Purrfect Peril. Purrfectly Flealess. Purrfect Secret. Purrfect Alibi

I cringed. I’d hoped the topic wouldn’t crop up. But of course Clarice’s eagle eyes had immediately spotted the anomaly. “We’ve been suffering from a slight flea issue,” I said.

She laughed a hacking laugh.“Flea issue! That’s why you look so ragged!”

“It’s no laughing matter,” Dooley said. “It’s a terrible ordeal, Clarice. Painful.”

“Painful! You don’t know what pain is, city cat,” she growled, getting in Dooley’s face. “Pain is when you take a punch to the gut from a twenty-pound cat with razors for claws. Pain is when a human steps on your tail and grinds it into the ground. Pain is when your own human throws you off a cliff and leaves you to die!” She was panting from the outburst.

We both stared at her, aghast.“Is that what happened to you?” I asked.

She produced a growling sound at the back of her throat, and for a moment I thought she would lunge at me. Instead, she said,“Never get attached to your human. Theywill turn their backs on you. And theywill leave you to rot and die, alone in the middle of nowhere.”

Cheerful. Life around Clarice is always a feast of careless laughs and cheerfulness.

“Is it true that your human left you tied to a tree trunk and that you had to gnaw off your own paw to free yourself?” asked Dooley in a reverent voice.

Involuntarily we glanced at Clarice’s paws. She seemed to possess all four of them.

“Oh, who cares,” snarled Clarice. “That’s all ancient history anyway.”

Just then, a flea jumped from Dooley in the direction of the feral cat. Clarice snatched it up in midair, then flicked it into her mouth and chomped down.“Not a lot of meat,” she grumbled. “Got any more?”

I gulped.“You’re not afraid they’ll suck your blood?”

She laughed.“A flea suck my blood! I suck their blood! That’s why they never come near me.”

I had noticed she wasn’t wearing a collar. Then again, if her human was the kind of person to throw her off a cliff to leave her to die and rot, he probably wouldn’t take her to Vena’s for flea treatment. “You don’t have fleas?” I asked.

“Do you see a flea on me?” she asked, and I had to admit I didn’t. Fleas were probably more afraid of Clarice than she was of the little parasites. “Now are you gonna tell me what you want or are you gonna stand there yapping about your sad little lives?”

“We’re looking for Shadow,” said Dooley.

“Look behind you. But be quick,” she quipped.

Dooley did look behind him, then back at Clarice.“I don’t get it,” he said.

“Notour shadow,” I clarified. “Shadow. She’s the Most Fascinating Cat in the World, and she’s gone missing. She belonged to the Most Fascinating Man in the World but he got blown up, and if we can find her we want to ask her if she saw who killed her human.”

“Good riddance,” Clarice grunted. “I would blow up my human if I had the chance.”

“Who was your human, Clarice?” asked Dooley, interested.

In response, she merely gave him a dirty look.“I’ve seen Shadow,” she said. “Seen her rooting around my dumpsters, looking for scraps. Sad little creature. Namby-pamby cat. Scurrying away into the shadows like the kind of thing you find when you turn over a rock.”

“Where have you seen her?” I asked, my heart lifting with hope and excitement.

Clarice gestured vaguely.“Around. You’ll have to hurry, though. Cat looked absolutely mangy. Mangy and derelict. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s dead by now.” She nodded knowingly. “It takes a special kind of cat to survive on these mean streets, boys. Trust me when I tell you these streets are unforgiving and they are relentless. No place for sissy cats like you. Or Shadow.” She gave us a stern look. “Just giving it to you straight. No fairy tales. That way you won’t be disappointed when you come upon her emaciated, rat-infested, maggot-crawling carcass in a gutter on the edge of town, nothing but a piece of road kill.”

Like I said, time spent with Clarice is always a joy to the heart and balm to the soul.

Chapter 24

The interview with the four remaining most interesting men concluded, Odelia decided to swing by the house for a bite to eat. Chase dropped her off and continued on to the station house, wanting to discuss the case with Uncle Alec. And she’d just inserted her key in the door and stepped inside when she became aware that she wasn’t alone.

Someone else was in there with her, and it wasn’t Max or Dooley.

“Who’s there?” she called out, afraid some burglar had decided to go for her meager belongings. They wouldn’t find much to satisfy their thieving tastes. Unless they were fellow cat owners and excited by the prospect of getting their kibble in bulk at the local Walmart or Costco, they’d be sorely disappointed by their sad little haul.

She took a firm hold on the baseball bat she liked to keep next to the front door—one of Chase’s contributions to interior decorating—and took a tentative step. Her house was a smallish affair, and from her position in the hallway she had a good view of the living room, the kitchen, and even the backyard through the sliding glass doors. Just then, the stairs creaked, and she gasped. Someonewas in here! Score one for the Poole survival instinct.

“Show yourself!” she yelled. “I’m armed and extremely dangerous!”

She lifted the baseball bat, wondering if she was holding it right and also wondering if she’d have both the time and the gumption to take a swing at this daytime intruder.

Just then, a person came stomping down the stairs and she raised the bat over her head.“I’m—I’m not kidding!” she cried. “I’ve got a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it!”

“Where do you keep the sheets?” asked Grandma, stepping out from the stairwell and giving her a look of annoyance. She frowned when she saw Odelia’s Babe Ruth imitation. “So this is what you get up to when I’m not looking. Having fun and playing games. And they wonder why this generation is so soft.” She shook her head and headed into the kitchen, opening the fridge. “And nothing to eat, of course. Sad. Very sad.”

“Gran,” Odelia cried, lowering her deadly weapon. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m moving in,” announced her grandmother, extracting a carton of eggs from the fridge and a tomato. “Don’t you have bacon? I need bacon if I’m gonna get through this. Bacon has always been my comfort food of choice.”

“But-but-but,” she sputtered.

Grandma plunked her bony frame down on a high kitchen stool and planted her elbows on the counter.“I got canned,” she said. “Got called out as a fraud and a cheat.”

Odelia stared at her grandmother.“I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I. Things were going great. Philippe was really taking to me, I could tell. Calling me Granny Goldsmith and stuff, and showing me pictures from when he was a baby. He didn’t even mention Scarlett Canyon anymore—having seen right through the woman I’ll bet.” She puckered up herface. “And thenshe showed up and ruined the whole thing.”

“She?” asked Odelia, also taking a seat at the kitchen counter.

“Sure. She. Amelia Goldsmith she calls herself. Burt’s wife. Turns out Burt may have played the part of the player, cutting a neat swath through a pack of blond bimbos over the years, but all this time the guy was married, can you believe it? Married! And to the same woman, no less. Claims she’s the mother of Burt’s boy Hunter and Philippe is her grandson.”

“But what about the DNA test?”

“Results came back. Neither me nor Scarlett made the cut. Nope,” she said, heaving an unhappy sigh. “Looks like that ship has sailed. Burt and I may have done the horizontal mambo back in the day, but ne’er a son was born from our union. And the same goes for the Canyon menace, though I could have told you this without some stupid darned DNA test.”

“So… that means you’re staying put?”

“Sure.” Gran slapped the counter and got up. “So where are those sheets? And you know I like them light and fluffy. None of that flannel stuff. I’ve got sensitive skin.”

She gave her grandparent a look of confusion.“What do you need sheets for? Don’t you have plenty of sheets at your own place?”

Gran’s face darkened. “I don’t have a place. Marge and Tex are dead to me. No way am I going back to those two backstabbers. After the way they treated me? Not one ounce of support for my bid to become Granny Goldsmith and rake in the millions.” She shook her head decidedly. “Nah-uh. I’m moving in with you.” She spread her arms. “Granny’s home!”

Chapter 25

We met up with Brutus and Harriet on the corner of Main Street and Franklin Avenue. Brutus and Harriet had formed a second team to look for Shadow. It was obvious from their expressions that they hadn’t found what they were looking for either, though.

“Did you find her?” asked Brutus.

“No, did you?” asked Dooley, who had a hard time reading faces.

“We did find Clarice,” I told the others. “She said she saw Shadow and that if we don’t hurry it might be too late.”

Brutus frowned.“You mean she might have left town?”

“She might have left the planet.”

“As in… flown off into space?”

“As in being dead and buried.”

“Look, all this talk about Shadow is all well and good,” said Harriet, “but shouldn’t we focus on the more important issue here?”

We all stared at her.“What more important issue?” I asked.

She tapped her collar.“These, of course! When are we going to be allowed to get rid of these horrible collars? Cats are staring at us, in case you hadn’t noticed. Mocking us.”

I looked around. Every single cat I saw was also wearing a collar, and they weren’t staring, either, too busy wallowing in self-pity, just like Harriet was. Cats are notoriously self-absorbed, and Harriet is a prime example. It’s one of our less attractive qualities, I’m afraid.

“I guess once the fleas are gone the collar can come off,” I said.

“Duh. In case you hadn’t noticed, the fleasare gone,” said Harriet. “So you better talk to Odelia and get her to remove these terrible things ASAP, Max. And better do it now.”

“I saw a flea,” Dooley piped up. “It jumped from me to Clarice but then she ate it.”

Harriet ignored this outburst from one she considered a mere cypher in our small cat universe.“Talk to Odelia, Max. I’m serious.”

“Why don’t you talk to her?” I asked.

“Because she only listens to you. Everyone knows that.”

“That’s not true.” They all looked at me. “Is it?”

“It is kinda true, Max,” Dooley said. “You seem to be her favorite.”

“Odelia doesn’t have favorites. She loves us all equally.”

“Yeah, right,” Brutus grunted. “You know that ain’t true, Max.”

And as we walked on, idly looking left and right for Shadow, I thought about this. Was I Odelia’s favorite? I didn’t think so. I was her cat, of course. Harriet was Marge’s. Dooley was Grandma’s, and Brutus was Chase’s mom’s. But that didn’t mean anything. No, I was pretty sure they were mistaken. Odelia loved us all to bits. And we’d just crossed into yet another back alley,when we came upon a strange sight: a man and a woman in a police cruiser were also loving each other to bits. Literally. And they had the steamed-up windows to prove it.

And as we stood watching, mouths agape, I suddenly noticed the guy inside the police cruiser looked awfully familiar. He was portly, with a big head and red sideburns.

Brutus had noticed, too.“Isn’t that… Uncle Alec?” he asked.

“No way,” said Dooley. “Uncle Alec would never do… what is he doing, exactly?”

A hand suddenly slapped against the window, as the woman appeared to straddle Uncle Alec. And then the car began moving in a curious rhythm, tires squeaking audibly.

I gulped a little, and felt compelled to place my paw over Dooley’s eyes, just like one would when suddenly an adult scene pops up in an otherwise family-friendly movie on TV.

“What is she doing to him, Max?” asked Dooley, panicky. “She’s choking him!”

“No, she’s not.”

“But she’s on top of him!”

“Brutus, tell him,” I said. “Explain to him what’s going on. Brutus?”

I glanced around and saw that Brutus and Harriet had moved away and were now ensconced behind a dumpster, engaged in a similar activity as Uncle Alec and the mystery woman inside the car. Probably inspired by the moment. It was hard to make out the woman’s features, because of the steamed-up windows, but I could tell she had red hair and was a lot prettier than Uncle Alec. She also seemed to be enjoying herself tremendously, as she was yelling, “Oh, yes, sheriff! Oh, yes, sheriff! Oh, yessss! Sheriff!” It was a little repetitive but Alec didn’t seem to mind.

From their perch behind the dumpster, meanwhile, Harriet was yelling,“Oh, yes, Brutus! Oh, yes, Brutus! Oh, yesssss! Brutus!” Obvious plagiarism, of course, but who cared?

“What’s happening, Max?” cried Dooley, perfectly disoriented.

I led him away from the scene, my paw still over his eyes.“Nothing special,” I told him. “Let’s go. I think I saw Shadow.”

“Is that Harriet? What is she yelling about? Is she in pain?”

I glanced back at Harriet, whose face was contorted in rapture.“I don’t think so.”

“Because she sounds like she’s in pain.”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Dooley. Brutus will take care of her.”

And Brutus was taking care of her. And finding the time to give me two paws up. Guess Vena’s vitamin pills had worked their magic after all. I held up one paw in greeting, my other paw protecting Dooley’s innocence, and then we were out on the street, where life was lived at a less strenuous pace and public displays of indecency were not as prevalent.

Like I said, sometimes being a cat is tough. Not as tough as Clarice seems to believe, but not something for pussies, either.

We hadn’t found Shadow, but Brutus had found his catliness, Uncle Alec had found a woman who didn’t seem to mind that he was overweight and out of shape, and I had found that sometimes helping friends was all about chomping down pills that aren’t necessarily good for you, and helping other friends by pretending a couple in heat is just another feature of small-town life. Nothing to see here, folks. Just move along. Which is exactly what we did.

Chapter 26

Odelia listened to the ringing tone once, twice, three times—and wondered why her uncle wasn’t picking up his phone. This was the third time she tried to call him and each time she got his voicemail. Normally he picked up on the first ring so where was he?

She tried Chase instead, who did pick up on the first ring.

“Hey, babe,” he said, his new favorite word for her. She could get used to it.

“Have you seen my uncle? He’s not picking up his phone.”

“Nope. Isn’t at the station, either. No idea where he is, actually. Why?”

“I have a situation here. With his mother.”

“Uh-oh. What has she gone and done now?”

“She’s moved in with me.”

Silence. Then:“I think I misheard. Did you say she moved in?”

“Yup. The Goldsmith gambit backfired and since Mom and Dad didn’t support her claim to fame and fortune she decided to move out of their house and into mine.”

“Um…”

“I know we said you’d move in, but considering this new situation, maybe we should reconsider?”

“I can wait. How long before she moves back out?”

“A week. Tops.”

“Don’t tell me. This isn’t the first time.”

“Last time she moved out was because Dad made her wash the dishes. She told him she wasn’t his flunky and Dad told her he wasn’t her houseboy and things kind of escalated from there. Took them a week to make nice again and for things to return to normal.”

“I can wait a week.”

“You can still sleep over.”

“With Granny breathing heavily in the next room? I don’t think so.”

“I thought nothing could turn you off?”

“Honey, the thing that can turn me off still has to be born or invented, but I draw the line at getting hot and heavy with my girlfriend while her grandmother hovers over the bed with a curious expression on her face. Call me a prude but exhibitionism isn’t my thing.”

As she disconnected the thought occurred to her that this would put a serious crimp in her love life. Then her mind returned to Tracy Sting, the woman who was now their prime suspect in the Burt Goldsmith murder. From what the four most interesting men had told them the woman could hold her own as a gunslinger as well as possessing a black belt in all the known martial arts forms as well as a few she’d never even heard about. Armed and dangerous, Chase had called her, and had told his fellow officers to keep a lookout for the woman. Chances were that Burt’s killer had been right under their noses all along.

She moved upstairs to help her grandmother settle in—or convince her to move out. When she found the old lady bouncing up and down on the bed in the guest bedroom, she abandoned that particular hope. Granny Muffin looked like she was ready to make her granddaughter’s home her new permanent home away from home.

“Did you find the sheets?” she asked, then saw that Gran had. Her finest pink ones, no less. The ones with the Hello Kitty theme. The ones she’d put away when Chase started staying over. Nothing acts as a natural testosterone repellent like Hello Kitty pink does.

“I found a male toothbrush in the bathroom,” Gran announced sternly.

How she would distinguish a male toothbrush from a female one Odelia did not know. As far as she knew toothbrushes were genderless. Nevertheless she blushed.

“It’s possible Chase has been staying over once or twice.”

Gran cocked her head.“Honey, I don’t want to interfere with your love life.”

Hope surged.

“So whenever you guys feel horny just tell me and I’ll put in my earplugs.”

Hope crashed.

“How long will you be staying?” she asked, braving Granny’s ire.

“Forever by the looks of things.” She glanced around at the guest bedroom, a small affair in comparison to Gran’s own room next door. “I like it here. I think I’ll be very happy. Do you have a VCR? I don’t want to miss my favorite shows. I like to tape them just in case.”

“VCR went out the window when the world went digital, Gran.”

Gran’s eyes went wide. “I’m gonna miss my shows? I can’t miss my shows!”

“Relax. I’ve got DVR, and so has Dad.”

“Yeah, ask for instructions. He’s got all the deets. He’s been taping my stuff forever.” A cloud momentarily passed over her face, and her dentures dug into her lower lip at the mention of her son-in-law. The moment passed and then she was strong again. “Better yet, ask Alec. He’ll knowwhat to do. At least Alec never kicked me out of his home.”

“You never lived in Alec’s home, Gran.”

“That’s what I meant,” she said vaguely, then bounced up from the bed. “Now show me how to work the shower. I like it not too hot, not too cold, and Tex never moves the mixer tap. I hate it when people move the mixer tap. Pisses me off big time.”

And as Odelia followed her grandmother into the bathroom, she discovered a newfound appreciation for her mother and father’s predicament. She’d lived with her grandmother for all of half an hour and already she was contemplating geronticide.

Chapter 27

We were finally on our way home, having struck out in our mission to find Burt’s Shadow. Dooley kept harping on about Uncle Alec and Harriet and Brutus for a while but then fell into a contemplative silence. Which suited me just fine. I had my own thoughts to contend with. It might surprise you but cats are deep thinkers. And so it was that when Dooley finally spoke again,it was to launch into a train of thought that took me by surprise.

“Maybe we should get girlfriends, Max.”

I was slightly taken aback.“Girlfriends? What do you mean?”

“Like Uncle Alec and that mystery woman in the car. Or Brutus and Harriet.” He shrugged. “Everybody has a girlfriend. Even Uncle Alec has a girlfriend. What about Shanille? You like Shanille, don’t you? And she can sing. Who doesn’t want a girlfriend who can sing?”

The thought of Father Reilly’s homely tabby didn’t stir any of those finer feelings in me that one associates with eternal love and affection and I told Dooley in no uncertain terms that never in my life would I want to find myself in a passionate embrace with Shanille.

“Then who, Max? There has to be a Molly out there for us somewhere, right?”

Frankly I hadn’t given the matter as much thought as Dooley obviously had. Which just goes to show. Still waters sometimes do run deep. Or is it shallow waters? No matter.

“Look, if the right one is out there for us, one day we’ll find her. Or she’ll find us.”

He gave me a look of hope.“You think so?”

“I know so.” Actually I didn’t, but the topic of conversation was not one on which I cared to dwell at the moment.

“What about Clarice?”

“What about her?”

“Doesn’t she make your heart go pitter-patter?”

Clarice did make my heart go pitter-patter, but that was probably because she scared the living daylights out of me.“Not really. Why? Do you like her?”

He gave this serious consideration.“I admire her. I think she’s great. But I don’t see her in a romantic light. Not like Richard Gere saw Julia at the end ofPretty Woman. Or all those couples inLove Actually. Though I do think that one day Clarice will find love again.”

“Again? You think she found it before?”

That was a toughie, and he was lost in thought once more. When he finally emerged, it was to address a different topic altogether.“Maybe I should take one of those pills.”

I looked up in alarm.“Pills? What pills?”

“The ones you and Brutus took. It’s obvious they did you a lot of good.”

“They made us puke our guts out.”

“And then they made you find love.”

“I didn’t find love.”

“You found Clarice—and I do think she likes you, Max. The way she was looking at you just now.”

“She called me a sissy cat!”

“I’m sure she meant it as a compliment.” He sighed wistfully. “My one true love will come to me once I take those pills. I’m sure about that now.”

Good thing Odelia threw those pills in the trash. We’d arrived home and traipsed in through the cat door Odelia had her dad and uncle and Chase install in the kitchen. Yes, it had taken three men to install one little door. Yours truly had gotten stuck in the first iteration, and the next ones, but the current version was one size fits all—even my size.

To our surprise Grandma was seated on the sofa, watching one of her daytime soaps.

“Gran? What are you doing here?” I asked upon seeing the crusty old lady.

“Watching television. What does it look like I’m doing?” she said without looking away from a couple of overly handsome doctors chatting up a couple of overly pretty female patients.

“Shouldn’t you be watching television in your own home?” I asked, having developed a powerful sense of privacy ever since the Brutuses and Chase Kingsleys of this world had started invading my home.

She waved an annoyed hand.“This is my home now. I moved in with my granddaughter.”

Dooley and I shared a look of surprise.

“You’re not going to Colorado?” asked Dooley, hope surging.

