Cat to the Dogs

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  "Look," she breathed, staring away down the hill.

  Down on the highway, two black-and-whites were parked along the shoulder. The cats could see officers moving along the lower cliff. "What are they doing?" Dulcie said softly. "They can't be here already to answer your call. What's happening?"

  But Joe's mind was on the package. On the ground below them, its stark white plastic reflected light where there was no light. If Fulman came around behind the trailer, he couldn't help but see it.

  They heard, behind them, the trailer door open. They flew out the window as Cara Ray's soft tread came down the hall. Landing hard in the darkness, grabbing the bag, they hauled it underneath the trailer, against a rear wheel.

  They were crouched beside the wheel, trying to punch in the number for North Carolina information, when Joe saw, standing between two trailers, a dark figure nearly hidden: a tall, slim man, his dark jacket and pants fitting neat and trim-a uniform. A cop. And the man's lean, easy stance was unmistakable.

  Every hair down Joe's spine stood at attention. Harper couldn't be here so soon-he had barely hung up the phone from talking to Harper. "Dulcie, Harper's out there-"

  But Dulcie was busy speaking to an operator three thousand miles away. He listened to her make several calls, then she looked up at him, her green eyes wide and dark. "I got a disconnect for Bernside Tool and Die. No such number."

  "Shh. Keep your voice down. Dulcie…"

  "The special operator couldn't tell me how long it might have been since that was a good number, if ever." She licked her paw. "Those Bernside Tool and Die invoices were dated just a few months ago."

  "Dulcie, Harper's here." Joe crouched, watching Harper's feet coming toward them, up the brick walk, the police captain moving swiftly and silently in the shadows. But Dulcie was dialing again, speaking in a whisper, asking information for the number of Valencia Home for the Elderly.

  "I can't speak any louder. Please listen." She asked the operator several questions, then looked up at Joe.

  "No listing. Not in Greenville, North Carolina."

  Before he could stop her, she had dialed again, and asked for a special operator, and was laying out a long list of questions. She hung up at last, dropped the phone into the plastic bag. "There is no Valencia Home for the Elderly," she whispered. "Not in Greenville, South Carolina, either. Not in any nearby city."

  "Dulcie, Harper's standing just on the other side of this wheel, at the bottom of the steps."

  She paid attention at last, creeping out to look. Above them, they could hear Fulman and Cara Ray arguing-the floor must be thin as paper.

  "Harper's going to knock on that door," Joe said, "and we-"

  "We, what?" she hissed. "No one knows we're under here. And if they did…? We're cats, Joe. Cats." She dialed again, and asked for the number of the Greenville, North Carolina, PD.

  She asked several questions, and hung up, grinning.

  "They never heard of Valencia Home for the Elderly. They suggested I try Greenville, South Carolina. I told them I'd already done that, that it was the same story." She began to purr. "Fake nursing home, fake machine-tool business. I can't wait for Harper to find these letters."

  "He isn't going to find them if we don't hike them out of here and stash them. I don't…"

  There was a knock at Fulman's door, then soft, sliding footsteps above their heads, as if Fulman had slipped off his shoes, approaching the door quietly. They heard Cara Ray mumble.

  "Don't be stupid," Fulman hissed. "Why would a cop-?"

  "They know something, Sam. Oh my God-"

  They heard rummaging from the area of the dinette. "Where is it? Where the hell is it, Cara Ray? What'd you do with the papers?"

  "Forget the papers. I don't have them. I want out of here."

  "Where did you put them? What the hell-?"

  "I didn't touch the damned papers!"

  "Keep your voice down. What the hell! Has that damn cop been inside? He can't do that. What about my rights!"

  "I want out, Sam. I don't-"

  "And how would you suggest we do that without walking right into him? Go out through the roof?"

  "A window-the bathroom window's open."

  "It's the only window on that side, Cara Ray. Except the kitchen window. They're both dinky. You might squeeze through, but I can't. Go on if that's what you want."

