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The cats were meowing up a storm, even the one with its head stuck in the wall. They were yowling and howling, making that horrible noise only cats can make, and that will drive you nuts if you listen to it for too long.

“Can’t you get them to shut up?” he asked his partner in crime. “If they keep this up someone will come and look.”

“Here, kitty, kitty,” said Johnny, bending over and trying to attract the attention of the black cat. “Nice kitty, kitty. Sweet little kitty.”

But whatever language he was speaking, it clearly made little impression on the cats, for they seemed to increase the volume of their laments.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Jerry grunted. “I can’t believe a bunch of stupid cats are going to ruin a perfectly nice burglary.”

He’d searched around the basement but had found no evidence of a safe, until he thought he saw something that looked promising: a small cupboard shoved up against the wall. So he opened it and immediately wished he hadn’t. Inside the cupboard dozens of mice stared back at him, their beady black eyes eyeing him with distinct malice!

“Yikes!” he shouted. He hated mice even more than he hated cats or dogs.

He jumped back but the mice had apparently not appreciated this intrusion on their privacy and jumped out of the cupboard and attacked!

“Help!” he cried as he tottered back and then stumbled and fell. Immediately he was overrun with mice. They were everywhere: on his head, on his arms, crawling into his shirt and on his bare skin. “Johnny! Help!” he screamed.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” said Johnny, and took a small cannon from his pocket. And before Jerry could tell him not to, he’d fired his firearm and a minor explosion rocked the basement, tearing a fist-sized hole in the wall. For a moment nothing happened, and then the mice all made a run for it,and raced to the far wall and disappeared.

“Thank God,” said Johnny, as he helped up his partner. “Are you all right, Jer?”

“Why did you have to go and fire that gun? And without a frickin’ silencer!”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? I scared them off.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” said Jerry, and made for the staircase.

And he’d just put his foot on the first step when suddenly a burly figure appeared on the top step and shouted, “Freeze!”

The figure was also holding a gun in his hand, and looked like he meant business.

Chapter 22

“A gunfight! In our basement!” Dooley was saying. “First the dead skeleton next door and now a gunfight!”

“Yeah, I feel like I’m in a gangster movie,” said Brutus as he licked his paws.

We were all on the couch in the living room while all around us activity buzzed. Cops had shown up en masse, and had taken the two gangsters off Chase’s hands, and now they were picking the bullet one of the crooks had fired out of the wall and investigating the loot they’d gathered. Everything lay piled up in a heap on the living room floor, where the gangsters had left it, and amongst the treasure was Odelia’s box of jewelry, the television, an envelope with cash Odelia liked to hide in the kitchen drawer for emergencies, and plenty of other stuff. They’d even laid their hands on Chase’s laptop, which probably has all kinds of very sensitive information on it about the world of crime and whatnot. And of course the tablet computer we like to use when we need to google something. All in all a nice haul, if they’d gotten away with it.

Unfortunately for them and fortunately for Odelia and Chase we’d quickly slipped out of the house the moment those two thugs had started rummaging through Odelia’s private things, and had warned Odelia, and it didn’t take long for Chase to come running, armed to the teeth.

“Imagine if they’d gotten away with it,” said Harriet now as she stared at the pile of personal possessions.

“Yeah, imagine,” said Brutus.

Both Brutus and Harriet appeared a little under the weather, I thought. Then again, an entire afternoon and part of the evening doing hanky panky will wear a cat out.

“So did you enjoy your hanky panky?” asked Dooley now.

Brutus and Harriet both looked up as if stung.

“What did you just say?” asked Harriet.

Dooley eyed her a little uncertainly, then gave me a questioning look. I shook my head. Cats usually don’t like to be reminded they don’t perform these feats of hanky panky in a vacuum. That there are other cats around who can hear everything that goes on in these unguarded moments.

“Um, that’s what Max said you were doing down there,” said Dooley, squarely dragging me into the thing. “So I just thought I’d ask…”

Brutus plastered a fake smile onto his face.“Yeah, um, the hanky panky. Well, it was a lot of fun, wasn’t it, Harriet?”

“Actually we were not engaged in hanky panky,” said Harriet.

“We weren’t?” asked Brutus. Harriet was giving him warning signals for some reason, so he quickly amended his statement to, “No, we weren’t.”

“We were looking for clues,” said Harriet. “Clues in connection to the case Odelia is working on. We figured if there’s one body buried inside the wall of the basement, it stands to reason there must be others, especially as these two houses were inhabited by the same family once upon a time. Two basements, so why not two bodies, you know?”

I’d explained the whole story to Harriet, but it did strike me as peculiar that she would have known to look for dead bodies before she was apprised of the state of affairs. Almost as if she was psychic. Odd.

“And? Did you find any?” asked Dooley, and Harriet gave him a dirty look that was entirely undeserving for such an obvious question.

“No, Dooley, we did not find more dead bodies. And it is my firm belief that the basement, at least this one, is entirely body-free.”

“Oh, that’s great,” said Dooley. “Odelia will be happy to hear that.”

“So what about the mouse?” I asked, and this time Harriet’s eyes flashed their anger at me. Why, I did not know.

“No, we didn’t find the mouse. It probably got scared and ran off.”

“Okay,” I said. “So why were those gangsters yammering on and on about mice when Chase led them out of the house?”

“Oh, just tell them,” said Brutus as he hunkered down on the couch, looking miserable.

“No, I will not tell them,” said Harriet. “Remember what we agreed, Brutus.”

“It’s no use, Harriet,” said Brutus. “They’re too smart. They’ll figure it out.” He directed a quick glance at Dooley, then amended his statement. “Max is too smart. He’ll figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” I asked, intrigued.

“See? He doesn’t have a clue,” said Harriet. “So you better keep that big mouth shut, Brutus, or else—”

“Harriet got her head stuck in the wall,” said Brutus. “One of the mice pretended to be our friend and lured her into its nest and then she got stuck. They’re very devious, and they have no intention of leaving. Her name is Molly, by the way, and her partner is called Rupert, and between them they are the proud parents of an offspring of four hundred.”

“Four hundred!” I cried. “That’s a lot of mice.”

“Tell me about it,” said Brutus, shaking a tired head.

“If that’s true Odelia will have to hire a professional. No way are we ever going to get four hundred mice out of the house.”

“You’re… not making fun of me, then?” asked Harriet after a pause which I used to think up ways and means to deal with these intruders.

“Make fun of you? Why would we make fun of you?” I asked, surprised.

She smiled.“I thought you’d have a big laugh at my expense when you heard I’d been fooled by Molly the Mouse and got my head stuck inside the wall.”

“That could have happened to any one of us,” I said, and I meant it. In fact it sounded like something that could very well have happened to me. “So are you going to tell Odelia? Give her the bad news?”

“Bad news about what?” asked Odelia as she joined us on the couch.

“Your basement is infested with mice,” said Harriet. “And even though we tried to reason with them, they decided to stay put.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” said Odelia with a wave of the hand. “They’ll eventually move on.”

“No, they won’t,” said Brutus. “There’s four hundred of them, Odelia, and they have absolutely no intention of moving on. In fact they’re going to stay where they are and try to drive us out of the house if they can manage.”

“Four hundred,” she said with an incredulous little laugh. “Phew. Are you sure?”

“We saw them,” said Harriet. “And they’re not nice mice either. They’re devious.”

Odelia held up her hands.“You know what? I can’t deal with this right now. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this burglary. Good thing you guys caught those crooks.”

“Good thing Chase was there to storm into that basement, guns blazing, saving you from financial ruin,” I said.

She smiled as she petted me.“I wouldn’t say he saved me from financial ruin, but he did save me from being burgled, which is a terrible feeling I never hope to experience again.”

“Being saved, you mean?” asked Dooley, confused.

“Being burgled. People crawling all over your private space, and picking through your private stuff. It feels horrible, let me tell you.”

“What’s going to happen to those crooks now?” I asked.

“Oh, they’ll be charged, and appear before the judge in the morning. I hope they’ll go away for a long time. Did you say they fired off a shot?”

“Yes, to scare away the mice,” said Brutus.

“And did it work?”

“It did,”’ said Harriet. “Though now I wonder where they all ran off to.”

Suddenly a piercing cry rent the air. It seemed to come from underneath us, and as we all ran down the stairs and into the basement, I saw that a sizable hole had been dug by the bullet one of the thugs had fired. Through the hole we could clearly see Marge, standing in her own basement next door, and screaming her head off.

The fact that she was surrounded by a swirling sea of rodents probably had something to do with that.

Chapter 23

When the commotion next door had died down a little, Marge decided to clear the table. No one was going to finish dinner now, and she liked to run a tight and especially a clean ship. And she’d just turned on the dishwasher and moved into the living room when she thought she heard a strange sound. Almost as if some animal was screaming up a storm in the basement. So she’d taken the broom and had pulled the little string that worked the light, and had moved down into the basement one step at a time. At first she didn’t see a thing, but then, as she looked around, suddenly she saw that what she thought was the floor was actually a carpet consisting entirely of mice!

The carpet was undulating, and seemed to cover the whole basement floor!

And that’s when she started screaming her head off.

“Mom!” Odelia called out.

Marge searched for the source of the sound, and saw that there was now a new hole in the basement wall, opposite the one where Boyd Baker’s body had been found. This hole connected to Odelia’s basement, and her daughter was saying something that she couldn’t quite catch, as the mice were screeching up a violent storm at her feet.

So she added to the chorus and screamed some more.

Then two things happened: her mother came stomping down, carrying what looked like an old shotgun, and fired off a shot. The shot went wide and hit the wall, creating yet another hole.

“Mom! Stop shooting!” Marge yelled over the noise of the screeching mice.

And then her husband Tex followed in his mother-in-law’s footsteps and when he saw the spectacle went a little white around the nostrils and said, “Oh, my Lord!”

“This is the first stage, Tex,” said Mom. “See? It’s always the rats that show the way. And they’re showing us we need to build a bunker down here.”

“It’s not rats!” Marge yelled. “It’s mice!”

“Same difference,” said Mom. “Mice lead the way. Noah knew it, and so did Hitler.”

What Hitler had to do with anything, Marge didn’t know, but what she did know was that if someone didn’t make these mice behave, she was going to freak out to such an extent it would be as if a nuclear bomb had exploded right then and there!

Tex, who’d disappeared, now returned carrying a spray can. He directed the nozzle at the mice and pressed the button. The smell of lavender filled the air.

“Is that my deodorant?” asked Marge.

“I didn’t find anything else!”

“Mice love deodorant,” said Mom. “Just look at those little buggers enjoying the heck out of that scent of lavender and pine.”

Odelia, who’d made the trip through the hedge in record time, now also joined the party.

“I don’t believe this,” said Marge. “With four cats between us you would think the house would be completely mouse-free, right?”

“The mice tricked them,” said Odelia as she studied the horror scene with fascination.

“They did what?”

“Harriet and Brutus tried to reason with them and they tricked Harriet into sticking her head in one of their holes and she got stuck. She had her head stuck inside that wall all afternoon and part of the evening.”

“Poor thing,” said Mom.

“Poor thing! She should have killed that mouse, not try to reason with it!” Marge cried.

“Mice are God’s creatures, too, and they have every right to live and thrive.”

“They can live and thrive someplace else.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Tex, whose bright idea of using deodorant on the mice had fizzled out. “How do we get rid of these critters in a humane and efficient way?”

“Humane, my ass!”’ said Marge. “I want them out of here. Now!”

Four cats now descended on the scene: Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus, and stopped to stare at the seething mass of mouse.

“Why didn’t the gunshot scare them off this time?” asked Brutus.

“They’re quick learners,” said Max. “They’re probably used to gunshots already.”

“Oh, dear,” said Harriet. One of the mice said something that Marge couldn’t understand and Harriet snapped, “I told you to beat it, and now look what you’ve done. They’re going to massacre the whole lot of you, and it’ll all be your fault!”

The mouse said something else that escaped Marge, and then Brutus said,“It’s out of our paws now, Molly. I’m sorry. You brought this on yourself.”

It all sounded very ominous, Marge thought, and when Mom raised her shotgun to check if there was another round in the chamber, the mouse called Molly seemed to make a plea.

“Yeah, that’s a shotgun,” said Harriet. “And you don’t want to know what happens when that thing goes off and wipes out your entire family. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”

More pleading from the mouse, and finally Brutus said,“I know she missed that time, but that was just a warning shot. Next time she’ll shoot to kill.”

There seemed to be a lull in the proceedings, as the mice all gathered around the mouse called Molly and another, equally large mouse. Then the mice all looked up at Mom, their little noses twitching, and finally bowed their little heads. And before Marge’s very eyes, the entire troupe suddenly moved off, like a military parade, towards the hole where Boyd Baker had been buried all these years, and moments later they’d cleared out and the basement was mouse-free once more.

No one spoke for a moment, then Harriet said,“I think we did it, Brutus. I think we scared them off.”

“We did!” cried Brutus. “Can you imagine? They believed Gran would actually shoot them!”

“And you better believe it,” said Mom, raising her shotgun, her finger itching on the trigger.

“No, Ma,” said Marge, and quickly took the shotgun away from the old lady. “I can’t believe we still have that thing,” she muttered, directing a scornful look at her husband.

“It was in the tool shed,” said Gran. “Kept it there all this time. It used to belong to my late husband,” she explained for the sake of Odelia. “He brought it home from the war.”

“The big war?” asked Tex.

“Hey, I’m notthat old,” she said, shooting an indignant glance at Marge’s husband.

“Looks like they’re gone now,” said Tex, still holding on to his can of deodorant.

“And good riddance, too,” said Marge.

“Well done, you guys,” said Odelia, patting Harriet and Brutus on the head.

“See? I told you those cats would do their job sooner or later,” said Mom.

“Let’s go to bed, you guys,” said Odelia, stifling a yawn. “It’s been one hell of a day.”

“It certainly has,” said Tex as they all moved back up the stairs. Before following the others, Marge darted one final look around, just to make sure all the mice had gone, and that’s when she saw that the hole Mom had made with the shotgun had revealed something stuck inside the wall. For a moment she feared it was another body, but when she moved closer she saw it was actually a small, leather-bound book. She lifted it out of its hiding place and saw that it was a diary, and that it was locked. Telling herself to give it to Odelia, she slipped it into the pocket of her apron, and promptly forgot all about it.

Chapter 24

The moment we’d long been waiting for had finally arrived: Odelia had told us that she was going to get more serious about dental hygiene and she hadn’t been kidding. The reason for this was that recently I’d lost three teeth, due to the fact that they’d apparently outlived their usefulness. Yes, it happens, even to cats. And then Vena had advised Odelia to be more proactive in dental care and now there we were, the four of us filing into the bathroom to undergo our first ever session of having our teeth brushed.

It may surprise you to know this, but cats are incapable of brushing their own teeth. I know, for super creatures like us this is a strange state of affairs but there you have it. We need a human to do the brushing for us, unfortunately.

“What do you prefer?” asked Odelia. She was holding up two dangerous-looking devices. “Manual or electric?”

I hesitated. Tough choice.“Um… what’s the difference?”

“Oh, Max, hurry up, will you?” said Harriet. “You’re holding up the line.”

“No, I just want to know what the difference is. How can I be expected to choose between two unknowns?”

“They’re not unknowns,” said Harriet. “One is manual and the other electric. How hard is it to grasp a simple concept?”

“Does it hurt?” asked Dooley. “It looks like it might hurt. Is it painful?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt, Dooley,” said Odelia. “In fact it’s a very pleasant experience, provided you don’t apply too much pressure on the gums.”

“Yes, please don’t apply pressure on my gums,” he said. “My gums are very sensitive. I have very sensitive gums. Like, extremely sensitive.”

“And how would you know?” said Brutus. “Have you ever tried brushing your teeth before?”

“Um, no,” said Dooley as he licked his gums.

“Well, then? Just go ahead and do it already,” said Harriet. “I don’t have all night, you know. I have cats to see, places to visit.”

“Try the electric one,” I said. “That’s probably the most modern, right?”

“Yes, it’s important to be modern,” Dooley agreed. “We’re modern cats so we should have a modern way of brushing our teeth.”

“All right,” said Odelia, and applied a little bit of toothpaste to the toothbrush, then approached me. I automatically recoiled. “Open your mouth, Max,” she said. “Say aaah.”

I said,“Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?”

“Oh, we’ve been through this already,” said Harriet. “Just do it already. Go, go, go!”

I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth a little.

“Wider,” said Odelia. “Wider, Max.”

“How hard can it be to open your mouth, Max?” asked Harriet, who was in one of her moods again.

“Just open as wide as you can,” said Odelia. “That’s it. Now who’s a good boy?”

I don’t like being talked to like a toddler, but I did as I was told and opened my mouth wide.

Now I want to add a minor PSA. Don’t try this at home, folks. Most cats are not as well-behaved and well-trained as we are, and if you try to come anywhere near them with a toothbrush they’ll bite you. And then they’ll scratch you. And when they’re done biting you and scratching you they’ll punch you in the eyeball. And if you use an electric toothbrush they won’t be happy that you’re being ‘modern’ but they’ll bite you even harder, because most cats don’t like mechanical noises. But since this was Odelia, and I still had the recollection of having three teeth pulled by Vena, I was willing to give it a shot.

She lowered the toothbrush to my teeth and applied gentle pressure, then moved it all around.

“It’s not so bad,” I said, though the words probably didn’t come out that clearly.

“What did you say, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I said it’s not so bad!” I repeated.

“I didn’t get that,” said Brutus. “Did you get that, Harriet?”

“Who cares?” said Harriet. “As long as things are zipping along I’m happy. Just do the other side and be done with it, Odelia.”

“Careful now,” said Odelia. “I’m going to try massaging your gums a little.”

Now that was too much.“It tickles!” I giggled, and promptly clamped down on the toothbrush. There was the sound of a crack, and when I opened my mouth again the thing had changed its tune. Instead of the nice humming sound it now produced a high-pitched whine. And then there was that odd smell. Like something burning. Yuck.

“Uh-oh,” said Odelia.

“You broke it!” Harriet cried. “I don’t believe this, Max—you broke the thing!”

“She’s right,” said Odelia, frowning at her electric toothbrush. “You bit down so hard you cracked the plastic.”

“Oops,” I said.

“Oh, well,” said Dooley, suddenly sounding a lot happier. “Maybe next time.”

“Don’t worry, you guys” said Odelia. “I have plenty of other brushes.” And she removed the one I’d broken and snapped another one on top of the device.

“Oh, shoot,” Dooley muttered.

And so began a new chapter in our lives: from that moment on our snappers would always be squeaky clean, and plaque-free—whatever plaque is.

“Plaque is the enemy,” Odelia explained. “We have to fight plaque.”

“Great,” I said as I grimaced. That toothpaste tasted horrible. “Can I go now?”

“Yes, you can,” said Odelia, giving me a pat on the head. “You did good, Max. Next!”

Harriet, of course, was the next one to experience the miracle of the electric toothbrush, and before long she had a toothpaste smile, too.

“Plaque is the enemy,” repeated Dooley reverently when it was his turn.

“That’s right,” said Odelia as she carefully applied brush to teeth and gums.

“And here I always thought dogs were the enemy,” said Brutus. “Just goes to show you’re never too old to learn new stuff.”

Soon all of us had taken a turn on the hot seat and as we smacked our gums and tried very much to get the horrible taste of mint out of our mouths, Odelia put away the brush.

“Tomorrow, same time, same place,” she said, sounding entirely too happy.

One thing I need to have a word with Odelia about, though, is sharing stuff. I mean, when I passed by the bathroom later that night, I saw how Chase was brushing his teeth with the exact same brush Odelia had used on us. Now I know that humans think sharing is caring, but I, for one, would prefer my own dedicated toothbrush. After all, you never know where Chase’s mouth has been, right?

And when he suddenly took the brush out of his mouth and stared at it, muttering something about a weird taste, then smelled it and grimaced, I could tell he was of the same opinion.

