Purrfect Swing. Purrfect Cruise. Purrfect Harmony

He welcomed us with open arms, but since there were a couple of parishioners in church, lighting candles or sitting in the pews with bowed head, he felt it more prudent to take the conversation to the sacristy, next to which he has his office.

It was a small room located behind the sacristy, and when we arrived there, I could tell that Father Reilly, if he’d had an affair with Neda, had merely gone through the motions, for his private space clearly needed a woman’s touch, as it now looked very much the epitome of a bachelor’s pad. His desk was buried under a mountain of documents, and there was no air there.

“Why don’t we open a window first?” Odelia suggested the moment we entered and she wrinkled her nose.

She proceeded to put her money where her mouth was and opened a window while Father Reilly took a seat behind his desk and looked out at his visitors across the mountain of paper.

So Odelia did what any sensible person would do in those circumstances: she began to move those mountains to the floor, to make some space.

Father Reilly muttered a few token protestations but finally gave up and watched with stunned surprise at the speed with which Odelia created order in the chaos of his small office.“Pity you already have a job,” he finally said. “Otherwise I’d hire you as my personal assistant. You’re obviously very good at this.”

“I’ve been doing the same thing for Dan for years,” she explained, referring to her aged editor Dan Goory, who also has an issue with the concept of a clean desk.

“So what did you want to discuss?” said Father Reilly finally, as he steepled his fingers and leaned back, the picture of the wise old man, ready to confer with his fellow clergymen about some important theological dilemma, be it the number of angels dancing on the head of a pin or even the baffling mystery of their gender.

“You heard about what happened to Neda?” asked Chase.

“Tragic,” said the priest as he sadly shook his gray head. “An absolute tragedy. Cut down in her prime—and by a burglar, or so I’ve been told?”

“That remains to be seen,” said the cop. “All we know for sure is that she was attacked and that her safe was burgled, and presumably those two facts are related.”

“I hope you catch this person soon. Several of my parishioners have approached me, expressing concern that a burglarious murderer is allowed to run amok in our small and peaceful community, slaying one of our own in such a heinous and brutal fashion.”

“We’re doing our best. So we wanted to talk to you about the choir, Father.”

“Yes? What about the choir?”

“Neda had only recently been appointed your new director, and as I understand, her appointment didn’t go unchallenged.”

The priest displayed a wan smile.“Human foibles have caused a certain amount of friction, that is true. But I can assure you that the large majority of our beloved choir was very happy with Neda.”

“Janette Bittiner wasn’t happy. Yoko Bricknell wasn’t happy.”

“No, but that was only to be expected, as they both had hoped to rise to the position themselves. But there really was no doubt, as far as I was concerned. Neda had the capacity and the ambition to fill Samuel Smalls’s large shoes.”

“And Janette and Yoko didn’t?”

“I’m not saying Janette wouldn’t have made an adequate conductor. She certainly is passionate. But it’s not enough to have a passion for the position. You also need to have the necessary leadership skills.”

“And Janette didn’t have those.”

Father Reilly shook his head.“Janette is a dear, dear soul, but she’s not leadership material, I’m afraid. Neither is Yoko. You shouldn’t underestimate the challenges a choir director faces, my dear friends. It’s not just about musical talent, or, as I said, passion. You have to get a group of fifty people to work together and extract a certain result from them. It’s hard.”

“And Neda had that talent.”

“In spades.” He sighed. “But sadly it wasn’t to be. I’ll have to start from scratch, and find a new director.”

“Janette Bittiner?”

“Absolutely not. Janette would only create discord and chaos if she took the reins.”

“Yoko?”

“Too impulsive and inexperienced. And I’ve told her so. No,” he said, a pensive look coming over him. “I think this time I’m going to have to look beyond the choir. Bring in an outsider. Which just might be for the best. As this whole experience with Neda has proved, if you promote someone from the main group to director prominence, all you reap is jealousy and spite.”

“Do you think Janette Bittiner is capable of murder?” asked Odelia, now putting her cards on the table.

Father Reilly looked startled at this.“Janette? A killer? Oh, no. Absolutely not. Janette may be a gossip and a busybody, but she’s harmless.” He shifted uncomfortably on his hard wooden chair, which as I could see from my vantage position on the stone floor didn’t even have a cushion. “The only person I can think of with thewherewithal to commit murder…” He hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Well, I’m not saying she’s responsible for what happened to Neda, mind you.”

“Just spit it out,” said Chase.

“There was an incident a couple of weeks ago. Neda had just been selected as the new head of St. Theresa Choir, and being a passionate and forceful woman, she had a tendency to direct the choir with a vigorous hand. And so when they told me what happened, frankly I wasn’t surprised.”

“What happened?”

“I think Neda was doing the Brahms,” he said as he directed his mild blue eyes heavenward, as if searching his memory for those salient details that make all the difference. “She was conducting it with a wide and powerful sweep of her arm, really driving home the importance of adhering to those delightful harmonies. And of course Amadeo always has a tendency to arrive late, and not to look where he steps.”

“Amadeo Larobski?”

“Indeed. Amadeo is one of our senior members. Pushing seventy now. Not the best voice in the chorus, but we like him, even though I have had to ask him several times now not to sing too loud, as he sings so terribly out of tune he distracts the others.”

“What happened to Amadeo?” asked Chase, an edge to his voice. Chase is a patient man, but even a patient man can be pushed to the brink when the interviewee is intent on taking the scenic route before coming to the point, if indeed there even is a point.

“Oh, she hit him, of course. Knocked him to the floor. Poor man hit his head and according to Hazel hasn’t been the same since.”

“Hazel…”

“Hazel Larobski. Amadeo’s wife. She blamed Neda. Accused her of staging an attack on her husband. When everyone could see that it was simply an unfortunate accident.”

12

After we left Father Reilly’s office, Odelia and Chase decided to grab a coffee and discuss the case, while Dooley and I decided to do the same. Not grab a coffee, I mean, but take a moment to discuss the case. And since Odelia and Chase were planning to have their coffee at the Caf? Baron which doesn’t have a street caf?, and we didn’t feel like being cooped up inside again, we wandered on and enjoyed some fresh air. Our wanderings took us in the direction of the Star hotel, where we came upon Gran and her friend Scarlett, who were sipping their drinks, seated in the outside dining area.

Gran spotted us, and beckoned us over to join them.

“What’s all this I’m hearing about Neda Hoeppner being murdered?” she asked the moment we’d hopped up on two chairs and had made ourselves comfortable.

“She was murdered by Bonnie and Clyde,” Dooley said, who was sticking to his original theory.

“Bonnie and Clyde?” asked Gran with a frown.

“You remember. From Friday’s episode of General Hospital. Nurse Bauer and Doctor Adolf murdered Bonnie Bauer’s competitor for the position of head nurse.”

“I remember,” said Gran. “But why would Nurse Bauer murder Neda?”

“Not Nurse Bauer,” said Dooley with a laugh. “Yoko Bricknell and her boss Bill Bouillabaisse. It’s the same thing, Gran, only instead of head nurse, Yoko wanted to become choir director, and since Neda was standing in her way, she killed her.”

“Huh,” said Gran, and quickly translated Dooley’s frankly outrageous theory for her friend, who unfortunately can’t speak our language. Though recently Scarlett has been correctly interpreting some of the things we say. My guess is that she’s so in tune with Gran that a few words come to her from time to time. The miracle of intuition, you know.

“I don’t think Yoko Bricknell is capable of a thing like that,” said Scarlett, wasting no time refuting Dooley’s theory.

“You know that girl?” asked her friend.

“Oh, sure. I used to work at Bill’s restaurant from time to time, and Yoko was my colleague. That girl is so talented. She’s an artist,” she explained.

“An artist?” asked Dooley, who seemed surprised that Yoko wasn’t a nurse in her spare time.

“She paints,” Scarlett explained. “And she’s pretty good, too. And none of that modern stuff either. She paints portraits, and does a very nice job. She’s painted my portrait. It’s hanging in my living room. Above the mantel.”

“Yoko painted that?” asked Gran.

“She’s good, isn’t she?”

“Sheis good,” Gran admitted. “So maybe I should ask her to paint my portrait. I don’t think anyone has ever painted me before. And then I could give it to Tex as a present. He can hang it in his bedroom. I’m sure he’d like that.”

Not even in my wildest dreams could I imagine Tex being excited about having a portrait of his mother-in-law in his bedroom, but then who am I to speak for Odelia’s father?

“So if Yoko didn’t do it, who did?” asked Gran. She turned to me. “Any other suspects?”

“Well, there’s Janette Bittiner,” I told her. “She was holding a grudge against Neda, for stealing a job she felt was owed her. And there’s also Raban Pacoccha, Neda’s gardener, who, at least according to Neda’s secretary, is a drug addict, and always in need of some ready cash to fund his unhealthy and expensive habit. And we just heard from Father Reilly that a woman named Hazel Larobski was upset with Neda for hitting her husband Amadeo over the head with her conductor’s baton and causing permanent damage.”

“Permanent damage, my ass,” Gran scoffed. “Amadeo has been a fruit loop for as long as I’ve known him. That blow to the head he received from Neda didn’t do any damage.”

“Oh, I remember that,” said Scarlett, nodding. “Hazel made a big fuss about that, didn’t she?”

“A big fuss about nothing.” Gran wagged her finger. “You know what we should do?”

“No, what?” asked her friend, as she brought her cappuccino to her bright-red lips and took a dainty sip. As usual, Scarlett was dressed to impress, in roll-up denim shorts and a tank top, covered with a nice blazer, while her friend wore her usual tracksuit.

“We should stake out Neda’s place tonight.”

“But… what’s the point of staking out a place when the owner is dead?”

“A killer always returns to the scene of the crime, Scarlett,” said Gran, stabbing a sharp bony finger in her friend’s shoulder. “It’s a law of nature. So if we stake out that place tonight, we will catch Neda’s killer, it’s as simple as ABC.”

“You really think so?” said Scarlett, who didn’t look entirely convinced.

“Sure! We can’t miss. Her killer will return, and we’ll be there waiting.”

“But why would her killer return?”

“How should I know? I’m not a killer,” said Gran with the kind of spurious logic she likes to employ.

“Yoko could come back to erase every last trace of her crime,” said Dooley, who still hadn’t given up on that Nurse Bauer wannabe as his prime suspect. “Maybe she dropped something, and now she’s going to have to find it, before the police do.”

“Good thinking, Dooley,” said Gran, before relaying Dooley’s latest brainwave to her friend.

Scarlett was staring intently at me and Dooley.“You know, sometimes I think I can almost understand them,” she said now. “I feel like I’m almost there—but not quite.”

“You’ll learn,” said Gran, patting her on the arm. “You just stick with me, and I’m sure that my skill will rub off on you sooner or later.”

“I would like that,” said Scarlett. “It would be so much fun to understand cats and dogs and all the other pets.”

“Just cats,” said Gran curtly as she took a swallow from her hot chocolate. A small puff of cream was left on her upper lip but she didn’t seem to notice.

“What do you mean, just cats?”

“We can only understand cats,” said Gran. “I’ve told you this, Scarlett.”

“You mean you can’t understand dogs?”

“Nope. No dogs, only cats. Though Max and Dooley can talk to dogs, and if they’ve got important information to share, they tell us. Though I can’t imagine dogs could ever have anything important to tell us. They are, after all, an inferior species compared to cats.”

“But I would like to talk to dogs,” said Scarlett. “I like dogs more than cats,” she explained.

Gran sat up as if stung.“You never told me that!”

“Well, I do. I’m a dog person.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way. Dogs are cute and funny. Cats are… well, a little scary, you have to admit.”

“I don’t have to admit anything! Dogs are dumb, Scarlett. Cats are smart. Everybody knows that.”

“Dogs can be very smart, too, Vesta. Some of them even save humans from certain death, when they’re buried under an avalanche or whatever.”

“You’re thinking of St. Bernards,” said Gran, a dark frown still creasing her brow. “They like to lug a gallon of Scotch around the mountains for some mysterious reason.”

“Or how about that nice dog that followed Richard Gere around in that movie?”

“Following Richard Gere around like a moron doesn’t necessarily indicate smarts.”

“Well, I think dogs are all right.”

“Okay, be that way,” said Gran with a sigh. “But don’t expect me to agree with you because I don’t.”

“Fine. Let’s agree to disagree.”

“If you say so,” said Gran, but it was obvious her respect for Scarlett had taken a big hit. A St. Bernard-sized hit, in fact. She got up, abruptly shoving back her chair, which scraped on the stone floor. “Well, I gotta go. I’m meeting my decorator Jason.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Scarlett, and drained her cup. “I want to meet this guy.”

“He’s the best,” said Gran as she threw down a couple of bills. “The best of the best, in fact.” She gave both me and Dooley a kiss on the top of our heads, and then they were off. “So how did you get this weird fascination with dogs? And do you think it can be cured?”

“It’s not a disease, Vesta. I just happen to like dogs.”

“I think you should see a shrink. This is not normal.”

“Plenty of people like dogs!”

“Plenty of people are sick in the head.”

“You take that back, Vesta Muffin.”

“I’m just trying to help!”

13

Odelia, who’d enjoyed a nice coffee and a piece of banana cake with cream on top, announced it was time for our last interview of the day.

And so we found ourselves sitting in the car with her and Chase as the cop drove us in short order—but always within the speed limit—to the home of the Larobskis.

Hazel Larobski, when she opened the door, turned out to be a woman with lined face but plenty of unnaturally dark hair that fell in curls around that face. It was hard to determine how old she really was, which was the same problem I’d had with Janette Bittiner and even with Neda’s secretary Cher. Hazel’s face told me she was closer to sixty than forty, but her hair broadcast the message she was barely out of her teens.

“Oh, hi,” said Hazel, as her eyes keenly swept across the small company that stood on her welcome mat.

“Chase Kingsley. Hampton Cove PD,” Chase grunted, and whipped out his badge, as he’d probably done a million times throughout his professional life.

Hazel’s eyes went a little wider, then she said, “This is about Neda, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” said Chase. “May we come in?”

“Um, sure,” said Hazel, and stepped aside to allow us passage into her neat little home. “Don’t mind the mess,” she said apologetically as she led us into the living room. “My cleaner comes in on Tuesdays, even though I would have preferred Mondays, of course.”

Why Monday would be a better day for a cleaner to come in than a Tuesday, I really couldn’t say, but then the world of humans still holds many mysteries for me, of course. I’m their always eager student, but sometimes I have a feeling it’s going to take me my whole life to understand even a small snippet of what makes this peculiar species tick.

The living room was probably the most immaculate one I’d ever seen. I could spot not a single speck of dust, mote of dirt, or even a token dust bunny. In fact everything looked very much in order: books standing to attention like obedient little soldiers on their shelves, knickknacks tastefully distributed across every available surface, and even the color scheme was thoughtfully worked out: plenty of beiges and yellows with just a splash of orange here and there.

“Please take a seat,” Hazel breathed, as she gestured to the upholstered beige couch while she gracefully sank down onto an overstuffed chair. Odelia and Chase did as they were told, and after Hazel had directed a scathing glance in my direction and Dooley’s, presumably warning us not to shedeven a single hair or else, she called out, “Amadeo!”

A funny-looking little man came shuffling into the room. His back was stooped, he was wearing gray slacks, a gray shirt and the last remnants of a gray mop of hair crowning a square head, and from behind thick glasses pale blue eyes stared out at the world with a perpetually puzzled expression.

“Yes, my dear?” he said in mild tones.

“The police,” Hazel introduced us.

“Police?” asked her husband.

“Neda died, remember? I told you about that. They’re here to ask us about her.”

“Neda?” said Amadeo as he carefully lowered his thin frame in the overstuffed chair positioned right next to his wife’s. They formed part of the same set and were both directed at the large television. “Who’s Neda?”

