Chapter 22
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
A half hour later, as Chloe and Tegan were tending to customers, I reminisced about the conversation with Jason at the Brewery and decided I needed to fill in some blanks. I retreated to the office, where I gave Darcy a good cuddle, sat at the desk, and awakened the computer.
An hour later, the mystery was solved. When I’d asked Jason where he and Delilah met, he’d slyly said they’d “hooked up” at UCLA, not “met.” After he left the army, he must’ve tracked down her whereabouts, discovered she was enrolled at the University of California, Los Angeles, and applied.
I leaned back in the chair, wondering how their first reunion might have taken place.
At a party? A mutual class? The library?
Had he reminded her of their playful association as kids?
Had the cute meet rekindled their friendship?
Had Delilah taken pleasure in the notion he’d pursued her?
Their history didn’t change what had happened to him, but it explained so much about who Jason was and how obsessed he’d been with a girl with pretty blond curls.
At two p.m., after a quick bite to eat, I gathered Darcy.
We left the bookshop for the day and drove to the veterinarian’s office for the cat’s follow-up appointment.
The vet gave him a clean bill of health, after which I warned my cat with a sweet tap to his nose to stop scratching the brick around the fireplace.
The vet said, “I doubt this toenail snag was from encountering a raised or rough surface. I believe he caught it on wire.”
“He’s been playing under an armchair. There’s loose strapping.”
“I don’t think strapping would have caused this, either. Perhaps a spring is broken and hanging down. I’d check it out. I also found some skin beneath the toenail.”
“You didn’t mention that before.”
“I figured he scratched you when you tried to treat him.”
Huh. If he had, I hadn’t felt a thing, and I hadn’t bled. I thanked her, then added we’d see her in six months for his annual checkup, and we left.
On the drive home, as much as I wanted to talk to Zach and tell him what I’d learned about Jason—it probably wouldn’t impinge on the investigation—I opted not to leave him another message.
“Less is more,” a high school teacher used to tell me when it came to explaining things.
I had a tendency to write really long thesis papers to make sure everything I believed was essential made its way onto the page.
When I listened to the teacher’s “less is more” advice, my theses became pithier and, therefore, better, which earned me repeated A’s.
As I was nearing Oak Knoll, the street on which Tegan lived, I called her at the shop and asked if she was free for dinner.
I’d cook. She wasn’t, and she sounded distraught.
She had to meet with the divorce attorney due to a snag in her case.
Good old Winston, who had yet to be served, had decided to sue her for spousal support.
I told her to call me after the meeting. She promised she would.
While ending the call using the steering wheel’s speaker icon, I caught sight of the blue house with the yellow shutters at the corner.
Finette Fineworthy’s great-aunt’s house.
The lights were dim. No cars stood in the driveway.
I noticed mail jutting from the mailbox, as Vanna had described, and decided to take it in to her.
Finette … and Marigold, rest her soul … would want me to do so.
I parked the van and opted to bring Darcy with me. Unless Katherine Fineworthy was allergic, I doubted she’d mind.
First, I gathered the mail and reviewed it as I walked to the door.
Katherine must have donated to a number of women’s causes over the years, because much of the junk mail was pleas to support breast cancer research and Equality Now.
In addition, I saw plenty of other items, including pink and yellow envelopes, as well as flyers with ads for upcoming summer sales.
On the porch I picked up what sounded like a game show playing on TV. I rang the doorbell, but I didn’t hear footsteps inside. I knocked and waited. The volume of the television didn’t lower.
Darcy mewed.
“Yes, sweet boy, you’re right. We have to check on her.”
I tiptoed to the living room window and peeked in. Through a break in the curtains, I saw a vintage Sony television on a middle shelf of a wall of books. Wheel of Fortune was playing .A frail, silver-haired woman in a recliner faced the screen. Her eyes were closed. Was she asleep?
Deciding I should conduct a wellness check—I prayed she hadn’t died—I returned to the front door and tried the handle.
Locked. I searched the porch for a fake rock holding a key but didn’t find one.
I recalled Magda crawling through the doggy door of her house and scanned the area for one, but I didn’t see a pet door of any kind.
I noticed the porch swing was tilting a tad to the right, and once again thinking of Magda, I crouched down.
I peered beneath the swing and let out a whoop.
Success! A metal hide-a-key box was affixed to the chain dangling below the seat.
I retrieved the key, inserted it into the front door lock, and twisted it.
I stepped into the foyer. “Katherine,” I called in a muted tone.
I didn’t want to startle her by yelling.
The house was rife with the scent of lavender.
A vase of dried flowers stood on the entry table, as did a basket of either unread mail or discarded mail.
I deposited the stack I was carrying beside it.
“Katherine, it’s Allie Catt,” I continued.
“Your grandniece’s friend. I’m coming in. ”
I set Darcy’s carrier on the floor, tiptoed through the archway, and glimpsed the old woman on the recliner. Her hands rested prone on the armrests. I noticed her fingers twitching ever so slightly, which made me breathe easier. She was alive.
