Purrfect Alibi (3)

Chapter 22

Odelia had signed us up to interrogate the suspects’ and witnesses’ pets and so that’s what Dooley and I set out to do. Only as far as we could ascertain there were no pets in evidence. I did pick up a strange odor, though. It didn’t belong to a cat or dog or any other animal I’d ever encountered. In fact it smelled oddly… floral.

We stealthily moved from the living room into the bedroom in search of our prey, but it was Dooley who finally discovered the anomaly. I call it an anomaly because it was the one animal I would never have advised any human to keep as a pet.

“Oink oink,” said the anomaly.

We both stared at it. It was small, it was pink, it was cuddly, and it was looking at us through beady little eyes. Perched on the foot of the bed, it even had its own little basket.

“Oink oink,” it repeated.

“What is it, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I think it’s a… pig,” I said.

“Oink oink.”

“A pig? Are you sure?”

I wasn’t. For that I needed to take a closer look. So I jumped on the bed and stared at the thing. It was a pig, all right. Round and pink and small. Not a pig. A piglet.

The piglet snuffled for a moment, seemingly interested in our sudden appearance.

“Hey, there,” I said finally, when I’d gotten over my initial surprise.

“Hullo,” said the pig, in a surprisingly deep voice for such a tiny creature.

“My name is Max,” I said, “and this is Dooley.”

“Is it safe to come up, Max?” asked Dooley from the floor.

I’d heard stories about pigs biting people, but this little dude didn’t look like a biter. “Sure,” I said therefore. “He looks like a nice piglet—are you a nice piglet, piglet?”

“Of course I’m a nice piglet, cat,” growled the piglet. “We’re all civilized here.”

“You look awfully young,” I said. “How old are you?”

“Three.”

“Years?”

“Months.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. I still have to get my growth spurt. Which I trust will kick in any day now.”

“So are you—”

“A potbellied pig, yeah,” he nodded. “Humans love us for our lovable yet surprisingly mature personalities and our positive outlook on life. How about you guys?”

“I’m four,” said Dooley. “Years, not months.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“Humans love us for the cuddles,” said Dooley. “Though they come back for the conversation.”

The pig gave Dooley a dubious look, then said, “I’m Kevin Bacon, by the way, and this is Miss Piggy.”

We looked up to see a second piglet, even pinker than the first one, waddle across the bed in our direction.

“Hey, you guys,” said Miss Piggy. “Great to see you. I’ve never actually seen a cat up close before. Heard a lot about you, of course, but this is definitely a first for me. You don’t bite, do you? Ha ha. Just kidding. I know you don’t. Make yourselves comfortable and welcome to our humble abode.”

Dooley and I stared at the newcomer. I’d never met a motormouth pig before, and it was fascinating to see how long she could continue talking without coming up for oxygen.

“So… we’re actually here to talk about Chris Ackerman,” I said, deciding to get down to business before Miss Piggy burst into speech again. Odelia and Gran were only going to be in here for so long, so we had a pretty strict deadline to adhere to.

“Who?” asked Kevin Bacon.

“Oh, you know, Kevin Bacon,” said Miss Piggy. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Oh, him,” said Kevin Bacon, then shook his head. “We’re not supposed to mention him. Or discuss him. Angelique gave us strict instructions, remember?”

“Angelique?” I said.

“Our human,” Miss Piggy explained. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was her husband. Until he ran off with another woman. Now he’s dead to us.”

“He’s actually really dead,” said Kevin Bacon.

“He is,” Miss Piggy confirmed. “Angelique told us this morning.”

“Did Angelique also mention to you who killed Mr. Ackerman?” I asked.

“Karma,” said Kevin Bacon.

“Who’s Karma?” asked Dooley.

“Not who, what,” I said. “Did she really say that?”

“Karma in action,” Miss Piggy confirmed. “Said he got what he deserved. Well, she used slightly stronger language than that, but that’s the gist of it. Angelique wasn’t very fond of her husband. She used to be, but since he started boning a skirt half his age she wasn’t. At least that’s what she told us.” She laughed. “I honestly have no idea what half the stuff she tells us means but there you have it in a nutshell. So why do you want to know about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Are you police cats or something? I’ve heard of police dogs but I’ve never heard of police cats. Though it stands to reason they would exist. Cats are pretty savvy, after all. Not that I would know. Like I said I’ve never met a cat before. Not in the flesh, I mean. But you look pretty savvy to me. At least one of you does.”

She gave Dooley a hesitant look, as if fully expecting him to be upset, but Dooley was merely looking slightly dazed. Like me, he’d never met a talkative pig before either.

“We, um, we’re actually working with our human,” I said, after I’d remembered there was a question hidden amid the word diarrhea. “She’s a police consultant and a reporter and she’s trying to figure out who killed Chris Ack—He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Kevin Bacon and Miss Piggy shared a quick look of concern. “Oh, dear. This is going to bring Angelique to tears,” said Miss Piggy. “She still has feelings for her ex-husband.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” grunted Kevin Bacon.

“And I’m sure she does. She’s been crying herself to sleep for weeks, Kevin Bacon, or haven’t you heard?”

Her porcine helpmeet muttered something incomprehensible, then waddled off to the edge of the bed and jumped off onto the fluffy carpet below.

“He’s very sensitive about our human’s predicament,” Miss Piggy whispered. “Ever since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named walked out on Angelique, Kevin Bacon has been suffering from heart palpitations. Sympathy symptoms, the vet says.” She shook her head. “It’s been a terrible, trying time. Hopefully the man’s death will bring a measure of closure.” She then plastered a cheerful expression onto her face. “So. Cats, huh? Tell me about those nine lives. What’s your secret? Can you teach me? I mean, who doesn’t want nine lives, right? Seriously, though. Tell me. I need to know.”

“Um…” I said.

“Max, Dooley!” Odelia yelled from the other room.

“Sorry, Miss Piggy,” I said, hopping down from the bed. “Time to go!”

“Hey!” she said. “You haven’t told me your secret!”

“It’s very simple,” said Dooley. “A balanced diet, plenty of sleep, and try to stay out of trouble.”

“That’s your big secret? There’s something you’re not telling me, cat! Come back here!”

But we were already on our way out. We hadn’t learned a thing in there, apart from the fact that pigs could be real chatty and that Angelique Ackerman had loved her husband.

I sure hoped that the next interview would land us a few more revelations. Then again, the true detective takes the bad with the good and knows that not every clue will lead to the killer. There will always be a few red herrings buried in there. Or pink piglets.