  From between the wheels, the cats could see, on the little porch, Max Harper's size eleven police-issue black oxfords. They heard Cara Ray in the bathroom, fiddling with the window. But suddenly right above them came a sharp, metallic click. The kind of businesslike double click of heavy metal, as when someone slips a loaded clip into an automatic. Thunk, click.

  Joe leaped at the phone and slapped in Harper's number, praying he'd answer.

  He got the little recording that informed him the phone was not in use at this time. Harper had turned it off, to avoid it ringing as he stood watching outside Fulman's door.

  But maybe Harper had heard the click, too. He had moved off the porch fast, backing against the wall. The door was flung open.

  Stepping out onto the porch, Fulman looked down at Harper. The cats didn't see a gun. Fulman's hands hung loose.

  "You remember me, Fulman. Captain Harper, Molena Point Police. I'd like to talk with you."

  Fulman stepped back into the trailer. Harper moved in behind him. The door closed.

  No sound came from within. The cats strained to hear. Joe made one more hasty call, whispering, then they fled down the hill, dragging the grocery bag, the plastic shining stark white in the darkness-it would look, to a casual observer, as if it was hurrying down under its own power; the cats would be only shadows. Backing down the hill, hauling it along together like a pair of bulldogs, their teeth piercing the plastic, the thin plastic tearing on rocks and bushes, they got it down at last between the boulders and into the mouth of the cave.

  In the wind they heard no sound from up the hill, not Harper's voice or Fulman's. Whether the silence portended good, or signaled that Harper was in trouble, they had no way to know. Hauling the bag into the cave, they tried to gauge twenty feet, then to find, in the blackness, a crevice or niche in which to stash the evidence. Joe didn't like being so far beneath the earth. As they moved deeper still, all sounds from without faded to silence.

  23

  JOE GREY'S paws began to sweat. He'd rather fight a dozen hounds than creep down into the earth's dark belly. He might be a civilized tomcat, might be well informed on many matters, but he was not without his superstitions, not without some deep feline fears. And he did not like anything about Hellhag Cave.

  Behind the cats, wind swirled into the cave, snatching at their backsides like a predatory beast, making the fur along Joe's back stand straight up; his every muscle felt as taut as wire cable.

  "This deep enough?" he growled around a mouthful of plastic.

  "Not yet," Dulcie said, dragging at the bag, and she pushed deeper, into darkness so profound that even their night vision couldn't penetrate; they had only their whiskers to guide them, and their sensitive pads to feel the way, to keep them from pitching over a ledge into empty space. He said not another word until at last she stopped, dropping her corner of the bag.

  "Here. In this crevice. Help me lift the bag. Push it here."

  "You seem to know the cave very well."

  "I've been down here once or twice," she said casually. "There's a narrow slit here. I'm going to crawl in, push it farther back.

  "Wait, Dulcie."

  "I'll only be a minute. I know this little niche. When the sun's out, in the afternoons, you can see it well enough."

  "You don't know what it's like since the last earthquake."

  She paused, was so still he could hear her breathing.

  "Oh my God," she said softly. "I could have lost the whole package in there."

  "I could have lost you in there. Did you think of that?"

  She backed out, pushed close to him, and licked his nose. T
urning back, they found a ledge partly concealed behind a rough outcropping, and dragged the package up onto it among scattered rocky debris. Harper should find it there, should see its curve of white between the stones.

  Their errand completed, Joe raced for the cave's mouth, unashamed, leaving Dulcie to take her time. His paws were sweating; his fur felt prickly all over. He was soon sucking fresh air again beneath the open sky, reveling in the sky's vast and endless space. Dulcie came out laughing at him and gave him a whisker kiss.

  Above them, up the hill, there was no sound from Fulman's trailer. They could see no movement, no shadow within the yellow square of the kitchen window. Had Harper arrested Fulman? Arrested him without any sound of battle reaching them in the night?

  "Look," Joe said, rearing up. Beyond Fulman's trailer, a large, dark shape was slipping along between the wheeled houses; soon the cats could make out the pale markings of a squad car: the backup that Joe had called. It stopped behind Fulman's trailer. Two officers emerged, silent and quick.

  Down the hill, the first two police units were still parked at the edge of the cliff.

