Cat Coming Home (21 page)

Ryan remained quiet. She couldn’t understand, as vulnerable as Maudie was here alone, and with the shooting so recent and raw in her emotions, how she could be so unconcerned. She had started to speak, to ask more about the missing keys, when she caught Joe Grey’s eye, the tomcat’s look so intense that she had to look away.

What was he telling her? But then almost as if he’d spoken, Ryan knew. It was the one question Joe had asked her about the shooting, the one element of that double
murder that Maudie had never made clear, that she seemed to have carefully skirted, the few times the subject was mentioned.

On that black night, on that dark mountain road, with only the thin flicker of moonlight Maudie had described,
had
she seen the face of the killer?

If she’d seen the shooter and had told the police, wouldn’t she have been encouraged to stay in L.A., maybe with a guard, until the shooter was arrested and she could identify him? If she was the only witness, surely the LAPD wouldn’t have wanted her to move away. Ryan could conclude only that, most likely, Maudie hadn’t seen the shooter. And yet the woman’s unease when she talked about the shooting, something apart from the horror and pain of the murder, made both Ryan and Joe Grey wonder.

“That night,” Ryan said, “the night of the shooting—
did
you see the killer? See anything you could tell the police?”

“Nothing,” Maudie said quickly. “The sheriff questioned me while I was in the hospital. Later when I got out, when David took me home, the L.A. police questioned me. I guess they were doing some kind of …” Maudie paused, searching for the word.

“Collateral investigation?” Ryan asked.

Maudie nodded. “But no, that night—so black … Hardly any moon at all. It had been a hot day, was still hot and we had the top down. Suddenly the pickup loomed beside us, seemed to come out of nowhere, racing along next to us, and the next instant the gunshots, the noise, and those three explosions of light blinding me, the car spinning out of control and going over …” Maudie said,
telling more than she’d been asked, more than was needed.

Ryan said no more. She glanced at Joe Grey, feeling the same uncertainty that gleamed in the tomcat’s eyes. At that moment, woman and cat were caught in the same sure sense that Maudie wanted only to divert Ryan, that she was surely holding something back.

Had she lied to the L.A. detectives? Maybe lied so she’d be free to leave L.A., so the police wouldn’t press her to stay in the city, under their protection? Or if Maudie was the only one who could identify the killer, would she lie to protect herself, so the killer wouldn’t come after her?

But this was all conjecture. Probably in the dark night, Ryan thought, Maudie had seen nothing more than the flashes of the gun, she was most likely telling the truth, had told L.A. everything she knew. After all, who more than Maudie would want to see the killer pay for those brutal murders?

I
T WAS HARDLY
light when the first good smells of party food filtered up to Joe’s tower from the kitchen below. The tomcat woke, yawning, drinking in the scents of frying meat and onions. Ryan and Clyde would be putting together the tamale pie, and probably the taco fillings, for the Christmas party. Out across the roofs, long streaks of sunrise bloomed beneath a cover of heavy gray clouds. But it wouldn’t rain, he couldn’t smell rain in the offing. No matter what the weather gurus might think, Joe knew better; he knew the sky would clear before the day’s festivities. Rising from among his pillows, his mind on the feast to come, he headed in through his cat door onto the heavy rafter. Dropping down to Clyde’s desk, he hit the floor and galloped down the stairs.

Clyde was just setting the last of five huge casseroles on the counter, to be baked later. Joe reared up, looking. “You leave any for my breakfast? I’d be happy to lick the pot.”

“It isn’t fully cooked yet,” Clyde said, glancing at the casseroles.

“It’s cooked enough for me.” He leaped up to the counter as Clyde, having indeed saved some back, set down a small plate of the half-cooked delicacy for him. Besides the tamale pie and tacos, there would be all manner of food for the buffet, a ham, chicken pies from Jolly’s Deli, and a variety of salads and casseroles that their friends would bring, all carefully packed in Styrofoam coolers. Dinner would go on all afternoon in a marathon buffet as officers came and went, taking their hasty breaks. Every available officer would be on duty. With all the events scheduled, this could be a perfect time for an invasion—not a pleasant end to a happy holiday celebration, to return home in a happy mood and find unwelcome visitors offering a dark side to the usual Christmas greetings.

As soon as Ryan and Clyde had opened up the big round table in the kitchen and laid out the napkins and plates and silverware, Ryan disappeared into the guest room. Joe followed her, leaping up onto the wicker desk among boxes of Christmas cards and unwrapped gifts. Though their tree was up, filling a corner of the living room, and Clyde had mailed his cards to favorite clients, Ryan hadn’t started her own cards or wrapped her gifts. “Why the hurry?” Joe said. “Christmas is a whole week away.”

