“We drove and hauled the stolen cars back here,” Dallas said. “They’re in our lockup.” This was a fenced, securely roofed compound behind the station next to where the police cars parked. Its gate was kept locked and the area furnished with surveillance cameras.
“It’ll take a while,” the detective said, “to collect evidence from the vehicles, and for the insurance adjusters to look them over, before their owners claim them.”
Joe could tell Dallas wasn’t in a good mood. Maybe because Lena had evaded them. Maybe, Joe wondered, Lena was more involved than anyone thought. How could she have escaped among all those cops? Who had picked her up? Clyde didn’t have time to ask anything more before the phone went dead.
At home, Joe and Rock were shut in the house. Ryan put Snowball in her carrier, to go to Dr. Firetti. Giving Joe a stern look, she phoned her father to come and check on the animals while she dropped the little white cat at the clinic, so Clyde could go on to work and she could return to her crew. This enraged Joe, that she had to call her dad to babysit, that she didn’t trust him. But luck was with him. When she couldn’t get her dad, she tried Lindsey. “We’re in Bodega Bay,” Lindsey said. “We …”
“It’s all right,” Ryan said. “I’ll work it out.” They talked a moment and Ryan hung up, looking deep into Joe’s eyes, “Rock can get out into his yard and so can you. But you can get over the wall. He can’t. You can also get out through your tower. I love you, Joe, and usually I trust you—though there have been times. If I leave you in the house, will you promise to do as I say, as John Firetti says? It could save a lot of trouble later. Rabies is a scary thing to deal with.”
Joe gave her as innocent a look as he could muster. He didn’t point out that his tower and the roof itself were both integral parts of their house. He promised himself that he’d stay to the physical body of their residence, the structural entity. And didn’t that include the roof?
What he’d really like to do was slip into her truck, ride back to the Pamillon estate, and have another look at the contents of that box. Courtney’s picture on the porcelain cup had shaken him considerably, combined with the pictures like her in so many library books. Those ancient tapestries and paintings and porcelain relics did not sit well with Joe Grey.
22
Kate approached Voletta’s house feeling silly with her little plate of store-bought cookies. But manners were manners. Voletta was a Pamillon, who knew what the old woman had once been used to in the way of neighborly visits?
Though the kitchen and living room were around at the back, facing the big yard, Kate chose the more formal front door, which was seldom used. She had started across the wide porch when she paused.
It was late morning but the blinds in all three bedrooms were drawn tight. If Voletta had company, besides Lena, were they still asleep after a busy night? Who would have slept here but someone connected to the thefts? She shivered, hoping they were all in jail.
There were no cars in the front yard, Lena and Voletta parked in back. Turning, she headed around to the kitchen. Yes, the lights were on in those windows, and she could smell coffee. Of course the big yard was empty, only Voletta’s old truck—and a blue Ford hatchback parked close to the back door. She knocked, hoping the lame little gift of stale cookies would give her an excuse to be invited in, not just stand awkwardly in the door and be sent rudely away.
She waited, then knocked again. She wanted to know how long those men had been using Voletta’s barn to store their hoard, concealing the stolen cars and, when the cops eased off in their search, moving them out again, at night. And how long had Voletta’s niece been involved? Lena visited Voletta every few weeks but Kate couldn’t remember whether those times coincided with the Molena Point car thefts. She hadn’t been staying up here at night, then, not until the shelter was finished and she moved the cats in. No one but Voletta had been here at night to know what went on. Even the feral cats, in the small hours, would have been up the hills hunting.
As Kate rounded the house she didn’t see Dulcie and Pan and Kit slip along behind her through the tall grass, didn’t see them pad silently up to the front porch. Kate was already at the back of the house when tortoiseshell Kit swung hopefully on the front latch, was thrilled to find the door unlocked and, kicking softly, swung it open. The three cats disappeared inside, pushing it not quite closed behind them. Already Dulcie missed Joe, off at home, in quarantine. She’d had the whole story from Kate.
The cats crouched in a small entry beneath a narrow table against one wall. A hall led left and right to the bedrooms and bath. All three bedroom doors were cracked open, the doors of the two end rooms at right angles to the hall. Kit and Pan watched Dulcie slip ahead into the living room and behind the couch where she could see into the kitchen.
At the back of the house Kate had to knock a third time before she heard footsteps. When Voletta opened the door Kate tried, awkwardly, to hand her the cookies. “I came to see how you’re feeling, after your trip to the hospital. To see if there’s anything I can do, any errands?”
“Lena’s here now,” Voletta said sourly, blocking the slightly open door. “We don’t eat cookies.” Kate could smell cinnamon rolls as well as coffee, could see three cups on the kitchen table. “Whatever you want,” Voletta said, “I’m busy.”
Kate slipped her foot against the door. “I thought maybe Ryan’s carpenters might help with the broken window, or anything else that was damaged. That was a terrible storm.”
“Ryan. That’s that woman carpenter?”
Kate nodded.
“Pretty nice truck she drives. Must be full of all kinds of tools, those locked cabinets along the sides, that locked lid on the truck bed. Well, a carpenter makes good money. We’ll do the repairs ourselves.” She yawned, and pushed the door forward in Kate’s face.
Kate shoved the door in gently with her foot as she faked a matching yawn. “You didn’t get much sleep, either?” she said, smiling kindly. “With all those lights down in the yard?”
“What lights?”
“I don’t know,” Kate said. “I woke around three, I saw lights reflected from down here. I thought your porch lights were on, but they seemed very bright. I thought about getting up to look but I guess I fell back asleep.”
“Lena turned the lights on when she got home. Their car was acting up, they were trying to fix it. Her son’s car, he’s visiting.” Voletta looked at her for a long moment, kicked Kate’s foot out of the way, and slammed the door.
Her son? Kate turned away and headed home with her plate of cookies. She didn’t know Lena had a son.
Dulcie, behind the couch, crept to the end where she could see better into the kitchen, could see the old woman more clearly. She, too, was surprised to hear of a son. She retreated a few steps when she heard voices from the living room, Lena’s voice, and a man. They moved to the kitchen, sat down at the table, Lena reaching for the coffeepot, filling their half-empty cups. But when the man appeared, a chill gripped Dulcie.
Egan! Egan Borden! … Egan Alderson, he’d said.
But Egan was arrested late last night. He should be in jail, not here in Voletta’s kitchen. Why had Max Harper let him go? Or had he broken out?
He was freshly shaved, his blond hair slicked back, and had changed clothes, a cream shirt and tan chinos. Watching him, she had to willfully stop her tail from lashing. Why had Harper released him?
Lena had driven off with those men last night, but when the rest were rounded up, she had disappeared. Had Egan somehow talked his way out of jail and raced north, to pick her up?
Or, Dulcie thought, startled, could this be Rick Alderson? In and out of prison, evading police inquiries, and now suddenly appearing out of nowhere? Oh, but that isn’t possible.