He took even longer to answer that. “I can’t think of any.”
“Zack, was your mom a good woman?”
“She never said a mean thing about any human being. Never did a mean thing in her life.”
“But your dad didn’t trust her.”
He sighed. “Okay.”
We rode silently down Clark Road, crossed Tamiami Trail where Clark Road becomes Stickney Point Road, and rolled over the drawbridge to Siesta Key. At Midnight Pass Road, Zack turned toward the Charter Hotel. I wanted to ask him what he planned to do about Ruby, but I kept quiet. Opal was wide awake now, lying on my lap looking around with eyes so dark blue they were almost violet.
Zack said, “My mom’s eyes were like Opal’s.”
I didn’t remind him that he had the same eyes. It was possible that he’d always been so focused on electronics and speed that he’d never taken a good look at himself in the mirror.
When we pulled into the Charter Hotel parking lot, we saw several sheriff’s cars, an ambulance, and a few ubiquitous panel trucks from TV stations. Angelina moaned again. She apparently thought all the attention was for herself.
Zack pulled under the hotel portico, where a uniformed bellman stepped forward. “Sorry, sir. You can’t park here. We’re expecting somebody the police are meeting.”
Zack’s eyes narrowed. “I believe we’re the somebody. Tell the cops to keep the reporters away while we get out of the car.”
“I can’t park it for you, sir. We don’t have the insurance to cover valet parking.”
It was such an inane non sequitur that Zack tilted his head back to look under his eyelids at the man. “Maybe you can get one of the cops to park it.”
As he spoke, a uniformed deputy tapped on my window, and I turned my head to see Deputy Jesse Morgan peering in at me. Morgan is the Key’s only sworn deputy. He and I have had occasion to meet over dead bodies enough times for him to believe that I have a dark cloud over my head. I was happy that this time was different.
I lowered my window, smiled at him, and tilted my chin toward Opal.
He said, “Ms. Hemingway,” but he looked past me at Zack. From the excited gleam in his eyes, I almost expected him to ask for an autograph like the 7-Eleven guy.
I said, “Officer Morgan, this is the baby that was kidnapped this morning. We’re taking her to her mother here in the hotel, and we’d appreciate it if you’d keep the reporters away from us.”
“We’ll do our best, but you know how it goes.”
I knew that journalists were allowed anywhere in the public viewpoint, as a sidewalk or street or right of way, and they could take photos from any of those places. A business or a hotel open to the public is considered a public place, but hotel lobbies and hallways are gray areas, sometimes considered private and sometimes public, depending on the nature of the crime committed there. Since most journalists operate under the philosophy that it’s better to be chased away than to be denied permission, I expected a volley of shouted questions to surround us when we left the car.
I said, “The woman in the backseat is a witness to several crimes. She is also a flight risk. She’s frightened, and with good reason.”
Morgan leaned down to look at Angelina. “Yes, ma’am.”
He straightened and beckoned to a cluster of deputies at the edge of the portico. They trotted over, Morgan gave them quick orders, and when I released the child-lock control, they opened the back door and took Angelina into custody. They were gentle, but very firm. As they led her away, she looked over her shoulder at me with anguished reproach. Clearly, she didn’t trust me any more than she trusted Myra.
The waiting journalists had only given the Bronco a passing glance. They must have expected Zack to arrive alone, zooming in like Batman with his baby on his back. They clearly hadn’t expected a dusty SUV with a man and woman in the front and another woman in the back. But when a covey of journalists saw uniformed officers lead Angelina to a sheriff’s car, they turned toward us like vultures sniffing carrion.
At the same moment, through the glass wall of the hotel lobby, I saw Ruby burst from one of the elevators. Her arms were already outstretched to hold her baby. I knew if she came outside she would be surrounded by a cacophony of bright lights, shoving reporters, and shouted questions. Zack saw her too, and had the same reaction as I did.
