"She's right," agreed Dave, whose work with domestic abuse cases gave him insight. "Cat's got a better chance of helping them if she goes there herself."
"I'll stay with my parents," Cat told them. "I don't need anything more from you guys. Your retainer was enough."
"It's not a money issue," explained Dave. "In fact, I bet Simon will agree with me when I say we have no problem paying for your flight and expenses while there. It's your safety we're concerned about. This case just escalated into something else."
Granny Grace was about to speak, but Cat interrupted her. "But this is the something else I'm meant to do," she insisted.
There was a long silence as the four of them looked at Cat. They seemed to be regarding her with new eyes.
"Well, it's settled then," Simon said. "You're going to St. Louis."
Chapter 7
Cat was wearing an orange sari and dancing in a Bollywood number around an extravagantly dressed woman on an elephant-shaped dais. Along for the ride in this dream, Cat did not possess these kinds of dance moves herself, so she stayed fused with the dreamer and enjoyed the spectacle.
A man in a gold Nehru jacket passed out orange-and-purple-swirled lollipops that were also sparklers. Cat danced with the lollipop, sparks flying in the air around her as she moved, creating orange and purple tracers in the air. Then she licked the lollipop, and an incredible taste, like oranges and grapes and honey melded into one, swirled across her tongue. When she began to sing, sparks flew out of her mouth.
Then a bad guy in black clothes and an evil monkey face jumped into the middle of the dance floor, smoke pouring out of his eyes. The smoke overtook Cat, and she woke up, coughing.
She'd fallen asleep on the long flight to St. Louis, and she had no idea whose crazy dream she'd been in this time. There were too many people coughing around her, and a quick glance in all directions told her nothing about who might have dreamed a Bollywood opera.
Sometimes dreams were like that. Just strange trips of the mind.
It'd been only three months since she'd left St. Louis, but she felt years older. In that short amount of time, she'd made the transition from college girl to young adult. She'd got herself licensed as a PI. She'd had a tryst with an old flame, she'd taken up yoga and meditation, and she'd found her own church. Even the way she dressed had changed. Gone were the hoodie and jeans. She was wearing leggings, quality leather boots, a tunic with a knit scarf around her neck, and gold hoop earrings. Her hair was still in a ponytail, but it was neater and secured with a stylish clip.
Her mother met her at the airport this time, wearing a necklace that had been a Christmas gift from Cat, a silver strand with an angel charm. That she was wearing the necklace signaled to Cat a gesture of peace, as they'd fought bitterly before Cat left for Seattle and hadn't really spoken since.
Whether the wearing of the angel necklace was a conscious ploy to signal a truce to her daughter or a subconscious tell that she missed her, Mercy did seem genuinely happy to see Cat. There were tears in her mother's eyes when she hugged her.
"You look so different," her mother commented. "Cosmopolitan."
Cat felt oddly guilty for straying so far from the girl her mother had said good-bye to, especially since Mercy hadn't approved of Cat's decision to move to Seattle and take over Granny Grace's PI business.
"I guess," Cat said awkwardly. "These clothes are new."
"Well, you look nice," her mother remarked. "Taller, even."
"Thanks," Cat replied. "It's probably just the boots." She turned her ankle to show the low heels.
They walked in silence to the baggage claim. "So how's your grandmother? Still acting as if she's twenty-nine?"
"Eighteen, more like it," Cat joked, just to show she was on her mother's side for now in the perpetual Cold War between Mercy and Granny Grace.
Her mother smiled at that. "Dragging you to her New Age pagan classes, is she?"
"There's a little of that," Cat admitted. "But I've found a good church, a Catholic one."
Her mother brightened further. "You don't say? Well, I'm very happy to hear that, Cat. Very, very happy."
The ride home with her mother was many shades different from the dramatic convertible ride she'd taken with Granny Grace in early May. It was her mother's car, and not Granny Grace's, that would seem to belong to the older of the two. The silver-grey Chevy Impala was a four-door sedan, very sedate. Her mother's careful reserve broke down once they were in the car, though.
