Cat Chase the Moon

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  Just ahead of the mixed entourage of crooks, Zeb and Mindy, still driving slowly, saw the pack of cars bearing down behind them. They saw and heard the scream of squad cars, saw their lights flashing, coming fast, and they made a sharp skid onto the right shoulder; they were almost scraped over by the speeding limos. Zeb pulled over farther onto an embankment, tilting the Volvo nearly beyond recovery.

  “Get out, Mindy, before we go over.”

  “You get out,” she said, grabbing her cell phone and opening her door, watching Zebulon slide out to safety; and they both scrambled down the ditch.

  “No point to call 911, the cops are here.” Zeb smiled when he caught a glimpse of white hair among the escaping limos. When the chase had passed, they climbed the bank again and walked along the highway, then sat with their backs against a tree, watching. It was there that Joe Grey found them.

  Ahead, the limos and gray cars had slammed on their brakes, skidding and sliding into each other as cop cars circled them, cops appearing out of nowhere hazing them together like sharks closing in on their prey. Gray cars, black limos, black-and-white patrol cars all in a tangle, cops with short-barrel shotguns stepping out, ordering drivers out of their cars and facedown on the ground. A shot was fired, and another. And Zebulon ran, back along the berm. He piled into his car and took off rocking along the berm until he was steady again, turning his lights high, reaching over to open the passenger door as Mindy and Joe Grey jumped in. Praying for the first time since Nell died, Zeb fled along the highway as a shot blasted too close to their back window. So far, the cops had paid no attention to them. He floorboarded the car up the road half a mile past the Harper ranch, he was sweating; he swerved into his own turnoff and it was then he realized there was a cat in the car, sitting calmly on Mindy’s lap.

  She said, “You saw him when he found us, back there on the berm. You saw him jump in the car, Grandpa.” Zeb glanced at the cat and at Mindy, and said nothing. They heard the distant scream of sirens as CHP officers joined MPPD, speeding down the freeway from the north, these blending with the howl of medics’ units from the village. Zeb skidded up his own drive, around the outside of the fenced house and pasture, and straight for the woods.

  “The horses . . .” He spun around in the seat, looking. “Where are the horses?”

  “At the Harpers’. I told you.”

  “Oh, yes, that was nice of them. Of course I remember.” But in truth, he hadn’t, no more than he’d remembered the cat. Since DeWayne beat on him, things had seemed to get a little mixed up. He turned onto the narrow path through the woods, scraping the top of Thelma’s car against the hanging branches. A quarter mile, and he parked behind the Harpers’ barn, out of sight from the highway. They didn’t need Thelma or Varney coming after them.

  Where was Varney? Had he joined DeWayne and his pack of thieves? Zeb had looked for him down on the highway, but in that mess of course he hadn’t seen him.

  They got out of the car and headed around the Harpers’ barn and down the long drive. At the gate, halfway to the highway, Charlie Harper and their young hand, Billy, were standing watch in case one of those guys got loose, in case there was a chase. Both of them had shotguns. That much vigilance might seem amusing to Mindy, but Zeb and Joe Grey knew better—and it was Joe Grey, rearing up beside Charlie, looking down at the confusion of cars and cops, of medics and injured men, who saw DeWayne Luther, his white hair catching car lights where he lay on a stretcher, the coroner leaning over him. DeWayne lying death still beside the hearse, pale face caught in a squad car’s headlights. Zeb let out a gasp, and turned away.

  But what turned Joe Grey’s stomach was not this dead man, but two police officers on stretchers, new young men that Joe hardly knew. They were being worked on by medics: tourniquets, oxygen tanks, emergency wrappings. Both were already secured in an ambulance, ready to head for the hospital. To see a cop who had been shot upset Joe so badly that he threw up, retching, in the tall grass.

  Charlie handed Billy her shotgun, picked Joe up, wiped his mouth with a tissue and kissed him on top of his head, her red hair falling over his eyes. She gave him a gentle hug, put him down again, and reached to Billy for her weapon. They watched the coroner start to wrap DeWayne in a body bag. Zebulon stood looking with no expression on his face. Looking at his oldest son, dead. His son who had beaten him so badly and who had tried to kill that woman he ran with. Zeb opened the gate and started down toward the hearse, down the rest of the long drive, Charlie and Billy walking beside him gently supporting him. Mindy followed, her own face white, as Max Harper started up the drive to them. Down by the hearse the coroner had stopped working, he stood looking up to Max for a sign to proceed or to back off.

