"I was up front with him, I told him about Senior Survival and that we were shopping on our own for antiques. I said it wouldn't be fair to you if I were to be shopping for someone else.

"He never answered my letter. And then when they arrived he didn't get in touch. I felt awkward about it, but what could I do. I feel awkward about doing the costumes, about working with him. And I suppose I ought to talk with Captain Harper. Just… to fill him in?" she said, looking at Wilma.

"I think you must," Wilma said.

Gabrielle twisted her napkin. "Well, there it is. I knew all along that Elliott could be connected somehow to the theft of that white chest and to your break-in, Susan, though I'm sure Elliott wouldn't do anything violent. That had to be someone else."

The kit's eyes had grown so wide as she listened that Dulcie leaped at her, landing on the arm of Cora Lee's chaise, licking the kit's face until she had her full attention. The kit subsided, tucking her face under her paw.

"With all the violence these last weeks," Mavity said, "I'm not sure I'll go to any more sales. That Iselman estate sale, that should be grand. But if the Iselmans had those old carved chests, what else might they have that would cause trouble?"

"I'm going," Susan said. "I'm not letting Elliott Traynor, if he is involved, or anyone else frighten me. We can make some money out of that sale, if we buy carefully. I think we should all go."

"And carry our pepper spray," Mavity said, laughing. Pepper spray was the one legal weapon a woman could carry without any kind of permit. After Susan's break-in, Wilma had bought vials for all of them, and taught them the safety procedures-including careful awareness of which way the wind was blowing.

"Why not with pepper spray?" Susan said. "I carry mine all the time. I don't like to be intimidated. If I'd been at home, with that little vial in my pocket, my house wouldn't have been trashed. I'd have given them something to think about, and so would Lamb." She looked around at her friends. "I've been selling on eBay all week. I've sold nearly everything on our shelves that wasn't destroyed. If we mean to go on with this, to keep putting money in the bank, we need to start buying again."

"Are we smart to go on with this?" Gabrielle asked hesitantly. "Or are we only fooling ourselves? Are we going to make enough money to do this? And is it going to work?"

"We've been over the numbers," Susan said. "We've already put ten thousand in the bank from our sales, and we've only been at it six months. If we do this for a couple of years, plus the money from our own houses… mine and Mavity's…"

"And mine," Wilma said, "if I'm ready to throw in with you."

"And the profit from my two rentals," Cora Lee added. "And from that lot you own, Gabrielle…"

"I hope it will work," Gabrielle said uncertainly.

"It will work," Wilma said.

"We'll all have our privacy," Mavity said, "and our own space-maybe as much as I have now, in that little house. Plus a nice big living room and kitchen and a garden, maybe a nice patio.

"But then, it's different for me. I have to move." She looked around at her friends. "I got the notice this morning. The official condemnation. Thirty days. The letter said they made it such a short time because it's been talked about so long, because we all knew it was coming."

"You'll move in with me," Wilma said, "until you decide what to do. There's plenty of room for your furniture in the garage."

"By the time you're ready," Cora Lee said, "I'll be home again, and Wilma's guest room will be yours."

"We can move you," Susan said. "Rent a truck, maybe hire one of Charlie's guys to help us-make a party of it, go out to dinner afterward."

And on Cora Lee's lap, the kit was looking back and forth again, from one to the other, paying far too close attention. Dulcie tried to distract her. When the kit ignored her, she swatted the kit as if in play, forcing her off Cora Lee's lap and chasing her through the house to the kitchen.

Excusing herself to refill the cream pitcher, Wilma followed them, shutting the kitchen door behind her.

Backing the kit into the corner behind the breakfast table, Dulcie hissed and spat at her. "You didn't see yourself. You were taking everything in, looking far too perceptive and interested."

"But no one would guess," the kit said. "No one…"

"Cora Lee says you seem to understand everything she tells you. They could guess, Kit! Charlie did! How do you think she found out?"

"I thought-"

"Charlie figured it out for herself. She watched and watched us. She figured out that we were more than ordinary cats, and those ladies-especially Cora Lee-could do the same."

"Oh, my," said the kit.

"Charlie would never tell," Dulcie said. "But those other ladies might, without ever meaning any harm. You be careful! If you're going back in there to sit with Cora Lee, you practice looking dumb! Dumb as a stone, Kit! Sleepy. Preoccupied. Take a nap. Play with the tennis ball. Have a wash. But don't look at people when they talk!"

The kit was crestfallen, her yellow eyes cast down. She looked so hurt that Dulcie licked her face. "It's all right. You'll remember next time," she said, giving the kit a sly smile. "You will, or you'll be licking wounds you don't want."

Wilma looked at the kit a long time, then picked up the two cats and carried them back to the living room. She gave them each another piece of cake, lathering on the cream, setting their plates side by side on the blotter. Watching the kit guzzle the rich dessert, Wilma was torn between frustration at the willful little animal and love and amusement. But always, she was filled with wonder, with the miracle of these small, amazing beings.

If the cats would only leave police business alone. Theft, armed robbery, murder, Joe and Dulcie were in the middle of it all, refusing to back off. And the kit was becoming almost as bad. The cats' intensity at eavesdropping among questionable characters and their diverse ploys when digging out hidden information left her constantly worried about them.

But maybe, this time, what appeared to be a tangled case would turn into nothing. Maybe Fern's death wasn't connected to Susan's break-in or to the carved chests. Maybe Fern had happened on some gun-happy youth looting the store and in panic he had shot her.

Maybe, Wilma thought. But how, then, to explain the three chests pulled out of the window, and, days earlier, Richard Casselrod snatching the white box?

Dulcie watched Wilma, half amused and half irritated. They'd been together a long time, she knew how Wilma thought. Wilma was hoping right now that this case would turn out to be a dud. Just as Clyde seemed to be hoping. What was it that so disturbed them? The fact that a famous personality was involved? Both Clyde and Wilma seemed to want present circumstances to go away. And that wasn't going to happen.

For one thing, neither Wilma nor Clyde had all the facts. Neither knew that Joe had called New York this morning, setting in motion a whole new string of events. Nor did they know that Joe had found Augor Prey and found the gun that may have killed Fern, or that Joe's subsequent phone call had prompted Harper and Garza to stake out Prey's room.

And no one, not Wilma nor Clyde nor the police, knew that a second stakeout had been set up on the roof next door to Prey. A twenty-four-hour observation post with instant communication to Molena Point PD. A surveillance operation, Dulcie thought, that was soon going to need a nice hot dinner-a little sustenance for a cold and hungry tomcat.