Well, he’d just arrived in town recently, he’d gone to school with Cage. He could come to the house if he liked, maybe come to see Lilly, see how Cage was doing. What business was that of Harper’s?
Mounting the steps, he rang the bell, stood listening for sounds from within, for the shuffle of feet approaching, for Lilly’s slow, deliberate movement. Cage’s sister’d never liked him much, even when they was kids in grammar school, him and Mavity and Cage-and that Wilma Getz. Lilly was some older, in high school then. Tall, bone thin, dry as dust even when she was young.
The door creaked open, and Lilly Jones stood there tall and plain and wearing the kind of shapeless cotton dress his own mother had called a housedress; Lilly was more dried up and skinnier than ever.
“Evening, Lilly. It’s me, Greeley Urzey. Heard Cage was out of prison and I come over to visit.”
Lilly looked at him like she might look at a frog skewered on a stick. “Cage isn’t here. I don’t know where he is. What did you want?”
“Like I said, to visit. Been a while since I seen Cage.” Greeley gave her what he considered a winning smile. “You going to ask me in? It’s been a long time, Lilly. It’s hot out, I’d sure enjoy a drink of water. It sure is mighty hot, even this time of evening. Water, or that good lemonade you make. You always made the best lemonade, back when we was kids.”
Lilly looked resigned or too tired to argue. She backed away from the door, motioned him in, pointed to the couch. The woman wasn’t big on graciousness. But then Greeley guessed maybe he wasn’t so smooth, either, in the manners department. Mavity said that often enough. But what the hell difference, anyway?
“I can make you some frozen lemonade,” Lilly said shortly. “That’s the best I can do. There are some magazines there on the table. But he isn’t here, Greeley. And he won’t be.”
This, Greeley thought, was going to take a while. She’d kill time in the kitchen fiddling with the lemonade, and then the long process of drinking the sour stuff and trying to draw her out. He glanced around the tired-looking, faded room figuring out just what questions to ask her, how best to pull this off. Old woman was prickly as a cactus. Looked like she hadn’t changed a stick of furniture in the room since he and Cage was kids slipping up the stairs to Cage’s room and locking the door behind them.
When Lilly finally returned with the lemonade and handed him a glass and sat down, he took his time sipping and smacking, telling her how good it was. She looked at him coldly.
“What did you come for, Greeley?”
“Cage didn’t call you? Well, he figured he might not be able to, said he’d try. He needs some clothes and things, plans to…be gone awhile. He’s out, you know.”
“I thought you hadn’t seen him.”
“Well, he told me to be careful what I said. Until I saw you was alone, saw that the cops wasn’t here.”
“Hiding from the law again,” Lilly said dryly, not seeming at all curious about why or how Cage was out on the streets.
“Well, yes, ma’am. He didn’t have no clothes, and-”
“He can buy clothes.”
“He told me to come on down to the house, told me to check his closet, pretty much told me which ones to get. And his razor and toothbrush, like that…”
“Surely he has money to buy what he wants.”
“I guess he doesn’t want to be seen just now,” Greeley said diffidently.
“I should think not. He almost killed a man today.”
That shook Greeley, that she knew.
“That federal officer could die,” Lilly said. “Cage belongs in prison.”
Greeley wondered, if he was in this much trouble, would his sister, Mavity, be as hateful as Lilly Jones? He gave Lilly a gentle smile. “Cage said there was some kind of suitcase or duffle bag. Said to pack up his stuff, whatever I thought he’d need. If it’s all right with you, of course…” He was growing uneasy. This old woman was going to run him off-or try to.
It would be a sight easier if he had the house to himself. If he could search in his own way, take his time. But he hadn’t figured out, yet, how to accomplish that.
Lilly looked at him silently for a long time. He waited for her to tell him to get out, but then she settled back, watching him. “Tell me where he is. Tell me exactly what happened. Tell me why he shot that federal officer. If you tell me all of it, we’ll see about the clothes.”
12
D ulcie and Kit, too, were headed for the Jones house, racing up into the hills, skirting the canyon, where a fitful wind blew at their backs, pushing them along and ruffling their fur. Shouldering through tinder-dry weeds, they bounded into bright flower beds, then tangled grass, then across the back garden of the four senior ladies, on and on, up the ridge through all manner of backyards; at the crest of the hill, they circled around to the street, to the front entrance of the Jones house, just as Greeley had done.
The tall, brown, boxlike dwelling stood on the highest blunt ridge, nearly smothered by eucalyptus trees, a two-story structure with no architectural grace, though the trees hid most of its faults, the silvery-leafed giants crowding so close that their wind-tossed branches rattled against the siding, slapping the cracked wood.
The lumpy front yard was dry and bald, with a thin scattering of scruffy grass. There was no sign that anyone watered, or cared about growing things. Dulcie paused to pull a thorn from her paw, gripping it in her teeth and jerking hard, then spitting it out. A few parked cars stood along the street or in the narrow, cracked driveways. One imagined garages too full of trashy personal treasures to accommodate even a bicycle. No person could be seen in the yards or at the windows. In a few houses, though, lights were on. Above the darkening rooftops, the evening sky was still silvered with the fading day. Venetian blinds covered the windows of the Jones house. All were closed, so the cats could not see in; a faint light burned in what seemed to be the living room.
A block away, a water company truck was parked, as if out late on an emergency call, two uniformed men bent over the curbside meters. One was Officer Blake, a tall, balding, string bean of a man. The cats didn’t know the other officer. Down at the other end of the block, three PG &E employees were working, as if perhaps attending to the same emergency: two were older officers the cats had never seen. The cats knew that Max Harper had men on call for surveillance, when he might be shorthanded. Despite the late-afternoon heat, the windows of the Jones house were all closed.
“Must be like an oven in there,” Dulcie said. “Could Lilly have air-conditioning? Oh, not in this old house.” Most folks on the coast didn’t bother with artificial cooling; usually a sharp evening breeze took care of any unusual heat. Kit counted the windows and studied the size of the house, staring high above them. “Why would she live alone, in such a big old place?”
“It belongs half to her and half to Cage,” Dulcie said. “When he was on parole, Wilma suggested he get something smaller, put the money in savings, but he didn’t want to do that. I guess the house is paid for, so Lilly lives rent free. Their parents bought it years and years ago, when they were first married…I’ll bet they never dreamed it might be a place for their son to hide from the law.”
Circling the house, sniffing the front porch and along the narrow, leaf-covered driveway that slanted down to the basement garage, they caught not the faintest scent of Wilma.
“If she isn’t here,” Dulcie whispered, “where has he taken her?”