Read Online Cat Raise the Dead by Shirley Rousseau Murphy - Free Book Online

made him think how short was life, how capricious and unpredictable.
    Beyond the village to the east, above the rising hills, one patch of sky was still blue between the steely clouds, its clearer light striking down on the hills, picking out every bush, every tree and flower garden. The houses and streets, rising up, were displayed as clearly as a stage set. Between the scattered houses, the grassy fields gleamed golden. And despite the threat of rain, the shadowed, darkened yards, stretching across the hills were not deserted. Three children were playing catch up on Amber Street, and, as a very little boy crouched to dig in the gutter, half a dozen kids flew down the hill on their bikes.
    They watched an old man cutting his steep hillside lawn with a hand mower, as if perhaps modern power equipment was not designed for such extremities of terrain. The wind grew colder. Shivering, Dulcie snuggled close to Joe. “Maybe the old burglar’ll show up—whocould miss that white Toyota?” She snorted. “Mud on its license plate—what a tired old trick.”
    â€œIt’s worked, though. So far. Mud so thick I couldn’t even scratch it off.”
    â€œDon’t you wonder if she noticed?”
    He shrugged. “So she noticed. So if she’s scared of cats, that ought to chill her.”
    â€œOr maybe she’ll have some other car. If she can burgle a house, it should be no problem to ‘borrow’ someone’s car for a few hours.”
    They watched intently each vehicle that moved across the rising hills, watched a station wagon wind back and forth making its rounds, picking up children for some Saturday event, watched a FedEx truck trundle up the hills on its appointed stops, the driver running to each door and leaving his package, racing back to the truck again as if his pay scale was structured on swift timing.
    A small red sedan turned up from the Highway One tunnel and parked beneath some maple trees on a residential block, and a lone woman emerged, a dumpy creature; the cats watched her so intently she should have felt their gaze like a laser beam.
    She made her way directly up the walk of a two-story green frame house, paused to pick up the morning paper, and appeared to be fumbling with a key. Unlocking the door, she disappeared inside.
    Five blocks away, a tan VW climbed the hills and parked before a half-timber cottage flanked by sycamore trees. Another lone woman emerged, a slim, sleek figure in a black business suit. She entered the house quickly, and in a moment lights came on. “If that’s the cat burglar,” Joe said, “she’s done a real state-of-the-art makeover.”
    In the cupola a bee buzzed, circling their heads and diving at their ears. Dulcie slapped it down, nosed at it, then backed away. Far up the hill, at a yellow cottage, the back door opened and a man and woman appeared, dressed in shorts. Crossing the lawn, they opened a garden shed and pulled out a mower, rakes, a shovel. Abovethe yellow house, at a new house where the yard was still raw dirt, a woman appeared from around the back with a basket, knelt beside the front walk, and began to dig in the earth, setting out little plants, patting them carefully into the ground. Joe yawned.
    â€œThey plant grass, then have to mow it. Plant flowers, then have to weed them.”
    She cut her eyes at him. “I’ve seen you rolling on those lush lawns.”
    â€œOn Clyde’s moth-eaten patch of grass?”
    â€œOn your neighbors’ lawns. I’ve seen you sitting in the neighbors’ flower beds, sniffing the blooms when you thought no one was watching.”
    â€œI was hunting; those flower beds are full of moles.”
    She did not remind him that he hated moles.
    They had been on the roof for better than an hour when a blue hatchback came up Highway One from the south and turned up into the hills just before the tunnel. Heading up a winding lane, it cut across the