Purrfect Peril. Purrfectly Flealess. Purrfect Secret. Purrfect Alibi

His jaw dropped as he stared at the empty shelves. Only a single file folder remained. He picked it up, his hands trembling, and opened it. Inside, there was a single picture. A picture he immediately recognized, and which sent his blood pressure rocketing skywards.

He gulped as he held onto the wall to steady himself.

This wasn’t happening!

Just then, the giant steel door slammed shut with a thumping clang!

“Noooo!” he cried, pounding the door. But to no avail, of course.

And that’s when things started to get even weirder. And a lot scarier!

A strange odor suddenly permeated the small space. Dick wrinkled his nose as he took a sniff. It smelled like… poop.

Had he just pooped himself? No way. He wasn’t that far gone. He was only sixty-two, for crying out loud. And he didn’t have problems in that area. Yet.

And then he saw it: some species of sludge was pouring into the safe through a vent in the ceiling. He sniffed again. Yup. Definitely poop. Horrible, liquid, greenish poop!

And then panic really set in. The song, the picture, the poop.

Oh, God. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening to him!

“Hey!” he screamed. “Let me out! I’ll give you the files! Just let me out of here!”

But of course no response came. This wasn’t a scare tactic. They had the files. They’d taken them along with all of the other secrets he’d assiduously collected over the years.

They weren’t here to scare him off or send him a message.

They were here to kill him. Drown him in poop.

If he hadn’t been so scared he might have laughed at the irony.

The poop was up to his knees now, streaming in at a steady clip.

The stench was unbearable and he was retching, wading in the toxic stuff.

And as he screamed in horror at the fate that was awaiting him, a voice came from the other side of the door—muffled, of course.

“Little message for you, Dickerson. What goes around, comes around!”

“I’m sorry!” he bellowed. “Don’t do this to me. Have a heart!”

“Yeah, right. Like you had a heart, huh? Screw you, Dickerson!”

The poop was reaching his waist now, ruining his nice Rocky boxing robe. And then he got an idea. He quickly took it off and waded over to the hole where the sludge was pouring in, then shoved the wadded-up robe into the hole, trying to stem the deadly flow.

In the process he got poop all over him. The yucky stuff got into his eyes—into his nose—into his mouth! But he would prevail. No one got the better of Dick Dickerson!

He shoved the thing home and held it in place in spite of his retching.

There. He’d done it! He was like that little Dutch kid who plugged his finger in the dike and saved his entire frickin’ village!

Unfortunately Rocky’s robe was no match for this particular hole. The pressure was too great, and soon the stuff was seeping in again. Pretty soon the safe was filling up so fast not even an army of little Dutch boys with little Dutch fingers could have stemmed the flow.

And the worst part? Dick knew exactly what he’d done to deserve this.

Chapter 1

I opened a lazy eye when some sort of light tapping drove away the slumber I’d enjoyed for the past couple of hours. I know what they say about cats: that they’re never really asleep. That they take ‘catnaps’ and wake up in the blink of an eye, ready to fight or take flight when danger lurks. Poppycock. I’m a cat and I like to sleep. In fact I can sleep so deeplynot even the sound of a cannon can wake me up. Not that I’ve ever heard an actual cannon being fired in my vicinity. Do people even still use cannons? Somehow I doubt it.

But whatever. The thing that woke me up wasn’t a sensation so much as a nuisance. An annoyance. A burden, a plague, a pest or even a pain in the neck, if you catch my drift.

For I found myself staring into the impudent eyes of the latest intruder to invade my household: Milo, the cat that belongs to Odelia’s across-the-street neighbor Mrs. Lane.

He was grinning at me now, the white menace. Grinning like a regular fiend.

I closed my eyes again, hoping he hadn’t noticed he’d managed to wake me up. But to no avail. He simply tapped me on the head again with that infuriating cheek he possesses.

“Wakey, wakey,” he said. “Rise and shine, old man.”

“I’m not old,” I growled at him, and now he was grinning even wider—a regular Cheshire grin if ever I’d seen one.

“Oh, you are old,” he said. “Ancient. In fact before I met you I didn’t even realize cats could get that old. You even have hair growing out of your ears, did you know that?”

“You have hairs growing out of your ears.”

“Yeah, but they’re tiny and they’re soft. Like fuzz. Yours are long and hard. Like the hair on the back of a pig.”

I would have snarled at him, lifting my upper lip like a dog and actually snarled, but I’m a cat, and cats don’t snarl. Instead I produced a soft hissing sound, hoping to indicate my displeasure. It only made him grin even wider, the annoying little runt!

“So how old are you, Max? If I’d have to make a guess I’d say you’re pretty ancient. So you were probably around before humans drove around in cars, right? Did you see the horse and buggy? Were you alive during the Civil War? Were you here when the English were bopping around Long Island, creating trouble for Washington and the Colonists?”

I didn’t even dignify this last jab with a response. Instead, I hopped off the couch with as much dignity as I could muster under the circumstances, and strode off, my tail high—and a little fluffed-up because of the residual annoyance—and was just about to take the stairs to the second floor to wake up my human when that human came stumbling down those same stairs, looking like death warmed over and almost tripped over me and fell.

“Max,” she muttered. “Sorry, dude. Hey, there, Milo. Settling in all right?”

“Settling in just fine, Mrs. Poole,” said Milo, now scratching his unhairy ears.

“Just call me Odelia, will you?” said Odelia. “I’m too young to be Mrs. Poole.”

Milo cocked an eyebrow, indicating he thought Odelia was pretty ancient, too, and very deserving of the moniker he’d just awarded her, but then strode off in the direction of the kitchen, where Odelia had put out an extra bowl for our latest guest, and dug in.

I kept a keen eye on him, as Milo had been known to dig into my bowl, too, and even drink from my milk.

“What are you doing up so early?” I asked my human.

She gave me an‘Are you kidding me?’ look and gestured with her head to the backyard, where Grandma Muffin was digging into the soil, dressed like a regular gardener.

“Oh, right,” I said delicately.

Ever since Gran moved in with Odelia things have been a little rocky. Grandma has a way of doing things, and Odelia has a completely different way of doing things, and the twain are hard to reconcile. Like the fact that Gran loves her soap operas and her reality shows while Odelia prefers a good movie from time to time. And then there’s the fact that Gran doesn’t approve of Odelia’s boyfriend hanging around all the time, and even sleeping over. She feels that Chase should just go ahead and propose and make an honest woman out of her granddaughter so she can get all this ‘fooling around’ over and done with.

I doubt whether Odelia approves. She probably feels she’s too young to get married just so she can have her boyfriend stay the night from time to time. And since I’m a modern cat—in spite of what Milo might think—I heartily approve.

My name is Max, by the way, but I guess you already figured that out from the way Milo keeps addressing me. I’m a blorange cat—a very tasteful combination of orange and pink—while Milo is one of those horrible white cats with the bristly, stiff hair. He’s also very young and was obviously raised by a woman who doesn’t know the first thing about cats. She probably never taught him manners which has turned him into an obnoxious monster.

But enough about Milo. I’m sure he’ll only be around for a few days—until Mrs. Aloisia Lane returns from her trip to Florida and is ready to assume command once again.

Just then, Dooley wandered in through the sliding glass door, followed by Harriet and Brutus. Those three are my best friends in all the world—yes, cats have best friends—don’t you believe everything you read on the Internet about us being loners and curmudgeons and all that nonsense. We like our fellow felines just fine thank you very much.

“Hey, Maxie, baby,” rasped Brutus by way of greeting, holding up a paw.

I high-fived him, then low-fived him, then hooked my nail behind his, gave a little tug while we both blew raspberries, then we paw-bumped and shared a hearty guffaw.

Once upon a time Brutus and I were mortal enemies but those days are long gone. Nowadays we get along like gangbusters, whatever a gangbuster might be. Brutus is a strikingly butch black cat, by the way, and Harriet, a gorgeous white Persian, is his girlfriend.

“Hey, Max,” said Dooley, looking like he wasn’t fully awake yet. Dooley is a Ragamuffin, which in his case means he’s on the small side and has a thick gray coat. He’s also very fluffy, which makes him very popular with his human, Grandma Muffin, and a little less popular with Marge, who has to vacuum the carpets and couches at least twice a week.

Milo returned from the kitchen, and immediately my eyes were drawn to the drop of liquid on his chin. It was milk, and I knew for a fact that Milo’s milk bowl had been empty. I pointed an accusing paw at him. “You stole my milk!”

“I did not, sir,” said Milo, quickly wiping away the incriminating evidence.

“I saw you! You had a drop of milk on your beard! Didn’t he have a drop of milk on his beard, Dooley? Tell me you saw that!” I turned to my friends for corroboration but they appeared less than excited to wade into the argument.

“For your information, cats don’t have a beard, Max,” said Milo calmly. “Except for you, of course, but that’s because you’re ancient. Like Methuselah. He had a beard. At least I think he had. What do you think, Dooley? Did Methuselah have a beard? You’re the expert.”

Dooley stared at the young whippersnapper.“Huh?” he said finally.

“Odelia tells me you’re a very smart cat. Smartest one she knows, in fact. A real know-it-all. So I’m asking you: did or didn’t Methuselah have a beard just like Max?”

“I don’t have a beard!” I cried. “You’re just trying to confuse the issue!”

“And what is the issue, Max?” asked Milo kindly, like one addressing a feeble-minded old fogey.

“The issue is that I just caught you stealing my milk!”

Milo tsk-tsked mildly, probably the first time I’d ever seen a cat do that. “Mi casa es su casa, Max. Which means my milk is your milk and vice versa. Now what can I offer you guys?” he continued, this time addressing Brutus, Harriet and Dooley. “I’ve got milk, kibble, some excellent Fancy Feast Seafood and of course the always-tasty Cat Snax.”

“Those are mine!” I cried. “Those are my Cat Snax and my Fancy Feast Seafood!”

“Oh, don’t be a miser, Max,” said Harriet as she strode right past me.

“Yeah, sharing is caring, pal,” said Brutus as he did the same.

“Thanks, Max,” said Dooley cheerily. “I love those Cat Snax of yours.”

And then they were all digging intomy bowls, snacking onmy favorite food!

Sharing is caring my furry butt!

I sank back on my haunches, haughtily draped my tail around my buttocks, and gave them all the stare. And the first one I directed my fearsome stare at was Milo, who was overseeing the feast as if he was the one who’d personally arranged all of it, the impudent jerk!

I have to admit, though, that no matter how hard I stared, it didn’t affect the others one bit or deter them from gobbling up all of my food. And when they’d finally polished off my last bowl, they all had drops of milk stuck to their beards, crumbs of Cat Snax decorating their whiskers, and Fancy Feast Seafood stuck to their lips.

Ugh. What a way to start the day.

Chapter 2

Odelia was staring out into the backyard, where her grandmother was digging holes into the ground, presumably to plant some of the bulbs she’d acquired. When Gran first moved in she’d mentioned how the backyard looked like a wasteland and that someone ought to do something about it. So now, since she didn’t have a lot to do, she’d just decided to dig in and do it herself.

Problem was, Odelia liked her backyard just fine. She liked grass. She liked how low-maintenance it was. And she liked the few rhododendron bushes she’d planted near the back, because all she needed to do was prune them from time to time, deadhead them, and sit back and enjoy the riot of color come springtime.

And now Grandma was determined to turn her backyard into some sort of garden of Versailles! There was even talk of installing a water fountain, a rock garden, and a fish pond!

Odelia didn’t know the first thing about fishes, or the dozens of plants Grandma had gotten at the garden center and was now transferring to the soil. They’d probably all need a lot of work to maintain, as would the fountain and the fish pond and its dozens of fishes.

She shook her head, still dressed in her Hello Kitty PJs, sipping from the coffee Grandma had made—extra-strong, just the way the old lady liked it—not so much the way Odelia liked it. And it was then that she noticed her cats seemed to be arguing about something.

“What’s up, guys?” she asked, popping a slice of bread into the toaster.

She frowned when Max suddenly jumped up onto the kitchen counter, something he never did.

“Max?” she said when he gave her a look of annoyance. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re eating my food,” he whispered.

She leaned in.“What was that? I didn’t catch that.”

“They’re eating my food!” he hissed, gesturing with his head to the four cats who sat licking and grooming themselves.

And true enough, the bowls were all empty.

“Oh, right,” said Odelia, and automatically reached into the cupboard where she kept the cat food and started filling up those bowls again.

“No, don’t do that!” Max hissed, and she moved closer.

“Aren’t you hungry, Max?” He rarely refused his food, and then only when he was sick. “Are you coming down with something?”

“Yes, I am! It’s called Milo and it’s worse than swine flu or flesh-eating bacteria!”

She smiled.“Max, I told you it’s only for a little while. Now please be nice to our guest. Sharing is caring, after all.” When Max produced a strange sound at this, like steam escaping from a pipe, she gave him a closer look. “Are you sure you’re not coming down with a bug? If you want I could call Vena. She does house calls, too.”

“No!” he yelled, horrified. “No, it’s fine.” Then, resigned, he added, “I’ll handle it.”

And he hopped from the counter, a defeated air about him.

Cats. Sometimes they had a hard time making new friends. Then she got a bright idea. She moved to the TV nook and turned on the TV, then fiddled around with the remote for a moment, flipping through the Netflix menus until she hit on the one she wanted.

This should do the trick.

“You guys!” she yelled. “Come in here for a moment, will you?”

Five cats came trotting up, Max the last one to join the small troupe.

On TV, an episode ofKit Katt& Koh was playing, the new Netflix show that was such a big hit. It told the story of Kit Katt, a regular young woman from a small town who worked as a reporter for the local newspaper and could talk to her cat Koh, who fed her bits of news he picked up from his feline friends. Almost as if the show’s creators had taken a long, hard look at Odelia’s own life!

“Ooh, it’s Kit Katt!” Harriet cried happily as she hopped onto the leather couch.

The others quickly followed suit, and Odelia watched on as her cat family settled in for the duration of the eppy. They all loved Kit Katt and especially the funny and feisty Koh.

Just then, her phone belted out the latest Dua Lipa hit and she hurried to the kitchen, where she’d left it on the counter. Her toast had popped and she took it out and placed it on a plate while she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Yeah, Chase.”

“Hey, babe. You’re up early.”

“Grandma,” she said, only needing one word to make her meaning clear.

“I feel your pain,” said Chase. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve got a case for you—and a hot tip straight from the front lines.”

“A murder? In Hampton Cove? No way.”

“Way. Does the name Dick Dickerson mean anything to you?”

“He’s the editor of theNational Star, right? The supermarket tabloid?”

“He’s also dead. Killed in a pretty creative—and gruesome—way, I’m afraid.”

“You want me to join you?”

“Please. Your uncle is out of town for a couple of days, so I could use a hand.”

Odelia’s uncle, a widower, had recently met a woman. She worked for Dos Siglas, the famous beer company, and traveled the country handling the company’s PR and overseeing the shooting of their equally famous ‘Most Fascinating Man in the World’ commercials.

“I know. He told me. He and Tracy are going hiking in the Appalachian Mountains. Tracy’s company owns a cabin out there, where they often put up executives and guests.”

“For some reason I never pictured your uncle as the hiker type,” said Chase, and Odelia could hear the smile in his voice.

“He’s not,” said Odelia, also smiling. Uncle Alec was easily three times as big as she was, and had probably never worked out a day in his life. In fact he’d smoked like a chimney until only recently, and his cholesterol levels always made his brother-in-law, Odelia’s dad, who was a doctor, give him that unhappy look doctors like to give their worst patients.

“He must like that woman a lot, to give up a lifelong habit of being a couch potato.”

“Yeah, he’s smitten,” said Odelia, who was happy that her uncle, whose wife had died years ago, was finally ‘playing the field’ again, as they said. Even if there was only one woman on that field as far as Alec was concerned. “She’s nice,” she added. “I like her.”

“I like her, too,” said Chase. “So are you game, Poole?”

“Count me in, Kingsley,” she said.

“Pick you up in five. Oh, and you better bring a clothespin,” he said before hanging up.

Chapter 3

Watching Kit Katt and Koh and their adventures was all fine and dandy, but doing it under duress was not. For one thing, Milo clearly wasn’t familiar with the etiquette involved in watching a TV show as a family. He kept getting up and moving about, then returning and sitting in a different place each time. And what was more, he kept accidentally stepping on the remote and pausing the show or even switching the channel. And the worst thing? He wasn’t even doing it on purpose I didn’t think. It was almost as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Sorry, dude,” he muttered when he suddenly planted his butt on my tail, then, when I extracted myself, started drumming his paw against my back for some reason!

His behavior was frankly driving me up the wall. So when he’d stepped on my toes for the third time, I snapped, “Will you just sit still for a second?”

He merely grinned up at me, then said,“Chill, dude. It’s only a stupid show.”

I gasped in shock, and so did Harriet, who was a big fan of Kit Katt and her handsome sidekick Koh.“Only a stupid show!” I echoed. “This is Kit Katt we’re talking about, Milo!”

He shrugged, now lying on his back and balancing his paws in the air.“Whatever.”

“It’s only the best cat show ever!”

“Yeah, it’s not like there are a ton of great cat shows,” said Brutus. “Dog shows? Too many to count. But cat shows? Nah. Almost as if Hollywood doesn’t care about us cats.”

“Yes, you’ve got your Lassie, you’ve got your Boomer and you’ve got your Benji, but no cats. What’s that all about?” Dooley added, clearly also aKit Katt& Kohaficionado.

“Simple,” said Milo, now sticking his butt into the air and wiggling his tail. “Cats can’t act. Dogs, on the other hand, can.”

There were collective gasps of shock now, all of us staring at Milo like he’d just committed sacrilege, which he had. “Take that back,” I said.

“Take what back?”

“That cats can’t act.”

“But it’s true! Dogs can be taught to perform all kinds of tricks, which makes them the perfect actors. Only cats aren’t so easy to instruct. Hence the lack of cat shows.”

I was shaking my head. This was crazy talk.“You’re wrong,” I said vehemently.

“Actually he kinda has a point there, Max,” said Brutus. “Cats are difficult actors, and we all know how Hollywood feels about difficult actors. They get sidelined.”

I couldn’t believe this. Cats are a superior species. Everybody knows that. Compared to cats dogs are nothing. We have the better reflexes, the bigger brainpower, the greater charm, the works! “What aboutTom and Jerry?” I said. “That’s a lot more popular than Lassie ever was.”

Milo gave me a strange look.“Tom and Jerry is a cartoon, Max.”

“So?”

“So there are no actual cats involved,” he said slowly.

“Oh,” I said, never having given this minor little detail a great deal of thought. “Well, I likeTom and Jerry,” I said stubbornly. “Even though Tom is something of a loser.”

Well, he is. What cat worth its salt keeps getting bested by a silly little critter?

The doorbell rang and immediately Milo jumped from the couch, where he’d been counting his belly hairs, and streaked off in the direction of the door.

“Poor Milo,” said Harriet. “He probably thinks it’s his human, here to pick him up.”

“He doesn’t,” I scoffed. “He probably thinks it’s the pizza guy with fresh food.”

Harriet gave me a slightly critical look.“Why are you being so mean to Milo, Max? He means well. And it’s not his fault he’s here, having to miss his home and his human.”

“Oh, please,” I said. “He’s like the guest you don’t want. Like Owen Wilson inYou, Me and Dupree. He looks like an angel but deep down he’s just a spoiled little brat.”

“Maxie, Maxie,” said Brutus now, shaking his head. “How would you feel if Odelia handed you over to some stranger, and you suddenly found yourself having to share another cat’s food, being at the mercy of a human you never met? Huh? Put yourself in his paws for a moment. Have a heart.” Hepatted my chest. “I know it’s in there somewhere.”

That was rich, coming from Brutus. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been that cat, coming in here with his swagger and his bullying ways. Just like Milo.

“I don’t like him,” I said decidedly. “And there’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind.” The others were all staring past me, and my heart sank. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” They all nodded, and I slowly turned. I was right. Milo was behind me, giving me a sheepish look.

“Some big dude is at the door. I think he’s a cop?”

“Chase Kingsley,” said Brutus knowingly. “He’s my human.”

“Way to go, buddy,” said Milo. “He looks nice.”

