Immediately the cats and Rock stretched out before the blaze, taking the best places. Their friends slipped out of their jackets, shoes came off, a few beers were opened. This was the second party this weekend, and for a while, a peaceful silence reigned as each in his or her own mind wished the newlyweds well, wished them a happy and safe journey on their honeymoon and through a long life. Among their small group only Charlie was strung tight.

Only Charlie and the cats were torn, on this memorable day, by a secret that had nothing to do with the wedding and that they had shared with no one, certainly not with the groom and bride.

To share the discovery of a body with Clyde and Ryan, just now, would only send them off on their honeymoon worried about Joe, about all three cats, as Clyde always worried.

Every time a crime was committed, a robbery or a murder, or in this case the discovery of a corpse, every time Molena Point PD had a new investigation, Clyde worried and fussed. When "that little meddler," as he called Joe, leaped into the middle of an investigation, and though Clyde knew there was no way to keep the three cats out, still he nagged them, harangued Joe, and was sure the cats would end up hurt or dead. Joe couldn't convince him otherwise. Arguing with Clyde Damen was as pointless as trying to herd caterpillars.

Charlie had learned about the body yesterday evening as she was getting ready to leave for Mike's retirement party. She'd had no idea, when she went out to do the last-minute stable chores, that she would soon be sneaking into the party, avoiding her friends, and would slip out again quickly, Joe Grey and Dulcie and Kit stealthily following her, and the blood of a fourth cat staining her hands.

MIKE FLANNERY'S retirement party, the night before the wedding, had been a casual cookout on Clyde Damen's patio to celebrate Mike's moving from San Francisco to the village. Most of Mike's family had long since removed to Molena Point from the city, Hanni to open her interior design studio, Dallas to sign on as a detective with Molena Point PD, Ryan to escape the husband she was divorcing and to start her own construction firm, and Scotty to work for her.

Mike, having retired the previous week as Chief U.S. Probation Officer for the Northern District of California, had enjoyed an impressive court ceremony before U.S. judge Donald Clymer and then a crowded and congratulatory office party complete with gag gifts, a thick scrapbook of office pictures from past parties and ceremonies, and deeply felt good wishes; Flannery had been a demanding but infinitely fair and well-loved chief. On the day of the ceremony and party, Mike's rented truck waited, ready to leave San Francisco, packed with the few belongings he meant to keep; the security deposit on his vacated apartment had been refunded, he had sold his aging car and had closed his bank accounts-not that he was in a hurry to depart the city. Not much of a hurry.

Early that evening, as the first partygoers assembled, up at the Harper ranch Charlie Harper, dressed in fresh jeans and a clean shirt, was ready to head down the hills to join the celebration; she had just put an insulated carrier full of potato salad in the back of her SUV, and had gone to feed the horses and dogs and put them up for the night when, from deep within the stable, a small voice spoke to her. She pause, startled. "Who's there?"

Earlier, opening the pasture gate, she'd moved the four horses into the barn, followed by the two gamboling half-Danes, the big, fawn-colored mutts had let her know that nothing was amiss in the stable by the way they frolicked around her, carefree and untroubled. But now, as she finished graining and started to fill the water buckets, Hestig gave a huff and Selig growled, staring toward the rear door that she'd left ajar for air circulation.

The Harper barn had two rows of stalls facing each other across a covered alley where she and Max groomed and saddled the horses or doctored them. A wide, sliding door opened at the front, and another similar door at the back. This was open only a few inches, and as Charlie paused, watching the dogs, the soft voice spoke again from the shadows.

"Charlie? Charlie Harper?" A voice barely discernible through Hestig's puzzled rumble.

Charlie took Hestig's collar, though the dog didn't lunge or bark. He only cocked his head, watching the dark corner.

There was no one standing there, nothing that she could see, and the chill she felt was not of fear but of anticipation.

The miracle of hearing that small, wild voice here in the barn made her shiver. Quietly she approached the back of the barn until, where the shadows were deepest, she made out a little white smudge crouched and watching her. She knelt some distance from the pale cat. " Willow?"

There was no answer.

" Willow? What's wrong? What brings you here?" She knew the lovely feral would never come among humans unless she badly needed help, unless there was terrible trouble for her or her wild band. Fearing that Willow would slip away again, Charlie didn't reach out to the bleached calico, she did nothing to alarm her-though Willow had no reason to fear her, the cat was feral, as wild and wary as a forest fox; none of Willow's band of speaking cats trusted humans, and Charlie had indeed been flattered when Willow accepted her.

"What is it?" she said again, softly. "What's happened?"

But then, watching the frightened calico, Charlie smelled the sharp, ironlike scent of fresh blood-and Willow stepped out from the shadows, watching Charlie with huge green eyes. Revealing what lay behind her. Showing Charlie the small, still form that lay amid scattered wisps of straw on the dark barn floor: a young cat, bloodied and limp.

Charlie wanted to reach out to him, but she remained still. "May I get a light?" she said softly. "I can't see as well as you. He's hurt bad, I need to see. Could I turn on the overhead lights? They're very bright."

"Turn them on," Willow said tremulously. "He's unconscious. Yes, he's hurt bad, Charlie Harper. It took three of us helping him, carrying and supporting him as he tried to hobble. He's used the last of his strength. The others ran as soon as we had him safe here-they wouldn't remain in a human place, and with the big dogs near."

Charlie rose, switched on the lights, and knelt again, catching her breath at the little cat's cruelly twisted and bloodied leg. He lay against the stable wall, so limp and small, a young white tom marked with vague, soft gray splotches like Stone Eye, the clowder leader, marked the same as many of the clowder cats-Stone Eye dominated the females, and most of the kittens were his.

Stone Eye's tyranny was why Willow and a small band of cats had left the clowder, going defiantly off on their own, making every effort to stay clear of him.

"Sage is my cousin," the pale calico said, nosing gently at the young tom's ear. "There was a terrible battle. Stone Eye attacked us; we had no choice," she said ashamedly, "but to run from his warriors."

At the sound of their voices the young, hurt cat had awakened. He was looking at Charlie rigid with fear.

"It's all right," Willow told him. "Charlie's a friend. It's all right, Sage.

"His leg is broken," she said sadly, "and I think the bone might be crushed. Stone Eye did that. I…Be still, Sage. Let Charlie look at you. She's a friend. Do as I say, and be still."

The young tom grew still, but remained wary in Charlie's presence. Gently she touched the angled leg, and felt sick. She could see the jagged bone sticking out beneath the blood-soaked fur. She looked at Willow, desolate. "I can't mend such a thing. I'll have to take him to a doctor-a friend. A man we can trust."