Giving a stuffed groundhog a ride in the car would seem to be the easiest thing in the world...

The Maltese Groundhog

By T. Lee Harris

The door opened, admitting three more patrons and buffeting Carroll McDermett with another blast of frigid January air. This was good news for Viv Tremane, the owner of the diner, but bad news for a guy just trying to stay warm. McDermett hunched his shoulders, laid his dog-eared book face down on the table and took a sip of the cooling coffee. Correction: cold coffee. He set the cup aside with a grimace and picked the book up again.

A shadow fell across the page. He looked up as Viv replaced his cold coffee with a fresh, hot cup. “If you didn't dawdle so, it wouldn't get cold.” Her soft southern accent seemed at odds with the strident New York tones of her patrons' conversation. “It's warmer in the kitchen. Ah keep tellin' you that.”

He laughed and shook his head. “No thanks. When I go into the kitchen I always seem to wind up washing dishes.”

“That's because you're too cheap to buy your dinner any way else.” She pointed to a folded newspaper on the seat beside him. “You gonna to read that thing? Couple others want a look at it if you don't.”

He handed it to her. “Why do I need to read it? I can tell you what it says. It's all that Hitler guy bullying someone else and all the politicos throwing presents at him hoping he'll stop. Won't work. Can't buy off a bully.”

Wind gusted again, heralding another customer and the other patrons burst into a sudden chorus of wolf whistles and catcalls. Turning, Viv chuckled, “Talk about politicos....”

Newly elected councilman Cameron McDermett, Carroll's elder brother, wearing full evening dress, closed the door against the wind, then stood momentarily self-conscious at the reception. Suddenly, he broke into a huge grin and swept the silk hat from his head in a deep bow. “Thank you, thank you, my constituents. I'll trust you to remember to cast your vote for McDermett in the next primary.”

Laughing and joking with patrons all the way, he came back to Carroll's booth. “Heya, Viv. Business looks good.”

“And you look like the cover of a Hollywood magazine. Where are you off to lookin' like Fred Astaire?”

“I've been invited to a reception at Gracie tonight. Big do for the upcoming World's Fair and you don't go into the presence of Mayor LaGuardia looking like a schlub.”

“Don't want to go into the Presence half-frozen, neither. I'll get you a cup of hot coffee.” She started away, remarking over her shoulder, “I'm afraid the silver service is out of the shop for cleaning, you'll have to make do with plain crockery like the rest of us plebeians.”

Laughing, Cameron slid into the opposite bench from his brother, dropping his topper and silk scarf onto the table. “Now, why did I know I'd find you here?”

“Because I'm always here in the evening? Now, why did you want to find me in the first place? If you tell me Ma needs her toilet fixed again, I'll deck you, rented tux or no.”

“Pop fixed it himself. Anyway, you can't hold me responsible for that, it was all Claire's doing. If you want to deck her, fine by me, but Ma will have something to say if you punch our sister.”

Viv set a steaming cup on the table, then hurried off to tend another customer, leaving the brothers to talk in private.

Cameron cradled the cup appreciatively and said, “Actually, I came to tell you I may have a job for you.”

Carroll looked skeptical. “Does it pay? That last fiasco at the Leiber jewelry promotion ended up costing me .”

“That was all a misunderstanding. I got it back for you, didn't I?” At his brother's glare, he continued, “Look, this is cake. All you have to do is pick up a stuffed groundhog here in New York and deliver it to a friend of mine in Harrisburg , Pennsylvania .”

“A stuffed what ?”

“Groundhog. It's an animal – but it's dead. Otherwise it wouldn't be taxidermied.”

Carroll rolled his eyes. “Okay. Let's try it this way: Why would someone pay me good money to take a dead groundhog to Pennsylvania ? Deathbed wish?”

It was Cameron's turn to roll his eyes. “Remember Rudy Pearcy?”

“The guy you roomed with in law school?”

“That's the one.”

“Wasn't he the one you got drunk with at Coney and--”

“Yes . That's him – anyway, he's working as an aide for the senior senator for Pennsylvania and his boss wants to present the critter to the mayor of Punxsutawney . Some sort of promotional thing. Groundhog Day, tourism, that sort of deal. Problem is, the senator wants a photo shoot with it before the presentation, but the taxidermist can't get it to them before the first of February. That's too late.”