“Neda Hoeppner. You remember,” said Hazel in the tone of a much-put-upon wife.

Amadeo Larobski directed a vague look at his wife.“Neda… Hopper?”

“Hoeppner. Our choir director?”

“Oh, right,” he said, though it was obvious he was still very much in the dark.

“So it has come to our attention that you and Neda didn’t exactly see eye to eye,” Chase explained by way of introduction, setting the tone of the conversation.

“No, we most certainly did not,” Hazel confirmed. When her husband suddenly grabbed a coffee table book from the coffee table and started leafing through it, she immediately took it from his hands and returned it, then made sure it was exactly aligned with the table’s edge. “She knocked outmy husband. Made him lose his marbles.”

“What did you lose?” asked Amadeo with interest.

Hazel opted to ignore him.“She hit him over the head with her baton, he took a bad fall, and he’s been confused and addlebrained ever since.”

“Someone has an adder in his brain?” asked Amadeo, surprised. “Is it someone we know?”

“We talked to Francis Reilly,” said Odelia, “and he told us it was an accident.”

“Of course it was an accident. I don’t think Neda would go and knock people down on purpose,” Hazel said with a touch of annoyance. She’d clearly had this discussion before. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she did it. And that’s the problem: she never admitted her mistake. She never apologized. And she never asked us if there was anything she could do.”

“But you still didn’t quit the choir,” said Chase. “And neither did your husband.”

“St. Theresa Choir is our whole life,” said Hazel as she gave her husband a quick rap across the knuckles when he surreptitiously tried to sneak that book from the table again. “We’ve been in that choir since before we were married. We met in that choir, and got engaged, then married, had three kids…” Her eyes drifted to a set of picture frames on the shelves. They were a wedding photo of a much younger Hazel and Amadeo, and next to that several pictures of kids and grandkids. “The choir sang at our wedding, at every christening, at birthdays, jubilees, but also funerals—my parents and Amadeo’s… Every important moment in our lives is tied up with the choir. You don’t leave something that’s been part of your life just because you don’t like the new conductor, Detective.”

“There will be others,” suddenly Amadeo piped up.

“Other what, Mr. Larobski?” asked Odelia kindly.

“Other… what were we talking about?”

“Choir directors,” said his wife stiffly.

“There will be other choir directors,” said Amedeo with a happy nod.

“That is definitely true,” said Hazel. “And a good thing, too.”

Chase cleared his throat.“Can you please tell us where you both were this morning between eleven-thirty and twelve, Mrs. Larobski?”

“You don’t think we had anything to do with Neda’s death, do you?”

“Simply a routine inquiry,” Odelia explained. “We need to verify people’s whereabouts so we can create a clear picture of Neda’s day.”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t part of that picture,” said Hazel, who was sitting ramrod straight, eyes alert. “We had choir practice until eleven, then we came straight home. Isn’t that true, Amadeo?”

“Mh?” said her husband, looking up with a dreamy expression on his face.

“We came straight home after choir practice!” she said, raising her voice and enunciating a little more clearly.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said. “We always do, don’t we? Choir practice and straight home for lunch.”

“You have lunch at eleven?” asked Chase.

“Eleven-thirty. We get up at six and have an early breakfast, which means an early lunch and an early dinner.” She checked her watch. “In fact I was just about to start preparing dinner.”

The message was clear: she wasn’t all that keen on two cops—or one cop and one semi-cop—to come barging in there asking a lot of questions.

“Can anyone verify that?” asked Chase, who wasn’t finished with the questions just yet.

Hazel frowned.“Verify what?”

“When you got back from choir practice.”

“Um…” She thought for a moment, then glanced to her husband, seemed to dispel the notion, and thought some more. Then her face suddenly lit up. “Janice,” she finally said.

“Janice?”

“Our next-door-neighbor. She was looking through the window when we arrived home. Janice is something of a neighborhood snoop,” she explained.

“Janice Malice,” her husband said with a little grin. “That’s what we like to call her.”

“Amadeo, please,” said his wife, embarrassed.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Janice Malice.”

“He once called her that to her face,” Hazel said. “She wasn’t happy.”

“So Janice saw you arrive at…”

“Must have been eleven-fifteen, eleven-twenty.”

“And you didn’t leave the house after that?”

“No, we had lunch and then we were both out in the backyard all afternoon.”

“We like the flowers,” Amadeo explained. “Lots of colors.”

“Yes, Amadeo likes the colors,” Hazel said with an indulgent smile. “The more colors the better. So we plant flowers in the spring, and enjoy a riot of color all summer.”

Odelia glanced around.“Do you have… pets?” she asked, then darted a meaningful glance at me and Dooley. We hadn’t dared to move a muscle all through the interview.

“No pets,” Hazel snapped, as if the notion was a ridiculous one.

“We had a goldfish once,” Amadeo said. He was starting to really come into his own, I saw, and following the flow of the conversation. “But we sadly lost him.”

“Yeah, the kids had a goldfish, but that was years and years ago.”

“How old are your kids now, Mrs. Larobski?”

“Well, the youngest is thirty-five and lives right around the corner. Jake is forty, and lives in Boston, and Frieda is in Paris right now. She’s a business consultant,” she explained. You could tell from the tone of her voice that she was proud of her kids.

“We had a hamster, too,” her husband confided.

“Do you have any idea who could have done this to Neda?” asked Chase.

“Look, Detective, if you’re going to flaunt your wealth the way Neda did, it’s only a matter of time before someone is going to try to rob you of it.”

“She was flaunting her wealth?”

“Of course she was. Always with the fancy rings and bracelets, the expensive watches and the latest and most expensive iPhone… showing pictures of her vacations. Cannes, Antibes, Gstaad… She liked to rub it in our faces. I told Amadeo that she was flirting with disaster, and I was right.”

“So you think it was robbery?”

“Of course. Someone broke into her house for the purpose of taking whatever they could find—which was probably a lot—and she got in the way. It’s as simple as that.”

“We had a goldfish once,” Amadeo said happily, showing us that maybe he wasn’t as in tune with the flow of the conversation as I’d thought.

14

That evening, the whole family was gathered outside on the deck for dinner, and of course there was but a single topic of conversation: the murder of Neda Hoeppner. Since Marge and Tex’s home wasn’t furnished yet, they were still living with us, which was nice and cozy, though sometimes a little noisy, as it meant that Odelia’s gran also shared the house with the rest of us, and she has a tendency to get a little loud from time to time.

She was conspicuously absent now, though, which wasn’t her habit.

But then I remembered she’d told us she was meeting her decorator, so perhaps she was still next door, showing this person the lay of the land.

“I talked to Janice Malice, as Amadeo insists on calling her, and she confirmed that the Larobskis were home when they said they were,” said Chase, as he buttered a piece of bread.

“Hazel could still have snuck out of the house through the back,” said Odelia, “and gone over to Neda’s.”

“I don’t think she could have done that without Amadeo giving her away, though. That man simply blurts out anything that pops into his head.”

“He could have taken a nap after their early lunch.”

“Possible,” Chase admitted. “Though Hazel would still have needed to get to her car, which was parked out in front, and Janice would have seen her.”

“It’s probably just as Hazel says,” Marge said as she reached for the saucepan and dribbled a liberal amount of sauce over her pork chops. “A gangster, attracted by stories of Neda’s wealth, decided to rob the place, and was surprised by Neda. There was a struggle, she fell and hit her head.”

“It’s definitely possible,” Uncle Alec agreed as he eagerly ladled more potatoes onto his plate. “Problem with that theory, though, is that it’s going to be very hard to find out who our robber was. And also, there was no sign of forced entry, so Neda must have opened the door for them.”

“I’m sure you’ll catch them, honey,” said his girlfriend, Mayor Butterwick, as she rubbed his arm affectionately. She turned to Tex. “So when is the big day? When are you moving back into your house?”

“Oh, well, we don’t have a specific date planned as such,” the good doctor said as he scratched his nose. “Um, first we need to decide about furnishings, wallpaper, decorations and such.” He darted a helpless look in the direction of his wife.

“We don’t see eye to eye on that,” Marge explained. “Tex simply wants to move our old furniture back in and be done with it.”

“At least what’s left of it,” the doctor grumbled as he took a sip from his wine.

“I want him to come with me and pick out a new salon and a new bedroom.”

“And Gran wants to hire an interior decorator and really go to town,” Odelia finished for her mom, who nodded unhappily.

“Where is your mom?” asked Charlene.

“No idea,” said Uncle Alec.

“She’s meeting with the decorator,” I piped up, causing both Marge and Odelia to turn to me in surprise.

“She’s what?!” Marge cried.

“What’s going on?” asked Tex.

“Max says Ma is meeting with the decorator!” Marge said, looking even more distraught now, after receiving this bit of news. “And I specifically told her not to talk to anyone without me!”

“Oh, honey, she’s probably interviewing people. You’ll get to have the last word,” said her husband.

But Marge didn’t look convinced, and nor did Odelia. They both knew Gran, and also knew how impetuous that old lady could be.

Just then, the lady in question came stepping through the opening in the hedge that divides Odelia’s backyard from that of her parents. She was looking happy and chipper to a degree, and as we all looked on, a man came stepping out in her wake. At least I thought it was a man. It could have been a woman, too. He or she was sporting long hair, fashionable orange-framed sunglasses perched on the tip of a sharp nose, thin lips and a sizable chin. I assumed immediately that this was the decorator, and saw that the person was wearing a nice gray suit with orange pinstripe and a pair of shiny new brogues.

“Hi, there,” said this apparition. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner.”

“Family, meet Jason,” said Gran, gesturing to the decorator with a proud sweep of her hand. “Jason Knauff. Who will be the man to bring our home into the twenty-first century and beyond.”

“Hi, Mr. Knauff,” said Marge, though I could tell from the way her eyes were shooting chunks of molten lava in the direction of her mother that she was far from pleased.

“I just saw your beautiful home,” said Mr. Knauff as he waved his hands expressively, “and it is absolutely to die for!”

“Jason says it’s rare that he immediately experiences such a connection to a place,” Gran explained.

“As blank canvases go where I can express my art,” said Jason, “your modest little home is pure perfection.”

“You want to paint our house?” asked Tex. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Mr. Knauff, but it’s already been painted, sir.”

“He’s not the painter, Tex,” said Gran irritably. “Jason is an interior decorator and designer. In fact he isthe interior designer. He did Gwyneth’s house, didn’t you, Jason?”

“Dear Gwynnie, yes,” Jason murmured, reverently closing his eyes for a moment.

“And Kim’s new beach house, of course.”

“Kimmie…”

“And Alec and Hilaria.”

“Hilariaaaa…”

“And now he’s doing our place,” Gran finished, looking like a cat that got the cream.

“Ma,” Marge said under her breath, “I told you to talk to me first.”

“What do you think I’m doing right now? I’m talking, ain’t I?”

“I think you will be very happily surprised with what I’ve got in store for you, Mrs. Poole,” said thisartiste as he waved his hands in the air, conjuring up a vision for the Poolemaison as he pictured it.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Tex muttered as he poured another glass of wine then downed it in a single gulp.

15

That night, Dooley and I rode in the car with our local neighborhood watch, and so did Harriet and Brutus.

Gran had confided in me that these watch outings had a tendency to get a little tedious after a while, since unfortunately not a lot of crime was being committed in our neighborhood, or at least not on Gran and Scarlett’s watch, and so all they ended up doing was driving around a little aimlessly, and chatting the night away.

It made for a welcome diversion, therefore, that she had four cats in the car with her, to tackle some other subjects, and distract her from the tedium many crimefighters face when there’s no crime to fight. Even Batman has moments he’s just sitting around his cave, playing Scrabble with Alfred and wondering what’s going on with that Joker.

“So Gran, I had this great idea that I wanted to run by you,” said Harriet.

“Oh, sure, honey,” said Gran, as she kept a keen eye on the house of Neda Hoeppner, now dark and deserted. “Shoot.”

“Well, you know how St. Theresa Choir is having their big concert next week, right?”

“I doubt that’ll happen. With their choir leader bludgeoned to death this morning.”

“She wasn’t actually bludgeoned to death, Gran,” I reminded her. “She fell and hit her head.”

“Fell or was pushed? There lies the difference between murder and an accident, Max.”

Scarlett, who had a hard time following the conversation, yawned.“I really wish you’d translate what they’re talking about, Vesta. It gets annoying for me otherwise.”

“Oh, sure, hon,” said Gran, and obliged her friend by translating Harriet’s words.

“So if that concert goes through,” Harriet continued, “I was thinking that maybe cat choir could join St. Theresa Choir and we could stage a concert with the two choirs.”

Gran frowned. This was clearly a train of thought she’d never considered before. “Huh,” she said finally. “St. Theresa Choir and cat choir together on the same stage.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Brutus. “It’s going to blow the roof off that old church. It’s going to attract a lot of attention and show the world what cat choir can really do.”

“Thanks, snuggle bunny,” said Harriet.

“And especially your star performance, of course, sugar lips,” her mate continued, unabashedly plugging Harriet’s qualities as a soprano.

“Thanks, my wuggle bear.”

“I don’t know, Harriet,” said Gran. “We’d have to sell Francis on the idea, and you know what that stubborn old fool is like.”

“No, what is he like?” asked Harriet.

“Old-fashioned. Anything that’s new or hip or cool is a hard pass with that man.” She was frowning before her into the dark night, as if picturing the aged priest and thinking hard thoughts about his capacity for embracing Harriet’s idea—which I was sure Gran had now taken on board and had magically transformed into her own idea.

“Well, can’t you at least talk to him?” asked Harriet.

“Oh, sure, but I can’t promise you he’ll agree.”

“But you have to try, Gran,” said Harriet. “You have to do the best you can.”

“And I will. Of course I will.”

Harriet cheered up considerably at these words.“So you think it’s a good idea?”

“Absolutely. I think it’s just as you say. It’s going to be a big smash. Now all we need to do is convince that old nincompoop…”

Her words died away, for suddenly a car was approaching. It had its lights turned off, and was cruising very slowly in our direction!

“This is it,” said Gran, sitting up. “The killer is back!”

“You were right, Vesta!” Scarlett cried excitedly.

“Of course I was right. When have you ever known me not to be right!”

“How do we handle this?” said Scarlett, as she nervously shifted in her seat. “We can’t let him get away.”

“You take the stun gun, I’ll take the shotgun, and as for the others…” She cast a quick glance at the backseat, where four cats sat at attention, ready to do their bit. “You make sure that when this guy makes a run for it, you grab him and grab him good, all right?”

“Aye-aye, captain!” Brutus bellowed.

And so it was arranged: Gran and Scarlett would form the advance troops, ready to hit the killer by surprise, and the four of us would hold back, and make sure that if the killer managed to evade two old ladies armed to the teeth, we’d bite them in the ankles or do whatever else it took to incapacitate Neda’s vicious attacker!

Gran and Scarlett carefully opened their respective doors, after Gran had had the presence of mind to disable that little car light that annoyingly announces to anyone and sundry that something is going down, and slowly got out.

The killer’s car had parked three cars in front of us, so while Gran kept to the left side, and used the intervening cars as cover, Scarlett did the same thing on the right side.

A two-pronged attack!

And as for us? We simply crept underneath the vehicles, making sure we stayed in the shadows.

Soon Gran had reached the car parked right behind the killer, and Scarlett was waiting in the right wing for Gran’s signal announcing their surprise attack.

Then Gran suddenly hissed,“Now!” and both women sprung the trap, Gran securing the driver’s side door and Scarlett the passenger side door. They both yanked open their designated doors, while four cats sat watching on with bated breath, claws out!

Judging from Gran’s face, though, the identity of the killer surprised her a great deal, for she momentarily reeled. And then she said, “What the hell are you doing here!”

