Cat Chase The Moon

24

The rain had eased. Low in the east, thin, orange streaks of dawn shone into Joe Grey’s tower, waking Mindy. She felt around among his pillows and found she was alone, Joe was gone. She pushed up and looked out the open window. Yes, earlier in the night the tomcat had raced away chasing her mother’s car, heading into the village.

Why would a cat want to follow Thelma? Why would a cat care where she was going? When she looked across toward her room and down at the street, she eased back deeper among the pillows out of sight. Her mother was home. Even in the first whisper of dawn, Thelma might glimpse her dark silhouette up here in the tower.

How would she explain how she’d gotten over here on the Damens’ roof and why? Thelma’s Volvo was parked behind Varney’s Toyota. She didn’t want to go home; if Thelma caught her coming in she’d fuss and haggle at her for being outside and she’d ask a hundred questions.

But maybe her mother would go right up to bed and wouldn’t know she was gone, wouldn’t bother to check on her. Varney hadn’t, when he came in. It would be nice to have a mother who looked in on her after she’d been left alone all night, someone to just glance in and see if she was okay, if she hadn’t been abducted or murdered.

But why should Thelma care, any more than Varney did? Or than her own father had cared, after he’d been out all night, stealing? He’d never checked on her, never pulled up her covers like fathers in movies did.

Well, her father wasn’t out stealing now, Nevin was in county prison in a barred hospital room, maybe never to get out again. Never to rob again, never to steal anymore. And why did she care what he did with his life?

All she did care about was Grandpa in the hospital. He was coming home today, she thought with excitement. He’d be here by noon, home with her, and she could take care of him because Mama sure as hell wouldn’t.

So he’d demand to go to his own house. So he’d make a big scene. So what? Maybe she could figure out a way the two of them could go home. She could order groceries delivered, they had chickens and eggs at home, they had flour and cornmeal; she could cook as good as Grandma—well, the simple things Gram had taught her.

A streak of moonlight shone low in the west as the clouds shifted away. And in the east the touch of dawn returned, so light shone within the tower. If Thelma looked out and saw her, there’d be trouble. Slipping out the tower window, she didn’t head for the wobbly overhanging branch to sneak back home as if she’d never been gone. She crawled along the Damens’ roof to the far end, above their driveway where Ryan parked her truck.

Yes, the big red truck was there, ladders chained on top, locked cupboards along the sides for building tools. It was pulled up close to the house to make room for Clyde’s two cars, his Jaguar and an old car he was working on. She pulled off her slippers, tossed them down to the driveway. She slid down to the top of the truck’s cab, from there to the hood and then to the ground next to the Jaguar.

The truck’s hood was warm, so the engine would be, too. It wasn’t really light yet, and she wondered where they had been.

When she looked up, Ryan was standing in her open front door, a soft light behind her, her short, dark hair curlier than usual from the damp air. Her work boots stood by the door. She was wearing worn jeans, a gray sweatshirt, pink fuzzy slippers, and a flowery ruffled apron. She looked drawn, as if maybe she hadn’t slept; or as if something was wrong. Mindy would wait to ask. She could smell coffee, hot syrup, pancakes and bacon. She looked down at her thin pajamas and realized how cold she was without the warmth of Joe Grey and his pillows.

“Mindy, it’s wet and freezing. Come in, I’ll get you something dry.” Ryan picked up Mindy’s slippers and the child followed her inside. Ryan got her a long T-shirt, a pair of her own wool socks, then wrapped her in a long, fuzzy sweater.

