And saw no one there.
I turned my attention back to the purse, thrusting my hand into the slim outside pocket. My fingers closed over something hard and I drew out a plastic room key from the Cruz Motel with UNIT 13 stamped across its face. Hm . . . if this was Daisy’s purse, then apparently she hadn’t gotten around to renting an apartment yet.
I snapped the purse open and peered inside. The contents of this purse were all neat and orderly. There was a Laura Geller lip gloss, a small compact of MAC blush, Mally mascara—all high end, quality products that a young woman might use. There was a small packet of Kleenex, a key ring with two keys on it, a pin in the shape of a pink ribbon, and a small coin purse, which I opened. Empty. I replaced the coin purse inside the larger bag and pushed it back under the jacket, shoving the motel key into the pocket of my costume. After a minute I picked up the pink ribbon pin and slipped that into my pocket, too. I turned toward the door and then paused.
In the hallway beyond I could hear the murmur of voices.
I stepped up to the door and peered through the small crack. A tall, imposing figure dressed all in black was standing just outside the door, its back to me. As it turned slightly, I caught a glimpse of its profile.
Reynaud.
The man was muttering to himself. He leaned against the wall and reached into his pants pocket. He withdrew two stones, held them up to the light.
I gasped. The stones he held in his hand looked almost exactly like the green and blue stones in the grimoire!
My mind flashed to the group huddled outside the exhibit door. Had there indeed been a theft attempt, a successful one? Was I looking at the thief right now? I pressed my eye closer to the crack. Reynaud closed his hand and put the stones back in his pocket. Suddenly he stiffened, and I heard a sharp intake of breath. “What the devil!”
“Er-owl!”
My heart stopped. I knew that wail. I angled my face so I could peep downward and sure enough there stood Nick in front of Reynaud, hackles raised, back arched in the classic Halloween black cat pose. His lips peeled back and his sharp white fangs were exposed. He let out a hiss.
“Who let that in here?” Reynaud rasped. “Get it out of here. Black cats, any kind, are bad luck, bad luck indeed.”
Whoa, black cats must really get to him. He had to be talking to himself—as far as I could tell, he and Nick were the only two out there. I saw Reynaud’s hand lash out, and I knew I couldn’t stay hidden and let him harm Nick. I closed my fingers over the knob, prepared to jerk it open and reveal my existence, but just at that moment Nick spun around and took off like a rocket down the stairs. I held my breath and pressed my body against the door. My heart was pounding so heavily in my chest I was almost certain Reynaud would hear it. A minute passed, and then two . . . and then I heard footsteps, shuffling away. I edged the door open and peeped cautiously around the side.
I saw a flash of black melding into the shadows at the far end of the hall. I leaned weakly against the doorjamb, remembering the last flash of black I’d seen. Hm. Reynaud was wearing a black cape . . . Was it possible he’d been my attacker? My hand closed over the plastic room key in my pocket.
“Nora!” came a shout from the stairwell. “Nora, are you still up there?”
I quickly exited the room, pulling the door shut behind me. I hurried over to the stairwell and saw Samms at the bottom, his hands on his hips. He smiled up at me. “I’ve found your cat,” he said, pointing downward. Curled around his feet was Nick. I threw another quick glance behind me and then took the stairs two at a time. When I reached the bottom I scooped Nick up in my arms and gave him a big hug.
“You rascal,” I whispered.
Nick blinked at me. “Meow,” he said, and then snuggled contentedly into my arms. His pink tongue darted out, licked at the back of my hand.
Daniel rushed up, the tense expression on his face softening as he caught sight of me and Nick. “Good,” he said. “You found him.”
“Samms did.” I looked at Daniel. “No trace of that other cat, huh?”
He shook his head. “No, sorry. I did tell Nan Webb about it, and she promised to put her staff on alert.”
“Thanks.” I shifted Nick in my arms. “I think we’re ready to go home now.” I let out a loud yawn. “Believe it or not, I’m tired. The events of this evening are catching up with me. After all, I was conked on the head you know. It wears down a person.”