Skirting the worn sofa and walnut coffee table as quickly as I could, I said, “Katherine, I’ve come to check on you. Finette …” I mentioned her name in case the woman might waken. “Finette asked me to bring in today’s mail.”
Darcy yowled.
Katherine flinched. Her eyes snapped open. She peered at me with fear. “Who are you?”
“My name is Allie. Don’t be frightened. I’m Finette’s friend.”
“Don’t know any Finette.” She pulled the tie of her pink robe tighter around her waist. A pair of slippers lay on the floor at an odd angle, as if they’d fallen off her feet.
“I was concerned when you didn’t answer the door, so I located your key and used it to enter. I know Finette would want me to—”
“Don’t know any Finette.”
“Sure you do. She’s your grandniece.”
“I have two.”
At least she’d gotten that fact right. She was probably foggy after falling into a deep sleep. I grabbed the remote control and muted the television.
“I’m thirsty.” Katherine pressed a button to raise the recliner to a more suitable sitting position.
“Yes, ma’am. On it.” I fetched a half-drunk glass of water from the side table by the sofa and handed it to her. “Here you go.”
She held it in two hands and bent her head to the rim of the glass rather than raising the bottom of the glass to help the flow. “It’s empty,” she said.
“No, ma’am. You have to tip the glass a bit more.” Was she senile? Had she forgotten how to drink from a cup? “Let me help.” I reached over to assist. A small amount of water spilled into her mouth.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Darcy mewed again, eager to make Katherine’s acquaintance.
“Is that a cat?” Katherine blinked.
“Yes. It’s Darcy, my tuxedo cat.”
“I love the name Darcy. Marigold did, too. Did you know Marigold? She died.”
“Yes, ma’am, I did. She was a dear friend.”
She hummed. “Fitzwilliam Darcy was so handsome.” She extended her arms. “May I hold him?”
I took the glass from her, placed it on the side table, and retrieved my cat. I told him to be gentle and set him in her lap. “Here you go.”
“Nice kitty. Nice Darcy.” She petted him slowly, head to tail. “I had a tuxedo cat. He died a few years ago. My nephew hated cats, but I didn’t care. I wanted his girls to have one. Pets are important. They show humans how to be more loving.”
“That’s true. Your grandniece Finette—”
“No!” She said it so sharply Darcy quaked and leaped to the floor. “You do not pronounce it in such a fashion.”
“You don’t?”
“It’s Finette. Accent on the first syllable, long i. Not Finette like Annette.”
I repeated the word properly, showing her I was listening, while wondering why Finette had changed the pronunciation. Perhaps her parents had said it that way, and it had been a bone of contention between them and her great-aunt.
“Is this your family?” I pointed to the multiple photographs of Katherine and the man I presumed to be her husband.
I regarded one picture in which an angelic thirty-something woman was standing beside a young fireman.
They were flanking a pair of teen girls.
The girl closest to the fireman was clearly Finette.
The other had to be the older sister, who’d relocated to Arizona. “Very attractive.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I brought in your mail. Would you like me to go through it with you?”
“Please.” She eased herself out of the recliner and shuffled barefoot to the sofa. She patted the cushion beside her, suggesting I sit.
I collected the mail from where I’d left it in the foyer, and placed it on the coffee table. Katherine patted the sofa again.
I sat beside her. “My friend Vanna visited you on Wednesday. She brought you dinner. Do you remember her?”
“Yes. Good cook. Likes ads about electronics. Ovens are her specialty.”
I smiled. I could picture Vanna prattling about the differences between Wolf and Viking ovens. The heat variances. The quality of craftsmanship.
“What did you eat that night?” I asked.
“Can’t remember.”
“Vanna said mac ’n’ cheese.”
“Maybe.” Katherine picked up the stack of mail and began sorting through it.
She tossed piece after piece on the table.
She viewed a pink envelope, grunted, “Another one?” and pitched it onto the messy pile.
On the front were the words final notice in bold black print.
“If it’s not final, why mark it as final? ”
She flung the yellow envelope, too. On it was the single word foreclosure.
Heavens. Was the poor woman going to be kicked to the curb?
Did Finette know? A foreclosure gave the owner ninety days to either pay off what was owed or sell the property.
Had Finette wanted to talk her great-aunt into moving to a retirement facility so she could unload the house and get out from under the burden?
“I’m tired,” Katherine said abruptly. “Leave.”
I didn’t think I should. She was clearly upset. “Vanna said Finette asked her to cook for you on Wednesdays.”
“No!”
“Finette.” I pronounced it correctly this time, accent on the first syllable.
“Yes.”
“She’s your grandniece, ma’am.”
“Yes.”
“The president of the town council. She reads to you. She was here last Monday and read Great Expectations. Do you remember her being here?”
“That’s my favorite book.”
“She said so.”
“She didn’t read it.”
I stared at her.
“She didn’t read it, because she wasn’t here.”