Cat Cross Their Graves (25 page)

Crouched on the blotter, the kit pawed at the phone in a frenzy, pawed at the speaker button nearly exploding with impatience, and punched in the number that Dulcie had just dialed.

 

Lori, hurrying up into the hills, heard the courthouse clock strike noon. She was hungry again, in spite of her big breakfast with Cora Lee and Genelle and her cake and milk at Jolly's. Mama would say she was making up for lost time. When she thought about Pa snatching that man up and into his truck, she still didn't know what to make of it. What did Pa know? Did he know the beetle man had kidnapped her? Or
was it something else? But she had to smile, because Pa was sure mad. She didn't like to think about what was going on, maybe she didn't want to know.

It was nicer going up the hills in the daytime, among the pretty cottages and with the sun so warm on her back. Seemed like forever since she'd felt really warm. The way seemed shorter, too, than when she'd climbed up in the cold dark with the wind pushing at her, and afraid of every shadow. When she saw the tall Victorian house ahead, with its gingerbread and its
Secret Garden
wall, she ran the last block, could hardly wait to be inside.

Letting herself in the gate, she didn't see Genelle down on the terrace. Maybe she was inside, maybe Cora Lee had come back to make lunch. Something nice and hot. Mama used to make bean soup and corn bread with cracklings. Crossing through Genelle's tangled garden, her stomach gurgled. Pushing through between tall clumps of brown grasses that were all frondy on top, stepping carefully around clumps of bright-red flowers, she listened. The garden was very quiet now, even the birds were still. Along the stone walk that wandered down to the terrace, tiny butter-yellow flowers bloomed. They had been closed this morning. And all across the garden, among the other plants, there were bushes of bright-yellow daisies that didn't seem to mind the cold. There was no one on the terrace.

The long stone veranda was empty, the little round table was bare. Not a cup or dish, and the chairs were pushed carefully in. On the chaise, Genelle's quilted comforter was wadded up and abandoned. Where was Genelle? Was it Genelle for whom Cora Lee had
gone off in such a hurry, had something happened to Genelle? Quickly Lori moved to the glass doors, peering in.

The glass doors were closed, and there was no light within. When she tried the door, it was locked. She knocked, then put her ear to the glass.

No sound, nothing. Had Genelle gone back to sleep, maybe on a couch? Shivering, she knocked again, then moved down the terrace to the end and tried the heavy wooden door that must be the front entrance. She rang the bell first, then knocked. When no one came, she tried that door, but it, too, was locked. Lori shivered, turned, and made her way up the garden ducking under small trees and tall bushes, working her way around the house until she found a back door, and then another sliding one on the far side. Both were locked. She would not ordinarily try to get into someone's house, but something was wrong, something had happened to Genelle. Was this why Cora Lee had left so upset and not come back?

When she was certain that she couldn't get in, she returned to the terrace and curled up on Genelle's chaise under the comforter, covering herself totally, wondering what to do. She worried about Genelle and thought about her wanting a secret garden. She didn't know where else to go. Even outdoors, in the garden, she felt safer than on the street. Genelle had to come back sometime—if she was all right. Or else Cora Lee would come, she thought with a chill. But beneath the quilt she grew warm at last, deliciously warm. Waiting for Genelle, Lori slept.

S
lipping into Molena Point PD on the heels of a
hurrying rookie, Joe was poised to gallop down the hall to Harper's office when he was treated to sounds of revelry. Loud male laughter from the direction of the coffee room, then Detective Davis's sharp retort. His nose twitched to a medley of deli-rich scents. Hot pastrami and melted cheese, and the herbs and spices that so distinguished George Jolly's pizzas. As Harper made some remark about Detective Davis's birthday that drew laughter, Joe trotted down the hall to the coffee room.

He peered in among a forest of uniformed legs, mirror-polished black shoes, and a few dark skirts above black shoes and stockings. He was crouched to race on down the hall to Harper's office when he was snatched up, lifted into the air by strong hands. He caught the scent of dogs and gunpowder as he was swung up to Detective Garza's shoulder.

