Joe and Dulcie glanced at each other, and Joe watched Harper carefully. Max Harper never could figure out why his old beer-drinking buddy, his ex-rodeoing buddy, was so dotty about a cat. And he knew he made Harper nervous; twice this past year he and Dulcie had upset the police captain pretty badly.

Though whatever suspicions might needle Harper, they could be no more than suspicions.

Highly amused, laughing inside, he gave Harper a blank and stupid gaze. He loved goading Max Harper. On poker nights he always tried to have some new little routine, some subtle new irritant to taunt the captain- not because he disliked him, only because he enjoyed Harper's stern discomfiture.

And what difference, if Harper was suspicious? No matter what he might suspect, if Max Harper breathed a word about intelligent cats, about crime-solving cats, to his fellow officers, he'd be off the force quicker than he could spit.

Dulcie nudged Joe, and he came alert, saw Clyde's meaningful look, realized he must have been staring too hard at Harper, maybe smirking. Clyde's look said, watch yourself, buddy. And to distract Joe, Clyde leaned over and opened the passenger door of the Bentley.

"Come on, cats. Come on, kitty kitty," Clyde said sarcastically.

Glancing at each other, they lowered their eyes demurely and trotted around the front of the Bentley. Stood staring up through the open door as Clyde carefully arranged his clean white lab coat across the front seat. When he had suitably covered the creamy leather, he shouted, "Come on, dammit." And they jumped up onto the coat, the three of them playing the master-and-cat game perfectly for Harper's benefit.

"You two make one claw dent, you leave one cat hair anywhere near this upholstery, and you're dog meat. Two little portions of Ken-L Ration."

Harper observed this little tableau with only the faintest change of expression on his long, cheerless face. Whatever he was thinking didn't show.

Clyde patted Joe roughly, and grinned at Max. "I volunteered the cat to Bonnie Dorriss for that Pet-a-Pet group she's organized, to visit up at Casa Capri."

Harper raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "She started the project for her mother, only way she could think of, to take the poodle up there. Thinks the dog'll cheer Susan, help her recover. Susan loves that big poodle."

"Bonnie told me the plan; she's sure the dog can help Susan get through the pain of the therapy, keep her spirits up while she heals." Clyde ruffled Joe's fur in an irritating manner. "Bonnie wanted some cats in the group, so why not? Let the little beggar work for a living."

Beneath Clyde's stroking hand, Joe held very still, trying to control his rage. Clyde could be a real pain. Let the little beggar work for a living. Just wait until they were alone.

Pulling away from Clyde's stroking hand, turning his back, he pictured several interesting moves he might pursue to put Clyde Damen in his place.

Harper said, "I can't believe she'd take cats up there. A dog, sure. You can train a dog, make him mind. But a cat? Those cats will be all over; you can't control a cat.

"But hey, maybe a few cats careening around will give those old folks a little excitement, anything to break the boredom." Harper frowned. "When old people get bored, they can turn strange. We've had some real nut calls from up there."

"Oh?" Clyde said with interest. "What kind of nut calls?"

Harper shifted his lean body. "Imagining things. One old doll calls every few months to tell us that some of the patients are missing, that her friends have disappeared."

Clyde settled back, listening.

"When someone gets sick, Casa Capri moves them from the regular Care Unit over to Nursing. More staff over there, nurses who can keep them on IVs or whatever's needed. They don't encourage people from Care to visit the patients in Nursing, don't want folks whipping in and out. I can understand that.

"So this old woman keeps calling to say they won't let her see her friends, that her friends have disappeared. She got on my case so bad that finally I sent Brennan up to have a look around, ease her mind."

Harper grinned. "The missing people were all there, their names on the doors, the patients in their beds. Brennan knew a couple of them from years ago. Said they were pretty shriveled up with age."

He shook his head. "I guess that place takes as good care of them as you'd find. But poor Mrs. Rose, she can't understand. Every time she calls, she's bawling."

"Damned hard to get old," Clyde said.

Harper nodded. "Hope I go quick when the time comes." He ducked a little, for a better look at the interior of the Bentley, at the soft white leather, at the tasteful and gleaming accessories and the sleekly inlaid dash. "How much did this baby set Adelina back?"

"Three and a half big ones," Clyde said. "Poker this week?"

"Sure, if we don't have a triple murder." Harper glanced at the cats lying sedately on Clyde's lab coat, shook his head, and swung away to his police unit. Stepping in, he raised a hand and backed out. Within thirty minutes of Max Harper's departure, Joe and Dulcie were taking their first, and probably only, ride in Adelina Prior's pearl red, $340,000 Bentley Azure convertible. Heading up into the hills, sitting in the front seat like celebrities, Dulcie sniffed delicately at the inlaid wood dashboard, but she didn't let her pink nose touch that maple-and-walnut work of art. Carried along in that soft, humming, powerful palace of luxury, she felt as smug as if she were dining at the finest hotel, on a silver bowl of canaries prepared in cream.

Heading high up the hills toward the Prior estate, Clyde slowed as he passed Casa Capri. Following him at some distance was his own antique Packard, driven by his head mechanic. That quiet man had made no comment about Clyde giving two cats a joyride. Clyde was, his employees knew too well, touchy about the tomcat.

As they passed Casa Capri, Joe asked, "Did Harper mention anything more about the cat burglar?"

"Matter of fact, he did. He thinks she's moving on up the coast. She's started working Half Moon Bay."

"Really," Joe said, and shrugged. "Well she ripped off another Molena Point house just this morning."

Clyde turned to stare at him, swerving the Bentley. But at his touch the car responded like a thoroughbred, righting herself with superb balance. "How do you know she ripped off another house? What did you do, follow her?"

Joe looked innocent.

"Can't you two stay out of anything?"

Joe said, "She lifted a gold lame dress and some jewelry from that new two-story Mediterranean house up above Cypress."

"Harper'll be thrilled that his favorite snitch is on the case again. I suppose you got a make on her car."

"Not a thing," Dulcie said quickly. "Didn't see the car. But the gold lame dress was lovely."

Joe gave her a narrow look. He didn't like this; Dulcie had turned completely sentimental about the old woman. He didn't like this soft, sentimental side of his lady. What had happened to his ruthless hunting partner?

Clyde turned into a wide, oak-shaded drive. No house was visible; the curving lane led up over the crest of the hill. They drove for some time through the deep, cool shade beneath the overhanging branches of a double line of ancient oaks, then the drive made a last turn, and the house appeared suddenly, just on the crest of the hill. The two-story Mediterranean mansion was sheltered by oaks so huge they must have been here long before the house was built. The cats could see, far back behind the house, what appeared to be a much older structure.

The Prior house was two-storied, its thick white walls shadowed beneath deep eaves and beneath a roof of heavy, red clay tiles laid in curved rows. The front door was deeply carved, the main floor windows had beautifully wrought burglar bars, and each upstairs bedroom had French doors standing open to a private balcony.