“Nah. The Goldsmiths can have their Colorado. They don’t want me—I don’t want them. Good riddance.” She cast a quick glance down at Dooley. “You look awfully pleased.”

Dooley couldn’t speak from the emotion clogging up his throat so I decided to speak for him. “Dooley was afraid you were going to take him to Colorado, away from his friends and family.”

Grandma frowned, as if she hadn’t considered this. “Look, fellas,” she said finally, “maybe this whole Goldsmith business wasn’t such a bright idea after all. I mean, going to live with one’s in-laws can be a terrible nuisance. Just look at me and Tex. What a mess! I swear to God, if that Philippe or any of his ilk had given you or me a hard time, I’d have packed my bags and returned to Hampton Cove just as soon as I had the chance, millions or no millions.” She scratched Dooley, who’d jumped up on the couch, behind the ears. “I’d never let anyone talk down to you, my pet. You know that, right? If those people had given you the cold shoulder I’d have told them to go screw themselves. Besides, I’m needed here.”

This gave me pause. Needed here? Dooley, too, found this statement odd.

“Needed for what, Gran?” he asked.

One eye on her soap opera and one eye on Dooley, she said vaguely,“Odelia, of course. It’s obvious she’s gonna need the sage advice of a wise woman like myself.”

This could only mean one thing, and Dooley came right out and said it:“Babies?”

“Uh-huh,” said Gran absently. A particularly handsome doctor was now nuzzling the neck of a particularly pretty female patient, and so she shushed us when we said more.

Dooley jumped down from the couch and joined me for an impromptu emergency meeting in the kitchen, next to my bowls of filtered water, tasty kibble and prime p?t?.

“Gran has moved in,” Dooley said, summing up the salient point succinctly.

“Yes, she has,” I said, nodding seriously.

“And she just admitted she’s here for the babies—plural.”

“Yes, she did.”

“You know what this means, Max.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Soon there won’t be a place for us here.”

“No, there won’t.”

We shared a look of extreme concern, one thought at the forefront of our minds.

“The pound!” we both bleated.

Chapter 28

“Where can she be?” Odelia asked annoyedly. She and Chase had been looking all over for Tracy Sting, but thus far the woman had eluded their dragnet. The rest of the Hampton Cove Police Department, too, had kept a watchful eye—but no luck there either.

They were back at the hotel, seated in the lobby, knowing that sooner or later the woman had to show up there. Her room was empty, that much they knew, and she hadn’t been in since right after the explosion that had taken her client’s life. So where was she?

“She might have returned home,” Chase suggested.

“Columbus, Ohio? Didn’t you put out an APB on her?”

“I did, but if she rented a car she might have slipped through.”

“Her clothes are in her room. Her luggage. Everything.”

“If she’s the one that did this she might have left regardless.”

Which meant they were wasting precious time in this lobby. It felt as if Odelia had spent days at this hotel already, which actually was partly true. She dug into the bowl with potato-covered peanuts the receptionist had been so kind to put out for them. Probably another bad idea. But they were seriously addictive and she’d always been a nervous eater.

“So did your grandmother get settled in all right?”

She gave Chase an‘are-you-kidding-me’ look. “She took my Hello Kitty sheets.”

“Uh-oh.”

“And then she told me she’s going to stay with me permanently. As in for-e-vah.”

Now it was his turn to give her the look.

She threw up her hands.“I can’t just throw her out, Chase. She’s my grandmother.”

“We could… all move in together. You, me and Granny. That could be… fun. Right?”

He didn’t sound convinced. “You and me and my grandmother. In the same house.”

“Why not? How bad can it be?”

“Bad. Very bad.” She sighed. “We’ll just have to learn to live without, I guess.”

“Live without…” He gestured between them. “…this?”

“Uh-huh. She told me something about putting in her earplugs but I wouldn’t feel comfortable with my granny in the next room. Like you said, it’s something of a turn-off.”

“When you put it like that.”

“I don’t know how Mom and Dad have managed all these years.”

“Maybe they never do it?”

She grimaced.“Let’s not go there.” Imagining her parents like that was an even bigger turn-off than imagining her grandmother in the next room, listening to every noise she and Chase made. Then she brightened. “We could rent a room. Here. At this fine establishment.”

He placed an arm around her shoulder.“Or we could do it in my car. Or yours. I’m not picky.”

She giggled, snuggling into his arm.“I’d like that. Let’s steam up some windows.”

Just then, Chase’s phone chimed. When he placed it to his ear and listened, he arched an eyebrow, as if what he was hearing was a highly unusual piece of news. After he disconnected the call, he was silent for a few beats.

“Was that the station?” she asked.

He nodded automatically.

“Well, what did they say? Did they find Tracy Sting?”

“Oh, they found her,” he said in a toneless voice.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go interrogate the lady.”

“It wasn’t just her they found.”

“What do you mean? She had an accomplice?”

“You could say that.” He seemed to shake something off. “A citizen called in a complaint about a display of public indecency. A couple were going at it inside a stationary vehicle. Going at it with some eagerness I might add. Steamed-up windows and everything.”

“Don’t tell me. Our Miss Nitro and her mystery accomplice?”

He turned to her.“Miss Nitro and your uncle, actually. Cops were dispatched and found them in flagrante delicto inside Alec’s police cruiser—both in a state of undress.”

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They walked into the police station, and judging from the looks Dolores, the crusty receptionist, was giving them, by now everyone and their uncle were aware of what had happened.“I can’t believe my uncle the police chief would do such a thing,” Odelia said.

“I can’t believe he’d use the cruiser. Isn’t that misappropriation of police property?”

“Who cares about the car? He was canoodling with a felon!”

“Maybe she’s one of those femme fatales,” he offered. “Those are hard to resist.”

They arrived at interview room number one, where the entire Hampton Cove police force stood staring through the little window at the woman locked inside. She was a striking beauty, no doubt about it. Flaming red hair, perfect features, a chest Odelia would have given her eyeteeth for. At least she was dressed, which hadn’t been the case when they arrested her, as the arresting officer loudly explained to his fascinated audience.

“Where’s my uncle?” asked Odelia.

They all pointed to interview room number two. Odelia took a glance through the window and saw her uncle fuming silently inside, pacing the small space. She grimaced. Awkward. Chase had followed her and placed a hand on her back.“I’ll interview the woman first. See what she says. And then I’ll deal with your uncle.”

She watched as Chase entered the interview room along with a colleague, and folded her arms across her chest. She noticed how every cop standing there with her did the same, all settling in for what promised to be a most entertaining show.

“Miss Sting,” said Chase as he took a seat, his colleague, a female officer named Sarah Flunk, rifling through some notes as she shot not-so-friendly glances at the suspect. “Are you aware that there are laws in this state against public lewdness?”

Miss Sting made an annoyed gesture.“We were in a private vehicle parked in a back alley, hidden from view or so we thought. Can I help it if some nosy parker peeping tom pervert do-gooder decided to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong? And isn’t the chief of police exempt or something?”

Chase coughed into his fist.“Where did you and the Chief meet?”

She leveled an icy look at him.“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I’m asking you.”

“I met him in a bar. He accused me of being a cold-blooded murderer so I invited him to dinner. That’s when he came after me and invited me into his car. Things kinda took off from there.” She made a gesture of annoyance. “Look, we’re consenting adults, officer—”

“Detective.”

“Whatever. None of your business what your boss and I were doing in his car.”

“Fine,” he said. “Frankly I don’t care what you and Chief Alec were doing. What does concern me is that you’re the prime suspect in a murder investigation and that your engaging with the person in charge of that investigation amounts to a form of bribery.”

She uttered an exclamation.“Bribery? Really? Are you nuts?”

“Insulting a police officer isn’t going to—”

“No, really. I already told Alec I didn’t have anything to do with this whole Burt Goldsmith thing.” She sliced the air with her hand, spitting out the words. “Nothing!”

Chase smiled.“Obviously you were most persuasive.”

“You’re a pig,” said the woman, shaking her head.

“And you’re in hot water here, lady. We have four witnesses who claim your company hired you to ‘take care of’ Burt when he wouldn’t go quietly into the night. So you decided to release him from his contract with a bang. What did you tell him? You’re fired?”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I guess this is where I tell you I want to speak to my lawyer.”

“And this is where I tell you that it won’t do you any good.”

“Are you going to charge me? If so, go right ahead. If not, I think I’ll be leaving now.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Miss Sting.”

All around Odelia, cops were glued to the one-way window, following the back-and-forth with relish. Just then, Odelia’s phone chimed and she walked out of the small space and into the corridor. “Yes, Gran?” she said, stepping into her uncle’s office for a moment.

“You better get over here,” said her grandmother.

“Why? What happened?”

“It’s Dooley. He’s not well.”

Ice suddenly curdled her veins.“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Come to Vena’s. That’s where we took him.”

Chapter 29

The whole family was gathered at Vena’s, hovering around Dooley’s sickbed. The scene resembled one plucked straight from one of Grandma’s soap operas. Well, minus the beefcake doctor. Instead we had to make do with Vena, not a picture of beauty and grace, unfortunately. Then again, she’d saved Dooley’s life, which made her ahero in my book.

“Why the hell did he take those pills?” asked Tex, shaking his white-haired head.

“I just wanted to see what they tasted like,” said Dooley in a thin and reedy voice.

“You know what they tasted like,” I said. “I told you they tasted horrible. And would more than likely make you puke your guts out.”

I’d jumped on top of the cat bed and was keeping my buddy company. I was the one who’d alerted Grandma that something was wrong when I found Dooley passed out on the kitchen floor, unresponsive and pretty much dead to the world. Apparently he’d hopped on the kitchen counter and had gobbled up all the remaining vitamin pills.

“I never should have left those pills out,” said Odelia.

“You couldn’t have known,” said Marge soothingly.

“Who would have thought that vitamins could be bad for you?” said Grandma.

“Some cats have an adverse reaction,” Vena said. “If you ingest as many as Dooley did, it causes havoc to the digestive system, which in turn puts pressure on the heart.”

“Good thing Max was there to save him,” said Grandma. “If not for him, he might have died.”

“Thanks for saving my life, Max,” said Dooley, smiling weakly.

“Any time, buddy,” I said. “Just don’t swallow so many pills again, will you? You almost gaveme heart failure.”

Vena left to attend to some of her other patients, and Odelia addressed Dooley directly. Since Chase wasn’t here, and it was just family, she could talk freely. “Never do that to me again, all right, little guy? I thought I lost you. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I just thought… if you and Chase have those babies—”

“What babies?”

“The babies you and Chase are having. The reason Gran has moved in with us.”

The humans all stared at one another. This was obviously news to them.

Dooley gave them a sad look.“There won’t be a place for us at your home once those babies arrive, and you’ll be forced to take us to the pound. And we all know what life at the pound is like. Not a place for sissy cats like me and Max. A cat needs to be tough to survive life at the pound. Clarice would thrive, but Max andI? Not so much.” He coughed. “We have to toughen up, Max. And we don’t have a lot of time. Those babies will be arriving any day now, so I figured if I took some vitamin pills now and again by the time they drop us off at the pound I’ll be all butch like Brutus or Clarice.” He frowned. “I guess I tooktoo many at once. Should have started with one, then ten, then take it from there. Plus, I thought they’d boost my love life, like I told you. If we’re going to be on our own from now on I want a girlfriend.”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Odelia, stroking the small cat’s fur. “I would never take you to the pound. And where did you get this idea about the babies?”

“But you and Chase…”

“Chase and I are simply boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“But boyfriends and girlfriends have babies. Everybody knows that.”

“Damn Discovery Channel,” Grandma grunted.

“I promise you there are no babies on the horizon just yet,” said Odelia gently. “And even if there were, nothing will change for you and Max. Your home will always be with me.”

Dooley gave her a look of such hopefulness it almost brought tears to my eyes.“Do you promise?”

“Yes, I promise,” said Odelia. “Babies or no babies, you’ll always be my baby, too.”

“Aww,” said Marge softly, and even Tex’s eyes suddenly grew moist.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” I told Dooley.

He sighed contentedly.“Yeah, but I’m Odelia’s idiot.”

Just then, Vena walked back in.“And how is our patient?” She checked Dooley and nodded with satisfaction. “His vital signs are fine. He’ll be up and about in no time. I would like to keep him here overnight, though. Just to make sure he makes a complete recovery.”

“I’ll stay, too,” I said quickly. No way was I going to let my friend stay in a creepy place like this. Clinics, whether for humans or for animals, always give me the heebie-jeebies.

“That’s fine, Vena,” said Odelia. “I know he’s in good hands with you.” She patted my head. “And if you don’t mind, we’ll leave Max here, too. He and Dooley are inseparable.”

“Yeah, they’re not your typical cats,” Vena commented. “Most cats are solitary creatures. Not given to fraternizing with their fellow cats. Max and Dooley are different.”

Odelia smiled.“They sure are.”

This was the point when Vena told the Pooles that visiting hours were over and that it was time to let the patient get some healing shut-eye. She didn’t put it in those exact terms, though, but still managed to shoo everyone out, which was a nice change of scene for us. Usually humans shoo cats out, and to see a human shoo other humans out was a lot of fun.

And then it was just me and Dooley.

“You didn’t have to do this, Max,” he said.

“Of course I did. You think I’m going to let you languish at this horror clinic alone?”

He gave me a startled look.“Horror clinic?”

“Sure. Aren’t all clinics horror clinics?”

He conceded my point.“Do you think Vena does all kinds of weird experiments?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”

A sudden sense of foreboding stole over me. I was at an animal clinic. A clinic for animals. Who knew what went on here when visiting hours were over? My flesh crept and flashes of a horror movie I’d once seen with Odelia returned to me. It was about a man who liked to experiment on the dead.ReAnimator, the movie was called, and scenes from the movie still creeped me out to this day. Particularly one disturbing scene where the doctor in charge of the proceedings reanimates a dead cat by injecting it with reanimator reagent.

Just then, Vena entered the room, and carefully closed the door behind her until it clicked into its lock. She was holding a huge syringe in her hand, and a strange and oddly disturbing expression on her face. Then she held up the syringe and pushed on the plunger, squirting some clear liquid from the needle. As she approached, she grinned ominously, syringe poised over her head, and then she grabbed for me.“Who’s a good kitty-kitty?”

Both Dooley and I screamed, memories ofRe-Animator returning in full force.

Barbara Crampton might be the scream queen, but we are definitely scream cats!

Chapter 30

Odelia arrived at the police station just in time to see her uncle walk out with Tracy Sting on his arm. For a moment she thought she was seeing things. But then her uncle escorted Miss Sting to his pickup and gallantly opened the door for her and helped her in.

“Uncle? What’s going on?”

Alec looked up, and so did Miss Sting.“Oh, hey, Odelia. May I introduce you to Tracy. Tracy, this is my niece Odelia.”

“Hi, Odelia,” said Tracy, getting out of the car again. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Odelia had trouble keeping her jaw reeled in.“But I thought—weren’t you—didn’t they—”

Alec smiled.“Oh, that was just a misunderstanding. All cleared up now I’m happy to say.”

Odelia automatically shook Miss Sting—Tracy’s—hand. “But… Burt Goldsmith…”

“Another little misunderstanding,” Tracy said. “I explained all that to Alec.”

“And once I explained it to Chase, he understood,” said Uncle Alec.

“Understood what?”

“That I would never harm a hair on Burt’s head,” said Tracy. “After all those years on the road, staying in hotel rooms and traveling the country, Burt and I had become thick as thieves.”

“Thick as thieves,” Alec stressed.

“So you see, Miss Poole—”

“Odelia,” Alec offered.

“Odelia, I would never hurt Burt. And I do hope you catch whoever is responsible.”

“Oh, we’ll catch the bastard,” Alec assured her. “Just you wait and see.”

Tracy placed a hand on his ruddy cheek.“I know you will, you handsome chief.”

Odelia had heard her uncle be called many names but never this. And seeing him all loved up like this frankly astounded her. Furthermore, she wasn’t as confident as he seemed to be that Tracy Sting wasn’t the person they were looking for. She certainly was one tough baby, as far as she could determine. “Do you… have plans?” she asked, gesturing at the car.

Alec smiled at Tracy.“We’re going out. Dinner and a movie. Isn’t that right?”

“Something romantic,” said Tracy. “The Rock has a new movie. SomeDie Hard clone.”

“I loveDie Hard,” said Alec. “One of my all-time favorite movies.”

“Me too!” Tracy cried. “Another thing we have in common.”

“Very romantic,” Odelia agreed. She’d never seen her uncle look like a lovesick puppy before, and she decided that was just what he looked like right now. Well, maybe not a puppy. More a lovesick bulldog. “Just be careful, will you?” she said, not hiding her worry.

“Oh, we will,” he said. “I’m always careful when I’m traveling with precious cargo.” He gave her a wink, then practically raced to the other side of his pickup, a skip in his step, and hopped in, limber as a foal. “Ready, Tracy?”

“Ready when you are, Alec,” Tracy said, and gracefully placed her shapely legs in the footwell of the truck before closing the door. She cranked down the window a few inches. “I’ll take good care of your uncle, Odelia,” she said with a purr to her voice. “Don’t you worry.” Then she gave her a wink and a smile and the odd couple were off at a healthy clip, Uncle Alec gunning the engine a few times for good measure. Like a young Bruce Willis.

Odelia stood staring after them, conscious of her head moving from side to side of its own accord. Moments later, she became aware of the presence of Chase next to her.

“We had to let her go,” the cop announced somberly. “Alec insists she’s innocent.”

“He might be biased.”

“You think?” He shook his head. “The woman has cast a spell on him.”

“And he fell for it.”

“Hook, line and sinker.”

They stared after the chief’s car as it disappeared around a corner with squealing tires and smoke pouring from the muffler. This wasn’t good. “What if she blows him up?”

“She won’t.”

“She might.”

“He’s a grown man, Odelia. What do you want me to do? Tell him he can’t go out with that girl? Tell him he’s grounded and take away his phone and internet privileges?”

“Maybe we should tail them? Make sure she’s not up to more funny business?”

“He’d spot us five minutes in. The man is a seasoned cop.”

“I don’t like it, Chase.”

“I don’t like it either, Odelia, but there’s nothing we can do.”

He was right. Just then, the cop’s phone chimed. He put it to his ear, listened for a moment, then locked eyes with Odelia. He disconnected and put his phone away. A grin spread across his face. “I think we just caught a break, babe.”

“What?”

“Crime scene people pulled a partial print from a bottle retrieved at the scene.”

“And?”

“Curt Pigott.”

Chapter 31

Turns out Vena wasn’t The ReAnimator, nor was she The Exterminator or The Terminator or some other dastardly creature. Instead she was worried we wouldn’t sleep well, what with being forced to spend the night in an unfamiliar environment, and had given us a mild sedative to make us relax and rest while Dooley recuperated from his ordeal.

And I might add that it worked. Soon after the terrible moment had passed—I hate shots, don’t you?—I’d fallen into a deep and healing sleep and so had Dooley. When I woke up again it was because some altercation had occurred somewhere in the small clinic.

Vena’s clinic is a modest affair. Two rooms and that’s it. Dooley and I had gotten a nice comfy microfleece-lined perch to rest and recuperate on, accompanied by some of her other patients. I counted at least six: a puppy with mumps, a hamster with tendinitis of the elbow—those hamster wheels area health hazard, I’m telling you—a parrot suffering a vocal issue, a parakeet with a beak sprain, a rabbit with toothache, and a pet mouse with pink-eye. Not that I could see the difference. As far as I know all mice have pink eyes. But I digress.

As I said, I was resting peacefully when all of a sudden I was awakened by the arrival of Vena with a fresh patient. It was another cat, this one of a more raggedy appearance. For a moment I thought it was Clarice, but when Vena finally left her modest ward, I saw it was a ginger cat, smaller and more diminutive than Clarice. When she caught me glancing over, she said,“Oh, hi. So nice to make your acquaintance. My name is Shadow. What is yours?”

I won’t deny that I was stunned. For what felt like days we’d been searching high and low for this elusive Shadow, and now, through some strange twist of fate, here she was!

“Do you by any chance go by the moniker Most Fascinating Cat in the World?” I asked, holding my breath.

“I do, sir, yes. That’s me. I’m the Most Fascinating Cat in the World. At least,” she added, sagging a little in the soft and plush bed Vena had put her in, “I used to be. Before my human was blown to bits. Sad story, sir. Very sad story, indeed. Shall I tell it to you?”

“I think I know the story,” I said. “Burt Goldsmith, right?”

