“Mrs. Kelly?”
There were faint noises in the background, like he was outside somewhere. Whistles blowing and loud noises.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” I said shakily. “I know I shouldn’t be calling you, but?—”
My voice sounded strange, distant. Like I was inside a fishbowl, or maybe outside of it, listening to someone talk through glass.
His voice sharpened. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“Bellevue,” I managed. “Nick’s house.”
“Nick? You’re in Dominic Costanza’s house?”
I nodded. And remembered, a second later, that he couldn’t see me. “Yes.”
“Get out of there,” Mendoza said.
“What?”
He spoke slowly and clearly, as if he thought I was slow. At the moment I probably was. “Don’t touch anything, and get out of the house.”
“Too late,” I said. “I already touched the doorknob, and the light switch, and the?—”
When I didn’t finish, he did. “—body?”
“What? No, I didn’t touch that. Are you crazy?”
A beat passed, and then I added, “Wait a minute. How do you know there’s a body?”
Was this already common knowledge? Had Mendoza killed him? Or did he know who had?
“I assumed,” Mendoza said. “You’re acting like someone who’s seen a dead body. Have you left yet?”
I hadn’t, so I gave Nick a last look before I turned on my heel and stumbled toward the door. “Come on, cat.”
“Cat?” Mendoza inquired.
“There’s a cat in here. One of the neighbor’s, probably. She has a lot of cats.”
“The neighbor saw you.”
It sounded much more like a statement than a question, but I nodded. Then I realized, again— “Yes. She came out when I was knocking on the door.”
He muttered something under his breath. Probably an expletive. It sounded like one. I decided not to make him repeat it, just made my way across the small kitchen to the door I had left open when I walked in. The door the tortoiseshell had entered through.
“Cat!” I called again. “We’re leaving! Come on!”
“I said,” Mendoza repeated patiently, “that if someone has seen you, there’s no way you can close the door and pretend you weren’t there.”
“No. And I can’t believe you’d suggest something like that. Aren’t you a cop?”
“You know I am. Are you outside yet?”
The morning sunlight seemed too bright after the darkness of the bedroom, and I had to squint as I stepped out onto the stoop. “Yes. I’m outside.”
“What about the cat?”
I glanced down as the tortoiseshell darted across the threshold, past my feet, and down. It didn’t bother with the stairs, just shot directly off the edge of the stoop onto the dead grass and headed for the front yard at a good clip.
