Purrfect Cover. Purrfect Patsy. Purrfect Son

Chapter 41

I’d been pleasantly asleep when I became aware of the sound of footsteps approaching. Immediately I was wide awake.

“Dooley!” I hissed. “Someone’s coming!”

“It must be the thieves!” he said.

It stood to reason, though, that if we hadn’t been able to find the painting, the thieves wouldn’t either. Then again, never underestimate a highly motivated burglar. They will search until they find what they are looking for.

We sat absolutely still as the footsteps halted outside the garden shed, then the door crept open with a creaking sound.

“What do we do, Max?” asked Dooley.

He was right to ask. Cats aren’t dogs: we can’t bark and make the bad guys go away.

“Whatever you do,” I said, “don’t eat the meat!”

“Oh, no!” he said. “They’re going to try and poison us, aren’t they?”

“As long as you don’t touch the meat, you’ll be fine.”

The door opened wider, and a person stepped in. For a moment, I feared the worst: meat laced with poison dropped in front of me, and the burglar trying to force-feed it. I was already clamping my mouth shut, so I wouldn’t get some of that poison that had knocked out Fifi inside me, but then a blood-curdling scream rocked me to the core.

“It’s gone!” a voice cried, the intensity of its scream piercing the silence of the night.

And then I recognized the midnight marauder: it was Tex!

“Big Gnome #21—he’s gone!” he repeated, then flicked on the light.

I blinked, and when my eyes had adjusted to the hard light from the single bulb, I was hit by the accusing look in Tex’s eyes. “Max! I asked you to guard my painting!”

“Yeah, so where is it?” I asked. “I never saw the darn thing.” It’s too much to start accusing an innocent guard cat, I mean to say, especially after he’s voluntarily given up cat choir to heed his master’s command.

More footsteps sounded, no doubt drawn by Tex’s loud wailing and gnashing of teeth.

“What’s going on?” asked Marge, who was the first to arrive on the scene.

“My painting. I asked Max to guard it for me and he’s allowed thieves to steal it!” said Tex, on the verge of tears.

“Max? What happened to the painting?” asked Marge, getting down to brass tacks.

“I never saw any painting,” I said. “I figured Tex must have hidden it somewhere.”

“No, it was hanging right there,” said Marge, pointing to the wall above my head.

“Well, it wasn’t hanging there when we got here,” I explained.

“The thieves must have stolen it before Max and Dooley got here,” said Marge thoughtfully.

“What? It was gone already?”

“Oh, darn,” I said. “We’ve been guarding an empty shed, Dooley.”

“Well, at least nobody stole the hoes and the pruning shears,” Dooley pointed out.

More people came flocking to, drawn by the nocturnal commotion. They were, in order of arrival, Odelia, Chase, Ted and Marcie Trapper, and even Kurt Mayfield, who’d brought along his dog Fifi.

“What’s happening?” asked Ted, interested. “Is this a block party?”

“My painting was stolen,” said Tex, then directed an accusing look at Ted.

But before he could speak, Ted held up his arms. “I didn’t do it. Whatever it was, I didn’t have nothing to do with it, I swear!”

And since Tex had already falsely accused his neighbor once, he seemed reluctant to do it again.

“Who knew you were keeping a painting in your garden shed?” asked Chase, ever the cop.

“Nobody,” said Tex. “Just me and Marge.”

“That’s not completely true, honey,” said Marge. “You told those insurers, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but they’d never steal my painting,” said Tex. “They’re the ones who’ll have to pay me now.”

“Who are your insurers?” asked Marcie Trapper, rubbing her husband on the back. Ted had been accused one too many times of theft, she seemed to say with that gesture.

“Um, Johnson and Johnson,” said Tex. “On Bleecker Street.”

Chase and Odelia shared a look of surprise. “Isn’t that the same company you’re investigating for fraud, babe?” asked Odelia.

“Yeah, it is,” said Chase.

“Fraud?” cried Tex. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I’m also insured by Johnson and Johnson,” said Kurt. “Their premiums are pretty steep if you ask me.”

“Is it possible that they stole your painting?” asked Chase now, voicing the most pertinent question.

“Why would they steal a painting they’ve insured?” said Tex. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“The complaint against Johnson and Johnson seems to be that they never pay out,” said Chase. “Basically they always find some excuse or technicality not to pay the claimant. So chances are that if they stole your painting, they’ll sell it on, and since they’re not going to pay you for your loss, they get to pocket the proceeds from the sale.”

“But that’s illegal!” cried Tex.

Chase dragged a hand through his scraggly hair. “Well, turns out it’s not that black and white. Which is why I’ve been investigating the company for the past month and still have to find the smoking gun.”

“Well you found your smoking gnome now,” said Marge. “Do you think that’ll do?”

Chase nodded. “I’ll try and get a search warrant tomorrow,” he said. “If we’re lucky I’ll find Tex’s painting and that’ll be the end of Johnson and Johnson.”

Just then, Gran came walking up. “What’s with all the noise?” she complained. “Can’t a woman get a decent night’s sleep around here without being kept awake by you party people?” And when she saw Fifi, she sniffed annoyedly. “This neighborhood is going to the dogs. To the dogs, I tell you!”

And with these words, she was off again, leaving Kurt to stare after her, and Fifi, too.

“What does she got against dogs?” asked Kurt.

“It’s a long story,” said Marge. “Come on, husband,” she added, patting Tex on the arm. “Time to go to bed.”

“But my gnome, Marge,” said Tex plaintively. “They took my gnome.”

“There will be other gnomes, honey,” said his wife soothingly.

“But it cost twenty-five thousand dollars.”

She winced. “Please don’t remind me.”

After they’d gone, Chase said, “Twenty-five thousand dollars for a painting?”

“Yeah, Dad thought it was a good investment,” Odelia explained. “It’s painted by a famous artist named Jerome Metzgall.”

“Metzgall is a flake,” Kurt grunted. “Worst investment of Tex’s life.”

“Was your Jackson Pollock insured with Johnson and Johnson, Kurt?” asked Odelia.

“It was. And until now they haven’t paid me a dime. It’s still early days, of course.”

“And I’ll bet Ida Baumgartner’s Picasso was insured with Johnson and Johnson, too, and so were Mort Hodge’s cartoons.”

“What a setup,” said Ted. “First you insure the stuff, then you steal it and sell it, and refuse to pay out.”

“We’re not insured with them, are we?” asked Marcie.

“No, we’re not,” said Ted. “Then again,” he added with a shrug, “we don’t have anything valuable to insure anyway, so there’s that.”

“Thank God for small favors,” said Marcie.

Soon the small gathering of neighbors dispersed, and Dooley and I decided to head into town. Cat choir sometimes runs late, and we’d had enough nap time for a while. And as we walked along the deserted streets of our town, Dooley said, “Is twenty-five thousand dollars for a painting of a gnome a lot of money, Max?”

“That depends, Dooley.”

“On what?”

“Well, I happen to think twenty-five dollars is a lot of money to spend on a painting of a gnome, but possibly there are people out there that are willing to spend two million dollars on the same painting, and in that case twenty-five thousand is a bargain.”

“I think I’ve heard about that,” he said. “Supply and demand, right?”

“Exactly. As long as you can find a fool who’s an even bigger fool than you and willing to spend more on the same thing you spent all of your money on, you’re golden. And if not, you better look in the mirror, for the biggest fool is you.”