The light from the headlamps on Pams VW bounced upward, illuminating hawk moths and the low-hanging branches of trees. At the end of the unpaved drive, Emma Jeans house was dark. Deserted-looking. As I turned left to park the car, the headlights flashed across the front porch. The cats dishes and the rubber container of food were still there, just where Id left them.
I killed the engine and turned off the lights. A waning moon barely broke through a thick layer of clouds in the sky. I heard night sounds: A dog barked a couple of streets away. Something small skittered through the dry leaves under the hedge lining the driveway. An owl hooted. The call sounded haunting. Lonely. I turned the car lights back on.
Talking with my sisters about all the people we knew who could have killed Jim Albert had left me feeling nervous.
Here, Wila. Here kitty, kitty.
As I called, I lifted an animal carrier out of the car and set it on the rocky driveway. I grabbed a towel Id put in the back seat. Id been thinking about Emma Jeans cat. I didnt want to leave the pampered creature for too long on her own. Id feel awful if Emma Jean did come home, only to find something had happened to her pet.
Cmon, Wila. Ive got food.
I tried not to sound too eager. Im more accustomed to dogs than to cats. But a cat-crazy college roommate once told me that cats are just like men: Show too much interest and they turn tail and run; ignore them and they fall all over themselves for you. I arranged myself into a position of nonchalance on the bottom step of the porch. Plastering a bored expression on my face, I pretended to examine my fingernails.
Okay, no big deal, I announced to the night and to any Siamese that might be listening. Come if you want. Stay away if you dont. Ill just sit here for a while and enjoy the music of the mosquitoes.
I started to hum.
Within moments, the cat padded out from behind a glider with a periwinkle-blue-and-white striped cushion. She seemed to remember me from before, but who can be sure? I stroked her a few times, murmuring nonsense words to her. I had the feeling Wila wasnt going to like what was coming. But it was for her own good. Somebody had to take care of the poor critter.
I wrapped the towel around her, cocoon-like, except for her head. I lifted her into my arms, the towel protecting me from her claws. As quickly as I could, I stooped down, got her into the carrier, and shut the wire door.
Wila looked at me with betrayal in her eyes.
MEOWRRR!
She sounded like a cross between a lion and a rusty door hinge.
Youll be out soon, I promise, I said to the cat. Its only until we get to my house. Youll like it there, I swear.
With the cat safely secured on the passenger seat beside me, I decided to take a quick detour past the backyard on my way out. The cars lights played across the lawn as I turned. There was the bird bath. The rose bushes. The shed in the back. Then I saw a big, empty rectangle of long-dead grass. What I didnt see was the battered white pickup that had been parked at Emma Jeans house the day after she vanished.
With one hand on the steering wheel, I fished around in my purse until I found my cell phone. Detective Martinez answered with the usual welcoming snarl.
Its Mace. I figured Id better tell you. I swung by Emma Jean Valentines house tonight. Theres something funny
Martinez interrupted me, his words tumbling out the phone. Are you all right? Whats that horrible sound?
Meeeeeoooowwwrrrr!
Thats just Emma Jeans cat, I said. I dont think shes too fond of the carrier Ive got her in.
Dios mio
, it sounds like someones being tortured.
Shes a Siamese, I said knowingly. The Internet says theyre very vocal.
Cant you make her stop?
The article I read didnt include anything about a volume button or an on-off switch.
Meeeeeooooowrrrrr!
I raised my voice over the racket. Anyway, I stopped by to see about the cat. Im on my way home with her right now. The light on Main Street turned green, and I crooked my neck to hold the phone while I shifted gears. I noticed the white pickup truck that was at Emma Jeans last night is now gone. Did you have the police haul it off?
Martinez answered without the usual stonewalling. No, I didnt. He started to think out loud. Maybe it belonged to a relative or a friend, and they came by to get it.
Maybe, I said. But why now? From the look of the lawn, that truck has sat there pretty regularly for a long time.
A neighbor might have used it.
The houses around Emma Jeans are on three-acre lots. Mama told me her two closest neighbors are snowbirds. They leave for the North in June when it starts getting hot, and they dont come back until the end of November, when hurricane seasons over. Shes not close to anyone else out that way, which is one reason I came to get her cat.
I passed the Speckled Perch and thought about food. Two slices of pizza two hours ago wasnt going to hold me until morning.
We can check to see if Emma Jeans the registered owner, Martinez said. If she is, Ill have the information I need to put out a BOLO on the truck and tag number.
Bolo? Isnt that a Western-style string tie?
Be on the lookout. BOLO.
Gotcha, I said, feeling stupid. I dont watch as much
Law and Order
as Mama does. Id know the truck if I saw it again. It was old and beat-up. There were beer cans in the back of the bed.
Great. That describes half the vehicles up here, Martinez said.
Watch it, Mr. Miami. I can hear you sneering.
I remembered the feel of the worn tread on my fingers as I ran my hands over the tires. I didnt think about getting the tag number, but Donnie Bailey might have, I told Martinez. We both noticed the truck had bald tires, just like the one that ran me off the road. Donnie was awfully interested in that old truck.
