Purrfect Revenge

Chapter 9

Dooley and I searched around for the best vantage point. It had to be clean and comfy, and it had to be high enough so we could have a great view. I caught sight of a fabulous beige crocodile couch. I felt bad for the crocodiles that had lost life and hide, but the couch was easily the best spot in the room, affording 360 vision and a soft, flat surface. It was exactly what we needed. I gave Dooley a nudge and we both hopped up onto the couch, clambered over about a million embroidered throw pillows and settled on the head rest.

All the main principals were gathered on the deck for an impromptu meeting, and Dooley and I settled in to watch. Don’t look so shocked. We’re cats. Lying around and spying on humans is what we do. It had also crossed my mind that there was probably some yummy food to be found in this place, and from here we could look straight into the kitchen. I was pretty sure Kane got the best food money could buy, and I wanted me some of that.

Us cats might not like dogs, but we like to steal their food just fine.

“Look, Max,” said Dooley, pointing to the kitchen. Brutus was chasing Kane, and the dog was doing his utmost to stay out of his clutches.

“Looks like Brutus is trying to talk to Kane,” I said lazily. After all this traipsing around I was starting to feel the strain, and I was ready for a nap. I know I’d told Dooley we’d nap once we caught the killer, but the couch was so comfy, and the sun on our furs so nice and warm, I was feeling drowsy.

“I wonder what that’s all about,” said Dooley with a cavernous yawn.

“Probably something to do with his so-called theory.”

Brutus always has theories, usually pretty far-fetched. We had another murder not so long ago, when a famous eighties pop singer was killed. Brutus thought things through and came up with the theory that the guy had been killed by a conspiracy of boy toys. He probably thought a confederacy of French Bulldogs had killed Shana Kenspeckle and Kane was the ring leader.

“I don’t think we need to worry about Brutus cracking this case,” I said.

I returned my attention to the Kenspeckles, who were concluding their meeting. Shayonne was there, and Shalonda, and of course Shayonne’s husband Dion, and Shana’s husband Damien LeWood. They were discussing things with Alejandro Salanova, the director, and some of the other crew members. I also saw a bodyguard hovering nearby, pressing a finger to his ear from time to time and looking decidedly shifty-eyed. A barber had had fun with his facial hair, which ran in three parallel lines from his lips to his ears, where it morphed into a butter-colored buzzcut, and he was rocking golden hoops. He reminded me of the Genie in Disney’s Aladdin, without the blue body paint. And the grin. This guy had never cracked a smile in his life.

“I think they’re going to start filming again,” said Dooley.

“Well, they have to strike while the iron is hot, I suppose,” I said. Everybody would want to know what happened, and who better to inform them than the Kenspeckles themselves? Regular families would probably mourn in silence. The Kenspeckles filmed another episode of their show.

“It’s that old saying,” said Dooley. “The show must move on.”

“Go on.”

“But I just got here.”

“No, I mean the show.”

“What about it?”

“The show must go on.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you said… Forget about it.”

“Forget about the show?”

“It doesn’t matter, Dooley.”

Once again, Brutus came shooting past us, chasing Kane, who was now running for his life. He probably thought Brutus was going to cut him, like Clarice had. Brutus took a breather, glaring up at us. “Do I have to do all the work around here? Why don’t you two lazy bums give me a paw already?”

“You said you wanted to split up, remember? Split up into teams.”

He made a throwaway gesture with his paw. “Gah. Fuggedaboutit.”

We watched him stalk off again, muttering something under his breath. It didn’t sound very friendly. I didn’t care. It was fun to watch Brutus run around like a headless chicken. I’d never seen a cat chase a dog before, and the sight was both disturbing and highly entertaining.

Odelia and Chase came walking into the living room and Odelia gave us a wink. I tried to wink back, but cat’s eyes aren’t made for winking, so it probably came off weird. She got the message, though: we were on the case.

Just then, a person pointing a camera came crashing through the privacy hedge lining the deck and pool area. He looked a little crazed and hyped up.

“Paparazzi alert,” I told Dooley.

“Oh, is that a paparazzi?” he asked, interested.

“Paparazzo. They only call them paparazzi when they travel in packs.”

The moment the photog caught sight of the Kenspeckle sisters, he started clicking his camera, firing off questions like a machine gun toting kook.

“Shayonne! Shayonne! Where were you when your sister was killed?!”

Highly inappropriate, I felt. Genie the Bodyguard felt the same way, for he tried to swat the pap like a bug. The photographer dove under Genie’s massive arm and just kept shooting like the nasty little shutterbug he was.

“Is it true that Shana was sleeping with your husband, Shayonne?!”

The paparazzo narrowly avoided a flying tackle and darted away in the direction of the pool, the bodyguard close on his heel and moving in.

