Cat Bearing Gifts

15

IT WAS MIDNIGHT when Vic crawled into his sleeping bag on the floor of the stone shack, careful not to wake Birely and have him start whining again. The little turd was finally sleeping deeply, despite having to breathe through his open mouth. Even in the dim glow of the battery light, he was pale as milk. Vic had tried to get him to eat but he didn’t want anything, just sucked at the water in the limp paper cup. He’d woken up once and talked for a while, his voice slurry, rambling on about his childhood again and his sister, Sammie, and how she came by all that money. Birely’d never say why the old man would send that kind of money to a young niece, send it clear up from Mexico, maybe didn’t know why. They’d already found over a hundred thousand, and sure as hell Sammie’d had more down in the house. Weird, her growing old in that run-down place when she’d had enough to live high on the hog. Birely said she liked living the way she did. He said, look at Emmylou, her only friend, another recluse just like Sammie.

Strange, the change in Birely. He used to be a real wuss, a drifter, went right along with whatever anyone wanted him to do. But after Sammie’d given away what was his, now he was all anger, so mad at Sammie that he got moving, all right, looking for her hidden stash.

Birely never knew the old uncle, all he knew was what Sammie and maybe their folks told him. Old train robber did his share of prison time back then, Birely knew that much. Sammie was about nine when Lee Fontana made his big haul and lit out for Mexico, running from the feds, got out of the country shortly before Birely was born. Sammie called him the cowboy, Birely said. She claimed that sometimes she knew from her dreams what he was doing, knew what was happening to him even when he was halfway across the country. Well, you couldn’t believe half what Birely told you. Birely said the old man’s last robbery was big in the papers back then, and Vic could believe that, all right. Some kind of federal money, Birely didn’t know exactly what. Said you’d get burned bad, back in them days, for a federal heist. Vic wondered if the feds kept records back that far. If, tucked away in some musty drawer of ancient files, some federal office had the serial numbers on those old bills.

But what the hell? Even if these cops here in Molena Point got their hands on the money, which wasn’t likely, even if they figured out it was real old money, who would think to look back to the last century for some federal robbery? Who would even care?

Except, he thought, if that federal case was still open and he did take Birely to some hospital and Birely started talking, who knew what the dummy would blurt out? Enough to make some nosy cop curious, start him rooting around into the past? Birely could talk on and on, and Vic didn’t want to chance that—there were times when a man had no choice, when he did what was needed just to save his own neck.

THE DAMENS WEREN’T night people, Ryan and Clyde were early risers, they were often in bed by nine or ten, but somehow in the small hours of this long night they managed to stay awake and to keep Pedric awake, taking turns, one dozing, one asking Pedric for details about the wreck to keep him from drifting off.

Charlie had gotten two adjoining motel rooms nearby at Best Western, so they could all take turns sitting with Pedric; Ryan had stayed with him while Clyde left to take Rock and the two tomcats there, to feed them and get them settled in. Kibble and dog food for Rock, a nice spread of takeout for Joe Grey and Pan, of rare burgers and fried cod. He praised the three trackers lavishly again for their night’s work before he left to join Ryan.

Rock, having bolted down his supper, was tucked up with Charlie on her bed. Joe sprawled across Wilma’s empty pillow while she and Kate and Dulcie were still at the hospital; Pan didn’t settle but paced restlessly, leaping onto the daybed that had been set up for Kate, aimlessly wandering the two rooms, missing Kit, wanting to be with her, still suffering the aftermath of his worry over her. How strange is that? he thought. Kit was his first true love, and he didn’t quite know what to make of the condition, of the intensity and turmoil that had descended to change his carefree life. Kit is all fluff and softness—over slashing claws, he thought, smiling, sharp teeth, and a will more stubborn even than my own. She was brave as a cougar one moment, dreamy the next, always volatile, keeping him forever off balance. All he knew was that right now he missed her; he paced until he wore himself out, and then settled down next to Rock and Charlie and, like the softly snoring Weimaraner, Pan slept.

