The Cat Lady's Secret

by Linda W. Yezak

  Inside, she grabbed a cart and wheeled it to the pet aisle. She bent for a ten-pound bag of cat food and transferred it into her basket just as a raven-haired beauty entered the lane. Amber Goodrich. Emily tried to turn and run before the woman could see her, but—

  “Oh, hello—uh...Emily? Is that your name?” Amber’s cheeked flushed crimson, no doubt uncertain what to call the woman with three aliases.

  Paul had probably told his wife about Emily’s multiple personalities. Nothing she could do about it, and she might as well get used to the curiosity of others.

  “Yes, I’m Emily. Nice to see you again, Amber.”

  “Honey, I found the—” Paul stopped in his tracks and flashed a dazzling smile at Emily. “Well, hello. I’ve been hoping to run into you again.”

  Emily steeled her spine and raised her chin. “I can’t imagine why. You don’t need me anymore. You’ve already discovered who Dogwood’s soft touch is. Although why you haven’t run it in the paper is beyond me.”

  “I was waiting until my interview at the prison next week. Being the soft touch may not be the only newsworthy item about you.”

  “The prison?” With brows drawn, Emily squinted at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, where your dear husband is incarcerated.”

  Emily’s blood roiled through her veins. “He’s not my husband, and if you were half the investigative reporter you think you are, you’d know that! Next time you go spouting your mouth, make sure you’ve got your facts straight.”

  “I’ll be sure to ask Coulter to verify the facts while I’m there,” he growled. “Anything else you want to share with me?”

  Emily was on the verge of whacking him with the cat food bag when Amber put a hand on his arm. “You two are creating quite a scene. Paul, let’s just finish our shopping.”

  He drew a breath and stepped back. “You’re right, honey. I’m sorry.” He reached for their grocery cart, and with all the civility of a British butler, gave Emily a slight nod. “Good to see you again. Have a nice evening.”

  Seething, Emily watched as they disappeared around the corner. She wanted to ram her cart into the dog biscuit display, but she took a deep breath instead. If she hadn’t already created a scene, knocking down a cardboard case in a fit of anger certainly would. Her mind was void of any grocery list she’d stored in it, so she snatched the cat food out of the basket and dashed for the counter, leaving the cart in the aisle.

  ****

  “You should’ve seen him, Lauren,” Emily balanced the phone on her shoulder as she refilled the cats’ food bowls. “He was so smug, telling me he was going to verify my marital status with Wade.”

  “I hope Wade tells him the truth.”

  “I don’t understand why Paul doesn’t just search the Harris County records.” She carried the water bowl to the faucet in the back. “The annulment is a matter of public record. If he found out I had married Wade, he could certainly find out I unmarried him without having to go all the way to the prison.”

  “Wait. You think the only reason he wants to talk to Wade is to find out whether you two are still married?”

  “What else could he want?”

  “Oh, no. Didn’t Roger tell you? Paul isn’t trying to confirm your marriage. He’s trying to establish you as a co-conspirator in Wade’s cons.”

  Emily’s hands trembled, and she dropped the bowl, sloshing water all over herself and the utility counter. “But I wasn’t involved. I didn’t even know—”

  “I know that. But Paul doesn’t. He told Scott he wanted to verify your involvement before he printed anything.”

  “He told Scott his suspicion?” She leaned her back against the wall and slid down. “Scott thinks I’m a con artist?”

  “I don’t believe he knows what to think. Roger says he’s confused and is still trying to sort things out.” Her voice grew stern. “But you haven’t given him much to work with. Why didn’t you ever confide in him?”

  “I was so ashamed.” Emily sobbed. “I didn’t think he’d want me if he knew.”

  “Sweetie, he loves you. He’s always loved you. And you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Panic charged through Emily’s nerves. “Wade won’t leave Paul with that impression. The board denied his parole. He’s probably boiling with hate toward me right now. He’ll probably confirm every nasty thought Paul has about me.”

