Purrfectly Deadly

Chapter 22

For the occasion, Odelia decided to outfit us all with tracking devices. She’d gotten those online a while back, after watching a documentary about a research team following a bunch of cats around for a couple of nights, to see what they were up to. Track their nocturnal wanderings around the small town where they lived. So Odelia had bought us trackers so she’d know where we were at all times. Combined with a panic button, we could send her a signal, and she could come and find us wherever we were holed up.

It was a neat system, and we’d tested it out around the house but had never used it on a mission before. She quickly outfitted the four of us with trackers and panic buttons, both attached to our collars, and then we were all set. I had to hand it to Odelia: when she got mad, she got even. It would be a lesson for Veronica George: never mess with a small-town reporter.

Odelia dropped us off at the house where Veronica lived with her mother, and parked her car around the corner. If she was right, and the woman was still involved with that lowlife drug dealer, it wouldn’t be hard for us to catch the two of them together. Then all we had to do was press our buttons.

When the four of us trudged up the driveway, we were almost flattened by a Mercedes GLS driving off and spraying us with gravel. I caught a glimpse of the driver and thought it just might be Veronica, which meant we’d already lost her. Luckily Harriet had jumped to the other side of the car and said, “It was Bryony Pistol. I recognized her from the pictures.”

Hand it to Harriet. She’s a regular Star, US Weekly and People reader.

“Great. Let’s hope her daughter decided to stay home,” I said.

The four of us followed the driveway, which led around the house, and found ourselves in a large flower garden extending into a pool area similar to Johnny’s, only smaller. Stretched out on a pool chair was a young woman reading a copy of Star, the cover announcing lots of ‘Stars Without Makeup.’

“That’s Veronica!” hissed Harriet.

She was dressed in a pink bikini, sunglasses perched on her nose, and looked bored. So we hunkered down in the bushes, and took turns watching the pop singer’s daughter. Being a private investigator is all about the stakeout, Odelia had once told me, and this prolonged vigil proved her right.

Soon it wasn’t just Veronica who looked bored, but us, too.

“So you still believe a conspiracy of escorts killed Johnny?” Dooley asked Brutus.

“Right,” I said with a smile. “The Australian boy toy conspiracy. I’d almost forgotten about that.”

“I have to admit Odelia’s theory is pretty sound, too,” said Brutus, idly toying with a beetle. “And it fits right in with my boy toy conspiracy theory.”

“Toy boy,” murmured Harriet, who’d closed her eyes.

“Whatever,” grunted Brutus. “That’s the difference between a true detective like myself and amateurs like you and Dooley, Maxie. A true detective comes up with new theories all the time, then checks them against the facts and either discards them or expounds on them. Is it possible a conspiracy of Australian boy toys killed Johnny? Sure. Do the facts bear out this theory? They might, if Chase had been allowed to carry on his work.”

I frowned. “So what you’re saying is that there’s a conspiracy to remove Chase from his job to prevent him from uncovering the truth?”

“A conspiracy to protect a conspiracy,” said Dooley. “My mind is officially blown.”

“Look, this Veronica chick and that drug guy conspired to remove Chase from the investigation to protect the conspiracy of Australian boy toys.”

“Do you know how crazy that sounds?” I asked.

“That’s your problem, Maxie, baby. You don’t have what it takes to be a truly great detective. You lack imagination.”

“So we’re conspiring to end the conspiracy that’s designed to protect the conspiracy,” muttered Dooley. “Wicked.”

“See?” asked Brutus. “Your buddy Dooley gets it.”

“You’re so clever, Brutus,” said Harriet. “The smartest cat I know.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “C’mere, babe.”

And before long they were exchanging kisses, Harriet giggling wildly.

“Oh, please kill me now,” Dooley sighed.

Because I didn’t want to watch Brutus and Harriet, I stared out at Veronica instead, but as far as I could see nothing was happening with her. She’d picked up another magazine, this one promising to expose Kim Kardashian’s beauty secrets, and from time to time she picked up her phone and tapped the screen, presumably texting her friends.

“How long is this going to take?” asked Brutus, when he and Harriet had tired of their frolicking.

“See, this is the reality of being a true detective,” I told the black cat. “Waiting around for hours and hours, hoping something will happen.”

“And hours and hours,” said Dooley.

“Booooring,” Brutus grunted. “What about some action? A car chase?”

“There are no car chases in a detective’s life,” I said. “This isn’t Die Hard, Brutus, and you’re not Bruce Willis.”

“Did you know I was named after Bruce? True story.”

“You were named after Brutus,” I said. “Not Bruce.”

