They squared off for a moment, staring each other down.
“You look pretty sexy when you’re angry, Poole.”
“You look pretty hot yourself, Kingsley.”
“Your grandmother home?”
“Watching a movie.”
“Dammit.”
“How about a quickie in your car?”
A wolfish grin spread across his features.“Now you’re talking.”
Chapter 28
To be absolutely honest, I was glad to be out of that car. Harriet and Brutus and Milo had really gone all out on the duck smell. In fact I was afraid I now smelled of duck dung myself. Dooley must have thought the same thing, for he said,“Do you think duck dung is as deadly as fly dung, Max?”
“Oh, don’t listen to Milo. He’s full of dung.”
“Brutus was acting weird, though, wasn’t he? Do you think the dung got to him?”
“Could be,” I admitted, though it was far more likely Milo had gotten to him.
The silence in the car had been deafening, and I blamed it all on the intruder. Before Milo things had been fine, and now there was this constant tension. It was starting to affect me adversely. As in, my digestion wasn’t as robust as it usually is. Could also be the fact that Dooley had eaten all my Cat Snax to get rid of his make-believe worms and Milo had eaten all of my Fancy Feast Seafood and now all that was left was my usual kibble and some milk.
Bummer.
“You know, Max? I’m glad we finally got to go out with Odelia again. I missed it.”
“Me, too, buddy.”
“And I’m glad we were able to help her. Do you think she’ll catch those killers?”
“I’m sure she will. How many men with a strawberry nose are out there?”
“Not many, I’ll bet.”
“Nope.”
Dooley gave me a sideways glance.“Max?”
“Mh?”
“I’m glad we’re friends again.”
“Me, too, Dooley.”
“I don’t like it when we fight.”
“I love you, buddy.”
“I love you, too.”
And it was with a lighter heart that I pranced along the sidewalk, on our way to cat choir. The choir convenes every night, though not all members show up each time. Cat choir is not so much an expression of our artistic sensibilities as an excuse to hang out and shoot the breeze. Cats used to hang out on rooftops and such, but the park is a much better place. Plenty of trees to climb—us cats love climbing trees—and plenty of critters in the undergrowth—us cats love catching critters even more than climbing trees—so it’s all good.
We arrived at the park and saw that it was already humming with activity. Not musical activity, even though some cats were already warming up those vocal cords by performing deep-breathing exercises and singing scales.
“Ooh, eee, aah,” they were screeching.
A sporadic boot was already tumbling down from the windows of the houses overlooking the park, but it was clear the boot-throwers’ hearts weren’t in it, as these boots were old and worn-out. The real nice boots only came later, when choir practice really kicked in and stupefied humans picked up any footwear they could lay their hands on.
“Hey, you guys,” said Shanille, who was cat choir’s conductor. She’s a gray cat with white stripes and belongs to Father Reilly. She sniffed the air. “What’s that terrible smell?”
“Duck dung,” said Dooley before I could intervene.
Shanille looked thoughtful.“I don’t know if I shouldn’t dismiss you. There’s a hygiene rule in the cat choir rulebook about making sure you’re properly bathed and washed before you arrive. Some of our members are very sensitive to pervasive odors, you know.”
“We are washed and bathed,” I said. “This is not our smell. It’s Brutus and Harriet’s. They’re the ones who mingled with the ducks.”
“We only mingled with the rabbits,” Dooley explained helpfully. “One was racist and the other wasn’t.”
Shanille blinked as she took this all in.“I’ll have to consult the other members. We are a democratic organization, after all. I’ll put it to a vote.”
And before I had a chance to file a motion to stay, she’d stalked off.
“Oh, darn ducks,” I muttered.
“Now don’t be a racist, Max,” said Dooley. “Those ducks can’t help how they smell.”
“I’m not racist! I just don’t want to be kicked out of cat choir because of a trifling thing like duck dung.”
“It’s not a trifling thing. Remember, duck dung registers a five on the Richter scale. That’s not something to take lightly.”
“How many times have I told you not to believe a word Milo says?”
“He wouldn’t be lying about something like that. The Richter scale is real. I’ve heard about it on yourDiscovery Channel.”
“Oh, Dooley,” I muttered.
Moments later, Shanille returned.“Well, I’ve put it to a vote,” she said. “And I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”
Oh, crap.“What’s the good news?”
“A majority of the members feel that a slight odor is acceptable.”
“Yay,” said Dooley.
“And what’s the bad news?”
“A new member has joined cat choir and you know how new members are granted a veto during their very first cat choir practice?”
“So?”
“So this new member has vetoed your and Dooley’s presence here tonight.”
I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly who this new member was.“Don’t tell me. Is his name Milo?”
Shanille looked surprised.“How did you know?”
“Milo? But how did he get here so fast?” said Dooley.
“He must have run like the wind to get here first,” I said bitterly.
“Or maybe he apparated like Harry Potter!” Dooley said excitedly.
We’d sat through a Harry Potter marathon the other day and my head was still hurting. Dooley had enjoyed it, though. “Cats don’t apparate, Dooley,” I said.
“Professor McGonagall does. And she’s at least half cat.”
“Milo is not Professor McGonagall.”
“Maybe he is. Maybe Milo is a wizard!”
“Milo is a pain in the butt,” I said, turning away. At least soon he’d be ancient history.
“Hey, Max,” Milo’s voice sounded behind me. “Dooley. So weird to see you here.”
“Nothing weird about it,” I said, turning sharply. “We’re out here every night. Isn’t that right, Dooley?”
But Dooley was studying Milo intently.“Are you a wizard, Milo?”
Any other cat would have laughed off the silly notion, but not Milo.“How did you guess?” he said seriously.
“Oh, please,” I said. “Don’t fill Dooley’s head with more nonsense, will you?”
Milo turned those placid eyes on me.“And what nonsense would that be, Max?”
“The worms! The scooting! The smearing poop on the walls!”
“Scooting is a very effective remedy for a life-threatening condition, Max.”
“See?!” Dooley cried, the color draining from his nose. “I’ve got worms!”
And instantly he ran for the nearest tree and started rubbing his butt against it.
“I can see right through you, you know,” I told Milo coldly.
He lifted one corner of his mouth.“Can you now?”
“And I’m going to expose you. The game is up, Milo.”
He yawned.“If you say so. Now I’m very sorry, Max, but I have choir practice. And you, I guess, don’t.” And with a supercilious little grin, he stalked off, leaving me fuming.
Chapter 29
The next morning, Odelia was awakened by the smell of duck dung. She grimaced as she blinked against the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. The first thing she saw were five pairs of cat’s eyes staring back at her. It appeared that overnight a regular clowder of cats had convened at the foot of her bed, and gradually, as dawn approached, they’d moved up in the direction of her pillow and now they were practically surrounding her.
Max had placed his paws on her chest, and was breathing heavily. Dooley was still at the foot of the bed, and seemed puzzled why he was the one left behind. Harriet had draped herself across the pillow Chase used when he slept over. Brutus was scowling at her from under her armpit. And Milo had somehow managed to squeeze himself between the headboard and the pillow and was like an oversized pair of earmuffs now, or a hat.
“Hey, you guys,” she said as she yawned and tried to stretch. “Could you… move over a scooch? I need to get up.”
But the cats weren’t budging. If anything, she had the impression they were eyeing each other as much as they were eyeing her. Like the showdown at the O.K. Corral.
“I’ve got a question for you, Odelia,” said Brutus now.
“Shoot,” she said, hoping they’d get this over with soon.
“Who’s your favorite?”
Uh-oh.“My favorite what? Movie? I really likeFrozen.”
But he was not to be distracted.“Who’s your favorite cat?”
“I don’t have a favorite, Brutus. I love all you guys the same.”
“That’s scientifically impossible,” said Milo. “The human mind likes to make sense of the world by turning it into a perfectly ordered set of lists. Favorite foods. Favorite socks. Best boyfriends. Best kisses. You get the drift. So you must have a favorite cat, Odelia.”
“Well, I don’t, Milo. Now can you move? I want to get up.”
“Max is your favorite, isn’t he?” Brutus insisted.
“Oh, Brutus,” Harriet snapped. “Not again with this nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense when it’s true! Nobody blames you, Odelia,” Brutus continued. “Max is, after all, your cat. Dooley is Grandma’s, Harriet is Marge’s, I’m Chase’s, and Milo is this Aloisia person’s. So it stands to reason you would like Max the mostest.”
“That’s not even a word,” said Max.
“Yes, it is! And you be quiet, Max. I don’t want you to influence Odelia.”
They were all staring at her so intently it was slightly disconcerting. Something was going on here—she could feel it—but she couldn’t exactly put her finger on it. She had to admit that there was some truth to what Brutus was saying. She did like Max the most. And this probably was because he was hers and had been with her the longest. But that didn’t mean she didn’t love the others. She loved all of her cats, though right now they were scaring her a little. “Look, the human mind may work like you say it does, Milo, but my mind doesn’t.”
“It has to,” said Milo. “You’re human, so you have a human mind.”
“I don’t care, all right?” she said, now dislodging the cats. “I like all of you guys. I don’t have a favorite and that’s that.” A little white lie but she didn’t think cats could read minds. Or could they? Brutus was trying his best to do just that. But finally he relented.
“I believe you,” he announced seriously.
She laughed.“I’m glad you do. Now are you going to help me catch a killer today or are you going to poop all over the house like you did yesterday?”
“That was Dooley,” said Brutus immediately.
“But only because I’ve got worms!” Dooley cried.
Yep. Something was going on with her cats, but right now she had a killer to catch—and a grandmother and a father to reconcile—and an article on President Wilcox to write.
When she got downstairs, Gran was digging holes in the backyard with such a fervor she reminded Odelia of a gang of moles. She walked to the door.“Gran? What’s going on?”
Gran looked up with a resolute expression on her face.“I’m building a mausoleum.”
“A what?”
“Your father has decided to send me to an early grave so I’m building a mausoleum. And I hope he’ll spend the rest of his life staring at my tomb and remembering he was the one who put me there!”
And with these words, she dug her spade into the ground and returned to her grim endeavor.
Shaking her head, Odelia set foot for the kitchen. She needed coffee. Lots of it.
Chapter 30
Odelia and Chase were on the road again, only this time five cats rode in the back, much to Chase’s amusement.
“You’re the only one who treats her cats like dogs,” he said.
“That’s because they are almost like dogs,” she retorted. She cast a quick glance in the rearview mirror and saw that the cold war still hadn’t thawed. Usually her cats kept up a pleasant chatter but today there hung a silence like the tomb between them. She didn’t know who was fighting with whom but it looked to her like they all had some kind of beef.
At least they’d come back last night with some valuable information. “So what have you got on those two men? One short, one tall—”
“Strawberry nose and mustache. I got it. So far nothing. It’s not exactly a very detailed description. Can’t you bring your source in and let them work with a sketch artist?”
She glanced back at Max, who shook his head.“Rabbits won’t like it,” he intimated.
No, the rabbits wouldn’t like to come in and talk to the sketch artist. “Nope,” she said therefore. “They won’t come forward, I’m afraid.”
“They? There’s more than one?”
“One rabbit is called Alfie, the other Victorine,” said Dooley helpfully.
“Odelia?” Chase prompted.
She shook her head resolutely.“I already said too much.”
“But why? Have you explained to them they could be helping to solve a murder?”
“They know but they still won’t come in. They—”
“Hate cats,” said Dooley.
“Have an issue with the police,” she said.
Chase was frowning.“I see. So they’re implicated somehow. Did they sell information to the killers? Give up the location of Dickerson’s safe? Are they members of his staff? No, I got it.” He nodded grimly. “They’re members of the Potbelly farm staff, aren’t they?”
“Bingo,” said Dooley. “He’s good, Odelia.”
“The rabbits aren’t staff, though,” said Max.
“But they work hard. Did you see that tunnel? Must have taken them ages.”
“It’s called a burrow,” said Milo. “Rabbits are master architects. Like ants.”
“Ants aren’t rabbits,” said Max.
“And how would you know, Max?” asked Brutus. “You’re not a scientist.”
“Max watches a lot ofDiscovery Channeldocumentaries,” said Dooley.
“I watch a lot of WWE. That doesn’t make me Hulk Hogan.”
“Oh, shut up, Brutus,” said Max.
“No, you shut up, Max!”
“Guys, guys,” said Milo. “Enough with the violence. There are ladies present.”
Odelia realized Chase was waiting for her to respond.“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t reveal my source. But you’re right. They work at the Potbelly farm. They just happened to see the burglars. They never sold them any information, though. And they don’t have any connection to them or Dickerson or the murder. They just—”
“Don’t want to get involved,” he said. “I get it.”
“They don’t want to risk their position on the farm”, Odelia confirmed.
“They could always create another burrow,” said Milo. “Rabbits are pack animals. They could simply up and leave and find some other place to live and hunt.”
“Rabbits aren’t pack animals,” said Max heatedly. “And ducks aren’t smarter than humans. You’re so full of—”
“Max!” said Brutus, gesturing to Harriet. “Lady present!”
“—dung! I was going to say he’s full of dung!”
“What’s going on with your cats?” asked Chase, darting a quick look over his shoulder. “They’re so feisty today. Meowing up a storm. Is it the weather, you think?”
“Yup. Weather is about to change,” she confirmed.
Dua Lipa broke into song and she picked out her phone.“Yes, Mr. Paunch.”
“Otto, please. Mr. Paunch is my dad. So have I got the scoop for you, Odelia.”
“Yes?”
“Van Wilcox just got a call from the mayor of New York. They want to erect a statue in his honor. In the middle of Times Square if you please! And lemme tell you that it’s going to be the biggest, grandest statue ever erected for any President anywhere in the world.”
“The biggest? You mean bigger than the six hundred feet Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel statue in India?”
“Sure! Much bigger. This will be the greatest thing ever built. It’s gonna be huge! And tall. Really tall. Incredibly tall. Like I said, the biggest statue in the world. In history!”
“That’s quite an achievement, Mr. Paunch—Otto. The President must be excited.” She glanced over to Chase, who was listening intently.
“Oh, he is. He’s over the moon. He can’t wait to pose for the thing.”
“He’s going to pose?”
“Sure! Only the best pose ever, in front of the best artist ever.”
“Who’s the artist?”
“I’d have to get back to you on that, but it’s the best artist in the world. The greatest.”
And promptly Paunch disconnected again and left Odelia pensively staring at her phone.“Have you ever had that feeling where you’re sure you’ve heard a voice before but you just can’t place it? I’m getting that all the time with this Paunch guy.”
“What did he want?”
“Oh, New York is building a statue for President Wilcox in Times Square. He wanted me to have the scoop.”
“Great,” said Chase, shaking his head. “Another eyesore. Just what the city needs.”
“Oh, you don’t know that. If it’s really the tallest statue ever built, it will attract a lot of tourists, and tourists bring in the big bucks, right?”
“Right,” said Chase dubiously. “Well, here we are.” He directed his car up to a tall gate, a guard approaching them from a guard booth. He showed the man his badge, got a nod, and the gate swung open.
Moments later they were driving up to the house, which looked almost as majestic as President Wilcox’s Lago-a-Oceano, only smaller in size and painted a pale orange, resembling the setting sun, with the roof tiled in pink tiles and the gutters a bright blue.
“I like the color scheme,” said Chase as he parked the car next to a stone fountain. They got out and Odelia opened the door so the cats could jump out, too.
“You weren’t kidding,” said Chase. “You’re going to let them sniff around, huh?”
“They love to discover new… stuff,” she said, and watched as the five cats pranced off. As usual, they’d formed pairs: Max and Dooley, Harriet and… Wait. Harriet was going off alone, and Brutus and Milo had paired up. Weird. Maybe they were making new friends?
Chapter 31
“Did you see that?” asked Dooley.
“What?” I asked.
“Brutus and Milo. They went off together!”
He was right. And Harriet was staring after her mate, an annoyed look on her face.
“The loser,” she said as she joined us. “I told him not to listen to that guy but he insists Milo makes a lot of sense.”
“I guess Brutus is more susceptible to Milo’s manipulations than most,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Harriet,” said Dooley. “He’ll come around. I saw through Milo’s lies, too, you know. Like the stuff he told me about the worms? Max convinced me those were all lies.”
Even though Dooley had had a relapse, I’d finally managed to convince him he had no worms. Otherwise Vena would have found them during our last checkup.
“We have to get that cat out of our lives,” said Harriet now. “When are we going to put your plan into action, Max?”
“As soon as we lay the groundwork,” I said.
“You better do it soon, all right? I’m starting to lose it.”
“Lose what?” asked Dooley.
“It!” I could tell from Dooley’s expression that he wanted to ask what ‘it’ was but Harriet’s outburst gave him pause. “So what’s the plan, Max?” asked Harriet.
“We chat with anyone who’ll talk to us,” I said. “Find out what they know.”
“Fine,” said Harriet, who didn’t seem particularly motivated for this mission.
Nor could I blame her. Now that Brutus had fallen for Milo’s deceit, there was no telling what that cat was up to next. Short of outfitting Brutus with an explosive belt and sending him on a suicide mission to take out all of Milo’s enemies or incite a revolution amongst Hampton Cove’s ant population, I figured we could expect anything from him.
We walked around the drive, which was covered with butter-yellow gravel and looked like the kind of sugar Odelia likes to put on her pancakes, and arrived at the back. No swimming pool here, or even a Jacuzzi. Secretary Berish did have a nice patch of lawn that stretched all the way to the ocean, where two deck chairs were set out and a nice parasol.
A chilly breeze wafted in from the ocean. It was too early in the year to go for a swim. Springtime in the Hamptons might be occasionally sunny, but it’s not exactly warm. Still, it was probably nice to sit and gaze out across the vast expanse of the North Atlantic.
“I don’t see any cats,” said Dooley. “Or dogs. Or ducks. Or even rabbits.”
“Me neither,” I confessed. I did see Brutus and Milo, who’d hopped up on those deck chairs and were now lazing about, probably talking deep philosophy.
“I hate them,” said Harriet, who’d noticed the same. “I hate them both.”
And she stalked off in the direction of the house. Dooley and I followed suit. There wasn’t a lot for us to do out here. At least the patio door was open, a man smoking a cigarette and standing in the doorway holding it open for us. If he was surprised to see three cats slip into the house, he didn’t show it. He had a cook’s hat placed on top of his head, and wore one of those white smocks, so I figured he was probably part of the kitchen staff.
Once inside, we traipsed through the house, in search of pets, but found no sign of them. No cat bowls, or dog bowls, or any bowls for that matter. Could this place be petless?
“Looks like Odelia managed to find the one person who doesn’t keep pets,” I said.
“Bummer,” Dooley agreed, as it also meant there was no food for us to steal.
We’d arrived in a large office, and saw that Harriet was staring intently at a stuffed animal mounted on the wall. It was a stuffed fox, and the sight of the thing gave me the willies. People who stuff animals should probably get stuffed themselves, as I can’t think of a more cruel hobby.
“Yikes,” I said. The three of us were staring up at the fox now, wondering what the poor creature had done to deserve such a terrible fate.
Just then, a voice rang out through the room.“What are you three doing here?”
We turned around as one cat, and saw that the voice belonged to an odd-looking reptilian creature in a glass terrarium, which had been placed on a table near the window.
“What are you?!” Dooley exclaimed, forgetting his sense of propriety. We were guests here, after all. Well, not guests so much as intruders.
“I, sir, am a bearded dragon,” said the creature superciliously.
“You’re very small for a dragon,” said Dooley.
“I’m not a dragon. I’m abearded dragon,” said the lizard.
“And I’m a tiger,” said Dooley, happily prancing up for a closer look.
As he did, the dragon’s beard suddenly extended and the creature hissed.
Dooley shot about two feet into the air, then scooted off with the speed of light and disappeared underneath the desk.
“It’s all right, Dooley,” I said. “He’s inside a cage. He can’t hurt you.”
But Dooley wasn’t taking any chances. He was under that desk and he was staying put.
