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Purrfect Cover. Purrfect Patsy. Purrfect Son

The Mysteries of Max Mysteries of Max Box Set 9

Nic Saint

Puss in Print Publications

Contents

The Mysteries of Max Box Set 9

Purrfect Cover

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

Purrfect Patsy

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Epilogue

Purrfect Son

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

Excerpt from Purrfect Fool (The Mysteries of Max 28)

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The Mysteries of Max Box Set 9

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Purrfect Cover (The Mysteries of Max 25)

Look, I’m not one to make a big fuss about nothing, but this last week has been too eventful to ignore. Not only was I kicked out of my own home, I was also attacked—yes, attacked, I tell you—on no less than two separate occasions. First there was the big vacuum cleaner scare, and then there was what I like to call ‘the Roomba incident,’ as it involved one of those terrible robotic vacuums. Of course we fought back, on both occasions, I might add, and for a moment we thought we’d snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. But that was before Odelia brought in the big guns, in the form of the Trainor sisters, Blanche and Bella. Cleaning ladies by profession, and cat haters by vocation. Their philosophy is that cats don’t belong in the home, and so they locked our respective pet flaps—and started the war.

And it wasn’t as if I didn’t have other things to worry about. There was Uncle Alec, being the center of some vile gossip campaign, and there was the spate of burglaries terrorizing our small and otherwise peaceful town. But it’s hard to focus on fighting crime when you’re dealing with a pair of cat-hating cleaning ladies, wouldn’t you agree? And did I mention that they locked our pet flaps? Of all the dastardly, horrible, monstrous… But let’s not dwell on the negatives. There are plenty of positives in this new chronicle of my adventures, too. So please do read on, for a furry good time!

Purrfect Patsy (The Mysteries of Max 26)

I won’t conceal the fact that when I found that inflatable pool in my backyard I was surprised to a degree. Inflatable pools, as a rule, contain water, you see, and everyone knows that cats don’t like water all that much. In fact we hate it. But Odelia had sworn she’d teach us how to swim, and she was keeping that promise, come hell or high… water.

As if that wasn’t enough, Dooley and I were suddenly set upon by an irate pigeon, dive-bombing us each time he caught us in his crosshairs. And it wasn’t as if we could afford the distraction, as Odelia had taken on a new case, this one relating to a woman who went missing twenty years ago, and whose exact lookalike had suddenly turned up murdered in a local farmer’s field. Was the dead woman the missing woman? But then why did she look exactly like she did when she disappeared twenty years ago, not having aged one bit? It was a mystery Odelia found hard to resist.

So there you have it: in between attacks from an angry bird, a mysterious cold case, strange messages found inside a goatherd figurine, a few instances of near-drowning, and an embarrassing mishap causing me to lose a large swath of fur around my midsection, it was all I could do to stay afloat, as it were, and assist my human. And just to put your mind at ease, I can assure you that no animals were harmed in the making of this book, except yours truly. Then again, I have no one to blame but myself, and in the end all’s well that ended well, and I will live to narrate another book.

Purrfect Son (The Mysteries of Max 27)

I don’t usually suffer from a fear of small spaces but after being locked inside a box in the attic along with my fellow cats, I must confess the experience wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs. Especially when the person doing the locking up also decided to set the box on fire. So did we escape this harrowing adventure with our lives? And if so, how? I’d love to tell you, but then I’d be breaking the first rule of fiction: never give away the ending! So you’ll just have to read on to find out more.

And in so doing you’ll also discover all about Tex’s secret son, Gran’s latest neighborhood watch gambit, the suspicious death of one of Charlene Butterwick’s relatives, the new shopping mall a group of developers plan to build in Hampton Cove, the huge windfall Tex and Marge might receive soon, and the addition to the team of our very own bodyguard as well as a watchdog—not to mention a watchcat! As you can see, things are never boring in this small town of ours!

Purrfect Cover

The Mysteries of Max - Book 25

Chapter 1

“Max?”

I lazily opened one eye. “Mh?”

“I have a question for you,” said Dooley. “And I want you to think long and hard before you give me an answer.”

I found myself intrigued. “Okay,” I said therefore. “What is the question?”

“Who can run faster, a hare or a fox?”

I frowned at the questioner. It was a tough one, granted, but even more than that, I failed to see the significance. “I have absolutely no idea,” I said. “Why do you want to know?”

Dooley frowned before him in an idle fashion. “It’s for this quiz show I want to go on.”

“What quiz show?”

“Well, not Jeopardy, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s a new show that Gran likes to watch. They ask you all these questions, and if you give the right answers you can win a car. Or even a house.”

“A house!” I said, properly impressed. “That must be some quiz show, if they’re giving away a whole house.” What with property prices the way they are, winning a house is not a small deal. But I still wasn’t fully satisfied with my friend’s answers. “So… why do you want to win a car? Or a house, for that matter?”

Dooley shrugged. “I just think it would be great if you and I could have our own place, you know. Far away from certain… pets.”

And there it was. And I understood all. Lately Harriet had been throwing her weight around to some extent. Used to be she more or less accepted that as a family of felines we were all equal under the sun. As of late, though, she’d started assuming the role of leader of the pack—telling us what to do, where to go, and, even more importantly, whom to associate with. I could see how this would create the kind of environment that would cause a sensitive cat like Dooley to bridle, and to look for a route of escape.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Dooley,” I said, as gently as I knew how, “but I don’t think they allow cats to participate in game shows. Not the ones I know of, anyway.”

“They don’t?” asked Dooley, with not a little bit of disappointment. “But that’s not fair.”

“Well, seeing as there aren’t a lot of humans out there that can understand what we say, it wouldn’t make for very interesting viewing,” I explained.

This gave my friend some food for thought, and as he mulled this over, I placed my chin on my paws again, and took up my refreshing morning nap where I had left off.

After a while, though, animation returned to Dooley’s form, and he said, “So why don’t we suggest to Gran that she organize a quiz show? She could be the show host and ask all the questions, and all the candidates would be cats. I’m sure it would be a big hit.”

“I’m not so sure,” I muttered. I’d just been dreaming about a fine feline who’d been giving me a look that said she liked what she saw, and I was reluctant to throw off the blanket of sleep just to listen to my friend’s ongoing ramblings about quiz shows.

“Of course!” he said, his excitement building as he thought more about his latest brainwave. “With all the cats in the world, it would be huge. How many cats are there?”

“Not sure,” I said, yawning. “A lot, I guess.”

“Millions, maybe even billions! And since there are no other shows for cats to watch, they’d all tune into our quiz show, wouldn’t they? It would be the biggest hit in history.”

“You’re forgetting one thing, Dooley,” I said, once again being forced to play the party pooper, a role I did not enjoy, I can tell you. “Cats don’t own televisions, and they don’t always control the remote controls. In fact I’d hazard a guess that in most cases they don’t have control over what they can and cannot watch at all. The humans are the gatekeepers to whatever is on offer on the television, and humans would be bored to tears within five seconds at having to watch a bunch of caterwauling cats on display.”

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

And once again he fell into a deep reverie as he contemplated ways and means of dealing with this new obstacle I’d put on his path to a successful career in television.

This time it took him a little while longer to work out the details of his new proposal, but when finally he woke me again from my slumber, I could tell from the tremor in his voice and the feverish gleam in his eye that he’d managed to come up with a real gem.

“I have one word for you, Max,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked, sighing a little, as that formidable female feline hadn’t returned in my latest dream. Instead I’d dreamt of a rabbit popping out of a hat and playing hide and seek. You’ll agree with me that rabbits aren’t as fascinating as formidable felines giving you that look. Rabbits simply don’t have that je ne sais quoi.

“The internet,” he said, thrusting out his chest with an air of accomplishment.

“That’s two words,” I pointed out.

“Oh, right,” he said, deflating only a smidgen before swelling again and practically caroling, “We’ll make it an internet quiz show. Cats can access their humans’ smartphones, can’t they? And sometimes they even have their own personal tablets they can use to watch whatever they like. So we’ll create a YouTube show with Gran as the host, and turn it into the best-watched program on the entire internet!”

I yawned. Not because his idea bored me, but because sometimes Dooley’s ramblings simply have that effect on me. “Mh,” I said noncommittally.

“Don’t you see what a great idea this is, Max?” he tooted. “Cats across the globe will tune in and all of those advertising dollars will start pouring in and soon Gran will be able to give away a house as the first prize and we’ll win it and then we’ll finally be free!”

“Mh,” I repeated. I recognize a pipe dream when I see one, and even though I didn’t want to rain on my friend’s parade—not too much, anyway—I still felt it incumbent upon me, as Dooley’s best friend, to point out another fatal flaw in his scheme. “I’m not sure advertisers are going to pay top dollar to advertise on a show aimed solely at cats,” I said. Once again it was the gatekeeper story. It’s not cats who spend the money on food and other cat paraphernalia but their owners, and since said owners wouldn’t tune into a show with a bunch of cats meowing all over the place, I didn’t see the potential, to be honest.

I explained all this to Dooley in great detail, but failed to put a dent in his excitement.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s just like with parents, you see. When they go shopping the supermarkets put the kinds of things kids love on the lower shelves so kids will see it and grab it and put it in mom and dad’s shopping cart. People will do the same with cats. When they see a commercial for a particular brand of cat food they’ll whine and beg until their humans will click and buy the stuff.” He spread his paws. “It’s a sure-fire blockbuster, Max. And all we need is Gran to say yes and we’re off and running.”

I gave him my trademark look of skepticism but this time his spirits wouldn’t be dampened even if I threw him all the skeptical looks in the universe. He was convinced he was onto something big and he was going to see it through no matter what.

“Let’s ask Gran,” I said therefore. “See what she has to say.”

“Oh, Max, thank you!” he cried, and threw his paws around my neck and moved in for a hug.

“Yeah, yeah, all right, all right,” I said. I’m not one of those cats who go in for all the hugging and other displays of affection, but I like to make an exception for Dooley because he simply is the cuddly kind of cat. And because he’s my friend, of course.

He clasped his paws together and sighed happily. “We’re going to win this quiz show and then we’re going to get a house and then we’re going to live happily ever after, Max. Just you wait and see.”

“Sure,” I said, and promptly dozed off again.

Chapter 2

“Max. Max!”

I think I could be forgiven for thinking ‘Now what?’ when this new intrusion upon my peace and quiet came upon me.

Of course I’d immediately recognized Harriet’s voice, and for a split second I wondered about Dooley’s plan to win a house so we could both get away from the slightly annoying feline. A plan borne of desperation, granted, but a plan nonetheless. But then I cast the silly notion aside and opened my eyes to address this new emergency.

“What?” I asked as I watched the prissy white Persian stalk in my general direction.

“This simply cannot go on any longer,” said Harriet with all the forcefulness of her personality.

I would have asked at this point what exactly could not go on any longer, but I had the distinct impression I would soon be placed in possession of all the facts pertaining to the case, whether I wanted to or not.

“Those mice have only just left the house and already a new plague is upon us,” she said, frowning darkly, her tail swishing annoyedly through the air. I followed it for a moment with my eyes, until I got slightly dizzy, then focused on Harriet’s clear green eyes again, something I immediately regretted when I was blasted with the full force of her irritation in a look that hit me amidships and rocked me to the core.

I swallowed a little. “What plague?” I managed to ask.

“Oh, Max,” she said, rolling her eyes and freeing me from their hypnotic influence. “Not you, too. I tell everyone who will listen and no one seems to care. I call it a sad state of affairs when the only one who cares about cleanliness and hygiene is yours truly.”

I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but I wisely refrained from voicing this thought. Instead, I asked, “Are the mice back? Is that what’s plaguing you?”

Until very recently the house had been infested with a family of no less than two hundred mice. They’d since skedaddled but clearly some new disaster had befallen us.

“Max! Will you please pay attention!” said Harriet.

Out of sheer habit, I sat upright, and would have saluted if I’d been a soldier in Harriet’s army and she the general. Instead, I blinked a couple of times, and wondered how long I’d slept that I’d completely missed this latest tragedy.

“Come,” said Harriet, so I came. “Look,” she said, so I looked.

Only where she was pointing there wasn’t all that much to see. We were in the living room, near the sliding glass door, and try as I might I couldn’t spot the harbinger of doom that apparently had infested our home and hearth. No mice, no black beetles, no cockroaches, not even a teeny tiny spider was in evidence where Harriet was glaring.

“Um… what am I looking at?” I finally asked.

“Dust!” she cried, and gave an innocent little dust bunny a nudge with her paw.

I stared at the dust bunny. The dust bunny stared back at me. Then I glanced up at Harriet, and I must have given her the wrong look, for she rolled her eyes once more.

“It’s a disgrace!” she said. “Once upon a time this house was the epitome of neatness and cleanliness and now it’s turning into a dump!”

“Hardly a dump,” I argued. After all, one dust bunny does not a dump make. Now if dust bunnies had been littering the place it would have been a different matter altogether. But before I could argue my case, Harriet was charging full steam ahead.

“Something needs to be done. This really cannot go on. What if I was allergic? I could have died!” she said, dramatically pointing at the harmless little pile of fluff with her tail.

“A little bit of dust won’t kill you, Harriet,” I said, but quickly shut up when she gave me a look that could, well, kill.

“It’s not just this pile of dust, Max,” she said. “There’s more.”

“More?” I asked, stifling a groan.

“A lot more,” she indicated, and stomped off in the direction of the couch, which is, I must confess, one of my favorite places in the entire house. “Look,” she instructed, and lifted the sheet Odelia likes to place on top of the couch to protect it from my tendency to dig my claws into its softness. And of course the shedding. Let’s not forget about the shedding. However you look at it, cats will shed, there’s simply no denying the fact.

I threw a quick glance underneath the couch in the direction Harriet was pointing, and once again I found myself stumped. “Um…” I said. “I really don’t see…”

“Oh, Max!” Harriet cried, and sighed in an exaggerated fashion, as if she were talking to a three-year-old with mental issues. And to demonstrate what I failed to grasp, she reached into the darkness with her paw and returned… with another dust bunny. “See!” she said, wagging the poor innocent bit of fluff in my face. “This place is falling apart.” She shook off the bunny with an expression of utter distaste, and then proceeded to lay it all out for me. “No cleaning is being done, or at least not in the way that it should be done. Health hazards are allowed to fester and pollute what should be a safe environment. And as a consequence death traps are allowed to spring up left, right and center.” She eyed me expectantly. “So what are you going to do about it, Max?”

I gave her a look of consternation. “Me? What do you want me to do?”

“Odelia is your human, Max. She is your responsibility. You have to tell her that this simply will not do. That her cats are in a situation of clear and present danger and measures must be taken to eradicate the menace to our health and wellbeing.”

“I really don’t think two innocent bits of dust present a danger to our health and safety,” I argued. I don’t mind talking to my human, and pointing out her responsibilities, but this was taking things too far, I felt.

“Do you know how many germs this innocent bit of dust, as you call it, harbors?” Her eyes had narrowed into tiny slits, spelling danger. “And do you know the kinds of diseases that are spread by these germs, not to mention the abundance of fungi?”

I shivered at the mention of the word fungi. I don’t mind the odd germ, but I dislike fungi with a vengeance. Probably because of a horror movie I once saw with Odelia and her boyfriend Chase. It centered around a fungoid growth crash-landing on earth as part of a meteor and proceeding to devour a small town before being stopped by a heroic brace of teenagers and their fearless dog. Why it’s always a fearless dog that accompanies teenage heroes in Hollywood movies and never a fearless cat is beyond me, but there you have it. Typical Hollywood anti-cat bias, I guess.

“Look, I’ll talk to Odelia, if that’s what you want,” I said, “but I don’t think you have to worry about the danger these dust bunnies offer. I’m sure they’re all pretty harmless.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” said Harriet decidedly. “And if you were a true leader of cats you would know this.”

I frowned. “A true what now?”

“A true leader knows when to take responsibility. He wouldn’t allow things to get as bad as this.”

“I’m not a leader of cats,” I pointed out. “I’m just me. Max. A common house cat.”

“Oh, Max,” said Harriet, shaking her head sadly. “You still don’t see it, do you?”

“Um, no,” I said. “I guess I don’t.” I wondered what she was on about this time.

“You are the cat everyone looks up to, Max, whether you like it or not.”

“No, they don’t,” I said, greatly surprised.

“Dooley looks up to you. And I know for a fact that Brutus does, too.”

I laughed what I hoped was a rollicking laugh. “Brutus, looking up to me? No way.”

“Oh, yes. In fact half the town’s cat population looks to you for leadership, Max, and frankly so do I. And all I can say is that you’ve failed us.” She nodded seriously. “You have failed us and you’ve put us all in mortal danger when you took your eye off the ball.”

I stared at the ball of fluff, and wondered if this was the ball she was referring to.

“You dropped the ball, Max, and I’m very, very disappointed in you.”

First I took my eye off the ball and then I dropped it. Or was it the other way around?

Suddenly the idea of moving into a different home, far away from Harriet and her strange theories and bossy ways sounded a lot more appealing than it had before.

Maybe I should participate in this quiz. But first I needed to find out who can run faster: a hare or a fox. Something told me it was one of those trick questions, though.

Chapter 3

“Max—Max, where are you—Max?!”

Oh, dear Lord in heaven! “What?!” I yelled from my position on the couch. Some days are like that: everyone and their grandmother seems to need to talk to you about something, and feels it incumbent upon them to disturb your peaceful slumber.

This time it was my very own human who’d come to bring me great tidings of joy—or sorrow, as the case may be.

“Hey, Max,” said Odelia, sounding and looking a little breathless. She was blushing, and looked as if she’d just run a marathon—or at least a 60-yard dash. “How are you, my precious little Maxie?” she said, and started nuzzling me in the most outrageous fashion: digging her nose into my neck and making the kind of nonsensical gibbering sounds humans usually reserve for the moment they encounter a newly born baby.

“I’m fine,” I said a little frostily. Being rudely dragged from those precious snatches of sleep will do that to a cat. This time I’d been dreaming of a nice piece of fish fillet that had my name on it.

Odelia was still fussing over me, and stroking my fur and even going so far as to tickle my fluffy cheeks, grabbing my face in both hands and rubbing me under my chin. And in spite of the fact that I’d had my imaginary fish fillet rudely snatched away from me, I couldn’t resist to smile at the treatment my human was giving me, and then, of course, I was betrayed by my own body when I started purring. It’s an involuntary thing, I tell you.

“So what’s the emergency?” I asked finally, when Odelia’s fervor started dissipating.

“No emergency,” she said with a smile as she grabbed her phone from the table and made herself comfortable on the couch next to me. “Just happy to see my precious baby.”

I cleared my throat. Maybe this was the time to address the issue Harriet had brought to my attention. No time like the present, right? “There have been some complaints.”

“Oh?” she said distractedly, as she’d started reading something on her phone.

“Yeah, about cleanliness and a general lack of hygiene.”

“Mh,” she responded as she started tapping a message on her phone. Clearly I’d missed my window of opportunity and had lost her full attention.

Still I trudged on. “The thing is… Harriet feels that standards have been dropping precipitously as of late, and she doesn’t think this is necessarily a good thing.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah—it’s all the dust she seems to object to, mainly. Dust bunnies in particular. She doesn’t like them. She found one underneath this couch, and one over by the window.”

We have one of those nice hardwood floors, and with the sun bathing it in a warm glow right now, the dust bunny was clearly visible from where I was lying and looking.

Odelia didn’t even glance up, though, focused as she was on her digital gizmo.

“Odelia?” I said, gently giving her leg a tap.

“Mh…”

“So what do you think should be done about this dust bunny issue?”

“That’s great, Max,” she said, and then got up and moved away, her eyes still glued to her phone, and her fingers too, as she tapped out another message with lightning speed.

I let out a deep sigh and vowed to give it another shot at a later date. Tough to compete with a smartphone for your human’s attention, I mean to say.

But as luck would have it, just then Gran walked in, looking as spry and chipper as ever. Well, maybe not chipper. As a rule Grandma Muffin doesn’t do chipper.

“Gran,” I said, perking up. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Later,” she snapped, as she searched around for someone who wasn’t me. “Odelia,” she said as she located her granddaughter. “The neighborhood watch are organizing a meeting next week and I want you to come. Odelia, are you listening? Odelia!”

“What?” Odelia asked, looking up from her phone.

Gran had pressed her lips together and gave her granddaughter a look of reproach. “I swear to God, one of these days that thing is going to be the death of you.”

“What thing?” asked Odelia.

“So are you coming or not?”

“Coming to what?”

“See? I knew you weren’t listening. Here, let me have that.” And with these words, she unceremoniously grabbed my human’s phone and tucked it into the pocket of her green-and-purple tracksuit.

“Hey, that’s my phone!” Odelia cried, as if she’d just lost a limb or vital body part.

“I know, and now it’s mine. And if you do as I say I just might let you have it back. Now are you going to listen to me or not?”

Odelia frowned, and crossed her arms in front of her. She clearly wasn’t happy to be treated like a recalcitrant child. “I’m listening.”

“I’m organizing a meeting of the neighborhood watch next week. Big meeting. We hope to welcome plenty of new members. I want you to come. You and Chase.”

“I’m sorry, Gran,” Odelia began, shaking her head.

But Gran arched a menacing eyebrow. “No meeting, no phone,” she said.

“You can’t do that!”

“Watch me.” Then she softened. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. There’s been a spate of burglaries lately, and we need to get on top of it before it’s too late.”

“Burglaries? Have you told Uncle Alec?”

“He’s too busy buttering up Charlene Butterwick,” said Gran with a throwaway gesture of the hand. “No, it’s up to us to save this neighborhood from falling prey to this gang of burglars, and that means you, too. The neighborhood needs you, honey.”

“Okay, sure,” said Odelia with a shrug. “If you think I can help.”

“We can only pull this neighborhood away from the brink if we all work together,” said Gran, sounding so much like a motivational coach even Odelia looked impressed.

“No, of course,” she said. “Anything I can do to help.”

“That’s settled then,” said Gran, and turned to leave.

“Wait, my phone,” said Odelia.

Gran dangled the phone from her fingertips. “Are you sure you want it back? You know smartphones aren’t good for you. They’re like the crack cocaine of the digital age.”

“Please please please can I have it back?” Odelia begged, inadvertently proving her grandmother right.

The old lady sighed, then handed her granddaughter back her phone. “Sometimes I fear for your generation,” she said, then stalked off and slammed the door.

Odelia, a happy smile on her face, immediately was immersed in her phone again.

The dust bunny was swept up from the floor by the draft caused by Gran’s departure. It happily fluttered through the living room, then into the salon, and finally settled right on top of my nose. I squinted at the bunny, cross-eyed, then sneezed, dislodging it from its perch. It flittered down right next to me, and for a moment I watched it for signs of malevolence. When nothing happened, though, I slowly drifted off to sleep again, proving once and for all that dust bunnies and cats can live together in perfect harmony.

Chapter 4

Mort Hodge was seated at his desk, hard at work as usual, when a sudden sound had him look up.

Mort, a popular and successful creator of comics for daily distribution in all the important and even the less important papers in the country, had made his fortune drawing a daily cartoon about a cat. Titled Mort’s Molly, it had been an instant hit and now, forty years into a lucrative and rewarding career, people still clamored for Mort’s creation. Unlike lots of other cartoons, Mort still did most of the work himself, and had turned part of his home into his office, the nerve center of Mort’s Molly’s universe.

“Megan?” he yelled loudly, referring to his wife. “Megan, is that you?”

When there was no response, he got up and went in search of answers. Next to his desk, a radio was quietly playing, and the atmosphere in the studio was mellow and relaxed, just the way he liked it.

He emerged from his workspace, located at the back of the garden, and glanced around. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he decided he could use a snack, as his tummy was rumbling, and he felt like taking a break. That, and a chat with his wife, to bounce a couple of new ideas off her, and to sit down for that snack and a cup of joe.

It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and Mort had already been busy since six, having risen at five as was his habit. He was an early riser and liked that whole gag about the early bird and the worm. Not that he was into worms, per se, but he did enjoy getting an early start on his day, and getting the bulk of his work done before lunchtime.

“Megan?” he asked as he walked into the house. “Did you just…” The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat, though, when he observed the mess that was his cozy home. Documents strewn about, couch cushions ripped up, feathers covering every available surface. Tables had been upended and chairs lay like so many fallen soldiers on the battlefield that was his living room. “Megan,” he whispered when his eyes had taken in the devastation, then, louder, “Megan!”

And as he went in search of his helpmeet, a sense of panic took hold of him, and gave him wings as he went from room to room, everywhere finding the same mess and evidence of a recent break-in. Finally he hurtled up the stairs with a speed and alacrity belying his sixty-eight years, and swept into the bedroom. And there, tied to the headboard of the conjugal bed, was his wife. The first thing Mort ascertained was that she was still alive, her eyes wide and fearful, then hopeful when she saw it was him. He moved over to the bed, and started removing the rope with which she’d been tied to the bed, and the gag that had been pressed into her mouth.

“Megan, thank God,” he said. “What happened?”

“There were two men,” she said, a little breathless. “They said they were from the gas company, but once they were inside they overpowered me and dragged me upstairs.”

“Oh, Megan,” he said, and clasped her into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

She held him close, and for a moment they both relished the fact that no harm had come to them. Then Megan said, “Did they… take anything?”

“I’m not sure. But they did make an awful mess downstairs.”

“The safe,” said Megan, massaging her wrists. “Did you check the safe?”

Together they went into Mort’s old office, which had been turned into a small storage room for all paraphernalia connected with his work, and headed to the safe that was conveniently hidden behind a large portrait of Mort’s Molly. Immediately it became clear to Mort that the safe was quite safe: the portrait hadn’t been moved, and when he did move it, swinging it open on its hinges, he saw that the safe hadn’t been messed with.

He heaved a small sigh of relief. Inside was a minor cache of gold and valuables.

“Weird thieves,” said Megan, as Mort tapped in the code and opened the safe, just to be sure nothing had been taken. “Why would they ransack the house but not touch the safe?”

Mort quickly checked the contents and saw that at first glance everything was still present and accounted for.

“Yeah, weird thieves indeed,” he agreed, then shrugged. “Or maybe we got lucky.”

“We did get lucky,” Megan agreed, as she hugged her husband. “By the same token they could have turned violent when they didn’t find what they were looking for.”

The thought had occurred to Mort, too. Material possessions were all well and good, but mostly he was relieved that no harm had come to his wife, or himself for that matter.

“I think it’s time to call the police,” said Megan.

It was only then that Mort noticed something that really shook him: the door to the big metal bookcase was slightly ajar, the padlock broken and lying on the floor.

And when he looked inside, his heart sank.

“It’s gone,” he said, disbelief suddenly making him weak at the knees.

“Gone?” asked Megan, hurrying over.

“All of them,” he said. He turned at his wife. “They took everything.”

Megan was crestfallen. “So they got what they were looking for after all.”

Chapter 5

I woke up again when Odelia left the house and pulled the front door closed behind her. I found myself staring at that inoffensive dust bunny again, and wondering what the bunny would say if it could talk. Probably a lot of very interesting and fascinating stuff.

It just goes to show I was in the throes of a sudden and unexplainable case of ennui. It happens to all of us at some point, and usually out of the blue. My ennui probably had to do with the fact that nothing much of interest had happened in my life of late.

No particularly juicy cases had come Odelia’s way, no shocking or exciting events had come to pass, and pretty much the only excitement I’d had in a long time was this exact dust bunny, which suddenly had turned into the bane of my existence.

“What are you looking at, Max?” asked Brutus, who’d chosen this moment to walk in through the pet flap.

“Oh, nothing special,” I said. “Harriet told me to take a firm line with dust bunnies, and to tell Odelia to run a tighter ship, hygiene wise, and I’ve been looking for the right opportunity to talk to her about it.”

The big black cat draped himself down right next to me and looked in the direction I was looking. “Harriet should lighten up,” he said as he casually observed the dust bunny and didn’t seem particularly troubled by its presence in our house.

“She’s afraid it will spread fungi and germs,” I said. “The kind of fungi and germs that could prove hazardous to our health and safety. She sounded extremely concerned.”

Brutus’s robust features displayed a slight grin. He did not look like a cat susceptible to the deleterious effects of germs or fungi. “I don’t think we have much to worry about, buddy,” he said. “A germ or even a fungus is not exactly the danger to life and limb that Harriet is making it out to be.”

He got up and walked into the kitchen, in search of something edible, no doubt.

“So you don’t think dust bunnies are dangerous?” I called after him.

“Maxie, baby,” he said after swallowing down a particularly tasty-looking piece of kibble, “I always say ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,’ and as far as I know fungi have yet to kill a cat, so there’s your answer. Straight from the horse’s mouth.”

First off, Brutus, as far as I knew, was not a horse. And secondly I’d never even once heard him say anything about stuff that didn’t kill him but made him stronger, but I was prepare to let these minor verbal transgressions slide. His words had provided me with a certain buoying up of the mood, and I was grateful for that.

“Harriet made it sound as if I was neglecting my duties as a cat, and responsible for potential disaster and mayhem in our home,” I explained when Brutus had eaten his fill and joined me once more on the couch.

“Like I said, Harriet should lighten up,” he said, and emitted what can only be termed a gastro-esophageal eruption. Or in other words a tiny burp, showing that his late breakfast—or early brunch—had arrived at its chosen destination in one piece.

“Lighten up about what?” asked a voice from the door. We both looked up in surprise, and found ourselves once again in the presence of Harriet, quite possibly the most gorgeous white Persian in these parts. But also the most high-maintenance one.

Brutus gulped a little, then said, “I was just telling Max here how every day spent with you is a delight, snookums,” he blustered. “And how much you light up my life.”

The tiny frown that had formed on Harriet’s brow relaxed its grip on her musculature and she smiled. “Oh, sugar cookie, that’s such a nice thing to say. You light up my life, too, you know.”

“Do I?” asked Brutus, gulping a little more.

“Oh, sure.” She then turned to me, and her smile vanished like breath on a razor blade. “I see you haven’t done as you promised. This place still looks like a pigsty. But no matter. I’ve called in reinforcements. They should be here shortly, and I suggest you watch and learn.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, and a question was just forming on my lips when the glass sliding door was shoved open and Marge walked in, carrying a hefty vacuum cleaner and looking ready to do some serious damage with the apparatus.

I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I have a thing about vacuum cleaners. I loathe them. I detest them. I hate them. I cannot be in the same room with them without falling prey to the most abject sensation of naked fear. Fear of being deafened by their horrific sound, or possibly fear of being sucked into their belly never to be seen again.

So it was with a slight cry of panic that I hopped down from my position on the couch and raced up the stairs as fast as my short legs could carry me. Before long, Marge had started up that machine from hell and was hoovering away to her heart’s content, while I was safely ensconced on top of the bed, hoping that this, too, would soon pass.

You might ask why Marge brought her own vacuum cleaner and didn’t use her daughter’s, and I will tell you that something happened to Odelia’s dust sucker recently that made it break down. Someone, it might have been a mouse, or maybe even a rat, had chewed through its power cord, and had rendered the thing useless. Okay, so I chewed through that power cord. Can you blame me? That thing is a menace! A danger to life and limb! If ever the police come to drag me to jail for causing criminal damages, I’ll plead self-defense, and I’ll bet any judge in the nation would readily see my point.

Before long, another, smaller cat had joined me in the form of Dooley. He hates vacuum cleaners, too, and must have walked in through the pet flap before finding himself cornered by Marge’s furious burst of cleaning frenzy.

“She’s cleaning, Max!” he cried, as he jumped up onto the bed and tucked his head underneath the covers, not unlike an ostrich. “She’s going to suck me up and kill me!”

“Kill us,” I corrected him.

“Oh, but you’re safe, Max,” said Dooley. “You’ll never fit inside that machine. You’re too big. Me? I’ll fit just fine!”

I know I should have been upset by these words, spoken by a friend, no less. But I knew Dooley was simply telling it like it is. Like a child, he means no harm, and words sometimes fall from his mouth that may come across as harsh but mean no malice.

And oddly enough his words inspired hope, not anger. Dooley was right. I would never fit inside that vacuum cleaner. Which meant I was probably, and perhaps for the first time in my life, saved by my big bones.

Just then, a third cat came jumping on top of the bed covers. It was Brutus. He may be a tough cat—one of those tough babies who look the world in the eye and spit—but he, too, has an unholy fear of vacuum cleaners and other suctional devices from hell.

“What’s with humans and their obsession to suck dust into a weird machine,” he lamented as he cast anxious glances at the door.

“It’s Harriet,” I said. “She asked Marge to drop by and give her daughter’s house a quick once-over.”

“She should have left well enough alone,” said Brutus, earning himself nods of agreement from both myself and Dooley.

And as if she’d heard our words, Harriet came sashaying into the room, then hopped up onto the bed and Odelia’s fearsome foursome was complete.

“Also hiding from the vacuum cleaner?” asked Dooley.

“I don’t need to hide from a machine that is doing a great job eradicating everything that is hideous and odious about the world we live in,” she announced primly. But she wasn’t fooling me. Like Brutus, she kept darting anxious glances in the direction of the door. And the moment Marge came stomping up the stairs, no doubt intent on giving the upstairs the same treatment she’d awarded the downstairs, the Persian actually whimpered and slipped under the covers, joining Brutus, Dooley and, of course, myself.

We may be fearless in the face of murder and mayhem, but if there’s one thing that can beat us, it’s a simple contraption designed to extract those dust bunnies from their hiding place and deposit them into either a plastic receptacle—Hoover’s bagless variety—or a strange shapeless bag, never to be seen or heard from again. Oh, the horror!

Silly, of course, but I never claimed cats are perfect creatures.

So you’ve discovered our Achilles’ heel.

Don’t use it against us!

Chapter 6

Marge frowned as she applied the vacuum cleaner to her daughter’s upstairs bedroom floor. Harriet had been absolutely right. The house was a mess. Dust and dirt everywhere, clothes still in the hamper in the bathroom, dishes in the sink… She didn’t mind cleaning up after her daughter from time to time, but since this was already the third time this month, she was starting to think something was seriously wrong.

Odelia worked hard, of course, and so did her boyfriend Chase, a cop with the local police force. But she shouldn’t have to rely on her mother to take care of basic household stuff like this. And if she didn’t have the time, maybe she should hire a cleaner.

And as she vowed to have a talk with Odelia that night, she thought she heard the doorbell chime out its customary tune.

She shut down the vacuum cleaner and listened intently for a moment. Yep, there it was again. She wondered for a moment whether to open the door or not, but then decided she might as well have a look.

“You can come out now,” she said as she walked out of the room. “I’m done in here.”

Four cats gratefully stuck their heads from under the covers and sighed a collective sigh of relief. Marge smiled. It was funny to see them go into hiding the moment the vacuum cleaner came out. Well, funny for her. Not as much fun for them, poor babies.

She quickly walked down the stairs and headed for the door. The moment she opened it she thought she experienced déjà-vu, for the two men standing there looked very familiar indeed.

“Johnny? Jerry?” she asked, taken aback a little by the sight of the twosome. “Is that really you?”

The two men appeared equally surprised by this meeting, for they goggled for a moment, then Johnny, the biggest of the two, opened his arms, his face breaking into a wide grin, and cried, “Mrs. P! It’s so nice to see you again!”

Marge wasn’t prepared to allow herself to be hugged by the big guy, though, so she took a step back, folded her arms across her chest, and frowned. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Johnny Carew. And you better make it good, or I’m calling the police.”

Jerry, Johnny’s ferret-faced partner in crime, contrived to beam at her, which oddly enough made him look like a ferret in heat. “Now, Mrs. P,” he said, his voice smooth like butter. “No need to be like that. We mean you no harm. Isn’t that right, Johnny?”

“Yeah, that’s right, Jer,” said Johnny, a mountain of a man whose face displayed all the hallmarks of a goofy kid, including a certain guilelessness that was remarkable in one who’d seen the inside of a prison cell for a big chunk of his life. The two career criminals had, once upon a time, been assigned to Marge for their community service, to be carried out at the library she managed. Apart from stacking books on their designated shelves, they’d also knocked out a wall in the basement, tunneled into the Capital First Bank, absconding with the contents of no less than fifteen safe-deposit boxes. They’d escaped to Mexico, but had recently been apprehended in Tulum after Johnny had posted a selfie on the beach, sipping a daiquiri and having a great old time.

“So you’re back,” said Marge, who still hadn’t forgiven the bank robbers for taking advantage of her good heart.

“Yeah, they caught us in Mexico,” said Johnny sadly.

“No thanks to you,” Jerry grumbled. “You just had to post that selfie, didn’t you?”

“But, Jer, how else were people going to know how we were doing?”

“They weren’t supposed to know how we were doing, you great lummox.”

“The cops shipped us back stateside,” Johnny explained. “Even though I told them we liked Mexico a lot better. The weather is much nicer,” he said. “And the beaches, too.”

“So why aren’t you in prison, serving your sentence?” asked Marge.

“The nice judge let us out,” Johnny said.

“Community service,” said Jerry. “Again.”

Marge shook her head. “You keep getting lucky with your judges.”

“This time we’re going to be good,” said Johnny. “Isn’t that right, Jer?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jerry, glancing behind Marge at Odelia’s hallway. “So this is your place, is it, Mrs. P?”

“My daughter’s,” she said. “What community service?”

“You’re not going to believe this, Mrs. P,” said Johnny with a wide grin.

“Try me,” said Marge a little acerbically.

“We’ve joined Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

She stared at the guy. “Is this a joke?”

“No joke,” said Johnny. “We found religion. Isn’t that right, Jer?”

“Or religion found us,” Jerry grumbled. “No thanks to that idiot Judge Lockhart.”

“Our lawyer is a Jehovah’s Witness himself,” said Johnny. “He was the one who suggested Judge Lockhart we sign up.”

“We didn’t exactly sign up, though, did we, Johnny?” asked Jerry with a good deal of pique. “We’re doing our three months and that’s it. We’re out, free and clear.”

“Unless we like it so much we want to stay. And so far I’m liking it a lot. It’s so much fun knocking on people’s doors and telling them all about Jesus. Isn’t that right, Jer?”

“Grmbl,” said Jerry, his scowl deepening.

“Well, at least you can’t do any harm going door to door,” Marge allowed, thinking that maybe this was for the best. If two hardened criminals like Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale could be induced to find religion, there was still hope left in the world. Though judging from the way Jerry kept eyeing the painting on Odelia’s hallway wall, something told her the recently reformed criminal’s heart wasn’t entirely in his reformation.

“So can we interest you in the word of Jesus, Mrs. P?” asked Johnny.

“Not right now, Johnny,” said Marge. “I have to go to work.”

“At the library,” said Johnny with a big grin. “I loved working at the library with you, Mrs. P. All those books… and stuff.”

“Let’s not bother Mrs. P any more than necessary, Johnny,” said Jerry, tugging at his compatriot’s elbow. “Can’t you see she’s busy?”

And as the two gangsters retreated, only now did Marge notice how they were both clasping a Bible in their hands. The sight was so incongruous she did a double-take.

“See you, Mrs. P,” said Johnny with a little wave.

“See you,” said Marge, and found herself returning the wave, before closing the door.

At least they couldn’t rob banks while spreading the word of Jesus, could they?

Chapter 7

Wilbur Vickery made a face when this customer counted out the sum she owed him down to the last cent.

“One cent, two cents, three cents…” the woman murmured as she put a pile of coins on the counter.

Wilbur, even though he was of an age when most people stop losing interest in technological advancements, had embraced the digital revolution wholeheartedly. He liked nothing better than when people paid with plastic. Coins were such a nuisance. You had to count them, you had to make sure you didn’t shortchange people and, most of all, you never knew where all those coins had been. People paid a visit to the bathroom, didn’t wash their hands, and then brought out their coins to pay for their wares. Yikes.

He glanced over the counter and out into the street, where passersby enjoyed a relaxing stroll in the sun, while small business owners were cooped up inside having to patiently wait for customers to empty the contents of their wallets, counting out coins and keeping an entire line of customers waiting.

Wilbur’s big piebald, Kingman, sat on the sidewalk, on an overturned plastic crate, chatting with other cats. Well, at least Wilbur thought Kingman was chatting. With cats it was hard to know what it was they were doing, but it sure as heck looked to him as if they were chattering away like a bunch of gossiping old maids.

“Thank you for your business,” he said dutifully when the lady had finally divested herself of her last copper coin and he’d dumped them into his cash register.

He cast a quick glance at the bank of screens located next to the till, where he could monitor any of the dozen or so cameras he’d installed in his store. Right next to that was a television screen tuned to ESPN, where currently two newscasters were arguing the pros and cons of LeBron James’s state of fitness for next month’s game.

“It’s a disgrace,” said the next customer in line.

He stared at the woman. “Disgrace? What are you talking about?” He recognized her as Ida Baumgartner, one of his regulars.

“And you call yourself a member of the neighborhood watch,” she said, shaking her head and looking at him with clear reproach in her eyes.

She was a formidable woman, of sizable proportions, with no less than three chins, or it could have been four. All of her chins were waggling now, and her eyes, behind those square-shaped horn-rimmed glasses, were hard and unforgiving.

“Burglars are running amok in our town and you’re sitting here twiddling your thumbs as if you don’t have a care in the world.”

He would have pointed out that he wasn’t exactly twiddling his thumbs but making a living selling his wares to all who wanted them, but Mrs. Baumgartner was already continuing her tirade. “If I were you I’d take down that sign,” she said now, pointing to the sign on the wall behind them that read, ‘Proud member of the Neighborhood Watch.’

“Well, I…”

“The police are doing nothing to stop these miscreants, nor do I expect them to, since they are, after all, civil servants, and can’t be bothered, but I’d really expected more from you, Wilbur, seeing as you’re supposed to be one of us.” She dropped a twenty dollar note and it fluttered down to the conveyor belt. “But all you care about is our money, not our safety. I should have known.” And with a shake of the head and a final dark frown, she grabbed her large canvas shopping bag containing her frankly meager haul, and stalked off, leaving Wilbur to stare after her, feeling bewildered and slightly annoyed.

