"Well," Wilma said softly. "The murder and the burglary are connected."

"Dufio, our arrestee, he's a strange little man. Apparently a total screwup. The bad penny. Amazing, his brothers let him run with them. Apparently, every now and then, they try to dump him. Never seems to last, I guess they feel sorry for him."

Charlie brought more ribs to the table and sat down again.

"In Indio," Max said, "Dufio robs a 7-Eleven at gunpoint, red bandana over his face, knit hat and gloves, the whole rig. Gets the cash, runs into the backyard of a nearby house and hides the money in the bushes. So he won't get caught with it on him, means to come back for it. He hides everything incriminating- bandana, gloves, hat,.357 Magnum, and his jacket, and takes off.

"Cops arrive with a dog, find the stash. Find, in the jacket pocket, Dufio's property identification card from county jail. Name, photograph, fingerprints, date of birth, jail booking number."

Everyone smiled. Max took a sip of beer, ate a few bites of his dinner. "Dufio does his time, gets out. Two weeks later he's waiting in the car with his cell phone while Hernando, a block away, is robbing a small bank. Dufio is supposed to swing around at Hernando's call, pick him up and take off. He sees this guy come out of a luggage shop, out the back door with one of those canvas cash bags, heading away toward the bank. Dufio decides while Hernando's grabbing the bank money, he'll make a second hit."

Harper took another slice of garlic bread. "This is noon, rainy midweek day. There's not much foot traffic. In the process of knocking out the luggage-store guy, Dufio drops his phone, messes it up so it doesn't ring, and misses Hernando's call.

"Hernando comes careening around the corner with the bank money, mad as hell. The alarm is going in the bank-and Dufio, when he got out of the car… He'd locked their only set of keys inside."

Chuckles exploded all around; and on the chaise the cats turned their faces away, hiding their own amusement. There was something deeply satisfying about the bad guys screwing up, even the clumsy ones.

Dallas said, "Dufio might be inept, but he has survived. You have to give him that."

Max nodded. "Just as Luis has. Luis seems always the first to slip away, leave the others on the hot seat. The other two dozen hoods who have run with them at various times are either serving time, or dead."

Charlie rose to pour the coffee. Wilma said, "I remember two jobs with maybe eight or nine guys, some kind of car insurance scam."

"They ran that for over a year," Max said. "Again, around L.A. Did pretty well until they hit on an unmarked car carrying four drug agents. When they tried to maneuver the car in between them, to rear-end it, all hell broke loose. The agents were armed and knew what was coming down and were mad as hornets.

"Now," Max said, "Luis has likely added new blood. Last job they pulled, in Thousand Oaks, they had five new recruits, and they got away clean. Next job, four of them pose as DEA agents. Two o'clock in the morning, burst into a private residence carrying handguns, a shotgun and a rifle. Said they were searching for drugs, on a tip. Tied up six people, hit one in the face with the shotgun, and broke a woman's arm. Swept the house, got off with eight thousand dollars in jewelry, couple thousand cash. Used handheld radios to communicate with those outside the house. That's the most sophisticated job they pulled, that we know of."

"What do they look like?" Clyde said, glancing only for a split second toward the chaise where Joe lay washing his paws, apparently half asleep after his big supper.

"Luis Rivas is thirty-five," Max said. "Maybe five-foot-five, hundred and eighty pounds. Broad and heavy-boned. Coarse features, broad nose, fairly dark skin. Hernando was taller, thinner. Dufio is slight, lighter complexion, pale brown eyes. Long hair, bleached blond at the moment.

"Tommie McCord runs with them. Five-ten, hundred and sixty. Red hair-even brighter red than Charlie's hair," Max said, grinning. "Wall-to-wall freckles, blue eyes. No idea yet who else might be with them. They have a sister, sometimes travels with them. Maria Rivas. About seventeen. Apparently does their cooking and laundry. She's never been in trouble, never been arrested even as an accessory. Couple of the reports imply that she thinks she has nowhere else to go, no choice but to run with them, as their maid."

Immediately after supper, the three cats broke into a wild chase out across the pasture, where they could talk, heading for the tallest spring grass, where only the grazing horses could hear them. Rock didn't follow them, he'd been scolded too many times for chasing the cats, both by Ryan and by the cats themselves. Rock meant only to play, but a big dog's playful enthusiasm could get out of hand.

Crouched in a forest of grass, Dulcie and Kit told Joe about the caged cat up in the hills that Charlie had freed. "Charlie thinks Hernando was trapping cats. The cat wouldn't speak, but clearly he understood her."

Kit said, "He is the leader of the clowder that I ran with. Stone Eye. He's mean as snakes. Charlie should have left him to rot."

Joe looked at her, surprised. Dulcie said, "Question is, did Hernando know what kind of cats? Charlie thinks he did, and that he's trapped others."

"And he died for it," Kit said darkly.

"If he did trap others," Joe said, "where are they?" His yellow eyes narrowed. "And does his brother Luis know? Could Luis have them, hidden somewhere?" The tomcat sat considering. "I think I've seen Luis and that Tommie McCord, next door in Chichi's room."

"Chichi?" Dulcie said.

Joe smiled. "Little Chichi Barbi, sitting in her room with those two hoods, going over a map of the village."

Dulcie's and Kit's eyes widened; they were considering the ramifications of this when Clyde started calling them.

"He's getting ready to leave," Dulcie said, rearing up to look over the tops of the tall grass. "Hurry up, Joe. You know how impatient he gets." Joe was reluctant to head home, but the cats took off for the house. Dulcie and Kit would stay with the Harpers, settling in with Wilma in Charlie's studio. The minute they hit the patio, Clyde scooped Joe up and headed for his car.

Ryan walked beside them for a moment. "I'll be by, then, first thing in the morning."

Clyde nodded, and tossed Joe onto the leather seat. He was silent starting the car, silent heading away up the drive. Then, "The water faucets were delivered. Ryan's going to install one, to see how it works."

"To see if I can work it." Clyde glanced at him, and shrugged. When Ryan was working on Clyde's extensive remodel, adding the second-story study and master bedroom, Clyde had asked if she could get faucets that a cat could turn on, but that would turn off by themselves. He'd spent a lot of time explaining how he planned to train Joe and the other three cats to turn the faucets on for a drink of fresh water. "I can train them to turn the water on," Clyde had explained. "But you can't expect a cat to turn the water off. A cat doesn't pay the water bill. He would see no reason to do that."

"I think you're crazy," Ryan said. But she'd searched until she found the proper faucet, in the catalog of a North Carolina specialty shop. She had ordered five.

Joe said, "She coming for breakfast? She does like your ham and cheese scramble."

Clyde shook his head. "She said she'd have a quick bite somewhere before she picks up Dillon and Lori so they can ride. Lori's taken really well to that pony." He glanced at Joe. "It's a teacher's day or something, kids'll be out of school. No wonder kids don't get an education."

Joe had his own thoughts about childhood education. But at the moment, his mind was on the Rivas brothers and Tommie McCord, and on that band of feral cats. Had some of those cats been captured? Were there speaking cats somewhere, shut miserably in a cage? And that night, he lay awake worrying about the feral cats. About cats like himself and Dulcie and Kit locked up in cages. Why? What did Luis mean to do with them? Sell them? Force them into some kind of animal act? He didn't want to consider clearly what those crooks might attempt. The thought of animal prisoners and how they might be treated made him shaky.