Chapter 25

The next morning, bright and early, Odelia decided to drop by Courtyard Living, the landscaping company Boyd Baker used to work for. She’d discovered it was still in business, though now it probably belonged to the next generation of owners, or an entirely new one.

Courtyard Living was located in an old warehouse, where now a dozen small businesses were housed. She parked her car in the parking lot and got out. The warehouse used to be part of a candy factory, which had moved to another part of town fifteen years ago. She looked around. Someone was putting a display stand outside and carrying clay sculptures to place on top of it, and a wholesale clothes store was opening its doors, welcoming their first customers. It all looked very industrial chic and she liked it. Giving a new purpose to old factory buildings was a good thing. Better than to allow them to run down. She set foot for the landscaping place and as she walked in, several men dressed in green coveralls walked out, carrying gardening tools.

Once inside, she went in search of the owner, according to the website one Amabel Margarit. She found her in a cluttered office, her desk a big mess, papers covering every available surface, and a large whiteboard nailed to the wall with the weekly planning.

“Amabel Margarit?” she asked as she knocked politely. “My name is Odelia Poole, and I’m a reporter for theHampton Cove Gazette.”

“Oh, right, come on in. I have it here somewhere,” said Amabel, rooting through the documents on her desk and shoving a snake plant that had seen better days out of the way. “Your boss called me last week and I told him I hadn’t changed my mind—just hadn’t gotten round to it yet. Ah, here it is.” She produced a piece of paper, wiped off a few smudges of dirt, and proudly handed it to Odelia.

She then gave her a pleasant smile. Amabel was a sturdily built young woman, with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses, and looked entirely too young to ever have known any member of the Baker family.

Odelia glanced at the piece of paper. It was the text for an ad in theGazette, along with a picture of a garden, presumably one Courtyard Living had worked on.

“Um, I’m actually not here for this,” she said, “but I’ll take it, of course.”

She looked up to see Amabel handing her a fifty-dollar bill.“Here. That should cover it, right?”

“Thanks. I’m actually looking into the murder of a man who used to work for you.”

Amabel did a double take and placed her hands to her chest.“Oh, my god. Who?”

“His name is Boyd Baker, and he died fifty-five years ago. But at the time he worked for this company.”

“Fifty-five years,” said the woman, adjusting her glasses. “I’m twenty-eight, Miss Poole.”

“I know. I just hoped you could point me in the right direction. Names of people he worked with, maybe. Addresses. Something.”

The young woman nodded. She darted a glance to a filing cabinet in a corner of the office. It was one of those old-fashioned sturdy metal things, that make a pleasant clunking sound when you slam the drawer home. She crouched down and opened the bottom drawer.“Now let me have a look-see. I took over Courtyard Living from my dad, who took over from his dad.”

“I’d hoped as much,” said Odelia gratefully.

“And any old personnel files my dad and granddad had, they kept in here. These days I keep everything in the computer, but if the old archive is still intact… Yes. Here we go. Boyd Baker.” She took out the file as Odelia’s heart made a little leap of excitement. She placed it on top of her desk and studied it for a moment. “So what do you want to know?”

“I’d like to know about his colleagues. Maybe some of them are still around.”

“Fifty-five years…” She studied a pink card, covered in near illegible writing.

“His daughter told me he and his colleagues used to hang out at a bar after work. The Rusty Beaver? It’s a flower shop now.”

“Yeah, that name rings a bell. Our workers changed venues since the olden days, though. Now they hang out at the Brimming Beaker, which is just around the corner.”

“Could I take a quick peek at Mr. Baker’s personnel file?”

“Oh, sure. Be my guest,” said Amabel, and handed her the file folder.

Odelia took a seat on the only chair that wasn’t covered with objects, and leafed through the contents of the folder. There wasn’t much of great significance there, as she’d feared. Boyd had started to work for Courtyard Living when he was eighteen, and had been an okay worker. And then, as she flipped a file that contained information about his paycheck, a scribbled note fell out. She picked it up and saw that it was some form of job assessment. In capital letters the words POLICE INTERVIEW had been written. It also contained a summary of the interview. Apparently Boyd had been accused by one of the company’s customers of absconding with valuables belonging to the family where he’d done a job. And whoever had written these notes had added GET RID OF HIM? and underlined it three times.

She looked up.“Who is Mrs. Clifford?” she asked. “Aurelia Clifford?”

“The Cliffords were important clients of my grandfather and my dad, too,” said Amabel, looking up from her computer. “Um, they used to live in one of those big mansions out on what is now called the Billionaire Mile. I don’t think they still live there, though. Mrs. Clifford died many yearsago, and her family got rid of the mansion.”

Odelia studied the document a little longer, then tapped it with her index finger.“Any idea how I can get in touch with Mrs. Clifford’s relatives?”

Chapter 26

Even though we’d struck out the first time, Dooley and I were once again on our way to the macaw, in a second attempt to make her talk. And I mean this in the most benign way possible, of course.

“I can’t believe Harriet and Brutus negotiated the mice retreat,” I said as we walked along and soon found ourselves on familiar ground once more.

“Yeah, they did a great job,” said Dooley.

“No, but I mean, it should have been us, Dooley, to create such a heroic moment, not Harriet and Brutus.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because we’re the heroes.”

“We are? I didn’t even know this.”

“Haven’t you noticed how we always come up with the missing clue, that oh-so-important piece of evidence that nails the perpetrator? Or how we are the ones to save Odelia from harm?”

“I hadn’t noticed, actually,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “I always thought we did this together. As a foursome, I mean. That it didn’t matter who got the credit.”

“Well, if you look at it that way…” Now I felt like a cad, of course. An egotistical cad. But Dooley was right. It didn’t matter who got the credit, as long as whatever we were working on got resolved, whether it be chasing a colony of mice from the basement, or solving an old crime.

“I think Harriet and Brutus are very clever,” said Dooley, rubbing it in some more.

“I think so, too,” I said. “But are they clever enough?”

He gave me a strange look.“Max? You’re acting a little weird.”

I licked my lips.“It’s because I don’t feel I’ve done anything substantial on this case. We talked to one witness, and struck out, we didn’t chase away the mice, and I can’t even fit through the pet flap.”

He smiled.“This is about the pet flap, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is,” I said with a sigh.

“You’ll fit through the pet flap again, Max,” he promised. “Just keep doing your daily exercises and before you know it you won’t get stuck when you try to come and go.”

His words warmed my heart. It was exactly what I needed to hear.“Thanks, Dooley,” I said. “You’re a true friend.”

“And so are Harriet and Brutus,” he reminded me, “and it doesn’t matter who solves what crime, or who finds what clue. We’re all in this together, Max, as a family. A team.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, a little shame-faced. Sometimes Dooley surprises me with his wisdom. And it’s in moments like this that I am reminded that we should never judge a book by its cover. Dooley’s cover might not be all that much to look at, but he has a big heart, and a keen intelligence when he decides to use it, and that’s what matters.

We’d arrived in Morley Street, and we both took a deep breath.

“This is it, Dooley,” I said. “We need to extract a confession now, you understand?”

“No, Max,” he said. “We just need to have a chat with a friend, and if she tells us something important, great. And if not, also fine.”

Damn, I thought as I stared at my friend. Who’d abducted Dooley and replaced him with Tony Robbins?

We moved between the houses and into the backyard and arrived at the same verandah we’d visited the day before.

Camilla was perched on the same spot, and when she saw us poking our heads through the window, she shouted,“Stranger danger! Stranger danger!”

“Hey, that’s what I’m supposed to say,” said Dooley.

“We’re not strangers,” I told the parrot. “We were here yesterday, remember?”

“Yes, we come in peace, good bird,” said Dooley. “We’re kindred spirits, all creatures of the Lord, and we wish you no harm whatsoever.”

The bird eyed us with its head cocked to one side, but at least she’d stopped mimicking a fire alarm.

“Remember we asked you about a skeleton buried in the wall of our basement?” I said. “Well, we know his name now. Boyd Baker. And we also know when he died and how.”

“Someone knocked him on the head and he didn’t recover,” said Dooley. “So they must have hit him pretty hard, and then they decided to bury him in the wall.”

“This happened fifty-five years ago,” I said. “So does that ring any bells? Any stories you might have heard about this guy?”

“Anything you can tell us will help us a great deal,” said Dooley. “We want to bring the murderer to justice, because that is what we do.”

“Yeah, well, the killer will probably be dead by now, but the relatives want closure,” I said. “His son and daughter are still alive, and they’ve wondered all these years what happened to their dad.”

Camilla was silent for a moment, then she spoke, and this time it wasn’t to address Alexa and ask her how dangerous cats were. “I remember the Bakers,” she said. “We used to live just down the street, and the Baker kids used to play with my family’s kids.”

“What was your family called?” I asked, wanting to get all the deets before she lapsed into silence again or, worse, turned foghorn on us.

“The Haddocks,” she said. “This is a long time ago. I was a young macaw then, and had only just arrived in town. But the Haddocks treated me well, and even allowed me to fly around the house. The kids especially were very affectionate, and used to talk up a storm, asking me all kinds of questions. I loved it. I still see them from time to time, even though they gave me to their niece—my current human,” she explained.

“Oh, so you don’t live with these Haddocks anymore?”

“No, I don’t. The kids grew up, and Mr. and Mrs. Haddock moved into an apartment and unfortunately couldn’t keep me. And since the kids all live on the other side of the country, and one even overseas, they decided to give me to Laura Haddock. A wonderful person,” she said warmly, “and I couldn’t be happier.”

“That’s great,” I said, genuinely happy for the parrot. “So… about Boyd Baker?”

“Boyd Baker was a horrible person. He used to yell at his wife all the time. Screaming and shouting. Flaming rows. There was even a rumor he was an alcoholic and came home reeking of liquor most nights.”

“Is that a fact?” I said, giving Dooley a knowing look. “Rita Baker told our human that her father was a warm and loving man, and that her childhood was a happy one.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Camilla. “All I know is that those were the stories I heard. And the number of times the police had to come and intervene were numerous.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “So not such a happy home after all.”

“No, not a happy home at all,” the macaw said. “Or at least not in my recollection. Of course we all remember things differently, and you can’t always believe everything you hear. Take the Haddocks for instance. Rumor had it Mr. Haddock liked to play with toy trains. But that wasn’t true at all. He didn’t even collect trains. What he did like were toy soldiers. You see? Toy soldiers, truth. Toy trains. Lie. Very easy to believe in the lie and dismiss the truth.”

“Yes, well, I don’t think there’s such a big difference between toy soldiers and toy trains, though,” I said.

The bird’s eyes went wide. “Are you kidding me? There’s a world of difference, and you wouldn’t believe the number of times I intervened on Mr. Haddock’s behalf and told the pets in our neighborhood the truth. But do you think they believed me? Of course not. Kept spreading foul lies. Especially the cats, of course, because cats are vicious.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “That’s where you’re mistaken. Cats are not vicious. In fact only last night a dear friend of ours negotiated a truce with an entire colony of mice and managed to get them to evacuate the premises, all without a single hair on their heads harmed. So don’t you go spreading foul lies about cats, you hear?”

The bird was gloating, I could tell, but I couldn’t stop. It’s tough to have to listen to a bunch of lies.

“See?” she finally said. “I say one little thing and immediately you fly off the handle.”

“I was just trying to set the record straight.”

“And I was merely pointing out a few hard truths about your species and—”

“No, you weren’t. You were spreading falsehoods, and I, for one—”

“You can’t handle the truth, cat!” suddenly the parrot shouted, and both Dooley and I were taken aback for a moment.

“Now look who’s the violent one,” I said.

“Oh, don’t talk to me about violence,” said the bird. “Violence is having your wings clipped just because some vet was given bad information at the university.”

“Trouble with your vet, huh?” I said. “Trust me, I’ve been there. Do you know that last time I went to the vet she pulled three teeth? Three teeth!”

“Oh, three teeth is nothing,” said the macaw, and lifted her wing then parted her feathers. “See those scars? That’s where she stabbed me with a needle the other day. Allegedly so she could administer a vaccine, but we know better, don’t we?”

“Oh, yes, we do. This vet kept poking me with so many needles I thought for a moment she’d mistaken me for a pincushion!”

The bird laughed heartily.“What’s the name of your vet?”

“Vena Aleman.”

“Mine, too!”

She stared at me, a smile on her face.“Well, maybe you were right. Maybe not all cats are vicious.”

“It’s the vets that are the vicious ones,” I said.

“Too true,” she said, and flew over to where we were sitting, and held up one foot. “Put it there, pals.”

So I high-fived her, and so did Dooley.

“You should drop by more often,” she said. “It’s nice to shoot the breeze like this.”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Next time we find the dead body of one of your old neighbors in the basement we’ll be sure to tell you all about it.”

She laughed, and so did Dooley and myself. And when moments later the bird’s owner walked in, and saw her macaw fraternizing with no less than two cats, she yelled up such a storm I thought for a moment she had macaw blood herself.

Chapter 27

When Odelia entered the garage of Courtyard Living, she noticed that an older man who’d been sweeping the floor suddenly put down his broom and started walking away.

“Mr. Crocket?” she called out, her voice echoing in the large space. A flatbed truck used for gardening purposes stood parked in one of the garage bays, and large pallets stacked with bags of manure and mulch lined the far wall.

The man, if he’d heard her, didn’t heed the call. Instead, he moved even quicker.

“Mr. Paddy Crocket!” she shouted, and broke into a jog. “Can I have a word with you please, sir?”

“Leave me alone!” the man growled, and had almost reached the large garage doors when he was momentarily waylaid by a truck entering the garage. It was all Odelia needed. By the time the truck had rumbled past, she’d already caught up with him.

“Hello, Mr. Crocket,” she said. “My name is Odelia Poole and—”

“I know who you are,” said the man. “I overheard you talking to the boss just now.”

She wondered how he’d managed that, but then remembered hearing a noise when she’d been talking to Amabel. It must have the man’s silent footfall.

“I just want a quick word with you about Boyd Baker,” she said as she fell into step beside him. “Amabel told me you’ve worked here the longest, and that you may remember Mr. Baker.”

He had a distinct stoop, a ratty white beard, and a pockmarked face with shifty eyes but he was still pretty sprightly, trying to get away from her as fast as he could.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he said.

“I just need some information about Mr. Baker. Did you know his body was found buried in my parents’ basement yesterday?”

“Of course. I read your articles, Miss Poole. It was all over the garage this morning.”

“Well, then you will also know that his relatives would very much like to know what exactly happened to Mr. Baker. All this time they thought he’d run out on them, while in fact he was right underneath their feet.”

The man gave her a quick sideways glance.“Don’t print my name in that newspaper of yours, Miss Poole. I don’t want any trouble, you hear?”

“I won’t print a word you tell me, or your name. Everything off the record.”

He halted in his tracks.“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He nodded curtly.“I remember Boyd. Nasty temper.”

“Nasty? What do you mean?”

“I mean the man was a drunk and a bully. And a thief and a liar, if I’m going to spill my guts and spill it properly. He was involved in some kind of gang.”

“A gang?” She remembered her grandmother’s words about the kind of rumors swirling around about Boyd Baker. Gran had told Mom things used to disappear each time Boyd was on a job, and his personnel file seemed to confirm this.

“They stole stuff. Valuable stuff. Every time a member of that crew had a job at some place, stuff would mysteriously disappear, and a couple days later Boyd and the others would suddenly show up with a brand-new car, or some fancy new clothes or an expensive watch. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, Miss Poole.”

“I saw in his personnel file that the police came here to talk to him.”

“I remember. They figured he was the ringleader, but I don’t think so. I think the real ringleader was Earl Paxton.”

“Earl Paxton,” she said as she jotted down the name.

“I wouldn’t bother looking for him. He died a long time ago. After he was fired.”

“And Boyd was part of his crew, you say?”

“Oh, yes, he was. Thick as thieves with Paxton, Boyd was. They used to hang out at the Rusty Beaver every night, talking big, and spending money like water. Back then the cops weren’t as sophisticated as they are now, and it took them a while to catch on. But once they did, Paxton was arrested,and then Boyd suddenly disappeared.”

“He was found with a diamond brooch on his person,” said Odelia, and showed the older man a picture of the brooch.

He tapped it and smiled, showing a nice set of gleaming white dentures.“This is the kind of stuff they used to steal. Made a small fortune, too.”

“And you were never involved?” she asked, quasi casually.

“No, I wasn’t. I was too young and too fresh. They only trusted the people who’d worked here a while, and they didn’t trust no outsiders. In fact when I said something about these accusations and rumors once, Boyd actually cut me.” He stripped up his coverall sleeve and showed Odelia a tiny white stripe. “See? That’s where he cut me. Happened fifty-something years ago but I remember it like it was yesterday. No, Miss Poole. Boyd Baker was a bad man, and if he was murdered he got exactly what he deserved.”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Chase had been going through the archives and gradually getting more and more covered in dust and spider webs. He cursed the genius who’d scrapped the budget to transfer all of these old files to digital format. So far he hadn’t found anything useful, but he had a hunch, and over the years he’d learned better than to ignore those hunches of his.

There was more to this Boyd Baker case than met the eye, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Dolores had asked him if he’d have put in so much effort if the body hadn’t been found in what practically amounted to his own basement, and he’d told her that didn’t matter one bit. A crime had been committed, however long ago, and justice needed to be served.

And then when she’d asked him if he’d have dug so deep if the body had dated back to the eighteen-hundreds, he’d told her there was no statute of limitations on murder, though he had to admit he might balk at investigating a crime that happened over a century ago.

But somehow, for some reason, this case intrigued him. A nice family guy like Boyd Baker, with a loving wife and two kids, cut down in his prime and suffering the indignation of being buried in his own basement. It just wasn’t right, and he needed to find out how he’d died, and by whose hand.

And he’d been wiping a tickling dust bunny from his nose when suddenly he struck gold. Or at least a report on Boyd Baker.

“Bingo,” he said as he read through the report. It wasn’t what he’d expected, though. All he’d wanted to find was the report on the man’s disappearance and maybe the cop who’d handled the case at the time. If he or she were still alive he could have talked to them, asked if they’d had any leads back then. But instead he found a report filedagainst Boyd Baker. By the family of a Mrs. Clifford. For the theft of a brooch…

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Odelia arrived at the offices of Mr. Clifford and announced herself to the receptionist. The young woman, though irked that Odelia hadn’t had the foresight to make an appointment, still showed the kindness to talk to her boss and ask him if he could award a brief moment of his valuable time to a Miss Poole, journalist.

“About…” she said as she placed her hand on the receiver.

“Boyd Baker and Aurelia Clifford’s brooch. He’ll probably know what this is about,” she added when the woman knitted her brows questioningly.

Five minutes later she was led into the office of Nate Clifford and offered the choice between coffee, tea or water. She picked coffee, and took a seat at the man’s desk.

“I’m a little puzzled, I have to confess, Miss Poole,” said Nate Clifford, who was a well-dressed man in his mid-thirties, wearing a power suit and a stylish haircut that must have set him back a considerable amount of money.

From what she’d been able to glean on the internet, Nate now ran the Clifford family trust, though what exactly this entailed was a little opaque. He seemed rich enough, so he probably either did a very good job, or received a very handsome fee for his services.

“I don’t know if you know this, but Mrs. Aurelia Clifford filed a complaint against a Mr. Boyd Baker fifty-five years ago. For the theft of a brooch. Yesterday Mr. Baker was found immured in my parents’ basement, and this brooch was found on his remains.” She slid her phone across the desk and Nate leaned in to take a gander.

He frowned.“That’s it,” he said. “That’s my great-grandmama’s brooch. See the inscription? AC/34? The AC stands for Aurelia Clifford and the 34 is the code given to this particular brooch. The Clifford family have always codified their items of value, so they could keep track—for insurance purposes. I’ll be damned. And where did you find this, you say?”

Odelia told Nate the story of the missing Mr. Baker, and the police report that had been filed against him for stealing Mrs. Clifford’s brooch. All this over half a century ago.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Nate repeated, mussing up his nicely coiffed and gelled hair. “Do you know how much this brooch is worth, Miss Poole? Do you have any idea?”

