Unknown - Cat_shining_bright_Merfi_630007

Jimmie gave her an interested look but was silent. A look that said, I’d like to tell you, but I can’t, a look she knew well. These specks were connected to something else, to some other case they were working. Maybe, in the morning, Max would tell her. She sat in her favorite chair holding Dulcie in her lap, stroking her, while McFarland called Dallas.

He told the detective what he’d found, what he’d collected, including the Styrofoam flecks. He answered several questions with a simple yes or no. During their conversation, the kittens were not to be seen. Obeying their mother, they were still on the roof. They were probably freezing, but they had minded Dulcie.

Was the burglar Rick Alderson? That little seven-year-old boy she had known so long ago? Was he not still in prison in Texas, but out on parole? She knew nothing at all to put him together with the Pamillons and the Bewick book. But what other interest would he have here, except a valuable item he meant to sell?

Or was his interest in her, instead, in retribution for his father’s death? But that didn’t make sense, little Rickie had hated Calvin Alderson.

Once McFarland had every bit of evidence he wanted, Wilma found a cardboard box in her garage, they took it apart and taped it over the window, closing off most of the broken area. It wouldn’t keep people out, but it would block the wind and keep more glass from falling.

She knew there were few civilians who would get this much attention from the police, particularly since breakins had become a misdemeanor in California instead of a felony. Was there more to this break and enter that she didn’t know, that McFarland wasn’t telling her? Could the attempted theft be connected to something more than a rare and vanished book?

McFarland said they were sending someone to cruise the neighborhood, and asked what she knew about the man.

“Not much, Jimmie. He looks exactly like an old parolee from twenty years back, Calvin Alderson. Such a startling likeness that I feel sure this must be Alderson’s boy, Rick. He’s been in and out of jail—but you and Max and Dallas know all that.

“I check on him every few years, out of curiosity. Or maybe a feeling of unease. Even at seven years old, that little boy … screaming that it was my fault his daddy went to prison even though the child hated Calvin. But then later he seemed to change his mind, and he was friendly enough. Now, for the past couple of weeks, he’s been hanging around watching me. Yes, I talked with Max, he’s checking to see if Rick is still in jail in Texas, or if there’s a warrant out for him.”

“Do you have a lock on your bedroom door?”

“That’s first on my list in the morning—and double bolts on the outer doors. It was the cats who heard him, they got frightened and woke me. For the rest of the night I’ll prop the dresser against the door. If he tries to get in, that will wake me.”

“And the bedroom windows?”

“I’ll turn the outside lights on. And balance some little bottles on the sill so if the window moves, they’ll fall.”

“You might be smart to move out for a couple of weeks.”

Wilma laughed, pushed back her long gray hair. “That’s exactly what Max will tell me, to move out.” Though what she meant to do was quite different.

“Or have someone stay with you,” Jimmie said diffidently. “Though I know you’ve handled a lot worse than this guy. But even though you’re well trained, it’s nice to have a backup.”

“I’ll be careful, Jimmie.”

Jimmie gave her a hug, and glanced with confidence at the weight of the gun in her robe pocket. “Take care,” he said softly. “There’ll be a patrol.” He turned, and was gone. Wilma locked the door behind him.

While Dulcie went to get the kittens, Wilma swept and vacuumed up every shard of glass on the floor and rug and in the window casing. She had vacuumed the rug three times, wiped down every surface with a damp cloth to catch the tiniest splinters, and put the vacuum away. She was in the bedroom straightening the covers when the kittens came slipping in through the window, silent and wide-eyed.

Pushing the dresser against the bedroom door, Wilma watched them settle among the covers, then she arranged the bottles along the sill. From the expressions on the kittens’ faces she could almost tell what each was thinking. Buffin wasn’t sure he liked this disturbance so much. Striker was still all hisses and fight, as if he had wanted to chase the man right along with Dulcie; Wilma suspected only Dulcie’s scolding, and his hurt foot, had stopped him.

But it was Courtney who looked amazed and excited, her ears sharp forward, her baby-blue eyes gleaming, one paw lifted, reaching out; her black and orange face wildly alight, she looked as if her head were swimming not just with this crime, tonight, but with remembered scenes, with visions exploding as if from dreams of a time long past.

Gently Wilma took the calico in her arms. “What are you remembering?”

Courtney, her black and orange blotches and three black bracelets bright in the lamplight, only looked at Wilma. At last she said, “Swords. Men on horseback with swords. I was on the roof—but a thatched roof. I was huddled down in the thatch and they didn’t see me.” She frowned up at Wilma. “That’s all I remember, a fuzzy dream, but I can smell the horses and the blood, I can smell the blood. They broke into the house, three men …” She closed her eyes. “Later, when they’d gone, when I came down from the roof … In the house the smell of fear and blood, two people dead, the old farm couple dead.”

“What did you do?” Wilma asked softly, only glancing at the silent boy kittens and Dulcie.

“I … The king’s soldiers came. I was there in the house, grieving over the old couple, mewing at them, grieving. The soldiers burst in and I didn’t know what they would do to me. They swung their swords and I ran between them, ran between their legs and kept running and … and …

“That’s all I remember,” she said softly. She looked up at Wilma, looked at Dulcie and her brothers. “Another life? Not just a dream?” she whispered. “Why do I remember? That man … That man, tonight, breaking in. That man, he lusted for something. That man made me remember.”

Wilma settled Courtney down under the covers, and slipped in beside her. The boy kittens and Dulcie, quiet and solemn, crawled in beside them.

Easing into sleep, her gun ready on the nightstand, Wilma knew Max would be there at first light. He would come to investigate the scene himself and he would tell her to move out, to take Dulcie and the kittens and go to stay at Clyde and Ryan’s house, and Max could be hard to deal with.

What she meant to do was take the cats there, while she stayed at home. Next time, she intended to catch the prowler. Next time she would corner him, would shoot close enough to make him talk. She wanted to know if this was Rick Alderson, and to know what this was about.

13

Wilma begrudgingly agreed to move in with the Damens after a heated discussion with Max Harper—an argument she knew she wouldn’t win. Max arrived early, just as she’d gotten out of the shower. She could hear him knocking, and Buffin ran to get her, the kitten looking very serious. “It’s the chief,” he whispered. “It’s Captain Harper, I looked out the cat door.”

Hastily she slipped on her robe. She answered the door barefoot. They sat in the living room for a few minutes before she went to get dressed, to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. When she returned, Max was wearing cotton gloves, checking out the window and desk, even though he had the trace evidence and prints that Jimmie had collected last night.

He had started a pot of coffee, they sat at the kitchen table, she knew what was coming. “I want you to move in with Clyde and Ryan until we get this sorted out.”