e8cf697896e365441c22e98649d515d0

“There’s also that dust-up between Robbie and Jeff on the morning of his murder,” Odelia said. “Robbie seemed very angry with Jeff.”

“I honestly can’t believe Robbie would hurt Jeff,” said Steph. “But it’s true that sometimes I get the impression he’s still hung up on me. That he never really got over me leaving. To me it never meant much. We dated, but it was all very sweet and innocent. We never made big plans for the future or anything. So when I left I didn’t give Robbie a second thought. I know it sounds bad but that’s how it was.”

“But he felt different, didn’t he?”

“I guess he did. He’s been following me around, you know. He thinks I don’t know, but I can see him spying on me. It creeps me out, to be honest. Not that I think he would do anything,” she was quick to add. “But it’s not very nice. I’ll go for a walk, and suddenly I will bump into him—by accident, but not by accident. And then he’ll get mad about something and stalk off. He’s still very much like a boy. Immature, I mean. Throwing his weight around when he can’t get what he wants.” When Odelia and Chase shared a look, she hastened to say, “Don’t get me wrong—he would never hurt me. Robbie is the sweetest, gentlest soul. And I feel terrible that he would think that he meant so little to me that I never even called or wrote after I left. But it’s true. To me he was just a good friend, nothing more.”

“But in his mind he was so much more,” said Odelia, nodding.

“I guess so. Oh, it’s all so very confusing, isn’t it? Just one big mess.”

“It’s not your fault that Robbie is acting this way, Steph,” said Odelia. “So please don’t blame yourself.”

“But what if he did… kill Jeff?” Her hands, which had been resting in her lap, had traveled to her face, which displayed her keen distress. “Then it’s all my fault, isn’t it? Somehow… I provoked him!”

“No, you did not,” said Chase. “And besides, we don’t know what happened. It could be Robbie, but it could be someone else entirely. Though, just to be on the safe side, maybe it’s best if you don’t go for long walks all by yourself for a while. At least until we’ve caught the man responsible for Jeff’s murder, all right?”

Steph nodded forlornly.“Of course. You’re absolutely right. I won’t.”

CHAPTER 29

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

“Robbie probably hopes to marry Steph now that Jeff is dead,” said Dooley.

“That’s entirely possible,” I said. “Though I doubt whether she sees it that way.”

Once more we were traipsing through the sprawling winery in search of a person. This time it was Robbie we wanted to talk to, though if we ran into Kevin that wouldn’t be such a bad thing either. The place was so big that you could probably walk around for days and not bump into another living soul. Okay, so maybe I was exaggerating slightly, but still.

His dad had told us we would probably find Robbie in the garage, where he was busy fixing one of the trucks that had recently broken down. And so we had found the garage, but of Robbie there was no trace. But then I got an idea.

“Steph said that Robbie has been following her around,” I told Odelia. “So maybe he’s doing that right now?”

“Where did Steph say she was going?” asked Odelia.

“Look in on Zoe,” said Chase.

And so we retraced our steps, and soon approached the main residence, where the Stewart family lived. We circled the building, knowing that the nursery was at the back, and immediately Chase’s sharp eyes located our quarry.

“Hey, you!” he yelled. Robbie was actually standing behind a tree, glancing up at one of the windows, most likely the nursery. The moment he caught sight of us, he blanched. “We want to talk to you!” Chase said, just in case the young man thought we were there simply to take in the scenery.

For a moment I thought he’d turn and run, but he seemed to have more sense than that. And so he stayed put until we’d joined him.

“Great view?” asked Chase grimly as he pointed to the nursery window, where we could now see Steph holding her baby in her arms, and feeding Zoe a bottle.

“I was just… checking… something,” said Robbie lamely.

“Okay, so Steph tells us you’ve been stalking her,” said Chase, not beating about the bush. “And your dad told us he didn’t see you all afternoon yesterday. So what’s going on, Robbie?”

“Nothing. I just—did Steph really say that?”

“She did.”

“I’m not stalking her. I mean… I guess I’ve been looking out for her. What with her husband’s murder and all, I just figured she could use someone to keep an eye on her.”

“Where were you yesterday between two and three, Robbie?” Chase pressed. “And you better tell us the truth this time, cause sooner or later we’re going to find out, and if we discover you were anywhere near the place where Jeff was killed, there will be hell to pay.”

Robbie gulped once or twice, then stared at his feet.“I… I followed Jeff in my car. I just thought… Well, I don’t know what I thought. I’d overheard him say he was meeting a colleague in town, and I just figured that couldn’t be right. He works in New York—so how was he meeting a colleague in Hampton Cove? He’s not even from around here. He’s from Paris. It just struck me as odd, that’s all.”

“So you figured as Steph’s self-appointed protector and hero you would see where her husband was going, thinking that he might be up to no good, is that it?”

Robbie nodded meekly.“I thought maybe he was having an affair or something. It happens, you know, when men become dads, that suddenly they… well, you know. Anyway, so I followed him from a safe distance, all the way to Hampton Cove, and then to that place where he was meeting his so-called colleague. Only it wasn’t a bar but just a house, which struck me as pretty suspicious. And so I googled the place, and discovered it was a kind of private escort service. ‘Cipriana and Hailey are two sexy ladies who will make your wildest dreams come true.’ That’s what it said on their website. So I snapped a couple of pictures of him going in, and thought I’d show them to Steph, to prove that her husband was cheating on her with a prostitute. Only before I had the chance I heard that he’d actually been murdered by this Cipriana person, so I didn’t think it was a good idea to… well, you know…” Here his voice trailed off.

“To tell us you were there,” said Chase. “Just in case we would think you had something to do with the killings.” He rubbed his face. “Robbie, you do realize that lying to the police is a punishable offense? And so is withholding evidence?”

“I didn’t see anything,” he said defensively. “I didn’t see what happened.”

“Why don’t you let us be the judge of that?”

“No, but I figured it didn’t matter. This prostitute killed Jeff then killed herself. Only later I found out that it wasn’t as simple as that, and there was another angle. But by then it was too late. If I told you what happened I’d be in trouble.”

“You’re still in big trouble, Robbie,” said Chase.

“But we’re also happy you finally told us the truth,” said Odelia, giving her husband a look that said, ‘Lay off the kid, will you? He made a mistake but he’s not a killer.’

But Chase wasn’t convinced. “Who’s to say that you didn’t go into that flat and killed them both? You were jealous of Jeff, weren’t you? Figured he’d stolen your girlfriend—the woman you loved—still love to this day. So why not get hold of a gun and get rid of the guy? Without Jeff, maybe Steph will come back to you. Maybe you’ll finally be reunited, and this time she’ll stick around. No more Paris. No more New York. She’ll move back here and be with you, just like she should.”

“It’s what I wanted,” said Robbie. “It’s my fondest wish. But I know it’s never going to happen. She doesn’t love me. She never loved me. Not the way that I love her. I knew that when I saw the way she looked at Jeff. At their wedding. She’d never looked at me like that. And I knew that she had never loved me. Not really.” He seemed sullen, but his eyes had filled with tears, and I think we all realized he was telling the truth. “I didn’t kill Jeff. Why would I? Steph loved him so much and he loved her. And when you love a person you want what’s best for them, don’t you? Well, I knew that Jeff was the best person for Steph. He made her happy. And I wanted him to keep on making her happy. Which is why I was so upset when I saw him go into that place to be with that woman. And before you say I killed him because he cheated on Steph—no, I didn’t. I just didn’t, all right? And I know I can’t prove it, but I’m not that kind of person. I just… I just loved the wrong girl all my life. Which is stupid, I know, but there you have it.” He swiped at his eyes.

“All right, settle down,” said Chase, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s all right, son. I’m glad you told us. But maybe you can stop following people around, all right?”

“You mean stop following Steph around.”

“Yeah, it’s not healthy. Not for you, and not for her.”

“But someone has to protect her, detective,” he said, and suddenly turned a couple of fierce eyes on Chase. “Whoever killed Jeff might come back to kill her, too. So someone should keep an eye on her.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide, buddy,” said Chase. “Now I can tell you’re hurting. But you’ve got to let go of this obsession with Stephanie Stewart.”

“It was better when she wasn’t here,” said Robbie, drying his eyes with the paper tissue Odelia had handed him. “When she’d moved to Paris.” He stared off into the distance. “I’ve thought about leaving, you know. But my dad needs me. And anyway, I don’t have any particular skills.I didn’t go to college. All I’ve known all my life is the winery. It’s all I know how to do. So where would I go?”

“You’ll figure it out, son,” said Chase, and I noticed how he had adopted a fatherly tone now. “You’ll figure it out.”

I saw him look up at the house, and just at that moment Steph glanced down at us, standing there chatting.“Yeah, I need to figure this out once and for all,” said Robbie. “Cause one thing’s for sure. I can’t go on like this. I just can’t.”

When we were in the car and driving back to Hampton Cove, Dooley said,“Robbie Scunner is not a happy boy, Max. Not a happy boy at all.”

“No, he certainly isn’t,” I agreed. But was he a murderer? Now that was a tough call to make, one for which we would need to gather more pertinent facts first.

Once more Kevin Stewart had eluded us. His car wasn’t in the drive, and it wasn’t in the garage either, and when Chase called the number his sister had given us, he got the man’s voicemail, pleasantly inviting him to leave a message.

Sooner or later, though, we were going to catch up with Mr. Stewart, and knowing Chase, that young man wasn’t going to enjoy the experience of being on the receiving end of the cop’s ire. Whether he did it on purpose or not, he was the only person we hadn’t spoken to. And somehow I didn’t think that was a coincidence.

CHAPTER 30

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

The police had only just left when Kevin came roaring up in his Ferrari. When he walked into the house Steph put her hands on her hips and decided to have it out with her brother once and for all.“Where have you been? The police are looking for you.”

But he didn’t seem inclined to respond. Like before, his face spelled storm, and instead of replying, he simply walked right past her without uttering a word.

“I’m talking to you, Kevin!”

But all she got was picture but no sound. And as she made to follow him, suddenly she thought better of it. Whatever Kevin was up to, it had nothing to do with what happened to Jeff, and so consequently nothing to do with her. If he wanted to act like a jerk, so be it. And if the police wanted to find him, sooner or later they would, and she got the impression from that big detective that when they did catch up with them, there would be hell to pay. And if he tried to pull a trick like this on Detective Kingsley, he had another thing coming.

Five minutes later she was rocking Zoe on her lap, and sitting with her in-laws on the patio. The weather was glorious, and she should have felt happy on a day like this. But without Jeff, the sun could give of its best all it wanted, but it didn’t make any difference.

“I just wish you’d come back to Paris with us,” said Pauline. “You and Zoe could move in with David and me for the time being—while your apartment is being renovated. It’s only around the corner, and you could pick your own furnishings, and select your kitchen, colors for the bathroom…” Pauline gave her a hopeful look. And Steph could understand where they were coming from. Of course she could. They’d just lost their only son, and now all they had were Steph and, more importantly, Zoe. The grandchild that would always remind them of their son. She would always carry a part of her father in her, and they wanted her close to them.

But she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. It was too soon anyway. She was still mourning Jeff, and had no idea what the future would hold for her and Zoe now. And besides, here in Hampton Cove at least she had her family. Even though Pauline and David were almost like family to her, it wasn’t the same. And now, with Jeff gone, things were going to be different. A different dynamic, for one thing. No longer was she their son’s wife. Now they had to build a new rapport.

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I’m still trying to come to terms with what happened. And I’m not sure if I’ll be ready to start making plans any time soon.”

“Just leave her be, Pauline,” said David, enveloping his wife’s hand in his, and giving it a tender squeeze. “We’re all in shock, and we’re all mourning. Now is not the time to think about the future. Now is the time to honor the past. Honor Jeff.”

“I know. But I’m worried,” said Pauline. She didn’t say what she was worried about, nor did she have to. If Steph decided to stay in the States, they might never see their granddaughter again. Or only on rare occasions. Perhaps once a year or so. And that possibility seemed very hard for Pauline to bear. She’d lost her son, she didn’t want to lose her granddaughter, too.

“It’s just that… I hardly know anyone in Paris,” said Steph, feathering a light kiss on top of Zoe’s head. She knew a few people, of course, but they were all fellow students, and many of them had returned to their home countries after graduation. A few people were French, but not all of them lived in Paris. And after the Sofie Fashion job had fallen through, her excitement to move back there and build a life had taken a big hit. And now with Jeff gone… It just wasn’t the same.

“You can easily find a job,” said Pauline, not giving up so quickly. “David knows a lot of people, don’t you, David? It won’t take long to find a wonderful job with wonderful colleagues. And once you start living and working in Paris, you’ll meet new people all the time, and you’ll have plenty of friends. And you have us, of course.” She gave Zoe such a longing look that Steph’s heart almost broke.

“Let’s just wait and see,” she said, not wanting to pin herself down on anything right now. It was simply too soon. First they needed to arrange the funeral—and to do that the police had to release the body, which was another source of great sorrow for herself and Jeff’s parents. They couldn’t even say goodbye, for Jeff had been murdered. It was still hard for her to wrap her head around. It was surreal.

“That police detective was very kind,” said David, who must have read her mind. “I told him all about Bill Cymbal and he’s going to look into that man.”

“Oh, please, David, you don’t really think Cymbal had anything to do with this, do you?” said Pauline. “You may not like his ideas, but he’s not a murderer, surely.”

“And I’m telling you he is,” said David. “The man will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Right now it’s the mayoralty, then cabinet minister, and after that the presidency. He’s got it all worked out, and anything or anyone standing in his way will simply be mowed down.” He slashed the air with a flat hand. “Chop chop. That’s the way he’s operated for as long as I’ve known him. He’s like a machine that way. A relentless, remorseless, cold and calculating machine. Very ruthless.”

“I find it hard to believe that he would be stupid enough to resort to murder. He’s not a stupid man, David. And only a stupid man would think he can get away with murder.”

“He’s not stupid, but he’s arrogant. Arrogant enough to think he’s above the law. And very soon, if he’s not stopped, he will be the law, and then woe betideLa France and all itscitoyens.”

The discussion seemed endless, and frankly Steph wasn’t in the mood. So while her in-laws continued to discuss the merits of David’s theory, she took Zoe inside. It was time for her bath—and for Steph to have a lie-down.

CHAPTER 31

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Dutifully we all filed into Uncle Alec’s office. The Chief wanted an update on the state of the investigation, and so all the usual suspects were present again: Odelia and Chase, of course, and Dooley and myself. Our input was limited to not getting on the Chief’s nerves too much—which meant we were sitting quietly and making ourselves invisible—while Chase was expected to deliver a full report.

“What I’ve been wondering,” said the Chief, “is how the killer knew that Cipriana’s flatmate would be out. Unless she was in on it, of course.”

“I don’t think he did know,” said Chase. “If Hailey had stuck around, I’m sure he would have killed her, too.”

“She had a narrow escape,” said Odelia.

“You’re sure she’s not involved?” asked the Chief.

“Absolutely. Several witnesses saw her in the shop.”

“And so you’re satisfied that Jeff was the intended target, not Cipriana?”

“If we accept that Jeff was lured there, and wasn’t there as a client, then yes, Jeff must have been the intended victim.”

“He could have been a client, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the Chief pointed out. “And then Cipriana is the one you should be looking at.”

“Hailey had never seen Jeff before, so he wasn’t a regular customer,” said Chase. “And we checked his phone. He did indeed get a message from his colleague, asking to meet him in town that afternoon.”

“But Clive Balcerak never sent that message,” said Odelia. “Or at least he claims he didn’t. He says he wasn’t in Hampton Cove but in New York.”

“Better talk to the guy, and check his alibi,” said Uncle Alec. “He could be lying.”

“We’re meeting him tomorrow,” said Chase. “It wasn’t easy to pin him down. Said he had some big work thing and couldn’t make himself available.”

“Tell him to make himself available. This is a murder investigation, not a social call. Right.” He splayed his fingers on his desk. “If this was a professional hit, and Jeff was the target, then who are we looking at? Who could be behind this thing?”

“David Felfan thinks his political opponent ordered the hit,” said Odelia. “He’s Jeff’s dad, and he was running for mayor of Paris before this happened. He’s decided to withdraw as a candidate, which means the next mayor will almost certainly be Bill Cymbal.”

“Who ordered a hit on his opponent’s son as an intimidation tactic,” Chase completed this possible theory.

“I’m not sending you to Paris to talk to the guy,” the Chief grumbled. “For now let’s try to organize a Zoom call. And if you think he might be involved, let’s liaise with Interpol.” He frowned. “How likely do you think his involvement is?”

“At this point, we really have no way of knowing, boss,” Chase admitted.

“The other possibility that’s been suggested is that Beniamino Kosinski is behind the hit,” said Odelia, moving on from the French connection. “He’s—”

“Yes, I know who Beniamino Kosinski is,” said the Chief. “But what does he have to do with this murder business?”

“Well, Ian Stewart suggested that Jeff’s murder could be a warning. Both families have been at daggers drawn for years, and have been locked in a war of words. Beniamino could be trying to get the Stewarts to sell him their winery, giving him a virtual monopoly in this part of the South Fork.”

“If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll start killing people,” said the Chief. “It sounds good in theory, but frankly I don’t think Ben is that kind of guy. I’ve met him a few times, and he doesn’t strike me as the Don Corleone type of person.”

“Yeah, we also met him, and he doesn’t exactly look like a cold-blooded killer,” said Chase. “In fact he gave us a crate of wine as a present.”

“You didn’t accept, did you?” asked the Chief, alarmed.

Chase smiled.“Of course not. Bribing the police—big no-no.”

“He wasn’t trying to bribe us,” said Odelia. “Just being nice.”

“Fine,” said Uncle Alec. “So who else? Besides the wine guy and the French politician? Tell me you’ve got some other suspects lined up?”

“Well, there’s Robbie Scunner,” said Odelia.

“Who’s he?”

“The Stewart Winery foreman’s son. He’s in love with Steph, and was deeply unhappy when she left for Paris, and returned with Jeff Felfan on her arm.”

“Plain old-fashioned jealousy. I like him as a suspect. So where are we on alibi?”

“Well, he admits he followed Jeff into town, and even snapped a couple of pictures of the moment he entered Cipriana’s flat. But we showed his picture to our witness, and she didn’t recognize him.”

“She wouldn’t, if he hired a hitman,” the Chief pointed out. “Which is your overriding theory, if I’m not mistaken?” He gave his detective a scrutinizing look.

“You’re correct, sir,” said Chase. “But we’ve checked Robbie’s phone records and also his bank statements, and didn’t find anything that raises a red flag.”

“At least tell me he saw the killer enter the flat after Jeff Felfan?”

But Odelia shook her head.“Says he left when he saw Jeff walk in. He googled the address, discovered it was an escort service, and was so excited to give Steph the news that her husband was a whoremonger he couldn’t wait to get back to the winery. Only when he got there he couldn’t find Steph, and by the time he did, Jeff’s body had already been discovered so he figured he’d better keep his mouth shut about his little expedition, so as not to draw suspicion to himself.”

The Chief sighed.“Dead end after dead end. Tell me some good news, please?”

“Kevin Stewart,” said Odelia. “He’s been eluding us. And according to Steph he’s been acting really strange lately.”

“Go on.”

“We’re still trying to get hold of him, but we saw his car parked in the Kosinski driveway, which is odd, since the Stewarts and the Kosinskis aren’t on speaking terms.”

“So what was he doing at the Kosinski place?” said the Chief, nodding. “If he keeps giving you the slip, have him picked up. Obstructing a police investigation. That should make him more cooperative. Right. Anything else I need to know?”

“No, that’s it,” said Odelia. “For now.”

“Not much, but something at least,” said her uncle. “So talk to Jeff’s colleague. Check his alibi for the time of the murder. Talk to Kevin Stewart. Find out what he’s up to. And keep digging, people. Get me some results—pronto!”

