Cat Playing Cupid

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  It was late that afternoon when, finishing her work for the day, she went into the kitchen and found the window seat empty and a glass panel above it open six inches. Alarmed, afraid the cats were gone, she had turned away to search the house when Kit came bolting in through the window behind her, her claws scrabbling on the sill, and raced to her, smearing dirty paw prints across the cushions.

  "He's gone, Charlie. I woke up and he was gone, we were asleep and I was dreaming and then I woke up and the window was open and Sage was gone and I followed his scent that leads into the woods and I'm going back after him but I came to tell you so you wouldn't worry…"

  Charlie grabbed her before she could leap away. "He's hurt, Kit. I'll come with you! He's awkward and clumsy in his bandages and cast, and it'll be dark soon. He mustn't be out there alone, he can't defend himself!" Carrying Kit, Charlie snatched up her jacket, shrugged it on while juggling the tortoiseshell, and they were out the door and heading for the woods.

  "Now, Kit," she said, setting her down. "Now you can track him."

  And Kit was off, following Sage's scent around the barn and straight into the heavy woods, tracking the crippled cat while already the shadows of evening were running together toward night.

  ***

  JOE WAS IN a dither to leave the ruins and get back to the village. Having seen the shadowed figure slip away among the broken walls, he paced the mansion's roof beneath overhanging limbs willing Clyde to hurry, willing the detectives and coroner and everyone to get back in their cars and leave so he and Clyde could search for the guy or follow him.

  The dark intruder had been spying close enough to the grotto to know they had exhumed a body. If that mysterious presence was the killer, he'd surely run.

  Had he known they'd be there looking for the grave? Joe wanted to alert the two detectives, but he could not.

  And he couldn't alert Clyde or Ryan; they stood in a huddle by the cars with John Bern, Mike, Lindsey, Dallas, and Juana Davis. Joe couldn't even go up to them and yowl, couldn't make his presence known. He could just hear Mike: You brought your cat up here, Damen? Rock was following cat scent! You laid a trail of cat scent! No wonder he tracked like a pro.

  And he couldn't alert the dispatcher, Clyde had the phone on his belt. Even if he had a phone, how could he tell the dispatcher that Davis and Dallas had just missed a fleeing eavesdropper? It would look like the snitch was right up there in the ruins with them, that's how it would look.

  And once he got Dallas and Davis wondering why the snitch was here and how he'd known they were coming here, got them looking for him, combing the ruins to find him, that could be trouble, big time. For one thing, he hadn't covered his paw prints, he'd assured himself that after they left, the wind that softly blew across the hills would wipe away those telltale marks, would destroy his recent trail through the cemetery.

  No, the only option he had was to slip through the rubble and into the open roadster without being seen, hunch down on the floor under the lap robe, and pray for Clyde to hurry. He was crouched to leap off the roof when he heard a car start from the direction of the old wooden shed, a soft, smoothly running engine. He reared up, staring through the falling dusk.

  There! There it went, a small, dark car sliding away between the dead oaks, over the thick carpet of rotting leaves that covered the narrow back path-and it was gone, down the narrow back road, hardly more than a trail, that would lead out, north of the village. Faintly, he could hear rocks crunching under its tires where the leaves were thin.

  When he turned to see if anyone else had heard, they hadn't, no one was looking in that direction. They were too far away, that faint hushing only a cat would hear.

  He hoped the rough lane would tear out the underpinnings of the sleek, navy blue coupe, prayed the driver would get stranded in plain sight.

  But no such luck. Already the car was gone, dropping down the hills where it would be lost among the narrow streets and small crowded cottages. Racing through the roof's shadows where trees overhung, he slicked down a dead oak and galloped across the rubble to the old shed.

  It was half falling down, evening light shining in through the cracks. Investigating the dry earth within, he found tire marks, then sniffed in and around the rough walls for human scent over the stink of lingering exhaust. He detected a trace of shaving lotion or perfume, but it was so mingled with car smells and the stink of lantana vines growing in through the roof that he couldn't make much of it. He wasn't sure he could recognize the same smell in another setting, or even on the human source.

