about me, I have no idea. He sure didn’t waste a second getting himself all involved in the arrangements. What happened to Rhett is a terrible thing to do to a human being, no matter what people thought of him. I’ve known that man a very long time, mind you. He was in my third-grade class back when I was teaching. Bit of a handful, that one. I heard they might never have found him if not for poor Seth. Now, there’s a fine youngster.”

  “I—I was there.” My mind drifted back to the scene as I rambled on. “At the building site with Kara this morning.” Blinking to erase the memories, I looked at Verline. She’d replaced her phone and now took the paper shopping bag full of fabric that Martha offered. I went on, saying, “I take it Mr. Marner might have had a few enemies? Because you’re absolutely right, it was truly an awful thing someone did to him.”

  “I’ll be singing at his funeral, so I best not fill my mind with negative thoughts. I can say this, however. I’m not surprised he was . . . murdered.” She whispered this last word in dramatic fashion before reaching out a veined hand and squeezing my wrist. “I am so pleased I met you today. We cannot be strangers, Jillian. We have too much in common.”

  With that, Martha and I slowly assisted her outside. A car idled at the sidewalk and a man, perhaps in his late fifties, slid from behind the driver’s seat and hurried around to help Verline into the old Cadillac.

  Verline waved a hand at him. “My son, Louis. He’s quite a fine singer himself. Louis, this is Jillian—the woman I speak about so often.”

  The balding man with a gray fringe matching Verline’s hair color nodded shyly, said nothing and soon they were gone.

  Martha put an arm around my shoulders. “Now, where is your dress?”

  “I left it in the van, not sure if you were ready for me. I’ll get it and meet you back in the store.”

  After a half hour of pinning and tucking the bodice and readjusting the cowl neckline so each drooping fold was perfect, Martha said I could pick it up tomorrow. As soon as I climbed back into my van, I checked my cat cam to make sure all four cats were accounted for. The sleeping kitties made me smile, especially Merlot and Magpie entwined together on the sofa. He would miss her once Finn left for his own apartment.

  I switched to thoughts of what I had heard from Verline. I wondered if I should tell Candace and decided too much information was better than none. But when I tried her cell it went straight to voice mail. Since I sat only blocks from the police station, I decided to stop by. If she wasn’t available—and she most certainly had to be overwhelmed right now—I could leave a message with B.J., the dispatcher.

  The police station wasn’t a freestanding building in Mercy. It was housed in one wing of the courthouse. The jail was downstairs, but since the public wasn’t allowed in the basement, most people waiting for the release of relatives or requiring a pass to have access to the jailer loitered in the hallway outside the police office. Seemed as if more than a few of Mercy’s citizens must be locked up today. At least a dozen folks sat on the tile floor or on the worn benches centered in the wide corridor.

  I entered the office and to my left, B.J. sat at his desk, phone to his ear. Three young men occupied the chairs that lined the wall and I recognized Seth Marner. His head was down and his body turned away from the other two people. Were these two the Nesmiths? Zoe’s boys from her first marriage? Probably.

  B.J. covered the phone’s mouthpiece and waved a hand toward the corridor ahead of me, whispering, “Break room.”

  I avoided eye contact with the young men waiting, feeling guilty I was being granted access while they c
ontinued to sit on the uncomfortable plastic molded chairs. A swinging gate separated this waiting area from the hall and I hurried through to the end of the corridor. I made a right into the small break room.

  Candace’s back was to me as she contemplated the tower of Keurig cups. Tom and I had bought the special coffee machine for the few hardworking men and women who often stayed here long past the time when they should be home in bed or with their families. They really could use a couple of extra officers in this town.

  Candace made her choice and turned around. She started when she realized she wasn’t alone. “Whoa. Takes a lot of quiet to fool me, Jillian.” She held up the little flavor cup. “Mocha. Gotta load up on caffeine to get through the rest of the day.”

  “I know you’re busy. I just wanted to stop by and offer my support. I also heard a bit of gossip—not much but a little.”

  As her coffee brewed, Candace undid her blond ponytail and pulled back her hair to refasten all the loose strands that had escaped. “I’ll take anything. We got a cold and calculated killer out there. Can you imagine if Seth hadn’t found that shoelace?”

  “So you’re aware I heard about the shoelace?”

  “Lois confessed to being talkative with you and Kara—was worried what she said would get out. I reassured her it wouldn’t, and to be honest, I’m glad she spoke to the two of you. It means she’s developing trust—something she certainly lacked when she first arrived here last spring.”

  “I’ll bet she had reason to be wary. Anyway, I went to the Cotton Company to get some alterations done and—”

  “The wedding. It was all I could think about for days, and now with this happening, I sure hope we can find the murderer before your big day.” Candace picked up her coffee cup and inhaled the aroma, her eyes closed and a small smile softening her tired features.

  “You will not miss my wedding, Candace. I don’t care if you have to handcuff a suspect to a hymnal rack in the church.”

  She laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something? Anyway, what’s the town talking about?”

  “About how many enemies Rhett Marner probably had.”

  “Who’s talking?” She sipped her coffee.

  “Verline . . . gosh, what is her last name?”

  “The funeral singer?”

  “You know her?”

  “Everyone knows her and she knows everyone. If you sing at funerals for decades, you get to meet a lot of folks—and eat a lot of good food. She name anyone in particular?”

  “Toby Nesmith—one of Zoe’s sons from her first marriage. Seems he’s a bit of a troublemaker, according to her, and awful quick to get the funeral arrangements started. Maybe he’s expecting a little inheritance.”

  Candace grinned. “Could well be. Good timing, by the way. That young man happens to be waiting for me to get my act together and interview him. Morris is taking the other son—Owen. That is, if he ever comes out of the bathroom. I swear the man is taking a power nap in there.”

