Cat Chase the Moon

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  Mindy stood in the corner against the old refrigerator, stood straight and silent, her face white. She hurt for her grandpa and she prayed for him; but she knew the medics and the doctors would make him all right. And there was something else in her brown eyes besides her worry and pain for Zeb; there was a gleam of fear which, slowly, morphed into the hard look of fight.

  This was not the end of her life as she knew it! This was not the beginning of something far worse, of years in child welfare! She’d run away, first, where they’d never find her.

  But, watching Max Harper kneeling beside Zeb, she knew that, despite what might happen to her thieving family, Max wouldn’t let her be sent to welfare, that Max and Charlie would somehow see that she stayed with Grandpa; and she leaned down and kissed Zeb on his forehead.

  The medic sighed, and grabbed fresh ice packs to ease the bleeding. He wished the child would back off, wished the old man would shut up. The old guy was hyped with anger, and if he had a concussion they couldn’t give him a sedative. He wanted to get him on the gurney, get him to the emergency room.

  Zeb took a sip of water from a straw the medic gave him. For an old man with a head injury he was talking too much. “Nevin shouted about some big jewel robbery then about murders and warrants . . . it didn’t make sense. They were fighting so bad I swung up out of the chair . . .” He stopped to cough. “And all of a sudden they both laid into me. DeWayne shoved me and hit me real hard . . . Nevin yelled, ‘You were into my bank papers. What kind of father are you!’ He grabbed DeWayne, said, ‘You knew, too.’ He hit DeWayne again, knocked him into the table . . . kicked him until he was down, until DeWayne’s white hair was all bloody.”

  By this time the old man’s voice was about gone. The blond medic gave him a cool cloth. Joe could see, by the blood pressure gauge, that Zeb was pushing takeoff.

  Zeb said, “DeWayne staggered up and out to his car, I heard the door slam, heard it race away, roaring rough up Highway One like it needed an engine job. Not one of those limos they drive but one of those old rough-running cars they brought with ’em, and I hope he doesn’t come back.”

  Officer Crowley went outside, walked around the place; he came back in, avoiding others’ footprints and tire tracks. “Both cars gone,” he said needlessly. “What is this about bank statements?”

  Max said, “Let him rest.” Crowley nodded, said no more. A car pulled up out front, Charlie’s SUV. She came in the front door, stood out of the medics’ way watching, and then followed Max outside where they could talk; of course Joe Grey followed.

  “He said it was about the statements,” Max said. “What statements?”

  “Zeb brought them to me,” Charlie said. “Nevin’s bank statements that Zeb copied, in town. He put the originals back in Nevin’s dresser where he found them. He said to give you the copies when the time was right. He said he didn’t want to be seen going in the station.” She grinned at him. “Now, I guess the time is right.”

  “Statements from a Molena Point bank?”

  “No. Santa Cruz and three others.”

  “And the originals? Zeb has them here?”

  “That’s what he said, that he’d put them back where Nevin hid them, folded in a gray sweater—but that he also found a stack of newspapers in the trash that gave the dates of the robberies. He compared them with the statements, cut them out and made copies. He gave those to me, too. It’s all at home, in the safe.” Charlie had never done anything like this, had never hidden evidence from Max or lied to him—except the one secret she had sworn to keep, about the speaking cats. Now, it took her a while to tell Max all that Zeb had told her. “But why is . . . ?”

  “It’s only corroborating evidence,” Max said. “Might not mean much now. But it could mean a lot if Zeb knows even more than he’s telling. The snitch’s voice, the night of the murder and bank-money theft, pretty much matched Zebulon’s. What else did he see, that he didn’t tell you about? And why not?”

  “Maybe because he wasn’t sure?” Charlie said.

  “Maybe because he was sure,” said the chief. “Because he’s scared as hell to lay out the truth.”

  They went back through the house to the front, watched the medics load the gurney into the emergency unit and strap it down. Detectives Kathleen Ray and Dallas Garza had arrived. Both were shooting pictures of the many tire marks, those that their own units had driven around trying to leave the suspect ones clear. Two officers were still searching the house, and taking pictures in Nevin’s room. Kathleen smiled as she took shots of the pony’s hoofmarks cutting over the tire prints they thought were DeWayne’s and Nevin’s, pony prints that went right into the house then out again.

