What the Cat Saw (16 page)

Jugs lifted his head. He listened, came sinuously up on his paws, flowed to the floor. He moved toward the front door.

She spoke gently. “Ready for a big night?” Words didn’t matter to a cat. Tone did.

Jugs stopped a few feet from the door, stood very still.

The staccato knock came with no warning.

Nela jumped up and bolted to the bookcase. She used the edge of her sweater to pick up the plastic bag. Heart thudding, she opened Marian’s purse, using another edge of the sweater, and dropped the bag inside.

The quick, sharp knock sounded again.

Nela moved to the door, taking a deep breath. She turned on the porch light, but she couldn’t look out to identify the visitor. The door lacked a peephole. She opened it a trace. “Who’s there?”

“Steve Flynn.
Craddock
Clarion
.” His voice was loud, clear, and businesslike.

Nela’s tight stance relaxed. Steve Flynn, the redheaded reporter who could have been a double for Van Johnson. She’d almost smiled at him when their gazes first met. But he wasn’t the boy next door.

Why had he come?

“Miss Farley, may I speak with you for a moment? About the break-in Friday night.”

Nela’s thoughts raced. The detective didn’t believe there was a break-in. Would it be suspicious if she refused to talk to the reporter? She didn’t need anyone else suspecting her of a crime. She glanced at the Coach bag, hesitated, then turned the knob.

The wind stirred his short red hair. The glare of the porch light emphasized the freckles on his fair skin. Steady blue eyes met hers. “I’ve been looking over the police report on the attempted burglary here. Can I visit with you for a minute?”

Cold air swirled inside. He stood hunched with his hands in his pockets, his only protection an old pullover sweater.

She held open the door.

As she closed it, his eyes noted the door wedge. He raised them to look at her.

Nela saw a flicker of interest. He didn’t miss much.

She led the way into the living room, once again saw him scan the surroundings, taking in the scrape on the back of the desk chair, the discoloration that marked where a mirror had once hung.

He declined coffee. “I don’t want to interfere with your evening.”

“I don’t have anything planned.” Other than transporting a stolen necklace as far away as possible.

“Then”—his smile was quick and charming—“if you don’t mind, fill me in on what happened Friday night.”

On closer view, his boy-next-door face was older, more appraising, less ingenuous than she’d first thought. There was depth in his blue eyes and a hard edge to his chin. She was also suddenly aware of being near him, of his stocky build, of his maleness.

Jugs padded toward him, raised his head.

The reporter nodded at the cat. “You have to have attention first, huh? No entrance without showing proper respect, right?” A broad hand swung down to stroke Jugs’s fur. He straightened. “My mom’s
cat was a big tabby. He thought he was the man of the house along with my dad. What’s his name?”

“Jugs.”

He grinned. “Those are big ears, that’s for sure. Now, about Friday night—”

Nela wondered if he was one of those reporters who always takes a cop’s view. It was natural. She’d been there, too. Reporters understood the hard, tough, dangerous world cops face every day. Reporters admired courage masked by black humor. Good reporters never slanted a story, but they listened when a good cop spoke.

“—what happened?”

The cat moved toward her, looked up.
“…wants to know you…not sure about you…doesn’t trust women…women lie…”

Nela jerked her gaze away from Jugs. “I was in the guest room. I’ll show you.” She turned to lead the way. Jugs padded alongside. Nela struggled for composure. What was wrong with her? Jugs couldn’t know anything in the mind of this man who meant nothing to her—except that he might pose a danger.

As she opened the bedroom door and half turned toward him, their eyes met. “I was asleep.”

He looked past her toward the bed.

She was intuitively aware of him, of his nearness, of the tensing of his body, of a sense of uncertainty, of a man who had been hurt and was still angry, of longing and wariness. She steeled herself. The emotions of the day had fogged her reason.

“Noise woke you?”

“Yes. Then I saw the line of light beneath the door.” She shut the bedroom door, gestured toward the living room. “Come sit down and I’ll tell you.” She chose the easy chair, waited until he settled on the sofa opposite her. She spoke at a quick clip, wished her voice didn’t
sound breathless. “…bangs and crashes…” She described everything. “I yelled the police were coming. I heard someone leave. I didn’t come out until the police knocked. Then I ran to open the door.”

