“You’re probably right,” I said. “Since Hilary was once close to Tom, I’ve been giving her the benefit of the doubt. Guess I don’t want to seem jealous—not that I am.”
Kara laughed. “You don’t have a jealous bone in your body. You know who’s nice? You. Way too nice, if you ask me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You don’t know how to say no,” she said. “You put everyone ahead of yourself. I’m afraid you’ll burn out one day.”
“No, working in the textile arts business burned me out and is why I left to come here,” I said. “I can only be true to myself—and for the most part, that means thinking the best of people before they show me differently.”
“I guess I wouldn’t want you to change. You’re pretty special.” She knelt and picked up a creamy tile, one shinier than the others. “I like this one, but I’m afraid it would show every streak and smudge.”
“I think you’re right,” I said. “Sorry I missed seeing you last night, by the way. Were all the neighbors hanging around in the street when you got to Tom’s house—now known as the crime scene?”
“Of course. Strange how people seemed to lose interest when they found out Rory Gannon was a stranger, not a Mercy citizen. I overheard one man being interviewed by an officer, though. He said he’d seen a guy fitting Gannon’s description hanging around Tom’s house.”
“When did he see him?” I asked.
Kara pressed her thumb on the tile she held and then tilted it back and forth in the dull light coming through the windows. “Ah,” she said. “This one even picks up fingerprints. I can narrow the choice by one, anyway.” She set the tile on the floor facedown.
“When, Kara?” I said.
“Sorry. When what?”
I repeated the question.
“Day before yesterday,” she said. “I talked to the neighbor after the officer was done with him, hoping to get an angle for the paper. The neighbor said he asked the stranger if he was looking for Tom and the guy mumbled something about how his boy, Finn, needed to hear something important, that he had to find him. Then the neighbor said he took off.”
“Gannon was all over town and he obviously knew all the places Finn might be,” I said.
“Even here.” Kara shuddered. “I, for one, am glad he won’t be coming back.”
My phone rang and while Kara squatted in front of her tiles, her fist supporting her chin, I took a call from Karen.
“Jillian, I need your help. I can’t do it. I know I should be able to, but I simply cannot.”
“Slow down, Karen,” I said. “What are you talking about?”
“This blood sugar thing,” she said. “I’ve tried several times, even had Ed hold the cat for me and still no luck. Dashiell’s poor ears don’t seem to have a drop of blood left. Ed had to go to the shop for a delivery from a yard sale in Woodcrest. He said I’d figure it out, but he’s wrong. I can’t.”
Tom was probably home, just a few steps down the street, but he’d been up all night. I decided I could handle this problem while he got some rest. “Why don’t I swing by and help you?”
“Would you? Oh, how very sweet.”
I told her to expect me in about twenty minutes, since Kara’s place was pretty far out of town.
I drove by Tom’s house on the way to see Karen. A large wad of crime scene tape stuffed in the garbage can at the end of his driveway brought back last night’s events all too vividly. I could picture Gannon’s leg sticking out from under the holly and blinked away the image.
Though I expected to find Karen alone with Dashiell, I was at first surprised when Bob answered the door holding a coffee mug. Then I remembered Morris brought him here last night.
After I said hello as politely as I could, I said, “You’ve seen Dashiell get tested. You didn’t think you could help your mother?”
“Cats and I do not get along,” he said.
I couldn’t hide my dislike for him anymore. “Ah. Maybe that explains why an indoor cat like Dashiell ended up outside not once, but twice while in your care.”
“A little fire from the cat lover. I like it.” Bob gestured toward the kitchen. “They’re in there.”
I followed the smell of freshly made coffee and found poor Dashiell backed in a corner with Karen crouched in front of him, her hand extended. She turned to look at me and I saw misery in her eyes.
“I’m no good at this, Jillian. Thank you for coming.”
I said, “Has he had his insulin?”
She stood. “I did manage the shot. Those are easy.”