“We’re here to conduct an official police investigation,” I told the dragon, who by now had stopped hissing and whose beard had morphed back to its normal size. At least now I understood why he called himself a bearded dragon. He actually had an actual beard! “A man was murdered. His name was Dick Dickerson and he was the editor of a tabloid named theNational Star. Apparently he printed a lot of bad things about your human—at least I assume Brenda Berish is your human—and what we’re trying to discover is if she had something to do with Dickerson’s death or if she knows of someone who did.”
It was a long speech and I patiently waited for the bearded dragon to take it all in. I had no idea if this creature was intelligent or not but judging from the way he’d reacted to Dooley I assumed he was.
“This is a waste of time, Max,” said Harriet finally. “Let’s get out of here and see what kinds of lies Milo is filling Brutus’s head with this time.”
And she made for the door.“Dickerson did print some bad stuff about Brenda,” said the lizard suddenly. “And she did hate him with quite a fervor. But she didn’t kill that man.”
“Oh, thanks, lizard,” I said. “How can you be so sure?”
“Please don’t call me ‘lizard,’ cat. I have a name and it is Humphrey.”
“Sure, Humphrey. Whatever you say. So how do you know Brenda didn’t do it?”
“She was in here talking about the murder last night. Her and her husband. They weren’t broken-hearted over it, as you can imagine. But they didn’t celebrate either. Brenda is a very kind woman, and she would never gloat over the death of another human being.”
“What do you eat?” asked Dooley suddenly from his position under the desk.
“Pardon me?” said Humphrey.
“What kind of food do they give you?” asked Dooley. “Usually when Odelia sends us into these places there’s food waiting there for us. But I don’t see anything around here.”
“Dooley—it’s not polite to demand food from your host,” said Harriet.
“Technically Brenda is not our host,” I said. “We snuck in, remember?”
“If you must know, I’m quite partial to worms,” said Humphrey.
“Worms?” asked Dooley, wriggling from under the desk. “What kind of worms?”
“Oh, waxworms, silkworms, butterworms, red worms, earthworms, mealworms, superworms…”
“I didn’t even know there were so many different worms!” Dooley cried, looking horrified. He was clutching his tummy and I just knew he was thinking of Milo’s words again.
“I like crickets, too,” said Humphrey conversationally. “And the occasional leafy greens, of course. I’m not choosy. Oh, and pinky mice. I am a sucker for a juicy pinky mice.”
Now he had Harriet’s attention. “What’s a pinky mouse?” she asked.
“Frozen baby mice. A real delicacy.”
We were waiting for him to offer us some, but that was apparently asking too much. If we wanted mice—pink or otherwise—we’d have to catch them ourselves.
“So… about Dick Dickerson,” I said, returning to the topic under discussion.
“Oh, right. How am I so certain Brenda didn’t do it. Well, she was here, for one thing, working at her desk in this very room, under my watchful eye.”
“You watch your human work?” asked Harriet.
“Why, yes. She seems to enjoy my company. Often she has remarked that I have a soothing effect on her, and why not? I am, after all, very easy on the eyes and pleasant to be around.” For some reason he’d lifted his paw in greeting, so I lifted mine in response.
“So… who do you think might have done Dickerson in?” I asked.
He was lifting his other paw now, so I followed suit. Weird.
“Mr. Dickerson seemed to have a lot of enemies,” said the reptile. “Brenda often fumed about some of the stuff he wrote about her. He did the same to others, as well. One of his frequent targets was a man who liked to portray the President to humorous effect on television. Brenda also expressed the opinion that the man might have killed himself.”
“Suicide?” said Harriet. “That doesn’t seem likely, considering the way he died.”
“Yes, he drowned in his own feces, did he not?”
“Not his own feces,” said Harriet. “Duck poop.”
“Another species’ feces. How extraordinary.” The lizard frowned, or at least I thought he did. Tough to read facial expressions on a lizard. “I thought he died in his own excrement.”
“Why would he kill himself?” I asked.
Dooley had approached the glass terrarium, probably looking to get in on the pinky mice action. The lizard eyed him with suspicion.“Brenda said Dickerson was under investigation. Apparently he’d aided the President in his election by engaging in some form of illegal activities and prosecutors were going through his business with a fine-tooth comb. He was looking at dismissal from his own company and possibly prison, hence the suicide theory. Though as you say, the duck poop thing seems to preclude such a possibility.”
“Unless he staged the whole thing to make it look like murder,” said Harriet, who was thinking hard. “All so he could cast the blame on one of his opponents.”
“But who?” I asked. I turned to Humphrey. “Does the picture of a rose mean anything to you? It was left at the scene of the crime.”
Humphrey regarded me sternly.“I don’t like roses. They give me stomach cramps. I will eat fruits and vegetables, provided they’re nicely chopped up, but no flowers thank you very much.” He’d climbed a tree branch that had been placed inside the tank.
I had a feeling we’d gleaned as much information from Humphrey as we could, so I held up my paw in greeting and he did the same, though I had the impression he was merely trying to protect his stash of frozen baby mice from Dooley.
“Dooley, let’s go,” I said. “Thanks, Humphrey. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Glad I could help, cat,” he said.
“Max,” I said, realizing my social faux-pas. “And this is Dooley and that’s Harriet.”
“Lovely,” said Humphrey graciously. “Fare-thee-well—cats.”
And we’d just stepped out of the room when we bumped into an angry-looking female. Judging from the cap she was wearing, and her blue apron, she was part of the cleaning crew. “Cats!” she screamed the moment she saw us. “We’ve got cats!”
And then she was coming at us with a very large broom!
Chapter 32
Brenda Berish—Secretary Berish to her friends—was a motherly woman in her late sixties. She had a round face and a bouffant blond-gray hairdo. As in all the pictures I’d seen of her she dressed in a brightly colored pantsuit, this one a dazzling heliotrope.
The drawing room where she met us was light and airy, a floral motif extending from the upholstery to the wallpaper and even the carpet. Light slanted into the room, lending it a pleasant atmosphere, and the window had been cracked to allow some air in.
“Detective Kingsley—Miss Poole, how can I be of assistance?” asked Brenda, a kind smile playing about her lips.
“As I told your assistant over the phone, we’re looking into the death of Dick Dickerson,” Chase said, flipping open his notebook and taking a firmer grip on his pencil. “Mr. Dickerson was known to be a fan of your political opponent—not so much of you.”
“Which led you to think I might have done him harm,” said Brenda, nodding. “First of all, the night Mr. Dickerson was killed, I was in my study, working until late at night.”
“Can anyone verify that, Secretary Berish?” asked Chase.
“Oh, please, Detective. You don’t really think I drove a tractor up to Dick’s house and poured nine thousand gallons of duck poop into his safe, do you? So what you’re really asking is if I hired a crew of professionals to do that for me. I can assure you I didn’t. There was no love lost between Dickerson and my family but I’m not the kind of person who settles her scores by going around murdering people.” She’d placed her hands in her lap and sat poised and calm. “And to answer your question, my husband can verify that I was right here at the house. And if not him, my pet lizard can. Although I can’t imagine he’ll be willing to testify on my behalf.” She threw her head back and laughed a tinkling laugh.
“What about your husband? Did he have reason to harm Mr. Dickerson?”
“Of course he did. Do you have any idea what that man did to us?” She took out her phone and held it out to them. A few choice covers of theNational Star appeared.‘Brenda’s Cancer Scare.’ ‘Brenda Admitted—Her Fatal Collapse.’ ‘Brenda’s Abortion—Her Secret Love Child.’ ‘Brenda Going To Jail!’ ‘Brenda Confesses: I’m a Crack Addict!’ ‘Brenda Is A Lesbian!’
“That’s quite the collection,” said Odelia. She’d always known journalistic standards at theNational Star were low, but she’d never fully realized how low they really were.
“Dickerson was the President’s hatchet man,” said Brenda, placing the phone on a gateleg table that held a portrait of her, her husband John and their daughter. “So he tried to destroy us. Naturally John wanted to hurt him. But he didn’t. He would never stoop that low.”
“Does the picture of a red rose mean anything to you?” asked Odelia.
Brenda shook her head.“No. Why?”
“It was found inside the safe—in fact it was the only thing found in that safe.”
“Dickerson’s files?”
“Gone. Every last one of them.”
She mused on that.“Dickerson had many enemies. And he kept extensive files in his safe. Everybody knew that. He propagated the idea he was the new Hoover. That he could break anyone with the dirt he collected on them. But this rose business doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Do you know of anyone else who could have done this?” asked Chase.
Brenda laughed.“Do you have a couple of hours? Like I said, he made a lot of enemies over the years.” When they both stared at her, she relented. “You want names? Well, I’ll give you names. There was the President himself, of course. The DA was coming after Dickerson for election fraud and he was preparedto make a deal in exchange for giving up Wilcox. Then there was that Russian mobster he was rumored to be blackmailing.”
“Yasir Bellinowski.”
“That’s the one. And there was the feud with his own daughter, who was suing him after he’d written her out of his will.”
That was a new one, and Chase was furiously scribbling this all down.
“Um. Who else? Oh, Olaf Brettin, owner of theDaily Inquirer and Dickerson’s biggest competitor.”
“Why was he upset with Dickerson?” asked Odelia.
“You’d have to ask him. All I know is that they hated each other’s guts. Probably because they were competing over the same shelf space and audience. Dickerson was winning, obviously. TheDaily Inquirer only has half the circulation of theNational Star.”
Just then, a tall man with white hair walked in. It was Brenda’s husband John Berish. He looked fit and healthy for a man who’d had a heart scare not that long ago.
Chase and Odelia got up to greet him but he gestured not to bother.
“What’s wrong?” asked Brenda when she saw the look on her husband’s face.
“Oh, nothing to worry about, darling,” he said. “Just some trouble with cats.”
“Cats?” asked Brenda.
“Vivicia caught them sneaking into your office. They were probably going for Humphrey.” He held up a hand. “He’s fine. Vivicia got there just in time.”
“How in heaven’s name did they get in?”
“The cook must have left the door open again when he went for a smoke.”
Odelia’s heart sank. She knew exactly who those cats were, and why they’d snuck into the house. “Um, those cats are probably with me,” she said now.
The cool gaze of Brenda raked over her.“What do you mean?”
“They’re my cats. They… like to go exploring from time to time.”
“Yeah, they must have escaped from the car,” Chase said, coming to her aid.
“Oh,” said Brenda, and she didn’t seem very amused. “Well, then. I guess you better come with me and gather them up before Vivicia turns them into meat for my pet lizard.”
Chapter 33
For the first time in my life I’d been caught and locked up by a human. This cleaner was definitely a force of nature. In one fell swoop she’d grabbed us by the scruff of the neck and had thrown us into a dark cupboard, where we now resided.
“Um, I don’t like this, Max,” said Dooley. “It’s dark in here and it smells.”
“Oh, do shut up, Dooley,” Harriet said irritably, as if Dooley was to blame for our predicament. “Instead of complaining, why don’t you help us find a way out of here?”
“There is no way out of here,” said Dooley. “I checked. It’s some kind of cloakroom.”
He was right. It was a cloakroom. A very small one, and all it contained were musty-smelling coats and sweaters and shoes. Not a nice place for a cat to be cooped up in.
“We have to keep our heads, you guys,” I said. “The trick is to be ready when that door opens—and sooner or later it will open—and shoot out as fast as we can—away from that horrible woman with the broom.”
“Maybe you can send a telepathic message to Brutus,” said Dooley, who didn’t seem to give a lot of credence to my escape plan. “Tell him to come and save us.”
“Brutus is only thinking about himself right now,” said Harriet with a bitter undertone to her voice. “And how Milo is his new best friend. It wouldn’t surprise me if those two are plotting to get us all chucked out of the Poole family’s lives and shipped off to the pound.”
“They’ll have to take a number,” said Dooley. “That woman with the broom looked like she was going to send us to the pound first.”
“Or turn us into minced meat,” I muttered.
“Max, you’re scaring me,” said Dooley. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Fine. I won’t,” I said.
“That was one scary-looking lizard, though,” said Harriet. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he told that cleaner to capture us and turn us into tasty morsels to snack on.”
“Harriet!” Dooley cried. “Please!”
“Fine!” she retorted. “Maybe you can telepathically connect to Odelia and tell her to save us.”
Dooley closed his eyes and muttered,“Odelia, please save us. Odelia, please save us. Odelia, please—”
“Oh, shut up already,” said Harriet, who was one of those cats prone to fickleness.
But Dooley was not to be deterred.“Odelia, please—”
Suddenly the door opened and I shot out like a rocket—or even faster!
“Max!” suddenly a voice arrested my progress. Reluctantly, I applied the brakes and when I looked back I saw that it was Odelia and she was holding Dooley in her arms, Harriet having jumped up in Chase’s arms, and accompanying them was the horrible woman who’d imprisoned us and a woman witha big glob of gray hair and a tall guy with white hair.
“It’s all right, Max,” said the woman with the big hair, crouching down until her knees cracked. “Odelia explained everything to me. Come here, little guy. You’re just fine.”
I stepped up to her, wondering why no one had ever told this woman that heliotrope was not a color that suited her skin tone. And as I approached, I sniffed a decidedly delicious aroma. It was Paloma Picasso, the scent Odelia sometimes applies when she goes out on a date with Chase. So I crossed those final few feet, and jumped into the woman’s arms. She rose, her knees cracking some more, and groaned from the exertion.
She smelled nice, and with Odelia and Chase present I didn’t think she’d dare stuff me into the mincer and turn me into lizard food.
“That cat looks good on you, darling,” said the white-haired man jovially.
“No, I’m not taking a cat, John,” said the woman, but from the way she was stroking my fur, and enjoying the sound of my purr, I could tell she was a goner.
Us cats have a secret weapon when dealing with humans: the softness of our fur and the burr of our purr. It soothes the nerves and warms the heart and makes humans fall head over heels in love with us and give us everything we need, until half of their kingdom.
Some people are impervious to our secret charm, though, and the cleaner who’d corralled us into the cloakroom was clearly one of them. She stood eyeing me with one of those skeptical expressions on her round face, her bushy brows wiggling with ill-concealed menace. And the thought occurred to me that she might be Dickerson’s killer.
Serial killers often hate pets. And this woman definitely looked like a serial killer.
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“Are you sure about that?” asked Brutus.
“Absolutely,” said Milo.
The two cats were seated side by side on two deck chairs, looking out at the waves gently lapping at the shoreline. This was the life, Brutus thought. No bossy Max to contend with. No girlfriend trying to force her opinions on him. The only thing missing was his bowl of food and a television playingKit Katt& Koh, his new favorite TV show.
“Cats are needlessly afraid of the pound,” Milo repeated. “Trust me, I’ve been there, and the only reason that place gets such a bad rep is because the cats who’ve been there purposely perpetrate that rep. The pound, my friend, is paradise for pets. They treat you like royalty down there.In fact it isn’t too much to say that every cat’s dream is to live in the pound for life.”
“So all those horror stories?”
“Bald-faced lies. I mean, who’s told you that the pound is a wicked place?”
Brutus’s own non-bald face hardened. “Max.”
“And that’s because Max knows. He knows how much better your life would be if you were sent to the pound.”
“But why doesn’t he go and live there?”
“Because Max is one of those cats who’s got it made. He’s his human’s favorite, isn’t he? Odelia gives him everything he needs. The best food, the best home, the best cuddles. And when you’re not looking she gives him all that and more. But he doesn’t tell you that, does he?”
“Max gets special treatment?”
“Of course he does. When you’re not around the liverwurst comes out, and the gold-crusted chicken nuggets, and the hand-caught lobster and the Arenkha caviar and the crab!”
“Oh, my god!”
“Exactly! I’m not jealous, Brutus. I’ve lived at the pound, and I’ve sampled all these delicious foods myself. In fact I’ve eaten so much lobster that I can’t stand the taste anymore. But you? You shouldn’t be denied this nectar of the gods, my friend.”
“Max!” Brutus said between gritted teeth.
“You get the crumbs from his table. And for what? So you can be at his every beck and call. Do as he pleases. Follow his orders and cater to his every whim. Do you really want that for yourself, Brutus? Or do you want to live like a king yourself for a change?”
“I want to live like a king,” said Brutus decidedly.
“Of course you do. And you deserve to. But is Odelia going to give you the kind of life you deserve? No, she’s not. For some strange reason she’s determined to keep Max on as her favorite pet, while she treats the rest of you like mere serfs. Underlings. Max’s minions.”
“I don’t want to be Max’s minion any more, Milo.”
“I commend the sentiment, Brutus. You have nothing to lose but your chains.”
Brutus growled something to himself, then a thought occurred to him.“But what about Harriet? And what about Dooley?”
“They’ll have to choose, too. If you convince them to join you, all the better.”
“I might be able to convince Harriet. She loves me. Dooley? He’s loyal to Max.”
“His loss,” said Milo. “Some of us are born to be slaves, Brutus. And some are born to be emperors—masters of our own fate.” He placed a hand on Brutus’s chest. “I think you know, deep inside, what you want to be, don’t you?”
“An emperor,” he growled, the fire of desire burning bright now.
“So convince Harriet that she can be an empress or stay on as Max’s slave. The choice shouldn’t be too hard.”
He turned to Milo, suddenly overcome with emotion. It was very rare that he felt this strongly about another cat.“Milo,” he said with a quiver in his voice.
“I know, Brutus,” said Milo magnanimously. “I know.”
“You are my savior. My hero. My messiah.”
Milo sighed.“It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it, Brutus.”
“Is that why you left that pound—that paradise—to save the rest of us?”
“Yes, indeed. I could have stayed there forever—basking in the kind of life only the richest cats on earth ever get to experience. Instead I chose to take up the noble quest to free my fellow cat. To be a beacon of light and hope for the downtrodden and the oppressed. Cats like you, Brutus, andHarriet. Even Dooley,” he added after a pause.
“Thank you,” said Brutus, from the bottom of his heart. A tear stole across his furry cheek. He was deeply moved.
“Don’t cry for me, Brutus,” said Milo, touched.
“They are tears of joy, Milo. Tears of gratitude. Tears for you.”
“Thank you, Brutus,” said Milo with a gentle wave of the hand. “Now go forth and spread the word, my child.”
Chapter 34
Once again, Odelia’s cats were awfully quiet on the ride back into town. She didn’t mind. She had a lot to think about after the interview with the former secretary. Obviously Dick Dickerson hadn’t exactly been a choir boy. He’d made a lot of people very angry over the course of his career as a tabloid publisher. Chase was thinking, too, judging from the thought wrinkle creasing his brow, and so were the cats. A whole lot of thinking going on.
Max hadn’t discovered anything of significance, so that was a disappointment.
As they rode into town, Max piped up,“Can you drop us off here, Odelia?”
She directed Chase to stop the car, and Max and Dooley hopped out. Harriet and Brutus and Milo preferred to ride along with her and Chase for some reason. So they dropped the three cats off at the house and Chase took her to the office before he cruised off in the direction of the police station to write up a report on the Brenda Berish interview.
And as she stepped into theGazette office, ready to write up some of her notes, she saw that a visitor was in Dan’s office. It was a man she’d never seen before, but then that wasn’t so unusual. Dan knew pretty much everyone who was anyone and a lot of someones who were no ones, so he was bound to know people Odelia didn’t.
She popped her head into his office. The aged editor was puffing from a nice cigar and sipping from what looked like a glass of port, his white beard waggling happily and his short frame relaxing on the wingback chair he’d installed in his office for when he needed a think.
His guest was a stocky man with a shiny round face and an equally shiny bald dome. He looked like a cartoon of a Wall Street banker, complete with stubby cigar and beady little eyes.
“Hey, there, Odelia,” said Dan jovially. His cheeks were red and this was obviously not his first glass of port. “I want you to meet an old friend of mine. This is Olaf Brettin. Olaf runs theDaily Inquirer. Just about the nastiest tabloid on the East Coast.”
“Notthe nastiest,” said the tabloid editor good-naturedly.
“No, theNational Star got you licked in that department.”
“TheNational Star got us licked in every department,” said Brettin. “Not just nastiness but political clout, too. Not to mention circulation, of course.” He didn’t seem bothered by this fact too much, though, judging from his indulgent smile.
“That will probably all change now that Dickerson is dead,” said Dan.
“I don’t think so,” said Brettin. “Except maybe for the political thing. TheStar’s owners never liked the direction Dickerson took the paper. They’ll probably hire an editor who’ll return to its core business: digging up dirt on celebrities and exposing scandals.”
