Cat Raise the Dead (11 page)

The bargain weighed heavily.

With Dulcie's eyes on him, warily he settled down again. He hadn't called Harper yet to give the police captain the make on the blue Honda. So he could still back out, cut out of here.

“If I had a dog instead of this alley cat,” Eula said, “I wouldn't let anyone else pet it, certainly not Frederick. Frederick can get his own dog. Where is Frederick? It's criminal for that Prior woman to move me right out of my own apartment and make me stay over here in a hospital room like a prisoner and give Frederick all the fun in that apartment alone just because I had a little blood pressure.”

Bonnie said, “Frederick will be over pretty soon. Pet the cat gently, Eula. Maybe he'll purr for you; he has a lovely purr.”

Joe sat up clamping his teeth against any hint of a purr. But Dulcie's look said,
You promised. If you didn't mean to be nice, why did you promise
? And, reluctantly, he curled down again, into a rigid, unwilling ball.

Dulcie was so sure that this gig was important, that a dose of feline therapy really would help these old folks—help them be happy, help them deal with thoughts of death.

Personally, he didn't agree.
You get old, you get feeble. Pretty soon you check out. That's the program. That's how nature works, so why fight it. Let nature take its course, don't screw things up with some kind of newfangled therapy
.

Thinking about getting old, he tried hard not to dwell on Barney's plight. After all, Barney was just a simple, lovable dog, he had no need for—and no way to acquire—some fancy philosophy, some comforting idea of an afterlife the way Dulcie believed.

Dulcie was convinced there was an afterlife for all creatures. So, fine. So who said the next life would be all sardines and cream? That realm could be anything, any number of terrors could await the unwary voyager.

He had, after the Jeannot murder, after weeks of thinking seriously about such matters—and growing incredibly nervous and irritable—decided that this starry-eyed dream of eternity was not for him. That he was not constitutionally equipped to maintain on a long-term, conscious level, Dulcie's idyllic and nebulous dreams.
He'd rather believe in nothing. Rather subscribe to plain uncomplicated termination, than keep wondering about a chancy unknown.

Soon Bonnie Dorriss left them, moving quickly across the room to attend to a pair of ladies who both wanted the yellow cat and were arguing loudly. The cat, smiling up from the lap of one of the participants, looked unaffected by their furor, lying limp and relaxed, enjoying every moment.

Dillon paid no attention to the battle; she stood scanning the room, intently scrutinizing each newcomer who appeared belatedly from down the hall. The kid was wired, so intense she made his whiskers itch.

“Stuck here all day alone,” Eula said, “and Frederick over there in the apartment doing who knows what. Likely over there with some woman. Or reading some storybook. Always getting out of bed before it was decent to read a storybook. Sun not even up, but he's out there making coffee and reading, I could always smell the coffee. Hiding in the kitchen wasting his time.” Her stomach shook violently against Joe.

Dillon glanced down at Eula, hardly listening. And Mae Rose and Dulcie seemed oblivious, engaged in some silent communication of their own. Mae Rose kept smiling and petting, and Dulcie had that beatific look on her face. Mae Rose's overburdened wheelchair was fascinating. The vehicle was hung all over with bags: cloth bags, flowered bags, red bags, blue ones hung from the arms of the chair and from the back, all of them full to bulging. He could see magazines sticking out, a copy of the Molena Point
Gazette
, the sleeve of a blue sweater, a box of tissues. A clear plastic bag contained little bits of bright cloth, and he could see the end of a Hershey bar, a single white glove, and the smooth porcelain face of a doll.

Dillon sat down on the arm of Eula's chair. She wiggled some, getting settled. She did not seem so much relaxed as determined.

“I bet,” she said to Eula, “you have a lot of friends in here.”

Eula looked at her, surprised.

“Did you live in Molena Point a long time before you moved to Casa Capri?”

Eula didn't answer. She stared hard at Dillon. “I know I've seen you somewhere.”

“I guess,” Dillon said, “if you go into the village much.”

“No, not in the village. I remember a face, girl. Forget a name but remember a face.

“But then,” Eula said, “there's always some child visiting out in the parlor.

“Though my nieces don't come. Never bring their children. Only came here twice, both times to find out what's in my will.” She glowered at Dillon. “Well I never told them. None of their business.”

“I bet you and Mrs. Mae Rose are good friends, too,” Dillon persisted. Joe had to smile. The kid wasn't subtle. Someone ought to have a talk with her; she wasn't going to get anywhere in life without a little guile.

She leaned closer to Eula. “I bet you and Mrs. Rose watch TV together.” Joe had no idea what she was after, no notion where she was headed with this interrogation, but she meant to hang in there.

“No TV,” Eula grumbled. “All
Mae
does is play with her dolls.” She scowled deeply at Dillon. “You have as many questions as my old mother. Dead now. Dead a hundred years.” She cackled wickedly.

“I didn't mean to be nosy,” Dillon said, “but I bet you know everyone, though. Everyone here at Casa Capri. I bet you know if they lived in the village, and all about them.”

