Cat Pay The Devil

32

F ollowing the smell of sugar doughnuts, Joe padded silently into Molena Point PD on the heels of Mabel Farthy, who was carrying a bakery box. Behind the dispatch counter, a thin, redheaded young officer Joe didn’t know looked over at the tomcat and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s all right,” Mabel told him. “The cat has clearance.” The officer laughed and rose to leave, going off shift, turning the electronic domain back to Mabel. He reached out tentatively to pet Joe, stood stroking him as he filled Mabel in on late night’s events.

Last night’s excitement had all happened on Mabel’s eight-to-twelve shift. The after-midnight calls had been tamer: a few drunks, a loud teenage party, and two domestic disturbances that made Joe prick up his ears, though both had been settled peaceably. When the officer left, Mabel sorted through the faxes, yawning. Her dyed blond hair wasn’t quite as neat as usual, and her uniform was a little mussed. She hadn’t had much sleep, having been on duty last night and then doubling back this morning. She yawned again, came out from behind the counter, and went down the hall with the doughnut box. Joe could hear her filling the big coffee urn. From the counter, he watched her move on to Max’s office, heard her fill his smaller coffeepot from the bottle of water on the credenza, and the special brand of coffee he liked. Outside the glass front door, cars were pulling into the parking area that the PD shared with the courthouse offices. Soon, among other arriving officers, Harper and Dallas came in, heading down the hall, and turned into Max’s office.

Dropping soundlessly off the counter, Joe slipped along behind them and inside, under the credenza. Maybe they knew he was there, maybe they didn’t. Harper poured two mugs of freshly brewed coffee, handed one to Garza, and sat down at his desk. He turned on the computer, then opened the three hard-copy files that lay on his blotter. Garza sat down on the leather couch and removed a clipboard and file from his briefcase. Beneath the credenza, on the Oriental rug, Joe curled up, so full of omelet he didn’t even hunger for a doughnut.

The third murder, having occurred last evening, just before Max learned that Charlie was missing, hadn’t received much of the chief’s attention. Among the papers Dallas took from his briefcase was a copy of the coroner’s report on Peggy Milner.

“It was the next-door neighbors,” Dallas said, “the Barbers, who made the call.” He rose to refill their coffee mugs. “Bern says the knife we found didn’t kill her, though very likely it was used on her. Apparently, no prints, it was wiped clean. I sent it to the lab to see what they can do. There are flecks of dried blood between the blade and the handle. Bern says a wider, heavier weapon killed her, struck her in the throat.”

Max made a sound of disgust. Beneath the credenza, Joe shivered. The older he got and the more he learned about humans, the better he liked his own feline cousins.

“Milner is an insurance representative,” Dallas said. “Got home late, said he’d had three evening appointments. I took the information off his client files and time sheet, and we’ve talked with two of the three. Third guy, a builder, is up the coast this morning picking up some plumbing, should be on his way home by now. The first two check out okay. The builder was Milner’s first appointment last night, just about the time his wife was killed.

“Bern thinks the killer wore leather gloves; he found flecks of something like leather in the wound, maybe from an edge of rough-cut leather. Waiting for the lab on that.” Dallas sipped his coffee. “Again, like the other two cases, no sign of a break-in. The front door was unlocked. Milner said she often forgot to lock it.” Dallas shook his head. “No sensible woman, in a house alone, leaves the door unlocked.”

“Unless she’s expecting company.”

Dallas nodded. “There’s no indication, so far, that she had an outside interest.”

“Nothing from the Milners’ other neighbors?”

“Only the Barbers. They can see the Milner kitchen window from their kitchen. Mrs. Barber saw Peggy in there preparing her dinner. Ten minutes later Mrs. Barber was watching TV, and when she saw there was a movie on that Peggy liked, she phoned her.

“There was no answer. She tried again in a few minutes, tried three times. The light was still on in the kitchen, but now the blind had been pulled. She said it was unlike Peggy, not to answer. Told her husband she was going over to see what was wrong. He said not to do that, told her to call 911. She told him that was silly, and she went on over. Walked in the unlocked front door, found Peggy on the kitchen floor, bleeding. Ran home, and her husband made the call.”

Dallas looked down beneath the credenza where Joe Grey lay curled up pretending to sleep. “You might as well come out of there, tomcat, make yourself at home.” He looked up at Max. “Cat’s staying out of the way this morning. Funny, he almost seems to know when things are real busy.”

Joe smiled to himself, rolled over beneath the credenza, and appeared to go back to sleep.

“Thanks for last night,” Max said, “for putting the horses up and fixing supper with Ryan. You two could have stayed and eaten with us.”

Dallas laughed. “We ate half the chili while we were putting it together. You two needed time alone.”

“Charlie wasn’t too worn out to spoil her appetite. She ate almost that whole pot, and half a dozen tortillas.”

Dallas smiled. “I have to admit, my half-Irish niece makes pretty good Mexican soul food.”

“Charlie drank one beer with supper, fell into bed. I’d hardly put out the light and she was gone, snoring in my arms.” He looked a minute at Dallas. “That dog, last night. I never saw an untrained dog track like that. He went wild when he saw Charlie down there; Ryan had put my lariat on him, and he was jerking and fighting to get to Charlie.”