The kitchen was warm and homey, with a flowered, overstuffed chair at the far end beside some inviting shelves of books. Clyde was already eating. They both looked worried, and as if they had been up most of the night. But Clyde was freshly shaven, she could barely smell his aftershave, and was dressed in sharply pressed chinos and a pale blue shirt. Ryan poured pancake batter for Mindy, and a cup half of coffee and half of creamy milk. Mindy added sugar. Clyde didn’t ask why she was up before dawn or what she had been doing on the roof. After three pancakes and two slices of bacon she sighed, her hunger slaked; she looked at the handsome couple who made her feel so welcome. “I slept with Joe Grey in his tower. I was scared in the house alone. Mama and Uncle Varney were both gone. Usually I push the dresser against the door but I fell asleep and then something woke me. I thought it was Varney or Mama getting home but it wasn’t and I wanted out of there.

“When the noise stopped, a kind of creaking wooden sound, I looked across at Joe Grey’s tower and he was there; the rain was mistier and a little moonlight shone through. Joe Grey was sitting up among the pillows looking across right at me. Could a cat see me, in the dark bedroom? He looked so warm and cozy I climbed out my window into the oak tree and up to our roof. I crossed over the street on that spindly pine tree to your roof and into Joe’s tower and cuddled up with him. We were nice and warm and I felt safe. Until later, when lights in the street woke us, and the sound of cars.

“Mama and Varney were parked in the middle of the street in opposite directions, their engines running, their windows open so they could talk. Varney handed her a thick package. She said something about going to Seaver’s, something about a locked safe . . .”

A noise from upstairs stopped her; it sounded like the flap of the cat door that led inside from Joe Grey’s tower. Last night she had looked through it down into the master bedroom. Now she imagined Joe stepping inside onto a bedroom rafter, maybe dropping to the desk below. She had seen a stairway leading down, and the next instant they heard him pounding down the steps, racing for the kitchen. Who knew a cat could make so much noise just coming downstairs, even a heavy tomcat?

Joe flew through the kitchen door, took one look at Mindy, and landed on the table beside her empty plate. He was frowning, too. Mindy looked at him, puzzled. Who knew a cat could frown so hard? They all three looked miserable. What had happened? Ryan was pouring pancakes for Joe, and she looked a question at Mindy. “More?”

“Maybe two,” she said, fascinated that they let a cat on the table, even this very nice tomcat. She had begun to think of Joe Grey as a special cat, the way he’d looked across at her last night, his yellow eyes wide, the way he’d welcomed her into his tower among his warm pillows, and then later his strange behavior when he raced off following her mother. That was a puzzle: why would he care where Thelma went? And now, whatever worried the Damens worried Joe Grey, and how could that be? When Ryan put a place mat down for Joe, Mindy had a hard time not laughing—and Ryan and Clyde had a hard time, with Mindy present, not to ask Joe a hundred questions they hadn’t asked when they were out looking for Maurita.

Joe, too, needed badly to ask questions. Could he keep quiet until Mindy left? When across the street a car door slammed, and another opened, Mindy stepped to the living room window, standing out of sight.

A light was on in the apartment kitchen, the front door was open, and Thelma was outside looking in Varney’s car and then again in her own car, searching among a tangle of sweaters and jackets.

“Looking for me,” Mindy said. “Can I go out the back door? Maybe I can slip in behind her, get back in bed before she searches the house. If she finds me over here, she’ll throw a fit.” She grinned at Ryan. “Thanks for the pancakes.” She petted Joe Grey, gave Clyde a loving look as he walked her to the door—but Thelma heard the door open and came flying across the street, her hair a tangle, her black shirt torn, her heavy jacket gone. Her arms and face were scratched, the wounds long and deep like cat scratches. Ryan and Clyde looked at Joe, and at the disarray of his own fur; Joe Grey looked back at them with a studiously blank expression. Clyde took Mindy’s hand and stepped out into the street. The child followed reluctantly. He pulled her close to him and, on her other side, Ryan put a protective arm around her.

Thelma was in such a temper they didn’t know what she would do. She was reaching for Mindy when a car came down the street, a squad car, its headlights on though the morning was beginning to grow light. Max Harper stopped and got out, looking at the little scene, looking Thelma over. He looked at the two parked cars. He got out and felt their hoods. Joe Grey followed him, no more nosy than usual. Both cars were warm and still smelled of exhaust. Max looked at Mindy, at her solemn, frightened face.

