Cat Fear No Evil (22 page)

And most important, did the kit know? Did Kit know that the family she loved so fiercely was safe, the family for whom she had been grieving?

Lucinda's message had been left at 8:30
P.M.
, just about the time she had walked into her trashed apartment. She couldn't stop thinking of the kit, of how excited the little tattercoat would be. She tried Wilma again but her line was still busy, and so was Clyde's.

 

Before Wilma called to give Clyde the amazing news about Lucinda and Pedric, Clyde stood in his study wondering whether to throw some clothes in a duffel and take off at once, drive on up to the city, and give Kate some moral support, or whether to go sensibly to bed and take off at first light. Kate sounded in really bad shape, he had never heard her so weepy. Not even during that bad time when Jimmie wanted her dead and when under stress Kate had experienced the feline side of her nature in a manner that he still found hard to deal with.

Moving into the bedroom, he had snatched his leather duffel from the shelf in the walk-in closet and was stuffing in a couple of pairs of shorts and socks when the phone rang. Picking up the bedside extension, he could hear a cat yowling in the background.

Within moments he knew they were alive; Lucinda and Pedric were alive. Wilma was laughing and crying. He could hear the kit in the background yowling and laughing; she sounded demented. He sat down on the bed.

He had to tell Joe. Why wasn't he here? Where the hell was Joe Grey?

B
y ten that night, the fog had packed itself as tight as
cotton wool into Molena Point, drowning the village trees and rooftops and gathering like an advancing sea along the sidewalks and against the faintly lit store-fronts. The oaks that guarded Wilma Getz's house stood shrouded as pale as ghosts above the mist-flooded flower beds. Not the faintest smear of light shone in Wilma's front windows, but at the back of the house her bedroom bled golden light out onto the grassy hill.

Within the cozy room a lamp burned, and three small oak logs blazed in the red enamel stove. On Wilma's bed, curled up on the thick, flowered quilt, Dulcie and Kit lay limp and relaxed as Wilma read to them.

Wilma would not have chosen for the night's reading a volume of Celtic folklore, but the kit had begged for it. Those stories, so reminiscent of Lucinda and Pedric, made the kit incredibly sad, yet she demanded to hear them. The tale was deep into stone circles and
underground kingdoms when the phone rang, its shrill sound jerking the three of them abruptly from those distant realms. The two half-dreaming cats started up wide eyed, visions from the story crumbling as Wilma reached for the phone.

Her hand paused in midair. Did she really want to answer? Could it be a sales pitch this late? If a salesman got the answering machine, he'd hang up—that's what the machine was for. The last time the phone rang late at night, it had been terrible news: the deaths of two dear friends.

But then, ever curious, ever hopeful that something wonderful was happening in the world, Wilma picked up.

When she heard the voice at the other end she caught her breath, her heart started to thud—then she began to smile, then to laugh. “Hold on,” she said. “Hold one minute.”

Hitting record, she reached out to the kit. “Come here quick. You were right,” she whispered, gathering the kit in close to her. “Kit, you were right, they're alive.” Cuddling the kit in her arms, she held the receiver so they both could listen. “They're alive, Kit! Lucinda and Pedric are alive.” Then, remembering the speaker, she pressed the button. “Go on,” she said. “We're all three listening.”

Lucinda's voice sent the kit rigid. She stared at the phone that, she had thought a few months ago, was some kind of magic. She stared up at Wilma.

Lucinda was saying, “After I left a message on Kate's phone, Pedric and I went out to dinner. We just got back. I expect Kate has already called you. Well, we're fine, Wilma. We're just fine. Is the kit there?”

The kit stared at the speaker and touched it with a hesitant paw. Pressing against Wilma, looking up into Wilma's face, she tried to read the truth of what she was hearing. All her kittenhood suspicion of telephones and things electronic tumbled through her head, rendering her deeply uncertain. She couldn't stop shivering.

But that
was
Lucinda's voice, she knew Lucinda's voice.

“Kit? Are you there? It's really me, it's Lucinda. We're fine, Pedric is right here with me. We got out of the RV before the wreck. We're coming home, Kit. Coming to stay, to build our house for the three of us.”

