In the yard below, Voletta’s dirt-covered pickup was heading across the big yard for the road, Voletta’s tangle of white hair blowing where the window was down. They all watched, cats and humans, until, at a turn in the road the truck disappeared, hidden by eucalyptus trees.
“She’s going to bail Lena out,” Joe said.
Everyone looked at him.
“I guess she made bail, after they arrested her with Rick.”
“Where,” Dulcie said, “would Voletta get enough money for bail?”
“Bail bondsman,” Joe said. “He can meet Voletta at the station, she gives him ten percent of whatever the bail is, and Lena walks. You can bet that old woman isn’t destitute.”
“No, she isn’t,” Kate said. “When I kept raising the offer on the house and land, she didn’t blink an eye. Refused it cool as you please. She’s a Pamillon. As little as the family thinks of her, I’ll bet there’s a trust fund, a nice yearly income.”
“That may be,” Wilma said, “but I’ve seen her in the village carrying that old shopping bag, moving among the aisles of some small shop in a way that made me wonder.”
“Rich people shoplift, too,” Dulcie said. She and Joe had seen Voletta in the village, slipping along between the counters with her shopping bag. They had never pursued the matter, maybe because Voletta looked so alone and poor—though it was not in their predatory nature to be that forgiving.
Whatever the case, long before the volunteers had arrived at the shelter for duty, Voletta’s dirt-encrusted truck came lumbering home, Lena driving. A white Prius followed them, a shiny, new model. It pulled up in front of the house, to park beside Voletta’s truck. A small, bespectacled driver stepped out. He was neat as a pin, dressed in a pale gray suit and gray tie; he stood waiting for Lena and Voletta. The older woman was slow and stiff getting out of the passenger’s seat and into the walker that Lena pulled out of the truck bed.
“Probation officer,” Scotty said, “come to check out where she lives, to look at the living conditions.”
“How do you . . .?” Kate began.
“I talked with Max, when he called about that box of porcelain. Lena will be on probation, under home confinement. He said Voletta needs someone to care for her until her leg heals.”
“That means Lena can’t go anywhere,” Kate said.
“She can if she calls in—grocery, drugstore, essential trips. I guess, for a while, she’ll be driving Voletta where she needs to go, like to the doctor. Max said he let her out, in part, to take care of the old woman.” Scotty looked at Joe, wondering how much Joe Grey already knew, hanging around MPPD.
Kate said, “She was well enough to drive to the station to bail Lena out.”
Scotty smiled. “Maybe she was embarrassed to ask us, or didn’t want us into her business. You can tell it didn’t do her any good, the way she’s limping, going up the steps.” Scotty sipped his coffee. “I don’t think the department knows, yet, exactly how involved Lena was in the car heists. But Randall is her husband. Max thinks Randall may have run the show.”
Kate looked again at the little, neat man entering the front door behind Voletta and Lena. “Will he be nosing around up here, too, getting in our way?”
Scotty laughed. “He’s not an out-for-blood building inspector, just a county PO doing his job. I guess we’ll see him around every few weeks—until we find a caretaker and move into a place of our own.”
“Well, at least we have the Wilsons to stay for a couple of nights,” Kate said. “They’re a nice couple. I called Ryan’s dad, hoping he and Lindsey would volunteer.” She shook her head. “They’re off on another fishing trip, up in Oregon. Took Rock with them again. I think they mean to kidnap that good dog.”
“I wouldn’t blame them,” Scotty said.
“They were sorry to miss the wedding. They sent their love to us both. But poor Rock will miss a good party, he’ll miss snatching treats. A party does set him off, trying to greet everyone at once and to work them for handouts.”
Scotty put his arm around her. “Just a two-night honeymoon. But we’ll take a longer trip later. The Bahamas? Alaska? And,” he said softly, “our whole life will be a honeymoon.” Kate had never guessed, the years she’d known Scotty as a quiet, no-nonsense friend, a rough-hewn kind of guy, how romantic he could be.
The Damens’ driveway and the street were solid with cars. Clyde’s Jaguar and Ryan’s red king cab were trapped in the carport, three rows of cars behind them. Joe, looking down from the roof, thought the scene resembled another gathering of stolen vehicles—except that he knew most of these cars and, cozied in among them, a number of friendly black-and-whites lent a different interpretation. As did the open front door with talk and laughter spilling out and the good smells of the buffet supper. It was the aroma of food that drew Joe from the roof through his tower and onto the rafter, down to Clyde’s desk, scattering papers, and down the stairs—where Dulcie and Kit and Pan were already working the room. Striker and Courtney sat obediently on the mantel, sniffing at the good smells.
