Cat Bearing Gifts

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  He’d gotten acquainted with Debbie, walking down there of an early evening as her kids ate supper, walked the roundabout way, coming up from below. When he’d let her know he knew what she was up to, that had scared her. She’d denied it until he told her exactly what he had seen. The woman was feisty but she was easy enough to intimidate. He got her to show him what she had, and some of the stuff was high-end, from the Neiman Marcus and Lord & Taylor stores in the village plaza, and that had surprised him. Molena Point might be small, but there was money here, and Debbie had gone right for it.

  Once he’d complimented her on her skill, she came around real nice, got real friendly. He noticed that, heading out for those high-end stores, she dressed real slick, tried to look like she belonged in there. She said she was selling what she lifted through a consignment shop up in San Jose, the guy was a second-rate fence, using the shop as a front. Said she’d drive up there once a month. She’d told him what they paid, and after a couple conversations, they’d struck a deal. He said he knew a fence in the city—well, he knew of him. Said he could get way better prices, that he’d sell what she stole, keep his share, and still make more for her than she was getting. He wasn’t sure why she trusted him. Or why he bothered. Except she was a looker, and she had a snotty little way that he liked. Who knew, maybe something more would come of that.

  Out the bedroom windows, the sky was growing lighter. He dressed in his new clothes, folded up the old ones, clean now from the washer. Carrying those, moving into the living room, he looked down from the front window to make sure the street was clear, then moved on through the laundry into the garage. Locked the door behind him, and slipped into the Lincoln. He’d thought to eat something, there in the house, but he wanted to move on out of the neighborhood before people came out to walk their dogs, take kids to school or go to work. Starting the engine, he hit the button to open the big door, checked the street for cars as he backed out, closed it again fast. On the street he saw only the same three cars that had been parked there the night before, their windows fogged over. Moving on away, down the hill, he studied the houses as he passed. No one out in any of the yards, no kids, no one on their porch or looking out a window, that he could see. He had a good feeling about the day ahead. By tonight he’d be miles away from the coast headed inland and north with the Lincoln and the money, and he wouldn’t have to worry about Birely anymore. By tonight, Birely would be history.

  IT WAS THE next morning that Pedric was transferred down the coast from Dominican Hospital in Santa Cruz to Molena Point’s Community Hospital. Joe peered through the mesh in Ryan’s backpack as she walked along beside Pedric’s gurney, approaching the ambulance. Wilma stood with Clyde, Dulcie looking up over the edge of her carryall. Clyde’s backpack bulged with Pan and Kit crowded in there—a four-cat entourage to accompany Pedric’s careful transport home.

  But in Clyde’s pack beside Pan, Kit couldn’t be still. Fidgeting and staring out, her gaze followed Pedric worriedly as he disappeared into the ambulance. “He’s so hurt. All that talk about MRIs and arteriograms, whatever they are, and about maybe a tumor and more blood work to do and—”

  “Those are just tests,” the red tom said, his tail twitching irritably. Did she have to fuss so, in the confined space? “Only tests,” he said, “precautions. They don’t necessarily mean anything.”

  “But Dr. Carroll said Pedric’s blood sugar’s high, and he’s having trouble with his eyesight, and—”

  “He said there could be any number of causes. It doesn’t mean anything, Kit. He just wants to be sure. Will you settle down?”

  “He said there might be something going on in Pedric’s brain,” she said, her voice quavering. “He talked about a brain scan. That means something, I heard him say they’d look for a tumor, maybe a pituitary tumor, whatever that is, and an abnormality in an artery, and—”

  Pan hissed at her impatiently. “Those things can be fixed. Would you rather they didn’t look, and missed something important and Pedric got worse?”

  “I’d rather he wasn’t hurt at all and we hadn’t been in that wreck and that scum hadn’t hit him in the head and we were all home right now, all safe at home and they had never been hurt,” she said, shivering.

  Pan fixed her with a hard gaze. “You can’t help Pedric by crying, and you can’t help Lucinda if you’re all weepy.” Reaching out a paw, he tucked it around her paw, and licked her ear. “They’re lucky to have you, and they’re lucky to have good doctors. Now can’t you settle down?”