“Yes, Chief,” said Chase dutifully.

“And now get lost,” grunted Uncle Alec, and for some reason he looked at me when he spoke these words!

Once we’d left the office, Dooley said, “I get the impression that Uncle Alec doesn’t like us very much, Max.”

“I’m sure he loves us,” I said. “It’s just that he has a strange way of showing it.” Though secretly I was starting to think that maybe Dooley was right. This would be odd, in a family of cat people like the man’s mother, sister and niece. Then again, maybe that was exactly the reasonhe didn’t like us—sometimes too much of a good thing can be a bad thing, and Uncle Alec had certainly been exposed to cats a lot in his lifetime.

“So now what?” asked Dooley.

“Now we go home,” I said. Frankly I was starving. All this running around and talking to people left and right—and nobody had thought of giving us something to eat! I mentioned this to Dooley, who wholeheartedly agreed.

“Maybe we should ask Uncle Alec to officially deputize us,” my friend suggested. “That way people can’t ignore us, and have to feed us.” It hadn’t escaped his notice that wherever Odelia and Chase went, they got offered food and drink—even whole crates of wine in Beniamino Kosinski’s case! But they never thought twice about giving two poor starving creatures like us the time of day.

“I don’t think Uncle Alec would like the idea,” I said, and that was putting it mildly.

“Or Odelia should keep a small plastic container of food in the car for emergencies,” said Dooley.

“Now that’s a good idea,” I said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

And so we made up our mind to mention the idea to Odelia on the first occasion.“We could even suggest several containers,” Dooley went on, happy that I had taken to his idea with such fervor and enthusiasm. “Different types of kibble, you know, and also some wet food. She could create an entire picnic menu.”

I wasn’t sure she would go for it, but the idea definitely had merit, and my stomach, which was rumbling freely, felt exactly the same way!

Which gave me an idea.“Let’s drop by Kingman,” I suggested. Kingman always has some decent grub to share, since his human owns the General Store.

And while Chase got busy typing up yet another report, and Odelia another article, Dooley and I walked the short distance from the police office to Main Street, where we hoped to satisfy our appetite and tide us over until dinner.

CHAPTER 32

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Only when we got there no food seemed to be forthcoming. Of the usual bowls located underneath the crates of fruits and veggies there was not a single trace—and neither, it turned out, of Kingman himself!

“Where is Kingman?” asked Dooley, who had noticed the same thing. Then his eyes went wide. “Oh, no. Maybe he’s gone without a trace, just like Shanille!”

“Shanille wasn’t actually gone, Dooley,” I reminded him. “She simply followed her human into the woods, to keep an eye on him just in case he was off his rocker. Which, as it turns out, he was.”

“So where is he?” asked Dooley, glancing left and right. “He’s always here. Never leaves his post.”

“I’m sure he does, if only to have a wee.”

Dooley laughed at this.“I’m sorry. It’s just that I was picturing Kingman in a litter box. I don’t think they actually make litter boxes big enough for him.”

I smiled. It was hard to imagine Kingman going in a litter box.“Maybe he does his business outside.” The General Store does have a small patch of green behind the store. It even has a tree, something all cats like—at least one thing we have in common with dogs. Though dogs like trees for the purpose of raising their hind leg against. We like it to keep our claws in shipshape condition.

And that’s when we heard it. Some kind of ruckus coming from inside the store. And since curiosity is our middle name—not really, but you get my drift—we quickly ventured inside to see what was going on.

“Maybe the store is being held up!” said Dooley. “And we’ll have to call 911!”

“We can’t call 911, Dooley,” I reminded my friend. For one thing, cats don’t own phones. And for another, say we manage to dial the required number, how are we going to make ourselves understood? Not many people speak our language, after all.

It took us a while to understand the scene that was playing out before us. Wilbur Vickery stood next to the big fridge that contains all manner of alcohol, in front of him on the floor sat Kingman, staring up at the man and growling—actually growling! And on the floor between them a can of cold beer lay on its side, like a fallen soldier, with the liquid spilling from the can.

“Are you crazy!” Wilbur was shouting. “What has gotten into you, Kingman!”

“I’m a member of FuSSy, you fool,” said Kingman. “Touch that can of poison one more time—I dare you!”

But of course poor Wilbur had no idea what his cat was saying. So he bent over and picked up that can. He checked it closely—possibly for cooties—and was about to put it to his lips when Kingman performed a perfectly executed standing jump, raised his right paw high, and slapped that can out of his human’s hand!

The can of brewski performed a nice arc through the air, and landed amid a selection of fine brown eggs, not exactly the kind of company eggs are in the habit of keeping, they being of the strict teetotaler persuasion.

“Kingman!” Wilbur yelled, as he clutched his head. “What did you just do!”

I could have told him, and so could Kingman himself, and actually he did, but it was no use, for Wilbur kept muttering to himself and complaining about weirdo cats, and going off to get a mop so he could clean up the beer from the floor.

“Why did Wilbur ask what Kingman did when he saw what he did?” asked Dooley.

“I guess he just couldn’t believe his own eyes, Dooley,” I said. “This not being the kind of behavior he’s used to from Kingman.”

Kingman now came waggling in our direction, but not before taking a disdainful sniff at the alcohol and wrinkling up his nose in abject disgust.“I never realized before how filthy this stuff is,” he said. “There should be a law against it.”

“There used to be,” I said. “It was called Prohibition, and it had some very interesting side effects.”

“It’s frustrating, you know,” said Kingman. “Having to keep an eye on him all the time. Last night when I got home from cat choir, he was on the couch, watching some late-night television, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath when he pulled me close for a cuddle. It’s tough having to be my human’s keeper all the time. He will try and sneak some liquor into his daily diet. Like now.”

“The problem is temptation,” said Dooley. “Your human has a shop full of alcohol, Kingman. All he has to do is reach out and take some of it. Other people have to go and buy it, but he doesn’t even have to leave the house.”

Dooley was right. Especially since Wilbur lives above his shop, and so whenever he runs out of something, all he has to do is walk down a flight of stairs and grab whatever he needs, whether it be bourbon or Scotch or a light beer.

“Maybe we should get rid of the stuff,” said Kingman musingly. “The problem is how?”

“I think the problem is that if you get rid of the stuff, Wilbur will get rid of you!” I said.

But Kingman raised his head high and got a sort of defiant expression in his eyes.“I don’t care. I’m willing to sacrifice my own comfort just to save my human from this self-inflicted destruction.”

“Is he in the AA?” asked Dooley.

“No, he’s not. But he should be.”

“So does he drink a lot?”

“Any drink is a drink too many,” said Kingman, quickly turning into a temperance evangelist, just like Shanille.

As far as I could tell, Wilbur wasn’t exactly a raging drunk. If he was, people would have started avoiding the store, but that simply wasn’t the case. The store always did great business, and Wilbur wasn’t slurring his words or staggering about and losing his balance—all obvious signs of alcohol intoxication. Then again, many alcoholics are what they call functioning alcoholics, and you can’t even see from their behavior that they have a problem. Was it possible that Wilbur was one of those? It hardly seemed likely. We would have smelled it.

“I think we need to expand our movement to include dogs,” said Kingman now. “Cats can only do so much, but dogs can do some real damage, especially the bigger ones like Rufus.”

Rufus belongs to Tex and Marge’s next-door neighbors the Trappers, and is a sheepdog. Unlike some smaller breeds he’s also very big and very fluffy.

“Now if Rufus were here, he could push over those shelves and crash all of those bottles to the floor,” said Kingman wistfully. “And that would be the end of that.” He was referring to the shelves containing the more expensive alcohol Wilbur had on offer. There was an assortment of wine, ofcourse, with a nice offering of both the Stewart and the Kosinski wines, amicably standing side by side, unlike their vintners, but also the stronger ones, which are called the hard liquor.

“Why do they call these liquors hard, Max?” asked Dooley as we studied the shelves containing an eclectic variety of stock. “They don’t look so hard to me.”

“They’re hard liquor because they’re produced through distillation,” I said. “Usually from grains, fruit or vegetables that have been fermented. Since the resulting beverage has a higher percentage of alcohol they are considered harder than the undistilled variety, like beer, wine and cider, which are fermented, but not distilled, giving them a lower alcohol percentage.”

“And root beer? Is that also a hard liquor?”

“Root beer typically doesn’t contain alcohol.”

“So there you have it!” said Dooley. “Make Wilbur drink root beer from now on. He’llthink it’s beer, but in actual fact it’s absolutely harmless. Problem solved!”

“I doubt whether Wilbur will be fooled so easily,” Kingman muttered as he scanned the rows and rows of alcohol on offer in his store. “The man is clever.”

We glanced over to Kingman’s human, and saw that he was poking his nose, digging deep as if looking to extract a nugget of gold, before finally extracting a big green booger. For a moment he carefully studied the booger, an expression of mild curiosity and childlike wonder on his face, then proceeded to roll the specimen between thumb and forefinger, before flicking it into the candy container, where it found its final resting place between a Jolly Rancher and a Milk Dud.

Okay, so maybe Wilbur wasn’t as clever as Kingman thought.

CHAPTER 33

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Wilbur wasn’t the only person in Hampton Cove that day who was finding it hard to enjoy their favorite pastime. Scarlett and Vesta, chatting pleasantly in the outside dining area of the Star Hotel, had ordered their usual drinks—a cappuccino for Scarlett and a hot chocolate for Vesta, when they found their beverages lacking thatje-ne-sais-quoi. That hard to describe something that makes all the difference.

“We shouldn’t,” said Scarlett. “It would set us back to square one.”

“I know,” said Vesta. “But I wants it, Scarlett. I wants it so bad.”

“Me too,” said Scarlett. “In fact I never wanted anything so bad before the day you convinced me to go to that damn AA club of yours.”

“It’s notmy damn AA club, Scarlett,” said Vesta. “And it’s not a club.”

“I thought as much. It’s not very social and they don’t serve alcohol.”

“That’s because it’s for people who want to stop drinking!”

“All right, all right. Don’t flip your wig. I’m not dissing your club. They look like a fine bunch of people. I just wish they were a little more fun to be around.”

Vesta sighed deeply. She loved her friend, she really did, but sometimes she could have sworn she did it on purpose.“Look, are we doing this or not?”

A big grin appeared on Scarlett’s face. “We’re doing it,” she said.

“I like your thinking, sister. Let’s do it!” They weren’t actually member-members of the AA anyway. More like observers. Like at the United Nations.

So she glanced around, making sure Tex wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity—it wouldn’t do for him to see her swilling down booze after she’d knocked that flask out of his hands yesterday. He’d accuse her of being a hypocrite, and he’d have a point!

She gestured for the waiter, who promptly appeared, and they ordered two large martinis on the rocks. And as they waited impatiently, Scarlett was smacking her lips, which was probably a bad idea as she had just applied about a ton of lip gloss.“God, I wants it too,” said Scarlett. “I mean, here I was all my life thinking I needed a man to make me happy, when all I needed was a stiff drink.”

“Liquor sure is easier to digest than a man,” Vesta agreed wholeheartedly. After her divorce she’d ventured out onto the market for singles, and had managed to snag the attention of a couple of male suitors. Most of them she’d been forced to throw back, though, and the ones she hadn’t hadquickly proven equally unpalatable. Unlike this big martini that nice waiter was now bringing up!

And she was just about to put her lips to the cool drink when out of the blue, suddenly something whizzed past her field of vision, and slapped that glass right out of her hands! The glass crashed to the flagged floor and broke into a thousand pieces, but what was worse: her martini was gone!

“Hey!” she said, looking around to see what was going on. Was it a plane, was it a bird, was it Superman? But before she could get her bearings, the same exact phenomenon happened again, only this time with Scarlett’s equally tasty drink!

Zoom! Slam! Crash!

“What the…” Scarlett cried, greatly dismayed as only a person craving a cooling shot of the good stuff can get when seeing their glass snatched away.

And that’s when Vesta saw it: it was Harriet, cool as dammit and licking her paw—presumably the same paw she’d used to slam those glasses out of Vesta and Scarlett’s hands!

“What do you think you’re doing!” Vesta cried. “That was my drink!”

“And mine!” Scarlett added.

“For your information, I’m your new sponsor,” said Harriet, giving them both a cold look from beneath her lowered lashes. “And this sponsor means business. From now on I’m watching you two like a hawk. And if I see you touch so much as a single drop of alcohol, I’m going to do some serious damage.” And to show them she wasn’t fooling around, she held up that fateful paw and slash! Unsheathed a series of very sharp-looking lethal claws!

Yikes! thought Vesta.

Christ! thought Scarlett.

Both ladies gulped, then meekly nodded when Harriet asked if they were going to be good from now on. Because if not… And she drew her claw across her throat in a sign of what was to come if they didn’t adhere to the rules of the club!

The moment Harriet had left—though Vesta was convinced she was keeping an eye on them from some hidden vantage point—Scarlett said, “I knew this club was bad news! I should never have joined up!”

“It’s not a club but a…” But then she sighed. Oh, what was the point?

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

Francis Reilly wasn’t feeling very well. The last few days were more or less a blur. He still remembered loading a couple of boxes of sacramental wine into the trunk of his car, and unloading them at that old shack in the woods a parishioner had once drawn his attention to, but from that point onward things became a little hazy. He seemed to remember standing in the shower with Tex Poole at some point, but that must have been a nightmare, for who in their right mind would want to take a shower with Tex Poole? Except for the man’s wife, maybe.

And then of course Vesta had dragged him to one of those AA meetings. The indignation of the thing was what hurt him the most. Once upon a timehe’d been the one sending people to those meetings! In fact he’d personally hosted many a meeting himself! And now there he sat, a sad drunk, having to listen to other sad drunks trying to get their lives back on track. And even though he’d tried to hide in the back, he just knew people had seen him and would whisper—and soon the story would go around Hampton Cove that Father Francis Reilly was an alcoholic!

Alcoholics Anonymous, my ass, he thought. There wasn’t anything anonymous about being an alcoholic in a town as small as this one, that was for darn sure.

And so he sat in his vestry, trying to work out his Sunday sermon, and feeling very, very thirsty all of a sudden. If only he could have a nice stiff one, he’d feel much better. The words would simply flow onto the page, not like now when it felt as if he had to drag them kicking and screaming from the depths of his immortal soul. Someone—he suspected Vesta, to be honest—had disappeared the few bottles he’d tucked away in the vestry cupboard. The first thing he’d done upon his return was look, and they were no longer there. But what Vesta didn’t know—what nobody knew—was that he kept another bottle hidden in a secret compartment underneath the altar—in case of emergencies.

So he now snuck out of his vestry and into the church proper, scanned the church pews to make sure none of his regulars were seated there, and when he had convinced himself that he was alone, quickly crossed the few steps to the altar, and lifted the cloth that covered the holy shrine. The bottle was still there, all right, exactly where he had left it.

A hot flush mantled his cheeks when he palmed it, and for some reason he discovered that he was hiding the bottle from sight. He glanced over his shoulder, and was startled to discover that Christ on the cross was staring straight at him.

“Please forgive me, Lord,” he muttered. “But I need this more than you do right now.” And before he could change his mind, he unscrewed the cap, and put the bottle to his lips, preparatory to allowing the divine nectar to flow into his mouth. And just as he was about to close his eyes, suddenly there was a sort of loud growling sound, and a whizzing motion that seemed to come out of nowhere, and before he knew what was happening, the bottle was slammed from his hands!

And there, at his feet, looking none too pleased, sat Shanille!

“Shanille!” he cried. “What has gotten into you, all of a sudden!”

Of course Shanille couldn’t respond, since she was only an animal. All she did was stare at him with a sort of angry expression in her eyes, as if he’d personally insulted her, or had forgotten to feed her. On the floor, next to the feisty cat, lay his precious bottle, leaking wine onto the smoothly polished granite steps that led down from the altar. And when he picked it up, he was dismayed to find that the bottle was devoid of that precious nectar he was so much in need of right now.

“It’s a sign,” he whispered as he held up the empty bottle. “A sign from God!”

And as if she understood what he was saying, Shanille uttered a long lament!

“No more,” he said decidedly. “Vade retro satana!” And it was with a newfound resolve that he decided that perhaps a better way to deal with Marigold and Angel’s departure was not to drink away his sorrows, but to face them head on.

Shanille must have liked his resolution, for instead of uttering a series of blood-curdling yowls, she purred happily, and started rubbing against his leg.

“There, there,” he said kindly as he picked up the feline. “All is well now.”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

In his office, seated behind his desk, Tex was feeling the strain. It had been a long day, filled with patients who had demanded a lot from this conscientious doctor. And now that his last patient had left, he felt the tension drain from his body, and thought the quickest road to true and meaningful relaxation lay in that small metal flask that he always kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. Too bad Vesta had confiscated it as a symbol of their dedication to go dry from now on.

Going dry was all fine and dandy, and he was all for it, but from time to time a little pick-me-up wouldn’t hurt, now would it? Just a sip. Or maybe even two. No one would know. And it wasn’t as if he was actually an alcoholic. He didn’t need alcohol. He was in complete control of his habit of imbibing the odd glass of wine, or even a nice brewski from time to time when he was shooting the breeze with his brother-in-law Alec and his son-in-law Chase. Especially when there was a game on. So was he going to have to give all of that up? Just because Marge had gotten it into her head that he was an alcoholic? It just seemed very silly.

Now Francis Reilly, there was a true drunk. But him? Not a chance.

And then he remembered that he still had half a bottle of ros? in the fridge, a gift from a patient he’d helped on the road to recovery from a bad fall last month.

A smile spread across his features as the taste of that nice ros? came back to him. Very crisp and sweet, but with such a delicate and fruity aftertaste. In fact, he decided as he quickly got up, it was exactly what the doctor ordered!

He hurried into the kitchen, his tastebuds doing a happy dance in his mouth in anticipation, and yanked open the fridge. And there it was: exactly where he had left it! It was hidden behind a big piece of watermelon Vesta had put there, which was probably why she hadn’t seen it on her mission to rid the place of alcohol.

So he grabbed the bottle, and decided to dispense with the formalities of using a glass. He was going to drink this baby straight from the bottle!

And he was just about to put the bottle to his lips when a scream rent the air. It seemed to come from somewhere nearby, and almost sounded like,“Tex, no!” He whirled around, fully expecting either his motherin-law, his wife or his daughter to be standing there. But he was still all alone in the kitchen, not a soul in sight. So he shrugged, figuring he was hearing things, and was lifting the bottle to his lips when it was unceremoniously slammed from his hands and landed in the sink, where it proceeded to leak its precious contents into the drain!

“Noooooo!” he cried, but too late. As he reached the sink, the last remnants of the delicious liquid were glug-glugging away and then were gone forevermore!

And it was then that he became aware of some kind of low growling sound, as if he was in the presence of a vicious predator. And that’s when he saw it: on top of the fridge, Brutus was sitting, baring two sharp rows of teeth, and growling away for all he was worth. Almost as if he’d turned into a puma overnight!

He gulped.“That’s a n-n-nice k-k-kitty,” he said, quickly taking a step back, even though he’d always heard that when a puma is about to attack, you shouldn’t move a muscle. “T-t-there’s a good boy.”

And somehow, as he stared into the big black cat’s eye, sweat beading on his brow, he saw a distinct hint of menace, but also a barely veiled threat: do that again, mister, and I’ll have your guts for garters!

CHAPTER 34

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

The next morning, bright-ish and early-ish, we drove into New York for a chat with Clive Balcerak. Jeff’s colleague had agreed to meet us in his favorite coffee shop, which was just around the corner from Capital First, the bank where the two men had shared duties and responsibilities but also locked horns.

“Cat choir was fun last night, wasn’t it, Max?” said Dooley.

