Cat Raise the Dead (9 page)

Though Adelina Prior had been prominent during the newspaper interview, she had not been in evidence during the first two Pet-a-Pet sessions. Several nurses had worked with the group, attending each patient as an animal was brought to an old man or woman. The
nurses brought water bowls for the pets, too, and after the session they vacuumed up whatever loose dog and cat hair might offend Adelina.

Of course when Adelina learned that Susan had taken Lamb outside into the oak-shaded park alone, the woman pitched a fit; but Bonnie calmed her with promises of a possible
Sunset Magazine
spread. Bonnie's boss had gone to school with one of the attorneys who handled the
Sunset
account. The only sour note was the attitude of young Teddy Prior, Adelina's cousin. Like Adelina, the young wheelchair patient had no use for animals. The difference was, Teddy made his sentiments clearly known. She thought it strange that Teddy Prior, though he drove his own specially equipped car, occupied a room at Casa Capri rather than his own apartment, or rather than living with his cousin. Though he had many amenities here—all the advantages of a hotel, maid service, and meals, while enjoying many privileges forbidden to the other residents.

She was ashamed of herself for faulting Teddy. He was only twenty-eight, and the accident that crippled his spine had caused damage beyond repair. Five bouts of surgery had been of no use. She should feel empathy for him—or at least pity, not annoyance. In fact, Teddy was to be admired. He had disciplined himself well against the pain; she saw no signs of stress in his smooth face and clear blue eyes. He had a sweet smile, too, as charming as a young boy's, and he had a nice way with the old people. He was always interested in their personal lives, in their complaints and their family stories. Teddy had that rare gift of making each person feel he was their special friend.

But yet she couldn't bring herself to like him.

He was particularly attentive to Mae Rose, too, though who wouldn't be? Little Mae was a dear—if she just wouldn't worry and fuss so. But Mae Rose did seem to have calmed, with the Pet-a-Pet visits—just as some
of the other residents had become more lively and talkative, more outgoing.

Putting down her hairbrush, she turned off the video and tied a soft red scarf around her throat, tucking it beneath her white blouse. Maneuvering her wheelchair so she could pull open her door, she fastened the door in place with the little hook provided, and headed down the hall. It was time for Bonnie and Lamb, time to get out of this prison for a little while, time for a few hours of freedom.

The car was too hot—Joe felt steam-cooked clear to his whiskers. And the little girl's lap, on which he had been encouraged to sit, was incredibly bony and uncomfortable. Setting out in Wilma's car for Casa Capri, he hadn't expected to ride in some kid's lap; this was not part of the deal. And why would Wilma invite a twelve-year-old kid on this excursion? Was the child some new kind of pet to be added in with the dogs and cats? And did the kid have to keep petting him? Her hands were hot and damp and made him itch. Irritated out of his skull, suppressing a snarl, he crouched lower and squeezed his eyes closed.

The kid hadn't messed with Dulcie for long. One green-eyed venomous glance from the little tabby, and the girl had jerked her hand away fast.

Dulcie stood, with her paws on the dash, staring out the window totally enthralled, as she always was in a car, watching the hills, watching eagerly for the first glimpse of Casa Capri, as if the retirement villa was some really big deal, as though she'd been invited to high tea at the St. Francis or the Hyatt Regency.

Dillon Thurwell, that was the kid's name. Who would name a female child Dillon? Her black hair hung stringy and straight beneath her baseball cap. Her dark eyes were huge. She began to scratch behind his ear, but kept staring ahead expectantly as if she, too, could hardly wait to get to Casa Capri, all set for a fun afternoon.

She was dressed in jeans and one of those T-shirts that made a statement, a shirt she had obviously selected as appropriate for the occasion. Across her chest four cats approached the viewer, and on the back of the shirt, which he'd seen as she came around the car to get in, was a rear view of the same four cats walking away, as if they were stepping invisibly through the wearer's chest, their tails high, and, of course, all their fascinating equipment in plain sight.

Abandoning his ear, she began to scratch his cheek just behind his whiskers. Couldn't the little brat leave him alone? He was doing his best to be civil. It was enough that he had condescended to sit on her lap—and that only after dour looks from Dulcie and Wilma. Under her insistent scratching, he shook his head and got up, pressing his hard paws into her legs, and resettled himself dourly on her bony knees. He hated when people touched his whiskers.

But then she found that nice itchy place by his mouth, and she scratched harder, and that did feel good. Slowly, unable to help himself, he leaned his head into her hand, purring.

Wilma glanced down at the child, gave her a long look. “What made you dye your hair, Dillon? What's that all about?”

Dillon shrugged.

“I always envied your red hair; I hardly knew you today. What did your folks say?”

“Mama said I might as well get it out of my system—I cried until she had to say something.” Dillon grinned. “It'll grow back, it'll be red again. I just wanted to try it.”