“Best human a cat could ever hope to adopt. Bar none. Though I have to admit I also spent a lot of time with his grandson. Philippe Goldsmith. Have you made his acquaintance?”

“I have—though we were never formally introduced.”

Next to me, another patient stirred.“Who is she, Max?” Dooley asked sleepily.

“Dooley, meet Shadow. Shadow, this is Dooley, my friend and housemate.”

“And what is your name, friend?” asked Shadow.

“Max. Not the most original name, perhaps, but better than Princess at any rate.”

“I used to know a Princess,” said Shadow musingly. “Most Compelling Cat in the World. Though not a very nice one, I’m afraid. If you ever do meet her, try to steer clear.”

“We met,” I said, “and I have the scratches and bites to prove it.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Shadow,” said Dooley. “We’ve been trying to solve your human’s murder, but so far we haven’t been able to.”

“We got sidetracked,” I admitted. “Some family drama that cropped up.”

“Family drama will always crop up,” Shadow agreed. “It did in my family, too. Like the time Philippe accused his grandfather of hogging all the attention and blocking his own rise to fame as the next Most Fascinating Man in the World. Or the time when Burt threatened to cut Philippe out of his will if he didn’t stop annoying him with his constant nagging about taking retirement and allowing his grandson to take over his crown.” She smiled. “Burt used to tease Philippe about being the Most Annoying Man in the World. Philippe didn’t think it was funny. These things happen in everyfamily,” she assured us. “Best not to linger on it too much.” She sighed. “Remember the golden nuggets and forget the darker moments is my advice. Before you know it your human is gone. Blown to bits by an exploding bottle of beer.”

“You know about that?” I asked, surprised.

“I heard about it. You’d be surprised by the things one picks up when sleeping rough.”

“You’ve been living on the street all this time?”

“I have. After what happened I was afraid to return to the hotel. When people start blowing up your human it’s best to stay away. I don’t enjoy the prospect of suffering the same fate, you see. I have this phobia about being blown up.” She shuddered visibly.

“I think we all have a phobia about being blown up. Unpleasant experience.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Where were you when it happened?”

“Sleeping peacefully underneath the bed. Normally I sleep on top of the bed, but I like to change things up from time to time and that morning I’d opted to sleep underneath it. And a good thing I did. Suddenly the whole world seemed to come apart at the seams.”

“How did you get out?”

“The connecting door had been blown off its hinges. I hid in there for a while, then out into the corridor the moment Philippe returned, and out through the fire escape.”

“Philippe and his grandfather occupied connecting rooms?”

“Yes, they did. Philippe insisted on it. Said his grandfather was so old he needed to be nearby. In case something happened with his ticker. Not that Burt was fond of the idea. Said it cramped his style. Told his grandson that if he wanted to bring a couple of birds up to his room it was none of Philippe’s damn business. Not that he ever did invite a couple of birds up to his room mind you,” she added with the air of one harboring a secret regret.

“I think when he said birds he probably meant girls,” I said.

This was news to Shadow.“Oh? Why? There’s not even a remote resemblance.”

“Humans,” I said, and she nodded knowingly. So did every other animal in the room.

“Humans,” they all echoed, and gave themselves up to silent reflection on the utter strangeness of the creatures that had adopted them as their pets.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand, though,” said Shadow.

“Oh?”

“I saw that bottle of beer. I was there when it was brought in. And it smelled like beer. Being around Burt all those years I know what beer smells like, you see.”

“I thought Burt didn’t like beer? At least that’s what my human said.”

“He didn’t. But you can’t be the most famous beer salesman in the world and not sample your fair share of the brew over the course of all those years. And the beer that was brought in that day was beer. I remember peeping my head out from under the bed and taking a sniff, then retreating again. Moments later the door opened again and a powerful whiff of something else pervaded the room. It smelled like…” She wrinkled up her nose in distaste. “Burned sugar.”

“Burned sugar?”

“I remember thinking, why would Burt burn sugar?”

“That must have been the nitroglycerin. You said someone else came in?”

“Yes. Unfortunately I didn’t take a peek that time. And then Burt came walking in from the bathroom, mumbled something and that’s when my whole world collapsed.”

“And to think we thought we had it bad,” said Dooley commiseratingly.

“Why don’t you go back to Philippe?” I suggested. “He seems like a nice person, and I’m sure he’s been looking for you everywhere. I know Odelia would if we went missing.”

“Oh, Philippe is nice enough,” Shadow admitted. “But he’s not Burt. I liked Burt. Burt was fun. He always made me laugh by tickling my tummy and making funny faces.” She smiled at the memory. “Philippe is different. He’s a little grumpy. He doesn’t make me laugh. I think it’s because of all those headaches.”

“Headaches?”

“He suffers from terrible migraines. Says it comes from his job as a teacher.”

“He’s a teacher?”

“A chemistry teacher. He loves his job but all those fumes he’s inhaled over the years must have affected him adversely.”

Shadow’s words gave me pause. They seemed to stir a memory, but I couldn’t quite catch it. Someone in the recent past had told me something about headaches. But who? And what? I shrugged it off. If it was important, it would come to me. For now I was content shooting the breeze with Shadow, who was possibly the most fascinating cat I’d ever met.

Chapter 32

The movie had gone down big with both Alec and his date. The Rock was a cop invited by accident to join the maiden flight of a billionaire’s space ship because his ex-wife—The Rock’s, not the billionaire’s—now worked for him—the billionaire, not The Rock. But then a group of terrorists had interrupted the fun and killed the billionaire and taken his guests and the ex-wife hostage so The Rock had to fight his way through at least a dozen terrorists with a funny accent—the terrorists, not The Rock—before a sleazy reporter had exposed his wife—The Rock’s, not the reporter’s—to the terrorists and things had sort of deteriorated from there. Explosions, fist fights, gunfire, a lot of dead terrorists and of course the happy reunion. Alec was feeling on top of the world, and Tracy Sting evidently was, too, judging from the way she’d returned his heated kisses while the credits finally rolled.

“Wanna go back to my room for a nightcap?” she croakily asked when they walked out of the cineplex, fingers entangled.

“I sure do,” he said just as croakily, though his croak was from emotion, not genes.

And they’d just stepped into her room and he’d pressed her up against the door, clothes magically dropping to the floor as if repelled by their heaving and grinding bodies when a knock on the door elicited annoyed groans from the both of them.

“Room service,” a youthful voice announced.

Tracy yanked open the door.“What?!” she growled.

The pimply youth stared at her, and stammered,“N-n-nuts.”

“Nuts?”

He thrust out a small glass dish of nuts.“N-n-nuts.”

Tracy took it.“I didn’t order no nuts.”

“To go with the b-b-beer,” the youth managed, before quickly retreating into the safety of the corridor.

Tracy slammed the door shut and stared at the nuts.“Weird. Did you order these?”

“Nope. Probably the same person who ordered those bottles of beer did,” said Alec, gesturing at the amber bottles placed on a side table. They’d been there a little while, as they’d created a puddle on the table, condensation still producing droplets on the glass.

They both stepped up to the bottles and Tracy picked up the note that lay next to them.“Enjoy some real beer for a change,” she read. “Taste the world’s best brand. Signed Curt Pigott.” Her brow furrowed. “Horrible little man,” she grunted. “Can’t stop taunting me.” She picked up the bottles by the neck and prepared to dump them into a nearby trashcan.

“Hold on a minute,” said Alec. “Let me take a whiff of those.”

She handed him the bottles and he sniffed.“Doesn’t smell like beer,” he said finally.

Tracy, too, took a sniff.“More like… burned sugar,” she said.

Their eyes met and Tracy carefully replaced the bottles on the table, then they were both backing away slowly towards the door.

Curt Pigott had just sent them two bottles of nitroglycerin!

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Chase pounded Pigott’s door. “Police! Open up!”

Moments later, the World’s Most Compelling Man appeared, his hair sticking up, his sleep mask askance on his brow, and one ear plug still sticking out of his ear, the other in his hand. He was looking slightly disheveled, trying to hold his robe gathered around his frame. “What’s going on? Has there been another attack? I must have slept through it.”

“There’s been a breakthrough in the case,” Chase announced.

“Oh, that’s great! Have you caught the guy?”

“We have now,” Chase said gruffly, and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Curt Pigott, you’re under arrest for the murder of Burt Goldsmith.” And as Chase read the startled actor his rights, Odelia looked sideways and then looked again, surprised when she saw her uncle, in a state ofundress, accompanied by Tracy, also half-dressed, stalking towards her.

“Now, Uncle,” she admonished him, “you can’t keep doing this. The mayor won’t like it when his principle crime fighter keeps showing up all over the place without his clothes.”

“This man tried to murder us,” Alec announced, pointing an accusing finger at Curt Pigott. “You sent two bottles of exploding beer to Miss Sting’s room just now. Don’t try to deny it, you little shit!”

“They weren’t bottles of beer,” said Tracy, covering her modesty with her arms. “They were bottles of nitroglycerin.”

Curt looked absolutely befuddled.“I didn’t—I never—I wouldn’t!”

“And yet you did!” Alec bellowed. “You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of a police chief and his—his—his…” He glanced at Tracy, who crooked an amused brow. “His girlfriend!” he finished finally, and Tracy cast down her eyes, a smile playing about her lips.

“I never sent you any bottles!” Curt protested. “I’m innocent—innocent, I tell you!”

“Tell it to the judge,” said Chase, who proceeded to cuff the compelling man.

“Good riddance,” a voice spoke behind them. When Odelia turned she saw that they’d attracted quite the audience: Bobbie Hawe, Jasper Hanson, Nestor Greco and Dale Parson all stood watching as their colleague and competitor was led away by Chase and Alec. “I’ve always known there was something fishy about him,” said Nestor.

“Not me,” said Dale. “I thought he was a kind man. Kind to animals and children.”

“But not to interesting men,” said Bobbie. “He likes to blow us up for some reason.”

“Jealousy,” opined Jasper. “Plain and simple jealousy. Couldn’t stomach our success.”

“Anyone up for a drink at the bar?” asked Nestor. “I’m buying.”

And as Odelia watched the world’s most interesting men head to the staircase, a discussion broke out amongst them over who was buying whom what type of beer. She shook her head and followed Tracy Sting to her room, to check on those beer bottles.

“Good thing your uncle has such a great sense of smell,” Tracy was saying. “Otherwise we’d be dead right now. Blown to bits just like Burt.”

“We better not touch anything,” she said as she followed Tracy inside. She saw her uncle’s shirt and pants on the floor and smiled to herself. The bottles looked exactly as Curt had intended them to look: like actual bottles of Tres Siglas. She crouched down to take a closer look, careful notto come near the dangerous objects.

“What I don’t understand is why Curt would target me,” said Tracy, pulling on a blouse and buttoning it up. “What could he possibly gain by murdering me and Alec?”

Odelia shrugged.“Looks like he was working his way through the competition one by one. His next targets were probably those other most interesting men.”

“But why me? I’m not the competition.”

“Yeah, I don’t get that, either. Then again, who knows what’s in the mind of a killer.” She rose to her feet, and stepped away from the side table. “I’m sure Chase and Alec will make him talk. By this time tomorrow this whole ordeal will finally be over.”

Police people were now entering the room, anxious to‘seal the scene’ as they called it. Tracy nodded, then glanced at Odelia. “Any chance I can stay with you tonight? The hotel is booked solid, and Alec will probably be up all night questioning Curt Pigott.”

“Sure. If you don’t mind sleeping on the couch. I have a guest bedroom but my grandmother is staying with me at the moment.” She grimaced. “Don’t ask me why.”

“I won’t,” said Tracy with a smile. “Alec told me some of it.”

“He did, huh?”

“Yeah, for some odd reason he and I hit it off.”

They walked out of the room as more police walked in.“He’s a great guy,” said Odelia.

“He is, isn’t he? He’s funny and sweet and… very, very passionate.”

Odelia laughed.“He’ll be happy to hear it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this interested in a woman since Aunt Ginny died.”

And then they were walking out of the hotel, and Odelia thought that this Tracy Sting wasn’t as bad as all that. She definitely wasn’t the murderous psychopath she’d initially taken her for. And then she found herself talking about her uncle, Tracy laughing at some of the stories, and before she knew it they were home and she was letting this perfect stranger into her house. And guess what? She didn’t feel like a stranger to her. Not anymore.

Chapter 33

I shot up and cried,“Eureka!”

I know. It normally never happens to me, either.

But once I was up, I was wide awake, and so were Dooley and Shadow and all the other animals in Vena’s nursery.

“I’ve got it!” I added for good measure. “It’s you,” I said, pointing at Shadow.

“Me? What did I do?”

“I don’t mean you—I mean your human.”

“My human? Burt?”

“Burt is dead, Max,” said Dooley, as gently as possible. “You were having a nightmare.”

“Not a nightmare,” I said enthusiastically. “A brainwave!”

“Sounds dangerous,” Shadow intimated. “Does it hurt?”

“I know who killed Burt!”

“It’s the strain, Max,” said Dooley. “You must have overtaxed yourself.”

“No, I mean it. It’s something you said.”

“Me?” asked Dooley.

“Not you—Shadow.”

“My shadow?”

“My name is Shadow,” said Shadow.

“I know,” said Dooley. “You told me—oh,” he added. “You meant Shadow not shadow.”

“Guys, will you quit yapping,” said the pink-eyed mouse. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, all this crap is disturbing my biorhythm,” chimed in the parrot hoarsely.

“It’s cats,” opined the hamster. “Always cats. They can’t stop prattling. Prattle, prattle, prattle. That’s why people hate cats but they all love a hamster. Hamsters are easy. We run on our little hamster wheel, snack from our little hamster nuggets and keep our traps shut.”

“Will you shut up already,” I told the Dr. Doolittle crowd. “I just solved a murder.”

“Typical,” mumbled the puppy. “Always bragging. That’s cats for you.”

“No, I really did. It was the boy that did it.”

“What boy?” asked the rabbit, paw pressed to his painful cheek. “I’m not following.”

“You don’t have to follow. It’s the kid that did it.”

“The kid? Who’s the kid?” asked the parrot.

“I don’t care. I just want to sleep,” said the mouse.

“Let’s blow this joint, fellas,” I said, suddenly feeling super-energized. I imagine that’s why Sherlock Holmes often came across as suffering from ADHD. Solving a murder gives you this big jolt of energy to the brain. I jumped from my nice fleece-lined perch with some reluctance. Then again, I owed it to my human to give her the good news at once.

“Do we have to, Max?” asked Dooley plaintively. “It’s so nice and warm in here.”

“Yeah, I kinda like it here, too,” said Shadow. “It’s way better than life on the street.”

“Don’t you want to see the guy who killed your human arrested?” I asked.

Shadow thought about that for a moment.“Is this a trick question?” When I gave her a stern look, she finally relented. “Oh, fine. I’ll play your little game. Where are we going?”

“Home,” I told her.

“To the hotel?”

“No, a real home.”

Dooley heaved himself up from his warm and comfy bed with a groan, then followed my lead.“You better be right about this, Max,” he said. “I could get used to a place like this.”

“What’s happening?” asked the mouse, apparently waking up from a micro-nap.

“The cats are leaving,” the parrot announced.

“Good riddance,” said the mouse, and promptly dozed off again.

Half an hour later we arrived at the house. Lucky for us Vena lives just around the corner. Cats aren’t made to travel for miles and miles. Especially on an empty stomach.

“Good thing Vena left her window open,” said Shadow, panting. “Or else we’d be screwed.”

“Or lucky,” Dooley muttered. He still wasn’t on board with this whole plan of mine. Even though Odelia had promised him that, babies or no babies, she wasn’t kicking us out, he wasn’t completely convinced. And Vena seemed like a good back-up plan just in case.

We waltzed in through the pet door and I traipsed straight up the stairs. Odelia was sound asleep, as I’d expected. And she was alone, which I hadn’t expected. No Chase. Where’s the police when you need them? I pawed her intently, and when she didn’t stir, used some claw to attract her attention. She pushed me away. “Not now, Max. I’m sleeping.”

“But I know who killed Burt Goldsmith,” I said, unable to contain my excitement.

“I do, too,” she said, turning over to the other side. “It was Curt. Curt killed Burt.”

That sounded more like a nursery rhyme to me, but then she was still half asleep.

“It wasn’t Curt—whoever he is—it was Philippe! Remember how you told me Chase said nitroglycerin gives you terrible headaches? Well, guess who has terrible, debilitating headaches? Philippe! And guess who’s a chemistry teacher? Also Philippe! And guess whose room was next to Burt’s, with a connecting door. You guessed right! Philippe again! Shadow—oh, you haven’t met Shadow, have you. She’s Burt’s cat. She was at Vena’s. You’ll like Shadow, Odelia. She’s very nice. So Shadow told us she heard someone enter the room after room service dropped off that bottle of beer. I’m guessing it was Philippe, replacing the original bottle with one filled with nitroglycerin. He must have snatched that first bottle from the sap he’d chosen as his fall guy, leaving it in the room with the explosive bottle so this dude’s fingerprints would be found at the scene. So you better arrest him now, Odelia!”

My long harangue was met with a soft snore. She’d fallen asleep in the middle of my expos?! Dang. I’ll bet a thing like that never happened to Hercule Poirot when he delivered his closing statement, neatly wrapping up another case. Or Sherlock Holmes, for that matter.

I jumped down from the bed, and then trotted down the stairs.

I found Dooley and Shadow staring at a lumpy form on the couch.

“You guys, Odelia is out like a light. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Max? There’s a strange woman on our couch,” said Dooley.

I checked the lumpy form and discovered that Dooley was right. There was a strange woman on our couch.

“It’s Tracy,” said Shadow. “Tracy Sting. She was my human’s handler.”

“Handler? You mean like a dog handler?” asked Dooley.

“Something like that. When Tracy said jump Burt asked ‘how high?’ Or at least that’s the joke he liked to make. He was very fond of her. She’s good people, Tracy is.”

“But what is she doing in our house?” I asked.

“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” said Dooley with a yawn. “Let’s sleep. I’m tired.”

Just then, Brutus and Harriet walked in through the pet door.“Who’s that?” Brutus asked, gesturing in the general direction of the couch.

“Burt Goldsmith’s handler,” I said.

“No, I mean the cat, not the dame.”

“My name is Shadow,” said Shadow courteously. “I was Burt’s cat. Which means now I’m nobody’s cat.”

“Oh,” said Harriet. “That’s so sad.” She turned to us. “Where have you guys been?”

“Long story. Dooley ate some of Brutus’s pills and passed out.”

“Brutus’s pills?” asked Harriet. “What pills?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Brutus hastened to say. “Listen, they finally caught this Burt guy’s killer. Turns out some compelling dude killed him. And listen,listen,” he said when I made to interrupt him, “someone tried to kill Uncle Alec by sending him an exploding bottle. Him and some babe he’s seeing.” He snapped his claws, or at least tried to. “Um, name escapes me.”

“Tracy Sting,” said Harriet. “That’s her over there, sleeping on that couch.”

“Right,” said Brutus.

I thought about this.“Now why would Philippe try to kill Uncle Alec?”

“Philippe? Who’s Philippe?” asked Brutus.

I was starting to feel a little tired. It’s exhausting to be the most intelligent cat in the room. “Philippe is Burt’s grandson. He killed his grandfather and now he’s trying to kill Uncle Alec and…” My eyes narrowed. “You said Tracy Sting and Uncle Alec are an item?”

“An item?”

“A thing. A couple. Like Rose and Jack fromTitanic,” I said impatiently.

“I like Rose fromTitanic,” Dooley murmured wistfully.

“I don’t know about that,” said Brutus. “All I know is they were caught with their pants down steaming up the windows of Uncle Alec’s car—we saw them, remember?”

I gave Tracy Sting’s inert form a closer inspection. Brutus was right. This was the redheaded woman Uncle Alec was making out with in his squad car. And then I got it. “Philippe is taking out the competition.”

They all stared at me.“Huh?” said Brutus.

“Don’t you see? First Burt, now Alec, all the while making sure everyone thinks the Most Compelling Man in the World is responsible?”

“Curt Pigott,” said Shadow helpfully. “He’s the Most Compelling Man in the World.”

So it wasn’t a nursery rhyme. The police had actually arrested Curt Pigott for a crime he didn’t commit.

“Why Alec?” asked Harriet. “That makes no sense to me whatsoever.”

