23
By ten that night, the fog had packed itself as tight as cotton wool into Molena Point, drowning the village trees and rooftops and gathering like an advancing sea along the sidewalks and against the faintly lit storefronts. The oaks that guarded Wilma Getz's house stood shrouded as pale as ghosts above the mist-flooded flower beds. Not the faintest smear of light shone in Wilma's front windows, but at the back of the house her bedroom bled golden light out onto the grassy hill.
Within the cozy room a lamp burned, and three small oak logs blazed in the red enamel stove. On Wilma's bed, curled up on the thick, flowered quilt, Dulcie and Kit lay limp and relaxed as Wilma read to them.
Wilma would not have chosen for the night's reading a volume of Celtic folklore, but the kit had begged for it. Those stories, so reminiscent of Lucinda and Pedric, made the kit incredibly sad, yet she demanded to hear them. The tale was deep into stone circles and underground kingdoms when the phone rang, its shrill sound jerking the three of them abruptly from those distant realms. The two half-dreaming cats started up wide eyed, visions from the story crumbling as Wilma reached for the phone.
Her hand paused in midair. Did she really want to answer? Could it be a sales pitch this late? If a salesman got the answering machine, he'd hang up-that's what the machine was for. The last time the phone rang late at night, it had been terrible news: the deaths of two dear friends.
But then, ever curious, ever hopeful that something wonderful was happening in the world, Wilma picked up.
When she heard the voice at the other end she caught her breath, her heart started to thud-then she began to smile, then to laugh. "Hold on," she said. "Hold one minute."
Hitting record, she reached out to the kit. "Come here quick. You were right," she whispered, gathering the kit in close to her. "Kit, you were right, they're alive." Cuddling the kit in her arms, she held the receiver so they both could listen. "They're alive, Kit! Lucinda and Pedric are alive." Then, remembering the speaker, she pressed the button. "Go on," she said. "We're all three listening."
Lucinda's voice sent the kit rigid. She stared at the phone that, she had thought a few months ago, was some kind of magic. She stared up at Wilma.
Lucinda was saying, "After I left a message on Kate's phone, Pedric and I went out to dinner. We just got back. I expect Kate has already called you. Well, we're fine, Wilma. We're just fine. Is the kit there?"
The kit stared at the speaker and touched it with a hesitant paw. Pressing against Wilma, looking up into Wilma's face, she tried to read the truth of what she was hearing. All her kittenhood suspicion of telephones and things electronic tumbled through her head, rendering her deeply uncertain. She couldn't stop shivering.
But that was Lucinda's voice, she knew Luanda's voice.
"Kit? Are you there? It's really me, it's Lucinda. We're fine, Pedric is right here with me. We got out of the RV before the wreck. We're coming home, Kit. Coming to stay, to build our house for the three of us."
Kit shoved her nose at the speaker. "Lucinda, Lucinda …" And for once the kit abandoned all powers of speech and fell into mewling cries.
"We're in Fort Bragg," Lucinda said. "We'll be in the city tomorrow morning. We've left a message for Kate. There's so much more to tell her-so much to tell you. So much that I think we need to tell Captain Harper. Now. Tonight. Would he mind if we called him at home?"
"Of course he wouldn't mind. He'll be thrilled to hear your voices and so will Charlie. But what…?"
"The man who stole our RV, who probably intended to kill us-we think we know him. We think this could be connected somehow to events in the village."
Wilma sat quietly listening to Lucinda's story, seeing the old couple locked in their bedroom in the RV as the man pocketed their ignition keys, as he unhooked the gas and electric lines, the water and waste systems from the RV parking slot.
"What time was this?" Wilma asked. "Didn't anyone in the campground see him and wonder?"
"It was early, just after dark. But no one could see our rig. We always choose a private space with just the woods around us.
"Well, when he started the engine and took off, we were locked in the bedroom. We crawled under the bed into the storage compartment and waited until he slowed to turn onto the highway, then went out the other side into the bushes, dragging a duffel with a few clothes and some money. And a blanket. No need to be cold; we slept all night in the woods."
"But what did he want?" Wilma said. Not that anyone these days needed an excuse for cold-blooded behavior.
"The jewelry," Lucinda told her. "That costume jewelry. Can you believe that? It's lovely, but it's only paste."
"Are you sure that's what he wanted?"
"It's what he told us."
"And you gave it to him?"
"We told him we'd put it in a safe deposit box in Eureka with some personal papers. He demanded our key and a sample of Pedric's signature. We gave him both."
Lucinda laughed. "The safe deposit key is not for a bank in Eureka. That's where he was headed when we bailed out of the RV. The jewels were in the storage compartment of the RV, we got them out in the duffel. Pedric-"
"You had them… have them with you?"
"Of course. We took them when we crawled out."
Wilma smiled at their resourcefulness, then shivered. "Do be careful, Lucinda. Why would he… Are you so sure they're paste?"
"Kate had hers appraised. Ours are just like hers; same style, same kind of setting. We couldn't have bought those pieces up in Russian River for the little we paid if the jewels were real."
Wilma looked at Dulcie. They were both thinking the same thing. Wilma said, "Lucinda, it's time for another appraisal. Meantime, please be careful. Even when you get to the Bay Area, miles from Russian River, you could still be in danger."
When Lucinda hung up to call Max Harper, Wilma sat holding the two cats close, the kit purring so loudly that she drowned out the crackle of the fire and the distant pounding of the surf. Wilma said, "Can you imagine Max and Charlie's delight when they find out the Greenlaws are alive?"
"I can imagine," Dulcie said tersely, "Captain Harper asking more questions than you did. What man? How do they know him? How is this connected to the village?"
"I didn't want to grill her. She'll tell all that to Max. Be patient, Dulcie. We'll hear it all from him, or from Charlie." Wilma straightened the flowered quilt, smoothed the sheet, and turned out the light. She and the cats were just settling down when again the phone rang. It was Kate.
They spent the next hour talking with her. The fire died down, the room grew chilly, and they wrapped themselves in the quilt. What an amazing night! Kate's break-in, her ruined apartment, Azrael entering through her kitchen window to open the door for that woman, then staying to harass her. Wilma didn't say it, but Kate sounded like a basket case.
"Consuela Benton," Wilma said, amazed.
But of course the kit and Dulcie had known. They didn't tell Wilma everything-not when that black tom had prowled her house so brazenly, not when Kate's key had been stolen right here in Wilma's own guest room, practically under Wilma's nose. Though they might opt to tell her soon, if Consuela and that beast returned to the village.
"So smooth and sophisticated," Kate said, "not a thing like Consuela. Hardly any makeup, her hair simple and clean, no ghoulish black eye makeup, no skintight jeans and bare belly button-"
"Kate, I'm going to call Charlie in the morning. See if I can pick up her barrette and take the two pieces to be appraised, here in the village. Maybe Lucinda would take her pieces to someone, maybe someone Dallas Garza could remember, in the city."
"I'll suggest it," Kate said. "I'll try."
They hung up. Wilma and the cats snuggled down again, and the kit fell asleep at once. So much excitement, so much wonderment and joy Now she totally crashed, worn out, curled in a tangle of the quilt, dropping deep, deep under, exhausted clear down to her tortoiseshell paws.