But Maudie’s emotions were conflicted, too, her guilt at having shot Pearl battling with her sense of strength and closure. She didn’t want to know the autopsy results, didn’t want to know whether her shot or Max Harper’s had killed Pearl. It was enough that she had taken a stand, though at that moment she could have done nothing less. Max said she had saved his life. Maybe she had, or maybe he’d saved his own. Whatever the truth, she had set out to kill Pearl, to see that Pearl paid for Martin’s death; she had never deceived herself about that. Now it was done, and she and Benny were free, now her concern was for Benny.
There would be no funeral until the coroner released the body. Most likely, he said, some time between Christmas and the New Year. Maudie hoped Benny could start the New Year with the funeral, too, behind him.
The day after Pearl died, Maudie made a trip down to the station to give her statement to Chief Harper and Detective Garza; then she fetched Benny from Ryan and Clyde’s remodel, where he was happily scrubbing the bathroom tiles alongside Lori, and together Maudie and the little boy went shopping to pick out the makings of a special birthday gift.
They found a set of furniture Benny liked, bright oak with brass fittings, and they consulted paint samples, taking home dozens of little colored swatches which Maudie held up to the wall while Benny chose the one that pleased him. Returning to the store, they bought the paint, and the next morning they were up before dawn, Maudie making pancakes as Benny set the table. Then, together, they painted the walls of the little sewing room. When the paint was dry they washed the windows and polished the hardwood floor. The next morning, the furniture was delivered: a twin-sized bed with drawers underneath, a small desk and bookshelves and a soft pad to fit the window seat, which Maudie covered with a bright quilt. They hung the big bulletin board they had bought and a trio of framed airplane prints they had found in a hobby shop. Benny moved his clothes and his few possessions into his new room, and he slept there the night before his birthday, at first curled up on the window seat under Maudie’s quilt, looking out over the rooftops and away across the greenbelt that ran behind the house.
“I looked for the yellow cat,” he told Maudie the next morning. “The yellow cat on the roofs, and for Dulcie and Joe Grey and Kit, but they didn’t come, no cat came. They haven’t gone away?”
“They’re not gone,” Maudie told him. “Ryan and Clyde wouldn’t let them go away. I’m sure that at least Ryan’s gray tomcat will be here later, for your birthday party.”
Neither Joe nor Dulcie nor Kit meant to miss Benny’s birthday, though Misto was otherwise occupied. The night that Pearl was shot, Misto, who was curled up beneath the seniors’ deck with Kit, felt lame and was hurting all over from his long run up the hills. Ryan had enticed him to come out, and she took him home with them, holding him on her lap as Clyde drove. Misto investigated the Damen house only briefly before he followed Snowball upstairs and curled up on the couch between the little white cat and Joe Grey. Next morning, the Damens and Joe crowded into Clyde’s yellow roadster to take Misto to see Dr. Firetti.
Even after all the passing years, John Firetti remembered the little yellow tom kitten who, he’d suspected even then, would one day realize that he could speak. When the kitten disappeared from the shore where Firetti fed the strays, he had searched for weeks for him. “I put ads in the paper for a lost yellow kitten,” he told Misto, “but they came to nothing. I hoped someone had adopted you, but I worried, wondered if you were with someone kind, if they were treating you well. I thought whoever took you might be strangers, tourists. I watched in case you should find your way back, and fretted about you for a very long time.”
“I did find my way back,” Misto said, laughing. “Though it took a while. I’ve wandered a long way and lived many places.” He looked at John Firetti eagerly, as if he might like to share his adventures with the doctor, as if he might enjoy settling in with a human friend for a little while; and John looked back at him with such excitement and wonder that both Ryan and Clyde had to hide a grin. Joe Grey watched the two of them with interest. Maybe, he thought, Misto’s tales might be worth a listen. Who knew what wild scenes the old cat could paint of close calls, of adventures and escapes among the human world.
There in the clinic, Dr. Firetti checked Misto over, then invited them across the way to his cottage, Clyde and Ryan for a cup of coffee. Mary Firetti settled Misto on a blanket on the flowered couch while Joe prowled the house, forever nosy, and John Firetti laid another log on the fire. Mary Firetti was a slim woman, her soft brown hair done up in a bun at the back, her denim jumper, over a white T-shirt, loose and comfortable, her leather sandals low-heeled and sensible. When she carried in the coffee tray, she set down a bowl of cream for Misto and one for Joe Grey. “Will you stay with us a while?” she asked Misto. Her direct address to him startled the yellow cat; he looked at her with alarm, then looked up at John.
