Right. The cops start asking questions, that's way risky. A cop's as nosy as any cat. A cop starts wondering about cats and dead bodies and that could be the end of feline investigative work for the rest of recorded time.
No, fate needed a little help here to keep the snitch out of the picture. And excitement filled Joe as, crouched atop the bookcase, shutting out the conversation around him, he laid out his scenario.
How long, he wondered, once the coroner had dug up the Pamillon bones, would it take to get them dated? Sometimes the lab came through right away, sometimes forensics could be backed up and maddeningly slow. And how long until the department had a more definitive date on the Oregon body? All across the country, law enforcement was shorthanded, short of money, backed up for months and sometimes years, pushing court cases into gridlock and even forcing the court to let a suspect walk-while the government spent billions of dollars, Joe thought, on programs that benefited no one but the paper pushers.
Bottom line: he had no notion how long, after the body at the ruins was "found," until the department would have a comparative age on the two sets of bones and there was any real basis for his gut feeling. For a cold case, there could be a long wait. This was not a killer awaiting trial.
Not yet, it isn't, Joe thought. But with luck, it will come to that. Joe Grey was not a patient tomcat.
Nor did he ordinarily indulge in the kind of presumption that now held his attention. His attempt to connect the two bodies was squirrely, but he couldn't shake his feeling that there was a connection-and the more he thought about his plan to anonymously report the body, the more he liked the scenario.
To pull it off, the body would have to remain buried in the earth of the Pamillon ruins for another week, given the fact that tomorrow was the wedding. Well, that couldn't be helped, he'd just have to live with that.
IT WAS EARLY the next morning, three hours before the wedding, when Wilma and Kit went to visit Sage and pick up Dulcie; the clinic was closed on Sundays. Dr. Firetti let them in the side door. He was smiling but looked like he could use a night's sleep; there were smudges under his eyes and his usually ruddy color was pale. In the recovery room, they found Sage and Dulcie in a big cage with its door open, Dulcie lying close to the patient, yawning. Sage was awake and licking up a little warm broth. He looked very small and frail wrapped in the heavy white bandages and with the cast on his leg.
"He's done very well," Firetti said. "I think he's out of danger, barring something unforeseen. Dulcie helped a great deal to reassure him when he came out of the anesthetic. She didn't have to give blood," he said, smiling, "though I used most of what I had.
"With the metal plate and pins in, the leg should heal just fine. The thing now is to avoid infection." Firetti lifted Kit into the open cage beside the patient, so she could visit. "I'd like to keep him another day, to watch him. Isn't the wedding today?"
"Yes, it is," Wilma said. "I can pick him up tomorrow morning, early. Shall I call first?"
Firetti nodded. "Please. When you come for him, I'll give you instructions and show you how to change the dressings."
Wilma was a stranger to Sage, and the young, bleached calico looked up at her warily; but Dulcie and Kit were obviously comfortable with her, and soon he relaxed.
"Was it very bad?" Kit asked him, glancing around uneasily at the wire cage. She did not like to be inside a cage, even with the door open, and she didn't like to see her friend there. Didn't like to see him all bundled up in those heavy bandages, either.
"The doctor is very kind," Sage said sleepily. "Very kind and good." And he laid his head down beside his empty bowl. "I don't hurt anymore…," he said, and he was asleep again, still groggy and worn out.
Wilma gave Dr. Firetti the custards she had brought, and she and the two cats left, Kit looking back at Sage until the office door closed and she could no longer see him; and in the car the tortoiseshell hunched down miserably, thinking only of her friend. "I just wish…," Kit said forlornly, "I wish…I wish Stone Eye could die all over again, slowly and painfully!"
"This is Clyde and Ryan's wedding day," Wilma said. "Are you going to feel all sour and grumpy and make them feel bad, and spoil their happy day?"
"I'm not," said Kit. "I mean to smile and purr. But right now I mean to feel bad just for a little while." And she turned over on the seat with her back to Wilma and Dulcie and said not another word as Wilma headed home to dress for the wedding.
FROM THE CRACK of dawn, Clyde and Joe's house was a turmoil of prewedding excitement that made the tomcat laugh, but that he wouldn't have missed. Mike left early to help Max pick up the folding chairs. Max called later to see if Clyde needed any assistance, and Clyde snapped that he could still dress himself, thank you. Max told him, "Don't forget the rings," and Clyde and Joe argued fiercely about which pocket to put the rings in, which was arguing stupidly about nothing. And then at last they were in the sleek Cadillac Escalade that Clyde had borrowed for the honeymoon trip-borrowed because Ryan had said that, if they were going to be tooling around the wine country with all those great antiques stores, they'd better take her pickup. And Clyde said he wasn't going on their honeymoon in a pickup. "So," Ryan had said, "if you're such a snob, borrow an SUV," and Clyde had gotten a two-year-old, top-of-the-line loaner from the dealership where he had his automotive shop.
Dulcie had come over the rooftops to ride to the wedding with Joe and Clyde. She had, after her long night at the vet's, a great need to be close to Joe. Waiting for Clyde, the two cats leaped into the front seat of the pearl-colored Escalade hoping the groom wasn't going to be late. "I never want to see you in the hospital," Dulcie said, snuggling against Joe. She didn't say, Please take care. But Joe winced because that was what she was thinking. He hated being told to be careful, that kind of female meddling made him feel totally caged. But then he looked at her, saw how tired she was, and tenderly licked her ear.
The luxurious SUV had creamy leather upholstery, an OnStar GPS system, and, best of all according to Ryan's assessment, it had a good strong trailer hitch-if she found some irresistible architectural pieces that wouldn't fit inside, they could haul them home in a rental trailer. Clyde had scowled at that. This was a borrowed and like-new vehicle, as pristine as the day it came off the floor. Now, in the back of the vehicle, besides the couple's two suitcases, were half a dozen thick blankets, presumably to protect the interior, and two coils of rope.
"Some honeymoon," Joe said, "hunting for dusty old stained-glass windows and distressed paneling with spiders in the cracks."
"They're happy," Dulcie said. "Who knows, maybe they'll come home with some ancient car Clyde can't resist."
"Just what he needs, another deteriorating Packard or Maxwell. Some pitiful wreck just crying out for loving attention."