What the Cat Saw (17 page)

Except for the occasional
whoo
of an owl, reassuring silence lay over the dark landscape ahead of her. Once past the evergreens, she tried to walk quietly, but the crunch of gravel beneath her feet seemed startlingly loud. It was better on the sidewalk leading to the
staff entrance. She took her time, using the pencil light to light her way. All the while, she listened for sound, movement, any hint that she had been observed. Surely if the police had left a guard, someone would have challenged her by now. Every minute that passed increased her confidence that only she moved in the stillness of the country night.

The building itself lay in total darkness.

At the staff entrance, Nela held the pencil flash in her gloved left hand, used Chloe’s key. In an instant she was inside, safe in a black tunnel of silence. She ran lightly up the hallway, using the tiny beam to light her way. She was almost there, almost safe. In only a moment she’d be free of the incriminating necklace.

She opened the door to Blythe’s office and dashed across the room. She pulled out the plastic bag, emptied the necklace onto the center of the desktop. The stones and precious metal clattered on the wooden surface. In the light of the flash, diamonds glittered and gold gleamed.

She whirled away from the desk. In the hall, she shut Blythe’s office door behind her. The tiny beam of light bouncing before her, she again ran lightly down the hallway, not caring now at the sound of her sneakers on the marble. She felt exultant when she reached the exit. She and Chloe were safe. As soon as she reached the car and drove away, there was nothing to link her and Chloe to that damnable, gorgeous, incredibly expensive necklace.

She pulled open the heavy door at the end of the hall and stepped out into the night. The door began to close.

A quick bright light blinded her.

“The image also records the time.
Temporary Employee Exits Haklo After Hours.
Interesting headline, right?” His tenor voice was
sardonic. “Care to comment?” He came quickly up the steps, used a broad hand to hold the door open. “Why don’t we go inside?”

Once Nela had seen a bird trapped inside an enclosed mall, flying up, seeking, not finding. Sometimes there is no escape. Numbly, she turned and stepped inside.

He followed close behind her.

When the door closed, she lifted the pocket flashlight, held the beam where she could see his face.

He squinted against the light, his freckled face grim, his gaze accusing. He looked big, tough, and determined. He cupped a cell phone in his left hand. “What’s your excuse? Forgot your hankie?”

His tone hurt almost as much as the realization that she had failed Chloe. She should have done something, anything, to be rid of the necklace. Instead, she’d tried to return the stolen jewelry to its owner and now she—and Chloe—were going to pay the price. She was cornered but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. “Why are you here?” But she knew the answer. He was after a story and he couldn’t have any idea just how big it was going to be. “Do you make it a practice to follow women you don’t know?”

If she had no right to be here, certainly he didn’t belong either. So he was a reporter. So he looked like Van Johnson, an older, tougher Van Johnson. Maybe Gram would have loved him, but his presence here was as unexplained as hers. Maybe he knew much more about what had happened at Haklo than she could ever imagine. “How did you know I was coming here?”

His mouth twisted in a wry half smile, half grimace. “Pirates used to fly the skull and crossbones to scare the hell out of ships. You sent plenty of signals tonight. You’re as wary as an embezzler waiting for the bank examiner. You know more—a lot more—than you want to admit. You might as well have marked Marian’s purse with
a red X. Once I got outside, I decided to hang around, see if anything popped. I didn’t know what to expect, maybe someone arriving. Instead, you slipped down the steps like a Hitchcock heroine.” There was an undertone of regret mingled with derision.

“You followed me? But I went to the Seven-Eleven…” Her voice trailed off.

His gaze was quizzical. “For a Hitchcock lady, you aren’t very savvy about picking up a tail. Once you left the Seven-Eleven, you were easy meat. When you turned on Pumpjack Road, I knew you were going to Haklo. I was right behind you. I passed you, went around a curve, and pulled off on the shoulder. When you didn’t come, I knew you’d taken the back entrance.” His eyes were probing. “Not a well-known route. Clever for someone who’s new to town. So, shall we take a tour? See if there are any other offices trashed?”

“Would you like to hear the truth?” She flung the words at him. “Or are you enjoying yourself too much?”

His face changed, disdain melding into combativeness. “Yeah. I’d like to hear some truth from you.”

In his eyes, she saw disappointment and a flicker of wariness:
Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me
.

She met his gaze straight on. Maybe truth would help. Likely not. But truth he damn well was going to get. “Friday night somebody searched Marian’s living room. Saturday I had the same thought you did. Why hadn’t the thief taken the purse? I looked inside. I found an incredibly beautiful diamond-and-gold necklace in the bottom of the bag. I left it in the purse. I knew nothing about the theft of a necklace at Haklo. Chloe never mentioned the theft when we talked. All she cares about is Leland and fun and adventure. She told me about Turner Falls and Bricktown and the Heavener
Runestone. I didn’t know the necklace was stolen until the staff meeting this morning.”

He listened with no change of expression.

“If you want more truth”—anger heated her voice—“I found out a stranger in town makes an easy target. The detective made it clear that Chloe is suspect number one as the thief, with me busy covering up for her. I knew Dugan wouldn’t believe I found the necklace in the purse. Tonight I brought the necklace here and put it on Blythe Webster’s desk.”

“You put the necklace in Blythe’s office?” His broad face reflected surprise, uncertainty, calculation, concentration. He stared at her for a long moment, then slid the phone into his pocket. “Show me.”

