Cat In The Dark. Cat To The Dogs. Cat Spitting Mad. Cat On The Money

Quickly following him, they watched him park and saunter onto the patio. But when they trotted in past the stink of exhaust and hot rubber, he had vanished.

Beyond the mullioned windows of the tearoom, a soft light burned, and they could hear women?s voices. Teatime was long past. Padding to the stained glass door, the cats listened.

?It?s Patty Rose and Alice,? Dulcie whispered, nosing at the slightly open door.

Slipping in behind the baker?s rack with its potted ferns-where, so recently, Frances Farrow had lain dead-they watched the two women, sitting at a small wicker table with their drinks, deep in conversation. A generation apart, they looked more alike than most mothers and daughters, Alice blond and fresh and exactly as Pattyhad looked in her old movies. Patty was still a looker, too, her hair skillfully cut and colored, her figure still slim. Despite her wrinkles, Patty was still a beautiful woman.

?Then you hadn?t seen Larry Cruz since you left Santa Monica?? Patty was saying.

?No. And I certainty didn?t expect to see him here. That makes me so angry, that he?d follow me here.?

?Maybe it wasn?t you he followed. Had you thought about that? When you learned to dive from him, were all your lessons alone??

?Yes. I didn?t get very good. But? that?s how I became involved with him. So foolish. I can never make that up to my husband.? Alice sighed. ?I couldn?t help but tell Jim. I don?t keep secrets well,? she said softly.

?Before you left Santa Monica, you never met Gail or saw her??

Alice spilled her drink, grabbed some paper napkins and bent to wipe it up.

Patty Rose watched her with interest.?I know Santa Monica is only part of the LA sprawl, but you both lived near the beach. She must have been there for two or three months before you moved away. Strange that you or one of your friends weren?t aware of a woman who looks exactly like you.?

?You?d think so.? Alice shook her head. ?I never saw her, never heard of her.?

?Did you ever suspect, when you were seeing Larry, that he was into any kind of trouble??

The question seemed difficult for Alice.?No, but? I?m not surprised, the way, after we broke up, that he kept bothering me, kept coming around, wouldn?t leave me alone. I asked the police what I could do, but they were busy and there wasn?t much. Larry was one of the reasons we moved.?

?Maybe he discovered Gail after you left. It?s possible he followed her up here, pestering her the way he pestered you. The way he pestered me last year.?

?As if he has some kind of fixation about the women in your old films?? Alice said, as if the idea had just occurred to her. ?When I saw him with Gail, I thought, good for her. Good riddance. I never-I don?t think I ever saw him with any of the others. But Patty, if he was such a bother to you,why did you hire him??

?I didn?t think he was dangerous. And I thought it was better to have him where I could see him. And I must confess, I hoped that when the contest rolled around, he might take up with one of the contestants. I never dreamed that it would end like this,? Patty whispered. ?In such an ugly way.?

Patty drained her glass.?Will you lead the parade with me, Alice, in my car? I think it will take all of us together to help get over this nightmare.?

Alice hesitated.?I?d rather not. I guess I?m more frightened of Larry? more frightened by Frances ?s death than I knew.?

Patty nodded.?If you change your mind?? She got up, pushing back her chair. Before she turned, the cats slipped out onto the patio and around the corner? nearly under the feet of Larry Cruz where he stood hidden among the oleanders, against the wall of the tearoom. Listening. Scowling, as Alice walked away.

Chapter Nine

Patty Rose?s antique Rolls Royce led the parade, its top down, its white paint polished and gleaming, its brass fittings as bright as the afternoon sun that hung just above the sea. Patty, dressed in white satin, sat on the back of the front seat, looming above her liveried driver, smiling and waving. Dorothy Daniels had been right when she said Patty wouldn?t miss being queen of the festival, wouldn?t miss the publicity-though she wasn?t throwing kitty treats.