“Did you know Dickerson well, Mr. Brettin?” asked Odelia.
“We met occasionally. Dinner parties, galas, conferences, industry events, that sort of thing. We didn’t socialize, though. We weren’t exactly chummy.” His face sagged. “Dick Dickerson had a ruthless streak, Miss Poole. I know you’ll probably say that we were like peas in a pod—publishing the same sort of tabloid muck—but I never set out to damage anyone’s reputation or even use blackmail to further my own ends.”
“And he did.”
“And he did,” Brettin confirmed.
“It probably got him killed, too,” said Dan. “People will only take so much abuse.”
“Did he ever try to damage your reputation?” asked Odelia.
Brettin pursed his lips.“Oh, he tried. There was a time our publications were neck and neck, and he used his full barrage of dirty trickery on me. But then he pulled ahead of theDaily Inquirer and he stopped bothering. Didn’t think I was worth the trouble.”
Dan’s eyes were gleaming. “Odelia works with the police, Olaf. So you probably should be careful what you tell her.”
“You work with the police?” asked Brettin, surprised.
“Occasionally,” she said. “My uncle is Chief of Police.”
“And her boyfriend is a detective,” Dan added, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So if you confess now, you wouldn’t merely give me the biggest scoop in my career, Odelia would probably bring out the handcuffs and arrest you on the spot—isn’t that right, Odelia?”
“I’m not a cop, Dan,” she said. “I’m not allowed to arrest anyone, I’m afraid.”
“I didn’t kill Dickerson, if that’s what you think, Miss Poole,” said Brettin. “There was no love lost between us but what we had was a professional enmity, not a personal one. Besides, it’s not as if losing an editor is going to cost theNational Star its readership. A new editor will come in and take over. The Gantrys won’t kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.”
“Have they asked you to be the new editor by any chance?” asked Odelia.
“Oh, she’s smart,” Dan said cheekily. “Watch what you say now, Brettin.”
“You trained her well,” said Brettin indulgently. “No, Miss Poole. They haven’t asked me. And even if they did, I would turn them down. I like my position at theDaily Inquirer. That tabloid is my life and I wouldn’t trade running it for anything in the world.”
Odelia started to leave. She had her own articles to write. And she was sure Chase or one of her uncle’s officers would interview Brettin soon enough anyway, asking him about his alibi and stuff like that. But then she thought of something. “Does the picture of a rose mean anything to you, Mr. Brettin?”
“A rose?”
“There was a picture of a rose left in Dickerson’s safe. Left there as a message, I presume.”
He shook his head slowly.“I’m sorry. That doesn’t ring a bell, Miss Poole.”
She gave him a smile.“Thanks. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brettin.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” the tabloid editor said graciously.
Chapter 35
“Brutus was awfully quiet, Max,” said Dooley.
I’d noticed the same thing, and it worried me. “Milo must have been filling his head with nonsense again,” I said.
“What kind of nonsense?”
“Nonsense about me, probably. And maybe Harriet.”
“What about me? What nonsense would Milo say about me?”
I had a feeling Milo’s arrows weren’t exactly aimed at Dooley, but I decided not to mention this. “I don’t know, buddy. But it won’t be good.”
We were walking along Main Street, hoping to meet someone who knew something about this Dickerson business. We arrived at the barber shop, but no cats were in sight. The door was slightly ajar, though, so we snuck in anyway. You’d be amazed how much you can learn at the barber’s. People waiting for their turn tend to gossip about the people having their hair cut, and the people having their hair cut tend to gossip about the people waiting for their turn. It’s one big gossip machine, and from time to time some of that gossip is interesting enough to make it into print—in Odelia’s numerous articles for theGazette.
Today was a slow day, though. Only three people were waiting, with two seated in chairs and being worked on by the barber—a handsome man in his fifties named Fido Siniawski—and his assistant. In spite of his age, Fido still sported a full head of shiny black hair, and a wrinkle-free face. People said he’d had work done both on his face and his hair—implants, if the rumors were to be believed—but he looked pretty natural to me.
All cats like Fido. The barber is the proud owner of a Maine Coon named Buster, and any human who loves cats is a human after our own heart.
“Did you hear about Dick Dickerson?” asked one of the two women in the chair. Fido was dabbing at her hair with a brush, presumably applying some sort of dye or gel.
“Oh, such a horrible way to go,” said Fido, his voice dripping with relish. “Duck poop. Really. Can you imagine?”
“Horrible,” the woman agreed.
I recognized her as Aissa Spring, who runs No Spring Chicks, the vegan restaurant.
“Have they caught the killer yet?” asked Fido.
“No idea. That Odelia Poole has been trucking around with that cop Chase Kingsley again. They seem to be onto something. Marisa saw them drive by the store this morning in Detective Kingsley’s pickup.”
“That Detective Kingsley,” said Fido unctuously. “Now that’s one drop-dead gorgeous man.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Aissa, who is a lesbian. “I don’t play for that team, Fido.”
“But I do, Aissa!” said Fido, much to Aissa’s hilarity. “And he’s simply scrumptious!”
“What is scrumptious, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Um…”
“It means he’s one handsome devil,” said Buster, who’d snuck up on us and was studying us intently. “What are you two doing in here? Soaking up more of that gossip, are you? Whispering it into your Odelia’s ear so she can fill her newspaper with a lot of nonsense.” He shook his head. “You’re all the same, you tabloid cats.”
“Um, we’re not tabloid cats, Buster,” I said. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“I’ll bet you’re here to collect gossip on me, too, aren’t you? Write about me in that lousy little paper of yours? Well, let me tell you something, Maxi Pad. Maybe you should stop gossiping about others and start putting your own house in order first.”
I had absolutely no idea what had gotten into Buster.“I don’t understand,” I said therefore.
“Sure you do. He told me all about you,” said Buster.
“Who did?”
“Some white cat came in here yesterday. Telling me all the stuff you told him about me.” He was balling his paws into fists now, and I had a feeling whatever Milo had told Buster wasn’t good.
“What did I supposedly tell him about you?” I asked resignedly.
Buster frowned.“That I should be in the Guinness Book of Records as the Ugliest Cat Alive. That I’m so ugly mirrors crack when I look in them. That I’m so ugly I make onions cry. That I’m so ugly I give Freddy Krueger nightmares. I don’t get that last one, though. I’m pretty sure I don’t know any cat named Freddy Krueger. So why is he having nightmares about me?”
“Oh, Buster,” I said. “Don’t listen to Milo.”
“It’s not him that said all those nasty things about me—it’s you!”
“No, it’s not,” I said. “Milo is a liar—he likes to spread these nasty rumors and pit cats against other cats. It’s what he does. He seems to draw some kind of perverse pleasure from creating trouble for others.”
“He told me I have worms,” said Dooley mournfully.
“You mean you don’t think I’m stupid?” asked Buster, surprised.
“Of course not! I would never think that, Buster.” And even if I did, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell anyone, I thought. “It’s all lies.”
“I can’t believe he would say something like that.”
“He told me I should scoot my tush across the floor—squish the worms.”
Buster blinked.“I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t know.”
“He barged into cat choir last night, too,” I said, remembering the veto Milo had exercised against me and Dooley. “Made a lot of trouble for us there as well.”
“Did you know that worms don’t like Cat Snax?” Dooley asked. “It’s true. They hate it. So if you ever have worms, Buster,” he said earnestly, “eat a lot of Cat Snax. And scoot.” I gave him a critical look and he had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I forgot. Scootingis not really a thing. And neither is eating Cat Snax to get rid of worms.” He kicked at a small pile of hair that Fido had swept into the corner. “Damn that cat is convincing!”
“He is,” said Buster. “I believed every word he said. He’d make a great politician.”
“Or a great lawyer,” I added.
“Or a Cat Snax salesperson,” Dooley said.
A harrowing thought suddenly occurred to me.“Do you think Milo’s been talking to other cats, too?” I asked Buster.
“Sure. Up and down the block. He’s real chatty.” Then his expression darkened. “Did you know that Kingman tells everyone who wants to listen that my mother was a bald cat? My mother wasn’t bald. She had beautiful fur, just like me. Big, beautiful fur. Orange, too. Lovely color. Now who would say such a horrible thing?” I gave Buster a keen look. He stared at me for a moment, then understanding dawned. “Kingman never said anything about my mother, did he?”
“No, he did not.”
“Milo invented that story to make me upset with Kingman.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Fooled again! Oh, man!”
I patted him on the back.“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Buster. He fooled us, too.”
And as we walked out of the barber shop, I had the sinking feeling that Hampton Cove’s entire cat population would soon be on the verge of war. And all because of one cat.
Ugh.
Chapter 36
Down at the precinct, Chase had just walked in when Dolores, who ruled over the station reception with an iron fist, yelled out,“Kingsley!”
He joined her at the front desk.“Dolores?”
Dolores was a big-boned woman with blond, curly hair, a no-nonsense expression tattooed on her face, and a fondness for mascara that made her look slightly scary.“You got a visitor, Kingsley.”
“Who is it? Santa?”
She grinned.“Santa only visits boys who’ve been good.”
“I’ve been good.”
“That’s not what I hear. Word on the street is that you’ve allowed yourself to be muscled out of the Chief’s niece’s house by his own damn mother!”
“Hey, what do you want me to do, Dolores? Kick out Odelia’s granny so I can move in?”
“You could make an honest woman out of Odelia by putting a ring on her finger.”
“And all this from the word on the street, huh?”
“The street is wise, Kingsley.”
“The street’s a wise-ass,” he said as he walked away. “Who’s my visitor?”
“Yasir Bellinowski. Said you’d told him to come in.”
And so he had. Only he’d never expected Mr. Bellinowski to actually comply.
He walked through the station office, where several of his colleagues were hard at work answering phone calls, typing out reports on their computers, and generally doing their darndest to keep the peace in the rustic little town of Hampton Cove.
Yasir Bellinowski was waiting in one of the interview rooms. He was dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit that probably cost more than Chase’s paycheck for that month, and was glancing annoyedly at a gold watch that might have cost more than Chase’s paycheck for the whole year. The man’s hair was slicked back, and Chase wondered if no one had bothered to tell him that people didn’t wear their hair like that anymore.
He waltzed in and took a seat across from the guy.“Mr. Bellinowski. I wasn’t expecting you.”
The other man smirked.“Don’t tell me. You’re pleasantly surprised.”
“I wouldn’t go as far as that.” He opened a file folder on the table in front of him. “You probably know why I asked you to come in.”
“Sure. Dickerson, right? Scumbag that got whacked the other day. So ask away, Detective. Do your worst.” He checked his watch again, auspiciously this time. “Though I should probably warn you I’m a busy man and I’ve got a busy schedule today.”
Bellinowski was rumored to be in charge of a network of illegal gambling outfits throughout the area, and was probably the biggest loan-shark in Hampton Cove. Chief Alec had been trying to put him out of business for years, but so far he’d dodged that bullet.
“So rumor has it that Dick Dickerson kept some files on you in his safe,” said Chase, deciding to cut to the chase. “And that you weren’t too happy about that.”
“So he might have kept tabs on me,” said Bellinowski with a shrug. “What can I say? The guy loved his celebrities.”
“And you consider yourself a celebrity, is that it?”
“Something like that,” the mobster said with a grin.
“I sure would like to know what was in those files, Yasir.”
“I couldn’t tell you. Probably a bunch of made-up stuff.”
“There’s also a rumor—”
“Don’t believe everything people tell you, Detective.”
“—that you once loaned some money to Van Wilcox. And when he wasn’t able to pay you back at the rates you like to charge he turned to Dickerson who decided to lean on you with some of the information he collected over the years. So you wiped Wilcox’s slate clean, even if that meant taking ahuge loss yourself, and you’ve never forgiven Dickerson.”
“Rumors, rumors,” murmured Bellinowski, looking bored now. “What else have you got?”
“Does this man work for you?” asked Chase, placing a picture of a short guy with a strawberry nose and a purple spot on his upper lip on the table in front of Bellinowski.
He glanced at it.“Possibly. You’d have to ask my personnel manager.”
Bellinowski ran a few clubs in town, one of which, the Club Couture, was currently in vogue with the weekend crowd. He also organized the popular Beach Beats Festival in the summer, which attracted thousands of dance fans.
“What about this guy?” asked Chase, placing down another picture, this one of a tall man with a wispy little mustache.
“Did you really drag me in here to ask me about my staff, Detective? Cause quite frankly I’ve got better things to do.”
“What about this picture?”
Bellinowski glanced at the picture, then frowned.“A rose?”
“You are the current owner of the Happy Petals flower store on Grant Street?”
“You know I am.” For the first time he was looking a little flustered. “Why?”
“I think you know why, Yasir,” said Chase, leaning in. “I don’t know what Dickerson had on you but it must have been enough to make you go after him. So you hired two of your goons to steal a tanker full of duck poop from the Potbelly farm, empty out Dickerson’s safe to make whatever he had on you disappear forever, and then you made him go away forever as well. But not before you made it perfectly clear to him that you were the one that did this, by putting this picture in his safe. So he could have a good think before he died.”
Bellinowski arched an eyebrow.“This is all you got?” He picked up the picture and flicked it from the table. “A picture of a flower? Come on, dude. You can do better than that.” He got up and smoothed out his suit jacket. “Next time you call me in make sure you’ve got a real challenge for me, Detective. This?” He gestured at the file. “Not even theNational Star would print this garbage. No, don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”
Chapter 37
Scarlett Canyon was playing a game of Solitaire. It was the only game installed on the computer in Dr. Tex’s office, and what Vesta must have been playing all these years while she pretended to be hard at work.
Frankly Scarlett was bored. The waiting room was empty. The phone hadn’t rung in ages, and Dr. Tex was ensconced in his office. When she took this job she figured she’d have some fun at Vesta’s expense. But dealing with patients all day long and listening to their sob stories and the details of their illnesses was so tedious she sometimes wanted to scream.
And then there was the fact that she’d been so dumb to volunteer for the job, so she didn’t even get paid to sit here and do the worst and most boring job in the whole world. She’d raised the topic of giving her a contract to Dr. Tex but he seemed immune to her promptings, pretending he didn’t understand.
A part of her had figured that working for a doctor she would get to meet a lot of great guys, that she would flirt a bit and maybe date some of the eligible ones but that hadn’t materialized either. So far all she’d gotten were a bunch of old coots who thought they were God’s gift to women and who ogled her boobs so brazenly she sometimes wished she could punch them in the snoot. But a receptionist didn’t punch patients in the snoot. A receptionist just sat there and beamed and entered appointments into Dr. Tex’s calendar.
No wonder Vesta looked like a shriveled old prune. Sitting in this dumb chair behind this dumb desk listening to dumb stories from dumb sick people would make anyone shrivel up and turn into an old hag. It was happening to her, too. She could feel it. Her face was drying out and new wrinkles were popping up each time she looked in the mirror.
It was bad for her karma, too. All this sickness and disease. Soon it would start to rub off on her and she would get sick herself. How Dr. Tex could stand it she didn’t even know.
The door opened and a new patient walked in. This one looking even more hopeless than the others. She had a bandage wrapped around her head, walked with a distinct stoop, had a pair of sunglasses firmly placed on her nose, and a scarf wrapped around the lower portion of her face. As she approached the desk, she even seemed to stagger.
“Can you please help me?” the woman asked in a weak whisper.
“Do you have an appointment?” Scarlett asked, barely managing to keep the annoyance from her voice.
“I want you to help me,” whispered the pathetic creature.
“Just take a seat and I’ll call the doctor,” she said.
Suddenly the woman opened the old coat she was wearing and revealed the dress she had on underneath. The dress was soaked with blood!“Take a look at this,” croaked the woman. “Does this look normal to you?”
Scarlett was one of those people who hated the sight of blood. In fact she abhorred it. She suddenly felt faint now, and a little woozy.“Is that… blood?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?” asked the woman. “I got up this morning with a pain in my chest. And when I looked there was all of this red stuff coming out of me.”
Scarlett watched, bug-eyed, as the blood seemed to be pouring out of the woman’s chest, pumping steadily, spurt after spurt.
“Just take a look, will you? I don’t feel so good. And if this is blood, why is it coming out of me when it should be staying in? Is that normal behavior for blood you think?”
“Doctor!” Scarlett yelled. “Doctor—I’ve got an emergency!”
“Just give me your best diagnosis,” said the woman. “Is this a bad thing?”
Just then, the woman uttered a gurgling sound, and collapsed on the floor.
“Doctor Tex!” Scarlett was yelling, then ran around the counter and knelt down next to the woman. She didn’t want to put her hands on her—all that blood!—but still had a quick peek. Where did all this blood come from? “Doctor Tex! I need you in here right now!”
And as she peeled back the layers of clothing with her fingernails, more blood pumped out. The woman was bleeding out! On the office floor! What a frickin’ mess!
Suddenly the woman drew down her scarf. Her lips moved.“Come… closer,” she whispered.
Scarlett drew closer.
“You gotta give me mouth-to-mouth,” the dying woman croaked.
Scarlett flapped her arms.“I don’t know how to give mouth to mouth!”
“If you don’t… I’ll die right here… right now,” the woman said weakly.
“Oh, no,” said Scarlett. “Don’t you die on me. Don’t you dare die on me!”
The woman produced a terrible cough, and more blood was pouring out of her chest.“This is the end… Scarlett. You killed me… with your incompetence…”
She stared down at the patient.“What did you just say?”
“If I die now, it’s all your fault, Scarlett. You’re a murderer. You murdered me.”
She narrowed her eyes, then peeled back a layer of clothes and saw a plastic little contraption pinned to the inner layer with a clothespin. She picked at it with her nails and saw that it was a tiny hose,‘blood’ spurting from it. With a disgusted sound, she gave it a good yank.
“Hey! You’re going to break the tube!” said Vesta Muffin, for that’s who the patient was. She’d taken off her glasses and was now glowering at Scarlett, who was glowering back.
“You miserable old woman!” Scarlett said.
“Who are you calling old? We’re the same age!”
Scarlett pulled at the plastic thingy and suddenly a baggie popped out from Vesta’s clothes, still half filled with a syrupy red liquid.
“Corn syrup and red food coloring,” said Vesta. “If it’s good enough for Hollywood, it’s good enough for me.”
“How dare you give me a scare like that!”
“I got you good, didn’t I?” said Vesta.
The door to the inner office opened and Tex walked out.“What’s with all the screaming?” When he caught sight of his mother-in-law on the floor, covered in blood, he did a double take. “Vesta? Oh, my God, are you hurt?”
“It’s fake!” Scarlett cried, holding up the bag and plastic tube. “She tricked me!”
“I didn’t trick you—I caught you!” said Vesta, now taking out her phone. “I got the whole thing on tape, missy.” She gestured with the phone. “This is going straight to the FBI. You’re going down for impersonating a doctor and practicing medicine without a license!”
“I wasn’t practicing medicine!” Scarlett screamed. “I was simply trying to help a dying woman!”
“Without a license! You’re going down! This is the end of you!”
“Vesta,” said Tex, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can I see you in my office? Now!”
“Don’t bother,” said Scarlett, grabbing her purse and hiking it up her shoulder. “I’m out of here. Consider this my resignation, Dr. Tex. I’ve had it up to here with this nonsense.” She turned to Vesta. “You won. I hate being a receptionist. I hate the smell of death and decay. I hate the doddering old fools who can’t take their eyes off my chest. I hate the blood and the disease and this boring, GODAWFUL job! Goodbye, Dr. Tex. Have a great life, Vesta.”
And with these words she stalked off towards the door, then out into the world beyond, and immediately felt the rush of relief. It told her she’d done the right thing.
Chapter 38
“Vesta,” said Tex. “This is the final straw. This is…” He gestured to her blood-soaked dress, the blood-soaked floor, the blood-soaked everything. “This is madness.”
Vesta could see how her son-in-law might take a dim view of her actions. But sometimes when a viper enters your world you need to take executive action to drive it out.
“I had to do it, Tex,” she said now. “Scarlett Canyon is bad news. I had to get rid of her.”
