Cat Seeing Double

29

The roof had been raised; its two long slanting surfaces stood upright, forming the new walls of the bedroom suite. The new roof trusses overhead were covered with tar paper and plywood and shingles, weather tight. Where the fresh studs of the end walls were still open the setting sun slanted in, turning the late afternoon light golden with floating dust motes. The forty-foot space was otherwise empty, or nearly so. The carpenters were gone for the day, the two younger men heading home as Ryan and her uncle Scotty descended the stairs to the kitchen, brushing off sawdust. Joe and Dulcie wandered the sun-warmed space alone, relishing its vastness and the challenge of unconquered heights.

Leaping to a sawhorse then atop a ladder they gained the soaring rafters. From that vantage they could see, through the open ends of the vast room and beyond the tops of the dark oaks, the ocean's breakers blowing with foam. Nearer, just below them, the village rooftops angled cozily, inviting a run across those slanting shingles. On a neighbor's roof a flock of bickering crows shouted and swore. From the outside stairs, Scotty looked up at the cats, and laughed, taking pleasure at the sight of them. The redheaded, red-bearded giant had told the younger carpenters that cats were just as lucky at the site of new construction as were cats on shipboard.

Close around the cats, the warm air smelled sweetly of fresh-cut lumber-and of hickory-scorched beef from the back patio, where Clyde had the rotisserie turning over glowing charcoal, preparing a welcome home dinner for the newlyweds. But when, from the rafters, the cats spotted Harper's truck turn onto the narrow street they galloped down the stairs, pushing into the kitchen through Rube's dog door.

They watched Ryan throw her arms around Charlie then hold her away. "You got back yesterday! You look great! How was the wine country? Did you have lunch at Beaudry's? Isn't it beautiful! You're sunburned."

Charlie laughed. "Like a patchwork quilt. We saw the Jakeses' new addition. We love it, Ryan. It's beautiful. When can you build my studio? Maybe redo the kitchen and enlarge the master bedroom. Or maybe-"

"Anyone home?" Dallas shouted, coming in through the front door with Mike Flannery. Wilma entered just behind them carrying a bakery box under one arm, and the tattercoat kit balanced on her shoulder. She set the box on the kitchen counter, but the kit made no move to jump down or to leap to the top of the refrigerator beside Joe and Dulcie. She clung to Wilma, tucking her face beneath Wilma's chin and would not look up at the two cats. Wilma looked highly amused, the laugh lines around her eyes crinkled. Her long white hair was escaping in tendrils from its clasp and her lipstick was worn away as if she'd hardly had time to tend to her own concerns.

Full of uneasy questions, Joe and Dulcie followed the party as everyone carried plates and silverware and beer out onto the patio. Charlie and Ryan were still deep in conversation. The cats liked seeing Charlie find a woman friend she truly cared for, she'd always been such a loner. They had observed Wilma and her older contemporaries long enough to see the warmth and strength that could evolve from such a sisterhood, a friendship very different from Charlie's solid friendship with Clyde-and now of course her most enduring friendship of all, with Max himself.

Well, Joe thought, Charlie had liked Kate Osborne too. They could have been close friends if Kate had stayed in the village. They had in common, for one thing, the privilege of the cats' own secret. But Kate had abandoned Molena Point for San Francisco and abandoned Clyde, leaving the field wide open to Ryan-humans, one had to admit, could be every bit as fickle as the randiest tomcat.

Yet despite human vicissitudes, Joe found himself deeply purring as he watched Charlie and Max. Mr. and Mrs. Maximilian Franklin Harper, he thought, grinning. A name that very few people had ever heard, Max himself finding his full name far too fancy and formal.

Joe had missed the chief.

Well, I missed needling Harper, he thought, embarrassed by his sentiment.

And he had missed Charlie, missed her steady support. Because Charlie knew the cats' secret, she had been there for them in the same way that Clyde and Wilma were there. She knew what they were up to, and was ready to help if she could. Joe had, in fact, found Charlie, just a few months ago, snooping among the same incriminating books and papers that he himself had found suspicious, evidence that had ultimately helped convict a killer.

He watched Charlie and Ryan and Wilma set the table and lay out, on the edge of a planter box, a place mat and three small cat dishes, causing Max to give Charlie a sour look. Little did Harper know that Charlie was setting the supper table for his three best informants. But Joe's eyes grew round with surprise when Dallas took the kit from Wilma and held her, gently stroking her, his dark eyes laughing.

"Since when," Ryan said, "were you so fond of cats?"

"Since I had to arrest this little terror," Dallas said, settling the kit on his shoulder. "Talk about chutzpa." He looked into the kit's yellow eyes. "This one's a regular little burglar." He didn't seem to notice Charlie turn pale, or Clyde stop speaking. The kit closed her eyes, hiding her face against Garza's shoulder.

"You arrested her where?" Ryan said. "What could a little cat do?"

Garza sipped his beer. "You know how secure a grand jury room is. No one's allowed in except the prosecuting attorney and witnesses, and the court reporter.

"I was called in this morning to testify, but also to evict the cat from underneath a chair. I had to haul her out by the nape of the neck before I could give testimony. No one knew how she slipped in. The jurors were not amused. Clerk of the court took it as a personal affront that a cat had sneaked past her into that part of the building. I took Kit to the dispatcher, and she called Wilma to come get her."

Wilma said, "I found her on the dispatcher's counter lapping up a carton of milk. I don't know what got into her," she said innocently. "Why would a cat…? Well, I kept her in the house the rest of the day, shut in the bedroom."

