Shirley Murphy - Cat Seeing Double

"Neighbors ought to be happy to have a guard dog in residence. Put it to them that you had a prowler and you're sure glad the dog ran him off."

"I wonder if the neighbors saw Larn, if anyone saw him come in. You'd think if they had, they'd have called the station."

"Did you tell Dallas?"

"Yes. He's checking for prints, something for the record." She looked at him solemnly. "My dad called early this morning from Atlanta, he'd heard about the murder on the news."

"He didn't know?"

"I asked Dallas not to tell him. There's nothing he can do and I thought it would only distract him. Don't those TV stations have anything to fill up their time besides a murder clear across the country? They gave it the same spin as the San Francisco papers, contractor's money-hungry wife."

Clyde handed her a container of potato salad, glancing across at the carpenters. The two men were deep in conversation, paying no attention to them. "What are you going to do about Williams?"

"Wait and see what he does. I sent a correct bill this morning to the Jakeses by registered mail. Put the doctored billing in my safe deposit box with a note about the circumstances."

Clyde raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "Just being careful."

"Your dad was upset when he called?"

"Mad as hell, ready to kick ass. I told him it would be okay, I told him Dallas would get it sorted out. He'd already talked with Dallas. He'll be back at the end of the week, plans to catch the shuttle on down here."

"You told him about Larn Williams, about the billing switch?"

"Yes. He agreed with me, that I should wait to see what Larn will do."

Clyde was quiet.

"If Larn wanted… he could have killed me the night he killed…"

She stared at him, her eyes widening at what she had said, what she'd been thinking. They were both silent.

"I have no way to know that," she said quietly. "That just slipped out. I… it will be interesting to see if Larn calls me again. Maybe to see if his switch of the billing worked." She smiled. "Maybe I can lead him on, maybe learn something."

"What does that mean? You wouldn't go out with him."

"That would be foolish."

"That's not an answer."

She was silent.

"Would you call me if you decide to see him? Let me know where you're going?"

She just looked at him.

"Will you call me? I make a good backup. Like the safe deposit box."

She grinned. "All right, I'll call. If you'll stay out of the way."

"Totally invisible," Clyde said. They were finishing their lunch when Dallas showed up wearing scruffy clothes and driving a rusted-out old Chevy. He stood in the yard watching Ryan descend.

"On my way up the hills, see if I can find Gramps Farger. A tip that he's living up there in some old shack." Dallas looked at Ryan. "We have some blowups of the murder-scene photos. Found the hint of a tire mark, thin tire like maybe a mountain bike. Lab is doing an enhancement."

He put his arm around her. "From the small amount of blood and the condition of the body, and the angle of the shots, coroner says Rupert wasn't killed in your garage."

Ryan relaxed against him, letting out a long sigh. "I didn't know any news in the world could sound so wonderful."

Clyde said, "What's this about Gramps Farger?"

Dallas moved toward the back patio out of range of the two carpenters. "I got a tip, early this morning, a young woman. She said the old man's living in a fallen-down shack up along that ravine above the Pamillon estate." The detective leaned over the gate to pet Rock who had come racing up. Rearing, the big dog planted his front feet on top the gate and reached to lick Dallas's face.

Dallas rubbed behind the dog's ears. "That old place was sitting vacant. We check on it every couple of weeks-he could have moved in right after our last run up there. A guy can make a lot of mischief in two weeks. Informant said he's dumping bags of trash down among the ruins."

Clyde nodded. "Like maybe drug refuse?"

"Maybe." Dallas smiled. "If I can lay my hands on Gramps Farger, he'll be out of circulation for a while, you can bet."

"You going up there alone?"

"Davis is meeting me. If we can corner Gramps, we'll go on down to the Pamillon place, have a look. Whoever the caller was, I hope she's right on this one."

Joe glanced at Clyde's scowl and looked away. The kit would be pleased, would be all puffed up with triumph.

But until Gramps Farger was in fact behind bars, how safe was she?

He waited until Dallas left in the old surveillance car, then he took off before Clyde thought to stop him. Clyde would think he was headed for the hills to get in the middle of the potentially dangerous arrest of Gramps Farger. When, in fact, he was only going to have a talk with Dallas's young, female informant.

Rocky Face Inn outside San Andreas featured private patios with a wide view of the pine-covered Sierra Nevada Mountains, and the best pancakes and home-smoked ham in Calavaras County. Even the coffee tasted wonderful to Charlie, though maybe that was owed in part to the fresh mountain air and the scent of pines, and the fact that they had been driving since 6:00 in the morning, heading inland from Sonoma. Charlie was an early riser but she'd never match Max. If he wasn't up well before sunrise he felt that the day was half gone. Having checked in at 8:00 in the morning and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, she didn't welcome the sight of Max picking up his jacket and reaching for his truck keys.

"You could stay here," he said. "Lie by the pool."

"Only if you stay with me."

Max picked up her chair with her in it, and tilted her out. "Get your coat, we're burnin' daylight," he said in his best John Wayne imitation.

She made a face at him. "Don't need a coat. It's going to be ninety."

Slapping her on the rump, he nudged her out the door. "I want to get over to the Jakeses' house before Ryan's uncle leaves for the coast, spend the rest of the morning talking to the local shopkeepers, see if they've had any unusually large chemical sales. We'll grab a bite of lunch somewhere then have a look for Hurlie Farger. Probably a wild-goose chase, but who knows. And maybe we can get a line on this Larn Williams."

He had, in San Francisco, made contact with Sergeant Wills and Detective Sergeant Parker, and had given them the names that Dallas wanted checked out. Within a few hours of Max's meeting with them, Parker had called to say that two of the women were out of me country, Barbara Saunders and Martie Holland, or appeared to be, at this juncture. June Holbrook was working down in Millbrae and had, several months ago, left her husband. Tom Wills would go down there this morning to see what he could find.

Max ruffled her hair and opened the truck door for her. Settling in the cab, he unfolded the local map, took a quick look then pulled out to the highway.

With the information the two officers supplied, Dallas would work what he could from Molena Point, doubling back to Parker and Wills with questions they could best handle. Charlie had never before been so fully aware of the cooperation among law-enforcement officers. Of the women that the two officers were unofficially investigating, had the jealous husband or lover of one of them killed Rupert and set up Ryan, as a handy alibi?

Driving north from the inn, they turned onto a newly laid granite-block driveway before a peak-roofed, rustic house that had, on the north side, a pale new addition, its fresh cedar siding and shingles reflecting the morning sun. At the side of the garden a man rose from his knees, a big, wide shouldered, redheaded man, his jeans splattered with mud and his hands wet where he had been working on a sprinkler pipe.