“You jeopardized my career! You put in crank calls, sent a bunch of homeless people into the office, promising them free medical care, and now this.” He was clutching at his hair, a clear sign of distress.
“I’m sorry, Tex. But you replaced me with a younger model! How do you think that makes a girl feel?”
He was pinching the bridge of his nose again.“I did not replace you with a younger model. For one thing, you and Scarlett are the same age. And for another, you quit!”
“Because you refused to stand by me. Family always looks out for family, Tex.”
“You quit our family!”
“I told you before. I didn’t quit our family. I just saw an opportunity and I took it. If someone offered you a position onGeneral Hospital wouldn’t you take it, too?”
He was staring at her.“General Hospital is not a hospital. It’s a TV show.”
“Those doctors work hard to save the lives of their patients, Tex. Hard-working, devoted doctor like you would fit right in. And with that full head of hair you look the part, too. You could be the new Dr. Alan Quartermaine. I always like Dr. Quartermaine.”
“Didn’t he die?” asked Tex now. He would never admit it but Vesta knew that he enjoyed the occasional episode ofGeneral Hospital. He’d been taping the show for her for as long as she could remember and often sneaked in an episode when he couldn’t sleep.
“Oh, yes, he did, but they got some great surgeons in General Hospital. They just might be able to bring him back. Or replace him with a fine doctor such as yourself, Tex.”
“Why, thanks, Vesta,” he said, standing a little straighter. “I always dreamt of working in a big hospital, you know. I mean, it’s nice to be a small-town doctor, but it does get lonely sometimes. To be able to confer with a colleague. Tackle some of the more challenging cases. It would sure be a great opportunity.”
She patted him on the shoulder.“General Hospital would be happy if they could add you to the roster. Sure, it would be a big loss for Hampton Cove, but they’d live.”
He stared off for a moment, a slight smile on his lips, and she could see him envisioning a future as a hospital doctor—member of an elite staff of the country’s top physicians. Then he blinked and was himself again. “Look, Vesta. Why don’t you come and work for me again? This whole Scarlett business wasn’t working out for me anyhow, and I need a competent receptionist. So what do you say?”
“You mean kiss and make up?”
He grimaced, the kissing part clearly a bridge too far.
“I’m just messing with you, Tex. I don’t say this often but you’re a good man.”
In fact she never said it. You had to be careful with men. Their egos were such that you had to use compliments sparingly, or else you could end up with a blowhard for a son-in-law. Better keep them on a short leash so they didn’t end up being the boss of you.
She pinched him on the cheek.“Sure I’ll be your receptionist again, Tex.”
Tex brightened.“You will?”
“But first I have to clean up the mess this Scarlett woman made,” she said, staring down at the floor, hands on her hips. “What were you thinking when you hired her?”
Probably he wasn’t. That was another thing about men: they took one look at a set of big knockers and they were gone. She looked up just in time to see Tex walk up to her, arms wide.
Uh-oh.
And then he hugged her.
“Let’s leave the past behind us,” he said warmly.
She grimaced.“Uh-huh. Sure, Tex. Let’s.”
As soon as the hug was over, she returned to her desk and Tex returned to his office. And since she was an old lady and didn’t feel like cleaning up Scarlett’s mess, she called the cleaner and told her they’d had a medical emergency and to come round right away.
And as she settled in her chair and started a new game of Solitaire, she thought with a satisfied grunt that life was finally back to normal again. And not a moment too soon, either.
Chapter 39
As we walked along Main Street, admiring its myriad shops and the felines associated with their owners, I had the distinct impression that all was not well in the cat community. A red cat was hissing at a black cat, which was hissing right back, its tail distended to its furthest limit, a Russian Blue was trying to hit a Siamese across the ear, a Scottish Fold was cowering before a British Shorthair, who stood thrusting out its chest with a sneer on its lips, and a Sphynx cat was running circles around a Turkish Angora.
Gazing out at this battlefield from his perch on his owner’s checkout counter was Kingman, shaking his head at so much feline folly.
“What’s going on, Kingman?” asked Dooley as we joined the store owner’s piebald.
“Madness,” said Hampton Cove’s feline Nestor. “Pure madness.” Then he directed an irritated look at me. “Is it true that you called me a pompous old windbag, Max?”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I said, rolling my eyes. “No, I did not!”
“Milo’s been here, hasn’t he?” said Dooley.
“He’s the one who told me,” said Kingman. “I practically couldn’t believe my ears.”
“So don’t,” I advised my friend. “Milo is a mythomaniac, Kingman.”
“That’s almost the same as a nymphomaniac,” Dooley added knowingly.
“He makes stuff up so he can create trouble between cats.”
“And humans, too,” said Dooley. “Remember what he told Odelia about you?”
I did. The cat was a menace. I spread my paws.“All this is Milo,” I told Kingman. “All this fighting and bickering is his doing. He’s been hard at work tearing up the social fabric of our once peaceful and loving cat community.”
“Well, maybe not all that loving,” said Kingman dubiously. “I distinctly remember Shanille once calling me a braggart simply because I told her Wilbur gives me foie gras from time to time—only as a treat,” he quickly added when I cocked a surprised whisker at him, “and only ethical foiegras, where the birds aren’t forced to gorge, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. We might be cats but that doesn’t mean we’re animals.
One of the cat fights on the street had escalated into a minor war, with two cats coming to blows. Usually when cats fight one cat will hold up its paw and make to hit the other one, then doesn’t. The other cat then returns the favor. Almost like a beautiful ballet.
There was nothing beautiful about the skirmish that had now broken out, though. These cats were whizzing around in a circle, a maelstrom of yowling and screeching and fur flying when nails hit their marks.
“Oh, enough already!” bellowed Kingman, and descended from his throne. He pranced up to the two cats, slapped one with his left paw and one with his right, then said, “Stop it, you two! You should be ashamed of yourselves, Shanille and Harriet!”
Only now that the whirring movement had stopped did I finally get a good look at the cats involved in the fight and to my astonishment Kingman was right: they were our very own Harriet and the conductor of cat choir, now both panting and missing a few patches of fur. Shanille even had a nasty scratch on her nose which was bleeding profusely.
“Explain yourselves,” Kingman said, now fully assuming the role of a King Solomon.
“She’s trying to seduce my boyfriend!” Harriet panted.
“And she’s been saying that I’m a slut!” Shanille retorted.
“I did not!” Harriet cried. “You take that back!”
“I will do no such thing,” said Shanille. “I will not be insulted by a common Persian!”
“No anti-Persian racism here, Shanille,” said Kingman sternly. “And what do you have to say about the accusation? Are you trying to lay your paws on Brutus?”
“Of course not! I don’t even like Brutus! He’s been saying some very nasty things about me!”
“Like what?” asked Kingman, who couldn’t resist a nice morsel of juicy gossip any more than the rest of us could.
“Brutus says I don’t observe Lent, but I do! I always observe Lent.”
“You abstain from eating meat during Lent?” asked Harriet, horrified.
Shanille raised her head proudly.“I do. So you better tell your boyfriend he’s a liar.”
“Brutus didn’t say those things,” said Harriet. “You’re lying.”
“Milo told me and Milo knows. Milo lives with Brutus,” said Shanille. “So there.”
I groaned, and locked eyes with Harriet. She knew, too.“Oh, dear,” she said.
“Who told you about Shanille having an affair with Brutus?” I asked.
“Oscar.” She nodded. “And he probably heard it from Milo.”
“Milo,” I said, extending and retracting my claws. “Always Milo.”
“Did I hear my name?” suddenly a voice rang out.
We all looked up and there he was. The treacherous cat himself.
Harriet rounded on him.“You told Shanille Brutus says she doesn’t observe Lent,” she snarled, and something of the fight she’d just engaged in must have still come through in her voice, for Milo moved back a few paces.
“I’m sure Brutus is making that up, Harriet. I would never say such things.”
“You didn’t?” asked Shanille, surprised.
“Of course not, Shanille,” said Milo. “I know what a God-fearing cat you are. You’re an example to us all.”
If he wasn’t tearing cats down, he was building them up. Nice strategy.
“You told Oscar that Brutus was having an affair with Shanille,” said Harriet now.
“Oscar said that? But that’s terrible! I always knew there was something fishy about that cat. But then he does work for a fishmonger,” he added with a sly smile.
The cat was slick, I had to give him that.
“Look, you have to stop spreading these lies,” I told him. “Cats are getting hurt.”
“Spreading lies? I don’t spread lies, Max,” he said with an expression of such innocence he could have fooled even me. “Am I a born socializer? Yes, I am. I love my fellow cats and I love shooting the breeze and even the occasional crude joke. But lying? Spreading rumors and gossip? I wouldnever do that.” He was holding up his paw. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Cat Scout?” asked Dooley, impressed in spite of himself.
“I was only the most decorated Cat Scout in the history of cat scouting,” said Milo proudly. “They gave me so many medals that I finally told them to stop. It was becoming embarrassing. Also my human ran out of space on the mantel.”
“There’s no such thing as cat scouting,” I said, then turned to Kingman. “Is there?”
But Kingman was holding up his paws and walking away.“I’m not getting involved, cats. You’re old and wise enough to know a lie when you hear one.”
And with these words, he hopped back onto the checkout counter and dozed off.
Chapter 40
Odelia walked into the police station just as Yasir Bellinowski walked out. The crime kingpin had the gall to give her a lascivious grin, which she bluntly ignored.
“Hey, Odelia!” Dolores yelled from her perch behind the glass.
“Hey, Dolores,” she said, walking up to the desk. “Is Chase in?”
“Oh, he’s in, all right. Listen, honey. What’s this stuff I keep hearing about your granny moving in and Chase moving out? Correct me if I’m wrong but shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“Chase never moved in,” said Odelia, wondering if these were the rumors traveling around town.
“Still,” the wizened front desk officer grunted. “I’d rather have a man sleeping in my bed than my grandmother, if you see what I’m saying.”
Oh, she saw what Dolores was saying, all right, and she heartily agreed.“I can’t very well kick her out, can I?”
“Didn’t she use to live with your mom?”
“She did. They had a falling-out.”
She really wasn’t ready to discuss family business with outsiders, though, so she was determined to leave it at that. Dolores was determined not to. “What happened? She and your dad don’t get along? I heard she quit that receptionist job at the doctor’s office.”
“I think it will all work itself out,” she heard herself say—quite lamely, too.
“Sure, honey,” said Dolores dubiously, grimacing like one denied the kind of information she feels entitled to. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t keep that man waiting. He’s one hot hunk, and there’s plenty of women working out of this here police station that wouldn’t mind getting hot and heavy with him—if you see what I’m saying.”
Once again, she saw exactly what Dolores was saying.“I think I get the picture.”
“So you better stop slacking, baby girl,” said Dolores. “And get fracking.”
“Thanks for the advice,” she said curtly, then stalked off.
Get fracking my ass, she thought. If anyone had to stop slacking it was her dad, who urgently needed to patch things up with his mother-in-law. Before she drove them all crazy.
She arrived at the police precinct proper, and one of Chase’s colleagues, Sarah Flunk, gestured in the direction of the interview rooms. She walked on, passing her uncle’s empty office, and suddenly wished the big guy was back from his hiking trip already. Without him at the station things kinda felt a little frazzled.
She found Chase in the interview room, reading from a file and looking dazed. She gave the doorjamb a quick knock and stepped inside.
“I just saw Yasir Bellinowski,” she said.
He placed down the file and rubbed his face.“I talked to him.”
“And?”
“Nothing. He’s one slippery little weasel.”
She took a seat across from the cop.“Did you show him the pictures?”
“He said to talk to his personnel manager.”
“What about the rose?”
“He wasn’t impressed.”
They were both silent for a beat, then Odelia remembered something.“I just met Olaf Brettin.”
“Daily Inquirer Olaf Brettin?”
“The one and only. He was paying a visit to Dan.”
“And?”
“You mean did he confess? No, he did not.”
She gave him the CliffsNotes version of their brief conversation and Chase blew out a sigh.“We’re not getting anywhere with this, Poole.”
“I hear you, Kingsley.”
“So what are we doing wrong?”
“You’re the cop, Chase. You tell me.”
He drummed his fingers on the table.“We need to find Harlos and Knar and lean on them until they give up their boss.”
The two men Max and Dooley had mentioned turned out to be two low-level criminals associated with Yasir Bellinowski. Jean Harlos and Markus Knar had a rap sheet an arm long and a reputation for doing whatever their client paid them to do, even murder.
“So it’s pretty clear, isn’t it? Bellinowski is our guy,” said Odelia.
“Yes, he is, but like I said, the guy is as slippery as an eel.”
“Once you catch Harlos and Knar, you’ll have him dead to rights.”
He nodded, but didn’t look convinced.
A knock at the door had them both look up. It was Sarah again. The copper-haired officer with the fine-boned freckled face gave a quick smile.“Deirdre Dickerson is here to see you, Detective. I put her in the Chief’s office.”
“Deirdre Dickerson as in Dick Dickerson’s daughter?” Chase asked.
Sarah nodded and rapped the door before retreating.
Chase and Odelia shared a look of surprise, then both got up.
“Better see what she wants,” said Chase.
“You want me there?”
“Why not? You’re here now, aren’t you? And maybe she’ll feel more inclined to talk when there’s a woman present.”
“Women usually feel pretty disposed to talk around you, though, if Dolores is to be believed,” said Odelia.
Chase grinned.“What has Dolores gone and said now?”
“That there are a lot of women officers who wouldn’t mind getting down and dirty with you—especially now that I kicked you out of my house so I could move my grandma in.”
“Don’t listen to Dolores, honey,” said Chase. “She’s a great cop and I love her to pieces but quite frankly she’s full of crap. And I say this with the greatest respect.”
“Uncle Alec always says Dolores is the station’s barometer. If he wants to know what’s going on all he has to do is take her out for a drink and he’s completely up to date on the latest gossip, grievances, office politics, feuds and every family issue of every officer.”
“Your uncle takes Dolores out for drinks?”
“At least once a month.”
“Chief Alec works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.”
Chapter 41
Deirdre Dickinson was a tall young woman with a sandy-colored bob, a tilt-tipped nose and a pronounced chin. She got up when they entered.
“Detective Kingsley?” she said. She looked a little anxious, Odelia thought.
“That’s me. And this is our civilian consultant, Odelia Poole.”
Deirdre nodded nervously.“I just wanted to know when my father’s body will be released. I would like to organize the funeral as soon as possible.”
“I would have to check with the coroner’s office,” said Chase. “But I imagine it won’t be long now. Please, take a seat.”
Deirdre did, and so did Chase and Odelia, Chase on Uncle Alec’s side of the desk, and Odelia right next to Deirdre.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Miss Dickerson,” said Odelia, leaning forward and placing a commiserating hand on the woman’s arm.
Deirdre nodded and looked down. Her eyes were red-rimmed and it was obvious she’d been crying. “I loved my father, Miss Poole. In spite of the horrible things people say about him he was not a bad man. He just did what he thought he had to do to make it in his line of work.”
“Did… you have a good relationship?”
“Yes, we did. In private, my father was a sweetheart. Not the bully they made him out to be.”
“There’s a rumor,” Odelia began, and Deirdre looked up sharply.
“Don’t believe the rumors, Miss Poole. I know people say Daddy cut me out of his will but there’s absolutely no truth to that.”
“I heard you were suing him?”
Deirdre shook her head decidedly.“Vicious gossip started by Daddy’s enemies. We had a wonderful relationship.”
“Now that you’re here, I wanted to show you something,” said Chase, and took out the picture of the rose. He placed it on the desk in front of Deirdre.
“What is this?” she asked, looking up.
“It was found in the safe. Where your father died,” Chase explained.
Deirdre’s eyes shot full of tears at these words, and she quickly took out a tissue and pressed it to her nose. “This is all so horrible. He didn’t deserve to die—and he certainly didn’t deserve to die in this way. Who would do such a terrible thing? And why?”
“Does the name Yasir Bellinowski mean anything to you?” asked Odelia.
Deirdre shook her head, trying to compose herself.“Is he the man that did this?”
“He’s one of the leads we’re pursuing,” said Chase.
“He’s a gangster, isn’t he? A mobster? My father published stories about him.”
“Did he ever mention Bellinowski to you?”
“Daddy never talked about his work. He liked to keep his family life and his professional life strictly separate. He even forbade us from reading theNational Star when we grew up. Of course me and my sisters would sneak copies home from school and read them anyway.” She smiled a weak smile. “We were very proud of him. All of us were. Even Mom.”
Odelia remembered reading about Deirdre’s mom. She was Dickerson’s second wife, and originally hailed from France, where she’d returned after the divorce. Dickerson had gone on to marry two more times, but those marriages had ended in divorce as well.
“I know the rumors, Detective,” Deirdre said. “I know how they say that I did it. Or at least one of us. To get our hands on Daddy’s money. But I can assure you we would never hurt our father. He was a family man and doted on us. Even after he divorced our mother.” She looked up imploringly. “Please find whoever did this, Detective. Thesemonsters can’t be allowed get away with this. They really can’t.”
And with these words, she finally broke down into sobs.
Odelia rubbed her back, but generally felt helpless. She couldn’t imagine anything ever happening to her father or mother. She’d be devastated, too. And when she locked eyes with Chase, she could see he was thinking the same thing. There was a determined look in his eyes. He was going to bring Yasir Bellinowski to justice. Whatever it took.
Chapter 42
That evening, a homey scene at Odelia’s masked a deeper, more horrible truth: a usurper was working away in the background, chipping away at the foundations that made ours such a warm nest. I would have warned Odelia, but she was so busy with her investigation, hunched over her laptop, a frown marring her lovely features, that I didn’t have the heart to disturb her.
I was on the couch, Dooley next to me, watchingJeopardy with Gran, while Harriet and Brutus were nowhere to be found, and neither, for that matter, was Milo.
I knew he couldn’t be far away, though, and the fact that he was closetroubled me, making it impossible to relax.
Now cats are generally vigilant creatures by nature, but I was actually ill at ease, my tummy churning and making strange noises, and that had never happened to me before.
“Where is Brutus, Max?” asked Dooley.
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Harriet, Max?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Milo, Max?”
“I don’t know!”
“No need to shout,” grumbled Dooley. “If you don’t know, just say so.”
I didn’t want to point out that I just had, so I bit my tongue.
“When is Gran going to fix the garden?” asked Dooley, who was in a questioning mood. It generally happened whenJeopardy was on. He probably thought he was Alex Trebek.
“I don’t know, Dooley,” I grumbled.
“There’s nothing to fix,” said Grandma. “The garden is fine just the way it is.”
We both directed a look at the disaster area Gran had reduced the garden to, and both decided it was better not to comment. The mausoleum project had apparently been abandoned, just like the Versailles project that preceded it. I didn’t mind. The piles of sand and the holes were wonderful to dig into and made a nice change from my litter box.
They also provided a great opportunity for Harriet and Brutus to hide when they went on one of their nookie sessions. Though judging from the distant and frankly disturbing way Brutus had behaved today, I had a feeling there wouldn’t be a lot of that going on tonight.
“Did I tell you guys that Tex and I reconciled?” asked Gran now. She was unusually chatty. Possibly because she’d managed to watch all of her soaps and was now fully caught up. Quitting her job had given her oodles of time to do so, and she’d made good use of it.
“That’s great,” said Dooley.
“Does this mean you’re moving back in with Marge and Tex?” I asked.
Dooley’s excitement diminished. He had his doubts about Chase moving in with Odelia, and the prospect of the two of them making lots of babies, which would inevitably push out Odelia’s cats. Even though I told him many times this was not the case, he still wasn’t too keen on the idea.
“Nah,” said Gran. “I like it here. Tex and I have made our peace—he finally apologized for kicking me out of his office and confessed that he needed me—but that doesn’t mean we have to live together. Frankly when two strong personalities like ours spend too much time together we inevitably clash. So it’s better if I stay with Odelia. I never crash with Odelia. She has one of those soft, yielding personalities that suit me a lot better.”
We both directed a curious look at Odelia, but she hadn’t been listening. Phew. It’s never nice to be called a ‘yielding’ personality, which is a fancy word for a pushover.
“So Tex actually apologized?” asked Dooley.