  The tire tracks were equally disappointing. Rows of chevrons that he committed to memory, but that were so common they didn't mean much. He could detect no nick or scar to further identify the tread. When he heard the faraway voices change and fade and engines start, he sped for Clyde's roadster.

  Leaping in, he waited on the floor, suffocating under the lap robe as he tried to lay out a plan.

  If he told Clyde what he'd seen, would Clyde try to find the vanished car? Or would he only demand that Joe leave this alone? Ryan wasn't riding back with them, she wouldn't be there to defend him. At last Clyde swung into the roadster, flipped the blanket aside, and looked down at him, smug and satisfied.

  "That did go well. I have to admit, Joe, your scam was a stroke of genius. The coroner has the body, and Rock is now a trained tracker! I guess you know Ryan's way proud of you."

  Joe smiled. He decided not to mention the darkly clad eavesdropper and spoil the moment with a fresh argument. He did his best to look both modest and innocent.

  Ahead, the line of cars pulled around the side of the forlorn old mansion between the dead trees and broken walls, to the wider dirt and gravel road that led to the village. The coroner's white van, Juana Davis's blue sedan, then Dallas's Blazer. Then Ryan's big red king cab. Clyde's yellow roadster joined the end of the line, the tomcat crouched out of sight on the seat.

  ***

  IN THE KING CAB, Rock rode on the front passenger seat beside Ryan, his head out the open window, drinking in the wind. Ryan didn't usually let the big dog put his head out where grit and stones could injure his eyes, but just this once he deserved a treat.

  In the backseat beside Mike, Lindsey was silent, deep in thought, looking so solemn that Mike wondered what she'd do once they'd dropped her off at the station to pick up her car. Her expression of hard determination made him uneasy, he preferred the smiling, soft-spoken Lindsey Wolf he'd grown to care about all over again-if he'd ever stopped caring. This angry, alert side of her was worrisome. Her whole take on the morning's events was worrisome.

  She seemed so certain that the corpse was that of Nina Gibbs. Seemed just as certain that Ray Gibbs had killed Nina, as sure as if the coroner had already determined identity and time of death, or as if Oregon had found trace evidence of Nina in Carson's tree house. Mike had never known Lindsey to let her imagination run so wild. He didn't try to convince her otherwise, didn't argue with her, he only wondered how prone she might be, given the mood she was in, to doing something foolish.

  No one could be that sure what she might be thinking. Did her stubborn certainty have some basis? Were there facts about the case she wasn't telling them?

  As Ryan turned down Ocean and into the village, driving slowly, stopping for a group of tourists headed through the gathering dusk for the lighted shops and restaurants, Mike took Lindsey's hand. "You're going home when you've picked up your car?"

  She nodded, glancing out the window. "I think I'll rest a little, then I have some work to finish up that I promised for tomorrow. I'll have a sandwich for supper, at my desk."

  Not until they pulled into the courthouse parking lot, when Lindsey was fishing her keys from her pocket, did she really look at him. She squeezed his hand, and smiled.

  He looked at her levelly. "You'll be in the office, then?" he said uneasily. "You don't mean to do something foolish?"

  She looked surprised and laughed, and swung out of the truck, turning to talk t
hrough the open window. "Because I said that was Nina, in that grave? Because I said…" She shook her head. "Even if that is Nina, what could I do?" She touched his cheek with gentle fingers. "I wouldn't know how to run some kind of investigation, if that's what you're imagining. And I know better than to interfere in cops' work."

  Her words eased him, made him think his own imagination had gone astray. And yet as Lindsey leaned in to brush a kiss across his cheek, then headed away toward her car, Mike watched her not with his usual lusty interest but with questions.

  He had a strong urge to follow her, at least swing by her office in a little while, see if her car was still there in the little parking alcove.

  But he immediately chucked that. He wouldn't breach her trust and privacy. He didn't want to smother her any more than he'd want to be smothered. And, determining to do the honorable thing even while his instinct told him he was wrong, he settled back, riding home with Ryan to pick up his car.