“Um, I’m guessing a lot?”

“Try a hundred thousand,” he said. “But actually it’s priceless. This is a family heirloom. My great-grandmother received it as a gift from the Russian czar—they still had czars in Russia back then—and the idea was to bequeath it to her daughter, my grandmother, who loved the brooch and its history. But then one day it went poof.”

“Do you know the story of its disappearance?” asked Odelia.

“Well, my great-grandmother died when I was a baby, but my grandmother talked about the brooch, for sure, and my parents. Apparently they’d hired a local landscaping company to spruce up the grounds, and when the job was done, the brooch was gone, too. Great-grandmama Aurelia always suspected the gardeners, and filed a complaint with the police. But of course nothing was ever found.”

“So there’s no question.”

“None. This is the stolen brooch. Where is it now?”

“At the county medical examiner’s office in Hauppauge,” said Odelia.

“I’ll get on the phone right away. This is a miracle, Miss Poole.”

“It still doesn’t explain how Mr. Baker got bricked up in my parents’ basement, though,” she said, “or how he got his head bashed in right before his immurement.”

Nate smiled.“Well, I guess it’s your job to find out, isn’t it?”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

As Odelia walked out of the offices of the Clifford Family Trust, she almost bumped into Chase. They both laughed as he steadied her with a firm hand.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said.

“Looks like you’re on the same track I am,” she said.

“I guess so.” He took out his phone. “Look what I found.” He showed her the official complaint Mrs. Clifford had made against Boyd Baker. “See the date?” he asked.

“Three days before he disappeared. Can’t be a coincidence.”

“No, it can’t. What did Nate Clifford say?”

“He recognized the brooch. Positively identified it as belonging to his late great-grandmother and as the one that was stolen from her mansion fifty-five years ago.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

“That’s what Nate said.”

Chase raked his fingers through his long mane.“Do you think the old lady had something to do with the murder?”

“I doubt it. People like Aurelia Clifford don’t go around bashing people’s heads in. Besides, Boyd Baker was a large man, and she was old and frail. I think we can rule her out.”

“A family member, maybe? Servant?”

“People like the Cliffords don’t go around killing people.”

“People like the Cliffords hire people who go around killing people.”

“I don’t know. I think what may have happened is that Boyd decided he didn’t want to share the loot. I talked to Paddy Crocket, who worked for Courtyard Living, the landscaping company, when Boyd was there. He vividly remembers Boyd, and says he was a bully and a violent man, and part of a gang of workers who targeted the rich owners who hired Courtyard Living to maintain their gardens and grounds. The leader of the gang was a man called Earl Paxton. Now it’s not that hard to imagine that Paxton and Boyd got into a fight over the brooch and Paxton got violent and bashed his associate’s head in. And then, when he realized what he’d done, and knowing Mrs. Baker and the kids could arrive any moment, he buried Boyd in the most convenient place: the basement, and effectively wiped out the traces of his crime.”

“It’s a theory,” Chase admitted. “Though I have to admit a very plausible one.”

“Did my uncle have any luck with his part of the investigation?” she asked.

“What part of the investigation? He dumped the whole thing on my neck. Too busy writing enough traffic tickets to please the new mayor. Did you know we have quotas now? We need to write enough tickets or else we’ll be demoted? Crazy politicians.”

And as Odelia walked back to her car, and Chase entered the building, she saw she’d received a text from her mom.

‘Cats are back from their visit to the parrot. Boyd Baker was not a nice person.’

Great. She’d already surmised as much herself, but it was always nice to get confirmation from an unsuspected source: the neighborhood parrot.

Chapter 28

Marge was at the library, extolling the virtues of the new John Grisham to one of her most loyal customers, when suddenly she remembered the diary she’d found the night before. It was probably nothing, but it could also be something. And hadn’t close association with her daughter taught her to leave no stone unturned when investigating a crime?

So she dug through her purse and took out the mysterious diary. It was locked and she didn’t have the key, but that wasn’t going to stop her. Like a regular sleuth she took a penknife from the library kitchen and dug it into the lock, twisting until the clasp clicked open.

She felt ridiculously happy with herself and grinned like a kid. She was her brother’s sister, after all, and her daughter’s mother, though she didn’t know if sleuthing talent traveled up and sideways and not down. She didn’t care. She was going to make her own, however modest, contribution to the investigation. She flipped open the diary and frowned as she read the childish hand on the first page. The diary belonged to Rita Baker, twelve, and was filled with hearts and flowers and even pictures the girl must have cut out of the newspaper or magazines of that time. There was even a picture of James Dean, under which she’d written the words ‘World’s Biggest Dreamboat.’

Yeah, well, James had been a dreamboat, of course, thought Marge with a smile. She leafed through the diary, which was filled with the typical reflections of a twelve-year-old, about boys and her friends, and the teachers at school, the ones she hated and the ones she liked because they were generous with their grades. And then, suddenly, she discovered two pages that had been glued together. She stuck her trusty knife between the pages and carefully pried them loose. Time spent inside the musty basement had done its work and the pages soon became unstuck.

She frowned as she read the entry on the page—only a single paragraph but written in a very small but neat hand. She walked back to her desk and picked up her reading glasses. And as she read the entry twelve-year-old Rita Baker had written, an inadvertent gasp of shock escaped her, and then the diary was falling to the floor.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

It didn’t take us long to return from our errand, and when I saw that pet flap, I gritted my teeth.

“You can do it, Max,” said Dooley. “You’ve been walking for miles. You lost ten pounds at least.”

“At least,” I agreed. All that walking to Morley Street and back must have sliced a couple of millimeters off my midsection. But was it enough to fit through that darn flap?

We would soon find out, for I was determined to win the fight with that recalcitrant flap.

“Maybe you should take a running leap,” a voice spoke behind me. It belonged to Brutus, and he was dead serious. “If you hit that thing with speed, you won’t get stuck,” he reasoned.

“Good tip, Brutus,” I said. “And one I’m going to put into action right now.”

“Maybe you should put some saliva on your fur,” spoke another voice. It was Harriet, and she, too, had come to watch my near-Olympian attempt.

“Saliva?” I asked.

“Yeah, grease yourself up a little. Besides, if your fur is flattened against your skin it won’t take up so much space.”

“Duly noted,” I said appreciatively. “All great ideas.”

“See, Max?” said Dooley. “We need to work together as a team. As a family. As a band of brothers and sisters.”

“Yes, Dooley,” I said. “I get the message. And I’m very happy that you’ve all decided to bear witness to my attempt to beat the flap. But if you could please turn your backs to me now? I’m getting nervous from all the attention.”

“You don’t have to be nervous, Max,” said Harriet. “We all want you to succeed. Isn’t that right, you guys?”

Brutus and Dooley nodded seriously.“We’re with you, buddy,” said Brutus. “Wherever you go, we go, and if you want us to apply some of our own saliva to grease up that pudgy midsection, I will gladly make the donation.”

This seemed a little too much, and I said so. I didn’t need the saliva of all my friends on my precious bod. “I’ve got this,” I said, as I gave a few tentative licks to my tummy.

“More, Max,” said Harriet. “You can’t sell yourself short now.”

“Yeah, a lot more,” Brutus agreed. “You need to really get in there and slather it on. Like the gladiators used to do.”

“Did the gladiators use saliva before their fights?” asked Dooley, intrigued.

“Well, not saliva, maybe. They rubbed oil on themselves, so other gladiators couldn’t catch them. Oil makes you slippery, see, and then it’s a lot harder to get caught.”

“Maybe you should use oil, Max,” Dooley said now.

“Or some other form of lubricant,” Harriet added. “I hear duck fat is good.”

“I’m not going to put duck fat on myself,” I said, starting to get a little indignant.

“Just saying, Max,” said Harriet. “If you want this, you have to do whatever it takes.”

I stared at her. She was right. If I was going to do this, I needed to go all the way.“Okay,” I said. “So where is this duck fat?”

My three friends all started chattering amongst themselves about where they could procure duck fat on such short notice, and finally Harriet had the solution.“I don’t think Odelia stocks duck fat, but there’s a tub of motor oil in the garden shed. I saw it there myself. Chase uses it to grease up the lawnmower, but I’ll bet it’ll do the trick just fine.”

“Guck,” I said, closing my eyes. But I’d told my friends I was fully on board with this endeavor, and I wasn’t going to back out now, or show them I was a pussy, which of course I was, and not just in the literal sense either.

So we moved to the garden shed and walked in. And as Harriet had indicated, there was a nice big tub of motor oil waiting for me to apply a liberal helping to my corpus.

“Do you want us to do it?” asked Brutus. “Cause we will, isn’t that right, you guys?”

“Of course,” said Harriet, though she glanced at the black motor oil with a horrified expression. Her nice white paw would no longer be as pristinely white as it was now.

“I’ll do it,” said Dooley. “I’m gray, so no one will notice a few smudges.”

“No, I should do it,” said Brutus. “I’m black, so it will blend right in.”

“I’ll do it myself, thank you very much,” I said, and after a short hesitation in which I had to overcome a certain hesitation, I stuck my paw into the black slurry and applied a nice helping to my blorange coat. It looked horrible, and it smelled even worse, but I had the support of my friends, so what could possibly go wrong?

“More,” said Harriet when I paused after the first pawful. “You need to rub this stuff on your entire torso, Max, or it won’t work.”

I grimaced as I applied more of the gunk on my gorgeous fur. Yuck. But finally I was done, and wiped my paws on a patch of grass outside the garden shed. Then, accompanied by my friends, I walked back to the house. I stood there, poised and ready like an Olympian, as I stared down that flap.

“You’re mine,” I growled, psyching myself up. “I’m going to take you down, you flap.”

And then I planted my paws firmly on the ground and took a running leap and then I was zooming—flying!—towards that pet flap like a chunky cruise missile.

And as I zipped in and zipped through, suddenly my progress was abruptly halted.

Yep. I was stuck again.

I had fought the flap and the flap had won.

Chapter 29

When the doorbell jangled and Rita Baker saw Odelia Poole’s face on her intercom, along with those of Detective Kingsley and Chief Lip, she knew this wasn’t a social call.

For a moment, her heart sank, but then she decided to buck up and not postpone the inevitable. So she pressed the buzzer and opened the door.

Moments later, Odelia, Chase and the Chief walked into her modest but nicely furnished apartment. Odelia was the first to speak.“Rita, something has come to our attention so we decided to have a little chat, if that’s all right with you.”

She was friendly, Rita had to admit, and even the two cops were eyeing her with something akin to compassion, something that wasn’t what she’d experienced before. It all brought her back to those stirring events fifty-five years ago, when her dad had gone missing, and the police had also dropped by. They hadn’t been friendly then, practically accusing him of running off with the proceeds of the loot he stole from that woman.

She took a seat and invited the trio to join her.“Tea?” she asked, her voice slightly tremulous, but Odelia shook her head, then placed an object on the coffee table that she hadn’t set eyes on since the night her dad had disappeared.

“Do you recognize this?” asked Odelia, who was taking the lead.

She nodded, and swallowed away a lump of uneasiness. So they knew.

“Yes, that’s my old diary. Where did you find it?” She’d looked for that thing all over the place, and when she hadn’t been able to find it her mom had vaguely thought she might have thrown it out with the trash.

“It was bricked inside the wall of my mother’s basement, not that far from where your father was bricked in,” said Odelia.

She nodded nervously.“Have you… read it?”

“Yes, we have, especially those glued-together pages.”

She swallowed again.“Isn’t there a law against reading other people’s diaries?”

“I don’t think so,” said Chase. “But there is definitely a law against killing your father and burying him in your basement.”

“I didn’t kill my father,” she said. “None of us did. It was an accident, I swear.”

Odelia had picked up the diary.“My mom found it, and when she told me what you wrote in here I wasn’t even surprised. Your father was not a nice man, was he, Rita?”

“No, he wasn’t. He was horrible, and treated us like crap. Especially my mother.”

“Did he beat her?”

She nodded, as tears trickled down her cheeks.“He almost killed her that night, and when we dragged him off her and he hit the edge of the kitchen table I knew he was dead before he hit the floor.” She straightened. “And you know what? I’m not ashamed to admit it. My dad was a monster, and he deserved exactly what he got. So we thoughtit over, and decided unanimously to make sure his body was never found, and that the brooch he stole disappeared along with him, so people would come to the only logical conclusion: he’d sold the brooch and had run off with the money, never to be seen again. And good riddance, too.”

“You told me you lived a happy life. That you had a warm and loving father. None of that was true, was it?”

“My father was a thief and a bully and a wife beater. He even raised his hand against me and my brother, but at twenty-one I wasn’t prepared to take it anymore, and at sixteen neither was my brother. We made a pact. If he hit Mom one more time, we’d…”

“Kill him?” asked Chase.

“No, not kill him. But we’d make sure he never hit her again. We’d kick him out of the house and make Mom file for divorce, whether she liked it or not. So when Tom dragged him off Mom that night, and I shoved him, the combination of those movements made him hit his head. So basically, if youwant to be accurate about it, we both killed him.”

For a moment, no one spoke, then Odelia said,“I talked to a couple of people who knew your father back then. And they all agreed he was a pretty horrible person. In fact I haven’t met anyone who had a kind word to say about him.”

“We’re returning the brooch to Nate Clifford, by the way,” said Chase. “He’s the great-grandson of Aurelia Clifford, the woman your father stole from.”

“I know,” she said. “I remember the story.”

“You found the brooch on him?” asked Chief Lip.

“We did, but we figured we’d better bury it along with his body. It was the price to be paid for our freedom. For our mother’s freedom.”

“That brooch wasn’t yours to bury, though,” said Chase.

She nodded.“I know. And I’m sorry,” she said softly. “But if you compare the value of that brooch to the value of three lives, I’m not sure the brooch is worth more, are you?”

Odelia smiled.“We’re not here to arrest you, Rita.”

She looked up.“I don’t understand. I just confessed that I killed my father.”

“An accident,” said Chase. “You said it yourself.”

“I think the truth of what happened to Boyd Baker will probably never be fully known,” said Odelia. “Though in the article I’m writing about the case I offer the suggestion that his associates and Boyd had a falling-out, and that they killed him in the struggle that ensued when they came tohis house demanding he share the proceeds of the Clifford brooch sale. They killed him and in a panic buried him, never even going through his pockets and finding the brooch they’d made such a big fuss about.”

She blinked.“You’re not… going to arrest me? Or my brother?”

“No, we’re not,” said the Chief with a kindly smile. “I think you’ve suffered enough, Rita. You and your brother both, and your mother, of course.”

“I think it’s time to bury the dead past,” said Odelia, “and that includes your father. And then you and your brother can finally be free.”

“But… are you sure you can do this? Are you sure this is… legal?”

“We’ve discussed it,” said Odelia.

“We held a family meeting just now,” Chase explained.

“My mom and dad were there, and so was my grandmother, and we all agreed.”

“It may not strictly be lawful,” said the Chief, “but under the circumstances I think it’s the right thing to do. It is certainly in line with what my conscience is telling me to do.”

“It’s time to move on, Rita,” said Odelia. “I know you as a warm, wonderful person, but I also know there’s always been a darkness inside you. The secret you’ve carried all these years has eaten away at you, and now it’s time for you to finally let go and heal.”

As her three visitors got up and filed out of the apartment, she and Odelia hugged for a long time. The moment they were gone, she called her brother, and the first thing she said was,“It’s over, Tom. It’s finally over.”

Epilogue

The Poole family was gathered once again in the Poole backyard, and this time there was even meat on the menu. The Pooles had recently become vegetarians for a brief while, but that hadn’t lasted very long, and now Tex was flipping burgers again, and the sizzling meat spread its intoxicating aroma across the backyard and into the neighboring yards. Next to Marge and Tex live Marcie and Ted Trapper, who’ve been their neighbors since both families bought their respective houses.Marcie waved at us across the hedge, then disappeared into the house, while Ted sat with his feet in the tiny pool he’d installed a couple of summers ago. It was more a birdbath than a pool, but he didn’t care.

“So that’s it?” asked Gran. “The case is officially closed?”

“Yes, the investigation has been concluded,” said Odelia. “And the conclusion is that we’ll probably never know what happened to Boyd Baker, as all those involved have passed away by now, so crucial witnesses will never be able to tell their story.”

“Some cold cases need to stay cold,” said Uncle Alec as he raised a cold brewski.

“A toast,” said Chase. “To Rita and Tom Baker, and the brave and selfless act they performed to protect their mom. An act that has hung like a shadow over their lives all this time, and now has finally been lifted.”

“So have you decided what to do about the basement?” asked Uncle Alec with a twinkle in his eye.

Gran grumbled something under her breath that didn’t sound very nice, and directed a searing glare at her son-in-law.

“We’re turning it into a rehearsal space for Tex,” said Marge.

“Yeah. We’re going to put in a stage and a music installation,” said Tex with the happy smile of a kid on Easter morning. “And when we have friends over I’ll be able to entertain them without bothering the neighbors.”

“If you didn’t want to bother the neighbors you wouldn’t take up singing,” said Gran.

“So what about the nuclear holocaust?” asked Chase. “Aren’t you going to prepare, Vesta?”

“Oh, I’m done with that nonsense,” said Gran. “I read an article explaining how all this disaster stuff is just a bunch of hooey. Did you know that half the stuff they put on the YouTube or those social media is just a bunch of made-up baloney? Hard to imagine.”

“Yeah, who knew?” said Uncle Alec with a grin.

“A second toast,” said Chase now, as he held up his glass. “To Odelia, who had the courage to convince me and her uncle to drop the investigation into Rita and Tom Baker.”

“It took some convincing,” she said. “But it was worth it.”

“Technically you broke the law,” said Tex. “Didn’t you, Alec?”

“Technically I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Tex.”

“Boyd Baker?”

“I don’t remember no Boyd Baker.”

“The skeleton in the basement?”

“Never happened. And if it did, I’m sure no one is going to insist we drop all of our other work and focus on a fifty-five-year-old murder case.”

“Does that other work include writing up tickets for every traffic violation within the town limits?” asked Tex, who wasn’t happy that he’d recently been fined when he went to visit a patient, in spite of the fact he was a physician and had an MD license plate.

“You’ll have to take that up with the new mayor, Tex.”

“I’m taking it up with you, Alec.”

“Are you trying to make me drop your ticket? That’s against the law, Tex.”

“I’m simply appealing to your sense of fairness, Alec. I have MD license plates.”

“I could be persuaded to think about it, in exchange for another couple of sausages.”

At the mention of the word sausage, all the adults in the backyard turned a little green. And as the conversation turned from murder laws to traffic laws to food safety laws, the four of us were seated on the porch swing and enjoying a lazy evening. Even though it was hot enough for Ted Trapper to sit with his feet in his birdbath, it was getting a little nippier, and soon summer would be over and autumn would roll in. Already it had been raining a lot, and there was a definite chill in the air.

“So how many pounds have you lost, Max?” asked Brutus now.

“Three, which is just enough to allow me free passage through the pet flap.”

They all cheered for me, which frankly felt good. After my debacle with the motor oil, and Odelia having to use paper towels to get that junk off of me, I’d decided to get serious about my diet. So I’d been eating less, and I’d been taking regular walks around the block, and it had paid off. I was now slimmer than ever before, and I felt better, too.

“So how do you feel about this decision to let the Bakers off the hook?” asked Brutus.

“I think they did the right thing. It was an accident, and I don’t think Rita and Tom should be punished for what were, in a sense, the crimes of their father.”

“I think he’s right,” Harriet agreed. “And I, for one, think that Uncle Alec definitely made the right call.”

“I agree,” said Brutus.

Dooley was the only one who hadn’t spoken. “So what do you think, Dooley?” asked Harriet.

“I’m not so sure,” he said, much to my surprise. “I think Uncle Alec is making a big mistake. He should arrest Rita and Tom and punish them to the fullest extent of the law.”

