Shirley Murphy - Cat Raise the Dead

Lila's blue eyes had opened wide. "You mean it might be a murder? Al, you didn't tell me there'd been a murder. You didn't tell me anyone was missing."

Sacks gave his new bride a sour look. "The finger is old, Lila. Old and dark and brittle. And when do I ever talk about that stuff?" He glanced uneasily at Harper.

Lila grew quiet.

It was Joe's turn to study the blonde. This woman isn't only a snob, she isn't too bright. He didn't realize he was staring until Clyde began to stroke his back, pressing down with unnecessary insistence. He lay down again and shuttered his eyes, tried to look sleepy.

Clyde said, "What did the lab come up with?"

"Nothing yet. That finger'll be sitting under a stack of evidence until Christmas. They're so backed up, the place looks like a rummage sale. The court's putting all criminal investigations on hold, waiting for the lab. Victims' relatives can't even collect insurance until the lab is finished, can't do anything until they get a death certificate. Thirty investigators working the county lab, and still they can't stay on top."

Harper sipped his beer. "That Spanish cemetery up the hills, it may have come from there-that old graveyard on the Prior place. It's only a mile from the Haleses' house." For Charlie's benefit, because she hadn't lived in Molena Point long, he said, "It was part of the original Trocano Ranch from Spanish land-grant days. Family members were buried at home, tradition to be buried on family land. Even after the land passed down to the children and grandchildren, the family still buried their dead there. The funerals-"

"Isn't there a law against that?" Lila interrupted.

Harper looked at her, a hard little pause as expressive as an explosion. He did not like interruptions. "No one would enforce that law, with the Trocanos," he said shortly. "Long after Maria Trocano married Daniel Prior, they buried family at home. Both Daniel's and Maria's graves are there.

"When Adelina came of age she sold off all but five acres. Kept the original old ranch house and the cemetery, turned the house into servants' quarters," Harper said. "Built that big new house for herself and Renet, and I guess Teddy's there part of the time. Turned that fine stable into garages. Not a horse left on the place.

"That was quite some stable in its day," Harper said. "Some of the finest thoroughbreds in California came off the Trocano Ranch."

He drained his beer. "When Mrs. Hales brought in the finger bone, we had a look at the old cemetery. Thought the dog might have dug into one of the old Spanish graves, but not a clod disturbed. The Priors keep the grounds nice, the grass mowed and trimmed around the old headstones.

"We've got three men out walking that area looking for where the dog was digging, and I've ridden every inch of that land. So far, nothing." Harper lived on an acre up in the hills several miles north of the Prior estate. He kept only one horse now, since his wife died.

"I told Mrs. Hales to keep her terrier in before he picks up something worse than a finger bone. The dog poisonings were in that area, too. Three dogs this week, dead of arsenic poisoning. We've put two articles in the Gazette telling people to keep their animals confined." He looked at Clyde. "That would go for cats, too. If I recall, that tomcat's a real roamer." He studied Joe intently. Joe gazed back at the police captain. Harper was talking more tonight than Joe had heard in a long time; Harper got like this only occasionally, got talky.

But it wasn't until Lila left to use the bathroom that Harper told Clyde, "One good thing turned up this week, we got a line on that old truck that hit Bonnie Dorriss's mother."

"That's good news. Wilma will be glad to hear it, too, she's fond of both Susan and Bonnie. How'd you get the lead? Another anonymous phone tip?"

"No, not another anonymous phone tip," Harper snapped. Those phone calls were a sore subject for Harper. He hadn't a clue that his anonymous snitch was sitting on the table not a paw's length from him.

"That auto paint shop out on 101," Harper said. "They fired one of their painters, Sam Hart." He grinned. "Getting fired made Hart real mad. The guy plays baseball with Brennan, and he told Brennan about this pickup he'd painted. It was a job his boss wanted done in a hurry, and the truck's owner had acted nervous. Hart thought maybe the vehicle was hot.

"A week after he was fired, Hart spotted the truck up in Santa Cruz in a used lot. He was up there looking for a fender for a '69 Plymouth he was rebuilding. He saw this Chevy truck with fresh brown paint. Same model, same year. He could still smell the new paint, and when he checked the front bumper there was the same little dent. Looked like someone had scrubbed at it with maybe a Brillo pad.

"Brennan had filled him in on the green truck we were looking for, so Hart called Brennan, and Brennan hiked on up there."

Harper shook his head. "By the time Brennan got there, just a couple of hours, the dealer had sold it. Described the woman who bought it as a looker, tight leather skirt, long auburn hair.

"We ran the new registration but it came up zilch. False ID. And the previous plate was stolen, registered to an L.A. resident, guy with an '82 Pinto. Plate had been stolen three months before."

Lila had returned. Clyde rose, and set the sandwich makings on the table with a stack of fresh paper plates.

"We're trying to get a fix on the woman," Harper said. "Samson did a sketch from the dealer's description, but the guy didn't remember much about her face, he was looking at her legs."

Charlie grinned.

Lila looked annoyed. This woman, Joe decided, wasn't going to be a cop's wife very long.

There was a long silence while sandwiches were constructed. Rube went out his dog door, barked halfheartedly, and came back in again. Charlie fixed Rube a corned beef sandwich. It was near midnight when the poker game broke up and the officers and ladies left. Charlie's parting remarks had to do with an early repair to a rusted-out plumbing system; she seemed actually eager to tackle the challenge.

Clyde opened the back door and the window to air the kitchen, shoved the remains of the feast in the refrigerator, and emptied the ashtrays in deference to the animals who had to sleep there. Joe left him stuffing beer cans and used paper plates into a plastic garbage bag, and lit for the bedroom.

Pawing the bedspread away so not to be disturbed later, he stretched out on his back, occupying as much of the double bed as he dared without being brutally accosted. He was half-asleep when Clyde came in, pulling off his shirt. "So how was Pet-a-Pet day?"

"What can I say? Paralyzing."

"You are such a snob."

"My feline heritage. And why are you so interested?"

Clyde shrugged. "When you weren't home last night, I figured maybe you liked those folks so much you moved in with them, took up residence at Casa Capri."

"Slept in a tree," Joe said shortly. He did not like references to his nocturnal absences. He didn't ask Clyde about his late hours.

But then, he didn't have to. It was usually apparent where Clyde had been, the clues too elemental even to mention, a certain lady's scent on his collar, his phone book left open to a certain name, hints that did not even add up to kindergarten training for an observant feline.

He did not mention that he and Dulcie had searched the Nursing unit at Casa Capri, and had run surveillance on Adelina Prior in her private office. No need to worry him.

"Harper said, before you came slinking in tonight, they think the cat burglar is getting ready to move on up north."

"What made him say that?"

"This morning's police report had an identical operation in Watsonville, and another at Santa Cruz. Harper thinks she's testing the waters up there. That's what happened down the coast, a couple of isolated incidents weeks apart before she moved in for the action."