Free Catwalk by Sheila Webster Boneham Page A

you.”
    â€œWhat?”
    He waggled it at me. “I’ll make coffee.”
    I scowled at the phone but took it.
    â€œJanet, I guess you didn’t get my messages. It’s terrible! That man is a monster!” I heard a wheeze, then, “She’s here with me and I told her not to go back over there, but I don’t know that she’s really safe here either. Do you know who we can call?” Wheeze. “I thought maybe that cop, er, police officer friend of yours, the woman, you know a woman cop, don’t you? I think a woman would be better.”
    â€œAlberta, slow down. What are you talking about?” Of course, I already knew the answer to my next question. “ Who are you talking about?”
    â€œLouise. Louise Rasmussen.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “She’s going to have a shiner and she won’t show me but I think he hurt her arm, and she’s limping and her lip is split.” Alberta paused for a few seconds. “But this time I think she’s had enough. She’s been frightened and hurt before, but I think she’s finally angry.”
    The image of Louise after we tracked Gypsy and her kittens came to me. Something in her posture had changed as Alberta walked with her from the studio to the house. When she came back to the studio that night, she was like a different person. I wondered why she hadn’t left right then, before her husband hurt her again. Why didn’t she just leave , I wondered. But I knew it wasn’t that simple.
    â€œOh, man.” I felt my fist double up. I did know a woman cop—Jo Stevens was Hutchinson’s former partner—and I thought about some of the domestic incidents she had told me about. “Alberta, are all your doors locked? And your alarm system on?”
    â€œYes, yes, of course.” Her voice was muffled as I heard her say, “I don’t think you should take a shower until after the police see you, dear,” and then, to me, “She said she fell down the stairs, but I got the truth out of her.” She wheezed and coughed. “Someone should shove him down the stairs.”
    â€œAlberta, I think you need to get her out of there. Get her to a safe place away from there.”
    â€œThe police are on their way.”
    â€œWill she press charges?”
    There was a long silence, and then she said, “I don’t know. I hope so.” Alberta’s dogs started to bark, and she said, “They’re here.” And she was gone.

fourteen
    â€œIs there a no-trespassing sign?” Norm had a leg al pad and the document that had ruined my previous evening laid out on the table next to his huevos rancheros and was switching back and forth between his fork and his pen. I wondered how long it would be before he stuck the nib of his eight-hundred dol lar Montegrappa into his eggs. That would be tragic. Norm loved that pen.
    â€œWhere?” We had been talking about Thanksgiving plans, so the question caught me off guard.
    â€œRasmussen’s place. You sure you don’t want to eat?”
    The whole lawsuit thing had made me queasy, and I shook my head. “Not that I noticed. It was dark. I’d be surprised if there was, though, in that neighborhood.”
    â€œDid Mrs. Rasmussen ask you to leave?”
    â€œNo. In fact, she wanted to help us with the kittens.” I told him how Rasmussen the husband had reacted to that.
    Norm made a note and took a bite, all with the proper implements. “Okay, if she is joint owner of the property, you’re in the clear. I’ll check.” He switched implements and smiled at me. “How did you get into the shed?”
    â€œStudio.”
    â€œWhatever.”
    â€œIt was open. Jay just nudged the door a bit wider. The window was open, too. That’s how Gypsy got in, I suppose.” I studied my mental snapshots of the place. “Something was weird, though. Have you ever