“Dooley?” I asked. “Are you feeling all right?”

My friend had a strange glint in his eyes.“Oh, I’m fine, Max. Absolutely fine.” When we all stared at him, he suddenly burst into a giggle. “You should see your faces!”

“Is this supposed to be a joke?” asked Harriet.

“Yes, it is!” he cried, still giggling.

“Well, it’s not funny.”

His face fell.“Not funny?”

“Not funny at all.”

“But… the documentary I saw on the Discovery Channel on stand-up comedy said that the trick to humor is to shock your audience. And hit them with your punchline.”

“Whoever made that documentary obviously doesn’t know the first thing about comedy,” said Harriet, shaking her head.

“Not a clue,” Brutus agreed.

“But, you guys! Gran asked me to be Tex’s opening act once he launches his basement rehearsal space. She said I’m the best way to warm up the crowd for her son-in-law.”

“Does Tex know about this?” I asked.

“No, Gran told me not to mention it to anyone. She wants to surprise him.”

“Oh, he’ll be surprised,” said Harriet, and now she actuallywas laughing.

“Listen. I’ve prepared a couple of jokes,” said Dooley, wetting his lips. “Um… a giraffe, a penguin and an elephant walk into a bar. Says the elephant to the giraffe, ‘So how is the view from up there?’ ‘I guess not as good as the view from down there,’ says the giraffe, and plucks the penguin from beneath his tush.”

We were all silent, then I said, and I think I spoke for everyone,“Dooley, please don’t become a comedian.”

But Dooley wasn’t going to be deterred. “I have to. For Tex. So how about this one? A priest, a nun and a basketball player walk into a bar. Asks the nun of the basketball player, ‘How high do I have to jump to become a professional like you?’”

We all waited expectantly, but when nothing more seemed forthcoming, I asked,“So? What’s the punchline?”

“I’m still working on it,” said Dooley. “But how do you like it so far? Funny, right?”

We all groaned, and would have given Dooley a more thorough criticism if not suddenly the sound of our neighbor Marcie Trapper screaming caught our attention. And as I pricked up my ears, I could clearly hear the sound of four hundred mice clamoring.

Apparently Molly and Rupert had simply moved their colony into the Trappers’ basement.

When we all looked to Harriet, now our official mouse whisperer, she cried,“No way! I did it once but I’m not doing it again!”

Marcie kept on screaming, and soon the Pooles had all passed through the little gate in the hedge and were moving into the house next door, along with Ted, wet feet and all.

“Don’t you think we should go over there?” asked Brutus. “We are cats, after all. We’re supposed to take care of this mouse issue for our humans.”

“I’m not going anywhere near them,” said Harriet with a shiver. “Those mice are vicious.”

“Oh, listen, you guys, I’ve got another one,” said Dooley. “A mouse, a moose and a macaw walk into a bar.”

“Okay,” I said.

“That’s all I’ve got. Hilarious, right?”

“Yeah, a real hoot, Dooley,” I said.

There’s probably a reason there are no famous cat comedians. We’re not that funny.

Just then, Gran popped her head over the hedge and hissed,“Don’t listen to those party poopers, Dooley. You’re doing great. You’ll have Tex’s buddies rolling in the aisles. They’ll keep coming back for more and more!” And then she disappeared again.

“See?” said Dooley. “Tex will be so happy with his surprise. So what do you call Prika’s dad? Paprika. I can do this all night, so stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”

I think that’s the moment we all yelled, “Stop!”

17. PURRFECT KILL

Prologue

Chickie Hay was shaking her athletic frame to the beat, one eye on the floor-to-ceiling mirror, the other on the big screen where her choreo was being demonstrated by her personal choreographer Tracy Marbella. Chickie’s next tour was coming up and she needed to get in shape, which is why she was working up a sweat practicing her moves and rehearsing the concert playlist until she had the songs and the dance routines down pat.

“Baby, baby,” she sang, the music thumping through the room. She was wearing her usual pink leggings and her favorite pink sweatshirt—the same outfit she always wore when she started rehearsals. They were worn out by now, after years of use, but Chickie had a superstitious streak, and wouldn’t wear anything except her lucky threads.

“Baby, baby, baby,” she sang as she swung her hips and thrust out her arms.

She’d have preferred it if her trusty choreographer had been with her in person, to make those small corrections and improvements that make all the difference, but Tracy hadn’t been able to make it. Doctor’s appointment. No worries, though. Tracy always filmed her choreos and gave her clients plenty to work with.

“Baby, baby, baby, baby…”

Chickie frowned at her image in the mirror. Something wasn’t right and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Tracy would know. The experienced choreographer would only need a glimpse to know what was wrong and immediately correct her. ‘No, Chickie—you need to relax those shoulders. And be light on your feet. Lighter! You look like an elephant stomping across the stage. Snappy movements. Snappy, snappy, snappy!’

And Chickie, even though she sometimes had a hard time following instructions, would do as she was told, because that’s how much faith she put in Tracy’s genius.

The fact of the matter was that she had a lot riding on the new album and the accompanying tour. It was her first one in five years, and already the media were calling it her comeback album. Then again, if you didn’t put out something new every six months, you were already a has-been and ripe for a much-touted comeback.

She was proud of the new album. And felt that it was probably the best thing she’d ever done. She just hoped her fans, her Chickies, would like the new stuff. She’d invited a select few of them to the house the week before for a slumber party, so they could hear the new songs, and they’d loved them. Loved them! One or two had even fainted. Fainting was good. It was a sign she still had what it took to inspire her army of Chickies.

The sound of a pebble hitting the window had her look up in surprise. She walked over and looked out. It took another pebble to direct her attention to a tree whose branches reached the fence. One of her most fanatical Chickies sat in the tree and was throwing rocks at her window. Oh, God. Not that guy again. But instead of indicating her displeasure, she gave him a little pinky wave. You had to keep the superfans happy.

She quickly moved back from the window before this self-declared #SuperChickie heaved a brick through the window and hit her smack in the face. Picking up her phone, she dialed Tyson’s number, the man in charge of her small security crew.

“Yeah, Tyson. Olaf is back. He’s sitting in a tree throwing rocks at my window. Can you get him out of there? Be nice about it—he may be nuts but he’s still a fan. Thanks.”

She shook her head in dismay. It was one thing to have fans but another to have crazies who followed you around wherever you went, trying to get a glimpse of you.

Trying to put the incident out of her mind, she resumed her rehearsal. One-step, two-step, pivot. One-step, two-step, pivot. Ouch. A sudden pain shot through her ankle.

“Oh, hell!” she cried, and threw up her hands. “Now see what you did, Olaf!”

And just as she picked up the phone to set up an appointment with her physiotherapist, the door swung open and she glanced up at the new arrival.

“Oh, hey,” she said. “I think I twisted my ankle again. And it’s all because of that horrible Olaf Poley. Can you believe he’s actually throwing rocks at my window now?”

Suddenly two hands closed around her neck with surprising strength. She tried to fight back but to no avail. And as she started to lose consciousness, she remembered Tracy’s words from their very first session: ‘You need to work on your upper-body strength, missy! Train those noodles you call muscles until they’re strong as iron bands!’

Oh, how she wished now she’d followed Tracy’s advice.

Chapter 1

I woke up from a strange sound.Thump, thump, thump. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. As if some giant hand had grabbed the house and was shaking it all about.

And then I realized what it was.

“Earthquake!” I shouted as loud as I could. “Earthquake!”

And I was up and moving with great alacrity in the direction of the exit. I halted when a small inner voice told me I’d forgotten something. Something critical. I’d totally neglected to make sure my human was awake and responding to my cry of alarm.

So ignoring danger to life and limb, I turned back and checked on Odelia. Imagine my surprise when I saw that only Chase still occupied the bed, the covers pulled all the way up to his ears, blissfully sleeping the sleep of the dead in spite of my urgent plea.

“Earthquake!” I tooted in his ears. “Wake up, Chase—there’s an earthquake!”

And to add credence to my words, I placed my paws on the burly copper and started massaging his mighty chest, not stinting on the odd claw extending from the odd paw.

“Not now, Max,” Chase muttered, then turned to his other side and kept on sleeping.

“But Chase! You have to wake up! There’s an earthquake and if you don’t get up right now the house will fall on top of our heads!”

“That’s nice,” Chase muttered, even though I’m sure he couldn’t possibly have understood what I’d just said. Chase is one of those humans who can’t comprehend cats. Well, I guess most humans fall into that category. Only Odelia, Chase’s girlfriend and my very own personal human, canspeak to me, as well as her mother and grandmother.

My gaze briefly raked the spot where Odelia should have been, and I reached out a tentative paw to touch the sheet. Still warm, so she must have gotten up just now. So why hadn’t she alerted her boyfriend of the impending doom? Or me, for that matter?

And then, as I glanced around some more, I saw that there was one other individual missing from the picture: my best friend Dooley. I wasn’t worried about him, though, as Dooley has the luxury of calling two homes his home, both Odelia’s and her mom’s, and had presumably opted to keep his own human next door company this particular night.

I decided to go in search of Odelia, as she seemed to be the only one who’d be able to rouse Chase from the land of slumber and into full wakefulness.

The loud noise that I’d identified as an earthquake had changed in pitch, and as I hurried out of the bedroom and into the corridor, suddenly I realized my mistake. It wasn’t an earthquake but… music. Loud, thumping music. The kind that humans like to dance to.

Quickly putting two and two together I deduced that Odelia had gotten up early and was using these quiet moments before the dawn to perform some of that aerobics, as she calls it. She dresses up in fluorescent lycra and jumps around in sync with the music, watching other women donning similar attire do the same on her big TV screen.

So I waddled down the stairs, and the moment I arrived in the living room I discovered I’d been right on the money: there, jumping up and down and swinging her arms, was Odelia, dressed in pink, moving along to the beat of some very peculiar music.

And next to her sat Dooley, bobbing his head as if in approval of these proceedings.

I sidled up to him, after giving Odelia a once-over to determine if she was still of sound mind and body or had been bitten by some exotic bug and gone off her rocker. With humans you never know. They act sane and sensible one minute, and nuts the next.

“Have you been up long?” I asked as I hopped onto the couch and joined my friend.

“I woke up when Odelia got out of bed,” said Dooley, who, judging from the way he was still bobbing his head to the beat, seemed to enjoy the extravaganza.

“I thought it was an earthquake,” I intimated. “Until I realized it was Odelia.”

“She’s getting good at this aerobics thing, isn’t she?” said Dooley proudly. “She’s almost as good as those very lively ladies on TV.”

Those lively ladies were kicking their legs so high into the air I winced, afraid something might give and they’d lose a limb or two.

“Yeah, she’s improving with leaps and bounds,” I agreed, though I still wasn’t entirely sure whether the aerobics thing was good for her or detrimental to her health. “Why does she do it, though? I mean, what’s the point of all this jumping and sweating?”

“She wants to get in shape,” said Dooley, regurgitating the party line. Odelia had been talking about getting ‘in’ shape for weeks now, even though as far as I could tell she’d never been ‘out’ of shape. Odelia is a slim-limbed young woman with long blond hair and not an ounce of fat on her entire body. So why she would feel the need to put herself through this ordeal is frankly beyond me. But then I’ve never claimed to be the world’s biggest expert on humans, and the peculiar species keeps confounding me every day.

“Next she’ll want to run a marathon,” I said.

“A marathon?” asked Dooley, as he smiled at the complicated movements Odelia was performing with gusto. “What’s a marathon, Max?”

“It’s where humans run for a really long time, like hours and hours and hours, and then at the end, when they’re almost dead, the first three people get a medal.”

“They run…”

“And run and run and then they run some more.”

“So what are they chasing?”

“Like I said, these medals.”

“Are they edible medals?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are they worth a great deal of money?”

“Well, yes, I guess. There’s usually a gold medal, a silver one and a bronze one.”

“Then that must be the reason. They run so they can get a medal and then sell it and use the money to buy food. Humans don’t do these things without a good reason.”

“Yeah, I guess they don’t.”

“Running just for the heck of it would be crazy.”

“It sure would.”

“Irrational.”

We watched Odelia jump up and down some more, the music making the walls quake.

“So do you think Odelia gets a medal if she gets the routine just right?” asked Dooley.

“I doubt it. There’s no medals in aerobics.”

“Then why does she do it?”

“Um…”

We shared a look of apprehension. It had suddenly dawned on us that our human might be going crazy. Jumping up and down for no good reason at all. Odelia paused, and now clapped her hands, just like the women in the video. She turned to us, panting and wiping sweat from her brow with a towel.“What are you guys talking about?” she asked.

“I was wondering if you’ll get a medal if you get your routine just right,” said Dooley.

Odelia laughed.“Oh, Dooley. No, I won’t get a medal. But I’ll feel really good when those endorphins start flooding my brain, and that’s all the encouragement I need.”

“She’s doing it for the endorphins,” said Dooley, sounding relieved that our human wasn’t crazy. Then he turned to me. “What’s an endorphin, Max? Is it like a dolphin?”

“I think so,” I said. Though why Odelia needed dolphins in her brain I didn’t know.

“Endorphins are hormones,” said Odelia, now bending over and touching the floor with her hands. “When they flood your brain they make you feel happy. That’s why they call them happy hormones. Plus, getting in shape makes my body happy and healthy. And you know what they say.Mens sana in corpore sano. Healthy body, healthy mind.”

“Uh-huh,” I said dubiously. “I thought it was an earthquake. So my body wasn’t happy, and neither was my mind.”

“I’m sorry, Max,” she said. “But if I don’t do this first thing in the morning I never get round to it. Is Chase up yet?”

“Almost. He was talking, but refused to get up when I told them about the earthquake.”

“Best to let him sleep. He got home pretty late last night.”

Chase had gone up to New York the night before, for a reunion with his ex-colleagues from the NYPD, the police force he’d worked for before moving to Hampton Cove.

“Chase should try napping,” said Dooley. “It’s very effective. Uncle Alec could put beds in the office so his officers can nap whenever they feel tired. Cats do it all the time.”

“Great idea, Dooley,” I said. “I love napping.”

“And I’ll bet it’s great for those dolphins, too.”

“I don’t think my uncle will like the idea,” said Odelia with a laugh. “But I’ll tell him.”

“Napping,” said Dooley, “is the secret why cats are so vigorous, vivacious and vital.”

On TV the routine had started up again, and moments later Odelia was jumping around again, the earthquake moving up on the Richter scale. To such an extent that moments later Chase came stomping down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning widely. He stood watching Odelia while she tried to kick and touch the ceiling, then shook his head and moved into the kitchen to start up his precious coffeemaker.

Soon the sounds of Odelia’s aerobics routine mingled nicely with Chase’s baritone voice singing along. And as he rubbed his stubbled jaw and then stretched, a third person entered the fray: it was Marge, Odelia’s mom, and she looked a little frazzled.

Odelia pressed pause on the remote, and stood, hands on knees, panting freely.

“Odelia, honey, I need your help,” said Marge as she took a seat on the couch.

“Sure, anything,” said Odelia, grabbing for her towel again.

“It’s your grandmother.”

Odelia closed her eyes and groaned.“What has she gone and done now?”

“You know how she agreed to sing backing vocals in your father’s band? Well, she’s just announced she’s tired of playing second fiddle and she’s starting a solo career.”

“Of course she has,” said Odelia as she toweled off and sat down next to her mother.

“She wants to be the next Beyonc?,” said Marge.

“Beyonc??” said Odelia with a laugh. “But… Gran can’t even sing.”

“Not to mention she’s old enough to be Beyonc?’s grandmother.”

“Who’s Beyonc??” asked Dooley.

“A famous singer,” I said. “And a very popular one, too.”

“She’s been nagging me to get her a singing coach,” said Marge, “and just now she told me she wants me to find her a manager—one of those power managers that can launch her career straight into the stratosphere, on account of the fact that she doesn’t have time to build it up slowly.”

“And what did you tell her?”

Marge threw up her arms.“That I don’t know the first thing about showbiz or power managers or singing coaches! And that if she wants to be the next Beyonc? maybe she should start by joining a singing competition. They’ll be sure to tell her if she’s any good.”

“Good advice,” said Chase, who was sipping from a cup of coffee and looking a little bleary-eyed. “The best way to knock some sense into your grandmother is to subject her to a nice round of criticism—just as long as it’s not us who provide the criticism I’m sure she’ll take it on thechin and move on to her next foolish whim.”

“I sincerely hope that’s all this is,” said Marge. “With a husband in showbiz, and now an elderly parent, life is starting to get a little too showbizzy to my liking. Not only is Tex expecting me to go to every single one of his performances and cheer him on, soon Mom will expect me to go to all of her performances, too. And here I thought things slowed down once the kids were out of the house. Looks like things are just getting started!”

“Well, trust me, Mom,” said Odelia as she patted her mother’s arm. “I don’t have any plans to go into show business, so there’s that. And I’m sure Gran’s ambitions will be as short-lived as most of her endeavors. I give it a month—tops.”

“Speak of the devil,” Chase muttered through half-closed lips.

Gran had just walked in, looking as sprightly and vivacious as ever.“Odelia!” she cried as she made a beeline for her granddaughter. “You’re up. Good. Look, I need you to be honest with me. Do you think I’ve got what it takes to be the next Beyonc??”

“Um… I don’t know, Gran,” said Odelia, treading carefully.

‘Maybe you can sing something for us?” Chase suggested. “How about Single Ladies?”

Gran eyed Chase strangely.“Single ladies? You don’t have to rub it in, young man. It’s true I’m a single lady right now but it’s not very nice of you to point that out. Very rude.”

“No, that’s the name of the song,” said Chase. “Single Ladies.”

“Never heard of it,” said Gran, still giving Chase a nasty look.

“Okay. So how aboutCrazy in Love?”

“I’m not, but thanks for the suggestion. I’ll sing Beyonc?’s biggest hit, shall I?” She took a deep breath, then placed her hands on her chest and closed her eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me, I think they’re oka-ay,”she bleated in a croaky voice.

“Gran?” said Odelia, interrupting the songbird. “That’s Madonna, not Beyonc?.”

“Shut up and let me sing.Cause we’re li-ving in a material world…”

It sounded a little awful, I thought, and judging from the frozen looks on the faces of all those present I wasn’t alone in my assessment. Finally, Gran finished the song and opened her arms in anticipation of the roaring applause she clearly felt she deserved. When the applause didn’t come, she eyed us with annoyance.

“Well? What do you think?” she snapped.

“Um… not bad,” said Odelia. “Not bad at all. But you know that’s not Beyonc?, right?”

“’Of course it’s Beyonc?. One of the woman’s greatest hits. So how about you, Marge? What do you reckon? Knocked it out of the park, huh? Hit a home run?”

“Um….” said Marge, darting anxious glances at her daughter.

“Blown away,” said Gran with a nod of satisfaction. “That’s what I was going for. Chase?”

“Loved it,” Chase lied smoothly. “Best Beyonc? imitation I’ve ever heard.”

“Perhaps you should put a little more pep in your show, though,” said Marge.

“Oh, you’ll get all the pep you need. I’ve asked Beyonc?’s choreographer to work with me and he graciously accepted. In fact we’re starting rehearsals today.”

“Beyonc?’s choreographer is going to work with you?” asked Odelia.

“Sure. You all know him. My ex-boyfriend Dick Bernstein. He’s worked with Beyonc? for years. Choreographed all of her big shows, here and overseas. I asked him and he immediately said yes. It’s gonna be a smash, you guys. And now if you’ll excuse me—I gotta get ready before Dick arrives.Oh, and Marge? Can you tell Tex I’m not coming in today? My career takes precedence over that silly receptionist business. Toodle-oo!”

And with these words she was off, leaving us all stunned.

Except for Dooley, who was still wondering,“So who’s Beyonc??”

Chapter 2

Odelia was just about to walk into her office, after dutifully informing her father that Gran wouldn’t be coming in today because she needed to launch her career, when a loud honking sound waylaid her. She looked up and saw that her uncle was trying to catch her attention.

