Shirley Murphy - Murphy_Shirley_Rousseau_Cat_Coming_Home_BookFi

As a fresh pot of coffee brewed, and second pieces of birthday cake were cut, a heated discussion ensued as to who would bring what dishes for Christmas Day at the Harpers’ ranch. Soon that morphed into the last two church concerts and the Christmas play at Lori’s school where she had wanted to play Mary, but yet was relieved that she hadn’t been chosen; Lori and Cora Lee planned another visit to her pa at Soledad, the morning of Christmas Eve; and no one mentioned Benny’s soon-to-be Christmas present, not a word, this was a gift Benny knew nothing about. The rescued German shepherd was, at that moment, playing with the Harpers’ two dogs up at the ranch, an eight-month-old pup that his owner couldn’t afford to keep, who needed training and patience but needed, most of all, a little boy to love him.

The day after Pearl was shot, when Dallas and Kathleen searched the Colletto garage, they found a bag of three pairs of fish-scented running shoes. Having presented Carlene Colletto with a warrant and searched the house, they found, hidden among Jared’s last-semester school papers, ticket stubs for a round-trip flight to the Ontario airport in Southern California, under another name, but on the date that Martin and Caroline Toola were shot. The Orange County Sheriff’s Office was still checking rental cars out of Ontario in that name, though it was unlikely Jared’s prints would have remained in the car undisturbed all these months. The fake ID and credit card did not turn up, Jared had hidden them well or destroyed them.

Carlene Colletto had at first refused to let the detectives in. She read the warrant with the judge’s signature twice, scowling, then had called the judge. When Judge Bryant’s secretary assured her there was a legitimate warrant and she was obliged to honor it, Carlene had followed the detectives closely as they searched, crowding them, peering over their shoulders. “The boys can’t have been part of those invasions. Jared was furious that they were happening right here in our little village, he was as disgusted with you police as everyone else.” Carlene didn’t seem to get it, didn’t want to get it; her comments netted her a smile from Dallas, a haughty but amused look from Kathleen Ray.

It was the morning after Benny’s birthday that Dallas, taking a run up to the fishing wharves, to the used-car lot where Jared and Kent had worked, found the dented brown pickup. The lot was tucked between a seafood restaurant and a tool repair, next to the wharves. There were three corrugated-tin storage sheds at the back, and the truck was in the center shed. The prints of both young men were on the dash, the door handles, and the steering wheel. The scent of long-dead fish was ground into the floor mats. A long scrape of black paint decorated the truck’s left front and back fenders. Dallas photographed the vehicle inside and out, made casts of the tires, locked the shed, and strung crime-scene tape around it, effectively impounding the truck until the case was resolved.

As for Misto, he might have missed Benny’s party but he wasted no time settling in with the Firettis, enjoying a welcome rest and Mary’s succulent meals. The Firettis couldn’t get enough of his stories, of his life among the coastal fishermen, of his travels with a long-haul trucker—of passing friendships that had all been conducted in silence on Misto’s part except for an array of meows as he passed himself off as just another friendly, stray tomcat.

But soon after Christmas, the yellow cat would begin to remember other adventures, events he couldn’t account for. He would wake from a nap experiencing a moment as bright as if it had just occurred, but a scene that did not come from his wanderings. He would remember running down cobbled streets that smelled of open sewers, remember hunting birds on rooftops made of straw thatch, times and places he was sure he’d never known, not in this life. The dreams frightened him, but they needled his curiosity, too, and opened a whole new world for Misto. He didn’t know where the tales would lead but surely they fascinated his new human family—and they fired Dulcie and Kit to a frenzy of questions. Only Joe Grey scoffed. The tales of Misto’s travels might be fine, but the gray tomcat didn’t hold with this kind of story, with a cat remembering earlier lives, if indeed there was such a phenomenon. Dulcie laughed and cut her green eyes at him, and held to her own view of what Misto’s dreams revealed about feline pasts.

On Christmas morning, as Misto basked contentedly beneath the Firetti Christmas tree, up in the hills at the Harper ranch an impromptu Christmas breakfast was under way. The invasions were ended—two of the invaders behind bars, one dead, and San Francisco PD was pursuing a solid lead on Kent Colletto. MPPD was back on regular hours, and every officer was in a mood to celebrate. As cars pulled into the ranch yard, and officers and their families and civilian friends carried covered dishes into the house, out in the fenced pasture Benny and his new pup ran, played ball, fell on the ground wrestling, took turns chasing each other. Lessons and training would come later; this was getting-acquainted time, bonding time.

From atop Ryan’s truck, Joe and Dulcie and Kit watched the two young ones, their smiles indulgent and a bit smug. Benny was safe, and they had helped to put away the no-goods. Peace reigned over the small village, their friends were gathered close around them, the air was scented with breakfast delicacies. Turkeys would soon be cooking for Christmas dinner, and all was well in their small portion of the world. Only Kit seemed restless.

She thought about Christmas parties all over the village, about happy, laughing families, about the lavishly decorated trees and beautiful music. Thought about her gift from Lucinda and Pedric that she had found under their tree this morning: a present that Kit would treasure always. She thought about the satisfying pastiche of holiday joys, and knew she should envision nothing more—and yet Kit dreamed of more. There was an empty space in her little cat soul; even with all the riches she had, still something was missing. Thinking about the new year to come, she was so filled with restless longing that she began to pace atop the truck between Dulcie and Joe, paced back and forth, looking out to the wild fields and the vast and rolling sea. She had no clue to what lay ahead, no clue to the magic that waited for her in the coming year; she could only dream her impatient dreams, could only hope and wonder what was there, waiting for her, within the bright new year.

ALSO BY SHIRLEY ROUSSEAU MURPHY

Cat Striking Back

Cat Playing Cupid

Cat Deck the Halls

Cat Pay the Devil

Cat Breaking Free

Cat Cross Their Graves

Cat Fear No Evil

Cat Seeing Double

Cat Laughing Last

Cat Spitting Mad

Cat to the Dogs

Cat in the Dark

Cat Raise the Dead

Cat Under Fire

Cat on the Edge The

The Catsworld Portal

Home is where his heart has always lingered, where he etched his first kitten paw prints,

Where he sucked in his first lick of milk, smelled his first briny scent of the sea,

Tasted, first, the fishy sand and the reek of seagull feathers. Where he mewed his first word and knew that he was different.

—Cat Anonymous

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

CAT COMING HOME. Copyright © 2010 by Shirley Rousseau Murphy.