“Why, here’s another picture, and she’s getting married. That’s you, there, the flower girl or whatever. Must be a real close friend. Or a relative? Why, I believe that there’s your niece, the one they call Charlie.”
“Whatever you want from me, Cage, you touch her, you’ll never get away, the law will track you wherever you hide-and then they’ll burn you.”
Cage hit her hard, across the mouth. That was the first time he’d ever hit her. During the years that she’d had him on parole, then later on probation on a different charge, he would never have dared do that. He gave a cold laugh. “Bennett got his. You don’t want the same, bitch, you’ll tell me where you hid ’em.” He’d gone silent for a moment, then, “If you sold ’em, you’ll hand over the money pronto if you want to go home again. And if you want that redheaded niece safe. Is that how you bought that house of yours, that fancy stone house? With my money? You did, you’ll pay for that, too.”
“What did you do to Bennett?”
“How you think it’ll look to the feds, turns out you bought that house with stolen goods? Illegal to take that stuff out of the country. Illegal as hell just to have it. You and Bennett think of that?”
She’d longed to jerk off the blindfold and get a look at him. If he’d hurt Bennett…And if he hurt Charlie…Unable to see his face, she cringed from helplessness. But how could anything have happened to Mandell? Mandell was quick, and he always went armed…No, Cage had to be bluffing. How could he have had time to get at Mandell?
She and Mandell had had dinner together in the city just last night, a wonderful Chinese meal at Tommie Toy’s. They’d talked for a long while over tea and dessert. Surely, at that time, Cage was safely in jail-in jail until sometime this morning, apparently. But not a federal prison, just a city jail, overcrowded, understaffed, far easier to figure a way out…If he had found Mandell after he escaped…
“That big house of your niece’s, looks to be about half a mile this side of Hellhag Hill, right along the crest there. Easy to spot, easy access in and out, too.” He’d grabbed and shaken her. “You want to tell me what you did with ’em?”
When she remained silent, he hit her again, harder. He said nothing more. He turned, and left the house. She heard both cars drive away, crunching little rocks under their tires. She thought the other man was Eddie Sears, Cage’s old partner. She’d seen Eddie only once in person, ten years ago. And she had seen a mug shot or two. Thin, long face. Younger than Cage, thirty-something. Brown hair. When the cars left, she’d fought to get free. But now, what seemed like hours later, she was still fighting.
13
T he frail vine sagged under Dulcie’s weight, but as it tore she scrambled up fast; the trellis was fragile, too, swaying and cracking. The smell of the jasmine blossoms was too sweet. She was clawing up at the little, double-hung window when beneath her hind paws a slat broke. She fell, clawing at the sill, ripping down the rusted screen. As she was snatching through to the window’s mullions, she managed to dig her claws into a little crosspiece and hang there, desperately swinging.
“Hurry!” Kit hissed unsympathetically.
Reaching and stretching, she clawed at the top of the frame until she got a grip. The window slid under her weight, dropping like an elevator. She swung up fast, bellying through the torn screen, pulling and tearing her fur, then regained her balance crouching atop the double-hung window, staring down into the dark little bathroom. She heard Kit storm up the trellis behind her, moving so fast that when two more rungs gave way, Kit’s momentum carried her to the sill-with a desperate leap she was through the window, right in Dulcie’s face. They dropped to the sink together, then to the floor as softly as they could. They’d worry later about how to get out. Boldly, Kit took the lead, slipping through into the hall-seeming not to remember how she had, not long ago, been trapped while snooping in a felon’s house and unable to escape.
The Jones house smelled of old wood, old dust, old clothes worn too long, an unpleasant mélange of stale scents trapped in closed spaces. Following the voices, they looked from the hall into the living room, then slipped in, bellying beneath an unoccupied armchair into dust that threatened uncontrolled sneezes. Peering out, Dulcie looked up at the masks and shivered. How could anyone live among the hideous faces that leered down from the dark walls? The primitive masks had, she felt sure, come from South or Central America; she had seen many like them in the library, in books on primitive art. Interesting that Greeley had lived most of his life in Central America.
Dulcie knew only one other human who had spent much time in those countries and who cared enough about such artifacts to collect them, and that was Greeley’s ex-wife. Sue loved Latin American art, though the items with which she filled her shop were smaller than these masks and more appealing, bright, fanciful carvings and weavings of a cheerful nature, whimsical pieces far removed from these bone-shivering presences that reeked of all the devil myths Dulcie had ever heard-though the concept of the devil had come late to Latin America. These images, she thought, would be based on other spirits, on some equally evil underworld putrefaction. Whatever the case, the collection unnerved her, seemed to speak to something deep and ancient within her feline memory, to stir some timeless presence far too menacing. Why would Lilly Jones want to live among such monstrosities?
Above them in the too hot living room, Lilly and Greeley made dull and hesitant small talk, the topic of conversation at the moment being the weather. The dry old woman behaved as if she and Greeley were quite alone in the house, not as if a hostage were locked in one of the rooms; she did not seem nervous, did not pause to listen for sounds from some other room.
But if Wilma was here, did Greeley know that?
Could he be here to take delivery of Wilma, to take her away somewhere? But, then, why wouldn’t he simply tell Lilly to take him to Wilma? And, would Lilly Jones hide Wilma at the risk of her own arrest? From what Dulcie knew of Lilly, she did not seem the kind to take risks, even for her own brother.
Except, Lilly would be more afraid of Cage than of the law. Cage could be mean and coersive, and Lilly was reclusive and weak, not nearly bold enough to defy her brother. Dulcie sighed. Nothing would make sense until they knew why Cage wanted Wilma. Dulcie’s housemate wasn’t some heiress with unlimited funds for a ransom. What could she have, or know, that would make her so valuable to Cage Jones?
But maybe Greeley was here looking for something, and not for Wilma at all.
But what? And why now, just when Wilma had vanished?
Greeley had abandoned the weather as a topic, and was digging for information, feeling Lilly out with questions about as subtle as a Great Dane in a crystal store; but at last he got down to specifics, wanted to pack Cage’s clothes and take them to Cage, and bring some papers, too, that Cage had put away. Could Lilly get those for him? He’d be glad to get them himself, save her the trouble. He said Cage had mentioned a small box he wanted, and that Cage had told him where to find it. The old man seemed as nervous as a cornered rabbit in his eagerness to break away from Lilly, to get at the rest of the house on his own. He kept at it until Lilly said, “What are you looking for, Greeley? What do you think Cage has hidden here that you want so badly?”
Greeley widened his eyes in surprise. “Just what he told me to get, Lilly. Oh, you can’t think Cage has hidden something illegal? Oh, my. If them cops search the house, looking for him, and they find something incriminating…”