“It doesn’t. It only makes sense to a mind as warped as Philippe’s. He must have seen Uncle Alec and Tracy Sting and figured she was grooming him as the next Fascinating Man.”

They all burst out laughing. All except Shadow.“Uncle Alec! Most Fascinating Man!” said Harriet. “You’re joking!”

“It may sound like a joke to us, but it’s not a joke to Philippe. Alec represents his competition, and he won’t stop until he’s dead. You guys,” I said urgently. “We have to stop him!”

“Stop who from doing what?” asked Dooley, still experiencing the effects of Vena’s treatment.

“Stop whom,” Shadow corrected helpfully.

“Huh?”

“Not huh. Whom.”

“Philippe,” I said, my head starting to swim a little. “Stop Philippe.”

“You all heard Max,” said Shadow cheerfully. “Let’s stop Philippe.”

“Stop what?” asked Dooley.

“And why?” added Harriet.

“And who?” said Brutus.

“Whom,” said Shadow. “Whommmmmm.”

Ugh. I’ll bet Hercule Poirot or Sherlock Holmes never had to deal with this crap.

Chapter 34

Odelia was dreaming of her grandmother joining her and Chase in the middle of the night and getting in bed between them, effectively erecting a physical barrier between the couple, peevishly telling them they needed to behave and stop all this annoying cuddling.

She awoke with a start and for a moment felt disoriented, the world a strange place.

She patted the space next to her. No Chase. She checked the foot of the bed. No cats.

Odd. Where was everyone? Then the events of the past few hours came back to her. Dooley in hospital. The attempt on her uncle’s life. The arrest of the Most Compelling Man. Max telling her something—whispering in her ear.

Had that been a dream? She could have sworn it was. Max was at Vena’s. With Dooley. Spending the night.

So how come she vividly remembered him telling her that they’d arrested the wrong man? That it was in fact Philippe Goldsmith who was the real culprit? The one who killed his grandfatherand tried to kill Alec and put the blame on Curt Pigott?

The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. She wasn’t convinced, though. She needed more proof than the whispered words of a cat in the middle of the night. She was certain now she’d imagined Max. Dreamed him. Which meant that this was her subconscious at work—whispering in her sleep—warning her—wanting her to act now.

If Pigott was innocent, then whoever had tried to bomb Alec and Tracy was still out there—and could strike again at any moment. Which told her time was of the essence.

She rubbed her eyes, and checked her phone. Three o’clock. Probably too late to call her uncle and ask him about Pigott’s interrogation. But not too late to call Chase. So she did.

His sleepy voice told her he wasn’t at the police station interviewing Pigott.

“Is Granny bothering you again?” he asked. “Do you need saving?”

“Granny is probably sound asleep. I do need saving, though. From a hunch.”

“A hunch.”

“How did things go with Pigott?”

“Denies everything. Lawyered up.”

“Struck out, huh?”

“We’ll get him to confess. Lean on him a little harder tomorrow.”

She bit her lip.“I’m starting to think you can lean on him all you want, he’ll never break. Because he’s not the guy we want.”

“I know, babe. I’m the guy you want,” he said, a smile in his voice.

“And I’m thinking we need to look a little closer at Philippe.”

“Your granny’s grandson? The Most Perfect Boy in the World? What makes you think so?”

“A hunch.”

“Uh-oh. I know your hunches, Poole. They’re freakishly accurate.”

“Which is why I need you to do me a favor.”

“Of course. I’ll come over and brave Granny.”

She smiled.“Maybe later. First I want you to check something for me.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Chapter 35

“And that’s why I think time is of the essence,” I concluded my long speech.

The members of cat choir all stared at me, and so did the members of the Most Interesting Cats in the World troupe. As usual, they’d been hanging out at the park, limbering up those vocal chords, and practicing their dance moves. So when we joined them, the last thing they expected was to be treated to the kind of explanation usually reserved for the final scenes of a Hallmark Movies& Mysteries Channel presentation.

“You can’t possibly expect us to believe you,” said Princess, the first one to speak.

“I do, actually,” I said.

“Max is right,” said Shadow. “Philippe killed my human, and now he is after his next scalp.”

“You’re biased,” said Princess. “I’m not listening to you.”

“Of course she’s biased,” I said. “Her human was blown up. And now your human is in prison facing a life sentence for a murder he didn’t commit. How can you sit there and pretend to be fine with that? If Curt Pigott goes to prison your cushy life is over, Princess. You’ll spend the restof your days at the pound. Is that a chance you’re willing to take?”

Princess gulped at this.“The pound?” she asked, her voice suddenly squeaky.

“Where all cats go to die,” Dooley intoned gloomily.

“I don’t want to go to the pound,” Princess squealed, now only audible to dogs.

“You’re not going to the pound,” said the Most Iconic Cat in the World.

“There must be someone to take care of you when your human goes to jail,” said Fat Amy, the Sexiest Cat Alive. “Someone—anyone?” she added when Princess gave her a look of panic.

“There’s Leo, Curt’s nephew, but he’s a terror. Hates cats. Hates me!”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” said Beca, the Most Attractive Cat in the World. “I’m sure you can come and live with me. Bobbie will take you in.”

“No, he won’t!” cried Princess. “Bobbie hates Curt’s guts. Theyall hate Curt’s guts!”

“That’s true,” said Chloe, the Most Intriguing Cat in the World. “My human hates Curt. I heard him tell his mother that Curt going to prison is karma in action. And how he hopes to take over Curt’s position as Most Compelling Man in the World. He wants to snag Curt’s crown and become the Most Compelling Intriguing Man in the World. A real first.”

“And don’t think Philippe will stop here,” I told them. “When he’s done with Chief Alec he’ll come after your humans next. He won’t stop until they’re all dead or in jail. And then he’ll be the Most Fascinating, Compelling, Intriguing, Iconic, Attractive and Sexy Man in the World and all of you will be at the pound, wondering why you didn’t try to stop him.”

It was the kind of speech designed to rally the troops and stir them into action, and I could sense that I’d hit the right note this time. Cat choir, meanwhile, was still looking at me like a bunch of lookie-loos, unlikely to be of any help to us or our mission whatsoever.

“And you,” I said therefore, pointing at Shanille and company, “how many times has Chief Alec saved your hides? How many times has he called the fire department when you were stuck in a tree? How many times did he reprimand your human when they weren’t treating you right? He’s a good man,and now he needsus to savehim for a change. So how about it? Are you with me?”

I would like to say that they reared up as one cat and yelled Yes! but unfortunately they did not. As I said before, cats are notoriously self-absorbed, and I’m afraid cat choir is no exception.

“What’s in it for us?!” a raggedy tabby cried from the balcony—or, rather, a tree.

“Yeah, why would we stick our necks out for some stupid human?” shouted another.

“Free kibble for all!” suddenly piped up Brutus. “That’s right,” he added when all eyes turned to him. “If you help us out tonight there’s free kibble for all as your reward.”

“Who’s gonna pay for that? You?”

“Uncle Alec will be so happy with what we did for him that he’ll be happy to put on a feast to end all feasts,” said Brutus. “I know the guy and that’s just what he’d do.”

“What kind of kibble?” asked a suspicious twenty-something old-timer.

“Yeah, not the generic kind. I get enough of that at home,” said another.

“We want prime brand kibble or we ain’t moving a paw!” cried a third.

“These cats are driving a tough bargain,” said Brutus, blowing out a breath.

Finally I held up my paws.“Prime brand kibble for all!”

“Lifetime supply?” asked a cheeky little red cat.

“Don’t push it, Brandon,” Brutus growled.

“You cats should be ashamed of yourselves!” suddenly a voice rang out through the park. When we looked up we saw that Clarice had joined us. Perched high on a tree branch, she was looking down on cat choir, her fiery eyes shooting flame, her expression murderous.

“Clarice,” said Shanille feebly. “What an honor.”

Clarice is something of a legend in Hampton Cove’s cat community. Feared and admired. Her appearance now was akin to the return of Luke Skywalker. If Luke Skywalker were a battle-scarred old warrior, living in self-chosen exile on the edge of our world. Oh, wait, he is.

“You weak, spineless, gutless bunch of sissy cats!” Clarice now thundered from her perch. “You shapeless blobs of self-indulgence! How dare you demand prime kibble in exchange for saving the life of the man who keeps this town running? The man who keeps the riffraff out? The man whose selflessness and sense of service is the stuff of legend? Whose commitment to Hampton Cove is the backbone of this community? Its very heart? You should be honored to serve the man who serves you. Not demand your pound of flesh!”

“More like a pound of kibble,” piped up one cat, then ducked down his head shamefacedly when Clarice hissed in his direction.

“You’re right, Clarice,” finally said Shanille. “My human would say the same thing. Shame on you, Father Reilly would say. Shame on you for refusing to help a man in this, his hour of need. We need to come together as a community now and save one of our own.”

It wasn’t as effective as Clarice’s speech, but heads were bowed, tails were tucked between legs, and finally it was agreed we should do what it took to save Uncle Alec from certain doom.

At least if I was right and he was, indeed, in mortal danger.

Admittedly I wasn’t a hundred percent sure about that.

I was almost sure, though. Let’s say ninety percent.

Maybe eighty. Possibly seventy…

Definitely fifty, though.

Chapter 36

Philippe Goldsmith pulled up his collar. In spite of the late hour he wasn’t absolutely convinced the streets were deserted. They should have been, but you never know with these sleepy little towns. Some old-timer might very well be up and about before dawn to walk his ratty old canine. Or some crusty old dame might be sitting at her window, cat in her lap, spying on the neighbors. Or a bird watcher, training his binoculars on a rare spotted owl.

And so it was that he furtively checked left and right as he walked on, his head retreating and emerging from his collar like a particularly timid turtle’s. It didn’t help that he had night vision trouble. During the daytime he saw just fine, but as soon as the sun went down the world turned a little blurry around the edges. He nervously pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted into the darkness that surrounded him.

There. Was that a cat meowing? When he stopped and turned, he thought he saw a furry form scurrying behind a tree, ducking out of sight. Weird. He’d never seen so many cats since his arrival in town. It was almost as if this freaky little place sported more cats than humans. They should have called it Cat Cove instead of Hampton Cove.

The weight of the cooler he was carrying hampered him in his progress. Not that it was particularly heavy, but the knowledge that at the slightest provocation its contents could blow him to kingdom come did much to make perspiration stand out across his hairline and drops of sweat to trickle down his spine.

But it had to be done. His life’s work depended on it. He might not be his family’s pride and joy, like Burt had been, but he was slowly getting there. If only the old man hadn’t been so damn selfish. Wanting to keep going until he dropped—with never a thought to anyone but himself. But Philippe had taught the old coot alesson he’d never forget. And now he needed to finish the job and show the world what a really fascinating man was capable of.

He giggled nervously, then jumped when another cat scooted out in front of him, almost tripping him up. He kicked at it, but the horrible furry creature was too quick.

He hated cats. Hated them with all the fervor of his being. Nasty little creatures. With their weird cat eyes that seemed to stare straight into your soul. And their sharp claws, ready to dig into your legs when they jumped onto your lap. Just like Shadow. At least she’d had the good sense to run off and drop dead someplace. Good riddance. And just when he was thinking about Shadow, suddenly he thought he saw her, sitting in a tree, staring intently.

He blinked, but when he looked again, she was gone.

He shook his head annoyedly. Damn those wretched eyes.

He slunk along the sidewalk and halted in front of a row house.

The lights were doused, as they should be. Alec Lip was sound asleep.

He wondered if Tracy was in there with the corpulent chief. She’d better be.

He snuck into the small patch of front yard, checked left and right again, put down the cooler and extracted the bottle from inside and placed it on the chief’s doorstep, precariously balancing it against the door. The moment the chief opened his front door, the bottle would topple and kaboom! Bye-bye Most Fascinating Man in the World Wannabe!

He then retreated into the darkness across the street, but not before putting a note into the chief’s mailbox. The mailbox would take a hit from the explosion, but the note would remain intact inside the metal box. When investigators found the note, signed by the Most Iconic Man in the World, they would have another suspect to turn their attention to.

Across the street from Chief Lip’s house was a small patch of park, perfect for dog walkers, and he settled down behind a shrub and checked his watch. An hour was all it would take for the nitro inside the Seis Siglas bottle to defrost and become active again. One hour.

And as he prepared himself to wait, he became aware of those creepy night sounds all around him. As if nature was watching, and waiting, ready to pounce—just like he was.

And then he saw them. Cat’s eyes, lighting up all around him. Dozens of them.

He shivered. Not from the cold, but from the sensation of being watched.

What did they want with him, these freaky cats? What were they waiting for?

Then he shook off the crazy notion. Sure, cats were watching him. Of course they were. Cats were just a bunch of dumb creatures. They were probably pissed he was trespassing on their terrain. Hogging their nocturnal hunting ground. Scaring away the mice.

“Shoo!” he whispered loudly. “Get away, you horrible creeps! Go on—get!”

They didn’t move an inch, though. Just kept on staring at him, eyes unblinking and freaking him out in no small degree. Just what he needed. Bunch of cats getting on his nerves. He checked his watch again. An hour had passed. The time had come. And not a moment too soon. He got up stiffly and hurried overto the other side of the road.

Then he pressed his finger to the bell and pushed. Nothing. Not a sound.

He cursed silently. Dammit! Just his luck. The only house without a bell.

Good thing he had a back-up plan. He dashed across the street again, where the chief’s pickup was parked and gave its tires a hearty kick. Nothing. He kicked the back panel and this time he hit the jackpot. The car’s alarm started blaring so loudly it could probably be heard all the way to the other side of town.

He ducked back down behind his bushes, laying low, and watched with bated breath.

After a long moment, the lights went on inside the chief’s house.

He watched on, giddy with anticipation. Any moment now. Any moment…

Just then, there was a loud meow, and suddenly a cat came hurtling out of the underbrush and raced across the street! It was a red cat, and a chubby one at that. But it still moved with marked agility and speed. It was going for the door—going for the bottle!

“No!” he cried, getting up from behind his hiding place. “You stupid cat!”

And then the cat launched itself at the bottle and jumped right on top of it!

Probably thought it was a frickin’ mouse! Just his luck to encounter a kamikaze cat!

He ducked down, pressing his fingers in his ears. And then… nothing. No explosion.

He stuck his head out again, staring in horror and shock. The cat was kicking the beer bottle down the front yard, and the damn thing didn’t explode! How was this possible?!

But then the front door opened and the chief stepped out. And then up and down the street doors opened and people appeared, annoyed by the blaring alarm.

Time to move.

Time to get the hell out of there.

And then he was speed-walking away, putting as much distance between himself and the chief’s house as possible. They’d find the bottle and they’d find the nitro and the note and he wanted to be back at the hotel when they came to arrest the Most Iconic Man.

Just like the day when he’d blown up his grandfather. After he’d placed the bottle in the man’s room, while Burt was in the shower, he’d quickly left the hotel via the fire escape, gone down around the back, and met this annoying reporter woman out in front, giving himself a nice solid alibi in the process.

And it was then that he discovered he was no longer alone.

That fat red cat was following him, meowing up a storm!

He walked faster, and the cat moved right along, now joined by a white cat, a small tabby and a big black cat that looked like it meant business. And as he broke into a trot, more cats joined the fray, and he saw that he was suddenly surrounded by the foul creatures! All around him they moved like a mass of fur! And then suddenly one of them jumped out of a tree and landed right on top of his head, claws extended, and dug in!

“Get off me, you horrible monster!” he cried, and tried to extricate himself from the clawed menace. “Get off!” He dragged the creature off and threw it away, but more cats used him as a climbing pole and suddenly they were everywhere! On his face, on his chest, digging their claws into hisback. Dozens—hundreds! Thousands!

He stumbled and fell and his world turned into a nightmare of clawing and screeching monsters pressing him down, scratching his face, his hands, his neck!

“Get away from me, you beasts!” he roared, thrashing wildly. “Leave me alone!”

This was the stuff from a Stephen King novel!Cujo: The Sequel. This time with cats!

And then he heard the sound—the terrible sound.

Sirens. Police sirens.

He couldn’t see a thing. The cats were all over him, blocking his view. Immobilizing him. Screeching up a storm. Going completely berserk.

The sirens stopped right next to him. Doors were slammed. Footsteps sounded.

And then a voice. A woman’s voice.

“Well done, Max. You got him.”

Suddenly, as if by command, the cats retreated.

When he had managed to adjust his glasses, he saw he was surrounded.

There was that annoying reporter—Odelia Poole. And Chase Kingsley, that equally annoying cop. And Chief Alec and Tracy. And more cops. Lots and lots more. He didn’t even know a small town like this could have so many damn cops.

He gave them a feeble smile.“I was—I was out walking and I was attacked. Attacked by cats. Cats—cats gone crazy!” He emitted a laugh. It sounded shrill to his own ears.

Detective Kingsley didn’t look convinced, and neither did the others.

“Philippe Goldsmith,” said Chase in a rumbling undertone. “You’re under arrest for the murder of your grandfather and the attempted murder of Alec Lip and Tracy Sting.”

And as he was cuffed and led to a police car, an audience of cats was looking on, all along the street, sitting on tree branches and even lying on the roof of the squad car to get a better look. They were staring. Actually staring, unblinkingly. It was the freakiest thing.

And there was Shadow, giving him the evil eye as the cop tucked his head into the car.

And he could have sworn the little sucker’s face was contorted into an actual smile.

The cat’s lips moved, and before the car door was slammed shut, he thought he heard her say, “Gotcha!”

Epilogue

It was grill time at Tex and Marge’s again. This time Chase had kindly offered the good doctor Tex his professional grilling expertise, probably hoping to dig his teeth into something more tasty than a charred sausage, scorched steak or blackened chicken skewer. Marge had made her fabled potato salad and Gran had actually baked no less than three apple pies.

Not that I cared. I’m not so big on potato salad or apple pie and I like my meat raw and juicy, not grilled to the texture of leather. And since Odelia knows how I like my food, she’d provided me and my fellow cats with some excellent nuggets of actual raw chicken.

Yes, I was the hero, f?ted by all, and with good reason. Like some kind of action hero I’d actually thrown myself down on top of a live bomb. On closer inspection the bomb had been a beer bottle but I hadn’t known that when I performed my act of heroism. I thought there was actual nitro in that bottle. And if Alec hadn’t replaced the bottle of nitro with a bottle of Corona while Philippe Goldsmith wasn’t looking, I’d have been dead by now.

But I wasn’t, and anyway, cats do have nine lives, as everyone knows, so the explosion would have claimed only the one life, leaving me with eight more to regale my friends with the story of my exploits. And regale them I had. Wherever I went, cats wanted me to tell the story of how a cat had saved the day—and a couple of humans in the process.

“I’m telling you, Odelia,” said Chase as he took the barbecue tongs from Tex and gave the doctor a gentle nudge in the direction of the bowl of sunset punch. Bourbon, vermouth, ginger beer, lemon and sugar. Even Tex couldn’t mess that up. “Those cats of yours are something else. I still can’t believe Max would throw himself on a bomb! Or maybe he thought it was a fat pigeon?”

“No, I think he actually thought it was a bomb,” said Odelia, placing a bowl of apple and poppy seed coleslaw on the table. “And that he was actually saving Uncle Alec’s life.”

“And I for one am mighty grateful,” said Uncle Alec, holding up a bottle of Corona in a toast to me. I would have held up my bottle but for one thing I don’t drink beer and for another I was too busy sampling all the delicious foodstuffs Odelia had set out for us.

“I think it’s amazing,” said Chase. “Simply amazing. Did you give him some extra-crunchy kibble as a reward?”

“I gave him some extra-tasty chicken,” said Odelia, throwing another juicy sliver in my direction. I deftly managed to snatch it from the air and gobble it down. Score!

“So how did you find out Philippe Goldsmith was the one you wanted?” asked Marge.

“Odelia called me in the middle of the night. Said she had a hunch Philippe might be the one,” said Chase. “So I got on my computer and found he’d once burned down the school lab in some experiment gone wrong—the police report mentioned some type of homemade explosive he used that time. And only a few weeks before Burt’s murder a garden shed blew up not far from the Goldsmith family estate. Luckily no one was hurt but police found traces of nitroglycerin at the scene, and a neighbor said a young man fitting Philippe’s description had been seen hauling ingredients and equipment into the shed. He’d been experimenting for a while, trying to perfect the mixture he’d use on his grandfather.”

“Why wasn’t he arrested?”

