The Burning Point (29 page)

She was about to start sorting laundry when she heard a tiny, high-pitched cry reminiscent of a bat squeak. It seemed to be coming from the narrow gap between the washer and dryer. She knelt to investigate, and saw two bright green eyes and a tiny triangular face. "Someone got left behind."

She laid her hand palm upward on the floor between the appliances. The kitten hissed and skittered backwards. Kate made a quick grab and scooped it up with both hands. After a moment of wild thrashing, it settled down to watch her warily.

Making soothing sounds, Kate got to her feet. The kitten was gray with tan patches and a couple of spots of white, and weighed almost nothing. She felt her heart melt as it gazed up at her. "Oh, Patrick, she has such pretty green eyes."

He regarded the creature dubiously. "I know that voice, but how can we keep a kitten when we're going to be traveling regularly?"

"We could leave her with my mother when we're out of town. Julia likes cats." Kate began to pet the kitten. "I can't just put her out. She's probably only a couple of months old. It's amazing that she's survived such a cold winter."

"She? Are you sure?"

"She's a blue cream, one of the variations of tri-colored cats, all of which are female." The kitten suddenly scrabbled up Kate's arm and clung to her shoulder, the tiny claws like needles. "There's the calico, the tortoiseshell, and the blue cream, which is sort of a faded tortoiseshell, only gray and tan instead of black and orange, and a little bit of white."

"To think that I reached my present advanced years without knowing that," he said, amused.

Kate unhooked the kitten from her sweater, then handed the small creature to Donovan. "You take her, tough guy."

He raised the kitten to eye level. They stared at each other. "You're right. She has pretty eyes."

His tone struck Kate with a force that tumbled her back a dozen years. On the night they met, he'd had the same expression with his little cousin Lissie. She'd known then he'd make a wonderful father. Later she sometimes daydreamed about the children they'd have after they became established in their careers. Strong, mischievous children with their father's warmth and laughter, and she'd love them so much that they'd never know the pain she sometimes saw in his eyes. The dreams had ended when she left her husband, but now she ached with regret for their lost children. "That kitten has your number."

"Don't look so smug. Have you picked a name yet?"

"She's got plenty of energy. How about Dynamite? Dinah for short."

"Let me guess. The next step is a dog named Detonator."

Trying to match his light tone, she replied, "If we find a homeless puppy in the heating ducts, definitely."

He scratched Dinah's minuscule chin with one fingertip. "Did you save any tuna?"

"There's one more can, plus the milk we picked up on the way home." As she went to the kitchen, she thought of how a house was more a home if there was a baby. Even if it was a cat baby.

Chapter 26

For the rest of the evening, Dinah explored her new home with high energy and no fear. She cottoned instantly to the concept of a litter box, which Kate improvised from an old microwave brownie pan.

When bedtime came, Kate left her door open a few inches. Sure enough, soon after the lights went out, she felt a faint jar in the bed as the kitten launched herself at the hanging quilt, dug in her claws, then swarmed onto the bed like a rock climber.

With an audible thump, Dinah threw her small body down onto the mattress and curled into a furry ball a few inches from Kate's shoulder. Kate woke the next morning to find Dinah still sleeping soundly rather than doing aerobics on Kate's face. This was definitely one special cat. Kate prepared for her first day at the office with a smile.

Phoenix Demolition was housed in an eighteenth century mill on a country road that twined through the rolling Maryland hills about twenty minutes north of Ruxton. Kate followed Donovan to work in Sam's car, parking next to him in the lot behind the office. It was early, and only one other vehicle was in the lot.

Kate had always loved the weathered stone mill. At the age of thirteen, she'd researched colonial architecture when her father decided to do some remodeling, so the job would be done right. She'd had a great time inflicting her design ideas on her father and the contractor.

Janie Marino, the office manager, was sitting at the receptionist's desk in the front hall, under a long bulletin board detailing the status of all PDI projects. A comfortable-looking woman with silver streaks in her dark hair, she'd been the second employee hired after Luther Hairston. "Hi, Kate, good to see you," she said. "Nice shot in Vegas, Donovan. Yesterday we looked at the videos Luther brought back." She kissed her fingertips with a flourish. "Magnifico."

"It went well. Has Ted checked in from Brazil yet? He left a message yesterday that he wants to talk to me about that hotel job he's prepping."

"Hasn't called yet. There should be time for coffee and a quick tour, if Kate needs one."

"I'd like that," she said. "There must have been some changes."

"Not many," Donovan said. "Everyone here is always too busy to change things without a good reason."

Kate poured herself a mug of coffee, then wandered down the hall to her father's office. She was unprepared for the upwelling of grief at the sight of the familiar, sunny room, with the clock made of dummy dynamite sticks and a lingering scent of her father's cigars.
Papa. Oh, Papa.

Behind her Janie said, "I can't get used to the fact that Sam isn't coming back. I see him in every corner of this place."

"If he's hanging around, he's a friendly ghost," Kate said.

"Friendly, hell. He'd be roaring at me to do three things at once, and in half the time." Janie pivoted and headed for her office.

Donovan leaned against the door frame. "I haven't figured out what to do with this room. No one wants to move in. God knows I couldn't."

The spacious room had a working fireplace and a view of the woods and stream. In the summer, ducks would be paddling around in the old millpond. "The building isn't crowded, is it?"

"No, we've only got fifteen employees, so we still have room to spare. Why? It would be kind of sick to keep Sam's office as a shrine."

