d5e426eccb138e04dab909926b2752c6

“We found her just now,” Chase explained. “We believe she was murdered.”

“Vicky? Murdered?” asked Mr. Gardner, who seemed as confused by all this as Odelia was feeling. “But…” He studied the picture once more. “She looks just like she did when she went missing,” he said, a flicker of a smile touching his lips, then his shoulders sagged. “I don’t understand any of this. Won’t you come in for a moment?”

Gratefully they all stepped inside, and it was a testament to Mr. Gardner’s general state of confusion that he didn’t even ask about the two cats that tripped in after Odelia.

“Please,” said Mr. Gardner, and gestured to a sitting room just off the main atrium, which was two floors high and bathed in the light streaming down from a skylight.

They entered the sitting room but instead of sitting, stood around waiting for Mr. Gardner to offer them a seat. But the older man was so discombobulated that the thought didn’t even enter his mind. At least it was nice and cool inside the house.

“I don’t understand,” the man repeated. “You say you took this picture this morning?”

Chase nodded.“The resemblance with your wife is striking, Mr. Gardner, which is why we thought to drop by here first.”

“But… how can this be?” asked the man. “Vicky would be forty-eight if she were still alive. And this girl—this woman—she’s what, twenty-five? Twenty-eight?”

“We were hoping you had an explanation for us,” said Odelia gently. “Maybe your wife had relatives? A niece who resembled her? Or a daughter, maybe?”

“No,” said Mr. Gardner, shaking his head distractedly. “We were never lucky enough to have kids. Maybe if Vicky had lived we would have started a family, but we figured we still had plenty of time.” His voice broke, the grief still palpable, even after all these years.

“Then… a niece, perhaps? Or some other relative?” Odelia insisted.

But Mr. Gardner shook his head.“Vicky was an only child, and so were her mom and dad. It’s always possible that she had some distant cousins she didn’t know about, of course, but the resemblance, my God…”

He did take a seat then, on an overstuffed black leather chair, but didn’t offer the same convenience to his guests. “Can I see that picture again, Sergeant?”

“Detective,” Chase murmured, and obligingly handed over his phone.

Mr. Gardner studied the picture closely, pinching his fingers to zoom in and narrowing his eyes as he did. Then, finally, his eyes widened.“It’s her!” he said. “Vicky had a tiny birthmark underneath her left eye. Very faint. I always thought it made her even prettier. This girl has the exact same birthmark in the exact same spot!” He almost dropped the phone. “I-I don’t believe this. And you say she was… murdered?”

“Broke her neck,” said Uncle Alec, still busy with his handkerchief. “Nothing in the vicinity of the body suggests it happened there, so someone moved the body after she died. Which suggests foul play for sure. We’ll know more in the next couple of days.”

Mr. Gardner shook his head.“This is a nightmare. An absolute nightmare.” Then he glanced up. “Do you have any idea who did this to her, Chief Allen?”

“Alec,” Uncle Alec corrected the man. “No, sir. Not yet, anyway.”

“Please find out and let me know,” said Quintin, staring off into space. He waved a hand. “Could you please… leave now, Chief Jack? I would like to be alone.”

“Of course, sir,” said Uncle Alec.

Moments later they were out on the driveway again, looking at each other with confusion written all over their features.

“What just happened?” asked Chase.

“I think Quintin Gardner positively identified the victim as his wife,” said Uncle Alec. “Which we all know is pretty much an impossibility.”

“But the birthmark,” said Odelia. “What about the birthmark?”

“Yeah, that’s got me stumped, too,” said the police chief, mopping his red neck.

“Where are your cats?” asked Chase suddenly, glancing around.

And it was only then that Odelia noticed that her cats hadn’t made it out of Mr. Gardner’s house yet. So she stepped up to the front door and rang the bell again. Only this time there was no answer.

“Oh, crap,” she said. “They’re in there.”

“Let me try,” said her uncle, and slammed the door with his fist. “Mr. Gardner, open up. This is the police!”

But Mr. Gardner, if he had heard, was giving every indication of not wanting to acknowledge this visit from the constabulary a second time in a row.

Chapter 14

While the humans talked, Dooley and I had wandered off, as we usually do. The house where Mr. Quintin Gardner lived was huge. Plenty of rooms and corridors, and all of them pretty gloomy, I might add. Almost as if Mr. Gardner would have preferred to live in Victorian times, if given the opportunity.

The walls were bedecked with paintings of what I could only assume were ancestors of Mr. Gardner or his missing spouse. All of them gargoyles, I must say, with not a redeeming aspect to be found.

“Some humans are really ugly, aren’t they, Max?” asked Dooley, as he studied the portrait of a woman with no less than three hairy warts on her face.

“It’s all a matter of perspective, Dooley,” I said, with what I hoped was the right modicum of censure. It doesn’t do to call humans ugly. They rarely appreciate it.

“Odelia is pretty, though, isn’t she?”

“Odelia is very pretty,” I allowed.

“But if we’re allowed to call Odelia pretty, then we’re also allowed to call these people ugly, aren’t we?”

“Um…” It was the kind of irrefutable logic that sometimes makes it tough to argue with Dooley. Lucky for me we’d finally come upon something to distract our attention from the gargoyles: a stuffed marmot was sitting on top of a sideboard in the corridor. We both stared at the marmot as the marmot stared back at us with its beady eyes.

“It looks alive but it smells dead,” said Dooley aptly.

“That’s because it’s been stuffed,” I said.

“Stuffed? What do you mean, stuffed?”

“Well, some people love their pets so much that even after they die they like to keep them—as a reminder of the love they shared. And so Mr. Gardner must have really liked this marmot, for he had it stuffed.”

“I don’t understand,” said Dooley, shaking his head.

“You’ve heard of mummies, right?” I asked, wondering how to explain it to my friend in a way that wouldn’t freak him out.

“Oh, of course. I’ve seen plenty of Discovery Channel documentaries on mummies. The Discovery Channel loves a good mummy. Almost as much as it loves sharks.”

“Well, stuffing is more or less the same thing. They, um, first remove the, um, organs, and then replace them with, well, the stuffing.”

Dooley gaped at me, then opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, before crying,“No way!”

“Yes, unfortunately so.”

“But…” He glanced up at the marmot, still looking as if it might come to life at any moment. “But what about the eyes? It looks so alive!”

“Glass,” I said. “They remove the actual eyes and replace them with glass beads.”

“But Max, that’s horrible!” he yelled.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” I agreed.

“You mean that when we die Odelia is going to have us both stuffed?”

“Um…”

“Oh, no!”

“Well,” I murmured, giving the marmot a dark look. The darn thing had caused my friend to become upset. Then again, sometimes the realities of life have that effect on a cat, and no matter how much you try to shelter them, it’s hard to protect them all the time.

“Look, I’m sure the marmot didn’t suffer,” I said as we moved along.

“But Max, stuffing!”

“I know, I know,” I said with a sigh.

We passed by more rooms, whose doors were all closed, unfortunately, but even as we climbed another set of stairs we never picked up the scent of any pets—except the stuffed marmot—so I think it’s safe to say that we were at a dead end—no pun intended.

On the top floor, we finally found a room whose door was wide open, and inside was a woman making a bed. She was dressed in the customary costume of a maid, which made me assume that she was, indeed, a maid. She didn’t see us, and we didn’t make our presence known, for obvious reasons: no one likes a pair of snooping cats.

“This must be the master bedroom,” I said, and admired how airy and bright it was, compared to the rest of the house, which was musty and dark.

“A double bed,” Dooley pointed out. “Do you think Mr. Gardner remarried?”

I gestured with my head to the nightstand, which held a portrait of the missing woman.“I doubt it,” I said. And as we glanced around I saw signs of Vicky everywhere: from a portrait on the wall, to silver-framed pictures, and even a bust on the dresser. “She might have been gone two decades but clearly she hasn’t been forgotten,” I said.

“No pets,” Dooley pointed out.

“Except the dead marmot,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Max!” Dooley wailed, drawing the attention of the maid, who looked startled, then uttered a loud shriek.

“Oops,” I said. “Time to go, Dooley.”

And so we ran, not walked, out of there, before the woman could start chasing us with a broom, which she seemed more than willing and capable of doing, judging from the volume of her cries.

We arrived downstairs and saw to our surprise that Odelia, Uncle Alec and Chase had either left the building or had relocated to some other part of the large mansion.

“The door,” I said, and hurried in that direction. Unfortunately the door was firmly shut, and with no other way to turn we hurried along the hallway and back into the house, in search of some other exit.

“I can’t believe Odelia left us in here,” I said as we made our way in the direction of the kitchen, following our noses to take us there.

“Maybe she’s upstairs and we missed her,” Dooley suggested.

“We would have smelled her,” I said, experiencing a touch of annoyance at being abandoned like this by my human, and in a strange place no less.

We’d finally found the kitchen, which, from my experience, usually presents two attractive aspects: the kitchen door is often not as barricaded shut as tightly as the front door, and kitchens are where the food is at, and I must confess I’m a big fan of food. It’s all those big bones of mine, you see. They need to be fed a regular diet to stay in shape.

Unfortunately the kitchen that Mr. Gardner had built was different on both accounts: the door wasn’t open, and there was no food to be had.

“We’re stuck, Max!” Dooley cried. “Stuck in the house of an animal stuffer!”

I had to agree that the prospect was a dire one, and frantically looked around for a way out, even as the sound of approaching voices and footsteps told me the jig would soon be up.

And that’s when I saw it: the kitchen door was one of those doors consisting of half a piece of wood and above that several panes of glass separated by some type of lead lining. And one of those panes was open now, presumably to let in some air.

“Through there, Dooley,” I said.

“It’s too small, Max!” said Dooley. “You’ll never make it through!”

“I have to make it through,” I said with determination. “You go first. Hop onto my back and I’ll give you a boost!”

Dooley did as he was told and hopped onto my broad back. I made a bucking motion at the same time he made the big leap, and much to my delight he flew through the air like a feline Rudolf Nureyev and zoomed through that open pane with no effort at all.

“And now for the tricky part,” I said to myself. So I made the same leap, only without the advantage of a nice boost, but with the aid of a pair of very powerful hind legs, and soon I was flying through the air, though more like a moderately cherubic Nureyev than a Nureyev at his slimmest, and as I approached the window, I suddenly realized to my horror that Dooley had been right: it was too tight!

And so I sailed right in, until suddenly…

PLOP!

I got stuck halfway through.

“Max! Why did you stop?!” Dooley yelled from down below.

“It’s my belly,” I croaked. “It’s not cooperating!”

Dang those big bones of mine…

Chapter 15

“He was trying to steal my fish!” a woman’s voice yelled behind me. “The filthy thief!”

I could have told her I wasn’t even remotely interested in her fish but since I couldn’t even face my interlocutor I wisely kept my tongue.

“I saw him upstairs, in the bedroom,” said another woman, whom I presumed to be the maid we met earlier. “I’ll bet he was looking for mice.”

“Yuck,” I muttered. I may be a cat, but that doesn’t mean I like to eat mice. Why always these assumptions and prejudices?

“Max, try to wiggle your butt,” said Dooley. “Try to shift your balance to your head.”

Good advice, but not very practical, since my head isn’t the largest part of my anatomy. My butt is, unfortunately, and so is my belly. And if you’re going to tell me there are no bones in a butt or even in a belly I’ll tell you that you’re being extremely rude.

“Maybe we should catch it and keep it,” a third voice now added itself to the chorus. “A cat always comes in handy.”

“Handy for what?” asked what I assumed was the cook.

“Catching mice, of course. And I can tell you we’ve got plenty of those.”

“If only you would take the garbage out when I tell you to, Bernice,” said the maid. “Then we wouldn’t have any mice.”

“So now it’s my fault all of a sudden is it? If you wouldn’t sneak outside for a smoke every other second the critters wouldn’t have managed to get inside!”

“Mice don’t walk in through the door, Bernice,” said the maid acerbically.

“I still think we should keep it,” said the third voice, who could have been a housekeeper of some kind.

“Let’s ask Mr. G.,” suggested the maid. “After all, it’s his house, and his mouse.”

“Let’s not bother Mr. G. with such a trifling matter,” said the housekeeper. “I say we keep the cat, at least until it’s caught the mouse, and then we let it go.”

Yikes!“Dooley, help me!” I cried. “They want to keep me and feed me mice!”

“Wiggle, Max! Wiggle!”

So I wiggled.

“Oh, look, it’s shaking its butt,” said the maid with a giggle. “How cute. Oh, please can we keep it, Bernice?”

“No,” said Bernice, proving herself to be a woman after my own heart. “Cats in the kitchen is a recipe for disaster. Let’s get rid of the filthy beast before it infests the place with its parasites.”

So maybe not a woman after my own heart after all. Still, obviously her intentions were good, if her way of expressing herself a little rough around the edges.

And then, before I could prepare myself, suddenly a hand had attached itself to my rear, and shoved—hard!

“The damn beast is stuck,” grunted the cook.

“Push harder, Bernice,” giggled the maid.

“Yeah, put your back into it, Bernice,” chuckled the housekeeper.

“What’s going on in here!” suddenly boomed a male voice.

“Oh, Mr. Gardner, sir, there’s a cat in the kitchen, sir,” said Bernice, halting all proceedings and disattaching herself from my butt.

“A cat? In my kitchen? Where?!”

They must have parted like the Red Sea, and offered the master of the manor a clear view of my dangling rear end, for suddenly something hard and unyielding placed itself against my bottom and pushed.

There was a rending sound, as my belly protested against this harsh treatment, and then I was propelled forward and was flying through the air, describing a nice arc.

I crash-landed on all fours, and when I glanced back, I saw an irate face appear in the windowpane I’d just vacated.

“And stay out!” the face yelled, and slammed the little pane shut for emphasis.

I heaved a sigh of relief, and only then noticed that Dooley was staring at me a little strangely.

I was sitting on my butt, my hind legs stretched out, much like a human sits, but that couldn’t possibly be the issue, as cats often like to position themselves that way.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Dooley pointed at my belly, and only then did it come to my attention that something was missing. I yelped once more—I was doing a lot of yelping today—when I saw that my recent adventure had shaved off quite a bit of fur from around my midsection, which was now ostensibly hairless. There were also numerous scratches, where the glass pane had scraped against my sides. All in all I looked as if I’d been shaved with a blunt knife.

“Oh, no!” I cried. “This is terrible!”

Dooley smiled.“You’re pink, Max. Underneath all that orange you’re actually pink.”

My cheeks were burning with righteous indignation.“He shaved me. The brute shaved me!”

Dooley’s smile was widening. “Looks like Wilbur Vickery isn’t the only one getting a shave,” he said with a light snicker.

I gave him a foul look.“It’s not funny, Dooley.”

“It’s a little bit funny,” he said.

And he was right. It was a little bit funny. And as I examined my corpus for puncture holes, I decided that it probably wasn’t the end of the world. Fur has a tendency to grow back, and scrapes and scratches can heal. The worst part was that I looked exceedingly foolish, and soon I’d be the laughingstock of the entire town!

“Dooley, not a word about this, you hear me? No one can know this happened.”

“But why, Max? I think it’s a great story.”

“Not a peep!” I said as I got up.

“Peep,” said Dooley, the big joker.

Chapter 16

Odelia was just about to suggest that Chase break down Quintin Gardner’s door when Max and Dooley emerged from behind the house, cool as cucumbers. Though when she looked closer, she saw that Max must have suffered some kind of incident.

“What happened to Max?” asked Chase, who must have noticed the same thing. “Looks like he had a close encounter with a sheep shearer.”

“He looks funny,” said Uncle Alec, his belly shaking with mirth. “He’s so pink!”

Max threw her uncle a look that could kill, but when Odelia asked him what had happened, he merely grunted,“Please don’t ask.”

“Dooley? What’s going on?” she asked.

“It’s a long story that Max doesn’t want me to tell,” said Dooley earnestly.

“Dooley!” said Max. “I said not a single peep!”

“See? He told me not to peep, and even when I’m not peeping, he’s still upset.” The gray Ragamuffin smiled. “I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell anyone.”

“Dooley? I’m warning you!”

“He got stuck in the kitchen door.”

“Dooley, not another word!”

“But then Mr. Gardner saved him by putting his boot against Max’s tushy and giving him a shove.”

“Dooley, I swear to God!”

“Only the window was so narrow it shaved off part of Max’s fur.”

“Dooley—come on!”

“And now he looks like a pink piglet,” Dooley said, snickering.

“Oh, dear,” said Odelia, and picked Max up. “Poor baby,” she said, stroking what was left of his fur. “Did the bad man hurt you?”

“He did,” said Max, moping a little and darting nasty glances at Dooley.

She quickly inspected the big blorange cat for puncture marks but saw that the few scrapes he had were all superficial.“You’ll be fine,” she said, giving him a hug.

“We found a stuffed marmot,” Dooley announced. “So Max had a very lucky escape.”

“I’m sure he didn’t stuff that marmot himself,” said Odelia. “He probably bought it.”

“Bought it!” said Dooley. “Why would anyone want to buy a stuffed marmot?”

She shrugged, tickling Max’s belly until he started to purr with contentment. “Not sure. Some people think it’s nice to own stuffed animals. Like decoration pieces.”

Dooley shivered visibly.“How awful,” he said.

“So did you find out anything else?” she asked, setting Max down again, as her arms were getting tired.

“Nothing,” said Max, a little shamefacedly.

“Except that Mr. Gardner has terrible taste,” said Dooley.

“And he has a housekeeper who likes cats,” said Max, “a maid who smokes too much, and a cook who forgets to put out the trash and who hates cats.”

“And?” asked Chase. “What’s the verdict?”

“Nothing much,” said Odelia as they headed for the cars. “Except that Quintin Gardner doesn’t like cats.” She frowned. “And as a rule I tend to be suspicious of people that don’t like cats.”

And as she glanced back to the house, she thought she saw a shadow move behind the curtains. Then it was gone.

Strange things were going on, she felt, and she was determined to find out what.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

Quintin Gardner didn’t like the look of that reporter woman—that Cordelia Powell. Though in all honesty he didn’t like that cop either, that Sergeant Binsley. Or Chief Allen. They were up to something, he could tell. Standing there, blatantly staring at the house like that. And what was up with those cats? Clearly they belonged to the Powell woman. Had she sent them into the house deliberately, to taunt him? What was she playing at?

For all he knew this dead woman didn’t even exist. With Photoshop these days you could do anything. You could turn a dead woman into a living one and vice versa.

He ducked behind the curtains as the Powell woman looked straight at him.

Oh, how he wished they’d just leave and never come back. It all reminded him of when Vicky disappeared. The police had been all over him. Friendly and solicitous at first, then more inquisitive, and finally downright accusing.

Accusing him of doing away with his wife. Murdering her and burying her body.

As if he’d ever harm a hair on Vicky’s head.

He glanced out again. Finally they were leaving. And not a moment too soon.

He’d have to watch it for a couple of days, until this hubbub died down again, just like it had all those years ago.

People always forgot. Life went on and they forgot.

At least that was how it was then. He hoped it would be the same now.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

The four members of the neighborhood watch were meeting in town square, seated on one of the benches the town had been so kind to put in the shade of one of the mimosa trees. A cool breeze wafted in from the ocean, and Vesta closed her eyes to enjoy the coolness it extended to her face.

“Let’s make it quick, shall we?” said Wilbur. “I only have half an hour so I wanna make it count.”

“What happened to your beard, Wilbur?” asked Father Reilly.

“Shaved it off,” said Wilbur proudly. “I’m on this dating app and someone told me women don’t like men with beards. So I figured: off with the darn thing!”

“Women do like men with beards,” said Scarlett. “They don’t like you, that’s the problem.”

“Oh, ha ha,” said Wilbur sourly. “Who asked you?”

“No one. It’s a freebie. Yours to do with as you please.”

“Let’s not bicker,” said Vesta. “We’re here to figure out what happened to Vicky Gardner, whose ring was found inside the figurine of a goatherd in my daughter’s kitchen cupboard. So who knows something? Francis?”

