Cat Raise The Dead

33

Carrying the rotten meat in his handkerchief, Harper approached the old adobe stables that Adelina had converted to a maintenance building and garages. The structure was designed for maximum cooling, its rows of stalls set well back beneath deep overhangs, and its four sides facing an inner courtyard fashioned to trap the cool night air and hold it during the heat of the day. Entry to the stable yard was through an archway wide enough for a horse and wagon, so would easily accommodate any car. One row of stalls now served as garages-their inner walls extended out to the edge of the overhang, and individual garage doors had been added-providing a roomy eight-car area to house the Prior vehicles. All of the garage doors stood open, and a push broom leaned against the wall halfway down.

The spaces nearest him were empty; one of these probably belonging to Adelina's new Rolls, one to Renet's blue van, and a space likely reserved for Teddy's specially equipped van, for the times when he chose to stay here. The other vehicles showed him only a bumper, a bit of rear fender.

The courtyard was wet and slick where Carlito Vasquez was hosing down the wheels of the big riding mower. Vasquez was a middle-aged, lean little man, likable and generally responsible, who did not talk, as far as Harper knew, about his employer, about details of her estate management, or about any personal business he might be privy to.

Moving across the courtyard to where the hose hissed and splattered, carrying the package of rotten meat, Harper paused only briefly to take a better look into the open garages.

A surge of surprise hit him. And a deep excitement.

In the last stall stood a blue '93 Honda. The plate, where dried mud had flaked away, was partially legible: California plate 3GHK…

It was days like this, when something unexpected and significant was handed to him almost like a gift, that made all the dirt he had to deal with seem worthwhile.

As he moved on toward Carlito, the groundskeeper turned off the hose at the handheld nozzle. Harper handed him the handkerchief-wrapped, stinking meat. "You put this in the garbage, Carlito. You know what this is. Show me where you keep the cyanide."

Carlito cringed, as if he'd been hit, and pointed toward an open stall. Harper could see bags of fertilizer piled inside and, along one wall, a shelf of cans and bottles, probably garden sprays, vermin poison.

"Leave the cyanide where it is, Carlito. My men will take a look. Don't even go in that stall until I tell you."

Carlito nodded.

He gave the caretaker a long look, then waved him away. "Go put that meat in the garbage. Put the lid on real tight so nothing can get at it. No mas animales muerte. Comprende?"

Carlito nodded again, dropping his glance before Harper's angry stare. And, Harper thought, the man had only done what he was paid to do.

"No matter what kind of orders Ms. Prior gives you, if I find any more poison anywhere on this property, you're going to find yourself sleeping in la carcel. Comprende? Now vamoose, get rid of this stuff. I'll speak to Ms. Prior."

Carlito left, carrying Harper's redolent handkerchief, took off across the stable yard fast for the narrow arch at the back that led behind the stalls. The estate kept its garbage cans there, secured to the wall to keep local dogs and raccoons from overturning them.

When Carlito had gone, Harper moved on over to the garages. The ceilings were low, the shadowed spaces exuding cool air. He could hardly tell where the walls of the old stable ended and the new adobe had been added on, the work matched so well. Adelina didn't stint when it came to builders and construction work.

Scraping the remaining mud off the last three numbers, he stood grinning.

This was the one.

Feeling like a kid at Christmas, he circled the Honda, looking in through its closed windows, touching neither the glass nor the vehicle itself.

A flowered hat lay on the backseat beside a woman's blue sweater and a pair of flat shoes. He used the tail of his shirt to open the passenger door and the glove compartment and lift out the registration.

The car was registered to a Darlene Morton of Mill Valley. This was neither the name nor the address registered in Sacramento to this particular California plate.

Turning up his radio, he spoke to the dispatcher, asking for a team to dust the Honda and collect other evidence. When he signed off, he moved out through the arch again, stood idly watching the house, considering the possibilities of who the car might belong to.

He knew of no old, gray-haired woman in the Prior household, except that maid he'd seen.

That would be a gas, one of the maids into burglaries on her day off.

He found it impossible to imagine Adelina rigging herself up as the cat burglar; Adelina wouldn't waste her time on such foolishness. These burglaries were more like a lark, someone's idea of a little profitable recreation, B and E for a few laughs. And he didn't think Adelina would stand for that misbehavior from her sister, not when it might cast a shadow on her own image.

Or would she?

Unless maybe they had some kind of trade-off.

The animal poisonings were another matter, and were easy enough to explain if Adelina didn't want dogs digging up the old, historical cemetery. She was big on historical landmarks, on civic pride; that stuff impressed other people.

As he stood watching the house he heard shouting and someone running inside on the hard floor. Renet's voice, shouting again. And a shadow that looked like Renet ran across the living room. At the same moment a streak of darkness fled, low, inches from the floor: out the door and across the terrace, disappearing into the bushes. One of those cats had sneaked in, he thought amused, and Renet had chased it out.

The next moment, Renet stepped out through the patio door, stood studying the terrace and bushes and the lawn beyond, then looking away toward the oak wood and graveyard.

When she turned at last, she seemed to see him for the first time. She gave him a friendly wave, and moved back inside.

Across the grove, he could see Buck standing easy now, only fussing idly at his rope, trying to get a mouthful of grass. He watched with interest the azalea bushes where the cat had disappeared. But when, after some minutes, nothing moved there, he turned away and headed back through the courtyard toward the back of old stables, where the garbage cans were kept, to make sure that Carlito had done as he'd been told-had put that poisoned meat where nothing could get at it. But, crossing the stable yard, he kept seeing the cat running from Renet, seeing that swift, low shadow.