Well, she was glad she was there. She loved the smallness of the village, loved that she could walk from the sea up into the sun-baked hills in just minutes. And, she thought, watching Hestig, one of the hundred things she liked best was that people walking their dogs could stop at any sidewalk restaurant, have a light meal while their canine companions napped beneath the table. She would see leashed dogs in the bank, in the shops-places where, in any other town, dogs would not be allowed. And the little open-air restaurants, their courtyard tables surrounded by flowers and sheltered by the old, twisted oaks, never ceased to enchant her. "When I die," she'd told Clyde once, "this is exactly how it will be. Charming villages all crowded among the flowers, all of them beside the sea, with the smell of the sea, the crash of breakers."

She'd met Clyde soon after she arrived; he'd been Wilma's friend since he was eight, when Wilma was his next-door neighbor: blond, twentysomething, and beautiful; Clyde said he'd had a terrible crush on her.

Charlie's first date with Clyde was a trip to the wrecking yard to find parts for her old van, then to a small Mexican restaurant, where no one noticed their grease-stained clothes. They'd been dating ever since, their relationship swinging from casual and easy to sometimes very warm and loving. Once in a while she thought about marrying Clyde; more often she liked the arrangement just as it was.

Around her, the fog had thinned, the dawn brightening. She called Hestig, and as they started back she heard, over the thunder of the breakers, sirens begin to scream up in the village, their ululations growing louder as they headed for the shore. She thought of someone drowning, and her frightened gaze turned quickly toward the sea.

She saw no disturbance, no one in the water-not even one surfer, and it was far too cold for swimmers. Only when she neared the little park again did she see the ambulance and police cars, their red whirling lights staining the fog like smeared blood. She thought of Lucinda, wondered if the older woman might have fallen or maybe become ill. Hurrying up to the gathering crowd, she found Lieutenants Brennan and Wendell stringing yellow police tape around the rest-room building and its adjacent bushes, out into the street and around a large portion of the sandy park.

The homeless man still lay beneath the bushes. His newspaper was gone, revealing shoes that were nearly new and looked expensive. Two paramedics knelt over him. She couldn't see what they were doing. Three early walkers, two with dogs, stood to one side talking to an officer, answering his questions. She didn't see Lucinda.

14

THEIR BELLIES full of rabbit, the cats were headed home through the mist, the village empty and quiet around them, its scents of flowers and bacon and coffee homey and comforting. Licking blood off their whiskers, ignoring the sting of various wounds inflicted by the enraged rabbit, a deep sense of well-being filled the cats. They had hunted, they had fed. All was proper and right with their world. Their territory-Molena Point village and far beyond-was suitably at peace. Except for various human affairs, which were not cat business, but which neither cat would leave alone.

"He's cozying up to Lucinda for some reason," Joe said of Pedric. "What's he after?"

"He's not cozying up at all; he's the only one of that family who's her friend-well, Newlon, of course."

"And why Newlon? How does she know him so much better. I thought-"

"Wilma says he often came out to sail with Shamas; Lucinda's known him a long time."

"Well, I don't trust him, or Pedric."

She cut him an annoyed look. "I don't know about Newlon. But Pedric's good for her. She needs a friend just now."

"He's a Greenlaw."

"You're so suspicious."

"Hasn't it crossed your mind that Pedric is deliberately gaining her confidence? That while the rest of the family quarrels over her money and makes her mad, that old man with his sweetness and shared confidences is setting her up to rip her off big-time?"

Her ears flattened, her green eyes flashed. "Don't be such a cynic. Can't you see that he's different from the others, that he truly likes Lucinda?" She looked at him narrow-eyed. "Don't you believe in anything anymore?"

"Pedric is a Greenlaw. Don't you know the police are watching the whole family? All week those Greenlaw women and kids have been a problem in the village shops-stealing, Dulcie. Shoplifting."

He gave her a hard yellow stare. "They're too quick for the store owners to catch. But after they leave, merchandise comes up missing-a lot of expensive merchandise. Such a shabby, greedy little crime."

"Has anyone seen Pedric stealing?" Her eyes had gone black with anger; her tail switched and lashed.

"Why would Pedric be any different? Face it, Dulcie. The Greenlaws are a family of thieves."

"That doesn't make sense. What kind of family- Not a whole family, stealing-"

"You think that doesn't happen? Of course there are families of thieves-what about the Mafia. The Greenlaws are small pickings compared to that, but-"

Dulcie lowered her gaze, looked up at him quietly. Of course there were such families, she had read about them, the children were raised from babies to live outside the law.

"But," she said softly, "even if it's true, even if the rest of them steal, that doesn't mean Pedric does. He could be different, Joe. If you'd watch him-in the evenings when he comes for supper, how polite he is, not just barging in like the rest, ignoring Lucinda. How pleased Lucinda is to get him settled in the softest chair, see that he's comfortable."

"So he's a smooth operator. You know better than to trust how people act."

"Lucinda wouldn't take him walking with her if she didn't trust him, and if they didn't truly enjoy each other. She wouldn't share Hellhag Hill with him, that's her private place. They have exactly the same interests. I don't see him using her."

Joe laid back his ears, his yellow eyes narrow. "You're seeing what you want to see. I've never known you to be so gullible. You follow them, listen to Pedric sympathizing with her, and you go all sentimental."

She hissed, lowering her own ears, switched her tail in his face, and hurried on down the grassy median- then stopped, crouching, looking fearfully around her as sirens screamed from the direction of the fire and police stations.

A rescue unit thundered past, shaking the earth, prompting the cats to cower beneath the bushes. It was followed by three black-and-whites. Joe and Dulcie, their hearing numbed by the blast, watched the heavy vehicles heading fast for the shore.

Following, galloping down the median toward the crowd gathered beside the sandy park, their first thoughts were the same as Charlie's had been, that someone had drowned, on this chill, foggy morning, some poor soul alone out in the dark sea. Then they saw a man lying on the ground, the paramedics bent over him-maybe a homeless man? They often slept in the park, near the rest rooms.

But as the medics lifted the victim up onto a stretcher, the cats recognized a Molena Point resident, a man they knew only by sight. White hair, baby-soft face that was usually very red, whether from sunburn, excessive scrubbing, or excessive booze, they had no idea. Now he was as pale as a bedsheet.

Trotting in among the crowd between jogging shoes, sweatpants, and bare, hairy legs, the cats stayed away from the uniforms-no need to upset Max Harper, no need to endure his puzzled glances. A confusion of comments assaulted them:

"… stabbed. He was stabbed. I saw…"

"… is he dead?"

"Still alive, can't you see…"