Carroll stared.

“If I can get this thing into Rudy's hands, it'll be big brownie points for him as well as me. Favor is a good thing in politics, little brother.”

“They need me for this?”

“It's cash, Carroll.”

At his brother's dubious grunt, Cameron withdrew his billfold, extracted a ten and slapped it onto the table. As it disappeared into Carroll's jacket pocket, he added, “Consider that a retainer. I'll get it back from Rudy later.”

Noting the well-worn book between them, the elder McDermett prodded it. “You're not reading that thing again? You must have it committed to memory by now.”

“Hey, this Hammett guy knows how it is. Being a private investigator isn't easy.”

Cameron stirred sugar into his coffee and sipped thoughtfully. At length, he ventured, “Carroll....”

“Ah. Here it comes.”

Ignoring the comment, he continued, “Your name has been cleared, why don't you rejoin the police force?”

Carroll pursed his lips and regarded the scarred table top in silence.

“You were a great cop – decorated for bravery several times over. The force needs good men like you. I was talking to the Commissioner the other day --”

Carroll sat back and replied evenly, “Maybe you ought to point out to your pal the Commissioner that if he got rid of all the bad eggs, not just the ones who screw up publicly, maybe the good ones wouldn't stay away.”

Cameron raised his hands in surrender against an old, unwinnable argument. “I know ... it's just ... well ... you need a job.”

“I have a job.”

“One that pays .”

“I'll have you know a client just gave me a ten dollar retainer.”

For a moment, Cameron stared dumbfounded into his brother's impassive face, then burst out laughing. “All right. This round to you.” He glanced at his watch and yelped, “Cripes. I'm gonna be late.” Grabbing his hat and scarf, he stood and tossed a business card on the table. “There's the address of the shop. Mr. Schwarzkatze is expecting you around eight tomorrow morning.”

Carroll picked up the card, then called after his fleeing sibling, “Expecting me?”

Cameron paused with his hand on the latch and called back, “Of course. I knew I could count on my baby brother. Drive safely!” With a jaunty wave, he plopped the silk topper on his head and was gone.

Carroll regarded the small card with a scowl. “Bastard.”

The taxidermist's shop was in an older, slightly seedy part of town. McDermett guided the Packard to the curb, then got out and admired it for the umpteenth time. The sleek red Boattail Speedster was a 1930 model but, even at that age, would have been way beyond his means. It was one of the few things he still had to thank the New York Police Department for. He smiled, thinking back to what the car had looked like when he picked it up for a song, at auction. Cousin Dougal was a wizard at metalwork. You couldn't find the bullet holes now, even when you knew where to look.

He took a couple steps toward the door, then stopped cold. In the display window, squirrels played on a gnarled tree branch. An enchanting sight – until the realization struck home that everything in the window was dead. The bell over the door jangled cheerfully as he entered and a small, white-haired man behind the counter looked up from brushing the large black cat displayed on the counter. The man set the brush aside, and said, “Gut morning, mein herr. What may I do to help you?”

When the cat stood up, stretched and yawned, McDermett took a startled step back. “Whoa! I thought the moggie was dead like these other critters.”

The little man took off a pair of rimless spectacles and smiled. “Nein! Schatten is very much alive. He keeps me company in the long hours.”

Rolling his shoulders uncomfortably under the glassy stares of the other denizens of the shop, McDermett said, “I can see why you wouldn't want to be alone too much.”

The taxidermist smiled, “It is disconcerting to some, I think, but to me they are friends.” The cat jumped down and rubbed against McDermett's trouser legs. “Ach. I hope you are not one who thinks the black cat is bad luck.”

Carroll reached down and scratched the cat's head. “Not me. My parents are from the Scottish Highlands. A black cat is considered good luck there.”

“ Scotland ?”

“Yeah, my whole family but me, really. I'm the first McDermett born in the United States .”

“Of course, of course! You will be Councilman McDermett's brother. I talk to him yesterday. Your pardon that I did not realize this.”

He waved the apology away. “No one ever pegs us as brothers. Has something to do with him being dark where I'm blond and him being tall where I'm ... not so tall.”

Grabbing Carroll's hand, the little man shook it enthusiastically. “I am Gustav Schwarzkatze – but you have probably already deduced this. Your brother tells me you are a detective. Most exciting!”

