Joe and Dulcie exchanged a look, Joe's ears flat to his head, the white triangle down his face narrowed in a frown. Of course it was strange. These elderly ladies, who should be safe and cozy in the small village, had twice this morning been senselessly attacked. Whatever was astir put his fur on edge, made his yellow eyes blaze with challenge.
6
The kitchen counter was cold, the tile icy beneath Joe Grey's paws. Beyond the closed shutters, the glass radiated a sharp chill. Turning his back to the night, he watched, beneath the yellow kitchen lights, as Clyde worked at the table laying out the snacks for a poker game. Clyde's muscular frame showed clearly his addiction to the weights and bench press. His dark hair was freshly cut, sporting a thin line of pale skin around his ears. At forty, he might pass for thirty-five, Joe thought, if the lights weren't so bright.
The tray he was arranging was impressive: thin slices of roast beef and turkey, three imported cheeses, and deviled eggs done up fancy with ruffled tops and sprinkles of paprika. No grocery store deli tonight, served up in their paper wrappings. Joe studied his housemate. "Who's coming? How many ladies?"
Clyde laid out slices of imported Tilsit fanning one atop the next. "What ladies? Poker's a man's game."
"Right. And for a couple of guys you're wearing a new polo shirt and freshly pressed chinos? New Birkenstocks instead of those grungy jogging shoes?" Joe reached to snag a slice of Tilsit from the open wrapper. "Smoked Alaskan salmon instead of sardines? George Jolly's world-class shrimp salad instead of grocery store potato salad? Hey, for Max Harper, you serve from cardboard cartons. So who's coming?"
Clyde fixed a small plate for Joe, heavy on the roast beef. "This is to avoid problems later in the evening." He fixed Joe with a look. "To keep your big feet out of the platter."
"That is so rude. When have I ever touched your fancy buffet-in front of guests? So who's coming?"
"Charlie and Detective Davis are coming, if it's any of your business."
"It's my house, too. Charlie's my friend as well as yours. What's the big deal?"
Charlie Getz was, in fact, Joe's very good friend, one of the four humans who knew his and Dulcie's secret and with whom the cats dared speak. Until recently, Joe had hoped that Clyde and Charlie would marry, but then she got cozy with Max Harper.
Joe had briefly considered Detective Kathleen Ray as a wife for Clyde. It was time Clyde got married; he was getting reclusive and grouchy. And Kathleen was a looker, slim and quiet, with nice brown eyes and sleek dark hair. But then Kathleen had taken a detective's job in Anchorage, where her grandfather had grown up. She'd packed up and moved practically to the north pole, surprising everyone.
"I miss Detective Ray," he told Clyde, slurping up shrimp salad. "She was a real cat lover. You think she's happy in Alaska?"
"How do you know she's a cat lover? I never saw her make over you and Dulcie, or even notice you."
"No one said you were super-observant. Kathleen had her moments-a pretty glance, a gentle touch, a little smile."
"Well, aren't you the ladykiller."
"She's happy in Alaska?"
"Harper says she loves it. She sends him e-mail messages every few days telling him how great it is. I think she has talked him into going up there on vacation."
Joe snorted. "Max Harper hasn't taken a vacation from Molena Point PD for as long as I've known him."
"Harper and Charlie. They'll take the cruise, spend a month with Kathleen."
Joe stared at Clyde. "You are so laid back about this. Charlie was your girl. Your girl! I never saw you as serious about anyone. Now Harper takes over, and look at you. Couldn't care less. You actually seem pleased with the idea. What, were you glad to dump Charlie?"
Clyde glared.
"Well, of course, now that Kate Osborne's in the picture…"
"Kate is not in the picture, as you put it. We are merely friends."
"I like Kate all right. But I like Charlie, too. I thought you and Charlie might get married."
Clyde stopped dishing up shrimp salad into his best porcelain bowl. "Why do you always go on about my getting married? What earthly business is that of yours? Why do you always have to-"
"Keep in mind," Joe said, "that Kate can't repair the roof or fix the plumbing. Charlie can do those things. I don't even know if Kate can cook."
Clyde wiped the rim of the bowl, licked half the spoon, then held it out for Joe. "Who I marry is my business. If I get married. And in case you're interested, one doesn't marry a woman because she can fix the plumbing."
"You have to admit, it's a nice perk. With the cost of plumbers and carpenters, Charlie's skills shouldn't be sneezed at."
"If I get married, I will pick the woman-without quizzing her on her skills as a handyman and without any help from a cat."
Joe licked shrimp salad from his whiskers. "Your face is getting red. Have you had your blood pressure checked lately?"
"Marriage is serious business."
Joe gave him a hard, yellow-eyed stare. "Has it occurred to you that Charlie Getz knows all about me and Dulcie?"
"So does Kate."
"But Max Harper doesn't."
"So?"
"If Charlie and Harper are as serious as they seem to be, and if they get married, what then?"
"What what, then?"
"It's hard to keep a secret when you're married. Every time Harper gets an anonymous phone call from me or Dulcie, he gets edgy. If the tip is something no human could easily know-like when we found that killer's watch way back in that drainage pipe where no human could have seen it, he gets really nervous. If he finds cat hair at the scene of the crime, you can see him wondering. That stuff really upsets him."
"So? What are you getting at?"
"So, how is Charlie going to handle that? Seeing him upset like that, when she knows the truth? Don't you think she'd want to let him in on the facts, so he could stop worrying?"
Clyde turned hot water on the spoon, dropped it in the dishwasher, and turned to look at Joe. "You think that would stop Max Harper from worrying? Charlie tells him that a cat is the phantom snitch? That Clyde Damen's gray tomcat is messing with police business and placing anonymous phone calls? That is going to ease Harper's mind?"
"If she explained it to him, if he knew the truth…"
Clyde's look at Joe was incredulous. "That information, if Charlie could prove it to Harper, could make him believe it, could put Harper right over the edge. Drop him right into the funny farm."
"Come on…" Joe said, trying to keep his whiskers from twitching. Clyde did rise to the bait.
"Cops are fact-oriented, Joe. Harper couldn't deal with that stuff!" He looked hard at Joe. "Anyway, Charlie has better sense, she knows what that would do to Max."
"Pretty hard to keep her mouth shut when she's crazy in love and sees him suffering, and when she wants to share everything with him."
"Who said she's crazy in love?"
"She would be, if she married him. Don't you think-"
"I think you should mind your own business. I think that would be a nice perk in my life. And for your information, Max Harper is not constantly puzzled, as you seem to believe, about a few anonymous phone calls."
"More than a dozen arrests and convictions," Joe said, "thanks in part to our help. Harper's record of solved crimes has made a big impression on the city council."
"Talk about an overblown ego. You take yourself way too seriously."
"Such a big impression on the city council that the one bad egg on the council tried to ruin Harper's career, set Harper up to be prosecuted for murder. Tried to get him off the force big time- get him sent to prison on a life sentence."
Clyde slid the platters of meat and cheese into the refrigerator, with the bowls of salad, and busied himself arranging crackers.
"Who found young Dillon Thurwell when she was kidnapped-when all the evidence pointed to Harper? Who helped her escape?"