This time the tears came with racking sobs and Finn gripped her shoulders, stood her up and wrapped her in his arms.
This kid deserved all the support she could get, so I joined Finn and rubbed circles on Lindsey’s back. I was surprised when she threw her arms around my neck and cried her heart out into my shoulder. I was probably about the same age as her mother, after all. I got the sense this release was long overdue.
• • •
Thirty minutes later, Candace resumed her questions. Lindsey clutched a glass of water and a box of tissues sat nearby. Finn was cross-legged on the floor next to his friend to offer support, and Tom and I had claimed the barstools. Lindsey still wanted us to stay in the room, which I found touchingly sad. This girl should be surrounded by loving family at a time like this.
Candace’s interrogation focused mostly on the day Rhett Marner dropped off the check, and once Lindsey pulled herself together, she was able to pin the time down to five days earlier because of that textbook and why she needed it. She’d lost the one she’d already bought and with an exam coming up she was, in her words, “desperate” after her mother refused to give her the necessary hundred dollars.
Candace wasn’t giving much away about her investigation. After being her friend for several years now, I understood the importance she placed on a crime’s timeline, and this murder was no different. But then she surprised me by showing Lindsey the picture she had on her phone of Magpie’s locket. She asked Lindsey if she recognized it.
The girl nodded. “It sort of belongs to me. Where did you find it?”
“Where did you see it last?” Candace countered.
“I don’t remember. My bathroom? My jewelry box? Did you find that with my father’s b-b . . .” She halted. Took a deep breath. “With my father?” Her eyes tracked Candace’s phone as she replaced it.
“So you think your father had this necklace? Why would he, Lindsey?”
“It’s been in our family a long time. Maybe he saw it on the bathroom vanity and didn’t think I was taking care of it. He was pretty controlling that way. Or maybe I left it at his new house.” She shifted her eyes right and left and right again and took on a nonchalant air. I got the sense she knew much more about that necklace than she was letting on.
But a thought ran through my head and overshadowed my initial conclusion that this was just a teenager being cagey. Candace wouldn’t have shown that necklace to Lindsey if it weren’t connected to the case.
Did that speck of blood Candace had pointed out before belong to Rhett Marner? The sick feeling in my stomach told me it did.
Twelve
The next morning, Tom picked me up in his Prius for our appointment with Pastor Truman at the Mill Village Baptist Church. An exhausted Lindsey was still asleep in my upstairs guest room and Finn was taking care of the cats and busying himself with household chores like sweeping and putting plates and silverware away from the last dishwasher run.
We should keep that kid around forever, I thought as I left the house. But I was sure he was anxious as he waited for his friend to awake. After she’d gone to bed last night, he told us they were just acquaintances who’d once shared a class at the community college. He was surprised when she reached out to him yesterday. It was so like Finn to help this girl. And she was obviously smart enough to know who she could trust.
Tom stopped at Belle’s Beans and picked us both up coffee to go before we were on our way to the far side of town. I sipped my vanilla latte and sighed with pleasure. The Madagascar vanilla Belle used in her recipe, along with the perfect ratio of warm milk to coffee, made this my standard fare. Why change drinks? Nothing could be better than this.
Once we were on our way again, Tom said, “I knew Rhett Marner. Did I tell you that before?”
“You did. How well?”
“I saw how he interacted with people. He turned on the charm for the folks paying him and treated his manual laborers like dirt. I don’t appreciate hypocrisy. But he’s not alone in how he operated.”
“He could have made a lot of enemies, then?”
“Oh, I’m sure he did. That will make the investigation plenty difficult. When I was installing a security system in one of his buildings under construction, I saw two painters get into a fistfight. I broke it up and Rhett came in behind me and shoved both guys against the wall. I don’t know what happened next because I walked off the job, told Rhett I wasn’t coming back.”
“Good for you.” I patted his leg.
