Lucinda looked to where Dulcie sat beneath the bushes, and came to kneel there, pulling away the heavy growth.
“What a sweet little cat, curled up in a bed of leaves.” She looked up at Pedric. “I believe this is Wilma’s cat-my good friend, Wilma. Same dark stripes and peach-colored ears and nose. Yes, the same green eyes. Oh, Wilma would not want her roaming way out here. What brought her out to this wild place? Do you suppose she has followed us?” She reached to pick Dulcie up.
When Dulcie moved away, Lucinda drew back.“This little cat,” she said diffidently, “comes to sit on the back fence behind my house. I think she hunts for birds among the maple branches. Sometimes she seems to be looking right into my parlor.” She laughed. “Maybe she watches reflections in the glass, the movement of clouds and birds.
“Won’t you come out, kitty?” Lucinda asked softly. “ItisWilma’s kitty. We won’t hurt you. Whatever are you doing up here? Come on out, puss. Puss? Puss?”
Dulcie came out reluctantly. She hated to be called puss. She leaped atop the boulder before Lucinda could pick her up. Stretching, she curled down on the smooth granite, out of Lucinda’s reach, and slitted her eyes as if to nap again.
“Come away, Lucinda. The little cat doesn’t want to be taken home. Well, there’s nothing here to hurt her. You can tell Wilma where you saw her.” And he began to ask Lucinda questions about Shamas and their years together.
Lucinda’s answers made Dulcie sad. Pedric asked about the sale of the house, but made no comment as to whether he thought Lucinda should sell the old family home. As the two sat talking, watching the sea brighten, the tortoiseshell kit drew closer again to Dulcie, listening to every word. What a nosy little creature she was. What did she make of this conversation? What a bold, inquisitive,interestingscrap of cat fur.
And as both cats eavesdropped on the two humans, up the hill where the trailers and RVs cast their shadows long beneath the rising sun, another watcher sat, looking down, observing Pedric and Lucinda, frowning and tapping his closed fist against his lean, tensed thigh.
13 [????????: pic_14.jpg]
“I DON’T want a dog,” Charlie told the pup. Hestig looked up at her sadly, pressing against her leg, as she stood at her apartment window sipping her first cup of coffee. Beyond the window, the village rooftops, the library and shops, and the eucalyptus trees that shaded Ocean’s wide median, all were muted by the fog, as indistinct as an oriental watercolor. Putting her cup on the table beside her sweet roll, she sat down to her quick breakfast, petting Hestig when he pushed close to her chair and laid his head on her shoulder.
“You know I can’t keep you,” she said softly. “Or do you just want my breakfast?” She laughed at his sad expression. “The housing arrangement’s temporary, my dear. Three or four days, maybe a week, and back you go to Clyde.” Already the apartment looked as though Hestig had moved infor good, his folded blanket in the far corner comfortably matted with dog hairs, his water and food bowls taking up most of the floor in the small kitchenette; a huge chewbone occupied the center of the rag rug beside Charlie’s cot, his leash and choker lay on the table beside her coffee cup.
She had to admit, his manners were improved without his brother to distract him; he minded her most of the time, was turning into a solemn and loving companion. He was beginning to put on weight, too, his ribs resembling far less an ancient washboard.
But when she imagined keeping him, she shook her head.“Look around you. I’m living in one room, here. No yard, no deck, not even a balcony.”
Hestig whined.
“And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a working girl.” She scratched under his chin. “I can’t take you on the job. What, tie you to the bumper all day? I can’t take you into the houses that I clean and repair.” She looked deep into Hestig’s brown eyes. “Clyde will find a nice home for you, just you wait and see.”
The pup sighed, his eyes sad enough to melt concrete, his black ears drooping. Gently, she touched the thick black scar that ran jagged across the top of his head.“How did that happen? What-or who-struck you so hard as to leave a scar like that?” She stroked the ropy wound. “You must have been very small; you’re not very old now, and it takes a while for such a thing to heal.”
Hestig’s tail whipped so hard it nearly toppled a dinette chair.
“Who would hit a little puppy like that? I’m surprised the blow didn’t kill you.”
Hestig smiled and wagged and snuggled closer, leaning into her shoulder with all his fifty pounds. She tried to imagine taking him to work with her. Surely, when he grew older and had more training, he would behave with impeccable manners.
But common sense prevailed.“I really can’t. I can’t keep you.”
He nuzzled her hand, finding no joy in such solemn pronouncements.
She pushed back her kinking red hair. The fog made it curl so tight.“I have a business to tend to, it takes all my time. You’ve been around on the jobs with me.” She took his long canine face in her hands. “Did you like being shut in the van all day with the ladders and mops and tools?”
Hestig’s sigh said that he’d loved it because he was near her.
“I don’t have time for a big, active dog, not and clean for people, do their household repairs and their yard work, and build up a really nice service.” She stroked his long black ears. “You should be on a ranch somewhere, like up with Max’s horses.” She sipped her coffee. “Maybe I can talk Harper into giving you a try. How would you like that?”
Hestig gazed at her sadly.
“Look at it this way. Burying bones and digging them up is top priority for you. Charlie’s Fix-It, Clean-It is top priority for me.”
He laid his head on the table, sniffing at the last bite of sweet roll. She tapped his nose gently, and he drew back. The time was six A.M., time for their walk. In half a week, Hestig had the routine down to perfection.
Picking up his leash, she triggered an explosion of ungainly leaps and pirouettes. She stood waiting for him to calm so they could leash up, then made him stay by her heel going down the steps to the little front foyer, between the antique shop and the jewelry store, and on out to the sidewalk. Stepping out into the wet, chill fog and turning south toward the sea five blocks away, she expected Hestig to dance and try to pull ahead; usually he could hardly contain himself until he reached the sand, where he could run free.
This morning he didn’t dance.
He didn’t pull the lead but moved slowly and warily ahead, pressing against her thigh. She could see nothing in the fog. He lunged suddenly into the mist, his bark a bold challenge,wooo, wooo, wooo.She had to turn sideways and pull the leash taut across her upper legs to hold him; he was so strong and lunging so hard that if he’d jerked her straight on, he’d have pulled her over. She could see no one, no gray shadow waiting in the fog, nothing to alarm him, only a few parked cars along the curb, barely visible. But the pup saw something, and was barking and straining.
Again she pulled him back to her and ran her hand down his shoulder, trying to calm him-and trying to see through the mist, listening for any scrap of sound over his barking. He lunged again, and she heard a car start-saw a dark smear move away from the curb, its tires hushing on the wet pavement. At the same moment, she saw Lucinda Greenlaw just a few feet from her, walking along the median toward the shore, her tall thin figure wavery and insubstantial-a mysterious early-morning wanderer. Later in the day Lucinda would appear perfectly ordinary, doing her errands among the village shops as sedately as any elderly lady-but now she seemed ghostlike and exotic.
Hestig had quieted; Lucinda passed them, not glancing in their direction, seeming totally lost in her own thoughts, perhaps aware only of a dog walker out in the foggy morning. Charlie knelt and hugged the pup, feeling the tension of his thin body. He was still shivering.