Shirley Murphy - Cat Seeing Double

Easing back into the pillows, sipping her drink, feeling the last of her gritty anger at Larn Williams ease away, only then did she pick up the phone and call Hanni.

Hanni had turned off her tape. Letting it ring, Ryan sat enjoying the high-ceilinged studio, taking pleasure in its plain white angles and tall, open space. Someday she'd want paintings, more furnishings, bright and intricate accessories maybe to the point of crowding. But right now the open, nearly empty interior was deeply soothing. The only real luxury items were her handblocked spread and quilt in shades of black and white and tan, a primitive Australian pattern on which, at the moment, one long, lean, silver-coated freeloader reclined, his short pointer's tail gently thumping as he looked shyly at her, not totally certain that she meant to let him stay. Hanni answered.

Ryan said, "We're working on Clyde's attic, ready to jack up the roof first thing in the morning. Can the rug wait?"

"I can't stand to wait. It's so beautiful. You can't imagine how elegant and rich. I've already added it to Marianna's insurance policy, and I… I could lay it myself, but I don't want to use the stretcher. Could we do it at seven? You don't start work until eight."

"If I can be on the job by eight."

"It won't take long. You'll be so thrilled. See you at seven."

Ryan sighed and hung up. She had to remember that Hanni had designed that rug, that she had indicated the placement of every hand-knotted piece of yarn, that the rug was Hanni's painting, her latest masterpiece. Of course she was excited-and Hanni was never one to quell her passions.

Turning out the bedside lamp she sat going over tomorrow's work to see if she'd forgotten any detail. Against her feet Rock was like a furnace. The fact that he was taking half the bed, that she would likely sleep with her feet hanging out, or twisted up like a pretzel, didn't off-balance her satisfaction at having him there. Maybe, when she had a little break in Clyde's job, she'd put a couple of her men up here to fence that steep backyard, maybe bring some heavy equipment in to terrace it. Finishing her drink she stretched out with her feet tucked securely against the big weimaraner.

But then she couldn't sleep.

She lay wondering if Larn had killed Rupert, wondering if she had had dinner tonight with the man who murdered her husband.

She had gone out for that casual dinner drawn by curiosity, just as Larn had meant her to be. Manipulated like a puppet. And she had learned nothing true about her father, had learned only that Larn Williams was driven by motives she didn't yet understand.

Dad had had woman friends over the years since her mother died, good friends, women he'd dated and whom he'd brought home for dinner or picnics or to hunt with them. Maybe in all those years, no more than four or five woman friends. He'd never been serious enough to think about marriage, he'd always let his daughters know that no one ever would replace their mother. And certainly none of his dating had been of the kind that would embarrass himself or his children. He had never, would never have dated any parolee or probationer. Her father was too much a stickler for professional behavior to do such a thing, he would fire any of his officers caught in such a situation.

So what was Williams trying to accomplish?

Larn Williams was, as far as she knew, no more than a small-town realtor who had, she'd thought, been interested in her work in San Andreas. She'd made it clear that she'd only just left her husband, and wasn't dating. That she would have dinner with him to discuss possible remodel work for his San Andreas clients.

What if it turned out that Larn had killed Rupert?

But what connection could there have been?

If Larn were arrested for Rupert's murder, how would that look to the dozens of people who had seen them having dinner, and heard them arguing? Two conspirators having a falling out? She had turned on her accomplice in anger?

She imagined she was drifting off, she was trying to drift off, when the phone jerked her up and startled Rock so he stood up on the bed with one hard foot on her leg barking loud enough to break eardrums.

Hushing him, she picked up the phone, answering crossly, wishing she'd let it go on the tape. Rock, watching her, hesitantly walked up the length of me bed and lay down beside her.

"It's Clyde. I just… wanted to be sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. Was nearly asleep. Thanks for pulling me out of that, no telling what I might have done. That man… I'll fill you in later, more than I did. I may be late in the morning, would you leave a note for Scotty and Dave? I have to meet Hanni at the Landeau place at seven, to lay the new rug. She's so excited, I couldn't put her off. Do you have company? Who are you talking to?"

"The damn cat. Insists on hogging the bed, sprawling all over my pillow. Guess he likes the sound of the phone."

She laughed. "Don't knock it. It's nice to have a four-legged pal to warm your feet. What ever made me think I wouldn't keep Rock?"

"I never thought that," Clyde said, laughing.

Hanging up, she burrowed into her pillow. She was deeply asleep when the phone rang again encouraging another round of barking. Hushing Rock, she wondered how long it would take to teach him the futility of barking at the phone, while not discouraging his other alarm responses.

The voice at the other end was Dallas. "You asleep?"

"No, not now."

He chuckled. "Thought you'd like to know that Davis and I picked up the old man, up at the Pamillon place. That we've got enough on him, for drug making, to go to the grand jury and maybe enough for a bomb-making charge."

"What did you find?"

"Has a lab up there, all right. We had to suit up like astronauts to go down into it. Talk about stink. It's in a cellar under some chicken houses." Ryan could hear the smile in his voice. "All kinds of stuff with his prints on it, glass jars, retorts. Old man must have thought we'd never find the place.

"And he'd dumped mountains of trash down in the estate, in a cellar, again with his prints on everything- including some electrical parts and a bag of ammonium sulfate that could relate to the bomb. We're taking prints from samples of the trash, and listing the brands, to compare with Max's list of purchases in San Andreas. Should tell us quite a lot."

"That's really great news. That's one down…"

"And one to go. I'd sure like to thank our tipster. Hope we have as good luck with the murder, with these women we're talking to. You can be sure that Wills and Parker are getting all they can."

"You don't have anything, this soon?"

"In fact, I think we can scratch three. Parker called me an hour ago. Three of them have pretty solid stories. That leaves seven, with two of those out of the country, as far as we know."

"I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I'm sure glad you have capable friends when you need them." She yawned, and rubbed Rock's ears.

"Go to sleep," Dallas said, laughing. "Keep the good thoughts."

She hardly remembered hanging up. She was deeply asleep when the phone rang again. Again, the loud, frantic barking jerking her awake along with the ringing, making her cringe at what her neighbor, on the other side of the duplex wall, would be saying-she hoped they didn't call the department.

"Ryan, it's Dad. Sounds like I woke you. I'm in San Francisco, just got back, checked into an airport motel. Catching the early shuttle down to the village in the morning. You want to meet my plane?"

"I… I'd love to. You're coming because of me, because of the murder. You haven't been home." How strange she felt, talking to her own father. How uncertain-because of what Williams had said. But how silly.

"I'm coming because I have a few days leave and need to rest up after running that training session, before I go back to work. Can you meet my plane or shall I…?"