Backing out of the box fast and pushing it upright, they fled for the living room just as the couple entered. Like a shadow Dulcie slid under the couch. Joe leaped into the white upholstered chair and curled up, pretending to be asleep. Why were they back so early? The two had hardly had time for a drink, much less dinner.
Ray barged in ahead of Ryder and stomped through to the kitchen; they heard him open the refrigerator and pop a beer. Ryder stood in the living room, her fists clenched as if trying to collect her temper. Joe heard Ray open a cupboard and slam what sounded like a jar onto the counter, heard him unscrew the lid and soon smelled peanut butter.
When Ryder seemed calmer, she crossed the living room and stood in the kitchen doorway, watching him.
"That tears it!" Ray snapped at her. "Your sister snooping around. What the hell was she doing in there?"
"She was having a drink. What else would she be doing? Don't be so suspicious."
"Why would she drink with a cop? He's some kind of cop, I've seen him around the station. What's she up to? Why's she nosing around, hanging out with cops? What did she say about the letter?"
"I don't know what she said. I gave it to that Max Harper, the chief, and I left. How would I know what she said?"
Ray was silent; Joe could hear him scraping a spoon or a knife into the peanut butter jar.
"I still don't understand why you wanted me to write that letter," Ryder said, "when it lays the blame squarely on you."
"I was already a suspect. Even if I didn't kill him. Ten years ago, when he disappeared, they grilled me like I was Mafia or something. I told you, if the case is being looked at again, that letter'll throw them off. Can't you understand that? If that is Carson up there, and your sister had that letter all the time, then that throws the guilt on her. And why would you care? Better her than you."
"Why would they suspect me?"
Ray's laugh was sarcastic. "Think about it. If that body turns out to be Carson, and if the cops think that letter is for real, Lindsey will look guilty as hell. But if they find out it's a fake, you're the one in the hot seat. Either way, they'll quit suspecting me, I'll be off the hook."
There was a long silence.
Ray scraped more peanut butter, most likely eating it from the jar.
"You don't think that's Carson up there," Ryder said coldly. "You know it is! You said Carson took off for Europe with your wife, you said you had proof. You said if I wrote that letter it would take the heat off you and wouldn't hurt anyone. You said that couldn't be Carson because he was out of the country, but now you're saying…" The floor shook as she moved fast across the kitchen. There was the sound of a slap and scuffling and a jar fell to the floor, bouncing.
"They never flew to Europe," she screamed at him. "You've known all along he's up there. You killed him! You made me write that letter laying the blame on my sister!"
"What difference! You hate your sister. Hell, they don't even have an ID on that body. How would they get an ID?"
"That's what DNA is for."
"Those police labs are backed up for years. You think they're going to waste time on a ten-year-old corpse?"
Gibbs, Joe thought, would freak out when he learned Oregon had already ID'd Chappell. The tomcat smiled, wondering how many felons had been taken down by their own blind stupidity.
"They'll ID him," Ryder snapped, "one way or another, and now I've set Lindsey up. You said-"
"I just want her to quit snooping around. Stop her from messing around with those cops. Why's she running with that cop, following us tonight?"
"How could they follow us? They were already in there, their drinks were half finished. You killed Carson, and now you're worried about my sister snooping on you?"
"You talk about snooping! You went through Nina's things after she left."
"I thought I might find something to show where she went, something a woman might notice that you wouldn't."
"That's a crock," Ray snapped. "By then, you were glad she was gone…But earlier, before she started seeing Carson, you and Nina got pretty close. What secrets did she tell you, Ryder? Did she tell you where she went when she used to go off by herself? I followed her once, up in them hills," he said. "She was looking for something. Poking around those old ruins. Did she tell you what she was looking for? She damn well never told me!"
"If she wouldn't tell you, why should I! It was personal, it was about her aunt, nothing to concern you!"
"Money? Was that it?" he scoffed. "What, her crazy old aunt left buried money?"
"It was a keepsake, something of sentimental-"
"Oh, right! Nina was real sentimental!"
"Leave it alone, Ray. It was nothing that concerns you."
"Everything concerns me!" The scuffling started again. A thud shook the floor, as if someone fell or was slammed hard against the wall. Joe and Dulcie left their cover, creeping closer to look, peering into the kitchen.
"Bastard!" Ryder shouted. "You followed him up there! You killed Carson!"
"I didn't kill him! How could I when he was in Europe? I just don't like cops nosing around." There was a long silence, then, "You were crazy with jealousy when Lindsey told you she and Carson were getting married. You wanted Carson, you were hot as hell for him. You followed him up there and-"
"How could I shoot him when I'm scared of guns?"
"How did you know Carson was shot?"
"Lindsey told me. It was in the paper, for Pete's sake."
"I didn't see that in the paper. And you and Lindsey hardly speak. Why would she tell you anything?" Ray hit her again, and she came storming out of the kitchen. The cats vanished under the couch. Peering out, they saw her grab her purse and slam out of the apartment banging the front door so hard Joe was thankful they hadn't tried racing through.
"Out," Dulcie whispered the moment the room was empty, "Out of here, now!" But even as they fled for the sliding screen, Ray emerged from the kitchen. He saw them and lunged for them, burning to take out his rage on anything that moved-as he grabbed for Dulcie, Joe leaped in his face, digging his claws deep, raking Gibbs's whiskery flesh. He leaped free before Ray could grab him and was out the door beside Dulcie, across the balcony, and up the oak tree. As Ray burst out, they streaked higher among the concealing branches. Ray stood on the balcony swearing, staring up into the tree. At last he turned back inside, slamming the glass slider and pulling the draperies.
HALF AN HOUR EARLIER, in the sunken patio of the Running Boar, at the table closest to the stone fireplace, Lindsey Wolf and Mike Flannery sat talking softly as they sipped their hot spiced rum. In the early twilight, the patio was darker than the streets above. The fire on the hearth cast a ruddy, dancing glow across the small tables and onto the faces of the half dozen couples who sat enjoying early cocktails.
"It was only a little one-story cottage," Lindsey was saying, "built during the days when the village was a religious retreat. In the old photos I have of it, the roof was really low, mossy, and sagging. Whoever renovated it and added the upstairs made a great attic living space."
"You were lucky," Mike said, "to find a combination office and apartment."
"I was," she said. "Perfect location, two blocks from Ocean. And the office is just right, with its open beams and fireplace-a far cry from the generic office I rented in L.A. And this one is all mine," she said, her eyes crinkling with pleasure, "bought and nearly half paid for."