Shirley Murphy - Cat Laughing Last

"Our secret," she said softly, glancing toward the living room.

Joe listened to the faint sound of the ladies' voices, preoccupied with loan points and interest rates. Strange, he thought, that loud, giggling Vivi Traynor, when she brought her ugly little secret to Molena Point, might have launched Charlie into a new and exciting venture.

Though if Charlie hadn't been so nosy, as curious as a cat herself, even Vivi's subterfuge wouldn't have made that happen. And it was Charlie's love of Traynor's work that had truly set her on this path.

"Not even Wilma," Charlie whispered. "Don't even tell Wilma. Not yet. Not until I see if this will fly."

"It will fly," Dulcie said softly.

Charlie looked at them uncertainly. "Maybe. And maybe this is all foolishness, maybe I'll fall on my face." She grinned. "But I've done that before, and gotten up again."

Joe twitched a whisker. He could imagine Charlie sitting up late at night, into the small hours, in her little one-room apartment, working on a borrowed computer at her breakfast table. Stopping work sometimes to stand at her window looking down on the rooftops as she formed, in her thoughts, her own kind of magic for the last chapters of Elliott Traynor's novel. And he rubbed his face against Charlie's, raggedly purring.

It was opening night of Thorns of Gold. Among the shadows above the dimly lit theater, Joe and Dulcie lay stretched out along a rafter, watching the crowd streaming in below them laughing and talking, the seats quickly filling up. The villagers were dressed all in their finest, in coats and ties, and long gowns. Dulcie was wide-eyed at the lovely jewelry and elegant hair arrangements. Despite Elliott Traynor's death, despite the fact that Vivi Traynor and Willie Gasper were back in New York and had been arraigned for murder, the producers had moved on with the play-finding Elliott's agent far easier to deal with than Vivi in matters of production and casting.

Elliott's move, in making Adele McElroy recipient, in trust, of his works, had been a surprise to everyone. In Joe's opinion, considering the number of ex-wives in the picture, that had been very wise. He wondered, when Traynor set up the trust two years earlier, if he'd guessed how soon it would take effect. One thing was certain: Vivi hadn't known about the arrangement.

Joe and Dulcie had watched as Vivi and Willie Gasper were marched from Molena Point jail handcuffed, and locked into the backseat of the New York detectives' rented car, for the ride to the airport, and they had witnessed her vile language. There were no giggles now, nervous or otherwise. Certainly the New York grand jury's ruling indicting Vivi for murder had set off enough national headlines and prime-time news to be heard even by Elliott himself wherever he was in heaven's high realms.

Joe supposed that if the New York police hadn't had an eye witness to Elliott's murder, Adele McElroy herself, because she was trustee and partial heir, might have been a suspect.

In Molena Point, Augor Prey had been convicted for breaking and entering and vandalism. That had netted him two years in county jail and two thousand dollars restitution to be paid to Susan Brittain. Though very likely, Susan wouldn't see much of the money. Prey's upcoming trial for Fern Barth's murder should, if all went well, put him behind bars and out of the workforce for some time to come. Joe Grey smiled, feeling greatly at ease with the world, feeling much the same as when a brace of fat mice lay lined up before him-a nice finish to a day's hunting.

B utthe kit, though pleased that justice had prevailed and that Vivi was behind bars, wasn't nearly finished with related matters. Nor was she up among the rafters, tonight, with Joe and Dulcie, watching the house fill with eager theatergoers.

Sprawled across Cora Lee's dressing table, her black-and-brown tattered coat looking like nothing so much as a ragged fur scarf, the kit watched the star of the play button her satin gown for the first act. They could hear from the audience tides of hushed voices echoing back to them where folk were laughing and greeting friends. The proximity of a real audience excited the kit so much it made her paws sweat.

Sitting down at the dressing table, Cora Lee drew on eye makeup and applied mascara while leaning over the kit, and blushed her cheeks brighter than the kit had ever seen. When she slipped on her wig of long, shining black hair, those sleek Spanish tresses curling around her shoulders, she wasn't Cora Lee anymore.

She rose from the dressing table as a young, vibrant Spanish woman, splendid in cascading folds of pale ivory satin. Catalina stood stroking the kit, her hands shaking.

"You bring me luck, Kit. You are my luck." Her fingers were so cold that the chill came right through the kit's fur, making the little cat shiver. Cora Lee stood still for only a moment, then began to pace the small dressing room, singing softly the lines of her opening number-whether to calm her nerves or to warm up, the kit didn't know. She sang part of a song from the second act, the verses so hurt and lonely they made the kit want to yowl- Catalina's lament touched the kit so strongly that she mewled, lifting her paw to her friend.

"Does that number make you sad, Kit?" Cora Lee tilted the kit's chin up, looking into her eyes. "Say, 'Break a leg,' Kit."

The kit's eyes widened with alarm, making Cora Lee laugh.

"That's what theater people say, for good luck. Break a leg. If you could talk, that's what you could say to me." Careful of her costume, Cora Lee picked up the kit and hugged her. "I'm so nervous. I haven't done this since New Orleans-not a musical. Well, it's not a musical. Experimental, Mark calls it. But for so long, I've only done speaking parts. And then I used to sing sometimes in small clubs. It still hurts to sing, Kit-like a knife in my middle. I don't care, this is Catalina's night, Catalina is alive, tonight, and she will be wonderful."

She will be wonderful, the kit thought. You are Catalina, and you are wonderful.

The music began. There was a knock at the door. Cora Lee set the kit on the dresser. "Stay here, Kit. Think good thoughts." And she left the dressing room, heading backstage behind the sets.

The kit waited only a moment, then followed her. Staying among the shadows, she hid herself in the wings behind the long curtains where she had a good view of the stage. Above her in the rafters, high over the gathered audience, Joe and Dulcie saw her. Dulcie smiled, but Joe Grey tensed. "What's she doing?"

"She's just watching," Dulcie said quietly. "She loves Cora Lee. And she loves the play; the songs seem really to charm her. She'll just sit there purring," she said complacently.

But Joe's yellow eyes shone black in the shadows, burning with unease.

"Not to worry," Dulcie said. "What could she do? She's a sensible little cat."

"She's too close to the stage. Why doesn't she come up here?"

"She wants to be close to Cora Lee, she wants a front-row seat." She gave him a sweet look. "It's opening night, everyone's talked about opening night. Of course the kit's excited." She peered down over the rafter below them, where Clyde and Ryan were taking their seats. Clyde was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and tie, and was holding Ryan's hand. Ryan wore a long emerald green dress. Dulcie loved all the pageantry and elegance. It would be no good to have a play, if the audience didn't dress up, too.

To the cats' left sat Wilma and Susan, and Gabrielle and Mavity, all wearing long dresses and whispering among themselves. Three rows in front of them, Max Harper and Charlie were finding their places.