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.'"
"You think the burglaries, if that's what they're doing, are connected to Janet's murder?"
"I don't know. Those two seem to me like a couple of small-time hoods, just snatching at opportunities. I'm not sure they're the kind to have killed Janet."
They shared out the last of the chipmunk, Dulcie eating delicately. "I want to see Stamps's list." But she could see he was not receptive to the idea.
"If they're planning burglaries, the police need to know."
"But we don't know when, or where. What good is it to tell the police and not give them any facts? If we could get Stamps's list…" But she could see he was not receptive to the idea.
"Anyway," she said, "now I know Mama did see something, and that she's afraid to testify. Frances is trying to get her to testify. And Varnie's afraid she will."
"If Varnie did kill Janet, why would Frances want his mother to testify against him?"
"Who knows what Frances wants? There's more to Frances Blankenship than is apparent."
She licked her paws and whiskers. "Frances and the old lady have midmorning coffee in the kitchen. They talk more then, when Varnie's away at work." She licked blood and cracker crumbs from the counter. "Most of their talk is about relatives, they have more cousins than the pound has dogs. But maybe I'll get lucky-hear something." She gave him a long look. "I'm getting stir-crazy over there."
"Maybe I can help."
"How?" Her eyes widened at his sly leer. "What are you thinking?"
"I'll have to work it out. Just be ready." He twitched an ear.
"How can I be ready, if I don't know what you're up to?"
"Don't miss morning coffee," he said softly.
She gave him a puzzled look. "I'd better go, before they untie the monster."
Joe trotted across the tile counter and looked out the kitchen window. "He's still on the front porch, sitting under the light. I can see the rope. Stupid thing has himself wrapped up again."
She trotted over to look. The dog was a black lump, huddled miserably against the porch rail. "Let him rot." She gave Joe a long, loving look. "Thanks for the supper. It sure was better than Mama's leftover carrots."
"Take care." He licked her ear. "I'll be watching. Don't forget, morning coffee."
She gave him a whisker kiss, jumped down, and slid out beneath the door. She was back at the Blankenships' and through the laundry window before the dog knew she had passed. When belatedly he scented her, he fought his shortened rope, roaring. Inside, she dropped to the laundry room floor. Padding toward the kitchen, she paused in the shadows of the hall.
In her absence two more poker players had arrived, the room stank of cigarettes and beer and reverberated with loud voices. Hurrying on past, she headed for the old woman's room. She'd hear no more secrets now.
Another night in this house didn't thrill her, but maybe, if Joe did have a plan, tomorrow she'd hit pay dirt.
13
As Frances opened the back door, airing the kitchen of stale beer and cigarette smoke, Dulcie trotted out to crouch on the threshold. Sniffing the fresh morning air, she was just getting comfortable when Fr
ances nudged her with her an impatient toe. "Go on out, cat. You're in the way." She hunkered down, gluing herself to the floor, then leaped over Frances's offending foot, back into the kitchen. She had no intention of going out; she wasn't going to miss a lick this morning. Whatever plot Joe had hatched for Mama and Frances's coffee hour, she meant to be right there, cat on the spot.
Impatiently Frances returned to the table, fussing around, restoring the salt and pepper shakers and potted fern, the pig sugar bowl and cow-shaped cream pitcher to their rightful places, her movements abrupt, sharply agitated. Maybe her anger was the result of Varnie's loud poker party. Dulcie watched her with interest.
Last night, as Dulcie crouched behind the stove listening to Varnie and Stamps, Frances had been listening, too. Dulcie had been so intent on the conversation, she'd hardly paid attention, thinking that Frances was just passing.
But she hadn't been passing, she'd been standing in the hall, very still. Then, in a moment, she had turned away again, back to her office.
Now, as Mama came wandering into the kitchen, shuffling along in her soft slippers, Frances poured the coffee and set the pot on the table beside a plate of day-old cookies. Mama sighed and settled into her chair. The room had begun to smell of baking, the hot, peachy scent of turnovers from the oven soon overpowering the barroom stench. Dulcie sniffed appreciatively and leaped up to Mama's lap, prepared for a little snack. Whoever said cats didn't like sweets didn't know much.
