Patiently Dallas handed her the warrant; though the cats could see only the top of his head, Dallas’s dark, close-cut hair, they knew that his square face would be bland, his dark eyes unreadable. As Lilly studied the warrant, Garza’s gaze wandered past her and through the open door. “We’re looking for Wilma Getz,” he said bluntly.
“Wilma Getz?” Lilly paused as if sorting that out. “The librarian? Why would she be here? I hardly know her.”
She glanced past him at two PG &E employees who were heading around the side of the house. “What do they want? It’s too late for city employees to be…Are they with you?” Her dry, lined face was a study in distrust. “What is this about, Detective?”
But then, quite suddenly, her anger faded into a look close to relief. Perhaps she’d thought of Greeley’s unwanted visit and felt comforted to have the officers present. Dallas looked at her patiently. “May we search again, Lilly? You will accompany us?”
Peering down, the cats watched Lilly step slowly aside, allowing Garza and tall, thin Officer Crowley to enter. As she stepped in behind them and closed the door, three more utility workers joined the first two, moving to surround the house.
Watching Lilly, wondering how difficult she was going to be, Dallas followed her, and Crowley, into the dim, depressing house. Lilly, saying nothing, led them into the living room.
“I don’t understand, Detective Garza. What is this about Wilma Getz? Why would she be here? Why would it be necessary for you to search, again? Would you explain, please?”
Frowning, Dallas wished he could read her better. He kept his expression steady, infinitely patient. “Lilly, Wilma has disappeared. Cage broke into her house. He was seen, there was a witness. It’s possible he may have kidnapped her.”
“Why in the world…?” She looked at him for some moments. At last she turned, scowling. “Come on, then, if you must.” And she led them down the hall and on into the rest of the house.
And as Dallas searched the dim rooms, above, on the roof, Dulcie and Kit waited and listened. Please, go in the attic, Dulcie thought. She could not get that hot, airless space out of her mind. Oh, please, Dallas, the attic. Go in there, the one place we can’t reach.
They heard the two officers moving around in the rooms below, heard doors open and close, an occasional question from Dallas and Lilly’s terse reply. After what seemed ages there came a sliding sound, as if the ceiling hole to the attic had been opened; seconds later they heard an officer moving around close beneath their paws, heard hollow footsteps across the bare attic floor. Dulcie imagined Dallas ducking beneath the low attic roof, hunched uncomfortably. Listening to the detective’s progress across the wooden floor, her little cat heart pounded hard. But then at last they heard Dallas descend again and speak to Crowley, then replace the attic door, sliding it back into position. They had found no one. They listened as the officers moved about the rest of the house and then headed down the wooden stairs to the basement; and the cats padded silently across the roof to the pine tree and scrambled down, to watch through the basement windows.
16
“E ven if Dallas finds the safe,” Dulcie said, peering from the pine tree, into the basement, “he won’t open it if the warrant is just to look for Wilma and Cage.”
The kit’s yellow eyes narrowed. “He needs to know Greeley’s looking for something in there, just like Cage searched Wilma’s house. If we had a phone…There’s a phone in the kitchen, we can slip back in the house and call his cell…”
“No way,” Dulcie hissed. “Phone Dallas while he’s in the house with us? We push our luck, and…I don’t like to think about that.”
Kit sighed and settled reluctantly among the branches, watching Dallas search through the boxes and abandoned furniture, his hand never far from his weapon. When he opened the empty closet where the safe was hidden, the cats hissed with surprise: The closet had been empty, just the loose linoleum with the safe beneath it sunk into the floor. Now it was filled with boxes, a bucket of tools, the old rusted fan that had lain atop a trunk, and a tangle of old boots. Dallas stepped back, looking. He knew that clutter hadn’t been there when he’d searched the house earlier. The detective turned, his back to the wall, taking another long look into the shadows and dark spaces. He stepped to the door that led to the stairs, closed it, and shoved a heavy carton against it. Then he searched the garage.
When he found no one, he moved to the windows. Finding the unlocked window, he examined the sill, then slid it open, looking out into the dark woods. Above him, the cats crouched, unmoving. Leaning out the open window, he used his flashlight, in the darkening evening, to study the earth beneath the sill. Dulcie and Kit were glad they had trod only on pine needles. At last Dallas eased himself out the window and shone his light back and forth across the yard, looking for footprints.
“Did Greeley cover up the safe like that?” Dulcie whispered. “Or did Lilly? Is there something in it she doesn’t want found? Did she put that stuff on top after she heard noises and came down, thinking someone was in there?”
“Someone was there. We were.”
“Someone human,” Dulcie said. “Maybe she thought it was Greeley. But what would she hide in there? Her jewelry?” Dulcie smiled. “She doesn’t look like the type to ever wear fancy jewelry…And would Greeley go to all this trouble for a few pieces of an old woman’s jewelry? I don’t think so.”
“And,” Kit said, “what does all this have to do with Cage?”
Dallas was moving the boxes and trash from the closet; when he’d emptied it, he knelt, lifted the loose linoleum, and pulled it back out of the way. Yes, he’d known the safe was there, the cats could see that. And now that someone had taken the trouble to cover it, his attention was keen.
He tried lifting the lid, then turned the dial until it clicked, and tried again. Maybe his warrant covered this, maybe not. The detective was as curious as a cat, himself. When spinning the dial once didn’t work, he remained crouched, lightly fingering it.
“Does he know how to crack a safe?” Dulcie whispered, and the tabby smiled. “Looks like he’s tempted.”
“Would that be legal?”
“To finger the tumblers, and crack a safe?” Dulcie twitched her whiskers. “Not likely,” she said, enjoying Dallas’s temptation.
They watched him resist, and at last he rose and began to replace the clutter that had been piled on top, putting everything back just the way it had been, his tanned, square Latino face drawn into a frown. Then he headed for the stairs, moved the barrier, and disappeared. As his footsteps ascended, the cats scrambled up again to the roof and softly across it, then crouched above the front door listening to Dallas and his officer taking their leave, Dallas thanking Lilly for her courtesy and help with a dry sarcasm that was rare for the laid-back officer; the cats watched them head for their squad car as Lilly closed the front door hard with a chill finality, a clear message that she was tired of people tramping through her house. As the officers’ car made a U-turn and headed back down the hills toward the village, Dulcie and Kit streaked away across the rooftops, heading home, their minds a tumble of new facts and more than a few questions.
Racing from shingles into pine or oak trees and down across more roofs, up and down over a jumble of peaks, Dulcie hoped Max Harper was still at the cottage, and that by now there was news of Wilma-good news. Dulcie let herself think of no other kind. The evening was warm, as soft as velvet, the late sky holding more light, now, than the dark village streets below. But when the courthouse clock struck nine, her heart sank. On a normal evening Wilma would be home, they’d have finished supper and would be tucked up together on the velvet couch, or, on cold nights, in bed by the woodstove, contentedly reading.