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

killer. Reminded him where he got the computer code word that opened up Jergen’s files. He jogged Harper’s memory about who identified the retirement-home killer months earlier, to say nothing of finding the arsonist who killed the artist Janet Jeannot. He said if Harper remembered who laid out the facts in the Samuel Beckwhite murder case, then Harper should take another look down Hellhag Canyon, before the wreckers hauled away the blue Corvette.
    The upshot was that, five minutes after Joe nosed the phone back into its cradle and returned innocently to the kitchen, Harper called Clyde to say not to wait dinner, that he’d be late, that he needed to run down the highway for a few minutes.
    Clyde hung up the kitchen phone and turned to stare at Joe, anger starting deep in his brown eyes, a slow, steaming rage that struck Joe with sudden, shocked guilt.
    What had he done?
    He had acted without thinking.
    Max Harper was headed out there alone, to scale down Hellhag Canyon in the dark. With perhaps the killer still lurking, maybe waiting for the car to be safely hauled away? Harper without a backup.
    Cops can be hurt, too, Joe thought. Cops can be shot. He was so upset, he dared not look back at Clyde. What had he done? What had he done to Max Harper?
    He wanted to call the station again, tell them to send a backup. But when he leaped down to head for the bedroom, Clyde unbelievably reached up and removed the kitchen phone from its hook.
    Joe wanted to shout at Clyde, to explain to him that he needed to call, but Wilma started talking about Lucinda Greenlaw, and Clyde turned his back on Joe. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Didn’t Clyde understand? Didn’t Clyde care about Harper?
    The phone stayed off the hook as Charlie dished up the plates. Wilma looked around at Joe, where she stood tossing the salad. “Where’s Dulcie?”
    â€œShe didn’t want to come,” he lied—he had to talk in Charlie’s presence sometime. And to Charlie’s credit, she didn’t flinch, didn’t turn to look, not a glance.
    â€œWe stopped by Jolly’s alley earlier,” Joe said. “Dulcie’s full of smoked salmon, and too fascinated with the Greenlaws to tear herself away.”
    Wilma gave him a puzzled look, but she said nothing. When Wilma and Clyde and Charlie were seated over steaming plates of linguini, Wilma said, “Lucinda and I had lunch today. She was pretty upset. Shamas’s lover is in town. She’s been to visit Lucinda.”
    Charlie laid down her fork, her eyes widening. “Cara Ray Crisp, that bimbo who was on the boat when he died? That hussy? What colossal nerve. What did she want?”
    â€œApparently,” Wilma said, “Cara Ray had hardly checked into the Oak Breeze before she was there on Lucinda’s doorstep, playing nice. Lucinda really didn’t know what she wanted.”
    â€œI hope Lucinda sent her packing,” Charlie said. “My God. That woman was the last one to see him alive. The last one to—”
    â€œShe told Lucinda she came to offer condolences.”
    Charlie choked. Clyde laughed.
    That midnight on the yacht, when Shamas drowned, Cara Ray told Seattle police, she’d been asleep in their stateroom, she’d awakened to shouting, and saw that Shamas was gone from the bed. She ran out into the storm, to find Shamas’s cousin, Sam, frantically manning lines, and his nephew, Newlon, down in the sea trying to pull Shamas out. They got lines around Shamas and pulled him up on deck, but could not revive him. Weeping, Cara Ray told the police that when the storm subsided they had turned toward the nearest port, at Seattle. George and Winnie Chambers, the only other passengers, had not awakened; Cara Ray said they had not come on deck until the next morning, when the Green Lady put in at Seattle.
    According to the account in the Gazette , the storm had come up suddenly; evidently Shamas