Free Cat Laughing Last by Shirley Rousseau Murphy Page A

mobility of humanity, Joe thought . People abandoning families, racing off in every direction—it’s a wonder the world itself doesn’t fly apart.
    â€œThat’s the best news I’ve had in ages,” Garza said, laughing. “Where are you now? You have your key to the cottage?”
    Garza listened, then, “Of course I understand. Guess I’d feel the same. But the cottage is there if you want it—when you want some company.”
    They talked for some time, something about a job Ryan had just finished. Interested, Joe trotted into the kitchen and leaped to the counter. When Garza hung up, he was grinning. He sat down at the table between Clyde and Juana Davis, where Clyde was counting out poker chips.
    â€œShe’s left him. Packed up and moved out. He’s been cheating on her for years. She came on down to the village, she’s in the Turtle Motel up on Fifth. Wantssome time alone. Wants to look for a house. Sounds like she means to stay.”
    Joe couldn’t remember when he’d seen Garza looking so pleased. Stretching out, he waited to hear how the scenario would develop—and waited as well for the conversation to turn, as it inevitably would, to police business. Did the department have a make on Susan Brittain’s burglar? Had they found him? Surely by now they would have a record of his prints. Joe waited patiently to pick up whatever tidbits the officers might toss back and forth over the poker table—until he felt Clyde’s gaze on him. Then he closed his eyes and tried for a soft, rhythmic snore—not to fool Clyde, but to keep his relationship with the department as untainted as a sleuthing cat could manage. No point in enraging Clyde furthur, and making Harper edgy; though it was hard to resist the urge to taunt them both.

7
    C lyde pulled the snack tray from the refrigerator and set it on the counter, giving Joe a warning look, his dark eyes threatening dire repercussions if Joe so much as reached a paw into the party food or made a scene in any way. Joe hissed at him in a casual manner and settled more stubbornly down onto the cold tile counter, watching the three officers and Charlie rise to load their plates, then fit them in beside their cards and poker chips and beer cans.
    Harper’s lined, sun-wrinkled face made him seem years older than Clyde, though they were the same age, had gone all through grammar school together, had rodeoed together when they were in high school. With his lean, tall build, he looked very at home on horseback.
    Dallas Garza was built more like Clyde, blocky and solid. He was about the same age as Clyde and Harper, somewhere around forty. His tanned Latino face was square and smooth, his expression closed, his black Latin eyes watchful—a man who exuded a steady and comforting presence. Garza seemed always in control,calm and unruffled. And Joe had learned that Garza was an officer to be trusted—as was Detective Davis, with her dark, steady gaze. Juana Davis was maybe in her early fifties, had been widowed, and had two grown children, both cops.
    Charlie was the only fair one at the table, with her bright freckles and brighter hair. She was younger, too, maybe four years out of art school—which she described as her squandered past.
    Garza said, “Ryan’s been up in San Andreas for a month, designing the addition to a vacation cottage, surveying the land, finalizing the plans. She gets home, another woman’s clothes are in her closet, a strange car in her half of the garage.
    â€œShe said she wanted to put her pickup in four-wheel drive and run that little red convertible right through the back of the garage. Only thing that stopped her was the legal mess she’d be in—and she didn’t want her insurance canceled.”
    â€œI’d have killed him,” Juana said, with a twisted smile.
    Charlie nodded. “A slow and painful death.”
    â€œRupert did her one good