“Don’t listen to her, Wilbur,” said his next customer, Father Reilly. “It’s not your fault that criminals are running circles around our law enforcement officers.”

“My fault? Your fault, you mean,” said Wilbur, for Father Reilly was as much a member of the newly launched neighborhood watch as he himself was.

“Myes, you’re probably right,” said the priest, fingering his tuft of white hair. “Maybe we should get together and see if we can’t put a stop to the latest crime wave to hit these shores.”

“Have you heard from Vesta yet?” asked Wilbur, referring to Vesta Muffin, the heroic founding mother and current leader of the watch.

“Can’t say that I have. But rest assured, if this crime wave is as bad as Ida seems to think it is, I’m sure that Vesta will be on top of it, and so will Scarlett.”

“I hope so,” said Wilbur. “We pledged to keep this town safe from crime, Francis, and if what Ida is saying is true, we’re failing in our sacred duty.”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that,” said Father Reilly soothingly. “Ida tends to see danger where there is none. We all know that about her.”

This was true. Ida was one of those people with hypochondriacal tendencies, and spent more time at the doctor’s office than out and about. Still, it’s one thing to imagine yourself the victim of every disease on WebMD and another to accuse the neighborhood watch of gross negligence in the face of a violent crime wave sweeping through the town. “I’ll talk to Vesta,” said Wilbur therefore. “Tell her to organize a meeting. If there really is a gang of burglars hitting our town, we need to get on top of this pronto, Francis. Or we’ll be tarred and feathered for not doing what we promised people we’d do.”

After Francis had walked out carrying his two bottles of wine and a nice block of Brie cheese, Wilbur took his phone and called Vesta. He didn’t like being accused of gross negligence, but what he liked even less were criminals taking what didn’t belong to them. And as he waited for Vesta to pick up, suddenly he saw that some teenager was grabbing a can of Red Bull and tucking it into the waistband of his cargo pants, then pulling down his Bugs Bunny sweater over it. “I saw that, Bart Stupes!” he yelled, and disconnected again, just when Vesta’s voice called out, “Wilbur? What do you want?”

But the store owner was already stalking down the aisles en route to catching a sneak thief in the act.

Chapter 8

“And what did they take, exactly?” asked Tex as he studied his patient with a measure of exasperation.

He’d known, when becoming a doctor, that he’d have to deal with his fair share of annoying patients from time to time, but never in his wildest dreams had he expected to encounter a hypochondriac stalker who’d walk into his office on a daily basis. Ida Baumgartner was every doctor’s worst nightmare. She scoured the internet for new and fascinating diseases she was absolutely sure she suffered from, and even though Tex explained to her time and time again that, apart from a slight tendency to suffer from hypertension, she was as healthy as a young oxen, she wouldn’t take his word for it, and demand he examine her for whatever new disease she’d discovered online.

This morning, however, Ida had other things on her mind apart from the precarious state of her health. Someone had broken into her home the night before, and she was anxious to tell anyone who would listen all about it, and even those who wouldn’t listen, too. Or those who had a waiting room full of patients, like Dr. Tex Poole.

“They took my painting,” she declared now, with a sense of importance that had put a blush on her cheeks. “My priceless painting, if you please.”

“What painting would this be?” asked Tex, casting a sad glance at his monitor that fed him a live image of his waiting room, where six patients were more or less patiently waiting for Ida to finish her tale of woe and damnation.

“My late husband got it at an auction in Auckland,” Idea explained as she clasped her purse a little tighter, as if afraid those same thieves would suddenly spring from under the desk and abscond with her faux crocodile Louis Vuitton. “It’s a Picasso, if you please.”

“A real Picasso?” asked Tex, trying his darndest to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

“That’s right. My Burt knew his art.”

“Wasn’t your husband a traveling salesman for Crockpot?”

“He was—and a damn fine one at that. Burt was a man of the world, and if he said it was a real Picasso, you can bet your bottom dollar it was. Worth a small fortune, too.”

“And someone stole it,” said Tex, wondering how much of the story was true, and how much Ida had picked up from the Lifetime movie she’d been watching the night before.

“It must have happened while I was home, too,” said the eternal patient. She shivered visibly. “Can you imagine? Being home in bed with a burglar prowling through your apartment. I can only imagine what might have happened if I’d been suffering through one of my insomniac episodes you told me I didn’t suffer from.” She gave Tex a look of reproach. “Good thing you decided to give me those pills anyway, or else I might have woken up and run straight into that burglar. And who knows what would have happened. He’d have probably knocked me out cold—or worse!”

Tex couldn’t imagine what fate worse than being knocked on the head could have befallen Ida, but kept his tongue. He’d learned a long time ago to simply let Ida do all the talking, at the end write her a prescription for a harmless potion or draught, and send her on her way, happy that yet another lethal disease had been nipped in the bud.

“I probably should have sold the painting a long time ago,” said Ida with pretty regret. “Burt told me it’d probably net us a million. But I simply couldn’t bring myself to part with something that was a gift from my dearest late husband—God rest his soul.”

“So did you tell the police?” asked Tex, in spite of himself gripped by this tale.

Ida pressed her lips together. “Of course I did. And do you want to know what she said, that horrible Dolores Peltz? That it was probably a fake, and to buy myself another copy at the dime store. Can you believe the gall of the woman? The impertinence?”

Tex made the appropriate noises of commiseration, while he mentally commended Dolores for her good sense.

“I’m sure Chief Alec will take the matter in hand,” he said. “If there really is a gang of thieves going house to house as you suggest, he’ll be on top of it—don’t you worry.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Ida with a disparaging shake of the head. “Our chief of police is too busy with other, more important matters, to bother about a silly little thing like a crime wave upsetting his fair town.”

“You mean…”

Mrs. Baumgartner nodded primly and scooted a little closer to the desk. “The Chief is carrying on with the Mayor, if you please. Acting like a couple of teenage lovebirds, too. I saw them walking out of the police station, hand in hand, giggling and behaving like a couple of silly kids.” She produced a loud snort of disapproval. “The safety of Hampton Covians be damned—as long as the Mayor and the chief of police can have their little carnal fun, who cares about ordinary tax-paying citizens like myself?”

“I’m sure Alec is on top of things,” said Tex as he got up from behind his desk, the clearest indication he could give that as far as he was concerned, the consultation was at an end. Ida Baumgartner didn’t take the hint, though, and remained firmly seated.

“I’m telling you, Dr. Poole, when both the Mayor and the chief of police take their eye off the ball, we’re in for a very bad time indeed. You know what they say. When the cat’s away, the mice will play. And this is the exact same scenario playing out right now, only with potentially devastating consequences for us little people.” And with a final loud snort, she got up and walked out. “You tell that brother-in-law of yours to get his act together fast, or else this town will become like the Wild West. Lawlessness will reign, and Hampton Cove will go down in flames and so will his career and the Mayor’s.”

Chapter 9

Long after Marge had left, along with her contraption of doom, we all stayed safely hidden in Odelia’s bed. Finally I decided to brave all and venture out into the world again. Much to my delight, of Marge there was no trace, and neither of her Hoover.

“You can come out now, you guys,” I said therefore. “The coast is clear.”

Harriet, who was the first to follow my lead, blew out a sigh of intense relief. “When I talked to Marge and implored her to do something about the lack of hygiene in this place I didn’t think she’d be this quick to give service,” she said, looking slightly mussed. She immediately started rectifying the situation by applying raspy tongue to fur.

Brutus, who was next to emerge from under the bed covers, glanced left and right, then lifted his head and walked out into our midst as if nothing had happened. He stretched and yawned. “Nice nap, you guys,” he said. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t as afraid as the rest of us of that vacuum cleaner,” I said.

“Afraid? Moi?” he asked, assuming a careless stance. He laughed a light little laugh. “What a silly idea. Me, afraid of a vacuum cleaner. Of course I’m not afraid. I simply saw that you were afraid and decided you needed a strong paw to guide you through this dark time, that’s all.”

“You’re as afraid of vacuum cleaners as the rest of us, Brutus,” I said. “Just admit it.”

“I will do no such thing,” he grunted, and lifted a paw as if to strike me, then used it to smooth his ruffled brow instead. I flinched and he flashed me a triumphant grin.

Even though Brutus has mellowed out a lot in the time he’s been with us, he can still be his old obnoxious self if he wants to be.

The final cat to emerge from the safety of the makeshift burrow was Dooley. “Are you sure she’s gone?” he asked, giving me a piteous look.

“Yeah, she’s gone. She said the coast was clear, and then the doorbell rang and then I heard her talking up a storm with whoever was at the door, so we’re perfectly safe.”

“For now,” Harriet muttered as she inspected herself in the mirror Odelia likes to use when getting ready to go out and Chase likes to use to see if his left bicep is the exact same size as his right bicep.

“At least there are no more health hazards lurking around every corner,” I said. “No more bacteria, fungi or germs in evidence.”

“Yeah, at least there’s that,” said Harriet with the sigh of a long-suffering health fanatic.

“I wonder who was at the door just now,” I said, my natural curiosity asserting itself once again.

“Probably the mailwoman,” said Brutus as he licked his paw then applied it to his brow, smoothing out a few errant hairs located there.

“So did Max tell you about my great idea?” asked Dooley now.

“What great idea?” asked Harriet, striking a pose in front of the mirror.

“Max! You didn’t tell them?”

“When would I have told them? You only told me an hour ago or so.”

“I’ll tell you now,” said Dooley, “shall I?”

Harriet didn’t seem particularly excited by the prospect, and neither did Brutus, but that didn’t bother Dooley, for he launched into his pitch for his cat quiz show with marked glee. When it was all over, Harriet was frowning, and so was Brutus.

“So you want Gran to reveal her big cat-talking secret to the world so you can win a house, while you already have a perfectly nice set of houses to live in?” asked Harriet. “I’m sorry, Dooley, but that doesn’t make any sense at all. None whatsoever.”

Of course Dooley had neglected to add one crucial detail: that he wanted the new house so he could get away from Harriet’s overbearing ways. I wasn’t going to supply this information either, so Harriet naturally remained mystified.

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Brutus. “Cats from all over the world will love it. Humans won’t, though, unless you provide subtitles.”

“Subtitles! What a great idea, Brutus!” Dooley cried. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I think it’s a disastrously ill-conceived idea, but who listens to me? No one,” said Harriet as she studied her paw with interest. “Is it just me or did my paw pads look pinker yesterday?”

“You probably shouldn’t involve Gran, though,” said Brutus. “She might get in trouble. What you need is a seasoned show host. A cat who exudes natural charm and that air of debonair flair you want to see.” He tapped his chest. “And as it so happens I’m between engagements right now so I’ll gladly pick up the baton and fill the position.”

Dooley, who’d been listening intently to this speech, seemed to have missed the point. “So you want to win a house, too, Brutus?”

“I want to host your show,” Brutus corrected him. “But only if you call it something appropriate. Like The Brutus Show.”

“Oh, no,” said Harriet. “If anyone is going to host Dooley’s new show it’s me. I’ll be a regular ratings hit.”

“It’s a YouTube show,” I pointed out, “so there won’t be any ratings, only views.”

“Well, rack up the views for here I come,” said Harriet, tilting her head and looking every bit the quiz show queen of the new era.

“I don’t know,” said Dooley, taken aback a little.

“Of course you don’t. A quiz of this caliber needs a firm paw to navigate the rocky cliffs of the interwebs,” said Brutus, and tapped his chest again. “Me, myself and I will do the job. And no one else.” But when Harriet gave him one of her trademark icy looks, his self-assurance wavered, and soon he mumbled, “Or it could be you, sweet pea.”

“Of course it’s me,” said Harriet. “But you can hold the camera,” she allowed.

Dooley cast me a look of confusion, and I shot him back a look of commiseration. With Brutus and Harriet on board his little quiz show had just entered a new, more challenging era. That’s what you get when you hire talent as capricious and prone to temper tantrums and diva behavior as Harriet and Brutus.

Things get complicated. Very complicated indeed.

Chapter 10

Odelia had just started typing up the story of the latest farmer’s market to spring up in Hampton Cove, when her editor Dan Goory walked in, his white beard waggling excitedly and his eyes sparkling the way they always did when he was onto a good story.

“Stop the press,” he cried as he took a seat on the edge of her desk. “I’ve got tomorrow’s cover right here.”

He was holding his phone, and now handed it to her.

She frowned as her eyes adjusted to the small screen, then frowned even more when she recognized the people depicted in the picture on the screen. They were none other than her uncle Alec Lip, chief of police, and his girlfriend Charlene Butterwick, town mayor. They were locked in a tight embrace, gazing into each other’s eyes intently, the epitome of the loved-up couple.

Dan swiped through to the next picture, which showed the same couple, only now their eyes were closed and their lips were touching in a touching display of public affection—at least Odelia thought it was a public place.

“Where were these taken?” she asked immediately.

Dan didn’t respond, but merely swiped again. The next shot showed the couple’s surroundings: Café Baron, right in the heart of town, with patrons to the left of them and patrons to the right, all doing their darndest not to look too closely at the couple in their midst and failing miserably.

“I think it’s beautiful,” said Odelia. “They’re clearly very much in love, and I think it’s wonderful that they’re not afraid to show it to the world.”

“Yeah, but as the sender of these pictures rightly states, aren’t they supposed to be at work? These were taken yesterday afternoon at two o’clock, when by all accounts both the Mayor and the chief of police should have been at the office, doing whatever it is that a mayor and a chief of police are supposed to be doing at that time.”

Odelia leaned back and shook her head. “Don’t these people have anything better to do than to take pictures of my uncle and his girlfriend and send them to you?”

“It’s news, Odelia, and like it or not news is the business we’re in.”

“You’re not seriously considering printing these on the cover of the Gazette, are you?” she asked, horrified.

The editor shrugged his bony shoulders. “Like I said, it’s news, and people have a right to know what their civil servants are up to when they’re supposed to be working, earning their paycheck, paid for by your taxes and mine.”

“Oh, come on, Dan. It’s sweet! It’s romantic!”

“And I’m sure the majority of our readers will think so, too,” he said with a grin.

“Oh, no, they won’t. They’ll think my uncle and the mayor are playing hooky.”

“Then maybe they should be more careful next time,” said Dan as he got up, taking his phone from Odelia’s hands. “Look,” he added when he saw her expression, “I’m all for romance, and personally I think it’s pretty sweet, too. But you have to admit that when the mayor and the chief of police of a town like ours hook up, and don’t bother to hide their affection, it’s news. And if we don’t carry this story, I’m sure plenty of others will.”

Dan had a point, of course. Even if he didn’t print the story, it would still wend its way across the digital landscape and arrive in inboxes and social media pages around town.

“I better tell my uncle to be more careful next time,” she said, picking up her own phone.

“Yeah, you do that. And I’ll think up a nice headline to go with these pictures,” said her editor. “Something like… CHIEF OF MY HEART. Or… CAN I HAVE SOME MAYOR!”

Her uncle picked up at the first ring. “Odelia, honey, just the person I need. Your dad just called me and said Ida Baumgartner was robbed last night. Something about a Picasso. Could you go over there and talk to her?”

“Sure. But isn’t that something your officers should be doing?” She didn’t mind doing a bit of legwork for the local police department from time to time, but the citizenry didn’t always appreciate it when she did.

“I’m, um… a little busy right now,” said her uncle.

“Busy doing what?”

“Um… well, it’s a long story, but, um… Please be a dear and do this for me, will you?”

“But how about Sarah or Randal?” she asked, referring to two of her uncle’s officers.

“Both on holiday.”

“Or Chase?”

“Working a case.”

“Okay. Um, so what do I tell her?”

“Just tell her I sent you. I’m sure it’s just a storm in a teacup. You know what Ida is like. A lot of fuss about nothing. Thanks, honey. I owe you one.” And before Odelia could say more, he’d already hung up. And when she rang him back a couple of seconds later, her call went straight to voicemail. “Listen, Uncle Alec, there’s something you should know,” she spoke into the machine. “You and Charlene are going to be in tomorrow’s—” And she would have said more, but the beep of her uncle’s answering service cut her off. So instead she typed out a message and hit send, biting her lip and wondering what could be so important her uncle didn’t have time to look into a simple burglary.

Chapter 11

We’d only just emerged from the relative safety of the bedroom and trepidatiously set paw into the living room—practicing extreme caution lest that terrible vacuum cleaner was waiting for us around the corner to jump us and tear us into little dust-sized pieces—when both the front door slammed open and so did the kitchen door. Odelia came homing in on us from the front, while Gran performed the same maneuver from the back. We were cornered, and awaited further developments with bated breath.

Odelia was the first to speak. “Are you guys up for a new adventure? I’m heading out to talk to Ida Baumgartner, who’s been the victim of a burglary.”

“They can’t come with you, Odelia,” said Gran. “I need them to come with me. I’ve set up an interview with Mort and Megan Hodge, whose house has just been burgled.”

For a moment, both amateur detectives faced off, the four of us stuck in the middle, our fate being sealed without our say-so. Now I know how the lesser countries in the UN must feel, when the Permanent Members decide the fate of the world over their heads.

“Fine,” finally said Odelia. “Why don’t I take Max and Dooley, and you take Harriet and Brutus? That way we both get what we want.”

“Fine,” said Gran, in the same measured tones as her granddaughter. “Harriet. Brutus. You’re with me. On the double!”

Harriet and Brutus trotted off in the direction of the kitchen door, and soon it slammed shut and the threesome was gone.

“Thanks for picking us,” I told my human. “It’s not that I don’t like Gran, but she looked a little… worked up.”

“She’s got a lot on her plate right now,” said Odelia, crouching down to give me a scratch behind the ears. “What with this neighborhood watch thing she started. People are relying on her, and it’s making her a little antsy.”

“Berserk is the word I’d go for,” I intimated, earning myself a smile from my human, and a cuddle. Dooley emitted a plaintive meow, and Odelia laughed and included him in the cuddle.

Group cuddle over, we set out for Odelia’s car, an aged pickup that nevertheless refuses to break down, and soon we were hurtling away from the curb, leaving the house on Harrington Street behind. And as we rounded the corner, and our home disappeared from view, I wondered briefly if it was safe to head out like this. “Don’t you think you should install an alarm?” I asked. “I mean, with this plague of burglaries maybe you should take some extra precautions, and so should Marge and Tex.”

“There’s nothing worth stealing, Max,” said Odelia, hunched over the wheel and steering the car through mild mid-morning traffic. “Apart from the television, which is old, and the stereo, which is even older, I don’t see why burglars would even bother.”

“They might take Chase’s fitness equipment,” Dooley said.

Odelia laughed. “I’d like to see them try. They’ll be in the hospital with a hernia before they manage to get it down the stairs. That stuff weighs a ton—literally.”

“Why does Chase spend so much time pulling all of those weights, Odelia?” asked Dooley, deciding now was the time to voice a question he’d been asking himself for ages. “And why does he make all those weird noises when he does?”

Odelia grinned. “I’ll be sure to ask him, Dooley. I’m not really sure myself.”

“It just seems as if he likes to torture himself,” Dooley continued, not afraid to offer the theory he himself had conjured up. “There was a documentary on the Discovery Channel the other night, about people who call themselves mosaicists.”

“Masochists,” I corrected him.

“These people like to suffer,” Dooley said. “In fact the more pain they suffer the more they like it. Do you think Chase is a masochist?”

This time Odelia laughed so hard the car swerved across the white line in the center of the road, earning herself loud honks from a panel van heading in our direction in the other lane. “Chase a masochist,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “You know what, Dooley? I think you might be onto something there.”

“See, Max?” said Dooley. “And you told me my theory couldn’t possibly be right.”

“All I said was that Chase wants to have bigger muscles, and the only way to have bigger muscles is to subject those muscles to a lot of strenuous activity, like lifting weights. The heavier the weights, the more the muscles are taxed, and the bigger they grow in response. It’s simply biology.”

Dooley frowned and directed a curious look at my belly, which was neatly placed between my paws, and spread out a little beyond the boundaries of what is usually termed fashionable or beautiful.

“Is that why you have so many muscles on your belly, Max?” he asked. “Because you make it work so hard lifting all of that kibble?”

“Yes, Dooley,” I said dryly. “That’s exactly why.”

Of course Odelia had another laughing fit, which caused the car to swerve once more into the wrong lane. Lucky for us she’s an excellent driver, and managed to get back where the car belonged before colliding with other occupants of the road.

Before long, we arrived at the home of Ida Baumgartner, one of Odelia’s dad’s most fervent patients. In fact it isn’t too much to say she’s probably Tex’s biggest fan, seeing as how she’s in his office all the time, always discovering some new disease to suffer from.

“Best to be on your best behavior, Dooley,” I said. “Ida Baumgartner is a very sick woman. And we don’t want to send her to the hospital just by our mere presence in her home.” I directed a worried look at Odelia. “Are you sure she’s not allergic to cats?”

“I’m sure Ida is allergic to everything,” said Odelia, “but don’t let that stop you from poking around her place and gathering clues.”

And with these words, she got out of the car and Dooley and I followed suit.

I won’t conceal I was feeling a little jolt of excitement. It had been a while since we’d tackled a case together, and even though burglary isn’t exactly high on the list of high crimes, it was still a case, and therefore something to dig our teeth into.

Whoever had burgled Ida was now in our crosshairs. The game was officially afoot!

Chapter 12

Ida Baumgartner’s apartment was the picture of cleanliness and hygiene. From the moment we walked in, I couldn’t detect a single dust particle, or a germ, for that matter. Of course, the moment we did walk in she gave both me and Dooley the evil eye.

“Cats!” she cried, utterly dismayed. “Why are you bringing cats into my home?”

“I like to think they bring me luck, Mrs. Baumgartner,” said Odelia. “Also, they seem to have a knack for sniffing out clues. Just like dogs.”

Ida sniffed loudly. “Cats sniffing out clues. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” She sneezed and looked even more dismayed. “My allergies. Those beasts of yours are triggering my allergies.”

“Just let them take one look at the place where it happened,” Odelia suggested. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Ida looked unconvinced. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. And why did your uncle send you? Why didn’t he come himself? Or is he too busy cavorting with Mayor Butterwick to bother about the crime wave that’s sweeping our town?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” said Odelia, who’s never been one for idle gossip. “So my father told me you owned a genuine Picasso?”

“Come on, Dooley,” I said. “Let’s take a quick look around, before Mrs. Baumgartner’s allergies really kick in and she kicks us out.”

“She doesn’t seem to like us very much, does she, Max?” asked my friend as we started our tour of the apartment.

“Some people are like that,” I said. “They don’t like cats.”

“I don’t understand. How can anyone not like cats?”

“I know, Dooley. I find it hard to understand, too, but there you have it.”

I couldn’t help checking underneath cabinets and couches as we traversed what I assumed was the living room, and much to my surprise I didn’t find any evidence of dust there either.

“Amazing,” I muttered.

“Did you find a clue already, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Will you look at how clean this place this? Not a dust bunny in sight. How does she do it?”

“Maybe whoever stole her Picasso also stole her dust bunnies?” Dooley suggested.

“I doubt it,” I said. “Dusty bunnies don’t sell for millions at Sotheby’s, as far as I can tell.”

“Millions? Did Mrs. Baumgartner own a painting worth millions?”

“According to her she did. Or at least that’s what she told Tex this morning.”

Odelia had been briefed by her dad before she set out on her trip to Mrs. Baumgartner. As a connoisseur on all things Ida Baumgartner, he was the best source of information where she was concerned, and Tex hadn’t disappointed, with his sensational story about the stolen Picasso.

We checked the living room and poked around in the kitchen, mainly to ascertain whether our reluctant host didn’t own a pet and kept a nice spread of pet food in the kitchen. Unfortunately she did not. So we soon doubled back and joined the conversation, which was in full force in an office off the hallway.

“This was my husband’s office,” Mrs. Baumgartner was explaining to her captious audience. “He was a self-made man, and this is where he conducted his business affairs and ran his empire.”

I glanced around. The walls were bedecked with portraits of a stern-faced man with a weak chin and a pronounced nose. His beady little eyes seemed to stare out at the world in perpetual wonder.

“What business was he in?” asked Odelia.

“Burt sold crockpots, but in his heart of hearts he was an inventor,” said Mrs. Baumgartner proudly. “He invented a new type of vacuum cleaner, then sold his invention to Hoover, only for them to bury his design, deeming it too revolutionary for their taste.”

“Vacuum cleaners again,” Dooley whispered.

“Yeah, they keep popping up,” I intimated with a sense of alarm.

“What was so revolutionary about his invention?” asked Odelia.

“Well, the Burt 1000 didn’t merely suck up the dust as much as obliterate it with laser beams. It zapped the dust particles into oblivion. Only problem was that the first prototype Hoover built mistook its CEO for a dust particle and zapped his nice new Brooks Brothers suit into oblivion, too. He ended up looking very silly dressed in his pink unicorn boxer shorts in front of his entire staff.” Ida shook her head. “Every great inventor suffers these minor setbacks. Just ask Thomas Edison. Or Alexander Graham Bell. But of course Burt was labeled a crackpot and his prototype was destroyed.”

“Too bad,” said Odelia. “A vacuum cleaner that zaps dust sounds like a great idea.”

“Sounds like a terrible idea to me,” said Dooley, looking panicked at the thought of being zapped by a vacuum cleaner.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the thing either,” I agreed.

“So is this where the painting hung?” asked Odelia, getting down to business.

An empty spot on the wall was a sad reminder of the theft. Ida nodded. “I know I probably shouldn’t have kept it in the apartment. But what’s the point of buying a Picasso and then putting it in a vault at the bank, never to be seen again? Burt always said art should be enjoyed, not tucked away. And I wholeheartedly agree.”

“Can you tell me what happened, exactly?” asked Odelia, taking out her notebook.

“Well, it was right here yesterday. I know because I dusted it and adjusted one of the lights.” She gestured to the LED lamp that was placed to provide the Picasso with favorable lighting. “And then when I got up this morning it was gone.”

“And you didn’t hear anything?”

“Nothing! Though I have to say I’m a sound sleeper. I take ZzleepIt every night before going to bed, and of course I sleep with noise-canceling headphones, a sleeping mask and a sleep apnea device. So even if the burglars made a lot of noise, I wouldn’t have heard them.” She shivered. “But just imagine—they could have been in my room—looked at me while I was sleeping. And I didn’t even know!”

“And nothing else was stolen?” asked Odelia. “Apart from your… Picasso?”

The slight pause indicated she wasn’t convinced Mrs. Baumgartner’s Picasso was an actual Picasso. Ida had picked up on the pause, too, for her brow furrowed and her expression darkened. “You don’t believe me, do you? Nobody does. They all think Burt was hoodwinked when he got his Picasso. Well, I’ll have you know that when he was still with us he had an expert come in to look at the painting, and the expert—an actual professor from Italy—ascertained that it was genuine. And worth a small fortune.”

Odelia nodded and frowned as she glanced around. “Who knew about your Picasso, Mrs. Baumgartner?”

“Oh, plenty of people. Over the years I must have told all of my friends, and of course the Picasso was the pride of Burt’s collection, so whenever we entertained he always made sure he showed it off to our guests.”

“His collection? You mean you have more paintings?”

“Oh, yes, I do. Though nothing comes close to Burt’s Picasso, of course.”

“Where are your other paintings?”

“Unfortunately I had to sell them off. Burt was a great success in life—he was top Crockpot salesman of the year three years in a row, so that will tell you something. But after he died I unfortunately discovered my dear husband possessed a flaw in the form of a gambling addiction. Turns out he left me nothing but a pile of debts. So I had to sell off the entire collection to pay off those debts.” She gazed lovingly at the portrait of Burt. “I don’t blame him, though. The man was a genius. And as we all know, with a brain that size something has to give, and with Burt it was the ponies, unfortunately.”

As we left the house, and returned to the car, Dooley made an interesting suggestion. “I think I know what happened, Max.”

“Oh?” I said, intrigued.

“I think Burt Baumgartner kept a prototype of his revolutionary vacuum cleaner, and last night it malfunctioned and zapped his Picasso into oblivion, mistaking it for a dust bunny.”

I smiled. “You just might be right, Dooley,” I said. “In fact you may just have cracked the case.”

His excited smile was my reward.

Chapter 13

Harriet wasn’t too sure she’d bet on the right horse when being picked by Gran to form a sleuthing alliance. Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d had a choice in the matter. Gran had been the one to pick which cats she wanted, and not the other way around.

The reason Harriet thought Odelia would have been the better choice was that Grandma Muffin had a tendency to let her temper get the better of her, and when it came to sleuthing, it was always the cool intellect that won out over raw emotions.

She herself was an excellent sleuth, of course, exactly for that reason: she never let her emotions get the better of her, and always allowed the cold facts to prevail.

They were in Gran’s little red Peugeot, with the old lady behind the wheel, and Brutus and Harriet ensconced on the backseat.

“Wait here,” Gran suddenly ordered as she stomped on the brakes and the car skidded to a halt in front of a modest apartment building, causing Harriet and Brutus to tumble forward and straight into the footwell.

As Gran got out and slammed the door, Harriet and Brutus shared a look of concern. “I thought we were supposed to join the investigation, and now she wants us to stay in the car,” said Brutus, neatly summing up the state of affairs.

“Oh, I think I know what’s going on,” said Harriet, as recognition dawned. “Isn’t this where Scarlett Canyon lives?”

They stared out at the apartment building, which seemed to have been built two decades before, and was nice enough, as apartment buildings go, but not as nice as the house they themselves occupied.

Brutus frowned. “Am I glad that we don’t have to live in a place like this,” he said. “I was an apartment cat for far too long. You wouldn’t believe how much nicer it is to have a backyard to strut your stuff in, to breathe fresh air when you want, or let grass blades tickle your belly.” He sighed. “If there is a God, he sure must like me, to have placed me with the Pooles.” He directed a loving smile at Harriet. “And with you, twinkle toes.”

Harriet simpered a little. She never got tired of listening to her mate pour such sweet nothings into her ear. “Aww, Brutus,” she murmured, well pleased. “Yeah, I wouldn’t like to live in an apartment either.” Though truth be told she wouldn’t know the difference, as she’d lived with the Poole family from the moment she was a little kitten.

The door swung open and Gran and Scarlett walked out, talking animatedly.

“See?” said Harriet with a note of triumph in her voice. “I knew I was right.”

“You’re a great detective, princess,” said Brutus, nodding. “I’ll bet you’ll crack this burglary in no time.”

“Of course I will,” said Harriet. “Have no fear, honey lips. I’ll be onto those nasty burglars before you can say ‘Gotcha!’”

Scarlet dropped into the passenger seat, and Gran took up her position behind the wheel again, then stomped on the gas and the car shot forward, Brutus and Harriet tumbling back. Harriet thought ruefully that not only was Odelia probably the better sleuth, she was also the better driver.

It only took them another ten minutes or so to arrive at a very nice villa in a quiet neighborhood not all that far from where they themselves lived. And as the car skidded to a halt and hit the curb with a thud, they all filed out, Harriet feeling a little queasy after the wild ride they’d had.

“You really should learn how to drive, Vesta,” said Scarlett reproachfully as she checked if all of her body parts were still attached. She was dressed in an extremely tight leopard-print dress that showed off a lot of leg, a lot of cleavage, and made Scarlett look like a lady of the night more than a respectable sleuth. She’d put on bright red lipstick, expanding beyond the boundaries of her mouth, which gave her a clownish look.

“You should talk. You don’t even have a driver’s license,” said Vesta.

“Because I don’t believe in cars,” said Scarlett. “Cars kill hedgehogs, and I happen to like hedgehogs.”

“You like any animal whose sole claim to fame is an erect quill,” Vesta grunted.

“Why didn’t we simply walk here? We should all avoid driving as much as humanly possible and save the planet.”

“I don’t like to walk,” said Vesta. “Walking makes my feet hurt. Besides, with the kind of shoes you like to wear you should be grateful one of us can drive a car.”

They all stared at the nine-inch heels Scarlett had opted to wear, and Scarlett frowned. At least Harriet thought she was frowning. It was hard to see with all the Botox injections Vesta’s friend liked to apply to her suspiciously wrinkle-free brow.

“Let’s just go and talk to this guy Mort Hodge,” said Scarlet with a little toss of her head. “Before I accidentally stab you with something hard and erect.”

They walked up the short garden path to the front door and Vesta pressed the bell, applying so much pressure Harriet wondered if she was trying to push it through the panel.

“Please be on your best behavior, Vesta,” said Scarlett as the sound of the bell echoed through the house.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, be less like yourself.”

“And be more like you? Fat chance.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means what you want it to mean.”

But before Scarlett could launch a sharp retort, the door swung open and an older man appeared. He was bald on top, with a fringe of white hair around the sides, had a round, friendly face, and a pronounced stoop. “Police?” he asked.

“Neighborhood watch,” Vesta said, conjuring up her best smile for the occasion.

The man frowned a little uncertainly. “I called the police, and they said they’d send someone to take our statements.”

“Well, they sent us,” said Scarlett sweetly, and walked right past the man, who blinked when he caught sight of her jiggling décolletage, visibly suffering from a slight sense of vertigo.

“My son is chief of police,” Vesta explained. “And he’s asked us to look into the matter. With half the police force on vacation, and the other half otherwise engaged, he asked us to take a stab at the case.”

“Okay,” said Mr. Hodge, clearly not fully convinced. Then again, if you are a tax-paying citizen, you probably expect a real police person to show up when you need them, and not two old ladies and their cats.

When he caught sight of Harriet, though, Mr. Hodge’s eyes lit up with sheer delight. “Oh, what a gorgeous fur baby you are,” he said, and crouched down with a creaking of the knees, and tickled Harriet under the chin. He glanced up. “Are they yours?”

“Yeah, both of them,” said Vesta. “I like to take them along wherever I go.” She shrugged. “You never know what they’ll pick up. Cats are smart. A lot smarter than dogs, if you ask me.”

“Oh, I know,” said Mr. Hodge, getting up again with some effort. He gestured to a large painting in the hallway depicting a big orange cat with lively eyes and a wide grin. “I don’t know if you read my stuff, but I’m a cat person all the way.”

“Oh, you’re that Mort Hodge!” said Scarlett. “The creator of Mort’s Molly!”

“You’re Mort’s Molly’s Mort?” asked Vesta, surprised.

“Yeah, that’s me,” said Mr. Hodge with a light chuckle. “So you see, you can bring all the cats you like. The more, the merrier!”

And on that cheerful note, they stepped into the house and Mr. Hodge closed the door.

Chapter 14

The house was nice, Brutus thought. High ceilings, large rooms, and so much space!

He sniffed the air, trying to detect whether there were any other cats or pets nearby, but to his surprise couldn’t pick up any sign of them. Mort’s Molly did not live there.

“You own a cat yourself?” asked Scarlett.

“No, unfortunately I don’t,” said Mr. Hodge. “My wife is allergic to cats and dogs. Very ironic, I know, for the creator of Mort’s Molly not to own a molly himself. But there you have it. I like to think I’m the owner of a fictional cat, and that’s good enough for me.”

Mrs. Hodge had joined them. She was a lively woman with a kind demeanor. A full head shorter than her husband, and dressed in a floral-pattern dress that showed off a well-rounded physique. Mrs. Hodge might be allergic to pets, Brutus thought, but she clearly wasn’t allergic to the good life. All in all she and her husband looked like a very lovely couple, and as Mort placed an arm around his wife’s shoulder and gave her a quick peck on the temple, it was obvious they were a devoted one, too.

“So what happened, exactly?” asked Vesta. “My son said something about a safe being burgled?”

“Not the safe—it’s actually worse than that,” said Mort. “You better tell the story, honey.”

“I opened the door this morning when I heard the doorbell and was surprised when I found two individuals announcing they worked for the gas company. They immediately overpowerd me and shoved a rag or something into my mouth and tied my hands behind my back and walked me up the stairs into our bedroom and pushed me down onto the bed.” She had tears in her eyes. “I feared the worst—the absolute worst.”

“These men, did you recognize them?” asked Vesta, taking the lead as usual.

Mrs. Hodge shook her head. “I did not. Both of them were dressed in black from head to toe. Black leather jackets, black pants, black shoes, and a black mask to hide their faces. One was big and the other one small, though, so that might be important.”

“One big, one small,” murmured Scarlett while she tapped all this information into her smartphone, her tongue between her lips as she navigated the little keyboard with her inch-long gel nails.

“And then what happened?” asked Vesta.

“Well, they just left me there and walked straight into the next room, Mort’s old office, which we’ve turned into a storage space for some of his stuff.” She glanced at her husband. “They seemed to know their way around the house, which makes me think they must have been here before.”

“They didn’t bother with the safe,” said Mort with a frown of concern. “Instead they emptied out my big metal bookcase, which I keep padlocked.”

“What was in that bookcase?”

“All my originals,” said Mort. “Everything, down to my very first preliminary sketches, before I even launched the first Mort’s Molly cartoon.”

“Worth millions,” said Megan Hodge quietly.

“Our retirement fund,” said Mort. “Gone.”

“Wait, so they didn’t touch the safe?”

“Nope. There is a small cache of gold and valuables in there, but it’s not even worth a fraction of what was in that bookcase.”

“Millions?” asked Scarlett, pausing from her note-taking to gawp at the couple.

“Yeah, those originals easily fetch thousands upon thousands of dollars when auctioned off.”

“People actually pay that much money for a cartoon?” asked Vesta, earning herself a slight look of reproach from Mrs. Hodge.

“Mort has sold a couple of his originals over the years, and they never sell for less than ten thousand each. And the bulk of his collection he kept all these years.”

“I was going to sell more, but kept postponing. It’s hard to say goodbye to your original work, even though the money is good.”

“We don’t need the money, Mort,” said Megan. “We’re fine the way we are.”

“I know,” said Mort ruefully. “Megan has been telling me for years to put my originals in a vault at the bank or some specialized security company, but I like the idea of having my work close by. I like to take it out from time to time. Go over some stuff from the past. See how far I’ve come. And be inspired by things I did that I’ve completely forgotten.”

“Poor guy,” said Harriet. “He seems to be more sorry that he lost his drawings than about the money.”

“Yeah, well, it was his creation,” said Brutus. “Mort’s Molly is his baby.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about your attackers, Mrs. Hodge?” asked Vesta.

Megan frowned as she thought back to the horrible events of that morning. “Um, at some point one of them said something that sounded a lot like, ‘Do you want to take everything, Jer?’ And then the other one said, ‘Shut up, Johnny!’ and then the first one did shut up.”

Vesta and Scarlett shared a look of excitement, and so did Brutus and Harriet.

“Johnny and Jerry!” said Brutus.

“Oh, this is too easy,” said Harriet, shaking her head. “Those two? At it again?”

“I think we can safely say that we’ve solved the case already, Mr. Hodge, Mrs. Hodge,” said Vesta. “We’re familiar with these Johnny and Jerry characters. They’re career criminals. I’ll tell my son and they’ll be behind bars before you know it.”

Both Mr. And Mrs. Hodge looked much relieved. “Oh, that’s wonderful news,” said Megan Hodge. “Did you hear that, Mort? They think they know who did it already.”

Mort smiled. “I hope you’re right, Mrs. Muffin. I was thinking about offering a reward for the safe return of my originals.”

“Better wait,” Vesta advised. “If it is who I think it is, it won’t be long before you have your drawings back safe and sound.”

“And this time we’re putting them in a vault,” said Megan. “Not keeping them at home.”

“Do you still write and draw everything yourself, Mr. Hodge?” asked Scarlett, putting away her phone now that the case was solved.

“Why, yes, mostly,” said Mort. “I think up the jokes, and I create the original drawing in pencil, then send it to one of my collaborators who puts it in ink—not actual ink, mind you, nowadays everything is digital. And then a third person puts it in color and back it comes to me for a final check. It’s how I’ve been working for the past, oh, twelve years?”

“I think it’s great what you do,” said Scarlett with a smile.

“I think so, too,” said Vesta. “Wonderful cartoons. Always make me laugh.”

“And so true to life,” said Scarlett. “You really know your stuff.”

“Like I said, I may not be the lucky owner of a real cat, but Molly is as much a pet to me as these guys.” He gestured to Brutus and Harriet, who purred their appreciation.

“Oh, they’re hungry, the poor darlings,” said Megan. “Come. I think I have just what you need in the kitchen.”

Brutus and Harriet eagerly followed the artist’s wife into the kitchen, and before long they were both snacking on a nice piece of liverwurst.

“Case cracked and some great food to boot,” said Harriet between two nibbles. She was beaming. “Let’s see Max and Dooley beat that!”

Chapter 15

Since Tex was between patients, he was surfing on his phone and checking the news. The Gazette was leading with breaking news about Alec Lip and Charlene Butterwick canoodling into their allotted lunch break, causing hundreds of comments wondering if the mayor and chief of police of Hampton Cove didn’t have anything better to do than enjoy each other’s company. Like catching the burglars terrorizing the town.

Tex shook his head, and skipped to the next article. This one detailed some salient tidbits about the most recent victims of the gang: famous artist Mort Hodge and his wife.

And as the good doctor put down his phone, a sudden fear struck him. He’d recently come into the possession of some very valuable gnome art. The painting, spray-painted with a steady hand by famous gnome artist Jerome Metzgall, had cost him a pretty penny. First Mrs. Baumgartner’s Picasso had been stolen, and now Mort Hodge’s original drawings taken from his home. And in recent weeks other people had been robbed, too. Like the Wigginses, Bambi and husband, where a sculpture had been taken, and the Sudses, Rory and husband, where a plastic mushroom had been yanked from its base.

What would stop the burglars from stealing his gnome painting? Nothing!

