Ширли Мерфи - Cat Chase The Moon

Now, longing to bring back the fairy-tale joy of Narnia, wanting to return to that magical world and drive back the ugly parts of life, she began a poem,

White witch before the moon,

Cold witch, cold as moon . . .

Little animals turned to stone,

Moonlight on them

Cold, alone . . .

But these were frightening words, and no others would come. Despite the fun of the book, the evil in it mixed too well with the man on the balcony, driving the goodness away. She looked at Courtney, expecting to see a shiver of fear in her young daughter’s amber eyes—but Courtney was not upset. Courtney the dreamer was still deep in the wonders of Narnia, still in the ice and snow, still with the magical beavers, hardly thinking of the stranger in the shadows. “Anyway,” Courtney said, reading her mother’s look, “anyway, he’s gone now. And what harm did he do?”

Wilma, with a glance at Dulcie, took calico Courtney in her arms and they headed out the back door for her car. For home and safety, Dulcie thought. While at the same moment, up on the roofs Joe Grey was streaking for the police department, for his own brand of safety among MPPD’s family of cops.

The old man, having left his truck parked against the heavy bushes beside the grocery, was coming out of his lawyer’s office feeling better. Maybe he wasn’t as old and half dead as he’d thought. Finally getting his will and trust in order, signing the last papers. Wiping out everyone but little Mindy and the two trustees he had chosen, leaving her the house and land, the two horses, the tractor and haying machines, and what money he had—which was more than his three sons knew—he felt more like the old Zebulon Luther once more. He figured no one would take better care of Mindy than Police Chief Harper and Charlie, his redheaded wife. He lived close enough to the Harper ranch to ride over there sometimes, or to see Charlie riding by on her sorrel mare, to stop and talk with her for a while or ask her in for coffee. Sometimes Charlie would bake a carrot cake or bring him a bag of oatmeal cookies. He and Mindy kept that secret, the two hiding them and sharing them alone. Yes, Charlie and Max would make fine guardians, if it came to that. Zeb knew a lot about Max Harper, and all of it good except for what Thelma and Nevin said, and that translated easily into the real truth.

His attorney, Eric Lock, was an easygoing guy raised in Montana, and about Zebulon’s own age. It was mighty nice of him coming into the office on a Saturday. He insisted on getting the Harpers’ written permission before finalizing the trust. It didn’t give Zeb custody but it gave him a leg up, to take better care of his granddaughter. Lock took care of it all, and Zeb, leaving his office, felt pretty good.

He pulled back as Thelma and Mindy passed by, headed on down the block. He was so excited to see his granddaughter he started to run over and grab her up and hug her. Instead, he pulled deeper into the shadows of a camera shop, stood watching her sadly as she disappeared.

He could see a black stretch limo parked down the street and he got a glimpse of the driver, crew-cut white hair as his third and oldest son straightened his cap. What was DeWayne doing here in the village? He’d thought he was on the East Coast. Zebulon hadn’t seen his oldest son in more than three years and he never heard from him, never a call or a letter, nor did he expect any. DeWayne dressed the best of the three boys, was the slickest. Had a fancy girlfriend, everything he did was to act big-time—but Zeb never saw the boy. DeWayne had e-mailed the girlfriend’s picture to Varney, not to his own father.

DeWayne was in South America for a while, then returned to drive limos for a small company in San Francisco. Even when he came down here, he never called or stopped by.

Well, he was here now. Zeb guessed with the car show, with all the tourists in town, more limos had been hired.

Or did DeWayne’s presence mean something more? In this crowd, he could sure figure a way to pick up some loose cash. DeWayne had sticky fingers even worse than his brothers.

Zeb had tried for years to change them but they wouldn’t listen so what was the use? He and Nell had done everything they knew to keep them straight; their crimes were never anything too bad, as far as he knew: misdemeanors like minor stealing, shoplifting. He and Nell had ended up not prying into their business, life was easier that way. To talk about it only made Nell sicker.

He turned away when Charlie Harper and that young female building contractor, Ryan Flannery, came out of the PD and, some distance behind them, the chief. Max Harper was in uniform today, not in his usual jeans and boots.

He waited until Max had pulled out, and Mindy and Thelma had gone on. He didn’t want Mindy to see him here in town and shout “Grandpa!” and run up to him making a fuss, no matter how much he missed her. Heading back down the street for his truck, he felt in his pocket for his grocery list. Lonely old man shopping to cook for himself like so many single “seniors” in the village, left to waste alone; and his cooking never tasted as good as Nell’s had, or even Thelma’s, after she took over. Glancing back once at the courthouse, he saw a cat on the roof behind him but paid little attention; except he wondered if he should get a cat. For the mice. And, to be honest, for the company, a warm, friendly animal to cuddle down with at night.

From the roof of Molena Point PD, Joe Grey hardly noticed the old man; he seemed vaguely familiar, some local Joe had seen around. The tomcat had backed halfway down the oak trunk by the department’s glass door when Charlie Harper and Joe’s own housemate, dark-haired Ryan Flannery, came out, her tousled bob lightly flecked with sawdust, her carpenter’s tools still hanging at her belt. Charlie Harper’s red hair was tied back with a pink scarf, she was wearing a pink T-shirt, new jeans, and sandals. Looked like she’d meant to go out to lunch with Max and had been stood up by some emergency or official appointment. Too bad. Some distance behind them, the chief appeared, dressed in uniform as was Detective Dallas Garza, the two heading for the chief’s squad car. Max turned to wave to Charlie, and she blew him a kiss. He glanced at Joe, frowned, and the two cops were gone, turning out into village traffic—and Joe would have to wait until they returned to get any information about the woman he had found, or about the library snooper. Maybe they’d have something soon, with McFarland tailing the guy.

He could slip in the station and prowl Max’s desk. But eavesdropping when the detectives were present was better than snooping alone through the chief’s notes and reports. Listening to Max and his staff toss a problem around while Joe himself sat reading Max’s handwritten notes and scanning the computer screen usually added up to a bundle of facts worth waiting for.

Now, he dropped on down the oak tree and followed Ryan and Charlie who looked like they were headed for lunch. Ryan had just come from work, khaki shirt and work pants, and heavy boots. When she saw Joe, she grinned and beckoned to him. He followed them down the sidewalk and into the flowery little tearoom that Ryan had said no cop would ever be caught entering. As the door swung closed Ryan caught the heavy glass, Joe slid through, and they made for an isolated corner table, passing the elderly tearoom cat asleep on the window seat. The old fellow hardly stirred, hardly opened his eyes when he caught a whiff of Joe Grey. There were no other cats in the room at the moment, though most of the tables were taken.

Joe leaped into the corner chair between Ryan and Charlie, and Ryan ordered for him, Joe’s ear twitch of agreement at a smoked-salmon sandwich, hold the bread, and a crab salad, hold the mayo. When the waitress had left, Charlie launched softly into a discussion of facts that Ryan must already know, thus telling Joe what he hadn’t had a chance to hear in the chief’s office where he’d been headed.