“Well, I remember Vicky, of course,” said Father Reilly. “Vicky Freeman as she was called before she married Quintin Gardner. But then I think we all remember Vicky.”

“I don’t remember much about her,” said Vesta. “All I know is that she was pretty, and that she married into money. And then she disappeared.”

“She didn’t just disappear,” said Wilbur, fingering his now naked chin and cheeks. “Rumor had it that Quintin killed her when she failed to produce him an heir.”

“Failed to produce him an heir!” said Scarlett. “Who does he think he is? The King of Hampton Cove?”

“He’s the owner of Garibo, the biggest candy company on Long Island,” said Father Reilly. “Like his father before him, and his father before that. So it stands to reason that he hoped to father an heir who’d take over the family business one day. And when Vicky proved infertile, Quintin was less than amused.”

“Vicky Gardner was infertile?” asked Vesta. “Now that’s news to me.”

“At least that was the rumor back in the day,” said Father Reilly. “This was right before she disappeared, too, so naturally people assumed the two things were connected.”

“So you think Quintin killed her and got rid of the body?” asked Scarlett.

“That’s the story that did the rounds back then.”

“I always found it hard to believe little Vicky Freeman wasn’t able to conceive,” Wilbur mused. “She looked fertile to me.” He licked his lips for good measure, drawing disgusted looks from both Vesta and Scarlett, and a tut-tutting sound from Father Reilly.

“Wilbur, eww!” said Scarlett.

“What—can’t a man appreciate beauty? She was very pretty, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Can you please stop touching your face?” Vesta snapped. “It freaks me out. Yes, I also remember Vicky as a very pretty girl. All the boys were crazy about her. And I never understood what she saw in Quintin Gardner, who’s not exactly a handsome devil.”

“Nasty, too,” said Wilbur. “He once called me an opprobrious name for shortchanging him.”

Vesta was shocked—not because of Wilbur shortchanging a customer, or Quintin Gardner calling him out on it, but for Wilbur to be aware of a big word like opprobrious. “So if Quintin killed his wife, how did her ring end up inside a goatherder in my daughter’s cupboard, that’s what I’d like to know.”

“Who cares?” said Scarlett. “You wanted to investigate this case because you were hoping for a fat reward. But if Quintin killed his wife it stands to reason there won’t be a reward.”

“No,” said Vesta. “But if he did kill her justice still needs to prevail.”

Scarlett gave her friend a look of surprise.“Since when do you care about justice?”

“Why do you think I started the watch? I care about justice, Scarlett. I care about justice a lot!”

Scarlett merely arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.“Look, I gotta go,” said Wilbur, fingering his absent beard once more, until Vesta slapped his hand away. “If you decide what you want to do about this Vicky Gardner thing, let me know. I say we drop it.”

“I agree with Wilbur,” said Father Reilly. “The watch’s purview is not to solve cold cases from two decades ago.”

Reluctantly, Vesta had to admit that her associates had a point.“Okay, okay,” she said, throwing up her hands. “So let’s drop the case. We’ll never solve it anyway. Quintin Gardner, if he did kill his wife, probably hid her body where no one will ever find it.”

After Father Reilly and Wilbur had left, Vesta turned to her friend.“You’re very quiet all of a sudden. What’s eating you?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I’ve never particularly cared about justice and all that. But the idea that Quintin got away with murder somehow doesn’t sit well with me, Vesta.”

“Doesn’t sit well with me either,” Vesta grunted.

Both women shared a look, then smiled.“Let’s nail this sucker,” said Scarlett, voicing a sentiment they were both feeling.

There might not be a reward in it for the watch, but then money wasn’t all that mattered. Putting away a murderer was all the reward they needed.

Chapter 17

When Tex walked in on his wife later that day, he was surprised to find her seated at the kitchen table, busy with superglue and the remnants of the Otto Spiel knockoff.

“What are you doing?” he asked, even though it was pretty obvious what she was doing.

“Gluing the figurine back together,” she said, her tongue between her lips.

“But why? It’s not going to fetch you any money if you try to sell it.”

“I don’t want to sell it. I like it and I want to keep it.”

Tex took a seat at the kitchen table and watched his wife work for a few moments. Then he picked up what used to be the bottom piece of the figurine and studied it for a moment.“I wonder who made it. Probably the Chinese or the Koreans.”

“Yeah, probably,” said Marge.

“I still don’t understand how it got into the kitchen cupboard. I never saw it before, did you?”

“Nope. Never saw it before either.” She stopped working for a moment and frowned. “Did you know that Vicky and I used to be friends? Back in high school?”

“Yeah, I think I do,” said Tex. “Vaguely. Wasn’t she the pretty blonde who called me a doofus for stepping on her toe once during the community dance?”

“Yeah, that sounds like her,” said Marge with a laugh. “She wasn’t exactly the nicest of my friends.”

“Then why were you friends with her?”

Marge shrugged and resumed work on her labor of love.“She was gorgeous and she was popular, and I guess when she chose me as her friend I felt honored, you know. Like being in the big leagues. Though she quickly got bored with me and dumped me for Marcia Baker.”

Tex laughed.“Typical high school drama.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Though at the time I was pretty upset about it.” She halted progress on the figurine once more. “I never thought she’d marry Quintin Gardner, though. He was so much older than her. And not exactly the most handsome or charming guy in the world.”

“Did you know him back then?”

“He was friends with Jock Farnsworth’s dad,” said Marge, giving her husband a strange look.

“Oh,” said Tex, and placed his chin on his hands. He’d never liked Jock Farnsworth, Marge’s boyfriend before she and Tex had gotten together. And in hindsight he’d had good reason to distrust the rich kid, for he’d only recently been sentenced to prison for the attempted murder of his wife. “So… do you think Quintin had something to do with Vicky’s disappearance?”

“I doubt it. Though to be sure you’d have to ask him, of course.”

“I’m not going anywhere near the guy,” Tex said, alarmed. “And I hope you won’t either.”

“Oh, no,” said Marge. “Of course not. I’m not getting involved.”

Reassured by her words, Tex pushed a piece of goatherd around the table until Marge snapped it up and tried to fit it within the three-dimensional puzzle she was solving.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be,” she said after a while.

“Here, let me give you a hand.”

“Please don’t,” said Marge.

“Honey, as a doctor I have the steadiest hands imaginable. Here, let me show you.” And he carefully picked the piece under construction from his wife’s hands. He must have applied too much pressure, though, for it suddenly imploded under his grip with a plopping sound, and collapsed onto the table.

“Oh, Tex,” said Marge with a sigh.

“Oops,” said Tex as he placed the shapeless mass of glued-together pieces back down.

Marge gently hit what was left on the head with her fist and they both laughed at the remnants of her great work of art.

“I guess we better put it in the trash,” she said.

“No, wait,” he said, suddenly noticing something. He picked up a piece and studied it for a moment, before handing it to Marge.

“What is it?” she asked, then saw what he was pointing at.

She gasped, and looked up at her husband.

“That’s impossible,” she said.

“And yet it’s right there.”

Written on the back of one of the pieces was a single word:‘Help!’

And when they both frantically started turning over more pieces, suddenly Tex found another piece of the puzzle. This one read:‘Vicky Gardner, October 9, 2000.’

“When did Vicky disappear?” asked Marge.

“Let’s find out, shall we,” said Tex, and got out his phone. After a moment’s delay, he said, “November 10 is when Quintin reported his wife missing.”

They shared a look.“So why did she write ‘Help!’ on the back of this goatherd figurine one month before she disappearance?” asked Marge.

“And how did her cry for help end up inside the figurine, along with her ring?”

“We need a detective,” said Marge. “Pronto.”

Just then, the door of the kitchen flew open and Odelia walked in, followed by Max and Dooley.“Hey, you guys,” said Odelia. “What are you doing?”

Marge and Tex shared a smile.“Ask, and you shall receive,” said Tex.

Chapter 18

It felt really weird to be without fur around my midsection. Even though Odelia had assured me she hardly noticed I wasn’t sure she wasn’t just saying that to make me feel better. My nice shiny coat had always been my pride and joy. Maybe not as much as Harriet prides herself in her good looks, but still. That blorange sheen always gives me a nice fuzzy feeling when I spot it from the corner of my eye, or when Ipass a mirror or a shop window on the street. Yes, I’m vain, but then to some extent aren’t we all?

And now when I looked down at myself and saw my pink tummy I could have cried.

“It’s not that bad, Max,” said Dooley when he noticed my discomfort. “And soon the first bits of fuzz will start appearing and before you know it you’ll have your glow back.”

I beamed at my friend. These were exactly the words I needed to hear right now. The words to inspire and uplift and generally make me feel that all would be—

“What happened to you!” suddenly a voice cried out. The voice belonged to Harriet, and as she stood gaping at me, I could see the corners of her lips already curling up, and soon she was laughing uncontrollably. It would probably be too much to say she was rolling on the floor laughing, but thesuggestion was clearly there.

“Did you get a trim, Max?” asked Brutus with a grin. “A new fashion statement?”

“Max had an accident,” said Dooley. “And he feels very bad about it, so please be kind.”

“Please be kind!” said Harriet, bursting into another bout of laughter. “I’ll be kind if you stop looking so ridiculous!”

“I think Odelia put him in the wash but forgot that his clothes aren’t shrink-resistant,” quipped Brutus.

“It’s un-belly-vable,” roared Harriet.

“It’s called a six-pack, Max,” said Brutus. “Not a sixteen-pack!”

“Come on, Max,” said Dooley with an angry glance at our two friends. “Let’s get out of here.” And to Harriet and Brutus he said, “You’re both big fat meanies, you know that?”

That didn’t stop them from laughing, though, but I appreciated Dooley’s attempt to make them think about their behavior.

“Maybe I should wear a belly toupee for the time being,” I said to Dooley, feeling a little dejected after the treatment I’d just been awarded. “Or a scarf or a little cat vest?”

“I don’t think that would make much of a difference,” said Dooley, as he guided me out into the backyard and into Odelia’s backyard and past the inflatable pool of shame.

It had been a really interesting day, what with the inflatable pool disaster, the pooping pigeon and now this. How much humiliation can a cat take before it becomes too much? And I was about to find but, for just at that moment Moses was back, and performing a fly-bombing maneuver that would have elicited cries of admiration from my lips if his bombs hadn’t been squarely aimed at my head and Dooley’s!

“Duck, Dooley!” I yelled, and we both ran for cover as fast as our legs would carry us.

“Almost got you there!” bellowed Moses as he took another aim at us. But this time we were too quick for his attack, and as we sailed in through the pet flap, we could hear him scream, “I’ll get you next time, suckers!”

“Whatever did we do to deserve this?” I asked.

“Next time we have to ask him,” said Dooley.

“I sincerely hope there won’t be a next time,” I said as I took a breather in the kitchen, then gobbled up a few bits of kibble, then a few more, and ended up emptying my entire bowl of wet food.

Look, I know stress-eating is not a good way to cope, and I know I probably shouldn’t have eaten two bowls in a single sitting, but I needed the comfort, okay? I was feeling low, and eating my fill always has a positive effect on me. Besides, my brain needed the nutrients, as I was being confronted with a tough case.

“So Vicky Gardner wrote a cry for help on the inside of a little figurine—”

“Which turned out to be a cheap knockoff,” Dooley pointed out.

“—one month before she officially went missing. So why didn’t Quintin report her missing before?”

“Because he was the one she needed help against?” Dooley ventured.

Marge and Tex had told Odelia all about the startling discovery they’d made, and it had certainly made my head spin thinking about the implications, and Dooley’s, too.

So I lay down on the couch and allowed my little gray cells to work with the information we had at our disposal.“So a woman who looks exactly like Vicky Gardner was found dead today, having been murdered two or three days ago,” I said, closing my eyes and giving myself up to contemplation. “Vicky disappeared twenty years ago, after writing a message of distress on a figurine, that also contained her wedding ring, and that somehow made its way into Marge’s cupboard.”

“Along with a spider,” said Dooley. “Don’t forget about the spider, Max. I have a feeling it plays a very important role.”

“Fine. A spider and a figurine of a goatherd. Then there’s Quintin Gardner, who hates cats but loves stuffed animals, and says the dead girl is a dead ringer for his wife—birthmark under her left eye and everything. What else do we know about that man?”

“Only that he’s very, very rich.”

“And that he probably killed his wife because she couldn’t give him an heir,” suddenly a voice intruded upon my reverie. When I opened my eyes I saw that Gran had joined us. She smiled at me. “Playing detective again, Max?” Then she noticed the state my tummy was in and she gasped in shock. “Your belly! What happened!”

“I was in an accident,” I said tersely, and gave Dooley mental signals to keep quiet about the exact details of said accident.

I should have known that mere mental signaling isn’t sufficient to make Dooley keep his mouth shut. Happily he proceeded to lay it all out for Gran, in every gruesome detail recounting my tale of shame.

To Gran’s credit, she didn’t even crack a smile. On the contrary, she gave me a comforting pat on the head. “It’ll grow back,” she said finally, when Dooley had finished shooting his mouth off. “You’ll be your old furry self again in no time. Just you wait and see.”

“In the meantime I think I’ll stay here,” I said.

“What, no cat choir?” asked Dooley.

“No cat choir for the foreseeable future,” I said. “I don’t want to go through what Harriet and Brutus just put me through.”

“What did they put you through?” asked Gran, her eyes narrowing.

“They laughed at me,” I said sadly. “And cracked a lot of very unpleasant and inappropriate jokes at my expense.”

Gran’s face turned grim. “Don’t you worry about those two,” she said. “I’ll deal with them. In the meantime, get a load of this. Vicky married Quintin for his money, right? And Quintin married her to give him an heir. Only she got what she wanted but he didn’t. So talk in town back in theday had it that he killed her and got rid of the body. Case closed.”

“Did he remarry?” asked Dooley immediately.

“Not as far as I know. Why?”

“If he married Vicky for a baby, and she couldn’t give him one, wouldn’t he find himself another wife so he could have that baby?”

It was an excellent observation, and I wished I’d thought of it first.

“Very clever of you, Dooley,” said Gran. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. If Quintin killed her, why didn’t he find himself another baby mama right after?”

“So maybe he didn’t kill her?” I ventured.

“Yeah, maybe he didn’t. Anyway, something to think about. I gotta go,” she said, and got up. “We’re staking out Gardner’s house tonight, Scarlett and me. Wanna come?”

It was a tempting offer, I had to confess, but I’d vowed never to come near the Gardner house ever again. I didn’t want to lose the bit of hair that I had left, you see.

“Maybe some other time,” I said therefore.

“Pussy,” said Gran with a smile, and walked out.

Chapter 19

Quintin Gardner heard a car door slam and peered out through the curtains of his sitting room—his favorite room in the house. When he saw that his sister had arrived in her beefed-up BMW the corners of his mouth sagged.

For a brief moment he considered not opening the door but then decided against it. Marcia wasn’t the kind of woman who took kindly to a brother who refused to let her in. It was, after all, as much her house as his, as it had been the ancestral home for the past century, and the house where all the Gardners had lived ever since Grandpa Gardner had made his fortune with his first gummy bear.

So he shuffled out of his sitting room, dropping his newspaper on his favorite easy chair as he did, shuffled into the hallway, and went to open the door for his sibling.

“What do you want?” were his first words, not exactly dripping with brotherly love.

Marcia, if she was offended, didn’t show it. Instead she stuck her nose in the air and pranced in.

“I heard about that girl that was found,” she announced. “Is it true the police were here to interrogate you?”

“They were here to interview me,” he said, experiencing his usual pang of regret that his father hadn’t stopped conceiving after he’d had a son, and had insisted on bringing his sister into this world. How much sweeter life would have been if he’d been an only child.

“So?” said Marcia, who was a rail-thin, bony woman with coarse features about fifteen years Quintin’s junior. She hadn’t always been this unattractive. Once upon a time she’d had the entire male population of Hampton Cove clamoring to court her—though the extreme wealth of her family may have had something to do with that of course.

“So what?” he asked as he led her into the sitting room where he liked to entertain his guests, few though they usually were in number, and fewer every year.

“So who is this girl? Is it true she’s the spitting image of Vicky?”

He winced, as he usually did at the mention of the name of his beloved wife.“I saw the pictures,” he said as he sank into a fauteuil. “I think it’s her. Though of course that’s quite impossible.” He gave himself up to the same worried thought processes that had held him in their grip since the police contingent’s visit: could it be that Vicky had somehow managed to stay young forever? She’d always been obsessed with her good looks, and had hated every wrinkle or blemish that marred her perfect alabaster skin.

“What did the police say?” asked Marcia. “Do they know who she is, this girl?”

He shook his head.“That’s what they were here to find out. They don’t have a name, and they have no idea what happened to her, and were hoping I could enlighten them.” He scoffed, “They actually seem to think I had something to do with her murder. Can you imagine? Me! I hardly ever leave the house these days, let alone wander around murdering innocent young women and dumping them in ditches.”

“So she was found in a ditch? Where?”

He waved a hand.“Somewhere outside Hampton Cove. Farmer Giles or something.”

“Giles Turner,” said Marcia, nodding. “He always was smitten with Vicky, wasn’t he?”

Quintin narrowed his eyes.“You’re not saying that this Giles person kept Vicky all these years and suddenly decided to kill her?”

Marcia shrugged.“I’m saying anything is possible.” She gave her brother a searching look. “So you really think it’s Vicky, Quintin? Is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure the police will be able to tell us in a couple of days.”

Marcia threw up her hands.“How you can remain so calm about all this is absolutely beyond me! If it really is Vicky, where has she been all this time? And why did she disappear so suddenly twenty years ago? Don’t you want answers, Quintin?”

“Of course I want answers,” he said a little irately. “But I’m not going to get them by stomping around like Godzilla and needling the police until they give me those answers, am I? Besides, I’m sure that if it really is Vicky, that I’ll be suspect number one. Again.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous. Everyone knows how crazy you always were about that girl.”

Her lips pressed together in an expression of disapproval, as they usually did when mention of Vicky was made. Marcia had never been fond of her brother’s young wife, and had never made a secret of her sentiments toward her. Not that Vicky cared. She was too self-absorbed to care what anyone thought of her, not even Quintin. It was an aspect of her that had fascinated Quintin: the way Vicky’s life revolved around herself to a great degree, andto hell with everyone who didn’t give her what she felt she deserved.

“How are things at the factory?” he asked.

“Fine, fine,” said Marcia dismissively. “Bobby is on top of everything as usual.” She gave her brother a penetrating look, and he knew exactly what was coming next. “When are you finally going to make it official? You know how hard that boy works, and how much he’s invested in the business. Don’t you think he deserves a little assurance?”

“I’m not dead yet, Marcia,” he snapped.

“You’re not going to live forever, you know,” she said, in that direct way of hers. She got up. “Anyway, I expect the police will show up on my doorstep next. What do you want me to tell them?”

“Tell them whatever you want,” he growled. “I don’t care.”

“Fine,” she said. “Be that way. But make up your mind about Garibo, will you? Bobby isn’t going to wait forever. He’s had a very tempting offer from Unilever, and he’s seriously considering taking them up on it.”

Quintin looked up at this.“Bobby is thinking about leaving Garibo?”

“What do you expect! You’re practically pushing him out the door! Your own flesh and blood!” And with these words, she stalked off, and moments later slammed the door.

He heard the engine of her lime-green BMW gun and her tires spray gravel as she took off.

A grim set had come about Quintin’s mouth. Marcia was being pushy, as usual. Pushy and obnoxious. But maybe she had a point. He wasn’t going to live forever, and this whole business with Vicky being found dead had rattled him to a great degree.

And as he got up and picked up a portrait of his beloved wife, he sighed deeply.

Maybe it was finally time to let go…

Chapter 20

“Did you see that? Did you take a picture?”

“Yes, I saw that and yes, I took her picture,” said Scarlett as she studied said picture on her phone. She frowned. “Look at that dress, and that hair!” She zoomed in. “Oh, and those pores. They look like craters! She definitely needs a facial scrub and maybe a seaweed mask. And her hairdresser should be arrested and shot—look at those roots!”