And it was with a sense of urgency that he called his wife. The moment the call connected, he blurted out, “Marge—you have to get home now! My gnome painting—you have to take it off the wall and hide it!”

“Tex, honey, what are you talking about?”

“The art thieves—they took Ida Baumgartner’s Picasso last night, and Mort Hodge’s entire collection of original Mort’s Molly art. I’m afraid they’ll go for my painting next!”

“I don’t think your painting is that popular, Tex,” said Marge, a little acerbically he thought. She’d never approved of his love for garden gnomes, and even less of his love for gnome art, even though he’d tried to explain to her it was an investment, not a whim.

“Look, you can take down that painting yourself tonight.”

“But…”

“I’m busy, Tex. Your gnome will have to wait.” And with these words, she disconnected, leaving him to consider hanging up a ‘Closed’ sign on his office door and legging it home himself to safeguard his precious painting from theft. But just then a patient walked in and he sank down in his chair again.

Marge was right. His gnome would have to wait. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too late!

Charlene Butterwick was smiling widely before herself, seated at her desk at Town Hall, and thinking roseate thoughts about the new man in her life. And as luck would have it, just then this new man chose that moment to call her.

“I was just thinking about you, hunk,” she spoke into the phone, having picked up on the first ring.

“And I was thinking of you, sexy.”

She walked over to the window and glanced out in the direction of the police station. She watched how Alec Lip, chief of police of the town she was responsible for, waved at her from his office. She smiled and waved right back.

“Did you see the news?” asked Alec.

“What news?”

“Well… us, I guess,” said her boyfriend, though he was more man than boy.

“Us? Someone’s written about us?”

“Yeah, and not very favorably either. Check the Gazette home page. Some member of the public was snapping pictures of us while we were out having lunch yesterday.”

She walked over to her computer and pulled up the home page for the Hampton Cove Gazette. “Oh, dear,” she said as she saw the pictures of herself and Alec lunching and kissing and clearly having a whale of a time.

“Check the comments. If you have the stomach for it.”

She checked the comments, and her stomach turned a little. That’s what you got when you lunched past your regular lunchtime, and were high on love and good food. “Oops,” she said. “Looks like people aren’t too happy with us right now.”

“No, you can say that again.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“Not get caught canoodling during office hours?”

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, she giggled. “Canoodling. I like that.”

“Not my word,” grunted the Chief. “Something commenter #113 seems to be fond of. Unlike commenter #225, who uses much stronger language—the kind of language Dan probably shouldn’t have allowed to pass moderation.”

“I’ll talk to Dan. Tell him to take down the article. And the comments.”

“You mean you want to use your position to curtail the free press?” chuckled Alec.

“Of course not. I’ll simply tell him we won’t do it again, and could he please not feed the trolls and unleash the online lynch mob.”

Alec paused for a moment, then said, “I’m looking forward to lunch, poppet.”

“Me, too, muppet.”

They both giggled like a couple of teenagers in love, then disconnected.

And with a sigh, Charlene called Dan Goory. She was all for freedom of the press, but she failed to see the significance of an article dealing with a mayor and chief of police’s love life. They might both be public figures, but even they had a right to a certain measure of privacy, and that was exactly what she intended to tell Dan. But even before the call connected suddenly two intruders, both dressed in nice suits but with their faces covered with black masks, waltzed into her office and pointed a gun at her head.

“One word and you’re history,” barked the biggest of the twosome. “Now sit down.”

Chapter 16

Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale were walking along the sidewalk, en route to their next potential convert. Jerry was dragging his feet, while Johnny was actually feeling pretty good about himself. He’d long known that a life of crime doesn’t make you happy, and had learned his lesson when kicking his heels in a Mexican prison cell. Contrary to the prison cells back home the one they’d been confined to in Tulum hadn’t offered the kinds of creature comforts he’d become accustomed to. No television privileges, and no friendly conversations with his fellow inmates, making friends and influencing people.

The only thing he’d liked was the food, which was Mexican, probably obvious as they’d been in Mexico. He’d gained a couple of pounds, on top of a frame that was top heavy to begin with. The only one who hadn’t gained an inch around the waist, or anywhere else for that matter, was Jerry, but then Jerry had always been a nervous eater, with stomach problems on top of bowel problems on top of whatever else ailed him.

“I think I’m starting to get the hang of this Jehovah’s Witnesses stuff, Jer,” said Johnny now, clutching his Bible and a copy of The Watchtower and feeling like a new man ever since he’d been baptized by that nice elder back at Kingdom Hall. “I think we finally found what we were looking for.”

“Oh? And what were you looking for, exactly?” asked Jerry, a nasty sneering quality to his tone that Johnny decided to ignore.

“Well, a sense of belonging for one thing,” said Johnny. “It’s nice to be part of a great group of people.”

“And what was wrong with our old group?” asked Jerry.

“Nothing,” said Johnny, deciding that his friend Jerry was in one of his moods again, and when Jerry was in one of his moods there simply was no talking to the guy. “Have you managed to get a hold of Marlene?” he asked instead.

“Nah. She keeps blocking my calls. I tried friending her on Facebook but she blocked me there, too. Maybe you should call her. She probably doesn’t recognize your number and then you can hand me the phone.”

Marlene was Jerry’s ex-wife, but the ex-crook still carried a torch for her, and had never given up hope winning her back. Marlene had moved on, though, and rumor had it she was seeing an investment banker. Tough for an ex-con to compete with an investment banker.

“You know what, Jer? I think once Marlene hears you’re a Jehovah’s Witness now she’ll probably want to talk to you.”

“You think so?” asked Jerry, a glimmer of hope lighting up his weaselly features.

“Oh, sure. Women love a religious man. Just look at how many women always flock around our local church priest.”

“Old crones, mostly,” Jerry muttered.

“Not just old crones. Young crones, too.” He got out his phone. “In fact why don’t I call her right now? She’ll be happy to talk to you once I tell her you found religion.”

Jerry licked his lips. “But what do I tell her? How do I win her back, Johnny?”

“Just tell her what’s in your heart, Jer. Women can tell when you’re being honest.”

Jerry nodded earnestly. “Okay, fine. Yeah, call her. Call her and tell her Jerry wants to talk to her. No, scratch that. Don’t tell her anything. Um, or better yet, tell her an old friend wants to talk to her. Yeah, that’s better. Though she’ll probably hang up the moment she recognizes my voice. Um…”

Johnny placed one of his ham-sized hands on his friend’s back. “You think too much, Jer. That’s your problem right there.” He dialed Marlene’s number and waited for her to pick up, giving his friend a reassuring smile. Jerry was nervous, which was a good sign. It meant he wouldn’t say anything dumb. He’d think before blathering like a silly fool.

“Marlene?” he said, the moment Jerry’s ex-wife picked up with a melodious, ‘This is Marlene, and who are you?’ “It’s Johnny. Johnny Carew.”

“Oh, it’s you,” said Marlene, not exactly sounding over the moon with joy.

“Yeah, it’s me. Listen, Marlene, Jerry and I are back in the country.”

“I didn’t even know you were out of the country.”

“Ha ha. Still as funny as ever. Listen, Jerry and I have joined Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

“You did what now?”

“They were the only ones prepared to let us do our community service.”

“I should have known. What did you do this time? Rob a bank?”

“How did you know?”

“Oh, Johnny,” Marlene sighed.

“Listen, Jerry wants to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Yeah, but he’s found religion, see. He’s a changed man, Marlene. A religious man, if you see what I mean.”

“Tell him he still owes me six months’ worth of alimony.”

It didn’t really sound encouraging, but Johnny was an eternal optimist, who believed in the essential goodness of all people. So he handed the phone to his friend. “She’s very eager to talk to you, Jer,” he said, adding a little fib to the mix, just to keep the ball rolling.

Jerry’s little face lit up like a Christmas tree as he eagerly grabbed the phone. “Marlene?” he bleated. “It’s Jerry!” He paused for a moment, then cried, “Marlene?” He glanced up at Johnny, his face falling. “She hung up on me. She actually hung up on me.”

Johnny listened for a moment, then bellowed, “Marlene?” When no response came, he had to concede that Jerry had a point. “Must be a bad connection,” he said. “We’re probably too far from the nearest cell tower. Lemme give it another shot.”

But Jerry made a throwaway gesture with his hand. “Nah. Don’t bother. Obviously she’s still mad at me for landing my ass in prison again.”

Johnny placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed, causing Jerry to wince. “Don’t give up, Jer. Marlene will come around, I just know she will. You just have to keep to the straight and narrow and all will be well. Just you wait and see.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Jerry dejectedly, and followed his friend to the next house, where they proceeded to try and interest a pensioner in the word of Jesus.

Chapter 17

“What do you want?” asked Charlene, as her hands were tied behind her back and her ankles to the legs of her chair.

“Where is it?” asked the guy again. He was waving some sort of gun in her face, and as far as she could ascertain it looked real enough.

“Where is what?”

“The collection of gold coins,” said the guy.

Charlene bit her lower lip. Of course. She should have known that those gold coins would lure the unsavory element to her office at some point. When her predecessor had shown her the coins with a sense of pride, he’d advised her to transfer them to a safe place, something he felt he should have done a long time ago. So she had a safe installed only the week before, and had transferred the coins to the safe, figuring it was safe there.

The gold coins had once been donated to the town by the Duke of Middleforth, an English nobleman, whose life had been saved by local fishermen when his yacht had gotten in trouble off the coast of Hampton Cove. As a token of his appreciation the Duke had awarded the town with the coins, bearing his likeness. They’d been worth a great deal of money at the time and now, after nine decades had passed, even more, due to inflation and the particular history related to them.

Charlene gestured with her head to the other side of her office, where a wood-paneled wall hid a door into a secret room. “They’re in the safe,” she said.

“Combination,” barked the gangster.

“1234,” said Charlene, a little shamefacedly. She hadn’t gotten round to changing the factory-installed code yet. Not that it mattered now.

The crook immediately walked over to the panel and opened it, drawing a surprised gasp from Charlene. Obviously these gangsters were well informed, if they knew the location of the secret room. The crook strode inside. His colleague, meanwhile, kept an eye on the Mayor, telling her not to try any funny business.

She glanced at the door of her office, hoping someone would walk in and notify the police. But the crooks had probably locked the door from the inside.

Very brazen, she thought, to rob the mayor in broad daylight. And she wondered how they thought they’d get away with it.

Moments later, the gangster returned from the secret room.

“Did you find them?” asked his colleague, waving a gun in the vicinity of Charlene’s ear.

“Yup. All good,” said the guy. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You won’t get far, you know,” said Charlene. “So you better give up while you still can.”

“Oh, be quiet, Madam Mayor,” said the tallest of the two, and then pulled a bag over her head. She listened intently, and heard the two men conduct a short whispered conversation, then open the door of her office and walk out.

She wriggled against her restraints but it was no good. They’d tied her up pretty good. And with a sigh, she settled back, hoping someone would walk in and find her.

Alec Lip had been trying Charlene’s phone for the past fifteen minutes but for some reason his call kept going to voicemail. She simply wasn’t picking up and he was starting to get worried. Had he upset her in some way? He didn’t think so. Being in a relationship was a new thing for him, since being widowed fifteen years before, and sometimes he felt a little out of his depth.

Though Charlene made things really easy for him. She had a good heart and a great sense of humor and everything simply flowed when they were together. In fact it was if they’d known each other forever, and every day he felt blessed they’d met.

And now this. She’d never ignored his calls before. Even if she was busy doing whatever politicians did, she took the time to send him a message. So this radio silence took him by surprise.

He’d glanced in the direction of her office a couple of times but could see nothing out of the ordinary. Often when he called she would appear in her office window and give him a wave. And he kept expecting her fair-haired head to appear but so far nothing.

After fretting for a while, he decided to call her secretary and ask her if Madam Mayor was busy. Normally he would never do that, but he was getting anxious and more than a little antsy. If she was breaking up with him, better he find out sooner rather than later.

“Um, hi, Imelda,” he said when Charlene’s secretary picked up. “Do you have any idea if Madam Mayor is busy at the moment. It’s just that… I’ve been trying to reach her about, um, something important—police business, you know—and she’s not picking up.”

“Well, she did have two visitors just now,” said Imelda. “But they left ten minutes ago, so she should be free. Do you want me to go check?”

“Yeah, could you?” He felt increasingly silly now, like a schoolboy with a crush, asking a girl’s parent to see why she wasn’t answering his calls.

For a moment, there was only Tony Bennett crooning about a cold, cold heart, which was exactly how Alec’s own heart was feeling, then Imelda was back. This time she didn’t sound quite so sanguine. “Get over here, Chief. Get over here quick. Charlene—she was robbed! Robbed at gunpoint!”

Alec’s heart skipped several beats as the blood drained from his face. Within seconds he was out of his chair, out of his office, and running as if his life depended on it.

Chapter 18

There are moments in a cat’s life that stay with him for the rest of his days. I’m sure it’s the same for humans. Everyone knows where they were when JR was shot—at least if you were alive and old enough to be glued to the screen in the eighties. And of course everyone remembers when John Travolta finally ditched his toupee. And it was just such a moment when Odelia received that call.

I remember she picked up and her jaw actually dropped. Now I know fiction writers mention dropping jaws all the time, but how many times have you actually seen a jaw drop in real life? It’s a tough proposition, and would probably require a trip to the ER.

Well, I can now say that I’m the rare witness of an actual jaw-dropping event.

“Wait, what?” she cried.

We were in the car, on our way to Odelia’s office where she was going to start compiling her notes on the crime wave that was sweeping Hampton Cove, and more in particular Ida Baumgartner’s stolen Picasso, bought for her by her husband, inventor of the world’s first laser-beam vacuum cleaner.

“I’m on my way,” Odelia said, once she’d reeled in her jaw sufficiently to allow for speech. And to show us she meant what she said, she put down her phone, started up her car and was racing off at a respectable rate of speed, causing Dooley and me to tumble back against the backseat.

“What’s going on?” I asked, once I’d ascertained whether all of my limbs were still attached to their parent body.

“Charlene has just been robbed at gunpoint,” said Odelia. “And the town’s gold coin collection has been stolen.”

“I didn’t even know the town had a gold coin collection,” I said, much surprised.

“Well, it did—only now it doesn’t,” said Odelia, and I could see her point.

She was focusing on the road and applying her foot to the accelerator in a way that would probably be frowned upon by the local authorities if the local authorities hadn’t been busy with this spectacular denouement.

“Is she all right?” I asked. “Charlene, I mean. She wasn’t hurt by these attackers, was she?”

“She’s shaken but otherwise fine,” said Odelia in clipped tones, indicating the events that had unfolded at Town Hall had not only shaken Charlene but Odelia, too.

“Why does a town need a collection of coins, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Gold is usually considered a sound investment,” I ventured. “Probably the folks that run this town have chosen to invest their money wisely.” In other words: I had no idea why Hampton Cove’s founding fathers would have chosen to acquire a set of gold coins.

“The coins were a gift from a duke,” Odelia explained. “Once upon a time, in the nineteen-thirties if I’m not mistaken, a local fisherman saved this duke’s life when his boat had hit some rough weather off the coast of Hampton Cove. To show his gratitude he donated a set of gold coins with his likeness to the town the fisherman hailed from.”

“They must be worth a lot,” I said, imagining large gleaming plaques of gold, now in the hands of a couple of dastardly thieves.

“Yeah, I guess they are,” said Odelia. We’d arrived at destination’s end and got out, Odelia hurrying to the entrance, where already several police vehicles stood trundling.

“I thought half the police force were on holiday?” I said as I watched a couple of cops milling about.

“This must be the other half,” Dooley suggested astutely.

Once inside, we hurried after Odelia, who was setting a brisk pace, causing us to have to switch into higher gear. So by the time we arrived at the mayor’s office, I was already panting, my short legs not exactly fit for short sprints—or long ones, for that matter.

The office of the town’s mayor is a very large and spacious one, located on the second floor of Town Hall. Its large windows offer a nice view of the town square, and even the police station, which made me wonder why the police officers had all thought it necessary to drive there, as they could just as well have walked.

Charlene Butterwick, our mayor, looked not only shaken but also stirred, like a freshly poured Martini, and was surrounded by the cream of Hampton Cove’s police crop: Uncle Alec was there, of course, but also Chase Kingsley, and several others.

Charlene’s secretary was also there, a heavyset woman with a kindly demeanor who now looked as shaken and stirred as the Mayor herself.

“If only I’d known!” she cried, throwing up her hands. “I would have stopped them!”

“Best you didn’t,” said Uncle Alec.

“Yeah, good thing you didn’t, Imelda,” said Charlene. “They were armed to the teeth, and they would have hurt you.”

“I could at least have called the police,” said Imelda, now applying a handkerchief to her teary cheeks. “They could have caught them before they got away.”

“What did they look like?” asked Odelia.

“One was big and one was short. The short one had a face like a weasel, and the big one had a round face and looked kinda goofy. They said they were businessmen. Though they didn’t look like no businessmen to me.”

Just then, more people arrived at the scene, in the form of Grandma Muffin and Scarlett. And they’d brought their own feline entourage: Harriet and Brutus.

“It was Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale,” said Gran, the moment she stepped into the room. “We just talked to Mort Hodge and his wife Megan and she overheard the thieves call each other Johnny and Jerry.”

Uncle Alec’s head snapped up so fast I could actually hear it crick. “Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale? Are you sure?”

Gran nodded furiously. “Absolutely.”

“Absolutely,” Scarlett echoed, and even Harriet and Brutus were nodding, though I’m not sure the humans in the room took any notice of us lowly pets.

Chase had taken out his phone and was now frantically scrolling through it, then offered it to Charlene’s secretary. “Are these the men you saw, Imelda?”

Imelda took one look at the picture Chase offered and nodded. “That’s them! I’ll never forget those terrible faces. Real hardened criminals, both of them.”

Chase held up his phone for the rest of the small gathering to see. I only caught a quick glimpse, but it was a picture of Johnny and Jerry, who’d recently worked for Marge, before absconding with the contents of the Capital First Bank’s vault to Mexico.

“It’s very nice to have two home-grown criminals you can always pin a crime on,” said Dooley. “Makes things a lot easier for the police.”

I almost had to smile, if the situation hadn’t been so serious. “That’s because they are responsible for a large part of local crime,” I replied.

“Listen up!” Uncle Alec said, raising his voice and also his head to address his troops. “We’re looking for Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale. Chase, send that picture to everyone present.”

“Will do, Chief,” said Chase.

“This is now priority number one.”

“I think I know where they are, Uncle Alec,” said Odelia, earning herself the attention of the entire police contingent and more necks making creaking noises as they all turned to her. “Mom sent me a message this morning telling me Johnny and Jerry had been at the door, spreading the word of Jesus. They’re doing community service for Jehovah’s Witnesses and going door to door. They were in Harrington Street two hours ago, so they’re probably still in the area.”

Uncle Alec clapped his hands twice, like a schoolteacher, or a football coach. “You heard my niece. Let’s roll out, people.”

And he didn’t have to tell his people twice, for already they were filing out the door, en route to their respective vehicles, to organize what is commonly termed a manhunt, or a dragnet.

We soon found ourselves alone in the room with only Charlene, Charlene’s secretary and Uncle Alec, and then the secretary made herself scarce, and when Uncle Alec wrapped Charlene into his arms and started whispering words of comfort into her ear, we figured we better skedaddle, too.

And we were walking down the stairs when Dooley said, “If Johnny and Jerry are spreading the word of Jesus in Harrington Street, how did they steal Charlene’s coins?”

“What a dumb question,” said Harriet. “The Jehovah’s Witnesses thing is just a cover. They use it to get into unsuspecting people’s homes and case the place, before returning under cover of darkness to steal whatever valuables they can lay their hands on.”

“But it’s not dark now,” said Dooley.

“Oh, Dooley. Please be quiet,” said Harriet.

“Pretending to be a religious person is a great cover,” Brutus said. “People tend to let their guard down and reveal things they shouldn’t.”

“Anyway, case closed,” said Harriet. “And of course we cracked it.” She shared a high five with her mate, and they both grinned. “We beat you fair and square, Max,” she added.

I frowned. “I didn’t know this was a competition.”

Brutus slapped me on the back. “Haven’t you learned anything, Maxie, baby? Life is always a competition. And you lost, bro.”

And with a raucous laugh, he tripped down the stairs, Harriet in his wake, leaving me and Dooley to follow at a much slower pace.

“Brutus isn’t being very nice today, Max,” said Dooley.

“No, I guess he isn’t.”

“Success really doesn’t become him.”

“No, it definitely does not.”

Brutus is one of those cats who get a little obnoxious when they’re feeling on top of the world, and really nice when they’re down in the dumps. And right now he was flying high. I had the distinct impression it wouldn’t last, though. Success and failure are never far apart for the Brutuses of this world. For now, though, we’d have to suffer Obnoxious Brutus, and hope Nice Brutus would soon make a triumphant return.

Chapter 19

Tex, hurrying home after a day spent examining people’s throats, ears, noses and other orifices for signs of disease or decay or both, made a beeline for his living room, where his pride and joy greeted him with a jolly smile: it was a large painting of a jocular-looking garden gnome, its blushing cheeks round and plump, its black eyes dark and sparkling with mirth, its white hat slightly askance, giving him an odd rakish look.

Tex breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re home early,” said Marge as she walked in. She watched as he flicked a tiny speck of dust from the painting and frowned. “Are you all right, honey? You look a little feverish.”

“It’s still there,” he announced. “They didn’t take it.”

“Of course it’s still there,” she said. “Who would want to steal that thing?”

He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he detected in her tone of voice a slight diminution of the kind of appreciation he expected people to award his new acquisition.

“When Ida told me about her Picasso being stolen, I feared the worst,” he explained, figuring it wasn’t fair of him to criticize one who wasn’t fully informed about the dangers that lurked out there for owners of works of art like his precious Big Gnome #21.

“Don’t worry, honey,” said Marge, placing a soothing hand on his arm. “No one in his right mind would steal the painting of your gnome.” And with a smile, she left the room.

He stared after her, a little puzzled. What exactly did she mean by that? Everyone in their right mind would steal a masterpiece of the first order like this, and he now wondered if he shouldn’t give it another, safer place. Only question was: where?

The basement was too humid, and might cause damage to Jerome Metzgall’s work of genius. The attic was too dusty, the kitchen too greasy, the family room too busy. Then he remembered watching something on TV not so long ago, about a couple who’d kept a very expensive stolen painting in their bedroom for years, hidden behind the bedroom door. So that when the door to the bedroom was closed they enjoyed its full splendor.

His face lit up with a smile. He didn’t often get brainwaves like this, but when he did, it was a doozy.

By all accounts the hunt for Johnny and Jerry had proven successful, and the two crooks were now in custody and presumably being grilled over a slow fire by Uncle Alec and Chase.

I just hoped they’d be able to retrieve the stolen Picasso, and the other works of art the two thieves had snatched.

Unfortunately my attention wasn’t really focused on the crooks, but on the strange contraption that awaited us when we walked through the door and into our home.

The four of us halted in our tracks the moment we saw it.

“What is it, Max?” asked Dooley.

“It’s a toaster,” said Brutus.

“Don’t be silly,” said Harriet. “Who in their right mind would put a toaster on the floor?”

“It’s a humidifier,” I ventured. “Remember how Odelia often complains how the air in here is too dry? I’ll bet she bought herself a humidifier.”

“It doesn’t look like a humidifier,” said Harriet. “Oh, I know what it is. An air freshener.”

Whatever it was, it simply sat there, on the floor of the living room, looking very ominous indeed. It was round, a little over a foot in diameter, and about four inches high.

The thing took Odelia by surprise, too, or at least that’s what her first words seemed to indicate: “What the heck is that thing doing here?”

Just then, the kitchen door opened and closed and Marge walked in.

“Oh, you saw my surprise, did you?” she said. “And? Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“What is it?” asked Odelia.

“What do you think it is? A Roomba, of course. Thank you, Mom. Thank you for saving my sanity and hours of my precious time.”

“Thank you, Mom,” murmured Odelia, still staring at the thing. “How does it work?”

“Well, you simply switch it on and it takes care of the rest.” And to show us she wasn’t all talk but action, too, she pressed a button on the contraption and immediately it whirred to life, making one hell of a noise and moving—moving straight at me!

I yelped and jumped in the air, then sprinted in the direction of the nearest couch and burrowed underneath. It wasn’t the best idea, though, for the thing—whatever it was—hit the wall, then did a slow ricocheting movement and came zooming at me again!

“Heeeeelp!” I cried. “It’s coming for me!”

“Save yourselves!” Brutus screamed. “Women and children first!”

“It’s just a vacuum cleaner,” Marge said. “It’s not going to hurt you.”

I wasn’t too sure about that. My friends had scattered to the four winds, and were hiding wherever they could. But it soon became clear that there was no hiding from this machine from hell!

So I wormed myself from underneath the couch again, and jumped up onto the couch instead. I had a feeling—call it survival instinct—that it might be able to kill anything on the ground level, but wasn’t able to take off and fly.

I was right, for as I watched on, the machine did its terrible devious work on the floor, but never made any attempts to have liftoff.

“I found its fatal flaw, you guys!” I shouted to all who would listen. “It can’t fly! So better hide where it can’t get at you! Aim high! The higher the better!”

Marge and Odelia were laughing their asses off, which was very rude, I thought. But that’s humans for you. They love nothing better than to watch their pets suffer indignation.

“What is it, Max?!” Dooley yelled from the second shelf of the bookcase, where he had somehow managed to worm himself between a copy of John Grisham’s The Firm and Deepak Chopra’s latest bestseller.

“It’s a vacuum cleaner!” I yelled back.

“But it moves all by itself! How is that possible?!”

“It has wheels,” I said, for even in those scary moments when the machine had almost caught me and devoured me whole, I’d noticed the tiny wheels it operated on, and the essential mechanics behind this contraption had immediately become clear to me.

“I don’t think the cats like the Roomba,” said Marge.

“I don’t think so either,” said Odelia. “Which is strange, for some cats love vacuum cleaners.”

“Did you notice I cleaned your entire house this morning, missy?” asked her mother.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Odelia, and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I would have done it… eventually.”

“You work too hard,” said Marge. “Maybe you should get a maid.”

“On my salary? No way.”

“Better a maid than to live in a pigsty.”

“My house is not a pigsty!” said Odelia, laughing.

“Have you seen your bathroom lately?”

“I was going to clean it last weekend, but then Dan called and asked me to cover that new farmer’s market…”

“You need a maid,” said Marge decidedly.

From my vantage point I was hoping and praying that Marge wouldn’t get her way. I mean, first this Roomba and then a stranger taking over the household? I mean, yikes!

Chapter 20

The doorbell rang and since Marge had stepped out to visit their daughter next door, and Vesta hadn’t arrived home yet, Tex opened the door. He found two women on the doorstep, one tall, one short, who were beaming at him.

“Dr. Poole?” asked the short one. “Doctor Tex Poole?”

“Yes,” he said cautiously. Patients sometimes had a tendency to show up unannounced at the house, drop their pants and show him a suspicious spot on their buttocks. It had already caused some hilarity amongst the neighbors, and not a small measure of embarrassment for Tex himself.

The tallest of the twosome stuck out a hand and showed him a card. “My name is Iris Johnson. And this is my sister Mira. We’re insurance brokers. We specialize in art. Are you an art collector, Dr. Poole?”

“Well, yes, I am,” he said.

“May we come in for a moment? Many art collectors neglect to insure their precious collections until it is too late.”

“What my esteemed colleague means to say is that a private home is often less than ideal for storing valuable works of art,” explained Mira Johnson.

“A fire, a burglary, a water leak… They can all have devastating effects on your collection. And that’s where we come in.”

“Johnson and Johnson will insure your collection at a reasonable price.”

“A very reasonable price.”

“So you don’t have to lose sleep over any contingency that could occur.”

It all sounded very plausible to Tex, and he found himself nodding along as the two insurance brokers explained to him the ins and outs of their unique offer.

“Come in,” he said. “I hadn’t really thought of insurance, but you’re absolutely right.”

“Thank you, Dr. Poole,” said Mira as they accepted his invitation and entered the house.

And as they stepped into the living room, Iris caught sight of Big Gnome #21 and said, “Ah!”

“A-ha!” said her sister and colleague.

“Wonderful.”

“Beautiful.”

“Stunning.”

“But is it insured?”

“Um, no, actually it’s not,” said Tex, a little sheepishly. Both women tsk-tsked freely, and took a seat on the sofa, offering a great view of the painting of the grinning gnome.

“First we need to ascertain its value,” said Miss Johnson. “Isn’t that right, Iris?”

“Absolutely right, Mira.”

“Do you have any idea of its value, Dr. Poole?”

“Actually, I do. Apart from the emotional value, which is considerable—”

“Obviously.”

“The artist is a man named Metzgall. Jerome Metzgall.”

“Ah, the famous Jerome Metzgall,” said Iris, nodding like one who knows.

“You’ve heard of him?” asked Tex, well pleased. It was the first time anyone acknowledged what he’d known all along: that he’d made the right choice when he’d sunk a large chunk of his savings into the painting.

“Oh, of course. In our line of work it’s important to be well informed,” said Mira.

“How much did you pay for it?” asked Iris, taking a more direct approach.

Tex licked his lips, then darted a quick look in the direction of the living room door. The price he’d paid was a sore point between himself and his wife. Marge hadn’t approved of the purchase, and had told him he might as well have put their money on fire. “I bought it direct from the artist. A real bargain.” He cut another glance in the direction of the door, then lowered his voice. “He took twenty-five thousand for it. And when you know that some of Metzgall’s paintings now go for a hundred thousand on the specialized sites…” He let his words trail off, but raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Mira and Iris Johnson needed to hear no more.

“A real bargain, Dr. Poole,” said Iris. “A genuine Metzgall for that price? You are a very lucky man indeed.”

“Very lucky,” said her sister, nodding seriously.

They both openly admired the painting, and it warmed Tex’s heart to such an extent, after the distinct froideur with which his own family had welcomed his purchase, that he actually got up and asked if he could offer the ladies coffee or tea.

They both declined, however, and he sat down again.

“Now imagine a flood, Dr. Poole,” said Iris.

“Or a house fire,” suggested Mira, just throwing it out there.

“Or, God forbid, a burglary.”

“Your painting—your precious Metzgall—would be gone.”

“Poof!”

“Destroyed.”

“All of your money lost!”

“That would be terrible,” said Tex, swallowing with some difficulty as he gazed at the beloved portrait of his beloved gnome.

Iris took a sheaf of documents from her briefcase and placed them on the coffee table. “Johnson and Johnson has a solution for you, Dr. Poole.”

“A plan!” said Mira.

“For a small price you can insure your painting so you’ll never have to worry again.”

“Never have to think about that flood, that house fire—that devastating burglary.”

And as both women launched into their sales pitch, Tex found that he’d already made up his mind to take them up on their offer. They were absolutely right: why spend twenty-five thousand dollars on a painting and then cavil over a measly couple of hundred bucks for the insurance?

“Done deal,” he said finally, even before they’d finished outlining paragraph 16 of their policy and stipulating contingency 623 and exceptions 1022 through 2025.

It was only after they’d left, and Marge walked in and found the documents he’d signed with a flourish, and heaved the exaggerated sigh of the much-put-upon wife of a rabid collector, that he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

But then he looked at Big Gnome #21’s smiling face and he was strong again.

Yes, he’d done the right thing.

A real collector took out insurance.

And he was a real collector. A collector all the way.

Chapter 21

“But I’ve got nothing to do with the whole thing, Marlene—you’ve got to believe me!”

Jerry Vale had used his one phone call to call his ex-wife, and much to his surprise she’d actually picked up. Then it turned out she’d already seen the local news about his arrest, and wanted to hear from the horse’s mouth what he’d been up to this time.

“That’s what you said last time, Jer. So forgive me for not taking your word for it. Why did you do it? Stealing that poor Mr. Hodge’s drawings. You know I’m a big fan.”

“Just like I’m a big fan—I would never steal from Mort’s Molly’s Mort.”

“Oh, Jerry. You know the best thing I ever did was file for divorce. I saved myself so much trouble.”

“But baby.”

“Don’t call me baby. I’m not your baby anymore.”

“You will always be my baby, baby,” he said, suddenly feeling sentimental. It wasn’t like him to go all teary-eyed but lately, and ever since he and Johnny had started working for the Jehovah’s Witnesses, he’d been more prone to stormy emotions than usual. “Look, can you arrange a lawyer for me? I think I’m gonna need it.”

“Arrange one yourself, Jer. And next time when you decide to rob an old man of his life’s work, maybe don’t do it.” And with these harsh words, she hung up on him.

He slumped a little, and as he was escorted back to his cell he thought how unfair it was to be accused of a crime he didn’t commit. It was bad enough to be arrested for the ones he did commit, but this simply wasn’t playing fair and square.

Johnny glanced up from his metal bunk. “And? What did she say?”

“No dice,” said Jerry. “She thinks I did it.”

“Well, I’m starting to think we did it, too, Jer. Are you sure we didn’t rob those people? Maybe in our sleep or something?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, Johnny.”

“That cop looked pretty convinced.”

“Cops are always convinced. Until you convince them otherwise.”

“They even took my Bible, Jer,” Johnny lamented. “And my copy of The Watchtower. I feel kinda naked without my Bible and my Watchtower.” He held out his hands to show his friend what he meant. They looked empty without his trusty reading material.

“Oh, to hell with your Bible and your Watchtower,” Jerry growled, getting a grip on himself. He was turning into a mushy crybaby and he hated it. “We gotta get out of here. I’m not going to sit in prison for a crime I had nothing to do with.”

“You mean… escape?” asked Johnny, his already cow-like eyes widening even more.

“Sure! We got rights. I’m not going to sit here paying for some other goon’s crime.” He glanced around at the cell they were confined to. “There’s gotta be a way to spring this joint.”

“I tried the window. Those bars are pretty solid, Jer.”

Jerry walked over to said window and gave those iron bars a good yank. He had to admit his partner’s words were as solid as the bars: they didn’t budge.

He sank down on his own metal bunk and gave himself up to thought. And soon his little gray cells were buzzing with ideas.

Ted Trapper happened to be passing by his neighbor Tex’s house when he happened to be glancing in through the window and happened to see his neighbor take a large painting off his wall.

It was a painting of a gnome, and Ted blinked as he caught a glimpse of the smiling impish figure, immortalized in vivid gorgeous color.

Before he could stop himself, he was stepping into the front yard and moments later his nose was plastered against the window, watching Tex maneuver the painting this way and that, until finally he became aware of being watched and looked up. He walked over to the window and opened it, then directed a pointed look at the smudge his neighbor’s nose had made on the pane and frowned censoriously.

“Ted?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“Is that… a Metzgall?” Ted asked, his voice slightly choked with emotion.

Tex’s frown deepened. “What do you know about Jerome Metzgall?”

“Only that he’s the most accomplished painter of gnomes in the universe,” said Ted, inadvertently licking his lips at the sight of a real Metzgall only a couple of feet away.

Moments later he was inside and holding the painting in his hands, admiring the artistry, the vividness of the colors, the play with light, and the artist’s impeccable technique. “It’s gorgeous,” he announced unreservedly. “Absolutely gorgeous, Tex.”

“Got it from the master himself,” said Tex. “Paid a fraction of the price. Metzgall said he could sense I was a real gnome fan, and decided to slash his regular asking price.”

“Amazing,” said Ted, and he meant it. The mild-mannered accountant was, just like his neighbor Tex, a big fan of garden gnomes. He had them in all shapes and sizes. He had big gnomes and small gnomes, fat gnomes and skinny ones, even pretty ones and ugly ones—though to him all gnomes were beautiful. He’d been dreaming of a Metzgall for years, but the price was a little too steep for his budget. Plus, his wife Marcie would probably kill him if he even considered spending their hard-earned money on a real Metzgall. And even though he liked gnomes, he didn’t think he’d enjoy being bludgeoned to death with one.

“Do you think I should go and see him?” he asked now.

Tex’s sunny mood darkened to some extent. “You want to get one for yourself?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, before he could stop himself.

Tex’s demeanor changed. He grabbed the painting from his neighbor’s hands and offered him another frown instead.

Ted swallowed. He hadn’t forgotten how Tex had only recently accused him of grand theft gnome, and even though the misunderstanding had been cleared up, and Ted declared innocent of the terrible offense, it was clear that the episode still lingered.

“I think you better leave now, Ted,” said Tex coldly.

“Oh, all right,” said Ted. “You–you’re not mad at me, are you, Tex?”

“Not mad,” said Tex, though he sounded pretty mad to Ted. “Not mad at all. But I’ve got things to do, so…”

“Oh, sure, Tex. I’ll be on my way.” He cast one final glance at the painting, but then Tex quickly held it behind his back, making it obvious Ted’s company was no longer wanted.

With a sense of regret, Ted left the house and returned home. He needed to walk his dog Rufus. And he needed to think. Think hard.

Chapter 22

That Roomba was still rumbling through the house, and we were still hiding in our respective safe places, to wit: I was on top of the couch, Dooley was hiding on a bookshelf, Harriet had escaped onto the windowsill, and Brutus lounged on one of the high kitchen stools. All in all we were safe for the present, but that isn’t to say we weren’t feeling the strain—intensely!

“Max—you have to do something before it kills us all!” Harriet yelled from the windowsill. She could have made the leap to freedom and into the backyard but that meant she had to jump to the floor first, and she wasn’t taking any chances. Not with this monstrosity roaring through the living room, like a life-sized out-of-control Pac-Man.

Though I should probably say Pac-Cat!

“Max has to do something?” asked Brutus. “Why are you asking Max to do something? What am I? Chopped liver?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, sugar plum!” said Harriet. “I just figured… Max might have inside information about this machine that we don’t.”

Brutus didn’t look happy by this development, and already his cocky demeanor was waning fast.

“I think it’s a UFO,” said Dooley, adding his two cents. “Except it doesn’t fly. So it’s probably more like a UNFO, an Unidentified Non-Flying Object.”

“It’s just a vacuum cleaner, Dooley,” I said, as I couldn’t stop staring at the Roomba as it rumbaed past me. It was eating its way through a stack of dust bunnies, that was for sure. Like a serial killer, whacking them one by one. I just wondered when it was going to tire of the bunnies and start on us. After all, even a serial killer moves from drowning kittens to his first human kill—there’s a definite progression there—or worsening.

“Do you think there are little green men inside?” asked Dooley, following his own train of thought, regardless of my input. “Little green men who control the machine?”

“It’s not a UNFO, Dooley,” I said. “And there are no little green men inside.”

“Maybe little green gerbils?” he suggested. “Or little green mice?”

“Don’t mention the word mice!” Harriet yelled. “Whatever you do, never mention the word mice around me ever again—I told you, Dooley!”

Harriet has had it in for mice ever since we were overrun with that large family of mice. Luckily they’ve since relocated, after an intervention by Clarice, one of our more heavy-handed feline friends.

“I think you could have asked me for a solution, that’s all,” said Brutus, still moping. “I mean, what’s Max got that I don’t? Seriously.”

“Oh, Brutus,” said Harriet. “Don’t be like that.”

“Maybe we should talk to the little green gerbils and ask them to stop,” Dooley suggested. “I’m sure they can hear us, so why don’t we try to negotiate a truce?”

“Okay, so Max is smart, but so am I,” said Brutus. “And frankly I’m a lot stronger than Max, so if it’s muscle you’re looking for, I’m your cat, not Max.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” said Harriet. “Brutus, please save us from the horrible machine.”

Brutus looked nonplussed at this. “I’ll have to come up with a plan first.”

Harriet rolled her expressive eyes. “Max! Save us, please!”

“If we could just talk to the little green gerbils,” said Dooley, “I’m sure they’d listen.”

Finally I’d had enough. Between Dooley’s little green gerbils, and Brutus’s whining, and Harriet’s panicky screams, and of course the Roomba’s relentless rumbling, like a World War II tank crushing all resistance, I needed to put a stop to this thing. But how?

“Or it could be a terminator,” Dooley babbled on. “Sent from the future to hunt down the leader of the human resistance.” His eyes went wide. “You guys—do you think Odelia could be the mother of the future leader of the human resistance? She’ll have to watch out for this thing. It will probably try and kill her!”

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore, and I jumped. Yes, I jumped right on top of the thing. Now when twenty pounds of (more or less) lean feline beef rocket through the air and land from a great height, consequences will be had. In this case the consequence was a loud crack. The Roomba crashed right through its wheels, gave one final death rattle… and died.

I glanced down, and discovered the little blinking LED light on top of the thing had died, like the light in the eyes of The Terminator. And much to my relief, the terrible hoovering sounds had stopped, too, as had the relentless forward motion.

“You did it, Max!” said Harriet. “You killed the machine!”

“Any green gerbils that you can see?” asked Dooley, interested.

“No green gerbils,” I announced. “Only batteries.”

Slowly, my friends all approached, still keeping a safe distance, lest the Roomba rumbled back to life and started zapping them with its laser beams, like Ida Baumgartner’s late husband’s invention.

“I think it’s dead,” I said as I stepped down from the thing, then gave it a slight tap.

My friends all did the same now, and when a moment later Odelia entered the room she found four cats tapping away with their paws at her mother’s precious Roomba.

To her credit, though, instead of being upset that we’d killed this latest toy she burst into laughter instead. Marge then hurried in to find out what was going on, and when she saw us hitting the slain machine, she, too, had a laughing fit.

And so it was that the episode with the Roomba ended. The machine might have come from the future to kill the mother of the future leader of the dust bunnies, but it was no match for four determined and highly motivated felines.

And may I just add: good riddance!

Chapter 23

Ted was still thinking hard about ways and means of reconciling his neighbor when he looked up and saw that Kurt Mayfield had chosen that exact moment to walk his dog, too.

