The man was tall and indeed very handsome, with a smooth, angled face and short, well-styled black hair that, Lucinda would say, had been artfully blow-dried. He wore a pale tan shirt, powder blue tie, and a beautiful cream-colored suit. His sleek loafers looked like the handmade Italian shoes that Pedric liked to admire in the most elegant village shops. Beautiful shoes that were dulled now with dust from the yard. He approached the stables, smiling up at Ryan, but stopped abruptly when Rock burst out of the shadows growling, moving toward him stiff-legged.
Beyond the Weimaraner at the pasture fence the Harpers' two big dogs stood with ears flattened and lips drawn back in twin snarls. Ryan shouted at Rock from the roof, and swung on to the ladder; the silver hound backed off a step, his head lowered, teeth still bared.
Charlie had returned to the kitchen; she came to the window seat where she could watch, and she had her cell phone open. Kit thought, from the bulge in her pocket, that she might have additional protection, too.
Ryan came down the ladder, scowling. "What do you want, Roman?" Rock approached the man stiff-legged, snarling-but then the dog paused, sniffing. He glanced up at his mistress uncertainly, sniffed again at the man, and his short, docked tail began to wag.
The stranger smiled wryly, and knelt in the dust, knelt right down, facing Rock, and began talking to him, making little lovey sounds, kissy-baby sounds to the big Weimaraner. Kit and Dulcie watched Rock, amazed. The big dog had gone totally mushy, smiling and wagging and pushing right up to the man. Dulcie was so irritated she was shifting from paw to paw, growling-as if she'd like to race out there and tackle the man herself-and give Rock a whack on the nose. Pedric and the three women watched the scene, unbelieving.
Ryan took in the scene without expression and commanded Rock to heel. The cats knew she would deal with Rock later, in a little training session. Her voice was cold and clipped.
"What do you want, Roman?"
"It's Sunday, Ryan. I'm amazed to see you working on Sunday."
"Why would you come here? I didn't ask you here."
"I came by to see if you'd have dinner with me. For old times' sake?"
"There are no old times. I told you in the city I don't have the time or patience for you. Nor the inclination. I am involved, Roman. Do you understand that? Do I need to spell that out?"
In the kitchen, the little party glanced at each other. Too bad Ryan's lovely big bodyguard had suckered up to the man. No one could understand what was wrong with Rock; this was not his way, Rock was fierce as tigers when it came to Ryan. Dulcie and Kit looked at each other wishing, not for the first time, that the big, beautiful, intelligent hound could speak, that Rock could tell them what was going through that incomprehensible doggy mind.
14
Clyde liked to fix a big Sunday breakfast for himself and Joe and the household animals, preparing special, vet-approved treats for Rube and the three cats, who could not eat the exotic foods on which Joe Grey thrived. This morning he cooked, but his heart wasn't in it. Rube was not in his usual place on the throw rug before the kitchen sink, drooling as he waited; he would never be there again.
Sitting on the breakfast table in the middle of the Sunday paper, Joe looked sadly at Rube's empty place on the rug, which the cats had left between them. Despite Clyde's presence at the stove and the good smell of scrambled eggs and bacon and sauteed chicken livers, everything in the kitchen seemed flat and off-key. Joe felt so low that he hadn't even clawed the funnies and front page to enliven Clyde's morning.
He looked at Clyde hopefully. "Will Ryan be coming for breakfast?" Ryan could always cheer them up.
"You can see I only set two plates," Clyde snapped. "She's working up at Harper's, getting the barn roof ready to lift." Joe looked at Clyde and shrugged. He looked at the nicely prepared breakfast plate that Clyde set before him, the bacon artfully arranged between the scrambled eggs and the golden chicken livers. Clyde had even grated cheese on his eggs, a nice morning start with plenty of comforting cholesterol.
But he didn't feel like eating.
Setting his own plate on the table, Clyde put the cats' dishes aside to cool, then set them down on the rug. The cats looked up at him, then the two older cats turned away, headed back into the laundry, and crawled up into Rube's lower bunk. Snowball just sat, hunched and miserable.
"He's out of pain," Clyde said. "You wouldn't have kept him here when he was so tired out. When he looked at you, he was all but saying he was ready."
Joe nodded. "I know. I know he's better off. But they don't understand. We all miss him."
Clyde looked hard at Joe. "You're down about more than Rube, too." He looked into Joe's eyes. "When you went out early, I thought… What happened? You're ready to claw the world apart."
Joe didn't usually share with Clyde the early stages of an investigation. Clyde could be so judgmental. And talk about worry, talk about overprotective. But this morning…
"That woman…"Joe began.
"What woman? What woman would you see before daylight, before… Chichi? What?" Clyde set down his coffee cup. "What did she do to you?
"Or what did you do to her? What have you done, now?"
That was the reason he didn't share crime investigations with his housemate. "Eat your breakfast," Joe said. "Then we'll talk."
Clyde reached into his shirt pocket and produced a slip of paper. "Message," he said. "Almost forgot. You had a message."
He said this with that bemused expression that drove Joe up the wall. Joe waited, trying to be patient.
"Lucinda called. Early, before they picked up Wilma at the hospital and headed for Charlie's." Clyde glanced at the scrap of paper. "These are Lucinda's exact words, exactly as Dulcie told her. 'The prints haven't come in yet, on either man. Harper and Garza both think the high school was a diversion.'"
Clyde sat looking at Joe. "You want to fill me in? I heard the sirens last night, I saw the fire, but I… my mind was on Rube."
"It's part of what I have to tell you," Joe said. "Eat your breakfast." He knew he'd have to give Clyde the whole story. The minute Clyde picked up the paper he'd see it-the high school fire and the jewelry store burglary were smeared all over the front page. Pawing at the front section, Joe turned it around and shoved it over in front of Clyde: color pictures of the broken store window and showcases; and spectacular, bright flames licking up from the high school.
"Read it," Joe said. "Then I'll tell you about Chichi."
Clyde glanced at the headlines then quickly skimmed the articles, giving Joe an incredulous look. "You're telling me Chichi was part of this? Come on, Joe. The woman might be…"
Joe licked cheese from his whiskers. "She might be what? Only a small-time thief because she only stole five hundred bucks from you? She wouldn't do anything worse?" He sat looking at Clyde, one paw lifted. "Some people will just steal a little, but not a lot? Is that what you're saying?"
"Well she didn't exactly steal the money from me, she…"
Joe stared, silent and unblinking.
"Well," Clyde said. "Well… maybe she stole it." He returned his attention to the front page. Joe returned to his breakfast. Clyde could be annoyingly argumentative and opinionated, but if properly directed he usually managed, after a little time, to face facts and be reasonable.
”So,” Dulcie said when Ryan's visitor had gone, spinning out of the yard in his black Alpha Romeo, leaving a cyclone of dust clouding the kitchen windows. "What did he want? Who is he? Why did he come here and force himself on Ryan?"