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

by Leann Sweeney

  Six

  Tom took off immediately in his work van without a word to Bob, the obviously unwelcome brother who showed no inclination to follow Tom’s earlier instructions to leave the premises.

  As I helped Finn to his feet, I looked over at Bob and said, “If a woman named Hilary calls or comes by, I don’t think Tom would appreciate you telling her anything.”

  Bob smiled. He always seemed to be smiling and it was getting on my last nerve.

  He said, “I know Hilary. I won’t say anything about her kid being here.”

  Finn peered at Bob. “Who are you?”

  “You and I met once or twice a long time ago, Finn,” he said. “I won’t hold it against you that you don’t remember me. Go with the nice lady and get yourself fixed up.”

  Bob knows Finn and Hilary. Makes sense, since Tom was married to Hilary. How much more of Tom’s past will spill out before the end of this very long day? Seems like years since I came back to town earlier today.

  Making sense of Tom’s relationships with his family could wait. Right now, I had to help Finn. I took Yoshi by the leash and cupped the kid’s elbow with my other hand.

  Bob held up the backpack. “Don’t forget this,” he said. “I saw a few treats for the dog in there.”

  I grabbed it on our way out and slipped it over one shoulder. Even with the gun gone, the pack was still heavy. Seemed as if Finn brought along everything important to him when he made the journey here.

  The night was unpleasantly cold, the first bite of winter snapping at us as I urged Finn into the backseat where he could lie down. I always have at least one quilt in my car and I covered him up. Yoshi whimpered as he settled alongside his best friend. I started the engine and turned on the heat.

  Since taking Finn inside an emergency room with a dog in tow would be frowned upon, to say the least, I pulled out my phone and called Shawn Cuddahee for help. He and his wife, Allison, owned the Mercy Animal Sanctuary and had become my good friends. I was hoping Shawn could separate Yoshi and Finn with as little emotional trauma as possible.

  Allison answered.

  “What can I do for you, Jillian?” she asked.

  I explained I needed a spot for a dog, hopefully just for overnight, because I had to take a young man to get medical treatment.

  She said, “Oh no. I am so sorry. I’m not at the sanctuary. I’m getting help for a pregnant bulldog. They always have difficult labors and she’ll need a C-section. I’m at the vet clinic. Are you on the road already?”

  “I will be in about thirty seconds. I guess I’ll have to leave the dog in my van when I take the kid in to see a doctor. It’s not terribly cold out and—”

  “You heading to the hospital?” she asked.

  “Too far. I think there’s a new emergency clinic about twenty miles north,” I said.

  “You’re right. Just opened in a strip center near the interstate. Since you have no idea how long you’ll be, I’ll meet you in the parking lot and pick up the dog. Doc Jensen has the situation under control here.”

  I put the phone on speaker and started to back up. “You already have an emergency of your own. I can call Kara if I get in a bind.”

  “This happens all the time with bulldogs, so it’s not an emergency. I will meet you,” Allison said firmly. “See you soon, sweetie.” She disconnected.

  On the drive out of town, I glanced in the rearview mirror every so often. Finn’s eyes were closed and Yoshi’s head rested on his arm. When I finally pulled into the small shopping center, I was surprised to find the lot nearly deserted. But a neon sign flashed 24 Hour Emergency Care in the storefront at the far end. I saw Allison’s truck pull in right next to me when I parked. What timing.

  Even with the heat on, the van was chilly. Good thing I had a quilt to cover Finn. All he wore for a jacket was his black hoodie. I wondered then if it was stained with blood, too. Impossible to tell.

  I unlocked the van and Allison climbed into the front seat. With her eyes trained on Yoshi and Finn, she said, “You want me to take the dog to the sanctuary?”

  “If you can,” I said.

  She was staring at Yoshi with a kind but take-charge expression. I’d seen her work miracles with animals using that look.

  “Who’s this?” she asked, never taking her eyes off the dog.

  “Yoshi,” I said.

