Leann Sweeney

“She never mentioned him. But once we get the information from that insurance company subpoena, my guess is I’ll find out they did know each other well enough that he was ready to take care of her for life. Why, I don’t know. They aren’t exactly two folks you’d expect to be friends.” He sighed. “We will get the whole story, though. From what Candace described to me on the phone when she called, Mae terrorized the two of you. I apologize.”

“And she terrorized someone else,” I said. “Excuse me if I don’t see you out. One of my cats needs me.”

Twenty-nine

I found Chablis hiding under my bed, and it took some serious coaxing to get her to come out. I soothed her for several minutes, and she seemed relieved that I, rather than some crazy woman, came to find her.

I took her into the living room and asked Daphne if she’d sit in John’s chair again and hold Chablis for a while. I thought it would be good for both of them. Daphne was more than happy to comply and so was Chablis. Meanwhile, I called the other cats, and soon they ventured into the living room, checking every nook and cranny for signs of strangers.

I sat on the floor, tickled to congratulate my heroes. Merlot immediately plopped down beside me and turned over for a tummy rub, while Syrah found a comfy spot in the center of my crossed legs.

“Do you really think Marian Mae has Sophie?” Daphne asked.

Before I could answer, someone knocked on the door. Merlot and Syrah took off, ready to lie in wait for another takedown, perhaps. Chablis was happy right where she was.

“Who could this be?” I rose. “The local reporter? Is there even a local reporter in Mercy?”

Daphne laughed. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

As I went to answer, relief washed over me when I saw how calm Daphne seemed. Chablis was a hero, too.

I opened the door to find Tom holding two steaming cups of coffee from Belle’s Beans.

“Thought you could use a fix. What in heck’s been going on, anyway?” he said.

“As if you haven’t heard,” I said. “This is Mercy, after all. But Daphne’s here, so you didn’t bring enough java.”

Daphne ended up with Tom’s latte while he warmed up what was left in the bottom of my pot for himself. When I protested that I could drink the old stuff, he said, “Not if what I heard is true. You need the fresh stuff.”

As Daphne and I related all that had gone on, he kept shaking his head in disbelief, occasionally interjecting, “Unbelievable.”

“The chief is waiting on his warrant, but I have the feeling that will be all she wrote for Marian Mae,” I said. “I’m betting Baca wants to take a very close look at Marian Mae’s cat. Maybe her computer, too.”

“Ah,” he said. “She’s the one who took down the Match-a-Cat site.”

I blinked. “I never thought about that. But yes. She was probably in business with him.”

“That’s why she took the computer from the crime scene and tried to destroy it,” Tom said. “She knew there were links back to her. Her home computer will probably finish off any hope she has of denying a relationship between her and Daphne’s father.”

I said, “Though why a woman who the chief seemed to be taking care of would sign on with him is baffling.”

“Remember? I had to sic a bill collector on her to get paid for her security system,” he said. “She could have plenty of debt Mike didn’t know about.”

“Must have been in major debt to do what she did,” I said.

“So she actually needed money,” Daphne said, “and my father was her go-to guy? She must have been desperate.”

“Still,” I said, “why would he take out a life insurance policy with her as beneficiary—? They couldn’t possibly have been involved romantically, could they?”

“Marian Mae is by no means stupid,” Tom said. “He was a frail-looking guy, and if they went into business together she might have insisted on life insurance. You mentioned that the insurance company wasn’t exactly cooperating. I’ll bet we’ll soon discover that Marian was the original beneficiary.”

“And she killed him in a rage when Mr. Wilkerson told her he’d made that switch,” I said, half to myself. I didn’t say aloud my other thought—that this might have had nothing to do with Sophie. Daphne would be so disappointed if the gray cat called Diamond really was Diamond.

Tom said, “If Marian Mae’s as smart as I think she is, she’ll make a deal with the prosecutors. It didn’t look like a premeditated crime to me, and it probably wasn’t.”

I looked at Daphne and said, “Tom used to be a cop,” like I was his proud mother or something. I wondered if I sounded plain silly to him.

“You think she has Sophie?” Daphne asked. “Because I’m too afraid to hope.”

Yup. Here it was. And I felt a little sick to my stomach.

“We’ll know once the warrant is completed,” Tom said. “Bet they turn over whatever cat they find to Shawn.”

But a call from Candace an hour later surprised us. She asked us to meet her outside Marian Mae’s house, so we all piled in Tom’s Prius and hurried over there.