Kit shoved her nose at the speaker.
“Lucinda, Lucinda…”
And for once the kit abandoned all powers of speech and fell into mewling cries.

“We're in Fort Bragg,” Lucinda said. “We'll be in the city tomorrow morning. We've left a message for Kate. There's so much more to tell her—so much to tell you. So much that I think we need to tell Captain Harper. Now. Tonight. Would he mind if we called him at home?”

“Of course he wouldn't mind. He'll be thrilled to hear your voices and so will Charlie. But what…?”

“The man who stole our RV, who probably intended to kill us—we think we know him. We think this could be connected somehow to events in the village.”

Wilma sat quietly listening to Lucinda's story, seeing the old couple locked in their bedroom in the RV as the man pocketed their ignition keys, as he unhooked the gas and electric lines, the water and waste systems from the RV parking slot.

“What time was this?” Wilma asked. “Didn't anyone in the campground see him and wonder?”

“It was early, just after dark. But no one could see our rig. We always choose a private space with just the woods around us.

“Well, when he started the engine and took off, we were locked in the bedroom. We crawled under the bed into the storage compartment and waited until he slowed to turn onto the highway, then went out the other side into the bushes, dragging a duffel with a few clothes and some money. And a blanket. No need to be cold; we slept all night in the woods.”

“But what did he want?” Wilma said. Not that anyone these days needed an excuse for cold-blooded behavior.

“The jewelry,” Lucinda told her. “That costume jewelry. Can you believe that? It's lovely, but it's only paste.”

“Are you sure that's what he wanted?”

“It's what he told us.”

“And you gave it to him?”

“We told him we'd put it in a safe deposit box in Eureka with some personal papers. He demanded our key and a sample of Pedric's signature. We gave him both.”

Lucinda laughed. “The safe deposit key is not for a bank in Eureka. That's where he was headed when we bailed out of the RV. The jewels were in the storage compartment of the RV, we got them out in the duffel. Pedric—”

“You had them…have them with you?”

“Of course. We took them when we crawled out.”

Wilma smiled at their resourcefulness, then shivered. “Do be careful, Lucinda. Why would he…Are you so sure they're paste?”

“Kate had hers appraised. Ours are just like hers; same style, same kind of setting. We couldn't have bought those pieces up in Russian River for the little we paid if the jewels were real.”

Wilma looked at Dulcie. They were both thinking the same thing. Wilma said, “Lucinda, it's time for another appraisal. Meantime, please be careful. Even when you get to the Bay Area, miles from Russian River, you could still be in danger.”

When Lucinda hung up to call Max Harper, Wilma sat holding the two cats close, the kit purring so loudly that she drowned out the crackle of the fire and the distant pounding of the surf. Wilma said, “Can you imagine Max and Charlie's delight when they find out the Greenlaws are alive?”

“I can imagine,” Dulcie said tersely, “Captain Harper asking more questions than you did. What man? How do they know him?
How
is this connected to the village?”

“I didn't want to grill her. She'll tell all that to Max. Be patient, Dulcie. We'll hear it all from him, or from Charlie.” Wilma straightened the flowered quilt, smoothed the sheet, and turned out the light. She and the cats were just settling down when again the phone rang. It was Kate.

They spent the next hour talking with her. The fire died down, the room grew chilly, and they wrapped themselves in the quilt. What an amazing night! Kate's break-in, her ruined apartment, Azrael entering through
her kitchen window to open the door for that woman, then staying to harass her. Wilma didn't say it, but Kate sounded like a basket case.

“Consuela Benton,” Wilma said, amazed.

But of course the kit and Dulcie had known. They didn't tell Wilma everything—not when that black tom had prowled her house so brazenly, not when Kate's key had been stolen right here in Wilma's own guest room, practically under Wilma's nose. Though they might opt to tell her soon, if Consuela and that beast returned to the village.

“So smooth and sophisticated,” Kate said, “not a thing like Consuela. Hardly any makeup, her hair simple and clean, no ghoulish black eye makeup, no skintight jeans and bare belly button—”

“Kate, I'm going to call Charlie in the morning. See if I can pick up her barrette and take the two pieces to be appraised, here in the village. Maybe Lucinda would take her pieces to someone, maybe someone Dallas Garza could remember, in the city.”