Daniel stepped in between us and slipped his arm around my shoulders. “Of course, it’s been a very trying evening for you, Nora. I’ll be glad to take you home.”
I shook my head. “Oh no. You’re needed here, after all. I don’t feel dizzy now, and besides, it’s not far. Nick and I will be fine, won’t we, Nick?”
Nick snuggled deeper into my arms and let out a loud, rumbling purr.
Daniel and Samms exchanged a glance, and I got the definite feeling one or the other was going to offer to be my personal police escort slash bodyguard, a complication I so did not need right now. Fortunately, before either of them could utter a polite phrase in my direction, a patrolman hurried up to us. “Detective Samms? Sergeant Broncelli needs you right away.” He glanced at Daniel. “You, too, Agent Corleone. He wants to discuss the gri—”
“We’re on our way.” Daniel cut the policeman off midsentence and turned to me. “You’ll go straight home? You promise?”
I made an “X” over my heart. “Of course.” Daniel leaned over, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and then motioned to Samms. Samms gave me a thorough once-over before he fell into step behind the patrolman.
“He knows I’m up to something, damn him,” I muttered, my grip on Nick tightening. “So we’d better get a move on, Nick. Anyway I wasn’t lying . . . much.
“We are definitely going home, but it’s just a pit stop for me to change into something a little less conspicuous. I know it’s almost one a.m., but most people would call it the shank of the evening. You and I have a sleuthing date at the Cruz Motel.”
FIFTEEN
I made it home in record time, and under Nick’s watchful eye peeled off my costume, replacing it with a pair of black jeans and a black turtleneck. I shrugged into a black fleece jacket and put a few little necessities into a black cross-body bag. Then I took my red hair and bundled it up under a black knit cap. One glance in my full-length mirror assured me that I definitely gave new meaning to the phrase second-story man, or more appropriately, cat burglar. Nick, sprawled across my bed, fixed me with an unblinking stare.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I chided him. “I know, I know. I should have told Daniel and Samms about finding that purple stone, and about Reynaud with those stones, but let’s face it, it’s only speculation. Not actual proof of anything.”
Nick sat up and blinked.
“Okay, maybe I should have told them about the motel key but, once again, I have no proof that it belongs to Daisy. There was no identification in that purse. It could be anyone’s. So we’d best get a move on. If it’s not Daisy’s key, we don’t want to get caught in an innocent person’s motel room now, do we?”
Nick studied me with his golden gaze for a few seconds then hopped off the bed and pranced over to the door.
I grinned. “Okay, then. We’re off. With a little bit of luck we might even get back in time to get an hour’s nap in before Hot Bread opens.”
* * *
The Cruz Motel was about ten minutes away. I pulled into a spot at the rear of the lot and then walked over to the large single building with its connected rooms as Nick padded along beside me. I found Unit 13 without much difficulty and was just about to pull the purloined key out of my bag when I noticed the door was slightly ajar.
Uh-oh, I thought. This can’t be good.
I pushed the door and it swung wide open. I took a cautious step inside, feeling along the wall for the light switch. I found it, turne
d it on—and bit back a cry of dismay.
The room was one freakin’ mess.
Drawers were pulled out and clothes and underthings were strewn everywhere. The bedclothes had been pulled off the bed and rolled into a tight ball and flung into one corner. The mattress was askew; a suitcase, devoid of contents, lay overturned on the floor beside the bed. The folding closet door was open. Lying on its end was a soft-sided black suitcase, and propped against the wall off to its left was a hard-sided one in a funky purple leopard print. I picked my way through the maze of clothing and went into the bathroom. Everything was thrown about in there as well. I retraced my steps into the main room and just stood, surveying the wreck, my hands on my hips. Nick raced off to a far corner and bent over, his rotund bottom wiggling. I walked over to see what had interested him and saw a pile of brown nuggets on a paper plate. Nick was chomping on some of them. I reached down and picked the plate up, sniffed.