“Yeah, I don’t see him all that much,” said Brutus. “I practically live at Odelia’s mom’s these days. They shipped me around for a while but I’ve decided to settle here.”

“I’ll bet you can relate, huh, Milo?” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Being shipped around from human to human. Ha ha.”

But Milo wasn’t laughing. Instead, he was picking at the couch cover with his nails, his eyelids flickering nervously. “Uh-huh,” he said finally. “That’s right, Max. You got my number, buddy.” And then he promptly turned on his paw and padded off.

“Max!” Harriet said, and directed a reproachful look at me. “You’re so mean!”

“Yeah, you’re behaving like a first-rate bully, Maxie,” said Brutus.

Coming from a former bully of bullies that was the last thing I needed to hear!

Still, I felt a bit bad about the whole situation. No idea why, though, as I knew I was right and Milo was wrong. I mean, he was the intruder and I was the intruded, right?

Chapter 4

The episode of Kit Katt ended and Brutus and Harriet drifted off into the backyard, probably to stare at Grandma while she dug more holes. Cats love to watch humans dig holes. No idea why. Probably so they can pick up a few ideas on skill and technique.

“Hey, buddy,” I said to Dooley. “You’re awfully quiet. Something wrong?”

He shrugged.“Have you ever felt superfluous, Max?”

I was surprised Dooley would even know a big word like that.“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Harriet has Brutus and Brutus has Harriet. You have Odelia and Odelia has you. Even Milo has his human—even though she’s not here right now. But who do I have?”

“You have Grandma,” I said. “And she has you.”

He stared off in the direction of the garden, where Brutus was now giving Grandma a few tips on how to dig a hole by using her hands instead of that silly-looking shovel.“Grandma doesn’t care a hoot about me, Max. In fact I don’t think she ever did.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Grandma loves you—she loves all of us.”

“No, she doesn’t. You know what she said to me the other day? That I shouldn’t sleep on her feet. She said she’s too old to have cats sleep on her feet. She also pushed me away when I tried to dig my nose into her armpit this morning. Said I was being silly and she was too old for that nonsense.” He shook his head. “I’m telling you, she’s getting ready to take me to the pound, Max. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Now don’t you talk like that, Dooley,” I told him. “That’s crazy talk. Maybe Grandma is acting a little weird lately but that’s just because she’s in a fight with Tex and Marge.”

“She’s in a fight with Tex and Marge and she’s decided she doesn’t want me anymore,” he said sadly.

Grandma had worked for her son-in-law Tex for years and years at Tex’s doctor’s office. But since Tex and Odelia’s mom Marge had protested Grandma’s attempt to move away and go and live with the rich family of her ex-boyfriend Burt Goldsmith, Gran had moved out of their house and into Odelia’s, and now things were very tense all around.

“I’m sure everything will go back to normal soon enough,” I said. “Besides, Odelia is pretty much your human, too, right? She loves you just as much as she loves me.”

“In my experience humans can only love one pet, Max,” said Dooley somberly. “And since she already has you, there’s no room in her heart for anyone else.” He sighed deeply. “No, looks like I’m humanless.” Then he cast a forlorn look at me. “At least I still have you, Max. You’remy best friend, and you’ll never leave me, right?”

“Of course I’ll never leave you,” I said, rubbing my friend’s noggin with my furry knuckles. “Best friends forever, right?”

“Right,” he said, a glimmer of hope lighting up his features. “So you won’t mind if I permanently move in with you?”

I know I should have said yes wholeheartedly, so I don’t know where that slight hesitation came from. Maybe from the fact that I was on edge with this whole Milo business. Or maybe because Dooley kinda took me by surprise. Fact is, I flinched. And Dooley saw that. And his expression hardened, and without another word he stalked off.

“Dooley!” I yelled. “Come back here! Of course you can move in with me, buddy!”

But he was already gone.

I felt eyes burning into my back so I turned. Milo was staring at me. Then he smiled.“Looks like you need a new friend, Max. Why don’t you let me be that friend from now on?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, pensive now.

He strode up to me and placed a paw on my shoulder.“You look sad, Max. And no wonder. Your best friend just walked out on you. But not to worry. I’ll be your new bro.”

I gulped. A strange sensation was gnawing at me. A sense of foreboding. Then I stomped down on the sentiment. Harriet and Brutus were right. Milo was my guest. I needed to be nicer to him. Hospitable. Kind and understanding. So I relented.

“Of course,” I told him. “From now on my milk is your milk and my Cat Snax are your Cat Snax, Milo. And you’re welcome to stay under my roof for as long as you like.”

His lips slowly curled up into a smile.“I knew you’d warm to me, Max. I just knew it. You’re an old fogey, and old fogeys sometimes need time to adjust. But from now on we’re besties. Besties for life.” And he held up his paw, so I placed mine against it. And when he went low, I went low, too. But when we paw-bumped, I had a sinking feeling something was terribly wrong with this picture.

And I didn’t even know the half of it yet.

Chapter 5

True to his word, Chase showed up right on the dot. Odelia grabbed her purse, took one final glance at her grandmother puttering away in the backyard and stepped out.

Chase pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then took a firmer hold of her, dipped her down and laid a real smoocher on her.

When he returned her to perpendicularity, she was swooning a little. Great way to start the day!

“And hello to you, too,” she said, following him to his pickup, parked at the curb.

“You’ve got your grandmother to thank for that,” he said with a grin.

“She give you pointers on technique?”

“As if. No, ever since she decided to stay with you I’ve been forced to become this pining, lonesome, sad figure, watching from afar.”

“Somehow I’m having a hard time imagining you as a pining, lonesome figure.”

“Well, it’s true,” he said, getting behind the wheel as she slid in right next to him. “I’m sitting there all by my lonesome, in your uncle’s big, old house, thinking of you.”

“If it’s any consolation I’m thinking of you, too.” Especially since her grandmother was a poor substitute for having Chase’s warm body next to her in bed at night.

“Maybe we have to educate your grandmother in the ways of the world.”

“Gran is beyond education. Nothing I say or do has any effect on that woman.”

Grandma liked Chase, no doubt about it, but recently she’d developed this old-fashioned idea that the male of the species should propose to the female of the species before they actually moved in together and slept in the same bed. No idea where this idea came from, exactly. Then again, Gran did watch a lot of those daytime soap operas and maybe some former mob boss’s identical twin and reformed serial killer turned art therapist’s illegal adoptive brother who was also a Navy SEAL had at some point conceived a son with an OB/GYN and Gran felt that if only they’d gotten married they could have saved themselves a lot of trouble.

Yes, Odelia enjoyed her occasional dose of the soap opera machine herself, too.

“She’s redoing the garden now,” she said, slumping down in her seat and putting her pink-and-yellow polka-dot Chuck Taylors up on the dash. “Says she’s going to turn it into the kind of garden Louis Quatorze would have been proud of, water-spewing cherubs and all.”

Chase laughed.“She’s doing that just to spite your dad, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes, she is.”

Grandma had always been in charge of Tex and Marge’s garden, until she decided to skedaddle and move next door. But in spite of the fact that she’d hoped Tex would be pining for her and begging her to come back, instead Odelia’s father had flourished and had never been happier. Getting his meddling mother-in-law out of the house had been a lifelong dream ever since the old lady had moved in when her husband Jack had taken his philandering ways to the seventh heaven or maybe in his case the seventh circle of hell.

Now, by turning Odelia’s garden into the cream of the horticultural crop, Gran probably hoped to inspire a raging jealousy in Tex, as the latter was oddly proud of his own backyard and this had been the one thing he and Grandma had in common: a green thumb.

“Maybe I should ask Dad to take the first step and reconcile,” said Odelia now.

“Fat chance. You’d have better luck asking your mother.”

“Mom says to let things cool off. That Gran will come to her senses soon enough.” She shook her head. “I’m not so sure. Gran seems to like this new arrangement, and so does Dad.”

“Looks like your dad and grandma have reached a stalemate.”

Chase was navigating his pickup through morning traffic and had reached the town limit.“So why did you want me to bring a clothespin, exactly?” Odelia asked.

“You’ll see. It’s not pretty.”

“Don’t tell me he got blown up. I just had breakfast.”

“He wasn’t blown up. In fact, as far as we can see, he drowned. Or I should probably say he suffocated.”

“He drowned in his pool?”

“He drowned in a pool,” said Chase mysteriously.

“A pool… of his own blood?”

“Duck poop.”

“Duck poop?”

“Duck poop.”

“Huh. And you’re telling me this wasn’t an accident?”

Chase looked grim.“Absolutely not. Dick Dickerson was murdered.”

It only took them about fifteen minutes to reach their destination. Dick Dickerson lived in one of those huge McMansions right outside of Hampton Cove, built almost on the coast, with access to a private strip of beach, a heliport, a heated pool on the patio, jacuzzi, too many rooms and bathrooms to count, and a fleet of servants at his every beck and call.

When Chase had directed his pickup down the asphalt driveway and parked in front of the house, Odelia wondered why it was that all the celebrities who came to Hampton Cove had a habit of getting murdered at one point or another. Within the past few months she’d visited the homes of singers, reality stars, actors… This small Hamptons town of theirs was quickly becoming the murder capital of the state if this worrying trend kept up.

She admired the ivy-covered brick exterior of the tabloid magnate’s house, and the stone steps leading up to heavy oak doors.

“Security?” she asked as she followed Chase inside.

There was a hubbub of police activity, and Odelia nodded greetings to several Hampton Cove PD officers she personally knew. Having a police chief for an uncle awarded her a lot of advantages as a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette: often she was the first one on the scene, and the first one to glean interesting bits of information. And sometimes, like now, she was even invited to join in on the investigation. The only thing she didn’t have was one of those windbreakers with the word WRITER printed across the front and back.

“Oh, he had security,” said Chase, “only whoever did this was smart enough to know their way around the system.”

They walked through an ornate entrance hall, every bit of wall space covered in laminated covers of theNational Star. Clearly Dick Dickerson had been proud of his work.

They took a right turn past a huge statue of Dickerson dressed like Napoleon, complete with prancing black stallion, and walked into what looked like the tabloid king’s private study. And that’s when she saw it: a trail of greenish sludge on the floor, leading to the biggest safe she’d ever seen. It looked like one of those ginormous bank safes.

And then she caught a whiff of the smell and she winced.

“It gets worse,” Chase said when he saw her expression.

And it did. As they approached the safe, she saw that the floor was covered with two inches of the same green-and-white sludge, and the stench was beyond horrible. Inadvertently she brought a hand up to her face to cover her mouth.

Lying face up in all of that muck, was Dick Dickerson.

Chapter 6

Odelia was glad she hadn’t brought her cats. They didn’t need to see—or smell—this. Two people from the Suffolk County coroner’s office were examining the body. They were wearing face masks. Not a bad idea. She probably should have brought that clothespin.

“Poor guy,” she said as they walked back out of the safe. “Not a pleasant way to go.”

“No, it sure wasn’t,” said Chase.

“What was he doing in that safe?”

“We think he must have been lured there—did you notice he was dressed in his pajamas?”

Actually she hadn’t. She’d been too busy trying to fight the nausea the smell created. “So how did they do that?”

“We have no idea. But he didn’t lock himself up in that safe. And there are no signs of a struggle. So he must have walked in there voluntarily, then had the safe door close up on him.”

“How did the duck poop get into the safe?”

“They thought about this,” said Chase, as he led her out of the office and back into the hallway. “In fact this must have taken careful preparation. This wasn’t some half-assed job they put together at the last minute.”

“They? You think there was more than one assailant?”

“Oh, yes. This was not a one-man job.”

He walked her around the house, along a wood chip mulch path that snaked along the side. She saw several patches of nice-looking petunias, geraniums, million bells and impatiens. And of course some of the popular deer-resistant annuals like angelonia, snapdragons and helichrysum. Like everywhere on the South Fork, deer liked to roam wild and free in Hampton Cove, devouring whatever they could dig their hungry teeth into.

They’d reached the back of Dickerson’s huge house, and Odelia frowned when her eyes met a scene she wouldn’t normally associate with the fastidious billionaire: a huge tanker had been backed up to the house, a five-inch hose connecting it to a wall vent. Next to the tanker, a tractor had been parked.

“This is how they got the duck poop into the safe,” explained Chase, pointing to the hose. “That’s where the vault vent used to be. Dickerson had a safety built into the vent to prevent liquids from being introduced or birds nesting in there but they simply ripped the whole thing out and fed the hose straight into the vault’s HVAC system.”

Odelia stared at the huge tanker, which looked just like any fuel tanker, only this one had obviously been used to transport something different from oil or gasoline.“Where did they get the tanker? And the duck poop?”

“Geary Potbelly. He’s the only duck farmer left on Long Island. We already arranged for an interview. He says one of his tractors and one of his tankers was stolen last night, a tanker full of liquid duck poop ready to be taken to the poop processing plant.” Chase gestured to the tanker. “This here tanker and that there duck poop.”

Odelia pursed her lips.“This was an organized setup, Chase. Not some kid coming in from the street bearing a grudge against Dickerson. Whoever did this planned this out in advance.” She studied the hole in the wall up close. “They must have had blueprints.”

“Possibly,” Chase admitted. “And you’re right about this being a professional crew.”

“So you’re looking at organized crime?”

He nodded.“Like you said, they needed a lot of know-how to pull this off. Then again, there are crews who do this work for hire. Anyone could have contracted them.”

“Anyone who wanted Dick Dickerson dead. Any candidates?”

“Oh, plenty,” he said. “In fact we’re working on a list right now. Turns out Mr. Dickerson was not exactly the people’s favorite. Exactly the opposite, in fact.”

“People he insulted with his articles?”

“Amongst others. If you want you can join me on some of the interviews. With Alec out of town I could use the extra pair of eyes and ears. Not to mention your keen mind.”

“Oh, so now it’s my mind you’re suddenly interested in, huh?”

“Not just your mind,” he admitted with a wide grin as he pulled her close.

There was some more kissing until a cough interrupted them. When Odelia looked up, she found a man dressed in coveralls staring at them. He was fiddling with his cap.

“So can I take her back then?” he asked.

“Yes, you can, Bert,” said Chase.

“Is that…”

“Bert is in charge of the duck poop tanker,” said Chase. “He works for Potbelly.”

“What a way to make a living.”

Bert mounted the tractor, adjusted his cap, spat on the ground, then proceeded to maneuver the tractor in front of the manure tanker. He jumped back down, and hooked the tanker up to the tractor, then hopped back into the powerful rig, and then he was pulling that mastodon from Dickerson’s lawn, giving Odelia and Chase a nod as he did.

“Murdered by duck poop,” said Odelia as they watched the tractor drive off.

“There’s a certain irony to it, though, right?” said Chase.

“You mean a peddler of poop being killed by poop?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It is ironic. But it’s still murder, Chase. And we still have to catch whoever did this.”

“Oh, I couldn’t agree more. But you have to admit there’s a sort of poetic justice to the whole thing, if you consider the lives Dickerson destroyed by printing his brand of filth.”

Chase was right. Even though she was a reporter herself, the kind of stuff theNational Star engaged in could hardly be called journalism. Half of what they wrote was invented, and the other half grossly exaggerated. And all of it intended to provoke, intimidate, ridicule and cater to the lowest common denominator or possibly even lower.

No, she didn’t think Dick Dickerson would be missed. But he was still a human being, and he’d been murdered, so whoever was responsible needed to be brought to justice.

And she was just about to follow Chase back to his pickup when her phone rang. When she took it out she saw it was an unknown number. Not unusual for a reporter.

“Odelia Poole,” she said, picking up.

“Oh, hi, Miss Poole. Is this the Odelia Poole who works for theHampton Cove Gazette?”

The voice was male and sounded oddly familiar.“Yes, this is she. Who is this?”

“My name is Otto Paunch, and I’m a great friend of President Wilcox. As you may have heard he’s currently residing at his Hampton Cove residence, Lago-a-Oceano. And as his great, great friend and confidante, I can reveal to you exclusively that Van—that’s President Van Wilcox—was surprised not to see his name appear on the list of Hampton Cove’s wealthiest residents.”

“Well, that’s because President Wilcox doesn’t officially reside in Hampton Cove,” Odelia told the caller. “Officially he lives in Washington. At the White House.”

“Yes, but his heart has always been in Hampton Cove. He loves it out here, you know—loves it. And if it weren’t for this president thing, I’m sure he would have topped that list.”

“There are some pretty rich people on our annual rich list, Mr. Paunch. Some of them probably a lot richer than your friend.”

“Poppycock. Van is the richest man in the Hamptons. The richest man in the state, even. I’m looking at his bank statement right now and I can see he’s got twenty billion dollars to his name. Twenty billion dollars, Miss Poole! Who can beat that? If that doesn’t take him straight to the top of your list you’re not the reporter I took you for.”

“If you’re sure about this, Mr. Paunch, I could always print a new version of the list.”

“Do that, Miss Poole. Because I am sure about this. As Van’s best friend, you can trust me on that. In fact you can trust me on anything I have to say about him. Van and I are so close you wouldn’t believe. We’re like brothers. Twins. Now don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you want to get started on that new rich list straightaway, Van’s name at the very top.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Paunch.”

“Goodbye, Miss Poole.”

And as she put her phone away, she was still wondering who Otto Paunch’s voice reminded her of.

Chapter 7

Vesta got up and looked at her handiwork with a nod of appreciation. Odelia’s garden was a mess, but with a little bit of work, a dash of love, and a lot of manure, she could turn it into a work of art. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Tex’s face when he glanced over the hedge into his daughter’s garden one fine morning and saw stretched before his stupefied gaze the most beautiful garden in all of Hampton Cove.

That would teach him to kick his own mother-in-law to the curb!

Not that he’d actually kicked her to the curb, but those were tiny details she didn’t like to concern herself with. And that’s when she saw the lone figure of Dooley sneaking through the hedge in the direction of Tex and Marge’s backyard.

“Hello there,” she said with a reproachful glint in her eye. “Now where do you think you’re going, young cat?”

Dooley looked up, two paws on Tex’s property and two paws on what Vesta now considered her own. “Um… home?” he said, an expression of confusion on his furry face.

“You come back here right this instance, Dooley,” snapped Vesta. “Your home is with me, and since I live on this side of the hedge now there’s no reason for you to go over there anymore.” She accentuated the word ‘there’ with a wave of the hand and a look of distaste.

“But… my bowl is over there,” said Dooley. “And my litter box. And my couch.”

“Not anymore it’s not. I’ll buy you a new litter box. And a new bowl.” Well, she would tell Odelia to buy them, at any rate. On the small pension she received she couldn’t afford to spend money like water on such trivial stuff like litter boxes and cat bowls. Not since Tex had cut up her credit cards and thwarted her plans to become a millionaire heiress.

Dooley retracted his paws and sat on his haunches for a moment.“But… I don’t want to be here, Gran. Nobody here loves me.” He said it in such a sad tone that even Vesta, whose soul was callused after having watchedGeneral Hospital,The Young and the Restless,The Bold and the Beautiful andDays of Our Lives all of her life, not to mention listening to countless sob stories from Tex’s patients as they booked appointments, felt her heart constrict.

“What do you mean, nobody loves you around here? I love you. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Dooley’s eyes widened. “You love me, Gran?”

“Of course I do. I’m your human, aren’t I? And you’re my cat, aren’t you?”

“I guess I am,” said Dooley. “I just figured… you don’t like me curling up at your feet anymore. And this morning when I tried to snuggle you pushed me away.” He didn’t say it in a reproachful tone. More like a tone that indicated he wasn’t all that surprised that anyone would push him away.

“Oh, Dooley, Dooley,” said Vesta, picking up the gray fluffy cat and cradling him in her arms. “You have to understand that I’ve been under a great deal of stress lately. What with being kicked out of my own home and my own family turning against me. It’s enough to drive any woman to distraction. And if I haven’t been very nice to you it’s because sometimes humans get so wrapped up in their own problems that they kinda forget about their responsibilities. Like my responsibility to turn this crappy yard into a new Versailles. Or to make sure my granddaughter doesn’t get involved with some impostor or evil twin. Or take good care of the only baby I’ve got left,” she added, giving Dooley a squeeze.

