She made herself think about what they had learned at the PD, trying to tie the scattered facts together. Except that nothing wanted to go together. Too many pieces were still missing, so nothing made much sense. And it was not until that evening when the chief got home that they learned any more about the investigation-or, for that matter, about the feral cats.
15 [��������: pic_16.jpg]
The wind off the sea had calmed. Beneath the dropping sun, the water gleamed with an iridescent sheen; the Harpers’ stone terrace and the green pastures beyond were stained with golden light. The cool air smelled of burning hickory chips and spicy sauce. Charlie stood at the barbecue, turning racks of ribs on the grill, their sweet-vinegar aroma prompting the two cats’ noses to twitch and their pink tongues to tip out.
On the chaise Wilma sat tucked under a blanket, sipping a weak bourbon and water, possibly against doctor’s orders. She could see Ryan through the kitchen window, tossing a salad and gathering silverware and plates onto a tray, and assembling Wilma’s own supper. She’d be glad when she could eat more solid food. Well, it wouldn’t be long. In Wilma’s lap, Dulcie reared up as Max’s truck turned onto the drive. Behind it Clyde’s yellow roadster appeared, coming over the crest, its top down. Joe was standing up on the passenger seat of the Model A, his white paws on the dash, the white strip down his nose bright in the evening glow.
As Clyde parked by the house, Dallas’s car turned in behind them. The scent of exhaust from the vehicles battled with the good barbecue aroma. As the cars killed their engines, the kit woke blearily, tangled in the blanket at Wilma’s feet. She looked around her, fighting her way out of the folds, and her first thought was of disappointment that Lucinda and Pedric had not stayed for supper.
The older couple meant to look at four houses the next day. Lucinda said, at eightysome, one tired more easily. Kit did not like to think about them tiring, could not bear to think about them growing older. She wanted to be with them all the time, but she just couldn’t stand the house hunting. All those strange unfamiliar spaces with unfamiliar smells, where other people and animals lived. House after house after house, with the Realtor going on about the new roof and the hot-water heater. Who cared? Realtors had no notion of the important things-a nice tangled garden with sprawling oak trees to climb, plenty of deep windows with wide sills to lie on, a clean thick carpet to roll on and maybe a few hardwood floors for sliding. A nice warm fireplace and tall bookcases to sleep on, and a comfortable rooftop with a wide view down onto the village. Was that too much for a little cat to ask?
Lucinda and Pedric knew what kind of house she liked. And of course it should not be too far from Joe’s and Dulcie’s houses. Lucky they wanted much the same-except for the climbing part. Kit longed for them to find the perfect home and for the three of them to be settled in. Though Kit’s true homewasLucinda and Pedric themselves; life with the old couple was the only real home she’d ever known.
Kit watched Max Harper and Clyde come across the patio, talking about hunting dogs. They both bent down and hugged Wilma, and drew chairs close to her chaise. Max said, “About time you got out of the hospital.”
“Two days.” Wilma laughed. “I’m a tough old bird. Is Jane Cameron out yet? I went to see her twice while I was there, she wasn’t far down the hall. She wasn’t sure when they’d release her.”
“She should be out tomorrow,” Max said. “She’ll be tied to a desk for a couple of months, before she can go back on the street. Right now, I could use every officer. She’ll be able to drive, though. And she can fire a weapon just fine.”
Wilma looked a question at him, but said nothing. Across the patio, Dallas turned away into the kitchen to join Ryan and Charlie. Through the glass doors, the cats could see him hugging his niece, then petting and talking to Rock. He said something that made the two women laugh, and in a few moments he came out onto the terrace with Rock trotting beside him, the big Weimaraner pressing close to the squarely built detective. At sight of Joe Grey, Rock barked and bowed and gave the tomcat a lick on the face. Joe grimaced and hissed, but Dulcie knew he liked it. The tomcat, stubbornly extricating himself from the big silver dog, leaped to the arm of Wilma’s chaise and settled near Dulcie, giving them both an inquiring look.
Dulcie looked back at him wide-eyed. So frustrating, that they couldn’t talk in front of Max and Dallas and with Ryan there in the kitchen.
But really, she had nothing to tell him. She and Kit had learned nothing new at the station after Joe left. Now, all three cats waited impatiently for some news. The subject of hunting dogs could get old fast. But it was not until everyone was seated for dinner around the big patio table that Max and Dallas returned to the burglary and the school fires-sharing information unknowingly with their snitches. It was Wilma, glancing at the fidgeting cats, who nudged the conversation.
Setting down her drink, she straightened her robe, looking a bit embarrassed that she had not dressed properly. “Do you have anything yet on the prints from the jewelry store? Or an ID on the men you arrested?”
Max’s leathery face creased into lines of amusement. “One is Dufio Rivas. Does that ring a bell? We have nothing on the other.”
Wilma frowned, pushed back a pale strand of hair. “Does he have brothers? A Luis Rivas? Short, square, heavyset?”
Max nodded.
She said, “There were three brothers. Luis, Dufio, and I didn’t know the third one.”
“Hernando,” Harper said. “Information came in about an hour ago. All three have long rap sheets, mostly around L.A. Petty burglary-small stores, home breakins. Hernando is our John Doe, the body from up the hills.”
“Well,” Wilma said softly. “The murder and the burglary are connected.”
“Dufio, our arrestee, he’s a strange little man. Apparently a total screwup. The bad penny. Amazing, his brothers let him run with them. Apparently, every now and then, they try to dump him. Never seems to last, I guess they feel sorry for him.”
Charlie brought more ribs to the table and sat down again.
“In Indio,” Max said, “Dufio robs a 7-Eleven at gunpoint, red bandana over his face, knit hat and gloves, the whole rig. Gets the cash, runs into the backyard of a nearby house and hides the money in the bushes. So he won’t get caught with it on him, means to come back for it. He hides everything incriminating-bandana, gloves, hat,.357 Magnum, and his jacket, and takes off.
“Cops arrive with a dog, find the stash. Find, in the jacket pocket, Dufio’s property identification card from county jail. Name, photograph, fingerprints, date of birth, jail booking number.”
Everyone smiled. Max took a sip of beer, ate a few bites of his dinner. “Dufio does his time, gets out. Two weeks later he’s waiting in the car with his cell phone while Hernando, a block away, is robbing a small bank. Dufio is supposed to swing around at Hernando’s call, pick him up and take off. He sees this guy come out of a luggage shop, out the back door with one of those canvas cash bags, heading away toward the bank. Dufio decides while Hernando’s grabbing the bank money, he’ll make a second hit.”
Harper took another slice of garlic bread. “This is noon, rainy midweek day. There’s not much foot traffic. In the process of knocking out the luggage-store guy, Dufio drops his phone, messes it up so it doesn’t ring, and misses Hernando’s call.
“Hernando comes careening around the corner with the bank money, mad as hell. The alarm is going in the bank-and Dufio, when he got out of the car� He’d locked their only set of keys inside.”
Chuckles exploded all around; and on the chaise the cats turned their faces away, hiding their own amusement. There was something deeply satisfying about the bad guys screwing up, even the clumsy ones.