Shirley Murphy: Cat Raise the Dead

But if Renet caught that tomcat, she'd be sorry. She'd be hamburger. Unless… unless he made a misstep, unless she threw something heavy and had good aim. She heard Renet double back, shouting, could picture Joe dodging beneath the bed, beneath the white leather chairs, pictured him leaping from one balcony to the next and back again as Renet raced from room to room in hot pursuit. If she hadn't been so terrified for him, despite his claws and teeth-and so busy dragging the heavy doll down the stairs-she'd have found the humor in this, would have watched the charade, laughing.

Pulling the doll along through the living room, she had reached the terrace and managed to jerk the doll across into the azaleas. It seemed to grow heavier, every step. She hardly paused to catch her breath; she raced away again across the lawn, jerking the doll along and praying no one was watching. When at last she dragged it in among the tombstones, her insides felt as if they were ruptured.

She felt better when she reached the hidden squares of new turf. Working carefully, she had placed the miniature lady between two squares of sod, arranged her so she sat just on the crack, leaning over to touch the grass. The lady's pale skin and white petticoats and blue silk dress shone brightly against the dark woods. Dulcie had smoothed the doll's skirts with her paw and carefully pressed the doll's little hands down into the earth, into the thin seam between the sod squares.

Then she had scorched up into the oak tree.

As she watched the terrace, Joe burst suddenly from the bushes, a gray streak flying across the lawn and into the woods, crouching behind a headstone, staring out toward the house, wild-eyed. Renet must have given him a real chase.

"Here," she whispered, moving so he could see her.

He raced to the wood and stormed up the tree and onto her branch, his ears flat, his yellow eyes huge. He crouched beside her, panting, his sides heaving.

She licked his ear, but he shook his head irritably and backed away.

"Hot. About done for. That woman's as full of fight as a bulldog."

She was quiet until he had rested and caught his breath. At last he moved closer, settling against her. "You'd never think it to look at her. Three times she nearly creamed me, throwing things. She even threw a camera-damn thing could have killed me." He scowled down at the doll sitting on the turf below them.

"Very pretty bait, Dulcie. But even if Harper finds it…"

"I can hardly wait."

"He'll dig up the turf, all right. He'll find whatever's hidden underneath. But he won't connect the doll to Renet."

"He'll know it's one of the stolen dolls. You said the Martinezes gave him a good description."

"They did. Of course he'll know the doll is evidence, and Harper told Clyde those dolls are worth plenty. But that doesn't connect to Renet. And even if he did suspect her, he can't search the house without a warrant."

"He can get a warrant, call the judge. He's done that before. Judge Sanderson-"

"Harper finds a doll in the cemetery. Sanderson is going to issue a warrant on that?"

"If he dusts the doll for prints, finds Renet's prints-"

"That takes lab time. Computer time. And even then, there might not be a record. If she's never been arrested, then those prints from the burglarized houses will match those on the doll, but neither set will link to Renet."

Dulcie sniffed with impatience. Tomcat logic was so pedestrian. "First he has to find the doll. Then we'll take it from there. If he comes this way, he can't miss it. If he doesn't come into the grove, I'll lead him here."

"Fine. That's a clever move."

"I think-" She paused, looking past him. "He's coming." They watched Harper swinging toward them across the lawn. But at the same moment, two squad cars pulled down the front drive. The first black-and-white parked in front of the house. The other car moved on down the drive to the back, stopping beside Harper. The police captain stood leaning on the door. They couldn't hear much of the conversation over the static of the radio. When the car pulled away, Harper turned back toward the house.

Dulcie wasn't having that; she hadn't planted the doll for nothing. Like a flash, she dropped out of the tree, fled for the tethered gelding. Puzzled, Joe watched her from the branch, then realized what she was up to. He tensed to charge down and defend her as she leaped at the gelding's head, then raced around his hooves. Darting in, she slapped at his legs and spun away, harried him until he snorted and began to rear, jerking on his tie rope. When she jumped up at his neck, clawing him, the buckskin squealed and bucked.

Harper came running.

The horse jerked and squealed. When Dulcie saw Harper, she vanished. She was gone, behind headstones, behind trees.

Harper was totally intent on getting to the buckskin, he'd never see the doll. Joe let out a bloodcurdling yowl, a caterwaul that should stop a battalion of fast-moving cops.

Harper paused; he was not six feet from the doll. He stood looking.

Glancing away to the buckskin, seeing that the horse had begun to quiet, Harper knelt, studying the little seated lady, looking at her tiny hands tucked down into the seam between the squares of sod. His thin, lined face showed no emotion, not surprise, not incredulity. It was a cop's face, stony and watchful.

But his fingers twitched as he carefully parted the grass, studying the line in the dark, rich soil.

He didn't touch the doll. He moved to several positions, looking at the thin creases where sod met sod. The gelding was quiet now, was, Joe decided, a sensible horse not given to unnecessary histrionics. When the danger passed, he forgot it.

As Harper walked the excavation, following the nearly invisible lines, finding the cross seams, behind him, among the headstones, Dulcie slipped past, returning quietly, swarming up the tree without sound, not even a whisper of her claws gripping into the thick oak bark.

They crouched close together watching Harper step off the breadth and width of the excavation. When he lifted his radio from his belt, Dulcie crept out along the branch, flicking her tail with anticipation.

Harper called for two more squad cars. When he told the dispatcher to patch him through to Judge Sanderson, Dulcie grew so excited, waiting for the judge, shifting from paw to paw, that she nearly lost her grip on the branch. Joe nosed at her, pressing her back against the trunk to a more secure perch, glaring at her until she settled down.

By the time the two police units arrived, Harper had bagged the doll for evidence, had posted a guard beside the two-by-six sod-covered excavation, and had stationed another guard at the stables. The cats burned to know what was there. Harper had not mentioned, to the judge, anything about the stables, had told Judge Sanderson only that he needed to excavate further in the cemetery, and that he had new evidence about the string of burglaries. When Harper left the grove, so did Joe and Dulcie. Slipping along behind him, keeping to the cover of the headstones, they followed him toward the house.

Slinking from gravestone to gravestone in swift dashes, streaking across the lawn behind Harper, they gained the azalea bushes. Then under a chaise lounge, working their way across the terrace toward the kitchen, and past.

A tan Ford was parked by the back stairs. They slipped up the narrow steps, listening. Beside Renet's door they scrambled up a support post to the roof.

Within moments they were prowling the warm tiles, the red clay expanse seeming as long as a city block. Below them, on the front drive, the two black-and-whites were parked, and four officers stood talking with Harper. The other squad cars, behind the house, had stopped beside the stable.

They watched the long front drive, as an unmarked car turned in. Approaching the house it pulled up in front. The driver handed Harper a white envelope.