  Kit settled, glancing sideways at him, and together they peered out through the mesh, watching the ambulance pull out of the parking area, to the street. They watched a nurse wheel Lucinda out from the ER in a wheelchair and help her into Kate’s rental car, which was the newest and most comfortable of their three vehicles. When Lucinda was settled inside and the nurse had gone, Clyde leaned in and Kit and Pan slipped out of his backpack onto Lucinda’s lap. Lucinda was a bit groggy from the pain medication; she smiled sleepily at the two cats. Kit licked her hand, which tasted of disinfectants. Through their open car door, they watched Charlie settle Wilma into her Blazer, setting the carryall by Wilma’s feet, watched Dulcie emerge and climb up into her housemate’s lap. The rented Lexus and the Blazer pulled out, with the Damens’ red king cab behind them, Joe Grey and Rock peering out the side window, the little parade moving through the quiet morning, heading home.

  21

  THE CLICK, AS Clyde unlocked the Greenlaws’ front door, echoed hollowly in the deserted house. Outside in the drive, Kate’s rented Lexus stood next to the Damens’ red king cab. Charlie had gone on to the hospital, to offer moral support as Pedric was admitted. She would swing by Wilma’s first, drop Wilma and Dulcie at home where the two meant to tuck up for a mid-morning nap; their all-night vigil in the motel, broken by only a few hours of sleep, had left both woman and cat yawning, and a bit fuzzy in their thoughts.

  Clyde and Lucinda moved on inside, Lucinda leaning on his arm, still groggy and unsteady from the pain medication. The room was chill and smelled musty even after only a week’s absence. Ryan and Kate followed them in, but tortoiseshell Kit hung back, looking off where Joe and Pan had raced away. The moment the two vehicles came to rest in the drive, Pan had taken off for the rooftops, his amber eyes flashing with anger. Joe Grey had followed him, perplexed, uncertain how to think about Kit and Pan’s sudden conflict.

  In the car, driving down, Pan had been fascinated by Kate’s tales of the Netherworld, but Kit had soon gone sullen and cross. She’d always been drawn to the thought of mystical lands that might link to their own history, but this morning suddenly, faced with Pan’s enthusiasm, she hadn’t wanted to hear about Kate’s journey.

  Now, she watched the two toms race away, and then quietly she entered the house. There she paused, shivering at its neglected feel. The kind of gloom that makes folks hurry to flip on the lights in the middle of the day and open the windows, as Ryan was now doing, to let in the fresh ocean breeze. But Kit, entering, sensed more than abandonment. Nervously she scented out and backed away, curling her lip at the smell.

  She watched Clyde settle Lucinda in her chair before the hearth and then turn to lay a fire, arranging logs from the stack in the wood box, and striking the gas starter. She could hear Ryan in the kitchen filling the coffee maker, and taking a lemon cake from the freezer, as Lucinda had asked her to do. Kate settled in Pedric’s chair, near Lucinda, looking questioningly at Kit when she didn’t leap up into Lucinda’s lap.

  With the smell of that man in the house, Kit turned away to prowl the empty rooms—hopefully empty. He used Lucinda’s keys to let himself in, she thought. If he’s still here, he’s cornered, and he’s even more dangerous. Giving Clyde a look, she moved off toward the bedroom. Watching her, Clyde picked a short length of firewood from the stack behind Lucinda’s chair, and followed. Kate looked after them, frowning, then rose to tuck a lap robe around Lucin
da.

  “Kit’s just in a mood,” Lucinda said. “All this stress. She’ll be all right, in a while.”

  “That was my fault,” Kate said, “that argument in the car, my fault for telling Pan about the dark world. His interest didn’t sit well with Kit.”

  “They’ll have to work it out,” Lucinda said sadly. “They were so happy. But it wasn’t your fault at all, Pan had to hear the story sometime. How could he not, when Joe and Dulcie both know about your journey.”

