As the cats sunned in the patio, Mavity Flowers came out of the back apartment and headed upstairs, hauling her mop and bucket, her vacuum cleaner, and cleaning caddy. The cats, hoping she might stir up a last, lingering mouse, followed her as far as the stairwell, where they slipped beneath the steps.
The dusty space under the stairs still smelled of mouse, though they had wiped out most of the colony-mice as easy to catch as snatching goldfish from a glass bowl, the indolent creatures having lived too long in the vacant rooms. Winthrop Jergen’s only complaint when Clyde took over as landlord was the persistence of the apartment’s small rodents. A week after Joe and Dulcie got to work, Jergen’s complaints ceased. He had no idea that the cats hunted in his rooms; the notion would have given him fits. The man was incredibly picky-didn’t want ocean air or dust to touch his computer, so probably cat hair would be the kiss of death.
But the mice were gone, and it was while hunting the rodent colony that they had found the hidden entrance into Jergen’s rooms.
To the left of the stairs was a two-foot-wide dead space between the walls, running floor to ceiling. It could be entered from a hole beneath the third step, where the cats now crouched. Very likely Clyde would soon discover the space, which ran along beside the garages, and turn it into a storage closet or something equally useful and dull. Meantime, the vertical tunnel led directly up to Winthrop Jergen’s kitchen. There, a hinged flap opened beneath the sink, apparently some kind of cleanout access for the plumbing, so a workman could reach through to the pipes-an access plenty large enough to admit a mouse, a rat, or an interested cat into Jergen’s rooms.
Now, scrambling up inside the wall from fire block to fire block, they crouched beneath Jergen’s kitchen sink listening to Mavity’s vacuum cleaner thundering back and forth across the livingroom rug; the machine emitted a faint scent of fresh lavender, which Mavity liked to add to the empty bag. They could not, this morning, detect any scent of new mice that might have entered the premises, but all visits to Jergen’s rooms were of interest, particularly to Dulcie with her curiosity about computers-she was familiar with the library functions but spreadsheets were a whole new game.
Waiting until Mavity headed for the bedroom, they crossed the kitchen and sat down in the doorway, ready to vanish if the financier turned around. He sat with his back to them, totally occupied with the numbers on the screen.
Jergen’s office took up one end of the spacious living room. His handsome cherry-wood desk stood against the front windows, looking down the Molena Point hills-though all the cats could see from floor level was the blue sky and a few clouds, whose dark undersides hinted of rain.
The light of Jergen’s computer cast a faint blue gleam across his well-styled silver hair. His busy fingers produced a soft, constant clicking on the keys. His pale gray suit was smoothly tailored. His shoes, in the cats’ direct line of sight, were of soft, gleaming black leather. Everything about Winthrop Jergenpresented an aura of expensive good taste.
To Jergen’s right stood two cherry file cabinets, then a row of tall bookshelves filled with professional-looking volumes. The thick Kirman rug was oversized, fitting nearly to the pale walls, its colors of ivory and salmon forming a soft background to the creamy leather couch and the rose silk easy chairs. The six etchings on the left wall were delicately detailed studies of far and exotic cities, each with unusual rooftops: conical roofs, fluted roofs, straw ones topping stone huts, and a vista with sharply peaked domes. Each city flanked a seaport, as if perhaps the etchings embodied Jergen’s dreams of far and extensive travel. The vacuuming ceased, and the cats backed into shadow. As Mavity returned with a lemon-scented cloth and began to dust the end tables, Jergen stopped typing.
“Mavity, would you hand me that file? There on the credenza?”
She picked up a file from the cherry credenza, brought it across to him, her work-worn hands dry and wrinkled compared to Jergen’s smooth hands and neatly manicured nails.
“And that book-the black account book.”
Obediently she brought the book to him, complying as a kindergartner might obey a revered teacher.
“Thank you, Mavity. Your Coca-Cola stock is doing very well; you should expect a nice dividend soon. And though I can’t be certain, it appears the Home Depot stock should split this month, and that will give you a really handsome bonus.”
Mavity beamed.“I don’t know no way to thank you, Mr. Jergen, for all you’re doing for me.”
“But, Mavity, your good fortune is in my interest, too. After all, I enjoy a nice percent of your earnings.”
“Oh, and you deserve it,” she said hastily. “You earn every penny and more.”
Jergen smiled.“It’s a fair exchange. I expect your niece and her husband have arrived by now, for their visit? Didn’t you tell me they were coming this week?”
“Oh, yes, all tucked up in my little place, and enjoying the beach.” Mavity began to wind her vacuum cleaner cord, turning away to straighten it.
Jergen smiled briefly and returned to his computer; he began to work again, deep into columns of numbers. Dulcie’s eyes widened at the large amounts of money flashing on the screen and at the names of the impressive financial institutions-firms mentioned with serious respect in the library’s reference department. But soon both cats grew impatient with a world so far removed, that they could not smell or taste or deal with directly, and they slipped away, leaping down within the dark wall, crouching at the bottom.
In the musty shadows of the narrow, hidden space, Dulcie’s eyes were as black as midnight. “Mavity trusts Jergen totally. She thinks he hung the moon. Why does he make me uneasy?”
Joe looked at her and shrugged.“Don’t start, Dulcie. There’s nothing wrong with Jergen. You’re just bored-looking for trouble.”
She hissed at him but said nothing as they padded out beneath the stairs into the sunny patio. And they both forgot Winthrop Jergen when a pale blue BMW pulled up in front.
Bernine Sage swung out and came into the patio, her high heels clicking sharply across the worn bricks. Pausing, she glanced through the open doors of the two first-floor apartments.
In the back apartment Charlie had stopped work. She stood quietly on her ladder watching Bernine, but she did not call out to her. Not until Bernine headed purposefully in her direction did Charlie come down the ladder.“Looking for Clyde?” Her tone was not cordial.
“I have an appointment with Winthrop Jergen,” Bernine said cooly. “Is it upstairs? How do I??”
Charlie pointed toward the stairwell. Bernine said nothing more but headed across the patio.
Behind her, relief softened Charlie’s face. And from an upperfloor window, Pearl Ann stood at the glass watching the little scene with a dry, amused smile.
The cats listened to the clink of Bernine’s heels on the stairs, then her soft knock.
“She doesn’t waste any time, does she?” Dulcie said with a cutting little mew.
Joe shrugged.“She’ll start off talking investments, then come onto him. The woman’s a leech.” He curled up in the sunny weeds, yawning.
Dulcie curled up beside him, watching and listening. And it wasn’t half an hour later that they heard the upstairs door open and heard Bernine say softly, “Twelve-thirty, then. See you tomorrow.” And she clicked down the steps and left the patio with a smug, self-satisfied expression. Her fast work, even for Bernine, piqued Dulcie’s interest like the sound of mice scratching at a baseboard.