“Not usually. Mostly, it's very boring.”

Covering his ears with both hands, Mr. Schwarzkatze said, “Nein! Do not disillusion an old man. I love the American detective writers Herr Hammett, Herr Van Dine ... und the cinemas! James Cagney, Edward G. Robinson. Ach, but we waste time. You have a long journey ahead of you. The groundhog, he is still in the workroom. Come. Help me put him in his box and you can be on your way.”

Carroll followed him through a curtained door into a cluttered workshop. “So you like S.S. Van Dine, huh? I dunno, I always thought Philo Vance needed a good sock in the nose. Sam Spade's more my kind of guy.”

The groundhog stood in the center of a worktable, posed on its hind feet, front paws curled against its body with head slightly cocked. The wooden pedestal it was mounted on was a work of art in itself, solid cherry with beautifully worked sides. Across the room, Mr. Schwarzkatze rummaged around another bench, his running commentary slightly muffled. “I am terribly sorry to impose on you, Herr McDermett, but I am not as strong as I used to be and lifting him by myself is out of the question.” He straightened, holding a large pasteboard box. “My assistant – my nephew Heinrich – has gone off with his rowdy friends again. He is not much help, but he is good at woodwork.”

“He and his pals like to tear it up a bit?”

“That it would be so simple! These young people, they get together and badmouth America . I do not understand this. Heinrich was born in the US and doesn't know what hardship really is. His father and I, we come from Austria back in the twenties; it was hard here, but harder there. We struggle to make a life in this new country. There are many opportunities here that we would never have in the Old Country. Heinrich does not....” He shook himself slightly and put his spectacles on, adding, “But that is not our business, ya? Our business is getting this fellow to his new home and since he is big, Heinrich has made a special box for him to travel in.”

As Schwarzkatze plunked the pasteboard box onto the table, Schatten leapt effortlessly from the floor and disappeared into it. The taxidermist swore in German, then said, “It seems I do nothing but apologize to you, herr McDermett. He has been doing this since my nephew finished constructing the box.”

McDermett laughed. “No problem, Mr. Schwarzkatze. Cats are like that.” As he lifted the cat out, he saw a white diamond-shaped patch on the animal's chest. Ruffling the white fur with his thumb, he remarked, “Oh. Cat Sidhe, are you?”

“Pardon? Caught she? It is a him.”

“Oops, sorry. Cat Sidhe is an old Scottish legend about large black cats with white markings on their chests. They were believed to have been fairy folk or transformed witches.”

The cat laid back battle-notched ears, squirmed out of his hands, groomed perfunctorily, then stomped away. Chuckling, the little man watched the exit. “I believe you are correct. Schatten has done remarkable things. He stopped a break in last week!”

“Break in? Who'd want to break into a taxidermy shop?”

“They perhaps thought there would be money, but I am a poor man and they found nothing. One of them, it seems, stepped on Schatten and he took exception. I live upstairs and the commotion woke me. I call the police.”

“They catch the guys?”

“Nein. They were long gone when the police get here.” He touched a spot on the groundhog's back. “I was much worried, though. In the confusion, the piece was damaged. It was a clean slit, so I was able to repair him. It can not be seen, ya?”

“Looks great to me, Mr. Schwarzkatze.”

After some maneuvering, they finally got the bulky thing into the box. Carroll dusted his hands. “That's a snug fit. Good thing about it, he won't shift around much in the car.”

“Ya. Heinrich builds good boxes, too. Please, could you get me the roll of string? It is on the counter in the front. I will get the lid and you will be ready to go.”

A few minutes later, Carroll was carefully guiding his armful to the front door of the shop. Mr. Schwarzkatze opened the door, his final admonishment mixing with the bell's jangle. “Have care, herr McDermett, he is heavy. My nephew has made a special strong box for him, but do not trust the bottom, ya?”

The drive to Harrisburg looked to be long, but pleasant. In spite of the January cold outside, once the Packard warmed up, the interior was fairly comfortable. He loved driving the Speedster, Viv had packed a nice lunch, most of the roads were paved and he was getting paid for the lot. All in all, he couldn't complain.