On the warm, shingled roof high above the crowd, Joe Grey and Dulcie had the best seats in the village, their only competition a dozen scolding grackles-the dark, pushy birds sensibly keeping their distance from lethal claws. Behind Patty?s Rolls Royce came the Molena Point high school marching band, then a team of mounted riders dressed in white Western wear. Then the lead float, done in many colors of crepe paper and carrying the three look-alikes clad in black cat costumes, their cat masks seeming to smile as they performed little dance steps-teasers for their act to come on the stage that had been set up at the edge of the beach. On their float behind the three blondes were two rows of kennel cages, each with a clean, pretty cat cozied down on a blanket. The animal shelter must have chosen their most laid-back charges. All the cats seemed comfortable, unperturbed by the noise and the crowd. The float?s banners proclaimed:

A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME WITHOUT KITTY.

SAVE A LIFE AND BRIGHTEN YOUR LIFE.

Behind the float came more riders, then seven more antique cars, including the yellow Chevy roadster belonging to Joe Grey?s housemate. Clyde Damen was all decked out in a clean white turtleneck and sport coat. Beside him rode his redheaded girlfriend, Charlie Getz. When she spotted the cats on the roof above, she waved to them with a secret smile.

Following Clyde and Charlie came another marching band, then three more floats carrying village children dressed in cat costumes. All along the length of Ocean Avenue, the shops were decorated with cat banners, cat flags and cat kites. Stuffed toy cats were featured in the windows among displays of women?s wear, sweaters embroidered with cats, and cat jewelry. Although many shops were closed for the occasion, they had provided handsome decorations.

The book store had an exhibit of cat books and a three-foot-tall Puss-in-boots made of crepe paper. One of the nicest women?s stores was hosting a cat-princess puppet show. And on every corner, Molena Point Animal Shelter had placed adoption booths with comfortably caged cats and charming young attendants.

That aspect didn?t charm Dulcie. ?I hope people don?t take kittens on a whim, like they would a toy, then not care for them.?

?Do you always have to look for sand in the milk dish??

?I don?t always. But you?ve seen kittens? Oh, never mind.? And she turned away crossly.

But Joe licked her ear.?They?re handing out brochures, Dulcie. And the volunteers are talking to people who want to adopt-they?re screening them and explaining the basics. Telling them what a little cat needs to be healthy and safe. I listened to one. She sounded like she knew what she was doing.?

?I hope so,? Dulcie said dourly. ?I don?t? Look. Is that Azrael slipping along the roof above the gift shop??

They watched the black tom disappear within the shadows above the Mink Collar, a jewelry and leather boutique. At the same moment, on the sidewalk below them, Alice Manning came along behind the gathered onlookers; she was dressed in denim shorts and a white pullover. This had to be Alice; the other three were on the float.

But it was Azrael who held Joe and Dulcie?s attention, who sent them racing across the roofs to the end of the block, dropping down to the balcony of the Mink Collar.

Pushing through the open window where Azrael had disappeared, where they could smell his scent, they explored the storage room then trotted down the stairs into the shop, searching beneath the display cases and in the cupboards-then followed his trail to a door that would open to the alley.

It was bolted from within, but a black cat hair clung to the metal. Nothing else in the store seemed to have been touched. The cash drawer beneath the computer was locked.

?Maybe he was casing the place for later,? Joe said. ?Maybe he saw us and left while we were crossing the street.?

Dulcie said nothing, stood looking around, lashing her tail with irritation.

They returned to the roofs, silhouetted now against the sinking sun. Below them the parade was ending, the floats gathering at the edge of the beach where the stage had been built and lights strung from poles. The three masked blondes sat on the edge of their float, bantering with the crowd. Some distance away, Alice Manning stood on the sand with her husband, the two of them eating hot dogs. Joe and Dulcie could see, beyond the parade route, several squad cars drifting along the quiet streets. They watched the performers gather, watched families spread out blankets on the sand in front of the stage, their backs to the setting sun and to the crowd that milled around behind them. Soon the entire shore was filled, people shouting the songs from Cats and cheering the black-cat dancers. Joe and Dulcie?s ears rang with the lyrics.

When the look-alikes? numbers were finished, the three performers stepped down to mix with the audience. One of them headed for the outdoor ladies? room, carrying a black duffel bag that must have been tucked out of sight on the float.