“It’s all right,” John said. “Mary’s kept the secret just as I have.”
Misto looked at Mary for a long time, then stuck his nose in the cream. Yes, he would like to stay for a while. Mary seemed a warm, comfortable person, the Firetti cottage smelled of lavender and of cats, and he thought he quite liked the cozy household.
BENNY’S BIRTHDAY SUPPER featured an array of potluck casseroles and salads, many brought by their guests, and the chocolate birthday cake Maudie had made the night before, after Benny slept. Chocolate icing with Benny’s name and HAPPY BIRTHDAY in red and green writing as fancy as Maudie’s quilts. Around the cake was piled a mountain of gifts which, soon after supper, Benny tore open, scattering the wrappers and revealing bright and intriguing books he’d yet to read, board games he’d never played, more gifts than he could ever remember receiving, though Martin had done his best to please his little boy. Dulcie and Kit curled up beside him on the floor as he pored over the books, the lady cats snuggling close; around them the conversation swung comfortably from Christmas Day plans, to the depositions of Marlin Dorriss and Jared Colletto and the warrant out on Kent Colletto, to Pearl’s embezzlement. Her ledger had not been found, but the copies of her alternate set of books had been sent to the LAPD. Though she would never face a judge in this life, the information would help Beckman Heavy Equipment straighten out their clients’ accounts. The stolen money, if LAPD could uncover any hidden bank accounts in Pearl’s name, might help make up the funds that the firm had refunded to their wronged clients.
As a fresh pot of coffee brewed, and second pieces of birthday cake were cut, a heated discussion ensued as to who would bring what dishes for Christmas Day at the Harpers’ ranch. Soon that morphed into the last two church concerts and the Christmas play at Lori’s school where she had wanted to play Mary, but yet was relieved that she hadn’t been chosen; Lori and Cora Lee planned another visit to her pa at Soledad, the morning of Christmas Eve; and no one mentioned Benny’s soon-to-be Christmas present, not a word, this was a gift Benny knew nothing about. The rescued German shepherd was, at that moment, playing with the Harpers’ two dogs up at the ranch, an eight-month-old pup that his owner couldn’t afford to keep, who needed training and patience but needed, most of all, a little boy to love him.
The day after Pearl was shot, when Dallas and Kathleen searched the Colletto garage, they found a bag of three pairs of fish-scented running shoes. Having presented Carlene Colletto with a warrant and searched the house, they found, hidden among Jared’s last-semester school papers, ticket stubs for a round-trip flight to the Ontario airport in Southern California, under another name, but on the date that Martin and Caroline Toola were shot. The Orange County Sheriff’s Office was still checking rental cars out of Ontario in that name, though it was unlikely Jared’s prints would have remained in the car undisturbed all these months. The fake ID and credit card did not turn up, Jared had hidden them well or destroyed them.
Carlene Colletto had at first refused to let the detectives in. She read the warrant with the judge’s signature twice, scowling, then ha
d called the judge. When Judge Bryant’s secretary assured her there was a legitimate warrant and she was obliged to honor it, Carlene had followed the detectives closely as they searched, crowding them, peering over their shoulders. “The boys can’t have been part of those invasions. Jared was furious that they were happening right here in our little village, he was as disgusted with you police as everyone else.” Carlene didn’t seem to get it, didn’t want to get it; her comments netted her a smile from Dallas, a haughty but amused look from Kathleen Ray.
It was the morning after Benny’s birthday that Dallas, taking a run up to the fishing wharves, to the used-car lot where Jared and Kent had worked, found the dented brown pickup. The lot was tucked between a seafood restaurant and a tool repair, next to the wharves. There were three corrugated-tin storage sheds at the back, and the truck was in the center shed. The prints of both young men were on the dash, the door handles, and the steering wheel. The scent of long-dead fish was ground into the floor mats. A long scrape of black paint decorated the truck’s left front and back fenders. Dallas photographed the vehicle inside and out, made casts of the tires, locked the shed, and strung crime-scene tape around it, effectively impounding the truck until the case was resolved.
