d5e426eccb138e04dab909926b2752c6

“I don’t know. Probably to hide the loot in a warehouse somewhere, along with the other stuff he stole.”

“And what about his accomplice?” asked Odelia. “Just think, Kurt.”

“I am thinking, Odelia!” said Kurt, his customary belligerence reasserting itself in the wake of the tragedy that had befallen him. “And what I’m thinking is that Marcie must be the second burglar. Probably she poisoned my sweet Fifi.”

“Oh, come on, Kurt,” said Odelia, but suddenly the irate neighbor turned on her.

“Or maybe you did it. Maybe you and he-man here stole my Jackson Pollock. You’re about to get married, aren’t you? And we all know weddings cost money. A lot of money. So you probably figured you could use some extra cash and stole my painting!”

“Kurt, if I were you I’d be very careful what I say next,” said Chase, also getting a little hot under the collar now, even though he looked very cool in his lycra. Cool and imposing. In fact he was towering over his neighbor, and Kurt, taking in the hunk of male prowess that is Chase Kingsley, quickly piped down. He probably didn’t want to be knocked out cold like his dog.

His doorbell rang, and he went into the house to answer it.

“That will be Vena,” said Odelia.

“Look, you have to believe me,” said Ted. “I didn’t do this. I would never steal from my neighbors—no, scratch that, I would never steal, period. I’m not a thief, Detective Kingsley—Chase. I’m just not.”

“I believe you, Ted,” said Chase, placing a large comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “And you’ll have to forgive Kurt. He’s very upset right now, and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“I could sue, you know,” Ted said. “I could sue for slander and, and, and defamation of character.”

“Let’s all keep our cool,” said Chase. “The important thing right now is to make sure Fifi is all right, and that Kurt’s painting is retrieved and the thieves caught. You didn’t happen to be out and about last night, walking Rufus?”

“No, I walked him at eleven, then went straight to bed.”

“Mh. We have a partial license plate—I’ll get to work on that right away.”

Vena stepped onto the scene, looking competent and completely in charge, just the way a pet owner whose pet is out cold likes to see. Kurt was sniffling again, tears having formed in his eyes.

“It’s amazing how people can change when they are worried about their pets,” I told Dooley. “One minute he’s accusing Ted of all kinds of horrible things, and the next he’s weeping like a baby.”

“I think it’s cancer,” said Dooley. “I thought she looked very thin lately. Emaciated. It’s probably a tumor. Sometimes they hit you when you least expect it.”

Vena had examined the little doggie, and smiled a reassuring smile at Kurt.“She’ll be fine,” she said. “I’d say she was drugged. Did she eat something she shouldn’t have?”

“Kurt was burgled last night,” said Odelia. “And the burglars probably gave Fifi something to keep her quiet.”

Vena glanced around, then spotted a piece of meat lying a couple of feet away from where Fifi’s prostrate form lay. She picked up the piece of meat and sniffed then pulled a face. “This would have done the trick,” she said, then handed the meat to Chase. “I’m guessing you’ll need this as evidence, detective?”

Chase nodded, then automatically reached for a plastic evidence baggie, only to find that his lycra running outfit didn’t have pockets for such a contingency.

“Just put it back,” he said. “I’ll get something to take it into the lab.” He jogged off, and Vena worked on Fifi for a moment, and suddenly, like a miracle, the Yorkie opened her eyes, looked around a little groggily, then emitted a happy bark.

“Oh, Fifi!” said Kurt, picking up his doggie and pressing her to his bosom. “You’re alive!”

“Must have gone into remission,” Dooley said knowingly. “Happens all the time. She’ll have to watch out, though. Cancers this aggressive can come back when you least expect them to.”

“Oh, Dooley,” I said, and rolled my eyes.

Chapter 29

Johnny Carew had been brooding—thinking hard. And since thinking hard was not his usual line of work, he was feeling tired. Sweat droplets glistened on his noble brow, and he was frowning before him like he’d never frowned before. He usually wasn’t the kind of crook who believed in escaping from prison, but since this wasthe first time he’d been imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, he felt justified in putting his weight behind Jerry’s idea of getting out of there.

Unfortunately, try as he might, no plan of escape seemed forthcoming. Of course he readily admitted to not possessing his associate’s formidable brain, being more the brawn of the criminal twosome. Still, he’d hoped to at least make some contribution. The only thing he could come up with, though, was a simple plan, and he was sure that Jerry would dismiss it out of hand.

Nevertheless he felt it incumbent upon himself to enlighten his partner with the fruits of his intellectual labor, ridiculous as they might seem to a genius like Jer.

“All I can think of is to knock out the guards,” he said. “You pretend to be sick, foaming at the mouth, and I knock ‘em out cold and grab their keys. And then I knock out everyone that tries to stop us. Dumb plan, I know,” he added with an apologetic shrug.

But Jerry’s eyes lit up. “Don’t sell yourself short, Johnny. I think it’s brilliant. Knock out everyone that stands in our way. That’s the way to do it. And you’re the man for the job.”

“I am?” asked Johnny, well pleased with this rare compliment from one who rarely paid him any compliments at all.

“Sure, sure. I’ll froth at the mouth, and thrash around a bit, and you knock ‘em all out. Let’s do it. I’m sick and tired of this place—and the lousy food.”

Jerry was right. The least they could do was to feed them their proper three square meals a day. They might be crooks, but they were also human beings. And besides, they were innocent, though probably the chef and his kitchen crew didn’t know that.

“I’ll call the guard and you start foaming, Jer,” said Johnny, happy by this endorsement from his critical partner. “Heeeeelp!” he screamed. “Heeeeelp! Come and help us!”

Unfortunately, no matter how loud he yelled, no one came.

“What’s taking them so long?” grunted Jerry, lying on the cold floor and getting ready to do some serious frothing and thrashing.

“Maybe they’re on their break,” Johnny suggested. “I’ll give it another shot.” And so he repeated the procedure, this time adding some foot stomping to the mix.

A guard finally came shuffling up, looking bored and munching a chocolate sprinkle donut.“What’s all the fuss?” he asked.

“My partner is sick and dying!” Johnny cried, and gestured to Jerry, now properly thrashing and convincingly frothing. In fact he put so much heart into his performance that even Johnny was getting nervous. “Do something!” he told the guard. “Call a doctor!”

“We’re understaffed,” said the cop. “In fact I’m the only one here.”

Even better, thought Johnny. Even though he didn’t mind knocking out the odd cop here and there, in general he liked people, even cops, and preferred not having to knock them around too much if he could help it.

“Open the door, please, sir,” he said now. “I think he’s dying!”

The guard didn’t look excited by the idea of having to bend over Jerry, whose face was now awash with his own saliva. “Yuck,” he muttered as he glanced over to the thrashing man and shoved the last piece of donut into his mouth, then wiped his hands on his trousers. “Um, I’ll call a doctor, shall I? Don’t go anywhere.”

Cop humor, Johnny thought.“Just open the door and check on him. Don’t they teach you CPR at the police academy? He’ll be dead soon and it’ll be on you. There will be an investigation and they’ll blame his death on you, sir.”

“Christ,” said the cop, rubbing his face with indecision. He then took out a key, inserted it into the lock and turned. The moment he entered the cell, Johnny heaved one of his meaty fists over the man’s head, and let it come down with considerable force.

The cop said,“Ick,” and went down like a ton of bricks.

Jerry, however, was so caught up in his performance that he hadn’t even noticed the work was already done, and the road to freedom wide open. Instead, he kept on foaming and thrashing like there was no tomorrow. Johnny, now seriously concerned, shook his partner by the shoulder. “Jerry. Jerry! Oh, God. He’s really dying!”

So he did the only thing he could think of, which was to take the bucket of water located in the corner of their holding cell, and chuck its contents into the cop’s face, waking the man up again.

“Do something, sir!” he cried. “My partner is dying!”

The cop took a moment to get his wits together, then got up, glared at Johnny, walked out of the cell and slammed the door shut and stalked off.

“Sir? Sir!” Johnny cried. “My friend—”

“You moron!” Jerry suddenly bellowed.

Johnny wheeled around and was relieved to see his friend back in his usual form.“Jerry! You’re all right!”

“Of course I’m all right! But you won’t be all right if I get my hands on you!”

And with these words he sprang up from his position on the floor, making a miraculous recovery the likes of which humanity hasn’t witnessed since Lazarus walked out of his cave, and started chasing Johnny around the cell.

Five minutes later, when Tex Poole finally arrived, doctor’s bag in hand, he took one look at Johnny and Jerry in the midst of their morning jog, shook his head and muttered, “Did you have to make me skip my breakfast for this?” and walked off again.

Chapter 30

I was so happy that Fifi was fine that it was with a spring in my step that I passed through the little gate and back into my own backyard, Dooley in my wake.

Fifi may be a dog, and cats and dogs don’t usually mix, but Fifi is a special kind of dog, very sweet and very cuddly, and I wish her nothing but the best, and most definitely not a piece of poisoned meat!

“If these are the same people that are responsible for the other burglaries, then we have to consider the fact that you arrested the wrong guys,” said Odelia as Chase stared at the piece of poisoned meat through the clear plastic baggie he liked to use for exactly this kind of purpose.

“Yeah, probably,” he said. “Though until we find these other guys you’ll never convince your uncle to let Vale and Carew walk. And definitely not after the stunt they pulled yesterday.”

“No, I guess trying to escape wasn’t the best course of action,” Odelia admitted. She and Chase walked into the house while Dooley and I stayed out and enjoyed the pleasant sensation of the morning sun on our fur for a few moments more.

Harriet and Brutus had joined us from next door, and it was with a light heart that I explained to them what had transpired in their absence.

“Fifi poisoned,” said Harriet, looking shocked and dismayed. “You do realize this could have happened to any of us, right?”

“I’d never eat a piece of poisoned meat, though,” said Brutus. “I’d know immediately that it was poisoned and I’d tell Odelia.”

“You’re right, hubby wubby,” said Harriet. “Only dogs can be so dumb to eat a piece of poisoned meat.”

I bridled a little at this. I mean, dogs will never be my favorite pets in the world, but coming on the heels of this near-tragedy, Harriet’s words stung, and I told her in no uncertain terms what I thought of them.

She seemed chastened after my reprimand, and said,“I guess I was being a little too harsh. Dogs aren’t dumb. They’re simply… undiscerning, shall we say?”

“All right,” I conceded. “I’ll give you that. Dogs can be a little undiscerning, that’s true. Which is exactly why Fifi ate that piece of meat.”

“I actually ate that piece of meat because it tasted good,” said Fifi, now joining us.

“Oh, Fifi!” said Harriet. “I’m so glad you’re all right!”

“Not only did it taste really, really good, but it also smelled fantastic,” said Fifi ruefully. “If only I’d known…”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” I said. “It could have happened to anyone.”

“Only to a dumb dog like me, though,” said Fifi.

“Oh, Fifi, please don’t say that,” said Harriet, horrified that the doggie had heard her words. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not dumb. In fact you’re probably the smartest dog I know.”

“Yeah, not like that dummy Rufus,” Brutus scoffed.

A dog throat being cleared could be heard, and suddenly Rufus was there, giving Brutus a funny look.“I may be a dummy,” the big sheepdog said, “but my hearing is excellent.”

Brutus had the decency to blush under his fur, and muttered,“Sorry about that. I, I… I don’t know why I said that.”

“Probably because you think I’m dumb?” Rufus suggested.

“I’m sorry, Rufus,” Brutus repeated, thoroughly eating crow now. “I shouldn’t have said that. I really shouldn’t.”

“It’s all right,” said Rufus. “I know some cats talk before they think. But what’s all this about Fifi and poisoned meat?”

And since Rufus hadn’t yet been apprised of the facts pertaining to the case, Fifi proceeded to enlighten him. Soon the story would do the rounds of Hampton Cove, and every pet would be talking about what happened. In that sense pets are probably even worse than humans: we’re big on gossip. And I mean really big. In fact gossiping is pretty much all we do all day. When we’re not sleeping, eating or going to the litter box, that is.

And since one thing leads to another, soon Harriet was telling Fifi and Rufus all about my recent encounter with the Roomba, and much to both dogs’ delight, describing in graphic detail how I jumped on top of the thing, riding it like a cowboy riding a bronco, and managed to wear the thing down and bring home a smashing victory for Team Cats.

I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we were feeling much better when we finally returned indoors.

My happiness wasn’t to last, though, for the moment I stepped through the pet flap I became aware of a new challenge having infiltrated our home in the form of a dumpy woman, her black hair in a bob, giving us the evil eye the moment we entered the house.

“Max, Dooley,” said Odelia. “Meet Blanche. Blanche is our new cleaner. She’ll come in three mornings a week to keep our house spic and span. Isn’t that right, Blanche?”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to allow cats into your home?” asked Blanche in a raspy voice I immediately recognized as belonging to a heavy smoker.

“Oh, but Max and Dooley are very clean,” Odelia assured the cleaner.

“Mh,” said Blanche, clearly not a cat person. “Where I come from cats are strictly forbidden to enter the house. They are, after all, creatures of the night, and are out and about catching mice, and when they’re not out and about catching mice they’re sleeping on the porch.”

“In the winter, too?” asked Odelia, horrified by the prospect of her cats freezing their tushies off.

“Cats are tough and hardened creatures,” said Blanche. “They’re used to the cold. That’s why they got fur. Now where do you want me to start?”

And as Odelia explained to Blanche the ins and outs of the house, and where she could find the necessary cleaning supplies, Dooley and I exchanged a horrified look.

“I don’t like this, Max,” said Dooley, indicating we were on the same page where Blanche was concerned.

And when I glanced over into the living room and saw a huge vacuum cleaner—the industrial kind that can suck an entire star system into its belly without batting an eye—I shivered and said, “I don’t like it either, Dooley.”

I mean, that vacuum cleaner was all gleaming chrome and HUGE!

And as I studied this new enemy, it almost seemed to be grinning at me, and daring me to jump on top of it and ride it like a bucking bronco.

I had the impression it would sooner ride me than me it!

Chapter 31

“My Picasso still hasn’t been returned. I’m starting to think I should file a complaint against your brother-in-law for gross negligence. Only problem is: where do you file a complaint against the police? With the Mayor? But I want to file a complaint against her, too!”

And it was with this predicament that Ida Baumgartner left Tex, once the latter had assured her that the purple spot on her inner thigh wasn’t skin cancer but an innocent spot and absolutely not life-threatening at all.

Once she was gone, he tapped his upper lip for a moment. Ida’s words had rung a bell. He, too, was the proud owner of a very expensive painting, and just before Ida had walked in, Marge had phoned him and told him all about the breakin Kurt Mayfield had suffered. His Jackson Pollock had been stolen, with Vale and Carew in prison.

It was obvious, therefore, that a second gang was active in Hampton Cove, or even a first gang, in which case Vale and Carew were innocent after all, as they kept claiming.

Then again, innocent men don’t try to escape from prison.

He picked up his cell and dialed the number on the card from the information packet he’d taken into the office to give another read-through.

“Iris Johnson,” said a pleasant voice on the other end of the call. “Johnson and Johnson Insurance. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Miss Johnson,” he said. “This is Tex Poole. You paid me a visit last night in regards to my painting? I wanted to give you an update, just like you asked.”

Miss Johnson’s voice turned unctuous. “Of course, Dr. Poole, what is it?”

“Well, I’ve moved my painting to a safe place, which the contract probably should reflect.”

“Excellent decision, Dr. Poole. I would like to reiterate that the safest place for a valuable painting like yours is in a safety deposit box, either at the bank or at home. Though the bank would add another layer of protection that your home can’t provide. They have alarm systems in place, security guards, steel-enforced doors—the works.”

“No, I want to keep it at home,” he said.

“In a safe?”

“Oh, no, I don’t need a safe,” he assured the insurance broker. “I’ve got something a lot safer than a safe.”

“Safer than a safe?” asked the woman. “And where would that possibly be, Dr. Poole?”

“In my garden shed,” he said proudly. He’d given the matter some thought and had decided that Marge was right. The bedroom, though ideal for admiring an exquisite work of art like Big Gnome #21, was not all that safe after all. Just look at what happened to Kurt. No, a garden shed was the best place for his painting. “No one in their right mind would look inside a garden shed, Miss Johnson.”

“Well, it’s your business, of course, Dr. Poole, but I would still advise you to acquire a safe and then preferably a built-in model so no one can pick it up and run off with it.”

“I think I’ll stick to my garden shed,” he insisted.

“That’s fine, but that means your premium will go up. More risk for us, you see.”

He wavered for a moment, then said,“That’s all right. I’ll happily pay extra.”

The conversation concluded, Tex settled back in his chair. He glanced at the wall, where now a calendar issued by the American Medical Association hung, depicting a 3D rendering of the large intestine, and sighed wistfully when he thought he could have been looking at Big Gnome #21 instead, if not for the burglars and thieves of this world.

Oh, the joys robbed from law-abiding citizens just because some people couldn’t distinguish between mine and thine.

Just then, his phone chimed and he saw that his mother-in-law desired speech.

“Vesta?” he said. “When are you coming in?”

“I’m not coming in,” said Vesta. “The neighborhood watch is demanding my full attention. Did you hear about Kurt Mayfield?”

“Yeah, Marge just told me. Terrible thing. Absolutely terrible. Then again, he probably shouldn’t have kept his Jackson Pollock in his bedroom. Worst possible place to keep a valuable painting like that. Everybody knows that.”

“I’m just calling to tell you to watch out, Tex. Marge told me you foolishly squandered her money on some ridiculous daubing of a troll, and you’ll want to be on the lookout for the same thieves that hit Mayfield.”

He was going to argue that the‘daubing’ of the ‘troll’ was in fact a precious work of art, but didn’t see the point. There’s no arguing with these cultural barbarians, after all.

“Buy a safe, Tex, or put the painting in the bank. Just a free PSA from your neighborhood watch. And don’t come crying to me when your troll gets nabbed. See you later.” And with these words, she ended the conversation.

Tex shook his head. He loved his wife dearly, but if there was one fault she had, it was that she’d had a mother when she was born.

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“Those two crooks tried to escape again,” Vesta grunted as she placed her phone on the table. “Got a call from Dolores and she told me they knocked out the guard and tried to make a run for it. Lucky for us they were too dumb to follow through on their plan.”

“They’ll keep trying,” said Scarlett. “They’ll keep trying until they succeed, and then they’ll come after us, Vesta. Have you thought about that? They’ll come after us and they won’t come bearing gifts.”

“I know,” said Vesta.

They were seated in the outside dining area of the Hampton Cove Star, sipping lattes and eating cake. It was a great spot to discuss neighborhood watch business. The only drawback was that Wilbur Vickery couldn’t join them, as he had to be at the store, and that Father Reilly was absent, too, as he had to be at his church.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Vesta now. “You know how those two claim to have found religion, right?”

“I think that was just a ruse,” said Scarlett, studying her fingernails. “If they’d really found religion they wouldn’t have knocked out their elders and stolen their clothes.”

