Shirley Murphy - Murphy_Shirley_Rousseau_Cat_Coming_Home_BookFi

In the dark bedroom, she wanted to whisper to Benny, wanted tell him everything was all right, in case he had awakened at some point, after the commotion was over. But apparently not, he was sound asleep, snuggled down with the covers pulled up, and she moved away and let him be. She stood a moment enjoying the little-boy scent of him, smiling because he slept as deeply as had his daddy. Martin had never awakened to sounds in the house; he could have slept through an alien attack. At last she turned away, went back downstairs to her guest.

Alfreda had cut the pie and poured the tea. “I’m better off doing something,” the frail woman said as Maudie carried the tray in before the fire. “Tomorrow I’ll be steadier, I’ll be better in the daylight.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay here for a few days,” Maudie said, though in truth she hoped Alfreda would refuse. The woman was so frail, seemed so in need of nurturing. But in fact, Maudie’s own scenario called for solitude, she would prefer the house empty; she was relieved when Alfreda shook her head.

“Thanks, Maudie, but I’ll be fine. Tomorrow I’m to help with the Christmas bazaar, and that’s good, that I keep busy.” She smiled wanly at Maudie. “I should feel relieved the police arrested two of those men. Detective Garza said there was little chance the other two would go on with these invasions now.

“He said there could be more than four of them, but from the information they have, they don’t think so.” Alfreda seemed to be talking to ease herself, to calm her fears. Maudie listened and nodded and let her go on, though Alfreda’s rambling certainly didn’t calm her own fears. When she heard Benny cry out in his sleep, she hushed Alfreda to listen, but then there was nothing more. If he were having one of his nightmares, he’d make more noise than that, would be crying for Grandma, over and over. They talked for nearly an hour, about Benny and the new school, about Maudie’s son David. If Alfreda knew about the shooting, about Martin and Caroline, she didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry. Maudie avoided talking about her quilting, too, she didn’t want to have to drag a neighbor whom she hardly knew through her new studio. When Alfreda headed home, Maudie watched her hurry down the block past the squad car, where she waved to Officer Brennan, then disappear into her own house. Maudie pictured her carefully locking her door; she locked her own door, rinsed their cups and plates and put them in the dishwasher, and headed upstairs. She’d left the light on in her room, but before she got ready for bed she stepped into the dark guest room one last time, to check on Benny.

She hadn’t admitted to Alfreda how nervous she was. In a way, she wished Alfreda had stayed, even wished she had put fresh sheets on the guest bed and made Alfreda comfortable there. Not that the frail woman would be any protection. Do I just want the company? Maudie thought, annoyed at herself. Want to circle the wagons, even decrepit wagons, because I don’t know who or what will appear out of the night, out of the empty dark?

Benny was still cocooned down among the covers. Amazing how soundly he slept. She thought she shouldn’t be calling this room the guest room, it was Benny’s room now. But it didn’t fit a child; this wasn’t a child’s room, with its grown-up, too formal furniture. Benny needed a child’s furniture: toy chests, a sturdy desk, maybe one of those bunk sets with a built-in ladder, something a boy could use, not just tolerate.

Benny seemed drawn to the little sewing room down at the end of the hall, which Maudie was using for storage as she unpacked boxes. The room was tiny, maybe eight by nine; Benny like to slip in between the boxes and curl up on the deep bay window seat. Maybe for a few years he’d prefer that room, at least until he outgrew the space. She glanced at her watch. It was just past midnight. Guided by the night-light, she reached to straighten Benny’s covers.

As she took hold of the covers, they gave too much under her hand. She felt the little mound, but didn’t feel the solid form of the child, only the soft give of pillows. She snatched the covers away.

The bed was empty. Nothing but wadded-up blankets under the quilt. Flipping on the lamp, she stared at the empty bed, at the pile of blankets. She whirled to look around the room. Jerked open the closet doors. Nothing. Benny’s clothes, hanging on the lowered rod. A heap of toys lying in one corner of the closet. She knelt to look under the bed, thinking he might be hiding—as a joke, or because the commotion of police cars and lights had frightened him.

Nothing under the bed but a toy car and dust. Hurrying down the hall she looked in the bathroom, the linen closet, then searched in her own room. She searched the entire house, up and down, the firewood cupboard, the garage and studio, everywhere a child could hide. Had he gone outdoors, in the middle of the night?

Thinking of the two invaders who had escaped the police, she snatched up her coat from where she’d dropped it on the arm of a chair, made sure the gun was safe in her pocket. Turning on the yard lights, she locked the door behind her and hurried to her car, praying the little boy was there, curled down under the lap robe, asleep.

The car was empty. She popped the trunk lid, looked in. She searched the yard among the dark bushes, calling for him, yet certain that he wouldn’t be hiding out here in the cold, in the middle of the night. When she looked down the hill at Officer Brennan, he’d left his car, was headed up the sidewalk, looking around into the shadows, looking up at her, frowning.

It was Brennan who called the station to report the little boy missing.

39

HOW COULD HE be gone?” Kit said, looking down from the garage roof to where Maudie wandered the yard calling Benny. “He was in bed, asleep. Has she searched the whole house?” They watched Maudie hurry down the street and Brennan hurry to meet her. Their voices were faint, and Maudie sounded nearly breathless. They listened to Brennan call the dispatcher.

Kit said, “Could he be playing games, hiding from her?” “After there were cops all over?” Misto said. “Everyone running, lights swinging everywhere? Not likely. And if he woke scared and is hiding from those men, he’d have found a place in the house, not gone outside in the dark, alone.”

Kit began to shiver, looking down into the bushes and along the street, hopefully listening. There was no sound but Brennan’s voice, talking to the dispatcher, and the whisper of the far sea. “You don’t think someone took Benny?” Kit said in a small voice. “Kidnapped him? But how could they get him out of the house, how could anyone get him away, and we didn’t see them?”

“We can’t see the studio door from here,” Misto pointed out. “Only from the other side of the garage.”

“We’d have heard him,” Kit said. “We’d have heard Benny yelling.”

“Not if he was gagged,” the yellow cat said. “And we don’t know when he disappeared. Was it while the cops were still chasing those men? Or,” he said, “did they double back and take him?” Misto rose. “If they took him out through the studio, we can pick up their trail, we can follow them,” and he headed for the nearest oak, meaning to scramble down its broad trunk.

Kit started to follow him, then spun around and raced up across the roofs for the cottage, for the cell phone. Pawing the phone out from among the leaves, she hit the single button for the Damen house. Rock could track Benny faster, he was bigger, and she had to admit the Weimaraner could outrun even her, over long distances.