Shirley Murphy - Cat Fear No Evil

Belting into the alley, Joe found Dulcie and the kit crouched beneath the jasmine vine beside the deli's back door, their ears down, their eyes filled with distress. Though it was midmorning, the alley was empty. No other cats, no tourists. George Jolly's ever-present offering of delicacies stood untouched before the closed deli door. The kit had not even sampled the smoked salmon and egg custard. She sat staring listlessly down at her paws. Joe nudged at her, deeply distressed by her grieving for Lucinda and Pedric. Pushing in beneath the vine, he nosed at her. When she glanced up at him, the kit looked not only heartbroken, but ashamed.

"What?" Joe said. Dulcie, too, looked devastated. "What?" he repeated. "What's with you two?"

"She took the key," the kit said.

"Who did? What key?"

"Dillon. I should have told before but I thought… I didn't want her to be in trouble."

"What key, Kit? Key to what?"

But he knew.

"The key to the back door of Alice's Mirror," Dulcie said. "The store that was burglarized last night. It was on the local news this morning."

"I followed them," the kit said. "The four girls. One afternoon weeks ago. Followed them into Alice's Mirror. They were acting so… I just knew they were going to do something. I slipped inside behind a rack of satin and velvet and I watched them. Dillon looked so… sort of wandering pretending not to look all around. Like a bird when it's busy pecking the ground but really watching you. She was wandering just beside the door to the shop's office, admiring a rack of blouses, sliding them along-then she vanished.

"I could see her in the office where customers aren't supposed to go, so I went in there behind her. She didn't see me; I slid behind some boxes and watched." The kit sighed. "She took a key from a hook beside the desk and slipped out again and left the shop. Her two friends picked out some clothes, asked a clerk some questions about them and took them to a fitting room. I went outside and saw Dillon down the street, handing something to Consuela. Consuela turned and hurried away. I went up an oak tree until she came back and gave it back to Dillon; it was a key. Dillon went back inside the shop. I followed and watched her put it back in the office, hang it on a little hook. Then in a minute, all three girls left and they met Consuela outside.

"And I ran home.

"But I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to tell Wilma or you or anyone. I knew I should call Captain Harper, but I didn't want to get Dillon in trouble and make the captain feel worse about her, so I didn't do anything. I curled up under the afghan and tried to sleep and pretend it didn't happen."

Joe Grey listened quietly. All along, Kit had carried this burden, wanting to protect Dillon. Kit looked up at him. "They copied it, didn't they? In one of those key places. It was all over the news. The burglary."

Joe nuzzled her and licked her ear, and the three cats looked at one another. What was happening to Dillon? And, more to the point, what were they to do about it?

Joe said, "It's time to tell the captain."

The kit's eyes widened; but she didn't argue. She just looked very sad.

"The closest key maker to Alice's Mirror," Joe said, "is Jarman's, just down the street behind the fire station. Otherwise she'd have to go out on the highway." Thoughtfully he licked his paw. "Mr. Jarman would remember her."

Harry Jarman was an elderly, round-faced, gray-haired, gentle old man who had been making keys for the village ever since he was a young fellow. He knew everyone in Molena Point. Even though Consuela hadn't been in the village long, the old man would know who she was, he didn't miss a thing. If he had made a key for Consuela Benton, he would remember that.

Dulcie licked the kit's ear. "Don't grieve, Kit. You did just right to tell us. This is best for Dillon, she can't go on like this, she'd have no life." Dulcie looked at Joe. "You want to call the captain, or shall I?"

"I'll call him. I can tell him Consuela took the key to be copied. I don't have to mention Dillon."

Dulcie's eyes widened. The kit's ears pricked up, and her tail lifted more cheerfully. But as the three cats headed for Dulcie's house and the phone, Joe himself felt frustrated and sad. Even if he didn't mention Dillon, Garza and Harper would know; they would quickly uncover the younger girl's role in the matter. And, glancing at Dulcie, he knew she was thinking the same.

Before Max Harper had the interior of the building that housed Molena Point PD remodeled, his desk had occupied a six-by-six space at the back of the open squad room. He'd had no walls for privacy, no bookshelves, preferring, then, a work area where he could see and hear everything that went on among his officers: a sacrifice of privacy for control that Harper no longer needed. Now, since the remodeling, the captain enjoyed the luxury of real walls and a solid door, which he had quickly come to appreciate. Charlie said he'd lived a spartan life long enough. She had bought the leather couch as an anniversary present: one month married, time to celebrate. She had added two red leather easy chairs and a bright India rug from their own home. Three of Charlie's drawings hung on the walls where Max could enjoy them, portraits of Max's gelding, Bucky. Harper's work calendar and charts stood in a rack to the right of his desk, at easy glance for the chief but not openly displayed to visitors-though that did not deter Joe Grey.

Joe entered Harper's office this morning on the heels of Mabel Farthy, the blond and portly dispatcher, as she delivered Harper's early lunch, her approach down the hall wafting the scent of garlic and pastrami like a long and diaphanous bridal veil behind her. As Mabel set the takeout bag on the desk, and Harper turned to slip some reports into the file drawer, a swift gray shadow slid behind the couch.

Charlie had carefully arranged the furniture with the cats in mind. The couch stood as near the door as she could manage, and she had chosen a style with legs high enough so Joe and Dulcie didn't have to squeeze down like pancakes. Feline surveillance didn't have to be an exercise in flattened spines and shallow breathing.

Joe, drinking in the heavy aroma of pastrami, watched two sets of shoes enter: Detective Garza's tan leather loafers and Detective Juana Davis's regulation black oxfords over black stockings. Garza settled into one of the red leather chairs, stretching out his long legs. His tan chinos were neatly pressed, his Dockers fashionably scuffed.

Beneath the couch, Joe made sure his paws were out of sight-he didn't want to appear to be spying.

Dallas Garza had a deep fondness for fine hunting dogs, but until recently he had never understood, or given much thought to, cats-until Joe Grey came on the scene. Working judiciously on Garza's attitude, Joe had seen the detective develop, over many months, an almost passable fondness for certain felines, at least for those cats who crossed his professional path.

Having spent a week freeloading in the Garza cottage closely observing the detective, Joe had decided that he could trust this new addition to the department. Of course Garza had no notion of the intimate telephone conversations and interdepartmental reports that he had shared that week with the gray tomcat.

As Joe pulled in his paws, Detective Davis sat down at the end of the couch just above him. As she slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet up under her, her shifting weight forced little squinching noises from the new leather. Protocol was not an issue with these three; you could take your shoes off if you liked. Only honesty and ethics mattered. Juana, Max, and Dallas played poker together, usually in Clyde and Joe's kitchen.