Traffic became heavier as the day wore on. By early afternoon, he was looking for a spot to pull over to check his maps and break into the box lunch. Before long, he caught sight of a small park down the hill from the road. It was probably a pleasant picnic spot in summer, but in late January, it was pretty bleak, ringed by now-leafless trees and shrubs poking out of melting snow banks. Regardless, the turnoff was convenient and he was more concerned with taking a break than sightseeing.

The Packard rolled down the graveled drive and came to a smooth halt at the bottom. Even leafless, the shrubs provided a decent privacy screen and he groped on the floor for the folded map and the lunch. His fingers met empty air. The box and maps had slid out of reach during the drive and the big box containing the groundhog wouldn't let him easily get to where they'd come to rest. There was nothing for it, he'd have to get out.

Muttering that a two seat roadster wasn't the best choice to transport a big anything, he stomped around the car. The passenger door had swung wide when he heard something large coming up behind him -- fast. Breath whooshed out of him as he was grabbed, lifted off his feet and slammed hard against the trunk of the Speedster. He slid to the ground, only to be lifted again by a vicious kick to the ribs, then rolled away from the next blow. The passing of his attacker's leather-soled shoe ruffled his hair. Landing on his back, he got a look at his opponent and almost wished he hadn't. The man would have been huge even without the heavy overcoat. From the parts of his face visible above the scarf he wore like a mask, he was no stranger to fighting and his glaring eyes were cold blue. The scarf twitched and McDermett had the uncomfortable feeling a unfriendly smile was spreading. All that became secondary, though, with the appearance of a very large, very ugly knife. The giant took a slow step forward as a voice rang out, “Bear!”

The cold blue eyes flicked toward the shout, and a part of McDermett snickered. This guy would have a monicker like that. He wondered idly if it was a name or a nickname.

The speaker continued his sliding progress down the drive, one hand holding a woolen scarf over his face and the other in his pocket. “Bear! That's enough.”

No need to speculate what the pocket held, because as the other, smaller man skidded to a breathless halt, he produced a nickel-plated automatic from it and aimed it down at Carroll. “Get up. Slow,” he ordered.

With a groan, McDermett complied. His abused ribs assured the rise would be nothing but slow.

The pistol followed his progress and the man remarked conversationally, “You're are a hard guy to keep up with, McDermett. Lucky for us that roadster of yours is easy to spot.”

“Yeah. Real lucky, Mr. ...?”

“That's none of your business. Just stay out of the way and you won't get hurt any worse.”

“I'm all for that.”

“Glad you see things our way. I heard you were a smart guy.” The dark eyes never moved from McDermett's face as he snapped, “Bear, you know what we're here for. Since you have your toothpick out, why don't you get it?”

For a moment, the big man wavered, pinning McDermett with a hate-filled glare, daring him to flinch. When that didn't happen, he turned to the open car and slit the string securing the lid with more force than absolutely necessary. The knife disappeared under his coat and he reached in. Suddenly, the lid exploded backward. With an unearthly wail, the groundhog seemed to rise from the box and wrap itself around the big man's head.

The giant's shrieks and the creature's screams bounced off the skeletal trees and McDermett stood momentarily frozen open-mouthed. Shaking himself free of the shock, he swung on the gunman. His fist connected solidly with the small man's scarf-covered nose. Bright red soaked yellow wool as the man staggered back. In an instant, McDermett had the pistol and wheeled just in time to see Bear pry the creature loose and fling it into the shrubs, his face a mass of blood. Snarling, he lunged for the weapon in Carroll's hand.

The automatic spat fire and Bear clutched his side with a renewed roar.

“There's more where that came from, fellas.”

The smaller man, still sprawled on the ground, swung his legs around, catching McDermett at ankle level, pitching him sideways. He lost his grip on the automatic as he hit the ground and the other man pounced on it, then sprang up shouting something unintelligible.

The two men pelted up the hill leaving red trails in their wake. McDermett lay in the slush for a moment weighing whether to draw his own weapon or just lie there. In the end, he pulled himself painfully to his feet and leaned against the still-warm Packard as the sound of another car gunning into traffic reached him. He was still cataloguing his injuries when something leapt onto the hood next to him and butted his shoulder. Startled, he bounced away and looked back to see a large black cat sitting on the hood of the car. The cat shook itself and started grooming its wet fur. As it turned, McDermett caught the flash of a white diamond-shaped blaze.

