"Didn't you help her?"

Joe stared at him coldly. "I'm not licking pigeon crap off her. Now she carries a hand towel up with her, to sit on."

"That's cute. And when someone sees her going back there into the alley carrying a hand towel, what then? Sees her climb up the tree carrying the towel in her teeth, or sitting on the ledge on the damned towel. Don't you think they might wonder?"

"Cats do strange things. Everyone knows cats are weird. Read the cat magazines, they're full of stuff like that. Anyway, Dulcie says the trial is a farce. If she believed before that Lake was innocent, the shaky testimony has really convinced her." He lay down on the cool white tile of the countertop and patted at the tiny, intermittent drops of water falling from the leaky tap.

Clyde scowled at him and reached across him to turn off the tap. The dripping stopped. "What shaky evidence?"

"Lake's fingerprints in Janet's bedroom, for one thing." He lifted his head, staring at Clyde. "The guy lived with her for six months. Of course his prints were all over. Don't you suppose the prints of every woman you ever dated are plastered all over your bedroom?"

"I don't go to bed with them all."

"Name one."

"I didn't go to bed with Janet. I dated her but we never…"

"Only because she wouldn't."

Clyde sighed. "You're off the subject. When Dulcie didn't even know Lake, until after the murder, why is she so hot to help him?"

Female passions-feline passions-dreams of white cats- who knows what runs Dulcie? "You ever hear of justice? Of wanting to see justice done?"

"Come off it."

Joe smoothed the fur on his chest with a rough tongue. "She thinks Lake was set up. She thinks the evidence was planted, that Lake's car was driven to the scene by someone else."

"Don't you think the cops checked that? Detective Marritt…"

"You know what Captain Harper thinks of Marritt. And sure they checked it out. That's the point-they don't have any proof it was Lake's car, don't even have a plate number." He sat up, admiring his muddy pawprints on the clean tile. "All the witness said was, it was an old, dark Suburban like Lake's. What could that old woman see, with her lousy eyesight?"

But as he watched Clyde, he was ashamed of arguing. He knew perfectly well that much of Clyde's irritation came from his pain over Janet. He seldom saw Clyde hurting; it was a new experience. He told himself he ought to be gender. Clyde and Janet had been good friends. They had dated heavily for a while, then had remained friends afterward, casual and comfortable.

Feeling contrite, he rubbed his ear against Clyde's hand, filled with an unaccustomed sympathy and tenderness. "Janet was special," he said quietly, pressing his face against Clyde's knuckles. "She was a special lady."

They were silent for a moment, Clyde absently scratching Joe's head, both of them thinking about Janet.

At first, after Joe learned he could speak, he'd been uncomfortable about being petted. He and Clyde were equals now. He found himself weighing their relationship in a new light, and he hadn't been sure about this petting business. But then he'd decided. It's okay; a little closeness is okay.

Clyde had been shy about petting him, too. As if petting was no longer proper. But they were still pals, weren't they? Still human and cat, still crusty old bachelor housemates.

The faint sound of scratching from the front door brought him to sudden alert. He ducked out from under Clyde's hand, giving him a wide stare. "Gotta go." He leaped off the counter and trotted out through the living room.

Through the translucent cat door, he could see Dulcie's dark shadow pacing, could see her impatience in every quick line of her body. He pushed under the limber plastic, hating the feel of it. If I live to be a hundred, I won't get used to that stupid door sliding down my spine.

Before he was completely through, Dulcie pressed close to him, purring. Her green eyes were so huge they made him shiver. Every time he looked at her he fell deeper into joy. Just to be near her, just to know they were together, that was all he wanted from life. "What are you doing here so early? Has Elisa Trest already testified?"

She was strung tight, so wired, she couldn't be still. She wound around him, pacing, fidgeting.

"There's a diary, Joe. A journal. Janet kept a journal." She pressed against him, all green-eyed eagerness. "Mrs. Trest testified yesterday afternoon after I left. She said Janet kept a diary-Rob told me. The police are going up there this morning to look for it." She switched her tail impatiently, shifting from paw to paw.

He just stared at her.

"Well come on, before the police get there." And she whirled away, leaping down the steps.

"Hold it." He sat down on the porch, immobile as a stone. "You plan to snatch evidence out from under the cops' noses?"

"Just to have a look at it," she said innocently. "We don't have to take it."

Joe sighed. "Clyde's right. You're going to get into trouble. Besides, they've already searched her apartment. Why would…"

"Come on, Joe. Hurry." She spun around and ran, racing away up the sidewalk, her peach-colored paws hitting just the high spots, flashing above the concrete.

He remained sitting, looking after her. The lady's nuts. No way we can reach Janet's place before the cops do.

Or maybe she meant to go right on in, sniff out clues between the cops feet.

The fact that they had already pulled that kind of stuff, after the Beckwhite murder, didn't seem to matter. The fact that they had been right there under Captain Harper's boots, so much in the way that Harper had given them more than one puzzled look, didn't faze her.

Dulcie, you're crazy if you think we're going to push into the middle of another police investigation.

She stopped, up at the corner, looking back. He made no move to follow. Impatiently she raced back, leaped up the steps, and licked his nose. "We could just go up and see. If the police are there, we'll leave. Imagine it, imagine if Rob Lake is convicted and even put to death, and he's innocent and we could have helped and we didn't. Then how would you feel?"

Joe looked at her for a long moment, then laughed. "Oh, what the hell." He rose and followed her. "Who says we can't outsmart a few cops?"

And they ran, their paws pounding the pavement. Careening against her, he wished she wasn't so persuasive, so damned impetuous and stormy.

And he loved her stormy ways.

Clyde stood at the living room window watching the cats gallop away toward Ocean Avenue. He had to laugh at Joe's short tail, at his sturdy rear loping up and down in strong, muscular rhythm. Beside him, Dulcie ran as light as a low-flying bird. He watched them worriedly. Their swift departure did not telegraph a casual, "let's go hunt." Crossing Ocean, zigzagging insanely between cars, they nearly made his heart stop.

When they were safely across, into the tree-shaded median, they turned north. Running through the lacy tree shadows, they were headed straight for the hills. And where else would they be going in such a hurry but to Janet's, to the burned remains of her studio. There was nothing else up in that direction to cause this degree of excitement. When they set out together simply to hunt, they stalked along, carefully looking around them, absorbing scents and sounds, working up slowly, he supposed, to the required intensity of concentration. But now they were all fire, scorching away toward the hills like two little rockets.

They'd been up at Janet's before, returning with cinders on their coats and secretive but dissatisfied looks on their sly little faces.