"And what did you do with the gun?"
"Dropped it in my purse, kept it with me in the trailer, put it in my glove compartment when I started home. Locked the compartment when I left the truck to load the windows, and again when I stopped to eat."
"It was there when you left the restaurant and hit the road again? Did you look?"
"No, I didn't look. The truck was locked. I could see it from the restaurant. No one bothered it. But I… I left the gun in the truck that night and the next-in the locked truck in the locked glove compartment. When I got home I was so tired, I just unloaded the windows and came up and fell into bed. And the next night, after the wedding, you were all over the truck. No one had bothered it."
"I wasn't into the glove compartment, wasn't in the cab."
"Someone," Ryan said softly, "someone unlocked my truck the night I got home, or the next night. Down there in the drive. Unlocked the glove compartment, took my gun, reloaded it, and either carried it away and killed Rupert, or killed him here, after you left-while I was right here asleep. Not ten feet from him.
"And where," she said, "was Rock, that night? Where were you, big boy, while all this was happening? Out running the neighborhood chasing the ladies?"
"The better question," Dallas said, "is what would he do if it happened again? He has a strong feeling for you, now.
"Except, you don't know his background or training. You don't know what he's trained to do. I'd feel better if you'd move in with me for a while."
"You can't baby-sit me twenty-four hours a day. Whoever killed Rupert could break into your downstairs in the middle of the night, just as easily as into my truck and garage-even if Scotty's back, staying with you. He sleeps like… he wouldn't hear anything. Rock," Ryan said softly, "Rock and I will do just fine."
Joe glanced at Dulcie. Had Rupert's killer also prowled around the Landeau cottage that night? Was that what Rock had smelled this morning that sent him snarling and ready to attack?
Maybe the killer had been after Marianna too? Did he have some vendetta against Marianna Landeau as well as against Rupert and Ryan?
But what vendetta? What was the connection? Did the killer plan to murder Marianna, as well, and incriminate Ryan for that crime?
More puzzling still, Ryan had seen how the dog behaved at the Landeau cottage, but she hadn't told Dallas. Did she think the dog's wariness wasn't important, that he had simply been startled by Eby Coldiron, by the sound of someone unseen approaching up the drive?
And that was only one crime, one set of players. What about the bombing? The cats needed urgently to pass on to Detective Garza the information about Curtis's uncle Hurlie who had perhaps sheltered the boy when he ran away to San Andreas, who had perhaps been involved in the bomb-making. They needed to call Dallas, or call Harper himself on his cell phone before he arrived in San Andreas, let him know about Hurlie, and that the address Curtis gave Dallas was probably as fake as a rubber rodent stuffed in a mouse hole.
The cats could see, from beneath Ryan's daybed, Ryan's phone sitting on the desk, its summons so strong that Joe was tempted beyond reason to creep across the room and try phoning Harper. With his voice drowned by Ryan and Dallas, could he make a quick call?
Oh, right. And see his entire life and Dulcie's irrefutably hit the fan.
Dallas said, "You're starting Clyde's job tomorrow, you'll be too busy to worry while we get on with the investigation."
"I'm thinking of putting Clyde off. I don't want to start ripping into the roof, then have to leave him with the house torn apart."
"Have you told him that?"
"No. We're having dinner. I'll tell him then."
"Is your crew ready?"
"Two good men. But I don't like to…"
"Can you call Scotty? Does he have to stay up there?"
"He's just doing some landscaping, putting in some sprinklers and walks. I guess he could-"
"Call him," Dallas said. "Get him down here and get on with the Damen job. I wish your dad was here. Call Scotty. You need to stay on schedule. Clyde's easy," he said, his voice lighter, "he'll understand if we throw you in jail, if he has to live for a few weeks with the roof off his house."
"'Specially if it rains." Ryan returned his laugh shakily, sounding close to tears.
Chair legs scraped as if he had risen. "Hang in there, honey. We'll get it sorted out. We'll do our work, and you do yours, and it'll come out all right."
The cats heard him leave, and watched Ryan at the window following the detective's progress as his car headed down the hill. Beyond the windows the setting sun hung like a third-degree spotlight blazing in at her, and forcing the cats' pupils to the size of pinpricks. The sun would be gone soon, pressed into the sea by the dark clouds that hung heavy above it.
Ryan worked at her desk for some time. The cats napped lightly. So did the weimaraner, who must be very full indeed, of sugar doughnuts. As the sky dimmed, only the desk lamp and the light of the computer brightened the darkening room. Ryan didn't pull the curtains. When her phone rang she answered abruptly, as if irritated at being disturbed.
"R. Flannery."
As she listened, a smile touched her face. "Yes, I'm about ready, I just want to finish up some billing. We need to go over the time schedule too and rethink a few details."
The call had waked Rock. Sniffing the scent of cat, and not preoccupied with sugar doughnuts, the big weimaraner trotted across the studio to where Joe and Dulcie were hidden, and poked his nose under the daybed.
"Get back!" Joe hissed in the faintest voice. "Get back!"
The silver dog, having no experience with obedience commands from a cat, flashed him a look of disbelief and hastily backed away.
"Sit," Joe breathed.
Rock, his yellow eyes wide with amazement, sat down on the hand-woven rug.
Ryan, still talking to Clyde, was punching in a program. "They're open on Sunday? Mexican food sounds like heaven. See you in a few minutes."
As she hung up the phone, behind her the big dog was trying, from a sitting position, to scoot closer to the daybed for a better look at the amazing talking cats.
"Stay," Joe told Rock. "Stay!"
Frowning and perplexed, Rock settled back on his haunches. Ryan did some final addition, hit the print button, and headed for the bathroom. The cats could hear her brushing her teeth, then the little crackling sounds, barely audible, as she brushed her hair. She appeared again when the phone rang, smelling of dusting powder and mouthwash. She was wearing lipstick.
Standing by the desk she lifted the papers from the printer and picked up the phone. "Flannery," she said shortly. "Oh… Hi, Larn." She didn't sound pleased. As she listened, she glanced over the printed sheets, then laid them on top of what was probably a stack of bills. "You did? No, I haven't run my messages. I left San Andreas very late. Did your remodel client get in touch?"
Balancing the phone between shoulder and cheek, she tamped the papers to align them. "Looks like I'm booked for a few months, picked up another couple of jobs. And as for tonight, I'm sorry but I have a date. I was just going out the door."
She hung up and turned, looking relieved that she had a ready excuse. She looked at Rock, frowning. He was still in the sitting position, hunched down staring fixedly under her daybed. As she started forward, the cats tensed to run.
"What are you staring at?"
The big dog turned to look at her.
"What?" she said softly. She looked at him and at the daybed which had only five inches of space underneath, not enough to accommodate any prowler. She glanced toward the closet and bath, and toward the door that led to the inside stairs, and silently she moved to try its bolt.
"What is it?" she asked Rock. "What's the matter? Come, Rock," she whispered. Again she glanced toward the closet and bath. But she had just come from there. She turned, looking into the empty kitchen. "Come, Rock."