Cat Deck The Halls

17

A S WILMA GETZ sipped her coffee in bed, and Kit snuggled down between her and Dulcie telling all about the Greenlaws’ break-in, up in the hills at the Harper ranch, Charlie Harper hurried to do her morning chores, feeding the horses and dogs, turning them out into the pasture and cleaning the stalls. The sky was barely light, the time not quite seven. Max had left for the station some time ago, warmed by a breakfast of buckwheat pancakes and thick sliced bacon. Charlie, seeing him off, had stood in the stable yard watching his truck move away up their long, gravel road, worrying because he never got enough sleep. At the far end of the road, as he turned onto the highway, Max had blinked his lights once and then he was gone over the rise, heading down to the village.

He’d been up late the night before with the Greenlaw break-in, and the night before that he’d gotten to bed later still because of the missing body. Max wasn’t the kind of chief to stay in bed and leave his men to do all the legwork; but it was hard sometimes to rein herself in and not fuss at him that he needed rest.

Last night’s late rain had left the ranch yard muddy and squishing under her boots. As she entered the barn, dawn was beginning to brighten the sky. The air was as cold and fresh as springwater. Soon, as the sun rose, the pasture grass would gleam emerald bright-this time of year the four horses were wild to get out of their stalls, hungry to get at the new sweet grass. Besides Max’s big buckskin gelding and her own sorrel mare, they were boarding the kids’ horses now, a dun mustang that young Dillon Thurwell’s parents had bought for her, and a small, borrowed mare called Parsnip, named for her color, who had been a fine teaching pony for younger Lori Reed.

Lori was experienced enough now for a bigger and more challenging mount, but she so loved Parsnip that Max and Charlie had hesitated to return the little mare to her owners. As Charlie fed the horses and the two big dogs and then turned them all out to the pasture, her thoughts moved from the disappearing body to the Greenlaws’ mysterious intruder, her head filled with a tangle of questions. The department would come up with the answers, given time-but how much time was there for that scared little girl?

And was there a connection between the child and the break-in at the Patty Rose Home? It seemed to Charlie there had to be, if someone was secretly taking pictures of the orphan children.

As late as it had been last night when Max got home from the Greenlaws’, he’d described the break-in and the photographs; he had been royally irritated that Lucinda had refused to press charges. Without charges they couldn’t arrest the woman, nor could they officially do much to investigate the incident. Max said Pedric had tried to reason with Lucinda, but Lucinda wouldn’t give, and that wasn’t like her at all. She’d said she wanted a few days to see what the woman was up to, and had promised not to put herself in danger. But why did Lucinda care about a woman who’d broken into their home?

When Max pointed out that there could be a connection between this woman, the neighbors, and the break-in at the school, Lucinda had shrugged it off. That, too, was not like sensible Lucinda Greenlaw. Lucinda knew the woman could be violent, but she wouldn’t listen.

It wasn’t as if the older lady didn’t believe bad things could happen; Lucinda’s first husband had turned out to be a thief and philanderer. After he’d deceived her for years, Lucinda had grown far more wary.

She’d been so lucky to meet and marry Pedric; he had helped her through that time, and was a dear. But then, while the two were on their extended honeymoon trip in their RV, they had been kidnapped and nearly killed. Pedric’s cleverness, and the toughness of both old folks, had saved them.

That was when they changed their minds about building their new home up on the crest of isolated Hellhag Hill, and decided to settle instead in the village, closer to law enforcement and to medical facilities. The Greenlaws weren’t cowards, far from it, but at eighty-some, it can be nice to have certain support services near at hand. Their biggest consideration, however, had been the fact that Kit would be closer to Joe and Dulcie, that the little cat wouldn’t have that long and sometimes dangerous race up and down the hills to the village. So, Charlie thought, when Lucinda is usually so levelheaded and sensible, why is she suddenly so protective of this housebreaker? Well, maybe I can talk to her.

J AMES KUDA THOUGHT again about the moves he had made, about the car and the body. Not likely they’d be found for a while-not until he was long gone, had put the West Coast behind him.

Having left the garage of the empty house, driving at a normal rate through the dark village streets, he’d headed south down Highway One, the waves thundering high and violent below the dropping cliffs-big, hungry waves. To his left, though he hadn’t been able to see much in the dark, were the rolling hills dotted with small, scattered ranches; he’d glimpsed only a couple of lights up there, at that predawn hour. With his window open he’d enjoyed the cold wind and the roar of the crashing sea, the smell of salt and iodine-had relished the sound of the extra-high tide. He always read the tide schedules, as well as the society page that offered up a nice working bible, a regular menu of lucrative possibilities, more than one man could ever make use of. Driving slowly, he’d watched the cliff carefully for the turnoff, which was nearly invisible in the dark.

He supposed he could have dumped the body somewhere up there beyond those ranches where the land turned wild, dumped and buried it. Days before, he’d driven all around up there, and looked. Had spotted that cop’s ranch, too-saw the chief’s truck and a couple of squad cars parked there, saw lights blazing in the house and heard music and laughter. Wouldn’t that be a joke, if he buried it on that police chief’s land?

Yeah, it would. Tantamount to teasing a maddened rattlesnake. And what was the point? No, that Max Harper would come after him with a vengeance.

He’d left no ID on the body or in the car, no prints but the victim’s own and the kid’s. Anyway, his own prints weren’t on record; he’d always been careful about that.

Making his turn in the pitch-dark, and dimming his lights to park, he’d eased along the edge of the cliff, pulled up where it dropped smoothly down. Setting the hand brake, he’d sat there a moment thinking, then swung out of the car, on the highway side. Found a long heavy rock just the right shape, careful to walk only on the bare stone outcroppings where the cliff had been cut to build the highway.

Pulling the body over into the driver’s seat, he’d retrieved the bike from the trunk and set it upright on the asphalt. Then, returning to the car, he’d set the rock ready, reached in and started the engine again, and in one practiced motion had shoved the rock in place against the gas pedal, slammed it in gear, released the brake and dove away fast, clearing the door as the car shot over the side.

He’d stood listening to tons of metal thudding and dropping against the rocks, the scrape of metal on rock, the sudden explosive crash into the sea-listening to the altered rhythm of the breakers suddenly as the vehicle sank, the sucking sound, and then the rising waves returning again to their own cadence, breaking only against the cliff.

Still stepping carefully only on the stone outcroppings, he’d returned to the highway, swung onto the bike, and headed back toward the village, the sky still dark, heavy with cloud. He’d almost cheered aloud when he felt a few drops of water on his face, and heard the rain start to pelt behind him-a good rain to wash away the tire marks. The way the weather had been, nothing was sure, but he’d lucked out, this time. Nothing in life was sure, he thought, smiling. You took it the best way you could.