  Max paused, looking up at Zeb. “Do you want to come down?”

  Zeb was silent. He looked at Max for a long time, then shook his head. “After all these years, he deserved what he got. Now, I don’t need to see him chewed up with bullets.” He turned away in the direction of the barn. But then he paused, turned back, took a key from his pocket and handed it to Max.

  “Thelma’s Volvo. It’s behind the hay barn, we borrowed it. Shall I take it back?”

  “She won’t need it, she’ll be in jail with the rest of them, at least for a while.” Max accepted the key. “We’ll see that it’s impounded.” He looked down at Mindy. “You were headed home, to Zeb’s place?”

  She and Zeb nodded.

  “Children’s Services gets a whiff of that, you two alone there, and Zeb just out of the hospital, they won’t like it. Thelma may try for dismissal or maybe home confinement on the excuse that she needs to take care of you.”

  Mindy looked stricken.

  “Do you have anyone?” Max said. “Someone, maybe a relative who can live in, to get the welfare people off your back?”

  “We don’t need . . .” Mindy began.

  Charlie shook back her red hair, and looked a question at Max. He nodded. She said, “You can stay here, until you find someone.”

  Max said, “Varney will be locked up, too. There’ll be no one in that apartment, welfare would be all over you. But if you could be in your own place . . . what about your daughter-in-law?”

  Zeb frowned. “You said Thelma was going to jail.”

  “Your other daughter-in-law,” Max said. “Maurita told me DeWayne demanded they get married, several years ago. A mark of ownership, she told me bitterly. To keep his partners off her.”

  Even Joe Grey didn’t know that. He was so surprised he reared up in the bushes, startling Max. When the chief looked at him, the tomcat could almost read what he was thinking: How did that damn cat get up here in the middle of another crime scene? Why did he rear up just now? Why the hell does he always . . . ?

  Charlie said, “The Damens live right behind the plaza, that could certainly explain his presence: the cat hears sounds, car doors closing. He jumped on the wall and saw the limos take off, saw them hit the freeway. He heard the crash and sirens and, with that cat’s annoying curiosity, he raced along the highway, to have a look.”

  She looked back at Mindy and Zeb. “I think you two should stay with us until Children’s Services stops nosing around. And,” she said, looking at Max, “do you think Zeb should meet the daughter-in-law he’s never known? That Zeb and Mindy and I should take a run up to . . . where Maurita is staying?”

  Max scowled at her. “It’s the middle of the night, Charlie.”

  “While we’re gone, Billy can make up their beds.”

  Billy nodded, and grinned at Mindy. “And set out some pie and milk?”

  The chief gave Charlie that sly, sideways look. “So just why are you going up to see Maurita, at midnight?”

  “Someone has to tell her about DeWayne. And you have your hands full. Don’t you think she’ll want to know that DeWayne is no longer a threat? That she’s free, that she doesn’t have to fear him anymore? And that his crew, with this burglary and their long records, will be on their way to prison where they can’t get
at her?”

  Max considered her with a steady half frown. “You know that’s my job, Charlie. To inform the wife of the deceased.”

  “This one time, Max? It’ll be hours before you can tear yourself away from this mess, with officers all over Saks taking pictures, gathering evidence, lifting prints, and with two cops in the hospital. You’ll be up all night.”

  They could see, even from the distance where they stood, that all the interior lights in Saks burned brightly, shining out over the village as MPPD went about its work. “Don’t you think, this once . . . ?” Charlie said. “Don’t you think she’ll be anxious?”

  “How would she know this was coming down?”

  “You all guessed it would be tonight, or soon. When McFarland and Crowley took her to Kate’s, while DeWayne was still hunting for her, and they saw the gray cars all lined up as if DeWayne was ready to pull a job, and Crowley texted you . . .” Charlie shrugged. “Or maybe she heard it on the police radio,” she said noncommittally.

