Wila looked at me with betrayal in her eyes. MEOWRRR! She sounded like a cross between a lion and a rusty door hinge.
“You’ll be out soon, I promise,’’ I said to the cat. “It’s only until we get to my house. You’ll like it there, I swear.’’
With the cat safely secured on the passenger seat beside me, I decided to take a quick detour past the backyard on my way out. The car’s lights played across the lawn as I turned. There was the bird bath. The rose bushes. The shed in the back. Then I saw a big, empty rectangle of long-dead grass. What I didn’t see was the battered white pickup that had been parked at Emma Jean’s house the day after she vanished.
With one hand on the steering wheel, I fished around in my purse until I found my cell phone. Detective Martinez answered with the usual welcoming snarl.
“It’s Mace. I figured I’d better tell you. I swung by Emma Jean Valentine’s house tonight. There’s something funny …’’
Martinez interrupted me, his words tumbling out the phone. “Are you all right? What’s that horrible sound?’’
Meeeeeoooowwwrrrr!
“That’s just Emma Jean’s cat,’’ I said. “I don’t think she’s too fond of the carrier I’ve got her in.’’
“Dios mío, it sounds like someone’s being tortured.’’
“She’s a Siamese,’’ I said knowingly. “The Internet says they’re very vocal.’’
“Can’t you make her stop?’’
“The article I read didn’t include anything about a volume button or an on-off switch.’’
Meeeeeooooowrrrrr!
I raised my voice over the racket. “Anyway, I stopped by to see about the cat. I’m on my way home with her right now.’’ The light on Main Street turned green, and I crooked my neck to hold the phone while I shifted gears. “I noticed the white pickup truck that was at Emma Jean’s last night is now gone. Did you have the police haul it off?’’
Martinez answered without the usual stonewalling. “No, I didn’t.’’ He started to think out loud. “Maybe it belonged to a relative or a friend, and they came by to get it.’’
“Maybe,’’ I said. “But why now? From the look of the lawn, that truck has sat there pretty regularly for a long time.’’
“A neighbor might have used it.’’
“The houses around Emma Jean’s are on three-acre lots. Mama told me her two closest neighbors are snowbirds. They leave for the North in June when it starts getting hot, and they don’t come back until the end of November, when hurricane season’s over. She’s not close to anyone else out that way, which is one reason I came to get her cat.’’
I passed the Speckled Perch and thought about food. Two slices of pizza two hours ago wasn’t going to hold me until morning.
“We can check to see if Emma Jean’s the registered owner,’’ Martinez said. “If she is, I’ll have the information I need to put out a BOLO on the truck and tag number.’’
“Bolo? Isn’t that a Western-style string tie?’’
“Be on the lookout. BOLO.’’
“Gotcha,’’ I said, feeling stupid. I don’t watch as much Law and Order as Mama does. “I’d know the truck if I saw it again. It was old and beat-up. There were beer cans in the back of the bed.’’
“Great. That describes half the vehicles up here,’’ Martinez said.
“Watch it, Mr. Miami. I can hear you sneering.’’
I remembered the feel of the worn tread on my fingers as I ran my hands over the tires. “I didn’t think about getting the tag number, but Donnie Bailey might have,’’ I told Martinez. “We both noticed the truck had bald tires, just like the one that ran me off the road. Donnie was awfully interested in that old truck.’’
___
If ever five days felt like fifty, this was it. What a week. I was looking forward to a cool shower, a cold beer, and some hot salsa once I got Wila and her cat-related accessories settled into my house.
I smiled to myself as the VW jounced into my yard, illuminating the battle ring tucked off to one side. Looked like it was Mace 1; Wildlife 0 in this latest round of raccoon smack-down. The garbage cans were upright, lids still securely fastened with a collection of bungee cords. I might have feared the animals were lying in wait, prepared to punish the woman who shut down their nightly buffet. But the way Emma Jean’s cat was caterwauling, any living thing within hearing distance had skedaddled.
I left the cat in the car as I got out. I wanted to prop open my front doors so I could more easily heft the carrier onto the screened porch and on inside. What I saw as I mounted the steps put the brakes on my victory-over-the-wildlife dance.
The resourceful raccoons must have busted through the screen to get onto my front porch. They’d taken their revenge for my garbage-can offensive by overturning a flower pot. Trampled geraniums and big clods of dirt littered the wooden floor. The welcome mat sparkled in the dim moonlight with shards of broken glass.
And then I looked more closely. The screen was intact. The flowerpot had been used with just enough force to break the front window, next to the door. Someone had carefully reached past the broken glass to turn the key in the deadbolt lock on the inside of the front door. The door stood open a crack. The house was a dark cave beyond.
I’ve seen raccoons turn a doorknob; even pull open cabinets in a kitchen. But using a flowerpot to break a window, locating a deadbolt key inside in the lock, and understanding what the key is used for? That’s different. Unless the raccoons had gained a hundred IQ points and opposable thumbs since our last encounter, this burglary was beyond their skill level. The intruder had to be human.
With my heart pounding, I backed slowly off the porch and down the steps. As soon as I felt grass beneath my feet, I spun around and took off at a run.
Martinez made it to Taylor Creek in thirteen minutes. There was hardly any traffic this far from town on a Friday night. Still, he must have beaten Jeff Gordon’s NASCAR time.
He was familiar with the location of the bridge on State Road 98, so when I called him from the safety of Pam’s car, that’s where I told him to meet me. I figured that was easier than trying to explain how to find my cottage way out in the country. And, to be honest, I hadn’t wanted to stick around alone without knowing what was in my house, on the other side of that open door.
I heard his siren a long way off, and then I saw him coming. I flashed my lights. He was going so fast, he flew right past me. By the time he stopped and backed up, I stood waiting for him on the shoulder of the deserted highway. He leaned over to open the passenger-side door.