Purrfectly Dogged. Purrfectly Dead. Purrfect Saint

19. PURRFECTLY DOGGED

Chapter 1

Victor Ball was wending his way home on his bicycle after an evening spent at his favorite bar. His bike was swaying across the narrow dirt road, as its owner had had a teensy-weensy too much to drink.

Victor, a middle-aged man with a formidable handlebar mustache and a sizable paunch, was singing loudly and out of key. He was in excellent mood, which was not unusual after imbibing his body weight in alcohol, and if he had trouble navigating the road that led to his modest home, where his wife had presumably given up waiting for him and had retired to bed, he didn’t show it.

In fact it was a minor miracle that he managed to stay upright at all, but he did, and with every mighty push on his pedals he was another couple of inches closer to home.

And he would probably have made it, without aiming his rusty old bike into a ditch, if not suddenly a dark figure had loomed up large and menacing while crossing his path.

Victor, even though drunk as a skunk, still had the presence of mind to pull his brakes and stare at the figure. It was not the kind of thing a man in his state of inebriation was accustomed to: the figure wasn’t merely large and imposing, it was also possessed of the kind of sharp fangs and glittering red eyes one usually only sees in movies. Its furry hide was shiny and thick, its pointy ears erect, its lips drawn back into a menacing snarl.

If someone had asked him at that moment to describe the hideous creature, he would have told them it was a wolf, and a very strange wolf at that, for the creature was walking on its hind legs, its front paws clawing the air with distinct malice in mind.

And then, as the monster threw its head back and howled at the full moon, Victor finally did what any sane man in his position would have done: he uttered a broken cry of anguish and terror, dropped his bike, and ran off in the opposite direction as fast as his weak-kneed legs would carry him.

The monster, meanwhile, instead of pouncing on this easy prey—this plump and juicy victim—continued howling at that big ball of cheese in the sky, then turned on its mighty heel and vanished into the woods, presumably eager to scare another drunkard.

Chapter 2

Marge Poole was cleaning her attic. She’d long wanted to take a broom and a duster to the cluttered space and get rid of some of the stuff that had been piling up there for years, but had never found the time—or the willpower. But when she’d been up there the week before and had almost been crushed by a falling stack of books, she’d decided to tackle the matter head-on. So she’d changed into a set of old clothes, had tied a scarf around her head, and had mounted those stairs with a take-no-prisoners attitude.

And she’d just gone through the first rickety rack, when she’d come upon an old photo album and had been idly leafing through it with a wistful expression on her face.

The pictures in the album were of her and her first boyfriend Jock Farnsworth. She’d known Jock long before she’d ever met her current husband Tex, and seeing those old photos of her and Jock brought back a lot of memories.

And she’d been sitting there reminiscing, having forgotten all about attics that needed to be cleaned out, when a voice suddenly sounded from downstairs.

“Mom! Are you up there? Mom?”

“Up here, honey!” she shouted.

Her daughter Odelia’s head came peeping up through the attic door, a quizzical look on her face. “What are you doing?” she asked, glancing around at the cluttered space. “Yikes. Someone needs to clean this mess up.”

“Well, I was, actually,” said Marge, “but then I came upon this album full of old pictures and I kind of lost track of time.”

Odelia joined her and took the album.“Is that you? You look so young!”

“I do, don’t I? I was even younger than you are in these pictures. Sixteen, seventeen.”

“And who’s that guy with you?”

“Jock Farnsworth. We were boyfriend and girlfriend two summers long, until he broke it off and hooked up with Grace Beasley instead.” She still felt the sting of betrayal at the memory, even though she’d hardly thought about Jock or Grace for years.

“Jock Farnsworth, as in chicken wing king Jock Farnsworth?”

“Didn’t I tell you about him? I thought I did. Or maybe I didn’t. Yes, Jock and I were together for a while, until we weren’t. But then I met your dad and so all’s well that ends well. If I’d stayed with Jock I’d never have met Tex, so it was all for the best—even though I didn’t see it that way at the time.”

“Imagine that,” said Odelia as she leafed through the album. “The richest man in Hampton Cove could have been my dad.”

Marge laughed.“Yeah, I guess he could have been.”

“Are they still together, Jock and this Grace person?”

“Last time I heard they were.”

“I think I’ve seen his daughter at the office once. She’s Dan’s goddaughter.”

“Oh, that’s right. Isn’t Jock one of theGazette’s main sponsors?”

“He is. Dan owes a great deal to the Farnsworth chicken wing bling.”

“Well, it’s all ancient history to me,” said Marge, closing the photo album and coughing at the cloud of dust this stirred up. “Want to help me clean up?”

“I can’t. I have a meeting with Dan. He told me to come down to the office pronto.”

“Did something happen?”

“No idea. Usually when it does he tells me over the phone.”

“Better get going then. You know Dan doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Are you sure you’ll be able to handle this, Mom? If you keep going down memory lane, you’ll never get this finished.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” said Marge. “I’ll ask your dad to give me a hand when he gets home.”

Odelia descended the creaky stairs and Marge put the photo album in a box with stuff she intended to keep, then took a deep breath and tackled the attic with renewed fervor, this time vowing not to let the ghosts of her dead past snag her attention again.

The Jock episode was ancient history. She’d long ago forgiven him for dumping her for Grace and she now decided not to devote another minute of her time to the man.

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“Slow down, Victor,” said Chase. “You’re not making any sense.”

Chief Alec had walked into the interview room and took a seat on the edge of the table.“Still drunk, huh? I thought a night in the drunk tank would have sobered you up.”

“I’m not drunk, Chief!” said Victor. “I’m stone-cold sober!” His eyes were wide and red-rimmed, and his large mustache was trembling.

“He’s drunk,” said Chase. “He just told me the same story he told the desk sergeant last night.”

“About the werewolf?” Alec grunted.

“Itwas a werewolf, I swear!” said Victor. “I saw it as clearly as I’m seeing you! He was standing not ten feet away from me, growling and howling and he had these claws, at least three inches long, and his teeth were glittering and dripping with saliva!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Alec. “I think it’s time for you to head on home, buddy.”

“But I really saw it! It was going to attack me but I was too quick. I ran and ran and I came straight here—but when I told them what happened they didn’t believe me!”

“I know you came straight here, and my desk sergeant put you straight into the lockup, as you were drunk out of your skull, Victor.”

“I had a few too many to drink, that’s true,” Victor allowed, “but as soon as I saw that monster I sobered up. I swear I’m telling you the truth, Chief. You have to believe me.”

Chief Alec exchanged a look of understanding with his deputy, and Chase got up.“Let’s get you out of here,” he told Victor.

“But… aren’t you going to finish taking my statement? People need to be warned. You need to call in the army—the National Guard—the FBI!”

“We’ll call in Mulder and Scully,” said Chase, as he clasped a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder. “And you can tell them all about your encounter with that nasty werewolf.”

“And while I talk to this Mully Sculder, you’ll hunt that beast down, won’t you?”

“Oh, of course we will, Victor,” said the Chief with a grin. “We’ll go after that thing with everything we’ve got—don’t you worry. This is now my number one priority.”

“When the reporters show up, tell them I saw it first, will you? And make sure they spell my name right. That’s Victor with a C. And Ball with a B.”

“Let’s go, Victor with a C,” said Chase, and led the man out of the room.

“What a nut,” Alec muttered.

Chapter 3

“Just look at it, Max, Just take a good, close look.”

I didn’t have to take a good, close look. Even from a distance I knew what it was: dog poo.

“It’s a disgrace,” said Shanille. “An absolute disgrace.”

“You’re not wrong,” I said.

Even though Shanille had come to us with the problem, depositing it in our laps, so to speak, she wasn’t the first one to have noticed an issue that was troubling the entire feline community.

Dog poo was a problem that had long irked me, and I’d mentioned it to Odelia many, many times.

“You have to talk to your human,” Shanille said now. “She has to write an article about this. These dogs are defacing our beautiful town—they’re turning Hampton Cove into the garbage dump of the Hamptons. If this keeps up no tourist will want to visit our beautiful town and then where will we be? In the scrapheap of history! The doldrums!”

“It would be very peaceful,” said Dooley, who didn’t seem to grasp the big picture.

“I think Shanille is right,” said Harriet. “Dog poo is the biggest issue of our time. A major menace to public health and safety. Something we desperately need to address.”

“It’s pretty nasty,” Brutus agreed.

The five of us were standing around what could very well be the largest dog turd I’d ever come across in my long and illustrious career as a cat sleuth. And I didn’t even need to take a sniff to know whom it belonged to either: Marge and Tex’s neighbors had recently gotten a dog, and I had every reason to believe this turd belonged to that dog.

“People step in it,” Shanille pointed out as a man carefully sidestepped the pile of steaming dog dung and shook his head in annoyance. “Cats step in it. We all step in it.”

“I don’t step in it,” I pointed out.

“I step in it,” said Dooley.

“Weall step in it,” Shanille insisted.

“Eww,” Harriet said as she visibly cringed.

“And then they drag that poo into their homes, and it gets smushed into their carpets and smeared across their nice hardwood floors. It gets dragged into nurseries and kitchens. It ends up in bathrooms and bedrooms. It’s hideous, it’s gross and it needs to be stopped. I know, for Father Reilly curses about the horrible muck every single day.”

“Father Reilly curses?” asked Dooley. “I thought priests weren’t supposed to curse?”

“He uses colorful language, but never takes the Lord’s name in vain,” said Shanille prissily.

Father Reilly is Shanille’s human, and runs one of the biggest churches in Hampton Cove. And since many people set foot in that church, I could only imagine the amounts of dog poo they trailed inside.

“Just think about it for a moment,” she said now. “Let’s take as a very conservative estimate that one out of ten people step in dog poo, and that all of those people drag that poo into my church. That’s a lot of dog poo to clean up for poor Father Reilly.”

“I’m sure Father Reilly doesn’t clean his church himself, though, right?” I said.

“No, he has a cleaning lady, but the principle still stands: someone has to clean up the poo. And why? Simply because dog owners refuse to clean up after their dogs. If you want a dog, you should accept the responsibility and remove the poo,” said Shanille with the kind of forcefulness that hasserved her well as director of cat choir. I mean, if you can wrangle the entire Hampton Cove cat community, you can wrangle anything.

“I don’t think it’s the owners that should take the responsibility, though,” said Harriet, who hates dog poo even more than the rest of us. Her gorgeous white fur is more susceptible to being sullied and soiled than mine or Dooley’s or Brutus’s.

“You don’t?” said Shanille.

“Of course not. Just look at us cats. We do our business nicely and hygienically in a litter box, which is conveniently scented so as not to let the foul stench upset sensitive noses. Afterward, we clean our tushies all by ourselves. Compare that to dogs. Do they use litter boxes? No, they simplypee against trees and poo on the sidewalk. Yuck! And then, to make matters worse, they don’t even clean themselves! Double yuck! So you can see how the responsibility of this dog poo crisis lies with the dogs, not humans.”

“I think it might be a shared responsibility,” said Brutus.

“No, sweetie pie, if we do our doo next to the litter box, is it Odelia’s fault, or Marge or Gran’s? No, it’s our mistake, and we should be the ones suffering the consequences. But if a dog does his business on the floor, nobody cares! And that’s the big issue here.”

“So what do you suggest?” asked Shanille.

“I suggest we immediately start a campaign to teach dogs to use a litter box, just like cats. I mean, how hard can it be? If we can do it, dogs can do it, too, right?”

“But dogs aren’t as smart as cats,” said Dooley. “Are they, Max?”

“No, obviously they’re not,” I said. “Otherwise they would have learned how to go on the potty a long time ago.”

“Human babies learn to go on the potty when they’re two or three,” said Harriet, “so why can’t we teach dogs to do the same? It would save us the agony of having to look at that.” She wrinkled her nose as she gestured at the big pile of doo, stinking up the street.

“It’s a disgrace,” Shanille repeated her earlier estimation. “But I don’t know if dogs are even capable of being potty-trained. I mean, like you said, dogs are pretty dumb.”

“Yes, but surely they’re not as dumb as that,” said Harriet.

“This is a historic day,” said Shanille, who, as a priest’s cat, possesses the gift of the gab. “This is the day when five cats decided not to take it any longer. When five cats took a stand and said, enough is enough! No more! We are going to tackle an issue that has plagued our community for far too long.” Her face had taken on an appropriately earnest expression. “We, ladies and gentlecats, are going to potty-train dogs.”

“Yes, we are,” said Harriet, sounding cautiously pleased.

“And may the world never be the same again,” Shanille added.

“Amen,” I said. Shanille always has that effect on me.

Chapter 4

Odelia, after her short detour to her mother’s attic, finally arrived atGazette headquarters. She made a beeline for her editor’s office and when she burst in, saw that he wasn’t alone. A pretty young woman with auburn tresses and refined features sat across from him, looking teary-faced and visibly upset.

“Oh, finally,” said the young lady when Odelia entered. “You have to help me, Miss Poole. You have to help me find my mother!”

Odelia blinked.“Um…” She directed a questioning glance at Dan, but the white-bearded editor simply stared back at her, a grim expression on his face.

When he finally spoke, there was a catch in his voice.“I don’t believe you’ve met my goddaughter, Odelia. This is Alicia. Alicia, you know Odelia. My finest reporter.”

Odelia would have mentioned she was also Dan’s only reporter, but the moment didn’t seem to lend itself to levity. Instead, she shook the young woman’s hand and took a seat. “Such a strange coincidence. I was just talking about your dad with my mother.”

“Marge Poole. She works at the library, doesn’t she? She’s nice. Very sweet and kind.”

“She is,” Odelia confirmed.

“Alicia is Jock and Grace Farnsworth’s daughter,” said Dan. “Her mother has gone missing, and I want you to drop everything and help find her, Odelia. I don’t care what you’re working on—this is now your number one priority, you understand?”

Odelia didn’t understand a thing. “But if your mother has disappeared, shouldn’t you go to the police? They’re more equipped to deal with missing persons cases than I am.”

“I can’t go to the police. My father would kill me. He’s probably going to be extremely upset that I came here to talk to Uncle Dan, but I simply can’t stand it anymore.”

“Your father doesn’t want to involve the police? But why?”

“He thinks Mama didn’t disappear. He thinks she ran away… with her boyfriend.”

“Your mother has a boyfriend?”

Alicia nodded.“He’s an artist,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“And… you don’t believe they ran away together?”

“Mama would never leave without telling me. We’re very close—we’re more best friends than mother and daughter. She wouldn’t simply up and leave and not let me know. She simply wouldn’t.”

She’d pressed a tissue to her nose while tears still rolled across her cheeks.

“Look, it’s not because your father doesn’t want to involve the police that you can’t,” said Odelia. “She’s your mother, and if you have reason to believe her disappearance is troubling, you should tell my uncle. If you want I’ll come with you. Chief Alec is a very nice man and verycapable. He’ll find your mother.”

“My father would never speak to me again. He thinks it’s bad enough the servants know, and now to involve the police…” She shook her head. “No way. Besides, what if he’s right? What if Mama simply ran away with her lover? The police aren’t going to be able to bring her back. She’s agrown woman. She’ll simply refuse to come with them.”

“See what I mean?” said Dan, who was clearly worried about his godchild. “You have to find Grace, Odelia. And if you’re worried about expenses, don’t be. I’ll pay you out of my own pocket to find her.”

“And I’ll pay you the rest,” said Alicia. “I just want to know what happened to her. If she did run away, that’s her business. I just want to know, so that I can stop worrying.”

“Do you know the name of this artist boyfriend?” asked Odelia, taking out her notebook and pencil.

“His name is Fabio Shakespeare. He’s a painter and he lives in a small cottage on our domain. Papa wanted to kick him out when he first started suspecting he was having an affair with Mama, but Mama convinced him not to. My parents have been living separate lives for years. They live in different wings of the house, so it’s not as if Mama was really doing anything wrong when she got involved with Fabio.”

“What do you know about this Fabio?”

“Oh, he’s wonderful. A real genius. You should see his paintings. He painted my portrait, too, and it’s the most amazing thing.”

She clearly seemed taken with this painter, Odelia thought.“So you didn’t mind that your mother was having an affair with him?”

“No, I was happy for her. Very happy. Papa is… a difficult man to live with. Even I find him hard to tolerate. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my father, but he’s very tough and demanding—not sweet and loving, like Fabio, and definitely not a romantic.”

Odelia nodded.“Do you think your dad will mind if I ask him a couple of questions and snoop around?”

“No, I think it’s fine, as long as you promise not to tell anyone.”

“Be discreet,” said Dan. “Be very discreet, Odelia. And Alicia, tell your dad I’m not going to print anything about this. This is not newspaper business to me—this is personal.”

“Oh, thank you so much, Uncle Dan,” said Alicia, as she rounded the desk and gave her godfather a big hug. “I won’t forget this.”

“It’s the least I can do for my precious goddaughter,” said Dan warmly.

“So when did your mother disappear, exactly?” asked Odelia.

“Um… the last time I saw her was the day before yesterday. At breakfast. We were supposed to head into town that afternoon to do some shopping, but she never showed up. And then the next day when I checked her room I saw that her bed hadn’t been slept in. I decided to tell Papa, who hadn’t even noticed Mama had gone missing, and he told me to wait another day, just to be sure. And so this morning, when I told him Mama was still nowhere to be found, he told me in no uncertain terms I shouldn’t get the police involved, and that Mama had probably eloped with Fabio.”

“Did you check to see if Fabio is gone, too?”

“I did. Immediately. And he’s gone. Packed his bags and disappeared.”

“So that would suggest your father is right.”

“I guess so, but like I said, Mama would never leave without telling me. She simply wouldn’t.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

“Of course. I’ve called and texted—but she’s not picking up and not responding to my texts. Oh, Miss Poole, you have to find her. I’m so scared something bad has happened.”

“I will find her, Alicia,” she said, even as she wondered if she was making a promise she wouldn’t be able to keep. “Trust me.”

Chapter 5

Gran walked out of the house and closed the door behind her. As she passed us, presumably on her way to the office, she paused.“What’s going on here? Are you guys having a meeting?”

“Yes, we are,” said Dooley promptly. “We’ve just formed the first-ever Cat Committee for the Re-education of Canines, also known as the CCREC.”

“Crack? What crack?” asked Gran. “I don’t see no crack.”

“We want to teach dogs not to poo in the street,” Harriet explained.

“Yes, we want to re-educate dogs. Make them more like cats,” Shanille added.

Gran guffawed.“Good luck with that!”

“But, Gran, just look at it. Isn’t it a disgrace?” said Harriet, gesturing to the still steaming pile of dog dung.

Gran looked at the evidence of a dog’s bowel movement and frowned. “Who left that there?”

“I think it belongs to Rufus,” said Harriet. “Marcie and Ted’s new dog?”

“Not on my watch!” said Gran, and immediately stalked over to Marcie’s doorstep and mashed the bell with her finger.

“Your Grandma Muffin could be a most formidable ally,” said Shanille.

We watched on as the door opened and Marcie appeared. She’s a dark-haired slender woman of Marge’s age, and very sweet. “Oh, hey, Vesta,” she said. “So nice to see you.”

“What were you thinking, Marcie?” said Gran, shaking her head. “What were you thinking when you left that stinking heap of stinky doo stinking up my sidewalk?!” She pointed an accusatory finger at the turd.

Marcie looked past Gran and frowned.“That’s not mine.”

“I know it’s not yours. It’s your dog’s.”

“Impossible,” said Marcie. “Ted always picks up after Rufus. He would never leave our baby’s doo-doo just lying around for people to step in. No way. Nuh-uh.”

“My cats think it’s Rufus’s, and my cats are never wrong,” said Gran, and too late realized her faux-pas.

“How would you know what your cats think?” asked Marcie with a laugh. “Unless the rumors are true, and you Poole girls really can talk to your cats.”