“Schatten? But how...?” Glancing toward the now-open box with the groundhog motionless inside, he slapped his forehead. “Of course! You were in the box. So much was happening I didn't stop to think....”

He sagged back against the Speedster. “Well, pal, looks like you foiled another robbery attempt – or something. But why in hell would anyone want to steal a dead groundhog?” The cat stared, then hopped down, jumped into the car and sat as if waiting.

McDermett started to shoo the animal out then stopped. This wasn't just some stray cat, this was Mr. Schwarzkatze's pet. The old guy was probably frantic looking for him. No way could he dump Schatten in the middle of nowhere. It would kill the little guy to lose his friend like that. Okay. Next service station, he'd call and let him know where Schatten was – right after he called Cameron and read him the riot act for getting him involved in yet another harebrained fiasco.

It took a while to reach a place big enough to have a pay phone he could use. Fortunately, the booth was located where he could keep an eye on the idling Packard while he waited to be put through to his brother's law offices in New York . He could just make out Schatten perched on the big box. More to the point, he could see the cat's gleaming eyes and catch the flash of the white diamond.

At length, he heard his brother's voice on the line, “Carroll! Where are you?”

Carroll snarled, “How should I know? Somewhere in Pennsylvania . Why do I let you talk me into these things? I keep telling myself, ‘say no, keep saying no' but --”

“Carroll, what the hell are you talking about? If I accepted reverse long distance charges just so you could grouse at me, I'll take it out of your hide!”

“Too late, somebody already did that. Who in hell wants a dead groundhog, I don't know, but you didn't tell me someone would be willing to beat the beejebus out of me, threaten to carve me up or shoot me for it.”

“Someone followed you and beat you up? This worries me.”

“Worries YOU? Not half as much--”

“No, whoa! Carroll, listen to me.”

The answer was more a growl than an okay, but Cameron hurried on. “Listen, I was just hearing on the radio that the guy you picked the critter up from this morning, Mr. Schwarzkatze, was found dead in his shop. Shot. Looked like a robbery, but now I'm not so sure.”

Reality slowed for a moment. The cat pawed at the car window. “Damn.”

“Maybe you better turn back. The police might want to talk to you since you're probably the last person who spoke with him.”

“I dunno. As far as I've come, it'll be closer for me to go on to Harrisburg . On top of it all, I have the guy's cat.”

“You have what?”

“Mr. Schwarzkatze's shop cat. It must have jumped in the box when we were packing the thing. Jumped out when the goons attacked ....” His words trailed off as three men strolled up to the Packard. He was used to that. There weren't many of the Boattail Speedsters around and it frequently attracted attention. Still, there was something strange in the way the three approached.

Cameron was saying, “That's screwy, Carroll.”

“Tell me about it.” The men were looking in the windows of the car and he could see Schatten flashing around inside. “Look, I gotta go. Something's come up.”

Cameron protested, but he didn't hear the words. The buzzing cut off abruptly as the receiver clicked home into the cradle. He hurried outside. As he approached the trio, he heard one of them insisting, “I tell ya, Armstrong, it's that same damned cat!”

A man built along the same lines as a brick outhouse waved dismissively. “Ah, you're full of it. You got cats on the brain, Bowen.”

McDermett arced around so he was closer to the driver's side and the bulk of the Packard was between himself and the men. “Good afternoon, fellas.”

They looked up as one, then Armstrong asked, “This your car?”

The cat hissed, slunk to the side of the big box and meowed plaintively at McDermett, then disappeared to the floorboards. “It is. Looks like you fellas are upsetting the cat.”

The man who'd been addressed as Bowen straightened up from glaring in the window. A set of deep scratches was healing along his left cheek and neck. “That your cat?”

“Belongs to a friend of mine. Maybe I should say ‘belonged' seeing how my friend is dead. He doesn't seem to like you much.”

The other two edged around the car in opposite directions. He let his hands drop casually to his sides, ready to draw the .35 riding in the holster under his jacket. He'd prefer not to use it. This was an awfully public place and it could bring on some inconvenient questions.

The guy to his right snarled, “I think you better come with us.”

“I think I'd rather not.”

