Cat Laughing Last

5

On the patio of the Swiss Cafe, only one table offered any degree of privacy where it stood in the corner behind a pair of potted trees and a climbing jasmine vine. The restaurant itself defined two sides of the terrace, while a high brick wall offered shelter from the street and side street. Atop the wall concealed within the flowering vine the three cats had joined, in their own way, the ladies of the Senior Survival club. Hidden, they looked down on Mavity and Wilma, Cora Lee and Gabrielle. The ladies had just ordered, and had ordered for Susan, as well. Wilma sat with her back to the wall, cozy in a red sweatshirt, a red scarf tying back her long white hair. She looked up as Susan arrived, with Lamb walking quietly at heel. Susan sat down unsteadily, next to Mavity. Her hands didn't want to be still. She fiddled with her menu and stroked Lamb, who settled under the table leaning his head against her knee. She had called Wilma from her car, as she headed for the restaurant after her long session with Detectives Davis and Garza.

"I filled everyone in," Wilma said. Cora Lee looked at Susan with sympathy, pulling her white stole closer around her shoulders, as if trying to ward off the ugliness of Susan's experience.

Mavity put her arm around Susan. "What a shocking, terrible thing, and how frightening. Do the police have any idea who the man was? But there had to be two men."

Susan shook her head. "If they can find the wounded man, find out what he was looking for… I didn't know a break-in could make you feel so helpless."

"As if you aren't safe anymore," Mavity said. "Can't feel safe in your own home." The ladies said all the trite, comforting things, hoping to ease Susan's distress.

Cora Lee laid her hand on Susan's, her slim, dusky fingers still graceful, though knotted from work and age. Her nail polish was the soft, blush red of persimmons, pulling attention away from the darkening veins. "What could they have wanted? No single item we've ever bought would be worth breaking in for and tearing up a house, pulling the shelves from the wall. All our work…"

"We'll make it right," Mavity said. "We'll clean up. Could they have thought something was hidden behind the shelves? But it would have to be thin. A painting, maybe? How silly-like some old B movie. Or did they think there was another cupboard built in behind the shelves?"

Beside Mavity, Gabrielle was quiet, looking from one lady to the other. Above, them on the patio wall, the cats listened and wondered. Joe's scowl was deep as he weighed the events of the morning. The kit snuggled close between Joe and Dulcie, her black-and-brown coat a part of the shadows, her attention not on the conversation but on the surrounding tables, where pancakes swam in butter, and sausages and ham laced the breeze with their delicious aroma. It wouldn't take much, Dulcie knew, and the kit would be down there with her feet in someone's breakfast.

But when, pressing against the little tattercoat, Dulcie gave her a warning look, the kit smiled back at her innocently, her round yellow eyes bright and teasing.

Only Wilma seemed aware of the cats-and Lamb, of course. He knew they were there. Entering the patio, he had rolled his eyes up at them as if amused, then had padded obediently under the table, the big poodle far too much of a gentleman to bark at cats.

"After all the trouble we went to," Cora Lee said. "All those lovely shelves-all the hours we spent, putting them together. And our nice work tables broken. Did they get the digital camera?"

"No," Susan said. "It was locked in the file drawer of my desk. I guess they didn't have time to break the lock. They certainly broke everything else. And they didn't take my reflex camera, just dumped a pile of dirt on it. They had the computer on, too. But why? It's so frustrating not knowing what they were after-and maddening not to be able to get into my own house. I want to clean up that mess. All I did was pack a bag and lock up-after I looked things over for Detective Garza, trying to see what might be missing."

"And?" Gabrielle said. "Nothing was missing?"

"Not that I could see. I went over it all as carefully as I could. It made me sick to look at so many of our treasures destroyed. I thought it strange that both detectives came out on the call, but they were very thorough-and they're not finished. I hated leaving everything in that mess."

"If the intruder turns up dead," Wilma suggested, "your house would be the scene of a murder. There's only one chance to collect evidence properly at a murder scene-when it's fresh. You start cleaning up, the whole thing is contaminated."