“Cat food?” I frowned, remembering the orange and white cat. Had it been Daisy’s? I set the plate back down on the floor, but by this time Nick had lost interest (he’s spoiled with my leftovers—mere cat food rarely satisfies) and had moved on to something else. I saw him now half under the bed, his claw fiddling with the underside of the mattress.
“Nick, this place is in bad enough shape. Don’t make it worse.” I sighed. I stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips. Someone had certainly performed a thorough search—but for what? And had they found whatever it was they’d been looking for?
“Er-OWL!”
I whirled around. Nick was squatted beside the bed, one claw caught on the mattress. I knelt down beside him and gently disengaged his paw. “Hey, I told you not to mess things up, didn’t I?”
Nick’s paw shot out, tapped the side of the mattress. I saw a white edge peeping out from underneath it. I grasped the edge and pulled out a photograph. I crossed over to the desk, switched on the lamp, and studied it. It was of a group of girls, all wearing pink vests and white blouses, posing underneath a banner that read: WALK FOR BREAST CANCER. I squinted at the tiny faces. Yes, there was Daisy right in front, between a brunette and a redhead, and just behind her, a tall woman with light-colored hair, a turned-up nose, and a determined chin.
A girl I recognized from another photograph.
Alexa Martin.
I tapped the photo against my wrist. Well, here was surefire proof Daisy and Alexa Martin had indeed met, if not known each other. I squinted at the other girls’ faces. It was possible one of them might be Doris Gleason. I’d have to have Hank work that angle. I slipped the photo into my jeans pocket and shut off the desk lamp.
“Meower.”
I peeped around the corner of the desk. My four-footed assistant was clawing madly at a threadbare section of the rug, threatening to put a huge hole in the cheap material. I knelt down and gently pulled him away.
“Nick, I know this place gives new meaning to the phrase a holy mess, but let’s not destroy it any more than it has to be.”
“Meower.”
He clamped his paw down on a section of the rug. I leaned over for a closer look. A bit of the rug was curled up, revealing a small cavity underneath. I threw Nick a look, but he was sitting back on his haunches now, head cocked and looking supremely pleased with himself.
I touched the curled portion of the rug and it flapped back, revealing a small hole. Nick’s paw darted out, and before I could do anything, he’d snagged an object that had been secreted in the hole and now clenched it tightly between his forepaws.
“What have you got there, buddy?”
Nick rolled over, loosening his grip on his prize. He looked at me almost expectantly as I picked it up.
It was a small, red leather pouch, tied with a drawstring. I took it back to the desk, sat down, and loosened the tie. Then I shook the pouch.
A large red stone tumbled out, making a small clink as it hit the desk’s scarred surface.
I switched the desk lamp back on and held the stone up to the light. A few years ago I’d done a story on synthetic gemstones. Sophisticated technology today made it possible to manufacture stones that not only looked like the real thing, but were created using the same general process as that of Mother Nature. I turned this stone over in my hand. The two major categories of man-made stones were glass and synthetic, of which glass was easiest to recognize. It usually had little bubbles or scratches, and the cut often had a rounded edge. This stone had none of those, so I ruled out glass.
Determining if a stone was synthetic or real was a bit harder. I knew synthetic gems sometimes had a scissor cut in the shape of an X, and often little grooves. Real gems had what was called inclusions (internal air bubbles or cracks, if I recalled the interview correctly). Not being a jeweler or a certified gemologist, I couldn’t make a call about this one. It did shine when I held it up to the light, but there were ways to make synthetics duplicate the luster of a real gem as well.
This was a call I couldn’t make. I started to slip the stone back inside the pouch when my fingers touched something crinkly. I reached in and pulled out a small slip of paper. On it was printed:
318 4181516
I frowned. What did this number have to do with the stone? If it were a fake stone, maybe it was some sort of ID number. I slipped both back inside the pouch and tucked that in my purse, along with the photo, and then I stood up and looked over at Nick, sprawled in the corner near the bed.
“Well, Nick,” I murmured. “Looks as if you’re two for two tonight for valuable clues. Now we just need to figure out what they’re clues to.”