  “You’ve got to talk to Scott. Tell him everything. Tell him the truth.”

  “He won’t believe me. Besides, I haven’t heard from him all week. He won’t answer my calls. He’s not interested in my side of the story.”

  “You’ve got to try.” Urgency filled Lauren’s voice. “I’m getting off the phone now. Call him. Then call me.”

  “But—”

  “Do it!”

  Emily wiped her face and sighed. “All right. I’ll try again.”

  They disconnected, and she took a couple of deep breaths before trying Scott at his house. No answer—of course. But just in case he really wasn’t home, she tried his cell, too, and got his voice mail. For a moment, she felt torn. He’d already proven he didn’t want to talk to her. She should leave the man alone and get on with her life. But she couldn’t allow him to have the impression she’d participated in Wade’s crimes. She thought about telling him everything in a voice mail message, but changed her mind. Instead, she left yet another request for him to call that would probably go unanswered.

  She gathered herself, dried the counter and floor, and then refilled the cats’ water bowl.

  What was it with Paul Goodrich? What had she ever done to him to make him want to destroy her life, just as she was getting it back together? Couldn’t he leave her alone? No telling what Wade would stuff his ears with, and that greedy journalist was likely to publish any lie told him. If he printed his suspicions, everyone in town would believe the worst of her.

  She’d have to step down from the fundraiser. Would probably have to leave Dogwood to find someplace she could live in peace.

  But there was nowhere else to go.

  Ninny.

  The word came out of the blue, and accused her worse than anything Goodrich said about her. She was being a ninny—it was true. She had decided to hide from her accuser instead of fighting him. So, Goodrich was going to the prison?

  Fine. She would, too. At least she could discover Wade’s attitude toward her, find out what he had to say. Confront him.

  How liberating! She was sick of hiding. Sick of worrying he would find her. Instead of cowering like the ninny she’d been for the past year, she’d see for herself how much anger he harbored against her and then take whatever precautions were necessary to protect herself from him.

  She ran up the stairs and consulted her calendar. The auction was a week away, and she still had follow-ups to make. When Lauren was in town, she’d been the frontrunner, talking with the auctioneer, the caterer, and the manager for the community hall, and allowing Emily to remain in the background as planned.

  Now, Emily would have to do everything. Not that it mattered. Since she was going to confront Wade anyway, she had no need to remain in the shadows about the auction.

  The prison wasn’t too far away. She could probably make the run in half a day and still be able to finalize plans for next Saturday. She called Connor at home and asked him to arrange for her to meet with Wade.

  “Are you nuts?” Connor shouted. “I thought you were afraid of him!”

  “I am, but I’m tired of it.” As far as she knew, Connor wasn’t aware of what had transpired over the past several days, and she chose not to tell him. “With the auction coming up and Lauren gone, I don’t have a choice but to step up to the job. I don’t want to have to worry about cameras and media. It’ll be best for me to confront him. Who knows? Maybe you’ve been right all along, and I’ve just been paranoid. Unless I see him, I’ll never know whether he’s angry with me, and I’ll spend the entire week nervous.”

  Conn
or drew a breath and let it out in a huff. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. But it’s not like I can just call down there and make an appointment. You’ll have to go during general visitation.”

  “When is that?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out Monday.” His voice took a fatherly tone. “It may not be until after the auction. Will you be all right with that?”

  “I’ll have to be, won’t I?”

  But what about Paul? Would he have to go during visitation, too, or would he have special privileges as a journalist? If he got to the prison before she did, how could she counter what Wade told him?

  How could she prove her innocence to Scott?

  32

  Not five minutes in his mother’s home for Sunday dinner, and Scott already felt a comfort only moms could provide, the kind that came with familiar scents and cushioned hugs and the inevitable complaint of, “You’re too thin. Do you eat enough? Come on in here and let me fix your plate.” She heaped double portions of everything and handed it to him.

  “Don’t give me all that.”

