Reedie smiled. "You can press charges for kidnapping, for breaking and entering, and for malicious damage. But the case would be stronger if you charge her with taking the jewelry as well.
"It's not as if the jewelry went missing during the break-in," he said. "You were forced to give her the box. It would make a far stronger case if you laid it all out as it happened." He studied her. "But we have to keep that kind of evidence for the trial.
It's not like, say, stolen merchandise where you can check the price tag, know the exact value, and return it to a store that has been robbed. The court would insist on holding it for actual consideration during the trial."
"Do I need to come into the station to file charges?"
He removed a sheaf of forms from the back of his clipboard and handed her two, offering her a pen. Kate gave him a grateful look and began to fill in the required information. She did not take time to run her phone messages until half an hour after Detective Reedie left.
When the police had gone, she took a long hot shower, made herself a bourbon and water, and tucked up in bed, locking her bedroom door. With her cell phone she called the message service for her home phone. Detective Reedie had reported her phone line cut, but she could access the service from anywhere. She supposed the land line would be repaired in the morning.
Alone and safe in her bedroom, jotting down messages, punching erase or save, she was torn by the thoughts that the black tomcat had stirred.
Yet, when she faced her decision to abandon the search into her family, to forget the past and settle down to real life, an emptiness yawned, making her feel very alone. To cut those nebulous ties to her heritage, no matter how strange that past was, made her feel totally cut off from the world.
Huddled up in bed, frightened again and lonely, she felt a deep need for her friends, for Wilma and Charlie, for Clyde, for Hanni and Ryan. Unexpected tears started flowing, and before she finished listening to her messages she hung up and dialed Molena Point.
Clyde answered. His voice was muzzy with sleep. She glanced at her bedside clock. It was nearly ten.
"I was reading," he lied.
"You were asleep."
"In my study, reading. Foggy out, really socked. Guess I drifted off."
"In your study with a fire burning," she said longingly.
"A fire burning, a glass of bourbon. All I need is you, it couldn't get any better."
She laughed. "You're such a philanderer. What about Ryan?"
"She's at home working on blueprints."
"And Joe is sprawled on your feet?" Kate wanted to keep him talking, keep hearing his voice so familiar and comforting. She wished she were there; she needed Clyde, needed a strong shoulder to lean on.
"Joe's out hunting, waylaying innocent rabbits. Damn cat. I hate when he hunts in the fog; it's the most dangerous time. But you can't tell him one damn thing; might as well talk to the wall. How are you, Kate? You sound… what's wrong?"
"I'm too tired to repeat it all again. The police have been here, and a detective. I had a break-in. I just… needed to hear your voice. I'll explain it all later. Trashed my apartment. I'm fine now, apartment's secure."
"Tell me the rest."
"Could I tell you tomorrow? I just… wanted to hear your voice. I felt so lonely."
"Don't leave me hanging. Talk to me."
"I'm just so tired."
"Try," he said unsympathetically
"That girl from the village, that cheap girl running with Dillon? Consuela something?"
"Yes?"
She told him, starting with the theft of her safe deposit key.
Joe Grey, in his typical tomcat secrecy, had told Clyde none of that. She left the phone once to refill her drink, and they talked for nearly an hour. Clyde's questions were endless. He said, "I'm coming up, Kate. First thing in the morning."
"That isn't necessary, I don't want you to do that. I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm fine, Clyde. The police have it in hand."
When she hung up, having convinced him at last not to come, she went to the kitchen and managed to find another tea bag. Taking a cup back to bed, she continued running her messages. That was when she got Lucinda.
She had erased the ninth message, from a client, having made the necessary notes. She had begun to play the next one when she sat straight up in bed. Holding the phone away from her, staring at it, she missed vital words.
She replayed it, unbelieving. At first, for an instant, she thought it was an old message that had somehow gotten saved.
"Kate, it's Lucinda. We weren't in that wreck, we're all right. We wanted, for a while, to not tell anyone at all, not even the sheriff. We'll explain it all when we see you, we're heading for San Francisco…"
Alive? They were alive? She felt cold with shock, then delirious with relief. She wanted to jump up and down on the bed, to turn cartwheels. Punching save, she ran the message four more times.
"If you're out late," Lucinda said, "if you try to call me back and we're asleep, leave a message. We're at the Redwood, in Fort Bragg. We don't want to come barging in tomorrow, if it's not convenient. We just… It will take a while to tell you all that's happened. But we're fine. We got out of the RV long before the wreck; we weren't anywhere near when it burned." Lucinda's voice sounded strong and happy.
"We'll be in the city in the morning, I made reservations at that little hotel just down from you. Maybe, if you're free, we can have breakfast?"
She listened. Played it again. Again. Alive! They were alive! Three days since the wreck and no word, and now they were alive!
This could not be a joke, she knew Lucinda's voice. What had happened? Where had they been? Why hadn't they been in touch? Why hadn't they called her, or called Wilma? Why hadn't they contacted the police? She sat holding the phone, staring at it, her hands trembling; she was grinning like an idiot.
When at last she called their hotel, she got the message service. Well, it was after eleven, likely they were asleep. She didn't try their cell phone. She left a message, then tried to call Wilma but got a busy signal. Did Wilma know? Had Lucinda already called her? Were they talking right now? When she had talked with Clyde, he didn't know.
And most important, did the kit know? Did Kit know that the family she loved so fiercely was safe, the family for whom she had been grieving?
Lucinda's message had been left at 8:30 P.M., just about the time she had walked into her trashed apartment. She couldn't stop thinking of the kit, of how excited the little tattercoat would be. She tried Wilma again but her line was still busy, and so was Clyde's.
Before Wilma called to give Clyde the amazing news about Lucinda and Pedric, Clyde stood in his study wondering whether to throw some clothes in a duffel and take off at once, drive on up to the city, and give Kate some moral support, or whether to go sensibly to bed and take off at first light. Kate sounded in really bad shape, he had never heard her so weepy.
Not even during that bad time when Jimmie wanted her dead and when under stress Kate had experienced the feline side of her nature in a manner that he still found hard to deal with.
Moving into the bedroom, he had snatched his leather duffel from the shelf in the walk-in closet and was stuffing in a couple of pairs of shorts and socks when the phone rang. Picking up the bedside extension, he could hear a cat yowling in the background.
Within moments he knew they were alive; Lucinda and Pedric were alive. Wilma was laughing and crying. He could hear the kit in the background yowling and laughing; she sounded demented. He sat down on the bed.
He had to tell Joe. Why wasn't he here? Where the hell was Joe Grey?