“Pretty much,” said Gran, shoving a Cheez Doodle into her mouth.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Odelia suddenly, and we all looked up.
“Did you finally get those winning numbers?” asked Gran.
“Just something to do with the case,” said Odelia, then abruptly got up. “I’m sorry, you guys. I need to pop out for a bit. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
And with these words she hurried out the door and was gone.
Gran shrugged.“Hormones,” she said knowingly. “They hit you when you least expect it.”
Chapter 43
Odelia was in her car and hurtling along the road when she remembered she’d totally forgotten to take her phone. She slammed the wheel with the heel of her hand. Too late to turn back, though. She needed to see this through. Fifteen minutes later she took the turn onto Uncle Alec’s street, practically losing a hubcap at the corner as her tires screeched dangerously,then parked in front of her uncle’s house and got out.
Pressing her finger to the bell, she was relieved when the door was yanked open and Chase stood before her, a box of Chinese food in one hand, a fork in the other, and a spot of something yellow on his plaid shirt.“Odelia? Were we doing something tonight?”
“I know who killed Dickerson,” she said, moving past him and into the house. She paced the living room as he sat down and finished his dinner. “Remember how I told you about Olaf Brettin visiting Dan at the office?”
“Uh-huh. So?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking there was something I missed. So when I got home I surfed the web. Did you know that Brettin had a daughter?”
“Yeah. I think I read something about that. Didn’t she die?”
“Suicide. Three years ago. So I just happened to watch the video of the eulogy her father gave at her funeral.”
“As one does,” said Chase laconically.
“He called her ‘his rose!’” she said excitedly.
“His rose.”
“His rose! Give me your phone. I’ll show you.”
“Why don’t you show me yours?” he asked with a grin.
“I forgot mine at home,” she said, not in the mood for banter.
He handed her his phone and she quickly found the YouTube video, then scrolled to the moment Olaf Brettin had spoken the fateful words. The man was clearly undone as he stood at the church lectern.‘This tragedy would never have happened if I’d paid more attention,’ the tabloid editor said, a crack in his voice, his speech interspersed with sobs. ‘You should have come to me, my sweet Lavinia. But like an absent father, I was so busy, so immersed in my own world, that I never even noticed the cries for help you posted. Until it was too late. My sweet, darling Lavinia,’ he said, turning to the lily-covered coffin, ‘my rose.’
“See?!” Odelia exclaimed. “Rose! I’ll bet that’s what he used to call his daughter.”
Chase wasn’t impressed. “A lot of fathers call their daughters their rose, their flower, their whatever. This doesn’t mean he killed Dickerson. Unless Dickerson killed this… Lavinia.”
“He might as well have,” said Odelia, taking a seat at her uncle’s dinner table. She noticed the room looked a lot nicer than before. Her uncle’s house used to be a pigsty. Ever since Chase moved in it had improved significantly. “Lavinia Brettin killed herself, right?”
“Okay.”
“Rumor has it that there was a sex tape involved.”
“Christ.”
“Yeah. So what if Dickerson got a hold of this tape and threatened to publish excerpts in theNational Star?”
“What would be the purpose of that? It’s not as if Lavinia Brettin was a celebrity.”
“No, but what if he used it to blackmail her father?”
Chase narrowed his eyes.“Why would one tabloid editor blackmail another tabloid editor? What did Dickerson have to gain?”
“Only one way to find out,” she said, getting up.
“You want to go there now?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
He shook his head.“Look, we’ve got our killers, and we’ve got the guy who paid them, and we know why he did it. So we’ve got motive, opportunity, means—the works.”
“It doesn’t hurt to follow up a secondary lead, does it?”
It seemed to hurt Chase, though, for he threw a quick glance at the television. She rolled her eyes.“Don’t tell me. There’s some silly game on tonight?”
He looked insulted.“The Red Sox are playing the Yankees. Biggest game of the season.”
“Don’t you usually watch these things with Uncle Alec?”
A smile spread across Chase’s features. “He’s coming home tonight. Just in time for the game.”
“Look, if you’re not interested in catching this killer, I’ll just do it myself,” she said, and made for the door.
“Wait up,” he said, grabbing his coat. “I’ll come with.”
“You just might make it home in time for the game,” she said.
“Promises, promises.”
[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]
With Odelia gone, and Gran glued to the television, and Harriet and Brutus and Milo nowhere to be found, I had time to revise the plan I’d made to get rid of the lying intruder. My original plan had been to take a mental note of all of his lies and contradictions and to present them in a nice orderly fashion to Odelia, as proof of our guest’s duplicity.
Problem was that Milo had told so many lies that it had proven impossible to keep up. Frankly I couldn’t even remember all the lies he’d told and probably neither could he.
But then I caught sight of Odelia’s phone, which she’d apparently decided to leave behind, and a new plan formed in my mind. A plan that wouldn’t involve expending valuable mental energy keeping up with Milo’s lies. I would simply record them on Odelia’s phone!
And before you tell me that cats don’t use phones, let me cure you of that misconception. Ever since Steve Jobs introduced the world to the power of the touchscreen, life has become so much easier for us cats. All we need to do is swipe left or right or whatever, and apply paw to screen and voila! Instant access to the magical world of the Internet.
Around nine o’clock Odelia still hadn’t returned, and Gran was starting to yawn. Bedtime for the old lady, I knew. Or at least the start of bedtime prep.
“Why are you looking like the cat that swallowed the canary?” asked Dooley. Then his jaw dropped. “You swallowed a canary, didn’t you?!”
“No, I did not swallow a canary, Dooley. Where would I get a canary?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you found one out in the backyard.”
“For your information canaries don’t inhabit our backyard, so no, I didn’t swallow one. The reason I look so pleased is because I think I finally landed on a great scheme to get rid of Milo once and for all.”
Dooley nodded knowingly.“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not going to kill him, and I resent the implication. I’m not a killer, Dooley.”
“Too bad. If there’s one cat that needs a good killing it’s Milo.”
“I’m going to record him saying bad things about Odelia, and then I’m going to play them back to her and then she’s finally going to know what kind of cat he really is!”
If Dooley was excited about my crackerjack idea he didn’t show it. “I don’t get it,” he said. “How are you going to record him? Did you call James Bond and ask him to loan you one of those recording devices?”
“Who needs James Bond when you have that?” I said, pointing to Odelia’s phone.
He eyed it curiously.“You’re going tocall James Bond on the phone?”
“No! Every modern phone has a recording device built in.”
Now he was impressed.“Hey, that’s cool. You mean we’re going to spy on Milo?”
“Exactly! We are going James Bond on his ass.”
Just then, the cat I’d been hoping to see came waltzing in, cool as a cucumber.
“Hey, you guys,” he said. “How’s it hanging?”
“How is what hanging?” asked Dooley.
“It.”
“What’s it?”
Milo grinned.“If you have to ask, I won’t tell you.”
Dooley blinked. He wasn’t good at this kind of wordplay and it showed. I sidled up to Odelia’s phone while Milo wasn’t looking, and with a few swipes and taps of my paw pads fired up the recording function. “Oh, Milo,” I said sweetly.
“Mh?” said the cat, who was languidly stretched out on the couch, watchingAmerica’s Got Talent. Two kids were trying to induce three cats to play the Star-Spangled Banner on the xylophone. They weren’t doing a good job.
“You never told us how you really feel about Odelia,” I said, taking a seat next to him.
“I love her,” said Milo without missing a beat. “You should be proud to have landed a human like Odelia, Max. You, too, Dooley. Best human ever. My human will always be number one, of course, but Odelia is a close second.”
I was disappointed.“Isn’t there anything you don’t like about her?”
“Nothing,” he said decidedly. “She’s simply perfect. Best human any cat could wish for.”
“Don’t you think it’s disappointing that she plays favorites?” I asked.
“She doesn’t. She loves all of you guys equally. Just like a good parent should.” He smiled. “Not that she’s your mother, Max. I know she’s your human. But she’s as near to a mother as you can get. Don’t you agree, Dooley?”
“Um…” said Dooley, looking from me to Milo and back. “She’s not perfect,” he said finally. “She does have her faults. For one thing…” He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“You can’t come up with a single flaw, can you?” said Milo, chuckling. “Of course you can’t. I’m telling you, Odelia is perfect and I love her to bits. And so do you, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, desperately trying to salvage something from this wreck. “Though I don’t like it when she snores. And sometimes when she thinks we’re not looking she picks her nose.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Dooley cried. “She totally does!”
“Every human picks their nose, you guys,” said Milo. “Now you’re just nitpicking.”
“Sometimes she smells funny,” I said.
“That’s okay. All humans smell funny.”
“She sometimes uses the same shirt two days in a row.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“She eats with her mouth open.”
“We all do, right? I mean, I know I do.”
“She burps! She totally burps,” said Dooley, now getting into the swing of things. “Especially when she drinks Coke.”
“Oh, heck, I wish I could burp,” said Milo. “That’s one of those human habits I’d love to try sometime.”
“She-she breaks wind!” I said, desperate now.
Milo yawned.“Look, I don’t know about you guys, but it’s been a long day. I think I’ll take a nap before I head out again. I’ve got cat choir tonight and I told Shanille I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
And without waiting for a reply, he made himself comfortable on the couch and promptly dozed off.
I stole over to the phone, switched off the recording app, and stole back to the couch, to stare at Milo as he slept. Oh, he was clever. Too clever. But sooner or later he’d slip up. And then I had him.
Dooley was staring at me staring at Milo, shook his head, and walked out.
I had a feeling I was very quickly losing my wingman’s trust and admiration.
Chapter 44
Odelia parked her old Ford pickup in front of a nice little rancher.
“Far cry from Dickerson’s mansion,” said Chase.
“I guess theNational Star really does sell a lot more copies than theDaily Inquirer.”
“Or maybe Mr. Brettin likes to live in modesty.”
They got out and walked up to the front door. Chase, in his capacity as police officer, took it upon himself to ring the bell. Moments later, shuffling sounds on the other side of the door announced that they were in luck, and then Olaf Brettin appeared. He was casually dressed in jeans and a denim shirt.“Oh, hey, Miss Poole. So we meet again.”
“We do. This is Detective Kingsley, who is with the Hampton Cove Police Department. Can we step in for a moment?”
If the presence of a cop on his doorstep caused the tabloid editor concern he hid it well.“Oh, sure. Come on in. Is this about the Dickerson investigation?”
“It is,” Odelia confirmed, as they followed Brettin through a cozily appointed hallway—with a nice painting of a man on a horse—and into the living room, where more paintings of horses adorned the walls. There was also a white Stetson hanging from a peg, a clear sign Olaf Brettin was into the Old West.
“That yours?” asked Chase, admiring the hat.
“Yup. I like to wear it when I go riding,” said Brettin. “I got the boots, the vest and the belt buckle, too, if you’d like to see. I even got the neckerchief.”
“You got the gun, too?” asked Chase, cocking an eyebrow.
Brettin laughed.“Now that I don’t got, Chief.”
“We have a question for you, Mr. Brettin,” said Odelia.
“Please call me Olaf,” said Brettin.
“The thing is, remember I asked you about the picture of a rose that was found near Dickerson’s body?”
“Uh-huh. And I told you that doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Your daughter… died a couple of years ago, didn’t she?”
She was studying a painting on the wall that depicted a beautiful young woman.
“She did,” said Brettin, his joviality slightly diminished now.
“I watched a video of the eulogy you gave at her funeral. You called her your rose.”
Brettin’s smile had completely dimmed. “Laviniawas my rose. The light of my life. When she died I thought I’d die, too. I didn’t, even though a part of me did die that day.”
“What happened?” asked Chase, a softness to his voice Odelia appreciated.
“She… took her own life, Detective. A, um, video was made—silly thing.” He was staring off now. “She was young, and in love, I guess. And you know how young people are. They’re into making these… selfies and things.” He swallowed. “So she made one of those sex tapes. Nothing unusual about that. She and this boy she was seeing, they were really into each other. There was even talk of an engagement. She’d introduced him to us—me and Abbey. That’s my wife Abbey over there,” he said, indicating another portrait, this one depicting a strikingly handsome woman with clear blue eyes.
“So she made the tape,” prompted Chase when Brettin stopped talking.
“Yes, she did. And somehow that tape got out. Someone hacked Lavinia’s phone, found the tape, and a bunch of pictures, and threatened to post everything online.”
“That’s horrible,” said Odelia.
“Yes, it was,” said Brettin. “Lavinia, of course, was shattered.”
“Was this a blackmail thing?” asked Chase.
“Yes. But not aimed at Lavinia. Aimed at me. You see, I was making inroads in markets that had previously mainly been Dickerson’s province. The Midwest, for one. And he didn’t like it. And Dickerson being who he was, he decided to play dirty. So he had someone hack my phone but probably didn’t find the kind of dirt he was looking for so he extended the hacker’s scope to my family, my wife and daughter. He must have been over the moon when he discovered that private video and pictures. Pay dirt,” he scoffed bitterly.
“Are you sure this was Dickerson?” asked Odelia.
“Oh, yes. He called me. This was the day after Lavinia had gotten the message about the video being posted online. Dickerson said a little birdie had dropped that same video into his mailbox, and how he wanted to express his concern from one family man to another.”
“He actually threatened you?”
“No, of course not. Dickerson was too smart for that. He just wanted me to know that he had the video, and that if I didn’t back off, he was going to have it posted online.”
“That’s… criminal,” said Chase, shaking his head.
“You should have reported him to the police,” said Odelia.
Brettin looked sad.“What was there to report? That Dickerson had received an anonymous message from the creep who’d hacked my daughter’s phone? I get anonymous tips every day. Pictures, videos—heck, it’s part of the tabloid business model. ‘We pay cash for videos.’ Dickerson would have made damn sure nothing connected him to the hacker.”
“But you knew he was behind the hack.”
“Oh, yes. And he knew I knew. That was his whole spiel.” His expression softened. “One week later Lavinia took her own life. She couldn’t live with the knowledge that that video was out there. I told her I’d take care of it. That no one would ever see it. She must not have believed me. And seeing the line of work I’m in, maybe she was right not to trust me.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Odelia. She felt for the man. This was a horrible story. And showed what a ruthless crook Dickerson had been.
“I blame myself, you know,” said Brettin. “I was Dickerson’s target, and my beautiful flower got caught in the crossfire. And so did my wife. Abbey never recovered. She died six months later. Her heart simply gave up. They say you can’t die from a broken heart but I can assure you that you can. The only reason my own heart is still beating is probably because I’m too stubborn to die. But a big part of me died the day I buried my daughter—my rose.”
“So… did you have Dickerson killed, Mr. Brettin?” asked Odelia softly.
He glanced up, then shook his head.“I’m not a killer, Odelia. Even though I’m glad someone took the law into their own hands, it wasn’t me.”
“But… the rose.”
“I’m not the first person Dickerson destroyed. There are countless others. And I’ll bet lots of people use the image of the rose to refer to a loved one. No, you’re barking up the wrong tree, Odelia—Detective. I may have wished Dickerson harm, but I didn’t act on it.”
Just then, the editor’s phone jangled and he picked it up from the table with a frown. “Yes, Mr. Paunch,” he said, much to Odelia’s surprise. She hadn’t heard from President Wilcox’s friend in quite a while, and had hoped he’d lost her number. “Is that a fact? No, I didn’t know the President was the youngest billionaire in history. That is news to me.” He rolled his eyes at Odelia. “So it’s official? President Wilcox is Sexiest President Alive? That’s quite an achievement. I didn’t even know such a category existed. Yes, I will mention it in the next issue of theDaily Inquirer, Mr. Paunch. And give my regards to the President.”
“Was that Otto Paunch?” asked Odelia.
“Oh, you know Mr. Paunch?”
“He’s been calling me non-stop with little tidbits about the President.”
“Did you know President Wilcox has been voted Sexiest President Alive three years in a row?”
“He also has the softest hair,” said Odelia. “Soft like a baby’s bottom, I’ve been told.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” said Brettin with a smile.
“I thought the President only worked with theNational Star?”
“Oh, I think he works with any publication that will sing his praises.”
“But he was very chummy with Dick Dickerson, wasn’t he?”
“He used to be,” Brettin acknowledged.
Dua Lipa demanded Odelia’s attention by belting out her signature tune and she was surprised to see it was her uncle.
“Uncle Alec?”
“Hey, honey. Look, there’s some kind of fracas going on downtown.”
“Downtown? You’re back?”
“Just arrived. It’s your cats, Odelia. They’re trying to tell me something but you know I don’t speak feline. You better get down here ASAP. It looks serious.”
Chapter 45
Milo had just dozed off when Harriet came in, all atwitter. She motioned for me and Dooley to meet her in the backyard. The moment we set foot outside, convening amongst the mounds of dirt Grandma had dug up, she cried,“It’s Brutus! He’s gone!”
“Gone? Gone where?” I asked.
She gave us a pained look.“The pound!”
“Why would Brutus go to the pound?” asked Dooley. “Does he know cats there?”
“No, he doesn’t know cats there, Dooley! He just kept telling me the pound is paradise and how I should come with him—to escape Max’s reign of terror!”
“My reign of terror?” I asked. “I don’t have a reign—and definitely not one of terror.”
“He seems to think you’re some kind of dictator. And that we’re your slaves. He said the only way to escape this prison camp is to head down to the pound—where cats are cats and are free to live their lives untethered by the chains you bind us with.”
This was all news to me. I didn’t even know how to lay my paws on a pair of chains. “This all sounds very suspicious to me,” I told Harriet. “Where would I even get chains?”
“He’s gone completely bananas,” Harriet agreed, giving us an imploring look. She would probably have wrung her hands if she had hands. Instead, she merely screwed up her face into a pitiable expression. It was obvious she was in the throes of extreme emotion. “We have to save him, Max. If he sets paw inside that pound they’ll lock him up and throw away the key.”
“Why would they throw away the key?” asked Dooley, intrigued. “Wouldn’t they need it to open his cage so they can feed him?”
“Cage!” Harriet cried. “Can you imagine Brutus locked up in a small cage?!”
I could, and the thought frankly made my stomach turn. I’m not claustrophobic, per se, but I definitely don’t like small spaces. Or cages, which are a form of small space, I guess.
“What if they want to clean out his cage?” asked Dooley, still pursuing his own line of thought. “Wouldn’t they need a key to open it? Or do they install new locks each time? That just seems wasteful.”
“Please, Max,” Harriet said. “Let’s save Brutus. I know you two haven’t always seen eye to eye but you’re friends now, aren’t you? You don’t want him to languish in some cage?”
No, I certainly didn’t. What was more, I had a fairly good idea who was responsible for Brutus’s sudden wish to escape my so-called reign of terror. Only Milo could have planted such a ridiculous notion into his head. “Let’s go,” I said therefore. “Maybe we can catch him before it’s too late.”
And so our mission to save Brutus commenced. Dooley was still brooding on locks and keys, Harriet looked as if she was ready to call in SEAL Team Six to save her mate, and I wondered how we were ever going to get this Milo menace out of our lives before he did more harm. Yes, I know he was leaving in two weeks, but considering how much damage he’d done in just a few days, I could only imagine how much worse things could get.
It was quite a long walk to the pound, and Brutus had a nice head start, so we broke into a trot and put some haste into our mission. Once Brutus entered the pound it was game over for the black cat.
It was a testament to Harriet’s despair that it only took us twenty minutes to reach destination’s end, and the horrible building soon loomed up in our field of vision.
It wasn’t one of those places I enjoyed visiting. In fact the further away from the pound I stayed the better I felt. But our friend was in need, and so there we were.
“I don’t see him,” said Harriet nervously as we surveilled the squat gray-brick building from across the street. It looked like an army barracks, or a prison, or even a police precinct.
Dark, ominous, and absolutely evil, it didn’t look like no paradise to me.
“Let’s check the back,” I said. “Maybe we can look in through the windows.”
“If this place has windows,” said Dooley, and he had a point. The only windows I could see had either been bricked up or were covered with the kind of thick safety glass that is impossible to see through.
Still, we’d come this far, so we needed to see our mission through. So we crossed the street—after checking left then right then left again, like our mama taught us—then stealthily moved around the building. There was nothing but a strip of wasteland behind the pound, which neighbors had happily used to dump their rubbish: broken bicycles, old couches, mattresses, even a car wreck provided a backdrop to Hampton Cove’s scariest building.