Simultaneously, we opened our car doors and ran toward the hotel entrance. Startled by the movement, Opal began to shriek, and I pulled her close to shield her from the lights and noise. We loped across the marbled lobby and met Ruby in the middle.
She was luminous and wild. I think if anybody had tried to stop her, she would have torn them to bits with her hands. I put Opal into her arms and Zack rushed to put his arm around them both. Behind us, Morgan and some other deputies arranged themselves in a meager phalanx in front of the entrance doors.
With Zack half-pushing, half-pulling Ruby, we ran across the lobby to the bank of elevators.
As we stepped into the elevator, I heard Morgan shout to the reporters. “Get a grip, people! You are not allowed to follow anybody to their hotel room. You are not allowed to wait outside their hotel room. If you want to camp out here in the parking lot, that’s your business, but if any one of you tries to infringe on a hotel guest’s rights, you’ll be arrested.”
I was impressed. I’d never seen Morgan so decisive.
Opal was still howling, and Ruby was crying while she tried to examine her for bruises or cuts.
I said, “She doesn’t seem to be hurt.”
Ruby wailed, “Why is she so filthy?”
Zack and I exchanged a look, remembering how much filthier she had been before we got clean diapers for her.
I said, “Did the sheriff’s office send a physician?”
“He’s in the suite with Granddad.”
Zack stiffened. “Your grandfather’s with you?”
She shot him a hostile glare. “He’s an old man, Zack. His house almost burned to the ground this morning. Where else would he be?”
Zack seemed about to make a snappy retort, then crimped his lips into a straight line. I had the feeling they had argued about Ruby’s grandfather and Zack’s father so many times they had a repertoire of one-liners they could spit out on cue. I wished Cupcake were there to sweeten their practiced sourness.
When we got out at Ruby’s floor, I saw Mr. Stern standing in the hall like a sentinel. Zack’s jaw hardened when he saw him, the look of a young warrior preparing himself for battle against an older, more seasoned combatant.
But instead of taking a snarky attitude, Mr. Stern held his hand out to Zack. His eyes were fierce, but not with anger. As if she recognized him, Opal’s cries subsided to droning hiccups.
Mr. Stern said, “Young man, let me be the first to tell you how much I admire what you did. That took guts. Real guts like most men your age don’t have anymore. It’s a privilege to shake your hand.”
Abashed, Zack said, “Thank you, sir. But I didn’t do it alone.”
“A good offense takes teamwork, son! And only leaders who’ve proven themselves get smooth cooperation from their troops. It speaks well of you that you had people willing to help you.”
Ruby and I rounded our eyes at each other. Mr. Stern had either undergone a profound change, or he’d been locked up and some other old man was impersonating him.
A chubby man in a sweatshirt with a stethoscope dangling from his neck came to the door.
“Bring the baby inside, please.”
Ruby tightened her grip on Opal. “She seems fine. I think she just needs a bath.”
“You can bathe her as soon as I check her.”
We all trooped into the hotel suite and watched as the doctor took Opal and laid her on the bed. She began to cry, and so did Ruby.
The doctor removed Opal’s grimy clothes, listened to her heart, looked into her nose and ears, examined her bottom, searched for bruises or scratches on her arms and legs, palpated her tummy, ran his h
and over her skull, and pronounced her undamaged.
As Ruby snatched her and held her close, the doctor said, “How long has she gone without nourishment?”
We all looked at each other and shrugged. Only Vern or Angelina or Myra would know the answer to that, but we doubted she had been fed.
Zack said, “We can pick up whatever she needs on the way home.”
Over Opal’s head, Ruby looked a question at him.
A crimson flush climbed Zack’s pale neck and crept to his hairline. “We’ll all be going home where we belong.” I wondered if he had picked up the line from Cupcake.
Turning to Mr. Stern, he said, “We can pick up your cat from the hospital, too.”
For a second, Mr. Stern’s entire face smiled. Then he looked at Ruby and Opal, and grew sober. “You young people need some time alone. Away from old men and cats and everybody else.” He flashed a look at me, and I felt my own face heat.