?Probably went to change clothes,? Dulcie said. ?Those leotards look hot.?

But she came out still dressed in skin-fitting black, still carrying the bag. The three women were separated now; as night fell and the jazz band began to play, they were hard to keep track of. Folks began to dance on the blacktop at edge of the beach, and one black-clad blonde moved away through the crowd toward a stand of cypress trees.

?Stay here, Dulcie. Watch the others.? And Joe Grey was gone, following her.

The entertainment was long, with readings, more jazz numbers, and an announcement by a representative of Molena Point Animal Shelter that 27 cats and kittens had been adopted. Dulcie, watching for Joe, began to fidget. Soon she was pacing the shingles, her ears back, her tail twitching, staring away toward the cypress trees and the sea cliffs. It was during a jazz instrumental number that she heard a sharp thunk somewhere behind her, as if the branch of a tree had broken. Nervously she searched the beach and the line of tall cypress that loomed dark in the gathering night. No sign of Joe, no telltale white chest and paws gleaming in the darkness.

As the number ended and a jazz guitarist came on stage, Dulcie saw, five blocks away, two squad cars take off fast, moving south, their lights flashing but no sirens.

Crouched on the shingles, she felt her heart thunder. What had happened? And where was Joe Grey? A siren screamed down the street behind her, and she spun around to see a rescue vehicle careen across Ocean, turning toward the beach. She took off fast across the rooftops. Joe was out there, he had followed that woman exactly where the police were headed. Galloping across ancient mossy shingles and through a half-built second story addition between studs and sawhorses, racing over the slick tile roofs of expensive oceanfront homes, she followed two more police cars to where the emergency vehicle had screamed to a stop.

A black-clad body lay on the sand, sleek in its tight suit, the face very pale. A perfect replay of the corpse at Otter Pine Inn.

Except this victim was a man.

Larry Cruz lay surrounded by police, the paramedics bending over him. His diving fins and mask, his hood and weights lay scattered across the sand. There was a bullet hole in his chest. The medics were doing their best to stop the bleeding and bring him back. As they worked on Larry, Max Harper?s car arrived. Dulcie ducked down, watching the captain step out with Detective Juana Davis, and the familiar routine began. The yellow tape, officers urging people back out of the way. Davis with her camera, her dark, short hair falling over her cheek. Soon the coroner was there to do his chilling work. Dulcie hardly paid attention to the investigation, as she searched beyond the gathering crowd, looking through the darkness for a small speck out on the sand-and for the black-clad woman he had followed.

Chapter Ten

On the rooftop of the oceanfront cottage, Dulcie was hardly visible, so well did her dark tabby coat blend in with the shingles. Nervously, she watched the police below her working the scene, the curious onlookers-and the black-clad corpse so reminiscent of the corpse in the tearoom.

The coroner knelt over Larry Cruz?s body, studying the bullet hole through the dead man?s diving suit and searching for additional wounds; although the single shot through Larry?s heart must have killed him. Dr. Bern was a thin, button-nosed man; he served as both coroner and medical examiner for the Molena Point PD. She?dheard him say there was no indication of drowning, that the victim had not been hauled out of the sea dead and then shot.

Detective Juana Davis knelt beside him, fingerprinting the dry areas of Larry?s diving mask and fins, and searching the pocket that had been built into his diving suit-an unusual addition, Dulcie thought. Davis found it empty. Dulcie puzzled only briefly over what it might have carried, but her thoughts were on Joe Grey. Shifting from paw to paw, she peered away into the night where Joe had disappeared, perhaps following the killer, and she could not be still.

Dropping from the roof to the top of a fence and then to the sand, she trotted through the forest of human legs and out toward the sea, doubling back and forth until she found a single line of shoe prints broken by a narrow row of pawprints, both tracks so fresh that the sand was still trickling in. Dulcie?s own paws sank deep. The smell of iodine and dead sea creatures filled her nostrils. The double trail led straight for the rocky sea cliff, some quarter mile away. Hurrying, slogging through sand and increasingly worried for Joe, she arrived at the cliff, panting.

