Cat Breaking Free

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  Kit stopped for breath and for Charlie to catch up. Charlie was writing as fast as she could. When Kit looked out through the wide window, Ryan Flannery's big Weimaraner, Rock, looked in at her wagging his short tail. Beyond him across the grassy side yard, Ryan knelt on the roof of the stable tearing off the shingles, getting ready to raise up the roof the way she did on Clyde's house. Ryan would jack the roof's two sides right up to make new walls for a second floor. Kit thought that was amazing, what humans could do-what they would think of to do.

  Ryan's uncle Scotty and her other carpenters would help her lift the two halves of the roof and nail them in place and then, like magic, they would put on a new roof, way high up, and there would be a whole new room up there, a big guest room right over the stable.

  But right now there was just a lot of screeing and scritching as Ryan pulled out nails, and chunking sounds as she tossed the shingles down on the bed of her big red pickup.

  Kit turned back when Charlie set two bowls of warm milk and a plate of shortbread down on the window seat for her and Dulcie. Everyone kept watching the side yard in case Ryan came down the ladder and headed for the house because Ryan didn't know that she and Dulcie could talk. They would be silent then like ordinary cats having a nap on the window seat. And they all watched the long drive, too, that came from the main road in case Captain Harper came home unexpectedly because he didn't know, either. How complicated life could be. Kit looked up at Charlie.

  "What happened, Charlie, up on the hills? That you couldn't tell when we all had Mexican dinner?" Though she thought she already knew. She thought she knew very well what had made those scratches on the dead man's throat and sent him careening over the cliff to die crumpled under his heavy motorcycle.

  Charlie looked at Kit a long time, and sipped her coffee. "I think your wild band has returned, Kit."

  Kit shivered again and licked milk from her whiskers. When her wild clowder came there before to Hellhag Hill when she was little, that was when she saw Lucinda and Pedric there having a picnic and the Greenlaws knew right away that she was not an ordinary cat. They had shared their picnic with her and told her stories of her ancestors and she loved them right away, they belonged to one another right away and she left the wild band for this new life with the most wonderful people in the world. Now she looked at Lucinda and Pedric and purred and purred and they looked back at her all warm and happy. But even though she was safe with them, when she thought of the wild band so near, she trembled. Why would they come back? Why had they come here?

  Oh, they couldn't want her} Why would they want her? They'd been happy to be rid of her.

  But Charlie was telling how she'd freed the big tomcat from the trap, and when Charlie described him, Kit felt cold and scared. "That was Stone Eye," Kit whispered. "That big gray-and-brown tom with eyes the color of rust. He runs everything. He bosses everyone. He always slashed and bit me. He did worse to the older female kittens." Thinking about Stone Eye, Kit wanted to crawl under the pillows into the dark where nothing would find her, but of course that was silly. That was how she felt, though. She wished Charlie had left him in that cage.

  But Charlie would never do that. And when Charlie said she thought maybe other cats had been trapped and taken away prisoner, Kit remembered something scary, and she hunched down deeper next to Dulcie.

  "What, Kit?" Dulcie and Lucinda said together. Lucinda rose and came to sit on the window seat beside her and to stroke her. "What is it?" the thin old lady said. "What did you remember?" Lucinda always knew how she felt.

  "There was a man," Kit said. "In one town, when I was little, watching us when we were eating garbage in an alley. He watched us from the back door of a shoe shop and he had canned baked beans maybe for his lunches and every day he put out some beans for us and the hungriest of us sneaked up after dark and ate but always the man was there behind the screen watching and watching us. Stone Eye told us not to go there, and drove us away. He said we had to go away from that city but we went back anyway one more time the next day and there were other men there too and they put out those big traps for us with food in, humane traps they're called but we knew what they were and we left those streets. We stayed in the ravine and didn't ever go back there again."