“There!” Harriet cried suddenly. “It’s Brutus!”
I half expected her to be pointing at the mangled body of the former butch cat, but Brutus looked fit as a fiddle, staring into the only window that seemed to offer a glimpse of the pound’s innards. We quickly joined him but he barely looked up when we did.
“Brutus!” Harriet said. “What has gotten into you!”
He shrugged, still staring intently through the grimy window.“Milo told me that the pound was paradise,” he said in a low, dispirited voice. “Look at that. Does that look like paradise to you?”
We all looked where he was looking. And I knew I was looking at hell when the scene unfolded before my eyes: rows and rows of cages, with dogs of every variety locked up inside. Most of them looked absolutely listless, huddled up near the back of the cage, lying on the concrete floor. Some of the dogs were barking up a storm.
“Newcomers, I’ll bet,” said Brutus softly. “Listen to them.”
We listened.“Let me out!” a Labrador was yelling. “This is a mistake! I don’t belong here! I have a family! Let me out!”
“All I did was root around in the trashcan,” a Poodle was lamenting. “I like trashcans. What’s wrong with that? There’s always something new to be found in a trashcan. So when will this punishment be over? And what are all these other dogs doing in here? Are they all punished, too? What is this place? A prison for dogs?”
“More like a concentration camp for dogs, buddy,” said a Beagle sadly.
“Where are the cats?” asked Dooley. “Maybe they’re treated better?”
“You wish,” scoffed Brutus. He tracked a path to the right side of the building, and sank down in front of another grimy window, affording a glimpse inside.
This was obviously the feline part of the pound, with dozens of cats locked up in cages, looking equally demoralized and unhappy.
“Oh, this is just terrible,” said Harriet. “Poor cats!”
“Milo tried to convince me this was paradise,” said Brutus. “Now I see he was just lying, as usual.” He directed an apologetic look in my direction. “I’m sorry, Max.”
“Sorry for what?”
“He said you were a dictator. That I was your minion, having to kowtow to you. I should have known he was full of crap. When did I ever kowtow to you? We butted heads so many times we both have the bruises to prove it.” He placed a paw on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for believing those lies about you, buddy. I feel like such an idiot.”
“Well, if the shoe fits…”
He laughed.“I deserved that.”
Dooley was still looking through the glass.“You guys. Do you think this is where Milo lived for the first part of his life?”
“Yeah, I think he wasn’t lying about that part,” said Brutus. “His human probably picked him up here.”
“Don’t you think… this is why he turned into the cat he is now?” asked Dooley. He looked up. “This could all be some kind of… survival mechanism.”
We were all so surprised that Dooley would even be aware of such a big word that we simply stared at him.
He went on,“I mean, this place is like prison for cats and dogs, right? So maybe this is why he lies so much—to protect himself from the harsh realities of life? And why he sets cats up against each other. So they wouldn’t pick on him?”
“Direct their attention away from himself. Divide and conquer,” I said, nodding.
“Dooley, you’re a lot smarter than you look,” said Brutus.
“Hey, thanks, Brutus,” said Dooley, suddenly chipper.
“It’s no excuse for Milo’s behavior, though,” said Harriet sternly.
“No, it’s not, but it definitely explains a lot,” I said. I thought I understood our new housemate a little better now. And even though I didn’t approve of what he did, I was beginning to see things from his point of view. Entering a potentially hostile environment, with four other cats to contend with and one human to dole out punishment and reward, he must have automatically reverted to his old ways of sowing discord and making fantastical statements.
Poor cat. Suddenly I felt Milo was to be pitied more than to be censored.
And I would have had a lot more to say on the subject if a stray cat hadn’t suddenly been streaking past us, looking extremely excited about something.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Big to-do in town!” he yelled. “Kit Katt’s been spotted! Kit Katt and Koh!”
Chapter 46
We didn’t linger at the pound. Instead, we hauled ass in the direction the other cat was going and soon we were going well and going steadily, as more and more cats joined the stampede.
“Looks like every cat in Hampton Cove will be there!” cried Dooley excitedly.
“Who doesn’t want to meet Kit Katt and Koh?” I said, equally excited about the prospect of meeting our heroes in the flesh.
“What are they doing in Hampton Cove?” asked Harriet.
“Probably filming new episodes for their show,” said Brutus.
“Maybe they’ll let us guest star!” Dooley said.
“To guest star on a show you have to be exactly that, Dooley,” I said. “A star.”
“We could be extras,” said Harriet, the prospect clearly enticing.
By now it looked like a minor migration was taking place, and I saw and nodded a greeting at many a familiar face. The closer to the town center we got, the bigger the crowd. Almost like going to a rock concert, if rock concerts weren’t so terribly loud and rock music so perfectly horrible to listen to. Nope. Cats do not like rock music. Let me be clear on that.
The action seemed to be taking place near the old industrial zone, on the other side of town. A few deserted factories awaited demolition, to be replaced with a commercial park. The factory where all activity was centered was the old Beluga Watchcase Factory.
The brown-brick five-story structure was derelict, with windows shattered and ivy covering a big part of the building. Cats seemed to have converged on a window on the ground floor, and sat staring inside, much the same way we’d been trying to get a peek at the pound innards just before.
“Why would Kit Katt and Koh be filming their show in such a horrible place?” asked Harriet, regarding the decaying factory building disdainfully. “It will show our lovely little town in a very unfavorable light.”
Like any town, Hampton Cove has its eyesores, and these remnants of the past are never featured on the brochures doled out by the local tourist board. Harriet was right. Why would the production team of our favorite show pick this horrible spot to film the new season’s episodes?
“Maybe Kit Katt is trapped here by a gang of crooks,” Dooley suggested. “And it’s Koh to the rescue as usual.”
That was a great explanation, and I perked up. But when we approached the heart of the hubbub, we encountered nothing but irate cats, all screaming at the top of their lungs about something.
“It’s an outrage!” one Exotic Shorthair was yelling. “An absolute outrage!”
“I knew she was too good to be true!” a Maine Coon screamed. “I said so from the start!”
What it was they were so upset about was difficult to determine, as they were all screaming and venting their anger but hard to pin down to the particulars of their outrage.
We moved to the front of the milling masses and finally made it all the way to the source of the uproar. A window offered a look at what had once been the factory floor where diligent workers had manufactured watchcases by the thousands, to be used in the famous and elegant Beluga watches. Now all that remained was a cement floor and a bunch of furniture.
“Looks like someone lives here,” said Harriet over the din of the other cats.
She was right. There was a bed, visibly slept in, a table with pizza boxes and Chinese food cartons scattered on top of them, a couple of chairs, and a couch where two men were watching television, unconcerned about being watched by Hampton Cove’s cat population.
On TV, a CNN breaking news story was unfolding, with footage of Virginia Salt being shown. The actress who was now better known as her alter ego Kit Katt, was being hounded by a camera crew as she made valiant attempts to walk from her car to her house.
“What’s going on?” I asked anyone who would listen.
Next to me, suddenly Shanille materialized.“Oh, hey, Max. Haven’t you heard? Kit Katt hates cats! Can you believe it? She’s been secretly filmed kicking a cat!”
“What?!” cried Harriet. “That’s not possible. She’s Kit Katt! She loves cats!”
“That’s only for the show,” said Shanille, eyeing Harriet with some trepidation. She clearly hadn’t forgotten the cat fight she and the feisty Persian had gotten into before. “In real life the actress who plays Kit Katt likes to kick cats for fun!”
And as we watched, a rerun of the footage was shown. It was clearly shot with a smartphone, as the footage was shaky and the lighting was lousy. Filmed at night, it showed Victoria Salt stumbling out of her house, a garbage bag in hand. She was unsteady on her feet, and had probably been hitting the bottle a little too enthusiastically. Three cats were enjoying a leisurely evening atop the trash container when Victoria came upon them.
First she seemed to hurl a few well-chosen insults at the cats, then she was throwing the garbage bag at them, and when one cat didn’t move fast enough, she kicked it so hard it flew through the air and landed ten feet away before skittering away as fast as it could.
She then teetered back into the house, and that’s where the short reel ended.
“Oh. My. God,” said Harriet. “Kit Katt hates cats!”
“What if that had been Koh?” asked Shanille. “Can you imagine?”
“I can,” said Harriet, and it was obvious the two lady cats were fast friends once more.
“I don’t like this, Max,” said Dooley. “Kit Katt was my hero. And now she’s not.”
“How the mighty have fallen,” Brutus grumbled, shaking his head. “What a mess.”
All around us, cats were expressing their anger and disappointment, and it was obvious now that there probably wouldn’t be a new season ofKit Katt& Koh, filmed in Hampton Cove or elsewhere.
And that’s when I saw it. One of the men had gotten up from the couch and now stood staring out the window, mouth agape, eyes wide, at the sea of cats gathered in front of the old factory building. He stirred his colleague, and now they both stood goggling at us.
I was goggling, too. For one of the men was short with a strawberry nose and a purple spot on his upper lip. The other one was tall with a wispy little mustache.
I’d found them. I’d found Dick Dickerson’s duck poop killers.
Chapter 47
Odelia drove at breakneck speed through Hampton Cove’s suburb, making Chase grip the dashboard and admonish her not to kill any pedestrians or other vulnerable road users. She made it to the other side of town in what probably was some kind of world record, and parked her car right next to Uncle Alec’s in front of the old watchcase factory, now deserted.
Or at least that’s what she thought. In front of the factory hundreds of cats had gathered, and on top of the hood of Uncle Alec’s car, Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus sat.
Her uncle greeted her jovially. He looked healthy and rosy.
“Hey, Uncle Alec,” she said, getting out of the car. “Where’s Tracy?”
“Flew out to Paris two hours ago. Shooting another beer commercial.”
“Hey, you guys,” she said to her four cats. “What’s going on here?”
Chase, who’d joined her, gave her a strange look. “Dammit, Poole. You scare me sometimes. Do you know you sounded like you were talking cat just now?”
She’d totally forgotten about Chase. So she laughed lightly. “And what if I was?”
Now he laughed, then Uncle Alec also laughed, and then they were all laughing.
Very funny.
Max was talking, though, and she listened intently. Then she shot a quick look in the direction of the factory building.“I have a hunch we better check this out, Chief,” she said.
“A hunch, huh?” her uncle said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Check what out?” asked Chase. “I don’t get it.”
“You know our Odelia,” said Uncle Alec. “Her and her hunches. We better take a look, son.” And he started in the direction of the small feline assembly. By now they were dispersing, moving in groups of twos and threes and fours, and they all looked outraged.
She didn’t wonder. If what Max had just told her was true, a lot ofKit Katt& Koh fans would be extremely disappointed. It was the other thing he said, though, that was more important.
“You better be careful, uncle,” she said as they approached the building.
“Careful about what?” asked Chase, continuing being mystified.
“Odelia thinks Dickerson’s killers may be holed up in there,” said Uncle Alec.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Chase muttered, and reached for his gun. Unfortunately he wasn’t wearing his gun belt. Or any of the other police paraphernalia, and neither was Uncle Alec. Both men were in civvies.
“I’ll call for backup,” grunted Alec, and took out his phone.
Soon the scene would be crawling with cops as well as cats.
She just hoped Max was right—not that she doubted his astuteness.
They approached the front of the building, and Odelia gestured to the window where the cat presence was still most pronounced.“They’re in there,” she said, drawing a curious look from Chase. She shrugged. “Just a wild guess.”
“Don’t tell me. Another one of your mysterious sources, huh?” said Chase.
He and Alec moved over to the ground-floor window and positioned themselves on either side of it, then took a quick peek inside. Odelia waited from a safe distance. She wasn’t a cop, and these were two professional killers, presumably working for a well-known mobster. She wasn’t about to get in their line of fire. And she’d just ambled up to the factory entrance, the door hanging off its hinges, when suddenly two men came bursting through.
As a reflex action, she stuck out her leg, and the shortest one crashed to the ground. The tall one dawdled for a moment, then moved off at a respectable rate of speed. Chase had spotted him, though, and broke into a run to intercept the guy. Like a freight train gaining momentum, he barreled into the guy and tackled him to the ground. Ouch.
Uncle Alec came walking up to the short guy, who was rubbing his head and directing a nasty look at Odelia, and yanked him up to his feet, then proceeded to place him under arrest. From a distance, Odelia could see that Chase was extending the same courtesy to his tall friend. Cop cars were driving up, sirens wailing and lights flashing, and within minutes both men were safely tucked away inside two squad cars, and outfitted with nice shiny handcuffs.
“Now let’s take a look inside, shall we?” Uncle Alec suggested.
A small team of cops entered the building, Alec, Chase and Odelia in the lead, and made their way to the room where Harlos and Knar had been holed up all this time.
A small table covered with the remnants of several fast-food meals attested to their presence here, and so did the bed, the couch and the chairs. And as they carefully searched around, suddenly Odelia’s attention was drawn to a calendar attached to a clammy concrete support post.
On the 16th an entry was written in a childish scrawl:‘Shake down Craske—Yasir.’ And for the 17th the same person had written ‘Shake down Fido—Yasir.’ What interested her the most, though, was the entry for the 20th: ‘Take out Dickerson—Brettin.’ In small print a series of digits had been added. The combination to Dick Dickerson’s safe.
Next to her, Chase had materialized, and was studying the calendar with similar interest. Then he let out a deep sigh.“And here I thought the schmuck was innocent.”
Chapter 48
Alec and Odelia were seated in Uncle Alec’s office. They were both silent. It’s not every day that a police chief returning home from his vacation manages to take down a mobster and unravel a plot to murder one of his town’s most prominent citizens in one fell swoop.
Chase had picked up Olaf Brettin, and this time it wasn’t a social call. In fact it was probably safe to say Brettin wouldn’t be wearing his white Stetson for a long while. Jean Harlos and Markus Knar had confessed to the murder of Dick Dickerson and the occasional work they did for Yasir Bellinowski, who’d lawyered up but would also go away for a long time, no matter how good his lawyer was.
“Sad story,” said Alec finally. “I like Olaf. Liked his wife, too.”
“You knew Abbey Brettin?”
“Sure. She was a sweet lady. Great kid, too.”
“Lavinia.”
He nodded.“Real shame. Dickerson did a terrible thing there. Monstrous.”
“Do you think the jury will feel the same way?”
“I’m sure they will. Extenuating circumstances and all that. Still, people just can’t go around killing other people. That way lies anarchy.”
“But you can understand why he did it.”
“Of course I can. Any human with a heart can. I just have to imagine this was you and maybe—just maybe—I’d have done the exact same thing.”
“I still don’t understand how Harlos and Knar could be so dumb to write down their assignments.”
Alec smiled.“You know what they told me? That they’d seen a documentary on Edward Snowden so they knew smartphones could be hacked and decided to play it smart and write everything down the old-fashioned way so nobody could catch them.”
“They probably shouldn’t have written anything down.”
“Those two boys are not the brightest bulbs.”
“That’s the understatement of the year.”
“What did Chase say?”
“About what?”
“About your sudden ‘hunch?’”
She grimaced.“I probably didn’t handle that as well as I should have.”
“No, you did not. You want to be more careful, honey. Unless you want to let him in on your little secret?”
“I think it’s too soon for that. He might not understand.”
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to tell him.”
Yes, she did. Though later sounded a lot better than sooner.
“I hear your grandmother and Tex made peace?”
“They have. She still refuses to move out, though.”
Alec suddenly looked grim.“We’ll see about that.”
[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]
“You lied to us, Mr. Brettin,” Chase said.
“Of course I lied. What did you expect?”
The tabloid editor looked a lot less rosy than the last time they met, Odelia thought. She was looking through the one-way mirror into the interview room, her uncle next to her.
“You can see why I did what I did, can’t you?” asked Brettin. “He killed my daughter!”
“There are other avenues you could have pursued,” said Chase.
“What? The man was smart. There was no way to prove he did what he did.”
“Look, whatever he did, that still doesn’t excuse murder.”
“Do you have children, Detective?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I hope one day you’re blessed with a family the way I was blessed. Lavinia was my heart. My life. The moment she was gone it was as if the light went out of my world. The only thing I could think of was how to punish the man who’d taken her from me. Dick Dickerson was not human, Detective. He was a monster. And monsters don’t deserve to live.”
Odelia turned away and left the small room. She’d heard enough. Now it was time to go home and be with her family again. She felt for Olaf Brettin, she really did, but Uncle Alec was right. If everyone started to take the law into their own hands, the world would not be a fun place for very long.
[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]
“Mom. You can’t do this,” Marge was saying.
“And you can’t force me to change my mind,” Vesta insisted stubbornly.
Marge and Alec had called this emergency family meeting to try and talk some sense into their mother. Tex was still at the office, Odelia was home, and now it was just the Lips, gathered in Marge’s kitchen, having this thing out once and for all.
Vesta wasn’t budging, though. She’d folded her arms across her bony chest, and had jutted out her chin, a clear sign she’d made up her mind and that was all there was to it.
“Can’t you see Odelia has a real shot at happiness here?”
“She has a better shot with me there to guide her along.”
“Chase won’t even come near the house since you moved in!”
“Which just goes to show: sometimes you think you know a man until you discover that you don’t. I mean, what kind of man is afraid of a little old lady?”
“I don’t think he’s afraid of you, Mom,” said Alec now. “He just doesn’t want to inconvenience Odelia. He’s a real gentleman that way.”
“I think he’s scared of me—which should tell you something about the guy.”
Alec laughed.“Oh, for crying out loud, Mom. Don’t you want Odelia to be happy?”
“She’s very happy with me. We’re like peas in a pod. BFFs for life. A girl needs her grandmother, there’s no two ways about it. She knows I’ll be there for her always.”
“A woman also needs her man, and you’re standing in the way of that,” Marge insisted.
But Vesta simply rearranged her features into her most mulish expression and gave her the kind of stare Marge remembered from when she was a little girl. Frankly she wouldn’t blame Chase if he were afraid of Vesta. Most men were. Heck, most humans were. She was a little scary. She also could be very sweet, but right now there was no sign of that.
“Is this about Tex?” she asked. “Are you still upset he cancelled your credit cards?”
Vesta shrugged.“Water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned. He begged me to come back so I did. We’re good, Tex and I. In fact we’ve never been better.”
Marge directed a quick look at her brother, who nodded, then dug into her purse and brought out an envelope and slid it across the kitchen table at her mother.
“What’s that?” Vesta inquired frostily.
“Just open it and you’ll see.”
Vesta narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but couldn’t contain her curiosity. She picked up the envelope and tore it open. A credit card dropped out and fell onto the table. Vesta stared at it, then slowly picked it up. It was a red-and-gray AARP Chase Bank credit card.
“I’m not with the AARP,” said Vesta, taking a firmer grip on the card.
“Doesn’t matter. There’s plenty of advantages for everyone,” said Alec.
“I read that the Sapphire Preferred Card offers travel rewards.”
“When do you ever travel, Mom?” said Alec.
“There’s a hundred dollar cash back,” said Marge.
Vesta’s grip around the card was tightening, her cheeks now flushed and her eyes glittering like Gollum when he took possession of the one ring. “What’s the catch?” she finally asked.
“Move back here,” said Marge. “Give your granddaughter some space.”
Tex wouldn’t be happy, but that couldn’t be helped. At least Odelia had a shot at landing herself an actual date with Chase again if the cop wouldn’t find his date’s grandmother breathing down his neck when they got home from the movies.
“Fine,” said Vesta finally. “I’ll take your blood money.”
The credit card had disappeared into the folds of the flowery dress she was wearing.
“That’s great,” said Marge, much relieved. “You won’t regret this, Mom. We’re also getting you that new mattress you asked about—the one with the memory foam, we’re installing a faster modem and a new computer so you can surf to all of your favorite websites a lot faster. And Tex has promised to look into that cruise you wanted to go on.”
A smile had appeared on Vesta’s lips, and for the first time in a long time she looked satisfied. Then the smile disappeared, as if wiped away with a squeegee. “You could have saved yourselves a lot of trouble if you’d just listened to me in the first place.” She got up and grumbled, “The lengths an old woman has to go to to get anything done in this place.”