Casually Joe finessed a hand-offered snack here, then crab salad on a paper plate, a slice of chicken. A stack of small paper plates stood on the coffee table. The Greenlaws were there, and Wilma, and Max and Charlie; the four senior ladies had arrived, and a dozen officers including detectives Davis and Ray, both with cameras to take wedding pictures. John and Mary Firetti came in, Mary carrying Buffin on her shoulder.
“We won’t stay too long,” she told Ryan, “but Buffin’s little dog is better.” She watched John pick up Striker from the mantel, to have a look at his paw. Striker and Courtney had been restricted there to avoid being stepped on, and to stay away from human food. John insisted on a limited diet until, as the kittens grew older, he was sure that human treats were as agreeable to them as to the older cats.
Now, taking Striker into the guest room, John removed the weed-covered, damp wrappings from his paw, examined the stitches, applied a salve and a clean white bandage. That was better, Striker thought. His paw had felt damp and grainy. When they returned to the living room, everyone was headed for the patio. The minister had arrived. Tall, bent Reverend Samuel, in his dark suit, stood before the barbecue, which was covered with a fresh white sheet and pots of white daisies. The walled brick terrace was crowded with folding chairs. When John and Mary, carrying the three kittens, took seats beneath the young maple tree, immediately the kittens climbed up its branches to join Dulcie and Kit and Pan for a fine view down on the wedding party. One could hardly see Joe Grey on the roof above, peering over the edge, beneath the maple’s foliage.
The music was the same collection of folk tunes that Charlie had selected for Ryan and Clyde’s wedding, happy Irish music. Quietly the bride and groom took their places before the reverend. Scotty’s brother-in-law, Dallas, stood next to the groom, as best man. Ryan, as matron of honor, did not lead Kate to her place but stood beside her, her pale brown shift setting off Kate’s rich cream suit that shone softly with her blond hair. Scotty wore a pale tweed sport coat and light slacks. Clyde, who would give the bride away, wore tan slacks and a light linen sport coat. Yes, Joe thought, Clyde should give the bride away when, at one time, he came near to marrying Kate himself. And it had been the same with Charlie. Joe had been sure that she and Clyde were headed for wedding bells—until Max stepped in, until he and Charlie were suddenly head-over-heels, had set the wedding date, and before you could shake a paw, the deed was done. Joe had been sorry about that, he loved Charlie. But Max and Charlie were a better match—and now he was mighty glad that Clyde had waited for Ryan.
In the years Joe had known Clyde, he’d had more women than a stray tomcat. It was luck when he met Ryan Flannery, when she remodeled their house and they started dating. Clyde didn’t know that Joe had used every wile he knew, to charm Ryan. Maybe Clyde and Ryan’s romance would have happened without his help, maybe not.
Ryan had been clever enough to discover, on her own, that Joe could talk. She had be
en wise not to go to Clyde with her discovery, but to discuss the matter directly with Joe. None of your “kitty, kitty, can you speak to me” foolishness. She just came right out with it, person to person—though Joe had remained shy and startled for some time. But Ryan was a true gem. She could not only cook, she could fix the roof and the plumbing, she had rebuilt their poky cottage into a handsome home. She had built Joe’s tower and, best of all, she knew how to handle Clyde.
The minister had begun his short reading. He was blessing this union that was for all time, then soon was asking Scotty if he took this woman to love, to honor and cherish. He was asking Kate the same when Joe, from up on the roof, heard the sound of metal scraping on metal, a harsh grating that came from the carport below him.
He couldn’t see under the carport from this angle. Trotting across the shingles to the front of the house, he looked beneath the shelter that jutted out in front of the garage. A person with tangled white hair was at work on the far side of Ryan’s red king cab, she was at the lockboxes that ran along the side of the truck. Voletta! What was she doing? He watched, unbelieving, as she worked away at one of the compartments. When he looked up for an instant, looked down the block to the side street, there was Voletta’s muddy blue pickup parked along the curb.
