Cat In The Dark

25

IN THE DARKEST CORNER beneath Wilma's bed, Dulcie crouched, listening to the footsteps coming down the hall, ready to run if Bernine looked under and found her. At the first sound of someone approaching she had abandoned the phone and dived for the shadows, leaving Max Harper shouting through the receiver. If Bernine heard him and picked up the phone and started asking questions-and Harper started asking questions- all hell would break loose. There was no one else in the house, to have made the call.

But she daren't leap onto the bed again and try to hang up, there was no time, Bernine was nearly at the door…

She'd waited all night to make this call, waited for Bernine to get off the phone and now here she came when she should be in bed drifting off to sleep.

It had been nearly one A.M. when Dulcie slipped in through her cat door exhausted from listening for hours to drunken Greeley Urzey and breathing his stink of rum in Pearl Ann's pokey little room. They'd had to listen to him agonizing over Mavity and to his wild plans for finding her, which amounted to nothing, because by midnight he had drunk himself into a stupor. Azrael had looked intensely pleased that Mavity might have met with foul play, his amber eyes gleaming with malice. Pure hatred, Dulcie thought. The cat was filled with hate, that was his nature- loathing for anyone who didn't worship him.

Racing home, bolting in through her cat door, she'd realized that Wilma wasn't home; her car wasn't in the drive or in the open garage. She'd pictured Wilma still cruising the dark streets searching for Mavity, looking for Mavity's little VW.

Bernine's car was at the curb, but Bernine had gone out to dinner with a real estate broker. Dulcie hoped she was still out. But then, heading for the phone, she'd heard Bernine's voice.

Slipping through the dark dining room, she'd caught the scent of Bernine's perfume and seen her sitting at Wilma's desk talking on the phone. She'd listened for only a few minutes before she decided Bernine was making up with her estranged live-in. She slipped on into Wilma's bedroom, wishing they had two phone lines.

The curtains had not been drawn, and the faint light from the distant street lamp bathed the room in soft shadows. The bed was smoothly made. Leaping up onto the flowered, quilted spread, she had settled down to wait.

She'd waited for nearly two hours for Bernine to finish, had slipped periodically out into the hall to listen as the conversation swung from mushy love talk to angry argument to sweet words again in a sickening display of human indecision and female guile. Bernine had moved the phone to the couch, lay curled up on her patch of velvet, sweet-talking this bozo.

On the bed she'd dozed, waked to listen to Bernine going on and on, to see the light still burning in the living room and beneath the guest room door and feeling her stomach churn with impatience at the delay.

But then at last she heard Bernine leave the living room, head down the hall, and from the guest room she could hear little rustling sounds. Either Bernine was packing to leave or she was getting ready for bed.

Easing Wilma's bedroom door closed, catching it with her paw just before it latched, she'd leaped to the night table, nosing at the phone.

Her sensible self said, Wait until Bernine's light goes out-don't do this while she's awake.

But she'd waited too long. Her impatient self said, She won't hear you. What are you afraid of? It's practically morning, let's get on with it.

Lifting the headset by its cord, she had dropped it on the pillow, squinched up her paw and punched in Harper's number, cocking her head to the receiver. Joe was an old hand at this, but she still got nervous. The first time she'd dialed and heard a voice at the other end, she'd felt as weird as if she were communicating with someone on Mars.

When the dispatcher answered, she'd boldly asked for Max Harper.

"Captain Harper is not on duty. Lieutenant Brennan can help you."

"I have information to give to Captain Harper personally. About the Winthrop Jergen murder. Information that Harper must have before the Bureau agent arrives in the morning. I must give it to him now; I cannot call again."

It had taken some time for the dispatcher to switch the call to Harper's cellular phone, a degree of electronic sophistication that further awed Dulcie. The delay made her so edgy that her skin began to twitch, but at last Harper came on the line. She had tried to speak clearly, but she hadn't dared lift her voice above a whisper.

"Captain Harper, I have some information about Winthrop Jergen."

Harper didn't respond.

"Captain Harper? Are you still there?" He didn't answer, but she could hear him breathing. "Captain Harper, you have just sealed the scene of a murder up on Venta Street. Your men didn't touch the computer. You left it on, and you have a Bureau man coming down early in the morning to check it out."

Only silence and his ragged breathing. Her paws began to sweat. She wondered if Harper was nervous, too. This was so strange, the two of them linked not only by the wonder of electronics but by a far greater phenomenon, by a miracle that she hardly understood herself-and that Max Harper could never bring himself to believe. She imagined herself like those photographs where a cat's face is superimposed over a woman's face, becoming one, and she almost giggled.