"How will you clean up?" Cora Lee said. "Do the police do that? I never thought about it. Or do we all pitch in?"

"Detective Garza suggested I call Charlie," Susan said, glancing at Wilma. "He said Charlie's Fix-It, Clean-It has had training in crime scene cleanup."

Gabrielle looked surprised. "Is that wise?" she said hesitantly. "Should Charlie be doing that-accepting police work, when she and Captain Harper are… an item?" She looked at Wilma shyly.

"Charlie's the only one in the village who's had the special training," Wilma said. "No other cleaning outfit has bothered to take those courses."

"Well, I didn't mean to imply…" Gabrielle began, embarrassed. "I know Captain Harper wouldn't play favorites. I just… I'm sorry. This has been an upsetting morning."

Yes it had, Dulcie thought. But upsetting for all the ladies. Well, Gabrielle was easily stressed. Watching the five women, she wondered whether anyone would guess that Gabrielle, or Cora Lee with her dark beauty, was over sixty. Both could pass for far younger than Wilma or Mavity or Susan, with their silver hair.

But it was more than their hair that made Cora Lee and Gabrielle look maybe ten years younger. It's the bone structure, Dulcie thought. Long, lean bones. Like two Siamese cats, one dark, one light. And, watching Gabrielle, she wondered what was bothering the tall blonde, who seemed even more uncertain than usual, withdrawn and on edge.

"I hadn't realized before," Susan said, "but of course that man's blood would be considered hazardous. I hope it will come out of my rug and walls, that I don't have to get rid of my nice, hand-braided rug. Though I may have to repaint." She sipped her coffee. "My insurance should pay for the cleanup. I'll call them after breakfast."

"And you have no idea who the man was?" Mavity said, brushing a crumb from her white uniform.

"He was lying with his back to me. Detective Garza said I shouldn't discuss it. I just… No, I don't know who he was. When Charlie's done with the bad part of the cleanup," she said, "would you…"

"Of course we will," Cora Lee said. "We'll get the workroom back in order, make it fresh and new again. And the broken items should be a claim loss."

Susan nodded. "But only for the purchase amount, not for the profit we would have made."

"Not a good morning," Mavity said. "On top of it all, Richard Casselrod stole a wooden chest from Cora Lee."

"He did what?" Susan said softly. "A wooden chest?"

"Snatched it from her, nearly knocked her down, threw her some money, and took off. He hit her with it, really hurt her," Mavity said.

Cora Lee pulled back her stole to reveal a large bruise, ugly against her white sundress. "If Casselrod's looks could kill, I'd be singing with the angels. Those black eyes flashing-as if I was the one who had snatched the box away."

"What did it look like?" Susan said.

"That's what's so strange," Cora Lee said. "Just a crude wooden box with a bad paint job. It didn't look like it was worth fifty cents. I'm not sure why I wanted it. Something about its shape, about the hint of carvings under the paint. It made me think of the stage props-the boxes we made to look like carved Spanish chests, for Elliott Traynor's play."

Susan looked startled. She started to speak, then glanced at the tables around them and seemed to change her mind.

Mavity had no compunction about being overheard. "Vivi Traynor was so interested that she jumped in her car and took off after Casselrod."

Susan sipped her coffee, both hands around the cup, as if trying to get warm. Beneath the table, Lamb whined, and she reached to stroke him.

Mavity said, "That Vivi Traynor is such a snip. She didn't even wave to you, Gabrielle-as if she'd never seen you in her life. After all, you did go to school with Elliott's sister and you did visit them in New York."

"The day I stopped by their apartment, she was only there a few minutes," Gabrielle said. "Elliott fixed coffee for me, but Vivi had an appointment. She probably doesn't remember me. My visit was really a duty call, condolences for his sister's death; she died a year ago. I never met him when she and I were in college. He was nice enough, but I only stayed a little while.

"He's surely very busy," she added, "and preoccupied, if he's finishing up a novel. I must confess I haven't read his books."