  “You’re skinny. Eat.”

  “Mom, I’m fine. I do eat.”

  “Oh yeah? What? When?” She tried to pinch an inch from his waist and got a pinch of empty shirt instead. “Uh-huh. You’ve lost weight. Come on. Sit down.”

  They blessed the table and then Rita leaned close. “So what’s going on with you? I haven’t seen you all week. My grass is three feet high! I’m almost scared to go out there. Who knows what all’s hiding in them weeds. We’re close enough to Louisiana, you know. Could be ’gators out there.”

  Scott chuckled. “I get the hint. I’ll mow right after lunch.”

  “Not in your good Sunday clothes, you won’t.”

  “I’ve got some jeans in the truck. I’ll change first. Happy?”

  “Happy.” She filled her fork with peas and poked it in her mouth. The comfortable silence between them stretched as they concentrated on their plates.

  Scott was an instant away from believing he could enjoy lunch without his mother’s trademark nosiness, when she asked, “So, how’s Emily these days? Does she like her new house? How are the auction plans? You never tell me anything.”

  “I don’t know much about Emily anymore.” Scott lowered his fork. He’d been dodging her calls all week, the most recent of which was last night. They needed to talk, she’d said. Needed to clear the air. Maybe when he could breathe again after having the wind knocked out of him, they could. Right now, he didn’t want to. “We’re kinda not seeing each other for a while.”

  “What?” Rita rubbed her hands on the dishtowel in her lap. “Something happen between you two?”

  “She has some secrets, Mom. Some things she really should’ve told me.”

  “Oh, posh! Every woman has secrets. Our hearts are a hotbed of things we’d just as soon no one knew.”

  “Like she’s been married before?”

  Rita raised a brow. “Well, now, sounds like that’s one she should’ve let you know. I’ll agree to that. How’d you find out?”

  Scott didn’t want to describe the awful scene in the cat refuge, and since he’d never mentioned Millie to his mom, he’d have a rough time trying to catch her up on all he’d learned that day. “Let’s just say, I didn’t find out from her. At least, not immediately.”

  “She confirmed what you’d heard?”

  Scott nodded. He pushed away his plate, his appetite gone.

  Rita rested a hand on top of his. “Did she explain?”

  “I didn’t give her a chance.”

  “Well, you should. A sweet girl like Emily doesn’t take marriage vows lightly, and for her to be single again, something awful must’ve happened. Something truly awful.”

  Scott hadn’t thought of that, but it was true. The Emily he’d known would never leave the man she had vowed to love, honor, and cherish. She took those vows seriously and wouldn’t marry carelessly. Roger said she got an annulment soon after Coulter’s arrest. Had she known when she married him what kind of man he was?

  “Of course, if you’re not interested in Emily anymore, Pat and Carol are still single. Either one would be ecstatic to have a date with you.”

  Scott huffed in exasperation. “Mom.”

  “I thought not.” She pushed his plate back to him. “Eat. This tastes a whole lot better than that crow you’ll be munching before long.”

  He retrieved his plate but couldn’t convince himself to eat. Instead, he pushed his peas around with his fork like he did when he was eight. Questions about Emily’s years away still niggled at him. She’d changed—he’d said it before. Sometimes, he didn’t even recognize her. Did her changes extend to her moral character?

  Mom had said no. Roger had said no. Why couldn’t Scott be as certain?

  ****

  Roger’s pickup sat in the driveway of the old Farley place—Emily’s place. Her car was nowhere in sight, and Scott felt a surprise twinge of disappointment as he pulled in behind the truck. The front door to the house hung open, so Scott went inside and called out. “Roger?”

  “Back here,” came a muted reply. Roger sprawled on the bathroom floor with his head and shoulders in the cabinet under the sink. He stuck an arm out. “Get me that wrench, will you?”

  Scott found it and slapped it into Roger’s palm. “Working on the Lord’s day?”