  The drive down from Santa Cruz had started out pleasantly, the morning bright and cool, the sea on their right a deep blue beneath stacks of high, blowing clouds. Pan had curled up on the seat between Kate and Lucinda, while Kit snuggled in her housemate’s lap, her tortoiseshell coat dark against Lucinda’s white bandages. But then as Kate spun her tale, Pan sat up straight, listening eagerly, and soon he was asking excited questions, his tail twitching—and soon Kit grew restless watching him, her ears back and her own tail lashing hard when Pan talked about going down himself, about going there with her. Kit had once dreamed of that land, but not the way it was now, she didn’t want to go there now. What was Pan thinking? Kate had had a reason to go, searching out her mother and father’s own history, but Pan had no such excuse.

  It was in San Francisco that Lucinda had asked Kate, “Your journey down into that world? It was your father’s old journals that led you there?”

  Kate nodded. “Yes, the diary he left me. And the jewelry I found there and brought back, it’s so like the pieces he left me. The same ancient Celtic jewelry style that has haunted me. And so many pieces with cats worked into the design.”

  “I remember you sold a few pieces, those without cats.”

  “Those lovely pieces stashed away for nearly half a century, in the back of a walk-in safe.”

  It was the grandson of the attorney who gave Kate the first pieces of jewelry, who had journeyed with her down through the caverns. He had found her again, up in Seattle, got her address from the San Francisco designer firm she’d worked for. He meant to retire, to leave the firm, and he had the trip all planned. He’d wanted her to go because of what her parents had done in trying to save that land. “He wanted to know if I’d like to join him.”

  “You said yes, just like that,” Lucinda said.

  “Oh, I did some research on him, as much background check as I could, by myself. I didn’t want to involve anyone else. From what I found—mostly what I didn’t find—from the holes in his own family background that were so similar to mine, I decided to trust him.”

  She moved into the right lane; they were making good time. The sea wind had turned warm now, as the sun rose higher. “I knew it was risky, but I was burning to see where my mother was raised.” She had described for Pan the vast caves of the Netherworld, the rich veins of gold reaching down miles below California’s own depleted gold fields. And then, in the car, when she talked about the shape-shifting beasts and the winged lamia, Pan’s paws kneaded with excitement—and Kit’s claws kneaded with unease, and as they’d passed Seaside, just north of Molena Point, the two cats had begun to argue.

  Pan wanted to descend down into those dark tunnels despite the dangers, and he expected that Kit would go with him. Kit said that if he went, that would be the last adventure he’d live to see, and Pan didn’t see why she was suddenly so timid. Her hissing refusal sent them into a snarling argument, the matter ending when Kit leaped into the backseat, curled up in a dark little ball with her back to them all. In the front seat, Pan had crouched forlornly between Kate and Lucinda looking helplessly from one to the other, not knowing what to do, not wanting Kit’s violent anger, but unwilling to give in to her.

  The minute they pulled into the Greenlaws’ drive, and Kate parked and opened her door, Pan leaped out and took off across the yard, vanishing among the neighboring oak trees. Kit dropped to the drive and headed for the house, looking at no one, her ears flat to her head, her eyes blazing, her fluffy tail lashing with rage. Glancing back once, she saw Joe jump out of the Damen truck and follow Pan and she hissed at him, too. Joe didn’t know what had happened but he was with Pan all the same, as if he were certain that it was her fault.

  Now as Kit explored the house, Kate looked after her, dismayed. “I thought Kit loved my stories. It wasn’t until this morning that I saw the truth.”

  She hurt for Kit, and for Pan; she had no idea how this clash of feline stubbornness would resolve itself.

  They could hear Clyde in the bedroom opening the closets and cupboards. They watched Kit return, her nose to the carpet, moving on through to the kitchen.

  “What?” Lucinda said. “What is it?”

  Kate shivered, listening to Clyde’s movements as he investigated the house. Someone had been in there but was gone now, she’d heard Clyde open every closet, every door. Their assailant had Lucinda’s car and house keys; and Lucinda’s muzzy, sedated condition had left her without her usual sharp perception.

