Finn and Lindsey were finishing up their late-night meal of chips, sandwiches and milk when Candace’s familiar rap sounded on the back door. She often walked right in afterward without waiting for me to come to the door, but not this time. This was not a social call.
But Finn recognized the knock and looked at me with hurt in eyes. “You called her? Really, Jillian? You called Candace?”
“I called her,” Tom said. I was grateful for this small attempt to rescue me from being labeled the betrayer of Finn’s trust. “Lindsey needs to talk to the police. Seth wasn’t the only one looking for her.”
Lindsey slid off the barstool and glanced around as if searching for a way to escape. But Tom was already at the door ushering Candace into the kitchen. And so were all four cats. Magpie sure fit right in here. All visitors must be vetted.
Candace knelt and petted them while looking Lindsey’s way. “I’m Deputy Carson and I take it you’re Rhett Marner’s daughter. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Lindsey had become a little more animated in the minutes before Candace’s arrival, but her anguish seemed to return. “Don’t be. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy.” She turned to me. “And I guess I won’t be staying here after all.”
In the calmest voice I could muster, I said, “I hope you change your mind. Candace only wants to talk to you and you’re more than welcome to stay.” I glanced Candace’s way. “You just want to talk, right?”
Candace stood. “Yes, ma’am, that’s all. Just a few minutes of Lindsey’s time is all I need. It’s been a long, rough day.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to jail?”
This seemed to take Candace aback—and she wasn’t the only one. Silence hung in the air like a shadow over all of us—and hung for a second too long.
But the girl’s next words explained her comment. “Oh, you mean my mother hasn’t thrown me under the bus yet? Well, that’s a first.”
Candace gestured toward my living room. “Why don’t we sit down and talk about what happened today?”
But Lindsey had returned to full-blown sullen form. “Do I have a choice?” In true petulant teen mode she swung around and marched into my adjoining living area, shrugging off Finn’s comforting hand on her shoulder. She plopped onto a chair facing the sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around her.
Candace sat opposite from her on the sofa, adjusting a police belt laden by her holstered weapon, a baton and her cell phone holder. “I’m not much older than you, Lindsey. You’re nineteen, is that right?”
Lindsey nodded and snuck a peek at Candace’s face. I’d never thought of how close in age these two were—Candace was only in her mid-twenties—probably because Lindsey seemed so much younger. She might have been nineteen but could easily have been mistaken for thirteen or fourteen.
“I’m not here to take you to jail or even take you home. You’re old enough to decide where you want to stay right now. I need a few answers, that’s all.”
Magpie suddenly jumped in Lindsey’s lap and put her paws on the girl’s chest so she could rub the side of her head along Lindsey’s jaw. I’d been busying myself by clearing off the counter with Finn’s help, but when I saw Magpie go to Lindsey’s rescue, tears burned behind my eyes.
The girl’s shoulders relaxed and her hands came out of hiding to stroke the kitty. Now that she had Lindsey’s attention, the cat curled up in her lap and looked right at Candace.
Lindsey said, “Ask your questions, Officer.”
“Call me Candace.” She glanced at Magpie. “I’ve met that cat before. Did you know that?”
“Finn told me.”
“She’s awful sweet.” Candace paused, tilting her head, probably hoping to get a glimpse into Lindsey’s eyes. But that wasn’t happening.
“That’s not a question,” Lindsey said. “Can you get to the point?”
I tensed and as if sensing my discomfort, Tom put his arm around me.
“Okay, who told you about your father’s death?”
Lindsey looked up and stared at Candace. “Why does that matter?”
Candace, her hands clasped between her knees, leaned forward and didn’t say a word.
“Okay, okay. First I got a text from my mother, and then Finn called me.”
Candace sat back and both Tom and I looked at Finn.
He said, “I can explain. At the shelter, this man came in to pick up his lost Lab and he said he’d seen all these people hanging around that office building construction site and that both Mr. Marner’s wives were there and when he saw the other Mrs. Marner—not Lindsey’s mother, the new one—anyway, she fainted. Then—”
Candace held up a hand. “I get the picture.” She focused on Lindsey again, who had begun to rock ever so slightly. “You haven’t talked to your mother?”
“Like I said, she texted me. I guess that’s supposed to count as talking. And I don’t even know how he died—just that someone killed him.”
I stifled a gasp, tried to keep my face from revealing my shock. I guessed it hadn’t registered when she said her mother texted her about the murder. My Pollyanna brain decided the message was asking Lindsey to come right away. Instead this poor kid heard about her father’s death via text message? I wanted to wrap her in my arms and hug her, make this better, but I was certain touching her right now wouldn’t be received well. Lindsey trusted Finn, and that was about it.
“What she did is not cool,” Candace said. “Before I ask a few more questions, would you feel more comfortable if Tom, Jillian and Finn left the room?”
Lindsey’s response was swift. “Are you kidding me? These people are normal. They’re actually nice.”