Kurt was a retired music teacher and lived next door to Odelia, Tex Poole’s daughter. He was walking his Yorkshire Terrier Fifi and didn’t look all that happy to see Ted. Kurt was one of those people who liked to keep himself to himself and didn’t enjoy those conversations between dog walkers most dog owners love so much, and view as a welcome opportunity to socialize.

“Hey there Kurt,” said Ted.

“Mh,” said Kurt as Fifi lifted her hind leg for a tinkle against a deserving tree.

“Have you heard about the arrests of those art thieves?” he asked, never lacking for something to talk about, contrary to Kurt.

“Art thieves?” asked Kurt, looking up. “What art thieves?”

“The fellas that robbed Mort Hodge—the Mort’s Molly guy? They caught them after they robbed Mayor Butterwick this afternoon. Got away with the town’s collection of gold coins.”

“The Duke of Middleforth coins?”

“Yup, and they pulled off a couple of other robberies, too. Ida Baumgartner was one of their victims. Claims they lifted a genuine Picasso off her.”

Kurt made a scoffing noise, which sounded as if a seal was spitting out a wad of phlegm. “Picasso my ass. If Ida owned a real Picasso my name is Tom Brady.”

Ted looked at him in confusion. “I thought your name was Kurt?”

“My name is Kurt,” grunted Kurt. He glanced around for a moment, then lowered his voice. “The trick is never to let them know that you’re in possession of something of value. That way you can never be robbed. Trouble is people go around bragging about owning Picassos. Naturally that’ll attract the criminal element.”

“So… do you own a Picasso?” asked Ted, who might not be the fastest mind in the Western hemisphere but could put two and two together just as well as the next man.

Kurt smiled and tapped his nose. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out, Ted.” And with a sour smile, he gave Fifi’s leash a goodish yank, causing the little Yorkie to yelp in surprise, then trip after her master.

Ted stared after Kurt for a moment, wondering if he did or did not own a Picasso, then shrugged and turned his mind to the problem that had been vexing him all along: how to be a better neighbor to Tex, and remove that touch of frostiness that had existed between them. And it was with a frown on his brow that he proceeded to walk Rufus, a happy and fluffy big sheepdog, who gamboled along and deposited little puddles of pee at regular intervals, and even one little pile of doo-doo, too. For that’s what dogs do.

Jerry and Johnny were listening intently to the words of their spiritual advisers who’d been so gracious to join them in their prison cell. Elders Thaddeus and Marcus were responsible for their local Kingdom Hall and had heeded Jerry’s call of distress with the kind of alacrity one likes to see in one’s church leaders.

In fact it had been Chief Alec who’d placed the call, at Jerry’s instigation. The chief of police had been pleasantly surprised that these two convicts, instead of asking for a lawyer, had asked for a priest instead. He probably hoped they were in need of their Last Rites. With prisons as overpopulated as they were, this must have appealed to the cop.

And it was with bowed head that the two career criminals listened as Elders Thaddeus and Marcus read from the scripture and words like ‘final revelation’ and ‘repent, ye sinner’ and ‘Jesus saves’ flew through the small prison cell fast and furious.

Jerry had specifically asked for Thaddeus and Marcus, not because of their religious fervor but more for their physical appearance. Thaddeus was about the same size as Johnny, and Marcus could have been Jerry’s spitting image. Both elders had come dressed in their usual garb: nice new suits with clean white shirts and matching ties.

And it was after the third hallelujah that Jerry felt the time had come to thank the two elders for their services, and proceeded to knock them both out with a well-aimed tap to the noggin with the sturdy Bibles they’d brought for the duo’s edification.

“I don’t think you should have done that, Jer,” said Johnny. “God doesn’t like it when you knock out his priests.”

“God doesn’t like it when his people are imprisoned for no good reason,” Jerry countered. “Now help me undress them, and be quick about it.”

Within moments, both men had been stripped of their outer garments and tucked onto the metal bunks and covered with state-issued threadbare brown blankets.

“How do I look?” asked Johnny as he showcased his snazzy new outfit.

“Perfect fit, just like I thought,” said Jerry, well pleased as he inspected himself.

Being dragged from the street into the paddy wagon and straight into the police station holding tank had soiled their own outfits to a certain extent. But even before that, since they were on a budget, and they’d been forced to return the money stolen from Capital First Bank, they’d never been able to splurge on these kinds of super-duper suits.

“Now for the next part,” he said, and took a deep breath. “Let me do the talking.”

“Okay, Jer,” said Johnny.

“I mean, not a peep, okay?”

“Sure, Jer.” The big guy glanced at the two elders. “Are you sure they didn’t suffer?”

“Nothing that two ibuprofen won’t fix,” grunted Jerry, then hollered, “We’re ready in here, officer!”

A young officer came ambling up, noticed the two inert figures tucked into bed and grinned. “You managed to sermon them to sleep, did you? Good job.”

“They are contemplating their evil deeds,” said Jerry, adopting Elder Thaddeus’s high reedy voice and holding his Bible in front of his face, as did Johnny. “Thinking hard about their sins and possible redemption.”

The sound of a key turning in a lock and the iron door swinging open was like music to his ears.

Vesta and Scarlett were celebrating the latest win for their neighborhood watch seated outside Pier’s Pont, the popular bar in downtown Hampton Cove.

“The watch is quickly becoming a force to be reckoned with,” said Vesta. “Pretty soon now Alec will have to admit we can’t be ignored.”

“Yeah, we did great,” said Scarlett as she checked her look in a small pocket mirror. And as she did, she couldn’t help but notice how Vesta’s son and Mayor Butterwick were seated only a couple of tables back, talking with Dan Goory.

“Don’t look now, but Alec and his girlfriend are chatting with Dan Goory,” she whispered.

Of course Vesta had to glance over, though she did manage to be discreet about it.

“Probably talking about the article on Dan’s website,” said Vesta, lowering her voice and darting occasional glances at her son over Scarlett’s left shoulder.

“What article?” asked Scarlett, who didn’t read the Gazette. Or any other newspaper for that matter.

“They were both caught playing hooky. Skipping work so they could spend a late lunch together. I could have told Alec that if he wanted to do some canoodling to do it either at his place or hers. Though he probably wouldn’t listen,” she added with a mother’s proper pique. “That’s kids for you. Always getting themselves in trouble.”

“Canoodling? You mean they were…”

“Nah. They kept it strictly PC, but some sourpuss still took offense and snapped a couple of shots on a smartphone and sent them to Dan, who published it on his website, the jerk. As if public servants aren’t entitled to enjoying a proper love affair.”

“Do you think Alec and Charlene will get married?”

Vesta shrugged. “Kids these days don’t get married anymore, honey. Not like in our day. They hook up, move in together, and that’s it. No muss, no fuss. Too bad, I say. I like a nice wedding.”

“I think they make a great couple,” said Scarlett, glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder. “I hope they stick it out.”

“I think they will. It takes more than an amateur paparazzo to break up that band.”

And as Vesta smiled a rare smile at the thought of her one and only son finally finding love again, suddenly she thought she saw two familiar figures walking across the street. They were both dressed to the nines, only something wasn’t quite right about them.

And then she got it.

“Hey!” she said, getting up. “It’s those two crooks! They’re getting away!”

Her shouts hadn’t missed their effect: Alec was also looking in the direction she was pointing, and so were Charlene and Dan Goory.

Johnny and Jerry, for that’s who they were, must have discovered they’d been discovered, for they broke into a frantic run.

Alec went in pursuit, stomping across the street, and so did Charlene and Dan, followed by Vesta and Scarlett. Scarlett, on her high heels, was last, and soon fell behind.

Vesta, who hadn’t run a race in forty years, was soon huffing and puffing, and had to give up. Her son, too, quickly lost his puff, due to his voluminous size, and supported himself against a parked pickup, sucking in breath by the cubic meter, red in the face.

Dan, on the other hand, was still going strong, his white beard flapping in the wind, but it was actually Charlene who was in pole position, and gaining on the two crooks. The robbery to which they’d subjected her clearly still rankled and she was determined to get her men.

Vesta watched the drama unfold from her position on the sidewalk, and even climbed a chair to get a better view.

Johnny was slowing down, while Jerry clearly suffered from a stitch in his side. What actually finished it for them, though, were Wilbur Vickery and Father Reilly stepping out of the General Store for a chat, and accidentally stepping into the fleeing duo’s flight path.

There was a big collision, and it was up to Charlene to identify the crooks in the tangle of arms and legs. Soon Johnny and Jerry had been duly arrested by Alec, still puffing like a cigarette smoker after his second pack of the day, and the race was run.

“You did it again!” Scarlett cried, finally catching up. “The neighborhood watch is on fire!”

“We did it,” Vesta corrected her friend. She grinned at Father Reilly and Wilbur. “If you guys hadn’t stepped out when you did, they might have gotten away.”

“We caught them,” said Father Reilly, checking his chassis for scuffs, scrapes or dents.

“Glad to be of assistance,” said Wilbur, gingerly touching his jaw where presumably one of the two gangsters had smashed into him.

“Now this is the kind of stuff you should be writing about,” said Charlene, addressing Dan, who was snapping a couple of shots of the neighborhood watch for his newspaper.

“I know, I know,” said Dan, looking a little rueful. “But you gotta admit it’s not a good look when the mayor and the chief of police spend their time fondling each other when they should be handling their workload.”

Charlene winced a little at the man’s words, then nodded. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Now can we leave this episode behind?”

“Less talk, more pictures!” Scarlett said.

And so Dan shot more pictures of the four neighborhood watch members who’d made all the difference and had caught the bad guys. Again!

Chapter 24

That evening, I was sitting in the window for a change. Yes, I know cats sitting in the window looking out into the street is a cliché, but I never said I was Mr. Original, did I? Besides, Dooley was also there, snoozing and enjoying a pleasant break from the excitement of before.

“I really thought it was a UFO, Max,” said my friend now. “It looked like a UFO, and it sounded like a UFO, so why wasn’t it a UFO?”

“Maybe the people who designed it are UFO fans,” I suggested. I didn’t care what it was, I was simply glad Odelia had gotten rid of it, and had promised us she’d never buy another. Which didn’t mean much, of course, as she hadn’t bought this one either.

“I don’t understand why people buy all these horrible machines, Max. Haven’t they learned anything from watching The Terminator?”

I smiled. “The Terminator is just a movie, Dooley. It’s not real.”

“It looked very real to me,” he said.

I heaved a big sigh of contentment. A cat really doesn’t need much, you know. My belly was full, and so was my bowl, I had a nice roof over my head, my best friend was right next to me, my human was watching television on a couch nearby, where I could keep an eye on her, so as far as I was concerned everything was A-okay with the world.

Chase walked in and sank down onto the couch. “You’ll never guess what happened,” he said.

“What?” asked Odelia, turning down the volume on the movie she was watching.

“Vale and Carew tried to escape. They knocked out the two priests they’d asked to help them come to terms with their misdeeds, donned their clothes and walked out!”

“But you caught them, right?”

“I didn’t catch them—your grandmother did, along with her cronies of the neighborhood watch.” He placed his hands behind his head and leaned back. “What a day. At least they’re behind lock and key, and this time there will be no visits for their spiritual nourishment.”

“Did you get Ida’s Picasso back, and the other stuff they stole?”

Chase shook his head. “Nope. They’re playing dumb. Insist they’re innocent. But they’ll crack sooner or later. Alec will make sure of that. And in the meantime it’s back to insurance fraud for me.”

“Poor baby,” said Odelia. “I can’t believe my uncle is letting you handle what must be the most boring case in police history.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Chase. “But it’s definitely not as exciting as chasing a couple of crooks dressed up like Jehovah’s Witness elders. Here, did you see this video?”

He took out his phone and showed Odelia a video. Unfortunately I couldn’t see from my vantage point, and I was frankly too lazy to get up.

Lucky for us, Odelia carried Chase’s phone over to us and showed us the video. It was clearly shot by someone with an unsteady hand, but it was still entertaining to watch: Johnny and Jerry running at full tilt, chased by a motley crew of crime fighters: Dan Goory, Charlene Butterwick, Uncle Alec, Gran and Scarlett. And the ones who actually caught them were Wilbur Vickery and Father Reilly!

“A regular team effort,” I said.

“Yeah, the watch did good today,” said Odelia as she handed Chase back his phone.

The lanky cop yawned and stretched. “I’m beat. Early to bed tonight, babe?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty bushed, too. Let’s make it an early night.”

And as the humans turned in for the night, Dooley and I were only just getting started. But first I needed a quick power nap, too.

Marge was still smiling when she thought back to the cats and their heroic fight with the Roomba. She should have been upset that they managed to destroy the thing, but she wasn’t. The Roomba wasn’t a real Roomba but a cheap knockoff she’d found in a store off Main Street and had bought for a bargain. Odelia had suggested getting it fixed but she thought that was probably not a good idea. If the cats had destroyed it once, they would probably do it again. Besides, the poor darlings were clearly terrified of the machine.

And as she walked into the bedroom, much to her surprise she found her husband seated on the bed, a beatific smile on his face and apparently staring off into space.

“Hey, honey. Boy, do you look happy.”

Tex seemed to wake up as if from a dream. “Mh?”

“I said that you look happy.”

“Oh, it’s because I finally found the perfect place to put my Metzgall.”

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees as Marge’s mood plummeted. She hated that Metzgall with a vengeance. Tex had paid twenty-five thousand bucks for it, claiming it was the perfect investment, and a bargain at that price. She’d wanted to throttle him when she found out what he’d done with their hard-earned savings: spent it on an ugly painting of a hideous troll.

Sometimes she didn’t understand her husband. Really she did not.

And it was when she closed the bedroom door and discovered that the painting of the troll was hanging on the wall behind the door that she yelped in horror and surprise.

“What the…” she said, staring at the thing. So that’s what Tex had been looking at.

“I saw it in a documentary,” said her husband, sounding proud of himself. “Thieves will never find it, as the bedroom door is always open except at night, and we can still enjoy it by simply closing the door and looking at it from the bed.”

Marge stared at her husband. “You want me to look at that thing from the bed? Are you nuts? I’ll have nightmares knowing that gnome is staring at us all night.”

Tex’s smile faltered. “You don’t like it? It is a real Metzgall.”

“When did I ever give you the impression that I like that horrible thing?” she said, her voice rising both in pitch and volume. “I hate it. I want you to give it back to this Metzgaff guy.”

“Metzgall,” Tex corrected her. “And I don’t think he’ll take it back.”

“I don’t care! It’s revolting to look at and I want it gone. Out of my sight!”

“All right, all right,” said Tex, getting up from his perch on the foot of the bed. “Where do you want me to put it? The basement is too humid, the attic too dusty, the kitchen too smelly, and in the living room it’s going to attract too much unwanted attention.”

“Put it in the garden shed,” she suggested.

“But honey!”

“Or bury it for all I care. I want it gone—out of my life—gone, you hear?”

Tex looked like a kicked puppy when he took down the painting and carried it out of the bedroom. Marge shook her head. Men. They really were impossible sometimes.

Chapter 25

As we walked out of the house, to go for our midnight stroll, strange noises drew our attention to the next-door backyard. And even though we are by no means guard dogs, we decided to go and have a look anyway. We may not be watchdogs but we are very, very curious, in case you hadn’t noticed.

“Do you think it’s burglars, Max?” asked Dooley when we set paw into the backyard belonging to Marge and Tex. The noise was coming from the garden shed, and for a moment I thought that Dooley just might be right. Then again, what burglar would target a garden shed? Unless hoping to fetch a nice price for a bunch of gardening tools that have seen better days and a lawnmower that has been in service for so long it will fetch more when sold as an antique than an actual mower.

But still we approached the shed, anxious to find out what was going on. When we took a peek inside, we discovered to our surprise that it was none other than Tex who was making all the noise. He was holding up a painting of a garden gnome for some reason, positioning it here and there, apparently looking for the perfect place to put it.

The best place to put it, I could have told him, was six feet under, although subjecting moles and earthworms and other creatures of the freshly dug soil to the hideousness of the painting would probably be considered cruelty to animals so that was out, too.

I’d never understood Tex’s obsession with gnomes, and this was taking his love for all things garden troll to new and increasingly worrisome heights.

“What is he doing, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I think he’s looking for a place to hang up his painting,” I said.

“Did he paint it himself, you think?”

“Odelia told me he bought it off a guy named Jerome Metzgall, who specializes in gnome art. He paid twenty-five thousand dollars for it and now Marge is upset with him.”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars is a lot of money for a painting,” said Dooley.

“It is. Tex reckons it’s an investment, and he’ll double his money in due course.”

“It’s not a very nice painting though is it, Max?”

“No, it’s not,” I agreed.

“So that’s a gnome?”

“Yeah, Tex seems to have a thing for gnomes lately.”

“Poor Marge,” said Dooley, taking the words right out of my mouth.

We decided to leave Tex to it. We had an appointment at the park for cat choir, and we didn’t want to be late. Shanille, cat choir’s conductor, hates it when cats are late, and we don’t want to provoke her ire.

So we took a late-night stroll along the roads and pathways that crisscross our fair town, and soon were inhaling that bracing ocean air the Hamptons is so rightly famous for. The park is close to the ocean. In fact you can walk from the park down to the beach in next to no time. Not that we’d ever do that. Cats are not all that fond of the ocean, you see—or water in general, I should probably add. Water makes you wet, and we hate wet.

We arrived at the park and found it already teeming with fellow felines. Harriet and Brutus had arrived, of course, and so had Shanille, and Kingman, Wilbur Vickery’s cat, but also Buster, the barber’s Maine Coon, and many other friends and acquaintances. In fact it isn’t too much to say that the feline population of Hampton Cove is one big family. I almost said a big happy family, but since that isn’t always the case, I won’t.

“Did you hear what happened this afternoon?” asked Kingman the moment he clapped eyes on us. “My human caught two serial killers!”

“They’re not exactly serial killers,” I said. “Or even regular killers. They’re thieves.”

“Well, they’re bad news anyway, and Wilbur caught them.”

“The way I heard the story Wilbur accidentally stepped in front of the crooks as they were running along the sidewalk,” I said. “So it’s not that he actually caught them. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Or the right place at the right time,” Dooley said.

“That, too,” I said.

“I don’t care how you want to tell the story,” said Kingman. “I’m still sticking to my version of the truth.” He’d spotted another cat—a female one, of course—and I could hear him tell her the same story he was probably going to tell cats all night, and all the nights to come: “My human caught two serial killers. Caught them red-handed!”

“My human was there, too,” said Shanille. “Father Reilly happened to step out and got in the way. They all tumbled to the ground and by the time he knew what was happening, Chief Alec had already made the arrest.”

“Well, good riddance,” I said. “Let’s hope this spate of burglaries will now finally be over and done with.”

“Of course it will be over and done with,” said Harriet, who’d also joined the conversation. “We caught the killer, Brutus and I. Isn’t that right, baby boo?”

“Yeah, we caught the bad guys,” said Brutus.

“So many people caught the bad guys,” said Dooley admiringly. “They really didn’t stand a chance, did they?”

I smiled at this. He was right. But then of course success has many fathers—or mothers—and failure none.

Still, it was time to give credit where credit was due. “I think you guys did a great job,” I said therefore. “And Hampton Cove is a safer, better place because of it.”

“Why, thanks, Max,” said Harriet, pleasantly surprised. “And I still haven’t thanked you properly for saving us from that monstrous device.”

“Monstrous device?” asked Shanille. “What monstrous device?”

“A Roomba,” I said. “You know, one of those vacuum cleaners that are fully automated.”

“It was terrible,” said Harriet. “I thought for sure it was going to kill us.”

“Max jumped on top of it and destroyed it,” Dooley said. “He saved our lives.”

“I could have jumped on top of it and it wouldn’t have put a dent in the thing. It needed a fat cat like Max to do real damage,” said Brutus, quite nastily, too, I thought.

“It’s not my weight that made me successful,” I pointed out, “but my technique.”

“Yeah, you have to know where to jump, boogie bear,” said Harriet. “And Max must have studied the intricacies of the machine long enough to know its weaknesses and to know exactly where he should land to put it out of commission. Isn’t that right, Max?”

“Oh, sure,” I said, though of course I’d simply jumped the thing and, like Brutus had indicated, my sheer big-bonedness had done the rest. Though I’d never admit it—ever.

I could tell that Brutus wasn’t happy, though.

“Cheer up,” I said, clapping him on the back. “The next Roomba is yours to tackle.”

“There won’t be another Roomba,” he grumbled. “I heard Marge tell Odelia she wasn’t buying a second one.”

“Father Reilly has a Roomba,” said Shanille now, surprising us all. “I love it.”

I blinked. “Love it?” I asked. “How can you love a Roomba?”

“It’s great fun,” she said with a shrug. “He uses it to clean the church, and I like to ride it from time to time. Very entertaining.” And with a light laugh, she assumed the position of choir director and raised her voice. “Gather around, cats! Rehearsal is about to start!”

“She likes the Roomba,” said Harriet, flabbergasted. “Shanille really is a weird one.”

“Maybe she’s a terminator herself?” Dooley suggested. And for the rest of choir practice he didn’t let her out of his sight, just in case she turned out to be a killer robot from the future.

I felt a little bad now. Maybe I shouldn’t have destroyed the thing. Now what was Odelia going to do about her dust bunnies?

Chapter 26

Cat choir had been a smashing success as usual, and it was with uplifted spirits that the four of us returned home.

Harriet, especially, was feeling on top of the world. She’d sung her solo performance, and it had earned her a spontaneous round of applause. The fact that the applause was muted—it’s those darn paw pads, you see—hadn’t detracted from the warm sense of accomplishment Harriet had experienced, and it wasn’t too much to say she was walking on air.

“Once we get started with our quiz show,” she said now as we wended our way home along deserted streets, “I think I’ll sing a couple of songs in between the rounds. It will motivate and inspire the candidates, don’t you think, doodle bug?”

“Oh, sure,” said Brutus. “The candidates will be over the moon, and so will the millions of viewers at home.”

“Do you really think we’ll attract millions of viewers?” asked Harriet, her eyes shining at the thought of becoming a global superstar.

“Did I say millions? I meant hundreds of millions, of course. Seeing as there are a hundred million cats in the United States alone, I think it’s safe to say this show of ours is going to go viral and hit the stratosphere.”

“It’s going to leave Ed Sheeran and that Despacito guy in the dust,” said Harriet.

And as Harriet and Brutus shared their roseate dreams of global stardom, I saw that Dooley didn’t look happy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You don’t seem excited about the new quiz show for cats?”

“Harriet took it over,” he said quietly. “It was my idea and Harriet and Brutus took it and now they’re saying it was their idea all along. But it was my idea, wasn’t it, Max?”

“Of course it was your idea, Dooley,” I said. “And Harriet and Brutus know this.”

“You think so?” He didn’t look entirely convinced.

“Of course they do. Besides, don’t tell them I said this, but I think their ambitions just might be slightly overoptimistic. Since cats don’t own smartphones, or tablets, and only very rarely have access to computers or laptops, I think the chances of a show made by cats for cats being a huge success are slim.”

“Oh,” he said, taken aback. “So maybe we should bring the show to television?”

I shook my head. “Apart from the four of us, do you know any other cats that have a certain measure of control over the remote?”

“You mean cats don’t have any say in what they get to watch on television?”

“No say whatsoever, buddy. None.”

“Poor creatures.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

“Always having to watch whatever their humans like to watch.”

“Can you imagine?”

“Having to watch things like Game of Thrones.”

“Or NFL, MLB, NBA or NHL. Or even NASCAR!”

He shivered at the thought. “We really are very lucky cats, Max.”

“I know, Dooley. We have the best humans. Who let us watch whatever we like to watch.”

“Like cat food commercials.”

“And the Cartoon Network.”

“And the Discovery Channel.”

I grimaced. “I’ll leave that to you.” Dooley is a big fan of the Discovery Channel, and likes to watch it with Gran of an evening. Of course he also watches soap operas and other daytime television with Gran, too, but that can’t be helped. At least the Discovery Channel gives him some food for thought, and a paw up for his general education.

We’d arrived on Harrington Street and were about to enter the house when I became aware of some strange goings-on at the house next door. Two dark-clad individuals came sneaking out along the narrow strip that divides Odelia’s house from Kurt Mayfield’s.

“Kurt has some late-night visitors,” said Dooley.

“Visitors? Or burglars?” I said with a worried glance in the direction of the odd pair. One was big and tall, the other thin and short, though I couldn’t tell who they were because they were both wearing some type of face coverings. They were also carrying some large and bulky object, and making haste as they picked their way along the hedge.

“Maybe we should tell Odelia,” Dooley suggested. I glanced back at the house. Brutus and Harriet had already disappeared inside, and both Odelia’s and Marge and Tex’s houses were dark and quiet.

“By the time Odelia is out here they’ll be long gone,” I said. “Better to follow them and see what they’re up to instead.”

And so Dooley and I snuck behind the sneaky twosome and followed them as they hit the sidewalk, then hurried along toward a black van. One of the pair opened the side door and placed the bulky package inside, then both got in and soon the engine roared to life.

“Let’s take a closer look at the license plate,” I suggested.

Unfortunately, before we could, a large cloud of black smoke blasted from the exhaust, obscuring said license plate. All I could see as the van peeled away from the curb in a haze of diesel fumes were the letter A and the number 5.

“A5,” I said. “What did you get, Dooley?”

“I got nothing,” he said, coughing. “Except a lungful of smoke.”

“If nothing else, Uncle Alec will probably be able to arrest them for nocturnal pollution,” I said. At least if a law existed against pollution, nocturnal or otherwise.

Coughing, we both returned to the house, and vowed to tell Odelia about these suspicious marauders in the morning.

So we passed along the strip of lawn between Odelia’s house and Marge and Tex’s, and got in through the pet flap, then had a bite to eat and a sip of water before heading upstairs to enjoy a nice nap.

We hopped onto the bed, Chase automatically retracting his long limbs to provide Dooley some space at the foot of the bed while I made myself comfortable at the foot of Odelia’s side of the bed, and very soon we were both snoring along with Odelia and Chase’s snores, the picture of familial bliss.

Chapter 27

When Odelia opened her eyes the next morning, she found herself staring into a pair of green-golden cat eyes. They were about half a foot removed from her face and gazing steadily at her with an intensity and fixedness only cat owners are accustomed to.

“Hi, Max,” she groaned, not fully awake yet. He’d already walked over her to reach his favorite spot: right in the middle of the bed between her and Chase, where he liked to lie and purr until one of them woke up and proceeded to stroke his fur so he could bury his nose into an armpit or elbow and continue to purr up a storm. His preferred armpit was Odelia’s, but he wasn’t choosy, and if Chase happened to be better positioned he didn’t mind digging his nose into his pit.

Cats didn’t seem bothered by smelly pits, or else Max would have reeled back in horror. And neither did they mind smelly breath, for Max loved to smell her and Chase’s breath in the morning, something she wouldn’t advise anyone—unless they had a death wish.

“Something happened last night,” Max said now.

“Mh?” she said, her brain only now starting to boot up, and even then only to a minor degree.

“I think Kurt was visited by two midnight prowlers. They were both dressed in black and carried a big bulky object tucked in a canvas bag or sack. And then they got into a black van and drove away.”

“In a cloud of black smoke,” Dooley added. He was lying on Odelia’s other side, and so now she was compelled to divide her attention between the two cats.

“Two prowlers dressed in black, carrying a black bag and escaping in a black van. Anything else you want me to know?” She finger-combed her long blond tresses away from her face but got stuck halfway. She really needed to go to the hairdresser soon.

“What’s going on, babe?” asked a sleepy-sounding Chase.

“Max and Dooley caught two suspected burglars last night, walking out of Kurt’s house carrying a large canvas bag with an unknown object inside. They then got into a black van and took off.”

“Description,” Chase muttered, his police brain asserting operational control.

“One was short and thin, the other one big and tall, and the license plate number started with A5,” Max said, his words translated by Odelia for Chase’s benefit.

“Gotcha,” Chase muttered, then rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Don’t you think it’s a strange coincidence that an amateur sleuth like you, and a professional detective like me, have managed to be adopted by two amateur sleuth cats?”

Odelia smiled. “No, I don’t think that’s a coincidence at all. We’re a family of sleuths, after all. And Max and Dooley are probably even better at this stuff than we are.”

“Oh, that’s for sure,” said Chase as he leaned over and gave Odelia a peck on the lips.

She kept her mouth tightly closed. Cats might not mind her morning breath, but she sure as heck wasn’t going to allow her boyfriend to smell it. At least not until after the wedding.

“I’ll check on Kurt later,” said Chase.

“What will you tell him?”

“That one of the neighbors happened to walk his dog last night and thought he saw a couple of unsavory types snoop around the house.”

“What I find strange is that Fifi didn’t warn her human,” said Max now. “She might not be much of a watchdog but I’m sure that if a couple of burglars burgled the house she would bark up a storm.”

“Yeah, that is strange,” Odelia agreed.

“What’s strange, babe?” asked Chase, yawning and stretching his lanky frame, causing the bed to creak dangerously.

“That Fifi didn’t bark.”

“I’ll tell you all about it once I’ve talked to Kurt. Don’t get your hopes up, though, you guys,” he added with a wink in the direction of Max and Dooley. “Chances are it’s a false alarm. But nevertheless: great job, cat sleuths one and two.”

“I wonder which of us is cat sleuth number one and which is number two,” Dooley said as Chase got out of bed and in the process dislodged Max from the blanket he’d claimed for his own.

“I’m sure it’s not important,” said Max as he walked across Odelia again, causing the latter to huff out a surprised ‘Oof!’ as he dug his paws into her stomach.

Cats. You had to love them. Especially early in the morning.

She followed Chase’s cue and got up, too, slipping her feet into her pink Hello Kitty slippers and dragging her sleepy frame down the stairs and into the kitchen where she proceeded to put on a fresh pot of coffee.

She wondered if Max and Dooley’s story was true. If it was, could it be that Uncle Alec had arrested the wrong people in Johnny and Jerry, just as they steadfastly claimed? Or maybe there was more than one gang of burglars active in their small town.

She thought it odd that Kurt would be the target of a burglary, though. He wasn’t exactly the kind of person brimming with unknown riches and chests full of gold and diamonds. Then again, Ida Baumgartner wasn’t known as a rich woman either, and still the thieves had found out about her Picasso.

Chase came ambling down the stairs, his muscular frame clad in stretchy lycra.

“Going for a run?” asked Odelia.

“Yeah, just a quick one. Wanna come?”

She hesitated. She knew she should join him on his morning run, but the temptation of a fresh cup of coffee and breakfast was too strong, so she shook her head. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Sure thing,” he said. “I wouldn’t go for a run either, but I kinda need it, knowing the kind of day I’m heading into.”

“More insurance fraud hunting?”

“If your uncle wanted to punish me he couldn’t have done a better job than to hand me this particular assignment. I know white-collar crime is on the rise and all, but going through piles and piles of documents looking for traces of fraud is not my idea of fun.”

She smiled. “Who ever said being a detective was all fun and games?”

“No one, but I’d kinda hoped it was,” he said with a grin. He pointed to the coffee. “Save some for me, will you?”

And then he was out the door, braving the elements to keep himself in shape.

And as Odelia took her first cup of coffee of the day, she glanced out the window and saw Kurt Mayfield step into his backyard and call out for his dog. Usually Fifi immediately responded and came jumping and skipping up to her owner. This morning, though, there was no happy yapping and no equally happy Kurt playing around with his little Yorkie.

Frowning, Odelia opened the sliding glass door, then stepped out into her own backyard to take a closer look. And as she glanced across the fence and into her neighbor’s backyard, she was shocked to find Kurt leaning over the inert body of Fifi. The big guy, usually so aloof and grumpy, was sobbing like a small child. And when he looked up and saw Odelia, he cried, “She’s dead! My sweet baby is dead!”

Chapter 28

Attracted by sounds of anguish, Dooley and I stepped out of the house and found the door that led from our backyard into Kurt Mayfield’s backyard wide open.

It was a sight to behold, to be honest, for as far as I could tell that squeaky iron door had never been opened. It must have taken a strong hand to open it even now, as it was pretty rusty and covered with weeds on Kurt’s side—purposely so, I would have thought, to prevent nosy neighbors from entering his yard unannounced and uninvited.

We moved into Kurt’s domain with some trepidation, as Kurt is not exactly a friend of cats in general, or Dooley and myself in particular. He mostly disapproves of the impromptu singing sessions we sometimes engage in in the backyard in the middle of the night, when, having only just returned from cat choir, the muse strikes and we decide to sing a couple of bars.

Kurt is a retired music teacher, you see, and his musical sense is quite refined.

What we saw, though, when we passed across the threshold and into Kurt’s backyard, drove all thought of Kurt as some kind of ogre from our minds, as we watched the pensioner hunched over Fifi, thick tears sliding down his cheeks, as the little doggie lay motionless at his feet.

“Fifi!” I cried, and hurried to the scene.

“I’ve called Vena,” said Odelia. She’d placed a hand on her neighbor’s shaking back. “I’m sure she’ll know what to do.”

Normally the thought of Vena Aleman paying a house call fills me with dread. She’s our veterinarian, and in that capacity not exactly our favorite person in the world, armed as she usually comes with needles and poking fingers, but this time I hoped she would fly like the wind to save Fifi’s life.

“Is she… dead?” asked Dooley.

“She’s not dead,” said Odelia. “I think she was drugged, but that’s for Vena to decide.”

Just then, Chase returned from his morning run and came to see what all the fuss was about.

“I think the same people that your anonymous witness saw prowling around Kurt’s house last night must have drugged Fifi,” Odelia told her boyfriend.

“My Jackson Pollock,” sniffed Kurt. “It’s gone. When I woke up this morning I noticed it immediately. I’ve put it on my bedroom wall, behind the door. I saw this documentary once about a couple that stole a famous painting and kept it behind their bedroom door for years. So I figured I would do the same. Only this morning when I opened my eyes it was gone!” He gestured at Fifi. “But I don’t care about the painting. All I care about is my sweet baby. The sweetest dog in the world, and now look what they did. They killed her!”

“She’s still breathing, Kurt,” Odelia reminded him. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

She grimaced when she looked in our direction, though, so I knew she was just saying this to make Kurt feel better.

“Is it cancer, Max?” asked Dooley. “Is that what killed her?”

“She’s not dead, Dooley,” I said. “Probably the people who robbed Kurt’s house last night gave her something to drug her and keep her quiet. Which is why she didn’t bark.”

“Oh, that’s not very nice,” he said, eyes wide.

“No, that’s not very nice,” I agreed.

Fifi is our friend, and if there’s anything I dislike it is people hurting our friends.

Just then, Ted Trapper stuck his head over the fence—our fence. When he saw the commotion, he joined us in Kurt’s backyard. “What’s happened?” he asked. “I heard all the hullabaloo and I thought—ooh, my God the poor thing. Is she dead?”

Suddenly, Kurt reared up and roared, “You did this, you two-bit bean counter! You stole my painting and you killed my dog!”

Ted reeled back at this. “Wa-what?” he stuttered.

“I talked to you yesterday about Ida’s Picasso and Tex’s Metzgall and now my painting is gone. Admit it, Ted—you’re behind this whole thing!”

“But—no! I’m not a thief, Kurt. No way, José!”

“And here we go again,” I muttered. It wasn’t the first time that Ted was being accused of being a thief. Last time it was actually Tex who accused him, after a number of garden gnomes had mysteriously found their way into Ted’s possession—garden gnomes that had hitherto been in Tex’s possession. The entire thing turned out to be a big misunderstanding, and Ted was cleared of all suspicion.

“I don’t think Ted has anything to do with this, Kurt,” said Odelia, coming to her neighbor’s defense.

“And I’m sure he’s guilty. Just look at that face. It’s the face of a guilty person. And will you look at that smile? He’s proud of himself—proud that he got away with it!”

“I’m not smiling!” said Ted.

It was true. Ted just has one of those rosy smiley faces—he can’t help it.

“One of your neighbors says he saw two people get away with your painting,” said Chase, inserting his formidable frame between the two men. “They got into a black van and raced off. Now why would Ted make his getaway in a black van if he lives two doors down?”

“I don’t know. Probably to hide the loot in a warehouse somewhere, along with the other stuff he stole.”

“And what about his accomplice?” asked Odelia. “Just think, Kurt.”

“I am thinking, Odelia!” said Kurt, his customary belligerence reasserting itself in the wake of the tragedy that had befallen him. “And what I’m thinking is that Marcie must be the second burglar. Probably she poisoned my sweet Fifi.”

“Oh, come on, Kurt,” said Odelia, but suddenly the irate neighbor turned on her.

“Or maybe you did it. Maybe you and he-man here stole my Jackson Pollock. You’re about to get married, aren’t you? And we all know weddings cost money. A lot of money. So you probably figured you could use some extra cash and stole my painting!”

“Kurt, if I were you I’d be very careful what I say next,” said Chase, also getting a little hot under the collar now, even though he looked very cool in his lycra. Cool and imposing. In fact he was towering over his neighbor, and Kurt, taking in the hunk of male prowess that is Chase Kingsley, quickly piped down. He probably didn’t want to be knocked out cold like his dog.

His doorbell rang, and he went into the house to answer it.

“That will be Vena,” said Odelia.

“Look, you have to believe me,” said Ted. “I didn’t do this. I would never steal from my neighbors—no, scratch that, I would never steal, period. I’m not a thief, Detective Kingsley—Chase. I’m just not.”

“I believe you, Ted,” said Chase, placing a large comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “And you’ll have to forgive Kurt. He’s very upset right now, and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“I could sue, you know,” Ted said. “I could sue for slander and, and, and defamation of character.”

“Let’s all keep our cool,” said Chase. “The important thing right now is to make sure Fifi is all right, and that Kurt’s painting is retrieved and the thieves caught. You didn’t happen to be out and about last night, walking Rufus?”

“No, I walked him at eleven, then went straight to bed.”

“Mh. We have a partial license plate—I’ll get to work on that right away.”

Vena stepped onto the scene, looking competent and completely in charge, just the way a pet owner whose pet is out cold likes to see. Kurt was sniffling again, tears having formed in his eyes.

“It’s amazing how people can change when they are worried about their pets,” I told Dooley. “One minute he’s accusing Ted of all kinds of horrible things, and the next he’s weeping like a baby.”

“I think it’s cancer,” said Dooley. “I thought she looked very thin lately. Emaciated. It’s probably a tumor. Sometimes they hit you when you least expect it.”

Vena had examined the little doggie, and smiled a reassuring smile at Kurt. “She’ll be fine,” she said. “I’d say she was drugged. Did she eat something she shouldn’t have?”

“Kurt was burgled last night,” said Odelia. “And the burglars probably gave Fifi something to keep her quiet.”

Vena glanced around, then spotted a piece of meat lying a couple of feet away from where Fifi’s prostrate form lay. She picked up the piece of meat and sniffed then pulled a face. “This would have done the trick,” she said, then handed the meat to Chase. “I’m guessing you’ll need this as evidence, detective?”

Chase nodded, then automatically reached for a plastic evidence baggie, only to find that his lycra running outfit didn’t have pockets for such a contingency.

“Just put it back,” he said. “I’ll get something to take it into the lab.” He jogged off, and Vena worked on Fifi for a moment, and suddenly, like a miracle, the Yorkie opened her eyes, looked around a little groggily, then emitted a happy bark.

“Oh, Fifi!” said Kurt, picking up his doggie and pressing her to his bosom. “You’re alive!”

“Must have gone into remission,” Dooley said knowingly. “Happens all the time. She’ll have to watch out, though. Cancers this aggressive can come back when you least expect them to.”

“Oh, Dooley,” I said, and rolled my eyes.

Chapter 29

Johnny Carew had been brooding—thinking hard. And since thinking hard was not his usual line of work, he was feeling tired. Sweat droplets glistened on his noble brow, and he was frowning before him like he’d never frowned before. He usually wasn’t the kind of crook who believed in escaping from prison, but since this was the first time he’d been imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, he felt justified in putting his weight behind Jerry’s idea of getting out of there.

Unfortunately, try as he might, no plan of escape seemed forthcoming. Of course he readily admitted to not possessing his associate’s formidable brain, being more the brawn of the criminal twosome. Still, he’d hoped to at least make some contribution. The only thing he could come up with, though, was a simple plan, and he was sure that Jerry would dismiss it out of hand.

Nevertheless he felt it incumbent upon himself to enlighten his partner with the fruits of his intellectual labor, ridiculous as they might seem to a genius like Jer.

“All I can think of is to knock out the guards,” he said. “You pretend to be sick, foaming at the mouth, and I knock ‘em out cold and grab their keys. And then I knock out everyone that tries to stop us. Dumb plan, I know,” he added with an apologetic shrug.

But Jerry’s eyes lit up. “Don’t sell yourself short, Johnny. I think it’s brilliant. Knock out everyone that stands in our way. That’s the way to do it. And you’re the man for the job.”

“I am?” asked Johnny, well pleased with this rare compliment from one who rarely paid him any compliments at all.

“Sure, sure. I’ll froth at the mouth, and thrash around a bit, and you knock ‘em all out. Let’s do it. I’m sick and tired of this place—and the lousy food.”

Jerry was right. The least they could do was to feed them their proper three square meals a day. They might be crooks, but they were also human beings. And besides, they were innocent, though probably the chef and his kitchen crew didn’t know that.

“I’ll call the guard and you start foaming, Jer,” said Johnny, happy by this endorsement from his critical partner. “Heeeeelp!” he screamed. “Heeeeelp! Come and help us!”

Unfortunately, no matter how loud he yelled, no one came.

“What’s taking them so long?” grunted Jerry, lying on the cold floor and getting ready to do some serious frothing and thrashing.

“Maybe they’re on their break,” Johnny suggested. “I’ll give it another shot.” And so he repeated the procedure, this time adding some foot stomping to the mix.

