Cat Playing Cupid (21 page)

I
N THE COURT HOUSE
parking lot, Lindsey waited in her car until Ryan's red truck pulled away and disappeared up the street, and Dallas, who had turned in just behind them, had gone into the station. When she could no longer see the detective's shadow inside the door, she started her car and left the courthouse, heading across the village to Ray Gibbs's condo.

The more she saw of Gibbs, the more frightening he became. The longer Ryder was with him, the more her sister seemed to take on his crude style, and this distressed Lindsey. Ryder didn't need Gibbs's trashy influence on her behavior and her future.

Nearing the condo and slowing, she wasn't sure what she meant to do. Having convinced herself that the body in the ruins was Nina, she wanted to confront Gibbs, confront the two of them.

And…what?

Accuse them? See how they reacted?

Yes, she could do that. Put herself in danger, and force Gibbs to run. Destroy whatever procedure Detectives Garza and Davis meant to follow.

Yet the anger and hurt that seethed inside her, the sense of injustice, made her burn to take action, to do something positive.

Two blocks before she reached the condo she rummaged in her purse for her cell phone, for a bit of added security—and remembered that she didn't have it. Had left it on the dresser. Had thought she wouldn't need it at the locker, left it collecting her clients' messages to play back later.

She thought of going back to get it, but that would take time. For no reason, a sense of urgency filled her. Instead of going back, she looked for a parking place where she wouldn't be seen from the upper windows.

She had no proof that the body was Nina's or that she'd died about the same time as Carson. Or that Ray Gibbs had killed either of them. She was following her own line of reasoning, which could be way off base. But she felt so sure that jealousy had been the motive. Ray jealous because he knew Nina was with Carson. Or Nina jealous because Carson was getting married. Maybe she'd followed him up there. And maybe Ray followed her, to kill them both.

All conjecture. But jealousy was among the most ancient reasons for murder, along with hatred and greed. Basic emotions dating back to the time of the caveman—and that thought brought a bitter smile, because the more she saw of Ray Gibbs the more she saw in him exactly that caveman mentality, an uncaring creature who hadn't quite made the grade to full humanity.

 

W
HEN
C
LYDE PULLED
into their drive behind Ryan's truck, Joe slid out of the roadster on the far side where Mike wouldn't see him and dove into the bushes, his mind filled with Lindsey's determined look as she'd gotten into Ryan's truck with Mike to return to the village—but determined to do what? Had she told Mike she was going straight home, to get to work? After all, it was tax season. From the look on her face, Joe thought she meant to do otherwise.

Mike had left his new Lexus van parked in front of the Damen house early this morning, and now he and Ryan stood beside it talking as Clyde made a show of calling Joe.

Waiting a few moments to make it look good, Joe sauntered out from the bushes as if he'd been there all the while, sleeping or hunting gophers. He glanced at Ryan, a sly and conspiratorial exchange. He rubbed against Clyde's ankles in loving greeting, a nice touch that didn't escape Mike. Then he trotted off across the little front lawn, skinned up the oak tree, and disappeared from their view in acceptable feline style. And he took off across the roofs, heading fast for Gibbs's condo. Clyde had no time to call him back, and couldn't have argued with him anyway in front of his father-in-law.

 

A
T
M
OLENA
P
OINT
PD,
Dulcie knew neither that Sage had run away and Charlie and Kit were following him, nor that at that moment Joe was bolting across the roofs above her, heading straight into trouble. She sat on the
dispatcher's counter sharing Mabel's roast beef sandwich, waiting for an update on what had happened at the ruins, waiting impatiently for Joe.

Looking out the glass door, she saw Ryan and Mike drop Lindsey off, saw Rock in the king cab happily hanging his head out the window. She'd heard enough from Mabel's conversation with Dallas to know that Rock had found the grave, and that both detectives and the coroner had been called. She was excited for and proud of Rock. And she was proud, indeed, of Joe, that he had pulled this off. She was licking roast beef from her whiskers when Ryan's pickup moved away and Dallas's Blazer pulled into the red zone.

Hurrying in, Dallas stopped at the desk to speak to Mabel. A moment later, down the hall, Detective Davis came in from the back parking lot, heading for the front desk.

“You want to bring Gibbs in?” Dallas asked her. “As a person of interest?” That brought Dulcie to full attention. Ray Gibbs? Why would…?

“If he's innocent,” Davis was saying, “he should be eager to find out if that's Nina, to help us ID her—relieved to know what happened to her.”

Oh my,
Dulcie thought.
Was that Nina Gibbs, in that grave?