“Hold still, tomcat. I'll fix you a snack; otherwise, you'll get stepped on.”

Joe was so amazed, he couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. He even kept his claws in. Dallas Garza was not a cat person, Garza was a dog man deeply enamored of fine English pointers. Though Joe had to admit that since Garza had joined the department, the detective's attitude toward cats had undergone something of a sea change. Joe's week spent freeloading in the Garza cottage while he eavesdropped, and of course made nice with purrs and good manners, had softened the detective considerably. Now, giving Garza a friendly sidelong glance, Joe lay across his shoulder, limp and obliging, as the detective headed for the buffet table where Max Harper was talking with Davis. Several officers grinned and reached to pet Joe. He had, he thought modestly, made some real inroads in departmental attitude. For tough cops, these guys did have a soft side. Dallas had started to fill a small paper plate for Joe when Harper's cell phone buzzed.

Harper picked up, listened for a moment, and nodded. “I'll take it in my office, Mabel.” He left the coffee room quickly, double-timing it down the hall. Joe glanced at the offering that Garza was so thoughtfully preparing. If he dropped down from the detective's shoulder now and followed Harper, Garza was going to wonder.

He waited impatiently as Garza prepared the plate, deliberating between roast beef with garlic or roast chicken.
Come on,
Joe thought, fidgeting. The detective glanced at him. “Keep your shirt on, tomcat.” Fi
nally settling on a little of each, Garza was headed across the crowded room, drawing amused glances, one hand on Joe to steady him, when his pager went off. He glanced down at it, then headed down the hall and into Harper's office, where he swung Joe unceremoniously to the floor and set down the plate. Talk about service. Right where he wanted to be, a ringside seat, complete with lunch. Harper, glancing up at Garza, switched on the speaker.

Over the speaker, Dulcie's voice was soft and clear. Whenever he heard Dulcie on the phone talking to an officer, he got the belly-dropping feeling that they'd recognize her voice, but then logic would kick in and he'd relax.

Wolfing his buffet selections, he belched delicately and stretched out on Harper's leather couch. This was just too good, this was the way an undercover type should do his work, waited on by the law, even down to a fine lunch. Lying in comfort and in plain sight listening to his partner's sweet voice as she relayed vital information, he thought that even the selection of the couch itself, and its placement, had been accomplished with his personal influence. Charlie had picked a model that stood high enough off the floor so a cat didn't have to rupture himself scrunching underneath, and she had placed it near enough to the door so he and Dulcie or Kit could scoot under with a minimum of fuss. Charlie and Joe together had worked out the furniture plan. This was the only police chief's office in the country, to Joe's knowledge, that had been designed to accommodate feline surveillance.

At the desk, the captain was very still, his lean,
leathery face keen as, listening to Dulcie, he scribbled notes. When Dulcie had told him where to find the photo album, she ended with, “I'll be waiting, Captain Harper, to see how this shakes out.” There was a little click that left Joe scowling. Dulcie was getting nervy, too arrogant in her attitude. Who did she think she was, Kinsey Millhone?

But it was Harper's response to the call that caused Joe to become rigid, that made him stare at Harper, wide eyed, before he caught himself and turned away to diligently wash his hind foot.

“Harold Timmons!” Harper repeated, grinning. “Harold Timmons, aka Hal Reed! What do you bet our caller has just IDed the latest body for Hyden?”

What body?
Joe thought. Those were children up there. Was that what Hyden had found just before he and Dulcie raced away? An adult corpse?

Garza's square Latino face was solemn. “I'll call California State Prison, get Timmons's dental records, let Hyden know. See how soon the lab can take a look. You want to bring Jack Reed in for questioning?”