“The Goldsmiths are a well-respected bunch, and the investigation was dropped.”

“Someone paid the right person the right amount of money,” said Tex.

“No amount of money will save him now,” said Odelia. “This time he was caught in the act.”

“Didn’t you search his room after his grandfather was murdered?” asked Marge.

“We did. But since the explosion had happened in the next room it was only logical we found traces of nitro.”

“Where did he keep his stash of explosives?” asked Tex.

“Hotel kitchen fridge,” said Uncle Alec. “He’d told one of the servers his grandfather liked his beer cold, and had tipped the kid handsomely for the favor. He never had a clue.”

“Clever.”

“He was. Until someone saw right through him.” He directed a look of admiration at Odelia.

“I think Max deserves all the credit,” said Odelia. She couldn’t tell Chase it was me who warned her about Philippe. It was her, though, who warned her uncle, and by the time Philippe arrived, police were at the scene, keeping a close eye on the amateur bomber.

“All’s well that ends well,” said Tex, and took a sip from the fruit punch and winced.

“So when can we get rid of these collars?” asked Harriet, addressing the topic that interested her far more than humans trying to murder other humans.

“Right now,” said Odelia, and proceeded to remove all of our collars!

“Burn them,” said Brutus soberly, checking himself for fleas.

“Are they gone?” asked Dooley. “Are you sure they’re gone?”

Odelia gave him a brief inspection.“All gone,” she said. “Not a single one left.”

“Oh, joy!” Brutus said, and did a little impromptu wiggle of his tush.

I took the butch cat aside.“How about your… issue?” I asked.

He gave me a wink.“What issue?”

I guess those pills Vena had dispensed had done the trick, for the moment he said it, Harriet sashayed over, and the two of them wasted no time stalking off into a laurel bush.

I hopped up onto the porch swing, turned around a few times, and took a seat next to Dooley.“I’m so glad those fleas are gone, Max,” Dooley said, looking extremely relieved.

“Yeah, and I’m glad the Most Interesting Men in the World are gone, too, and they took their Most Interesting Cats along with them.”

“Aren’t you sad Shadow left?”

Shadow had been adopted by the Goldsmith family, and would live with Burt’s second cousin twice removed, who was a genuine cat person. Tracy had promised Shadow a part in future beer commercials if she wanted. But the cat had decided to retire from the world of advertising. Acting in ads simply wouldn’t be the same without Burt. Tracy, meanwhile, had also left, which made Uncle Alec a little sad. She’d promised to return, though, and maybe she would.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“But you liked Shadow,” said Dooley. “She could have been your girlfriend.”

“I doubt it.”

“You’ll always have #nitrogate, though.”

I shrugged. I liked Shadow, I really did, but not in an amorous capacity. I guess the right cat for me is out there somewhere, and one day we’ll meet. Maybe. I’m not holding out hope, though. Cats aren’t like humans. We don’t mate for life. We’re more like George Clooney before he met Amal, or Leonardo DiCaprio before he meets the next hot young model. We like to play the field. Keep our options open, if you know what I mean. We’re cats, for crying out loud. Not Ward or June Cleaver.

“What about you, Dooley?”

“What about me?”

“Still nervous about the baby thing?”

He blinked.“Why? Should I be nervous? Do you think Odelia lied to us? Max—is she going to kick us out?!” His voice was rising precipitously. “Tell me the truth! Is this the end?!”

Oh, boy. I should have kept my mouth shut.“No, it’s not the end, Dooley. For one thing, as long as Gran stays at Odelia’s, there won’t be no babies.”

Dooley glanced at Gran, who was stuffing her face with potato salad, as if she was the great white hope. Then he frowned.“I don’t get it. What does Gran have to do with babies?”

“No young couple likes to be hassled by a live-in know-it-all granny cramping their style and sticking her nose in. No way Chase is moving in as long as Gran is in the house.”

“I knew it,” said Dooley. “I knew my human would save me. She’s doing this for us, isn’t she? She’s trying to keep those babies from muscling us out of the house.”

“No, she’s not. She’s pissed at Tex and Marge and trying to get back at them for not supporting her claim to Goldsmith fame and fortune. She’ll move back out at some point.”

“When?!” he cried.

I shrugged.“When she feels Tex has suffered enough.”

We both directed a curious look at Tex, who was humming a pleasant tune, looking pleased as the punch he was serving.“Tex doesn’t look like he’s suffering, Max,” Dooley said.

“Tex has never been happier. He’s finally managed to achieve the one thing he’s always wanted: kick his mother-in-law out of the house. Tex is living the dream right now.”

“Which means… Gran will live with Odelia forever! This is good!”

I transferred my gaze to Chase, who looked decidedly unhappy. Which just goes to show that one man’s dream is another man’s nightmare. Frankly I didn’t care either way. Chase moving in or Chase moving out. Gran moving out or Gran moving in. Babies or no babies. I knew that Odelia would always have my back and so would the rest of the Pooles and the Lips. They’d saved me from an exploding beer bottle and I’d done the same for them. In other words, it was all good.

And as I watched my humans tuck in and be merry, I placed a paw around Dooley’s shoulder. “Relax, buddy. Babies or no babies, we’ll always be Odelia’s pets. And who knows? If a pack of wild babies should happen to pop up one day all it would mean is more humans to buy tasty bits of kibble for us, right? And more humans to cuddle us and spoil us rotten.”

He eyed me with surprise.“You really think so, Max?”

“I know so. You know what I heard? That babieslove cats. Absolutely adore us.”

He thought about this. Hard. I could tell from the whirring sound his brain made. Then something clicked and he nodded solemnly.“All right, Max. I’m ready to have a baby.”

7.5. PURRFECTLY FLEALESS

Chapter 1

We were out in the backyard of Odelia’s house, undergoing what at first glance to any observer would have appeared an extremely humiliating procedure: Odelia had put a large washtub on the lawn, had filled it with warm soapy water, and was meticulously dragging a comb through the water and through my fur in an effort to catch those last, hard-to-reach fleas that might still linger on my precious bod. Meanwhile Marge was doing the same with Harriet, and Grandma Muffin with Dooley. Brutus, the fourth cat in our small menagerie, was doing his business in the bushes, waiting for his turn.

“And? Did you find any?” I asked, getting a little antsy.

As a general rule I hate getting wet. Odelia had assured me this washing time business was for the greater good, though, so I had agreed to go with it. Just this once.

“So far so good,” she said as she carefully inspected the comb.

“Why isn’t Brutus getting waterboarded?” I asked. “It’s not fair. We’re all getting waterboarded and he’s getting away scot-free. I think Chase should waterboard his cat.”

“It’s not waterboarding,” Odelia explained. “It’s just a gentle grooming session.”

“Whatever,” I grumbled, as I watched Dooley patiently undergoing similar treatment.

“I like it,” my friend said. “As long as it gets rid of these fleas I’m all for it.”

“I agree,” said Harriet, who now sported a dab of foam on the top of her head. “Anything to get rid of these hairy little monsters is all right by me.”

“Hairy?” asked Dooley, his eyes widening. “Nobody said anything about hairy.”

“Oh, yes,” said Harriet. “Fleas are big, hairy monsters, Dooley. As hairy as they come.”

Dooley gulped.“Get them off me, Grandma. Please get them off me!”

“Hold your horses,” Grandma grunted as she squinted at the comb. She then held it up for her daughter’s inspection. “Do you see anything on there, Marge? Those little suckers are so small I can’t be sure.”

Marge studiously ignored her mother, though, and continued combing Harriet as if Grandma hadn’t spoken. Ever since the old woman had decided to leave Hampton Cove to go and live with her newly acquired grandson, Grandma Muffin was dead to Marge.

Undeterred, Grandma waved the comb in Marge’s face. “Is that a flea or a piece of lint? I can’t tell.”

Marge finally took a closer look at the comb, a dark frown on her face.“Unless it’s an imaginary flea, like your imaginary pregnancy, there’s nothing there.”

“Suit yourself,” Grandma grumbled, and went back to dragging the comb through Dooley’s gray mane. She was using ample amounts of soap, and Dooley was now starting to resemble a drowned rat, hunted look in his eyes and all. “I’ll have you know that that was a great opportunity, Marge, and if you’d have been in my shoes you’d have gone for it, too.”

Marge turned on her mother.“No, I wouldn’t. I would never leave my family to go and live with a bunch of strangers just to get my hands on a little bit of money.”

“It wasn’t a little bit of money,” said Gran. “it was a lot. A big ol’ bundle of cash.”

“Even so. You don’t leave your family just because you happen to strike it rich.”

“I would have brought you in on the deal eventually,” said Gran.

Marge planted a fist on her hip.“And how would you have done that?”

Gran shrugged.“I would have hired you as my maid or something, and Tex as the chauffeur. That way you could have lived in a little room over the garage. Shared the wealth.”

Marge pressed her lips together and made a strangled sound at the back of her throat. Living above the garage and working as her own mother’s maid didn’t seem to appeal to her all that much.

“Dad is a doctor, not a chauffeur, Gran,” Odelia pointed out. “And Mom is a librarian, not a maid.”

“Who cares? The Goldsmiths got money to burn. He wouldn’t have had to do any chauffeuring. Just pretend to go through the motions. Maybe wash a limo from time to time. Wear one of them snazzy peaked caps. Just saying. This family missed a great opportunity.”

“We didn’t miss anything,” said Marge. “All we missed was you going off and showing your true colors.”

Brutus had returned from his business in the bushes, and was stalking across the lawn with the air of a cat whose bowel movements have just proved a source of great enjoyment. If he’d been a human male he’d have carried a newspaper under his arm, folded to the sports section. When he caught sight of the flea party in progress on the lawn, the smile of contentment faded and he started backtracking in the direction of the bushes again.

Marge’s eagle eyes had spotted the big, black cat, though. “Oh, Brutus, there you are. Come over here a minute, will you? We need to check you for fleas.”

“I ain’t got no fleas,” he said promptly. “No, ma’am. I’m officially flea-free.”

Marge smiled indulgently.“Be that as it may, you still need checking out. Now come over here and I’ll give you your checkup.”

“Does that mean you’re done with me?” asked Harriet with a note of disappointment in her voice. Harriet likes being pampered and groomed. The more pampering the better.

“Yup. All done,” said Marge.

“Oh,” said Harriet, and reluctantly relinquished her spot to her beau Brutus.

“You know?” said Dooley as he directed a fishy look at a floating flea. “I’m not so sure this is an entirely humane way to treat these animals, Max.”

“What animals?” I asked as Odelia lifted my tail and checked my rear end.

“Well, we’re all God’s creatures, Max, so maybe all this poisoning and waterboarding and generally slaughtering these poor fleas isn’t the way to go is what I mean to say.”

We all stared at the cat. Even Grandma momentarily paused her combing efforts.“You’re nuts,” was her opinion. “I’ve got a nut for a cat.”

Odelia, however, seemed prepared to give Dooley the benefit of the doubt.“I thought you didn’t like fleas, Dooley? You couldn’t wait to get rid of them?”

“Oh, I do. Hate the little parasites, I mean. And I do want to get rid of them. But maybe we should go about this the humane way. Treat them with kindness. Humanely.”

“Whatever,” said Harriet with a flick of her tail as she licked those last few droplets of water from her shiny white fur. “As long as they’re gone, it’s fine by me.” She then gave me a censorious look. “So have you found your Patient Zero yet, Max?”

I looked up, distracted by Odelia dragging her comb across my sensitive belly.“Huh?”

“Patient Zero,” Harriet repeated impatiently. “I thought you and Dooley were trying to track down the cat who got us into this mess and deal with him or her properly?”

“Yeah,” I said vaguely. “We’re, um, working on it.”

“Well, work faster,” she said. “I don’t want to go through this ordeal again.”

“Are you really tracking down Patient Zero, Max?” asked Marge.

“Sure, sure,” I said. Actually I’d totally forgotten about this elusive Patient Zero. Like Harriet said, as long as the fleas were gone, who cared about Patient Zero, let alone patients one or two or three or whatever? “We’re looking into it, aren’t we, Dooley?”

But Dooley was still thinking about the fate of those poor fleas.“I mean, if the Humane Society cares so much about horses and the way they’re treated in all those Hollywood movies, shouldn’t they look into fleas, too? We’re all God’s creatures, right?”

Brutus emitted a groan.“Fleas aren’t creatures, Dooley. Fleas are a pest. And pests should be terminated. End of discussion.”

“Fleas deserve our consideration, Brutus,” said Dooley with a pained look as he watched a flea float lifelessly in the tub. “Have you ever stopped to consider that this flea right here has a mother and a father who care about him or her? And brothers and sisters?”

“Lots and lots of brothers and sisters,” said Odelia with a slight grin. “Millions of them. Probably billions or even trillions.”

“We still owe it to them to treat them with kindness and respect,” Dooley insisted.

Odelia held up her comb.“This is being kind, Dooley. This is being respectful.”

“Kind and respectful,” Gran scoffed. “They’re not being kind when they suck your blood, are they? So why should we be kind to them?”

“Kill ‘em all is what I say,” said Brutus, with a decisive motion of his paw. “Carpet bomb the suckers to oblivion.”

“Speaking of carpets, did you take the vacuum bags out to the trash?” asked Marge. “They’re probably full of eggs, larvae and pupae. Best to get rid of them immediately.”

And so the discussion went on for a while. Harriet wasn’t to be deterred, though. She was directing a scathing glance in my direction. I rolled my eyes. She wasn’t going to let this go, I could tell. She was going to hound me until I produced this mysterious Patient Zero.

“Fine,” I said finally. “We’ll find your Patient Zero and we’ll find him today, all right?”

She smiled.“Thanks, Maxie. I knew you’d listen to reason. Brutus and I will join you. And together we’ll search this town until we’ve tracked down the cat who’s responsible for this terrible outbreak and make sure he or she is unflead ASAP.”

“I don’t think unflead is a word, honey,” said Marge.

Harriet flapped her paws.“Deflead, then. Whatever. But mark my words, I won’t rest until the last flea of Hampton Cove has been terminated.” When Dooley gasped, she quickly added, “in the most humane and kindest way possible, of course.”

Chapter 2

The moment we were finally declared flea-free, the four of us set out to start hunting high and low for Patient Zero and‘take care of him,’ in Harriet’s words. She seemed pretty sure this Patient Zero was a male, as only males could be so dumb as to allow themselves to be infested with a bunch of lowly parasites.

“And it’s not just that the female of the species is smarter than the male, we’re more hygienic, too,” she claimed now as we tracked along the sidewalks of Hampton Cove. “I for one would never allow even a single flea to lay its eggs on my precious fur if I could help it.”

“None of us would allow that,” I countered. “Do you think I like hosting a flea party?”

“You tomcats are simply too insensitive to even feel that you’re being ravaged by a bunch of parasites,” she said, tail high in the air as usual. “You could have thousands of fleas feasting on your bodies and you wouldn’t even know. But put one flea on me and I’ll know instantly that something is wrong. Admit it, Max, females are much more conscious of their bodies than males.”

“Like the princess and the pea,” said Dooley, much to my surprise. When we all looked at him, he shrugged. “She could feel the pea, which showed everyone she was a princess. The same way Harriet can feel the flea, which shows us she’s…” He swallowed, and his cheeks would probably have flushed a bright scarlet if they hadn’t been covered in fur.

“Aw, Dooley,” said Harriet. “You think I’m a princess? That’s so sweet of you.”

Brutus gave Dooley a dirty look. Its meaning was clear: she’s my princess, buddy, so paws off.

We passed along the streets of Hampton Cove, the sleepy little town in the Hamptons where life is lived at a more leisurely pace than in other small towns the world over. This morning was different, however, with the sound of vacuum cleaners working at full tilt audible wherever we pointed our antenna-like ears. Windows had been flung open, with duvets, comforters and mattresses hanging from ledges, soaking up the sun’s rays, carpets being cleaned with a frantic energy that told us the flea infestation had left the good people of Hampton Cove scrambling. Some people were even fogging and fumigating their houses, judging from the clouds of acrid smoke wafting through windows and doors and chimneys.

Dooley shook his head.“Maybe we should call the Humane Society, Max. I think they’d have a field day fighting all this cruelty and this utterly senseless suffering.”

“How long do you think a flea can survive inside a vacuum bag?” asked Harriet.

“Not long,” said Brutus. “I imagine they die a slow and painful death of suffocation.”

Dooley uttered a strangled cry.“Oh, those poor, poor creatures.”

“They’re a pest,” Brutus grunted. “And pests should be eradicated. No mercy.”

“Some people consider cats a pest,” I said. “They feel we should be eradicated.”

“Some people are pests,” Brutus countered. “So maybe they should eradicate themselves.”

“Oh, but they do,” said Harriet. “People kill each other all the time. They enjoy it.”

She was right. Only a couple of days ago a grandson had killed his grandfather, just so he could take over the old man’s title as Most Fascinating Man in the World. No cat would ever kill another cat for the mere pleasure of being called Most Fascinating Cat in the World. Humans sometimes can be quite inhumane. Before I could ponder the topic more deeply, however, we’d arrived in the heart of town, and Brutus and Harriet took one side of the street while Dooley and I took the other. We were looking for clues revealing the identity of this Patient Zero, and what better way to go about this pursuit than to talk to other cats?

Cats, as you might imagine, are extremely chatty creatures. There’s nothing a cat likes better than to gossip about his or her fellow cats. And since our human is in the business of providing fresh human gossip to other humans every day through her column in the Hampton Cove Gazette, that works out quite nicely. So we passed by the barber shop and talked to the barber’s Maine Coon Buster, who sat licking his paws in front of the shop.

“First time I laid eyes on a flea I was a young whippersnapper of six months,” he said with a faraway look in his eyes as he temporarily halted his grooming. “My pa showed me. Said a cat’s not a cat without a bunch of fleas burrowing into his skin.” He sighed wistfully. “Ma kicked him out of the house that day and I haven’t seen him since. I miss my old man sometimes. Said he’d fathered a thousand kittens in his time, and felt ready and primed to father a thousand more. Which is probably why Ma kicked him out in the first place.”

“That’s all fine and dandy,” I said, trying to halt the stream of words. Buster likes to gab, and sometimes it’s hard to get him to focus. “But we’re trying to figure out when this flea infestation started, so try to cast your mind back to when you saw the first flea now—not when you were a young whipper… snipper.”

He dabbed at his eyes with his paws.“He said he’d be back for me, Pa did. But I never saw him again. I sometimes wonder if he’s out there somewhere, looking up at the same stars at night, thinking about me and those fun times we shared back in the day.”

“If he fathered a thousand kittens and was ready to father a thousand more it’s highly unlikely he remembers you, Buster,” said Dooley, offering his two cents.

Buster stopped rubbing his eyes and gave Dooley a nasty look.“Who asked you?”

“It’s simple logic,” Dooley argued. “How can a cat be expected to remember one cat out of thousands? And I’ll bet you were not very memorable at six months. None of us are.”

“Dooley,” I told him warningly.

“I stood out amongst the bunch,” said Buster through gritted teeth. “Even as a kitten.”

“I’m sure you did, Buster,” I said pacifically. “Now about this Patient Zero…”

“Are you telling me that my pa never gave me a second thought? Cause let me tell you, you scruffy-faced piece of no-good mongrel, he did. Pa said he’d be back for me and the only reason he would break that promise is if he was detained someplace, unable to come.”

“Probably fathering his ten-thousandth kitty,” said Dooley. “Or taking a breather. Fathering so many kitties causes a lot of wear and tear. Your pa probably hung up his spurs.”

“Why, you little…” Buster began, swinging his paw. “I should knock your whiskers off.”

“Now, now,” I said. “We’re all friends here.”

“Just buzz off,” said Buster, giving us a distinctly unfriendly look.

And as we walked away, Dooley asked,“Is it something I said, Max?”

“No, Dooley,” I said with a sigh. “But maybe from now on you’ll let me do the talking, all right? We are trying to find Patient Zero, not looking to start a fight.”

“Okay, Max. I was just pointing out a flaw in Buster’s logic, that’s all.”

“I know you were, Dooley. I know you were.”

Chapter 3

Next up was Tigger, the plumber’s cat, who, for some reason, sat people-watching on the stoop of Daym Fine Liquor, the local liquor store.

“Hey, Tigger,” I said by way of greeting. “What’s new?”

Tigger, a small hairless cat, held up his paw and I high-fived him.“Hiya, fellas,” he said. “Just waiting on my human. My human likes this store. In fact it’s his favorite store in all of Hampton Cove. He’s in here all the time so I’m out here all the time.”

