“Like right now?”
“No. It’s late. You’re tired. We’re all tired. And this has been a terrible time for you. We need your help, though. Just try to remember. That’s all I’m asking.”
She nodded, lips pulled in, eyes cast downward. Magpie jumped in her lap and she pulled the cat close. “This little thief obviously wants me to remember, too.”
Tom left then, and I was certain he would be calling Rebecca Marner—and maybe a list of other women depending on what Candace, Morris and Lois found out this evening. I sure hoped they’d enjoyed as good a meal as we had. They probably had, since it seemed as though Mike knew where to wine and dine the women in his life. Or woman.
“Lindsey?” I said.
She didn’t look at me right away, just kept petting the cat.
When she finally met my gaze I apologized. “I am so sorry. Like Tom said, this is your business and you can be certain none of us will share it.”
“Can we stop talking about it now?” Her stare skidded away and she seemed as tense as when we first met.
“Absolutely. I’m tired after a night out on the town.” I stood. After the baby picture discussion, there was no way I could ask her who her mother was seeing. Besides, Rebecca Marner’s history seemed like treacherous territory to explore at any time.
I asked Finn if he’d fed the cats since I’d been gone, and he had. There were no dishes in the sink to take care of, so I grabbed a glass of water and said good night.
Three cats tailed me to my room and began to claim each of their little quilts at the foot of the bed. Magpie already preferred to sleep with Finn. Cats know who they own, I suppose.
As I undressed, I couldn’t get that necklace off my mind. I didn’t believe for a minute we knew the whole story. Why would an adolescent keep a picture of a child she’d given up for adoption? At that age, especially as young as Lindsey had been, she’d want to forget. But Lindsey was no ordinary girl. At some point in her life she’d been free to share and laugh and be herself, but something had happened. Someone hurt her or threatened her and she’d decided that if you didn’t let people in, they couldn’t hurt you. She kept secrets and if I knew her whole story, I’d probably know exactly why she felt compelled to keep them locked away inside.
Twenty-three
The next morning I made the trip to Kara’s house on the outskirts of Mercy. Her home was less than a year old and sat on a beautiful, wooded piece of land. She wanted my final approval on the setup and decoration for the wedding reception. Though I told her everything would be perfect because she had great taste and style, she’d insisted I come. Once I was finished at Kara’s, the charity store visit was next on my to-do list.
My jaw dropped when I saw that she’d lined the path to the house with containers of pink wild roses. A vined archway studded with more roses framed the front door. If the outside looked like this, I couldn’t even imagine what she’d done with the inside of the house.
When she let me in, the glimmer in her eyes and the warmth in her smile turned on the waterworks. Tears spilled down my cheeks—but these were joyful tears. It felt so good to let the emotion flow out of me. I couldn’t believe how much trouble she’d gone to and how much beauty she’d created.
Because of her two cats—Pulitzer and Prize—certain things would have to wait until the last minute, Kara explained. Things like huge vases of pale pink peonies, the containers accented by satin ribbon that matched the favors we’d already picked up. She had those closed away in the pantry for now. The staircase, she told me, would have vines and roses wrapped on the railing. But I noticed she’d added lots of small tables everywhere—dark wood with crocheted lace doilies on top and covered by protective glass.
As she started toward the hall leading to the bedrooms and she beckoned me to follow, I asked, “Where did the tables come from? And those beautiful doilies?”
“The caterer had the tables and I bought the glass. Caterer Supply has this huge warehouse full of stuff. I could have spent all day there. Anyway, the crocheted pieces? My mother gave them to me. They were made by my grandmother.” Kara’s mother would be here in spirit—a woman who died too young and who John had always said would have been happy if he remarried.
“Have you hidden more stuff from the cats?” I asked.
“Oh yes. The stemware and flatware we rented. Got them separately and not from the caterer. It cost less.”