Eula shut her mouth, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. Dillon sank into a quiet little funk, realizing she had pushed too hard. But then soon she rose, leaning to stroke Joe. “Would you hold him a little while longer? Don't let him get away? While I go to the rest room?”

The old woman snorted, but she took such a good grip on the nape of Joe's neck that he had a sudden flash of her reaching with both hands and squeezing; her fingers were as strong as a man's. “I won't be long,” Dillon said, and she was gone down the hall toward the entry. Joe stared after her wondering what she was up to. Maybe the kid was going to skip—beat it out the front door.

“That's not…” Eula called after her, but Dillon was gone.

Joe could see the rest room in the opposite direction, a door clearly marked, just outside the dining room. He listened for the front door to open, but he heard nothing. Where was the kid headed, acting so secretive?

“That cat killed an entire litter of newborn pigs,” Eula Weems said. “Biggest cat on the farm. So mean even the sow couldn't run it off.

“And after it killed those pigs it kind of went crazy. From that day, it just wanted to bite your bare toes. You couldn't go barefoot all summer, had to wear shoes. Terrible uncomfortable and hot.” Eula stared accusingly down at Joe, where he crouched rigid in her lap, glowering at him as if the dead pigs were his fault.

Mae Rose said, “If they won't let us see Jane or Darlene or Mary Nell, then I say they aren't here. Not in Nursing, not anywhere in Casa Capri.”

“Maybe in the county home,” Eula said helpfully. “Maybe they couldn't pay. County home is free. When that cat got run over by the milk wagon everyone celebrated. It sure did feel good to go barefoot again. Took a month, though, for my feet to harden up on them tar roads. Burn your feet right off you.”

Mae Rose pawed through the contents of one of the hanging pockets attached to her wheelchair until she found a handkerchief. She blew her nose delicately. Joe watched the arch where Dillon had disappeared, listening for the front door to open and close, convinced the kid was going to leave. He'd like to beat it, too. Mae Rose blew her nose again and wiped her eyes, then wadded up the handkerchief. “Maybe they're dead.”

Eula Weems snorted. “How can they be dead? You know Darlene Brown was in the hospital with cataracts, and you saw her yourself when her cousin came. Right there in that corner room with the dark glasses. You're not making sense, Mae. And you know James Luther's trust officer was over there all one afternoon with him talking and signing papers.”

“That's what they told us.” Mae Rose glanced across the room toward the open double doors, where a nurse had appeared.

The white-uniformed woman propelled Dillon along before her, clutching the child's arm. Dillon balked and twisted, trying to pull away, her thin face splotched with anger.

“I was only looking for the rest room,” the child argued, “I don't see…”

“The rest room is there, beside the dining room, not a block down the hall in the private wing. That area of the building is reserved for the very sickest patients, and they must not be disturbed.”

“But—”

“You'll remain here in the social room as you were told, or you cannot come back to Casa Capri. You will not disturb the residents.” The thin woman dropped Dillon's arm, stood staring down at her as if to make her point, then turned away. Dillon's face was red, her scowl fierce.

Across the room a man in a wheelchair watched the little exchange with interest, and as Dillon sat down on the couch across from Eula, he headed in their direction.

Though he was wheelchair-bound, he seemed too young to be living here among the elderly. Joe thought he couldn't be out of his late twenties—though Joe admitted he was no authority on human age. The man's smooth, white face was lean, his blue eyes friendly, but his body was puffy from inactivity. The roll of fat around his middle, beneath his white cotton shirt,
looked like a soft white inner tube. Wheeling his chair toward them, he swerved around couches and chairs with a flashy disregard for the occupants. Coming to rest beside Mae Rose, he gave his chair a final twist like a young man spinning his sports car, and parked beside her chair. He looked Dillon over with curiosity, winked conspiratorially at Eula, then leaned toward Mae, looking hard at the tabby cat in her lap. Dulcie looked back at him warily.

“What's that, Ms. Rose, a fur neckpiece? Did someone drop a moth-eaten fur piece in your lap?”

Eula Weems giggled.

Mae Rose's painted cheeks flamed brighter, and she petted Dulcie with quick, nervous strokes. Dulcie didn't move; she lay stretched out across the pink afghan coolly regarding the young man, and definitely not looking moth-eaten—her dark stripes gleamed like silk. She was very still, and nothing about her seemed to change except that her green eyes had widened; only Joe saw her stiffen imperceptibly, as if to strike.

Eula smiled coquettishly, stroking Joe. “Look, Teddy. I have an old fur piece, too.”

Teddy laughed. “Or is that one of those moldering gray union suits you tell about on the farm, that your mama sewed you into?”

Eula favored him with a girlish guffaw.

Teddy said, “Mae, you're hugging that cat like it was a baby. Or like one of your little dolls.”

“Leave me alone, Teddy. I shouldn't wonder if it was you that drove Jane Hubble away.”

The young man's eyes filled with amazement. His smile was sunny and very kind; he looked as if Mae Rose could not help her aberrations.

But Dillon, watching them, was suddenly all attention. Gripped by some inner storm, Dillon raised her eyes in a quick, flickering glance at Mae Rose and the pale young man; then she looked down again.

