"We'll make it right," Mavity said. "We'll clean up. Could they have thought something was hidden behind the shelves? But it would have to be thin. A painting, maybe? How silly-like some old B movie. Or did they think there was another cupboard built in behind the shelves?"

Beside Mavity, Gabrielle was quiet, looking from one lady to the other. Above, them on the patio wall, the cats listened and wondered. Joe's scowl was deep as he weighed the events of the morning. The kit snuggled close between Joe and Dulcie, her black-and-brown coat a part of the shadows, her attention not on the conversation but on the surrounding tables, where pancakes swam in butter, and sausages and ham laced the breeze with their delicious aroma. It wouldn't take much, Dulcie knew, and the kit would be down there with her feet in someone's breakfast.

But when, pressing against the little tattercoat, Dulcie gave her a warning look, the kit smiled back at her innocently, her round yellow eyes bright and teasing.

Only Wilma seemed aware of the cats-and Lamb, of course. He knew they were there. Entering the patio, he had rolled his eyes up at them as if amused, then had padded obediently under the table, the big poodle far too much of a gentleman to bark at cats.

"After all the trouble we went to," Cora Lee said. "All those lovely shelves-all the hours we spent, putting them together. And our nice work tables broken. Did they get the digital camera?"

"No," Susan said. "It was locked in the file drawer of my desk. I guess they didn't have time to break the lock. They certainly broke everything else. And they didn't take my reflex camera, just dumped a pile of dirt on it. They had the computer on, too. But why? It's so frustrating not knowing what they were after-and maddening not to be able to get into my own house. I want to clean up that mess. All I did was pack a bag and lock up-after I looked things over for Detective Garza, trying to see what might be missing."

"And?" Gabrielle said. "Nothing was missing?"

"Not that I could see. I went over it all as carefully as I could. It made me sick to look at so many of our treasures destroyed. I thought it strange that both detectives came out on the call, but they were very thorough-and they're not finished. I hated leaving everything in that mess."

"If the intruder turns up dead," Wilma suggested, "your house would be the scene of a murder. There's only one chance to collect evidence properly at a murder scene-when it's fresh. You start cleaning up, the whole thing is contaminated."

"How will you clean up?" Cora Lee said. "Do the police do that? I never thought about it. Or do we all pitch in?"

"Detective Garza suggested I call Charlie," Susan said, glancing at Wilma. "He said Charlie's Fix-It, Clean-It has had training in crime scene cleanup."

Gabrielle looked surprised. "Is that wise?" she said hesitantly. "Should Charlie be doing that-accepting police work, when she and Captain Harper are… an item?" She looked at Wilma shyly.

"Charlie's the only one in the village who's had the special training," Wilma said. "No other cleaning outfit has bothered to take those courses."

"Well, I didn't mean to imply…" Gabrielle began, embarrassed. "I know Captain Harper wouldn't play favorites. I just… I'm sorry. This has been an upsetting morning."

Yes it had, Dulcie thought. But upsetting for all the ladies. Well, Gabrielle was easily stressed. Watching the five women, she wondered whether anyone would guess that Gabrielle, or Cora Lee with her dark beauty, was over sixty. Both could pass for far younger than Wilma or Mavity or Susan, with their silver hair.

But it was more than their hair that made Cora Lee and Gabrielle look maybe ten years younger. It's the bone structure, Dulcie thought. Long, lean bones. Like two Siamese cats, one dark, one light. And, watching Gabrielle, she wondered what was bothering the tall blonde, who seemed even more uncertain than usual, withdrawn and on edge.

"I hadn't realized before," Susan said, "but of course that man's blood would be considered hazardous. I hope it will come out of my rug and walls, that I don't have to get rid of my nice, hand-braided rug. Though I may have to repaint." She sipped her coffee. "My insurance should pay for the cleanup. I'll call them after breakfast."

"And you have no idea who the man was?" Mavity said, brushing a crumb from her white uniform.

"He was lying with his back to me. Detective Garza said I shouldn't discuss it. I just… No, I don't know who he was. When Charlie's done with the bad part of the cleanup," she said, "would you…"

"Of course we will," Cora Lee said. "We'll get the workroom back in order, make it fresh and new again. And the broken items should be a claim loss."

Susan nodded. "But only for the purchase amount, not for the profit we would have made."

"Not a good morning," Mavity said. "On top of it all, Richard Casselrod stole a wooden chest from Cora Lee."

"He did what?" Susan said softly. "A wooden chest?"

"Snatched it from her, nearly knocked her down, threw her some money, and took off. He hit her with it, really hurt her," Mavity said.

Cora Lee pulled back her stole to reveal a large bruise, ugly against her white sundress. "If Casselrod's looks could kill, I'd be singing with the angels. Those black eyes flashing-as if I was the one who had snatched the box away."

"What did it look like?" Susan said.

"That's what's so strange," Cora Lee said. "Just a crude wooden box with a bad paint job. It didn't look like it was worth fifty cents. I'm not sure why I wanted it. Something about its shape, about the hint of carvings under the paint. It made me think of the stage props-the boxes we made to look like carved Spanish chests, for Elliott Traynor's play."

Susan looked startled. She started to speak, then glanced at the tables around them and seemed to change her mind.

Mavity had no compunction about being overheard. "Vivi Traynor was so interested that she jumped in her car and took off after Casselrod."

Susan sipped her coffee, both hands around the cup, as if trying to get warm. Beneath the table, Lamb whined, and she reached to stroke him.

Mavity said, "That Vivi Traynor is such a snip. She didn't even wave to you, Gabrielle-as if she'd never seen you in her life. After all, you did go to school with Elliott's sister and you did visit them in New York."

"The day I stopped by their apartment, she was only there a few minutes," Gabrielle said. "Elliott fixed coffee for me, but Vivi had an appointment. She probably doesn't remember me. My visit was really a duty call, condolences for his sister's death; she died a year ago. I never met him when she and I were in college. He was nice enough, but I only stayed a little while.

"He's surely very busy," she added, "and preoccupied, if he's finishing up a novel. I must confess I haven't read his books."

"He's quite a wonderful writer," Wilma said. "This last trilogy of novels is set right here, along this part of the California coast. It takes you from the Spanish occupation through the land grant days, the Mexican revolution, and on through to the gold rush. But you've read the play; you know it's based on a segment from the novels."

Gabrielle nodded. "Cora Lee and I read it as soon as we knew we were doing the play here."

"It's such a painful story," Cora Lee said. "And lovely. The music is beautiful."

Days earlier, the cats, slipping into the empty theater, had heard Cora Lee singing one of the numbers, practicing to try out for the lead in Thorns of Gold. Dulcie thought the dusky-skinned, dark-eyed woman would make a wonderful Catalina Ortega-Diaz. The play began when Catalina was very young-and onstage Cora Lee had looked young. The way she sang the lonely Spanish laments made Dulcie shiver right down to her claws. And Wilma had read the play to Dulcie and the kit, the three of them tucked up in bed with a warm fire burning in the grate; they agreed that Cora Lee would be wonderful in the part, that the sad story seemed to fit her.