  28

  IN THE COURT HOUSE parking lot, Lindsey waited in her car until Ryan's red truck pulled away and disappeared up the street, and Dallas, who had turned in just behind them, had gone into the station. When she could no longer see the detective's shadow inside the door, she started her car and left the courthouse, heading across the village to Ray Gibbs's condo.

  The more she saw of Gibbs, the more frightening he became. The longer Ryder was with him, the more her sister seemed to take on his crude style, and this distressed Lindsey. Ryder didn't need Gibbs's trashy influence on her behavior and her future.

  Nearing the condo and slowing, she wasn't sure what she meant to do. Having convinced herself that the body in the ruins was Nina, she wanted to confront Gibbs, confront the two of them.

  And…what?

  Accuse them? See how they reacted?

  Yes, she could do that. Put herself in danger, and force Gibbs to run. Destroy whatever procedure Detectives Garza and Davis meant to follow.

  Yet the anger and hurt that seethed inside her, the sense of injustice, made her burn to take action, to do something positive.

  Two blocks before she reached the condo she rummaged in her purse for her cell phone, for a bit of added security-and remembered that she didn't have it. Had left it on the dresser. Had thought she wouldn't need it at the locker, left it collecting her clients' messages to play back later.

  She thought of going back to get it, but that would take time. For no reason, a sense of urgency filled her. Instead of going back, she looked for a parking place where she wouldn't be seen from the upper windows.

  She had no proof that the body was Nina's or that she'd died about the same time as Carson. Or that Ray Gibbs had killed either of them. She was following her own line of reasoning, which could be way off base. But she felt so sure that jealousy had been the motive. Ray jealous because he knew Nina was with Carson. Or Nina jealous because Carson was getting married. Maybe she'd followed him up there. And maybe Ray followed her, to kill them both.

  All conjecture. But jealousy was among the most ancient reasons for murder, along with hatred and greed. Basic emotions dating back to the time of the caveman-and that thought brought a bitter smile, because the more she saw of Ray Gibbs the more she saw in him exactly that caveman mentality, an uncaring creature who hadn't quite made the grade to full humanity.

  ***

  WHEN CLYDE PULLED into their drive behind Ryan's truck, Joe slid out of the roadster on the far side where Mike wouldn't see him and dove into the bushes, his mind filled with Lindsey's determined look as she'd gotten into Ryan's truck with Mike to return to the village-but determined to do what? Had she told Mike she was going straight home, to get to work? After all, it was tax season. From the look on her face, Joe thought she meant to do otherwise.

  Mike had left his new Lexus van parked in front of the Damen house early this morning, and now he and Ryan stood beside it talking as Clyde made a show of calling Joe.

  Waiting a few moments to make it look good, Joe sauntered out from the bushes as if he'd been there all the while, sleeping or hunting gophers. He glanced at Ryan, a sly and conspiratorial exchange. He rubbed against Clyde's ankles in loving greeting, a nice touch that didn't escape Mike. Then he trotted off across the little front lawn, skinned up the oak tree, and disappeared from their view in acceptable feline style. And he took off across the roofs, heading fast for Gibbs's condo. Clyde had no time to call him back, and couldn't have argued with him anyway in front of his father-in-law.

  ***

  AT MOLENA POINT PD, Dulcie knew neither that Sage had run away and Charlie and Kit were following him, nor that at that moment Joe was bolting across the roofs above her, heading straight into trouble. She sat on the dispatcher's counter sharing Mabel's roast beef sandwich, waiting for an update on what had happened at the ruins, waiting impatiently for Joe.

  Looking out the glass door, she saw Ryan and Mike drop Lindsey off, saw Rock in the king cab happily hanging his head out the window. She'd heard enough from Mabel's conversation with Dallas to know that Rock had found the grave, and that both detectives and the coroner had been called. She was excited for and proud of Rock. And she was proud, indeed, of Joe, that he had pulled this off. She was licking roast beef from her whiskers when Ryan's pickup moved away and Dallas's Blazer pulled into the red zone.

  Hurrying in, Dallas stopped at the desk to speak to Mabel. A moment later, down the hall, Detective Davis came in from the back parking lot, heading for the front desk.

  "You want to bring Gibbs in?" Dallas asked her. "As a person of interest?" That brought Dulcie to full attention. Ray Gibbs? Why would…?

