Cat Playing Cupid

20

IT WAS LATE the next morning when Clyde and Ryan returned home from their honeymoon. Joe Grey was napping in the sun on the roof outside his tower, taking a little personal time after facing off with Ray Gibbs the night before. He woke at the faintly familiar sound of the car slowing, and looked over the edge of the shingles.

The sight of the Damen entourage pulling up the street was so amazing that he nearly rolled off the roof. Standing with his front paws in the gutter, taking in the scene, he wished Mike were there to observe the newlyweds' spectacular homecoming-talk about a pair of nutcases!

Early that morning Mike had gone off to the station, having cooked breakfast for Joe, a more than adequate omelet-though he had offered no imported sardines, a condiment the tomcat considered essential with his breakfast eggs. Joe couldn't talk to Mike, couldn't demand sardines. Sometimes he didn't know how he'd survived before he discovered he could speak. All that incessant meowing just to get his message across and half the time people would stare blankly down at him with no clue at all, looking incredibly mindless.

Though he had to admit, despite their communication problems, Mike was fairly responsive-and he did make a pretty good omelet. This one was with sausage and goat cheese, a combination that Joe intended to bring to Clyde's attention.

He wondered if Ryan would be making the omelets from now on. Not likely-she'd made it clear she'd rather repair the plumbing than cook a meal. But now…

The SUV had pulled into the drive, his family was home, and what a laugh. He couldn't see much through the vehicle's tinted windows, but it was so heavily loaded that it rode way low on its axel, and the tangle of cast-offs tied to the top of that shining, cream-colored Escalade was enough to make a whole gaggle of cats crack up laughing. There was a carved mantel undoubtedly ripped from some decrepit house before the wrecking ball hit it. Five lengths of carved stair rail, ornate and dirty. A pair of heavy carved doors and various other odd-looking building parts Joe couldn't identify. Further insulting the nice Cadillac SUV was the orange rental trailer hitched behind it, riding equally low, loaded with two more bulky mantels, five big cartons sealed with tape, and a dozen stained-glass windows carefully stacked, with folded blankets tucked between them.

Where was Ryan planning to put that stuff?

Clyde swung out of the Escalade, but Joe couldn't see Ryan-then a big orange rental truck came up the street and turned into the drive, beside the Cadillac. Ryan, at the wheel, looked jaunty in a Windbreaker and baseball cap. This was the blushing bride's demure return from a romantic honeymoon? As Clyde crossed the yard, Ryan stepped out of the rental truck flinging her cap on the seat. Both were dressed in worn old jeans and T-shirts, Ryan's short, dark hair more than usually mussed and a streak of dirt across her nose, and Clyde with a big purple bruise on his arm. The newlyweds looked, not like a couple glowing from a week of romantic indulgences, but like a pair of traveling junk dealers.

If this was how they'd started their marriage, who knew where it was headed. Who knew where this pack-rat insanity would lead? As Joe hung over the roof peering down, Ryan, heading for the front door, seemed to sense him there above her. She paused to look up.

"Come on, Joe, come on down and greet the bride and groom-greet your new housemate." Then she halted, listening for the sound of barking from the patio but hearing only silence. "Where's Rock?"

Joe slipped across the roof and into his tower, then in through his cat door to a rafter above Clyde's study. Dropping down to Clyde's desk, then to the floor, he bolted down the stairs and into the living room-he couldn't hold back his laughter as Clyde carried his dirty-faced bride across the threshold, he laughed so hard he thought he'd choke himself.

"Is this how you're starting your new life? Looking like a pair of itinerant trash peddlers? Where have you two been?"

"When you've finished laughing," Clyde said coldly, "would you like to welcome us home? Would you like to welcome your new housemate?"

Ryan had her fist to her mouth to keep from laughing, too, her green eyes merry, her cheeks flushed.

"You'll get used to him," Clyde said. "I hope you will."

"Where's Rock?" Ryan repeated suddenly, looking worried.