“I could ask you the same thing,” an irritable voice sounded from within the car.

“I should have known it was you,” said Scarlett, sounding disappointed.

And then the killer emerged from the car—or the two killers, actually.

They were, reading from left to right: Wilbur Vickery and Father Reilly!

16

Wilbur and Father Reilly had had the exact same idea as Gran and had decided that if the killer returned to the scene of the crime, they’d be the ones to nab them.

“You know this isn’t your neighborhood, right?” said Gran. “This is our neighborhood, and you have no business here.”

“According to this map this is our neighborhood,” said Wilbur, as he stabbed a stubby finger at an old map, which he’d placed on the hood of his car.

“What is that, Max?” asked Dooley.

“That is a map, Dooley,” I said.

“A map? But it’s made of paper.”

“Maps used to be made of paper,” I told him, “before Google took over, and GPS.”

“Don’t you remember those movies where X marks the spot, Dooley?” asked Harriet. “Treasure maps and that kind of thing?”

“Oh, sure,” he said, then his eyes went wide with excitement. “Is that a treasure map Wilbur is holding? Are we going to hunt for treasure?”

“No, Dooley, it’s just a map of Hampton Cove,” I said.

“And it wouldn’t surprise me if that wasn’t the map that was drawn up when the two neighborhood watches signed their famous peace treaty,” Brutus grunted.

“Look, this is the line we agreed upon,” said Wilbur. Four members of two different neighborhood watches were now bent over the map, intently studying it. “And here is the house of Neda Hoeppner, see?”’

“Oh, I see, all right,” said Gran. “I can see that Neda’s house is in our part of town.”

“It’s on the demarcation line, actually,” said Father Reilly. “Right on the line, in fact.”

“So what does that mean?” asked Scarlett.

“That means that we apply the principle we agreed to,” said Gran. “The South side of the street is yours, the North side is ours. And as you can clearly see, Neda’s house is on the North side, which means this is our turf, Vickery. So you better scram.”

“I thought they’d agreed to divvy up the night, not the town?” said Brutus.

“They signed an amendment to the original treaty last week,” I explained.

“I don’t see it that way,” Wilbur protested. “The line is clearly drawn on top of Neda’s house.”

“That’s because you can’t draw,” Gran said unhappily. “Obviously the line was supposed to go right down the middle of the street, with one side of the street ours, the other side yours. Only you messed up again, Vickery.”

“No, I think this was done intentionally,” said Father Reilly. “We divvied up the streets and houses in the fairest way possible, remember? We even asked Charlene Butterwick to give us access to the most recent census, to make sure we have an equal number of citizens under our jurisdiction.”

“See?” said Wilbur triumphantly. “Neda’s house is mine!”

“Ours,” Father Reilly corrected him mildly.

“Oh, nonsense,” said Gran, but even she had to admit that the aged priest just might have a point.

“Gran!” Harriet hissed. “Ask him about the choir!”

“Okay, so I’m going to let this one slide for now,” said Gran, “but on one condition.”

Wilbur gave her a look of suspicion. Long association with Vesta Muffin had made him aware of the fact that she took no prisoners, and she gave no presents.“What?”

“You have a concert coming up, Francis.”

“That’s right,” said Father Reilly. “At least if it will still happen. Now that we’ve lost Neda, we might have to postpone.”

“Don’t postpone. Simply tell people you’re dedicating the concert in Neda’s honor.”

“Oh, that’s not such a bad idea,” said the priest, nodding thoughtfully.

“It’s a brilliant idea. And what’s even more brilliant is what I’m going to tell you next. You know about cat choir, right?”

“Of course. My Shanille is part of that group of cats.”

“Not just a part—Shanille runs cat choir.”

“She does? My, my. She does take after her owner, doesn’t she?”

“What’s all this nonsense, Vesta?” asked Wilbur. “I thought we were discussing watch business and here you are yapping about your cats.”

“Your cat is also part of cat choir, Wilbur. In fact Kingman plays an important part.”

“He does, does he?” said Wilbur, slightly mollified. “Well, he is a proud and talented cat, of course. He gets that from me.”

“So how about we join both choirs, St. Theresa Choir and cat choir, for one unique concert? A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see two great professional choirs at work?”

Both men stared at her as if she’d finally lost her mind.

“Don’t just stand there looking like a couple of idiots—say something!”

“Well…” said Father Reilly, rubbing his chin.

“You’re nuts, Vesta,” said Wilbur, who wasn’t one for beating about the bush. “Cats? Singing in a choir? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“They do sing, you know,” said Scarlett, piping up. “And they sing very nice, too.”

Both men turned to her, a little goggle-eyed.“You’ve heard them sing?” asked Wilbur.

“Oh, sure,” Scarlett lied. “And they can sing beautifully. Like little angels.”

“Little angels?” asked Father Reilly, as if suddenly seeing the light.

“Absolutely. When you hear these cats sing it’s almost as if you’re transported to a different place—a different world.”

A world of bleeding ears, I thought as I listened to this nonsense. Look, I’m not saying cats can’t sing, but the cats of Hampton Cove certainly can’t. The only reason we spend time in cat choir is to have an excuse to shoot the breeze and spend some time together. Still, if Harriet thought this was a good idea, who was I to rain on her parade? After all, usually these concerts are accompanied by a small orchestra consisting of one or two violinists, a pianist if Father Reilly can wrangle one up, bass player, flutist, guitarist… It drowns out the terrible noise from the choir, you see, and makes people forget that fifty pensioners who just happen to think they can sing, aren’t necessarily right.

“This is a bad idea, Francis,” said Wilbur. “Take it from me.”

“No, but it is very original, isn’t it?” said Father Reilly, growing more excited by the second. “Imagine a chorus of darling little angels, led by my precious Shanille.”

“With a nice solo performance from me,” Harriet added.

“Will Kingman be included?” asked Wilbur, touching the hirsute appendage that set his face on fire. It looked itchy, though that could simply be the chili pepper association.

“Oh, sure. Kingman will be in the first row,” said Gran, really selling Harriet’s idea for all she was worth. “And since this has never been done before, tickets will fly out the door like hotcakes.”

“Tickets? What tickets?” asked Father Reilly, confused.

“You’re not going to put on a show like this without asking people to pay for the privilege, are you, Francis?”

“But we never ask for money,” said the priest. “We just invite people to give whatever they can afford or think is fair.”

“I think a hundred bucks is fair.”

The howls of indignation rising up from both men told us they didn’t agree.

“Okay, so how about eighty, and we split the profit right down the middle—same way we divide Hampton Cove?” Gran suggested. “It’s only fair since this is my idea.”

I glanced at Harriet, and I could tell she wanted to say something, but kept her tongue. After all, it didn’t matter whose idea it was, as long as the plan was brought to fruition, right?

“Eighty bucks a pop… how many seats in the house, Francis? Two hundred? Split four ways, that makes… well, plenty of dough anyway.”

“Vesta, really,” said Father Reilly, shaking his head in dismay. “We can’t use the house of the Lord to make a profit.”

“Oh, like hell we can’t. You need gas in that tank of yours, don’t you?” she said, poking a finger in Wilbur’s chest. “And so do I. We spend all night keeping this town safe. Well, I say Hampton Cove owes us, and this is where they pay us some protection money.”

“Protection money! What is this, the Mafia!” said Wilbur, though his eyes were gleaming. Your small-town business owner knows the value of money, and can spot a good deal when he sees it. He now turned to his friend. “Francis, as much as it pains me to admit this, I think Vesta has a point.”

“So how about two shows?” said Vesta, well pleased that she had found an ally. “Or three or four? Heck, if this thing pans out we can take this show on the road! And then if Hollywood comes knocking, turn it into a movie!”

“Oh, dear,” I said as I turned away from these negotiations. Somehow I had the feeling that this new endeavor Gran had discovered wasn’t going to end well. But then what else was new.

Harriet, for her part, looked on with shiny eyes.“We’re going to be the new Hamilton, wookie,” she said to Brutus, who was slightly more reticent. “Broadway, Hollywood, here we come!”

17

That night cat choir was an exhilarated affair. Harriet had told the others about our upcoming appointment with greatness, and excited murmurings had quickly spread throughout Hampton Cove’s cat population, most of whom are members of cat choir.

“Did you hear that, Shanille?” asked Kingman. “We’re going to be singing at an actual concert—an actual live concert in front of an audience that doesn’t consist of a bunch of shoe-throwing rubes!”

“I heard,” said Shanille. She looked a little discombobulated, which was only to be expected, of course, since she now was going to be faced with the enormous responsibility of having to prepare the first-ever cat concert in the world! “Oh, my,” she said, as her chest rapidly rose and fell.“oh, my, my.”

“This is great news. We’re going to be famous, Shanille. If this goes well and this show goes on the road we’re talking Broadway, international tours, and then… Hollywood!”

“Oh, my,” Shanille repeated, and I could tell from her glittering eyes that she was picturing it all: the applause, the rave reviews, the accolades, maybe even an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, a Tony! And I could see her mentally rehearse an acceptance speech, teary-eyed and in a quaking voice thanking her collaborators, her agent, her manager and of course her human for the tons of kibble over the years.

And while cat choir whipped itself up into a frenzy over this amazing opportunity, Dooley and I took a seat underneath the jungle gym and decided to take a load off. It had been a busy day, with not much opportunity for our usual nap. From the moment Neda’s body had been discovered by her faithful secretary, it had been one interview after another, and even though we may be experienced sleuths by now, we’re also cats, and cats need their nap time—preferably the whole eighteen hours of it!

“What do you think about this concert, Dooley?” I now asked as I placed my head on my front paws and let my eyes droop closed.

“I think it’s going to be great,” said my friend. “Though I’m not sure if Hampton Cove is ready for a cat choir concert.”

He eyed the shoe that had recently been thrown in our direction. It was a Nike shoe, though it had seen better days. No one ever throws new Nikes at us, only the old ones they don’t need anymore.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Well, we may think we’re good, but humans judge things by different standards, don’t they?”

“They most certainly do.”

“And frankly I don’t think we’re quite there yet.”

Harriet, who was over the moon with joy, now decided this was a good moment to sing one of her signature arias. It mainly consisted of a long caterwaul, which began quite modestly enough, in the lower register, then rose in ever-modulated intensity to the mid-range of her powerful voice, to end on a high note, one of those screeches that have the capacity to break glass, which luckily wasn’t available there in the park.

Promptly a large shoe came flying in her direction and hit her squarely in the snoot. It was one of Kanye West’s shoes, I saw. One of those weirdly-shaped Yeezys.

“Expensive shoe,” I commented as Harriet shook her head and scrabbled into an upright position again. “Two hundred bucks at least.”

“See what I mean, Max?” said my friend as Harriet resumed her practice, undaunted like a real diva should. Mariah Carey probably has been the target of many a Yeezy early in her career, and so has C?line, or even Whitney. And did it stop them? No, it didn’t.

“Yeah, I see what you mean, Dooley. Hampton Cove isn’t ready for cat choir taking the big stage, I’m afraid. But who’s going to listen to us?”

“Nobody.”

“So we’ll just relax and see what happens.” Which you might say is my motto in life.

“I was still thinking about Bonnie and Clyde, Max,” Dooley said now.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m starting to think that maybe Yoko is innocent after all.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because Odelia found another witness who confirmed that Yoko was at the restaurant all morning. One of the customers.”

“Pity,” I said. “She sounded like a good suspect.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it, Max?”

“What is?”

“Well, here we are, trying to find out what happened to poor Neda, and these suspects, they just keep slipping through our paws like so much sand on the beach.”

I grinned.“I didn’t know you were a poet, Dooley.”

“No, but it’s true, isn’t it? It’s frustrating, Max, that’s what it is.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” I said as my eyes now drifted closed again. “You just have to keep going, and going, and going, and sooner or later you’ll get where you need to be.”

“If you say so,” said my friend, sounding a little dejected.

I opened my eyes again and regarded him sternly.“Don’t you go losing heart now, you hear? There’s still plenty of suspects, and we’re not giving up until we’ve nailed that one suspect that we can actually connect to this crime in a satisfactory manner.”

“Okay, Max,” he said, and regarded me quizzically. “You never get discouraged, do you? How do you do it?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a slight shrug. “I guess I’m like a pit bull that way.”

“A pit bull?”

“Yeah, they don’t give up either, do they? Once they’ve sunk their teeth into the seat of someone’s pants, they don’t let go.”

Dooley swallowed.“I don’t think I like that comparison, Max.”

He was right, of course. Comparing myself to a dog? Not done for a fine upstanding member of Hampton Cove’s feline community. Then again, maybe I do have a touch of the canine in me. That pit bull quality your good detective needs. But then I dozed off. Okay, so I’m a pit bull who likes to nap. Where else do you think I get my strength from?

18

We arrived home after a wild night out—at least Harriet and Brutus had enjoyed an exhilarating night—when we discovered much to our surprise that a light was playing in the empty house that belongs to Marge and Tex. A light indicating that a presence was at the house where no presence was supposed to be!

So immediately we snuck around to the window and hopped up onto the windowsill, which is now much closer to the ground, on account of the fact that when the house needed to be rebuilt, the Pooles decided to go for less brick and a lot more glass. I guess they’ve listened to that old song ‘Let the Sunshine In’ and decided to heed its message.

We glanced inside, and suddenly Brutus said,“Hey, isn’t that Gran’s fruitcake?”

“You mean her interior decorator,” I corrected him.

“That’s what I said. Gran’s fruitcake.”

And lo and behold, my uncouth friend was right: Jason Knauff, for it was he, was dancing around the living room, waving expressive arms, and… he was buck naked!

“Why isn’t that human wearing any clothes, Max?” asked Dooley, who had noticed the same anomaly.

“I’m not sure, Dooley,” I said.

“Do you think he’s allergic to clothes, maybe?”

“Could be,” I admitted.

“Some humans are, you know—allergic to clothes, I mean. Or to washing powder.”

“Maybe he’s testing the floor heating,” Harriet suggested. “Maybe he put it as high as it can go, and now he’s figuring out if it’s warm enough for his taste.”

Suddenly Mr. Knauff lay down on the floor, and started… making snow angels, only there was no snow, of course.

“See? I was right,” said Harriet. “He’s testing that floor heating.”

We watched the man with amazement, as he was now rolling across the floor, then jumped up again like a jack-in-the-box and started racing around the room, flapping his arms up and down like a bird and generally looking like a raving lunatic. I wondered if he’d done the same thing at Gwynnie’s new place, or Kimmie’s or Hilaria’s.

Finally we decided to leave the man be and go to bed. After all, there’s only so long you can watch a man dance around an empty house buck naked. It does get tedious.

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The next morning, breakfast was a lively affair, with Gran trying to impress upon the others the importance of her upcoming concert, and Tex being in the vanguard of critics who weren’t wild about the idea, causing Gran to call him a bigot, which Tex didn’t take well, judging from the fact that he threw a bread roll in his mother-in-law’s direction, with her reciprocating by also throwing a bread roll at him, this one buttered and smeared with jam, causing it to stick to his face, then drop to his nice, crisp white shirt.

And as Dooley and I left the house through the pet flap, my friend commented,“I think it’s time the house was finished and Gran and Tex and Marge moved next door again, Max. They’re starting to get on each other’s nerves.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “Time they all got some space from each other again.”

At least in their own house they had more room to avoid each other, while at Odelia’s they had been stuck for weeks, which wasn’t conducive to a convivial atmosphere.

We wandered over to the backyard of Marge and Tex’s house and saw that Harriet and Brutus were holding an early-morning meeting with Rufus, the big sheepdog belonging to the Trappers, Marcia and Ted, the Pooles’ next-door neighbors.

“Hey, buddy,” I said as we walked up to join the conference.

“Hey, Max,” said Rufus, his head sticking through a hole in the hedge.

