Shirley Murphy - Cat in the Dark

"Voodoo doll," Mavity whispered, staring at the six-inch man then at Greeley. "You showed me those, in that shop. Where did you get that? Why would you bring that horrible thing here?"

"Only a plaything," Greeley said, patting Mavity's hand. " I didn't bring it. The cat-the cat likes a plaything. The cat found it…" He reached up to take the carving from Wilma.

She held it away. "Why did you bring this?"

"I didn't bring it! The cat brought it. Damn cat-always dragging in something."

"The cat put it in your pocket?"

Greeley shrugged. "He digs in my pockets." He grinned sheepishly. "He likes that Latin American shop. I expect it smells like home."

"I'll take it in the kitchen."

The black cat hadn't taken his eyes from the doll. But now he turned from it, fixed his gaze on Mavity, and crept up the bed again, toward her.

"Get him away!"

Grabbing the cat, Wilma drew back a bloodied hand. "Greeley, get the beast out of here."

"Get down!" Greeley scolded. "Get off the bed!" The cat hissed at him but leaped to the floor.

"And stay off," Greeley added ineffectually.

Wilma turned away, carrying the doll, but the tomcat leaped, grabbing for its grisly toy. She swung it at the cat's head until the beast ran. Mavity hadn't exaggerated-the creature gave her more than chills. When she turned to look back, the cat was not behind her and the hall was empty.

She laid the carving on the kitchen table. More than its ugliness bothered her. It seemed to hold around itself a deep oppression. As she stood studying the doll she glimpsed a shadow behind her, slipping along the floor.

She spun as the cat crouched to leap-whether at her or to snatch the doll she'd never know: At the same instant, an explosion of tabby fur hit him, knocking him sideways.

Dulcie was all over him, slashing and clawing. The black cat fought violently in a tangle of raking claws-but he fought only briefly before breaking away, and careened out through Dulcie's cat door, the empty door slapping behind him.

As quick as that, he was gone. Dulcie leaped to the table, looking twice her normal size, and began to lick blood from her claws. Gently Wilma stroked her.

"What a nasty beast. Are you hurt? Where did he hurt you?"

Dulcie spit out a mouthful of fur. "I'm fine. A few scratches. They'll clean right up." Her gaze fixed on the black-feathered doll. "Voodoo," she hissed. "Did Greeley bring this? That old, disgusting drunk… Or did Azrael carry it here?" She glared at Wilma, laying back her ears. "Why did you let Greeley bring that cat here-and with this?"

"I didn't know. I was trying to keep Greeley happy. I didn't want him making a scene, so I let him bring the cat. I didn't see this thing. And the cat seemed tame enough, seemed just an ordinary cat."

She looked hard at Dulcie. "But he isn't, is he?"

Dulcie studied Wilma a long time. "No," she said softly, "he's no ordinary cat. But he's not like us, either. He's not like Joe Grey-he's horrid." With an angry swipe, she knocked the feathered man to the floor.

"Azrael believes in these voodoo things," she said, hissing. "He believes in dark magic-he said it was a fine way to get back at those who mistreat you.

"I expect he wanted," Dulcie said softly, "to make Mavity sicker-just because Mavity doesn't like him, because she complained about his manners."

She fixed her green gaze on Wilma. "Why else would he bring this terrible idol, if not to torment Mavity and frighten her-or try some wild spell on her? Can that stuff work?" she said, shivering, staring down at the black doll lying like a hunk of tar on the blue linoleum. Wilma snatched up the feathered figure and hurried down the hall. Following, Dulcie watched Wilma shove the ugly little idol in Greeley's face.

"What is this about, Greeley? What did you mean to do?"

"It's only a native doll," Greeley said, laughing. "Indian kid's playtoy. The cat brought it."

"Voodoo doll," Wilma replied.

"Voodoo?" He looked at her as if she wasn't bright and choked out a rum-laden laugh. "Child's toy. That Ms. Sue Marble, she's got all kinds of stuff-them Guatamala blankets, all that Panama clutter. Nothing of any use, all that artsy stuff. Even them little gold people aren't worth nothing-not the real thing, not the real gold. Gold birds. Gold lizards. Sue showed me." But suddenly his face colored and he looked embarrassed, his eyes shifting away.

"You must have gotten very friendly," Wilma said, amused, forgetting her anger.

"That nice little woman," Greeley said defensively, "wouldn't have nothing costly." He was blushing; he wouldn't look at her. She had to smile at his discomfiture, at his strange embarrassment.

Was he romancing Sue Marble? But why embarrassment? His distress puzzled her, made her uneasy.

Romancing Sue for her money?

Oh, that would be too bad.

Dropping the doll in the wastebasket, she carried the basket out to the kitchen to empty it with the trash, all the time pondering over Greeley-and keeping her ear cocked for the thump of Dulcie's cat door, for the stealthy return of Greeley's nasty little friend.

WALKING BACK the cat," Max Harper told Charlie as he popped open a can of beer, "means to lay out the evidence and work backward-reconstruct the crime." The five friends sat around a wrought-iron table in the landscaped patio of the freshly painted apartment building. Moonlight brightened the flower beds, which were softly lit by indirect lamps hidden behind the tall banks of Nile lilies that Wilma had planted as background for lower masses of textured ground cover. The brick paving had been pressure-washed, and it gleamed dull and rich, lending to the patio garden a quiet elegance. The new wrought-iron furniture in a heavy ivy pattern-umbrella table, lounge chairs, and chaises- completed the sense of comfort. Harper looked curiously at Charlie. "Where did you hear that phrase, to walk back the cat?"

"I'm not sure. Something I read, I suppose."

Wilma said, "Isn't that a CIA term?"

"I read that in a romance-mystery," Mavity offered. "That's the way it was used, when the CIA was wrapping up a case." The little woman seemed completely recovered. Her memory had returned fully-she had recalled clearly the events surrounding Winthrop Jergen's murder and, once she came to grips with the truth about Jergen, she had been stoic and sensible, her idolization of the financier had turned to anger but then to a quiet resolve. Now she had put all her faith in Max Harper, to recover her savings.

But the fact that Dora and Ralph had come to Molena Point not only to trap Cumming but to keep Mavity from losing her money had hurt Mavity deeply-that Dora had died trying to help her.

Mavity was dressed, tonight, not in her usual worn white uniform but in a new, teal blue pants suit, a bargain that Wilma had found for her. The color became her, and the change of wardrobe, along with her returned health, seemed perhaps the mark of a new beginning.

Of the little group, only Max Harper, stretching out his long, Levi-clad legs and sipping his beer, seemed aware of Charlie's unease. He watched the young woman with interest. She was strung tight, seemed unable to keep her bony hands still, sat smoothing and smoothing her cotton skirt. As he considered the possible cause of her distress, and as he went over in his mind the last details of the Sleuder and Jergen case, while paying attention to the conversation around him, he was aware, as well, of the two cats crouched on the brick paving near the table-uncomfortably aware.

The two animals seemed totally preoccupied with eating fish and chips from a paper plate, yet they were so alert, ears following every voice, the tips of their tails twitching and pausing as if they were attending closely to every word. When he'd mentioned "walk back the cat," both cats' ears had swiveled toward him, and Dulcie's tail had jerked once, violently, before she stilled it.