Purrfectly Deadly

Chapter 8

We arrived at the general store, and walked straight in through the open door. As usual, Kingman was asleep on his high perch on the counter, while Wilbur was busily ringing up his customers.

“Psst, hey, Kingman,” I said.

The spreading piebald opened one lazy eye and stared down at us, then acknowledged our presence by grunting, “Meet me outside in five.”

We did as we were told and trooped out again, staking out a spot next to the display table full of fruits and vegetables. Five minutes later, Kingman came trotting out. “Wilbur doesn’t like it when the place is full of cats,” he said, quite surprisingly.

“Why?” I asked. “He’s never had a problem with cats before.”

“There’s been a spate of thefts lately,” said Kingman, “and he suspects cats are involved. I’ve been trying to catch them but they’re pretty sneaky.”

“Well, we would never steal anything,” said Dooley.

“You stole an entire bowl of pâté this morning,” I reminded him.

“That was different.”

“How was that different? You cleaned out Princess’s bowl. I saw you.”

“Princess? Who’s Princess?” asked Harriet.

“Just some cat,” said Dooley vaguely.

“John Paul George’s cat.”

“And you cleaned out her bowl?” asked Harriet.

“We were guests,” said Dooley. “Guests are allowed to eat a host’s food.”

“Not when you’re not invited, you’re not,” I said.

“We were invited.”

“How were we invited? The host was dead. You can’t be invited by a dead host.”

Dooley rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You ate from all the bowls.”

I shrugged. “I was hungry. If I don’t eat I get cranky.”

“All right, all right, all right,” said Kingman now. “Settle down, you guys. It’s not stealing if the food’s out there in the open, all right?”

“See?” asked Dooley. “I wasn’t stealing. I was just sampling.”

“An entire bowl?” I asked. “That’s not sampling. That’s gobbling.”

“Who’s Princess?” Harriet asked again. “Have I met her?”

“No, you haven’t,” I said. “She’s one of Johnny’s dozen cats.”

Harriet gave Dooley a curious look. “So why did you eat her food?”

“It was pâté, all right?” cried Dooley. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Actual pâté?” asked Kingman, interested.

“Yeah, the expensive kind,” Dooley said. “To die for, I swear.”

“It was pretty good,” I conceded.

“Pretty good? It was the best food I’ve ever tasted.”

“So what does this Princess look like?” asked Harriet.

“Can we just talk about the dead guy now?” I asked. I was already regretting having started this whole thing about the pâté. If you’re going to accuse someone of stealing, you better make sure you haven’t stolen the stuff yourself, I now discovered. It kinda destroys your moral superiority.

“Yeah, what about that, huh?” asked Kingman with a shake of the head. “A regular murder in Hampton Cove. What’s the world coming to?”

“So you heard about that?” asked Dooley. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Kingman always knew everything that was going on in this town.

“The mayor’s wife came in early this morning to buy plums to make plum pie, and she’d heard it from her husband who’d heard it from the Chief that the body of John Paul George was found floating face down in his pool.”

“News sure travels fast,” said Harriet, still studying Dooley.

“It sure does,” said Kingman with a grin. Like most cats in Hampton Cove he had a thing for Harriet, who was pretty much the prettiest cat for miles around. Except for Princess, maybe, which was probably why Harriet was so curious to find out more about her. Keep an eye on the competition.

“Any idea who did it?” asked Dooley.

“I could ask you the same thing. You were out there, weren’t you? One of Johnny’s cats strolled by here before. Said you were all over their place.”

“We only know what we saw,” said Dooley. “JPG in the pool. Poisoned.”

I gave him a warning look. Even though the story about Johnny’s death by poisoning would spread through town fast, there was no need to help it along. At least not until Odelia had written her article and got the scoop.

“Poisoned, huh?” asked Kingman, his furry face puckering up in surprise. “Now there’s something I didn’t know. Are you sure about this?”

Dooley stared at me and I shook my head. “Nah,” he said. “We, um…”

“It’s just a rumor that’s going around,” said Harriet, coming to his aid.

“And who do they think did it?” asked Kingman now.

“They’re interviewing all the guys Johnny entertained last night,” I said, “but so far it looks like the boyfriend is the most likely suspect. Jasper Pruce.” I wasn’t giving away any big secrets, as Jasper had been arrested.

“Who would have thought?” asked Kingman, whistling through his teeth.

Yes, cats can whistle, but we rarely do it, on account of the fact that it looks silly, and if there’s anything we hate as much as we hate dogs, it’s looking silly in front of other cats. We like to play it cool. Where else do you think the expression ‘cool cat’ comes from?

“So the boyfriend did it, huh?” asked Kingman now.

“Personally I think he’s innocent,” said Harriet. “He sounded extremely sincere when he said he loved Johnny and would never hurt him. And he doesn’t look like a killer at all. More like a sad little kitten.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” said Dooley. “And so can people’s words. They say one thing to your face and do something else behind your back.”