  “Yoshi’s a rat terrier, I see,” Allison said. “This might be a challenge. Very possessive dogs.” She still smiled, still stared and kept her tone even.

  “I need to get this kid inside.” I tried to keep the urgency I felt out of my voice, but wasn’t sure I succeeded.

  “Hey, Yoshi,” Allison said. She reached her hand between the front seats. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Have a sniff, friend.”

  Yoshi’s neck stretched and he smelled her hand. His ears flattened and he started to blink. He suddenly looked incredibly sad.

  “I’m here to help you and Finn, baby,” she said. Then she thumped the side of her chest with her right hand. “Yoshi, come.”

  Tail wagging, he wiggled between the seats and into Allison’s arms. “Jillian’s gonna take care of your friend and you’re gonna stay with me, baby.”

  Yoshi started licking her face. The Dog Whisperer’s got nothing on you, Allison, I thought as I pushed the button to slide open the van’s side door.

  “I think it might be better if we waited here,” Allison said cheerfully, her arms wrapped around Yoshi.

  I left the van running and roused Finn who, thank goodness, was just asleep and not unconscious.

  With my arm around his waist, I helped him through the emergency center door—an emergency room next door to a Subway. Never thought I’d see something like this.

  Inside, a mother sat holding a flushed baby, but they were the only patients in the waiting area. The place had been open only a few weeks, as far as I knew. I was so glad we’d lucked out and wouldn’t have to wait too long.

  When the young woman at the front desk saw me come in supporting Finn, she looked at him with concern and immediately told us to come through the double doors to my left.

  A man in blue scrubs seemed to arrive out of nowhere once we passed through and he said, “I’ve got him.” He took my place supporting a wobbly Finn. “You can check him in, ma’am. Head injury, perhaps?”

  I nodded.

  He said, “I’ll begin his neurological assessment but we’ll need his medical history, so talk to the receptionist and—”

  “I don’t know his medical history. He’s visiting me,” I said.

  The man—Dr. Stanley, I read on the picture ID hanging around his neck—looked at Finn. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Finn,” he said.

  “You got a last name?” the doctor asked.

  “Hart,” I said, before he could answer. I could at least make this a little easier for Finn and Tom by keeping questions to a minimum.

  Stanley turned his attention back to me. “Tell Regina at the front desk everything you know—including where we can reach a relative.” He was already assisting Finn into a curtained cubicle. A woman in pink scrubs came hurrying from another cubicle to help him.

  “I am a relative,” I said. But to my own ears, the claim sounded hollow. Would anyone believe me?

  Soon I was telling the light-skinned black woman who’d ushered me through those doors what little I knew. She had hazel eyes and a warm smile, but of course her main concern was who would be financially responsible.

  That’s when I knew with certainty that to get this kid the care he needed, I would have to tell a few more lies. My stomach clenched at the thought and I remembered something my grandmother used to say: “A lie may take care of the present, but it has no future.” Such would be the case today. But still, I needed to aid a boy who’d trekked all the way from North Carolina to find Tom. I am an honest person, but honesty needed to be put aside, at least for now.

  “His name is Finnian Hart,” I began. “We don’t have in
surance. Can I pay with a credit card?”

  Thirty minutes later, paperwork complete, I walked out to the van. I opened the driver’s-side door and saw Yoshi curled in Allison’s lap. He sat up, ears pricked, when he saw me.

  “How’s Finn? What did they find out?” Allison said.

  “I don’t know yet. They said the examination would take a while. I said I was his aunt and his parents were out of the country and unreachable. Can they sue me for telling fibs?”

  “You told me on the phone he’s a runaway, right?”

  I nodded.

  “In that case, you did what you had to do, Jillian. It’s like when we take in lost animals at the shelter. Someone has to care for the strays in the moment of need. We worry about the emergency situation first and the people part later.”

  I smiled, liking her analogy. “Exactly.”

  “He looked like he’s what? Seventeen? Eighteen?”

  “Tom said he’s eighteen. He looks younger to me, but he’s legal age and probably could have signed off on all those papers himself if he had his wits about him. But he doesn’t.”

