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The dog watched her cross the street with an evil glint in his sharp little eyes. He was squatting in his usual spot on top of the divan in Greg’s living room, looking out the pic­ture window. When she was a few steps away, he snarled. She snarled right back. Taken by surprise, he tumbled back­wards, landed hard on the floor, and yelped furiously. She returned the bark as she passed by, rather proud that she still retained such an accomplished “wuf, wuf.” As a youngster she had spoken the dog language fluently and without an accent.

She rang the front doorbell several times, and when no Greg answered, started around the house. What she saw in the driveway stopped her cold. There stood the white Thunderbird note 9 being washed vigorously if not efficiently by two small boys who greeted her gaily. And squatting beside a rear white-wall tire, which was as immaculate as a cleric’s collar, was Greg. He wore a pair of Levi’s that should have been put away to rest in their old age, and a work shirt stiff with paint accumulated from many jobs. “Didn’t expect to see you,” he mumbled, walking toward her and away from the boys.

“I thought we had a date.”

“Didn’t you read the fine type? It says: Both parties will consider this contractual agreement canceled if either en­gages in practices considered detrimental to the other.”

“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

“I apologized, didn’t I? I told you I was sorry, although it was your cat who stole my duck. And you led me to believe – “

“Greg!”

” – that everything was okay between us when all the time you had sicced note 10 the FBI on me – and all because I wanted my duck back that I’d stood all day in the rain – “

“For heaven’s sake, hush up and listen to me.”

“Okay, so you’ve had your fun. The FBI questioned me, and while they didn’t tie me to a spit and break me – “

“Greg!” She screamed his name so loud that he stopped, startled. She said in a steady, controlled voice, “I did not sic the FBI on you. I did not – “

“Answer me this: Did you or did you not tell the FBI agent about last night, that your cat came over – “

“He wanted to know where D.C. had been and I told him – “

“I don’t understand you, Miss Randall. So help me I don’t, running to the FBI when it was your cat, although for the life of me I can’t imagine what story you told them to bring them down on me. That I was threatening your life? That I was a spy and stuffed the duck with messages?”

“If you’ll give me a chance, Greg. I’m trying to tell you that I told the agent nothing. He wanted merely to know – “

“I heard you. He wanted to know where D.C. had been.

The FBI’s got nothing else to do but chase after cats. One

big, lousy, stinking fat cat, and you tell me the FBI wants to

know where he was. Cripes, you don’t think I’m so stupid »>

He trailed off as she started away. Any second the tears would come and she was darned if she would let him have that satisfaction.

“Patti,” he called weakly. He shook his head like a punch-drunk prize fighter. He was confused. A cat, a duck, the FBI, an angry woman – he couldn’t put the parts together in logical fashion.

He returned to the car. One of the boys asked hesitantly, “What was the blast about?”

“Look at you,” he yelled. “You’ve got more water on you than the car. I’m not paying you to take a bath.”

The other boy asked, “Is the FBI going to arrest D.C?”

“I wish they would. But they wouldn’t dare. The people wouldn’t stand for it, Congress wouldn’t, the President wouldn’t – because cats can do no wrong. I don’t know who’s handling their publicity but they’ve got the best press any­body ever had in the history of mankind.”

As she entered the house, she was so angry her bracelets jingled. Ingrid looked up with surprise from a magazine. “Sis,” she said tentatively, recognizing the anger she knew all too well. “Whatever – “

“He broke the date.”

“Greg did?”

“Yes, your big, fine, noble hero thinks I turned him in to the FBI. I couldn’t tell him the truth. He thinks it’s all be­cause of the row we had last night.”

Ingrid put her arm about Patti. “Don’t worry, when it’s all over, and we tell him – “

“He’ll say we tricked him, that we should’ve told him.”

“I’ll talk to him. He’ll listen to me.”

“Then you date him. Me, I’ve had it.”

She hurried to the back bedroom where she took Zeke by surprise, one leg swung up over the chair’s arm.

“What did you tell Mr. Balter?” she asked without pream­ble. “He’s furious with me, thinks I got the FBI after him.”

D.C. came awake with a start and prepared to leap. He knew that tone. Zeke rose in astonishment. “I don’t under­stand – “

“Me neither. Flinging his old mallard duck up into my face again. Why did you bring the duck into it?”