Purrfect Crime

Chapter 4

“Do you really think Odelia is getting married?” asked Dooley.

I shook my head. “No way. Odelia doesn’t lie. If she was getting married she would have told us. In fact I’m pretty sure we’d be the first to know.”

“But why is everybody saying she’s having this shotgun wedding?”

“People talk, Dooley. You know that and I know that. That’s what they do.”

He thought about this for a moment. “You know, you might be right, Max.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right. You should know that by now.”

We were walking around the back of the house. I don’t know what we were hoping to find, but at least something that would shed some light on what had happened here. And if we were really lucky, maybe even an eyewitness account of the murder with a nice description of the murderer. Humans might think they’re pretty smart by avoiding the attention of other humans when they’re out murdering each other, but they never give a second thought to the pets they encounter along the way.

Behind us, Harriet and Brutus were still engaged in their lover’s quarrel.

“I don’t see why you have to go and fall for this Bradley Cooper guy,” Brutus was saying. “Not only does he have the face of a Neanderthal but he’s human! Cats don’t fall for humans. That’s not natural, Harriet. And it’s humiliating for me as your boyfriend.”

“I just like his face,” said Harriet. “Is that so bad? He has a fascinating face.”

“A human face,” Brutus pointed out. “You can’t like a human face, sweet pea.”

“I can, too. You can’t tell me what I can and can’t like, Brutus. I’m a free cat.”

“Oh, is that why you were kissing Max the other day? Huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, God. Not again! I wasn’t kissing Max. I already told you what happened.”

“Yeah, you stubbed your toe and you tripped and fell and ended up hitting Max’s lips with yours. I know what you told me. I’m just telling you I’m not buying it. Who trips and hits another cat’s lips? That’s just crazy! Besides, why did you keep on kissing him for a full minute after that?”

She heaved an exasperated groan. “Like I said this morning, I thought he was you, sugar lump. Until I discovered he wasn’t and then I stopped.”

Brutus shook his head. “I don’t know, bunny duck. I just don’t know.”

“Oh, buttercup,” she said, taking his head in her paws. “You know I only love you. My very own cuddly daddy.”

At this, Brutus seemed to relent, his scowl melting away like butter on the griddle. “Oh, my snookums,” he purred. “Sweetie cakes.”

“Chocolate bunny.”

“Smoochie poo.”

And then, inevitably, there was smooching. A lot of smooching.

Dooley moaned. “Why do they have to do that right under our noses?!”

“Because they only have eyes for each other, Dooley,” I said. “Wait until you’re in love.”

“I’m never falling in love again,” said Dooley bitterly. “Love is a curse.”

We managed to put some distance between ourselves and the loved-up couple, and a good thing, too. Brutus has this competitive streak. Whenever there is a murder to solve, he wants to solve it first, and he doesn’t care what he has to do to ‘win.’

We’d arrived in the backyard and I raised an eyebrow in admiration. The yard was perfectly maintained, the grass as smooth as a pool table. An actual pool had been installed, with an actual pool house and a nice row of chaise lounges placed right next to it. It all looked very inviting, or it would have if Dooley and I were human. As it was I didn’t care about pools. Not that I’m scared of pools. I just don’t like that they’re full of water. Water is wet.

And that’s when I saw them: two poodles, one brown, one beige, were lying on top of the chaise lounges, their eyes closed, enjoying some R&R.

“I think we might have our first witnesses,” I told Dooley, gesturing with my head to the two mutts.

“Dogs?” asked Dooley. “Why does it always have to be dogs? Why can’t rich people keep cats instead?”

“Because they think dogs are great for keeping the burglars away.”

“Cats keep burglars away,” Dooley argued. “In fact we’re better equipped for the task. We can see in the dark. Dogs can’t. And we have sharp claws. Dogs have those silly excuses for claws.”

“Dogs can bite,” I reminded him. “And they bark.”

“I meow! Have you heard my meow? I meow up a storm.”

“Not exactly the same, Dooley.”

The dogs had spotted us and had curled their upper lips up in a snarl, making that annoying threatening noise at the back of their throats. As if that was supposed to impress us. Puh-lease.

“Hey there, guys,” I said, walking up to the duo. “How’s it hanging?”

“And who are you?” asked the brown poodle, none too friendly.

“My name is Max,” I said by way of introduction. “You may have heard of me. I’m an ace feline detective. And I’m here to solve the murder.”

“Murder? What murder?” asked the beige one.

“The murder of your human? Don’t tell me no one told you.”

“Our human wasn’t murdered,” said the brown one. “She’s just sleeping. In the sauna. Isn’t that right, Rex?”

“That’s right, Rollo. She’s just taking a little nap in the sauna. I just saw her.”

“And I saw her, too.”

“She’s not sleeping,” said Dooley, venturing up with some trepidation. “She’s dead.”

Rex and Rollo shared a look of amusement, then burst out laughing. “No, she’s not,” said Rex. “You silly cat. You’re funny. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that humans have to sleep just like we do?”