“Never mind,” Gran grumbled, and executed a strategic retreat. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered when she’d joined us on the sidewalk again. “Now Marcie will blab about it everywhere she goes. That’s the way she operates.” She stared at the heap of poo. “How sure are you that this belongs to Marcie’s dog, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Ten,” said Harriet immediately. “All excrement has a particular scent, and I needed only one sniff to know this particular pile belongs to Rufus.”

“Mh.” Gran directed a not-so-friendly look at Marcie’s house, where presumably Marcie was at that moment watching us from behind her curtains. “You know what? You cats just gave me a fantastic idea. A real scorcher.”

And without further explanation, she took off and left.

“So now what?” asked Brutus.

“Now we start our re-education campaign,” said Harriet. “And we begin with the culprit of this here eyesore.”

“You’re not serious,” said Brutus. “You’re going to try and re-educate Rufus?”

“Yes, I am,” said Harriet, “and so are you.”

“Ugh,” said Brutus, and I like to think that he spoke for all of us.

I mean, it’s one thing to engage in idle talk about the re-education of dogs and teaching them how to be potty-trained, but another to actually go out and do it. Dogs, you see, don’t take kindly to interference from cats, and Rufus is a big dog. A sheepdog. Those big and woolly ones? Sometimes I think there must have been a woolly mammoth among his forebears. I hadn’t really made Rufus’s acquaintance, apart from the occasional greeting across the fence, but if there is one thing a long life lived in Hampton Cove has taught me, it is always to steer clear of dogs, especially the really big ones.

We don’t bother them, and they don’t bother us. Peaceful coexistence if you will.

But Harriet was already on her way over, and so we followed. We couldn’t very well backtrack now, even though Shanille herself had suddenly turned a little thoughtful at this denouement.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Max?” she asked as we stepped into Marge and Tex’s backyard.

“I think it’s a terrible idea,” I said, not mincing my words. “But you know what’s an even worse idea? To try and stop Harriet once her mind is made up about something.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Shanille. “Remember I tried to take away her solo spot on the choir? She hasn’t stopped bugging me about it since. I’m starting to think I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I’d simply let her keep it.”

“That’s generally the best way to deal with Harriet,” I agreed.

“Hey, you guys,” said Dooley, “do you realize that CCREC sounds like CRACK? Isn’t that funny?”

“Very funny, Dooley,” I said.

“Because we’re going to teach dogs to clean their—”

“Let’s keep it civil, Dooley,” said Shanille reproachfully.

“I was going to say back,” said Dooley. “As in backside?”

“Oh, that’s all right then.”

“Thanks, Shanille, and can I just say I think it’s wonderful what you’re trying to do? I stepped in dog doo just the other day and I didn’t like it. It was soft and squishy at first, but then it was stinky and horrible the next. Max had to help me clean it off, and it took a long time and it involved sticking my paw in a puddle of water, and it wasn’t a lot of fun.”

“It happened to me, too, Dooley,” said Shanille, “so I can definitely relate.”

“And then when it didn’t come off, we had to tell Odelia, and she decided to give me a bath and I hate taking a bath, don’t you? Water is so wet!”

“Water generally is very wet,” Shanille agreed.

“The dog doo had gotten stuck between my claws and my little pink pads, and Odelia had to use tissues and even a toothbrush at some point, and it tickled!”

“I can only imagine,” Shanille muttered.

“And then she had to throw away the toothbrush because she said she couldn’t use it anymore after she’d used it on me to clean away all of that dog excrement—I love that word dog excrement, don’t you, Shanille? Dog excrement. It’s such a funny word. I didn’t understand what she meant at first, but now I do. Dog excrement. So funny.”

“Oh, Dooley,” Shanille groaned, and I think she already regretted dropping by.

We’d finally reached the fence that divides Tex and Marge’s backyard from Marcie and Ted’s, and Harriet loudly said, “Rufus, oh, Rufus, where art thou?”

Unfortunately there is no hole in the fence, but there is a nice garden table on which us cats can jump to have a good overview of the backyard next door, so we did so now.

Rufus, who’d come lumbering up, directed a curious glance in our direction. He didn’t need a table to step on, as he can easily look across the fence. Yes, he’s that big. “Oh, hey, Harriet—hey, guys. So nice to see you. How are you?”

“Rufus, we need to talk,” said Harriet, adopting her best re-educationary voice.

“Oh, sure, Harriet,” said Rufus. “Anytime. Oh, hey, Shanille. Haven’t seen you around in a while. Everything all right? Father Reilly doing okay? Good. That’s great to hear.”

“He’s very nice,” said Dooley.

“Yes, he is very nice,” I agreed. Rufus is probably one of the nicest dogs we know.

“So the thing is, Rufus,” said Harriet, deciding not to get sidetracked by all this waffle from the peanut gallery, “that you left a horrible mess on the sidewalk just now.”

“I did? I wasn’t aware—I’m so sorry, Harriet. I’m truly very, very sorry.”

“Apology accepted, but that doesn’t change the fact that people are going to step in the product of your defecation. So here’s my suggestion. Why don’t you learn to go on the potty? It’s clean, it’s pleasant, and it’s a much better solution for everyone involved.”

“The… potty? What do you mean, Harriet? What is this potty you’re talking about?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’re familiar with the concept of the litter box?”

“I think I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never actually seen one,” said Rufus.

“Max. Please explain to Rufus what a litter box is,” said Harriet.

I stared at her. I’d had no idea she’d penciled me in for a starring role in this little pantomime of hers.

“Well, go on, then. Tell him.”

I cleared my throat.“A litter box is literally a box filled with litter, Rufus. You, um, do your business inside the box, and the litter absorbs all the annoying odors and whatnot. And then when it comes time to clean out the box, all your humans have to do is scoop out the affected litter, deposit it in a little plastic bag—or, in your case, a very large plastic bag—and put it out on trash day for garbage collection.”

“Easy-peasy, and so much fun!” said Harriet.

“It does sound like fun,” Rufus agreed. “And where can I find these litter boxes?”

“Um… I guess you’ll have to discuss that with your human,” said Harriet. “For your size and shape I’d advise the extra-large model. Possibly the extra extra extra large.”

“I’m not sure they have litter boxes for a dog of Rufus’s size,” I told Harriet.

“I’m not so sure either,” said Shanille, as she took in the voluminous mass of dog.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Harriet. “If people want litter boxes in Rufus’s size, the companies producing litter boxes will produce them. It is simply a matter of supply and demand. Now scoot and don’t forget to tell your human, Rufus.”

“Um… there’s only one problem with that,” said Rufus.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“I can’t talk to my human.”

“Mh…” I could tell that Harriet was stumped for a moment. She turned to us and said, “Ad hoc meeting of the CCREC. How do we get dogs to tell their humans to buy them a litter box?”

It was a tough one, and for a moment we were all stumped, then suddenly Dooley said,“We could ask Gran to join the CCREC. And then she can tell the dog owners.”

“Excellent idea, Dooley!” said Harriet, and turned back to Rufus, who still stood eyeing us with a kindly expression on his furry face. “For now, try to familiarize yourself with the concept of the litter box, Rufus.”

“Like an Olympian,” said Dooley.

“Tell him, Dooley,” said Harriet encouragingly. “Tell Rufus how it is.”

“Well,” said Dooley, “Olympians visualize their victories. So you have to visualize stepping into the litter box, being inside the litter box, doing your business in the litter box… basicallybeing the litter box.”

“Being the litter box,” said Rufus, nodding. “Gotcha.”

Harriet beamed and patted Dooley on the head, not unlike a circus director whose monkey has just performed a complicated trick.

Chapter 6

As Chase made his way to the copy machine, he noticed to his surprise how Dolores was seated behind one of the desks in the main office, going through a stack of files. He approached the desk sergeant.“Dolores? What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be behind your desk?”

“The Mayor told me to go and sit here,” she said in her typical smoker’s rasp. Her mascara was prominently applied, as usual, making her more than a little scary-looking.

“The Mayor? What do you mean?”

“He came by earlier and told me to sit here. When I asked him what I was supposed to do, he said to figure something out to keep me busy until he could arrange for my early retirement, so I just thought I’d do some filing. There’s always filing to be done.”

“But… if you’re here, who’s sitting at your desk?”

“Fiona,” she said acerbically.

Chase’s face darkened. “The Mayor’s niece?”

Dolores nodded.“She took my place. The Mayor said the precinct needed some livening up. Said he had received lots of complaints about me. About how my grumpy old mug scares people away.”

“He said that, did he?”

“Yes, he did. And then he told Fiona to take a seat and look pretty and he left.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” said Chase.

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll fix this.”

“Good luck with that,” she growled without much enthusiasm.

Chase stalked down the corridor and burst into the Chief’s office. “Did you know the Mayor just told Dolores to take a seat in the main office and put his niece in her place?”

“Yeah, he told me,” said the Chief, not looking happy.

“But he can’t do that!”

“He can. He’s the mayor.”

“And you’re chief of police. Just tell him he can’t just kick out Dolores!”

“He can and he did. And he also told me that if I make a fuss, he’s sure he’ll be able to find himself a new chief of police, too.”

Chase had planted his hands on the Chief’s desk and stared at the man. “He said that?”

“He did, and what’s worse—he means it. Ever since we played hooky at that conference he’s got it in for us, Chase. It wouldn’t surprise me if he decided to kick me to the curb. And as for you, it’s a miracle he hasn’t put you in charge of policing traffic on Bay Avenue yet.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, he would. He hates my guts, and now he hates your guts, too. It’s all falling apart, Chase. Thirty years on the job, and it’s all going to pieces. Soon I’ll be forced out, and you’ll be telling road ragers to please calm down.”

There was a knock on the door, and Officer Sarah Flunk stuck her head in.“Chief, Victor Ball says he wants a word.”

“Victor is still here? I thought you sent him on his merry way?”

“I did,” said Chase.

“Um… he says he’s afraid to go home,” said Sarah. “In case he runs into the big monster again. What is he talking about, Chief?”

“Never mind what he’s talking about,” said the Chief with a touch of pique. “Just send him home and tell him not to bother us again with his nonsense.”

“Will do, Chief,” said the officer, and retracted her head and closed the door.

“We can’t just let the Mayor take over,” said Chase. “Dolores has done that job for ages—probably since Hampton Cove was incorporated—and a damn fine job she’s done, too.”

“And so she has, but what do you want me to do? My hands are tied here, Chase.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have flunked out of that conference,” Chase said now, plunking himself down on a seat.

They’d both recently gone to LA for a police conference, but the subject matter hadn’t appealed neither to Chase or Chief Alec, so they’d decided to play truant. Their absence had been duly noted, and the Mayor had been notified, and he hadn’t liked it. Possibly because the town had paid for the hotel and expenses.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure this conference business is just an excuse,” said the Chief. “He’s been wanting to put his niece in Dolores’s spot for weeks. Next stop: this desk,” he said, patting his own desk.

It was no secret the Mayor had big plans for his favorite niece. Preferably he’d like to see her run the police station as its first woman chief. And this was only the first step.

The door flew open again, and Victor Ball walked in, his mustache bristling.“You can’t send me home, Chief! That monster will be waiting for me, I just know it will!”

“If it was, don’t you think your wife would have called by now?” said the Chief.

“Alice! That thing will have eaten her alive! Oh, you have to send a squad car to take me home. Alice might still be alive if we hurry.”

“Oh, go on home, Victor.”

“But, Chief!”

“Go! Now!”

And Victor went, though without much conviction.

“I’ll talk to the Mayor,” said Chase. “I’ll tell him this is no way to treat a loyal police officer like Dolores.”

“Are you sure? He might decide to kick you off the force right then and there.”

“Let him try.”

The door flew open again, and this time the Chief’s mother burst in.

“I just had the best idea ever!” she announced.

“Ma, can’t you see I’m in a meeting?”

She ignored him and sat down next to Chase.“You’re going to start fining people who let their dogs do their business on the sidewalk. Step one. Then you’re going to announce your candidacy for mayor. Step two. And finally, once you’re mayor of this fine town of ours, you’re going to start campaigning for governor. And then, finally, for president! And I’ll be there every step of the way, don’t you worry, son. I’ll be your campaign manager. I know exactly how it works. I’ve seen it on TV.”

“Ma, how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to be mayor. I like being chief. And tell me something, how is fining dog owners going to help me become mayor?”

“Simple math! Thirty percent of the people in this town are cat owners, right?”

“If you say so.”

“Thirty percent are dog owners, and thirty percent got no pets. That means sixty percent of the people have to suffer because thirty percent refuse to pick up after their dogs. So if you go after the dog people hard, those other sixty percent are gonna be so grateful they’re gonna vote you intotown hall. See? Math!”

“You left out ten percent of the population,” said Chase.

“Oh, don’t let’s split hairs,” said Vesta.

“Not so simple, Ma,” said Alec. “First off, like Chase already indicated, I’m not so sure about your numbers, and second, most people clean up after their dogs. It’s only a very small minority that doesn’t. And to go after those people all heavy-handed is not the way I like to do thingsas chief. You know that.”

“Well, you should. People love the Dirty Harry approach, not that namby-pamby community policing business. They want you to go in hard. Bust some heads and rattle some cages. You need to arrest those jaypoopers and you’ll be mayor in no time!”

“I’m not going to arrest people for not picking up after their dogs, Ma.”

“Look, you’re going to run for mayor and I’m going to be your campaign manager. And don’t argue with me, Alec Lip! I’m your mother and a mother knows!” And with these words she stalked out again, leaving the Chief to bang his head against the desk.

“What did I ever do to deserve this, Chase? What?!”

“I’m sure she doesn’t mean it, Chief.”

“Oh, yes, she does. Her campaign has already begun, and with the Mayor gunning for me, this is not going to improve my chances of staying in this chair for much longer.”

“Don’t worry, Chief. I’ll talk to the Mayor and you talk to your mother. We’ll fix this.”

But the Chief was not to be consoled.

Chapter 7

Marge walked into the library feeling like she’d forgotten something. And as she entered and closed the door behind her, she suddenly heard a loud banging sound. She smiled and headed to the staircase that led into the basement. Someone was working hard.

There were racks and racks of books and old files in the basement, and the banging sounds continued as she made her way in their direction. And then, as she reached the back wall, she suddenly remembered what it was she’d forgotten.

“Oh, you guys, I’m so sorry but I completely forgot,” she said as she addressed the two men hard at work there.

They both looked up, startled. Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale were two ex-convicts who’d recently been granted a lighter sentence. Instead of spending the remainder of their time inside, they’d been allowed to do community service instead.

So Marge had magnanimously agreed when their probation officer had asked if there was any chance they’d be able to work at the library to fulfill the terms of their service.

She wanted to have the basement redone, starting with the back wall, which was suffering from an acute case of mold and rot and needed to be torn out and rebuilt.

“I said I’d bake you a cake and I completely forgot,” she said.

“Oh, that’s all right, Mrs. P,” said Jerry, a smallish man with a face like a ferret.

“No cake?” asked Johnny, his partner in crime. He was a very large man with a perpetually dumb look on his large, square mug.

“I’ll bake you one tonight,” said Marge. “I promise. I had this sudden urge to clean out the attic this morning, and totally forgot about your cake.”

“Don’t sweat it, Mrs. P,” said Jerry. “Tomorrow is fine.”

She studied the wall with interest.“And? Have you discovered the source of that rot?”

“Nah, not yet,” said Jerry, who looked a little jumpy, Marge thought. “But we’re getting there, isn’t that right, Johnny?”

“Oh, sure, we’re getting there, Mrs. P,” said Johnny.

“Marge, please,” she said.

“Probably a neighbor with a leak in his bathroom,” said Jerry.

“Yeah, probably a leak,” said Johnny.

“Or bad plumbing.”

“Yeah, bad plumbing,” Johnny echoed.

“Well, I’ll leave you boys to it,” she said. “Yell if you need anything, all right?”

“Will do, Mrs. P—Marge,” said Jerry.

“No cake, Jerry,” she heard Johnny tell his friend as she started walking away. “I was really looking forward to that cake.”

“Oh, shut up, you moron. How many times do I have to tell you? You talk too much.”

“But, Jerry!”

“You talk too much!”

“But I like cake!”

“Shut up!”

And as she mounted the stairs, she told herself not to forget about that cake this time. Johnny obviously had been looking forward to it. He and Jerry might be criminals, but they were clearly well on the road to rehabilitation, and she’d decided she would do her bit to help them become upstanding citizens once more.

The two men had actually broken into Odelia’s house not so long ago, and had been caught red-handed by Odelia’s cats. But Marge believed in letting bygones be bygones, and in the power of forgiveness. So it was with a warm heart that she’d welcomed the two former crooks into her library.

And as the clanging and the banging resumed, she soon forgot about the basement, and her thoughts returned to Jock Farnsworth, and Jock’s wife Grace. It had been, what, thirty years now? And for no particular reason she found herself wondering how Jock was doing, and Grace. She knew they had a daughter, and she thought the girl would be twenty now. And as she found her mind incapable of staying away from the topic of her ex-boyfriend and his family, suddenly her own daughter walked in, looking solemn.

“Odelia? What’s wrong, honey?” she asked.

“Do you remember we were talking about Jock and Grace Farnsworth this morning?”

“What a coincidence! I was just thinking about them!”

“Well, Alicia Farnsworth dropped by the office just now. She thinks something happened to her mother and wants me to investigate.”

“Something happened to Grace? What do you mean?”

“She’s gone—disappeared. Jock claims she left with her boyfriend, who’s also disappeared, but Alicia claims her mother would never go off without telling her, and she has a feeling something must have happened to her. Something bad.”

“Oh, my God!”

“Yeah. Could you do me a big favor, Mom, and introduce me to Jock? Maybe smooth the path a little? He won’t be happy when he learns his daughter went behind his back and asked me to investigate his wife’s disappearance.”

Marge hesitated.“I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea, honey. Jock and I… it’s been a long time, and we didn’t exactly part in an amicable way.”

“But like you said, it’s been a long time, and you have spoken to him since, right?”

“No, I haven’t, not really. Oh, sure, I’ve seen him and Grace in town, but we’ve never spoken. He broke my heart, Odelia, and I was really upset for a very long time. I thought he was the one, you know, and then he met Grace and it turned out I wasn’t the one for him. Grace was.”

“Not anymore she’s not.”

“You say she was having an affair?”

“Yeah, with an artist who lives in a cottage on the domain. Guy called Fabio Shakespeare.”

“I think I’ve heard of him. Specializes in portraits?”

“Specializes in seducing rich married women, apparently.”

Marge thought for a moment, then decided that maybe this was a good opportunity to finally leave the past behind. And patch things up with Jock once and for all.

“You’re right,” she said. “It was a long time ago. And maybe it’s time to finally forgive and forget. When do you want to do this?”

“How about now? Can you close up the library for a couple of hours?”

“I could, but I’ve got an even better idea.”

Chapter 8

“We need recruits,” said Harriet, who’d now really and truly taken command of our new association. “We need every cat in Hampton Cove to educate every dog. It’s the only way. Otherwise this is going to take forever.”

“You know, you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on everything,” said Shanille, “but I have to admit you’ve really taken this dog doo business well in paw, Harriet.”

“I think it’s important, Shanille. I think this may very well be the most important issue of our time. It touches on so many aspects of our lives: hygiene, discipline, respect for our fellow cats… If we can’t fix this, we need to ask ourselves who we are as a nation, you know?”

“She’s taking this really serious, isn’t she?” asked Brutus, a note of worry in his voice.

I understood where he was coming from. Harriet has a tendency to get carried away with any project she takes on, and this was one project she was digging her teeth into.

“If she keeps this up she’s going to antagonize every last dog in town,” Brutus said, “and then the streets won’t be safe for us to walk on.”

It was an aspect of the matter I hadn’t considered. There exists a very fragile peace between cats and dogs. The kind of peace that can be torn apart by a rash act like trying to coerce every dog into adopting the feline way of disposing of their doggie doo.

“Rufus took it pretty well,” I said.

“Rufus is a nice dog,” said Brutus. “A sweet mutt. But not all dogs are like Rufus, and if Harriet starts ruffling feathers, there’s no telling what might happen.”