As for Misto, he might have missed Benny’s party but he wasted no time settling in with the Firettis, enjoying a welcome rest and Mary’s succulent meals. The Firettis couldn’t get enough of his stories, of his life among the coastal fishermen, of his travels with a long-haul trucker—of passing friendships that had all been conducted in silence on Misto’s part except for an array of meows as he passed himself off as just another friendly, stray tomcat.
But soon after Christmas, the yellow cat would begin to remember other adventures, events he couldn’t account for. He would wake from a nap experiencing a moment as bright as if it had just occurred, but a scene that did not come from his wanderings. He would remember running down cobbled streets that smelled of open sewers, remember hunting birds on rooftops made of straw thatch, times and places he was sure he’d never known, not in this life. The dreams frightened him, but they needled his curiosity, too, and opened a whole new world for Misto. He didn’t know where the tales would lead but surely they fascinated his new human family—and they fired Dulcie and Kit to a frenzy of questions. Only Joe Grey scoffed. The tales of Misto’s travels might be fine, but the gray tomcat didn’t hold with this kind of story, with a cat remembering earlier lives, if indeed there was such a phenomenon. Dulcie laughed and cut her green eyes at him, and held to her own view of what Misto’s dreams revealed about feline pasts.
On Christmas morning, as Misto basked contentedly beneath the Firetti Christmas tree, up in the hills at the Harper ranch an impromptu Christmas breakfast was under way. The invasions were ended—two of the invaders behind bars, one dead, and San Francisco PD was pursuing a solid lead on Kent Colletto. MPPD was back on regular hours, and every officer was in a mood to celebrate. As cars pulled into the ranch yard, and officers and their families and civilian friends carried covered dishes into the house, out in the fenced pasture Benny and his new pup ran, played ball, fell on the ground wrestling, took turns chasing each other. Lessons and training would come later; this was getting-acquainted time, bonding time.
From atop Ryan’s truck, Joe and Dulcie and Kit watched the two young ones, their smiles indulgent and a bit smug. Benny was safe, and they had helped to put away the no-goods. Peace reigned over the small village, their friends were gathered close around them, the air was scented with breakfast delicacies. Turkeys would soon be cooking for Christmas dinner, and all was well in their small portion of the world. Only Kit seemed restless.
She thought about Christmas parties all over the village, about happy, laughing families, about the lavishly decorated trees and beautiful music. Thought about her gift from Lucinda and Pedric that she had found under their tree this morning: a present that Kit would treasure always. She thought about the satisfying pastiche of holiday joys, and knew she should envision nothing more—and yet Kit dreamed of more. There was an empty space in her little cat soul; even with all the riches she had, still something was missing. Thinking about the new year to come, she was so filled with restless longing that she began to pace atop the truck between Dulcie and Joe, paced back and forth, looking out to the wild fields and the vast and rolling sea. She had no clue to what lay ahead, no clue to the magic that waited for her in the coming year; she could only dream her impatient dreams, could only hope and wonder what was there, waiting for her, within the bright new year.
ALSO BY SHIRLEY ROUSSEAU MURPHY
Cat Striking Back
Cat Playing Cupid
Cat Deck the Halls
Cat Pay the Devil
Cat Breaking Free
Cat Cross Their Graves
Cat Fear No Evil
Cat Seeing Double
Cat Laughing Last
Cat Spitting Mad
Cat to the Dogs
Cat in the Dark
Cat Raise the Dead
Cat Under Fire
Cat on the Edge The
The Catsworld Portal
Home is where his heart has always lingered, where he etched his first kitten paw prints,
Where he sucked in his first lick of milk, smelled his first briny scent of the sea,
Tasted, first, the fishy sand and the reek of seagull feathers. Where he mewed his first word and knew that he was different.
—Cat Anonymous
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
CAT COMING HOME. Copyright © 2010 by Shirley Rousseau Murphy.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2010 ISBN: 978-0-062-01838-0
FIRST EDITION
Cat illustration by Beppe Giacobbe
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Murphy, Shirley Rousseau.
Cat coming home : a Joe Grey mystery / Shirley
Rousseau Murphy.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-06-180693-3
1. Grey, Joe (Fictitious character)—Fiction.
2. California—Fiction. 3. Cats—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3563.U7619C314 2010
813’.54—dc22
2010015336
10 11 12 13 14 OV/RRD 10 98 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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