“Were you alone in the house all night?”

She looked at the chief. She couldn’t be afraid of Max Harper but she could be plenty afraid of what Thelma would do if she admitted she had been alone there. Even when Harper looked angry, somehow she wanted to hug him. “Yes,” she said softly. “I got scared and I came here. I slept in Joe Grey’s tower. He didn’t mind. When Ryan got up, I came downstairs. She made pancakes.”

Max’s eyes held Mindy’s, amused and caring; but not caring when he turned on Thelma. “Where’s Varney?”

“In the house, probably already asleep,” Thelma said, having watched Max check the heat of both car engines.

“Was he out all night? Where was he?”

“I have no idea.”

As the two faced each other, both angry, Joe Grey slipped behind Ryan and Clyde into his own yard, behind the bushes.

“Of course you know where Varney was,” Max said. “I know where you both were, and the other three.”

Thelma suddenly looked like she wanted to run.

“I’m not going to cite you,” Max said. “I could arrest you, take you in on several charges. Child neglect. Robbery, several counts. I could leave you in jail, or the judge could put you under house arrest. For now, I want to see how you two respond to a serious warning. And how you do when we bring Zebulon home, how well you take care of him.”

“We’ll do just fine. I’m to pick him up this morning.”

“You and I will pick him up together. I signed him in. I sign him out. They’ll be sending a physical therapist for a few days, and a visiting nurse. While Zebulon’s here, I want at least one adult with him and Mindy. You are not to leave either one alone,” Max said. “The hospital has him ready and waiting. Are you ready? Do you have a bed made up for him?”

“He’s well enough now to be up and around.”

“Do you have a comfortable bedroom for him?”

“He’ll sleep in Mindy’s bed. I have a cot for her. I’ll wake Varney, tell him to change the sheets. I’ll only be a minute.” She was a little more diffident now. Despite his usually easy ways, Max Harper could be frightening.

Max and the Damens sat on the Damens’ front porch, out of the thin rain, waiting for Thelma. Joe always felt irritable when he could listen to his friends talking but could say nothing, not the smallest comment. When Ryan brought Max a cup of coffee, Joe wondered if he’d like some pancakes but, again, there was no way he could offer. At last he watched the two cars leave, Max’s squad car following Thelma and Mindy.

A cop car following her made Thelma decidedly nervous. She made sure to come to a full stop at every signal, to watch if a tourist even set foot off the sidewalk, to follow every traffic rule. Don’t tailgate, stay in the proper lane. The fact that the chief followed behind her was the same principle as, at the station, a cop always walked behind his visitor or detainee, never in front. Thelma had changed clothes and combed her hair, which was an improvement, and she had dug out a pair of pants and a shirt for Zebulon.

Joe Grey knew that Zeb would refuse to go to the apartment. That he’d pitch a fit all the way, that he would remain cranky until Thelma took him back to the ranch, to his own home. And Thelma wasn’t about to do that.

Restless, Joe galloped up to his tower where he could look down into Mindy’s window as Varney moved the child’s bed to the back of the room and set up the cot by her own night table and dresser. Varney was tousled from sleep, was wearing an old corduroy robe over bare, hairy legs, and he was still yawning. He made up both beds with clean sheets, but making a mess of it. Even a cat could do better. He found an old tattered quilt for Mindy, and gave Zeb her warm covers. Yawning again, he wandered off toward his room; Joe watched him crawl back into his tangled bed, watched with disgust as Varney drifted off, snoring with his mouth open. The tomcat had the feeling that this last distasteful hour marked the tone of the days ahead, that whatever happened next would be ugly. He felt as if the whole village had fallen into a tangle of confusion. Yet there was no way, he told himself, that a simple cat could right all the wrongs in the world.