"Captain Harper, there are two code words for the computer that your Bureau man will want. Jergen's code, to open his financial files, is Cairo.

"The second code word was used by Pearl Ann Jamison. It should open a set of files that Pearl Ann seems to have hidden from Jergen, on his own computer. That word is Tiger. I believe those are both Georgia towns…"

She was just starting to explain about Pearl Ann and Troy Hoke when she heard the footsteps; gasping a sharp mew, she leaped to the floor and under the bed. Above her Harper's angry voice had shouted, "Hold it. What the hell?"

Now as the bedroom door opened and the light flashed on, Dulcie's every muscle was tensed to sprint past Bernine's feet and down the hall to safely. Thank God the phone above her was silent-yet she'd heard no click as if Harper had hung up. She listened for those sharp beeps when the phone was left off the hook. She was so frightened that the sounds in the bedroom hardly registered: the hush of the closet door opening, someone rummaging among Wilma's clothes. All she could think was If Bernine picks up the phone, what if he's still on the line? No one could have made that call, no one-there's no other human in the house. Only the cat crouched under the bed scared out of her kitty mind. Shivering, she listened to the whish of garments from the closet.

Then she smelled Wilma's scent, Wilma's subtle bath powder.

Peering out from beneath the spread, she saw Wilma's bare feet as Wilma pulled on her slippers. Mewling with relief, she came out, curving around Wilma's ankles, purring so hard she trembled.

Wilma picked her up, stared into her face. "What?" she whispered, glancing toward the closed door. "What's the matter?"

"I thought-I thought you were Bernine," she breathed, snuggling against Wilma.

Only then did Wilma see the phone lying on the bed. She raised a disapproving eyebrow at Dulcie. "You didn't get my note?"

"What note? You left a note? Bernine…"

Wilma put her down on the bed, hung up the phone, and went down the hall. Dulcie heard her cross the kitchen and open the back door. She returned with a small, folded paper. "I left it tucked in the frame of your cat door, but only a little bit showing so Bernine wouldn't notice." As she moved to pull the bedroom door closed, Dulcie, peering down the hall, saw that Bernine's light had gone out. Had Bernine gone to sleep? Or was she standing just inside, straining to hear?

Wilma unfolded the paper and laid it on the bed.

Have gone to look for Mavity. Don't stay here alone. Go over to Joe's, now, where you'll be safe.

Dulcie looked at her intently. "Did you really think Bernine would…"

"I don't know what Bernine would do. But all night, while we looked for Mavity, I worried about you. Twice I swung by. When Bernine's light wasn't on, I felt easier. She must have gotten home very late."

"She came in about one. But she was on the phone for hours, talking to the guy she was living with. Weeping, shouting. Sweet-talking. What histrionics. Maybe she'll move out. You didn't find Mavity?"

"No." Wilma sat down on the bed, tired and drawn. "And when I think of Jergen's grisly death, I'm afraid for her. If Mavity saw the killer, her life isn't worth much." She looked at Dulcie a long time. "What is his death about? What's happening? Dulcie, what do you know about this?"

Dulcie looked back at her, panicked about what to do.

She had tried to tell Captain Harper, tonight, that Pearl Ann was Troy Hoke. Now, should she tell Wilma?

But what good? Wilma daren't tell Harper. He'd ask how she knew, and why she hadn't told him before. And if she said she'd just found out, he'd want to know how she learned Pearl Ann's secret on the same day of the murder. Wilma's sudden knowledge would implicate her in a way difficult to talk herself out of.

Wilma did not lie well to law enforcement, particularly to Max Harper. She was too truthful within her own profession. And if she attempted some hastily contrived excuse, Harper would be suspicious. Dulcie looked at her blankly, shrugged, and said nothing.

Wilma was turning down the bed, folding the quilted chintz back while Dulcie prowled across it, when a loud knocking from the back door startled them and they heard Clyde shouting.

Racing for the kitchen, Wilma jerked the door open. Behind her, Dulcie leaped to the breakfast table. Clyde rushed in, his voice loud with alarm. "Where is she? What hap…?"

"Shhh," Wilma whispered, grabbing his arm. "Don't wake Bernine. What's wrong?"

Clyde's stubbled cheeks were dark and rough, his dark hair tangled. The underarms of his jogging suit were sweaty. When he saw Dulcie, he stopped shouting. Pulling out a chair, he sat down glaring at her, his face red with frustration. "You just about gave me heart failure. What the hell were you doing? What the hell happened here?"