The heavy silence of an empty building emphasized the sound of their footsteps on the marble floor. At Blythe’s office, he opened the door and flicked on the lights. The necklace was starkly visible in the center of the desk, the diamonds glittering bright as stars.

Steve Flynn walked slowly to the desk. He stared down at the magnificent diamonds in the ornate gold settings. “I’ll be double damned.” He pulled his cell from his pocket. A tiny flash flared. He looked for a moment at the small screen. “You can tell the damn thing’s worth a fortune even in a cell phone picture.” He closed the phone, turned, and looked at Nela. Finally, he shook his head as if puzzled. “Why didn’t you throw it away?”

“It would have been smarter.” But nobody gets second chances.

“Why didn’t you?” He was insistent.

“It wasn’t mine.” It was ironic that basic honesty was going to put her in jail. “The more fool I.”

“Yeah. There’s a small matter of property rights.” He sounded sardonic. “All right, I may be a fool, too, but everything in here”—
he waved his hand around the office—“appears to be in place. You came in, you dropped the necklace, you left. Come on.”

“Aren’t you going to call the police?”

“No. For some crazy reason, I believe you.” He jerked a thumb at the door. “Let’s get out of here. We need to talk.”

10

S
teve leaned back against the plumped pillow, legs outstretched, and listened. Pretty soon he had a sense of how Haklo appeared to her: Blythe Webster imperious but shaken, and staff members who weren’t just names but individuals with passions. Louise Spear grieved over Marian and Haklo’s troubles. Francis Garth was furious at a threat to his beloved Tallgrass Prairie. Francis was proud of his Osage Heritage—the preserve was the heart of the Osage Nation—and Francis was a formidable figure. Robbie Powell and his partner, Erik Judd, bitterly resented the new director. Hollis Blair was in a situation where aw-shucks charm didn’t help. Abby Andrews was either a wilting maiden or a scheming opportunist. Cole Hamilton appeared subdued and defeated, but his comment that emphasized the necessity of a key to Haklo might be disingenuous. Grace Webster was at odds with her sister. Peter Owens was affable but possibly sly.

When Nela revealed the existence of the obscene letters sent out on the director’s letterhead, he saw another link in the chain of ugly attacks on the foundation. But this one appeared tied directly to Abby Andrews, which might tilt the scale toward schemer instead of victim.

Steve liked Nela’s voice. Not high. Not low. Kind of soft. A voice you could listen to for a long time. She looked small in an oversize chintz-covered chair, dark hair still tangled by the wind, face pale, dark shadows beneath her eyes. But she no longer seemed remote as she had in his first glimpse at Hamburger Heaven.

His eyes slid from her to a photograph on the table next to her chair. A dark-haired laughing man in a tee and shorts stood near an outcrop of black rocks on a beach, the wind stirring his hair. Across the bottom of the photograph was a simple inscription:
To Nela—Love, Bill
. A red, white, and blue ribbon was woven through the latticed frame.

Steve was accustomed to figuring from one fact to another. The picture had to belong to Nela. To carry the photograph with her as she traveled meant that the man and the place mattered very much to her. He was afraid he knew exactly why the ribbon was in place and that would account for the undertone of sadness that he’d observed.

But tonight, she was fully alive, quick intelligence in her eyes, resolve in her face, a woman engaged in a struggle to survive. The brown tabby nestled next to her. One slender hand rested on the cat’s back. As she spoke, she looked at him with a direct stare that said she was in the fight for as long as it took.

When he’d caught her coming out of Haklo, he’d felt a bitter twist of disappointment, accepting that Katie had been right, that she was covering up for her light-fingered sister. At that point, he
had a picture of her leaving Haklo, the time electronically recorded. She was cornered. All he had to do was tie up the loose ends. It was like ballast shifting in a hull. When the heavy load tipped to one end, the ship was sure to go down.

Now the ballast was back in place. He was pretty good at keeping score and she had two heavy hits in her favor: the return of the necklace and the door wedge. Sure, she could have found the necklace at the apartment, maybe not in the purse as she claimed, decided her sister was the thief, and returned the necklace to protect her. But the smart decision would have been to fling the necklace deep into woods on the other side of town. She could easily have found some woods and jettisoned the jewelry. She took a big chance bringing the necklace to Haklo tonight, which argued she not only wasn’t a thief, she was too honest and responsible to throw away a quarter of a million dollars that didn’t belong to her. That was one home run. The second hinged on one small fact: The morning after her 911 call, she went out and bought a wedge to shove under the door.

She turned her hands palms up, looked rueful. “I understand if you decide to call the detective. You’re a reporter. You have to be honest with the cops you know. I was a reporter, too. Trust is a two-way street.”

He wasn’t surprised. She had the manner of someone who was used to asking questions, looking hard at facts, winnowing out nonsense. She’d showed she was tough when he confronted her at Haklo. She’d asked if he would listen to truth. Truth was all that mattered, all that should matter to a reporter. Maybe that was why he’d felt a connection to her right from that first look. They might have lots of differences in their backgrounds, but they would always understand each other.

“If you call Dugan”—her voice was calm—“I’ll tell her what I’ve
told you. Someone came here hunting for the necklace and that’s the reason her office was searched. Unfortunately, Dugan won’t believe me.”

He didn’t refute her conclusion about Katie Dugan. If Katie learned the necklace had been in Nela’s possession, she’d be sure her judgment was right. As soon as Chloe returned from Tahiti, they’d both be booked.