"So why haven't you called?" she asked accusatorily. "It's been three months."
Cat sighed. "I don't know, Mom. Maybe it was the last thing you said to me. 'This PI thing is a fantasy' isn't exactly a swell send-off."
"You know I didn't mean it." Her mother drove cautiously and carefully, obeying the speed limits and the traffic lights, not cavalierly, the way Granny Grace did. Her hands on the steering wheel were manicured but bore clear polish.
Cat said nothing. The truth was, her mother had meant it.
"I just don't want you to do anything dangerous. Or stupid. Not that you're stupid. But your grandmother—"
"I'm not Granny Grace, Mom."
"I know. But she lacks strong values. She certainly wasn't always the best mother for me. I know you tend to idolize her, but you didn't get dragged all over the country like I did, always chasing some crazy case she was working on. A different school every year, always having to leave my friends, no stability... And she's been a bad influence on you in the past."
Her mother was referring to the summer Cat tried marijuana for the first time. "Are you going to drag that old saw out of the shed now? Jeez, Mom. That was a million years ago. I don't regret the experience, and all Granny Grace did was tell me the truth. She lets me decide for myself."
"And I don't?"
Cat was steaming mad but trying desperately to keep their argument from spiraling out of control. No matter what she did, she always seemed to push her mother's buttons, and vice versa.
"Not then you didn't, Mom. I was sixteen, but I was still your baby. I get it."
"She had no right."
Cat softened her tone. "All she did was answer my questions. I'm the one who decided to give it a try."
Cat remembered the house party she'd gone to with her friends in Seattle, the skunky smell of the pot, like her grandmother's incense. But it had burned her throat, made her eyes itch. And hours later she raided Granny Grace's cupboard, frustratingly trying to quell her munchies with rice cakes slathered in soy nut butter. Granny Grace had heard her rummaging around and come to investigate, quickly guessing what state Cat was in. And respecting Mercy's wishes, she'd had to fink on Cat that summer, which meant Cat had to start her junior year in high school on restriction.
It was her mother's turn to sit in silence, and Cat let her. She was noticing St. Louis pass by outside the window. The city was far older and arguably much more architecturally interesting than Seattle, where it seemed as if nothing—outside of Granny Grace's rare Victorian—had been built before the 1960s. She was glad her parents had remained in the city proper rather than moving out to the suburbs like a lot of other people.
They drove a while in silence, her mother navigating the inner and outer highway loops to get them from the airport out in the suburbs into the heart of the city. Cat caught her first glimpse of the Gateway Arch, reflecting the sun in flashes of bright light as they moved toward it. Apologies to the Space Needle, she thought, but the arch was the most elegant of all public monuments.
"So what are you doing back here, Cat?" her mother suddenly asked. "It's a bit soon for a visit, especially since you haven't even called."
"I was homesick," she answered. It was true, if she wanted to be honest with herself, just not the whole truth.
Her mother glanced at her suspiciously. "You were homesick. Right. I mean, sure, I believe that, but unless you swung some kind of job out there I don't know about, there's more to this visit than that, Cat. We're not the kind of people who can affor
d to fly half-way across the country to cure a passing bout of homesickness."
"Okay. Fine. I'm investigating a case. I can't tell you more than that."
"Oh, really. Well, why did you move out to Seattle if you were going to end up investigating a case back here in St. Louis?"
It was a good question, actually. She had to give her mother credit for that. But there was no answer for it, and it was meant rhetorically anyway. Cat felt the question lingering in the air. They were headed down their own street, signaled by the sound of the car tires wobbling over World's Fair-era cobblestones spared all these years from asphalt. Her mother parallel-parked like the expert she was, and they went inside.
Her father was much more welcoming, without any of the attitude and guilt-tripping, and Cat wondered why he hadn't picked her up at the airport. Maybe he wanted them to hash out that stuff alone beforehand. Retired now, her father had commandeered the dining room table for his model car hobby. He was working on a '79 Camaro this time, black with white racing stripes. Cat admired his handiwork.