I noticed he looked perturbed for some reason.

“Everything all right?” I asked therefore.

“Oh, sure. Only Harriet just told me about cat choir setting up a joint concert with Father Reilly’s St. Theresa Choir.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Harriet’s idea, and Gran ran with it.”

“So… why didn’t you invite me, huh?”

“You’re not a cat, Rufus,” Harriet pointed out.

“I know I’m not a cat, Harriet,” said Rufus. “I’m a dog, and a proud member of dog choir, which, as you very well know, also rehearses every night at the same park as cat choir. And I don’t see why we should be excluded from this concert of yours.”

“Wow, hold on,” said Brutus, holding up a paw. “This has nothing to do with dog choir, Rufus. This is strictly a cat choir and human choir affair.”

“Which is discrimination and you know it.”

“Discrimination?” asked Brutus, slightly taken aback. Nobody likes to be accused of discrimination.

“Anti-dog discrimination, and I won’t stand for it,” said the large sheepdog.

Suddenly another member of dog choir joined us. It was Fifi, who belongs to Odelia’s next-door neighbor Kurt Mayfield. She’s a tiny Yorkie, and one of my best friends, strange as that may seem for a dog.

“Hey, you guys,” she said as she came tripping up. “What a wonderful, gorgeous morning, isn’t it? One of those glorious mornings that makes you happy to be alive.”

“Mh,” Rufus grumbled.

“What’s eating you, big guy?” she asked with a laugh.

“Cat choir is doing a show with St. Theresa Choir, and dog choir is not invited.”

“Not invited? But that’s discrimination,” said Fifi immediately.

“See?”

“You can’t exclude us. We have every right to sing at that show of yours.”

“But…” Harriet began,

“Look, it’s very simple,” said Rufus. “Either you include us, or we’re boycotting your concert.”

“And how are you going to do that?” said Brutus with a smile. “By not showing up? That’s going to make a big impression.”

“We’re going on a hunger strike,” said Rufus decidedly.

Fifi gulped a little at this. I know how much she likes to eat.“Um, yeah, that’s right. If we don’t get invited, we’re going to stop eating until we are.”

“Now wait a minute,” said Harriet, glancing over to me, as if I could magically make this hiccup go away. “If you all stop eating, it’s going to create a big fuss.”

“I know,” said Rufus with a smile. “That’s the whole point.”

“You can’t do this.”

“Oh, watch us,” said Rufus. “I can not eat for days or even weeks!” He slapped his large belly. “I’ve got plenty of reserves in the tank, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Fifi slapped her own considerably smaller belly, gulped and squeaked,“Me, too!”

“If you don’t eat for a day you’ll faint, Fifi,” Brutus pointed out. “And if you don’t eat for two days, you’ll be dead.”

Fifi gulped some more.“Anything for a good cause,” she said finally. “So you know what to do, Max,” she added. “if you don’t convince Father Reilly to add dog choir to the roster, you’ll be responsible for my premature demise.”

Oh, God. Just what I needed!

And just when I was about to launch into a long speech on why this wasn’t a good idea, a loud scream suddenly reached our ears, and when we looked up, we saw that Tex had come wandering into his backyard, presumably to take a gander at his lovely new house. He now stood face to face with a naked Jason Knauff, who’d just come out of the house, looking a little bleary-eyed. And did I mention he was still fully in the nood?

“What the hell!” Tex cried.

“Oh, hi, sir,” said Jason as he stretched and yawned. He didn’t even have the decency to cover his private parts with his hat. Then of course he didn’t have a hat at his disposal.

Drawn by the screams, the rest of the Pooles came hurrying over, and when they saw Jason the way God had created him, their reactions were varied and interesting to watch.

Gran was grinning, and so was Chase. Odelia was frowning, and Marge was watching the scene slack-jawed.

“I was getting a feel for the energy of the house,” Jason now said, feeling compelled to explain his presence. “It’s what I always do when I accept a new assignment.”

“Walk around the backyard nekkid?” asked Gran.

“Well, yes,” he said with an indulgent little smile. “Clothes form a barrier, you see, an obstacle between myself and these subtle energies. So I get rid of this barrier so I can become one with the empty space—bask in its aura so I know what the house needs.”

“And what does the house need?” asked Marge, who’d managed to reel in her jaw but was still staring at the designer.

“Well, I’m seeing… brightness,” he confessed, holding up his hands like a cinematographer. “Yellows and greens and blues and reds—bright, bright, bright!”

“You know what I see?” said Tex.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the designer with a mild smile.

“Pants,” said Tex curtly. “Get dressed, buddy. Now!”

“But surely the naked body holds no secrets for you, Doctor Poole,” Jason tried.

“Pants! Right now!”

Tex is a mild-mannered man, and it’s very rare that he loses his temper, but clearly meeting a naked man in his own backyard, a place where a homeowner can safely assume to be safe from naked men popping out of the undergrowth, had taxed him.

Theartiste blew out a sigh of disappointment, but finally entered the house, presumably to put on some clothes.

Just then, Uncle Alec suddenly came crashing through the opening in the hedge.“Oh, there you all are,” he said. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to. Chase, Odelia, can you both drop by the station now? Dolores just called. Neda’s sister is coming in.”

“Neda’s sister?” asked Odelia. “I didn’t even know Neda had a sister.”

“Well, looks like she did. She’s coming in from New York, and she’s very anxious to find out what happened to her sister.”

“You’re not going to invite her to the station, are you?” said Marge.

“Why not?” asked her brother, indignant. “What’s wrong with my police station?”

“And put her in one of those horrible interrogation rooms? No way. You better buy her a cup of coffee,” she told her daughter.

“Did you know that Neda had a sister?” Odelia asked.

“No, I didn’t,” her mother confessed.

Chase had slapped an arm around his superior officer’s shoulder and said with a grin, “You missed something, buddy. There was a naked man out here just now.”

“An exhibitionist?”

“Vesta’s decorator. Something about clothes forming a barrier between energies.”

“Do you want me to arrest him?”

“No!” Gran cried. “There will be no arresting of my decorator. He’s a genius.”

“A naked genius!” said Chase, that grin still firmly in place.

“So? All geniuses are eccentric, everybody knows that.”

“Now, Max,” Rufus suddenly urged me on. “You tell Vesta that dog choir is to be included on the concert’s bill or else.”

“All right, all right,” I told our friendly neighborhood sheepdog. “But not now.”

“But…”

“Do you trust me, Rufus?”

He hesitated, then finally nodded sheepishly. Or sheepdoggedly.“Yes, I do.”

“Then let me handle this in my own way.”

“All right, Max.”

“You take your time, Max,” Fifi joined in. Then she gave me a wink. I think she was happy that she wouldn’t have to go on a hunger strike.

19

Henrietta Riding, or Titta as she liked to be called, was a young woman probably twenty years Neda’s junior. She wore her hair short and had a small ring through her nose and a piercing through her upper lip. All in all she didn’t look anything like her big sister, and I was curious to hear her life’s story, and so were Odelia and Chase as they took a seat across from Titta in Cup o’ Mika, the popular coffee shop on Norfolk Street.

Marge had been right, of course. You don’t meet grieving relatives in that old police station, even though Uncle Alec, in a final attempt to out-argue his sister, had offered his own office for the interview.

“I was a troubled teen,” Titta began as she took off her leather jacket and placed it next to her on the bench. They’d taken a seat near the window, where they could watch the world go by, and still enjoy one of the excellent coffees Mika is rightly famous for.

I’m not a coffee aficionado myself, of course, so I take Odelia’s word for it. She’d chosen the venue, since she is a big coffee fan, and so is her hubby.

“A troubled teen?” Odelia prompted.

“Yeah,” said Titta, who’d drawn up one leg under her bum and looked a little sad. “Always getting in some kind of trouble. Drugs, vandalism, getting involved with a bad crowd. So my dad finally had enough and kicked me out—sent me to a boarding school in upstate New York. More a reform school for girls. I thought I’d hate it, and I did, but it was also what saved me. If I’d continued down the same road, I probably wouldn’t be alive today. But while I was there, Dad decided it wasn’t enough that he’d kicked me out of the house, he also decided to disown me. Especially afterI managed to get in trouble again, in my first year. I’d met a boy, and gotten pregnant and we ran away together. We made it to the Canadian border when police found us and brought us back. At least they brought me back, Frank was sent to prison—I was still only fifteen at the time, you see, and he was nineteen. Anyway, Dad felt enough was enough, and didn’t want anything more to do with me. He still paid for the school, but he effectively cut me out of his life.”

“You never saw your dad again?”

“No, I didn’t. I spent the next three years in that school, and when I finally graduated Dad had one of his lawyers contact me. He offered me a choice. Either go to college, which he’d pay for, or accept a lump sum and never darken his doorstep again, as he so eloquently put it. I chose the money, and ended up drifting around for a while, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I finally hooked up with Frank again, and we set off for India. Only Frank had a different idea of what to do once we got there. He wanted to live off my money and score drugs and party. I wanted to stay clean and make something of myself. So we split up, and I traveled to Nepal but got stranded in Banbasa.”

“Banbasa?” asked Chase, who’d been jotting down notes.

“North of India,” Titta explained. “I ended up staying in one of the orphanages up there, and since I’ve sometimes felt like an orphan myself I fit right in. So I never left, and have been helping out there, doing what I can. And for the first time in my life I felt at home. It’s been themaking of me. I found purpose and something to dedicate my life to.”

“So what brought you back?” asked Odelia.

She shrugged.“I wanted to visit my sister. I’d heard Dad had died, and tried to get in touch with Neda, but she wouldn’t acknowledge me. So I just figured I’d drop by and talk to her in person.” Her face crumpled. “Only turns out I was too late.”

“When did you arrive from India?”

“Three days ago. I’m staying with a friend in Brooklyn. I tried to get in touch with Neda again, and when that didn’t work I was planning to drive down here and just show up on her doorstep. But then my friend saw the news about a woman being robbed and killed, so…” She tapped the table with her finger. “Now I’m really all alone in the world.”

“Why didn’t Neda respond to your message, you think? Did you fall out?”

“Dad must have poisoned her mind against me, that’s the only thing I can think of. She was twenty years older than me, and by the time I was born, she was in college in Boston and then got a job in Philadelphia for a couple of years, so we never saw much of each other. She came home for the holidays, but less and less. For most of my childhood it was just me and my dad, and we never got on. He was a strict disciplinarian, and I rebelled against that. The fact that he blamed me for the death of my mom also didn’t help.”

“Your mom died when you were little?”

“She died in childbirth,” Titta explained, “so I never knew her. She was in her early forties when she got pregnant, and even though my dad told her not to carry the pregnancy to term, she refused to get rid of me. She died three days after giving birth from an infection. Which Dad blamed me for.” She shrugged. “A hell of a sob story, huh?”

“And now your sister died,” said Odelia, whose eyes had turned a little misty.

“Can you give me the name of your friend?” said Chase, who didn’t appear affected by Titta’s story. “Name and number, please. Just routine,” he added in a low rumble.

“Sure. You can call her. She’ll confirm my story,” said Titta.

“So what are you going to do now?” asked Odelia, whose hands had stolen across the tabletop and had enveloped Titta’s hand in hers.

“I’m seeing the executor of the estate after this,” she said. “It’s the same lawyer who visited me at the boarding school. He’s worked for our family for years. I guess he’ll tell me what formalities need to be taken care of and how long that will take. I’ll probably sell the house and all of Neda’s belongings, and then I’m off again as soon as possible.”

“Back to India,” said Odelia softly. “To your orphans.”

“Yeah,” said Titta, a smile breaking through the clouds as she was reminded of her life’s work. “At least I’ll be able to do some good with the estate’s money. The orphanage is in urgent need of a fresh influx of cash. There’s a lot of work to be done.” She seemed to be lit by an inner glow, and spoke at some length about the orphanage and about her work there. She really had found her place in the world, after a pretty rough start in life.

“I like her, Max,” said Dooley, when Titta finally stood to leave, to keep her appointment with the lawyer. “She’s doing a lot of very important work in India.”

“Yeah, I like her, too,” I said. “Amazing to think that Neda had a little sister no one knew about.”

“She kept her a secret all these years,” Dooley said. “As if she was ashamed of her.”

“She probably was ashamed of her—or ashamed of the way their dad treated Titta, and didn’t want to be reminded of that.”

“Sad business,” said Dooley. “And now she’ll never see her sister again. Or her dad.”

We watched as Titta shook hands with Chase, then shared a hug with Odelia, and left the coffee shop, her backpack slung across her shoulder, a look of determination on her young face. Chase had picked out his phone and was putting through a call to Titta’s friend in Brooklyn. Moments later he disconnected the call after a short conversation and nodded. “She confirms that Titta was with her all day yesterday.”

“Well, that’s it then,” said Odelia as they both got up. “Another dead end.”

“So now what?”

“Now we get our asses over to my uncle.” She held up her phone. “He’s asked for a progress report.” She grimaced. “Unfortunately we don’t have any progress to report.”

20

Once again we found ourselves in the pleasant company of Uncle Alec, going over recent events, with Chase and Odelia giving the chief of police their frank view on the state of the investigation.

“So what have you discovered so far?” asked the Chief as he sat back in his creaky office chair.

“Well, turns out that Neda had a sister no one seems to have known about,” Odelia said. “Her name is Titta Riding, and she’s been living in India for the past fifteen years, after her father sent her away and decided to cut all ties with his daughter.”

“I’ll be damned,” the Chief grunted, as surprised by this denouement as the others. “So how about Neda? Didn’t she and her sister ever get in touch in the last decade and a half?” It was clear Uncle Alec was as intrigued by this family feud or rift as the rest of us.

Chase shook his head.“Looks as if Neda followed her father’s cue and had no contact with her little sister ever since she was sent away to boarding school.”

“Titta does admit that she was a handful when she was still living under her father’s roof,” said Odelia. “And also that Neda, being twenty years older than her, had already left the house at that point, so they never actually spent a lot of time together as a family.”

“Sad story,” said Uncle Alec, shaking a weary head. “Very sad.”

“If only she’d come down here three days ago she would still have been able to see her sister. And now the killer, whoever he or she is, robbed her of that opportunity.”

“She didn’t seem broken up about it,” Chase remarked as he placed his notebook on the desk.

“She hasn’t seen her sister in years, Chase. They may have been family, but as far as I can tell they were complete strangers to each other—no thanks to their cruel father.”

They all spent a moment ruminating on the circumstances that surrounded Titta’s childhood. Then Uncle Alec placed his hands on the desk and said, “So what now?”

Now, apparently, was Dolores Peltz barging into the office again, like a parrot repeating its message to anyone who would listen:“About that witness, Chief.”

“What witness? And how many times have I told you to knock and wait?”

“The witness of that car crash yesterday,” Dolores said, blithely ignoring her boss’s outburst. “The witness on the red bike who saw that accident on Groveler Street?”

But the Chief had no time for car crashes or mystery witnesses on red or other bikes, so he waved an impatient hand and said,“Just give it to Murphy.”

“She’s busy.”

“Or Jones.”

“He’s doing a training.”

“Just pick anyone! How hard is it to deal with a simple traffic accident!”

Dolores shrugged.“Pretty difficult, apparently, since no one has given these people the time of day since they came in yesterday.”

But seeing the look on the Chief’s face must have told her she was treading on thin ice, for she quietly closed the door and retreated back to her own lair.

When I looked up, I found Uncle Alec staring at me intently. I innocently returned his intent perusal of my noble visage.

“What are those cats doing here?” he asked irritably.

“You told me I could bring them into the station,” Odelia reminded him.

Uncle Alec produced a sound halfway between a snort and a grunt, and it told me, along with the unfavorable look he was still casting in my direction, that he was on the verge of rescinding his permission. But Odelia, who must have seen the way the wind was blowing, now promptly got up and said,“So what do you want us to do?”