“Don’t you mean ruffling dog hairs?” asked Dooley.

Brutus decided to ignore Dooley’s contribution. “Dogs may revolt. Turn on us en masse,” he said, painting an apocalyptic picture of a war between cats and dogs.

“Maybe you should tell Harriet to take it easy?” I suggested.

“Have you ever tried to tell Harriet anything? She isn’t one for taking things easy. She’s a can-do cat who doesn’t believe in taking prisoners.” He sighed. “Let’s just see what happens. Maybe Gran will be able to talk some sense into her.”

“I don’t know…” I said. Asking Gran to talk sense into someone is probably like asking a pyromaniac to put out a fire.

We’d arrived at the doctor’s office and now stepped inside. As I had suspected, Gran was seated behind her desk, but instead of playing Solitaire on her computer, like she usually does, she was busily typing away, twin red splotches on her cheekbones a testament to her excitement.

“Hey, Gran,” said Harriet as we walked behind the desk.

“Hey, you,” she said without looking up or taking a break from typing.

“We have a proposition for you,” said Harriet, not deterred by Gran’s obvious lack of interest in our presence. “We want you to join our newly formed association.”

“We want you to become a CCREC’er,” said Dooley proudly.

“Did you just call me a cracker?” said Gran, and finally stopped typing.

“Well, only if you want to,” said Dooley, slightly taken aback by her hard stare.

“Watch your tongue, young feline,” said Gran, wagging a menacing forefinger.

“Hear us out first,” said Shanille, deciding to intervene before things got ugly.

“Shanille? Shouldn’t you be helping Father Reilly convert a few more souls?” said Gran, who hasn’t been Father Reilly’s biggest fan ever since he told her that her soul would probably go to hell for cursing so much.

“Just listen to Shanille, Gran,” said Harriet. “And everything will become clear.”

“Clear as mud, probably,” Gran grunted, but still did as Harriet suggested. And Shanille had barely launched into her speech, when Gran cried, “Serendipity!”

“Sara who?” asked Dooley.

“I was just talking to my son about this! I’m all on board with your scheme, guys. In fact I think I have an even better idea. You know I can’t talk canine, right? But you can. So what I would suggest is we go door to door, and while you talk some sense into those four-legged mutts, I’ll talk to their feeble-brained owners—how does that sound for a plan?”

“Are all dog owners feeble-brained, Gran?” asked Dooley.

“Of course they are. If they had any sense they would have taken a cat, not a dog. But let’s not get distracted. We need to organize this properly, and we need to make it clear this campaign is officially sanctioned by our very own chief of police. Got that?”

“But why, Gran?” asked Harriet.

“Because I said so,” she snapped. “Now let’s get going. No time to waste!”

Tex, who’d just stepped out of his office to see what all the fuss was about, saw his receptionist grab her purse and so he asked, “Are you leaving already, Vesta?”

“Of course I’m leaving! Can’t you tell?”

“But… you’ll be back soon, right?”

“Depends.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve decided to become a cracker, and I’m on a mission—a mission officially sanctioned by your next mayor—Alec Lip. Watch me roar!” And with these words, she left a mystified Tex staring at her retreating back.

“Don’t you think Tex will wonder what this is all about?” asked Harriet once we were outside and making good time.

“Who cares? This mission is bigger than Tex. We’re about to write history here, fellas. If we can pull this off—make Hampton Cove a doo-doo free zone—it will prove infectious, and soon the county will adopt this new policy, and then the state, and the country! And by the time my son is crowned president, we’ll have started a revolution!”

“I don’t think presidents are crowned,” I said.

“Who cares! I’m walking into the White House as the first woman on the planet who achieved the unachievable. They’ll give me medals. They’ll give me rewards. I might even win the Nobel Prize. But do I care? Not a frickin hoot! All I care about is teaching America how to make their dogs go doo-doo on the box. And that’s good enough for me.”

“Oh, boy,” said Brutus. “She’s as nuts as Harriet and Shanille.”

And he was right. It’s one thing to tell people to clean up after their dog, but quite another to order them to potty-train their dogs. People have a tendency to rebel when told to do things, but dogs have a tendency to bite you if you try such a thing.

I had a feeling this town would soon not be safe either for us or Gran.

Chapter 9

The door opened and Odelia found herself staring into Alicia’s smiling face. “Come in,” she said. “Papa is in the library. I told him you were coming, so you should be good.”

“This is my mom, Marge Poole,” said Odelia. “Mom, meet Alicia. Jock and Grace’s daughter.”

“Hi, Alicia,” said Marge, who was looking slightly nervous.

“It’s so great to finally meet you,” said Alicia. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?” asked Marge. “I didn’t know…”

“Yeah, my dad told me about his very first girlfriend, who is now the wife of Doctor Poole, and mother of the famous Odelia Poole, reporter for theHampton Cove Gazette. He reads your stories all the time, by the way, Odelia, and follows all of your exploits.”

“That’s… so nice of your father,” said Marge, who clearly hadn’t expected this.

They followed the young woman down the hallway, and into the library, which was, as libraries go, opulent. Racks of books reached all the way to the ceiling, and there was even one of those library ladders on wheels. In the center of the room leather couches had been placed, surrounding a salon table, and Odelia spotted a comfy-looking window seat that practically invited her to pick up a book and spend a couple of hours reading.

Standing near that same window, looking out, a tall man stood, back straight, hands behind his back. When they walked in, he turned. He looked about Odelia’s dad’s age, but his hair was completely gray, and he had a little white mustache. He had one of those classically handsome faces, that only become more attractive with age.

He greeted them with a pleasant smile.

“Marge Poole,” he said, spreading his arms. “It’s such a pleasure to see you. And can I say you haven’t changed one bit?”

“Hi, Jock,” said Marge, still not at ease. “You look well.”

“A little older, a little grayer, and, perhaps a little wiser,” he said.

Odelia could see how her mother would have fallen for this man. He had charm and charisma oozing from every pore.

“This is my daughter Odelia,” said Marge.

“Spitting image of your lovely mother,” said Jock, and pressed Odelia’s hands warmly. “Alicia told me she invited you, and I must confess I think it’s a little silly of her, to engage your services like this.”

“Well, she’s very worried about her mother,” said Odelia.

“I know, and I’m worried myself, but knowing Grace she will turn up soon enough.”

“You mean she’s done this before?”

“She has disappeared before, yes, and usually gets back in touch after a couple of days. One time I didn’t hear from her for two weeks. I’d already contacted the police. Turns out she needed a break from it all and had gone down to the Keys for a vacation.”

“Mom would never do that,” said Alicia. “She would never just leave us like that.”

“And yet she did, sweetheart. You wouldn’t remember as you were too young.”

“I think I would have noticed if Mama left for two weeks, Papa.”

“Well, you didn’t, since I sent you to your grandmother for two weeks, and you had the time of your life. My mom and dad live in Montana, you see,” said Jock. “They took over a dude ranch when Dad retired, and have been living up there since, having a ball.”

“You said Grace has done this several times?” asked Odelia as Alicia frowned, trying to recollect the incident her father was referring to.

“Yes, my wife has a tendency to disappear, just as a way of getting back at me for some perceived slight. She is quite incapable of dealing with the slings and arrows of life. Instead of coping, or attacking them head-on, she prefers to run away. I’ll bet she’s relaxing in a five-star hotel in Cabo right now, enjoying an extensive pampering session.”

“She wouldn’t do that without letting me know where she is, Papa,” said Alicia stubbornly. “She simply wouldn’t!”

“Could you give me a few minutes with Marge and Odelia, sweetheart? There’s something I need to discuss with them.”

The moment his daughter had left, Jock turned grave.“Look, I understand Alicia is worried sick, and I would be, too, if I didn’t know her mother better than she does. We’ve always tried to protect Alicia from Grace’s whims and her many flings, but it’s becoming harder and harder as Alicia gets older. I don’t know if she told you this, but Grace has been conducting a torrid and sordid affair with an artist I hired to paint her portrait.”

“Fabio Shakespeare?” said Odelia.

“I see Alicia already mentioned him. Fabio’s been staying at the old gamekeeper’s cottage, with Grace sitting for her portrait. Only I think she’s become more to the man than just a model. I think they’ve become lovers, as well, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they took off together, since Fabio disappeared around the same time Grace did.”

“Do you mind if we take a look at the cottage?” asked Odelia.

“No, by all means be my guest,” said Jock. “And if you find that her disappearance is, in fact, troubling, as my daughter seems to think, I’ll be the first one to call the police. But until then I’m pretty sure this is another one of her flings that ended with a trip abroad.”

“She doesn’t, by any chance, have tracking software on her phone, does she?” asked Odelia.

“I’m not the kind of husband who believes in keeping track of his wife’s every move, Miss Poole,” said Jock with a tight smile.

“Does she have her own car? Did she take it?”

“She does have her own car, but it’s still in the garage, so they probably took Fabio’s,” said Jock.

“I’m so sorry about this, Jock,” said Marge. “Grace was always a little… independent.”

“You mean unreliable. And you should know. She was your best friend, as I recall.”

Odelia stared at her mother.“You didn’t tell me you and Grace were friends, Mom.”

“Grace was my best friend, yes, and so when she betrayed me, it hit me hard.”

“I’m truly sorry about what happened, Marge,” said Jock now, taking her hands in his and pressing them warmly. He looked sincere. “What can I say? I was young and foolish.”

“We were all young and foolish, Jock.”

“Yes, but I was an idiot for letting you go. I should have listened when you said I was making a big mistake. Of course back then I was completely smitten with Grace. Blinded by her good looks and her flirtatious attitude.”

“That’s all in the past now, Jock. No sense in rehashing ancient history.”

“I know, but look at you now. Married to a doctor, with a gorgeous, successful daughter. You really did well for yourself.”

“You did pretty well for yourself, too, Jock. And your Alicia is lovely.”

“She is, isn’t she?” said Jock, glowing at the mention of his little girl. “She’s the light of my life. Grace and I have made a mess of things—I won’t conceal that our marriage is a bust—but we did one thing right and that’s Alicia. She’s our one saving grace.”

And with these words, he excused himself and walked out.

“So what do you think?” asked Odelia. “Did Grace leave under her own steam, or was she taken?”

“I have no idea, but I’m sure you’ll find out, honey.”

“Only if you help me.”

“Odelia! I’m not a detective.”

“And neither am I. I’m just a reporter.”

“With a knack for detection.”

“You know Grace. She was your best friend. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s you, Mom.”

“I can’t just close up my library for a couple of days or weeks, honey.”

“No, you do your library, and we’ll try and find out what happened to Grace after hours. I have a feeling Jock is right, and that she simply up and left and will be in touch any day now. But in the meantime I don’t want to disappoint Alicia, either.”

“No, you’re right,” said Marge as she glanced through the window. In the distance, half-obscured by a large willow tree, they could see the gamekeeper’s cottage. “And you probably have a point. The fact that I used to know Grace could work to our advantage.”

“So we’re doing this?”

“Okay, fine. I’ll help you find Grace. But don’t tell your dad. He might not appreciate me hanging around the Farnsworths—well, Jock, in particular.”

Odelia laughed.“Wait, what?”

“The fact that I used to date Jock Farnsworth made your dad feel pretty insecure. And I don’t think that feeling has completely gone away over the years. So I’ll help you, but only if you don’t tell your dad. Deal?”

Odelia was still smiling. Hard to believe her dad would be jealous of Jock Farnsworth after all these years. But she shook her mother’s hand. “Deal.”

Chapter 10

Gran had decided we needed to tackle this issue together, as a team. She’d appointed herself the head of the CCREC, much to Harriet’s annoyance, I might add, and intimated she would create a blueprint for our first campaign, giving us a detailed script.

“We’ll start on Harrington Street,” she said. “These people need to be made aware of the need for cleanliness and hygiene and anyway, I’ve never liked our neighbors, so if this goes sideways, no harm done.”

“I actually like our neighbors, Max,” said Dooley. “So if this goes sideways aren’t we going to be welcome in our own neighborhood anymore?”

“It certainly looks that way, Dooley,” I said.

“This is going to be rough,” Brutus announced when Gran walked up to the first house and rang the bell.

“So you know the drill, you guys,” said Gran. “While I talk to the lord of the manor, you talk to his hairy mutt. It’s called a two-pronged approach and it can’t fail.”

“All right, Gran,” said Dooley dutifully.

“When did the CCREC become a human’s sideshow?” asked Shanille, grumbling a little. I had a feeling it wasn’t just Father Reilly who wasn’t a big fan of Gran, but his cat, too. Then again, pets often take after their owners, or is it the other way around? I can never remember. Or maybe it’s just a case of mutual influence.

The door flew open and a large man with a paunch, bald head and bulbous nose appeared. This was Odelia’s next-door neighbor Kurt Mayfield. Mr. Mayfield is a retired music teacher, and his one defining feature is that he hates cats. So it was with some trepidation that I now entered his home, in search of the dog Gran had suggested we bring under our fatal spell, while she worked her charm on its owner.

Mr. Mayfield, the moment he saw five cats slip between his legs, bellowed,“Hey! Get those cats out of here!”

A fine start for CCREC’s first-ever mission.

“Let’s you and I have a little chat first, Kurtis,” said Gran.

“The name is Kurt, not Kurtis,” Mr. Mayfield growled.

I’d decided to linger in the hallway, to keep abreast of Gran’s progress. In case she spectacularly failed her mission, we probably needed to abort and do so on the double.

“Did you know that my son, your chief of police, has launched a new campaign to improve the health and safety of our beloved community?” asked Gran, launching into her spiel. “And did you know that as a consequence of his campaign he requires upstanding citizens such as yourself to adopt a new rule prohibiting the deposit of dog excrement on our town’s sidewalks? Yes, that’s right, Kurtis Mayfield. From now on, it is strictly forbidden to take your dog out for a walk and allow him to soil our trees, our pavements, our parks and our waterways with his poo and with his pee.”

“It’s Kurt, and I don’t get it,” said Kurt now, scratching his shiny bald scalp. “What are you saying, Vesta, cause it all sounds like gibberish to me?”

“I’m saying that Wilbur Vickery has a great deal on litter boxes and you need to take advantage of this promotion and get yourself one of those fine items pronto and then you’re going to train that silly mutt of yours to take a dump in the box from now on.”

“You’re telling me to do what?!” Kurt vociferated.

“I’m telling you that your chief of police wants you to stop messing up the sidewalk with your dog’s disgusting crap, Kurtis. And if you can’t get that simple message through that thick skull of yours, I’ll make it even plainer: stop polluting my town or else!”

“This time you’ve gone too far, Vesta,” growled Kurt. “Show me where it says I can’t take my dog out for a walk. Show me this new rule of your son and I’ll gladly comply.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about the new rule. It is coming, and faster than you think. As soon as Alec is appointed mayor, the rule is going to be voted in so fast it’ll make your head spin. In fact it’s the first policy he’ll put to the vote, his crowning achievement.”

Kurt stared at Gran for a moment, then declared,“I always said you were nuts.”

And slammed the door in her face.

Which had as a consequence that five members of the CCREC were now effectively locked in with this irate cat-hating neighbor, and one presumably vicious dog.

While I’d stayed behind to keep an eye on the proceedings, my fellow CCREC’ers had gone in search of Kurt’s mutt, and now returned, their search having proven fruitless.

“I don’t think this man has a dog, Max,” said Shanille, reporting from the trenches.

“Oh, yes, he has,” I said. “He got his dog around the same time Marcie and Ted Trapper got Rufus. It’s a happy little yapper that answers to the name Fifi.”

I decided to head into the backyard, which was an easy feat to accomplish, as Kurt had installed a pet door similar to Odelia’s. I squeezed myself through the thing—it was a lot smaller than Odelia’s—and found myself in Kurt Mayfield’s backyard, which wasn’t as nice as my own, but nice enough for a man living by himself. You hear these stories about confirmed bachelors: how their houses are a mess, and their backyards are complete jungles, but Kurt obviously was a man who appreciated order and cleanliness, and both his house and his backyard were nicely maintained, I had to admit.

“Fifi,” I called out. “Where are you?”

And then I saw her. The little Yorkshire Terrier was hiding behind a tree near the back fence, and just about all I could see were two beady eyes and a quivering snout.

“Oh, there you are,” I said, and approached the little doggie carefully. She might be small and cute, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t also be vicious—a happy little biter.

“There’s something we need to discuss, Fifi,” I said. “Something that will benefit you.”

“Don’t hurt me, cat,” said the Yorkie. “Don’t scratch me with those claws of yours.”

“Scratching you is the furthest thing from my mind,” I assured the sweet little thing.

Behind me, four more cats had squeezed through the pet flap, and now joined me as I prepared to give Fifi the CCREC talk, as outlined and drilled into us by Grandma Muffin.

“The thing is, Fifi,” I began, “that there’s a revolution sweeping through Hampton Cove right now. Dogs from all shapes and sizes are taking part in this revolution and joining this popular movement and I’m sure you don’t want to be left behind, right?”

Fifi didn’t respond, but merely crawled further behind the tree, looking even more scared than before. Then again, if one cat scares the bejesus out of you, five probably are a living nightmare.

“Why is she hiding, Max?” asked Dooley. “Doesn’t she like us?”

“I think she’s scared of us,” I intimated.

“A dog? Scared of a cat? I didn’t think that was possible,” said Shanille.

“Well, it is possible, and Fifi is obviously very scared, so maybe you guys should back off a little and give her some space,” I suggested.

“You don’t have to be scared, little Fifi,” said Shanille. Instead of backing off, she was advancing on the creature. “I’m Father Reilly’s cat, and the Bible teaches us to love all creatures great and small, so I can assure you I’m not a threat to you. On the contrary, I think you’re one of the Lord’s creatures, just like me and my dear, dear friends here.”

“Go away, cat,” said Fifi, indicating she wasn’t impressed by this lecture. “Leave me alone.”

“Look, I’ll just say my piece and then we’ll be out of your hair,” I said, which, I now noticed, was adorned with a big pink bow. Very cute. “Dogs all over Hampton Cove are joining the litter box revolution, and I’m sure you don’t want to be left behind. If you learn to go on the litter box now, you’ll be part of the avant-garde of a new and exciting movement. For only nine ninety-nine your owner can pick up a litter box at the General Store, and get two bags of litter thrown in. You simply enter the box, do your business, and you’ll come out smelling like roses—or baby powder, whichever you prefer. Join the litter box revolution now and be a cool dog. There, that was my sales pitch. Questions?”

Gran had really drilled the speech into us, but I still had a feeling it was lacking thatje ne sais quoi. Then again, I’m not a salescat, so I probably had fumbled my delivery.

“What’s a litter box?” asked Fifi now, showing her first sign of interest.

“Well, it’s a big box with litter inside it,” I said, “and it magically absorbs your pee and your poo. Pee and poo go in, and you come out, clean as a whistle and smelling, as I said, like roses—or baby powder—but the latter will set you back eleven ninety-nine.”

“Why is that, Max?” asked Dooley. “Why are babies more expensive than roses?”

“Shush, Dooley,” I said. “I’m in the middle of an important sales pitch here.”

“It sounds really nice,” Fifi admitted. “I would love to smell like roses. Pink roses. Pink is my color, you see. I have everything pink. Pink bowls, pink basket, pink pillows….”

“Oh, but itis nice. Us cats have been using litter boxes for years and years and years, and now it’s your turn.”

“You mean you were part of the beta test for this litter box thing?”

I paused.“Um, sure. Cats were part of the beta test group, and now this cool gadget is being rolled out to all pets, dogs included. So you don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

“I think it might be cool,” said Fifi, carefully emerging from behind her tree.

“Oh, yeah, it’s the coolest thing possible,” Harriet assured the little doggie. “You’ll be the coolest dog in school.”

“I don’t go to school, though,” said Fifi, eyeing Harriet uncertainly, nose twitching.

“It’s just a figure of speech,” I said. “What Harriet means to say is that if you become part of the litter box vanguard, you’ll be the coolest dog in town. And who doesn’t want to be the coolest dog in town, right?”

