Shirley Murphy - Cat Under Fire

But out on the street again, scowling into Joe's face, he said, "What the hell were you two doing in there? Can't you stay out of anything. Now what am I going to do with you? Turn you loose, you'll be right back in there.

"And I didn't plan to spend the evening baby-sitting a couple of snooping cats. I don't know why you two can't stay out of trouble. I don't see why you can't behave with some sense."

Charlie studied Clyde, puzzled. "Aren't you overreacting, maybe?"

Clyde glared.

She looked at Clyde and Joe, frowning, as if she were missing something. "We can take them over to Wilma's, shut them in the house, then we can have dinner. I'm starved."

Shifting Dulcie to a more comfortable position, she set off up the street, glancing back at Clyde. "You can't expect a cat to think what might happen if he wanders into a shop. How were they to know they couldn't get out?"

Clyde did not reply. Joe could imagine what he was thinking. Joe had a few things he'd like to say in return. He hated when he had to remain mute. It was grossly unfair for Clyde to read him off when he couldn't answer back. He dug his claws into Clyde's shoulder until Clyde drew in his breath.

As Clyde forced his finger under Joe's pads to release the offending needles, a pale blue Mercedes turned onto the street and the driver waved. Clyde lifted his hand in greeting; just one of his customers. Then he pressed Joe's pads, rotating the claws inward, releasing Joe's lethal grip, and shifted Joe away from his shoulder. The tomcat was getting out of hand. It was going to be interesting to hear Joe's explanation for this little escapade. Of course it had to do with the murder trial, he knew the single-minded compulsion of these two.

Whatever they were doing in the gallery, their adventure hadn't helped his own evening. Half an hour ago he and Charlie had been walking along holding hands like kids, joking, laughing, discussing where to have dinner. He hadn't intended to finish off the night playing free taxi to a couple of disaster-prone felines.

Having left his car at Wilma's, he and Charlie had walked up through the village into the hills as the sun set, had climbed above the last scattered houses toward the eastern mountains gleaming gold in the falling light. High up the face of a steep hill among an outcropping of boulders they sat looking down on the village spread below them, watching the sky slowly darken, watching the cottage lights blink on in sudden bursts of illumination, the village quickly coming alive, preparing for evening. They could smell wood fires; the breeze was cool, their mood peaceful and compliant. Their mellow warmth, which had lasted all the way down the hills again and into the village, was shattered suddenly by sirens. They quickened their pace, curious, heading up the street to where the squad cars had careened by…

They saw the squad car parked in front of the Aronson, spotlights sweeping the dim gallery as they approached. Then they saw the harsh beams of light fix suddenly on the two cats, catching their eyes in a blaze of fire-and Joe and Dulcie looking as guilty as any two human thieves.

He supposed, overreacting, he'd roused Charlie's curiosity, but it didn't matter. Charlie was as ignorant of the cats' true nature as the two officers.

Joe crept up Clyde's shoulder to a more comfortable position, watched Dulcie cuddling in Charlie's arms happy as a nesting bird. He kept his claws sheathed, and tentatively he rubbed his face against Clyde's ear. Clyde ignored him. Clyde sometimes had an unreasonably sour disposition.

Charlie said, "We'll drop these two off, then grab a quick hamburger. Five o'clock comes early, and tomorrow will be twelve hours or more, without Stamps. When he gets back from his little jaunt, he gets the ax; he's out of here."

Dulcie's head had come up, and, her ears up, she turned on Charlie's shoulder to stare across at Joe, her eyes wide with interest.

"Settle down," Charlie said, stroking her. "We're nearly home." She looked across to Clyde. "Did you decide what to do with Janet's diary?"

Both cats jerked to alert. Charlie frowned at Dulcie and shifted her to a more comfortable position. Clyde looked down at Joe, his grip tightening, his eyes narrowing to sudden realization.

Joe looked back innocently. So you found the diary. So now you know bow it got under Janet's deck. So do you have to look so righteous?

But at least Clyde had the decency to offer some information. "We'll have to give it to Harper. Good thing you went up to Janet's after work to leave food for her cat. Good thing the kibble box was ripped and empty, and the bowl shoved on under the deck, or you'd never have seen that plastic package."

"I still don't see why someone would hide her diary like that. Why not just steal it? If that's what they intended, why not take it with them?" She stroked Dulcie absently. "It had to be Stamps's dog that ate the food. No other dog would leave pawprints that huge.

"Do you suppose Stamps took the diary from the house? But why would he want it? And why leave it there? I'll be glad when I'm rid of Stamps. He makes me nervous."

"You need workers pretty bad to be firing Stamps just because he's taking a day off-and because his dog growls at you."

"That dog's growled at Mavity a dozen times. If he bites her, or bites anyone at work, I'm the one who gets sued. What if he bit a client? Stamps encourages that mean streak-he laughs when the dog snarls at me. Mavity's terrified of it."

Charlie sighed. "Until today Stamps has been tolerable, but today tore it. To wait until quitting time, then tell me he's taking tomorrow off, just like that, no warning. No time to find someone else. He didn't even have the decency to lie to me, to say he felt sick, just all of a sudden he had to run over to Stockton."

Joe looked across at Dulcie. Her ears were back, her tail lashing, her eyes blazed.

This was it, tomorrow was hit day. Had to be. Burglary day for seven hillside residences. Stamps was taking the day off to tend to his real business. Joe licked a whisker, watching Dulcie. She was clinging tensely to Charlie, totally wired. Charlie looked down, frowning, and began to stroke her.

"What's the matter, Dulcie? There's nothing to be afraid of. You weren't afraid in the gallery, not afraid of the police and their spotlights. Now all of a sudden… What's gotten into you?"

But Dulcie's tension wasn't fear. She was primed. Every muscle twitched, her tail lashed and trembled. The little brindle cat was all nervous energy, set to explode, burning with predatory hunger to nail those two creeps-to see cold justice overtake Stamps and Varnie.

The cars that were parked along the curb hulked black in the predawn dark. Their bodies were beaded with dew, breathing out an icy breath radiating the night's chill. Beneath the cats' paws, the sidewalk was damp and cold. Only an occasional house shone with light. Most of the hillside residents still slept. A thin breeze nipped along the sidewalk, teasing the cats as they hurried upward toward the highest houses. Staying close to the curb, to the parked cars, they were tensed to dodge under if a marauding dog appeared out of the dark. The chill of the vehicles they passed made them shiver, but then, coming alongside a Chevy sedan, they were treated to warmth, sudden and welcome. They looked at each other and grinned. They sniffed at the rear wheel.

The metal was dry, the tire dry, the wheel so warm that when Joe touched his nose to the hubcap he drew back. The car smelled of exhaust and fresh coffee. They reared up, trying to look in.

The dark interior appeared empty, but they caught the faint scent of shaving lotion, too. Moving away into the bushes beside a stucco cottage, looking back, they could observe the Chevy's windows at a better angle.