  Max went into the bedroom carrying the uniform Charlie had brought him. Mindy was crying again, she escaped outdoors, avoiding sympathetic looks for a few minutes. The cats followed her; Joe Grey, Pan, and Kit sat on the fence nuzzled by the pony, who in turn was hugged by Mindy, the child bawling into his buckskin neck. The pony was her comfort, but she wanted to hold Grandpa tight, too. The medics had three times chased her away. When Ryan came outside and put her arm around the child, Mindy cried against her, cried all the harder.

  Joe could see Max in Nevin’s bedroom hastily changing into the uniform. “To impress the hospital staff,” Charlie had said. Hospital social workers, if they started asking questions, could be surly about Zeb’s living arrangements when he was sent home, an injured old man living alone trying to take care of a little child. They would be asking questions like, Where is her mother? Where is her father? Why doesn’t the child live with them? How can an old man who needs a nurse himself care for a child? Can he cook? How would he get her to school?

  It would be easier for a chief in full uniform to subdue the complaints of those with an overblown sense of authority. Easier to drill into them that he had complete jurisdiction over Mindy. And, Joe thought, Max did have jurisdiction or might soon have it if Nevin had robbed and killed Jon Jaarel and if Thelma had contributed her car, making her an accomplice.

  A breeze stirred Ryan’s dark curly hair, tangling it with Mindy’s brown hair and with the pony’s black mane. “Your grandpa will get good care. Do you want to go to the hospital with us? You can be in his room with him at least part of the time. They’ll wheel him away for X-rays and whatever else is needed, and bring him back to you.”

  Mindy nodded, very serious. She was filled with questions she didn’t ask, the one big question she daren’t ask.

  “It’s more than a shallow scalp wound,” Ryan said, “but they don’t think it’s too deep. They won’t know more until they’ve done the tests. Head wounds often look worse than they are, and they always bleed a lot.”

  Mindy hugged Ryan, pressing her face hard against her. “If he has to stay in the hospital I’m going to stay with him, I’m not leaving him alone.” She studied Ryan’s green eyes. “Can I do that?”

  “I don’t know, we won’t know if he’ll need to stay until the doctors are done. If he must stay, and they’ll let you stay, I’ll be there with you.” Ryan pulled on her jacket. “Here comes Clyde.”

  The cats slipped down from the fence as the medics’ van pulled away. When Clyde’s Jaguar eased up, Kit and Pan jumped in the backseat with Mindy. Clyde idled the engine waiting for Joe. In the front seat Ryan leaned out her window. “You coming? What’s the matter with you?”

  Joe Grey stared back at her for only a moment then beat it for Charlie’s SUV. She was going home, followed by Officers McFarland and Crowley to help her clear their house and the barn area. Joe wanted a look, too. The Harpers’ was the closest ranch to the Luthers’, in this open part of the hills. It wasn’t likely, but if Nevin was hurt bad enough, he might think it a good place to lay up for a few hours, gather his strength until he felt like moving on; it probably wouldn’t occur to him that he could weaken and get worse, that he might need a doctor.

  They were halfway to the Harpers’ place when Charlie’s phone rang. She turned on the speak
er. “Billy?”

  Their young stable hand’s voice was soft, as if someone might be listening. “There’s an old gray car, maybe a Suzuki, parked back in the woods. Its lights woke me and then went dark. I can just pick out a shine of moonlight on the fenders.”

  Joe could picture the boy in his room above the barn, rising from bed to look out his windows into the woods, maybe a rifle already propped by his side, a gun that Max had trained him to use carefully and with skill.

  Billy was fourteen, a member of Max’s young police cadets. He had lived with the Harpers since he was twelve, since his grandmother died. He could use a firearm as well as Charlie. But just the two of them, on that large piece of land, might not be enough.

  But, Joe thought, if that was Nevin there in the woods, if he was hurt bad enough to need to rest, maybe he’d soon be gone. He’d sure not stay around the chief’s place long, not with possible murder and burglary raps hanging over him. Three hundred thousand dollars had vanished in that last robbery, and plenty more from earlier thefts. To say nothing of whatever Varney had stolen. Joe Grey didn’t trust those Luther sons any more than Max did—he sure didn’t trust them after they nearly killed their own father.

