When Pearl Ann seemed finished with the financial sheets, she pulled up a file of Jergen's business letters, quickly read through them and copied them, then dropped the disk in her pocket and turned off the machine. As she turned to put away the files, a whiff of her perfume engulfed the cats, and without warning, Dulcie sneezed.
Pearl Ann whirled and saw them.
"Cats! My God! Get out of here! What are you doing in here! He'll have a fit. How did you get in here!"
Crouching, they backed away. Neither Joe nor Dulcie cared to run beneath the sink and reveal their secret entrance. And the front door was securely closed.
"Scat! Go on, get out!" She snatched up her mop, shaking it at them.
They didn't move.
"You nervy little beasts! Go on, get out of here!" Her voice was hoarse with impatience.
They turned toward the front door, hoping she'd open it, but they weren't fast enough. She shouted again and lunged at them, exhibiting a temper they hadn't guessed at.
They'd never gotten friendly with Pearl Ann, nor she with them. She did her work, and they went about their business, all perfectly civil. But now that they were in her way, they saw a more violent side to Pearl Ann Jamison. Swinging her mop, she advanced on Dulcie, trapping her against the file cabinet. "You nasty little beast."
Dulcie fought the mop, enraging Pearl Ann, who swooped and grabbed her, snatched her up, avoiding her claws, and shook her hard.
Joe leaped at Pearl Ann, clawing her leg to make her drop Dulcie. Gasping, she hit him and swung Dulcie up. "Damn cats! Damn!" she croaked. Jerking the door open, she pitched Dulcie down the stairwell.
Joe barely skinned through as she slammed the door; below him Dulcie fell, unable to find her footing. He flew down the stairs, ramming against her, pushing her into the baseboard to stop her headlong tumble. Pressing against her, he could feel her heart pounding.
"You okay?" he asked, as they crouched shivering on the steps.
"I think so. I couldn't get my paws under me."
"What was she so angry about? What's with her?" He licked her face, trying to calm her. "Do you hurt anywhere?"
"I'm all right. I guess she doesn't like cats. I never saw that side of her before." Her voice was shaky. She licked hard at her left shoulder.
"Whatever she was doing in there, she was nervous as a rat in a cement mixer. Come on, let's get out of here."
They beat it out through the patio, didn't stop until they were across the street on their own turf, hidden in the tall grass.
"So what was she doing?" Joe said, nosing at Dulcie's hurt shoulder. "Is she trying to rip him off? First Bernine came onto him, and now Pearl Ann's nosing around." He looked intently at Dulcie. "What, exactly, was she doing at the computer?"
"I couldn't make much of it, all those numbers make my head reel. You'd have to have an accounting degree."
"Maybe she's running a scam. Hire onto a job, look for something to steal. But what would she…?"
"Could she be the law?" Dulcie wondered. "Or a private detective? Maybe checking on Jergen?"
"Checking on him for what?"
"I don't know. Or maybe investigating one of his clients?"
Joe frowned, the white mark down his nose squeezing into a scowl. "Anything's possible."
"Whatever she was doing, and in spite of getting sworn at and tossed downstairs, I'm as much on her side as Jergen's. Sometimes that man makes me twitch. Always so smooth and restrained-and always so well-groomed."
Joe grinned. "Not like Clyde-earthy and honest." But then he sat lost in thought.
"Did Bernine get Jergen away so Pearl Ann could snoop?" Dulcie asked.
Joe looked at her and said nothing. Was there a crime here, or were they painting more into this than was there?
She said, "Pearl Ann was snooping for some reason. And Bernine-even for Bernine-really did come onto him pretty fast."
The cats looked intently at each other, the two incidents, together, as compelling to them as a wounded bird fluttering before their noses.
11
WALKING ALONG Dolores Street carrying a bowl of potato salad and a six-pack of beer, Charlie glanced up as Wilma nudged her, nodding ahead to where a black Mercedes convertible had slowed to turn the corner. From the driver's seat, Winthrop Jergen raised his hand in greeting. Sitting close beside him, Bernine gave them a tight little smile, cold and patronizing. The tall redhead was elegantly dressed in a sleek black, bare-shouldered frock, her russet hair coiled high and caught with a band of black.
"She doesn't waste any time," Charlie said. "Lunch yesterday and now dinner. Wonder where they're going."
"Somewhere expensive, if I know Bernine." Wilma shifted the bag of French bread to her other hand and reached up to steady Dulcie, who was riding on her shoulder. "Mavity's remarks on Sunday, about Jergen's financial acumen, were like gunfire to the troops."
"It's amazing she didn't already know him, considering he's a well-to-do bachelor."
"A rare oversight. I've known Bernine half my life, and she seldom misses such a plum." Glancing around at Dulcie, Wilma winked. Dulcie narrowed her eyes in answer. But as the convertible turned the corner and disappeared, she turned her attention to the shop windows, dismissing Bernine's little games, enjoying the elevated view from Wilma's shoulder. Her high perch was a liberating change from being level with the bottoms of doorways-from breathing the smell of hot rubber tires and dog pee and having to stand on her hind paws to see a store display. One had, at twelve inches from the sidewalk, a somewhat limited perspective.
Charlie, pausing at a dress shop, stared covetously in at a creamy velvet cocktail suit, where the sleek, dark-haired mannequin posed against a background of city lights. "Wish I could wear that stuff-and could look like that."
"Of course you can wear it, and of course you can look like that, or better. That ivory velvet would be smashing with your red hair."
"Right. And where would I wear it? For four hundred dollars, I'd rather have a Bosch drill, some new sawhorses, and a heavier sander." Charlie laughed and moved on, looking around her with pleasure at the small village. Over the rooftops, the eastern hills were burnished by early-evening light, the windows of the scattered hillside houses reflecting gold and catching images of the sinking sun. Close around them along the narrow streets, the sprawling oaks, the tubs of flowers, the little benches, and the used-brick facades and jutting bay windows caught the light, so brilliant with color and yet so cozy that she felt her heart skip.
"This village-how lucky we are. The first time I ever saw it, I knew that I'd come home."
Wilma nodded. "Some people are born for fast highways, for tall buildings, but you and I, we're happier with the small places, the people-friendly places, with the little, interesting details-and with having everything we need right within walking distance.
"I like sensing the land under me, too. The way the old cypress trees cling to the great rims of rock and the rock ridges drop away into the sea like the spine of some ancient, half-emerged animal.
In the city," Wilma said, "I can't sense the earth. I couldn't wait, when I retired, to move back home.
"I like knowing that these old trees were here before there was a village, when this coastal land was all wild-range cattle and grizzly bear country." Wilma put her hand on Dulcie as they crossed the southbound lane of Ocean, toward the wide, grassy stretch of the tree-shaded median.