Passing under the apricot tree, a blackened skeleton limned against the soft evening sky, Patti felt the pull of sadness. That tree had helped to rear Inky and Mike. Her mother had trained it for its mission when it was a sapling by snipping its main stalk, so it would branch out low from the ground and be a good“climbing tree.” Every few years, in successive turns, they had shinnied up it to hide in its foliage, and sit very still, and watch the world pass by on the sidewalk beneath. They had hissed catlike at unsuspecting dogs, and barked at cats, and surprised hand-in-hand couples by shouting their names loudly. That tree was a part of her past, and now, like almost everything in her past, was going. It was a part, too, of the house, shading it in the summer, and in the winter dropping its leaves to let the sunshine in. Without the tree the house would look like a plucked chicken.
That blasted Blitzy, she thought.
The dog watched her cross the street with an evil glint in his sharp little eyes. He was squatting in his usual spot on top of the divan in Greg’s living room, looking out the picture window. When she was a few steps away, he snarled. She snarled right back. Taken by surprise, he tumbled backwards, landed hard on the floor, and yelped furiously. She returned the bark as she passed by, rather proud that she still retained such an accomplished “wuf, wuf.” As a youngster she had spoken the dog language fluently and without an accent.
She rang the front doorbell several times, and when no Greg answered, started around the house. What she saw in the driveway stopped her cold. There stood the white Thunderbird note 9 being washed vigorously if not efficiently by two small boys who greeted her gaily. And squatting beside a rear white-wall tire, which was as immaculate as a cleric’s collar, was Greg. He wore a pair of Levi’s that should have been put away to rest in their old age, and a work shirt stiff with paint accumulated from many jobs.“Didn’t expect to see you,” he mumbled, walking toward her and away from the boys.
“I thought we had a date.”
“Didn’t you read the fine type? It says: Both parties will consider this contractual agreement canceled if either engages in practices considered detrimental to the other.”
“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“I apologized, didn’t I? I told you I was sorry, although it was your cat who stole my duck. And you led me to believe ? “
“Greg!”
” ? that everything was okay between us when all the time you had sicced note 10 the FBI on me ? and all because I wanted my duck back that I’d stood all day in the rain ? “
“For heaven’s sake, hush up and listen to me.”
“Okay, so you’ve had your fun. The FBI questioned me, and while they didn’t tie me to a spit and break me ? “
“Greg!” She screamed his name so loud that he stopped, startled. She said in a steady, controlled voice, “I did not sic the FBI on you. I did not ? “
“Answer me this: Did you or did you not tell the FBI agent about last night, that your cat came over ? “
“He wanted to know where D.C. had been and I told him ? “
“I don’t understand you, Miss Randall. So help me I don’t, running to the FBI when it was your cat, although for the life of me I can’t imagine what story you told them to bring them down on me. That I was threatening your life? That I was a spy and stuffed the duck with messages?”
“If you’ll give me a chance, Greg. I’m trying to tell you that I told the agent nothing. He wanted merely to know ? “
“I heard you. He wanted to know where D.C. had been.
The FBI’s got nothing else to do but chase after cats. One
big, lousy, stinking fat cat, and you tell me the FBI wants to
know where he was. Cripes, you don’t think I’m so stupid »>
He trailed off as she started away. Any second the tears would come and she was darned if she would let him have that satisfaction.
“Patti,” he called weakly. He shook his head like a punch-drunk prize fighter. He was confused. A cat, a duck, the FBI, an angry woman ? he couldn’t put the parts together in logical fashion.
He returned to the car. One of the boys asked hesitantly,“What was the blast about?”
“Look at you,” he yelled. “You’ve got more water on you than the car. I’m not paying you to take a bath.”
The other boy asked,“Is the FBI going to arrest D.C?”
“I wish they would. But they wouldn’t dare. The people wouldn’t stand for it, Congress wouldn’t, the President wouldn’t ? because cats can do no wrong. I don’t know who’s handling their publicity but they’ve got the best press anybody ever had in the history of mankind.”
As she entered the house, she was so angry her bracelets jingled. Ingrid looked up with surprise from a magazine.“Sis,” she said tentatively, recognizing the anger she knew all too well. “Whatever ? “
“He broke the date.”
“Greg did?”
“Yes, your big, fine, noble hero thinks I turned him in to the FBI. I couldn’t tell him the truth. He thinks it’s all because of the row we had last night.”
Ingrid put her arm about Patti.“Don’t worry, when it’s all over, and we tell him ? “
“He’ll say we tricked him, that we should’ve told him.”
“I’ll talk to him. He’ll listen to me.”
“Then you date him. Me, I’ve had it.”
She hurried to the back bedroom where she took Zeke by surprise, one leg swung up over the chair’s arm.
“What did you tell Mr. Balter?” she asked without preamble. “He’s furious with me, thinks I got the FBI after him.”
D.C. came awake with a start and prepared to leap. He knew that tone. Zeke rose in astonishment.“I don’t understand ? “
“Me neither. Flinging his old mallard duck up into my face again. Why did you bring the duck into it?”
“Look, Miss Randall, I didn’t bring the duck into it. I haven’t got the slightest idea how the duck ever got into the act. I went to see him as routine procedure. He’s a reputable attorney, a man who could be trusted, and I thought he might have information about the cat’s ? I mean, D.C.‘s ? whereabouts the night before. He might have given me a lead that would have cracked the case wide open. But before I had time to ask any questions, he was talking about some crazy duck, and how he almost got pneumonia, and he kept talking about it. It was like I’d punched a button that blew up a volcano.”
She was not satisfied.“Why did you think he’d know anything about D.C.? Did you think they went out on the town together every night?”
“Please, Miss Randall, the neighbors may hear.”
She crumpled into the nearest chair.“Forgive me, I’m getting as bad as that character across the street.”
D.C. settled back down. He was glad he wasn’t the one catching it.
At least one neighbor had heard. Mrs. Macdougall, washing dishes next door, put a small finger in her ear and shook the finger vigorously. But, removing it, she still couldn’t make out the words. She could only hear Patti and a man talking in raised voices.
“That girl,” she said to her husband, “she’s got a man in her room ? and her carryin’ on like that before a baby sister and a little boy.”
Her husband, who hadn’t said a word all evening, emerged from behind the sports page. “You don’t say?” A look stole into his eyes. “You don’t say!”
Mrs. Macdougall did say.“No wonder ? the whole pack of ‘em taking sun baths half-naked. ‘We don’t want the children to grow up curious,’ her mother saying, and her so respectable-lookin’. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of, the human body.’ Rubbish and tommy rot note 11!”
13
As zero hour approached, the tension mounted. A dozen agents spread out fanlike over the area, stopping children of all ages to show them the picture of D.C.“I’ve lost my cat,” an agent would say. “Thought maybe you’d seen him around.”