IT WAS ONE A.M. The lights in most of the ER rooms had been dimmed, only Pedric’s lights shone brightly behind the drawn curtain. Ryan had left the glass door cracked open, but the few nurses and attendants visible were busy at their desks, able to get computer records entered, now that most of the patients were sleeping. At this predawn hour a quiet lull held the ward, perhaps before the next sudden round of broken legs and stomach cramps that would have nurses hurrying again to minister to the wounded and accident-prone. Quietly, Clyde pushed in through the canvas curtain.

Pedric was sitting up in bed, in his skimpy hospital gown, a white cotton blanket around his shoulders, looking relaxed despite the fierce headache he said still plagued him. Beneath the blanket he held Kit safe, so happy to have her there. Ryan sat beside the bed, Clyde’s backpack near, in case someone came to tend to Pedric; nurses were never shy about waking patients from sleep to administer pills, to poke and prod and straighten blankets.

“I can remember only fragments of this week,” Pedric was saying worriedly, “a breakfast of Swiss pancakes, a cable car ride in the rain. Kit stretched out on Kate’s windowsill,” he said, smiling, “watching fog slip in beneath the Golden Gate. Whole mornings and evenings are blank.

“I remember Kate’s stories more clearly, the granite sky, those cavernous sweeps of stone lit by the green glow of the subterranean daytime, a winged woman with a . . .” He went still then as the canvas curtain moved and was eased aside.

A doctor in a white coat stepped in. “Dr. James Pindle,” he said, rigidly watching Pedric. He didn’t offer to shake hands with him, or with Ryan or Clyde. He was a thin-boned man, narrow arms and shoulders, small hands. Milk-white skin against ink-black hair, eyes so black you couldn’t see the pupils.

“I left orders for only one visitor at a time,” he said accusingly. “I don’t want him talking away like this, I don’t want him stressed. Didn’t the nurse tell you that?”

Ryan had risen, pretending to straighten Pedric’s covers as Kit slid deeper down; too late now to slip into the backpack, and they were terrified Pindle would lower the rail to examine Pedric.

“At least you didn’t let him fall asleep,” Pindle said. “I hope he hasn’t slept. The nurse must have told you that much, if you were allowed to stay in here with the curtain drawn. You must have been instructed what to watch for.” He glanced out toward the nurses’ station, where Nurse Evers seemed totally preoccupied at her computer.

“You do understand,” he said coldly, “that with a concussion he can’t have drugs or painkillers or caffeine, and that he will try to escape the pain by retreating into sleep.”

“We understand,” Clyde said. “He hasn’t slept. We’ve been very quiet, and he hasn’t talked much.”

“He just seems glad for the company,” Ryan said. She didn’t say which company had so pleased and calmed the patient. Pindle gave her a chill look and moved to the bed rail, forcing Ryan to step aside. He stood not inches from where Kit hid beneath the blanket, looking at Pedric. “One of you will have to leave. The patient is a bundle of nerves, surely you can see he’s disturbed.”

“Not at all,” Pedric said, smiling easily at him, putting out his hand for a proper introduction. “In fact, I’m feeling better, the headache is less severe. I’d like something to eat, if there’s anything available at this hour.”

Pindle’s face seemed frozen into scowl lines. “I’ll tell the nurse. Maybe some crackers and applesauce.” He looked at Clyde. “Is he still worrying about his cat?” he said with disgust. “This foolishness about a cat has him unduly upset. I can’t have him worrying, certainly not over something so inconsequential. I’m moving him to the ICU in the morning, until he’s stable. Blood sugar way too high, and that could mean any number of things. And the torn knee needs attending to. The hospitalist will be in shortly, he’s the one who will admit him. I don’t suppose either of you have a medical power of attorney?”

