Greeley Urzey visited his sister every few years, and he liked to have his daughter and her husband fly out from the east to be with him; but it took Mavity only a few days with a houseful of company before she grew short-tempered.
"That house isn't hardly big enough for Greeley and me, and with Dora and Ralph we'll be like sardines. They always have the bedroom, neither one can abide the couch, and they bring enough stuff for a year, suitcases all over. Greeley and me in the sitting room, him on the couch, me on that rickety cot, and Greeley snoring to shake the whole house."
Dulcie and Joe glanced at each other, suppressing a laugh.
"It is a small house," Wilma said kindly, sitting down on the couch beside Dulcie and patting a space for Mavity.
Mavity sat stroking Dulcie, then reached to pet Joe. "You're a nice cat, Joe Grey. I wish all tomcats were as clean and polite."
She looked at Wilma, shaking her head. "Can you believe that Greeley brought a cat with him! A great big, ugly cat. Carried it right on the plane with him. He found it on the streets of Panama; it probably has every disease. My whole house smells of tomcat. I can't believe Greeley would do such a thing-a cat, all that way from Panama. Took it on board, in a cage. Three thousand miles. I didn't think even Greeley could be so stupid.
"He could have left it home, could have paid some neighbor to feed it. They have maids down there-everyone has a maid, even Greeley, to clean up and take care of things. The maid could have fed an animal. Greeley never did have any sense. Who in their right mind would travel all that way carting a stray cat? It's sure to get lost up here, wander off, and then Greeley will have a fit."
Bernine had put aside the financial page. "Can't you board it somewhere?" she asked coldly. "Surely there are kennels for cats."
"First thing I told Greeley, but he wouldn't hear of it."
Bernine shrugged and returned to the newspaper. Dulcie, fascinated, sniffed at Mavity's uniform searching for the cat's scent.
But she could smell only the nose-itching jolt of Mavity's gardenia-scented bath powder. Leaping to the floor, she sniffed of Mavity's shoes.
No hint of cat there. Mavity's white leather oxfords smelled of shoe polish and of a marigold Mavity must have stepped on coming up the walk; the flower's golden color was streaked up the white leather. Frustrated with her inability to scent the strange tomcat, she curled up again on the couch, quietly regarding Mavity.
"I told Greeley that cat could do its business outdoors. Why ever not, when I live right there on the edge of a whole marsh full of sand? But no, even if the cat goes outside, it still has to have a fresh sandbox, right there in the kitchen. Talk about spoiled-talk about stink.
"I told Greeley it's his job to change the sand, go down to the marsh and get fresh sand, but I have to keep telling and telling him. And to top it off, the cat has sprayed all over my furniture- the whole house reeks of it. Oh, my, what a mess. I'll never get it clean. Why do tomcats do that?"
Dulcie almost choked with suppressed laughter. She daren't look at Joe for fear she'd lose control.
"Well, in spite of that beast, it's good to have Greeley. It's been four years since he was here. After all, Greeley and Dora and Ralph-they're all the family I have."
Mavity grinned. "I guess my little car will hold the two of them and the luggage; it always has before." She glanced at Bernine and reached to stroke Dulcie. "It's not every day your only family comes for a visit."
Swallowing back her amusement, Dulcie rolled over, her paws waving in the air. Mavity was so dear-she could complain one minute, then turn around and do something thoughtful. She had cooked all week, making cakes and casseroles for Greeley and his daughter and son-in-law so they would enjoy their stay.
Dulcie didn't realize she was smiling until Wilma scowled a sharp warning and rose hastily, pulling Mavity up.
"The frittata's done," Wilma said. "It will burn. Let's take up breakfast." She headed for the kitchen, urging Mavity along, shooting Dulcie such a stern look of warning that Dulcie flipped over, flew off the couch, bolted through the house to the bedroom and under Wilma's bed.
Crouched in the dark she swallowed back a mewing laugh-at Mavity, and at Wilma's look of anger because she'd been smiling- trying not to laugh out loud. It was terrible to have to stifle her amusement. Didn't Wilma understand how hard that was? Sometimes, Dulcie thought, she might as well plaster a Band-Aid over her whiskers.
Lying on her back on the thick bedroom rug, staring up at the underside of the box springs, she considered Greeley and his tomcat.
Were these two the burglars?
But that was not possible. It would never happen, the solution to a crime fall into their furry laps as easy as mice dumped from a cage.
Last night she and Joe had followed the old man and Azrael clear across the village before they lost them. Keeping to the darkest shadows, they had tailed them to the busy edge of Highway One, had drawn back warily from the cars whizzing by-had watched the cat leap to the old man's shoulder and the man run across between the fast vehicles where no sensible animal would venture.
Pausing on the curb, their noses practically in the line of fast cars and breathing enough carbon monoxide to put down an ox, they had argued hotly about whether to follow the two across that death trap-argued while Azrael and the old man hurried away down the block.
"You can go out there and get squashed if you want," she'd told him, "but I'm not. It's dark as pitch, those drivers can't see you, and no stupid burglar is worth being squashed into sandwich meat."
And for once she had been able to bully Joe-or for once he had shown some common sense.
But then, watching the pair hurry two blocks south and double back and cross the highway again, toward the village, their tempers blazed.
"They duped us!" Joe hissed. "Led us like two stupid kittens following a string-hoping we'd be smashed on the highway." And he crouched to race after them.
But she wasn't having any more. "We could tail them all night. As long as they know we're following, they're not about to go home."
"They have to go home sometime-have to sleep sometime."
"They'll sleep on a bench. Just see if they don't."
But Joe had shadowed them for over an hour, and she tagged along-until Joe realized that Azrael knew they were still following, knew exactly where they were on the black street, that the cat had senses like a laser.
But now-what if Mavity's brother and his cat were the burglars?
Certainly everything fit. Greeley had been here for two weeks. Both burglaries had occurred within that time. The old man looked the right age to be Mavity's brother, and, more to the point, he was small like Mavity, with the same wiry frame.
There was, Dulcie thought, a family resemblance, the deeply cleft upper lip, the same kind of dry wrinkles, the same coloring. Though Mavity's hair was gray, and the burglar's was ordinary brown, with gray coming in around his ears.
If the burglar was Greeley, then, as sure as mice had tails, he had stashed the money somewhere in Mavity's cottage. Where else would he hide it? He didn't live in Molena Point; it wasn't as if he had access to unlimited hiding places. Greeley was practically a stranger in the village.