Shirley Murphy - Cat Under Fire

"It's back in the room."

"Very smart. So someone goes in there-the landlord."

"They got no business in my room, I pay my rent. And those jerks wouldn't know what that paper is-but I got it all down, times people leave for work, everything. It's a damn bore, walking the dog there every morning."

"Just keep doing it, James. And make sure you keep your mouth shut when Ed and Melvin get here."

"What the hell. You think I… "

The dog barked again, then screamed a high yip-as if he had been scratched. This time when Stamps pushed open the door Dulcie streaked out past him. Pausing in the shadows, she couldn't see Joe. But the dog was on the porch, it had got its rope wrapped around the post and around its ear-must pinch like hell. Stamps stood in the doorway, looking disgusted and yelling. And before she could slip back inside he turned away, slamming the door nearly in her face. She leaped back The dog wasn't four feet from her, and, without warning, it lunged at her. She flew off the porch, running, terrified he'd break the rope.

She hit the street-and the dog hit the end of the rope. But he was jerked back-the rope held. He fought and roared as she bolted across, straight for Janet's door.

She met Joe coming out. He grinned and licked her ear. "I thought he had you. That's the dog that chased us, I can smell him clear over here."

"It's James Stamps's dog, the Stamps who works for Charlie. He's the one who rented that room down the hill, the room behind the gray house."

He glanced down the hill. "Interesting. What are they doing in there?"

"Big poker night."

"What did you find out from the old lady? Come on in, supper's on." He slid in under the door, and she followed. This was lovely, just the two of them. She'd missed him.

Inside, he grinned down at her from atop the kitchen counter. Leaping up beside him, she regarded his supper layout with amazement. He had a regular feast prepared. "Is this all for you?"

"It was until you got here. You don't think I'm entertaining other ladies?"

She didn't smell another cat in the house, only Joe. "You got the refrigerator open."

"Just practicing what you taught me," he said modestly. "Front paws in the handle, hind feet against the counter. Quick push, and voila! Sorry, the Brie is gone. It was a bit old, it made me belch."

He had found half a brick of Cheddar cheese and a tub of sour cream, rather ripe but still edible. Toothmarks dented the plastic where he'd pulled the lid off. He had unearthed a pack of stale crackers, too. Beside it lay a warm, freshly killed chipmunk.

They dined.

Chewing off a hunk of Cheddar, Dulcie dipped it in the sour cream. "Has Beverly been back? Or the police?"

"No one. The night you left I brought Janet's diary in, read it again, then put it back. I thought maybe we'd missed something, some clue, but I guess not. Slept on her bed, that comforter's nice and warm."

"No sign of the white cat?"

"None. And what did you find out? What's with the old woman? I've been watching Varnie come and go; he's a real piece of work. I looked in their garage window. That old truck smells like a warehouse full of stale fish. What's he doing to it?"

She shrugged. "Some kind of repairs. Varnie and this James Stamps-I'm wondering if they killed Janet."

He stared at her.

"They're into something. Somehow it has to do with the murder." She licked sour cream from her whiskers. "They mean to make money from it, whatever it is. Varnie said, 'If we get greedy now, we end up with mud on our faces.' And Stamps said they should get all they can before Varnie's mother spills to the cops. I told you she knows something."

She pushed a morsel of chipmunk onto a cracker. "And they're into something else, too. Stamps is keeping a list, I think of when people are home and when they leave for work"

"Planning burglaries?"

"Sounds like it. Early-morning burglaries. Varnie said, 'Hit and clear out.'"

"You think the burglaries, if that's what they're doing, are connected to Janet's murder?"

"I don't know. Those two seem to me like a couple of small-time hoods, just snatching at opportunities. I'm not sure they're the kind to have killed Janet."

They shared out the last of the chipmunk, Dulcie eating delicately. "I want to see Stamps's list." But she could see he was not receptive to the idea.

"If they're planning burglaries, the police need to know."

"But we don't know when, or where. What good is it to tell the police and not give them any facts? If we could get Stamps's list…" But she could see he was not receptive to the idea.

"Anyway," she said, "now I know Mama did see something, and that she's afraid to testify. Frances is trying to get her to testify. And Varnie's afraid she will."

"If Varnie did kill Janet, why would Frances want his mother to testify against him?"

"Who knows what Frances wants? There's more to Frances Blankenship than is apparent."

She licked her paws and whiskers. "Frances and the old lady have midmorning coffee in the kitchen. They talk more then, when Varnie's away at work." She licked blood and cracker crumbs from the counter. "Most of their talk is about relatives, they have more cousins than the pound has dogs. But maybe I'll get lucky-hear something." She gave him a long look. "I'm getting stir-crazy over there."

"Maybe I can help."

"How?" Her eyes widened at his sly leer. "What are you thinking?"

"I'll have to work it out. Just be ready." He twitched an ear.

"How can I be ready, if I don't know what you're up to?"

"Don't miss morning coffee," he said softly.

She gave him a puzzled look. "I'd better go, before they untie the monster."

Joe trotted across the tile counter and looked out the kitchen window. "He's still on the front porch, sitting under the light. I can see the rope. Stupid thing has himself wrapped up again."

She trotted over to look. The dog was a black lump, huddled miserably against the porch rail. "Let him rot." She gave Joe a long, loving look. "Thanks for the supper. It sure was better than Mama's leftover carrots."

"Take care." He licked her ear. "I'll be watching. Don't forget, morning coffee."

She gave him a whisker kiss, jumped down, and slid out beneath the door. She was back at the Blankenships' and through the laundry window before the dog knew she had passed. When belatedly he scented her, he fought his shortened rope, roaring. Inside, she dropped to the laundry room floor. Padding toward the kitchen, she paused in the shadows of the hall.

In her absence two more poker players had arrived, the room stank of cigarettes and beer and reverberated with loud voices. Hurrying on past, she headed for the old woman's room. She'd hear no more secrets now.

Another night in this house didn't thrill her, but maybe, if Joe did have a plan, tomorrow she'd hit pay dirt.

As Frances opened the back door, airing the kitchen of stale beer and cigarette smoke, Dulcie trotted out to crouch on the threshold. Sniffing the fresh morning air, she was just getting comfortable when Frances nudged her with her an impatient toe. "Go on out, cat. You're in the way." She hunkered down, gluing herself to the floor, then leaped over Frances's offending foot, back into the kitchen. She had no intention of going out; she wasn't going to miss a lick this morning. Whatever plot Joe had hatched for Mama and Frances's coffee hour, she meant to be right there, cat on the spot.

Impatiently Frances returned to the table, fussing around, restoring the salt and pepper shakers and potted fern, the pig sugar bowl and cow-shaped cream pitcher to their rightful places, her movements abrupt, sharply agitated. Maybe her anger was the result of Varnie's loud poker party. Dulcie watched her with interest.