“Ryan and I talked about that. I think Rock’s worth training.”

“Could be. He had a bad start in life, but he has plenty of potential. What about the neighbors on the other side of the Milners’? Anything there?”

“No one home. That’s a second residence. Karen and James Blean. Gone most of the time. Peggy Milner takes-took-care of their yard and watered it for them, and she had a key to their garage.”

Max looked at Dallas with interest.

“I got the key from Milner last night, took a look. Not much in there, a few garden tools, a small workbench, a new roll of hose. No cupboards, nowhere to hide a weapon.”

Max nodded.

“No attic access. Some paint cans stacked under the workbench, and one of the cans had been opened recently. I asked Milner about it. He said his wife had borrowed a bit of white paint to touch up a scratch on their kitchen wall; he showed me where.

“There was no paintbrush. Milner said she’d probably taken a little on a tissue, then flushed it, that she didn’t like to clean paintbrushes. Looks like it could have been dabbed on with a tissue.”

A bit of paint surely amounted to nothing, had nothing to do with the murder, but the officers’ interest brought Joe alert. Maybe he’d have a look, himself, at that garage.

“I left the door unlocked, put one of our locks on it, in case we want in again.”

The tomcat, rising, yawning as if he’d had enough of their boring voices, sauntered away into the hall; he slipped out of the PD on the heels of a sleazy attorney with a beard and a battered briefcase, some crook’s mouthpiece; he headed for the Milner house, making no attempt to gather his two accomplices. Dulcie would be snug at home with Wilma; and Kit needed Lucinda and Pedric just now. As bold and brash as the tortoiseshell was, she was tender inside and easily upset by the rough treatment of those she loved.

It was three in the morning when Greeley, crouched down behind Lilly’s sofa, listened to the front door open, and close, and a woman’s soft step head for the kitchen. Too light a step for Lilly, and anyway, she ought to be asleep upstairs. He stayed where he was when the light went on in the kitchen.

He had tossed most of the main floor, had been deciding whether to slip on upstairs when he’d heard the key in the door. He hated to give up the search now. The thought of walking away from that kind of money galled him, even if he did have that much already salted away. It had been tiresome, the effort it took to open three puny checking accounts, getting fake social security numbers and drivers’ licenses, just so he qualified for three safe-deposit boxes. But he didn’t trust nowhere else short of a bank box, nowhere the IRS wouldn’t come nosing, before he got the cash out of the country.

Two million in Mexico’d buy all he ever wanted, a little place down the coast where it was warm and the living was easy-and buy a knife in your back in a damn minute, too, if anyone knew what you had. And, the way customs was now, it would be hard to get that kind of money down across the border. Feds in your way, no matter what you did.

He could smell coffee from the kitchen, and toast. Who the hell could this be? She had a key, he’d heard it in the lock. Rising from behind the couch, he slipped down the hall, stopping in the shadows. She hadn’t heard him. She was sitting at the table, a cup in her hand. Young and skinny and pale as a ghost.

“Violet?”

She stared up at him, frightened.

“You’re Violet?” He went on in, sat down across from her. He’d known her when she was a teenager, just as fleshless and bony then. Hadn’t seen her since she’d married Eddie Sears, still in her teens-likely to escape living with Lilly and Cage. Probably it wasn’t no better with Eddie.

Had she been here last night, when he’d searched the basement? Might she have watched him? Woman looked like she could slip around silent as a ghost and you’d never know she was there. He looked at her for a long time. She pointed to the coffeepot.

“There’s plenty,” she said softly. “I thought Lilly might be up.”

“I didn’t know you were living here.”

“I’m not. Well, maybe I am now. From this morning. Is Lilly still asleep?” She didn’t seem interested in who he was. Maybe she knew, though, maybe she remembered him from years back. But she sure didn’t seem interested in what he was doing there, now.

“I expect she’s still asleep,” he said. “She let me have a room last night; the motels was all full.” He rose and poured a cup of coffee. Perching on the edge of his chair, he blew on it and drank it quickly. He wanted to ask what she was doing there; she made him real uneasy. But then, later, when he found out Eddie was in jail, and Cage in the hospital, he guessed she’d had nowhere else to go.

Nervously finishing his coffee, he rose again. “Have to be getting on. Tell Lilly thank you.” He went to get his jacket, and within minutes was relieved to be out the front door and away.

Checking into the Seaview Bed and Breakfast, he couldn’t get the rate down even on a Monday morning. Whole damn village was the same, take all a man’s money and ask for more. Now, with Cage in the hospital, he didn’t want to leave Molena Point. He didn’t give a damn if Cage cashed it in, but no one except Cage could tell him where the stash had been, and who else might have taken it, if Wilma hadn’t. Only thing he could do was wait till Cage got out of the hospital and away from that police guard-if he didn’t die-and then follow him when he went looking.

One thing sure, Cage’d come out of that hospital mean as snakes with his face all shot up, the kind of mean that he’d kill you if you sneezed wrong. And, Greeley thought, smiling, that Charlie Harper who’d shot him, she’d be smart to get out of town before Cage found her.