“I don’t need the sarcasm,” she said, scratching his ear. The bed was covered with boxes and bags from her favorite village shops, and with rolls of red and green Christmas paper. Beneath the wide windows, the wicker game table held boxes of Christmas cards, stamps, and sheets
of computer-printed address labels. She had set up a folding table nearby, where her scissors and tape and fancy tags were lined up awaiting a frenzy of gift wrapping. A box of tall red Christmas candles stood on the nightstand, scenting the room with bayberry. “I was supposed to start the new house up on Third next week,” she said. “I put them off until after New Year’s. Between it and our own remodels, I’m lucky to have even a start on Christmas. I hate being stressed during the holidays.”

Joe looked at the organized start she’d already made, and thought about the nine houses she’d remodeled just this last year, and could only admire Ryan’s efficiency. If she’d been a cat, she’d be a skilled mouser, every move keenly planned—the little beasts wouldn’t have a prayer. Rubbing against her hand, he said, “Thanks for loaning us the phone. And for not asking questions.”

“What’s the point in asking? You’ll tell me only what you want me to hear.”

What he’d told her was that he needed to borrow a cell phone, just for today. She’d looked at him for a long time. He’d be around the house today, so why would he need a phone? He could use the house phone, could find privacy upstairs if he needed to make a call. And who would he call? Dulcie and Kit would be right there, as well as half the department, the chief, the detectives. But now, too curious to remain polite, she did ask.

“Is the phone for that yellow tomcat?”

Silently Joe looked at her.

“I’ve seen him on the roofs. I thought … the way he acted …” Her eyes widened, then she laughed. “So he
is
like you!” And then she couldn’t help it, that one question
burst into multiple questions. “Where did he come from? He has to be new to the village. He’s not part of the wild clowder from up in the hills?” She shook her head. “I said I wouldn’t ask, but …” She looked down at the table, feeling shy suddenly, and spread out the first sheet of bright wrapping paper.

Joe watched her with a crooked smile. Ryan was as curious as a cat herself, no wonder they were friends. Sitting on the desk watching her wrap Christmas gifts, he told her what he knew about the yellow tomcat, about Misto’s journey from Soledad prison hiding in Jared’s T-Bird. Told her what Misto had learned in prison about Maudie’s nephew, Kent, and about Marlin Dorriss. “Right now,” Joe said, “Misto’s watching Maudie’s house, that’s why he needs the phone. She’s had one mysterious burglary, and her keys have vanished. If a burglar has them, he need only unlock the door and step in.” He couldn’t understand why Maudie hadn’t changed the locks, he didn’t think that was an oversight. Made him wonder if Maudie
wanted
someone to enter, perhaps when the house was empty or in the small hours, unbidden. “I don’t know what this is about,” he said uneasily, “but with no one home, with Maudie and Benny here for dinner, and Jared with his family, it can’t hurt to watch the place.”

The phone Ryan had stashed on the cottage roof was an old, discarded model that the local electronics shop had taken in trade, to pass on to old folks in home care facilities. The shop owner was a friend of hers, she’d done some carpentry work for him. The phone had a new battery and was in good working order, and she’d set up a temporary
account for it under an assumed name. She’d added to its convenience by keying in one-digit operation for the Damens’ house, Wilma and Dulcie, Max’s and Dallas’s cell numbers, and her own cell. And now, to cheer the old cat while he was on watch alone in the branches of Maudie’s oak tree, she said she’d take him a plate of selections from the buffet, leave it on the cottage roof.

“Where did that cat come from before the prison?” Ryan said. “Is he all alone?”

Hopping from the desk to the table among the tangle of bright Christmas wrappings, Joe sat down on the gold paper she was folding around a box. “I don’t know the whole story, but you can bet Kit will find out.” He went silent when he heard Max’s voice just out in the hall, and then Dallas. They were talking about day patrol, the voices coming from the alcove just beside the stairs. Other voices, from the front door, cut in as more guests arrived, and then Max was saying, “… to know why she checked out of the motel. Maybe you made her nervous.”

Dallas laughed. “I’ll check the other motels. Long shot, though, that she’s registered under her own name.”

“I had a call from L.A.,” Max said, “just as we were leaving the house. Detective Lakey. He said they went over the Beckman offices again, found a false compartment under the center drawer of Pearl’s desk. Pearl’s prints were on the metal plate that holds the false bottom in place—and so were Caroline Toola’s.”

“Say Caroline knew Pearl was keeping a double set of books,” Dallas said, “she made a copy, put the original back.”

“But she didn’t report the thefts,” Max said. “As if she meant to blackmail Pearl?”

“Or she didn’t have time?” Dallas said. “Say Pearl booby-trapped the drawer, slipped a hair across the opening, something so she knew it had been tampered with. She figures it was Caroline, maybe Caroline had been nosing around before that. Pearl kills Martin and Caroline not only out of jealousy, but to stop Caroline from turning over the copies to Beckman or to the law.”

Ryan was embarrassed to be inadvertently eavesdropping, though she hadn’t heard anything the two men wouldn’t have told her. But Joe Grey smiled with satisfaction as the officers fitted the pieces together—with no clue that they were helping to inform their prime snitch as well.

