By Shirley Rousseau Murphy
"Wilma's at risk! you're thinking that i will take a seat right here sprucing my claws?" whilst she first hears the scoop that convict Cage Jones has escaped from felony, Dulcie's fur stands on finish. She understands he is after her human spouse, Wilma, whom he blames for his stint in detention center. She attempts to enlist the aid of her pal Joe gray, however the tomcat's bought his paws complete investigating neighborhood murders. it is only while Wilma disappears after a day purchasing trip—and Cage is located lurking at her house—that Joe realizes the 2 crimes may be extra hooked up than he notion. Paw in hand with the unsuspecting law enforcement officials, the glorious pussycats needs to untangle Cage's devilish schedule and snare a killer in the event that they ever are looking to curl up with their good friend back and produce peace to their beach village.
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Additional info for Cat Pay the Devil
This was not the usual procedure for a break-and-enter—but the law didn’t fool around when it came to an escaped convict. And Max Harper didn’t play gentle when a close friend, and his wife’s own aunt, might be in danger. 8 When Dulcie frantically phoned the station, Joe Grey was asleep in the chief’s empty ofﬁce, sprawled across Max Harper’s desk; he snored softly, less than thirty feet from the dispatcher’s cubicle, so deep under that he didn’t hear a thing until Mabel shouted. He heard Harper double-time up the hall from the coffee room, then, as if she had turned on her speaker, heard the voice on Mabel’s phone.
I could call Clyde, we could go to Gilroy to look for her. But we could miss her on the highway. We could call the station, tell the chief she’s not home yet, but it’s—” “I know it’s too soon,” Dulcie said. ” California Highway Patrol always provided excellent backup. “I know there’s a warrant out for him. Maybe—maybe she’s pulling into the drive right this minute. Or . ” She stared hopefully at Joe. ” For a moment, she leaned into him. Then she took off across the rooftops, running ﬂat out—and praying hard.
She had to stop this, she mustn’t think this . . Courting bad luck, Lucinda would say. Wilma’s car was not in the drive, and there was no scent of exhaust as if she had pulled into the garage. Dulcie pushed resolutely through her cat door into the service porch then into the kitchen. Crossing the blue linoleum, there was no scent of Wilma. She padded into the dining room, stood beneath a dark, carved chair, her paws on the Persian rug, looking through to the living room. There was no one there.