Scorching up the stacked bales to crouch high beneath the shadowed roof, they watched Harper head for the house and return carrying two cans of Coke. The slam of the screen door started Selig barking, and Clyde couldn't shut him up.
One word from Harper, and the pup was silent.
Clyde scowled at Harper and led Selig out into the pasture; the puppy pressed his nose immediately to the ground, jerking on the lead, ignoring Clyde, snuffling deeply at the delicious scent of horse manure.
Dulcie made herself comfortable on the baled hay, raking her claws deep. "Torres died Sunday morning,'' she said softly.
Joe rolled over, slapping at straws, and turned to look at her.
"If Torres drove up from L.A. Saturday," she said, "and if he was with a woman in the village on Saturday night, as his secretary told Harper, then what was he doing driving south again, before dawn on Sunday?
"And who was the woman?" Her green eyes narrowed. "Cara Ray told Lucinda she arrived Saturday. Don't you think it strange that Torres and Cara Ray would come to Molena Point on exactly the same day?"
"Dulcie…"
"Torres worked in Seattle. Shamas still had a business there."
"So?"
"Lucinda told Wilma that when Shamas went up to Seattle she was sure he took a woman with him, not someone from Molena Point but someone he'd meet at the San Francisco airport-Lucinda did keep an eye on his phone bills."
Dulcie smiled smugly. "Cara Ray lives in San Francisco, not too far from the airport. Shamas flew to Seattle, out of that airport, about once a month.
"So?" Joe said.
"Cara Ray was Shamas's lover. But was she Torres's lover, too? Did she see Torres, as well, when she was in Seattle? She must have been busy."
Joe rolled over again, scratching his back against the rough straw; he looked at her upside down. "Say you're right, Torres was in Molena Point to meet Cara Ray. What was he doing on the highway, Sunday morning?"
"Maybe they had a fight. Maybe he drove off mad, and that's why he skidded."
"What about the other car-the second car I heard, just before the crash?"
"Could someone else have known he was here? Cut his brake line, then-maybe phoned him, brought him out on some wild-goose chase, maybe something to do with the case he was working on in LA? That might explain why he was headed south again. Then they followed him, in the heavy fog, and honked to confuse him?"
"That's really reaching for it, Dulcie."
"Whatever the truth, there's a connection. Cara Ray and this Torres didn't just happen to arrive in the same town, on the same day. And why was Cara Ray snooping through Lucinda's papers?"
Joe sighed at the monumental tangles that female logic could weave. "Even if there was a connection, we can't pass on that kind of shaky guesswork to Harper."
"Maybe no one's mentioned Cara Ray to him. Maybe he has no reason to be interested in her. If he doesn't know about the Seattle connection…"
"Dulcie…"
"We'd only be telling him the name of the woman Torres may have met. What harm in that?"
"Maybe. But we can't call Harper from here."
"Why not? There's a phone on his belt."
"Do you see a phone in this hay shed?"
She gave him a sweet, green-eyed smile. "There in the dinette, you can see it through the bay window; the phone's right there on the table."
Joe sighed.
"Go up on the shed roof, Joe. Where I can see you from the house. Signal me if he heads that way." She leaped down the baled hay and was gone, streaking for the screen door.
Joe rose and shook the hay off. Sometimes Dulcie was impossible. He swarmed up a post to the roof of the shed. Impossible, clever, and enchanting.
Clyde thought that he, Joe Grey, got rabid over a robbery or suspicious death. But Dulcie set her teeth into a murder case as if she were fighting rattlesnakes.
Keeping low, out of the men's view, and trying not to let his claws scritch on the galvanized roof, Joe slipped to the edge, where he could see the house.
Behind the bay window, a small shape moved, padding across the table.
Watching her paw at the phone, he remembered the night they'd memorized Harper's various phone numbers from Clyde's phone file. Clyde had pitched a fit because they'd left a few tooth marks in the cards; he could be so picky. It was a huge stroke of luck that Pacific Bell had recently offered free blocking for that insidious caller ID service that so many phones had subscribed to-including Molena Point PD.
Harper had caller ID blocking for his own phones, and with a little encouragement Clyde had come around-it was free, wasn't it?
Wilma, always sensible, had subscribed at once. Wilma told Clyde there was no way he could stop Joe using the phone. She said if Clyde wanted to save himself acute embarrassment, he'd better go along with the blocking.
Out in the field, Clyde stood fifty feet away from Selig, his arm raised in an exaggerated signal, shouting "Sit! Sit, stay."
Selig grinned at him and bounced around, playing with the nylon line that was supposed to control him.
Max Harper stood looking on, trying not to laugh. Faintly, Joe heard Harper's phone buzz.
Harper picked up, and listened. An irritated look spread across his lean face. His replies were brief. But he didn't hang up.
Harper might not like these anonymous phone calls, might not like the unsettling and impossible suppositions that they stirred, but he didn't ignore them.
Behind Harper, Clyde walked across the field to Selig. With a lot of pushing, he made the pup sit. Then backing away, holding the line, Clyde didn't take his eyes from the pup. The object was to get maybe fifty feet from Selig, making sure he remained sitting, to wait for a little while, then call him. The trainee was supposed to sit still until summoned by the trainer, then run directly to him and sit again, facing the tall human god.
What actually occurred was that the pup kept moving his butt around, only barely remaining in the sitting position, wild to lunge and run, and when Clyde did finally call him, Selig ran around Clyde, circling until Clyde's legs were wrapped in the line. Harper, scowling into the phone, couldn't help a lopsided grin as the pup hog-tied Clyde like a roped calf.
So far Clyde had made five attempts at this maneuver. During the first four lessons, Selig, when he was called, had run in the opposite direction, his nose to the ground.
Harper still had the phone to his ear, his expression sour but thoughtful. Dulcie would be telling him that Raul Torres arrived in Molena Point the same day as Cara Ray Crisp. That Cara Ray was staying at the Oak Breeze Motel. Dulcie wouldn't elaborate on that point She'd probably say something like, I know it's not really police business. Yet. Unless, of course, Shamas Greenlaw didn't die naturally. Joe could almost hear her whispering into the phone, Don't you wonder, Captain Harper, why a PI from Seattle-where Shamas used to live, where Shamas still had a business-would plan to meet Shamas's lover in Molena Point just two weeks after Shamas was drowned?
Joe watched Harper tuck the phone into his belt and cross the field to Clyde. If Harper had paid attention to that phone call, and if he meant to head back to the village to check on Cara Ray, he'd have to take either Clyde's car or his own pickup; he'd left his police unit parked in front of Clyde's place. Harper hadn't made a call after Dulcie hung up, as if to send one of his officers to check on Cara Ray.
Harper and Clyde stood talking, then Harper headed toward the house. Joe, flattening himself against the metal roof, was about to signal Dulcie when Harper turned toward the stable, where his pickup was parked.
Joe beat him there. As Harper stepped into the cab, Joe had slid behind him into the back section of the king cab-avoiding the slamming door by a split second. There'd been no time to get Dulcie, she was still in the house.
He'd hoped she wasn't snooping around Harper's place, prying into the police captain's personal life. She was so nosy. Oh, that would be too low.