Shirley Murphy - Cat Seeing Double

He'd had the feeling, when he looked up at that black recess, that this was the moment of truth. That he stood teetering on the brink of one big, momentous discovery.

Beside him, driving down the dark and narrow, twisting streets, Clyde was nearly squirming with curiosity. "So besides whatever you went back for, whatever you're keeping so secret, what else went on in there? Did I hear him talking on the phone? I thought sure he'd find you, I was ready to smash a window." He looked sternly at Joe. "This stuff's hard on a guy's blood pressure, you ever think of that?"

Joe smiled. "He was talking to a woman. I'm guessing it was Marianna, that he's here with her permission, that they're friends."

"That would be a twist. So what was he shouting about?"

"I think the guy's crazy. Kept shouting the name Martie Holland, over and over, wasn't making any sense. You ever hear of a Martie Holland? Harper or Dallas, or Ryan, ever mention that name?"

"Not that I recall."

Joe frowned. He didn't like when the pieces wouldn't add up. Heading home in the Hudson beside Clyde, he thought he'd catch a few hours' sleep until Williams left the Landeau cottage and then, if Ryan or Hanni was to be there early in the morning-and who else would it be?-he'd play friendly kitty with those two, and get a closer look at the flawed mantel.

When Ryan left Burger Basher heading for Clyde's place to pick up Rock, she was still steaming with anger; playing back Larn Williams's words about her dad, she was mad enough to chew nails. Clyde had hurried away in his old Hudson on some errand, and just as well. She was in no mood to be civil for long, even to Clyde, though she had greatly appreciated his coming to her rescue-he might have followed her, and that was okay. He might have rescued her from killing Williams, the way she'd felt at that moment.

As she pulled to the curb before Clyde's house, Rock heard the truck and began to paw at the gate. Hurrying back to release him, reaching to open the latch, she stopped. Rock had backed off from her, snarling with a cold, businesslike menace.

"What's wrong?" She reached for him. "Come, Rock." He dodged away growling. She thought of rabies, and shivered; but quietly she moved toward him. He showed his teeth, focused on something she couldn't understand.

Last night he'd been this way. Leaving Lupe's Playa after Williams switched the contents of the envelope on the seat of her truck, following Clyde home, opening this same gate, Rock had been delighted to see her- but when she opened the truck door and told him to load up, he'd pitched a fit, smelling the scent of someone strange in the cab. And when they got home and Rock encountered the stranger's smell there in the apartment, he'd nearly torn the place apart, looking for the intruder.

The smell of the intruder, of Larn Williams. Now that smell was on her. She stared at her hands where she had marched Williams into the alley and shoved him against the wall. And, stepping into the yard past the growling, puzzled weimaraner, she moved around to the outdoor sink and washed thoroughly, scrubbing to her elbows.

Then again she approached Rock.

He cringed low but came to her. He sniffed again at her hands, and he grinned up at her and began to dance around her, all wags and kisses, whining and licking and loving her.

Putting him on the lead and shutting the gate securely behind her, she settled him in the truck and headed home. He watched her seriously, his pale yellow eyes puzzled, as if he couldn't understand about the smells. In the passing lights, his sleek silver coat gleamed like satin. She scratched his ears. "You not only have a very good nose, my dear Rock. Considering the source of your anger, you have superior judgment."

At her lighter tone, Rock grinned and wagged, his long, soft ears thrust eagerly forward. Smiling to herself, she wondered what Rock would do, face-to-face with Williams. And again she saw Williams in the alley, his white, shocked expression as she backed him against the wall. The incident, thanks to Clyde, hadn't turned as nasty as she'd expected. She really wasn't sure how the encounter would have ended if Clyde hadn't appeared so suddenly.

She didn't often lose her temper like that, and tonight was certainly not the time or the place. She would most likely regret later her public display of rage.

What was the source of Larn's remarks about her dad? There could be no source. Sick words from a twisted mind. Williams was riding a loose rail.

Or was it more than that?

And what a bizarre twist, that Clyde's tomcat had been in the restaurant with her and Larn, then had apparently followed them to the alley; she'd caught just a glimpse of him as Clyde snatched him up, heading for his car. "A very peculiar cat," she told Rock. "I don't like to insult present company, but he really does act more like a dog, if you could manage to take that as a compliment."

Rock grinned and wagged, happy for her improved mood. But then as she turned into her drive he stiffened again, watching the stair and her studio windows and glancing at her as if for direction, the hair along his back rising in a harsh ridge.

Scanning the yard and the upstairs windows, she slipped Hanni's gun from her glove compartment. She wondered if she dare let Rock out of the truck? If someone was there, would she be able to control him?

Or was he simply wired again after sniffing the scent of last night's intruder on her hands? She would have to learn to control the dog, and soon, if she meant to keep him.

Slipping the loaded, unholstered gun into her jeans pocket and putting Rock on leash, she moved quietly up the outside stairs. Rock, walking at heel, almost slunk along, silent and wary. She had unlocked the door and stepped in and turned on the light when the phone rang. She didn't pick up but stood looking around the apartment, letting the machine answer.

The room didn't seem disturbed. The kitchen was as she'd left it, cups and glasses in the drain, an inch of stale coffee in the pot. The studio windows all closed and locked. She moved with Rock to the hall, approaching the closet-dressing room and bath. Together they cleared the apartment, and she checked the lock on the door of the inner stairs. When all seemed secure she released Rock. He continued to prowl, perhaps making certain the intruder's scent was not fresh. Sitting down at her desk, she hit replay.

It was Hanni. She was wired, laughing with excitement. "The rug's in! Delivered this afternoon while I was out installing the Brownfield house-I just got home. Starved. Exhausted. The kids hardly know me, I haven't had time to breathe. Jim and the kids unpacked it, we couldn't wait. It's in the living room, one end draped over the couch. It's fab, Ryan! Just fab! Are you there? Pick up the phone! Can you meet me in the morning? I was going over anyway, early, to take some Mexican planters. I'm glad we ripped out the old carpet. It won't take us a minute to put this down, just a little two-sided tape. It's going to be sensational. Eight o'clock too late? Call me. I know you've started a new job. Call me please before I go to sleep, and let me know!"

Stripping off her jeans and sweatshirt, Ryan washed her face and brushed her teeth then pulled on her robe and crossed the studio. Pulling the curtains, she made herself a drink, and turned her bed back, removing the hand-printed spread to reveal its matching comforter. Carrying the phone to the bed, she made herself comfortable propped against the pillows. Immediately Rock stepped up onto the foot of the bed looking questioningly at her.

"It's okay," she said softly. Who would know if she spoiled him? If he was going to be her dog, she could spoil him as she pleased. All her childhood, one or another of the hunting dogs had been allowed to sleep on her bed. After her mother died, that nighttime companionship had been important. A warm, caring creature to lie across her feet or to snuggle with.