Tom turned and glanced at me. “I should have called Mike, told him to send a squad car because of the assaults on the part of the painters and Rhett. Then I told myself I was a lay person now, not a cop anymore, and it probably wouldn’t go any further.”
“I heard they had to break up fights at a few of his job sites recently.”
Tom nodded. “No surprise. This kind of stuff happens, especially when the boss flies off the handle on a regular basis—and that was Rhett’s reputation.”
I thought about this for a second before speaking. “There could be dozens of suspects if he fired people regularly or had them thrown in jail.”
“Thing is,” Tom said, “I believe he used the same crew all the time. Despite his behavior, he paid them well and they did good work. Rhett was a wealthy man who didn’t need to be hanging around construction sites in work boots and jeans. He did though, despite the fact that he could have hired a site manager. He was too much of a control freak to—”
“Those were Lindsey’s words last night,” I interrupted. “Control freak.”
“She did say that. Of course Mike and Candace will be looking at the family first. Two wives, two families—there had to be tension.”
I explained how Zoe and Rebecca seemed the best of friends but there was no love lost between the Nesmith boys and the Marner kids.
Tom parked in front of the sweet little church where we would be married on Saturday.
“Divorce creates a swath of destruction in its wake. I wish so much of my job wasn’t about relationships falling apart. I’m so glad we have more pleasant things to concentrate on right now.”
I noted Kara’s SUV up ahead. Of course she’d arrived first. Wedding planner was a job that seemed to suit her well.
Tom and I joined hands as we walked up the sidewalk. I felt a quiver of excitement. This place, so peaceful, with huge oaks surrounding it and the old brick-and-stone construction, was absolutely perfect.
Kara, Pastor Mitch and the pastor’s wife, Elizabeth Truman, stood talking at the front of the church. After we exchanged hugs, handshakes and smiles, Kara launched into full wedding planner mode.
“I was explaining about the flower delivery and that I’ll be setting out the ‘reserved’ cards on the pews early Saturday morning. They do have a changing room in the basement, Jillian, so we can dress and put on makeup here. The pastor was telling me there have been more than a thousand weddings in this church since it was built in the early 1900s.”
“Perhaps even more.” Elizabeth reached out and took my hands in hers. “We are so thrilled you have chosen us to celebrate your marriage.”
Tom’s smile lit his face. “I’m thrilled there’s a marriage to celebrate. This woman is the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I completely agree,” Pastor Mitch said. “She’s the best thing—”
I held up a hand. “Whoa. Please don’t make me get all tongue-tied, though I thank you all.”
Elizabeth dropped my hands. “The rehearsal is Thursday night because of a conflict we have—usually we have the rehearsal the day before the wedding and I hope this isn’t a problem.”
“No problem,” Kara replied for me.
I smiled and nodded Kara’s way. “If that’s what the wedding planner says, then those are the facts.”
Kara pulled two folded pieces of paper from her pocket and hande
d one to Pastor Mitch and one to Elizabeth. “Here’s what we talked about as far as timing, music and readings go. The rest is up to you two. Oh, and to the bride and groom.”
We all laughed.
I craned my neck toward the paper Elizabeth had unfolded and was reading. “Do I get to see one of those?”
Kara touched my shoulder. “Your list will include all that plus more. Be patient.” She turned to Tom. “As for you, you have the easy job. Just stand next to Pastor Mitch and look pretty in your new suit. And you better write down your vows, because you’ll forget them the minute you see Jillian walk down the aisle.”
More laughter, but it was interrupted by Tom’s phone. He looked embarrassed. “Should have muted the darn thing. Forgive me.”
“Please, answer it,” Pastor Mitch said. “Just remember to leave it in your car on Saturday.”
Tom pulled out his phone, which had now stopped ringing. “Candace. Wonder what she wanted.”
My phone was muted, but I could feel it vibrate in my pocket. “Maybe you better step outside and call her, because now she’s trying get ahold of me—or at least I think that’s who’s calling.” I patted my leg.
