Had she lied to the L.A. detectives? Maybe lied so she’d be free to leave L.A., so the police wouldn’t press her to stay in the city, under their protection? Or if Maudie was the only one who could identify the killer, would she lie to protect herself, so the killer wouldn’t come after her?
But this was all conjecture. Probably in the dark night, Ryan thought, Maudie had seen nothing more than the flashes of the gun, she was most likely telling the truth, had told L.A. everything she knew. After all, who more than Maudie would want to see the killer pay for those brutal murders?
35
IT WAS HARDLY light when the first good smells of party food filtered up to Joe’s tower from the kitchen below. The tomcat woke, yawning, drinking in the scents of frying meat and onions. Ryan and Clyde would be putting together the tamale pie, and probably the taco fillings, for the Christmas party. Out across the roofs, long streaks of sunrise bloomed beneath a cover of heavy gray clouds. But it wouldn’t rain, he couldn’t smell rain in the offing. No matter what the weather gurus might think, Joe knew better; he knew the sky would clear before the day’s festivities. Rising from among his pillows, his mind on the feast to come, he headed in through his cat door onto the heavy rafter. Dropping down to Clyde’s desk, he hit the floor and galloped down the stairs.
Clyde was just setting the last of five huge casseroles on the counter, to be baked later. Joe reared up, looking. “You leave any for my breakfast? I’d be happy to lick the pot.”
“It isn’t fully cooked yet,” Clyde said, glancing at the casseroles.
“It’s cooked enough for me.” He leaped up to the counter as Clyde, having indeed saved some back, set down a small plate of the half-cooked delicacy for him. Besides the tamale pie and tacos, there would be all manner of food for the buffet, a ham, chicken pies from Jolly’s Deli, and a variety of salads and casseroles that their friends would bring, all carefully packed in Styrofoam coolers. Dinner would go on all afternoon in a marathon buffet as officers came and went, taking their hasty breaks. Every available officer would be on duty. With all the events scheduled, this could be a perfect time for an invasion—not a pleasant end to a happy holiday celebration, to return home in a happy mood and find unwelcome visitors offering a dark side to the usual Christmas greetings.
As soon as Ryan and Clyde had opened up the big round table in the kitchen and laid out the napkins and plates and silverware, Ryan disappeared into the guest room. Joe followed her, leaping up onto the wicker desk among boxes of Christmas cards and unwrapped gifts. Though their tree was up, filling a corner of the living room, and Clyde had mailed his cards to favorite clients, Ryan hadn’t started her own cards or wrapped her gifts. “Why the hurry?” Joe said. “Christmas is a whole week away.”
“I don’t need the sarcasm,” she said, scratching his ear. The bed was covered with boxes and bags from her favorite village shops, and with rolls of red and green Christmas paper. Beneath the wide windows, the wicker game table held boxes of Christmas cards, stamps, and sheets of computer-printed address labels. She had set up a folding table nearby, where her scissors and tape and fancy tags were lined up awaiting a frenzy of gift wrapping. A box of tall red Christmas candles stood on the nightstand, scenting the room with bayberry. “I was supposed to start the new house up on Third next week,” she said. “I put them off until after New Year’s. Between it and our own remodels, I’m lucky to have even a start on Christmas. I hate being stressed during the holidays.”
Joe looked at the organized start she’d already made, and thought about the nine houses she’d remodeled just this last year, and could only admire Ryan’s efficiency. If she’d been a cat, she’d be a skilled mouser, every move keenly planned—the little beasts wouldn’t have a prayer. Rubbing against her hand, he said, “Thanks for loaning us the phone. And for not asking questions.”
“What’s the point in asking? You’ll tell me only what you want me to hear.”
What he’d told her was that he needed to borrow a cell phone, just for today. She’d looked at him for a long time. He’d be around the house today, so why would he need a phone? He could use the house phone, could find privacy upstairs if he needed to make a call. And who would he call? Dulcie and Kit would be right there, as well as half the department, the chief, the detectives. But now, too curious to remain polite, she did ask.
“Is the phone for that yellow tomcat?”
Silently Joe looked at her.
“I’ve seen him on the roofs. I thought … the way he acted …” Her eyes widened, then she laughed. “So he is like you!” And then she couldn’t help it, that one question burst into multiple questions. “Where did he come from? He has to be new to the village. He’s not part of the wild clowder from up in the hills?” She shook her head. “I said I wouldn’t ask, but …” She looked down at the table, feeling shy suddenly, and spread out the first sheet of bright wrapping paper.
Joe watched her with a crooked smile. Ryan was as curious as a cat herself, no wonder they were friends. Sitting on the desk watching her wrap Christmas gifts, he told her what he knew about the yellow tomcat, about Misto’s journey from Soledad prison hiding in Jared’s T-Bird. Told her what Misto had learned in prison about Maudie’s nephew, Kent, and about Marlin Dorriss. “Right now,” Joe said, “Misto’s watching Maudie’s house, that’s why he needs the phone. She’s had one mysterious burglary, and her keys have vanished. If a burglar has them, he need only unlock the door and step in.” He couldn’t understand why Maudie hadn’t changed the locks, he didn’t think that was an oversight. Made him wonder if Maudie wanted someone to enter, perhaps when the house was empty or in the small hours, unbidden. “I don’t know what this is about,” he said uneasily, “but with no one home, with Maudie and Benny here for dinner, and Jared with his family, it can’t hurt to watch the place.”
The phone Ryan had stashed on the cottage roof was an old, discarded model that the local electronics shop had taken in trade, to pass on to old folks in home care facilities. The shop owner was a friend of hers, she’d done some carpentry work for him. The phone had a new battery and was in good working order, and she’d set up a temporary account for it under an assumed name. She’d added to its convenience by keying in one-digit operation for the Damens’ house, Wilma and Dulcie, Max’s and Dallas’s cell numbers, and her own cell. And now, to cheer the old cat while he was on watch alone in the branches of Maudie’s oak tree, she said she’d take him a plate of selections from the buffet, leave it on the cottage roof.
“Where did that cat come from before the prison?” Ryan said. “Is he all alone?”
Hopping from the desk to the table among the tangle of bright Christmas wrappings, Joe sat down on the gold paper she was folding around a box. “I don’t know the whole story, but you can bet Kit will find out.” He went silent when he heard Max’s voice just out in the hall, and then Dallas. They were talking about day patrol, the voices coming from the alcove just beside the stairs. Other voices, from the front door, cut in as more guests arrived, and then Max was saying, “… to know why she checked out of the motel. Maybe you made her nervous.”
Dallas laughed. “I’ll check the other motels. Long shot, though, that she’s registered under her own name.”
“I had a call from L.A.,” Max said, “just as we were leaving the house. Detective Lakey. He said they went over the Beckman offices again, found a false compartment under the center drawer of Pearl’s desk. Pearl’s prints were on the metal plate that holds the false bottom in place—and so were Caroline Toola’s.”