“Yeah, I know, but even if they’re pretending to have found religion, they won’t say no to Father Reilly visiting them in jail, will they? And when he offers to take their confession, do you think they’ll refuse? Of course not. And if Father Reilly can make them confess, and tell him where they stashed the loot, it’ll be another win for the watch.”

Scarlett laughed.“Vesta, you are a genius!”

Vesta shrugged and contrived to look modest, failing miserably.“Oh, well. You just have to think like a crook to beat a crook. And I guess I’m just one of those people who can think like a crook more easily than others.”

“That’s because you have the mind of a crook,” said Scarlett with a slight grin, and Vesta didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

Chapter 32

Dooley and I were hiding under the sheets, just like the last time we were under attack. Only this time our attacker was human, not some wannabe terminator, so it only took Blanche five minutes to discover our hiding place and root us out.

“Cats in the bed! Not on my watch!” she grunted, and actually kicked us out! From our own bed and our own home!

“Out! Out, I said!” she yelled as she first drove us down the stairs with a broom, then out the door. “And stay out!” she added for good measure.

Panting, we sat staring at the closed door with a measure of confusion, then I had the bad idea to try the pet flap, only to be confronted once more with the irritable Miss Blanche, who wielded her vicious broom again to drive me out and this time flipped the little lock on the pet flap so I wouldn’t stage a surprise return!

“This is too much!” I cried. “We have to get rid of the woman!”

“I think she’s probably right, though,” said Dooley, much to my surprise. “We do cause a lot of trouble for her. Because of us she has to clean extra hard.” He gave me a sad look. “It’s the shedding, Max. If only we wouldn’t shed so much, I’m sure she would be nicer.”

I had to concede he had a point. Then again, if Odelia hadn’t wanted pets that shed she wouldn’t have taken us in, would she?

“I just hope Blanche won’t be able to convince Odelia that cats belong outside and not in the house,” I said.

“Do you really think she’d do that?”

“I don’t know. If she threatens to quit her job if Odelia doesn’t comply, maybe.”

“But… I can’t be outside all the time, Max,” said Dooley, a sense of panic making his voice quiver. “Imagine having to sleep outside when it’s freezing—or snowing!”

“Yeah, not a fun prospect,” I agreed.

But then Dooley’s face cleared. “We can always stay at Marge and Tex’s. They won’t kick us out, will they?”

“No way,” I said. “Marge would never do that. Or Gran.”

And it was with uplifted spirits that we set paw for our second home—well, technically Dooley’s first home, as his official human is Gran, though he spends more time at Odelia’s than at Gran’s.

And we’d just arrived in the next-door backyard when Harriet and Brutus met us, both looking a little rattled.

“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.

But Harriet merely shook her head, clearly too emotional for speech.

“Come,” said Brutus. “There’s something I need to show you.”

So we came, and followed Brutus in through the pet flap, and through the kitchen into the living room. There we saw Marge, talking to someone, and when I ventured a little further, suddenly I saw that it was… Blanche! Or not exactly Blanche but someone who resembled her in facial features. Only this woman was taller and slimmer, though looking just as stony-faced and no-nonsense as our own dour cleaning lady.

“More cats,” growled the woman as she caught sight of us. “Where do they keep coming from?”

“Oh, this is Max and Dooley,” said Marge. “They belong to my daughter, who lives next door. But then you knew that already, didn’t you?”

The woman grunted.“My sister and I don’t condone cats in the home. We believe that the home is for humans, and cats should be outside, catching mice and keeping themselves to themselves.”

“Oh, but our cats are perfectly house-trained, Mrs. Trainor,” said Marge.

“Miss Trainor,” said the woman. “But you can call me Bella. And it doesn’t matter if they’re house-trained. Cats are messy. They shed, and they rub themselves against walls and furniture, leaving spots. They scratch the couches, causing marks. And they dig their claws into sheets and blankets, tearing holes. Also, they are covered in parasites, dragging them into your home and even into your bed. No, if you want my advice, Mrs. Poole, you’ll do well to remove that pet flap and disallow your cats from using the house from now on. Much better that way. Much healthier.” And with a stern glance in our direction, she proceeded to survey the house, and listen to Marge’s instructions.

And as Dooley and I followed Brutus out again, through a pet flap that pretty soon might be removed, I was reeling. Actually reeling!

“She’s Blanche’s sister?” I cried.

Harriet wordlessly nodded.“They’re a package deal, apparently. Clean houses together as a team. So Blanche might clean Odelia’s house today, and Marge’s tomorrow, and the same goes for Bella. And they both hate cats.”

“They both hate cats,” I repeated in a whisper.

“She wants Marge to remove the pet flap,” said Brutus in somber tones, sounding like one bringing bad news from the front line. “And judging from Marge’s face I think she just might do it.”

Dooley gawped from Brutus to Harriet to me, and finally burst out,“We have to get rid of them, Max! Before they get rid of us!”

“They’d never go that far,” I said. “Marge and Odelia would never allow it. Would they?”

We all shared worried glances. It was obvious that our future was suddenly hanging in the balance. And that pretty soon now we’d be joining Clarice, our feral friend, having to spend the rest of our lives outside.

“No more naps on the bed,” I said sadly.

“Or the couch,” said Brutus.

“Or watching television with our humans,” said Dooley.

Harriet heaved the biggest sigh of all.“And no quiz show,” she said. “If we can’t even enter the house, no way is Gran going to film my quiz.”

Dooley gave me a look that spoke volumes: suddenly HIS quiz had become Harriet’s quiz.

And it will surprise you that the Trainor sisters had soured my mood to such an extent that I didn’t even care about that silly quiz.

We were in danger of being chucked out of our homes.

Out into the cold, dark night.

Yikes!

Chapter 33

As Father Reilly set foot inside the police station, he felt less than sanguine about this latest assignment Vesta Muffin had given him.‘Talk to the crooks, take their confessions and find out where they stashed the loot.’ It all sounded so simple, so easy, until you actually sat face to face with the miscreants and had to look them in the eye.

Frankly he didn’t know if he could do it. He was a man of God, of course, and accepted that all men are children of the same God. Then again, in his years as a humble servant of the Lord he’d often thought that some children of God were just that little bit nastier than others, and it just seemed to him that these Vale and Carew fellas were the sort of tough guys he didn’t like to associate with if he could help it.

If only he’d never accepted Vesta’s offer to become part of her neighborhood watch. Living in a clean crime-free town was all well and good, but that’s why they had cops.

He greeted Dolores Peltz with a warm smile.

“What brings you here, Father?” asked the receptionist. “Mugged, were you? Wallet stolen?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s going on these days. Crime is growing with leaps and bounds. Some call it a crime wave, and I’m starting to think they’re right.”

“I’m here to talk to Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale,” said Father Reilly, not really in the mood for small talk. The sooner this was over with the better.

But Dolores wasn’t one to let go of her prey so easily. She sat back and rasped in her gravelly voice, “And I can tell you exactly when it started. When Chief Lip got involved with the Mayor, that’s when. The big guy is blinded by love, or whatever they call it, and criminals are crawling out of the woodwork, sensing the cops are distracted and busy with other stuff. Mark my words—it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

Intrigued in spite of himself, Father Reilly leaned forward and lowered his voice.“Is it true they spend every afternoon in some love nest in town, their phones off the hook?”

He might be a man of the cloth, but he wasn’t immune to some idle gossip when the mood struck, and the mood struck often.

Dolores grinned.“Absolutely. He arrives at the office, and spends all morning on the phone with her. Then it’s off to lunch, and we don’t see him again until the next day!”

Father Reilly shook his head.“Dereliction of duty,” he said.

“You know what they say about old flames, Father. They burn the hottest.”

Father Reilly, who was about the same age as Alec Lip, gave Dolores a feeble smile. It was all fine and dandy to gossip, provided the gossip didn’t hit too close to home. “Is it true that they bribed Dan Goory so he wouldn’t write about their affair?”

Dolores nodded emphatically.“They were seen having lunch together: Alec, Charlene and Dan. Probably paying him off so he wouldn’t print any negative stories about the two lovebirds. A fat lot of good it will do them. You should read the comments online.”

“Where?” he asked immediately. “I mean, what website?”

“Facebook. Just join the Hampton Cove Facebook page and you’ll see that our beloved Chief and Mayor are the center of attention. Most of the comments are pretty hot, too!”

Father Reilly, as he walked on, wondered if he should talk to Alec. The Chief was, after all, a good friend of his, and if his reputation was hanging by a thread he probably should be told before it was too late.

He now arrived at the precinct proper, and saw that there were very few cops present. One of them noticed him and got up.“Father Reilly! They’re expecting you.”

“That’s wonderful,” he murmured, without much conviction.

He was led along a corridor, then to the cell block, where only a single cell was occupied. If Hampton Cove was in the grip of a crime wave, it didn’t show in cell occupancy, he thought.

Two men got up from their metal bunks when Father Reilly was led inside. He greeted them with a kind smile, and the distinct hope that the guard wouldn’t stray too far in case the convicts turned belligerent.

“Am I glad to see you, Father!” cried the biggest of the two, a real grizzly. “I wanted to tell you that I didn’t hit him very hard. Only a light tap on the head. And I also want it stated for the record that I won’t do it again. But we’re innocent, see, so it’s only fair that we would try to escape, see?”

“Of course, of course,” he said, blinking at the man’s intensity and peculiar cadence.

“I want to talk to you, Father,” said the smallest of the two, and led him to his bunk and bade him to sit down. “My wife, or I should probably say ex-wife, she won’t return my calls. Can you call her and tell her she has got to come and visit. I’m innocent, and she has to understand thatand, most importantly, she has to accept my apologies. I know I’ve been a lousy husband, and I also know I should do better. And I will do better, Father. You gotta believe me and tell her. If she decides to get back together with me, I can promise her now that I will be the best husband I can be.” He raised his eyes heavenward and folded his hands in a gesture of prayer. “With the good Lord as my witness, I’ll be a wonderful husband to Marlene. The best. Tell her that, will you?”

“Um… of course, my son, if you want. But I think your wife—or ex-wife—will be more amenable and convinced of your good intentions if you finally decide to cooperate with the police. For instance by telling them where you hid the proceeds of your crimes.”

“Huh?” said Jerry, giving him a look of confusion.

“The painting? The gold coins?”

“The loot, Jer,” said Johnny helpfully. “He wants to know where we stashed the loot.”

Jerry gave the priest a not-so-friendly look.“What did I just tell you? I’m innocent, Father. I didn’t steal no fricking painting, or no fricking gold coins. If I had don’t you think the cops would have found them by now? It’s not as if I’m some kind of fricking Houdini, capable of making gold coins and paintings disappear into thin air, am I?”

“No, of course, of course,” said father Reilly, adopting an appeasing tone of voice. “It’s just that the people that painting and those coins and those original works of art belong to, they’re suffering, Mr. Vale. They want to know what happened to their possessions.”

Jerry abruptly got up.“I don’t have their fricking paintings or works of fricking art! I’m innocent. Innocent, I tell you!” He poked a finger into the priest’s chest and dug in hard. “And you can tell Marlene that if she doesn’t believe me she can go to hell! Is that understood?”

“Jerry, I don’t think that’s the way to win your wife back,” said Johnny, interrupting the one-on-one between confessor and confessant once more.

“I don’t care!” yelled Jerry, gesticulating wildly. “If she doesn’t like it, she can lump it. You, too, Johnny,” he added. “And you, Father. You can all go to hell for all I care!”

“Now, Mr. Vale…”

“Get out—out of my sight!”

“Don’t you think a nice confession…”

“Out!”

And so out Father Reilly went. All in all, he felt, as he hurried along the corridor, preceded by a grinning cop, it hadn’t gone too badly. At least he’d escaped with his life, for that short crook had looked like a mass murderer, and the big one, too.

And so he exited the building with a sigh of relief. He hadn’t discovered the whereabouts of Ida’s Picasso, or Mort Hodge’s artwork, or even Charlene’s gold coins, but he was still breathing, and that was something to be thankful for.

Chapter 34

“We should probably stop meeting like this,” Charlene said as she stepped into Alec’s squad car.

“Yeah, people are starting to talk,” Alec agreed as he planted a kiss on the Mayor’s lips.

“We’ll have to tell them, Alec.”

“Not now,” he said. “It’s too soon.”

“If we don’t tell them now I might not have a career left, and neither will you.”

“Let’s keep it to ourselves just a little while longer,” he said. “You know what people are like. The moment they start sticking their noses in, the thing might go belly-up.”

“I know, but still…”

“Just a couple more days. Until the whole thing is in the bag.”

She sighed.“All right. But at least tell your family. They’ll start to think you’re up to no good.”

The Chief smiled a mischievous smile.“And maybe they’re right.”

“Oh, no,” said the Mayor. “You’re up to something good—a lot of good, in fact. Too bad we have to keep it a secret.”

The Chief started up the car and drove off at a slow clip.“Just a while longer, my sweet. And then this will all be over…”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

Since the house was now under different command—in fact both of our houses were—we decided to relocate to Hampton Cove, and go for our usual morning walk and take in some of the sights and sounds. Most importantly, though, we felt the need to share our tragedy with our friends. Misery loves company, after all, and since our misery was so great, we needed a lot of company.

We passed by Kingman, the unofficial feline mayor of our town, and poured our heart out to the big cat.

“I hear you,” he said, casting a casual glance at two pretty felines passing by his store. “Lucky for me Wilbur isn’t big on hygiene, personal or otherwise. He does his own cleaning, which pretty much consists of him applying a broom to the floor once every two weeks, the vacuum cleaner once a month and a mop twice a year and that’s it.”

“You’re a very lucky cat, Kingman,” said Dooley, and he meant it, too.

“I’m sure this cleaning double act will simmer down soon,” said Kingman. “After all, Odelia is the paying client, and if Odelia wants her cats to have the run of the house, there’s nothing these Trainor twins can do about it.”

“But what if they convince Odelia that she should kick us out?” I asked. “They sounded very convincing. And Odelia and Marge seem determined to keep them on.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that either. Plenty of cleaners in the sea, I mean. Two can play that game, fellas. If you complain long and loud enough to your human about Blanche and Bella, she’ll kickthem out instead of you—just you wait and see!”

The prospect of kicking Blanche and Bella out bucked me up to no end, and I could tell that Dooley, too, seemed elated at the prospect.

“I think you should relax. Who’s more important to Odelia, the cats she’s owned and loved since just about forever, or a cleaner she just met?” He gave us a wink. “If you ask me, it’s a no-brainer. Now where is lovely Harriet and why didn’t she join you?”

“Lovely Harriet is scheming with Brutus and trying to come up with a way of entering her own home.” Harriet had thrown a hissy fit when she found the pet flap locked.

“If I were Bella I’d watch my back,” said Kingman after I’d explained to him what had happened. “Harriet has some very sharp claws on her, and she can bear a grudge like no one else can.”

He was right. If I were a betting cat, and I can assure you that I am not, my money was on Harriet if things got physical.

“So you see?” said Kingman, stifling a yawn. “Nothing to worry about. Now what I would advise you to look into is this business with your human’s uncle and Mayor Butterwick.”

“What about them?” I asked. Now that my own worries were allayed to some extent, I was open to listen to someone else’s woes for a change and maybe try to find a solution.

“They keep sneaking off together. People say to their love nest. Neglecting their duties. It wouldn’t surprise me if calls wouldn’t start going out for the Mayor to be replaced and your Uncle Alec, too. They’re not exactly making themselves popular lately.”

I nodded.“The article,” I said sagely.

“Tip of the iceberg, Max. There’s a lot of resentment, and people are talking, and even though they have their fans, they have their enemies too. And plenty of them.”

This didn’t sound good. In fact it sounded like something I didn’t associate with either Uncle Alec or Charlene. But when I told Kingman that they were both conscientious people and consummate professionals, he shrugged and said, “You can never tell. People will surprise you every time, and not alwaysin a good way. Now take my Wilbur for instance. I know he’s not exactly a Casanova but did you know he spends every waking hour on those dating apps? Yep, Wilbur is looking for love. He’s looking for Mrs. Right.”

We all glanced up at Wilbur. His jaw, missing more than one tooth, was moving wordlessly as he watched a barely-clad model demonstrating a Stairmaster on the Home Shopping Network and he almost fell off his chair laughing when she fell off her machine. Crumbs flecked his beard, and his hair looked as if it had been washed in burger grease.

Yup, whoever landed Wilbur was one lucky lady.

Chapter 35

Jerry Vale was brooding again. Even though he’d sworn not to stage another escape attempt after the previous one had so gloriously backfired, he couldn’t help the way his brain worked. And his brain wanted freedom, and so did the rest of him. And he’d just had another brainwave and was about to convey his latest scheme to his partner incrime, when the cop in charge of keeping sure the prisoners were safely ensconced inside their cells at all times came ambling up in his customary good-natured way, and announced that Jerry had a visitor.

“A visitor!” Jerry cried, springing up from his perch.

“Yeah, I was as surprised as you are,” said the cop. “And a good-looking dame, too. Your sister, I presume?”

“I don’t have a sister, you moron,” he said, causing the sunny demeanor of the cop to lessen to a certain degree. Clearly the man hadn’t forgotten being beaned over the head.

“Less of that, Vale. Now do you want to see your visitor or not? If you do, I suggest you behave.” And he raised a menacing eyebrow to emphasize his words.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll behave,” said Jerry, craning his neck to see past the cop and catch a glimpse of this surprise visitor.

“Do you have a visitor, Jer?” asked Johnny from his own bunk.

“Yeah, looks like,” said Jerry.

“Who is it?” asked the gentle giant.

“How should I know? That idiot cop thinks it’s my sister.”

“But you don’t have a sister, Jer.”

“Oh? Is that a fact? Gee, I didn’t know. Of course I don’t have a sister, you numnuts!”

“Still the charmer, I see?” suddenly a woman’s voice spoke from the other side of the metal bars.

“Marlene!” Jerry cried out, as surprised as he was pleased to see his better half suddenly move into view. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s what I keep asking myself, but here I am.” Marlene, a handsome woman, slim and exceedingly tan with plenty of makeup and short blond hair, narrowed her eyes at her former husband. “You lost weight, Jer.”

“Prison life doesn’t become me,” he said ruefully.

“Is it true you spent a couple of weeks in Mexico before they shipped your ass back to the States?”

“We were in Tulum, Marlene,” said Johnny, smiling his goofy smile.

“Hi, Johnny. Livingla vida loca, huh?”

“I don’t know about lavi loco but we spent a lot of time on the beach, sipping cocktails and looking at the ladies. Pretty ladies they got down there, isn’t that right, Jer?”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

“Pretty ladies, huh? So all that talk about missing me and wanting to get back together was just talk, is that it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Jerry. He directed a pleading look at his ex-wife. “I miss you, sweetie. When are you going to forgive me?”

“How about never?” she suggested tartly.

“There was one Mexican lady who kept pouring us tequila, isn’t that right, Jer? I think she took a shine to you.”

“Shut. Up,” said Jerry through gritted teeth.

“Look, I didn’t come here to listen to your travel itinerary,” said Marlene. “I heard that you stole a Picasso and a ton of gold. Is that true?”

“No, it’s not,” said Jerry. “We’re innocent, Marlene—you gotta believe me.”