Wilma stopped at a red light, pushed back a strand of her long gray hair, and refastened the silver clip that held it. Then, moving on with the traffic, she turned up Ocean toward the hills, following the little line of vehicles, a cortege of five cars and a white Chevy van, headed for Casa Capri.

“Come on, Dillon, what's the rest of the story?”

“What story? I don't know what you mean.” The kid was cheeky, for being only twelve.

Wilma sighed. “Why change your looks the day before you join Pet-a-Pet? What's the deal here?” Wilma Getz wasn't easily taken in; she hadn't spent her professional life listening to the lies of parolees without gaining some degree of healthy skepticism.

“I just wanted to try it,” Dillon repeated. “I wanted to do it now during spring break, so I can go back to school looking different. So I can get used to my new look before the kids see it.” The kid was, Joe felt, talking too much. “How could my hair have anything to do with Pet-a-Pet? My friend Karen has black hair, and she's so beautiful.” Her little oval face was bland as cream, her brown eyes shone wide and honest.

Wilma shrugged and gave it up, said nothing more.

Joe figured that dyeing her hair was just a stupid kid thing, but he did wonder why Dillon had joined Pet-a-Pet. What twelve-year-old would elect to spend spring break making nice to a room full of geriatric couch potatoes? She ought to be biking or swimming or playing ball.

He knew that Dillon Thurwell was a favorite of Wilma's. Dulcie said she'd been going to the library ever since she could toddle, and when she asked to join Pet-a-Pet, Wilma was delighted. Never mind that the kid didn't have a dog or cat; she could be in charge of Clyde Damen's gray tomcat. Don't ask him, just appoint the kid surrogate cat handler for yours truly, just plan his life for him.

The little entourage of cars trundled along up a steep, narrow side street like a third-rate funeral procession, and turned into a long, private drive. Ahead, on the crest of the hill, Casa Capri sprawled in Mediterranean splendor, a one-story villa as imposing as a Spanish monastery, pale walls and red-tile roofs all shadowed beneath the requisite oak trees, its deep-set windows guarded by handsome
wrought-iron grilles, their intricate curlicues designed to prevent illicit entry. Or maybe illicit escape?

On beyond the buildings, up along the hills, ran a narrow street, but there were no houses near, just the round green hills dotted with old sprawling trees. To Joe's left rose an oak wood, a little private park. He could see a path winding through it among beds of ferns, and he imagined the frail residents taking little walks there, in the cool shade, accompanied by attending nurses.

They parked at the beginning of a circular drive, and Dillon disembarked, clutching him tightly against her kitty T-shirt, holding the nape of his neck in her fist in a maneuver designed to prevent him from running away, a technique she had undoubtedly learned from some book on cat care. The full instructions would direct the handler to grip the nape of the neck firmly in one hand, grip the base of the tail in the other hand, and carry kitty away from one's body to avoid being scratched. If Dillon went that far, she'd find herself dangling two bloody stumps.

Dulcie rode limply over Wilma's shoulder, all sweetness and smiles, looking ahead to Casa Capri, her green eyes glowing with anticipation. All ready for a fun afternoon frolicking with the cat-loving elderly. Their party was made up of fourteen humans and the same number of household pets, a remarkable assortment of dogs, mostly tiny, and cats-in-arms. One small woman toted a plastic cat carrier with air holes, through which two enraged blue eyes glowered.

In the center of the circular drive was a raised fish pond with a little cupped birdbath at one side, and burbling fountain in the center, a little oasis for our aquatic and avian friends. A flock of sparrows and finches rose lazily away, birds perhaps fed by the residents until they had lost all fear of other creatures. Joe looked after them hungrily. This would be a prime hunting preserve if he could ditch the Pet-a-Pet crowd.

Flanking the walk and drive, regiments of stiff bird-of-
paradise plants grew, their dark leaves thrusting up like swords, their red and orange bird heads turned stiffly to observe new arrivals. The walk was mosaicked with tiny stones set in a curving pattern, rising in three steps to a wide landing. The double doors were dark and ornately carved. The resemblance of Casa Capri to the Prior estate in architectural style, even to the doors themselves and the window grilles, led one to conclude that Adelina had ordered the plans and the architectural accessories at a two-for-one sale.

To his left, through long French windows, Joe could see white-clothed tables set with glasses and flatware, as if the help liked to get an early start on the evening meal. To his right, within the nearest window, he glimpsed a window seat scattered with a tangle of bright pillows. Dillon let go of his neck but continued to hug him, pressing him to her like a cuddly toy until he growled at her.

She cut her eyes at him, but loosened her grip only enough to let him breathe.

The group's leader, Bonnie Dorriss, stood above them on the steps, smiling down as if she were a schoolteacher waiting for a gaggle of five-year-olds to gather. Her short sandy hair was the same color as the freckles which spattered her nose and cheeks. Her stocky figure was encased in tight, ragged jeans and a faded green sweatshirt. But she wore a good stout pair of Rockports.