  Allison stroked Yoshi’s head. “We’re fine here, so go on back inside and wait. Yoshi and I have already shared a granola bar. Never go anywhere without a granola bar, I say.”

  I noticed Allison had the quilt wrapped around her shoulders.

  “You warm enough?” I said. “I have another quilt if you need one.”

  “We’re fine,” she said. “You go on, now.”

  Turned out, I waited only an hour before they called me to the back. Dr. Stanley was with Finn in his cubicle. Somewhere, in another curtained-off space, a child wailed.

  Stanley held a clipboard and quickly told me Finn had a minor concussion, nothing that needed hospitalization unless he vomited, had seizures or his headache became severe. The treatment was simple—let him rest and allow him to have Tylenol or Advil starting tomorrow morning. He should follow up with a neurologist and the clerk Regina would give me a list of a few in the area.

  Then the doctor looked straight at me for the first time. “As for his memory loss, it’s to be expected. But where did the blood come from? The cut on his forehead is small and he has no other injuries.”

  “I have no idea about the blood on his hands and shirt. But he does remember hitchhiking. Maybe he got in a fight with someone.” I glanced at Finn, wondering if a fight explained the bump on his head.

  Stanley said, “All he could tell me is he came to visit this person, Tom. Tom is… ?”

  “His uncle,” I said quickly.

  “Yes, you’re the aunt. I forgot.” Stanley cocked an eyebrow. “Anyway, blood from something or someone seeped through his sweatshirt and onto the shirt underneath.”

  “I wish I had answers,” I said. “The only thing I know for sure is he has this memory gap.”

  The doctor gripped Finn’s shoulder and smiled. “Aside from the concussion, he’s a healthy young man. Not remembering is, as I said, very typical after a concussion.”

  “But he’ll remember in time?” I asked.

  Stanley shook his head. “The information is probably gone forever, so you might have to help him solve this mystery. I’m guessing you’re probably right about a fight, though he’s so subdued right now, it’s hard to picture him getting aggressive. At any rate, he’s all yours.” Dr. Stanley turned abruptly and left us, mumbling, “I’m coming, little girl. I’m coming,” in response to the supersonic screams the child somewhere beyond had now resorted to. I hoped she would be okay.

  Finn whispered, “Tom said Hart is your last name, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Thanks for doing this,” he said. “But, you know, when the lady was helping me take off my clothes, I couldn’t find my phone. Do you have it?”

  “No, but maybe you dropped it in my van. Come on. I hate you having to put dirty clothes back on, but you can’t leave here in a hospital gown, even though it’s oh so attractive.”

  With that remark, I’d managed to nudge his first real smile—and it was a nice one.

  “Are we heading back to Tom’s?” Finn said. Though he still slurred his words a tad, he was considerably more alert. The nap in the car probably helped. How long had he been on the road without sleep?

  “Since Tom’s been called away,” I said, “let’s stop at my house. We can phone him from there.” All I could think about was Bob, still camped out at Tom’s house. We’d be better off at my place. “You hungry?”

  His sleepy eyes brightened and now he offered a genuine grin. “Hungry? You bet.”

  Once we returned to the van, Allison turned Yoshi over to Finn and put one of her business cards in his hand. “If you ever want to help out at an animal shelter in sore need of volunteers, call me.”

  Finn smiled and put the card in his backpack. “I love animals.”

  “I can see that,” she said. Then she hugged me good-bye and took off, but not before showing me a picture of the four puppies that Doc Jensen had sent to her phone. They were tiny little things and Finn couldn’t take his eyes off them.

  After a hunt for the missing phone we never found, Finn fell asleep again on the trip to my house, his terrier by his side. As we pulled into the driveway, I had the feeling that a caffeine-overloaded energy drink might give me the boost I would need when my fur friends met Yoshi. How would I convince three cats a dog visitor would be just what they needed? What was to come might be the biggest challenge of the day.

  I couldn’t be sure Finn had the strength to keep up with the dog, so I took the leash as we got out of the car. Once we reached the back door, I disabled the security system.

