A drug dog's sniffing out of evidence was accepted even if he didn't find the drug-he need only indicate to his handler that the drug had been there, and that was legitimate testimony. But similar intelligence, given by a feline volunteer, would be laughed at.

Just one more instance, Dulcie thought, of prejudice in the workplace.

Silently they watched the officers bag the workmen's trash, the drink cans and candy wrappers and wadded-up lunch sacks, and scraps of wallboard and lumber. They bagged, as well, Mavity's insulated lunch carrier and thermos, and Pearl Ann's duffle bag containing her dirty work clothes.

Pearl Ann would have changed clothes for her trip, leaving her duffle to take home on Monday. But Mavity's oversight was strange; Mavity never forgot that lunch bag.

Officer Wendell returned to tell Harper that Mavity was not at home, that there was no sign of her car and no answer when he pounded, and that her door was locked.

"I looked through the windows. The house was very neat, the bed made, three cups and saucers in the sink. I took a turn through the village but didn't see her VW."

Watching from behind a stack of crated plumbing fixtures, Dulcie licked her paw nervously. "Was Jergen stealing from Mavity? Could she have found out and been so angry that she killed him? Oh, I don't like to think that."

"Whoever thrust that ice tray divider into Jergen's throat, Dulcie, had to be bigger and stronger than Mavity."

"I don't know. She's pretty wiry."

"She might have shot him first."

"I don't think she shot him. I don't believe she would hurt anyone. And where was Pearl Ann? Had she already left when his killer entered the apartment?" She dropped her ears, frightened. "Was Mavity there alone? Did she see the killer?"

"Come on, they're leaving. Let's check the bathroom."

But the bathroom where Pearl Ann usually showered and changed was spotless. The shower was completely dry, not a drop of water.

Usually when Pearl Ann cleaned up, she left the shower floor wet, with Sheetrock dust or paint or plaster on the bathroom floor where she'd pulled off her work clothes.

"Maybe," Dulcie said, "she didn't want to pick up any dirt on her clean new clothes. Maybe she mopped up with paper towels, before she got dressed."

"But why would she dry the shower, too? And there are no paper towels in the bathroom trash basket." Nor did they remember the police taking any trash from the bathroom.

"And there's something else," Dulcie said. "Can't you smell it?"

"I do now," Joe said, sniffing at the shower and grimacing. Over the scent of soap and of Pearl Ann's jasmine perfume came a sharp, male odor. A man had used the shower, and recently. Even a careful wiping-up hadn't destroyed that aroma.

"So Pearl Ann had a man in the shower," Joe said. "So maybe she didn't go up to the city alone. Is that a crime?"

"Did you ever see her with a date? You've never seen anyone come by here to pick her up."

"She still could be seeing someone, or maybe living with someone-maybe wants to keep it quiet."

"Could one of the subcontractors have been here and used the shower?"

"There was no sub scheduled for today," Joe said. "Have you ever seen one of the subs use the shower?"

She switched her tail impatiently. "We have to call Harper- tell him there was a man in the shower and give him the codes for the computer. This could be the key to the whole puzzle."

"Before we make any calls and upset Harper, let's have a look at the Davidson Building-check out Pearl Ann's room."

"Don't you think Harper went over there to search? There'll be cops all over the place."

"He won't search without someone at home," Joe said. "You know how he is. Even if he gets a warrant, he won't go in until Pearl Ann gets back. Says it protects the evidence, saves a lot of fuss in court." His yellow eyes burned with challenge, his expression keen and predatory. "Come on, Dulcie, let's go toss Pearl Ann's place-we'll never have a better chance."

22

AS A BLUE-CLAD morgue attendant rolled the gurney bearing Winthrop Jergen's corpse into the cooler to await the coroner's knife, as Captain Max Harper sat at his desk in the Molena Point Police Station filling out his report on Jergen's death, and as Joe and Dulcie padded along the top of the fence behind the Davidson Building where Pearl Ann Jamison rented a room, along the lighted village streets Mavity's worried friends searched for her. Charlie, driving slowly past the crowded shops and cottages, stopped frequently to shine her flashlight among bushes and around porches, thinking she might find Mavity wandering confused and frightened. She kept picturing Mavity standing in the shadows of Jergen's hall watching some faceless assailant stab and stab him-then running, terrified.

She was aware of Wilma searching high above her up the dark hills; she caught frequent glimpses of Wilma's car lights winding back and forth along the narrow streets and the beam of her flashlight sweeping the houses and the open meadows.

But next time she glanced up, Wilma's lights had stopped- they were stationary, seemed to be somewhere above the apartment building.

Had she found Mavity?

But then the light swept slowly across the houses and grassy verges as if Wilma was walking the area, searching it again, though they had looked above the apartments earlier, thinking that Mavity might have run up there to escape Jergen's killer.

Wilma, leaving her car, moved among a tangle of gardens and slipped up driveways to shine her beam in through garage windows; she peered into cars parked on drives or in streets to see if they were empty, hoping no one saw her from some darkened house. She didn't need anyone calling the station, reporting a prowler. She couldn't stop thinking that Mavity, having witnessed Jergen's murder and able to identify the killer, had hidden up here.

Yet Mavity could have been struck down by the killer and dragged away, dumped anywhere-the far foothills, the bay…

Or had Mavity, driven by hurt and rage because Jergen cheated her, hefted that ridiculous weapon and flung herself at him with enough force to drive the blunt instrument into his soft flesh?

Before she left home, Wilma had examined an ice tray divider from her refrigerator, hefting it, trying to imagine killing with it.

She had put it down again and turned away sickened, appalled at her own lack of faith in her friend.

Earlier this evening as she walked the streets looking for Mavity, she had met Sue Marble closing up her Latin American Boutique, turning out the lights, dimming the window spots that shone across the display of native art. Sue hadn't seen Mavity for over a week. Wilma didn't stress the urgency of her search, didn't mention the murder.

Sue was full of friendly energy, her complexion rosy, her bobbed white hair gleaming. "I have something for you." She had unlocked her shop again and hurried inside, returning with two signed petitions in support of the library cat, her apple face alight with the accomplishment of having gotten fifty more signatures.

"Don't you tell Freda I did this. I'm supposed to be Freda's friend. She'd pitch a fit if she knew I was getting signatures. But I just can't agree with her about your little library cat. The way she's acting almost makes me want to drop her-except she's the only friend I have who likes to play Scrabble. I don't know why she's so down on cats.

"That black cat that visits me, he's such a handsome fellow. Comes right on in the shop, so regal." She laughed. "I'm a sucker for a friendly kitty. I thought at first he was a stray, but he was too sleek and well-fed. And then his master came in, that nice Greeley Urzey, and…"