“So not only are you the perfect wedding planner, but you find the best deal. I can’t thank you enough for—”
“Jillian, stop thanking me. This has been the most fun I’ve ever had. If the newspaper folds, I have found my calling.”
“You know that won’t happen. Not in this town. Folks here do not like to read the newspaper on a computer screen.”
The guest room was decorated in shabby chic style. The furnishings included an iron bed, a chenille spread with lots of floral pillows and an antique dresser. That, too, came from Kara’s maternal grandmother and always made me feel like saying “I love this” every time I walked in.
Kara shut the door and pointed at several boxes on the floor in the corner.
I knelt and lifted a champagne flute out of one carefully packed box. “These are gorgeous, Kara. But I want to make sure I gave you enough money for all—”
“Oh, please. You gave me plenty.”
I smiled. “Just making sure. I’m glad the caterer will be taking care of all the food, because you’ll be busy helping me stay focused on the big day. But I have to ask. What would happen if we had to cancel at the last minute?”
“We aren’t canceling anything. Tom already called me and said you’d probably be worried. He said to tell you nothing will be postponed or delayed in any way.”
“He called you?” I said.
She nodded and sat next to me on the floor. “He knows you, Jillian. I was worried about it, too, what with Mike dying so suddenly and all. But Tom’s got this. You found an amazing guy who, it seems, can actually read your mind.”
“He is amazing. But I’m still worried he might have to chase a killer down the day of the wedding, and that will take priority—and it should. Have you heard anything this morning about the case? Or should I say the cases?”
Kara shook her head. “The deaths have to be connected, right? I mean, two murders in less than a week? What was Mike onto that got him killed?”
I explained about the locket found with Magpie, the one that had Rhett’s blood on it. Then I told her about the kitty’s other find—the picture Lindsey kept with her, that little wallet with a photo of an infant that looked an awful lot like the girl who was fourteen when she gave birth.
Kara shook her head sadly. “That must be a terrible secret for a kid to have to keep. I guess they won’t ask about the baby daddy unless it becomes important to solving the murder.”
“Gosh, I never even thought about that. But how could it be important five years later?”
“Depends on who it is,” she replied. “What if someone raped Lindsey? And even worse, what if that person was related to her?”
“You’re talking about Rhett?” I swallowed. It was hard to even consider that a father would do such a despicable thing to his daughter. “You think Lindsey was so angry with her father that she shot him?”
“I don’t know, but the fact that the locket was close to the bleeding victim at some point tells me something. And don’t think for a minute Tom and Candace aren’t thinking the same thing.”
My shoulders sagged. I didn’t want to believe that Lindsey could ever kill anyone. “Mike probably figured this out somehow. I mean, he was drugged and—”
“Drugged?”
“I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.” I explained about the Rohypnol.
“Mike was sedated and then shot? That sounds too premeditated for a girl not even out of her teens yet, no
matter how angry she was. But if Mike figured it out and was about to arrest her, I suppose that’s motive.”
I shook my head vigorously. “No. This is all too complicated. My gut says there are secrets we don’t know about. But Lindsey as some criminal mastermind? I’m not buying it for a second. Her mother is a different story.”
“You mean Rebecca Marner, Queen of Mercy Society?” She paused. “And it’s a very small kingdom when you think about it. Anyway, that could make sense, Jillian. She finds out what her ex did to her daughter and kills him, then gets worried Mike knew something that would embarrass her and her daughter, so—”
“That doesn’t make sense. Rebecca doesn’t seem to give a flip about Lindsey. The girl is staying with me at a terrible time in her life—and I’d never met her before this past week.”
“Okay, if we remove the whole baby angle, would anyone else in the family hate Rhett enough to murder him? Because it’s usually someone close.”
“I have no idea. Lindsey says very little about her family. Obviously the whole story hasn’t come out yet, so I’m counting on Tom and Candace. Just so you know, Rebecca was seeing Mike. There could be personal issues that we don’t know about.”