Pastor Mitch waved a hand. “Go on. The police are absolutely a priority.”
Tom thanked him and walked down the center aisle, already returning the call. But before he even reached the double doors that led to the vestibule, he stopped.
Kara looked between Elizabeth and the pastor. “Is there anything I’ve forgotten?”
Elizabeth smiled. “You seem to be quite organized and very calm. I believe you’ve covered everything.”
Tom called, “Jillian, can Kara give you a ride home?”
I heard an urgency in his voice that troubled me. I walked to where he stood. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mike. He’s not answering his phone, hasn’t shown up at the station. Candace asked if I’d stop by his house and see if he overslept. She didn’t want to seem like she was meddling or overreacting since he is her boss.”
“Then I’ll go with you,” I said.
“Don’t you have to finish up here?”
“Kara has this. I believe I will be a guest at my own wedding, and I kind of like the idea.”
He smiled. “Okay, then. I’ll wait in the car.” He waved a good-bye to the pastor, his wife and Kara. I returned to them and explained, asked if I needed to do anything.
Since Kara had things under control, I was free to go. I wondered why Tom seemed so unnerved, but when I slid into the passenger seat of the Prius, he explained.
“Mike, in all the years I’ve known him, has not once missed work because he overslept. And certainly not when there’s been a recent murder. Candace is pretty darn busy right now and sounded so stressed I said I’d help out.”
He pulled away from the curb and we drove off. Tom said nothing on the drive, but I knew he was worried.
Mike Baca’s house wasn’t far from downtown. Yards on this treelined street held autumn’s contribution to the landscape. Some lawns were raked, but Mike’s was blanketed by brown and gold leaves.
The garage door was closed and the blinds were drawn. Maybe he did oversleep after all. I hurried to keep up as Tom strode to the house, dried leaves crunching under our steps.
Tom pounded on the front door and loudly called Mike’s name.
Nothing.
He repeated this two more times. Then, fists on his hips, he turned and faced me. “This doesn’t feel right. I’ll head around back. You stay here in case he wakes up and answers the door.”
Tom never overreacted to anything, but I could tell his cop instincts had taken over—even though he’d left the North Carolina police force years ago. We now shared a sense of urgency. When I heard the sound of glass shattering, I ran around the house and passed through the high wooden gate to the backyard.
I caught sight of Tom’s foot as he was climbing in through a broken window. I’d been in this house before and I was pretty sure he was going into Mike’s office.
“Tom? What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer.
What made him break that window? I didn’t want to know and yet I had to know.
I approached slowly, repeating Tom’s name.
But before I reached the window, Tom called, “Phone Candace. Tell her—tell her . . .” His voice was laden with emotion. “Tell her Mike is dead. GSW to the head. I—I can’t make that phone call.”
My breath seemed to leave my lungs in a rush, leaving me unable to speak . . . to think. This can’t be. He’s wrong.
I didn’t step closer to the window. Instead I pivoted and faced the other direction, slowly took my phone from my jeans pocket. He wasn’t wrong. My brain knew what my heart could not accept.
When I heard Candace’s voice, tears slid down my cheeks, into my mouth, salty proof of life in this place of death.
Thirteen
I huddled in the passenger seat of Tom’s car listening to approaching sirens scream their approach. This felt like a safe place amid the horror of what Tom had found in Mike Baca’s office.
When we first met several years ago, when I was new to this town, Mike and I hadn’t exactly started off on the right foot. He suspected me of murder and I suspected him of being clueless and uncaring. None of it was true. First impressions can be right or they can be oh so wrong.
I still had no idea what had happened in Mike’s office. Surely no one would shoot Mike. Maybe he hit his head after suffering a heart attack and Tom just thought it was a gunshot wound. I understood after watching my late husband die that one minute you’re alive and laughing and the next minute you can drop like a stone. Mike worked long hours and ate too much junk food. He also had personal issues in the past that no doubt caused him stress. Those are the killers most people never suspect and they’d probably claimed a good and generous man today. Not a gun. Not a gunshot wound to the head. No way.