Joe?s prints ended where the rocky cliff rose up. The human prints led along a narrow strip of sand between cliff and sea. No breakers surged tonight, only an oily churning as the tide rose.

Racing up the sharp promontory of jutting stone, Dulcie searched the dark escarpment, softly calling Joe?s name. There was no answer, no sound but sea. The bleak stone hill was empty. Padding to the edge, she looked down on the black and roiling sea and on the thin sliver of beach. A woman stood there, a black-clad figure, her face and hair as pale as a winter moon.

Quickly Dulcie doubled back, scenting along the rocks, cold with fear for Joe. But then at last she found his trail, descending the cliff along a four-inch-wide shelf, one of a dozen accordion-like ledges tilting toward the water-ridges that had likely formed eons past as the earth heaved up in some catastrophic quake. Padding down the narrow incline, Dulcie shivered, not from the cold.

She liked the sea from a distance, she loved listening to the ocean?s pounding heartbeat, which always comforted her. But to venture upon the windy cliffs at night, with the water heaving close beneath her and the tide rising, was another matter.

Where was Joe? Where was Joe Grey?

Beneath her sweating paws she could feel the earth trembling, too, from the pounding of the swells that broke at last against the cliff and that seemed to surge within the cliff, a hollow surging like water crashing into a hidden cave. Yes, there was a cave, it could be seen from another neck of land when the tide was out. Now it would be mostly underwater. Descending the four-inch ledge, she stopped suddenly.

Joe Grey stood below her as if he had materialized from the rock itself, his white face looking up at her, white chest and paws gleaming in the night, his black eyes intense. They spoke no word. Joe turned to look below them.

Down on the beach, the woman was pulling on a black hood over her blond hair. They watched her position a diving mask.

Padding down the narrow ledge, Dulcie pressed against Joe, licking his face and purring. He gave her a whisker kiss and a soft purr. It was all right, when they were together. They watched the woman pull on fins, accompanied by a little ratcheting sound as she tightened the straps. She secured a pale stick to her leg, too, then backed down the sand into the sea. Diving beneath the oily dark water, she was gone, vanished among the swells.

They saw her once, a dark underwater shape hardly visible, moving beneath the cliff and in where the sea hushed hollowly-and suddenly Joe Grey, too, was gone, slipping back into the hole from which he had emerged.

Dulcie followed him through a crack in the stone, a six-inch-wide fissure, as if the cliff had split at some time or perhaps prehistoric tides had washed out a softer part of the rock. She didn?t like creeping into the blackness between stone walls that pressed against her shoulders and zinged alarms through her whiskers. The floor of the hole was wet and slick, and as they pushed into the hollowness, the sea?s surging came louder. Then, abruptly, the right-hand wall ended and the narrow shelf fell away, straight down to the sea.

Dulcie?s paws were sweating. She fixed on Joe?s white feet moving away ahead of her, following him blindly until the ledge widened. Then suddenly below them a bright light moved beneath the dark, roiling water like the single fiery eye of a sea monster burning up at them.

Splash. The diver surfaced, her light exploding up, bathing the cliff as they fled away from the edge. Crouching against the wet stone wall, they kept their eyes slitted so as not to reflect the light back at her.

A black hand and arm reached up holding the pale stick, which had been lengthened. It had some kind of pincer at the end, maybe operated by a squeeze handle, Dulcie thought, like a stick for catching snakes, the kind used on TV nature programs. The woman dragged it along the shelf, feeling and poking and tapping, the stick reaching blindly toward them. They kept moving out of its way, backing deeper in-until Dulcie stumbled and nearly fell over something wet and slick.

A package lay on the wet stone shelf, a hard bundle as big as a book, wrapped in shiny black plastic. Joe slid his paw over it.?The money?? he said softly. ?The stolen jewelry??

Below them, the woman hung in the sea looking up, her light exploding the darkness. Could she see them? Crouched just out of the stick?s reach, they dragged the package deeper into the tunnel.