“It was, yeah,” I said. “One of the better ones.”

Though ever since Shanille’s return, every cat choir we were having and were ever going to have was going to be stellar. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that it took Shanille to go missing for us to appreciate her for who she is?” said Dooley.

I had come to the same conclusion myself.“It’s true,” I said. “Everybody seems to shower so much attention on Shanille it’s becoming a little embarrassing.”

“She seems to love it, though.”

“She does. She’s clearly loving every minute of it.”

Shanille had told us the story of how she had prevented Father Reilly from making a grave mistake, and how grateful the priest had been for her intervention. Clearly the FuSSy mission was going strong. And then Harriet had told us a similar story about Gran and Scarlett, and Brutus had clinched it by entertaining us with the story of how Tex had almost wet his pants when Brutus caught him sneaking a drink from a bottle containing some pink alcoholic liquid!

“Maybe we should get in on Shanille’s mission,” said Dooley.

“We can’t. We’re on this murder investigation,” I said. Though I wouldn’t have minded becoming a FuSSy pussy myself, to be honest. Since this murder inquiry didn’t seem to be going anywhere, and being a feline AA sponsor was about saving lives, perhaps our energies would be better spentkeeping an eye on our alcohol-inclined humans. Then again, we couldn’t abandon Odelia and Chase, now that they were facing what was without a doubt a pretty tough investigation.

“I think we should get the dogs in on Shanille’s FuSSy project,” said Dooley now. “We all know that unlike cats dogs like to stick to their humans like glue, and if they see that they’re about to take a drink, they can make them stop by putting their paws on their shoulders and bringing their faces very close to theirs.”

I grinned.“I like your thinking, Dooley. Let’s suggest it to Shanille.”

“I think it’s the breath. Dogs have bad breath. And humans can’t stand bad breath. So when a dog breathes into their face, they will always associate the terrible smell of the dog with the taste of alcohol, and it will cure them.”

“It’s not a bad theory,” I said. “Reminds me of Pavlov’s dogs.”

“Do they have smelly breath, too?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if they had. We should tell Odelia. Maybe she can write an article about it, and maybe even get it accepted as a new AA step.”

“Step thirteen: every time you want to have a drink, smell your dog’s breath.” He became animated. “It’s going to revolutionize the treatment of alcohol addiction, Max, I just know it will.”

“They’ll call this thirteenth step the Dooley Step,” I said with a smile.

“Ooh, I’d like that. My contribution to the world. Maybe I’ll win a Nobel Prize!”

“I’ll bet you will. For outstanding work in physics. Or chemistry. Or physiology or medicine. Maybe you’ll even win all of them!” After all, alcoholism touches on all of those disciplines.

“And peace, Max. Without drunks the world would be a much more peaceful place. No more noisy people waking you up in the middle of the night.” But then his face fell. “There’s only one problem. Where am I going to put five Nobel Prizes? I don’t have a nightstand.”

“I’m sure Odelia will make room on hers.”

“What are you guys talking about?” asked Odelia.

“The Nobel Prizes Dooley is going to win,” I said. “For coming up with a revolutionary new way to treat alcohol addiction.”

Odelia turned to us.“Dad told me about his close encounter with Brutus yesterday. How he made his hair turn white.”

“Wasn’t Tex’s hair white already?” said Dooley.

“I mean, even whiter than it already was. Who came up with this idea to use cats as AA sponsors?”

“Shanille,” I said.

“Understandable,” Odelia nodded. “After what happened to Father Reilly. That must have really shaken her.” She suddenly turned serious. “If I ever start showing signs of addiction, promise me you’ll be as tough on me as Shanille is on Francis?”

“You’ll never become an addict,” I said. “You’re not the type.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” said our human. “We all have our weaknesses. Mine, as it happens, is chocolate,” she added with a wink.

Dooley blinked at this, then nodded thoughtfully.“Understood,” he said.

Contrary to what we’d been led to believe, Clive Balcerak wasn’t an ogre or a monster. He was a very polite young man, cleanly shaven, perfectly coiffed and dressed, and wearing glasses. He looked more like a choirboy than most choirboys, and didn’t strike me as the office or schoolyard bully at all, more like the kid who gets bullied by the bigger kids, his glasses trampled, his hair mussed and his nice clothes muddied. But then of course looks can be deceiving.

The coffee shop where we had arranged to meet was one of those small eateries that are all the rage in Manhattan, and are very popular with the office crowd. This particular place was teeming with men and women in suits, talking or texting on their phones, and generally looking very busy, efficient and competent.

We took a seat at the long table that stretched along the window, and offered us a great view of the street, where more people were walking to and fro, also talking on their phones or checking their email. Many of them had AirPods in their ears, which made them look as if they were actually talking to themselves.

“It’s so funny, isn’t it, Max?” said Dooley as we watched this sea of humanity pass along in front of us. “So many people and they’re all talking to themselves!”

“They’re speaking into their phones,” I said.

“But… they’re not holding it to their ears. How can they hear what the other person is saying?”

“Those little white things that are stuck in their ears? Those are actually wireless earphones. All part of the cordless revolution. And pretty soon they’ll have something implanted in their brains and won’t even need those anymore.”

“It’s a funny world out there, Max,” said my friend.

“You can say that again, buddy.”

We both shivered. The whole concept brought back memories of a subcutaneous chip Vena Aleman, Hampton Cove’s venerable cat butcheress, had once implanted in us. Not our finest moment!

But we weren’t in Manhattan to comment on the state of the world or the well-known viciousness of veterinarians, of course. And so we tuned back in.

“Terrible what happened to Jeff,” said Clive, shaking his head sadly. He sat nursing a large latte and daintily nibbling from a blueberry muffin. “Management called a meeting yesterday and told us. Is it true that there’s a mafia connection?”

“You will understand that we’re not at liberty to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation, won’t you, Mr. Balcerak?” said Chase.

“Oh, no, of course. Just a persistent rumor that’s been doing the rounds.”

“The thing is, Mr. Balcerak, that Jeff supposedly received a message from you to meet him at two o’clock that afternoon. But when we checked Jeff’s phone we found the message but it wasn’t sent from your phone but from a pay-as-you-go.”

“Oh, my God,” said Clive. “Someone used my phone to send Jeff a message?”

“They didn’t actually use your phone,” said Chase. “Without getting too technical, they made it look as if you were sending the message, while in actual fact they were using a different SIM than yours. It’s called caller ID spoofing.”

“Is that actually a thing? I thought it was just a myth,” said Clive.

“Oh, no, it’s real. Criminals can spoof your number by using this technique. Which is why Jeff actually thought you were the one sending him a message. But instead they lured him to the place where they were planning to kill him.”

Clive’s face showed his distress. “Poor Jeff. He must have been so happy. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, you know, me and Jeff. I don’t know how it started, but we just didn’t get along for some reason. Minor incidents led to friction and before long it almost seemed as if we were sworn enemies.” He barked an incredulous, humorless laugh. “And the worst part is that I was effectively thinking about meeting him outside work. To talk things through, see if we couldn’t patch things up between us. If only I’d done it sooner…” He stared off into space for a moment, even going so far as to return his half-eaten muffin to his plate.

“When a man doesn’t finish his muffin, it means he’s hurting,” Dooley said.

“He’s probably feeling bad because Jeff died before they could reconcile,” I said. “And also, they used Clive’s number to lure the man to his death.”

“Okay, so we know you didn’t actually send that message,” said Chase. “But you will understand we have to cross our T’s and dot our I’s. Where were you two days ago between two and three, Mr. Balcerak?”

“Well, as I told you on the phone, I was helping a friend move into his new apartment. I gave you his phone number. You can check, he will confirm this.”

“I did call your friend, and he confirmed you helped him move, but this was in the morning. He has no idea where you were in the afternoon, Mr. Balcerak.”

Clive gulped a little.“Well…” He gulped some more, and inserted a finger between his shirt collar and his neck. “The thing is, detective…”

“Yes?”

“Is this… This is a confidential conversation, isn’t it? I mean, if I tell you something in confidence, it doesn’t have to go any further?”

“That depends.”

“Depends?”

“Whether it has a bearing on the investigation.”

“I see…” His eyes had turned a little shifty, and I wondered if he was going to make a break for the door, like you see in the movies. But instead he seemed to resign himself to the inevitability of his fate. “I’m having an affair with my boss,” he said finally. “My manager. And the thing is, she’s married—and not to me.”

“No, I gathered as much,” said Chase, though not unkindly so.

“So you see, it’s all very delicate. I mean, I love her, I do, and I’ve told her as much. And she says she loves me. But she’s got three kids, and she also loves her husband. So we’ve been meeting in secret, at a small, discreet hotel in Brooklyn, which is where we were two days ago. I’d much rather you didn’t ask her to confirm what I’ve just told you, but if you talk to the guy behind the reception at the hotel, he’ll tell you. And if I’m not mistaken he has a camera, so you’ll be able to see me and Melissa acting very furtive and not a little guilty.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Chase. “I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

But now that he got that off his chest, he seemed to buck up considerably.“I wanted to tell you from the beginning, but it’s not just about me. I’ve got Melissa to think about. Anything I tell you might implicate her, and her family, of course.”

“We won’t contact Melissa unless we have to,” said Odelia. “And even then we’ll try to be as discreet as possible. But you understand that in a murder inquiry we have to check every possible lead, even the ones that end up being dead ends.”

Clive winced at the mention of the words‘dead end,’ but said he understood.

CHAPTER 35

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Our next stop was the NYPD. And if you think that this well-known police department comprises a single building, like in Hampton Cove, you’re well mistaken. Since New York is a large city, it requires a lot of officers to police it, over thirty thousand of them, along with almost twenty thousand civilians, spread across dozens of precincts. The one we wanted was in Brooklyn, where Steph had filed a complaint against the unknown person who had cost her the WelBeQ job.

“Are we going to meet your colleague now, Chase?” asked Dooley. The question, when duly translated by Odelia, was answered in the negative. And so Chase reiterated, for our edification, the impressive structure of his old force.

“Sounds like the NYPD is a lot bigger than the Hampton Cove PD,” Dooley said finally. This made Odelia laugh, which in turn made Chase laugh, too.

“Yeah, I guess so,” said the burly copper. But then it was time to have a chat with the person in charge of the WelBeQ investigation. This proved to be a very warmhearted and garrulous lady, who was also very big and very round. She had her hair in braids, which dangled pleasantly about her face as she talked.

“I think she likes her donuts,” Dooley whispered, even though there was no chance for her to overhear us. “She likes them, like, a lot.”

The female police officer’s name was Shelley, and if she liked donuts, I liked her, for she proved a real hoot.

“I heard you’re an old colleague,” she said. “So what made you up stakes and move out to the sticks?” She held up a hand. “Not that I’ve got anything against the Hamptons, mind you. If I had the money, I’d be out there in a heartbeat!”

“The opportunity was there,” said Chase with a shrug. “So I took it.”

“Now that’s the kind of guy I like! Sees an opportunity and grabs it! Not like my Dennis. He wouldn’t even know how to spell the word opportunity, let alone take it when it hits him in the face.” She shook her head. “He’s not a bad sort, my husband, but lazy! Put him in front of the TV and he won’t move all evening! And to think he was such a live wire when we first met. A regular spark plug! And now you should see him. He’s all sparked out!” And she laughed the most uproarious laugh I’d heard in quite a while.

“What does he do for a living, your Dennis?” asked Odelia.

“Works for the Department of Sanitation. Sanitation worker, or sanman as he likes to call himself. Hauls garbage all day long, tons and tons of the stuff!”

“I can imagine he’s tired when he comes home at night,” said Chase. “Hauling trash is hard work.”

“Oh, honey, I know! And I mean no disrespect. But his colleagues all coach Little League after hours, or shoot hoops with their kids, or take their wives out for dinner at some fancy restaurant on their wedding anniversary. But not Dennis. Oh, no. Do you know he managed to forget our wedding anniversary? We were married twenty years last Friday, but no present, no dinner, not a single peep!”

And as Shelley prattled on, I could tell that Odelia and Chase were starting to wonder if she would ever arrive at their investigation. Before long we knew everything there was to know about Dennis, including his sleeping habits (flat on his back and snoring all night) his bathroom habits (never took a bath, only showers, even though she had often told him to take a bath when he got home from work), his smoking habits (Marlboro Light) and his drinking habits (Bud Light). But finally she seemed to have exhausted her favorite topic of conversation, and opened her laptop.

We were in a small conference room, since she didn’t have her own office, but worked in an open-plan office along with dozens of her colleagues. On the wall of the office a poster reminded us to ‘Stay alert. Be aware. Speak up,’ and we listened intently as she told us about the steps she’d taken following Steph’s complaint.

“Obviously we looked into this guy she mentioned, this Crowley character. Called WelBeQ, who were very cooperative, checked the guy’s phone records, bank statements, his phone and computer, but like I told you on the phone we struck out. I hate to disappoint you, but Crowley is not your guy. Unless of course he hired some other guy. I had our IT people take a closer look at those emails and they’re convinced they were sent by a professional, definitely not Crowley.”

“A professional?” asked Odelia. “You mean like a hacker or an IT specialist?”

Shelley nodded.“Criminal organization, most likely. Some gun for hire.”

Odelia and Chase shared a look.“The thing is that Steph Felfan’s husband was shot,” Chase explained, “in a setup that has all the hallmarks of a professional hit.”

“So it’s entirely possible,” Odelia added, “that the slander campaign and Jeff Felfan’s murder are connected, and were both carried out by the same outfit.”

“Do you have any idea who’s behind the WelBeQ campaign?” asked Chase.

“None,” said Shelley without hesitation. “Whoever set it up, they’ve managed to cover their tracks very, very well. Impossible to trace is the message I got.”

“Too bad,” said Dooley. “Now we’ll never know who’s behind this thing!”

“Don’t despair, Dooley,” I said. “There are other ways of finding out.”

“Like what? You heard the nice lady, Max. Even the specialists struck out.”

“All we have to do is to figure out who wanted to harm Steph and Jeff Felfan,” I said. “And wanted it enough to hire this criminal gang to do their dirty work for them. It’s all about motive, Dooley. The moment we know why, we know who.”

But my friend didn’t look convinced. And frankly at that moment neither was I. It’s one thing to spout great theories about crime, but another to figure out who was behind this thing! Whoever it was, they wanted to hurt the Felfans something bad.

We said our goodbyes to Shelley before she launched into another diatribe about Dennis, and soon were on our way back to Hampton Cove. In the car the atmosphere was a little subdued, I must say, and our humans weren’t entirely convinced that the trip had been worth it. After all, they didn’t know a lot more now than they had before. Except maybe the part about the professional gang.

And of course about Shelley’s husband Dennis. But there, I think, the expression TMI applied: Too Much Information!

CHAPTER 36

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Steph hadn’t heard from the police since the day before, and frankly she was getting a little antsy. They had talked to Robbie, and they were going to talk to Kevin, and so far she had no idea what the result of these conversations was. It seemed to her that the police were simply twiddling their thumbs, instead of being out there looking for her husband’s killer.

So today she decided to take a more active role. She simply couldn’t sit around doing nothing while whoever killed Jeff was out there, doing God knows what—maybe even getting ready to kill her! Or Zoe. The thought made her blood run cold. What if her dad was right and this was connected to Ben Kosinski? And what about Kevin’s car parked in the drive of the Kosinski place? Where did that fit in? She would have asked her brother, but as usual he couldn’t be found. And when she asked her mom, she said she had no idea, and didn’t seem to care either.

So she took her car and went for a drive, just like Kevin liked to do, and drove straight to the Kosinski Winery, just like her brother seemed to enjoy doing! When she got there, the gates swung open even before she had a chance to announce her arrival. Clearly whoever was operating that big metal gate had recognized her, which wasn’t hard, since she was their neighbor, after all.

When she arrived at the end of the long drive, she wasn’t surprised to see a gleaming red Ferrari already parked there. So she swung her own car right next to Kevin’s, and went in search of Beniamino—most of all, she wanted answers.

And so without taking the usual route and knocking on the front door, instead she decided to go round the back and see if she couldn’t find Ben or Dominic out there, or maybe even Kevin, if he deigned to speak to his sister. If she rang the front door, they would probably foist her off with some lowly servant or butler, and she would never get to see the man in charge. Better surprise them!

But when she reached the back of the house, which looked out across a very impressive garden, complete with fountains and gurgling brooks, of Ben or Dominic there was no trace, and neither was her brother anywhere in evidence.

The frustration of being kept out of the loop had made her reckless, and she kept up her investigative streak by going in search of the garage, where she knew Ben kept his impressive collection of cars. The man was a well-known petrolhead, and had even been featured on television showing off his latest acquisition, a gleaming Lamborghini Revent?n. Price tag: one million dollars.

She didn’t find Ben in the garage, and when she asked Ben’s chauffeur, who doubled as his mechanic, he said he had no idea where his employer was, but had she tried the house?

She obviously had not. She left the garage and as she did, saw that the space above it had been turned into a loft, with curtains in front of the windows and boxes of geraniums. She frowned, wondering if this was where the chauffeur lived. One of the curtains moved, and suddenly she saw Kevin appear!

He was clearly as shocked to see her as she was to see him, for the moment their eyes met, his jaw dropped and he moved back as if stung.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t wearing any clothes!

So that’s where he’d been. Having an affair with someone! Could it be Ben’s wife? Or the chauffeur’s wife? Ben didn’t have a daughter, so it couldn’t be her.

Then, eager to get to the bottom of this mystery of her disappearing brother once and for all, she mounted the metal staircase bolted into the side of the garage, and pushed into the loft, the metal door opening when she applied pressure to the door handle. Clearly Kevin and his lady love hadn’t expected visitors, for they hadn’t even bothered to lock the door!

She stormed into the room, her eyes quickly scanning her surroundings—a messy but cozy living area, lots of framed pictures of sports cars on the walls, television blaring away, tuned to a NASCAR race, and the smell of coffee in the air. Her keen gaze spotted movement, and the sound of nervously exchanged words, and the next moment she was stomping in that direction, locked on her target like a homing pigeon. Fully expecting to find Kevin in bed with some woman, what she saw instead was her brother, standing next to an equally half-naked… Dominic Kosinski, both looking a little startled and also a little scared.

Her eyes flicked from Kevin to Dominic, at first not understanding what she was actually seeing.“Kevin?” she said finally. “What the hell is going on?”

Kevin didn’t speak. Instead he just stood there, clearly struck dumb.

“Hi, Steph,” said Dominic, breaking the awkward silence. A handsome young man with an abundance of black curls and a chiseled torso that wouldn’t have looked out of place in GQ or Men’s Health, she was reminded of how much he looked like his dad, even though Ben had let himself go a little in recent years.

“I don’t understand,” said Steph. “What are you doing here, Kevin?”

But her brother remained silent. So Dominic did the talking.“Kevin and I have been seeing each other,” he said, “on and off for the past ten years. And more seriously for the past six. We haven’t told anyone, for obvious reasons, but lately we’ve been thinking about breaking the news to Kevin’s family.”

Kevin’s spine suddenly seemed to collapse under the strain, for he sank down on the bed, whose sheets were tangled and had clearly seen a lot of activity lately, and sort of slumped where he sat. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he said in a hoarse voice. “You might be ready, but I’m not,” he told Dominic when the latter gave him a look of surprise. “Especially Dad,” he added. “He’s going to be furious.”

“He needs to know, Kev,” said Dominic. “We can’t go on like this forever.”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” suddenly Kevin burst out. “I want to tell him, but you know what he’s like. He’ll think it’s some kind of plot hatched by your dad to take possession of the Stewart Winery.” He raised his hands in frustration. “All the man can think of is his stupidwinery and his stupid feud with your dad. It’s crazy.”

