What the Cat Saw (22 page)

H
ave to eat, right?” Nela tried to sound upbeat. She spooned chicken-flavored food into a freshly washed cat bowl.

Jugs looked up.
“…crying inside…”

Nela put down the bowl. She’d pet Jugs after he ate, tell him Louise said he was a good cat. The words wouldn’t matter. The tone would give him comfort. She knew she should eat as well, but her throat was tight and she wasn’t hungry. She turned away, walked into the living room, dropped into the easy chair. How long would it take for the police to arrive? By this time, Steve Flynn would have contacted Dugan, showed her the photos in his iPhone.

Nela knew she had few options. Whatever she did, she wasn’t going to lie. She would decline to comment and that would probably put her in jail. She glanced at her watch. Dugan was taking her own sweet time in coming. Would it do Nela any good to share Erik
Judd’s views? Or would Dugan have closed her mind to everyone but Chloe and Nela?

T
he hospital bed still looked odd in his parents’ spacious bedroom. His dad was dozing. The home health aide looked at him eagerly. When Steve came for a visit in the evenings, she could slip out for a while, a walk in good weather, now a few minutes in her room, catching up on a favorite TV show. His dad loathed TV, said if he ever got bored enough to watch TV, he’d hold a funeral service for his brain.

Steve stood beside the bed. Sometimes it seemed they took a little step forward, then two steps back.

His father’s eyelids fluttered open. His eyes were as blue as Steve’s. His hair, too, had once been red, but was now white. His broad face sagged a little on one side, a visible reminder of the stroke that felled him.

“Hey, Dad.” Steve spoke in a normal tone. His dad despised sickroom whispers. Though his speech was still somewhat garbled, he’d made it clear to a succession of helpers. “…Still hear…Up speak…”

Those bright blue eyes were as perceptive as always, reflecting a quick and facile mind trapped in an uncooperative body. “…’Rubble…”

Yeah, there was trouble. Big-time trouble. Chances were he’d been a sap over a woman. One more time. But this time, he wanted to call her. He wanted to believe her. He admired the way her chin jutted when she faced opposition. He wanted to plumb the intelligence behind her gaze. He wanted to know about her. Did she like to go camping? Had she ever trout fished? He knew some things.
She had guts. She loved words. Her face in repose suggested she knew sadness. A guy named Bill had loved her. But who else could have taken the damn necklace? Steve gave a shrug, tried to appear casual. “Hard day. Lots of stuff happening.”

Maybe those blue eyes saw more because they’d had a glimpse of eternity. Maybe Daniel Flynn knew better than to waste time with niceties. His gaze was sharp, demanding. “…You…”

Steve pressed his lips together, knew his face was a road map of misery.

His dad lifted his head. “…heart…listen…promise…”

Listen to your heart. Maybe it wasn’t a smart motto. Maybe he didn’t give a damn about being smart. Steve reached out, touched a still muscular shoulder. “I will, Dad. As soon as I think some things through.”

J
ugs lay at the end of the table in his lion pose, watching as she ate.

It wasn’t much of a dinner. A bowl of tomato soup and some dry crackers from a box long past its fresh date. Chloe hadn’t been in the apartment long enough to leave a half-empty box of crackers. Nela was eating saltines that had been purchased by Marian Grant. Odd. But Marian wouldn’t begrudge crackers to someone taking care of Jugs. Nela looked into watching green eyes and felt certain of that. She wasn’t certain of anything else. “Jugs, I don’t know what to do.”

“…She was worried…”

“So am I, buddy.” Oh hell yes, she was worried. She ate and listened for a knock at the door, for the questions she dared not answer. She cleaned up the kitchen in only a moment. In the living room,
she dropped into the comfortable overstuffed chair and looked across the silent room at the sofa. Last night he’d sat there and given her a chance. When he’d walked into the main hall of Haklo late Monday morning, wiry red hair, broad open face, bright blue eyes, stocky and muscular, she’d instinctively started to smile. It wasn’t until he looked at her late last night and gravely listened to her halting explanations that she’d realized he was a man with a hard edge, a man who had been hurt and was afraid to trust.

He’d trusted her. For a little while. She fought away sudden sharp sadness. What difference did it make? She scarcely knew him. Abruptly, she came to her feet, hurried into the living room. She picked up Bill’s picture. She looked at his laughing face, young and strong, alive and loving her. Carrying the picture, she sank onto the sofa. The red, white, and blue ribbon she’d wound through the latticed wood of the frame brought no comfort.

