Ширли Мерфи - Cat Chase The Moon

The moon, Courtney thought, the full moon means good fortune. She glanced up at Maurita and hoped it shone for them both.And now they could see the mansion rising higher up the hills. Even the two cops admired the sudden view as they watched, as well, for anyone following them.

The stone of the ancient mansion shone pale in the moonlight. The once-neglected dwelling was very different from when Kate first bought it and began to remodel it, dreaming of the museum she hoped it would one day become. Glass had been restored in the front windows of the jutting front wing that had stood open to the weather for so many years. The feral cats had often hung out there, watching to leap down on the small game below, enjoying the view of village and sea, sleeping on an ancient, moldering sofa. Now there was a new ceiling, new rafters, fresh white paint; but mostly glass to enhance the interior. The far wings of the compound were still in ruins; the feral cats thrived there, dining on rats and field mice. The wild little cats had made friends with Kate and Scotty, and Kate knew they would be kind to Courtney. Redheaded, red-bearded Scott Flannery was Kate’s new husband; they had been friends for years, their romance had been sudden and surprising. Scotty was Ryan Damen’s uncle and was, as well, her building foreman.

The upstairs and downstairs of the large front wing would be the main art galleries. The one-story wing on the far side had been rebuilt into an airy but cozy apartment. The remaining rooms, as they were finished, would offer more space for special exhibits—but an environment nothing like the Seavers’ too-fancy plan.

They pulled up beside the cat shelter, which now had a tall stone wall between it and the mansion, perhaps to give it privacy from the galleries. This, plus another stone wall on the land below, partially concealing a little wooden house, made the property seem drawn together into a more handsome unit, made it blend more cozily among the hills. Jimmie glanced at Maurita, imagining her living in the empty house; he wondered what she would do if she escaped DeWayne, if he were locked in prison for a long stretch, leaving her free to make a new life.

Kate came out to greet them. Levi’s, work boots, she was all carpenter today—some carpenter with that strikingly beautiful face and tousled blond hair. Scotty came to join them. They’d had a short honeymoon, then had gotten back to work on their apartment and on the cat shelter.

Kate looked into the car, greeting Maurita gently, then studying Courtney’s amber eyes. “So you escaped, too. What could be so valuable,” she said slyly, “about an ordinary calico cat?”

Courtney looked back at her, equally sly and amused. Not everyone present knew that certain cats could speak. Kate said, “What crazy plan could Seaver have had for her, that made him and those thugs chase her all over the village? He has to be insane.”

Earlier, in the squad car, before Crowley turned onto the narrow road that led up to the mansion, Maurita had said, “Kate will hide the little calico where Seaver will never find her, she’ll take good care of her. But I’m coming back with you.”

“The hell you are,” Jimmie said. “Why do you think we brought you out here? Not to hide just the cat but to hide you! What the hell, Maurita. Max wants you away from DeWayne, not there in town with him. You want to end up in another grave, a permanent one?”

She went pale and very still—and beautiful, Jimmie thought, despite the fading bruises. The look she gave him was unreadable. “They’re getting ready to pull off the Saks job, you knew it would be soon. On our way out of the village, didn’t you see those old gray cars pulled in behind the motel, the cars they use for robberies, the ones they usually leave scattered around town? This has to be the night.”

Jimmie glanced up at Crowley, who was looking back at him in the mirror. Of course they had seen them. Crowley had already made the call so Maurita wouldn’t hear, texting skillfully with his big farmer’s hands, a talent that always amazed Jimmie. By dark tonight Max would have their units in place, far better hidden than DeWayne’s crew would be.

“That’s why he kept me around in the first place, to make sure they didn’t miss the best jewelry, the finest designs and highest quality stones. The best antiques, that he stole on the East Coast and sent to his brothers, the Luther boys passed them on to Seaver. I had to pick them out, do the shipping to a storage unit. DeWayne has no taste, no training. He always made me stay with him, there was no way I could shake them, there was always one of the drivers or DeWayne practically on top of me, even outside a restroom door. He kept me like a slave, made me do all the estimates and inventories—until the night they finished casing the village, settled on Saks, and sat around the motel drinking beer, planning their moves. Suddenly I’d had enough. I got up, I told him I was finished, and ran out. Didn’t stop to pack anything or even grab my purse, I just got out.”

“He comes after you and nearly kills you,” Jimmie snapped. “So now you want to go back and help him rob Saks. You help him pull off this heist, and then he kills you.”

“No. I thought . . . I know all their moves, their exact plans. I thought I could help you, that I could watch, maybe slip inside if you’d give me a phone . . .”

“You already told Harper every detail. What else do we need? What do you . . . ?”

She was crying. When she fished in her pocket for a tissue, holding Courtney close and drawing her jacket around them, that was when Jimmie saw the outline of the gun. She saw him looking.

He studied her for a long time. “I won’t ask any questions. If you meant to slip in among them as they loot the place, if you meant to kill DeWayne in there, you’re putting yourself in big trouble.” He reached to touch her face. Even crying, her dark eyes were beautiful. “Maurita, I want you to promise to stay up here at the mansion and do as we say. As Kate and Scotty say. Will you show it to me?”

Frowning, she removed the revolver carefully, aiming it away from Jimmie and the cat.

“Juana’s Smith and Wesson.”

“I took it from the dresser. I thought . . . I wanted . . .”

“Are you going to give it to me willingly, or do I have to take it from you and maybe get one of us shot?” He looked at her tenderly. “Maurita, I’ll have to take the gun eventually. Juana will have to know, you’ll have to give it back to her.” She could feel Courtney stiffen, ready to break from her grasp. Jimmie said, “We have to tell Max. I don’t keep secrets from the chief or from anyone in the department—except EvaJean,” he said, grinning.

He touched her face. “Before this is over, if you don’t mess it up, we’ll have DeWayne in jail and then federal prison. With his rap sheet, count the years. He might never get out, you’ll be free of him. You shoot him now, you’ll find yourself in a cell for a long time.”

She looked at him stubbornly. She wanted to kill DeWayne herself, she wanted to hurt DeWayne, hurt him bad. She started to slip the gun back in her pocket.

Jimmie had it before she could blink, her wrist bent back, her other arm twisted and helpless. Courtney had fled under the seat.

Jimmie opened the revolver’s cylinder and removed the bullets. He dropped the gun in an evidence bag, the bullets in another, and put both in his pocket. “Scotty and Kate will keep you safe, they’re both armed—legally,” he said wryly. “Keep you safe so you can testify in court. That should damage DeWayne more than shooting him.” When he gently turned her face toward him and kissed her on the forehead, Courtney crept out and sat at her feet, watching. Thinking about the ways of humans. Were they so different from the ways of cats? What would it be like to be human? What would it be like to feel the power of that tender look?