Eula said, “Everyone knows Jane Hubble's right over there in Nursing.” She looked to Teddy expectantly.

“Of course she is,” Teddy said kindly. “They can't let us visit them, Mae. It's too hard on sick people to have us underfoot going in and out, getting in the way. Of course she's there. Where else would she be? Ask Adelina.” He put his arm around Mae. “I know you miss her. Maybe when she's better, something can be arranged.”

Dillon had turned away, seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. She was all fidgets, moving restlessly, and when she settled on the arm of Eula's chair and leaned down to pet Joe, her fingers were rigid, tense; she was filled with hidden excitement—or apprehension.

“She could send word,” Mae said. “The nurses could at least bring a message.”

“She's too sick,” Eula said. “So sick she has tubes in her arms. They wanted to send me over there with the blood pressure, but I wouldn't have it. I won't have all those tubes stuck in me.”

Mae Rose's wrinkled face collapsed into a hurt mask. “I'd only stay a minute.”

“The doors are locked,” Eula said. “That's all I know. That's all there is to know.”

Mae Rose said nothing more, sat quietly stroking Dulcie.

“If she's sick…” Dillon began, “if this Jane Hubble is sick…”

Teddy turned to look at her.

Mae Rose burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. Dulcie sat up and touched a paw to the old lady's cheek as the little woman huddled, sobbing.

“How long since you've seen her?” Dillon said to Mae, ignoring Mae's tears. “How long since you've seen your friend Jane?”

“Mae doesn't remember,” Eula said. “She gets mixed up—in this place all the days run together. She knows Jane's all right; she just likes to make a scene.”

But when Mae Rose finished crying and blew her nose, she fixed Eula with an accusing stare. “Your own husband went over to see her. He tried to see her. He was angry, too, when they wouldn't let him in.”

“I told Frederick, don't you go over there.” Eula's fat fingers pressed irritably along Joe's back. “I told him, you're not to go over there alone to see that woman.”

Dillon looked at Eula uncertainly. “You didn't want your husband to see Jane? But…?” She looked blank, then looked shocked suddenly. Then fought to keep from laughing. “You didn't want your husband…” She swallowed, then began again. “Does your husband—does he live here, too?”

“Lives over in Cottages,” Eula said. “You can have your own car, very stuck-up. Then if you get sick you come over here. Frederick says he can't stand it over here, says it's depressing. If you get real bad sick, like Jane with a stroke, then you go into Nursing. I don't know what Frederick does over there in that cottage all day. He says he goes into the village on the bus, to the library. I don't know what he does. I don't know what goes on over there with those women.”

Dillon rose and turned away, smothering a laugh.

But after a moment she turned back, gave Mae Rose a little smile. “You must miss your friend. I had a friend once who went away.”

“Her room was next to mine,” Mae said. “The corner room, the one they use now for visiting. When Jane…When they moved her to Nursing,” Mae said doubtfully, “they closed that room, and now they use it for visiting.”

“Which corner room?” Dillon asked.

“The one behind the parlor right next to my room.” Mae pointed vaguely out through the glass doors toward the far side of the patio.

Dillon walked over and peered out. Turning back, she said thoughtfully, “I don't understand. You mean visitors stay overnight?”

“They—” Mae began.

“No,” Eula said irritably. “No one comes overnight. But if you're in bed all the time—bedridden—and you have a dinky little room, you have your visitors there in the big room, it makes a better impression. Those corner rooms are the biggest, private bath and all. If you have a little poky room, or if you're in Nursing, they move you into the corner room to entertain company. Your relatives come, it looks grand. They figure you're getting a good deal for what they pay.

“But when they're gone again, it's back to your own dinky room, and they shut the big room. It's all for looks. Everything for looks.” Eula yawned and settled deeper into her chair, shaking Joe. He rose, turned around several times against her fat stomach. Teddy left them, spinning his chair around and wheeling away. From the kitchen Joe could hear a clatter of pots and then a nurse came out, rolling a squeaky metal cart with a cloth draped over.

“Meals for the Nursing wing,” Eula said. “Not many of 'em can eat solid food. They get fed early, then get their medicine and are put to sleep.”

Joe shivered.

Dillon watched the white-uniformed nurse push the cart away toward the admitting desk. And, ducking her head, pretending to scratch her arm, she kept glancing out the patio doors.

But not until Eula loosed her grip on Joe and began to snore, did Dillon pick Joe up in her arms and head for the patio. His last glimpse of Eula Weems, she had her mouth open, huffing softly.

Pushing open the glass slider, Dillon slipped out into the walled garden, into patches of sun and ragged shade. Joe sniffed gratefully the good fresh air.

Along the four sides of the building, the rows of glass doors reflected leafy patterns. Most stood open to the soft breeze. In some rooms a lamp was lit, or he could see the shifting colors of a TV. The corner room was
dark, the glass sliders closed and covered by heavy draperies. Dillon, tightening her hold on him, pressing him against her shoulder, headed quickly for Jane Hubble's old room.