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“But how…” Dulcie began, then, “Where’s Charlie? Oh, they haven’t…This can’t be another kidnapping!”
“It’s Mavity who drives it the most,” Joe pointed out, staring up at the van’s windows, half expecting to see someone looking back at them trying to get their attention. All three cats were thinking of last summer, when both Dulcie’s housemate and Charlie Harper had been brutally kidnapped and their lives in danger. But then, “Look,” Joe hissed, rearing up taller. “Take a closer look.”
23
I T WAS JUST noon when Ryan Fla
A year ago, when the big, stray Weimaraner had adopted her, he would have nearly knocked her over leaping on her and clawing her arms for attention, a lovable clown with no idea of ma
No one, she thought, unless they were dedicated athletes with plenty of time to devote, should even think of owning a Weimaraner, a breed meant for action and hard work. Without both, the dogs were miserable, and so were their owners.
Rising, she moved into the patio with Rock at her side, and closed the gate behind them. The walled retreat was almost balmy on this bright winter day; and she was inordinately pleased with the small, private world she’d designed and built for Clyde. Clyde had swept away the last of the fallen maple leaves, and the chair cushions were clean and dried of their morning dew. The long, plastered planters were bright with cyclamens and begonias, and a pot of poinsettias stood on the picnic table. The cushion on the chaise still bore the impression of the big silver hound, where Rock had been napping. On the table beside the poinsettias were a cooler, picnic plates and napkins, and a tray laid out with packets of sandwich makings and plastic containers of salad-this, too, attested to Rock’s improved ma
Fetching a bottle of nonalcoholic Buckler’s from the cooler, she popped the lid and stretched out on the chaise, rubbing Rock’s ears as he came to lean against her, and watching Clyde through the window as he filled the coffeepot. It was nice that, since she’d started the nearby job, she could run over for lunch. Slowly, now, the tension of the morning began to ease.
She’d been so hoping for a quiet holiday season, for lovely, peaceful evenings with Clyde before the fire, admiring their joint-effort Christmas tree, Rock and Joe and Snowball and the two older cats sprawled around them. No serious worries, no violent police matters to prod her with fear for her uncle Dallas and Max and their friends.
Certainly Max and Dallas had enjoyed very little about the Christmas season, with the department looking for a killer and for a vanished body, and trying to identity a silent little girl who was too scared and traumatized to say a word-and now the Greenlaws’ strange break-in that seemed to hint at an uglier scenario. And to top it off, there was Charlie’s strange preoccupation and her unwillingness to share her problem.
Charlie should be turning handsprings right now, should be ecstatic with her upcoming exhibit and book signing, but instead she was grim one minute, and drawn away the next as if to another world.
In fact, when Ryan thought about it, Charlie was that way with every major crime. Whenever Max and the department faced more than the usual danger, Charlie turned moody and secretive-and that thought saddened Ryan. A cop’s wife couldn’t live like that. Charlie knew that. They’d talked about it at some length, and she’d thought Charlie was finally committed to living each day to the fullest and not fretting about tomorrow. Committed to living the only way a cop’s family could live, and still survive. Charlie said she lived like that and thought like that. But if that was true, then what was this preoccupation?
Was worry over Max not the only cause of her stress? And a sudden realization startled Ryan: It wasn’t only Charlie who seemed to experience these worried, preoccupied spells. Clyde did, too. And Wilma Getz. And even the older, levelheaded Greenlaws. During every increase in crime that stressed the department and kept the men extra busy, Ryan’s friends seemed to turn moody and withdrawn, and, sometimes, inexplicably secretive.
She had never before realized this. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to see it. Maybe, she thought, she didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to understand what this was about.
Clyde came out carrying a plate of freshly sliced bread still warm from the bakery, its scent filling the patio. He set it on the table, opened a beer, leaned down to give Ryan a long kiss, then sprawled in a lounge chair, taking a good look at her. “You’re wound tight.”
“I’ll be better when we can start on the Stanhope house. The damned city-these delays make me want to pound someone.
“But,” she said more cheerfully, “this present job, Clyde…a few more days, we’ll wrap it up. The house is charming, if I do say so. I can’t wait for you to see it all finished.”
“All your work is charming. It’s what you’re known for. Look at this house-from a shabby bachelor’s pad to a designer’s gem.” He gri
“That kind of flattery will get you a long way, with this lady. Meantime,” she said, rising, “I’m starved. I feel like Rock, ready to dive into lunch with all four paws.” Rock, though he had his own bowl of kibble, had been eyeing the picnic table with ears up and nose twitching. He knew better than to grab, but this degree of restraint wasn’t easy on the energetic young dog. Ryan was putting her sandwich together when her phone rang.
“Maybe Scotty,” she said, glancing at her watch. “He stopped in to see Jim Holden again at the building department.” She fished her phone from its holster, listened expectantly-and her hopeful look exploded into a dark scowl.
“They did all that. The research! The hearings! The historic look won’t be changed! We aren’t doing anything to the outside. What the hell do they…” Ryan’s face was flushed, her green eyes burned with anger. Clyde opened another Buckler’s and handed it to her.
“We’re not changing the outside,” Ryan shouted into the phone. “Can’t they understand simple English! Can’t they read a simple damned blueprint! What kind of…” She listened; then, “I know it’s nearly eighty years old! We’ve been through all that, Scotty!”
Scott Fla