"Dad, you can't see a trace of glue here. And how'd you get the steering wheel to spin?"
"Ball bearings," he responded, his eyes smiling at her above his bifocals. "I can't wait to see how they survive the explosion."
"Explosion?"
Her mother appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. "From the firecrackers," she explained. "He waits till the Fourth of July, loads them all up with firecrackers, and blows them to smithereens. It's a total waste, if you ask me. Show her all the other cars you've got out in the garage, Joe. There was a '57 Chevy, my favorite, bubble-gum pink, too, and he destroyed the poor thing on the Fourth."
"C'mon, daughter. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." He grabbed his cane on the way out. His life as a construction worker had taken a toll on his body, and he'd had a hip replacement the year before. He took several walks a day to keep fit.
"So what brings you back to St. Louis so soon?" he asked. "I can't imagine it's the weather." He took a handkerchief out of his pocket as he said this and wiped his already perspiring brow. It was like an oven out in the yard with the sun beating down. Cat took off her scarf and was relieved when they entered the cool darkness of the garage.
"You, Dad." She squeezed his arm affectionately.
"Oh, I'm not above flattery," he said. "Especially from pretty girls. But I know a liar when I see one."
She laughed at his frankness. Her daddy always had been a straight shooter.
He flipped the overhead light on to reveal a row of classic model cars: a '76 Corvette, a GTO, a Rambler, and a Trans Am. They had all been built with the same meticulous attention to detail.
"So you're blowing all of these up."
"That's right."
"Why? They're so perfect. Why not keep them?"
"I can't take 'em with me when I die," he explained.
"You're only sixty-five, Dad."
"Well, you see..." he began, putting on his best Granny Grace imitation, "I've chosen the path to Buddhist enlightenment. I eschew the material world. I seek nothingness..." He paused, took a matchbook from his pocket, and used it to light a stray firecracker lying on his workbench. He held it between his thumb and index finger for a few seconds before releasing it in time for the burst.
"Aw, I just like to blow stuff up." He grinned like a little boy.
Cat laughed. Her father picked up the GTO and scratched at imaginary flaws in the bodywork. "Are you going to tell me what you're doing out here, Cathedral Choir?" He liked to play with her name like that. It made her feel at home, so she plunged in.
"I'm investigating a case," she revealed.
"Back here? Why?"
"I know it sounds strange, but this case has a St. Louis connection," she said. "I'm following a mother and child who tried to run away. They're from St. Louis, but the mother and her girl were in Seattle. The father showed up there. And then... I-I lost them. I think he brought them back here..." She trailed off.
"Oh," her father said. "I see. I think. How do you know the mother doesn't just want to punish her husband? Could be one of those custody battles."
"Because, Daddy. I've been inside his head. I know."
Her father was silent. He didn't deny her dream ability outright the way her mother did, but he didn't approve of it, either.
"I've said it before, and I'll say it again—" he began, but Cat broke in.
"'Dreams are not a legitimate law enforcement tool,'" she recited. "I know what you think, Daddy. But Granny Grace, she's teaching me a lot."
"I'll bet she is," he said. Then again: "I'll bet she is. You know that woman once got the mayor of New York to put her up at the Waldorf? This was back before you were born. Ed Koch, he was the one. Probably one of the numerous men scattered across hither and yon whose hearts she broke."
Cat smiled at the image of Granny Grace living it up at the Waldorf while she was supposed to be investigating a case.
"I know you can't talk about it," her father continued, "But if an old beat-up hard hat can be of any assistance, you let me know."
He moved to turn off the garage light so they could go back inside the house. "I will," Cat promised.
"One more thing, Cathedral Bell," her father added, leading her out the garage door. "You be careful. If this guy chased his wife and kid all the way out to Seattle, who knows what he's willing to do."
Cat nodded. "I will, Daddy."