“I’m not cool,” said Fifi sadly. “At least that’s what other dogs keep telling me.”

“This will change all that,” I promised her. “This will make every dog treat you with the respect that you deserve.”

“They’ll look up to you,” said Brutus. “They’ll think you’re the hippest dude on the block.”

“I’m not a dude, though,” said Fifi.

“Okay, fine. You’ll be the hippest chick,” Brutus amended his previous statement.

“I’d like to be a hip chick,” said Fifi, now fully out from behind her tree.

She was obviously overcoming her fear of cats, a testament to the transformational power of the CCREC message and the litter box revolution sweeping our town.

Oh, boy. I guess I’d drunk the Kool-Aid, too.

“Will it make me prettier?” asked Fifi now. “This litter box thing?”

“Oh, sure,” said Harriet without batting an eye. “Litter does wonders for your skin and your fur. Just look at me.” She preened a little, showing off that shiny white coat.

Fifi stared at it with rapt fascination.“You have such lovely fur, Harriet. I’ve always admired you from afar—ever since I was adopted by Kurt. I think you look amazing.”

“Why, thanks, Fifi. And it’s all due to the amazing powers of litter,” said Harriet, unashamedly plugging litter as a regular panacea. I guess sheis a born salescat.

“The power of litter will also make you stronger,” said Brutus. “Make you butch like me.” He flexed his muscles. “No dog is going to mess with you when you’re muscular.”

“I would love to be more muscular,” said Fifi. “And bigger and stronger, too.”

“Well, adopt the litter box lifestyle and amazing strength will be yours,” said Brutus.

“And don’t forget about self-confidence,” Shanille told the bashful Yorkie. “Embrace the litter box lifestyle and you’ll become a new dog. Gone will be the fear of cats or other creatures. You’ll be a completely new Fifi by the time you walk out of your litter box.”

Fifi’s eyes had begun to shine with the light of holy fervor. “Strength, beauty, self-confidence,” she murmured. “Is there anything this wonder-box can’t accomplish?”

“Nothing,” Harriet assured her. “The litter box is the answer to all your problems. And all this for a measly nine ninety-nine, sales tax included. Buy yours now and get a bag of litter for free. Deal ends Friday at midnight.”

I had to admit I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable about all this talk of the litter box as the be-all and end-all of life. Gran had jotted these notions down on a paper napkin before giving us our instructions, saying we needed to drive our point home with zeal and excitement and close! close! close! that deal. But now I wondered if we weren’t overdoing it. I mean, the litter box is a nice invention, as inventions go, but it can only do so much. It has never contributed in a significant way to my complexion or the glossiness of my coat, nor has it ever given me confidence, strength or happiness.

Do I feel better after a visit to the box? Yes, I do, but doesn’t everyone feel better after relieving themselves of a surplus amount of bodily fluids or other excess baggage?

“I think our mission here is done, you guys,” said Shanille now, beaming with visible satisfaction. Preaching the non-existent benefits of the litter box seemed to come quite naturally to her, but then of course she had an excellent example in Father Reilly. By all accounts the man was an excellent preacher, and equipped with a silver tongue.

“I want this litter box,” said Fifi now. “Where can I get it?”

“Well, I’m sure Gran will have given your human all the information he needs,” said Harriet. “So you can expect your brand-new litter box to show up any day now.”

“Um, I think Gran’s mission was a bust,” I said. “Kurt slammed the door in her face.”

“So… no litter box for me?” asked Fifi, disappointed.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” said Shanille. “I’ll tell my human to talk to your human. And when Father Reilly speaks, people listen.”

“You think Father Reilly should join the CCREC cause?” asked Harriet.

“Yes, I do,” said Shanille. “I’m sure this is a cause he’ll happily support. Now all I need to do is convince Grandma Muffin to talk to Father Reilly and turn him into a CCREC’er.”

I was still having misgivings about the whole CCREC’er mission. But then again, sometimes the end justifies the means, and if we wanted our streets clean and smelling like roses—or baby powder—then maybe the CCREC’er way was the only way.

By then Kurt had found us, and chased us out of his backyard and into Odelia’s. And even as we hopped the fence, I could hear Fifi cry, “I want my litter box!”

Our campaign was clearly a success.

And the only price was my conscience.

Chapter 11

“Look here, Mr. Mayor,” said Chase, “you can’t do this. Dolores is a hard-working woman and, more importantly, she’s practically like a mascot for our police force. A mainstay for so many years she’s become a fixture—a trusted figure.”

“Listen to yourself, Chase,” said Mayor Dirk Dunham, who was a portly man in his early sixties, with a full pepper-and-salt beard and perfect gold coif of which he was particularly proud. “A fixture. A mainstay. A mascot. And I’ll add another word to the collection: a relic. Dolores Peltz is a relic of the force, and you know what happens with relics, don’t you? They’re relegated to the museum, where they belong. But a police station isn’t a museum, it’s a vital part of our community, and that community deserves a vivacious, competent, attractive point of reference, and clearly Fiona is that person.”

“But Mr. Mayor!”

“Dirk, please,” said the Mayor as he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

Chase had decided to pay the Mayor a visit in his lair: town hall. He now wondered if he hadn’t made a fatal mistake. The Mayor was on his home turf, and had the home team advantage. Maybe he should simply have accosted the man when he dropped by the police station, and sprung his opinion on him there, where he was out of his element.

“Look, Chase, I won’t conceal the fact that I feel for your Dolores. I’m not just the mayor of this fine town. First and foremost I’m a citizen, and I, too, have known Dolores forever. But that’s exactly the problem: nothing lasts forever, son. And sometimes you need a visionary like me to step in and herald in the new. All change is painful, but it’s also vital. My niece is going to be like a breath of fresh air to that stuffy old precinct. She’s going to drag you into the twenty-first century, whether you like to or not. And speaking of fresh air, have you ever given any thought to your own future, Chase?”

“Um, yeah, I guess I have. I would like to stay here, Mr. Mayor. I’ve made Hampton Cove my home and I like it here.”

“So you’ve decided to stick around, huh? No intention of returning to the NYPD?”

“No, sir. I’ll stick around here for as long as this town will have me.”

The Mayor nodded with satisfaction.“I can assure you that this town is fond of you, Chase. In fact it isn’t too much to say that Hampton Covians have embraced you and now consider you one of their own.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Mayor. That’s great to hear.”

“Dirk, please. Now, Chase, you were in LA with our chief of police recently, yes?”

Uh-oh. This wasn’t the way the conversation was supposed to go. “Um, yes, sir—I mean Dirk.”

The Mayor shifted in his seat.“It has come to my attention that our Chief Alec was less than excited about the conference’s itinerary. Am I correct in that assumption?”

The Mayor was fixing him with an intent gaze.

“Um, I guess he thought—well, we thought, that the techniques the conference organizers were expounding weren’t exactly applicable in our specific context, yes, sir.”

“Mh,” said Mayor Dunham, frowning. “You know what I think, Chase? And I’m going to be completely candid with you here, if I may.”

“Of course, sir—Dirk.”

“Chief Alec has been a dear, dear friend of mine for many, many years. He’s also been the head of our police department for going on three decades now, and I think that maybe it’s time some of that fresh air we were discussing earlier was applied to him as well. The man is, what, in his fifties now? He could probably take early retirement if he wanted to. Rest on his laurels. Enjoy his golden years with a nice pension. Go fishing. And I’ll get to the point here, Chase,” he added when Chase had started sputtering muttered objections. “How about you as chief of police? Mh? Would youlike that?”

“Oh, but Dirk. I don’t think—”

“Look, I’m sure your loyalty towards Chief Alec is highly commendable, but you’re young, Chase. In your prime. Just think of all the things you could accomplish. If you became chief now, you could shape the future of this department. You could be its chief for the next twenty, thirty years. Isn’t that an exciting prospect? It sure excites me.”

“But… I thought your niece…”

The Mayor laughed.“I know what the rumor mill says, Chase. Oh, I know perfectly well they already see Fiona in that chief’s chair. But I’ll let you in on a little secret here. Fiona doesn’t want to be chief of police. Oh, no. She has bigger ambitions, and I want to help her accomplish them. What Fiona wants is to sit in this chair one day. First female mayor of Hampton Cove, and I’m not going to stop her. No, sir. I’ll groom her for the job!”

Chase stared at the Mayor, speechless.

“Look, you don’t have to give me your answer now, son. Think it over. Take your time. And then when the time is right, you and I can have another little chat, and let’s just say I see a great future for you here, Chase. A future with you as chief, and Fiona as mayor. I think it would leave Hampton Cove in good hands. The best hands. Now don’t let me keep you,” he added as he got up. “I’m sure you have a ton of work. I know I do.”

And as he stuck out his hand to shake Chase’s, the cop knew he should say something. He should voice some protestations. Put his foot down and demand that Chief Alec stay chief and that Dolores get her rightful place back heading the front desk.

But for some reason Mayor Dunham’s intense stare and iron grip wiped all those thoughts from his mind, and caused him to mindlessly shake the politician’s hand and then walk out of his office, a welter of emotions.

Dang, he thought once he was out on the sidewalk. What had just happened?

Chapter 12

Victor Ball had finally returned home. He’d been forced to walk, as he’d left his bike lying in the road the night before, and Chief Alec had refused to dispatch a squad car. After walking for almost an hour, he entered his home with some trepidation, fully expecting his lovely wife of forty years to have been gobbled up by the monster he met out in the fields.

“Alice,” he asked in a shaky voice. “Alice, honey? Are you still alive?”

When there was no response, he knew his worst fears had come to pass. And as he walked into the living room, he braced himself for the sight of his wife’s mangled body. Instead, she was waiting for him with a rolling pin, one hand on her hip, the other shaking the heavy pin.

“And where have you been, mister?” she demanded hotly. “You didn’t even come home last night! I called the Blue Oyster but they said you already left, so I’ll repeat my question, and don’t you dare try to feed me any of your lies: where have you been?”

“Oh, Alice, am I glad to see you! I thought for sure that monster had torn you limb from limb!”

“What monster? What the hell are you talking about, you drunkard!”

“I met a monster on the road last night. A vicious beast, all hairy with long fangs and a terrifying roar. And so I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, and by the time I got to the police station, I’d lost him.”

“The police station? You were arrested for public drunkenness again?”

“No, I wasn’t, I swear! I went there for protection. I figured it was the only place where I’d be safe. And it worked! The monster didn’t come after me, as it knew it wouldn’t be able to get at me behind those bars.”

“I’m warning you—if you’re lying to me about spending the night at the police station…”

“No, I’m not, I swear. I was there all night. Just ask them.”

“Don’t think I won’t call Chief Alec to check your story.”

“You can call him now—he’ll tell you it’s all true. I told him about the monster—the werewolf—but he wouldn’t believe me. But it happened. I met the monster in the road out near Garrison’s Field and it practically devoured me with hide and hair!”

Alice hauled off with the rolling pin and got a good one in before Victor managed to take the pin from her.“Ouch! What did you have to do that for?”

“What do you think? You’re still drunk, Victor Ball! Telling stories about werewolves.”

“But it’s true—it really happened!”

Alice, a voluminous woman with a fleshy face and a firm perm, raised her eyes heavenward.“Oh, why didn’t I listen to my mother when she told me not to marry you? I should have known she knew best. And now look at me. Married to a raging drunkard!”

And as Victor took a glance through the window for a sign of the werewolf, he suddenly remembered one crucial detail about werewolves: they only turned into a werewolf when there was a full moon. Which meant he should be safe now. He quickly checked his calendar to see if tonight there was a full moon, and of course there was.

“Alice, don’t go out tonight,” he said. “That werewolf will still be roaming around.”

“Oh, just go and boil your head,” said his wife. “Me and the girls are going out tonight. And don’t you try and stop me.”

“But… It’s dangerous out there! That werewolf—”

“Enough about this werewolf already! Go to your room!”

Meekly, Victor did as he was told. He didn’t feel like working anyway. His field needed to be prepared, and his animals checked, but suddenly he wasn’t feeling so well. And as he dropped down on the bed, he wondered if werewolves ever ventured indoors, and if garlic would stop them. But then he sank into a deep sleep, and soon he knew no more.

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Johnny Carew had never sat at the desk of a library before. He hadn’t even set foot inside a library before. And he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. Marge Poole had called in a little after eleven, to tell them she wasn’t coming back any time soon, since something had come up, and could they please take care of the library customers for the time being.

Johnny had immediately turned to Jerry, who had the bigger brain of the twosome, but Jerry had argued that his big brain was needed to tackle the wall issue, and that Johnny should handle the library by himself for the time being. How hard could it be?

So now Johnny was sitting behind the library counter, staring at the old ladies who traipsed around, collecting books from the shelves as if they were so many Easter eggs, and then carrying them over to the counter to check them out.

Marge had given him instructions over the phone, and had told him that it was an easy job. Anyone could do it. Anyone but Johnny, he figured, as he stared dumbly at the old lady who now presented him with five books of one Nora Roberts, a writer he’d never heard of. Then again, since he’d never read a book in his life, there were very few writers he’d heard of, and all of them were apparently part of this library’s collection.

He checked the note he’d scribbled, when jotting down Marge’s careful instructions.

First he needed to ask for the customer’s library card, then drag it past the scanner, then check if the client had other books at home, then scan the new books, then press the big green button on the screen, then hand them a piece of paper listing their little haul.

So he took a deep breath and dragged the lady’s card past the scanner.

“You new here?” croaked the old dame. “What happened to Marge? Will she be back? Is she sick or something? Has she decided to quit? Is she retired? She can’t have retired. She’s too young. I’ve been coming here fifty years, did you know that, young man?”

And as the lady babbled on, apparently not expecting him to respond, he watched with beads of sweat on his brow as the PC refused to respond to his scanning efforts.

He checked his chicken scratch, but there were no instructions on how to handle this particular type of contingency.

“Um… it doesn’t seem to work,” he said dumbly. When she simply stared at him, her eyes large behind her glasses, he turned the computer screen to her. “See? I’m supposed to scan your card and then your name should appear on this here screen, but nothing is appearing on this here screen.”

“Probably a computer glitch,” said the woman. “Here. Let me try.”

“Okay,” said Johnny, sweating profusely now. He’d never imagined working at a library could be more stressful than robbing liquor stores or breaking into people’s homes, which was his regular line of work. Behind this old lady, three more old ladies had formed a line, and sweat was now trickling down Johnny’s spine as he watched the queue growing longer and longer by the minute. This was a frickin nightmare!

The old lady had dragged her card across the scanning thingy again, but nothing was happening. The computer produced a beeping sound every time the card was flashed, but gave no other indication of what could possibly be wrong.

“If I were you I’d simply pull the plug and restart the damn thing,” said the old lady. “That’s what I do when my computer starts acting up again. Usually does the trick.”

“Isn’t it working?” asked the lady behind the old lady.

“Computer is acting up,” said the old lady.

“Can’t you fix it, young man?” asked the woman.

“I’m new,” said Johnny. “I don’t know how it works.”

“Oh,” said the lady with a look of censure that cut through Johnny like a knife. “Where is Marge? Usually she knows what to do.”

“Marge is not here,” said Johnny.

“Well, can’t you call someone?” asked the old lady. “Ask them to come and fix the damn computer?”

“Why is this taking so long?” asked a third lady, impatiently tapping her foot.

“The computer is broken and this man doesn’t know how to fix it,” said the old lady.

Johnny swallowed convulsively. Even prison was better than this. He picked up his phone and stabbed Marge’s number into it. “Mrs. P?” he asked the moment she picked up. “Oh, thank God! The computer doesn’t work, and there’s a long line of people waiting with their books and I don’t know what to do. Help!”

He was having a panic attack. He’d heard about those. You could die from a panic attack.

“Calm down, Johnny,” said Marge, her voice cool, crisp and competent. “We’re going to fix this. Tell me exactly what’s happening. Describe it to me.”

“I’m scanning this old babe’s card and the computer keeps saying beep beep beep.”

“Hey, show some respect, young man!” snapped the old dame.

“Don’t call her an old babe, Johnny,” Marge advised. “She probably won’t like it.”

“But she’s old, and she’s a babe,” Johnny argued.

This seemed to please the old dame, for she smiled a crooked smile.“You think I’m a babe?”

“You look real good for your age, ma’am,” he said truthfully. “You got a great rack.”

This seemed to please the old dame even more, for she simpered at him.

“Did you just tell a client she has a great rack, Johnny?” asked Marge.

“Well, she does,” said Johnny. “She’s got a great pair of—”

“Let’s fix the computer, shall we?” Marge suggested. “Press the enter button.”

He pressed the enter button. And as she fed him her instructions, he was pleased to note that they did the trick, and soon the PC was ready to accept the old lady’s card.

The line of people had grown, and his armpits were drenched, but he was getting there, and with Marge’s assistance he checked out the old babe’s books, and then proceeded to the next customer, and the next, and finally, when he was doing customer number four, Marge said she thought he was ready to fly solo, and so he did.

He found that it was a lot easier than he’d imagined, and by the time he’d processed the entire line of customers, he felt on top of the world.

So when Jerry emerged from the basement, covered in dust and dirt, he cried,“Jerry! I did it! I checked out the books and it worked!”

“Great,” said Jerry acerbically. “Now you can go and drill a hole. I think I hit a patch of concrete and I can’t punch through.”

“But I’m needed here,” he said. “I can’t leave my station.”

“I’ll do the library, you do the hole,” said Jerry, and took up position behind the counter, looking like a curmudgeonly leprechaun who’d just crawled out of a chimney.

“It’s not so easy,” said Johnny. “You have to handle this computer with care and affection.”

“Go and drill that hole already,” Jerry growled, and grabbed a card from the next customer and dragged it past the scanner.

The old lady stared at him, her eyes wide and fearful, then said,“Maybe I’ll come back another time,” and tried to take back her card.

But Jerry wasn’t having any of that nonsense, and hung onto her card tightly. After a short tug of war, which Jerry won, he grabbed her first book.

“Fifty Shades of Grey. What’s that all about?”

Johnny, shaking his head, walked off in the direction of the basement stairs.

He had made a startling discovery. He liked working at the library. And for the first time in his life a flicker of doubt entered his mind, such as it was.

Had he chosen the right profession when turning to a life of crime?

Chapter 13

“I’m not sure it was such a good idea to leave Johnny and Jerry in charge of the library,” said Marge after she hung up.

“How hard can it be, Mom?” said Odelia. “And besides, there’s nothing to steal, right?”

“Just books,” said Marge. “Why? Do you think those boys aren’t fully rehabilitated yet?”

“They’re career criminals, and it’s probably hard for career criminals to change careers, just because a judge told them to. But I think you’re safe. Even if they decided to steal a bunch of books, what are they going to do with them?”

Her daughter’s words didn’t do much to reassure Marge she’d made the right decision, but then again, what other choice did she have? She didn’t want to close up the library, and Marcie, who usually took care of the library when Marge was indisposed or otherwise engaged, had intimated she had stuff to do and couldn’t get away right then.

She and Odelia had walked the length of the path that led from the main house to the gamekeeper’s cottage and had arrived there to find the front door ajar.

It was a small cottage, as cottages go, and she wondered how anyone could live there.

Once they set foot inside, she saw that it consisted of the one space, with a small sleeping loft where a mattress had been placed and where presumably Fabio and Grace had conducted their torrid and sordid affair, as her husband had indicated.

Painted canvasses littered the main space, and on an easel in front of the window a large canvas had been placed with a work in progress. It depicted Grace, and Marge studied it for a moment.“She’s pretty,” said Odelia, joining her.

“Yes, Grace was always pretty. Prettiest girl in school, which is probably why Jock fell for her. She was also rumored to be easy, which was another reason she was so popular.”

“Ugh, high school gossip is the worst,” said Odelia with a shiver.

“Yeah, high school isn’t always the best time of your life, as everyone keeps insisting.”

“More like the worst time,” said Odelia.

Marge looked up in surprise.“Why? I thought you had a great time in high school?”