The diver, growing impatient, began making little leaps out of the sea, so she could angle the stick higher. With every jump her light came higher, too.

Taking one end of the package in his mouth, Joe backed along the ledge toward the mouth of the tunnel, the stick hitting and scraping beside him. Dulcie carried the other end, the two of them forcing it into the tunnel, fighting to pull it through. The light followed them, but not the stick. Had she glimpsed them when she leaped up? The way seemed twice as far now, the hollow pounding twice as annoying. But at last they were out, dragging the bundle up the narrow ridge, trying to keep it from sliding over the side. It seemed forever until they got it atop the cliff and lay panting beside it, their hearts pounding, the sea wind prodding cold fingers into their wet fur. The night was very bright, after the black cave.

?I?m never moving again,? Dulcie said.

?We?d better move, she?ll be up here.?

?Did she see us??

Rising, Joe began to tear at the package, ripping the plastic until he could slip a paw in-and his soft cat laugh filled the night.

When he pulled out a paper bundle, beneath his white paw, held securely from the wind, was a stack of hundred dollar bills.

?She?s coming,? Dulcie hissed. A dislodged pebble rolled down the cliff, then the squinching sound of the woman?s wet diving suit. Shoving the packet beneath loose stones, the cats fought to claw rocks over it-stones too heavy to be moved easily by paw.

?She?ll have a gun,? Dulcie whispered. ?Larry Cruz was murdered-shot.?

?I know,? Joe said. ?I saw her kill him.?

Dulcie raised her head, looking at him; she felt very small, the two of them alone on the cliff in the night. Far away, down the beach, the whirling red light and police spotlights shone bright and safe. They were frantically digging and pushing at the package when the woman appeared above the edge of the cliff. She was coming straight for them, her fins and gloves dangling in her hand, her blond hair whipping across her face.

Chapter Eleven

The night wind scoured across the black cliff, whipping at the cats, and the sea hushed and sucked below them as if it wanted to snatch them away. Quickly the dark figure approached, climbing. She had extinguished the light that was strapped to her forehead. Reaching the crest, she paused to strip off her hood and diving suit, packing them into the duffel bag with her fins. She gave no sign that she had seen them. They watched her remove, from the bag?s zippered side pocket, a snub-nosed revolver. The starlight caught its gleam.

Wrapping the gun in a pale cloth and then in a piece of plastic, she took a small, folding shovel from the bag. She knelt almost where they had buried the black plastic package of hundred dollar bills, and began to move rocks aside. Clearing a space not a foot away from where the cats crouched among the rocks, she began to dig. They couldn?t let her find the money and be off with it-they crouched, ready to spring at her, hardly breathing.

But she didn?t find the package. When the hole was a foot deep, she laid the gun in and covered it, patting the earth down, then stood looking up the beach toward the police cars, toward the moving spotlights where she had shot Larry Cruz. The cats could not see her expression. She turned away at last, and they watched her descend the cliff and cross the sand, heading away from the murder scene, watched her enter the village well to the south, among the quiet cottages, disappearing in the shadows.

?Why didn?t she throw the gun in the sea?? Dulcie said, pawing at where it was buried.

?Things wash back up. She?d have to go far out, maybe didn?t want to take the time. Maybe she means to dig it up later.? And Joe Grey smiled. ?Max Harper will have it before she does.?

?If we?re quick, he will,? Dulcie said, pawing sand from her whiskers. ?I wonder what she thought happened to the money, when she couldn?t find it? I thought sure she saw us.?

Joe licked his own whiskers, spitting out grit.?She and Larry fought. Larry said she was holding back, said they were supposed to hide everything, the money, the jewelry, the credit card slips, and split it all later. She said she only held back enough cash for expenses-she accused him of taking the money from her room. Larry said she was crazy. She shouted that he was double crossing her, and just like that she shot him. I didn?t even see the gun. She must have had it in her hand all the time.

Joe Grey?s eyes were sad. ?Maybe she planned to kill him all along. Come on, Dulcie, let?s get the money off this cliff. We can?t leave it here.?

?But who would find???

