Dulcie looked at her intently. "Did you really think Bernine would…"
"I don't know what Bernine would do. But all night, while we looked for Mavity, I worried about you. Twice I swung by. When Bernine's light wasn't on, I felt easier. She must have gotten home very late."
"She came in about one. But she was on the phone for hours, talking to the guy she was living with. Weeping, shouting. Sweet-talking. What histrionics. Maybe she'll move out. You didn't find Mavity?"
"No." Wilma sat down on the bed, tired and drawn. "And when I think of Jergen's grisly death, I'm afraid for her. If Mavity saw the killer, her life isn't worth much." She looked at Dulcie a long time. "What is his death about? What's happening? Dulcie, what do you know about this?"
Dulcie looked back at her, panicked about what to do.
She had tried to tell Captain Harper, tonight, that Pearl Ann was Troy Hoke. Now, should she tell Wilma?
But what good? Wilma daren't tell Harper. He'd ask how she knew, and why she hadn't told him before. And if she said she'd just found out, he'd want to know how she learned Pearl Ann's secret on the same day of the murder. Wilma's sudden knowledge would implicate her in a way difficult to talk herself out of.
Wilma did not lie well to law enforcement, particularly to Max Harper. She was too truthful within her own profession. And if she attempted some hastily contrived excuse, Harper would be suspicious. Dulcie looked at her blankly, shrugged, and said nothing.
Wilma was turning down the bed, folding the quilted chintz back while Dulcie prowled across it, when a loud knocking from the back door startled them and they heard Clyde shouting.
Racing for the kitchen, Wilma jerked the door open. Behind her, Dulcie leaped to the breakfast table. Clyde rushed in, his voice loud with alarm. "Where is she? What hap…?"
"Shhh," Wilma whispered, grabbing his arm. "Don't wake Bernine. What's wrong?"
Clyde's stubbled cheeks were dark and rough, his dark hair tangled. The underarms of his jogging suit were sweaty. When he saw Dulcie, he stopped shouting. Pulling out a chair, he sat down glaring at her, his face red with frustration. "You just about gave me heart failure. What the hell were you doing? What the hell happened here?"
Dulcie looked at him, puzzled.
"My God, Dulcie. When you called Harper-when you made that awful, frightened cry, I thought someone was killing you." He lowered his voice, glancing in the direction of the guest room. "That was bloodcurdling-that was the next thing to a yowl on the phone!"
"You were listening? Where were you?" Dulcie cocked her head. "And how did you know where I was?"
"Where else would you be? Except maybe my house. I came here first…" Clyde sighed. "You mewed, Dulcie-you almost yowled into the damned phone. Harper looked amazed, looked… I thought someone had snatched you up and was wringing your stupid cat neck." He glared hard at her. "These phone calls, Dulcie…"
"I didn't yowl. I didn't mew. I simply caught my breath. I thought," she said softly, "I thought I heard Bernine coming."
He simply looked at her.
"I thought she'd catch me with the phone. But then it wasn't Bernine, it was Wilma. What did Harper say?"
"He didn't say anything. I don't know what he said. I was out of there-came flying down here thinking you were being strangled. We were clear up at Sam's, on the highway. My God…"
Dulcie licked his hand. She was really very touched. "How could I know you were listening? I didn't mean to upset you."
"Why the hell wouldn't I be upset? And can you imagine what would happen if Harper heard you really meow? With all the questions he already has about you two, don't you think he'd just about go crazy? Questions I can't answer for him, Dulcie. Questions I wouldn't dare answer."
Clyde put his head in his hands. "Sometimes, Dulcie, between you and Joe, I can't handle this stuff."
She patted his hand with a soft paw. He looked so distressed that she didn't know whether to feel sorry for him or roll over laughing.
But still, she thought, Clyde handled most situations very well. From the moment Joe discovered he was endowed with human speech, that he could carry on a conversation in the English language and read the written word, Clyde had weathered Joe's-and her own-unusual lifestyle with a minimum of emotional chaos. He had indulged in very few out-of-control shouting spells. He had exhibited no mind-numbing bouts of terror that she knew of. He had even paid Joe's deli bills without undue grousing.
He had even put up with Joe's reading the front page first in the mornings and demanding anchovies for breakfast. Not until this morning, she thought, had he really lost it.
She patted his hand again and rubbed her whiskers against his knuckles. "You shouldn't get so worked up-it's bad for human blood pressure. You can see that I'm all right. It was just a simple phone call."
"A simple phone call? Simple? You should have seen Harper's face." Clyde sighed deeply. "You don't seem to realize, Dulcie, how this stuff upsets Harper."
Wilma rose from the table. Turning away, she took the milk from the refrigerator and busied herself making cocoa.
"Every rime you and Joe meddle," Clyde said, "every time you phone Harper with some wild tip, he gets suspicious all over again. And he starts making skewered remarks, laying the whole damned thing in my lap."
"What whole damned thing?" Dulcie said softly, trying to keep her temper.
"He starts hinting that he wants answers. But he's too upset to come right out with the real question. And that isn't like Harper. He's the most direct guy I know. But this… Dulcie, this stuff is just too much."
She stared sweetly into Clyde's face. "Why is helping him solve a crime a whole damned thing, as you put it? Why is catching a murderer, to say nothing of boosting the department's statistics and impressing the mayor and the city council with Harper's absolutely perfect, hundred percent record…"
"Can it, Dulcie. I've heard all that. You're beginning to sound just like Joe. Going on and on with this ego-driven…"
"Oh, you can be rude!" She was so angry she raised her armored paw, facing him boldly, waiting for an apology.
She would not, several months ago, have dared such behavior with Clyde. When she first discovered her ability to speak, she had felt so shy she'd even been embarrassed to speak to Wilma.
Even when she and Joe began to discover the history and mythology of their lost race, to know that they were not alone, that there were others like them-and even though Clyde and Wilma read the research, too-it had taken all her courage to act natural and carry on a normal conversation. It had been months before she would speak to Clyde.
Wilma poured the cocoa and poured Dulcie a bowl of warm milk. Clyde sat trying to calm his temper. "Dulcie, let me explain. Max Harper lives a life totally oriented to hard facts. His world is made up of cold, factual evidence and logically drawn conclusions based on that evidence."
"I know that." She did not want to hear a lecture.
"How do you think Harper feels when the evidence implies something that he knows is totally impossible? What is he supposed to do when no one in the world would believe what the evidence tells him?"
"But…"
"Tonight, when Harper's phone rang, the minute he heard your voice, he went white. If you'd seen him…"
"But it was only a voice on the phone. He didn't…"
"Your voice-the snitch's voice-has him traumatized. This mysterious female voice that he links with all the past incidents… Oh, hell," Clyde said. "I don't need to explain this to you. You know what he suspects. You know you make him crazy."
Dulcie felt incredibly hurt. "The tips Joe and I have given him have solved three murders," she said quietly.