"He's quite a wonderful writer," Wilma said. "This last trilogy of novels is set right here, along this part of the California coast. It takes you from the Spanish occupation through the land grant days, the Mexican revolution, and on through to the gold rush. But you've read the play; you know it's based on a segment from the novels."

Gabrielle nodded. "Cora Lee and I read it as soon as we knew we were doing the play here."

"It's such a painful story," Cora Lee said. "And lovely. The music is beautiful."

Days earlier, the cats, slipping into the empty theater, had heard Cora Lee singing one of the numbers, practicing to try out for the lead in Thorns of Gold. Dulcie thought the dusky-skinned, dark-eyed woman would make a wonderful Catalina Ortega-Diaz. The play began when Catalina was very young-and onstage Cora Lee had looked young. The way she sang the lonely Spanish laments made Dulcie shiver right down to her claws. And Wilma had read the play to Dulcie and the kit, the three of them tucked up in bed with a warm fire burning in the grate; they agreed that Cora Lee would be wonderful in the part, that the sad story seemed to fit her.

"I don't understand why," Cora Lee said softly, "if Elliott Traynor is working so hard to finish his current novel, and he's being treated for cancer, he would come all the way out to California. Why he didn't stay in New York, not spend the time and energy to make such a move. Even if this play is close to his heart, you'd think… Oh, I don't know. It just seems strange." Cora Lee knew well the value of unbroken solitude in which to create.

Gabrielle offered no opinion. She seemed, Dulcie thought, distressed when the ladies talked about the Traynors.

Well, Gabrielle would be seeing them at the theater, as soon as they began to cast the play. She would be doing the costumes. Dulcie supposed whatever friction was between them would sort itself out then.

She knew from Wilma that Gabrielle had already bought the fabric or found costumes from other plays that she would remake.

Of course, Catalina's Spanish finery was traditional, the bride's white embroidered gowns, her white and black mantillas, her fans and lace flounces and Roman sashes, as well as the caballeros' bright ruffled silks and sombreros and serapes.

In the village library, while Gabrielle had done her research, making sketches and photocopies, Dulcie had wandered across the library tables near her, and for a while had sat on the table beside Gabrielle's books, looking at the illustrations. The library patrons were used to Dulcie; she prowled the stacks as she pleased. No one paid much attention to her except to pet her and sometimes to bring her little treats.

Often she stayed into the small hours, long after the library closed. Her access to the empty rooms, through her cat door in Wilma's office, was one of the best perks of being Molena Point's official library cat. Even Dulcie's favorite library patrons would never imagine the little cat's midnight literary excursions. They were happy just to enjoy her purring attention during library hours; and the children liked her to curl up with them on the window seat during story hour, while the librarian read to them.

But late at night, in the silent rooms, reading by the faint village light that filtered in through the library windows, Dulcie enjoyed an amazing kind of freedom. She could touch, then, any world she chose, could enter any year or century that appealed to her, could be transported away to far and wonderful places before she returned to the blood-hungry aspect of her nature and went to hunt rats with Joe, on the Molena Point hills.

And though Dulcie had been fascinated with the Spanish costumes for Thorns of Gold, imagining the soft silks and velvets, the kit was wild with enthusiasm. The little tattercoat had fallen in love with the play, with the music, with the sets. She would follow Cora Lee into the theater and watch for hours as Cora Lee painted those vivid scenes.

The kit did have a fine imagination, Dulcie thought. Look at the kit's stubborn insistence that she could slip underground through a cave or fissure into a subterranean world that waited to welcome their kind of cat; into a netherworld of green wizard light and granite sky, a country the kit described in such detail that sometimes she frightened Dulcie-but sometimes she had Dulcie dreaming, too, imagining that place as real, that land where speaking cats might have had their beginnings.

"I think we should all be careful for a while," Wilma was saying. "To avoid another break-in, or worse. Susan will be staying with me, but… We all live alone. And all of you are seen at the sales. Until we know what this is about, I think we should watch ourselves. Check our locks and windows, look around outside before we go in the house, see if any window is broken or jimmied, that sort of thing."

