Shirley Murphy - Cat Raise the Dead

The instant they were alone, Dulcie slid out from between the pillows. Standing on the window seat she shook herself, licked her paw, swiped at her whiskers. "I'm all matted down-those pillows are hot as sin." She watched Joe slide out from under the love seat, pawing dust from his whiskers. He leaped up beside her, and they sat looking out to the drive and the gardens.

They could see no one. The red Bentley and Renet's blue van were parked before the door. When they were certain they were unobserved they slipped out beneath the open window, through the scrolled curves of the burglar grille, and dropped into a bed of marigolds.

Crouched among the sharp-scented flowers, they scanned the gardens. They saw no one.

"The smell of marigolds is supposed to keep away fleas," Dulcie said.

"Old wives' tale. Come on, we're out of here." Close together they raced across the drive away from the manicured grounds, flew down the hill into a tangled wood so wild and unkempt it could never be a part of Casa Capri. At once they felt safe again, and free.

Fallen branches and drifts of rotting leaves lay tangled against the trunks of the ancient, sprawling trees. Together they fled, leaping from log to log, plunging through piles of crackling leaves, shaking off the tight sense of closed rooms and locked doors and under-furniture niches that would hardly let a cat breathe. They were flying down through leafy tangles and branches when a shrill sound stopped them. A strange and muffled cry. They froze still, two statues, listening.

The woods angled downward, the old twisted oaks rising among fallen, rotted trees, among dead branches and dry, brittle foliage: a shadowed graveyard of dying trees. The cry came again, a muffled gurgle. Puzzled, the cats trotted down among the shadows, watching, leaping silently over logs, sinking down into drifts and damp hollows. Far below them, between a tangle of dead branches, they glimpsed something bright, a gleam of metal glinting from the dark tangles.

Slowly and warily padding down, they could soon make out the handlebars of a bike. The crying came from there. The rough, gulping sobs sounded more angry than hurt.

The bike leaned against the forked trunk of an ancient oak that had split down the middle, its two halves leaning jagged against their neighbors. At the tree's base, Dillon sat in a pile of dead bracken, her head down on her knees, her arms around her knees, bawling so hard she didn't hear them, heard no rustle of paws crunching leaves.

Dulcie dropped down beside her. Dillon startled, looked up. The child's face was smeared with tears and makeup, black eyeliner and lipstick and powder all run together. Dulcie climbed up into her lap, touched Dillon's cheek with a soft paw. Dillon smiled through her tears, grabbed Dulcie to her, hugging her, burying her face in Dulcie's shoulder-then began bawling again, crying against Dulcie until Dulcie's fur was wet. Joe sat watching, exasperated at the female display of weeping. All this because she'd been booted out of Casa Capri.

When at last Dillon stopped crying, she eased her grip on Dulcie and reached her fingers to Joe, touching his nose. "What are you two doing, way up here in the hills? You're miles from home. This isn't Pet-a-Pet day." She frowned, puzzled. But then she grinned through her streaked makeup. "You were hunting- Wilma said you hunt all over these hills."

She looked hard at them, and her eyes widened. "Did you hear me crying? Did you come down here because you heard me crying?"

Dulcie snuggled against her, but Joe turned nervously to lick his paw. Had they shown more than a normal cat's interest? The kid didn't need to get any ideas about them.

But she was only a kid. All children believed in the sympathy and understanding of animals; most kids thought their dogs understood every word they said. Kids grew up on fairy tales featuring helpful animals, and even on Lassie reruns-a helping animal was no big deal, to some kids as natural as a loving grandmother.

Dillon wiped her tears with the back of her hand, smearing black and red. "I only wanted to see Jane. They acted like I was some kind of criminal." She gave them a deep, confiding stare. "She isn't there. Why else would they be so nasty. And they know that I know she isn't there." She gave them a determined look, her brown eyes blazing with anger. "Well they can go to hell. I'm going to find out what's going on.

"Yesterday I called her trust officer, but the switchboard said to leave a message. Voice mail-big deal. I gave my name and phone number, but now I'm sorry. My folks'll have twenty fits."

Dulcie reached a soft paw again, patting the child's face. Dillon gathered them both into her arms, pulling Joe into her lap with an insistent little hand. She held them against her as if they were rag dolls, pressing her wet face into their fur. The child was warm, and smelled of the perfumed cosmetics.

"I love you both. I wish you could tell me what to do." She kissed Dulcie's pink nose. "They were so gross, marching me out of there like a baby." She looked at them bleakly. "Jane isn't there. And no one will believe me."

Unblinking, Dulcie stared at the child, so intent that Dillon widened her eyes, looked into Dulcie's eyes deeply, suddenly alarmed. The two gazed at each other for a long moment, in a strange, silent aura of communication.

Dillon whispered, "What, Dulcie Cat? What is it? What are you trying to tell me?"

Joe wanted to shove Dulcie away, she wasn't behaving like an ordinary cat. He could feel her concern for Dillon. If the people of Casa Capri were this adamant about keeping out strangers, then maybe there was reason to fear for the child.

Dillon said softly, "Are you afraid of them, too?"

When Dulcie looked almost as if she would forget herself and speak to Dillon, Joe pushed her aside.

Scowling, she jumped down, turned her back on him, began to wash herself, contrite suddenly, and embarrassed.

They sat with Dillon for a long time, until at last she sniffled, blew her nose. Finally, she picked up her bike and began to drag it through the woods, heaving it over the tangles, heading for the road.

They didn't follow her.

At the top of the hill she blew her nose again, looked down at them once more, puzzled, then kicked off and sped away, coasting down the dropping street. They watched her small, lone figure until she disappeared around a curve.

They were licking Dillon's salty tears from their fur, licking away her makeup, when suddenly Dulcie gave him a wild look and exploded away through the sunshine, racing up across the hills-too wild to be still another instant. Shedding the restraint of cautious hours last night and this morning, shedding the tension of dealing with Dillon, she leaped invisible barriers, careened around bushes and through dead grass and across driveways and gardens, across the open fields. Joe sped behind her, infected by her drunken lust for freedom, their ears and whiskers flattened in the wind, their paws hitting only the high spots.

Dulcie paused at last, half a mile north of Casa Capri in a favorite field where three boulders thrust up. The smooth granite glinted hot with morning sun. Leaping to the top, she stretched out across the warm stone, twitching her tail, rolling in the heat. She chased her tail, then lay on her back, letting her paws flop above her, idly slapping at a little breeze.

Joe lay in the warm grass below, nibbling the tender new blades which thrust up between last year's growth. "The kid's going to get herself in trouble, nosing around."

"Not if we find out what's going on first."

He looked up at her, exasperated. "So what was Adelina writing? I'm surprised she didn't feel you breathing down her neck."