“Let's see what the lab gets. We can keep an eye on him. What I want now, with this connection to Fenner, is—”

The phone rang again. Mabel said, “You'll want this one, Captain. A woman again. Won't give her name.” Mabel sounded only faintly irritated. Joe gave a little prayer of thanks that Wilma's caller-ID blocking was working. Wilma had had some trouble with it, until she raised sufficient hell with the phone company. He expected Dulcie's voice again, but it wasn't Dulcie.

“I just saw that little man again, the one who killed
Patty Rose. The man who left the pictures that you got from under that house.” Kit's voice was not as low or modulated as Dulcie's, she was nearly shouting into the phone. So wired that, over her feverish message, did he detect the hint of a purr? Harper and Garza stared hard at the phone.

“He was talking with Jack Reed, right there on the street. In plain sight. Arguing, and Reed was really angry. Reed said, ‘You came up here to kill Patty! What a fool.' And he thought Fenner had hurt someone named Lori. Fenner said, ‘You think I'd fool with your kid, Reed, after you blew the whistle on me?' Then Reed grabbed Fenner, shouting that he was sick, and twisted Fenner's arm behind him and shoved him in his truck, a white truck, a ‘Vincent and Reed' truck.”

“How—”

“Captain, Lori means a lot to Jack Reed. Find that man, Captain. Find Fenner. I hope he burns for what he did to Patty Rose.” There was a click, and the line went dead.

Joe lay on the couch, heart pounding, trying to look half asleep. What was it about females? Did they have to make editorial comments?

So Jack Reed had Fenner. But where? He tensed when Harper called for four units to watch Reed's warehouse and shop. As the captain and detective hurried out, double-timing it down the hall and out the back door to police parking, Joe raced out the front on the heels of another officer and around the side of the building.

He was crouched to leap up an oak tree and across the rooftops to Jack Reed's when he was rudely
snatched up—for the second time that day. Jerked right off the ground. Yowling and snarling, Joe twisted around to face his housemate and lifted an armored paw. Clyde wasn't going to stop him, there was no way he was going to miss seeing this one come down.

 

“Oh, child! It's freezing out here!”
The words came through Lori's dream as soft as velvet. Pulling the quilt tighter around her, she was propelled suddenly through her dark, alarming dream into the safe place she'd been trying so hard to reach. She felt herself lifted up, wrapped in the soft comforter. Warm arms held her safe, and she smelled Cora Lee's jasmine scent.

Safe in Cora Lee's arms, she woke fully. Cora Lee carried her into Genelle's house, out of the cold, bright wind, and set her down on a sofa and tucked the comforter around her. Kneeling beside the couch, Cora Lee looked at Lori, her dark eyes worried. “Oh, child. I looked everywhere for you. No one found you in the library!
No one looked for you!
” she said, biting every word. “I went straight there from the hospital to get you. That woman—that Nora Wahl! She did nothing! She told no one. Didn't even look for you. I can't believe she…” Cora Lee's dark brown eyes flashed with such anger that Lori had to swallow a laugh. The tall, honey-skinned woman was even more beautiful when she was mad.

“Oh, Lori! You came to Genelle running from that man, you didn't tell us, and now…Who is he? He's
out there somewhere looking for you? And you were waiting here all alone.” Cora Lee grabbed her up again, hugging and rocking her as if she was a tiny little girl.

“What happened?” Lori said softly, dreading to hear what Cora Lee would say. “Why did you—”

“It was Genelle, they took her to the hospital. She fell, and was unconscious. I've just come from there.”

Lori pulled away, staring at Cora Lee.

“She's feeling stronger already,” Cora Lee said. “They think she'll be all right. She…She insists she wants to come home.”

“How did she fall?”

“She had stepped away from her walker, couldn't reach it or her oxygen. There, by the bookcase, maybe ten minutes after Mavity left. Mavity Flowers is my housemate, one of them. When our friend Wilma got here, she found Genelle on the floor, and she called nine-one-one.”

“My mother…She had oxygen,” Lori said. Then, “Genelle is going to die?” The emptiness was all inside her. Like the hollow dark dropping away in her dream.

