The two men popped open beers and sat at the table spraddle-legged, eating pretzels, obviously waiting for the rest of the group. She studied the newcomer with interest. Varnie called him Stamps. There was a James Stamps who worked for Charlie, and this guy fit Charlie's description, thin face, thin, round shoulders. Long sleazy brown hair and little, scraggly brown beard. Long, limp hands. And the same whiny voice that Charlie had mimicked.
The same sullen attitude, too. When he began to talk about his boss, he was not complimentary. Belching, stretching out his long skinny legs, he chomped a handful of pretzels. "Don't know how long I can keep that job."
"What's so hard about it? It's a dumb-head job. You didn't blow it already?"
"Didn't blow it. Don't know how long I can stand that woman. Pick, pick, pick at a man. Redheaded women are so damn pushy, and who wants to work for a woman. This one is hard-nosed like you wouldn't believe-worse than my parole officer, and that guy is a real hard-ass."
Stamps aimed a belch into his beer can; it echoed hollowly. "Never saw a woman didn't have a thing about getting to work right on the damn minute. And you don't dare think about leaving early. You come back from lunch two minutes late, they want you to work overtime-for straight pay. Make up every friggin' minute."
Behind the stove, Dulcie smiled. Too bad she couldn't repeat Stamps's remarks to Charlie. Soon Stamps began talking about the trial.
"That art agent, the one that testified this morning. That's another hard-assed woman. She had a set of keys to that place, did you know that? Had keys to the woman's van, too." Stamps settled back, tilting his chair, crossing his legs. "Made herself look bad, talking about those keys. But she don't know nothing. And the dead woman's sister, that Beverly Jeannot, they had her on the stand."
"So?"
"So there's a lot of action there, all these people testifying. We better get on with it."
"I told you, James. Cool it. We get greedy now, we end up with mud on our faces."
"But that just don't make sense. Why would…?"
The dog began to bark. Roaring deep and wildly agitated, it sounded like something had disturbed it. She felt her fur stand up, her heart quicken. Where was Joe?
Stamps rose, swearing, and went outside. She wanted to bolt out behind him, but then she heard him scolding the beast. It sounded like it was still there on the porch. Stamps muttered something angry, then a low growl cut the night, followed by a surprised yelp. She was bunched to bolt through the open door when Stamps returned.
"Tied him to the porch rail. Don't know what he saw. Nothing out there now. He don't like that rope; he snapped at me." Stamps laughed.
Dulcie settled back against the faintly warm stove.
Varnie said, "Should've tied him up the other time. Damn dog barking was what woke the old woman. Frances is still trying to make her go to the cops, and who can shut Frances up?"
"That's one more reason to get what we can, before those two women spill to the cops. Get it and get out. If we wait…"
"I said, no. You keep pushing, James, and you'll blow it."
Stamps ducked his head, cleared his throat, and took a swig of beer. "What about the other?"
"That's all right. You still casing?"
"I don't see why I have to make notes. I can remember that stuff."
"Make the notes. You can't remember your own name. Only way to get our timing right so we can hit all seven places the same morning. No one pays attention to the street in the morning, they're too busy getting to work, getting their kids on the bus, but we got to have the timing right or we blow it. Piece of cake, if you keep good notes. Let me see the list."
"It's back in the room."
"Very smart. So someone goes in there-the landlord."
"They got no business in my room, I pay my rent. And those jerks wouldn't know what that paper is-but I got it all down, times people leave for work, everything. It's a damn bore, walking the dog there every morning."
"Just keep doing it, James. And make sure you keep your mouth shut when Ed and Melvin get here."
"What the hell. You think I… "
The dog barked again, then screamed a high yip-as if he had been scratched. This time when Stamps pushed open the door Dulcie streaked out past him. Pausing in the shadows, she couldn't see Joe. But the dog was on the porch, it had got its rope wrapped around the post and around its ear-must pinch like hell. Stamps stood in the doorway, looking disgusted and yelling. And before she could slip back inside he turned away, slamming the door nearly in her face. She leaped back The dog wasn't four feet from her, and, without warning, it lunged at her. She flew off the porch, running, terrified he'd break the rope.
She hit the street-and the dog hit the end of the rope. But he was jerked back-the rope held. He fought and roared as she bolted across, straight for Janet's door.
She met Joe coming out. He grinned and licked her ear. "I thought he had you. That's the dog that chased us, I can smell him clear over here."
"It's James Stamps's dog, the Stamps who works for Charlie. He's the one who rented that room down the hill, the room behind the gray house."
He glanced down the hill. "Interesting. What are they doing in there?"
"Big poker night."
"What did you find out from the old lady? Come on in, supper's on." He slid in under the door, and she followed. This was lovely, just the two of them. She'd missed him.
Inside, he grinned down at her from atop the kitchen counter. Leaping up beside him, she regarded his supper layout with amazement. He had a regular feast prepared. "Is this all for you?"
"It was until you got here. You don't think I'm entertaining other ladies?"
She didn't smell another cat in the house, only Joe. "You got the refrigerator open."
"Just practicing what you taught me," he said modestly. "Front paws in the handle, hind feet against the counter. Quick push, and voila! Sorry, the Brie is gone. It was a bit old, it made me belch."
He had found half a brick of Cheddar cheese and a tub of sour cream, rather ripe but still edible. Toothmarks dented the plastic where he'd pulled the lid off. He had unearthed a pack of stale crackers, too. Beside it lay a warm, freshly killed chipmunk.
They dined.
Chewing off a hunk of Cheddar, Dulcie dipped it in the sour cream. "Has Beverly been back? Or the police?"
"No one. The night you left I brought Janet's diary in, read it again, then put it back. I thought maybe we'd missed something, some clue, but I guess not. Slept on her bed, that comforter's nice and warm."
"No sign of the white cat?"
"None. And what did you find out? What's with the old woman? I've been watching Varnie come and go; he's a real piece of work. I looked in their garage window. That old truck smells like a warehouse full of stale fish. What's he doing to it?"
She shrugged. "Some kind of repairs. Varnie and this James Stamps-I'm wondering if they killed Janet."
He stared at her.
"They're into something. Somehow it has to do with the murder." She licked sour cream from her whiskers. "They mean to make money from it, whatever it is. Varnie said, 'If we get greedy now, we end up with mud on our faces.' And Stamps said they should get all they can before Varnie's mother spills to the cops. I told you she knows something."
She pushed a morsel of chipmunk onto a cracker. "And they're into something else, too. Stamps is keeping a list, I think of when people are home and when they leave for work"
"Planning burglaries?"
"Sounds like it. Early-morning burglaries. Varnie said, 'Hit and clear out.'"