Not until Max and Dallas moved away did Joe and Ryan leave their hideaway and return to join their guests. The crowd had doubled, the front door stood open, and the street was lined with cars—not much chance of robbers here, with half the guests in uniform and armed, sitting down only long enough to enjoy the pre-Christmas treats. Sunlight slanted in through the open front door, warming the living room where happy diners sat with their loaded plates on their laps. There was a crowd in the kitchen around the buffet, too, and outside on the back patio where the sun’s heat bounced off the high plaster wall, guests sat elbow to elbow at four long tables enjoying the feast. Joe was winding between pant legs and bare ankles, heading for the living room, when Lucinda and Pedric Greenlaw arrived, Pedric carrying Kit on his
shoulder. As the tortoiseshell leaped to the mantel, out of the way of hard shoes, the tall, slim, gray-haired couple stood talking with Clyde. Behind them, Wilma and Dulcie came in, Wilma dressed in jeans and a red blazer with a sprig of holly on her lapel, her white hair done in a braid that circled her head. Dulcie jumped to the mantel, too, beside Kit, and Joe made a flying leap to join them. Clyde headed for the kitchen and soon returned with three small, cat-sized plates loaded with delicacies, which he set before them. Around the cats, there were scattered moments of silence as newcomers bowed their heads in prayers of thanks before they settled down to enjoy their meal. Maybe law enforcement families, Joe thought, were more aware than most of the preciousness of life, more thankful for what they had. When he looked up, Maudie and Benny were just coming in.

Maudie was dressed in one of her soft-toned quilted smocks over neatly creased slacks. Benny wore his tan chinos and a blue V-necked sweater over a white shirt. The moment they entered, the little boy pressed against his grandmother, staring up at the crowd—but then he saw Rock sitting beside the couch with his head on Kathleen Ray’s lap, and the little boy went straight to the big Weimaraner.

Rock let Benny grab him in a bear hug that would have angered many dogs, but the Weimaraner only licked Benny’s ear and wagged his short tail. Kathleen moved over on the couch to make room for Maudie; the detective was dressed for surveillance in faded jeans, an old faded T-shirt, and worn jogging shoes. Joe had seen her arrive
in an older Ford sedan, one of the unobtrusive cars Max sometimes obtained from Rent-a-Wreck when he wanted his officers to move about the village unnoticed.

“Are you getting moved in?” Kathleen asked Maudie. “That’s not a job I like.”

“Actually,” Maudie said, “I’m doing pretty well. Our tree is up, I have most everything put away, and I’m moved into the new studio.”

“That wasn’t easy, with your hurt shoulder. It’s been, what, eight months since you were shot? That’s another thing that seems to take forever, to recover from a wound like that.”

“I’ve been using a rolling cart,” Maudie said. “One of those lightweight office models that I can shove the boxes onto.” She smiled. “That’s given my other arm a workout. I’m just glad it wasn’t my right shoulder that was hit.” She looked up when Lori and Cora Lee arrived, along with Mavity Flowers. The other two senior ladies were gone for the holidays, Susan Brittain to her daughter in San Francisco, Gabrielle, always looking for a new beau, off on a cruise to Greece. Lori took Benny’s hand and they headed straight for the kitchen buffet table, Cora Lee following the hungry pair.

Ryan came to join Maudie and Juana Davis, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “That little boy idolizes Lori. He told me he didn’t know girls could hammer and saw so straight.”

Maudie laughed. “Benny loves having someone besides an old woman for company, and Lori’s good with him. He’s enamored of Rock, too … I thought, for his
birthday—it’s just two days before Christmas—I’d go out to the pound, see if they have a really nice young dog. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Ryan said. “Your backyard’s already fenced, with a lawn where a boy and a dog can play. Or you might decide to take Benny with you, let him pick out his own dog?” She went silent as Benny, Lori, and Cora Lee returned with loaded plates. All three sat down on the floor beside Ryan to enjoy their supper, Cora Lee nearly as supple as the children.

“The nativity pageant starts at four,” Cora Lee said. She looked up at Maudie. “You are coming, you won’t mind the crowd?”

“I’m a bit under the weather,” Maudie said. “My shoulder’s hurting, but nothing to worry about.”

“We can take Benny,” Cora Lee offered. “See the pageant, take a wagon ride, then I’ll bring him home.” She reached to pat Maudie’s hand. “No one would dare bother him with us, in that crowd.”

“I could pick him up here,” Maudie said, glancing at Ryan. “If that would be all right? It would be closer for Cora Lee.”

“That’s fine,” Ryan said. “Rock will be happy of the company.” Her glance said, No one will bother him here, either, in front of half the department. Soon Maudie had risen and hurried away, down the street to her car. Padding out to the porch, Joe watched her with interest, thinking about her returning to her empty house alone. He had turned back inside when Kit streaked past him out the front door and up the nearest pine and took off, heading for Maudie’s. As if
she
didn’t want to see Maudie go home
alone, with so much activity in the village inviting mischief in the quieter neighborhoods.