Cora Lee hugged her again, speaking into her hair. “It will soon be Genelle's time, Lori, but maybe not quite yet. We all have our own time. I don't think that's the end of us at all, how could it be?” She looked intently at Lori.

Lori swallowed, trying to push back the hollow darkness. She managed a watery smile. “Genelle said she can talk about death if she wants, she can
say anything she wants. She…told me…she keeps wondering what's next.”

Cora Lee nodded.

“She told me…this world is a nursery,” Lori said.

“A nursery for souls,” Cora Lee said. “That when we're born we dive down into this world and swim the best we can. Does that seem logical to you?”

Lori didn't answer.

“She says that it's here we learn how and why,” Cora Lee said. “That makes sense to me. I find it comforting.”

“Can I see her? Can I go to the hospital?”

“Genelle would like that very much.”

Lori didn't realize until she said it that she couldn't do that, that Pa might find her. Except, if he'd taken that beetle man somewhere and was so angry, maybe he wasn't looking for her at all right now. Maybe he was too busy.

Maybe that man would tell Pa about the basement, she thought, her heart sinking. And Pa would go back to the library looking for her and find Uncle Hal's billfold. Then he would be mad.

“What?” Cora Lee said. “You don't want to see her?”

“Would we go in a car, and right into the hospital?”

Cora Lee nodded. “We will. Just let me get her things together. You don't have a cold or the sniffles? They won't let you in if you're sick.”

“I'm okay. Cora Lee? I don't want her to die.”

Cora Lee turned away, not speaking. And Lori thought,
I didn't want Mama to die. But that didn't make any difference.

 

Joe dug his claws hard through Clyde's jacket into his tender flesh. “What the hell are you doing!” he hissed in Clyde's ear. “Drop me. Put me down.” He couldn't remember when he'd clawed Clyde like this, and he wasn't sorry, not even with Clyde's blood on his claws. Clyde pulled him off fast and held him away as if holding a bomb about to explode. His expression was shocked, embarrassed. He looked around to see if anyone could hear them, but they were alone. “I wanted…I guess I interrupted something important?”

“Damn right you did. They're about to bust Patty's killer, he could be the same guy who did those kids.” Behind Clyde, Max Harper's police unit sped out from behind the station headed in the direction of Jack Reed's house. “Hurry up, Clyde. Where's your car?”

Clyde didn't move.

“You have wheels?
Where's your
car
!” Joe looked across the parking lot until he spotted a flash of red nearly hidden between two trucks. “Come on! You can drop me off, you can at least do that. Come
on, Clyde
. This is the guy who shot Patty—”

“I'm not taking you where there's shooting.”

“I didn't say there'd be shooting. Put me down, then!” He started to fight again, ready to leap onto the oak tree. Clyde grabbed the nape of his neck like a kitten, so enraging Joe that he screamed and yowled and was about to bloody Clyde's face.

“Stop it! Stop it, Joe! This is me, Clyde!”

“Put me down or I swear you're hamburger!”

Clyde stared at him, shocked, then took off running, clutching him, swinging into his car. He dumped Joe on the seat. “Where…?”

“Jack Reed's place.”

“Why would—”

“Will you hurry! My god, Clyde…”

Clyde started the car, spun out of the lot. “Hang on. And keep your claws out of the upholstery.”

Joe considered the expensive white leather beneath his paws, brand new, as soft as velvet and far more costly. The cherry red 1926 REO was worth enough to keep Joe in smoked salmon for twenty decades; even one claw mark, according to Clyde, would decrease its value. Swinging a U-turn, Clyde followed the police units at a decorous pace that drove Joe crazy. “Could you step it up a bit?”

“You want me to get stopped for speeding?”

“If I can't slip in behind those guys' heels, I'll have to go through the attic, drop out of the crawl space right in their faces.”

“How do you know?”

“Already been in there. Already done that. There's no other way in. Damned house is boarded up like a prison.”