"I can't speak any louder. Please listen." She asked the operator several questions, then looked up at Joe.
"No listing. Not in Greenville, North Carolina."
Before he could stop her, she had dialed again, and asked for a special operator, and was laying out a long list of questions. She hung up at last, dropped the phone into the plastic bag. "There is no Valencia Home for the Elderly," she whispered. "Not in Greenville, South Carolina, either. Not in any nearby city."
"Dulcie, Harper's standing just on the other side of this wheel, at the bottom of the steps."
She paid attention at last, creeping out to look. Above them, they could hear Fulman and Cara Ray arguing-the floor must be thin as paper.
"Harper's going to knock on that door," Joe said, "and we-"
"We, what?" she hissed. "No one knows we're under here. And if they did…? We're cats, Joe. Cats." She dialed again, and asked for the number of the Greenville, North Carolina, PD.
She asked several questions, and hung up, grinning.
"They never heard of Valencia Home for the Elderly. They suggested I try Greenville, South Carolina. I told them I'd already done that, that it was the same story." She began to purr. "Fake nursing home, fake machine-tool business. I can't wait for Harper to find these letters."
"He isn't going to find them if we don't hike them out of here and stash them. I don't…"
There was a knock at Fulman's door, then soft, sliding footsteps above their heads, as if Fulman had slipped off his shoes, approaching the door quietly. They heard Cara Ray mumble.
"Don't be stupid," Fulman hissed. "Why would a cop-?"
"They know something, Sam. Oh my God-"
They heard rummaging from the area of the dinette. "Where is it? Where the hell is it, Cara Ray? What'd you do with the papers?"
"Forget the papers. I don't have them. I want out of here."
"Where did you put them? What the hell-?"
"I didn't touch the damned papers!"
"Keep your voice down. What the hell! Has that damn cop been inside? He can't do that. What about my rights!"
"I want out, Sam. I don't-"
"And how would you suggest we do that without walking right into him? Go out through the roof?"
"A window-the bathroom window's open."
"It's the only window on that side, Cara Ray. Except the kitchen window. They're both dinky. You might squeeze through, but I can't. Go on if that's what you want."
From between the wheels, the cats could see, on the little porch, Max Harper's size eleven police-issue black oxfords. They heard Cara Ray in the bathroom, fiddling with the window. But suddenly right above them came a sharp, metallic click. The kind of businesslike double click of heavy metal, as when someone slips a loaded clip into an automatic. Thunk, click.
Joe leaped at the phone and slapped in Harper's number, praying he'd answer.
He got the little recording that informed him the phone was not in use at this time. Harper had turned it off, to avoid it ringing as he stood watching outside Fulman's door.
But maybe Harper had heard the click, too. He had moved off the porch fast, backing against the wall. The door was flung open.
Stepping out onto the porch, Fulman looked down at Harper. The cats didn't see a gun. Fulman's hands hung loose.
"You remember me, Fulman. Captain Harper, Molena Point Police. I'd like to talk with you."
Fulman stepped back into the trailer. Harper moved in behind him. The door closed.
No sound came from within. The cats strained to hear. Joe made one more hasty call, whispering, then they fled down the hill, dragging the grocery bag, the plastic shining stark white in the darkness-it would look, to a casual observer, as if it was hurrying down under its own power; the cats would be only shadows. Backing down the hill, hauling it along together like a pair of bulldogs, their teeth piercing the plastic, the thin plastic tearing on rocks and bushes, they got it down at last between the boulders and into the mouth of the cave.
In the wind they heard no sound from up the hill, not Harper's voice or Fulman's. Whether the silence portended good, or signaled that Harper was in trouble, they had no way to know. Hauling the bag into the cave, they tried to gauge twenty feet, then to find, in the blackness, a crevice or niche in which to stash the evidence. Joe didn't like being so far beneath the earth. As they moved deeper still, all sounds from without faded to silence.
23
JOE GREY'S paws began to sweat. He'd rather fight a dozen hounds than creep down into the earth's dark belly. He might be a civilized tomcat, might be well informed on many matters, but he was not without his superstitions, not without some deep feline fears. And he did not like anything about Hellhag Cave.
Behind the cats, wind swirled into the cave, snatching at their backsides like a predatory beast, making the fur along Joe's back stand straight up; his every muscle felt as taut as wire cable.
"This deep enough?" he growled around a mouthful of plastic.
"Not yet," Dulcie said, dragging at the bag, and she pushed deeper, into darkness so profound that even their night vision couldn't penetrate; they had only their whiskers to guide them, and their sensitive pads to feel the way, to keep them from pitching over a ledge into empty space. He said not another word until at last she stopped, dropping her corner of the bag.
"Here. In this crevice. Help me lift the bag. Push it here."
"You seem to know the cave very well."
"I've been down here once or twice," she said casually. "There's a narrow slit here. I'm going to crawl in, push it farther back.
"Wait, Dulcie."
"I'll only be a minute. I know this little niche. When the sun's out, in the afternoons, you can see it well enough."
"You don't know what it's like since the last earthquake."
She paused, was so still he could hear her breathing.
"Oh my God," she said softly. "I could have lost the whole package in there."
"I could have lost you in there. Did you think of that?"
She backed out, pushed close to him, and licked his nose. Turning back, they found a ledge partly concealed behind a rough outcropping, and dragged the package up onto it among scattered rocky debris. Harper should find it there, should see its curve of white between the stones.
Their errand completed, Joe raced for the cave's mouth, unashamed, leaving Dulcie to take her time. His paws were sweating; his fur felt prickly all over. He was soon sucking fresh air again beneath the open sky, reveling in the sky's vast and endless space. Dulcie came out laughing at him and gave him a whisker kiss.
Above them, up the hill, there was no sound from Fulman's trailer. They could see no movement, no shadow within the yellow square of the kitchen window. Had Harper arrested Fulman? Arrested him without any sound of battle reaching them in the night?
"Look," Joe said, rearing up. Beyond Fulman's trailer, a large, dark shape was slipping along between the wheeled houses; soon the cats could make out the pale markings of a squad car: the backup that Joe had called. It stopped behind Fulman's trailer. Two officers emerged, silent and quick.
Down the hill, the first two police units were still parked at the edge of the cliff.
"Brennan mentioned a missing person," Joe said. "Maybe those units are part of the search."
"Wonder who's missing," Dulcie said softly. "I hope not a little child." Beyond the patrol cars, to the south, they could see two officers searching below the road along the lower cliff, appearing and disappearing, their flashlight beams swinging through the shrubs; and where a tiny steep road led down toward the sea, the cats caught the gleam of another car, parked among the scrub oak, and saw a flash of light and hints of other dark figures moving. Dulcie started down the hill, wanting to see more-then she stopped suddenly, staring away where the grass whipped tall and concealing.