Ширли Мерфи - Cat Chase The Moon

Now, with the young calico’s final and distant escape to come, her friends began the real grieving. For years hence, they would find that day resonating in waking memories and in nighttime dreams as real as this day itself.

As they all crowded around the table, Zebulon’s mood softened and he laughed. Soon noise and laughter rocked the tiny apartment, driving away the sadness, but causing Maurita to draw back in shy silence. And still, during the friends’ arrivals, no one had seen Courtney.

The six other cats ate their own takeout quickly, clambered down from laps and side tables and headed for the ruins. Still no Courtney. She would not show herself, thinking the Seavers might be out looking for her, not when Seaver might see all the cars up here and wonder. Who knew where they would choose to search? Courtney had no idea they might be in jail.

Down in the depths of the ruins, the cats spent a long time with Courtney alone. There wasn’t much time left together. Now, when folks began to leave, Wilma took all seven cats to her place to wait for dark, for a last visit, where the three kittens had been born. In their own first home, they curled up on the couch with Wilma, a gentle fire burning on the hearth, Joe Grey and Dulcie snuggled close to their calico kitten, Buffin and Striker lying nearly on top of her. Kit and Pan lay sprawled on her other side, their noses against her calico coat.

Only after supper, when darkness fell, would they all go together, the cats and their families, back to the Pamillon ruins. There they would say good-bye to Joe and Dulcie’s calico daughter.

Zebulon, before leaving the Pamillon estate after breakfast, took Maurita’s hand solemnly. “Will you come home with us? Will you be part of our family—will you want us, the same as we want you?” He put his arm around her. “We need you, Maurita.”

“And I need you,” Maurita said softly. “I’ve never had a family.”

We’re lucky , Mindy thought. And we’ll be happy — if Mama and Varney get hauled off to jail and can’t come bothering us.

“It might be well,” Charlie said, “if you three stay at our house for a few days, where Maurita will be safer until we’re sure those men are all in custody.”

Maurita hugged Charlie; she had begun to feel more at ease, more in charge of herself. As if she had found something of herself that was lost—lost or maybe never discovered.

“Meanwhile,” Charlie said, “we can dust up your house a bit, change the sheets, get in some groceries.” And the four of them headed for Zebulon’s place, to brighten Maurita’s new home, to make it ready and welcoming. Mindy and Maurita, Charlie and Zebulon worked for the rest of the day, washing windows, cleaning the kitchen. Rearranging Maurita’s new room, which had been Nevin’s. The room of no-good Thelma’s husband, but that didn’t bother Maurita.

With freshly washed curtains and clean windows, she would see, in early morning, the sun rise over the eastern hills, would see at night the sun set above the sea. Looking around her, she felt clean, she felt new. The way she used to wish life would be. All she’d needed was a little help. The terror of DeWayne’s brutality was beginning to fade, wiped away by human friends, human love. By the surprise of being part of her own family. And, earlier, by the warmth of those long, quiet days of cat love.

When Charlie and the Luthers arrived back at the Harper ranch for an early supper, Max’s truck was parked by the house. “I took off early,” he said, coming in, yawning. “Handed it over to Cameron for the night—all those bastards are snug in their cells. Dallas and I are on call.”

Across from the house, above the hay barn, the Luthers’ beds were already made up in two rooms next to Billy’s. Both Zeb and Maurita found they were able to handle the stairs, with Mindy’s help; and Billy Young had been busy. The outside alarm was set, two loaded firearms stood inside Billy’s and Zeb’s bedroom doors, and the two big dogs ran loose and watchful in the fenced entry yard. Mindy had strict instructions not to touch the shotgun and rifle. “When you are old enough,” Max said, “and that will be soon, you will have the same safety training as Billy is getting. Maybe even take the same classes as a police cadet, if you like.”

Mindy grinned at him with delight, and so did Zebulon. Zeb would much rather have her thoroughly trained by a professional, than to do a bad job himself.

It was that night, during supper, that the earring appeared.

Supper was a tamale pie that Charlie had taken from the freezer, and a salad that Mindy made. They had just sat down when they heard Jimmie McFarland’s car pull up in front, parking next to Max’s truck. Charlie let him in and asked him to join them. He was carrying a small white box. He said he had eaten, but accepted a slice of lemon pie and coffee. Jimmie, glancing kindly at Maurita, held out the box to Max.

“Dallas found this, just a little while ago. Or, Joe Grey found it.”

“Joe Grey found it,” Max said in a flat, uneasy voice. Charlie’s stomach lurched. Max said, “Let’s hear it,” in that same suspicious tone.

They all knew the Saks crime scene extended from the store itself to the pile-up of cars being hauled away on the highway; but that it also included the motel rooms where the burglars had stayed as they posed as limo drivers. The sun was setting when Detective Garza and Jimmie McFarland went to work on that part of the scene. At the same moment, Joe Grey was running the rooftops, working off some of his grieving before they all returned to the Pamillon estate to bid Courtney a last good-bye. Racing the shingles among the smell of restaurant suppers, he saw a squad car and Jimmie’s car below him and yellow crime tape strung around the motel and parking lot. He backed down a young acacia tree and was about to slip into the motel to see what Jimmie was doing, when, deep in the flowery ground cover, he stepped on something that hurt.

Something hard but delicate, buried deep among the blooms. He pawed it gently out.

There was the earring.

The ornately fashioned gold loop looked, indeed, as if it had been made by Peruvian hands, like pictures of that ancient jewelry he had seen, an intricately carved crescent moon hanging from its center. He was sniffing at it when he heard footsteps.

Dallas Garza stood over him.

He looked up at Dallas and pawed at the earring as if playing, as would a kitten with a toy. Dallas looked back at him with all the suspicion he’d ever felt about Joe Grey. Not cold, cop suspicion, but startled disbelief.

The detective turned away, fetched a small box from his glove compartment, emptied it and lay the earring inside, then slipped the box into a small evidence bag. Returning to Joe, he called Jimmie over. “Take this up to Max. He went home early.”

Now, at the Harpers’, before Jimmie tied into his pie and coffee, he handed the box to Max. “Dallas found this near the motel. They’re finished with it, fingerprints, DNA, photos—didn’t take long. He thought Maurita might want it.”

As long as DeWayne was dead, and Maurita hadn’t wanted to press charges, there wasn’t much point in keeping this one piece of evidence. They had the bloody pictures, the doctors’ reports, the other, smashed earring. And DeWayne’s accomplices had plenty of other charges against them, in case they were involved.

Max took the box from Jimmie and opened it. He studied the contents, then held it out to Maurita. She accepted it, looking sick. The earring lay on a clean cotton pad, it was battered only a little, an ornate gold loop with an intricate crescent moon suspended inside. She touched the scar down her torn ear, felt the surgeon’s stitching. She sat looking at the earring for a long time, thinking, then looked up at Max. “Do you have a spade, or a short shovel?”