Dulcie looked at him, puzzled.

"My God, Dulcie. When you called Harper-when you made that awful, frightened cry, I thought someone was killing you." He lowered his voice, glancing in the direction of the guest room. "That was bloodcurdling-that was the next thing to a yowl on the phone!"

"You were listening? Where were you?" Dulcie cocked her head. "And how did you know where I was?"

"Where else would you be? Except maybe my house. I came here first…" Clyde sighed. "You mewed, Dulcie-you almost yowled into the damned phone. Harper looked amazed, looked… I thought someone had snatched you up and was wringing your stupid cat neck." He glared hard at her. "These phone calls, Dulcie…"

"I didn't yowl. I didn't mew. I simply caught my breath. I thought," she said softly, "I thought I heard Bernine coming."

He simply looked at her.

"I thought she'd catch me with the phone. But then it wasn't Bernine, it was Wilma. What did Harper say?"

"He didn't say anything. I don't know what he said. I was out of there-came flying down here thinking you were being strangled. We were clear up at Sam's, on the highway. My God…"

Dulcie licked his hand. She was really very touched. "How could I know you were listening? I didn't mean to upset you."

"Why the hell wouldn't I be upset? And can you imagine what would happen if Harper heard you really meow? With all the questions he already has about you two, don't you think he'd just about go crazy? Questions I can't answer for him, Dulcie. Questions I wouldn't dare answer."

Clyde put his head in his hands. "Sometimes, Dulcie, between you and Joe, I can't handle this stuff."

She patted his hand with a soft paw. He looked so distressed that she didn't know whether to feel sorry for him or roll over laughing.

But still, she thought, Clyde handled most situations very well. From the moment Joe discovered he was endowed with human speech, that he could carry on a conversation in the English language and read the written word, Clyde had weathered Joe's-and her own-unusual lifestyle with a minimum of emotional chaos. He had indulged in very few out-of-control shouting spells. He had exhibited no mind-numbing bouts of terror that she knew of. He had even paid Joe's deli bills without undue grousing.

He had even put up with Joe's reading the front page first in the mornings and demanding anchovies for breakfast. Not until this morning, she thought, had he really lost it.

She patted his hand again and rubbed her whiskers against his knuckles. "You shouldn't get so worked up-it's bad for human blood pressure. You can see that I'm all right. It was just a simple phone call."

"A simple phone call? Simple? You should have seen Harper's face." Clyde sighed deeply. "You don't seem to realize, Dulcie, how this stuff upsets Harper."

Wilma rose from the table. Turning away, she took the milk from the refrigerator and busied herself making cocoa.

"Every rime you and Joe meddle," Clyde said, "every time you phone Harper with some wild tip, he gets suspicious all over again. And he starts making skewered remarks, laying the whole damned thing in my lap."

"What whole damned thing?" Dulcie said softly, trying to keep her temper.

"He starts hinting that he wants answers. But he's too upset to come right out with the real question. And that isn't like Harper. He's the most direct guy I know. But this… Dulcie, this stuff is just too much."

She stared sweetly into Clyde's face. "Why is helping him solve a crime a whole damned thing, as you put it? Why is catching a murderer, to say nothing of boosting the department's statistics and impressing the mayor and the city council with Harper's absolutely perfect, hundred percent record…"

"Can it, Dulcie. I've heard all that. You're beginning to sound just like Joe. Going on and on with this ego-driven…"

"Oh, you can be rude!" She was so angry she raised her armored paw, facing him boldly, waiting for an apology.

She would not, several months ago, have dared such behavior with Clyde. When she first discovered her ability to speak, she had felt so shy she'd even been embarrassed to speak to Wilma.

Even when she and Joe began to discover the history and mythology of their lost race, to know that they were not alone, that there were others like them-and even though Clyde and Wilma read the research, too-it had taken all her courage to act natural and carry on a normal conversation. It had been months before she would speak to Clyde.

Wilma poured the cocoa and poured Dulcie a bowl of warm milk. Clyde sat trying to calm his temper. "Dulcie, let me explain. Max Harper lives a life totally oriented to hard facts. His world is made up of cold, factual evidence and logically drawn conclusions based on that evidence."

"I know that." She did not want to hear a lecture.

"How do you think Harper feels when the evidence implies something that he knows is totally impossible? What is he supposed to do when no one in the world would believe what the evidence tells him?"