?Azrael. If he comes looking for her, if he catches our scent, he?ll find it.?

?You think she?s his partner? But this evening, Azrael went into the Mink Collar just before she slipped away from the crowd and you followed her. She wouldn?t have had time to go in and take anything. Anyway, he left the door locked.?

?He could have opened it any time. That shop was closed all day. She could have sneaked in before the floats lined up, then Azrael could have gone back later, during the parade, and locked it from inside.?

Pulling away stones with their claws, they freed the black plastic package and dragged it between them down the cliff and across the deep sand. They were both panting when they reached easier going beneath the cypress trees. The package was so heavy they were sure it contained more than paper money, though it couldn?t hold all the small items that had vanished, the fine purses and billfolds and silver. Hurrying along over a mat of dry leaves, beneath drooping cypress branches, they headed for Joe?s house. They stopped only once, near the murder scene, where the antique cars were parked.

Leaving Joe to guard the money, Dulcie slipped among the feet of the crowd and up into Clyde?s open yellow roadster. Crouching on the floor, she punched in the message code on Clyde ?s cell phone. Her voice was soft. ?Go home now, Clyde. We have the money. Please, hurry!?

Hitting end call, wondering if he would check his messages, she slipped up onto the back of the seat for a moment to watch the crowd.

She spotted Alice Manning, with her husband. Then a blonde in a black leotard. Then, some distance away, her twin. But no. There were three. One over by the hot dog stand-all three were there. The diver had returned. Talk about nerve.

She hurried back to Joe.?She?s stashed her duffel somewhere and come back to mingle, as if she never left. They?re so exactly alike! Who would know??

Dragging the package through the dark streets for what seemed miles, they covered a distance that ordinarily would be a hop and a playful gallop. Reaching Joe?s street at last, and his white Cape Cod cottage, they hauled their burden up the steps.

?This isn?t going to fit through your cat door.?

?Push, Dulcie. If we can get one edge under the flap??

?It isn?t going to go, not even catty-corner.?

They got it stuck twice, then Joe ripped the plastic open.

?Hurry,? she said. ?The whole neighborhood will see us, with the porch light on. Why did he leave the light on!?

Tearing with claws and teeth, they shoved one pack of hundred dollar bills through, then another, littering Clyde?s living room with enough cash to keep every cat in the village in caviar for the rest of its natural life. Beneath the money lay a dozen small plastic freezer bags filled with jewelry. Pushing it all through, they carried each bag and packet across the room, drooling some on the money, and stuffed them under the cushion of Joe Grey?s personal and ratty overstuffed chair-its cushions so lumpy that who could tell if there was a fortune crammed down atop the springs.

?Very nice,? purred a rasping voice behind them.

They spun, crouching, teeth bared, ears back.

?You two little kitties work very well together,? the black tom said. He stood in the dark dining room, his amber eyes mirroring light from the front window. ?You?ve brought it all out from the cave for us. How thoughtful. Come have a look, my dear.?

A woman stepped from the kitchen, her blond hair tangled. She wore a blue sweater over her black leotard; she smelled strongly of the sea. Joe wondered where Rube was; he prayed they hadn?t hurt the old black Labrador. Normally Rube would be growling and barking. There was not a sound, and that worried Joe. Rube was growing frail, getting on in years.

The woman looked at Joe?s chair, where Azrael was clawing the cushion aside. ?So, we have the contents of our package. Very nice.? She smiled coldly. ?And these are the other two with your talents, old tomcat! How good of them to help us.? Striding across the room, she tossed the chair cushion away and began toscoopthe money and jewelry into a canvas bag. Her voice was not Dorothy?s harsh tones, nor Beverly ?s sweet ones.

Gail Gantry. Bending over Joe?s chair, filling the bag with money.

Crouching, Joe Grey leaped, clawing and biting her, unwilling to abandon what they had worked to retrieve. Azrael sprang at Joe-and Dulcie hit Azrael hard in an explosion of claws and teeth. Gail was in the middle, striking at cats and shouting when from the kitchen a black cyclone exploded barking and jumping at her.