“Maybe he can come up with the name of her dentist,” Dallas said. “We'll bring him in.”

“And set up a watch on their condo?” Davis said. Dallas nodded. They glanced up as Mike Flannery pulled up out front in his new van, which he'd left at Clyde's early this morning. He came in frowning, stood absently petting Dulcie.

“What?” Dallas said, watching him.

Mike frowned. “Lindsey worries me. When I let her out to get her car, when she thought we were gone, she took off like a scalded cat.” He glanced at Dulcie and grinned as if he'd made a politically incorrect blunder. Dulcie had to wash her paws to hide her amusement.

“It's tax season,” Dallas said, and headed down the hall. “She'll be covered up with work.” He turned into the conference/coffee room, where Dulcie could hear him giving orders to one of the officers to get into civilian clothes, take a civilian car, and start a watch on Gibbs's condo. The tabby sat staring out through the glass door, watching impatiently for Joe, to tell her exactly what had happened. With everyone back from the ruins, from exhuming the body and photographing and taking evidence, Clyde and Joe should be home, and the first place Joe would head would be the station, not to miss any follow-up on the unidentified body. Eagerly Dulcie waited—she waited a long time, but Joe Grey did not appear.

 

J
OE, HAVING DESCENDED
from the roofs to Fourth Street, was crossing a busy side street, padding impatiently along in the wake of a pair of dawdling tourists to avoid being squashed by oncoming cars, when he saw Lindsey's car a block ahead, moving slowly toward the condo. Reaching the curb, he ran, brushing against a woman's bare ankles, startling a scream from her, ran dodging other legs, keeping the tan Mercedes in sight. When Lindsey pulled over, parking beneath a small oak that would shelter her
car from the view above, Joe dived into the shadows of a shop door. Watching her swing out fast and hurry into an antiques shop, the tomcat smiled—she was in such a rush that she'd left the driver's door ajar. Or maybe had left it so on purpose, for a quick reentry?

She stood within the shadows of the shop looking out, watching the condo. Why would she think she'd have to move fast? She must really believe that was Nina in that grave, and that Gibbs or Ryder had killed her. That was a lot of conjecture. And even so, why was she in such a hurry?

Had she seen the spying figure, seen it slip quickly away? Had she
seen
Ryder or Gibbs watching them? Or was she only guessing?

Crouching behind a redwood planter near where she'd parked, Joe settled in to wait. He'd barely fixed on the condo again when Ray and Ryder came hurrying down the outside stairs, Ray carrying a duffel bag, Ryder dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Levi's jacket, and old jogging shoes—he'd never seen her when she wasn't dressed to the teeth. Racing down into the condo's garage, they disappeared. At the same moment Lindsey left the shop, moving fast, heading for her car.

Joe moved faster. Under the cover of the planter and a pair of tourists, he reached the car before her, slipped in through the cracked-open door, was inside and over the backseat, crouching on the floor, when Lindsey swung in.

Quietly she closed the door and started the engine. Behind her, Joe took a chance and reared up—just as a dark blue Honda Accord came nosing up out of the parking garage. He dropped down again, fast. Was that the car
he'd seen at the ruins? Sure looked like it, small navy blue coupe. Ray was at the wheel and Ryder beside him.

Lindsey waited for three cars to pass, putting them between herself and the Honda. Then she took off slowly, following Gibbs and Ryder through the tangle of cars that crept along the narrow streets.

From the floor of the backseat, Joe had no view of the street, only of the shingled, angled rooftops. She turned left, which would send her back toward Ocean. There she turned east, in the direction of Highway 1.

When she stopped for the light at the top of the hill, Joe, staring up through the window, could see the signal change to the green arrow. She turned left, up 1, heading north. Watching the tops of the cypress and pine trees swing by, he had no idea where this ride would take him. He was alone, at the mercy of Lindsey's judgment. And she was alone, possibly following a killer.

She
did
have a phone?
he thought. She must have, she ran her own business, surely she carried a phone. Had she already called the station to tell them what she was doing? Would there soon be officers behind them, to take over this unprofessional surveillance before it turned into a chase?

Or would she think Dallas wouldn't pay any attention to her if she called? Would tell her not to mess in police business, to lay off and go home?

She had her windows cracked, and the smell of pine trees filled the car, soon accompanied by the salty iodine smell of the bay where Highway 1 would be near the shore. Now, on the left, he could see only sky through the windows above him, and once in a while a gull sailing over. He knew they were moving north.

