The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon: A Cats in Trouble Mystery

by Leann Sweeney

  I took a deep breath and released the air slowly. “Might help me get this all straight in my head if I begin by telling you about my trip. I feel as if I have a jumble of computer wires for brains right now and I need to unwind them. Put everything in a straight line.”

  “What you need first is coffee.” Candace turned to Morris. “Get this woman some coffee, would you?”

  “Why, of course, boss girl. I’m thinkin’ I don’t want to hear this anyways.” Morris looked at me. “Your usual, Jillian?”

  I nodded and started fumbling in my pocket for the twenty I always keep in my jeans. “Guess I could use a latte.”

  But he waived off the cash and made his way to the counter. He sure must be anxious to get away from me, considering he’d offered to pay. Morris never paid.

  “Go on. Tell me.” Candace swiped at a wayward blond hair on her forehead. She rested her elbows on the table and supported her chin with both fists. She may be twenty years younger than me, but she is an old soul. Guess being a cop made her more mature than the average young adult.

  I quickly explained about Tom’s unreturned phone calls, his rush out of town, the sick cat and my concern about finding Bob Cochran in Tom’s house.

  When I was finished explaining, Candace said, “Did you call Tom’s mother and ask about this man who claims to be her son? Or ask if she knows where Tom is, for that matter?”

  “I wasn’t sure if that was wise,” I said. “Karen is well—unpredictable is the word that comes to mind.”

  “Nutcase, you mean,” Morris said, setting a steaming vanilla latte in front of me.

  “She’s no such thing, Morris Ebeling,” Candace said. “Free spirit, a little odd, but not crazy.”

  “Nutcase.” Morris reclaimed his seat. “Please tell me we don’t have to pay her a visit ’cause she’s gone and painted her house a funny shade of orange or set some life-size sculpture in her front yard that leaves nothin’ to the imagination.”

  “Nope. I think we’ll be making a call at Tom Stewart’s place.” Candace adjusted the two-way radio clipped to her forest green uniform shoulder. She then attached her cell phone to her belt. “Come on, Morris. Wrap the rest of your red velvet cake in a napkin and let’s move.”

  He didn’t budge. “This is our break, Candy. We get thirty minutes.”

  She placed both palms on the table in front of him and leaned close. “Tom Stewart might need our help. He’s more important than your cake break.” She pushed my latte closer. “Finish this and go on home. Chill out if you can. I’ll call you.”

  Morris grumbled as he wrapped his cake in a napkin. Then they left.

  But the relief I thought would come from having put this situation in Candace’s competent hands didn’t sweep over me, or even calm my stomach the tiniest bit. Still, I resolved to take her advice. I picked up my coffee, grabbed a to-go lid on the way out and headed for home.

  I felt my shoulders sag with disappointment when I found myself at my back door and remembered I’d failed to set my security alarm. Too rushed when I’d left earlier today, I guessed. Thanks to Tom, I now had a remote on my key chain for just that purpose, seeing as how I always seem to forget to arm the thing if I am in the least bit of a hurry.

  I unlocked the door—at least I’d locked up—but no cats sat waiting in the utility room. They were always there to greet me, but not this time. Hiding from another possible road trip, perhaps?

  I tossed the empty coffee cup into the trash can under the utility sink and stepped into the kitchen, surprised the well-caffeinated latte hadn’t made me feel more agitated than I already was. Syrah slinked up from the basement through the open door—a door always left open since my cats get irritated and whine when it’s shut. Maybe that’s where they’d been when I checked earlier. An occasional mouse did sneak into the basement.

  But when Syrah sat in the doorway and meowed rather than come to me, I felt a new tingle of adrenaline beneath my skin. My cat was telling me something—but what, I wasn’t sure.

  Since Syrah’s hair wasn’t standing on end and his ears weren’t laid back, he obviously didn’t feel threatened. A good sign.

  Then I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and my heart skipped a beat. But when the voice I heard finally answered my most pressing question, I felt the wave of relief I’d been needing.