“Yeah, well, I had some issues of my own, Mom.”

This was the first she’d heard of this. “Issues? What issues?”

“You know, the usual. Boyfriend stuff, and jealous girlfriend stuff.”

“Boyfriend stuff? I didn’t know you had a boyfriend in high school.”

“Well, I had, and he was great, until I discovered he didn’t mind spreading around some of that greatness to other girls he assured were also his girlfriends, and then when I confronted him he asked me to go exclusive, which was great. Until I discovered he’d fooled me again, as he’d made that same promise to half a dozen other girls.”

“Nice. Who was this boy?”

“Oh, you don’t know him.”

“Try me.”

“Um, Larry Farnsworth?”

“Jock’s son? No way!”

“Yes, way,” said Odelia, looking a little shamefaced.

In spite of herself Marge had to laugh, earning her a prod in the ribs from her daughter.“It’s not funny, Mom! It was all very humiliating and very terrible.”

“Of course it was. Like father, like son, huh?”

“Looks like it.” Odelia smiled. “At least we all became good friends after we dumped Larry’s ass.”

“I’m sure he found other girlfriends.”

“Oh, sure. He went through the entire roster, only finally to settle on Janice Cooper. I heard they’re married with five kids now. So good for him, I guess.”

“And I heard Janice filed for divorce last month, so maybe not so good.”

“Oh,” said Odelia, surprised.

“Look at this,” said Marge, gesturing to a pair of earrings lying next to the window.

“Grace’s, you think?” asked Odelia as she crouched down to study the trinkets.

“Let’s take a picture and ask Alicia. She will know if they belong to her mother.”

Marge glanced around at the cluttered space. It was a mess, but that was probably to be expected. Painters are creative people, and order is not high on their list of priorities.

Clothes had been strewn about, and a canvas had been dumped to the floor. As she looked closer, though, something began to bother her with this picture.

“It almost looks as if… There’s been a fight,” she said now.

“You think so?” asked Odelia as she dipped her finger into a glob of paint. “Still wet. Though I have no idea if that means anything. How long does paint take to dry?”

Marge shrugged, then decided to climb the ladder to the sleeping loft.

Upstairs, the bed hadn’t been made, the sheets tangled up and shoved to the foot of the bed. Signs of a struggle, or a session of intense lovemaking? Hard to know for sure.

She suddenly noticed something sticking out from under the mattress and took it out. It was a phone, and when she fired it up, saw that it showed a picture of Alicia.

“I think I just found Grace’s phone,” she shouted.

“No need to shout,” said Odelia as her head appeared. “I’m right here.”

Marge showed her daughter the phone.“How likely is it that Grace would leave for Cabo and not take her phone?”

“Not very. Can you get in?”

Marge tried the usual combinations, but apparently Grace had opted for something more challenging.“No luck. And I should probably stop trying before the SIM locks.”

“Let’s ask Alicia. Maybe she knows her mother’s password.”

Marge slipped the phone into her pocket and checked around some more. There was a picture stuck to the wall behind the bed with Blu Tack. It depicted the cottage, and looked a lot cleaner and tidier than it was now. She studied the picture.“I think there’s been a fight of some kind,” she said finally. “Look at this.”

Odelia studied the picture.“You’re right. Which means Grace and Fabio didn’t elope. They were taken.”

Next to the first picture, a selfie had been tacked. It depicted Fabio and Grace, and Marge studied her former friend. She still looked very pretty, even though thirty years had passed. Fabio was younger than Grace, and very handsome, with tanned face and a thick crop of dark hair. He was lying on the bed, his torso naked, with Grace’s head on his chest. They looked happy, grinning into the camera like a couple of teenagers in love.

A pang of pity shot through Marge. She’d hated Grace for a long time, but now she suddenly felt sorry for her. Clearly her marriage with Jock had been an unhappy one, but here she seemed genuinely happy. Had someone been jealous of her happiness and decided to put an end to it? If that was the case, there was only one likely suspect:Jock.

“I think we should get Alec and Chase involved,” said Marge. “This is starting to look more and more like a kidnapping.”

“I think you’re right,” said Odelia. “Let’s call this in.” And as she cut a glance to her mother, she added, “Better drop that phone, Mom. This is now officially a crime scene.”

Chapter 14

“I honestly wonder, Max,” said Dooley.

“Wonder what?” I asked.

We were in Uncle Alec’s pickup, on our way to a possible crime scene Odelia and Marge had discovered. Alec was driving, and Chase was riding shotgun. Harriet, Brutus and Shanille had stayed behind with Gran, to conduct some more door-to-door litter business.

“I’m starting to have doubts,” he admitted.

“Doubts? About…”

“About our mission. The CCREC mission.”

“Oh. Well, to be honest with you, Dooley, I’m having doubts about our mission, too.”

“You are?”

“Yes, frankly I’m not so sure if the way Harriet and Shanille keep selling the litter box as God’s gift to dogs is the right approach—the ethical approach, I mean.”

“I’ve been thinking, too, Max, and I don’t think it’s practical, you know.”

“Practical? What do you mean?”

“Well, as you know I’m a big fan of the Discovery Channel, right? I wasn’t before, but the more I watch, the more I like it. And the other night there was a documentary about the different types of dogs. There are a lot of different breeds, Max. I mean, a lot a lot.”

“Yes, I know.” I was wondering where my friend was going with this, and sincerely hoped he would get there fast.

“There are Chihuahuas, Pekinese, Pomeranians, Poodles, German Shepherds…”

“I know, Dooley. There are a lot of different dog breeds.”

“Well, that got me thinking, Max.”

“Yes?”

“These litter boxes, they’re all pretty much the same size. Since they’re made for cats and all cats are basically the same size. Well, some cats are bigger than others,” he said, directing a meaningful look at my tummy for some reason, “but dogs aren’t cats, Max.”

“Yes, I’m well aware dogs aren’t cats, Dooley. So what’s your point?”

“My point is that there are dogs that are as big as a cow, and they’ll never fit inside a regular-sized litter box, unless they made the box as big as an RV. Do you know what an RV is, Max?”

“Yes, I know what an RV is, Dooley.”

“I mean, what dog owner is going to bring that kind of thing into his home? Plus, these dogs—the ones that are as big as cows—when they do their business those piles are huge, Max. Huge! Like an elephant’s.”

I made a face.“You don’t need to remind me, Dooley. Remember Rufus’s business?”

“Well, that’s another thing, Max. I don’t think that was Rufus’s pile.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I took a sniff and I distinctly smelled Fifi in that pile.”

“Fifi! But she’s so small. She couldn’t possibly have produced a pile that high.”

“Yes, she could. Small dogs can produce heaps that big, Max. It was all in that Discovery Channel documentary. I wish you could have seen it. It was very interesting.”

“I’m sure it was, Dooley. So what’s your point?”

“My point is that no one in their right mind is going to want to buy their dog a litter box the size of an RV, and if that’s the case, what’s the point of the CCREC?”

“Well, Harriet seems to think it’s all a matter of supply and demand,” I reminded him. “If the demand is there, the supply will follow.”

“It’s all a matter of money, Max. A litter box as big as an RV is going to cost owners of the big dogs an arm and a leg, and they simply aren’t going to be able to afford such an expenditure. The people with tiny dogs, on the other hand, will be in a better position.”

“So?”

“So it’s not fair, Max! Big dog people will say it’s not fair that small dog people spend so little and they would be right. And before you know it, Gran and Harriet and Shanille’s CCREC scheme will collapse in a big heap of… um…”

“I think I get the point, Dooley.”

“And also, we shouldn’t have gone after Marcie so hard, or Rufus, as that big pile of dog dung was Fifi’s and not Rufus’s.”

All this gave me food for thought, and as we traveled the road that led from Hampton Cove to the house where the Farnsworths lived, I saw that my friend was right. The people with the big dogs would never want to spend that kind of money, unless…

“We need to talk to the Mayor,” I said now. “He needs to find a way to compensate the big dog people. Make sure their litter expenses don’t exceed a certain threshold.”

“Um…”

“Taxation!” I cried. “The whole community pays to subsidize litter boxes. That way nobody pays more than the next person.”

“It will never work, Max. No cat people will pay taxes to subsidize dog people, and no small dog people will pay to subsidize big dog people. And then there’s the pet haters—of course they won’t pay a dime.”

“Mh, maybe you’re right,” I said. I hadn’t really looked at it that way.

“It’s like those electric car charging stations. They’re subsidized, which isn’t exactly fair to the people not driving electric cars, is it?”

“I guess not.” This Discovery Channel was clearly boosting Dooley’s IQ. “So no more CCREC?”

“No more CCREC,” he said. “Though it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

“I guess it was,” I said, “though I really hated lying to that poor dog, you know.”

“You mean Fifi?”

“Yeah, telling her that litter is some kind of miracle cure that will solve all of her problems? That was mean-spirited, Dooley.”

“That was marketing,” he said.

We’d finally reached our destination. On top of the gate, two iron chickens had been placed. Chase remarked to Alec, “I forgot. Isn’t this Farnsworth known for his chickens?”

“Chicken wing king,” Alec confirmed. “Yup, that’s him. Richest man in town, as far as I know. And also Marge’s ex-boyfriend.”

“Jock Farnsworth and Marge used to date?”

“Yeah, back in high school. Long time ago.”

“So Marge could have been chicken wing queen.”

“Yeah,” said Alec with a touch of wistfulness. Being the brother of the town’s chicken wing queen probably earns you a lifetime supply of chicken wings. Alec missed out.

“There’s something I forgot to tell you,” said Chase as the gate slowly swung open. “I went to see the Mayor.”

“Oh, right. So how did it go?”

“He offered me a job, Alec. Your job.”

Alec’s head swiveled so fast his neck cracked. “He did what?”

“He said you’re in line for early retirement, and he wants a breath of fresh air to waft through the precinct, so he offered me the job. Gave me time to think about it.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. And what about his niece? I thought he had her earmarked for the job?”

“He said he’s grooming her for his job.”

“Mayor?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So what did you say?”

“I was too dumbstruck to say anything. I walked out of the meeting feeling sandbagged.”

“Dirk always has that effect on me,” grunted the Chief.

“I’m not taking him up on his offer, Alec. No way.”

“Maybe you should,” said the Chief now, much to my surprise.

“Are you crazy? I’m not taking your job, buddy.”

“If you don’t take it, someone else will, Chase. And I’d rather it’s you than some politically appointed clown. No, I want you to take the job.”

“But you can’t retire. You’ve got a lot of years left in the tank.”

“Look, it’s obvious the Mayor wants me gone, and sometimes you just have to go with the flow. I can’t hang onto this job, Chase. If I fight him on this he’ll not only kick me out, but he’ll find a way to take away my pension in the process. He’s a mean bastard. And if I have to go, I want to leave the place in good hands. The best. And frankly I can’t think of anyone better suited to be my successor than you, son. So take it, and I’ll be able to retire with my head held high, and with a sense of pride that I trained my successor well.”

“I don’t believe this,” said Chase, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’re even discussing this.”

“Oh, it’s happening, Chase, whether we like it or not.”

We’d arrived at a small cottage, where Odelia was waiting for us.

“I didn’t know the richest man in town lived in such a small house,” said Dooley.

“I don’t think this is his house,” I said.

We hopped out of the car and traipsed up to Odelia, who crouched down and gave us cuddles.“Where are Harriet and Brutus?” she asked.

“They’re going door to door with Gran,” I said, “to convince people to make their dogs follow the CCREC’er way.”

She stared at me.“I don’t think I follow.”

“I’ll tell you later,” I said. “It’s a long story.”

“Good idea,” she said. “I want to know all about these crackers. Now let’s get you inside.”

Chapter 15

“And that’s why we think she and this Fabio guy were kidnapped,” said Odelia, finishing her story.

Uncle Alec nodded and checked the phone Marge had handed him.“I think you’re right. A woman like Grace Farnsworth would never leave her phone when she decides to take a trip with loverboy. But just to make sure, I’ll have the airports checked, to see if they caught a flight out of here. You did the right thing by calling this in, Odelia.”

“Even though the husband didn’t want to get the police involved?” asked Marge.

“Especially because the husband didn’t want us to get involved,” said Alec.

“Very suspicious,” said Chase, as he stopped for a moment from taking pictures of the entire cottage.

“You think Jock had his wife and her lover killed, don’t you?” said Marge.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Uncle Alec. “As far as I can tell there’s no blood here, but there are signs of a struggle, so I’m going to let the forensics people do a full sweep. See what they come up with. And now I want to have a little chat with the husband and see what he has to say for himself.”

Marge and Odelia shared a look of pride.“Can we come, too?” asked Marge.

“I think it’s best if Chase and I take over from here,” said Alec. “The thing is…” He sighed. “The Mayor has been breathing down my neck. And if I don’t do things according to the rulebook, he might have the perfect reason to kick me off the force.”

“He wouldn’t do that, would he?” asked Marge, shocked.

“Oh, yes, he would.”

“The Mayor offered me Alec’s job this morning,” said Chase.

“Oh, my God, Alec—he can’t do that!”

“He can and he did. And you know what? Maybe it’s for the best. I’m sure Chase will make a fine chief.”

“But what are you going to do?”

Alec shrugged.“Take up fly fishing? I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

Odelia stared at her uncle. It was hard to imagine Hampton Cove without its iconic chief of police. And Chase as the new chief? She was pretty sure he didn’t want the job. At least that’s what he always told her.

“Look, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Alec. “Right now I’m still in charge, and our priority should be to find Grace and Fabio. So let’s get cracking, shall we?”

“Funny,” said Dooley. “I didn’t know Uncle Alec was a CCREC’er, too.”

Odelia and the others all left the cottage, and then she watched as Chase and Alec got into their squad car and drove off in the direction of the main house. Alec had asked Marge and Odelia to stand guard outside the cottage until county coroner Abe Cornwall arrived so they did.

“I can’t believe this,” said Marge. “Alec retiring. And Chase the new chief. Did you know about this, Odelia?”

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “Looks like this all played out this morning.”

“This new mayor Dirk Dunham is terrible,” said Marge. “A disgrace to our town.”

The previous mayor had been forced to resign over a food scandal, and the new mayor had managed to squeeze in the door with a narrow majority. He’d promised to clean house, and apparently he was keeping his promise, only not in a good way.

Odelia decided not to let these events prey on her mind, though, so she crouched down and said,“So tell me all about this new venture of yours, you guys. What’s the CCREC and why is Gran involved?”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

We told our story and we told it well—at least I like to think we did, for Odelia and Marge uttered several cries of ‘No way!’ and ‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ which I took to be a sign our story really gripped. Finally, when we were done, Marge and Odelia shared a look of determination.

“Your grandmother has done it again,” said Marge. “She’s going to antagonize this entire town, and turn them against your uncle.”

“Only thirty percent,” said Dooley, “according to Gran’s calculations. Sixty percent will be over the moon.”

“So the Mayor wants to fire Uncle Alec, and Gran wants to turn Uncle Alec into the new mayor. This is going to be a disaster,” said Odelia.

I’d offered my subsidies plan to help support the peaceful transition from a poo-on-the-sidewalk economy to a litter-box model, but Odelia had shot it down with much the same argument Dooley had employed. Those seventy percent non-dog owners would never be enticed to pay for the litter boxes of the thirty percent dog owners.

“Look, I think they’ll happily pay just to prevent stepping into dog doo,” I said now, offering up my final and best argument. “It’s a good plan.”

“It’s not going to fly, Max,” said Marge.

“It doesn’t have to fly,” I said. “It just has to pass the council and then we’ll all be able to walk the streets without being afraid to step into doo.”

Marge gave my neck a tickle, which I usually like, but now, in the heat of my argument, it felt patronizing and I told her so in no uncertain terms.

“It’s a noble plan,” she said, “but it’s not realistic. You can’t force people to adopt a policy, and you can’t force them to pay taxes for something they don’t see the point of.”

“What you can do is fine the people who don’t clean up after their dogs,” said Odelia.

“And employ those big dog poop vacuum cleaners,” said Marge.

“Dog poop vacuum cleaners?” asked Dooley. “What do they do, Marge?”

“I think that’s pretty obvious, Dooley,” I said. “They vacuum dog poop. I still think my dog litter tax plan—”

“Drop it, Max,” said Odelia. “It won’t fly.”

“It doesn’t have to fly!” I stubbornly repeated, but my humans had stopped listening. They had other fish to fry—or grandmothers.

“We have to stop your grandmother, honey,” said Marge. “Before she ruins Alec’s reputation and proves that horrible Mayor Dunham right.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t realize it, but she’s playing straight into his hand,” said Odelia.

Several cars came driving up, and I recognized the man driving the first car as Abe Cornwall. We’d recently spent a not-so-pleasant time in his facility. There were a lot of dead bodies there, which probably was to be expected from the county morgue.

“Great,” said Odelia. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m going back to the library,” said Marge. “And hope Johnny and Jerry haven’t stolen all of my books and my computers.”

“And I’m going to try to find Gran and talk some sense into her.”

“Good luck with that,” said Marge.

We all filed into Odelia’s car, and soon were on our way back to Hampton Cove.

“Um, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Yes, Dooley?”

“Why did we come all the way out here, only to go back again?”

Odelia glanced over her shoulder.“Oh, dammit, you’re absolutely right!” And she immediately stomped on the brakes, then opened the door. “Your mission, Max and Dooley, should you choose to accept it, is to talk to any pet you meet, and try to find out what happened to Grace and Fabio. Think you’re up to the task?”

“Yes, Odelia, we are!” I said with a measure of excitement.

“Finally a mission that doesn’t involve dog dung!” said Dooley, equally excited.

And so we got out and watched Odelia and her mother drive off. And then we began the short hike back to the Farnsworth place.

We were on a mission to find a missing person or persons, and this time it was a mission I knew I could wholeheartedly embrace—no ethical qualms whatsoever.

Chapter 16

When Marge walked into the library, she was holding her breath. She half expected the entire library to have been plundered, her precious collection of books having been carted off and the internet computers that were so popular with her older clientele having been looted.

Instead, she found Johnny seated behind her desk, staring into the void with a half-smile on his face. Kids were playing in the pirate ship that stood in the kid’s section, pensioners were gabbing and checking their email, and people were browsing the shelves, looking for the latest John Grisham, Nora Roberts or James Patterson.

All in all, the atmosphere was delightful.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Johnny, how did it go?”

Johnny started, as if emerging from some roseate dream or reverie.

“Mrs. P! Am I glad to see you! This library business is a lot tougher than I thought. When you did it, it looked so easy.”

“Yeah, well, it is pretty easy,” she said.

“I think I managed,” said Johnny. “I checked out a lot of books today, Mrs. P. For a while there Jerry took over from me, but he couldn’t cope, so I had to step in again.”

“Oh? And what was the problem?”

“Well, Jerry is what you might call an excitable person, Mrs. P, and when people kept shoving their cards and their books in his face, he got annoyed and started calling them names.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not. He came into the basement looking all upset, and I had to calm him down, and so I took over again, and then all was fine. There’s only one thing I’ve been wondering about, Mrs. P.”

“Marge, please, Johnny.”

“Yes, Marge,” he said dutifully.

“So what have you been wondering about, Johnny?”

“These people, they all take three books, four books, five books. Do you think they read all of them?”

“Yes, Johnny, they do,” she said with a smile. “Why, aren’t you a big reader?”

“I’ve never read a book in my life, Marge,” the big guy confessed.

“Well, maybe it’s time you started, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it’s just… I’m not big on reading, Marge. I’m just not.”

“Didn’t you read when you were a little boy?”

“No, Marge. My pa wasn’t into reading, and neither was my ma.”

“Isn’t there a kind of story you enjoy? Westerns, maybe, or detective stories?”

“I don’t know, Marge,” he confessed.

“What kind of movies do you like? Or TV shows?”

His face lit up.“I like cartoons. Like thatRoad Runner? OrTom& Jerry. I like how Jerry always hits Tom over the head. I laugh very hard.”

