Cat Fear No Evil (28 page)

T
he women's accessory department of I. Magnin
smelled subtly of expensive perfumes and, if one had a feline's ability to detect fainter scents, of fine leather and silks and velvets and imported wools. Joe Grey was not visible, but the customer looking at cashmere scarves and evening stoles carried a large, apparently heavy backpack, one of those models with netting set into the sides.

Though the subject was clean-shaven and his short dark hair well cut, though he was neatly dressed in sport coat and slacks, a store detective watched him. The unobtrusive observer stood several counters away appearing to be selecting a woman's sweater. His skilled surveillance was hardly noticeable as he waited for the guy to lift a hundred-dollar scarf and slip it in the backpack. If the prospective shoplifter seemed to be talking to himself, he could be a bit strange, or that could be a ploy, a weird but deliberate distraction. The detective watched him lift one scarf from the rack, hold it suspiciously up to the backpack, wait a minute,
then lay it back over the rack. The customer had been perusing the merchandise thus for about ten minutes, one scarf or stole after another. The clerk waiting on him was patient, but she was not smiling; the man made her nervous.

But then a woman joined the customer, a striking blonde, and the subject's solitary remarks became part of normal conversation. Now the blonde held up the scarves, one at a time, and she seemed almost to be talking to the backpack. The store dick moved closer.

Just as he decided to approach the pair, two elderly folk joined them. Their behavior, however, was equally bizarre. Sometimes he wished he'd stayed working warehouse security, where life had been simpler. Now the tall wrinkled woman held up scarves, going through the same routine as the other two; and the strange thing was, all four of them seemed to be losing patience. The detective glanced at his watch. This charade was cutting into his lunch hour. Moving away into women's shoes but keeping an eye on the party, he saw to his great relief that the guy with the backpack had finally selected two cashmere stoles. One was ice blue, one amber. Making his purchases, he paid cash. If he was passing counterfeit money he wouldn't have made such a spectacle, would have been in and out fast. Wanting his lunch, the detective turned away—if the backpack contained stolen merchandise, the electronic gate would pick it up and signal an alarm. It was an extremely touchy procedure to confront a customer for shoplifting while that person was still in the store. Abandoning the group, he headed out a side door and up the street for a quick hamburger.

The four people followed him out and headed down
the block for their own lunch. Only the passenger in the backpack had paid any attention to the store dick. Watching him through the mesh, Joe was highly amused by the man's frustration.

When the detective had disappeared, Joe nuzzled into the package that Clyde had dropped into the pack, sniffing deeply at the expensive wool. Dulcie would be thrilled; so would the kit. Ice blue for Dulcie, amber for Kit, both stoles softer than bird down. Joe had never before purchased a gift of any kind, certainly not a two-hundred-dollar stole for his lady.

He had, of course, not paid directly for the gifts. But as Clyde had offered a reward for information leading to recovery of the Packard, Joe figured he'd earned that amount, and more.

Swinging back by the condo after chasing Azrael, they had found Consuela and Hollis already removed to the city jail, and the uniforms still searching the apartment. The officers had found the hidden locks on Dorriss's sliding wall panels, and were photographing the stolen items. They had called for, and had posted, a guard of five additional officers, and the street was crawling with police cars. The condo manager, who lived on the premises, had gone around with Clyde and Detective Reedie to open the doors of Dorriss's three single garages.

They had found two empty. The third contained a vehicle lovingly protected by a thick waterproof cover made especially for a 1927 Packard roadster. Clyde might never know whether Dorriss had bought the cover some time before he stole the Packard, fully intending to possess that particular car, or whether he
rashly ordered it from an automotive specialty shop after the deed was accomplished.

Leaving the garage and parting from Detective Reedie, Clyde had returned to the Cadillac grinning with success.

Joe Grey had said nothing. But with every line of his body, the angle of his ears and the slant of his whiskers, the look in his eyes, he had given back to Clyde a cool and judgmental I-told-you-so.

Now as Clyde and Kate and the Greenlaws took their seats at the sidewalk table, Clyde carefully set Joe's pack on an empty chair beside him and opened the flap.