“We both do,” Clyde said coolly. “As do Ms. Osborne, Wilma Getz, and Mrs. Harper. Ms. Osborne is down the hall with Pedric’s wife. We are all listed on both of the Greenlaws’ health care directives. Mrs. Harper signed him in, so that should be on the chart.”

“Then there should be no problem if further tests are warranted,” Pindle said. “His wife will be kept in ER overnight. If nothing else shows up, she can go home. I’m on my way to look at her. We’ll keep Mr. Greenlaw until the concussion has healed and the torn meniscus in his knee is repaired, though we may find that other procedures will be needed.”

What other procedures, Ryan thought, here in a strange hospital? And who said Pedric and Lucinda weren’t alert enough to do their own signing?

“Maybe Dr. Carroll can deal with him,” he said without explanation, and without any comforting word to Pedric, he left the room, the canvas curtain swinging behind him. Ryan looked after him, rigid with anger, then hurried to catch up as he moved along the hall toward Lucinda’s room.

“I’m not sure,” she said, walking beside him, “that it’s wise to separate Lucinda and Pedric, to send Lucinda home alone.” She kept her voice loud enough to alert Kate and Wilma. One close call was enough, they didn’t need this man finding Dulcie. Dr. Pindle didn’t respond, he didn’t speak or turn to look at her. He pushed past her, was just entering Lucinda’s room when Ryan, glancing back, saw another doctor leave the room next to Pedric’s, heading for Pedric’s door.

Praying Kate and Wilma had heard her warning, she turned back again, to help Clyde get Kit out of there unseen, or try to get her out. But, stepping in behind the doctor, he didn’t alarm her as Pindle had; his movements were easier and unthreatening as he turned to look at her.

He wore the requisite white coat with its little brass name tag, same dark slacks as Dr. Pindle, soft-soled black shoes. But this man looked relaxed, he had an easy walk, a big man, big hands, tousled red hair framing a face that looked sunny and thoughtful. As he approached Pedric’s bed she saw Wilma hurry out of Lucinda’s room carrying her heavy tote bag, the canvas bottom sagging. Had Pindle seen Dulcie and angrily sent them packing? Or had Wilma moved fast enough to clear the premises before they found themselves in a nasty tangle of red tape and security guards, mired in a diatribe that would leave both the cats and humans shaken, leave the two patients sicker than they’d been when they were admitted?

EVEN BEFORE RYAN left Pedric’s room Kit was digging her claws into the mattress trying not to squirm, not to burst out hissing at that Dr. Pindle person. She felt trapped by his cold voice, trapped by the bed rails and the tightly tucked blanket that hid her, trapped even by the tubes and wires that confined Pedric, that seemed to confine them both. Hidden in the near dark against Pedric’s warmth, she couldn’t see out; she’d listened with growing anger to Dr. Pindle, had heard Ryan follow him out of the room, heard her voice moving away down the hall as if to warn Kate and Wilma, but still she felt he might appear again, and the man made her fur crawl. But then, crouched there listening, she sensed Pedric start to fall asleep. She felt Clyde shake his arm, prodding him awake. “Talk to me, Pedric,” Clyde urged.

Oh, don’t talk about the Netherworld again, Kit thought, but already he was saying, “A world so green, like the green underworld of the old myths,” and even as he rambled on again, to keep himself awake, she heard footsteps in the room next to them, a man’s soft-soled step. “Green drifting out of the granite sky . . .” Pedric was saying, and she pawed at him to make him be still. She heard the next door slide open, the scuff of rubber-soled shoes approaching Pedric’s door. She peered out searching for the backpack, but she couldn’t see it. Yes, there, Clyde was holding it open. She tensed to slip out but she was too late. Another doctor had stepped in and with no time to hide she pushed closer to Pedric, her heart pounding.

He came to stand beside the metal rail. He would be looking down at Pedric, looking right at the covers where she hid. She tried not to move even a whisker, prayed not to sneeze or purr. Purrs weren’t always controllable, sometimes they just slipped out.

