Read Online Cat to the Dogs by Shirley Rousseau Murphy - Free Book Online Page A

Clyde’s clean kitchen walls.
    Joe, pretending he didn’t care where Dulcie was, leaped to the kitchen counter and stared at his empty plate, implying he didn’t need Dulcie, that he’d eat enough pasta for both.
    â€œI talked with Harper,” Clyde said. “About an hour ago. I want you to behave yourself tonight.”
    Joe widened his eyes, a gaze of innocence he had practiced for many hours while standing on the bathroom sink.
    â€œHarper says he had another of those snitch calls this morning. Guy wouldn’t give his name. Left the message with Brennan—something about a cut brake line.” He gave Joe a long, steady stare.
    Joe kept his expression blank.
    â€œHe says this one was a dud. Totally off track. Said that after the call, two officers went back down Hellhag Canyon for another look.”
    Joe licked his right front paw.
    â€œThe officers said the brake line wasn’t cut. Said the line burst, that it was ragged and worn. That there was no smooth cut as Harper’s informant described. They said they could see the thin place, the weak spot in the plastic where it gave way.
    â€œNor was there a billfold,” Clyde said. “The officers didn’t find a scrap of ID on the body, or in the car, or in the surround, as the snitch had said.”
    Joe could feel his anger rising. Which uniforms had Harper sent down there? Those two new rookies he’d just hired?
    Or had the cut line been removed?
    Had the man he scented in the ravine that morning replaced the cut, black plastic tube with an old, broken one, and lifted the driver’s wallet?
    Those two pups knew the guy was there. He remembered how silent they had grown, how watchful, creeping along sniffing the man’s scent.
    â€œSo this time,” Clyde said, “Harper’s snitch was all wet.”
    So this time, Joe Grey thought crossly, Harper’s men didn’t have the whole story—and Max Harper needs to know that.
    Staring at the dog door, then out the kitchen window, Joe managed a sigh. He looked at the two plates set side by side on the kitchen counter, then back to the window, his nose against the glass. He continued in this vein until Wilma said, “For heaven’s sakes, go over there and get her. Quit mooning around. She doesn’t need to spend all night watching Lucinda.”
    He gave Wilma a grateful look and began to paw at the plywood, seeking a grip to slide it out of its track.
    â€œNot the dog door!” Clyde shouted. “They’ll be all over the place.”
    Joe widened his eyes at Clyde, shrugged, and headed for the living room. Clyde said nothing. But Joe could feel him staring. The man had absolutely no trust.
    He went on out his cat door, making sure the plastic slapped loudly against its frame.
    But as he dropped off the front porch he heard Clyde at the living-room window, heard the curtain swish as Clyde pulled it back to peer out.
    Not an ounce of trust.
    Not until he heard Clyde go back in the kitchen did he beat it around to the backyard and up onto the back fence where he could see into the kitchen. And not until Clyde was occupied, draining the spaghetti, did he slip around to the front and in through his cat door again, stopping the plastic with his nose to keep it quiet.
    Heading for the bedroom, he punched in the number. Quickly he explained the urgency of his message. He got a sensible dispatcher, who patched him through to Harper in his car. Probably Harper was already headed in their direction, on his way for clam pasta.
    Joe told Harper that he had seen the cut brake line, that there were three little slice marks just above the cut. He said he’d heard someone else in the canyon, but couldn’t see him in the fog. Said he had seen the billfold in the guy’s back pocket, with a piece of the broken glass pressing into it.
    He reminded Harper where the captain had gotten the information that nailed Winthrop Jergen’s