"But…"

"Tonight, when Harper's phone rang, the minute he heard your voice, he went white. If you'd seen him…"

"But it was only a voice on the phone. He didn't…"

"Your voice-the snitch's voice-has him traumatized. This mysterious female voice that he links with all the past incidents… Oh, hell," Clyde said. "I don't need to explain this to you. You know what he suspects. You know you make him crazy."

Dulcie felt incredibly hurt. "The tips Joe and I have given him have solved three murders," she said quietly.

Wilma sat down at the table, cradling her cup of cocoa.

Clyde said, "Every crime where you and Joe have meddled, Harper has found cat hairs tainting the evidence-and sometimes pawprints. Pawprints, Dulcie! Your marks are all over the damned evidence. Do you think this doesn't upset him? And now, tonight, you yowl into the damned telephone."

"I didn't yowl."

"You know the way he looks at you and Joe. Joe tells you the kind of stuff Harper says to me. How would you like it if Max Harper ended up in the funny farm-because of you two?"

"There is no way Max Harper is going to end up in a mental hospital. Talk about overdramatizing. Half of Harper's comments are just putting you on. And he only talks that way after a few beers."

Wilma refilled Clyde's cocoa cup and tried to turn the conversation. "You didn't find any trace of Mavity?"

Clyde shook his head.

"We'll start early in the morning," she said. "We can canvas the shops that were closed last night, see if anyone saw her."

"The whole department will be doing that. Mavity is a prime suspect." He reached to stroke Dulcie, wanting to make amends.

Reluctantly Dulcie allowed him to pet her. She couldn't believe that Max Harper would really suspect Mavity of killing Jergen. If he did suspect Mavity, he needed to know about Pearl Ann. She rose and moved away from Clyde, stood looking at him and Wilma until she had their full attention, until Clyde stopped glowering and waited for her to speak.

"Mavity isn't guilty," she told them. "I was trying to tell Harper that, on the phone."

"How do you know that?" Wilma said softly.

"Pearl Ann Jamison is the one Harper wants. I was trying to tell him that."

They both stared at her.

"Pearl Ann Jamison," Dulcie said, "is a guy in drag. I believe that he's the killer."

Clyde burst out laughing. "Come on, Dulcie. Just because Pearl Ann's strong, and a good carpenter, doesn't mean she's a guy. You…"

"Are you saying I don't know what I'm talking about?"

"Of course not. I just think you and Joe… Joe's never mentioned this. What would make you think…"

"I know the difference between male and female," she said tartly. "Which is more than you and Wilma seem to have figured out. When you get past the Jasmine perfume, Pearl Ann smells like a man. Without the perfume, we'd have known at once."

"She smells different? You're basing this wild accusation on a smell?"

"Of course he smells different. Testosterone, Clyde. He smells totally male. It's not my fault that humans are so-challenged when it comes to the olfactory skills."

Wilma watched the two of them solemnly.

"Pearl Ann smells like a man," Dulcie repeated. "Half the clothes in her closet belong to a man. The IDs hidden in her room-driver's licenses and credit cards, are for several different men."

Clyde sighed.

"One ID is in the name of Troy Hoke. He was…"

That brought Clyde up short. "Where did you hear mat name?"

"I just told you. Pearl Ann has an ID for Troy Hoke. If you don't believe me or Joe, then ask Greeley-Greeley knows all about Pearl Ann. He let us into her room in the Davidson Building. He showed us the driver's licenses and credit cards hidden in the light fixture. He told us where Hoke parks the car he drives, that none of you have seen. An eight-year-old gray Chrysler."

They were both gawking at her, two looks of amazement that quite pleased her.

"That's where Greeley's been all this time," she said patiently. "Camping in a storeroom at the Davidson Building."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Wilma said. "It's not like you to keep something…"

This was really too much. "I just did tell you," she hissed angrily. Clyde's skeptical questions were one thing, she was used to Clyde's argumentative attitude. But for Wilma to question her-that hurt. "We just found out tonight," she said shortly and turned her back on Wilma, leaped off the table, and trotted away to the living room. If they didn't want to believe her, that was their problem. She'd call Harper back at once and tell him about Troy Hoke.

Leaping to the desk, she had just taken the phone cord in her teeth when the instrument shrilled, sending her careening off again.

The phone rang three times before Wilma ran in and snatched it from the cradle. She listened, didn't speak. She patted the desk for Dulcie to jump up, but Dulcie turned away.

"What hospital?" Wilma said.

On the floor, Dulcie stopped washing.

"How bad is she?" Wilma said softly. "Can we see her?" And in a moment she hung up the phone and hurried away to dress and find her keys.