I said, “Until you can move back into your own home, I think we can find a hotel that will allow you and Cheddar to share a room.”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “This day’s had enough.”
So had we all.
In a quick flurry of hugs and handshakes, Ruby and Zack hurried out to the hallway. I stayed a second to tell Mr. Stern that I would find him a new hotel the next morning, and then followed them. We were all dragging with fatigue and relief.
On the way to Zack’s house, we stopped at a Walmart where Ruby ran in to scoop up everything she could find that Opal might ever conceivably need. Zack and I sat in the car with Opal and waited. Opal was fussy, every minute more wide awake from whatever Vern had used to drug her—the doctor had guessed paregoric. Part of me was furious that she’d been drugged, another part was grateful. I hoped her trauma had been lessened by being asleep for most of her ordeal.
Before Ruby returned to us, Zack made several phone calls, the first to Cupcake.
“Opal’s okay, bro.” A pause, then, “I’m taking them home right now. Ruby’s in the Walmart buying stuff for the baby, then we’ll go home.” Another pause, and a husky, “Thanks for everything, buddy.”
As he dialed the next number, he glanced at me. “Cupcake says the cops took Vern to jail. Also Myra.”
Before I could answer, his phone connection clicked. “Dad, it’s me. I’m on my way home with Ruby and our baby. I’d like you to be gone when we get there.”
I heard gruff squawking sounds, and Zack sighed.
“Go home where you belong, Dad. Stay in your own house, not mine. I’m bringing my family home and we’re going to stay there together, the three of us. If you disrespect my wishes on this, you won’t see me again. Ever.”
He looked out his window and saw Ruby tearing across the parking lot with several large shopping bags hanging from her arms and shoulders.
He said, “I have to give my wife a hand now, Dad. Goodbye.”
In a flash, he was out of the car and helping stow bags into the backseat. Before Ruby climbed into the passenger seat beside me, he leaned down like a skinny comma and kissed her cheek. Ruby was trembling so much when she got in that she fumbled getting the seat belt to latch. I handed Opal to her and drove off smiling. One of the nicest surprises about life is that sometimes impossible things happen.
31
Zack, Cupcake, and I sat in the back row of the courtroom during Ruby’s swearing-in. Opal slept on Zack’s shoulder, and he made sure that Ruby had a clear view of their daughter from the witness stand.
The bailiff held out a Bible for Ruby to place her left hand on, told her to raise her right hand, and asked the question we’ve all heard a million times on TV shows. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Standing straight and steady, Ruby swept her gaze over Myra and her team of defense attorneys, and then gave a tremulous smile to Zack. “I do.”
The jig was up for Myra, and she knew it. Myra occupied a straight-backed wooden chair at the defendant’s table. The chair looked uncomfortable. Myra looked cadaverous, pasty white and hollow-eyed.
Denied bond, Tuck was in jail and would be tried separately for his part in her Ponzi operation. After Ruby’s testimony, he would spend as many years in prison as Myra.
Vern hadn’t had anything to do with their Ponzi scheme, but he was in jail charged with kidnapping, illegal imprisonment, attempted murder, and an assortment of lesser crimes. He had been denied bond, and he would be in prison for a long time. To Mr. Stern’s delight, one of the most damning pieces of evidence against Vern had been the presence of orange cat hairs on Vern’s limo seat. DNA testing found the orange hairs had come from Cheddar, proof that Vern had picked up cat hairs when he lifted Opal from the crib where Cheddar had been allowed to visit while Ruby was in the room.
I didn’t stay for Ruby’s entire testimony. I had cats to groom and feed, and anyway the testimony would be dry and boring once it moved to the minutiae of money transfers and contracts and taxes and foreign bank accounts. Boring to me, anyway. Tom Hale would have found it juicy and riveting.