  “Don’t worry, Jillian. It’s just me,” Tom called.

  I was so happy to hear his voice I thought my legs would give out.

  Chablis raced through the basement door ahead of Tom and into the kitchen, followed immediately by Merlot. The man I’d been so concerned about appeared a second later.

  Before I could rush over and throw my arms around him, I froze at the sight of his face. What the heck happened to him? His left cheek was bruised and swollen, he had a cut over his eyebrow and his blue eyes were bloodshot.

  “I showered downstairs,” he said. “Didn’t want to mess up your guest bathroom—because I sure would have. You can close your mouth now, by the way.”

  I walked over and gently touched his bruised face with the tips of my fingers. “My gosh, what happened?”

  “Kind of a long story,” he said. “I could sure use a beer while I tell you.”

  “Certainly,” I answered, unable to take my eyes off him. His dark hair was wet and he hadn’t bothered to button his ripped, blood-streaked shirt. “I might even have a beer myself.”

  He grinned. “I don’t believe I have ever seen you drink a beer. Do I look that awful, or is something else going on?”

  Avoiding the question, I said, “Have you been to your house lately, by any chance?” I turned my back and headed for the fridge, deciding what I had to tell him should wait. All three cats followed me, hoping for something besides a beer. Cheese? Turkey luncheon meat?

  “Haven’t been home yet,” he said. “My ride only took me this far.”

  “Your ride?” I said. Since his car was missing and Martha saw him leaving town in the Prius, this didn’t fit. But his car hadn’t been in my driveway, either. So I was confused as I opened the fridge door.

  I felt Tom’s hand on my shoulder. He leaned close and whispered, “I’ll explain everything. But you didn’t set your security system. You know how that bothers me, Jilly.”

  I grabbed a Miller Lite from the fridge door, and held out the can. Looking up to meet his gaze, I felt tears begin to flow. “I was frantic. You didn’t call me and I was sure something was wrong and I—”

  He pressed his index finger to my lips. “I’ll tell you everything, but if you don’t mind, there’s something I need first.” He took me in his arms, the icy can of beer the only thing separating us.

  His kiss was exactly what we both needed.

  Four

  Tom’s kiss reassured me that whatever happened to him had nothing to do with the two of us. After I found one of my late husband’s old Texas A&M T-shirts for Tom to replace his torn and bloody shirt, we settled on the couch. He let out a sigh before slugging down probably half his beer. I’d already finished off a much-needed glass of sweet tea while he’d changed shirts. Once we sat down, cats immediately arrived and planted themselves in their usual spots. Syrah sat on the sofa top behind Tom and me, Chablis climbed into my lap and Merlot settled next to my hip.

  “I don’t know what to ask first,” I said. “Start with the cuts and bruises, maybe. Or your car. I didn’t see the Prius in the driveway. Where is your car?”

  “If I start with the car, it would almost be like telling you the punch line of a joke first. But let me assure you, this was no joke,” he said. “Somebody will be damn sorry once I get home and use every tool in my technology box to get answers to what the heck is going on with those crazy jerks.”

  “Crazy jerks?” I said. “What crazy jerks?”

  “People I used to know. People I thought I’d never see again.” His jaw muscles tightened and those blue eyes darkened.

  People from his past. The past he’d refused to talk about sin
ce I’d known him. I said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this angry.”

  “Oh, I am more than angry. But anger is wasted energy. Maybe talking about this with you will straighten everything out in my head and help me get rid of the anger.” He chugged the rest of his beer and set the empty can on the coffee table. He reached over Merlot and took my hand. His fierce grip was cold and wet from the beer and I shivered a little. He went on. “I’ve been pretty good in the past at keeping stuff locked away in a corner of my mind, but there’s a couple of things I should have shared. Problems. It’s time, I guess.”

  “Go for it.” I turned a little more on the sofa, tucking a leg underneath me. Merlot squeaked his displeasure but moved to accommodate me. He knew I was stressed and wanted to be as close as possible. Sort of like Tom, I thought.