  Still on the highway, far ahead they could hear the Harpers’ two big dogs barking. Charlie dimmed their lights, as did the squad car behind them. She looked over at Joe. “Too bad you can’t handle a shotgun.”

  “I never tried. But it’s amazing what some cats can do . . . Wait, slow down . . .” She slowed. “There’s the car, sticking out between the trees . . .”

  She moved on. “Get in the backseat, on the floor.” He did as he was told just as her phone rang again. She hit the speaker but kept moving.

  Billy said, “He’s in the stable, right below me.” The dogs were barking so loud they could hardly hear Billy. They heard a horse scream. Billy said, “I’m going down.” Before Charlie could stop him the phone went dead. She punched in the one digit for McFarland, and repeated Billy’s message.

  Joe said, “You still have that black stallion, that boarder? Isn’t his stall back there?”

  “We have, yes. Last stall. Max is sending him away in the morning, before he hurts someone. He was gentle as pie when the man’s wife brought him in, they hauled him down from San Andreas so she could ride in the hunter trials at Pebble Beach, they’re waiting for a stall there. I expect the folks at Pebble aren’t anxious to have him, though they do have several women grooms. His owner said he hates men, that he can be vicious around men. Once he’s moved over there, the woman is planning to take care of him herself.” She looked over at Joe. “What’s on your mind? What are you thinking?”

  Joe looked at her innocently, gave her a sly tomcat smile, and said nothing.

  She said, “He was barred from the racetrack because he bucked off the male jockeys. Max is sure that when they brought him in, they had him on drugs, to quiet him—so we wouldn’t know how mean he can be. When the ACE or whatever it was wore off, that stud turned crazy. She showed me how to handle him. I laid down the law to Max and Billy: he’s off limits to them both, and I’m real careful with him.” She turned into the long drive slowly, as quietly as she could on the gravel. She pulled up to the stable, to the big, sliding front entry, which was closed tight. She parked in front of it; the squad car pulled up next to her.

  At the sound of her car, the dogs in the barn had gone quiet. They heard a tortured moan, from a man, at the back of the stable. The stallion screamed, a startled, angry retort, and they could hear water running, the hard hissing of a hose. The dogs started barking again. Charlie got out and slid open the big front doors just enough for a person to slip through, the deputies behind her. She looked back at McFarland, he always made her feel more comfortable.

  “Whatever happens in there, Jimmie, stay out of reach of that stallion, he’s crazy mean, he’d kill a man.” The two officers looked skeptical, then looked at each other with an amused hope. And they sure weren’t bothered by the dogs, who were leaping at the stall and barking. The officers knew them and had played with them both. Charlie looked around for Joe Grey, who had already fled the car. She didn’t see him but she knew he’d be watching. Her concerned and searching glance told him to keep out of the way—as if he needed telling.

  At the far end of the stables, those sliding doors were closed, too. Along the alleyway, all the stall doors were closed, Dutch doors with heavy wood below, strong woven wire forming the upper half. The doors on the far side of the stalls stood open to paddocks, to vast fences seven feet tall with hotwire at the top to discourage the occasional cougar. The stallion was in the last stall, charging the closed door, fussing and screaming, snorting as if he were drowning. Billy stood at the closed stall door with a big, heavy hose, squirting a powerful stream through the screen into the horse’s face. Nevin lay at the far end of the stall, curled up, bleeding and groaning and covering his head as if the stud were still attacking.

  Billy wielded the hose like a rifle, making the stallion back away from the man.

  Encouraged by Billy’s attack, Joe Grey left the tack room where he’d taken refuge, crossed the wide alleyway, and jumped on McFarland’s shoulder for a better view. Jimmie gave him a sidelong glance, half a stern cop look, half amusement as Joe sat working out the scenario of what had happened.

