Shirley Murphy - Cat Breaking Free

"Next line, nine oh four period out lock, period, then, wlk wst period. Then, Dn period. Eight double dot forty, period.

"2 cust. Bev dwn shds lts off, one sec in.

"Nine double dot oh four out lock wlk wst.

"That's all," Kit said at last, collapsing among the covers.

"What kind of code is this? Where were you, Kit? Where did you get this?"

Kit told her where she'd been and how she'd watched Chichi making notes.

Lucinda frowned, then slowly began to translate. "Don. That would be Don Blake-Blake's Watch Shop? Don leaves the shop at eight-forty? Then…" Lucinda scanned the page, "then two more customers. Then fifteen minutes later, Beverly Blake pulls the shades and turns off the lights?"

Kit licked her whiskers, thinking. "Yes, that happened. I saw from the awning, I saw the lights go off, I saw the woman leave. I didn't see the man. I guess he'd already gone?"

"Bev leaves one security light on inside?" Lucinda said, frowning. "She leaves the shop at four after nine, locks the door, and walks west?"

"Yes, she did that!" the kit whispered, pleased that Lucinda was quick at these matters. To her, the little squiggles were maddening. She hoped she'd gotten them right.

But Lucinda looked at Kit and stroked her. "You are quite amazing. Do you know that you are amazing?"

Kit rubbed her head against Lucinda's hand and purred and purred. She looked up at Lucinda. "Why is all that so important that she has to write it down?"

"I'm not sure. But, Kit, maybe we're both thinking the same." Lucinda frowned. "When Beverly leaves a little later like that, she often meets Don at the grocery. They like pastrami hoagies for supper. He sometimes leaves earlier to order and pick them up. My goodness, Kit." Lucinda touched Kit's shoulder. "Chichi? Is this from Chichi Barbi?"

Kit nodded.

Lucinda's eyes widened. "Blake's Watch Shop is known for its Rolex watches and valuable antique clocks." She reached for her robe. "Maybe it isn't urgent enough to call, at night, but I…"

But Kit was already streaking for the living room. Leaping to the desk, she hit the phone's speaker button and punched in the station. In seconds she had Dallas Garza on the line and was describing what she had seen and what Chichi Barbi had written in her little notebook. She did not want Lucinda to call, Lucinda could never explain how she knew Chichi's secret.

The old stucco house stood jammed into the steep hillside as if it had been pressed into the earth by giant hands. It was two-storied in front, on the downhill side, one story at the rear where it pushed into the earth. This early in the spring the rising sun still hung in the south, casting a rich amber glow across the front of the worn stucco box, bringing to life patches of faded tan paint that had worn away to reveal the ancient gray plaster. The asphalt roof shingles were curled and mossy; the low picket fence beside the steep drive had perhaps never seen paint. But the rosebushes along the fence were lovingly tended, heavy with huge pink and red blooms.

The basement appeared to be a bedroom, the blinds drawn down halfway to reveal the crooked hems of limp lace curtains. The windows of the upper-floor living room were dressed with lace, too, giving the house an appearance of having not changed in decades, as if its residents had been settled within its dated rooms for a lifetime. The kind of house occupied by aging folks trying to exist on an ever-shrinking income that was eaten away by inflation and rising medical costs. The kind of house where an elderly widow might be too settled in emotionally to sell for a nice profit and move on. Such a widow might have few options, when all California real estate was out of reach for a person on a fixed income.

Joe and Dulcie had already circled the dwelling, leaping from tree to tree, peering in past lace tiebacks above the shorter lace curtains that covered the lower panes. They could see an oversized velour couch and chairs, their backs draped with Mexican weavings. And a dining table of the old-fashioned waterfall style, same as the end tables, the bedroom dressers and a round-topped radio. They saw no TV They saw no human occupant until they reached the back bedroom.

There by the window sat a lean, wrinkled old woman with graying black hair tied back severely. Her gnarled hands were folded together in her lap. A Bible lay closed on the table beside her, next to another round-topped old-fashioned radio. This room did have a TV, an ancient box set on a little table in the far corner, facing two narrow beds. Dulcie imagined the old woman holding a rosary; though at the moment her wrinkled hands clutched only a fold of her faded apron. She sat facing the dulled glass and the backyard rose garden, but apparently was asleep in her chair. At least, she had her eyes shut. If she had spied the cats in the pepper tree, she gave no indication. Facing the bedroom door stood a cage set up on a table.

All along Dulcie had hoped it wasn't true, that there were no trapped cats. They peered in past the frilly pepper leaves and lace tiebacks at the three captives, feeling scared and sick.

The cage was made not of wire but of thin, strong bars, impenetrable as a jail cell, and was closed with a heavy padlock. The three cats slept inside huddled together, filling the small space. The white cat's tail lay across the dirty sandbox. The dark tabby with the long ears had his hind feet pressed against a dish of stale food. The bleached calico huddled miserably between them, her eyes squeezed shut.

Swallowing back a growl, Joe studied the window.

It was an old, double-hung casement. Joe's eyes widened when he saw it wasn't locked, that the round metal lock, in plain sight, was disengaged. He tried to determine if the old woman was indeed asleep. If they dropped to the sill and slipped through, would she wake and shout for Luis? She seemed, dozing in her rocker, totally unaware of them.

Estrella Nava sat admiring her rose garden, waiting for Maria to make breakfast, when two cats appeared in the pepper tree outside her window. Wanting to watch them but not scare them away, she pretended to be asleep. No animal liked to be stared at. They crouched among the pepper tree's delicate leaves, peering in at her through the glass. Nosy little creatures. Dark gray cat with white markings, and a dark-brown striped tabby. Not neighborhood cats, she knew every cat for blocks, they all came into her yard to pee. Hundreds of cats over the years. What were they staring at? She remained still and kept her eyes shuttered. They were looking at the cats in the cage, the cats Hernando had caught before he went away. Likely off again with some woman. Grandson or no, Hernando wasn't her concern. She hadn't asked him and his brothers to come here. They might be family, but she didn't like them much and didn't want them here. She had asked only Maria. Had meant for only Maria to come. She needed Maria. She didn't need those three.

This house had been her home since she came as a bride. She'd buried Manuel from this house twenty years ago, he had lain right there in his own parlor, for the viewing. She had lost their five children, but only one from this house, laid out properly with mass said over him. The others had died far away. She had only herself now, hanging onto life like a cockroach clinging to the wall, and she had Maria. Maria's brothers didn't count. Maria was the only grandchild she could trust. She didn't know how to get rid of those boys. She didn't know enough about their comings and goings to call the police, but she suspected plenty.

That would be very hard indeed, to report her dead daughter's boys, no matter what they had done. That would deeply shame her.