The tan cover was made of thin, sleazy canvas, fitted tightly over the big car. The canvas covered the wheels, too, and hugged the ground. Quickly Joe nosed underneath.
It wasn’t as dark under there as he’d expected; the sleazy fabric looked like cheesecloth with the light from the motel shining through. Rearing up between the tarp and the shiny black fender, he picked out the wheel insignia of a Cadillac. Nosing along the big black car, he could see that it was a four-door. The car smelled strongly of the departed couple.
The tires were still warm, and a thin warmth radiated from the engine. When he moved to the back and edged up between the tarp and the license plate, he found it covered with mud just as Kit had described. Pawing the mud away, he traced the numbers. “4LTG747,” he said softly, wishing his recall were as certain and reliable as Kit’s. The tortoiseshell, having all her life memorized folktales, had a memory like a spring-loaded trap. Whatever was caught in it never got away. Had the couple, having used the Cadillac during the invasion, parked it partially out of sight here, and covered it? He had no sure proof to link this Cadillac to the invasions—unless Kathleen Ray got lucky and picked up its tire prints at the scene. But thanks to Kit, the department knew there’d been a black Caddy near the scene.
Thinking back, he was sure he’d seen, days earlier, a tarp-covered car parked here, in fact had been seeing the canvas lump for maybe a couple of weeks. Surely the street patrols had taken note, had maybe checked with the motel to make sure the vehicle belonged to a registered guest. Maybe the two cars were switched back and forth, sometimes the Caddy, sometimes the Toyota, so there was always some vehicle filling out the tarp, and it wouldn’t lie in a flat heap on the paving, calling attention to a car’s absence.
If this car was registered at the desk, they’d have the license number, but he’d bet it wasn’t. Right now, he wanted to pass the information along to the department. Maybe the cops could get here while the engine was still warm, take a look, run the plate, maybe dust for prints. And Joe took off fast for Dulcie’s house, for the nearest phone; he’d just zip in through Dulcie’s cat door onto Wilma’s desk and punch in 911, another tip from the snitch, he thought, smiling. Racing across the shingles to call the department, he was eager to see what the answering detective would find, and what information he might pick up from the desk clerk, too. Tonight was the first real break they’d had, with the yellow cat leading Kit to the invasion and then to two of the perps and their cars. Thinking about the strange tom’s contribution, Joe’s curiosity burned brighter even than did Kit’s—made him want to be in two places at once: watching a detective go over the Caddy, and finding out more about one old yellow tomcat who, one way or the other, must have a stake in these crimes.
26
KIT FOLLOWED THE scent of the tomcat across the roofs straight into the wooded hills north of the village. Though he didn’t look back, she knew he was aware of her by the way he moved, by the way his ears would swivel around, by the way he took shelter occasionally where he could see back across the roofs, watching her. Racing uphill atop the oak-sheltered cottages, he was drawing ever nearer to Maudie’s house. But why would he go there?
Or was he headed on past Maudie’s, maybe returning to the Colletto house? Had one of the invaders tonight been Kent Colletto? If Kent had a part in this, how did the yellow cat know? And did anyone else in the Colletto family know? That would be interesting, she thought, smiling at straitlaced Carlene’s stubborn defense of Victor.
Between the few lighted windows, the oak-shrouded roofs were so dark that the yellow tom appeared and then disappeared, vanishing into the deepest pools of blackness, then out again. He had a lot of stamina for an old cat; Kit herself was breathing hard. As he crossed the next roof he stopped suddenly, stood in plain sight in the glow of a lighted window looking back at her. For a long moment he stood looking. He lifted a paw, opened his mouth in a silent meow, and then was gone again, a pale shape racing across the roofs among the dark treetops that sheltered Maudie’s street.
Next door to Maudie’s he paused again. Maudie’s kitchen light was on, and a lamp burned in the upstairs guest room. He was still for a moment, and then leaped to Maudie’s roof. He was such a big cat that even now, in his old age, he was an impressive fellow. When he turned and looked at her, his eyes held a world of knowledge, and of pain. How many years had he lived? How many miles had this cat traveled, and what had he seen of the world?
In the guest room, Maudie was making up the empty twin bed. Benny was sound asleep in the other, the covers pulled up around his ears, his face turned away from the lamp’s soft light. Padding closer to the yellow cat, Kit sat down near him. He glanced at her, but neither spoke. They watched Maudie tuck the sheets in, making square, neat corners military tight. Had David returned, was she making the bed for him? Had he decided, after all, not to leave Benny and his mother alone in a strange neighborhood and a new house? Though she was filled with questions, Kit found it hard not to stare at the tomcat, too. She felt both shy of him and bold; she wanted to talk to him, ask him questions; but for once in her life, she remained quiet.
He seemed intently fixed on the guest room, ignoring her—until he twitched an ear, in a friendly gesture, inviting her to move closer. She padded right up next to him; they sat in friendly silence watching Maudie shake a pillow into a fresh pillow slip. Kit was so sure David had returned that when she heard a man’s footsteps in the hall, she watched for him to appear.
Jared Colletto moved into the doorway, carrying a bulging gym bag atop two folded blankets. “I could have done that, Aunt Maudie,” he said softly, glancing at the sleeping child. “I had trouble finding the blankets—that garage is loaded. Where will you put it all?”
“Most of it will go in the new studio,” Maudie said. “Except some boxes of Martin’s and Caroline’s things that I couldn’t throw away.”
“Mementos?” he asked softly.
“Photographs, letters. Caroline’s personal papers. Some things I don’t know what to do with. Her sister has her business papers. She and I together dealt with the trust—Martin and Caroline and I had our trusts drawn up by the same attorney at the same time, just after they were married, trusts for Benny and for Caroline’s two children.”
Entering the room, Jared eased the blankets onto the dresser, set his duffel on the floor, then unfolded the blankets and spread them over the sheets on the freshly made bed. “It’s nice to be able to visit. I hope I don’t disturb Benny, moving into his space. I guess I’m not disturbing him now,” he said, grinning. “Does he always sleep so deeply?”
“Like a rock,” Maudie said. “As if this terrible ordeal has produced, instead of sleeplessness, a need to escape into sleep. At any rate,” she said, smiling, “it’s nice to have you here. Of course no one would have bothered us, but it’s nice to have your company. You’ve grown up a lot since my last trip to the village.”
Jared put his arm around her, giving her a hug. “I don’t want you to wait on me, I can do for myself.” He looked at her almost shyly. “If you don’t mind me in your kitchen, don’t mind me fixing my own breakfast.”
“You’re to make yourself at home, Jared. Help yourself to whatever you want. But what is it? Something’s bothering you.”
“It’s just … you’ll be careful, when I’m out? Now that I’m here, I feel responsible. You won’t answer the door until you know who’s there? You’ll keep your cell phone handy in your pocket?”