The man to his left slipped slightly behind him. A blur of motion at the edge of his vision triggered an instinctive dodge and he used his momentum to carry him into the big guy to his right, knocking him sprawling. The other man raised his sap again, but dropped it fast when McDermett's kick came up for a solid impact. He sank to his knees and Carroll scooped the sap from the icy gravel, whirled and laid it against Armstrong's head. Bowen launched himself, but Carroll ducked and brought the sap down on the base of the man's neck. No one was out, but they were hurting. Time to put distance between him and them.

He jumped into the car and gunned the engine, spraying the scrambling men with slush and gravel. As they bumped back onto the road, Schatten crept onto the seat and huddled against him. McDermett glanced down, then back at the road. “This is getting interesting, cat. Too bad you can't talk.”

It was dark and far too late to stop by the senator's office when he hit Harrisburg . He wasn't sure that was such a good idea, anyway. He wished he'd seen the cars the goons came in, but he hadn't. The rearview mirror kept pulling his eyes, anyway.

He drove aimlessly through the city until he was sure no one was following, then cut through to the opposite side and into the outlying areas, where he found a cheap motor lodge with a scattering of bungalows. He rented one away from the road, pulled the Packard behind it and got out to stretch. The cold air hit him like a slap in the face. That was okay. He couldn't afford to be fuzzy-headed. He thought he'd lost them all, but still....

Schatten leapt lightly from the car onto the refreezing ground and padded straight for the tree line. McDermett watched for a moment then, took his bag and the still untouched lunch and made for the cabin. The cat shot through the open door and hopped onto the bed. Carroll started to protest, but relented. It was too damned cold out for a poor moggie. He snapped the lights on, saying, “All right. I won't throw you out, but you better keep your nose clean or we'll both be out in the street.”

The cat yawned and busied himself cleaning snow from between his toes.

Once the groundhog was inside and the Speedster locked up, McDermett sank onto the bed and shared the food with Schatten. It was cold, but welcome after the long day. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was until he took the first bite of chicken.

The cat was licking the plate clean when McDermett finally sat back sipping at the tepid coffee from the thermos, staring at the box with the groundhog. “I'm thinking we just might want to look Mr. Hog over, now that we have a little privacy. Maybe I can see just what the interest is in it.”

He set the cup on the bedside table and stood, just as the cat laid his ears back and growled at the door. Carroll froze and reached for his .35. The door exploded inward and slammed against the wall as the unmistakable form of the man called Bear hurtled into the room. He plowed into McDermett, crashing him into the floor. Weapon drawn, the small man followed swiftly. He'd only gone a few steps before a black streak launched from under the bed and attached itself to his face, ripping the scarf away. McDermett barely registered it, because Bear had his hands around his throat, squeezing and banging his head against the floorboards.

Suddenly as it all began, Bear was pulled away. Sitting up shakily, he saw Armstrong from the roadside diner slamming Bear face down onto the floor and cuffing his hands behind him. Taking a deep breath, McDermett came up swinging only to be stopped by a badge in his face. “Simmer down, McDermett. We're the good guys. Agent MacLane, FBI.”

Snatching the shield from MacLane, he glared at it. “FBI, is it? Would have been nice if you'd told me that down the road instead of trying to bash my skull in.”

The agent took the identification and tucked it back into his jacket pocket. “Yeah, well, how did we know you weren't with these jokers? Wasn't until we ran your plates, we found out you were a good egg.”

McDermett's response was cut off as Bowen yanked the gunman off the floor. “Well, well! Heinrich Schwarzkatze. We been wanting to talk to you. Should have known we'd find you when we found Stefan Baer.”

MacLane walked over to the box. “So this is what all the fuss is about. What the hell is it, anyway?”

“It's a stuffed groundhog some senator wants for a publicity thing.”

MacLane lifted the lid and peered in. “Yep. It's a dead critter all right. That has to be the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

Carroll shrugged. “It's politics.”

“Yeah. Like I was sayin'.... Bowen, shut that door if you can, no reason for us all to freeze to death.”

McDermett winced as Bowen forced the door closed. It worked, but just. Baer's entrance had done bad things to the hinges and frame. Somebody was gonna pay through the nose for that. It was definitely cold out, but he doubted the occupants of the small room could have frozen even if there was a blizzard raging. The tiny one-room bungalow wasn't designed to hold six men and a cat – he was damned glad he wasn't claustrophobic. He pulled a straight-backed chair around and straddled it, chuckling, “And here, I thought I lost everyone but good.”