“Er-ewl,” mewed Nick. His tail went straight up and his eyes gleamed in pure kitty satisfaction. The cat was good and he knew it, damn him.
“Okay, Sam Spade Junior. Let’s get back home.”
Nick suddenly tensed, tail straight, back hunched. His head swiveled toward the motel room door, and I heard a loud rumble, almost a grr sound, deep in his throat.
Someone was outside that door.
I tiptoed over to the window and moved the curtain a fraction so I could peep out. I could hear a gusty wind blowing, and I saw swirls of leaves flit across the parking lot. There were a few cars, including my own SUV, but not a sign of a human anywhere.
Nick had stopped growling, but he still paced to and fro in front of the door, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on it. I stepped away from the window and moved back to press my ear against the door. I listened for a few minutes, but no other sound reached my ears. I slid the safety chain into place and opened the door a crack, peering first right, then left.
Nothing. The walkway around the motel was deserted.
I opened the door, walked back to the bed, grabbed Nick, and then got out of there and over to my SUV as fast as my legs could move. As I put Nick in the passenger seat, I thought I saw out of the corner of my eye a shadow flit. I whirled around, but the parking lot appeared to be deserted. The only shadows I saw were those of the trees, their branches swaying in the late autumn wind.
Imagination. It’s a wonderful thing, and the mainstay of every writer, but right now I had no time for it.
I buckled myself in, started up the car, and swung back out onto the main road. I could save time getting back to Hot Bread if I took a shortcut, a little-traveled road that ran along the coast. In the interest of time, I opted for that route. The road was narrow and quite dark, as there were no lights, and I sped rapidly along the road. I heard a sound beside me, and spared Nick a quick glance. He’d risen in the seat, hackles up, and his head was cocked to one side, listening. Since a cat’s hearing is way more sensitive than ours, I didn’t doubt for a second he’d heard something.
“Hey, relax, buddy,” I said. “This is a shortcut. We’ll be home before you can say ‘Friskies’—say what?”
The car had come up from out of nowhere. I saw the lights in my rearview mirror and heard its motor g
unning a second before the car’s front fender connected with my rear one.
“Hey!” I shouted, gripping the wheel tighter. “What are you doing, you lunatic?”
I cast a quick glance out the window. The road wound along the coast, and there were no guardrails on this stretch. If the other car should bump me along the side, and run me off the road . . . well, there would be nowhere to run. It would be a good fifty-foot drop down into the raging waters of the Pacific.
“Hang on, Nick,” I said through gritted teeth. “Fasten your seatbelt, buddy, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”
I slid a glance in the cat’s direction. He had his head buried in my purse. “Don’t worry, boy,” I whispered. “I won’t let this nut hurt us.”
I pulled hard on the wheel and pushed my foot down on the accelerator, turning the car sharply to the left just as the car following me was about to smack my rear fender again. I made a swift one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and started racing down the road back the way I had originally come.
“I guess this shortcut wasn’t such a hot idea,” I ground out. A quick glance in my rearview mirror showed the twin headlights boring down on us again. It closed the gap between us in record time. Now its grille was about ten feet away from my rear bumper.
I gritted my teeth and then a soft whirring sound made me look over. Nick had his paw down on the automatic window release and was lowering the passenger window. He had an object clenched between his teeth. The pouch!
“Nick! What in Hell—”
I slowed down just a fraction and Nick took that opportunity to leap out of the car. Headlights reflected in my rearview mirror blinded me for a second, and I gave the steering wheel a sharp twist to the right, sending my SUV up over a grassy knoll just as the other car whizzed past.
“Whew,” I murmured, glancing over at the taillights of my pursuer as it vanished. “That was close—DARN!”
The tree loomed large in front of me. I pressed down hard on the brake, but it was too late. I braced myself as the hood of the SUV made contact with the tree, and the last thing I remembered was the airbag deploying and enveloping me as I slipped into unconsciousness . . .
Crime and Catnip Page 12