“Who is that baby?” asked Dooley.

“You, of course! You’re my baby, Dooley. In fact you’re all I’ve got left.”

“You’re all I’ve got left, too, Gran,” said Dooley softly.

“Why, you’ve got Max, haven’t you? I’d forget about Harriet and Brutus if I were you—they live over there,” she said, gesturing to the hedge. “Over on the dark side. But Max is your friend, isn’t he?”

“No, he’s not,” said Dooley sadly. “I asked him if I could stay with him and he turned me down flat. Milo is right. Max doesn’t care one hoot about me. He probably never did.”

“Who’s Milo?” asked Gran.

“He’s the new guy. Bristly white hair? Pink nose?”

“Oh, right,” said Gran vaguely. Odelia was always taking in strays. Hard to keep up. “Did you just say this Milo told you Max doesn’t care about you?”

“Uh-huh. Well, he didn’t say it straight out. He kinda suggested it when he said a real friend would have invited me to stay in his home a long time ago.”

Gran was frowning at Dooley.“Sounds like a suspicious character to me, Dooley. Like Dr. John Branson, the identical twin of Dr. Richard Quartermaine, who turned out to be a basket case and ended up attacking his brother’s wife with that bomb that time. He got sent to an asylum but managed to escape by switching places with his twin.” She nodded pensively. “To be completely honest with you, I’m not sure he’s not to be distrusted.”

Dooley blinked, visibly enthralled with this bit of sage advice.“Okay,” he said finally.

Feeling she’d dispensed enough wisdom for one morning, she poured Dooley from her arms, then suddenly had a bright idea. “You know what I’m going to do, Dooley?”

“What?” asked Dooley.

“I’m taking a leaf from your book.”

“My book? What book?”

But Vesta wasn’t listening. “I’m going over there to confront the guy. I think the time for dillydallying has come to an end and now it’s time to act. Like Nurse Rebecca Webb when she told Jason she’d finally had enough of his affair with her devious half-sister and told him to choose. Of course that was before he was killed in that plane crash, but no matter.”

And with a hint of steel glinting behind her glasses, she stalked into the house. Time to tell that no-good son-in-law of hers what was what and find out where his priorities lay.

Chapter 8

I saw Dooley take a nap on the bench on the deck and was just about to go over there and try and patch things up between us when Milo gave me a tap on the head.

I hate it when cats pat me on the head. Still, remembering Harriet and Brutus’s words, I managed a polite smile. “Hey, Milo. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, just scouting the place,” said Milo. “Looking around, you know.”

“Great.”

“So, Max. Is it true that you’re the only one who’s allowed to sleep at Odelia’s feet? And that you won’t let anyone else even get near her when she’s asleep?”

I stared at Milo.“What are you talking about? Who said that?”

“Dooley. He told me you’re very possessive when it comes to your human.” He shrugged. “Can’t blame you, though. She is a great human. If I had a human like that I’d make sure no other cat came anywhere near her either.”

I stared at Dooley, who was licking his fur, now basking in the sun.“Dooley said that? He actually told you I’m…” I swallowed away a lump of annoyance. “Possessive?”

“Obsessive is the word he used, actually. But hey, like I said, with a human like Odelia what cat wouldn’t go a little nuts, right? She’s only like the perfect human ever.”

“Nuts,” I said between gritted teeth. “Obsessive.”

“Yeah. So why don’t I sleep on the couch? I don’t want to get on your bad side again, Max. I know now why you didn’t take to me when I first arrived. Because I was too nice to Odelia and you felt threatened.” He held up his paws. “I can dig that, brother. Respect. And I can assure you it won’t happen again. She’s your human. Paws off. I get it.”

“I’m not like that!” I cried, aghast. “I’m not possessive or obsessive or… nuts!”

“Right-o, brother,” said Milo, taking a step back. “Whatever you say.”

“I’m just not! Whatever Dooley told you was a bunch of lies!”

Milo laughed.“Like that thing he told me about you being madly in love with Harriet? And how you and Brutus used to come to blows over her?”

“I’m not—” I paused, trying to keep calm. “I’m not in love with Harriet! Dooley is! He’s the one who’s always been nuts about her. And obscenely jealous of Brutus.”

“Look, Dooley’s just looking out for you, Max. Like any friend would. He knows you’re sensitive about this whole Harriet thing and who can blame you? Being in love like that for years and years and years without having the guts to tell her? That takes a lot of self-control, brother. And I getit. If you love them, set them free, right? More power to you.”

“I’m. Not. In. Love. With. Harriet,” I said, parsing out the words between puffs of smoke now pouring from my nose. “I never was. Never will. She’s just a friend, all right?”

“Sure,” said Milo, but it was obvious he didn’t believe me. “Look, I know it’s tough, buddy. Especially with the kind of cat Brutus is. And the things he’s been saying about you.”

I gawked at the cat. This was getting better and better.“What’s Brutus been saying about me?”

“Oh, just that you’re the dumbest cat he’s ever met,” said Milo, suddenly having developed a powerful interest in his nails.

“Dumbest cat he’s ever met!”

“Look, I know you consider Brutus a friend,” said Milo. “And the last thing I want is to cause trouble. But with the stuff he says about you, I’d reconsider that friendship, bro.”

“What else has he been saying about me?” I demanded hotly.

“Only that you’re so ugly no cat in Hampton Cove wants to be your girl. And so dumb you’ve never realized this before. And so deadly dull and boring nobody wants to be your friend. And that the only reason he and Harriet hang out with you is because your humans are related.” He shrugged. “It’s that old saying all over again, isn’t it? You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family? It’s a blessing and a curse. And in Harriet’s case it’s definitely a curse, as she’s forced to spend time with you—time she could spend with her real friends downtown.”

I had developed a tremor in my paw now, and a twitch in my whisker.“Thank you very much, Milo,” I said hoarsely, in as calm and collected a way as I could muster. “Thank you for telling me the truth about my so-called friends.”

Milo did the palms-up thing.“Hey. What are friends for, right?”

Friends were there so they could backstab other friends, I thought as I walked away. And as I directed a nasty glance at Dooley, now licking his butt as if he didn’t have a care in the world, I vowed that from then on they were dead to me. Dooley, Harriet, and Brutus. They were dead to me and if I never saw or heard from them again that was fine by me!

“Where are you going?” asked Dooley as I slipped right past him.

“Out!” I snapped.

“Want me to tag along?” he asked.

I directed as cold a look at him as I could muster. Then I turned my back on him and stalked off. You’re dead to me, that look said, and judging from Dooley’s expression of surprise, he caught it right in the ribs.

Chapter 9

Chase rode his pickup to the farm where Geary Potbelly did his business. The rutted road led them to a farmhouse, long clapboard structures located right behind it, and huge silos where presumably Geary stored the food for the ducks or—and Odelia didn’t even want to contemplate this—the poop the animals produced.

“So… I don’t see no ducks,” she said as Chase parked the rig next to the farmhouse.

“They moved them all indoors a decade ago,” said Chase. “They used to roam free, but then environmental laws tightened and allowing the duck poop to drain into the ground and pollute the groundwater with nitrates became strictly prohibited. So now the ducks are all in those long white buildings over there, where they can poop through the mesh wire so it can be flushed into big holding tanks and then procured for processing.”

“What do they use it for?”

“It ends up on huge compost heaps, where it’s mixed with mulch and yard waste which binds the nitrogen in the manure and prevents it from leaking into the ground and leaching into the groundwater. Then it’s sold to garden centers and Home Depot and such.”

“How come you know so much about duck poop, Chase?”

He laughed.“Before you start thinking this is my latest hobby, let me assure you it’s not. No, I talked to Geary on the phone to figure out how his poop ended up killing Dickerson and he explained to me a little about the process they have out here.”

As they walked up to the house, the same guy in coveralls they met out at the Dickerson place, held up his hand in greeting. He was shoveling straw onto a wheelbarrow.

“Bert! Have you seen Geary around?” Chase yelled at him.

“Come on in!” Bert yelled back. “He’s inside.” He was pointing to the stable.

“I guess we’re going to meet some of those famous Long Island ducks up close and personal,” Chase quipped.

They strode into a large space, surprisingly light and airy, and immediately Odelia saw thousands upon thousands of ducks lounging around, buckets of feed attached to wooden poles, light fixtures dangling from the ceiling, and the ducks not in cages as she’d feared, but free to roam the large space, straw under their feet and happily quacking away.

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many ducks in one place,” she said.

“Me neither,” Chase chimed in.

A man dressed in blue coveralls was crouched down over what looked like feeding troughs, and they walked up to him, the ducks scuttling away as they did.

“Mr. Potbelly!” Chase said as they joined the duck farmer.

Contrary to the name, he was a tall, reedy man with a tan, weather-beaten face and a ball cap with the name‘Potbelly Farm’ lodged firmly on his head.

“Hey there, Detective,” said Geary. “Nice to put a name to the face.”

“Likewise,” said Chase. “This is Odelia Poole. Odelia is a reporter for theHampton Cove Gazette, but she also frequently helps us out in our investigations.”

“Your daddy is Tex Poole, right?” asked Geary, nodding. “He’s my doctor.”

“I think my dad is pretty much everybody’s doctor,” said Odelia.

“He’s a good one, though. Got me some of those patches for my chest pains.” He slapped his chest. “Been feeling like a new man ever since. Real miracle cure, Miss Poole.”

“Odelia. And I’m glad my dad could help you out, Mr. Potbelly.”

“Geary,” he said with a grin that displayed two rows of nicotine-stained teeth. “So what can I do you for?”

“You can help us understand how a tanker full of your duck poop ended up all the way out at Dick Dickerson’s place.”

He scratched his scalp.“Well, sir, like I told you over the phone, one of our tankers got stolen last night, along with one of our tractors. So that might explain things.”

“Any idea who could have taken them?”

“Nope. Must have happened sometime after midnight, though, cause my youngest one just got back from checking on the ducklings in the hatchery and he says the tanker was still there when he did.”

“He’s sure about that?”

“Absolutely. That thing’s an eyesore, and he would have noticed if it was gone.”

“So walk us through this, Geary. Someone got onto your property and took off with a tractor and a tanker. How is that possible?”

“We sleep all the way out there,” said Geary, pointing to the west. “The entire family lives on the perimeter, in houses we built ourselves. Five generations of Potbellies have lived there and still do, so we don’t hear what goes on up here at night.”

“Don’t you have guard dogs? A fence? Security?”

“We have a fence, but they took out an entire section. Professional job, too. When my son told me I thought they’d come for the ducks. We were surprised they’d taken the tanker. Couldn’t imagine what they wanted with nine thousand gallons of duck poop.”

“Now we know,” said Chase grimly.

“We have a couple dogs, too, but I guess those sneak thieves must have managed to get past them.” He grunted. “At least they didn’t hurt them. Those dogs are like family.”

“So no cameras, huh?” asked Odelia.

“Potbelly Farm isn’t the Chase Manhattan or Tiffany’s, Odelia. We’ve had a few breakins over the years but nothing major. The fence is more to keep the deer out and the ducks in than anything else. The rest is up to the dogs, and usually they’re enough of a deterrent. But the visitors wehad last night were something else. Real pros, if you ask me.”

Chapter 10

Grandma was huffing a little by the time she reached the doctor’s office. It was only a short walk from the house but still. She was seventy-five, not twenty-five, and even when she was twenty-five working out wasn’t the hype it had become later on. Oh, she’d bought those tapes Jane Fonda had put out in the eighties. She’d even bought herself some of those funky leg warmers Jane was so nuts about, and those colorful leotards. But the workouts looked too strenuous even then, and she’d never gotten into them the way Victoria Principal or Linda Evans did. Or even that hot John Travolta inPerfect. Now there was a fine man.

She crossed the street on a huff. She’d prepared her little speech and Tex was gonna get it now. How she’d been waiting and waiting for him to apologize and how it was starting to look like she’d be waiting until she was dead and buried before he finally came round.

She opened the door and walked into the waiting room that had been her domain until a few weeks ago. When she walked up to the desk her jaw dropped when she caught sight of the woman seated behind it. Seated in her chair, behind her desk, in her exact spot!

None other than Scarlett Canyon herself was staring back at her, giving her that impudent look she was famous for. Not a day younger than Vesta herself, Scarlett nevertheless looked younger, thanks to the numerous procedures she’d undergone. Her boob lift-slash-enhancement especially had cemented her reputation with the senior center’s male membership, but her face, too, had been extensively worked on, her eyes now resembling a cat’s eyes and her lips plumped up way beyond what was esthetically pleasing.

Then again, with boobs like that, what hot-blooded male cared about the face?

“Scarlett,” Vesta said curtly. “Patients are supposed to wait in the waiting room.”

“I’m not here as a patient, Vesta,” said Scarlett, tapping a single long nail on the keyboard spacebar. “I work here now.”

Vesta’s jaw dropped a few inches. “Work here? What do you mean, work here?!”

“I heard you abandoned poor Tex and how he was desperate for a new receptionist, so I volunteered.” She smiled widely, or at least as widely as her collagen-filled lips would allow. “And I have to tell you, I love it, Vesta. I don’t understand why you quit.”

“Don’t you mind why I quit. That’s my chair, Scarlett, and that’s my desk, and that’s my computer. So you better walk out of here now, or I’ll have you thrown out so fast not even those implants of yours will be able to break your fall when you hit the pavement.”

A cough sounded behind her, and she whipped her head around. Half a dozen people were seated in the waiting area, following the altercation with rapt attention. She didn’t mind. Scarlett was going to get what was coming to her and she didn’t care who heard it.

“Are you threatening me with violence, Vesta?” asked Scarlett, bringing a shocked hand to her chest.

“If you don’t clear out of here I’m kicking your enhanced booty so hard those butt implants will end up dangling behind your ears. And that’s not a threat—that’s a promise!”

Scarlett rose and jutted out her butt.“For your information, this booty is all-natural, just like my boobies,” she said, a noticeable purr in her voice. “Unlike your bony butt and your flat chest, Vesta dear.” She even had the gall to flash her eyebrows at her!

“That’s it,” Vesta snapped. “I’m coming for you, Scarlett.”

And she would have mounted that desk, sciatica or no sciatica, and given Scarlett a piece of her mind, when Tex’s door opened and the doctor himself came walking in.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

With his shock of white hair and his kind face Tex Poole reminded some people of Dick Van Dyke when he was solving murders as Dr. Mark Sloan onDiagnosis: Murder. Now, though, he looked more like a masked avenger, without the mask, as he stepped up to his mother-in-law, and took her arm in a firm grip, then took Scarlett’s arm in an equally firm grip, and dragged the two women apart.

“What the cuss do you think you’re doing, Vesta?” he said. “Barging in here and threatening my receptionist with bodily harm?”

“She took my place!” Vesta croaked. “And on top of that she insulted me!”

“All I said was that you are very slim, Vesta,” said Scarlett coyly. “I was paying you a compliment. I really was, Dr. Tex.”

Tex was looking grim.“I don’t get it, Vesta. First you quit on me and now you attack the woman who was so kind to step up and offer her help when she saw I was struggling?”

“Oh, she was offering to help, all right,” said Vesta. “Though I’m not sure my daughter would appreciate the kind of help Scarlett has to offer!”

Tex had the decency to blush.“Now, Vesta, you know that’s nonsense talk.”

“Filthy gossip, that’s what it is,” said Scarlett. “And mean-spirited, too.”

“I’ll give you mean-spirited,” Vesta growled, and tried to poke her nemesis in the fake nose. She never got close, for Tex was still acting like a buffer between the two women.

“Now, now, Vesta,” he was saying in that horribly soothing doctor’s voice of his. “Calm down.”

“Oh, all right,” said Vesta, shaking off Tex’s hand. “I’m going already. But I’m warning you,” she spat in Scarlett’s direction. “This is not the end.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect it to be, Vesta, dear,” said Scarlett sweetly.

And as Vesta stalked huffily to the door, Scarlett even blew her a kiss. In return, Vesta blew her nemesis a raspberry, made a very rude gesture with one of the fingers of her right hand, and slammed the door shut behind her.

No, this was not the end. In fact this had only just begun.

Chapter 11

Dooley sat on the wooden garden bench, feeling miserable. He didn’t understand why Max had suddenly decided to give him the cold shoulder. In spite of Gran’s assurances that Dooley was loved, he was starting to think that Milo was right after all, and that Max didn’t give a hoot about him. Or anyone else, for that matter.

And just when he was thinking of maybe sneaking after Max and asking his old friend what was going on, Milo jumped up onto the bench and made himself comfortable.

“Hey, buddy,” said Milo. “You don’t look so good. Are you sure you’re not sick?”

Dooley blinked a few times.“Sick? Do you think I’m sick?”

Milo held up his paws.“Hey, I’m not a doctor, buddy, but you look kinda pale. Max just told me the same thing, so I figured I’d do the square thing by you and check it out.”

“Max told you I looked sick?”

“Sure. Then again, he said you were born sickly. Been weak and prone to disease ever since Grandma brought you home from the pound.”

Dooley’s heart was beating fast now, a sickening sense of doom extending its icy tentacles into his soul. “The pound? Grandma brought me home from the pound? But she always said she got me from a very dear friend of hers. From a litter of eight little Dooleys.”

“A little white lie, Dooley. Humans are big on little white lies. They think it’s for the best, but they often end up doing a lot of damage. Anyhoo, I think maybe it’s time for you to head on down to the vet, don’t you think? You’re coming down with something. And it wouldn’t surprise me if isn’t some parasite wreaking havoc inside your digestion system.”

“A parasite!”

“Yup. Worms, probably.”

“Worms! Inside me?!”

“Sure. You’ve got your tapeworm, your hookworm, your whipworm, your roundworm… Have you lost weight recently?”

“I-I think so,” said Dooley, touching his shrinking belly. “Haven’t been hungry.”

“That’s the worms for you,” said Milo with a knowing nod. “Make you lose your appetite. You’re probably full of them, crawling all over your insides. What about vomiting? Diarrhea? Coughing? Feeling bloated?”

Dooley felt sick, and suddenly retched.“How-how big are these worms, Milo?”

“Oh, the smallest ones are at least five inches long. The big ones?” He gave Dooley a worried look that spoke volumes.

Dooley could imagine dozens of worms moving around inside his gut, and when he glanced down at his belly, he could almost see them, wriggling underneath the skin!“G-get them out of there!” he cried. “Milo! Help me—you need to help me get rid out of them!”

“I want to help you,” said Milo earnestly. “But Max told me not to.”

“Max told you what?!”

“Yeah, he said you’re such a crybaby it’s better just to leave you to your own devices. He said he’s tried to help you out before, but you end up making life a living hell for him, so nowadays he simply prefers not to tell you anything at all, and hope you won’t notice that you’re sick and…” He grimaced. “Maybe I should just follow Max’s advice.”

“Tell me!”

“I don’t know, Dooley. Max said I shouldn’t bother. Then again, I’m of the opinion that a true friend always tells his friends the truth—even when it’s just… terrible, horrible.”

Dooley stared at this newfound friend of his.“Tell me the truth, Milo. Just… tell me.” Milo placed a paw on Dooley’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. One of those earnest, heartfelt looks. The kind of look a real friend gave his best friend and compatriot. And Dooley remembered the cold look Max had given him and he knew. Max was not his friend. No matter what Gran said. Max was simply a liar. “Just… tell me?” he whispered.

“You’re dying, Dooley. This is the end of the line for you, pal. I give you two more days—three, tops—and then it’s bye-bye, baby for Dooley.”

“Oh, no!” he cried. “But-but is there nothing I can do? Milo—please!”

Milo looked doubtful, like a doctor after giving his patient the final verdict. Then he softened.“You need to get rid of those worms, buddy. Either you live, or those worms do. Only one of you can live. Just like Harry Potter and his old chum Voldemort, remember?”

“How-how do I get rid of these Voldemort worms?”

“There’s only one way.” He squeezed Dooley’s shoulder. “Cat Snax.”

“Max’s favorite snack.”

“That’s right. Cat Snax contain a secret ingredient that worms hate. The more Cat Snax you eat, the greater your chance of survival.”

“But Max hates it when we snack on his Cat Snax.”

