Picking up her office phone, she heard no dial tone. She hit the button, listened. Nothing; again the line was dead. Why did the phone company have to string its wires up the side of the building, prey to every prowler?
She had dropped her purse on the table by the front door. During the time Consuela had the gun on her she had toyed with the thought of trying to slip the phone from her purse and dial 911, but there was never a second when Consuela glanced away.
Still carrying the poker, she fished the phone from her purse and dialed 911 now. She gave the dispatcher her address and described the break-in, trying to make clear the extent of the destruction. The dispatcher told her to get out of the apartment until officers could clear it.
"No. I feel safer here. I was… I was kidnapped tonight, as well. They could still be out there." This sounded really weird, so strange that she felt embarrassed. The woman would think she was a nut.
"Can you go to a neighbor's?"
"I don't know my neighbors. I'll stay here."
"Where in the apartment are you?"
"By the front door, in the entry. I've searched part of the apartment, all but the bedroom."
"Officers are on the way. Please stay on the line. When exactly were you kidnapped?" Was the woman patronizing her? Trying to assess her degree of sanity or insanity?
Well, she couldn't blame her.
Or did she simply want to keep her talking until help arrived? She repeated as briefly and clearly as she could the events since she entered the restaurant until she arrived home. She told the dispatcher about giving Consuela the jewels. She explained Consuela's change in appearance and gave her a description of her male partner, and of the car. That seemed to impress the dispatcher. She explained that Consuela had been in Molena Point and that the police there might possibly have some information on her.
Talking with the dispatcher, Kate pulled the foil-wrapped sandwich from her purse and moved into the kitchen. She was amazed that she could think of food, but she felt weak and faint, and knew she needed to eat something. Finding a saucepan among the rubble and an unbroken cup half buried in flour, she washed both thoroughly in hot soapy water, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder. Filling the pan with water, she set it on a burner, brought up a gas flame, and searched among the debris for a tea bag.
Unwrapping the little bag of English Breakfast, she dropped it in the cup, poured boiling water over it, and carried teacup and sandwich into the little dining room, stepping over her nice place mats that were wadded on the floor. She needed to eat. She was weak; her diminished blood sugar dragged her courage even lower. She told the dispatcher where she now was in the apartment. She was pulling out her chair when a movement in the living room brought her up short. She turned, swallowing a cry of alarm.
A black cat sat on the overturned couch disdainfully watching her.
He was huge; his amber eyes blazed so fiercely they seemed filled with licking flames.
There could not be another like him, this cat who called himself the death angel, this cat who had stolen her safe deposit key and had stolen her signature; the same thieving cat that had arrived in the village last year with Greeley Urzey to steal from the village shopkeepers. The beast that, at supper after Charlie's gallery opening, had looked down through the skylight watching them. She stood beside the table facing him, as ice cold as if all her blood had drained away. She looked down at the phone in her hand, and quietly broke the connection.
The cat smiled. "Little Kate Osborne. Pretty little Kate Osborne."
"Why did you help Consuela? What do you get out of it? Why would a cat like you be interested in a handful of costume jewelry with paste stones? Your thieving partner could steal anything you want."
"What partner would that be?"
"Old Greeley," she said, sitting weakly down at the table, cupping her cold hands around the warm teacup.
"I don't run with him anymore. She is my partner now, sometimes. I see that you gave her the jewels."
"How would you know what I gave her?"
"I saw her leave the parking garage. She would not have left unless she had the jewelry."
"And is he your partner, too? The man with the big nose?" She sipped at her tea. Where were the police? What was taking so long? What would they do, now that she had hung up?
The cat's eyes narrowed to slits and his ears laid close to his head. "If the jewels are only paste, why do you treasure those pieces so highly?" His crouch was so tense she thought he would leap on her, biting and clawing.
"The jewelry is part of my past. A past that has no meaning for you, or for Consuela and her friend."
Again the cat smiled. "I could tell you about your past." He looked at her sandwich, which lay untouched in the open foil wrap, the melted cheese turned to the consistency of rubber. "You were told at the orphanage that McCabe might be the name of your grandfather."
"How would you know that?"
He rose and stretched, eyeing her dinner. "Is that shrimp I smell? Grilled shrimp?"
Defensively she picked up her sandwich. The cat leaped six feet to an overturned chair and leaped again onto the table. He stood on her dining table staring intently at her supper.
Removing half the sandwich from the open wrapper she shoved it across to him, leaving a greasy path on the nice oak. She'd have to have a cleaning crew in; she wasn't going to deal with this alone.
Gobbling greedily, the black tom was as messy as a stray dog. The sandwich was gone in six gulps. Licking grease from his whiskers, he eyed her half. She ate quickly though it was cold and rubbery. If in her uneasy hunger she gulped as ravenously as the tom, she didn't care.
"I can tell you about McCabe," the cat said. "I can tell you about your grandfather and your parents, if you indeed want to know."
"How would you know about my heritage?" The cat's words deeply frightened her. Her search, which had started out nearly three years ago as a fledgling interest in her strange heritage, had turned into a nightmare of fear.
The black tom pricked his ears, watching her. "You'd be a pretty little cat, Kate Osborne. Oh, yes, all cream and silk. Maybe more willing than little Dulcie or that tortoiseshell. I do like a partner with my own talents."
His audacity enraged her. And the feline part of her nature deeply upset her. The joy she had once taken in those talents had vanished-to be a cat, rolling in the garden, racing over rooftops. Those changes had occurred only those few days when her life was threatened; they had not remained a part of her life. She looked at the tomcat. "Tell me why Consuela wanted the jewels. Why she would want paste jewels?"
"Shall we say she collects oddities?"
"She'll go to jail for robbing me, her fingerprints are on my safe deposit box, her forgery is on the bank records. That's a big risk, for oddities."
The cat's eyes grew as large as moons; he stared at her, keening a wild hunting cry, creeping toward her-she imagined his teeth in her flesh. Palms sweating, her heart racing, she rose and backed away.
He sat down suddenly on the table and began casually washing his paws, his expression one of deep amusement.
Watching him, she didn't know why she had launched herself into this search for her past, why she had opened this Pandora's box of perplexing connections, seeking matters that any sensible person would leave alone.
The black cat looked deeply at her. His purr was ragged. "You have amazing talents, Kate Osborne."
"Not anymore. That is past. I am no more than what you see."
The cat smiled. "You were under great stress at that time. Your life was threatened, your marriage shattered, your fear that your husband would kill you shocked and sickened you. Perhaps that was why the changes occurred-but what a lovely white and marmalade cat you must have been. And now… Perhaps the stress of present events will-"