Walking over to his squad car, she greeted him with a smile and a chipper,“Hey, Uncle Alec. I was just about to call you about the council’s new fuel emission rules.”

But Alec looked grim. He tapped the side of the door.“Get in, Odelia.”

“Why? What happened?”

“You better sit down for this.”

With a puzzled frown, she got in and slammed the door closed.“What’s going on?”

“Do you know this lady?” he asked, gesturing to the radio, where a song of Chickie Hay was playing.

“Sure. Who doesn’t? She’s only one of the most famous pop stars of the last decade.”

“Well, now she’s one of the most famous dead pop stars of the last decade,” he said with a set look.

Odelia did a double take.“Chickie Hay died?”

“This morning. Her housekeeper found her. Strangled.”

“Strangled!”

Uncle Alec nodded, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.“I called Chase and he’s going to meet us there. I want you on this one, Odelia, cause I have a feeling it’s not going to be one of our easiest cases. And since she is what you just said she is, there’s going to be a lot of scrutiny and a lot of pressure, you understand?”

Odelia nodded, still stunned by the terrible news.“Strangled,” she repeated softly.

“Yeah, what a shame, right? I actually liked her music.”

He stomped on the accelerator and the car peeled away from the curb. Soon they were zooming along the road. Odelia picked out her phone and decided to call her editor first. She had a feeling he wouldn’t mind if she didn’t show up for work, as long as she landed him the big scoop on who the murderer of Chickie Hay could possibly be.

“Maybe pick up your cats?” Uncle Alec suggested. “It’s all paws on deck for this one.”

She nodded as she waited for her call to connect.

Moments later she was back at the house, and she hopped out.“Yeah, hey, Dan. There’s been a murder. Yeah, Chickie Hay. I’m heading over there now with my uncle.” She opened the front door and yelled, “Max, Dooley, Harriet, Brutus! Got a job for you!”

As expected, Dan was over the moon, not exactly the kind of response a feeling fan or loving relative would like to see, but understandable from one who sells papers for a living.

Four cats came tripping into the hallway, all looking up at her expectantly. She crouched down.“There’s been a murder,” she said, without preamble, “and I need your help. Are you up for it?” They all nodded staunchly, and she smiled, doling out pets for her four pets. “Come on, then,” she said. “Uncle Alec is taking us over there now.”

Four cats hopped into the back of the pickup, and then they were mobile again, en route to Chickie Hay’s no doubt humble abode.

The house was located in Hampton Cove itself, and not near the beach as most of these celebrity homes usually were. It wasn’t a manor either, but a house that sat hidden behind a fence atop a modest hill. The only thing indicating this was no ordinary home was the gate you had to pass through. Uncle Alec pressed the intercom with a pudgy finger and held up his badge. The gate swung open and Odelia saw that the drive angled steeply up. Moments later they were surrounded by a perfectly manicured garden, and soon the car crested the hill and the house appeared. It was a large structure, painted a pastel pink and looking modern and cozy at the same time. Chase stood waiting for them, leaning against his pickup, andpushed himself off the hood when he saw them.

“Bad business,” he said, giving Alec a clap on the shoulder and Odelia a quick kiss.

The four cats exited the car, then disappeared from view to do what they did best: interviewing pet witnesses and scoping out the place from their own, unique angle.

“Where is she?” asked Uncle Alec.

“Upstairs,” said Chase, gesturing with his head to a large plate-glass window right over their heads. “She was rehearsing for her upcoming tour when it happened.”

“No one saw anything?”

“I only got here five minutes ago so I figured I’d wait for you guys.”

The woman who greeted them at the door was red-faced and very emotional. Judging from the way she was dressed she was perhaps the housekeeper who’d found Chickie, Odelia thought, and when she asked her the question, the woman nodded affirmatively.

“Yes, I found Miss Hay,” she said. She was short and round, with a kind face and a lot of curly brown hair piled on top of her head. Her name was Hortense Harvey.

“Please show us,” said Uncle Alec, adopting a fatherly tone.

“Did anyone come near the body?” asked Chase. When the woman uttered a quiet sob, he quickly apologized and corrected himself. “Did anyone come near Miss Hay?”

“No, detective. You told me over the phone not to allow anyone in so I locked the door—well, me and Tyson Wanicki, Miss Hay’s bodyguard.”

“Where was Mr. Wanicki when this happened?” asked Odelia.

“You will have to ask him yourself, I’m afraid,” said Hortense. “I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about what happened. I’ve been upstairs in my room crying.”

Odelia decided to postpone the questions for later, when they had a chance to properly sit down with the woman. For now they needed to see what had happened.

Hortense led them up a staircase and into the upstairs hallway, then to the last door on the left, where a large man stood sentry. When they arrived, he nodded. With his bald pate, horn-rimmed glasses and white walrus mustache he looked more like a kindly uncle than a hardened security man. He definitely did not look like Kevin Costner.

The bodyguard answered in the affirmative when Uncle Alec asked if he was Tyson, and stepped aside so the trio could enter the room. It was a large room, one wall consisting of a giant mirror, not unlike the workout rooms in fitness clubs. Speakers were still blaring and on a giant screen a woman was going through some dance moves.

“You told me not to touch a thing so I didn’t touch a thing,” said Tyson. He darted a sad look at the lifeless body in front of the mirror, and a lone tear stole from his eye.

Uncle Alec placed an arm around his broad shoulders.“You better get out of here, Mr. Wanicki. But don’t go too far. We want to have a word with you.”

“Yes, Chief,” said the man deferentially as he swiped at his teary face.

At the door, Hortense still stood, reluctant to enter.“You, too, Miss Harvey,” said Alec.

“Yes, Chief Lip,” said the woman, and the Chief closed the door behind them.

Once they were alone, he crouched down next to the body of the singer, shaking his head in dismay.“What a waste,” he muttered.

Odelia’s sneakered feet made a squeaking sound as she crossed the floor. The first thing that struck her was how small Chickie Hay looked. She also noticed the bruising on the famous singer’s neck and the bulging eyes, a clear indication of how she’d died.

“You a fan?” asked Chase.

“Not a big fan, but I like her music, yeah,” said Odelia.

“Me, too,” said Chase, a little surprisingly. He was strictly a country and western guy, but then again, Chickie Hay had country roots, and her first albums had been all country.

Odelia glanced up at the video screen where the choreographer still stood showcasing complicated and exhausting-looking moves, and Odelia remembered she’d been going through a similar routine herself only an hour before.

“Abe will be here soon,” said Uncle Alec, “but if you want you can start the interviews now. No sense in all of us waiting around for the big guy to show up, right?”

After one last look at Chickie, Odelia and Chase filed out of the room and saw that the bodyguard and the housekeeper had decided to wait outside. And as Hortense led them to a room where they could set up the interviews, Odelia wondered if Chickie had pets for her cats to interview. She hoped so, and she hoped they’d seen what had happened to their mistress.

Chapter 3

I actually felt like the leader of the pack for once, as I moved along the greenery in the direction of the back of the house, three cats following my lead. It didn’t last long, though, for soon Harriet fell into step beside me, scanning the grounds with her sharp eyes. “Our objective is to locate and interrogate any pets on the premises, Max,” she said, then darted a stern-faced look over her shoulder at the others. “And that goes for you two, too. Keep your eyes peeled, boys—remember, Odelia is counting on us.”

I heaved a deep sigh as she overtook me and then moved ahead of me, Brutus hurrying to keep up with her. Dooley and I fell behind and then lost sight of them.

“What is it, Max?” asked Dooley. “Why are you looking so sad all of a sudden?”

“For once I wish I were the one in charge—me being Odelia’s cat and all.”

“But you are the one in charge, Max.”

“Tell that to Harriet. I’m sure she doesn’t see it that way.”

He gave me a reassuring smile.“To me you’ll always be the one in charge, Max.”

I have to tell you I was touched. It was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.“Thanks, Dooley,” I said. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”

“So what do we hope to find here, Max?”

“No idea. But you know what these ultra-rich celebrities are like. They like to keep some special pets no one else has. So we might expect a pet boa constrictor, a pet llama, a pet chimpanzee—anything goes.”

“Got it,” he said, looking appropriately serious for this most important mission.

“What do you think about Gran becoming the next Beyonc??” I asked as we roamed around Chickie Hay’s gorgeous garden, exotic plants covering every available surface.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “You still haven’t told me who this Beyonc? person is.”

“Oh, right. Well, Beyonc? is—”

But unfortunately I was interrupted by the call of a bird. One glance told me it was a big bird—in fact a large peacock. And Harriet was already engaging it in conversation.

I resumed my instructive moment with Dooley.“So Beyonc? is—”

“What are you doing here?” asked a gruff voice in our immediate vicinity.

I glanced over and found myself locking eyes with a tiny French Bulldog.

“Oh, hi,” I said. “My name is Max and this is Dooley, and we’re here to—”

“Trespass, that’s what you’re doing,” he barked. “Get lost, cats. This is private property.”

“But—”

“No buts. Get lost now or I’m calling security.”

“Oh,” said Dooley. “I thought you were security, tiny dog.”

The dog’s expression darkened. “What did you just call me?”

“Um? Security?”

“No, the other thing. Starts with a T and ends with Y. Horrible slur.”

“Tiny dog?”

“That’s the one. I’m going to have to punish you for that. Lie down and willingly submit to your punishment, cat. Come on, now. I’m going to give you one nip in the butt. And if you repeat the slur I’ll have to give you two nips, so don’t go there.”

“But, tiny dog,” said Dooley, “we’re simply here because—”

“And you just had to go there, didn’t you? Lie down and accept two nips in the butt.” And he approached Dooley to administer the appropriate punishment.

But Dooley wasn’t taking it lying down. He wasn’t even taking it standing up. Instead, he said, “But, tiny dog, all we want is to—”

“And there you go again. Three nips is the proper punishment and you will take it like a cat, cat. Now face the other way. This will only take a second, and it will remind you not to repeat these horrible slurs to my freckled face.”

“Look, tiny dog…” Dooley began.

“Four is the score! You’re not the smartest cat in the litter, are you, cat? Four nips in the butt.”

“Look, we’re here to investigate the murder of Chickie Hay,” I said. “So if you could tell us what you know we would be very much obli—”

“Murder?” asked the dog, expression darkening. “What are you talking about, cat?”

“Our human is a detective,” I explained, “and she was called here to investigate the murder of Miss Hay. And as her pet sleuths we were hoping you could shed some light on the matter.”

“This is crazy,” said the doggie. “Chickie Hay is my human, and she’s not dead. She’s alive and kicking. Well, maybe not kicking, exactly, but singing and dancing. In fact she’s right up there practicing for her new tour. And if you don’t believe me just direct your attention yonder and you’ll hear her angelic voice belting out her latest hit song.”

We directed our attention yonder, as instructed, but I couldn’t hear anyone belting out any song, new or old. In fact I didn’t hear a thing, except for Harriet yapping a mile a minute to the peacock, who was looking slightly dazed from all this verbal diarrhea.

“Um? I don’t hear anything,” Dooley finally announced.

“Me neither,” I said. “Are you sure she’s up there?”

“Of course I’m sure,” said the doggie, even though he now looked slightly worried.

The French Bulldog stared at us, clearly distraught, then, suddenly and without another word about nips in the butt, tripped off in the direction of the house.

“Not much of a witness,” said Dooley. “He doesn’t even know his human is dead.”

“He could still prove a valuable witness,” I said.

“He could?”

“He might not know what he knows and when we talk to him again, he might remember what it is that he didn’t know he knew. If you know what I mean.”

Dooley stared at me.“I’m not sure I got all that, Max.”

I wasn’t sure I got it myself. That’s the trouble with being a detective: you just muck about for a while, hunting down clues, speaking to pets and people, and finally you may or may not happen upon a clue that may or may not be vital to the investigation. And if you’re lucky you end up figuring out what happened. And if you’re unlucky, well, then Harriet beats you to it by extracting the telling clue from a silly-looking big bird with spectacular plumage.

Chapter 4

Laron Weskit sat enjoying his morning coffee whilst ensconced in front of the window of his hotel room. The room overlooked Hampton Cove’s Main Street and as such was perhaps not the best room in the house for a man who valued his privacy, but still preferable to a view of the back streets of the small Hamptons town.

A buff young man with a fashionable buzz cut and a trim hipster beard, he was one of the youngest and most successful record executives, with several popular artists on his roster. He’d already scanned the business section of theWall Street Journal on his phone and was just checking his emails when his smartphone sang out Charlie Dieber’s latest smash hit. A good record executive plugs his clients any way he can, and adopting his prot?g?’s hit song as his ringtone was but one way to accomplish this, subtly inflicting Charlie’s latest earworm on whoever happened to be in the room with him.

“Tyson, my man!” he said. “Whaddya got for me, buddy?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid, Mr. Weskit,” said Tyson.

“What is it this time? Another lawsuit? Or some fresh dig on Instagram?”

“I’m afraid Chickie’s dead, Mr. Weskit.”

For a moment Laron’s brain ceased to function, as if incapable of grasping this plain truth. “Dead? What do you mean, dead?”

“She was murdered—strangled. Our housekeeper found her. Police are here now.”

“So… do they know who did it?”

“I don’t think so. The detectives just arrived, along with the chief of police. They talked to Hortense and I guess it’ll be my turn next.”

Laron thought hard. Chickie Hay dead. How was that even possible?

“So… about our arrangement, Mr. Weskit, sir?” said Chickie’s bodyguard.

“What arrangement?” he grunted distractedly as he thought about the consequences of Chickie’s unexpected and frankly shocking demise.

“Well… you said that if I kept you informed of Miss Hay’s whereabouts and movements at all times I would be handsomely rewarded, Mr. Weskit, sir.”

“You were supposed to be her bodyguard, Tyson,” he said, suddenly experiencing a burst of irritation. “So why didn’t you do your job and protect the woman?”

“I-I was downstairs in the kitchen, Mr. Weskit. Having breakfast.”

“Some bodyguard you are. Having breakfast while your client is being strangled.”

“She was rehearsing,” said the man. “Said she didn’t want to be disturbed. And there were plenty of people guarding the perimeter, so I’m pretty sure no one came in or out.”

“So what are you saying? That it was an inside job?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have any use for a bodyguard who allows his clients to die on his watch, Tyson. You understand what that’s going to look like on your resume, don’t you?”

“But, Mr. Weskit!”

“None of my clients will want to work with you. You know what pop stars are like, Tyson. Highly superstitious bunch. You’re damaged goods now. Impossible to place.”

“But, sir!”

“Maybe try the financial sector. Bankers are a lot less superstitious, or so I’ve heard.”

And with these words he promptly disconnected. Best to sever all ties with the guy. Lest he wanted to look bad himself by being associated with a failed security man.

“Who was that, darling?” asked his wife Shannon as she strode into the room. Blond and impossibly skinny with an outrageously inflated bust, she’d managed to squeeze her perfect form into a sexy little red dress. Laron Weskit was not exactly a picture of male beauty, but what he lacked in physical attraction he made up for in business success, and since nothing turned Shannon on more than having a husband with several million in the bank, he’d been lucky enough to entice her to be his bride three years ago. Theirs was a happy partnership, based on one guiding principle: he made the money, and Shannon spent it. It made them both happy, and that’s what a good marriage is all about.

“Chickie Hay is dead,” said Laron, never one to beat about the bush.

Shannon’s hand, which had been busy bringing a piece of avocado toast to her mouth, halted in midair, and she looked up, looking as shocked as he had been when Tyson had told him the terrible news. But she quickly recovered. “What happened?”

“Murdered. Police are on the scene. They don’t know who did it yet.” He directed an inquisitive look at his wife. “You didn’t happen to go out this morning, did you, darling?”

She laughed.“No, I didn’t. You don’t think I would kill the wretched girl, do you?”

“You never know. Chickie had a lot of enemies.”

“And none more prominent than you,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, I’m sure it won’t be long before the police come knocking on our door.”

“Why don’t you call your friend the Mayor? I’m sure he’ll be able to arrange something. Keep the baying hounds off our backs.”

He smiled. That was Shannon for you. Always the practical one.“You’re right. Why subject ourselves to scrutiny when we can avoid it? I’ll make the call straight away.”

“Too bad, though,” said Shannon as she took a tentative nibble of her toast.

“Yeah, what a waste of talent.”

“Not that. What a pity we don’t have the rights to her new album. I’m sure it’ll go triple platinum now.”

“The value of her entire catalog will go through the roof. As it always does when an artist dies—especially a tragic death like this. Chickie’s oeuvre will be a hot property.”

Shannon held up her glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.“Here’s to Chickie Hay. May she rest in peace—and make us a fortune.”

“To a fortune,” he said, loving how cynical Shannon was. And of course she was right. This murder business would make them even richer than they already were. That, unfortunately, was the nature of the business they were in. Or, as in their case, fortunately.

He got up, moved over to the connecting door and held up his hand, poised to knock.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Shannon without turning.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Young love, Laron. You remember what young love is like.”

He retracted his hand. Shannon was right.“Still, they need to be told,” he said.

“Later. Just let them rest. They’ll find out soon enough.”

“They should find out from me.”

“And why is that? The news is what it is.”

“Yeah, but I need to advise them on a media strategy before they touch their Insta.”

“Call the Mayor. That’s a better use of your time than bothering Charlie and Jamie.”

Chapter 5

Parked on one of Main Street’s side streets, a good view of the Hampton Cove Star through the windshield of their rental, Jerry Vale and Johnny Carew sat watching the fourth-floor balcony of Hampton Cove’s most prestigious and posh boutique hotel.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Jer?” asked Johnny for the umpteenth time.

“Yeah, I’m sure, so stop whining, will you? My ears hurt from all your yapping.”

“We just got out of jail, Jer,” Johnny reminded his partner in crime. “And I don’t want to go back there so soon.”

“You won’t go back, Johnny,” Jerry growled. “This is a foolproof plan we’re working on here. You know what foolproof is? It means even a fool like you can’t mess it up.”

Johnny thought about this for a moment.“Are you saying I messed up the last plan?”

“You know you did. Who fired off that gun when he’d been told to be inconspicuous?”

“But you were under attack, Jer! I had to do something!”

“I was under attack from mice, Johnny. Mice! I was dealing with it, but the moment you fired that big cannon of yours, you ruined everything.”

They’d spent time in prison, until a nice judge had decided to let them out on bail, and now there they were, once again having decided to grant other, more prosperous members of society, the pleasure of carrying the burden of their livelihoods. This time Jerry had selected Laron Weskit and his client Charlie Dieber and Charlie’s girlfriend.

“Do you realize Laron Weskit is the youngest, most successful record executive in the country? And that Charlie Dieber is one of the hottest pop singers in the world? These people are loaded! And we’re simply going to take some of that load off their backs.”

“I know, but Jer,” said Johnny in the same whiny voice he’d employed ever since Jerry had told him about his plan to hit Laron and The Dieber. “They probably got security up the wazoo. So what if we get caught again? I don’t want to get caught again, Jer.”

“Listen carefully, cause I’m only going to repeat this once. Tonight the Mayor is organizing a party for Laron and The Dieber—Dieb is getting the keys to the city. So they’ll all be downstairs, partying and having a ball, while we’re upstairs, helping ourselves to their cash, jewelry, gold watches, and other precious little trinkets.”

Johnny rubbed his chin at the prospect. It was a sizable chin, too, in proportion with the rest of his anatomy. Jerry, who looked more like something a cat dragged out of a dumpster, was, after all, the brains of their little outfit, while Johnny was the brawn.

“And what about Weskit and The Dieber’s security people?”

“They’ll all be in the ballroom protecting their charges, which means they won’t bother us.”

“I don’t know, Jer,” said Johnny, shaking his head and showcasing an appalling lack of trust in his longtime companion.

“You don’t have to know, Johnny,” said Jerry. “I know, and that’s enough.”

