Shirley Murphy - Cat to the Dogs

Down the hill, the first two police units were still parked at the edge of the cliff.

"Brennan mentioned a missing person," Joe said. "Maybe those units are part of the search."

"Wonder who's missing," Dulcie said softly. "I hope not a little child." Beyond the patrol cars, to the south, they could see two officers searching below the road along the lower cliff, appearing and disappearing, their flashlight beams swinging through the shrubs; and where a tiny steep road led down toward the sea, the cats caught the gleam of another car, parked among the scrub oak, and saw a flash of light and hints of other dark figures moving. Dulcie started down the hill, wanting to see more-then she stopped suddenly, staring away where the grass whipped tall and concealing.

Something small and dark lay among the blowing stems. It lay very still, no sign of movement, something blackish brown and limp. Dulcie plunged to reach the still little form, letting out a frightened mewl.

She reached in a tender paw to touch the unmoving lump.

She went limp, too, as if all the starch had gone out of her. Joe sped toward her.

Moving to press against her, he saw that it was not a cat at all, not the little stray that Dulcie had surely imagined; it was only a purse, a woman's purse. An ordinary leather purse with an open top, lying in the tall grass.

"Cara Ray's purse?" Joe said, wondering how it had gotten down here.

"No, not Cara Ray's. It's Lucinda's. I thought-"

"I know what you thought," he said, rubbing his cheek against hers. "It's not the little waif. But, Lucinda's purse?" He stood up on his hind paws, looking around them, searching the windy, empty night for a sign of the thin old lady. "She doesn't come up here at night, Dulcie."

Dulcie stretched tall, scanning the grassy verge. "Well, she wasn't at dinner. But even if she was here somewhere, why would she leave her purse?"

"Are you sure it's hers?"

"Oh yes, it's hers. I recognize it, and that's Lucinda's scent-but there's another smell, too." Puzzled, she pushed deep into the handbag, her rear sticking out, her tail lashing, her voice muffled.

"Musty smell. Like mildew." She nosed around, pawed at something-and backed out with a thin packet of hundred-dollar bills clutched in her teeth. Dropping the musty bundle, she held it down with her paw.

"It was tucked into the side pocket. Smells just like the canvas bag." A reflection of starlight gleamed in her dark eyes. "Is this part of the buried money? Is it Lucinda who's missing? Has she run away, taking the money? Or did someone-?"

"Dulcie, Lucinda's not some baby to run away or be lost."

"Then what is her purse doing here?" She looked at him intently-then glanced up toward the cave, her eyes widening, searching the shadows at the cave's mouth.

"There was no one in there, Dulcie. We'd have caught her scent."

"Would we? Over the reek of damp earth?" She looked down the hill at the searching officers, their fights sweeping and flashing, and at the car parked below the road. "Is that Lucinda's car?" She leaped away, was yards down the hill, making for the half-hidden vehicle, when shouting erupted from the trailer above them; she stopped to look back They heard thudding, as if men were fighting-and the crack of a shot. Dulcie dropped, belly to ground.

"Come on," Joe hissed. She crept to him. They slid behind a boulder as, above them, Fulman burst around the end of the trailer, running, swerving downhill straight at them, dodging between the dark bushes.

They didn't see Harper or the other officers. Fulman fled for the rocks where they were crouched and on past them. He careened into the cave as if he knew exactly where to run. Joe sprang to follow him- if Fulman went deep enough, and if he had a light, even if he only lit a cigarette lighter to find his way, he was sure to see the gleam of white plastic.

But Fulman stopped just inside the cave. Hunkered down, he watched the road below, watching the four officers race up the hill, heading for their cars, summoned by that single shot.

As the two black-and-whites spun U-turns and headed around the hill for the road that led up to the trailer park, Fulman slipped an automatic from his hip pocket.

The cats, crouched six feet from him, had turned to creep away, when Dulcie whispered, "Look"

Down on the road, another car came around the bend from the village, Clyde's yellow convertible, the top up but the rumble seat open, where the pups rode wagging and panting. Before Clyde had stopped, Selig leaped out, tumbled tail over nose, then danced around the car, barking. Clyde parked on the narrow verge above the sea; immediately Hestig jumped out, sniffing at the air, his tail whipping.

"What the hell is Clyde doing?" Joe hissed. "Why would he bring the pups, with all this confusion?"

The passenger door opened, and Wilma stepped out.

"They're looking for Lucinda," Dulcie whispered. "When she wasn't at dinner, I thought she just… Oh my. What's happened to her?"

Clyde was trying uselessly to corral the two dogs, as they ran circles around him. He gave up at last and moved along the verge, looking down the cliff, dangling the empty leashes. But Wilma headed straight up Hellhag Hill, hurrying for the cave where Lucinda liked to sit- straight toward Sam Fulman, crouched in the blackness, cradling his automatic. The cats flew to meet her.

Dulcie leaped into Wilma's arms, nearly choking as she tried to get out the words. "Go back. Fulman's in there. He has a pistol. He shot-he shot at Harper."

Wilma dropped behind the nearest bush and slid downhill, rolled twice, and fetched up behind a boulder out of the line of fire-her reactions as sharp as when she had worked parole cases; Dulcie supposed the body didn't forget; like snatching a fast mouse, the habit was with you forever.

The cats crowded close to Wilma. Shielded by the rocks, they could barely see the cave; but they could see, high above it, Fulman's trailer, where Harper and an officer were easing Cara Ray into the backseat of a squad car, Cara Ray fighting and swearing.

"What happened?" Dulcie whispered to Wilma. "Where's Lucinda?"

"She hasn't been home since just after the quake, when the Greenlaws hauled her furniture out of the house."

"Mightn't she have gone out to eat by herself, because she was angry? Why did they call the police?"

"She and I had an appointment with the priest-she was upset about Dirken's plans for the funeral. When she was an hour late, I went by the house."

Above them, Harper and two officers moved down the hill on foot, keeping low, were soon lost among the dark bushes.

"With all that's happened," Wilma whispered, "with the Greenlaws knowing that Lucinda had found the money, Harper thought it best to look for her. Probably she just got in her car and left for a while, left them to their haggling."

The three officers crouched above the cave among the granite boulders; they would not be able to see into the cave, as Wilma and the cats could. Fulman had moved deeper in, hidden among the inky shadows.

"Fulman," Harper said, "you're trapped. You'd do best to come on out."

Fulman appeared suddenly at the mouth of the cave, his pistol drawn, facing uphill in a shooter's stance.

"Look out," Wilma yelled.

The officers dropped. Fulman fired. Three shots flashed in the darkness. The officers rose and circled fast, down either side of the cave, returning fire. Fulman had disappeared. Wilma and the cats lay flattened, Joe wondering if this was the last night in his and Dulcie's lives-and if they had any lives left, for future use. Watching Lieutenant Wendell slip down beside the cave, Joe's eyes widened at the metal canister in Wendell's hand.

"Come out, Fulman," Harper shouted. "Hands on your head. You have ten seconds, or that cave's so full of tear gas, you'll sell your soul for air."