  Joe Grey moved away, smiling. Harper’s favorite snitch hadn’t made the call on this one. But, except for their two young cops getting shot, it was turning out all right. So far. He wanted to ask Max how bad the officers were hurt, but there was no way he could do that.

  28

  Joe watched Zeb and Mindy move their meager belongings from Thelma’s Volvo into the Harpers’ barn. Zeb still looked shocked. Perhaps not so much that DeWayne was dead, but that the woman DeWayne had run with all those years was his own daughter-in-law. That made Maurita family, and to Zeb Luther, family was important. Maybe, Joe thought, because his own children hadn’t turned out so great?

  Would this woman be any different, this female jewel thief?

  Thinking more about Maurita and Zeb than about the Saks burglary, Joe watched Max take Thelma’s car on down to the highway, parking it among the limos. Some were shot up, some dented, all under police custody and filled with hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of stolen property. Already officers were starting them up, driving them back to the station to unload. An armored truck stood waiting in the background. The beautiful shoes and wallets and handbags, the designer suits and coats and dresses, would be locked in the heavily reinforced evidence room. The jewelry, each piece, would be photographed, fingerprinted, and locked in the strong iron safe that was bolted to the floor there. Max didn’t like having this kind of wealth stored in the department. As soon as daylight shone, the stolen goods, all inventoried, would be sent by armed guard to the nearest Saks warehouse.

  Joe wondered, as he and Mindy and Zeb piled into Charlie’s SUV and headed for the Pamillon estate, how Zeb would respond to Maurita. Would he have only disdain for the battered woman because she had been a thief, like DeWayne?

  But why should he, when DeWayne had forced her to follow his orders? When DeWayne tried to kill her when she finally ran—when she was soon too beaten to fight back?

  Maurita was still under protection. Even though DeWayne was dead, his scuzzy partners were not. This young woman knew enough about their past records to help convict them, and they could be as mean as DeWayne. Joe Grey hoped they would remain in prison, that they would not be free again—but until sentences were passed, or until some of them died of their wounds, he’d feel edgy for the young woman.

  He thought Maurita and Zebulon had a lot in common, losing DeWayne even though they’d hated him. He wanted them to bond, to feel only tenderness for each other. And he was off on the kind of daydream that Dulcie or Kit might imagine, happy thoughts about Zeb and his newly discovered daughter-in-law. He was so involved in hoping they would become a real family that, traveling up the dark highway, they were at the mansion before he knew it. A soft light burned at the cat shelter, in the little office. They parked by the door. Charlie stepped out, Joe leaping past her. She knocked and called out.

  The minute Scotty opened the door, bare legged and wearing a short robe, Joe Grey slipped past him into the office where the light burned, where Maurita’s cot was neatly made up. As if she hadn’t slept in it, as if maybe she had paced all night. Joe couldn’t speak to Scotty, with Maurita present and with Zebulon standing in the doorway. She sat on the cot looking up at them, her expression both desolate and hopeful. She looked at Zeb and she knew who he was—and, from his look, she knew what had happened—and there was nothing she could say.

  Kate appeared from the bedroom wearing an extra-long shirt of Scotty’s, her short blond hair a tangle. Charlie, her red hair just as ruffled, moved inside past Scotty and into the little office. She sat down on the cot and put her arms around Maurita.

  Maurita leaned against her. “It’s come down,” she said. “They took out Saks.” She looked at Charlie. “When we passed their motel, the way the cars and limos were arranged, I knew. I couldn’t sleep, for the scared feeling—scared that a cop would be hurt. I tried the radio but I couldn’t get much but static.” A tiny radio sat on the desk, turned low. It was more squawk than clarity and was, at the moment, occupied with a disgusting melody that no one wanted to hear. “When I called the dispatcher, she would tell me nothing. She said, ‘I am not allowed to give out that information.’”

  Charlie rolled her eyes. “EvaJean, the bitch.” Then, in a kinder tone, “I asked Max to let me come out and tell you, though it’s his job to do this.”

  Maurita’s eyes looked deep into hers, waiting.

  “Maurita, several of the burglars were killed tonight. DeWayne was shot when he charged two officers. He died at once.”

