Ширли Мерфи - Cat Chase The Moon

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Feline P. I. Joe Grey and his friends pounce on three investigations that may connect to one larger mystery—including one case that is very personal—in this hair-raising installment in Shirley Rousseau Murphy’s beloved, award-winning series
Joe Grey and his partner, Dulcie, are frantic when Courtney, their pretty teen-kitten goes missing. Aided by their two- and four-legged friends, they hit the streets of Molina Point in search of their calico girl. Has Joe Grey and Dulcie’s only daughter been lured away by someone and stolen? Is she lying somewhere hurt, or worse?
Courtney has no idea that everyone is desperately looking for her. Locked in an upstairs apartment above the local antiques shop, she’s enjoying her first solo adventure. When she first met Ulrich Seaver, the shop’s owner, Courtney was frightened. But the human has coddled and pampered her, winning her trust. Sheltered by her parents, her brothers, and her kind human companions, the innocent Courtney is unaware of how deceptive strangers can be. She doesn’t know that Ulrich is hiding a dangerous secret that could threaten her and everyone in this charming California coastal village.
With his focus on finding Courtney, Joe Grey has neglected his detective work with the Molina Point Police Department. Before his daughter disappeared, Joe found a viciously beaten woman lying near the beach. Now the police investigation has stalled, and the clever feline worries his human colleagues may have missed a vital clue. Joe is also concerned about a family of newcomers whose domestic battles are disturbing the town’s tranquility. Loud and abrasive, the Luthers’ angry arguing, shouting, and swearing in the early hours of the night have neighbors on edge and the cops’ on alert. One of the couple’s late-night shouting matches masked the sounds of a burglary, and now a criminal is on the loose.
Though the crimes are as crisscrossed as the strands of a ball of yarn, Joe Grey’s cat senses tell him they may somehow be linked. It’s up to the fleet-footed feline and his crime-solving coterie to untangle the mysteries before it’s too late.

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A breeze stirred Ryan’s dark curly hair, tangling it with Mindy’s brown hair and with the pony’s black mane. “Your grandpa will get good care. Do you want to go to the hospital with us? You can be in his room with him at least part of the time. They’ll wheel him away for X-rays and whatever else is needed, and bring him back to you.”

Mindy nodded, very serious. She was filled with questions she didn’t ask, the one big question she daren’t ask.

“It’s more than a shallow scalp wound,” Ryan said, “but they don’t think it’s too deep. They won’t know more until they’ve done the tests. Head wounds often look worse than they are, and they always bleed a lot.”

Mindy hugged Ryan, pressing her face hard against her. “If he has to stay in the hospital I’m going to stay with him, I’m not leaving him alone.” She studied Ryan’s green eyes. “ Can I do that?”

“I don’t know, we won’t know if he’ll need to stay until the doctors are done. If he must stay, and they’ll let you stay, I’ll be there with you.” Ryan pulled on her jacket. “Here comes Clyde.”

The cats slipped down from the fence as the medics’ van pulled away. When Clyde’s Jaguar eased up, Kit and Pan jumped in the backseat with Mindy. Clyde idled the engine waiting for Joe. In the front seat Ryan leaned out her window. “You coming? What’s the matter with you?”

Joe Grey stared back at her for only a moment then beat it for Charlie’s SUV. She was going home, followed by Officers McFarland and Crowley to help her clear their house and the barn area. Joe wanted a look, too. The Harpers’ was the closest ranch to the Luthers’, in this open part of the hills. It wasn’t likely, but if Nevin was hurt bad enough, he might think it a good place to lay up for a few hours, gather his strength until he felt like moving on; it probably wouldn’t occur to him that he could weaken and get worse, that he might need a doctor.

They were halfway to the Harpers’ place when Charlie’s phone rang. She turned on the speaker. “Billy?”

Their young stable hand’s voice was soft, as if someone might be listening. “There’s an old gray car, maybe a Suzuki, parked back in the woods. Its lights woke me and then went dark. I can just pick out a shine of moonlight on the fenders.”

Joe could picture the boy in his room above the barn, rising from bed to look out his windows into the woods, maybe a rifle already propped by his side, a gun that Max had trained him to use carefully and with skill.

Billy was fourteen, a member of Max’s young police cadets. He had lived with the Harpers since he was twelve, since his grandmother died. He could use a firearm as well as Charlie. But just the two of them, on that large piece of land, might not be enough.

