Shirley Murphy: Murphy_Shirley_Rousseau_Cat_Telling_Tales_BookFi

“Debbie does,” Pan said. “She has them sit up in front so if anyone bothers them, they can blow the horn.”

“Fat lot of good that would do.”

Pan crouched over the roof gutter looking down at Tessa, his expression so filled with longing that Kit reached out a paw, touched his paw gently. “You want to go down there?” she said softly. “We could—”

“I can’t let Tessa see me. She’d never stop talking, telling her mother I’d followed them, begging her to look for me. And Vinnie? She catches one glimpse, who knows what trouble she’d make, asking how I got here. That kid won’t leave anything alone, we don’t need that kind of attention. ”

“Maybe, though . . .” Kit said, “maybe at night you could slip into the cottage to see Tessa? Wait until she’s asleep, until they’re all asleep, then talk to her the way you did before?”

“How do you know that?”

“Debbie told the Damens. She laughed at Tessa, made fun of her, said a talking cat was impossible, but Tessa wouldn’t back down. She said that in the night, in the dark, you told her your true name. Joe heard it all, he told me and Dulcie. He said it was all he could do not to claw Debbie. No wonder Tessa never talks, when her mother is so sarcastic.”

“I wish she hadn’t told,” Pan said quietly. “I did whisper to her, how else could she have named me? She’s so small, and . . . dear,” he said, looking embarrassed. “Debbie doesn’t deserve her.” He looked at Kit, flicking his ears. “Maybe . . . Is there some way I could visit her, get her to keep the secret?”

“If you could talk to her at night again, maybe you could help her. Show her how to survive that woman. I could be the lookout,” Kit said. “I could watch Debbie and Vinnie, make sure they don’t wake and hear you, make sure that Debbie, if she’s still up, doesn’t come sneaking in.”

Pan smiled. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe we could do that.” His amber eyes were so deep, his look so close and real it made her tremble. “Late in the night,” he said softly, “when the house is dark, maybe we can help her, maybe together we can.”

Charlie found all five cats in the bookstore, out of the way of the workers who were cleaning up the last of the buffet, folding up the big table and the metal chairs, putting the little café tables back in their usual places. On a bookstore table, Kit and Pan crouched before their empty plates waiting for news, licking the last smears of salmon mousse from their whiskers. Dulcie and Misto sat above them on a bookshelf, as Joe Grey paced back and forth along the shelves, the five cats waiting impatiently to know if Kraft had been caught. They’d heard no more shots, no more sirens, the night was silent, but somewhere out in the dark, officers might still be in danger.

Charlie sat down at the table beside Kit and Pan and flipped open her cell phone, pretending to make a call, to key in a number that never rang at the other end. She said softly, “They got him.” The cats came to full attention, Joe Grey paused on the bookshelf and lay down just above her, and on the table Kit rolled over, handily drawing closer. All ears were up, all tails very still.

“They spotted the Audi headed north just before the off-ramp to the hospital. When he saw two patrol cars coming up fast behind him, and a CHP cutting across the median from the southbound lanes, he swerved up the ramp, doubled back southbound, weaving in and out. Cut a right at Carpenter, grazed two oncoming cars, headed up into the residential. A Realtor must know those little winding streets like the back of his hand, he must have been convinced he could lose them up there. It didn’t work,” she said, grinning. “They forced him over, he fired once at Brennan. McFarland took him down with two shots. He struggled out of the car bleeding, his hands up, and didn’t fight anymore.”

Kit was so pleased she almost laughed out loud.

No wonder we heard the shots, Joe thought. Those hilly streets, they’re only a few blocks from here, just up past the gallery.

“He’s all tucked away in the hospital,” Charlie said. “Private room with a guard, regular VIP treatment. Max has talked with the DA, there’s enough evidence for an arraignment, he was really pleased to have the laptop.” She reached to pet Kit, and shyly to stroke the top of Pan’s head. “Kathleen made copies of everything on it, the fake messages from Alain, all kinds of real estate transactions on a dozen different letterheads. From what they’ve found so far, those are all fake. They searched the condo, got a lock man up there to open the wall safe but of course it was empty. Max has the cash, maybe a hundred thousand and I don’t know how much in gold. They’re still lifting prints in the condo.”

Well, Kit thought, the whole department had been busy. In the time it took the party to break up, and her and Pan to demolish their big plate of seafood, turkey, salmon mousse, and three desserts, everyone at the department had been hard at work, she imagined the computers and phones and fax machine just humming away. Never overly modest, tonight Kit felt pretty smug.

“The murders are in our jurisdiction,” Charlie said, “but the real estate swindles reach way beyond California. Oregon, three Midwestern states, North Carolina and Virginia. Max is turning copies of that evidence over to the FBI, everything on the laptop, and the papers from Hesmerra’s tin box. I expect our county DA will charge Kraft with multiple counts of real estate fraud, as well as two counts of murder—the investigation of Hesmerra’s death is still under way.” She glanced up as Billy came across the room. “See you next week,” she said, pretending to end the call.

Billy had been helping with the cleanup, with moving tables and folding up cages; he’d worked willingly all evening at various tasks, but now as he approached, his expression wasn’t happy, and he looked at Charlie forlornly. Away behind him, Perry and Esther Fowler stood watching.

He stepped close to the table, speaking softly. “They said . . . My aunt Esther said a person from Children’s Services will be at school tomorrow morning. To talk to me. To make arrangements for my placement . . .” He looked down, his voice faltering.

“Placement?” Charlie said, trying not to shout. “What placement?”

“To tell me what institution or foster home they’re going to put me in.”

“The hell they are,” Charlie said, scowling past him at the Fowlers. “They’re not taking you anywhere. Who are they sending, did you get a name? Did they say what time?” She looked up as Ryan came to join them, passing the Fowlers without speaking.

Billy said, “They didn’t say a name. Said first period, around nine.” The boy’s face was white, he was trying hard not to cry.

“Max and I will be there,” Charlie said, her voice low and measured with anger. “You’re not going anywhere, you’re staying with us. For as long as you like.” She looked up at Ryan. “If the Fowlers won’t cooperate, if they won’t sign the legal papers to let you live with us, I’m sure Debbie will.”

“Debbie will,” Ryan said. “Or she’ll be out on the street looking for a roof over her head.”

Billy tried to grin at them, but still he was pale and uncertain. Ryan hugged him, and Charlie said, “It will be all right, we’ll take care of it. Go on out and help Clyde with the rest of the tables.”

The boy walked silently past the Fowlers hardly looking at them. He didn’t stop, though they tried to question him. Watching him, Joe hoped a signature from Debbie would be sufficient. He wondered what other leverage Max would have, maybe with Perry Fowler, as well as his hold over Erik Kraft.