Joe looked around him at their motley group of four-legged recruits, the little lap-dogs fluffy and shivering and as useless as whiskers on a toad. But there were two big dogs as well; and the sappy-faced golden retriever looked so much like Barney, with that big silly smile, that Joe felt a lump in his belly the size of a basketball.

Clyde had brought Barney home that morning, had got him settled on his blanket on the bottom bunk of the two-tier dog and cat bed in the laundry room. Barney had seemed glad to be home, but the outlook wasn't good. The problem was his liver. He was on
medication; Clyde had come home again at noon to give him his pills and try to get him to drink; all morning, Barney hadn't moved from the bunk.

Joe had hated to leave him all alone in there except for the other animals, because what could they do? Rube and the cats would be no help if he took a turn for the worse. Clyde said he'd run home a couple of times during the afternoon. He and Dr. Firreti were waiting to see if the pills would snap Barney out of it. It was midafternoon now, and he wondered if Clyde was at home. Worrying, he said a little cat prayer for Barney.

And he turned on Dillon's shoulder so he wouldn't have to look at the golden retriever; the dog made him feel too sad.

The other big dog was the brown poodle that belonged to Bonnie Dorriss. The poodle appeared totally aloof, paid no attention to any of the animals. Either he was extremely dignified or bored out of his skull. He must have felt Joe staring, because he glanced up, gave him a completely innocent look—as if to say he never, never chased cats.

Oh sure. Turn your tail, and you'd have poodle teeth in your backside before you could bare a claw.

Their little group consisted of eight dogs and six cats, including a black-and-white cat who could use some advice on the principles of a slimming diet. The longhaired white cat had one yellow eye and one blue, but she was totally color-coordinated: blue collar and a natty yellow name tag. Cute enough to make you retch.

The big yellow tom glowered threateningly at him, as a tomcat is expected to do. But beneath the show of testosterone he looked both sleepy and bored.

Joe could see into the plastic cat carrier now, where a scruffy-looking tortoiseshell huddled, her blue eyes not angry now, but only painfully shy. This was the Pet-a-Pet group? These scruffy cats and puny little lap-dogs were expected to play skilled therapist to a bunch of needful humans? And, of course, among the mixed
participants, Joe and Dulcie were the only nonhuman members who could have carried on a conversation with the old people.

That would generate some excitement.

Led by Bonnie Dorriss, their group moved on through the wide doors into the entry, the golden retriever gawking and stumbling over its own feet. The big poodle stepped lightly beside Bonnie into the spacious reception area and sat down at her heel. Impressive, Joe had to admit.

The entry was even more elegant than the carved double doors had implied, the blue tile floor gleaming, the small potted trees in hand-painted containers fingering their delicate leaves against the white walls. The heavy ceiling beams looked hand-carved, and to his right hung an old, antique oil painting of the Molena Point hills as they must have looked before any house marred the wild sweeps of grass and young oaks.

Directly ahead through an archway shone a well-appointed sitting area. This faced, through wide French doors, a sunny, enclosed patio surrounded by the wings of the building and planted with flowers and miniature citrus trees. Charming, totally charming. He wondered if the staff would serve tea, maybe little sandwiches of smoked salmon or imported sardines and liver paté.

But then he caught a whiff of medicines and pine-scented cleaning solution; of boiled beef and onions; a mix of smells that implied actual living went on beyond the pristine entry, implied a condensed, crowded occupancy involving many more people forced together than a cat found acceptable.

Dillon, carrying him, wandered away from the others toward the parlor, but she did not enter that elegant, perfectly groomed space. She stood at the edge of the cream-and-blue Chinese rug, looking. The area was too formal to be inviting—the couch and upholstered chairs done in pale silk damask, the little mahogany tables teetering on spindly legs, the damask draperies perfectly
pleated. He could imagine digging his claws into that thick fabric and swarming up, laying waste to thousands of dollars worth of thoughtful design. This must be where the residents of Casa Capri entertained their relatives and visitors, away from hospital beds and potty chairs. The room smelled faintly of lavender. Joe found himself observing the furnishings not from his own rough, tomcat frame of reference but from Dulcie's view. Dulcie loved this fancy stuff. He even knew from listening to Dulcie that the four stiff-looking chairs were of Hepplewhite design—chairs as rigid and ungiving as four disapproving spinsters.

The room, in short, might impress, but it did not welcome. There were no cushiony places to cuddle the body, no gentle pillows to ease tired old bones. Casa Capri's parlor looked, to Joe, as if a sign should be placed at the edge of the Chinese rug warning all comers not to touch.

But beyond the stiff parlor, the bright patio was inviting, sunny and lush, the walled garden filled with pastel-colored lilies and low beds of pansies, with intimate arrangements of wrought-iron patio chairs fitted with deep, soft-appearing cushions that just invited a nap.

Surely, out there in that warm and protected setting the frail elderly could take the sun and gossip and doze in peace, comfortably sheltered from the chill sea wind and from the outer world. Sheltered within those walls…