A guard finally came shuffling up, looking bored and munching a chocolate sprinkle donut. “What’s all the fuss?” he asked.

“My partner is sick and dying!” Johnny cried, and gestured to Jerry, now properly thrashing and convincingly frothing. In fact he put so much heart into his performance that even Johnny was getting nervous. “Do something!” he told the guard. “Call a doctor!”

“We’re understaffed,” said the cop. “In fact I’m the only one here.”

Even better, thought Johnny. Even though he didn’t mind knocking out the odd cop here and there, in general he liked people, even cops, and preferred not having to knock them around too much if he could help it.

“Open the door, please, sir,” he said now. “I think he’s dying!”

The guard didn’t look excited by the idea of having to bend over Jerry, whose face was now awash with his own saliva. “Yuck,” he muttered as he glanced over to the thrashing man and shoved the last piece of donut into his mouth, then wiped his hands on his trousers. “Um, I’ll call a doctor, shall I? Don’t go anywhere.”

Cop humor, Johnny thought. “Just open the door and check on him. Don’t they teach you CPR at the police academy? He’ll be dead soon and it’ll be on you. There will be an investigation and they’ll blame his death on you, sir.”

“Christ,” said the cop, rubbing his face with indecision. He then took out a key, inserted it into the lock and turned. The moment he entered the cell, Johnny heaved one of his meaty fists over the man’s head, and let it come down with considerable force.

The cop said, “Ick,” and went down like a ton of bricks.

Jerry, however, was so caught up in his performance that he hadn’t even noticed the work was already done, and the road to freedom wide open. Instead, he kept on foaming and thrashing like there was no tomorrow. Johnny, now seriously concerned, shook his partner by the shoulder. “Jerry. Jerry! Oh, God. He’s really dying!”

So he did the only thing he could think of, which was to take the bucket of water located in the corner of their holding cell, and chuck its contents into the cop’s face, waking the man up again.

“Do something, sir!” he cried. “My partner is dying!”

The cop took a moment to get his wits together, then got up, glared at Johnny, walked out of the cell and slammed the door shut and stalked off.

“Sir? Sir!” Johnny cried. “My friend—”

“You moron!” Jerry suddenly bellowed.

Johnny wheeled around and was relieved to see his friend back in his usual form. “Jerry! You’re all right!”

“Of course I’m all right! But you won’t be all right if I get my hands on you!”

And with these words he sprang up from his position on the floor, making a miraculous recovery the likes of which humanity hasn’t witnessed since Lazarus walked out of his cave, and started chasing Johnny around the cell.

Five minutes later, when Tex Poole finally arrived, doctor’s bag in hand, he took one look at Johnny and Jerry in the midst of their morning jog, shook his head and muttered, “Did you have to make me skip my breakfast for this?” and walked off again.

Chapter 30

I was so happy that Fifi was fine that it was with a spring in my step that I passed through the little gate and back into my own backyard, Dooley in my wake.

Fifi may be a dog, and cats and dogs don’t usually mix, but Fifi is a special kind of dog, very sweet and very cuddly, and I wish her nothing but the best, and most definitely not a piece of poisoned meat!

“If these are the same people that are responsible for the other burglaries, then we have to consider the fact that you arrested the wrong guys,” said Odelia as Chase stared at the piece of poisoned meat through the clear plastic baggie he liked to use for exactly this kind of purpose.

“Yeah, probably,” he said. “Though until we find these other guys you’ll never convince your uncle to let Vale and Carew walk. And definitely not after the stunt they pulled yesterday.”

“No, I guess trying to escape wasn’t the best course of action,” Odelia admitted. She and Chase walked into the house while Dooley and I stayed out and enjoyed the pleasant sensation of the morning sun on our fur for a few moments more.

Harriet and Brutus had joined us from next door, and it was with a light heart that I explained to them what had transpired in their absence.

“Fifi poisoned,” said Harriet, looking shocked and dismayed. “You do realize this could have happened to any of us, right?”

“I’d never eat a piece of poisoned meat, though,” said Brutus. “I’d know immediately that it was poisoned and I’d tell Odelia.”

“You’re right, hubby wubby,” said Harriet. “Only dogs can be so dumb to eat a piece of poisoned meat.”

I bridled a little at this. I mean, dogs will never be my favorite pets in the world, but coming on the heels of this near-tragedy, Harriet’s words stung, and I told her in no uncertain terms what I thought of them.

She seemed chastened after my reprimand, and said, “I guess I was being a little too harsh. Dogs aren’t dumb. They’re simply… undiscerning, shall we say?”

“All right,” I conceded. “I’ll give you that. Dogs can be a little undiscerning, that’s true. Which is exactly why Fifi ate that piece of meat.”

“I actually ate that piece of meat because it tasted good,” said Fifi, now joining us.

“Oh, Fifi!” said Harriet. “I’m so glad you’re all right!”

“Not only did it taste really, really good, but it also smelled fantastic,” said Fifi ruefully. “If only I’d known…”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” I said. “It could have happened to anyone.”

“Only to a dumb dog like me, though,” said Fifi.

“Oh, Fifi, please don’t say that,” said Harriet, horrified that the doggie had heard her words. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not dumb. In fact you’re probably the smartest dog I know.”

“Yeah, not like that dummy Rufus,” Brutus scoffed.

A dog throat being cleared could be heard, and suddenly Rufus was there, giving Brutus a funny look. “I may be a dummy,” the big sheepdog said, “but my hearing is excellent.”

Brutus had the decency to blush under his fur, and muttered, “Sorry about that. I, I… I don’t know why I said that.”

“Probably because you think I’m dumb?” Rufus suggested.

“I’m sorry, Rufus,” Brutus repeated, thoroughly eating crow now. “I shouldn’t have said that. I really shouldn’t.”

“It’s all right,” said Rufus. “I know some cats talk before they think. But what’s all this about Fifi and poisoned meat?”

And since Rufus hadn’t yet been apprised of the facts pertaining to the case, Fifi proceeded to enlighten him. Soon the story would do the rounds of Hampton Cove, and every pet would be talking about what happened. In that sense pets are probably even worse than humans: we’re big on gossip. And I mean really big. In fact gossiping is pretty much all we do all day. When we’re not sleeping, eating or going to the litter box, that is.

And since one thing leads to another, soon Harriet was telling Fifi and Rufus all about my recent encounter with the Roomba, and much to both dogs’ delight, describing in graphic detail how I jumped on top of the thing, riding it like a cowboy riding a bronco, and managed to wear the thing down and bring home a smashing victory for Team Cats.

I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we were feeling much better when we finally returned indoors.

My happiness wasn’t to last, though, for the moment I stepped through the pet flap I became aware of a new challenge having infiltrated our home in the form of a dumpy woman, her black hair in a bob, giving us the evil eye the moment we entered the house.

“Max, Dooley,” said Odelia. “Meet Blanche. Blanche is our new cleaner. She’ll come in three mornings a week to keep our house spic and span. Isn’t that right, Blanche?”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to allow cats into your home?” asked Blanche in a raspy voice I immediately recognized as belonging to a heavy smoker.

“Oh, but Max and Dooley are very clean,” Odelia assured the cleaner.

“Mh,” said Blanche, clearly not a cat person. “Where I come from cats are strictly forbidden to enter the house. They are, after all, creatures of the night, and are out and about catching mice, and when they’re not out and about catching mice they’re sleeping on the porch.”

“In the winter, too?” asked Odelia, horrified by the prospect of her cats freezing their tushies off.

“Cats are tough and hardened creatures,” said Blanche. “They’re used to the cold. That’s why they got fur. Now where do you want me to start?”

And as Odelia explained to Blanche the ins and outs of the house, and where she could find the necessary cleaning supplies, Dooley and I exchanged a horrified look.

“I don’t like this, Max,” said Dooley, indicating we were on the same page where Blanche was concerned.

And when I glanced over into the living room and saw a huge vacuum cleaner—the industrial kind that can suck an entire star system into its belly without batting an eye—I shivered and said, “I don’t like it either, Dooley.”

I mean, that vacuum cleaner was all gleaming chrome and HUGE!

And as I studied this new enemy, it almost seemed to be grinning at me, and daring me to jump on top of it and ride it like a bucking bronco.

I had the impression it would sooner ride me than me it!

Chapter 31

“My Picasso still hasn’t been returned. I’m starting to think I should file a complaint against your brother-in-law for gross negligence. Only problem is: where do you file a complaint against the police? With the Mayor? But I want to file a complaint against her, too!”

And it was with this predicament that Ida Baumgartner left Tex, once the latter had assured her that the purple spot on her inner thigh wasn’t skin cancer but an innocent spot and absolutely not life-threatening at all.

Once she was gone, he tapped his upper lip for a moment. Ida’s words had rung a bell. He, too, was the proud owner of a very expensive painting, and just before Ida had walked in, Marge had phoned him and told him all about the break-in Kurt Mayfield had suffered. His Jackson Pollock had been stolen, with Vale and Carew in prison.

It was obvious, therefore, that a second gang was active in Hampton Cove, or even a first gang, in which case Vale and Carew were innocent after all, as they kept claiming.

Then again, innocent men don’t try to escape from prison.

He picked up his cell and dialed the number on the card from the information packet he’d taken into the office to give another read-through.

“Iris Johnson,” said a pleasant voice on the other end of the call. “Johnson and Johnson Insurance. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Miss Johnson,” he said. “This is Tex Poole. You paid me a visit last night in regards to my painting? I wanted to give you an update, just like you asked.”

Miss Johnson’s voice turned unctuous. “Of course, Dr. Poole, what is it?”

“Well, I’ve moved my painting to a safe place, which the contract probably should reflect.”

“Excellent decision, Dr. Poole. I would like to reiterate that the safest place for a valuable painting like yours is in a safety deposit box, either at the bank or at home. Though the bank would add another layer of protection that your home can’t provide. They have alarm systems in place, security guards, steel-enforced doors—the works.”

“No, I want to keep it at home,” he said.

“In a safe?”

“Oh, no, I don’t need a safe,” he assured the insurance broker. “I’ve got something a lot safer than a safe.”

“Safer than a safe?” asked the woman. “And where would that possibly be, Dr. Poole?”

“In my garden shed,” he said proudly. He’d given the matter some thought and had decided that Marge was right. The bedroom, though ideal for admiring an exquisite work of art like Big Gnome #21, was not all that safe after all. Just look at what happened to Kurt. No, a garden shed was the best place for his painting. “No one in their right mind would look inside a garden shed, Miss Johnson.”

“Well, it’s your business, of course, Dr. Poole, but I would still advise you to acquire a safe and then preferably a built-in model so no one can pick it up and run off with it.”

“I think I’ll stick to my garden shed,” he insisted.

“That’s fine, but that means your premium will go up. More risk for us, you see.”

He wavered for a moment, then said, “That’s all right. I’ll happily pay extra.”

The conversation concluded, Tex settled back in his chair. He glanced at the wall, where now a calendar issued by the American Medical Association hung, depicting a 3D rendering of the large intestine, and sighed wistfully when he thought he could have been looking at Big Gnome #21 instead, if not for the burglars and thieves of this world.

Oh, the joys robbed from law-abiding citizens just because some people couldn’t distinguish between mine and thine.

Just then, his phone chimed and he saw that his mother-in-law desired speech.

“Vesta?” he said. “When are you coming in?”

“I’m not coming in,” said Vesta. “The neighborhood watch is demanding my full attention. Did you hear about Kurt Mayfield?”

“Yeah, Marge just told me. Terrible thing. Absolutely terrible. Then again, he probably shouldn’t have kept his Jackson Pollock in his bedroom. Worst possible place to keep a valuable painting like that. Everybody knows that.”

“I’m just calling to tell you to watch out, Tex. Marge told me you foolishly squandered her money on some ridiculous daubing of a troll, and you’ll want to be on the lookout for the same thieves that hit Mayfield.”

He was going to argue that the ‘daubing’ of the ‘troll’ was in fact a precious work of art, but didn’t see the point. There’s no arguing with these cultural barbarians, after all.

“Buy a safe, Tex, or put the painting in the bank. Just a free PSA from your neighborhood watch. And don’t come crying to me when your troll gets nabbed. See you later.” And with these words, she ended the conversation.

Tex shook his head. He loved his wife dearly, but if there was one fault she had, it was that she’d had a mother when she was born.

“Those two crooks tried to escape again,” Vesta grunted as she placed her phone on the table. “Got a call from Dolores and she told me they knocked out the guard and tried to make a run for it. Lucky for us they were too dumb to follow through on their plan.”

“They’ll keep trying,” said Scarlett. “They’ll keep trying until they succeed, and then they’ll come after us, Vesta. Have you thought about that? They’ll come after us and they won’t come bearing gifts.”

“I know,” said Vesta.

They were seated in the outside dining area of the Hampton Cove Star, sipping lattes and eating cake. It was a great spot to discuss neighborhood watch business. The only drawback was that Wilbur Vickery couldn’t join them, as he had to be at the store, and that Father Reilly was absent, too, as he had to be at his church.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Vesta now. “You know how those two claim to have found religion, right?”

“I think that was just a ruse,” said Scarlett, studying her fingernails. “If they’d really found religion they wouldn’t have knocked out their elders and stolen their clothes.”

“Yeah, I know, but even if they’re pretending to have found religion, they won’t say no to Father Reilly visiting them in jail, will they? And when he offers to take their confession, do you think they’ll refuse? Of course not. And if Father Reilly can make them confess, and tell him where they stashed the loot, it’ll be another win for the watch.”

Scarlett laughed. “Vesta, you are a genius!”

Vesta shrugged and contrived to look modest, failing miserably. “Oh, well. You just have to think like a crook to beat a crook. And I guess I’m just one of those people who can think like a crook more easily than others.”

“That’s because you have the mind of a crook,” said Scarlett with a slight grin, and Vesta didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

Chapter 32

Dooley and I were hiding under the sheets, just like the last time we were under attack. Only this time our attacker was human, not some wannabe terminator, so it only took Blanche five minutes to discover our hiding place and root us out.

“Cats in the bed! Not on my watch!” she grunted, and actually kicked us out! From our own bed and our own home!

“Out! Out, I said!” she yelled as she first drove us down the stairs with a broom, then out the door. “And stay out!” she added for good measure.

Panting, we sat staring at the closed door with a measure of confusion, then I had the bad idea to try the pet flap, only to be confronted once more with the irritable Miss Blanche, who wielded her vicious broom again to drive me out and this time flipped the little lock on the pet flap so I wouldn’t stage a surprise return!

“This is too much!” I cried. “We have to get rid of the woman!”

“I think she’s probably right, though,” said Dooley, much to my surprise. “We do cause a lot of trouble for her. Because of us she has to clean extra hard.” He gave me a sad look. “It’s the shedding, Max. If only we wouldn’t shed so much, I’m sure she would be nicer.”

I had to concede he had a point. Then again, if Odelia hadn’t wanted pets that shed she wouldn’t have taken us in, would she?

“I just hope Blanche won’t be able to convince Odelia that cats belong outside and not in the house,” I said.

“Do you really think she’d do that?”

“I don’t know. If she threatens to quit her job if Odelia doesn’t comply, maybe.”

“But… I can’t be outside all the time, Max,” said Dooley, a sense of panic making his voice quiver. “Imagine having to sleep outside when it’s freezing—or snowing!”

“Yeah, not a fun prospect,” I agreed.

But then Dooley’s face cleared. “We can always stay at Marge and Tex’s. They won’t kick us out, will they?”

“No way,” I said. “Marge would never do that. Or Gran.”

And it was with uplifted spirits that we set paw for our second home—well, technically Dooley’s first home, as his official human is Gran, though he spends more time at Odelia’s than at Gran’s.

And we’d just arrived in the next-door backyard when Harriet and Brutus met us, both looking a little rattled.

“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.

But Harriet merely shook her head, clearly too emotional for speech.

“Come,” said Brutus. “There’s something I need to show you.”

So we came, and followed Brutus in through the pet flap, and through the kitchen into the living room. There we saw Marge, talking to someone, and when I ventured a little further, suddenly I saw that it was… Blanche! Or not exactly Blanche but someone who resembled her in facial features. Only this woman was taller and slimmer, though looking just as stony-faced and no-nonsense as our own dour cleaning lady.

“More cats,” growled the woman as she caught sight of us. “Where do they keep coming from?”

“Oh, this is Max and Dooley,” said Marge. “They belong to my daughter, who lives next door. But then you knew that already, didn’t you?”

The woman grunted. “My sister and I don’t condone cats in the home. We believe that the home is for humans, and cats should be outside, catching mice and keeping themselves to themselves.”

“Oh, but our cats are perfectly house-trained, Mrs. Trainor,” said Marge.

“Miss Trainor,” said the woman. “But you can call me Bella. And it doesn’t matter if they’re house-trained. Cats are messy. They shed, and they rub themselves against walls and furniture, leaving spots. They scratch the couches, causing marks. And they dig their claws into sheets and blankets, tearing holes. Also, they are covered in parasites, dragging them into your home and even into your bed. No, if you want my advice, Mrs. Poole, you’ll do well to remove that pet flap and disallow your cats from using the house from now on. Much better that way. Much healthier.” And with a stern glance in our direction, she proceeded to survey the house, and listen to Marge’s instructions.

And as Dooley and I followed Brutus out again, through a pet flap that pretty soon might be removed, I was reeling. Actually reeling!

“She’s Blanche’s sister?” I cried.

Harriet wordlessly nodded. “They’re a package deal, apparently. Clean houses together as a team. So Blanche might clean Odelia’s house today, and Marge’s tomorrow, and the same goes for Bella. And they both hate cats.”

“They both hate cats,” I repeated in a whisper.

“She wants Marge to remove the pet flap,” said Brutus in somber tones, sounding like one bringing bad news from the front line. “And judging from Marge’s face I think she just might do it.”

Dooley gawped from Brutus to Harriet to me, and finally burst out, “We have to get rid of them, Max! Before they get rid of us!”

“They’d never go that far,” I said. “Marge and Odelia would never allow it. Would they?”

We all shared worried glances. It was obvious that our future was suddenly hanging in the balance. And that pretty soon now we’d be joining Clarice, our feral friend, having to spend the rest of our lives outside.

“No more naps on the bed,” I said sadly.

“Or the couch,” said Brutus.

“Or watching television with our humans,” said Dooley.

Harriet heaved the biggest sigh of all. “And no quiz show,” she said. “If we can’t even enter the house, no way is Gran going to film my quiz.”

Dooley gave me a look that spoke volumes: suddenly HIS quiz had become Harriet’s quiz.

And it will surprise you that the Trainor sisters had soured my mood to such an extent that I didn’t even care about that silly quiz.

We were in danger of being chucked out of our homes.

Out into the cold, dark night.

Yikes!

Chapter 33

As Father Reilly set foot inside the police station, he felt less than sanguine about this latest assignment Vesta Muffin had given him. ‘Talk to the crooks, take their confessions and find out where they stashed the loot.’ It all sounded so simple, so easy, until you actually sat face to face with the miscreants and had to look them in the eye.

Frankly he didn’t know if he could do it. He was a man of God, of course, and accepted that all men are children of the same God. Then again, in his years as a humble servant of the Lord he’d often thought that some children of God were just that little bit nastier than others, and it just seemed to him that these Vale and Carew fellas were the sort of tough guys he didn’t like to associate with if he could help it.

If only he’d never accepted Vesta’s offer to become part of her neighborhood watch. Living in a clean crime-free town was all well and good, but that’s why they had cops.

He greeted Dolores Peltz with a warm smile.

“What brings you here, Father?” asked the receptionist. “Mugged, were you? Wallet stolen?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s going on these days. Crime is growing with leaps and bounds. Some call it a crime wave, and I’m starting to think they’re right.”

“I’m here to talk to Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale,” said Father Reilly, not really in the mood for small talk. The sooner this was over with the better.

But Dolores wasn’t one to let go of her prey so easily. She sat back and rasped in her gravelly voice, “And I can tell you exactly when it started. When Chief Lip got involved with the Mayor, that’s when. The big guy is blinded by love, or whatever they call it, and criminals are crawling out of the woodwork, sensing the cops are distracted and busy with other stuff. Mark my words—it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

Intrigued in spite of himself, Father Reilly leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Is it true they spend every afternoon in some love nest in town, their phones off the hook?”

He might be a man of the cloth, but he wasn’t immune to some idle gossip when the mood struck, and the mood struck often.

Dolores grinned. “Absolutely. He arrives at the office, and spends all morning on the phone with her. Then it’s off to lunch, and we don’t see him again until the next day!”

Father Reilly shook his head. “Dereliction of duty,” he said.

“You know what they say about old flames, Father. They burn the hottest.”

Father Reilly, who was about the same age as Alec Lip, gave Dolores a feeble smile. It was all fine and dandy to gossip, provided the gossip didn’t hit too close to home. “Is it true that they bribed Dan Goory so he wouldn’t write about their affair?”

Dolores nodded emphatically. “They were seen having lunch together: Alec, Charlene and Dan. Probably paying him off so he wouldn’t print any negative stories about the two lovebirds. A fat lot of good it will do them. You should read the comments online.”

“Where?” he asked immediately. “I mean, what website?”

“Facebook. Just join the Hampton Cove Facebook page and you’ll see that our beloved Chief and Mayor are the center of attention. Most of the comments are pretty hot, too!”

Father Reilly, as he walked on, wondered if he should talk to Alec. The Chief was, after all, a good friend of his, and if his reputation was hanging by a thread he probably should be told before it was too late.

He now arrived at the precinct proper, and saw that there were very few cops present. One of them noticed him and got up. “Father Reilly! They’re expecting you.”

“That’s wonderful,” he murmured, without much conviction.

He was led along a corridor, then to the cell block, where only a single cell was occupied. If Hampton Cove was in the grip of a crime wave, it didn’t show in cell occupancy, he thought.

Two men got up from their metal bunks when Father Reilly was led inside. He greeted them with a kind smile, and the distinct hope that the guard wouldn’t stray too far in case the convicts turned belligerent.

“Am I glad to see you, Father!” cried the biggest of the two, a real grizzly. “I wanted to tell you that I didn’t hit him very hard. Only a light tap on the head. And I also want it stated for the record that I won’t do it again. But we’re innocent, see, so it’s only fair that we would try to escape, see?”

“Of course, of course,” he said, blinking at the man’s intensity and peculiar cadence.

“I want to talk to you, Father,” said the smallest of the two, and led him to his bunk and bade him to sit down. “My wife, or I should probably say ex-wife, she won’t return my calls. Can you call her and tell her she has got to come and visit. I’m innocent, and she has to understand that and, most importantly, she has to accept my apologies. I know I’ve been a lousy husband, and I also know I should do better. And I will do better, Father. You gotta believe me and tell her. If she decides to get back together with me, I can promise her now that I will be the best husband I can be.” He raised his eyes heavenward and folded his hands in a gesture of prayer. “With the good Lord as my witness, I’ll be a wonderful husband to Marlene. The best. Tell her that, will you?”

“Um… of course, my son, if you want. But I think your wife—or ex-wife—will be more amenable and convinced of your good intentions if you finally decide to cooperate with the police. For instance by telling them where you hid the proceeds of your crimes.”

“Huh?” said Jerry, giving him a look of confusion.

“The painting? The gold coins?”

“The loot, Jer,” said Johnny helpfully. “He wants to know where we stashed the loot.”

Jerry gave the priest a not-so-friendly look. “What did I just tell you? I’m innocent, Father. I didn’t steal no fricking painting, or no fricking gold coins. If I had don’t you think the cops would have found them by now? It’s not as if I’m some kind of fricking Houdini, capable of making gold coins and paintings disappear into thin air, am I?”

“No, of course, of course,” said father Reilly, adopting an appeasing tone of voice. “It’s just that the people that painting and those coins and those original works of art belong to, they’re suffering, Mr. Vale. They want to know what happened to their possessions.”

Jerry abruptly got up. “I don’t have their fricking paintings or works of fricking art! I’m innocent. Innocent, I tell you!” He poked a finger into the priest’s chest and dug in hard. “And you can tell Marlene that if she doesn’t believe me she can go to hell! Is that understood?”

“Jerry, I don’t think that’s the way to win your wife back,” said Johnny, interrupting the one-on-one between confessor and confessant once more.

“I don’t care!” yelled Jerry, gesticulating wildly. “If she doesn’t like it, she can lump it. You, too, Johnny,” he added. “And you, Father. You can all go to hell for all I care!”

“Now, Mr. Vale…”

“Get out—out of my sight!”

“Don’t you think a nice confession…”

“Out!”

And so out Father Reilly went. All in all, he felt, as he hurried along the corridor, preceded by a grinning cop, it hadn’t gone too badly. At least he’d escaped with his life, for that short crook had looked like a mass murderer, and the big one, too.

And so he exited the building with a sigh of relief. He hadn’t discovered the whereabouts of Ida’s Picasso, or Mort Hodge’s artwork, or even Charlene’s gold coins, but he was still breathing, and that was something to be thankful for.

Chapter 34

“We should probably stop meeting like this,” Charlene said as she stepped into Alec’s squad car.

“Yeah, people are starting to talk,” Alec agreed as he planted a kiss on the Mayor’s lips.

“We’ll have to tell them, Alec.”

“Not now,” he said. “It’s too soon.”

“If we don’t tell them now I might not have a career left, and neither will you.”

“Let’s keep it to ourselves just a little while longer,” he said. “You know what people are like. The moment they start sticking their noses in, the thing might go belly-up.”

“I know, but still…”

“Just a couple more days. Until the whole thing is in the bag.”

She sighed. “All right. But at least tell your family. They’ll start to think you’re up to no good.”

The Chief smiled a mischievous smile. “And maybe they’re right.”

“Oh, no,” said the Mayor. “You’re up to something good—a lot of good, in fact. Too bad we have to keep it a secret.”

The Chief started up the car and drove off at a slow clip. “Just a while longer, my sweet. And then this will all be over…”

Since the house was now under different command—in fact both of our houses were—we decided to relocate to Hampton Cove, and go for our usual morning walk and take in some of the sights and sounds. Most importantly, though, we felt the need to share our tragedy with our friends. Misery loves company, after all, and since our misery was so great, we needed a lot of company.

We passed by Kingman, the unofficial feline mayor of our town, and poured our heart out to the big cat.

“I hear you,” he said, casting a casual glance at two pretty felines passing by his store. “Lucky for me Wilbur isn’t big on hygiene, personal or otherwise. He does his own cleaning, which pretty much consists of him applying a broom to the floor once every two weeks, the vacuum cleaner once a month and a mop twice a year and that’s it.”

“You’re a very lucky cat, Kingman,” said Dooley, and he meant it, too.

“I’m sure this cleaning double act will simmer down soon,” said Kingman. “After all, Odelia is the paying client, and if Odelia wants her cats to have the run of the house, there’s nothing these Trainor twins can do about it.”

“But what if they convince Odelia that she should kick us out?” I asked. “They sounded very convincing. And Odelia and Marge seem determined to keep them on.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that either. Plenty of cleaners in the sea, I mean. Two can play that game, fellas. If you complain long and loud enough to your human about Blanche and Bella, she’ll kick them out instead of you—just you wait and see!”

The prospect of kicking Blanche and Bella out bucked me up to no end, and I could tell that Dooley, too, seemed elated at the prospect.

“I think you should relax. Who’s more important to Odelia, the cats she’s owned and loved since just about forever, or a cleaner she just met?” He gave us a wink. “If you ask me, it’s a no-brainer. Now where is lovely Harriet and why didn’t she join you?”

“Lovely Harriet is scheming with Brutus and trying to come up with a way of entering her own home.” Harriet had thrown a hissy fit when she found the pet flap locked.

“If I were Bella I’d watch my back,” said Kingman after I’d explained to him what had happened. “Harriet has some very sharp claws on her, and she can bear a grudge like no one else can.”

He was right. If I were a betting cat, and I can assure you that I am not, my money was on Harriet if things got physical.

“So you see?” said Kingman, stifling a yawn. “Nothing to worry about. Now what I would advise you to look into is this business with your human’s uncle and Mayor Butterwick.”

“What about them?” I asked. Now that my own worries were allayed to some extent, I was open to listen to someone else’s woes for a change and maybe try to find a solution.

“They keep sneaking off together. People say to their love nest. Neglecting their duties. It wouldn’t surprise me if calls wouldn’t start going out for the Mayor to be replaced and your Uncle Alec, too. They’re not exactly making themselves popular lately.”

I nodded. “The article,” I said sagely.

“Tip of the iceberg, Max. There’s a lot of resentment, and people are talking, and even though they have their fans, they have their enemies too. And plenty of them.”

This didn’t sound good. In fact it sounded like something I didn’t associate with either Uncle Alec or Charlene. But when I told Kingman that they were both conscientious people and consummate professionals, he shrugged and said, “You can never tell. People will surprise you every time, and not always in a good way. Now take my Wilbur for instance. I know he’s not exactly a Casanova but did you know he spends every waking hour on those dating apps? Yep, Wilbur is looking for love. He’s looking for Mrs. Right.”

We all glanced up at Wilbur. His jaw, missing more than one tooth, was moving wordlessly as he watched a barely-clad model demonstrating a Stairmaster on the Home Shopping Network and he almost fell off his chair laughing when she fell off her machine. Crumbs flecked his beard, and his hair looked as if it had been washed in burger grease.

Yup, whoever landed Wilbur was one lucky lady.

Chapter 35

Jerry Vale was brooding again. Even though he’d sworn not to stage another escape attempt after the previous one had so gloriously backfired, he couldn’t help the way his brain worked. And his brain wanted freedom, and so did the rest of him. And he’d just had another brainwave and was about to convey his latest scheme to his partner in crime, when the cop in charge of keeping sure the prisoners were safely ensconced inside their cells at all times came ambling up in his customary good-natured way, and announced that Jerry had a visitor.

“A visitor!” Jerry cried, springing up from his perch.

“Yeah, I was as surprised as you are,” said the cop. “And a good-looking dame, too. Your sister, I presume?”

“I don’t have a sister, you moron,” he said, causing the sunny demeanor of the cop to lessen to a certain degree. Clearly the man hadn’t forgotten being beaned over the head.

“Less of that, Vale. Now do you want to see your visitor or not? If you do, I suggest you behave.” And he raised a menacing eyebrow to emphasize his words.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll behave,” said Jerry, craning his neck to see past the cop and catch a glimpse of this surprise visitor.

“Do you have a visitor, Jer?” asked Johnny from his own bunk.

“Yeah, looks like,” said Jerry.

“Who is it?” asked the gentle giant.

“How should I know? That idiot cop thinks it’s my sister.”

“But you don’t have a sister, Jer.”

“Oh? Is that a fact? Gee, I didn’t know. Of course I don’t have a sister, you numnuts!”

“Still the charmer, I see?” suddenly a woman’s voice spoke from the other side of the metal bars.

“Marlene!” Jerry cried out, as surprised as he was pleased to see his better half suddenly move into view. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s what I keep asking myself, but here I am.” Marlene, a handsome woman, slim and exceedingly tan with plenty of makeup and short blond hair, narrowed her eyes at her former husband. “You lost weight, Jer.”

“Prison life doesn’t become me,” he said ruefully.

“Is it true you spent a couple of weeks in Mexico before they shipped your ass back to the States?”

“We were in Tulum, Marlene,” said Johnny, smiling his goofy smile.

“Hi, Johnny. Living la vida loca, huh?”

“I don’t know about lavi loco but we spent a lot of time on the beach, sipping cocktails and looking at the ladies. Pretty ladies they got down there, isn’t that right, Jer?”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

“Pretty ladies, huh? So all that talk about missing me and wanting to get back together was just talk, is that it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Jerry. He directed a pleading look at his ex-wife. “I miss you, sweetie. When are you going to forgive me?”

“How about never?” she suggested tartly.

“There was one Mexican lady who kept pouring us tequila, isn’t that right, Jer? I think she took a shine to you.”

“Shut. Up,” said Jerry through gritted teeth.

“Look, I didn’t come here to listen to your travel itinerary,” said Marlene. “I heard that you stole a Picasso and a ton of gold. Is that true?”

“No, it’s not,” said Jerry. “We’re innocent, Marlene—you gotta believe me.”

She frowned. “No gold?”

“No gold.”

She chewed on that for a moment. “Jewelry?” she suggested.

“No jewelry.”

“Diamonds? Necklaces? Furs? Anything?”

“Look, this time we’re actually innocent,” said Jerry. “Isn’t that right, Johnny?”

“Yeah, we found religion,” said Johnny, folding his hands like the elders at Kingdom Hall had taught him. “We’re reformed now, Marlene. The life of crime is behind us.”

“Too bad,” said Marlene. “When I read about that gold, I figured…” She made an airy gesture. “Eh, it doesn’t matter. It was nice to see you again, Jer. Take care of yourself.”

“You’re not going already, are you?” asked Jerry, much perturbed. “You just got here!”

“And now I’m going. See you, Johnny. Bye bye, Jer.”

And with these words, she effectively stalked off, her high heels tapping on the polished concrete floor, the sound growing fainter as she went.

Jerry yelled after her, “So when are we getting back together?”

“Never!” her voice echoed. Then a door slammed and she was gone.

Jerry sank down onto his bunk again, more distraught than ever.

“I think she was disappointed we didn’t steal no gold, Jer,” said Johnny.

“You know, Johnny? I’m starting to wish that we had stolen that gold.”

“But we can’t, Jer. We’re on the straight and narrow now. We’re reformed.”

“I gotta accept that my marriage is over,” said Jerry sadly.

“I thought it was over last year?”

“Oh, shut up, will you? I need to think.”

And soon he was deep in thought again. It stood to reason that the only way to convince Marlene to give their marriage another shot was to wear her down. Talk to her like he’d never talked before. But how could he do that when he was locked up?

So he had to get out and he had to get out pronto.

And this time he was going to come up with a plan that was foolproof.

Chapter 36

“We have to convince her, Dooley,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

“This is now a matter of life and death.”

“I know!”

We’d arrived at Odelia’s office and both took a deep breath. We were entering the kind of negotiation that was going to determine our future, and we needed to strike the right note from the start, just like a hostage negotiator would. For that was what we were: hostages of the crazy wiles of those cat-hating sisters Blanche and Bella Trainor.

So we set paw inside the Gazette building and made a beeline for Odelia’s office.

She looked up when we entered. “Did you know that an insurance agency by the name of Johnson and Johnson has been named in one of the biggest fraud cases this town has ever seen?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t know that,” I said.

“Tell her, Max,” Dooley whispered behind me, giving me a poke in the rear.

“Chase is looking into the case,” she said. “And he’s made me promise not to write a word about it until he’s ready to haul the principals into the station for questioning.” She shook her head. “It’s tough to have to sit on a story that big, not being able to write it.”

“Tell her, Max!” Dooley urged again, and pushed me further in the direction of Odelia’s desk.

“Will you stop pushing?” I hissed.

“Tell me what?” asked Odelia, only now becoming aware that the two cats who had graced her with their presence were anxious to have speech with her.

“Well, the thing is…” I began, then stopped and started again. “You see, we’re in some sort of…”

Dooley, tired of my prevarications, emerged from behind my broad back and blurted out, “Blanche and Bella have locked us out of the house. They hate cats and they’re going to try to convince you that all cats are evil and make you get rid of us and we’ll have to spend the rest of our lives on the street, eating from dumpsters just like Clarice does, and live off scraps of food and mice and rats and other horrible vermin.”

Odelia looked taken aback by this outburst. “Blanche and Bella did what?” she asked.

“They locked the pet flaps,” I said. “But first they kicked us out.”

“Oh, dear,” said Odelia. “I’m sure they only did that to make sure they could clean without being disturbed.”

“You think so?” I said, not fully convinced.

“You know how jumpy you get around a vacuum cleaner, Max,” said Odelia, getting up from behind her desk and crouching down next to us. “She probably wanted to spare you the trouble of having to hide each time she turns on the machine.”

“She did turn it on and we did run and hide,” I admitted. “Straight into the bed.”

“And then Blanche came and chased us out and said cats shouldn’t be in the bed, or inside the house,” said Dooley, “and then she locked the pet flap so we couldn’t get back in.”

“I’m sure she’ll have unlocked it by now,” said Odelia with a smile as she petted us. “It doesn’t take all day to clean the house, you guys. As soon as she’s done she’ll let you in again. It’s your house too, you know. And she can’t keep you out.”

“She can’t?” I asked, a glimmer of hope returning.

“Of course not. But as long as she’s cleaning, I think it’s best if you don’t get in her way. She’s a good cleaner, with excellent references, but she strikes me as a forceful person, who doesn’t like it when cats run underfoot and make her trip and fall.”

“We would never make her trip and fall,” I said earnestly, though the thought of making Blanche trip and fall suddenly gave me the warm fuzzies when I pictured the scene. Her landing smack dab into her own bucket of sudsy soapy water? The notion actually put a smile on my face for the first time since we’d been chased out of our own home by the evil cleaner.

“See? You’re all better again,” said Odelia, noticing my smile and giving me another pat on the head. “Now run along, I have work to do. Unless you have some juicy gossip for me?” She arched a meaningful eyebrow, but I had to disappoint her. The only gossip I had was that Wilbur was dating, and that wasn’t something anyone wanted to hear.

It was with renewed fervor that we left the office. Things were looking up again. Though I have to say I was getting whiplash from the up-and-down motion my mood had been going through that day.

“I have to say I’m feeling much better, Max,” said Dooley. “Now that I know that Odelia is not going to kick us out.”

“Of course she’s not going to kick us out,” I said, the idea suddenly sounding silly even to my own ears. “Blanche is just a cleaner who comes in once a week. And being locked out of the house once a week for a couple of hours is not that bad, is it?”

“I thought Odelia said she’d hired her to come in three times a week,” Dooley said.

I stared at my friend. “Three times a week!”

“The house is very dirty,” he said. “She’ll probably have to do some of that deep cleaning that cleaners like to do. I once saw an episode of General Hospital where deep cleaning took a week. And at the end Frank Zucker, the homeowner who’d hired the cleaner, had slept with her in his own marital bed and nine months later she delivered two healthy baby boys, twins and heirs to the Zucker fortune. It was the season finale.”

I couldn’t imagine Chase sleeping with Blanche in Odelia’s bed and Blanche delivering twins nine months later, but it did strike me as ominous that she was going to be part of our lives for the foreseeable future at the clip of three times a week. That was a lot of pet flap locking!

And as we wended our way home, and finally arrived at our destination and moved straight inside through the pet flap, we found that the darn thing was still locked!

And when we moved next door, we found Harriet and Brutus lying in wait on the porch, and when I threw them a questioning glance, they both shook their heads.

Locked out of our own homes.

Oh, the horror!

Chapter 37

“So you want me to hit you?” asked Johnny, surprised.

“How many times do I have to explain it?” said Jerry annoyedly. “Yeah, hit me and I’ll hit you and the cops will come to break up the fight and that’s when we turn on them and escape.”

“But… I don’t want to hit you, Jer. You’re my friend and I like you.”

“You don’t have to hit me hard, Johnny. Just a light tap on the chin.”

“But I don’t know my own strength, Jer. I’ll probably hit you too hard and I don’t want that. What if you get hurt?”

“Look, we’re not really going to fight. It’s just acting, see? Like in the movies? Or did you really think those actors actually hit each other? It’s all fake!”

“Oh,” said Johnny, his face lighting up. “So I just have to pretend to hit you. Now I get it.”

“Yeah! Just like in the movies!”

“I can do that!”

“Great. Let’s get this show on the road. I’ll throw the first punch, and you retaliate.”

“Okay, Jer. Whatever you say,” said Johnny, thinking this was a great game. And a nice change of pace. Sitting in this prison cell was getting kinda boring without his phone. He liked to play Candy Crush to while away the time. Or to look for those Pokémons. But the cops had taken his phone away, which he thought was not very nice of them.

Jerry took a boxer’s stance while Johnny just stood there, like the man mountain that he was, waiting for his friend to throw the first fake punch so he could fake-retaliate.

“Now remember to make a lot of noise, all right?” said Jerry. “The more noise the better.”

“What kind of noise?” asked Johnny, interested in this new development.

“Any kind of noise! Screaming, shouting, name calling. This is supposed to be a big fight, you see. And when people fight they make a lot of noise.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Johnny, nodding. “What names do you want me to call you, Jer?”

Jerry rolled his eyes. “Who cares! Anything goes, Johnny. That’s the name of the game: anything goes. Now are you ready for my first punch?”

Johnny grinned. “Sure, Jer. Do your worst.” He’d always been a big fan of action movies, the kind with plenty of fight scenes. And now he was going to be in one of those scenes himself. It tickled his funny bone. But then Jerry hauled off and landed the first punch and it actually hurt!

Jerry had tiny fists but he was a wiry little fella and when he threw a punch it made a hole in Johnny’s stomach and he said ‘Oof!’ and actually doubled over because he hadn’t expected that.

“Jer! You punched me!”

“Of course I punched you! What did you think this was? A game of chess? We’re fighting, Johnny. Mean and dirty. Like in that movie Fight Club, remember?”

Johnny didn’t remember, but he did think Jerry shouldn’t actually have punched him. “That wasn’t a make-believe punch, Jer,” he said. “That was a real punch.”

“So give me a real punch back, or are you too lily-livered, you big pussy?”

Johnny frowned. He didn’t like the way this fight was going. “I don’t want to hit you, Jer,” he repeated. “You’re my friend and I don’t like to hit my friends.”

“You mean like this?” said Jerry, and gave Johnny another needle punch in the gut that made the big guy go all ‘Oof!’ “Or like this?” Jerry continued, and hit his friend on the nose!

“Hey—no fair!” said Johnny. “You said you weren’t going to hit for real—only fake!”

“Oh, stop whining and start hitting,” Jerry growled. “Do some damage, you big lummox!”

