Unknown - 65b2781d5c49ceb3bc741eccf6dca414

1. UNDERCOVER CAT

1

Patti Randall was slipping into a half world of drowsiness when the telephone aroused her. By the time she found the instrument on the floor, where her sixteen-year-old sister, Ingrid, had been using it earlier that evening, it gave one half-ring gasp and died.

Returning the phone to the night stand, she saw by the alarm that it was 12:30 a.m. She switched off the light and stretched to her full five feet seven. All evening she had been jangly note 1 hearing strange noises stirred up outside by a wind busy hustling leaves in the September night. At times she would find herself listening intently, trying to sort out the sounds and identify them. She blamed Mrs. Macdougall next door for her uneasiness. Mrs. Macdougall had taken it on herself to look afterthose orphans while the Randall parents were vacationing in Europe .

If anything happens in the night, she had told Patti, just scream and Ill hear you. Patti could believe that. Drop a pin, and old Mrs. Macdougall would hear. She was better than a burglar alarm system. In the same breath Mrs. Macdougall had continued, Terrible things are happening every night. Like that woman whose husband was away, and her and her old mother were murdered in cold blood at 2:23 a.m.

And if Mrs. Macdougall said it was 2:23 a.m., that it was. She was a stickler when it came to crime facts.

Patti booted Mrs. Macdougall out of mind and tried concentrating on the moon high over the orange tree, a skinny moon that had been on a diet, which reminded her uncomfortably that she had gained two pounds the past month. She was pushing size ten as far as she dared and still continue to work as a model. Only today a glinty note 2-eyed old fool, sitting right alongside his wife at a lunch table in Bullocks penthouse restaurant, had figured her hip measurements down to an inch as she pirouetted before them in a Thai silk sheath.

Perhaps she should wear a girdle, although that would indicate advancing age, and at twenty-three she wasnt going to admit it

She shook off such an unhappy thought and was slipping into sleep when she heard the noise at the back door. She came bolt upright, then smiled inwardly and settled back down into the enormous pillow, knowing the noise indicated that D.C., their twenty-five-pound black cat, was entering the house through the little opening for milk bottles in the wall of the service porch. He would be grunting like a Japanese wrestler as he squirmed through. Talk about a girdle. He was the one who needed a girdle.

She stiffened again as footsteps came over, a mans on the front walk, sharp and determined. And though she had anticipated it, the harsh buzz of the doorbell sent a thrust of fear through her. She searched frantically in the closet for a robe, and all the time the man kept his finger pressed on the buzzer until she could have screamed. She ended up grabbing a thin negligee which covered her but failed to conceal the long, slender legs beneath the blue baby doll pajamas.

Passing Mikes room, she called softly, Mike, but her twelve-year-old brother wouldnt hear, not that one, nor Ingrid. An assailant could empty a revolver into her without awakening those two.

Hurrying too fast, she struck the corner of the dining table. Now shed have a big, black blotch there, and if she had to model swim suits shed look as if she had been in a barroom brawl.

Turning on the porch light, she eased the door open three inches, which was all the safety chain would permit. Greg Balter stood there, the neighbor from across the street. He was a couple of years older than she, a brilliant attorney whom everyone said would go far. He was tall, and all male, and had that kind of innocent face loved by women from the Popsicle to the bifocal age. All except her. She considered him anything but innocent.

Oh, its you, she said, anticipating trouble, which he invariably brought, usually over his dachshund, Blitzy, which was one of the two pets he adored. The other was a white Thunderbird.

I tried calling you. His tone was quasi-conciliatory. She motioned him in and waited. Long ago she had learned the subtle power of silence in an argument. It invariably got the other side off on the wrong foot.

He withdrew the smile.Your cat

he began again, reassembling his forces. Their gaze met and locked in hand-to-hand combat.

What about him? she demanded tightly.

Up to now Ive been pretty patient. Hes dug up my flowers, and left his fingerprints all over my car, and gotten into fights in my back yard ?

You come over to discuss this at 1 a.m.?

And now hes stolen a mallard duck from my service porch.

He did what?

He continued,I saw him leaving with it. He was half dragging it across the yard. His glance slipped to her legs, then he snapped it back as if determined not to be swayed by anything female.

Now, wait just a minute, Greg. After all ?

He interrupted.I spent all day in a duck blind in a beating rain. I couldve caught pneumonia ? and I got one duck. Just one duck. And your cotton-pickin old cat comes snooping around. I thought I heard something on the back porch, and sure enough, when I went out, the screen door banged shut, and the duck was gone.

She was so furious she could scarcely talk.And I suppose he reached up, unlatched the screen, opened the door, and walked in?

He opened the door and walked in all right. That cat could walk into Fort Knox . Dont ask me how he does it.

It was a moment before she could find words.Well, that does it. That absolutely does do it. Of all the preposterous, unfair, monstrous accusations ?

She stopped in mid-air as D.C. padded in to learn who was calling. He walked very proudly, head high in the air, bearing the duck in his mouth.

For a second she was stunned, then she reached down in a quick, sweeping motion to seize the duck. But she was not swift enough. D.C. fastened a death hold on the bird. They wrestled, and then Patti gave a hard wrench and tore it out of his mouth, shredding the duck somewhat in the process. Holding it by one foot, she swung it over to Greg whose face was smeared with triumph.

Just serves you right, she snapped. What do you expect a cat to do if you go around leaving your game where he can get it? Hes a hunter, like you.

Hes a thief, Greg said, staring down in hatred at D.C. A plain thief. And if I catch him on my property once more, hes going to get a pants full of buckshot. Nine times, if I have to.

She trembled so she could scarcely speak.Greg Balter, if you dare ?

He turned abruptly and walked away. As she slammed the door, she muttered to herself,Darn, darn.

D.C. muttered low in response. His full name was Darn Cat, a name given him by her father who was always stumbling over him in the dark. It was not a name, however, bandied about when their mother was within hearing.

No, not you, she said, dropping to the floor by him. She started to fondle him, but he stalked away. She wasnt the only angry one. It was getting so that every time he brought a good catch into the house, someone took it away from him. He didnt even get a taste. That was the trouble with people. They wanted it all for themselves. And she neednt try to make up. People always did that. They wanted instant forgiveness after wronging him.

Just then the light picked up something shiny in the fur about his neck. She grabbed him by a hind leg, and he struggled. It was a wonder he had any kidneys left, he thought, the way they manhandled him.

In amazement, she removed a womans wrist watch, which was fastened around his neck like a collar. Mystified, she examined it. Some child would probably be missing a treasure tomorrow, she thought sleepily.

She grinned.You sure hit the jack pot tonight, didnt you, D.C.?

2

Patti was sipping coffee in the kitchen the next morning when Inky dragged in sleepy-eyed in her pink cotton pajamas, carrying her clothes with her.