She frowned.“No gold?”

“No gold.”

She chewed on that for a moment.“Jewelry?” she suggested.

“No jewelry.”

“Diamonds? Necklaces? Furs? Anything?”

“Look, this time we’re actually innocent,” said Jerry. “Isn’t that right, Johnny?”

“Yeah, we found religion,” said Johnny, folding his hands like the elders at Kingdom Hall had taught him. “We’re reformed now, Marlene. The life of crime is behind us.”

“Too bad,” said Marlene. “When I read about that gold, I figured…” She made an airy gesture. “Eh, it doesn’t matter. It was nice to see you again, Jer. Take care of yourself.”

“You’re not going already, are you?” asked Jerry, much perturbed. “You just got here!”

“And now I’m going. See you, Johnny. Bye bye, Jer.”

And with these words, she effectively stalked off, her high heels tapping on the polished concrete floor, the sound growing fainter as she went.

Jerry yelled after her,“So when are we getting back together?”

“Never!” her voice echoed. Then a door slammed and she was gone.

Jerry sank down onto his bunk again, more distraught than ever.

“I think she was disappointed we didn’t steal no gold, Jer,” said Johnny.

“You know, Johnny? I’m starting to wish that we had stolen that gold.”

“But we can’t, Jer. We’re on the straight and narrow now. We’re reformed.”

“I gotta accept that my marriage is over,” said Jerry sadly.

“I thought it was over last year?”

“Oh, shut up, will you? I need to think.”

And soon he was deep in thought again. It stood to reason that the only way to convince Marlene to give their marriage another shot was to wear her down. Talk to her like he’d never talked before. But how could he do that when he was locked up?

So he had to get out and he had to get out pronto.

And this time he was going to come up with a plan that was foolproof.

Chapter 36

“We have to convince her, Dooley,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

“This is now a matter of life and death.”

“I know!”

We’d arrived at Odelia’s office and both took a deep breath. We were entering the kind of negotiation that was going to determine our future, and we needed to strike the right note from the start, just like a hostage negotiator would. For that was what we were: hostages of the crazy wiles of those cat-hating sisters Blanche and Bella Trainor.

So we set paw inside the Gazette building and made a beeline for Odelia’s office.

She looked up when we entered.“Did you know that an insurance agency by the name of Johnson and Johnson has been named in one of the biggest fraud cases this town has ever seen?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t know that,” I said.

“Tell her, Max,” Dooley whispered behind me, giving me a poke in the rear.

“Chase is looking into the case,” she said. “And he’s made me promise not to write a word about it until he’s ready to haul the principals into the station for questioning.” She shook her head. “It’s tough to have to sit on a story that big, not being able to write it.”

“Tell her, Max!” Dooley urged again, and pushed me further in the direction of Odelia’s desk.

“Will you stop pushing?” I hissed.

“Tell me what?” asked Odelia, only now becoming aware that the two cats who had graced her with their presence were anxious to have speech with her.

“Well, the thing is…” I began, then stopped and started again. “You see, we’re in some sort of…”

Dooley, tired of my prevarications, emerged from behind my broad back and blurted out,“Blanche and Bella have locked us out of the house. They hate cats and they’re going to try to convince you that all cats are evil and make you get rid of us and we’ll have to spend the rest of our lives on the street, eating from dumpsters just like Clarice does, and live off scraps of food and mice and rats and other horrible vermin.”

Odelia looked taken aback by this outburst.“Blanche and Bella did what?” she asked.

“They locked the pet flaps,” I said. “But first they kicked us out.”

“Oh, dear,” said Odelia. “I’m sure they only did that to make sure they could clean without being disturbed.”

“You think so?” I said, not fully convinced.

“You know how jumpy you get around a vacuum cleaner, Max,” said Odelia, getting up from behind her desk and crouching down next to us. “She probably wanted to spare you the trouble of having to hide each time she turns on the machine.”

“She did turn it on and we did run and hide,” I admitted. “Straight into the bed.”

“And then Blanche came and chased us out and said cats shouldn’t be in the bed, or inside the house,” said Dooley, “and then she locked the pet flap so we couldn’t get back in.”

“I’m sure she’ll have unlocked it by now,” said Odelia with a smile as she petted us. “It doesn’t take all day to clean the house, you guys. As soon as she’s done she’ll let you in again. It’s your house too, you know. And she can’t keep you out.”

“She can’t?” I asked, a glimmer of hope returning.

“Of course not. But as long as she’s cleaning, I think it’s best if you don’t get in her way. She’s a good cleaner, with excellent references, but she strikes me as a forceful person, who doesn’t like it when cats run underfoot and make her trip and fall.”

“We would never make her trip and fall,” I said earnestly, though the thought of making Blanche trip and fall suddenly gave me the warm fuzzies when I pictured the scene. Her landing smack dab into her own bucket of sudsy soapy water? The notion actually put a smile on my face for the first time since we’d been chased out of our own home by the evil cleaner.

“See? You’re all better again,” said Odelia, noticing my smile and giving me another pat on the head. “Now run along, I have work to do. Unless you have some juicy gossip for me?” She arched a meaningful eyebrow, but I had to disappoint her. The only gossip I had was that Wilbur was dating, and that wasn’t something anyone wanted to hear.

It was with renewed fervor that we left the office. Things were looking up again. Though I have to say I was getting whiplash from the up-and-down motion my mood had been going through that day.

“I have to say I’m feeling much better, Max,” said Dooley. “Now that I know that Odelia is not going to kick us out.”

“Of course she’s not going to kick us out,” I said, the idea suddenly sounding silly even to my own ears. “Blanche is just a cleaner who comes in once a week. And being locked out of the house once a week for a couple of hours is not that bad, is it?”

“I thought Odelia said she’d hired her to come in three times a week,” Dooley said.

I stared at my friend.“Three times a week!”

“The house is very dirty,” he said. “She’ll probably have to do some of that deep cleaning that cleaners like to do. I once saw an episode of General Hospital where deep cleaning took a week. And at the end Frank Zucker, the homeowner who’d hired the cleaner, had slept with her in his ownmarital bed and nine months later she delivered two healthy baby boys, twins and heirs to the Zucker fortune. It was the season finale.”

I couldn’t imagine Chase sleeping with Blanche in Odelia’s bed and Blanche delivering twins nine months later, but it did strike me as ominous that she was going to be part of our lives for the foreseeable future at the clip of three times a week. That was a lot of pet flap locking!

And as we wended our way home, and finally arrived at our destination and moved straight inside through the pet flap, we found that the darn thing was still locked!

And when we moved next door, we found Harriet and Brutus lying in wait on the porch, and when I threw them a questioning glance, they both shook their heads.

Locked out of our own homes.

Oh, the horror!

Chapter 37

“So you want me to hit you?” asked Johnny, surprised.

“How many times do I have to explain it?” said Jerry annoyedly. “Yeah, hit me and I’ll hit you and the cops will come to break up the fight and that’s when we turn on them and escape.”

“But… I don’t want to hit you, Jer. You’re my friend and I like you.”

“You don’t have to hit me hard, Johnny. Just a light tap on the chin.”

“But I don’t know my own strength, Jer. I’ll probably hit you too hard and I don’t want that. What if you get hurt?”

“Look, we’re not really going to fight. It’s just acting, see? Like in the movies? Or did you really think those actors actually hit each other? It’s all fake!”

“Oh,” said Johnny, his face lighting up. “So I just have to pretend to hit you. Now I get it.”

“Yeah! Just like in the movies!”

“I can do that!”

“Great. Let’s get this show on the road. I’ll throw the first punch, and you retaliate.”

“Okay, Jer. Whatever you say,” said Johnny, thinking this was a great game. And a nice change of pace. Sitting in this prison cell was getting kinda boring without his phone. He liked to play Candy Crush to while away the time. Or to look for those Pok?mons. But the cops had taken his phone away, which he thought was not very nice of them.

Jerry took a boxer’s stance while Johnny just stood there, like the man mountain that he was, waiting for his friend to throw the first fake punch so he could fake-retaliate.

“Now remember to make a lot of noise, all right?” said Jerry. “The more noise the better.”

“What kind of noise?” asked Johnny, interested in this new development.

“Any kind of noise! Screaming, shouting, name calling. This is supposed to be a big fight, you see. And when people fight they make a lot of noise.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Johnny, nodding. “What names do you want me to call you, Jer?”

Jerry rolled his eyes.“Who cares! Anything goes, Johnny. That’s the name of the game: anything goes. Now are you ready for my first punch?”

Johnny grinned.“Sure, Jer. Do your worst.” He’d always been a big fan of action movies, the kind with plenty of fight scenes. And now he was going to be in one of those scenes himself. It tickled his funny bone. But then Jerry hauled off and landed the first punch and it actually hurt!

Jerry had tiny fists but he was a wiry little fella and when he threw a punch it made a hole in Johnny’s stomach and he said ‘Oof!’ and actually doubled over because he hadn’t expected that.

“Jer! You punched me!”

“Of course I punched you! What did you think this was? A game of chess? We’re fighting, Johnny. Mean and dirty. Like in that movie Fight Club, remember?”

Johnny didn’t remember, but he did think Jerry shouldn’t actually have punched him. “That wasn’t a make-believe punch, Jer,” he said. “That was a real punch.”

“So give me a real punch back, or are you too lily-livered, you big pussy?”

Johnny frowned. He didn’t like the way this fight was going. “I don’t want to hit you, Jer,” he repeated. “You’re my friend and I don’t like to hit my friends.”

“You mean like this?” said Jerry, and gave Johnny another needle punch in the gut that made the big guy go all ‘Oof!’ “Or like this?” Jerry continued, and hit his friend on the nose!

“Hey—no fair!” said Johnny. “You said you weren’t going to hit for real—only fake!”

“Oh, stop whining and start hitting,” Jerry growled. “Do some damage, you big lummox!”

Finally, after the third kick to the stomach—a sensitive area for the big man—Johnny had finally had enough. So he raised his great big fist and gave his friend a light tap against the temple. Jerry flew through the prison cell, hit the wall, and slumped to the floor, out for the count. And when moments later the guard came to check on them and found Jerry knocked out on the floor, he shook his head and sighed the sigh of a long-suffering guard. “I’ll call the doc. Again.”

“I didn’t even hit him that hard,” said Johnny, still surprised by this turn of events.

“That’s what they all say,” said the guard, and took out his phone to call the doctor.

When Jerry finally regained consciousness, and stared up into the face of Dr. Tex Poole, he said,“Am I out? Did I escape?”

“No, you didn’t escape, Mr. Vale,” said Tex, “but if I were you I’d take it easy for a couple of days. And no more tussles, you hear?”

“I didn’t even hit that hard,” Johnny repeated. “I only nudged him with my fist.”

“Well, that seems to have done the trick,” said Tex, helping Jerry up from the floor. “No lasting damage, though. Not even a concussion. But don’t do it again, Mr. Carew.” The doctor gave him a reproachful look that hit Johnny like a punch to the gut.

“But he asked me to hit him, Doc. He really did.”

“You mean like in Fight Club?” asked the doctor, who seemed to know his movies.

“Yeah, exactly like in Fight Club.”

“So who were you supposed to be? Brad Pitt or Edward Norton?”

“I’m not sure,” said Johnny. He glanced at Jerry, then at the doctor. “Brad Pitt?”

The doctor smiled and clapped him on the back.“Of course, Mr. Carew. Of course.”

Once they were alone again, Jerry snarled,“That’s another fine mess you got us into, Johnny.”

Johnny gave his friend a sheepish look.“I’m sorry, Jer. Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”

“Yeah, well,” said his partner, laying back on his bunk. “That’s it for me. I give up. If the universe wants to keep us confined to this prison cell, that’s all right by me.”

“So you don’t want me to hit you again, Jer?”

“No, I don’t want you to hit me again, Brad Pitt.”

Johnny smiled at this.“Do you really think I look like Brad Pitt?”

Jerry smiled, too.“Sure, Johnny. Sure.”

For a moment, both men were silent, then Johnny said,“I’m sorry for knocking you out, Jer.”

“That’s all right, buddy. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have needled you like that.” He sighed. “I swear to God, if we ever make it out of this place I’m giving up the life of crime.”

“We’ll go to Hollywood,” said Johnny. “I’ll be Brad Pitt and you can be Leo DiCaprio.”

Jerry laughed at this, then stopped and groaned and reached for his head.

“Please don’t make me laugh, buddy. It hurts.”

Chapter 38

The evening had come and our humans had returned home from their respective places of business. And finally we’d all been allowed back inside.

“I’ll tell Blanche that she shouldn’t forget to unlock the pet flap again,” said Odelia after she let us in. “She must have forgotten.”

I didn’t think the evil cleaner had forgotten at all, though. I think she’d done it on purpose, to give us a first taste of the new rules that she was instigating. Three days a week we’d be locked out of our own homes, and if it was up to Blanche and her sister that period would be extended to the entire week, and possibly the nights, too!

Clearly they had their own ideas about how to treat pets, and felt cats didn’t have a place inside the home. And when it came down to a battle of wills, I feared that the war might just be won by the cleaners, and not by mild-mannered Odelia or Marge.

When Gran arrived home therefore, after a long day spent furthering the interests of her neighborhood watch, and breezed in, I decided to have a word with her. As I saw it, she was the only member of the family tough enough to take a stand against the terror of the cleaning ladies, and avoid disaster.

But Gran didn’t have time for us. Clearly she had other things on her mind, for she looked troubled. “Odelia,” she said as she swept into the house, where Odelia was checking the fridge in search of something edible to cook for dinner. “I need to have a word with you. It’s important,” she added whenOdelia took out a piece of lamb roast and took a tentative sniff.

“What is it?” asked Odelia. “More burglaries?”

“It’s your uncle,” said Gran, and took a seat at the kitchen counter. “I’ve been hearing funny stories about him and Charlene Butterwick. It’s all over town that the two of them have been sneaking off together during working hours, and neglecting their jobs. It’s come so far that people are thinking about launching a petition for the Mayor to be replaced by another member of the town council, and for Alec to be replaced by Chase.”

Odelia frowned.“Surely you must have misheard.”

“I’m not so sure. When Scarlett and I dropped by the station this afternoon Alec was nowhere to be seen, and Dolores told us it’s been like that for the past two weeks. He comes in in the morning, then goes out for lunch and stays out. And when we went to see Charlene about it, her secretary said she was out and didn’t say when she’d be back.”

“What are they up to?” asked Odelia, as she also took a seat.

Gran shrugged.“I don’t know. People say they’ve got a love nest in town, and that they keep sneaking off for some nookie any chance they get. And I’m the first one to applaud Alec for having the good sense to hook up with Charlene. She’s a great gal and I wish them all the best and future happiness andyadda yadda. But not at the expense of their jobs.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I think an intervention is in order,” said Gran gravely.

“What’s an intervention, Max?” asked Dooley, who’d been listening with rapt attention, as had I.

“It’s when members of a person’s family or circle of friends decide to sit the person down and give him or her a good talking-to,” I said.

“I’ve already talked to Marge, and she’s agreed. Tonight we’re going over to Alec’s house and we’re going to have a word with him,” said Gran.

Odelia nodded.“All right. If that’s what you think is best.”

“I do. This cannot go on.” She shook her head. “I never thought I’d say this, but his libido is clearly out of control and needs to be checked.”

“What’s a libido, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Um…”

“He does seem to have a healthy sex drive,” said Odelia with a giggle.

“What’s a sex drive, Max?”

Gran shrugged.“Of course he does. He’s my son, after all,” she said, which made both women burst out laughing.

“What are they saying, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Well, Uncle Alec likes Charlene so much that he has started to neglect his work,” I explained. “His libido, which is the part of a person making them, um… love a lot, makes him love Charlene… a little too much.”

“And makes him drive his sex to her house when he should be driving his sex to his office?”

“Something like that,” I admitted.

“I didn’t know sex was like a car,” said Dooley. “And that people could drive it.”

“Yeah, sex is very much like a car,” I said. “You can drive it, but sometimes it drives you, and that’s what’s happening with Uncle Alec. He should be behind the driving wheel, but instead his libido is.”

“And Gran doesn’t like that,” said Dooley, nodding. He jumped up onto Gran’s lap, then, and said earnestly, “You have to tell Uncle Alec’s libido to get out of the driver’s seat, Gran. Or it will drive his sex in the wrong direction and cause an accident.”

“Absolutely right, Dooley,” said Gran, and gave my friend a cuddle. “Isn’t he a smart cookie?” she said, and Odelia gave me a wink.

Dooley was right. If Uncle Alec allowed his libido to take control, it would cause him to make a mess of his life and his career. A regular pileup of epic proportions.

I just hoped this intervention would be successful, and if it was, I was going to ask Gran to stage another intervention. This time dealing with Blanche and Bella. If anyone needed to be booted from the driver’s seat, it was that sinister twosome.

Chapter 39

Tex was feeling a little nervous about leaving the house for this family intervention thing. With his precious painting in the shed, and the thieves still at large, he didn’t like to leave the house unguarded. Then again, nobody knew the Metzgall was in his garden shed, and no thief, even the most clever one, would know to search there for the valuable work of art.

“I don’t believe this,” said Marge as she checked her appearance in the bedroom mirror. “You would think that my brother is old and wise enough not to act like a hormonal teenager.”

“He must be deeply infatuated with the woman,” said Tex as he glanced through Jerome Metzgall’s website to see if he didn’t have another gnome for sale at a reasonable price. It would be nice if Big Gnome #21 had a little brother or sister to keep him company back there in that shed. The nights could really get lonely out there.

“He can be infatuated all he wants, but he shouldn’t neglect his duties to this town and its citizens,” said Marge sternly.

“I’m sure it’s just a phase,” said Tex as he studied a particularly jolly female gnome. The price tag was a little too steep for his budget, though.

“A phase he should have grown out of when he left puberty behind. What are you doing?”

“Oh, just checking the news,” said Tex, a little guiltily. This newfound hobby of his clearly didn’t carry his wife’s approval.

“Looking at gnomes again, are you?” said Marge, unfailingly putting her finger on the nub.

“How did you know?” he asked, looking from his phone to Marge. “Are you psychic now?”

Marge smiled.“When it comes to you, yes I am, husband dear. Please don’t buy another one of those horrible paintings.”

“It’s an investment,” he insisted stubbornly. “You buy them now, and sell them tomorrow and double your investment, or even triple it.”

“I very much doubt whether anyone would be so crazy to spend that much money on a painting of a gnome, honey.” She gave him the kind of look a parent would give a dimwitted child. A mixture of affection and exasperation. “Except you, of course.”

“Do you think he’s safe back there?” he asked, glancing through the window in the direction of the shed.

“Oh, I think he’s perfectly safe,” said Marge. She’d already voiced her opinion that no burglars would bother to steal Big Gnome #21 but he wasn’t so sure.

Suddenly Vesta stuck her head in the door.“What’s the holdup? Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” And retracted her head again.

“I guess we’re going,” said Tex.

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Marge with a sigh.

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Since the cat contingent hadn’t been invited to the intervention, we decided to head out and hit the town instead.