  "Brennan mentioned a missing person," Joe said. "Maybe those units are part of the search."

  "Wonder who's missing," Dulcie said softly. "I hope not a little child." Beyond the patrol cars, to the south, they could see two officers searching below the road along the lower cliff, appearing and disappearing, their flashlight beams swinging through the shrubs; and where a tiny steep road led down toward the sea, the cats caught the gleam of another car, parked among the scrub oak, and saw a flash of light and hints of other dark figures moving. Dulcie started down the hill, wanting to see more-then she stopped suddenly, staring away where the grass whipped tall and concealing.

  Something small and dark lay among the blowing stems. It lay very still, no sign of movement, something blackish brown and limp. Dulcie plunged to reach the still little form, letting out a frightened mewl.

  She reached in a tender paw to touch the unmoving lump.

  She went limp, too, as if all the starch had gone out of her. Joe sped toward her.

  Moving to press against her, he saw that it was not a cat at all, not the little stray that Dulcie had surely imagined; it was only a purse, a woman's purse. An ordinary leather purse with an open top, lying in the tall grass.

  "Cara Ray's purse?" Joe said, wondering how it had gotten down here.

  "No, not Cara Ray's. It's Lucinda's. I thought-"

  "I know what you thought," he said, rubbing his cheek against hers. "It's not the little waif. But, Lucinda's purse?" He stood up on his hind paws, looking around them, searching the windy, empty night for a sign of the thin old lady. "She doesn't come up here at night, Dulcie."

  Dulcie stretched tall, scanning the grassy verge. "Well, she wasn't at dinner. But even if she was here somewhere, why would she leave her purse?"

  "Are you sure it's hers?"

  "Oh yes, it's hers. I recognize it, and that's Lucinda's scent-but there's another smell, too." Puzzled, she pushed deep into the handbag, her rear sticking out, her tail lashing, her voice muffled.

  "Musty smell. Like mildew." She nosed around, pawed at something-and backed out with a thin packet of hundred-dollar bills clutched in her teeth. Dropping the musty bundle, she held it down with her paw.

  "It was tucked into the side pocket. Smells just like the canvas bag." A reflection of starlight gleamed in her dark eyes. "Is this part of the buried money? Is it Lucinda who's missing? Has she run away, taking the money? Or did someone-?"

  "Dulcie, Lucinda's not some baby to run away or be lost."

  "Then what is her purse doing here?" She looked at him intently-then glanced up toward the cave, her eyes widening, searching the shadows at the cave's mouth.

  "There was no one in there, Dulcie. We'd have caught her scent."

  "Would we? Over the reek of damp earth?" She looked down the hill at the searching officers, their fights sweeping and flashing, and at the car parked below the road. "Is that Lucinda's car?" She leaped away, was yards down the hill, making for the half-hidden vehicle, when shouting erupted from the trailer above them; she stopped to look back They heard thudding, as if men were fighting-and the crack of a shot. Dulcie dropped, belly to ground.

  "Come on," Joe hissed. She crept to him. They slid behind a boulder as, above them, Fulman burst around the end of the trailer, running, swerving downhill straight at them, dodging between the dark bushes.

  They didn't see Harper or the other officers. Fulman fled for the rocks where they were crouched and on past them. He careened into the cave as if he knew exactly where to run. Joe sprang to follow him- if Fulman went deep enough, and if he had a light, even if he only lit a cigarette lighter to find his way, he was sure to see the gleam of white plastic.

  But Fulman stopped just inside the cave. Hunkered down, he watched the road below, watching the four officers race up the hill, heading for their cars, summoned by that single shot.

  As the two black-and-whites spun U-turns and headed around the hill for the road that led up to the trailer park, Fulman slipped an automatic from his hip pocket.

  The cats, crouched six feet from him, had turned to creep away, when Dulcie whispered, "Look"

  Down on the road, another car came around the bend from the village, Clyde's yellow convertible, the top up but the rumble seat open, where the pups rode wagging and panting. Before Clyde had stopped, Selig leaped out, tumbled tail over nose, then danced around the car, barking. Clyde parked on the narrow verge above the sea; immediately Hestig jumped out, sniffing at the air, his tail whipping.

