Judas Cat by Dorothy Salisbury Davis Page A

fresh flowers, and large with well-chosen furniture that exaggerated its size. But the books were too orderly, the nap on the rug too full, and Alex thought the veterinary would be much happier in the brown leather chairs in his part of the house than on the white one he now occupied. They talked of nothing much for a while. Alex waited for a good moment.
    “Mrs. Barnard, do you remember if Andy Mattson bought the place directly from your father?”
    “I don’t think he could have,” she said. “I believe the place was left with an agent when we left Hillside. Why?”
    “No particular reason,” Alex said. “We didn’t find a deed to the property, and we don’t have any clue as to where the old man came from, or whether he had any heirs. I was just wondering.”
    “The property should be registered with the town clerk. Shouldn’t it, Jeff?”
    “I think that’s the way it’s done. I was just thinking, Norah. It’s funny the way Alex came to me on this, and our connection with the old place.”
    The smile came too quickly. “Oh,” was the only word that came with it. She would not like it, he thought. She was not particularly proud of her connection with Mabel Turnsby, and she would not want any publicity. There would be hell to pay when he and Joan left and Barnard told her why they had come. He laid the cup and saucer on the red lacquered tray.
    “It’s getting late, Alex,” Joan said.
    “Yes, I think we should move along.” He stood up. “Doc, I appreciate what you’re doing. No one knows I was coming here except ourselves.”
    “That’s just as well,” Barnard said. “I think we should keep it that way. For the time being at least.” Both of the Barnards went to the door with them.
    Mrs. Barnard gave Alex her hand. “I hope you will call on us again some evening when you and your young lady are by this way. It was nice having you both, even by accident.”
    If Joan had any charity in her heart for Norah Barnard until that moment, it was gone then. In the car, as they backed out of the driveway, she tried to think of something to say that would distract Alex from “your young lady,” if he was thinking of it. She wasn’t good at making up small talk. “What did he say about the cat?” she asked.
    “Nothing. He thinks I’m a damned fool. Maybe I am.”
    Joan did not say anything, and it was then that Alex thought of Mrs. Barnard’s words, “your young lady.” The wind was in Joan’s hair and she put up her hands to capture it. Out of the side of his eye he noticed the lines of her dress against her drawn tight by the lifting of her arms. He had known Joan Elliot all his life, around town, in school and at the office, but he had never been so much aware of her as at this moment.
    “Smell the sweet clover, Alex?”
    “That’s me,” he said.
    Not a store in town was open after eleven except on Saturday night. Most of the house lights were out on Joan’s street as they drove up in front of her home. A small yellow lamp was on in the hallway. “Dad’s left the light, anyway,” Joan said. “They’ll wonder where I’ve been.”
    Alex walked up to the porch with her. Oak Street was lazily lighted by the converted gas lamps. He could remember when each one was lighted by hand. He had made the rounds of them with Ned Thorson many times when he was a boy. “You wouldn’t think anything worse than gossip could happen here, would you?”
    “No, you wouldn’t,” she said. “But there’s something very wrong here, isn’t there, Alex?”
    “I hope not. But I think there is.”
    “I feel it,” Joan said. “It’s silly, but I feel it. I feel as though people in the town were a thousand miles apart.”
    “Hillside isn’t that big,” he said.
    “I think it is now. Good night, Alex.”

Chapter 10
    H E PARKED THE CAR in the driveway, not bothering to put it in the garage on warm nights. His father was in his pajamas, but he was waiting in the den. “Where the devil have you