I didn’t tell her she probably should have tested his sugar level before giving him his insulin, because I didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was. Seeing how unhappy she was, I guessed the cat wasn’t her biggest problem. She was worried about Finn, first and foremost.
“A friend called me and said Finn ran away again,” Karen said. The muscles near her left eye began to twitch. “I’m sure Tom didn’t say anything because he thinks I’ll have another meltdown. But I am determined to stay strong, even though it’s difficult after two murders. You don’t think he’s been harmed, do you?”
“Like you, I’m worried. But from what we know, he left on his own. Maybe he just needs time to think about everything,” I said, hoping this was true.
“I trust you, Jillian. You’d tell me if you heard from him, wouldn’t you?” she said.
“Absolutely.” I squatted next to Dashiell and extended the back of my hand. “I’m sure he’ll be in touch. He got a little frightened, is all. Just like this guy.”
Dashiell rubbed my hand with the side of his face and began to purr. I said, “Why don’t you pour yourself a cup of coffee, go into the living room and I’ll take care of Dashiell?”
Karen thanked me again, got her coffee and left us. The glucose monitor kit was lying open on the counter and I lifted Tom’s tabby boy and carried him across the kitchen. He seemed heavier than just a few days ago, which was good. Diabetic cats can drop weight fast. Not wanting to set him on the countertop like I’d done when he was unconscious over at Tom’s the other day, I took him and the kit to the small kitchen table. I sat and simply held him for a moment, petting and soothing him. Then, without any trouble, I pricked his ear and tested his sugar level. It was one forty, a little high, but he’d had a rough morning and stress affects diabetic cats exactly the same way it affects humans. It raises their blood sugar. His insulin was probably already working.
He jumped off my lap, sat at my feet and began to groom himself. I pulled the monitor, needles and alcohol wipes all together, ready to return them to their little leather pouch. I’d previously set them all on a crumbled paper that had apparently been rescued from destruction. I picked up the paper and smoothed it out.
I realized it was a financial statement of some sort and I wouldn’t have paid it any mind if I hadn’t seen Finn’s name on the top. Did Karen know about Finn’s joint account with Tom? I pulled the sheet closer while putting the blood testing equipment away.
Finnian Gannon’s name was indeed on the top, but not paired with Tom’s name. The other person on this account was Karen Stewart. I wasn’t too surprised. No doubt she loved him, but it was the amount of money I saw near the bottom of the page that made me catch my breath. More than a million dollars.
Karen Stewart, who lived with our town junk collector in a cute and modest home, was wealthy. Or rather, she and Finn were wealthy. Wow.
“Interesting reading, huh?” came a voice from the kitchen entry. It was Bob.
I jumped at the sound of his voice and rested a hand on my chest. “You scared me. This paper was just sitting here and—”
“Made your eyes pop, didn’t it?” He walked into the kitchen and sat next to me.
I focused on putting the sugar testing things back in the leather case and zipped it up.
“You were taking a peek at the reason I’m so pissed off at my mother,” Bob said.
“T-t
his is none of my business,” I said, getting up.
“Oh, but you’re involved with my brother,” he said. “You really should know all the family secrets. See, until I came here and hacked into my mother’s computer, I wasn’t sure exactly how much money she owed me. Now I do.”
“I told you I don’t owe you anything, Robert.” Karen had arrived in the kitchen. Pretty hard not to hear everything that went on in this small house.
“We have a neutral party who can play mediator. Let’s hear Jillian’s opinion on this.” Bob picked up the paper and waved it in the air.
I shook my head vehemently. “No. Please don’t ask me to get involved.”
Karen was standing right in my path if I left through the dining room, and I was just about to say good-bye and make a dash for the back door when Dashiell leaped straight up and onto my shoulder. His claws dug into my back and I winced, but he retracted them almost at once. I held him steady and he began to purr. Poor guy had probably been listening to these two argue all morning.