  "If he's innocent," Davis was saying, "he should be eager to find out if that's Nina, to help us ID her-relieved to know what happened to her."

  Oh my, Dulcie thought. Was that Nina Gibbs, in that grave?

  "Maybe he can come up with the name of her dentist," Dallas said. "We'll bring him in."

  "And set up a watch on their condo?" Davis said. Dallas nodded. They glanced up as Mike Flannery pulled up out front in his new van, which he'd left at Clyde's early this morning. He came in frowning, stood absently petting Dulcie.

  "What?" Dallas said, watching him.

  Mike frowned. "Lindsey worries me. When I let her out to get her car, when she thought we were gone, she took off like a scalded cat." He glanced at Dulcie and grinned as if he'd made a politically incorrect blunder. Dulcie had to wash her paws to hide her amusement.

  "It's tax season," Dallas said, and headed down the hall. "She'll be covered up with work." He turned into the conference/coffee room, where Dulcie could hear him giving orders to one of the officers to get into civilian clothes, take a civilian car, and start a watch on Gibbs's condo. The tabby sat staring out through the glass door, watching impatiently for Joe, to tell her exactly what had happened. With everyone back from the ruins, from exhuming the body and photographing and taking evidence, Clyde and Joe should be home, and the first place Joe would head would be the station, not to miss any follow-up on the unidentified body. Eagerly Dulcie waited-she waited a long time, but Joe Grey did not appear.

  ***

  JOE, HAVING DESCENDED from the roofs to Fourth Street, was crossing a busy side street, padding impatiently along in the wake of a pair of dawdling tourists to avoid being squashed by oncoming cars, when he saw Lindsey's car a block ahead, moving slowly toward the condo. Reaching the curb, he ran, brushing against a woman's bare ankles, startling a scream from her, ran dodging other legs, keeping the tan Mercedes in sight. When Lindsey pulled over, parking beneath a small oak that would shelter her car from the view above, Joe dived into the shadows of a shop door. Watching her swing out fast and hurry into an antiques shop, the tomcat smiled-she was in such a rush that she'd left the driver's door ajar. Or maybe had left it so on purpose, for a quick reentry?

  She stood within the shadows of the shop looking out, watching the condo. Why would she think she'd have to move fast? She must really believe that was Nina in that grave
, and that Gibbs or Ryder had killed her. That was a lot of conjecture. And even so, why was she in such a hurry?

  Had she seen the spying figure, seen it slip quickly away? Had she seen Ryder or Gibbs watching them? Or was she only guessing?

  Crouching behind a redwood planter near where she'd parked, Joe settled in to wait. He'd barely fixed on the condo again when Ray and Ryder came hurrying down the outside stairs, Ray carrying a duffel bag, Ryder dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Levi's jacket, and old jogging shoes-he'd never seen her when she wasn't dressed to the teeth. Racing down into the condo's garage, they disappeared. At the same moment Lindsey left the shop, moving fast, heading for her car.

  Joe moved faster. Under the cover of the planter and a pair of tourists, he reached the car before her, slipped in through the cracked-open door, was inside and over the backseat, crouching on the floor, when Lindsey swung in.

  Quietly she closed the door and started the engine. Behind her, Joe took a chance and reared up-just as a dark blue Honda Accord came nosing up out of the parking garage. He dropped down again, fast. Was that the car he'd seen at the ruins? Sure looked like it, small navy blue coupe. Ray was at the wheel and Ryder beside him.

  Lindsey waited for three cars to pass, putting them between herself and the Honda. Then she took off slowly, following Gibbs and Ryder through the tangle of cars that crept along the narrow streets.

  From the floor of the backseat, Joe had no view of the street, only of the shingled, angled rooftops. She turned left, which would send her back toward Ocean. There she turned east, in the direction of Highway 1.

  When she stopped for the light at the top of the hill, Joe, staring up through the window, could see the signal change to the green arrow. She turned left, up 1, heading north. Watching the tops of the cypress and pine trees swing by, he had no idea where this ride would take him. He was alone, at the mercy of Lindsey's judgment. And she was alone, possibly following a killer.