“Oh, who cares what she looks like,” said Vesta as she craned her neck to follow the BMW as it raced off. “Did you get a shot of her license plate? I’ll have Alec run a check.”

“Can he do that? Is that allowed?”

Both women were seated in Marge’s little red Peugeot, conveniently parked across the street from the Gardner residence, where they had an excellent view of the front door.

“Of course he can do that. I’m his mother. He’ll do whatever the hell I tell him to do.”

“She reminds me of someone,” said Scarlett slowly, and then it hit her. “I got it! Marcia Gardner—Quintin’s younger sister!”

Vesta drew up her eyebrows in surprise.“Are you sure? I thought she moved to Switzerland. Or France—or some other European place.”

“No, it’s definitely her. I’d recognize those bushy brows anywhere.”

Vesta grinned.“Only you would recognize a person by their eyebrows.”

“Eyebrows are my specialty,” said Scarlett proudly. “They’re the windows into a person’s soul.”

“Pretty sure that’s the eyes,” grunted Vesta as she took out her own phone and dialed her son’s number.

“No, it’s the eyebrows,” said Scarlett with a nod. “Everybody knows that.”

“Alec? I want you to run a check on a license plate number. GAR130. What? Not allowed? Oh, don’t give me that crap. Just run the number already, will you? Why else have I got a cop son for?” She glanced over to her friend and nodded. “Marcia Gardner. Thanks. Oh, and when you see Charlene, tell her not to overdo it on the plastic surgery, will you? Would be a shame to ruin that lovely face on a whim.” And without saying goodbye, she disconnected, as was her habit. “You were right,” she said. “It was Quintin’s sister.” She tapped her dentures with her phone. “Can’t be a coincidence, for her to show up here so soon after the discovery of that dead body.”

“Do they know who it is yet?”

“Nah. Alec gave me some lame excuse about the coroner having to do an autopsy. Cops are even worse than politicians. All that bureaucratic claptrap. Who’s that?”

Scarlett had called up a picture on her phone of a young man with aquiline features and a widow’s peak, his jet-black hair in a ponytail.

“Bobby Garibaldi. Marcia’s son. He runs the family business these days.”

“Huh.” Vesta’s eyes twinkled, which in Scarlett’s experience was never a good sign.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m suddenly in the mood for candy.”

“I’m sure the factory’s closed by now.”

“Exactly,” said Vesta, and started up the engine.

“One thing I gotta give you,” said Scarlett.

“What?”

“There’s never a dull moment with you around.”

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I’d actually been looking forward to a nice evening at home. You know: put your paws up, do some channel-surfing or Netflixing, and generally take a load off. But unfortunately that wasn’t to be. For exactly at ten o’clock, usually the time I’m starting to get ready for cat choir, the mailwoman dropped something through the mail slot. I could tell from the telltale clattering sound.

“Odelia, you’ve got mail,” I announced, for sometimes humans don’t hear the kinds of sounds that us cats do.

Odelia and Chase, who were happily snacking on a big bag of potato chips (the pickles variety, if you’re interested) and watching The Bachelorette, didn’t even stir.

“You’ve got mail!” I repeated, a little louder.

“What is Max meowing about?” asked Chase lazily.

“He says we’ve got mail,” she said as she deposited another chip into her mouth.

“Advertising, probably,” said Chase, and continued watching the mind-numbingly boring tribulations of one woman having the pick of two dozen exceedingly handsome and charming men and suffering choice overload as a consequence.

And since I needed a bathroom break anyway, I decided to get up and do the honors for my humans. I jumped down from the couch, waddled over into the hallway, and glanced down at the piece of mail that had just been delivered. It wasn’t advertising as Chase had surmised but a pristine white envelope with two words written on it in very nice handwriting, I might add: ‘Odelia Poole.’

So I took the letter between my teeth, and carried it into the family room, then deposited it onto Odelia’s lap and went off for my bathroom break.

By the time I’d done my business, the scene in the family room had completely changed: The Bachelorette was still talking, unsure of who to pick as her mate for life, but the sound was muted. And Odelia and Chase, instead of lounging lazily on the couch, were both sitting bolt upright, and fervently studying a document.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Something just arrived in the mail,” said Dooley.

“I know,” I said.

“It came in a white envelope with the words ‘Odelia Poole’ on it,” Dooley continued.

“I know!”

“And inside was a piece of paper,” Dooley further announced.

I heaved the sigh of a cat seriously put upon, then said,“And what was on this document, pray tell?”

“I don’t know,” said Dooley. “But they seem to think it’s more interesting than The Bachelorette so it must be very important.”

“Many things are more interesting than the Bachelorette,” I said. “In fact I think practically everything is.”

“Max, I want you to think hard,” said Odelia suddenly, fixing me with an intent look.

“Okay,” I said, and thought hard. Then I realized something was missing, and I said, “Think hard about what, exactly?”

She waved the envelope in my face.“Who delivered this?”

“Um… Bambi?” I ventured a guess. Bambi Wiggins is our mailwoman, you see.

But Odelia was having none of this guesswork.“This is not the time for jokes, Max. You must have some idea who dropped this through the mail slot just now.”

Both Odelia and Chase were staring hard at me, making me distinctly nervous.“Um… I’m sure I don’t know,” I said. “I was watching The Bachelorette, remember? So I didn’t really pay attention.”

“But you heard the mail slot?”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to miss. It makes a lot of noise when it clatters.” Which is probably the point of those mail slots, I guess. That people know when the mail has arrived and can send their dog—or, as in this case, their cat—to fetch it.

Odelia looked disappointed, an expression I’m unfamiliar with. And since I could see this was important, I threw my mind back and did as she said: I thought hard. “I did hear a car stop,” I said finally, “right before the letter was dumped through the slot.”

“What kind of car?” she immediately asked.

“Um… the kind of car that drives?” I suggested, and saw that this was the wrong answer.

“Oh, Max,” she sighed.

“No dice?” asked Chase.

“He remembers a car stopping right before the letter arrived, but nothing more.”

“So what’s in the letter?” I finally asked, my curiosity seriously piqued now.

Odelia showed it to me. Its contents only consisted of a single line of text:‘A good sleuth has a sweet tooth.’

I would have laughed, if Odelia hadn’t looked deathly serious.

“A good sleuth has a sweet tooth?” I said. “What does that even mean?”

“Someone is playing a game, Max,” said Odelia. “And I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with Vicky Gardner’s disappearance and the death of that young woman.”

And then I remembered something.“Isn’t Quintin Gardner called the Candy King?”

“He is. He owns Garibo, one of the biggest candy makers in the country.” She shared a look with her boyfriend. “I think we better take a closer look at Garibo tomorrow.”

Just then, Chase’s phone chimed and he picked it up from the coffee table. “It’s your uncle,” he said after checking the display. “Chief? What’s up?” He listened for a moment, then closed his eyes. “I’m on my way.” He disconnected with a grimace. “Your grandmother and Scarlett were caught trespassing.”

Odelia looked stunned.“Trespassing? Where?”

Chase cocked an eyebrow.“At Garibo’s.”

Chapter 21

“They tried to cut a hole through the fence, Chief,” said the security guard. He was a burly specimen, even bigger than Alec himself, and the latter was no lightweight by any stretch of the imagination.

The police chief now directed a reproachful look at his mother and her friend.

“What have you got to say for yourself, Ma?”

“We never even managed to get through the fence!” said the Chief’s mother.

“I tried filing but it didn’t work,” Scarlett explained, holding up the nail file she’d used. “And then I tried my nail clippers but they broke.” She gave the security guard a nasty glance. “And those were my best nail clippers.”

The guard shrugged his massive shoulders and walked back to his guard station to raise the barrier for a visitor.

“I can’t even begin to imagine why you would do such a thing,” said Alec as he tapped the ground with an impatient foot.

“Because this is where it all leads, Alec, can’t you see?” said his aged mother. “This is where the mystery will be solved.”

“What mystery?” he asked, mystified.

“Vicky Gardner’s disappearance, and her death twenty years later!”

“First off, I’m pretty sure that the woman we found this morning is not Vicky Gardner.”

“Says you.”

“Unless she found a miracle cure against aging it cannot possibly be her,” said the chief, pinching the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb.

“Too bad she’s dead,” said Scarlett. “Just imagine what secrets she could tell. Ooh! I know what happened! She probably found the Rosetta Stone that gives eternal youth!”

“Pretty sure the Rosetta Stone got nothing to do with eternal youth,” said the Chief. “And why did you ask me about Marcia Gardner’s license plate number earlier? You’re not going to break into her place as well, are you?”

“Marcia visited her brother,” said Vesta triumphantly, as if spilling some big secret.

“So? He’s her brother. She’s bound to visit him from time to time.”

“Yeah, but on the same day the body of Vicky turns up? Ya gotta admit, Alec—verrrry suspicious.”

He flung up his arms.“How many times do I have to tell you: it wasn’t Vicky!”

“Yeah, yeah. You keep telling yourself that.”

“If she really did discover the secret of eternal youth,” said Scarlett, “all kinds of bad people were probably after her. One of ‘em must have caught up with her and killed her.”

“So her Rosetta Stone didn’t really work?” asked Vesta.

“Yeah, that’s a conundrum,” Scarlett admitted. Then she directed a beaming smile at Alec. “You’re not going to arrest us, are you, sweetie? You can’t arrest your own mother and her best friend. What are people going to think?” And out of sheer habit, she wiggled her d?colletage, making Alec’s blood pressure spike even higher.

“Don’t do that,” said Vesta, placing a hand on her friend’s arm.

“Why not?”

“Cause he’s my son, that’s why. It’s inappropriate.”

“He’s also a man, and we’re fighting for our freedom here, Vesta, so I say anything goes.”

“It all depends whether Garibo’s owners decide to press charges or not,” said Alec, tearing his eyes away from Scarlett’s provocative jiggling. The woman was seventy-five years old but wouldn’t have looked out of place in a louche bordello.

“You told the Gardners about our innocent little excursion?” asked Vesta, horrified.

“The security guard who caught you did.” He glanced up, expecting the big boss of Garibo to turn up at any moment. It wasn’t his finest hour as a small-town cop, he had to admit. When you’re forced to arrest your own mother it’s never a fun time. And he’d been looking forward to a nice quiet evening at home with Charlene, too.

“Did you tell Charlene about the plastic surgery?” asked his mother, as if she’d read his mind, which was entirely possible.

“Yeah, about that—I don’t even understand what you’re talking about. Plastic surgery? Charlene?”

Vesta shrugged.“Someone told me that she was in Fido’s barbershop yesterday and mention was made about a complete makeover. New hair, new clothes… new face.”

“Look, Charlene is my girlfriend now, all right? So I don’t want you to go around spreading your brand of nasty gossip like you usually do.”

Vesta looked shocked, and so did Scarlett.“Nasty gossip? Me?” the old lady gasped. “I would never—”

“Ever!” Scarlett said, leaning forward with intensified jiggling.

“—never, ever, ever—”

“Never!”

“—ever say a bad word about Charlene, who’s a lovely lady.”

“Absolutely lovely!”

“—with a pretty face she’d do well to save from those plastic surgery vultures.”

“Vultures!” Scarlett darted a quick look at her friend. “Though she could do with a bit of Botox wouldn’t you agree? You’re never too young to try Botox is what I always say.”

“She’s got this nasty groove between her brows,” said Vesta, nodding.

“Botox will clear that right up. Just like that.” Scarlett snapped her fingers to show Alec what she meant.

“Dear Lord,” muttered Alec, and stepped away from the terrible twosome for a moment. And as he did, he saw that his niece and Chase had arrived, and so had a second car, containing Charlene, who’d probably come to see what was taking her boyfriend so long.

They soon joined Alec, giving him looks of commiseration that were a balm to his tortured soul.

“They tried to cut through the fence,” he announced the moment the trio was within earshot. “Armed with a nail file and a pair of clippers. They didn’t get far.”

“But why?” asked Odelia.

“They seem to think that the factory contains some kind of secret that will reveal what happened to Vicky Gardner. Don’t ask.”

Charlene, whose blond curls were glowing in the glare from those halogen lights often used to light up parking lots, gave him a commiserating smile.“Your mother is getting older, honey. Her mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be. That’s just the way it is.”

“My mother isn’t senile,” he grunted. “If anything her mind is sharper than mine.”

“Oh,” said Charlene, frowning. “So how do you explain this, then?”

He saw that Scarlett was right: Charlene did have a groove between her brows.

“I think I might be able to shed some light on Gran’s strange behavior,” said Odelia, and produced an envelope and handed it to her uncle. “Someone delivered this to the house just now.”

Alec opened the envelope and extracted a sheet of paper. On it, there was a single sentence.“A good sleuth has a sweet tooth,” he read, then glanced up at his niece. “I don’t get it,” he admitted.

“I think someone wants to direct us to this factory,” said Chase. “Garibo somehow figures into this mystery surrounding Vicky Gardner’s disappearance, and the death of that young woman.”

“So have you figured out who she is yet?” asked Charlene.

“Nope. But I can tell you one thing with absolute certainty: it’s not Vicky Gardner. That would be physically impossible.”

“Why?” asked Charlene. “If she took great care of herself she could have preserved her youthful good looks.”

He shook his head decidedly.“Vicky Gardner, if she were still alive today, would be Marge’s age.”

“And my age,” said Charlene.

“No one, and I mean no one, looks that good at forty-eight,” said Alec, and immediately saw that he’d probably said the wrong thing, for Charlene’s face fell.

“You mean I don’t look good at forty-eight? I’m too old, is that it?”

“No, that’s not what I meant, darling,” he said immediately, but the damage was done, for Charlene got a cold look in her eyes that he didn’t like to see there. It spelled doom.

“Some people say I haven’t changed a bit,” she argued. “And some even say I look better now than I did twenty years ago.”

“You look great, Charlene,” said Alec. “But not…” He saw the warning look his niece shot him but ignored it. “Not like a twenty-eight-year-old. And that’s only to be expected.”

“Oh,” said Charlene curtly, then closed her mouth with a click, opened it again to say something else, but changed her mind and abruptly turned on her heel and strode off.

“Charlene?” he said. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she snapped, then added, “My home.”

“But… weren’t you going to stay over at mine tonight?”

She held up a hand.“Not tonight. Or any other night,” she added for good measure.

He watched as she got into her car, and drove off without acknowledging his presence. That groove had deepened, he saw, and that was probably not a good sign.

“What–what just happened?” he finally asked.

“I think you just told your girlfriend that she’s ugly,” said Odelia.

“But I never said that!”

“No, but that’s what she heard.”

He buried his face in his hands.“Can this daybe any worse?”

And then, out of the blue, suddenly a large pigeon materialized in the sky and dropped a goodish dollop of doo-doo on his head. And as it flew off, it laughed hysterically.

Yep. He just had to ask, hadn’t he?

Chapter 22

I watched as Moses homed in on me, dropped his load, and then flew off. I could have told Uncle Alec that I’d been the bird’s intended victim, not him, but what difference would that have made? He’d still have been covered in bird poo, and might even have been upset with me.

So I decided to keep quiet, while the Chief wiped his practically bald pate with a napkin helpfully provided by his niece.

“So they make candy in there, Max?” asked Dooley as we stared at the large building located on the other side of the parking lot.

“Yeah, some of the best candy in the country, or so I’ve heard.”

“I don’t understand why humans like candy so much,” he now revealed. “It’s basically sugar and pigskin, isn’t it?”

I smiled at that.“Pigskin?”

“I saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel once, that explained how candy is made. It’s just sugar, flavorings, coloring and gelatin. And gelatin is made from animals.”

“Yuck.”

“It’s the skin, ligaments, tendons and bone shavings of pigs and cows and chickens.”

“Yuck, yuck.”

“And the weird thing is that Gran saw that documentary, too, and she was snacking on Garibo gummy bears all the while, and even afterward she didn’t stop eating them.”

“Did you explain to her she was eating sugared pigskin?”

“I did! And you know what she said?”

“What?”

“If you knew what they put in your kibble you’d probably never eat another bowl.”

I was afraid to ask but still felt compelled to.“Why? What do they put in cat kibble?”

“Meat leftovers,” said Dooley. “The skin, the fat, basically all the yucky stuff no one else wants.”

“Yuck.”

“Yeah, yuck.”

We were both silent for a moment, then I felt compelled to ask the inevitable question:“So if you know all this, why haven’t you stopped eating kibble?”

Dooley shrugged.“It tastes so good!”

Well, the same probably goes for sugared pigskin, aka gummy bears. These Garibo people make it taste so good that people eat it, no matter what’s in it.

“Why did Charlene just walk off in a huff?” asked Dooley.

“I think she thinks Uncle Alec insulted her,” I said.

“Oh? What did he say?”

“He said she doesn’t look as good now as she did twenty years ago. Or, more specifically, no one looks as good at forty-eight as they did when they were twenty-eight.”

“I think Charlene looks great.”

“I think so, too.”

“And she smells so nice.”

“She smells divine.”

I don’t know what perfume Charlene likes to wear, but it’s very refined and very nice.

“I don’t really care whether a human is twenty-eight or forty-eight or eighty-eight,” said Dooley. “As long as they treat me well I love them all the same.”

“Me, too,” I agreed.

“And as long as they keep the kibble coming.”

“That goes without saying.”

If only people were more like cats, the world would probably be a better place.

The security guard who’d caught Gran and Scarlett now came strutting up to us. “Mr. Gardner isn’t going to join us tonight,” he announced. “And neither is Mr. Garibaldi, his nephew. But they’re not going to press charges against your mother. Mr. Gardner did ask me to tell you that next time he won’t be so lenient. So please, sir,” he added, giving the Chief a pleading look, “put your mother and her friend on a tight leash?”

“I will,” said Uncle Alec, but I could see how he was crossing his fingers behind his back. And rightly so, I thought. If anyone told you they could keep Vesta Muffin on a tight leash, you can rest assured they would be lying through their teeth.

Odelia now approached the security guard.“Mr. Gardner’s nephew is the CEO, right?”

“He is,” said the guard a little guardedly.

“If I wanted to talk to him, how would I go about it?”

“You call his secretary and she’ll set up an interview,” said the man. “I gotta warn you, though, Miss Poole. Mr. Garibaldi is a hard man to reach. He doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll talk to me,” said Odelia.

“I don’t think so. He avoids the limelight, Mr. Garibaldi does. Doesn’t give interviews.”

“Then maybe he’ll speak to me,” said Chase, stepping to the fore.

The guard studied Chase for a moment, and I could see he saw in him a kindred muscled spirit, for a smile briefly creased his face.“He doesn’t talk to cops either.”

“And why is that?”

“Mr. Garibaldi was very attached to his aunt. And when she disappeared, and the police couldn’t bring her back, he took it very hard, sir. He blames the police—and the media,” he added with a glance in Odelia’s direction. “For the salacious stories published at the time.”

Chase nodded.“I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” said the guard, who seemed to be the strong talkative type. “He hates reporters, and he hates the police.”

Gran, who’d joined us, now piped up. “Then he’ll want to talk to me. I don’t like reporters either, or cops, so at least we’ve got that in common.”

This seemed to amuse the guard.“But your son is a cop, Mrs. Muffin. And your niece is a reporter.”

“So? They may be family, but I don’t have to like them, do I?”

The guard could see her point, for he grinned.“Just like Mr. Gardner and his sister. They may be brother and sister but they hate each other’s guts like nobody’s business.” And feeling that he’d said enough, he bid us all good night, and returned to his guard hut, presumably hoping to catch more senior citizens armed with nail files and clippers.

Chapter 23

When we arrived home, and I ventured outside into the backyard for a nice few moments stretched out on the cool lawn, under the stars, to contemplate my fate and the day that had been, I saw to my horror that the inflatable pool, which had been expertly demolished by yours truly and Dooley, had been filled up with water once more.

Chase, walking out after me, saw me staring at the pool and must have misinterpreted my expression for one of admiration, for he said proudly,“Yeah, I did that. Pretty simple, really. Just like fixing a bicycle tire. And this time please be careful with the nails, will you? I don’t want to have to patch that thing up again.” He grinned at me. “Go on, Max. I can see you can’t wait to jump in and practice your floating technique.Do you want me to give you a hand?”