“Yeah, and when they sleep they look dead but they aren’t,” Rollo added.

“Look, I’ve had a human since forever,” I said. “So you don’t have to teach me the difference between a dead human and a sleeping human. I know the difference. One is breathing and the other ain’t. And for your information, your human isn’t sleeping—she’s dead.”

“Cats,” said Rex, shaking his head. “They’re a real hoot.”

“Yeah. Think they know it all.”

They placed their chins on their front paws again and stared at us, quickly losing interest.

“So tell me why there are so many cops around?” I said, not giving up.

Rex shrugged. “Donna likes to invite people.”

“Yeah, Donna’s a real people person. Always hosting parties.”

“For the police?” I asked.

“Sure,” said Rollo. “Why not? Police are human, too. They like to party.”

“Only they’re not partying now, are they?” I asked, exasperated. “They’re examining the dead body of your human, trying to figure out who made her that way.”

Rex and Rollo shared another knowing look, then shook their heads with a smirk. “Cats,” Rollo repeated. “You gotta love them.”

“What about the ambulance parked out in front of the house?” Dooley asked.

“Oh, please,” said Rollo, rolling his eyes. “When you have a party, you have to have an ambulance. In case one of the guests suddenly gets sick.”

“Remember that party where all the guests got sick, Rollo?” asked Rex. “Remember that? That was some party.”

“We don’t mention that,” said Rollo sternly. “We never mention that party, Rex. That party never happened.”

“Oh. Right. Totally forgot about that.”

Rollo eyed us critically. “There was never any party where everybody got sick after eating the shrimp. And Donna never sued the caterer. Is that understood, cats?”

“My name is Max,” I reminded him.

“Whatever, cat,” said Rollo. “Now I think you better scram. I don’t remember seeing your name on the guest list. And if Donna finds out you’re trespassing and we’re allowing you, she’ll have something to say about it.”

“Oh, you think we should chase them off the premises, Rollo?” asked Rex.

Rollo thought about this for a moment. “Maybe we’ll just let them off with a warning this time.”

“Great,” said Rex with a smile. “I’m not in the mood for running around anyway.”

“Come on, you guys!” I said. “Your human is dead! You have to snap out of it and help us catch the killer!”

Rollo’s face clouded. “On second thought…”

“Uh-oh,” Dooley muttered.

Rollo turned to Rex. “Rex. You get the fat one. I’ll get the skinny one. Go!”

Good thing for us the dogs had more bark than bite. And more talk than dash. By the time Dooley and I had cleared the pool area, they were still nowhere near catching up with us.

“See?” asked Dooley, slightly out of breath as we hid under Odelia’s pickup. “That’s another advantage us cats have over dogs: we’re a lot faster!”

Or these two idiots were exceptionally slow, I thought as I saw Rex and Rollo appear around the corner and search around stupidly. Then, in perfect unison, they both plunked down on their haunches and started licking their private parts.

“Yuck,” Dooley muttered. “Imagine being the tongue of a dog. Just… yuck.”

“You lick your private parts,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but I’m a cat. I’m naturally clean. Dogs are just filthy.”

He had a point, of course. Dogs are filthy, and cats are naturally clean.

“So now what?” I asked. “Our only potential witnesses are two dumb-ass dogs.”

“With the emphasis on ass,” said Dooley as he watched Rex and Rollo turn their attention from their private parts to a different, even filthier part of their canine anatomy.

“Let’s just hope Brutus and Harriet have better luck,” I said.

Just then, Brutus and Harriet emerged from inside the house. They were still gabbing away, probably discussing Bradley Cooper’s face and why it was off limits to cats. Rex and Rollo paused from their hygienic pursuit to gawk at the two newcomers.

“Uh-oh,” said Dooley. “Here we go.”

Within seconds, Brutus and Harriet had joined us underneath the car, scared off by those two idiot poodles, who were now sniffing around in the vicinity of the boxwood hedge.

“So? What did you find out?” I asked.

“That Bradley Cooper is the only human who looks good with a beard,” Brutus said morosely.

“Well, he does!” Harriet cried. “That man makes a beard look totally sexy.”

“Because it hides his big mouth!”

“It does not!”

Brutus, Dooley and I shared an agonized groan. “What about the murder?” I asked.

“What about it?” asked Harriet.

“Did you talk to anyone inside? Did Donna Bruce have other pets besides Beavis and Butt-head over there?”

Dooley snickered. “You said butt.”

“For your information, that place is filled with cops,” said Harriet. “So even if there were any pets around, the cops probably scared them off.”

Now it was my turn to place my chin on my front paws. This investigation was not exactly going the way I’d hoped. “So nothing?” I asked.

Harriet remained conspicuously silent.

“At least now we know that Bradley Cooper looks great with a beard,” Dooley offered. “That’s something, right? Right, Max?”

“Oh, Dooley,” I muttered.