"Turn it into an employee lounge and lunch room. With the sunshine and the view, it's one of the nicest rooms in the building," she said. "A counter and sink would have to be installed, but otherwise, it would just be a little redecorating. Fresh paint, a couple of sofas and chairs and dinette tables. Easy. Once people start microwaving their burritos in here, they'll get over their discomfort."

"Great idea! You have your first independent project. Draw up a plan and a budget for me. If you can keep the cost down, it can be done right away."

"OK. But I still get to do field work, right?"

"Right. Come on up to my office. I like the second floor because it's quieter. Sam preferred being in the middle of things."

Upstairs, engineering and accounting had expanded, but as Donovan had said, it wasn't too different from how she remembered. They ended in his office, which was directly above Sam's. One wall was all oak shelves, books intermixed with souvenirs of different projects. At the opposite end was a drafting board. Next to his magna cum laude engineering degree hung a Loyola MBA diploma. Useful for running a business, but earning it must have kept his evenings and weekends busy for a few years.

She gestured at the elaborately carved mahogany mantelpiece. "It's not the right period for the building, but that's a great mantel. Where did it come from?"

"I salvaged it from a hotel job in Boston." He set his coffee mug on his impressively neat desk. "I thought you could take the office across the hall. It's been empty since Nick left."

Before Kate could respond, a female voice came through the intercom on the desk. "Donovan, Ted's on line two from Rio de Janeiro."

He reached for the phone. "Because I've been away, it's going to be a crazy day. I'm not going to have much time to work with you. Try to stay out of trouble."

Her new office was the same size as Donovan's, with an equally nice view. She gazed out into the woods. A single male cardinal provided a scarlet accent against the subtle winter grays and tans. Once she'd dreamed of working here, she and Donovan full partners in life and in business. Such a long time ago.

For the next hour, she wandered through the building. PDI had always had a very low turnover rate, so she knew more than half the employees. The others she introduced herself to. Everyone welcomed her warmly, partly on general principles, partly, she suspected, because she was Sam's daughter, which supplied a comforting sense of continuity. She was glad to be back.

It would be hard to leave again.

∗ ∗ ∗

Donovan was halfway through his mail when the intercom buzzed to life. "You'd better get down here," the receptionist said. "We've got picketers."

Swearing, he raced downstairs, and found Kate and the receptionist at the front window. Outside, people of all ages from toddler to senior citizen were pouring out of cars, many of them clutching handmade signs saying things like THE SECOND BATTLE OF CONCORD and HELL, NO, WE WON'T GO.

"You did predict that better weather would bring out demonstrators," Kate said.

A television transmission truck parked on the lawn. "Luther called from Concord Place a few minutes ago," he said. "There are protesters all around the job site, but I sure as hell didn't think they'd picket us out here."

Grabbing his parka, he went outside, Kate following two steps behind him. The demonstrators were marching back and forth in ragged lines. He guessed that most were Concord Place residents. Only two of the five project buildings were completely clear of tenants. The others still housed people who hadn't yet found new homes, and were under notice to leave within the month.

Donovan sympathized with their plight, but having them wear holes in the lawn was a damned nuisance. Not the kind of publicity he liked for PDI.

A burly man wearing an army fatigue jacket that Donovan guessed had been earned the hard way stormed up. "You bastards are driving my mama from her home!"

"The decision to demolish Concord Place was made by the city, not us. From what I've heard, current residents will be at the top of the list for the new townhouses that will be built."

"Hell of a lot of good that does anyone now!"

A camera zoomed in on the confrontation. Donovan balanced on the balls of his feet, knowing that the head of PDI really shouldn't get into a fight. But if the other guy threw the first punch...

Kate stepped between the two men. "It's terrible that people are being evicted, but the townhouse community will be safer and more attractive."

"If it's ever built!" the protester said. "What matters now is that my mama's losing her home and friends after thirty years. Me and my brothers grew up there."

"That's awful. Housing is one of the most important urban issues we face in America today." Kate launched into an eloquent--and endless--discussion of urban policy. The television crews hadn't come to learn about the intricacies of housing law. With no angry brawls to film, they packed up their cameras and left.

As the demonstration started to break up, an aging hippie with grizzled beard and ponytail ambled up. Donovan said, "I should have known you'd be behind this, Steve."

"Made a great photo opportunity, didn't it? The downtown demonstration wouldn't rate much time on the evening news. But this--distraught people losing their homes, driven by desperation to venture into the posh green hills of Baltimore County--
this
is newsworthy."

"Spare me," Donovan said.

"You know this character?" Kate asked.

"Meet Steve Burke, head of the St. Francis Housing Center. He does some very good things, and some very dumb ones."

"Donovan helps on our fix-up weekends, when we repair rundown houses for the elderly," Burke explained. "One of my most valuable volunteers."

"And this is how you repay him."

"I'll do any damned thing I can to make smug suburbanites like you think about what's going on in the city. Sure, someday there will be townhouses on the Concord Place site, but there will only be about half as many units as there are now, and where the hell do the displaced people live until then?"

"Those are serious questions, Mr. Burke. But you might as well picket the hammer that drives the nail as come after PDI for a decision that has already been made by the city housing authority."

The fatigue-clad protester said, "Nazis always say that--'I was just following orders.' But you bastards are doing the dirty work."

"Joe and I have tried fighting city hall over this with no success," Burke said. "So here we are, scrounging for publicity. With luck, we can shame the city into finding new housing for some of the people being evicted."

Donovan retorted, "I have no problem with your goals, but I damned well don't like PDI being made your scapegoat."

Before the discussion could deteriorate further, Kate said, "Good day, gentlemen. I can't say that it's been a pleasure meeting you, but it has been interesting." She took firm hold of Donovan's elbow and marched him back to the mill house.