Catwalk (3 page)

four

The shed turned out
to be a little art stu
dio, maybe ten by twelve feet. An easel stood next to a small wooden table that held a palette, a ceramic pot blooming with paint brushes, and a dozen or so tubes of paint lined up like colorful little soldiers. The interior smelled of linseed oil. The window let in a little light and revealed a chintz-covered armchair by the back wall. A cat was stretched across the upholstered seat, her back to us, tail hanging limp off the edge of the chair. I signed Jay to lie down, held my breath, stepped to the c
hair.

“Oh, no” I turned toward the sound and watched Alberta slide down the doorframe. I could barely hear her wheeze, “Is she
…
?”

Something in my chest folded in on itself and froze me in place for a moment, but I shook it off and forced myself to step to the chair and lean over. Gypsy tilted her head back and squinted at me. She opened her mouth in a silent meow and I felt my shoulders loosen and my chest reopen.

“She's fine.” I sniffed, blinked hard, and started to laugh. “She's really fine.” I ran the back of my finger along a tiny black back, then a tabby, then a calico marked just like her mama. All three were firmly attached to the food bar. Gypsy pushed her face against my hand, and I leaned in for a nose bump. “But we're going to need a carrier to get them all home, Grandma.”

“What?” Alberta grabbed the doorframe and pulled herself upright. She smoothed her jacket down and crossed the space between us. “Oh.”

Gypsy mewed at her.

“Oh, well done, my dear.” Alberta's face looked the way I felt.

We stood in silence for a moment, and then Jay shifted and I felt as much as heard a barely audible growl. I turned around just as the little shed exploded in light and a voice boomed, “What the hell do you
…
You?”

“Charles!” Alberta stood up and looked at the figure in the doorway.

Jay leaned into my leg, filling the space in front of me and watching the man. The door frame was almost entirely filled by the body behind the big voice, but now he looked more perplexed than threatening. “What are you doing in my wife's studio?”

“Look.” Alberta moved to the side and swept her hand toward the chair. One step and Charles was looking down at Gypsy and her brood.

“Oh, great, more of
them
,” he growled.

Jay echoed him and I signaled my dog to lie down and stay.

The man pulled a plastic grocery bag from a shelf and moved a big hand toward the kittens. Gypsy and Alberta both hissed at him and I shoved my body between him and the chair. Everyone started yelling at once.

“What do you think you're doing?” said Alberta.

“Get out of the way,” said Charles.

“Stop that!” said I.

Jay grumbled but stayed put.

Charles put a hand on my arm and started to push me. Apparently deciding that my “stay” command was now void, Jay stood and took a step toward Charles, the hair of his ruff and mane puffed out like a lion's and a hard glare fixed on the man's face. He barked once, then let a low growl roll from between curled lips. Charles pulled his hand away and retreated a step.

“Get out! Get off my property and take your damn dog with you!”

“Happy to, but you'll have to wait while we get a carrier for Gypsy and her kittens.” I was pleased that my voice came out as steadily as it did, and I kept going. “Alberta, can you go get a small carrier?”

“Right, yes.” She glowered at Charles and said, “Don't you dare touch those kittens, or my cat!”

“Or what? You'll get an injunction?” Charles sneered the final word. He pulled out a cell phone and punched it three times with a thick finger. “I'm calling the police. You're trespassing.”

“Now, Charles, dear. I'm sure there's a misun
…
Alberta?” A tightly coiffed blonde worked her way past the big buffoon. The top of her bouffant might have reached his rib cage if she had been wearing heels instead of glowing pink ballet flats. She glanced from Alberta to the little family in the chair and squealed. “Ohmygoodness! How absolutely adorable! Aren't they adorable, dear?” She giggled at her husband but he seemed to be impervious to cute kittens or gushing wives.

“Louise, what are you doing out here? And how many times have I told you to close the window and lock the door?” To the phone he said, “Yes, I want to report a trespasser, you know, breaking and entering.” He thrust the phone away from his face and said, “Now don't touch them, Louise. They're those wild ones. Carrying God knows what diseases and parasites.” Then to the phone again, “Yes, they're here now
…
No, I don't think we're in imminent danger but I want them to leave and they're refusing
…
I don't think
they're armed but they have a vicious dog
…
How many?” He leaned forward and stared at the cats. “Five. No, seven. There are seven of them.
Yes, I'll be careful.”

Alberta looked at me and rolled her eyes. I shrugged back at her.

Louise knelt beside the chair and addressed Gypsy. “Oo have booteeful babies, yes oo do, yes oo do.”

Charles shoved the phone back into his pocket. He wrapped a hammy fist around his wife's bicep, pulled her onto her feet, and guided her toward the door. “Stop that nonsense. Bad enough that dinner is late because of these people, and you're going to have to change clothes and scrub up before we can eat. Now go clean yourself up and put those clothes in the wash. They're contaminated.”

