Page 104 of Murder By the Millions
“Not to spite her mother?”
“Well, I’m sure it was part of the equation.”
Wow! I couldn’t believe it. Delilah and Jason had an actual historical connection? Having known her as a child might explain why he’d been so adamant about owning the Yeager properties. If there had been bad blood between Cora Yeager and her daughter, and if Delilah had grown up hearing about their rift, and in the process realized her grandmother was the reason she no longer saw Jason, she might have delighted in seeing the properties destroyed and converted into a mall.
If he built it … she might come.
CHAPTER22
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’sThe Great Gatsby
Ahalf 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 hereminded 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 Fortunewas 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.