  The young woman leaned against her; she was shaking. Charlie didn’t know what else to say. She had a right to cry; after all, he had been her husband.

  But when Joe Grey jumped up and pawed at them, when Maurita turned to look at him, the tears in her eyes were a mix of not only shock, but laughter. Her expression was uncertain for a moment but then replaced by a deep and satisfying contentment. Joe wanted to shout, You’re free. He’s dead and you’re done with him, done with those brutes he ran with. They’re either dead themselves, or will be locked away for good. You’re free, Maurita, to do with your life as you please.

  Charlie was thinking the same: Maurita was free of her imprisonment, and there was one less scum in the world.

  “But two fine young police officers were shot,” Charlie said sickly, and she prayed that they had received only surface wounds, that they wouldn’t go through the hell that some injured officers suffered.

  That day at the mansion, and the night to come, turned into a tangle of emotions as cars began to arrive. Only Zeb, Mindy, and Maurita didn’t know what the gathering was about as people began to pull in. Kate said, “I invited a few friends over, they’re bringing takeout breakfast.”

  Wilma and Dulcie arrived with tears in their eyes, but they weren’t crying for DeWayne. Lucinda and Pedric and Kit and Pan drew up in the Greenlaws’ Lincoln Town Car, their faces filled with sadness. They all knew that DeWayne Luther was dead and folks looked at Zeb shyly. They got back only a handshake and a nod. Ryan and Clyde slipped in, Ryan snatching up Joe Grey, crying into his fur.

  But none of it was about DeWayne Luther.

  John and Mary Firetti were right behind them, Buffin and Striker on John’s shoulder. Dulcie mewed at them. Wilma, her gray hair tied back crookedly in its ponytail, put her arm around John. Wilma had helped Dulcie to raise the three kittens, but Dr. Firetti had helped to birth them—this gathering was about the girl kitten.

  If Zeb and Maurita and Mindy guessed that the poignant celebration was because Maurita was free, they were right in part, but that was not the cause of the sadness that filled the little office—Maurita was free, but Courtney was not, and Ulrich might never stop looking for her. He and Fay might go to prison for involvement with the Luthers’ crimes, or they might get probation and walk free, and Courtney could always be in danger.

  Now, with the young calico’s final and distant escape to come, her friends began the real grieving. For years hence, they would find that day resonating
in waking memories and in nighttime dreams as real as this day itself.

  As they all crowded around the table, Zebulon’s mood softened and he laughed. Soon noise and laughter rocked the tiny apartment, driving away the sadness, but causing Maurita to draw back in shy silence. And still, during the friends’ arrivals, no one had seen Courtney.

  The six other cats ate their own takeout quickly, clambered down from laps and side tables and headed for the ruins. Still no Courtney. She would not show herself, thinking the Seavers might be out looking for her, not when Seaver might see all the cars up here and wonder. Who knew where they would choose to search? Courtney had no idea they might be in jail.

  Down in the depths of the ruins, the cats spent a long time with Courtney alone. There wasn’t much time left together. Now, when folks began to leave, Wilma took all seven cats to her place to wait for dark, for a last visit, where the three kittens had been born. In their own first home, they curled up on the couch with Wilma, a gentle fire burning on the hearth, Joe Grey and Dulcie snuggled close to their calico kitten, Buffin and Striker lying nearly on top of her. Kit and Pan lay sprawled on her other side, their noses against her calico coat.

  Only after supper, when darkness fell, would they all go together, the cats and their families, back to the Pamillon ruins. There they would say good-bye to Joe and Dulcie’s calico daughter.

  Zebulon, before leaving the Pamillon estate after breakfast, took Maurita’s hand solemnly. “Will you come home with us? Will you be part of our family—will you want us, the same as we want you?” He put his arm around her. “We need you, Maurita.”

  “And I need you,” Maurita said softly. “I’ve never had a family.”

  We’re lucky, Mindy thought. And we’ll be happy—if Mama and Varney get hauled off to jail and can’t come bothering us.

  “It might be well,” Charlie said, “if you three stay at our house for a few days, where Maurita will be safer until we’re sure those men are all in custody.”