Was Gibbs only heading up the coast to one of the small beach towns? Or
was
he running, making for a connecting freeway, for some distant destination where, if they stopped, a cat might find himself forced out of Lindsey's car for any number of reasons? Where a cat had no backup, where a cat could find himself abandoned in a strange town, alone and on his own?

R
IDING CROUCHED
on the floor of the backseat, Joe couldn't see anything but sky, and, despite the fact that this was a nearly new, upscale car, the noise and vibration on the floor were singularly unpleasant, and he was breathing gas vapors that humans apparently didn't notice. But more frustrating, he couldn't see the road signs. Couldn't see where they were headed, he only knew they were still going north.

Also, unable to see the traffic and see what the driver was doing, he worried about Lindsey's driving skills or the lack thereof. With the way she was changing lanes, he felt sure she was still on Ray's tail, trying to stay out of sight but not lose them.

What was she thinking as she followed them? Wondering if she'd alerted them so they'd drive farther and longer, trying to ditch her? He wasn't proud of himself that, apparently, either Ray or Ryder had been lurking among the ruins all morning and he nearly hadn't seen them at all from his broad vantage point on the roof.

Well, but Rock had missed them, too, even with his tracker's nose. Weimaraners were adept at both sight and scent, bred to both kinds of hunting. But this morning, honed in on his all-consuming objective to track Clyde, the good dog had apparently not seen or smelled their stealthy presence.

Careening up the freeway on the floor of the car, unable to see much but sky, Joe thought that right then, he would sell his kitty soul for a phone to call the station, a chance to whisper into the speaker and hear a cop's friendly voice.

Getting soft,
Joe thought crossly.
Relying too much on human technology.
On the electronic conveniences that had become so much a part of his life. But he liked the luxuries of the human world, no denying it. Liked using the phone both to call in tips to the department and to spy on and harass the perps—to say nothing of calling his favorite deli.

Clyde had once suggested a collar with a tiny, voice-controlled cell phone attached. But despite any excuse they could think of for a cat wearing a phone, such an encumbrance would generate too many prying questions. Besides, he hated the thought of a collar, which seemed to Joe nearly as bad as a straitjacket.

 

T
HE WOODS WERE
growing dark, but the sky was still silver beyond the dark branches that laced above Charlie and Kit; hurrying ever deeper through the black woods, they had tracked Sage for over a mile. Charlie couldn't
believe he'd come this far, hindered by the cast and bandages, yet stayed ahead of them. But Kit still followed his fresh scent, and Charlie, following Kit, stared into every shadow, watching for the young tom's pale coat and the white gleam of bandages.

She had, shortly after starting out, made Kit wait for her, safe in the branches of a pine, while she hurried back for a flashlight and a bottle of water and, feeling silly but thinking better safe than sorry, had strapped on her holstered .38. The woods would soon be pitch-dark, and there were coyotes and sometimes a bobcat that would be a danger to Sage and Kit. Even an occasional cougar visited these wild hills, and cougars living so close to humans had grown bolder than Charlie liked; several dogs had been killed, as well as a neighbor's nice yearling colt; that had truly sickened her.

Kit stopped suddenly, staring back at her. “Did you hear that?” she whispered. “A twig breaking, something moving…” Then Kit leaped ahead so fast that Charlie had to run to keep up and made too much noise, stepping on twigs. Unlike Kit, she couldn't run in silence; blackberry vines clawed at her, tripping and slowing her. The next time Kit spun around, Charlie stopped dead still. This time they'd both heard it. A scream. Loud and blood chilling. A cat's scream of rage and challenge—answered by the high, yip-yipping of coyotes.

Hastily Charlie scooped up Kit to keep her safe, tucking her flashlight under her arm and releasing her holstered .38. Another series of yips and another scream of rage, and the dry scrambling of claws on a tree trunk. Kit clung to Charlie's shoulder with claws deep in her jacket.
The enraged scream could only be Sage, and as she swung the light around, snarls greeted them. Two big coyotes were leaping up the trunk of an oak tree. Above them Sage clung barely out of reach, barely keeping his balance on the thin branch, his bandaged leg hanging down as the beasts scrabbled and leaped at him.

Kit tensed on her shoulder, ready to leap at them but Charlie dropped the light and grabbed her. Kit fought to get free. Charlie held her tight, the beam from her fallen flashlight canting off uselessly into the treetops, barely showing the beasts—until suddenly the larger coyote spun around and faced her, his eyes caught in the light. He was nearly on her, Kit clawing into her shoulder to leap at him, he was inches from her, he seemed right in her face when she fired.