“I'll suggest it,” Kate said. “I'll try.”

They hung up. Wilma and the cats snuggled down again, and the kit fell asleep at once. So much excitement, so much wonderment and joy. Now she totally crashed, worn out, curled in a tangle of the quilt, dropping deep, deep under, exhausted clear down to her tortoiseshell paws.

T
he ringing phone woke Charlie. She was alone in
bed, alone in the house. The time was 11:40. Muzzily she picked up the receiver thinking it was Max. The woman who spoke, her voice, her words, sent chills wriggling down Charlie's spine.
“Who?”
She sat up in bed, switching on the lamp.
“Who is this?”

“It's Lucinda, my dear. Lucinda Greenlaw.”

Outside the bedroom window, the thick fog was smeared yellow by the two security lights that illuminated the yard and stable. Clutching the phone, Charlie didn't speak.

“Oh dear, I don't mean to shock everyone. I thought Kate might have called you. We weren't in the RV when it crashed, Charlie. We're alive. We…”

What kind of scam was this? Charlie listened warily. If the Greenlaws were alive, Max would have known right away, from the sheriff. And Lucinda would have called Wilma at once. Charlie sat holding the phone, trying to figure out what was going down.

“Charlie, this
is
Lucinda. I didn't mean to frighten
you. I just talked with Wilma. I need to talk with Max…You're not on a cell phone?”

“No,” Charlie said. “It's the be…” She caught her breath. She'd started to say the bedroom phone. She stared toward the hall, wondering if someone had gotten in the house, if someone was on one of the extensions, playing some insane trick. “Who
is
this?” She wished Max were there. There was no way this could be Lucinda. Max should be talking to this woman.

“It's Lucinda, my dear. Is the captain there? I just talked with Wilma—and with Kit, Charlie. I talked with Kit.”

She pulled the covers up. “Lucinda?” She stuffed both pillows behind her.

“We weren't in the RV when it crashed and burned, Charlie, we'd already gotten out, before it reached the highway.”

“But where have you been? Why didn't you call? The whole village is grieving.”

As she listened to Lucinda's explanation and imagined the elderly couple crawling into the storage compartment and out the other side, slipping and sliding down into the muddy drainage ditch, Charlie began to grin.

She knew that Pedric had completed some work on the new RV to customize it before they ever began to travel, but she hadn't known how much.

“I didn't know,” she said, laughing, “how sly Pedric could be. I didn't know with what foresight he did those improvements.”

“Sometimes it pays,” Lucinda said, “to have grown up in a family of thieves. Pedric knows every way there is to get into—or get out of—a house or trailer or RV.”

“This is just…You two are incredible. Max will want to hear this. Call him now, Lucinda. At the station.”

“It's all right to call there so late?”

“More than all right.” Charlie gave her the number. “We love you, Lucinda.”

Hanging up, turning out the light, and pulling up the covers, Charlie snuggled down. This was indeed a gift of grace—for the Greenlaws, for the kit, for all their friends. A deep sense of protection filled her, as powerful as when, on her and Max's wedding day, they had escaped that terrible explosion that had been set to kill them and most of the wedding party. Escaping that disaster, she had felt that all of them were blessed and watched over. She felt the same now, with this amazing reprieve.

 

Within the fog-shrouded police station, Max Harper and Detective Garza sat on either side of Harper's desk with Marlin Dorriss's phone and credit card bills spread out between them. Garza was busy recording pertinent motel stays or gas or restaurant purchases onto a chart, next to the corresponding burglaries. So far they had put Dorriss near the scene of seven thefts. Interestingly, during five of those, his motel bill showed double occupancy.

Harper said, “I hope to hell that wasn't Helen Thurwell. That would tear it. You want to check Helen's time off from the real estate firm?”

Garza nodded. The fact that Dorriss's bills had come to them through the holding cell window did not dampen the intensity with which the officers sorted
through them—though how their informant had gotten away so fast off the roof, with uniforms blasting the sky with searchlights, neither Harper nor Garza cared to speculate.

As they studied the information, preparing to petition the judge for a search warrant, the informant himself looked down on their heads from atop Max Harper's bookcase. The tomcat appeared to be sleeping, his yellow eyes closed, his breathing slow and deep. Occasionally, one or the other of the officers would glance up at him, amused. No one knew why the cat was so attracted to cops.

