"She's on the back fence," Wilma said, seeing him fidgeting. "Where else? Gawking into Lucinda's parlor." Wilma shook the salad dressing with a violence that threatened Clyde's clean kitchen walls.
Joe, pretending he didn't care where Dulcie was, leaped to the kitchen counter and stared at his empty plate, implying he didn't need Dulcie, that he'd eat enough pasta for both.
"I talked with Harper," Clyde said. "About an hour ago. I want you to behave yourself tonight."
Joe widened his eyes, a gaze of innocence he had practiced for many hours while standing on the bathroom sink.
"Harper says he had another of those snitch calls this morning. Guy wouldn't give his name. Left the message with Brennan-something about a cut brake line." He gave Joe a long, steady stare.
Joe kept his expression blank.
"He says this one was a dud. Totally off track. Said that after the call, two officers went back down Hellhag Canyon for another look."
Joe licked his right front paw.
"The officers said the brake line wasn't cut. Said the line burst, that it was ragged and worn. That there was no smooth cut as Harper's informant described. They said they could see the thin place, the weak spot in the plastic where it gave way.
"Nor was there a billfold," Clyde said. "The officers didn't find a scrap of ID on the body, or in the car, or in the surround, as the snitch had said."
Joe could feel his anger rising. Which uniforms had Harper sent down there? Those two new rookies he'd just hired?
Or had the cut line been removed?
Had the man he scented in the ravine that morning replaced the cut, black plastic tube with an old, broken one, and lifted the driver's wallet?
Those two pups knew the guy was there. He remembered how silent they had grown, how watchful, creeping along sniffing the man's scent.
"So this time," Clyde said, "Harper's snitch was all wet."
So this time, Joe Grey thought crossly, Harper's men didn't have the whole story-and Max Harper needs to know that.
Staring at the dog door, then out the kitchen window, Joe managed a sigh. He looked at the two plates set side by side on the kitchen counter, then back to the window, his nose against the glass. He continued in this vein until Wilma said, "For heaven's sakes, go over there and get her. Quit mooning around. She doesn't need to spend all night watching Lucinda."
He gave Wilma a grateful look and began to paw at the plywood, seeking a grip to slide it out of its track.
"Not the dog door!" Clyde shouted. "They'll be all over the place."
Joe widened his eyes at Clyde, shrugged, and headed for the living room. Clyde said nothing. But Joe could feel him staring. The man had absolutely no trust.
He went on out his cat door, making sure the plastic slapped loudly against its frame.
But as he dropped off the front porch he heard Clyde at the living-room window, heard the curtain swish as Clyde pulled it back to peer out.
Not an ounce of trust.
Not until he heard Clyde go back in the kitchen did he beat it around to the backyard and up onto the back fence where he could see into the kitchen. And not until Clyde was occupied, draining the spaghetti, did he slip around to the front and in through his cat door again, stopping the plastic with his nose to keep it quiet.
Heading for the bedroom, he punched in the number. Quickly he explained the urgency of his message. He got a sensible dispatcher, who patched him through to Harper in his car. Probably Harper was already headed in their direction, on his way for clam pasta.
Joe told Harper that he had seen the cut brake line, that there were three little slice marks just above the cut. He said he'd heard someone else in the canyon, but couldn't see him in the fog. Said he had seen the billfold in the guy's back pocket, with a piece of the broken glass pressing into it.
He reminded Harper where the captain had gotten the information that nailed Winthrop Jergen's killer. Reminded him where he got the computer code word that opened up Jergen's files. He jogged Harper's memory about who identified the retirement-home killer months earlier, to say nothing of finding the arsonist who killed the artist Janet Jeannot. He said if Harper remembered who laid out the facts in the Samuel Beckwhite murder case, then Harper should take another look down Hellhag Canyon, before the wreckers hauled away the blue Corvette.
The upshot was that, five minutes after Joe nosed the phone back into its cradle and returned innocently to the kitchen, Harper called Clyde to say not to wait dinner, that he'd be late, that he needed to run down the highway for a few minutes.
Clyde hung up the kitchen phone and turned to stare at Joe, anger starring deep in his brown eyes, a slow, steaming rage that struck Joe with sudden, shocked guilt.
What had he done?
He had acted without thinking.
Max Harper was headed out there alone, to scale down Hellhag Canyon in the dark. With perhaps the killer still lurking, maybe waiting for the car to be safely hauled away? Harper without a backup.
Cops can be hurt, too, Joe thought. Cops can be shot. He was so upset, he dared not look back at Clyde. What had he done? What had he done to Max Harper?
He wanted to call the station again, tell them to send a backup. But when he leaped down to head for the bedroom, Clyde unbelievably reached up and removed the kitchen phone from its hook.
Joe wanted to shout at Clyde, to explain to him that he needed to call, but Wilma started talking about Lucinda Greenlaw, and Clyde turned his back on Joe. He couldn't believe this was happening. Didn't Clyde understand? Didn't Clyde care about Harper?
The phone stayed off the hook as Charlie dished up the plates. Wilma looked around at Joe, where she stood tossing the salad. "Where's Dulcie?"
"She didn't want to come," he lied-he had to talk in Charlie's presence sometime. And to Charlie's credit, she didn't flinch, didn't turn to look, not a glance.
"We stopped by Jolly's alley earlier," Joe said. "Dulcie's full of smoked salmon, and too fascinated with the Greenlaws to tear herself away."
Wilma gave him a puzzled look, but she said nothing. When Wilma and Clyde and Charlie were seated over steaming plates of linguini, Wilma said, "Lucinda and I had lunch today. She was pretty upset. Shamas's lover is in town. She's been to visit Lucinda."
Charlie laid down her fork, her eyes widening. "Cara Ray Crisp, that bimbo who was on the boat when he died? That hussy? What colossal nerve. What did she want?"
"Apparently," Wilma said, "Cara Ray had hardly checked into the Oak Breeze before she was there on Lucinda's doorstep, playing nice. Lucinda really didn't know what she wanted."
"I hope Lucinda sent her packing," Charlie said. "My God. That woman was the last one to see him alive. The last one to-"
"She told Lucinda she came to offer condolences."
Charlie choked. Clyde laughed.
That midnight on the yacht, when Shamas drowned, Cara Ray told Seattle police, she'd been asleep in their stateroom, she'd awakened to shouting, and saw that Shamas was gone from the bed. She ran out into the storm, to find Shamas's cousin, Sam, frantically manning lines, and his nephew, Newlon, down in the sea trying to pull Shamas out. They got lines around Shamas and pulled him up on deck, but could not revive him. Weeping, Cara Ray told the police that when the storm subsided they had turned toward the nearest port, at Seattle. George and Winnie Chambers, the only other passengers, had not awakened; Cara Ray said they had not come on deck until the next morning, when the Green Lady put in at Seattle.
According to the account in the Gazette, the storm had come up suddenly; evidently Shamas had heard the wind change and gotten up to help Newlon furl the main sail. On the slick deck, he must have caught his foot in a line, though this was an unseaman-like accident. As the boat lurched, Sam and Newlon heard Shamas shout; they looked around, and he was gone. Newlon had grabbed a life jacket, tied a line on himself, and gone overboard.