Trying to pass a slow-moving truck on the two-lane, he pulled his thoughts back to the road, looking ahead as far as he could to negotiate the curve. He couldn’t drive these hairpin curves with his mind obsessing over cats. The road was precarious here, the drop precipitous, straight down maybe a hundred feet. He’d passed the truck without mishap and was headed downhill when the steering wheel jerked in his hand, jerked again, back and forth. Oh, Christ, not here, not another tire! Wheel felt like it was alive, nearly pulling itself from his grip. He steered into the cliff to slow the heavy vehicle, afraid to apply the brakes and make it skid. But when he tried to edge it into the cliff to make it stop, the wheel jerked harder, he hit the cliff too hard and careened away, and had to use the brakes. He hit them only gently but the vehicle dropped hard in the left front where he’d had the flat, far more out of control. What was wrong? The way it wobbled back and forth, it felt like the whole wheel was coming off. He had a flash of changing the tire, of putting on the lug nuts wondering which way they should go, which way he’d removed them. Feeling in the dark the sharp corners on one side, the rounded corners on the other. Had he got them wrong, or not tightened them sufficiently? Had he put them on backward, and they’d worked loose? The RV careened toward the edge so hard he could no longer steer. Felt like the wheel was half off, wobbling bad, the RV skidded straight for the edge, the steering wheel in his hands useless. He grabbed at the door.
The car was out over space, falling and rolling in midair as he fought the door. When he got it open, it swung and hit him. He managed to kick free and jump, the RV falling beside him. Its heavy bulk bounced against him and then he was under it, trying to swim through the air to get away from the hurtling vehicle. It twisted and came down on him and hit the sea-he hit the water on his back, the RV on top, driving him down, the jolt was like hitting concrete. Explosions of unbearable light shot through his head and then that pale cat exploding in his face; the whole world filled with cats screaming and raking him, and then her face, her face laughing at him and she had the blazing eyes of a cat. Her face was the screaming face of the cat closing over him…
The weight of the RV drove him deep, forcing water into his mouth and nose and lungs as tons of metal carried him to the bottom and crushed him against the seafloor. He knew no more. Nor would he ever know more, the sea roiled and shook the drowned vehicle, and after a long while the RV eased up again, releasing him as a limp floater.
39
WITH THE HILLSIDE remodel now a crime scene and Ryan’s work halted, and with the completion of two other jobs she’d been juggling and their satisfactory final inspections, Ryan and Scotty turned their attention to finishing Ryan’s studio. She could hardly wait to move into her own bright space. She started work in the mornings before Clyde was out of bed, was still at it when he shouted up to her that supper was on the table. The house was filled with the pounding of hammers, the whine of the Skilsaw, the thunk of the staple gun, and the intermittent purr of its generator. The whole house, upstairs and down, smelled of sawdust, of drywall and then of plaster, of paint and tile adhesive. With all the fumes and noise, Ryan took Snowball up to Dr. Firetti to board and to have her annual checkup and shots. Ryan’s dad was more than pleased to share his time, his bachelor pad, and his lady friend with Rock. Only Joe Grey remained among the chaos, coming and going at his pleasure, but sleeping in his rooftop tower with the sea breeze blowing through, unassaulted by toxic fumes. Long before Ryan finished the studio, the Chapmans and the Longleys returned from their vacations.
The Chapmans arrived the day after Charlie called them, Theresa rushing straight to the laundry to see to the kittens, hugging and snuggling the babies and Mango. She was distressed by the loss of her miniature paintings, which had not been insured, but that didn’t matter in comparison to her concern over her little cats, she’d wanted only to hold the cats and love them, making sure they were well and safe.
The Longleys returned the next day. Earl Longley was still angry with Charlie and threatened to sue her for negligence, but she didn’t think that would happen. She thought he’d cool down when he’d collected what promised to be a large insurance settlement based on the appraisals that he had kept current of his rare books. The Watermans remained in Greece. Rita talked with their insurance agent and filed their claim by e-mail, then put the matter aside to enjoy their vacation. There were as yet no viable leads to any of the stolen property, no response to the police fliers from any fence or from legitimate dealers. There were no leads to the whereabouts of Ed Becker.
Two weeks after the murder, Ryan finished her studio. That Sunday she and Clyde and Scotty moved her desk, her blueprint cabinet, her drawing board, and her computer from where they’d been crowding the guest room, up the stairs and into her bright new space; then she and Clyde threw a Sunday-night party.
Wilma arrived carrying Dulcie, wearing a new embroidered denim jacket over a red sweater and white jeans, her long silver hair clipped back with a bar of gold and coral. The Greenlaws walked from home, across the village. They arrived with their canes, Kit trotting eagerly beside them, just as Dallas pulled up in his old tan Blazer with Detective Davis. Everyone had a tour of the solarium-like studio with its high ceiling, its three skylights supported between the heavy beams, its glass walls, Mexican-tile floor, and Ryan’s treasured antique fireplace that she and Clyde had brought home from their honeymoon trip. The mantel’s hand-painted tiles featured pictures of cats, and the rearing cat in the center matched exactly the carved cat that graced the old Pamillon mansion where the wild clowder now lived; but that was a story of its own.
Ryan’s dad arrived with Rock on a leash and Lindsey Wolf on his arm. Lindsey wore pale jeans, sandals, and a honey-toned cashmere sweater that complemented her honey-brown hair and hazel eyes. Her infectious smile shone comfortably, and often, on Mike Flannery. When they let Rock loose, the big silver Weimaraner moved quietly among the guests, graciously accepting any and all offerings, working the room as adroitly as were the three cats. Snowball was the only antisocial little soul among the five animals. She was thrilled to be home from the vet and was happy to see her friends, but she soon retired upstairs to the master bedroom, away from the crowd and the noise.
The Chapmans had been invited, and when they arrived the cats wound around Theresa’s ankles purring so extravagantly that both Charlie and Ryan gave them looks that sent them padding away again. But they looked back at their friend lovingly, saying little cat prayers that she was safe. She was wearing a pink T-shirt that set off her pink cheeks, and pale jeans and sandals. Her long brown hair was tied back haphazardly, and was streaked from the coastal sun. Carl Chapman, always quiet, stood smiling complacently as Juana Davis asked about Mango’s kittens; Joe and Dulcie watched, amused. Had Juana weakened after all this time of living alone without a pet? Did she finally mean to give in to the pleasure of a feline companion? The squarely built detective, in her dark uniform, made Theresa look even slimmer and somehow more ethereal. As they discussed the basics of responsible kitten care, they joined the others gathered around the big kitchen table, taking up plates, dishing up helpings of the casseroles and salads. Max Harper was loading his own plate when his cell phone rang.