  “What about Seth? He looks pretty torn up. Will he have to wait long for his turn?”

  Candace tilted her head, looking surprised. “Seth is here? I got his statement and sent him home hours ago. He was exhausted.”

  “He’s back.”

  Just then B.J. appeared in the doorway. “I tried to call you, Deputy Carson, but you’re going to voice mail. Then the phones wouldn’t stop ringing. I got tied up, but Seth Marner is here. Says he has to talk to you. Says it’s an emergency.”

  “Hmm. Really? Let’s see what this is all about.”

  The three of us walked down the hall toward the waiting area.

  Seth stood as soon as Candace appeared. “Deputy Carson, I—I need your help.”

  One of the others, either Toby or Owen, spoke. “Wait in line, jerk.”

  Candace ignored him and waved Seth toward her. “Come on, then.”

  I muttered a good-bye as Seth and I passed each other, but I overheard him say, “My sister is missing. You have to find her.”

  Ten

  I left the police station concerned about Lindsey Marner. Maybe she’d been close to her father and was overcome with grief after learning of his death. In times like that, it helped to get away from everyone and everything. That was how I’d felt when John died. I sure hoped she turned up soon.

  Before leaving the courthouse parking lot, I decided since I’d planned nothing for supper, I’d stop at the Main Street Diner and pick up burgers. I texted Tom and he said he liked that idea, but I got no response from Finn. He must be helping Shawn with something and couldn’t get to his phone, since he usually texted me back right away when my messages concerned food in his immediate future.

  I drove the short distance to the restaurant, its attractive green canopy the same as all the storefronts on the main drag in Mercy. But it was the aroma of burgers and fries that had my complete attention the minute I got out of my van. It was amazing how hungry wedding-dress alterations can make you.

  I placed my order and stood back near a wall in the retro-type diner with its curving counter and red leather cushioned barstools. That was on my left. To my right were wooden booths, each with its own jukebox. The price for a tune? A nickel. Currently a rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” filled the restaurant, and the beauty of that song might have been the reason for the hushed voices in a usually bustling and noisy establishment.

  In a back booth someone sat alone in a black hoodie, head down. The hands that clenched and unclenched on the table were telling. I recognized the nail polish. I’d seen the vibrant blue color when I handed over the key to the donation box yesterday.

  Lindsey Marner wasn’t missing after all. She just needed to be by herself. Should I leave her alone? Respect her privacy on this most difficult day? But something about those hands, how her knuckles grew bone white as she made those fists over and over, made me move toward her. Seconds later, I slid into the high-backed booth across from her.

  She raised her head slowly, but when she saw me, she seemed startled. “Oh. It’s you. Guess no one knows how to keep a secret in this town.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” I said quietly as the singer reached the lyric about it being a “cold and broken hallelujah.”

  “He told you where I was.”

  Now I was completely confused. “No one told me anything. I just came in to order food and saw you sitting back here.”

  “You’ve seen me up close now.” Her eyes met mine. “Happy?”

  “Lindsey, I am so sorry you’ve lost your dad. I can tell you’re hurting.”

  “You don’t know anything. Could you leave me alone now?” She paused and added a sarcastic “Please?”

  “Sure. I understand.” I stood and when I turned I nearly ran smack-dab into Finn.

  Lindsey seemed to be seething now. “You told her where I was. I asked you not to, Finn. You promised.”

  Finn locked eyes with hers. He seemed out of breath. “I got Jillian’s text that she’d be here and hitched a ride as quick as I could.” He looked at me. “You came because you knew we were meeting up, right?”

  I shook my head, hoping to clear my brain. “I’m picking up supper. I saw Lindsey sitting alone. That’s it.” Right now I thought it best not to mention Seth and how frantic he seemed at the police station.

  They pondered what I said and I saw the coldness so evident in Lindsey’s eyes fade.

  Finally she spoke, her gaze on the table. “Okay. I believe you. I just need to talk to my friend right now, Mrs. Hart. Could you leave us alone?”

  “I respect that. I’ll see you back at the house, Finn.”

  I started to leave, but he touched my arm and I turned. He hugged me and whispered, “Thanks for understanding.”

  “If you need a ride home, I’ll wait outside. Or come back.”

  “Lindsey has a car. Thanks a
gain, Jillian.”

  I paid for my order and picked up my paper sack filled with burgers and fries at the cash register near the door, but the distress on the girl’s face had obliterated my appetite. I briefly considered returning to the police station and telling Seth where his sister was, but quickly nixed the idea.

  If these young people placed their trust in me and I betrayed them by giving out information, there was no doubt in my mind Finn would forgive but he would never forget. Lindsey was in town, not missing, and hopefully she would talk to Finn, calm down and return home quickly. Her family didn’t need any more heartache today.

  On the drive to my place, I couldn’t help wondering how Finn came to be friends with Lindsey, but he had taken a year of classes at the community college last year. Perhaps that was where they’d met. I was certain Finn would explain all when he returned home.

  The smell of a meal from the Main Street Diner grabbed the attention of all four cats when I opened the back door. No sitting patiently for treats this evening. Magpie practically crawled up my leg, her nose twitching as she fully captured the aroma. Not to be outdone, Syrah jumped onto my shoulder—something he did when he wanted my undivided attention. He didn’t claw me brutally, but he had to dig in to keep his balance. I winced while carefully walking to the counter as he continued his tightrope act. I put the bag of food down, dislodged his paws from my skin and set him on the floor.

  “What’s with y’all? I didn’t go deep-sea fishing and bring you home a big fat marlin.”

  It was, however, past their dinnertime and I quickly rectified that problem. Tom texted me he would be here in about an hour, so I wrapped the burgers and fries in foil and put them in the oven to keep them warm. They wouldn’t taste as good later on, but that didn’t matter right now.