The cat was good company, though, on a quiet late night. Probably he was addicted to the fried chicken and doughnuts that the dispatchers saved for him. Whatever reasons the cat might have, the nervy little freeloader had become a fixture around the station. As were his two lady pals, though the females didn't sprawl all over a guy's desk quite so boldly, nosing at papers and reports.

By the time Harper and Garza set the bills aside, they had eleven possible hits. Leaning back in his chair, Harper propped his feet on the desk, grinning at Dallas. “I think we've made Marlin Dorriss. We sure have enough for a warrant.”

“But why the hell,” Garza said, “if Dorriss also has a dozen false identities, with credit cards and drivers' licenses as our informant claims he does, why didn't he set up to use those for the thefts?” Their informant had, an hour after the Visa bill drop, called the station to relay the information about the false IDs to the captain.

Garza shrugged. “Guess he couldn't though. In every one of those thefts, there was some affair or
charity dinner, so he had a reason to be there. How would he receive phone calls? And in a small town, if he checked into a hotel under a false name, there would be too many possible leaks.”

Harper rose to refill their coffee cups. “This is some kind of game for the thief—some high-powered game. Steals one trophy piece from each residence, leaves a fortune untouched.”

Garza shrugged. “Takes all kinds.”

“I'll see the judge first thing in the morning.”

Joe found it hard not to yowl with triumph, not to leap down and give the officers a high five. He listened, very still.

“You really think,” Dallas said, “there's any point in searching his local residence? Why would he stash his take anywhere near the village?”

“Not likely, but we'll have to cover it. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me to find it right here. I went through his Molena Point house when it was being built. Contractor is a friend of mine. Dorriss doesn't know I was ever in there.”

Harper's dry smile rearranged his lean, tanned wrinkles. “You know how the rich like to build with hiding places, foil the bad guys. That house has it in spades. All those different alcoves, it must have a dozen double walls, hidden dead spaces that no one would ever notice. Sealed up, no access you'd easily see.”

“What about the contractor? Dorriss trusted him?”

“I think Dorriss had a little something on the guy.” Harper set down his cup. “If the local search gives us nothing, maybe there's rented storage space, though I doubt it. More likely his San Francisco condo, or even Tahoe. I'll call Judge Brameir in the city, get him early
in the morning, see if he'll issue a warrant for the condo.”

Above the officers' heads, Joe Grey smiled. That was his thinking exactly. And, if Azrael
had
been in Dorriss's house, as he suspected, if the cat was welcome there, and if Azrael ran with Consuela, then was she Dorriss's partner? Had Consuela been Dorriss's companion in those double occupancy rooms while Dorriss pulled off his burglaries?

If Dorriss's stash was there at the condo, Joe thought, what about Clyde's antique Packard? Was it there, as well, hidden in a garage? Wouldn't that be a hoot. San Francisco PD goes out with a warrant, searches the place, and there's Clyde's valuable restored Packard sitting right there waiting for them. Joe's head was so full of possibilities he thought he'd explode. He had risen, faking a yawn, burning to leap down and go tell Clyde his theory, when the phone buzzed.

Harper hit the speaker.

The dispatcher said, “Thought you'd want this one, Captain.”

When she'd put through the call and when Joe heard Lucinda's voice, he nearly fell off the bookshelf.
The Greenlaws were alive?
Not in the hospital, not harmed in any way, but alive and heading for the city?

Joe listened with the two officers to Lucinda's amazing story, watched the two men's pleased smiles, and listened to Harper's questions and Lucinda's responses: no, they hadn't yet talked with the sheriff, yes they were watching that they weren't followed. When Harper had the whole story and had hung up, he and Dallas were both grinning. This time, even without the
law, it looked like the bad guy had got what he deserved. The sense of satisfaction that filled the officers and filled Joe Grey was thick enough to cut with a knife.

As the tomcat dropped from the bookcase to the desk, hit the floor yawning, and padded lazily out of the room, he was so wired that he could barely keep from racing up the hall to the glass door shouting for the dispatcher to let him out—by this time Dulcie knew, the kit knew, and he could hardly wait to hear the little tattercoat's excited yowls.