Could the woman he saw, if he had seen anyone, could that be Clyde's blond neighbor? She didn't know what Slayter was up to, but she didn't think she wanted to hear this.

No matter how much she disliked that woman, she liked even less what she was hearing.

"I was just headed back to the motel after dinner," Roman said. "Heard the sirens and turned up there instead." He gave her a boyish smile. "Idle curiosity. Rubbernecking, I guess. She ran into the driveway of the brown house, disappeared at the back, I heard a door close somewhere at the back. There was a woman in the front of the house, watching TV, I could see her silhouette through the shade."

Ryan frowned. She'd thought Chichi was staying there alone, that the owners were up in the city. "If you thought she was running from the burglary, why didn't you call the police? Why are you telling me?"

"I… I was in some trouble not long ago," Roman said diffidently. "Not of my doing, but the police thought it was. I… didn't want to get involved. The police…"

"You could have called them anonymously. They might have caught her. Might even have recovered the jewels." She watched him intently. "What is this, Roman? What kind of scam is this?"

"It isn't a scam, Ryan. What would I get out of tipping you off? I saw her and thought I'd pass it on. Well…" Roman leaned closer over the table, "I think she's a friend of your friend, I think she lives next door to him. I didn't want to make trouble for someone you're fond of."

The hell you wouldn't, she thought. "Why would that make trouble for him? Are you implying that Clyde's involved?" Ryan did her best not to laugh in his face. "You're going to have to spell it out." What scared her was that he'd taken great pains to learn about Clyde, to learn who she was seeing. She watched the waiter set down their antipasto and salad and refill their wineglasses.

"I thought maybe your friend… That this might touch you in some way, that you wouldn't want to…"

She rose, shoving back her chair so hard it fell clattering to the floor. "Call the police, Roman! Tell them. This has nothing to do with Clyde, or with me! If you have information, call the department!

"Unless you want to be charged with withholding information," she added hotly. And she stormed out of the restaurant, her stomach churning with anger-and with disappointment at abandoning Binnie's shrimp-and-ham linguini.

Heading for Clyde's to pick up Rock, she did her best to simmer down; but she was still steaming when she knocked softly on Clyde's door. One light was on in the living room; looked like the reading light by Clyde's chair. She could hear a Dixieland CD playing. At her knock, she expected Rock to bark and then to catch her scent and whine, but she heard neither. "Clyde? It's me, it's Ryan."

He opened the door, scowling. He didn't move back out of her way, but stood blocking her entry.

"Where's Rock? I…"

"Have a nice evening?"

"What's wrong? Is there… Clyde, where's Rock? I brought him… Is he all right? Did you get my message?"

"He's in the backyard where you left him."

She stared at him. "What's he done? What are you mad about?"

There was a long silence. Clyde stood frowning. She stared at him, and began to laugh. "You're mad! Mad because I…" She pushed past him into the room, and turned to look at him. She took his hand and, against his mild resistance, led him to the couch, pulled him down to sit beside her. She was still holding his hand.

"Listen to me, Clyde. I met Roman Slayter for dinner because he said he had some kind of evidence about the jewel burglary. He called and called."

"Right."

"Just listen…"

From the kitchen, Joe Grey listened, too. Having slipped back inside through the dog door, he'd slid it shut in Rock's face, had left Rock outside pawing and scratching at the plywood. Joe stood in the kitchen, engrossed in Clyde's anger and Ryan's amusement, and in her explanation of why she'd agreed to have dinner with Slayter. He was heartened that she'd left the restaurant in a rage before dinner was served. Surely Clyde would be pleased at that.

When Ryan repeated Slayter's "information" about Chichi, Clyde played dumb, as if Chichi's stealthy behavior was news to him-as it should be. They made up with a lot of mushy talk that embarrassed Joe, then Clyde opened a bottle of Chablis and made Ryan a grilled shrimp sandwich that was, she said, far superior to Binnie's linguini. They let Rock in before he tore up the door; and Joe went up to his tower and curled down among the cushions, leaving the lovebirds alone. Below him the house was quiet, except for the romantic forties music that Clyde had loaded onto the CD player. Joe must have been asleep when Ryan and Rock left, he didn't hear her truck pull away.

About the same time that Ryan left Binnie's so abruptly, abandoning her dinner, Lucinda Greenlaw called Charlie. Charlie and Wilma were tucked up by the fire in the Harpers' new living room, with Dulcie and the kit, having had an early dinner before Max went back to the station.

"We've found a house," Lucinda said, her voice bright with excitement. "We waited to call until our offer was accepted. Tell Kit… Is Max there…? Could I…"

"Max is at work," Charlie said, laughing. "You can talk to Kit. She's all over me, pawing at the phone." Kit had sprung to her lap and was rearing up, paws on Charlie's shoulder, pressing her ear to the phone, her long, fluffy tail lashing. She was so excited that when Charlie turned the speaker on, she yowled twice like a little wild cat before she could get a word out. "A house, Lucinda? A house! What kind of house! Does it have a tower like Joe Grey's? Is it near Dulcie's? With a big garden and trees and a window seat with pillows and a nice fireplace and…?"

"Stop, Kit! Stop and listen! Window seats, yes. Trees and a tangle of garden just the way you like. There's no tower but it does have a surprise…"

"What surprise, Lucinda? What?"

"Would it be a surprise if I told you? You'll have to wait and see. Of course there's a fireplace. You'll love this house. We'll pick you up first thing in the morning, seven-thirty, have breakfast in the village, then meet the Realtor at nine. Oh, Kit, we can hardly wait for you to see it."

Kit was purring so loud that it was hard for Charlie to get a word in. "Shhh, Kit." She stroked the excited tortoiseshell. "Lucinda, have breakfast here! A mushroom omelet and fresh mangoes?"

"That sounds wonderful, Charlie, but that's way too early to be entertaining company."

"No it isn't. You're not company, you're family. Ryan's bringing the girls, to ride. They can help me before they saddle their horses."

When Lucinda said they'd come, Charlie clicked the phone off, and looked into Kit's wide, yellow eyes. The little cat was seething with anticipation, so wired that Charlie thought she'd fly apart. It took a long time for Kit to settle down again and to resume telling the story she had begun.

Charlie felt certain that Kit's early life, with a judicious retelling to remove the little cat's unusual talents, could be a wonderful book-if she could do the story justice. Wilma had read the first five chapters, which were in rough draft, and she thought the story was as compelling and as real as Watership Down. Charlie knew it was foolhardy to ask the opinion of one's friends when it came to creative matters, whether to the written word or to a painting. But Wilma was, after all, a well-read librarian with a keen perception of what her own readers loved. The fact that both Wilma, and Charlie's agent, were excited about the beginning chapters had left Charlie amazed and even more eager to write the finest book she could. Life was, indeed, full of wonders.

Now, long after Max got home and they were tucked up in bed, and both cats were settled in with Wilma in Charlie's studio, Charlie lay awake, filled with too many thoughts to find sleep. The fire in the master bedroom had burned to coals, and still she lay thinking about the book and about the pictures she was doing for it; seeing the newest drawing clearly, as she liked to do before she began it. Beside her, Max tossed restlessly. Even in sleep, his mind would be busy with police matters.