And Uncle Alec had just opened his mouth to issue his instructions when another knock sounded at the door and immediately Dolores popped her head in.

“What did I tell you about knocking and waiting?!” the Chief bellowed.

“Neda Hoeppner’s house was broken into again,” said Dolores, once more ignoring her boss’s outburst, as probably she’d been ignoring his outbursts ever since she first started working at the station.

Odelia immediately sank down again, looking stunned.“Broken into? When?”

“Just now,” said Dolores. “A Cher Shorn called and said she went over to Neda’s place to drop off some stuff and discovered that the backdoor had been forced open.”

“Was anything taken?” asked Chase.

“No idea. You’ll have to ask her. She’s still over at the house, waiting for you.”

“Well,” said Uncle Alec with an impatient gesture of his hand. “Don’t keep the woman waiting. Off you go. Chop, chop.”

And like the good little detectives that we were, off we went.

21

We were back at Neda’s house, though this time at least no lethal consequences had resulted from this most recent breakin.

Cher Shorn, Neda’s loyal secretary, opened the door even as Chase parked in front of the house, and looked both rattled and shaken. And of course I could see why that would be. First her employer was murdered in her own house, and next some unknown and unseen force of evil barged in to abscond with who knows what. It would rattle a lesser person to the core to find themselves alone in such a place, with no way of knowing if this same person isn’t still lurking upstairs, hiding in some cupboard or under the bed.

“What happened?” asked Chase the moment we set paw inside the house.

Cher took a deep breath and launched into her tale.“I got here at nine o’clock to return some of Neda’s stuff, and to prepare for my interview with her sister, when I discovered that the backdoor had been forced open.”

“You’re meeting Titta?” asked Odelia.

“Yes, she called me this morning out of the blue, said she was in town and could we please meet.” She shook her head. “I didn’t even know Neda had a sister, to be honest.”

“Neda never mentioned her to you?” asked Odelia as they walked to the back of the house, and halted in front of the backdoor.

“No, never. Which is odd, considering I worked for her for so many years.”

The backdoor had indeed been the subject of a vicious attack: the window had been broken near the lock, and the door was ajar.

“We were out in front of the house last night,” I told Odelia from my vantage point on the floor. Someone had turned off the floor heating, and the stone floor had become stone cold, unfortunately. “In fact two neighborhood watches were parked outside, watching the house, and we didn’t see a thing.”

Though in all honesty the respective members of both neighborhood watches had been more interested in figuring out the limits of their turf than doing what they were supposed to be doing: keeping an eye out for any nefarious or burglarious activities.

Odelia nodded, to show me she’d understood what I said.

“The neighborhood watch was out in full force last night,” she told Chase, “but apparently this burglar managed to evade detection.”

“If whoever broke in here came in through this backdoor,” said Chase as he studied the vandalized door, “and the watch was watching the front, that stands to reason. You didn’t touch anything?” he asked the secretary, who quickly shook her head.

“The moment I saw what happened I called it in,” said Cher.

“I’ll get forensics out here,” Chase grunted, and excused himself for a moment to make the necessary phone calls.

“Did you check if anything was taken?” asked Odelia as we walked back to the living room, where we paused at the spot where Neda’s body had been found.

Cher inadvertently clutched a hand to her neck and visibly shivered.“No—not that I can tell at first glance. Though to be honest with you, the moment I saw that backdoor, I immediately called 911 and locked myself in the hallway, waiting for you to arrive.”

“So you haven’t checked the house?” asked Odelia, glancing in the direction of the staircase.

Cher shook her head nervously, as her eyes followed Odelia’s gaze. She suddenly lowered her voice. “Do you think whoever did this could still be in the house?”

“I doubt it,” said Odelia. Though she didn’t sound very sure of herself. “Nobody would be foolish enough to break in and then linger.”

But she still relayed Cher’s concern to Chase, who’d finished his phone call, and the cop immediately mounted the stairs to take a gander. Five tense minutes later he called down, “Nobody up here!”

Both Odelia and Cher visibly relaxed. And frankly so did I and Dooley!

“Maybe you can check the crime scene photos,” I suggested. “And compare them to how the place looks now. That way you can see at a glance if anything was taken or not.”

“Great idea, Max,” said Dooley.

Chase had returned, and announced that a team was arriving in ten minutes to go over the place again, this time in view of this second breakin. Odelia relayed my idea to him, and he nodded and she took her tablet from her shoulder bag and fired it up.

“Yesterday a specialized team took pictures of every available area of the house,” she told Neda’s secretary. “So if anything was taken, we might be able to see it by making a comparison.”

For a moment, the three of them studied the room, comparing the way it was now with how it had looked twenty-four hours before. Not unlike that much-loved game of‘Spot the Difference.’ And then, all of a sudden, Cher, who clearly boasted a good secretary’s eagle-eyed vision, let out a little cry of excitement. “I found it!” she said as she pointed to Odelia’s tablet.

They moved over to a tall bookcase behind the salon. It took up half the wall space, and was filled with an impressive collection of reading material, interspersed with the odd knickknack and plenty of decorative items: framed pictures and the like. Chase had put on plastic gloves and slipped a volume from a shelf located at eye level and opened it.

“Photo album,” he grunted as he leafed through the tome.

That entire row consisted of photo albums, and according to what I could determine from Cher’s outburst, one of those albums had mysteriously disappeared overnight.

“Can I have a look?” I asked, curious to know what this missing album looked like.

Odelia cast a surreptitious glance at Cher, but she was too busy following along with Chase, as he took down album after album, leafing through them for potential clues.

Odelia placed her tablet on the sofa, and I hopped up to have a look-see. And indeed Cher was right: there had been a dozen of those photo albums the day before, and now there was one less. A smaller one, which had been wedged among its larger brethren.

“Odd,” I commented.

“Could it be that one of the crime scene technicians took it?” Odelia asked Chase.

“No way,” the cop said with a quick shake of the head. “They know better than to remove things from a crime scene.” He glanced up at Cher, but the latter quickly denied having touched even a single thing in the house.

“Maybe it was Neda’s ghost,” Dooley suggested. “And she came back to collect some of her favorite things to take along to the afterlife.”

“Ghosts don’t break windows, Dooley,” I told him. “They float through the walls.”

“Yes, but maybe she doesn’t know that. She’s never been a ghost before, since she’s never been murdered before, and so she’s probably still getting the hang of things.”

“Even if ghosts existed, which they don’t, why would Neda take this particular album?”

“Maybe it’s full of her favorite pictures? Pictures of her dad, maybe?”

“Doubtful,” was my verdict, which caused Dooley’s shoulders to sag a little. I quickly added, “But still an interesting avenue to pursue, buddy.”

“Thanks, Max,” he said, perking up again. “I think we need to look at every possible explanation, and not rule out a single one, however implausible.”

I had the impression he got that from one of his Discovery Channel documentaries, but refrained from comment. The human contingent were still going over the room, picture by picture, but found that nothing else had been taken as far as they could tell.

Soon the crime scene technicians arrived—the people in the white coveralls and the blue booties—and we were all relegated to the backyard while they did their thing.

“Titta told us she and Neda didn’t get along,” Odelia said, steering the conversation back to Neda’s private life, hoping to discover what had made the woman tick. “And that they hadn’t been in touch in years. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“Oh, for sure,” said Cher as she hugged herself. A dark cloud had edged in front of the sun, and it was a little chilly out. “Neda was a formidable woman, no doubt about it, but in my personal dealings with her I never had any complaints. She was possessed with a forceful personality, but notan unkindly one. She always treated me with respect, was meticulous about her paperwork, and was generous to a fault.”

“She wasn’t very well-liked by the members of the choir,” Chase pointed out.

“Only after she became director. Before that there were never any complaints.”

“And afterward?”

“Jealousy and spite,” she said, echoing Father Reilly’s words. “As long as she was one of them, they were all friends. But the moment she became director, they all started bitching and moaning.” She shrugged. “Human nature. Nothing you can do about it.”

“Did Neda find it annoying that people resented her?” asked Odelia.

“She wasn’t happy about it, but she told me she was sure that the whole hullabaloo would soon pass. Just give it time, she said, and they’ll see that I simply want what’s best for the choir. She had plenty of plans, you know. She was going to turn St. Theresa Choir into one of the best choirs on Long Island, and maybe even the state.”

“Ambitious, huh?” said Chase.

“She certainly was very ambitious, and I’m sure that if she’d lived, she would have fulfilled the promise she made to that choir.”

“And shut up her detractors?”

Cher gave him a keen look.“Do you think a member of the choir did this to her?”

“We’re keeping our options open. And looking at every possible angle.”

“You’re wrong,” said the secretary, suddenly speaking in uncharacteristic blunt fashion. “I told you who killed Neda. Raban Pacoccha did it. I’m absolutely sure about it.”

“We talked to Mr. Pacoccha, and he claims he wasn’t anywhere near the house yesterday.”

“We found him working in Janette Bittiner’s garden,” Odelia explained. “Where he said he’d been all morning.”

“It’s only two miles from here! He could easily have come over, trying to wheedle more money out of Neda, and when she wouldn’t budge, killed and robbed her.”

“We’re not ruling out that possibility, Miss Shorn,” Odelia said, trying to mollify the secretary, whose face had turned a little flushed, and her voice a little sharp.

“Well, I hope you don’t. That man is a drug addict, and we all know what drug addicts are like: they’ll just as soon hug you than kill you, if that’s what it takes to get their next fix.” She pointed a finger at the house. “If you don’t go after that man, I’ll be very disappointed. Very disappointed.” And with these words, she stepped away and took a ramble around the garden, taking out a packet of cigarettes and lighting one up.

Odelia and Chase shared a look.“Maybe she’s right,” said Odelia. “Maybe we have let Raban off the hook too easily.”

“We haven’t let him off the hook,” said Chase. “He’s one of our suspects. Though as far as I’m concerned, I like the choir rivalry angle a lot more. There was real hatred there.”

“And what about Cher?” asked Odelia as she glanced at the secretary, who stood a little distance away, blowing out a plume of smoke. “How does she fit into the story?”

“Why would she kill her employer?”

“I don’t know, Chase, but she’s the only person we’ve spoken to so far who hasn’t said a bad word about Neda. On the contrary, she painted her in such a favorable light it’s almost as if she were preparing to have her declared a saint. Neda Hoeppner wasn’t a saint, or at least I don’t think she was.”

“She was no monster either.”

“No, but if you work together for fifteen years, there are bound to be clashes. And maybe they had such a clash yesterday. Of all the people we’ve spoken to, Cher is the person most likely to know the combination of Neda’s safe. So what if she and Neda came to blows over something? And Neda accidentally ended up dead? It would be a cinch to open that safe and make it look like a burglary gone wrong, wouldn’t it?”

“Mh,” said Chase, but I could tell from the expression on his face when he looked at Cher Shorn’s back that Odelia’s argument had been a most convincing one.

22

While Chase returned to the station, to drill a little deeper into Cher’s background, as he announced with a touch of relish, we went to the offices of the Hampton Cove Gazette instead, where a mountain of work awaited our human, since she’d already spent all day yesterday and part of today trying to figure out who had killed Neda Hoeppner, and now it was time to devote some of her time to her actual job.

When we arrived there, and Dooley and I took up position in the corner of her office, where she’s created a cozy little nook for us to relax and nap, she was surprised to find a small note stuck between the keys of her keyboard. It was her editor’s way of drawing her attention to something important.

She picked up the note and read it, a frown cutting a deep groove between her brows.

“If she isn’t careful that’s going to create a wrinkle, Max,” said Dooley. “And once it’s there, it’s going to stay there forever, and she’ll have to start using Botox, and that has to be painful, with all those needles being stuck in your face.”

“I don’t think Odelia will ever resort to Botox,” I told my friend. “Even if she has wrinkles.”

“Oh, but she must. She won’t have a choice.”

“Of course she has a choice.”

“But she’ll want to keep on looking beautiful. Men don’t like women with wrinkles, everybody knows that. And if she gets all wrinkled and looking like an old lady, Chase will want a divorce, and then she’ll end up all alone, like Gran.”

“It’s true that for some men their affection is only skin-deep, Dooley. But lucky for us Chase isn’t one of those men. The affection he feels for Odelia is the real deal, I’m sure.”

“Are you sure?” asked my friend. “Because in General Hospital men are always cheating on their wives and their mistresses are always a lot younger than they are.”

“General Hospital isn’t a reflection of real life, Dooley,” I told him. “It’s fiction.”

“Still,” he said, musing.

In a sense he was right, of course. There is a certain group of men out there who will only date women of a certain age, and even though their own age keeps edging north, the age of their dates seems to go south. It’s a sad phenomenon, but I firmly believed that Chase wasn’t part of that small and frankly pitiful segment of the population.

“You guys,” said Odelia suddenly as she waved the little note. “What do you make of this? ‘Look no further than RP for the murder of NH.’”

“RP?” I said. “That has to be Raban Pacoccha, right? And NH is Neda Hoeppner.”

Odelia glanced in the direction of the door. That thought wrinkle was deepening, and Dooley whispered,“She’s doing it again, Max.”

“It’s a natural human response when something baffling occurs,” I said. “They frown.”

“But why? What’s the point?”

“What’s the point of any human expression? To signal an emotion to other humans.”

“But we don’t do that,” said Dooley. “We never smile, or frown, or at least not so that it messes up our fair complexion.”

“We don’t have a fair complexion, Dooley.”

“Yes, we do—only you can’t see it because of all the hair. But it’s there, Max. And in fact I think your complexion is probably even fairer than mine.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re a ginger. Everybody knows that gingers have fair skin. With freckles. Here, I’ll show you.”

And before I could stop him, he was grabbing me and trying to part my fur like the Red Sea, to show me the color of the skin beneath.

“Stop that,” I said.

“I’m just trying to prove my point!” he said.

“You’re simply pawing my face!” I cried as I tried to slap his paws away.

“But it’s there, Max. Underneath that blorange fur, you’re a pink freckled beauty!”

“I don’t care,” I said, and was now engaged in a slapping match with my best friend. Which is why we hadn’t noticed how Odelia had left the office and now returned.

“Dan says he didn’t write this note. It came in an envelope addressed to me.”

“Sent by post?” I asked immediately.

“No, slipped into the mailbox outside.”

“An anonymous letter,” I said musingly. “From someone eager to help you catch Neda’s killer.”

Dooley was now repeating the same procedure he’d applied unsuccessful to my face to my belly. “See!” he cried. “Odelia, Max is pink with tiny freckles! Like a piglet!”

“I don’t care!” I repeated.

Odelia smiled as she watched Dooley’s attempts to show me my true colors. “When you’re finished playing around,” she said finally, “could you maybe visit your friend Buster and ask him if he happened to see who delivered this message? I need to know.”

I immediately got up to do as she asked, but Dooley had stepped on my tail and was now trying to find out its color.“Pink!” he finally cried. “Pink with tiny brown freckles!”

“Lemme see,” said Odelia, now also joining the fray. And since I know when I’m beat, for the next few dreadful moments, I reluctantly subjected myself to the twin scrutiny of one human and one feline, as they tried to determine what I’d look like if I’d suddenly lost all of my fur overnight.

“You’re right, Dooley,” said Odelia finally. “Max is pink with teeny tiny freckles.” She patted my head. “Very cute, Max.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I grumbled. I hate to be manhandled, or even woman-handled.

“You really have to stop frowning, Odelia,” Dooley now said.

“Oh?” asked Odelia, frowning.

“See? You’re doing it again. It’s not good for you.”

“And why is that?”

“He thinks Chase will leave you when your face gets all wrinkled from the excessive use of your facial muscles,” I explained.

