Whether the old lady was becoming stronger in dealing with Shamas's family, or whether this was a move of extreme desperation, to gain a little peace, was uncertain. Standing in the place of storyteller, so skillfully did Lucinda lay out her tale that soon she had drawn them all in. The stabbing seemed forgotten- and they were carried into a story that surprised Dulcie, that made her fur prickle with excitement, made the tip of her tail twitch, and made Joe Grey fidget uncomfortably.

"It is an American Indian tale," Lucinda said, "one I have read in three sources, as told by three different tribes. I don't believe the story springs from any Celtic telling; I don't believe there is any connection. But yet it is the same tale that comes from the Celtic lands.

"It is peopled with the same enchanted beings, it tells of the same lost world. The Iroquois call it 'The Tale of the First People.'

"In the beginning," Lucinda said softly, "in the beginning of the world all living things, all beasts, all men, all reptiles and insects and birds dwelt in the netherworld that lies below our plains and mountains. All was darkness in that place save for a thin green light that glowed down from the granite sky.

"In those days the animals could speak, and many of them were shapeshifters. Human hunters would turn themselves into ponies. Great eagles flying beneath the granite skies could transmute into warriors. There were women and men who could slip from hearth to hearth in the form of cats but soon were gone again, unwilling to warm for long any hearth but their own.

"The cat folk had their own cities among the hidden mountains, their netherworld caves fashioned into soft-cushioned bowers rich with carven furnishings, their walls set with pictures made from turquoise and jade.

"One day when a princess of that people was digging at the roof of her cave, carving a new sleeping bower, she dug though into vast space. Her paw thrust out, into the upper world.

"Shining through the paw-sized hole was a blaze of light that made the cat maiden cry out in fear. All the clan came running. The bravest crouched, squinting through the hole up into a gleaming and endless sky.

"And the boldest among the cat folk dug the hole larger and slipped through, up onto the face of the earth, with only emptiness above them.

"Soon other netherworld folk gathered, creatures from the hell-pit, the bird folk and serpent folk and then the giants, all peeping out into the upper world.

"Many turned away again, too afraid to step out beneath that bright sky, but not the cat folk. They went up into that world digging and clawing their way, and not until evening came and the ball of fire rode through the sky toward the mountains, were the cats afraid.

"They watched the sun sink down behind the peaks. They saw the sky grow dark, and they thought that by entering this land they had made the gods angry. They slept close together that night, crowded beneath a rocky ledge, sure that their spirits were doomed.

"But the next morning, the sun returned. The cat people came out to preen in its warmth, and they knew that they were blessed, that this bright world welcomed them.

"They wandered away over the land in every direction, and soon made this world their own. So the folk-of-the-cat came to our world," Lucinda told. "And so they have come and gone ever since, returning to the netherworld when they choose, living in both worlds and in both forms, sometimes cat, sometimes human.

"And if there are cat folk in the upper world who can no longer change their form, it is because they have strayed too far from their beginnings, because they have forgotten the ancient ways."

Lucinda turned from the hearth. The Greenlaws nodded and sighed with satisfaction. As Lucinda moved away from the storyteller's place, Pedric reached to take her hand, in a tender and personal gesture.

Dirken watched the two old people with a cold scowl. Newlon turned away, his look uncomfortable.

And on the fence beneath the maple branches, tears rolled down Dulcie's whiskers, their wet streaks marking her dark fur. The tale filled her with excitement and it scared her; it made her feel more than herself. The emotions it stirred turned her giddy.

But Joe Grey leaped from the fence up into the maple's highest branches, his ears back, his scowl deep.

He didn't like tales of a netherworld. Didn't like anything to do with his and Dulcie's mysterious history. Being himself, being Joe Grey, was quite enough. He didn't hold with some amazing and frightening past. He needed only himself and his loving lady.

Dulcie was still purring extravagantly when Dirken and Newlon came out the back door and sat down on the steps. Newlon produced a pack of Camels, and they lit up.

Newlon said, "You think she saw something more, on the beach this morning?"

Dirken shrugged. "More to the point, you think she heard anything?"

Newlon turned to look at him. "Did you do him, Dirken?"

Dirken stared at Newlon, drawing on his cigarette. "Hell, no. Didn't you?"

"I swear."

But Dirken kept looking. "You did him. Stands to reason."

Newlon turned to glance behind them through the screen as two large, aproned women began moving about in the kitchen, filling the coffeepot and cutting pieces of pie. Scowling, Newlon and Dirken shuffled a little more, then tossed away their cigarettes and went back inside.

The cats, highly irritated at the vague and unfinished conversation, galloped away along the fence and headed up into the hills to hunt, Joe Grey so frustrated by the lack of solid facts that he felt like attacking the biggest granddaddy wharf rat he could find, launching into a raking, screaming battle.

15

WILMA LEFT her desk at the automotive agency just before noon, hurriedly smoothing her gray hair and snatching up her purse, frantic to get out of the tiny salesman's cubicle before she started throwing heavy objects through its glass walls. Working in a transparent box made her feel like a lab specimen.

Well, the job was only temporary. She'd be glad to get back to work at the library. She hadn't planned to use her month's vacation working a second job, even if it was proving more interesting than she'd anticipated. She had spent the morning running a credit check on the out-of-town purchaser of a white-and-cream Jaguar XJR. What she'd found had her most interested. With her mind on the buyer's skillfully forged IDs, she glanced across the automotive showroom, past the drive-through that separated it from Clyde's repair shop, and she had to laugh.

Clyde had brought one of the pups to work, had left him tied just inside the glass door of the automotive-repair wing of the building, the pup all groomed and polished and sitting on a new plaid dog bed. All Clyde needed was a hand-lettered sign advertising the pup's many virtues.

Who knew, maybe Clyde would find Selig a home among his customers; most of them were well-to-do; surely it would take someone with money to feed that big fellow and care for him.

Hurrying down Ocean, enjoying the sun and the cool breeze skimming in off the Pacific, Wilma puzzled over her last three loan applicants.

The first credit scams she'd investigated when she started work for Sheril Beckwhite, had occurred over a two-month period. From these, she had passed to Max Harper enough information to launch seven police investigations.

But then this past week the action had heated up. She'd had five new applicants with impeccable credit ratings; her phone calls to their home numbers had been answered by a wife or by household staff. Their social security numbers, driver's licenses, all records corresponded to information filed in the issuing departments across the country. All were excellent credit risks. Each buyer had made a minimum down payment with a personal check, taking out the maximum loan; two had said they needed the tax write-off.