Jugs jumped up beside her, pressed against her thigh.

She massaged behind big ears. “It’s up to me, Jugs.” She looked again at Bill’s photograph and the familiar emptiness echoed inside. Bill wasn’t here. Bill wasn’t anywhere.

Jugs lifted his head, turned to stare at the front door. His ears flicked forward.

A sharp knock rattled the door.

Nela slowly came to her feet. She’d known this moment was coming. She walked to the door, turned on the porch light, twisted the knob. As cold air eddied around her, she stared, her lips parted.

Once again the wind stirred his short red hair. Once again he wore no coat. Tonight he carried a folder.

She looked past him.

“Just me. Maybe you’ll tell me to take a hike. I thought it over.
I didn’t ask you. That wasn’t fair.” Now his blue eyes held hers. “Did you go back last night?”

“No.”

The look between them was more than a question and answer.

His face softened. “Sorry. Sometimes now”—the words came slowly—“I expect bad outcomes. I shouldn’t have jumped to a stupid conclusion.”

“It wasn’t stupid. You don’t know me. I found the necklace in Marian’s purse, but I can never prove that it was there. I tried to see it safely back to Blythe. I feel like I’ve done everything I can do. But thank you for coming. It was very kind.” She started to close the door.

He held up the folder. “Can I come in? I’ve got some stuff that may help.”

Nela hesitated. “You’ve already done more for me than you should.” He hadn’t called the police when he found her coming out of Haklo. She was sure they’d broken some laws leaving the necklace on Blythe’s desk, but he didn’t deserve to be in trouble because of her. “I’m afraid it’s dangerous to hang around with me.”

“That’s a chance I’ll take.”

Nela wanted to let him inside. She wanted him to leave. She didn’t know what she wanted, but she was acutely aware of his nearness. He was alive and strong and vital. Bill—

“I don’t know.” She knew she must sound like a fool. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to have anything else to do with what’s happened at Haklo. I’m going to be here for Chloe until she returns. But she and I have nothing to do with the problems there. Let’s leave it at that.” She closed the door.

Now she had lied to him. She’d promised him she wouldn’t lie and now she had. She couldn’t walk away from the turmoil at the
foundation. She was going to find out more, much more, seek the truth. For her and for Chloe.

But she didn’t have to involve Steve Flynn.

She leaned against the cold wooden panel and listened to the sound of diminishing steps.

S
lanting beams from passing headlights created a silhouette of leafless limbs on the bedroom ceiling, jumbled dark splotches that made no sense, formed no coherent pattern. Steve always sought a pattern. This time he was out of luck. His thoughts shifted from her rebuff to his damn fool determination to help someone who didn’t want help, swung from certainty to uncertainty. Was she honest? Did he care? People did what they thought they had to do. She’d help her sister at all costs. Was that why she sent him away? Or was she running from him because she, too, felt the attraction between them when they stood close together? She carried sadness with her. He thought he knew why. Someday he would ask her about the dark-haired guy standing on a beach and the red, white, and blue ribbon that wreathed the brown wooden frame. Someday. Not now.

His mouth twisted in a wry grin. Big talk on his part. Her good night had been a pretty definite good-bye. One thing was for sure. He’d wanted for months to be free of memories of Gail. Maybe he should have remembered to be careful what he wished for. Was the god of hilarity laughing aloud? Gail was fading. Her name no longer conjured images that excited desire or bitterness. Instead, he saw Nela’s intelligent, vulnerable face with lips that he wanted to kiss.

The grin slipped away. She was in trouble. She—and her sister—would be safe only if he discovered the truth behind the vandalism
and the theft of the necklace. He’d made a start last evening on figuring out who could have taken the necklace from Blythe Webster’s desk. Tomorrow he’d narrow the field. He might not have a white horse to ride to Nela’s rescue, but he knew Craddock maybe even better than Katie Dugan.

T
hough Nela was weary to the bone, sleep was elusive. She kept hearing the sound of Steve’s footsteps fading into silence. She pushed away thoughts of Steve. She heard Bill’s voice…
If I don’t come back
…Bill had wanted to tell her that if he died, she must live. She had placed her fingers on his lips, warm living lips, to stop the words she didn’t want to hear. She had read the message in Bill’s eyes just as tonight she’d looked into blue eyes and seen another message:
I want to know you. Give me a chance.