Yawning, Joe looked out as Clyde read several items from the menu. With a twitch of his ears at the right moment, he gave Clyde his lunch order, then curled down again on the soft I. Magnin package. He had almost shut out his friends' small talk when Lucinda said, “It makes me feel very much easier with those people in jail, particularly now.”

Joe slitted open his eyes.
Particularly now, what?
What had he missed?
The appraisal
, he thought, coming up out of the backpack.

Lucinda leaned over to speak softly to Clyde, waiting until the waiter set down their onion rings and beer. Joe had thought the appraiser would keep the pieces for a day or so before returning them with his evaluation, but apparently not.

“They're real,” Lucinda said softly to Clyde. “Our seven pieces, and Kate's nine. All of fine quality, the appraiser said. Thank goodness we were able to rent safe deposit boxes, this time with more security we
hope than Kate's box had, and with some extra precautions.”

The idea of another safe deposit box alarmed Joe. But where else was there that would be more secure? Watching Kate, he expected her to be radiant with the news but she didn't seem to be, she was very quiet as Clyde laid his hand on hers.

“What?” Clyde said.

“Just…reaction, I guess,” she said softly. “Yes, it's wonderful, the appraisal, having that treasure to fall back on, to tuck away for some emergency. I just…need to get over all the rest of it.” She squeezed Clyde's hand. She looked, Joe thought, deeply introspective. Maybe she'd celebrate her new fortune later, maybe wildly. But right now she needed some down-time, maybe to get used to the idea of what such wealth might mean.

Well, he understood that. He had no idea what he would do with a large wad of cash—but then, Joe thought, there wasn't much chance he'd ever need to worry about such matters.

He was surprised Clyde hadn't asked how much the jewels were worth. Clyde hadn't; not then, not there on the street. Joe was burning to know—not that it was any of his business, or Clyde's either.

Watching Kate, he knew she needed to settle back into the real world, after the dark sorcery of the black tom, after the touch of a beast who would take great pleasure in destroying Kate's natural joy of life, a beast who worshiped only destruction.

The waiter brought their sandwiches, and Kate's salad and Joe's shrimp cocktail sans sauce. Joe ate with greedy concentration, standing up in the backpack with
his front paws on the table, lifting each shrimp out where he could chomp it more handily. If he garnered glances and smiles from nearby diners, he ignored them. Finishing the shrimp he had a little wash, then, yawning, he curled down inside the backpack again, against the soft package. It had been a busy morning. Drifting off, he wondered where Kate would go from here? Back to Molena Point, to work for Hanni? Or Seattle, as she'd told Clyde she might, to work there for her present firm?

But she'd be alone in Seattle, no friends around her. She'd told Clyde it was only a short flight down to the village, maybe two hours to San Francisco, then thirty minutes to Molena Point. But how often would she come, once she was caught up in that new life? How often would she return to the village to be among friends who were like family?

She'll be all right
, Joe told himself.
No need to get protective and soft-minded over a self-sufficient, beautiful, and soon to be wealthy human. Kate will do just fine.
And Joe Grey slept, the deep dreamless sleep of contentment, the untroubled sleep of one who had changed a life or two. He didn't wake to say good-bye to Kate and the Greenlaws, but somewhere in sleep he heard Clyde and Kate as she lingered for a moment by the car.

“Back there in that old house,” Clyde said, “I was afraid you wanted to follow him.”

“Maybe, for a moment,” she said softly. “There are two drives in all of us, Clyde. One toward heaven, one toward hell. It's our choice that matters. What I truly wanted, deep down, was to be done with the beast. With everything he believes in. If there ever was such a
world, and if that beast is drawn there, then it must be dark and twisted and terrible. Maybe,” Kate said, “maybe it was different once, long ago, when McCabe wrote of such a place. When perhaps my parents wandered there. I don't know, Clyde. But that is not my world;
this
is my world. This world is full of more wonders than I can handle.” She was silent a moment, then, “Thank you, Clyde, for coming, for being here. Thank you, Joe Grey.” Joe felt her fingers caress his head and ears, then heard her turn and walk away.