Curled up against Mama's fat tummy, watching Mama nibble a cookie, she shuttered her eyes against the likely event of spilled crumbs. Interesting that Frances seemed to have no compunction about loading the old lady up on sugar and fat-but maybe Frances had her reasons.
She curled into a little ball, hoping Mama wouldn't spill hot coffee. Mama herself seemed irritable this morning. She nibbled her cookie, sipped her coffee, but said little. Dulcie was drifting into sleep when Frances said, "Mama, you're going to have to make up your mind."
"About what?"
"You know about what; about what I told you at breakfast."
Dulcie was wide-awake. She had missed something when she went out earlier.
"I have made up my mind. Made it up long ago."
"Mama, all you've done is avoid the issue. You know the right thing to do."
"Not going to the police."
"You have to go, Mama. You know the police think someone is withholding evidence. They'll search until they find out who."
"Nonsense. Where would they get such an idea?"
"It was on the local news, I told you. The seven o'clock news."
Mama sat up straighter, jamming Dulcie against the edge of the table, forcing her to change position. "You're making that up."
"They think one of the neighbors saw something that weekend-didn't report it."
"What would make them think such a thing?"
"I don't know, Mama. I don't know how the police get their information."
"This is rubbish." Mama stiffened. "Or else you told them," Mama said warily.
The timer made a small ding, and Frances rose. Standing at the warm stove, she removed the baking sheet of bubbling turnovers, placing two on a plate for her mother-in-law, totally unconcerned that she was feeding Mama enough calories to keep a young hippo. She took one for herself, setting the rest by the window to cool. Dulcie wondered if that rich smell of baking would waft across the street to Joe. Frances sat down again and refilled their cups. She cut a small bite of turnover, taking it on her fork. "If the police think you saw something and withheld evidence, they're going to make trouble."
Mama tried to eat a turnover with her fingers, but it was too hot. She kept juggling it from one hand to the other. At last she broke it in two, dribbling hot peach down Dulcie's ear.
Dulcie licked her paw and swiped at her scorched ear. The hazards of investigative work. Hungrily she licked her paw, making Mama smile. Mama blew on the half turnover, broke off a small piece, and held it for Dulcie to nibble.
"Mama, don't feed the cat and then handle your own food-you don't what diseases it has."
Ignoring Frances, Mama broke off a bite for herself with the same hand, gobbled it greedily, and offered the last crumb to Dulcie.
"Mama, you never listen. About hygiene, about that cat-about the police…"
"Varnie says I don't need to go to the police. Varnie says I don't need to go through such indignity at my age, going down to that police station and being cross-examined and then up in front of everyone in that courtroom. I'm too old and frail to get up in front of all those people; my bad heart would never stand it."
"It will be far worse for your heart, Mama, if the police arrest you."
"Why would they arrest me?"
Frances sighed. "For withholding evidence," she said patiently.
The old woman snorted, scattering crumbs.
"They put people in jail every day for less than that, Mama. It won't help your bad heart if they put you in jail."
"Put an old woman with heart trouble in jail? Don't be silly. Varnie wouldn't let them do that."
"Varnie can't…"
The ringing phone startled them. Mama gave a little jump, unsettling Dulcie so she nearly scratched Mama as she tried to hang on. Hastily she retracted her claws, watched Frances reach to the counter, pick up the phone and set it on the table.
"Blankenship residence." Her voice was cool, impersonal.
She listened a moment, frowning, then put her hand over the mouthpiece, looked at Mama for a long moment. She started to hand Mama the phone, then seemed to change her mind.
Speaking into the phone again, her voice was pure ice. "Mrs. Blankenship isn't feeling well. I'll speak with her. May she return your call?"
She reached for a pad and pencil, and jotted down a number. She repeated it back, then hung up. She looked helplessly at Mama.