  Kit sighed. "There were three ordinary cats that traveled with us that couldn't talk but felt safe in the big clowder and they went back, they went in the traps every day and ate the food. Stone Eye didn't drive them away. When they got caught, he said what did it matter? When those men took the bungies off and the ordinary cats got caught, Stone Eye laughed and said they were just stupid beasts, but some of us…"

  She paused to peer through the window toward the main road, where a car had turned into the drive, moving way too fast toward the house. Charlie rose angrily and hurried to the door, and ran out to tell the driver to slow down. Pedric got up and stood at the kitchen window, looking out.

  "A black Alpha Romeo," he said crossly. "Damn fool." They watched the car skid to a stop right in Charlie's face, and the driver's door opened.

  Kit could hear Charlie through the closed window, but Pedric slid the glass open so he could hear. "You don't drive like that on my property!" Charlie snapped. "What do you want?"

  The driver was dark-haired and handsome. He stepped boldly out of the car. "Your property? I thought this was Chief Harper's property."

  "I am Mrs. Harper. What do you want?"

  He looked past her to the stable roof, where Ryan had paused in her work, kneeling on the roof. "It's really none of your business. I came to see Ryan."

  "Everything on my property is my business." Charlie looked at his license plate. "Go on over there if you have business with Ms. Flannery. When you leave you will drive slowly." Kit and Dulcie smiled. Everyone said redheads had a temper. The man looked amused. Charlie's eyes flashed as he turned away. In the kitchen, Pedric glared as if he wanted to barge out and protect Charlie. Kit thought that wasn't smart at his eighty-plus frail years. Dulcie's ears were back and her tail lashed. Kit was fascinated, her nose pressed to the glass, watching.

  The man was tall and indeed very handsome, with a smooth, angled face and short, well-styled black hair that, Lucinda would say, had been artfully blow-dried. He wore a pale tan shirt, powder blue tie, and a beautiful cream-colored suit. His sleek loafers looked like the handmade Italian shoes that Pedric liked to admire in the most elegant village shops. Beautiful shoes that were dulled now with dust from the yard. He approached the stables, smiling up at Ryan, but stopped abruptly when Rock burst out of the shadows growling, moving toward him stiff-legged.

  Beyond the Weimaraner at the pasture fence the Harpers' two big dogs stood with ears flattened and lips drawn back in twin snarls. Ryan shouted at Rock from the roof, and swung on to the ladder; the silver hound backed off a step, his head lowered, teeth still bared.

  Charlie had returned to the kitchen; she came to the window seat where she could watch, and she had her cell phone open. Kit thought, from the bulge in her pocket, that she might have additional protection, too.

  Ryan came down the ladder, scowling. "What do you want, Roman?" Rock approached the man stiff-legged, snarling-but then the dog paused, sniffing. He glanced up at his mistress uncertainly, sniffed again at the man, and his short, docked tail began to wag.

  The stranger smiled wryly, and knelt in the dust, knelt right down, facing Rock, and began talking to him, making little lovey sounds, kissy-baby sounds to the big Weimaraner. Kit and Dulcie watched Rock, amazed. The big dog had gone totally mushy, smiling and wagging and pushing right up to the man. Dulcie was so irritated she was shifting from paw to paw, growling-as if she'd like to race out there and tackle the man herself-and give Rock a whack on the nose. Pedric and the three women watched the scene, unbelieving.

  Ryan took in the scene without expression and commanded Rock to heel. The cats knew she would deal with Rock later, in a little training session. Her voice was cold and clipped.

  "What do you want, Roman?"<
br />
  "It's Sunday, Ryan. I'm amazed to see you working on Sunday."

  "Why would you come here? I didn't ask you here."

  "I came by to see if you'd have dinner with me. For old times' sake?"

  "There are no old times. I told you in the city I don't have the time or patience for you. Nor the inclination. I am involved, Roman. Do you understand that? Do I need to spell that out?"

  In the kitchen, the little party glanced at each other. Too bad Ryan's lovely big bodyguard had suckered up to the man. No one could understand what was wrong with Rock; this was not his way, Rock was fierce as tigers when it came to Ryan. Dulcie and Kit looked at each other wishing, not for the first time, that the big, beautiful, intelligent hound could speak, that Rock could tell them what was going through that incomprehensible doggy mind.

