Cat on the Money by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

Author:Shirley Rousseau Murphy
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: mystery, fantasy, cozy mystery, cats, murder
Publisher: Shirley Rousseau Murphy
Published: 2010-08-31T17:40:58.336622+00:00

Chapter Seven

In Moreno’s Grill, beneath the table in a shadowed corner booth, the two cats pressed as far away from the shoes of Joe Grey’s human housemate, and of police chief Max Harper, as they could squeeze. The carpet smelled of stale French fries. It was the afternoon after the burglary at Charles, Ltd.

Harper and Clyde Damen liked to wind down at Moreno’s after work, isolated in the far corner of the quiet bar where they could speak privately, no nosy idlers to overhear. Clyde was the only civilian with whom the police chief talked freely. The two men, having grown up together, were as close as brothers.

“Burglar alarm was disconnected,” Harper said. “No one knew about the break-in until Chuck Connover went back to the store that night, some time before 10, to pick up some papers he’d meant to work on. He started to turn off the alarm, then saw that it was off. Found the cash register open and empty. Went on into the back room, which was foolish. Said he was relieved when he found the safe locked. He didn’t open it until we got there, didn’t know until then that it had been cleaned out. The burglary could have happened anywhere between 8, when he left the store, and 10. We found no prints.”

“You pick up any fibers or hairs, or anything dropped?”

“The usual dust and lint, sent off to the lab. Found some hairs on the desk beside the safe—black animal hairs. Likely from Chuck’s old cat, she’s all over the shop.”

Under the table, Joe and Dulcie looked at each other. Chuck Connover’s old cat? Or Azrael? But bigger puzzles than the identity of a black cat filled their thoughts.

They had spent the early dawn on the rocky cliffs south of the village, watching Larry Cruz suit up beside the tailgate of his red Acura. Larry had met no one, and had hardly spoken to the other divers. Watching him pull on his flippers and back into the water, they could see him for a while through the clear blue swells before he vanished, where the sea went black along the cliffs. He came out an hour later, and did not have any fish or shellfish. But he seemed to have done nothing different than any of the other divers.

Above their heads, Harper said, “I don’t like to lay this stuff on you, Clyde. You’re the only one I’d tell how uneasy it makes me. I laugh about it, in the squad room.”

“What stuff?”

“The phantom snitch is back. The messenger who leaves evidence in my car and at the back door of the station. Same guy who tipped us where the weapon was hidden that killed Samuel Beckwhite, and has been phoning me ever since. Same voice, same turns of speech.”

Beneath the table, Clyde shifted his feet with unease. “You told me it was a man and a woman. And that their information is reliable,” he said testily.

“A hundred percent,” Harper said. “But still they make me nervous.

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