Those clear deep blue eyes never left her face. “The police said the door was locked when they arrived.”

“The thief locked the door behind him. I think whoever came had a key.”

He looked puzzled, his gaze flicking across the room toward the door. “How about the doorstop? A key doesn’t do any good if that’s in place.”

“I bought the wedge Saturday morning. Somebody had a key Friday night. Somebody still has a key. I shove the wedge under the door now at night.”

“What were they looking for?”

The necklace. She felt the answer deep in her gut. She stared at him and realized her peril. The quick sharp question had caught her unaware. Unless she knew more than she had revealed to the police, she should have quickly said she didn’t know or suggested they must have been looking for money. She had remained quiet too long. When she spoke, she knew her answer was too little, too late. “I suppose whatever thieves look for. Money, valuables of some kind.”

He didn’t change expression, but he wasn’t fooled. He was well aware that she had knowledge she had not revealed. He folded his arms, that classic posture of wariness. “Somebody with a key wouldn’t be your run-of-the-mill thief.”

“If you say so.” She suddenly felt that they looked at each other across a divide. “I don’t have any experience with thieves.”

“A key makes everything different. Either someone knew her and had a key or someone knew her well enough to know, for example, that she tucked an extra key in a flowerpot.”

“Flowerpot?”

For an instant, he was amused. “Metaphorically speaking. Somewhere. Under a flagstone. In the garage. People do things like that around here.”

Nela considered the possibility. “If someone knew where Miss Grant kept an extra key, they must have known her pretty well. What do you know about her?”

“Smart, hardworking, type A, absolutely devoted to Haklo. She came to Craddock twenty years ago as Mr. Webster’s executive secretary.” He paused, gave a small shrug. “In any little town, the leading lights, and that’s spelled
people with money
, are the focus of gossip. Everybody thought she was his mistress. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. Webster’s wife was reclusive. Again it’s all gossip but people said he and his wife didn’t share a bedroom. In any event, Marian was a good-looking woman who never exhibited any interest in anybody else—man or woman—so the gossip may have been right. Haklo was definitely Webster’s baby and pretty soon she was running it. All she cared about was Haklo, especially after Webster died. Maybe she saw Haklo as a monument to him. Maybe she felt closest to him out there. Anyway, Haklo was her life. Everybody knew better than to cross her, including the Webster daughters. Both of them were always charming to Marian but I don’t think there was any love lost between them, which figures if she slept with their dad. Marian was always in charge. Anyone who opposed her ended up backed against a wall, one way or another. Marian maneuvered money and pressure from money to get the best deal possible for Haklo.”

“If she found out who was behind the vandalism, she’d make them pay?”

“With a pound of flesh and smile while she was doing it.” His eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

Her gaze fell. She hoped she hadn’t looked toward the door. This man saw too much, understood too much. How would he feel if she blurted out that somebody put a skateboard on the second step and that’s why Marian Grant died? He would demand that she tell him how she knew. She spoke hurriedly. “Nothing. I just think someone had a key to get in.” Nela felt certain she had met the late-night intruder today at Haklo. “Maybe Miss Grant’s office was wrecked before the thief came here. Maybe she kept a key lying in the front drawer of her desk. Maybe it had a tag on it:
Extra front-door key
.”

“That’s possible. It certainly explains how someone got in here.” He spoke in a considering tone. “Somebody has a key. They come in…” His gaze stopped at the purse on the bookcase. “Is that your purse?”

She should have put the hideous purse away. She deliberately kept her eyes away from the bookcase.

He waited for her answer.

“Miss Webster said the purse belonged to Miss Grant.”

“Miss Webster?”

“She heard the sirens and came.”

“Was the purse there Friday night?”

She tried to sound as if her answer didn’t matter. “Yes.”

“A thief walked right by the bookcase and ignored the purse?” He looked skeptical.

“I shouted that the police were coming.” She had to convince him. “I heard running steps. He didn’t take time to grab the purse.”

“He took time to push the door lock.”

