"I don't know, Mama. I don't know how the police get their information."
"This is rubbish." Mama stiffened. "Or else you told them," Mama said warily.
The timer made a small ding, and Frances rose. Standing at the warm stove, she removed the baking sheet of bubbling turnovers, placing two on a plate for her mother-in-law, totally unconcerned that she was feeding Mama enough calories to keep a young hippo. She took one for herself, setting the rest by the window to cool. Dulcie wondered if that rich smell of baking would waft across the street to Joe. Frances sat down again and refilled their cups. She cut a small bite of turnover, taking it on her fork. "If the police think you saw something and withheld evidence, they're going to make trouble."
Mama tried to eat a turnover with her fingers, but it was too hot. She kept juggling it from one hand to the other. At last she broke it in two, dribbling hot peach down Dulcie's ear.
Dulcie licked her paw and swiped at her scorched ear. The hazards of investigative work. Hungrily she licked her paw, making Mama smile. Mama blew on the half turnover, broke off a small piece, and held it for Dulcie to nibble.
"Mama, don't feed the cat and then handle your own food-you don't what diseases it has."
Ignoring Frances, Mama broke off a bite for herself with the same hand, gobbled it greedily, and offered the last crumb to Dulcie.
"Mama, you never listen. About hygiene, about that cat-about the police…"
"Varnie says I don't need to go to the police. Varnie says I don't need to go through such indignity at my age, going down to that police station and being cross-examined and then up in front of everyone in that courtroom. I'm too old and frail to get up in front of all those people; my bad heart would never stand it."
"It will be far worse for your heart, Mama, if the police arrest you."
"Why would they arrest me?"
Frances sighed. "For withholding evidence," she said patiently.
The old woman snorted, scattering crumbs.
"They put people in jail every day for less than that, Mama. It won't help your bad heart if they put you in jail."
"Put an old woman with heart trouble in jail? Don't be silly. Varnie wouldn't let them do that."
"Varnie can't…"
The ringing phone startled them. Mama gave a little jump, unsettling Dulcie so she nearly scratched Mama as she tried to hang on. Hastily she retracted her claws, watched Frances reach to the counter, pick up the phone and set it on the table.
"Blankenship residence." Her voice was cool, impersonal.
She listened a moment, frowning, then put her hand over the mouthpiece, looked at Mama for a long moment. She started to hand Mama the phone, then seemed to change her mind.
Speaking into the phone again, her voice was pure ice. "Mrs. Blankenship isn't feeling well. I'll speak with her. May she return your call?"
She reached for a pad and pencil, and jotted down a number. She repeated it back, then hung up. She looked helplessly at Mama.
"It was an attorney, Mama. I told you this would happen. He's connected with the trial, and he wants to talk with you."
"I don't know any attorneys. I don't have to talk with anyone."
"You will if he gets a subpoena; you won't have any choice."
"Call him back," Mama told her. "Tell him I'm too sick. He can't get a subpoena for a sick old woman."
"You want to tell him that, here's the phone." Frances pushed it across the table.
"You have to tell him, Frances. I'm not calling anyone. Who is this lawyer-what's his name? What business does he have calling me?"
Dulcie could feel her paws gripping at Mama's leg.
"I don't know anything about him, Mama. His name is Grey-Joseph Grey. Grey, Stern, and Starbuck. I don't recognize the firm, but that doesn't mean anything. He… "
Dulcie's claws went in before she could stop herself; Mama yelped and shoved her to the floor.
She crawled contritely under the table, trying not to laugh. Attorney Joseph Grey. Grey, Stern, and Starbuck. She wanted to roll over screaming with laughter.
"J never heard of him," Mama said. "You're making all this up. Why would you lie to an old woman?"
Frances rose and came around the table to stand beside Mama's chair, putting her arm around Mrs. Blankenship's shoulders. "I wouldn't make up that phone call, Mama." She looked pale, her thin face was drawn. "I told you, you should have gone to the police."
Mama just looked at her.
Dulcie sat under the table grinning. Joseph Grey, Attorney at Law. Joseph Grey, Feline Jurisprudence. She could just picture Joe sitting in the window over at Janet's, laughing his head off.
Frances pulled out a chair and sat down close to Mama. "We have to call him back, Mama. We have no choice."
As Dulcie leaped up into Mama's lap, Mama began to cry, her soft flesh shaking. Oh, this was too bad. This was really too bad. The poor old thing was coming all apart. Gazing up at the frightened old face, she reached up a soft paw and patted the old lady's cheek.
Mrs. Blankenship clutched her close, hugging her, squeezing her hard, burying her face in Dulcie's fur. "I don't know what to do, Frances. Tell him I'm not here. Call him back and tell him I'm in the hospital."
"He knows you're not in the hospital. You have to talk to him, Mama."
"Anyway, it's too late now. They've already put that young man on trial," Mama said. "How could it make any difference what I say? No, it's too late for that."
"No, Mama. That's just the point. If Rob Lake is innocent, you could save him. Hadn't you thought that you might save his life?"
Frances rose, fetched the pan of turnovers from beside the window, and shoved them across the table where Mama could reach them. "Without you, Mama, Rob Lake could be sentenced to death. If he's innocent, Mama, his death would be your fault."
"But that white van the night before the fire could have belonged to anyone. I don't know that it was Janet's. Maybe if I told the police, that would just confuse everyone."
"The police will sort that out. That's their job. You can't choose what the court should know, Mama, and what it shouldn't be told."
Frances sipped her coffee. "Trust me, Mama. The sooner you go to the police, the gentler the court will be with you. Just tell this Mr. Grey what you saw. Tell him you're not sure the van was Janet's. Tell him what time it was-2:00 A.M. Saturday night when the van pulled into her garage and shut the door. Two-thirty when it left again."
"He'll want to come up here, want me to sign papers. Want me to go to court. I told you, Frances, my heart won't stand that."
"I'll explain to him, Mama, that with your heart so bad you're afraid to testify. I'm sure they'll make special arrangements."
Dulcie was so wired she couldn't keep still. She started to fidget, then began to wash, trying to calm herself. She might get annoyed at Joe sometimes, might call him an unimaginative tomcat, but this-this was a stroke of genius.
Mama reached for a turnover and crumbled it between her fat fingers. "I wish that young woman had never moved over there; I knew she'd cause trouble. Who in their right mind would build a welding shop in a residential neighborhood, and right on top of their own house? The city should never have allowed it. All that fire flashing around, it's no wonder… And that bang, bang, bang of gunfire going on for hours. Probably one of those indoor target things. Why would a young woman want one of those things. I don't…"
"It wasn't gunfire, Mama. I told you, it was just a staple gun. One of those big commercial staple guns. You know she used it to stretch her canvases. You know what she said, that putting in thumbtacks made her thumbs ache for days. Please, Mama, I've got to return this attorney's call."
"You've got a stapler right in there on your desk, Frances. It don't sound like that. You know I'm right. That crazy artist set the whole hillside on fire. I always knew she'd do that. Burn up the whole neighborhood. If not for my prayers to save this house, we would have burned up, too."