The curtains had not been drawn, and the faint light from the distant street lamp bathed the room in soft shadows. The bed was smoothly made. Leaping up onto the flowered, quilted spread, she had settled down to wait.

She'd waited for nearly two hours for Bernine to finish, had slipped periodically out into the hall to listen as the conversation swung from mushy love talk to angry argument to sweet words again in a sickening display of human indecision and female guile. Bernine had moved the phone to the couch, lay curled up on her patch of velvet, sweet-talking this bozo.

On the bed she'd dozed, waked to listen to Bernine going on and on, to see the light still burning in the living room and beneath the guest room door and feeling her stomach churn with impatience at the delay.

But then at last she heard Bernine leave the living room, head down the hall, and from the guest room she could hear little rustling sounds. Either Bernine was packing to leave or she was getting ready for bed.

Easing Wilma's bedroom door closed, catching it with her paw just before it latched, she'd leaped to the night table, nosing at the phone.

Her sensible self said, Wait until Bernine's light goes out-don't do this while she's awake.

But she'd waited too long. Her impatient self said, She won't hear you. What are you afraid of? It's practically morning, let's get on with it.

Lifting the headset by its cord, she had dropped it on the pillow, squinched up her paw and punched in Harper's number, cocking her head to the receiver. Joe was an old hand at this, but she still got nervous. The first time she'd dialed and heard a voice at the other end, she'd felt as weird as if she were communicating with someone on Mars.

When the dispatcher answered, she'd boldly asked for Max Harper.

"Captain Harper is not on duty. Lieutenant Brennan can help you."

"I have information to give to Captain Harper personally. About the Winthrop Jergen murder. Information that Harper must have before the Bureau agent arrives in the morning. I must give it to him now; I cannot call again."

It had taken some time for the dispatcher to switch the call to Harper's cellular phone, a degree of electronic sophistication that further awed Dulcie. The delay made her so edgy that her skin began to twitch, but at last Harper came on the line. She had tried to speak clearly, but she hadn't dared lift her voice above a whisper.

"Captain Harper, I have some information about Winthrop Jergen."

Harper didn't respond.

"Captain Harper? Are you still there?" He didn't answer, but she could hear him breathing. "Captain Harper, you have just sealed the scene of a murder up on Venta Street. Your men didn't touch the computer. You left it on, and you have a Bureau man coming down early in the morning to check it out."

Only silence and his ragged breathing. Her paws began to sweat. She wondered if Harper was nervous, too. This was so strange, the two of them linked not only by the wonder of electronics but by a far greater phenomenon, by a miracle that she hardly understood herself-and that Max Harper could never bring himself to believe. She imagined herself like those photographs where a cat's face is superimposed over a woman's face, becoming one, and she almost giggled.

"Captain Harper, there are two code words for the computer that your Bureau man will want. Jergen's code, to open his financial files, is Cairo.

"The second code word was used by Pearl Ann Jamison. It should open a set of files that Pearl Ann seems to have hidden from Jergen, on his own computer. That word is Tiger. I believe those are both Georgia towns…"

She was just starting to explain about Pearl Ann and Troy Hoke when she heard the footsteps; gasping a sharp mew, she leaped to the floor and under the bed. Above her Harper's angry voice had shouted, "Hold it. What the hell?"

Now as the bedroom door opened and the light flashed on, Dulcie's every muscle was tensed to sprint past Bernine's feet and down the hall to safely. Thank God the phone above her was silent-yet she'd heard no click as if Harper had hung up. She listened for those sharp beeps when the phone was left off the hook. She was so frightened that the sounds in the bedroom hardly registered: the hush of the closet door opening, someone rummaging among Wilma's clothes. All she could think was If Bernine picks up the phone, what if he's still on the line? No one could have made that call, no one-there's no other human in the house. Only the cat crouched under the bed scared out of her kitty mind. Shivering, she listened to the whish of garments from the closet.

Then she smelled Wilma's scent, Wilma's subtle bath powder.

Peering out from beneath the spread, she saw Wilma's bare feet as Wilma pulled on her slippers. Mewling with relief, she came out, curving around Wilma's ankles, purring so hard she trembled.

Wilma picked her up, stared into her face. "What?" she whispered, glancing toward the closed door. "What's the matter?"

"I thought-I thought you were Bernine," she breathed, snuggling against Wilma.

Only then did Wilma see the phone lying on the bed. She raised a disapproving eyebrow at Dulcie. "You didn't get my note?"

"What note? You left a note? Bernine…"

Wilma put her down on the bed, hung up the phone, and went down the hall. Dulcie heard her cross the kitchen and open the back door. She returned with a small, folded paper. "I left it tucked in the frame of your cat door, but only a little bit showing so Bernine wouldn't notice." As she moved to pull the bedroom door closed, Dulcie, peering down the hall, saw that Bernine's light had gone out. Had Bernine gone to sleep? Or was she standing just inside, straining to hear?

Wilma unfolded the paper and laid it on the bed.

Have gone to look for Mavity. Don't stay here alone. Go over to Joe's, now, where you'll be safe.

Dulcie looked at her intently. "Did you really think Bernine would…"

"I don't know what Bernine would do. But all night, while we looked for Mavity, I worried about you. Twice I swung by. When Bernine's light wasn't on, I felt easier. She must have gotten home very late."

"She came in about one. But she was on the phone for hours, talking to the guy she was living with. Weeping, shouting. Sweet-talking. What histrionics. Maybe she'll move out. You didn't find Mavity?"

"No." Wilma sat down on the bed, tired and drawn. "And when I think of Jergen's grisly death, I'm afraid for her. If Mavity saw the killer, her life isn't worth much." She looked at Dulcie a long time. "What is his death about? What's happening? Dulcie, what do you know about this?"

Dulcie looked back at her, panicked about what to do.

She had tried to tell Captain Harper, tonight, that Pearl Ann was Troy Hoke. Now, should she tell Wilma?

But what good? Wilma daren't tell Harper. He'd ask how she knew, and why she hadn't told him before. And if she said she'd just found out, he'd want to know how she learned Pearl Ann's secret on the same day of the murder. Wilma's sudden knowledge would implicate her in a way difficult to talk herself out of.

Wilma did not lie well to law enforcement, particularly to Max Harper. She was too truthful within her own profession. And if she attempted some hastily contrived excuse, Harper would be suspicious. Dulcie looked at her blankly, shrugged, and said nothing.

Wilma was turning down the bed, folding the quilted chintz back while Dulcie prowled across it, when a loud knocking from the back door startled them and they heard Clyde shouting.

Racing for the kitchen, Wilma jerked the door open. Behind her, Dulcie leaped to the breakfast table. Clyde rushed in, his voice loud with alarm. "Where is she? What hap…?"