“Maybe not, then. Maybe when he first came it, he locked the door so no one could surprise him.” Nela figured that’s what must have happened. “It’s the kind of lock that has to be disengaged. It doesn’t pop out automatically.”

“That may be right.”

“I think the thief went straight to the desk. It was a mess. Somebody was looking for something in her desk.”

“Have you checked the purse? Maybe the answer to everything is there.” He rose and took a step toward the bookcase.

Nela popped to her feet, caught up with him, gripped his arm. “We can’t do that. We have no right. Tomorrow I’ll take the purse to the foundation and ask Miss Webster to take charge of it.” She pulled her hand away from his arm, remembering the muscular feel of his forearm beneath the sweater.

He remained midway to the bookcase. “I suppose you have a point there.” But he still gazed at the black leather bag.

She had to get rid of him.

“That’s all I have to say, Mr. Flynn. If you don’t mind, I’m rather tired. It’s been a long day.” She opened the door.

He stared at her for a long moment.

Nela felt an odd sadness. If she didn’t know better, she would think she’d seen a flash of disappointment in his eyes, disappointment and regret.

“Yeah. I’ll bet you are. Thanks.” He turned away, crossed the small porch in a single step, started down the stairs.

She closed the door, leaned against the cold panel, and stared at the purse.

A
t the bottom of the stairs, Nela waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She wore Chloe’s big coat and her brown wool gloves. In one pocket she’d stuffed a pencil flashlight she’d found in a utility drawer in the kitchen. The plastic bag with the necklace
was in the other pocket. She’d tucked her driver’s license in the pocket of her jeans along with a ten-dollar bill and Chloe’s key to the employee entrance.

She gazed at the back of the Webster house. Light seeped from the edges of curtains, but there was no movement in the long sweep of gardens or on the terrace. Time to go. There could be no safety until she disposed of the necklace. She hurried down the steps. The wind was up. Knife-sharp air clawed at her face.

The garage door lifted smoothly. As she backed the VW from the garage, she clicked on the headlights. She made no effort at stealth. She had every right to run out to a 7-Eleven and pick up something. She left the car door open as she closed the garage door.

At the end of the drive, she turned left instead of right. She drove three blocks until she was out of the enclave of expensive homes. She entered a convenience store lot. As she locked the VW, one car pulled out from a line of pumps, another pulled in. She hurried inside, bought a six-pack of Cokes. In the car she placed them on the floor in front of the passenger seat.

She glanced at her watch in the splash of light from the storefront. Twenty after ten. In her mind she traced her route. She’d studied the Craddock city map Chloe had included in the packet with one of her usual sticky notes. A thin squiggly line appeared to reach the main grounds of the foundation from a road on the west side. That would be safer than using the main entrance.

The drive didn’t take long. Traffic was light. There was one set of headlights behind her when she turned onto the road that ran in front of the foundation.

Nela drove around a curve and jammed on her brakes. A doe bounded across the road, her fur a glossy tan in the wash from the
headlights. In another bound, the deer cleared a fence and disappeared into a grove of trees. A car came around the curve behind her, slowed.

Nela started up again. She was aware of the headlights in her rearview mirror. The car pulled out to pass, roared around the VW, and now the road was dark behind her. She continued for about a hundred yards and turned right onto a narrow blacktop road with a thick mass of trees on one side and a fenced field on the other. The VW headlights seemed frail against the country darkness. She peered into the night. If the thin line on the map indicated a road into the Haklo property, it should soon come into view on her right. She saw a break in the woods. Slowing, she swung onto a rutted dirt road. The headlights seemed puny against the intense darkness, but she dimmed to fog lights, affording her just enough illumination to follow the ruts.

A hundred yards. Another. She reached an open expanse. Dark buildings loomed to her left. Light filtered through a grove of trees to her right. That would be light from the occupied Haklo guest cabin. Nela turned off the fog lights and coasted to a stop by a long low building. Her eyes adjusted to night. She rolled down the window. She was parked next to a galvanized steel structure, which probably housed equipment and supplies for the upkeep of the foundation and its grounds. Straight ahead was the line of evergreens that marked the staff parking lot. Quietly she slipped from the car. She looked again toward the cabin. Though light glowed from the windows, there was no movement or sound.