From the roof of Molena Point PD, Joe Grey hardly noticed the old man; he seemed vaguely familiar, some local Joe had seen around. The tomcat had backed halfway down the oak trunk by the department’s glass door when Charlie Harper and Joe’s own housemate, dark-haired Ryan Flannery, came out, her tousled bob lightly flecked with sawdust, her carpenter’s tools still hanging at her belt. Charlie Harper’s red hair was tied back with a pink scarf, she was wearing a pink T-shirt, new jeans, and sandals. Looked like she’d meant to go out to lunch with Max and had been stood up by some emergency or official appointment. Too bad. Some distance behind them, the chief appeared, dressed in uniform as was Detective Dallas Garza, the two heading for the chief’s squad car. Max turned to wave to Charlie, and she blew him a kiss. He glanced at Joe, frowned, and the two cops were gone, turning out into village traffic—and Joe would have to wait until they returned to get any information about the woman he had found, or about the library snooper. Maybe they’d have something soon, with McFarland tailing the guy.
He could slip in the station and prowl Max’s desk. But eavesdropping when the detectives were present was better than snooping alone through the chief’s notes and reports. Listening to Max and his staff toss a problem around while Joe himself sat reading Max’s handwritten notes and scanning the computer screen usually added up to a bundle of facts worth waiting for.
Now, he dropped on down the oak tree and followed Ryan and Charlie who looked like they were headed for lunch. Ryan had just come from work, khaki shirt and work pants, and heavy boots. When she saw Joe, she grinned and beckoned to him. He followed them down the sidewalk and into the flowery little tearoom that Ryan had said no cop would ever be caught entering. As the door swung closed Ryan caught the heavy glass, Joe slid through, and they made for an isolated corner table, passing the elderly tearoom cat asleep on the window seat. The old fellow hardly stirred, hardly opened his eyes when he caught a whiff of Joe Grey. There were no other cats in the room at the moment, though most of the tables were taken.
Joe leaped into the corner chair between Ryan and Charlie, and Ryan ordered for him, Joe’s ear twitch of agreement at a smoked-salmon sandwich, hold the bread, and a crab salad, hold the mayo. When the waitress had left, Charlie launched softly into a discussion of facts that Ryan must already know, thus telling Joe what he hadn’t had a chance to hear in the chief’s office where he’d been headed.
Charlie said, “Max meant to get to the hospital early, see that battered woman again that the medics picked up, then have a quick lunch. But he’s running late for some meeting, he stayed at the hospital quite a while. She’s in bad shape, the guy almost broke her neck. She was lucky someone found her.” She didn’t glance down at Joe but she stroked him lovingly—and Joe could feel her shudder, as he did himself, thinking of the woman nearly buried alive. He looked up at Charlie and rubbed his head back and forth against her caressing hand.
“She’s still on life support,” Charlie said. “She can hardly speak, her throat is so injured. Looks like she speaks Spanish more easily, maybe one of the Latin American countries. Dallas will sort out what the other guys miss.”
“What made her attacker leave so suddenly?” Ryan said softly, looking down at Joe Grey. “Lucky for her someone came along. I’ve seen enough grisly murders, but to be buried alive . . .” She leaned down to hug Joe Grey and kiss the top of his head. It embarrassed him for her to kiss him, even when they were home alone. She said, “I wish I’d learned Spanish when Dallas was living with us.” Ryan’s two uncles had moved in with her dad and the three little girls after their mother died. Dallas was her mother’s brother, the Latino half of the family, with his dark hair and nearly black eyes. Ryan had the dark hair, but her green eyes were like her dad’s, Mike Flannery, and his brother Scotty’s. The Scots-Irish part of the family. And tempers to match, Joe thought, smiling.
“And then later this morning,” Charlie said, talking to Ryan as she filled Joe in, “another street robbery. Victim was carrying a canvas bag with cash, another bank deposit.”
That brought the tomcat to attention. He’d heard nothing about this. He must have been lolling with the kiddies at story hour when that went down. Maybe that was where the siren they’d heard was heading.
“It was out in the valley,” Charlie said. “That victim’s in emergency, too.”
“I think . . .” Ryan paused, looked startled as the front door opened and their new neighbors, the brown-haired little girl and her plain, unhappy mother, came in. Mindy spotted Charlie and took off running. She threw her arms around her redheaded neighbor, who often rode the trails with her—but Thelma grabbed the child, pulled her across the room, and sat down with their backs to them but where they could see out the window. Mindy looked around at Joe as if she would grab him, too, but at her mother’s look she sat still.
Joe just looked at her. He had had enough of the Luther family since Thelma and Nevin and Mindy moved in with Varney. Nevin was the youngest, Varney the middle brother. He’d moved into the rental across from Joe Grey’s house about six months ago. Neither Joe, Ryan, nor Clyde had had a full night’s sleep since the other three joined him. The two brothers were always at it, shouting and arguing over nothing. Joe, when he was in at night—which wasn’t often—had slept in the kitchen with Snowball and the big silver Weimaraner where they couldn’t hear so clearly; the aging, loving, nonspeaking little white cat considered the Weimaraner her protector. She slept nearly buried between the big dog’s chest and paws. Joe Grey would lie draped over Rock’s flank, their gray coloring so similar it was hard to tell cat from dog.
“I keep wondering,” Ryan said softly, “if there’s a connection between the battered woman and the street robberies. I don’t know why there would be, except that during the car festival there’s big money around. And these last three robberies, two of them just before the bank closed, were all large cash deposits from restaurants that are crowded to the hilt. Bar owners getting rid of their surplus cash.”
Restaurant bars usually got rid of what cash they could before the crowds gathered. Dinner customers most often paid by credit card, while those at the bar shelled out greenbacks. Joe knew that from slipping into any number of village restaurants, watching the crowd from some dark corner as he spied on a suspect, collecting information that he could pass anonymously to Max Harper—if he wasn’t tossed out by the maître d’, thrown unceremoniously out in the parking lot, angry and clawing. Ryan glanced at him, a teasing look in her eyes. “This latest robbery just after the bank closed, no sign of a witness, even the phantom snitch missed the action. But then, that was clear up the valley.”
“But there was a witness,” Charlie said, looking at Ryan. “That robbery, after the Mid-Valley Bank closed. Though the witness didn’t see much, she couldn’t run after him. She was way pregnant and pushing two kids in a stroller—Max said so pregnant that if she’d chased the robber she might have delivered right there on the street. She whipped out her phone and called the dispatcher, but the small squad working that area was clear up the valley, and the guy got away.