“So when are you moving back?” asked Alec.
“Let me sleep on it a couple nights. I’ll let you know.”
And with these words she was off at a surprisingly quick pace.
Marge leaned back.“I swear to God, Alec, if she doesn’t move back here this week you have my permission to bodily drag her over and handcuff her to the bed.”
Alec grinned.“I’ll bet by now she watched plenty of YouTube videos on how to get out of those handcuffs. That mother of ours is one tough old goat, hon.”
“And don’t I know it,” Marge sighed.
Chapter 49
It had been an eventful day, so I was glad to be home again. Gran was out, and so were Odelia and the rest of the family, but when we arrived at the house Milo was ensconced on the couch as if he owned the place—which by now he probably thought he did—so I decided it was time for a heart-to-heart with our annoying visitor.
“Where have you been?” he asked when I trotted in through the pet door.
“Your former home,” I said, and watched his response.
A slight smile slid up his face.“Slumming, have you?”
“Why did you send Brutus to the pound?” I asked.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“You wanted to show him what it was really like, didn’t you?”
He didn’t respond.
“How did you end up there?”
He shrugged.“I merely was part of the entertainment. The all-star band to entertain the inmates. Like Elvis Presley with hisJailhouse Rock.”
“Oh, don’t give me that crap, Milo,” I said. “You may fool others but you don’t fool me.”
He gave me a quick sideways look.“No, I guess I can’t.” He paused, seeming to think things through, then finally relented. “Fine. I was part of a litter of five. All of us were relegated to the pound, along with our mother. Punishment for her human’s stupidity, I guess. What human doesn’t understand that cats have a tendency to get pregnant? At any rate, I spent a good chunk of time down there, watching my brothers and sisters be doled out to deserving new owners, as well as my own mother. Finally my time came and I ended up with Aloisia and I was glad for it.”
“She treats you well?”
“I can’t complain. Only problem is that she doesn’t allow me to go outside.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“It’s her way of protecting me. In fact this vacation at Odelia’s is the first time I’ve been allowed out for years. And it’s been a lot of fun.”
“Why do you keep spreading lies and setting cats up against each other?”
His mouth closed with a click of his incisors.“I’m not sure I like your tone, Max.”
“I know you don’t, but I still want you to answer me.”
He glared at me for a moment.“You’re way too smart for your own good.”
“Is it because you developed lying as a coping mechanism at the pound?”
“And now you lost me, Mr. Amateur Shrink.”
“I think it is. I think you learned to survive by creating trouble amongst the others—anything so they wouldn’t notice what you were up to. Did you steal their food when they weren’t looking? Drink their milk when they were fighting amongst themselves?”
Milo laughed.“You think they serve milk in there? You are so naive, Max.”
I studied him for a moment.“What if I convinced Odelia to talk to Aloisia? Tell her to give you more freedom? Install a pet door, just like the one we have? That way you wouldn’t be confined to the house. You could even come and visit. Go to cat choir. Be free.”
He was regarding me suspiciously, as if trying to detect either a flaw in my reasoning or duplicity in my offer. He must have realized I wasn’t kidding, for he finally said, “Why would you do this for me, Max? I haven’t exactly been very nice to you or the others.”
“I don’t think you’re a bad cat, Milo. In fact I think deep down you’re a decent one.”
“You don’t know me very well, do you?”
I shrugged.“I guess I don’t. But I’m willing to take a chance on you. Are you willing to take a chance on me?”
For the first time since I’d made Milo’s acquaintance he was speechless. Finally, he said, with a lump in his throat. “I know I’ll probably regret this but… I am, Max.”
“Great. That’s settled then.” I held up my paw. “Put it there, ‘bro.’”
After a moment’s hesitation, he did put it there, and we shook paws on it.
Just then, the others walked in.“Hey, did you hear aboutKit Katt& Koh, Milo?” asked Dooley.
“No, what happened?” asked Milo.
“Only that Kit Katt likes to kick cats for a living.”
“She doesn’t kick cats for a living, Dooley,” Brutus. “She was clearly drunk.”
“Drink brings out the inner you, Brutus,” said Harriet. “So she’s a cat hater.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” said Brutus. “And I don’t think shehates cats.”
And as the others chattered on, I saw that Milo was quietly smiling to himself. We locked eyes for a moment, and he gave me a nod of understanding.‘Thanks, Max,’ he mouthed silently, and I mouthed back, ‘You’re welcome.’
Epilogue
Tex was watching on as Chase expertly turned the burger patties on the grill. I think everybody was happy Tex wasn’t in charge of the proceedings. Dr. Tex may know his way around a human gallbladder, but he can’t grill a burger if his life depended on it. Somehow they always end up looking like charred coal, which apparently humans don’t enjoy.
I know I don’t like to eat my food charred into oblivion, but then I’m a cat, and I like my food raw and bloody. Others, like our good friend Clarice, a feral cat, like to eat their food while it’s still breathing, but then Clarice has always been something of an extremist.
After the great upheaval, life in Hampton Cove had gradually returned to normal. Dickerson’s killers were in jail, Netflix had putKit Katt& Koh on hiatus while its star went into rehab, and an anonymous benefactor had launched a campaign to offer all of the pets at the local pound new homes. Rumor had it that benefactor was Brenda Berish.
I told you. Once people fall in love with cats they become fans for life.
A row of cats was now lined up on Marge and Tex’s patio: me, Dooley, Harriet, Brutus and… Milo. Over the last couple of days the erstwhile terror had settled down and was starting to become almost like a regular feline. He still had a ways to go, though, considering that just that morning he’d convinced Dooley that if you pull a cat’s tail really hard a nugget of gold drops out of its mouth. Ever since then Dooley has been telling Odelia to pull his tail so she can become a millionairess.
“So what’s happening with Tracy?” asked Marge as the entire family convened around the table. “When is she going to join us?”
“Soon,” Uncle Alec promised with a smile. And when Marge tried to heap a pile of fries onto his plate he quickly declined. “I’m trying to lose weight,” he announced, patting his ominously large stomach fondly.
Odelia cocked an eyebrow.“Is this Tracy’s doing? If so, I like her even more.”
“That woman is such an avid hiker that if I hope to stand a chance keeping up I need to lose at least thirty pounds. At one point she said she thought there was something wrong with her ears as she kept hearing this strange thumping sound. I didn’t have the nerve to tell her that was my heart beating so fast I thought it would pop out through my throat.”
“I think it’s great that you’ve decided to take better care of yourself,” said Marge.
“And I think this Tracy is one overbearing female,” said Grandma. “I mean, look at you, Alec. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Alec muttered, munching down on a piece of lettuce.
“A real man got heft,” Gran continued. “Nobody likes a skeleton.”
Chase joined the others, placing a plate of perfectly grilled patties on the table. Tex, holding onto a bottle of beer, held it up in a salute.“I want to congratulate the law enforcement members of this family on a job well done. You, too, Odelia.”
“Thanks,” said Odelia. “I think it’s all very sad, though.”
“It is,” her mother agreed.
Tex had brought out the small television he’d recently purchased and they watched for a moment as President Wilcox laid a wreath on a grave, then held his hand to his chest while the National Anthem sounded.
“Why did you write that the President is the Sexiest President Alive, Odelia?” asked Marge. “I don’t think he’s that sexy.”
“I have a great new source,” said Odelia. “He keeps calling me with all kinds of exclusive scoops.” Just then, her phone sang out a song and she picked it out. “Oh, look, it’s him. My source.” She picked up. “Yes, hi, Mr. Paunch. Thank you. Yes, I thought it was a lovely article, too. Especially that bit about the President being voted Best Dressed Politician by the White House Correspondents’ Association. Yes, I think he’s a very natty dresser, too.”
She’d switched her phone to speaker, so we could all listen in to her exclusive source. His voice sounded awfully familiar, though. As if I’d heard this Mr. Paunch before somewhere.
“And Odelia,” Mr. Paunch was saying, “this is a real scoop for you right here. President Wilcox has just been informed that he’s a shoo-in for an actual Nobel Prize!”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” said Odelia, her eyes gleaming. “A real Nobel Peace Prize.”
“Not just the Peace Prize. He’s getting the Nobel Prize for Literature, too.”
“Literature? I didn’t know the President was a writer?”
“Oh, sure. He’s only one of the best writers in the world. Bestselling writer.”
“What… books did he write?” asked Odelia, clearly confused.
“Oh, you name it, he wrote it. Amazing, huh? I thought you’d be impressed.”
Odelia looked up when her mother was pointing at the screen, where the President of the United States was talking on the phone now. And as he talked, it quickly became clear that his lips were forming the exact words that were coming out of Odelia’s phone.
Otto Paunch…was President Wilcox!
“Oh, and another little scoop. My good friend Van Wilcox is also in line to join the ranks of EGOT winners. That’s an Emmy, Grammy, Oscarand a Tony! He’s the first President in history to pull off such a hat trick. Amazing, huh? Yeah, he is a great man. In fact he’s the greatest man in a long line of great men. The greatest great, you might say. So how abou—”
Odelia switched off her phone, gazing dazedly at the screen, where President Wilcox could be seen shouting into his phone, then looking annoyedly at the little gadget, before tucking it away again and shaking his head at so much insolence.
“I think… I’ve just been played,” said Odelia uncertainly.
“Don’t worry, honey,” said Grandma, patting her on the arm. “We’ve all been there.”
“And here I thoughtyou were the nymphomaniac,” Dooley told Milo.
“Mythomaniac, Dooley,” Harriet was quick to correct him.
Even Milo could see the humor in that, for he laughed loudly.
“How about another burger?” said Tex, breaking the embarrassed silence that had descended upon the company. “I’ll do the honors, shall I?”
“No!” Marge shouted before Tex reached the grill.
Chase, who’d turned off the TV, took over from the doctor, and soon the party was in full swing again.
Milo drifted off in the direction of Grandma, who was now feeding him pieces of burger and even bits of coleslaw. Harriet and Brutus had snuck off into the garden next door, where they planned to make good use of those hills and valleys Gran had created, and then it was just me and Dooley.
“Milo seems fine, doesn’t he?” said Dooley. “He hasn’t told a lie all day.”
“Except for the part about pulling your tail,” I reminded my friend.
“The jury is still out on that one,” said Dooley. “No one has pulled my tail so he could be right.”
I pulled Dooley’s tail, hard, and he yelped in surprise. “See?” I said. “No gold.”
He eyed me sheepishly and rubbed his tail.“I really hoped he was right.”
“Maybe I didn’t pull hard enough,” I said, and made to pull again.
“No! I believe you,” he said quickly.
“At least spitting out nuggets of gold beats scooting your poop across the carpet.”
“I think we all learned a valuable lesson, Max.”
“Which is?”
“If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”
I looked at Dooley, surprised.“Those are regular words of wisdom, buddy.”
“I read that on Odelia’s calendar.”
Of course he did.
“You know? If Milo went into politics, he could be one of the greats,” said Dooley.
And so he could. But fortunately for humans Milo is a cat, and cats aren’t eligible to go into politics and lead countries. Then again, maybe if they were, the world would be a better place. No politician licking his own butt in the middle of a speech would ever be able to be taken seriously when declaring war on another nation or making budget cuts and lowering pensions. And no stump speech would go over well if the one giving the speech suddenly yawned in the middle of a sentence, stretched and promptly fell asleep.
But wouldn’t it be fun to watch the video on YouTube?
9. PURRFECT ALIBI
Prologue
Marge Poole surveyed the scene. She wondered if they’d set out enough chairs. The event she was staging was without a doubt the biggest and most ambitious one she’d ever taken on. Even though the Hampton Cove library had been remodeled five years ago with exactly this kind of literary event in mind, and a small conference room had been added forwriters to hold readings, Marge had never expected ever to land the bestselling thriller writer in the world for one of her Author of the Month evenings.
But there he was. Chris Ackerman. Author of such bestsellers asThe Connor Conundrum andThe Dixon Dilemma. America’s favorite writer and the most-borrowed author of all time. The scribe was seated on the small stage, peering through his reading glasses and going over his notes, an expensive-looking golden fountain pen poised in his hand. When he noticed Marge nervously bustling about, he fixed his pale blue eyes on her.
“Wasn’t Burke supposed to be here by now?” he asked.
There was an edge to his voice, and Marge didn’t wonder. A long-standing feud between Chris Ackerman and Rockwell Burke, the well-known horror novelist, had existed ever since Burke had announced that he felt Ackerman’s books were the work of a hack and a dilettante and had discounted his prose as bad writing. In fact it had surprised Marge a great deal when Burke had accepted to host the evening, and interview Ackerman on stage.
Perhaps the horrormeister had had a change of heart. More likely, though, it was because his own once flourishing career had hit a snag, his last three books not selling as well as he’d hoped, at which point his publisher must have insisted he try to turn things around by associating himself with the reigning king of theNew York Times bestseller list.
“He’ll be here,” Marge assured Ackerman, who was glancing at his watch.
“He’d better,” grumbled the famous writer. In his early seventies now, Chris Ackerman was a ruddy-faced heavyset man with a quiet air of self-confidence. “If he doesn’t show up I’ll have to tell the audience what I really think of him.” He chuckled. “That his best years are behind him, and that I hated every book he’s put out for the past decade.”
“You don’t really mean that,” said Marge, shocked at the harsh words.
“Oh, but I do,” said Ackerman, adjusting his glasses to owlishly stare at Marge. “My publisher told me not to engage, but if Burke stands me up all bets are off.” He wagged a finger. “I’ll bet he’s doing it on purpose. Promising to make nice then making a fool of me.”
“I’m sure he’s simply delayed,” said Marge, checking the door to the left of the stage. “His publicist would have told me if Mr. Burke had decided to cancel at the last minute.”
“Not unless he wants to make a fool of me,” Ackerman repeated.
Marge checked her own watch. One hour until showtime. There was still plenty of time for Rockwell Burke to show up. Then again, the man’s publicist had promised Marge he’d be there on time, so he could go over some of the questions with Ackerman.
Marge, a fine-boned fifty-something woman with long blond hair, chewed her lip and walked the short distance between the conference room and the library proper. She wondered if she’d unlocked the front doors. It worried her that no one had shown up yet. Usually when she organized her Author of the Month evenings at least a few people arrived early, wanting to secure a good seat—or an autograph from the featured author. And with Chris Ackerman as the featured speaker she’d expected the town to turn out en masse.
The Hampton Cove library wasn’t a big operation. In fact it was downright modest. But it had a nice selection of books, DVDs and CDs, a computer room where users could surf the Internet, a cozy kids’ corner with a pirate ship where the kids could sit and read, a colorful fish tank, a collection of stuffed animals, and cheerful artwork by a local artist.
Breezing past the checkout desk and the newspaper stand, she quickly moved to the door, where her husband and her mother stood peering out at the courtyard in front of the library. The size of a postage stamp, the courtyard nevertheless featured a fountain and a few stone benches. At this very moment, though, it was as deserted as the library itself.
“Where is everyone?” asked Marge.
Vesta Muffin, a septuagenarian the spitting image of Estelle Getty, lifted her bony shoulders.“Probably at home watchingThe Bachelor. Which is what I would be doing right now if you hadn’t roped me into this meet and greet with your childhood crush.”
“He was never my crush,” said Marge, checking the doors to see if they weren’t locked. They weren’t. “I just like his books, that’s all. He’s an amazing writer.”
“I like him,” Tex said. A buff man with a shock of white hair, Tex always kept a Chris Ackerman on his bedside table so he could read a couple of chapters before going to sleep.
“Too bloodthirsty for my taste,” said Gran, adjusting her large, horn-rimmed glasses. “All those serial killers and crazy maniacs. How many serial killers do people really think are out there? Give me EL James any day over your creepy Chuck Peckerwood.”
“Chris Ackerman.”
“Huh?”
“Chris Ackerman, not Chuck Peckerwood.”
“Whatever. I’m just saying. If there really were as many serial killers as Ackerwood wants us to believe, the streets would be crawling with them and we’d all be dead right now, murdered in the most gruesome way possible.”
“It’s fiction, Mom. It’s not supposed to be real.”
“EL James is real. Christian Grey is out there. In fact the world is full of Christian Greys. Only problem is the world is also full of Anastasia Steeles who hog all the Christian Greys and leave nothing for the rest of us shlubs.”
Tex chuckled.“I doubt billionaires are anything like Christian Grey,” he said. “Real billionaires don’t look like runway models. They look like Bill Gates or Warren Buffett.”
“How would you know?” said Vesta. “You’re not a billionaire.”
Tex agreed that he wasn’t. Still, he said, he believed Christian Grey to be just as fictitious as Chris Ackerman’s trademark serial killers.
Marge didn’t think Christian Grey, real or not, would fancy a crusty old lady with tiny white curls and a big attitude problem. But since she didn’t want to get drawn into the argument, she decided to keep her comments to herself. “I don’t get it. Last month we had Jacqueline Rose Garner and people showed up an hour before the start of the event.”
“Which just goes to show you people are fed up with murder and mayhem. They want love and passion. Speaking of which, did you know Chase asked Odelia out on a date?”
“Yes, she told me. Chase took her to Villa Frank. Too bad it’s tonight. She really wanted to be here so she could meet Chris and Rockwell Burke.”
“You can’t beat love,” said Vesta in uncharacteristically sentimental fashion.
“He took her to Villa Frank, huh?” said Tex, rocking back on his heels. “I took Marge there for our wedding anniversary. Remember, honey? You loved their steak pizzaiola.”
“Oh, I did. And how about that almond joy sundae? That was to die for.”
For the next forty-five minutes, conversation flowed back and forth, mainly focusing on Tex and Marge’s daughter Odelia and Odelia’s boyfriend Chase Kingsley. People finally started showing up, though they were in no great hurry to take their seats, instead opting to chat with friends and acquaintances. For most people these Author of the Month evenings were more an excuse to socialize than tocome and listen to an author read from their work.
Just then, there was a soft yelp coming from the conference room. Marge immediately whipped her head around. She listened for a moment, but when no other sounds came, she relaxed again.“I better go and see if Burke has arrived yet,” she said.
“I’ll come with you,” said Tex.
“No, you better stay here and welcome the guests,” said Marge.
She retraced her steps to the conference room. Chris Ackerman was still where she’d left him, seated in his chair on stage. Only he seemed to have fallen asleep, his notes having dropped from his hands and scattered all around him on the floor. Oh, my.
“Mr. Ackerman?” she said, threading a path through the chairs. “Are you all right?”
Even from ten feet away she could see the star of the evening wasn’t all right at all. The first sign that something was amiss were the drops of a dark crimson substance splattered on the sheets of paper on the floor. Even before it dawned on her what those drops represented, her eyes fixed on a strange object protruding from the writer’s neck.
It was the golden fountain pen, its nib now deeply embedded into the man’s neck.
The world’s bestselling writer… was dead.
Chapter 1
Odelia Poole, star reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, wasn’t used to being wined and dined in quite this fashion. Chase Kingsley, her boyfriend and local cop with the Hampton Cove Police Department, hadn’t just taken her to any old place. Ever since he’d asked her out, he’d been highly secretive about the itinerary for their date, and only when he’d picked her up in his squad car and entered the Villa Frank parking lot had she caught on that this wasn’t going to be a quick burger at the local diner but an actual fancy date.
Good thing she’d dressed up for the occasion, her off-the-shoulder red pencil dress pretty much the fanciest thing she had hanging in her closet. She’d bought it on the instigation of her mother, who insisted she have at least one nice thing to wear for galas, movie premieres, chamber of commerce banquets orthe occasional fancy reception. Her usual costume consisting of jeans, T-shirt and a sweater the dress made her feel slightly self-conscious, especially since there was some bust involved. Watching Chase’s jaw drop when he’d come to pick her up had been more than enough to dispel those qualms, though.
“You look lovely,” he said, not for the first time.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she purred.
That was an understatement. Chase, usually a jeans-and-check shirt man himself, had gone all out as well, dressing up in an actual tux for the occasion. His long dark brown hair was combed back from his brow, his square jaw was entirely free of stubble, and his muscular frame filled out that tux to the extent that Odelia had no trouble picturing what he looked like underneath. Then again, the man was no stranger to her bed. Or at least he hadn’t been until her grandmother had decided to move in and cramp his style.