But, Joe thought, if that was Nevin there in the woods, if he was hurt bad enough to need to rest, maybe he’d soon be gone. He’d sure not stay around the chief’s place long, not with possible murder and burglary raps hanging over him. Three hundred thousand dollars had vanished in that last robbery, and plenty more from earlier thefts. To say nothing of whatever Varney had stolen. Joe Grey didn’t trust those Luther sons any more than Max did—he sure didn’t trust them after they nearly killed their own father.

Still on the highway, far ahead they could hear the Harpers’ two big dogs barking. Charlie dimmed their lights, as did the squad car behind them. She looked over at Joe. “Too bad you can’t handle a shotgun.”

“I never tried. But it’s amazing what some cats can do . . . Wait, slow down . . .” She slowed. “There’s the car, sticking out between the trees . . .”

She moved on. “Get in the backseat, on the floor.” He did as he was told just as her phone rang again. She hit the speaker but kept moving.

Billy said, “He’s in the stable, right below me.” The dogs were barking so loud they could hardly hear Billy. They heard a horse scream. Billy said, “I’m going down.” Before Charlie could stop him the phone went dead. She punched in the one digit for McFarland, and repeated Billy’s message.

Joe said, “You still have that black stallion, that boarder? Isn’t his stall back there?”

“We have, yes. Last stall. Max is sending him away in the morning, before he hurts someone. He was gentle as pie when the man’s wife brought him in, they hauled him down from San Andreas so she could ride in the hunter trials at Pebble Beach, they’re waiting for a stall there. I expect the folks at Pebble aren’t anxious to have him, though they do have several women grooms. His owner said he hates men, that he can be vicious around men. Once he’s moved over there, the woman is planning to take care of him herself.” She looked over at Joe. “What’s on your mind? What are you thinking?”

Joe looked at her innocently, gave her a sly tomcat smile, and said nothing.

She said, “He was barred from the racetrack because he bucked off the male jockeys. Max is sure that when they brought him in, they had him on drugs, to quiet him—so we wouldn’t know how mean he can be. When the ACE or whatever it was wore off, that stud turned crazy. She showed me how to handle him. I laid down the law to Max and Billy: he’s off limits to them both, and I’m real careful with him.” She turned into the long drive slowly, as quietly as she could on the gravel. She pulled up to the stable, to the big, sliding front entry, which was closed tight. She parked in front of it; the squad car pulled up next to her.

At the sound of her car, the dogs in the barn had gone quiet. They heard a tortured moan, from a man, at the back of the stable. The stallion screamed, a startled, angry retort, and they could hear water running, the hard hissing of a hose. The dogs started barking again. Charlie got out and slid open the big front doors just enough for a person to slip through, the deputies behind her. She looked back at McFarland, he always made her feel more comfortable.

“Whatever happens in there, Jimmie, stay out of reach of that stallion, he’s crazy mean, he’d kill a man.” The two officers looked skeptical, then looked at each other with an amused hope. And they sure weren’t bothered by the dogs, who were leaping at the stall and barking. The officers knew them and had played with them both. Charlie looked around for Joe Grey, who had already fled the car. She didn’t see him but she knew he’d be watching. Her concerned and searching glance told him to keep out of the way—as if he needed telling.

At the far end of the stables, those sliding doors were closed, too. Along the alleyway, all the stall doors were closed, Dutch doors with heavy wood below, strong woven wire forming the upper half. The doors on the far side of the stalls stood open to paddocks, to vast fences seven feet tall with hotwire at the top to discourage the occasional cougar. The stallion was in the last stall, charging the closed door, fussing and screaming, snorting as if he were drowning. Billy stood at the closed stall door with a big, heavy hose, squirting a powerful stream through the screen into the horse’s face. Nevin lay at the far end of the stall, curled up, bleeding and groaning and covering his head as if the stud were still attacking.

Billy wielded the hose like a rifle, making the stallion back away from the man.

Encouraged by Billy’s attack, Joe Grey left the tack room where he’d taken refuge, crossed the wide alleyway, and jumped on McFarland’s shoulder for a better view. Jimmie gave him a sidelong glance, half a stern cop look, half amusement as Joe sat working out the scenario of what had happened.

Nevin must have slipped in the back stable doors. The dogs were watching silently from the shadows, as they usually did. When he slid the doors closed thinking he was alone, they attacked him. He wrenched open the nearest stall door, squeezed through, and shut it in their faces. Maybe he didn’t think a horse was in there, or think that it might be mean. He knew only the horses his father had had, and they’d all been gentle. Joe watched Billy wield the hose like a fireman until they could see he was getting tired.

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