  14

  Clyde liked to fix a big Sunday breakfast for himself and Joe and the household animals, preparing special, vet-approved treats for Rube and the three cats, who could not eat the exotic foods on which Joe Grey thrived. This morning he cooked, but his heart wasn't in it. Rube was not in his usual place on the throw rug before the kitchen sink, drooling as he waited; he would never be there again.

  Sitting on the breakfast table in the middle of the Sunday paper, Joe looked sadly at Rube's empty place on the rug, which the cats had left between them. Despite Clyde's presence at the stove and the good smell of scrambled eggs and bacon and sauteed chicken livers, everything in the kitchen seemed flat and off-key. Joe felt so low that he hadn't even clawed the funnies and front page to enliven Clyde's morning.

  He looked at Clyde hopefully. "Will Ryan be coming for breakfast?" Ryan could always cheer them up.

  "You can see I only set two plates," Clyde snapped. "She's working up at Harper's, getting the barn roof ready to lift." Joe looked at Clyde and shrugged. He looked at the nicely prepared breakfast plate that Clyde set before him, the bacon artfully arranged between the scrambled eggs and the golden chicken livers. Clyde had even grated cheese on his eggs, a nice morning start with plenty of comforting cholesterol.

  But he didn't feel like eating.

  Setting his own plate on the table, Clyde put the cats' dishes aside to cool, then set them down on the rug. The cats looked up at him, then the two older cats turned away, headed back into the laundry, and crawled up into Rube's lower bunk. Snowball just sat, hunched and miserable.

  "He's out of pain," Clyde said. "You wouldn't have kept him here when he was so tired out. When he looked at you, he was all but saying he was ready."

  Joe nodded. "I know. I know he's better off. But they don't understand. We all miss him."

  Clyde looked hard at Joe. "You're down about more than Rube, too." He looked into Joe's eyes. "When you went out early, I thought… What happened? You're ready to claw the world apart."

  Joe didn't usually share with Clyde the early stages of an investigation. Clyde could be so judgmental. And talk about worry, talk about overprotective. But this morning…

  "That woman…"Joe began.

  "What woman? What woman would you see before daylight, before… Chichi? What?" Clyde set down his coffee cup. "What did she do to you?

  "Or what did you do to her? What have you done, now?"

  That was the reason he didn't share crime investigations with his housemate. "Eat your breakfast," Joe said. "Then we'll talk."

  Clyde reached into his shirt pocket and produced a slip of paper. "Message," he said. "Almost forgot. You had a message."

  He said this with that bemused expression that drove Joe up the wall. Joe waited, trying to be patient.

  "Lucinda called. Early, before they picked up Wilma at the hospital and headed for Charlie's." Clyde glanced at the scrap of paper. "These are Lucinda's exact words, exactly as Dulcie told her. 'The prints haven't come in yet, on either man. Harper and Garza both think the high school was a diversion.'"

  Clyde sat looking at Joe. "You want to fill me in? I heard the sirens last night, I saw the fire, but I… my mind was on Rube."

  "It's part of what I have to tell you," Joe said. "Eat your breakfast." He knew he'd have to give Clyde the whole story. The minute Clyde picked up the paper he'd see it-the high school fire and the jewelry store burglary were smeared all over the front page. Pawing at the front section, Joe turned it around and shoved it over in front of Clyde: color pictures of the broken store window and showcases; and spectacular, bright flames licking up from the high school.

  "Read it," Joe said. "Then I'll tell you about Chichi."

  Clyde glanced at the headlines then quickly skimmed the articles, giving Joe an incredulous look. "You're telling me Chichi was part of this? Come on, Joe. The woman might be…"

  Joe licked cheese from his whiskers. "She might be what? Only a small-time thief because she only stole five hundred bucks from you? She wouldn't do anything worse?" He sat looking at Clyde, one paw lifted. "Some people will just steal a little, but not a lot? Is that what you're saying?"

  "Well she didn't exactly steal the money from me, she…"

  Joe stared, silent and unblinking.

  "Well," Clyde said. "Well… maybe she stole it." He returned his attention to the front page. Joe returned to his breakfast. Clyde could be annoyingly argumentative and opinionated, but if properly directed he usually managed, after a little time, to face facts and be reasonable.

