Dulcie tried not to stare at her.
"She had no idea what she was getting when she took one of our litter of kittens. Nor did I, I wasn't sure. I only knew that my own dear Melody, your mother, was a very unusual cat, that she could speak," Genelle said softly.
"Melody and I had many talks here in this garden, many long and fascinating discussions in this house. She was with me until she died," Genelle said sadly.
Dulcie looked at the old woman as blankly as she could manage, dropping her ears as if she were shy or frightened. Genelle paid no attention; she kept talking.
"I didn't know how her one litter of kittens would turn out, nor did Melody herself. She said that none of her six brothers and sisters could speak." Genelle reached out to stroke Dulcie, but Dulcie backed away.
"This morning," Genelle said, "you came here following the child. I gather you've been watching her." She put out her hand, toward Dulcie. "I am terminal, my dear. In a few months, I'll be dead. Your secret will be dead with me. I will tell no one."
Dulcie could only watch her. Her heart skipped, as if it had lost all sense of timing.
"Melody had five kittens, three orange, one calico, and you, a dark, striped tabby. You were the tiniest. The others kept pushing you out. They didn't seem to like you, didn't want you to eat. I guess all young animals are that way with the runt, it's the way of nature. But something about you…" Genelle shook her head. "Melody would carry you up onto an easy chair and feed you alone, so you did indeed thrive. But she worried over you."
Genelle looked at Dulcie. "I kept the other four kittens. Neither I nor Melody knew-there was no way to guess-if you would be the most likely to speak. We thought you would, but we didn't know. And I… I thought even then that I wasn't well. We found the best home for you, where we could keep an eye on you. We chose Wilma with great care, but I told Wilma nothing.
"Your calico sister died when she was just six weeks old, a twisted intestine, the vet said. But you grew healthy, a wild, strong kitten. It was not until you began to steal your neighbors' lingerie, when you were little, that I felt sure you were more than you appeared to be. Melody did that when she was small; she so loved beautiful things."
Dulcie dared not speak. She couldn't stop shivering.
"Melody was not a young cat. She seemed determined to have that one litter. She died four months later." Genelle's voice shook. "It was… it was as if she knew. She wanted to produce at least one kitten like herself.
"And you were the only one." Genelle smiled and reached down to touch the peach-toned markings on Dulcie's nose and ears. "A bit of the Irish orange," she said with a fond, faraway look. "The other three cats are with me, orange tabbies, you've surely seen them around the village; they are dear, sweet cats, but they are normal, ordinary cats, not like you and Melody." Genelle rose, gripped her walker, and slowly crossed the terrace to the edge of the garden.
"It has taken a lot of self-control not to speak to you until now, my dear, nor to speak about you with Wilma. I thought that best. You have both guarded your secret as well as you are able, considering your busy life-you and your two friends," Genelle said softly.
Dulcie swallowed and backed away, slipping into the bushes again. That Genelle was aware of her ability was one thing. That Genelle knew about Joe Grey and Kit deeply alarmed her.
"Nor will I speak of them, to anyone," Genelle assured her, peering after her into the bushes. "I promise that. But I have enjoyed observing from afar the adventures I imagine for you three. From bits of news, my dear. From glimpsing you in the village, very busy and intent. From news clips about the crimes that have occurred in the village, and from the anonymous tips the police often receive. I know a couple of officers in the department, Dulcie. And I know a reporter or two. I hear things, things no one else would put together." The old woman laughed and winked. "And more power to you, my dear. The three of you are remarkable."
This was too much. Crouching deeper among the bushes, Dulcie was filled with feelings of chagrin, of betrayal.
She had no reason to feel that way. Indeed, she felt she could trust Genelle Yardley. But for a stranger to know about them, to have known all this time, to have been watching them… To Dulcie, the implications were immense and terrifying.
Stepping away from the walker but still holding on to it, Genelle knelt at the edge of the bushes, an exercise that took a great effort. "Please come out, please indulge an old woman. Mavity won't be here for another hour. Please come out so we can talk? And help me decide what to do about Lori?"
And Dulcie could do nothing else. She came out at last, her ears back, her tail switching.
"I don't mean to tell anyone about Lori," Genelle said. "It's very clear that she's afraid. But it seems to me that the child must go to the police on her own. Before her father knows she has the billfold." She looked hard at Dulcie. "Have you thought about what that billfold could mean?" Genelle rose, the effort so tiring that Dulcie longed to help balance her. Clutching at her walker, she turned away, making for her chair. Dulcie came out from the bushes then and leaped into the chair opposite, eyeing the last crumbs of bacon; crumbs were all that Lori had left.
Pushing the plate across to her, Genelle said, "It would be far safer for Lori if she'd go to the police now, of her own volition. Before Jack Reed knows what the child suspects, and that she has what could be damning evidence."
As the sun lifted above the eastern hills, and Dallas Garza hurried away from Otter Pine Inn to meet Max Harper, Joe Grey leaped into the bougainvillea vine, heading up to the kit's window. He wanted some answers. He halted halfway up, as, below him, Lucinda and Pedric emerged from the stairs into the gardens. Looking down, he watched the kit race ahead of them, all fizz and ginger and switching tail. The old couple, in the first cold light of dawn, was headed for the dining patio. Quickly Joe dropped down again to the bricks and followed.
No one else was out there at the garden tables; it was too early and too cold. Bundled in fleece coats and sheepskin boots and caps as if they were at the north pole, the Greenlaws seemed fixed on indulging their young runaway with a welcome-home patio breakfast. Even beneath the patio heaters, and seated beside the fire pit where flames danced, they had to be freezing. The moment they were seated beside the warming blaze, Joe trotted over and, before Kit could leap into a chair, he pressed against her, nosing her toward the far end of the garden, away where nosy waiters wouldn't overhear.
She followed him, scowling, but wide eyed with questions, glancing back at Lucinda and Pedric with a be-back-in-a-minute look. Lucinda and Pedric, watching the little drama, could say nothing, observed by an approaching waiter.
Deep beneath a pyracantha bush whose branches hung heavy with red berries, Joe stood looking at the kit. "I see you got home."
She hung her head, ashamed that she had worried everyone, but then smiled with smug delight. "I found him, Joe, I found the man who killed Patty and I went in his old dirty cottage and watched him and saw his car, too, and all the garbage like he's been there awhile and I-"
"Will you slow down, Kit? Tell me where. Does Harper know? Did you…?"
"I called Captain Harper just now from upstairs and told him it was an old gray Honda two-door all dented and the license number and told him where to find the newspaper clippings and the pictures of Patty and I put them where he can get them without a warrant like you told me and I told him about the gun but I don't know where that is except he might have it on him and I-"
"Kit!"
She tried to slow down, tried to be coherent. She told Joe what she had found and where, and the names of the four men in the clipping, and where she had hidden the envelopes. "Captain Harper said he was on his way."
Joe nodded. "So is Garza, he just left the tearoom." He was about to race away, when she raised a paw.