Wilma didn't mention that she had some defense, where the others did not. Though if they'd thought about it, surely the ladies would guess that a retired U.S. parole officer might keep a firearm at home, might like the security of being armed. Not all Wilma's parolees were far away; several had turned up in Molena Point, some with no love for the woman who had sent them back to prison.

Gabrielle said, "Wilma, you and the captain are good friends. Can't you find out the identity of the man-so we'll know what to watch for?"

"It's too early for the department to know that," Wilma said. "Even if they have a lead, it's too early to share that with a civilian, even with me."

There was a little silence as their waitress brought their breakfasts. Then after some moments, over pancakes and omelettes, the five ladies turned to quietly discussing the kind of comfortable Molena Point house they would like to find, with many bedrooms and baths, a home big enough to accommodate a housekeeper and caregiver when the ladies grew frail-which none of them was, yet-and maybe an extra bedroom or two that could be rented out to pay upkeep and taxes. The women had it all worked out. A private, do-it-yourself retirement home where they would share all expenses and all profits.

Only Wilma remained somewhat removed from their plans. Dulcie's housemate wasn't nearly ready yet for a change in lifestyle. She liked doing her own housework and gardening. She worked out at the gym twice a week and walked two miles a day, intending to hang on as long as she could to her independence. But Wilma said the ladies were to be admired, that too many women couldn't bear to leave their own homes despite better alternatives, that these ladies were making their own options, and she respected that adventuresome turn of mind.

Though Mavity had no choice, Dulcie knew. She'd have to move when the city condemned her house. As for Cora Lee and Gabrielle, with both their husbands gone, they seemed eager to throw in together. And Susan, too, was a widow, living in the two-apartment home she had bought from her daughter just recently when the daughter's job took her to Portland.

The thought of Wilma moving was unsettling to Dulcie. Moving was easier for a human than for a cat. When people changed to a new home, they took all their familiar possessions with them, all the things that gave their daily lives resonance. A cat couldn't take her treasures. A cat's hoard was places, a nook in the garden wall, the shade beneath a favorite bush, a tree branch that suited her exactly, the best mouse runs. All these formed a cat's world, affording her security and comfort, giving her own life structure. A cat's treasures could not be carried with her.

That was why, when humans moved with their cat, the cat wanted to return. The humans took their belongings. The cat was forced to leave hers. That was why, when sensible folk moved to a new home, they kept their cat inside for a month, gave her time to establish new indoor haunts, discover new pleasures, wrap that new world around herself. They didn't let the cat bolt out the door and head straight for the old homestead-a matter of a mile away, or maybe hundreds of miles. Distance didn't matter to a cat, all she wanted was to be among her belongings.

Well, whatever Wilma did in the future, Dulcie thought, the two of them were together. Just as were Joe Grey and Clyde.

Besides, she and Joe and the kit had ties to the whole village; their treasured haunts were scattered all over the square mile of Molena Point-and no one ever imagined that Wilma or Clyde would move away from the village.

The kit's own situation was not quite so secure. Her real home was with elderly newlyweds Lucinda and Pedric Greenlaw, but she had moved in with Dulcie and Wilma on an almost permanent basis. Shortly after the Greenlaws were married they had succumbed to travel lust, had begun driving up and down the coast and through Arizona and Nevada and Oregon in their comfortable RV. The kit had a special bed in the RV, where she could look out the windows; she should, with her wild enthusiasms, have relished such traveling. But all that driving caused her to throw up, made the little tattercoat as sick as a poisoned hound dog.

"Could there be," Mavity was saying, "a connection between Richard Casselrod's snatching that box and the break-in at Susan's house? So strange… two violent, senseless attacks in the same day, at almost the same time, and both to do with buying people's cast-offs."

Joe and Dulcie exchanged a look, Joe's ears flat to his head, the white triangle down his face narrowed in a frown. Of course it was strange. These elderly ladies, who should be safe and cozy in the small village, had twice this morning been senselessly attacked. Whatever was astir put his fur on edge, made his yellow eyes blaze with challenge.