Shirley Murphy - Cat Fear No Evil

Both Azrael and Dorriss had been intrigued with the photographs of Kate's antique jewelry that had been forwarded by Emerson Bristol; Dorriss was certainly considering the jewels for a future project. He had no notion, at this moment, that the matter had already been taken care of.

While Consuela's hunger to curry Dorriss's increased favor was totally juvenile, her desire had made her useful. Her stealing these jewels for Dorriss rather than for herself had worked very well into his, Azrael's, plans.

And after all, it was Consuela's jealousy of Helen Thurwell- after Consuela played matchmaker between the two-that had driven her to this theft, that had made her so wild to impress him.

Suggesting that Dorriss use information he could gather by getting friendly with Helen Thurwell, Consuela herself had helped to launch Dorriss into this new operation. But then his resulting cozy affair with Helen had enraged Consuela. Humans could be so amusing.

Well, that series of capers, which had nothing to do with the recent jewel theft, was now ripe for harvest. In fact, this very morning Dorriss should be making his first moves.

Too bad the plan for the new project did not include feline assistance. However, the timing had worked out very well. While Dorriss was busy fleecing a flock of brand-new sheep, he, Azrael, was carrying out his own agenda. He might, a few days hence, be exercising his considerable talents in an environ far more fascinating than this poor world. Yawning again, he was considering a nap when Consuela and Hollis started bickering. So boring, so loud and childish.

Beyond them out the window he could see another cop car cruising. Didn't the law have anything else to do? Bastards made him nervous. He was just curling up, despite the annoying argument, when the doorbell rang.

Alarmed, he dropped off the armoire and leaped to the windowsill where Consuela stood looking down, trying to conceal herself behind the shutter. A second cop car stood just below, in the red zone. The bell rang again. Consuela glanced at her purse where she'd stashed the jewels.

"The panels!" Azrael hissed at her. "Shut the panels."

Hastily she and Hollis slid the wall panels in place and locked them, then she stood with her hand on the intercom, undecided.

"You better let them in and play dumb," Azrael said. "Stash the jewels first."

"What are they doing here?"

"Maybe they have a warrant," Hollis said stupidly. "Maybe that woman made you, figured out who you are, linked you up with Dorriss-and that led them right here."

"Linked you up with Dorriss," Consuela snapped. "You're his son."

The bell rang again. Consuela snatched up her purse, pulled out the small blue evening bag that held the jewels, and looked at Azrael. The tomcat looked back at her, jolted by a rush of adrenaline. This gig was working out just fine.

In the silver Cadillac, on the front seat beside Clyde, Joe Grey stood up on his hind paws peering through the windshield. The condo building was of Mediterranean design and was fairly new, with well-maintained gardens and fresh cream-toned paint. It was lent an air of hominess by the many roses blooming in raised planters against the building's walls and in the entry foyer. He watched the two officers from San Francisco PD enter. The taller one, who was in uniform, reached to ring the bell. The other guy was in plainclothes, but he had cop written all over him. Detective, Joe thought, smiling. A moment after they rang, at a third-floor window, a black cat appeared beside the dark-haired woman who stood half concealed behind the shutters. The cat was huge, as black as cinders; the woman's hair was curled in a cloud around her pale face. The way the morning light struck the window and shone down through a skylight, Joe could see clearly a portion of the high-ceilinged room behind them.

As the woman turned away, Joe watched her sliding some sort of wide panels across an elaborately decorated wall. He saw light hit the decorations glancing from them in a flash of brilliance, then they were hidden as the panels closed.

In the window, the cat moved as if trying to see better down into the street. When he pressed his face against the glass as if watching their car, Joe slid out of sight beneath the dash.

Beside him, Clyde had the phone to his ear, leaving another message for Kate. Hanging up, he studied the black cat in the window, then looked down at Joe. "You're afraid of that clown?"

"Not at all," Joe said testily. "I don't want him to know I'm here. Whatever they're up to, I'd rather not be made before I go snooping. Did Consuela let the cops in? What's the cat doing, can you still see him?"

"You're not going out there. You're staying in the car." But Clyde dug the binoculars from the glove compartment. "I came over here to look for my Packard, not to chauffeur some self-designated feline busybody bent on making trouble."

Joe slid up on the seat again. The two cops had disappeared, presumably buzzed through to the stairs or elevator. The black cat had vanished, too. Stepping onto Clyde's legs, Joe was prepared to leap out the open window, when Clyde grabbed the nape of his neck.

"Let go! I'm just listening!" With his head out the window, he tried to catch a word or two when Consuela opened the upstairs door to the officers, but he could hear nothing over the sound of a passing car. Glancing back at Clyde, he lifted a paw, claws out, until Clyde sensibly loosened his grip.

Having closed and locked the panels, Consuela shoved the blue suede evening bag at Azrael. "Get in the bedroom. If they start to search, take it up the trellis. Hide it on the roof." "You better unlock the French doors." Azrael lifted the bagful of jewelry, bowing his neck. Damn thing weighed a ton. She fled past him for the bedroom; he heard the French doors open. As he dragged the bag up the hall, she hurried out again.

"Get a move on," she snapped over her shoulder. "If I don't let them in, and if the bastards have a warrant, they'll call the manager to unlock the damn door."

Taking the bag in his teeth, he dragged it across the bedroom and onto the balcony. The weight of all that gold nearly dislocated his spine. How did she think he was going to get that thing up the trellis? Damn humans. As much as he wanted a few select pieces, he didn't need to take it all, not for his purposes.

But there was no time to try to dig the bag open. Chomping down securely on the blue suede, he leaped onto the trellis and tried to climb.

The trellis was a frail thing, and the vine was just as thin, hardly strong enough to hold a good-size sparrow.

A sturdy enough pine tree stood beyond the window, its branches rising above the building, but the trunk was too far away for a leap, even without his burden. If the cops arrested Consuela and Hollis, he had two choices. He could secure the jewelry for Dorriss, and could pretty much write his own ticket: hide the bag on the roof and, when the law finished searching the condo and took away those two losers, call Dorriss. What could be easier?

Or he could choose the most impressive piece or two, a bracelet or choker that would fit around his neck perhaps. Dump the rest on the roof for the pigeons, then go on to follow is own plans.

Dragging his burden off the trellis onto the clay tiles, he could hear, below, businesslike voices from the living room as the cops questioned Consuela.

The binoculars had been Joe's idea. Clyde had to admit, the 7X35 lenses gave him a sharp, almost intimate view through the third-floor window of the condo where Consuela and the uniformed officer stood talking. "I don't see the plainclothes guy."