“Come on, Dooley. This is do or die, buddy. If you don’t get rid of those worms you’ll be dead inside the day.”

“The day! You just said two or three days!”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Cat Snax,” said Dooley thoughtfully.

“Cat Snax. And you need to scoot.”

“Scoot?”

“Wipe your tush across the floor.”

“Why?”

Milo sighed.“Isn’t it obvious? When those Cat Snax kick in, those worms are flushed out of your system. But they hang on for dear life, digging their little pincers into your butt. So you need to boogie-woogie those suckers. Crush them and turn them into poop smears.”

“Poop smears,” repeated Dooley, thinking that this sounded like music to his ears.

“Yeah, so don’t you go poopy doopy in the litter box now, you hear? Those blood-sucking parasites love litter. They snack on that litter. And then they jump right back onto your fur, burrow their way through your skin, and you’re right back where you started.”

“You mean I have to… poop on the floor?”

“The floor, the rug, the bed, heck, you can poop on the kitchen table for all I care. As long as you scoot.”

“Scoot.”

“Scoot like your life depends on it, Dooley.” He nodded seriously. “Cause it does.”

Chapter 12

I’d been wandering along aimlessly, and finally reached downtown and I still had no idea where I was going. The idea that Dooley had been saying those horrible things about me, and so had Brutus and Harriet, had cut me to the quick. How could they even think that stuff? Me, in love with Harriet. Or possessive of Odelia. Or the dumbest and ugliest cat in Hampton Cove. So ugly, in fact, that no female cat had ever shown an interest in me.

A sneaking suspicion now entered my mind. The suspicion that Brutus and Harriet were right. That I really was that dumb and that ugly. I mean, why else was I still single while everyone else was involved with someone? The thought had never occurred to me before.

And as I finally reached my destination, Wilbur Vickery’s General Store on Main Street, I looked around for Kingman, Wilbur’s plump piebald. To my elation he was right where he always was: holding forth to three female cats who hung on his every word.

“Hey, Kingman,” I said by way of greeting.

Then, to my surprise, the three females gave me a furtive glance then stalked off without even so much as a hello.

“And hello to you, too,” I said as I stared after them.

“Hey, Max,” said Kingman. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little… out of sorts.”

“Did those girls say something about me?” I asked, still staring at the three females sashaying off, their heads close together and clearly sharing a tasty morsel of gossip.

“Nope. Why would they?”

“Just wondering,” I said, frowning to myself.

“Did you hear about that murder case?” Kingman asked, changing the subject.

“What murder case? What are you talking about?”

“TheNational Star dude that got smothered in duck poop?”

“Duck sauce?” I asked, figuring I’d misheard.

“Duck poop, not sauce. Yeah, your human is all over that one. Went up to Dickerson’s house this morning to investigate, along with her beefcake boyfriend. I figured you’d have tagged along—you and that ragtag gang of feline detective friends of yours.”

“They’re no friends of mine,” I muttered darkly, wondering why Odelia would be investigating a murder case without inviting me along. This was definitely a first. And then the horrible truth came home to me: hadn’t Milo said I was too possessive about Odelia? Too obsessive? Not allowing anyone else to even come near her? Odelia must have felt it. She must have felt the noose tighten around her neck and decided to take her distance. Investigate this murder case all by herself. Without possessive Max to cramp her style.

Gah. Now I’d done it. I’d gone and made my human mad.

Which could only mean one thing: she was getting ready to chuck me out.

My eyes widened. Could it be… Could it be that she was grooming Milo as my replacement? Maybe he didn’t even belong to this Aloisia Lane woman. Maybe she’d gotten him from a friend, and she was going to keep him and train him and then she was going to kick me out! Maybe even hand me over to Aloisia Lane when she returned from Florida!

“Max!” Kingman was yelling, and only now did I notice he must have been trying to catch my attention for a while now. “What’s wrong, Max? You don’t look like yourself, buddy.”

I gave him a sad look.“I haven’t been myself for a long time, Kingman. Only it’s taken me until now to realize it.” And with these words, I slunk off. I didn’t know where I was going. Home? But where was home? Not with Odelia, that was for sure. And not with Marge or Vesta either.

Home is where the heart is, the old saying goes. But my heart didn’t belong to anyone, Milo had made that clear to me. And suddenly a surge of gratitude swept through me. Milo was the only friend I had in this world. The only cat who’d told me the truth.

The only cat who hadn’t lied to my face all these years.

I passed a newsstand, and read the headlines about the‘Don of Dung Dunged to Death,’ but they didn’t hold any interest to me. Someone else would have to catch the Don of Dung’s danged killer. Someone smart and cool and popular. Someone who wasn’t me.

My days as a feline sleuth were over.

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Harriet watched as Dooley stalked into the house, assumed the squatting position, and produced a nice little turd, right there on Odelia’s new off-white IKEA rug, then proceeded to wipe his tush on the same rug, sashaying along while intently looking over his shoulder at his progression, as if admiring his handiwork—or rather his buttwork.

She blinked, wondering what had gotten into the cat. Then she suddenly noticed that she was no longer alone. Milo had materialized right next to her and was shaking his head.

“Sad, isn’t it?”

“What is?” she asked.

“Dooley. I didn’t want to tell you this before but he’s finally lost it.”

“He is acting a little weird,” she admitted. “Why is he pooping on the rug?”

“Nobody told you? Oh, the little guy is head over heels in love with you, Harriet, and this is his way of showing you.”

“What?!” she cried, horrified.

“Sure. He must have seen it on someDiscovery Channel documentary, how some tribesmen in the Amazon rainforest smear their poop on trees as a token of their affection. Anthropologists say tribeswomen study that poop as an indicator of the health and vigor of the male, which greatly helps them in choosing the right partner so they can procreate. It’s all true,” he said, holding up two claws when Harriet gave him a look of horror. “So now poor, deluded little Dooley there thinks he can win your heart by spreading his stool around, in the hope you’ll figure his stool shows he’s a better potential mate than Brutus.”

“Oh, my God, but that’s just ridiculous!” Harriet cried, aghast. “Has he lost his mind?”

“Dooley’s mind was never a very powerful instrument to begin with,” said Milo, who seemed to know what he was talking about. “Which is why he’s fallen prey to this state of delusion. But not to worry,” he added, suddenly chipper. “I’m sure it’s just a phase. After all, Max passed through this awkward stage and he came out more or less unscathed, right?”

“Max? Did he have this… stool phase?”

“Oh, yes. Max has been head over heels in love with you for years, Harriet. Only now the pendulum has swung the other way, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?”

“Max hates you. It often happens with one who’s loved as deeply and as passionately as Max has. When that love isn’t reciprocated it turns into a violent, deep-seated hatred.”

“Max hates me?”

“Max loathes you with every fiber of his being. Just watch him when he thinks you’re not looking. You’ll see the rage in his eyes. The pure, unadulterated murderous loathing.”

“I don’t believe this. Why has no one ever told me this before?” she demanded.

“Because they didn’t want you to worry, Harriet,” said Milo, his voice dripping with compassion. “And then there’s the other thing. The violence.”

“Violence?”

“Oh, yes. Max has these violent tendencies. When provoked he gets quite dangerous. Cats felt that as long as you didn’t know how he felt about you, you couldn’t provoke one of his outbursts.” He touched her shoulder lightly. “I disagree. I feel that you have a right to know. And now that you do, and you’re properly warned, you can prepare yourself.”

“You mean… stay away from him?”

“Stay away, and in case you do need to come into contact with the madcat, don’t look into his eyes, don’t talk to him, don’t do anything that might trigger an attack.”

“Oh, dear. Well, I’m glad someone had the courage to tell me. Thank you, Milo.”

“Don’t mention it, Harriet.”

They both stared at Dooley, who was now studying the brown smears on the carpet, sniffing them intently.

“Mad,” said Harriet.

“And sad,” Milo added with a sigh.

Chapter 13

“So what do you think, Chase?” asked Chief Alec, speaking from Chase’s phone.

“No, what doyou think, Chief?” asked Chase.

He could see Tracy Sting behind the Chief and an amazing view of the mountains the couple were currently hiking through. They were lucky they had reception.

“Yeah, we asked you first, Uncle Alec,” said Odelia. She waved at Tracy, who smiled and waved back. A striking redhead with trim, athletic physique, she was a can-do woman who looked even more can-do with her sunglasses, hiking jacket and hiking boots.

Even Alec looked ready to tackle those mountains—and enjoy a nice crackling fire once they got back to their lodge or cabin. The rotund chief looked like he’d lost some weight, and his bushy brows suddenly looked a lot less bushy, as if he’d—gasp!—trimmed them. Everything to impress his date. In fact Alec looked years younger—a marked effect.

“Look, I don’t have all the details, all right?” the Chief was saying. “Just what you told me. As far as I know Dickerson had a ton of files in that safe of his. In fact he was famous for having dirt on pretty much everyone who was someone and he kept it in that safe.”

“The safe was empty,” said Odelia.

“Not completely empty,” said Chase. “There was one file and one picture.”

“Yeah, a picture of a rose,” said Odelia. “Ring any bells?”

“None,” said Chief Alec. “But maybe you can start by looking at the usual suspects.”

“Which are?” said Chase.

Alec frowned.“Um… Dickerson was rumored to be a close friend of the President but they’d recently fallen out over something. No idea what. You’d have to ask him.”

“The President as inthe President?” asked Odelia.

“Yup. So if I were you I’d start there. And then there’s the professional aspect.”

“Like a mob hit,” said Odelia.

“Dickerson got in bad with Yasir Bellinowski.”

“The Russian mobster?” said Chase.

“Alleged,” said Alec. “At least that’s what I heard. So I would pay him a visit. Maybe there was something in that vault Bellinowski wanted so bad he was prepared to kill for it.”

“It does have mafia written all over it,” Odelia agreed. “With the duck poop and all.”

“You need to follow up about that theft at the Potbelly farm. Whoever stole that tractor and that tanker is your guy. Catch him, and catch the person who ordered the hit.”

“Good luck!” Tracy said, moving into view again and giving them a wave.

“Thanks,” said Odelia. “We’ll need it.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. You guys are the best damn sleuths I’ve ever had,” said Chief Alec with a grin. “And the fact that I only have to pay one of you makes it even better.”

“Ha ha,” said Chase. “Very funny.”

“Take good care of my uncle for me, Tracy,” said Odelia. “He’s the only one I’ve got.”

“Oh, I’ll take very good care of him,” Tracy assured her. “In fact I already am.”

“She is,” said the Chief with a happy grin, his face rotund and his cheeks flushed.

“I don’t think I want to know,” said Odelia with a laugh.

And on the image of the Chief and Tracy kissing, the connection cut out.

“They look happy,” said Chase.

“They look more than happy,” said Odelia. “They look like they’re in love.”

Chase had placed an arm around her waist.“You mean they look like us?”

“Something like that.”

He kissed her deeply, and she almost dropped her phone, which he took as a good sign. Looked like he still had it. But then he wrenched his mind back to the investigation. They were holed up in the police station, where they’d decided to consult with the Chief and get his input. Now, though, they needed to follow up on his instructions and go and talk to the President. Gulp.

“Do you think the President will even talk to us?” asked Odelia, whose mind had landed on the same topic.

“I hope so. He was a close friend of Dickerson’s.”

“Until they fell out over something.”

“We need to find out what that something was.”

“Yes, we do.”

They were seated side by side at the Chief’s desk, so close together they were cheek to jowl. And since he was in the vicinity, Chase closed his lips on hers and for the next five minutes or so Dick Dickerson, the President and any possible mob connections between the tabloid mogul and this Yasir Bellinowski were the farthest thing from his mind.

But then a knock at the door surprised them and when the door swung open and Dolores appeared, they both looked up with flushed cheeks and a guilty grin on their faces.

“All right,” said the policewoman with an eyeroll. “Guess I can come back later.”

And then she walked out and bought them another ten minutes or so, which was all they needed.

Chapter 14

“I’ve never met the President,” said Odelia as Chase steered the car through town.

“Me neither,” he intimated.

“I mean, any president. Not this one or any of his predecessors.”

He smiled and gave her a sideways glance.“You look excited.”

“Damn right I’m excited. We’re about to meet the frickin’ President!”

“You look hot when you’re excited.”

She blushed. It wasn’t the idea of seeing the President that made her feel all hot and bothered, but what she and Chase had done on top of Uncle Alec’s desk. Good thing he’d never know. Unless Dolores told him. Which she probably would. And everyone else in that precinct. Shoot.

“So what did he say?” she asked.

“You mean what did his Secret Service detail say?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They don’t like the idea.”

“He’s not a suspect. Did you tell them he’s not a suspect?”

“They don’t like the idea of the President being interviewed by cops, period—suspect or no suspect. They don’t like the story the media might spin this into.”

“He’s a friend of Dickerson’s. He was in town when the guy was murdered. We have to talk to him.”

“They know that. That doesn’t mean they have to like it.”

“Besides, it’s not as if the President can just go and steal a tanker full of duck poop from a duck farm, back it up to his friend’s house and kill him. The Secret Service would have noticed if he was traipsing around duck farms in the middle of the night.”

“I think we established that whoever is behind this hired a couple of pros.”

“Even so. The President probably can’t even order a Big Mac or chicken nuggets without everybody knowing about it and blabbing about it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re seriously considering the possibility that President Wilcox killed his buddy the media mogul,” said Chase. “But we have to start somewhere.”

And so they did.“I like this mobster for the murder. And the picture of the rose left at the crime scene? Probably has some kind of mobster meaning. Like the dead horse inThe Godfather. I mean, maybe the mob moved on from horses to pictures of horses. Or roses.”

“Sure,” said Chase with a grin.

“Did they find any fingerprints on that picture?”

“None. Nothing on that vault door, either, or anywhere else, for that matter. Like I said, these guys are pros. They wouldn’t make a rookie mistake like that.”

“Seems elaborate,” said Odelia, still thinking this through. “They could have just shot him. Why go to all the trouble of the duck poop thing? That just seems like… overkill.”

“Why aren’t your cats along for the ride?” suddenly Chase asked.

“Mh?”

“Your cats. They usually tag along on these things. Like a good-luck charm?”

Yeah, why hadn’t she brought Max and the others along? For some reason the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Probably because Max seemed upset about Milo and the others eating his food. She’d just figured he wanted to be left alone. People thought cats were simply animals, with animal reflexes and driven by animal instincts. But they were smart creatures—a lot smarter than most humans gave them credit for. And they were also very sensitive, and when they were going through the kind of adaptation Max was going through with Milo, maybe it was better just to leave them alone to deal with it in peace.

“I’ll bring them along next time,” she said.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Chase. “I don’t think the Secret Service would like it if we arrived with a bunch of cats in tow. They’d probably think they were Russian spies.”

They finally arrived at Lago-a-Oceano, President Van Wilcox’s expansive mansion. It was an impressive, sprawling structure, with several buildings apart from the main house, servants’ quarters, an old hunter’s lodge, and spreading grounds. It had a private beach where Van Wilcox was rumored to enjoy going for a swim, as did the First Lady Rima Wilcox, who hailed from Georgia and liked the privacy the mansion afforded her and her husband.

They announced their arrival to the burly Secret Service man at the gate, who eyed them stoically through glasses that obscured his eyes, spoke something into his wrist, then stepped aside as the heavy wrought-iron gate slowly swung open.

More burly men with sunglasses and dressed like Men in Black dotted the landscape, like garden gnomes on a front lawn, and Odelia swallowed away a lump of uneasiness.

“I hope they don’t shoot us,” she said as all eyes turned to them as they proceeded along the winding drive. “Do they also remind you of Agent Smith fromThe Matrix?”

“Don’t think about it,” Chase advised her. “Just keep your eye on the prize. We need to find out what the President figures happened to his friend.”

“Or former friend.”

“Exactly. All the rest is unimportant at this stage.”

She gulped some more when the number of Agent Smiths seemed to increase the closer they got to the mansion.“I think they’re multiplying. Just like inThe Matrix.”

“Keep your cool, Odelia. This will all be fine.”

“That’s what you think. You’re the cop. I’m the reporter. Everyone knows the President eats reporters for breakfast.”

“He does not.”

“He hates us. He hates us all.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t.”

“If he orders his Secret Service to take me out back for a neck shot tell my parents I love them, all right?”

“You’ll be just fine.”

She wasn’t too sure about that. She’d seen the way the President handled reporters. Chances were she wasn’t going to make it out of there alive.

Chase seemed to sense her apprehension, for he said,“If worse comes to worst, just tell them you’re withFox News. The President lovesFox News. He’ll think you’re the best thing since sliced bread and he’ll probably try to make you ambassador to Finland or put you in charge of Homeland Security.”

She didn’t respond. Just then, her phone sang out Dua Lipa’sOne Kiss. She saw it was that Otto Paunch guy again. Great timing.

“Hi, Mr. Paunch.”

“Hey, Miss Poole. Have you changed that rich list yet? I’m looking at theHampton Cove Gazette website and President Wilcox’s name is still absent from the list.”

“I… have been a little busy, Mr. Paunch. But I’m on it.”

“That’s great. Oh, and while you’re at it, could you also change the President’s Wikipedia page? I see it says here that he was on the cover ofTime Magazine twenty-one times. That’s incorrect. He’s been on the cover fifty times, more than any other president ever and certainly more than Richard Nixon, who was on the cover only forty-three times.”

“Um…”

“Can I count on you for that, Miss Poole?”

“Well, I don’t actually—”

“Thanks. You’re amazing. Talk to you soon!”

“I don’t actually work for Wikipedia,” she said, but Mr. Paunch had already disconnected. She stared at her phone. So weird.

“Who was that?” asked Chase.

“Otto Paunch. He’s one of President Wilcox’s best friends and he keeps calling me to change stuff online.”

“Like what?”

“Like the rich list we published, or now he was asking about his Wikipedia page.”

“I guess Presidents do that kind of thing all the time. They’re very sensitive when it comes to public perception.”

“But… I don’t work for Wikipedia.”

“No one does. They’ve got editors who write those pages.”

But then she forgot all about Otto Paunch and his strange requests. They’d arrived at the forecourt of Lago-a-Oceano and Odelia was duly impressed. It looked like something out of a fairytale, the porticoed entrance supported by columns, lending it a classical look. The mansion itself was huge, with dozens of windows looking out across the forecourt, the impressive building sporting a distinctly Spanish architectural style.

“It looks… amazing,” she gasped, then, “I’m underdressed, Chase. Grossly underdressed.”

“We’re here in an official capacity, Poole. Not as guests.”

And then a small army of Agent Smiths descended upon them and that was the end.

Chapter 15

Scarlett Canyon was filing her nails when the phone rang. Again. She sighed deeply, put down her nail file and picked up the phone.“Dr. Poole’s office. How can I help you?”

“Hi,” said a croaky voice. “My name is Ida LaBelle and I think I have a boil on my butt. Can you tell me what I have to do to get rid of it?”

“I’ll schedule an appointment with Dr. Poole.”

“No!” cried the voice. “I mean—I can’t. I’m a busy woman with a lot on my plate. But you sound like a clever person. And you work for a doctor so obviously you must know a lot about medicine. So please just tell me—advise me—what should I do?”

Scarlett studied her nails. She’d just gotten new gel nails down at the nail salon but she wasn’t convinced about the color. They were pink with little glittery ladybugs. She would have preferred the blue ones with the gold sparkly hearts. “I’m sorry, dear,” she now intoned. “I don’t know nothing about no butt boils.”

“But… you work for a doctor, don’t you?”

“Yah. So?”

“So you must be a licensed receptionist.”

“Look, honey. If you want to make an appointment, make an appointment already. Otherwise stop wasting my frickin’ time.”

“Youare aware that you’re supposed to be a licensed receptionist to work for a medical professional, right? If not the inspectors might come in and arrest you for fraud.”

“What inspectors? What are you talking about?”

“You can’t just walk in from the street and start working for a doctor. You need to have the necessary paperwork. Didn’t nobody ever tell you that, Scarlett?”

She stared at the phone for a moment. That voice… “How do you know my name?”

“Because… I read it in the yellow pages just now.”

“I’m not in the yellow pages. Do people even still use the yellow pages?”