  He smiled briefly. Then his eyes seemed to focus beyond me, as if he were remembering. A few seconds passed before he spoke. “I was married once to a woman named Hilary. You’d think a cop would know a liar right off the bat, but I was stupid in love.”

  A small voice in the back of my head was asking, A wife? This is big. Bigger than I imagined. “How many years ago?” I said softly.

  “The marriage or the divorce?” He didn’t meet my gaze.

  “Either, both. It doesn’t matter.” I squeezed his hand. “If you start talking and keep going, the telling might get easier.”

  He met my gaze. “You are nothing like her and that is so good.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. I met her while I was still on the force in North Carolina. I’d moved around a lot. Been on several different police forces. See, I followed my mother. Felt like I had to protect her from herself. She’d marry every man she’d meet, get tired of the husband of the month and move on after the divorce. Did that five times. The last man was actually decent, though. Helped her get sober, gave her a good life and then he up and died. The only time she didn’t run off, and the guy dies.” Tom shook his head.

  “All this happened in North Carolina, then?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But,” I said, “she’s been with Ed now for a while. They seem to care a lot for each other.” Ed owned Ed’s Swap Shop and was one of the most generous, kindest men I’d ever met. Strange guy, yes, but he had a big heart and was no more strange than Karen.

  “I guess I’m not including Ed since he’s part of the here and now,” Tom said. “He’s the reason I ended up in Mercy. Following Mom again. She met Ed when he came to an antique auction in North Carolina, and they had an instant connection. She moved here, bought a house and when I decided I was done with police work, done with Hilary, I came here, too.”

  “I have to say, you are a good son, looking out for your mom for so many years,” I said.

  “My mom didn’t always make good choices, but she and I were always close,” he said. “She’s settled in for the long haul with Ed and I am so glad she found another decent man. Guess I’m talking about her past because I don’t want to talk about Hilary. I better share what happened in the past few days, though. Maybe then I’ll have the wits to solve a few pressing problems.”

  “Start with when you met Hilary or I might get confused. You said this was in North Carolina?” I prompted.

  “Yes. In court. I was testifying on a case,” he said with disgust. “That should have been a red flag. She was a witness against her former boss. His business was more than a little illegal since money was being laundered every other hour. I told myself she’d been a pawn, had no idea what her boss was doing until he started asking her to shred anything shredable. Thinking she was innocent was my first mistake. She had these eyes, this way about her. I was toast the minute I saw her.”

  “How long before you two married?” I asked. Something in my voice must have bothered Syrah because he reached a paw out and rested it on my shoulder. Syrah was right. Hearing about Tom’s marriage bothered me. No, the fact that he hadn’t told me before today is what bothered me.

  “Three months after we met, we tied the knot. Three short months. Same pattern my mother followed. But the love affair wasn’t simply with her. She had a twelve-year-old kid. I cared about Finn—short for Finnian—and missed another red flag. If his mother was as fantastic as I thought she was, why was Finn the most melancholy kid on the planet?”

  Not only an ex-wife, but a boy he loved. Wow. “Bet you made Finn less sad. You do that for me all the time.”

  For the first time since we sat on the sofa, I felt Tom relax. He even smiled. Chablis wasn’t fooled by the smile because she crawled off my lap, over a disgruntled Merlot and onto Tom’s. She sensed he needed comfort. He stroked her champagne-colored fur with his free hand. “Finn and I bonded. Did all the father-son stuff. Baseball, Nintendo, hiking, camping. Looking back, meeting Finn was the best thing that came out of marrying Hilary.”

  Though he needed to know about the other problems, like the half brother who had taken up residence at his place and his sick cat, my news could wait. Tom had lots more to say about the past. “How long were you and Hilary married?” I asked.

  “A year,” he said. “Her true colors came out—and hers were mostly black. What did Shakespeare say? Something about smiling and smiling and being a villain? That’s Hilary.”

  “Those irreconcilable differences caused the divorce?” I asked, worried I was wandering too far into painful territory.

