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“Interesting,” I said. “And did Mrs. Finn inform you that my Gram had an ongoing relationship with her mother?”
He glanced over, eyebrows raised.
I dropped the plates on the counter. “They kept it secret, what with the times, marital status, and their age difference.”
“Were you aware?”
I shrugged. “I knew they were members of the same gardening club. Never crossed my mind, to be honest.”
The man pulled out a chair and waved me into it. He waited for me to sit before adding, “Here’s where I’m lost, Marcy. Your grandmother was under observation by New York’s former sheriff, Darrell Tolbert.”
All these years I’d believed we had escaped detection. “For what?” I asked, trying to figure out what he knew without giving the game away.
“Tolbert made several visits to this area which ceased around the date of your grandmother’s death. He kept a journal, the contents of which were uploaded last year to our digital archives. I found it running both your name and your grandmother’s through our database. Requested the hard copy and other files. Tolbert had her name, a clipping of the obituary, and several undated pictures.” He scratched the back of his head, his face a touch pink. “One of which is quite the vintage pinup. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“No shit.”
“I’ve chalked their connection as personal in some regard, but can’t figure or find why. No cases involving her, no logged calls or official reports to this residence by Tolbert or Gannon, Connecticut’s sheriff before me. Just her name and a handful of dates mentioned in his journal beginning a few months after your grandmother purchased this house.”
“And where are Tolbert and Gannon now?”
“Retired,” was his claim, but there was no defense of it in his expression.
“Natural causes?”
“Don’t get more natural than fangs,” he said. “New York’s current sheriff never bothered investigating Tolbert’s private affairs. Worse storms brewing.”
“Where was I named?”
“In the ‘survived by.’” He sneezed, looked abruptly alert and asked with a frown toward the darkness beneath the table, “Where are my least favorite hellions?”
“Harassing Lisa and Wyatt. Once the new drywall and window are installed, I'll bring them home.”
On that note (and upon his refusal to take a twenty from me to cover the cost), it was time to eat.
I pressed extra napkins against my slice lest I grease one of my pricier dresses. “Shall we?” I asked, gesturing to my vacuumed, un-mauled living room furniture.
He glanced from table to couch. “We could’ve gone somewhere. Have you gotten any rest?”
“Hard to do, what with visions of Cho oozing through my head.” I flipped on the table lamps. At the TV remote I hesitated, but left it untouched. We were getting on fine without distractions. “How do you cope?”
“It’s all I’ve ever known.” He sank onto one side of the couch. “What's this wolf business then?”
Dress-conscious, I sat on the other side, balanced my plate on the arm rest and leaned for a dainty bite. “After the contractor left, I took a trot to Calico’s.”
“What’d she want?”
“To be honest,”—the best liars mostly were—“I'm not sure. More than Stephen’s pelt. Shouldn’t have gone alone.”
“No.”
“Were you trying to get ahead of her with the snake in the daisies?”
“Mrs. Finn enjoys testing the limits of my patience.” Caelan’s natural state of calm kept his reaction tempered. “There’s no telling what a person will do when confronted with life-altering information. If she got you spooked, things might could’ve ended badly for you both. Not to mention the wasted time and resources spent tracking you while there’s actual monsters to hunt.”
“Would you have told me if Cal hadn’t broken in?”
“I’d have preferred letting you sip from a cup than a firehouse, but yes, I would have. However, cat’s out. You decide what to believe and how to proceed. Just know I aim to keep you safe.”
