The Cat, the Sneak and the Secret
Page 10
I held Tom’s free hand while he sat on the stretcher and Marcy cleaned the two-inch gash on his left forearm with Betadine. She didn’t numb the cut—he told her not to—and once she was sewing his skin together, he never flinched. It was as if no pain could match what he’d just discovered in the house.
I rested my free hand on his shoulder and he looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time since Marcy had walked him out through that gate.
“There are no words, Tom. No words.”
His eyes glazed and he swallowed hard, fighting back the tears successfully. “He didn’t kill himself, Jillian. He didn’t. I know it.”
I nodded, smiled sadly. Grief is the great distorter. Grief is the Grand Master of Deception. I was all too familiar with that trickster Grief.
The back door to the ambulance burst open and Marcy stopped her work, caught in the act. But it was Mayor Kenyon, our confidant.
“Tom, you will say yes,” he said. “Okay, I can’t make you, but I need you. We need you.”
“What?” Tom’s one sluggish word began to tell the tale of a man coming to terms with the unthinkable.
The mayor sucked in a wheezy breath caused by years of backroom cigars. He let the air rattle out slowly before he spoke. “I’m having the town council appoint you temporary police chief.”
“Me? I’ve been off the job for too long. I—”
“You’ve been consulting with this police force for several years on cases. Don’t tell me you’re not capable. No one is more qualified. You know these officers and they need your leadership.”
“Candace could do it. She’s headed in that career direction.” Tom’s tone remained flat, unaffected by this request for help.
The mayor spoke quietly. “She’s too young. Besides, she wanted me to ask you.”
I caught Marcy nod her agreement as she tied off the last suture. She placed a square of nonstick gauze on the wound and rolled fresh gauze around his forearm.
“Temporary, right? Solve Mike’s murder and—”
“Murder? He killed himself, Tom.” Mayor Kenyon was playing the soothing father now, presenting reality to a man stricken by the death of a close friend.
Tom shook his head. “No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not Mike. So I guess you have your answer. I’ll do it.” Tom released my hand and pointed at the mayor. “You don’t say a word about suicide. Not one word to anyone. No one on this scene will, either. So I guess I need to start acting like I’m in charge and make sure they know what I expect of them.”
The mayor, Marcy and Tom left the ambulance. When I didn’t come with them, Tom stopped and turned. He beckoned me to follow.
I had been about to leave, thinking I could drive Tom’s car back to my place, but I couldn’t go, couldn’t abandon my Tom or my friends at a time like this. So I joined them all in Mike’s backyard.
But when I saw Lydia Monk pull up in the coroner’s van before I made it to the back gate, I wanted to become invisible.
For the first time, however, I saw a side of Lydia I’d never known existed. Though the hair and the makeup and the jewelry were as over-the-top as usual, her confident walk was gone and her gaze was on the ground.
“I want to see him.” Her voice, so often strident and demanding, held none of that. She sounded profoundly sad.
I nodded. “I was just headed back there myself.”
We walked side by side, unspeaking.
The sliding glass doors that accessed the living room stood open now, but the officers, firemen and Tom stood close together, some with their arms resting on the shoulders of the person next to them, a solemn gathering that brought fresh tears to my eyes.
Lydia joined them while I hung back near the gate.
The mayor spoke. “This tragedy will affect all of you, probably forever. You need a captain for your ship right now so you can get on with this terrible business. I have asked Tom Stewart to take over as temporary police chief. Tom?”
Tom, his face still pallid, left Candace’s side to address these responders.
My gaze locked on Candace, and I saw her close her eyes briefly, saw her lower lip tremble, but I also saw what I knew to be determination and defiance. She was angry along with being hurt—angry at Mike for leaving Mercy by his own hand, angry at what had happened here.
Tom cleared his throat. “I know all of you. Each and every one. I grew up in this town. You might not know that Mike and I were friends in high school before we took the same career path in different places. You are aware I was a cop for many years, but that doesn’t mean I won’t need everyone’s help to bring Mike’s killer to justice. Yes, I said killer.”
There was a murmuring among them, a shaking of heads, looks of confusion.
“I know what you’re all thinking,” he went on. “Tom is grieving. He’s lost his mind. But I’m asking you to be cops and inquirers now. Ask yourself this: Why was every blind and curtain in this house closed except for the window where I could see his body lying on the floor? I’m asking you to never say the word suicide in the same breath with Mike’s name. He didn’t commit suicide.”
Candace spoke. “The curtains must have been left open because he—because someone wanted him to be found.”
“Exactly. Next question. Was Mike Baca left-handed or right-handed?”
Morris’s gruff voice broke the momentary silence. “Left-handed.”
“No.” It was Lydia. “He used both hands.”
Tom went on. “Correct. On the rare times you saw him in uniform, where was his gun strapped? Anyone?”
Morris squinted as if picturing Mike. “On the right. Always on the right.”
“Where was the .22 that killed him planted? A .22, not his service revolver.”
Candace almost smiled, her voice filled with relief. “In his left hand.”