“I know it is,” said Dominic, taking a seat next to him and putting an arm around his shoulders. “But at some point we’ll have to tell him, Kev. We have to.”

“Do your mom and dad know about this?” asked Steph.

Dominic nodded.“They do.”

“And they’re okay with this?”

“Of course. They’re not as obsessed with this competition thing as your dad, Steph.” He eyed her with a touch of reproach, as if she was responsible for the way her dad liked to carry on. “But I asked them not to tell anyone, and they agreed it’s too soon. But they want me to be happy—want us to be happy, and so Dad suggested that he talk to Ian and break the news to him.”

“That’s the worst idea ever,” said Kevin. “The moment your dad sets foot on my dad’s land he’s going to get out the big gun and shoot him on sight.”

“He won’t do that,” said Dominic. He eyed Steph. “Would he?”

“Of course not,” said Steph. “Dad isn’t crazy. Though maybe you should start by talking to Mom. Then she can talk to Dad.” It was the way they’d always broken bad news to their parents, from bad grades to that time when Kevin had wrapped Dad’s expensive new Mercedes around a lamppost.They told Mom, who told Dad.

“Steph has a point,” said Dominic.

“But what about the winery?” she asked.

“What about it?” said Kevin, raking a hand through his blond hair.

“If you and Dominic… get married—if that’s what you want.”

“It is,” said Dominic, even though Kevin didn’t look convinced.

“Then the two wineries are going to be joined together? Is that the plan?”

“I don’t give a hoot about the winery,” said Kevin, much to Steph’s surprise. “All I want is to go far away from here and start a new life with Dominic. No more winery, no more fighting. I’m sick to death of this stupid competition. If I hear Dad say the words ‘Kosinski is a crook anda Polish mobster and yadda yadda yadda’ one more time I’m going to be sick, I swear. God, talk about a broken record.”

Steph smiled.“I also hate it when he begins.”

“Ben and Catherine have been more of a mother and father to me than my own parents,” said Kevin. “They’ve accepted me from the start, and I’ve never heard them say a single cross word about Dad. They don’t think in those terms. Live and let live, that’s Ben’s motto, and it’s not just words—he actually means what he says. He really does. And furthermore he’s the kindest, wisest, funniest man I’ve ever met. Unlike Dad, who is just so angry all the time.”

“Sour grapes,” said Dominic with a smile.

“Exactly,” said Kevin, grinning.

“So that’s why you were going for drives all the time,” said Steph. “And why you wouldn’t tell me where you went.”

“I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Not even me? I’m your sister, Kev.”

“You’ve always been closer to Dad than me. I just figured…”

“That I would tell? Well, I wouldn’t. And I won’t. Just so you know.”

She felt a little offended that her brother would think she’d tell about Dominic to their parents. Maybe it was true that she had a better bond with them than Kevin, but that didn’t mean she was going to blurt out his big secret to them.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I just thought—well, I wasn’t thinking, I guess.”

“Though I agree with Dominic that they should know. You can’t keep this a secret forever, Kevin. At some point you’re going to have to come clean.”

“I know. I just…” He looked up at her, a miserable expression on his face. “It’s going to change everything, isn’t it? Once people know? Everybody will have something to say, and will start interfering.” He took Dominic’s hand. “I guess I’m afraid it’s going to ruin things between us. Just when everything is going so well.”

“Nobody is going to come between us, Kev,” said Dominic. “We won’t let them.”

“Dad is going to blow a fuse.”

“He’ll get over it. He has to.”

“Fine. I’ll tell them. But not right now. I want to wait for the right moment, and now with Jeff’s murder and everything I don’t think we should add to their distress.”

“Fair enough,” said Dominic.

They both looked up at her, and she held up her hands.“Your secret is safe with me, boys.”

“Thanks, sis,” said Kevin, and she could tell that a huge weight had been lifted from his mind. Clearly he’d been nervous about her reaction as well. She could have told him he had nothing to be afraid of. She loved her brother, and if he thought Dominic was the right person for him and made him happy, that was all that mattered to her.

CHAPTER 37

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

It was a thoughtful Steph who returned home one hour later. Even though she had promised Kevin she wouldn’t say anything, she still felt her parents should know. If her dad’s attitude toward the Kosinskis was alienating his son, the person he was depending on to follow in his footsteps and one day take over the business, he needed to be told, so he could do something about it. Dad probably had no clue that Kevin was thinking of leaving, and if he found out, he’d be devastated.

And as she thought about these things, she almost bumped into Robbie, who was lurking about as usual. But it wasn’t her habit to be nasty to people, so instead she smiled and said, “Hey, Robbie. Everything all right?”

“Sure,” said Robbie, returning her smile. “Where have you been?”

“Just driving around, you know. Clear my head, as if that’s even possible.”

“You must be going through a hard time now, with Jeff gone,” said Robbie.

“Yeah, it’s not been an easy couple of days. But we’ll get through, it, won’t we?”

And then suddenly, before she could stop him, he leaned in and kissed her!

Immediately she pulled back.“Don’t do that!” she blurted out.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, his cheeks coloring brightly. “It’s just that… with Jeff gone, I just figured…”

“That you and I would get back together? If you really thought that, you’re delusional, Robbie. We’re never getting back together, all right? Never.”

And she walked off, feeling both annoyed and upset. But as she entered the house, she felt that maybe she had been too harsh on him. Then again, he needed to get the message that they were never going to be a couple. And if he kept trying, things were going to get really uncomfortable for the both of them.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

Larry had witnessed the scene from his office window, and his heart sank. He watched as his son kicked a rock so hard it almost hit Steph’s car, then shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and walked off in the direction of the vineyard. Clearly Robbie wasn’t okay. This hang-up about Steph was in his system, and was poisoning him inside. It was affecting his work and everyone around him. This couldn’t go on. And so he vowed to have a long talk with his son that night. If Robbie didn’t change his ways and drop this obsession with Steph Stewart, measures would have to be taken. A solution reached—a permanent one.

And frankly he already dreaded the kind of solution he had in mind.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

Steph had entered the house and when she heard voices in the living room, found her parents and Jeff’s parents sitting together, looking through old photo albums of Steph and Kevin. They looked up when she entered, and both parent pairs seemed relieved to see her, as if letting her out of their sight for even half an hour caused them to worry, which she was sure they did.

“Did you find Kevin?” asked her mother.

“No, I didn’t,” she lied, though not very convincingly, she felt. Kevin had always been the liar in the family, not she.

“We were talking about the memorial service,” Pauline explained, “and so we started thinking about pictures to put on the invitations, but then looking at these I guess we got distracted. You never told us you were such a cute baby, Steph.”

“It’s not something you casually drop into the conversation,” she said as she glanced at a picture of her and Kevin playing with a toy car. Kevin looked infinitely more fascinated by the thing than she did. Possibly she had been hoping for a Barbie doll instead of a stupid car. “I have somenice pictures of Jeff,” she said. “They’re on my phone, but I can send them to the printer.”

“I also have many, many pictures of Jeff,” said Pauline. “Not on my phone, but at home. I told you we should have brought them,” she told her husband.

“I didn’t think we’d need them,” said David. “And anyway, I think we should pick a picture of Jeff how we want to remember him—which is how he looked now.” His face crumpled up like a used tissue, and Pauline placed her hand on his arm. “I’m fine,” he assured his wife, though they could all see that he wasn’t.

“I think you should do a speech,” said Pauline now.

“I can’t,” said her husband. “Please don’t ask me because I just can’t.”

Steph was concerned about her father-in-law. For a man who’d been giving speeches all his life, and who was a shoo-in for the job of mayor of Paris, and perhaps even higher office down the line, he was only a shadow of the man he used to be. Grief had hit him hard—even harder than Pauline, though maybe she was simply not allowing it to overwhelm her, the way it overwhelmed David.

“It’s fine, David,” said Dad gently. “You don’t have to do a speech if you don’t want to.”

“I just want to take my boy home,” said David brokenly. “Bury him in the family plot.”

“And you will,” Dad assured him. “We just have to get through these next couple of days, that’s all. I promise you that it will get easier.”

David gratefully accepted a tissue from Mom, and wiped his nose. Just then, Mom’s phone dinged, and for a few moments she was frowning at the device, then got busy responding to whoever was messaging her. Probably something to do with the business, Steph thought.

But then Mom looked up, and glanced at her in a searching way for a moment, before getting back to the message she was typing.

For the next hour or so the two parents pairs and Steph got busy planning the memorial service. David said it wasn’t the right time, but Pauline told him there would never be a right time. And she was right, of course. When was the right time to bury your son? But David managed to pull himself together long enough to participate in the conversation, and soon they had the bare bones of what they wanted to do.The funeral director would then take what they had, and create a beautiful service to commemorate Jeff. Once his body had been flown back to France, David and Pauline planned to organize a funeral in the church where Jeff had been christened, and where his parents had been married. They would even get the same priest who’d christened Jeff, acting as a poignant coda to his life.

Having finished this impromptu meeting, David and Pauline retired upstairs. David needed to lie down, and Pauline didn’t want to leave his side, since he had developed a very unhealthy pallor, and she worried about his heart.

For a moment Steph sat with her parents, but then the door opened and Kevin entered. And he wasn’t alone, for he had brought Dominic along with him.

The two men were holding hands, and Kevin had a sort of determined look on his face. He looked briefly at his mother, then cleared his throat.

So that’s what Mom’s frantic messaging had been about. Kevin must have asked her if it was a good idea to introduce his boyfriend to his dad.

“What’s this?” asked Dad, his mood immediately turning frosty when he caught sight of Dominic. “What is a Kosinski doing in my house?!”

“Dad, there’s something I have to tell you. Something important.”

“Something we have to tell you, Mr. Stewart,” Dominic added.

“No,” said Dad in a low voice as his eyes went wide. And as Kevin and Dominic launched into their announcement, his face actually took on the same ashen pallor as David’s had a few moments before.

CHAPTER 38

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

It was already late in the afternoon when we arrived at the house to talk to Steph. Odelia and Chase wanted to give her an update on the investigation, even though quite frankly there wasn’t a whole lot to discuss. But they felt they owed it to her to keep her in the loop. Especially Odelia had developed a fondness for the young fashion designer, and wanted her to know that they weren’t giving up hope of finding the person who was responsible for her husband’s murder.

When we got to the house, we saw Kevin step from the front door, hand in hand with a young man we’d never seen before. Though he shared a strong resemblance to Beniamino Kosinski. Could it be…

This time Kevin didn’t race off in his fancy Ferrari, but waited patiently for us to join him and his friend.

“I would like you to meet Dominic Kosinski,” said Kevin. “My fianc?.” He smiled at the surprise on all of our faces—even Dooley and me. “I’ve just told my parents. I think they’re a little surprised. But all in all it didn’t go as badly as I’d expected.”

“I think your dad was simply too shocked to react,” said Dominic with a grin.

“Yeah, he’s going to need time to recover,” said Kevin with an equally big grin.

“So is this where you kept sneaking off to?” asked Chase.

“Yes, sir,” said the young man. “I couldn’t very well tell you, since I hadn’t told my parents. But we’ve been in a relationship for six years, and have dated on and off for ten, and I figured it was finally time to come out and tell my folks.” He glanced over to his fianc?, and theyboth looked pleased as punch. “My sister caught us this afternoon, you see, and some of the things she said made me think. So I finally got up my courage and decided to face my parents—especially my dad.”

“You were with Dominic when your brother-in-law was killed?”

“I was, yes.”

“And I can confirm that with a resounding yes,” said Dominic.

“And now we’re off to celebrate,” said Kevin. “I’m getting married!”

“Yoo-hoo!” his partner caroled.

And so they stepped into Kevin’s Ferrari and were off at a fast clip.

“Another suspect less,” said Chase with a sigh. “Pretty soon we won’t have any left!”

“He seemed happy,” said Odelia. “In fact they both did.”

“If they’ve been in the closet for ten years, I’ll bet they’re glad.”

“Why have they been in the closet, Max?” asked Dooley. “Were they punished?”

“They haven’t literally been in a closet all this time, Dooley,” I said. “It’s just an expression. They haven’t told anyone that they were in love, and now they finally have. So they’re feeling happy and relieved, cause now they don’t have to hide—”

“In the closet.”

I smiled.“For instance.”

“They could have hidden anywhere. They both have very nice houses, with plenty of very nice rooms,” he said as we entered the house in search of Steph. “They could have been hiding in the bathroom, or in the bedroom, or even in the attic. Closets are fine, but not for ten years. That’s way too long. I’ll bet they got very clusterphobic in there.”

“I think you mean claustrophobic.”

“That’s what I said. Clusterphobic.”

We found Steph in the kitchen, where she was assisting the cook in getting dinner ready.“We bumped into your brother just now,” said Odelia. “With Dominic Stewart.”

“I know!” said Steph, who looked better than she did last time we spoke. She had a blush on her cheeks, and flour in her hair, which she had pinned up in a messy bun on top of her head. She was kneading dough, that was going to be used to create something called dumplings. “Dad was totally shocked. For a moment there I thought we’d better call an ambulance, but then he pulled through.”

“Did you know?” asked Odelia as she sampled a tasty-looking dish.

“I found out by accident this afternoon when I went looking for Ben. It’s why Kevin’s been running off all the time. He and Dominic sort of live together in a loft above Ben’s garage. They all knew about it—Ben and Catherine and their staff. But they respected Dominic’s privacy too muchto blab. Which is admirable. The staff here can’t keep a secret if they tried.” She gave Odelia a keen look. “So have you found my husband’s killer yet?”

And as Odelia and Chase informed her about the state of the investigation, Dooley and I decided to wander off in search of something to eat. I mean, we were in the kitchen, so there had to be something! But even though we could smell food, we didn’t find it—they had it all tucked away someplace we couldn’t see! Talk about sneaky! Of course they would tell everyone who would listen that they did it to keep out mice and rats. But in actual fact they did it to keep us out!

At some point the cook must have taken pity on us—though it could be that she simply couldn’t take us looking unwaveringly piteously in her direction—for she placed some nice pieces of chicken on a dish and we ate them with relish.

And so our stomachs filled, we decided to go for a tour of the house. On the second floor we heard loud voices, and moved closer to have a listen. The voices belonged to Steph’s parents Ian and Raimunda, and the topic of conversation was, as one would have expected, their son Kevin. And since the door was ajar, we simply slipped into the room, and eagerly listened in on their back-and-forth.

“I always knew he was gay,” Raimunda was saying. “Didn’t I tell you? Never came home with a girlfriend, and he skipped senior prom, even though Mallery Cooper later told us her daughter Becky had wanted him to go with her. That should have told us everything we needed to know, cause Becky was a looker.”

“I don’t care that he’s gay,” said Ian. “But why a Kosinski! There are so many nice boys around, why pick the Kosinski kid of all people, that’s what I don’t understand!”

“They’ve been together ten years,” said Raimunda with a frown. “That means they started dating when they were eighteen. No wonder he gave Becky Cooper the slip. He and Dominic were already an item. Wait till Mallery hears about this.”

“Oh, who cares about Mallery Cooper, or her stupid daughter!” Ian cried as he grabbed his hair with his hands. “Our boy is getting married to the Kosinski kid! This is the worst day of my life. Do you know what this means? We’ll be the talk of the whole town!” He paced the room frantically. “He did it on purpose, didn’t he?”

“Who did?”

“Ben, of course, who else! He set this up—I’m sure of it. He set this up to humiliate us—to humiliate me!”

“Oh, get over yourself, Ian. Ben had nothing to do with this. Or do you really think our son is such a pushover that he would be forced into a relationship against his own will?”

“No, I guess not,” Ian had to admit. Then he suddenly looked up in alarm. “Does he know? Ben, I mean. Does he know about this?”

“According to Kevin Ben has known all along. Right from the start.”

“He’s known for ten years and never said a word? What’s wrong with that man!”

“What’s wrong with you! Can’t you stop obsessing about Ben Kosinski for one second and be happy for our boy! He’s getting married, Ian. Our boy is getting married. And if you don’t stop with this Kosinski nonsense we just might lose him. I can tell you right now that if you keep this up, he and Dominic could very well decide to move away from here, and we’ll never see either one of them again!”

“But—”

“Not one more word, Ian! I mean it!”

Ian gave his wife a pleading look.“But it’s Kosinski, Rai.Kosinski.”

“So? Better get used to it, honey. Cause in just a few months Ben Kosinski will be part of this family.”

“Oh, God!”

CHAPTER 39

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Robbie could have kicked himself. Now why did he have to go and make a total fool of himself by trying to kiss Steph? Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d been mooning over her for the past couple of days? Not to mention the fact she had just lost her husband and was in no state of mind to even contemplate reciprocating his heartfelt sentiments of devotion? Why couldn’t he just play it cool?

He was checking the gauges on the tanks again, though his heart wasn’t in it. All he wanted was to find Steph and apologize. Profusely. Make her look at him again the way she used to. It was only a fraction of the affection he’d seen on her face when she used to look at her husband, but it would do. He’d settle for that.

He looked up when he saw his dad walk past the door. At least he hadn’t witnessed the embarrassing scene, otherwise he’d have given him hell. Moments later he saw another person pass by. It was Raimunda, and she was going in the same direction as his dad. Probably something to do with the winery, as usual. Those two seemed to spend an awful lot of time together.He had often wondered why the woman in charge of PR needed the advice of the winery foreman, but then he figured they probably knew best. There was stuff that his dad hadn’t yet taught him, even though he was training him to step into the job one day.

He finally gave up. His mind was a raging whirlwind of conflicting thoughts crashing and colliding, and all of them centered on one person: Steph Stewart.

So he decided to finish up later and get a cup of coffee first.

Heading out of the warehouse he set foot in the direction of the administrative compound, where both his dad and the Stewarts had their offices. He walked into the small canteen and was glad to find it empty. He couldn’t be bothered with small talk right now. And he was pouring himself a cup from the machine when he heard a strange sound. Heavy breathing and some occasional grunts and moans.

He frowned. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought that a couple were making love nearby. Taking a sip from the hot brew, he went in search of the source of the strange sounds. Walking into the corridor, he quickly determined they seemed to be coming from his dad’s office. And as he stood in front of thedoor, he saw that the blinds were pulled, and that whoever was in there was really going for broke. On an impulse, he shoved down on the door handle, and found the door unlocked. And as his eyes took in the scene, his heart sank.

For in front of him, on his dad’s desk, were his dad and… Raimunda Stewart!

He stood there for what felt like minutes but must have been seconds, for suddenly his dad became aware they were being watched, and jerked his head up.

“Robbie!” he cried, the veins in his neck standing out like ropes.

The word jerked him out of his stupor, and his coffee cup crashed to the floor.

He took a step back and slammed the door.

“Robbie, wait!” he heard his dad yell.

But he was already running down the corridor, the terrible images playing in his mind. He knew he’d never be able to get rid of them as long as he lived!

He had to tell someone, and the only person he could think of was Steph. He entered the house to look for her, but she was nowhere to be found. Hurrying up the stairs, he went straight to her room, but the door was open and the room was empty. In desperation, he went door to door, quickly checking inside, and in the last room he entered, he did indeed find someone, but it wasn’t Steph.

Instead it was Ian Stewart. The curtains had been pulled, and the room was covered in darkness, but he could still make out the man’s profile as he was sitting on the bed. He cleared his throat to speak, wanting to ask her dad where he could find Steph, and that’s when he saw it: Ian wasn’t alone on the bed. There was a woman with him, who couldn’t possibly be his wife, since she was otherwise engaged with Robbie’s dad. And as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that this woman was none other than Hazel Smolski—the Stewarts’ housekeeper!

“God, no…” he muttered, his eyes widening in shock. What was happening!

“Robbie?” said Ian, who had become aware of his presence. “Robbie!”