And then, showing me that he knew absolutely nothing about cats and their habits, he actually picked me up and deposited me squarely into the middle of the inflatable pool!

I squealed in shock when the cold water hit my newly shaved belly, but Chase merely laughed.

“I love it when you do that, Maxie,” he said. “Tell me when you’ve had enough, will you? I’ll be inside.” And much to my dismay, he returned indoors, and simply left me there!

No, Chase clearly wasn’t Jesus. Jesus would never have dumped me in a pool of cold water. And Jesus would most certainly not have turned his back on me in my hour of need!

“Heeeeelp”! I cried therefore, because once again I found myself incapable of navigating that slippery plastic pool bottom for fear of going under for the first and final time. “Heeeeelp meeeeee!”

But the only one answering my call of distress was an owl, and all he said was:“Ooooh-ooooh.”

Fat lot of good that did me.

So for a moment I just stood there, frozen in place, and then my brain rebooted and I started thinking up ways and means of escaping my terrible predicament. Harriet and Brutus had gone out, presumably to attend cat choir in the park, and Dooley was still inside, probably stretched out on the couch and taking a well-deserved nap after the trying times at the Garibo plant.

Basically all I had to do was wait for a human to appear on the scene—any human would do: Odelia, Marge, Gran, or even Tex or Chase. And they’d fish me out of the pool and that would be the end of my renewed acquaintance with that terrible contraption.

Only no human was showing their face. Used to be the streets of Hampton Cove were teeming with them, but these days they all preferred to stay indoors, close to their air-conditioning units and glued to their televisions.

“Heeeeelp!” I said therefore, with renewed fervor. “Heeeeelp meeeeee!”

A cat’s meow can be quite loud and persuasive, but so far I wasn’t having any luck. And then suddenly help came from an unexpected corner when Fifi appeared on the scene. “Max? What’s going on?” the little Yorkshire Terrier asked as she stuck her head through the tiny hole in the fence.

Fifi belongs to Kurt Mayfield, who’s Odelia’s next-door neighbor and not a great friend of cats. Kurt, I mean, not Fifi, who’s just the sweetest little ball of fluff around.

“I’m stuck in this pool,” I explained. “Can you help me?”

“Oh, sure,” said Fifi, and darted through the hole and into our backyard. She tripped up and studied the situation from every angle, which is to say she circled the pool three times in one direction, then repeated the procedure in the other direction before finally coming to a full stop and staring at me excitedly, panting all the while.

“Why don’t you just come out, Max?” she asked, which wasn’t helpful, I can tell you.

“Because this pool floor is slippery,” I explained, “and if I move I’m going to trip and fall and then I’m going to drown.”

She stared at me, then at the water, then back up at me.“I don’t understand,” she said.

Of course she didn’t. Dogs are excellent swimmers. Like human babies they can probably swim the moment they are born. So I sighed deeply, and revealed a big secret no cat likes to admit to a dog—ever. “Cats don’t swim, Fifi. We just don’t. We hate the water, and fear it.”

She frowned.“I don’t understand,” she repeated.

“Look, I can’t swim, all right?”

“But there’s hardly any water in there,” she said. “You can’t drown in a foot of water, Max. It’s impossible.”

“Oh, trust me, I can and I will drown in a foot of water. In half a foot of water, even.”

“No, you won’t. Trust me. All you have to do is swim to me and you’ll be fine.”

“I’m telling you, Fifi: I cannot swim. No cat can.”

“I’m sure that’s all in your head, Max. I’m sure you can swim if you want to. Now just close your eyes and visualize yourself swimming and then open your eyes and do it!”

If there’s one thing I hate it’s these kinds of motivational hacks. Visualize yourself rich and you’ll win the lottery. Visualize yourself thin and you’ll lose a hundred pounds in a day. It just doesn’t work like that! And I was about to tell Fifi when I hit upon the solution for my predicament. “You can swim, right?”

“Of course I can swim,” she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, which to her it probably was!

“So maybe you can wade in and come and get me?” I suggested.

She cocked her head to one side as she considered this, and then smiled and said,“Sure. Here I come, Max.” And with these simple words she stepped into the pool and made her way over to where I was stuck in the middle. “Take my paw and let go,” she said encouragingly when I stiffened. I tentatively took her paw and allowed myself to be dunked into the water. There was amomentary sense of panic when the water threatened to close over my head, but Fifi had me covered and she easily lifted me onto her back.

“How do you do that?” I asked in wonder.

“Water makes you float, Max,” she said. “So even if you’re not the world’s, um, thinnest cat, in the water it doesn’t matter.” And to prove her point she bucked her hips and I floated up and down a little, and I have to confess the sensation wasn’t all that bad!

“Hey, this is pretty fun,” I said. The water was cool, and after a day spent in the sun, that was pretty… cool.

“Let’s wade around a little,” she said, and took me by the paws and started dragging me through the pool.

“Um… maybe we better get to shore now,” I said after a while.

“Just trust me, Max,” she said, and so we waded a little while longer, and since I’d lost a goodish deal of fur around the midsection I wasn’t weighted down by the water as much as I would have been under normal circumstances. In fact I felt light as a feather, and I have to tell you that this was a pretty good feeling for a big-boned cat like me!

“And?” said Fifi after a while. “Had enough?”

“Yeah,” I said with a grunt of satisfaction. “I think that’ll do for now.”

When she’d led me to shore, and I’d scrabbled out over the edge of the inflatable pool, she shook herself like only dogs can, and so I mimicked her movement and found that it was a pretty effective way of losing all that excess water in next to no time.

“And that concludes your first swimming lesson,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks, Fifi,” I said. “I actually enjoyed that.” And I meant it, too. I mean, I’ll probably never be the new Michael Phelps, but it wasn’t half as bad as I’d expected.

“You’re welcome,” said Fifi, then glanced over to her own backyard, where Kurt had started yelling, “Fifi? Fifi, where are you, sweet girl?”

“I better get back,” she said.

“Thanks for saving my life,” I said, and gave her a heartfelt pat on the back.

“No sweat,” she said. “Neighbors have to be there for each other, right?”

I watched her trip off into her backyard, and I heard Kurt say,“Where were you, sweetheart? I was looking all over for you,” and smiled.

And as I stepped back, I accidentally hit the inflatable pool with my hind paw. And out of sheer habit, I kicked out, extending my nails as I did. There was a slight hissing sound, and as I turned around, I watched the inflatable pool collapse like a souffl?, the water pouring out and flooding Odelia’s nice little lawn.

Oops…

Chapter 24

The following morning Chase decided to take his morning exercises outside. And as he stepped out into the backyard, his bare feet encountered a splashy sensation and he found himself standing in an inch of water.

He frowned and glanced down. Huh. How strange. He then looked up at the sky, wondering if it had rained that night.

Nope. The sky was as clear a blue as ever.

And he’d just begun with his jumping jacks when he saw it: the inflatable pool had collapsed into a heap of plastic.

“Oh, darn,” he muttered. Apparently his inflatable pool repair skills weren’t as good as he thought after all. The stickers he’d glued in place must have come unstuck again.

Tex, who’d stepped outside to take in some of that bracing cool morning air, came over for a chat. “Hey, buddy,” said the doctor. “Is it true that Vesta was caught last night trying to break into the Garibo factory?”

“Yeah, we had to go and bail her out,” said Chase, performing his jumping jacks while trying to maintain a conversation with his future father-in-law, which was always a challenge.

Tex gave him a censorious look.“You should be careful not to overexert yourself there, bud. In this kind of weather physical activity isn’t advised.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Chase, a little breathless now.

“I’m a doctor, Chase,” said Tex sternly. Like most doctors he didn’t like his well-meant medical advice to be brushed aside this casually. “So I think I know what I’m talking about.”

“Thanks, Dad,” said Chase, causing the other man to wince. “The day is still early, so I’ll be fine.”

“Mh,” said Tex skeptically, and disappeared again.

Moments later, Marge appeared.“Tex tells me you’re putting yourself at risk, Chase,” she said as she watched him touch the toes of his feet with the tips of his fingers. “Maybe you should listen to him. He’s a doctor, you know, so he knows what he’s talking about.”

“It’s fine, Mom,” said Chase, causing his future mother-in-law to wince. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Mh,” said Marge, clearly not convinced, and withdrew.

And Chase had just performed his third standing high jump when Vesta ambled up and said,“You shouldn’t be doing that in this hot weather, Chase. You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you keep this up.”

“I’m okay, Grandma,” he said, watching Vesta cringe at these words.

“Tex tells me you’re putting yourself in danger,” Vesta insisted. “And he’s a doctor, so he knows.”

“It’s still early,” he said, doing some trunk rotations now. “So I’ll be just fine.”

“Mh,” said Vesta, unconvinced, and disappeared through the hole in the hedge.

“Honey, don’t overdo it,” suddenly a voice said through the bedroom window. He looked up, and saw that the love of his life was leaning out, only dressed in a T-shirt and rubbing sleepy eyes.

“You look adorable, babe,” he said as he threw in a couple of squats.

“My dad just called. He says you shouldn’t be out doing these kinds of strenuous activities in this heatwave we’ve been having.”

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. He didn’t like to admit it but the Poole family was seriously wearing him down. “I’ve been doing this kind of thing for a long time so I know what I’m doing, all right?”

“No need to get snippy,” she said, and retracted her head and closed the window.

“I’m not being sni—” he began, and then groaned.

And as he was doing some side stretches, suddenly Max stole into his field of vision and started mewing plaintively.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” he said. “Not you, too, Max!”

He couldn’t understand a word the cat said but somehow he felt he was repeating the new Poole family mantra: you shouldn’t be out here exercising in this hot weather.

A head suddenly popped up over the fence and Kurt Mayfield appeared.“Are you sure that’s wise, neighbor?” asked the retired music teacher.

“Yes, it’s wise, Kurt,” he growled, starting to feel a little homicidal. “In fact it’s very wise and very healthy to do morning exercises and limber up your limbs before starting your day.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would be true, but in this weather? Can’t be healthy.”

More cats had appeared on the scene, in the form of Harriet, Brutus and Dooley, and now he was being observed by no less than four cats, one fluffy white dog and one neighbor.

“Chase!” suddenly Odelia shouted from the upstairs window again. “My dad just called again. He says he’ll wait until you’re finished before he leaves for work, in case you collapse. So he can revive you and make sure you’re fine. He’s very worried about you.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” said Chase.

“And also, Max just confessed that he accidentally destroyed your inflatable pool last night. He swears it was an accident, and he promises it will never happen again!”

“Max?” said Chase, and watched as the large orange cat gave him a sheepish look. “Why?”

Max meowed something, and Odelia translated,“He says it was self-defense, whatever that means.”

Odelia disappeared again, and Chase continued his morning exercises, now segueing into a light yoga routine.

There was a tsk-tsking sound, and when he glanced over, he saw that Kurt was shaking his head and giving him weary glances.

In spite of the fact that his blood was slowly coming to a boil, he continued doggedly with his Downward Facing Dog.

“Your blood is rushing to your head, neighbor,” said Kurt, giving a running commentary. “That can’t be good.”

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“Ever heard of thrombosis?”

“I’m telling you I’m—”

Just then, as he came up to salute the sun, a bird swooped down and deposited a large helping of sticky muck onto his upturned face, then flew off, laughing like a hyena.

“That’s it!” he cried, shaking his fist at the sky. “You win! I give up!”

And with these words, he stalked off. And as he went, he could just hear Kurt say,“See? I told you, Fifi. This heat makes them all go berserk. Especially the musclebound ones. Too much blood rushing to their muscles and not enough going to their brains.”

And as Chase pounded up the stairs and slammed the door of the bathroom, Odelia yelled,“Oh, babe? I forgot to tell you. The heater is broken. I called the plumber already.”

A cold stream of ice-cold water hit the cop’s head, making him shiver. And so he echoed his boss’s words from the night before: “Can this day be any worse?”

Chapter 25

“Max, Brutus and I want to apologize for the way we spoke to you yesterday,” said Harriet, looking as contrite as I’d ever seen her look. Brutus, too, gave me apologetic glances, and the couple’s performance warmed the cockles of my heart.

“That’s all right, you guys,” I said therefore. “No bad feelings.”

When I looked up, though, I noticed how Gran was standing nearby, arms crossed in front of her and impatiently tapping her foot.

“And what else did we discuss?” she asked now. “Harriet? Brutus?”

“Oh, Gran, do we have to?” said Harriet, and that warm fuzzy feeling I’d been experiencing dissipated to some extent. It was obvious now that those apologies weren’t exactly heartfelt but had more to do with Gran’s gentle—or not so gentle—coercion.

“Max, we’re going to offer you…” Gran prompted.

Harriet rolled her eyes, then said, reluctantly,“Max, we’re going to offer you half of our kibble for the next two weeks to show you how sorry we are for the way we treated you.”

“And now say it like you mean it,” said Gran, who was a tough taskmaster.

“That’s all right,” I said. “I don’t want your kibble—and frankly speaking I don’t want your apologies either. At least not like this.”

“Not like what?” asked Harriet, looking surprised.

“It’s obvious that you’re not really sorry,” I said.

“But I am sorry,” said Harriet.

“Yeah, especially since Gran threatened to ground us for a month if we didn’t apologize,” grunted Brutus.

“Oh, God,” I said, and started to walk away. With friends like Harriet and Brutus, I meant to say, who needs enemies, right?

“No, Max, but I really do mean it,” said Harriet quickly. “I never should have laughed at your… accident.”

“And I shouldn’t have made that crack about your sixteen-pack,” said Brutus, though judging from the gleam in his eyes he still thought it was a pretty good joke.

“Look, if you guys want to make fun of me, that’s fine,” I said. “But don’t pretend that we’re friends, because friends don’t say nasty things about each other, and they certainly don’t make fun of a friend’s misfortune.”

And with these words, I was off. Having terminated our friendship once and for all, I felt a lot better, actually. I now realized I only had one true friend and that was Dooley.

“I told you that actions have consequences,” I heard Gran admonish my former friends.

Inside, Odelia and Chase were having breakfast, and Dooley was lounging on the windowsill, enjoying a bit of sunshine before the day turned into another scorcher.

“Hey, Max,” said Odelia, and inspected my belly. “Looks like your fur is coming in already.” She patted me on the head. “Pretty soon now you’ll be back to your old self.”

I nodded a little morosely. It’s never a lot of fun to break up with one’s friends, and I was smarting a little I have to admit.

Odelia must have noticed I was in a bit of a funk, for she said,“Chase and I are going to try to talk to Bobby Garibaldi today. Wanna come?”

I perked up a little at that.“Oh, sure,” I said. Then I recollected the security guard’s words from last night. “But I thought he didn’t talk to reporters or cops?”

“That’s why Chase and I will pretend to be investors in his company instead,” she said with a wink.

“We’re off to visit Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, Max,” said Chase, who clearly wasn’t harboring any resentment for the inflatable pool episode. “Are you up for it?”

“You bet I am,” I said, then remembered my less than presentable form, and wavered.

But Odelia, proving once again that she’s the perfect cat lady, suddenly spirited what looked like a miniature jacket into her hands. “Look what I got for you, Max,” she said, and proceeded to put the thing on me. It really was a little jacket: my front paws went into the sleeves, and my hind legs into the trouser legs and the moment Odelia had zipped up the front I was looking as snazzy and cool as I’d ever looked.

Dooley, who’d come tripping up to see what all the fuss was about, eyed me with a mixture of consternation and excitement.

“Max, you look awesome!” he cried. “And that mauve and topaz really becomes you.”

Yeah, I wasn’t exactly sure about the colors, or the check motif, but then beggars can’t be choosers and at least I looked less ridiculous than before, with half my body hair missing in action.

“Thanks, Odelia,” I said warmly. “It’s a lovely gift.”

“Anything for my sweet baby,” she said, and made some minor adjustments then took a couple of snaps for her Facebook page.

“I think he looks amazing,” said Chase as he put down his phone and joined the chorus of admirers.

And when Harriet and Brutus came sneaking in a little trepidatiously moments later, and saw my new outfit, even they looked appropriately impressed.

“You remind of something,” said Brutus, then snapped his claws. “I got it. You look like Sherlock Holmes.”

And when I looked down I saw what he meant: the check motif indeed did look like the kind of coat the great detective usually favored—at least in the TV shows and the movies.

“Now you really are a professional sleuth,” said Odelia.

“And what about me?” asked Dooley. “Don’t I get to wear a coat, too?”

“Of course,” said Odelia, and spirited three more little vests into her hands: one for each of her cats. And when she was through, Dooley looked a lot like Dr. Watson, Harriet was dressed up with a turquoise kaftan that became her well, and Brutus’s formidable form had been squeezed into a burgundy sleeveless vest that made him look even more butch than he already was.

Chase scratched his scalp as he surveyed the scene.“People will either think we’re nuts or eccentric or both.”

“Which is exactly the kind of image the future investors in Garibo Enterprises want to project,” Odelia said.

And only now did I notice that Odelia was wearing a very sexy outfit indeed, that showed more bust than was her habit, and that Chase was dressed in a very snazzy costume and was wearing a faux chin curtain type beard, much favored by Russian oligarchs.

Odelia then made a little curtsy and said,“Countess Anastasia Kuranova and Sergei Abromavich at your service.”

Oh, boy. This was going to be interesting.

Chapter 26

Odelia pushed up her push-up bra and checked her assets. She’d stuffed the bra with a pair of panties to fill it out, as her natural bust was a modest one.

“You look great, babe,” said Chase, who looked more like a Russian mobster now than the honest cop that he was.

“You think so?” she asked a little uncertainly.

“Absolutely,” he assured her.

They were waiting in the lobby of the Garibo building, where their arrival had been announced ten minutes before. Four cats sat at their feet, all of them dressed to the nines, and clearly a little ill at ease. There had been some kind of fight between the cats, and now Max and Dooley weren’t talking to Harriet and Brutus. The exact details of the rift escaped her but it had something to do with Max’s hairless new look.

“So I’ll do the talking, all right?” said Chase. He sat a little straighter on the plastic bench that was molded in the shape of one of Garibo’s typical colorful candies.

“Yes, Sergei,” said Odelia, adopting the Russian accent she’d been practicing. “You do ze talking and I do ze looking sexy.”

“Exactly,” said Chase with a slight grin. He fingered his stick-on beard. “I hope this thing stays glued on. If it starts to fall off please tell me.”

“Oh, I vill tell you, Sergei, darlink,” said Odelia, laying the accent on thick now. “When can ve go back to ze yacht?” she asked in a slightly whiny voice. “I vant to go yachting and spend time in Saint-Tropez vid my many super-rich girlfriends and zeir hunky huzbands.”

“Ve vill go yachting soon, my pet,” Chase assured her. “I just bought a bery beeg yacht—ze beegest yacht in ze vorld. Beeger zan Yuri’s yacht—zat stoopid loser.”

“Good for you, zveetheart.”

They both grinned now, and Odelia noticed how four cats were all staring up at them, mouths agape. They clearly were wondering what had gotten into them.

Just then, the receptionist announced,“Mr. Garibaldi will see you now, Countess and Mr. Abromavich.”

“Go time, babe,” Chase grunted, and led the procession of humans and cats in the direction indicated by the receptionist.

A smallish man with his black hair in a ponytail awaited them with a wide smile. He had the kind of sharp incisors that reminded Odelia of a vampire, and his face was as tan as cowhide.

“Welcome, welcome!” he caroled as they stepped into his office. “Can I offer you some refreshments?”

“Na, ve are fine,” said Chase with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Unless you ave ze vodka?”

“Um…” said Bobby Garibaldi hesitantly.

“Just yoking,” said Chase, and produced a deep booming laugh that reverberated around the room, then clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, making him buckle at the knees. “Russian humor. Very funny.”