Moving across the carport roof, where he could see her better, he watched her remove Ryan’s newest, most expensive Skilsaw from a lockbox and slip it into a canvas carryall. She had all the locker doors on her side open, she had hauled out all kinds of tools, the two other carryalls were already full.
Stealthily Joe slipped into the neighbors’ pepper tree. Mad as hell, he eased down above the truck, leaped to its roof just inches from Voletta’s face snarling and growling and raising threatening claws. Voletta yipped and flew backward against the carport wall, her cry choking her, Joe slashing out at her, keening and yowling, his gray coat standing stiff, his yellow eyes fierce with rage. He slashed out again with a roaring scream but he daren’t bloody her, he didn’t want quarantine again. He struck so close that her hands flew up to protect her face; and suddenly behind Joe, Pan came racing.
The red tom sailed onto the truck growling like a tiger. Joe could see now that Voletta had wrenched and bent most of the cabinet doors open rather than trying to unlock them. The old woman, white hair flying, slapped at them with a leather carpenter’s apron, trying to drive them away—and over the roof came the other cats, all in attack mode. Kit, in the lead, crouched to leap. Behind them, the wedding party streamed out.
Joe hissed at Kit to stop her, thinking of the trouble a wound would cause. Dulcie was slashing hard at the woman, but then, thinking the same, she drew back. The three kittens crowded the roof behind them, all wanting to jump Voletta. It was then that Ryan came running, grabbed Voletta, grabbed a box of drills from her hand—it was then that Joe saw the bride and groom. They stood a little apart on the sidewalk, Scotty’s arm around Kate. He was grinning, but Kate was laughing so hard, leaning against him, that Joe wondered if she could stop laughing. He did see, looking carefully, that the ring was on her finger, that the ceremony had not been interrupted, that among all the furor and cat screams, Kate Osborne had become, officially, Mrs. Scott Flannery. He envisioned Scotty placing the ring on her finger and kissing her while, from the carport, bloodcurdling feline challenges cut through the soft Irish music; and Joe Grey, himself, had a hard time trying not to laugh.
But stern Reverend Samuel? Tall and bent, he stood a little way from the bride and groom, solemn faced and grim. This was not how weddings were supposed to proceed. Weddings were courteous, proper affairs. Yet was there, Joe wondered, was there the shine of a smile in the reverend’s dark eyes?
Joe daren’t look at Clyde. He knew the look he’d see on Clyde’s face, as if this were all Joe’s fault. When again he looked at Ryan, she had backed away from Voletta, letting Max and Dallas handle her, but Ryan’s green eyes still blazed. Joe watched Max take Voletta gently by her arm, lead her to a squad car, carefully help her in, locking her in the back. Already Juana Davis and Kathleen Ray were taking pictures of the stolen items jumbled in the bags, and of the jimmied lockers.
Why had Voletta done this? Why had she come here? Now she was in as much trouble as her thieving niece. If Voletta wanted the expensive tools to sell, why didn’t she sneak them from the truck up at the job? Joe thought. Too risky, with Ryan, and Scotty and the other men working there in broad daylight?
Or did Voletta create this disturbance to purposely put an ugly note on the wedding, to turn Kate’s happy day sour? A crazy, vindictive old woman with no love for Kate, who had tried hard to buy her land. No love for Kate and Scotty, who had surely reported the movement of the cars that night. What could be better than an ugly burglary right in the middle of their wedding?
And what better victim to steal from than Ryan Flannery, who was tearing up the old mansion of the family estate, and who had put that big cat shelter on the open land so near to Voletta, spoiling her privacy? Voletta might have little to do with the rest of the Pamillons, Joe thought, but she still looked upon the abandoned estate as her land, as her heritage. She might easily hate anyone who moved onto it with, in her mind, no right at all to be there.
28
The wedding party resumed as congenially as if there had never been an ugly disturbance, as if Voletta’s wicked destruction and the cats’ screaming confrontation had never occurred—as if Ryan’s beautiful king cab did not sit in the carport cruelly battered and forlorn. While the old woman was escorted to MPPD and booked by officers Wrigley and Brown, the wedding guests crowded into the Damens’ big family kitchen, where the bride and groom cut the cake, exchanged bites and, laughing, smeared each other’s faces with white icing. The only folks who had missed the excitement were Ryan’s dad, his lovely wife, Lindsey, and Rock, who, trying to keep his balance in the small outboard, watched his companions reel in their catch, reaching a paw now and then to pat at the long string of trout already dragging beside the boat.