He dropped, twisting, then came at her again. She ran backward away from him, fired again, two shots. He dropped and lay still. His companion, who had paused among the trees, suddenly charged her. This was behavior she would not have expected from coyotes. She fired twice more and he dropped. Only one shot left. Feeling in her pocket for her reloader, she stood staring down, sickened, at the two dead coyotes lying at her feet, hoping there were no more. On her shoulder, Kit was shivering.

“Could you ease up a little, Kit? Before you claw me to death?”

Kit eased back her claws and lay more gently across Charlie's shoulder. Above them, Sage still clung to the branch, his eyes huge, his injured leg dangling. Charlie holstered her gun and reached up to him. She got one
hand on the pale little cat but was afraid to drag him off, afraid to injure him even more.

 

I
T GREW HOTTER
on the floor of the car. Traffic was heavy and fast. Lindsey did a couple of uncomfortable swerves that made Joe wonder if he'd get out of this in one piece, with his sleek silver hide intact. He had no idea whether she'd lost the navy blue Honda or was still on its tail, but from the way she was changing lanes, ducking in and out of traffic, he was convinced she still had them. Twice he heard her rummaging in her purse. Looking for her phone? Trying to find it down among the incredible debris women carried in their purses? Or…? Oh, hell! She hadn't left it at home?

She didn't have her phone? She hadn't called the station? No help was on the way? He remembered Mike laughing once, because she so often left her phone at home.

“What good is a phone, Lindsey, if you don't carry it?” They'd been cozied up after dinner, on the couch, Joe and Rock stretched out on the rug before the fire.

“I carry a phone when something's urgent,” Lindsey had said, “which isn't often. You think that's weird?”

“I guess not. Maybe that's sensible,” Mike said, frowning and drawing her close. Sometimes this budding romance made Joe feel warm and safe, at other times he'd wondered where it was headed, and had wished both he and Mike knew Lindsey better. Had she scammed Mike once, then left him? And now was deceiving him again?

They were approaching Watsonville, he could tell by the smell of green vegetable crops and strawberries. If he could see out the window, there would be miles and miles of strawberries. She changed lanes again suddenly and sped off the freeway, slowing as she curved up the ramp. Above him through the window loomed a sign announcing
FOOD/GAS/LODGING
. She changed lanes fast again, and swung into a gas station; gas fumes were sucked into the car. She made several turns, as if pulling around back. Moving out of sight of Ray and Ryder? If, indeed, she was still with them.

When she left the car, when Joe heard her walking away, he peered up through the back window, ready to dive down again. She moved away fast, glanced once at the gas station's phone booth, which stood in plain sight, but didn't pause.

Across the side street was a Burger King, and there was the navy blue Honda, parked at the far side. Through the reflections of the restaurant window, he could just see Ray and Ryder standing at the counter.

Lindsey, keeping several parked cars between herself and the Burger King, hurried inside the gas station's little convenience store.

Now it was hard to keep her in sight through the sign-cluttered glass. Slipping up onto the back of the front seat where he could see better, Joe lay along it watching her speaking with the clerk behind the counter, an overweight grandmotherly type. The way the signs were placed, the clerk was more visible. Grandmother or not, she looked surly and rude. Soon they were arguing. Joe guessed that was a pretty stressful job, behind a gas station cash regis
ter, never knowing when some innocent-looking customer would pull a knife or a gun and you'd be cleaning out the till, praying he wouldn't kill you after you'd handed over the cash.

The clerk shook her head again, scowling at Lindsey. Lindsey seemed to be pleading with her while at the same time turning to look out the front window, across to the Burger King. Joe could still see Ray inside, watched him step down a short hall, maybe toward the restrooms. Or maybe there was a phone back there? Who would he be calling? Had they made Lindsey? Had he some plan to get her off his tail?

When Joe peered into the convenience store again, Lindsey was doling out money to the clerk. The next minute she was dialing the phone on the counter, making Joe wish he could read lips. Her eyes hardly left the Burger King. Was she calling the station? Had she dialed Mike? His ears pricked up when she got someone on the line. She was talking fast, using her free hand to gesture across the street as if the listener could see her. She hung up quickly as Ryder and Ray came out of the Burger King carrying two white paper bags.

Slipping out the door, she double-timed it behind the gas pumps and slid into her car. Joe was on the floor again, crouched behind the seat, tucking his white paws under, keeping his white nose down. As Lindsey slammed the door and started the engine, he would have given one of his nine lives to know if she'd reached the department. To know if they could expect some backup before things got dicey.