Rube had her arm in his mouth. She jerked away, kicking him hard. Ducking away, Rube turned on Azrael. As the black tom sprang to the top of the CD player, Gail plunged through the door running, clutching the bag. Azrael flew out with her, just ahead of Rube?s teeth. The cats leaped to the back of Joe?s chair, watching through the window as Gail roared away in a green compact and Azrael disappeared across the rooftops-and as Clyde?s roadster shot around the corner, into the drive.

Clyde ran for the house. Bursting in, he looked at the handful of scattered hundred dollar bills that had spilled to the rug. He looked at Joe and Dulcie.

?Come on!? Joe shouted. ?She has the money. She shot Larry Cruz? Come on, Clyde!?

Chapter Twelve

She?ll head for Santa Monica, Joe Grey thought as he leaped into Clyde ?s roadster and they took off after Gail?s green compact. As he drove, Clyde snatched the phone from its cradle and punched in 911. Joe stood with his paws on the dash, watching Gail slip along ahead of them just at the 50-mile limit so not to attract attention, moving south down the coast highway among light traffic, with the stolen money and jewelry tucked safely beside her.

Clyde said,?You sure she shot Larry Cruz??

?I saw her shoot him,? Joe said patiently. ?Dulcie and I followed her to the cliff. The money was hidden in that cave. She had to dive, to get in. She buried the gun on top the cliff.

?They?re coming,? Clyde snapped, looking in his rearview mirror. ?Two black-and-whites. Get down, Joe! Now!?

Joe dropped to the seat beside Dulcie. Clyde could be so bossy. Clyde slowed as the squad cars passed them.

The officers were on Gail before they hit the sirens and started the red lights spinning. As they pulled her over, Clyde parked some way behind. She didn?t resist, didn?t try to outrun them as Joe had guessed she might. They watched her step out and assume the position, face to the car, hands on the roof. Watched as she was searched and handcuffed, and her car was searched. Apparently she had no other gun. She seemed very demure now, the picture of surprised innocence. For a second, Dulcie felt sorry for her; the little tabby had that pitying look in her green eyes until Joe nudged her. Then she straightened, watching with satisfaction as the blonde was locked into the back of a squad car-this woman who had killed Larry Cruz for no reasonother than greed.

Police Captain Max Harper sat among the ruffled curtains and potted ferns of Otter Pine Inn?s tearoom, dressed in full uniform, the thin, leathered man looking totally out of place surrounded by delicate white wicker and Patty Rose?s fine china and fancy tea cakes-looking far more out of place than Joe Grey himself felt, cozied down on the window seat eating smoked salmon from a flowered plate. It took a certain polish, the tomcat thought, to make himself at home in any surroundings, from garbage cans to silk cushions.

From atop the baker?s rack, Dulcie watched, amused. Seeing Clyde and Max Harper at a fancy tea was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

But how could the two have refused? Patty Rose?s requests were as imperative as a presidential summons-her purpose in this little gathering was to bid Alice and Jim Manning goodbye after their two week stay and to apologize for the ugly events surrounding the contest-not that she?d had any control over such matters.

Dorothy Daniels and Beverly Barker had been invited, but both women had gone home, deeply distressed by the shooting. Very likely, Joe thought, resolved never to be involved in another such contest. The way Joe had it worked out, Gail had been diving the morning of the tearoom breakin, because there had been another burglary just after the tryouts for the cat festival. He was guessing that Gail had gone, that morning before dawn, to stash the money. Or maybe she had waited on the beach while Larry dove.

Assume that Frances Farrow was suspicious of Gail and had followed her down the beach, Joe thought, getting her own shoes wet. Frances follows her to the tearoom, sees Gail walk in through the unlocked door-which Azrael had seen to some time during the night.

Frances sees Gail open the safe, wearing her gloves with that smell of the sea. Gail takes the money, locks the safe, is leaving when Frances appears and confronts her. Gail tells her it?s none of her business and to get out of the way. Frances refuses. Gail shoves her, hits her in a vital spot, denting the silver pendant and causing the unexpected reaction of commotio cordis-jolting the electrical circuit that controls her heart. Frances falls dead.

