The black tom leaped on Joe, all teeth and claws, the two raking each other in a whirlwind of hard, furry bodies, thumping against concrete and against the brick wall, a war of pent-up rage that ceased only when the third party threw her weight into the battle, slashing both toms and screaming at them until they broke apart to stare at her.
She stood between them, holding Azrael?s gaze until the two toms moved far enough apart to formally end the battle. But she was shivering with fear. What she wanted to do was bolt. She?d always been afraid of Azrael, even when once, long ago, he had charmed her. His look at her now was deadly-an evil smile, the smile of a black sharkheaving up from the darkest seas.
And then he turned and sauntered away, lashing his long black tail.
?Why did you do that?? Joe growled. ?Why didn?t you let me finish him? You made me look a fool.?
?Not at all. You would have killed each other. Look at you. Your ear?s torn, blood running down your face-your shoulder torn. Although you sent him away with as much blood,? she said softly, licking his ravaged ear. She watched Azrael, a black speck far in the distance, disappearing down an alley.
?I think I know how he got here,? Joe said, ?and who our burglar is.? He led Dulcie beneath the oak trees, in the gathering dusk, to her favorite shop.
Standing close together, rearing up on their hind paws, they looked into the show window at the feast of bright colors and intricate patterns.?Here?s the link,? Joe said, ?between Azrael and one of the look-alikes-maybe the best connection we have yet to the death of Frances Farrow.?
Chapter Eight
Dulcie reared up, looking into the brightly lighted display window, her tabby paws against the glass, her green eyes glowing; she never tired of the shop?s imports, the brilliantly colored Guatemalan jackets and weavings, the San Blas appliqu?s, the painted Mexican figures. Close beside her, Joe Grey watched her tenderly, always moved by his lady?s passion for the beautiful and exotic.
They had met the shop?s owner, Ms. Sue Marble, at about the same time they met Azrael and old Greeley. The cats had been greatly amused when the lonely, white-haired lady and Greeley became an item and took off to Central America together, Sue on another buying trip, Greeley returning to his home-with Azrael in his carrier, of course. Sue knew nothing about the black cat?s hidden talents.
Now the couple had been gone for nearly a year, and Azrael was back in the village with no sign of either Greeley or Sue-and the mysterious burglaries had resumed.
?That jacket in the window,? Joe said, pawing at the glass. ?The red one, woven with birds and animals. Where does that come from??
? Ecuador, I think. Or maybe Peru. Why??
?I saw one like it last night, when I tossed the motel room of the look-alikes.?
?Maybe one of them bought, it here. They could??
?It was worn, Dulcie. Faded, not new.?
Dulcie sat down on the sidewalk, the concrete still warm from the vanished sun.?So what are you saying??
?I?m wondering if one of those three women has been in South America.?
She smiled, her whiskers twitching.?You?re thinking one of them has been in Panama, and that?s how Azrael got back?? She licked her paw. ?That?s reaching for it. What ever???
?There were cat hairs on the jacket. Black cat hairs.?
?You are maddening. Why didn?t you say so!?
Joe smiled.
?Could you smell his scent??
?Not in that motel room. Enough perfume and lotions in there to deaden the nose of an elephant.?
?In Sue?s last letter to Wilma, she said she and Greeley were getting married. She said nothing about coming back. She seems very happy, making her buying trips out of Panama to Peru and Guatemala and shipping the purchases back here, to her shop manager.?
Dulcie frowned, her ears going flat.?She did say she wasn?t happy about Greeley ?s cat, that he?d turned out to be a problem. Remember how, in the beginning, she called him a dear, handsome fellow! She thought he was so regal. Maybe Greeley and the tomcat were burglarizing shops in Panama, maybe she found out. Maybe she threwAzrael out of the house.?
?That wouldn?t explain how he got here. Greeley has no friends in the village to send Azrael to, only his sister. And Mavity hates that cat.?
?But maybe Greeley is here,? Dulcie said. ?He?d be staying with Mavity. Let?s have a look.? And beneath the darkening evening sky, the cats headed for the marsh and Mavity?s little fishing shack. East three blocks through the village, and over seven to the marshy shore of the bay, then alongthrough the cattails and sea grass, the mud cold beneath their paws and smelling of dead fish, to a long row of houses standing on mud-blackened stilts.
Scenting around the pilings and around the tires of Mavity?s old VW bug, they found no hint of Greeley. But the tomcat had definitely been there. His day-old aroma was on the steps, and on a rusty porch chair as if he might have slept there.
The kitchen window that Azrael had once used as a private door was tightly closed. A light burned within. Leaping to the sill, Joe could not smell Azrael along the edge of the window, could smell only the ham and beans that must have been Mavity?s supper. A single clean bowl stood in the drain basket, with one knife, fork and spoon. He could see Mavity, beyond the open kitchen; the small, elderly woman curled up on the couch with a book, a blanket over her feet and a stack of romances on the table beside her. He watched her for a moment,purring, then dropped down again to where Dulcie sat on the cold, damp ground among the tarred posts.
?No sign of Greeley,? Joe said. ?If Azrael?s alone, maybe he sleeps here for a few hours-Mavity would never know.?
?Do you suppose he?s lonely? Comes here to feel at home??
Joe Grey snorted.?More likely cold, after the heat of Panama. And looking to see if he can rip off Mavity in some way.?
As they headed back to the village, the first star gleamed above them. Trotting through the darkening gardens, brushing among geraniums whose scent they would carry on their fur for hours, they were headed for Joe?s house when they saw Larry Cruz?s red car turning the corner toward Otter Pine Inn.
Quickly following him, they watched him park and saunter onto the patio. But when they trotted in past the stink of exhaust and hot rubber, he had vanished.
Beyond the mullioned windows of the tearoom, a soft light burned, and they could hear women?s voices. Teatime was long past. Padding to the stained glass door, the cats listened.
?It?s Patty Rose and Alice,? Dulcie whispered, nosing at the slightly open door.
Slipping in behind the baker?s rack with its potted ferns-where, so recently, Frances Farrow had lain dead-they watched the two women, sitting at a small wicker table with their drinks, deep in conversation. A generation apart, they looked more alike than most mothers and daughters, Alice blond and fresh and exactly as Pattyhad looked in her old movies. Patty was still a looker, too, her hair skillfully cut and colored, her figure still slim. Despite her wrinkles, Patty was still a beautiful woman.
?Then you hadn?t seen Larry Cruz since you left Santa Monica?? Patty was saying.
?No. And I certainty didn?t expect to see him here. That makes me so angry, that he?d follow me here.?
?Maybe it wasn?t you he followed. Had you thought about that? When you learned to dive from him, were all your lessons alone??
?Yes. I didn?t get very good. But? that?s how I became involved with him. So foolish. I can never make that up to my husband.? Alice sighed. ?I couldn?t help but tell Jim. I don?t keep secrets well,? she said softly.
?Before you left Santa Monica, you never met Gail or saw her??
Alice spilled her drink, grabbed some paper napkins and bent to wipe it up.
Patty Rose watched her with interest.?I know Santa Monica is only part of the LA sprawl, but you both lived near the beach. She must have been there for two or three months before you moved away. Strange that you or one of your friends weren?t aware of a woman who looks exactly like you.?