Shirley Murphy - Cat Playing Cupid

Dulcie didn't know whether to laugh at his dramatics or lick the big dog's face. Leaping into the chair beside him, she curled up in a little circle against his side, and began to purr to him; but worry about Joe ate at them both.

When at last Rock slept, snoring, worn out from his concern, she slipped down carefully, silently, and left him. Just for half an hour , she thought. Just for a little while.

Padding up the stairs, she sailed from the desktop to a rafter and quietly pushed out through Joe's cat door. And she headed over the rooftops, galloping across the village toward the Gibbs condo, her mind on a possible laptop and printer, on the source of that second anonymous note left at the back door of the station.

Landing on the roof of the complex, she dropped down to Gibbs's terrace, and peered in. Why waste the perfect time to toss the place, with Gibbs an hour's drive away, hopefully detained by the law.

Nothing moved in there. No lights. The TV dark and silent. She could hear no sound. She had the place to herself, and she had plenty of time for a thorough search. Sliding the screen back, she wondered if they'd been in too much of a hurry to secure the door.

No such luck. The glass slider was locked tight.

There were three windows facing the condo's terrace. Leaping up, clinging to the sills with stubborn claws, she found all three screens locked, and she could see that the locks on the windows were engaged. Going over the roof to the front door, near the stairs, she found that locked, too.

The kitchen had one window, which was on the outside wall, two stories above the street and with no roof access. A thorny bougainvillea vine clung to that two-story wall, but it was a five-foot leap from this landing onto the vine. If she missed, it would be a straight drop, two stories to the sidewalk.

She crouched, made the leap. Was scrambling through the bougainvillea toward the kitchen window, hoping they hadn't bothered to lock this one, when a squad car pulled to the curb two floors below.

Peering down through the leaves and red blossoms, she watched Juana Davis step out, tucking a folded paper into her uniform pocket. Could that be a warrant? Dulcie thought with excitement. She's been to the judge already? Well, Davis wasted no time. Maybe Ray and Ryder's hasty departure, plus the body at the ruins, had given her enough to request a search warrant.

Clawing her way back through the bougainvillea, away from the window, Dulcie managed to leap back to the landing, where she crouched behind a small potted tree, waiting for Juana, waiting to slip inside behind her.

Coming up the stairs, Juana used a key with a large white tag that, Dulcie supposed, she'd gotten from the landlord. As she pushed the door open, Dulcie made a fast dash…She got only as far as Juana's heels when Juana turned, closed the door in her face, and stood looking down at her. Dulcie didn't know if she'd made some tiny sound, or if Juana had felt a change in the air current behind her stockinged legs. The tabby stood frozen, staring up at her. Did Davis have to be so perceptive?

Juana looked at her for a long time, her dark brown eyes as unreadable as if she were studying the face of a shackled felon. Dulcie tried to look innocent. She tried her sweet cat smile, and knew she looked nervous and guilty.

But guilty of what? Juana didn't know why she was here. As good a detective as Juana Davis was, she didn't have a clue on this one. Boldly Dulcie rubbed against her ankles, purring as hard as she could manage.

"Dulcie, what are you doing here?"

Dulcie preened and purred.

"You were on the roofs, and you saw me?" Juana said quietly, the way she would talk to any animal. "Well, the roofs are a good place for cats. No cars, no dogs, nothing to bother you-but I don't want you following me inside. If you got lost among the furniture, and got locked in…" She looked deep into Dulcie's eyes. "I wish you could understand. You mustn't go into strange houses, you could starve to death before anyone knew you were there. You go on, now. Go chase a mouse." Turning, she slipped inside and closed the door.

So much for that, Dulcie thought, scrambling up the potted tree to the roof. She felt like a rookie who wanted to go on a case and instead was sent to direct traffic.

But if there was a computer in there, or any kind of evidence, Juana would find it. And instead of her planned break-and-enter, she headed back to Clyde's house to babysit a hundred-pound Weimaraner-and to worry about Joe. To wait nervously for a call from Clyde and Ryan to find out if they'd found him and if he was all right.

THE EVENING WASpushing on toward nine when Charlie got home from Dr. Firetti's, the wind cold at her back as she hurried from her Blazer into the tiled mudroom that led to both the living room and the kitchen. Something smelled good, and when she stepped through into the big family kitchen, Max was fixing a tray for their late supper. She could see through into the living room where he had set up the folding table before a welcoming fire.

Max had wanted to go down to Firetti's with her, but she'd begged him to stay home, to heat up something from the freezer and maybe make a salad-she couldn't talk to the doctor openly in front of him, and certainly the cats couldn't. She was just thankful that John Firetti was there for them, day and night. There was a clinic up the coast for after-hours emergencies, but Dr. Firetti took care of emergencies for a few of his long-standing clients, as had his father before him, getting out of bed at any hour, and he seemed content with the arrangement.

She and the two cats had told him every detail of their encounter with the coyotes. He'd asked how close they'd been to the animals, had asked the same questions Max asked. When Firetti was satisfied that no one had been bitten, he'd examined and X-rayed Sage's leg, put on a new splint, and rebandaged him. But he'd wanted to keep him overnight. Kit was unwilling to leave Sage, though they had spent most of the week battling and then making up. Maybe the tortoiseshell wanted to stay because they had battled, because she felt guilty that she'd made Sage so unhappy he'd run away and nearly been killed.

Dr. Firetti had fixed a warm bed for the two in his office and tossed a blanket and pillow on the couch for himself. Charlie left with hugs for both cats, hoping they'd sort out their differences; she left Kit snuggled as close to Sage as she could get without hurting his wounds, and before she turned away Kit had looked up at her with such confusion, with worry and hurt for Sage and yet with a clear uncertainty in her wide yellow eyes. Uncertainty about the state of her own heart? Torn between her fear for Sage, and her own needs? Charlie had felt tears start and had turned away quickly, leaving the clinic, worrying about where Kit's hotheaded young spirit would lead her.

Now, at home, Charlie washed her hands at the kitchen sink then followed Max into the living room, where she curled up in a big chair before the fire as he carried in their supper tray. She told herself that everything would be all right, that Kit would sort out her feelings, and as Max pulled his own chair near hers, she sipped her hot tea and reached hungrily for her grilled sandwich.

"Before we got married," she said, grinning at him, "you told me you couldn't cook."

"And you told me you didn't know how to fix a fence or shoot straight."

"This is the best supper I've ever had," she said, taking another huge bite.

"It's only a grilled-cheese sandwich."

"It's your famous grilled cream cheese and salami on rye, and it's delicious. Is there more?" she said, devouring her salad, too, and gulping the sweet, steaming tea.