Marge smiled. Johnny was almost like a child, she thought. And now she wondered if maybe he might enjoy children’s books. “I’ll see if I can’t find a nice book for you to read, Johnny,” she said. “Something to start you off with. So how are things downstairs? Have you had any luck finding that leak?”

“Leak? Oh, the leak. No luck so far, Marge. Though Jerry thinks we might be making a breakthrough very soon now. He thinks we’re very close.”

“That’s great, Johnny,” she said. The big guy didn’t seem anxious to resume his activities in the basement, and she didn’t mind a helping hand. “So you like the job?”

“Oh, yes, I do, Marge, very much,” he said with a flicker of excitement in his mellow cow eyes. “I think I may have chosen the wrong profession when I embarked on a life of crime. I should have been a librarian instead.”

“Well, it’s not too late, Johnny. You can still be a librarian if you want.”

“Do you really think so, Marge? Oh, I would really like that.” Then his face sagged. “I’m not sure if Jerry would like it, though. We’re partners, you see.”

“I’m sure Jerry will find something to do on his own,” she said. “When your community service is over, you might consider working at the library.”

“This library, Marge? With you?”

“Why not? I could always use a helping hand.” She had to admit she liked Johnny. Jerry, not so much. She thought he had a mean streak, and was very crude. Johnny, her kindly heart told her, could probably be saved. And as she resumed her activities, putting returned books back on the shelves, she soon found her thoughts drifting back to Jock and Grace and Alicia, and how she hoped her brother would find the lost woman soon.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

“I don’t know, Dan. I think they were kidnapped. You should have seen the state of that cottage. It was a real mess, and then there’s those earrings my mom found, and Grace’s cell phone.”

“I have to call Alicia, she will be freaking out,” said Dan.

After dropping her mother off at the library, Odelia had returned toGazette headquarters, where she now sat in Dan’s office, discussing recent developments.

“How did you end up being Alicia’s godfather?” asked Odelia.

“Oh, Jock and I go way back,” said Dan, putting on his raconteur’s cap and giving her an indulgent smile.

“He’s much younger than you, though, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is. He’s got about twenty years on me. Jock’s old man and I were in school together. And we were great friends. This was before he became the chicken wing king, of course, and before I became a newspaperman. And since we were friends, he was the first one I turned to when I needed advertisers for my new venture. He was the first one to buy an ad in theGazette, and quickly became my biggest sponsor. Still is, to this day. And, well, you know how it is. We met at receptions and openings and parties, and stayed friends over the years. I was at the hospital when Jock was born, and became something of an honorary uncle to the kid, then when Jock had kids of his own, I naturally assumed the role of godfather. It was a tremendous honor when he asked me to be Alicia’s godfather, and I’ve taken my duties very serious indeed.”

“So serious you were the person she turned to when her mom disappeared.”

“Yeah, her dad had told her not to go to the cops under no circumstances, and since she didn’t want to disobey him, but still couldn’t just sit there and do nothing, she thought about me—and then of course I thought about you.”

“Alicia did the right thing. And Jock, I’m afraid to say, is acting very suspicious.”

“Yeah, it sure looks that way,” said Dan, his expression darkening. “Oh, I don’t know what’s going on with that boy. He used to be such a sweet kid, and now it seems he’s somehow mixed up in the disappearance of his own wife—trying to cover up a crime.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Odelia said. “She could very well have gone off with her boyfriend. I’m sure Uncle Alec and Chase will waste no time finding out what’s going on.”

“I’m just glad it’s in the hands of the police now. I just hope they find her—and unharmed, too. Grace might not be the best mother in the world, but she’s the only mother Alicia has, and she needs her.”

Odelia nodded. She hoped, for Alicia’s sake, that her uncle would find the woman fast.

Chapter 17

“So what are we looking for, exactly, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I have no idea, Dooley,” I said, truthfully. “Anything that might lead us to the whereabouts of Grace Farnsworth, I guess. And her boyfriend Fabio Shakespeare.”

“Do you really think he’s her boyfriend, Max?”

“It definitely looks that way.”

“But… Grace is married, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is.”

“So… I thought only unmarried people had boyfriends? And then once they’re married they have wives and husbands?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Dooley. Sometimes people who marry have a boyfriend or a girlfriend on the side.”

“Like a side dish?”

“Yeah, exactly like a side dish. They still have their husband or their wife, but they also have a boyfriend or a girlfriend.”

“But… isn’t that illegal?”

“No, it’s definitely not illegal, though it’s probably not very nice towards their husband or wife.”

“They’re not going to like that, Max.”

“Usually they don’t tell them, Dooley. They conduct these affairs in secret.”

He thought about this for a moment, then asked,“Do you think Marge has a boyfriend? Or Tex a girlfriend?”

“No, I’m pretty sure they don’t,” I said. “Marge and Tex are faithful to each other. They love each other a lot so they don’t cheat.”

This gave him more food for thought, and finally he shared some more of his brainwaves with me.“Are humans a monogamous species, Max?”

I blew out some air. Dooley has a habit of asking a lot of tough questions, and I don’t always feel qualified to answer them. “I have no idea, Dooley. What does your Discovery Channel say?”

“It says there are some monogamous species, like hornbills, gibbons and beavers, and others that are not, like the red-winged blackbird or the coquerel’s sifaka. They weren’t clear on humans, though, but when I look at this Jock Farnsworth and his wife, I’m inclined to think maybe not.”

“I guess it’s up to the people involved,” I said. “Marge and Tex certainly are monogamous, and happy to be, and so are Odelia and Chase.”

“Chase and Odelia aren’t married, though, right? So they can cheat on each other as much as they want.”

“The same principle applies, Dooley. And I don’t think Chase cheats on Odelia, or the other way around. I think they’re pretty faithful, even though they’re not married.”

“So… why do people get married, Max?”

“I guess because they want to tell the world they’re devoted to each other.”

“So why aren’t Chase and Odelia getting married? Aren’t they devoted to each other?”

“Yes, they are. I guess they haven’t found the time. Or the money. Getting married is expensive if you want to do it right, with a nice dress and a nice venue, and a nice meal to offer your guests.” Presumably, though, Odelia and Chase simply didn’t think it was all that important. After all, they were happy together, and that’s what counted. I wasn’t going to explain this to Dooley, though. It might take me down another rabbit hole.

We’d arrived at the main house, and, as is our habit, had entered through the kitchen door. It was a large house, but it didn’t take us more than a quick visit to that kitchen to determine that Jock and Grace Farnsworth weren’t the kind of people who kept cats or dogs. No food bowls present, and no scent of any pets lingered in the house either.

“I guess they’re not the pet-keeping kind,” I finally determined with a touch of disappointment. Hard to do one’s job if the people under investigation refuse to keep a pet.

“Maybe they have a pet parrot?” Dooley suggested. “Lots of rich people keep a pet parrot.”

“We would have smelled a parrot a mile away, Dooley,” I reminded him.

“I did smell something else,” he said now as we walked through the house, just in case we’d missed something. Going from room to room it became clear the house wasn’t just old, it smelled old, too, with that musty smell that old houses have. Not pleasant.

“What’s that, Dooley?”

“I smell chickens,” he said now, a testament to his powerful sense of smell.

“Now that you mention it, I think I smell chickens, too.”

“Well, Jock Farnsworth is the chicken wing king,” he said, “so he probably keeps those chickens close by just in case he needs their wings.”

I stared at my friend. For all his silly questions, he still surprises me with these flashes of intelligence.“Of course,” I said. “He must have his chicken sheds nearby. Let’s pay a visit, and maybe they’ll be able to tell us what’s going on with Grace disappearing.”

“I’m not so sure, Max,” he said as we returned to the kitchen and then out the door again. “Chickens aren’t the most intelligent creatures, you know.”

I did know that, but that wasn’t going to stop me from trying to strike up a conversation and bringing the subject around to Grace and Fabio.

We set off in pursuit of these famous Farnsworth chickens, and simply had to follow our noses this time, the smell of ammonia and chicken feces becoming stronger and stronger as we set paw for the large sheds where they were presumably being kept.

The grounds where the Farnsworth house was located were vast and covered with different types of vegetation. There were the neatly clipped lawns, bordered by shrubs and flower beds, there were copses of trees dotting the landscape, and there was even what looked like a golf course, where presumably Jock entertained his business clients.

Behind the house I’d also spotted the obligatory swimming pool, but all these things didn’t hold our interest. Instead, we made a beeline for an adjacent patch of land, where a large chicken shed had been constructed, the smell unmistakable now. Next to the long flat building, a second similar building stood, which looked brand-new, and also several large silos had been erected, presumably for the storage of chicken feed, and a few low-slung tanks for chicken manure, as I’d once seen on a duck farm.

Inside the shed, we found easily thirty thousand chickens, all living in darkness, silently squatting on the floor. The smell was foul, and dust and feathers flew through the air, making it hard to breathe.

“So many chickens,” Dooley marveled. “And they all smell so bad!”

“There must be thousands,” I returned.

A man dressed in blue coveralls was dispensing chicken feed, paying us no mind.

We ambled along, and saw that the chickens didn’t have all that much space to walk around. In fact they were packed closely together, looking pretty miserable.

“They don’t look happy, Max,” Dooley said.

“No, they sure don’t,” I agreed.

I’d always had this image of chickens happily strutting around on a nice patch of farmland, picking at kernels of grain or the occasional worm and generally having a good old time, but these poor chickens were clearly not having the time of their lives.

I finally selected a chicken that was staring at us intently, and said,“Hi, there, Mrs. Chicken! My name is Max and I would like to ask you a couple of questions if I may.”

The chicken didn’t respond, and merely kept staring at me unblinkingly.

“Um… the wife of your owner, Mrs. Farnsworth, seems to have disappeared,” I said. “Would you perhaps have overheard a rumor about what might have happened to her?”

I was trying to be as polite as possible, but even then she hardly acknowledged my presence. I gave it another shot.“Grace Farnsworth’s daughter is very worried about her mother. Any thoughts on her possible whereabouts? Theories? Gossip from the coop?”

“What do you care what happens to Grace Farnsworth?” asked the chicken finally.

I was relieved. The animal could speak!“Well, like I said, her daughter is worried. She wants to know what happened to her, as she believes there might be foul play involved.”

“And what if it was? Would that be so bad? Humans aren’t very nice to us, cat, and they’re not very nice to each other either, so it doesn’t surprise me Grace was taken.”

“Humans aren’t very nice to you?” I asked.

“Do you see the way we live? Like sardines in a can? All Jock Farnsworth cares about is to make us grow as big as possible as quickly as possible, and then sell our meat to the highest bidder. Not a very nice life for a chicken, cat.”

“No, I can imagine it’s not,” I agreed, starting to feel genuinely sorry for the poor creature. Still, I was there to do a job, and I intended to do it to the best of my abilities. “So no idea what happened to Grace, huh?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. And I don’t see why you should care either. Though you probably have your reasons.”

“Well, my human is a reporter and also an amateur detective, and she promised Alicia she would help her find her mother.”

The chicken frowned, and for a moment I thought she was going to pick at me.“Look, if your human is a reporter, maybe you could bring her over one of these days? Ask her to write an article about the way they treat us down here? Now that would be a big help.”

I was already nodding before she finished the sentence.“Oh, sure. I’ll tell her to drop by. And maybe take a couple of pictures of these horrible circumstances you live in.”

“That would be great. You know I’ve never seen the sun? Or smelled fresh air? This is no life for a chicken, cat, and before I die I would love to get out of this horrible shed.”

“I promise I’ll bring my human to do a full report, chicken,” I said. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“I have no name, cat,” she said sadly. “Only a number.”

“Oh, Max,” said Dooley. “We have to help her.” Her story had touched his heart, as it had touched mine. “We have to tell Odelia what Jock is doing to these poor chickens.”

I was already starting to walk away, after thanking the unnamed chicken for her time, when she yelled,“Jock is not a nice man, cat. And it wouldn’t surprise me if he did something to his wife.”

I retraced my steps.“What makes you say that?”

“There’s things going on here…” she began. “Things that are very suspicious indeed.”

And even though I pressed her to say more, she wouldn’t, merely shaking her head.

“Mysterious,” said Dooley once we’d left the gigantic chicken coop.

“Yeah, very mysterious,” I agreed. “We better tell Odelia. She needs to investigate this. Maybe there’s more to the disappearance of Grace Farnsworth than meets the eye.”

“Or maybe Grace couldn’t stand what’s happening to those poor chickens and ran away,” Dooley offered.

“Um…” I had a feeling Grace wasn’t the kind of person who would worry too much about the fate of her husband’s chickens. No, something was going on here, but what? The chickens knew more, but why weren’t they telling me? Were they too scared to talk?

I decided we needed to return with Odelia. She might be able to inspire trust in the chickens when she promised to expose their harrowing circumstances. And so I vowed to return that night, under the cloak of darkness, and this time with Odelia in tow.

Chapter 18

Chase was looking around the library. So many books, he thought, and wondered if the owners of this place had read them all. Somehow he thought not. He picked one book from its shelf and opened it.A Short History of Herbivores and Omnivores in the Ottoman Empire. Um… fascinating stuff, for sure. Real page-turner.

Chief Alec was studying another leafy tome and grinned.“Look at this, Chase.”

Chase looked at that. It was a book filled with pictures of scantily clad ladies painted by some dude called Peter Paul Rubens. They were extremely rotund ladies, too.

“I didn’t know Playboy published a seventeenth-century edition,” he quipped.

“And obviously no fitness clubs available,” said Alec with a wink at his colleague.

Chase had been pushing Alec to join a gym, and had even managed to get him to sample the gym in the hotel in LA where they’d stayed for their conference. It hadn’t gone down well. Alec was not the kind of person who took to fitness like a fish to water. On the contrary, he’d hated it, and had hated it even more the next day, when his muscles had been sore and painful.

“Must be fun to have the money to buy all of this stuff,” said Alec as he picked up a small trinket from a side table. It looked like a green seashell, but exquisitely shaped.

“Careful,” a voice suddenly sounded from the door. “That’s worth a small fortune.”

Alec carefully replaced the trinket and looked up. Their host had arrived, looking as dapper as Chase had imagined, after hearing Marge describe her ex-boyfriend.

“Hey, there, Jock,” said the Chief, grasping the man’s hand and pressing it firmly.

“Alec. So nice to see you again, though the circumstances are not exactly ideal.”

“This is my deputy Chase Kingsley,” said Alec, introducing his friend and colleague.

“I’ve heard great things about you, Detective Kingsley,” said Jock smoothly. “You’re Odelia Poole’s fianc?, aren’t you? Marge Poole’s future son-in-law?”

“I am, yes,” said Chase, “though we haven’t picked a date yet.”

“They’re in no hurry to get married,” said Alec. “Young people. They think they have all the time in the world.”

Jock smiled good-naturedly.“Well, that’s the curse of being young. It’s when you get to our age that you realize time is a scarce and valuable commodity. I assume you want to talk about Grace? You think she actually was the victim of foul play?”

“Yes, we do,” said the Chief, turning serious. “We checked the cottage where this Fabio Shakespeare guy was staying, and we found both your wife’s phone, tucked beneath the mattress, and these two items.” He produced a little plastic evidence baggie with a pair of earrings. “I assume they belong to Grace?”

Jock studied them for a moment, then nodded.“Yes, these are my wife’s, all right. Where did you say you found them?”

“Near the cottage window. They must have fallen off when she was taken.”

“Taken… It’s so hard to believe. I told Odelia this morning that my wife often goes off on these sudden excursions and sometimes doesn’t get in touch with me for weeks.”

“The cottage has clearly been the scene of a struggle,” said Chase. “And if your wife had gone off on one of these excursions, wouldn’t she have taken her phone?”

Jock nodded.“Of course. That all does sound very suspicious. I’m so sorry, gentlemen. I just assumed that she and Fabio…” He grimaced when he mentioned the name.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Jock,” said Chief Alec, “but are you sure your wife was having an affair with this painter guy?”

“Yes, I’m sure, and you don’t have to apologize, Alec. I know you’ll handle this as discreetly as possible. Grace has a tendency to fall for these bohemian types, and Fabio came along at a very difficult time in her life. When Grace turned forty a couple of years ago she became very insecure. Worried about her looks—getting older and losing her beauty and youth. And now that she’s closing in on the big five-oh it’s gotten even worse. So when Fabio started showering her with his charm, paying her compliments, naturally she was susceptible. I’m afraid I haven’t shown her the love and affection she deserves. In fact we’ve more or less been leading separate lives these last few years.”

“Separate bedrooms?” asked Alec.

“Separate wings of the house, even. The only reason we’ve stayed together is Alicia, who still lives at home. Our son Larry left the nest five years ago and lives in New York. I’d sincerely hoped he’d take over the family business but he doesn’t seem interested.”

“You have created quite an empire for yourself,” said Chase admiringly.

Jock grimaced.“Actually my father created the empire, I am merely its custodian, and try to manage it to the best of my abilities.”

“Don’t be so modest, Jock,” said Chief Alec. “You’ve expanded the business a lot.”

“Well, one does try to outdo one’s ancestors,” said Jock modestly. “So what happens now? Are you going to launch a full-blown search for my wife?”

“Yeah, we’ll put out an alert, and we’re going through that cottage with a fine-tooth comb. Hopefully something will turn up—some clue as to what happened there.”

“When was the last time you saw your wife, Mr. Farnsworth?” asked Chase.

“Um… the day before yesterday, at breakfast. We always try to have breakfast as a family, so Alicia was there as well. And then after breakfast Grace went off to the cottage, to sit for her portrait, and I went down to the chicken houses to check on things.”

“Your chicken farm is located nearby?” asked Chase.

“Yes, just down the road. I can actually cross through the grounds and be there in five minutes. Though we’re getting a little cramped lately. I’ve been trying to get an expansion approved by the town council but it’s a long and drawn-out process.”

“You’re expanding the farm?”

“Yeah, we’re expanding to the north, building another three chicken houses, and a fourth one if we can. A business either expands or contracts, Detective. It never stays stagnant. That is, unfortunately, the nature of the beast, and we have to roll with it.”

Chase nodded. He didn’t know the first thing about running a business, but obviously Jock did, or else he wouldn’t be as successful as he was.

“Well, I sure think you’re a credit to this community, Jock,” said the Chief now. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, your chicken wings have helped put this town on the map, and I hope that expansion plan of yours is approved quickly.”

“Thanks, Alec. I hope so, too.”

“Of course! Who doesn’t like chicken wings?” He slapped his belly. “I sure do!”

Jock laughed, but then turned serious once more.“Anything you need from me, anything at all, you only have to ask. I want Grace back safe and sound. We may be going through a rough patch right now, but she’s still my wife, and the mother of my children, and Alicia, for one, is suffering tremendously—the poor girl is going through hell.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Jock,” said Chief Alec, as he shook the chicken king’s hand warmly. “We’ll find her for you.”

Chapter 19

“It’s an important mission, father,” said Gran. “A mission from God, so to speak.”

On Harriet and Shanille’s instigation, Gran had overcome her animosity towards Father Reilly, and had set out in search of the priest. She was now trying to overcome the man’s sales resistance and recruit him to the cause. Seated across from the holy man in his sacristy, which was also his office, she thought not forthe first time that it was a gloomy place, and chilly, too, and wondered why he didn’t turn up the heating. Then again, to heat up a place as big as a church probably cost the poor guy a lot of money.

“I’m not convinced, Vesta,” said the priest as he glanced at her over his half-moon glasses. Father Reilly was a ruddy-faced man with a kindly demeanor and a small tuft of white hair on top of his head. Contrary to what she’d expected he wasn’t dressed in a chasuble but in a crisp white shirt, black slacks and a colorful knit reindeer sweater which was so hideous it actually hurt Vesta’s eyes to look at it.

“You don’t think it’s important that we keep our streets clean of this horrible crap? Do you realize that when people step in dog poo they drag that stuff into your church?”

