Dallas laughed. “Not just to mop up, this time.” Kit guessed it must have been frustrating, one invasion after another and not one fingerprint except the victim’s own, or that of a neighbor or service person, and no match to the fibers and debris they’d bagged and logged in. “Now,” Dallas said, “with Jared and Dorriss off the street and a BOL out on Kent, we’re getting somewhere. Maybe the two in jail will ID the fourth guy—or maybe that will turn out to be the woman.”
Kit thought it might. The figure that had vanished so fast, even before Arlie was arrested, was tall and thin and might indeed have been the woman.
Kit had already phoned and awakened Clyde to tell Joe the news. And to brag a little, to say that it was their call, hers and Misto’s, that had brought the cops on time. From the brightness of Misto’s eyes and the way he lashed his tail, it was clear he liked this new twist to his life. She bet he’d never dreamed of working alongside a bunch of cops, that he’d never imagined such an exciting interaction with humans. Now he looked almost like a young cat, his smile as excited as that of a frolicking kitten.
ALFREDA MEIERS WAS so upset after the attempted invasion and all the fuss with the police, so nervous that two men had escaped and might return, that after Detective Garza took her statement, she wanted only to lock herself in the house and rest. But even before Detective Garza departed, Maudie Toola came down the hill and invited her up to her house for a cup of tea and a slice of pie, offering to make up the couch in her living room, on this night when both women needed company. Alfreda went back with her for the tea and pie, carefully locking the doors behind her. She felt almost comfortable, with Officer Brennan on guard, sitting there in his squad car. She told Maudie she would visit for a little while, try to calm her nerves, then would go on home. Not that she could sleep, but she could lie down, prop a chair against the bedroom door, get a little rest. She didn’t know what those men would have done to her; she didn’t want to think about that. She and Maudie hurried up the street and into Maudie’s house, looking back to see Brennan nod and wave to them.
Maudie settled Alfreda at the kitchen table and put the kettle on, then went to make doubly sure the studio door was properly locked. She found the grass trail through the studio disturbed as if someone had walked through it. But Detective Kathleen Ray had photographed the damp lawn clippings, so maybe she’d scattered the grassy trail, hadn’t been careful—though that did seem odd. Detective Ray seemed exceptionally careful in how she went about her work.
In the kitchen she laid out cups and plates, sugar and silverware on a tray. Neither of them took milk. She left Alfreda cutting the pecan pie that she and Benny had made, and went to light the gas log in the living room and draw up the little tea table she liked to use, opening out its two small leaves. She didn’t remember leaving the table standing out so far from the cupboard door; she preferred it snugged against the closet that was meant for the storage of firewood, and which she didn’t use. She’d thought of asking Ryan to convert the space into bookshelves, and maybe she’d do that. Maybe Benny had been playing in there, she thought as she hurried upstairs to check on the child.
In the dark bedroom, she wanted to whisper to Benny, wanted tell him everything was all right, in case he had awakened at some point, after the commotion was over. But apparently not, he was sound asleep, snuggled down with the covers pulled up, and she moved away and let him be. She stood a moment enjoying the little-boy scent of him, smiling because he slept as deeply as had his daddy. Martin had never awakened to sounds in the house; he could have slept through an alien attack. At last she turned away, went back downstairs to her guest.
Alfreda had cut the pie and poured the tea. “I’m better off doing something,” the frail woman said as Maudie carried the tray in before the fire. “Tomorrow I’ll be steadier, I’ll be better in the daylight.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay here for a few days,” Maudie said, though in truth she hoped Alfreda would refuse. The woman was so frail, seemed so in need of nurturing. But in fact, Maudie’s own scenario called for solitude, she would prefer the house empty; she was relieved when Alfreda shook her head.
“Thanks, Maudie, but I’ll be fine. Tomorrow I’m to help with the Christmas bazaar, and that’s good, that I keep busy.” She smiled wanly at Maudie. “I should feel relieved the police arrested two of those men. Detective Garza said there was little chance the other two would go on with these invasions now.
“He said there could be more than four of them, but from the information they have, they don’t think so.” Alfreda seemed to be talking to ease herself, to calm her fears. Maudie listened and nodded and let her go on, though Alfreda’s rambling certainly didn’t calm her own fears. When she heard Benny cry out in his sleep, she hushed Alfreda to listen, but then there was nothing more. If he were having one of his nightmares, he’d make more noise than that, would be crying for Grandma, over and over. They talked for nearly an hour, about Benny and the new school, about Maudie’s son David. If Alfreda knew about the shooting, about Martin and Caroline, she didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry. Maudie avoided talking about her quilting, too, she didn’t want to have to drag a neighbor whom she hardly knew through her new studio. When Alfreda headed home, Maudie watched her hurry down the block past the squad car, where she waved to Officer Brennan, then disappear into her own house. Maudie pictured her carefully locking her door; she locked her own door, rinsed their cups and plates and put them in the dishwasher, and headed upstairs. She’d left the light on in her room, but before she got ready for bed she stepped into the dark guest room one last time, to check on Benny.
She hadn’t admitted to Alfreda how nervous she was. In a way, she wished Alfreda had stayed, even wished she had put fresh sheets on the guest bed and made Alfreda comfortable there. Not that the frail woman would be any protection. Do I just want the company? Maudie thought, annoyed at herself. Want to circle the wagons, even decrepit wagons, because I don’t know who or what will appear out of the night, out of the empty dark?
Benny was still cocooned down among the covers. Amazing how soundly he slept. She thought she shouldn’t be calling this room the guest room, it was Benny’s room now. But it didn’t fit a child; this wasn’t a child’s room, with its grown-up, too formal furniture. Benny needed a child’s furniture: toy chests, a sturdy desk, maybe one of those bunk sets with a built-in ladder, something a boy could use, not just tolerate.
Benny seemed drawn to the little sewing room down at the end of the hall, which Maudie was using for storage as she unpacked boxes. The room was tiny, maybe eight by nine; Benny like to slip in between the boxes and curl up on the deep bay window seat. Maybe for a few years he’d prefer that room, at least until he outgrew the space. She glanced at her watch. It was just past midnight. Guided by the night-light, she reached to straighten Benny’s covers.
As she took hold of the covers, they gave too much under her hand. She felt the little mound, but didn’t feel the solid form of the child, only the soft give of pillows. She snatched the covers away.
The bed was empty. Nothing but wadded-up blankets under the quilt. Flipping on the lamp, she stared at the empty bed, at the pile of blankets. She whirled to look around the room. Jerked open the closet doors. Nothing. Benny’s clothes, hanging on the lowered rod. A heap of toys lying in one corner of the closet. She knelt to look under the bed, thinking he might be hiding—as a joke, or because the commotion of police cars and lights had frightened him.