30

At the same time that Charlie and Max set out on their evening ride across the hills, Kit began to miss Joe and Dulcie. She hadn't seen them since the night before, at Wilma's house, hadn't seen them all day while she was spying on Chichi Barbi and then racing home to Lucinda to call the station. Where were they, all that time? Where were they now? As evening settled onto the Greenlaws' terrace, throwing soft shadows across the rooftops, Kit fidgeted and paced, increasingly uneasy until at last, losing patience, she sped away, hit the roofs, and went to search.

Kit seldom worried about the two older cats; they were usually looking for her. She might wander away or she might get angry and go off in a snit, but that was different, she knew where she was. Now, in the falling dusk, muttering softly to herself, she prowled among the shadows of balconies and peered down into the streets and alleys. Had they gone off to the hills hunting without her? Oh, they wouldn't! She did not choose to remember that she herself had recently vanished for several days, that she had worried not only Joe and Dulcie but all their human friends, that they'd all gone searching for her. Well, she couldn't help that, she'd been locked in. Locked up in that old rental house and she couldn't get out and that wasn't her fault. Locked in, trapped in there and scared out of her kitty mind.

Locked in? Kit thought, and felt her fur ripple with unease. That idea gave her a very bad feeling…

But Joe and Dulcie wouldn't be locked in. Where could they be locked in? Who would lock them in, and why? That couldn't happen to them.

Yet why this terrible, sinking feeling? Now that she'd thought of such a thing, she got so nervous she had shivers in her belly and her paws began to sweat.

She searched every inch of the village rooftops, or tried to; she looked and searched until it was deep dark. There were clouds over the moon, low and heavy. Were they at home by now? Maybe Clyde was cooking something special or maybe Wilma was making chicken pie? The slightest scent of chicken pie on the breeze would always draw Dulcie home. Well, she'd just trot by Clyde's and then by Wilma's and sniff the air. She was all alone anyway; Lucinda and Pedric had gone off with Ryan's sister, Hanni, the gorgeous interior designer, to look at furniture-instructing her to go to Wilma's if they were very late, to stay there with Dulcie- leaving a poor little cat to fend for herself.

Well, Lucinda had left an elegant supper in the apartment for her, laid out on the kitchen table with creamed sardines and kippers set into a double bowl of ice. Kit licked her whiskers. She would look a little more for Joe and Dulcie and then return to the rest of the creamed sardines; and she headed first for Clyde and Joe's house.

Approaching across the roofs, she saw Clyde's car in the drive. The living room lights were on and she could smell something nice, a deep slow beefy smell, like maybe a roast in the oven. With that good aroma filling the evening, Joe would surely be home. She was headed for Joe's tower when she heard Clyde's voice yelling, blocks away behind her, calling, calling Joe Grey.

But at the same moment two other voices exploded, closer, ringing out from the house next door, from Chichi Barbi's bedroom: a man shouting and swearing and Chichi shouting back at him.

"The hell you don't have it! Give it over, Chichi! Why the hell would you take the key! What the hell would you want with the damn key! You said you didn't want nothing to do with them. Hand it over!"

"I don't have your key, Luis! Why would I take it!"

Shivering with the violence of the man's anger, but keening with curiosity, Eat sped across Clyde's roof for the back of Chichi's house and dropped down into the twiggy branches of the lemon tree. Clinging among its thorns and leaves, she peered in through Chichi Barbi's window.

Max and Charlie returned to the ranch well after dark: the cloud cover was breaking apart, and the full moon picked out new details across the pastures and fence lines, making the horses shy. Bucky was more teasing than startled, having fun with Max. Redwing was naturally more nervous, she bowed her neck and snorted but she didn't try to bolt.

"Just being a female," Charlie said. "Likes a little drama." "And you?" Max said, riding close to her. "How do you like your drama?" In the moonlight he couldn't see her blush, but he knew she was; it didn't take much. He loved that about her, that she blushed so easily, that he could gently embarrass her.

"Don't try to distract me with your ways, Captain. I want to hear the rest of the plan-if you want to tell me."

"The jewelry store owners have been meeting, getting together two or three at a time, in someone's shop at odd hours. Making their plans as quietly as possible." He moved Bucky aside from some ground squirrel holes, though Bucky was perfectly aware of where he was stepping and cocked an ear back at Max in annoyance.

"But what is their plan?" Charlie said patiently.

Max eased Bucky against their own pasture gate so he could open the latch. "Fake jewels," he said, looking up at Charlie. "John Simmons and Leon Blake suggested it." He swung the gate wide. They rode through, and he closed it. "They're collecting every realistic piece of imitation jewelry they can lay hands on to replace the real stuff. They've already begun to switch the jewelry in the cases every night, using pieces as much like what they have in the daytime as they can manage. In the heat of the break-and-enter, they're counting on no one taking the time to examine the take closely."

He had lowered his voice as they approached their own stable yard, watching the lighted sweep of yard and barn, the shadows beneath the trees and around his truck and around her SUV, though the dogs sensed nothing amiss; they raced ahead sniffing and checking the territory in their untrained, rowdy way. When dismounting, Max slid open the stable door, the dogs raced in, circled the open alleyway between the stalls, then shoved their black-and-tan noses deep into their bowls of kibble.

As Charlie slid off Redwing and undid the girth, her thoughts were full of elegant jewelry cases lined with fakes. She was still smiling as she walked Redwing to cool her down, then led her into her stall, took her halter off, filled her water bucket and tossed her a couple of flakes of hay. But would those men notice the switch? Would one of them think to put a jeweler's glass on a diamond, or take a careful look at the rich settings?

She began to worry about what she would tell the cats-what she dare tell them. And to wonder what danger she might put them in if they weren't told, if they didn't fully understand the operation. And she knew she had no choice.

Besides, when she promised Max to tell no one, in Max's mind the meaning was that she would tell no human. Max had made no mention of cats.

The short, dark, square man was roaring drunk. The stink of secondhand alcohol through Chichi's open window made Kit want to retch. What was wrong with his face? He had adhesive bandages on it and on his hands, under his long-sleeved shirt.

Chichi stood facing him, very angry. "I don't have the key to your cage! What would I want with those stinking cats! I don't even know what you want with them!"

Cats? Kit's heart was pounding. Cats in a cage? What cats?

"There was no one else to take the friggin' key! Them cats couldn't!"

Kit's whole body was rigid. Only her tail moved, lashing wildly against the branches. She concentrated hard to make it still. Sometimes her tail was like a stranger, all out of control. What cats? In what cage? And where?