“Forget about the yellow pages and listen to me for a sec. I’m just trying to help you out here. If you don’t got no license you’re not even supposed to be in there, sitting at that desk and typing at that computer. Inspectors will come in and bust you if you don’t quit.”

“Vesta? Is that you?”

Silence. Then:“My name is Ida LaBelle. And I’m calling about my butt boil.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks, ‘Ida.’ And your butt boil! I’m telling Tex you’re harassing me!”

“You’re denying me medical treatment! That’s a federal crime! I could bust you for that, you booby bimbo!”

“Buzz off, Vesta,” said Scarlett, and thunked down the phone.

Just then, Tex walked in from the office, a smile on his face.“And how is my favorite receptionist doing? Was that a patient?”

“Nah. Just your mother-in-law trying to mess with me.”

The smile disappeared.“Vesta? What did she want?”

“I don’t know. Something about a butt boil and a license.” She waggled a nail. “She’s going to make trouble for you, Dr. Tex, I’m telling you. That woman is like a dog with a bone. She’ll keep coming back until you give her a kick in the bony rear end and be done with her.”

“I can’t kick my wife’s mother in the rear end,” said Tex, a little wistfully.

“Well, you should. I’ve known Vesta all my life. She’s a terror. I know she’s family and all, but sometimes you just have to draw a line in the sand, Dr. Tex. Take a stand.”

Tex didn’t look like he was prepared to take a stand. “If she calls again just tell her…” He hesitated, rooting around for a possible solution. “Just tell her not to call again,” he concluded lamely, then turned on his heel and disappeared into his office.

Scarlett smiled.“I’ll tell her just that and more,” she said to herself, then resumed the study of her nails. She needed more sparkle, she thought. Sparkle was the new pink.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

The Agent Smiths that had converged upon Chase’s aged pickup now opened the door—both the passenger side and the driver’s side—then proceeded to escort the cop and his assistant out of the car. They all had those black sunglasses, making it impossible for Odelia to see their eyes, and for some reason they kept pressing their fingers into their ears.

But instead of taking them into the house, they escorted them right around it.

“Where are you taking us?” asked Odelia. The men assumed a dignified silence, though. She turned to Chase. “Where are they taking us?”

“To see the President. I hope.”

He didn’t seem worried, so Odelia tried to relax. If the hardened cop wasn’t worried, she probably shouldn’t be, either. But she couldn’t help it—she was worried.

“I think they found out I’m a reporter, Chase,” she said now. “They must have scanned my face or something and got a hit in their database and now the secret is out. It’s just like I told you: they’re taking us out back to give us neck shots and bury our mangled corpses in the woods!”

“And how would our corpses end up being mangled?” asked Chase, amused.

“They’ll torture us first! Try to find out what we know!”

“Know about what?”

She flapped her arms.“I don’t know!”

He placed a reassuring hand on her lower back.“See? You don’t know. So there’s no need for them to torture you.”

“Okay, I’m taking back the mangled corpses thing. So they’ll just shoot us and bury us. Where we’ll never be found.” She took out her phone. “I need to tell my parents.”

“Tell them what?”

“Where we are! If they have a last known location maybe they can tell Uncle Alec to come and find us. Give us a proper Christian burial!”

“I think you’re overreacting, honey. The President of the United States doesn’t kill people in his backyard. At least not as far I know.”

At this point, the Men in Black—or Agent Smiths—seemed to have entered the final straight, for they were talking into their wrists again, muttering incomprehensible jargon under their breaths. And then she saw it—or rather, she saw him: the POTUS.

They’d arrived at what looked like an animal enclosure. It was a circular area, cordoned off by a three-foot-high fence, and offered the weirdest sight Odelia had ever encountered, and in her days as a reporter she’d encountered many weird sights.

This one took the cake, though: the President of the United States was… wrestling with a very large hog, both of them down and dirty in two inches of mud, and they were really going at it, the President holding the hog in a death grip, and the hog kicking its legs and desperately trying to escape.

Both man and beast were covered in mud from top to toe, but that didn’t seem to bother either. And then Odelia saw that a second hog had entered the fray, and was now jumping on top of the President, presumably to open a second front and save its buddy.

“What’s going on here?” Odelia asked as she watched the proceedings, wide-eyed.

“The President is wrestling a hog,” said Chase, who seemed more amused than surprised. “Two hogs, in fact. Oh, look, there’s number three. Raising the stakes.”

About a dozen Secret Service agents guarded the hog enclosure’s perimeter, their expressions inscrutable, and their stance vigilant and alert. If those hogs tried any funny business they’d be on them in a heartbeat, that stance seemed to indicate.

The leader of the free world, meanwhile, still had the upper hand, but with three hogs against one human, he was having to fight hard to maintain his advantage. The hog he was holding onto slipped out of his grip, perhaps due to the slippery conditions, and the President now rose to his feet and assumed a wrestler’s pose, the hogs circling him warily. And then one of them moved in for the kill, squealing like… a pig, and went on the attack!

The President simply stepped aside and then landed a crushing blow to the hog’s back! Hog and man went down in a splash of mud, and now the other pigs joined in.

“I can’t watch this,” said Odelia, who’d never been a big fan of wrestling.

“My money is on the President,” said Chase, who seemed to enjoy the show tremendously. But then suddenly it was all over.

From the house, a woman came hurrying over. Odelia recognized her as Rima, President Wilcox’s wife of five years. She was a former model and looked absolutely stunning. Tall and willowy, with raven hair, a dark complexion and one of those hourglass figures you read so much about but rarely see in real life, she came teetering over on high heels, dressed in a skintight sparkly number that revealed some stunning d?colletage.

“Van!” she was yelling, her voice plaintive. “Oh, Van!”

Van, who by now was holding the three hogs by the necks, looked up at the sound of his wife’s voice. “I’m a little busy here, honey!” he yelled.

“Ooh, not with the piggies again, Van,” she said as she surveyed the scene with a look of distaste. “How many times have I told you not to fight the piggies. You get dirty.”

“And I love it!” her husband yelled, and got up, allowing the hogs a little break.

One of the Secret Service agents handed him a towel, and the President wiped the mud from his face.

“It’s the President of France, Van,” said his wife. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Tell him I’ll call him back,” said the President.

“But he’s called three times already. He wants your advice on a very important matter.”

The President rolled his eyes.“What is it this time? The war in the Middle East? Russia? North Korea? A NATO emergency?”

“He wants to paint the Elys?es Palace white. And he wants to know what paint he should use. He wants to make it look just like our White House.”

“Ooh! I know that!” said the President, snapping his fingers. “He should use Whisper White exterior paint. Yup, that’s it. It’s manufactured by Duron. Tell him to look for Duron Exterior Alkyd Oil Gloss Whisper 248 paint. That should do the trick. Oh, and tell him this information is gonna cost him.”

“I’ll send him the bill,” said the First Lady, then happily tripped away again.

“He who works for free is a dumbass,” said the President with a wide grin, handing back the towel to the Secret Service agent. “Now how can I help you folks?”

Chapter 16

“We’re investigating the murder of Dick Dickerson,” said Chase.

The President, a large man with a square face and a blond mane, stepped out of the enclosure and straight into a large kiddie pool that had been set up right next to the hog enclosure. Steam rose from the pool surface. He submerged himself into the warm water and sighed happily.“Aaaah,” he said, luxuriating. “This is the life. Who are you, by the way?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Chase Kingsley, and I’m a detective with the Hampton Cove Police Department. And this is Odelia Poole, our civilian consultant.”

At least Chase hadn’t mentioned that Odelia was a reporter, she thought with a silent sigh of relief. Her fear of being shot had lessened somewhat but was still at the back of her mind. “We understand Mr. Dickerson was a good friend of yours, Mr. President?”

“Just call me Van,” said the President. “So you’re Miss Poole, huh? I know about you. You work for theHampton Cove Gazette.”

Shoot!

“You wrote that article about the ten richest people in Hampton Cove.”

“Guilty as charged,” she said meekly, nervously glancing around at the Secret Service people and hoping they wouldn’t go for their guns.

“I loved your article, Miss Poole, but I don’t understand why you didn’t give me top billing. I am the richest man in Hampton Cove, after all.”

“Yes, that has been brought to my attention, Mr. Pre—Van.”

He wagged a finger.“Don’t tell me. Otto Paunch, huh?”

“He has been calling me,” Odelia admitted.

“Good old Otto. He looks out for me.”

“So what’s up with the… hogs?” asked Chase.

The President laughed.“Have you ever been President of the United States, Detective Kingsley? Don’t answer that. It’s a rhetorical question. But if you had, you’d know that Washington is a tough town. Really tough. Those monkeys on the Hill fight dirty. So to be prepared I’ve been wrestling hogs. It’s working, too. I think I got those politicians licked.”

A Secret Service man had walked up.“Mr. President, sir,” he said. “Will you be needing the hogs or can we return them to the pen?”

The President waved a hand.“You can put them back in the pen. Oh, and give them a nice treat, will you? They played a great game.” He turned back to his guests. “I love those hogs. I even named them. Crazy Chuck, Nutty Nancy, Horrible Hillary and Bonky Obama.”

“There’s four of them?” asked Odelia.

“Yeah, Bonky Obama didn’t want to come out today. Sulking as usual. Anyhoo!” He splashed his hands in the water and a plastic yellow duck popped up. He grabbed it and dunked it down again. “Dick Dickerson. Yes, he was a friend of mine. A dear, dear friend.”

“Any idea who might have done this to him?” asked Chase.

“Well, Dickie had a lot of enemies,” said the President, thoughtful. “In fact I think you should probably talk to Damon Galpin.”

“The actor?”

“Yeah.” The President’s smile died away. “He likes to think he’s me but he’s not.”

Damon Galpin had become famous for imitating the President onSaturday Night Live, and it was obvious the real President was not a fan.

“Why would Galpin have a grudge against Dick Dickerson?” asked Odelia.

“Well, Miss Poole, you’ll have to ask him that. The only thing Dick ever told me was that Galpin hated his guts. He once even attacked him.”

“Attacked him?”

“In an underground parking lot in New York. Became physical. He got in a couple punches before someone dragged him off Dick. Dick never pressed charges, even though I told him to. He was a softie, Dick was.” The President’s features softened at the memory of his dear friend. “Heart of gold.I’ll miss him.”

“There is a rumor that the two of you had fallen out. Is there any truth to that?”

The President gave Odelia a dirty look.“Now who put that idea into your head? Dick and I were like brothers. Never a bad word between us. I loved that guy. Loved him!”

“It’s just… a rumor… Van,” said Odelia uncertainly.

“That’s Mr. President to you, Miss Poole,” said the President coldly. He then hollered to his Secret Service people, “Can you get these bozos out of here? I don’t have time for this nonsense. And someone get me President Macron on the phone!”

And with these words, their interview was terminated. The Secret Service people ushered Odelia and Chase out, first escorting them back to their car, and then watching as they drove off and left the premises.

At least nobody had shot her, Odelia thought, and thrown her body to be fed on by the hogs.

Chapter 17

Brutus watched as Harriet watched Max who was watching Dooley study a brownish smear on the wall. Next to him, Milo suddenly emerged, like a genie from a lamp, and tsk-tsked mildly.

“What’s going on?” asked Brutus. He’d only been away for an hour but it felt more like a day. He’d popped around the corner to have a sniff at his favorite tree, only to discover three tomcats and two queens had tried to claim it as their own. To trump them all, he’d given the tree a rub and then, to finish things off, had sprayed it for good measure.

“It’s a sad story, isn’t it?” said Milo.

“What is?” asked Brutus.

“Harriet. She’s gone full nympho.”

He stared at Milo, goggle-eyed.“Full nympho? What are you talking about?”

“You do know what a nymphomaniac is, don’t you, Brutus?” asked Milo kindly.

“Um… a female who likes… nookie?”

“A female who has an uncontrollable or excessive sexual desire.”

He frowned at the cat.“And you’re telling me Harriet is… that?”

Milo nodded mournfully.“Alas. She’s always had a touch of nymphomania but lately she’s gone full nympho, I’m afraid. She craves, Brutus—and it would appear you no longer have what it takes to satisfy those powerful cravings.”

He looked back to Harriet, who was indeed looking at Max with the kind of fervor he hadn’t noticed in her before. Almost like a mixture of repulsion and… rapt fascination.

“She can’t possibly be in love with Max!” he said, thinking the idea laughable.

“She’s not in love with Max. She craves him—like she craves any male. Look at her. See how she’s yearning? How she’s gobbling him up with her eyes? Devouring him?”

He did see, and he didn’t like it. Time to put a stop to this nonsense. But then he noticed he’d stepped into a poop smear. Yuck! “What’s up with this crap?!” he cried.

“I’m afraid Dooley’s gone mad. It was bound to happen sooner or later. His is a mind that was going to become unhinged at some point in time. Soon he’ll start covering himself in feces and it’s only a matter of time before he becomes violent.”

“Violent?”

“Out of control. He’ll start attacking cats willy-nilly. Scratching, biting, trying to gouge out the eyes of any cat he considers a threat. When that happens there will be no alternative but to have him put down, I’m afraid.”

Brutus shivered. No cat likes to contemplate having to be put down. In fact each time Odelia took them to the vet, Brutus couldn’t help feeling this could very well be the last time. And when Vena took out those syringes she seemed to like so much, that liquid she filled them with could very well be some sort of little-known poison designed to euthanize.

“So Harriet wants to jump Max’s bones and Dooley has lost his marbles and is about to turn rabid. Anything else I should know about?” he asked, shaking his head.

“I’m afraid there is, Brutus. Have you seen the look on Max’s face?”

He had. The otherwise tame feline looked pissed off.“He looks… angry.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Milo. “Max has just gotten the results back from that test.”

“What test?”

“The test Odelia had Vena run on him.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know nothing about no test but wasn’t prepared to admit it. Sometimes stuff happened around here that nobody bothered to tell him about. Probably because he was the last acquisition—the last one to join Odelia’s merry band of pets. With the exception of Milo, of course, but then he wasn’t a fixture but a drifter passing through.

“I’m afraid the results of the test were conclusive.”

“What did the results say?”

Milo took a deep breath.“Max is your brother, Brutus.”

“What?!”

“I’m afraid so. The test doesn’t lie. And not only that, Harriet is your aunt.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me? How did this happen?”

Milo placed a paw on Brutus’s shoulder. “And—are you ready for this?”

“Ready for what?” What could be worse than what this cat had already told him?

“Dooley… is your son.”

From the shock, Brutus sank through his paws and dropped heavily onto the floor. For a moment, he merely stared mutely before him, then he finally managed to drag his head up and say,“Tell me all, Milo. Don’t hold anything back.”

And Milo did, and happily so.“See, the thing is that when your and Max’s mother was very young, she had an affair with Harriet’s brother, which resulted in the litter that contained you and which was subsequently rejected by the cat your mother had been seeing before the affair. Your mother went on to have Max, who endedup growing up in a warm nest, while you, the illegitimate spawn of a doomed affair, were rejected and left to die.”

“I was left to die?” asked Brutus, dazed. This was the first he ever heard of this.

“You grew up without a mother, without a father, unloved, unwanted, and forced to fend for yourself on the mean streets of New York, where a cat’s life is worth nothing.”

Odd. He couldn’t remember these mean streets. He liked the story, though. It held a strange kind of fascination. Almost like the soap operas Granny liked to watch. “Go on.”

“You became strong—because you had to be strong to survive. You became… Brutus.”

“You mean I wasn’t always Brutus?”

“Your mother christened you Whiskers.”

Ugh.“What a dumbass name.”

“Right? You’re a self-made cat, Brutus. You even adopted a new name. To better indicate the kind of cat you’d become. Tough. Butch. A real cat’s cat. Top of the heap.”

He liked this story better and better. He was tough. And he was a cat’s cat. The only thing he didn’t like was the part about him being Dooley’s dad. He watched as Dooley sniffed his own poop now and shook his head. No way was he that sad dude’s dad. Milo must have sensed his discomfort, for he said, “If it’s any consolation, Dooley’s mother passed on a long time ago, Brutus.” He quickly crossed himself. “May she rest in peace.”

“Who was she?”

“Oh, just some bimbo you met on those mean streets of New York. You wouldn’t remember her. Just one of the many, many—many—notches on your collar.”

It was true. He’d had a few conquests in his time—and Milo was right. He didn’t remember any cat he ever met and knocked up on those mean streets—he didn’t even remember those mean streets. Or New York. “So how did Dooley end up in Hampton Cove?”

“That’s a very interesting story.”

But the story would have to wait for another time, for at that exact moment Harriet suddenly made a pass at Max and that was something Brutus could not allow to happen!

Chapter 18

I’d been brooding for the longest time, and by the time I reached the good old homestead again, my mood had plummeted to the darkest depths of the feline mind. Which is why the scene as I encountered it upon my return didn’t strike me as odd at first.

The fact that Dooley was chomping down pawfuls of Cat Snax was a little weird, especially since he and I had an understanding: he knew how much I loved Cat Snax, and how I considered them a special treat, only to be devoured at the end of the day, and only in small portions. The fact that he’d eaten all of them and must have induced Gran to open up another packet and had scarfed that down, too, irked me a little. No, make that a lot.

But since I wasn’t on speaking terms with Dooley I found myself a little hamstrung. I made a mental note to tell Odelia later on, though. No more Cat Snax for Dooley.

And then there was the horrible habit he’d developed of pooping on the rug and then wiping his butt on that same rug. By the time I got home he must have been at it to a considerable extent, for the rug, which had once been off-white, was now off white completely. In fact it had turned completely brown. And smelly. And frankly disgusting. Not only that, but even as I watched Dooley was meticulously wiping his tush on Odelia’s wall! Right underneath the intercom, in full view of everyone, and where it wouldn’t be missed.

If I were Dooley, and faced with this sudden defecatory urge, at the very least I would pick a spot that was a little more discreet. Then again, it really wasn’t my problem.

Still, it was odd. And you know what was even odder? The fact that Harriet had been staring at me ever since I’d arrived home. In fact she was looking at me the way one stares at a bug. The kind of bug one has never seen before. Bugs so ugly they fascinate and amuse.

I didn’t want to acknowledge her, though, in light of what Milo had told me she thought of me. That I was too dumb and too ugly and too boring to spend time with. That’s probably what this was. She thought I was so ugly she couldn’t look away. Like a car crash.

And that was my life in a nutshell: an ex-friend who’d regressed to the scatological stage, and another ex-friend who reveled in my hideousness. And things would probably have stayed that way if Harriet hadn’t suddenly approached, presumably to ascertain whether I was as ugly from up close as from afar, and Brutus hadn’t come roaring onto the scene, claws extended, tail distended, back arched, and hissing like a rattlesnake!

“Take your paws off my lady!” he thundered.

“Brutus!” Harriet cried, as shocked as I was at this sudden outburst. “Stop it!”

The sound of his lady love’s voice had an immediate effect on Brutus. His claws retracted, his tail returned to its normal size, and for a moment he seemed irresolute.

“Brutus, boogie bear,” said Harriet, putting her paw on the berserk cat’s paw.

But the moment she touched him, he jerked back, as if stung.

“Don’t touch me!” he yelled.

“What’s the matter?” Harriet asked. “Are you in pain, care bear?”

Brutus opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and stalked off.

“Brutus! Honey lamb!” Harriet called out, but Brutus was gone.

Harriet turned to me, then seemed to think better of it, and turned away.

What the huckleberry was going on? For a moment I locked eyes with Dooley, but he turned away, too, and moved off, his tail between his legs, disappearing into the backyard.

Milo then joined me, shaking his head commiseratingly.“I think Brutus has finally gone off the deep end, buddy. Did you see what happened just now?”

“Yeah, I was there, Milo,” I said, still reeling from the turn of events.

“He was going to slug you, slugger. He was going to do you harm. Good thing he didn’t, huh? Or you’d be dead meat.”

“But why? Why would he suddenly turn on me like that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Brutus is your long-lost son, buddy.”

“What?!”

“Sure. He’s just had the results back from that test Vena ran. Turns out you fathered a son and Brutus is that son. He must have suspected this for a long, long time, which is why he came to Hampton Cove in the first place, hoping to meet the father who deserted him.”

“But… that’s impossible! I’m… neutered,” I added, my voice dropping, for I wasn’t proud of the fact.

