"I felt faint; I had to have something. I sat here, at the table." She did not, of course, mention her uninvited dinner guest. If, later, the detective found paw prints on the table, so be it. When Harden went to look at her phone line, he found that it had been cut just outside her kitchen window. He reported this for her through the dispatcher.

As he filled out his report, he made her repeat many answers. She did not like that he was testing her. He asked her three times whether she knew the man, and made her repeat that she wasn't sure. Asked her twice to describe how she knew Consuela. She would have to answer all this again, for the detective. She hoped he would not be as heavy-handed. Explaining that in Molena Point Consuela had posed as a teenager, she was most uncomfortable at how addled that sounded. She was relieved when Detective Jared Reedie arrived some ten minutes later.

His quick arrival surprised her, implying to her that this particular burglary might be important. Reedie was a shockingly good-looking young man with dark brown hair and brown eyes, dressed in cords and a suede sport coat, a young man so handsome that Kate immediately found herself mistrusting him. When the two officers had left, Reedie walked through the house with her, taking photographs, then at last he came to sit with her at the table as Harden had done. She told her story over again knowing he would compare it with what she'd told Officer Harden-as if she were the one on trial. She understood why this was necessary, but that didn't make her any more comfortable with the fact-finding process to which the law was committed.

Reedie said, "There was a report tonight of a woman being followed into a restaurant on Columbus."

She nodded. "I think the waitress, Annette, might have called. She helped me leave-helped that woman and me go out the back."

"You saw the car that followed you."

"A gray hatchback. I don't know what make. Fairly new, though."

"And you got a look at the man?"

When, for the fourth time, she described the man, she caught a gleam of interest from Reedie. He spent quite some time going over her description of him, and of the waiter in Molena Point. He seemed equally interested in her two very different descriptions of Consuela.

"You think they were the same person, this sophisticated Nancy Westervelt, and the teenager you described from Molena Point?"

"Yes, I'm sure it's the same woman." This was such a tangle. She had to tell him about the theft of her safe deposit key. She was nervous not to, because she had reported it to the bank. The detective seemed to sense that she was leaving things out, though he did not accuse her of that. When he kept questioning her about Consuela she said, "Maybe it would help if you talked with Captain Harper in Molena Point, or spoke with one of his detectives, with Dallas Garza or Juana Davis. All three know Consuela, and maybe they could shed some light. They should know if she's left the village."

"What is your connection to Molena Point PD?"

"I worked for Dallas Garza's niece, here in the city. While Dallas was still with your department. If I return to Molena Point to live, his niece wants me to join her again. She now has her own design studio there." She studied his handsome face, his expressionless brown eyes. "Captain Harper is a personal friend, as well. He was very helpful and supportive when my husband…"

She faltered, then, "Do you remember a money-laundering and car-theft scheme in Molena Point three years ago? They killed the owner of the car dealership when he found out what they were doing."

Reedie nodded. "I remember."

"My husband, James Osborne, was part of it. When I found out, he arranged with his partner to kill me. It was Captain Harper who broke the case. The two are now in San Quentin."

Her explanation seemed to put Detective Reedie somewhat at ease, and the remainder of his interview was less rigid. She described for him in as much detail as she could each piece of jewelry that Consuela had taken. She told him where she had had them appraised. By the time the detective rose to leave, he had a detailed account of her evening, had taken three rolls of photographs, and had a description of the man who had followed her. The detective seemed, in fact, so intent on the man that she wanted to mention the newspaper article she had read about the jewel robbery in the city and the escape of one of the thieves.

But he would know that; maybe that was why he was interested. When Reedie asked if she wanted to press charges against Consuela, she hesitated.

"If I press charges, and she's caught and the jewelry is recovered-if she actually goes to trial, I won't get the jewelry back until the trial's finished. Is that right?"

"Yes. And then only if you can identify it."

"I don't have photographs. Would my fingerprints on the jewelry count for anything?"

Detective Reedie smiled. "I can see that it counts for something-if she doesn't wipe them clean. Your description of the pieces will be taken into consideration. You might want to get a written description from the appraiser and a letter from the attorney who gave them to you."

"Yes," she said doubtfully. "If the attorney ever looked at them, if he ever opened that sealed box. But…" She looked up at Reedie. "I think I could draw them with some accuracy."

"That might be helpful. It couldn't hurt."

"If I don't press charges of theft, but report the jewelry taken, could I expect to get the jewelry back?" She didn't want to wait months or maybe years for the overcrowded San Francisco court system to release the evidence. "If I did that, what could you hold her on? Would you have enough to hold her?"

Reedie smiled. "You can press charges for kidnapping, for breaking and entering, and for malicious damage. But the case would be stronger if you charge her with taking the jewelry as well.

"It's not as if the jewelry went missing during the break-in," he said. "You were forced to give her the box. It would make a far stronger case if you laid it all out as it happened." He studied her. "But we have to keep that kind of evidence for the trial.

It's not like, say, stolen merchandise where you can check the price tag, know the exact value, and return it to a store that has been robbed. The court would insist on holding it for actual consideration during the trial."

"Do I need to come into the station to file charges?"

He removed a sheaf of forms from the back of his clipboard and handed her two, offering her a pen. Kate gave him a grateful look and began to fill in the required information. She did not take time to run her phone messages until half an hour after Detective Reedie left.

When the police had gone, she took a long hot shower, made herself a bourbon and water, and tucked up in bed, locking her bedroom door. With her cell phone she called the message service for her home phone. Detective Reedie had reported her phone line cut, but she could access the service from anywhere. She supposed the land line would be repaired in the morning.

Alone and safe in her bedroom, jotting down messages, punching erase or save, she was torn by the thoughts that the black tomcat had stirred.

Yet, when she faced her decision to abandon the search into her family, to forget the past and settle down to real life, an emptiness yawned, making her feel very alone. To cut those nebulous ties to her heritage, no matter how strange that past was, made her feel totally cut off from the world.

Huddled up in bed, frightened again and lonely, she felt a deep need for her friends, for Wilma and Charlie, for Clyde, for Hanni and Ryan. Unexpected tears started flowing, and before she finished listening to her messages she hung up and dialed Molena Point.

Clyde answered. His voice was muzzy with sleep. She glanced at her bedside clock. It was nearly ten.