Yes, the door was locked. But coming back along the hall she could swear she’d left the middle bedroom door closed. Now it was open. She peered in, then shut it, wondering what he, or that woman from the cat shelter, might have seen lying on the dresser. Crawling back into bed, trying to get comfortable, she wondered about that blonde throwing her money away on useless pens for stray cats.
She had never expected a new building to rise so close to the ruins, she didn’t like people so near. That’s why she’d kept her share of the Pamillon property separate from the family trusts. She’d figured they’d never be able to sell the estate, never do anything with the old place. And then that Kate Osborne buying the mansion and the whole acreage, her and her sharp attorney finding a way to untangle the trusts. That was a nasty shock, and then Kate trying to buy her five acres, too.
Well, she and Lena had put a stop to that. Her niece was just as hard-minded as Voletta herself, they weren’t selling to anyone. And then that woman contractor shows up, her and her carpenters. And the foreman, this Scott Flannery, who she’d heard was Ryan Flannery’s uncle.
At least he had been there to help her tonight. She supposed she should have been polite and thanked him, he might be useful again sometime. Maybe he was Kate Osborne’s lover, he was over there a lot. She didn’t care what they did but the arrangement complicated things for her. From up at that shelter they could see her whole property, she knew that from when she’d walked up there, looking around at the half-finished building. Who would build a “shelter” for cats? Cats got along fine by themselves.
Well, she’d picked up a good trowel and a hammer. They wouldn’t know where they lost them. Scowling, she got as comfortable in bed as she could and drifted off into a mildly drugged sleep. If she dreamed of her own plans, she floated down into them, smiling.
When Lucinda and Ryan had hung up, Pedric turned off the gas log and set the camping coffeepot off the heat. With the power off, the house was freezing. They were both up when Ryan had called, had been looking out into the night, calling Kit. Now, carrying the emergency battery light, they hurried back to their warm bed, Pedric silently giving thanks that Kit was safe and that she would follow Lucinda’s instructions—and Lucinda wondering if Kit would do as she was told. Wondering if she herself would now be able to sleep.
Lucinda did sleep, but she woke at first light. Maybe it was the silence that woke her: there was no wind beating at the windows.
When she tried the bedside lamp, there was still no power. The tall woman rose, brushed back her gray hair, pulled on her robe again, relit the fire, and put the coffeepot back on the flames. She supposed there would be trees down all over town. Beyond the windows the sky was heavy with clouds. One small streak of red glowed behind the eastern hills. Nearer the house, down in the hollow to the west, lay the torn branches of eucalyptus and acacias, and four fallen pine trees. The coffee started to perk. She heard the cat door flap open and she turned.
Kit sat on the dining table looking smug.
Her tangled fur was a wet mess covered with damp leaves. Lucinda grabbed the tortoiseshell up in her arms hugging her close, pressing her face against Kit’s cold little face, stroking litter from her flyaway fur—saying a silent prayer that she was safe. Never had they had such wind, not in the middle of summer. Never had she worried so over Kit as she had last night—well, almost never.
The sweet cat was purring so loud she drowned out the sound of the perking coffeepot. “I dreamed my tree house was all blown apart, but before I ever dreamed, that one tree did fall, Lucinda, the one that fell on Joe Grey’s tower and the windows are broken and it fell on a car, too, a stolen car and smashed it in the middle, I was following the man and he crawled out and ran but I didn’t follow I was so worried for Joe, but then Joe was all right and Ryan and Clyde, too, only I’d left Pan behind and Joe and I went to look for him and—”
Lucinda placed a soft hand over Kit’s mouth. “Slowly, Kit. Slowly, you’re making my head spin. You told me most of this last night.”
Kit had to tell it again but she tried to go slower. “And Pan was following another man but we found him—Pan—and he came home to Joe Grey’s and Ryan made breakfast and she called the Firettis and we called you and it was still dark and we all piled in bed and went to sleep and the police were down on the street at the wrecked car and I dreamed about my tree house blown away and when I woke up the wind was gone but when I slipped out on the roof there were no lights down in the village, no power anywhere, but I was careful of loose wires anyway and Pan went home to the Firettis, they need him, they were worried about him.”
Lucinda hushed her again, picked up the phone, and dialed the Firettis.
“Did Pan get home?” Pan had been staying with the Firettis much of the time since Pan’s father died. The doctor and Mary mourned Misto so, he had been very special to them. Misto passed away shortly before Joe and Dulcie’s kittens were born. Now his headstone and little grave graced Mary’s flower garden; and Pan had moved in to fill the empty place in their lonely household, to ease their grieving. Though late after midnight he still prowled the rooftops with Kit, or dreamed away the small hours in her tree house.
“Pan just got here,” Mary said. “And Kit? Is she all right?”
“She’s home, she’s telling me all the details. Did you have much damage?”
“John’s been over at the clinic most of the night. Everything seems fine.” They talked for a few moments as, outside, the dark sky began to bloom with thin red streaks. As Lucinda hung up, Pedric woke, came out to the kitchen and was treated to another long dialogue before Kit devoured a lovely breakfast of pancakes and leftover salmon.
At Dulcie’s house, Wilma, too, had been up and down all night, checking the windows with a flashlight as the blow increased, checking the cage in the kitchen making sure the babies weren’t upset by the rattling wind. But they, tucked down in the blankets warm against Dulcie, had slept right through; what sturdy kittens they were. Dulcie looked up at her and purred and curled down deeper among them. The house was so cold, with no power, but the kittens’ bed was warm. Taking her cue from them, Wilma went back to her own bed.
Wilma was asleep, her long gray-white hair spilled across the pillow, when the wind ceased; the silence woke her, and the kittens’ mewling and hissing in play from the kitchen. They, having slept all night, were wild with energy. Wilma pulled the pillow over her head and closed her eyes, hoping to doze again.
In the kitchen, Dulcie played with them, tussling and wrestling, up over table and chairs and counters, atop the refrigerator and down again, running and leaping until she was worn out, but she hadn’t worn them out. She hadn’t slept much, the night wind had made her feel trapped, as if she were its prisoner.
Ever since the kittens grew older she had gotten these locked-in feelings every few days, hungering to be out of the house, yearning for a wild run under the open sky unencumbered by demanding youngsters. She loved her babies dearly—but did all mother cats feel this way? The kittens were big enough to be left in their pen, with Wilma to watch over them, but they made such a fuss when Dulcie left them. And now, this morning, her housemate needed sleep.
She wouldn’t take the kittens outside with her, they were still too small, with hawks in the sky and an occasional loose dog roaming. She had resumed batting and chasing them across the linoleum, trying to wear them out, when the two-sided bolt of her cat door slid open with an impatient paw, the plastic door flew up, and Joe Grey pushed inside.
The kittens hadn’t figured out the latch yet, but it wouldn’t be long. Joe Grey nuzzled Dulcie for only a moment then was mobbed by their babies, all three climbing Joe’s sleek gray sides, biting his ears and nipping his paws. He pressed Striker down with a big paw, then looked tenderly at Dulcie. “You look battered.” He licked her ear. “Go run, the wind’s gone. Be careful of the wires and …” But Dulcie was already out the cat door and up an oak tree onto the roofs running, running …