“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 Patty had 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.”
“You’d think so.” Alice shook her head. “I never saw her, never heard of her.”
“Did you ever suspect, when you were seeing Larry, that he was into any kind of trouble?”
The question seemed difficult for Alice. “No, but… I’m not surprised, the way, after we broke up, that he kept bothering me, kept coming around, wouldn’t leave me alone. I asked the police what I could do, but they were busy and there wasn’t much. Larry was one of the reasons we moved.”
“Maybe he discovered Gail after you left. It’s possible he followed her up here, pestering her the way he pestered you. The way he pestered me last year.”
“As if he has some kind of fixation about the women in your old films?” Alice said, as if the idea had just occurred to her. “When I saw him with Gail, I thought, good for her. Good riddance. I never-I don’t think I ever saw him with any of the others. But Patty, if he was such a bother to you, why did you hire him?”
“I didn’t think he was dangerous. And I thought it was better to have him where I could see him. And I must confess, I hoped that when the contest rolled around, he might take up with one of the contestants. I never dreamed that it would end like this,” Patty whispered. “In such an ugly way.”
Patty drained her glass. “Will you lead the parade with me, Alice, in my car? I think it will take all of us together to help get over this nightmare.”
Alice hesitated. “I’d rather not. I guess I’m more frightened of Larry… more frightened by Frances ’s death than I knew.”
Patty nodded. “If you change your mind…” She got up, pushing back her chair. Before she turned, the cats slipped out onto the patio and around the corner… nearly under the feet of Larry Cruz where he stood hidden among the oleanders, against the wall of the tearoom. Listening. Scowling, as Alice walked away.
Chapter Nine
Patty Rose’s antique Rolls Royce led the parade, its top down, its white paint polished and gleaming, its brass fittings as bright as the afternoon sun that hung just above the sea. Patty, dressed in white satin, sat on the back of the front seat, looming above her liveried driver, smiling and waving. Dorothy Daniels had been right when she said Patty wouldn’t miss being queen of the festival, wouldn’t miss the publicity-though she wasn’t throwing kitty treats.
On the warm, shingled roof high above the crowd, Joe Grey and Dulcie had the best seats in the village, their only competition a dozen scolding grackles-the dark, pushy birds sensibly keeping their distance from lethal claws. Behind Patty’s Rolls Royce came the Molena Point high school marching band, then a team of mounted riders dressed in white Western wear. Then the lead float, done in many colors of crepe paper and carrying the three look-alikes clad in black cat costumes, their cat masks seeming to smile as they performed little dance steps-teasers for their act to come on the stage that had been set up at the edge of the beach. On their float behind the three blondes were two rows of kennel cages, each with a clean, pretty cat cozied down on a blanket. The animal shelter must have chosen their most laid-back charges. All the cats seemed comfortable, unperturbed by the noise and the crowd. The float’s banners proclaimed:
A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME WITHOUT KITTY.
SAVE A LIFE AND BRIGHTEN YOUR LIFE.
Behind the float came more riders, then seven more antique cars, including the yellow Chevy roadster belonging to Joe Grey’s housemate. Clyde Damen was all decked out in a clean white turtleneck and sport coat. Beside him rode his red-headed girlfriend, Charlie Getz. When she spotted the cats on the roof above, she waved to them with a secret smile.
Following Clyde and Charlie came another marching band, then three more floats carrying village children dressed in cat costumes. All along the length of Ocean Avenue, the shops were decorated with cat banners, cat flags and cat kites. Stuffed toy cats were featured in the windows among displays of women’s wear, sweaters embroidered with cats, and cat jewelry. Although many shops were closed for the occasion, they had provided handsome decorations.
The book store had an exhibit of cat books and a three-foot-tall Puss-in-boots made of crepe paper. One of the nicest women’s stores was hosting a cat-princess puppet show. And on every corner, Molena Point Animal Shelter had placed adoption booths with comfortably caged cats and charming young attendants.
That aspect didn’t charm Dulcie. “I hope people don’t take kittens on a whim, like they would a toy, then not care for them.”
“Do you always have to look for sand in the milk dish?”
“I don’t always. But you’ve seen kittens… Oh, never mind.” And she turned away crossly.
But Joe licked her ear. “They’re handing out brochures, Dulcie. And the volunteers are talking to people who want to adopt-they’re screening them and explaining the basics. Telling them what a little cat needs to be healthy and safe. I listened to one. She sounded like she knew what she was doing.”
“I hope so,” Dulcie said dourly. “I don’t… Look. Is that Azrael slipping along the roof above the gift shop?”
They watched the black tom disappear within the shadows above the Mink Collar, a jewelry and leather boutique. At the same moment, on the sidewalk below them, Alice Manning came along behind the gathered onlookers; she was dressed in denim shorts and a white pullover. This had to be Alice; the other three were on the float.
But it was Azrael who held Joe and Dulcie’s attention, who sent them racing across the roofs to the end of the block, dropping down to the balcony of the Mink Collar.
Pushing through the open window where Azrael had disappeared, where they could smell his scent, they explored the storage room then trotted down the stairs into the shop, searching beneath the display cases and in the cupboards-then followed his trail to a door that would open to the alley.
It was bolted from within, but a black cat hair clung to the metal. Nothing else in the store seemed to have been touched. The cash drawer beneath the computer was locked.
“Maybe he was casing the place for later,” Joe said. “Maybe he saw us and left while we were crossing the street.”
Dulcie said nothing, stood looking around, lashing her tail with irritation.