The officer pounded across the room and down the front stairs, jerked open the car door. The siren stopped. Joe heard him walking the front yard as if looking for whoever had entered his vehicle. He left at last, slamming the door, burning rubber as he backed down the drive.
Collapsing against the washer, Joe felt as limp as a slaughtered rabbit. He was staring at Dillon's door, trying to figure out how to get it open, when up the stairs the door swung wide and light spilled down-silhoutting a small tabby-striped figure, her tail lashing.
He reared up, watching her. "How did you know I was here? How did you get in?"
"Through the bathroom window," she said, galloping down. "Same as you." She smiled and nuzzled him. "You're not the only one who can break and enter-or follow a trail of scent." She sniffed at the door beneath the stair. "Dillon! Oh, Joe! Is she really there?" she whispered.
"Alive and well. Who was that, tramping the house?"
"Officer Wendell. He didn't open a drawer or cupboard, but he checked everywhere a person might be hidden, the closet, even under the sinks and in the shower. Stood on a chair and pushed up the little door into the attic, swung his torch all around. He checked the food in the kitchen and the clothes in the closet." She narrowed her green eyes. "Looking for little-girl clothes? And why did he come so secretly? This isn't his beat-he's on day watch, south side of the village."
"Did you set off the siren?"
Dulcie smiled. "I saw Crystal at Binnie's Italian, saw her come out with two cartons of take-out. On a hunch, I nipped on over here. Caught your scent. Went on in. Then Wendell came snooping."
"Nice," Joe said, nipping her ear.
Together they tried the bolt, leaping and grabbing and twisting, but they couldn't budge it. They daren't speak beyond the faintest whisper. They could hear Dillon just inside, softly breathing, as if she was pressed against the door.
"When we get her out," Dulcie whispered, "where can we take her? We can't take her anywhere. We can't talk to her."
Joe didn't have an answer. "The first order of business is to get her out."
She touched his paw. "The minute we set her free, she'll run straight home. And that's the first place Crystal will look. You can bet she's armed, Joe. If she gets there before they call the station… Dillon's parents are such-gentle types."
"Only her father. Her mother has spunk."
"But-"
"We'll think of something. I don't want to leave her here. If we knew how long Crystal will be gone…"
"She went to meet someone. She called him but didn't use his name. Just, 'I need to talk with you,' then, 'I can't. Meet me the same place.' "
"Wark?"
"I'm guessing it was Wark."
Leaping across the garage, Joe toppled the broom with one swat, where it leaned against the wall. Pushing and pulling together, they got it across the floor and upended, angling it against the bolt. They were forcing the broom with teeth and claws, pushing it against the bolt, when a furry warmth thrust between them, trying to help.
"How did you get here, Kit?" Joe snapped.
"Followed Dulcie," she whispered, pushing with all her might.
From beyond the door, Dillon's muffled, frightened voice cried, "Who's there? What are you doing? Crystal, is that you?" The cats imagined her cowering in the small, dark space while a stranger-quite possibly the killer-pried at the door to get at her.
They tried again, with the kit pushing too-she was stronger than she looked-but the bolt seemed frozen in place.
"We need help," Dulcie said, licking her bruised paws, crouching to race up the stairs-flying to the kitchen, to knock the phone from its cradle.
21
CHARLIE WAS so scared she was almost sick. Parking around the corner from the duplex, she left the van's streetside door open as she'd been instructed. She didn't fear Crystal, she feared whoever had killed the Marners and would be looking for Dillon. Dulcie said that already Officer Wendell had come prowling, in a way that was more than suspicious.
Hurrying along the dark street, she looked warily into the black interiors of the scattered cars parked against the curb, ready to run if someone stepped out to grab her. But despite her fear, she had to smile. She felt like Alice Through the Looking Glass for sure, stumbling around in the night, following orders from a cat.
Quickly up Crystal's drive into the shadows, she moved along the side of the garage until she found the pedestrian entrance, a black rectangle where the door stood open. She could see nothing within. Clutching the hammer that she had pulled from her toolbox, she wondered if she'd be quick enough to use it if someone grabbed her.
A voice from inside made her jump. "She's across the garage," Dulcie said. "Under the stairs. We couldn't slide the bolt-we finally did loosen this one. Hurry. Crystal's gone, you can use your flashlight. Oh, hurry."
Flipping on her flashlight, softly pulling closed the door behind her, she fled across behind Dulcie, her light sweeping across washer and dryer and furnace, pausing on the door beneath the stairs.
She slid the bolt. The door flew open in her face, knocking her backward. Dillon hit her in a tackle that sent her sprawling, the girl's shoulder in her stomach. She couldn't get her breath.
"Get off, Dillon. It's me-it's Charlie." For a thirteen-year-old, the kid was strong. Fighting for her life, she crouched over Charlie, punching, blind with fear. When Charlie grabbed her hands, Dillon kneed her in the stomach, broke her grip, and ran, taking the stairs two at a time. She was halfway across the apartment when Charlie caught her, grabbing Dillon's red hair, upsetting the coffee table, nearly strangling the child before she got her stopped.
"Hold still! Be still! It's all right. I'm getting you out of here. Away from here. I'll hide you."
"That's what she said."
"Stop it! I'm Clyde's friend-Harper's friend-you know that!"
Dillon stared at her, didn't know her well enough to trust her. Charlie wished she'd brought Wilma. "I'll explain when we're out of here. Explain as much as I know. We-I think there's more than one person wanting to kill you." She scanned the apartment, half expecting Crystal to appear.
"Just let me go. Let me go home."
"I can't." Dragging the child, Charlie stepped to the windows.
The drive below was empty. There were no new cars on the street. "Come on."
"Where? I don't want-"
"My place. You can hide at my place."
"Take me to the cops or I won't go! Captain Harper will-"
Charlie held her shoulders, looking down at her. "Harper is under suspicion for your kidnapping. And for the murder of Ruthie and Helen Marner. We know he didn't do it. It gets complicated. You'll have to trust me. If you want to save yourself and help Harper, we need to get out of here."
"Just take me to the station. Is that so hard? Take me to Max Harper." The kid was incredibly stubborn, not nearly as mild-mannered as her parents. Had Harper taught her that, to stand up for what she wanted like that?
"Harper isn't at the station. He's taken administrative leave. He can't hide you. How would it look if you turned up at his place, when some people think he kidnapped you?"
"He didn't! Harper didn't kidnap me! He didn't kill them!"