“Why?” asked Dooley, who was in an inquisitive mood today. “You’re not a dog. You’re not supposed to sit out here and wait for your human.”

“Oh, I know I’m not a dog,” said Tigger. “But once Gwayn has some liquor in him he tends to forget he’s got me to feed, so I like to trail him to remind him I’m still here.”

It was an intensely sad story, though Tigger didn’t seem to see it that way, judging from his chipper demeanor. Just one of those things cats take in their stride, I guess. When your human is a tippler, like Gwayn Partington obviously was, a cat learns to adjust.

“We’re looking for Patient Zero,” Dooley said, getting straight down to business.

“Maybe check the hospitals?” Tigger suggested. “That’s where they keep those. I know on account of the fact that Gwayn has been in one. He has balance issues, you see, and tends to fall on his face from time to time. It’s a terrible affliction. Every time it happens an ambulance comes anda couple of men in white take him down to the hospital.”

“We’re not looking for a particular patient,” I clarified. “We’re looking for the first cat in Hampton Cove who got infested with fleas. If we can track him or her down, we might be able to nip this thing in the bud, so to speak. Eradicate this infestation once and for all.”

Tigger shook his head.“I’m sorry to disappoint you, fellas, but you can’t eradicate a flea infestation. Fleas are everywhere! Fleas are all around, just like in the song.”

“Song? What song?” I asked.

“Fleas are all around,” he began to sing to the tune of‘Love is all around.’

“They weren’t before—not on this massive scale. Someone brought them here.”

He stopped singing and gave me a pensive look.“Maybe ask Chief Alec? If anyone knows what’s going on in Hampton Cove it’s Chief Alec. Chief Alec knows. And he’s nice to cats. I should know. The other day, when Gwayn spent the night at the police station, Chief Alec drove over to the house and gave me a saucer of milk and a piece of hisham sandwich. What a mensch!”

“Gwayn spent the night at the police station?” I asked.

“Sure. He was driving through town when he happened to drive through a red light—Gwayn suffers from color-blindness as well as this falling-on-his-face thing, you see—and so Chief Alec made him walk a line. Apparently that’s what they do when people drive through red lights—make them walka line. He must have aced the test because the Chief was so kind to offer Gwayn free lodgings at the police station for the night. Like I said, a real mensch.”

Just then, Gwayn Partington came staggering out of the liquor store, a big brown paper bag in his arms, and stared down at us.“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “First there was one cat and now there’s three? I must be off a damn lot worse than I thought!”

We watched as Tigger’s human stumbled down the street, his hair sticking up, his bushy beard unkempt, and his blue coveralls a little too tattered to appeal to the average client of his plumbing business. Tigger sighed. “I love my human, I really do, but he doesn’t make it easy.” He turned and started in pursuit of the sauced plumber. “See ya, fellas. And if you see this Patient Zero of yours, tell him next time he should keep his fleas to himself.”

“Wait, I thought you didn’t believe in this Patient Zero theory?” I yelled after him.

“If you believe it, I believe it!” he yelled back, and gave us a cheerful wave.

“He’s a real philosopher, this Tigger,” said Dooley admiringly.

“With a human like that, you have to be,” I said.

“Do you think Gwayn Partington is an alcoholic, Max?”

“Either he’s an alcoholic or a method actor getting into character as an alcoholic.”

We traipsed on, dodging pedestrians as we did, until we reached the Vickery General Store, where two cats sat shooting the breeze in front of the store. They were Kingman, generally accepted as the best-informed cat in Hampton Cove, and a ratty little cat called Kitty. She belonged to a local landscaper and was explaining something to Kingman while gesticulating wildly.

“And then he locked me up in the washer. The washer! Can you imagine?!”

I’d heard the story before so I wasn’t all that interested. Still, being locked up in a washing machine is one of those universal horror stories that gives cats the creepy crawlies.

“Her human locked her up in the washer,” said Kingman, jerking a paw to Kitty. “Can you believe it? What an idiot.”

“At least you didn’t get fleas,” I said.

“Fleas don’t kill you, tough guy,” said Kitty. “The washer will. Unless you’re me, of course.” She shook her head. “No idea how I survived that one. I must be one tough kitty.”

“Maybe your Odelia should write a story about that,” Kingman suggested. “I mean, all she ever writes about is humans doing stuff to other humans, but when is she finally going to write about the things that really matter? Like getting stuck in a washer, huh? Or this flea infestation? That’sthe stuff I would like to see featured on the front page once in a while.”

“He’s right, you know,” said Kitty. “I mean, take that big story that’s been all over the news these last coupla days. About that Most Fascinating Dude that got killed by some other Most Fascinating Dude. Who cares, right? I don’t. Dudes be killing dudes all over the place all the time.But how often do you get to talk to a cat that survived three washing cycles?”

“You survived three washing cycles?” I asked.

“It sure feels like it! But do I get asked for an exclusive interview? No, sir! No fair!”

“You should tell Odelia to give me a call,” said Kingman, tapping my chest smartly. “I have an interesting story to tell about the flea epidemic. A story that would rock this town.”

“Or she could call me,” said Kitty. “A cat that survived four washing cycles!”

I stared at Kingman, hope surging in my bosom.“You know something about this flea thing?”

“Sure I do,” said the voluminous piebald, and wiggled one of his chins for emphasis. “Mark my words. If what I have to say gets printed in the Hampton Cove Gazette the good people of this town would be shocked. Shocked, I tell you!”

“Not as shocked as I was after surviving five washing cycles!” cried Kitty.

“Do washing machines even go through five washing cycles?” I asked.

“Ten! A dozen! If not more!”

“Just the one,” said Dooley. “I know because I love to watch the machine go round and round.”

“All cats love to watch the machine go round and round,” said Kingman.

“Well, my human’s machine goes round and round at least two dozen cycles,” said Kitty adamantly, “and I survived every single one of them. So there.” And having said this, she stalked off, ready to pounce on the next cat and start telling her story all over again.

“Look, Kingman,” I said. “We’re on a mission, Dooley and I. A mission to find Patient Zero. So better tell us everything you know about this flea infestation and better tell us now.”

Kingman nodded soberly.“It was a dark and stormy night…” he began.

Chapter 4

“A cat who shall not be named was on her way home from cat choir when a limo crawled to a stop right next to her. The limo door opened and a handsome cat beckoned from inside, inviting our unnamed cat choir friend in. After a moment’s hesitation, she entered the limo, the door closed behind herand the limo drove off into the night.” Kingman paused for emphasis, and was rewarded by a look of astonishment from me and Dooley.

“And then what happened?” asked Dooley finally.

Kingman shrugged.“Do I have to draw you a picture? Use your imagination.”

Dooley and I shared a look, Dooley’s more confused than mine.

“What did they do, Max?” he asked.

“They, um, played pinochle,” I said. Not my best effort, but judging from Dooley’s nod, he bought it. I turned to Kingman. “So what does this have to do with the flea thing?”

“My friend tells me that the very next morning she woke up with a terrible itch. Scratching didn’t help, and when she went to her human, he immediately diagnosed her with an acute case of fleas and called the vet to supply her with the necessary antidote.”

“So… this cat in this limo gave this friend of yours fleas? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Five minutes after she talked to me, I got the itch, and it’s been spreading like wildfire all over Hampton Cove ever since. So it would appear, my boys, that this infestation wasn’t homegrown, but was imported from the outside.”

“In a limo,” I said, and I didn’t even bother to hide my skepticism.

“In a limo.”

“And the cat in the limo was…”

“No idea. But I’ve heard more stories since then.” He fixed us with a knowing look. “Limo Cat has been driving through town every night, seducing local womenfolk and giving them fleas in return for a quick session of…” He cut a look to Dooley. “… pinochle. Find the limo, and you’ll find your Patient Zero.”

“So who is this friend of yours? I’d like to have a chat with her.”

“No can do,” he said. “I promised her absolute secrecy. And you know me, fellas. Kingman’s word is his bond. Kingman keeps his promises. Kingman is king of discretion.”

Kingman is king of gossip—biggest blabbermouth in town. Why all of a sudden he would clam up on me was anyone’s guess. But try as I might, he wasn’t divulging the name of Limo Cat’s first victim. Nor would he give us more details of this fateful midnight rendezvous.

“You know what I think, though?”

“Yes, I do want to know what you think, Kingman,” I said. “In fact I can’t wait.”

“I think this is all one big government conspiracy.”

Oh, God. Not with the conspiracy stuff again.“You don’t say.”

“I do say. And what’s more, I think the Deep State has made up its mind to destroy the United States cat population and has selected Hampton Cove as its testing ground.”

“It has?” asked Dooley, visibly perturbed.

“Sure. This Limo Cat probably works for the FBI or the DHS or any of those acronyms. And he’s spreading some noxious disease by infecting our cats one by one.” He nodded seriously. “Mark my words, boys. Before you know it, cats will be dying left and right.”

Dooley squeezed his eyes shut.“I knew it!” he squeaked. “I knew it! I told you, Max. We’re all gonna die!”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are!”

“Nobody’s dying, Dooley. And there’s no conspiracy.”

“Oh, yes, there is,” said Kingman. “Welcome to the Deep State, boys.”

“Fleas don’t kill cats, Kingman,” I said. “They’re annoying, but nowhere near lethal.”

“These fleas are. These are killer fleas, cooked up in some secret government lab.”

Dooley produced a soft whimper.“I knew it!”

“There is no secret government lab!” I cried. “There are no killer fleas!”

“It’s the Deep State,” said Kingman, sounding like one of those talk radio nutters.

“There is no Deep State!”

“Yes, there is.” He leaned in and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And it’s very, very deep.”

“Wow, that’s deep, Kingman,” I said, but the cat was oblivious to irony, as he nodded knowingly and tapped the right side of his nose for some reason.

We walked on, leaving Kingman to dispense his theories to the next cat that stopped by the store. Judging from the terrified look on Dooley’s face this search for Patient Zero was turning into a trip to Mount Doom and not the fun and educational project I’d anticipated.

“There are no killer fleas, Dooley,” I insisted. “If there were, don’t you think the streets would be littered with dead cats by now?”

Just then, we spotted a dead cat lying in the gutter and Dooley squeaked,“I knew it! I knew Kingman was right!”

But when we moved closer, I saw it wasn’t a dead cat but a dead opossum. And when I gave it a tentative nudge with my paw, it opened one eye, then quickly closed it again.

“I know you’re just pretending,” I told the opossum.

“I’m not pretending,” said the opossum. “I’m really dead.”

“Dead opossums don’t talk.”

This seemed to have stumped him, for he opened both eyes now.“Is the coast clear?” he asked in a low voice.

I shrugged.“The coast is always clear.” I really don’t understand that expression.

He breathed a sigh of relief and lifted his head.“I thought I saw a human.” Then he happened to glance across the street, uttered a high shriek, and dropped dead again.

“You’re in downtown Hampton Cove,” I told him. “There’re humans everywhere.”

“Just like there are killer fleas everywhere,” said Dooley somberly.

“For the hundredth time, there are no killer fleas,” I said emphatically.

“Only there are.”

“Not.”

“Kingman knows!”

“Kingman is nuts!”

“Look, if you’re going to keep yapping like this I’m gonna go ahead and move to the next gutter,” said the opossum. “How can I play dead with all this yapping going on?”

“Tell him there are no killer fleas,” I told the opossum.

“There are no killer fleas,” said the opossum. “There. Happy now?”

“You’re just saying that to get rid of me,” said Dooley.

“You’re right. He’s right,” he told me. “I do want to get rid of him. Both of youse, actually. Then again, every idiot knows killer fleas don’t exist. Who put that crazy idea in your noggin?”

“Kingman,” we both said in unison.

“Kingman as in the fat cat that squats in front of the General Store?”

I nodded.“He seems to think the Deep State sent a limo to Hampton Cove that contains a cat that infests the local cat population with killer fleas as a test case for a national pandemic to occur at some point in the near future that will kill all cats everywhere.”

The opossum, contrary to its desire to remain inconspicuous, emitted a raucous laugh.“And you morons believe that load of crap? Cats are even dumber than I thought!”

“Dooley believes that load of crap—I don’t,” I clarified.

“I’m starting to have my doubts,” Dooley said now. It’s never fun to be insulted by an opossum, and it appeared this particular opossum was having better luck convincing Dooley Kingman was an idiot than I was.

“Mind you, getting rid of all cats nationwide is something I can only applaud. Then again, since it’s a bogus notion, there’s not much sense yapping about it. So why don’t you both move right along and I can go back to doing what I do best: playing dead opossum.”

“But what about the limo?” asked Dooley. “It sounds so… specific.”

“Oh, there is a limo out there, all right,” said the opossum. “I’ve seen it. But no killer fleas, unfortunately.”

“You’ve seen the limo?” I asked.

The opossum sighed.“If I tell you will you finally go away?”

“I promise we’ll go away and you can do what you do best,” I said.

“Every night, a limo passes through town. Its windows are tinted, its lights are dimmed, and inside is a lustful roving animal, hunting the streets of Hampton Cove in search of females. Once he’s set his eyes on a particular prey, the limo driver pulls over, the door opens, and Limo Cat inviteshis clueless victim into the limo. And since all cats are idiots, all cats accept the offer, step into the limo, and are never seen or heard from again.” When he saw the horrified looks on our faces, he laughed. “That last part’s not true. I made that up. But I did see that limo pull over a couple of nights ago, and I did see a cat get in and the limo take off. What I didn’t see were killer fleas or government spooks or any other crazy stuff.”

“So… where did you see that limo, exactly?” I asked.

But I was talking to a dead opossum. Or a method actor playing a dead opossum.

Chapter 5

We met up with Brutus and Harriet on the roof of The Hungry Pipe, one of Hampton Cove’s cat population’s favorite hangouts, mainly because the owner likes to store his restaurant’s trash on the roof before transferring it to the alley below for collection.

“Nothing!” Brutus said when we’d finally navigated the fire escape and arrived up top. “We talked to everyone we know up and down the street and they all told us the same thing: whoever or whatever caused this infestation will always remain a secret.”

“No, it won’t,” I told him, and proceeded to clue him and Harriet in on the little secret Kingman had shared.

“The opossum said that,” said Harriet, not concealing her disbelief. “A dead opossum. Seriously.”

“It wasn’t dead,” said Dooley. “It was just pretending to be dead, like opossums do.”

“So a dead opossum and Kingman, the biggest con cat in all of Hampton Cove, think a cat in a limo caused all this.” She rolled her eyes, and very expressively so, too. “Puh-lease. That is just ridiculous.”

“I think you’re missing the point,” said Dooley. “The opossum wasn’t really dead. It was just pretending to be dead. And he said he actually saw that Limo Cat with his own eyes and…” Harriet gave him a look of such hauteur he stopped mid-sentence.

“Limo Cat. Huh,” said Brutus, though judging from the smirk he was displaying he had a hard time giving credence to the story as well.

“Look, I don’t care if you believe us or not,” I said, “but the fact remains that two witnesses so far told us about this limo and I, for one, would like to try and find Kingman’s friend—the one who got into the limo and when she got out was infested with the bugs.”

“Will you look at that?” said Harriet, and I had the impression she wasn’t referring to me or the bugs or even the fake-dead opossum. When I turned to look, I saw she was actually talking about a small troupe of cats who had just arrived on the rooftop, and who were now going through a seriesof highly vigorous warm-up routines.

“It’s the Most Interesting Cats in the World,” said Brutus, fascinated by the sight.

“I know who they are, Brutus,” snapped Harriet. “And if you ask me they’re not as interesting as they make themselves out to be.”

“Oh, for sure,” said Brutus, his eyes riveted on the cats. “Not interesting at all. Absolutely uninteresting, in fact.”

The cats had spotted us, and trotted up limberly.“Hey, cats of Hampton Cove,” said the leader, a butch cat called Princess. “Are you here to spy on the competition?”

Harriet frowned.“Competition?”

“Yeah, the contest? You are going to Vegas, right? For the Ultimate Cat Show?”

“Um, no,” said Harriet, as if Vegas was the last place on earth she wanted to be.

“Oh, too bad,” said Princess. “Always fun to demolish the other teams, especially when they’re as weak and pathetic as you guys obviously are.” She laughed a very unpleasant laugh. “At least if that performance at the park was any indication.”

“We’re not show cats,” Dooley explained. “We’re cat sleuths, actually.”

“Cat sleuths!” cried Princess, almost choking. “Of course you are.” She gave us a look of disdain, only matched by the one her teammates gave us. “And what have you been sleuthing lately? How to get rid of your silly little flea infestation? Oh, yes, we’ve heard all about that, haven’t we, ladies?”

The other cats nodded, producing scornful sounds.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Harriet.

“Show cats like us don’t get infested with fleas,” said Princess. “Gorgeous cats like us are too well-groomed to attract common vermin.” At the mention of the word vermin she cut an up-and-down glance at Harriet that made the latter’s blood boil, if the steam flowing from her ears was any indication. “Because as you know, vermin attracts vermin, girl.”

“Are you calling me vermin?” demanded Harriet, eyes glittering dangerously.

“If the shoe fits…”

“Why, you horrible little—”

“Ooh, I think we’ve got ourselves a challenger, sisters,” said Princess.

“Bring it,” said Beca, the Most Attractive Cat in the World.

“Let’s do this,” said Chloe, the Most Intriguing Cat in the World.

“We’ve got this, sisters!” exclaimed Aubrey, the Most Iconic Cat in the World.

“Hit it!” hollered Fat Amy, the Sexiest Cat Alive.

And before we could stop them, the quintet were shaking and quaking their booties as they moved into some sort of convulsive dance routine. I’d seen them in action before, and they were pretty amazing. The show they now provided was equally entertaining, with snatches from several hit songs. Justin Timberlake’sSexyBack sounded familiar, as didUptown Funk and even Ed Sheeran’sShape of You. Before long, the roof was filled with cats of all shapes and sizes, cheering on the Most Interesting Cats troupe and whooping it up.

Harriet, meanwhile, stood fuming to the side. She had many talents, but singing and dancing were not amongst them.“Let’s go, Brutus,” she said finally. “Brutus? Brutus!”

But Brutus was too busy staring at the dance routine to notice his lady love needed him. Finally, she stalked off alone, and when I looked back I saw that Harriet had left the roof.

Chapter 6

Harriet gracefully made her way from the roof to the street level below, halting halfway down and pausing for a moment to gather her wits. Even though she was loath to admit it, this most recent altercation with the cat troupe had rattled her. And that was probably because they were right. These cats were gorgeous, talented, on their way to the top, and above all, they were well-groomed and obviously flea-free in a way that she wasn’t.

The flea episode had shaken her to the core. A proud cat, and always conscious of the way she looked and acted and the impact her appearance had on other cats, she’d hated the way those fleas had made her feel. Dirty. Soiled. Degraded. The whole incident had lowered her self-esteem and had probably been the most traumatic experience of her young life.

And now these Most Interesting Cats had rubbed her nose in it. Had sprinkled ample supplies of salt in the wound and reminded her that she was merely a small-town cat living in a small-town environment with no future to look forward to and no prospects to speak of.

Like Princess, she wanted to go to shows and win prizes. She wanted to sing and dance and be appreciated by the masses. Go on to perform in front of millions and be on the cover of Time Magazine as Cat of the Year. And why stop there? Why not act in ad campaigns and be hailed Most Beautiful Cat in the World by the pundits—whoever they were?

It was obvious though that her ambitions would never amount to a hill of beans. Never would she leave this small town that now felt more like a prison than the support system she’d always appreciated it for. Her friends? Losers, just like her. Her humans? Small-town people with small-town dreams. She, on the other hand, had big dreams and big hopes for a bright and better future. Hopes and dreams that would never be. And this auspicious meeting with Princess and her MostInteresting Cats had finally made her aware of that.

Just then, Brutus descended from the roof and joined her.

“Hey, baby cakes. You suddenly disappeared. What happened? Didn’t you like the show?”

“No, I didn’t like the show,” she snapped, then turned away from her boyfriend to hide the moisture that had sprung to her eyes. “In fact I hated it,” she said quietly.

“Hey, now,” said Brutus. “Sugar plum. What’s wrong? Are those… tears?” He said it with the note of quiet horror typical for any male suddenly confronted with a teary female.

