Clyde looked at Joe intently. "Doesn't Jolly's deliveryman wonder, when he brings this stuff and no one answers the door? What do you tell him when you call?"
"I tell him to leave it on the porch. What else would I tell him? To shove it through the cat door? I can manage that myself. Though this evening I carried it around here, it's so nice and sunny. I had a delightful snack."
"That, as far as I'm concerned, was your supper."
"You might call it high tea."
"And where's Dulcie? How come you didn't share with her? She loves smoked salmon and Brie."
"She planned to spend the afternoon at the courthouse. She said she was going home afterward, for some quality time with Wilma. Dulcie is a very dutiful cat."
Clyde wadded up the deli wrappers. "You were taking a nap pretty early in the day, so I presume you're planning a big night."
Joe shrugged. "Maybe an early hunt, nothing elaborate." He had no intention of sharing his plans for the evening. This proposed break-and-enter into the Aronson Gallery was none of Clyde's business. It would only upset him. He looked Clyde over with interest. "And what about you? Looks like you have big plans. Is that a new jogging suit? And new Nikes? They have to be, they're still clean. And you just had a haircut. What gives? You going walking with Charleston?"
Clyde stared.
Joe bent this head and licked his hind paw. "Simple deduction," he said modestly. "I know that Charlie likes to walk; Dulcie says she's learning the lay of the village, learning the names of the streets. And you told me yourself, she doesn't like fancy restaurants and doesn't hang out in bars. And a movie date is so juvenile. Ergo, you're going walking, and then for dinner either to the Fish Market or the Bakery."
"I don't know why I bother to plan anything about my life. I could just ask you what I'm going to do for the day. It would be so much easier."
Joe lifted a white paw, extended his claws, and began to clean between them.
Clyde glanced at his watch and rose. In a few minutes Joe could hear him in the kitchen opening cans, could hear the two old dogs' nails scrabbling on the kitchen floor in Pavlovian response to the growl of the can opener, and the three cats begin to mewl. Annoyed by the fuss, Joe rose, leaped to the top of the fence and up into the eucalyptus tree. There he tucked down into a favorite hollow formed by three converging branches and tried to go back to sleep.
But within minutes of his getting settled and drifting off, the back door burst open and a tangle of dogs and cats poured out into the falling evening. The dumb beasts began to play, driven by inane, friendly barking and snarls and an occasional feline hiss. Joe climbed higher.
He wasn't to meet Dulcie until eight-thirty, but he needed to be fresh. It would take some quick maneuvering to slip into the gallery unseen just before it closed, find an adequate hiding place, and remain concealed until Sicily locked up and went home. He had a bad feeling about tonight. But Dulcie wasn't going to rest until they took that gallery apart looking for Janet's paintings.
He supposed if they didn't find them, she'd want to search Sicily's apartment next, and who knew where else.
What they should do, of course, was inform the police. Let Captain Harper know about the missing paintings-make one simple, anonymous phone call so Harper could start looking for them.
But try to tell Dulcie that. She'd got her claws into this and was determined to do it her way, to come up with the killer unaided, like some ego-driven movie detective.
Yet he knew he was being unfair. The excitement of the hunt stirred his own blood. And he knew Dulcie was driven not so much by ego, as by her powerful hunting instincts and an overwhelming feline curiosity. Her tenacity in tracking the killer was as natural to her as stalking an elusive rabbit.
But now, of course, one crime wasn't enough, now she'd honed in, as well, on Stamps's early-morning burglary scheme.
Harper should be delighted. Why pay all those cops, when he has us?
But, to be honest, his own curiosity nudged him just as sharply. And what the hell? Breaking into Stamps's place had been a gas. He liked nosing around other folks' turf.
Anyway what choice did he have? What else could he do when Dulcie flashed those big green eyes at him, and extended her soft little paw? Might as well relax and enjoy an evening of burglary. What harm-what could go wrong? What could happen?
17
High above the alley, as Dulcie crouched to leap, the oak branch shivered beneath her tensed paws. She gathered herself, staring across to the narrow brick sill of the courthouse window. She sprang suddenly, flying across-hit the sill, scattering pigeons, driving them up in an explosion of thundering wings.
But even as she clung, steadying herself by pressing against the glass, they circled back, dropping down again into the oak, the bravest ones returning to the ledge to strut and eye her sideways with simpleminded bravado. If she hadn't been otherwise engaged, she would have had one for a little snack.
Hunched on the narrow sill, she peered down into the courtroom, wondering why the windows were closed, why the room below was dark. No lights burned, the long rows of mahogany benches were empty, the jury box abandoned, the judge's big leather chair deserted, the shadowed courtroom as lifeless as a time capsule sealed away to be opened a thousand years hence. Surely they hadn't concluded the case. Visions of Rob Lake being pronounced guilty and sentenced filled her with panic.
But it was too soon for a verdict, there were still witnesses to be called. There had been no time for a summing up, not nearly enough time for the jury to deliberate. Puzzled, she turned away, leaped back into the oak tree, sending the mindless birds scattering.
She sat among the branches, licking pigeon soil from her paws. In her haste she'd forgotten the hand towel, had left it stuffed high in the tree among the smallest twigs. She had to know why court was closed.
Maybe the Gazette was out early. Maybe it would tell her. Sometimes, when there was an unusual event, the evening edition hit the streets around midday. She gave her paws a last disgusted lick, backed down the rough trunk, and headed for the post office, where the nearest paper rack stood chained to a lamppost.
At least she had delivered the list, had deposited her copy of Stamps's itinerary safely at police headquarters. She hoped it was safe. She'd thought of faxing it to Captain Harper, a safe and direct route, but she'd have to use the library fax when no one was watching, a feat nearly impossible. Besides, the fax still unnerved her.
The Molena Point Police Station occupied the southern wing of the courthouse just across the alley from the jail, from Rob Lake's cell. The station's main entrance opened onto Lincoln Street. A second door, inside the police squad room, opened directly into the courthouse. At the back of the building a third entrance, a locked metal door, led to the police parking lot.
She had arrived long after the change of shift. The fenced parking lot was full of officers' personal cars and a few squad cars, but there was no one about, no officer passing through the lot, no pedestrian in sight at that moment. The brick wall of the jail, across the alley, was blank except for very high windows. No prisoner could see out. Certain that no one was watching, she had tucked the list under the metal door, praying that some officer, coming out, wouldn't let it blow away.
Now, leaving the courthouse, she glanced down the alley to the back of the station, looking for the little white folded paper. She couldn't see it beneath the door. Maybe Harper already had it. She had started over to take a look when a squad car pulled in.
Hurrying on by, she left the court building heading for the post office news rack. Trotting around to Dolores Street, she sprinted north a block, galloping up the warm sidewalk. The day smelled of green gardens and the sea; the shop windows were bright with their expensive wares; the gallery windows brilliant with an assortment of painting styles. Next to the post office, the Swiss House smelled of sweet rolls and freshly brewed coffee. Pink petunias bloomed beside its door, in ceramic pots. She sniffed at the flowers as she passed, approaching the news rack.