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Standing in the open doorway, you could see right on into the bedroom and the tiny bath beyond, and with a full view of the kitchen to the left. There was no furniture, only a very old refrigerator in the corner of the little kitchen and an ancient gas cook stove that Ryan had been assured by her plumber wouldn’t blow up or asphyxiate anyone. If the house had any virtue it was the high, raftered ceiling and strong beams, the surprisingly solid construction. This was its one redeeming feature—plus the location and price, she thought, hearing again Joe Grey’s caustic remarks about their obsessive bargain hunting.

As Clyde joined her on the tiny porch, putting his arm around her, Vinnie crowded in past them, scuffing her shoes across the dusty gray linoleum that floored all the rooms. She peered with disgust into the small, dim bedroom and ancient kitchen. “I’m not staying here, we can’t live here.” Moving to the grimy window, she stood looking up the hill. “There’s real beds up there, we—”

“We have our sleeping bags,” Debbie snapped. “Bring in your toys and shoes.”

“But I don’t—”

“Now!” Debbie said, her glare silencing the child. Clyde had started to speak when, above them, a hard thump hit the roof. They all four stepped back, as if the ceiling might give way. Next minute, a scrambling of claws shook the cypress tree beside the house, and Joe Grey leaped down to the hood of the king cab. While Debbie’s attention was diverted, Vinnie raced out across the yard and was gone, running up the street, her long blond hair whipped by the cold wind, her fists clenched. Behind her Tessa appeared from nowhere, racing after her. Debbie ran after them, yelling as if they were runaway dogs escaped from their leashes. Ryan pressed her face against Clyde’s shoulder, trying hard not to laugh.

Vinnie made it almost to the white brick house, Tessa trying in vain to keep up. Passing Tessa, Debbie grabbed Vinnie by the arm, jerked her around, shouting. Clyde turned away, disgusted, and went to unload Debbie’s car. Ryan looked at Joe, on the hood of the king cab. “What’s Vinnie after, up there? Can she have been in that place? In Alain Bent’s house? How could she have been?”

“Maybe she looked in the windows,” Joe said. “Saw furniture and beds.” He turned to look at Ryan. “Or has the kid been inside?”

“They only arrived last night.” Ryan’s green eyes looked into his. “She’s been with us all morning.”

Joe stretched out on the pickup’s warm hood, wondering, his back pummeled by the cold wind, which smelled of rain. Together they watched the family saga as Debbie dragged Vinnie home, scolding all the way. Ryan scratched Joe behind his ears then picked him up, draped him over her shoulder in a manner few people were allowed, listening to his purr as they watched Debbie haul Vinnie into the house, and Tessa slip in behind. Debbie’s angry scolding seemed overkill—what was she so mad about?

16

In the dumpy little kitchen, Debbie had torn open the wrapper of a loaf of bread and was hastily putting together sandwiches for the children, maybe hoping to keep Vinnie from whining any more about the white brick house. The kitchen counter was crowded with grocery bags that were still not unpacked except for the bread and peanut butter. Joe watched from Ryan’s shoulder as Vinnie grabbed the open jar, stuck her fingers in, retrieving a big glob, and licked them clean, her small face pinched with anger.

Though Joe had come up looking for Dulcie, hoping she’d escaped whatever tight squeak she’d gotten herself into with that aborted phone call, he’d found no sign of her. No scent of her, nothing. Coming up the hill, he’d passed two cops he knew, dressed in blue coveralls with the water department insignia on the pockets and sleeves. They were kneeling together at the curb beneath a spreading cypress tree, pretending to examine a water meter, their position giving them a straightaway view beneath the branches to the meth house. Did Harper expect other members of that ragtag gang to return to their little home business? He had passed Ryan’s sister Hanni, too, pulling her blue Chrysler van up to the one-car garage of her own remodel. Ryan was nearly finished with the exterior, had covered the gray board siding with white stucco and added a new tile roof as deep blue as an autumn sky.

Now as Ryan headed outdoors from her own cottage, away from the crowded kitchen and away from Debbie, Joe looked from her shoulder up the hill, scanning the rooftops for Dulcie. He looked past the rambling white house, but then quickly back as two dark streaks flashed across the roof into the shadow of the pines that sheltered the double garage; the sight of Dulcie, safe, made him inadvertently dig his claws into Ryan’s shoulder.

“Hey!” she said, pulling his claws free.

“Sorry.” He patted her cheek with a soft paw. “Gotta go, explain later,” and with a leap into the overhanging cypress tree, he left her, heading up the hill from roof to rising roof, looking for his lady.

There, they appeared again, two dark shapes barely visible atop the garage, two pairs of sharp ears silhouetted against the low clouds. Racing to join them, he greeted Dulcie with nose pushes and purrs. “What happened to you? You were caught with someone’s phone? I was in Harper’s office when you clicked off.”

“Emmylou saw me.”

“Oh my God. She heard you using the phone? She—”

“She didn’t hear me,” Dulcie interrupted, “she saw me through the glass. When I saw her looking in, I pretended to be batting at a moth. She was outside, and I was talking softly, she couldn’t have heard me.”

“I hope to hell not,” he said crossly.

“We saw her on the street, going door to door asking about two lost cats. She came up into the patio, sat down on that low wall beside the camellias. Took a sandwich out of her pocket, unwrapped it, one of those dry-looking sandwiches in yellow paper. I was inside the house, it was a perfect time to phone, without losing her.”

“How did you get in?”

Dulcie smiled. “A basement window, all locked but the last one.” She lashed her tail smugly. “Broken, rusty lock, and when we pushed the window it swung right in. Come on, I’ll show you.”

But Joe paused, watching Kit. All this time, she hadn’t said a word, she sat apart from them, staring off into space. Watching her, Joe twitched an ear at Dulcie. “What?” he said softly.

“We were with Misto,” Dulcie said. “Her head’s full of stories, that’s all. He talked about Pan, too. He misses Pan, and he’s worried because of the nursing home fire. Kit’s worried for them both.”

Joe shifted uneasily, wishing Kit had never told Misto about Pan, that she had never upset the old cat. The tortoiseshell was so damned impulsive, as unpredictable as the leaps of a grasshopper. Well, what was done, was done. He said, “What about Emmylou? What did she do when she saw you?”

“She looked puzzled to see a cat in there, and when she finished her lunch she walked all around the house, looking to see how I got in. I watched from above, from the windows.” Dulcie smiled. “I’d kicked the window closed when I jumped, she didn’t have a clue, she went right on by. The next thing I know she’s at the front door and it sounded like she had a key, trying to get inside.”

“But she—” Kit began, suddenly paying attention.

“That’s when Kit appeared,” Dulcie said.

“I watched her from the roof and the key wouldn’t turn,” she said. “She tried and tried and seemed really sure it was the right key, so maybe Alain Bent changed the locks when she moved and Emmylou didn’t know and—”