Joe didn't stir when Clyde tucked the backpack onto the passenger seat and fastened the seat belt around it. He didn't wake in San Jose when Clyde stopped for a cup of coffee, didn't wake until they passed Gilroy, when Clyde swerved hard and hit his horn. Yawning, Joe crawled out of the backpack looking blearily around. “What was that about?”

“Some drunk went over the line,” Clyde said angrily. “Damn near sideswiped me.” Then he smiled. “There's a black and white behind us, they just pulled the guy over.” He glanced down at Joe. “You were out like a light.”

Joe yawned and didn't answer. Settling down atop the backpack for another snooze, he didn't wake again until they were pulling into their own drive. It was just dusk, the falling light among the trees and cottages soft and inviting, the smells of cooking along the street bringing Joe wide awake. He was starving. And what was this? Why was their house lighted up?

Every light must be on downstairs, bright behind the drawn curtains. Joe stared up at Clyde. “What did you do, rent out the house?”

Clyde looked back at him, then at the street where Charlie's blue Chevy van was parked. “Something's wrong.” He swung out of the car fast, but held the door open for Joe. Joe paused. Crouching on the seat ready to leap out, he saw Dulcie in the window, standing tall on the sill, looking.

She did not look distressed. In fact, her whiskers were straight out, her ears sharply alert—just glad to see them home. She disappeared as Joe leaped from the car; and when he hit his cat door Dulcie and the kit were there, pushing out to greet him.

 

It was a very small, very private party. At first, just Wilma and Charlie and Clyde, Joe and Dulcie and the kit. Dulcie and Kit licked his ears and whiskers as if he'd been gone for weeks, but then the kit was all over him demanding to know about Lucinda and Pedric. Where were they, why hadn't they come back with Clyde, when were they coming home and did they really mean to stay this time? She wanted them here in the village safe and she didn't want them to roam anymore.

The aroma of spaghetti sauce filled the house from where it was simmering on the stove. When they all moved into the kitchen, Charlie put the pasta on to boil, and got out the grated cheese and salad dressing. The table was set for six. A big basket of Jolly's best French bread waited on the counter beside a huge salad. And in the middle of the round table stood a cake decorated with one candle and with red lettering on white icing. The sentiment portrayed in Wilma's inimitable cake-decorating style said,

W
ELL DONE
, J
OE
G
REY
! Y
OU ARE A PRINCE AMONG CATS
.

Joe was just rearing up to blow out the candle, not an easy move for a cat, when the phone rang. Charlie hit the speaker.

It was Kate. “They get home okay?”

“Just got here,” Charlie said. “He's blowing out his candle. We only have enough time for Joe to cut his cake and have a toast or two before Max and Dallas and Ryan get here.”

“Drink cheers for us,” Kate said. “Lucinda and Pedric are here, helping to clean up the apartment. Tell Clyde and Joe thank you. Lucinda and Pedric say thank you. We love you all.”

When they'd hung up, Charlie opened a bottle of champagne and they toasted Joe Grey for helping recover Kate's jewels, for finding Clyde's Packard, and for operations of a clandestine nature in the investigation that should soon break Marlin Dorriss's identity theft scam. Then Clyde cut Joe's cake, which was a delectable combination of goose liver and cream cheese. This was served on crackers with the champagne—and for the cats, warm milk. Dulcie and Kit's cashmere stoles were presented by Joe himself, the tomcat hauling them out of the I. Magnin bag and laying them at the ladies' feet: blue for Dulcie, amber for the kit. Dulcie's green eyes caressed Joe lovingly. Clyde's four hundred dollars could not have been better spent. The kit's round yellow eyes were wide with excitement as she patted at the soft, folded cashmere then curled down to roll on it, loudly purring.

Before Max and Dallas and Ryan arrived, all evidence of the celebration had disappeared. The officers
and Ryan came in laughing, Harper and Garza very high indeed with the way the Dorriss cases were shaping up. And Ryan too, hugging Clyde, was filled with excitement. An upbeat atmosphere at the station always put her in a happy mood—her uncle Dallas had helped raise her, she was practically a cop's kid; the ongoing drama of his work was an important part of her life.

“You saw Kate,” Ryan said, taking Clyde's hand. “Will she be all right? She got her jewels back!”