Finally, after the third kick to the stomach—a sensitive area for the big man—Johnny had finally had enough. So he raised his great big fist and gave his friend a light tap against the temple. Jerry flew through the prison cell, hit the wall, and slumped to the floor, out for the count. And when moments later the guard came to check on them and found Jerry knocked out on the floor, he shook his head and sighed the sigh of a long-suffering guard. “I’ll call the doc. Again.”

“I didn’t even hit him that hard,” said Johnny, still surprised by this turn of events.

“That’s what they all say,” said the guard, and took out his phone to call the doctor.

When Jerry finally regained consciousness, and stared up into the face of Dr. Tex Poole, he said, “Am I out? Did I escape?”

“No, you didn’t escape, Mr. Vale,” said Tex, “but if I were you I’d take it easy for a couple of days. And no more tussles, you hear?”

“I didn’t even hit that hard,” Johnny repeated. “I only nudged him with my fist.”

“Well, that seems to have done the trick,” said Tex, helping Jerry up from the floor. “No lasting damage, though. Not even a concussion. But don’t do it again, Mr. Carew.” The doctor gave him a reproachful look that hit Johnny like a punch to the gut.

“But he asked me to hit him, Doc. He really did.”

“You mean like in Fight Club?” asked the doctor, who seemed to know his movies.

“Yeah, exactly like in Fight Club.”

“So who were you supposed to be? Brad Pitt or Edward Norton?”

“I’m not sure,” said Johnny. He glanced at Jerry, then at the doctor. “Brad Pitt?”

The doctor smiled and clapped him on the back. “Of course, Mr. Carew. Of course.”

Once they were alone again, Jerry snarled, “That’s another fine mess you got us into, Johnny.”

Johnny gave his friend a sheepish look. “I’m sorry, Jer. Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”

“Yeah, well,” said his partner, laying back on his bunk. “That’s it for me. I give up. If the universe wants to keep us confined to this prison cell, that’s all right by me.”

“So you don’t want me to hit you again, Jer?”

“No, I don’t want you to hit me again, Brad Pitt.”

Johnny smiled at this. “Do you really think I look like Brad Pitt?”

Jerry smiled, too. “Sure, Johnny. Sure.”

For a moment, both men were silent, then Johnny said, “I’m sorry for knocking you out, Jer.”

“That’s all right, buddy. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have needled you like that.” He sighed. “I swear to God, if we ever make it out of this place I’m giving up the life of crime.”

“We’ll go to Hollywood,” said Johnny. “I’ll be Brad Pitt and you can be Leo DiCaprio.”

Jerry laughed at this, then stopped and groaned and reached for his head.

“Please don’t make me laugh, buddy. It hurts.”

Chapter 38

The evening had come and our humans had returned home from their respective places of business. And finally we’d all been allowed back inside.

“I’ll tell Blanche that she shouldn’t forget to unlock the pet flap again,” said Odelia after she let us in. “She must have forgotten.”

I didn’t think the evil cleaner had forgotten at all, though. I think she’d done it on purpose, to give us a first taste of the new rules that she was instigating. Three days a week we’d be locked out of our own homes, and if it was up to Blanche and her sister that period would be extended to the entire week, and possibly the nights, too!

Clearly they had their own ideas about how to treat pets, and felt cats didn’t have a place inside the home. And when it came down to a battle of wills, I feared that the war might just be won by the cleaners, and not by mild-mannered Odelia or Marge.

When Gran arrived home therefore, after a long day spent furthering the interests of her neighborhood watch, and breezed in, I decided to have a word with her. As I saw it, she was the only member of the family tough enough to take a stand against the terror of the cleaning ladies, and avoid disaster.

But Gran didn’t have time for us. Clearly she had other things on her mind, for she looked troubled. “Odelia,” she said as she swept into the house, where Odelia was checking the fridge in search of something edible to cook for dinner. “I need to have a word with you. It’s important,” she added when Odelia took out a piece of lamb roast and took a tentative sniff.

“What is it?” asked Odelia. “More burglaries?”

“It’s your uncle,” said Gran, and took a seat at the kitchen counter. “I’ve been hearing funny stories about him and Charlene Butterwick. It’s all over town that the two of them have been sneaking off together during working hours, and neglecting their jobs. It’s come so far that people are thinking about launching a petition for the Mayor to be replaced by another member of the town council, and for Alec to be replaced by Chase.”

Odelia frowned. “Surely you must have misheard.”

“I’m not so sure. When Scarlett and I dropped by the station this afternoon Alec was nowhere to be seen, and Dolores told us it’s been like that for the past two weeks. He comes in in the morning, then goes out for lunch and stays out. And when we went to see Charlene about it, her secretary said she was out and didn’t say when she’d be back.”

“What are they up to?” asked Odelia, as she also took a seat.

Gran shrugged. “I don’t know. People say they’ve got a love nest in town, and that they keep sneaking off for some nookie any chance they get. And I’m the first one to applaud Alec for having the good sense to hook up with Charlene. She’s a great gal and I wish them all the best and future happiness and yadda yadda. But not at the expense of their jobs.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I think an intervention is in order,” said Gran gravely.

“What’s an intervention, Max?” asked Dooley, who’d been listening with rapt attention, as had I.

“It’s when members of a person’s family or circle of friends decide to sit the person down and give him or her a good talking-to,” I said.

“I’ve already talked to Marge, and she’s agreed. Tonight we’re going over to Alec’s house and we’re going to have a word with him,” said Gran.

Odelia nodded. “All right. If that’s what you think is best.”

“I do. This cannot go on.” She shook her head. “I never thought I’d say this, but his libido is clearly out of control and needs to be checked.”

“What’s a libido, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Um…”

“He does seem to have a healthy sex drive,” said Odelia with a giggle.

“What’s a sex drive, Max?”

Gran shrugged. “Of course he does. He’s my son, after all,” she said, which made both women burst out laughing.

“What are they saying, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Well, Uncle Alec likes Charlene so much that he has started to neglect his work,” I explained. “His libido, which is the part of a person making them, um… love a lot, makes him love Charlene… a little too much.”

“And makes him drive his sex to her house when he should be driving his sex to his office?”

“Something like that,” I admitted.

“I didn’t know sex was like a car,” said Dooley. “And that people could drive it.”

“Yeah, sex is very much like a car,” I said. “You can drive it, but sometimes it drives you, and that’s what’s happening with Uncle Alec. He should be behind the driving wheel, but instead his libido is.”

“And Gran doesn’t like that,” said Dooley, nodding. He jumped up onto Gran’s lap, then, and said earnestly, “You have to tell Uncle Alec’s libido to get out of the driver’s seat, Gran. Or it will drive his sex in the wrong direction and cause an accident.”

“Absolutely right, Dooley,” said Gran, and gave my friend a cuddle. “Isn’t he a smart cookie?” she said, and Odelia gave me a wink.

Dooley was right. If Uncle Alec allowed his libido to take control, it would cause him to make a mess of his life and his career. A regular pileup of epic proportions.

I just hoped this intervention would be successful, and if it was, I was going to ask Gran to stage another intervention. This time dealing with Blanche and Bella. If anyone needed to be booted from the driver’s seat, it was that sinister twosome.

Chapter 39

Tex was feeling a little nervous about leaving the house for this family intervention thing. With his precious painting in the shed, and the thieves still at large, he didn’t like to leave the house unguarded. Then again, nobody knew the Metzgall was in his garden shed, and no thief, even the most clever one, would know to search there for the valuable work of art.

“I don’t believe this,” said Marge as she checked her appearance in the bedroom mirror. “You would think that my brother is old and wise enough not to act like a hormonal teenager.”

“He must be deeply infatuated with the woman,” said Tex as he glanced through Jerome Metzgall’s website to see if he didn’t have another gnome for sale at a reasonable price. It would be nice if Big Gnome #21 had a little brother or sister to keep him company back there in that shed. The nights could really get lonely out there.

“He can be infatuated all he wants, but he shouldn’t neglect his duties to this town and its citizens,” said Marge sternly.

“I’m sure it’s just a phase,” said Tex as he studied a particularly jolly female gnome. The price tag was a little too steep for his budget, though.

“A phase he should have grown out of when he left puberty behind. What are you doing?”

“Oh, just checking the news,” said Tex, a little guiltily. This newfound hobby of his clearly didn’t carry his wife’s approval.

“Looking at gnomes again, are you?” said Marge, unfailingly putting her finger on the nub.

“How did you know?” he asked, looking from his phone to Marge. “Are you psychic now?”

Marge smiled. “When it comes to you, yes I am, husband dear. Please don’t buy another one of those horrible paintings.”

“It’s an investment,” he insisted stubbornly. “You buy them now, and sell them tomorrow and double your investment, or even triple it.”

“I very much doubt whether anyone would be so crazy to spend that much money on a painting of a gnome, honey.” She gave him the kind of look a parent would give a dimwitted child. A mixture of affection and exasperation. “Except you, of course.”

“Do you think he’s safe back there?” he asked, glancing through the window in the direction of the shed.

“Oh, I think he’s perfectly safe,” said Marge. She’d already voiced her opinion that no burglars would bother to steal Big Gnome #21 but he wasn’t so sure.

Suddenly Vesta stuck her head in the door. “What’s the holdup? Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” And retracted her head again.

“I guess we’re going,” said Tex.

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Marge with a sigh.

Since the cat contingent hadn’t been invited to the intervention, we decided to head out and hit the town instead.

It had been an eventful day, and we needed the distraction. But then before we could get going, suddenly Tex dropped by the house, glanced left and right, then knelt down next to me and whispered, “Max, I know you can understand what I’m going to tell you, because I’ve seen my wife and my daughter and my mother-in-law do it a million times, and I hope they haven’t been pulling my leg all these years.” He took a deep breath, gazed into my eyes and said, “Can you keep an eye on Big Gnome #21 for me? I know that Marge thinks no thief will want to steal it, but I’m not so sure. He does represent an investment of no less than twenty-five thousand dollars, and even though he’s insured with a reputable firm, I’d feel much better if I knew you were here to make sure nobody took him.” He glanced up again, making sure nobody overheard him talking to a cat, then leaned in and said, “Thanks, little buddy.” And gave me a quick pet across the cranium.

I stared at the man as he scuttled off, presumably to follow the rest of the family for the big intervention.

“What did he say, Max?” asked Dooley, who’d watched from a little distance.

“He wants me to guard Big Gnome #21,” I said.

“Who’s Big Gnome #21?”

“The painting Tex bought.”

“Why does he want you to watch it? It’s not very nice to look at.”

“He wants me to make sure nobody steals it,” I specified.

“Oh,” said Dooley, and took this in, just as I was taking it in. “Well, I guess we’re staying home tonight,” he said finally, showing me what a friend he truly was.

He could have said, ‘Max, you take care of the painting of the ugly gnome while I go and have a great time at cat choir.’ But no, he decided to stay home with me. What a pal!

“Where is this Big Gnome #21?” he asked next.

“In the garden shed, remember? Marge didn’t want it in the house.”

“Why? Isn’t it house-trained?”

I chuckled at this. “No, I guess not.”

“Poor Marge. First garden gnomes and now paintings of garden gnomes.”

“She has a heavy cross to bear,” I agreed.

And since Harriet and Brutus had already left, and so had the rest of the family, Dooley and I made our way into Marge and Tex’s backyard to guard Big Gnome #21. And it was as we arrived that I found the door to the shed askance, and when I entered the small structure, and glanced around in search of the painting, I discovered that it wasn’t there. Probably because Tex had hidden it somewhere where I couldn’t see it.

“So?” asked Dooley, joining me. “Where is Big Gnome #21?”

“No idea. Tex must have hidden it.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Dooley. “I didn’t like the look of that gnome.”

I found a nice piece of cardboard that had my name on it—not literally, of course—and Dooley found one with his name on it, and soon we were pleasantly dozing, and making sure no gnomes could be absconded with, twenty-first ones or otherwise.

Chapter 40

When Odelia pressed her finger to the bell, she silently said a little prayer and hoped for the best. She liked her uncle, and if they were going to prevent him from making a career-destroying decision, they needed to talk fast and be convincing, but also to listen and hear his side of the story.

“Ready?” asked Gran.

Mom, Dad and Chase all nodded. Especially Chase and Dad didn’t look eager to launch into this intervention, but then neither did Odelia think this was going to be a walk in the park.

The door swung open and to her surprise it wasn’t her uncle who appeared but Charlene!

“Oh, hey,” said Charlene. “I didn’t know there was a family evening planned, but come in.”

The Mayor was dressed in yoga pants and a Garfield T-shirt and had her hair down. The fact that she had a drink in her hand indicated she and Alec had thought they’d spend a nice evening at home together.

When they walked into the living room, Alec got up, surprised at the sight of his entire family filing into the room.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Did something happen?”

“Alec,” said Gran, stepping to the fore and taking charge. “Sit down. You too, Charlene. This is an intervention,” she announced, taking a wide-legged stance and planting her hands on her hips. “Your family loves you very much, Alec, and we don’t like to see you throwing your life and career away the way you’ve been doing.”

“Wait, what?” asked Alec, flabbergasted.

Charlene laughed a nervous little laugh. “An intervention? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” said Vesta, fixing the mayor with a gimlet-eyed look and shutting her up. “It has come to our attention that you’ve both been playing hooky at work, so you can spend time in your alleged love nest. Well, we’re here to tell you that all that is in the past.” She pointed a bony finger at her son. “You’re going to show up at work on time. You’re going to stay there during office hours and do your duty the way you promised when you accepted the honor of being this town’s chief of police, and you’re going to perform your duties to the best of your abilities. And that goes for you, too, young lady. It’s an honor to be our mayor.”

“I agree,” said Charlene.

“And you’re going to do your job from now on, and not sneak off for some canoodling sessions with my son.”

“Ma, please!” said Alec.

“Shush. I’m not finished. I’m a busy woman but I’m going to sacrifice my precious time to keep an eye on you two. I’m going to sit in your office for the next week and make sure you don’t leave before five o’clock on the dot. And I’ve asked my friend Scarlett to do the same for you, Charlene. She will sit in your office and she will not move from your side for a week. And if by the end of the week you’ve both shown that you’re worthy of our trust, we might let you off the hook. If not, another week will be added, and one more, for as long as it takes to get you on the straight and narrow again.”

“But Vesta…” said Charlene with a laugh.

“You think this is a joke?” Gran barked. “Do you see me laughing?”

“No, but…”

“This is your life, young lady. And you’re not going to throw it away on this bozo.”

“I’m your son!”

“You’re a fine mayor, and people like you, but not if you keep shirking your duty. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Charlene with a smile and glance at Alec, who sat silently fuming.

“Great. Then we have an understanding. And don’t think I do this because I like it. This hurts me more than it hurts you,” Gran concluded her harangue.

“You can still canoodle, though,” said Marge, eager to make her point clear. “But you should do it in the evenings, not when you’re supposed to be working.”

“Are you finished?” asked Uncle Alec stiffly.

“Yeah, just about,” said Gran.

“We haven’t been playing hooky. In fact we haven’t been shirking work at all.”

“Oh? I’ve heard different,” said Gran. “And when Scarlett and I paid you a visit this afternoon Dolores said you’ve been absent from work every afternoon for the past two weeks. And your secretary told us the same story, Charlene.”

Charlene shook her head. “I feel like I’m back in high school.”

“Look, we haven’t played hooky,” Uncle Alec repeated. “We’ve been working on a new project together. In our official capacities as chief of police and mayor—and not in some love nest but out in the field, overseeing construction.”

“What construction? What field?” asked Gran.

Uncle Alec directed a tender look at the Mayor. “Are you going to tell them or am I?”

Charlene smiled. “I never had the pleasure of having children,” she said. “And neither has Alec. It’s one of the things that has drawn us very close together indeed. Something we have in common.”

Odelia’s mom put her hands to her cheeks. “You’re having a baby! Oh, my God!”

“No, we’re not having a baby,” said Charlene. “Unfortunately I haven’t been blessed with the capacity to conceive, and besides, I’m too old now to have kids anyway.”

“Me, too,” Uncle Alec grunted.

“But what we also share is a love of dogs.”

“Dogs,” said Gran disgustedly. “Are you serious?”

Charlene nodded. “Probably because I could never have kids I’ve always loved dogs with a particular fervor, and I’ve adopted quite a few strays over the years.”

“I always wanted a dog,” said Uncle Alec mournfully. “Never got around to it.”

“So Alec and I decided to open a dog kennel. When people thought we were playing hooky we’ve been out inspecting buildings and looking for people who could run the kennel. This is going to be an official dog kennel, run by the town of Hampton Cove, and it’s going to be a shelter that’s going to offer a better life for our strays and dogs whose owners for whatever reason are not in the position to keep them anymore.”

“A dog kennel,” said Gran, looking stunned.

“But what about the pound?” asked Tex. “We already have a perfectly good pound.”

“There have been a number of complaints over the years,” said Charlene. “The animals haven’t been treated as well as they should have. So we’re closing down the pound and opening a kennel instead. Mostly it’s dogs that are kept at the pound anyway.”

“But what about stray cats?” asked Odelia. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“We’ve thought about that,” said Uncle Alec, “and we’re going to open a second building, adjacent to the dog kennel, where all other animals are kept in the same excellent conditions. It’s going to be called the Hampton Cove Animal Kennel, and it’s going to set a new benchmark for the way strays should be treated.” He expanded his chest with justifiable pride. “I’m going to volunteer there, and so will Charlene, and I hope you will do the same.”

“A dog kennel,” Gran muttered, plunking down on one of Uncle Alec’s leather couches.

“An animal shelter, if you will,” said Charlene, “but with an emphasis on dogs.”

“I don’t believe this,” Gran said, shaking her head and looking as if she was about to pass out.

“So no babies?” asked Mom, sounding disappointed.

“Fur babies,” Charlene specified.

Mom nodded, and Odelia gave her a rub across the back. “Fur babies,” she repeated. “That’s great, isn’t it, Mom?”

“Wonderful,” said Mom, but without much conviction.

“We’re finalizing our plans this week,” said Charlene. “The lease is signed and we’ve hired a manager so things are progressing nicely.”

“We were going to announce our plans to the world next week,” said Alec. “But you took us by surprise.” He directed a censorious look at his mother, who was still looking distraught. For a woman whose entire life has revolved around cats, to have a son who opens a dog kennel was clearly a big shock for the old lady.

“I’ll be a volunteer,” said Odelia. “I love dogs—and cats, of course.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that, Odelia,” said Charlene. “You’ll love the place—it’s so big and airy. And we’re going to turn it into the most gorgeous shelter in the state.”

“I’ll volunteer, too,” said Mom. “I like cats, of course, but I don’t mind dogs.”

“That’s… the spirit,” said Charlene.

“And if you want my help, you’ve got it,” said Dad.

“I’ll lend a hand,” said Chase. “I love dogs. Used to have two great dogs as a kid. Loved those guys to death.”

All eyes now turned to Gran, but when the old lady became aware of the attention, she shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m not volunteering at no stinkin dog kennel. It’s cats for me—cats all the way. And cats and dogs,” she announced, her voice rising as she herself rose up from the couch, “don’t mix! And you!” she added, raking a fiery glance across Odelia and Mom’s faces, “Are both traitors!”

And with these words, she strode out and slammed the door behind her.

Chapter 41

I’d been pleasantly asleep when I became aware of the sound of footsteps approaching. Immediately I was wide awake.

“Dooley!” I hissed. “Someone’s coming!”

“It must be the thieves!” he said.

It stood to reason, though, that if we hadn’t been able to find the painting, the thieves wouldn’t either. Then again, never underestimate a highly motivated burglar. They will search until they find what they are looking for.

We sat absolutely still as the footsteps halted outside the garden shed, then the door crept open with a creaking sound.

“What do we do, Max?” asked Dooley.

He was right to ask. Cats aren’t dogs: we can’t bark and make the bad guys go away.

“Whatever you do,” I said, “don’t eat the meat!”

“Oh, no!” he said. “They’re going to try and poison us, aren’t they?”

“As long as you don’t touch the meat, you’ll be fine.”

The door opened wider, and a person stepped in. For a moment, I feared the worst: meat laced with poison dropped in front of me, and the burglar trying to force-feed it. I was already clamping my mouth shut, so I wouldn’t get some of that poison that had knocked out Fifi inside me, but then a blood-curdling scream rocked me to the core.

“It’s gone!” a voice cried, the intensity of its scream piercing the silence of the night.

And then I recognized the midnight marauder: it was Tex!

“Big Gnome #21—he’s gone!” he repeated, then flicked on the light.

I blinked, and when my eyes had adjusted to the hard light from the single bulb, I was hit by the accusing look in Tex’s eyes. “Max! I asked you to guard my painting!”

“Yeah, so where is it?” I asked. “I never saw the darn thing.” It’s too much to start accusing an innocent guard cat, I mean to say, especially after he’s voluntarily given up cat choir to heed his master’s command.

More footsteps sounded, no doubt drawn by Tex’s loud wailing and gnashing of teeth.

“What’s going on?” asked Marge, who was the first to arrive on the scene.

“My painting. I asked Max to guard it for me and he’s allowed thieves to steal it!” said Tex, on the verge of tears.

“Max? What happened to the painting?” asked Marge, getting down to brass tacks.

“I never saw any painting,” I said. “I figured Tex must have hidden it somewhere.”

“No, it was hanging right there,” said Marge, pointing to the wall above my head.

“Well, it wasn’t hanging there when we got here,” I explained.

“The thieves must have stolen it before Max and Dooley got here,” said Marge thoughtfully.

“What? It was gone already?”

“Oh, darn,” I said. “We’ve been guarding an empty shed, Dooley.”

“Well, at least nobody stole the hoes and the pruning shears,” Dooley pointed out.

More people came flocking to, drawn by the nocturnal commotion. They were, in order of arrival, Odelia, Chase, Ted and Marcie Trapper, and even Kurt Mayfield, who’d brought along his dog Fifi.

“What’s happening?” asked Ted, interested. “Is this a block party?”

“My painting was stolen,” said Tex, then directed an accusing look at Ted.

But before he could speak, Ted held up his arms. “I didn’t do it. Whatever it was, I didn’t have nothing to do with it, I swear!”

And since Tex had already falsely accused his neighbor once, he seemed reluctant to do it again.

“Who knew you were keeping a painting in your garden shed?” asked Chase, ever the cop.

“Nobody,” said Tex. “Just me and Marge.”

“That’s not completely true, honey,” said Marge. “You told those insurers, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but they’d never steal my painting,” said Tex. “They’re the ones who’ll have to pay me now.”

“Who are your insurers?” asked Marcie Trapper, rubbing her husband on the back. Ted had been accused one too many times of theft, she seemed to say with that gesture.

“Um, Johnson and Johnson,” said Tex. “On Bleecker Street.”

Chase and Odelia shared a look of surprise. “Isn’t that the same company you’re investigating for fraud, babe?” asked Odelia.

“Yeah, it is,” said Chase.

“Fraud?” cried Tex. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I’m also insured by Johnson and Johnson,” said Kurt. “Their premiums are pretty steep if you ask me.”

“Is it possible that they stole your painting?” asked Chase now, voicing the most pertinent question.

“Why would they steal a painting they’ve insured?” said Tex. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“The complaint against Johnson and Johnson seems to be that they never pay out,” said Chase. “Basically they always find some excuse or technicality not to pay the claimant. So chances are that if they stole your painting, they’ll sell it on, and since they’re not going to pay you for your loss, they get to pocket the proceeds from the sale.”

“But that’s illegal!” cried Tex.

Chase dragged a hand through his scraggly hair. “Well, turns out it’s not that black and white. Which is why I’ve been investigating the company for the past month and still have to find the smoking gun.”

“Well you found your smoking gnome now,” said Marge. “Do you think that’ll do?”

Chase nodded. “I’ll try and get a search warrant tomorrow,” he said. “If we’re lucky I’ll find Tex’s painting and that’ll be the end of Johnson and Johnson.”

Just then, Gran came walking up. “What’s with all the noise?” she complained. “Can’t a woman get a decent night’s sleep around here without being kept awake by you party people?” And when she saw Fifi, she sniffed annoyedly. “This neighborhood is going to the dogs. To the dogs, I tell you!”

And with these words, she was off again, leaving Kurt to stare after her, and Fifi, too.

“What does she got against dogs?” asked Kurt.

“It’s a long story,” said Marge. “Come on, husband,” she added, patting Tex on the arm. “Time to go to bed.”

“But my gnome, Marge,” said Tex plaintively. “They took my gnome.”

“There will be other gnomes, honey,” said his wife soothingly.

“But it cost twenty-five thousand dollars.”

She winced. “Please don’t remind me.”

After they’d gone, Chase said, “Twenty-five thousand dollars for a painting?”

“Yeah, Dad thought it was a good investment,” Odelia explained. “It’s painted by a famous artist named Jerome Metzgall.”

“Metzgall is a flake,” Kurt grunted. “Worst investment of Tex’s life.”

“Was your Jackson Pollock insured with Johnson and Johnson, Kurt?” asked Odelia.

“It was. And until now they haven’t paid me a dime. It’s still early days, of course.”

“And I’ll bet Ida Baumgartner’s Picasso was insured with Johnson and Johnson, too, and so were Mort Hodge’s cartoons.”

“What a setup,” said Ted. “First you insure the stuff, then you steal it and sell it, and refuse to pay out.”

“We’re not insured with them, are we?” asked Marcie.

“No, we’re not,” said Ted. “Then again,” he added with a shrug, “we don’t have anything valuable to insure anyway, so there’s that.”

“Thank God for small favors,” said Marcie.

Soon the small gathering of neighbors dispersed, and Dooley and I decided to head into town. Cat choir sometimes runs late, and we’d had enough nap time for a while. And as we walked along the deserted streets of our town, Dooley said, “Is twenty-five thousand dollars for a painting of a gnome a lot of money, Max?”

“That depends, Dooley.”

“On what?”

“Well, I happen to think twenty-five dollars is a lot of money to spend on a painting of a gnome, but possibly there are people out there that are willing to spend two million dollars on the same painting, and in that case twenty-five thousand is a bargain.”

“I think I’ve heard about that,” he said. “Supply and demand, right?”

“Exactly. As long as you can find a fool who’s an even bigger fool than you and willing to spend more on the same thing you spent all of your money on, you’re golden. And if not, you better look in the mirror, for the biggest fool is you.”

Chapter 42

It came as something of a shock to us when Odelia announced that she’d asked Blanche to clean out the attic. It was going to take her two weeks and all that time she was presumably going to lock the pet flap.

So it was with a heart bowed down with the weight of woe that Dooley and I were lying under the big cherry tree in Marge and Tex’s backyard, along with Harriet and Brutus.

All of us were the victims of a pair of evil cat-hating cleaners, and there didn’t seem to be anything we could do about it.

We heard the telltale sounds of a cleaner working hard: vacuum cleaner being switched on and off, and then on again. Water slushing in buckets, the smell of lavender-scented bleach being poured into those same buckets.

“She does work hard, I’ll give her that,” said Harriet as we lay there, awaiting the end of our sentence.

“The house is much cleaner since Blanche started coming around,” I admitted.

“No more dust bunnies,” said Dooley.

“She’s washed my favorite pillow with Ariel,” said Brutus. “I love the smell of Ariel. It’s like sleeping on a cloud, in Ariel heaven.”

“And she has finally chucked out those old dried plants on the kitchen windowsill,” I said. “They’ve been collecting mold for years, and little flies have been buzzing around those plants and preventing me from sleep.”

So maybe having a pair of professional cleaners in the house wasn’t such a bad thing after all. If only they wouldn’t hate cats so much.

The doorbell rang and the vacuum cleaner was turned off. We heard Bella answering the door, then yell something about having no need for the word of Jesus, and slamming the door shut.

We all looked up at that, and curiosity compelled us to get up from our pleasant perch underneath the cherry tree and hurry to the front of the house, where we just caught a glimpse of Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale, Bibles clutched in their hands, looking like Mormon missionaries, neat in their costumes, hair cut to precision, and walking up to the next house, no doubt ready to spread the word of Jesus to anyone who’d listen.

“Looks like they’ve finally been sprung from jail,” I said.

“Which probably means the Johnsons are in jail instead,” said Brutus, whom I’d told the story of last night’s events.

“Who are these Johnsons and why are they in prison?” asked Harriet.

So I told her the story of what happened in Tex’s garden shed, and how Iris and Mira Johnson were apparently a pair of common crooks and burglars.

“Let’s hope Tex gets his painting back,” said Dooley. “It cost twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Harriet stared at my friend. “Twenty-five thousand dollars for a painting of a gnome? Has he lost his mind?”

“Marge seems to think so, but she still loves him,” said Dooley. “Which makes me think that love must be blind.”

So much wisdom coming from one not well-known for dispensing wisdom had us all look at Dooley in surprise.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes, Dooley,” I said. “You’re absolutely right. Love is blind, and a good thing it is, too, otherwise humanity would probably have died out a long time ago.”

“Not just humanity,” said Harriet with a cheeky glance at her boyfriend.

Just then, the front door opened, and Bella appeared. She was holding a mat and proceeded to hit it several times with a knocker, causing a cloud of dust to emerge from the household object. The dust wafted in our direction, carried by a gentle breeze, and soon we were all coughing and running for cover. Bella, who’d noticed this, smiled a sly little smile, and disappeared inside again.

And as I walked out into the street, to escape the dust particles tickling my throat and nostrils, I found myself looking up at a black van parked in the street. The license plate started with A5.

I frowned at the van, before the penny dropped. “Dooley!” I said. “It’s the van!”

“Oh, it is,” he said.

“Which means the thieves must be around.”

“What thieves?” asked Harriet. “What van?”

“The night Kurt’s house was burgled Dooley and I saw two masked burglars drive off in this van. I only managed to remember the first two digits of the license plate and gave them to Chase. He must have been too busy with his insurance fraud case to look it up. And now here it is. Parked right in front.”

We all shared a look, then slowly turned to look at the house in front of which the van was parked. It was Marge and Tex’s place.

And the only person who was inside… was Bella.

Could it be?

No, of course not.

What a ridiculous thought!

We still had to wait two more hours before our suspicions were confirmed. That’s how long it took for Blanche and Bella to finish their shift. When they walked out, slamming the doors of Odelia’s and Marge’s houses behind them, in amazing synchronicity, I might add, and met on the sidewalk, we held our breath for a moment.

“I think it’s them,” said Brutus.

“And I think it’s not,” said Harriet.

We were all seated in the front garden of Marge and Tex’s house, watching intently.

For a moment, both women exchanged pleasantries, then moved, as one woman, in the direction of the black van. Blanche pressed her key fob, there was the telltale beep beep sound of a car alarm being switched off… and they both got into the van!

“It’s them!” I cried. “They’re the burglars!”

“I knew it,” said Brutus. “I knew all along they were up to no good.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Harriet.

“They’re cat haters!” said Brutus. “What else can you expect!”

It took us a while longer to practice patience, until Odelia came home. To say she was impressed is an understatement.

“The cleaners! Are you sure?” she asked.

We all nodded, all four of us, and when she looked annoyed, I assumed it was because now she’d have to go and find another cleaner. Instead, she said, “I should have known. People who hate cats always have something to hide.”

And with these words, as much an admission of her error in judgment as anything I’d ever heard, she took out her phone and called Chase.

Epilogue

It was with sweet success still fresh in our minds that the four of us enjoyed the first fruits of Tex’s labors at the grill. Our resident grill master has steadily and slowly been improving his craft, but still the humans think it wise to allow us cats to have first dibs.

We can smell a turd from a mile away, and rotten food from even further. And if we dig in and enjoy the nibbles thrown our way, they know that the products of Tex’s grill are safe for human consumption.

“Who would have thought that the cleaners were also a couple of cat burglars,” said Charlene as she happily dug in. She may be skinny but she has an appetite on her that belies her slender form. Uncle Alec, who loves people who like to eat as much as he does, watched on with a distinct look of pride.

“Yeah, we found an entire stash back at their place,” he said. “Jewels, paintings, money… It looked more like an Amazon fulfillment center than a regular home. And lucky for us they hadn’t yet managed to fence off their latest haul, so Mort Hodge, Ida and Kurt have already gotten their precious stuff back.”

“And so have I!” Tex called out from behind the grill. He was sweating profusely, for the day was warm, but he seemed to be in his element, and the fact that Big Gnome #21 had been returned in pristine shape probably had something to do with that.

“They did fit the description,” Chase allowed. “Two burglars, one short and one tall. Though truth be told, Iris and Mira Johnson also fit the description, and so did Vale and Carew.”

“At least this time you got the right guy,” said Gran, who was still sore about the fact that her son was starting a dog kennel.

“Yeah, turns out we got the wrong guys, and gals, twice!” said Uncle Alec, though he didn’t seem too troubled by the fact. Then again, Charlene had relaxed her dieting instructions, and seemed to have decided to accept her man the way he was: curvy.

“It was a neat scheme,” said Marge. “All of their victims were also their clients, and they managed to get a good look around the houses they targeted, picking out what they were going to steal, then returning under the cover of darkness to rob them blind.”

“Wearing rubber masks that made them look like Vale and Carew and dropping their names was also very clever,” said Chase. “Your secretary didn’t pick up on the ruse.”

“No, she certainly didn’t,” said Charlene. “Well, I’m glad we got those coins back.”

“Is that why they tossed Mort Hodge’s house?” asked Marge. “To hide the fact that they knew exactly what they were looking for?”

“Exactly,” said Chase. “To make it look like a regular robbery.”

“I’m selling my gnome, by the way,” Tex announced now as he pushed his chef’s hat further back on his head.

Marge stared at her husband. “You’re selling your painting? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It takes a special kind of person to be a collector of extremely valuable works of art, and I’ve discovered throughout this episode that I’m not that kind of person. I keep worrying that someone is going to steal it, and that’s not a great feeling to have.”

“You could lock it up in a safe at the bank,” Odelia suggested.

“And then have Vale and Carew steal it? No, thanks,” said Tex, throwing his tongs into the air and failing to catch them, causing them to hit the table and knock over Uncle Alec’s beer, pouring its contents all over the big guy’s lap.

“My beer!” said Uncle Alec.

“Sorry about that,” Tex muttered. He grabbed a towel and started mopping up his brother-in-law’s crotch, who respectfully declined the treatment, yanked the towel from the doctor’s hands and did the honors himself.

“So what’s going to happen to the Johnsons?” asked Charlene. “Are they as crooked as you think they are?”

“Oh, yes,” Chase confirmed. “They may not be burglars, but they are thieves.”

“Two pairs of thieves caught in one week,” said Uncle Alec. “Must be a new record.”

“Look, I can condone a kennel, but does it have to be a dog kennel?” asked Gran suddenly. She’d been oblivious to the conversation and immersed in her own world.

“Where is your friend Scarlett, by the way?” asked Marge.

“At the spa,” said Gran. Her eyes lit up. “Why don’t you start a spa instead of a dog kennel? We could all use a nice day at the spa from time to time.”

Charlene directed a kindly smile at the older woman. “If we called it an animal shelter and dropped the reference to dogs, would you feel more comfortable, Vesta?”

“Well…” said Gran, wavering. “Maybe. I mean, what did dogs ever do to get preferential treatment?”

“She’s not wrong,” said Harriet, once again outing herself as another dog hater. “Though there are exceptions, of course,” she quickly added when she saw Rufus peeping through the hole in the hedge. “Some dogs are almost as nice as cats, in fact.”

Rufus raised his eyes heavenward, shook his big fluffy head, then reeled it back in.

“We’ll call it the Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter,” Charlene suggested. “How does that sound?”

This time Gran was actually beaming. She clasped her hands together and said, “Are you serious?”

“Of course. I’m a politician. I don’t have a sense of humor,” Charlene quipped.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” said Gran, and there were tears in her eyes when she got up to give Charlene a big hug. “I love it!”

“Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter?” said Brutus. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Why not?” I asked. “I think it’s very sweet of Charlene to call it that.”

“Yeah, but what if Gran is tired of us and decides to donate us to the shelter that carries her name?”

We were all quiet after that. The prospect was too gruesome to contemplate. But Odelia must have overheard, for when she next came to dispense some more delicious grub, she said, “We’re never giving you away, you guys. And you can quote me on that.”

Just like a reporter to use that kind of language, I thought. But it was really kind of Odelia to confirm that we were, now and forever, her pets, and she wasn’t going to give us away. I like to think she was also saying it as a form of apology, after subjecting us to the cat-hating antics of the two cleaners-slash-burglars.

“Why do they call them cat burglars, Max?” asked Dooley.

“They call them cat burglars because they can scale a building like a cat, and crawl across roofs like we do. Though no human will ever be able to truly be a cat burglar.”

“What Max means to say is that cats are natural burglars,” said Harriet. “Though of course we would never stoop so low as to go and burgle people.”

“But if we would, we could?” asked Dooley.

“Well, of course, but it wouldn’t be right,” said Harriet. “We’re cats, not thieves.”

“I think I would like to be a thief,” said Dooley, surprisingly.

We all looked at him. “You, a thief?” I said. “But why?”

“I’d steal from the bad people and give it to the good ones,” he said. “Like Blanche and Bella Trainor? Or Iris and Mira Johnson? If we could steal back what they stole, and return it to the people they stole it from, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Of course that’s a good thing,” I conceded. “But that’s why we have Uncle Alec and Chase.”

“Well, not exactly,” said Brutus. “Uncle Alec and Chase find the thieves, and lock them up, and they return the stolen items to the victims. But they don’t burgle the burglars.”

“Some thieves are too big to lock up,” said Dooley. “I saw it on the Discovery Channel. Some thieves are so big and powerful no one can touch them, not even the police. And if we could steal from them, I think that wouldn’t really be stealing, would it?”

He had a point. Sometimes the thieves got so big they were untouchable. Then again, lucky for us there were no such thieves in Hampton Cove. At least not that I knew of.

“You’re thinking of Robin Hood,” said Harriet.

“No, I’m not,” said Dooley.

“Robin Hood stole from the rich and gave to the poor. They made movies about him.”

This piqued my friend’s interest. “Tell me more,” he said, and so Harriet told him more. I could have told her this might not be such a good idea, as Dooley has a very active imagination.

And sure enough, before the barbecue was over Dooley was already thinking up ways and means for us to go thieving together!

“We could both wear masks and be like masked vigilantes,” he enthused. “Like Batman, but without the bat part, and the man part. And without the cave, of course. I don’t like caves. They’re dark and creepy.”

“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “I don’t think robbing people is a nice thing to do.”

“We’d be like superheroes,” he said as his eyes flickered with excitement. “We could skip from roof to roof on our quest to right wrongs and mete out justice.”

“Right,” I said dubiously. “So no more quiz shows for you, I gather?”

“No more quiz shows,” he said, darting a quick look at Harriet. “I don’t want to win a house anymore. I like the house we have, and I like the people in it—and the cats.”

Harriet smiled. “I’m sorry for trying to steal your idea, Dooley,” she said. “I guess I got carried away.”

“That’s all right,” he said. “We all get carried away from time to time.” He yawned. “And now I need a nap.” And so he rolled himself up into a ball and went to sleep.

“Dooley the superhero,” said Brutus. “I hope he’s not serious.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “This time tomorrow he’ll have forgotten all about it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Harriet, and pointed to our friend.

Dooley was smiling in his sleep, and his four paws were twitching.

He was dreaming, and possibly running in his dream, or even skipping from rooftop to rooftop, the feline crime fighter.

“And you’ll be his loyal sidekick, Max,” Harriet whispered.

“Yeah, if Dooley is Batman, you’ll be Robin,” said Brutus.

“In tights,” Harriet chuckled. “Don’t forget about the tights.”

And laughing a little too heartily for my taste, they both hopped down from the swing and walked off in the direction of the bushes at the bottom of the garden.

I glanced down at myself. I didn’t think I’d look good in tights. Or a mask. Then again, I had nothing to worry about. Soon Dooley would forget all about his silly little—

“Let’s go get them, Max!” he suddenly muttered in his sleep. “I’m Batcaaaat!”

Holy smokes.

Purrfect Patsy

The Mysteries of Max - Book 26

Chapter 1

There comes a time in every cat’s life when he’s forced to face his greatest fears—or at least one of them—and today that day had come for me. Odelia, having made this promise a long time ago, had finally decided to make good on the swimming lessons she felt we all needed.

As you may or may not know, cats don’t like water. We don’t like getting wet, and we certainly would never volunteer to enter a large, or even a medium-sized or small body of water if we could help it.

But I could see she had a point. In the recent past we’d been faced with the kind of emergency that befalls all of us from time to time: Brutus had fallen into a duck pond, and only happenstance had prevented him from meeting a watery death at the time. Happenstance or, as the case may be, Chase Kingsley, who’d saved his life and had earned our eternal admiration and gratitude in the process.

Chase, if you happen to come upon these chronicles for the first time, is my human’s boyfriend and future husband, and a local cop with the Hampton Cove Police Department. We also think he might be Jesus reincarnate, but the jury is still out on that.

“Look, it’s very simple,” Odelia said now as she pointed toward the small inflatable paddling pond Chase had acquired especially for the occasion. It was one of those garishly colored plastic thingamabobs Chase had managed to inflate to the right proportions and that Tex had filled to capacity with his garden hose. “All you have to do is step into the little pool and get acquainted with the feel of the water on your bellies. That’s all.”

“But we’ll get wet,” said Dooley, who’s my best friend and a cat, just like me.

“Of course we’ll get wet, Dooley,” said Brutus, another one of my feline friends. “It’s water. What do you expect?”

“But… I don’t like to get wet,” Dooley pointed out.

“It’s a beautiful day,” said Odelia, gesturing to the sun which was high in the sky and giving of its best as it had for the past couple of days. “The moment you step out of the pool you’ll be dry in no time.”