“No—yes,” she said. “Oh, Brutus, why can’t I be successful like those Interesting Cats? Why can’t I have a career as a show cat and be loved and praised by all? Why can’t I have a show in Vegas like C?line? Why can’t I…” She faltered, well aware that these private yearnings of her heart were utterly pointless. And still she couldn’t help feeling as she did.

“But you are loved and praised,” said Brutus, the sweet dear. He was speaking in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “You’re appreciated by every cat I know. We all think you’re the most beautiful cat in all of Hampton Cove. And I, for one…” He swallowed, not used to expressing these deeper, finer emotions. “I, for one, think you’re the most wonderful cat I’ve ever met, honey muffin. And I…” He coughed, pausing his remarks while he let three scruffy-looking cats pass on their way to the roof, where the show was still in full swing. “I, for one…” Once more, a cavalcade of cats made him swallow his words, the sudden diffidence odd in a cat as blunt as Brutus. When more cats interrupted this sacred moment, he finally growled, “Oh, for Pete’s sakes, can’t you morons leave a cat in peace for one minute?!”

“Sorry, Brutus,” said a cat with a lopsided ear and a grating voice. “But we heard there’s one hell of a show going on up top.” He then leered at Harriet. “What’s wrong with your lady cat? You make her cry or something? You break her heart, tough guy?”

“No, I did not make her cry,” he snarled. “And now get lost before I kick you in the butt!” He then turned back to Harriet and said, softer, “Where was I? Oh, that’s right. I just wanted to say that I, for one, appreciate you very much, sweet peach. In fact I…” He swallowed again, looking as if he were about to lay an egg, then pushed out the fateful words. “I… love you, Harriet.”

In spite of her mood of melancholy, Harriet couldn’t resist a smile. He was such a dear, her Brutus. Other cats might think he was a ruffian, bullyragging his way through life, but she knew better. She’d seen his softer side, his true nature, and she knew that beneath that bristly exterior there lurked a tender heart. “That’s very sweet ofyou to say, Brutus.”

“You…” He suddenly looked uncertain. “You do like me, too, don’t you, tootsie roll?”

She nodded, once more distracted by the hopelessness of the situation she was in.“Do you ever wonder if there’s another future for you out there somewhere, Brutus? A future that isn’t so… bleak and dismal? So lacking in hope and brightness?”

“Um, not really,” he said.

She gave him a censorious look. He was a dear, and very sweet, but she now saw he was just like the rest of them: lacking in ambition and the wherewithal to reach for the stars. To dream big and act on those dreams. In other words, he wasn’t a Most Interesting Cat in the World. Not by a long stretch. “Oh, Brutus,” she said finally, and the words came out on a sigh. Life suddenly seemed sad. So very, very sad.

And when Max and Dooley came down from the roof, filled with plans and schemes about how to go about finding this Patient Zero, she suddenly found she’d lost all interest. Who cared about a few fleas? She was never going to get out of Hampton Cove, so what did it matter that they were all infested with these terrible, blood-sucking bugs? Life itself was a blood-sucking, soul-sapping bug, and there was nothing she or anyone could do about it.

Chapter 7

“So where are we going?” asked Harriet.

It was obvious she hadn’t been listening to a word I’d said. She looked a little peaked. Not her usual vivacious self. Despondent. “We’re paying a little visit to Shanille,” I told her.

“Shanille?” she asked dully. “Why Shanille? What does she have to do with all of this?”

Patiently, I explained to her once again how a cat had sidled up to me on the roof and, in the middle of the Most Interesting Cat Show, had asked if I’d heard about Shanille. My ears twitching, he’d told me how Shanille had been going around town, asking forgiveness from any cat who would listen. When they asked her why, she refused to say. Only that she was harboring a great secret, one that was burdening her soul and making her seek relieffrom this heavy load she was carrying on her slightly stooped shoulders.

“So you see what that means, right?” I said. But when my eye met Harriet’s dull gaze, it was obvious she had no clue what I was talking about. “She’s the one I’ve been looking for!” I cried, barely able to contain my excitement.

“That’s great, Max,” said Harriet in the same lifeless tone. “I’m happy for you. Shanille is a great cat and I’m sure you deserve each other. You’ll make each other very, very happy.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, puzzled.

“You said Shanille is the one you’ve been looking for. And now you finally found her. I know it’s too late for me to find what I’m looking for, but that doesn’t mean I can’t rejoice when others fulfill their wishes and satisfy the deepest desires of their hearts.” She gave me a wan smile. “Way to go, Max. I couldn’t be happier for you. Really. Three rousing cheers.”

Uh-oh. It was obvious that this meeting with the Most Interesting Cats had affected Harriet adversely, and I thought I knew why. She probably wanted to be a Most Interesting Cat herself, part of the popular troupe, and the fact that she wasn’t clearly stung. “I’m not interested in Shanille as a love interest, Harriet,” I explained to her now, careful to make my meaning perfectly clear and leave no room for misunderstandings. “I think she’s our Patient Zero. The one who got into that limo that night. The one Kingman was telling us about.”

Harriet raised a dispirited whisker.“Oh?” she asked in a tone that told me she wasn’t the least bit interested in this quest that she’d instigated in the first place.

“Is she all right, Max?” asked Dooley now, as Harriet and Brutus hung back. “She seems bored with us all of a sudden.”

“I think Harriet is suffering from FOMO,” I told him.

He started.“That sounds bad. That sounds terminal! Is she gonna die?!”

I laughed.“FOMO is not something that will kill you, Dooley. FOMO stands for the Fear Of Missing Out. And I think Harriet feels she’s missing out on a lot of things right now.”

“Missing out on what?”

I shrugged.“Missing out on living a Most Interesting Life, I guess.”

Dooley displayed a look of distaste.“She wants to be more like Princess? Ugh.”

“What seems ‘ugh’ to you probably looks very ‘ooh, me wants’ to Harriet.”

“I don’t get it.”

“That’s exactly the way she feels.”

He paused, then shook his head.“I still don’t get it.”

“Harriet has just discovered that there’s a whole other world out there. A world of show cats and glamour and glitter and prizes to be won and crowns to be worn and praise and applause to be had. And she wants all of that. She wants to be up on a stage with people clapping and snapping picturesand writing articles about her. She never thought she wanted it before because she wasn’t particularly aware a world like that even existed, or maybe she was, in a nebulous sort of way, but not made tangible, like with these Most Interesting Cats.”

“Harriet is going to leave us? She’s going to become a Hollywood superstar?”

“I very much doubt it. It’s a little tough to go from a small town like ours all the way to Hollywood, even if you’re the prettiest cat in all of Hampton Cove.”

“She really is the prettiest cat in all of Hampton Cove,” Dooley said reverently.

“And now she’s just discovered there are prettier cats out there—cats that seem more successful in life than she is, and it’s not a pleasant realization for her.”

“Seem to be more successful?”

“Looks can be deceiving, Dooley. Princess might come across as the Most Successful Cat Out There, but I very much doubt that that’s the case.”

“She’s a little vapid and narcissistic,” Dooley said, and I was surprised he even knew the meaning of those words. “And I don’t think she’s a very happy cat, Max.”

“I don’t think so either, Dooley.”

We’d reached St. John’s, the church where Father Reilly has his spiritual and worldly headquarters. St. John’s is a nice red-bricked building with a gabled roof and an actual spire. The oak front doors were huge and heavy, and there was no way we would ever be able to open them if they hadn’talready been slightly ajar, hospitably bidding parishioners to enter. We weren’t parishioners, exactly, but we were here on a mission. Not a mission from God, maybe, but still a mission.

We carefully made our way inside, and were struck by the cool and dark atmosphere. Father Reilly obviously didn’t believe in wasting money on electricity, as the lights were dim and the temperature low. But since we’re cats, and our eyes are more accustomed to the darkness than human eyes, I found our new surroundings soothing, if not a quiet relief from the hustle and bustle outside this high-ceilingedspace.

“This is a very big house, Max,” said Dooley. He’d dropped his voice to a whisper, for some reason, and I felt compelled to do the same.

“It’s not a house, it’s a church,” I whispered back.

“You mean like inThe Da Vinci Code? I liked that movie. I like all Tom Hanks movies. Except maybeCloud Atlas. I didn’t really get that movie, Max.”

“Nobody got that movie, Dooley,” I said, scanning the pews for a sign of Shanille.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Brutus. “I don’t see any cats.”

“Shanille usually hangs out in here. She once told me she likes the peace and quiet.” She also told me she liked the acoustics. And since she’s cat choir’s conductor, she probably needs a place to practice so why not practice in here? I doubted whether Father Reilly would appreciate her brand of singing, though. Shanille doesn’t sing so much as shrieks.

I sniffed the air and got a whiff of an aroma that was a blend of burnt candles, incense and humidity. Statues of stern-looking saints looked down on us from their high perches and the little bit of light that filtered in came through high, stained-glass windows depicting more stern-looking saints. The place reminded me of a tomb for some reason.

“I like this place,” said Harriet, displaying the first signs of animation since we’d left The Hungry Pipe. “It soothes my soul. Maybe I should have been a holy cat, like Shanille.”

“Shanille is not a holy cat,” I said. “Shanille’s human may be a priest, but that doesn’t make her holy.”

“You know what I mean,” said Harriet. “Maybe I should be one of those cats that dedicate their existence to the pursuit of spiritual engagement and the meaning of life.”

We all stared at her. Harriet was the last cat I’d ever suspect of searching for the meaning of life. And the closest she ever came to the pursuit of spiritual engagement was when she got to choose a new bow to wear on top of her head. She loved those bows.

Just then, we heard a soft splashing sound, and quickly deduced it came from somewhere near the back of the church, to the left of the altar. And as we passed pew after pew, I saw that the church was empty, not even Father Reilly having put in an appearance. Behind us, Harriet had slipped into a pew, and murmured,“You guys go ahead. I need to pray.” And she actually closed her eyes, put paws together, and was soon lost in prayer!

“There’s something wrong with Harriet, Max,” said Brutus. “She’s not herself today.”

“I can see that,” I said. “Did she say anything?”

“She said something about a dismal future lacking in hope and brightness.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it, Max. I don’t like it one bit.”

“It’s FOMO,” said Dooley knowingly. “It’s a disease that makes you sad but doesn’t kill you.”

“FOMO? Never heard of it.”

“It’s what Princess has, and Harriet wants it, too,” said Dooley.

“Princess? That jumping bean?”

“Harriet wants to be just like Princess.”

“She shouldn’t. Harriet is a lot prettier and a lot nicer than Princess. In fact Princess can’t hold no candle to Harriet. Not by a mile.” He shook his head. “I wish those Interesting Cats had never set paw in Hampton Cove. Filling Harriet’s head with all kinds of nonsense.”

“You guys,” I said. “I think it’s Shanille.”

We’d reached the source of the splashing sounds and found ourselves looking up at a large stone structure, a cat perched on the rim, splashing herself with pawfuls of water. It was Shanille, and she was muttering strange oaths under her breath. It sounded a lot like, “Through my fault, through myfault, through my most grievous, grievous fault…”

Chapter 8

“What are you doing?” asked Dooley curiously.

Shanille, who hadn’t been aware that she was no longer alone, jumped about a foot in the air, vaulted from her perch on the stone structure and landed on all fours on the granite floor below. She clutched a paw to her chest. “You scared the living daylights out of me! What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for Patient Zero,” Dooley explained helpfully. “And Max seems to think you’re she—or her—or it.”

“What is that thing?” asked Brutus, staring up at the monument Shanille had just made such a nice running dive off of. “And why were you taking a bath in it?”

“I wasn’t taking a bath,” said Shanille, directing a scornful look at Brutus. “I was merely repenting. And for your information, that ‘thing’ is a baptismal font.”

“An abysmal font?” asked Dooley. “What is an abysmal font?”

“Baptismal, not abysmal,” Shanille corrected him. “It’s used to baptize babies.”

“You’re not a baby,” said Brutus, keenly detecting the fatal flaw in Shanille’s logic.

“I know I’m not a baby, Brutus,” she said haughtily. “I was merely…” She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. “I was merely expressing contrition, that’s all.”

“Be that as it may,” I said, deciding to get this interview on the right track again. “We’re on a mission to find out who Patient Zero is who brought this flea pandemic to our community, and, like Dooley mentioned, we have reason to believe that this Patient Zero is in fact you, Shanille. So what do you have to say to that?”

She drew back a little.“What do I have to say to that? That you’re talking through your hat, Max.”

Dooley laughed.“That’s impossible. Max doesn’t even have a hat. Have you, Max?”

“No, I don’t have a hat,” I said, locking eyes with Shanille. This was where all those late-night cop shows came in handy. Interrogation technique. I pointed a paw at Shanille. “Isn’t it a fact that on the night of Thursday the sixteenth you stepped into a limo that stood idling on the side of the road? And isn’t it also a fact that the very next morning you woke up with a terrible itch that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you scratched?” Shanille gasped, but I wasn’t done yet. “And isn’t it also true that Father Reilly discovered, upon closer inspection, that you were infested with a small army of fleas and as a consequence called in Vena Aleman who diagnosed you as having contracted this terrible affliction?!”

Shanille drew herself up to her full height.“Where did you get this information?”

“Kingman told me,” I lied. “And he also told me Limo Cat seduced you and subsequently infested you!”

“Lies!” Shanille cried now, her composure crumbling under this onslaught. “All lies! It wasn’t an entire army of fleas—just a few of them.” She bowed her head, defeated. “It’s true though that I came upon a limo idling on the corner of Franklin and First that fateful night. And it’s true that I injudiciously hopped into that limo and joined that cat. And it’s also true he must have given me this flea affliction that unwittingly turned me into your Patient Zero.”

Dooley gasped.“So it’s true, then. You are Patient Zero!”

Shanille nodded, wringing her paws.“Yes, I am! I am Patient Zero!” she cried, her voice echoing through the church’s nave, bouncing off the stony-faced saints who all seemed to stare down on her with condemnation written all over their unforgiving mugs. “I did all this. I hurt my community and now I must pay the price for mysins.” She tapped her chest and once again began to murmur that strange oath, “Through my fault, through my fault…”

“Hold it,” I said, and she halted her sad lament and looked up. “You’re not Patient Zero. You’re merely a victim of Limo Cat.He’s Patient Zero.He’s the one who should be repenting and taking a bath in Father Reilly’s abysmal font.”

“Baptismal font,” she corrected me, then shook her head. “Limo Cat is not from around here. I am. I’m responsible for this outbreak. I brought this pandemic upon us.”

“But he’s the one who gave you fleas!”

“And I should have known better than to get into a limo with a stranger!”

“Stranger danger,” Dooley muttered automatically.

“So he was a stranger, was he?” I asked, curious to ascertain the identity of this mystery cat. “You never saw him before?”

Shanille hesitated.“He… seemed familiar somehow, though I can’t say why.”

“You didn’t recognize him?”

“He was wearing a mask.”

“A mask!”

She nodded pensively.“It was such a strange experience. There was something electric about him—something utterly mesmerizing. He was perhaps the most charming cat I’ve ever met. And not in an unctuous or cheap way. He was… wonderful. Simply wonderful.” She uttered a little sigh. “When I asked his name he told me to call him Love Symbol.”

I frowned.“Love Symbol. Like Prince.”

She nodded.“He said he’d dropped his name. Claimed names were a tedious and bourgeois convention and that the name humans had given him was now a distant memory of his dead past. A past where he was a mere household pet.”

“As opposed to…”

“He said he was now master of his own fate. Ruler of his domain. King of his home.” She shrugged. “He said a lot of things—that night is almost like a blur to me now. And a moment in my life I’d much rather completely forget. Love Symbol led me to heights I’d never thought I’d experience. And then into the lowest depths the very next morning.” She buried her face into her paws. “And now if you would leave me alone. I need to repent.”

I touched my tail to hers.“It’s all right, Shanille. It wasn’t your fault. No need to repent. As far as I can make out this Limo Cat—Love Symbol—is the one who brought these fleas into our lives, not you.”

“Please go away, Max,” she said in a strangled voice. “I would be alone.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Shanille,” I said. “And stop splashing yourself with water. It’s very uncatlike and frankly a little creepy.”

She nodded, her face still hidden.“I know. But I have to do it. This is all my fault, Max. If I hadn’t succumbed to the temptations of sin, this would never have happened. If I hadn’t fallen for the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye and the pride of life, Hampton Cove would have been spared this terrible ordeal.” She looked up, a sad look in her eyes. “I’m a sinner, Max, and now I must repent and hope I will be forgiven.”

“I forgive you, Shanille,” I said magnanimously.

She clucked her tongue.“Would that it were so simple, Max.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, for lack of anything better to say. I am, after all, not a confessor.

We watched as Shanille made the leap back up to the edge of the baptismal font, and started splashing water over her head once more, murmuring incantations to herself.

“She’ll get over it,” said Brutus.

“Would that it were so simple,” Dooley said.

Chapter 9

As we left the church, I wondered what the odds were for the Most Virtuous Cat in the World to meet the Most Charming Cat in the World and together turn Hampton Cove from a bucolic little town into a flea-infested hellhole. Slim, probably. And still it happened.

“So what’s the plan, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Yes, we need to confront this Love Symbol,” said Brutus. “Teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.”

“Violence, always violence,” said Harriet, still morose even after her prayers. “Why is it that men always seem to resort to violence as the first solution for every problem?”

Brutus frowned.“Because it works?”

Harriet sighed.“Oh, Brutus. You do bore me sometimes.”

Brutus exchanged a quick look of concern with me. Harriet was getting worse. The FOMO virus had taken root and was spreading, quickly poisoning her soul.

“At the very least we should figure out who this Love Symbol is,” I said.

“And then we’ll knock his block off,” Brutus said with a decisive nod.

“Violence, violence,” Harriet muttered.

“Not knock his block off,” I said, “but talk to him. Reason with the cat. Tell him to seek help for his flea affliction. I’m sure that when we explain to him how he’s responsible for this recent outbreak he’ll be horrified and more than happy to comply.”

“That’s it?” asked Brutus, disappointed. “That’s your big solution? Talk to the cat?”

“Sure. Love Symbol probably doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“But he’s driving through town—seducing our lady cats!”

“No law against that,” I said.

“Some kind of pied piper is wreaking havoc in our community and you’re going to let him get away with it? No way. I know you’re a pacifist and all but that is just plain wrong.”

“So what do you suggest? We rough him up? We’re cats, Brutus, not animals.”

“Catsare animals!”

“Still. No need to resort to violence. I’m sure Love Symbol is a perfectly decent cat and—”

“He’s a harbinger of doom!”

“And he works for the Deep State,” said Dooley. “Bringing death and destruction to all cats.”

Brutus gestured to my friend.“See? Even Dooley agrees with me on this one.”

I was slowly losing my patience with these cats.“How many times do I have to say it? There is no Deep State. There is no secret plan to wipe out the country’s cat population. And Love Symbol doesn’t work for the CIA!”

“I have an idea,” suddenly Harriet spoke up. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet for the past five minutes. “We know where Love Symbol picks up his victims, right?”

“On the corner of Franklin and First,” I said.

“So why don’t we meet him there tonight, and see what he has to say for himself?”

“He’s not going to stop his limo for us,” I said. “Love Symbol likes his cats young, pretty and, most importantly, female.”

Harriet cocked her head and smiled. And then I got it. And so did Brutus, judging from the way sound was escaping from his lips like steam from a busted pipe.

“No way!” he bellowed.

“Yes, way,” Harriet insisted.

“You’re not going to act as bait for that maniac!”

“Oh, yes, I am.” She touched Brutus’s shoulder. “How else are we going to make him pull over his limo? And how else are we going to get him to open his door? This cat is coy, and when he sees the four of us he’ll tell his driver to punch the gas and lay rubber. No, the way I see it is that one of us must get him to pull over and since last time I checked I am the only female in our little band of four, it’s up to me to do the honors.”

“No!” said Brutus. “I won’t let you!”

“Brutus,” I said. “She’s right. There’s no way Love Symbol, or whatever his name is, will pull over his limo for you or me or Dooley. Harriet’s plan is our only option.”

Brutus was puffing up his chest.“If you think I’m going to let my girl be subjected to this—this—this PLAY-CAT you’ve got another thing coming. I’m putting my paw down!”

And he did. He actually stomped his paw.“Brutus, sugar bear,” said Harriet. “It’s so sweet of you to try and protect me, but I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t know this cat. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“Like she said, Harriet is a big girl, Brutus,” I said. “She’ll be fine.”