“Very funny,” said Mr. Garibaldi, smiling a little uncertainly. “Ha ha. Please take a seat.” It was only then that he spotted the four cats, all dressed up as if ready to join the Moscow State Circus. “I see you brought your…”

“Cats,” said Odelia. “Ve love our precious vur babies. Ve take zem everywhere. Isn’t that so, Sergei?”

“Zat ees so,” Sergei confirmed. “My vife loves ze cats more than she loves me sometimes I think. Ha ha ha!”

“Ha ha,” said Garibaldi nervously. He didn’t look like the kind of person who liked cats—or any pet for that matter.

The collected company took a seat in a corner of the office which had clearly been designed as the place where Garibaldi hosted his business guests and conducted his negotiations. The table was shaped like another one of his candies, and the chairs were all vividly colored molded plastic.

Odelia took a seat, making sure that her artificially enhanced bust was on full display. She felt a little awkward playing out her assets like this, but when Garibaldi’s eyes almost popped from their native sockets it was clear the gambit was working.

“So you want to invest in Garibo Enterprises, is that correct?” asked Garibaldi, getting down to business without further ado.

“Zat ees so,” Chase confirmed. “Ve vant to expand into ze candy beeznees—a bery good and lucrative beeznees am I right?”

“Oh, you’re absolutely right,” said Garibaldi, rubbing his little hands gleefully at the prospect of getting a nice big influx of cash. “And how much were you thinking of investing, if I may be so bold?”

“You may be so bold,” Chase confirmed. “Ow much?” He made an airy gesture as he blew out some air. “Forty millions? Fifty? Just a small sum to establish good faith, you understand.”

Now Garibaldi’s eyes popped out even further. “F-fifty million dollars?”

“Dollars, yes,” Chase confirmed. “Chump change for me, and a nice vay of getting zees beeznees relationsheep off to a good start, yes?”

“Y-yes, indeed.” Garibaldi licked his lips eagerly. “What business are you in right now, Mr. Abromavich?”

“Oh, a leetle beet of zis and a leetle beet of zat. But we like the candy, isn’t that so, sweet puss?”

“Ve like ze candy very much,” Odelia agreed with a purr.

“Everybody likes the candy,” said Garibaldi, his eyes now taking in Odelia’s form. “I like the candy, you like the candy—they like the candy.” He gestured to the four cats, who were all staring at the scene, as if having a hard time grasping what was going on.

“So I vanted to ask you,” said Chase, settling back and adjusting his tie. “Zertain rumors ave reached my eers.”

“What rumors?” asked Garibaldi, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from Odelia.

“Ze dead voman–she vas your aunt?”

Garibaldi swallowed.“Not my aunt,” he said, shaking his head.

“Zen oo ees she?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” said the CEO. “But I can assure you her unfortunate death has nothing to do with Garibo whatsoever. No matter what you’ve been told—”

“I’ve been told your aunt disappeared tventy years ago and now she turn up dead.”

“No, no, no,” said Garibaldi, shaking his head in quick motions. “No, she isn’t my aunt. My aunt disappeared, that’s true, but the woman that was found—she shares a vague resemblance to my aunt. But apart from that—”

“You are zure, Mr. Garibaldi?” asked Chase, arching an inquisitive brow.

“Yes, absolutely. No connection to Garibo Enterprises whatsoever. You have my word on that.”

Odelia noticed how the little guy was getting more and more nervous, perspiration beading on his brow as he spoke.

“I ave another qvestion for you.”

“Shoot,” said the manager.

“Your uncle—he owns Garibo Enterprises does he not?”

“Yes—Uncle Quintin is the company’s owner.”

“And he’s retiring soon? Leaving you in charge?”

“No, well, yes.” The little guy cleared his throat and flashed a nervous smile. “The thing is, Uncle Quintin has a hard time letting go. So even though I’ve been running the business for the last twenty years or so, technically he’s still in charge. But since he’s pushing eighty, he obviously realizes a transition is the best thing for the future of the company.”

“And has dees transition taken place?” asked Chase, giving the manager a hard stare.

The man wilted a little under the onslaught.“Um, well, I can tell you in confidence that a transition is indeed in the works, and that you are looking at the future owner of Garibo Enterprises.”

“Beecause if you are not ze boss, and Quintin Gardner ees ze boss, you understand ve vould like to speak to ze real boss instead of you.”

“Oh, no, I understand—absolutely. But rest assured, I am the man in charge. So if you’re ready to invest, I’m the guy to talk to—one hundred percent your guy.”

“Very good,” said Chase, satisfied.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the door, and the receptionist came in, followed by two ladies.“I’m sorry, sir. They insisted to speak to you.”

“Ve are two Russian investors and ve vould like to invest in your company!” the first lady bellowed. Odelia was surprised to discover it was her own grandmother, dressed up like a model, complete with fishnet stockings, a tight dress and about an inch of makeup.

Next was Scarlett Canyon, teetering on the highest heels Odelia had ever seen.

“Ve vould like to invest money in your candy,” Scarlett announced. Her top was cut even lower than usual, her bust practically spilling out and causing Garibaldi to make a whimpering sound as he caught sight of it.

And then Gran suddenly noticed Odelia and Chase and her smile vanished. She pointed at them.“Vat are zey doing ere?”

“What?” asked Garibaldi feebly.

“Zey are thieves, Mr. Garibo,” said Gran. “Zey vork for KGB. Zey are spies—here to steal your candy-making secrets!”

Garibaldi’s head turned so fast it actually creaked. “Is this true?” he asked, his voice a squeak now.

“Of course not,” Chase assured him. “Ve are honest investors, here to invest our meelions of dollars.”

“Lies!” Gran cried. “Zey ave no munney. No munney at all. Only lies and cheating!”

Scarlett, who must have sensed things were getting out of hand, came teetering up to Garibaldi, then actually fell down on top of the man.“Oopsie poopsie,” she said as she clung to him. “I vant to know all about you, Gari. Vill you tell Svetlana all about candy?”

“Y-yes,” said Garibaldi. “O-of course.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” muttered Chase, suddenly not sounding like a Russian oligarch at all.

And things would presumably have gone downhill even further, if the burly security guard from last night hadn’t walked in at that moment. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked, then caught sight of Gran and Scarlett and his expression darkened.

“Didn’t I tell you two to get lost and stay lost?”

“Wait, you know these people?” asked Garibaldi.

“They tried to breach the perimeter last night, sir,” said the guard. Then he noticed Odelia and Chase, even though they’d been trying to make themselves inconspicuous. “Detective—I hope this time you’ll make an arrest, sir.”

Garibaldi gaped.“Detective? What the hell is going on here?”

“I zink eet ees time to go, zweetheart,” said Odelia, getting up.

The security guard arched an eyebrow and displayed a slight smile of surprise.“Yes, I think maybe that’s the best course of action, Miss Poole.”

“Miss Poole?” asked Garibaldi? “Wait, so your name isn’t Anastasia Kuranova?”

“May I introduce you to Miss Odelia Poole,” said the security guard. “She’s a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and this is Chase Kingsley, detective with the Hampton Cove Police Department.” That amused little smile was playing about his lips. “We met last night when they came to pick up miss Poole’s grandmother over there, and her friend Miss Canyon.”

Garibaldi’s face had taken on a reddish tinge. “Out,” he now said, surprisingly quietly. “All of you, out!”

And so out they all went.

“Does this mean we’re not going to get a tour of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Yes, this means exactly that, Dooley,” said Max.

“And no million-dollar investment either,” murmured Brutus.

“Bruno—how could you allow these people to walk into my office like this!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Bruno. “It will never happen again. Will it, Detective Kingsley?”

Chase, much chastened, shook his head.

And thus ended their Russian adventure.

Chapter 27

While the humans were all being escorted off the premises, as was probably to be expected, and loudly bickering about whose fault it was that they’d been discovered, we cats took a detour. And since no security guards ever pay much attention to pets, no one even noticed that suddenly we’d disappeared.

“Let’s split up,” said Brutus curtly, after we’d split off from the main group.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” I said just as curtly.

“You go that way and we’ll go this way,” he added, his obnoxious side asserting itself once more.

“Or you go this way and we’ll go that way,” I countered.

“Fine,” he grunted.

“Fine,” I said.

For a moment, we stood toe to toe and nose to nose, then Harriet said with a sigh,“Come on, Brutus. We haven’t got all day.”

And then we were off, Dooley and I heading deeper into the bowels of the candy-making facility that was Garibo Enterprises, and Harriet and Brutus disappearing around a corner.

“Visiting Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory isn’t really the same without Willy Wonka,” said Dooley as we traipsed along a carpeted corridor.

“No, it’s not,” I agreed. “Still, if there’s something to be found that even remotely looks like a clue, it’s our duty to find it, Dooley.”

“Oh, all right,” he said, and was silent for a beat. Then: “Do you think they make cat kibble, too?”

I smiled.“I think there’s every chance that they do, Dooley.” And why not? After all, the same company that produces the Mars bars also produces pet food, right? Though I doubt whether the ingredients are the same.

We turned a corner and suddenly were greeted by a sight to behold: a large plate-glass window offering a view of what I suspected was the main factory floor, and we could see, from the second floor where we were located, the entire production line.

“See, Dooley,” I said. “On one side of this giant machinery the ingredients are fed into the machines, and on the other side the candy comes rolling out, ready to be shipped.”

We both stared at the people who were handling the long conveyor belts, all of Bobby Garibaldi’s workers outfitted with funny-looking hairnets, lab coats and even face masks.

“Why do they all look like doctors and nurses, Max?” asked Dooley finally.

“For hygienic reasons,” I explained. “To prevent hair from ending up in the candy.”

He nodded sagely.“I guess it wouldn’t be nice to find a hair in your lollipop.”

“Or nose droppings in your jelly beans.”

He laughed.“Yuck!”

We moved along, and soon found ourselves back where we started: outside Garibaldi’s office. This was where we needed to be. This was where a possible clue could be found.

And so we silently slipped back into the CEO’s office. He was at his desk, still quietly fuming after encountering not one but two of his favorite foes: a reporter and a cop.

We snuck in unseen, and crept underneath his desk, so we could spy on the man undetected.

“Yeah, Odelia Poole,” he was saying into his phone as he swiveled around on his swivel chair. “Pretending to be a Russian investor. Yeah, and Chase Kingsley. A cop, Mom. A cop! What’s a cop doing snooping around?”

He pressed a button and switched to speakerphone as he got up and started pacing the room.

“It’s fine, darling,” a woman’s voice spoke. “This has got nothing to do with us, so let’s not get rattled.”

“Rattled?” spat the guy. “Who is this dead woman? And why does she look exactly like Aunt Vicky?”

“I don’t know, darling. And I’m sure the police don’t have a clue, either. Otherwise they wouldn’t have barged in on you like that.”

“I don’t understand,” said Garibaldi, shaking his head as he glanced out through the window at the parking lot. “If they wanted to ask me a bunch of questions, why didn’t they make an appointment? Why this cockamamie story about Russian investors?”

“I’ve read up on Miss Poole,” said the man’s mother. “Her uncle is the chief of police, and she fashions herself to be something of an amateur sleuth, assisting the police in their investigations. This was probably her idea. Catch you off guard. Make you say things you’d later regret.”

“What things? I don’t know anything about this murder business.”

“I’ll bet they were wearing a wire,” the woman continued. “And they simply tried to catch you in some incriminating statement.”

“And who were those other two? One looked like Estelle Getty and the other like a prostitute.”

“Vesta Muffin is Odelia Poole’s grandmother. She runs the local neighborhood watch. She’s a total fruitcake.”

“And the other one?” asked Garibaldi. I could see from my hiding place that he was looking a little wistful. Clearly this ‘prostitute’ had struck a chord with him.

“Scarlett Canyon. She’s a nobody. Likes to think she’s God’s gift to men but she’s simply an old Jezebel—a painted tart.”

Next to me, Dooley chuckled lightly.“We better not tell Scarlett. She’s not going to like this,” he whispered.

“Or Gran,” I whispered back.

Whoever Garibaldi’s mom was, she was one tough baby.

“Look, son, you have got to relax.”

“Relax! How can I relax when I’m being hounded by cops, reporters and the local gang of Looney Tunes?” He grabbed for his ponytail. “Have you talked to Uncle Quintin?”

“Yeah, I talked to him last night.”

“And? Is he budging?”

“Nah. Your uncle is a stubborn old fool. But I think this whole thing with the dead girl has got him rattled. I think he might come around to our point of view this time.”

“Well, he’d better. I didn’t spend my entire adult life churning out sugary goo for fun.”

“I’m sure it won’t be long now, darling. Just hang in there, and make sure the Poole woman and that detective stay away from you. We’ve come too far to back down now.”

The conversation over, I shared a look of concern with Dooley. I had a feeling that these were very deep waters we were plumbing. Very deep waters indeed.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” suddenly a voice tootled in our ear.

It was Garibaldi, and he was peeking under the desk, looking straight at us.

Chapter 28

Charlene was standing in line at the General Store, feeling a little down in the dumps. She’d never believed it possible, but her sweet police chief boyfriend had actually called her old and ugly.

‘Time to call it quits,’ the little demon on her left shoulder whispered. ‘He’s obviously a big jerk and you should cut your losses now.’

The little angel on her right shoulder countered this by saying,‘He’s a sweet guy and probably didn’t mean what he said. And besides, isn’t that kind of behavior typical of most men? That they put their foot in their mouth without meaning any harm?’

‘All the more reason to dump his ass,’ said the little demon.

‘But remember how good you are together, Charlene. How kind and loving he’s been.’

‘He called you ugly. Do you really want to stay with a guy who thinks you’re ugly?’

‘Just call him. Talk things through.’

‘Block his calls. Never speak to him again.’

“Aargh,” muttered Charlene, and swept her newly curly tresses over her shoulder.

“What did you say, Madam Mayor?” asked Wilbur Vickery, who was manning the cash register as usual.

“Nothing,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Had a fight with the boyfriend, huh?” said Wilbur.

She’d been in the process of taking out her wallet and paused. “How do you know?”

Wilbur tapped his nose and grinned, showing a row of uneven teeth, decayed from too much smoking and too much snacking on his own store-sold candy.“Wilbur always knows, Madam Mayor. Wilbur makes it his job to know about his favorite customers.”

Charlene, who hated people who talked about themselves in the third person, was in one of those moods where one feels compelled to confide in another human being, even if that human being is Wilbur Vickery, the last man on earth anyone would ever want to confide in.

“My boyfriend called me old,” she said with a deep sigh. “And ugly. Said I wasn’t as pretty as I used to be twenty years ago, and I should simply accept the fact.”

“Alec is a moron,” said Wilbur knowingly. “He doesn’t know how to treat a lovely lady such as yourself.”

Charlene glanced around, and noticed she was all alone in the store. She wasn’t feeling particularly at ease being all alone with Wilbur Vickery, who was grinning even more now, his smile calling up visions of old tombstones—remnants of death and decay.

He’d recently shaved off his beard, she saw, which should have been an improvement over the ratty look he’d sported before. Unfortunately his skin was mottled and pockmarked, and the beard had actually been a boon to the man’s appearance.

“Not all men are like him, though, Charlene,” said Wilbur, getting up from behind the register and semi-casually leaning against the conveyor belt. “There are still men in this world who appreciate beauty.” He gave her a fat wink, not exactly being coy about his intentions.

“That’s great, Wilbur,” she said. “So how much do I owe you?”

“I know the perfect solution,” the shopkeeper said, “to get back at that boyfriend of yours.” He winked at her again and she shivered slightly. “You gotta make ‘em jealous. If for instance you’d go out with another fella, and really work that romance—I’m talking kissing and stuff—right under Chief Alec’s nose, I’ll bet he’ll be sorry he called you ugly.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right,” she murmured.

“Take me, for instance,” he said, tapping his puny chest with a puny fist. “I wouldn’t mind going out with you. Parading under the Chief’s nose. Don’t get me wrong, I respect Alec as a man and an officer of the law. But I’m one of those men that can’t see a lady suffer. And I can see you’re suffering, Charlene,” he added, eyes shiny as he leaned in.

He was puckering up those lips, she now saw, and she recoiled in horror.

“Um, you know what?” she said. “I just remembered I’ve got an urgent appointment.”

“But—”

“Sorry, Wilbur. I’ll have my secretary pick this stuff up, okay? Thanks!”

And with these words, she hurriedly fled the store, leaving a disappointed wannabe Romeo behind. Out in front, she encountered Wilbur’s fat cat, and for a fleeting moment thought she detected a smile on the cat’s broad face. Which of course was impossible.

And as she hurried in the direction of Town Hall, she vowed never to be caught alone with Wilbur again. The man was delusional if he thought he could be her rebound guy.

And as she passed the station, she saw Alec get out of his squad car, looking dejected.

So she held her head up high, and stalked right past the man, without saying a word.

“Charlene,” he bleated feebly. “Hold up—I need to talk to you.”

In response, she tilted her head even higher, hiked her purse up her shoulder, and charged past the man at full speed.

Old and ugly. Huh!

Still, even as she put some distance between herself and her now ex-boyfriend, she felt a pang of pity.

‘Why did you do that, Charlene?’ asked her little angel. ‘You know he’s a good man, with good intentions. Not to mention a great kisser.’

‘Good for you, Charlene,’ said her little demon. ‘Next time you hit him with your purse. That’ll teach him.’

“Oh, go to hell,” she muttered, and stormed into Town Hall.

Chapter 29

“Are you sure this is the right way?” asked Brutus.

“Of course I’m sure,” said Harriet. “Don’t you trust me, sugar pumpkin?”

“Um…” Brutus couldn’t really come out and say what he really thought about Harriet’s sense of direction so he prevaricated. “Max seemed to know where he was going. Maybe we should have gone with him.”

“Well, it was you who decided to go our separate ways,” Harriet pointed out.

“Only because Max gave me such a nasty look. Almost as if he doesn’t like me anymore.”

“You probably shouldn’t have made fun of his sixteen-pack. You know how sensitive Max is about his weight.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. He didn’t like to admit it, but this situation with Max was kinda weighing on him. He liked Max, and he liked Dooley, and he hated being in a fight with them. “I apologized, and you apologized. What more does he want?”

“I don’t know, Brutus. Can you please stop thinking about Max and focus on the mission? We’re here to find out what happened to Vicky Gardner, remember?”

“Yeah, of course,” he muttered, and slouched behind his mate, hoping she knew where she was going, in this maze of corridors, where one door looked exactly the same as the next.

“I’m sure that if we simply trust our instincts, we’ll arrive exactly where we’re supposed to…. A-ha! What do we have here?”

They’d arrived at an open-space office, where dozens of desks had been arranged like office islands, and where dozens of people were busily working on computers.

“Looks like an office,” he said. He didn’t like to admit it but Max usually had better instincts when it came to sleuthing than either he or Harriet had.

“I’ll bet we’ll be able to find out everything there is to know about Garibo Enterprises and its nefarious business practices,” said Harriet. “Including but not limited to the kidnapping of innocent women like Vicky Gardner, and her subsequent murder twenty years later.”

“So you think that dead girl was Vicky, do you?” he asked, not surprised. He thought that the coincidence of a dead woman looking exactly like a missing woman was probably too big to ignore.

“Of course they’re one and the same,” said Harriet. “Haven’t you been paying attention? Vicky was probably murdered twenty years ago, soon after she was kidnapped, and kept on ice all these years.”

“On ice?” he asked, intrigued by this novel theory.

“On ice,” said Harriet decidedly. “That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it. Now all we need to find out is who ordered the abduction and the murder, and how come they decided to dump her body two decades later.”

“Probably because they forgot to pay the electric bill,” ventured Brutus.

Harriet gave him a curious look.“You know, Brutus, that’s not such a crazy idea. The freezer they kept the body in must have lost power and so the body thawed out. And instead of burying her, they simply decided to get rid of her.”

All around them, people were busily gibbering into their phones, or tapping the keys of their computers, and as Brutus listened for a moment, he thought he knew what this was: the nerve center of Garibo Enterprises, or in other words the sales division, where customers could place large orders of the kind of candy Garibo excelled in, and that were shipped across the country.

