Shirley Murphy - Cat Fear No Evil

In no case had the two been guests at the same function.

"Dorriss knows everyone," Detective Davis said. "He's all over the state, on the board of a dozen museums and as many charities." She laughed. "Until this business with Helen Thurwell, Dorriss appeared to be without flaw in his personal life. And that," she said coolly, "is all the more reason to check him out."

Dallas said, "Max, you talked with Susan Dorriss-Susan Brittain? Her husband was Marlin Dorriss's brother? Why did she suddenly change back to her maiden name, all these years after her husband died?"

"She's never been close to her brother-in-law," Harper said. "Something to do with Dorriss's two sons, her husband's nephews. Bad apples, Susan says. She didn't see much of Dorriss when they all lived in San Francisco. Said that not until after she moved down to the village to be with her daughter, did she know that Marlin had a place here.

"Then she had that accident and was in the nursing home, and she didn't think much about him. But after she recovered and was back in her own place she ran into Marlin. That distressed her, that he was living here. That's when she decided to drop the name, exhibit no more connection with him than necessary."

"All because of his sons?" Juana asked.

"She said they were impossible as young boys and she'd heard they were no better now. She was very critical of the way Marlin raised them. I got the impression that if she'd known he had a home in the village part-time, she might not have moved to Molena Point at all."

"Interesting," Garza said. "Didn't her daughter tell her?"

"No, she didn't," Max said. "Susan thinks that's because her daughter wanted her to move down, to get out of the city. I'd give a month's pay to see his phone and Visa bills, his gas station receipts. See if we could put him in those locations during the burglaries."

"That's stretching a bit," Dallas said. "No way the judge would issue a search warrant on that kind of conjecture. And if we went directly to the phone company and to his credit card people, if we got into that gray area…"

"I don't like to beat a dead horse," Davis said, "but life was simpler twenty years ago."

Garza grunted in agreement, then the three were silent. And beneath the couch, Joe Grey smiled. Marlin Dorriss might be as innocent and clean as driven snow, but the guy was worth checking out.

On a rocky point just at the south edge of the village, Marlin Dorriss's villa rose among giant boulders that had been tumbled there eons before by the earth's angry upheaval. Its montage of angles and converging planes reflected moving light from the sea's crashing waves. The pale structure seemed, to some, harsh and ungiving. Others, including Dorriss himself, admired the play of light across its pristine surfaces, the shifting shadows always changing beneath swiftly blowing skies.

Few windows faced the street. Those slim openings, like gun slits, glinted now in the morning sun as Joe Grey slunk among the boulders. Studying the house, he prayed that he hadn't left Dulcie in danger as she went to investigate Consuela's rented house. He had made her promise that if she heard any noise from within, any small hint of a human presence, she'd get the hell out of there fast.

"What can happen? So I'm hunting mice. If a mouse ran in through an open window, why wouldn't I follow?"

"Not everyone loves a prowling cat. Just be careful."

"You're feeling guilty because you suggested this gig and you're not coming with me. I think it's a blast. Who knows what I'll find?"

"I had hoped the kit-"

Dulcie had flashed him a look of green-eyed impatience. " I don't know where she is. And you know she'd only make trouble. She'd be into everything, and I'm always afraid she'll start talking a mile a minute."

But Joe had parted from Dulcie with an unaccustomed fear tickling along his spine, a taut wariness that almost made him turn back. Only the urgency of Marlin Dorriss's personal papers led him on, calling to him like the sound of mice scurrying in the walls.

It would set him up big time to lay his claws on the precise evidence that Max Harper would so like to obtain, papers that Harper's officers couldn't legally search for, and without which they might never have the lead they needed-if indeed Dorriss was involved in these high-class thefts.

And if Dorriss wasn't the thief, nothing lost. A few hours' adventure.

"You're courting trouble," Dulcie had told him. "Getting too bold. That place is huge, and built like a fort. Let me come…"

"We really need to know where the stolen clothes are hidden," he'd said, and had bullied until he sent her away; and now he couldn't stop worrying about her. She had left him, scowling, her ears back, her tail lashing, her parting words, "You're going to trip on your own claws if you're not careful," ringing in his ears as he crossed the village.

But what was life for, if not to balance on the edge? He just didn't want to put Dulcie in that danger. Consuela's small house led itself to quicker escape. Anyway, he had not the faintest notion that he would fail. With sufficient tenacity and clever paw work, why should he fail? Every human had bills to pay; every human kept his paid bills stashed in some drawer or cubbyhole.

"And how," Dulcie had said, "are you going to keep from implicating Detectives Garza and Davis? You daren't make it look like one of them broke into Dorriss's. They both were there in Harper's office when he talked about the bills."

Joe had been worrying about that. He'd told Dulcie, "No problem. I'll think about that after the deed." If he could find evidence that Dorriss had been in those towns at the time of the burglaries, Harper would have something to work on. It had to be frustrating to have a multimillion-dollar case like this and not a useful bit of evidence. Harper and Dallas Garza's strong cop-sense that Dorriss could be involved was good enough, anytime, for Joe Grey.

A granite-paved parking area curved before the front of the house, between the huge pale boulders and the natural, informal gardens. Granite flagstones led to the heavily carved front door that was recessed beneath a white slab. Above the door at either side, surveillance cameras looked down on Joe. To a master of break-and-enter, the place looked like Fort Knox. He hoped to hell those cameras weren't running at the moment, closely monitoring him. Even if he was only an innocent feline, electronic surveillance made him nervous-though Dorriss ought to be happy to have a stray cat wandering the property ridding the area of unwanted moles and gophers.

Passing the entry he trotted along the side of the house to the back, into a fine mist of sea spray. Crossing the stone patio he stood looking back at the house. Only here facing the sea were there wide expanses of glass looking out at the boulders and the crashing surf. The huge windows would, from within, afford an unbroken view of the Pacific.

The patio was protected from the wind by a six-foot glass wall, its panels skillfully fitted around the mountains of granite. From this sunny shelter a stone walk led down the cliff to the sea, doubling back and forth in comfortable angles until it reached the sand far below. For a few moments Joe crouched at the edge of the cliff rocked by the sea wind, caught in the timeless dance of the violent sea; then he turned away, approaching the house through the glassed patio.

He paused, startled.

Either luck was with him, or a trap had been laid.

Of the four pairs of sliding glass doors that opened to the seaward patio, the one at the far end stood open perhaps four inches, just wide enough for a cat to slip through.