“Walt!” he declared. “You gave me a start. What are you doing here? My boy and I will take care of these cats. You go on over to City Hall, if you want to see fur fly.”
“No call for a gun in a chapel yard,” Reddick said. He took a few steps deeper into the yard. “Why don’t you two —”
“There it is!” Johnny interrupted. “C’mon, Dad. Hurry! It’ll get away.”
The gray tom darted from the shadows and sprang up to a fence post. He waited there, his eyes glittering, his shoulders hunched, waited until the three pairs of eyes held his own. Then he began to slink along the lip of the fence away from the yard. He moved deliberately, stopping every few steps to look back.
It was an outright dare.
“Shake a leg, boy!” Joe Close hissed. “Duck around the tree. That cat thinks we’re stupid. Once you get a clear view, line it up in your scope. I’ll grant you one shot. Takesmore than that to rouse people from their beds. Don’t waste it.”
Johnny cut through the stable. He hurried out past the old manger and readied his gun.
Reddick reached down and swiped a stone from the chapel earth. He drew back his arm.
“Get away from the cats!” The words fell from the sky.
Reddick’s arm froze in midmotion. There was someone outlined against the moon over his head. Someone had come out of the choir loft. It looked like a boy. It looked like his … “Billy!” Reddick called out. He dropped the stone. “Billy, put down that gun!”
Billy was so focused that he didn’t even hear his dad. He swung up his rifle easily. He’d had a lot of practice.
Joe Close couldn’t see the boy. But he heard the rifle cock. He yanked Johnny under the stable cover. The commotion riled the cats hiding in the rafters. They jumped every which way.
It was cat rain.
Joe Close threw up his arms when one furry beast brushed his face. The reflex spun Johnny into the manger. That sent Scat off like a cannon. The scraggy bolt of rage shot from his woolly bed and latched onto the back of Johnny’s head. As soon as the boy felt claws digginginto his scalp, he started to dance. He stomped his feet so fast he forgot about his fingers.
The gun in his hand didn’t need more coaxing. It went off.
In the same instant, Salome bolted out to the loft landing. “Fool!” she yelled. She grabbed Billy by the collar.
Billy fired, too.
Both bullets found a mark.
Johnny shot himself in the foot.
And Billy shot his dad.
TWENTY-FIVE
T he pellet grazed Billy’s dad’s arm.
Reddick looked down at himself in surprise. He watched the dry burn darken. A drop of blood welled up.
“Dad!” Billy cried. He threw the gun down to the yard and hurtled after it. He didn’t stop his headlong dash until he had run right into his dad’s arms. “Dad, are you okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” His sobs were full of grief, and anger.
“Hold it right there, son,” his dad said. He gripped Billy at arm’s length so they could look at each other. “I’m all right, you hear me? Simmer down! I’m to blame for what’s happened here.”
Johnny Close hopped over the yard yelping louder than a cat on a hot tin roof. “That’s enough!” Reddick called out. “You’re all right, boy. Take off that shoe. Your boot has a steel toe. You’ve got nothing more than a hot foot.”
He turned to Joe Close. “Your kid needs to go home,” he growled. “And mine. We’re done here.”
As soon as the other two had left, Billy blurted it out. “They wanted to kill my cat.” He didn’t care if his dad knew the truth.
Billy’s dad tilted his boy’s chin. He didn’t want to believe in Providence. But he was too sensible to ignore bare facts. “What did you say, son? What do you mean, your cat? You’ve got no cat.”
“I do!” Billy cried. “I’ve got Conga. She’s my cat. I had her in my room the whole summer. And now she’s out there with her kittens and it’s my fault. I have to find her!” He pushed his dad’s arms away.
“No call for a gun in a chapel yard,” Reddick said. He took a few steps deeper into the yard. “Why don’t you two —”
“There it is!” Johnny interrupted. “C’mon, Dad. Hurry! It’ll get away.”
The gray tom darted from the shadows and sprang up to a fence post. He waited there, his eyes glittering, his shoulders hunched, waited until the three pairs of eyes held his own. Then he began to slink along the lip of the fence away from the yard. He moved deliberately, stopping every few steps to look back.
It was an outright dare.
“Shake a leg, boy!” Joe Close hissed. “Duck around the tree. That cat thinks we’re stupid. Once you get a clear view, line it up in your scope. I’ll grant you one shot. Takesmore than that to rouse people from their beds. Don’t waste it.”
Johnny cut through the stable. He hurried out past the old manger and readied his gun.
Reddick reached down and swiped a stone from the chapel earth. He drew back his arm.
“Get away from the cats!” The words fell from the sky.
Reddick’s arm froze in midmotion. There was someone outlined against the moon over his head. Someone had come out of the choir loft. It looked like a boy. It looked like his … “Billy!” Reddick called out. He dropped the stone. “Billy, put down that gun!”
Billy was so focused that he didn’t even hear his dad. He swung up his rifle easily. He’d had a lot of practice.
Joe Close couldn’t see the boy. But he heard the rifle cock. He yanked Johnny under the stable cover. The commotion riled the cats hiding in the rafters. They jumped every which way.
It was cat rain.
Joe Close threw up his arms when one furry beast brushed his face. The reflex spun Johnny into the manger. That sent Scat off like a cannon. The scraggy bolt of rage shot from his woolly bed and latched onto the back of Johnny’s head. As soon as the boy felt claws digginginto his scalp, he started to dance. He stomped his feet so fast he forgot about his fingers.
The gun in his hand didn’t need more coaxing. It went off.
In the same instant, Salome bolted out to the loft landing. “Fool!” she yelled. She grabbed Billy by the collar.
Billy fired, too.
Both bullets found a mark.
Johnny shot himself in the foot.
And Billy shot his dad.
TWENTY-FIVE
T he pellet grazed Billy’s dad’s arm.
Reddick looked down at himself in surprise. He watched the dry burn darken. A drop of blood welled up.
“Dad!” Billy cried. He threw the gun down to the yard and hurtled after it. He didn’t stop his headlong dash until he had run right into his dad’s arms. “Dad, are you okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” His sobs were full of grief, and anger.
“Hold it right there, son,” his dad said. He gripped Billy at arm’s length so they could look at each other. “I’m all right, you hear me? Simmer down! I’m to blame for what’s happened here.”
Johnny Close hopped over the yard yelping louder than a cat on a hot tin roof. “That’s enough!” Reddick called out. “You’re all right, boy. Take off that shoe. Your boot has a steel toe. You’ve got nothing more than a hot foot.”
He turned to Joe Close. “Your kid needs to go home,” he growled. “And mine. We’re done here.”
As soon as the other two had left, Billy blurted it out. “They wanted to kill my cat.” He didn’t care if his dad knew the truth.
Billy’s dad tilted his boy’s chin. He didn’t want to believe in Providence. But he was too sensible to ignore bare facts. “What did you say, son? What do you mean, your cat? You’ve got no cat.”
“I do!” Billy cried. “I’ve got Conga. She’s my cat. I had her in my room the whole summer. And now she’s out there with her kittens and it’s my fault. I have to find her!” He pushed his dad’s arms away.
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