My lower jaw nearly dislocated itself at that and I started to say something, but the plea in Louise's eyes stopped me. She turned to leave, her shoulders drooping and her face a crimson mask, and Alberta followed her out the door, calling back, “I'll get a crate.”
The two women could have been sisters, they were so well matched in
size and age. They walked together toward the back of the house and, after a quick hug, separated at the steps to the long, multi-leveled deck that ran the length of the house. Alberta hightailed it back the way we came in. I watched Louise stalk up the steps to the back door and wondered what Alberta had said to her. The woman's shoulders no longer drooped. Her posture and movement were stiff, as if all her muscles had tightened into a knot of pure anger. I couldn't be certain at that distance, but her hands seemed to have balled into fists.

Not for the first time, I was happy to have Jay at my side for reasons beyond companionship. Like most Australian Shepherds, he tends to take his time assessing people he doesn't know, but occasionally he makes a snap judgment. The first time he met Tom, he turned himself into a pretzel—his way of saying
Hail fellow, well met!
Now he had his gaze fixed on the man with the big voice, and his expression was not friendly. No one who didn't know Aussies would have noticed that his hackles were up, but I knew that his coat doesn't usually stand away from his body that way. I also knew that he had made another snap judgment, and that gave me the freedom to ignore the ogre in favor of Gypsy and her mewling brood. Jay had my back.

As I knelt next to the chair to admire the little family, a whisper of regret blew through my mind. If I had taken Tom up on his offer to join us, I wouldn't be here almost alone with a belligerent boor.
Oh please
. Devilish Janet drowned out the whisper.
Who saved whom last August, eh, girlie?
That thought, too, was short-lived, because what mattered was not who did what, but that neither Tom nor I had been seriously hurt. But that was months earlier.

That line of thought led my mind to an article I'd read not long before on how to survive a back-country encounter with a large predator. They meant, of course, a mountain lion or bear, but some of the moves would probably work on human bullies. The memory was interrupted when Charles took a loud couple of steps across the plank floor behind me. Jay's hip was pressed into my back and his muscles were vibrating. I whispered “Down” and he oozed to the floor, his body still touching mine.

“You'll be sorry you ever got involved with that woman.” The man's voice was pitched low, almost a snarl, and I fought the urge to stand and face him. In the silence, I recalled what I had read.
Face the animal. Expand,
the article advised.
Grow large. Raise your arms. If you have a jacket, raise it over your head like bat's wings. Yell.

“You're trespassing and I intend to press charges. Police will be here soon. I have friends …”

Keep your wits about you. Don't run, whatever you do. Don't run.

Even if I had wanted to run, I didn't have time.

five

“Sir, are you the
homeowner?” The voice was one I knew. Jay knew
it, too, and I felt him start to wriggle, although he stayed down as I'd
told him to.

“Who the hell are
you
now?” Charles asked, then, “Whatever you're
selling, get out!”

I turned in time to catch the look that flickered over Homer “Hutch” Hutchinson's face, and I smiled. Charles may have called the police, but luck seemed to be on my side. I had met Hutchinson before, when he and his then-partner, Jo Stevens, investigated some murders that were far too close for comfort. We'd gotten off to a less-than inspiring start, but Jay had brought the man around and I'd come to almost like him.

The studio's lighting showed a flush spreading across Hutchinson's fair skin, but other than a quick flicker of jaw muscles, he kept his feelings to himself. He lifted his badge holder toward Charles and said, “Hutchinson. We had a report of intruders. Woman at the house directed us back here.” Two uniformed officers with flash
lights were in the yard, one of them checking the shrubbery near the house, the other apparently watching the studio from a few yards
back.

“About time you got here,” said Charles.

Hutchinson pulled out a notebook and pen. “Your name, sir?”

“Rasmussen. Charles Rasmussen.” He stepped to the side and turned toward me and the animals. “There, you see? I want you to arrest them.”

Hutchinson's eyes went wide when he saw me kneeling by the chair. “Janet?” He looked at Jay, who lay watching Hutchinson with his nubby tail wriggling like a whirligig. “Jay?” Hutchinson paused as if he expected one of us to explain, but we both just grinned at him. “What's going on here?”

“Look for yourself,” I said, gesturing to the chair.

Hutchinson stepped up, and the question written in the lines of his face morphed into a full-out grin. “How old are they?”

“Brand new,” I said. “Alberta went to get a carrier so we can move them.”

“Oh, wow!” Hutchinson bent for a closer look, then straightened as Charles started to yell again.

“For heaven's sake! Do something about this. They're trespassing and that, that,” he hesitated as if searching for the right word, then continued, “that
woman
brought her vicious dog onto my property. I want them arrested.”

Janet demon made me smile, whispering
That the best you can do? Woman?

Hutchinson scratched Jay's chin and said, “Gooboy, gooboy.” What is it about animals that turns big tough men into baby-talking mushballs? Hutchinson stood and turned back toward Charles. “Sir, if someone has gone for a carrier to take the cats, then maybe you can just be patient for a little longer?”

“Patient? First this filthy animal gets into my wife's studio and then these people come tramping in without even asking and bring that vicious dog …”

Jay cocked his head at the word
dog
as if to ask, “What? Vicious? Me?”