"At the station with Mike," Joe said. "Making nice to Mabel, begging cookies."

Ryan smiled. "Scoffing up your treats," she said with perfect understanding.

Joe grinned at her. "Where," he said, "are you going to put all that stuff?"

"Not stuff," Ryan told him. "These are treasures, Joe! Architectural gems. I'll put them over at the apartment, in the garage. You didn't think we were bringing it all in here?"

Joe looked at her in silence, the kind of unblinking cat stare that made people begin to fidget.

"Well," she said, "there are one or two pieces that I'll slip into the carport until I'm ready for them upstairs. You want to see?"

He really didn't want to look at the torn-out parts of old buildings that Ryan insanely coveted, but she was so thrilled with her discoveries. He couldn't refuse, couldn't hurt her feelings.

"I want you to see the mantel," she said. "I'll be saving that for some really special job. Beautiful hand-painted tiles, Joe, and it's in wonderful shape."

So, tiles. Joe yawned. So, okay.

"Tiles," she said, "painted with cats. It came from Los Gatos, the city of cats, from a big old house that was torn down. It's charming, please come and see."

Cats? Curious, Joe trotted beside her out to the rental truck, leaping in when she opened the back doors-at once he saw the mantel and felt his fur bristle.

The face of the mantel was set with blue and white tiles, each six inches square, each painted with a cat: cats hunting, cats sleeping, cats rolling over, everything a cat could think to do. But it was the cat on the center tile that held his attention. This was exactly the same cat that appeared at the Pamillon mansion, the rearing cat carved over the doors to the bedchamber. The same cat that was embossed on the dead woman's bracelet, rearing up with its paw thrust out in an attitude of austere command.

Joe stared at it for a long time, then he leaped to the top of a wooden crate, face-to-face with Ryan. "What did the dealer tell you about this?"

"Not a lot," she said, frowning. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be pleased."

"What did he tell you?"

"That the house was built by a cousin of the Pamillon family, the family that built the mansion," she said, gesturing in the direction of the hills and the old ruins. "What is it, Joe? What's wrong?"

"Charlie told you about the body up at the mansion?" Joe said.

"Yes, she called us." Ryan glanced out through the open tailgate at the neighbors' houses. "Let's go inside where it's private." She picked Joe up from atop the crate and slung him over her shoulder with a familiarity that both amused and pleased the tomcat. She smelled of cinnamon and of seasoned lumber. Heading inside, she set him on the couch and sat down beside him.

"What?" she said again, her green eyes searching his, wide with curiosity. "What about the mantel?"

"The cat in the center," Joe said. "The rearing cat. The body that the ferals found…It's wearing a bracelet with the same cat."

Ryan was silent, thinking about this. Clyde had sat down beside her and was holding her hand; he watched the two of them, saying nothing.

"And that cat is carved on a lintel, too, over a door of the mansion. The same cat as on the bracelet and on that tile."

Ryan looked at him for a long time. "I don't know what it means," she said, "but maybe we can find out. Charlie told me your plan-if that works, maybe we'll be closer to knowing what all this means."

"And?" Joe said nervously. "You think the plan will work?" Was she going to buy his idea? Or was she going to start hedging, saying it might not work, might be nothing more than an off-the-wall cat dream?

Ryan was silent a moment, then laughed and reached to pet him. "It's a great idea, Joe! It's inspired!"

Joe looked up at her and purred, and was glad Clyde had chosen, so well, their new housemate.

"I tell Dad I want to test Rock," she said, "to see if he has tracking potential. He'll say I'm crazy, that there's no point testing him until he's had some training, no matter how naturally talented he is, that I would never be able to teach Rock anything in one day, that it doesn't work that way." She sat very still, looking at Joe so deeply that he began to shiver. Then, "He'd be right, you know. It's absolutely nuts, no human could train a dog that way. But," she said softly, "I think maybe you can," and she grinned at him. "Let's do it. Let's go for it, Joe."