Bernine caught her breath.

"We have the proof," Ralph said. "All the court proceedings are available, back in Georgia."

"You mean he's-been to jail?"

"Jergen wasn't convicted," Ralph told her, "but he's guilty as sin."

"We only hope," Dora said, "that we can convince Mavity of this. That she will accept the truth. We haven't told her yet. We wanted…"

This time it was Ralph's turn to kick, his black loafer thumping Dora's ankle.

"We only hope that she can pull out of this in time," Ralph said. "Before Jergen gets away with her money. She doesn't…"

The waiter returned with their salads. In the island of silence as he served, the cats curled down more comfortably against the wall. When he had gone Ralph leaned, again, toward Bernine.

"Winthrop Jergen, my dear, robbed us of nearly all our life savings."

"Oh. Oh, don't tell me that. Oh, how terrible for you. I can't believe this." Bernine's toe wiggled with excitement.

"We've gotten none of our money back," Ralph told her. "All gone. Police couldn't find a trace, not a bank account, nothing."

Dora uncrossed her ankles, setting her feet solidly. "Jergen arranged his little scheme so his partner went to prison. Jergen got off free-went totally free."

"But where did this all happen? And when?" Bernine asked, puzzled.

"In Georgia, and not many months ago," Dora told her. "Not long before Christmas-it was a terrible Christmas for us. Terrible."

"But what brought him here? How did you know he was here? Did Mavity…?"

"Mavity told us about her wonderful investments," Ralph said. "She hoped we might be able to make back some of our losses."

"And," Dora said, "when she described Jergen, we began to suspect that this might be Warren Cumming-that's his real name."

"Seemed impossible it could be the same man," Ralph said. "But when we checked Cumming's phone in Georgia, it had been disconnected. And when we went to his office, it was empty; he'd moved out. Mavity's description of Jergen sounded so much like Cumming that we decided to find out. So when we told…"

Dora kicked again. Poor Ralph was going to have a black-and-blue ankle.

"When we told our Georgia friends we were coming out here," Ralph mumbled, "they wished us luck. You have to understand how angry we were, that Jergen got off free."

"Scot-free," Dora said. "Looks like he came right on out here, took a new name, started right up again, cheating people-cheating my own aunt."

"But…" Bernine began.

"I suppose he got a new driver's license," Dora said. "Got all those fake cards like you read about, social security, who knows what else?"

Ralph shifted his feet. "All we can do, now, is try to convince poor Mavity of the truth. She thinks that man hung the moon. But with some proof…"

"Now," Dora said loudly, pressing her knee against his, "now all we can do is help Mavity cope with this. That's all we can ever do."

As their entrees were served, the conversation deteriorated to a replay of everyone's concerns for Mavity, punctuated by the sounds of cutlery on china and occasional smacking from Ralph. The cats had nearly dozed off again when the main course was concluded and their waiter took the plates and brought coffee and the dessert cart. Bernine declined dessert. Dora chose a pecan and caramel torte with whipped cream. Ralph selected a double cream puff with chocolate sauce. Dulcie was partial to the small custard tart on the bottom shelf. Lifting it gently from its pleated white doily, she and Joe indulged. Above them, the conversation turned to Molena Point's tourist attractions, then back to Mavity, to how shocked Bernine was and how worried they all were for Mavity's well-being. When again the dessert cart passed their table, the cats went away beneath it, licking cream from their whiskers.

As the waiter parked the cart at the end of the terrace and turned away, the cats sprang to its top shelf skillfully missing cakes and pies and tortes. Leaping to the roof, they dislodged one small piece of cherry pie, sent it skidding across the terrace. They heard it hit and didn't look back, sped racing across the roof and didn't stop until they reached the end of the block.

Pausing beside a warm heat vent, they had a leisurely and calming wash to settle their nerves. "What's that hussy up to?" Joe said, licking his paws.

"Don't forget, she worked for years as a secretary for the San Francisco probation office. That's where Wilma first knew her."

"So?"

"She must know a lot of probation officers and law enforcement people. And those guys, when they retire, sometimes start private investigative services. Wilma knows several P.O.s who…"

"You think she's investigating Dora and Ralph? Or investigating Jergen? Come on, Dulcie. Can you picture Bernine doing anything to help the law?"

"She would for money-she'd do anything for money."

"And what about the watcher?" He peered over the roof to see if the man was still there, but he had gone-or had moved to a new vantage. "He appears to have masterminded the copying of Mavity's financial statements," Joe said. "He could be some kind of cop-that's more believable than Bernine helping the law."

He began to pace the roof, across the warm, tarry surface. "And what about Pearl Ann, snooping on Jergen?" He looked at Dulcie intently. "Who's the cop, here? And who's the rip-off artist?"

As they discussed the puzzle, thirty feet below them the sidewalk was busy with tourists, the after-dinner crowd heading home, lingering at the shop windows, and late diners coming from art exhibits or leaving the local theater, heading for various village restaurants. They saw, scattered among the crowd, two women and an elderly man carrying library cat petitions, stopping each tourist to show newspaper clippings with Dulcie's picture.

"Who's checking those signatures," Joe said, amused. "These people aren't village residents."

"They use the library, though," she said defensively. "Lots of visitors do. Wilma makes out temporary cards all the time."

Directly below them a couple in jeans stood arguing about whether to drive on to San Francisco or stay in Molena Point, and up at the corner three college-age girls flirted with their male escort, each angling prettily for his attention. Ordinarily the cats enjoyed watching tourists, they liked hanging over the roof making fun of people, but tonight their attention returned quickly to Bernine and the Sleuders, worrying at the tangle as intently as they would worry at an illusive mouse.

But, as it turned out, they had little time to circle the quarry before Azrael's prediction came true. Before there was, indeed, a murder. An event that sucked in Joe and Dulcie like flies into a spider web.

17

I SEE DEATH around you… death before the moon is full, Azrael had told them-almost as if the black torn could himself bring death with his dark magic, as if this beast were indeed the Death Angel. Whatever the truth, two days after Azrael beguiled Joe and Dulcie into spying at Pander's restaurant, death reached out just as he predicted.

It was barely eight A.M., Tuesday morning, as they entered the empty library, slipping in through Dulcie's cat door, their bellies full of fat mice, meaning to curl up on the children's window seat for a little nap before opening time. The cushioned retreat, where the children listened to stories, was at this hour Dulcie's private domain.

According to Freda Brackett, Dulcie had turned the long window seat and the inviting tangle of brightly flowered pillows into a nest of cat hair, fleas, and ringworm, but the children thought differently. They loved finding Dulcie among the cushions to snuggle as they listened to the librarian's stories; they all fought to hold her and sit close to her.