“Mike Baca was murdered by someone who thought they knew him and believed he was left-handed. And I don’t want a word to leave this property that we know the truth. Some jerk is out there thinking he got away with this—and we want him believing he’s a criminal mastermind. We will get that person. We will make sure whoever it is pays for this.”
Tom went on, directing everyone to handle specific jobs to secure the scene. He also told me what to tell Kara when she came, because she would come—in fact, I was surprised she wasn’t here already. He directed Lydia to wait while the scene was photographed, the evidence was collected, the house dusted for prints—all the many things that had to be done. Then she was to follow Marcy and Jake’s ambulance with Mike’s remains to the morgue and not leave his side. “Trust no one, Lydia. Say as little as possible, even to the doc who does the autopsy. And I want a tox screen—both an initial and the one that for some damn reason takes forever. There was no struggle here. Why not? My guess is, he was drugged or he was drunk. And Mike never got drunk alone.”
Lydia nodded.
As folks scurried to do their jobs in morbid silence, Tom came over to me, took my hands. “You can tell Kara the truth. I can’t make her keep the facts out of whatever story she chooses to run. I can only ask for her help. Perhaps she could omit the suicide nonsense by calling this a serious incident. I want whoever did this to wonder and worry why we’re not saying he took his own life—why we’re not saying much of anything. Can you explain that to her?”
I nodded. “She’ll help. And thank you for trusting her. What about Finn?”
Tom shook his head. “Nope. Not a word other than it’s all being kept quiet, that we don’t know much. Each person who learns the truth is a potential leak, even Finn.”
Mayor Kenyon joined us and told Tom he had been amazing. Tom handed me his car keys and said good-bye to both of us. He wanted to return to his new job and he did. A fellow officer taken down has a profound effect on the police.
The mayor and I left the yard together.
“Of course they didn’t,” I interrupted. “But if we had discussed it . . . well, you’re right. Tom is the right person to handle this tragedy.”
“Glad you understand. Never get on the wrong side of the missus, I always say.”
I clicked the remote to unlock Tom’s car, and the mayor opened the door for me.
“I gotta gather the town council to vote on what I’ve already decided. Should be no problem. But first, I want to thank you for being here, Ms. Hart. Thank you for all you’ve done for our town. It’s not gone unnoticed.”
Before I slid behind the wheel I gave Mayor Kenyon a hug. “You absolutely did the right thing,” I whispered.
Fourteen
Before I maneuvered around the police cars and the ambulance, not to mention the fire truck with its lights still spinning garishly in the morning gloom, I called Kara and explained the situation. She was already headed to Mike’s house after hearing scanner broadcasts and agreed to run the “serious incident” story without hesitation.
“That’s exactly what it is,” she’d told me.
I felt relieved as I drove toward home, but sorrow hung over me, heavy and tight. Tears came again, rolling down my cheeks. How I wished I could have said good-bye. How I wished I’d had the courage to look in that window and—
No. That is not how you want to remember him, Jillian. You were lucky not to see what Tom did.
I pulled into my driveway about five minutes later and once inside I sat on the floor in the kitchen, cats surrounding me, loving me, as I dealt with the pain of losing a friend.
“Why are you crying?” It was Lindsey, her hair wet from a shower. She was wearing a too-big T-shirt and baggy jeans that obviously belonged to Finn.
I wasn’t even aware I was still shedding quiet tears. “Tough morning. A friend passed.” I couldn’t keep the emotion out of my voice even though I tried. This girl didn’t need to hear about more death.
Lindsey joined me on the floor and Chablis immediately climbed onto her crossed legs. “I’m sorry. Can I help?” She stroked Chablis, not making eye contact. This girl, who put a shield of sarcasm and hostility up against the world, was having a hard time being herself. And I believed that her special self was just as hurt and alone as I felt right now.
“You sitting here with me and being close to the cats helps.” I smiled at her as she peeked up at me.
“Okay. I can do that.”
“Where’s Finn?”
“He went to the shelter. I let him take my car. But I have a class I can’t miss, so he promised to be back by noon.”
“He’ll be back, but it’s not Halloween yet, so you can’t go dressed like a hobo. Let’s check my closet.”
Though Lindsey was shorter than I was by several inches, I had boyfriend-style jeans that fit her perfectly and a tunic sweater that looked far better on her than on me.
She asked to borrow a hair dryer and after I gave her mine, I promised to wash her clothes. But she said to point her in the right direction and she’d do it herself. We didn’t talk about how long she would stay with us or about my friend Mike. She had her own grief to deal with and I guessed she was still a little bit in denial.
“I have a few things to take care of in my sewing room,” I said to Lindsey. “You can join me. We can listen to music.”
“No, thanks. I need to read a few documents online for my class. Finn said I could use his computer.”
I pointed out the laundry room and noticed Finn had left his laptop on the small table in the kitchen that overlooked the lake. The two of us, with death shadowing our lives, retreated to our separate spaces. It didn’t feel right, but Lindsey obviously needed her privacy and I respected that.