It had been an eventful day, and we needed the distraction. But then before we could get going, suddenly Tex dropped by the house, glanced left and right, then knelt down next to me and whispered,“Max, I know you can understand what I’m going to tell you, because I’ve seen my wife and my daughter and my mother-in-law do it a million times, and I hope they haven’t been pulling my leg all these years.” He took a deep breath, gazed into my eyes and said, “Can you keep an eye on BigGnome #21 for me? I know that Marge thinks no thief will want to steal it, but I’m not so sure. He does represent an investment of no less than twenty-five thousand dollars, and even though he’s insured with a reputable firm, I’d feel much better if I knew you were here to make sure nobody took him.” He glanced up again, making sure nobody overheard him talking to a cat, then leaned in and said, “Thanks, little buddy.” And gave me a quick pet across the cranium.

I stared at the man as he scuttled off, presumably to follow the rest of the family for the big intervention.

“What did he say, Max?” asked Dooley, who’d watched from a little distance.

“He wants me to guard Big Gnome #21,” I said.

“Who’s Big Gnome #21?”

“The painting Tex bought.”

“Why does he want you to watch it? It’s not very nice to look at.”

“He wants me to make sure nobody steals it,” I specified.

“Oh,” said Dooley, and took this in, just as I was taking it in. “Well, I guess we’re staying home tonight,” he said finally, showing me what a friend he truly was.

He could have said,‘Max, you take care of the painting of the ugly gnome while I go and have a great time at cat choir.’ But no, he decided to stay home with me. What a pal!

“Where is this Big Gnome #21?” he asked next.

“In the garden shed, remember? Marge didn’t want it in the house.”

“Why? Isn’t it house-trained?”

I chuckled at this.“No, I guess not.”

“Poor Marge. First garden gnomes and now paintings of garden gnomes.”

“She has a heavy cross to bear,” I agreed.

And since Harriet and Brutus had already left, and so had the rest of the family, Dooley and I made our way into Marge and Tex’s backyard to guard Big Gnome #21. And it was as we arrived that I found the door to the shed askance, and when I entered the small structure, and glanced around in search of the painting, I discovered that it wasn’t there. Probably because Tex had hidden it somewhere where I couldn’t see it.

“So?” asked Dooley, joining me. “Where is Big Gnome #21?”

“No idea. Tex must have hidden it.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Dooley. “I didn’t like the look of that gnome.”

I found a nice piece of cardboard that had my name on it—not literally, of course—and Dooley found one with his name on it, and soon we were pleasantly dozing, and making sure no gnomes could be absconded with, twenty-first ones or otherwise.

Chapter 40

When Odelia pressed her finger to the bell, she silently said a little prayer and hoped for the best. She liked her uncle, and if they were going to prevent him from making a career-destroying decision, they needed to talk fast and be convincing, but also to listen and hear his side of the story.

“Ready?” asked Gran.

Mom, Dad and Chase all nodded. Especially Chase and Dad didn’t look eager to launch into this intervention, but then neither did Odelia think this was going to be a walk in the park.

The door swung open and to her surprise it wasn’t her uncle who appeared but Charlene!

“Oh, hey,” said Charlene. “I didn’t know there was a family evening planned, but come in.”

The Mayor was dressed in yoga pants and a Garfield T-shirt and had her hair down. The fact that she had a drink in her hand indicated she and Alec had thought they’d spend a nice evening at home together.

When they walked into the living room, Alec got up, surprised at the sight of his entire family filing into the room.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Did something happen?”

“Alec,” said Gran, stepping to the fore and taking charge. “Sit down. You too, Charlene. This is an intervention,” she announced, taking a wide-legged stance and planting her hands on her hips. “Your family loves you very much, Alec, and we don’t like to see you throwing your life and career away the way you’ve been doing.”

“Wait, what?” asked Alec, flabbergasted.

Charlene laughed a nervous little laugh.“An intervention? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” said Vesta, fixing the mayor with a gimlet-eyed look and shutting her up. “It has come to our attention that you’ve both been playing hooky at work, so you can spend time in your alleged love nest. Well, we’re here to tell you that all that is in the past.” She pointed abony finger at her son. “You’re going to show up at work on time. You’re going to stay there during office hours and do your duty the way you promised when you accepted the honor of being this town’s chief of police, and you’re going to perform your duties to the best of your abilities. And that goes for you, too, young lady. It’s an honor to be our mayor.”

“I agree,” said Charlene.

“And you’re going to do your job from now on, and not sneak off for some canoodling sessions with my son.”

“Ma, please!” said Alec.

“Shush. I’m not finished. I’m a busy woman but I’m going to sacrifice my precious time to keep an eye on you two. I’m going to sit in your office for the next week and make sure you don’t leave before five o’clock on the dot. And I’ve asked my friend Scarlett to do the same for you,Charlene. She will sit in your office and she will not move from your side for a week. And if by the end of the week you’ve both shown that you’re worthy of our trust, we might let you off the hook. If not, another week will be added, and one more, for as long as it takes to get you on the straight and narrow again.”

“But Vesta…” said Charlene with a laugh.

“You think this is a joke?” Gran barked. “Do you see me laughing?”

“No, but…”

“This is your life, young lady. And you’re not going to throw it away on this bozo.”

“I’m your son!”

“You’re a fine mayor, and people like you, but not if you keep shirking your duty. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Charlene with a smile and glance at Alec, who sat silently fuming.

“Great. Then we have an understanding. And don’t think I do this because I like it. This hurts me more than it hurts you,” Gran concluded her harangue.

“You can still canoodle, though,” said Marge, eager to make her point clear. “But you should do it in the evenings, not when you’re supposed to be working.”

“Are you finished?” asked Uncle Alec stiffly.

“Yeah, just about,” said Gran.

“We haven’t been playing hooky. In fact we haven’t been shirking work at all.”

“Oh? I’ve heard different,” said Gran. “And when Scarlett and I paid you a visit this afternoon Dolores said you’ve been absent from work every afternoon for the past two weeks. And your secretary told us the same story, Charlene.”

Charlene shook her head.“I feel like I’m back in high school.”

“Look, we haven’t played hooky,” Uncle Alec repeated. “We’ve been working on a new project together. In our official capacities as chief of police and mayor—and not in some love nest but out in the field, overseeing construction.”

“What construction? What field?” asked Gran.

Uncle Alec directed a tender look at the Mayor.“Are you going to tell them or am I?”

Charlene smiled.“I never had the pleasure of having children,” she said. “And neither has Alec. It’s one of the things that has drawn us very close together indeed. Something we have in common.”

Odelia’s mom put her hands to her cheeks. “You’re having a baby! Oh, my God!”

“No, we’re not having a baby,” said Charlene. “Unfortunately I haven’t been blessed with the capacity to conceive, and besides, I’m too old now to have kids anyway.”

“Me, too,” Uncle Alec grunted.

“But what we also share is a love of dogs.”

“Dogs,” said Gran disgustedly. “Are you serious?”

Charlene nodded.“Probably because I could never have kids I’ve always loved dogs with a particular fervor, and I’ve adopted quite a few strays over the years.”

“I always wanted a dog,” said Uncle Alec mournfully. “Never got around to it.”

“So Alec and I decided to open a dog kennel. When people thought we were playing hooky we’ve been out inspecting buildings and looking for people who could run the kennel. This is going to be an official dog kennel, run by the town of Hampton Cove, and it’s going to be a shelter that’s going to offer a better life for our strays and dogs whose owners for whatever reason are not in the position to keep them anymore.”

“A dog kennel,” said Gran, looking stunned.

“But what about the pound?” asked Tex. “We already have a perfectly good pound.”

“There have been a number of complaints over the years,” said Charlene. “The animals haven’t been treated as well as they should have. So we’re closing down the pound and opening a kennel instead. Mostly it’s dogs that are kept at the pound anyway.”

“But what about stray cats?” asked Odelia. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“We’ve thought about that,” said Uncle Alec, “and we’re going to open a second building, adjacent to the dog kennel, where all other animals are kept in the same excellent conditions. It’s going to be called the Hampton Cove Animal Kennel, and it’s going to set a new benchmark for theway strays should be treated.” He expanded his chest with justifiable pride. “I’m going to volunteer there, and so will Charlene, and I hope you will do the same.”

“A dog kennel,” Gran muttered, plunking down on one of Uncle Alec’s leather couches.

“An animal shelter, if you will,” said Charlene, “but with an emphasis on dogs.”

“I don’t believe this,” Gran said, shaking her head and looking as if she was about to pass out.

“So no babies?” asked Mom, sounding disappointed.

“Fur babies,” Charlene specified.

Mom nodded, and Odelia gave her a rub across the back.“Fur babies,” she repeated. “That’s great, isn’t it, Mom?”

“Wonderful,” said Mom, but without much conviction.

“We’re finalizing our plans this week,” said Charlene. “The lease is signed and we’ve hired a manager so things are progressing nicely.”

“We were going to announce our plans to the world next week,” said Alec. “But you took us by surprise.” He directed a censorious look at his mother, who was still looking distraught. For a woman whose entire life has revolved around cats, to have a son who opens a dog kennel was clearly a big shock for the old lady.

“I’ll be a volunteer,” said Odelia. “I love dogs—and cats, of course.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that, Odelia,” said Charlene. “You’ll love the place—it’s so big and airy. And we’re going to turn it into the most gorgeous shelter in the state.”

“I’ll volunteer, too,” said Mom. “I like cats, of course, but I don’t mind dogs.”

“That’s… the spirit,” said Charlene.

“And if you want my help, you’ve got it,” said Dad.

“I’ll lend a hand,” said Chase. “I love dogs. Used to have two great dogs as a kid. Loved those guys to death.”

All eyes now turned to Gran, but when the old lady became aware of the attention, she shook her head.“Oh, no. I’m not volunteering at no stinkin dog kennel. It’s cats for me—cats all the way. And cats and dogs,” she announced, her voice rising as she herself rose up from the couch, “don’t mix! And you!” she added, raking a fiery glance across Odelia and Mom’s faces, “Are both traitors!”

And with these words, she strode out and slammed the door behind her.

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.”

Chapter 42

It came as something of a shock to us when Odelia announced that she’d asked Blanche to clean out the attic. It was going to take her two weeks and all that time she was presumably going to lock the pet flap.

So it was with a heart bowed down with the weight of woe that Dooley and I were lying under the big cherry tree in Marge and Tex’s backyard, along with Harriet and Brutus.

All of us were the victims of a pair of evil cat-hating cleaners, and there didn’t seem to be anything we could do about it.

We heard the telltale sounds of a cleaner working hard: vacuum cleaner being switched on and off, and then on again. Water slushing in buckets, the smell of lavender-scented bleach being poured into those same buckets.

“She does work hard, I’ll give her that,” said Harriet as we lay there, awaiting the end of our sentence.

“The house is much cleaner since Blanche started coming around,” I admitted.

“No more dust bunnies,” said Dooley.

“She’s washed my favorite pillow with Ariel,” said Brutus. “I love the smell of Ariel. It’s like sleeping on a cloud, in Ariel heaven.”

“And she has finally chucked out those old dried plants on the kitchen windowsill,” I said. “They’ve been collecting mold for years, and little flies have been buzzing around those plants and preventing me from sleep.”

So maybe having a pair of professional cleaners in the house wasn’t such a bad thing after all. If only they wouldn’t hate cats so much.

The doorbell rang and the vacuum cleaner was turned off. We heard Bella answering the door, then yell something about having no need for the word of Jesus, and slamming the door shut.

We all looked up at that, and curiosity compelled us to get up from our pleasant perch underneath the cherry tree and hurry to the front of the house, where we just caught a glimpse of Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale, Bibles clutched in their hands, looking like Mormon missionaries, neat in their costumes, hair cut to precision, and walking up to the next house, no doubt ready to spread the word of Jesus to anyone who’d listen.

“Looks like they’ve finally been sprung from jail,” I said.

“Which probably means the Johnsons are in jail instead,” said Brutus, whom I’d told the story of last night’s events.

“Who are these Johnsons and why are they in prison?” asked Harriet.

So I told her the story of what happened in Tex’s garden shed, and how Iris and Mira Johnson were apparently a pair of common crooks and burglars.

“Let’s hope Tex gets his painting back,” said Dooley. “It cost twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Harriet stared at my friend.“Twenty-five thousand dollars for a painting of a gnome? Has he lost his mind?”

“Marge seems to think so, but she still loves him,” said Dooley. “Which makes me think that love must be blind.”

So much wisdom coming from one not well-known for dispensing wisdom had us all look at Dooley in surprise.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes, Dooley,” I said. “You’re absolutely right. Love is blind, and a good thing it is, too, otherwise humanity would probably have died out a long time ago.”

“Not just humanity,” said Harriet with a cheeky glance at her boyfriend.

Just then, the front door opened, and Bella appeared. She was holding a mat and proceeded to hit it several times with a knocker, causing a cloud of dust to emerge from the household object. The dust wafted in our direction, carried by a gentle breeze, and soon we were all coughing and running for cover. Bella, who’d noticed this, smiled a sly little smile, and disappeared inside again.

And as I walked out into the street, to escape the dust particles tickling my throat and nostrils, I found myself looking up at a black van parked in the street. The license plate started with A5.

I frowned at the van, before the penny dropped.“Dooley!” I said. “It’s the van!”

“Oh, it is,” he said.

“Which means the thieves must be around.”

“What thieves?” asked Harriet. “What van?”

“The night Kurt’s house was burgled Dooley and I saw two masked burglars drive off in this van. I only managed to remember the first two digits of the license plate and gave them to Chase. He must have been too busy with his insurance fraud case to look it up. And now here it is. Parked right in front.”

We all shared a look, then slowly turned to look at the house in front of which the van was parked. It was Marge and Tex’s place.

And the only person who was inside… was Bella.

Could it be?

No, of course not.

What a ridiculous thought!

We still had to wait two more hours before our suspicions were confirmed. That’s how long it took for Blanche and Bella to finish their shift. When they walked out, slamming the doors of Odelia’s and Marge’s houses behind them, in amazing synchronicity, I might add, and met on the sidewalk, we held our breath for a moment.

“I think it’s them,” said Brutus.

“And I think it’s not,” said Harriet.

We were all seated in the front garden of Marge and Tex’s house, watching intently.

For a moment, both women exchanged pleasantries, then moved, as one woman, in the direction of the black van. Blanche pressed her key fob, there was the telltale beep beep sound of a car alarm being switched off… and they both got into the van!

“It’s them!” I cried. “They’re the burglars!”

“I knew it,” said Brutus. “I knew all along they were up to no good.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Harriet.

“They’re cat haters!” said Brutus. “What else can you expect!”

It took us a while longer to practice patience, until Odelia came home. To say she was impressed is an understatement.

“The cleaners! Are you sure?” she asked.

We all nodded, all four of us, and when she looked annoyed, I assumed it was because now she’d have to go and find another cleaner. Instead, she said, “I should have known. People who hate cats always have something to hide.”

And with these words, as much an admission of her error in judgment as anything I’d ever heard, she took out her phone and called Chase.

Epilogue

It was with sweet success still fresh in our minds that the four of us enjoyed the first fruits of Tex’s labors at the grill. Our resident grill master has steadily and slowly been improving his craft, but still the humans think it wise to allow us cats to have first dibs.

We can smell a turd from a mile away, and rotten food from even further. And if we dig in and enjoy the nibbles thrown our way, they know that the products of Tex’s grill are safe for human consumption.

“Who would have thought that the cleaners were also a couple of cat burglars,” said Charlene as she happily dug in. She may be skinny but she has an appetite on her that belies her slender form. Uncle Alec, who loves people who like to eat as much as he does, watched on with a distinct look of pride.

“Yeah, we found an entire stash back at their place,” he said. “Jewels, paintings, money… It looked more like an Amazon fulfillment center than a regular home. And lucky for us they hadn’t yet managed to fence off their latest haul, so Mort Hodge, Ida and Kurt have already gotten their precious stuff back.”

“And so have I!” Tex called out from behind the grill. He was sweating profusely, for the day was warm, but he seemed to be in his element, and the fact that Big Gnome #21 had been returned in pristine shape probably had something to do with that.

“They did fit the description,” Chase allowed. “Two burglars, one short and one tall. Though truth be told, Iris and Mira Johnson also fit the description, and so did Vale and Carew.”

“At least this time you got the right guy,” said Gran, who was still sore about the fact that her son was starting a dog kennel.

“Yeah, turns out we got the wrong guys, and gals, twice!” said Uncle Alec, though he didn’t seem too troubled by the fact. Then again, Charlene had relaxed her dieting instructions, and seemed to have decided to accept her man the way he was: curvy.

“It was a neat scheme,” said Marge. “All of their victims were also their clients, and they managed to get a good look around the houses they targeted, picking out what they were going to steal, then returning under the cover of darkness to rob them blind.”

“Wearing rubber masks that made them look like Vale and Carew and dropping their names was also very clever,” said Chase. “Your secretary didn’t pick up on the ruse.”

“No, she certainly didn’t,” said Charlene. “Well, I’m glad we got those coins back.”

“Is that why they tossed Mort Hodge’s house?” asked Marge. “To hide the fact that they knew exactly what they were looking for?”

“Exactly,” said Chase. “To make it look like a regular robbery.”

“I’m selling my gnome, by the way,” Tex announced now as he pushed his chef’s hat further back on his head.

Marge stared at her husband.“You’re selling your painting? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It takes a special kind of person to be a collector of extremely valuable works of art, and I’ve discovered throughout this episode that I’m not that kind of person. I keep worrying that someone is going to steal it, and that’s not a great feeling to have.”

“You could lock it up in a safe at the bank,” Odelia suggested.

“And then have Vale and Carew steal it? No, thanks,” said Tex, throwing his tongs into the air and failing to catch them, causing them to hit the table and knock over Uncle Alec’s beer, pouring its contents all over the big guy’s lap.

“My beer!” said Uncle Alec.

“Sorry about that,” Tex muttered. He grabbed a towel and started mopping up his brother-in-law’s crotch, who respectfully declined the treatment, yanked the towel from the doctor’s hands and did the honors himself.

“So what’s going to happen to the Johnsons?” asked Charlene. “Are they as crooked as you think they are?”

“Oh, yes,” Chase confirmed. “They may not be burglars, but they are thieves.”

“Two pairs of thieves caught in one week,” said Uncle Alec. “Must be a new record.”

“Look, I can condone a kennel, but does it have to be a dog kennel?” asked Gran suddenly. She’d been oblivious to the conversation and immersed in her own world.

“Where is your friend Scarlett, by the way?” asked Marge.

“At the spa,” said Gran. Her eyes lit up. “Why don’t you start a spa instead of a dog kennel? We could all use a nice day at the spa from time to time.”

Charlene directed a kindly smile at the older woman.“If we called it an animal shelter and dropped the reference to dogs, would you feel more comfortable, Vesta?”

“Well…” said Gran, wavering. “Maybe. I mean, what did dogs ever do to get preferential treatment?”

“She’s not wrong,” said Harriet, once again outing herself as another dog hater. “Though there are exceptions, of course,” she quickly added when she saw Rufus peeping through the hole in the hedge. “Some dogs are almost as nice as cats, in fact.”