“Jillian, the nice big numbers you see at the bottom of the paper here? See?” Bob pointed at the total. “This is money my father earned. This money belongs to me and Charlie, not to some onetime step-grandson from a cheating mother and a jailbird stepfather. Oops, I forgot. Nolan’s dead and so is Gannon.”
Karen took a deep breath. She sounded surprisingly calm when she said, “Your father left both you and Charlie a good amount of money. Money he thought would tide you over until you found employment. Money you squandered, Bob. It’s not Finn’s fault his share has grown because I saved it for him.”
Bob’s face flushed. “My dad left the money to you, Mom. Not to a kid who isn’t even related to us. This account should be part of an estate I inherit. See, I can wait until you die to get what’s mine. Or maybe I should say, I can hardly wait.”
Karen’s face paled. Mine probably did too after hearing him spew such scorn and disrespect.
He turned to me abruptly. “Doesn’t my solution make perfect sense, Jillian?”
“No,” I said softly but firmly. “Karen can do whatever she wants with her money. You came here to intimidate her, not visit Tom. Am I right?”
“Tom’s latched on to one smart lady,” Bob said with a sneer. “I’ve always envied him. You’re not only loyal to him and his cat, you’re loyal to his mother. But then you didn’t have to grow up with a woman who drank herself to sleep by midday. You didn’t have to be embarrassed when she lost her driver’s license—how many times was it, Mom? Like five times? Oh, and the number five matches how many times you got married. What a gal.”
I swallowed, wasn’t sure I should say anything more, but then felt I had to. “Things didn’t go well for you, Bob,” I said. “I understand your pain. But rather than being consumed by anger, perhaps you could get some professional help.”
He stared at me for a second, held up the paper and crumpled it into a ball. He tossed it at Karen and then stomped out through the back door.
I realized I was clutching Dashiell tightly, but he didn’t seem to mind. Nice to have a cat in my arms to help keep my blood pressure down.
Karen said, “I am so sorry you had to bear witness to our problems. I’ve made many mistakes in my life. I hurt Bob. I hurt all my boys by being irresponsible. But giving Bob money would be like throwing gasoline on a fire. See, I’m not the only one in this family battling addiction. Bob is clean now. After this morning, I only hope he stays that way.”
Bob is clean? I understood then. No wonder he couldn’t hold a job. “Has he been getting counseling, then?” I asked.
“Narcotics Anonymous,” she said. “I offered to pay for private therapy. He refused, says he’s cured. No one is ever cured of addiction, Jillian. We manage the disease, but we are never cured. I’m concerned about him.”
I gave Dashiell a tiny hug and set him down. Then I went and gave Karen a big hug. I tend to be a hugger and, in the past, Karen was always stiff when I embraced her to say hello or good-bye. But we held each other tightly for several seconds as she said thank you over and over into my shoulder.
Twenty-Six
Deciding Dashiell should go home with me was an easy call. I could set the basement guest room up for him like I’d done for cat visitors in the past. Karen’s stress would become Dashiell’s stress and his blood sugar would end up all over the chart.
When we were leaving, Karen asked me to call her the minute Finn came back. She also asked if she could drop by my house later because she was sure Bob would start in on her again and she just couldn’t take it. I told her I would be happy if she came for a visit. Perhaps Finn would show up by the time she came by. Maybe they’d even have a talk about all this money—money he could sure use for his education. But was this just wishful thinking on my part? Both Karen and Tom seemed to have great difficulty talking about their feelings or about the big issues. A million dollars was a very big issue. But then I realized Karen might have kept this secret because she wanted to make sure Finn, and not Hilary and Nolan Roth, ended up with this fortune.
Since Tom had brought Dashiell to my house before, he wasn’t a complete stranger to Syrah, Chablis and Merlot. But there was still plenty of hissing when I brought him into the kitchen. Most folks don’t realize cats never meow to each other as a form of communication—even cats who live together. But they do hiss and even spit when dogs and other cats invade their territory. Even though they knew Dashiell, it didn’t mean they’d throw out the welcome mat.
