Purrfect Heat

Chapter 15

The next morning, Dooley and I decided to go out and do some more sleuthing. We both felt that with all that was going on, we’d neglected our sacred duty to Odelia to do all we could to help her solve this celebrity chef’s murder. The drama with Diego and Brutus had momentarily distracted us, but no more!

Unfortunately the drama hadn’t abated. Harriet and Diego had eloped. They hadn’t been home all night, and Dooley was starting to worry. I didn’t, since I knew that Harriet could take care of herself. Besides, I hadn’t forgotten how she kept hounding me to be BFFs with Brutus, and now suddenly she’d completely lost interest in the cat herself.

Well, two could play that game. I’d lost interest in her. Frankly, I felt betrayed. Harriet knew how we felt about Diego. In the rare moment we’d had her all to ourselves, we’d made it perfectly clear. And still she decided to run with the cat. Well, as far as I was concerned, she was on her own.

“Let’s go, Brutus,” I said, after chomping down a final piece of kibble.

We’d taken the big cat under our wing. After much debate, we figured we couldn’t simply let him hang around the house and be miserable. Better to get him out and about, helping the investigation along. I was sure it would do him a world of good. Besides, I hadn’t lied. There were plenty of other female felines in the world. Maybe one would catch Brutus’s eye and he’d forget all about that treacherous Harriet.

“Do I have to?” Brutus asked morosely.

“Yes, you do,” I said. “No use moping. You need to move past this.”

“But what if Harriet comes home, looking for me? I won’t be here.”

“She won’t come home looking for you,” I said. And when Dooley gave me the angry look again, I added, “Better to get the truth out there, buddy. Harriet won’t be home anytime soon. So you better forget all about her and that Diego.”

At the sound of his rival’s name, a dark look came over Brutus’s face. Yeah, I know it’s hard to see with a black cat like Brutus, but trust me. The dark look came. It was there. “I never want to hear that name again,” he said with a low growl.

“Sure. Let’s just call him… Ivan, shall we?”

“Why Ivan?” asked Dooley, curiously.

“Why not? It’s a name.”

“Let’s call him He Who Cannot Be Named,” Brutus suggested.

“Isn’t that a little dramatic?” I asked. “I mean, really?”

“Isn’t that from a movie?” Dooley asked. “Something with stars. Um, Star Trek? No! Um, Star Wars! Or… Starman? Stardust!”

“Harry Potter, Dooley,” I said curtly. “And no, we’re not naming Diego He Who Cannot Be Named.”

At the sound of the name Diego, Brutus had squeezed his eyes shut and had started singing, “Lalalalalalal!” at the top of his voice. Very mature.

“Let’s just ignore him altogether,” Dooley said, very wisely in my opinion.

“Let’s go, Brutus!” I cried.

He stopped singing Lalala and got up with a weary groan.

We left the house and set paw for the Hampton Springs Hotel. It wasn’t all that far. Hampton Cove is pretty much a one-horse town. Well, actually it’s a no-horse town, though we have many cats, as I’ve amply illustrated.

“So where are we going?” Brutus asked, as despondent as ever. “Not that I care,” he added. “Cause I don’t. I just don’t want to go too far. I’m feeling weak.”

“Hey, I was feeling weak yesterday,” Dooley said. “But that’s because I thought I was dying. But then Odelia told me I was fine, and since she’s a doctor, she can tell if you’re dying, and I’m not, so now I’m fine again, if you see what I mean.”

“What are you talking about?” Brutus grumbled. “Odelia is a reporter, not a doctor.”

Uh-oh. I tried to gesture to the black cat, but he studiously ignored me.

“Odelia’s dad is a doctor, and since that kind of stuff runs in the family, she’s a doctor, too. It’s all genetics, isn’t that right, Max?”

I gave him my best smile and nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“What a load of nonsense,” Brutus said. “Doctors have to go to school for about a hundred years. That stuff’s not genetic. It’s taught! Odelia is as much a doctor as I am a voodoo priest. I’m not a voodoo priest,” he added, to make things perfectly clear.

Dooley got that confused look in his eyes again. He gets that a lot. You might say it’s his standard expression. “Max? What is Brutus saying?”

“Don’t listen to Brutus. He’s still thinking about Diego.”

“Lalalalalala!” Brutus immediately sang.

“See? The guy doesn’t know what he’s saying,” I said. “Trust me, Dooley. Odelia is a doctor and you’re not going to die.”

His face cleared again, and morphed into an expression of childlike glee. It’s his second standard expression. All in all Dooley is pretty limited in his facial expressions.

“So where are we going?” Brutus asked again, once he’d caught on to the fact that I’d stopped using the name Diego.

We were ambling along the sidewalk and had already reached the end of the block. Only a few more blocks and we were at our destination.

“We’re going to the Hampton Springs Hotel,” Dooley informed him, a spring in his step. “We’re going to see a dog about an alibi.”

“Huh?” Brutus asked. “Did you say we’re going to see a dog?”

“Yep. That’s right. We’re going to see Stacie Roebuck’s dog Puck.”

“Who’s Stacie Roebuck and who’s Puck?”

I sighed. That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention. “Stacie Roebuck is—or was—Niklaus Skad’s assistant. It has come to our attention that Niklaus Skad owns—or owned—a Portuguese Water Dog.”

“He’s in all the pictures,” said Dooley. “And was the mascot of Kitchen Disasters. That dog went everywhere with Niklaus.”