“What? Seeing him? As in, like . . . you know?”
“That’s what we think.” I told her about last night’s trip to the restaurant and what Tom had learned from the waitress.
Kara put her hands up by her head and made a gesture with her fingers like I’d just blown her mind.
“I know,” I said. “Mike and Rebecca Marner were apparently a couple. It’s crazy, but it was his pattern to get involved with difficult women.”
“This will make quite a story once all the facts are in. Special edition, here I come.” Then she switched gears. “You need to stop focusing on all this and remember you’re getting married in a few days. Have fun with it—because I sure am enjoying this week. Did you bring those favors we picked up?”
I nodded and we went out to my van to unload them. The gray skies worried me—there was rain in the forecast—but it was supposed to be clear and sunny on the big day. I hoped those weather people were right.
After we stacked the boxes in the guest room, I wanted a peek at Pulitzer and Prize. They were sleeping on Kara’s bed and looked so cute all curled up together. Pulitzer was an orange-and-white boy and Prize was a calico girl. They’d been with Kara since they were babies and I couldn’t resist petting them both before I left.
After I hugged Kara good-bye, my next stop was the Charity Thrift Store. I remembered Kara’s words and knew she was right—a joyful day loomed in the near future and changes would come. Wonderful changes. I turned the radio to an “oldies” station just in time to hear “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys. Funny how some songs just make your heart happy.
By the time I reached the thrift store, the rain started. I grabbed an umbrella from the backseat and noticed the wind had shifted and a wintry chill surrounded me on the walk from my van to the store. It was located in a nearly abandoned strip mall. The only other business was a Chinese restaurant.
I didn’t have a jacket with me and my cotton sweater and jeans weren’t adequate against the sudden change in temperature after a day that had begun with mild temperatures. I shook my umbrella out before I entered the store. My hands were cold and my feet were wet from the short run to get inside. The place smelled musty despite what I assumed was an air freshener with a tropical scent plugged in somewhere in the store.
At least my hair is still dry, I thought, as I closed up the umbrella. When I looked toward the glass display cabinet where the cash register sat, I was surprised to see Zoe Marner standing there. What in the heck is she doing here? Shouldn’t she be . . . anywhere but here?
Wait. You’re judging her, Jillian. That’s wrong. We all deal with grief in our own way. Just because I acted like a cloistered nun for way too long after John died didn’t mean everyone reacted the same way. Zoe probably needed to keep busy.
I approached her with a smile, and the wan expression she offered in return tugged at my heart. The joy I’d felt earlier on the drive here evaporated.
“Hi, Jillian.” A pile of girls’ clothes lay on the counter in front of her—probably recently donated—and she was folding them carefully, her fingers smoothing each wrinkle and crease as best she could. “I’m so glad you stopped by so I could thank you again for spending time with me.”
Owen Nesmith appeared from a hallway in the back of the store carrying a large cardboard box and yelling, “Where do you want this stuff, Mama?”
He was only about twenty feet away, so I wasn’t sure why he had to shout.
Her response was to just stare at him with a blank, dull look. But he seemed to understand whatever she meant. He dropped the box and nearly ran into Toby as he left. Toby also carried an overflowing box of clothing.
Toby looked at me and said, “Oh. You again,” plopped the box down and turned around to head back down the hallway to what had to be the back entrance. Candace and I had brought the bags from the donation box there the other day—the day that seemed like a hundred years ago.
“I’m sorry about their manners.” Her tone was flat, devoid of emotion. “They didn’t feel like heading back to school right away, so I asked them to help me out here.”
“Good of them. It must be so difficult.”
She walked around the counter and hugged me. Even though we’d shared tough emotional issues at her home, the hug she gave felt forced and wooden. I felt so sorry for her and it seemed those two boys of hers would be no source of comfort. But they were teenagers who probably thought they had to be strong and unaffected. I understood.