“Oh, I do realize the importance of getting rid of dog poo littering our streets and pavements,” said the priest, “but I don’t think the way to accomplish this is by going door to door convincing dog owners to buy a litter box. It’s very hard to convince people to adopt a policy that willset them back hundreds of dollars per annum. They can hardly spare a dime for the collection plate, much less spend their hard-earned cash on litter. Do you have any idea how much that stuff costs?”

“Nine ninety-nine for the box, one bag of litter included,” she intoned automatically, now well versed in her sales pitch, after having delivered it several times.

He smiled indulgently.“Look, I certainly appreciate what you’re trying to accomplish, Vesta, but don’t you think you should be talking to the Mayor instead? I’m sure punitive measures are a better way to accomplish your goals than affecting a change that is frankly a hard swallow for a lot of my parishioners andyour fellow Hampton Covians.”

“They’ll have to like it or lump it,” she said. “I’m not prepared to clean dog shit from my carpets every time a dog owner comes to visit. It’s disgusting, and I’m done with it.”

“No, I see what you mean,” he said, intertwining his fingers in a gesture of prayer, as if asking the good Lord above to give him strength, or perhaps a way to get rid of Vesta.

“Look, I’m not asking a lot here, father. All I want is for you to join me going door to door and trying to raise awareness. Is that so much to ask? And in the process you’ll be showing your face in town, and attract a couple of new souls for your church, too.”

He frowned.“Contrary to what you seem to think I’m not in the habit of acting like a door-to-door salesman. I have the dignity of my office to consider, and people don’t like to see their priest making house calls to sell dog litter.”

“You’re not selling dog litter, you’re selling an idea, and isn’t that what Christianity is all about? Selling people on the idea of Christ as their Lord and Savior? Now you’ll be doing the same thing, only you’ll be selling them on the idea of litter as their savior, or at least the savior of their fellow citizens’ health and the cleanliness of their carpets.”

“I don’t know…” he began, shaking his head.

“What if I started going to church again,” she said, “and I convinced all my friends to do the same? That’s at least two dozen people on your benches every Sunday, easy.”

He smiled.“You have the passion of the true believer, Vesta. And I do applaud that.”

“If you do this for me, I’ll… organize the next church raffle.”

“Mh…” he said noncommittally.

“Look, I’ll go door to door spreading the word of Jesus, if you become a CCREC’er!”

“Okay, fine,” he said finally. ‘You send two dozen new parishioners my way, and organize the next church raffle, and I’ll put the full weight of the church behind your mission to rid our streets of dog poo. How does that sound?”

“Like music to my ears, father!” she said excitedly.

They were back in business! She’d hit a couple of snags, but with Father Reilly by her side no dog owner would slam the door in her face again!

“But I’m not going door to door. That’s beneath my dignity as a representative of the Church of Christ. What I will do is devote a sermon to the matter, maybe even two.”

“One week of house calls,” she said. “Seven evenings, six to ten.”

“One full day of house calls, and you’ll tell Odelia to write an article about the church’s need for a new spire.”

“Deal,” she said.

“Great,” he said, and held out his hand.

They shook hands on it, both reasonably satisfied they’d gotten what they wanted.

“You’re a tough negotiator, Vesta,” he said.

“No, you’re a tough negotiator,” she said admiringly. The man clearly was a worthy opponent, and a formidable ally.

“So when do you want to do this?” he asked.

“How about we get cracking right now? No time to waste.”

He checked his watch.“All right. Let me tell my secretary to clear my schedule, and I’m your man.”

She grinned. Now that was a first: a man of God declaring he was hers.

Her day was suddenly starting to look a lot better.

Chapter 20

Brady Dexter, bank manager by day, and proud father and husband by night, beamed as he welcomed this important customer into his establishment. “Welcome, welcome, welcome,” he caroled as he led the thickset gentleman into his office. “You’ve chosen the right place to bring your banking business,” he said with an ingratiating smile. Christian Galvin was easilyone of the wealthiest clients who’d ever set foot inside the Capital First Bank, and he was determined to use every ounce of charm to reel in this big fish.

“There’s only one thing I need to hear from you,” the large man wheezed as the chair creaked dangerously under his formidable bulk. “Do you have a safe? And is it safe?”

“Of course we have safes!” said Brady. “And not only do we have safes, but they’re the safest safes in town!” He watched on as Mr. Galvin lit a cigar and was now taking quick puffs. He would have told him that smoking wasn’t allowed, not inside the bank and most definitely not inside the bank manager’s office, but he figured that if he could stomach the foul stench of the man’s Cohiba for five minutes, Mr. Galvin might grace his establishment with his patronage, so instead he just sat there and smiled benignly.

“I have had it with Hard Capital Savings and Loan,” said Mr. Galvin. “I was a loyal customer for years, but they screwed me over. Decided to become victims of a heist. Their vault was emptied out and I lost some valuable heirlooms and all of my Krugerrand and Silver Eagle. So now I’m on thelookout for a bank that won’t get looted.”

“No bank robbers have ever set foot inside my bank,” said the manager proudly. “And my vault is impregnable, you have my word on that. Heat sensors, motion sensors, the thickest steel door. The person who can get into our vault room hasn’t been born yet.”

“I like the sound of that,” said Mr. Galvin, well pleased as he took another puff from his cigar. “So can I see them?”

“Of course!” cried Brady, and practically sprang to his feet. “Please follow me, sir.”

“I like this bank. Friends of mine bank here, and they’re all very complimentary.”

“The mayor of Hampton Cove banks here, and most of the town councilors,” said Brady proudly.

“The Mayor himself, huh? I like that. I like that a lot. A discerning man, Mayor Dunham. Very discerning.”

The bank manager led the way into the basement, and then to the vault room, which was open at this time of the day.“This vault door is ten inches of the toughest steel. Impossible to penetrate,” he said as he tapped the door with his knuckles.

“Nice,” said Mr. Galvin.

They stepped into the room, where a security guard looked up from his paper.

“Armed guard, and of course cameras, motion sensors, heat sensors, the works,” said the proud manager as he gestured to a camera in a corner near the ceiling, following their every movement as they walked through the secure and well-lit space.

“Swell operation you run here,” Mr. Galvin muttered with approval.

“You have your own dedicated safe, as big as you like, and I can assure you, your valuables will be absolutely safe with us. You have my word on that.”

“Okay,” said the man, looking appropriately impressed and distinctly excited. “It’s a done deal, Dexter,” he said, extending his hand. “You’ve got yourself a new customer.”

Brady Dexter beamed as he shook the man’s hand.

“Welcome to the Capital First Bank of Hampton Cove. You won’t regret your choice.”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

Now that Marge had finally returned to her post, there was no sense in Johnny hanging around, so he returned to the basement. Of Jerry there was no trace, so he stepped through the large hole they’d dug into the back wall and called out, “Yoo-hoo, Jer! Are you there?”

“Over here!” his brother in crime called out.

Johnny continued along into the tunnel, until he found Jerry, staring at what looked like a steel wall.

“This is it, buddy,” said Jerry, his eyes glittering. “This is the treasure trove.”

“Nice,” said Johnny, only mildly interested. “Look, Jerry, I’ve been thinking, and I want to be a librarian.”

Jerry looked up as if stung.“What are you talking about?”

“I like being a librarian, and I think I want to give it a shot. Marge said she’ll help me fill out my application, and she seems to think I’ve got a good chance. If you want to try too, we could be working at the library together, Jer. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“Are you nuts? We’re about to pull off the biggest heist of our careers and you’re yapping on about some library job? Once we empty these safes we’re going to have to flee to Mexico, you do realize that, don’t you? With all the loot we steal here they’ll never let us get away clean.”

“So maybe we shouldn’t do it?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t do it? Are you crazy? There’s easily millions in there, in gold and jewels and cash! We’re pulling this off, Johnny, whether you like it or not. We’ve come too far to turn back now. Look at it!” he said, tapping that wall of steel again. “Isn’t this the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen!”

“But… the library…”

“Who cares! The only reason we took this lousy job is because the library is conveniently located right next to the bank!”

“I know, but—”

“Don’t you go soft on me now, Johnny. Don’t you dare!”

“But…”

“Millions in cash and gold! We’ll never have to work again! We’ll be able to lie on some beach somewhere in Mexico, sipping pi?a coladas, and dipping our toes in the warm ocean water and having the time of our lives!”

Johnny thought about the library, then about the beach and the lapping warm water and the pi?a coladas. “Well, if you put it that way.”

“Cheer up, partner! Tonight we’ll be rich! Rich!”

He smiled.“Rich is good, right?”

“Rich is the best!”

“Okay,” he finally said. “As long as you promise we won’t get caught. I don’t like to get caught, Jerry.”

“We’re not going to get caught. This plan is fool-proof.”

“That’s what you said the last time. Before that nice judge sent us to prison.”

“Last time there were unforeseen circumstances. This time I’ve considered every angle and every possible contingency. This plan can’t go wrong, brother. No frickin way!”

Chapter 21

It was a long walk back to town, and since cats have much shorter legs than humans, it takes us even longer. So we decided to be smart about this and hitch a ride with Uncle Alec and Chase instead.

We could have gotten into the car with Abe Cornwall, but the last time we’d done that we’d ended up in the big freezer at Abe’s morgue, and I didn’t feel like a repetition of that particularly harrowing experience.

So we simply made our way to Uncle Alec’s squad car, jumped on top of the hood, which was nice and warm, and waited for Odelia’s uncle and Chase to show up.

And as we sat there, patiently waiting, we suddenly saw none other than the mayor of Hampton Cove arrive, and park his car right next to Alec’s.

He glanced at the squad car and frowned, then grumbled something under his breath that didn’t sound very nice. He clearly wasn’t happy to see us—or was it the car?

He then took out his phone and picked up. I hadn’t even heard it chime, but then he might have put it on vibrate.

“Dunham,” he grunted into the device, and listened for a moment.

“Look, either you do as I say or there will be consequences, you understand, Winkle? No, I’ve heard all the arguments, and we’re going ahead with the plan as-is. It’s good for Hampton Cove, and it’s good for us. Now get off my back and do as you’re told, you whiny loser.” And with these words he disconnected and shoved the device back into his pocket.

He stared up at the house for a moment, back at Uncle Alec’s squad car, and finally seemed to make up his mind and proceeded to the front door.

“Who was that, Max?” asked Dooley.

“The mayor of Hampton Cove,” I said.

“The one who wants to get rid of Uncle Alec and make Chase take his job?”

“One and the same.”

“He’s not a very nice man, is he, Max?”

“No, I guess he’s not.”

I wondered for a moment what the Mayor had been discussing just now, and who this‘whiny loser’ Winkle was, but decided it was none of my business. A man like Mayor Dunham probably has a thousand important things on his mind, and none of them had any bearing on the issue we were facing: the disappearance of this old friend of Marge’s.

A few moments after the Mayor had entered the house, Uncle Alec and Chase came walking out. They both looked worried, and not at all happy.

When they saw us lying on the hood of the car, they smiled.

“Hey, you guys,” said Chase, and tickled us both under our chins. We purred in response, and he said, “Wanna hitch a ride into town? Well, hop in. Your taxi awaits.”

“He understands us so well,” Dooley gushed as we got into the car.

“He does, doesn’t he? And he doesn’t even speak our language,” I said.

Chase is probably our favorite person in the world, next to Odelia, of course. He has saved my life many times. I think he was probably put on this earth to do just that, and Dooley thinks he might be Jesus. I’m not so sure about that, but he is pretty special.

As we drove back to town, Uncle Alec and Chase were discussing the case.

“Search of her room doesn’t tell us a thing,” said Alec.

“Yeah, and I didn’t get a lot from the daughter either,” said Chase.

“Grace didn’t get a flight out of New York,” said Alec. “I had the airports checked and nothing. Train stations same story. If she skipped town, she didn’t do it by train or plane.”

“They could have taken a car.”

“What car? Her car is still in the garage, and we found Fabio’s car parked down the road.”

“Taxi? Uber?”

The Chief shook his grizzled head.“Had them all checked. Uber, Lyft, taxi companies, all a big bust. No, she’s still here, or if she was taken, whoever took her left no trace.”

“Can’t wait to hear what Abe has to say.”

Alec took out his phone and handed it to Chase.“Here, you call him.”

“No, you call him,” said Chase, refusing the phone.

“I’m driving! You call him.”

“You’re still chief, Chief, so you call the coroner. That’s procedure.”

“You’ll be chief soon, son, so you better get used to this. You call Abe.”

“No way in hell am I going to be chief. You’re the chief and as far as I’m concerned you’ll be chief until you die. Now get on the damn phone and call Abe already.”

“Oh, have it your way,” said Alec and got the coroner on the phone. “Abe! Give me some good news!”

“No news, I’m afraid,” the voice of the county coroner sounded through the car’s speakers. “No traces of blood. Plenty of fingerprints, but that’s to be expected. I’m having them processed and will let you know if we find anything unusual or interesting. We did find traces of acetone,which can be used to produce chloroform, but is also used as a paint thinner, so no surprises there either. By the way, is this Fabio Shakespeare fellow related to the Bard, you think?”

“What bard?” Alec barked.

“The Bard, of course. The Bard of Avon. Shakespeare!”

“I have absolutely no idea, Abe,” said Alec. “And frankly I don’t care.”

“Well, if he is, it would be interesting to see his family tree.”

“If we find the guy, and he hasn’t been cut into little pieces, or had his head bashed in, or is otherwise engaged, I’ll be sure to ask him,” said the Chief acerbically.

“Bad mood, Chief? What’s bugging you this time? Hemorrhoids? Bunions?”

“He’s being pushed out by the Mayor,” said Chase.

“No way. You, too?”

“What, who else is getting pushed out?” asked the Chief.

“Why, me, of course. Haven’t you heard? The Mayor has been using his pull with the County Executive, and I’m being offered early retirement. They want new people, young people. I’m too old and too ornery, apparently, or at least that’s what they told me.”

“Old fossils, Abe,” said Alec sadly. “We’re old fossils.”

“Speak for yourself, you old fossil,” said Abe. “I’m not that old. I just got started!”

“And now you’re done,” said Alec. “So who’s replacing you?”

“Some kid fresh out of school. She’s the County Executive’s niece, can you believe it?”

And as the two old fossils exchanged more details about their retirement plans, Dooley said,“Uncle Alec is wrong, Max. An old fossil is a dead thing that has been in the ground for a very long time. Uncle Alec isn’t dead and he hasn’t been in the ground for a very long time, and neither has Abe.”

“It’s just a figure of speech,” I said. “What he means is that he’s so old it’s time to put him in a museum.”

“He wouldn’t like it,” said Dooley. “Museums aren’t meant to be lived in. They have no showers and no kitchens and no bedrooms to sleep in. At least I don’t think so.”

“No, I guess they don’t,” I said. A thought had suddenly occurred to me. Why were the Mayor and the County Executive trying to get rid of the Chief and the County Coroner all of a sudden? And were these two events related somehow? It was something to think about, and I vowed to mention it to Odelia once we’d returned to the house.

Chapter 22

Odelia had gone in search of her grandmother and her cats but so far she hadn’t found them. Gran wasn’t answering her phone, and she wasn’t at the house either. So she’d decided to drop by her dad’s office to see if she wasn’t holed up there.

Dad came out of his office when she walked in, looking slightly rattled.

“Hey, Dad. Have you seen Gran by any chance?”

“No, and if I never see her again it will be too soon,” said her father, indicating he wasn’t happy with Vesta, which wasn’t unusual. Tex and his mother-in-law didn’t always see eye to eye. In fact it wasn’t too much to say they sometimes fought like cats and dogs.

“What happened?” asked Odelia, resigning herself to listening to a long harangue. But her father was concise in his description of her grandmother’s latest shenanigans.

“She walked out saying she was determined to become a cracker and that’s the last time I saw her,” he said with a shrug.

“She meant CCREC’er,” said Odelia. “The Cat Committee for the Re-Education of Canines. She wants to teach dogs to do their business in a litter box instead of on sidewalks, parks and people’s lawns.”

“Oh,” said Tex, taken aback by this. “Well, that’s not such a bad idea, actually.”

“The idea has merit, but she’s presenting it as a campaign sanctioned by Uncle Alec, and I don’t think people are going to like the way she’ll try to ram it down their throats.”

“Alec sanctioned a campaign to re-educate dogs?”

“No, he didn’t. He’s got nothing to do with this, but Gran wants him to run for mayor, and she seems to think this is a good way for him to launch his campaign.”

“Alec is running for mayor?” asked her father, more and more mystified.

“No, he’s not. Gran wants him to run, but he’s refusing, saying it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do. But you know Gran. She doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh, do I know your grandmother,” said Dad, a look of regret on his face.

“She’s not picking up her phone. The last thing Max told me is that she wanted to recruit Father Reilly to the cause.”

Dad’s eyebrows shot up into his white fringe. “Surely Father Reilly knows better than to allow himself to be dragged into your grandmother’s crazy schemes?”

“Gran can be very convincing when she wants to be. I better go over to the church, and see what she’s been up to.”

“Tell her that if she doesn’t come back I’m hiring another receptionist!” said Tex as she walked out.

“Will do, Dad!” she hollered back with a grin. She knew her dad would never do that. First of all, he was too stingy to hire and pay anyone to pick up the phone, and secondly, if he got rid of Gran he’d get an earful from Mom.

She got back into her car, and made her way through town to St. John’s Church, which was located near Town Hall. She parked across from the church and looked around. No trace of Gran’s car. She pushed her way into the church through the tall and heavy oak doors, and called out, “Father Reilly! Gran!”

No response, though, and so she walked past the neatly lined rows of pews through to the sacristy where the parish priest usually spent his days. She popped her head in the door, which wasn’t locked, and saw that Father Reilly wasn’t behind his desk.

Could Gran possibly have gotten him to agree with her harebrained scheme? No way.

As she walked out of the church and hesitated for a moment, wondering how to proceed, she saw that a small reddish cat was lounging on a bench in front of the church, enjoying the shade from a leafy tree. She approached the cat and recognized him as Tigger, plumber Gwayn Partington’s cat.

“Did you by any chance see my grandmother?” she asked.

The cat merely stared at her.

“Or Harriet?”

This time, a smile animated the cat’s features. “Oh, sure. She left about twenty minutes ago, along with Brutus and Shanille. They got into a small red car and drove off.”

“In what direction?”

The cat lazily pointed past Town Hall, and Odelia thanked him profusely.

She still had no idea where they were, but at least now she knew they were with Father Reilly, and when she pressed her phone to her ear she knew the priest, unlike her grandmother, would never refuse to take her call.

“Odelia!” he said after the first ring. “What can I do for you?”

“Can you put my grandmother on the phone, please?” she asked.

“What do you want?” Gran’s raspy voice suddenly tooted in her ear.

“Where are you? I’ve been looking all over the place.”

“None of your business.”

“You aren’t still trying to sell litter boxes, are you?”

“And what if I am? What’s it to you, Miss Nosy Parker?”

“You can’t go around presenting this as Uncle Alec’s plan, Gran. You’re going to ruin his reputation, and he’s already in enough trouble as it is.”

“What trouble?”

“The Mayor offered Chase Uncle Alec’s job this morning. He wants him to take early retirement. And you’re not helping.”

“I am helping! I’m going to get Alec elected mayor, and then we’ll finally be rid of that Dirk Dunham fellow.”

“No, we’re not. You’re antagonizing people, and setting them up against Uncle Alec. If you keep this up you’ll turn him into the most unpopular man in Hampton Cove, and then the Mayor will have all the support he needs from the council to get rid of him. Don’t you see that you’re simplyplaying into the Mayor’s hand?”

“Look, it’s simple math, but I don’t expect a reporter like you to understand. When I’m through with this town, Alec will have a majority of sixty percent. And now leave me alone, I’m busy.” And she promptly disconnected.

“Aaargh!” Odelia cried as she slapped her steering wheel in frustration. As if it wasn’t enough that she had to try and find this missing Grace Farnsworth, now she had to play her grandmother’s keeper, too.

If only she knew where the old lady was canvassing.