But Robbie had already left, slamming the door on his way out.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

The company had retired to the patio, and Odelia and Chase had accepted a glass of Stewart Winery’s best, taking appreciative sips as they sampled this fine wine. In the absence of her parents, Steph was acting as the hostess, and reminiscing about her husband with her in-laws, David and Pauline. Jeff’s dad looked a little less close to the grave than he had been when we last saw him. Somecolor had returned to his features, but this could have been the effect of the wine, of course, which seems to stimulate as well as relax.

The wine itself was being served by a youth answering to the name Joe Smolski, who was the housekeeper’s son. He was a strapping young man, and clearly had done this before, for he poured a mean glass and didn’t spill a single drop of the precious liquid. He reminded me of someone, though for the life of me I couldn’t have told you who it was. It would come to me, though. It always did.

“Do you think we should say something, Max?” asked Dooley as he directed a worried glance at Odelia sipping from her wine glass.

“Say what?” I asked. We were both relaxing on the edge of the patio, which was shaded from the sun by a large outdoor cantilever umbrella. The atmosphere was mellow, the air was warm but mitigated by a light pleasant breeze, and as far as I was concerned, all was well with the world and I felt a nice nap coming on.

“The alcohol!” Dooley cried. Clearly he wasn’t as relaxed as I was. “They’re drinking alcohol, Max, both of them. We have to stop them before they turn into full-blown alcoholics!”

“There’s a difference between a person who drinks the occasional glass of wine and the professional boozer, Dooley,” I said. “And neither Odelia nor Chase fall into that last category, so there’s really nothing to worry about—nothing at all.”

But in spite of these words, I could tell that he simply kept on worrying. With every sip that Odelia drank, he was getting more and more worked up.

“Just ignore them,” I suggested therefore. “Look the other way.”

“But how can I look the other way? They’re our humans, Max.”

“Exactly. They’re both responsible people, and they’re fine.”

Who wasn’t fine was Ian Stewart, who came breezing by five minutes later. He looked as if he’d just taken a shower, but it hadn’t refreshed him the way it should have. He had a sort of hunted look on his face, and his eyes were darting all over the place, looking for a danger that wasn’t anywhere in sight as far as I could tell.

“Excellent wine, Mr. Stewart,” said Chase as he lifted his glass.

“Thank you, Detective Kingsley,” said Ian, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“And one other thing,” said Dooley. “They shouldn’t drink, because they’re both on duty! And we all know what happens when cops drink when they’re on duty—they neglect their duties.”

I grinned.“Drink when you’re on duty and neglect your duties. Good one, Dooley. Nice wordplay.”

But Dooley wasn’t in the mood for levity. “It’s not right, Max, and you know it.”

“I know that I want to take a nap,” I said.

“And besides, you should be thinking about catching Jeff’s killer, not being lazy and enjoying yourself!”

I groaned.“I am trying to catch Jeff’s killer.”

“By taking a nap?” he said reproachfully.

“I’ll have you know that naps are known to stimulate cognitive performance, Dooley. You will often find that the solution to a problem that has been vexing you for days, will suddenly pop into your head after an exceptionally fine nap.”

“Sherlock Holmes never took naps,” Dooley countered. “When he was dealing with a particularly difficult case he could go days without sleep or even food.”

“I guess our methods are different,” I said stiffly. Imagine having to go days without sleep or food. I’d go bananas.

I looked up when Raimunda Stewart joined us. She, too, looked a little distracted, I thought. Though the correct word would probably be frazzled. She had that same nervous way about her that I had seen in her husband. Something wrong with the winery’s PR campaign, no doubt, or perhaps they were only now experiencing the full impact of the death of their beloved son-in-law. Grief hits different people at different times, and clearly it was only hitting home now.

Joe Smolski was back again, topping up glasses left and right, and to Dooley’s satisfaction both Chase and Odelia declined a refill at this juncture. My friend relaxed—insofar as he could relax while alcohol was being consumed in our presence. Clearly he considered himself a founding father of the FuSSy project, even though we weren’t really involved.

“They’re not drinking anymore, Max,” he said with a sigh of great relief. “I think we’re out of the danger zone.”

“There never was any danger zone, Dooley,” I said. But my words fell on deaf ears, for he kept darting nervous glances at Joe Smolski, this official purveyor of the vice of alcohol. In his mind, no doubt, that young man was nothing less than a drug pusher, and should be arrested on the spot, hung, drawn and quartered.

“Alcohol should be illegal,” he said now, supporting this view.

“Yes, Dooley, whatever you say.” When was I finally going to get my nap!

As if in answer to my silent prayer, suddenly Robbie materialized, followed by his dad, whose red face was something to behold. Both father and son seemed extremely worked up about something. Okay, so maybe no nap time for me!

“Steph, I have something to say to you.”

“Oh, not again, Robbie,” said Steph, turning to her persistent admirer.

“It’s your dad—and your mom,” said Robbie.

“Robbie, not here!” his dad hissed. “Not now!”

“Yes, here and now, Dad!” Robbie cried, turning on his old man. He then held out an accusing finger that was pointing directly at Raimunda. “Your mother has been having an affair with my dad!” he cried, much to the consternation of those present. Except perhaps David and Pauline Felfan, whodidn’t bat an eyelid.

On Raimunda, though, the effect of this statement was profound. She brought a distraught hand to her face and cried,“Oh, God!”

“Mom?” asked Steph. “Is this true?”

But Raimunda was already nodding her head in confirmation.

“Mom!” Steph said. “You and Larry?”

Once again there was a wordless nod. Steph’s mom had squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and her distress was palpable in her nonverbal communication.

“I’m sorry,” the woman squeaked now. “I’m so, so sorry, honey.”

“And your dad,” Robbie said, not having finished his speech, “is having an affair with Hazel. I just caught them going at it in the bedroom!”

Now all eyes turned to Ian, whose face had turned a nice shade of purple.

“Dad, you’re not serious,” said Steph. “How long has this been going on?”

Joe Smolski chose that exact moment to reappear with a bottle of the finest in hand, a pleasing smile on his visage and a willingness to serve and pour.

And that’s when I got it: young Joe was the spitting image of Ian Stewart!

I wasn’t the only one who noticed this remarkable likeness, for all eyes now turned to Joe, then to Ian, and once again, though slower this time, back to Joe.

The wine server became a little flustered by all this attention, for his eager-to-please smile faltered. Perhaps he thought that he’d brought along the wrong bottle, for he glanced at the object, and even checked how much was left in it.

“Dad—don’t tell me that Joe…” Steph’s unfinished sentence hung in the air, but I think we all knew that Joe was Ian’s son—conceived from his illicit extramarital affair with Mrs. Smolski.

The fact that Ian was staring intently at his shoes—nice Italian leather ones, but that’s neither here nor there—could be construed as an admission of guilt. And Steph interpreted it that way, for she threw up her hands. “So I have a brother. Nice. Wonderful, Dad. Way to go.” She now narrowed her eyes at Robbie. “Mom, is Robbie another addition to the family, like Joe is?”

But this was a bridge too far, as Raimunda and Larry both shook their heads in unison, then Larry said in a low voice,“Robbie is Wendy’s son, Steph, I swear.”

“Well, good for him,” said Steph, who wasn’t taking too well to this news.

Suddenly Robbie went down on one knee, and held up what looked like a ring from a gumball machine.“Stephanie Stewart,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

In response, Steph’s jaw dropped, then she screamed, “Have you completely lost your mind!”

“No, but I’ve lost my heart,” he said lamely. Then he seemed to realize his mistake. When it comes to wedding proposals, timing is everything, and this eager young man had got his timing catastrophically wrong. Though of course the cheap bauble didn’t help. “I just thought—I mean I figured… Steph, I didn’t think—”

“Well, that’s your problem, isn’t it, Robbie! You never think!”

I had kept my eye on David and Pauline, who hadn’t reacted in any meaningful way to this cavalcade of admittedly shocking news. Now Pauline leaned in to her husband and murmured, “It’s all very French, isn’t it?”

“It is,” David agreed. “Perhaps one of the Stewart ancestors was French?”

They shared a look of bemusement at the hullaballoo reaching a fever pitch. Ian was shouting something at Larry, who was giving his son a tongue-lashing for his lack of sensitivity, while the latter was accusing his dad of not giving a damn about his dearly departed wife. And in the midst of all this, Odelia and Chase quietly rose to their feet, dabbed their lips with a napkin, and excused themselves to their hostess Steph, who was yelling something at her mom about her utter selfishness to bring this up at a time when they should all be mourning Jeff.

Odelia directed a pointed look in our direction, and as one cat Dooley and I sprang up and toddled after them. And as we left the scene, the noise of quarreling family members followed us all the way to the driveway.

We actually met Kevin on our way out, like cars passing in the night—or in the daytime as was the case. He gave us a jolly wave—clearly in a good mood. And why not? He was getting married soon. And he didn’t know yet that he had an illegitimate half-brother named Joe and that his mom had been enjoying carnal relations with the foreman.

“Poor guy,” said Chase, shaking his head. “He won’t know what hit him.”

“It’s the alcohol,” said Dooley. “This is what alcohol does to people.”

CHAPTER 40

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

That night, Steph sat in her room, unable to sleep. Zoe had long since fallen into a peaceful slumber, and she watched the baby as she lay in bed, a smile on her face.“At least I still have you,” said Steph softly. After the spirited discussion that afternoon, she had the feeling that deep wounds had been cut, and that her family might never be healed again. The whole business had made her feel betrayed. Though ever since Jeff’s death she was probably morevulnerable.

A knock sounded at the door, and she went to open it. It was Kevin.

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly.

She stepped back and gently closed the door. She didn’t think the others were sleeping—too much had happened, and she imagined they were all lying awake, just like her, probably talking about the things that had been revealed.

“I just wanted you to know that I’ve decided to leave,” said Kevin. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, and she felt just like old times, when her brother and she had been chatting sometimes deep into the night like this. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed those times. “I’mgoing to give my share of the winery to Joe and I’m going to leave and never come back.”

“You want to give the winery to Joe?” asked Steph.

Kevin shrugged.“He is our brother. So he has a right to his share.”

“That’s not for you to decide, Kev. That’s something Mom and Dad have to figure out, along with Hazel, of course.”

Kevin grinned.“Hard to imagine Dad and Hazel. How old is Joe?”

“Nineteen.”

“So this affair has been going on for twenty years at least.”

“And Mom knew about it—and Dad knew about her. It’s crazy.”

“It is,” said Kevin. “Though I shouldn’t speak. I’ve been having an affair with Dominic for ten years that nobody knew about.”

“At least you weren’t married to a different person.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

He reached out a hand to tickle Zoe’s belly and Steph said, “Let her sleep.”

“She’s going to have a lot of uncles now. Uncle Kevin and Uncle Dom, and now also Uncle Joe. She’ll get lots and lots of presents and will be spoiled rotten.”

“I’m also leaving, by the way,” said Steph. “I’m going back to Paris. I remembered this afternoon how much I miss being in charge of my own life. And somehow, out here, it’s all about Mom and Dad and about the winery, isn’t it?”

“I know. If we want to make something of ourselves, we have to get away. Which is what I told Dom. But he doesn’t agree. He wants to stick around and take over the Kosinski Winery one day.”

“I guess he’s made of the right stuff—whatever that means.”

“It means he’s the son his dad wanted him to be,” said Kev. “Whereas we didn’t turn out the way our parents wanted. We don’t fit into their dream since we have dreams of our own.”

“I still think you should stick around, though,” said Steph. “I mean, Mom and Dad aren’t going to be running this place forever. And once they step down, you and Dom will take over, and you can join both wineries into one big super-successful business. And frankly speaking—what else can you do, bro?”

This had Kevin burst out laughing, before quickly controlling himself when Zoe stirred.“Nice one, sis. Don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think.”

“No, what I mean is—this is what you trained for. This is what you love.”

“I love the work. Not so much the people that are in charge.”

“Like I said, Dad won’t be in charge forever. So don’t be an idiot and throw away your birthright on a whim. Use your head for once, knucklehead.” And she rapped his head with her knuckles for good measure before he slapped her hand away.

After some joshing and gentle ribbing he smiled at her.

“God, I’m going to miss you when you go back to Paris.”

“Not as much as I’m going to miss you. But I’ll be back.”

“I know. You’re like a bad penny. You keep turning up.”

“Fart face.”

“Buttface.”

They both dissolved into giggles.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

Ian wasn’t sure about this. He hadn’t told Rai, for one thing. And he’d noticed that whenever he didn’t tell his wife what he was up to, it usually meant it was a pretty bad idea. Rai was smart, and whatever she said was mostly right. But whether it was a good idea or not, it had to be done. Especially after what happened today.

His family was falling apart, he could tell. Steph would go back to Paris and take their grandchild with her, and Kevin would marry Dominic and go and live on the Kosinski farm. Or maybe they’d both move away altogether. And then what? He’d have to train Joe to run the Stewart Winery one day? The kid was great, and he loved him to pieces, but he simply didn’t have what it took, and Hazel knew this. Which is why she never told him that Ian was his dad. So the kid wouldn’t get any ideas. Now the cat was out of the bag, of course, and he’d have to give him something.

If only he’d locked that door. He always locked the door. Had locked it for the twenty-five years Hazel and he had been together. For the first fifteen Rai hadn’t known, and even when she found out, she hadn’t been as thrown as she could have been. But then she had recently started her affair with Larry, soon after Larry’s wife Wendy died, so she couldn’t really say anything, now could she?

And so they made a deal: they’d stay together for the kids, and for the winery, and each go about their own business, on the condition they be discreet about it. And now, on the same day, that idiot Robbie had to go and catch them both at it, and of course blurt it out to anyone who would listen, the blithering fool.

Oddly enough Rai and he had never been better together. Somehow their bond had never been stronger and more united. They were a couple in every sense of the word, except in the bedroom, of course, where they had soon discovered they weren’t fully compatible. And so this arrangement had worked out well for the both of them. And for Larry and Hazel, of course. Though maybe less so for Joe.

He walked along the path that led to the edge of his property, until he reached the fence. He leaned on it, and glanced in the direction of the Kosinski place. He thought he could see it, even from this distance, but he could be mistaken. It was dark out, and the moon was concealed behind a thick pack of clouds.

A twig snapped, and he jerked his head up. On the other side of the fence a thickset figure materialized.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yep. You?”

He nodded, and stared into the face of Ben Kosinski.

“Remember how we used to meet like this?” asked Ben.

“Long time ago,” said Ian.

Their dads had feuded, the same way they had. Only they were boys back then, and hadn’t understood any of the silliness their dads got up to, so they used to meet here at the fence that divided their farms, to play in the shade of the old willow tree nearby. Until someone must have seen them and told their dads, and gave them a good thrashing, and that was the end of that. Later on, Ian understood why the Kosinskis were the enemy: they wanted to lay their hands on Stewart land, and so had to be fought every inch of the way.

He didn’t know when exactly the feud had become personal for him. Maybe when Ben asked Raimunda out on a date, even though everyone in town knew that Ian and Raimunda were meant to be together. It had cemented the idea in his mind that Ben was trying to take what was his, the way all Kosinskis did.

“Tough day?” asked Ben now.

“You can say that.” He eyed the man closely. “Did you know about Kevin and Dom?”

Ben nodded.“Have known all along. But the boys swore us to secrecy.”

“They should have told us,” said Ian, still feeling annoyed. He hated things being sprung on him, or his relatives keeping secrets. Though he knew he was being hypocritical, of course, since he had also kept secrets from his kids.

“They were afraid of how you’d react,” said Ben. “And with good reason, wouldn’t you say?” He had quirked an ironic eyebrow in his direction, which annoyed Ian.

“Okay, so looks like there’s gonna be some changes,” he said, deciding to get down to business. “Our families are going to be united by this marriage between our two boys, and so we need to decide how to handle things from now on.”

Ben barked an incredulous laugh.“You’re a real romantic, aren’t you? How to ‘handle’ our sons’ marriage? Nice way of putting it. I’d say we organize a big party to celebrate that our sons have found each other, and invite the whole town.”

Ian pursed his lips into an expression of disapproval. He hated spending money on strangers, and if they invited‘the whole town,’ as Ben put it, that would mean spending a small fortune on a bunch of hangers-on and other loafers.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a small gathering. You know, friends and family only.”

“Of course you are, you cheapskate,” said Ben with a grin. He clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture the fastidious Ian did not appreciate in the least. “Why don’t you and Rai come over to my place for dinner tomorrow? We can discuss this in more convivial circumstances. I pour a mean wine,” he added archly.

Ian’s lips moved into a reluctant smile. “Fine. Dinner it is. And then we can talk about the future of our farms as well.” Loath though he was to admit it, this marriage between their sons was going to change things for their respective businesses as well, since both Dom and Kevin were the designated future heads of their family wineries. And if Kevin was to be believed, there was even talk of joining the two wineries into one, something that would have Ian’s dad turn in his grave. But Kevin had presented them with afait accompli, apparently.

The two men said their goodbyes, and soon Ben was swallowed up by the darkness. And as Ian started heading back to the house, he wondered what the future would hold for the Stewart Winery. Nothing good, he thought somberly.

CHAPTER 41

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Chase had finally been able to get Bill Cymbal in front of him. Not face to face, since we were in Hampton Cove and Mr. Cymbal was in Paris. But they were talking on Zoom, with the future mayor of Paris taking up a lot of screen real estate. Either he was sitting too close to the camera, or he had a very large face. Frankly I thought the former was the more likely explanation.

“Detective Kingsley!” said the politician. “So nice to see you, sir!”

“Likewise,” said Chase.

The cop was sitting at the kitchen table, talking to his laptop, and if Mr. Cymbal could have seen him, he would have been surprised to see that even though he was wearing a shirt, he was also wearing boxers. But then nobody cares about the lack of vestimentary refinement when talking on Zoom. Until a person gets up and shows his lack of pants, of course, something I hoped Odelia had warned her husband about.

“So I understand you have questions for me about Jeff Felfan?”

“That’s right. Did you personally know Mr. Felfan, sir?”

“No, I did not. Never met the man. I know his father, of course, Felfan Senior. He’s an esteemed colleague of mine, and I was saddened to hear he won’t be running for mayor in the upcoming election.” He flashed a smug grin at us, and I had the impression his sadness wasn’t all that profound. “Is that a cat I see behind you, Detective Kingsley?”

“Yeah, that’s my wife’s cat,” said Chase.

“He’s a big fella, isn’t he? I like the hefty ones, and the color, of course. Did you know that orange is the color of my campaign, detective? Color of the future!”

“I’m blorange,” I muttered, “not orange.”

“Okay, so about Jeff Felfan,” said Chase, getting back on track, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, sir, but Jeff’s dad has leveled certain allegations against you.”

“I know. He accuses me of murdering his son so he would withdraw from the race. Nonsense, of course. I may play hardball, but I’m not a murderer. And besides, I believe in winning the race on election day, not by getting rid of the opposition by murdering their kids. Is it true that he thinks Ihired a hitman?”

“There has been talk of a professional hit, yes,” Chase said carefully.

“Crazy talk! Where would I find a hitman! On your Craigslist, perhaps? And besides, David knows as well as I do that politicians are under a microscope in this country—and maybe in yours, as well. Anything we say or do is scrutinized in great detail. If I put even as much as a foot wrong it’sgoing to be plastered all across social media. I frowned at a kid during a visit to the zoo last week, and half an hour later the video had gone viral! Said I hated kids. They even turned it into a meme. So you can imagine what they would do if I hired a hitman to kill Jeff Felfan. It would be the scandal of the century, and I’d be thrown in the deepest, darkest dungeon for all eternity.”

“In the Bastille,” Dooley said knowingly. “Or even the guillotine!”

“I don’t think they still have the death penalty in France,” I said.

“Oh, will you look at that? Another fine pussy,” said the politician.

Dooley waved at the camera.