The cats and I—all except Magpie, who I’d seen slip into my bedroom, no doubt hunting for bounty—went to the sewing room. Chablis, Syrah and Merlot found their spots and curled up. It was way past their naptime. Chablis had to be close, right next to me in the big overstuffed chair and I was comforted by her warmth.
I picked up an appliqué square that was part of a Christmas quilt and tried to work. But my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. The handwork remained in my lap, my hands folded on top of it. My mind seemed to have been wiped of anything but memories of Mike, how he’d interrogated me not long after I first moved to Mercy, back when Syrah went missing and terrible things happened one right after another. He’d been a good police chief, but when it came to the women in his life, he hadn’t been quite as smart. He was divorced, had been dating Lydia for a time and then had a disastrous relationship with another woman.
Yes, women—or rather choosing the wrong ones—were his Achilles’ heel, he always used to say. Lately he hadn’t talked about who he might be seeing, if anyone, so I assumed he was taking a break from dating. He’d been burned badly and seemed all the more dedicated to his job.
Yes, the man who once suspected me of being a criminal became my friend. And now he was gone. He wouldn’t be there for Tom or me at the wedding. We might be having his funeral that day instead. If so, that was fine. Tom and I had time. Mike’s had run out.
As it closed in on noon, I finally left the quiet room, where all the cats were sleeping, even Magpie. She’d dragged in the T-shirt I’d worn to bed, dropped it at my feet and made her own little bed. Finn wasn’t back, and I found Lindsey pacing on the back deck.
I joined her outside. “Did you call Finn and tell him you needed your car?”
“I did. Voice mail. I texted him, too. Got no answer.”
“You want me to take you to school and have forgetful Finn pick you up?”
“Would you?” There seemed to be a desperation in her demeanor that seemed, well, off. As if she had to move, get away, perhaps run from the truth of her loss. I understood.
But just as I grabbed my keys and we were about to leave, I heard a car honking over and over.
I saw Lindsey smile for the first time—what a transformation. She was a lovely girl. “That’s my car. That’s him.” She ran out through the back door and to my surprise they left together, Finn barreling back down my driveway way too fast. We’d have to chat about that.
I waved to them and saw them speed off, just as Rebecca Marner’s SUV appeared. They went by her without slowing down. I had a bad feeling about this, and it only got worse when Rebecca pulled into my driveway all the way up to the back gate. She was the last person I wanted to talk to right now.
Her inscrutable expression didn’t help me figure out how to navigate this awkward situation. She seemed calm, however, when she said, “I’m glad she’s safe.” She glanced back at the road in the direction they’d left.
“Would you like to come in?” I asked.
“I’m planning a funeral, so I don’t have much time—but yes.”
She followed me through the gate and up the stairs to my back door. Before we went inside, I told her I had cats—lots of cats.
“I always keep a lint roller in my purse. It’s no problem.”
I’d been more concerned about allergies, but she was worried about cat hair. I should have known her charcoal suit and gray silk blouse would be her first concern.
She refused my offer of sweet tea or coffee. We sat at my dining room table after she said she’d prefer to stay away from upholstery where the cat hair clung and would transfer to her clothes.
I needed sweet tea, if only to have a glass of something to hang on to. I feared this would not be an easy conversation. She was Lindsey’s mother, after all, and deserved some sort of explanation.
“You are a kind and caring person, Jillian. I am rather . . . difficult to get to
know. But I have one friend and she could use your help. Zoe.”
I tried to manage my facial muscles to tame any look that would be interpreted as stunned. But I was. No mention of her daughter? She was here about her former husband’s widow? I couldn’t wrap my mind around that one. “I—I thought you came here about Lindsey. I—”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Lindsey can take care of herself. She’s an independent girl like her mother. I have no worries there. No, it’s Zoe. She’s quite incapable of dealing with all this funeral business.”
I sipped my tea, wanting to hide my face with the glass so she wouldn’t see how confused I was. What the heck was happening here? But then I remembered something. “I understand someone arranged for a funeral singer, so is she—”
“That was me. Right now I just need a volunteer to sit with Zoe while I collect what she needs for the funeral, create the obituary, make calls to out-of-state relatives, make sure when Rhett’s body is released that we are all in agreement on what he should wear. There’s so much to do, and no one seems to be stepping in to help her manage.”
It all sounded so cold, almost like a grocery list. Plus Verline said Zoe’s son called her, not Rebecca. I felt a little sick then because my thoughts went to Mike. Who would make those arrangements for him? Certainly not his ex-wife.
“I wish I could, Rebecca. But there’s been a serious incident involving a friend of mine. I need to focus on that right now.”
But Rebecca wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “You can squeeze in an hour for another friend. She’s done so much for the community. She’ll be alone and she shouldn’t be.”
I closed my eyes and remembered Zoe in that parking lot, how devastated she was. I had planned on picking up a rotisserie chicken and deli salads and dropping them off for Zoe and her family before . . . before Mike’s death.