___
If ever five days felt like fifty, this was it. What a week. I was looking forward to a cool shower, a cold beer, and some hot salsa once I got Wila and her cat-related accessories settled into my house.
I smiled to myself as the VW jounced into my yard, illuminating the battle ring tucked off to one side. Looked like it was Mace 1; Wildlife 0 in this latest round of raccoon smack-down. The garbage cans were upright, lids still securely fastened with a collection of bungee cords. I might have feared the animals were lying in wait, prepared to punish the woman who shut down their nightly buffet. But the way Emma Jeans cat was caterwauling, any living thing within hearing distance had skedaddled.
I left the cat in the car as I got out. I wanted to prop open my front doors so I could more easily heft the carrier onto the screened porch and on inside. What I saw as I mounted the steps put the brakes on my victory-over-the-wildlife dance.
The resourceful raccoons must have busted through the screen to get onto my front porch. Theyd taken their revenge for my garbage-can offensive by overturning a flower pot. Trampled geraniums and big clods of dirt littered the wooden floor. The welcome mat sparkled in the dim moonlight with shards of broken glass.
And then I looked more closely. The screen was intact. The flowerpot had been used with just enough force to break the front window, next to the door. Someone had carefully reached past the broken glass to turn the key in the deadbolt lock on the inside of the front door. The door stood open a crack. The house was a dark cave beyond.
Ive seen raccoons turn a doorknob; even pull open cabinets in a kitchen. But using a flowerpot to break a window, locating a deadbolt key inside in the lock, and understanding what the key is used for? Thats different. Unless the raccoons had gained a hundred IQ points and opposable thumbs since our last encounter, this burglary was beyond their skill level. The intruder had to be human.
With my heart pounding, I backed slowly off the porch and down the steps. As soon as I felt grass beneath my feet, I spun around and took off at a run.
Martinez made it to Taylor Creek in thirteen minutes. There was hardly any traffic this far from town on a Friday night. Still, he must have beaten Jeff Gordons NASCAR time.
He was familiar with the location of the bridge on State Road 98, so when I called him from the safety of Pams car, thats where I told him to meet me. I figured that was easier than trying to explain how to find my cottage way out in the country. And, to be honest, I hadnt wanted to stick around alone without knowing what was in my house, on the other side of that open door.
I heard his siren a long way off, and then I saw him coming. I flashed my lights. He was going so fast, he flew right past me. By the time he stopped and backed up, I stood waiting for him on the shoulder of the deserted highway. He leaned over to open the passenger-side door.
Are you okay?
I nodded, surprisedand a tiny bit pleasedto see how worried he looked.
But when he spotted Wila in the carrier, the concern on his face changed to annoyance.
What do you think youre doing with that?
Im not leaving her out here alone, with no top on the VW. Who knows what might try to get at her? Shes already had enough trauma for one night.
He grimaced, but made room for us on the front seat. Just try to keep her quiet.
Yeah, right, I said, as Wila let out a long screech. Turn left about a half-mile up, at the sign that says High Horse Ranch.
I directed him the rest of the way in. Left at the last fence post. Right at the big oak tree. In no time at all, we were pulling up in my front yard.
Youre staying in the car. His tone offered no room to argue, not that I wanted to.
Dont worry. Im not stupid. Im not going up against the unknown, not when my only weapon is a noisy Siamese cat.
As Martinez got out of the drivers seat, his right hand slid across his chest, under his jacket. I knew he must have a shoulder holster there.
Be careful, okay? I said.
With a curt nod, he was gone.
He banged on my front wall and yelled
Police!
then edged the front door open with his foot. The longest five minutes in history elapsed after he disappeared inside. I watched as light replaced the darkened squares of my front windows. A dim glow spilled from the backyard. Martinez must have flicked the switch for the outdoor light at the kitchen door. I imagined him moving down the hallway into the bathroom and then on to my bedroom.
I suddenly flashed on all the housekeeping I hadnt had time for in the last few days. It was ridiculous under the circumstances, but I hoped he wouldnt notice the pile of dirty clothes and underwear Id left on my bedroom floor.
Finally, I saw him walk around the house from out back. He holstered his pistol and patted its location over the outside of his jacket. I got out of the car to join him.
All clear, Martinez said. Whoever was here is gone now. Things look fine inside.
Lets get poor Wila into the house. I leaned into the car and picked up the carrier.
Let me get that. He grabbed it from me. I almost protested that I was strong enough to carry my own carrier. Then I remembered Mamas admonition: flies, honey, vinegar.
Thanks, I said instead.
Stepping over the glass shards and through the front door, I did a quick survey.
Aside from that broken window, everything looks okay, I told him.
Except that key in the inside deadbolt, he said. You know thats a dumb place to leave it, right?
Didnt they teach you in police school not to blame the victim? I snapped.
Sorry. I just wish people wouldnt invite the bad guys in.