“See?” said Mr. Cymbal. “That’s what I’m all about. Smiling at kiddies and petting pussies. Murdering people? Not so much. And I’m prepared to prove it to you, sir. I’m prepared to have my phone and computer examined by the French police. I have nothing to hide, and that’s exactly the way it should be for the future mayor of the greatest city in the world.”

“Is he going to be mayor of New York, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I think he’s referring to Paris, Dooley,” I said.

“I like Paris,” said Dooley dreamily. “Remember Marion?”

Of course I did. The feisty cat owned by the manager of the hotel where we’d been staying not all that long ago. We would sit on the roof together, the three of us, and Dooley would moon at her, while Marion and I would look at the real moon. A nice time was had by all, and we had even caught a killer that time.

Somehow I didn’t think the man sitting before us now was a killer. Not because he sounded so convincing—all politicians sound convincing, it’s one of the first things they learn in politician school—but because he had a point. If he hired a professional assassin, it would be very hard to keep it a secret. Even if he wanted to, he simply wouldn’t do it. Not if he was smart. And Bill Cymbal struck me as a very smart man. Except that he didn’t know orange from blorange.

And there was more bad news—or perhaps even the worst news of all: cat choir was canceled. The news reached us through Harriet and Brutus, who had been out and about all day, following their assigned humans around and making sure that not a drop of alcohol passed their lips.

“I think we managed,” said Harriet as she gave us an extensive overview of the events as they transpired that day. “Gran tried to create a diversion at some point by shouting, ‘Mouse! Mouse!’ but of course I didn’t fall for that. And then when they split up, with Gran going in one direction and Scarlett in another, I panicked for a moment, but lucky for me Scarlett went into the hair salon, so I simply told Buster to keep an eye on her for the time being, while I went after Gran.”

“I caught Tex on three different occasions,” said Brutus, shaking his head. “Yesterday he tried to sneak a drink from the fridge, and this morning he actually dropped by the liquor store when he thought I wasn’t looking. And finally he called Wilbur and asked him to deliver a six-pack to the office. But from what I could gather Wilbur has instituted an alcohol ban on all AA members.”

“But I thought AA members were supposed to be anonymous?” asked Dooley.

“Not in this town, they’re not,” said Brutus with a grin. “You know what Hampton Cove is like. If it’s news, it will travel—and fast!”

“Being an alcoholic is hardly news,” I said.

“Depends who it is,” said Brutus. “Ever since Father Reilly joined up, there’s been a lot more scrutiny.”

“He should have gone to an AA meeting in Happy Bays,” said Harriet. “That way he could have stayed anonymous. Now the whole town knows about him.”

“Poor Father Reilly,” said Dooley. “He’s a Famous Alcoholic now. An FA.”

“Oh, and just so you know,” said Harriet, “Shanille wanted to let you know that cat choir has been canceled until further notice. FuSSy takes precedence.”

“What?!” I cried. “But I like cat choir. It’s my way to unwind!”

“I guess you’ll have to unwind some other way,” said Harriet. “Or don’t you agree that helping our poor humans stay sober and healthy is more important?”

“I guess so,” I said, but I think she could tell that I didn’t. Not really.

“Oh, and also,” said Brutus, “dog choir has decided to join the fight. So Rufus and Fifi and all of their friends have also started their own FuSSy team.”

“It won’t be called FuSSy, though,” I said. “Will it?”

“They’re calling it CaSSy,” said Harriet proudly. “Which stands for—”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Canine Sponsor System.”

“Exactly! FuSSy and CaSSy to the rescue, you guys!”

“But no more cat choir,” I said morosely.

“Oh, will you stop fussing already!”

“Very funny,” I muttered.

CHAPTER 42

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Dooley and I decided to head into town anyway. Maybe there were still some cats who were going to get together—just for old time’s sake. Not all cats’ pet parents are alcoholics, you see. Some of them drink coffee or soda.

I felt a little downcast not only because cat choir had been canceled, but also because of the state of our investigation. Clearly we weren’t getting anywhere fast, and it was affecting my mood.

We passed into the backyard, and from somewhere nearby sounds of cussing came. When we took a peek through the hedge, we saw that it was Kurt Mayfield, our next-door neighbor, and his shirtfront was awash with an effervescent substance that our powerful noses ascertained could only be beer. On the grass an empty can of Heineken lay, the final remnants of the fermented brew leaking into the ground and no doubt soon giving an earthworm delirium tremens.

“What did you have to go and do that for!” Kurt cried in dismay.

But Fifi merely winked at us, then whispered,“CaSSy to the rescue!”

We passed through the hole in the hedge and into Marge and Tex’s backyard, wanting to take a gander at the food bowls in Marge’s kitchen. Before one sets out on a long walk, it’s important to strengthen the inner cat with plenty of grub, you see. But when we got there, loud sounds of a quarrel reached our ears. It sounded like Ted and Marcie Trapper, and when we hurried in that direction, we saw that two wine glasses had been smashed on the patio floor, a red liquid spreading out. On Ted’s shirt, the same red liquid was creating a big stain that bloomed out across the man’s chest.

“Salt!” Marcie cried. “Or that will never come out!”

“My good shirt!” Ted bleated. “My very best shirt!”

Rufus, apparently the instigator of the incident, sat on the floor looking as cool as Clint. He was actually licking his butt, not a care in the world. Then he must have spotted us, for he gave us a grin.“The alcohol ban is in effect, you guys.”

“I can see that,” I said, as Marcie came hurrying out of the house carrying a plastic container of salt. She then started dumping it on her husband’s chest and rubbing it into the red spot, with Ted whining all the while about his nice clean shirt that was now for sure ruined—and it was allRufus’s fault!

We decided not to stick around for the sequel. Somehow it didn’t interest me all that much to know if Marcie would be able to get Ted’s shirt spotlessly clean again. Some mysteries simply aren’t deep enough to plumb.

So we moved along, and made the trek into town.

“Maybe we should have joined FuSSy, Max,” said Dooley. “It looks like a lot of fun.”

“It looks like a lot of trouble,” I said. “Not to mention those humans are going to strike back at some point. You can’t separate man from his drink, Dooley. Somehow they will always find a way.”

“But we’re clever, Max. Cleverer than our humans.”

“That may be so, but they have something we don’t have.”

“What is that?”

“They control the purse strings, and so they control our food supply. What if they get fed up and decide to put all of those FuSSy and CaSSy members on a diet? There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth, Dooley, mark my words. And a lot of it.”

And we didn’t even have to go far to see my observation borne out. We passed by the General Store, hoping to catch Kingman and convince him to head to the park with us, or maybe just shoot the breeze. But when we got to the back, there he was, looking forlorn. And when we asked him what was going on, he said that the pet flap was locked.

“Wilbur locked me out!” he lamented. “He had just poured a beer into a glass and was going to drink it in front of the television. So naturally I jumped up onto the couch and swiped the glass from his hand. And then when he grabbed another beer, and this time didn’t even bother with a glass, I swiped that one from his hand as well. He looked at me for a moment, sort of stunned. But finally he got himself a third can, popped the top, and so I did it again. And that’s when he got mad and kicked me out of the house.” He gave us an intensely sad look. “He kicked me out of my own house, you guys! And then he locked the pet flap. Locked it! With my food still inside! And my nice warm blanket. Now what am I going to do!”

“Now you’re going to wait until Wilbur has a change of heart,” I said.

“I’m not touching that man’s beer again, that much I can tell you. If he wants to get drunk, that’s fine with me. Locking the pet flap? It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is!”

“Maybe you can call the Secretary-General of the United Nations,” Dooley suggested. “And tell him that a crime has been committed against humanity.”

“Not exactly against humanity, though,” I said. “Against catdom, maybe.”

“I’m sure you have a case, Kingman,” said Dooley.

“I don’t care!” the big cat wailed. “I want my home back!” And at this point he lost all pretense of dignity and independence by pounding on the pet flap. “Wilbur, let me in!!!” He actually reminded me of a character in the Flintstones.

I patted his shoulder consolingly, and we watched him jump up onto the windowsill, looking into the kitchen, which was on the ground floor.

“I don’t see him, but I know he’s there,” he said. “He’s ignoring me, isn’t he? Wilbuuuuuuur!” he yelled as he started patting the glass. “I won’t do it again!”

It was a sad scene to see one as strong and independent as Kingman being reduced to this. And a harbinger of things to come if these dry advocates kept this up.

“He’s going to hurt his paws,” said Dooley as we watched the spectacle. Unfortunately for Kingman Wilbur wasn’t ready to forgive and forget, for the pet flap remained closed for business. So finally he came back down from his perch.

“If you want you can walk home with us,” I said. “There’s plenty of food in our bowls, and you can have my favorite spot if you want. You can even sleep at the foot of the bed. We’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Thanks, Max. That’s very kind of you. But it’s not the same, is it?”

I knew what he meant. If I had to spend the night at the foot of Wilbur’s bed I probably wouldn’t like it either. There’s simply no place like home, is there?

“If only Wilbur had kids,” Kingman lamented. “Then he wouldn’t have such a hard heart.”

“I don’t think Wilbur is hard-hearted,” I said. “I think he wants to have a drink in peace, without having to clean beer stains out of his carpet or his clothes.”

But Kingman wasn’t listening. “If he had kids, he would have grandkids by now, and his heart wouldn’t have turned to stone. He would be a grandpa, and would spoil those kids rotten. He’d do anything for them, the way grandparents do. And then he wouldn’t lock me out, same way he wouldn’t lock those kids out.”

And as he kept yammering on about Wilbur and the man’s heart of stone, something seemed to click inside my big noggin. It had been a long slog, this investigation, but for the first time I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or did I?

CHAPTER 43

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

“Are you sure about this, Max?” asked Odelia for the hundredth time.

“Let’s say I’m almost sure,” I said, hedging my bets.

“If we do this and you’re wrong…”

The implication was obvious: if we accused the wrong person, there would be hell to pay, and perhaps even Uncle Alec wouldn’t be able to protect Chase from certain disgrace and perhaps even dismissal.

“These are some pretty important people,” Odelia continued.

“Okay, look,” I said. “If I’m right, you’re going to save lives. If I’m wrong, you simply tell them that you’re members of the AA and have fallen off the wagon.”

“Very funny, Max,” said Odelia.

We were in the car, sitting outside the main gate of the Stewart Winery, with Odelia and Chase arguing amongst themselves as to the best way to proceed. It was a miracle I’d managed to get them both out of bed. It had taken me a long time to convince Odelia, and had taken her an even longer time to convince her husband. But there we were, and if we didn’t get a move on, it could be too late.

“We can’t just ring the bell and ask them to let us in,” said Odelia.

“So we scale the fence,” said Chase, as if it was the kind of thing he did every day. “It’s not that far to the house, and it’s like Max says: if we don’t do this, and someone dies, we’re going to feel horrible knowing we could have stopped it.”

That seemed to decide Odelia, for she opened the car door and got out.

Further down the road another car was parked, but as far as I could tell there was no one in it. It was a dark sedan, and I wondered if whoever had parked it also had business with the Stewarts.

We watched as Chase expertly scaled the fence, after ascertaining that it wasn’t charged with electricity, which wouldn’t have been a good experience. Odelia helped me and Dooley up, then was helped herself by Chase. Moments later we were in the vineyard, and our adventure had started for real!

“We should have told someone we were coming,” said Dooley. “Now they will think we’re intruders, and Ian will get out his big gun, or maybe Larry, and they’ll shoot holes in us!”

“Not if they don’t know we’re here,” I pointed out.

“But I’ll bet they have alarm systems, and cameras!”

I had to admit I wasn’t entirely convinced I was right either. But I was willing to take a chance. Though as we snuck along the dirt road that led through the vineyard and up to the house, I was starting to get a little uneasy in my mind. What had I got us into this time!

Soon we reached destination’s end, and found ourselves looking up at that great house. All the windows were dark, with not a soul in sight. Chase pointed to the window in question, and Odelia nodded. And so we snuck around the house, and onto the patio. If I was correct about this, the back door would be unlocked, and the alarm switched off.

Chase took a deep breath, then put his hand on the door handle. He locked eyes with Odelia, who gave him a curt nod, and he pushed down on the handle.

The door easily swung open, and as we stood there, no alarm sounded.

Phew!

And now for the hard part: sneaking through a house filled with people without getting caught!

For Dooley and me this was a piece of cake, of course. Cats are built for sneaking. But for Odelia and Chase this was a lot harder. But they managed admirably. First we passed through the kitchen, then into the hallway, and up the sweeping marble staircase to reach the second-floor landing. Odelia counted the doors as we snuck along the corridor, until finally we had reached journey’s end.

“This is it!” Chase mounted. “No turning back now.”

We all took a deep breath, and Chase opened the door and we entered the room.

And there, on the bed, I could see a dark figure straddling another figure. Chase must have seen it, too, for instantly he flicked the switch and the room was bathed in a bright light. The figure on the bed was a man dressed in black from head to toe, and he was straddling David Felfan, strangling the man with what looked like a piece of wire! Next to David, Pauline lay motionless, eyes closed. She looked dead—as dead as David would have been if we had arrived a minute later!

The man immediately jumped from the bed, and made for the window. But Chase cut off that avenue of escape, and since Odelia was between him and the door, there was simply no way out. He must have realized this, for he held out his hands at this point, as a sign of surrender.“You cops?” he asked.

“Detective Kingsley,” said Chase in response. “Hampton Cove PD.”

“Shush!” I said suddenly, for I’d heard a sound in the corridor.

Immediately Odelia turned off the light again, and moments later the door opened and a man entered.“How is it going?” asked the man. “They dead yet?”

Odelia turned on the light, and we all found ourselves looking into the surprised face of… Ian Stewart.

CHAPTER 44

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

“I don’t get it,” said Harriet. “Ian Stewart killed his own son-in-law?”

“He didn’t kill him with his own hands,” I said. “But he did hire a professional assassin to have Jeff killed. And then he hired that same assassin to kill Jeff’s parents.” Though lucky for them we had arrived just in time to save both David and Pauline Felfan’s lives. Ian had knockedthem both out by putting GBH in their wine glass before retiring to bed. And then let this friendly neighborhood hitman into the house by unlocking the door and switching off the alarm.

“His name is Novio Bosiaki,” said Dooley, rolling the words on his tongue. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? He’s Serbian, or so Chase was told.”

“It doesn’t have a nice ring to it for Jeff,” I pointed out. “Cause if Novio Bosiaki hadn’t plied his favorite trade, that young man would still be alive today.”

“Where did he find this hitman?” asked Brutus.

“The internet, where else?” I said.

“Craigslist?” Harriet ventured.

“Not exactly. Some obscure website on the darknet.”

“Why is it called the darknet, Max?” asked Dooley. “Is it because Mr. Bosiaki likes to work in the dark?”

“Something like that,” I said with a smile.

We were on the porch swing in Marge and Tex’s backyard, while our humans were whiling away the time by enjoying a wonderful feast. Tex was behind the grill, as per usual, and for once the barbecue was fully dry: no alcohol was being served. Not at our request, mind you, but at Gran’s. She felt that if she and Scarlett and Tex were goingto stand a chance of breaking their record number of days without imbibing their favorite alcoholic beverage, they needed a little support from their family and friends. For it’s hard to stay sober when everyone around you is swigging the good stuff by the gallon.

“Okay, so why did Ian Stewart kill Jeff?” asked Harriet. “I thought he loved his son-in-law?”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, but what he didn’t like about Jeff was that he was French. Not in the sense that he was a Frenchman, but that he was taking Steph and their little girl to go and live in France—permanently. Ian and Raimunda wanted Steph in Hampton Cove, but even more than Steph, they wanted Zoe to live nearby, so they could see her all the time. You see, from the moment Zoe was born, Ian and Raimunda simply couldn’t bear the thought of not having access to her all the time. They suspected that Kevin was gay, and very likely wouldn’t be able to give them a grandchild. And Steph already told them that she and Jeff had decided to have just the one kid. So Zoe was all they had.”

“Surely no grandparent is crazy enough to kill their son-in-law just to make sure they have access to their grandchild,” said Harriet.

“In Ian and Raimunda’s case, they were that crazy about Zoe. From the moment that little girl was born they loved her with all their hearts, and decided that nothing and no one would come between them—not even Steph or Jeff.”

“That’s just nuts.”

“Sometimes the love of a grandparent for their grandchild is nuts.”

After Ian’s arrest, a forensic investigation of his phone and computer revealed deleted email and text message exchanges between Ian and Novio Bosiaki. Detailed instructions on how to reach Jeff and the best way of disposing of him. And ways to make it look like a murder-suicide, though that hadn’t worked out so well in the end. When Jeff had arrived at Cipriana’s flat, she’d already been knocked out by the GBH the hired killer had administered—having forced her to swallow it down in a cup of coffee. Then when Jeff arrived he’d forced him to lie down on the bed and shot him, staging the scenario he and Ian had dreamed up.

Novio Bosiaki’s picture had been shown to the witness, and this time the old lady had confirmed that this was the tall man she’d seen entering the building.

“But why murder Jeff’s parents?” asked Harriet. “That makes no sense.”

“Oh, but it does, from Ian’s warped point of view,” I said. “You see, earlier that evening Steph had told her parents that she was planning to move to France with Zoe. That she wanted to pursue a career in fashion design and live in the apartment that Jeff’s parents had bought for them. And so Ian decided that David and Pauline had to die. He contacted Novio and made sure that the couple was drugged and would put up no resistance when the killer strangled them in their bed. He was going to string David up against the door, making it look as if he’d strangled Pauline first, then committed suicide by hanging.”

“We got there just in time,” said Dooley, who had been greatly impressed by the whole thing. “If not for Max, they would both have been dead as a doornail.” When he realized hisfaux pas he quickly put a paw in front of his mouth.“Oops.”

“Was Ian also involved in this slander business that cost Steph two jobs and Jeff the inheritance from his godmother?” asked Harriet.

“Yes, he was,” I said. “When he heard about the WelBeQ job offer, he asked Novio to send those emails, which wasn’t hard, since Ian had plenty of pictures of his daughter to choose from. Novio then contacted a computer hacker associate, who set up the campaign. Same thing with the Paris job, and the Paris apartment.”

“Anything not to have Steph leave the country,” said Harriet, nodding.

“Steph, but even more than Steph his granddaughter Zoe,” I said.

“So… how involved was Raimunda in Ian’s plans?” asked Brutus.

“Now that,” I said, “is a tough one to answer. Personally I think she must have known. Maybe even helped set up that smear campaign. But unfortunately we have no way of proving it, and Ian isn’t talking, and neither is Raimunda.”

“So she’s going to get away with it?” asked Harriet. “That’s not okay.”

“She won’t have to stand trial, and she’s not going to prison,” I said. “But she will have to watch Steph and Zoe move to Paris—the exact thing she feared the most.” Steph’s decision had only been validated by her dad’s betrayal. When she had learned that Ian ordered Jeff’s murder, the shock had been so great she nearly fainted. Luckily she had David and Pauline to support her. Funnily enough the bond between them had only become stronger after Jeff passed away, and now Steph viewed her in-laws almost more like her parents than her real parents.

She was going to wait for the memorial service, and leave straight after. And return only for the trial of her dad, which was going to be tough on everyone.

“What’s going to happen to the Stewart Winery now that Ian is in jail?” asked Brutus.

“Raimunda has announced she’s taking a step back, and Kevin is going to be in charge from now on, with the valued assistance of longtime foreman Larry Scunner, and of course Dominic and Kevin’s future father-in-law. Looks like the plan to join both wineries is going to be fast-tracked now that Ian is gone.”

