Swinging out, glancing at her aunt Wilma’s car, which was parked at the edge of the drive, she looked in through the driver’s-side window. Yes, Wilma had left her cell phone on the seat. Had she given up searching for the kit then? If Kit had been found-had come home-Wilma would surely have called her.
Moving around the side of the house between tall weeds, toward the backyard, she tried to imagine how the landscaping would look when the ladies were finished with it. The fifty-year-old house had seen many tenants, the more recent of whom had done little to care for it; the ladieshadpruned the neglected old apple tree and the pear trees and had dug the choking growth away from them, leaving wide circles of dark, turned earth. The four senior ladies liked to say that their house marked the last boundary between civilization and the wild, unspoiled land that had once graced all of these coastal hills. While the front of their new home stood snug between its neighbors on a tame and civilized village street, the back of the house overlooked the wild, dropping canyon where black-tailed deer browsed, and raccoons and possums slipped through the grass. One might, on occasion, while sitting quietly on one of the two decks, see a bobcat or even a cougar or black bear. Certainly there were coyotes, the ladies heard them at night just as Charlie and Max heard them up in the hills, their primitive song engendering a strange mix of wonder and ancient fear. Their yipping stirred a restless unease in those who loved their cats. It gave rise to added fear in those who knew Joe Grey and Kit and Dulcie, who knew their secret, who imagined those three cats out in the night venturing too near the hungry beasts. But the cats were wise, Charlie told herself, they were clever. And she could not change their ways. She glanced up at the windows where new white interior shutters caught the light. So far, the ladies had concentrated their limited funds and time on the inside of the house; the day they moved in they began to renovate the living area and kitchen, patching and painting, then each had designed her own bedroom to please her individual taste. Susan Brittain liked lush potted plants around her and hand-thrown ceramics, lots of sunlight and bright watercolors. Blond Gabrielle Row preferred more formal and expensive furnishings, which, even when purchased used, spelled money. Little, wrinkled Mavity Flowers went in for solid comfort if she could get it cheaply, and lots of bookshelves fitted out with her beloved paperback romance novels.
Tall, elegant Cora Lee French had done her top-floor bedroom and studio with an eye to maximum work space, plenty of white walls where she could hang her bright landscapes, and room to paint and to work on other projects. Now, with the rooms sparkling, the four ladies were impatient to get at the outside. The hired painter would have to wait for dry weather, but the ladies could sure dig out the weeds and tame the overgrown perennials that crowded the back flower beds. Charlie could imagine the masses of colorful blooms they would plant down there, overlooking the canyon.
As she passed the wide back deck she could smell coffee and see empty cups and a thermos on the picnic table. Down below at the lip of the canyon, the ladies were hard at work. She didn’t see Wilma. Wherever her aunt was at the moment, she would soon be down there digging enthusiastically; among her other talents, Wilma was an eager and expert gardener.
Now she saw only Mavity and Cora Lee kneeling in the dirt of the long, raised flower beds, both of them up to their elbows in weeds, attacking the tangle with such vengeance you’d think the plants had attacked them. Stacks of wilting weeds lay behind them. They had freed the geraniums, which now stood leggy and rank, reaching in every direction for the sun. The other two members of the foursome were off in San Francisco for the week visiting Susan’s daughter. Maybe Wilma was walking Susan’s two big dogs. The standard poodle and the dalmatian were a handful, but Wilma loved them; she’d jump at any chance to walk them. And today, she was likely looking again for the kit. Charlie watched Mavity and Cora Lee fondly.
Both women were in their sixties, and were very different from each other but they got on famously. Mavity’s short gray hair was always wildly frowsy, and this morning as usual she was dressed in a white maid’s uniform, one of a dozen similar garments, all limp from uncounted launderings, that she bought in the secondhand shops. Her white pants and tunic were streaked with dirt, as were her wrinkled, sun-browned hands. By contrast, Cora Lee was as neat and immaculate as if she’d just stepped out of the house. Not a speck of dirt, not a wrinkle, her cream cotton shirt and beige jeans fresh and clean. Not a hair of her short, salt-and-pepper bob was out of place. Her flawless cafe au lait skin was like velvet, her subtle makeup as carefully applied as if for a party-but when Cora Lee looked up at Charlie, her eyes were red from crying.
She searched Charlie’s face and put out a hand to her.
“I’m so very sorry,” Charlie said. Cora Lee and Patty Rose had been close; they had done three musicals together for Molena Point Little Theater after Patty retired.
“She was a fine lady,” Cora Lee said softly. “Such a joy to work with. Who would do this? Do the police know anything yet?”
Charlie shook her head and patted Cora Lee’s gloved hand. “There were no direct witnesses, or none they’ve found so far. Not a clue yet to a motive. Patty’s secretary has been out of town; she’s flying back this morning.” Charlie never knew what to say to someone grieving; there was so little one could say that would help. Digging a cap from her pocket, she pulled it on and tucked her red hair under, trying to capture the escaping wisps of curl.
Cora Lee tossed another weed on the pile. “Is Lucinda all right?”
Charlie nodded. “She’s all right, she’s tough. We’re all devastated, Cora Lee. But how’s Genelle Yardley taking it? She and Patty were such dear friends.”
“I dreaded telling her this morning. But when I went to fix her breakfast, she already knew. She was up, as usual, sitting on her terrace reading the paper, the tears just running down. I�” Cora Lee shook her head. “I wouldn’t have told her, so early. Though I suppose Patty’s secretary would have called her, if she’d been here. The paper arrived before I did. But she� She believes so strongly that death is not the end. She� she’ll be all right. I’ll go over again later.”
The four ladies had been seeing to Genelle Yardley since Genelle had gone on oxygen, helping their neighbor through what they all knew was a terminal illness. Helping her get around with the cumbersome oxygen cart, fixing her meals and cleaning her house, taking her out in a wheelchair. Genelle had no one, no family. A home-care nurse came in to help with her medications and to bathe her. Genelle, despite her increasing difficulty in getting a full breath, was in surprisingly good spirits-or she had been until this happened. Belief in an afterlife or not, this had to be devastating for her. Patty had been close to Genelle’s family since before Genelle was born. Coming home to the village even during her busy Hollywood years, Patty had always spent some time with the Yardleys. Patty said your real friends were the old friends, before you got famous.
Now, Charlie thought, Patty’s death might set Genelle back severely. She could only hope this wouldn’t make Genelle turn away from her stubborn battle to enjoy the last of her life as best she could. Wouldn’t change her so she let herself go into a deep depression. And Charlie thought,I will enjoy life while I’m young. I will love and enjoy Max every moment I’m given; I will enjoy my friends while we’re all young and strong, can ride and shoot and work and dance. And I will enjoy them when we can no longer do those things.