“Your shipment will be arriving in two days, Mr. Franklin,” a young woman announced in an exaggeratedly chipper tone of voice. “Yes, that’s right! Two hundred boxes of Garibo Candy Mix to place in your store display. You’re welcome, sir!”

Unless Vicky Gardner’s body had been kept in the company freezer, and shipped out by the company dispatchers, Brutus didn’t really see the point of hanging around there.

“Let’s go,” he said therefore. “We’re never going to find out what happened to Vicky by hanging around this place.”

“But, sugar bear,” Harriet protested. “I’m sure we’ll find the vital clue soon!”

“Nah,” he said morosely. “We should have stuck close to Max. Max knows. I don’t know how he does it, but he always does.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” said Harriet finally, after watching a man draw a line with a Sharpie on a sales number board and screaming, “People, I just shifted my three-hundredth shipment this month. Huzzah!”

“Huzzah!” his colleagues all yodeled, then immediately hunched over their phones again, eager to break the man’s record by shifting their three-hundred-and-first shipment for the month.

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” said Harriet finally, and the two cats shuffled out of there without much pep in their step, this time in search of another clue: where was the exit?

And as they passed the water cooler, a young man and a young woman were chatting.

“So you think old man Gardner will finally hand the reins of this place to Garibaldi?” asked the young guy.

“Nah, I think he’ll hang on until they pry them from his cold, dead hands,” said the young lady.

“I heard Quintin is planning a coup.”

“A coup?”

“Yeah, bringing in a new guy.”

“To replace Garibaldi? He wouldn’t dare.”

“He’s never liked Garibaldi. Thinks he’s too soft to run a million-dollar business.”

“Garibaldi’s done a great job so far—even the old man can’t deny that,” said the woman, who was gripping a plastic cup and taking sporadic sips.

“No, I guess he can’t. But you know what Quintin is like. Stubborn to the core.”

“If he tries to dump Garibaldi there will be hell to pay. Marcia will never allow it.”

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall when those two get together,” chuckled the young man. “I’ll bet there’ll be blood in the water.”

Harriet’s eyes were gleaming, Brutus noticed, and he smiled. “Looks like we found our clue after all, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, looks like,” said Harriet with a note of triumph in her voice. “See, Brutus,” she said as they walked on. “It’s not just Max who’s a super sleuth. We’re not so bad ourselves.”

“Blood in the water,” he said. “Interesting turn of phrase.”

“Very interesting indeed…”

Chapter 30

We all met up in the parking lot: Gran and Scarlett were arguing with Odelia and Chase, and it took Dooley and myself a while to get a word in edgeways.

“If only you’d told us you were coming we could have coordinated our approach—that’s all I’m saying,” Odelia was saying.

“And if only you weren’t so secretive,” Gran said, “and didn’t make it your number one priority to shut out the watch, this could have been a great success and not the sorry mess it turned into.”

“I’m shutting out the watch? That’s rich, coming from you!” said Odelia. “You’re the one who keeps shuttingme out!”

“Why are the veins in Odelia’s neck standing out like that, Max?” asked Dooley.

“It’s because she’s upset,” I said. “Which causes her blood pressure to spike, which probably isn’t a good thing.”

He gave me a look of consternation.“You mean her head is going to explode if she keeps shouting like this?”

“Well…” I said. I’m not a doctor, of course, but all this shouting couldn’t be healthy, especially for an older lady like Gran, or even a young one like Odelia. Scarlett, meanwhile, kept well out of things, and intently studied her fingernails while Gran did most of the shouting. Chase, too, had decided to be a random bystander as he randomly stood by and watched.

“Odelia, you have to stop shouting!” Dooley suddenly shouted. “Your head is going to explode and that’s very bad for you!”

His words had the effect of shutting both Gran and Odelia up for a moment. Then they glanced at each other and… suddenly burst out laughing!

“Why are they laughing, Max?” asked Dooley, nervously monitoring Odelia’s head as if it was the top of a volcano.

“I think it’s because they just realized how silly they were being.”

“I’m sorry, Gran,” said Odelia finally. “I should have told you I was planning this visit.”

“And I’m sorry, too, honey,” said Gran. “I should have told you about what I was up to.”

“Phew, finally,” said Scarlett. “Now kiss and make up and let’s get out of here, shall we? This place gives me the creeps.”

“We overheard something that might be important,” I now revealed. And so I conveyed the conversation we’d overheard between Bobby Garibaldi and his mother.

“Interesting,” said Odelia.

“Yeah, looks like this Marcia person is someone we should pay a visit,” Gran agreed.

“You guys!” suddenly a voice cried out from across the parking lot. It belonged to Harriet, and as she and Brutus came tripping up, it was clear they had important news to share. Panting a little, she announced, when she’d finally joined us, “There will be blood in the water.”

“Blood in the water?” asked Gran. “What are you talking about, Harriet?”

“That’s what one of the people working for Bobby Garibaldi said,” she explained. “There’s going to be a big fight between Marcia and Quintin Gardner about the succession.”

Odelia and Gran shared a look, then Scarlett and Chase shared a similar look, only this one was filled with confusion.

“Can anyone please explain what the cats are saying?” cried Scarlett. “It’s driving me nuts that y’all understand what they say and we’re just standing around like idiots!”

“What Scarlett said,” Chase grunted with a nod.

So Odelia and Gran dutifully relayed our words to the only non-feline language speaking members of the team, and soon we were all up to date.

“I think this succession business needs looking into,” said Chase as he leaned against the hood of his squad car. “Why don’t I pay a visit to Marcia Gardner and ask her point-blank what’s going on?”

“Good idea,” said Odelia. “I’ll go with you.”

“Can we come, too?” asked Harriet. “We found the clue, after all.”

“We found a clue, too,” I argued.

“Yeah, but our clue was bigger than yours,” said Harriet.

“Not true,” I cried. “Our clue was bigger and better than yours.”

“Oh, please can you not fight?” suddenly Dooley yelled. “I hate it when you fight. Max, please apologize to Harriet, and Harriet please apologize to Max, and then we can all be friends again, okay?”

Harriet and I shared a look of surprise. It wasn’t like Dooley to have an outburst like this, and it told us he was frankly fed up.

“All right,” I said. “Harriet, your clue is very important, and if you want to join us, please be my guest. And I’m sorry for calling your clue less important than mine.”

Harriet sighed.“And I’m really sorry for laughing at your mishap, Max. I shouldn’t have done that. Friends don’t make fun of their friends, and I apologize.”

“Me, too,” grunted Brutus. “That crack about your sixteen-pack was uncalled for and frankly plain rude.”

I smiled.“It’s all right, Brutus. Actually I thought it was kinda funny, to be honest.”

The big black cat’s face lit up. “See?” he cried. “I knew it was funny when I said it.”

“Sixteen-pack,” I chuckled. “Well done, Brutus.”

“Thanks, Max. I have my moments.”

“I know you do, buddy.”

“For the love of God can someone please tell me what they’re saying?!” Scarlett screamed.

“They’re resolving their differences,” said Odelia.

“Wait, cats fight, too?” asked Scarlett.

“Oh, sure,” said Gran. “They fight all the time. And then they make up. Cats are just like humans. They just love the drama.”

Harriet grinned a little shamefacedly.“Busted,” she murmured.

Bruno the security guard who’d chucked us out twice in two days, now came legging up to us. “What are you folks still doing here? I thought I told you to clear out?”

“You can’t tell a cop to clear out, you bozo,” said Gran, assuming fighting position, which in her case was balling her fists and drawing back her bony shoulders.

The burly guard grinned as he watched the old lady square off against him.“Hold your horses, Mrs. Muffin,” he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just saying you folks probably shouldn’t go around impersonating Russian billionaires if you want to get anywhere with your investigation.”

“What do you know about our investigation?” asked Scarlett, stepping forward.

The big guy shrugged.“The dead girl? Word is she might be the big boss’s wife?”

“Is that what people are saying?” asked Odelia.

“Yeah, It’s what everyone is saying.” He darted a glance in Chase’s direction. “So is it true? Is it really her?”

“The results of the autopsy aren’t in yet,” said Chase. “But I doubt it’s actually her.”

“So then who is she?”

“Could be anyone,” said Chase with a shrug. As usual he was playing his cards close to his vest and not letting on what he thought was going on.

“What’s all this about a succession fight?” asked Odelia, ever the reporter.

Bruno the guard grinned.“So now I’m the one being grilled, huh?” He scratched his scalp. “They don’t tell us much, but rumor has it that old Mr. Gardner is trying to set up a new management team, and getting rid of his nephew and his sister. Something Marcia and Bobby aren’t happy with. If it’s true, there’s going to be a big fight, I can tell you.”

“Blood in the water,” Harriet repeated.

“And what about Vicky Gardner?” asked Odelia. “What are people saying about her disappearance?”

“Well, the old-timers, the ones who knew her, say she just vanished one day without a trace. Mr. Gardner was still in charge back then. The moment she disappeared he was just devastated. And in the course of the next couple of weeks, while the police searched high and low, the guy just went completely to pieces. Stopped coming in. And that’s when his nephew took over, and he’s been here ever since.” He gave them a curt nod. “And now will you please get lost before I get in trouble?”

And so we all got lost, as requested.

Chapter 31

“I can’t get a hold of her,” Chase complained as they were driving over to where Marcia Gardner lived.

“Can’t we simply show up on her doorstep?” Odelia suggested.

“Yeah, but what if she refuses to let us in? I don’t have a warrant.”

Odelia shrugged.“We’ll figure something out.”

Chase smiled.“You should have been a cop, babe.”

“Which is what my uncle keeps telling me,” she said as Chase steered his car in the direction of the neighborhood where both Maria Gardner and her brother lived. Called Greenleaf, it was home to many statuesque villas and mansions and was where some of the town’s old guard lived—dotted withsome stylish but very expensive real estate.

“How are you guys holding up back there?” asked Odelia, glancing back at her contingent of cats.

All four of them were seated in a row, uncharacteristically quiet for a change.

“We’re fine,” said Max, holding up two paws in lieu of his non-existent thumbs.

“What did he say?” asked Chase, as usual fascinated with her ability to talk to her pets.

“That they’re fine,” she said as Chase took a turn and checked his GPS for a moment.

“I hope that pigeon isn’t out there,” said Max, as he glanced through the window and up at the sky.

“Yeah, what’s the story with that bird?” asked Odelia. “Why is it coming after you?”

“I have absolutely no idea, except that it seems to hate me for some reason.”

“The pigeon?” asked Chase, inadvertently touching his face where the bird’s droppings had landed that morning.

She nodded.“It seems Max has made himself an enemy.”

“Maybe you tried to eat its little pigeons?” Harriet suggested.

“I would never—ever—try to eat a bird’s babies!” said Max, thrusting out his chest indignantly.

The four cats looked pretty funny, still dressed in their funky little jackets. Odelia smiled as she surveyed them.“Maybe you should keep those from now on,” she suggested. “You look really nice.”

“Really lame, you mean,” said Brutus as he helplessly tugged at his own specimen.

“Cats don’t like to be dressed up,” said Chase. “Contrary to dogs, who love that kind of stuff.”

She glanced over to her boyfriend with a measure of pleasant surprise.“You’ve been reading up on cats, haven’t you?”

“Of course I’ve been reading up! I’m dating the world’s biggest cat lady, so I have to keep up.”

“Good for you, babe.”

“Are you still going through with your plan to teach us how to swim, Odelia?” asked Harriet now.

“Sure. It’s important that you can save yourselves when you fall in. Don’t you agree?”

Four cats silently nodded with extreme reluctance and she grinned. If Chase thought they hated those outfits, he didn’t know how much more they hated his inflatable pool.

They’d finally arrived at the address Uncle Alec had given them for Marcia Gardner, and he parked across the street. Marcia lived in a three-story brownstone with a wrought-iron black fence in front, and three granite stairs leading up to the front door.

“My uncle sounded really dejected when I called him just now. Any idea why?” she asked as she unbuckled her seatbelt and turned back to offer the same courtesy to her cats.

“Must have something to do with Charlene,” said Chase. “She’s not talking to him, and he’s taking it pretty hard.”

“Such a shame,” she said. “I thought they were great together.”

“Yeah, me, too. I hope they can resolve their differences.”

“Uncle Alec and Charlene broke up?” Dooley cried. “But why?”

“Charlene thinks Uncle Alec called her old and ugly,” said Odelia, “even though I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. And now she’s refusing to talk to him.”

“Oh, no!” cried Dooley. “They have to make up.”

“It’s all right, Dooley,” said Max. “I’m sure they’ll find a way to get past this.”

“Dooley hates it when people don’t get along,” Odelia explained when Chase cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at the small cat’s sad mewls.

They all got out of the car and walked up to the brownstone. Chase took a deep breath and said,“Let’s do this, shall we?”

And then he was opening the wrought-iron little gate and climbing the stairs to the front door, one reporter and four cats in tow.

The door opened and an older lady appeared, well-dressed, well-coiffed and soft-spoken.“Yes?” she asked, surprised at the intrusion.

“Detective Chase Kingsley, ma’am,” said Chase, introducing his badge. “And this is Odelia Poole, the police department’s civilian consultant.”

Marcia Gardner glanced down.“And the cats? Are they also civilian consultants?”

A little embarrassed, Chase nodded.“Um… Yeah, they’re Miss Poole’s.”

Mrs. Gardner seemed amused by this.“Unusual,” she determined. “And am I supposed to let you all in now or what?”

“If we could have a moment of your time, then yes, please,” said Chase, ever the gentleman. “It’s in connection to the death of a young woman who was found yesterday. We talked to your brother last night, and we would like to have a word with you, too, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” said the refined lady. “Come in. I have to warn you, though, I have dogs—and they don’t take as kindly to unexpected visitors as I do—especially when they’re cats.”

“Better stay out here,” Odelia murmured under her breath, and four cats shrank back as one cat at the mention of the word ‘dogs’ and made themselves scarce.

“I thought as much,” said Mrs. Gardner with a self-satisfied little smile, and stepped aside to let the cop and his civilian consultant in. She led them into a sitting room off a narrow and dark hallway, and Odelia saw that Mrs. Gardner’s taste mimicked her brother’s: plenty of antiques andold paintings adorned the walls. And not much light was allowed to penetrate the stained-glass windows.

The two dogs she’d mentioned lay on the floor, and didn’t even look up when they walked in. They were of the German Bulldog variety, and Odelia felt relieved she’d told her cats to skedaddle. The dogs might look sedate now, but faced with four cats they would almost certainly have sprung to life and chased them all over the house.

“So what’s this all about?” asked Marcia as she took a seat on a nice settee and bade them to take a seat on a second one.

Chase took out his phone and showed Marcia a picture of the dead girl.“Do you recognize her, Mrs. Gardner?”

The lady pressed her lips together as she studied the picture.“She resembles my sister-in-law. When was this taken?”

“Yesterday morning,” said Chase, taking the lead as usual.

“It can’t be Vicky, of course,” said Marcia. “She’d be pushing fifty if she were still alive.”

“You think your sister-in-law is dead?” asked Odelia.

“I have absolutely no idea, Miss Poole. All I know is that my brother paid a reputable detective agency a frankly exorbitant amount of money to find her and they never did. So either she died or fled the country.”

“What do you think happened to her?” asked Chase.

Marcia shrugged her shoulders and glanced out through the window, which depicted a troupe of angels fighting a dragon, and didn’t let in much light. “If you want my opinion, I think Vicky ran off with someone. She was much younger than my brother, you see. By almost forty years. It stood to reason she only married him for his money, and got out the first chance she got. You know that a large sum of money went missing from my brother’s bank account the day Vicky went missing? Half a million dollars, to be exact. It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to know who took it. Though my brother hotly denied the charge, of course. He was crazy about the gold-digging little wench.”

“You think she stole the money and ran off? But where?” asked Odelia.

“Who knows? Mexico, Europe, the Bahamas. Half a million dollars buys you a lot of opportunities to live a great life somewhere far away.”

“So this girl…” said Odelia, gesturing to his phone.

“Is just a nobody who happens to share a passing resemblance to my brother’s wife.” She shifted in her seat. “I can tell that the whole business has my brother rattled, though. It brings it all back: Vicky disappearing, the search for her whereabouts… After Vicky left I’m sad to say my brother was never the same again. The terrible business broke his spirits and he turned into the recluse that he is to this day.” She shook her head. “Vicky Freeman has a lot to answer for. She broke a proud man’s spirit, that foolish girl did.”

“We were at the factory earlier,” said Odelia. “To talk to your son.”

A hint of a smile played about the woman’s lips, and Odelia remembered Max’s report about Bobby’s conversation with his mother. She’d called Gran a fruitcake and Scarlett an old Jezebel. And she hadn’t been very complimentary about Odelia either.

“Yes?” asked the woman.

“Rumor has it your brother is thinking about bringing in a new management team to replace your son and the current board of directors. What can you tell us about that?”

A steely look appeared in the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid those are private family matters. Even if I wanted to discuss them with you, I’d need to talk to my lawyers first.” And promptly she got up and said, “If there’s nothing further, I think I’ve answered enough of your questions.”

The interview was at an end, and they’d learned precious little. Except that this succession battle was real, and that according to Marcia, Vicky Gardner’s disappearance hadn’t involved foul play after all.

Moments later they were back out on the street, a little dazed after being chucked out so proficiently and without much fuss.

“One thing’s for sure,” said Chase as he glanced up at the brownstone. “Marcia Gardner didn’t like her sister-in-law one bit.”

“Nope. I think she made that very clear.”

She glanced around for her cats, and saw that they were patiently waiting for her, seated in front of Chase’s squad car—four in a row.

She gave them a little wave, and as they emerged from underneath the vehicle, suddenly a loud screech sounded, and a big bird came diving down, and moments later a salvo of white bird poo rained down, and spattered all four cats in equal measure!

The bird screamed something Odelia couldn’t understand, as she didn’t speak its language. But she had the distinct impression it sounded a lot like, ‘Gotcha, suckers!’

Chapter 32

It was the inflatable pool horror all over again, only this time Odelia had decided to wash that bird poop out of our hides, and forgo the swimming lessons for a change.

Chase had obviously eked out time from his busy schedule to glue the little pool back together again—judging from the big pieces of plastic glued to the sides it had taken him a lot of effort this time—and now there we sat, four cats, all soaking our behinds in a foot of water and not particularly happy about it.

“Thanks, Odelia,” I nevertheless murmured when she’d managed to wash out the poo.

I may not like water all that much, but I like poo even less, and I didn’t feel exactly rapturous about the prospect of having to lick my fur clean again. Nobody likes to eat bird poo, me least of all.

“Thanks, Odelia,” Dooley said dutifully, and so did Harriet and Brutus when Odelia repeated the procedure on them.

The moment she’d lifted us out of the pool, she placed us on the lawn in the sun so we could air-dry—after she’d towel-dried us to remove most of the water.

And there we sat, all of us brooding on what cruel fate had in store for us next.

“I don’t get it,” said Harriet. “Why would a bird—one very nasty bird—have it in for us so much? I’ve never even seen this bird before.” She darted a quick look at the sky, making sure the bird in question wasn’t within earshot, and ready to perform another dive-bombing expedition, maybe this time assisted by a squadron of his buddies.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never seen this Moses character before in my life either. And yet he seems to know us, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe he simply hates cats in general,” Brutus suggested. “And has picked us because we’re easy targets. Most cats don’t go out in this heat. They’re smart and stick close to the AC. Only we are so dumb to walk around all the time.”

“I think he probably means well,” said Dooley, offering a different opinion.

We all turned to him.“Means well?” asked Harriet. “Have you seen what he did?”

“I think he’s simply seeing us as fellow pigeons, that’s all,” said Dooley. “I once saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel,” he began, eliciting exasperated groans from both Brutus and Harriet, “and it showed that ducklings, when they’re born, will consider the first animal theysee as their mother and follow it wherever it goes. So if ducklings see a human, they will follow that human. And when they see a chicken, they’ll think that chicken is their mother. It’s really cute, too.” He chuckled lightly. “You should have seen those ducklings, following that chicken all across the barnyard, tweeting all the while.”