Rufus raised his eyes heavenward, shook his big fluffy head, then reeled it back in.

“We’ll call it the Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter,” Charlene suggested. “How does that sound?”

This time Gran was actually beaming. She clasped her hands together and said,“Are you serious?”

“Of course. I’m a politician. I don’t have a sense of humor,” Charlene quipped.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” said Gran, and there were tears in her eyes when she got up to give Charlene a big hug. “I love it!”

“Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter?” said Brutus. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Why not?” I asked. “I think it’s very sweet of Charlene to call it that.”

“Yeah, but what if Gran is tired of us and decides to donate us to the shelter that carries her name?”

We were all quiet after that. The prospect was too gruesome to contemplate. But Odelia must have overheard, for when she next came to dispense some more delicious grub, she said,“We’re never giving you away, you guys. And you can quote me on that.”

Just like a reporter to use that kind of language, I thought. But it was really kind of Odelia to confirm that we were, now and forever, her pets, and she wasn’t going to give us away. I like to think she was also saying it as a form of apology, after subjecting us to the cat-hating antics of the two cleaners-slash-burglars.

“Why do they call them cat burglars, Max?” asked Dooley.

“They call them cat burglars because they can scale a building like a cat, and crawl across roofs like we do. Though no human will ever be able to truly be a cat burglar.”

“What Max means to say is that cats are natural burglars,” said Harriet. “Though of course we would never stoop so low as to go and burgle people.”

“But if we would, we could?” asked Dooley.

“Well, of course, but it wouldn’t be right,” said Harriet. “We’re cats, not thieves.”

“I think I would like to be a thief,” said Dooley, surprisingly.

We all looked at him.“You, a thief?” I said. “But why?”

“I’d steal from the bad people and give it to the good ones,” he said. “Like Blanche and Bella Trainor? Or Iris and Mira Johnson? If we could steal back what they stole, and return it to the people they stole it from, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Of course that’s a good thing,” I conceded. “But that’s why we have Uncle Alec and Chase.”

“Well, not exactly,” said Brutus. “Uncle Alec and Chase find the thieves, and lock them up, and they return the stolen items to the victims. But they don’t burgle the burglars.”

“Some thieves are too big to lock up,” said Dooley. “I saw it on the Discovery Channel. Some thieves are so big and powerful no one can touch them, not even the police. And if we could steal from them, I think that wouldn’t really be stealing, would it?”

He had a point. Sometimes the thieves got so big they were untouchable. Then again, lucky for us there were no such thieves in Hampton Cove. At least not that I knew of.

“You’re thinking of Robin Hood,” said Harriet.

“No, I’m not,” said Dooley.

“Robin Hood stole from the rich and gave to the poor. They made movies about him.”

This piqued my friend’s interest. “Tell me more,” he said, and so Harriet told him more. I could have told her this might not be such a good idea, as Dooley has a very active imagination.

And sure enough, before the barbecue was over Dooley was already thinking up ways and means for us to go thieving together!

“We could both wear masks and be like masked vigilantes,” he enthused. “Like Batman, but without the bat part, and the man part. And without the cave, of course. I don’t like caves. They’re dark and creepy.”

“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “I don’t think robbing people is a nice thing to do.”

“We’d be like superheroes,” he said as his eyes flickered with excitement. “We could skip from roof to roof on our quest to right wrongs and mete out justice.”

“Right,” I said dubiously. “So no more quiz shows for you, I gather?”

“No more quiz shows,” he said, darting a quick look at Harriet. “I don’t want to win a house anymore. I like the house we have, and I like the people in it—and the cats.”

Harriet smiled.“I’m sorry for trying to steal your idea, Dooley,” she said. “I guess I got carried away.”

“That’s all right,” he said. “We all get carried away from time to time.” He yawned. “And now I need a nap.” And so he rolled himself up into a ball and went to sleep.

“Dooley the superhero,” said Brutus. “I hope he’s not serious.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “This time tomorrow he’ll have forgotten all about it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Harriet, and pointed to our friend.

Dooley was smiling in his sleep, and his four paws were twitching.

He was dreaming, and possibly running in his dream, or even skipping from rooftop to rooftop, the feline crime fighter.

“And you’ll be his loyal sidekick, Max,” Harriet whispered.

“Yeah, if Dooley is Batman, you’ll be Robin,” said Brutus.

“In tights,” Harriet chuckled. “Don’t forget about the tights.”

And laughing a little too heartily for my taste, they both hopped down from the swing and walked off in the direction of the bushes at the bottom of the garden.

I glanced down at myself. I didn’t think I’d look good in tights. Or a mask. Then again, I had nothing to worry about. Soon Dooley would forget all about his silly little—

“Let’s go get them, Max!” he suddenly muttered in his sleep. “I’m Batcaaaat!”

Holy smokes.

26. PURRFECT PATSY

Chapter 1

There comes a time in every cat’s life when he’s forced to face his greatest fears—or at least one of them—and today that day had come for me. Odelia, having made this promise a long time ago, had finally decided to make good on the swimming lessons she felt we all needed.

As you may or may not know, cats don’t like water. We don’t like getting wet, and we certainly would never volunteer to enter a large, or even a medium-sized or small body of water if we could help it.

But I could see she had a point. In the recent past we’d been faced with the kind of emergency that befalls all of us from time to time: Brutus had fallen into a duck pond, and only happenstance had prevented him from meeting a watery death at the time. Happenstance or, as the case may be, Chase Kingsley, who’d saved his life and had earned our eternal admiration and gratitude in the process.

Chase, if you happen to come upon these chronicles for the first time, is my human’s boyfriend and future husband, and a local cop with the Hampton Cove Police Department. We also think he might be Jesus reincarnate, but the jury is still out on that.

“Look, it’s very simple,” Odelia said now as she pointed toward the small inflatable paddling pond Chase had acquired especially for the occasion. It was one of those garishly colored plastic thingamabobs Chase had managed to inflate to the right proportions and that Tex had filled to capacity with his garden hose. “All you have to do is step into the little pool and get acquainted with the feel of the water on your bellies. That’s all.”

“But we’ll get wet,” said Dooley, who’s my best friend and a cat, just like me.

“Of course we’ll get wet, Dooley,” said Brutus, another one of my feline friends. “It’s water. What do you expect?”

“But… I don’t like to get wet,” Dooley pointed out.

“It’s a beautiful day,” said Odelia, gesturing to the sun which was high in the sky and giving of its best as it had for the past couple of days. “The moment you step out of the pool you’ll be dry in no time.”

Dooley directed an uncertain glance at the sun, as if trying to ascertain the veracity of Odelia’s statement. He didn’t look entirely convinced.

“So who’ll go first?” asked Odelia, clapping her hands like a den mother.

“I’ll go first,” said Odelia’s grandmother, who’d joined us for this auspicious occasion, and true to her own words stepped into the pool and uttered a sigh of ecstasy. “Nothing like a cool bath on a hot day like this,” she said with visible relish. “My dogs love it.”

We all looked at her in alarm, but to my surprise I didn’t see any sign of dogs. “Where are the dogs, Gran?” I asked, figuring the old lady might be seeing things.

“I’m talking about my feet, Max,” she said.

Why anyone would refer to their feet as dogs is beyond me, but then we all know that humans are strange.

“Gran, the idea is to teach the cats how to swim,” Odelia pointed out. “Not for you to cool your feet.”

“I’m the designated lifeguard,” Gran said, tying the straps of the funky straw hat she’d placed squarely across her little white curls. “And a lifeguard should be right there where the action is. Which means right here in this here pool. Now are you going to start swimming already?” sheasked, giving us the kind of look that spelled doom. Gran isn’t one of those people who like to be kept waiting, and it was clear she was going to start dunking us into the pool if we didn’t get a move on soon.

“Why don’t you go first, Max?” Harriet suggested. She’s a pretty Persian and didn’t look all that excited at the prospect of getting that gorgeous white fur of hers all wet.

“Me? “I cried, my voice rising an entire octave. “Why me?”

“Well, someone has to go first, and your fearlessness is legendary,” she said sweetly.

It sounded like a compliment, but I had the feeling there was a hidden snag.

Brutus, who dislikes his girlfriend being complimentary to other male cats, now stepped forward with the kind of bluster that is typical for the butch black cat.“I’ll go first,” he announced, and approached the inflatable pool with a devil-may-care attitude that is typical for Hollywood movie stars of the James Bond variety. The moment he got closer to the pool, though, his resolve faltered and he stopped short of stepping into the inviting cool waters. “Um…” he said. “Are you sure this water is clean? I’m allergic to bugs, as they might do irreparable damage to the internal organs, and the external ones.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” grunted Gran, and bodily picked up Brutus and placed him squarely into the water.

Brutus emitted a very unmanly high-pitched scream, and within seconds was scrambling out of the pool again, then squealed,“It’s cold! Cold and wet!”

“Oh, Brutus,” said Harriet with an expressive eyeroll. “Of course it’s cold and wet. It’s water. Now let me show you how it’s done.” And with a death-defying leap, she actually jumped… a few feet short of the pool. She produced an embarrassed little chuckle. “Oops. Must have miscalculated my approach shot. Let’s try that again, shall we?”

This time, however, she didn’t jump as much as ever so slowly trip up to the waterfront, daintily dipped in one paw, then shook it with a horrified expression of loathing on her face. “Brr,” she said. “Brutus is right. It is very cold and very wet, isn’t it?”

“Max?” suddenly whispered Odelia into my ear. She’d crouched down right next to me. I gave her a startled look. It’s never a good sign when you’re on the verge of being dunked into a very uninviting body of water and your human starts whispering into your ear. It can only mean one thing: doom! “Why don’t you go first?” she suggested ever so sweetly, confirming my worst suspicions. “If you go the others will surely follow.”

And I must confess it was at this moment that a mercenary streak in my character suddenly manifested itself, much to my own surprise. I didn’t go so far as to ask ‘What’s in it for me?’ but I did say, “And if I do go first…” and wiggled my eyebrows meaningfully.

Odelia smiled.“An unlimited supply of Cat Snax,” she said promptly. “For the next two—”

I raised an eyebrow.

“—three weeks.”

I like Cat Snax. In fact I love it, and I could probably eat a ton of the stuff. But even the prospect of feasting on my favorite treat did little to allay my fears.“So… if I step into the water, is Gran going to save me when I go under for the third time?” I asked.

“You’re not going to go under, even for the first time,” said Odelia. “The water isn’t deep enough.”

“Mh,” I said doubtfully. It was true that Odelia had explained that this was only the first step in teaching us how to swim, and if we passed this hurdle, in the next phase of the program we’d visit an actual pool and proceed to the next step: learning how to stay afloat by the judicious application of our paws and certain techniques she’d teach us.

“So is this happening or not!” yelled Gran, who was clearly getting fed up.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.” And before I could convince myself this was a very bad idea, I stepped up to the inflatable pool, put one paw over the edge, and stepped in. When the water suddenly reached my belly, there was a momentary panicky cry bubbling up my throat but I heroically stifled it and hoped for the best—and Gran’s immediate response if I would, indeed, suddenly find myself submersed in these cold waters.

“Max!” said Dooley, running up to see if I was drowning. “Are you all right?”

I gulped a little.“I-I’m not sure, Dooley,” I said. I glanced down, and had to admit that Odelia had been right about one thing: the water wasn’t nearly deep enough to drown in. And even though the sensation of getting wet set off a sense of rising panic, I also found the coolness of the water quite… enjoyable.

The day was really hotting up, and being up to my shoulders in these cooling streams—even though the water wasn’t actually streaming—was actually not all that bad.

I looked up at Gran, who gave me an expectant look.

“It’s… not so bad,” I finally announced, causing the elderly lady to give three rousing cheers, and pump the air with her fists.

“He did it!” she cried. “Max has braved the raging waters of the inflatable pool!”

I smiled and looked back at my fellow cats, who were all staring at me, mouths agape.“Come on in, you guys,” I found myself saying. “The water is fine.”

Now it was their turn to gulp, but before long, and after careful deliberation, they all followed suit, and moments later four cats were standing side by side in the plastic inflatable pool, not entirely happy, but not all that unhappy either.

“I think we can call lesson one a total win,” said Odelia with a satisfied smile on her face. “That’s it for today, you guys. You can stay in there for as long as you like. And tomorrow we’re moving to the outdoor municipal swimming pool for lesson two.”

Harriet closed her eyes.“Somehow I’d hoped lesson one would also be the final lesson,” she said.

“No such luck,” said Brutus.

“Oh, don’t be so glum,” I said. “It’s fun to be in the water, isn’t it? Nice and cool.”

They gave me dark looks, conveying the sentiment that I’d lost my mind, then stepped out of the pool, carefully examining the damage the water had done to their fur.

Dooley sidled up to me. He’d been trying to suck in his belly, hoping to avoid contact with the water, but since his legs were pretty short, it was swimming against the stream. He relaxed his belly, fully immersing it in the water, and let out a high-pitched scream.

“It’s all right, Dooley,” I said. “It’s just water. It won’t kill you.”

“No, but it will make me wet,” he said with undeniable logic.

“I’m getting out of here,” said Gran, stepping out of the pool. “Too hot,” she grumbled, and headed inside for some cooling shade.

“It is pretty hot out here,” I said, peering up at that big ball of searing heat treating us to its relentless rays.

“It’s global warming,” Dooley announced knowingly. “I’ve seen it on the Discovery Channel. The planet is heating up, and soon it will be so hot we’ll all melt, just like those Nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that,” I said as I gawked at the water reflecting my face. For a moment I contemplated submersing myself fully but then dispelled the silly notion. Soon we’d be floating in an actual pool, but why hasten the terrifying process?

Odelia, who was tapping away on her smartphone, was walking back toward the house, and Gran, our self-appointed lifeguard, had also vanished from view, as had Brutus and Harriet. So now it was just me and Dooley, alone in that inflatable pool.

“Max?” said Dooley. “The floor of this thing is really slippery.”

I’d noticed the same thing. The bottom of the inflatable pool was extremely slippery.

“What if we trip and fall and go under?” he asked, a rising sense of alarm making his voice quake.

“Let’s all try to stay calm,” I said, even though I was starting to lose my cool, too.

We were in the middle of a water-filled inflatable pool, far away from the safety of the shoreline, and if we slipped and fell now we’d go under with no one there to save us!

“Let’s just… not move,” I suggested therefore.

“What do you mean?” asked Dooley, giving me panicky glances while he stood frozen to the spot, afraid to move an inch for fear of slipping on that slippery bottom.

“If we don’t move we can’t fall,” I pointed out. “And if we don’t fall we can’t go under.”

“You’re right,” said Dooley. “If we don’t move we can’t fall, and if we don’t fall we won’t drown. I like your idea, Max. It’s a very good idea.”

So we simply stood there, motionless, hoping someone—anyone!—would come and fish us out of the inflatable pool, which was slowly but surely becoming a death trap.

And as the sun beat down upon our heads, I was starting to rue the day I’d said yes to Odelia’s cockamamie idea!

Chapter 2

Marge was cleaning out her kitchen cupboards when suddenly a very large specimen of spider took a running leap from the top shelf and jumped right at her.

She uttered a blood-curdling scream and nearly fell off her stepladder. The spider had cleared the cupboard and had actually disappeared into her d?colletage, however modest, and was now wriggling its way along the front of her T-shirt.

So when Tex walked into the kitchen five seconds later he found his wife of twenty-five years screaming her head off and performing some sort of tribal dance on the spot.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he asked, immediately starting to diagnose the symptoms and trying to come up with the name of the terrible disease that had afflicted her.

“A spider!” she screamed. “It jumped me!”

Tex immediately lost interest. An occupational hazard with doctors is that they’re only interested in a physical phenomenon when there’s a disease to be diagnosed and medication to be prescribed. He even went as far as to utter a light chuckle. “A spider,” he said. “Oh, dear.”

But Marge was too busy divesting herself of her items of clothing and trying to ascertain the whereabouts of the spider to bother about her husband’s lack of empathy.

Finally, after having hopped on the spot and failed to locate the bug, she was relieved to find it scuttling away from the T-shirt she’d dropped to the floor and making haste in the direction of the stove, then disappearing underneath, where Marge’s wrath couldn’t expend itself on its hairy form.

Just then, Vesta walked in. She directed a critical look at her daughter.“I know it’s hot and all, Marge, but do you really have to strip down to your underwear?”

“There was a spider,” said Marge, still breathless, as she clasped a hand to her chest, where she thought she could still feel the animal’s hairy little feet scratching her skin.

“Deep breaths,” said Tex, as he placed a hand on his wife’s wrist and started monitoring her heartbeat like the medical professional he was. “In and out. That’s it.”

“A spider?” asked Vesta. “And is that a reason to perform an act of indecency in my kitchen?”

Marge was still too preoccupied with her recent encounter with one of the animal kingdom’s least cuddly denizens to point out to her mother that it was, in fact, her kitchen. Slowly she was getting her breathing under control, though. Sufficiently so, in fact, to give her husband a scathing look, which made the latter recoil with surprise.

“You just stood there and laughed in my face!” Marge cried.

Tex, who had the gall to smile, said,“But, honey, you looked so funny just then. Hopping and screaming and hollering like a maniac.”

“I was under attack!” she yelled.

Tex raised a single eyebrow.“From a little spider?” he said, less than impressed with the seriousness of the allegations she was hurling at him. “Oh, puh-lease.”

She glanced up at the cupboard, and wondered if more of the same species weren’t lurking there, waiting for the right opportunity to follow where their hairy mate had led the way. “There could be more,” she murmured. “Tex—can you see if there are more?”

Tex frowned at this.“More?”

“More spiders,” she explained, and pointed to the cupboard in question, which she’d supposed, until only five minutes before, completely devoid of spiders, and only filled with the ancient dishware Vesta had brought when she’d moved in so many years before.

Tex seemed reluctant to take a look, his smile quickly having been replaced with a look of distinct horror.“You know I don’t like spiders, honey,” he said in a low voice.

“Oh, men,” said Vesta with an eyeroll. “Let me have a look.” And to show her son-in-law how it was done, she righted the stepladder that had fallen over and mounted it, then directed an inquisitive look into the depths of the cupboard under inspection.

“Nah,” she said finally. “Only my old dishware. Unless…” And much to Marge’s surprise, she inserted a hand into the gaping hole and moments later returned with a figurine. “That’s not mine,” she announced with a puzzled look on her face. She turned it this way and that, then descended the stepladder to subject the object to closer scrutiny.

“What is it?” asked Tex, his interest drawn.

“I don’t know,” said Marge. “I thought it was yours, Ma.”

But Vesta shook her head.“Never seen it before in my life.”

It was a hand-sized figurine of a female goatherd, complete with complimentary goat, and Marge had to admit she hadn’t set eyes on the peculiar object before herself.

“How did it get up there?” she asked.

Tex, however, had already lost interest.“It’s just a figurine,” he said. “Who cares how it got up there?”

Marge and Vesta were studying the item closely, turning it this way and that.“It’s nice,” said Vesta. “I like the colors.”