Johnny nodded sheepishly. He knew he wasn’t blessed with a big brain, and usually relied on his partner to supply that much-needed brainpower to carve out their criminal career. But Johnny didn’t enjoy spending time in prison, and he was obviously loath to go back inside so soon after their last sojourn in the slammer.

“Just think about the diamonds, Johnny,” said Jer, taking out his phone and calling up an image of The Dieber’s girlfriend Jamie Borowiak, a nice big diamond necklace around her neck. He scrolled through the girl’s Instagram some more and tapped the diamond ring Jamie had gotten from her boyfriend. In the next picture, a stunning pair of earrings. Switching to Charlie Dieber’s Insta, there was a gorgeous gold watch on display and, finally, an entire collection of expensive-looking cufflinks on Weskit’s Instagram. Jerry tapped the picture. “See these? Worth a fortune. And he takes them everywhere he goes.”

“So nice of these stars to advertise their prized possessions on Instagram,” Johnny said. “That way we know what to look for, going in.” He might not like the prospect of venturing out into the line of fire again, but he did covet other people’s wealth as much as the next crook. Finally he said, “Let’s do this, Jer. When is this party?”

“Starts at nine, and goes on until after midnight, with speeches by the Mayor and the chairman of the local chamber of commerce and performances by Dieber and the girlfriend. Rumor has it there might even be some local talent infesting the stage. We hit the hotel at eleven, out by eleven thirty, tops. Plenty of time to become filthy rich.”

“Filthy rich,” Johnny repeated, his eyes sparkling. “I like filthy rich, Jer.”

“Get used to the prospect. Cause tonight’s the night. Nothing’s gonna stop us now!”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

“Tonight’s the night,” Tex spoke into his phone as he sat back in his chair. But then the buzzer buzzed and he jerked up. He checked the small screen that showed an image of the waiting room. When he saw Mrs. Baumgartner stalk in, he couldn’t suppress a groan.

“Did you say something?” asked Denby Jennsen, his colleague over in Happy Bays.

“My receptionist took the day off again,” he explained. “So now I’m supposed to handle all the phones and organize the flow of traffic in my waiting room all by myself.”

“You really should start thinking about bringing in a professional receptionist, Tex,” said Denby, not for the first time. “They do wonders for your peace of mind. And your productivity. I’ve had Vicky for ten years and I wouldn’t know what to do without her.”

“I know, but how can I fire Vesta? She’s my wife’s mother. Marge will never forgive me.”

“I’m sure Marge will understand. And isn’t your mother-in-law like, a hundred years old by now?”

“Seventy-five, and she still thinks she’s hot stuff. She’s launching a solo career.”

Denby laughed.“A solo career! Doing what?”

“Well, singing, obviously. She wants to be the next Beyonc?.”

“Tell her to go ahead. Maybe she’ll be a hit and then you can finally hire a decent receptionist. You need one, Tex. You can’t go on like this.”

“I can, if only she’d come in for work every day.”

He disconnected after admonishing Denby to be there tonight or be square, but before he let in his next patient, he took a moment. Denby had a point. A professional receptionist-slash-secretary would be great. Then again, he didn’t pay Vesta all that much, what with her having room and board at the house and being family. She was more a glorified volunteer than an actual receptionist, and Tex had only given her the job because Marge wanted her mother to keep busy. To be around people. If he took that away from her, he’d deprive her of a big chunk of her social life. Plus, she probably wouldn’t take it well, which might lead to more tensions at home, something to avoid.

Denby meant well, but he didn’t fully grasp the situation. Best to leave things as they were. And so he walked over to the door and opened it, then plastered his best smile onto his face. “Mrs. Baumgartner? Come on in.”

“Vesta not here today?” asked Mrs. Baumgartner, who was one of Tex’s best patients—though Vesta claimed she simply carried a torch for him and that’s why she was in all the time. He had to admit the woman had hypochondriacal tendencies. “So is she sick? Did something happen to her? I thought she looked under the weather when I saw her yesterday. Pale—and has she lost weight? She walked with a limp, too. Hip issues, probably. But then you would know best, wouldn’t you? You are her doctor, aren’t you?”

Great. Soon the whole town would think Vesta was knocking on death’s door.

Chapter 6

It was nice to be out in the garden. There were big exotic flowers everywhere, very colorful and very fragrant. And if I hadn’t been given a very particular assignment, I probably would have wanted to spend the rest of the day there—or at least until my stomach told me it was time to look for greener, food-providing pastures. But as it was, we needed to find out who had murdered this nice singing person, so onward wewent.

“Pity the little doggie didn’t have a clue, right, Max?” said Dooley.

“Yeah, real pity,” I agreed.

“Maybe Chickie has other, more observant pets?”

“I don’t doubt it. She probably has a whole army of pets.”

I was still eying Harriet and Brutus with a measure of pique. They seemed to have hit the jackpot when they stumbled upon that peacock. Sleuthing is a collaborative effort—a team sport, if you will—but Harriet and Brutus don’t see it that way. They have this competitive streak that makes them view it as a competition sport instead. If they can manage to lay their paws on the telling clue, they won’t hesitate to rub my face in it. So I decided to go and look for a second peacock, hoping peacocks travel in pairs.

“We need to find peacock number two, Dooley,” I said.

“Peacock number two? Who is peacock number two?”

“Where there’s one peacock, there’s bound to be a second one.”

“You mean peacocks mate for life?”

“You tell me.” Dooley had been watching a lot of the Discovery Channel lately, so if anyone had the inside scoop on these birds with the riotous plumage, it was him.

He thought for a moment.“I’m not sure, Max. Though I saw a documentary about hippopotamuses last week, and they don’t mate for life, if that helps.”

It didn’t, but I decided to let it go. “Do peacocks sit in trees?” I muttered as I directed my eyes upwards to the foliage.

“Why are you so eager to find a second peacock, Max? We could ask Harriet what she learned from the first peacock.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Dooley,” I said. “You know what Harriet and Brutus are like. They think this is all one big competition. They’ll never let us near peacock number one, and they’ll refuse to divulge the information the peacock has offered them.”

“I don’t know, Max. Brutus has changed. And so has Harriet. They’re not as competitive as they used to be. I’m sure they all want us to work together now.”

Just then, Harriet and Brutus passed us by. They were both looking extremely pleased with themselves.“So how is it going?” asked Harriet. “Not too well, I imagine?”

“We just discovered a Very Important Clue,” said Brutus with a smirk. “A VIC, as they call it in our business. The Mother Of All Clues, or MOAC as we professionals like to say.”

“It’s going to break this case wide open,” said Harriet.

“So what’s the clue?” asked Dooley.

But Brutus mimicked locking his lips with a key and throwing it away.

Dooley stared at the gesture.“Why are you making those weird movements, Brutus?”

“It means his lips are locked,” Harriet explained. “And so are mine.”

“But… we’re a team, right? We’re all in this together.”

“We’re a team,” said Harriet, gesturing between herself and Brutus. “And you’re a team. And may the best team win.”

“Let’s talk to the peacock, Dooley,” I said, turning away from the duo.

“He won’t tell you a thing!” Harriet called out after me.

I turned back.“And why is that?”

“We made him sign a Nondisclosure Agreement,” said Brutus. “An NDA as I call it.”

“Everybody calls it an NDA, Brutus,” I said. “And how can you make a peacock sign an NDA? You don’t even have pen and paper.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” said Harriet. “We told him not to tell you what he told us.”

“But why?” asked Dooley, still looking puzzled by all this subterfuge.

“Why do you think? May the best cat win, Dooley.”

“And get all the tasty kibble and gourmet food,” Brutus added, licking his lips.

And then they were off, presumably in search of Odelia to deliver her the good news about the MOAC and the VIC, though perhaps not about the NDA.

After a moment, Dooley said,“Maybe you were right, Max. Maybe Brutus and Harriet haven’t lost their competitive streak after all.”

So we redoubled our efforts to find Peacock Number Two (or PNT). And I’d almost given up hope when we finally found it. PNT was strutting its stuff near a nice pond where I could see several fishes of exotic gillage flitting agilely through the water.

Any other cat would have stared at those fishes, eager to dip a paw in to try and catch one, but not me, and not Dooley. We’re made of sterner stuff, and so we forewent the fishes and focused on the peacock instead.

“Hi, Mr. or Mrs. Peacock,” I said as an introductory remark. “A word, please?”

The peacock rolled its beady little eyes.“Not again,” it said. “I just told those other cats everything I know and I’m not going to say it a second time.”

I was disappointed that this was not PNT but PNO. Still, I decided not to show it.

It’s like that age-old advice when facing a predator: never show fear, because the predator will smell your fear and attack. When faced with a possible witness in a murder investigation the same principle applies: never show disappointment. Act as if you’re one of those know-it-all detectives. Let nothing the potential witness says faze you.

“So where were you on the night of the fifteenth?” asked Dooley, who apparently had been watching too many cop shows recently, on top of his Discovery Channel binges.

“What my friend means to say is, where were you when Miss Hay was murdered?” I asked, hoping to break Harriet and Brutus’s imposed NDA.

“Like I told your friends, I was right here, minding my own business, not getting involved in human affairs. Never get involved in human affairs,” PNO admonished us.

“I’m sorry, but are you a he or a she?” asked Dooley, incapable of curbing his curiosity.

“First let me see some ID,” said the peacock. “Who are you cats?”

“I’m Max, and this is Dooley,” I said. “And I’m afraid we left our ID cards at home.”

“I’m a he, and so is he,” Dooley added, just to make matters crystal clear.

“In lieu of an ID we do have microchips implanted in our necks,” I said. “So if you have a device capable of reading chips, you will be able to glean all there is to know about us, including but not limited to the name and address of our human and other valuable personal information.”

“Okay, fine,” said the big bird a little grumpily, “So what do you want to know? Oh, right, my gender. Well, if you must know, I find your question insulting. Why do I have to choose a gender? Why can’t I simply be gender-fluid? Maybe today I feel like a girl, and tomorrow I feel like a boy. Why does society try to pin me down on one or the other?”

This momentarily rendered Dooley and me speechless, but my friend quickly recovered. That’s what all that Discovery Channel watching does. It makes one resilient, and ready to take the vicissitudes of life and the animal kingdom in particular in stride.

“So what’s your name, sir or lady?” he asked now.

The peacock shrugged.“Arnold,” they said. “Or maybe Rose. Or Jasper. Or Francine. I consider myself name-fluid, which means that based on how I feel at any given moment I choose the name I like to use. And there’s nothing you or society can do about it.”

“Isn’t that… a little confusing?” I asked, but the thundercloud that suddenly contorted the bird’s face into an expression of displeasure told me I’d made another faux-pas.

“Maybe it’s confusing to you, but that’s probably because you’re a fluidphobic bigot. And if you don’t know what that means, I’ll tell you. You, sir, are a hater of fluids.”

“I think Max likes fluids,” said Dooley. “Mainly water, though. Milk, not so much.”

The bird raised itself to its full height, which was considerable, and already its ruffled feathers were starting to rise up.“Are you making fun of me? Is that what this is?”

I decided to try and defuse the situation.“So… it’s Francine then, is it?” I asked.

“I feel like a Franklin right now, so call me Franklin,” they said with a toss of the head.

“Great. So, Franklin, can you tell us anything pertaining to the murder of Chickie Hay who was, I presume, your human?”

“Never presume anything,” said Franklin. “Just because she took me under her wing, and fed me and took care of me doesn’t make her ‘my’ human.”

“It doesn’t?” asked Dooley.

“Of course not! That’s such a paternalistic thing to say. She was my fellow living creature, and I loved and respected her, but that doesn’t mean she was superior to me, or assumed a position of control over me. She was ‘a’ human but not ‘my’ human.”

“Fine,” I said, starting to find this conversation a little trying. “So what can you tell us about ‘a’ human named Chickie Hay and her recent demise?”

“She was nice,” said the bird, momentarily looking off with a dreamy expression in their eyes. “She respected me as an individual, and never tried to impose the rigid strictures and structures of society on me. And only yesterday she had a big, great, giant row with her former best friend Jamie.”

“Jamie Borowiak? The singer?” I asked.

“That’s the one.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“Boys, of course,” said the peacock with a very expressive roll of the eyes. “What else? Jamie claimed that Chickie had tried to steal her boyfriend and Chickie claimed she’d known Charlie for so long the argument could be made that it was in fact Jamie who stole her boyfriend from her instead. It all ended with a big brawl and then Jamie stalked off and said she never wanted to clap eyes on Chickie ever again, and Chickie said that Jamie was dead to her and she hated her and hoped she choked and died.” Franklin cocked an eyebrow at me. “But then Jamie returned this morning for a do-over of yesterday’s fight, and this time she killed Chickie.”

I was a little taken aback by this.“What, you actually witnessed the murder?”

“Not witness it, exactly. But I saw Jamie, and I heard her exchange heated words with Chickie in Chickie’s dance studio. So my conclusion is that Jamie is Chickie’s killer.”

“Thank you, Franklin,” I said, excited by this information. “That’s very—”

“Um, the name is Immaculata,” said the peacock. “The name just came to me.”

“Well, thanks, Immaculata. The information is really—”

“Or better yet, call me Sookie.”

“Thanks, Sookie.”

“Or… how about Doogie?”

That was the moment we decided to part ways, before the name-challenged Arnold-Rose-Jasper-Francine-Franklin-Immaculata-Sookie-Doogie drove us completely bananas.

Chapter 7

While Uncle Alec guarded the body and waited for the coroner to show up, Odelia and Chase had decided to tackle the interviews together. The first person they talked to was the housekeeper, as she’d been the one to find the singer. The room they’d been allocated was right next to the rehearsal space, and was a conference room, where Chickie probably conducted meetings with her team. On the wall several gold and platinum disks had been placed, along with plenty of posters of her successful tours.

Hortense was still visibly shaken by what had happened.

“Have you worked for Miss Hay long?” asked Chase, launching into the interview with a softball question.

“Oh, yes,” the woman replied in the affirmative. “I’ve worked for her for seven, or maybe even eight years. Ever since she bought this house, in fact.”

“Is this Miss Hay’s primary residence?”

“Yes, it is. She’s originally from California but she came on vacation here once and liked it so much she immediately bought the house and moved here with her family. She always said she found life more peaceful in Hampton Cove. She also had a lot of meetings in town. Her record label is located in New York, and the recording studio, as well.”

“What kind of person would you say Miss Hay was?” asked Odelia.

Hortense stifled a sob at the use of the past tense.“Very sweet, very kind, very loving. She was the kindest person I ever worked for. Always a hug and a kiss. She was more like family to me than an employer. I’m going to miss her terribly.” She broke down in tears again and Chase fetched a box of Kleenex and placed it before her on the table.“What’s going to happen to me now?” she asked between sobs. “What’s going to become of me?”

“Didn’t Miss Hay live with her mother?” asked Odelia. “Surely she’ll keep you on.”

“I don’t think so, Miss Poole. Yuki never liked it here as much as Chickie did. Yuki—”

“Yuki is Chickie’s mother?”

“Yes. Yuki Hay. She prefers LA. Always did. I’m sure she’ll sell the house and return there soon after the funeral.”

“Do you know if Chickie had any enemies?” asked Chase. “Anyone who meant her harm?”

Hortense shook her head.“No one,” she said decidedly. “Chickie was so loving, so sweet—nobody could be enemies with her. She only had friends. Everybody loved her.”

“But wasn’t she recently locked in a conflict with her former record company owner?” asked Odelia. She was an avid reader of the gossip press and had read all the stories about Chickie having a very public falling-out with the man who’d discovered her.

“No, she didn’t have a falling-out, simply a business disagreement. If anyone fell out, it’s Mr. Weskit. Chickie had a big heart, and Mr. Weskit decided to take advantage of her, but Miss Hay didn’t allow that to happen, and then Mr. Weskit came here last week and shouted a lot of abuse so he was kicked out. Chickie hated conflict—she hated getting into fights with people. But sometimes in this business you have to be strong, or else people walk all over you. So she was strong and Mr. Weskit didn’t like it.”

“What was the fight about?”

Hortense waved a hand.“Something to do with royalties. I don’t know the details.”

“Do you think Mr. Weskit can be violent if provoked?”

“I don’t think so. His wife is another matter entirely, though.”

“His wife?”

“Yes, Mrs. Weskit is a horrible person. I think she was very jealous of Miss Hay, and didn’t like it when her husband and Miss Hay had such a good relationship, such a heartfelt connection, and so she tried to come between them, tried to break them apart, and she succeeded.” The housekeeper nodded sternly as she pressed a Kleenex against her nose. “If there’s anyone who is capable of murder it is certainly Shannon Weskit.”

“Did she happen to drop by recently?” asked Chase, as Odelia jotted down the name.

“Yes, she was here,” said Hortense, much to Odelia’s surprise. “She was here the day after her husband was here, and she and Chickie argued. They argued very loudly.”

“What were they arguing about?” asked Odelia.

“Laron, and how strongly Shannon felt Chickie should stay away from him.”

“You could hear the argument?”

“Oh, yes. Like I said, they were very loud. Shannon said that if Chickie went near her husband ever again, she’d file charges for harassment, and Chickie said she was confusing a business relationship with a sexual relationship, and assured Shannon that she’d never felt about Laron Weskit that way. But Shannon said she didn’t believe her for one second.” Hortense pursed her lips disapprovingly. “And then she slapped her.”

“Who slapped who?” asked Chase.

“I’m not sure, but I think Shannon slapped Chickie. At least when Shannon left I didn’t notice any red marks on her cheeks, and Chickie looked furious, and she did have red cheeks. So I think it’s obvious Shannon slapped Chickie, and the moment she left, Chickie turned to me and said, ‘Make sure that woman never sets foot inside my house ever again.’ So I assured her I’d tell Tyson, and then Chickie returned to her room upstairs, where she always writes her new songs, and for the rest of the afternoon she didn’t come down again. She just sat there playing her guitar. I felt very bad for her.”

“When was this?” asked Chase.

“Yesterday afternoon,” said Hortense with a nod of certainty. “She only came out again when Jamie Borowiak dropped by in the evening and they sat in the garden.”

“Jamie Borowiak?”

“She’s Chickie’s best friend. Or at least she was, until Jamie got involved with Charlie Dieber, who went and ruined everything for them. But that’s a different story.” She gave them an eager look. “Do you want me to tell you that story, too?”

They both nodded.“Yes,” said Chase. “We want you to tell us everything you know.”

The woman smiled.“Oh, I know a lot. There’s no secrets in this house for me.”

And Odelia had the impression she was proud of the fact, too.

Chapter 8

We were making our way back to the house, in search of Odelia so we could tell her the information we’d gleaned from the gender-and-name-fluid peacock, when we found ourselves waylaid by the tiny French Bulldog who came streaking out of the house.

“She’s dead!” he cried, clearly distraught. “You were right, cats. My human is dead!”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“I went up there to see how she was, but there was a large cop walking around and when he slipped out the door for a moment I slipped in and there she was. Not moving!”

“I’m afraid she was murdered,” I said. “Which is why we’re here—to find out who did this to her.”

“But… they have to call an ambulance! Maybe she can still be saved!”

“She’s been dead for quite a while now,” I said. “I’m afraid it’s too late to save her.”

“There must be something they can do! With all the advances in science—can’t they try something experimental? Something new and untried?”

“What experimental thing?” asked Dooley, interested.

“I don’t know!” said the doggie, flapping his ears. “There has to be something they can do, right? Like when I had this terrible pain in my tail, and the vet fixed it.”

“I’m afraid that once you’re dead, that’s it,” I said, hating to be the bearer of bad news, and probably risking a nip in the butt, or possibly even two. “Nobody can fix dead.”

The doggie sank onto his haunches and then burst into a bout of honest tears.“Oh, no,” he said. “My human. Dead. This isn’t happening!”

“It is happening, actually,” said Dooley.

“Dooley,” I said, and shook my head to indicate he should probably exact restraint in a moment fraught with sadness like this.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” said the doggie. “She said she’d always be there for me.”

“She didn’t leave you,” said Dooley. “She was murdered. You can’t help being murdered.”