“You think you’re neutered but you’re not, Maxie,” said Milo earnestly. “They lied to you, buddy. You’re a fully functional tomcat.”

“But… why would they lie about something like that?!”

“Because that’s what they do! Humans, I mean. They lie and they cheat and they think it’s one big hoot. We’re dumb animals to them, Max. They’re just having a bit of fun at our expense.”

“I don’t get it,” I said, shaking my head. In fact my head was hurting. “So… Brutus is my son? So who is the mother?”

Milo gave me a cheeky grin.“Do you have to ask?”

“Yes, I do.” I couldn’t remember ever having been… intimate with any cat. Another big secret I wasn’t willing to share with anyone. Except that one time behind that big cedar in the church parking lot. I was young and foolish and she was pretty and game and… Well, we sniffed each other’s butts for the better part of an hour but nothing more came of it.

Milo was watching me intently, then nodded.

“I think you know, Max, don’t you?”

I didn’t know you could get pregnant from a kiss but there it was.

“So Brutus is my son?”

“Brutus is your son. Isn’t this a blessed moment? You get to press your long-lost child to your bosom, Max!”

I didn’t know about that. Seemed to me that Brutus was a little resentful towards dear old dad. Besides, he was a lot bigger and meaner than me, so maybe this teary reunion shouldn’t proceed unsupervised. Oh, where was Oprah when I needed her? Or Jerry Springer?

Milo started to walk away, then turned back.“Oh, and before I forget. Harriet?”

“What about her?”

He shrugged.“Just thought you’d want to know. She’s your sister.”

Chapter 19

“That was quite possibly the weirdest interview I’ve ever been involved in,” Odelia said once they’d put some distance between themselves and Lago-a-Oceano.

“He does have a point, though,” said Chase.

“About what?”

“The hogs? I’ll bet hog wrestling is as good a preparation to go into politics as any.”

Odelia smiled.“He seems to love those hogs, too. And they genuinely like him.”

“What’s not to like? He’s a lovable guy.”

“Well, at least those rumors about eating journos for breakfast aren’t true.”

They were headed to their third interview of the day, the famous actor Damon Galpin, hoping to inch their way closer to solving this dreadful murder case.

“Who else do you have lined up?” asked Odelia.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of this Yasir Bellinowksy guy.”

“The mobster?”

“Alleged mobster. So far his lawyer has been stalling. But I’ll get him eventually. And then there’s the breakin at Potbelly’s.”

“Anything new?”

“Uniforms are canvassing the area. Maybe a neighbor saw something.”

She settled back. It was at times like these that she missed her cats. If only she’d taken Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus along, they could have gleaned something from the pets of the people they interviewed. Max would have loved to have a chat with President Wilcox’s pigs. Or maybe they could have dropped them off at the duck farm and one of the ducks could have given thema description of the thieves. She sat up a little straighter.

Now that was a great idea! Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner?

Chase looked over.“Everything all right?”

“Peachy,” she said, commending herself on a brilliant idea. As soon as she got home she’d get right on it: drive Max and the gang over to the Potbelly farm and set them loose. They’d have a field day chatting up those ducks. One of them was bound to have seen something. Or one of the dogs. Max was great with dogs. In spite of cats’ reputation as being afraid of canines he had no qualms about chewing the fat with any dog, big or small.

Just then, her phone sang out Dua Lipa’s tune again, and she picked it out. When she saw that it was Otto Paunch, she groaned. “Yes,” she said into the phone, not all that friendly this time.

“Oh, hi, Miss Poole. Just following up on that rich list business.”

“I told you, I’m on a case right now. I don’t have time to deal with—”

“About that. I think you should probably mention in your article that President Wilcox was Dick Dickerson’s best friend. They were chums. Mates. Bosom buddies. Dick was Van’s homeboy. His homie. His dawg. His—”

“Yes, yes. They were friends. I get it. So what about this rumor they had a fight?”

“Fake news!” suddenly yelled Mr. Paunch. “I swear if you print that garbage I’ll—”

That voice. It sounded so familiar. But why?“Don’t worry. I won’t print any of it. I just want to find out who killed Dickerson. As a great friend of the President, who was a great friend of Dickerson, surely you must have some idea.”

“I have. Two words. Brenda Berish.”

“The former foreign secretary? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Dickerson had a lot of dirt on her. You know about the safe?”

“I do. It was emptied out.”

“Whoever took it didn’t want their secrets to come out. And that person is Secretary Berish. Just ask her. You’ll see. She’s the one who killed Dickerson. Oh, and don’t tell her I was your source. She’ll deny everything.”

And with these words, Paunch disconnected. Odelia tucked her phone away.

“What did he say?” asked Chase.

“He says we should take a closer look at Brenda Berish.”

“Secretary Berish?”

“Dickerson collected a lot of dirt on her. Paunch says she killed him over it.”

They’d arrived at a residential neighborhood just outside Hampton Cove. A lot of the houses here were pretty sizable, with a few smaller ones to even things out. They passed the entrance to the Marina Golf Course and Chase slowed down. “He should be out here somewhere—ah, there he is.”

A handsome man with perfectly sculpted blond hair, the even features of a Hollywood actor, dressed in white slacks and a green polo shirt and white golf shoes, stood waving at them from next to the golf course entrance.

“He looks younger than on television,” said Odelia.

“They put a ton of makeup on him for when he plays the President.”

Chase wedged his pickup between a Jaguar and a Porsche and they got out.

“Detective Chase!” Damon Galpin hollered, walking up, hand extended.

Chase shook it and then the actor turned to Odelia, took her hand and pressed a kiss on it, all the while fixing her with a pair of remarkable blue eyes.

“Miss Poole. Even lovelier in person than in your byline picture.”

“You saw my byline picture?” she asked, oddly pleased.

“I read every single one of your articles. TheHampton Cove Gazette is a local treasure.”

“I thought you actors only readVariety andThe Hollywood Reporter.”

He tipped his head back and roared with laughter.“That’s a common misconception. Not all of us are dummies, Miss Poole—can I call you Odelia?”

“Please.”

He pressed a hand to his chest.“Damon. And it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now will you join me for a round of golf?”

“I’m sorry, Damon,” said Chase. “We’re just here to ask you a couple of quick questions.”

“At the very least join me at the Legends Lounge. It’s where I hang out most of the time anyway,” he confessed. “Best part about golf is the socializing. Now come.”

It was more of an order than an invitation, but so charmingly delivered it was impossible to spurn. So they followed the actor through the entrance and into a one-story building that was exquisitely appointed, all lacquered floors and polished wood paneling.

He led the way to the lounge he’d mentioned, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows they had an excellent view of the links, where folks were playing the noble sport.

“I have a terrible handicap, I don’t mind admitting,” said Damon as they took a seat in leather armchairs around a round glass-topped table. The actor held up his hand and a young pimpled waiter came scurrying over, a towel draped on his arm. “Vodka martini,” said Damon, then turned a questioning gaze at Odelia and Chase.

“Just soda,” said Odelia.

“Same here,” said Chase.

“Still that same old gag about not drinking while on duty, eh?” said Damon with a twinkle in his eye. “I believe in starting early and keeping going unstintingly until the preprandial juices start flowing and digestion arrives at its peak.”

“I would have thought vodka martinis were your meals of choice,” said Odelia, who’d read the stories about the actor’s famous binges.

“Oh, now, Odelia, you shouldn’t believe everything you read in that paper of yours,” he chided.

The waiter came over with their drinks and Damon quaffed deeply from his, then held onto it while he bowed his head.“Do your worst, Detectives. I’m ready for you now.”

“Is it true that you and Dick Dickerson didn’t see eye to eye?” asked Chase.

Damon nodded.“That is indeed true. Dickerson was filth, Detective. He was filth and he printed filth. And it didn’t occur to him that the people whose lives he tried to destroy were human beings with feelings and friends and loved ones that could be hurt in his barrage of lies and horribly distorted ‘articles.’ I hated him and never made a secret of that.”

“What did he say about you, exactly?” asked Odelia, who had some idea.

Damon gazed out across the spreading and rolling links.“Oh, this and that. You do know that he was a close friend of President Wilcox? And that he did all he could to secure him his election? In fact he went all out on that—slandering Wilcox’s opponents and burying every single piece of gossip about Wilcox himself. And since I’ve been one of Wilcox’s most vocal opponents from day one, Dickerson directed some of his vitriol at me, too.”

“Do you think he kept some of those stories in his safe?”

“Right. Dickerson’s famous safe. Where he kept Tinseltown’s darkest secrets. Why?”

“His safe was emptied out by whoever killed him,” said Chase.

“I guess that makes sense. Though I can assure you that whatever he had on me, he printed without delay.”

“So he didn’t try to blackmail you? To try and stop you from imitating the President?”

“He tried at first. But when I refused he responded with a barrage of garbage.”

“That must have stung.”

Damon smiled, and took another sip.“I wore Dick Dickerson’s scorn like a badge of honor, Detective. In fact if he would have printed something nice about me it would have worried me more. Though there was one story that caused me to contact a defamation lawyer.” When they both stared at him, he spoke a single word. “Hogs.”

“Hogs?” asked Odelia, struck by the coincidence.

“Dickerson claimed I engaged in coitus with hogs.” He grimaced. “And I have a fairly good idea who put him up to it, too.”

So had Odelia. President Wilcox really did like to get down and dirty.

“Does a picture of a rose mean anything to you?” asked Chase.

“No, it doesn’t. Why?”

“We found it in Dickerson’s safe. We think the killer left it there on purpose.”

“I see. To send a message.” He mused for a moment. “No, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

“Where were you last night between two and four, Mr. Galpin?”

“Home. Asleep.”

“Alone?”

He grinned widely.“Come on, Detective. Do I look like a man who would kiss and tell?” Chase cocked an eyebrow at the actor and he relented. “Oh, all right. If you must know, I was in bed with Lauralee Gray. I’m sure she’ll corroborate my ‘alibi.’”

“The actress?” asked Odelia, impressed.

Damon nodded once.“I may be old but I haven’t lost my touch, Odelia.” He was wiggling his eyebrows at this, probably thinking it made him look more appealing. In reality it made him look like a lecherous uncle.

“One other thing,” said Chase, who, if his frown was an indication, didn’t seem to like the way Damon was looking at Odelia. “There’s a rumor that President Wilcox and Dickerson fell out over something. Any idea what could have caused that rift?”

Damon’s smile vanished. “I have a pretty good idea, yes. The thing is, Dickerson didn’t own theNational Star, Detective. He was merely its editor. TheStar is owned by the Gantry family. And reportedly they didn’t appreciate this love affair between their tabloid and Wilcox. There’s a storm brewing for the President, and that fact hasn’t escaped the Gantrys. They wanted to distance themselves from Wilcox before they got dragged down along with him. So they pretty much ordered Dickerson to stand down, and possibly even dip into the treasure trove of dirt he’d collected on Wilcox over the years.”

“Dickerson kept dirt on Wilcox?” asked Odelia.

“Dickerson kept dirt on everyone. He was like the J. Edgar Hoover of the tabloid world. Only he published some of the stuff he collected, used some of it to put pressure on people, and buried the rest to incur favors from his friends. He was a very dangerous man.”

“Do you think his murder is related to his habit of blackmailing people?” asked Chase.

“I’m sure it is.” He gave a slight smile. “Now all you need to ask yourselves is this: who amongst the people he blackmailed finally decided they had enough and struck back?”

Chapter 20

Tex Poole was generally a happy man. He’d married the woman of his dreams, had the most amazing daughter any doting father could ever have wished for, who’d recently become involved with a great guy and a fine cop, and he worked in a noble profession that fulfilled his every expectation and more. He even still had all of his hair and his own teeth.

The only thing that occasionally marred this blessed life he led was a little old lady who was a far cry from the sweet and loving mother-in-law he’d envisioned when he first met Marge Lip. He’d known from the moment Marge introduced him to her mother that this might not be the kind of easygoing relationship one often sees in Hallmark movies. Vesta Muffin adhered more to the clich? of the monster-in-law than the loving mom-in-law.

The first time he saw Vesta—when picking up Marge to go to the prom—she’d hit him over the head with a broomstick. Asked to explain herself by a horrified Marge, she said Tex had a face like a serial killer and she thought he was there to slaughter her daughter.

Things had gone downhill from that point. And Marge’s dad, who at that point had already left his family to fend for itself, hadn’t helped. He had an aversion to doctors that stemmed from a badly digested experience in the armed forces, when the barracks physician had given him a pill that had given him an itchy rash that had lasted weeks.

He’d never forgiven the medical profession—or any of its practitioners, whom he steadfastly referred to as voodoo priests.

Daddy Poole had died soon after Tex had started dating his daughter, though, which only left Marge’s testy mother. And since Tex had taken an oath to save lives, he couldn’t very well act on the impulse he sometimes felt to simply smother the woman in her sleep.

And it was with great reluctance that he had accepted his wife’s suggestion to allow Vesta to move in with them—seeing as how she was increasingly having trouble taking care of herself. Forgetting to turn off the stove. Putting fresh laundry into the oven. Stuff like that.

So now, as a token of her gratitude, Vesta had set out to turn her son-in-law’s life into a living hell every chance she had. Or at least that’s the way it sometimes felt to Tex.

He’d just seen his last patient of the day when he walked out of his office and into the waiting room and was surprised to find it chock-full of people, all expectantly looking up at him.

He blinked and turned to Scarlett.“Scarlett?” he asked.

She smiled sweetly, then jiggled her boobage, as was her habit.“Dr. Tex?”

He approached the desk.“What are these people doing here?” he whispered.

Scarlet leaned in, in the process offering Tex a scintillating view of her cleavage. He fought against the sudden spell of vertigo.“I don’t know what happened, Dr. Tex,” she whispered back. “They started coming in twenty minutes ago. When I asked if they had an appointment they said yes. But I can’t find them in your appointment book.”

“So why didn’t you tell them to make an appointment and come back? Are these even my patients? I’ve never seen any of them before.”

“They said they arranged things with you, Dr. Tex,” said Scarlett. “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just kick them out. Some of them look really sick.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the dozen or so patients. They did look sick. All of them. And unwashed. And when he looked closer, he saw they’d brought their raggedy bags with them. Almost as if they were…” He frowned, then turned back to Scarlett. “Did you get their names and addresses?”

“No, Dr. Tex,” said Scarlett sheepishly.

“Insurance information?”

“I don’t think they have any, Dr. Tex.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered.

The door swung open and five more‘patients’ stumbled in from the street. They all looked as grimy as their dozen colleagues. As soon as the door had closed, it opened again and five more walked in. This place was starting to look like Grand Central Terminal.

“Are you Dr. Tex?” asked one of the newcomers, a toothless older man.

“I am.”

“Oh, great. I have a pain in my nose, doctor.”

Tex studied the man’s nose. It was one of those narrow, veiny noses. It also had a safety pin stuck through the fleshy part. “Maybe you should take out that pin,” he suggested.

“What pin?” said the old-timer, feeling for his nose. “Oh, there’s a pin in my nose!”

“Oh, for Pete’s sakes.” He addressed the small crowd. “How did you all get here? Who told you to come and see me?”

“Scarlett O’Hara,” said the man with the pin in his nose.

“No, Scarlett Cannon,” said an old lady with a glass eye. “She said you would treat us for free. Day or night. Any time.”

Tex locked eyes with Scarlett, who was shaking her head.“I didn’t say nothing, Dr. Tex! I swear! I don’t even know these people!”

He had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly who this‘Scarlett Cannon’ was.

“What did the person who invited you look like?” he asked.

“A nice old lady,” said one man. “Little white curls. Looks like Estelle Getty. I met her at the bus station. I like to hang out at the bus station. It’s always nice and warm out there.”

“I met her at the train station,” said another man. “She even gave me your card.”

“Lemme see that,” grumbled Tex, and took the card from the man. It read, ‘Scarlett Canyon, Unlicensed Receptionist, Dr. Tex Poole,’ and even mentioned Tex’s home address and phone number. “Vesta,” he muttered under his breath, crumpling up the card.

“Hey, that’s my card!” said the guy.

“You’re going to treat us, aren’t you, Doc?” asked a cross-eyed woman.

“Yeah, a promise is a promise,” said another woman, who looked like a hobo.

In truth, they all looked like hobos. Probably because they were all hobos.

Scarlett was eyeing Tex with a knowing look.‘I told you,’ that look said. And she had. And even if she hadn’t, he should have known Vesta wouldn’t leave well enough alone.

“All right,” he said resignedly. “The first one come with me.”

And he returned to his office, determined to murder Vesta the moment he saw her.

Chapter 21

I was in Odelia’s bedroom when she finally arrived home that night. I had no idea where the others were nor did I care. After the bombshell Milo had dropped on me—the second one that day—I had a feeling I’d never really known these cats. They were like strangers to me. Except for Harriet, who apparently was my sister, even if she looked nothing like me, and Brutus, who was my son, and, again, looked nothing like me.

I had a hard time processing all these revelations, so for the rest of the afternoon I’d been hiding in Odelia’s bedroom, behind the bed, my only companions the dust bunnies Odelia had missed when she’d last vacuumed there. Or maybe she didn’t like vacuuming behind the bed, which was entirely possible, and those bunnies had been there forever.

Milo had come looking for me, but I’d managed to outsmart him by holding my breath. Tough, too, with those dust bunnies tickling my nose.

Finally, a familiar voice sounded.“Max? Where are you, baby?”

In spite of the sneaking suspicion I had that Odelia was prepared to get rid of me and exchange me for Milo, a big smile lit up my face and a warm tingle spread inside my chest.

My human was home, and she would help me make sense of a senseless world.

“Odelia?”

It was Milo’s voice.

“Yes, honey?”

“Can I have a quick word before the others arrive?”

“Sure. What’s wrong?”

“A lot. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through today.”

“Oh, my God. What happened?”

“It’s Max and the others, though mainly Max. He hates me.”

“Hates you? What do you mean?”

“He’s been torturing me all day! Denying me food and water, telling me I should probably jump under a truck and rid the world of the ugliest feline it has ever known. It’s been awful. Awful!”

The bed shifted, and the box spring groaned. Odelia had taken a seat.“Jump up. Tell me all about it. This is not the Max I know, Milo. I don’t know what could have happened.”

I was too stunned to move an inch—or even to utter a single word. Instead, I just lay there, my ears pricked up, and listening to every horrible utterance from Milo.

“It all started when they held a meeting—Max, Dooley, Brutus and Harriet—and decided that from now on they won’t be helping you out anymore.”

“They won’t? But why?”

“Frankly they hate it. They never wanted to tell you this but they hate this whole sleuthing thing.”

“But I thought they loved it!”

“Trust me—they hate it. The only reason they went along with the scheme is because they got extra kibble when they caught a killer or provided you with a clue.”

“I didn’t know,” said Odelia, and she sounded distraught.

“So I asked them about it, but they said I should butt out. That I was an intruder and I’d be gone soon enough if not sooner and they didn’t want me here—they never wanted me here and yadda yadda yadda. And that’s when Max really went to town on me. First he told me I was too fat and thatall I did was lounge about and steal his food and his milk and he wasn’t having it anymore. So no more food for me. Then he said his human didn’t want me here, either, but was too nice to say no tomy stupid human which is why I should do everyone a favor and jump under a passing UPS truck and make the world a better place.”

At this point, Milo took a breath and Odelia gasped in shock.

This was just too much. This cat was lying through his teeth!

“I’ll talk to Max,” said Odelia. “This kind of behavior is intolerable.”

“I didn’t want to tell you at first,” said Milo. “I figured it would upset you to know what Max is really like.” He sighed dramatically. “In fact I thought you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you. And I’m going to deal with this right now. Where is Max?”

The box spring moved again. Odelia was getting up.

“No idea. I haven’t seen him since he told Dooley to smear his poop all over the carpet and the walls.”

“He did what?!”

“Yeah. Max can be really mean sometimes. He figured you’d punish Dooley and kick him out of the house.”

“But Dooley is his best friend!”

“Not anymore. Dooley’s been digging into Max’s Cat Snax and Max went ballistic when he found out. Told me he hated that stupid cat. That Dooley was even dumber than me and that he was going to make sure you kicked him out once and for all.”

