"Well, pardon me."
Again, silence.
"Where's Joe?" she said. "You two have a fight?"
A longer silence.
"Well?"
"No, we didn't have a fight!"
"So where did he go to sulk? And you're sulking in here, in the kitchen. Were you fighting about the house again, about selling the house?"
"No, we weren't fighting about selling the house."
Charlie said no more. Joe heard one of them open the refrigerator and pop a couple of beers. Charlie knew how to handle him; Clyde's moods didn't bother her. And she was partly right. The problem about the house did make him cross.
Ever since construction had begun on Molena Point's new, upscale shopping plaza-ever since its two-story, plastered wall had risen at the boundary behind Clyde's backyard, blocking their view of the sunrise and the eastern hills, Clyde had been entertaining offers from realtors. The mall hadn't affected the property values, not in Molena Point, where village lots were so scarce that a buyer would pay half a million for a teardown. And this latest offer to Clyde had topped all the others. It was not from someone wanting a home or vacation cottage, but from a restaurateur planning to open an upscale cafe-a perfectly understandable plan, in a village where the businesses and cottages were mingled, many shops occupying former residences.
The offering realtor said the house would remain, along with the house next door, which the buyer had already purchased. The two buildings would be converted into dining and kitchen space and joined by a patio whose tile paving would run back to the two-story plaster wall, with outdoor tables and umbrellas and potted trees.
Dulcie thought it would be charming. Joe thought there were enough patio restaurants in the village. Clyde vacillated between outright refusal and considering the offer; he couldn't make up his mind. But he was as angry as a maimed wharf rat about his view being destroyed. Joe could understand that. The wall made Joe, too, feel like he was in a cage.
But what if Clyde did sell? Where would they live? The idea of moving upset Joe and seemed nearly as unsettling to Clyde.
Joe thought maybe his own distress came from his kittenhood, from the time when he'd had no real home, just an alley and a few one-night stands, then for a while a stranger with a shabby apartment and a bad disposition-until he met Clyde.
His and Clyde's move down from San Francisco, when he was still a half-grown kitten, had left him nervous for weeks afterward, distraught at losing the only real home he knew. Even Charlie's recent moves had unsettled him, first from her aunt Wilma's and Dulcie's house into an apartment, then into another apartment. Places that he'd liked to visit, gone before he got used to them. And now Mavity Flowers was about to be evicted, closing another door to him-and Mavity's cottage held some rare memories.
It was there that he had spied on the black tomcat and his human partner in crime, Mavity's no-good, thieving brother. It was there that Joe had routed some of the evidence that convicted the killer of Mavity's niece. Besides, though Mavity's cottage was just an old fishing shack, it was all Mavity had-he felt, too sharply, the little woman's distress at her own impending loss.
If all those houses along the bay were destroyed, who knew what the village would do with that land? The city council was still arguing the issue. And now, with Mavity's friends planning to sell their houses too, and buy some big old house where they would rattle around, everything was changing. All these moves and prospective moves made the whole world seem shaky under his paws.
And to top it off, the entire Molena Point Police Department was being renovated, Harper's officers taking up temporary quarters in the courthouse while Harper remodeled the building.
Already Joe missed the big, casual squad room with all its desks and clutter. Now the space was full of lumber and Sheetrock and carpenters with loud hammers and louder power tools. The department that Joe thought of as the heart of the village was going to be totally different. He had no idea whether, with the new design, he'd even be able to get inside. When finally the renovation would be complete and everyone back together again, who knew what the offices would be like? Harper might make the building so secure that no cat could breach the locks to slip in to hide under the first handy desk.
What was he going to do then? It was hard enough for a cat to get police intelligence. Imagining the new setup made him feel like he was walking on a broken tree limb that hung shattered and ready to fall. As if there was nothing secure left in the world, nothing steady that he could count on.
When two cars pulled to the curb in front of the house, he dropped off the porch into the bushes. Watching Detectives Dallas Garza and Juana Davis and Captain Harper thunder up the steps, laughing-likely at some rank cop joke-and bang into the house, Joe felt for an instant incredibly lonely. Quickly he slipped through his cat door, following them inside. Slipping behind the couch, he heard beer cans being popped and the cards shuffled. He listened for some time, staying out of sight as Clyde preferred, and feeling put upon, but the conversation didn't touch on the break-in at Susan Brittain's house, it was just light banter. He had nearly dozed off when the phone rang.
Clyde answered, then Detective Garza took the phone. It was apparently a personal call, from the tone of Garza's voice. Yes, he was talking to his niece, Ryan, a young woman who was as close to Garza as if she were his own daughter.
"You what? You're kidding!" Garza sounded pleased. But Joe could hear the faint echo of a tight, angry female voice from the other end of the line.
"You're leaving him?"
Ryan was Garza's youngest niece. He had helped raise her and her two sisters after their mother died. Likely Ryan was calling from San Francisco, where she and her husband ran a building construction business-or apparently had run it. Sounded like they were splitting. For an instant Joe sensed what Garza must be feeling, deep parental distress for a young woman who had apparently decided to pull up stakes, chuck everything, and start her life all over again.
The foolish mobility of humanity, Joe thought. People abandoningfamilies, racing off in every direction-it's a wonder the world itself doesn't fly apart.
"That's the best news I've had in ages," Garza said, laughing. "Where are you now? You have your key to the cottage?"
Garza listened, then, "Of course I understand. Guess I'd feel the same. But the cottage is there if you want it-when you want some company."
They talked for some time, something about a job Ryan had just finished. Interested, Joe trotted into the kitchen and leaped to the counter. When Garza hung up, he was grinning. He sat down at the table between Clyde and Juana Davis, where Clyde was counting out poker chips.
"She's left him. Packed up and moved out. He's been cheating on her for years. She came on down to the village, she's in the Turtle Motel up on Fifth. Wants some time alone. Wants to look for a house. Sounds like she means to stay."
Joe couldn't remember when he'd seen Garza looking so pleased. Stretching out, he waited to hear how the scenario would develop-and waited as well for the conversation to turn, as it inevitably would, to police business. Did the department have a make on Susan Brittain's burglar? Had they found him? Surely by now they would have a record of his prints. Joe waited patiently to pick up whatever tidbits the officers might toss back and forth over the poker table-until he felt Clyde's gaze on him. Then he closed his eyes and tried for a soft, rhythmic snore-not to fool Clyde, but to keep his relationship with the department as untainted as a sleuthing cat could manage. No point in enraging Clyde further, and making Harper edgy; though it was hard to resist the urge to taunt them both.