Clyde had turned away to check the prime rib, hiding a laugh. Joe watched him, scowling. Why were the kit's adventures so entertaining, when his own serious surveillance and information gathering drew nothing from Clyde but insults? Joe supposed that the kit, because she was responsible for Gramps Farger's arrest, had wanted to be in on the kill. He watched Clyde remove the roast from the rotisserie to a platter and, with a lethal-looking carving knife, begin to cut off paper-thin slices so juicy and pink that the tomcat began to drool. He watched Dulcie wind around Clyde's ankles with the three household cats, and the two dogs crowd so close their noses were scant inches from the carving board. It was only when everyone was seated, tying into the delicious meat and two vegetable casseroles and salad, and the animals all had their own plates, that Clyde said, "After the grand jury evicted Kit, what did they find?"

"With the evidence we had," Dallas said, "they indicted Martie Holland for Dannizer's murder. And they indicted Gramps Farger. Four charges of manufacturing drugs, two of attempted murder for the bombing, two on inciting a juvenile."

Behind Dallas, the kit looked incredibly smug.

"What about the boy?" Ryan asked.

"We're still holding him," Dallas said. "He'll be remanded over to juvenile. There'll be a hearing. I expect juvenile court will either put him in a foster home and maybe a trade school, or send him to one of the boys' ranches if they think he's a good enough risk. I doubt it. I don't like to think we'll be seeing that kid back in jail in years to come, but you know the statistics.

"No one knows for sure what was in the kid's head- whether he was as hot to blow up the church as his grampa says, or whether the old man forced him to climb up on the roof, maybe threatened him."

Garza frowned. "Some kind of grandfather. He laid as much blame as he could on the boy, said Curtis wanted to set off the bomb." He looked at Ryan. "If the defense attorney can get the boy to lie, on the stand, to protect Gramps, that could complicate matters. Would you want to talk with him again? See if he'll open up? He's scared now, since we arrested Gramps. The old man has threatened him. But maybe if we can convince him Gramps will stay locked up, and with the dog to comfort him, maybe he'll open up, tell us what happened."

"I could try," Ryan said doubtfully. "It can't hurt to try."

"I took makings for the bomb from that shack where Gramps was living, and from the trash bags he hid at the Pamillon estate, along with the stuff from his underground meth lab. Empty containers of Drano, white gas, alcohol. Propane cylinders, you name it. The old man's prints all over everything. And the Jag is registered to Curtis's mother, she's been driving the old man's broken-down truck." He looked at Max. "I'd sure like to thank your snitches.

"I'm guessing the old man waited until we checked that area up there, before the trial and again last month, waited until he thought we'd lost interest, then moved in."

Max nodded. "Checked every out-of-the-way house and shack in the county. And the Pamillon ruins."

"It's called egg on our face," Dallas said, laughing. "Anyway, the grand jury had a full and productive day. Davis will have Holland back here safe and sound, early tomorrow."

Ryan looked at Clyde. 'That's what Larn Williams was talking about when he accused Dad of having affairs with his caseload-a parolee named Martie Holland, alias Marianna Landeau. Only it wasn't Dad she was involved with. It was Rupert."

Flannery said, "Martie came out of federal prison ten years ago. Beautiful woman, could have had anything she wanted. But she couldn't stay out of trouble. She wasn't out two months, she was into an extortion racket. When I told her to clean up her act or I'd send her back, she came on to me. She thought she could buy the world.

"When she understood that I wasn't buying, she decided to target my family. She wasn't used to not having her way. She settled on Ryan, I guess because Rupert was… accessible. She was soon in bed with him and teaching him how to skim the company books. When I found out, I revoked her, sent her back.

"She came out with no time to serve. Was in L.A. for a while, got married. Became Marianna Landeau. I didn't keep track of her, didn't know they'd moved back to the Bay Area or that she'd laid a false trail under her own name to the Bahamas.

"Apparently she got involved with Rupert again, perhaps out of spite. Martie was never what you'd call forgiving. They began skimming the books again, before Ryan left him. We've talked with Ryan's attorneys. If I'd known that Martie was back in the city…"

"The woman I built that house for," Ryan said angrily, "the woman I created that beautiful cottage for. That was their love nest. Her and Rupert's love nest. She killed him there, to pin the murder on me. To destroy me."

"To destroy me," Flannery said, "by destroying you."

"She shot Rupert in there," Ryan said. "A love nest as lethal as the web of a black widow. Luring the male in, to kill him."

Dallas said, "The lab found blood in the rug that was taken from the cottage, the rug Ryan and Hanni gave to the Coldirons. That too was a tip from one of Harper's snitches. The lab came through right away. Since the county allotted more funds, they've been able to do some hiring. We're waiting for an answer on the DNA. If it's Rupert's, we've got a closed case.

"She shot him in front of the fireplace," Dallas said. "Shot into the niche where the right-hand sculpture is placed. Where the concrete had been patched and repainted, Davis and I dug out two spent bullets. I have no idea how the informants knew about the damaged fireplace. Maybe I don't want to know. The important thing is, their information dovetailed in nicely with our investigation."

"We're not sure yet," Harper said, "what else the Landeaus were into. The feds will be dealing with that. Could be, we'll be able to nail them with backing the Fargers' meth labs, we don't know yet. As to the bombing, from the evidence we now have, that was strictly a Farger family project."

"And what about the dog?" Clyde asked. "With all the threads that stretch from San Andreas to Molena Point, everyone's guilty but the dog."

Mike Flannery laughed. "He's the only innocent."

"Maybe," Dallas said, "Rock can help convict Gramps, if he and Ryan can get Curtis to talk." He glanced at his niece. "And maybe Rock's some kind of compensation, for Ryan having to go through this mess."

Ryan grinned, and rubbed Rock's ears, where the big dog leaned against her.