"It was an attorney, Mama. I told you this would happen. He's connected with the trial, and he wants to talk with you."
"I don't know any attorneys. I don't have to talk with anyone."
"You will if he gets a subpoena; you won't have any choice."
"Call him back," Mama told her. "Tell him I'm too sick. He can't get a subpoena for a sick old woman."
"You want to tell him that, here's the phone." Frances pushed it across the table.
"You have to tell him, Frances. I'm not calling anyone. Who is this lawyer-what's his name? What business does he have calling me?"
Dulcie could feel her paws gripping at Mama's leg.
"I don't know anything about him, Mama. His name is Grey-Joseph Grey. Grey, Stern, and Starbuck. I don't recognize the firm, but that doesn't mean anything. He… "
Dulcie's claws went in before she could stop herself; Mama yelped and shoved her to the floor.
She crawled contritely under the table, trying not to laugh. Attorney Joseph Grey. Grey, Stern, and Starbuck. She wanted to roll over screaming with laughter.
"J never heard of him," Mama said. "You're making all this up. Why would you lie to an old woman?"
Frances rose and came around the table to stand beside Mama's chair, putting her arm around Mrs. Blankenship's shoulders. "I wouldn't make up that phone call, Mama." She looked pale, her thin face was drawn. "I told you, you should have gone to the police."
Mama just looked at her.
Dulcie sat under the table grinning. Joseph Grey, Attorney at Law. Joseph Grey, Feline Jurisprudence. She could just picture Joe sitting in the window over at Janet's, laughing his head off.
Frances pulled out a chair and sat down close to Mama. "We have to call him back, Mama. We have no choice."
As Dulcie leaped up into Mama's lap, Mama began to cry, her soft flesh shaking. Oh, this was too bad. This was really too bad. The poor old thing was coming all apart. Gazing up at the frightened old face, she reached up a soft paw and patted the old lady's cheek.
Mrs. Blankenship clutched her close, hugging her, squeezing her hard, burying her face in Dulcie's fur.
"I don't know what to do, Frances. Tell him I'm not here. Call him back and tell him I'm in the hospital."
"He knows you're not in the hospital. You have to talk to him, Mama."
"Anyway, it's too late now. They've already put that young man on trial," Mama said. "How could it make any difference what I say? No, it's too late for that."
"No, Mama. That's just the point. If Rob Lake is innocent, you could save him. Hadn't you thought that you might save his life?"
Frances rose, fetched the pan of turnovers from beside the window, and shoved them across the table where Mama could reach them. "Without you, Mama, Rob Lake could be sentenced to death. If he's innocent, Mama, his death would be your fault."
"But that white van the night before the fire could have belonged to anyone. I don't know that it was Janet's. Maybe if I told the police, that would just confuse everyone."
"The police will sort that out. That's their job. You can't choose what the court should know, Mama, and what it shouldn't be told."
Frances sipped her coffee. "Trust me, Mama. The sooner you go to the police, the gentler the court will be with you. Just tell this Mr. Grey what you saw. Tell him you're not sure the van was Janet's. Tell him what time it was-2:00 A.M. Saturday night when the van pulled into her garage and shut the door. Two-thirty when it left again."
"He'll want to come up here, want me to sign papers. Want me to go to court. I told you, Frances, my heart won't stand that."
"I'll explain to him, Mama, that with your heart so bad you're afraid to testify. I'm sure they'll make special arrangements."
Dulcie was so wired she couldn't keep still. She started to fidget, then began to wash, trying to calm herself. She might get annoyed at Joe sometimes, might call him an unimaginative tomcat, but this-this was a stroke of genius.
Mama reached for a turnover and crumbled it between her fat fingers. "I wish that young woman had never moved over there; I knew she'd cause trouble. Who in their right mind would build a welding shop in a residential neighborhood, and right on top of their own house? The city should never have allowed it. All that fire flashing around, it's no wonder… And that bang, bang, bang of gunfire going on for hours. Probably one of those indoor target things. Why would a young woman want one of those things. I don't…"
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