Harriet lifted her chin. “Well, I for one believed him. Jasper Pruce is simply incapable of murdering the person he loved. Love is like that, you know. It makes one care about the other, in spite of their obvious flaws.”

“Ah! So you admit there are flaws,” said Dooley.

“No one is without flaws,” said Harriet philosophically.

Well, that was true enough, but was Jasper flawed enough to have murdered his boyfriend? I didn’t know, but I wasn’t as gullible as Harriet to let a few tears and vows of never-ending love sway me. As far as I knew, he was the killer, even if Harriet chose to believe he was innocent.

“I think the boyfriend did it,” said Kingman, giving his opinion even though nobody had asked him. “Just think about it. Isn’t it always the husband or the wife that did it? So why not the boyfriend? Especially as there’s big money involved this time.”

“You just might be right,” I said. “What do the people in town think?”

“Most of them seem to agree that Jasper did it. Just so he could get his hands on the money, and make sure he wasn’t replaced by a younger model before he did. That endless parade of pretty young boys must have rubbed him the wrong way,” said Kingman, and that seemed to be the consensus.

“I think it’s sad,” said Harriet.

“What’s sad?” asked Kingman. “That Jasper killed him for his money?”

“That people have so little faith in the words of a man who was in love, and remained by Johnny’s side in this, the aging pop star’s twilight years.”

“Johnny wasn’t that old,” Kingman said.

“You know what I mean. It’s obvious that Jasper loved Johnny very much, to stay with him and have to watch how he threw his life away.” She sighed. “But then that’s true love for you. You simply stick together through the good and the bad, in sickness and in health, until death do you part.” She wiped away a tear. “I think it’s all so very, very romantic. And so very sad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Dooley, holding up his paw. “I think I’ve heard enough. You love Brutus and he loves you and there’s nothing we can do.”

“Nice rhyming skills, bro,” said Kingman.

“I was talking about you, you fool,” Harriet suddenly burst out, giving Dooley a thump on the shoulder. “You don’t desert a friend just because they happen to fall in love. Real friends stick together, through thick and thin.”

At this, she promptly turned around and stalked off, her nose in the air, leaving both Dooley and I stunned on the sidewalk. Kingman, though, laughed loudly. “Trouble in paradise, boys? What was all that about?”

I decided not to elaborate, as otherwise the story of this outburst would soon travel the entire town. Not that there was a lot we could do to stop that. Kingman would make sure that everyone knew that Dooley, Harriet and I had had a very public falling-out. And all because of that brute Brutus.

“What was Harriet talking about?” asked Dooley after we’d said goodbye to Kingman, promising to keep him in the loop.

“I have absolutely no idea,” I said, though perhaps this breaking up of the band had hit Harriet more than she let on. Being forced to choose between your best friends and your boyfriend must be a tough proposition, and it was obvious that Harriet wasn’t taking it well.

“Maybe we should make friends with Brutus,” Dooley said now.

“Never,” I told him adamantly. “That cat is the worst thing that has ever happened to this town, and we can’t let him think he’s defeated us.”

“But why can’t we simply try to get along?” asked Dooley.

I knew that the only reason he wanted to extend the olive branch was so he could get Harriet back into our lives.

I stopped mid-stride. “Look, Brutus is the enemy of everything we hold dear. If we let him, he will turn Hampton Cove into a prison camp.”

“I think you’re exaggerating, Max. I think deep down he’s not such a bad cat. He’s just… socially awkward.”

This was just too much. “You mean like Hitler was socially awkward? Or Stalin? That cat is the enemy, Dooley, and don’t you forget it!”

Dooley stared at me. “But I miss her, Max. I miss having Harriet around.”

“Well, that’s her choice. If she wants to hang with that cat and not with us, tough luck.”

“Tough luck for me,” said Dooley moodily.

“Look, I don’t like this situation either,” I told him. “I like Harriet and I miss her. But if we don’t stand firm on this, it’s the end of life as we know it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered.

It was obvious he was weakening. In the fight against the enemy, the enemy was winning crucial points. If even my best friend was already thinking about throwing in the towel, things were looking very glum indeed. I gave Dooley a gentle tap on the shoulder. “Hey. Don’t look so glum, chum.”

“I look glum because I feel glum,” he said glumly.

“Look, we’ll solve this murder and show Brutus he’s not the boss of us. Maybe then he’ll admit he was wrong to try and bully us into submission.”

“You think so?” Dooley asked, looking a little less glum.

“Of course. It works both ways. Harriet might be sent by Brutus to convince us to play ball, but two can play that game. We can use our influence on Harriet to convince Brutus he’s the one that should change.”

“I like that,” said Dooley softly.

I liked it, too. Though I doubted very much if Brutus was the kind of cat that could be persuaded to change his tune. Some cats simply never change.