Lucinda and Pan both hushed her. Lucinda rose, turned on the phone’s speaker, and began making calls to tell their closest friends that Courtney had been found—while Kit stuck her face in the phone’s speaker, adding her own long comments. They called Wilma first, because Wilma had fretted so about the lost kitten. When they called the Damens, Ryan answered. “The victim—Joe thinks her name is Maurita, he heard it in the tearoom—she walked out of the care home. We’re in the car, looking. And looking for Mindy Luther, she ran away, too. She—”
“Oh, my!” Kit didn’t wait for the end of the call, she spun around crowding Pan as they bolted out the cat door to look for Maurita. Lucinda watched them vanish.
Ryan said, “Joe’s with us. He told us about finding Courtney. Thank God for that—but how strange that Maurita disappears on the same night that Courtney is found, and then Mindy runs away.”
“Where do you want us to look?” Lucinda said. “Who shall we search for? If you’ll tell us where to start . . .”
“Why don’t you wait, Lucinda. Wilma and half the department—patrol cars and foot officers—are out searching . . .”
Lucinda didn’t want to wait at home feeling helpless. But for the moment she and Pedric settled back, building up the fire. While on the roofs, the cats ran, the bright night pulling at them, the moon making Kit so giddy she wanted to dance across the shingles except they were on more serious business. They peered down into every courtyard and alley, every garden, looking for the child who might still be nearby hiding—but always they moved toward Ocean Avenue. Maurita had a whole crew searching for her, while Mindy was alone and, most likely, was headed for the freeway, for Zeb’s farm, for her own true home.
As Kit searched and scented out in the moonlit night, part of her was still filled with Courtney’s ancient myths—until her dreams were jerked back. When, as they galloped up the roofs beside Ocean, they saw on the light-struck street below a little girl running. Red sweater, brown backpack. They scrambled down a camellia tree and ran silently behind her as she raced up the sidewalk’s steep hill heading for the highway alone, in the middle of the night.
“Damn kid,” Pan breathed. “Some no-good will have her. We need to turn her back before she hits the freeway.”
“Or before her family finds her,” Kit said. “Her father and uncles are as mean as hornets and her mother not much better.”
He turned to look at her. “I’ll catch up, I’m stronger, maybe I can stop her. The vet clinic is right over there, go ask for help.”
And Kit was off, across Ocean Avenue among a tangle of cottages, past the automotive shop, through Mary Firetti’s garden heading for the cat door when she stopped.
Neither car was in the drive. No porch light shining. She slipped into the house through the little door they had installed for Misto before he died.
The house was totally dark, only a few shrinking coals left in the fireplace, enclosed by its glass door. Only silence, no soft breathing from the bedroom. Where had they gone? They were not party people, Dr. Firetti got up early, and so did Mary. Were they out searching, too? Kit leaped to the living room desk and called Ryan’s cell phone.
Ryan answered: “Mary? John?”
“It’s Kit. The house is empty, both cars gone. Where are they? Where are you? Looking for Maurita? Mindy’s run away, too, Pan’s following her toward the highway, I came here for help but no one’s home and . . .”
“She has run away,” Ryan said, “we’re looking for her. Mary and John are . . . oh, but that’s a long story. Kit, you said Mindy’s headed for the freeway? What’s the child thinking! We’ll be right there . . .”
Kit hung up and fled back through the cat door toward Ocean and the freeway watching for Mindy and Pan, looking around for Ryan’s red truck, but the first car she saw was Clyde’s dark green Jaguar gleaming in the moonlight. Clyde pulled over. Kit leaped in beside Ryan and Joe.
“There,” Joe said, front paws on the dashboard, staring ahead where Mindy and Pan were almost to the highway, Pan pressing against her legs, rearing up, pushing her back. When Clyde pulled up just ahead of them Mindy looked shocked and turned to run, but not before Ryan bailed out, grabbed her, knelt and put her arms around the frightened child. “Were you going home, Mindy? To your grandpa?”
The child looked uncertain, and nodded.
“In the night? Alone? You don’t know what kind of dangers . . .”
Mindy tried to break away. “Let me go. I won’t go back, not to that apartment. My father’s gone and good riddance. Now my uncle’s gone, too, and anyway he’s just as mean. So is my mother, most of the time. I don’t want to live there, they argue about money and about stealing and . . . I won’t go back.”
“If you want to go to your grandpa, we’ll take you there,” Ryan said, looking at her deeply, stroking the child’s mussed hair.
Mindy still looked uncertain.
Clyde said, “We trust your grandpa, and we trust you with him.”
“We’ve heard your parents fighting,” Ryan said. “We know how that must make you feel.”
Mindy’s look softened. Hesitantly she climbed in the front seat next to Joe Grey, putting her arms around him. Kit and Pan leaped in beside them, crowding onto her lap, while Ryan climbed in the back.
“Will you park away from the house, let me go in alone?”
“Yes,” Ryan said. “But we’ll wait, to make sure everything’s all right.” They were just passing the Harper ranch. All the lights were off except the outside yard lights. Cops got up early, Mindy guessed, and so did writers.
If anything happened at Grandpa’s house, once they were alone, if tomorrow Mama came to get her she could run to the Harpers, and hide. If Charlie wasn’t home, Billy would hide her, he took kind care of the horses and dogs and cats. For fourteen, he was responsible and smart, he’d know where she could be safe. Billy Young was an orphan, too. She wasn’t an orphan, but she felt like one—except that she had Grandpa.
At the next road, Grandpa’s house was dark, too, and tonight it looked coldly forbidding; they could see no movement within, beyond the moonstruck glass, no one looking out. Sometimes Zeb went to bed early, but sometimes he sat up watching old westerns. Clyde parked halfway up the gravel drive. Mindy flung the door open, untangled herself from the cats, and leaped out. “Will you wait for me? Until I make sure he’s home? Everything’s so still . . .”