“And according to Odelia, Stacie took the dog when Niklaus died.”

“Portuguese Water Dogs are just the coolest, don’t you think?” Dooley asked. “President Obama had a Portuguese Water Dog. He was called Bo. I like the name Bo. It’s a nice name.”

“What is this? Jeopardy? Who cares who had what dog called whatever? They’re dogs—we’re cats. We don’t mingle.”

“That’s a very conservative point of view,” I said. “It is my opinion that dogs can actually be very nice. I mean, dumb, of course—that stands to reason—but they can be very useful witnesses in a murder investigation. Remember that French bulldog we met not so long ago? The one that belonged to the dead reality star?”

“Oh, you mean Kane?” asked Dooley. “Yeah, he was nice, wasn’t he?”

“Just a dumb mutt,” Brutus muttered.

“Well, that dumb mutt provided us with the telling clue, didn’t he?”

“He sure did, Max,” Dooley said happily.

Brutus gave Dooley a dirty look. “Do you have to be so happy?”

“I’m not dying,” Dooley said. “And that makes me happy as a clam!”

“Ugh,” Brutus grunted, and shook his head. “You make me sick.”

We arrived at the hotel and looked up at the third floor, where Odelia had told us Stacie Roebuck’s room was. I hadn’t worked out the logistics of this thing, and now saw the fatal flaw in my plan. How were we ever going to get up there?

“Um, how are we going to get up there, Max?” Dooley asked.

“Maybe we can jump,” Brutus said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

“Why don’t we just, you know, use the stairs?” I asked.

“You mean go inside?” Dooley asked. “What a novel idea! Max, you’re so smart!”

And immediately he skipped away, en route to the hotel entrance.

“I swear, if he keeps this up I’m going to kill him,” Brutus growled.

“Just leave him be,” I said. “Dooley has a bipolar streak. Happy one minute, down the next.”

“Don’t tell me, did Doctor Odelia tell you this, too?” he snarled.

I shrugged. “Anything to keep him happy. I’m sure he’s healthy, and now he believes it, too. So what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that is that you lied to him.”

“Just a little white lie.”

“White lie or not, he’ll find out soon enough, and he’ll never believe you again.”

I grinned. “Then you don’t know Dooley. He has the memory span of a kitten. This time tomorrow he’ll have forgotten all about this episode.”

“Lucky him. I wish I could forget about Harriet and… You Know Who.”

“Diego will not be a part of our lives for very long, Brutus,” I said, and for once he didn’t start singing Lalala but merely gave me a penetrating look.

“You better not be lying to me, Max. Cause I’m not like Dooley. I have a great memory. And if you’re lying to me…” He heaved his paw and extended his claws. I swear they looked like something from The Wolverine. Sharp and long!

He didn’t have to say more. I gulped. “I’m not lying,” I promised, and I almost believed it myself.

“Come on, you guys!” Dooley yelled. “Try to keep up!”

We jogged after him, and up the few steps that led to the hotel entrance. It was one of those revolving doors and I didn’t like the look of it. A cat can easily get stuck between those doors and be chopped in half!

“Um, I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” I ventured.

“It’s a great idea!” Dooley said. “Just like a merry-go-round!” And before I could stop him, he’d darted up to the door and was streaking inside.

I shared a weary look with Brutus, and we both shook our heads. “Let’s just do this,” he grunted. Brutus went first, and I followed a close second. There was a momentary confusion when I had no idea if I’d missed my exit, but when I found myself in a plush-looking lobby, my claws digging into a nice high-pile burgundy carpet, I knew I was in the right place.

Dooley was already high-tailing it to the sweeping dual staircase, and lucky for us there weren’t many people in the lobby, so no one stepped on my tail or kicked me in the ribs. Yep, the life of a cat can be brutal.

We hopped up the stairs, making great time, and found ourselves on the third floor without incident. Now to find the right room—and get inside!

“So which room is it?” asked Brutus, seeming to have perked up. A little adventure had done him a world of good. I swear he was already starting to forget all about Harriet and Diego.

“According to Odelia, Stacie is staying in room three-twenty-seven,” I said, checking the numbers on the doors.

The carpeting in this hotel was very nice, and I couldn’t resist digging my claws in for a moment and kneading it, sending clumps of carpet flying all around. Brutus and Dooley did the same. What? You can’t fight instinct.

We arrived at Room 327 and plunked down on our haunches, staring at the closed door.

“Now what?” Brutus asked.

“Maybe we knock?” Dooley suggested.

“Yeah, why don’t we knock? She’ll let us in and maybe even give us a can of chicken liver,” Brutus sneered.

“Do you really think so?” Dooley asked excitedly. He likes chicken liver.

“Of course not, you dumb-ass!”

And just like that, the old Brutus was back.

Suddenly, the door to Room 326 opened and an older man came shuffling out, leaning on a walker. I gave Dooley a glance and he nodded. So we quickly scooted over and slipped inside.

“Hey, wait for me!” Brutus yelled.

I held the door for him and he moved inside cautiously, his ears up and his whiskers trembling, ready for action. Immediately, I moved to the window and walked out onto the balcony. Phew. We were in luck. The balconies connected. So I hopped up onto the balustrade and made the smooth jump to the next balcony, then down to the floor and I was in!

Dooley and Brutus followed my lead, and then the three of us sat staring at the sliding door to Stacie Roebuck’s room. Behind it, a very big, very hairy black dog sat staring at us, looking completely flabbergasted.

We’d found Puck.