“Oh, I don’t believe this.”

“I knew you wouldn’t, Odelia.”

“Oh, no. I do believe you, Milo. And I’m glad you’re telling me all this.”

“You should probably talk to Brutus and Harriet, too.”

“What have they done?”

“They hate Max, and they hate each other, and Max hates all of them, too. In fact if I were you I’d separate them. Make sure they don’t kill each other, I mean.”

“I can’t separate them. They all live under the same roof.”

“Then I guess there’s only one solution.”

“You’re not asking me to…”

“I know the pound has a bad rep but it’s really not such a nasty place as they say. Aloisia got me from the pound, and a wonderful time I had there, too. Made lots and lots of great friends. Just look at it as a place where cats can find a new and happy home.”

I shook my head disgustedly. I finally had Milo’s number. My first impulse was to crawl from under the bed and tell Odelia the truth. But would she believe me? This cat was such a skilled liar she might not. So then I got a better idea. The only solution to the Milo problem. The solution I should have thought of sooner, if I hadn’t believedhis lies myself.

Chapter 22

I walked into the TV nook and found Odelia ensconced on the couch, Milo on her lap, Grandma next to her, and no sign of Brutus, Dooley or Harriet. Odelia& Co were watching the adventures of Kit Katt& Koh, though judging from the frown on Odelia’s face she wasn’t really following the story. And Grandma wasn’t looking too attentive either, her thoughts clearly miles away. Only Milo was having a grand old time, enjoying Odelia’s loving caress.

I now knew what his endgame was. To usurp my position in Odelia’s home and heart.

So I casually strode up to them, ignoring the foul smell emanating from the wall where Dooley had done his business and which no one had bothered to clean up, and plunked myself down at Odelia’s feet.

She gave me a dark frown.“Max,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know, I know,” I said, bowing my head. “I have a confession to make. But first I want to apologize to you, Milo.”

“To me?” asked Milo, clearly surprised.

“Yes. I know I haven’t always treated you the way I should have. The fact of the matter is that I felt threatened when you first arrived. I guess…” I shrugged, and gave Odelia my best Puss in Boots face. “I guess I don’t feel as secure in this relationship as I thought I did. I saw Miloas an intruder—someone who would take my place—and I lashed out. And for that I’m deeply, deeply sorry. In fact I feel so ashamed I only managed to work up the courage to face you now, Odelia.”

“Oh, Max,” said Odelia, softening. “It’s so nice of you to apologize. What do you say, Milo?”

Milo wasn’t saying anything. A suspicious expression had rearranged his face into a frown, and he was staring at me intently. Then, finally, he gave me a slight nod, almost like a Godfather nod. “Thank you, Max. It must have taken a great deal of courage to admit this.”

I held out my paw.“Friends?”

Milo touched his paw against mine.“Friends,” he agreed.

“Oh, you guys,” said Odelia, wiping a tear from her eye. “I love you both so much. And I’m so proud of you. Especially you, Max. Like Milo said, it must have taken a lot of courage to own up to your mistakes like that. So now how do you feel?”

“Better,” I said. “Like a weight has been lifted from my heart.”

“See?” asked Odelia, scratching Milo behind his ears. “Max isn’t so bad. And I’m sure you guys will be best friends from now on.”

“Don’t count on it,” Grandma muttered.

“What?” asked Odelia, confused.

“Nothing,” said Grandma. “I didn’t say nothing.”

I entered Marge and Tex’s house through the kitchen and immediately went in search of my former friends. Milo was at Odelia’s, who was giving him some of my favorite food, and I hoped he’d stay there. So far he’d limited his domain to Odelia’s, but I had a feeling he might expand his reach as soon as he felt he’d conquered my human’s place.

I traipsed through the kitchen, and was surprised to find Marge home alone, Tex nowhere in sight. She smiled down at me.“Dooley is in the family room, Max.”

“Thanks,” I told her. I walked through to the family room, where Dooley was watching on as Kit Katt instructed Koh to infiltrate a mobster’s lair and talk to a pair of mice.

“Mice!” Koh growled. A black cat with distinct green eyes, Koh always growled for some reason. Possibly because it made him look more butch. “I hate mice.”

“Please talk to them, Koh. You’re the only one who can,” implored Kit, an auburn-haired beauty played by the popular up-and-comer Virginia Salt. “Only you can save that little girl now. I know she’s in there somewhere, and those mice might lead you to her.”

“All right,” Koh snarled. When he wasn’t growling, he was snarling. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Koh,” said Kit. “You’re the best.”

“No, you’re the best.”

“No, you’re the best.”

Figuring this lovefest might go on for a while, I walked up to the couch and hopped on next to Dooley. He didn’t even look up.

“Hey, Dooley,” I said.

“Don’t bother, Max,” he growled—probably got that from Koh. “I know what you really think about me so just go away.”

“What did Milo tell you? That I hate you and that I think you’re ugly and dumb and blah-blah-blah?”

His frown deepened and his whiskers twitched, indicative of a powerful emotion.

“He said you knew I was dying and you didn’t even bother to tell me because you figured I just couldn’t handle the truth. But you don’t care about me andthat’s the truth.”

“Wanna know what he said about you?”

He continued morosely.“What?”

“He said you tell everyone who will listen that I’m possessive and obsessive about Odelia and want to keep her for myself. You also tell them I’m deeply, madly in love with Harriet.”

Dooley looked up for the first time.“What? I never said that.”

“That’s what Milo told me you said. He’s been lying, Dooley. Setting us up against each other. And do you know what he told Odelia just now? That we hate sleuthing and that the only reason we go along with it is because of the special treats she gives us when we come up with a clue.”

“Well, there is some truth to that,” he admitted. “I like those super-special treats.”

“But that’s not the reason we do this! He also told her I tortured him today—made his life a living hell—even denied him food and water and told him to jump under a UPS truck. And then he said we all hate each other and Odelia should just do herself a favor and dump us all at the pound.”

Now I really had Dooley’s attention. “The pound!”

“Yup. That’s been his plan all along. He wants us out of here so he can take over.”

“But he has a human. This Aloisia person.”

“Maybe she doesn’t treat him as well as Odelia does? I don’t know. Fact of the matter is that he’s been setting us up with a bunch of nonsense.”

“What nonsense?” asked a voice from my rear. When I turned I saw that Harriet and Brutus had snuck up on us and had jumped onto the couch, too.

“It’s Milo,” said Dooley. “He told Odelia how much we all hate each other and how she should drop us off at the pound.”

“Milo also told me that you’re my son, Brutus,” I said. “Which, now that I’ve had some time to think about it, seems impossible. For one thing we’re the same age, and when I had… relations… with… that cat… I wasn’t a kitten and neither was she.” I blushed. Luckily no one sawit, on account of my blorange fur. “Oh, and he also said Harriet is my sister. Which seems unlikely, as we look nothing alike.”

“Milo said you used to be in love with me but now you hate me so much you want to kill me, Max,” said Harriet softly.

“What?! That’s crazy!”

“Yeah. He also said Dooley poops the walls because he’s in love with me, too,” she added with a sly smile.

“I only poop the walls to get rid of all of those worms!” Dooley cried.

“What worms? Who gave you that crazy idea?” asked Harriet.

“Milo,” said Dooley, understanding finally dawning. “Oh, boy. I’ve been punked.”

“Milo told me you’re my brother, Max,” Brutus grumbled. “And Dooley is my son and Harriet is my aunt. He also told me you’re a raging nymphomaniac, Harriet.”

“What’s a nymphomaniac?” asked Dooley.

“Um, someone who likes nymphs,” said Harriet, looking startled.

“Oh, I like nymphs,” said Dooley.

“This cat’s been having a big laugh at our expense,” I said.

“Do you see me laughing?” asked Brutus.

“Is that why you were acting so cold and distant, buttercup?” asked Harriet, placing a paw on Brutus’s face.

“Yup,” he said. “I thought you were in love with Dooley and Max and—hell—every male cat out there.”

“Oh, snookums. He was lying!”

“I know that now,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.

“We need to get back at that cat,” I said.

“We need to get that cat out of our lives,” Brutus grunted.

“No more lies,” said Harriet. “From now on we take everything he says with a grain of salt.”

“More like a truckload of salt,” Brutus agreed.

“Problem is, Odelia believes everything he tells her,” I said. And then I told them my bright idea. They seemed to agree it was the goods, and soon we arranged the whole thing—just like in the old days. The days before Milo entered our lives and started spreading his poison.

Chapter 23

Odelia was surprised when her four cats walked in through the kitchen pet door. She’d just started dinner and looked up when the procession made the door flap.

“Hey, you guys,” she said. “I figured I wouldn’t see you again.”

The foursome took up position right next to the kitchen counter and Odelia looked down.“We have held a meeting and have decided something,” said Max.

“Uh-huh?” she said as she licked her fingers. She’d been chopping tomatoes. “What did you decide?”

“We want to formally invite Milo to join our small band of feline sleuths.”

This was the absolute last thing she’d expected but it warmed her heart. “Hey, that’s great.” Then she was reminded of Milo’s words. “It’s just that… I know you don’t really like this sleuthing business all that much. That you just go along with it for the treats. No, you don’t have to deny it. Milo told me how you feel,” she added when Dooley made to speak.

“We want to do this, Odelia,” said Max emphatically. “And we want Milo to join us. I know we didn’t always see eye to eye in the past but we feel we should put all that behind us and make a fresh start.”

“I like it,” she said decidedly. “In fact I love it.” Then she hollered, “Milo! Come here a minute, will you?”

Milo came walking up, cool as a cucumber, until he saw the four cats seated side by side. He looked a little startled, and Odelia didn’t wonder. They’d given him a really hard time.

“Hey there, Milo,” said Max.

“Max and his friends have a proposal for you,” said Odelia.

“Is that so?” said Milo with a touch of suspicion.

“We want you to join us on our sleuthing quests,” said Harriet.

“Join the gang,” Brutus added.

“Be part of the team,” Harriet finished.

“And I think it’s a great idea,” said Odelia proudly. “So what do you say, bud?”

Milo narrowed his eyes at Max for a moment, then seemed to smile. Sweetly, he said,“Of course. Of course I want to be a part of your sleuthing gang.”

“Band,” Max corrected him. “We’re a band, not a gang, Milo.”

“Sure, sure,” said Milo vaguely. “Part of the band. I love it. I love it.”

“And I have your very first assignment all worked out for you,” said Odelia, happy that her cats were getting along again. “I want you guys to go to the Potbelly duck farm and talk to the ducks—and maybe the dogs, too. There’s been a murder and the murderer stole a tractor and a tanker filled with duck poop. We find the thieves, we find the murderers.”

Milo was looking decidedly unhappy now.“Duck farm? Duck poop? Talk to dogs?”

“This is what we do, Milo,” said Max. “You have a problem with that?”

“Nah, not me,” said Milo, brightening. “If this is what it takes to be part of the gang—pardon me, the band—then count me in. Dogs. Ducks… Poop. Bring it on!”

It could have been Odelia’s imagination but Milo seemed less than excited about the prospect of engaging in a little bit of detective work. Then again, this was probably because he was still feeling the sting of Max’s words of that afternoon.

Oh, Max, she thought as she returned to her meal prep. Milo would need more than a simple apology to get over those harsh words Max had spoken. And frankly so did she. But this visit to the Potbelly farm was a good way to start making amends.

And she’d just finished peeling the potatoes when the sliding glass door was shoved all the way open and her father walked in.

“Vesta!” he roared, looking a little flushed. “I know what you did!”

“Always loved that movie,” Gran croaked. “And the sequel.I Know What You Did Last Summer 2. Real classic.”

“You sent those hobos into my office, didn’t you?” Dad cried.

“It’s offensive to call them hobos, Tex,” said Grandma. “Didn’t they teach you anything in that Political Correctness 101 course you took in that doctor school of yours?”

“Admit it,” said Dad, his face now red like a lobster.

“What’s going on?” asked Odelia, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel.

“She deliberately sent two dozen hobos into my office, and pretended Scarlett rustled them up. She’s trying to poison my mind against Scarlett.”

“Scarlett?” asked Odelia with a frown. “Scarlett Canyon?”

“Of course Scarlett Canyon!”

“I don’t get it. Take it from the top, Dad.”

Mom also walked in now, completing the family portrait. And with five cats following the altercation with rapt attention, it was almost like the nativity scene, if Max was a donkey, Dooley an ox, Brutus a camel and Milo Baby Jesus.“What’s with all the shouting?” Mom asked.

“She sent two dozen hobos into my office!” said Dad, still not making one lick of sense.

Mom must have thought so, too, for she said,“You’re not making one lick of sense, Tex.”

Dad took a steadying breath, planted his hands on his hips and started from the top, just like Odelia had suggested.“Two dozen hobos walked into my office.”

“Is this a joke?” asked Gran. “Cause I’m laughing already.”

“Two dozen hobos, Scarlett Canyon and I were in the office.”

“This is a joke!” said Gran. “I love it!”

“You sent them,” said Dad, doing the pointing-finger routine again. “I was in there for over two hours. One of them had a pin through his nose and one woman thought she had two growths on her chest but they were just two old raisins that had gotten stuck there.”

Mom threw up her hands. It’s one thing for a woman to know that her husband, being a doctor, will be forced to look at other women’s chests from time to time but quite another to be given these kinds of graphic descriptions of the lurid act.

“They’re called breasts, Tex, for crying out loud,” Mom said now.

“Raisins,” her husband insisted stubbornly. “When I touched them they came right off. Look, that’s all beside the point. Your mother hates the fact that I hired a new receptionist, and she’ll go to any lengths to sabotage my work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Gran. “If this Canyon woman is such a lousy receptionist why do you let her work there in the first place? Besides, you don’t even pay her, so what’s up with that?”

Mom turned on her husband.“Scarlett Canyon is volunteering for you?”

“Yes, she is,” said Dad. “And she’s doing a great job, too—until your mother started interfering.”

“You do know that Scarlett Canyon had an affair with my dad, don’t you?” said Mom.

Uh-oh, Odelia thought. Things were about to get ugly.

Dad opened and closed his mouth like a fish on dry land for a moment, then stammered,“I… she didn’t… she didn’t mention that on her—are you sure that was her?”

“Of course I know that was her. It’s the whole reason Dad walked out on us in the first place. And you know about that. I told you.”

More of the fish on dry land routine. Odelia was starting to feel sorry for her dad. She decided to put in her two cents.“Look, none of this would have happened if Gran hadn’t deserted Dad when he needed her the most.”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap,” said Gran. “None of this would have happened if Tex hadn’t deserted me whenIneeded him the most!”

“You were pretending to be a man’s mother!” Tex cried. “That’s a felony!”

“Just a little fib,” Gran insisted. “Besides, I did it for this family.”

The argument would go on all night if not nipped in the bud, Odelia knew, so she held up her hands and yelled over the yellers,“I think this calls for a time-out!”

That got their attention. Mom gawked at her, Gran blinked, and Dad frowned.

“We’re not toddlers, honey,” said Mom. “You can’t give us a time-out.”

“I can if you behave like toddlers. So not a peep from you for the next five minutes.”

She would have put them in the corner but that was probably too much. To her relief, the three other adults in the room respected her decision to call for a time-out under her own roof, and she went right back to preparing the spaghetti bolognese she was making. Five minutes wasn’t much, but it was amazing how peaceful things suddenly became.

Dad was glaring at Gran, though, who was scowling at him, and Mom was alternately glowering at both her husband and her mother, so this time-out wouldn’t solve the bigger issue, which was that these grownups had to learn to behave like adults. As it was, Odelia’s cats were better-behaved than the humans who were supposed to take care of them.

Five minutes later, Dad stalked out angrily, Mom followed suit, and Gran settled in to watchJeopardy.

Ugh. At least the shouting had stopped.

And then Dua Lipa began to sing and she frowned at her phone. Wiping her hands once more, she picked it up.“Mr. Paunch?”

“Hey, Odelia. Can I call you Odelia? I feel like we know each other. And I love this connection we have.” When she didn’t respond, he cleared his throat. “Anyway, just wanted to congratulate you on the updated rich list. Van is a very happy camper right now. How is that Wikipedia article coming along?”

“I told you—I don’t work for Wikipedia, Mr. Paunch.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now could you mention in tomorrow’s piece that President Wilcox is the tallest president that ever served this country? The absolute tallest?”

“Tomorrow’s piece? How did you know I’m writing a piece for tomorrow’s edition?”

“Oh, please, Odelia. Must we play this game? I’m one of the best-informed people in the country, okay? So why wouldn’t I know what you and Dan Goory are up to?”

Odelia was surprised this Paunch person would know her editor. Then again, he seemed to know everyone else.“Okay, I’ll try to squeeze it in. I’ll have to fact-check it first, though.”

“No need. I already took care of that for you. Consider it fact-checked. Tallest President in history. Oh, and he’s also the President with the most hair.”

“Most hair?”

“Most hair. I counted them myself. Also the softest hair.”

“Softest hair?”

“That’s right. Touched it myself. Soft as a baby’s bottom.”

And with this startling revelation, he disconnected.

Odelia stared at her phone. Otto Paunch was her own personal Deep Throat, only the information he imparted wasn’t exactly groundbreaking or earth-shattering. Still, it was something. Like her own personal line to the President.

Chapter 24

The nocturnal blanket of darkness swept down on Hampton Cove, covering the picturesque Hamptons community in a cloak of peacefulness, most of its human inhabitants now fast asleep, while its cat population moved out of their houses in droves, led by that ancient hunting instinct and the desire to protect their domain from other felines.

And so it was that Odelia hopped into her car, watched her small cat menagerie gracefully jump into the backseat, and launched us on what she hoped would be a very fruitful night of snooping around on someone else’s property. For where humans fear to tread, cats have absolutely no compunction to trespass with absolute impunity.

Our destination? Geary Potbelly’s duck farm.

Our mission? Elicit the descriptions and possibly the names of the miscreants who had so dastardly stolen Mr. Potbelly’s equipment to carry out their murderous scheme.

Five cats rode in the backseat in relative silence. Relative, I say, because wherever there is more than one cat present, banter inevitably enters the picture. Cats hate those uncomfortable silences even more than humans do and are quick to fill them with chatter.

“Is duck poop smelly?” asked Dooley now.

“All poop is smelly,” I said.

“No, but I mean is it more smelly than cat poop—or even human poop?”

Harriet wasn’t in a chatting mood. “Didn’t you hear what Max said? All poop is smelly.”

“I know. But what I want to find out is how smelly duck poop is in comparison with our own poop and human poop. On a scale of smelliness, where would you place duck poop?”

Brutus was grunting something. He was keeping a close eye on Milo, who he suspected of having secretly developed a crush on Harriet. Why else would he have gone to such lengths to try and break up this love affair he and the feisty white Persian enjoyed?“Who cares how smelly duck poop is?” the black cat said now. “It’s a nonissue, Dooley.”

Dooley seemed to beg to disagree. He was also begging for a smack on the snoot if he kept this up.

“I think duck poop probably rates a five on the Richter Poop Scale,” said Milo, throwing his two cents in. “Human poop rates a six, and cat poop a solid seven.”

“Richter scale?” I said with a frown. “I thought the Richter scale was for earthquakes?”

“Oh, Dr. Richter worked on a lot of scales,” said Milo. “The earthquake thing was only one of them. For a long time he was actually more famous for his Poop Scale than for the Earthquake Scale. Of course he didn’t call it the Poop Scale. Scientists dislike simple names. He called it the Defecation Magnitude Scale. Worked very hard on it. Involved a powerful olfactory machine of his own design called The Sniffer. Now mainly used in the perfume industry.”

Dooley was interested.“So if cat poop is a seven on the Richter scale, what’s an eight or a nine or even a ten?”

“Elephant poop, obviously, is an eight. Mice poop a nine. And it will surprise you to know that fly poop is a ten. But because fly poop is so tiny it is very hard for us to detect its odor. Richter set up this massive experiment where he collected fresh fly poop in large Mason jars then subjectedits contents to The Sniffer. It registered as a ten.”

“Wow,” said Dooley, wide-eyed. “That’s amazing, Milo. Fly poop. A ten!”

