When the waiter came with their menus, the conversation died. From the wall, the three cats peered over, considering the selections and what they might be able to cadge. That was when Clyde spotted them, when the kit thrust her nose out to see better. Everyone looked; no one laughed. Detective Garza seemed to find their presence amusing. "That gray tomcat gets around, Damen. I never saw a cat quite so-with so much presence. He's almost like a dog."

The tomcat thought of several things he'd like to tell Detective Garza, none of them polite.

Clyde shifted his chair so his back was to the cats, disclaiming all responsibility for their presence; but he included in his order a selection of their favorites on a paper plate: chicken fajitas with jack cheese and sour cream. The egg-and-batter portion of a chili relleno, with mild sauce. And a cup of flan, for the kit. Ryan appeared as entertained as Garza; she kept glancing up at the three cats, as if watching for further developments.

When the orders came and Clyde placed the paper plate on the wall, the cats feasted, Joe and Dulcie eating in silence and neatly licking their whiskers, the kit guzzling loudly and enthusiastically, smearing flan from her whiskers to her ears. She received amused glances from several tables.

The village was used to dogs in their restaurant patios, but companion cats were another matter, though most of the villagers knew Clyde Damen's odd preference for the gray tomcat. This was a community of writers and artists and of people rich enough or confident enough to be as eccentric as they liked-if Damen wanted to bring his cats to dinner, that was fine.

But Dallas was asking Charlie about the apartment she had for rent. "Max told me it was a duplex?"

"Yes, both sides of a duplex." She looked at Ryan. "One is a studio, double garage underneath. The other has one bedroom, same garage arrangement."

"I'd like to see the studio," Ryan said. "Would you mind my keeping construction equipment there?"

"Not at all. It's a perfect arrangement. After dinner, you want to take a look?"

"Love to."

"So would I," said Clyde. "I haven't seen it since you painted and fixed it up."

"We're not finished with the larger one," Charlie said, watching him with interest. "Mavity's helping me. The studio side is done."

"I'd like to see the one-bedroom," Clyde said. "We're-I'm thinking of taking that offer for the house, since they built the wall of China behind me."

Joe and Dulcie exchanged a look.

"What about your own apartment building?" Charlie said.

"Those are all one-year leases, Charlie, with options to renew. You were there when I rented those units, you were still working on the outside of the building."

Charlie tried to look at him seriously, but the cats saw a sly grin creep across her freckled face, as if she could read Clyde too well. Her look seemed a mixture of jealousy, levity, and honest pleasure and relief.

How complicated humans were, Dulcie thought. A she-cat would either turn away uninterested, or would leap on her rival spitting and clawing.

But Charlie had already abandoned Clyde, he was a free agent. Dulcie watched the exchange of looks between Charlie and Harper. Charlie's leg was pressed against his under the table. Clyde didn't seem to notice, his full attention was on Ryan. He rose with her as dinner ended and as Harper and Garza headed back to the station. He escorted her out as if she were his date, handing her into his antique yellow roadster to ride the few blocks to the duplex. The kit crouched, meaning to leap down and follow, but Dulcie snatched her back.

"Let them go, Kit. We don't need to act all that eager for a car ride. No need to put too many questions in people's heads." She looked after Clyde's convertible. "Ryan Flannery is a looker. I don't think Kate will like this."

"Serve her right," Joe said, wondering how this would play out. Ryan was a beauty, all right, and apparently full of fight and determination. She seemed, in fact, the kind of human woman he most admired. Well, but so was Charlie. Determined and feisty.

But the woman he was really curious about, who sent Joe leaping from the wall and snaking away up the street between pedestrians' legs, was Vivi Traynor. Why had she practically run from the restaurant to avoid either Detective Garza or his niece Ryan Flannery?

Heading across the darkening village dodging tourists' shoes, the three cats' eyes caught light from shop windows and from passing cars. The sky above them was heavy with cloud behind the black silhouettes of oak and pine trees. Above the cats, a little bat darted over the treetops, squeaking its high-pitched sonar. Dulcie, hurrying along beside Joe, puzzled over Vivi Traynor's hasty retreat but also kept thinking about Traynor's play and about the research that Wilma had done for him.

Wilma had read her some of the research that came from the mission archives, before she sent it to Traynor. Apparently one of the priests knew about Catalina's letters and wrote about them in his journal. The Ortega-Diaz ranch wasn't far from the mission. "That priest wrote that Catalina made little paintings on the letters-of the ranch, of branding, whatever they do with cattle. How strange," she said, "the way humans collect and record history."

"How else would they do it?" Joe said sensibly.

"I don't know. All the letters and journals and all kinds of old records woven together to make a pattern of the past. To a human, that may seem dull. I think it's like making magic, to be able to bring the dead past alive."

Joe stared at her. "You're talking just like the kit," he said rudely.

Hurt, she glanced back at the kit, who had stopped to paw at a snail. "Sometimes," Dulcie said, "I feel like the kit." And she turned away from Joe.

But he pressed against her, licking her ear. "That's why I love you," he said softly. "Because you see not only the rat to hunt but also the flowers where it's crouched."

She looked at him, her eyes wide, then gave him a nuzzling purr. Sometimes this tomcat wasn't so rough and uncaring. Sometimes he truly surprised her. And in a little while, she said, "Hundred-and-fifty-year-old letters from California history with sketches of the period should be worth a bundle, Joe. Maybe Traynor's looking for them himself."

"Traynor or Vivi? It was Vivi who followed Casselrod when he snatched the white chest."

"If Traynor wants the letters, why would he put them in the play so everyone would know about them? So other people would start looking?"

"Maybe he planned to have found them already before the time the play was produced." Joe leaped to the top of a fence and down the other side. He watched Dulcie and the kit drop down beside him. "If Elliott and Vivi are still having dinner somewhere, and if we're fast, we can be inside their cottage before they ever get home." Joe's yellow eyes blazed. "I want to know more about Vivi, about both the Traynors."