Cat Shining Bright

“Same build,” Wilma said, “slim but with those broad, angled shoulders. That day when they led him out of the courtroom he yelled that he’d find me one day, that he’d take care of me good.” She said this almost amused. “That wasn’t the first time I was ever threatened. It goes with the program. But seeing him now, exactly the way he looked then . . . Seeing someone who looks exactly like him,” she corrected herself.

“Alderson was on death row five years before they executed him. He was convicted of killing his wife’s lover. The investigating detectives were convinced he killed the wife, too, but her body was never found. They had some shaky evidence, but no body. Not enough to make a second case for murder.”

Wilma stood looking into the shadows at the man. “This could well be his son, their little boy, Rickie. He was placed into child care, he was about seven then. He was in trouble later, in his teens. I check his record now and then, except for small local crimes that might not be included. He did a couple of long stretches for assault, and here and there short jail time for theft or breaking and entering. Last I heard, he was in prison in Texas.” She stroked Dulcie. “I’ll call Max later, see if he can find out where Rick is now. Meanwhile, it’s nothing to worry over. That young man isn’t Calvin Alderson, and why would his son care about me? He hated his father, scared to death of Calvin. He should have been glad we locked him up—at the time, just a little boy, he was furious at me, at the law. Later, when I visited him in child care, he was fine.”

Courtney, snuggled between them, looked up at Wilma, intently curious about any new, intriguing human event. But her eyes held a shadow, too. As if the presence of a stalker, of danger to Wilma, stirred some long-ago memory, some ugly dream.

The sun was higher now, pushing back the shadows between their neighbors’ houses, and the man across the street moved briskly away, turning at the next corner, out of sight. They heard a car start and drive off. Joe Grey raced out the cat door and scrambled to the rooftops meaning to follow but already the car was gone.

Joe returned to the kitchen feeling concern for Wilma and frightened for Dulcie and the kittens. He didn’t want this guy hanging around. Was he Calvin Alderson’s son? Why would he be here? What did he have in mind? How did Wilma fit into his unfortunate life if, as she said, he had hated his father?

But Wilma wouldn’t let anything happen to Dulcie and the kittens, or to herself. A break-in wasn’t likely; she had good locks on her windows, and more than one handgun.

Still, restless over the watcher, hastily he licked up the cold custard Wilma set before him. Then using his damaged tower as an excuse, wondering aloud if the carpenters had started on it, if they were taking proper care, if Ryan was there to oversee the work, he headed for the cat door.

Dulcie, watching him, had to smile. “Go,” she said. “Go see to your tower, they’ll be clearing away the rubble.” And Joe Grey hit the roofs, making detours, peering into alleys, watching the streets for the prowler as he headed home.

6

Joe was three blocks from home, coming across the roof of the house where the BMW had been stashed, when he paused looking away along the side street. The department had put up sawhorses and crime tape barriers at either end of a three-block area. Along the curb stood seven cars with broken windows. All other parking places were empty where, before, there had been more than two dozen vehicles, many damaged. How many had the thieves gotten away with? How many had already been towed to the police lot, or their owners had been contacted and allowed to claim them? Two squad cars were parked inside the yellow tape, an officer seated in each, most likely running the license plates to find the last seven owners.

They would want to check for fingerprints on the cars and their interiors, or maybe wait for Dallas to do that. They would need lists from the owners of what was missing. He thought about the BMW that had been hidden just below him. He hoped it was still there, he still felt guilty that they hadn’t reported it. He thought of Pan’s words, Let it lie. It will come right, we’ll think of a way. The padlock was still hanging locked.

But maybe the cops had already jimmied it, and found the car. Was it there or was it gone? That was a nice BMW, one of those sporty models. Joe wondered if the owners even knew, yet, that it was missing, if they had even reported it stolen.