  "What the hell is Clyde doing?" Joe hissed. "Why would he bring the pups, with all this confusion?"

  The passenger door opened, and Wilma stepped out.

  "They're looking for Lucinda," Dulcie whispered. "When she wasn't at dinner, I thought she just… Oh my. What's happened to her?"

  Clyde was trying uselessly to corral the two dogs, as they ran circles around him. He gave up at last and moved along the verge, looking down the cliff, dangling the empty leashes. But Wilma headed straight up Hellhag Hill, hurrying for the cave where Lucinda liked to sit- straight toward Sam Fulman, crouched in the blackness, cradling his automatic. The cats flew to meet her.

  Dulcie leaped into Wilma's arms, nearly choking as she tried to get out the words. "Go back. Fulman's in there. He has a pistol. He shot-he shot at Harper."

  Wilma dropped behind the nearest bush and slid downhill, rolled twice, and fetched up behind a boulder out of the line of fire-her reactions as sharp as when she had worked parole cases; Dulcie supposed the body didn't forget; like snatching a fast mouse, the habit was with you forever.

  The cats crowded close to Wilma. Shielded by the rocks, they could barely see the cave; but they could see, high above it, Fulman's trailer, where Harper and an officer were easing Cara Ray into the backseat of a squad car, Cara Ray fighting and swearing.

  "What happened?" Dulcie whispered to Wilma. "Where's Lucinda?"

  "She hasn't been home since just after the quake, when the Greenlaws hauled her furniture out of the house."

  "Mightn't she have gone out to eat by herself, because she was angry? Why did they call the police?"

  "She and I had an appointment with the priest-she was upset about Dirken's plans for the funeral. When she was an hour late, I went by the house."

  Above them, Harper and two officers moved down the hill on foot, keeping low, were soon lost among the dark bushes.

  "With all that's happened," Wilma whispered, "with the Greenlaws knowing that Lucinda had found the money, Harper thought it best to look for her. Probably she just got in her car and left for a while, left them to their haggling."

  The three officers crouched above the cave among the granite boulders; they would not be able to see into the cave, as Wilma and the cats could. Fulman had moved deeper in, hidden among the inky shadows.

  "Fulman," Harper said, "you're trapped. You'd do best to come on out."


  Fulman appeared suddenly at the mouth of the cave, his pistol drawn, facing uphill in a shooter's stance.

  "Look out," Wilma yelled.

  The officers dropped. Fulman fired. Three shots flashed in the darkness. The officers rose and circled fast, down either side of the cave, returning fire. Fulman had disappeared. Wilma and the cats lay flattened, Joe wondering if this was the last night in his and Dulcie's lives-and if they had any lives left, for future use. Watching Lieutenant Wendell slip down beside the cave, Joe's eyes widened at the metal canister in Wendell's hand.

  "Come out, Fulman," Harper shouted. "Hands on your head. You have ten seconds, or that cave's so full of tear gas, you'll sell your soul for air."

  "My god," Dulcie said, staring at the canister.

  "It could save a life," Wilma snapped at her. "Run- get down the hill. If the wind picks up a whiff of that stuff…"

  But before Wendell could throw the canister they heard a scuffle in the cave, heard a woman scream and Fulman swearing. Another scream, and Fulman loomed in the entrance, pushing Lucinda before him.

  "See what I have, Harper. Go on, throw your little bomb."

  The officers drew back. Fulman dragged Lucinda out of the cave, staying behind the thin old woman, moving down the hill using her as a shield. Lucinda was limp and obedient.

  "She was in the cave all along," Dulcie whispered. "She was there when we went in. Why did she let him see her?"

  Fulman had backed a third of the way down toward the highway, dragging Lucinda, when the pups raced up at them, barking, half in play, half with confused anger. Fulman spun, kicking at them, the old lady stumbling. Selig and Hestig leaped and snapped at him. He kicked them again, and forced Lucinda across the road to the edge of the cliff, where it sheared away to the breakers. Lucinda made no effort to fight him; caught between the sea crashing below and the gun he held against her, she was very still.