Cat Spitting Mad (13 page)

He guessed Kate hadn't seen the commercials, because she plopped the fish concoction into a cracked earthenware crock and plunked it unceremoniously on the floor.

So much for early-morning amenities.

Grinning with sadistic pleasure, she turned her back
on him.

Garza, finishing his breakfast, rose and stepped to his desk. Joe heard him lift the phone and punch in a number—it was local, seven digits.

“Max? Right. You want to come down to the station? I'll want another statement. Then I want to go up to your place, have a look at the house and stable, then on up to the scene. That fit with your plans?”

All very friendly and low-key.

And Joe was stonewalled. He considered hiding in Garza's car, riding up to Harper's with the detective, then following the two men up the mountain—but he knew that wasn't smart.

Garza, pulling on a suede sport coat over his jeans and shirt, headed for his Chevy coupe. When he had gone, Joe looked with meaning at Kate.

She opened the door and followed him out, leaving Hanni deep in the arts section of the morning paper.

Joe's whisper was hasty. “Someone came prowling last night. Stood outside your bedroom. Did you see him?”

Kate turned pale. “No. Not a thing. Who…?”

“Tall and thin. It could have been Wark.”

She went completely white.

“There are footprints. Good ones. Garza needs to see them.”

“I—what'll I do?” She was clearly shaken.

“Call the station. Tell them you just found the prints—that they seem fresh to you. That they go to the kitchen window, then on around the house. They'll send someone.”

“Shall I call Dallas? I have the number of his cell
phone.”

“I—let the department handle it,” Joe said, not certain himself what to do. “And walk around the house yourself first. So they'll believe you. Don't step on his prints.” And he hurried away to make sure that Dulcie and the kit were safe, despite Wilma's promise. Racing down the sidewalks dodging early-morning shadows, he kept seeing that brief, muddy gleam of the man's eyes, looking in through the kitchen window.

I
t was
still dark when Dulcie set out to find the kit. Prowling the village among the blackest pools of night, it wasn't hard to follow the tattercoat's smell, which had taken on a potpourri of eau de bath powder from Wilma's dressing table.

Awakened by Joe's predawn phone call, she had galloped into the living room to make sure the kit was safe in her basket, and found her gone. With her mind on Lee Wark, she had stormed out her cat door, tracking the kit's boudoir scent over the roofs and across gardens and streets until she found herself doubling back to her own street some five blocks above Wilma's house.

The kit's trail led to a neglected duplex built over a pair of double garages, a property unusual in the village for its shabbiness, the yard overgrown with weeds, the clapboard walls badly in need of paint. The stairs led up to a deck that ran the length of the building, dark at the far end but light beneath the windows of the nearer unit; she could see a lamp burning within,
but no movement. The kit's scent led up the stairs to the deck, where an unlatched screen had been pulled out a few inches; Dulcie spotted a hunk of dark fur clinging. She was about to leap up when Joe Grey appeared from the shadows.

She turned a slow green gaze on him. “You following me or the kit?”

“Both of you.” He was all claws and nerves. “I have a bad feeling about Wark.”

Above them, the sky was the color of Joe's coat, heavy gray without any promise of sun, though the time must be nearly seven.

Joe looked the building over. “Shoddy. Why would the kit come here?”

“Who knows what's in that wild little head?”

Leaping to the sill, he tried to see through the muslin curtains. There was a screen, but the glass was open a few inches. Dulcie followed, the two cats balancing awkwardly on the slanted, narrow ledge. They were looking into the kitchen and could see one big room to their right, apparently a studio apartment. It was sparsely and cheaply furnished. Pushing in under the screen, they stepped onto the old, cracked tiles of the counter, icy beneath their paws. Dropping silently down, they followed the kit's scent across the battered linoleum, beneath the scarred breakfast table and into the studio. They heard the courthouse clock striking seven. The room contained a decrepit metal chair meant for outdoors, a scarred coffee table littered with clothes, and a pullout couch made up into a bed. The bed was occupied, the woman's tawny hair spilling over the pillow. Crystal slept soundly.