“You’re not that big,” said Dooley. “In fact you’re quite petite.”

Harriet laughed a tinkling laugh, and I for one was glad she seemed like her old self again.“You think I’m petite, Dooley? You haven’t seen my butt!”

“I’ve seen your butt,” said Dooley, blinking. “You have a nice butt.”

Brutus directed a scathing look at Dooley.“Dooley,” he said warningly, “I like you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t disembowel you.”

“Temper, temper,” said Harriet, lightly tapping her lover on the nose. “Now are we doing this or not?”

“We’re doing this,” I said resolutely.

Brutus seemed torn. On the one hand he wanted to collar this Love Symbol, but on the other hand the thought of Harriet crawling into the limo with this notorious player clearly made his skin crawl.

“You’ll be thirty feet away,” said Harriet. “So if something happens…”

“I’ll come running,” Brutus said, nodding. “And I’ll knock his block off.”

“Deal,” said Harriet with a perky smile. “And now let’s get something to eat, shall we? I’m starving.”

Brutus relented. Seeing Harriet being herself again clearly cheered him up, to the extent that he was prepared to let her get into strange limos with strange cats.“Fine,” he said. “Let’s grab a bite to eat and then we’ll get ready to pounce on Love Symbol.”

And as we set a course for home, Dooley and I fell back a few steps, allowing Harriet and Brutus some privacy while they discussed Harriet’s daring and audacious plan.

“I’m right, though, aren’t I, Max?” Dooley said.

“About what, Dooley?”

“Harriet has a very nice butt.”

“She does, but don’t let Brutus see you checking it out.”

“But why, Max? Harriet’s butt is a thing of beauty, and things of beauty should be appreciated, not hidden away from the rest of the world by some jealous cat-friend.”

I smiled.“Are you comparing Harriet’s butt with a work of art, Dooley?”

His face took on an exalted expression.“Doesn’t Harriet look just like Mona Lisa?”

For a moment I fixed my gaze upon Mona Harriet’s tush. Dooley was right. Harriet did have a perfectly nice behind. More than that, though, she was a dear friend, and I hoped her latest mood swing was a permanent one. That she’d thrown off this strange mantle of doom.

Somehow I wasn’t too sure, though.

Something told me we weren’t out of the woods yet.

Chapter 10

That night found Harriet, Max, Dooley and Brutus staking out the corner of Franklin and First, lying in wait behind a fire hydrant. They’d been there for all of one hour and frankly Harriet was already regretting having suggested this crazy scheme. It was one thing to come up with a plan of campaign but quite another to carry it through.

“Where is this Love Symbol?” she asked irritably. She had an itch near the base of her tail that she was pretty sure came from lounging on this absurdly filthy sidewalk.

“Maybe Shanille made the whole thing up,” said Brutus hopefully. Even though he’d accepted the plan, that didn’t mean he was happy with it. He clearly hoped Love Symbol wouldn’t show up and Harriet wouldn’t have to act the part of live bait.

“She didn’t,” said Max, as always the voice of reason. “Shanille would never lie about a thing like that. Shanille would never lie, period. She’s the most virtuous cat I know and if she says this episode happened, it happened.” He sighed. “Maybe this Love Symbol person took another route.”

“This is the best way into Hampton Cove,” said Harriet, chewing her lower lip nervously. “If he comes from Hampton Bays this is the road he needs to take.”

“What makes you think he comes from Hampton Bays?” asked Brutus suspiciously.

“Duh. Where else is he coming from? The moon? His human probably lives in Hampton Bays or somewhere around those parts, and he’s chosen Hampton Cove as his hunting ground.”

“Hunting ground,” said Brutus. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

She didn’t, either, but it was her only way out. If this Love Symbol was as suave and charming and worldly as Shanille had described, he wasn’t from around these parts. More than likely he was a New Yorker, or maybe even a West Coaster here on holiday. And if his human let him ride around in a limo he must be loaded. All those things combined indicated a future for her far away from Hampton Cove. A chance to kick the dust of this crappy little town and an opportunity to join the major leagues. The prospect cheered her up.

Now if only this Love Symbol would show up and take her away from here…

“There he is!” suddenly Dooley cried. She followed his gaze and saw he was right. A white stretch limo had just turned the corner and was slowly rolling their way. Showtime!

She patted down her fur, gave herself a quick once-over, took a deep breath, and emerged from her stakeout place behind the fire hydrant and sashayed into the road.

“Harriet!” Brutus cried, and she quickly glanced back, only to see him hold up two paws and give her an encouraging grin. She ignored him. Soon Brutus would be a thing of the past, as would Max and Dooley and all her other friends. A slight pang of regret niggled at the back of her mind, but she ignored it. Onwards and upwards! The grand life awaited!

The limo crawled to a stop in front of her and the door opened, light spilling out into the street. And then she saw him. Limo Cat. Love Symbol. He was everything Shanille had promised and more. Orange, butch, his fur shiny and gleaming in the dome light, slate gray eyes sparkling and bright, he displayed the kind of grin that seemed oddly familiar. He was also wearing a mask, which covered half the acreage of his noble and handsome visage.

“Hey, beautiful”, he said, his voice a purr.

“Oh, hey, there,” she said, as if his arrival had caught her by surprise.

“Fancy a ride in my fancy car?” he asked, gesturing at the limo’s butter-colored leather interior.

She couldn’t see the driver, but Love Symbol was all alone in the plush back section, which told her he was the one in charge of the proceedings, the stretch limo all his.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?” She knew time was of the essence here, as Brutus and the others were ready to pounce on Limo Cat. Her plan had been to hop into the limo the first chance she got, and tell Love Symbol to hit the gas and get out of there. Now that she was face to face with the cat, though, a sudden doubt seemed to cripple her.

“Hop in,” he said. “You look like the kind of cat who likes to have a good time. And guess what? I’m the kind of cat who likes to show cats like you a good time. Heh heh.”

She frowned. Once again the thought that this cat seemed awfully familiar assailed her.“Have we met?” she asked.

He laughed.“Oh, honey, if we had I would remember. A beauty like you?”

She smiled.“You think I’m beautiful?”

“I think you’re gorgeous. In fact I think you’re probably the most gorgeous cat I’ve ever met. I can’t wait to get better acquainted.”

She decided to take the leap. A cat who appreciated beauty like this couldn’t be bad. It showed the kind of depth of character and sophistication she’d been looking for. He might have a private dungeon back home and turn out to be Christian Grey’s cat but who cared? Christian was a billionaire, right? He owned a private jet, didn’t he? So she hopped into the limo and as she did something hopped from Love Symbol’s fur onto her and she yelped.

“A flea!” she cried. “You’ve got fleas!”

“No, I don’t,” said Love Symbol bluntly.

“Your flea just jumped on me!”

He grinned a lascivious grin and leaned in.“Is that an invitation?”

“Get away from me, you freak!” She started to crawl back out of the car.

His smile vanished and he yanked off his mask.“Cut the crap, Harriet. You know you want this as much as I do. Now get your pretty little tush back in here and we’ll dance the vertical mambo just the way we used to.”

She stared at the cat, aghast.“Diego? What the hell?!”

He shrugged and displayed that grin again.“Hey, I’m happy to see you too.”

“I thought you moved away?”

“To Southampton. Only a few miles down the road.”

“You left me, you scumbag! You left me for some stupid human!”

“I’m sorry, okay! It was an offer I couldn’t refuse! Free Cat Snax for the rest of my life? An actual mansion? Are you kidding me? The only thing I miss is you, babe. So what do you say? Come and live with me? Kitty Nala’s got cat food up the wazoo, and toys and grounds stretching as far asa cat’s eye can see. The only thing she hasn’t got is playmates, but she was kind enough to give me this limo so I can be out and about from time to time—take care of those other needs, if you catch my drift.” He gave her a fat wink, and Harriet couldn’t believe she ever thought Diego wassexy. He repulsed her now. Him and hisfleas.

“Maybe Kitty should send you to a vet. You’ve got fleas, Diego. It’s a real turn-off.”

“Who cares about a few fleas as long as you’re having fun? Come with me, babe. I’ve missed you. I’m all alone up there in that big mansion. No one to play with. No one to shoot the breeze with. No one to cuddle up to when the nights get cold and lonely.”

She wavered.“Do you get to go to cat shows and stuff?”

“Sure! I can go to any show I want. Kitty’s got a private plane. Whatever you want.”

She glanced back at her friends, who stood concealed behind the fire hydrant. Suddenly the life of the big-city cat she’d wanted seemed a lot less appealing. Then the flea took a big bite out of her tush and she yipped, “It bit me! The frickin’ thing just bit me!”

“Oh, all right, I’ll see the vet,” said Diego. “We’ll see the vet together, okay?”

And she was just about to announce that Diego could stick his vet where the sun didn’t shine when a voice piped up behind her. “What’s all this?” the voice asked.

When she turned, she saw that the voice belonged to none other than Princess. The fancy cat stood staring from Harriet to Diego, an insolent look on her face. Her troupe of cats joined her, crowding around. Suddenly an idea struck Harriet, and a sly smile crept up her lips.

“This is Love Symbol,” she said, introducing Diego, who’d quickly put his mask back on. “Love Symbol is the hottest cat in town—and the richest one, too. Love Symbol, this is Princess, and these are the members of her troupe: Beca, Chloe, Aubrey and Fat Amy.”

“Ladies,” said Diego in an unctuous tone, a faux-sexy smile on his snout. If he’d had a mustache he would have twirled it. “Pretty. Very pretty. Are these your friends, Harriet?”

“Sure,” said Princess quickly. “We’re Harriet’s best friends, aren’t we, Harriet?”

“Best friends,” Harriet echoed. “These cats are the Most Interesting Cats in the World, Love Symbol.”

“And the Most Beautiful Ones, too,” said Diego appreciatively.

“And you, sir,” said Princess, “are without a doubt the Most Interesting Tomcat in the World. May we join you?” She then turned to Harriet. “Unless we’re interrupting something?”

“Oh, no,” said Harriet. “No interruption. Love Symbol and I are old friends.”

Princess’s eyes widened in surprise. “Old friends?”

“Yeah, Harriet and I go way back,” said Diego. “Way, way back.”

“Ooh, Harriet,” said Chloe. “You keep fascinating company. Very fascinating.”

“I’ve always liked you, Harriet,” said Aubrey. “In fact I just told Amy you’re probably the prettiest cat in all of Hampton Cove. Isn’t that right, Amy?”

“You said she had the fattest ass in all of—ouch! What did you pinch me for?”

“Harriet, honey,” said Princess, “why don’t we all join Love Symbol in this very nice limo? Have the party to end all parties?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check, girls,” said Harriet. “But you go ahead and have a great time. I’m sure you and Love Symbol will get along like a house on fire.”

Diego gave her a slight shrug, as if to say,‘Your loss, babe,’ and Harriet gave him a little wave.

“If you change your mind…” said Princess as she hopped into the limo.

“I won’t,” said Harriet, and watched with satisfaction as three fleas hopped onto Princess’s silky fur, while several dozen other happy volunteers made the jump to Beca, Chloe, Aubrey and Amy. The Most Flawless Cats in the World were flea-less no more.

She watched the limo door close and the car drive off into the night, and as she walked back to her friends, she suddenly felt such a sense of relief she had to laugh. And when she saw Brutus, Max and Dooley patiently waiting, she knew she’d made the right decision. She might be a small-town cat in a small-town world but she was also a happy cat in a happy town, filled with life and love and laughter and all the friends and loving humans a cat could ever wish for.

And now she also had a flea. Then again, she kinda loved those baths Odelia, Marge and Grandma had been giving them. One stroke of the comb and that flea would be a goner. In the most humane and kindest way possible, of course.

“What happened?” asked Dooley as they walked away.

“Yeah, you didn’t give us the sign,” said Max.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” said Brutus. “I’m glad you didn’t get into that limo.”

She gave him her sweetest smile.“I’m glad I didn’t get in, too, snookums.”

And as they slowly made their way home, and she revealed to them the true identity of Hampton Cove’s Patient Zero, that feeling of despondency and gloom that had settled over her after meeting the Most Interesting Cats in the World gradually ebbed away.

Princess and her troupe might be interesting cats, even the most interesting ones, but they were also mean cats. And now they were flea cats, which served them right.

“You think Odelia might be persuaded to set up a cat show in town?” she asked now.

“Oh, sure,” said Brutus. “And you’ll be the star, love sponge.”

“You’ll be amazing, Harriet,” Dooley assured her. “The whole town will come out to watch and Odelia will put your picture on the front page of the Hampton Cove Gazette.”

“Yeah, it will be the best show ever,” said Max. “The Most Interesting Show in the World starring the Most Interesting Cat in the World.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “I’ll settle for the Most Interesting Show in Town. As long as you are there I’m happy.” She sighed contentedly. “You know I love you guys, right?”

“And we love you right back, Harriet,” said Dooley reverently.

In response, she gave the Biggest Harriet Admirer in the World a peck on the cheek and Dooley actually whimpered. Brutus merely shook his head good-naturedly and intertwined his tail with hers.“What brought all this on?” he asked softly as they fell back behind the others.

“The moon, probably,” she said as she glanced up at that big, white, round ball of cheese hovering in the skies over the roofs of Hampton Cove. “But now I’m okay again.”

“Welcome back,” said Brutus. “Wanna go steady?”

She laughed.“I thought we already were!”

He grinned happily.“Just checking. In case Diego had turned your head again.”

She gazed at her boyfriend earnestly.“No cat will ever make me turn my head again, Brutus. You’re my soulmate. I see that now.”

“Promise?” he asked in a small voice.

“Promise,” she said, and watched as her flea jumped onto Brutus’s back, then back to her. And for a moment she thought the flea looked at her, shook its tiny head, rolled its tiny eyes, then jumped to a passing dog. Even Diego’s fleas knew she was done with that cat.

And good riddance, too.

Chapter 11

That night we all took our positions on Odelia’s sofas, Harriet and Brutus snuggling together on the love seat, Dooley and I side by side next to Odelia, and Chase right next to her. The TV had been switched on, and the movie selection had been made.

After the stirring events of the past few days, a nice movie night was exactly what we needed. Harriet seemed herself again, and had handled the confrontation with Diego perfectly, Odelia had checked us all for fleas and had declared us flea-free once more, and things were finally settling back into their usual routine, just the way I liked it.

“I still can’t believe Diego was Patient Zero,” said Dooley. “I mean, I really thought we’d seen the last of that cat.”

“I think now we may have,” I said.

Harriet had told Marge about her encounter with the fleabag, and Marge had called her brother Chief Alec who’d called Kitty Nala and told her to give her cat the necessary anti-flea treatment or else he’d never allow him to set paw in Hampton Cove again. I didn’t think any chief of police could ban a cat from his territory, but still. After word had spread that Diego was Patient Zero, the number ofHampton Cove cats willing to step into his ‘Love Symbol’ limo had dwindled and by now had reached the nice number of… zero.

“So what movie are we watching?” asked Chase, stretching his long legs.

“I think you’re going to like this one,” said Odelia. “Grandma picked it.”

Chase started.“Grandma? I thought she was staying with your mom tonight.”

“I changed my mind,” said Grandma, joining us from the kitchen, two big bowls of popcorn in her arms. “You kids need watching, and I for one am not prepared to forgo my sacred duty just because Marge invited me to talk about moving back in with her.”

Chase gave Odelia a look of despair.“I thought… that was a done deal?”

“Oh, you thought you’d get rid of me that easy, huh?” said Grandma. “Like it or not, young Chase, I’m here to stay and keep those hormones of yours in check. Now scoot.” And she wedged herself in between her granddaughter and Chase, much to the latter’s dismay.

“So what movie did you pick?” asked Brutus, taking a break from nuzzling Harriet.

“Oh, it’s a corker,” Gran said. “You’ll love it. It’s even got cats in it.”

Dooley nudged me excitedly.“It’s got cats in it, Max! I love movies with cats in it!”

We all love movies with cats in it. The more the merrier. But as we watched, the first indication that the movie might not be what we’d anticipated came five minutes in, when a bunch of scary-looking spiders bit their human to death in a terribly graphic scene.

“What’s the name of this movie, Gran?” asked Odelia with a worried frown.

“Eight Legged Freaks,” said Gran. “There’s this great scene where a kitty cat has a fight with this big-ass spider and they both get electrocuted. Ya gotta see it to believe it!”

She was right. You had to see it to believe it. All through the movie those‘big-ass spiders’ chased a bunch of humans all over town and even into some old mining shafts, until the heroes of the movie killed all the spiders and then the cavalry showed up and the movie was over. And while I love movie night at Odelia’s, this was not a movie I’d care to remember. Dooley, who’d kept his eyes closed throughout most of the carnage—especially after the death of Zeke, the kitty cat in question, now opened them again.

“Is it finished?”

“Yeah, it’s finished.”

“Did Zeke survive?”

“Um…”

He shivered.“Imagine what would happen if those tiny little fleas grew into giant fleas, just like in the movie. Imagine what they would do to us, Max. They’d eat us alive!”

“I don’t think I want to imagine, Dooley. Especially after watching this movie.”

“They would start eating cats, humans, dogs—everything!”

“It’s just a movie, Dooley. And Zeke is just an actor playing a part. I’m sure he’s fine.”

But Dooley had stopped listening.“Maybe Kingman was right, and Diego works for the government, and he’s here to kill all of Hampton Cove’s cats. By creating monster fleas! That’s why he was crawling with fleas—because he’s creating a new race of killer fleas!”

And as Grandma turned in for the night, happy with the damage she’d done, and Chase and Odelia moved to the back porch, to canoodle on the porch swing far from Gran’s watchful eye, and Brutus and Harriet moved into the backyard, presumably to do the same, I was stuck with Dooley spouting new and crazy conspiracy theories and other horror stories.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

This was my family. This was my home. And if this whole episode had taught me one thing it was that the things that don’t kill us make us stronger. Like the fleas. And like Diego. Or even a Deep State conspiracy that engages a Love Symbol in a white limo to harbor and foster giant killer fleas to wipe out all the cats in the country and possibly even the world.

I patted Dooley on the head.“I’m going to sleep now.”

“But the fleas!”

“I don’t care.”

“They’re here!”

“So be it.”

“But Max!”

I yawned. Put down my head. And slept.

Sleep came. And so did dreams. And guess what?

No fleas. Not even teeny-tiny little ones.

The flea episode? Was finally over.

8. PURRFECT SECRET

Prologue

Dick Dickerson slipped his feet into his red velvet slippers and groped around on the nightstand for his glasses. Fumbling a little to put them onto his face, he glanced before him confusedly. Why was he sitting up in bed in what felt like the middle of the night?

Picking up his phone, he saw it was only a little after three. Too early to get up. And then he realized what had awakened him: loud music blasting from the speakers downstairs.

He drew a hand through his grizzled mane, got up with a groan and put on the white boxing robe that Sylvester Stallone had worn on the set ofRocky IV, Dick’s favorite movie.

He moved out of his ornate bedroom, along his equally ornate hallway, down the no less ornate marble staircase, to arrive in his ostentatiously ornate entrance hall, where he only had to follow the music still blasting away to locate its source: his private study.

He couldn’t remember having left the music on. Then again, lately he’d had so much on his mind he probably could have. As usual he took a Sonata before laying down his head, then some Provigil in the morning, along with a line of coke and his usual Prozac tablet. The Sonata knocked him out pretty good, so he might not have noticed leaving the music on.

Then again, if he heard correctly this wasWhat Goes Around… Comes Around, the Justin Timberlake song. Not exactly Dick’s taste. He liked Michael Bubl?. He liked Michael Bubl? a lot. In fact Michael Bubl? was all he listened to lately.

With a sigh, Dick shuffled into his office, and that’s when he saw it: the door to his giant walk-in safe was wide open. Dammit! Anyone could have just walked in!

“Dick, Dick, Dick,” he muttered to himself. “You’re losing it, pal.”

Even though Doctor Mueller had told him to take it easy on the pills, and the coke, he couldn’t help himself. He needed a little pick-me-up from time to time, and he was a firm believer in the old saying ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ And since the coke hadn’t killed him yet, or the pill-popping or even the vodka, it stood to reason it was making him stronger, right?

He shuffled to the safe door and peered inside. Odd. He’d even left the light on.

Shaking his head, he shuffled into the steel contraption. The moment he had, though, he saw that there was something seriously wrong with this picture: the countless stacks of files he kept in there, neatly organized in alphabetical order… they were all gone!