Purrfect Alibi (3)

Chapter 9

Harriet and Brutus were reluctantly wandering the streets around the library. They were nice streets, on the whole, featuring nice houses, but they lacked a certain oomph. The kind of oomph Harriet got from watching The Bachelor, for instance, or The Kardashians. To be honest she was more of a homebody. Perched on her throne—a nice comfy red velvet cushion—in the Poole living room, grooming herself and watching her favorite reality shows, she was in her element. Roaming these streets at night talking to random cats? Not!

“I don’t like this, Brutus,” she said now. “Let’s go home.”

“But we haven’t talked to a single cat.”

“And we won’t. Isn’t it obvious they’re all home? Doing what we should be doing?”

“Nookie?”

She giggled. “Watching The Bachelor, you big doofus. With nookie for dessert.”

Brutus didn’t respond. He wasn’t as big on The Bachelor as Harriet and Gran were. He probably liked The Bachelorette a lot more, even though with Brutus it was hard to be sure. Lately he’d been in one of his silent moods. Not talking much. Harriet hated it.

“Why don’t we leave the sleuthing to Max and Dooley,” she tried again. “This is more Max’s thing anyway. He’s the one who wants to become a super sleuth. He’s the one who’s so obsessed with these silly Hallmark shows, figuring they’ll teach him everything he needs to know.”

“Well, he’s got a point,” said Brutus. “They are some pretty neat shows.”

Harriet scowled at her mate. “Neat? What’s so neat about people looking for clues the whole time?”

“They’re solving murders. Someone should,” said Brutus vaguely.

“The police should. That’s what they’re paid to do. Like your human Chase. The rest of us? We should simply live our lives, oblivious and happy.”

Brutus cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t let Max hear you say that. He wants to contribute.”

“Max is misguided. And so is Dooley. It’s all Odelia’s fault, really. She should never have gotten us involved in all of her amateur sleuthing. I mean, she’s a reporter, for crying out loud. When did reporters get it into their heads that they should be crime fighters?”

“I guess it kinda goes with the territory?” said Brutus.

“No, it doesn’t.” Harriet had given this matter a great deal of thought. “Besides, it’s dangerous. Criminals don’t like it when people mess with their livelihoods. Odelia should leave well enough alone, and so should Max. Before you know it one of those murderers or whatever decides to strike back and then where does that leave us? Without a human.”

This seemed to give Brutus pause, just like Harriet had known it would. “Do you think one of these murderers might target Odelia?”

“Of course! What does a murderer do? He murders. Like a plumber unclogs pipes or a coin collector collects coins, a murderer murders. It’s what they do. So if you’re going to try and stop them, they’re bound to get upset and murder you before you know it.”

Brutus pondered this. “Mh,” he said. “Something in that.”

“Of course there’s something in that. If there’s one thing you should know about me by now, Brutus, it’s that I’m always right.”

Brutus didn’t seem convinced, and soon lapsed into silence once more. It irked Harriet a great deal. She didn’t mind a silent mate—she talked enough for two—but she had the impression he wasn’t consistently paying attention, and that, she simply couldn’t stand.

A scrawny cat with matted fur crossed the road in front of them, stared for a moment, then scrambled off.

“Shouldn’t we talk to him?” Brutus asked. “Ask him what he saw?”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Who cares what he saw or didn’t see?”

Brutus gave her a hesitant look, then cleared his throat. “Buddy—hey, buddy!”

“Brutus!” hissed Harriet. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But Brutus was already jogging in the direction of the scrawny cat.

“Whaddya want?” the cat asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know if you know,” said Brutus, “but there’s been a murder at the library.”

“Is that right?” said the cat, not the least bit impressed.

“Yeah, a writer was murdered. So I was wondering if maybe you saw something?”

The cat eyed Brutus with a look of amusement. “Like what?”

“Like maybe you saw the killer or something?”

The cat laughed. “What are you? A cat sleuth?”

Brutus shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Oh, boy. Of all the weird stuff…” The cat studied Harriet, who sat studiously ignoring both the raggedy cat and Brutus. “So who’s the dame?”

“That’s Harriet.”

“So is she also a cat sleuth?”

Brutus hesitated. “Um…”

The cat laughed again. “Gotcha.” He raised his voice. “Hey, toots! Over here!”

Harriet felt heat rise to her cheeks and her tail quiver. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yeah, I’m talking to you. You wanna know what I saw, I can tell you for a price.”

Harriet rolled her eyes again, a gesture she’d perfected. “Oh, my God.”

“Ralph, not God.”

“What?”

“My name is Ralph, not God. Now how about you show me some affection and I show you—hey! What’s the big idea?!”

In a lightning-fast move, Brutus had unsheathed the razor-sharp claws of his right front paw and had raked them across the scruffy cat’s visage. The transformation from benign wannabe cat sleuth to savage vigilante had been swift and frankly damn impressive.

“Don’t you dare talk to my girlfriend like that,” Brutus snarled.

His tail was distended, his back arched, and there was a cold, menacing look in his eyes that told anyone who watched that here was a cat who was not gonna be messed with.

“All right, all right!” cried the scrawny cat, licking a drop of blood from his face. “No need to go all Hannibal Lecter on me, big fella!” He started to walk away but stopped when Brutus produced a growling sound at the back of his throat. The small cat gulped.

“Tell me what you saw,” Brutus growled.

“I saw nothing, all right!” cried the cat, recoiling.

“You said you saw something.”

“I was just messing with you! I know nuthin!”

And with these words, the cat tucked his tail between his legs and scooted off.

“Dang it,” Brutus rasped in a guttural voice that was as impressive as his physique.

“Dang it is right,” Harriet purred as she traipsed up. “Why, Brutus, that was amazing.”

Brutus was still staring after the cat, a dark gleam in his eye. “I should go after him.”

“Oh, don’t bother. You heard what he said. He didn’t see a thing.” She gave Brutus a loving nudge. “The way you defended me, Brutus. Oh, my. I have goosebumps all over.”

Brutus gave her a sad look. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

This surprised Harriet. “I never said that. I merely tried to point out that—”

“Let’s go home,” said Brutus. He suddenly looked deflated. And as he stalked off, Harriet couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong with her mate.

“Brutus!” she yelled as she tripped after him. “We could ask some more cats if you want—maybe even dogs and vermin. Seeing as we came all the way out here and all.”

But Brutus seemed to have lost his taste for sleuthing. “I just wanna go home,” he muttered, and then he sauntered off, his head low, all the fight having left him.