Candace held up a hand. “Okay, I’m fine with it if you are.”
I saw Lindsey steal a glance at Finn, noticed her eyes had filled. But she blinked several times and said to Candace, “Do you think I killed him?”
“Did you?”
“I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Please tell me how he died. Please someone tell me.” She glanced around at all of us. The tears came then, streaming down her face and making mascara-stained inroads through her makeup.
Magpie awoke, looked back at her. She again climbed Lindsey’s chest to rub her own face against the cheek of this sad, sad child. And she was a child. We all became children when someone we love left us forever. I wiped away a tear of my own.
Quietly, Candace said, “He was shot.”
Finn left the barstool and knelt by Lindsey, covering one of her hands that clung to Magpie. She continued to cry, shoulders shaking, but she remained restrained by her fear of being too vulnerable in a room filled with people who were practically strangers.
After a minute, Lindsey swiped under her eyes with the heel of her hand, leaving dark-tinted semicircles on her cheeks.
Magpie left her then, leaping onto the floor. She sauntered away with a backward glance as if to say, “My work for now is done.”
Finn stayed, gripping Lindsey’s wrists and pulling her hands away from her face. “I am so, so sorry.”
“I didn’t even like him, so I don’t know why I’m crying.” Her tone held a hint of defiance along with the wonder of feeling an emotion she wasn’t yet ready to accept—grief.
“Like and love are two very different things,” Candace said. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Maybe three days ago—could have been four. He doesn’t come around much. He has a new family. But then you and everyone else know that.”
“He came to your house?” Candace asked.
“Yeah, I needed money for a textbook and my dear, sweet mother said that wasn’t her responsibility.”
“He seemed normal? Not upset about anything?”
“In a hurry, and what could be more normal than that?” Her sarcasm had returned in full force, but I noted she didn’t pull away from Finn, who now held both her hands in his. That was encouraging, because this girl needed someone to hold on to her.
“Did he say anything out of the ordinary? Anything that seemed different to you? Because you, I can tell, are a very observant person.”
Lindsey squinted into the past. “Now that you mention it, he seemed like . . .” She looked straight at Candace for the first time. “Like he’d had too much coffee. Jittery, you know?”
“Talking fast?”
“Yeah. I think he said something about everyone needing money right now.” She thought for a second. “Yes. I felt guilty for asking for the money because he said everyone thought he was an ATM.”
“And you think he’d had too much coffee?”
“Not really. It was different—and when he hugged me, he didn’t have coffee breath like usual, and believe me, my daddy has the worst—” She pulled a hand free from Finn’s grasp and covered her mouth. “Oh my God. He’s gone and I was such a brat. I pulled away when he hugged me, gave him attitude and—”
This time the tears came with racking sobs and Finn gripped her shoulders, stood her up and wrapped her in his arms.
This kid deserved all the support she could get, so I joined Finn and rubbed circles on Lindsey’s back. I was surprised when she threw her arms around my neck and cried her heart out into my shoulder. I was probably about the same age as her mother, after all. I got the sense this release was long overdue.
• • •
Thirty minutes later, Candace resumed her questions. Lindsey clutched a glass of water and a box of tissues sat nearby. Finn was cross-legged on the floor next to his friend to offer support, and Tom and I had claimed the barstools. Lindsey still wanted us to stay in the room, which I found touchingly sad. This girl should be surrounded by loving family at a time like this.
Candace’s interrogation focused mostly on the day Rhett Marner dropped off the check, and once Lindsey pulled herself together, she was able to pin the time down to five days earlier because of that textbook and why she needed it. She’d lost the one she’d already bought and with an exam coming up she was, in her words, “desperate” after her mother refused to give her the necessary hundred dollars.
Candace wasn’t giving much away about her investigation. After being her friend for several years now, I understood the importance she placed on a crime’s timeline, and this murder was no different. But then she surprised me by showing Lindsey the picture she had on her phone of Magpie’s locket. She asked Lindsey if she recognized it.
The girl nodded. “It sort of belongs to me. Where did you find it?”
“Where did you see it last?” Candace countered.
“I don’t remember. My bathroom? My jewelry box? Did you find that with my father’s b-b . . .” She halted. Took a deep breath. “With my father?” Her eyes tracked Candace’s phone as she replaced it.
“So you think your father had this necklace? Why would he, Lindsey?”
“It’s been in our family a long time. Maybe he saw it on the bathroom vanity and didn’t think I was taking care of it. He was pretty controlling that way. Or maybe I left it at his new house.” She shifted her eyes right and left and right again and took on a nonchalant air. I got the sense she knew much more about that necklace than she was letting on.
But a thought ran through my head and overshadowed my initial conclusion that this was just a teenager being cagey. Candace wouldn’t have shown that necklace to Lindsey if it weren’t connected to the case.
Did that speck of blood Candace had pointed out before belong to Rhett Marner? The sick feeling in my stomach told me it did.