  Nevin must have slipped in the back stable doors. The dogs were watching silently from the shadows, as they usually did. When he slid the doors closed thinking he was alone, they attacked him. He wrenched open the nearest stall door, squeezed through, and shut it in their faces. Maybe he didn’t think a horse was in there, or think that it might be mean. He knew only the horses his father had had, and they’d all been gentle. Joe watched Billy wield the hose like a fireman until they could see he was getting tired.

  Crowley moved up to take it from him, but Charlie slipped in past him. She took the hose from Billy, getting herself drenched, and held the power steady in the stallion’s face. She heard Jimmie latch the gate behind her but she knew he was holding the lock for her quick escape. She drove the stallion back and back into the empty corner, working close to him, strong squirts in his nose and ears making him duck away. She reached and pushed open the paddock door, then changed position with the hose, driving him through the opening. “Get out,” she yelled. “Get out now, you son of a bitch.”

  Hearing a woman’s angry voice confused him, women didn’t treat him like this; he stared at her, reared, struck at her twice but she backed away: he missed her and, avoiding the fury of the hose again, he spun and raced for the paddock. Charlie locked the door behind him. No one had paid any attention to Nevin. When the medics’ van came screaming, Officer Crowley slid the front doors wide to let them in; and Joe Grey curled more comfortably across McFarland’s shoulder; he watched Nevin look up in gratitude for medical help—and in cold fear at being surrounded, at being trapped by the law.

  14

  If those hours at the Harpers’ ranch were terrifying to Nevin Luther, those same hours for Mindy, with Grandpa Zeb at the hospital, were nearly as frightening—as X-rays were done, and tests in strange machines, as some of the kinder technicians let her watch the scans; and later as diagnoses were pronounced by an array of doctors. Max Harper had given permission for her to stay through it all; Ryan sat with her, holding her close.

  Kit and Pan had not, as they had planned, been allowed inside to watch the amazing details of hospital procedures that they could only imagine. Earlier, riding in the backseat of the Jaguar, Kit had said, “We’re going in the hospital, too,” thinking of the patients in their beds hooked up to all the fancy equipment, looking ahead as they approached the handsome white building. “We can go in the patients’ rooms and look all around and see the huge waterfall like Joe did, we can beg bites in the cafeteria, we can stay with Zebulon all night, snuggle with him and keep him warm.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ryan had said, pushing back her short, dark hair as she suppressed a smile. “The nurses ar
e more alert for a cat slipping around, since the time Joe Grey prowled the rooms and offices and upset half the staff, since he enraged the doctors—and the nurses thought he was trying to smother a patient. Since then, hospital policy has probably been changed to throw any cat they see out on its furry behind. I’m taking you two home.”

  Long before the sun came up, Kit and Pan were at home, asleep in their tree house; and long before the sun came up, Zebulon was pronounced out of immediate danger and was moved to Intensive Care. Mindy and Ryan were allowed to stay with him—in a room the size of a storage closet. The two had had little sleep; Ryan dozed on a cot crowded against Zebulon’s bed, Mindy napped on pillows on the floor, the room so crowded that the nurses could hardly tend to Zebulon; some were amused, some highly annoyed. A nurse came in frequently, stepping around Mindy to wake Zeb. He accepted water and his medications willingly, he ate lightly. Each time he woke he reached down to take Mindy’s hand, then soon he slept again.

  In the dim environs of Seaver’s Antiques, low moonlight shone soft through the west windows where Dulcie and Courtney dozed on a brocade settee after a long night of telling each other ancient tales, Courtney telling her own half-remembered stories of palaces, and repeating tales of the Netherworld that Kit and Pan had told her and Dulcie wished they hadn’t. But now suddenly Courtney woke, she stood up on the settee, one paw in Dulcie’s face. “Something’s happening! Wake up! Oh, my!”

  What woke her was a sense of her daddy and of danger and of men fighting, it was at the Luthers’ place; but then she saw the Harper ranch, she felt a man’s fear, and Charlie’s anger and the hard wariness of cops; she saw a wild horse rearing up screaming and striking out, and it was the worst nightmare she’d ever imagined.

  At nearly the same moment the upstairs door of the antiques shop opened. Footsteps were coming down, Seaver’s steps. Dulcie ducked deep under the pillows out of sight while Courtney stretched out languidly on top as if she were sound asleep.