Cat Seeing Double by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

addition, I didn’t think any more about it.”
    She looked at Dallas. “Right then, did he decide to hitch a ride, when he knew where I lived? Did he have it all planned, weeks ago?
    â€œAnd what was he doing up there? How did he get there, in the first place? And did the old man hitch too? That would make me feel really stupid, if those two were both in the truck.” Ryan shook her head. “Did I give them both a ride so they could set that bomb?”
    â€œSoon as we get a lab report, likely we’ll start checking stores in the San Andreas area—hardware, drugstores, feed and grocery. That might be where the meth supplies were coming from. We sure didn’t turn up with big purchases here on the coast. That raid on the Farger shack netted us a hoard of antifreeze, iodine, starter fluid, fifty packs of cold tablets, just for starters. To say nothing of the mountain of empties buried in apit. But no record—or no admission—of increased sales locally. Could be they got their bomb makings up there too.”
    She looked at him. “I wasn’t carrying their bomb supplies! In the back of my truck!”
    Dallas shrugged. “That could be hard to sort out. Ammonium sulfate, for instance. The bomb wouldn’t have taken much, compared to what a farmer might use.”
    â€œThat would be sick, Dallas. If I was hauling their bomb makings for them.”
    â€œWhat time did you leave San Andreas? Took you about four hours to get home?”
    â€œAbout seven in the evening. Took me five hours. I stopped in town to load some stained-glass windows I’d bought from an antique dealer. He’d said he’d wait for me. Then halfway home I pulled into a fast-food place for a burger.” She imagined the kid hunkered down under the tarp, cold in the wind and nearly drooling at the smell of greasy fries and burgers. “Why didn’t I see him? How could I have loaded the windows without…” She stopped, and sat thinking, then looked up at Dallas.
    â€œWhen I loaded the windows, the guy had given me some cardboard to buffer them, so I didn’t need the tarp. I tossed it near the tailgate, still folded. There was no one in the truck, then.”
    â€œWhen you’d loaded the windows, what did you do?”
    â€œI went back inside to give the shopkeeper a check.”
    â€œWas there any room left in the truck bed?”
    â€œThe windows were lined up in the front, riding on several sheets of foam insulation, and tied and padded. The back half of the truck bed was empty.”
    Dallas kept asking questions. Yawning, she went over every detail she could remember. The hitchhikers could easily have dropped off the back of the truck when she pulled into her drive. In the dark, she wouldn’t have seen them.
    â€œWhat other contacts did you have up there?”
    â€œLumber and building-supply people. Building inspectors. The furnace guy. A local realtor wanting me to do a remodel—a Larn Williams. Has his broker’s license. Works independently.”
    â€œYou take the job?”
    â€œHe wants to talk with his clients.” She yawned. “I think I may skip that one. He seems interested in more than the work.”
    Dallas rose. “You’re beat. I’ll cut out of here.”
    She grinned up at him. “You never get tired, when you’re on a case.” She got up too, and hugged him, and saw him out the door. But the moment he pulled out of the drive and headed down the hill, she turned off the light and fell into bed, dropping immediately into sleep—she was definitely not a night person.
    Â 
    But others in the world loved the night, others found the small hours after midnight filled with excitement. While Dallas and Ryan sat in her studio trying to get a fix on Curtis Farger, Joe Grey woke from his nap in the double bed beside Clyde, woke hearing Dulcie and the kit at his cat door banging the plastic flap.
    Leaping