“What an amazing story,” said Harriet. “Almost beats the story of FuSSy’s success in turning Hampton Cove dry. We’re not there yet, but we’re working on it. In fact we’re thinking about taking our campaign to other towns, and maybe even the rest of the country. If all pets did what wedo for our humans, we just might succeed where Prohibition failed. Score one for Team FuSSy—one of my better ideas!” She looked proud as she said it, even though it had actually been Shanille’s idea, something she seemed to have conveniently forgotten.

I glanced at our humans, and saw a sorry sight: Uncle Alec was pushing his food around on his plate, Gran sat nursing a soda and looking sad, and even Scarlett, who’s usually always so happy and peppy, looked as if she was attending a funeral. In fact Tex was the only one who seemed to have come through this whole AA episode with his good mood intact. He actually seemed to thrive.

“Look what I brought,” said Odelia as she dug into a plastic bag she’d conveniently hid under the table. Two bottles of wine popped up. “One is from the Stewart Winery, and the other from the Kosinski Winery. I promised Kevin Stewart we were going to help him settle once and for all which one of these is the best. They’re both whites and are supposed to be crisp, dry and aromatic, whatever that means.” She gave her grandmother a radiant look. “What do you say, Gran?”

But Gran darted a quick glance at Harriet, then shook her head sadly, while seeming to shrink even more into herself.“Thank you, sweetie, but I’ll pass.”

“Me, too,” said Scarlett, first having checked with Harriet.

The Persian was shaking her head in abject disapproval.“What is she up to?” she said. “Max, you have to stop her. She’s pushing dope to drug addicts!”

“It’s not as bad as all that, is it?” I said. “It’s just one glass of wine, Harriet.”

Harriet gawked at me.“Not you, too!”

“Not everyone who drinks is an alcoholic. So stop making such a big fuss. Our humans aren’t alcoholics, and neither are most of the people in this town.”

“What about Father Reilly?” she demanded. “Or are you going to sit there and tell me he doesn’t have a problem?”

“Marigold left, and he was going through a rough time. A personal crisis that led to him making a bad choice. But he’s all right now,” I said soothingly.

“I don’t believe this,” said Harriet. “Brutus—tell him!”

“Tell him what?” asked Brutus.

“Tell him he’s wrong! And recite the thirteen steps!”

“Oh, God, not again,” said Brutus. “I don’t even know them by heart.”

“Step one,” she began, and started droning off the steps.

“Sometimes I wish I had earplugs,” Dooley whispered to me at some point. “So I could drown out the sound of Harriet’s yapping.”

We shared a grin, which hadn’t escaped Harriet’s notice, for she raised the volume of her incantation.

“How about you, Dad?” said Odelia, holding up her two bottles.

But Tex hesitated, darting a questioning glance at his wife. When Marge nodded, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.“Why not?” he said. “Just a small glass for me.”

“Two small glasses, buddy,” said Chase, who was doing the honors. “We have to decide which one of these is the best. A responsibility we don’t take lightly.”

“Fine, two small glasses,” said Tex with a jolly expression on his face.

Gran and Scarlett looked on like two kids watching a third kid eat a gigantic piece of delicious cake while not being allowed to eat a piece themselves. They were both licking their lips as Tex poured the cooling liquid down the hatch.

“Pretty good,” the doctor determined. “Now let’s try the other one.”

“I want one, too,” said Gran timidly.

“So do I,” said Scarlett, just as quietly.

They both stared at Harriet, who was still going through her declamation.

Marge must have sensed that harmony was far off at the dinner table, for she suddenly came over to where we were sitting, and asked Dooley and me to scoot over and make some space. She sat down next to Harriet, and for the next few minutes a murmured conversation was carried out that, try as I might, I couldn’t overhear.

“What is she saying?” asked Dooley.

“I don’t know,” I said, not hiding my frustration.

“I think she’s offering her a drink,” said Dooley, straining his ears. “At least I think I heard the word ‘wine’ and also the words ‘cut them some slack.’”

“Sounds to me as if she’s trying to convince Harriet to stop being so fussy,” I said with a slight grin.

“She is very fussy, isn’t she?” said Dooley. “A fussy pussy. Not good for Gran.”

“Or Scarlett.”

“Or anyone.”

The conversation finally came to an end, and Marge got up and walked over to the table, took a pair of glasses, filled them with wine from Odelia’s bottles and handed Gran and Scarlett a glass each.

Both looked at her as if manna had finally descended from heaven, and they couldn’t quite believe their luck. “Is this for me?” asked Gran.

“Can we drink this?” asked Scarlett. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” said Marge. “Now drink up, both of you.”

And as both ladies sipped from their drink, Charlene poured Uncle Alec a glass, and soon the humans were all having a nice drink from the wines produced by the finest wineries in Hampton Cove, and judging them to be equally delicious.

And Harriet? She just sat there looking stunned.

“What did Marge say to you, Harriet?” I finally asked when I couldn’t curb my curiosity any longer.

“None of your business!” she snapped, and jumped down from the swing and walked off. “Brutus! Are you coming!” she said over her shoulder.

“What did she say?” I whispered to Brutus.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I got the impression FuSSy is finally finished.”

He flashed us a quick grin, then quickly traipsed off after his lady love.

“Good riddance,” said Dooley, who seemed to have had a change of heart about the whole temperance thing. “Too much of a good thing is a bad thing, Max. And that goes for the good things you do to stop the bad things from happening, too.”

I wasn’t sure if what Dooley said was good or bad, but I heartily concurred.

A loud shout sounded from Kurt Mayfield’s backyard. “Fifi! Stop that!”

And from the Trappers a sudden howl of fury told us that Rufus was also staying the course.“Rufus!” Marcie yelled. “Bad boy! Bad!” And Ted: “My nice shirt!”

FuSSy might be dead and buried, but CaSSy was still going strong.

Which just goes to show that cats really are smarter than dogs.

But then I guess we already knew that, didn’t we?

Just then, Odelia unwrapped a piece of chocolate for dessert. Dooley’s eyes instantly went wide. And before I could stop him, he had jumped down from the swing, hopped up onto the table, and was swiping that piece of chocolate out of Odelia’s hands!

“Hey!” Odelia cried. “What do you think you’re doing!”

“I’m saving you from this terrible addiction!” Dooley said, panting a little from the exertion.

Okay, so I’m going to make a slight emendation here: maybe notall cats are smarter than dogs.

EPILOGUE

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

The Poole household had already retired to bed, and since the cats had gone out for the night, a peaceful quiet had descended on the house. Tex was fast asleep, snoring softly, but Marge wasn’t. Just that day the latest book from her favorite author had been delivered at the library, and she’d reserved a copy for herself, which she was now reading. She’d vowed to read one chapter and then put the book aside, but she was four chapters in and simply couldn’t stop reading! Her cheeks flushed, her eyes gritty, she finally decided that enough was enough, and that the adventures of the unfortunate heroine Sally, who met the perfect man on the train only to lose sight of him again, would have to wait until the morrow.

She was a little thirsty, though, and so she reluctantly slipped from between the covers, and tripped downstairs and into the kitchen to drink some water from the tap. And it was as she stood there that she heard the sound. The clinking sound of glass against glass. It could only come from the garage. Figuring it could be the cats, or some other animal that had managed to get in, she went in search of the source of the noise. The moment she flicked on the light, it became clear that it wasn’t the cats, or some other animal. Unless she classified Ted Trapper in this latter category, of course. For it was indeed her next-door neighbor who stood there, looking very much caught in the act of doing something he shouldn’t!

“Marge!” he cried, his voice a little quaky and his very wide and surprised.

“What have you got there, Ted?” she asked, though it was obvious what he got there: an empty wine bottle which he’d been in the process of depositing not in its appropriate receptacle, namely his own, but in the Poole glass recycle bin.

“Um…” said Ted, clearly flustered. “The thing is, Marge…”

“Yes, Ted?” she asked, having trouble suppressing a smile.

He noisily cleared his throat.“Well, see, the thing is, Marge…”

“The thing is that you’ve been putting your empties in my recycle bin instead of your own,” she said, starting to feel sorry for the guy. “As to the reason, I can only guess.” Though it probably had something to do with the fact that he was trying to hide his drinking habit from his wife,which his next words confirmed.

“Please don’t tell Marcie,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to stop, but this stuff is just so good—too good to be believed. I got it from this wine merchant on Frampton Street. He told me it’s the goods, and he wasn’t lying. I keep them in the garden house, under the bags of manure, soRufus won’t root them out. And rat me out.” He was perking up as he began to expound on the quality of his hidden stash. “I’ll pay you, if you want,” he offered. “As long as this can stay between us, please?” He gave her a pleading that would have melted anyone’s heart.

“You do realize that because of you I sent my husband and my mother to the AA meetings?” she said, feeling a little bad now about that particular decision.

“I know. Tex told me all about it,” said Ted. “And frankly I’ve been thinking about doing the same thing. But first I need to finish these last couple of bottles.”

“How many have you got left?”

“Only three,” he said with a touch of regret. “And then they’re gone. And I’ll be gone, I promise. No more midnight sneaking around in your garage, I swear.”

“Hand over one bottle and we won’t mention it again,” she said, figuring both Tex and her mother deserved a little treat after what she put them through.

“Deal!” said Ted, looking much relieved.

He took his leave, then, and Marge went to bed.

“Were you talking to someone just now?” asked Tex sleepily.

“Ted was in the garage, putting his empty bottles in our recycle bin.”

“Oh,” said Tex. Then, moments later, “Did you just say that Ted puts his empties in our recycle bin?”

“Yep. But don’t tell Marcie, or she’ll be upset and send him to the AA.”

Silence. Then:“Of course I won’t tell Marcie.” Though somehow Marge had the impression that he just might. At least if that big grin on his face was anything to go by.

57. PURRFECT HOME

1

I was gently dozing on the patio, as one does, when the sound of strange mutterings reached my sensitive ears. The mutterings seemed to come from somewhere nearby, and were accompanied by the occasional grinding of teeth. And since humans are the first species that comes to mind when the topic of teeth grinding is broached, I immediately assumed that one of our own humans was expressing a beef with something or someone.

As it happens, this human was Gran, and she was reading the newspaper.

Now I could have told her that no good ever came from reading a newspaper, since they’re mostly filled with bad news that is designed to frustrate and annoy—except perhaps the comics section—but since our human Odelia works for a newspaper, I wisely kept my tongue.

After all, if Odelia were to stop writing for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and getting paid for the privilege, she wouldn’t be in a position to buy us sustenance on a daily basis in the form of kibble and wet food, or provide a nice roof over our heads.

And so I decided to take a wait-and-see approach to these mutterings.

“Why is Gran acting so strange, Max?” asked Dooley, who’d noticed the same phenomenon and only too rightly asked himself questions about Gran’s mental health. “And why is she making those funny sounds with her teeth?”

“She’s reading the newspaper,” I explained. “And when humans read the newspaper, this is how they often react.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, and lapsed into thought. He came out of this after a couple of moments, to ask a follow-up question. “So why is she looking so angry?”

“She must have read something in the paper that made her angry,” I said with a shrug.

Dooley cleared his throat. He was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.“Gran? Why are you muttering and looking as if you want to strangle someone?”

He was right. Gran did look as if she was ready to strangle whoever had written the article she was reading. You could see it from the way she was holding the paper: in a tight grip, her knuckles white, and about to strangle the paper in lieu of the person she really wanted to strangle, even though the poor paper wasn’t to blame.

“It’s these darn retirement homes,” Gran said darkly. “They’re death traps, every single one of them. Once they get you, you never get out of them alive!”

“What’s a retirement home?” asked Dooley, always keen to improve his general knowledge.

“It’s a place where retired people go,” I said. “But only when they feel they’re too old to live alone and need some assistance in their day-to-day existence.”

“Listen to this,” said Gran, “‘Justine Scott died at the ripe old age of ninety-seven. She had been a resident at Happy Home for the Elderly for the past twenty-five years.’” She shook her head in a clear expression of disgust. “I used to know Justine. And if they think ninety-seven is a ‘ripe old age’ they’re very much mistaken. That woman had more energy than a spark plug. Whenever they organized a Friday night get-together at the community center she could dance everyone’s socks off!”

“Was she a good friend of yours, this Justine?” I asked.

But Gran was looking sad now, and judging from the faraway look on her face was thinking of her friend Justine, and all the adventures they’d lived through together.

“It’s always sad when someone dies, isn’t it, Max?” said Dooley. “Especially a good friend like Justine.”

“She wasn’t a friend,” said Gran, coming out of her reverie to set the record straight. “But she was far too young to die is the point I’m trying to make here. And it’s all the fault of this so-called Happy Home for the Elderly!” This time she was actually balling up the newspaper anddepositing it next to her lounge chair. She had been taking in some sun, and for the occasion was dressed in a purple bathing suit with sequined silver letters emblazoned across her chest that spelled out, ‘World’s Greatest Gran.’ “I told her not to go, but she wouldn’t listen, would she?”

“You told her not to go to this place?” asked Dooley.

“Of course! I told her retirement homes are deathtraps. But off she went, and now she’s dead.” She shook her head in dismay at the terrible fate that had befallen her not-friend.

Dooley gasped in shock and horror.“Do you mean… they killed her?!”

“Of course they did,” said Gran. “And I can tell you right now that you’ll never see me going to one of these places. I’d rather jump off that there roof!”

Dooley glanced up at that there roof and gasped again.“Gran, you shouldn’t say such things!”

“I know, and it’s all because of that horrible Happy Home,” she grumbled.

I had closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them again, I saw that Dooley was staring at me intently.

“What?” I said, once more getting the impression that he desired speech with me.

“Max, we have to do something! This Happy Home has killed Gran’s friend Justine Scott! We have to start an investigation! Find the killer! Get justice for Justine!”

“They didn’t actually kill her,” I said.

“But Gran just said they did!”

“I know that’s what she said, but she didn’t mean it literally,” I said, yawning a bit and wondering if I shouldn’t go and lie in the shade of those rose bushes at the bottom of the garden, where it’s always so nice and cool.

“I don’t understand,” said Dooley, and looked more puzzled than ever. That’s what you get when humans start giving you these mixed messages. It’s tough on a literal-minded cat like Dooley.

“What she means is that when you go into a retirement home, chances are that you will never get out of it alive,” I said, then realized this didn’t sound exactly right.

“See! They kill people over there!”

“Not really,” I said, starting to tire a little of this conversation. “Look, a retirement home is a place where people go who are incapable of living alone, so as a rule these people are not quite as young as they used to be. In other words: they’re pretty old. And since as a rule people don’t get any younger as they age, it’s only to be expected that at some point they’ll pass on to that great big retirement home in the sky.”

Dooley glanced up at the sky, fully expecting to see this fabled home.

“Heaven is what I mean,” I said, just to make my meaning perfectly clear. “They go to heaven. Just like this Justine Scott.”

“But… so they don’t actually kill them?”

“No, they don’t. Well, most of them anyway.” From time to time you hear about nurses murdering residents, but I like to think this is an exception, not standard practice.

And as Dooley pondered this, I closed my eyes once more, grateful for this interlude. The peace and quiet didn’t last long, though. Gran might have grabbed her phone and was now texting furiously, presumably updating her friend Scarlett on her decision never to become a resident of Happy Home, but Dooley had once again marshaled his thoughts and was ready to give me the benefit of his latest brainwave.

“Do you think there are also retirement homes for cats, Max?”

“No, I don’t,” I said. “Though it’s possible that as our humans get older and move into a retirement home themselves, they decide to take us along with them.”

“Oh,” said Dooley. “So when Odelia is old, we’ll go and live at one of these places with her?”

“Odelia isn’t quite old enough to go to a retirement home yet. And in fact many people don’t go to a retirement home at all. They stay with their families, like Gran.”

Gran had gone from living by herself in her own little apartment to living with her daughter and son-in-law, much to that son-in-law’s occasional chagrin. But all in all it was a good arrangement, especially now that Odelia had recently given birth to a new human being in the form of Grace, who was Gran’s great-granddaughter and was eyeing me from a corner of the patio, where she was keeping herself busy in the plastic shell-shaped sandbox Chase had bought for her. Apart from creating cakes and cookies from sand, and subsequently trying to eat them, she seemed more interested in Dooley and me than in her latest toy, though. And I could already foresee that soon we were going to have to find a safer spot to enjoy some peace and quiet.

Gran’s phone rang out its merry tune—Taylor Swift if I wasn’t mistaken—and she immediately picked up. And as she chatted with Scarlett, vociferously reiterating her opinion on retirement homes in general and Happy Home for the Elderly in particular, I suddenly experienced a powerful pulling sensation in the vicinity of my tail. When I glanced over, I saw that Grace had grabbed hold of this sensitive appendage and was depositing a scoop of sand on top of it. When I tried to move my tail, she squealed with joy, then scooped some more, all the while applying a surprisingly powerful grip!

“What is she doing, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Seasoning my tail with sand,” I grumbled.

Of course Gran was too busy talking to Scarlett, so it looked as if I was on my own!

“Leave the tail, Grace,” I said gently, giving the thing a tug.

But she wasn’t giving up quite so easily. Instead, she doubled down, and actually went and sat on it!

“She’s funny, isn’t she?” asked Dooley.

“Funny isn’t the word I would use,” I said as the little tyke now started pouring sand on top of my head!

“Grace, no,” I said. “Sand should stay in the sandbox, not on top of the cat.”

But of course the little girl wasn’t interested in my point of view on the correct usage of sand. In fact she was enjoying the game so much she was squealing with joy, and patting my head with what can only be termed an intense caress.

“Does it hurt?” asked Dooley, interested.

“Yes, it does!” I cried as a bit of sand got into my eye. “Ouch!”

At this point Gran finally remembered her duties as a babysitter, and came over to direct Grace back to her designated play area and away from yours truly.

She didn’t like it, and wrestled within Gran’s grip, darting anxious glances over her shoulder in my direction, clearly feeling that her great work wasn’t done yet.

But I was done, and I took advantage of this sudden lull in the proceedings to remove myself from the scene and seek urgent refuge elsewhere. If those rose bushes had looked enticing before, they looked like an actual sanctuary now! And so I headed over there, only to be confronted with Brutus and Harriet in a state of intimacy I won’t describe to you but which no cat should be forced to experience on an empty stomach.

Excusing myself profusely, I staggered away from the sordid scene, and headed into the next-door backyard, where hopefully no little girls would hound me!

Dooley, who had followed my progress with marked interest, said,“What were Harriet and Brutus doing, Max?”

“Um… kissing,” I said.

“Doesn’t kissing usually involve a person’s lips?” he asked.

“They were probably working their way up to that,” I said, not really feeling in the mood for the birds and bees talk at that particular instance. I had the impression I had swallowed some of Grace’s sand, and it didn’t exactly taste moreish.

Lucky for us we soon bumped into Marge, and when she saw the state I was in, that wonderful lady took pity on my predicament, and proceeded to rid me of the last remnants of the sandstorm I’d just been in. She even took a gander at my eye, and when finally she gave me the all-clear, I expressed my relief and gratitude not only in word but also in deed, by giving her a gentle headbutt against the leg. She responded by giving us each a tasty treat from the fridge, and since the pet flap is too small for Grace to pass through, I gradually started to feel safe again from the baby menace.

Retirement homes may be deathtraps, but homes where newborn babies are allowed to roam free are probably even worse!

And as Dooley and I settled down on the couch in the living room, I said,“Don’t get me wrong. I love Grace. But she can be quite a handful sometimes, can’t she?”

“We have to be nice to her, though, Max,” said Dooley. “Cause one day when Odelia is old and gray and so are we, it’s going to be up to Grace to take care of us all. And if we don’t indulge her occasional whims now, she might decide to put us all in the Happy Home for the Elderly instead!”

I gulped a little at this piece of fine reasoning, and could only agree wholeheartedly.

“You’re right, Dooley,” I said. All things considered, a little bit of sand in my eye and a toddler stomping on my tail was a small price to pay for her future hospitality!