Odelia, much to her credit, burst into loud and amused laughter. She has one of those tinkling laughs, which are so nice and musical to listen to. And in spite of himself, Dooley had to laugh, too.

“You silly willy,” said Odelia, as she gave my friend a tickle under his chin. “Now off you go. I want to know who slipped me this note, and I want to know now!”

23

Dooley and I quickly crossed the street and went in search of Buster. The hair salon where his human Fido Siniawski plies his trade of divesting the population of Hampton Cove of its excess hair, is where Buster plies his own trade: which is to spy on our human counterparts and spread those rumors through our small town’s sizable cat population.

It’s one of the reasons we like Buster so much: he always has fresh gossip to share.

“Hey, you guys,” he said when we waltzed into the salon. Charlene Butterwick was on the chair, subjecting herself to Fido’s stellar technique.

When she saw us, she smiled through the mirror, and I gave her a little wave of acknowledgment.

“Buster, Odelia received a mysterious note this morning,” I told our friend, deciding to forgo the small talk for once. “And she really wants to know who delivered that note.”

Fido’s shop is on the corner of the street where Odelia’s office is also located, and Buster can see the Gazette office from the hairdresser’s window. I just hoped the Maine Coon hadn’t slackened his notorious vigilance, and had seen all, as he usually does.

“Oh, that was Father Reilly,” said Buster, hitting a home run straight out of the gate.

“Father Reilly?” I said, a touch of doubt in my voice.

“Sure. I saw him walk up to the office and quickly slip something into the mailbox, then walk away as if nothing happened. He looked up and down the street before he did, though. So that drew my attention, of course. Suspicious, if you know what I mean.”

“Of course,” I said. It would certainly have drawn my attention. “So he looked up and down the street, then slipped a note into the Gazette mailbox?”

“Well, first he was dawdling on the corner, since there were several passersby, most notably Ida Baumgartner. But once Ida had moved out of sight, Father Reilly quasi-casually crossed the street, took a good look up and down and then pretended to just happen to pass the Gazette offices, dumped that note into the mailbox with a very dexterous hand, and came back.” Our friend nodded importantly. “If you hadn’t shown up to ask me about it, I would have collared you at cat choir tonight to tell you.”

I could tell that our friend was dying with curiosity to know what had been in that little note.

“It was a very short message,” I said, not wanting to keep Buster in suspense. “It said…”

“Look no further than RP for the murder of NH,” Dooley said, beating me to the punch.

“Okay,” said Buster, thinking this through. I could tell there was a touch of disappointment on his face. Clearly the dramatic content of the message failed to grip.

“Look at Raban Pacoccha for the murder of Neda Hoeppner,” I translated Father Reilly’s missive to Odelia.

“Oh, of course,” said Buster, his interest piqued once more. “So Father Reilly thinks this…”

“Raban Pacoccha,” I supplied helpfully.

“Killed Neda Hoeppner? Interesting. Very interesting.”

“What are those cats discussing, I wonder?” said Charlene.

“I have absolutely no idea,” said Fido as he bent through his knees to study his latest victim in the mirror, framing her head with his hands. “Those are Odelia’s cats, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are. Max and Dooley.”

“They’re in here all the time. Always chatting away a mile a minute with my Buster.”

“You know, before I met the Pooles I didn’t even know cats could be so chatty.”

“Oh, they sure are chatty. Buster sneaks off every night to go to the park, where he meets all the other cats and they spend half the night doing whatever it is they do.” He shook his head. “It’s a mystery, Madam Mayor, but at least it keeps them out of trouble.”

“Yeah, at least there’s that,” she said, and gave me a wink. She knew exactly what we got up to, of course.

“You know, one time I followed Buster to the park. Frankly I hadn’t even known that he spent all his nights down there. But I’d outfitted him with one of them GPS trackers, you see, and so I decided to keep an eye on him, just out of curiosity. You should have seen them. Dozens and dozens of cats, all sitting around that playground. Some of them on top of the jungle gym, or crawling all over the slide. And the noise they made. The meowing! And you’ll probably think I’m crazy, but it almost looked as if…” He hesitated.

“Yes?” Charlene encouraged him.

“Well, you know Father Reilly’s cat?”

“Shanille.”

“Shanille, yes. Well, Shanille was sitting out in front, and the cats were all over that jungle gym and that slide, and that, um, that seesaw?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, it almost looked as if they were… singing.”

“Singing?”

“Yeah, I know. Crazy, right?”

“No, I don’t think it’s crazy, Fido. Cats are clever creatures. So maybe they do like to get together and sing. Who knows?”

“And Shanille? She was waving her paws like a choir director.” He laughed an embarrassed little laugh. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. They’ll think I’ve finally lost it.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“Gee, thanks, Madam Mayor. Now how do you want your hair done this week?”

“Oh, just the usual. And if you could do something about those gray roots?”

“Sure thing. Consider it done.”

“We’re starting to get famous, you guys,” said Buster, after the conversation between Charlene and the hair doctor had turned technical. “And soon we’ll be even more famous if we can pull off that concert.” He gave me a quizzical look. “Do you think it’ll happen?”

“I’m sure it will,” I said. “If Harriet wants something, it usually does.”

“Then we better start taking our rehearsals a little more seriously. We don’t want to look like fools when the big moment comes and we’re standing in front of that audience.”

There was a lot I could have said to that, but I decided not to. Sometimes the best thing is simply to let cats enjoy these moments until their dreams collide with reality.

Then again, maybe we would be a smash hit. Who knows? After all, only a small percentage of the park’s neighbors ever throw shoes in our direction. So maybe that silent majority are actually rabid cat choir fans? Or maybe they’ve run out of shoes.

24

Our next port of call was, of course, St. John’s Church, where Odelia set a course the moment we put her in the possession of Buster’s story of the surreptitious priest.

“I still can’t believe Father Reilly wouldn’t simply tell me,” said Odelia as she pushed her way through the tall oak door and entered the heart of the impressive structure.

“Maybe he thought you wouldn’t believe him?” I ventured.

“Why wouldn’t I believe him, Max? No, obviously he knows something but is afraid to tell me. Which can only mean one thing.” She cocked a meaningful glance in my direction.

I immediately caught her drift.“Confession,” I said with knowing nod.

“Confession?” asked Dooley as we trot through the church in search of the priest.

“If a person confesses something to a priest, the latter isn’t allowed to tell another living soul,” I explained. “The confession has to stay between himself and the confessor. So maybe someone told Father Reilly something during confession, and now he’s finding himself in the impossibility to talk about it without breaking the seal of confession.”

“That’s annoying,” said Dooley. “What if someone confesses that they hid a treasure under their kitchen floor and after they die Father Reilly would like to tell the person’s relatives and he’s not allowed to?”

“I think that’s a very unlikely scenario, Dooley,” I said.

“It could happen.”

“Theoretically, I’m sure it could.”

“Of course Father Reilly could dig up that treasure himself and then sell it and anonymously slip an envelope of cash into the relative’s mailbox, like he did with Odelia.”

I smiled.“You have a powerful imagination, Dooley.”

We’d arrived at the back of the church, and Odelia searched around for the priest, but found the woman who removes the burnt-out candles instead, who directed us to Father Reilly’s office. She knocked on the wooden door, and a disembodied voice bid us entry.

When Father Reilly saw who’d come to pay him a visit, he put down the sheaf of papers he’d been examining—probably next Sunday’s sermon—took off his glasses to let them dangle from his neck, and had the decency to blush.

“Odelia!” he said, but his expression belied the joviality of his tone. This was a man who wasn’t happy to see us.

“You put this note in my mailbox this morning,” she said, and produced said note and placed it in front of the man of God.

“I’m sure I didn’t,” he sputtered as he pushed the note away, as if it was hot to the touch.

“Yes, you did,” said Odelia. “Someone saw you, and they said you did your best to look inconspicuous. In fact you tried so hard to look inconspicuous that you became conspicuous.”

Father Reilly closed his eyes.“Oh, dear.”

“You’d make a terrible, terrible spy, Father.”

He smiled.“I would, wouldn’t I?”

“So what’s this all about?” asked Odelia as she took a seat in front of the man’s sizable mahogany desk. “Why are you convinced Raban Pacoccha killed Neda Hoeppner?”

Father Reilly folded his hands on his desk blotter, which showed a nice depiction of the Virgin Mary with child, beatifically gazing up at the blotter user. Father Reilly cast a quick glance at the blotter, as if to draw strength from the touching scene, then steeled himself and said,“Nothing I tell you can leave this room, Odelia. Is that understood?”

“Of course,” she said immediately.

“I think she’s lying, Max,” said Dooley, eyeing our human closely.

“What do you mean?”

“See how she’s bouncing her leg? Whenever Odelia is nervous she bounces her leg. She’s also fidgeting. Also a sign she’s nervous. So I think she’s probably lying right now.”

My friend was right. Odelia was fidgeting. And bouncing her leg.“So she’ll probably tell Chase whatever Father Reilly is about to tell her,” I said. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

“But she’s lying to a priest, Max. She’ll be struck down by the wrath of God!”

“I very much doubt whether God is interested in Odelia’s little fib,” I told him.

The door behind us had opened, and Shanille came trotting in.“Oh, hey, Max—Dooley.” She stifled a yawn, indicating she’d just had a nice refreshing nap somewhere in the bowels of the church—or possibly in Father Reilly’s private residence, which was located right next door. “Are you here to talk about the concert?” Clearly the concert was at the forefront of her mind and not on the back burner, as was the case with yours truly.

“Um… sure,” I said, not to upset her.

“Max!” said Dooley. “You’re lying, too!”

“I’m not lying,” I told him. “I’m sure that Odelia will slip the concert in there somewhere.” I’d suddenly remembered my promise to Rufus and Fifi, and felt a pang of guilt that I’d completely forgotten to mention their request to join the big concert!

“Ever since Vesta talked Francis into organizing that concert, he hasn’t mentioned it,” Shanille explained. “And you know how it is with humans: you really have to pin them down and make sure they keep their promises. It’s only one more week until that concert, Max. So we need to start making practical arrangements. Work out the program, print and distribute flyers, sell tickets, start rehearsals—all of that important stuff.”

“Sure, sure,” I murmured, not meeting her eye, which no doubt was shiny with excitement.

Shanille glanced up at our humans, and took up position on the floor, expectantly following the flow of the conversation until it naturally landed on her precious concert.

“So Raban is one of my parishioners,” Father Reilly was explaining, looking a little pained, as if he was letting us in on some deep, dark secret. Or maybe he suffered from constipation, which of course is always a possibility. “And he was in here this morning. He said his conscience was burdened, and he needed to confess. So naturally I accepted to take his confession, and he proceeded to tell me he’d done a most terrible thing.”

“He killed Neda,” said Odelia. Her leg had stopped kicking up and down, and she was sitting completely still now, her full attention focused on the aged priest. She must have realized history was being written: she’d just solved the case of Neda’s murder!

“He said he’d wanted to kill off Neda for a long time. In fact he’d been planning it for months. He said he was sick and tired with his job, his life, everything. Said he was done.”

“Killed her off. He used those exact words, did he?”

Father Reilly’s gray head bobbed up and down. “Indeed he did. It came as a big shock to me, of course. So I told him to go to the police immediately, but he said he couldn’t.”

“And why is that?”

“He said the police were not his friends. They were not in his corner, had never been in his corner, and he had no use for them. Also, they’d stop him if they knew.”

“Stop him?”

“From getting rid of all of his other clients, too.”

“Oh, my God. He’s going to kill Janette and Hazel!”

Father Reilly nodded ruefully.“Which is why I delivered you that note.”

“But we’ve got to stop him.”

“I know. But I can’t break the seal of confession so my hands are tied.”

“So untie them. Tell my uncle what you just told me so he can arrest Raban and charge him with Neda’s murder.”

“I can’t, Odelia, and please don’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

“But the man is a homicidal maniac!”

“I know, but you’ll simply have to find some other way. I can’t be implicated.”

Odelia was silent for a moment, as she thought this through. It was definitely a most unusual situation. Finally she nodded.“I think I know what to do.”

“And you won’t implicate me?”

“No, you won’t be involved whatsoever.” She got up and held out her hand. “Thank you for coming forward, Francis.”

“I felt it my duty,” said Father Reilly, also getting up now. “Neda was a dear, dear friend, and we can’t let her murder go unpunished, or let this maniac murder even more people. Even if it means I must do the unorthodox thing.”

Odelia turned and paused at the door, casting a look down at us.“Let’s go,” she said.

Shanille uttered a soft cry. “She didn’t mention the concert! Max, why didn’t she mention the concert?”

“Um… I guess she’s working her way up to it?”

“Working her way up to it? But how?”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Shanille. And so does Odelia.” And with these words, I hurried out after Odelia, and so did Dooley.

“You get back here, Max!” Shanille shouted. “You tell your human to talk to my human about that concert right now!”

“Sorry—gotta run!”

And then we were out the door—and in the nick of time, too. A feline choir director under duress is a very dangerous thing, let me tell you. I may be pink with tiny spots underneath my nice blorange coat, but at that moment, I was quite sure, Shanille was beet-red, with angry purple splotches all over the place!

25

Raban Pacoccha had been brought into the police station and had been escorted into Uncle Alec’s office for a ‘friendly chat.’

“So, Raban,” said Uncle Alec, who was leading the interview. Chase was also present, and so was Odelia. And Dooley and I, which was exceptional, if I may say so. Usually we spy these events from the windowsill, but now we were live in the room.

“Yes, Chief?” said Raban, blinking one or two times.

“It’s come to our attention that you have something to tell us.”

“Um… no,” said the gardener, looking ill at ease. Then again, when three pairs of human eyes and two pairs of cat’s eyes are drilling into your own, you can be forgiven for being unnerved.

“So a little birdie told me that you’ve been harboring a secret.”

“A secret?”

“That’s right. A big secret.”

“What secret?”

“You’ve been planning this for months, haven’t you? Planning to get rid of Neda!”

A look of panic had appeared in the man’s eye. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Don’t mind about that. Why don’t you tell me what happened yesterday morning?”

“Nothing happened. I did my job, like I always do.”

“So is your job to rob and murder your clients, Raban?”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you what happened. You barged into Neda’s house, because you knew that she kept a big stash of cash in her safe. And you wanted that money, didn’t you? You needed that money. And when she refused to give it to you, you shoved her out of the way, she hit her head and died. And that’s when you knew you were in big, big trouble.”

Raban had been listening with widening eyes as the Chief painted a word picture of the events as they’d transpired. But now he blurted out, “But that’s not true! I didn’t even see her yesterday! I was at Janette’s. I told you this,” he added, addressing Chase.

“I know you did, Raban,” said Chase calmly. “But you were seen at Neda’s. Someone saw you and heard the argument.”

“So you see, son? There’s no use denying,” said Uncle Alec, spreading his arms. “We have a witness.”

“Who’s the witness, Max?” asked Dooley.

“God,” I told him.

“I didn’t know Uncle Alec could speak to God,” said my friend, darting a reverent look at Odelia’s uncle.

“He can’t, but he’s trying to get this guy to confess, so he’s cutting a few corners.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“I’m sure it is, but so is murdering people, Dooley.”

“What witness?” asked Raban suspiciously. “What are you talking about?” Clearly the man was no fool, and knew when he was being played.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” said the Chief.

“Look, whoever this witness is, they’re lying, okay? Cause I wasn’t there. Last time I saw Neda was Monday last week. And she was all right when I left there that day.”

“But why would this witness lie, Raban?” asked the Chief, as he darted a quick look at Odelia, who shook her head.

“I don’t know. To frame me?” He leaned forward and now placed a hand on Uncle Alec’s desk. “It wasn’t me, Chief.” Then he seemed to get an idea. “So maybe this person, this witness, saw someone that looked like me. A lookalike. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Unlikely,” said Uncle Alec with a shake of the head. “Our witness specifically named you, Raban. This person knows you and is absolutely certain that it was you they saw.”