  Taking a deep breath first, I led the way inside. Or should I say I led briefly before Yoshi raced into the house, his leash nearly slipping from my hand.

  We were greeted by a trio of loud hisses.

  Seven

  I wrapped the leash around one hand, shortening it considerably, and flipped the utility room light on with my free hand.

  Syrah and Merlot, their fur standing on end and their backs arched, guarded the entrance to the kitchen. Chablis was nowhere in sight. Wispy cat hairs drifted around us—a result of all three cats’ agitation at this invasion by, of all things, a dog.

  Finn stood so close behind me his head was next to my ear. He said, “What cool cats.”

  “They’re not always this, um, fluffy,” I said. “Can you handle Yoshi? Because I get the feeling that though your dog is small, he could pull me to the floor.”

  “Yoshi, down,” Finn said loud enough that I nearly jumped.

  The dog obeyed instantly, but he didn’t take his eyes off my cats. And they didn’t take their eyes off Yoshi.

  “Do you think he’ll stay put for a few minutes? Or maybe we could attach his leash to—”

  “He’ll stay until I release him. We did obedience class and he took the prize for best student.” I turned and saw Finn smile again, with pride this time.

  “I have to say, though there may be an obedience class for cats, mine have never attended. They do what they want to, when they want to. Pretty typical behavior, I’m afraid.” I unwound the leash and handed it to Finn.

  “You apologizing for your cats being cats?” Finn said with a laugh.

  I grinned. “Shouldn’t do that. You’re right.”

  “The big one is almost Yoshi’s size,” Finn said. “What’s its name?”

  “He’s Merlot and the other one is Syrah. Syrah is my protector, just like Yoshi is yours.”

  “Funny names,” Finn said. “French or something?”

  “I’ll explain later. Right now, I have three cats to tame,” I said.

  Syrah would be the biggest challenge. I could tell from his laid-back ears and the wide-mouthed hisses that just kept coming, he was very unhappy with what the humans had dragged in.

  “Maybe it’s the concussion, but I only see two cats,” Finn said.

  “The other one is hiding. She does that. If you’re sure Yoshi
will stay, we can go into the kitchen.”

  “He’ll stay. He likes cats, by the way. We have a few in the apartment complex and he…” Finn’s voice trailed off as if sadness had taken hold. Leaving home is never easy, even if home is a miserable place.

  “Come on,” I said. “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten in ages.”

  “You got that right.” After Finn ordered Yoshi to stay one more time, using a hand signal with the command, he took a spot at the breakfast bar.

  I filled a bowl with water and set it near the dog. He hadn’t been offered a drop since we’d first met. Finn said, “Take it,” and Yoshi lapped water like he’d been left in the desert. As soon as he was finished, Finn repeated his command to stay.

  I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and gave Finn a bag of potato chips and a glass of milk. After he downed the milk in several long swigs, I set the remaining half gallon next to him. While I knelt and petted my two boy cats, I heard about Finn’s hitchhiking trip to find Tom. He did not, however, mention his mother or his stepfather. I wasn’t about to tell him that the man he might have once called Dad was dead. His journey to this point had been difficult enough.

  When he was done telling me about the truckers who had given him rides, as well as one teenage girl who he said was “cute” but talked too much, Finn said, “Can you call Tom now?”

  I’d been thinking the same thing, but then I remembered I couldn’t. Tom’s phone had been found with Nolan. I said, “He’ll call us when he’s free. He had some business that couldn’t wait.”

  “Okay. Cool,” Finn said. But I read disappointment in his eyes.

  Meanwhile, neither of my fur kids had moved. Syrah and Merlot would not be dissuaded from their vigil at the utility room door, not by offers of catnip or cat food or treats. They’d settled into what I called the “meatloaf position”—hunched up like I’d just patted them into a football-size oven-ready meal. They kept their intense stares on Yoshi, resting patiently like cats tend to do while watching prey—and waiting for their chance. I decided to leave the animals to sort this out. My interference might make them more nervous than they already were.