Gail is terrified. She gets out of there fast. But the black tomcat returns when the commotion begins in the morning, leering in through the window. He has no conscience, that one.

It could have happened that way. But still Joe wondered about Alice Manning. While Gail and Azrael were robbing the village shops, passing the money to Larry to hide and maybe using Larry as lookout, did Alice know about their operation?

When the police recovered the money and jewelry that were hidden in the spare tire well of Gail?s car, the count had been $1,500 short of the money stolen-the same amount that was taken from Charles, Ltd. Likely that was what Gail hid in her suitcase as he watched through the motel window, thinking she was Alice-or had that been Alice?

Gail would have had to do some quick changing, doubling back to the motel after she left the restaurant, then changing again after she stashed the money. But not impossible, he thought, given the time frame and the short distances.

The stolen crystal and leather items were still missing. The lab had found fibers from Frances Farrow?s leotard on Gail?s gloves that Joe had dropped on Harper?s desk-had found just what Joe thought they?d find. However, the charge, in that death, could be no more than manslaughter.

But the gun that killed Larry Cruz, though Gail apparently handled it with gloves, showed one good print, on the end of the magazine, that was unmistakably Gail?s. Now, Gail was safely locked up. Her human partner was dead.

But her feline accomplice had vanished. And of course, in Max Harper?s version of the robberies, there was no black tomcat.

?Gail worked for a locksmith in San Diego,? Harper said, sipping tea from the ridiculously small cup. ?She was there five years, then worked a year for a security firm before she moved to Santa Monica, where she met Larry. Before that, she lived for a year in Panama. We?re not certain what she was doing there, but likely that has no bearing on the case.?

Doesn?t it, Joe Grey thought, smiling.

?And you didn?t get back all the money?? Jim Manning asked.

?No,? Harper said. ?But we have the murder weapon. It was buried out on the cliffs.?

?That was lucky,? Alice said. ?How did you find it? Did you have a tip??

Harper looked at her gently, and said nothing.

?And you caught Gail in her car, leaving town,? Alice said. ?That?s good police work.? She watched Harper expectantly, waiting for additional details.

Harper didn?t offer any. What was it about Alice Manning, Joe wondered, that put Harper off? The captain turned to Patty. ?You knew Larry had a fetish for you, Patty. For your movies, for your look-alikes, and for Patty Rose memorabilia. You saw his room after we searched it, the walls papered with your photographs and old movie bills.?

Patty laughed.?Some of that stuff is worth some money today. He had a real collector?s den. I knew he had a fixation about the old movies, but I didn?t think too much about it.?

?It didn?t occur to you that he might be dangerous? Why did you hire him??

Patty shrugged.? Alice asked me the same. I don?t know. I didn?t think he was dangerous, just a little strange. Harmless. I guess I liked the guy.?

Joe and Dulcie exchanged an amused look. And it was not until that evening, as the cats sat on the kitchen counter watching Clyde broil a steak, that the $1,500 turned up.

They didn?t hear a thing. The steak was sizzling and a CD was playing Dixieland. When Clyde went in the living room to change the record, he saw a white envelope lying on the rug inside Joe?s cat door. A thick envelope that, when he opened it, contained a sheaf of fifty and hundred dollar bills.

Switching off the porch light, Clyde stepped outside. Neither he nor the cats saw anyone. There was no note in the envelope, only the money. There were no cat hairs stuck to the bills. Joe examined it for tooth marks but found only one tiny indentation in the corner-it could have been made by any sharp object. The scent of the envelope was such a mix of perfumes, lotions, hamburger, French fries, and maybe cat spit, that even Joe couldn?t sort it out.

?So who left it?? Clyde said, laying the envelope on the coffee table and picking up the phone to call Harper.

?Likely we?ll never know,? Joe said. ?Wonder why they brought it here??

Clyde shrugged.?The shopkeepers will be happy to have it.? He made the call, then returned to the kitchen to carve half the sirloin into rare, thin slices for Joe and Dulcie. He served them on the best china.