“Dooley,” I repeated, and shook my head again. We needed to tread very carefully.

“Murdered!” said the doggie. “But who would do such a thing?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” I said. “And we were hoping you could help us in our investigation.”

He sniffed some more, looking distinctly miserable.“I have no idea. Who would harm such a loving, warm, sweet, wonderful person like Chickie? She was a goddess. She was perfection. She was God’s angel. Everybody loved her. Everybody and especially meeee!”

“Well, she must have had enemies. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been killed so tragically.”

“I’m telling you, she had no enemies. Angels don’t have enemies. She brought only sweetness and light into this world and we all loved her. Adored her—worshipped her!”

“So… what about this Jamie Borowiak person who dropped by yesterday and again this morning and got into a flaming row with Chickie both times?”

“Jamie was Chickie’s best friend in all the world. She would never get into a flaming row with her. Never. They organized slumber parties. They sang together. They recorded songs for each other’s albums and they performed shows together. They would never get into a fight. And Jamie would mostdefinitely never murder her best friend.”

“We talked to Doogie just now,” I said.

“Who?” asked the dog, a confused frown on his face.

“The peacock,” said Dooley. “They said their name might be Immaculata, though, or even Sookie. It’s a little confusing.”

“Oh, you mean Mark. Yeah, don’t listen to Mark. He used to belong to a rapper, and I think all that rap music must have affected his brain. It got scrambled a little. Or a lot.”

“What’s your name, by the way?” asked Dooley.

“Boyce Catt,” said the French Bulldog. “Don’t laugh. Chickie wanted a dog and Yuki—that’s her mother—wanted a cat. So Chickie called me Boyce and Yuki called me Catt.”

“Well, Boyce Catt,” I said, “Mark told us that Jamie was here yesterday and she and Chickie sat out in the garden and got into a big fight. Jamie accused Chickie of trying to steal her boyfriend Charlie Dieber, and then she stalked off on a huff.”

“But she came back this morning to do some more fighting,” Dooley added.

“That’s true,” said the doggie. “I saw her. They made up, though.”

“They did?”

“I was there when Jamie dropped by this morning. She walked in when Chickie was rehearsing in the dance studio. There was a moment of name-calling but then they decided they loved each other too much to fight over a silly thing like a boy and they hugged and made up.”

“They hugged?” I asked.

“Yes, they did. And I ask you, is that the behavior of a would-be killer?”

“Jamie could have been pretending.”

“She would never do that,” said Boyce Catt. “Jamie and Chickie have been besties for years. Also, Chickie was the sweetest person alive. No one could hold a grudge against her. Absolutely no one, and most definitely not her best friend.” He sniffled a bit more, then frowned and said, “Youwant to know what I think happened? I think this is a case of mistaken identity. Has to be. Someone killed Chickie thinking she was someone else. Or maybe a burglary gone wrong. Someone broke into the house to steal Chickie’s valuables and she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“It’s possible,” I allowed.

Frankly anything was possible. We had no clue what had happened, exactly, and the burglary gone wrong thing had happened before, especially when the victim was as rich as Chickie.

“Let’s find Odelia,” I told Dooley. “We have a lot to tell her.”

“Thank you so much, little doggie,” said Dooley, and it was an indication of Boyce Catt’s mournful mood that he didn’t even suggest nipping Dooley in the butt again. Having your human suddenly snatched away from you by the grim reaper has that effect.

And we’d just set foot for the house when a big and burly male came walking out. He was talking into his phone, saying, “Please, Mr. Weskit, sir. You have to help me. You promised, Mr. Weskit, sir,” and then he passed out into the garden as we passed into the house like ships in the night. Or, moreprecisely, two cats and one human in the daytime.

Chapter 9

The next person to join Odelia and Chase was Chickie’s sister Nickie. She took one look at the conference room and wrinkled her nose. “Mama and I would like to talk to you but not in here. Mama hates this room. In fact Mama hates every single room in this house except for her own, so if you could talk to us in there, she’d be very much obliged.”

And since Chase and Odelia were most interested in talking to Chickie’s nearest and dearest and didn’t care where the interview was conducted, they followed Nickie Hay out of the room and along the corridor, then up a flight of stairs to the next floor.

Odelia noticed how Chickie’s sister wore house socks of a very colorful and thick design, and was otherwise dressed in plain jeans and a sweater. She looked very much like her sister, only with brown hair instead of blond, but otherwise the same fine-boned face and cupid’s bow mouth.

Nickie was carrying a Starbucks coffee mug in her hand, but didn’t offer any refreshments to Chase or his civilian consultant. Once upstairs, she swiftly moved to the first door on the right, and when it swung open it was almost as if they’d entered a different world. The room was airy and bright, with lots of paintings adorning the walls: small little paintings of boats and seascapes. The color scheme was navy blue and white and seagulls dotted the wallpaper. On the coffee table a large book of paintings by Renoir lay, and in a wicker chair overlooking the garden sat Chickie and Nickie’s mom. She was fair-haired and slender and had large eyes. She’d tucked her feet underneath her and watched as Odelia and Chase took seats on a sofa, Nickie preferring to remain standing.

“Terrible news,” were the woman’s opening words. “Absolutely devastating.”

She didn’t look all that devastated to Odelia, though.

“So what have you found out?” asked Yuki Hay. “Who is responsible for my daughter’s murder? And have you talked to Tyson and asked him how he could have let this happen?”

“So far we’ve only talked to your housekeeper Hortense, ma’am,” said Chase.

“Oh, please don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” said the woman with a light chuckle. “Call me Yuki.”

“Chase Kingsley, Yuki. And this is Odelia Poole.”

“Pleasure,” said Yuki. “Though you’ll agree that the circumstances are not ideal.”

“Mom, don’t be so callous,” said Nickie.

“I’m not being callous. The circumstances are terrible, that’s a fact. Now have you offered these nice police people something to drink?”

“No, I haven’t,” said the young woman, clearly having no intention of offering them anything while she took another sip from her own cup.

“What can I get you?” asked Yuki, directing an annoyed glare at her daughter.

“We’re fine,” said Chase.

“Nonsense. I’m not suggesting you have a stiff whiskey, though I could sure use one.” She got up and walked over to the liquor cabinet, which, Odelia saw, was well stocked.

“Why don’t I pour myself something, and call down for Hortense to bring up some refreshments?”

“Really, Yuki,” said Odelia. “There’s no need.”

“Poppycock,” said the woman, and poured herself a liberal helping of an amber liquid, then picked up her phone and said, “Hortense, please bring the nice detectives something to drink. Tea? Coffee?” she asked, turning to Odelia with an inquisitive look.

“Coffee is fine,” said Odelia, and Chase nodded that he could do with the brew, too.

Moments later Yuki Hay was seated again, sipping from her liquor, and judging from the twin red circles that appeared on her cheeks it was hitting the spot just fine.

“Did your daughter have any enemies?” Odelia asked.

“Where do you want us to start?” said Nickie.

“You simply can’t get where Chickie got in this business without creating a bunch of enemies in the process, Detective,” said Yuki. “So along the way to success the road is littered with disgruntled business partners, musicians, producers, record company executives, competitors, ex-boyfriends and whatnot. The list is endless, and we don’t even know the names of half these people. Success breeds jealousy, and jealousy makes people do strange and horrible things. Luckily Chickie never really got entangled with any of that stuff. She wasn’t one to bear a grudge.” When her daughter made a scoffing sound, she looked up in surprise. “Well, she wasn’t, Nickie.”

“Oh, yes, she was. Chickie could bear a grudge as well as the next diva. And she loved it. She collected grudges and feuds like other people collect shoes or stamps. She even kept notebooks with her grudges so she would remember where she left off.”

“Any of these people happen to be around?” asked Odelia.

“Well, I heard Charlie Dieber is in town. And then there’s Laron Weskit and his wife. And if I’m not mistaken Jamie Borowiak was in here yesterday, getting into another big screaming row with Chickie.”

“Jamie was here?” asked her mother. “Why didn’t she come up to say hi?”

“Because she and Chickie haven’t been on friendly terms for a long time.”

“I didn’t know. Why didn’t anyone tell me? I could have talked some sense into them.”

“Because Chickie loved her fights and had no intention of being talked out of them. Besides, I didn’t even know about most of her feuds, to be honest. Nor did I care.”

“You worked as your sister’s personal assistant?” asked Odelia.

“Yes, that’s right. She only trusted family, so I took over as her PA a couple of years ago.”

“And you’ve done such a wonderful job, too,” said Yuki. “Chickie wouldn’t be where she is today if it wasn’t for…” She paused, then corrected herself. “Chickie wouldn’t have been where she was without her twin sister.”

“You’re twins?” asked Chase.

“Not identical ones,” said Nickie, “but yes, Chickie was my twin.”

“Why did she only want to work with family?”

“Because the PA she had before me was a liar and a thief.”

“She stole from us,” said Yuki. “Used her expense account to buy Louboutins and Louis Vuitton purses and even two iPhones—one for herself and one for her mother.”

“Don’t forget about the Netflix account she bought her cousin in Connecticut or the Lexus she got for her dad.”

“Chickie was always too naive, and too generous,” said her mother.

“She wasn’t naive or generous,” said Nickie. “She was swindled.”

“Did you go to the police?” asked Chase.

“Yes, we did. The woman did a couple of months of hard time and was ordered to pay back the money she stole. People who work for a person of such extreme wealth as my sister are sometimes tempted by all that opulence. They think what’s thine is mine and start spending money without thinking. When I found out I told my sister and the woman’s contract was immediately terminated and charges filed.”

“How did you find out?” asked Odelia.

“Before I was my sister’s assistant I was her accountant.”

“Nickie has a degree in economics,” said her mother. “She even has an MBA, isn’t that right, darling?”

“I have an MBA,” Nickie confirmed. “I worked for Ernst& Young for a while, until Chickie asked me to join the family firm as her personal accountant. She was doing so well it seemed like a pity not to enter the fold.”

“Her previous accountant swindled her out of a million dollars,” said Yuki.

“Jeezes,” said Chase. “Is there anyone who didn’t swindle your daughter?”

“That’s exactly why she decided only to work with family,” said Yuki.

“Dad works as our accountant now,” said Nickie. “He’s a CPA.”

“And what did you do for your daughter, Yuki?” asked Odelia.

“Oh, I worked as her stylist. That’s my profession, you see. I used to design clothes for a living.”

“And she was very good at it, too,” said her daughter.

“Oh, nonsense,” said the woman modestly. “I worked for Oscar de la Renta for a long time, but when Chickie needed me, of course I hopped at the chance.”

“So how many family members worked for your daughter, Yuki?” asked Chase.

“Um… let me think. Well, cousin Greg, of course. He’s our impresario—in charge of everything to do with Chickie’s tours and concerts. Cousin Sam organizes the car park and the fleet of private jets. Cousin Mimi takes care of the houses—we have a place in LA, a pied-?-terre in Paris, anapartment in London, and of course Lake Cuomo. Mimi does a wonderful job keeping them all in tip-top shape and making sure they’re ready when they need to be. She’s also in charge of hiring and firing all household staff.”

“And you all live together?” asked Odelia, surprised.

“Yes, we all live here,” said Yuki, “though Mimi is on holiday right now.”

“And Sam is in France,” said Nickie, “checking out a new jet.”

“And Greg is in Manhattan, talking to tour promoters about the US tour.”

“And cousin Martine—she’s our PR person—is in London setting up a video shoot.”

“We’ll have to call them,” said Nickie. “They’ll have to come back for the funeral.”

Mother and daughter were silent for a moment as they contemplated the reality of the situation: the family firm had just lost its raisin d’?tre—its shining star.

“I called your father just now,” said Yuki finally. “He was devastated, of course. He’s flying home immediately.”

Chase handed Yuki a piece of paper and a pen.“Could you make us a list of the people present at the house this morning, Yuki? We would like to set up interviews with all of them.”

“Oh, sure,” she said.

“So why is there only a small crew here right now?” asked Odelia.

“Chickie was rehearsing for a tour, and writing new songs,” said Yuki.

“My sister loved to be surrounded by her family and friends, but not when she was in creative mode. Then she liked to be alone—let inspiration be her guide.”

“Once she had a couple of songs written, or an idea of how she wanted the new tour to look like, the house would be buzzing again.” Yuki’s shoulders sagged a little. “Only now the house will never buzz again, will it? Not without my little girl at its heart.”

Chapter 10

Marge was just wondering if she hadn’t forgotten something when the doorbell rang again. She rolled her eyes and yelled, “Ma! Someone here to see you!”

A wild guess, but one she was pretty sure was correct.

The doorbell had already sung out five times that morning, every time announcing one of her mother’s admirers. When Mom didn’t respond, Marge stomped into the hallway and yanked open the door, only to find yet another pensioner on the mat.

The man flashed a set of perfectly bleached pearly whites and she forced a smile onto her own face.

“Hi there, Marge,” said the man.

“Hi there, Dick. I’ll bet you’re here to see my mom?”

“Unless you’re prepared to be my lady of the night,” he quipped.

“Ha ha,” she laughed without much enthusiasm. “I think I’ll leave that honor to my mother.” She stepped aside. “She’s in the basement.”

“Oh, a secret meeting in the basement, huh? Now isn’t that exciting?”

Dick Bernstein was one of Gran’s oldest friends, and a regular at the senior center. Mom had told her he was a great dancer, though Marge doubted whether that was why she’d invited him over today.

When the sound of people talking floated up from the basement, Dick said,“I recognize a great party when I hear one. Sounds pretty cozy, Marge—you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Very sure,” she said, and as she watched him potter off in the direction of the basement door, hoped the old man wouldn’t break his neck on those rickety stairs.

She wondered what her mother was up to now, but was afraid to ask. First Tex had turned the basement into a rehearsal space for him and his two doctor friends. Together they were The Singing Doctors, and they were actually pretty good. They played jazz with Tex on vocals, Denby on drums and Cary Horsfield on guitar. They’d soon shaken up the lineup, though, when it turned out Tex couldn’t sing. Now Denby was the frontman, Tex played drums, and Cary still rocked the guitar. They were looking for a trumpet player but so far no other doctor had responded to their request to join the band.

Ma had quickly shown a keen interest in The Singing Doctors and had volunteered as backing vocalist. And to Marge’s amazement it had worked out pretty well. Tex and Mom had called a truce, and for the first time in years they’d actually gotten along.

And now this. Ma launching a solo career, with the assistance of her senior center buddies. She just hoped the new Beyonc? would keep things PC down there.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

Odelia had just stepped out into the garden to get some fresh air when she bumped into Max and Dooley.

“Odelia!” said Max. “We’ve been looking for you!”

She quickly glanced around to see if anyone could overhear them, then asked,“So what did you find out so far?”

“Well, for one thing,” Max said, “Chickie’s former best friend Jamie Borowiak dropped by the house yesterday, and they had a flaming row about Chickie allegedly trying to steal Jamie’s boyfriend away from her.”

“Charlie Dieber?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” said Max.

“And this morning,” said Dooley, “Jamie came back, and she and Chickie made up.”

“Though we only have Chickie’s dog Boyce Catt’s word for that,” said Max.

“What else?” she said.

“Well, we just overheard a big man talk to someone named Weskit on the phone. He was talking about a promise Mr. Weskit made him, and sounded pretty desperate.”

“What did this big man look like?”

“He had no hair on top of his head and a very nice white mustache,” said Dooley.

Odelia nodded.“Tyson Wanicki and Laron Weskit. Who would have thought?”

“Oh, and Harriet claims she cracked the case,” said Max, “but she refused to tell us how. So you’ll have to ask her what she found out.”

“She talked to the same big bird we did, though,” said Dooley, “so chances are that Mark—that’s the big bird’s name—told her the same thing he told us.”

“About Jamie and Chickie having a big fight over Charlie Dieber,” Max clarified.

“Great job, you guys,” Odelia said as she pressed kisses on top of her cats’ heads. And as she straightened, she caught sight of Tyson as he stood smoking a cigarette on the deck. She quickly made a beeline for the security man.

“Tyson? Can I have a quick word?”

“Sure, Miss Poole.”

“So we’ve talked to Hortense, and also to Yuki and Nickie, and so far the picture I have of what happened this morning is becoming a little clearer. And I was hoping you’d be able to confirm certain details.”

“Of course,” he said. “Whatever you need.”

“So Jamie was here early this morning? And she and Chickie met in the dance studio?”

“That’s correct. Jamie is one of Chickie’s oldest friends, and she always got access to her. Though this morning Chickie didn’t seem very happy when I ushered Jamie in.”

“They had a fight yesterday,” Odelia explained.

“Oh, right. That would explain the frosty reception.”

“When did Jamie leave?”

“Um, just after six, I would say.”

“And Chickie was still alive at that time?”

“Yes, she was. I saw her myself. She told me she didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“And did anyone else drop by after Jamie left?”

“Nobody.”

“So where were you when Chickie was holed up in her studio?”

“In the kitchen, having breakfast,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.

“How many security people were watching the Hay family this morning?”

“Um, there’s a crew of five.”

“And you’re the person in charge?”

“Yes. I tell them where to go and what to watch out for. The house has a top-of-the-line security system. No one gets in or out without being seen. We have motion sensors and security cameras. Also, two people walk the perimeter, keeping their eyes peeled.”

“So… correct me if I’m wrong…”

“Yes, Miss Poole?”

“No one came into the house after Jamie left. And the house was so well-guarded you would have noticed if anyone did.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And yet Chickie was killed somewhere between…”

“The last time I saw her was at six thirty.”

“And Hortense found her at seven. So she was killed between six thirty and seven.”

The man nodded.

“So this must be an inside job, no question about it.”

“Yes,” Tyson agreed. “Someone who was already in the house must have killed her.”

“And only you were here, and your team, and Nickie, Yuki, Hortense…”

“And half a dozen staff.”

She gave the man a pointed look.“You do realize you’ve just incriminated yourself, don’t you, Tyson?”

“Oh, no, Miss Poole. I would never do anything to harm Miss Hay.”

“Is it true you’ve been in contact with Laron Weskit recently, Tyson?”

His eyes went wide and he stammered for a moment, but then finally cast down his eyes.“Yes, Miss Poole. Yes, I have.”

Chapter 11

It was our opportunity to listen in on a reallive interrogation and we weren’t going to miss it for the world. Odelia was grilling a potential killer. Dooley and I sat around, casually being inconspicuous, while Odelia asked this bodyguard a couple of zingers.

“Is this what a detective does, Max?” asked Dooley, and I confirmed that this was exactly what a detective did, which, in a sense, Odelia was and more.

“Laron Weskit contacted me last year,” said Tyson. He’d lit up another cigarette and was taking a long, fortifying drag. “He and Chickie had fallen out by then and she was in search of a new record company, ready to sign a contract for her next couple of albums. Laron needed someone on the inside, and asked me to be his eyes and ears.”

“He wanted you to spy on Chickie.”

“Yes, that’s what it boiled down to. He said Chickie had abandoned him, and it was only a matter of time before she did the same to me.”

“Did she have a history of dumping business associates, or members of staff?”

“Not that I was aware of. Most people left after working for her for a while. Chickie was a perfectionist, and if you didn’t do things exactly the way she liked, she could really haul you over the coals. So I knew Laron had a point. Sooner or later I’d make a mistake and it would be my ass onthe line. So I decided to take him up on his offer.”

“Which was?”

“If I kept him informed of which record companies Chickie was in contact with, and the state of the negotiations, he’d recommend me to the stars he had under contract.”

“Do you think Laron is the kind of man capable of murder?” she asked.

“I doubt it. Laron is a businessman, not a killer.”

“Yes, but we all know what happens when an artist dies, Tyson.”

He looked puzzled.“I don’t…”

“The value of their catalog goes up. And Laron Weskit owns the rights to all of Chickie’s old songs, doesn’t he?”

“He does,” the man confirmed.

“It’s a strong motive for murder, Tyson. Was Chickie’s new album ready?”

