When Joe first learned he could speak, and was trying to understand the human world, the concept of work for money had meant nothing to him. But as he began to think more like a human, he’d easily absorbed the rudiments. Folks worked at what they liked to do, received promissory dollars for the quality of their skilled or creative efforts, and traded those for whatever goods they chose. To a cat, the concept had been a revelation.

Why, a cat could hunt mice all day, stack them up like cordwood, and trade them for caviar-if one could find a market for the mice. That was the rub, considering that the human appetite didn’t really run to dead mice. He glanced out the kitchen window at the night and knew it was time to meet Dulcie.

Clyde caught his look. “You’re going out to poke around the Parker house, aren’t you? What do you think you’re going to find after Dallas and Juana worked the area?”

It wasn’t the Parker house he was headed for, but he didn’t tell Clyde that. “You’re so incredibly nosy.”

“You think that guy will come back?” Clyde said. “If the guy watching us was the killer-if there ever was a killer-after we followed him, why would he come back? He’ll be long gone.”

Joe just looked at him.

Ryan watched them with amusement. She’d learned early on to stay out of these discussions. When Clyde glanced away, she winked at Joe. Joe twitched a whisker at her, and rubbed his face against her arm by way of thanking her for dinner. Then, dropping to the floor, he headed up the stairs to his tower and out to hit the roofs.

18

WHEN JOE SLIPPED out of his tower to the rooftops, his belly full of supper and his mind on the empty houses, the fog had blown away; the sky was clear, the moon bright as he leaped across the shingles to the neighbor’s roof and raced on into the night. He had gone three blocks galloping across the peaks through paths of moonlight when he spotted Dulcie. She stood on a little balcony, rearing up, her tabby coat silhouetted against the white wall of a penthouse. They raced to meet; skidding close together they exchanged a whisker kiss and then galloped away toward the block of Charlie’s vacationing clients. Who knew what scent they’d pick up, what details a human might miss?

Hurrying across the village, the streets below them were busy with cars and pedestrians, with couples coming from the restaurants or window shopping. The traffic thinned as they moved onto the residential roofs; soon the streets below were quiet and nearly empty, only a few pedestrians hurrying along. A silent runner passed beneath them as they approached the targeted homes. They were two roofs from the Waterman house when they saw Kit, poised high on a shingled peak. She was not alone.

“What’s this?” Joe said. “She’s picked up a stray?” A small, ragged, half-grown cat stood beside her.

“That’s the cat from the clowder,” Dulcie said. “The little cat that Kit was so taken with this morning. She’s hardly more than a kitten, what’s she doing here? Oh, my. Has Kit lured her away from the clowder?”

As Joe and Dulcie approached, the little female crouched warily. Kit looked down at her small charge in a patient and proprietary way. “Tansy,” Kit said by way of introduction. “She lived in the village once.”

“I lived in that house over there,” Tansy said shyly, pointing her ears at the Waterman house.

“Did you?” Joe said with interest. “That’s where we’re going. Do you know how to get in?”

“There’s a dog door. But-”

“Are you friends with the dog?”

“Oh, the beagle’s dead now,” Tansy said. “He was old and friendly. He was a little afraid of me,” she added, twitching her whiskers.

Dropping into a pepper tree beside the Watermans’, Joe crouched on a branch, looking back at Tansy. “Come on, then,” he told her. She followed as the four cats moved quickly, trying to remain out of sight among the foliage. To any casual observer this would look strange indeed, cats do not travel in packs, this was not normal feline behavior.

The house was one story with pale stucco walls, the curved tile roof still warm beneath their paws, holding the heat of the day. Below them, the solid wood fence that enclosed the backyard was far higher than necessary to contain the small beagle that had lived with the Watermans.

Dulcie said, “I’m surprised Ben Waterman went with Rita; Charlie said he hardly ever does, that he’d rather stay home, putter around, and play a little golf. But I guess a tour guide is pretty busy, maybe that’s why she makes her trips alone.”

“It’s their anniversary,” Joe said. “Clyde worked on their car a few weeks ago; they told him they were either driving up to San Francisco or flying to Greece or the Antilles, they hadn’t made up their minds.”

“I wonder what it’s like,” Dulcie said.

“What what’s like?” Joe said absently.

“ Greece. There are lots of cats, feral cats. I wonder…Are there cats like us? Are our relatives there? Have speaking cats survived there from ancient times?”

“Come on,” Joe said impatiently. Glancing toward the neighbors’ windows, they dropped down onto the six-foot fence and then into the backyard. Half hidden between two mock orange bushes was a dog door into the garage. They slipped inside one by one, Tansy headed through a second doggy door into the family kitchen.

The kitchen corner where the dog bed had been still smelled faintly of the sweet-leather scent of an old dog. There was no sound from deeper within the house. They stood sniffing, seeking any other scent that might seem out of place, and, rearing up, they looked around the bright room for any sign of disturbance.

The kitchen seemed perfectly in order, the cupboards all neatly shut, their mullioned glass doors showing china and crystalware carefully arranged on the shelves within. On the tile counters they could see a stainless steel toaster, convection oven, microwave, food processor, blender, and an expensive coffeemaker with its own grinder. None of those had been stolen, and what else of value would a kitchen contain? “When does she use all those?” Joe said. “She’s gone half the time.”

“Maybe he cooks,” said Dulcie. “Wilma says when she’s home they’re very social, they’re always involved in some local event and they entertain a lot.” Turning away, she followed Tansy into the Watermans’ living room, a big, square room with a thick white carpet and a high ceiling set with three skylights. The furnishings were white and soft and deep, set against cocoa-colored walls: white velvet chairs, white leather couch, a perfect setting for the beautiful Rita Waterman. Over the fireplace there was an oversize mirror in an ornate silver frame, the glass reflecting the room in reverse like Alice ’s mirror into Wonderland. Two matching mirrors hung at the other end of the room, on either side of the arch that led into the entry hall.

“Does she have mirrors to to make the room look bigger? Or to reflect herself?” Dulcie wondered. She imagined the tall, slim blonde reflected over and over in endless and perfect images. The room did not look lived in. There was not a book or a magazine in sight, not a pillow out of place, nothing personal left lying around; but when they sniffed the furniture they smelled cat, and could see cat hairs clinging to it. There were three cat baskets, all on low stools, all lined with white plush, all dusted with multicolored cat hairs smelling of the Waterman cats.

“There are cat beds in every room,” Tansy said with longing. “I didn’t live here long. The other cats chased me away, so I went to another house. I was only little then, and her cats didn’t like me much.”

Kit licked Tansy’s ear, amusing Joe and Dulcie. Kit had found a small and needy friend, a little creature who seemed needy and quite lost.