She could have gone back for the Cadillac, which Arlie had left parked four blocks from Maudie’s, but by now the cops had probably found it. Sliding into the leased Jaguar, she was glad now that he was such a damned high roller he had to have a second car. She’d started the Jag, liking its faint but deep-throated rumble. The garage door made hardly any sound. She’d backed out, closed it with the remote, and driven sedately away—thinking Arlie wasn’t such a high roller now, with his ass cooling in the local tank. As for her, her next stop would either gain her the ledger copies and bonds or drop her straight into the cops’ laps with Arlie.
Leaving the car on a tiny side street, she’d walked the three blocks to Maudie’s. The yard lights were still on. One cop car was still parked in front of the invasion house four doors down, and she’d drawn back against an oak tree. Stayed still, then, as car lights came up the street and that contractor’s pickup pulled up in front of Maudie’s. What was this about? Ryan Flannery and her husband got out, they had that big gray dog with them. They took the dog inside, and in only a little while they came out again through the studio, the dog on a leash and moving fast, jerking Flannery up the hill following the route along which she’d dragged Benny—the dog was tracking Benny. A chill had iced her, she’d wanted to turn and run.
She wasn’t sure a tracking dog could follow a moving car. Unless there was scent on the outside of the car, she thought, remembering Benny clinging so desperately to the tire. If the dog picked that up and got to the wreck, where they’d been on foot again, he’d find their trail. Likely he’d find the kid. But would he keep on, then, tracking her? She’d watched until they disappeared, then looked to where Maudie stood at the kitchen window, looking out. Pearl could picture her twisting a dish towel, worrying over the kid. Using the key she’d taken, she’d slipped inside, and into the kitchen—and here she was, she and Maudie having a nice little chat, Maudie whining about the boy.
But now it was time to move on, she’d been here long enough, she wanted to get away before they found the kid and came back. “Get dressed,” she told Maudie. “You can’t go in the bank looking like that.”
“We can’t go to the bank, it’s the middle of the night.”
“Move it,” she said, gesturing with her gun toward the stairs.
Silently Maudie went up. Pearl followed, checked all the rooms, then watched while she dressed. When the man’s voice came again it sounded almost like he was right there in the other bedroom, but that wasn’t possible.
“Get a move on,” she told Maudie. “Hand me the belt from that robe.” She was reaching for the belt to tie Maudie’s hands when the man shouted an urgent, panicked cry accompanied by a muffled banging on a window.
“Stay here, get your shoes on. You leave this room, you’re dead.” She moved toward the hall, glanced back to see Maudie hanging up the robe and reaching for a jacket.
Slipping into the guest room, she found it empty. And no one at the windows. No one could be, there was only a thin lip of roof running along outside beneath the glass. Could the man have been at the front door and some trick of the wind made him sound like he was inside the house? Returning to the bedroom, she bound Maudie’s hands behind her, forced her out of the room and down the stairs. Hurrying past the front door, she pushed Maudie on out through the studio, through the yard, and up the street, staying to the darkest shadows, heading three blocks up where, beyond a curve, the maroon Jaguar waited out of sight.
PEARL DIDN’T SEE, on the roof behind them, the two cats watching, nor would she have paid any attention, she certainly wouldn’t have looked closely enough to see that one of the cats, a dark tortoiseshell, was placing a call on a cell phone. Hurrying away from the house, she didn’t hear the soft female voice that set in motion a BOL on the Jaguar, bringing into action the cruising street patrols—nor did she see the yellow cat stifle a laugh.
The old cat had found it wildly liberating to shout at Pearl; and when his shouts and paw-pounding on the guest room window distracted and unnerved her long enough for Maudie to slip the gun from her robe into her jacket pocket, that was a fine example of feline/human teamwork—even if Maudie didn’t know she’d had help. Now, both cats, following along the roofs above, wanted to whisper a word of encouragement to Maudie as she was forced up the street. All they could do was race after them over the shingles following the dark, sleek car, determined not to lose Maudie.
PUSHING MAUDIE INTO the backseat, Pearl engaged the safety switches and locked the doors. Her eyes felt gritty, she longed to clean up and tend to the wound on her face, try to prevent a disfiguring infection, but she didn’t dare return to Arlie’s house. As she headed up into the hills, she could see a convergence of lights near where the wreck would be, the lights of cop cars reflected up through the trees; when she cracked the window she could hear their radios. She hoped the driver wasn’t dead, that would complicate matters. Hoped they hadn’t found Benny, she didn’t want the kid blabbing. Maybe she shouldn’t have left him, should have gotten him away, hidden him somewhere they’d never find him even with the dog.
But maybe he’d stay away from the cops, maybe he was trying to find his way home, wandering lost up through the black woods. When she was above the wreck, heading higher into the tangle of hills, she watched for a place to park unseen among the darkened houses, maybe near where that canyon ran down. If the cops came nosing around up there, if she had to get away from the car, the canyon could be useful, even though she hated getting torn and scratched again by fallen trees and bushes. Once she had the papers and money, she’d decide what to do with Maudie. Pulling onto a twisting side street, she heard dogs barking somewhere to her right, as if she had disturbed them. But then in a moment someone must have shut them up, the night was still again, and she settled down to wait.
43
ONCE PEARL LEFT him and Benny had come out from his hiding place and hobbled up into the woods, hurrying away from the direction his mother had gone, his leg didn’t hurt so bad. Not as bad as he’d let on, he’d wanted her to think he couldn’t walk much. Circling through the woods, past the metal heap of the white Toyota and the truck, he could see a porch light burning, in the house just above. Avoiding the man and woman who stood by the truck arguing, slipping around them, he couldn’t help the brushy sounds of his bare feet in the wet leaves. He thought they didn’t hear, because they didn’t stop arguing. Twice he stepped on sharp rocks and had to swallow back a yelp, and then a twig poked into his ankle. The woman’s voice was mean, as scratchy as a nail scraping the sidewalk. “Why the hell didn’t you look when you backed out of the damn drive?”
“I did look, dammit. Car came around the corner so fast I couldn’t even shift gears, and you know damn well my horn don’t work.”
“First person sees this mess in the morning, first car comes down the road, the cops’ll be all over it, and you with no insurance. I told you this would happen.”
When he was past them, Benny ran, up through the woods, trying to remember the way he and Grandma took driving down to the village and home again. He thought Grandma’s house was away to the right; he wanted to go that way but the woods were so tangled and black. Who knew what was in there, hidden among the trees? When the road made a sharp bend to the right, the voices grew fainter behind him, but still he hurried uphill, his leg hurting worse. Once, he saw strings of little Christmas lights back in the woods. He guessed they were Christmas lights, hoped they weren’t something else, ghosts or something creepy. He was getting warm from walking, but he was out of breath. Sitting down on a long mound of earth at the side of the road, he yawned, and rubbed his hurting leg. He wasn’t lost, he told himself. The sudden sound of men’s voices made him look up. Had that drunk man followed him? He could see lights moving behind him, now, reflecting up among the trees. Frightened, he slipped behind the berm, out of sight from the road. A man was calling him, calling, “Benny? Benny?” How could he know his name?