But soon the study light came on, and she wheeled the vacuum in. Standing at the desk, she bent to try the drawers, her kinky red hair falling loose from its ribbon. Was she looking for the manuscript? All the drawers were locked.

"If the Traynors have skipped," Joe said, "maybe they mailed the manuscript to Elliott's agent, maybe hoping when they surface again the second half of the advance will be waiting?"

Dulcie sneezed. "Could they really believe that?"

When Charlie hastily turned on the computer, the cats hurried along the branch where they could see the screen, watching her bring up chapter 1 of Twilight Silver, then move to the final pages. They were so fascinated that when a mockingbird flitted boldly past their noses, they hardly noticed its rude taunting.

Taking a floppy disk from her pocket, Charlie put it in the computer and went through the steps to make a copy.

Glancing out toward the drive, she dropped the disk in her pocket, then went through the little ritual of shutting down the machine. "Nice timing," Joe said. The computer was chuckling its closing noises when the Lincoln turned into the drive.

Vivi got out of the car alone; Elliott wasn't with her.

"He's not in the house?" Dulcie said, glancing through the study door to the empty hall.

The moment the car turned in, Charlie snatched up Traynor's research from the bookshelf and slipped it into the waistband of her jeans, tucking it out of sight under her sweatshirt. By the time Vivi crossed the drive and turned her key in the back door, Charlie was vacuuming the hall. And the cats learned nothing more until that night when Charlie and Harper, Dallas Garza and his niece showed up at Clyde's for sandwiches and a few hands of poker.

Harper and Garza were in a gala mood, their expressions as smug as Joe had ever seen. Clyde looked at them patiently, waiting for whatever big news they were holding back. When the officers said nothing but simply began to count out chips and shuffle cards, Clyde glanced at Joe, as frustrated as the tomcat. Couldn't people just come out and say what was going on with them, couldn't they simply tell a person why they were grinning? Ryan and Charlie remained expressionless, waiting to see what would develop.

The kitchen smelled of salami and onions, and echoed with the clink of poker chips. Harper dealt, fanning the cards with a thin, practiced hand. The cats, to keep a low profile, retreated to the laundry and cozied down on the bottom bunk next to Rube. The old Lab was sound asleep, softly snoring. Harper said, "That's a nice car, that Lincoln the Traynors drive. I understand they picked it up from the Ford dealer when they got off the plane, ordered it months ago, before they left New York."

Clyde looked at Harper, puzzled. "Are we supposed to be impressed?"

Harper shrugged. "I don't know. You wouldn't expect a multi-million-copy best-selling author to drive a ten-year-old Mazda."

Joe couldn't figure out where this was leading. Apparently, neither could Clyde, and he was not amused. He sat staring at his cards, scowling darkly. Well, he'd been touchy all week. Joe knew that he'd called Kate several times and that he kept leaving messages but she hadn't returned his calls. At one point, worried about Kate, Clyde had called the designer's studio where she worked. She was there, they told him, but very busy.

At the poker table, Clyde said, "If Traynor's so rich, why did he opt for a Lincoln instead of a Jag or BMW?"

"You mean, why didn't he buy from Beckwhite's?" Harper said, laughing. "What, you're getting a percentage from the showroom now? I'll take two cards."

Clyde flipped cards around the table. "Second-rate car. And a wife young enough to be his granddaughter."

Ryan and Charlie were silent, glancing at each other.

"Forty years younger," Garza said, his square, Latino face not changing expression. "He and Vivi were-have been married three years." Garza slid two chips to the center. "His fifth wife. But the first time around for her-first time for a legal relationship." He glanced at Harper again, the faint gleam of humor sparking between them.

Joe stretched and curled up with his chin on Rube's golden flank. Beside him, Dulcie closed her eyes. They listened with keen interest; they'd never before heard Harper and Garza amuse themselves at Clyde's expense.

When Harper raised the bet, Garza slid two chips to the center. "Vivi's first marriage," Harper said, "after a long line of live-ins and one-night stands. She's been busy for a girl of twenty-five. Apparently she's lived off rich men since she was fifteen."

Garza said, "I wonder if Elliott knew, when he married her, that she would be his last."

Clyde came to full alert. And in the laundry, Joe's and Dulcie's ears cocked sharply forward.

Clyde watched Garza raise the bet, then folded. Garza took the pot. No one said anything more, the table was silent, Harper and Garza stonefaced and ungiving. Joe wondered if a cat could expire from unfulfilled curiosity.

The poker players ran three more hands, talking only in monosyllables. "Raise you two." "Three cards." "I fold." Twice Clyde glanced across the kitchen at Joe, at first with the same unfulfilled curiosity, a moment of mutual sympathy-before he gave Joe that none-of-your-business, why-don't-you-go-out-and-play-like-a-normal-cat look that made Joe hunker down harder against Rube, stubbornly waiting for Harper's punch line.

Harper raked in the largest pot of the night, stacking his chips in neat rows. "That would have been tight," he said, "keeping a twenty-four-hour surveillance on the Traynors, pulling men off patrol."

Garza nodded. "Better off in custody. New York is sending Vivi's case file?"

Clyde stared at his cards and said nothing. And from the bunk in the laundry, Joe and Dulcie watched with slitted eyes, pretending to be asleep.

Harper said, "Homicide put it in the mail this morning. No wonder Traynor's agent was upset."

"All right," Clyde said, "that's enough. Let's hear it."

"If not for Traynor's agent," Garza said, ignoring Clyde, "hassling NYPD, they might never have identified the body."

Joe had sat up, staring at the two cops so intently that Dulcie nudged him. He lay down again, tense with interest. At the poker table, Charlie and Ryan were quiet, watching Harper feed the story to Clyde piece by puzzling piece, the captain loving every excruciating minute.

And Joe and Dulcie looked at each other, buzzing with questions. Had the case come down like Joe thought? Was that what Garza and Harper were saying? Had Adele McElroy and NYPD found the missing piece? Did Harper and Garza have to be so damned oblique? They were not only teasing Clyde, they were driving two poor innocent cats nearly crazy.

"You're not saying," Clyde snapped, "that Elliott Traynor is wanted in New York? For homicide? You're saying he killed someone? This guy is famous. You're saying he-"

"He didn't kill anyone," Harper said mildly.

"Vivi?" Clyde said. "Vivi killed someone?"

Harper shrugged.

Clyde laid down his cards. "No more poker. No more beer. Nothing more to eat until you guys lay out the story."

The officers began to laugh.

Ryan said, "… he and Vivi were married three years? Were married…?"

Charlie repeated what Harper had said earlier. "Did Elliott know that she would be last? That she would be Elliott's last wife, Max?"

Clyde said softly, "Elliott Traynor is dead. When did this happen?"

"Before we ever met him," Garza told Clyde.

Joe Grey felt his heart pounding, and felt Dulcie's heart pounding against him. He'd been right. A wild guess, a shot in the dark, and he'd pounced on the big one. Had nailed his quarry right in the jugular.