“Is this the end of the Kenspeckles?! The final nail in your coffin?!”

“Wow. That’s just plain mean,” said Dooley.

We watched the bodyguard zoom in on the pap. Amazingly, the scrawny pap kept on firing his camera. Courage under fire. Or the smell of money.

“For a guy built like a freight train that bodyguard sure moves fast,” Dooley said.

“I think he’s going to catch him. I think he’s going to catch him and sit on his head and squash him like a melon.”

But then the reporter lost his footing and splashed headfirst into the pool.

“Aw,” both Dooley and I said. Talk about a downer ending.

I was starting to feel like those two old guys on The Muppet Show, Statler and Waldorf, keeping up a running commentary. And I was starting to understand the appeal of the Kenspeckles. They sure knew how to put on a good show. You never knew what was going to happen next.

The bodyguard plucked the photog from the pool and dragged him ashore. He looked like a drowned chicken, spluttering and yelling his head off. He was still holding on to his camera, though, and was clicking away.

“You have to hand it to him,” Dooley said. “He’s one dedicated dude.”

The bodyguard started frogmarching the intruder off the premises. Just then, Kane came racing past, followed by a panting Brutus. They slipped between the bodyguard’s feet, and he toppled into the pool, dragging the paparazzo with him, making a big splash. The spray spattered all the way to Shayonne and Shalonda Kenspeckle, who shouted their annoyance. They used words I’d never heard before. Very original. And very colorful.

“Man, they’ve got dirty mouths,” said Dooley, looking shocked.

“They’ll probably cut that from the show. Have to keep it PG.”

The bodyguard and the paparazzo came splashing from the pool, both soaking wet, the bodyguard’s face a thundercloud. The man was seriously pissed. Just then, more paparazzi came crashing through the boxwood hedge, and suddenly we were at a full-blown red-carpet event, cameras clicking and people shouting and clamoring for attention. More bodyguards came rushing to the scene, trying to catch the out-of-control paps.

“This is so much fun!” Dooley cried.

There were paparazzi everywhere, chased by burly rent-a-cops. A few more paps ended up in the pool while others were pinned to the deck. In the middle of all this pandemonium, Brutus was still chasing Kane, though the chase had slowed down to a crawl as both were running out of gas now.

“I’m starting to like the Kenspeckles,” I said. “Great entertainment value.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Dooley. “Ouch.” The exclamation was in reference to more paparazzi tripping over Brutus and Kane. They were tackling more paps than the bodyguards were. Maybe the Kenspeckles should appoint Brutus to head up their security team. He was doing some serious damage.

“Looks like Brutus is scoring one for the home team,” I said.

Harriet had jumped up on the couch and was watching the scene intently.

“Shouldn’t you be helping your boyfriend?” Dooley asked a little bitterly.

I didn’t blame him. Us cats might not be on Facebook but that doesn’t mean we like it when someone unfriends us the way Harriet had done.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Harriet said, shaking her head sadly. “He’s got this cockamamie theory about the murder, and he’s adamant that Kane is going to supply him with the missing link to the killer.”

“What’s his theory?” I asked.

She hesitated, loyalty to her boyfriend warring with her desire to unburden her soul. Finally the need to confide in someone won out. “He thinks Shana was killed by a giant dog who bit her head off.”

I stared at her, dumbfounded. I hadn’t expected this.

“A giant dog?” asked Dooley. “You mean like a big, humongous dog?”

She frowned at him. “Yeah, a gigantic dog who bit her head off and spit it out again when he discovered he didn’t like the taste of human head after all.”

“That’s crazy,” Dooley said. “The Kenspeckles don’t have a giant dog.”

I stared at Dooley. “Is that what you think is crazy here? What about the idea that dogs bite people’s heads off?”

“Well, don’t they?” he asked.

“Of course they don’t! It’s a physical impossibility!”

“But what if they’re big enough? Like Cujo?”

“Cujo never bit anybody’s head off! No dog can bite someone’s head off!”

“Well, Brutus is convinced they can,” said Harriet. “He’s convinced the Kenspeckles have a pack of vicious dogs running around. He’s seen them on one of those Bravo shows. Huge and ferocious creatures. All the big-name celebrities keep them nowadays. To protect themselves from paparazzi and kidnappers and stalkers. He thinks one of the dogs went rogue. Got a taste for human blood and bit Shana’s head clean off. And now the Kenspeckles are trying to cover it up. They’re hiding the dog somewhere in this house. He thinks Kane knows where, and he’s trying to get him to give up the location.”

“To get him to roll over on his monster dog friend?” I asked.

She nodded, chewing her lip. “He says he needs to break Kane. Make him squeal on his canine brother. Says it’s the only way to get the truth.”

“But what about Clarice’s statement? What about the masked killer and the big-ass meat cleaver?” I asked, exasperated.