He didn’t smell like Dr. Pindle, he had a friendly scent, laced with a touch of spicy shaving lotion. His voice was easy, deep, and relaxed. “I was in the next room, Mr. Greenlaw. I’m Dr. Carroll. That was a fascinating tale you were spinning.”

Kit swallowed. There was a long, awkward silence. She listened to Clyde and Ryan introduce themselves, standing near the foot of the bed. And Clyde launched into Ryan’s explanation of Pedric’s seemingly wild talk.

“Pedric’s knowledge of Celtic folklore is remarkable,” Clyde said, “he—”

Dr. Carroll stopped him. “Not necessary,” he said. “I heard quite a lot, from next door.” He smiled down at Pedric. “Dr. Pindle doesn’t get it, does he?”

Pedric was silent, his body gone tense.

“The old tales are an interest of mine, too,” Dr. Carroll said. “In my Scotch-Irish family, I grew up on the Celtic myths. Dr. Pindle seems concerned that you’re delirious,” he said, laughing. “I don’t think that. Pindle has no feel for the ancient wonders. Maybe they frighten him.”

There was another silence, Kit sensed the two men looking at each other. Dr. Carroll said, “Pindle seemed concerned that you are unduly distressed, Mr. Greenlaw. Over the loss of your cat? I understand she escaped from your car, after the wreck? I suppose he didn’t understand why that would worry you. Has there been any word of her?”

Pedric’s voice came stronger now. “She . . . she ran up the cliff, into the woods. But Ryan and Clyde found her, she’s safe now, and that has eased my mind.”

“I imagine it has,” Dr. Carroll said, “and eased Mrs. Greenlaw, too.” Kit felt him touch the blanket, and before she could slide away or think what to do he’d pulled the covers back. She stared up at him, stricken.

Dr. Carroll smiled. He looked straight down into her eyes, and it was a look she could never have feared. He reached to stroke her, his big hands gentle. His nails were very short, clean and neatly trimmed. His blue eyes were full of light, his red hair curly and wild, his freckles dark across his square cheeks. He spoke right to her. “The next time you hide,” he told her, “you want to be sure you haven’t left a tortoiseshell hair or two, on the white blanket.”

Kit blinked, and then purred, but her poor heart was pounding so hard she knew he could feel it beneath his stroking hand.

He couldn’t know that she understood him, but he spoke as if she did, he looked at her as if he knew what she was. He scratched her ears, then looked up at Pedric. “I’m glad she’s safe, Mr. Greenlaw. I know you and your wife are relieved. Now that your little cat is here, I can already see the healing in your eyes, in your smile. This little lady,” he said, “is the best medicine you could have. Don’t be disturbed by people like Pindle. But,” he said softly, “do keep her hidden.”

He turned to look at Clyde. “Several of you came up from Molena Point to be with the Greenlaws?”

“Yes, my wife and three friends. Charlie Harper is the wife of our police chief.”

“I know Max. We talked on the phone just a little while ago. You’re not going back tonight?”

“Charlie got a couple of motel rooms, we plan to take turns sitting with Pedric, keeping him awake. If we’re needed.”

“It will be a big help. He mustn’t sleep, yet.” He gave Clyde a wink. “If you can keep their little cat close to them, maybe pass her back and forth, that will be good medicine for both patients.

“You’ve done well, so far, hiding her.” He glanced up at the screen above Pedric’s bed. “His vital signs are already stronger. Between the five of you,” he said, “you should be able to keep the staff from discovering her.”

“We’re doing our best.”

“Some of the nurses can get testy when a rule is broken.” He scratched Kit’s ears again, in just the way she liked. “If there’s a problem, call my cell number. I’ll be on duty all night, until six A.M.” He jotted the number on two cards, handed one to Clyde, the other to Ryan. He winked at Kit, his blue eyes still laughing. He turned away, slipped out through the glass door, shut it, and pulled the curtain closed.