Whoever had created it clearly had a penchant for all things pastel, for both the girl goatherd and her goat were festooned in festive light pinks and blues and yellows. The girl was seated on a rock, and smiling gaily as if loving life in all its goatherding splendor.

“Turn it over,” said Marge. “Maybe there’s something written on the bottom.”

Obligingly Vesta turned the object over, and they both frowned when they saw that on the bottom a sticker had been glued, announcing that the object was actually part of a collection of objects, number 141 in a series of 360, in fact, and made by one Otto Spiel.

“Otto Spiel,” said Vesta. “Sounds German. Do they have goats in Germany?”

But Marge was already pointing her phone’s camera at the object and entrusting Google Lens with supplying the solution. Promptly a picture popped up, and she clicked through to a Wikipedia page. “Otto Spiel,” she read, “was an early twentieth-century Austrian sculptor and artist, famous for his series of female goatherd figurines, which are highly sought after, and which sell at exorbitant prices at auctions held all over the world.” Her eyes widened when she read on. “An original Otto Spiel goatherd figurine typically sells for one million, and in some cases even up to four million—Oh, my God!”

“Oh, my God,” her mother echoed, as she reverently turned the figurine over in her hands, then ever so carefully set it down on the kitchen table. “Four million dollars!”

Tex, who’d returned to the kitchen, laughed when he saw his wife and his mother-in-law staring at the goatherd as if it were the Second Coming. “Still looking at that thing?”

“Tex?” said Marge, slowly raising her eyes from the goatherd to her husband. “It’s an Otto Spiel.”

“A what now?” asked Tex, opening the fridge and taking out the jug of OJ.

Vesta now turned the label in Tex’s direction. “An actual Otto Spiel, Tex.”

Marge reread the Wikipedia entry, bringing her husband up to speed on all things Otto Spiel, but even then it took some time for the good doctor to put two and two together. But when his brain finally made the necessary computations and permutations, his jaw dropped precipitously, and so did the jug of OJ. He actually had to support himself against the kitchen sink as his eyes goggled at the little girl goatherd.

“Oh, my God!” he cried, earning himself knowing nods from his family members in response. He then glanced up at the kitchen cupboard. “But… how did it get up there?”

“That,” said Marge with a shrug, “is the million-dollar question.”

Vesta grinned.“And you can take that literally.”

Chapter 3

One of the disadvantages of being a cat is all of that fur that we carry. Humans did the smart thing and lost most of their fur a long time ago, possibly around the time they learned how to walk on their hind legs, but cats hadn’t made it to that stage—yet.

So there we were, Dooley and I, standing stiff as boards in the middle of that inflatable pool, the sun relentlessly beating down on us from a clear blue sky, and our thick coats of fur doing very little to make our position more agreeable.

“Maybe we can move inch by inch,” Dooley suggested. “In a couple of hours we might reach the edge.”

We both glanced at the edge, which seemed miles away, but when I moved a paw, it immediately lost traction and I almost submerged into the cold waters of the pool!

“Max, careful!” Dooley yelled, horrified at watching an accident in progress right under his nose.

“I’m not moving a muscle,” I announced, thoroughly shaken by my brush with death.

For a long moment, we were both silent, then Dooley suddenly cried,“I’ve got it!”

“Dooley, please don’t yell like that,” I said plaintively. “You’re giving me heart palpitations.” I was indeed starting to feel a little faint.

“Why don’t we make a hole in the bottom of the pool? That way the water can escape and before we know it the pool will be empty!”

It was an excellent idea, and proof that when placed under considerable pressure, the feline mind can come up with some of its best ideas.

“Great idea, Dooley,” I said therefore. “Let’s give it a shot.”

So I extended a claw, and dug in, and since Dooley did the same, I was sure that soon we’d see the water level start to drop precipitously.

Unfortunately between dream and reality there’s a huge chasm at times, and this was clearly one of those times, as the water level wasn’t dropping, precipitously or otherwise.

“The holes probably aren’t big enough,” Dooley said. “Let’s try again.”

So we tried again, and dug in all of our nails in equal measure, giving that thick, slick plastic the full acupuncture treatment.

Alas, to no avail, as ten minutes passed and nothing happened. Probably the pool was pressing down on the lawn too tightly, and the water had no avenue of escape—like us.

“Max!” Dooley said suddenly. “I am starting to feel weird. As if I’m going to pass out.”

“Me, too, buddy,” I said. “But we’ve got to hang in there. We’ve got to survive long enough for Odelia to save us!”

Odelia, or any other human who might pass by. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any human within earshot, for we’d already given hollerin’ and yellin’ for help a shot, and that hadn’t brought success either.

“I-I can’t take this anymore, Max,” said Dooley all of a sudden, as I could see his legs quaking. “I’m going down.”

“No, Dooley!” I cried, and tried to stop him from buckling under the pressure by sticking out one paw, and balancing on three paws as a consequence. But it was to no avail. Dooley’s legs couldn’t carry him anymore, and I could see him sinking further and further, just like the Titanic on that auspicious night to remember.

Just then, and much to my elation, a familiar male figure rounded the corner and came within view. It was Chase Kingsley, and he was whistling a happy little tune.

“Chase!” I cried. “Help us, please! We’re drowning!”

Chase, even though he couldn’t actually understand what I said, must have understood immediately that the situation was a precarious one, and rushed to our aid. Without hesitation, he stepped into the pool, then bodily lifted Dooley with one hand, and me with the other, and carried us both to safety! And when he set us downon solid ground, both Dooley and I collapsed onto the grass, and panted with relief.

“Chase, you saved us!” I cried, and gave the intrepid cop’s hand a heartfelt lick.

“You saved our lives, Chase,” said Dooley, much chastened by this horrifying experience, and gave the cop’s other hand a lick.

Chase merely smiled, and petted our heads affectionately.“There, there,” he said. “You fellas really don’t like the water, do you?”

“No, we certainly do not,” I said, then shivered at the sight of that inflatable pool. “And now even less than before!”

“You’re all right now,” Chase said, and got up, leaving Dooley and me to recover from our terrifying ordeal.

“Never again, Max,” said Dooley, shaking his head. “Never again am I setting paw in that horrible pool.”

“Me neither, Dooley,” I said. “No amount of Cat Snax in the world will induce me to repeat this experience.”

Cats simply aren’t made for going out on the water, and our most recent brush with death had brought that simple truth home to me once more in all its starkness.

Chase must have told Odelia what happened, for she now came rushing out of the house, and when she crouched down next to us, she was the picture of solicitousness.

“Oh, you guys—were you still in that pool?”

“We were,” I announced, a little stiffishly.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I forgot all about you.”

“I know,” I said, with more than a touch of froideur.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Never let us go near the water again,” I said.

“Oh, dear,” she said, much chastened. “I really blew it, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” I said. But since I can’t watch my human beat herself up for too long, I soon relented and said, “Those Cat Snax would go down really well right now.”

She smiled.“Come on inside and you can have all the Cat Snax you want.”

And so there was a silver lining to our adventure after all: we may have almost drowned, but we didn’t. And once more it was brought home to us that Chase Kingsley is the closest thing to Jesus Christ this world has ever seen. At least to us cats he is.

And we were just snacking happily from that welcome dose of Cat Snax when Marge and Gran and Tex came rushing into the house, brandishing some species of miniature figurine depicting a goatherd, and started screaming to Odelia.

I didn’t have the faintest idea what they were on about. All I know is that it had something to do with a fella named Otto Spiel. But since I was too busy recovering from my recent ordeal by eating my body weight in tasty cat kibble, I paid scant attention.

There’s a time for paying attention to the affairs of men, and a time to snack on Cat Snax, and just such a time to indulge in my favorite treat had now come, so I wasn’t going to let it pass me by because of a girl and her goat.

Chapter 4

“What is it?” asked Chase, casting a curious glance at the object under inspection.

“It’s a priceless work of art,” said Marge with tremulous voice.

“Anobjet d’arse,” Gran chimed in, just as excitedly.

“Objet d’art,” Odelia corrected her.

“Whatever,” said Gran. “It’s worth a fortune, and since it was found in my cupboard, it belongs to me.” When the others all looked up at this, she added magnanimously, “But you can have a share of the profits. A finder’s fee, if you will.”

“Ma, this thing was found in my cupboard, in my kitchen, so if there’s anyone who can be called its rightful owner it’s me,” said Marge.

“Depends how you look at it,” said Gran with a shrug.

Odelia studied the object carefully.“It’s pretty,” she said.

“Yeah, very pretty,” her mother concurred. “It’s porcelain,” she added affectionately.

“So how did it get into your cupboard?” asked Chase, voicing the most pertinent question.

Mom shrugged.“I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never seen it before.”

“Which is why it belongs to me,” said Gran. “It was found on top of my best dishes, so it must have gotten mixed up with them when I moved in.” She added, musingly, “Maybe Jack got it for me as a present, and I never noticed because of the strain from the divorce and all.”

“That still doesn’t explain how Dad would have gotten his hands on such a valuable object,” said Mom.

“Probably got it from one of his whores,” said Gran judiciously. “As a gift,” she added.

The only extramarital affair Odelia’s grandfather Jack had ever engaged in was with Scarlett Canyon, and the latter could hardly be called a loose woman, nor was she likely to have come into the possession of this priceless work of art, Odelia thought.

She’d been busy taking a couple of pictures of the thing, to accompany the article she intended to write. Human interest articles like this, about treasures found in attics, or, as in this case, kitchen cupboards, always did really well.

“What are you doing?” suddenly snapped Gran.

“Taking a couple of pictures for my article,” she said. “Why?”

Immediately Gran snatched her phone away.“You can’t do that!”

“What are you talking about?”

“This thing is worth four million bucks or more. If you publish a story who knows what thieving scum will crawl out of the woodwork to steal it. Better not tell anyone.”

“I must admit that your grandmother makes a very valid point, Odelia,” said Dad. “Better to be discreet about a find like this. At least until it’s out of the house and safely set up in some museum somewhere, or an auction house, if that’s what you prefer,” he said, deferring to his wife.

“I’m not sure what I want to do with it,” said Mom as she picked up the little figurine and smiled. “I just might keep it. It’s so nice to look at.”

“Are you crazy?” Gran suddenly roared. “This thing is easily worth ten million or more! You can’t just keep it in the house where anyone can steal it. It belongs in a museum, or in the hands of one of those rich collectors you always read about.”

But Mom shrugged.“Nobody knows about this precious little goatherd,” she said. “And if we keep it that way, nobody ever will.”

Gran was almost apoplectic with indignation.“You’re seriously going to throw away maybe fifty million bucks just because you like the look of that thing? I’ll buy you a cheap knockoff if you like, and you can look at it all day, while you enjoy your millions.”

“We don’t really need the money,” said Mom. “We’re fine just the way we are. And who knows? Maybe it did belong to Dad, and if that’s the case he would have wanted us to keep it, and not sell it to some nameless, faceless bidder at an auction.”

Gran’s face had taken on a darker shade of puce, as she was waving her arms, and trying to find the words to express her disapproval. But before she could burst into a torrent of words, Dad had put his arm around his wife’s shoulder and said, “I think that’s a wonderful sentiment, darling, and one I wholeheartedly endorse. Let’s give it pride of place in our home, and promise each other not to breathe a word about this discovery.”

His eyes raked the visages of everyone present, and one by one they all nodded their approval. All but Gran, who was still wordlessly fuming. But finally even she had to relent.“Fine!” she exploded. “I think you’re all nuts but so be it!”

And with these words, she stalked off and left the house, slamming the kitchen door.

“Do you think she’ll talk?” asked Mom, with a touch of concern.

“Nah,” said Dad. “She might not agree, but your mother can keep a secret.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Odelia, earning her a worried look from her own mother. Gran was a loose cannon sometimes, and only listened to one voice: her own. Then, to wipe that look of concern off Mom’s face, she quickly added, “But I’m sure that in this case she will keep quiet.”

But it was with a touch of worry that she watched her mother pick up the priceless little trifle and return next door.

Chapter 5

That evening, the atmosphere at Casa Poole was a little chilly. Tex, Marge and Gran were all seated on the couch watching a movie, but apart from that, very little interaction was taking place.

Harriet, who had a penchant for being spoiled, didn’t mind the frostiness as much as the lack of attention being awarded her. Usually Gran was very generous with her caresses, her cuddles and her petting, but now there was not a single pat on the head to be had, or even a tickle under the chin or scratching behind the ears.

So Harriet had redirected her attention to Marge, but when she, too, didn’t even lift a finger in the Persian’s direction, she finally hopped on top of Tex’s lap, hoping to extract a modicum of TLC from the resident doctor. But Tex was too busy watching whatever silly movie was playing on TV, and didn’t so much as touch her. Worse, he bodily lifted her up and returned her to the floor when he felt she was interrupting his viewing experience too much.

Huffily Harriet hopped on top of the other couch and gave her three humans furious glances from beneath lowered brows.“What’s wrong with them?” she fumed.

“It’s that figurine,” Brutus said. “There was some kind of big hullabaloo over that thing before and now they’re not talking to each other. Max told me all about it.”

“Figurine? What figurine?” she asked.

Brutus gestured with his head to a small object that seemed to depict a goat or sheepherder. It had been placed on top of a piecrust table, a single spotlight bathing it in light.

“That thing?” she asked, incredulous. “That’s what all the fuss is about?”

“Looks like,” said Brutus. “It’s worth a small fortune but Marge doesn’t want to sell it and Gran does.” He lowered his voice, even though the humans weren’t paying attention and there were no other cats around. “It’s rumored to be worth millions. Marge discovered it in the kitchen cupboard when a spider jumped out at her.”

Harriet shivered.“Eww. I don’t like spiders.”

“Who does?” said Brutus. “Though they’re rumored to be very useful creatures.”

“They can be useful somewhere else,” said Harriet, as she studied the goatherder with renewed interest. “So that little thing is causing all the trouble, is it?” she asked.

Brutus nodded, and placed his head on his paws.“Yah, they’re not talking, looks like.”

Not talking and not paying her any attention. Harriet quickly made up her mind, and decided there was only one course of action open to her. So she jumped off the couch, and sashayed over to where the piecrust table was placed, and as she passed, she expertly flicked her tail in the direction of the figurine. The small object toppled over and was sent crashing to the floor. It landed and broke into little pieces, eliciting a small smile of triumph from Harriet and cries of horror from both Gran and Marge.

“Harriet!” Marge cried. “What did you dooooooo?!”

“Oops,” said Harriet casually, and returned to her couch. “Now let’s see them ignore me,” she muttered to her mate, who had to suppress a smile.

“Oh, Marge, you should have listened to me and sold the thing!” said Gran.

“Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it?” her daughter snapped.

“Maybe we can glue it back together?” Gran suggested.

“It wouldn’t be the same,” said Marge as she knelt down and hovered over the remains of what was once a valuable objet d’art.

“I don’t understand,” said Gran. “Harriet is usually so careful. And now this.”

They both directed a confused glance at the prissy Persian, who took it in her stride, staring right back at them, cool as a cucumber and not even batting an eye.

“What’s that?” suddenly asked Marge, pointing at something amid the rubble.

“It’s a ring,” said Gran, which had Harriet look up in surprise, and even stirred Tex.

“What is it?” he asked, finally abandoning his stupid movie and joining the others.

“There was a ring inside the figurine,” Marge said, and held up the tiny trifle. It glittered in the bright light of the spot lamp. “It looks valuable,” she added, causing Harriet to mutter, “Oh, darn. Not again.”

“Lemme see,” said Tex, and took the ring from his wife’s hand and held it up to the light. “We’ll soon find out,” he murmured, taking out his phone and pointing it at the ring. He snapped a shot, then waited for a moment. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

“What is it?” asked Marge and Gran as they crowded around the doctor.

He turned his phone and Harriet watched two more jaws drop. Now she was getting really curious, too.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

But much to her annoyance the humans ignored her once more.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said, and glanced around for other tables to upset or priceless objects to crash to the floor. People kept ignoring her at their own peril.

Unfortunately she didn’t immediately see any more targets for destruction, and then finally Marge seemed to awake from her stupor sufficiently to turn to her and Brutus and say, “It’s the famous Gardner ring—the ring Vicky Gardner got from her husband Quintin.”

“Whose ring?” asked Brutus.

“Vicky Gardner,” Harriet repeated Marge’s words, even though they meant little to her.

“Who is Vicky Gardner?” asked Brutus, and rightly so, Harriet thought.

But Marge and Gran were reading something on Tex’s phone, and it was obvious that it would be some time before their attention could be snagged away from the darn thing.

“And how did this ring get inside the figurine of a goatherd?” asked Brutus.

“More to the point,” said Harriet, “how did the figurine get inside Marge’s kitchen cupboard?”

Chapter 6

The day had been a scorcher, and the night, instead of bringing the much-desired coolness, looked like it was going to be a hot one, too.

Chase, not being able to find some necessary cool indoors, decided to sit outside for a while, and stick his feet into the inflatable pool he bought for the cats—though if he were absolutely honest he’d gotten it for himself first and foremost—just for this occasion.

He’d brought out his phone so he could surf a little, and had dragged up a lawn chair. But as he stuck his feet into his latest acquisition, he discovered much to his dismay that there was no water to be found, cool or otherwise.

He glanced down at the little pool, and saw that the lawn around it was soggy to a degree, meaning the inflatable pool had sprung a leak.

Odelia, who’d had the same idea, now also came out of the house to join him, clutching a book in one hand, a drink in the other, and an anticipatory smile on her face.

“Poole, your pool is busted,” said Chase, eliciting a laugh from his future wife.

“Very funny, Kingsley,” she said, but when she walked up quickly noticed he wasn’t joking. “What happened?” she asked as she stepped into the soggy grass, her bare feet making squishing sounds.

“Must have sprung a leak,” Chase grunted, and lifted the plastic pool to check for puncture holes. And sure enough he soon found them, right in the middle, and not just one but several.

“Weird,” said Odelia. “How could this have happened? Maybe there’s glass on the lawn?”

But Chase smiled.“I think I know what happened,” he said, and directed an accusing look at two very guilty-looking cats who were sitting nearby, watching the drama unfold.

Max meowed something that Chase didn’t understand, but judging from the look on Odelia’s face it explained the whole thing. She turned to Chase with a sobered expression. “Dooley had the bright idea to make holes in the bottom so the water would leak out and they could escape.”

“Well, it worked,” said Chase as he replaced the pool on the soaked lawn. “Don’t worry, you guys,” he said, a little louder. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“Can you fix it?” asked Odelia.

“Sure. Just like a bike tire. No sweat. It’ll be as good as new.” Which did leave them without a means of cooling off on what felt like the hottest night in recent history.

“Maybe we can sleep out here,” Odelia said, glancing up. “Under the stars?”

“Or we can finally have AC installed,” Chase countered.

“That, too,” said Odelia with a grateful smile.

Max and Dooley were nodding their agreement, which struck Chase’s funny bone and he laughed.

“What is it?” asked Odelia, laughing along.

“Your cats. It’s so funny how they understand everything and act just like we do.”

“That’s because in a lot of ways they are exactly like us. Isn’t that right, guys?”