“But… it can’t be, I’m telling you.” The gardener was getting a little worked up now, and was patting the desk with the palm of his hand. “I’m being set up here, man. Set up!”

“Easy, Raban,” said the Chief, watching the gardener closely. “No need to get upset.”

“You think? I’m being framed for murder, man—a murder I didn’t commit!”

“Are you sure, Raban? Because I have to tell you, our witness has a solid reputation in this town.” Once more he directed a quizzical look in his niece’s direction and again Odelia nodded, to indicate she was sure the gardener would soon crack under the strain.

But Raban wasn’t cracking. Instead, he was doubling down. “I’m innocent, man, I’m telling you. Innocent!” He was getting louder and more upset by the minute.

“I believe him, Max,” said Dooley. “He looks very convincing to me. Uncle Alec’s witness must be wrong.”

“There is no witness, Dooley. All we’ve got is a confession we can’t use, since Father Reilly refuses to come forward. So we need to get this man to confess to us somehow.”

“Oh,” said my friend. “Well, I don’t think he will.”

No, it certainly looked that way.

Now Chase leaned over the guy.“Look, Raban,” he said, adopting that deep gravelly tone he does so well. “If you don’t tell us the truth things don’t look good for you. Judges don’t look favorably on this kind of obstructive behavior. So you better start talking and you better start talking now, you understand?”

“But I didn’t do it!” Raban cried, rocking back and forth. “Why don’t you believe me? I got nothing to do with this murder business. I’m being set up—by my enemies!”

“What enemies?” asked Odelia, who seemed to take pity on the guy.

“Where do I start? There’s so many of them!”

“Look, Raban, why don’t you take some time to think about what Chief Lip told you? We’ll take a break for now, and then once you feel ready, we’ll resume this conversation.”

Uncle Alec was shaking his head, and Chase also looked perturbed. I think they thought if they kept leaning on the guy, he would crack and give them his confession.

But Odelia took the gardener’s arm and he got up. “Can I go home now?” he asked a little piteously.

“We’re going to give you a little time to yourself, so you can have a good think.”

And so Raban was taken away to a cell, where he could have his‘good think’ in peace and quiet. Before he left with one of Uncle Alec’s officers, though, he said, “Can you please ask Father Reilly to come and see me? I’ve got something important to tell him.”

Uncle Alec directed a meaningful look at Chase, who reciprocated with a satisfied look of his own, before shooting a triumphant look at Odelia, who returned it with a confident look that said:‘See? Trust me, you guys. I know what I’m doing here.’

“No way is this man ever going to confess,” said Dooley, striking the discordant note. “Because he didn’t do it, and why would anyone confess to something they didn’t do? That would be crazy.”

“I think he’s going to confess right now,” I told my friend as we watched Raban being escorted to his cell. “He’s going to confess to his priest, and we’ll all be listening.”

26

Raban Pacoccha was in his cell, spilling his guts, as Odelia had anticipated. A small camera in the corner of the room filmed the whole thing, and in the next room Uncle Alec sat, along with Chase and Odelia and of course Dooley and me, feline witnesses.

Father Reilly was the confessor, listening intently to his confessee, as did we.

“I need to get this off my chest, Father,” said Raban as he looked pained. He was rocking back and forth again, clearly experiencing some form of mental anguish. Then again, when a man kills a woman, it’s bound to eat away at him. Also, I’ve heard that drug addicts can get a little antsy when they haven’t had their fix in a while.

“Please do, my son,” said Father Reilly in unctuous tones as he placed a fatherly hand on the young gardener’s back. “Please don’t hold back and tell me everything. You’ll feel much better once you’ve unburdened your soul.”

“I did it,” said Raban, and Odelia and Chase shared a high-five at this.

“You did what?” asked Father Reilly.

“I’ve taken a leap of faith and I’m ready now.”

“Ready for what, my son?”

“Ready to confess,” Uncle Alec grunted.

“Ready to build that spaceship and fly to the moon, of course,” said Raban. “I’ve been wanting to go for a long time, Father, and I’m finally in a position where if I wait much longer I’ll lose my nerve. So I’m going to step on board of that rocket and take off.” He made a flying gesture with his hand. “Pheeeeeew. Just like that. I’m going to set up my colony there, and be the first man to populate the moon. I’m taking my harem, of course.”

“Your… harem?”

“Sure. Every man going to the moon has to have a harem. I’m taking my entire harem, and together we’ll populate the moon with my offspring. Can you imagine, Father?” he said with a gentle smile. “Little Rabans tripping all across the dark side of the moon?”

“Tripping is the right word,” I muttered. Clearly the man was high as a kite.

“Let’s keep our feet on the ground, son,” Father Reilly tried. “Let’s stay on this planet. You told me in confession this morning that you killed Neda. Do you remember?”

“Oh, sure. I killed off Neda—called her and said I was done. And I’m going to do the same thing with Janette and Hazel and all of my other clients. I need to focus on building my spaceship, you see, so I can leave for the moon.” He held up a knowing finger. “A man who doesn’t know how to bury the dead past, has no future. Isn’t that the truth? So before I fly away, I need to kill off the old Raban, and everything he stood for. And that includes this gardening gig.” There was a graceful beauty about his features now, as he seemed to have come to a decision, anticipating life onthat big ball of cheese in the sky. “I think I’ll change the name of the moon to Raban. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? And my children will be called Rabbanites. And together we’ll rule the universe.”

Uncle Alec produced a grunt of disgust, and made a throwaway gesture with his hand.“I should have known this confession business was too good to be true.”

“A drug addict,” said Chase as he sank down onto a chair. “Just another drug addict who’s managed to fry his own brain. And he looked so normal, too!”

“He played us all, son,” said the Chief. “That cuckoo bird played us for suckers.”

“I really thought we had our guy,” said Odelia, looking dejected.

Father Reilly, still forced to listen to Raban’s ravings about his rocket, his harem and his Rabbanites, looked up at the camera and gave us a look of desperation.

It wasn’t hard to interpret that look: ‘Let me out,’ it said. ‘Please let me out!’

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Back in Uncle Alec’s office, the human contingent were a sad lot. Father Reilly had also joined us, and looked as disappointed as the rest of us.

“See?” said Dooley. “I said he wouldn’t confess.”

“Oh, he confessed, all right,” I said. “In fact he couldn’t stop.”

Before they terminated the interview Raban had also confessed to ripping off his clients to the tune of fifty bags of manure, which he was going to use to fuel his rocket.

“I think it’s safe to say we’re back to square one,” said Uncle Alec finally.

“I’m sorry,” said Father Reilly. “If I’d known I was dealing with a mythomaniac, I wouldn’t have bothered you.”

“It’s all right,” said Odelia, directing a wan smile at the priest. “He hid it well.”

“Until it all came spouting out like a geyser,” Chase commented.

“I wonder who’s in his harem?” said Father Reilly thoughtfully.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door, and before the Chief could shout‘enter,’ the door swung open and Dolores’s head popped in. “About that witness on the red bike—any progress?”

“Not now!” Uncle Alec shouted.

“Hold your horses, Chief,” Dolores grumbled, but complied.

I could have told her never to bother a police chief whose prime suspect has just imploded and turned out to be a bust, but then she probably already knew that.

And as I let my gaze drift across the sad faces collected in the small room, I suddenly felt a powerful urge to get out of there. So I gave Dooley a slight nudge, and whispered,“Wanna go for a walk, buddy?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he whispered back.

And it was a testament to how low morale had sunk, that none of those present even noticed how we slipped out the door, which Dolores had left open to a tiny crack.

27

And so we soon found ourselves walking along, the fresh air doing us a world of good after having been cooped up inside for so long.

We saw how Raban walked out of the police station a free man, a big smile on his face, ready to start building his rocket, collect his harem, and fly to the moon. We passed Janette Bittiner at Bittiner Petals, and saw her through the window as she spruced up her storefront with some nice and colorful hydrangeas.

We passed the restaurant where Yoko Bricknell works, and saw how she placed a steaming dish of delicious bouillabaisse in front of a grateful patron. We watched Titta Riding leave the office of her family’s lawyer, looking well pleased. And finally, as we headed in the direction of the park, we passed Town Hall and Town Square and saw Hazel Larobski and her husband Amadeo seated on one of the benches, in the shade of the big trees that cover that side of the square, feeding the birds. On a nearbybench, Cher Shorn sat reading a book.

All in all, it was a testament to the truth that life goes on, even when one of the world’s inhabitants kicks the bucket, like Neda Hoeppner had done the day before.

And as we walked on, I soon found myself engrossed in thought, as I ran through some of the aspects of the case that still puzzled me, trying to make sense of the jumble of information that we’d gathered since that tragic event.

A red bike suddenly passed, and almost got hit by a car that neglected to respect the cyclist’s right of way. The cyclist, a tourist dressed in a fairly loud shirt and Bermuda shorts, nimbly darted out of the way and then pedaled off in the direction of the beach.

“I wonder if Dolores will ever discover who that mystery witness was,” said Dooley as we watched as the car, whose engine had stalled after the incident, slowly got moving again. When I glanced over to my friend, he added, “The car crash on Groveler Street?”

And suddenly, in a flash, I saw all.“Of course,” I said, thunking my head. “Duh!”

“Duh?” asked my friend. “Is that the name of the witness, Max?”

But I was lost in thought once more, as I tried to draw all the different strands of the case together in one neat tapestry.

Dooley must have felt I was in a contemplative mood, for he was very quiet after that, and didn’t try to nudge me out of my thought processes. And we’d just reached Town Hall when suddenly we detected Odelia hurrying in our direction. She was saying something, and as she drew closer, it became clear to me what it was.

“There’s been an accident!” she said as she finally joined us. “An accident at home!”

“Oh, no!” said Dooley. “It’s not… Gran, is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Odelia. “All I know is that Mom texted me telling me to come home immediately. That there’s been an accident.” She threw up her hands in a hopeless gesture. “I’ve tried calling but she won’t pick up!”

We hurried along to the Gazette office, where Odelia had parked her car, and the moment we were inside, she peeled away from the curb, going from zero to a hundred in a few seconds flat. Or at least she would have, if her aged pickup had been capable of such an extraordinary feat, and if we weren’t located in the heart of town, with its myriad pedestrians, cyclists and fellow motorists.

We were home in ten minutes flat, which probably was a new record for our human, and were out of the car and hurrying inside moments later. Chase was already there. He must have taken a shortcut—or a faster car, which was more likely.

Once inside, we didn’t see anyone or anything that appeared alarming, and so we emerged out the back and into the backyard, then into Marge and Tex’s backyard.

And that’s when we saw it: a man was lying on the grass, looking a little white around the nostrils, with paramedics hovering over him, attending to what looked like a medical emergency. The man was, of course, Jason Knauff, Gran’s diligent, if slightly eccentric, interior decorator.

“What happened?” asked Odelia, directing her question to Marge, who stood at a little distance, along with Gran and Tex.

“He fell from the roof,” said Tex, a quiet smile playing about his lips. Clearly he wasn’t exactly bowled over with grief over Jason’s recent mishap.

“The roof?” asked Odelia. “What was he doing up there?”

“He was trying to get a feel for the house,” said Marge.

“He was trying to get in touch with the cosmos,” Gran corrected her. “To direct its subtle energies toward the perfect design that would uplift and enlighten. Or at least that’s what he told me when I found him lying there.”

“But how did he fall?”

Three shrugs greeted that question.

“A gust of wind,” suddenly Harriet piped up. She and Brutus came walking up from the direction of the rose bushes, where they like to hang out of an afternoon. “We saw the whole thing, didn’t we, poopsie?”

“We sure did,” Brutus confirmed. “He was crawling naked across the roof, until he’d positioned himself right on top, and tried to sit cross-legged. When that didn’t work, he put one leg on one side, and the other on the other side, and when that proved too painful, he got up to scratch himself behind the ear.”

“And that’s when a sudden gust of wind took him by surprise, and he fell off,” Harriet completed the story. She grinned. “He was screaming a lot of unspiritual things as he came down. I don’t think the cosmos or its subtle energies would have liked it.”

“Oh, just say it,” said Gran, throwing up her hands. “I know you’re all thinking it.”

“What?” asked Odelia.

“That I made a mess of things again! I know it, you know it, and this sad excuse for a human being definitely knows it.”

“I’ll be back!” Jason Knauff yelled as he was carted off. “I’ll be back and together we’ll turn this house into the most harmonious place in Hampton Cove!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Gran.

“Will he be all right?” asked Marge solicitously.

“He broke his leg, but otherwise he seems fine,” said one of the paramedics.

“Thank God for that,” said Chase.

The commotion over, I turned to my human.“Odelia, can we have a quick chat? There’s something we need to discuss.”

“Oh, right,” said Harriet. “Fifi and Rufus want dog choir to join cat choir to join St. Theresa Choir,” she said. “So if you could talk to Father Reilly and set that up for us?”

“Um…” said Odelia, taken aback by this development. “Dog choir wants to…”

“Sing at the concert. And if they’re not allowed to join they’re going on a hunger strike. So we probably should humor them. Unless you want to explain to your neighbors how they suddenly ended up with two dead dogs on their hands.”

“Oh, dear,” said Marge, shaking her head.

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about, Max?” asked Odelia as she crouched down next to me.

I slowly shook my head.

She eyed me keenly as she tickled me behind my ears.

“Don’t tell me… you know who killed Neda?”

This time I slowly nodded, and watched as a smile spread across my human’s face.

And have you ever seen a more enchanting thing?

28

We were in Neda’s office, located in downtown Hampton Cove. It was where the choir conductor had conducted her business affairs, and where Cher Shorn spent her days.

It was a modest office, as offices go, but airy and bright, just like Neda’s house, and I could imagine that Cher had spent many a happy day there, deciding which charity to contribute some of her employer’s extensive funds to, and what artist to devote an exhibition to at one of the cultural centers she’d granted her patronage.

There was an outer office, where visitors could sit and wait for their audience with Neda, and beyond that two rooms and consequently also two desks: one for Neda, where she hadn’t spent a lot of time, and one for Cher, her loyal collaborator for many years.

It was late afternoon, and the sun was already losing some of its pep. We were ensconced in the smallest office, which was Cher’s: Odelia, Chase, and a small cat contingent. Harriet and Brutus had insisted they be present, and Odelia had allowed them, but only if they kept quiet as a mouse. Harriet found that a little insulting: you don’t tell a cat to be quiet as a mouse. But there were bigger fish to fry than Harriet’s touchiness, and the atmosphere in the small space was loaded with expectation.

“Do you think they’ll show up?” asked Chase, not for the first time.

“I don’t know,” said Odelia. “Max says they will.”

Frankly I had no idea either. All you can do is set the bait, and then hope the fish will take it. But as every fisher knows, sometimes the fish simply refuse to bite. Not because of quality issues with the bait, but simply because life is like that: unpredictable.

Suddenly there was a noise in the outer office, and we all ducked down a little further behind Cher’s desk, making sure we wouldn’t be seen or heard by this intruder.

The door to the outer office creaked open, then silent footsteps reached our ears, a person walking through the office on sneakered feet. The person paused for a moment, listening intently for noises signaling another presence than their own. Finally satisfied they were all alone, the intruder set foot for Neda’s office and so Odelia and Chase slowly inched their heads above the desk so they could see what the person was up to.

We could hear drawers being opened and shut, and office closets, and finally we could hear muffled cursing.

“Where is that damn thing!” suddenly the person grunted in extreme agitation.

Chase and Odelia now snuck out of Cher’s office, and emerged in the door to Neda’s, blocking the intruder’s escape route. “Looking for this?” suddenly Chase piped up.

The intruder froze, and slowly turned to the cop, who was waving a diary.