  Kit, returning from the kitchen, looked up at Lucinda, lifting a paw. “The man who hurt you and Pedric, he made himself at home. He ate, he messed up the kitchen, he rummaged through your closet. He slept in your bed,” she said, hissing indignantly.

  Ryan appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “There’s a dirty plate in the sink, an empty container from frozen spaghetti, a crushed beer can.”

  Clyde came out of the bedroom. “He took a shower, left wet towels on the floor. Hair all over the floor, long hair, and more wrapped in a towel. As if he’s cut off a pigtail. Left a hell of a mess.”

  Lucinda rose, and they followed Clyde back to the bedroom. She looked with disgust at the mussed bed, which she had made carefully before they’d left for San Francisco. She inspected the dresser drawers, and then the closet. “Pedric’s tweed sport coat’s gone,” she said. “He didn’t take that to the city. His tan slacks, too, with the stain on one cuff.”

  “And the dark brown Rockports,” Kit said, “that he wears to walk the hills.” She looked up at Clyde, her ears flicking uncertainly. “If he wanted clothes, the suitcases were right there in the Lincoln. Did he have to come in here, invade our house, mess it up, and leave his smell everywhere? What a pig.”

  “What else has he done?” Lucinda said. “What else has he taken?” She moved back to the dresser, began opening drawers to examine them more carefully, lifting layers of sweaters, socks and underwear, leaning awkwardly with the weight of the cast.

  Kate opened the carved pine armoire, but the big, flat TV and the DVD player were in place, the rows of CDs lined up on the shelves beside them. Ryan, stepping out to the living room, opened that armoire but returned shaking her head. “TV, music system, looks like it’s all there.”

  “He means to come back,” Lucinda said.

  Ryan put her arm around Lucinda. “I’ll call the locksmith again, get him on out here pronto.” But Kit looked worriedly at Lucinda. Even if the locks were changed, Lucinda and Kate would be alone tonight.

  With only me to guard them, she thought with dismay. Despite the angry, predatory twitch of her claws, despite knowing she’d do her best to protect her humans, she was no hundred-pound police dog. Even with new locks, she thought, he can break in easily enough. Now, since the accident, her housemate seemed so frail, hindered by the cast and the pain, her senses dulled by the drugs that were meant to ease her pain.

  Ever since she first met Lucinda and Pedric, up on the grassy slopes of Hellhag Hill when she was a very young cat, she had looked on them as invincible. She’d never before known a human in her short, wild life. She’d had no idea they could be like these two, so wise; two humans who understood her, who saw at once her true nature as a speaking cat, and delighted in their discovery. That first day as she spied on Lucinda and Pedric while they enjoyed their picnic, as she listened to Pedric recite the same ancient Celtic tales that she herself loved, Kit had felt as one with them.
It hadn’t taken long for them to coax her out with gentle questions and with smoked salmon, and that was the beginning of their friendship. Despite Kit’s wild and independent life roaming the hills alone, she soon went home with them. She had never left again, they were her family, two strong humans she could trust with any problem, any secret, could trust with her very life, the two humans who would be there for her forever, wise and indestructible. But now suddenly she might have to protect Lucinda, or try to. Now suddenly Kit had a hard glimpse into human mortality, and she didn’t like it much.

  She listened to Ryan calling the locksmith back, watched her hang up the phone, looking at Lucinda. “He’ll be here within the hour. I’ll call the department, they can photograph, and run prints.”

  “Do we have to?” Lucinda said. “There’s nothing else missing, a jacket, a pair of pants, and a pair of shoes. Clothes that Pedric could have packed and forgotten though I know he didn’t, clothes he might have left in the city. The TVs and computer are still in place.”

  “It’s vandalism,” Ryan said. “Whatever they find, including prints, might help as evidence later, if . . . when they recover the Lincoln.”

  “Call them,” Lucinda said at last, resigned. She didn’t want to be disturbed, she only wanted her house to herself again, cleaned of every trace of the man, wanted to wipe away every invading trace of him with scrub rags and disinfectant.