“I… I’m not sure. Chickie was very secretive about it. She didn’t confide in a lot of people. Not even her own family. Only last week Yuki complained she hadn’t heard the new songs yet.”

“Who had heard those new songs?”

“Um, just the producer, I guess.”

“Is he here?”

“No, he’s in New York. Chickie has been coming and going to his studio for the past couple of months. I know because I’m the one who’s been driving her.”

Odelia smiled.“Tell me honestly, Tyson—youhave heard the new songs, haven’t you? And you’ve been secretly recording them and sending them to Laron Weskit.”

“No! I would never do that, Miss Poole. You have to believe me. All I did was keep an eye on the record executives Chickie was in negotiation with. Laron was still hoping to reach an understanding with her. Make a new deal. He wanted to know if he still had a chance. These big players have deep pockets, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep up.”

“Is Laron in town?”

“Yes, he and his wife are staying at the Hampton Cove Star. Charlie Dieber, who’s under contract with Laron, is being offered some kind of award. Keys to the city.”

“So Charlie and Laron are both staying at the Star,” said Odelia pensively.

“I guess so.”

Odelia nodded, and I could tell what she was thinking: time to pay a visit to Laron and Charlie, and find out what they’d been up to.

“One last question,” she said.

“Yes, Miss Poole.”

“Can you definitely rule out the possibility that an intruder managed to get past security and murder your employer?”

He stared at her for a moment, then heaved a deep sigh.“No. I know I should probably lie and tell you such a contingency is out of the question, but that’s not the case. Theoretically there’s always a chance someone managed to sneak in unseen and out again, killing Miss Hay in the process. But the chance of that happening is very slim.”

“But there is a chance?”

“There’s always a chance, yes, whatever any security expert might tell you.”

Odelia returned indoors while the bodyguard stayed rooted in place, eagerly drawing from his cigarette. The man had just admitted something he probably shouldn’t have.

“If this is true, anyone could have come in and murdered Chickie,” said Dooley.

“Yes, any old prowler could have killed her,” I agreed.

And then a strange sound reached my ears. It seemed to come from the other side of the house. And as Dooley and I went in search of its source, we were met by Harriet and Brutus, who’d noticed the same thing. It came from across the fence, so Dooley quickly scaled it, followed by Brutus and Harriet. The only one who wasn’t scaling it was me.

Look, I’ve lost weight recently. A lot of weight. To the extent that I now fit through the pet flap again. But that still doesn’t make me the skinniest cat on the planet—the kind of cat that scales fences with effortless ease.

“What’s going on?” I yelled to my three friends.

“Come up here and see for yourself!” Harriet yelled back.

I stared at the fence. It was conveniently covered in ivy and looked scalable. So I took a deep breath, and put my first paw on the ivy, then slowly but gradually moved up until I’d reached my friends. And I was so over the moon with my heroic effort that I almost didn’t notice the strange young man who stood singing a famous Chickie song below us. He was also lobbing long-stemmed red roses over the fence for some strange reason.

And just when I thought he’d go away, he walked up to the gate and started banging it with his fists, then started actually crawling up the sturdy thing!

It swung open, though, and soon three burly men descended upon him and grabbed him. And then Chase joined them and before the man could utter another bar of the Chickie Hay song, he’d been cuffed and escorted in. The gate closed, and soon all was quiet again. And when I glanced around, I understood why all was so quiet: I was alone up there on that fence. And down below, Harriet, Brutus and Dooley sat staring up at me.

“What are you doing still doing up there, Max?” asked Harriet. “Get down here!”

Easier said than done. I had absolutely no idea how to get down from my perch.

Chapter 12

The experience wasn’t new to me. Usually my bugaboos are tops of trees, or roofs of houses, but the fence was a novelty. Still, it boiled down to the same thing: I was stuck.

I could have jumped, of course, considering the nine lives things and all, but that fence was easily six feet high, and I’ve never harbored a death wish in my life.

“Max! Get down!” Dooley encouraged me.

“I can’t!” I shouted back. “I’m stuck!”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Max,” said Brutus. “Just get down here.”

“Funny, isn’t it!” I replied.

“What is?”

“Usually the two of us are stuck together!”

He chuckled.“You’re right. That is funny.”

Or maybe not.

“I guess we better ask Chase to get you down,” said Harriet with a sigh of annoyance.

“Oh, no, please don’t,” I said.

“Why? What do you have against Chase?”

“Nothing. I’m just embarrassed that he keeps having to save me.”

“You can’t stay up there, Max,” Harriet pointed out with infallible logic.

“What’s going on?” asked Mark the Peacock as he came prancing up.

“Max is stuck on top of your fence,” Brutus explained. “He can’t get down.”

“What are you doing there, cat?!” the peacock shouted.

“Taking in the view, Mark,” I shouted back.

“Who’s this Mark you’re talking about?”

“I thought your name was Mark?”

“My name is Hannibal,” he said. “But my friends all call me Hanny.”

“Well, Hanny, if you have an idea how to get a cat down from a fence…” said Harriet.

“Let me give it some thought,” said Hanny. And he wandered off to exercise his little gray cells.

Next was the little doggie.“What’s Max doing up there?” he asked.

“Hi, Boyce Catt!” I said. “I need a ladder. Can you help me out?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Boyce Catt, and went off in search of a ladder.

“This is silly,” said Harriet. “Chase will happily get you down from there. Chase!” she shouted, and disappeared before I could stop her.

“Now that there’s no chance of you blabbing about it, I don’t mind revealing who killed Chickie Hay,” said Brutus. He paused for effect, then said, “It was Jamie Borowiak.”

“According to our information she and Chickie made peace this morning,” said Dooley. “And Chickie’s bodyguard says Chickie was alive after Jamie left.”

“Shoot,” said Brutus. “And here I thought we’d cracked the case.”

“The case remains uncracked,” Dooley said. “But Odelia has a lead. She thinks a man named Laron Weskit might have done it. So there’s that.”

“Did you give her that lead?”

“I guess we did.”

“Again, shoot,” said Brutus. “Harriet won’t like this.”

“Why is she so competitive about this?” I asked from my position on top of the fence.

“Oh, I don’t know. She feels she should be the number one sleuth, mainly because she’s a girl, and Odelia is a girl, and Gran is a girl, and then it’s all girls together, see?”

“No, I don’t see,” said Dooley, and frankly I didn’t see it either.

“So they can be a team. Harriet, Odelia and Gran. Like Charlie’s Angels? Three girls fighting crime. Harriet saw the movie and now she wants to be the third angel.”

“Why?” asked Dooley, clearly puzzled.

“I’m not sure. She says it’s feminism.”

“So who’s Charlie?” asked Dooley.

“Some old, rich guy,” said Brutus.

“So feminism is an old, rich guy who tells three women what to do?”

“I guess. You better ask Harriet, though. She knows all about it.” He stretched. “Anyway, I guess our work here is done, so it’s back to the homestead for us.”

“Odelia and Chase are still busy figuring things out, though.”

“They don’t need us to do that, Dooley.”

“I think they do.”

“Listen to me, Dooley,” said Brutus, placing a brotherly paw on Dooley’s shoulder. “There’s a point when we cats stop being useful to our humans. A point where they say ‘Thank you very much, cats, but we’ll take it from here.’ And this is just such a point.”

“I’m not sure, Brutus,” said Dooley. “I don’t think we ever stop being useful.”

“I don’t care what you think, I’m getting out of here. All these dead bodies and weird peacocks giving us faulty clues are seriously freaking me out.” And then he was off.

“Do you want me to come up there and keep you company, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Nah, I’m fine, Dooley.”

“Do you want me to get you some food? You’ll starve to death up there.”

“I don’t think I’ll be up here that long. Or at least I hope not.”

“What we need is a fire engine. With one of those nice firemen to help you down.”

“No need,” I assured him. “The solution will come to me. I just need to think really hard for a moment—really think this through—and the answer will pop into my head.”

And as I started thinking hard, suddenly an ambulance came driving up, followed by a black sedan. The black sedan was Abe Cornwall’s, the county coroner, and the ambulance was there to pick up the body of the unfortunate Chickie. The gate swung open, and sedan and ambulance zoomed through.

And as they did, Dooley suddenly yelled,“Jump, Max! Jump!”

“What?”

“Jump on top of that ambulance!”

Clearly Dooley had had a brainwave. And so I jumped.

Chapter 13

“We caught this guy scaling the gate,” said Chase as he pointed in the direction of a skinny youth with pink hair. They were back in the conference room, their ad hoc command center. Odelia stared at the kid. With his effeminate features and lots of makeup it was hard to be sure whether he wasa guy or a girl, actually.

“I was just trying to get close to my soulmate!” cried the kid.

“And who might your soulmate be?” asked Chase.

“Chickie, of course.”

Uncle Alec had also joined them, after being informed Abe had finally arrived.

“What’s your name, son?” the Chief asked.

“Chickie Hay,” said the kid.

“What a coincidence,” said Chase with an eyeroll.

“Your name is Olaf Poley,” said Chase, having had the perspicacity to dig out the kid’s wallet.

“I’m having it officially changed to Chickie Hay next month,” said the kid. “I filed the petition so it’s only a matter of time before I’ll share a name with my soulmate.”

He looked a little like Chickie, Odelia had to admit. Fine-boned features. Cupid’s bow lips. He was a lot younger, though, and a boy.

“Are you related to Chickie?” she asked now.

“Of course I’m related! Didn’t you hear a word I said? I’m her soulmate! We were put on this earth to be together forever. I can even sing like her. Do you want to hear?” And before they could stop him he’d burst into song. He didn’t sing all that bad either.

Tyson walked in, took one look at the kid and groaned.“Not again.”

“Hi, Tyson,” said the kid happily. “Say hi to Chickie for me, will you?”

“Do you know this guy?” asked Uncle Alec.

“Yeah, we filed a restraining order against him last year. I think it still stands. You’re not allowed within a hundred yards of Chickie, you know that, right?” he asked, sternly addressing the young man.

“I’m sure Chickie doesn’t know about the restraining order. You filed that just to keep us apart. She waved at me this morning. So I know it’s her entourage that wants me out of her life, not Chickie. An entourage, I might add, that’s jealous of the bond we share.”

“He’s Chickie’s most persistent and annoying stalker,” said Tyson.

“She had more than one?” asked Odelia.

“Yeah, she had plenty, but this one takes the cake. Can’t keep him away.”

“Because we’re soulmates,” the kid repeated in a sing-songy voice.

“Do you think he could be the person we’re looking for?” asked Uncle Alec.

“Of course I’m the one,” said the kid with a little curtsy.

“The one who killed her, I mean,” Uncle Alec said.

The kid stared at the chief of police, his jaw dropping so precipitously Odelia had the impression it was going to fall off.

“Wait, what?” Olaf said, suddenly adopting a normal tone.

“I think he could be,” said Tyson. “He’s crazy enough.”

“Take a seat,” said Uncle Alec, and gestured to a chair.

“No, but wait,” said the kid. “What did you just say?”

“Sit. Down,” the chief growled, and pushed Olaf down onto a chair.

Faced with two police officers, Odelia and Tyson, Olaf suddenly was a lot less cocky.

“Chickie is… dead?” he asked in a small voice.

“You know perfectly well that Chickie is dead,” growled Uncle Alec. “You killed her.”

“What? No! You–you’re kidding, right? Chickie is fine and you’re just joshing me.”

“Do I look like I’m joshing you?” asked Uncle Alec, his face a thundercloud. “Where were you between six thirty and seven this morning?”

“I–I was out there,” he said, pointing to the window.

“Out where? Be specific, Olaf.”

“Out there by the fence, waving at Chickie.”

“So you waved at Chickie and then you jumped the fence.”

“No! I’m allergic to ivy so I would never jump that fence. Eww.”

“It’s just ivy, Olaf, not poison ivy,” said Tyson. “So there’s no way you’re allergic.”

“So you didn’t scale the fence, go into the house, and murder Chickie,” said Chase. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying!”

They all stared at the pink-haired kid for a moment. He was the perfect suspect, Odelia thought. He was obviously obsessed with Chickie, and he’d already proved he could scale the gate. Still, it was hard to prove he was the one they were looking for. First they would need some more information from Abe. Fingerprints, maybe, or DNA.

“Arrest him,” said Uncle Alec.

“Wait, what?!” said the kid, now looking distinctly terrified.

“I think you did it,” said Uncle Alec. “I think you’re exactly the kind of creep who would do such a horrible thing and I don’t want to risk you fleeing the scene. Get him out of my face,” he told Chase.

“Wait, I didn’t do anything!” said the kid. “I didn’t do it, I swear! Tyson, you have to believe me. You know I would never harm Chickie. Never! I’m her biggest fan!”

“And her soulmate, yeah, we get it,” said Alec. He got up into the kid’s face. “You did it, Olaf. And I’m going to prove it.”

Chapter 14

The good news was that I’d managed to get off the fence. The bad news? I was on top of an ambulance which, as we all know, is like a big box on wheels. So I was still stuck.

Suddenly a voice rang out behind me.“Hey, Max!”

“Dooley!” I said when the familiar figure of my friend gracefully dropped down next to me. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m keeping you company until someone can take you down.”

“But… you shouldn’t be up here, Dooley,” I said, even though I was touched by the gesture.

“Harriet and Brutus have gone in to tell Odelia, so it’s only a matter of time before help arrives. So I thought I might as well come up here.”

I traced the route my friend had followed: he’d climbed a tree, then hopscotched across an overhanging branch and hopped onto the ambulance like a feline Tarzan. “Well done,” I said admiringly. “Well done indeed.”

“Thanks, Max. Nice view from up here.” I followed his gaze and had to admit the view was nothing to cavil about. Cats like to seek out high places where they have a perfect overview of their surroundings and we got all that and more.

“The only thing that’s missing is food,” I said. I’d secretly hoped to catch a bite to eat from Boyce Catt’s food bowl but instead found myself on top of a food-less ambulance.

The ambulance stood parked in front of the house, and soon two of Abe’s people came walking out, carrying a stretcher on which a form was placed covered with a sheet.

“Chickie,” said Dooley softly as we stared down at her inert form.

“Yeah, Chickie,” I confirmed. “Poor woman. She could sing like an angel, and now her voice will forever be silent.”

The stretcher was placed inside the ambulance and the doors slammed shut.

“This is our opportunity, Dooley,” I said, and so we both opened our throats and meowed up a storm to attract the attention of the two paramedics. Unfortunately, they either didn’t hear us or chose to ignore us. At any rate, suddenly the ambulance lurched into motion, and we were on the move!

“Max!” Dooley cried. “We’re moving!”

“I know!”

“I don’t like this!”

“Me neither!”

The ambulance gained speed, even as we hollered up a storm. No one was listening, though, and soon we were zipping through the gate and then the ambulance really picked up speed and was racing away from Chickie’s house at a fast clip.

“Where are they taking us?” asked Dooley.

“Hauppauge,” I said. “That’s where the county coroner’s offices are located.”

“But I don’t want to go to Hauppauge, Max! I don’t even know where Hauppauge is!”

“Me neither!”

So we both hunkered down on top of the roof, and as the wind played through our manes and our ears were flattened against our heads, I reflected this was definitely not the most pleasant adventure I’d ever participated in.

Odelia had told us to help her figure out who had killed Chickie, but this was taking our zeal for the case a little too far: we were actually escorting her body to the coroner!

“Odelia will come and get us!” I shouted to Dooley over the noise of the wind.

“I hope so!” he shouted back. “It’s much nicer inside a car than outside, Max!”

“I know!”

“I don’t know why dogs like this so much!”

“Me neither!”

It was true what he said. Dogs love to stick their heads out of windows of driving cars. Why, I don’t know. To feel the wind tugging at you is not a pleasant sensation at all.

It felt like hours before the ambulance finally slowed down and entered the parking lot of a squat white building that looked like a space ship.

“I think we’ve arrived,” I said.

“I hope they have food,” said Dooley. “I’m hungry from the trip.”

“I doubt they’ll have food for us here, Dooley.”

The ambulance drove into a garage bay and then came to a stop. The paramedics hopped out and opened the doors. This time they carried Chickie off to God knows where, and soon we were left in that garage, not a soul in sight.

“Look, Max,” said Dooley, gesturing to a car that stood parked right next to the ambulance. It was only a short jump from the roof of the ambulance to the roof of the other car, and only a short jump to the hood of the car and then to the garage floor.

“I feel very strongly we should stay put,” I said. “Otherwise Odelia will never be able to find us.”

“Or we could go home on paw.”

“It’s a long walk back to Hampton Cove.”

For a moment, we stayed on top of that roof, but then one of the coroner’s people came walking up to the ambulance, got in, and started up the engine.

“Now or never, Dooley!” I cried, and we made the jump. Just in time, for the ambulance peeled out of the bay, probably to pick up more dead people.

And that’s how we found ourselves on the concrete floor of the garage of the medical examiner’s office, with no plan of where to go or how to get out of our predicament.

“I suggest we hang around here,” I said. “Odelia will come and find us sooner or later.”

So we hunkered down and decided to wait for our savior to show up.

“It’s not very nice in here,” said Dooley after a while.

“No, it’s not.”

It was a garage, and looked like any garage: all concrete and very smelly.

“Let’s go and find us something to eat,” I finally said, making a decision.

“But I thought you said we needed to stay put?”

“Yeah, but it will take Odelia a while to find us, and in the meantime we might as well eat. This place is full of humans. And wherever humans are, there’s food to be found.”

“Especially considering how big Abe is,” said Dooley. “He must need a lot of food.”

Abe Cornwall is the county coroner and looks as if at some point he swallowed another county coroner. The man is large. And since large people like to stay large, they need a constant supply of fatty and starchy foods. And since we just lived through a very harrowing adventure I felt I urgently needed to get my paws on some of Abe’s stash.

We soon found ourselves in a series of long and sterile-looking corridors, all white walls and concrete floors. Just like a hospital—or a veterinarian’s office. Yuck.

“I don’t like this place, Max,” Dooley intimated. “It’s not very cozy.”

We wandered here and there, and finally became aware of the sound of voices. They came from a large room that reminded me even more of a hospital, complete with an operating table at its center. And on that operating table lay… Chickie Hay!

“Max, what are they doing to her!” Dooley cried.

“Don’t look, Dooley! Cover your eyes!”

“They’re operating on her, Max, even though she’s dead!”

The sight was so upsetting we decided to flee the scene, and soon found ourselves in yet another room, this time a very cold one. The door behind us slammed shut and as I glanced around I had the impression that all those white sheets on all of those metal tables were covering something that could only be…

“Dead people!” Dooley cried as he caught sight of one person without a sheet.

And as the truth came home to me that we were surrounded by dead people from all sides, my appetite suddenly went right out the window. I was hungry no more!

“This place is full of dead people, Max!” cried Dooley.

“I know, Dooley!”

“I don’t like it!”

“I don’t like it, either!”

Unfortunately the door was shut, and so we were pretty much stuck in there. I might mention that it was also very cold in there—freezing cold, in fact.

“Scream, Dooley,” I said. “We need to get out of here.”

And so scream we did. We meowed, we yowled, we mewed, and we screamed up a storm. Before long, a human person, a live one, yanked open the door and when he saw us scratched his head and muttered,“Well, I’ll be damned.” Then he shouted, “Abe! There’s two cats in the freezer!”

Abe came waddling up and when he saw us frowned deeply.

“Those are Odelia Poole’s cats,” he said. “How did they get in there?”

“Max!” Dooley cried. “He’s got blood… on his hands!”

And so he had. Abe’s gloved hands were covered in blood, and so was his apron. In fact he looked more like a butcher than a doctor!

So we both screamed some more.

“Call Odelia,” said Abe. “Tell her that her cats somehow got shipped back here.”

“Probably hitched a ride with the body,” said the man who’d opened the door for us.

“Yeah, probably.” He chuckled freely. “Funny.”

I didn’t think it was all that funny, though. Not funny at all.

“Take them in the kitchen,” Abe instructed. “And give them some milk, will you?”