  He grunted and then asked for the oil can. “Kids are out, wife’s away, not a decent football game on until later this afternoon. What else am I supposed to do?”

  “Well, you put it that way, working on a sink sounds perfect.”

  “Glad you think so.” Roger scooted over a bit. “Come down here and hold the light for me.”

  Scott wriggled his upper torso under the sink and shined the light at the pipe Roger was wrestling. “Nasty mess. You going to be able to get it off?”

  “Yep. Even if I have to use a blowtorch.” Roger grunted again. Rust flaked and fell to his sweaty face, and he wiped it off with his forearm. Then, with both hands and a mighty twist of the wrench, he forced the pipe threads to turn a quarter inch. “What you doing out here?”

  “Coming home from Mom’s.”

  “Yeah? She feed you good?”

  “Always. She worked it off me, too. Weekly lawn maintenance.” Scott watched the pipe scratch loose a slip at a time, amazed that Roger had managed to get it moving. “Got a question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “When did Emily figure out Wade was a con artist?”

  Roger arched a rust-flaked brow. “You mean, did Em knowingly marry the man and participate in his crimes? Is that what you’re asking? I think you know the answer to that.”

  “Yeah, Mom thinks I should know, too. It’s just that—”

  “—that she didn’t confide in you and you were shot off balance.” After the final twist of the wrench, Roger yanked the pipe free from the sink. “Scoot out.”

  Scott got to his feet.

  Roger squirmed from under the sink and wiped the rust from his hands and arms on a rag. “I can’t deny she should’ve told you, but you’ve known for five days now. You should be hearing her side of the story from her, not trying to piece together tidbits of truth from third-hand sources.”

  Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know how to approach her. What to say.”

  “Just show up at her door. She’ll know what to say.” He turned to the sink and grabbed a screwdriver. “But help me with this first.”

  “What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up?”

  “Oh, I would’ve gotten it done. It just would’ve taken longer.” Roger pried up the aluminum ring around the sink and then ran the screwdriver around the sink itself. They got their fingers under the lip and forced it away from the stained countertop. “I got it now.”

  Scott relinquished his hold and followed Roger as he went outside to the refuse pile. In the city, plumes of smoke danced in the air over the downtown area. Scott shook his
head. “The arsonist is at it again.”

  Roger tossed the sink on the pile and looked toward town. “Aw, man. I wish they’d catch that guy. Em thinks she knows who it is. I wish she’d go ahead and turn him in.”

  “Did she tell you who she suspects?”

  “Someone from Chapman’s. She’s hesitant to tell the police because he’s just a kid, and if she’s wrong, she could wreck his life.” Roger watched the smoke and shook his head. “I say, turn the guy in and let the authorities sort it out—”

  Scott barely caught the last of Roger’s words. He yanked the keys from his pocket and sprinted to his truck.

  33

  As a kid, Emily had never lacked company. Her childhood home had been like Lauren’s, one of the popular hang-outs among her friends. Now, with Lauren gone and Scott out of the picture, she sat alone at the local fast food restaurant, idly twirling a french fry as she stared out the window.

  An old car pulled up, battered and faded, just like the woman who drove it. She and four frail-looking kids climbed out. They must’ve ranged in age from six to twelve; the older ones held hands with the younger, and they trailed their mother like ducks on a pond.

  Emily eyed them carefully from under her lashes.

  The little family wore clean clothes, but all were faded and patched, and the youngest girl’s little summer dress with daisies at the hem hung too loosely around her fragile body. The mother ordered four of the smallest hamburgers on the menu and one super-sized soda. The oldest boy took the cup and filled it with orange soda at the self-serve fountain and then grabbed five straws. They chose a table close by.

  Emily looked at her own cold sandwich. Even if she hadn’t taken a couple of bites of it, she couldn’t offer it to the mother. Such action would be perceived as charity, and Emily didn’t doubt the woman would be too proud to accept. If she were Millie right now, she’d figure out a way to give food to the family without offending the mother, but Millie no longer existed.