No one else was laughing, though, and instead Harriet said,“You know, Dooley, if you weren’t my friend I’d say you’re an idiot. But since you are my friend, I’ll simply say that you’re not making any sense. What do ducklings following a chicken have to do with this shitting pigeon?”

“I was coming to that,” said Dooley helpfully. “So what if this pigeon, when it was born, attached itself to a feline mother figure? Or even a feline father figure? And now whenever it sees a cat it thinks that it’s part of his clan and decides to give it a baptism?”

“A baptism of poo!” cried Brutus. “That’s rich!”

Dooley pondered this.“I don’t know if I’d call a pigeon rich. As far as I can tell pigeons don’t carry wallets. But it is very nice of him, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t,” said Harriet, a little acidly, I thought.

“Well, I think next time we see the pigeon we should simply invite it down for a chat. If only we can make it clear that we’re cats and not pigeons, and that we’re not his honorary mother, I’m sure he’ll realize his mistake and stop showering us with his affection.”

“Sure, Dooley,” said Harriet. “You do that.”

I thought Dooley made an excellent case, but Harriet was in a real mood again, and since I didn’t want to jeopardize our newfound friendship I kept my tongue. We’d only recently resolved our differences—no sense in tearing open those old wounds again.

My fur had sufficiently dried, and I was ready to head indoors again, out of the heat, and onto my favorite couch for a nice little nap, when Gran and Scarlett came crashing through the hedge and joined us in the backyard. They were still dressed like aged hookers and were in search of Odelia and Chase, who were both lounging on lawn chairs under a big umbrella, both busy on their respective phones.

“Odelia!” Gran snapped. “I think I’ve cracked the case. Tell her, Scarlett.”

“I’ve got one word for you,” said Scarlett, her hands painting a marquee in the sky. “Plastic surgery.”

“That’s two words,” Odelia pointed out.

“Now don’t start with your negativity, young lady,” Gran snapped. “Go on, Scarlett.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Vicky Gardner disappeared twenty years ago, and turned up yesterday looking exactly the same—not having aged a day. So my guess is that she probably went off to Mexico, just like Quintin Gardner’s sister told you guys, and has been spending that half a million dollars on regular nips and tucks!”

“Brilliant!” said Gran, placing her hands together for an impromptu applause. When her granddaughter and Chase didn’t join in, she scowled at them. “What’s wrong? Can’t take it when someone else cracks a case for a change?”

“I just got a message from your son,” said Chase, holding up his phone. “The dead girl’s name is Joanne Whittler, and she disappeared three days ago. She was twenty-four, worked as a fitness instructor in Hampton Keys, and had no connection to Vicky Gardner whatsoever.”

Gran and Scarlett shared a look of disappointment.“So… it wasn’t Vicky?” asked Scarlett, making sure she’d heard right.

Chase shook his head.“Nope. As far as we know Vicky Gardner is still missing.”

“Joanne Whittler worked at Hope Fitness as an instructor,” said Odelia, who’d clearly been doing some research while my friends and I were working on our collective tans. “She was reported missing by her boyfriend Chad Klein.” She put down her phone. “I think we’ve been barking up thewrong tree going after the Gardners, people.”

“So you think it’s just a coincidence, your mom finding that goatherd and Vicky’s message, and this…”

“Joanne Whittler,” Odelia supplied helpfully.

“… girl being found?” asked Scarlett.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” said Gran, shaking her head. “I think there must be a connection.”

“Let’s face it, “ said Odelia. “There is no connection. Except for the fact that Joanne resembled Vicky. But apart from that, we’ve taken this investigation in the completely wrong direction, and troubled the Gardner family for no reason whatsoever, except to satisfy our curiosity about Vicky’s disappearance.”

“So let’s leave the Gardners alone from now on, shall we?” Chase suggested. “We’re starting this investigation from scratch. Or, better yet, we’re leaving this investigation to the Hampton Keys PD from now on.”

“Huh,” said Gran, clearly not satisfied with this turn of events. “So no investigation?”

“No investigation,” Chase confirmed. “You can go back to hunting down jaywalkers and pooper scooper felons and leaving the real detective work to the professionals.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that, and I think Chase realized his faux pas the moment the words had passed his lips.

But too late. Gran’s brow was already furrowing, and Scarlett’s filler-filled lips were already setting in a look of grim determination.

“You just crossed a line, detective,” said Gran, pointing a finger at the cop.

“I’m sorry,” said Chase, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, yes, you did.” Gran narrowed her eyes. “You want war with the watch, you got it, sonny boy.” And then she was off, her loyal acolyte in her wake.

“Oh, boy,” said Odelia. “We just resolved one feud, and already we’ve got another one on our hands.”

“Me and my big mouth,” said Chase ruefully. He darted an anxious glance at the hedge through which Gran and Scarlett had just disappeared. “She’s not going to try and murder me in my sleep, is she?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Chase,” said Odelia. “She might. Or she might sneak up on you from behind when you least expect it and give you a wedgie in front of your colleagues.” She grinned. “Good luck, babe. You’re going to need it. And whatever you do—never, ever let your guarddown. Ever.”

Chase closed his eyes and hung his head.“Just what I needed. War with the Watch.”

Chapter 33

After spending a long day at the office, Charlene was walking back to her car when she noticed the lone figure leaning against her vehicle. Her jaw set, she continued walking, vowing to ignore the figure and the giant bouquet of flowers he was holding in his meaty hands.

Earlier that day more flowers had been delivered at her office than probably during any time in the history of Town Hall, and even Charlene’s secretary Imelda had been charmed and told her boss that maybe, just maybe, she should lighten up and give this guy another chance.

But Charlene was of the opinion that when a man shows his true colors, it doesn’t matter how many chances you give him, the end result will always be the same: tragedy. And she didn’t need that kind of drama in her life. Not now, not ever.

“Go away, Alec,” she said. “I don’t want your flowers and I don’t want your apologies. Just leave me alone.”

“But Charlene,” said Alec, his voice a little husky. He looked sweaty, and Charlene momentarily weakened when she realized he must have been out there for ages, waiting for her to finish the kind of long days she liked to keep.

“That’s Madam Mayor to you, Chief Lip,” she said, and pressed her key fob to open her car door.

“I just want to say I never meant to say you’re old, Charlene. To me you’ll always be a young blossom, and as far as looks are concerned, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I just meant that we all grow older, and there’s no point in wishing we were ten years younger, or twenty years younger, because we can’t turn back time—that’s just the way it is. And it doesn’t even matter because you’ll always be beautiful to me, now, and twenty years from now, or even forty. I love you, Charlene, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

‘Aww,’ said the little angel on her right shoulder. ‘Isn’t that just the sweetest, kindest, loveliest thing anyone has ever said to you, Charlene?’

‘Don’t listen to this bozo, Charlene,’ said her little demon. ‘He obviously doesn’t mean a word he says. He’s just trying to get under your skin so he can make you feel bad. He’s a big jerk, that’s what he is. Just tell him to take a hike.’

‘Oh, go on,’ said the little angel. ‘Kiss and make up already, before you lose this fella.’

‘Tell him to go and boil his head. Charlene, no, don’t you dare. Don’t you—Charlene!’

But Charlene had made up her mind. It was those puppy-dog eyes. She had always been a sucker for puppy-dog eyes. And that cute face, of course. Her big teddy bear…

So she brushed the little demon from her shoulder, patted her little angel on the head and said,“Do you really mean that, Alec?”

“Every single word,” he said, and she could tell that he did, the big softie.

“Oh, Alec,” she said. “I’m sorry. I think I may have overreacted.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?” he asked, panting a little, like an overweight puppy.

“C’mere,” she said, and melted into the big man’s arms. Temperatures were still soaring, even this late in the day, but the warmth she felt wasn’t from the sun, but the relief she felt that things were all right again with the world, and with her big man.

“I’m sorry, Charlene,” he said croakily.

“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m not used to men being nice to me. So when you say something like that thing you said last night, I just assume it’s a nasty crack.”

“It wasn’t a nasty crack,” he said softly.

“I see that now.”

“This is new for me, too, you know,” he spoke into her hair, as he drew slow circles on her back. “I think it’s new for us both. And it’ll probably take some getting used to.”

“It’ll take a little time for me to learn to trust you,” she murmured, and then they kissed.

And Wilbur Vickery, who chose that moment to walk by, scoffed,“I’m a much better kisser than that,” spat a wad of spit on the hot asphalt, which slightly sizzled, and walked on, muttering dark oaths under his breath about oafish dudes and unreliable dudettes.

“Oh, we finally identified that unfortunate woman,” said Alec as they both got into her car and she turned the AC up high.

“You did? And? Was it Vicky Gardner?”

“Nah. Joanne Whittler, a fitness instructor from Hampton Keys. Went missing three days ago.”

“No idea how she got here?”

“Not yet. It’s up to the Hampton Keys police now.”

“Good,” said Charlene, and gave her man a warm smile. “I’m cooking for you tonight. Anything you like.”

“Anything?” he said, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree.

She laughed. If there was anything she knew about her boyfriend it was that he loved to eat.“Anything at all.”

“How about a light meal and then straight to bed?” he suggested, his eyes dancing playfully.

“How about no food and straight to bed?” she countered.

“Deal,” he said, and put on his seatbelt quick as a flash. And then she was driving home, butterflies dancing in her belly.

Chapter 34

That evening found me staring at the little inflatable pool. I’m the kind of cat who never says no to a challenge. Or let me rephrase that. I’m the kind of cat who rarely says no to a challenge, and the challenge of these swimming lessons was really bugging me.

Last night Fifi had saved my life, but now I vowed to learn how to swim without the assistance of a small Yorkshire Terrier. I mean, how humiliating would it be if word got out that a dog had saved me, a cat, from certain death? It didn’t bear thinking about.

The inflatable pool was still full of water, and before I could change my mind, I made the great leap into the middle of the pool, planning to make it back to shore by inflatable.

Only once I was standing up to my neck in that pretty cold water, suddenly that familiar fear gripped me, and I couldn’t move an inch.

“Max?” asked Dooley, who’d ambled up to see what I was up to. “What are you doing?”

“I… thought it would be a good idea to learn how to swim,” I said, realizing as I said it that my big plan was fraught with a measure of rashness I probably should have considered before I leapt in.

“But you can’t swim, Max,” Dooley pointed out. “And now you’re stuck… again.”

“Yes, I know that, Dooley,” I said, panic making me irritable. “So how do I get back?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“Maybe ask Odelia?”

“She and Chase just left. They went out for a pizza.”

“Gran?”

“I don’t think she’s home.”

“Marge or Tex?”

“At the library. Marge asked Tex to help her put up some new decorations for the children’s book section. She said the new theme is sea, seashells and fishes.”

“How appropriate,” I murmured, and realized I’d put myself in a bit of a situation. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until one of them gets home,” I said. Though already I was shivering. You would think that a inflatable pool in the middle of summer would be nice and warm, but Chase had only refilled it hours before, when the sun was already going down, and the water was pretty chilly.

“I know what I’ll do,” said Dooley. “I’ll ask Fifi to come. She told me just before how she helped you last night, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to do it again.”

“No, wait!” I said, but too late, as Dooley was already hopping away in search of Fifi.

To be saved by a dog, two nights in a row, was simply too much. Word would get out, and on top of my furry mishap, this was going to turn me into the local laughingstock. My name would soon be a byword for ridicule and mockery to such an extent I’d have to spend the rest of my days stuck at home.

“Oh, no,” I groaned as I longingly cast anxious looks at the shoreline. You’ll tell me I should simply have made the jump, the same way I’d jumped in, and I’ll tell you that a waterlogged body is much harder to propel upwards and away than a dry one. Also, the water simply sucks you in, and prevents you from making the kinds of powerful jumps cats usually have no issue with.

Struck down by the laws of physics—and water. Just my rotten luck.

“In trouble again, Max?” suddenly Brutus’s voice sounded from the hedge. And as the big cat came walking up, I expected to see him sneering, or hear him make searing comments designed to cut and wound. But instead his expression was soft and solicitous. And as Harriet followed in his wake, she, too, looked worried.

“How can we help, Max?” she asked immediately.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want to move, as I’m going to fall on this slippery floor.”

“Can’t you dig in your claws and make your way over here?” Brutus suggested.

It was an idea I’d oddly enough never considered before, so I now applied it: I simply dug my claws in nice and deep, and started making my way over. It meant ripping up Chase’s pool again, but that couldn’t be helped. And I was making good progress when suddenly I had the misfortune to trip and fall, and I went under!

When I emerged again, gulping for air, I faintly heard Brutus and Harriet’s cries. But then I went under again, my legs having tired from standing for so long, and my muscles stiff from the cold. And as I went under for the third time, suddenly I felt myself coming up for air again, only I wasn’t even making an effort!

And then I noticed it wasn’t me coming up—it was the water level going down!

And as I glanced over, I saw both Brutus and Harriet at the edge of the pool, gleaming claws out, having slashed the puffed-up edge of Chase’s nice inflatable pool to smithereens.

Only strips of colorful plastic remained, all the water having drained from the pool.

“Come on, Max,” said Harriet as she joined me. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Yeah, Max,” Brutus said, as he placed a paw under my elbow and hoisted me up with some effort. “Let’s get you to dry land.”

And together they managed to drag me from the now empty pool.

“I can… walk, you guys,” I muttered, much weakened. “You… don’t have to… help… me…”

I must have passed out, then, for when I came to, I thought I was in heaven, as I only saw disembodied heads floating over me: Harriet was there, and Brutus, but also Dooley, and Fifi, and even Rufus, the big sheepdog belonging to the Trappers.

“Max!” Dooley cried. “You’re not dead!”

“No, I guess not,” I said as I tried to sit up.

“Oh, Max,” he said, jumping on top of me and pressing me down again. “I thought you were dead for sure!”

“No, not dead,” I said, and spat out some water.

“Give him some space, Dooley,” said Brutus.

“Yeah, gimme some space… Dooley,” I murmured, and shook my head. I felt a little weak, but otherwise fine.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, Max,” said Dooley, a tightness to his voice that betrayed his anxiety. “Don’t you ever die on me again.”

“I didn’t… die,” I said. “I just… took a little catnap.”

They all laughed at that, and seemed glad that I was fine.

“I think you established one thing, Max,” said Rufus. “Cats and bodies of water, large or small, don’t mix.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” I said, and spat out some more water. I had a feeling my belly was full of the stuff. I then glanced up at Harriet and Brutus’s beaming faces. “Thanks for saving my life, you guys.”

“That’s all right, Max,” said Brutus. “That’s what friends are for.”

“If you ever pull a stunt like that again, though,” said Harriet, “I’ll kill you, all right?”

“Fair enough,” I said with a weak smile.

And as we all sat there, rejoicing in the happy end, suddenly a loud scream rent the air. We all looked up in alarm, and saw that the scream had emanated from Chase, who must have arrived home. He was looking down at his inflatable pool, one side having been reduced to a mere bundle of ripped-up strips of plastic.

“My pool!” he cried. “M-my poor pool!”

Oops…

“Odeliaaaa!” he bellowed. “Your grandma took revenge—she destroyed my pool!”

Chapter 35

I was relaxing on the couch, recovering from my harrowing adventure in the inflatable pool, when the mail slot clattered, a sure sign a letter had been delivered. And since it was late at night at that point, and I’d recently learned from Odelia that the postal services rarely if ever deliver letters at such an ungodly hour, I immediately pricked up my ears.

I’m not one of those pets that lay in wait for the mailman or mailwoman to arrive, hoping to bite their ankles or generally cause grievous bodily harm—that’s dogs, not cats. But after the previous message about a ‘real sleuth’ possessing a ‘sweet tooth’ I’d secretly been hoping this mystery letter deliverer would keep up the good work and deliver another sample of his or her rhyming prowess.

So I ambled into the hallway and lo and behold: another pristinely white letter lay on the doormat, right across the words,‘Welcome Home!’

Odelia and Chase had already gone to bed, and Dooley was sleeping soundly, so it was just me and the letter, and for a few moments we faced off. Then I could no longer curb my curiosity and pounced on the thing: I neatly sliced it open with a single nail and expertly extracted the missive that was concealed inside.

And as I placed it on the floor, I frowned when I scanned its contents.

‘Follow the herder,’ the epistle read.

“Follow the herder,” I murmured. “Shouldn’t it be ‘Follow the herd?’”

But then I suddenly remembered how this whole adventure had begun: with that little figurine of the goatherder. Could it be that our unknown letter writer was referring to that little gem that Harriet had so expertly destroyed with a single flick of her tail?

I sat back on my haunches and gave myself up to thought for a few moments. As far as I could tell Marge had all but forgotten about the figurine, and the pieces had probably been swept into the dustbin by now. Or had they? I remembered she’d carefully tried to glue it back together, with Tex sabotaging her efforts by accidentally demolishing the thing. So maybe it was time to pay some closer attention to that infamous goatherd once more? At least according to our anonymous and highly mysterious letter writer, it just might hold the solution to the mystery of the disappearance of Vicky Gardner…

I briefly considered picking up the letter between my teeth and taking it upstairs to bring to Odelia’s attention, but then decided against it.

First of all, I’m not a dog, so unless I have to, I prefer not to pick up assorted items (for instance newspapers and slippers) and deliver them to my master, and secondly: once Odelia is fast asleep not even a cannon-shot has the power to wake her up.

So I simply decided to leave the letter where it lay, and where Odelia would no doubt find it in the morning, to do with as she saw fit.

I wandered back into the living room, and saw that my friend was awake and yawning widely.

“Dooley, I suddenly feel a certain need.”

“A need for speed?” he suggested.

“Not exactly,” I said. “But I do feel the need to go out and join cat choir.”

“But I thought you said you weren’t going to show your face there again until all of your fur had grown back?”

“I know what I said, but it has grown back a little bit already, and besides, I miss our friends and I’m sure they won’t laugh at me, right?”

Dooley wasn’t as relaxed about my prospects of being laughed at as me, but he, too, said he missed socializing with our friends, so moments later saw two cats flit through the pet flap—well, flit perhaps isn’t the right word for a cat weighing in at twenty pounds moving through an opening designed for amuch slimmer cat, but please bear with me.

So Dooley flitted through the pet flap, I wormed my way through, and then we were zipping along the sidewalk, and soon swept into the park to join our friends for cat choir.

Harriet and Brutus were already there, of course, and so was Kingman, holding court near the jungle gym as usual. Shanille, Father Reilly’s cat and also cat choir’s conductor, was frowning before herself, probably deciding what musical pieces she was going to teach us this time, and plenty of other friends were milling about shooting the breeze.

As you may have guessed by now cat choir is basically just an excuse for us cats to get together of an evening and socialize.

“Max! What happened to you!” Buster cried when he caught sight of me.

“I had a close shave with danger,” I quipped, having decided to make light of my predicament.

“More like a close shave with a razor blade,” said Buster, who is intimately familiar with all things sharp. He inspected my midsection more closely. “Pretty rough work,” he said. “At a glance I’d say they used a blunt blade. Definitely not Fido’s work. I’d recognize his signature style anywhere. So where did you go?”

“Max didn’t go the hairdresser’s,” said Dooley. “He got stuck in a window and was shoved through by an angry homeowner who doesn’t like cats.”

“Oh,” said Buster, taken aback by this, then made a face. “Brrr. You were lucky to make it out of there alive, Max. Those cat haters can be brutal when allowed to go unchecked.”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“So who was this cat butcher?”

“Quintin Gardner,” I said. “We were trying to figure out what happened to his wife Vicky, who disappeared twenty years ago.”

“Oh, I remember hearing the story,” said Buster, nodding. “Didn’t she go out for a pack of cigarettes one night and never came back?”

“You’re probably thinking of someone else,” I said.

“Right, right,” said Buster vaguely, then patted my bare belly. “Next time use some aftershave, Max. Takes the edge off.” And with these words, straight from an expert’s lips, he strolled off.

I glanced down at my belly, and saw that Buster was right: there was still a certain measure of razor burn, or, to be more exact, the scratch marks where I’d been shoved through that window. I sighed. The last couple of days had been really tough: I’d been booted through a window, almost drowned—thrice—been shat on by a crazy pigeon, and kicked out of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory by its managing director or CEO.