And in the rusty metal chair, the kit slept, curled up
tight and so deep under that she was not aware of them.

“What the hell?” Joe said softly.

“Beats me.”

“Has she been slipping away to visit Crystal? Why would she do that?”

Crystal's sandals and riding boots were tossed in the corner beside a pair of high heels. Her purse lay on the coffee table among the tangle of clothes, beside a blue folder. Joe reared up to have a look, front paws on the coffee table.

“Sarden Realty,” he said softly. The folder bore the familiar tree-in-a-circle logo of the local real estate firm. As he reached a paw to flip it open, the kit woke.

She gazed from one to the other with eyes like yellow moons. “How did you find me?”

“Shhh,” Dulcie said. “She'll hear you.”

Joe pawed open the folder. He was silent for a few moments, then looked at Dulcie. “It's a sales contract and closing statement. Escrow papers. For this address, Dulcie. Crystal has bought this place.”

“Crystal? This dump? Why?”

“The previous owner was Helen Marner,” Joe said. “The escrow closed two weeks before Helen was murdered. Crystal paid four hundred and eighty thou, with forty thousand down.”

Dulcie looked at him wide-eyed, trying to process this. “What does this mean? Can we get this to Garza? Can you slip the papers out?”

“Oh, right. Crystal finds the papers gone, knows someone's been in here.”

“But…”

Creeping toward the bed, Joe studied Crystal for
signs of waking. She seemed deep under.

Something wasn't right here. Something was making his fur crawl. He felt as edgy as a mouse in a glass bowl. “Peninsula Escrow,” he whispered, leaping onto the table. “Garza can get a copy from them.” Standing among Crystal's wrinkled clothes, he looked intently at the kit. “What are you doing here, Kit? What made you come here?”

“I followed a man. He was in Wilma's garden. And then I followed Crystal.”

“You're not making sense.”

“Yes, I am. A man came in Wilma's garden and looked in the window.”

“What man? When was this?” Joe felt his fur going stiff. “What did he look like?” He stared into the shadowed hall that led, apparently, to a bathroom and closet, but saw no one, could scent no other human in the apartment.

“What did he look like, Kit?”

“Muddy eyes. Bent over, like his shoulders wouldn't hold him real straight.”

Every hair on Joe's back went rigid.

“When he looked in the window, I dropped off Wilma's desk and hid. When he went away, I followed him.”

“I thought you hated that cat door.”

“I hate it, but I wanted out. I followed him to where that oak tree grows through the middle of the street and there are pictures of a blue dog in the window and that place where Wilma likes to eat breakfast.”

“The Swiss Café. Then what?”

“She was standing by the oak tree.”

“Crystal?”

“They argued. They got so mad—mad as raccoons fighting over garbage. The man said that someone named Mel owed him money. Crystal said, ‘You think I'm stupid? How could he owe you money when you didn't
do
anyone. You think he pays for nothing?'”

The kit looked from Joe to Dulcie, her round yellow eyes darkening. “What did that mean? How could he
do
someone? Do what?”

Joe dropped off the coffee table, nudging the kit out of the chair and toward the kitchen. “Did she call the man by name?”

The kit mewed a laugh, then hushed, staring back at Crystal's sleeping form. “She called him ‘you stupid bastard.' She said, ‘The deal wasn't with you, you dumb Welsh bastard. What makes you think…?' Then he interrupted her.”

The three cats leaped to the kitchen counter. “How can you remember all that?” Dulcie said. “How can you repeat all that, word for word?”

“The big cats taught me—the cats I lived with. Well, then the man said, ‘Don't be such a bitch. Who do you think did them? They're dead, ain't they?'

“Was he talking about those women? Is that what it means—to make them dead?”

“Yes, Kit,” Joe said gently. “What else did they say?”

“She said, ‘We'll see about that, you no-good deadbeat,' and she left. Walked away real fast and mad, and I followed her.”

“Did Wark see you?” Dulcie said. “Did he know you were there?”

“I stayed way deep in the shadows. I followed her up and up the hill past the shops and saw her come in here. The light came on inside. I found where the screen was loose. I watched her until she went to bed, then I slipped under just like you would. And here I am,” she said proudly.