She turned restlessly, tried to get comfortable. She knew what Bill had wanted for her. But not yet. Not while emptiness filled her heart.

She’d sent Steve away. She wanted him to be safe. As a reporter, he was jeopardizing his job to keep information about a crime from the police. She had involved him in a crime when he learned that she’d returned the necklace to Haklo. Detective K. T. Dugan could charge him with obstruction of justice and possibly conspiracy in regard to transportation of stolen property. Right now there was no reason Dugan should ever learn that Steve had been at Haklo last night. Nela would never tell anyone.

She began to sink into the oblivion of exhausted sleep. Faintly, Nela heard a
click-click-click
on the bedroom door. Her eyelids fluttered open as she turned her head on the pillow. Jugs…wanted in…good cat…lonely…Groggily she rolled on an elbow, sat up.
Click-click-click.
She came to her feet, crossed the cold hardwood floor. She’d learned a lesson Friday night. The door would always be locked while she slept. She turned the knob, held the panel open. A dark shape flowed past. When she settled again on the bed, Jugs snuggled beside her, soft and warm. A faint purr signaled his happiness.

13

S
teve took another bite of a glazed doughnut, washed away the sweetness with strong coffee. Not much of a breakfast, but enough. He wrote fast, his printing big and legible on a legal pad. He could have made notes on his laptop. For quick jottings, he still liked real paper. He had been in kindergarten when the
Clarion
installed computers. He remembered thick yellow copy and the clack of Remingtons and an ever-present smoky haze. Now the newsroom was silent, the walls had long ago been repainted to remove years of nicotine scum, and the copy spike on Mim Barlow’s desk was a memento. He was finishing his third cup of coffee when Mim’s brisk steps sounded in the newsroom.

She stopped beside his desk. “Something big?” She sounded hopeful.

“Background.”

Her glance was sharp. “Let me know if I should hold space.”

“Not today.”

“Right. Do a follow-up on the missing necklace.”

“Already sent it over.”

“If everyone was as efficient…” She turned toward her desk.

Steve put the legal pad to one side of the screen, ready now for a summation that he could print out. He wanted to have a copy for Nela. Stubby fingers flew over the keys.

1. September 19
   . Car set afire in employee parking lot. 1995 Camaro destroyed. Unsolved. No suspects. Anne Nesbitt, 23, owner of car, relocated to Norman, now works at the Sam Noble Museum of Natural History. No record of troubled relationships in her personal life. Police investigation concluded the fire was randomly set and not directed at Nesbitt personally.
   
2. November 15
   . Nine Chickasaw baskets found hacked to pieces in exhibit room.
   
3. December 5
   . Sprinklers activated in Robbie Powell’s office.
   
4. December 16
   . Courtyard fountain turned on, frozen pipes.
   
5. January 5
   . Necklace missing from desk of Blythe Webster.
   
6. January 9
   . Marian Grant died from a fall down garage apartment stairs.
   
7. January 14
   . Nela Farley called 911 to report intruder in Marian Grant’s apartment.
   
8. January 14
   . Nela Farley found expensive necklace in Marian Grant’s purse.
   
9. January 16
   . According to Nela, members of Haklo grants committee received obscene material on Haklo Director Hollis Blair’s letterhead.
   
10. January 16
    . Ditto, letter traced to file in computer of Assistant Curator Abby Andrews. Andrews denied creating file.
    
11. January 16
    . Search of Marian Grant’s office discovered by Nela Farley. Office searched sometime after 5 p.m. Friday and before late Monday morning.
    
12. January 16
    . Nela Farley learned about necklace stolen from Blythe Webster and realized the necklace was in Marian Grant’s purse.
    
13. January 16
    . Nela Farley entered Haklo after hours and placed necklace on Blythe Webster’s desk.
    
14. January 16
    . Unidentified caller to
    Clarion
    claimed Marian Grant was murdered, her fall caused by a skateboard placed deliberately on the second step.
    
15. January 17
    . Detective Dugan informed Haklo staff of the anonymous message. Theft (or claimed theft) of skateboard from the porch of Abby’s cabin revealed.
    
16. January 17
    . Necklace once again missing.