“Yes. It is said even The Sniffer was impressed. And out of commission for a while.”

“Out of commission?”

“A smell that registers as a ten on the Richter scale is lethal for humans and very disruptive even to machines.”

I have to say that I took this Richter story with a sniff of salt. Then again, stranger things have been examined by the leading scientists of our time so why not fly poop?

“We’re almost there, you guys,” said Odelia. “I’m going to drop you off at the fence, all right? From there it’s not that far to the duck houses.”

“We’ll just follow our noses,” Milo suggested mildly.

Odelia parked the car and opened the door.“Good luck,” she said. “I’ll wait here, okay? And watch out for those dogs.”

“We’ll be fine,” I said. “We’ve handled dogs before.”

“Yes,” said Brutus. “I still have to meet the first dog who can best us.”

Odelia smiled.“I’m so happy you invited Milo onto the team. This is what friendship is all about.” And with these words of encouragement, she sent us off on our secret mission.

The fence was designed to keep deer out, and therefore presented no obstacle for five clever cats. For one thing, we’re a lot smaller than deer, and for another, we can climb trees that are located right next to the Potbelly fence, with a nice overhanging branch that drops us right on the other side.

“I’m worried about the smell,” said Dooley as we deftly landed on all fours.

“Oh, will you shut up about the smell,” said Harriet irritably.

“If fly poop is deadly for humans, duck poop might be deadly for cats!” Dooley said.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said. “Now keep your eyes peeled, you guys. And remember: we’re on a fact-finding mission. So first let’s see if we can’t talk to one of those guard dogs. If anyone knows what went down here last night, it will be them.”

“Maybe we should spread out,” said Brutus. “Isn’t that what Bruce would do?”

Brutus was right. When on a dangerous mission, always ask yourself what Bruce would do. And right now Bruce would probably tell his team to spread out. And since I seemed to have assumed the role of team leader, I now said,“Brutus and Harriet, head up to the farm and talk to those ducks. Dooley and I will look for the dogs.”

“What about me?” asked Milo. “What important task do you have in store for me, Max?”

He was giving me a slightly mocking look, as if on the verge of challenging my authority.

“You better go with Brutus and Harriet,” I said, as there was no way I was going to have Milo cramp my style.

But Brutus and Harriet weren’t all that eager either. Still, they relented, and I watched the trio stalk off in the direction of the stables—or the duck houses, as Odelia had called them.

And then it was just Dooley and me. Just like old times. And I suddenly felt almost cheerful. Dooley might not be the brightest bulb in God’s big bulb shop, but he’s my buddy, and I was glad we’d ironed out those Milo-made differences. Or at least I thought we had.

“Max, if Brutus is my father, and you’re Brutus’s brother, is Harriet my mother?”

“Milo made all that up, Dooley,” I said. “Brutus is not your father and I’m not his brother. My guess is that his human loves her daily dose ofDays of Our Lives as much as Gran does and watching all of that stuff for years has somehow turned Milo into a mythomaniac as a consequence. Either that or a psychopath. The jury is still out.”

“A mythomaniac, is that like a nymphomaniac, Max?”

“Not… exactly.”

“Do you think Milo is evil?”

“Like I said, the jury is still out on that one. He does seem to enjoy wreaking havoc in other cats’ lives.”

We’d been traipsing around the duck farm without a single sighting of a dog, duck or other living creature and no hope of catching Odelia’s thieving killers—or killing thieves—when suddenly I caught sight of two large ears sticking out of a hole in the ground. They were twitching anxiously, as if aware of our presence.

I hunkered down behind a tractor tire someone had conveniently discarded.

“Dooley!” I hissed. “Over here!”

“What is it?” he asked, excited. “Do you see something?”

Instead of replying, I pointed in the direction of the ears. And then he saw it, too. A face had surfaced, like a snail from its shell. It was a white, furry face with twitchy nose.

It was a rabbit. A big, white rabbit.

Chapter 25

“What is that, Max?” asked Dooley, both intrigued and terrified.

“That, my friend, is a rabbit,” I said, and emerged from our hiding place.

“Watch out, Max!” Dooley cried. “It could be dangerous!”

“It’s just a rabbit,” I said. “Rabbits aren’t dangerous.”

“It could be a rabid rabbit!” he said.

The fluffy bunny didn’t look rabid, though. So I approached it in the spirit of friendship. “Hey, there, buddy,” I said by way of greeting. “My name is Max and I come in peace.”

“What do you want, cat?” asked the rabbit in a gravelly voice. Almost as if it had been smoking a pack of cigarettes a day for its entire life. It could have been a pipe, too.

“My friend and I are trying to ascertain whether intruders burgled this farm last night,” I said. “They would have stolen both a tractor and a tanker filled with duck poop?”

The rabbit stared at me—insolently, I would have thought. Impossible, of course. Rabbits are fun and cuddly creatures. Lovable and full of joy and love and good cheer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, cat,” said this rabbit, with distinct lack of good cheer. “What I do know is that you’re trespassing, and if you and that other cat don’t get out of my face in ten seconds I’m siccing the dogs on you.”

“Hey! I said I’ve come in peace!”

“I don’t care. We don’t like strangers around these parts. So you better buzz off.”

“I’m not a stranger. I live in Hampton Cove!”

“You’re a stranger to me, stranger. Plus, you’re a cat.”

“So?”

“Didn’t you get the memo? Nobody likes cats.”

“Everybody likes cats! In fact people love cats!”

“Now, see, that’s where you’re wrong. People love rabbits. They hate cats.”

This was one weird rabbit, I thought. Dooley, who’d also emerged from behind the tire, seemed to think so, too, for he said, “I never met a cat-hating rabbit before.”

“And I’m not the only one. All rabbits hate cats—and so do humans.”

“No, they don’t. Our humans love cats,” said Dooley.

“Huh,” said the rabbit. “Your humans must be weirdos.”

“No, they’re not. They’re perfectly normal humans,” I said.

“If they like cats there must be something wrong with them.”

“They’re normal humans!” I cried. “And like all normal humans they love cats!”

“Look, I’m not having this conversation,” said the rabbit. “You better clear out now before I call in the dogs.”

“What has happened to you that you hate cats so much?” asked Dooley.

The rabbit frowned.“I don’t understand the question. The whole world hates cats.”

“No, it doesn’t!” I said.

“You’re obviously delusional, cat. Of course it does. All life on this planet agrees on only one thing: that cats are the most loathsome creatures ever brought into this world.”

“Who are you talking to, Alfie?” asked a muffled voice.

“Stay where you are, Victorine,” said the rabbit. “It’s not safe out here.”

A second rabbit rose up from the hole. Like its cat-hating friend, it was white and fluffy and looked harmless. When it caught sight of us, it even smiled.“Oh, hi, there, cats.”

“Don’t talk to them, Victorine!” said Alfie. “You know we don’t talk to cats.”

“Oh, don’t be rude, Alfie.” She gave us a look of apology. “Don’t mind Alfie, cats. Ever since he was attacked by a pack of wild cats he hasn’t been the same.” She turned to Alfie. “These are two perfectly nice cats, Alfie. Gentlecats. They’re not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah, we’re nice cats, Alfie,” I echoed Victorine. “All we want from you is some information.”

Dooley was eyeing the two rabbits with trepidation.“Did you say that a pack of wild cats attacked you?”

“Yeah, there were at least a dozen of them,” said Victorine. “Vicious creatures. Not you, of course,” she quickly added. “You’re nice. Now what was it you wanted to know?”

I repeated my request, and I could see this set the rabbits thinking. Alfie probably about calling in the dogs, but Victorine was actually contemplating my question.

“I did see two men last night. They cut a hole in the fence. Before driving off.”

“Don’t help them, Victorine!” her cat-hating mate implored. “We don’t help cats!”

“Oh, shush,” she said kindly. “Um, one was short and one was tall. And the tall one had a little mustache and the short one had a very big nose. Like one of them strawberry noses. He also had a purple spot on his upper lip. I thought maybe he got stung by a bee.”

“Or attacked by a cat,” Alfie growled.

Now we were getting somewhere.“That’s great, Victorine,” I said. “Did you ever see these men before?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “And I haven’t seen them since, either. Did you see them before, Alfie?”

But Alfie was now engaged in a silent protest.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Alfie. Not all cats are bad. These are two perfectly nice cats.”

“I don’t like cats,” Alfie insisted, his fluffy tail twitching defiantly. “Any cats.”

Victorine shook her head.“I’m afraid he’s become one of them whatchamacallits, um…” She thought for a moment, thumping her paw, then her face cleared. “A racist!”

I’d never met an anti-cat racist rabbit before, so this was definitely a first. “Well, if it’s any consolation, there are some very nasty cats out there,” I said.

“Darn tootin’ there are,” said Alfie.

Victorine pursed her lips.“Still. No sense in tarring all cats with the same brush, is there? I’m sure there are more nice cats than nasty ones. And the same goes for rabbits.”

“Hey!” said Alfie. “Don’t you go talking smack about your own kind!”

“Oh, Alfie, you have got to admit that your mother can be quite a handful. Like when I brought her that perfectly good carrot yesterday and she told me it had mildew. Mildew!”

“Okay, fine. My mother is a handful. But that doesn’t mean all rabbits are like her.”

“And what about your seven million sisters? They’re always perfectly mean to me.”

“All right. I’ll give you that. My sisters are absolute pests.”

“Or your fifteen million brothers.”

“I get it! You’ve made your point!”

“And there was that time when your father called me a stuck-up little—”

“Fine! I get it! Rabbits can be horrible meanies, too.”

“And don’t get me started on your five million aunts.”

“Hey, your family hasn’t exactly rolled out the red carpet for me, either!”

“Don’t you say a bad thing about my family, Alfie!”

Dooley and I kinda drifted off after that, feeling we didn’t need to be there for this domestic scene of spousal discord. We had the information we’d come here to find, and that was good enough for me.

“I didn’t know rabbits could be racist, Max,” said Dooley as we walked away, the sounds of Victorine and Alfie arguing now growing distant.

“I guess all animals can be racist,” I said.

“Do you think flies are racist? Against bees, for instance?”

“Probably so.”

“And fleas against lice? Rats against mice? Cats against bats?”

“You bet. I don’t even like bats. I think they’re creepy.”

We were both silent for a moment while we contemplated this. Then Dooley said,“It’s a strange world out there, Max.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Chapter 26

Harriet wasn’t as keen to venture into the duck’s lair as she should have been. The truth of the matter was that this detective stuff was more Max’s thing. Creeping into duck farms at night, talking to ducks and dogs, sniffing out secrets and mysterious clues. It wasn’t really her bag. But since they’d already agreed to do this, she couldn’t back out now. Besides, Brutus liked a bit of action, and she didn’t want to let her hunky sweetums down.

The part of the farm where the ducks were kept were these long, white clapboard one-story buildings. She could hear the quacking even as they approached, and had a hard time adjusting to the smell and the muck that was spread all around the ducks’ homes.

She tried to put her paws down where no mud or—worse—duck poo covered the ground, but it was hard going. As a prissy and fastidious Persian, she hated getting her flawless white fur soiled, and this trip to the duck farm was proving a real challenge.

Oh, how she wished she were home right now, blissfully resting her front paws on her human’s lap. Marge was the finest human a cat could wish for. Odelia wasn’t bad either, but she was too much of an amateur detective in Harriet’s view. Marge, who worked at the local library, was a real homebody, which was perfect for Harriet, for she was just the same.

“Hey, you guys,” said Brutus now. “I think this is it. Do you smell that?”

Harriet wrinkled her nose.“I’ve been smelling nothing else for the past half hour.”

“Duck poop,” said Milo, who was proving himself to be somewhat of a poop specialist.

“We better head on inside,” said Brutus. “And talk to those birds.”

“Is a duck a bird?” asked Milo. “I’m not so sure.”

“Of course they’re birds,” said Harriet, who’d grown to detest Milo. She hadn’t forgotten how he convinced her Dooley’s poop-smearing antics were a seduction technique.

“There’s a growing consensus in the scientific community that ducks are actually small humans with wings.”

Oh, this was rich.“Humans! Are you crazy? Ducks aren’t mammals!”

“Actually, they are. They’re an ancient peoples, who lived on a small and sheltered island paradise, where they had developed a very sophisticated and technologically advanced society. They lived in peace and harmony for thousands of years, until a great cataclysm destroyed the island and forced them to evacuate. The creatures we now know as ducks are the descendants of that original society. Very sophisticated. Highly intelligent.”

They were staring out across the stable, where thousands upon thousands of ducks were resting on a bed of straw. Softly quacking, they spread a distinct and musty odor.

“They don’t look so sophisticated to me,” Brutus grunted skeptically.

“They’re so intelligent our own intellect is too weak to grasp the message they’re trying to purvey,” said Milo. “These gentle creatures are way ahead of us. Way ahead.” He then directed a kindly glance at his compatriots. “Though you guys are the most intelligent felines I’ve ever encountered. Definitely a lot more intelligent than Max or Dooley.”

“Well, that’s not so hard,” said Brutus with a grin.

Harriet gave her mate a critical look. Had he already forgotten who they were dealing with? Milo’s modus operandi seemed to be to turn cats against each other.

“Especially you, Brutus,” said Milo now, placing a paw on the black cat’s shoulder. “You’re probably the smartest one of the bunch. Handsome, intelligent, kind, with a big heart and a noble character. A real leader, in fact.”

“I’m glad someone finally noticed,” Brutus grunted.

“And I’m surprised Max doesn’t appreciate you more.”

“Well, Max is… Max, I guess,” said Brutus. “He’s been here longer than me.”

“That’s no excuse. You’re clearly leadership material, Brutus. You should be the one in charge.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Brutus. “Max is a great friend. But he probably shouldn’t try to do everything himself. I’ve told him over and over again he should delegate more.”

“Not delegate. Acknowledge your strength and relinquish the crown he’s taken.”

“Brutus,” said Harriet crossly. “Can I have a word with you in private?”

“Later, petal. Milo is saying some very interesting things here.”

“Brutus. Now!” she snapped, and stalked off to a corner of the stable.

Brutus followed reluctantly.“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“He’s doing it again!” she loud-whispered. “He’s setting you up against Max!”

“No, he’s not. He’s just pointing out a few facts. Facts I happen to agree with.”

“He’s sucking up to you!”

“Hey, he’s telling the truth.”

“Oh, Brutus,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Then she saw how Milo had stalked over to a small group of ducks and was now holding forth on something, the ducks all listening intently.

“What is he doing?” she asked.

“How should I know? Probably speaking in ancient duck.”

“That duck story sounded a lot like theWonder Woman story,” said Harriet.

“I didn’t like that movie. It had no cats in it.”

They snuck closer and listened in.

“Thank you so much, dear ones,” Milo was saying. “I owe you a debt of gratitude. Now remember what I told you about Farmer Potbelly.”

“Yeah, he can’t keep us locked up in here,” said one of the ducks.

“He’s a dictator and a tyrant and we’re not going to take this anymore!” said another duck, who seemed like a very excitable one.

“Rise up!” said a squat duck. “Rise up, brethren and sistren! The revolution is here!”

“Spread the word!” an elderly duck croaked. “Spread the word far and wide.”

And spread the word, they did. Before long, the stable was abuzz with revolutionary chatter.

“Looks like Potbelly is in big trouble,” said Brutus.

“You see?” said Harriet. “This is what he does. He’s a hate speaker.”

Brutus stared at her.“I don’t know what that is.”

“He incites hatred! Stirs up all kinds of trouble just for the heck of it.”

Brutus scratched himself behind the ear. He looked sheepish.“I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Don’t listen to him, Brutus. From now on we stick to Max’s plan.”

“Max’s plan,” scoffed Brutus, who seemed to have been infected by Milo’s talk.

“Our plan,” said Harriet, placing a kindly paw on Brutus’s shoulder.

He nodded reluctantly.“Fine. We stick to the plan.”

It was obvious Harriet would have to keep an eye on her mate. He seemed very susceptible to Milo’s brand of nonsense. More so than any other cat in their coterie.

Chapter 27

“So? What have you found out?” asked Odelia the moment the cats were back. When she saw them coming she’d opened the door and they immediately hopped in.

“That the farm was robbed by two guys, one short with a strawberry nose and a purple spot on his lip, the other tall with a little mustache,” said Max, who was the first to speak.

A pervasive smell of duck permeated the car and Odelia wrinkled her nose.“That’s great! Did the ducks tell you that?”

“No, the wife of a cat-hating racist rabbit,” said Dooley.

“And we discovered that Wonder Woman is a duck,” said Harriet.

“And that Max is a great leader,” said Brutus, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Odelia decided not to go down that particular rabbit hole.“Uh-huh. Interesting.”

Milo was uncharacteristically quiet, and in the silence Odelia thought she could hear furious quacking. And when she squinted in the darkness, she thought she could see lights flash on all around the Potbelly farm.“What’s going on down there?” she asked.

“I think we better get out of here,” said Harriet, shuffling uneasily.

“Why? What happened? Did they find out you were in there?”

“They might have,” said Harriet.

There was a lot of commotion on the farm, Odelia now saw. People moving about and plenty of ducks, too. They seemed to be flocking together, moving as one flock of ducks away from their stable and in the direction of the houses the Potbellies had erected.

“Looks like the ducks are moving towards their owners’ houses,” said Odelia, surprised.

“Rise up,” Milo muttered softly. “Oh, rise up, ye mighty race.”

Odelia directed an odd look at Milo, then figured she’d better heed Harriet’s advice and return home. Whatever was going on at that farm, it was probably better if she wasn’t discovered lurking around.

During the ride home, the silence that had descended upon the car stretched on. She didn’t mind. She had some thinking to do about the murder case, and she figured her cats were probably tired from all that traipsing around on the Potbelly farm.

Soon enough they were home and she let them out of the car again. They walked in a straight line, still cloaked in silence, then into the house and to their respective perches. All of them except for Max and Dooley, who were off to choir practice as usual.

And as she was about to close the door, the tall figure of a man walked up to her. When he stepped into the light cast by the streetlamp in front of her door, she saw it was Chase. He watched as Milo walked into the house, tail up, followed by Brutus and Harriet.

“Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” said Chase as he casually leaned against the doorframe. “I always thought cats didn’t need to be taken for a walk, only dogs.”

“My cats are special,” she blurted out.

“That, they are,” he said with a slight grin.

“How long have you been out here?” she asked, noticing his parked pickup.

“Not that long. Half an hour, maybe. I tried calling but got your voicemail.”

Shoot. She’d turned off her phone when she set out for the farm. “I must have forgotten to switch it on again.”

He leaned in and took a sniff at her hair.“Smells familiar. In fact there’s only one place I can think of that ships out this particular scent in bulk.” He fixed her with a curious look. “Any particular reason you decided to go snooping around a duck farm at night?”

“I… just wanted to have another look at the farm—spend some time thinking.”

“So you didn’t go inside?”

“The cats might have. I just let them out of the car and let them wander about.”

“You’re such a terrible liar, Poole.”

“I’m not lying! I sat there, in my car, thinking about the case, and I figured since I was driving anyway, I might as well bring the cats along. For company. And because they like it.”

“And how would you know what your cats like and don’t like? Do you speak cat?”

It was such a direct question she almost replied in the affirmative. But then her sense of self-preservation kicked in and she laughed lightly.“Speak cat? Very funny, Chase.”

He gave her that cop look again, as if trying to figure out if she was telling the truth. She projected as innocent and careless a look as she could manage, which was a little hard as he was a very good cop, and he could look in a very piercing way when he wanted to. Finally, he relaxed.“So what do you think? Any bright ideas?”

“I think we should talk to some more people tomorrow.”

“Very clever, Poole. Now why didn’t I think of that?”

She narrowed her eyes at him.“And while I was out there I met a source who gave me a description of the two men who burgled that farm. One was short with a strawberry nose and a purple spot on his upper lip, the other tall with a small mustache. That ring a bell, Kingsley?”

The moment she’d said it, she regretted it.

“Source? What source?”

“You know I can’t disclose my sources, Chase.”

He gave her a withering look.“I disclose mine, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t disclose yours.”

“I’m a reporter. My sources trust me to keep their identity confidential.”

“And I shouldn’t even be dragging you along on my interviews!”