“I…” said Titta Riding, for it was her, then sank down on the chair which had belonged to her big sister, and said, dejectedly. “I walked straight into a trap, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” said Chase. He and Odelia stepped into Neda’s office. “And this?” he added, throwing the diary onto the desk. “Is a fake.”

Titta picked it up and leafed through it.“Figures,” she said as she discovered that the diary was empty—not a single page covered by writing. “So what happens now?”

“Now I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of your sister,” said Chase simply.

“How did you figure out it was me?” asked Titta.

“We talked to Neda’s lawyer,” said Odelia as she also took a seat at the desk. “He told us how when your father cut all ties with you, he also cut you out of his will.”

“He didn’t even have the decency to tell me,” Titta scoffed. “I had to find out from that same lawyer after my dad died that Neda had inherited the entire estate: all of Dad’s many millions, the house, everything. As if I never even existed.” She shrugged. “But I didn’t care, you know. I was happy doing what I was doing. I didn’t lie to you about the orphanage. It has become my life, and so whatever was going on over here seemed like a different world—a world I never belonged in, and frankly didn’t want to belong in.”

“But you needed money,” said Odelia. “Or at least your orphanage needed money. So you figured that since Neda had plenty, it wouldn’t hurt to ask her to share some of it with you.”

A hard look had come over the young woman’s face. “I called her, out of the blue, and told her I was going to be in the country for a couple of weeks, talking to potential donors, and could we meet. She didn’t sound happy about it, but obliged me. So yesterday I came over to see her, and asked if she wanted to be a donor. I was sureshe’d be interested, since over the years I kept reading how she donated to this foundation and that charitable institution. So why not my orphanage? You know what she said?”

Odelia shook her head.

“Over my dead body. She said she owed me nothing, and she wasn’t going to waste her money on some third-world orphans. I told her I was practically an orphan myself, the way Dad had cast me out, but she said I only had myself to blame for that. So we argued. I told her a couple of home truths that she didn’t appreciate, and finally she decided to rub it in and said Dad had claimed I wasn’t even his—that Mom must have had an affair with the plumber or the milkman, because I looked nothing like him. He said I was my mother’s daughter—that she’d been a disappointment and a failure, just like me, and that her death had been a blessing, and he’d been glad to be rid of me, too.”

“Your sister said that?”

Titta nodded.“And a lot of other stuff, too. She really unloaded on me, you know, as if she’d been waiting a long time to get this stuff off her chest. So finally I couldn’t take it anymore, and gave her a pretty hard shove. She landed badly, hit her head against the fireplace and the rest of the story you already know.”

She stared down at a framed picture of her sister for a moment, then picked it up to study it.“You know, when I came to Hampton Cove, I really did so with an open and a hopeful heart. I was actually excited finally to meet my big sister again, eager to recreate a bond that probably only existed in my imagination. I already saw us working together, with her providing the funds, and me out there on the ground, maybe setting up more orphanages in other parts of the country, or the world.” She replaced the frame. “I always thought Dad hated me for my teenage shenanigans, and if only Neda and I could reconnect, I’d find a sister, and maybe even a friend.” She grimaced. “How wrong I was.”

Epilogue

We were out in the backyard of Marge and Tex’s house, and even more than usual, the doctor was giddy with excitement. He was manning his grill again, just like old times, and he was doing it in his own backyard—of the house they were about to move into!

The house wasn’t completely ready for human habitation yet, but that was only a matter of time. With Gran’s unfortunate interior decorator having been struck down on the battlefield and carted off, the road was clear for more sensible minds to figure out how to repopulate the house with the kind of stuff that turns a house into a home.

And Marge and Tex had decided to wrest control away from Gran, and to do whatthey wanted for a change, and Gran had reluctantly decided to let them. She’d even dropped her plans to turn the house into a show home, where hordes of visitors would come shuffling through on a daily basis, preventing a normal existence for the Pooles.

So the new house would have some old stuff making a comeback, and some new stuff to appear onto the scene, sourced from the visits Odelia’s parents planned to pay to the many furniture stores and home decoration shops that festoon our neck of the woods.

“So how did you do it, Max?” asked Harriet as we all sat side by side on the porch swing, which had been dragged from the storage facility where the Pooles had kept their stuff until the house was ready. “How did you figure out that Titta killed her sister?”

“Well…” I said as I marshaled my thoughts. “I think I first started putting two and two together when I saw that missing photo album.”

“What missing photo album?”

“You’ll remember that when Neda’s house was burgled a second time—or seemingly a second time, since it was never burgled the first time—that the only thing that was found missing was a photo album. At the time I thought it was odd that the missing album would look completely different than the other ones. I mean, Neda had a dozen or so of them, and they were all expensive ones. Fancy, you know. But this? This was a small album, and looked as if it was handmade. It looked… Oriental. So that made me think.”

“Why would anyone want to steal a photo album?” asked Brutus.

“Unless it held a clue to the identity of Neda’s killer,” I pointed out. “Which it did. That photo album belonged to Titta. It contained pictures of the orphanage she wanted to show to her sister—the orphans she cared so much about, and for whom she was making a plea with Neda to donate money.”

“Which Neda wanted nothing to do with,” said Harriet, nodding.

“Exactly. And then of course there was the witness on the red bike.”

“What witness? What red bike?”

“Well, the morning Neda was killed, a traffic accident happened just down the road from where she lived. Head-on collision. And one of the drivers had seen a person pass by on a red bike—a potential witness. And since they couldn’t come to an agreement on who was to blame for the accident, one of the drivers desperately wanted to get in touch with that witness to support their statement. They had no idea if it was a man or a woman since the witness was wearing a hoodie, but they knew they were on a red bike.”

“One of those rental bikes,” Dooley explained.

“Yes, Titta had come down to Long Island on the Jitney and had rented a bike from one of the rental agencies that rent to tourists. So I suddenly put two and two together and wondered if this witness could possibly be connected to our murder case.”

“And she could,” said Dooley.

“Odelia contacted the rental agency, and showed them a picture of Titta, which they recognized. Turns out she’d been in town the morning Neda died, and not in Brooklyn with her friend Kirstin as she claimed. Chase got in touch with Titta’s friend again, and this time she admitted she had no idea where Titta had been. Titta said she’d been in a traffic accident, and could her friend tell the police, in case they called, that she was in Brooklyn, since she didn’t need the aggravation. So Kirstin did, as a favor to her friend.”

“That wasn’t nice,” said Dooley.

“Or it was too nice,” Brutus grunted.

“So how about the safe?” asked Harriet. “How did Titta manage to open her sister’s safe?”

“Well, that safe has always been in that house. It was installed by Titta and Neda’s dad. And since Neda had taken over the house, she’d also taken over the safe. Now Neda had never seen the need to change the combination—possibly she didn’t even know how. So Titta took a gamble and discovered that the safe still operated on the same combination she remembered from when she lived there herself twenty years ago.”

“Did she take those jewels and that money and that gold for the orphanage?” asked Harriet. “Cause I could understand if she did. Noble cause and all.”

“She took it so she could make the murder look like a robbery gone wrong.”

“It wasn’t really murder, though, was it?” said Brutus. “It was an accident.”

“That’s for the judge to decide,” I said with a shrug. “Not up to us, Brutus.”

“So how about that diary?” asked Harriet. “What was the deal with that?”

“Neda was meticulous about her appointments. She wrote every appointment in her diary. So when her sister called she wrote down her name on the designated page and the designated time. Titta tore the pages from the diary, to hide her visit, and it got me wondering: what if a second diary would exist? One at home, and one at the office. And what if we slipped the message to Titta that this second diary was still at her sister’s office—untouched, with her name in it, on the date and time of the murder? So Odelia talked to Cher, and together they set the trap: Cher contacted Titta, and asked her what to do with her sister’s office paraphernalia, and also happened to mention the double diary thing, and made sure to stress that the police still hadn’t searched the office.”

“So Titta came hurrying over, to make sure that diary never fell into the hands of the police,” said Harriet, nodding.

“Very clever of you, Maxie,” said Brutus, giving me a pat on the back that almost made me topple from the swing. “Though if you’d bothered to consult me I could have told you an even better scheme to trap Neda’s killer.”

“Oh?” I said. “What scheme?”

“Simple. You slip the woman some truth serum, and start asking your questions. She’ll have to tell the truth, because of the—”

“Truth serum. Yes, I see.”

“I don’t think that kind of thing is legal, though, sweetums,” said Harriet.

“If it isn’t, it should be,” Brutus grumbled. “Or you could have hooked her up to one of those lie detectors. Pretty sure she would have sung like a canary!”

Odelia had delivered us some little nuggets of delicious food, before her dad scorched them to oblivion, and we all gobbled them up eagerly.

“You did well, Max,” said my human, a proud look on her face.

“Oh, Odelia,” said Harriet. “So how about the concert? Did you have a chance to talk to Father Reilly?”

“Yes, I did, actually. And I think he’s on board for a concert with St. Theresa Choir, cat choirand dog choir. He figures it’s a pretty novel idea.” She leaned in. “Frankly he owed us a favor, after foisting Raban Pacoccha on us and making us waste a lot of time.”

“So Fifi and Rufus won’t have to go on a hunger strike,” said Brutus. “Which is a good thing, especially for Fifi. She’s so thin already if she stops eating there will be nothing left!” He laughed loudly at his own joke, but when no one else joined in, quickly stopped.

The humans, meanwhile, were having a wonderful time. Gran was still a little sore that her designer had so spectacularly self-destructed, but she was a good sport, and Marge had promised she could tag along on their shopping spree for new furniture and those fun little furnishings that make all the difference.

Also: Gran had been granted the rare honor of choosing the wallpaper for the kitchen—and her own room, of course.

Tex was busily slaving away at the grill, and now yelled,“Alec, heads up!” A sausage suddenly flew through the air, but unfortunately Uncle Alec had been chatting with his girlfriend Charlene, and only became aware of the meaty treat heading in his direction when it landed on his nearly bald pate with a wet splat, scorching that sensitive area, before dropping down onto his plate.

“Ouch!” said Uncle Alec, and directed a look as scalding as the sausage at his brother-in-law, who quickly ducked behind his grill, pretending nothing had happened.

“Oh, my dear lamb,” said Charlene, and proceeded to plant cooling kisses on the devastated area.

“I still wonder how that girl managed to get past us,” said Scarlett as she took a sip from her red wine. “I mean, we were right there, not one but two neighborhood watches, and she still broke into the house and stole that photo album—right from under our noses!”

“We were too busy arguing to notice,” said Gran ruefully. “This feud with Wilbur and Francis really has to end, Scarlett. It’s hampering our crimefighting efforts!”

“She probably saw you,” said Chase. “And so she snuck around the back and got in and out as quick as she could. You have to remember she used to live in that house. She knew the way, even after all these years.”

“What’s going to happen to the house and all of Neda’s possessions?” asked Marge as she ladled a very large portion of mashed potatoes onto her brother’s plate.

“Neda died intestate,” said Uncle Alec, “so who inherits will be for a judge to decide. Under normal circumstances the law doesn’t allow a murderer to inherit from their victim, but since Titta claims her sister’s death was an accident, things are not so clear.”

“She never wanted that money for herself,” Odelia said. “She wanted it for her orphans.”

“I just hope the orphans get the money,” said Dooley, “and not the lawyers.”

This caused three pairs of lips to curl up: Odelia, Marge and Gran’s.

Afterword

An Eventful Evening in Hampton Cove

by Odelia Poole

It was one of those rare events, a unique occasion that happens only once in a lifetime: the coming together of three choirs. One consisting of the angelic voices of St. Theresa Choir, one consisting entirely of cats (yes, you read that right: cats!) and one with only dogs as its members.

The evening promised to be an exciting one when all three choirs, and the small orchestra that had been engaged by Father Francis Reilly to accompany them, took the stage in St. John’s Church on Saturday night.

The pews were filled to capacity, and extra chairs had to be brought out from Town Hall to accommodate the crowd. Hampton Cove had been abuzz with excitement for days, and finally the night had come for the big event to take place. Mayor Charlene Butterwick had announced that the proceeds of the event would be matched by the town council, and Francis Reilly had promised the entire sum would be donated to the Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter, recently set up by Mayor Butterwick and Chief of Police Alec Lip.

While the violinists were tuning their instruments and an anticipatory buzz of excitement was shared by the spectators, an electric hum hung in the air—history was clearly in the making here. Reporters from some of the big New York newspapers had graced the event with their presence, and even a WLBC-9 camera crew was present.

And so the hour was finally upon us, and the concert could commence. Yoko Bricknell, St. Theresa Choir’s young new conductor, tapped her conductor stand briefly with her baton, and the hubbub quickly died down. But before the first note sounded, out of the blue a small but feisty dog suddenly let out a sharp and ear-shattering bark.

The dog, which later was identified to this reporter as a Shih Tzu, answering to the name Sugar, suddenly seemed to realize that he was in the presence of… cats. Lots and lots of cats. And he didn’t seem to enjoy the prospect so much as to revel in it.

The little doggie trembled with excitement, his tail pointing straight up into the air like an antenna, and then he was yapping away, as loud as you please. His owner, Janette Bittiner, tried to shush him, but Sugar wouldn’t be appeased quite so easily.

He seemed to have singled out one particular cat to expend his ire on, and now made a beeline for this particular feline. This cat, a gorgeous large-bodied blorange tabby named Max (full disclosure: Max belongs to the writer of this piece) didn’t wait for Sugar’s arrival but raced full-speed away in the direction of the audience, presumably hoping to find cover amongst the dozens of human legs from this canine menace.

Unfortunately Sugar is a small and agile little creature, and he had no trouble keeping up with Max, who, in a desperate attempt to get away, jumped up onto the lap of Ida Baumgartner, then took a great leap at one of the drapes church decorators had put up. The drape, not designed to carry the weight of Max, who weighs in at twenty pounds, unfortunately came collapsing down in a heap onto the audience below, and so did Max.

Sugar, momentarily stunned by this setback, quickly recovered, and resumed the chase. More dogs now followed the example set by their small but fierce friend, and started chasing more cats. And before long, the church was filled with the sounds not of heavenly voices singing heavenly tunes but loud barking and snarling and the caterwauling and screeching of dozens of cats.

Some members of the audience had had enough at this point, and headed for the doors, and soon a stampede broke out, and things got a little ugly there for a while.

Father Reilly, treated for multiple scratches to the arms and legs, later explained that he’d tried to grab one of the dogs, in an effort to save his cat Shanille from harm, and had been attacked by the vicious canine, who hadn’t appreciated this act of meddling.

Max, the cat whose pursuit by Sugar started the mel?e, was found hiding in the pulpit, along with his friend Dooley. And even though shaken, I can confirm to the many readers who’ve written in and inquired after his health, that he’s fine, as are all of the other cats. The dogs, though, didn’t escape unscathed. Multiple scratches had to be treated by Vena Aleman, the well-known veterinarian, who’d fortunately been present at the concert. She declared, when asked to comment, that “Only a total idiot would put two dozen dogs and three dozen cats in the same room and expect them to hold paws and sing Kumbaya.”

Vesta Muffin (full disclosure: she’s this reporter’s grandmother) commented that she’d rooted for the cats, and that the cats had won the match fair and square, and if the dogs wanted a rematch, they could get one and she’d be happy to referee—for a fee.

Francis Reilly would like to add that people can get a refund or they can opt to have the money donated to the Animal Shelter. He also would like it to be known that this will be the last time St. Theresa Choir joins forces with Hampton Cove’s cat and dog choirs.

In other news, the man who could be seen clinging to the church spire at the end of the concert has been rescued by the fire department. Raban Pacoccha told this reporter that he was trying to launch his rocket to the moon, but that there was a problem with one of his thrusters. Also, he ran out of manure.