like them. That one came up, rubbed against me. I’m starting to itch. I’m gonna sit in the unit and finish the paperwork.”
He looked at Bernie hopefully. “Someone ought to put it outside, since we don’t know when Louisa will be back. It could make a mess in here.”
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Largo put me in charge of rounding up the kinfolks.”
Dealing with the cat was easier said than done. She called, “Kitty, kitty,” to no avail and looked under the furniture, in the office closet. She walked through the house, searching beneath the beds, in the bathroom. The cat had vanished.
Then, inspired by commercials she’d seen on TV, she went into the kitchen. She found a sack of kibble and some canned cat food in the pantry. Louisa or the lieutenant had stored a gray plastic cat-size cage on the pantry floor. Leaphorn’s—or was it Louisa’s?—blue electric can opener sat on the counter. Bernie opened the Friskies and, like four-legged magic, a small orange-and-white feline with big green eyes appeared at her feet. She picked up the cat’s dish and spooned in the soft food. While it ate, she brought out the cage. The cat finished, looked at her for more. Bernie reached for it, and it backed away. The cat moved close again when she walked to the counter where the Friskies sat.
Bernie grabbed a kitchen towel. At the opportune moment, she tossed a towel over the cat and, while it was confused, snatched it up and wrapped it like a wiggly, yowling burrito.
“Cat, I don’t like this any more than you do, but you can’t stay here alone.”
Unlike useful cats who supported themselves by catching mice, bugs, and whatever else came on the premises uninvited, this one was obviously a house pet. Probably Louisa’s furry darling. Chee liked cats, for some reason. Bernie decided to take the cat home. He could care for it until they figured out what was going on with Louisa, or until they knew the lieutenant’s status. She gently pushed cat and towel into the cat carrier, closed the door, and deposited the noisy package in the backseat of her car. The shade helped keep it cool.
She went back in and wrote another note to Louisa, explaining why Leaphorn’s computer and the cat were gone and asking Louisa to call her immediately. She left it next to the business card she’d put on the table.
She picked up the dry cat food and sealed the open can in a plastic bag she found in the pantry. She noticed the mail she’d brought in from Leaphorn’s truck and thumbed through it. A payment to an insurance company and a white envelope, the kind that come with solicitation campaigns, addressed to Little Sisters of the Poor in Gallup, both stamped and ready for the post office. On the large brown envelope the lieutenant had written in small, precise script “Dr. John Collingsworth, AIRC” and a Santa Fe address. She thought for a second, then reached for a table knife to open it. If it wasn’t important to the case, she’d tape it closed and send it on.
From inside the larger envelope, she pulled out a set of letter-size white pages and a second smaller sealed envelope. She opened the smaller envelope and removed a single sheet of paper precisely folded in thirds. She unfolded it to read Leaphorn’s bill for services to the AIRC, dated yesterday. She looked at the white sheets. Photocopies of listings from auction catalogs and textbooks. Old Indian pots. Nothing exciting. This doctor must be an art collector, and AIRC was probably his clinic or something. She’d take it all to the post office and use their tape to reseal the brown envelope.
Bernie took the cat food, locked the back door, waved to Bigman, who looked up from his paperwork in the front seat of his truck. With the cat’s protests as background noise, she headed toward the enchanted landscape of Two Grey Hills and her mother’s house in Toadlena.
She went to Mama’s at least twice a week, usually driving from Shiprock south on NM 491. The trip
He looked at Bernie hopefully. “Someone ought to put it outside, since we don’t know when Louisa will be back. It could make a mess in here.”
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Largo put me in charge of rounding up the kinfolks.”
Dealing with the cat was easier said than done. She called, “Kitty, kitty,” to no avail and looked under the furniture, in the office closet. She walked through the house, searching beneath the beds, in the bathroom. The cat had vanished.
Then, inspired by commercials she’d seen on TV, she went into the kitchen. She found a sack of kibble and some canned cat food in the pantry. Louisa or the lieutenant had stored a gray plastic cat-size cage on the pantry floor. Leaphorn’s—or was it Louisa’s?—blue electric can opener sat on the counter. Bernie opened the Friskies and, like four-legged magic, a small orange-and-white feline with big green eyes appeared at her feet. She picked up the cat’s dish and spooned in the soft food. While it ate, she brought out the cage. The cat finished, looked at her for more. Bernie reached for it, and it backed away. The cat moved close again when she walked to the counter where the Friskies sat.
Bernie grabbed a kitchen towel. At the opportune moment, she tossed a towel over the cat and, while it was confused, snatched it up and wrapped it like a wiggly, yowling burrito.
“Cat, I don’t like this any more than you do, but you can’t stay here alone.”
Unlike useful cats who supported themselves by catching mice, bugs, and whatever else came on the premises uninvited, this one was obviously a house pet. Probably Louisa’s furry darling. Chee liked cats, for some reason. Bernie decided to take the cat home. He could care for it until they figured out what was going on with Louisa, or until they knew the lieutenant’s status. She gently pushed cat and towel into the cat carrier, closed the door, and deposited the noisy package in the backseat of her car. The shade helped keep it cool.
She went back in and wrote another note to Louisa, explaining why Leaphorn’s computer and the cat were gone and asking Louisa to call her immediately. She left it next to the business card she’d put on the table.
She picked up the dry cat food and sealed the open can in a plastic bag she found in the pantry. She noticed the mail she’d brought in from Leaphorn’s truck and thumbed through it. A payment to an insurance company and a white envelope, the kind that come with solicitation campaigns, addressed to Little Sisters of the Poor in Gallup, both stamped and ready for the post office. On the large brown envelope the lieutenant had written in small, precise script “Dr. John Collingsworth, AIRC” and a Santa Fe address. She thought for a second, then reached for a table knife to open it. If it wasn’t important to the case, she’d tape it closed and send it on.
From inside the larger envelope, she pulled out a set of letter-size white pages and a second smaller sealed envelope. She opened the smaller envelope and removed a single sheet of paper precisely folded in thirds. She unfolded it to read Leaphorn’s bill for services to the AIRC, dated yesterday. She looked at the white sheets. Photocopies of listings from auction catalogs and textbooks. Old Indian pots. Nothing exciting. This doctor must be an art collector, and AIRC was probably his clinic or something. She’d take it all to the post office and use their tape to reseal the brown envelope.
Bernie took the cat food, locked the back door, waved to Bigman, who looked up from his paperwork in the front seat of his truck. With the cat’s protests as background noise, she headed toward the enchanted landscape of Two Grey Hills and her mother’s house in Toadlena.
She went to Mama’s at least twice a week, usually driving from Shiprock south on NM 491. The trip
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