Joe and Dulcie exchanged a look. Dulcie sighed. She wanted to cuff the kit's inquisitive little nose—and wanted to hug her. Across the room, Crystal stirred but didn't wake. Beside the cats, the kitchen window was brightening with dawn.

“Before she turned the light off,” the kit said, “the phone rang.”

“And?” Joe said impatiently.

“She listened but didn't say anyone's name. She said, ‘Of course I met him. What do you think?' Then a pause. Then, ‘No. I haven't the faintest. I'm still looking for her, you know that.' She was real angry. She shouted into the phone, ‘Oh, right. And let them hang me, too? You think I want to spend the rest of my life in T.I.?'

“What's T.I.?” said the kit.

“It's a prison,” Dulcie said shortly. “Go on, Kit.”

“She hung up. And she opened up the phone and took out something. Like a little box. She put it in that drawer and put another like it in the phone. Then she poured a drink of that sharp-smelling stuff, there by the refrigerator. She drank it down and went to bed. And I came inside to see what I could see.

“What was that box?” the kit said. “What was she doing? After she went to bed I curled up in the chair to watch her, but I guess I went to sleep. Then you were here.” The kit looked deeply at Dulcie, the tip of her tail twitching. “It's scary.”

“What's scary?” Joe said. “Being in here with Crystal? Then why did you go to sleep here?”

She looked bright-eyed at Joe. “It's scary spying on humans. Coming into their den to spy on them.”

“Then why did you
do
it?” Joe growled.

“Because you would have. Because humans do bad things, and you know how to make them stop. Because if you know enough about them, you can make them pay for being bad—like you did before, when that man was killed on Hellhag Hill. I followed her because she's a mean person.”

Joe Grey sighed, and hid a grin, and pawed open the drawer beneath the counter.

Two reels of miniature tape lay inside, the kind used in answering machines. They were tucked down among some packages of plastic spoons and forks. Joe picked them up in his teeth and dropped them on the counter.

“Those paper towels behind you, Dulcie. To keep the drool off.”

Nipping at the towels, Dulcie managed to pull one free. She was wrapping the tapes, folding the towel with her paw, when Crystal rolled over and pushed back the covers.

Joe glanced back at the escrow papers, then snatched up the package of tapes. Dulcie pushed out the window behind him, nosing the kit along, and they fled down the stairs and underneath.

Crouched in the damp shadows, they heard Crystal moving around in the kitchen above them, heard water running, then the sucking of a coffeemaker. A lone car passed, its tires hissing along the fog-damp street. Above in the apartment, a door slammed; the pipes rumbled as if Crystal was taking a shower.

Joe dropped the paper packet between his paws. “Now we're getting somewhere.”

“Now,” Dulcie said softly, reaching to pat at the packet of tapes, “one of us will have to phone Garza.”

“Maybe,” Joe said. “Maybe not. I can leave the tapes tucked into the morning
Gazette
.”

“But what about the escrow papers? If she bought the house from Helen and didn't
tell
anyone…And if that
was
Wark she met last night…” She looked deeply at Joe, her green eyes burning. “What does this all add up to?
Did
Crystal pay someone to kill the Marners? How does this apartment sale fit in?”

Carefully, Joe Grey washed his front paw. “I guess, if Garza got a phone call from an escrow officer, that wouldn't be the same as an anonymous call.”

“Except,” Dulcie said, “he'd check it out with the escrow company. When there's no one there by that name—”

“So I get the name of the escrow officers. I think most of them are women—and you've been dying to call Garza. You can ask him to keep it confidential.”

Dulcie purred. “You did very well, Kit. I can't believe you remembered that long conversation.”

“I told you. The clowder cats. They tried to do magic, but they never could. I learned to say the spells the way they did. But they never worked, never made anything different. I was still cold and hungry.”

Joe Grey licked the kit's ear. “You're fine now, Kit. You're just fine.” And he picked up the packet of tapes and led the ladies away from Crystal's, through the bright, chill dawn.