“Sir, this dog is a search dog. He has assisted the police in the past.” Hutchinson was stretching the truth just a tad, but that was close enough for me. He gestured toward the window and said, “A screen or closed window would keep animals out of your building. In fact, sir, it's illegal to entice animals into a trap,” but Rasmussen didn't seem to hear him.

“
…
and now my entire evening is ruined, dinner is late, my wife is upset …” He turned around and slammed the window down so hard that the glass rattled.

“I'm not upset.” Louise stood in the doorway. The first thing I noticed
was that she had not changed clothes despite her husband's earlier directive. The second thing I noticed was that her bubble hair had disappeared in favor of a neat little pixie, a much better match for her tiny frame.
That was a wig?
Had to be, unless she'd gone after herself with an electric hedge trimmer in the past quarter hour. “How are the kittens, Jane? It is Jane, isn't it?”

“Janet.”

“Oh, yes, Janet.” She walked past her husband and Hutchinson, but stopped short of Gypsy's chair. “Are they doing well?”

Before I could confirm that they were, Alberta burst in, which put the little studio just about at capacity. It was starting to get a bit stuffy. Alberta pushed past the men and set a small plastic pet carrier on the floor by the chair. “Sorry it took so long. I had to find some clean bedding. Ju
st back from a dog show, you know, and I haven't washed the crate pads.” She stopped to wheeze, then went on. “I found some fleece. I've been saving it to make some tug toys for the dogs. It makes a nice cozy bed for the
little guys.” She stroked Gypsy. “I just hope you'll go in without a fuss, my dear.”

“Just get them the hell out of here.” Charles's face had a purplish cast and I wondered whether he might be working himself up to a cardiovascular event. He turned and stepped toward the door.

Hutchinson looked at his notebook, then at the back of the man who had called him out here. “Sir, one question.”

Charles wheeled around and said, “Yeah, what's that?”

“You said there were seven intruders.”

“That's right.”

Hutchinson looked at Alberta and me. I shrugged. “So where are
the others? I only see two.”

Charles fluttered a hand in our direction. “Two women, that dog
, and those four cats. Seven.” He started to turn away, but stopped and said, “Louise, I'm ready for dinner. Come on.”

“But I want to help get the kitties loaded up.” Louise's voice quavered, as if she were balancing on a fine line between self-determination and self-preservation. “Everything's ready. You can go ahead witho
ut me, dear.”

For a few seconds, no one seemed to breathe, and then Charles spoke one word—“Louise!”—in a tone dark as a scab. Hutchinson stopped writing and looked at Charles. Alberta looked at Louise, then met my eye and shook her head. Louise hesitated, cast a last glance at the kittens, and followed her husband across the lawn and into the house.

Hutchinson broke the silence that gripped us all. “Won't be surprised if we're called out here again.”

“Bastard,” said Alberta, then followed up. “I mean him, not you, officer.”

I thought Hutchinson might laugh at that, but he didn't. He just
nodded and said, “Come on, let's pack these guys up and I'll help you get them home.” He leaned over the chair for another look. “Cats
don't like to get in those cages, do they? How we going to get the mommy in there?”

Alberta picked up the little tabby, kissed him, and placed him gently in the carrier. Gypsy craned her neck to watch, but she didn't get up. I picked up the black kitten and lifted him to my face so that I could smell him and feel him. His body was warm and still slightly damp. Jay nudged my leg, and I held the kitten in front of his muzzle. Gypsy sat up and watched the interaction, but she didn't seem
to be agitated, so I let Jay get a good sniff. After all, he did find them
.

As if she were reading my mind, Alberta said, “Who knows what might have happened if that lummox had found them first?” The thought made me queasy.

“You're a good boy,” said Hutchinson, riffling Jay's fur.

I handed the black kitten to Alberta, and she set him next to the tabby in the crate. She picked up the calico and turned to Hutchinson. “Would you like to hold her?”

“Really?” You'd have thought he'd won the lottery from the look on his face, and when the kitten was nestled into his hands he whispered, “He's so warm.” He looked at me and his eyes were wet. That did it. I was no longer on the fence about Hutchinson. I should have known he was a good guy at heart since Jay liked him.

Alberta said, “She.”

“What?”

“She's a girl. Calicos are girls.”

“Awww.”

I think Hutchinson might have sat there all night holding that kitten if I hadn't said, “Maybe we should get these guys home to your house, Alberta.”

She lifted the kitten from Hutchinson's hands and set her between her siblings. “Okay, mama cat, you want to ride with your kids or walk home?” Gypsy opened her mouth but nothing came out. She hopped off the chair, stepped into the carrier, and arranged herself carefully around her three kittens. Hutchinson closed the carrier, picked it up in both hands, and hugged it against his body. I pulled the door shut behind us, but I left the lights on. It was dark now, and someone had turned off the back porch lights. We needed
the light from the studio, and I didn't much mind running up
Charles's electric bill.