But then Joe and Dulcie caught Charlie snooping through Elliott Traynor's desk, something they'd never dreamed that Charlie would do. Spying was a cat's prerogative, but there was Charlie brazenly prying, shocking the cats with her nosiness and delighting them-and soon, both Charlie and Ryan Flannery would add tinder to the fires of their sharp curiosity.
9
In the velvet evening, Mexican music beat brassy and sweet, and the aroma of chilies and roasted meats floated on the cool air, enticing Joe Grey and Dulcie as they trotted along behind their human friends. Licking their whiskers at the good smells, the two cats tried not to draw attention to themselves. But the kit raced boldly ahead, brushing past Charlie's ankles and between Max Harper's feet with no thought to keeping a low profile. Charlie glanced down at her once, grinning, and reached down to stroke her. Walking between Max Harper and Clyde, Charlie moved together with Harper as if their thoughts, their very spirits were in perfect sync.
Lovers, Dulcie thought, watching them. Or soon to be lovers. You could always tell, in the beginning. And that made her feel sad for Clyde, made her wish Clyde and Kate would work out their differences, wish that Kate would come home, that she would get serious about Clyde and move back to the village. Clyde seemed so-unfinished, Dulcie thought. She knew, with typical female logic, that it was time Clyde Damen got married.
Though apparently Joe didn't think so. Why must he always know her thoughts? Beside her, he flicked a whisker with annoyance, his yellow eyes burning, his look saying clearly, Leave it alone, Dulcie. Leave Clyde alone, quit matchmaking. Joe said when she was matchmaking, her tail flicked in a certain way. Well, he wasn't any help, he did nothing to nudge Clyde along. For all of Joe Grey's input, Clyde could stay a bachelor forever.
Only, sometimes she did catch an irritated and speculative look in Joe's eyes that made her wonder what he and Clyde talked about, in private. Made her wonder if, alone with Clyde, Joe hassled him to get married more than she imagined. Maybe, she thought, amused, Joe didn't want her to catch him matchmaking.
When Clyde and Charlie and Harper entered the patio of Lupe's Playa, moving in through the wrought iron gate, the kit barged in right between their feet-until Dulcie snaked out a swift paw and snatched her back, hissing at her and then purring and licking her ear.
Chastened, the kit followed Dulcie and Joe away from the entry and around behind the restaurant and up a bougainvillea vine to the top of the high patio wall. Padding along above the diners' heads, the three cats slipped into a mass of purple blossoms where they were well concealed yet had a fine view of Lupe's Playa. Below them, at Harper's usual table, Detective Garza and his slim, dark-haired niece were already seated.
The patio was softly lighted by colored oil lamps that hung from the branches of three giant oak trees around which the tables were clustered. From the eaves of the building hung bright pinatas and Mexican flags. The restaurant itself, with its bright dining rooms, flanked two sides of the terrace, the lighted windows revealing more crowded tables and happy, laughing diners. Lupe's Playa was the piece de resistance for fine Mexican food, a four-star winner, Harper and Clyde said. Both men were authorities, their appraisal of Mexican cuisine a serious avocation.
In their rodeo days, Max Harper and Clyde had frequented every good Mexican cafe between Portland and San Diego, and inland to the Nevada border. Both could describe in detail the specific virtues of an excellent chili relleno or an enchilada ranchero, both would turn up their noses at ground beef as a filling; both could name the painstaking steps in the proper preparation of tamales, a process that, when correctly done, took three days, from the soaking and roasting of the corn to the drying of the husks and the final rolling of the tamales.
Garza and his niece sat with their backs to the wall, unaware of the three cats hidden in the vines above them. The cats' view of Ryan was the top of her head, her dark curly hair tousled and windblown. She was dressed in jeans and a pale blue T-shirt with no cutesy logos emblazoned on it. Was she reading Garza off, or only laying out her troubles? Whichever, this lady had a hot temper.
"This is not a simple quarrel! I'm not going back to him. I'm not staying with a man I don't trust or respect." She shifted in her chair, looking at Dallas more directly, her green eyes blazing beneath thick black lashes.
Garza was grinning. "Don't lay your anger on me-I couldn't be happier. You should have done this years ago."
"I have an appointment tomorrow morning with the attorney Max Harper recommended. Thanks for talking to him." She sipped her beer. "I want to get the divorce started, get my contractor's license-and my half of the value of the business. In a few months, I'll be running my new company. R. Flannery Construction." She laid her hand on his. "I want to get into a place of my own, lick my wounds alone. Does that disappoint you?"
"Of course it doesn't. You're in the village, we can have dinner, run the dogs when I bring them down-go hunting this fall without Rupert pitching a fit." He patted her hand. "Just glad to have you near, honey. Glad to see you free of him."
"An apartment with good storage space," Ryan said. "Have to buy all new equipment, power tools, ladders, wheelbarrows, you name it. Have to do some advertising-to say nothing of hiring. Besides the job in San Anselmo, I have a couple of other nibbles, contacts from San Francisco. One of our-of Rupert's-clients wants me to build a small vacation cottage down here. They bought a lot last year, a teardown."
"So you're not only going to fight Rupert for your half of the business, you're going to steal the firm's clients."
"I don't consider it stealing, if they come to me. None of them was happy with Rupert, with his attitude."
"I have to say, you came away armed. Armed for what, time will tell."
"Don't be a cop, Dallas. I'll work it out."
Garza stood up as Clyde and Charlie and Harper approached. Harper pulled out a chair for Charlie; but as the three were seated, Joe nudged Dulcie. She followed his gaze across the patio, where Vivi and Elliott Traynor had just appeared, waiting for a table.
Vivi looked incredibly small and thin next to Elliott, who seemed twice her size. He was a handsome man, with well-styled silver hair, dressed in a suede leather sport coat and pale slacks, a man who looked used to living well. Vivi, in her black tights and black sweater and wildly frizzy hair, looked like something he might have picked up south of town.
Glancing around the patio, Vivi began to fidget as if she should not have to wait to be seated. When she spotted their table she did a comic double take, turned her back to the party, and grabbed Elliott's arm, dragging him toward the door. Looking surprised, Traynor followed her. When the maitre d' turned back to them, they were gone.
Ryan sat very still, staring after them. "Why did they turn away? She spotted us, and spun around like she'd been scalded."
"I told you the Traynors were here," Garza said. "She was looking straight at you." He studied his niece. "Something happen in San Francisco? I thought you hardly knew them, that you'd met them only once. Some business dinner?"
"Rupert and I had dinner with them one evening, with friends. Then Rupert insisted we take them out. We did, but I didn't especially enjoy it. Though I can't think of anything that would make them avoid me.
"Unless…" Ryan colored. "Unless she and Rupert…"
Garza's expression didn't change.
"Dinner was-well, both evenings were pleasant enough, really. But Rupert was fidgety and rude because he had to listen to details about Elliott's play. He thought Elliott was totally egocentric. I didn't think so, I liked him, he's a charming man. He'd been making arrangements with Molena Point Players, someone down here was doing the music and lyrics. Mark King?"