Dooley directed an uncertain glance at the sun, as if trying to ascertain the veracity of Odelia’s statement. He didn’t look entirely convinced.

“So who’ll go first?” asked Odelia, clapping her hands like a den mother.

“I’ll go first,” said Odelia’s grandmother, who’d joined us for this auspicious occasion, and true to her own words stepped into the pool and uttered a sigh of ecstasy. “Nothing like a cool bath on a hot day like this,” she said with visible relish. “My dogs love it.”

We all looked at her in alarm, but to my surprise I didn’t see any sign of dogs. “Where are the dogs, Gran?” I asked, figuring the old lady might be seeing things.

“I’m talking about my feet, Max,” she said.

Why anyone would refer to their feet as dogs is beyond me, but then we all know that humans are strange.

“Gran, the idea is to teach the cats how to swim,” Odelia pointed out. “Not for you to cool your feet.”

“I’m the designated lifeguard,” Gran said, tying the straps of the funky straw hat she’d placed squarely across her little white curls. “And a lifeguard should be right there where the action is. Which means right here in this here pool. Now are you going to start swimming already?” she asked, giving us the kind of look that spelled doom. Gran isn’t one of those people who like to be kept waiting, and it was clear she was going to start dunking us into the pool if we didn’t get a move on soon.

“Why don’t you go first, Max?” Harriet suggested. She’s a pretty Persian and didn’t look all that excited at the prospect of getting that gorgeous white fur of hers all wet.

“Me? “I cried, my voice rising an entire octave. “Why me?”

“Well, someone has to go first, and your fearlessness is legendary,” she said sweetly.

It sounded like a compliment, but I had the feeling there was a hidden snag.

Brutus, who dislikes his girlfriend being complimentary to other male cats, now stepped forward with the kind of bluster that is typical for the butch black cat. “I’ll go first,” he announced, and approached the inflatable pool with a devil-may-care attitude that is typical for Hollywood movie stars of the James Bond variety. The moment he got closer to the pool, though, his resolve faltered and he stopped short of stepping into the inviting cool waters. “Um…” he said. “Are you sure this water is clean? I’m allergic to bugs, as they might do irreparable damage to the internal organs, and the external ones.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” grunted Gran, and bodily picked up Brutus and placed him squarely into the water.

Brutus emitted a very unmanly high-pitched scream, and within seconds was scrambling out of the pool again, then squealed, “It’s cold! Cold and wet!”

“Oh, Brutus,” said Harriet with an expressive eyeroll. “Of course it’s cold and wet. It’s water. Now let me show you how it’s done.” And with a death-defying leap, she actually jumped… a few feet short of the pool. She produced an embarrassed little chuckle. “Oops. Must have miscalculated my approach shot. Let’s try that again, shall we?”

This time, however, she didn’t jump as much as ever so slowly trip up to the waterfront, daintily dipped in one paw, then shook it with a horrified expression of loathing on her face. “Brr,” she said. “Brutus is right. It is very cold and very wet, isn’t it?”

“Max?” suddenly whispered Odelia into my ear. She’d crouched down right next to me. I gave her a startled look. It’s never a good sign when you’re on the verge of being dunked into a very uninviting body of water and your human starts whispering into your ear. It can only mean one thing: doom! “Why don’t you go first?” she suggested ever so sweetly, confirming my worst suspicions. “If you go the others will surely follow.”

And I must confess it was at this moment that a mercenary streak in my character suddenly manifested itself, much to my own surprise. I didn’t go so far as to ask ‘What’s in it for me?’ but I did say, “And if I do go first…” and wiggled my eyebrows meaningfully.

Odelia smiled. “An unlimited supply of Cat Snax,” she said promptly. “For the next two—”

I raised an eyebrow.

“—three weeks.”

I like Cat Snax. In fact I love it, and I could probably eat a ton of the stuff. But even the prospect of feasting on my favorite treat did little to allay my fears. “So… if I step into the water, is Gran going to save me when I go under for the third time?” I asked.

“You’re not going to go under, even for the first time,” said Odelia. “The water isn’t deep enough.”

“Mh,” I said doubtfully. It was true that Odelia had explained that this was only the first step in teaching us how to swim, and if we passed this hurdle, in the next phase of the program we’d visit an actual pool and proceed to the next step: learning how to stay afloat by the judicious application of our paws and certain techniques she’d teach us.

“So is this happening or not!” yelled Gran, who was clearly getting fed up.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.” And before I could convince myself this was a very bad idea, I stepped up to the inflatable pool, put one paw over the edge, and stepped in. When the water suddenly reached my belly, there was a momentary panicky cry bubbling up my throat but I heroically stifled it and hoped for the best—and Gran’s immediate response if I would, indeed, suddenly find myself submersed in these cold waters.

“Max!” said Dooley, running up to see if I was drowning. “Are you all right?”

I gulped a little. “I-I’m not sure, Dooley,” I said. I glanced down, and had to admit that Odelia had been right about one thing: the water wasn’t nearly deep enough to drown in. And even though the sensation of getting wet set off a sense of rising panic, I also found the coolness of the water quite… enjoyable.

The day was really hotting up, and being up to my shoulders in these cooling streams—even though the water wasn’t actually streaming—was actually not all that bad.

I looked up at Gran, who gave me an expectant look.

“It’s… not so bad,” I finally announced, causing the elderly lady to give three rousing cheers, and pump the air with her fists.

“He did it!” she cried. “Max has braved the raging waters of the inflatable pool!”

I smiled and looked back at my fellow cats, who were all staring at me, mouths agape. “Come on in, you guys,” I found myself saying. “The water is fine.”

Now it was their turn to gulp, but before long, and after careful deliberation, they all followed suit, and moments later four cats were standing side by side in the plastic inflatable pool, not entirely happy, but not all that unhappy either.

“I think we can call lesson one a total win,” said Odelia with a satisfied smile on her face. “That’s it for today, you guys. You can stay in there for as long as you like. And tomorrow we’re moving to the outdoor municipal swimming pool for lesson two.”

Harriet closed her eyes. “Somehow I’d hoped lesson one would also be the final lesson,” she said.

“No such luck,” said Brutus.

“Oh, don’t be so glum,” I said. “It’s fun to be in the water, isn’t it? Nice and cool.”

They gave me dark looks, conveying the sentiment that I’d lost my mind, then stepped out of the pool, carefully examining the damage the water had done to their fur.

Dooley sidled up to me. He’d been trying to suck in his belly, hoping to avoid contact with the water, but since his legs were pretty short, it was swimming against the stream. He relaxed his belly, fully immersing it in the water, and let out a high-pitched scream.

“It’s all right, Dooley,” I said. “It’s just water. It won’t kill you.”

“No, but it will make me wet,” he said with undeniable logic.

“I’m getting out of here,” said Gran, stepping out of the pool. “Too hot,” she grumbled, and headed inside for some cooling shade.

“It is pretty hot out here,” I said, peering up at that big ball of searing heat treating us to its relentless rays.

“It’s global warming,” Dooley announced knowingly. “I’ve seen it on the Discovery Channel. The planet is heating up, and soon it will be so hot we’ll all melt, just like those Nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that,” I said as I gawked at the water reflecting my face. For a moment I contemplated submersing myself fully but then dispelled the silly notion. Soon we’d be floating in an actual pool, but why hasten the terrifying process?

Odelia, who was tapping away on her smartphone, was walking back toward the house, and Gran, our self-appointed lifeguard, had also vanished from view, as had Brutus and Harriet. So now it was just me and Dooley, alone in that inflatable pool.

“Max?” said Dooley. “The floor of this thing is really slippery.”

I’d noticed the same thing. The bottom of the inflatable pool was extremely slippery.

“What if we trip and fall and go under?” he asked, a rising sense of alarm making his voice quake.

“Let’s all try to stay calm,” I said, even though I was starting to lose my cool, too.

We were in the middle of a water-filled inflatable pool, far away from the safety of the shoreline, and if we slipped and fell now we’d go under with no one there to save us!

“Let’s just… not move,” I suggested therefore.

“What do you mean?” asked Dooley, giving me panicky glances while he stood frozen to the spot, afraid to move an inch for fear of slipping on that slippery bottom.

“If we don’t move we can’t fall,” I pointed out. “And if we don’t fall we can’t go under.”

“You’re right,” said Dooley. “If we don’t move we can’t fall, and if we don’t fall we won’t drown. I like your idea, Max. It’s a very good idea.”

So we simply stood there, motionless, hoping someone—anyone!—would come and fish us out of the inflatable pool, which was slowly but surely becoming a death trap.

And as the sun beat down upon our heads, I was starting to rue the day I’d said yes to Odelia’s cockamamie idea!

Chapter 2

Marge was cleaning out her kitchen cupboards when suddenly a very large specimen of spider took a running leap from the top shelf and jumped right at her.

She uttered a blood-curdling scream and nearly fell off her stepladder. The spider had cleared the cupboard and had actually disappeared into her décolletage, however modest, and was now wriggling its way along the front of her T-shirt.

So when Tex walked into the kitchen five seconds later he found his wife of twenty-five years screaming her head off and performing some sort of tribal dance on the spot.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he asked, immediately starting to diagnose the symptoms and trying to come up with the name of the terrible disease that had afflicted her.

“A spider!” she screamed. “It jumped me!”

Tex immediately lost interest. An occupational hazard with doctors is that they’re only interested in a physical phenomenon when there’s a disease to be diagnosed and medication to be prescribed. He even went as far as to utter a light chuckle. “A spider,” he said. “Oh, dear.”

But Marge was too busy divesting herself of her items of clothing and trying to ascertain the whereabouts of the spider to bother about her husband’s lack of empathy.

Finally, after having hopped on the spot and failed to locate the bug, she was relieved to find it scuttling away from the T-shirt she’d dropped to the floor and making haste in the direction of the stove, then disappearing underneath, where Marge’s wrath couldn’t expend itself on its hairy form.

Just then, Vesta walked in. She directed a critical look at her daughter. “I know it’s hot and all, Marge, but do you really have to strip down to your underwear?”

“There was a spider,” said Marge, still breathless, as she clasped a hand to her chest, where she thought she could still feel the animal’s hairy little feet scratching her skin.

“Deep breaths,” said Tex, as he placed a hand on his wife’s wrist and started monitoring her heartbeat like the medical professional he was. “In and out. That’s it.”

“A spider?” asked Vesta. “And is that a reason to perform an act of indecency in my kitchen?”

Marge was still too preoccupied with her recent encounter with one of the animal kingdom’s least cuddly denizens to point out to her mother that it was, in fact, her kitchen. Slowly she was getting her breathing under control, though. Sufficiently so, in fact, to give her husband a scathing look, which made the latter recoil with surprise.

“You just stood there and laughed in my face!” Marge cried.

Tex, who had the gall to smile, said, “But, honey, you looked so funny just then. Hopping and screaming and hollering like a maniac.”

“I was under attack!” she yelled.

Tex raised a single eyebrow. “From a little spider?” he said, less than impressed with the seriousness of the allegations she was hurling at him. “Oh, puh-lease.”

She glanced up at the cupboard, and wondered if more of the same species weren’t lurking there, waiting for the right opportunity to follow where their hairy mate had led the way. “There could be more,” she murmured. “Tex—can you see if there are more?”

Tex frowned at this. “More?”

“More spiders,” she explained, and pointed to the cupboard in question, which she’d supposed, until only five minutes before, completely devoid of spiders, and only filled with the ancient dishware Vesta had brought when she’d moved in so many years before.

Tex seemed reluctant to take a look, his smile quickly having been replaced with a look of distinct horror. “You know I don’t like spiders, honey,” he said in a low voice.

“Oh, men,” said Vesta with an eyeroll. “Let me have a look.” And to show her son-in-law how it was done, she righted the stepladder that had fallen over and mounted it, then directed an inquisitive look into the depths of the cupboard under inspection.

“Nah,” she said finally. “Only my old dishware. Unless…” And much to Marge’s surprise, she inserted a hand into the gaping hole and moments later returned with a figurine. “That’s not mine,” she announced with a puzzled look on her face. She turned it this way and that, then descended the stepladder to subject the object to closer scrutiny.

“What is it?” asked Tex, his interest drawn.

“I don’t know,” said Marge. “I thought it was yours, Ma.”

But Vesta shook her head. “Never seen it before in my life.”

It was a hand-sized figurine of a female goatherd, complete with complimentary goat, and Marge had to admit she hadn’t set eyes on the peculiar object before herself.

“How did it get up there?” she asked.

Tex, however, had already lost interest. “It’s just a figurine,” he said. “Who cares how it got up there?”

Marge and Vesta were studying the item closely, turning it this way and that. “It’s nice,” said Vesta. “I like the colors.”

Whoever had created it clearly had a penchant for all things pastel, for both the girl goatherd and her goat were festooned in festive light pinks and blues and yellows. The girl was seated on a rock, and smiling gaily as if loving life in all its goatherding splendor.

“Turn it over,” said Marge. “Maybe there’s something written on the bottom.”

Obligingly Vesta turned the object over, and they both frowned when they saw that on the bottom a sticker had been glued, announcing that the object was actually part of a collection of objects, number 141 in a series of 360, in fact, and made by one Otto Spiel.

“Otto Spiel,” said Vesta. “Sounds German. Do they have goats in Germany?”

But Marge was already pointing her phone’s camera at the object and entrusting Google Lens with supplying the solution. Promptly a picture popped up, and she clicked through to a Wikipedia page. “Otto Spiel,” she read, “was an early twentieth-century Austrian sculptor and artist, famous for his series of female goatherd figurines, which are highly sought after, and which sell at exorbitant prices at auctions held all over the world.” Her eyes widened when she read on. “An original Otto Spiel goatherd figurine typically sells for one million, and in some cases even up to four million—Oh, my God!”

“Oh, my God,” her mother echoed, as she reverently turned the figurine over in her hands, then ever so carefully set it down on the kitchen table. “Four million dollars!”

Tex, who’d returned to the kitchen, laughed when he saw his wife and his mother-in-law staring at the goatherd as if it were the Second Coming. “Still looking at that thing?”

“Tex?” said Marge, slowly raising her eyes from the goatherd to her husband. “It’s an Otto Spiel.”

“A what now?” asked Tex, opening the fridge and taking out the jug of OJ.

Vesta now turned the label in Tex’s direction. “An actual Otto Spiel, Tex.”

Marge reread the Wikipedia entry, bringing her husband up to speed on all things Otto Spiel, but even then it took some time for the good doctor to put two and two together. But when his brain finally made the necessary computations and permutations, his jaw dropped precipitously, and so did the jug of OJ. He actually had to support himself against the kitchen sink as his eyes goggled at the little girl goatherd.

“Oh, my God!” he cried, earning himself knowing nods from his family members in response. He then glanced up at the kitchen cupboard. “But… how did it get up there?”

“That,” said Marge with a shrug, “is the million-dollar question.”

Vesta grinned. “And you can take that literally.”

Chapter 3

One of the disadvantages of being a cat is all of that fur that we carry. Humans did the smart thing and lost most of their fur a long time ago, possibly around the time they learned how to walk on their hind legs, but cats hadn’t made it to that stage—yet.

So there we were, Dooley and I, standing stiff as boards in the middle of that inflatable pool, the sun relentlessly beating down on us from a clear blue sky, and our thick coats of fur doing very little to make our position more agreeable.

“Maybe we can move inch by inch,” Dooley suggested. “In a couple of hours we might reach the edge.”

We both glanced at the edge, which seemed miles away, but when I moved a paw, it immediately lost traction and I almost submerged into the cold waters of the pool!

“Max, careful!” Dooley yelled, horrified at watching an accident in progress right under his nose.

“I’m not moving a muscle,” I announced, thoroughly shaken by my brush with death.

For a long moment, we were both silent, then Dooley suddenly cried, “I’ve got it!”

“Dooley, please don’t yell like that,” I said plaintively. “You’re giving me heart palpitations.” I was indeed starting to feel a little faint.

“Why don’t we make a hole in the bottom of the pool? That way the water can escape and before we know it the pool will be empty!”

It was an excellent idea, and proof that when placed under considerable pressure, the feline mind can come up with some of its best ideas.

“Great idea, Dooley,” I said therefore. “Let’s give it a shot.”

So I extended a claw, and dug in, and since Dooley did the same, I was sure that soon we’d see the water level start to drop precipitously.

Unfortunately between dream and reality there’s a huge chasm at times, and this was clearly one of those times, as the water level wasn’t dropping, precipitously or otherwise.

“The holes probably aren’t big enough,” Dooley said. “Let’s try again.”

So we tried again, and dug in all of our nails in equal measure, giving that thick, slick plastic the full acupuncture treatment.

Alas, to no avail, as ten minutes passed and nothing happened. Probably the pool was pressing down on the lawn too tightly, and the water had no avenue of escape—like us.

“Max!” Dooley said suddenly. “I am starting to feel weird. As if I’m going to pass out.”

“Me, too, buddy,” I said. “But we’ve got to hang in there. We’ve got to survive long enough for Odelia to save us!”

Odelia, or any other human who might pass by. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any human within earshot, for we’d already given hollerin’ and yellin’ for help a shot, and that hadn’t brought success either.

“I-I can’t take this anymore, Max,” said Dooley all of a sudden, as I could see his legs quaking. “I’m going down.”

“No, Dooley!” I cried, and tried to stop him from buckling under the pressure by sticking out one paw, and balancing on three paws as a consequence. But it was to no avail. Dooley’s legs couldn’t carry him anymore, and I could see him sinking further and further, just like the Titanic on that auspicious night to remember.

Just then, and much to my elation, a familiar male figure rounded the corner and came within view. It was Chase Kingsley, and he was whistling a happy little tune.

“Chase!” I cried. “Help us, please! We’re drowning!”

Chase, even though he couldn’t actually understand what I said, must have understood immediately that the situation was a precarious one, and rushed to our aid. Without hesitation, he stepped into the pool, then bodily lifted Dooley with one hand, and me with the other, and carried us both to safety! And when he set us down on solid ground, both Dooley and I collapsed onto the grass, and panted with relief.

“Chase, you saved us!” I cried, and gave the intrepid cop’s hand a heartfelt lick.

“You saved our lives, Chase,” said Dooley, much chastened by this horrifying experience, and gave the cop’s other hand a lick.

Chase merely smiled, and petted our heads affectionately. “There, there,” he said. “You fellas really don’t like the water, do you?”

“No, we certainly do not,” I said, then shivered at the sight of that inflatable pool. “And now even less than before!”

“You’re all right now,” Chase said, and got up, leaving Dooley and me to recover from our terrifying ordeal.

“Never again, Max,” said Dooley, shaking his head. “Never again am I setting paw in that horrible pool.”

“Me neither, Dooley,” I said. “No amount of Cat Snax in the world will induce me to repeat this experience.”

Cats simply aren’t made for going out on the water, and our most recent brush with death had brought that simple truth home to me once more in all its starkness.

Chase must have told Odelia what happened, for she now came rushing out of the house, and when she crouched down next to us, she was the picture of solicitousness.

“Oh, you guys—were you still in that pool?”

“We were,” I announced, a little stiffishly.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I forgot all about you.”

“I know,” I said, with more than a touch of froideur.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Never let us go near the water again,” I said.

“Oh, dear,” she said, much chastened. “I really blew it, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” I said. But since I can’t watch my human beat herself up for too long, I soon relented and said, “Those Cat Snax would go down really well right now.”

She smiled. “Come on inside and you can have all the Cat Snax you want.”

And so there was a silver lining to our adventure after all: we may have almost drowned, but we didn’t. And once more it was brought home to us that Chase Kingsley is the closest thing to Jesus Christ this world has ever seen. At least to us cats he is.

And we were just snacking happily from that welcome dose of Cat Snax when Marge and Gran and Tex came rushing into the house, brandishing some species of miniature figurine depicting a goatherd, and started screaming to Odelia.

I didn’t have the faintest idea what they were on about. All I know is that it had something to do with a fella named Otto Spiel. But since I was too busy recovering from my recent ordeal by eating my body weight in tasty cat kibble, I paid scant attention.

There’s a time for paying attention to the affairs of men, and a time to snack on Cat Snax, and just such a time to indulge in my favorite treat had now come, so I wasn’t going to let it pass me by because of a girl and her goat.

Chapter 4

“What is it?” asked Chase, casting a curious glance at the object under inspection.

“It’s a priceless work of art,” said Marge with tremulous voice.

“An objet d’arse,” Gran chimed in, just as excitedly.

“Objet d’art,” Odelia corrected her.

“Whatever,” said Gran. “It’s worth a fortune, and since it was found in my cupboard, it belongs to me.” When the others all looked up at this, she added magnanimously, “But you can have a share of the profits. A finder’s fee, if you will.”

“Ma, this thing was found in my cupboard, in my kitchen, so if there’s anyone who can be called its rightful owner it’s me,” said Marge.

“Depends how you look at it,” said Gran with a shrug.

Odelia studied the object carefully. “It’s pretty,” she said.

“Yeah, very pretty,” her mother concurred. “It’s porcelain,” she added affectionately.

“So how did it get into your cupboard?” asked Chase, voicing the most pertinent question.

Mom shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never seen it before.”

“Which is why it belongs to me,” said Gran. “It was found on top of my best dishes, so it must have gotten mixed up with them when I moved in.” She added, musingly, “Maybe Jack got it for me as a present, and I never noticed because of the strain from the divorce and all.”

“That still doesn’t explain how Dad would have gotten his hands on such a valuable object,” said Mom.

“Probably got it from one of his whores,” said Gran judiciously. “As a gift,” she added.

The only extramarital affair Odelia’s grandfather Jack had ever engaged in was with Scarlett Canyon, and the latter could hardly be called a loose woman, nor was she likely to have come into the possession of this priceless work of art, Odelia thought.

She’d been busy taking a couple of pictures of the thing, to accompany the article she intended to write. Human interest articles like this, about treasures found in attics, or, as in this case, kitchen cupboards, always did really well.

“What are you doing?” suddenly snapped Gran.

“Taking a couple of pictures for my article,” she said. “Why?”

Immediately Gran snatched her phone away. “You can’t do that!”

“What are you talking about?”

“This thing is worth four million bucks or more. If you publish a story who knows what thieving scum will crawl out of the woodwork to steal it. Better not tell anyone.”

“I must admit that your grandmother makes a very valid point, Odelia,” said Dad. “Better to be discreet about a find like this. At least until it’s out of the house and safely set up in some museum somewhere, or an auction house, if that’s what you prefer,” he said, deferring to his wife.

“I’m not sure what I want to do with it,” said Mom as she picked up the little figurine and smiled. “I just might keep it. It’s so nice to look at.”

“Are you crazy?” Gran suddenly roared. “This thing is easily worth ten million or more! You can’t just keep it in the house where anyone can steal it. It belongs in a museum, or in the hands of one of those rich collectors you always read about.”

But Mom shrugged. “Nobody knows about this precious little goatherd,” she said. “And if we keep it that way, nobody ever will.”

Gran was almost apoplectic with indignation. “You’re seriously going to throw away maybe fifty million bucks just because you like the look of that thing? I’ll buy you a cheap knockoff if you like, and you can look at it all day, while you enjoy your millions.”

“We don’t really need the money,” said Mom. “We’re fine just the way we are. And who knows? Maybe it did belong to Dad, and if that’s the case he would have wanted us to keep it, and not sell it to some nameless, faceless bidder at an auction.”

Gran’s face had taken on a darker shade of puce, as she was waving her arms, and trying to find the words to express her disapproval. But before she could burst into a torrent of words, Dad had put his arm around his wife’s shoulder and said, “I think that’s a wonderful sentiment, darling, and one I wholeheartedly endorse. Let’s give it pride of place in our home, and promise each other not to breathe a word about this discovery.”

His eyes raked the visages of everyone present, and one by one they all nodded their approval. All but Gran, who was still wordlessly fuming. But finally even she had to relent. “Fine!” she exploded. “I think you’re all nuts but so be it!”

And with these words, she stalked off and left the house, slamming the kitchen door.

“Do you think she’ll talk?” asked Mom, with a touch of concern.

“Nah,” said Dad. “She might not agree, but your mother can keep a secret.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Odelia, earning her a worried look from her own mother. Gran was a loose cannon sometimes, and only listened to one voice: her own. Then, to wipe that look of concern off Mom’s face, she quickly added, “But I’m sure that in this case she will keep quiet.”

But it was with a touch of worry that she watched her mother pick up the priceless little trifle and return next door.

Chapter 5

That evening, the atmosphere at Casa Poole was a little chilly. Tex, Marge and Gran were all seated on the couch watching a movie, but apart from that, very little interaction was taking place.

Harriet, who had a penchant for being spoiled, didn’t mind the frostiness as much as the lack of attention being awarded her. Usually Gran was very generous with her caresses, her cuddles and her petting, but now there was not a single pat on the head to be had, or even a tickle under the chin or scratching behind the ears.

So Harriet had redirected her attention to Marge, but when she, too, didn’t even lift a finger in the Persian’s direction, she finally hopped on top of Tex’s lap, hoping to extract a modicum of TLC from the resident doctor. But Tex was too busy watching whatever silly movie was playing on TV, and didn’t so much as touch her. Worse, he bodily lifted her up and returned her to the floor when he felt she was interrupting his viewing experience too much.

Huffily Harriet hopped on top of the other couch and gave her three humans furious glances from beneath lowered brows. “What’s wrong with them?” she fumed.

“It’s that figurine,” Brutus said. “There was some kind of big hullabaloo over that thing before and now they’re not talking to each other. Max told me all about it.”

“Figurine? What figurine?” she asked.

Brutus gestured with his head to a small object that seemed to depict a goat or sheepherder. It had been placed on top of a piecrust table, a single spotlight bathing it in light.

“That thing?” she asked, incredulous. “That’s what all the fuss is about?”

“Looks like,” said Brutus. “It’s worth a small fortune but Marge doesn’t want to sell it and Gran does.” He lowered his voice, even though the humans weren’t paying attention and there were no other cats around. “It’s rumored to be worth millions. Marge discovered it in the kitchen cupboard when a spider jumped out at her.”

Harriet shivered. “Eww. I don’t like spiders.”

“Who does?” said Brutus. “Though they’re rumored to be very useful creatures.”

“They can be useful somewhere else,” said Harriet, as she studied the goatherder with renewed interest. “So that little thing is causing all the trouble, is it?” she asked.

Brutus nodded, and placed his head on his paws. “Yah, they’re not talking, looks like.”

Not talking and not paying her any attention. Harriet quickly made up her mind, and decided there was only one course of action open to her. So she jumped off the couch, and sashayed over to where the piecrust table was placed, and as she passed, she expertly flicked her tail in the direction of the figurine. The small object toppled over and was sent crashing to the floor. It landed and broke into little pieces, eliciting a small smile of triumph from Harriet and cries of horror from both Gran and Marge.

“Harriet!” Marge cried. “What did you dooooooo?!”

“Oops,” said Harriet casually, and returned to her couch. “Now let’s see them ignore me,” she muttered to her mate, who had to suppress a smile.

“Oh, Marge, you should have listened to me and sold the thing!” said Gran.

“Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it?” her daughter snapped.

“Maybe we can glue it back together?” Gran suggested.

“It wouldn’t be the same,” said Marge as she knelt down and hovered over the remains of what was once a valuable objet d’art.

“I don’t understand,” said Gran. “Harriet is usually so careful. And now this.”

They both directed a confused glance at the prissy Persian, who took it in her stride, staring right back at them, cool as a cucumber and not even batting an eye.

“What’s that?” suddenly asked Marge, pointing at something amid the rubble.

“It’s a ring,” said Gran, which had Harriet look up in surprise, and even stirred Tex.

“What is it?” he asked, finally abandoning his stupid movie and joining the others.

“There was a ring inside the figurine,” Marge said, and held up the tiny trifle. It glittered in the bright light of the spot lamp. “It looks valuable,” she added, causing Harriet to mutter, “Oh, darn. Not again.”

“Lemme see,” said Tex, and took the ring from his wife’s hand and held it up to the light. “We’ll soon find out,” he murmured, taking out his phone and pointing it at the ring. He snapped a shot, then waited for a moment. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

“What is it?” asked Marge and Gran as they crowded around the doctor.

He turned his phone and Harriet watched two more jaws drop. Now she was getting really curious, too.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

But much to her annoyance the humans ignored her once more.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said, and glanced around for other tables to upset or priceless objects to crash to the floor. People kept ignoring her at their own peril.

Unfortunately she didn’t immediately see any more targets for destruction, and then finally Marge seemed to awake from her stupor sufficiently to turn to her and Brutus and say, “It’s the famous Gardner ring—the ring Vicky Gardner got from her husband Quintin.”

“Whose ring?” asked Brutus.

“Vicky Gardner,” Harriet repeated Marge’s words, even though they meant little to her.

“Who is Vicky Gardner?” asked Brutus, and rightly so, Harriet thought.

But Marge and Gran were reading something on Tex’s phone, and it was obvious that it would be some time before their attention could be snagged away from the darn thing.

“And how did this ring get inside the figurine of a goatherd?” asked Brutus.

“More to the point,” said Harriet, “how did the figurine get inside Marge’s kitchen cupboard?”

Chapter 6

The day had been a scorcher, and the night, instead of bringing the much-desired coolness, looked like it was going to be a hot one, too.

Chase, not being able to find some necessary cool indoors, decided to sit outside for a while, and stick his feet into the inflatable pool he bought for the cats—though if he were absolutely honest he’d gotten it for himself first and foremost—just for this occasion.

He’d brought out his phone so he could surf a little, and had dragged up a lawn chair. But as he stuck his feet into his latest acquisition, he discovered much to his dismay that there was no water to be found, cool or otherwise.

He glanced down at the little pool, and saw that the lawn around it was soggy to a degree, meaning the inflatable pool had sprung a leak.

Odelia, who’d had the same idea, now also came out of the house to join him, clutching a book in one hand, a drink in the other, and an anticipatory smile on her face.

“Poole, your pool is busted,” said Chase, eliciting a laugh from his future wife.

“Very funny, Kingsley,” she said, but when she walked up quickly noticed he wasn’t joking. “What happened?” she asked as she stepped into the soggy grass, her bare feet making squishing sounds.

“Must have sprung a leak,” Chase grunted, and lifted the plastic pool to check for puncture holes. And sure enough he soon found them, right in the middle, and not just one but several.

“Weird,” said Odelia. “How could this have happened? Maybe there’s glass on the lawn?”

But Chase smiled. “I think I know what happened,” he said, and directed an accusing look at two very guilty-looking cats who were sitting nearby, watching the drama unfold.

Max meowed something that Chase didn’t understand, but judging from the look on Odelia’s face it explained the whole thing. She turned to Chase with a sobered expression. “Dooley had the bright idea to make holes in the bottom so the water would leak out and they could escape.”

“Well, it worked,” said Chase as he replaced the pool on the soaked lawn. “Don’t worry, you guys,” he said, a little louder. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“Can you fix it?” asked Odelia.

“Sure. Just like a bike tire. No sweat. It’ll be as good as new.” Which did leave them without a means of cooling off on what felt like the hottest night in recent history.

“Maybe we can sleep out here,” Odelia said, glancing up. “Under the stars?”

“Or we can finally have AC installed,” Chase countered.

“That, too,” said Odelia with a grateful smile.

Max and Dooley were nodding their agreement, which struck Chase’s funny bone and he laughed.

“What is it?” asked Odelia, laughing along.

“Your cats. It’s so funny how they understand everything and act just like we do.”

“That’s because in a lot of ways they are exactly like us. Isn’t that right, guys?”

Max and Dooley both emitted loud meows of agreement, and Chase shook his head. If people had told him that at one point he’d be dating a woman who could talk to her cats, he’d have declared them funny in the head. And look at him now. When he wasn’t fishing them out of inflatable pools, he was practically communicating with them himself.

Just then, there was some commotion next door, and suddenly Gran, Marge and Tex emerged through the dividing hedge.

“We found something,” said Marge, sounding a little breathless.

“It’s a ring,” added Tex.

“Not just any old ring,” said Vesta with a big grin.

“It’s Vicky Gardner’s ring!” Marge cried, and triumphantly held it up, like that scene from the Lion King when the daddy lion holds up his newborn cub. The ring glittered attractively, and both Chase and Odelia went to take a closer look at the fabled object.

“Where did you find it?” asked Odelia.

“Inside the goatherd figurine,” said Marge.

Chase frowned. “What do you mean, inside the figurine?”

“Harriet accidentally knocked it off the table and it crashed to the floor,” Vesta explained with a shrug.

“Oh, Mom, your beautiful figurine!” Odelia cried.

“Pretty sure it was a knockoff,” grunted Gran. “It wasn’t porcelain at all, but cheap plaster.”

“And if Harriet hadn’t knocked it over we wouldn’t have found Vicky’s ring,” said Marge.

Odelia took the ring from her mother’s hand and studied it carefully. “How do you know this is the famous Gardner ring?” she asked.

Tex held up his smartphone. “Googled it,” he said with a note of triumph in his voice, and showed the result of his fervent googling to the others.

“Amazing,” said Odelia, then seemed to realize something.” But if this really is Vicky’s ring, that means…”

Marge was nodding frantically. “I know!”

“And if that’s true, then…”

More frantic nodding. “I know, right?!”

Chase, who was otherwise loath to showcase his ignorance, felt that he should say something before he was completely lost. So he cleared his throat and said, “Who is this Vicky Gardner and why is this ring so important?”

Marge, beaming, said, “Vicky Gardner was the wife of Quintin Gardner, who’s one of the richest men in Hampton Cove. Vicky disappeared twenty years ago, soon after their wedding, and it was always rumored that Quintin killed her and disposed of the body where no one would ever find her.”

“When she disappeared she was wearing this ring,” Odelia continued.

“This ring?” asked Chase, much intrigued now.

“This very ring,” said Odelia, gesturing with the little trinket for good measure.

“So what do you think happened?” asked Chase with a frown.

“Nobody knows,” said Odelia. “But now that we found her ring, maybe we can use it to find Vicky, right?”

“Ooh, Odelia,” said Marge, clasping her hands together with marked glee. “What a lovely mystery for you to sink your teeth into!”

Chase cocked an eyebrow. He had a feeling Odelia wouldn’t be the only one sinking her teeth into the mysterious disappearance of Vicky Gardner, and moments later she was already turning to him, her eyes gleaming. “Chase, honey? Let’s find Vicky!”

“I don’t know, babe,” he said. “A twenty-year-old cold case? Finding a woman based on a ring?”

“Oh, please—it’ll be fun!”

“I need a cold drink,” he said, and as he walked into the house, he soon found himself joined by his future father-in-law. And as both men dug up a pair of cold sodas from the fridge, Chase said musingly, “Why is it always this family that gets mixed up in this kind of thing, Dad? Is it karma, you think? Or just plain old coincidence?”

“I have no idea… son,” said Tex, clinking sodas with the cop, “but you better get used to it.”

Chapter 7

“So who is this woman, Max?”

“I don’t know, Dooley. All I know is that she was rich and that she disappeared a long time ago.”

“Oh,” he said. “Not much to go on, then?”

“Not much to go on,” I agreed. Though that had never stopped a pair of feline sleuths like us before. Last night Odelia had recruited us on the spot, and since we still felt exceedingly guilty about destroying Chase’s precious inflatable pool, we’d immediately and without demurring agreed that we’d find out what had happened to the mysterious owner of that mysterious ring hidden inside that mysterious figurine on the double.

And as we were traversing Hampton Cove’s streets, early in the morning and therefore still relatively cool, I thought how hard this assignment was going to prove.

I mean, it’s hard enough to find a person who went missing yesterday, let alone one who disappeared two decades ago, wouldn’t you agree?

Still, we were both determined to give it our best shot, and it was with this purpose in mind that we joined Kingman. The spreading piebald was seated in his usual spot: right in front of his owner’s general store, and already busily chatting with whoever awarded him their attention.

“Hey, Kingman,” I said by way of greeting as we walked up. “Boy do we have a doozy for you this morning.”

“Hiya, fellas,” said the voluminous cat. “Did you know that the world is actually a flat disk? I didn’t know but Wilbur told me all about it this morning.”

“A flat disk?” I asked, much surprised by this revelation.

“Yeah, turns out we’ve all been lied to all these years. The earth is flat, you guys, and if we stray too far near the edges we just might fall off!”

“I, um, did not know that,” I said.

“Yeah, Wilbur joined some group online that is all about revealing the truth to the world,” said Kingman with a nod.

I looked up at Wilbur Vickery, who was busy surfing on his phone and ignoring his customers. He did indeed look like the kind of person who’d believe anything anyone posted on the internet.

“So what is it you wanted to ask me?” said Kingman. “And better make it quick, cause I’ve got a date with a hot young lass lined up.”

That didn’t surprise me one bit either. Kingman always has dates with young undiscerning lasses lined up. How he does I do not know, for he’s hardly the most beautiful cat in the world. He does have the gift of the gab, though, so maybe that’s got something to do with it.

“A spider jumped Marge yesterday,” said Dooley, deciding to start his story from the very beginning. I could have told him that sometimes it’s better to start in medias res, so to speak, but Dooley clearly hadn’t been made aware of this. “It was a very hairy spider. But that’s not important. She found a goatherd,” he continued, much to Kingman’s confusion.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “So a hairy spider and then a goatherd. Gotcha.”

“And then Harriet broke the goatherd—”

“How did she manage to do that? Usually goatherders are pretty tough fellas.”

“It wasn’t a fella—it was a girl goatherd. And a very pretty one, too, with a blush on her cheeks and a smile on her face. Clearly a goatherd who loved herding goats.”

“Oh-kay… So how did Harriet manage to break this blushing goatherd, may I ask?”

“It wasn’t a real goatherd,” I explained. “It was a figurine of one, and it broke.”

“Uh-huh,” said Kingman, whose attention was already starting to wane, as his gaze drifted away from us, looking for more interesting avenues to explore—not unlike a fellow guest at a reception or dinner party, glancing over your shoulder in search of a more interesting person to talk to than you.

“And inside the goatherd was a ring,” Dooley continued, oblivious that the attention of his audience was slipping and slipping fast. “And this ring belonged to Vicky Gardner, who disappeared twenty years ago. And now Odelia wants us to find her, dead or alive.”

“Dead or alive, huh?” said Kingman. “That’s the way to go, boys. Always catch ‘em dead or alive. Now if you’ll excuse me for one sec…” And with these words he was waddling off in the direction of two pretty female felines who just happened to pass by.

“I think we just lost Kingman,” I said.

“But I haven’t even told him the most important part,” said Dooley, much disappointed.

“Now, Dooley,” I said, placing my paw around my friend’s shoulder, “I like your storytelling technique, I really do, but if there’s one suggestion I would make, it’s that you should probably get to the point a little quicker.”

“But I came to the point immediately,” said Dooley. He ticked the items off on his digits: “Spider, goatherd, ring. Or did I leave out something important, Max?”

“No. No, you didn’t, Dooley,” I admitted. “Spider, goatherd, ring just about sums it up.”

Kingman was still chatting with the two lady cats, and it was clear that unless Dooley and I turned into a pair of female cats ourselves, we wouldn’t stand a chance of getting him to pay attention to us until these two lovely ladies had decided to skedaddle.

I sighed and said, “Let’s move on, Dooley. And maybe next time let me tell the story, okay?”

“Okay, Max,” said Dooley. “Though I still don’t see what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, per se,” I said. “It’s just that…”

But before I could give Dooley a masterclass in storytelling, suddenly an object fell from the sky and almost dropped right on top of us. It was a whitish-greenish-grayish wad of pigeon dung, and it splattered to the pavement in front of us.

We both looked up, and saw the culprit fly off, laughing hysterically as it did.

“Missed!” the bird yelled. “Better luck next time!” And then it was gone.

“It almost hit us, Max!” said Dooley. “It almost dropped its… doo-doo on our heads!”

“Yes, Dooley. And I’m pretty sure it meant to hit us, too.” Pigeons, as a rule, don’t like cats, and I like to think that the feeling is mutual. And since they have the upper hand, in the sense that they can fly and we cannot, it’s hard not to feel a powerful sense of annoyance with the birds.

“I don’t think I like pigeons, Max,” Dooley announced, giving me an injured look. “Especially when they try to drop their doo-doo on our heads.”

“No, I’m not particularly fond of them either,” I admitted.

But we had more important things to deal with, and so we soon forgot about the pigeon incident and set paw for the barbershop, where our friend Buster awaited. Buster, a Main Coon, is usually very well-informed indeed, and I was hoping he might be susceptible to being drawn into our little investigation of this cold case.

Chapter 8

“I’ll bet there’s some kind of finder’s fee,” Vesta mused.

Scarlett, her Best Frenemy Forever for sixty years, laughed. “A finder’s fee! A person is not some trinket you get paid a finder’s fee for, Vesta.”

“I know that,” said Vesta annoyedly. She took a sip from her hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on top and mused some more.

They were seated in the outside dining area of the Hampton Cove Star, the boutique hotel in the heart of town, where they had a good overview of the comers and goers and the hustle and bustle and generally could spend all morning over one hot chocolate (and a flat white for Scarlett) without being kicked out by the waiters. It also helped that Vesta’s son was chief of police, and that he just happened to be dating the mayor.

“Look,” Vesta said now, as she leaned closer to her friend. “Quintin Gardner was crazy about Vicky. He went nuts when she disappeared. So it stands to reason he’ll be thrilled to have her back, right? Or at least find out what happened to her. And his happiness will translate itself into a nice monetary reward, that’s all I’m saying. The neighborhood watch could use a nice big reward.” Not to mention she herself could do with a nice big influx of cold hard cash. Her pension only stretched so far, after all, and the receptionist work she occasionally did for her son-in-law wasn’t exactly bringing in the big bucks either.