The half-demolished wedding cake sat on the decorated kitchen table; guests carried plates of cake and canapés to the patio where the chairs had been rearranged, small tables were unfolded, and Ryan and Charlie poured coffee. The three kittens roamed the top of the patio wall, leaping down to the white-covered barbecue to bat at the pots of daisies. The four older cats settled in friendly laps near to Max and Dallas. Max had just taken a call: Randall Borden was out of surgery, his appendix removed with no complications. He would remain in the hospital, then be sent to a recovery unit until he was well enough to be transported to county jail, facing arraignment for two counts of murder and for car theft.
The cats knew that Egan Borden would soon be arraigned for car theft and on breaking and entering, which, though it was only a misdemeanor, carried a jail sentence. His brother, Rick, would board a flight for Texas accompanied by two U.S. marshals, his hefty list of charges enough to keep him locked away for some long time. Life, it seemed to Joe Grey, had a way of rolling over just as pleasantly as he rolled over now on Ryan’s lap. Life, the tomcat thought with uncommon sentiment, is not only challenging, wild sometimes, it can be tender, too. Warm and tender and good.
When Ryan looked down at him, her green eyes amused, he again had that feeling that she could almost read his thoughts. Across the table, Clyde grinned at them, and reached to take Ryan’s hand—but soon Ryan picked Joe up and wandered across the patio holding him against her face, whispering to him. “They didn’t see Courtney’s picture, no one saw the teacup. Max and Dallas must have examined that box before Robert Teague picked it up, but maybe none of them noticed the painted cat or that she looked like Courtney.”
Joe Grey smiled. It was enough that the cats’ attack on Voletta Nestor had alarmed everyone present—and had more than alerted the cops, the cats were still getting thoughtful glances from them. We don’t need that, Joe thought, and we don’t need the chief and detectives thinking about our attack or about the teacup, either. About Courtney�
�s likeness on a centuries-old porcelain treasure. We don’t need any more questions.
Ryan returned to the table, tucked Joe back on her lap and took Clyde’s hand again. As Joe watched the two of them, and watched the happy newlyweds across the patio, he was filled with pleasant thoughts—but when he glanced up at the three kittens playing, suddenly his spirit dropped like a heavy weight. Suddenly he realized how lonely life would be now, how very empty with Striker and Buffin leaving home, leaving their mother and Wilma, leaving the nest where they were born. Joe watched the two buff kittens batting at Courtney through the potted daisies, he watched them look up as if laughing, to where the Firettis sat, and the sad feeling filled him, the cold knowledge that tonight their two boy kittens would have a new home.
Buffin and Striker had made their own decision. Not Joe nor Dulcie nor Wilma meant to forbid them. The boys had bonded with the Firettis, with these two loving humans; they had bonded with the life of the hospital. They would not be going home with Dulcie and Wilma when the party was over. Even when he looked up at Courtney playing happily with her brothers, he saw a lonely sadness touch the little calico’s face, he knew she’d miss Buffin and Striker, and his own dismay nearly choked him. Dulcie reached out to him from where she lay in Wilma’s lap, her soft paw covered his paw and he saw the same loneliness on both Dulcie’s and Wilma’s faces.
But it was the kittens’ right to step out into the first chapter in their new lives. He looked around the patio at the rest of the party, so happy, talking, laughing, congratulating bride and groom. He didn’t want Kate and Scotty to see his sour mood, to put a painful note on the wedding—Voletta had done enough of that. Though her destructive temper tantrum had caused as much amusement as anger.
Clyde rose to change the music to the old forties hits that they all loved, and as a CD belted out Artie Shaw, half a dozen couples were soon dancing. Max danced the first dance with the bride. At the next number he handed her over to Scotty. After several dances, Kate returned to the kitchen to cut small slices of what was left of the wedding cake. She wrapped each in foil, and handed them around to all the single officers, gleaning laughs and a few startled looks. “This is not to eat, it’s to sleep on. It might not be traditional,” she said, “for men to get the wedding cake and dream of their brides. But who knows, stranger things have happened.” That gained more laughter and rude teasing, enough to make her blush. When she gave the two female detectives their cake, Juana Davis said it was a bit late in her life, when she was already expecting a grandchild. But beautiful young Detective Ray smiled and tucked the cake safely in her pocket.
Cat Shining Bright Page 21