Ширли Мерфи - Cat Chase The Moon

Charlie said, “Max meant to get to the hospital early, see that battered woman again that the medics picked up, then have a quick lunch. But he’s running late for some meeting, he stayed at the hospital quite a while. She’s in bad shape, the guy almost broke her neck. She was lucky someone found her.” She didn’t glance down at Joe but she stroked him lovingly—and Joe could feel her shudder, as he did himself, thinking of the woman nearly buried alive. He looked up at Charlie and rubbed his head back and forth against her caressing hand.

“She’s still on life support,” Charlie said. “She can hardly speak, her throat is so injured. Looks like she speaks Spanish more easily, maybe one of the Latin American countries. Dallas will sort out what the other guys miss.”

“What made her attacker leave so suddenly?” Ryan said softly, looking down at Joe Grey. “Lucky for her someone came along. I’ve seen enough grisly murders, but to be buried alive . . .” She leaned down to hug Joe Grey and kiss the top of his head. It embarrassed him for her to kiss him, even when they were home alone. She said, “I wish I’d learned Spanish when Dallas was living with us.” Ryan’s two uncles had moved in with her dad and the three little girls after their mother died. Dallas was her mother’s brother, the Latino half of the family, with his dark hair and nearly black eyes. Ryan had the dark hair, but her green eyes were like her dad’s, Mike Flannery, and his brother Scotty’s. The Scots-Irish part of the family. And tempers to match, Joe thought, smiling.

“And then later this morning,” Charlie said, talking to Ryan as she filled Joe in, “another street robbery. Victim was carrying a canvas bag with cash, another bank deposit.”

That brought the tomcat to attention. He’d heard nothing about this. He must have been lolling with the kiddies at story hour when that went down. Maybe that was where the siren they’d heard was heading.

“It was out in the valley,” Charlie said. “That victim’s in emergency, too.”

“I think . . .” Ryan paused, looked startled as the front door opened and their new neighbors, the brown-haired little girl and her plain, unhappy mother, came in. Mindy spotted Charlie and took off running. She threw her arms around her redheaded neighbor, who often rode the trails with her—but Thelma grabbed the child, pulled her across the room, and sat down with their backs to them but where they could see out the window. Mindy looked around at Joe as if she would grab him, too, but at her mother’s look she sat still.

Joe just looked at her. He had had enough of the Luther family since Thelma and Nevin and Mindy moved in with Varney. Nevin was the youngest, Varney the middle brother. He’d moved into the rental across from Joe Grey’s house about six months ago. Neither Joe, Ryan, nor Clyde had had a full night’s sleep since the other three joined him. The two brothers were always at it, shouting and arguing over nothing. Joe, when he was in at night—which wasn’t often—had slept in the kitchen with Snowball and the big silver Weimaraner where they couldn’t hear so clearly; the aging, loving, nonspeaking little white cat considered the Weimaraner her protector. She slept nearly buried between the big dog’s chest and paws. Joe Grey would lie draped over Rock’s flank, their gray coloring so similar it was hard to tell cat from dog.

“I keep wondering,” Ryan said softly, “if there’s a connection between the battered woman and the street robberies. I don’t know why there would be, except that during the car festival there’s big money around. And these last three robberies, two of them just before the bank closed, were all large cash deposits from restaurants that are crowded to the hilt. Bar owners getting rid of their surplus cash.”

Restaurant bars usually got rid of what cash they could before the crowds gathered. Dinner customers most often paid by credit card, while those at the bar shelled out greenbacks. Joe knew that from slipping into any number of village restaurants, watching the crowd from some dark corner as he spied on a suspect, collecting information that he could pass anonymously to Max Harper—if he wasn’t tossed out by the maître d’, thrown unceremoniously out in the parking lot, angry and clawing. Ryan glanced at him, a teasing look in her eyes. “This latest robbery just after the bank closed, no sign of a witness, even the phantom snitch missed the action. But then, that was clear up the valley.”

“But there was a witness,” Charlie said, looking at Ryan. “That robbery, after the Mid-Valley Bank closed. Though the witness didn’t see much, she couldn’t run after him. She was way pregnant and pushing two kids in a stroller—Max said so pregnant that if she’d chased the robber she might have delivered right there on the street. She whipped out her phone and called the dispatcher, but the small squad working that area was clear up the valley, and the guy got away.

“She called the medics, too,” she said, laughing. “Baby boy, born on the medics’ stretcher before they even got her in the ambulance.

“She said the man was dressed in dark gray and a tan jacket, old jogging shoes, cap pulled down over dark shaggy hair. She didn’t see his face, he fled around a corner and she didn’t see or hear a car.” Charlie pushed back her red hair. “Max was mad as hell that they lost him.” She lowered her voice when a black limo pulled up in front of the tea shop, the driver in black uniform, black cap; they could see someone tall slumped in the backseat, only a shadow behind the dark glass.

The driver got out and came in, crossing the room directly to Thelma Luther’s table. Dark auburn hair, liver-colored freckles running into his sideburns and scalp. He sat down, they said nothing but looked at each other comfortably. The moment he appeared, the shop cat woke, hissed fiercely at him, and fled for the kitchen.

Mindy, having had little response from Joe Grey but a growl, raced at once for the older cat. She snatched him up near the back door; but she held him gently, petting him despite his angry snarls. Joe Grey, with the window seat empty, flew across the room and jumped up on the padded bench that stood against the window, sitting tall as he took silent possession, smugly defending the warm place the old cat had abandoned.

The driver was a middle-aged man, of middle height. Joe didn’t like his eyes, they were small and mean. He ordered coffee and a sweet roll, a second one to go. When the waitress had left, he turned to Thelma. “We’ve changed our plans, we’re moving on for a few days.”

Her look was puzzled, questioning.

“Too many tourists. I thought Car Show Week would be good cover, tourists thick as cockroaches. I’d counted on cops everywhere, but not this many and not at three in the morning. Early last night, Maurita began to get edgy, there was a big fight. She doesn’t like the crowds, either, you know how temperamental she is.”

Thelma looked at him nervously.

“The bars close at one,” he said. “I thought the village would quiet down but it doesn’t.”

Of course it quiets down, Joe Grey thought. Last night—this morning—I was out at three, middle of town, all over town. Quiet as a tomb. The thought of a tomb made him claw nervously at the seat cushion.

“But you’ve . . .” Thelma began.

The man nodded. “We’d already done the casing. Maurita did the inventory, she knows her business. But then afterward when she was done . . .” He paused, looked uncertain. “Afterward, she just fell apart, lost her nerve. She was shaking and she started crying. They fought, and she began throwing things in her suitcase. He stomped out, called her some pretty raunchy names, and left the motel. She took off alone in one of the backup cars, headed for San Francisco, she said. He let her go. They’ll both cool down by morning.