Joe and Dulcie looked at each other and shook their heads, and followed her, launching themselves into the party, begging handouts as shamelessly as the kit and the two big hounds. The kit moved among the crowd like a little dancer, galloping, leaping, accepting a morsel here, cadging a bite there until she spotted Dillon.
She went to the child at once, leaped to the bench beside her, patted at Dillon's red hair, then settled down in her lap, purring. Dillon stroked and cuddled her, sharing a closeness that thrilled the child. Dillon had never had a pet. She loved the kit; she had no notion that the kit was far more than anyone's pet.
These two, child and kit, had slept through all the excitement at the Pamillon house, slept curled together on the musty bunk in the cellar, so exhausted that even Harper's three shots to scare away the cougar had hardly waked them-only enough to sigh and roll over. Now Joe and Dulcie watched them tenderly.
But it was not until hours later, as evening fell and Harper's officers and most of his friends drifted away, that there was a truly quiet time again, for the cats and those they held dear.
As the line of cars wound away down the hills, Harper and Clyde and Charlie and Wilma moved inside to Harper's big kitchen table, to drink leftover coffee and to unwind. In the kitchen's bay window, the three cats snuggled together among the cushions, purring so loudly that Harper glanced at them, amused.
"Never heard them purr like that. They sound like a 747."
"Full of shrimp," Clyde said, "and crab salad and cold cuts."
To emphasize the truth of Clyde's remark, Joe belched loudly.
Harper stared at him and burst out laughing-the captain laughed until he had tears. Charlie began to laugh. Clyde and Wilma doubled over, convulsed with merriment. Joe had had no idea he was such a comedian.
"Nerves," Dulcie whispered, pretending to lick his ear. "Crazy with nerves, all four of them."
"Nerves? Or too much beer?"
The kit looked from one cat to the other, her eyes huge. Sometimes she didn't know what to make of humans.
"So," Charlie said to her aunt when they'd calmed, "are you going to tell me why you didn't answer your phone? Where were you the night Dillon and I sat out there in the van, with the phone ringing and ringing, and that thug firing at us?"
"I'm truly sorry. I wonder how it would have turned out if I'd been there?"
"Where were you?"
Wilma smoothed her gray hair, which she had wound into a chignon for the occasion of Harper's party. She was wearing a long flowered dress and sandals, one of the few times the cats had ever seen her in a dress. "That night-would you believe I'd unplugged the phone to get a good night's sleep?"
"No," Charlie said. "You only do that when Dulcie is safe in the house, when she's not out running the streets."
Dulcie gawked, but Joe nudged her.
Wilma shrugged. "I had dinner with Susan Brittain, at The Patio. During dessert, she felt faint. We thought I'd better drive her home. She refused to go to the hospital, said it was her medication, that she got like that sometimes. I spent the night on her couch, checking on her every little while-her daughter's out of town."
Joe and Dulcie looked at each other.
Charlie raised an eyebrow.
"It's the truth. You think, at my age, I'm off on some hot affair?"
"Why not? I wouldn't put it past you."
"Speaking of affairs…" Clyde said, looking at Charlie and Harper.
The cats came to sharp attention. Charlie blushed pink beneath her freckles. Harper looked embarrassed.
Clyde grinned. "Could I use your phone?"
Harper nodded uncomfortably. "You know where they are, take your choice."
Clyde moved down the hall and into Harper's study, unaware of Joe trotting along behind him; didn't see the tomcat slip under the desk, he was too busy dialing.
In the kitchen, Wilma rose to clean up the paper plates and rinse the silverware, leaving Harper and Charlie alone at the table. They hardly knew she'd left, there might be no one else in the room; they were completely engrossed in each other, their conversation ordinary but their looks so intimate that Dulcie turned her gaze away.
"What about this William Green?" Charlie was saying, looking deeply at Harper. "This witness who said-who lied that he saw you following the Marners?"
"He's in custody." Harper's hand on the table eased against hers. "He'll have to testify for the prosecution." His words were totally removed from the way he was looking at her.
"Green's testimony will be another nail in Crystal's coffin," Harper said, leaning closer. "If he cooperates with Gedding, he might get off with a fine for perjury and no time served."
Dulcie lay pretending sleep as Charlie and Harper discussed Baker's land scam, accomplished with Baker's carefully forged documents-and discussed Baker's victims, who were hot to prosecute and to get their money back. Soon Harper and Charlie moved out to the yard to pick up the last few paper plates, and fold up the tables and chairs. Clyde began to help Wilma, drying the silver and platters. He didn't mention his phone call. The cats moved to the back porch to wash their paws and enjoy the cool evening.
"Clyde spotted me under the desk," Joe said. "Told me to get lost. He can be so touchy. He and Kate seem to be an item."
"And Harper and Charlie, too." Dulcie glanced up as Wilma came out to sit on the steps beside them.
"I think both couples are cozy," Wilma said softly. "This might be promising, all around."
"Maybe," said Joe Grey, knowing how fickle Clyde could be.
"Maybe," said Dulcie uncertainly. Things had moved a bit fast, for her taste.
The kit, waking alone in the kitchen, leaped from the window seat and pushed out through the screen door, her yellow eyes so dreamy that Dulcie fixed on her uneasily. That faraway look meant trouble. "What are you thinking, now, Kit? Not of dark far places?"
"And not," Joe Grey said, "of petting lions!"
"Maybe not," said the kit, still half asleep. "Maybe I'm thinking of just being." She looked up innocently at them. "Don't humans know that? That no matter how ugly things get, it's lovely just to be?"
Wilma grinned and took the kit into her lap. "Sometimes humans don't remember that, Kit. Sometimes it takes a little cat to tell them."
About the Author
SHIRLEY ROUSSEAU MURPHY has received seven national Cat Writers’ Association Awards for best novel of the year, two Cat Writers’ President’s Awards, the “World’s Best Cat Litter-ary Award” in 2006 for the Joe Grey Books, and five Council of Authors and Journalists Awards for previous books. She and her husband live in Carmel, California, where they serve as full-time household help for two demanding feline ladies.
www.joegrey.com
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