Shirley Murphy - Cat Seeing Double

"New… red Chevy king cab. Short-term parking, aisle three." She grinned at him and headed for the door, the big dog looking back longingly at Mike Flannery-and so did she. Just being with Dad had chased away her stupid doubts.

She had settled Rock in the backseat when Dad came across the lot with his all-purpose, scarred and battered elk-hide bag. She stowed it in the backseat beside Rock, but where Mike could keep an eye on it so the big dog wouldn't chew. "We have plenty of time for breakfast. We'll go to the Courtyard where Rock can lie under the table-he doesn't need elk-hide for breakfast." Wheeling out of the airport, she headed for the freeway.

"So why is he supposed to be my dog? What's with the working dog getup? All that fuss just so you could take him into the airport?"

She grinned. "Weimaraners are famous for tearing up the inside of a car."

"So I've heard. This is the stray Dallas told me about? Looks like he's not a stray anymore."

"I guess."

"You've had him vetted? Had his shots?"

"Urn… Not yet. Haven't had time."

Her father looked at her sternly.

"It's just two days. Maybe I can-"

"You want me to do it? I'm hanging around for a few days. I can drive one of Harper's surveillance wrecks."

She turned off the highway into the village. "Would you? It's Dr. Firetti, up near Beckwhite's Automotive."

"I know Firetti. Shall I have him check for an ID chip?"

She was surprised at the sinking feeling that gave her, that maybe Firetti would find Rock's owner with that simple electronic scan. "I guess you'd better." As she pulled up before the Courtyard, Flannery looked intently at her, and patted her knee. "It'll be all right. Outside of being afraid you'll lose your fine hound, what else is bothering you? Besides, of course, Rupert's murder?"

She swung out of the truck, saying nothing, and unloaded Rock, moving ahead of her father into the restaurant. When they were seated, he gave her a questioning look. "You don't want to talk about it, this early in the morning."

"Not really. Not here. Just… gossip." The longer she put it off, the harder it would be.

"Gossip about you, because of the murder? Well I wouldn't-"

"Could we talk about it tonight?"

"Shall I pick up some steaks?"

"Perfect." Fishing in her purse, she found the extra key Charlie had given her, and watched him work it onto his key ring. They talked about the remodel she was starting for Clyde, about Scotty moving down to the village to work for her, about the rug she and Hanni were laying and how excited Hanni was, about all the inconsequentials. They enjoyed waffles and sausage and quantities of coffee then she dropped her dad and Rock at the police station. But, heading for the Landeau cottage, she was again tense with unease. Too many things going on, too many problems butting at one another.

Scotty said life wasn't full of problems, it was rich with decisions. He said a person was mighty lucky to have the privilege of making choices, even hard ones. That the more carefully you thought out your decisions, the more the good times would roll. All her life Scotty had told her that if you did nothing but worry, if you were indecisive and scared to make decisions, then the good times would escape like a flock of frightened birds.

She guessed she'd better listen. If she got herself into a knot, she wouldn't conquer any of the present tangles. They would conquer her.

It wasn't yet dawn when the three cats arrived at the Landeau cottage, Joe fidgeting and pacing, consumed with getting inside for a look at the mantel. The kit too was wired, so excited to be out and free again and on an adventure. She had been home at Wilma's since the night before, when Cora Lee reluctantly returned her and was pleased to stay for dinner. Now that Dallas had arrested Gramps Farger, now that the old man was safely tucked away in jail, it had seemed all right to bring the tattercoat home.

The kit loved Cora Lee, and certainly she had loved Cora Lee's extravagant attention, but the kit easily grew restless. Cora Lee said she'd been peering out the windows with far too keen an interest. Having promised not to let the kit out, Cora Lee had worried at her unrest.

Now behind the Landeau cottage in the dark woods where the three cats crouched, the kit's tail lashed with excitement. Her eyes burned round and black, she could hardly remain still.

"Cool it, Kit," Dulcie said softly. "We're not set to charge that cottage like a platoon of commandos."

The kit eased the tail action to a slow twitch. But her eyes remained wide and burning. If they'd been hunting rats, her enthusiastic vibes alone would have cleared the premises. As the cats watched for Ryan and Hanni, above them the sky faded from black to dark pearl. The moon hung low in the brightening sky, circled by a nimbus of mist. Within the cottage, beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass, there was no sign of Larn Williams. The bed was neatly made. The sunken sitting area shone like a softly lit stage. Joe watched intently the flawed black niche in the fireplace, but the moon's diffused fight, from a different angle at this later hour, showed him nothing. He could smell on the breeze the stink of exhaust from the departed Jeep. The cats were dozing when Hanni pulled onto the granite parking.

She wasn't driving her powder-blue convertible but a white van with the dolphin-shaped logo of her design studio. Certainly the Mercedes wasn't made to haul the ten-foot rug that stuck out the back where the rear doors stood open and tied together. Swinging out, she began to unload some huge, Mexican ceramic pots that were wedged in beside the rug. She was dressed this morning in faded designer jeans and a tomato red velour top that set off her short, windswept white hair and her flawless complexion and dangling gold earrings. "Smashing," Dulcie whispered. Hanni Coon had a wonderful talent for elegance. If Dulcie were a human, she'd kill to look like that.

Hanni had the pots unloaded when Ryan's truck turned in. Ryan swung out dressed in her usual nondescript work jeans, a navy flannel shirt over a cotton blouse, and rough work boots. Hanni looked her over, a quick assessment of how Ryan might dress herself, how Ryan might look, a hasty glance that seemed to the cats little more than habit. "Where's Rock?"

"Dad's back, he called last night, I picked him up this morning. He's getting Rock vetted."

"He came directly here? Because of Rupert! We could have dinner. He's staying at the cottage?"

"I… There's something I need to talk with him about."

"Personal? About the murder?"

Ryan looked at her helplessly. "That okay?"

"Of course it's okay. Can I help?"

"No, just… Could I explain later? It's… Makes my stomach churn. I'm trying to be cool."

Hanni looked at her quietly, and began to ease the wrapped rug out of the van. They carried it into the house, one at each end as if, Joe thought, they were toting an oversized cadaver. Ryan opened up the sliding glass walls of the sunken sitting area while Hanni vacuumed the wood floor. Then, kneeling, they unwrapped the rug, stripping off the heavy brown paper. When at last they had it laid out on the wood floor, even Joe was dazzled. Dulcie caught her breath, creeping closer to the window through the fallen branches.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful," she whispered. She and the kit stared and stared at the medley of brilliant colors, the thickly woven, intricate patterns. The kit crept closer still, watching the rug and watching Ryan and Hanni where they knelt in the middle pressing the rug gently toward the walls securing the edges with two-sided tape. Kit was so fascinated that her nose was soon pressed against the screen of the open window. Hanni's masterpiece, handwoven in England at a fortune per square yard, made all three cats want to sink their paws in and roll with purring abandon. Silently Dulcie reached a paw, as if hypnotized, sliding the tall screen open, and padded delicately into the room.