Max and Dooley both emitted loud meows of agreement, and Chase shook his head. If people had told him that at one point he’d be dating a woman who could talk to her cats, he’d have declared them funny in the head. And look at him now. When he wasn’t fishing them out of inflatable pools, he was practically communicating with them himself.

Just then, there was some commotion next door, and suddenly Gran, Marge and Tex emerged through the dividing hedge.

“We found something,” said Marge, sounding a little breathless.

“It’s a ring,” added Tex.

“Not just any old ring,” said Vesta with a big grin.

“It’s Vicky Gardner’s ring!” Marge cried, and triumphantly held it up, like that scene from the Lion King when the daddy lion holds up his newborn cub. The ring glittered attractively, and both Chase and Odelia went to take a closer look at the fabled object.

“Where did you find it?” asked Odelia.

“Inside the goatherd figurine,” said Marge.

Chase frowned.“What do you mean,inside the figurine?”

“Harriet accidentally knocked it off the table and it crashed to the floor,” Vesta explained with a shrug.

“Oh, Mom, your beautiful figurine!” Odelia cried.

“Pretty sure it was a knockoff,” grunted Gran. “It wasn’t porcelain at all, but cheap plaster.”

“And if Harriet hadn’t knocked it over we wouldn’t have found Vicky’s ring,” said Marge.

Odelia took the ring from her mother’s hand and studied it carefully. “How do you know this is the famous Gardner ring?” she asked.

Tex held up his smartphone.“Googled it,” he said with a note of triumph in his voice, and showed the result of his fervent googling to the others.

“Amazing,” said Odelia, then seemed to realize something.” But if this really is Vicky’s ring, that means…”

Marge was nodding frantically.“I know!”

“And if that’s true, then…”

More frantic nodding.“I know, right?!”

Chase, who was otherwise loath to showcase his ignorance, felt that he should say something before he was completely lost. So he cleared his throat and said,“Who is this Vicky Gardner and why is this ring so important?”

Marge, beaming, said,“Vicky Gardner was the wife of Quintin Gardner, who’s one of the richest men in Hampton Cove. Vicky disappeared twenty years ago, soon after their wedding, and it was always rumored that Quintin killed her and disposed of the body where no one would ever find her.”

“When she disappeared she was wearing this ring,” Odelia continued.

“This ring?” asked Chase, much intrigued now.

“This very ring,” said Odelia, gesturing with the little trinket for good measure.

“So what do you think happened?” asked Chase with a frown.

“Nobody knows,” said Odelia. “But now that we found her ring, maybe we can use it to find Vicky, right?”

“Ooh, Odelia,” said Marge, clasping her hands together with marked glee. “What a lovely mystery for you to sink your teeth into!”

Chase cocked an eyebrow. He had a feeling Odelia wouldn’t be the only one sinking her teeth into the mysterious disappearance of Vicky Gardner, and moments later she was already turning to him, her eyes gleaming. “Chase, honey? Let’s find Vicky!”

“I don’t know, babe,” he said. “A twenty-year-old cold case? Finding a woman based on a ring?”

“Oh, please—it’ll be fun!”

“I need a cold drink,” he said, and as he walked into the house, he soon found himself joined by his future father-in-law. And as both men dug up a pair of cold sodas from the fridge, Chase said musingly, “Why is it always this family that gets mixed up in this kind of thing, Dad? Is it karma, you think? Or just plain old coincidence?”

“I have no idea… son,” said Tex, clinking sodas with the cop, “but you better get used to it.”

Chapter 7

“So who is this woman, Max?”

“I don’t know, Dooley. All I know is that she was rich and that she disappeared a long time ago.”

“Oh,” he said. “Not much to go on, then?”

“Not much to go on,” I agreed. Though that had never stopped a pair of feline sleuths like us before. Last night Odelia had recruited us on the spot, and since we still felt exceedingly guilty about destroying Chase’s precious inflatable pool, we’d immediately and without demurring agreed that we’d find out what had happened to the mysterious owner of that mysterious ring hidden inside that mysterious figurine on the double.

And as we were traversing Hampton Cove’s streets, early in the morning and therefore still relatively cool, I thought how hard this assignment was going to prove.

I mean, it’s hard enough to find a person who went missing yesterday, let alone one who disappeared two decades ago, wouldn’t you agree?

Still, we were both determined to give it our best shot, and it was with this purpose in mind that we joined Kingman. The spreading piebald was seated in his usual spot: right in front of his owner’s general store, and already busily chatting with whoever awarded him their attention.

“Hey, Kingman,” I said by way of greeting as we walked up. “Boy do we have a doozy for you this morning.”

“Hiya, fellas,” said the voluminous cat. “Did you know that the world is actually a flat disk? I didn’t know but Wilbur told me all about it this morning.”

“A flat disk?” I asked, much surprised by this revelation.

“Yeah, turns out we’ve all been lied to all these years. The earth is flat, you guys, and if we stray too far near the edges we just might fall off!”

“I, um, did not know that,” I said.

“Yeah, Wilbur joined some group online that is all about revealing the truth to the world,” said Kingman with a nod.

I looked up at Wilbur Vickery, who was busy surfing on his phone and ignoring his customers. He did indeed look like the kind of person who’d believe anything anyone posted on the internet.

“So what is it you wanted to ask me?” said Kingman. “And better make it quick, cause I’ve got a date with a hot young lass lined up.”

That didn’t surprise me one bit either. Kingman always has dates with young undiscerning lasses lined up. How he does I do not know, for he’s hardly the most beautiful cat in the world. He does have the gift of the gab, though, so maybe that’s got something to do with it.

“A spider jumped Marge yesterday,” said Dooley, deciding to start his story from the very beginning. I could have told him that sometimes it’s better to startin medias res, so to speak, but Dooley clearly hadn’t been made aware of this. “It was a very hairy spider. But that’s not important. She found a goatherd,” he continued, much to Kingman’s confusion.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “So a hairy spider and then a goatherd. Gotcha.”

“And then Harriet broke the goatherd—”

“How did she manage to do that? Usually goatherders are pretty tough fellas.”

“It wasn’t a fella—it was a girl goatherd. And a very pretty one, too, with a blush on her cheeks and a smile on her face. Clearly a goatherd who loved herding goats.”

“Oh-kay… So how did Harriet manage to break this blushing goatherd, may I ask?”

“It wasn’t a real goatherd,” I explained. “It was a figurine of one, and it broke.”

“Uh-huh,” said Kingman, whose attention was already starting to wane, as his gaze drifted away from us, looking for more interesting avenues to explore—not unlike a fellow guest at a reception or dinner party, glancing over your shoulder in search of a more interesting person to talk to than you.

“And inside the goatherd was a ring,” Dooley continued, oblivious that the attention of his audience was slipping and slipping fast. “And this ring belonged to Vicky Gardner, who disappeared twenty years ago. And now Odelia wants us to find her, dead or alive.”

“Dead or alive, huh?” said Kingman. “That’s the way to go, boys. Always catch ‘em dead or alive. Now if you’ll excuse me for one sec…” And with these words he was waddling off in the direction of two pretty female felines who just happened to pass by.

“I think we just lost Kingman,” I said.

“But I haven’t even told him the most important part,” said Dooley, much disappointed.

“Now, Dooley,” I said, placing my paw around my friend’s shoulder, “I like your storytelling technique, I really do, but if there’s one suggestion I would make, it’s that you should probably get to the point a little quicker.”

“But I came to the point immediately,” said Dooley. He ticked the items off on his digits: “Spider, goatherd, ring. Or did I leave out something important, Max?”

“No. No, you didn’t, Dooley,” I admitted. “Spider, goatherd, ring just about sums it up.”

Kingman was still chatting with the two lady cats, and it was clear that unless Dooley and I turned into a pair of female cats ourselves, we wouldn’t stand a chance of getting him to pay attention to us until these two lovely ladies had decided to skedaddle.

I sighed and said,“Let’s move on, Dooley. And maybe next time let me tell the story, okay?”

“Okay, Max,” said Dooley. “Though I still don’t see what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, per se,” I said. “It’s just that…”

But before I could give Dooley a masterclass in storytelling, suddenly an object fell from the sky and almost dropped right on top of us. It was a whitish-greenish-grayish wad of pigeon dung, and it splattered to the pavement in front of us.

We both looked up, and saw the culprit fly off, laughing hysterically as it did.

“Missed!” the bird yelled. “Better luck next time!” And then it was gone.

“It almost hit us, Max!” said Dooley. “It almost dropped its… doo-doo on our heads!”

“Yes, Dooley. And I’m pretty sure it meant to hit us, too.” Pigeons, as a rule, don’t like cats, and I like to think that the feeling is mutual. And since they have the upper hand, in the sense that they can fly and we cannot, it’s hard not to feel a powerful sense of annoyance with the birds.

“I don’t think I like pigeons, Max,” Dooley announced, giving me an injured look. “Especially when they try to drop their doo-doo on our heads.”

“No, I’m not particularly fond of them either,” I admitted.

But we had more important things to deal with, and so we soon forgot about the pigeon incident and set paw for the barbershop, where our friend Buster awaited. Buster, a Main Coon, is usually very well-informed indeed, and I was hoping he might be susceptible to being drawn into our little investigation of this cold case.

Chapter 8

“I’ll bet there’s some kind of finder’s fee,” Vesta mused.

Scarlett, her Best Frenemy Forever for sixty years, laughed.“A finder’s fee! A person is not some trinket you get paid a finder’s fee for, Vesta.”

“I know that,” said Vesta annoyedly. She took a sip from her hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on top and mused some more.

They were seated in the outside dining area of the Hampton Cove Star, the boutique hotel in the heart of town, where they had a good overview of the comers and goers and the hustle and bustle and generally could spend all morning over one hot chocolate (and a flat white for Scarlett) without being kicked out by the waiters. It also helped that Vesta’s son was chief of police, and that he just happened to be dating the mayor.

“Look,” Vesta said now, as she leaned closer to her friend. “Quintin Gardner was crazy about Vicky. He went nuts when she disappeared. So it stands to reason he’ll be thrilled to have her back, right? Or at least find out what happened to her. And his happiness will translate itself into a nice monetary reward, that’s all I’m saying. The neighborhood watch could use a nice big reward.” Not to mention she herself could do with a nice big influx of cold hard cash. Her pension only stretched so far, after all, and the receptionist work she occasionally did for her son-in-law wasn’t exactly bringing in the big bucks either.

“What does the watch need money for?” asked Scarlett, who was dressed to the nines as usual: bright red top, leather short-short skirt, fishnet stockings, and high heels. Her russet do was done to perfection, and all in all she looked like Vesta’s daughter, not her contemporary. Vesta didn’t mind. Dressed in her usual tracksuit, this one a bright fluorescent pink and blue, and her white curls tucked against her cranium, she didn’t care that she didn’t look like some overaged sex bomb. She’d long ago accepted that she might not have the looks, but she had the brains and the brawn, which made them the perfect team.

“The watch could do with a patrol car, for one thing,” she said. “Not that old Peugeot Marge lets me drive around in. I’m talking a turbo-charged pair of wheels that will make the bad guys run a mile. And of course we could use the money on surveillance equipment: night-vision goggles, listening devices…” She waved a hand. “Stuff like that.”

Scarlett raised her perfectly microbladed eyebrows, though it was hardly noticeable. All that botox had pretty much lulled her facial muscles to sleep.“My, my, aren’t you the ambitious little watch leader. A car and surveillance equipment. What next? Stun guns and a rocket launcher? This is just a small town, Vesta, and we’re just a small-town neighborhood watch. The kind of crime we get is peanuts compared to big-city crime.”

“Yeah, but it still pays to be prepared,” Vesta grunted. The thing was that she hated not to feel appreciated—even laughed at, she felt, by the police department and even her own son. They thought they were just a bunch of old fruitcakes farting around and dabbling in crime prevention. “I want to be taken seriously, Scarlett,” she said. “I want people to sit up and take notice when we pass them by on the street. I want them to point and say: look, there goes Vesta Muffin, she of the watch.”

“Sure,” said Scarlett with a grin. “Next you want them to start applauding. Face it, Vesta, that’s never gonna happen. They’ll always think of us as a bunch of busybodies sticking our noses where they don’t belong. That’s human nature for you.”

“Well, I’m going to change all that,” said Vesta stubbornly.

“You do whatever you like,” said Scarlett, stifling a little yawn with the back of her hand. “I’ve got a mani-pedi at eleven and a massage at twelve.” She directed a knowing look at her friend. “Wanna join me? You could use a nice massage, Vesta. You’re a bundle of nerves.”

“I’m a bundle of nerves cause I know that if only we can find Vicky we’ll get all the respect we deserve and more.” Not to mention that reward money she was sure existed.

“Vicky Gardner,” said Scarlett, draining her flat white. “Wasn’t she in school with Marge?”

“She was. Pretty little thing she was, too. Turned all the boys’ heads.”

“I’ll help you find Vicky on one condition and one condition only,” said Scarlett, placing a perfectly manicured hand on Vesta’s arm.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“That you join me for a nice relaxing morning at the spa.”

“I don’t do spas,” Vesta growled. “Spas are for pampered old fools and airless bimbos.” But instead of being offended, Scarlett merely cocked her head, like a bird sitting in a tree. Finally Vesta groaned. “Oh, all right. One visit to the spa, that’s it. And if they so much as come near me with one of those torture instruments I’ll punch them in the snoot.”

“You’ll love it,” Scarlett said with a laugh.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Vesta muttered. She was getting soft in her old age, if she allowed herself to be dragged into the spa. Then again, ever since she and Scarlett had renewed their friendship something had changed that she couldn’t put her finger on. Almost as if she was becoming a mellower version of the old Vesta.

And she didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Chapter 9

Ted Trapper was traipsing through the fields surrounding the lovely little hamlet of Hampton Cove, photographing birds, butterflies and other representatives of Mother Nature, and having a whale of a time. He didn’t get a lot of time off from his job at the accountancy firm where he worked, and so when he did he tried to make the most of it.

On a scorching hot day, like today was promising to be, most people headed down to the beach or the pool to cool off. But not Ted Trapper. He was lying in a shallow ditch, his camera prone, shooting pictures of birds in action, and inaction, too.

And he’d just pointed his viewfinder at a particularly interesting specimen he thought might be an osprey when suddenly he became aware of a distinct smell filling his nostrils.

It was not a pleasant smell. On the contrary, it was the smell of death and decay.

As he wrinkled up his nose, he glanced around and inspected the ditch he’d selected as his bird hide, and wondered about the nature of the pervasive and unpleasant smell.

And then, suddenly, and much to his dismay, he saw a foot.

Then, relaxing, he realized it was probably not a foot as such but a shoe.

“What people throw away these days,” Ted muttered to himself, and moved over to pick up the shoe with the intention of getting rid of it at a later date. He then discovered that the shoe was stuck, and as he pulled this way and that to dislodge it, he suddenly realized to his horror that it wasattached not to the soil, but the sole of someone’s foot!

The stockinged foot stared back at him, as he stared at it, and soon he realized that the weird and unpleasant smell must have come from the human being who was lying in the ditch, which meant that this human being was very much… dead!

He yelped again as the realization hit that he’d been lying right next to a dead body.

And as he scrambled to his own feet, he finally saw the body whole and saw it well: it was a young woman, dressed in a flashy-colored leotard, with blond hair partly covering her face but not enough to hide the fact that she was, indeed, dead, and that she’d been, in life, a very lovely young woman indeed.

And then he was running like a headless chicken, with no clear plan in mind, but only the realization that he needed to get away from this dead person as quickly as possible.

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Dolores Peltz was huffing and puffing. The AC in the police station was busted again, and of course it had to happen on the hottest day of the year. She had a tiny ventilator posted on top of her desk, and a bigger one underneath, but they didn’t do much to alleviate the intense heat hanging like a miasma over the station and the town in general.

She’d already put a plastic tub of cold water underneath her desk, and placed her feet in it. It helped, just like Chief Alec had said it would. And there he was now, walking into the police station vestibule, his armpits looking like the victims of a drowning accident.

Perspiration beaded on his brow, and he cried,“When is this repair guy going to get here?”

“Soon, he said,” said Dolores. “Which probably means sometime in the next decade.”

“Maybe we should get one of those portable AC units in here,” said the Chief, fanning himself with a cardboard folder he’d picked up from Dolores’s desk. “We could have one in here, one in my office, and a couple in the main area. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea, Chief. If only you’d ordered them last week, we might not be melting right now.”

“I’ll order them right now,” said the Chief, and started to walk off.

“Holy moly would you look at that,” said Dolores, halting the Chief in his tracks.

They both watched as Ted Trapper came staggering in, looking like a melted piece of cheese, if cheese was completely red in the face and dressed like a boy scout.

“Ted, didn’t you listen to the health advisory?” asked the Chief. “No strenuous activities today. This heat will kill you if you keep running around like that.”

“A… dead… body… Chief,” gasped Ted in between sucking in big gulps of air. “I… found… dead body.”

“Slow down, buddy,” said Chief Alec. “Now what did you just say?”

Ted gulped, and gratefully accepted a tall glass of cold water from Dolores, who’d downed a couple of those big suckers herself already that morning. But instead of drinking the stuff, Ted simply chucked it over his head. It seemed to do him a lot of good, though the Chief didn’t look pleased when the water hit the carpeted floor of his vestibule.

“I found a dead body,” said Ted, sounding more coherent already. “Out by Farmer Giles’s field. I was shooting birds when I saw her. Lying right next to me. Dead in the ditch!”

“You were out shooting birds?” asked Dolores censoriously. She liked birds, and intensely disliked the kind of people who shot them for fun and sport.

“With my camera,” Ted specified, pointing to the bulky object on his chest.

“Man or woman,” said the Chief, immediately shifting into operational gear.

“Woman,” said Ted. “Can I have another one of those, please, Dolores?”

“Not if you’re going to chuck it over your head again,” said Dolores.

“No, this time I’m going to drink it,” said Ted. “She was dressed in a leotard. The kind of outfit people wear when they go to the fitness club. Sneakers, blond hair, blue eyes…” He swallowed away a lump. “Oh, and the smell, Chief. She must be dead days.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’ll determine that,” said the Chief. “You go on inside, Ted, and I’ll have someone take your statement.” Turning to Dolores, he said, “Any missing persons?”

“None, Chief. At least not in the last couple of days.”

The Chief nodded, then said,“Had to happen today, of all days. Hottest day of the year, and boy scout over there found himself a dead body.”

“Look at it this way, Chief. At least you get to drive out there in your nice air-conditioned car,” said Dolores, and handed the Chief her little tub of water.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, surprised.

“Fill her up, of course. And make it nice and cold.” And before he could respond, she’d already picked up her phone and barked, “Hampton Cove Police how can I help you?!”

Chapter 10

“Hiya fellas,” said Buster, clearly happy to see us. “This place is buzzing—Fido’s been busy, busy, busy like you wouldn’t believe!”

I could very well believe him. Humans love to have their hair removed. From their heads, from their faces, and even other parts of their bodies I don’t want to get into right now, too. Dogs are much the same. They, too, need to be put to the trimmer from time to time. Cats, on the other hand, are far removed from all this hair-removal rannygazoo. We can take care of that ourselves, thank you very much.