“Brutus, Bruce, same difference.”

“There is a difference. Brutus was a Roman senator who conspired to kill Caesar, while Bruce is an actor known for—”

“Shush,” said Brutus.

I reared up. “Don’t shush me, Brutus.”

“Shush,” he repeated, and gestured at Veronica. I looked over and saw that she’d gotten up, texting furiously, and was walking toward the house.

“Something’s happening,” Brutus said.

“Very astute of you.”

“Probably went to fetch another magazine,” muttered Dooley.

But when Veronica didn’t return it was obvious something was up.

“We have to see what’s going on,” I said. “Which means taking a closer look.”

“Why don’t we send in a volunteer?” Brutus suggested. “I mean, if the four of us all go over there together it will look suspicious, right?”

In spite of myself, I had to agree he had a point.

“All right. I’ll go,” I said.

“No, I’ll go,” he said. “It’s my human that needs saving, so I should go.”

“Yes, but I know how to sneak up on someone without being seen.”

“And I don’t?” he scoffed. “I’m the best sneaker-upper around, buddy. Just watch me sneak.” And before I could stop him, he was off and away, sneaking toward the house, doing his best to keep his belly low to the flagged terrace, his tail down and his ears flat. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

“Doesn’t he look wonderful?” gushed Harriet. “A true detective.”

“Not really,” said Dooley.

Harriet turned on him. “What’s with all the criticism, huh? You can’t say one good word about Brutus, while he’s the most wonderful cat I know.”

“So of all the cats you know, he’s the best?” asked Dooley, annoyed.

“Yes, he is.”

“Greater than all the cats you’ve ever known? Cats you’ve lived with all your life? Cats like Max… and me?”

She hesitated, but then said, “Brutus is different.”

“Oh, I’ll say he’s different.”

“See?” she said. “Again with the criticism. You’re my friend, Dooley, so why can’t you simply be happy for me? Happy that I found my soulmate?”

He shrugged. “I am happy for you.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

I grinned when Dooley made a face behind Harriet’s back. Then I returned my attention to Brutus, who’d now reached the house and was sneaking inside, still staying low, even though anyone could spot a black cat against white pavement. Suddenly he popped his head back out and waved us over frantically. “We better get over there,” I said, quite needlessly.

“She’s leaving!” he cried when we’d joined him.

I darted a look inside, and saw he was right: Veronica, now talking animatedly into her phone, had pulled on jeans shorts and a crop top and snatched a small clutch from the table before walking out of the living room.

We quickly hurried out and followed the driveway back to the front of the house, just in time to see a taxi pull up and Veronica get in.

“What do we do now?” asked Harriet, panicking.

“Relax, toots,” said Brutus. “We just press this nifty button and warn Odelia that our target is on the move.”

“She’ll never get here in time,” I told him. “One of us has to follow that cab.”

“I’ll do it,” said Brutus. “Just like Bruce, right?”

But while we were holding a strategy meeting, the taxi was already pulling away, so in a spur of the moment kind of thing, I broke into a run.

“Hey, where are you going?!” Brutus cried.

While the car picked up speed, I jumped up onto the trunk, then onto the roof, and grasped the antenna and held on for dear life.

“Press that button!” I yelled, since I couldn’t reach it now.

“Maxie, baby!” cried Brutus. “Don’t let go!”

Well, that was certainly my intention. Maybe Brutus was right after all. Sometimes being a true detective is a little bit like being Bruce in Die Hard.

The taxi took us to the outskirts of town, and soon I saw where we were going: the strip mall where Rubb’s health food store was located. He pulled up right in front of the now closed shop, and Veronica got out of the cab.

Relieved we’d finally stopped moving, I managed to crawl down from the roof. My hair was a mess, and I think I’d swallowed more bugs than the windshield on a sixteen-ton truck. If this was what it was like to be Bruce, Brutus was welcome to him.

Veronica checked left and right, and then, to my surprise, disappeared inside the shop, which seemed to be open for business after all. But then, as I watched, an unseen hand quickly turned the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed.’

Since I couldn’t follow her inside, I decided to walk around back. I soon found that the backside of these shops was even dingier than the front, and when I’d finally located the one that belonged to The Vitamin King, I selected an oil drum for my own and hopped on top of it. Grimy windows looked out across a junk-littered, weed-infested patch of yard, and I didn’t see much at first. But then, as I pressed my nose up against the pane, I saw I was just in time to witness the teary reunion scene between the two lovers. Bingo.

I smiled. So much for a restraining order. There was little restraint when Veronica threw herself into Rubb’s arms and kissed him passionately.