I carried him down to the basement and spent a good while fixing up his digs, getting him a pillow, a litter box and food. He seemed content when I finally closed the door after me—shutting out my three inquiring fur friends. They didn’t follow as I hurried upstairs. I was sure they wanted to play the “paw under the door” game with Dashiell. I was certainly in a hurry, though, as I’d forgotten to refrigerate the insulin.
I put the small bottle of insulin away as soon as I got upstairs. Breakfast seemed an eternity ago and I fixed a sandwich and ate at the small table, watching a drizzling rain through the window without even tasting the ham and cheese. I was thinking how Tom would awaken soon—hopefully rested and ready to use all his technology tools and contacts in the private security world to find Finn. I sure hoped he’d call me so I could help. I so wanted to help.
Just as I finished eating, Chablis came up the basement stairs, obviously tired of waiting around for Dashiell to learn how to open the door and make an appearance. I was about to cuddle up with her on the couch and maybe take a rest—I’d slept very poorly last night—when my phone rang. It had to be Tom.
“Hey, Jillian. It’s Allison,” she whispered. My friend at the animal sanctuary didn’t sound at all like her cheerful self.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“I need your help. Can you come over to the sanctuary?” She sounded rushed and troubled.
“Sure, but what’s going on?” I said.
“Just come. Now.” She disconnected.
Allison never asks for help unless she really needs it. I decided this weather called for a little rain gear and I put on my flowered Wellies and a slicker. She might need me to rescue a reluctant cat from a tree. I’d helped her before, coaxing stubborn cats from odd places. We were a good team.
The slap of my windshield wipers seemed to offer a relaxing rhythm on the drive to the sanctuary. I had time to think about the argument between Bob and Karen—and what an awkward and uncomfortable few moments I’d experienced. But Karen opened up, and in his own way, so did Bob. If they wanted a therapist, however, I wasn’t the woman for the job. They needed professional help to heal the rifts in their family.
Then I thought about all the money—and realized Bob might not be the only one who knew about a small fortune within Finn’s grasp. Maybe Nolan Roth had found out somehow. That would explain why he wanted Finn back at his house. If he’d searched Finn’s computer and found his communications with Tom, perhaps he’d found more—found
evidence of lots and lots of money to be had. But I still didn’t believe Tom or Finn knew anything about the million dollars. Tom may have kept secrets, but in the past few days, he’d told me what I thought was everything there was to know. After all he’d shared, why keep the money a secret? And then there was Hilary. Karen had been in contact with her. Maybe she knew about the money. Tom said that’s all she cared about and she would surely want Finn to stay home if he was about to become a millionaire. Yes. It made perfect sense why everyone was after this kid. Candace needed to know and I would call her after I helped Allison.
I’d just about reached the sanctuary when my phone rang. I saw Candace’s name on the caller ID and answered, wondering if she was psychic or something. Or perhaps she’d found Finn.
“Get this,” Candace said without saying hello.
“Please tell me you found him.”
“No,” she said. “But things are starting to fall into place. The calls and texts on these two phones are very interesting. I’m still poring over them, but guess who called Rory Gannon a week ago?”
“You mentioned Nolan Roth probably phoned the halfway house using Tom’s phone and—”
“No. This is from Finn’s phone. He called his biological father,” she said.
I pulled into the curving drive leading to the sanctuary. “But Gannon had Finn’s phone, so he could have called the place where he was living, maybe to check in at the halfway house or—”
“This was last week,” she said. “Before Finn left North Carolina and while he still had his phone. Why would he call his father?”
“I—I don’t know. He sure never told any of us he’d talked to him. He seemed afraid of the man.” Or was he simply avoiding the subject of Rory Gannon after a conversation that might not have gone too well?
“Not afraid enough, it seems,” she said. “Their conversation lasted twenty-seven minutes. Meanwhile, if Tom’s time line about when Nolan Roth had his phone is correct, Roth also called Gannon, and more than once. Seems like everyone was talking to the guy.”
The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon citm-4 Page 20