Candace arrived first, her squad car screeching to a halt at the curb. She came running to Tom’s car and I opened the door, fell into her arms and wept. She gripped my upper arms and sat me back down. Her eyes sparkled with tears and sadness and more. Eyes like hers tell the truth.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Window broken in the back. Go be with them—with him and Tom. They need you.”
She ran full on toward the gate, no other words needed. No questions. No worries about evidence. Just fear. Yes, that was the last thing I’d seen in her eyes.
The entire working police force arrived one by one until Mike’s street resembled the county courthouse parking lot. The fire truck and the ambulance’s tragic sirens died when they stopped in the street. They all ran. As if running could change the past or affect the future. The memory of Tom’s voice, his command for me to stay in the car, told me different. There was no changing this outcome. Tom spoke the only truth that mattered: “Mike is dead.”
I pulled out my phone and watched my cats play, watched them find the sunniest spots near the windows to watch the birds, watched Magpie dragging socks toward the basement door and then returning for more treasure. My smile was lost somewhere deep inside, but I calmed as I watched them. I wanted to be in their world, at my house, not here in this car.
But when I saw Marcy, one of the paramedics, walking Tom through that gate grasping his forearm with a bloody bandage beneath, I came back to the awful world, to the real one, and scrambled out of the car. My turn to run.
“It’s nothing,” Tom said before I reached them. His voice was flat, his face ashen.
Marcy spoke as I stood in front of them and stared at the blood leaking between her gloved fingers. She said, “He needs a few stitches.”
“I don’t. Put that glue on that they use for cuts. Hell, find some superglue and stick the skin together. I’m not leaving.”
Marcy looked at me
, her stare pleading for my help.
“What about pressure? Will that work?” I asked.
Marcy shook her head, her lips tight.
“Then get the damn doctor to come here and fix it, because I am not going anywhere. My friend is dead and he did not kill himself.” Tom’s voice rose. “He didn’t. He wouldn’t.”
“Kill himself?” I glanced between Tom and Marcy. “Kill himself?”
She looked down, avoiding my stare.
“I can prove it if I don’t have to stay at some stupid hospital for hours.” Tom seemed to calm when he turned to me. “You always have a needle and thread with you. Can you sew this up?”
I made eye contact, touched his face. “We came in your car. I’ve got nothing with me. Besides, I can’t. That wouldn’t be good for you.” I turned to Marcy, glad to talk about this rather than what had happened in Mike’s house. “Do you have sutures?”
She didn’t answer, kept staring at the battered, dead leaves at our feet.
Just then I felt a presence behind me and turned to see Mayor Harley Kenyon closing in, grim-faced, shoulders slumped, gray hair uncombed.
He, too, would rather focus on Tom’s bloody arm than on the bigger truth, because he said, “What happened?”
“Broke the window to get in. Cut myself. It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing. You need to get that taken care of.”
“I’m not leaving. He was my friend.”
The mayor looked at Marcy. “Can you repair that so he can stay?”
She shook her head. “He needs sutures and I am not qualified.”
Tom jerked to look at her. “Not qualified? Does that mean you don’t know how?”
She hesitated. “I know how. But I’ll get in trouble if anyone finds out and—”
Mayor Kenyon said, “Let me worry about that. Besides, y’all can keep a secret and so can I.”
I stayed with Tom in the ambulance while the mayor went to where everyone else still was—with what remained of Mike. The small space felt like a safe haven with all its clinical cleanliness, its shelves neatly packed with items of rescue, items to help and heal. But it was all a worthless truckload of stuff as far as Mike Baca was concerned. Worthless.
The Cat, the Sneak and the Secret Page 9
