Purrfect Secret

Chapter 14

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

“Me neither,” he intimated.

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

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

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

“You look hot when you’re excited.”

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

“So what did he say?” she asked.

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

“Uh-huh.”

“They don’t like the idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” said Chase with a grin.

“Did they find any fingerprints on that picture?”

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

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

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

“Mh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or former friend.”

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

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

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

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

“He does not.”

“He hates us. He hates us all.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t.”

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

“You’ll be just fine.”

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

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

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

“Hi, Mr. Paunch.”

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

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

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

“Um…”

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

“Well, I don’t actually—”

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

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

“Who was that?” asked Chase.

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

“Like what?”

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

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

“But… I don’t work for Wikipedia.”

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

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

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

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

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