Mr. Stern and Cheddar were happily together at the Bide-A-Tide Villas on Turtle Beach. Cheddar had a screened lanai to watch shorebirds leaving tracks in the sand, and Mr. Stern had a row of history books about Florida that excited him as much as the birds excited Cheddar. Workmen were busy at Mr. Stern’s house putting in new wallboard and floors in Ruby’s bedroom, painting, replacing furniture, and getting rid of the odor of smoke throughout the house. I stopped by the Bide-A-Tide twice a day to give him a hand with Cheddar, and I went to the house once a day to feed the koi. Without Mr. Stern and Cheddar to give it life, the courtyard seemed strangely empty.
Sometimes when I was tossing fish food on the pond for the koi, I had an eerie feeling that eyes were looking down at me from Myra’s house, but the house was empty. Angelina had been questioned at length, and her answers had helped law enforcement officers connect the dots in several cases against Kantor Tucker. Like flying a man who was in the country illegally over the Gulf and shoving him out. The man could not be reported missing because he didn’t legally exist, but Angelina knew his widow, and the widow could give dates and times that corresponded to a body that had washed up on Anna Maria Island.
As for me, I was in purgatory. Or hell. Or some weird place between lives like the Tibetan bardo.
People who aren’t true to themselves are lost to everybody else as well. An easy thing to know, but a hard thing to do. In my imagination, I tried to place myself in a city where I breathed the odor of chicory coffee and beignets instead of sea air. I tried to imagine what it would be like to live in a place where jazz was the subliminal background sound instead of the sigh of surf and cries of seagulls.
All that was easy. It was even easy to imagine myself feeling joy in seeing Guidry’s city through his eyes, getting to know his family, creating a home for us. The only problem was, I couldn’t imagine doing it forever. A few weeks, maybe. A month or two. But I knew as sure as I knew the back of my own hand that I would wake up one morning and need the sounds and smells I’d known all my life. I would need them the same way I needed air. Without them, my soul would shrivel.
My mind desperately raced looking for compromise. But I always ran up against the hard wall of knowing that compromise isn’t possible when it comes to needs—the unique basics essential to a person’s happiness. Needs can’t be bartered or denied without something intrinsic to the soul dying. Wants, on the other hand, are just the things that make life more pleasant. They’re like gravy on your mashed potatoes. Not essential, but nice to have. They can be compromised all over the place, but only after your basic needs are met.
And the hard truth is that while someone who loved me could give me some of my wants, the only person who could meet my needs was me.
The trick was to tell the difference between needs and wants.
When the levees holding back the sea outside New Orleans broke, the city suffered devasta
tion unlike any this country has ever experienced. When artists, musicians, writers, culinary wizards, and ordinary citizens were driven away by the floods, New Orleans lost part of its soul. For Guidry, the urge to go home and be a part of recovering the city’s soul was a need, not simply something that would add to his enjoyment of life. That need was something only he could define, and only he could meet. Loving him meant that I wouldn’t try to stand in his way.
Myra Kreigle and her sort had caused financial ruin for a lot of hardworking people on Siesta Key, but I couldn’t honestly say that I felt the Key needed me for its survival. With me or without me, Siesta Key would continue to be a beautiful place where gentle people walked the beach every morning, where they marked turtle and plover nests to keep them safe, where they rescued wounded manatees and seabirds.
The truth was that I needed the Key a lot more than it needed me. I needed its sand beneath my feet, needed to breathe its sea air, needed to hear the cries of seabirds and share space with tropical vegetation. Without them, I would not be me.
The truth was that while I greatly wanted Guidry’s touch, his keen intellect, his loyalty, and his love, I would continue to be myself without them.
It was that truth that broke my heart.
ALSO BY BLAIZE CLEMENT
Raining Cat Sitters and Dogs
Cat Sitter on a Hot Tin Roof
Even Cat Sitters Get the Blues
Duplicity Dogged the Dachshund
Curiosity Killed the Cat Sitter
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
CAT SITTER AMONG THE PIGEONS. Copyright © 2010 by Blaize Clement. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.minotaurbooks.com
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