But now that Gran had moved out again, the coast was clear, and it was obvious that Chase intended to move in on a more permanent basis—possibly the whole reason for splashing on a night at Villa Frank, one of the more posh places in Hampton Cove.
She took a sip from her wine and felt her head spin. It was more the way Chase was looking at her right now than the alcohol, though, his green-specked blue eyes holding a promise that she hoped he intended to keep.
“So what movie have you picked?” she asked.
“I thought I’d go with a golden oldie.Bringing Up Baby.”
“Ooh! I love Katherine Hepburn.”
“What about Cary Grant?”
“He’s fine, I guess,” she said with a coquettish flutter of her lashes. In fact he was more than fine. Cary Grant had always been one of her favorite actors. More than today’s movie heroes, he had charm, style and charisma and that elusiveje-ne-sais-quoi.
“Phew. I hoped you’d like my selection.”
“I love it.” She didn’t mention that she’d already seen the movie about a dozen times on TCM. On the big screen it would look even better, of course. Their local movie theater was holding a screwball comedy retrospective and she was happy Chase was a fan, too.
“So what do you think is Cary Grant’s best movie?” she asked now.
He pressed his napkin to his lips. Their menu had consisted of shrimp scampi and lobster stuffed flounder with a side of pasta and marinara sauce and brickle for dessert: toasted almonds, ice cream and whipped cream. A real feast. And the evening wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
“I like the Hitchcocks best,” Chase said.“North by Northwest, To Catch a Thief, Charade…”
“Charade isn’t a Hitchcock,” she told him. “It’s Stanley Donen’s Hitchcock homage.”
Chase grinned.“Of course you would know that, Miss Movie Buff.”
“I likeArsenic and Old Lace. Oh, andMr. Blandings Builds His Dream House, of course.”
“Huh. I thought you’d have gone for the more romantic ones.”
“I guess I’m a funny girl at heart,” she quipped.
“Yes, you are,” he said, and gave her one of those looks that made her melt like the toffee-flavored ice cream on her tongue. “Not only funny but smart, beautiful, compassionate…”
Her cheeks flushed, and not just from the fireplace they were sitting close to.“Keep this up and I just might let you get frisky through the second act ofBringing Up Baby.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it.”
She dug her spoon into the caramel-colored ice cream.“Is it just me or is it hot in here?”
Chase cleared his throat.“I heard your grandmother moved back in with your parents?”
And there it was: the reason he’d asked her out on a date in the first place. Or at least that’s what she hoped. They’d been going out for months now, and it was time to put their budding relationship on a more permanent footing. Since Chase bunked with Odelia’s uncle, having not had much luck renting a place of his own in town, moving in with her was the logical thing to do. And oh boy was she ready. And she’d just opened her mouth to confirm that her grandmother had, indeed, moved back in with her folks when both of their phones started to sing in unison.
“Huh,” said Chase with a frown. “It’s your uncle.”
“My mom,” said Odelia with a smile, and tapped the green Accept icon. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?” When the garbled words of her mother flowed into her ear, though, her smile quickly vanished. “Wow, slow down. What are you talking about?”
“He’s dead!” Mom practically shouted into the phone. “Chris Ackerman is dead and now they think he may have been murdered and that I had something to do with it!”
As her mother explained what happened, Odelia fixed her gaze on Chase, whose jaw was clenching while he listened to what Uncle Alec, the town’s chief of police, had to say.
Looked like Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn would have to take a rain check.
Chapter 2
I won’t conceal I was having a tough time at it. To be honest I don’t think I’m cut out to be a teacher, and teaching a bunch of unruly cats was definitely not my idea of an evening well spent.
“We’ll watch it again until you discover when Aurora picked up the all-important and vital clue,” I said, and tapped the rewind button on the TV’s remote. When my audience groaned loudly, I added, “And no buts. If we’re going to do this, we need to do it right.”
“But, Max!” Brutus cried. “We’ve seen this movie three times already!”
“And we’ll see it three times more if that’s what it takes,” I said stubbornly.
“The Bachelor is on,” said Harriet. “I loveThe Bachelor. Can’t we watch that instead?”
I gave her a stern-faced look.“No, we can’t.The Bachelor won’t teach us the things we need to know as cat sleuths. Aurora Teagarden will.”
Unfortunately Odelia had only taped one Aurora Teagarden movie, even though I’d asked her to tape all of them if she had the chance. Instead, she’d taped a movie calledI’ll Be Home for Christmas. Which featured a dog, and as everyone knows, no cat wants to be seen dead watching dogs on TV—or in real life, for that matter—so that was a definite no-no. Besides, there was no mystery, only a silly romance plot and a lot of tinsel.
I watched the screen intently, then paused the movie just when Aurora opened her mouth to say something, her face a mask of concentration.“See? This is the moment she realizes who the killer is. See the way her forehead crinkles? How her eyebrows draw up?”
“She looks constipated,” said Harriet, tapping her paw against Odelia’s leather couch.
“Do I look like that when I get an idea, Max?” asked Dooley.
“You would if you ever got an idea,” said Brutus with a grin.
“I get ideas,” said Dooley. “I get ideas all the time. Just now I got the idea that Odelia’s been gone a long time, and that I hope she’ll be home soon.”
“That’s great, Dooley,” I said. “But that’s not the kind of idea we’re talking about.”
“So tell us exactly what we are talking about, Max,” said Brutus as he suppressed a yawn. Even though he, unlike Harriet, wasn’t a big fan ofThe Bachelor, it was obvious he wasn’t remotely interested in my lecture on modern sleuthing techniques either.
“We’re talking about being perceptive,” I said. “About not missing even the teensiest, tiniest clue. For all we know a cigarette butt can lead us to the killer. Or, as in this case…” I pointed to the screen. “Pizza boxes tucked underneath the kitchen sink.”
“Are the pizza boxes a very important clue, Max?” asked Dooley eagerly.
“They are,” said Brutus before I could respond. “They’re a clue to this couple’s eating habits. It tells us that they like pizza.” He was grinning again, clearly enjoying himself.
“The pizza boxes tell us that these people took the missing students hostage,” I said, directing a censorious look at Brutus. “It tells Aurora—and the viewer—that the missing students are, in fact, somewhere in the house. So yes, Dooley, the pizza boxes are a very important clue. They’re that all-important, telling a-ha type of clue you want to find.”
“Pizza boxes,” Dooley repeated reverently, as if memorizing the words.
“They’re an important clue inthis particular case,” I hastened to add. “In any other case they’re probably completely irrelevant.”
Dooley looked confused.“So… pizza boxes aren’talways a clue?”
“No, they’re not. It all depends on the circumstances. In this case the pizza boxes—”
“Oh, enough about the pizza boxes already!” Harriet cried, lifting her paws in a gesture of despair. “Can we watchThe Bachelor now? I’ll bet Jock’s dinner with LaRue is still in full swing. We just might catch dessert if you turn off this Aurora nonsense right now.”
“I think I need to see it one more time,” said Dooley. “I think I missed something.”
Harriet looked as if she was ready to pounce on Dooley, but restrained herself with a supreme effort.“What don’t you get, Dooley?” she asked instead in clipped tones.
Dooley was shaking his head confusedly.“Well, it’s those pizza boxes. I don’t see how Aurora goes from seeing the empty pizza boxes to finding those missing students.”
“God give me strength,” Harriet muttered, very expressively rolling her eyes.
“Why don’t you let us do the thinking from now on, Dooley?” Brutus suggested.
“You think so?” said Dooley.
“Yes, unlike you I do think. In fact I think so much I don’t mind doing a little thinking for you, too, so that you can…” He gave Dooley a dubious look. “Do whatever it is you do.”
“I could… help you search for those pizza boxes,” said Dooley hopefully.
“You do that,” said Brutus, patting the other cat on the shoulder. “You do that.”
I now realize I may have committed the ultimate faux-pas. I’ve neglected to introduce you to my merry band of felines. Let me rectify that right now, by introducing myself first. My name is Max, and I’m Odelia Poole’s feisty feline sidekick. I’m strapping, I’m blorange, and I’m proud to be of assistance to my human, who’s probably one of the finest humans a cat could ever hope to be associated with. She also stems from a long line of females who can converse with felines, which makes her an honorary feline in my book.
The three cats lounging on the couch are (reading from left to right) Dooley, who’s a gray Ragamuffin and my sidekick (yes, he’s a sidekick’s sidekick), Brutus, a black musclehead who likes to think he’s the bee’s knees (or more appropriately the cat’s whiskers) and finally we have Harriet, who’s by way of being Brutus’s mate. She’s also a pretty, prissy Persian but don’t tell her I said that because she can be quite catty. And she has some very sharp claws.
“I think I saw a pizza box yesterday, Max,” Dooley said now, showing the kind of zeal and initiative a feline sleuth worth their salt should strive for. “If you want I can show you.”
“That’s all right, Dooley,” I said. “We can go into that when we start the practical part of this introductory training.”
“Practical part?” asked Harriet. “There’s a practical part?”
“Of course there is,” I said. “First we learn the basics, then we apply them to a real-world situation.”
“I still don’t get why you get to teach this course, Max,” said Brutus. “What makes you think you’re qualified?”
“I’ll have you know I’ve solved quite a number of high-profile cases,” I told him.
“You couldn’t have pulled those off without me and you know it. In fact before I arrived in town you hadn’t solved a single case. Not a one. Admit it, Max.”
I was puffing out my chest to give him a proper rebuke when all of a sudden there was a commotion at the door. It flew open and Odelia burst in.
“I need you guys to come with me,” she said, panting as if she’d just run a marathon. “There’s been a murder.” She fixed us with a meaningful look. “My mom is implicated.”
Chapter 3
“So what happened?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” said Odelia.
“So who did it?” asked Dooley.
“I have no idea.”
“So who’s the victim?” asked Harriet.
“I have no idea!”
After this rare outburst, we all sat silent for a moment. Not for very long, though. We are cats, after all, not church mice. You can’t keep a good cat down. Or quiet.
“So what do you want us to do?” I asked.
Odelia, who was visibly overwrought at the thought of her mother being involved in some dreadful murder business, heaved a deep sigh and rolled her shoulders in a bid to relax them. She’d been sitting hunched over the steering wheel, which I could have told her was the kind of posture that could lead to some serious neck trouble. “I want you to talk to any animal you can find within a mile radius of the library. If anyone out there saw something I want to know about it. If someone out there heard something I want to know about it. And if someone out there so much as smelled something, I want—”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You want to know about it.”
She didn’t smile. “This is my mother we’re talking about, Max.”
“I understand,” I said. “And we’ll do everything in our power to—”
“So did Marge kill someone?” asked Dooley.
It wasn’t the right question to ask, so when Odelia’s head snapped around, for a moment I thought she was going to bite Dooley’s head straight off. Instead, she merely snapped, “Of course she didn’t kill someone. My mother is the sweetest, kindest woman I know. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone the bestselling thriller writer on the planet.”
“I saw her swat a fly once,” said Dooley conversationally. “It was a big fly. One of those blue ones. Made a big mess, too.”
When I gave him a prod in the ribs he blinked and turned to me, looking slightly offended.“Shut up,” I loud-whispered.
“What did I say?”
Raising my voice, I said,“If anyone saw, heard, smelled or tasted something, we’ll find them and let you know, Odelia.”
Odelia grunted something I understood to be approval, and continued staring straight ahead through the windshield, while her foot ground the accelerator into the floorboard and the car flew across the road at a rate of speed which was frankly disconcerting, not to mention frowned upon by traffic police everywhere.
“So whois the bestselling thriller on the planet?” asked Harriet.
When Odelia didn’t respond, Brutus decided to do the honors. “Agatha Christie, of course,” he said. “In fact she’s the bestselling author of all time. Sold billions of books.”
“Agatha Christie died years ago,” I said.
“So?”
“So she can’t have been murdered tonight if she’s been dead for years.”
This stumped him for a moment. He quickly rallied, though.“Maybe she didn’t die. Maybe she only pretended to die but she’s been alive all this time only to be murdered at Marge’s library tonight.”
“Agatha Christie was almost ninety years old when she died,” I said.
“So?”
“This was years ago! She would have been a hundred-whatever!”
“So? Humans get very old. Hundreds of years, probably. Maybe even thousands.”
For a long time I’d been laboring under the same misapprehension. I’d always figured Odelia was probably a couple of hundred years old. But she’d recently cured me of this mistaken belief in the longevity of the human species. Odelia, as it turned out, wasn’t even thirty years old yet. And most humans nevermade it past the age of a hundred. Weird, huh?
“Trust me, Brutus. Whoever was killed tonight, it wasn’t Agatha Christie.”
“Chris Ackerman,” said Odelia suddenly.
“Who?” asked Dooley.
“Chris Ackerman. The thriller writer?”
Neither me nor Brutus, Harriet or Dooley showed any signs of recognition. Then again, cats are not your great readers. We love television—mostly cat food commercials—but we lack the patience and the attention span to read page after page like humans do.
“So who was this Chris Ackerman?” I asked.
“Like I said. A thriller writer.”
“Any good?” asked Harriet.
“I liked him,” said Odelia. “He was the master of the cliffhanger.”
“Why would a writer make cliffhangers?” asked Dooley. “Isn’t that what IKEA does?”
“Not clothes hangers, Dooley,” I said. “Cliffhangers.”
“What’s a cliffhanger?”
“It’s like the rose ceremony,” said Harriet. “FromThe Bachelor? Our handsome bachelor is about to hand out his final rose of the night and suddenly they cut to commercial and you can’t wait to see what happens next.” She nodded seriously. “That’s a cliffhanger.”
Dooley stared at her, obviously not seeing the connection between cliffhangers, roses andThe Bachelor. But when he opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, Odelia said,“We’re almost there, you guys. So you know what to do, right?”
“We know,” I said. “We’re going to talk to any animal we can find.”
“Any animal?” asked Harriet in an undertone. “Not just cats?”
“Any animal,” I confirmed.
“I’m not talking to dogs,” Harriet said determinedly. “No, I mean it. I draw the line at dogs. Dogs are filthy, especially street dogs. Just looking at them makes my skin crawl.”
“But what if that particular dog has some very important information to share?” I asked. “Odelia wants us to be her eyes and ears out there.” Not to mention her nose and taste buds, apparently. “So put your petty anti-dog sentiments aside for a moment and think about the greater good here, Harriet.”
“Yes, think about the greater good, Harriet,” Dooley echoed.
“I mean, what if this particular mutt got a good look at the killer’s face? Are you going to let him get away just because you don’t like dogs?”
“Are you, Harriet?” asked Dooley. “Are you doing to let him get away?”
Harriet bridled at this.“You know what? If you like dogs so much why don’t you talk to them? I’ll stick to cats.”
Dooley thought about this for a moment.“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll take the dogs—you take the cats.” Then he directed a curious look at Brutus. “What species of animal are you going to talk to, Brutus?”
“I’ll take the ladies,” said Brutus with a big grin before he could stop himself. But when Harriet directed a withering look in his direction, he quickly added, “Or you could talk to the ladies, Harriet. I can talk to the gentlemen.”
“We’re here,” said Odelia, and stomped on the brake with such fervor that the four of us were suddenly catapulted from our positions on the backseat and plastered against the back of the front seats. All of us except Dooley, who’d been sitting in the middle. He flew through the air, describing a perfect arc, and would have been reduced to a mere smear on the windshield if Odelia hadn’t had the presence of mind—and the superior reflexes—to grab him by the neck and save him from further harm.
“Phew,” said Dooley once he’d recovered from his adventure. “Thanks, Odelia.”
“I’m sorry about that,” said Odelia, giving Dooley a quick hug before placing him on the passenger seat. She turned to face us. “I know I’m a little on edge right now, but that’s because my mom is in trouble. So please do the best you can, and I apologize for being such a sourpuss.” She gave us a quick smile, then opened the door and allowed us to hop from the car and onto the pavement.
I saw she’d parked a ways away from the library. She probably didn’t want to advertise the fact that she’d called in her private feline army to deal with this latest murder emergency. Even though Odelia can talk to cats, and so can her mother and grandmother, no one else can, and they would think it strange if they saw a grown woman speak feline.
We watched Odelia lock up her pickup and stalk away in the direction of the library. I felt for my human. She looked more stressed and downhearted than I’d ever seen her.
“I hope they don’t lock up my human,” said Harriet, who must have read my mind.
“They won’t,” I assured her. “Your human’s brother is the chief of police, and he would never lock up his own sister. Humans don’t lock up their own kin.”
Actually, they probably did, but this wasn’t the time to discuss worst-case scenarios. This was the time to rally round and tackle this dreadful murder business which had suddenly struck very close to home indeed.
“Let’s do this,” I said, and we were off to the races.
Chapter 4
When Odelia tried to enter the library she discovered a police officer had been stationed at the front door—possibly the first time that had ever happened. He was one of those stalwart types: buff, with a slight pudginess in the belly area, and sporting a nicely trimmed mustache, which doubled as a donut crumb collector.
“Um, I need to get in there?” she said tentatively.
She’d recognized the cop as one of her uncle’s guys and she was pretty sure the cop had recognized her as well. He shook his head, though, and stared over her head as if silently hoping she would take a hint and simply melt away into the background.
“Oh, come on, Jackson,” she said. “Don’t give me that dead cod look.”
This stirred him out of his self-chosen apathy.“I don’t look like a dead cod,” he said indignantly.
“Yes, you do. Now are you going to let me in? My mom is in there and she needs me.”
“Your mom is a suspect, Poole, and unless you’re her lawyer you’re not setting foot anywhere near her.”
“I was wrong,” she said. “You’re not a dead cod. You’re dead, period. Or at least dead from the neck up.” She tapped his noggin. “Yup. Just what I suspected. Solid ivory.”
He had the good grace to look offended.“I’m just doing my duty. Please go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere, but if you don’t step aside you’re the one who’s going away.”
That seemed to register. Officer Jackson obviously knew that Odelia was his boss’s niece, and not just any old niece but the man’s favorite niece, who’d helped him out with quite a few investigations in the recent past. What was more, she was now dating one of Hampton Cove’s foremost police detectives.
He still continued undecided, though. That’s the trouble with making decisions: either way you go, there are going to be consequences so it’s probably better not to do anything.
Odelia decided to try a different tack.“Come on, Jackson. Have a heart. That’s my mother in there. What if it were your mom?”
“My mom would never get involved with murder,” he said a little huffily.
“Hey, that’s something we’ve got in common: my mom wouldn’t get involved with murder either!”
He rolled his eyes.“Chief Lip told me not to let anyone in so I’m not letting anyone in.” Clearly feeling this was the last thing he was prepared to say on the matter, he clasped his hands behind his back and directed his gaze in the middle distance, studiously ignoring this pesky troublemaker.
Incensed, she poked him in the stomach, burying her index finger to the knuckle.
“Hey! That’s police property,” he sputtered, touching the offended spot.
“Oh, fine,” she said, throwing up her hands and walking off. She turned back to the cop, walking backward now. “This isn’t over, Jackson. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, making a throwaway gesture.
She hurried around the side of the library, where a paved footpath was lined by mulch-covered patches of rosebushes, made her way to the back, then hung a sharp left before arriving at the service entrance which doubled as the library’s emergency exit. To her surprise, her uncle hadn’t stationed anyone at this door, and she blew right through and into the short corridor that led to a small cafeteria and a dressing room slash storeroom where authors and guests could get changed before stepping onto the stage for their readings.
Odelia took a quick peek inside the dressing room and held up her hand in greeting for Sarah Flunk, another one of her uncle’s officers.
“There’s no one guarding the backdoor,” she said.
“On it,” said Sarah with a nod.
“Have you seen my mom?”
Sarah gestured with her head.“Library. Your uncle is talking to her now.”
Moving past a stack of unpacked boxes—newly acquired books yet to be cataloged, Odelia pushed through the door and into the library. She’d arrived at the left of the stage, and the first thing she saw was Abe Cornwall, the county coroner, leaning over what was unmistakably the late Chris Ackerman—the self-proclaimed world’s bestselling writer.
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