“Brutus says Clarice can’t be trusted. She’s nuts and will say whatever to get attention. And his meat. She’ll do anything for a slice of filet mignon.”

“Your boyfriend is crazy,” Dooley said. “Absolutely batshit crazy.”

Well, I wouldn’t have put it so strongly, but basically he was right.

“At least we don’t have to worry about Brutus getting in good with Odelia,” I said. “If he tries to sell her his mad dog theory she’ll just laugh.”

“Oh, cut it out, Max,” said Harriet, giving me an angry look.

“Cut out what? What are you talking about?”

“Cut out the bullying. You’ve been mean to Brutus from the start.”

I couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Me? Mean to him?”

“Yes, you are a mean cat and a bully. Can’t you see that Brutus wants to fit in? To be welcomed into the community? He’s doing his best and you keep pushing him away. I think it’s very selfish of you, Max. You too, Dooley.”

This was just crazy talk. “Look, he’s the one who started bossing us around from the moment he set foot in this town.”

“Can’t you see through that, Max? That’s just a pose. Deep down, Brutus is a gentle, sensitive soul. All he wants is to be loved and accepted the way he is.” She sighed as we all watched Brutus chasing Kane around the pool.

“Come back here, you little weasel!” he was shouting. “Wait till I get my claws on you, you stupid mutt!”

Harriet was right. A gentle and sensitive soul. No doubt about it.

More and more paparazzi were splashing in the pool, tripped up by Brutus and Kane, and had to be fished out by bodyguards. Who knew so many paps couldn’t swim? Brutus was doing the Kenspeckles a big favor.

“I don’t see it,” said Dooley. “I don’t see the sensitive side in Brutus.”

“Well, he’s got one,” Harriet snapped. “You’re not looking hard enough.”

Dooley opened his mouth to retort. When he caught Harriet’s eye he thought better of it and closed it again. There are some battles you can’t win.

“Brutus is the sweetest cat you can imagine,” she said. “A real gentlecat.”

“I’m going to cut you, you ugly mongrel!” the gentlecat was screaming. “I’m going to cut you up so bad even your own mother won’t recognize you!”

“The only reason he behaves like this is because…” She sighed, and fixed me with an accusatory look. “Because he wants to impress you, Max.”

“Impress me!” I cried.

“Of course. Why else do you think he keeps challenging you? Secretly Brutus looks up to you. You’re his hero. All he wants is to be like you.”

I shook my head. “This is just… I can’t even…”

“Look at yourself, Max. You’ve got it all! You’ve got the best human in Hampton Cove. You’ve got a great home. Great friends. You’re even an ace detective. You’ve got it all.” She gave me a pleading look. “Is it so hard to believe Brutus wants to be a part of that? That he wants to be your friend?”

“Yes, it’s very hard to believe,” Dooley said.

“Well, it’s the truth,” she snapped. “And if you can’t see that, then who’s the bully here?” She stalked away, tail high. We both stared after her.

“You don’t believe a word she said, do you?” Dooley asked. “All that talk about Brutus just wanting to be your friend? That’s just a bunch of hooey.”

“Of course I don’t,” I said. “She loves the cat. She’ll believe anything.”

We watched Harriet chasing Brutus chasing Kane for a while.

“Do you think this evil dog theory holds water, Max?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “I believe Clarice. Whoever killed Shana was wearing a black robe and a mask, and whoever was beneath that robe definitely wasn’t a killer dog. Unless dogs can walk on their hind legs and handle a meat cleaver.” Before Dooley could reply, I quickly added, “Which they can’t.”

The Kenspeckles were also staring at the scene, commenting freely, while the cameraman filmed the whole thing. This was going to be the gag reel for their next show. Some comic relief after the horror of the murder.

But even as the circus was in full swing, I didn’t forget for one moment that one of these people was a killer. Was it Shayonne? Shalonda? Dion Dread? Damien LeWood? I saw that both Odelia and Chase were watching the foursome intently, and I knew they were wondering the same thing.

Outside, the bodyguards snatched up the last of the paparazzi, escorting them off the premises. Kane, desperate to escape Brutus, had thought of nothing better than to jump into the pool, right on top of the head of the head bodyguard, who was wrestling three paparazzi. Brutus was stumped. He wanted to get a hold of Kane, but he drew the line at jumping into the pool. Us cats don’t like to swim. It’s not that we can’t swim—that’s a common misconception. It’s just that we prefer not to. It’s all because of our furry coats. We swell up like a sponge. It just makes us look ridiculous.

So Brutus just sat there, staring daggers at Kane, while Kane sat on top of the bodyguard’s head, making faces at Brutus. Classic standoff.

“Well, looks like the show’s over,” said Dooley, sounding disappointed.

“Au contraire,” I said. “It’s just getting started.”