She pulled away and offered me a weak smile. “Is there anything I can help you with? I understand you’re getting married and we do have plenty of ‘something olds’ here.” She made the little joke with a mirthless and flat delivery.
I forced myself to return the smile and asked about the procedure for picking up or delivering furniture. I wondered how much they could handle in the store. There seemed to be room toward the back, since clothing—racks and racks of clothing—took up most of the area in the front. If not for this case, Tom probably would have given the furniture to Ed to dispose of, but delivering it here might offer him insights he wouldn’t ordinarily get. He’d be coming as a donator rather than a cop.
“We’ll accept anything and if we can get a volunteer to pick it up, we often do that. For some folks it’s difficult to deal with heavy items, and a few of the ladies who volunteer have husbands willing to help.”
“I’ll bet Rhett helped out here at the store—not to mention those boys of yours. They’ve got plenty of muscle.”
She nodded, pressing her thumb and finger on the bridge of her nose. “Yes,” was all she seemed able to manage.
I’d wandered into sensitive territory. “Tom and Ed can use Ed’s pickup and bring the furniture here themselves. You know Ed, right?”
That seemed to brighten her mood and she smiled. “Everyone knows Ed. Tell them to pull the truck around to the back entrance when they come. Stuff like couches and appliances usually won’t fit through the front door.”
The boys appeared again, this time carrying an old dresser. They set it down by the boxes.
“Mama? Where?” Toby sounded downright rude. Was this how they always treated their mother? Or was their attitude disguised tension spilling out over losing their stepfather?
“Sorry,” I said. “You obviously have work to do. Tom will bring the furniture next week sometime.”
I left, thinking, So much for finding out anything about Rebecca Marner’s male friends. I can’t ask Zoe. Not right now. She seems so out of it and who can blame her?
As I opened my damp umbrella under the eaves, I heard a familiar voice.
“Is that you, Jillian?”
I raised th
e umbrella and saw Rebecca striding through the parking lot toward me. Her son, Seth, was trying to keep up. He was getting soaked, while she wore a belted charcoal raincoat and carried a large red umbrella to protect her ever-perfect hair. It would have been large enough to keep Seth from getting wet, too, if she’d been willing to slow down.
She smiled when she reached me. “Did you come to volunteer?”
Now I felt embarrassed. “Maybe after the wedding,” I said quickly. I glanced at Seth as he arrived next to his mother seconds later. I smiled at him. He had a cherub look—pale skin, round cheeks bright from the cold, large brown eyes, the lashes bearing tiny drops of rain.
“Oh, that’s right, the wedding.” Her features seemed tight, as if she were holding back emotion that might seep through every pore if she didn’t stop it. Perhaps she was missing her daughter or her ex-husband after all. Or maybe her reaction had to do with Mike. I still couldn’t picture those two together.
Seth said, “Is Lindsey okay?”
Finally someone who can say straight-out what’s on his mind. When I answered, I looked first at Seth with compassion and then straight into Rebecca’s eyes. “She is holding up.”
Seth’s chin quivered. “Tell her I miss her.”
Rebecca glanced at her son and then back at me. “Do you have time for coffee? Maybe we should discuss exactly what my daughter has told you.”
“I have time,” I said. “Let’s go.” But I wouldn’t be sharing any confidences with Rebecca Marner. Not if I could help it.
“We’ll meet you at Belle’s place in five minutes. I’ll text Zoe and tell her Seth and I will be late to take over for her.” She turned and tugged at Seth’s elbow. She held on, this time shielding him from the hard, cold rain as they walked back to her SUV.
Five minutes later, I parked in front of Belle’s and discovered that the weather front that had so unexpectedly swept into town also swept a lot of folks inside for some coffee.
Rebecca arrived right behind me and pointed with her umbrella toward the back of the café. “Seth, grab that table before someone else does. I’ll bring you something to drink.”
The Cat, the Sneak and the Secret Page 17