MacLane looked up. “Actually, you did. You lost us back at the diner, but while we were standing in the parking lot cursing you, who should wander in but Stefan Baer? He looked a little worse for it, too. Kinda like you, Bowen.”

Bowen glared and spat, “Damn cat. Black as the ace of spades. Who coulda seen him, I ask ya?”

Realization dawned. “So you guys were old man Schwarzkatze's burglars! What were you doing poking around a taxidermist's workroom, anyway?”

MacLane indicated the groundhog. “I think we were looking for this. The New York office got a tip that Nazi sympathizers were using the shop for a drop point. We thought we'd drop in for a little look-see. Didn't get very far. Bowen stepped on the cat and brought the house down on us.”

McDermett shook his head. “You can't convince me that Gustav Schwarzkatze would throw in with that bunch of goose-stepping bullies. He loved this country too much for that.”

“Not Gustav. Heinrich.” MacLane glared at the sullen gunman and continued, “You're right about Gustav, too. He was all right. We figure Heinrich, here, offed him when he found out what Heinrich and his little friends were really up to. Was that it, Heinie? Might as well tell us, we'll get it out of you sooner or later.”

Heinrich Schwarzkatze snarled, “Stuff yourself, G-Man.”

“Awwwww. Ain't he tough?” MacLane grinned. “Anyway, Armstrong was calling in your tags when this beauty strolled in. We couldn't get a good look at his pal in the car, but from Bear's look, we figured he'd had a good tangle. We just hitched onto their tail and followed them around.”

Armstrong laughed. “They hit every motel and motor lodge around here looking for that snazzy car of yours. Getting pretty cranky toward the end, too.”

Stefan Baer cut loose with a string of swearing. Armstrong shouted him down. “Hey, watch your mouth, you mug. What would your mother say?”

MacLane continued calmly, “So when they found you, we just followed them to the door. The rest is history.”

McDermett worked his neck. “Painful history. Now what?”

“Hey, Armstrong. Get over here and make yourself useful. Let's get our furry pal out.”

The groundhog didn't come out of the box any easier than he went in, but after a brief struggle, it stood on the table, triumphantly boxless, and the carton was tossed onto the floor. McDermett joined the FBI men around the table as they treated the stuffed animal to a through examination until MacLane looked up and asked, “What's that cat doing?”

Schatten had made a run at the box and dived in. He then proceeded to scratch at the sides and bottom punctuating the shredding with a series of mush-mouthed meows.

Armstrong waved dismissively. “Ah, it's nothing, my wife's cat does the same thing.”

Bowen announced, “You're nuts. That cat's gonna crap all over the place. Get it outta here.”

Suddenly, everyone was looking at McDermett. “Hey, what gives?”

Armstrong said, “Well, it's sort of your cat, ain't it?”

McDermett sighed and glanced toward the discarded carton. All that was visible of Schatten was the tip of his tail that quivered with his enthusiastic digging. Just beyond, Schwarzkatze and Baer sat back to back watching the agents prodding the groundhog; Heinrich wore a surprisingly smug smile. The shredding ceased abruptly and the cat poked his head over the edge, riveting Carroll with intense green eyes; bits of pasteboard clung to his whiskers. Schwarzkatze's and McDermett's eyes met over the animal's head and the small man's pinched face suddenly lost its smugness.

“So it's like that, is it?” Two steps and he had hold of the box sides. He jerked it off the floor in one quick motion. With a loud pop, the bottom fell out, raining cat, shreds of tape and pasteboard and long tendrils of film to the floor.

Bowen pointed. “Hey lookit! McDermett's got it!”

The agents crowded around, whooping happily and pounding Carroll on the back. McDermett watched Schatten as he strolled back across the room, hopped onto the table next to the groundhog and turned his green gaze on Schwarzkatze. It had to be imagination, but the cat looked – victorious.

MacLane brought his attention back by jabbing him in the shoulder, saying: “If I say let's go back to HQ now, you gonna slug me again, McDermett?”

“Not as long as there's hot coffee and someone agrees to pay for the door.”

MacLane laughed. “That can probably be arranged. Might be able to find a dram or two of Scotch, if we try.”

McDermett treated Heinrich to a brilliant smile, and ruffled Schatten's black fur. “Sounds good. And maybe we can even find a bit of milk for the moggie.”