2

We were in Odelia’s office dozing and catching up on some much-needed rest when a knock sounded at the door and a woman strode in. She was older than Odelia but not old enough to be eligible for room and board at a retirement home. She also looked a little nervous, but then most people who visit Odelia in her office are a little trepidatious at first. Mostly these people are struggling with some personal issue and unless you are used to enlisting the assistance of a reporter of Odelia’s repute, it’s only natural to feel ill at ease at the prospect of revealing your secret to a complete stranger.

But Odelia has this way about her that puts people at ease straight away, and I could tell that she was having this effect on this person right now.

The woman introduced herself as Annette Williams, and she wasn’t actually there because she was faced with a baffling problem herself, but because her daughter was.

“You see, Kirsten has only been working there for six months,” Annette said once the introductions were out of the way and she was comfortably seated in front of our human. “And she likes the job, she really does. And most of the residents are perfectly nice. It’s this one man, see, Mrs. Kingsley. He’s the one who’s keeping me up at night.”

“Sorry, but where did you say your daughter works, Mrs. Williams?” asked Odelia.

“She works as a CNA, a certified nursing assistant, at Happy Home for the Elderly,” said Annette.

Dooley and I shared a look of intense surprise.

“Of all the retirement homes in all the towns in all the world,” Dooley murmured, and I nodded emphatically. What were the odds?

“Go on,” said Odelia kindly. “This man has been keeping you up at night?”

“Well, his name is Henry Kaur,” said Annette. “And at first I thought nothing of it, but he’s been giving her gifts, you see. Expensive ones. He gave her a watch that must have cost a small fortune, and a pair of earrings, and he’s been making her promises.”

“What kind of promises?”

“He seems to suggest that when he dies, he’s going to leave her something in his will.”

“I see,” said Odelia, a worried frown on her face.

“Now Kirsten isn’t worried. She says he’s a very kind man, and so if he wants to give her a token of his appreciation from time to time, that’s fine with her. But then she’s young, of course, and inexperienced when it comes to men. She’s never even had a boyfriend.”

“How old is your daughter?”

“Nineteen. She took her CNA training right after she graduated from high school. And I told her that it’s not normal for a man to give her all these expensive gifts, you know. He’s going to expect something in return, and once he does, it’s going to put her in an awfully difficult position.Because she loves her job, she really does, and so I’m afraid that one day soon he’s going to try something with her, and she won’t be able to say no, because if she does, and complains to the manager, it’s going to be her word against his, and it’s going to create this whole impossible situation.”

“Has he tried something with her, you think?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. Kirsten and I have a great relationship, and I raised her not to keep any secrets from me. So if he did try something, I’d like to think she would have told me.” She gave a helpless shrug. “I really don’t know what to do.”

“Has Kirsten talked about this with her manager?”

“No, because as far as she’s concerned, there is no problem. I’ve told her over and over again it’s not okay for this man to shower her with gifts. But she simply doesn’t see it.”

“Or maybe she doesn’t want to see it,” said Odelia. “Because if she did, it might jeopardize this job that she loves so much.”

Annette nodded helplessly.“It’s hard for me to have to sit back and wait for this man to make his move, which I’m absolutely convinced he will.”

“Okay, so have you talked to Kirsten’s manager?”

“I want to, but Kirsten told me not to. And let’s face it, she’s not a child anymore, and this is not school, where a parent can go in and talk to a teacher. This is a professional setting, and frankly I have no business there. Which is what makes it all the more galling.” She balled her fists. “I want to do something, but I feel so totally helpless, you know.”

“No, of course,” said Odelia. “I understand completely. If I were in your shoes I’d feel the same way. So what do you suggest? That I have a discreet word with these people?”

“I want you to find out what’s going on with this guy,” said Annette. “I want you to go there and take a look around, and check this person out.”

“I don’t think they allow reporters to snoop around,” said Odelia with a smile.

“No, but surely you have someone who can do that kind of job for you? I’ve heard such great things about you, and about the people you work with. There was this one case you worked on, where some of your operatives went undercover at Glimmer Magazine and even solved the murder of the CEO of Advantage Publishing.”

Odelia laughed.“I think you’re confusing me with a private detective, Mrs. Williams.”

“Annette, please. But you did solve that case, and many others like it. So please, can’t you keep an eye on my little girl? Make sure nothing bad happens to her?”

“Sounds to me she’s not so little anymore,” said Dooley.

“No, but to our parents we’ll always be their little girls and boys,” I said, “no matter how old we are.”

“Gran could go,” said Dooley. “She could go undercover and find out what’s going on with this strange and dangerous man.”

“She could, if she hadn’t just told us this morning she’d rather jump off a roof than move into a retirement home.”

Dooley shivered.“She really shouldn’t say things like that. She might jinx things.”

“Too true,” I agreed.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” said Odelia finally, when Annette repeated her urgent plea. “I do have one person who might be able to go undercover, since she’s about the right age. It’s the same person who worked that Advantage Publishing case so successfully.”

Dooley grinned at me.“Looks like Gran is going to Happy Home after all.”

I nodded.“Kicking and screaming, I imagine.”

3

“The problem is that these places aren’t all that easy to get into,” said Odelia once Annette had left and she was pondering the ramifications of the promise she just made. “So even if I can convince Gran to go undercover, they won’t take her.”

“Because she’s a high-maintenance person?” asked Dooley, causing both Odelia and me to burst out laughing.

“No, because they’re full!” said Odelia. “There’s probably a waiting list as long as my arm, and even then, Gran is probably too young. She’s only seventy-five, after all.”

“How old do you have to be before you can go to a retirement home?” I asked.

“It’s not so much age-related but more depending on your personal situation,” said Odelia musingly. “And Gran is healthy. Both mentally and physically. Too healthy.”

“Maybe Dan can pull some strings?” I suggested, referring to her editor Dan Goory.

“Yeah, maybe,” she said, but I could tell it wasn’t going to be easy to get Gran into this place. And even then, if this man was indeed as dangerous as Annette seemed to think, the mission was fraught with a certain measure of danger, and sending Gran in there might not be such a good idea. She wasn’t exactly Jane Bond.

But before Odelia could consult Dan, another person walked into her office, this one a woman of about the same age as Annette Williams, only looking more sophisticated. Her chestnut-colored hair was as glossy as the hair you see in those shampoo commercials, and she was dressed in fine threads that must have cost a pretty penny. She placed a Louis Vuitton handbag on Odelia’s desk and took a seat.

But even though she was probably more well-off than Odelia’s previous client, once she started talking it turned out she was just as anxious and troubled as Annette.

“It’s my husband,” she said after introducing herself as Sara Brooks. “I think he’s cheating on me with his personal assistant.”

“What does your husband do, Mrs. Brooks?” asked Odelia.

“He runs a retirement home,” said Mrs. Brooks, much to our surprise. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. Happy Home for the Elderly. He’s the general manager and has been for the past fifteen years. And for just as long I’ve had reason to suspect that he’s been having an affair with a woman named Dee Phillips, his PA.”

“Okay,” said Odelia, taken aback a little by this startling coincidence.

“The thing is, I want a divorce, but I want full custody of the kids. And my lawyer told me that I need evidence of my husband’s infidelity. Pictures, or video, anything to prove in court that he’s being unfaithful to our wedding vows.”

“And you want me to…”

Mrs. Brooks nodded emphatically.“Yes, I want you to get me this evidence, so I can finally get out of this marriage and move on with my life. I don’t want to have anything more to do with that man, you see, and this evidence will get me that.”

“You do realize I’m only a reporter, don’t you?” said Odelia, wavering.

“I know, but you get results. Everybody says so. And since we don’t have a decent PI in this town, and I don’t want to go to one of the big New York agencies, who won’t know the area or the local sensitivities, I decided to come to you.”

“Well, I’m honored, of course,” said Odelia. “But I’m not sure if I’m the right person for the job.”

“Oh, please say yes,” said Mrs. Brooks, scooting forward in her chair and placing her hands on the desk in a beseeching manner. “I don’t know what else to do. The lawyer says if I can’t prove Brian’s infidelity I don’t have a case. We’ll get joint custody and I’ll probably have todeal with that man for the rest of my life. I just want to be free and clear of him. Never have to see or hear from him again for as long as I live.”

“You have strong feelings about your husband,” said Odelia.

“I loathe him. I detest him,” she said in a low voice. “He’s a lying, cheating louse.”

“I didn’t know humans could be married to a louse,” said Dooley, surprised.

“I don’t think she’s actually married to a louse,” I said. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“He’s a rat,” Mrs. Brooks went on, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. “He’s vermin.”

“Still a figure of speech?” asked Dooley, and I nodded. He sighed. “It’s all very confusing. Why don’t humans ever say what they actually mean?”

“He’s horse manure,” Mrs. Brooks said, and I got the impression she would have gone on for quite some time if Odelia hadn’t stemmed the flow of words.

“Are you in a position to get a person into the retirement home your husband runs, Mrs. Brooks?” she asked now.

“Oh, absolutely,” said the woman. “Were you thinking of going in yourself?”

“No, I was actually thinking about getting my grandmother in there, and then she could try and get this evidence you need.”

“No problem,” said Mrs. Brooks decidedly. “I’ll get her in there, all right.”

“One question,” said Odelia, glancing in our direction. “Are pets allowed?”

And this was the moment Dooley and I shared a look of extreme horror. Yikes!

4

That evening a family meeting had been arranged and was to take place around the dinner table. Uncle Alec had also been invited, along with his lady love Mayor Charlene Butterwick. Gran was there, of course, and also Gran’s friend Scarlett Canyon. In other words, Odelia and her husband Chase were entertaining a full house. And contrary to the way these family gatherings usually go, this one was all business: the business of killing two birds with one stone, as Odelia explained it.

“Why do they want to kill birds?” asked Dooley. “I like birds. I don’t think it’s right to kill them.”

“Coming from a cat that’s rich,” Brutus grunted as he displayed a slight grin.

“But I like birds,” Dooley reiterated. “Birds are fun. And they sound so nice.”

“Most cats like birds,” said Brutus, his grin widening. “In fact they like them so much they could eat them, and often do.”

Dooley’s eyes went wide. “Eat them! But they’re our feathered little friends!”

“Nothing wrong with eating a feathered little friend. That’s what they’re for.”

I gave Brutus a look of censure, and proceeded to comfort my stricken friend.“We all have different ways of expressing our affection,” I said, “and what Brutus means to say is that the same goes for cats and birds. You like birds because they’re fun little friends, and other cats… Well, let’s just say they feel that birds fulfill a certain need.”

“A dietary need,” said Brutus, who simply couldn’t resist putting in a final dig.

“I hope they’ll get going on this meeting soon,” said Harriet, who was studying her nails. “So far all we’ve done is listen to Tex complain about his patients.”

She was right. Some days Tex, a family doctor and Odelia’s dad, loves each and every one of his patients, and can’t stop singing their praises. Other days he seems to find fault with all of them. And today seemed to be one of those latter days, if his conversation was anything to go by.

“It’s just that over half of them have nothing wrong with them,” said the good doctor, gesturing widely and almost hitting Charlene in the snoot. “They come in and ask me to look at some suspicious spot here, or listen to some strange heart murmur there, and in practically all of those cases the suspicious spot isn’t suspicious at all, and that strange heart murmur isn’t all that strange either!”

“And that’s a good thing, wouldn’t you say, sweetie?” said Marge. “In fact if one hundred percent of your patients wouldn’t have anything wrong with them that would be even better.”

“I guess,” said Tex, though he didn’t look convinced.

“I think your patients should count themselves lucky for having such a capable, compassionate doctor as you, Tex,” said Charlene. “In fact I’m thinking about putting you forward for a special honor soon.”

This had Tex prick up his ears.“Honor? What honor?”

“The key to the city,” said Charlene. “We’re going to start honoring the people who make Hampton Cove the best small town in the county—maybe even the country—and it’s exactly people like you who make that happen. Who make the difference.”

“Why, that would be a tremendous honor,” said Tex, his mood turning around completely. “Did you hear that, honey? They want to give me the key to the city.”

“I did hear that,” said Marge. “And I agree that it’s quite an honor.”

“And the same goes for you, by the way, Marge,” said Charlene. “And you, Alec. I think it’s high time that this honor isn’t merely bestowed on celebrities and famous people or people who have made their mark in a very public way, but to the people who work night and day to make this town a great place to live. So you’re getting a key to the city, Odelia, for your work as a reporter, and you get a key for your work as a librarian, Marge, and you get one for your work in the medical field, Tex, and you for being the greatest chief of police any town would be proud to have, sweetheart.”

“And what about me?” asked Gran. “Don’t I get a key?”

“Um…” said Charlene.

“What do you want to get a key for?” asked Scarlett. “I mean, what do you actually do, when you come right down to it, Vesta?”

“I do a lot!” said Gran, puffing out her chest. “I keep Tex’s doctor’s office running smoothly, and I help my granddaughter solve her cases, and, and, and…”

“Maybe they should give every citizen a key to the city,” Brutus suggested. “Otherwise there will always be people who feel left out, like Gran.”

“Why do they call it a key to the city, though?” said Dooley. “Hampton Cove isn’t a city, is it? Why not call it a key to the small town, since we’re a small town?”

“What I don’t understand,” said Harriet, “is why they don’t give these keys to cats. I mean, I can understand why they don’t give them to dogs. We all know that dogs don’t have anything to contribute, and who needs dogs anyway? But cats do.”

“You’re absolutely right,” said Brutus. “Maybe we should talk to Odelia, and ask her to tell Charlene to give us some of these keys, too. I feel like we deserve it.”

“The problem is that we don’t have the pockets to keep these keys,” I said.

“I don’t think it’s an actual key,” said Dooley. “I think it’s a pin.”

“A pin?” asked Harriet, gulping a little. “But I don’t want a pin.”

“Or maybe they put them around your neck,” Brutus said. “Like at the Olympics?”

“No, it’s a pin,” said Dooley. “I’m sure of it. I saw it on television once. There’s this big official ceremony at Town Hall and the mayor pins these things on your lapel.”

“But cats don’t have lapels!” Harriet cried.

“I bet they’d get Vena Aleman to do the pinning,” Brutus grunted darkly. “She’s used to putting pins in pets. In fact she loves it.”

Vena Aleman is our veterinarian, and I had to admit that Brutus had a point: Vena does love to stick us with sharp things at every opportunity. It’s what she does.

“Look, I didn’t get all of you guys here to talk about keys,” said Odelia, “though it’s very much appreciated, Charlene.”

“You’re welcome,” said Charlene. “First I have to get it past the council, of course.”

“That means it isn’t happening,” Gran loud-whispered to her friend, and she seemed to relish relaying this opinion. “And who needs these keys anyway?”

“I’ve called you here,” Odelia continued, “to discuss a case I’ve been asked to handle. Or in fact two cases.” And she proceeded to explain to all those present what those two cases entailed, exactly.

“You want me to do what?!” Gran cried when Odelia had finally gotten round to the point of the discussion. “Read my lips: over my dead body!”

“But Gran, can’t you see this is the only way? You can keep an eye on this guy who’s been showering Kirsten with gifts and is clearly up to something, and you can collect evidence that Sara Brooks’s husband is cheating on her with his secretary. Two birds with one stone.”

“Again with the birds!” Dooley said. “Why can’t she leave the poor birds alone?”

“It’s just an expression, Dooley,” I said. “It means that Gran is in the position to solve two cases at once by going undercover at this Happy Home for the Elderly.”

“Never!” Gran cried defiantly. “I always said I would never go to a retirement home and I’m putting my foot down. These places are deathtraps! They get you and then they kill you!”

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” said Marge soothingly. “You’ll move in for as long as you need to get a fix on this Henry Kaur and to snap some shots of Brian…”

“Brian Brooks,” Odelia supplied helpfully, giving her mother a grateful smile. No one knew how to handle Gran better than that recalcitrant old lady’s daughter.

“Don’t you want to help these people?” asked Marge, playing Gran like a stringed instrument. “That poor woman whose daughter is about to be harassed or even molested by this horrible man? And Mr. Brooks’s wife who wants a divorce but doesn’t want to lose her children? How old are these kids, by the way?” she asked.

“Ten and thirteen,” said Odelia.

“See? Two young children, having to live under the same roof with two parents who aren’t in love anymore, and are eager to find a happy home again.”

“I already have a happy home, thank you very much,” Gran insisted stubbornly. “And it’s not that Happy Home!”

“What if I join you?” said Scarlett. “I mean, two can do a better job than one, right?”

“I guess that wouldn’t be a problem,” said Odelia, nodding.

Gran shuffled uncomfortably in her chair.“I don’t know,” she said, but we could all see that she was about to crack.

“You’d get to meet new people,” Marge continued the onslaught against her mother’s defenses. “And I’ve heard that the food in these places is amazing.”

“It’s one of the best retirement homes in Hampton Cove,” Charlene confirmed.

“Oh, it’s one of those posh places, is it?” asked Gran, suddenly changing her tune.

“Absolutely,” said Odelia. “It’s where all the rich folks go. They pay good money but in exchange they get the best accommodations, the best food, the best everything. In fact they even had Justin Bieber in there performing a show last month.”

Gran’s expression clouded. “Now if you’d said Tony Bennett…”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” said Marge quickly, giving her daughter a wink.

“Okay, fine,” said Gran after giving the proposition some more thought. “But on one condition—or two, actually.”

“Name them,” said Odelia.

“First, I get to take Scarlett along with me.”

“Done.”

“And second, I want the cats. All four of them.”

“What do you need the cats for?” asked Uncle Alec.

“For protection, what do you think?” Gran snapped. “If this place is what I think it is, I’m going to need someone to watch my back.”

“I’ll watch your back,” said Scarlett.

“And who’s going to watch yours?” Gran returned. “No, I need my cats. Take it or leave it.”

Harriet, who had been too stunned for speech, now piped up,“Hey, don’t we get a say in this!”

But unfortunately it seemed like the deal was done, and we had suddenly become part of a package deal that included Scarlett and all four of us moving into a retirement home for the foreseeable future.

Brutus, who had showed remarkable restraint until this moment, now grumbled,“Kill two birds with one stone, my tush. More like kill four cats with one stone!”

5

And so the day arrived when we were expected to move into the Happy Home for the Elderly, though I can’t say that it was actually a happy day. Gran still seemed to feel she had somehow been railroaded into accepting Odelia’s proposal, and of course the four of us were less than happy to have to trade our own happy little home for this much bigger and presumably much unhappier home for the time being!

“I just hope Gran will protect us,” said Dooley as the taxi drew up in front of the building.

“Gran isn’t supposed to protect us, Dooley,” said Harriet. “We are supposed to protect her!”

“This is a nightmare,” said Brutus. “I knew I should never have left New York. When Chase was suspended he should have just hung in there instead of accepting this lousy proposal from your Uncle Alec.”

“If Chase had hung in there, as you so aptly put it,” said Harriet icily, “you would never have come to Hampton Cove, and then we would never have met. Is that what you’re saying, sugar plum?”

Brutus hastened to dissuade her from the notion that this was what he actually meant, but the harm was done, and his next words put the seal on our general sense of doom and gloom.

“Let’s hope at least they’ve got a pet flap in this place.”

We all gulped. If there was no pet flap, and the place locked down for the night, there would be no escape for us. And that meant no cat choir. And no more pleasant rambles through town.“It’s prison, isn’t it, Max?” asked Dooley. “We’ve been sentenced to maximum security prison for a crime we didn’t commit.”

“What crime?!” Harriet cried.

“Exactly my point,” said Dooley.

“Let’s just wait and see what happens,” I said, trying to instill a modicum of common sense into the conversation. “Maybe this place isn’t as bad as we think.”

“It’s probably worse,” Brutus muttered.

Oddly enough, our conversation was mimicked by our humans.