Cat Fear No Evil by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

Author:Shirley Rousseau Murphy [Shirley Rousseau Murphy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780061740152
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2007-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

Before Max Harper had the interior of the building that housed Molena Point PD remodeled, his desk had occupied a six-by-six space at the back of the open squad room. He’d had no walls for privacy, no bookshelves, preferring, then, a work area where he could see and hear everything that went on among his officers: a sacrifice of privacy for control that Harper no longer needed. Now, since the remodeling, the captain enjoyed the luxury of real walls and a solid door, which he had quickly come to appreciate. Charlie said he’d lived a spartan life long enough. She had bought the leather couch as an anniversary present: one month married, time to celebrate. She had added two red leather easy chairs and a bright India rug from their own home. Three of Charlie’s drawings hung on the walls where Max could enjoy them, portraits of Max’s gelding, Bucky. Harper’s work calendar and charts stood in a rack to the right of his desk, at easy glance for the chief but not openly displayed to visitors—though that did not deter Joe Grey.

Joe entered Harper’s office this morning on the heels of Mabel Farthy, the blond and portly dispatcher, as she delivered Harper’s early lunch, her approach down the hall wafting the scent of garlic and pastrami like a long and diaphanous bridal veil behind her. As Mabel set the takeout bag on the desk, and Harper turned to slip some reports into the file drawer, a swift gray shadow slid behind the couch.

Charlie had carefully arranged the furniture with the cats in mind. The couch stood as near the door as she could manage, and she had chosen a style with legs high enough so Joe and Dulcie didn’t have to squeeze down like pancakes. Feline surveillance didn’t have to be an exercise in flattened spines and shallow breathing.

Joe, drinking in the heavy aroma of pastrami, watched two sets of shoes enter: Detective Garza’s tan leather loafers and Detective Juana Davis’s regulation black oxfords over black stockings. Garza settled into one of the red leather chairs, stretching out his long legs. His tan chinos were neatly pressed, his Dockers fashionably scuffed.

Beneath the couch, Joe made sure his paws were out of sight—he didn’t want to appear to be spying.

Dallas Garza had a deep fondness for fine hunting dogs, but until recently he had never understood, or given much thought to, cats—until Joe Grey came on the scene. Working judiciously on Garza’s attitude, Joe had seen the detective develop, over many months, an almost passable fondness for certain felines, at least for those cats who crossed his professional path.

Having spent a week freeloading in the Garza cottage closely observing the detective, Joe had decided that he could trust this new addition to the department. Of course Garza had no notion of the intimate telephone conversations and interdepartmental reports that he had shared that week with the gray tomcat.

As Joe pulled in his paws, Detective Davis sat down at the end of the couch just above him.

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