  ”So,” Dulcie said when Ryan's visitor had gone, spinning out of the yard in his black Alpha Romeo, leaving a cyclone of dust clouding the kitchen windows. "What did he want? Who is he? Why did he come here and force himself on Ryan?"

  Charlie shrugged. "Roman Slayter. Ryan and her husband knew him in San Francisco before their marriage broke up; their construction firm did some work for him. Remember what she said at Lupe's that night? She thinks he'd like to get his hands on her money from the sale of the firm."

  Dulcie rolled over among the cushions, her peach-tinted paws waving idly in the air, her dark, ringed tail lashing. "Or maybe he wants something even more than money?"

  "Like what?" Charlie said, coming to sit on the window seat beside the two cats.

  "I don't know," Dulcie said uneasily. Beyond them, out the window, all that was left of the Alpha Romeo was a long snake of dust hanging over the yard like a murky jet trail. "That man's up to no good," the tabby said. "He gives me the twitches. I can't believe Rock would make up to him like that! Rock's only a simple dog, but…"

  Charlie wanted to tell Dulcie that sometimes she imagined too much, let her imagination run wild; but Dulcie's speculations, and those of Joe and Kit, were too often on target, their perceptions about humans as keen as the instincts of a seasoned detective.

  "She told me this morning," Charlie said, "that he called her last night, she'd hardly gotten in the door after dinner. Insisted she go out for a drink, was really pushy." Charlie grinned. "She hung up on him.

  "When Ryan was in the city, when Slayter showed up at the construction office… Well, she says Slayter can smell money like a bloodhound." She glanced at the phone pad where she'd written his license number; and they watched Ryan storm back up the ladder, scowling.

  "Ryan says he worked in real estate for a while, but she thinks he was into a lot of things, most of them shady, including some questionable stints as a private investigator of sorts, probably unlicensed.

  "I guess, though, the men he represented in the real estate ventures paid their bills, if the firm kept building for them." Charlie shrugged. "If I know Ryan, he'd play hell getting any of her money." She looked at Wilma. "Are you getting tired, ready to tuck up in bed for a while?"

  Wilma laughed. "I don't need to be in bed, I won't heal lying in bed, I need to walk." Refusing more coffee, she rose, her long silver hair bright beneath the glow of the soft overhead lights. Charlie and her aunt looked a lot alike, with their lean, angled faces and tall, lean figures. Only their coloring was different: Charlie's red hair vivid against Wilma's pale silver mane. Wilma had wrinkles instead of freckles, and he
r eyes were dark where Charlie's were green; but their comfortable, reassuring smiles were the same.

  Though Wilma's career had been in federal probation, her master's was in library science. She had, just out of college and before she went with the federal courts, worked two years in state probation. During that time she'd gotten her master's degree, taking courses at night. Her plan, which she had made early in her life, had been to fall back on her library degree when she was forced to retire from probation work, a retirement that then had been mandatory at fifty-five. "Way too young," Wilma had told Clyde, "too young to stop working."

  Ever since Dulcie came to live with Wilma as a kitten, Wilma had worked in the library, and Dulcie was glad of that; the little cat had had wonderful adventures among that wealth of books, to which she would otherwise never have had such easy access.

  Wilma and Clyde had been friends since he was eight, when she was his neighbor; she had been his first love, Dulcie knew. A beautiful blond graduate student. Now, Wilma was the only family Clyde had left, Dulcie thought sadly.

  Wilma had her niece, Charlie. But of course Wilma and Charlie and Max, Clyde, and Dallas and Ryan and Hanni, had one another, so close that they were like family.

  Dulcie glanced out to the back patio where Wilma, walking briskly in her robe, knew she would not be seen from the front drive. At the moment Dulcie was more interested in the yard by the stable, where Roman Slayter had stood harassing Ryan.

  Slipping out, the two cats wandered the yard where Slayter had walked, picking up a distinctive medley of shoe polish and musky aftershave that masked subtler scents. But then both cats caught a whiff that made them laugh.