“I hope Odelia disinfected those wounds, Max,” said Dooley now. “Wounds like that can get infected, and you can get sepsis and die.” He studied me carefully. “How are you feeling? Any headache or nausea? Dizziness? Feeling faint?”

“None of the above, Dooley,” I said with a laugh. “In fact I feel fine.”

“Mh,” he said dubiously, clearly not inclined to take my word for it. “I think you should go and see Vena,” he said finally.

“Vena!”

“You’ve been through a lot. You may have residual trauma. Even brain damage, for all we know. Just to be on the safe side Vena will have to do a CAT scan and make sure.”

“I’m not going to see Vena and I’m not having a CAT scan, Dooley. I promise you that I feel perfectly fine.”

“Mh,” he repeated, then placed his paw against my forehead. “You’re running a fever, Max,” he determined. “If I were you—”

“Look, I’m fine, buddy,” I said, shaking off his probing paw. “I promise you.” I glanced around and caught Brutus’s eye. He was looking at me intently, and now wandered over.

“How are you feeling, Max?” he asked solicitously.

“I’m fine,” I said.

His gaze dropped down to my midsection, only this time, instead of making fun of my sixteen-pack, he shook his head.“I don’t like the look of you, Max. Are you sure you’re fine? Sometimes these traumatic experiences tend to linger, and make their full impact felt much, much later. And I’m not just talking about the door incident—you practically drowned tonight, buddy.”

He placed a paw against my brow, earning himself a nod from Dooley.

I closed my eyes. This was starting to get a little ridiculous.

“You’re hot,” said Brutus. “I don’t like it, Max. I think you should go and see Vena.”

“I’m not going to see Vena!” I cried. “I’m fine, I’m telling you—fine!”

“Delirium,” said Dooley with a knowing nod. “I see it in trauma patients all the time.”

“How would you know anything about trauma patients!” I said, quickly losing my customary equanimity.

“You forget I’m an expert, Max,” said Dooley.

“Yeah, Dooley watches General Hospital,” Brutus chimed in. “He knows his stuff.”

Dooley was glancing around.“I just wish cats carried mobile phones. We really should call 911. Get you to a hospital.”

“I don’twant to go to a hospital! I don’tneed to go to a hospital! I’mfine, I’m telling you—I feel just great!”

Harriet had now joined us, and was giving me the kind of look one gives a terminal patient who’s about to expire. And then she placed a paw to my brow. “A little hot,” she determined. “You’re running a fever, Max.”

“I am not running a fever!” I cried. “If I were running a fever would I do this?” And I performed a little jig in place, kicking up my paws and generally making a spectacle of myself. “Or this?” And I actually did a high jump combined with a high kick—Jackie Chan style—landing on mytush as I did. “Ouch,” I murmured.

More cats had gathered around to watch my little show, and all of them were murmuring words of concern about my health and wellbeing. The words‘Vena’ and ‘death wish’ hummed through the air, and I was starting to feel more and more that I probably shouldn’t have come to cat choir after all.

Cats, in case you didn’t know, can be drama queens—even the males of the species—and it was clear to me now that they were loving this piece of real-life drama playing out right in front of their eyes. And the more I tried to convince them I was fine, the more they thought I was on the verge of death.

“Let’s take you home, Max,” said Dooley, gently placing his paw on my arm, like one would a recalcitrant patient in a mental hospital. “Nice and easy now. That’s it.”

“Get well soon, Max,” a voice rang out, and soon more cries of “Please don’t die, Max,” and “Hang in there, buddy,” echoed through the air.

And when Shanille came up to me, placed a paw on my shoulder, gave me a sad look, and said,“If you want cat choir to sing at your memorial service, Max, you’ve got it. And I’ll be sure to give you those last rites whenever you feel ready.” And then she clapped Harriet on the arm. “And Harriet here will sing a nice requiem. Won’t you, darling?”

“Absolutely,” said Harriet solemnly. “And Brutus can deliver the eulogy.”

And then they both gave me such a sad look that it kinda broke my spirit. It’s very hard to convince people you’re not dying when they’re all convinced that you are.

So I allowed Dooley to lead me away, and soon the hubbub of cat choir died away and it was just the two of us, walking side by side.

“Do you really think I’m dying, Dooley?” I finally asked.

“Try to stay positive, Max,” he said in response. “And trust Vena. She’s our last hope.”

“But—”

“Shush, Max. You need to save your strength.”

And so we walked on, and as we approached Harrington Street, all of a sudden there was a loud screeching sound overhead, and the next moment Moses had materialized out of the blue—or I should probably say the black, as it was a dark night—and attacked!

“Please don’t!” Dooley cried. “My friend here is sick and dying!”

“Good!” Moses yelled and came rocketing down at us at breakneck speed.

So we did what we usually do when large birds attack us from the sky: we ran for cover.

Lucky for us there were some hedgerows nearby, so we ducked underneath them, neatly thwarting Moses’s line of attack.

“Get out of there, you pussies!” the bird yelled. “Get out here where I can get you!”

“Fat chance!” I yelled back.

“Go away!” said Dooley. “I need to get my friend to a doctor. He’s dying, I tell you!”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week!” said Moses, and did something I hadn’t expected: he landed right in front of us, and came trotting up to where we were hiding.

And then he started picking at us with his big sharp beak!

“Ouch!” I said when he got me in the shoulder.

“You can’t do that!” said Dooley. “You can’t attack a dying cat!”

“Watch me,” said Moses, and gave me another peck on the head.

“Leave me alone!” I wailed, and suddenly remembered that I was actually a cat, and Moses was a bird, and that usually cats attack birds, not the other way around.

So I got out my claws and when next Moses lunged at me, I swiped at him and hit him on the beak!

“Hey, you can’t do that, cat!” he said. “No fair!”

“Be careful, Max!” said Dooley. “Don’t overexert yourself!”

But I suddenly didn’t feel weak at all. And instead of cowering underneath that hedge like a coward, I decided to fight back. The events of the past couple of days suddenly made me go a little berserk, and so I walked up to the bird, who must have seen that I meant business, and he actually reeled back!

“Come here, you big bird bully,” I growled. “Let me give you a lesson in humility.”

“Too late, Frank,” said Moses. “You ate my mother—you ate my brother—you ate my father—now you’re going to have to deal with me!” And he attacked!

“Wait—what did you just call me?”

“By your name, Frank,” said Moses. “Now taste my vengeance!”

“But… my name is Max,” I said. “Not Frank.”

The bird halted in his tracks.“What are you talking about? You’re Frank. I’d recognize that chubby orange form anywhere.”

“For your information, I’m not orange, I’m blorange,” I said. “And I’m not chubby, I’m big-boned. And my name is Max, not Frank.”

“Huh,” said the bird, sinking down on its tush from sheer bewilderment. “So you’re not the fat cat who likes to climb trees and attack birds near Harrington Street 58?”

“No, I’m the big-boned cat who likes to lie around the backyard of Harrington Street 44,” I said. “Though I think I know this Frank you’re referring to. He’s a bit of a rogue element, isn’t he? Very tough on birds.”

“You can say that again. He ate my mother, ate my brother, ate my father, and he was about to eat me when I decided to fight back!”

“Well, you fought back against the wrong cat,” I pointed out.

The bird cocked his head.“Oops,” he muttered. “Look, cat. I, um, I’m sorry for the nuisance. Um…” He gave me a sheepish look. “Anything I can do it make it up to you?”

I thought for a moment, then smiled.“Actually, there is something. Have you been hanging around here long?”

“All night,” he said. “Waiting for you to show your chubby—your big-boned face.”

“Did you happen to see a person deliver a letter to number 44 about two hours ago?”

“Oh, sure,” said the bird. “I was wondering already why you’d suddenly moved from number 58 to number 44, but then figured you were trying to escape my vengeance.”

“Can you describe that person to me?”

And when Moses gave me the description, a few pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

Chapter 36

“This is boring,” said Scarlett with a yawn.

“Stakeouts are always boring,” said Vesta as she mimicked the yawn and added some yawnage of her own.

Both women were sitting in Vesta’s daughter’s little red Peugeot and watching the house of Quintin Gardner’s sister. Vesta had a hunch that the woman was somehow involved in all of this, and wanted to find out more about her.

So far she’d found out zilch, as there had been no movement in or outside the house all night.

“You see why we need a new car?” said Vesta. “A decent stakeout needs a nice set of wheels. Like a van, maybe. Then at least you can conduct your stakeout in comfort.”

“A stakeout in style,” chimed in Scarlett.

“Sure. You can have dinner in your van while your partner keeps watch, or even a nap in the back of the van. And no one will ever be the wiser, as they’ll simply think it’s a van belonging to the gas company, or whatever.”

“What we should do is bug that house,” said Scarlett, gesturing with her chin to Marcia Gardner’s brownstone. “We should break in, hang those little cameras everywhere, and then we can watch the screens in our van, like they do in the movies.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be something?” said Vesta with a grin. “Now that would be the kind of watch I always wanted to be a part of.”

“Me, too. A watch to watch out for.”

“Or we could always send in the cats,” said Vesta. “They could be our eyes and ears.”

“Why didn’t your cats join us tonight?”

“Ah, politics,” said Vesta with a wave of the hand. “They’re mostly loyal to Odelia, and since Chase declared war on the watch, they were obviously forced to take sides, and since I didn’t want to make the situation any harder for them, I decided not to bother.”

“Your cats are phenomenal,” said Scarlett as she flipped down the visor and checked her look in the mirror. “They’re the best little detectives I’ve ever seen. A force to be reckoned with.”

“Down!” suddenly said Vesta. “Here she comes!”

The door to the brownstone had opened and Marcia Gardner had appeared.

She was wearing a trench coat and sunglasses, even though it was not the shank of the afternoon—more like the middle of the night.

“Where is she going, I wonder,” Scarlett whispered, as if afraid Marcia would hear her, even though they were parked across the street, and well out of earshot.

“No idea, but I’m on her like a cockroach on a tasty meatball,” said Vesta, turning the ignition and getting ready to rock and roll.

Marcia had gotten into her car and now took off, immediately followed by Vesta, who had to perform a U-turn and did so by clipping a couple of garbage bins, sending them tumbling down the road.

“Careful!” said Scarlett.

“I know what I’m doing,” hissed Vesta, almost hitting a tree.

“Keep your distance—she’ll make us!”

“Iam keeping my distance!”

She was practically on the woman’s tail fender, almost rear-ending her.

“Where did you learn how to drive?”

“For your information I was self-taught.”

“And it shows. Watch it—you’re going to hit her!”

“Do you want to drive, wise-ass?”

“I think I’d probably do a better job than you, Steve McQueen.”

“She’s getting away!” said Vesta, as Marcia was increasing her lead by two whole inches.

“Oh, will you relax already? You must be the worst car chaser in the history of car chasing.”

Marcia took a corner and so did Vesta, clipping a couple more garbage cans and sending them skipping across the intersection.

Scarlett closed her eyes.“Tell me when it’s over, will you? I can’t watch this.”

But Vesta, who didn’t want to get caught any more than Scarlett, eased up on the accelerator and soon was following the other woman at a more sedate pace, through the quiet streets of Hampton Cove, and suddenly she said, “I know where she’s going!”

Scarlett opened her eyes again.“The cops? To report she’s being followed by a crazy old lady?”

“Who are you calling old, you dinosaur?”

“So where is she going, smart-ass?”

“Her brother’s house!” And lo and behold: Marcia pulled her car to a stop right in front of Quintin Gardner’s house and soon was getting out, glancing left and right as she did, then crossing the street.

Vesta, who’d had the sense to park far enough so as not to be conspicuous, said, “Let’s go!”

“Let’s go where?!”

“Let’s go snoop!”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” muttered Scarlett, and both women got out and hurried over to the house of their target, keeping low and hunched over like they’d seen a million times in cop shows and the movies.

“What are you going to do? Ring the bell and ask what the hell she’s doing there?”

“Don’t be silly. We’re going to do this the old-fashioned way: we’re going to put our ears to the window and eavesdrop!”

And as she tripped up to the house, Scarlett saw what her friend meant: they could conveniently hide out in front of the house, and peek in through the window.

Marcia had disappeared inside, and the lights had come on in one of the front rooms, where presumably brother and sister were now gathered for their midnight meeting.

Both women emerged from the bushes, synchronized like a pair of Esther Williamses rising from the pool, and glanced in through the window.

And sure enough: inside they could see Quintin Gardner, his back to them, and Marcia Gardner, who was pacing the floor while she talked a mile a minute.

“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Scarlett lamented.

“We should have those listening devices,” said Vesta. “I think they sell them online. Like suction cups. You put them against the window and you can hear everything as if you’re in the room.”

She put her ear to the window, pretending for a moment it was just such a suction cup, and listened intently, then shook her head.“Nah. I got nothing.”

Scarlett now attempted the same but likewise had to admit defeat.“Double glazing,” she said. “Whoever invented double glazing must have been a moron.”

And as she raised her eyes to the glass once more, suddenly she saw that Marcia was staring straight at her!

She immediately ducked down, but too late. Moments later the window was yanked open and Marcia appeared.“Hey, you!” she said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Walking my dog?” Scarlett tried, and glanced down at her friend, who gave Marcia a sheepish grin.

Chapter 37

Alec Lip, who’d been sleeping peacefully and spooning with his one true love, was rudely awakened from the wonderful dream he’d been having by an insistent ringtone.

“What the…” he muttered, a little disoriented as he groped for his phone.

“Who is it?” asked Charlene next to him.

“No idea,” he murmured as he grabbed the phone and looked. Then, cursing under his breath, he picked up. “Dolores? You know what time it is?”

“Oh, I know what time it is, Chief, but does your mother know?”

The Chief frowned. Dolores’s words vaguely reminded him of a song he’d once heard, then he said, “What are you talking about?”

“Your mother was just arrested, Chief. So I figured I’d better give you a call.”

He closed his eyes again.“Oh, God.”

“No, still Dolores,” said Dolores with a hoarse chuckle. “And next time Vesta decides to go snooping around in the middle of the night I’m just going to tell the duty officer to lock her up and throw away the key. This is the second night in a row, Chief. What is she playing at?”

Alec knew exactly what his mother was playing. Neighborhood watch. Though now it looked as if she was playing midnight watch instead.“Where?” he asked curtly.

“Quintin Gardner’s place. You want the address?”

“I know where it is,” he grunted. “Be there in five.”

“Your mother again?” asked Charlene, who’d heard snatches of the conversation, as Dolores was just about the loudest dispatcher on record, especially when she was obliged to do the night shift, which she hated and which made her even crankier than usual.

He nodded and swung his feet from the bed, then rubbed his eyes.

“Want me to come?”

“No, you go back to sleep, honey. It’s my mother—my burden to carry.”

Charlene smiled and placed a comforting hand on his back.“I’m sorry. She is a handful, isn’t she?”

“A handful? More like a truckful.”

When he arrived at the scene, it was almost as if he was experiencing d?j?-vu from the night before: there they were, Vesta and Scarlett, seated in the back of the squad car, the irate homeowner who’d called the cops arguing loudly with the arresting officer.

And when he arrived, of course Quintin Gardner turned to him to repeat his lament.

“These two were sneaking around my house,” said Mr. Gardner, pointing to the two senior citizens. “And looking in through my window, spying on me and my sister. I hope you’ll arrest them and throw them in jail, Chief.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said the Chief, who wasn’t in the mood for community policing. “Go back to bed, sir. I’ll take care of this.”

“I hope you do, Chief. I mean, I’m the one who pays your wages with my taxes, after all, so I expect a little service in return.”

The Chief halted in his tracks and turned back to the candy tycoon.“What did you just say, sir?”

If there was one thing he hated it was people treating him like their servant.

“I said that with the amount of taxes I pay I expect you to make sure this kind of thing doesn’t happen.”

He narrowed his eyes at the man.“As it happens, sir, Mrs. Muffin over there, and Miss Canyon, were working under my instructions. They’re members of the neighborhood watch, and as such tasked with keeping the peace. So are you sure that what you were doing was entirely on the up and up? Sir?”

“Why, of course,” said Mr. Gardner, taken aback by all this backtalk.

“What were you and your sister doing in the middle of the night, if I may ask, sir?”

“Just… discussing some private matters.”

Alec glanced over to his mother and her friend, and thought there was probably more to this case than met the eye. He then turned back to the factory owner and stabbed a finger in the man’s chest. “My instinct tells me something is going on here, sir. And I will tell you right now that I’m not going to rest until I find out what it is. Good night, sir.”

And with these words he left the man staring after him, clearly aghast at the gall of this civil servant to use this tone with him.

Alec then walked up to his mother, planted his hands on his hips and said,“Now what the hell are you playing at, Ma? And don’t give me this watch crap again,” he added.

Chapter 38

“Follow the herder,” said Odelia with a frown as she read from the letter that had been dropped in her mailbox the night before.

“And who did you say posted that letter?” asked her mother as she poured more coffee for all those present.

No official invitations had gone out, but it had clearly been everyone’s opinion that a family meeting was in order, so everyone had gathered in Odelia’s mom and dad’s backyard for a family breakfast.

First Odelia had dropped by, holding up the letter, followed by Chase, once the latter had finished his morning gymnastics routine. Gran had been there of course, still grumpy after having been arrested the night before while on a stakeout at Quintin Gardner’s house, and then Uncle Alec and Charlene had also come round, eager to discuss that exact stakeout with the rest of the family.

So now they were all seated around the garden table that usually served as the backdrop for Dad’s famous barbecues, enjoying breakfast and discussing the state of affairs.

“According to… a witness,” said Odelia with a quick glance in Charlene’s direction, “it was that security guard who works for Bobby Garibaldi, of all people. His name is Bruno.”

“What witness was this?” asked Charlene as she took a sip of coffee.

Odelia glanced in the direction of her mother. Charlene was now the only person around the table who wasn’t aware of their big secret: that the women in the Poole family had the unique ability to be able to communicate with their cats.

“That’s not important,” said Mom, with an airy wave. “What’s important is this letter, and what it means.”

“You could always go and talk to the guy,” Chase suggested. “And ask him straight out what he’s playing at.”

“He’ll probably deny the whole thing, though,” said Uncle Alec.

“Follow the herders,” Gran mused. “Usually it’s follow the herd, right? It has got to have something to do with that goatherd you smashed,” she added, addressing Dad.

“I didn’t smash that thing,” said Dad, indignant. “Your cats did.”

“My cats did no such thing,” said Gran snippily.

“What were you doing snooping around Mr. Gardner’s house last night, Gran?” asked Odelia, curious.

“For the umpteenth time, I wasn’t snooping,” said Gran. “I was on a stakeout with Scarlett.”

“Staking out who?” asked Charlene.

“Marcia Gardner. I got this hunch she’s involved in this whole thing somehow, so—”

“Didn’t Chase specifically tell you that you were to leave the Gardner family alone from now on?” asked Uncle Alec.

Gran shrugged.“If I have to listen to your neighborhood-watch-hating deputy every time he gets a bee in his bonnet…”

“I don’t hate the watch, Grandma,” said Chase, causing the old lady’s face to pucker up even more.

“Look, the only reason I went on that stakeout was to show you once and for all that the watch is a force to be reckoned with. Not just a bunch of old kooks messing around.”

“I never said—”

“The girl that was found—there’s absolutely no connection to the Gardners?” asked Charlene, who was looking very pretty this morning, Odelia thought, with her curly blond tresses and a prim blush on her cheeks.

She was happy to see that the couple had resolved their differences and were back together again.

“I interviewed the manager of that fitness club yesterday,” said Uncle Alec, applying a thick layer of butter to his bagel, “and showed him pictures of the entire Gardner family. No dice. And none of the Gardners are members at the club either. I also talked to the girl’s mother, and here is where it gets interesting.” He shifted in his chair. “She claims that her daughter supplemented her income by giving private lessons to select clients. Unfortunately she didn’t know who these clients were—nothing was official.”