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.
I said, “I’ll bet Yoshi is hungry. But I don’t have any dog food.”
“No problem,” Finn said. “I have some in my backpack.” He’d set his pack on the floor by his stool at the breakfast bar and now he went to get it.
The minute Finn got the food out and released Yoshi with an “okay,” the dog came racing by the cats. Syrah took a swipe at him and Merlot stood and arched his back. Yoshi ignored them and ran to Finn’s side. The dog barked repeatedly, but his eyes were focused on the food.
“I’ll get a bowl,” I said.
Finn set the baggie of dog food on the counter and held out his arms. The dog jumped up into them and started licking the kid’s face. What a bond those two had. From what I’d learned from Tom about Finn’s mother and latest stepfather, he probably needed his dog as much as I needed my cats.
Before I could even retrieve the bowl from the cupboard, Syrah leaped onto the counter, his whiskers and nose in action. A cat’s sense of smell is nowhere near that of a dog’s, but it’s still about fourteen or fifteen times stronger than a human’s. Syrah approached the kibble as if all things edible in this house needed his inspection and approval. He was the alpha around here, after all.
Then Syrah spotted the backpack and withdrew a few steps as if surprised by this strange new object. But his whiskers kept twitching. Syrah liked anything remotely resembling a bag or a box and I was sure he was contemplating whether this was a safe item to thoroughly explore—like, climb right inside and explore.
By the time I poured the food into the bowl, Merlot had joined Syrah in his fascination with the backpack. Their focus made me remember the gun, the one Tom put in his safe back at his house. Seemed like a long time ago. Heck, this day seemed like it had lasted a hundred years. Did Finn really have no idea where the gun came from? Might as well ask.
“Do you remember anything about the gun?” I said.
Finn shook his head vehemently. “Not my gun. No way. I hate guns. But Nolan sure had enough of them. My preferred weapon is a sword in a video game.”
I nodded. “When was the last time you looked inside your pack?”
He squinted, as if trying to imagine when he might have done this. “Besides just now? I fed Yoshi last night. I can’t remember any time today—but there’s a lot about today I don’t remember.”
“You didn’t see the gun last night, wherever you spent the night?” I asked. “Gosh, where did you spend the night?”
“This guy let me and Yoshi crash in his truck. But I never saw any gun. Something like that kinda grabs your attention, you know?” I detected strain in his voice, perhaps born of impatience with my questions.
Yoshi reacted by licking Finn’s face again.
“Yes, they certainly do. Sorry if I’ve upset you,” I said. “You’ve been through enough and I want you to know I’m your friend. At least we know someone put the gun in your pack between last night and when we picked you up.”
“Yeah. Makes sense. Whatever screwed up my brain happened today. You didn’t upset me, by the way. I’m just mad at myself ’cause I can’t remember.” He stroked Yoshi but didn’t look at me.
“Which is not your fault.” I handed him the bowl of kibble Yoshi was staring at intently.
“Maybe it is. Maybe I did something stupid… or knocked myself stupid,” he said.
“Quit beating yourself up.” I glanced at the dog. “You plan to feed your poor animal?”
“Yeah, right.” He set both the dog and the food on the floor next to him.
I peered over the raised breakfast bar. Yoshi was making short work of his food. Meanwhile Syrah now had his head in the backpack while Merlot supervised this exploration.
Finn laughed. “I’ve never had a cat. But from what I’ve seen tonight, dogs need a boss, but cats are the bosses.”
“You got that right.” I looked down at the dog. “Let me get him more water.”
“Can Yoshi and I crash?” Finn picked up the empty dish and handed it to me. “I’m pretty tired even though the sandwiches and stuff made me feel better.” Finn’s pale cheeks did have a bit of color now. “And I didn’t thank you for helping me. Sorry. Thanks, Mrs. Hart.”
“Call me Jillian. And no thanks needed. I have the feeling you’d do the same for me if our positions were reversed.” I smiled. “Now, come on. You deserve a real bed to sleep in rather than the backseat of my van.”
First, I set Finn up in the bathroom with a fresh towel. After he’d showered, he put on the clean T-shirt and sweatpants I’d provided. He was thin enough to wear mine. Honestly, he looked more like a fifteen-year-old than an eighteen-year-old. I almost felt like tucking him in once he and Yoshi were settled in the guest room. Instead, I brought in Yoshi’s bowl of water, and a glass for Finn, too. After I wished them a good night’s rest, I closed the door.
Now to hunt down Chablis. I found her in her favorite hiding place, under my bed. She didn’t seem anxious to come out. But with a few “I love you’s,” words she could never resist, she was soon in my arms.
When I came back out into the hallway holding her, I saw Merlot and Syrah positioned outside the guest room. Syrah was pawing under the door and Merlot was sitting like a statue, observing this game. The two of them hoped to engage the dog in a little paw peekaboo, I was sure. For my three cats, a closed door is a challenge, and a fun one at that. They could always lighten my mood, and today, though it had been an awful day to say the least, they cracked me up. Kudos for cat behavior, I thought.
I nuzzled Chablis as I walked into the living room, and again wondered why Tom hadn’t called yet. We left for the emergency clinic at dusk and now it was close to midnight. He was obviously concerned about Finn and would want an update, and yet I hadn’t heard from him. I could call his house, but a call might mean a conversation with Bob—which was the last thing I wanted right now.
Unfortunatel
y the very last thing I wanted was about to happen. I’d changed into flannel drawstring pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, not exactly dressed for company—but company arrived. The knock on the front door made my heart skip. Kara, Candace and Tom are back-door friends. So who could this be?
I checked the peephole and almost moaned out loud when I saw the person standing on my front stoop.
Lydia Monk. The craziest assistant coroner on the planet.
Eight
I sighed heavily and unlocked the door. “Hey, Lydia,” I said with far more enthusiasm than I felt. “I was about to head off to bed, so—”
“Let me in,” she said brusquely.
No please, no may I, just Lydia being Lydia. Nor did she wait for me to step aside before brushing past me and marching on her high-heeled black boots into my living room. I noticed her bleached hair was held back by a large jeweled clip—plenty of rhinestones and a variety of brightly colored fake gems to be had, enough to decorate a tiara.
She sat on my sofa, dropping her patent leather bag beside her. There seemed to be no dress code at the county coroner’s office, or perhaps the coroner himself was too afraid of this woman to address the issue of her gaudy wardrobe. What kind of assistant coroner wears skinny jeans and a leather jacket to the scene of an accident? I assumed that’s where she’d been—the spot Tom had also been called to. She’d probably spoken with him and something he’d said upset her enough to bring her here—because she was certainly on a tear. Lydia’s obsession with all things Tom never failed to surprise me. One day, when I wasn’t exhausted, I’d love to sit down and have a heart-to-heart with her about when she first fell “in love” with a man who never gave her any encouragement in the romance department. Maybe I’d learn more about what made Lydia tick and even begin to understand her.
She didn’t waste any time letting me know just how upset she was. “Jillian Hart, when will you learn to stay out of the murder business? You should be the one sitting in the police station right now, not Tom.”
My eyes widened in surprise. Tom was still at Mercy PD after all this time? And did she say murder? “I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about, Lydia,” I said as evenly as I could. But my stomach was doing somersaults.
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