The door to the barbershop was open, to let in some of that cool air that is readily available in the early morning, right before the day turns into a real scorcher, though I could have told Fido Siniawski, our local barber, that he probably should close the door, for the air streaming in was getting really hot, the day advancing already nicely. Only two customers were inside, one being subjected to Fido’s signature treatment, the other patiently waiting in the waiting area and thumbing through a copy of Cosmo.

“Any new gossip?” I asked straight out of the gate. Buster is one of our main sources of gossip in Hampton Cove. He usually knows what’s happening, since all the movers and shakers of our town at some point or another find themselves seated in Fido’s chair, and many of the non-movers and non-shakers, too.

“Nothing special,” said Buster with a sad look. “Place has been buzzing but that doesn’t mean there’s also a lot of interesting stuff being said. The Mayor was in here only yesterday. She’s going for a complete makeover. New hair, new clothes, even a new face, if her secretary is to be believed—she was in here right after the Mayor left.”

“Mayor Butterwick is getting a new face?” asked Dooley. “You mean they will remove her old face and give her a completely new one?”

“It can be done. With plastic surgery. Nowadays they can do pretty much anything with plastic surgery. New nose, cheek implants, changing the shape of the jaw…”

“But what was wrong with her old face?” asked Dooley. “I liked it just the way it was, and so, I think, did Uncle Alec.”

Odelia’s uncle has been dating our mayor for the past couple of weeks now, and by all accounts they’re a great couple. Though judging from this little bit of news Buster had to impart maybe things weren’t so great after all, if Charlene felt the need to go for an extreme makeover.

“And what if Uncle Alec doesn’t recognize her anymore?” Dooley continued. “Or doesn’t like her new look?”

He was right, of course. A man starts dating a woman, and in the middle of the process she suddenly changes appearance to such an extent it’s almost as if he’s dating a completely different woman. Not fair, if you see what I mean—and very confusing.

“I’m just telling you what I heard,” said Buster with a shrug. “And then of course there’s Wilbur Vickery, who was in here last night, and shocked us all when he asked Fido to shave off his beard.”

Dooley and I were shocked, too.“Wilbur shaved off his beard!” I cried, aghast. Wilbur Vickery had been the proud owner of a long and flowing white beard. Though when I say white I’m probably not painting the right word picture. It’s more of a dirty yellow, like the teeth and fingers of a heavy smoker. And it doesn’t really flow—it kinda bristles.

“I think it’s a good thing,” said Dooley. “Beards are filthy. And Wilbur’s beard more filthy than most.”

“Things always seem to get stuck in Wilbur’s beard,” I agreed. “Crumbs of food, cigarette ashes, nasal mucus… I think I once even saw a prawn dangling in there, and I could be wrong but I think I heard it scream, so it might have been caught alive.”

“Well, rejoice, fellas,” said Buster with customary glee. “Cause Wilbur’s beard is now a thing of the past, thanks to Fido’s able hands, and the power of the razor blade.”

I tucked these two tidbits of information in my memory for regurgitation at a later date to my human. Odelia might not want to write an article about Wilbur’s beard and Charlene Butterwick’s extreme makeover, but then again she might. The Hampton Cove Gazette is one of those small-town rags, and small-town rags don’t always go for the big breaking stories but focus on the small stuff, much to their readers’ delight, I might add.

“There’s something very important we need to ask you, Buster,” I said now, the necessary preliminaries dispensed with.

He placed a paw on my shoulder.“Say no more, Max. Of course you can have a whiff of Fido’s WindBlaster 5000. Superior technology combined with the most powerful motor in fan history. Get a load of this.” And with a flick of the paw, he turned a switch on the biggest fan I’ve ever seen in my life. Immediately it was as ifa hurricane had landed right in the middle of Fido’s shop: the blades were moving the air to such a degree that it was all I could do not to be swept up like a feather and blown back against the wall.

“AND I CAN CRANK IT UP EVEN MORE!” Buster yelled over the noise the blades cutting through the air made. And to show us he meant what he said, he cranked it up, as promised, and this time I did start being blown backward, and so was Dooley. Soon I was scrambling for any object in the vicinity to keep me from flying away. My cheeks were flapping in the breeze, my eyes were tearing up and closing, and I had the distinct sensation that my fur was being removed by the sheer force of the air displacement.

But lucky for us Fido finally intervened and turned down the fan.“What did I tell you, Buster,” the irate barber admonished his Main Coon. “No messing with the fan.” And muttering under his breath, he returned to his customer, who for some reason was having her hair painted a distinct shade of purple, and continued his work.

I was still feeling a little shaky, but Buster whooped and said,“Drop by any time, fellas. This heatwave doesn’t stand a chance against the WindBlaster 5000!”

Dooley glanced at me, I glanced at Dooley, and we both shook our heads. Clearly Buster wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be questioned about missing ladies from twenty years ago. So we thanked him for his time, and went on our way. A good detective knows when to ask questions, but also when to keep his tongue, and clearly this was one of those occasions where silence is golden.

“I’m sure Buster doesn’t know anything about a woman who went missing twenty years ago anyway, Max,” said Dooley as we traversed the sidewalk, which was already hotting up considerably. Soon it would be too hot for our sensitive paws to tread on.

“Yeah, I guess this is going to prove a tough one, Dooley,” I intimated. “Not many pets were even alive twenty years ago, so it might be difficult to find an actual witness.”

“At least now we know that Wilbur lost his beard and that Charlene is thinking about losing her face,” he offered.

“Yeah, at least there’s that,” I agreed.

And we’d just arrived at Odelia’s office to give her our report from the frontline—no matter how inconsequential—when the door of the Gazette burst open and Odelia appeared. Her eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks flushed, and at that moment she looked the picture of the raging reporter, on her way to her next big story.

When she saw us, she practically screamed,“Perfect timing, guys—there’s been a murder! Let’s go!”

Only serial killers and reporters can be this happy when a murder has taken place, I found myself thinking, but then I was swept up in my human’s excitement and moments later we were in Odelia’s car and on our way to whatever adventure awaited us this time.

Chapter 11

Odelia got to the place where it happened in record time. The moment her uncle had called her to tell her the news, she’d been up and ready for duty with not a single second lost. The summer months are often described as the slow news season for your news-hungry journo, and the last couple of days had seen an absolute dearth of newsworthy facts and factoids to report. In fact Dan, Odelia’s editor, had already complained that they were going to have to fill the next edition of the Gazette with interviews with farmers complaining about the heat. Farmers were always a popular subject when there was nothing else to write: they always had something to complain about. The weather was too wet, too hot, too dry, too cold. Unfortunately readers often skipped these stories, and if the dry spell went on for too long, they might end up skipping the Gazette altogether.

“How do you know it’s a murder, Odelia?” asked Dooley from the backseat, where he and Max had asked to be strapped in before she roared away from the curb.

“Because my uncle said so,” she explained.

“So Uncle Alec is the one who decides if something is a murder or not?” asked Dooley a follow-up question.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said, weaving in and out of traffic at breakneck speed. She’d turned up her airco, as the day was already growing unbearably hot again, and the cold air was blasting her face.

“And what made him decide that this particular dead person was murdered?” asked Dooley, still not fully satisfied.

“I’m not sure, but I guess we’ll find out in….” She checked her watch. “Five minutes.”

“Did you know that Charlene Butterwick is going through an extreme makeover?” asked Max, expertly changing the subject.

“No, I didn’t know that. Who told you?”

“Buster. Charlene was in there yesterday, and asked for an entirely new coiffure.”

“She’s also having her face replaced,” said Dooley. “But won’t Uncle Alec be upset when he sees his girlfriend with a completely new face, Odelia? He might not even recognize her anymore.”

Odelia laughed.“I’m sure it won’t be so bad. She probably wants to have her eyebrows done. Busy woman like Charlene doesn’t always find the time for that kind of thing, and seeing as she’s always in the public eye, she wants to look presentable.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, thinking about this.

“Have you found out anything about Vicky Gardner?” asked Odelia now. The missing woman was of more concern to her than Charlene Butterwick’s eyebrows, to be honest. She’d talked to Dan about Vicky’s disappearance, and he was most interested. Missing persons cases, especially when they concerned the wife of one of the richest men in town, always capture readers’ imagination, even after twenty years. And Vicky’s case was one of those cases that had never really gone away. The mystery was so great and so enticing people had speculated about it ever since.

“Not yet,” Max said. “Kingman was too busy, and Buster was, um, preoccupied.”

“He showed us his new fan,” said Dooley. “We were blown away.”

“Literally,” Max muttered with an eyeroll.

They’d arrived at the outskirts of town, and Odelia’s foot stepped on the accelerator until they were traveling at a respectable speed. There was almost no traffic as they left the town proper and soon were cruising along country lanes, surrounded by miles and miles of fields. Sprinklers were providing the crops with the necessary hydration, and before long they were at their destination, indicated by three police cars parked along the shoulder. She parked right behind her uncle’s squad car and got out, but not before unbuckling her feline passengers and watching them quickly hop onto the grassy side of the road. The asphalt was too hot for their tender paws, and she wondered when this heatwave was going to subside and more regular climes would return.

The field where Ted Trapper had discovered the body belonged to Farmer Giles, as did most of the surrounding ones. The farmer himself, a stocky figure with a raggedy cap, raggedy shirt and raggedy pair of dungarees, stood scratching his ear and staring down at something Odelia couldn’t see from this distance. As she got closer, though, she saw that it was the body of a young woman, and at the sight of her, she took in a quick breath.

“What is it, Odelia?” asked Max, who was trotting along in her wake.

“But that’s…” she murmured, then got out her phone to be sure. She’d been googling Vicky Gardner just that morning, which was why the missing woman’s features were still so clear in her mind. And this woman—the dead woman—was Vicky’s spitting image.

“Impossible,” she said as she compared the dead woman to the smiling one in the picture she had on her phone.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” asked her uncle, who stood gazing down at the victim. “I knew Vicky, you know, and this woman right here looks just like her.”

“Maybe she was abducted by them aliens,” Farmer Giles suggested, “and they put her in one of them cryogenic machines they got and now they dumped her back on earth.”

“I very much doubt if that’s even possible,” said Chase, who was standing next to his commanding officer, hands on his hips and looking grim-faced, as he usually did when faced with murder and mayhem like this.

The county coroner, Abe Cornwall, who’d been bent down over the body, now got up with a groan. He was a rotund man in his late fifties with grizzled features and a breezy attitude towards death.

“I’d say she’s been here at least two or three days. Broke her neck, as far as I can tell.”

“Vicky Gardner as I live and breathe,” said Farmer Giles, who’d taken off his peaked cap in deference to the dead woman and rocked back on his heels. “I had a thing for her back in the day. We went out once but she said I was a lousy kisser and so I never asked her out again.” He shook his head. “Damn aliens. There should be a law against that kind of thing.”

“I don’t think this is Vicky Gardner,” said Abe. “Though I have to admit she’s Vicky’s spitting image.”

“You knew Vicky, Abe?” asked Chase.

“Oh, sure. I used to do some teaching back in the day, and Vicky was always quick on the uptake—as was your mother, Odelia. They were in the same class, if I remember correctly.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my kissing technique per se,” said Farmer Giles, pursing his lips. “I mean, I’ve never had any complaints since. She said I used too much tongue.” He shrugged. “All the men in my family got a thick tongue, so maybe that was the problem.”

“So how old is she, you reckon, Dan?” asked Uncle Alec.

They all looked down at the woman.“Definitely not in her forties, which is how old Vicky would be now,” said Abe.

“Forty-eight,” Uncle Alec grunted. “Marge’s age.”

“She looks early twenties to me,” said Chase.

“Which is exactly how old Vicky was when she disappeared,” said Odelia.

“See?” said Farmer Giles. “Aliens. They abducted her twenty years ago and dumped her when they no longer needed her for their experiments.” He stuck out his tongue. “Look, Chief. Do you think my tongue is too thick?”

“Oh, for God’s sakes put that thing away, Giles,” Uncle Alec growled, then took out a big white handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Murdered,” he muttered. “And of course it had to happen on the hottest day of the year.”

Odelia glanced around, concerned about her cats, who could stand the heat even less than she could. To her surprise, they were nowhere to be found.

Chapter 12

When we go sleuthing with our human, the setup usually goes something like this: while she interviews the humans, we track down any pets who might be found in the vicinity and talk to them, eliciting what we professional sleuths like to call‘witness statements’ to use the official jargon for once. A witness is a person who witnessed something, and their statement can often provide that ‘telling clue’ to use another term your layman is often not familiar with.

So while Odelia studied the dead person, no doubt hoping to find that‘telling clue’ and figure out ‘whodunit’ Dooley and myself looked around for ‘potential witnesses.’

“Anyone might have seen something, Dooley,” I said as we set out on our journey. “I mean, a field like this must be full of animals, and it only takes one to tell us everything we need to know.”

“Do you really think aliens kidnapped that poor woman, Max?” asked Dooley, who clearly was operating under his own steam as usual, and probably hadn’t listened to a word I said.

“No, Dooley,” I said as I glanced around. “I don’t think aliens kidnapped Mrs. Gardner and dropped her in a field twenty years later, still looking like the day she disappeared.”

“It’s the only logical explanation,” he ventured.

“I’m sure there are other, more plausible ones,” I said. I frowned as I searched around for my witnesses. “There must be field mice, birds, even crickets and other insects.”

“And do you think Farmer Giles’s tongue is too thick?” my friend asked now. “It did look a little thick to me, but then I don’t have a lot of experience with human tongues. It’s so very rare that they stick them out like that.”

“And a good thing, too,” I said. “Imagine everyone sticking out their tongues at us. Yuck.”

“Human tongues are very different from ours, though, aren’t they, Max? They’re bigger but also they’re not as raspy. Our tongues are very raspy, Max, don’t you think?”

“Our tongues are raspy for a reason, Dooley,” I pointed out to my friend. “We use them to groom ourselves. Humans don’t do that.”

“I have seen Odelia lick herself,” said Dooley now, surprising me.

“Odelia? Lick herself?” I asked, momentarily pausing my forward progress through the field. The grass was tickling my belly, and the sun was making me itchy, but I didn’t mind. When I was on the hunt for clues all these minor discomforts took a backseat to my instinct to find that ‘telling clue.’

“Yeah, she accidentally spilled some jam on her arm and she licked it.”

“Oh,” I said, relaxing. “That’s different. It’s not as if she licked her entire body, did she?”

He thought about that for a moment, then shook his head.“No, just her arm, and even then only the spot where she’d spilled the jam.”

“Humans don’t have nice fur like we do,” I explained. “So they don’t have to groom themselves in the same way.”

“They do have hair on the top of their heads, and in some other places, too,” said Dooley. “But they take a shower to wash it, and even then they don’t use their tongues. They use a washcloth or a sponge, or even a loofah or a brush.”

I shrugged.“What can I tell you, Dooley? Humans are weird, we all know that.”

“They also use soap, and shampoo,” he went on. “And body lotion and conditioner and—”

I held up my paw.“Let’s not focus too much on these sordid details,” I suggested. “Let’s find a witness instead, shall we?”

“Okay, Max,” said Dooley, but I could tell that in his head he was going through the entire list of products humans use to keep themselves clean. It’s an impressive list, for I’ve seen the products stacked up high in the bathroom. And all this could so easily have been avoided if only humans had learned to use their tongues the way cats do.

“You know, Max?” said Dooley suddenly. “Maybe Farmer Giles uses his tongue to wash himself, just like we do, and that’s why it’s much thicker than other humans’.”

I thought about Farmer Giles and how scruffy and unhygienic he looked, and thought that Dooley might just have a point.“He does look like a man who has no use for expensive lotions and a ton of products to keep himself clean,” I admitted. “And I’d venture a guess he hasn’t seen the inside of a shower in years. So maybe you’re right.”

We walked on, and I thought I heard a bird squawking overhead. And just when I turned my face up to take a closer look, some sticky substance suddenly fell from the sky and landed right on my nose with a splishing sound.

“And that’s a bull’s eye!” a familiar voice squawked. “Right on the big fat schnauzer!” The pigeon, for it was the same pigeon, then laughed in a hyena-like fashion and I thought he actually pumped the air with his claw-like foot!

“I’ll have you for this!” I yelled at the bird.

“You and whose army!” the bird yelled back, and swooped down for a second run.

Dooley, who’d been staring up at the pigeon in open-mouthed surprise, got hit with the second load just as I yelled, “Dooley, watch out!”

But alas, it was too late.

“Yuck!” my friend cried. “I got some of it into my mouth, Max!”

“Another bull’s eye!” the pigeon screeched, wild with triumph. “Another win for Team Pigeon and a humiliating defeat for Team Cat!”

Dooley, who was spitting out the product of the bird’s bowel movement as fast as he could, seemed to have lost all inclination to wax philosophically about human hygiene habits now that his own hygiene was imperiled and so was mine.

“Come back here, bird!” I yelled at the pigeon, who was casually flying off.

“The name is Moses, cat, and I’ll be back for sure—to give you another taste of revenge!”

And with these words, he was gone.

“It’s in my mouth, Max,” Dooley repeated, then glanced at me. “And it’s in your eyes.”

I was too furious for speech, but then decided that whoever this Moses character was, he wasn’t going to get the better of me, and so I vowed revenge, right then and there. Then again, wasn’t that the word he’d used? Revenge?

“What was he talking about, Max?” asked Dooley. “He said something about revenge. But what did we ever do against that bird?”

“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “As far as I can tell I’ve never seen this Moses before.”

“He must be mistaking us for a pair of other cats,” Dooley ventured.

“Yeah, must be,” I said, then set about the arduous task of cleaning myself up with the use of my tongue, and so did Dooley.

“Sometimes, Dooley,” I said as I removed the final residue of pigeon poo from my features, “I wonder if humans maybe are smarter than they look by not using their tongues for hygienic purposes. I mean, a nice shower suddenly doesn’t sound like such a bad idea right now.”

“Pigeon poo tastes horrible, Max,” Dooley said with a shiver. “But I’ll take it over a shower any day.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Though it has to be said Moses’s initiative had almost made a shower believer out of me. Maybe water wasn’t so bad after all. It couldn’t possibly be worse than poo, right?

Chapter 13

“This is impossible,” said Quintin Gardner. He was an imposing man, and even at sixty-three was also an exceedingly handsome man, Odelia thought.

She’d accompanied her uncle and Chase for this first interview with Vicky Gardner’s husband, hoping to shed some light on recent events.

Mr. Gardner looked up from the picture of the dead woman.“Is this… Vicky?” he asked. “Did you finally find her?”

It was obvious from the tremor in his voice that even twenty years after her disappearance, the man still carried a torch for his wife.

They were standing in the doorway of his grand mansion, having parked in the circular driveway. Max and Dooley were eager to get inside out of the heat, and frankly so was Odelia. Uncle Alec was mopping his brow and probably could have used a cold shower. The only one who wasn’t affected by the heat was Chase, who looked his usual cool and composed self. It was he who was holding up his phone and had asked Mr. Gardner if he recognized the woman in the picture.