And then she had an idea, and started typing into her phone.

Chapter 23

“Oh, thank god, Father Reilly!” the man cried, and practically dragged the priest and his band of associates into the house. “Is it my wife? Has something happened to Alice?”

“Oh, no, I’m sure Alice is quite all right, Victor,” said the priest.

Grandma Muffin and Harriet and Brutus and Shanille had quickly followed in the priest’s wake, and now found themselves inside a house that was slightly dilapidated.

It had been Gran’s idea to start their door-to-door way out here, and then work their way back to town. She’d told her cats in the car that she now realized her mistake. People in the heart of town were all too arrogant for their own good. And that’s why they hadn’t taken her message to heart. But out here, in the sticks, people would be more receptive to the dog litter message. They were a lot dumber, sure, but also a lot nicer.

And it would seem her theory was correct: this Victor Ball guy certainly was very receptive indeed. Maybe a little too receptive.

Harriet was starting to have her doubts about the whole scheme. She now realized Max was right: it was too much for people, and too quick. These kinds of changes didn’t happen overnight, and would take a long time to gestate—years, maybe. And she didn’t feel like going door to door for the rest of her life, listening to Gran’s preaching, while she and Brutus and Shanille talked to the dogs. Most of the time the dogs they’d talked to were nice, but there had been some specimens that had been less than forthcoming, and told them in no uncertain terms what they thought of the litter revolution.

She glanced around. They were in some old farmhouse, and she saw that an old dog was lying on the couch, resting peacefully. She approached the dog, her companions in tow, and launched into her spiel, even as Gran and Father Reilly worked on its owner.

“Hey, there, dog,” she said. “Have you heard about the litter revolution currently sweeping the land? Do you want to be part of the avant-garde? A cool dog? A dog that is ahead of the pack? Well, you’re in luck, buddy, for we’re here to bring you up to speed…”

“He can’t hear you, Harriet,” said Shanille.

“Yeah, he’s either asleep or he’s dead,” said Brutus.

Harriet gave the dog a poke in the snoot. She didn’t like it when her words landed on deaf ears. “Hey! You! Wake up!”

The dog slowly opened its eyes. It was a large dog, of the Schnauzer variety, and now yawned cavernously, its maw gaping. Harriet reeled back. The stench! Unbearable!

“Yuck,” she said, waving a paw in front of her face. “Never heard of Tic Tac?”

“Oh, hey, cats,” said the dog, once it had focused its eyes on the feline trio. “Nice of you to pay me a visit. I don’t get a lot of visitors out here.”

“That’s so sweet,” said Harriet with a fake smile. “Now have you heard about the litter revolution or not? The movement sweeping through America? Well, you’re in luck—”

“Is that the werewolf Victor keeps going on and on about?” asked the dog.

“Werewolf?” asked Harriet, once again knocked off balance. Once she got going, it was important she be allowed to keep going until her pitch had reached its natural conclusion: the call to action. Now she had to start all over again, which she hated.

“Yeah, Victor met a werewolf late last night. Out by Garrison’s Field. He dropped his bike and ran all the way into town, the silly man. Police wouldn’t believe a word he said, though, which doesn’t surprise me. He’s usually more drunk than sober when he’s been out and about. But this time I think he might be onto something. I heard some weird rumblings about these sightings myself, from several of my buddies.”

“Rumblings about what?” asked Brutus.

“Well, like I said, a werewolf.”

“Werewolves don’t exist,” said Shanille. “They simply don’t. That’s just an old wives’ tale to scare the kids.”

“I thought so, too,” said the dog, “until I heard the same story from Franky, the German Shepherd who lives next door. His owner claims he heard a scream last night, but he’s usually drunk as a skunk, same as Victor, so I’ll bet no one believed him either.”

“Werewolf sightings, huh?” said Harriet. Well, it sure made for a nice change of pace from having to hawk litter all day long. “So what did he look like, this werewolf?”

“Big and hairy, according to Victor. And with long sharp teeth. He was howling a lot, too. It scared the hell out of him. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so scared.”

“What does he do, your Victor?” asked Harriet, her curiosity now thoroughly piqued.

“Oh, this and that. He collects old junk and then sells it as scrap metal, he’s got a couple of cows and sells milk—doesn’t bother with cheese or butter. Too lazy, I guess. And he has an orchard. Apples and pears. His wife Alice is the real breadwinner, though. She works in town as a cashier.”

Harriet nodded. It would explain why the house looked so dilapidated. These people weren’t exactly swimming in money, and if Victor kept drinking their money away…

“Hey, aren’t you going to sell him on the litter revolution?” asked Brutus as she walked away.

“Nah. I don’t think he’s all that interested,” she said and jumped up on the windowsill to look outside. The house was pretty isolated, in a part of town that was mostly woods, with a couple of farmhouses spread about. This neighbor who’d also spotted the werewolf was probably a couple ofhundred yards away. The perfect spot for a werewolf to roam around, she thought, and shivered.

“You don’t believe all this talk of a werewolf, do you?” asked Brutus now.

“I don’t know, Brutus. I just know that Victor believes it, and so does his dog.”

She suddenly wished Max was there. He’d know what to do. She even missed Dooley. He might be half-witted, but from time to time still managed to come up with an idea.

And then she hunkered down to listen to Victor’s story, as he painted a picture of this terrifying werewolf, beat by colorful beat.

Chapter 24

“Big as a house, he was,” said Victor. “And with dark, coarse hair everywhere, teeth like daggers, and eyes red and glowing in the dark. I ran hell for leather and it’s a miracle I made it out alive. He was going to tear me to pieces and drink my blood!”

“But surely you know that werewolves don’t exist, Victor,” said Father Reilly. “They only exist in folklore, fairytales and Hollywood movies.”

“That’s what I thought, until I met one in the flesh.”

“How much did you have to drink last night?” asked Vesta. She didn’t like all this waffle about werewolves. It distracted from the mission. They had litter boxes to sell.

“Well, I’ll admit I was intoxicated, but the moment I saw that werewolf I sobered up real quick! You have to warn people, father. They need to be told. And the police have to organize a hunt. Get some guys with guns out here and hunt this creature down, before it kills us all!”

Vesta shared a look of incredulity with Father Reilly. The two of them had never really seen eye to eye on anything before, but now were clearly on the same page.

“Look, Victor, did anyone else see this werewolf?” asked the priest now.

“Yeah, well, no, I don’t think so,” he admitted. “Though my neighbor thinks he heard something last night. A cry or a scream, and that can only have been that werewolf.”

“Or it could have been you,” said Vesta. “Screaming your head off like a ninny.”

“Well, I guess that’s also possible,” said Victor, sheepishly tugging at his left ear.

“So as far as you can tell you’re the only person who’s actually seen this creature?” asked the priest.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Victor. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t see it!”

“What did my son say, when you reported it to the police?” asked Vesta.

“He didn’t believe me,” said Victor, his brow lowering. “And neither did Alice—my wife.”

“If nobody believes you, that should give you pause, Victor,” said Father Reilly. “Maybe it should make you contemplate your ways. You have been straying from the Lord’s path lately, haven’t you? For one thing, I haven’t seen you in church in months, and I’ve been hearing stories about your drinking. Don’t you think this might be a sign from God?”

“You think so, father?” asked Victor, surprised.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. The Lord works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, and this might be one of those ways. This monster clearly represents your predilection for alcoholic beverages. And what the Lord is doing by offering up this, this mirage, as it were, is making you stop andthink.”

“Stop and think,” repeated Victor, eyes wide now. This was the good stuff right there.

“Stop and think about your behavior. The way you’ve let down your community, your family, and your church. Why don’t you join one of our fine weekly meetings at the church, Victor? You can talk to people battling the same monster you’re battling.”

“The werewolf? They’ve seen it, too?”

“Oh, yes, they have. They’ve all seen the monster called drink, and they’ve come away tattered and torn, their lives in shambles. But it doesn’t have to be that way, Victor.” He got up now, and placed a warm and comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m expecting you at our next meeting. And no excuses, you hear? This werewolf is a monster you cannot tackle on your own, my son. But together we’ll fight it, and beat it!”

“I want to beat it, father,” said Victor, looking up into the priest’s kindly face. “And you’re damn right—pardon my French. I can’t beat it on my own. It’s too big and nasty.”

“We’ll beat it together. And I’ll talk to Alice. We have a support group for wives of alcoholics.”

And with these words, they left Victor to ruminate on the drink devil he needed to conquer—a devil conveniently disguised as a werewolf.

“Poor man,” said Father Reilly once they were outside. “Sold his soul for a drink.”

“I guess we’ll have to sell him on the litter revolution another time, huh?” said Vesta.

“Yeah, I don’t think this is the right time to introduce the litter box idea.”

“Gran?” asked Harriet. “I talked to Victor’s dog, and he seems to think there’s some truth to the werewolf story. He says other dogs in the area have seen the werewolf, too.”

Vesta, who couldn’t respond while Father Reilly was there, simply nodded to indicate she’d heard. She glanced around. It was a spooky area, she thought, and one she’d always steered clear of before. It was secluded and out of the way, and she could very well believe a monster could be lurking in these old woods. Then again, Victor Ball wasn’t exactly a reliable witness, and if no one but a couple of farmyard dogs had seen or heard this so-called werewolf, she was inclined to dismiss the stories as a lot of baloney.

“Great,” she said. “Another bust. Maybe our next one will be more susceptible to the mission.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Father Reilly.

They decided to walk the distance to the next farmhouse. All these small farmers had dogs, so at least there was a market there for their litter boxes. Now all they needed to find was one with an open mind. And one that didn’t start babbling about werewolves…

And just when they’d turned into the road, suddenly a battered old pickup came coughing up to them, a window was rolled down, and Odelia’s head came poking out.

“Gran! You have to stop this nonsense immediately!”

Oh, hell. If it wasn’t imaginary werewolves, it was nosy parker granddaughters turning up to cramp her style.

Chapter 25

Uncle Alec had dropped us off at the house, and when we entered, fully expecting to find Brutus and Harriet and Odelia, we were surprised to find that the house was empty.

“They must still be going door to door with Gran,” I said when we’d ascertained that we were, indeed, the only ones there.

“I feel guilty now, Max,” said Dooley. “For leaving Harriet and Brutus to do the heavy lifting and convince Hampton Cove’s dogs to adopt the litter way.”

“Don’t feel guilty,” I said. “Finding Grace is more important than the litter revolution.”

“I guess so,” he said, but didn’t look convinced.

We ambled into the backyard, not really having any purpose to fulfill: Odelia was handling the investigation into Grace’s disappearance, and so were Alec and Chase, having the case well in hand, and Harriet, Brutus and Gran were tackling the dog issue.

A sound coming from Kurt Mayfield’s backyard alerted us to the presence of Fifi. She was jumping up and down, trying to peek over the fence, and emitting squeaky sounds to attract our attention. When finally we hopped the fence, balancing on top of it, she was over the moon.

“Oh, there you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you guys. I just wanted to ask you: what’s the ETA on that wonderful litter box? I’ve been keeping in my business until I can enjoy the full benefits of the litter experience, but so far nothing seems forthcoming.”

“Um… I guess that’s between you and your owner,” I said, a little lamely, I admit, but what else could I tell the tiny Yorkie?

“Between me and my owner!” said the dog, not even remotely as shy and bashful as before. “But you promised I would be able to reap the full benefits of the litter experience. Clear skin, shiny coat of fur, self-confidence, muscular appearance… You can’t simply dangle all these promises infront of a dog’s twitchy little nose and then not follow through on them. I want my litter box. Where is my litter box?”

“Look, Shanille needs to get Father Reilly to talk to Kurt, and until that happens…”

“Yes?”

“No litter box,” said Dooley.

Fifi uttered a terrifying squeal of horror.“No litter box!”

“Dooley is right,” I said. “As long as Kurt is unwilling to part with his hard-earned cash and shell out for your box, there isn’t going to be a litter experience for you, Fifi.”

“But… I need that litter! I need that clear skin, that nice shiny fur and all the rest!”

Dooley had turned to me. He clearly felt for the poor doggie.“Maybe she can go on your litter box?” he now suggested. “Or mine or Harriet’s?”

“Dooley, no,” I said, and tried to indicate by the intensity of my stare that this was not a good idea. Not a good idea at all.

But too late. Fifi was already jumping up and down with excitement.“Can I go on Harriet’s litter box? Pretty, pretty please? She has the most gorgeous fur and I’m sure that if I can just go on her litter box this once I’ll have the same shininess and sheen!”

I was going to tell her that this whole litter box idea Harriet had been feeding her was one big sham, but looking into that hopeful little face, and those pleading little eyes, I simply didn’t have the heart. So instead I found myself agreeing to her request.

“All right. You can use Harriet’s litter box. But just this once, you hear?”

“How are we going to get her across?” asked Dooley.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” said Fifi, and before our very eyes she disappeared into the void, then abruptly reappeared on our side of the fence.

“I dug a hole,” she said, panting a little with excitement.

“You dug a hole?” I asked, surprised. How had I missed this?

“Yeah. I didn’t want to trespass, so I haven’t used it, but I dug it just in case. I like to dig. I dug a hole on the other side, too, and I’m planning to dig another one underneath the back fence so I can explore that nice patch of land behind Kurt’s. I think it’s probably full of nicesurprises.”

The only surprise she was going to find were a family of moles who’d come to consider that patch of land their own, and of course the sheep that grazed there.

“Come with us,” said Dooley now, as he led the way into Marge and Tex’s backyard. “We’ll show you Harriet’s litter box and you can use it to your little heart’s content.”

“Ooh, this is so exciting!” said Fifi, her button nose twitching and her tail wagging.

“Is it clean, though?” I asked, not wanting to suffer the embarrassment of offering a guest a dirty litter box.

“Oh, sure. Marge cleaned it this morning,” said Dooley, “and put in a fresh layer of litter. And since Harriet has been out and about all day, I don’t think she’s had a chance to use it yet.”

“Great,” I said.

“She won’t be happy, though,” Dooley said.

“That can’t be helped,” I said sternly. “You can’t go around extolling the benefits of the litter revolution and then deny those same dogs the use of a freshly catered litter box.”

Harriet had done a number on Fifi, and now she’d have to face the consequences.

So we led Fifi into Marge and Tex’s backyard, through the pet flap and into the house, where we soon found Harriet’s litter box, and watched on as Fifi set reverent paw inside.

She looked as if she were entering a holy temple, or some holy shrine, and it warmed my heart to see the doggie as happy as a clam. She was even singing as she did her thing.

“It touches my heart, Max,” said Dooley. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“It’s all right, Dooley,” I said, rubbing his back. “You did a good thing. You made a little doggie happy.”

“It’s so nice to do a good deed. I think I should probably do more of them.”

“You can do as many good deeds as you like. In fact you can do a good deed every day from now on. Just like the boy scouts.”

“Do they do good deeds every day?”

“Oh, yes, they do. Like helping old ladies cross the road, or carry their groceries.”

Or introducing sweet little Yorkshire Terriers to the delights of the litter box.

Fifi, who’d done what she came there to do, now emerged from the box. She was smiling from ear to ear, and there was a glow on her face that was nice to see.

“I feel different already,” she intimated. “Do I look different?”

“Oh, yes, you do,” said Dooley. “You’re glowing.”

“It’s my skin,” she said happily. “I can feel my skin changing, and my fur, it’s more shiny already.” She checked her legs. “Though I don’t see that increased muscularity.”

“It might take some time,” I said, not wanting to disappoint the doggie.

“Great,” she said. “So until Kurt buys me my own litter box I’ll simply keep going to Harriet’s. Thanks, you guys. You’re real life-savers.”

And with these words, she exited the kitchen, whistling a pleasant tune.

Chapter 26

“How did you find us?!” Gran demanded heatedly.

“I may have had something to do with that, Vesta,” said Father Reilly. “Odelia texted me, asking me where we were, and so I told her.”

“Nosy parkers!” Gran cried, shaking an irate fist. “I’m surrounded by nosy parkers sticking their noses where they don’t belong!”

“Father Reilly, I can’t believe you would agree to go along with my grandmother’s crazy scheme,” said Odelia, as she got out of the car. She’d hoped to find her grandmother swiftly, and was now relieved that she had, before any more damage could be done.

“What do you mean?” asked the priest, visibly surprised by these harsh words.

“She’s been telling people that her so-called mission is officially sanctioned by my uncle while it’s not. Uncle Alec doesn’t know the first thing about the CCREC.”

“Liar! I told Alec all about it,” said Gran.

“No, you didn’t. All you told him was that you wanted him to run for mayor, and he said he doesn’t want to, so you decided to go behind his back and tell people he does.”

“Isn’t Alec running for mayor?” asked Father Reilly now.

“Of course not! Uncle Alec is not a politician and he’s never had any political aspirations.”

“Because he’s too lily-livered! My son should grow a spine,” said Gran. “He would make a great mayor, and a great governor and an even better president. And once he’s in the White House I’ll make sure he stays there. He’s not gonna be a lousy one-term president. He’ll do two terms, and if we can change the constitution he’ll do a third and even a fourth.” She smiled. “Wouldn’t that be something? My little boy, a four-term president, and then when he’s through we’ll keep it in the family. Marge is next, and then Odelia, of course, and so on and so forth. We’re never leaving that White House, ever!”

“Gran, you’re nuts,” said Odelia.

“These are not the words of a sane woman, Vesta,” Father Reilly agreed.

“I’m practical and I’m ambitious,” Gran countered. “When has it ever been crazy to have ambitions for one’s own flesh and blood? Huh? Tell me that, you wise-ass!”

“Look, for the last time, Uncle Alec doesn’t want to run for mayor. Being chief of police is what he loves to do, and he’s damn good at it, too.”

“Odelia is right, you know,” said Father Reilly, nodding. “Alec loves being chief of police, and if it were up to him he’d wear that chief’s cap until the day he dies.”

“Fools and morons!” Gran cried. “I’m surrounded by fools and morons! Well, that’s it. I’m out of here.” And with these words she stalked off in the direction of her little red Peugeot—actually Marge’s little red Peugeot—got in, and drove off in a cloud of smoke.

Odelia and Father Reilly stood coughing as they watched her drive off in a huff.

“I think that’s the end of the litter revolution,” said Father Reilly with a distinct sense of relief.

“I’m so sorry, father. My grandmother should never have dragged you into this mess.”

“Oh, I’m not sorry, Odelia,” said the priest as he took off his glasses and polished them. “In fact I’m glad. It gave me an excuse to get out of my church and mingle with my flock. You know, I probably should have done this a long time ago.”

“Try to sell dog owners on litter boxes?”

He smiled.“No, get out and about a little more. Spend some time with these fine folk. For instance, I didn’t know that people clung so tightly to these old superstitions.”

“Superstitions?”

“Well, take Victor Ball. He claims that he saw a werewolf last night. And I would never have known this if Vesta hadn’t dragged me out here to talk about her litter scheme. Which just goes to show I’ve spent too much time hoping people would come to me, while I should have gone out to them instead.”

Odelia was frowning.“Werewolves?”

“Oh, yes. And he wasn’t to be deterred. Even when I told him the real monster he should be fighting is the devil that lurks at the bottom of the bottle. Luckily I managed to convince him to join our weekly AA meetings. Another life saved. Oh, could you please give me a lift into town? I’d be so very much obliged.”

“It’s true, you know,” said Harriet once they were in the car and driving back to Hampton Cove. “This Victor Ball guy seemed determined that he saw this werewolf.”

“Yes, he did,” Brutus confirmed.

“And his dog seemed to think so, too,” said Shanille.

Odelia couldn’t very well strike up a conversation with her cats, or else Father Reilly would soon be inviting her to his weekly AA meetings, too, but she nodded her acknowledgment in the rearview mirror.

“That dog also told us that the next-door neighbor heard a terrible scream last night,” Harriet continued.

“That could have been Victor,” said Brutus.

“I’m not so sure,” said Harriet. “I’m starting to think there’s something to these stories. That there really is a presence out here in these woods, roaming around at night.”