Chapter 8
She was standing outside in her mother's garden. At her feet, or her mother's feet, to be more accurate, the ground was dug up as if she were readying to plant something new. Cat became aware of her mother's consciousness. Her mother yearned for something to grow here in this ground, something she couldn't have, something denied her. Cat felt for the edge where she ended and her mother began. It was a jagged light along the seam of Cat's mind. If she concentrated on it, she could pull away, and separate...
There. She was out. In front of Cat, her mother stooped down to the ground. She pulled the angel charm from her necklace and buried it. Then she sat back on her heels to watch it grow.
It was some time before a tendril shot up, but then it grew quickly, sprouting and then growing into full size. It was a plant, but it was also an angel. Its face glowed fiery red and then cooled to reveal... Cat's face. It was Cat. Her mother had grown her.
Then she pulled another angel off her necklace and buried it, too. She sat back to watch it, but nothing grew. Her mother crawled over to the place where she'd buried it and dug it up. She cried, clutching it in her arms as if it were a dead baby.
Cat went to her mother to comfort her, but when she tried to put her arms around her, it was like grabbing at the air. Cat's arms went right through her. Her mother didn't seem to see her. Cat remained an invisible observer in her mother's dream. And again, her mother took an angel charm off her necklace, buried it, and waited for it to grow. Only in Cat's case did the angel charm grow into a child, but she kept repeating her actions nonetheless.
Cat woke up. She was in her parents' guest bedroom, staring at a crochet owl hanging on the opposite wall. Its eyes bored into her as if to say, Do you see now why your mother is bitter? Oh, wise owl, Cat thought, please go away.
She had always hated dreamslipping in her parents' dreams. It felt more like a violation of privacy with them than it did with anyone else, and afterward she always felt a bit awkward with them. In junior high and high school, when her dreamslipping ability arrived with the onset of puberty, she mostly didn't understand their dreams. They seemed to be about a world Cat didn't know, an adult world of anxiety, loss, and fears she could only guess at. To spare herself their dreams as much as to gain her independence, she'd opted to live in the dorms in college, even though she was going to school right there in St. Louis, and then she'd moved into an apartment her junior year.
But this dream she recognized. Her mother had had variations of it before. Cat felt the dream as a heavy weight. Her mother an
d father had not been able to have any children after Cat, and this dream proved that her mother, at least, had never fully made peace with that.
Cat rolled over, went back to sleep, and was thankfully spared from her parents' dreams for the rest of the night.
She was awakened by the smell of bacon. It was a rare treat for her back in Seattle, what with Granny Grace's inclination toward vegetarianism, selective though it was. As long as it was free-range, grass-fed, unionized, free of antibiotics, and raised in a cruelty-free manner, she'd partake.
Cat wandered down to find her father making bacon and eggs. "Sleep well?" he asked, and she lied and said yes even though the truth was she'd tossed and turned after her mother's dream. He motioned for her to sit down at the table and dropped a plate in front of her.
"Dad?" she asked. "How's Mom doing? She keeping busy?"
"Oh, she's got her church lady activities," he replied as he dropped a couple more strips of bacon into the frying pan. "They tried to recruit me, but me and God, we only need one meeting a week," he said.
"I worry about her empty-nest syndrome," Cat said.
"Yeah, well, since you moved out pretty much right after high school, she had to deal with that years ago."
Cat felt an old, bittersweet feeling return. She knew on some level her dad knew why she'd moved out so early even though she went to school in the same city and could have saved money by living at home. But they'd never discussed it directly.
"I'm sorry," Cat muttered, and her father shot her a sympathetic look.
"Oh, it was good for her," he said, sitting down with his own plate. "She's fine, you know. The church work really does make her happy. She's a bit of a legend at St. Elizabeth's. They adore her. If she seems otherwise right now, it's probably just your unexpected visit stirring her up."
Cat sighed. "I'm sorry about that, too."
He put his hand on hers across the table. "We know you're pursuing your dream—ha, in this case, literally." He stuffed a bacon strip in his mouth and smiled. "Besides, we're both flattered that you got so homesick."
Cat in the Flock (Dreamslippers Book 1) Page 9
