"You didn't have to waste all day there." He could never keep his mouth shut.

She lifted her head, her eyes widening. "I left an hour before they recessed. Don't you want to know what's happening?" She gave him a steady, green-eyed gaze, then rubbed her face against him. "Lake didn't kill her, Joe. I swear he didn't. We can't let them convict Rob Lake."

"You have no reason to be so sure. You're not…"

"There's not one shred of hard evidence. I told you this is how it would be-all circumstantial. That Detective Marritt didn't do a solid investigation, and he really isn't making a good case."

She flicked an ear. "But what can you expect? Captain Harper never wanted to hire Marritt. Marritt's nothing but a political appointee. I bet Harper didn't want to put him on this case; I bet the mayor had something to do with that. Marritt's so officious in court."

She saw she wasn't getting through. "Anyway, why are court trials so damnably slow? Every little legal glitch, and a million rules."

"They're slow, and have rules, because they're thorough." He looked irritably past her down the hill. "They're slow because they go by facts and logical procedures, and not by intuition."

She hissed at him and lashed her tail. "You might just try to keep an open mind."

He did not reply.

But at last she relaxed, yawning in his face, putting aside their differences-for the moment. Lying close together, warm upon the breast of the hill, they watched the village begin to waken. A few cottage lights had flicked on, and now, all over the village, as if a hundred alarms had gone off at once, little patches of lights began to blaze out. Above them, the sky grew pale, and soon the lifting wind carried the scent of coffee, then of frying sausages. They heard a child's distant laugh, and a dog barked.

And as dawn lightened the hills, a tangle of dark clouds began to sweep in from the sea, racing toward the north, probably carrying rain. Maybe it would blow on past, drench San Francisco instead of the village. Dulcie said, "Rob will be waking now, his breakfast tray will be shoved in under the bars."

Joe sighed.

"He needs me," she said stubbornly. "He talks to me like he doesn't have another friend in the world." She licked the tip of her tail. "And maybe it's easier for him to talk to a mute animal…" She smiled slyly. "Well, he thinks I'm mute. And why would he lie to a cat? As far as Rob Lake knows, he could tell me anything, and I wouldn't understand, couldn't repeat it."

Joe said nothing. Dulcie had an answer for everything. There was no diverting her. She was into the case of Janet Jeannot's murder with all four paws. Earlier this summer, when they'd searched for clues to Samuel Beckwhite's killer, they couldn't help being involved; their own lives were threatened. They'd both seen Beckwhite struck down, had heard the thud of the wrench against his head, had seen Beckwhite fall. They had seen the assailant clearly. And the killer, somehow, had known they could inform the police. From the moment the man saw them, he knew they could finger him, and if he could have caught them, he would have snuffed them both.

They had set out to solve the Beckwhite case because their own lives were at stake, but Janet Jeannot's murder was different.

Dulcie stared at him deeply, her dark pupils slowly constricting to reveal emerald green as the dawn light increased. "Don't you want to see the real killer caught? You liked Janet; Clyde used to date Janet. You can't want her murderer to go free, gloating all the rest of his life while she lies dead."

She nuzzled his face, licked his ear. "The first witness this morning is Janet's neighbor, that Elisa Trest. I really do want to hear what she'll say. Come on, Joe. Come on to the courthouse with me."

He just looked at her.

She sighed and started down the hill, pushing through the tall grass.

No point in trying to talk sense to her, she was going to do as she pleased. Grumbling, he trotted down beside her keeping pace, half-angry, half-amused.

But halfway down the first slope, she said, "There's a strange dog down there; I forgot. I don't see it now, but it followed me earlier, a huge dog."

"I didn't see any dog when I came up. Except the boxer and the golden, those two cream puffs." Those dogs were no threat-they'd chase a cat for sport but were terrified of claws. If no other cats taught the village dogs proper manners, he and Dulcie did. They'd had some interesting chases over these hills. Though a smart cat never let snapping teeth get too close. Even a playful dog, when excited, could turn innocent play into a killing bite. One mouthful of cat, and a harmless canine could become a killer, tearing and rending before he knew what happened.

"It was a big brown mutt," she said. "It stayed away from me, behind the bushes, but it watched and followed me. Well, it's probably harmless. After Mrs. Trest testifies I'm going up to Janet's burned studio again, and this time I mean to get inside even if it is boarded up."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not? Who knows what I'll find."

"Come on, Dulcie. You watched the police sort and sift and photograph. We've been up there enough, across that burn. That's the last place I want to spend the day." The burned hills were hell on the paws, and the rank fumes stung their noses and eyes. And of course there was no game up there among the ashes; the creatures that didn't die in the fire, that had escaped, would not return to that barren waste.

The fire had cut a half-mile swath through the lush green hillside, and had burned seven homes to the ground, leaving only two houses untouched. Dead, black trees stood bare against the sky, and the stink of burning was everywhere. The thought of padding through a half mile of cinders, broken glass, and sharp, twisted metal, did not appeal.

But the thought of Dulcie's going up there alone was less acceptable. He glanced at her sideways. "Come by the house for me. But you'd better hope we find something to make it worth the trip."

She gave him a sweet smile, and they moved on down through the tangled gardens, between comfortable little cottages, down across winding, residential streets. They crossed the narrow park that ran above Highway One where the road burrowed through its eight-block tunnel, then turned south two blocks to the wide green strip that divided Ocean Avenue. The parklike median marked the center of the village, running tree-shaded and cool along between the village shops toward the beach. Trotting down the springy, soft turf, they rustled through fallen leaves, scattering them with quick paws.

The shops weren't open yet, but Joe and Dulcie could smell raw meat from the butcher's, could smell fresh bread and cinnamon buns from the bakery. They basked in the aroma of fresh fish, where a truck was unloading cardboard boxes of halibut and salmon. The workmen saw them looking and hissed at them to chase them away. The cats hissed back and turned their tails. They didn't pause until they reached Joe's street.

There they touched noses, and Dulcie rubbed her face against his. "I'll come by later," she said, her green eyes catching the light. He watched her trot away toward the jail and courthouse, moving lightly as a little dancer, her tail waving, her curving stripes flashing dark and rich against the pale walls of the galleries and shops.

Glancing across at the bookstore, he could see the clock in its window. Seven-thirty. She'd go to the jail first, climb the big oak tree to the third-floor windowsill, and lie looking in at Rob Lake, maybe share his breakfast-he liked to feed her little bits of sausage and egg through the wide-mesh barrier. She'd hang around listening to him play on her sympathy until court convened at nine.

Turning away to his left, toward home, he raced across the grassy median to the northbound lane, gauged the slow-moving cars, and leaped across between them.