  “That and the fact she cheated on me with my partner, Nolan Roth.” He closed his eyes, jaw tight. “I almost stayed for Finn’s sake, because I understood why he was so miserable. She felt nothing for him. But I knew the marriage couldn’t work. When we divorced, leaving him with her was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I feel guilty about it to this day. But I had no choice. I hadn’t adopted him—though I should have—and had no parental rights. Now he’s disappeared and Hilary and Nolan think I encouraged him to run away.” Tom stared down at the purring Chablis. “I didn’t, but I wish I had. Wish I’d found a way to take him away long ago.”

  “He ran away? How old is he?” I said.

  “Just turned eighteen,” he said.

  “And why would those two think you had anything to do with his disappearance?” I asked.

  “Because even though I had no legal standing as far as Finn was concerned and was warned to keep my distance—because Hilary said I was a ‘negative influence’—I’ve kept in touch with him. I thought Hilary didn’t know. Obviously she did. Her jerk of a husband took me by surprise the other day. Came busting into my house.”

  “Like broke in?” I said. “How frightening.”

  “Yup. He had a gun,” Tom said. “Searched my house, looking for Finn. Said he logged on to Finn’s computer and saw all the e-mails between us—e-mails going back a long time. Stupid to use e-mail, but Finn told me those two completely ignored him, couldn’t have cared less about what he was doing in his spare time.”

  “You hadn’t heard from Finn, though?” I said.

  “No. What Nolan told me was the scary part—how Finn went missing in the middle of the night. I asked a lot of questions and got no answers except for a pistol whipping. Long story short, we drove in my car all the way to North Carolina to where he and Hilary and Finn lived.” Tom parted his dark hair near his temple and I saw a large gash.

  I winced. “Looks like you could have used stitches.”

  “Too late for doctoring now, but you can guess I was pretty messed up. He tied a rope from my knee to the steering wheel and cuffed my right hand to the other side of the wheel. We drove for hours like that.”

  “What about his car?” I was thinking about the white Ford I saw at Tom’s place, but I had assumed it belonged to Bob. “And why did Nolan need to take you all the way to North Carolina?”

  “Okay, going where Nolan and Hilary lived was my idea. A stupid one, looking back. See, I was afraid Nolan was aware how close Finn and my mother were and that he’d end up at her house. Maybe he’d terrorize her trying to get information. I had to protect my
mother from him.”

  “There’s nothing stupid about protecting Karen,” I said. “How did you convince him to leave Mercy with you?”

  “I told him how I was in the security business and could hack into Finn’s computer and discover information from instant messages or any social networking sites Finn frequented, maybe find him through his Internet friends. I called my neighbor to take care of Dashiell and phoned Kara and asked her to handle the business.”

  “Why did you drive, though?” I said.

  “I told him in this small town people would know I’d disappeared if my car and my van were in the driveway and I was out of touch,” he said. “So we ditched Nolan’s car near the creek and came back to my house. I was dumb enough to think we’d take my van with all my tools. I told Nolan I needed them. But remember, he was a cop once. He knew I probably had at least one gun in the van, not to mention communication equipment. He wasn’t about to offer me any opportunity to get the jump on him. Plus, Nolan figured we wouldn’t have to stop if we took the Prius. For the first time ever, I was pissed off about having a full tank of gas.”

  “Did you find anything on Finn’s computer once you got to their place?” I asked.

  “I pretended to go through the motions, checked out files and chat rooms and Web sites and told him there was nothing. About then the lightbulb finally came on for Nolan. He figured out I was stalling. So the beatings started—and they weren’t because he thought I could tell him anything. He hated me for sending him to jail.” Tom gave a mirthless laugh. “He enjoyed the heck out of kicking my ass, too.”

  “You sent him to jail?” I said, feeling my eyes widen in surprise.

  He nodded. “Oh yeah. Nolan Roth was a dirty cop and I turned him in. He was sure it was because he was sleeping with Hilary. It wasn’t. I’d already made plans to leave her. Nope, I ratted him out because there’s no place on any police force for common criminals.”