“What does the watch need money for?” asked Scarlett, who was dressed to the nines as usual: bright red top, leather short-short skirt, fishnet stockings, and high heels. Her russet do was done to perfection, and all in all she looked like Vesta’s daughter, not her contemporary. Vesta didn’t mind. Dressed in her usual tracksuit, this one a bright fluorescent pink and blue, and her white curls tucked against her cranium, she didn’t care that she didn’t look like some overaged sex bomb. She’d long ago accepted that she might not have the looks, but she had the brains and the brawn, which made them the perfect team.

“The watch could do with a patrol car, for one thing,” she said. “Not that old Peugeot Marge lets me drive around in. I’m talking a turbo-charged pair of wheels that will make the bad guys run a mile. And of course we could use the money on surveillance equipment: night-vision goggles, listening devices…” She waved a hand. “Stuff like that.”

Scarlett raised her perfectly microbladed eyebrows, though it was hardly noticeable. All that botox had pretty much lulled her facial muscles to sleep. “My, my, aren’t you the ambitious little watch leader. A car and surveillance equipment. What next? Stun guns and a rocket launcher? This is just a small town, Vesta, and we’re just a small-town neighborhood watch. The kind of crime we get is peanuts compared to big-city crime.”

“Yeah, but it still pays to be prepared,” Vesta grunted. The thing was that she hated not to feel appreciated—even laughed at, she felt, by the police department and even her own son. They thought they were just a bunch of old fruitcakes farting around and dabbling in crime prevention. “I want to be taken seriously, Scarlett,” she said. “I want people to sit up and take notice when we pass them by on the street. I want them to point and say: look, there goes Vesta Muffin, she of the watch.”

“Sure,” said Scarlett with a grin. “Next you want them to start applauding. Face it, Vesta, that’s never gonna happen. They’ll always think of us as a bunch of busybodies sticking our noses where they don’t belong. That’s human nature for you.”

“Well, I’m going to change all that,” said Vesta stubbornly.

“You do whatever you like,” said Scarlett, stifling a little yawn with the back of her hand. “I’ve got a mani-pedi at eleven and a massage at twelve.” She directed a knowing look at her friend. “Wanna join me? You could use a nice massage, Vesta. You’re a bundle of nerves.”

“I’m a bundle of nerves cause I know that if only we can find Vicky we’ll get all the respect we deserve and more.” Not to mention that reward money she was sure existed.

“Vicky Gardner,” said Scarlett, draining her flat white. “Wasn’t she in school with Marge?”

“She was. Pretty little thing she was, too. Turned all the boys’ heads.”

“I’ll help you find Vicky on one condition and one condition only,” said Scarlett, placing a perfectly manicured hand on Vesta’s arm.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“That you join me for a nice relaxing morning at the spa.”

“I don’t do spas,” Vesta growled. “Spas are for pampered old fools and airless bimbos.” But instead of being offended, Scarlett merely cocked her head, like a bird sitting in a tree. Finally Vesta groaned. “Oh, all right. One visit to the spa, that’s it. And if they so much as come near me with one of those torture instruments I’ll punch them in the snoot.”

“You’ll love it,” Scarlett said with a laugh.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Vesta muttered. She was getting soft in her old age, if she allowed herself to be dragged into the spa. Then again, ever since she and Scarlett had renewed their friendship something had changed that she couldn’t put her finger on. Almost as if she was becoming a mellower version of the old Vesta.

And she didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Chapter 9

Ted Trapper was traipsing through the fields surrounding the lovely little hamlet of Hampton Cove, photographing birds, butterflies and other representatives of Mother Nature, and having a whale of a time. He didn’t get a lot of time off from his job at the accountancy firm where he worked, and so when he did he tried to make the most of it.

On a scorching hot day, like today was promising to be, most people headed down to the beach or the pool to cool off. But not Ted Trapper. He was lying in a shallow ditch, his camera prone, shooting pictures of birds in action, and inaction, too.

And he’d just pointed his viewfinder at a particularly interesting specimen he thought might be an osprey when suddenly he became aware of a distinct smell filling his nostrils.

It was not a pleasant smell. On the contrary, it was the smell of death and decay.

As he wrinkled up his nose, he glanced around and inspected the ditch he’d selected as his bird hide, and wondered about the nature of the pervasive and unpleasant smell.

And then, suddenly, and much to his dismay, he saw a foot.

Then, relaxing, he realized it was probably not a foot as such but a shoe.

“What people throw away these days,” Ted muttered to himself, and moved over to pick up the shoe with the intention of getting rid of it at a later date. He then discovered that the shoe was stuck, and as he pulled this way and that to dislodge it, he suddenly realized to his horror that it was attached not to the soil, but the sole of someone’s foot!

The stockinged foot stared back at him, as he stared at it, and soon he realized that the weird and unpleasant smell must have come from the human being who was lying in the ditch, which meant that this human being was very much… dead!

He yelped again as the realization hit that he’d been lying right next to a dead body.

And as he scrambled to his own feet, he finally saw the body whole and saw it well: it was a young woman, dressed in a flashy-colored leotard, with blond hair partly covering her face but not enough to hide the fact that she was, indeed, dead, and that she’d been, in life, a very lovely young woman indeed.

And then he was running like a headless chicken, with no clear plan in mind, but only the realization that he needed to get away from this dead person as quickly as possible.

Dolores Peltz was huffing and puffing. The AC in the police station was busted again, and of course it had to happen on the hottest day of the year. She had a tiny ventilator posted on top of her desk, and a bigger one underneath, but they didn’t do much to alleviate the intense heat hanging like a miasma over the station and the town in general.

She’d already put a plastic tub of cold water underneath her desk, and placed her feet in it. It helped, just like Chief Alec had said it would. And there he was now, walking into the police station vestibule, his armpits looking like the victims of a drowning accident.

Perspiration beaded on his brow, and he cried, “When is this repair guy going to get here?”

“Soon, he said,” said Dolores. “Which probably means sometime in the next decade.”

“Maybe we should get one of those portable AC units in here,” said the Chief, fanning himself with a cardboard folder he’d picked up from Dolores’s desk. “We could have one in here, one in my office, and a couple in the main area. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea, Chief. If only you’d ordered them last week, we might not be melting right now.”

“I’ll order them right now,” said the Chief, and started to walk off.

“Holy moly would you look at that,” said Dolores, halting the Chief in his tracks.

They both watched as Ted Trapper came staggering in, looking like a melted piece of cheese, if cheese was completely red in the face and dressed like a boy scout.

“Ted, didn’t you listen to the health advisory?” asked the Chief. “No strenuous activities today. This heat will kill you if you keep running around like that.”

“A… dead… body… Chief,” gasped Ted in between sucking in big gulps of air. “I… found… dead body.”

“Slow down, buddy,” said Chief Alec. “Now what did you just say?”

Ted gulped, and gratefully accepted a tall glass of cold water from Dolores, who’d downed a couple of those big suckers herself already that morning. But instead of drinking the stuff, Ted simply chucked it over his head. It seemed to do him a lot of good, though the Chief didn’t look pleased when the water hit the carpeted floor of his vestibule.

“I found a dead body,” said Ted, sounding more coherent already. “Out by Farmer Giles’s field. I was shooting birds when I saw her. Lying right next to me. Dead in the ditch!”

“You were out shooting birds?” asked Dolores censoriously. She liked birds, and intensely disliked the kind of people who shot them for fun and sport.

“With my camera,” Ted specified, pointing to the bulky object on his chest.

“Man or woman,” said the Chief, immediately shifting into operational gear.

“Woman,” said Ted. “Can I have another one of those, please, Dolores?”

“Not if you’re going to chuck it over your head again,” said Dolores.

“No, this time I’m going to drink it,” said Ted. “She was dressed in a leotard. The kind of outfit people wear when they go to the fitness club. Sneakers, blond hair, blue eyes…” He swallowed away a lump. “Oh, and the smell, Chief. She must be dead days.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’ll determine that,” said the Chief. “You go on inside, Ted, and I’ll have someone take your statement.” Turning to Dolores, he said, “Any missing persons?”

“None, Chief. At least not in the last couple of days.”

The Chief nodded, then said, “Had to happen today, of all days. Hottest day of the year, and boy scout over there found himself a dead body.”

“Look at it this way, Chief. At least you get to drive out there in your nice air-conditioned car,” said Dolores, and handed the Chief her little tub of water.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, surprised.

“Fill her up, of course. And make it nice and cold.” And before he could respond, she’d already picked up her phone and barked, “Hampton Cove Police how can I help you?!”

Chapter 10

“Hiya fellas,” said Buster, clearly happy to see us. “This place is buzzing—Fido’s been busy, busy, busy like you wouldn’t believe!”

I could very well believe him. Humans love to have their hair removed. From their heads, from their faces, and even other parts of their bodies I don’t want to get into right now, too. Dogs are much the same. They, too, need to be put to the trimmer from time to time. Cats, on the other hand, are far removed from all this hair-removal rannygazoo. We can take care of that ourselves, thank you very much.

The door to the barbershop was open, to let in some of that cool air that is readily available in the early morning, right before the day turns into a real scorcher, though I could have told Fido Siniawski, our local barber, that he probably should close the door, for the air streaming in was getting really hot, the day advancing already nicely. Only two customers were inside, one being subjected to Fido’s signature treatment, the other patiently waiting in the waiting area and thumbing through a copy of Cosmo.

“Any new gossip?” I asked straight out of the gate. Buster is one of our main sources of gossip in Hampton Cove. He usually knows what’s happening, since all the movers and shakers of our town at some point or another find themselves seated in Fido’s chair, and many of the non-movers and non-shakers, too.

“Nothing special,” said Buster with a sad look. “Place has been buzzing but that doesn’t mean there’s also a lot of interesting stuff being said. The Mayor was in here only yesterday. She’s going for a complete makeover. New hair, new clothes, even a new face, if her secretary is to be believed—she was in here right after the Mayor left.”

“Mayor Butterwick is getting a new face?” asked Dooley. “You mean they will remove her old face and give her a completely new one?”

“It can be done. With plastic surgery. Nowadays they can do pretty much anything with plastic surgery. New nose, cheek implants, changing the shape of the jaw…”

“But what was wrong with her old face?” asked Dooley. “I liked it just the way it was, and so, I think, did Uncle Alec.”

Odelia’s uncle has been dating our mayor for the past couple of weeks now, and by all accounts they’re a great couple. Though judging from this little bit of news Buster had to impart maybe things weren’t so great after all, if Charlene felt the need to go for an extreme makeover.

“And what if Uncle Alec doesn’t recognize her anymore?” Dooley continued. “Or doesn’t like her new look?”

He was right, of course. A man starts dating a woman, and in the middle of the process she suddenly changes appearance to such an extent it’s almost as if he’s dating a completely different woman. Not fair, if you see what I mean—and very confusing.

“I’m just telling you what I heard,” said Buster with a shrug. “And then of course there’s Wilbur Vickery, who was in here last night, and shocked us all when he asked Fido to shave off his beard.”

Dooley and I were shocked, too. “Wilbur shaved off his beard!” I cried, aghast. Wilbur Vickery had been the proud owner of a long and flowing white beard. Though when I say white I’m probably not painting the right word picture. It’s more of a dirty yellow, like the teeth and fingers of a heavy smoker. And it doesn’t really flow—it kinda bristles.

“I think it’s a good thing,” said Dooley. “Beards are filthy. And Wilbur’s beard more filthy than most.”

“Things always seem to get stuck in Wilbur’s beard,” I agreed. “Crumbs of food, cigarette ashes, nasal mucus… I think I once even saw a prawn dangling in there, and I could be wrong but I think I heard it scream, so it might have been caught alive.”

“Well, rejoice, fellas,” said Buster with customary glee. “Cause Wilbur’s beard is now a thing of the past, thanks to Fido’s able hands, and the power of the razor blade.”

I tucked these two tidbits of information in my memory for regurgitation at a later date to my human. Odelia might not want to write an article about Wilbur’s beard and Charlene Butterwick’s extreme makeover, but then again she might. The Hampton Cove Gazette is one of those small-town rags, and small-town rags don’t always go for the big breaking stories but focus on the small stuff, much to their readers’ delight, I might add.

“There’s something very important we need to ask you, Buster,” I said now, the necessary preliminaries dispensed with.

He placed a paw on my shoulder. “Say no more, Max. Of course you can have a whiff of Fido’s WindBlaster 5000. Superior technology combined with the most powerful motor in fan history. Get a load of this.” And with a flick of the paw, he turned a switch on the biggest fan I’ve ever seen in my life. Immediately it was as if a hurricane had landed right in the middle of Fido’s shop: the blades were moving the air to such a degree that it was all I could do not to be swept up like a feather and blown back against the wall.

“AND I CAN CRANK IT UP EVEN MORE!” Buster yelled over the noise the blades cutting through the air made. And to show us he meant what he said, he cranked it up, as promised, and this time I did start being blown backward, and so was Dooley. Soon I was scrambling for any object in the vicinity to keep me from flying away. My cheeks were flapping in the breeze, my eyes were tearing up and closing, and I had the distinct sensation that my fur was being removed by the sheer force of the air displacement.

But lucky for us Fido finally intervened and turned down the fan. “What did I tell you, Buster,” the irate barber admonished his Main Coon. “No messing with the fan.” And muttering under his breath, he returned to his customer, who for some reason was having her hair painted a distinct shade of purple, and continued his work.

I was still feeling a little shaky, but Buster whooped and said, “Drop by any time, fellas. This heatwave doesn’t stand a chance against the WindBlaster 5000!”

Dooley glanced at me, I glanced at Dooley, and we both shook our heads. Clearly Buster wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be questioned about missing ladies from twenty years ago. So we thanked him for his time, and went on our way. A good detective knows when to ask questions, but also when to keep his tongue, and clearly this was one of those occasions where silence is golden.

“I’m sure Buster doesn’t know anything about a woman who went missing twenty years ago anyway, Max,” said Dooley as we traversed the sidewalk, which was already hotting up considerably. Soon it would be too hot for our sensitive paws to tread on.

“Yeah, I guess this is going to prove a tough one, Dooley,” I intimated. “Not many pets were even alive twenty years ago, so it might be difficult to find an actual witness.”

“At least now we know that Wilbur lost his beard and that Charlene is thinking about losing her face,” he offered.

“Yeah, at least there’s that,” I agreed.

And we’d just arrived at Odelia’s office to give her our report from the frontline—no matter how inconsequential—when the door of the Gazette burst open and Odelia appeared. Her eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks flushed, and at that moment she looked the picture of the raging reporter, on her way to her next big story.

When she saw us, she practically screamed, “Perfect timing, guys—there’s been a murder! Let’s go!”

Only serial killers and reporters can be this happy when a murder has taken place, I found myself thinking, but then I was swept up in my human’s excitement and moments later we were in Odelia’s car and on our way to whatever adventure awaited us this time.

Chapter 11

Odelia got to the place where it happened in record time. The moment her uncle had called her to tell her the news, she’d been up and ready for duty with not a single second lost. The summer months are often described as the slow news season for your news-hungry journo, and the last couple of days had seen an absolute dearth of newsworthy facts and factoids to report. In fact Dan, Odelia’s editor, had already complained that they were going to have to fill the next edition of the Gazette with interviews with farmers complaining about the heat. Farmers were always a popular subject when there was nothing else to write: they always had something to complain about. The weather was too wet, too hot, too dry, too cold. Unfortunately readers often skipped these stories, and if the dry spell went on for too long, they might end up skipping the Gazette altogether.

“How do you know it’s a murder, Odelia?” asked Dooley from the backseat, where he and Max had asked to be strapped in before she roared away from the curb.

“Because my uncle said so,” she explained.

“So Uncle Alec is the one who decides if something is a murder or not?” asked Dooley a follow-up question.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said, weaving in and out of traffic at breakneck speed. She’d turned up her airco, as the day was already growing unbearably hot again, and the cold air was blasting her face.

“And what made him decide that this particular dead person was murdered?” asked Dooley, still not fully satisfied.

“I’m not sure, but I guess we’ll find out in….” She checked her watch. “Five minutes.”

“Did you know that Charlene Butterwick is going through an extreme makeover?” asked Max, expertly changing the subject.

“No, I didn’t know that. Who told you?”

“Buster. Charlene was in there yesterday, and asked for an entirely new coiffure.”

“She’s also having her face replaced,” said Dooley. “But won’t Uncle Alec be upset when he sees his girlfriend with a completely new face, Odelia? He might not even recognize her anymore.”

Odelia laughed. “I’m sure it won’t be so bad. She probably wants to have her eyebrows done. Busy woman like Charlene doesn’t always find the time for that kind of thing, and seeing as she’s always in the public eye, she wants to look presentable.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, thinking about this.

“Have you found out anything about Vicky Gardner?” asked Odelia now. The missing woman was of more concern to her than Charlene Butterwick’s eyebrows, to be honest. She’d talked to Dan about Vicky’s disappearance, and he was most interested. Missing persons cases, especially when they concerned the wife of one of the richest men in town, always capture readers’ imagination, even after twenty years. And Vicky’s case was one of those cases that had never really gone away. The mystery was so great and so enticing people had speculated about it ever since.

“Not yet,” Max said. “Kingman was too busy, and Buster was, um, preoccupied.”

“He showed us his new fan,” said Dooley. “We were blown away.”

“Literally,” Max muttered with an eyeroll.

They’d arrived at the outskirts of town, and Odelia’s foot stepped on the accelerator until they were traveling at a respectable speed. There was almost no traffic as they left the town proper and soon were cruising along country lanes, surrounded by miles and miles of fields. Sprinklers were providing the crops with the necessary hydration, and before long they were at their destination, indicated by three police cars parked along the shoulder. She parked right behind her uncle’s squad car and got out, but not before unbuckling her feline passengers and watching them quickly hop onto the grassy side of the road. The asphalt was too hot for their tender paws, and she wondered when this heatwave was going to subside and more regular climes would return.

The field where Ted Trapper had discovered the body belonged to Farmer Giles, as did most of the surrounding ones. The farmer himself, a stocky figure with a raggedy cap, raggedy shirt and raggedy pair of dungarees, stood scratching his ear and staring down at something Odelia couldn’t see from this distance. As she got closer, though, she saw that it was the body of a young woman, and at the sight of her, she took in a quick breath.

“What is it, Odelia?” asked Max, who was trotting along in her wake.

“But that’s…” she murmured, then got out her phone to be sure. She’d been googling Vicky Gardner just that morning, which was why the missing woman’s features were still so clear in her mind. And this woman—the dead woman—was Vicky’s spitting image.

“Impossible,” she said as she compared the dead woman to the smiling one in the picture she had on her phone.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” asked her uncle, who stood gazing down at the victim. “I knew Vicky, you know, and this woman right here looks just like her.”

“Maybe she was abducted by them aliens,” Farmer Giles suggested, “and they put her in one of them cryogenic machines they got and now they dumped her back on earth.”

“I very much doubt if that’s even possible,” said Chase, who was standing next to his commanding officer, hands on his hips and looking grim-faced, as he usually did when faced with murder and mayhem like this.

The county coroner, Abe Cornwall, who’d been bent down over the body, now got up with a groan. He was a rotund man in his late fifties with grizzled features and a breezy attitude towards death.

“I’d say she’s been here at least two or three days. Broke her neck, as far as I can tell.”

“Vicky Gardner as I live and breathe,” said Farmer Giles, who’d taken off his peaked cap in deference to the dead woman and rocked back on his heels. “I had a thing for her back in the day. We went out once but she said I was a lousy kisser and so I never asked her out again.” He shook his head. “Damn aliens. There should be a law against that kind of thing.”

“I don’t think this is Vicky Gardner,” said Abe. “Though I have to admit she’s Vicky’s spitting image.”

“You knew Vicky, Abe?” asked Chase.

“Oh, sure. I used to do some teaching back in the day, and Vicky was always quick on the uptake—as was your mother, Odelia. They were in the same class, if I remember correctly.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my kissing technique per se,” said Farmer Giles, pursing his lips. “I mean, I’ve never had any complaints since. She said I used too much tongue.” He shrugged. “All the men in my family got a thick tongue, so maybe that was the problem.”

“So how old is she, you reckon, Dan?” asked Uncle Alec.

They all looked down at the woman. “Definitely not in her forties, which is how old Vicky would be now,” said Abe.

“Forty-eight,” Uncle Alec grunted. “Marge’s age.”

“She looks early twenties to me,” said Chase.

“Which is exactly how old Vicky was when she disappeared,” said Odelia.

“See?” said Farmer Giles. “Aliens. They abducted her twenty years ago and dumped her when they no longer needed her for their experiments.” He stuck out his tongue. “Look, Chief. Do you think my tongue is too thick?”

“Oh, for God’s sakes put that thing away, Giles,” Uncle Alec growled, then took out a big white handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Murdered,” he muttered. “And of course it had to happen on the hottest day of the year.”

Odelia glanced around, concerned about her cats, who could stand the heat even less than she could. To her surprise, they were nowhere to be found.

Chapter 12

When we go sleuthing with our human, the setup usually goes something like this: while she interviews the humans, we track down any pets who might be found in the vicinity and talk to them, eliciting what we professional sleuths like to call ‘witness statements’ to use the official jargon for once. A witness is a person who witnessed something, and their statement can often provide that ‘telling clue’ to use another term your layman is often not familiar with.

So while Odelia studied the dead person, no doubt hoping to find that ‘telling clue’ and figure out ‘whodunit’ Dooley and myself looked around for ‘potential witnesses.’

“Anyone might have seen something, Dooley,” I said as we set out on our journey. “I mean, a field like this must be full of animals, and it only takes one to tell us everything we need to know.”

“Do you really think aliens kidnapped that poor woman, Max?” asked Dooley, who clearly was operating under his own steam as usual, and probably hadn’t listened to a word I said.

“No, Dooley,” I said as I glanced around. “I don’t think aliens kidnapped Mrs. Gardner and dropped her in a field twenty years later, still looking like the day she disappeared.”

“It’s the only logical explanation,” he ventured.

“I’m sure there are other, more plausible ones,” I said. I frowned as I searched around for my witnesses. “There must be field mice, birds, even crickets and other insects.”

“And do you think Farmer Giles’s tongue is too thick?” my friend asked now. “It did look a little thick to me, but then I don’t have a lot of experience with human tongues. It’s so very rare that they stick them out like that.”

“And a good thing, too,” I said. “Imagine everyone sticking out their tongues at us. Yuck.”

“Human tongues are very different from ours, though, aren’t they, Max? They’re bigger but also they’re not as raspy. Our tongues are very raspy, Max, don’t you think?”

“Our tongues are raspy for a reason, Dooley,” I pointed out to my friend. “We use them to groom ourselves. Humans don’t do that.”

“I have seen Odelia lick herself,” said Dooley now, surprising me.

“Odelia? Lick herself?” I asked, momentarily pausing my forward progress through the field. The grass was tickling my belly, and the sun was making me itchy, but I didn’t mind. When I was on the hunt for clues all these minor discomforts took a backseat to my instinct to find that ‘telling clue.’

“Yeah, she accidentally spilled some jam on her arm and she licked it.”

“Oh,” I said, relaxing. “That’s different. It’s not as if she licked her entire body, did she?”

He thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. “No, just her arm, and even then only the spot where she’d spilled the jam.”

“Humans don’t have nice fur like we do,” I explained. “So they don’t have to groom themselves in the same way.”

“They do have hair on the top of their heads, and in some other places, too,” said Dooley. “But they take a shower to wash it, and even then they don’t use their tongues. They use a washcloth or a sponge, or even a loofah or a brush.”

I shrugged. “What can I tell you, Dooley? Humans are weird, we all know that.”

“They also use soap, and shampoo,” he went on. “And body lotion and conditioner and—”

I held up my paw. “Let’s not focus too much on these sordid details,” I suggested. “Let’s find a witness instead, shall we?”

“Okay, Max,” said Dooley, but I could tell that in his head he was going through the entire list of products humans use to keep themselves clean. It’s an impressive list, for I’ve seen the products stacked up high in the bathroom. And all this could so easily have been avoided if only humans had learned to use their tongues the way cats do.

“You know, Max?” said Dooley suddenly. “Maybe Farmer Giles uses his tongue to wash himself, just like we do, and that’s why it’s much thicker than other humans’.”

I thought about Farmer Giles and how scruffy and unhygienic he looked, and thought that Dooley might just have a point. “He does look like a man who has no use for expensive lotions and a ton of products to keep himself clean,” I admitted. “And I’d venture a guess he hasn’t seen the inside of a shower in years. So maybe you’re right.”

We walked on, and I thought I heard a bird squawking overhead. And just when I turned my face up to take a closer look, some sticky substance suddenly fell from the sky and landed right on my nose with a splishing sound.

“And that’s a bull’s eye!” a familiar voice squawked. “Right on the big fat schnauzer!” The pigeon, for it was the same pigeon, then laughed in a hyena-like fashion and I thought he actually pumped the air with his claw-like foot!

“I’ll have you for this!” I yelled at the bird.

“You and whose army!” the bird yelled back, and swooped down for a second run.

Dooley, who’d been staring up at the pigeon in open-mouthed surprise, got hit with the second load just as I yelled, “Dooley, watch out!”

But alas, it was too late.

“Yuck!” my friend cried. “I got some of it into my mouth, Max!”

“Another bull’s eye!” the pigeon screeched, wild with triumph. “Another win for Team Pigeon and a humiliating defeat for Team Cat!”

Dooley, who was spitting out the product of the bird’s bowel movement as fast as he could, seemed to have lost all inclination to wax philosophically about human hygiene habits now that his own hygiene was imperiled and so was mine.

“Come back here, bird!” I yelled at the pigeon, who was casually flying off.

“The name is Moses, cat, and I’ll be back for sure—to give you another taste of revenge!”

And with these words, he was gone.

“It’s in my mouth, Max,” Dooley repeated, then glanced at me. “And it’s in your eyes.”

I was too furious for speech, but then decided that whoever this Moses character was, he wasn’t going to get the better of me, and so I vowed revenge, right then and there. Then again, wasn’t that the word he’d used? Revenge?

“What was he talking about, Max?” asked Dooley. “He said something about revenge. But what did we ever do against that bird?”

“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “As far as I can tell I’ve never seen this Moses before.”

“He must be mistaking us for a pair of other cats,” Dooley ventured.

“Yeah, must be,” I said, then set about the arduous task of cleaning myself up with the use of my tongue, and so did Dooley.

“Sometimes, Dooley,” I said as I removed the final residue of pigeon poo from my features, “I wonder if humans maybe are smarter than they look by not using their tongues for hygienic purposes. I mean, a nice shower suddenly doesn’t sound like such a bad idea right now.”

“Pigeon poo tastes horrible, Max,” Dooley said with a shiver. “But I’ll take it over a shower any day.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Though it has to be said Moses’s initiative had almost made a shower believer out of me. Maybe water wasn’t so bad after all. It couldn’t possibly be worse than poo, right?

Chapter 13

“This is impossible,” said Quintin Gardner. He was an imposing man, and even at sixty-three was also an exceedingly handsome man, Odelia thought.

She’d accompanied her uncle and Chase for this first interview with Vicky Gardner’s husband, hoping to shed some light on recent events.

Mr. Gardner looked up from the picture of the dead woman. “Is this… Vicky?” he asked. “Did you finally find her?”

It was obvious from the tremor in his voice that even twenty years after her disappearance, the man still carried a torch for his wife.

They were standing in the doorway of his grand mansion, having parked in the circular driveway. Max and Dooley were eager to get inside out of the heat, and frankly so was Odelia. Uncle Alec was mopping his brow and probably could have used a cold shower. The only one who wasn’t affected by the heat was Chase, who looked his usual cool and composed self. It was he who was holding up his phone and had asked Mr. Gardner if he recognized the woman in the picture.

“We found her just now,” Chase explained. “We believe she was murdered.”

“Vicky? Murdered?” asked Mr. Gardner, who seemed as confused by all this as Odelia was feeling. “But…” He studied the picture once more. “She looks just like she did when she went missing,” he said, a flicker of a smile touching his lips, then his shoulders sagged. “I don’t understand any of this. Won’t you come in for a moment?”

Gratefully they all stepped inside, and it was a testament to Mr. Gardner’s general state of confusion that he didn’t even ask about the two cats that tripped in after Odelia.

“Please,” said Mr. Gardner, and gestured to a sitting room just off the main atrium, which was two floors high and bathed in the light streaming down from a skylight.

They entered the sitting room but instead of sitting, stood around waiting for Mr. Gardner to offer them a seat. But the older man was so discombobulated that the thought didn’t even enter his mind. At least it was nice and cool inside the house.

“I don’t understand,” the man repeated. “You say you took this picture this morning?”

Chase nodded. “The resemblance with your wife is striking, Mr. Gardner, which is why we thought to drop by here first.”

“But… how can this be?” asked the man. “Vicky would be forty-eight if she were still alive. And this girl—this woman—she’s what, twenty-five? Twenty-eight?”

“We were hoping you had an explanation for us,” said Odelia gently. “Maybe your wife had relatives? A niece who resembled her? Or a daughter, maybe?”

“No,” said Mr. Gardner, shaking his head distractedly. “We were never lucky enough to have kids. Maybe if Vicky had lived we would have started a family, but we figured we still had plenty of time.” His voice broke, the grief still palpable, even after all these years.

“Then… a niece, perhaps? Or some other relative?” Odelia insisted.

But Mr. Gardner shook his head. “Vicky was an only child, and so were her mom and dad. It’s always possible that she had some distant cousins she didn’t know about, of course, but the resemblance, my God…”

He did take a seat then, on an overstuffed black leather chair, but didn’t offer the same convenience to his guests. “Can I see that picture again, Sergeant?”

“Detective,” Chase murmured, and obligingly handed over his phone.

Mr. Gardner studied the picture closely, pinching his fingers to zoom in and narrowing his eyes as he did. Then, finally, his eyes widened. “It’s her!” he said. “Vicky had a tiny birthmark underneath her left eye. Very faint. I always thought it made her even prettier. This girl has the exact same birthmark in the exact same spot!” He almost dropped the phone. “I-I don’t believe this. And you say she was… murdered?”

“Broke her neck,” said Uncle Alec, still busy with his handkerchief. “Nothing in the vicinity of the body suggests it happened there, so someone moved the body after she died. Which suggests foul play for sure. We’ll know more in the next couple of days.”

Mr. Gardner shook his head. “This is a nightmare. An absolute nightmare.” Then he glanced up. “Do you have any idea who did this to her, Chief Allen?”

“Alec,” Uncle Alec corrected the man. “No, sir. Not yet, anyway.”

“Please find out and let me know,” said Quintin, staring off into space. He waved a hand. “Could you please… leave now, Chief Jack? I would like to be alone.”

“Of course, sir,” said Uncle Alec.

Moments later they were out on the driveway again, looking at each other with confusion written all over their features.

“What just happened?” asked Chase.

“I think Quintin Gardner positively identified the victim as his wife,” said Uncle Alec. “Which we all know is pretty much an impossibility.”

“But the birthmark,” said Odelia. “What about the birthmark?”

“Yeah, that’s got me stumped, too,” said the police chief, mopping his red neck.

“Where are your cats?” asked Chase suddenly, glancing around.

And it was only then that Odelia noticed that her cats hadn’t made it out of Mr. Gardner’s house yet. So she stepped up to the front door and rang the bell again. Only this time there was no answer.

“Oh, crap,” she said. “They’re in there.”

“Let me try,” said her uncle, and slammed the door with his fist. “Mr. Gardner, open up. This is the police!”

But Mr. Gardner, if he had heard, was giving every indication of not wanting to acknowledge this visit from the constabulary a second time in a row.

Chapter 14

While the humans talked, Dooley and I had wandered off, as we usually do. The house where Mr. Quintin Gardner lived was huge. Plenty of rooms and corridors, and all of them pretty gloomy, I might add. Almost as if Mr. Gardner would have preferred to live in Victorian times, if given the opportunity.

The walls were bedecked with paintings of what I could only assume were ancestors of Mr. Gardner or his missing spouse. All of them gargoyles, I must say, with not a redeeming aspect to be found.

“Some humans are really ugly, aren’t they, Max?” asked Dooley, as he studied the portrait of a woman with no less than three hairy warts on her face.

“It’s all a matter of perspective, Dooley,” I said, with what I hoped was the right modicum of censure. It doesn’t do to call humans ugly. They rarely appreciate it.

“Odelia is pretty, though, isn’t she?”

“Odelia is very pretty,” I allowed.

“But if we’re allowed to call Odelia pretty, then we’re also allowed to call these people ugly, aren’t we?”

“Um…” It was the kind of irrefutable logic that sometimes makes it tough to argue with Dooley. Lucky for me we’d finally come upon something to distract our attention from the gargoyles: a stuffed marmot was sitting on top of a sideboard in the corridor. We both stared at the marmot as the marmot stared back at us with its beady eyes.

“It looks alive but it smells dead,” said Dooley aptly.

“That’s because it’s been stuffed,” I said.

“Stuffed? What do you mean, stuffed?”

“Well, some people love their pets so much that even after they die they like to keep them—as a reminder of the love they shared. And so Mr. Gardner must have really liked this marmot, for he had it stuffed.”

“I don’t understand,” said Dooley, shaking his head.

“You’ve heard of mummies, right?” I asked, wondering how to explain it to my friend in a way that wouldn’t freak him out.

“Oh, of course. I’ve seen plenty of Discovery Channel documentaries on mummies. The Discovery Channel loves a good mummy. Almost as much as it loves sharks.”

“Well, stuffing is more or less the same thing. They, um, first remove the, um, organs, and then replace them with, well, the stuffing.”

Dooley gaped at me, then opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, before crying, “No way!”

“Yes, unfortunately so.”

“But…” He glanced up at the marmot, still looking as if it might come to life at any moment. “But what about the eyes? It looks so alive!”

“Glass,” I said. “They remove the actual eyes and replace them with glass beads.”

“But Max, that’s horrible!” he yelled.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” I agreed.

“You mean that when we die Odelia is going to have us both stuffed?”

“Um…”

“Oh, no!”

“Well,” I murmured, giving the marmot a dark look. The darn thing had caused my friend to become upset. Then again, sometimes the realities of life have that effect on a cat, and no matter how much you try to shelter them, it’s hard to protect them all the time.

“Look, I’m sure the marmot didn’t suffer,” I said as we moved along.

“But Max, stuffing!”

“I know, I know,” I said with a sigh.

We passed by more rooms, whose doors were all closed, unfortunately, but even as we climbed another set of stairs we never picked up the scent of any pets—except the stuffed marmot—so I think it’s safe to say that we were at a dead end—no pun intended.

On the top floor, we finally found a room whose door was wide open, and inside was a woman making a bed. She was dressed in the customary costume of a maid, which made me assume that she was, indeed, a maid. She didn’t see us, and we didn’t make our presence known, for obvious reasons: no one likes a pair of snooping cats.

“This must be the master bedroom,” I said, and admired how airy and bright it was, compared to the rest of the house, which was musty and dark.

“A double bed,” Dooley pointed out. “Do you think Mr. Gardner remarried?”

I gestured with my head to the nightstand, which held a portrait of the missing woman. “I doubt it,” I said. And as we glanced around I saw signs of Vicky everywhere: from a portrait on the wall, to silver-framed pictures, and even a bust on the dresser. “She might have been gone two decades but clearly she hasn’t been forgotten,” I said.

“No pets,” Dooley pointed out.

“Except the dead marmot,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Max!” Dooley wailed, drawing the attention of the maid, who looked startled, then uttered a loud shriek.

“Oops,” I said. “Time to go, Dooley.”

And so we ran, not walked, out of there, before the woman could start chasing us with a broom, which she seemed more than willing and capable of doing, judging from the volume of her cries.

We arrived downstairs and saw to our surprise that Odelia, Uncle Alec and Chase had either left the building or had relocated to some other part of the large mansion.

“The door,” I said, and hurried in that direction. Unfortunately the door was firmly shut, and with no other way to turn we hurried along the hallway and back into the house, in search of some other exit.

“I can’t believe Odelia left us in here,” I said as we made our way in the direction of the kitchen, following our noses to take us there.

“Maybe she’s upstairs and we missed her,” Dooley suggested.

“We would have smelled her,” I said, experiencing a touch of annoyance at being abandoned like this by my human, and in a strange place no less.

We’d finally found the kitchen, which, from my experience, usually presents two attractive aspects: the kitchen door is often not as barricaded shut as tightly as the front door, and kitchens are where the food is at, and I must confess I’m a big fan of food. It’s all those big bones of mine, you see. They need to be fed a regular diet to stay in shape.

Unfortunately the kitchen that Mr. Gardner had built was different on both accounts: the door wasn’t open, and there was no food to be had.

“We’re stuck, Max!” Dooley cried. “Stuck in the house of an animal stuffer!”

I had to agree that the prospect was a dire one, and frantically looked around for a way out, even as the sound of approaching voices and footsteps told me the jig would soon be up.

And that’s when I saw it: the kitchen door was one of those doors consisting of half a piece of wood and above that several panes of glass separated by some type of lead lining. And one of those panes was open now, presumably to let in some air.

“Through there, Dooley,” I said.

“It’s too small, Max!” said Dooley. “You’ll never make it through!”

“I have to make it through,” I said with determination. “You go first. Hop onto my back and I’ll give you a boost!”

Dooley did as he was told and hopped onto my broad back. I made a bucking motion at the same time he made the big leap, and much to my delight he flew through the air like a feline Rudolf Nureyev and zoomed through that open pane with no effort at all.

“And now for the tricky part,” I said to myself. So I made the same leap, only without the advantage of a nice boost, but with the aid of a pair of very powerful hind legs, and soon I was flying through the air, though more like a moderately cherubic Nureyev than a Nureyev at his slimmest, and as I approached the window, I suddenly realized to my horror that Dooley had been right: it was too tight!

And so I sailed right in, until suddenly…

PLOP!

I got stuck halfway through.

“Max! Why did you stop?!” Dooley yelled from down below.

“It’s my belly,” I croaked. “It’s not cooperating!”

Dang those big bones of mine…

Chapter 15

“He was trying to steal my fish!” a woman’s voice yelled behind me. “The filthy thief!”

I could have told her I wasn’t even remotely interested in her fish but since I couldn’t even face my interlocutor I wisely kept my tongue.

“I saw him upstairs, in the bedroom,” said another woman, whom I presumed to be the maid we met earlier. “I’ll bet he was looking for mice.”

“Yuck,” I muttered. I may be a cat, but that doesn’t mean I like to eat mice. Why always these assumptions and prejudices?

“Max, try to wiggle your butt,” said Dooley. “Try to shift your balance to your head.”

Good advice, but not very practical, since my head isn’t the largest part of my anatomy. My butt is, unfortunately, and so is my belly. And if you’re going to tell me there are no bones in a butt or even in a belly I’ll tell you that you’re being extremely rude.

“Maybe we should catch it and keep it,” a third voice now added itself to the chorus. “A cat always comes in handy.”

“Handy for what?” asked what I assumed was the cook.

“Catching mice, of course. And I can tell you we’ve got plenty of those.”

“If only you would take the garbage out when I tell you to, Bernice,” said the maid. “Then we wouldn’t have any mice.”

“So now it’s my fault all of a sudden is it? If you wouldn’t sneak outside for a smoke every other second the critters wouldn’t have managed to get inside!”

“Mice don’t walk in through the door, Bernice,” said the maid acerbically.

“I still think we should keep it,” said the third voice, who could have been a housekeeper of some kind.

“Let’s ask Mr. G.,” suggested the maid. “After all, it’s his house, and his mouse.”

“Let’s not bother Mr. G. with such a trifling matter,” said the housekeeper. “I say we keep the cat, at least until it’s caught the mouse, and then we let it go.”

Yikes! “Dooley, help me!” I cried. “They want to keep me and feed me mice!”

“Wiggle, Max! Wiggle!”

So I wiggled.

“Oh, look, it’s shaking its butt,” said the maid with a giggle. “How cute. Oh, please can we keep it, Bernice?”

“No,” said Bernice, proving herself to be a woman after my own heart. “Cats in the kitchen is a recipe for disaster. Let’s get rid of the filthy beast before it infests the place with its parasites.”

So maybe not a woman after my own heart after all. Still, obviously her intentions were good, if her way of expressing herself a little rough around the edges.

And then, before I could prepare myself, suddenly a hand had attached itself to my rear, and shoved—hard!

“The damn beast is stuck,” grunted the cook.

“Push harder, Bernice,” giggled the maid.

“Yeah, put your back into it, Bernice,” chuckled the housekeeper.

“What’s going on in here!” suddenly boomed a male voice.

“Oh, Mr. Gardner, sir, there’s a cat in the kitchen, sir,” said Bernice, halting all proceedings and disattaching herself from my butt.

“A cat? In my kitchen? Where?!”

They must have parted like the Red Sea, and offered the master of the manor a clear view of my dangling rear end, for suddenly something hard and unyielding placed itself against my bottom and pushed.

There was a rending sound, as my belly protested against this harsh treatment, and then I was propelled forward and was flying through the air, describing a nice arc.

I crash-landed on all fours, and when I glanced back, I saw an irate face appear in the windowpane I’d just vacated.

“And stay out!” the face yelled, and slammed the little pane shut for emphasis.

I heaved a sigh of relief, and only then noticed that Dooley was staring at me a little strangely.

I was sitting on my butt, my hind legs stretched out, much like a human sits, but that couldn’t possibly be the issue, as cats often like to position themselves that way.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Dooley pointed at my belly, and only then did it come to my attention that something was missing. I yelped once more—I was doing a lot of yelping today—when I saw that my recent adventure had shaved off quite a bit of fur from around my midsection, which was now ostensibly hairless. There were also numerous scratches, where the glass pane had scraped against my sides. All in all I looked as if I’d been shaved with a blunt knife.

“Oh, no!” I cried. “This is terrible!”

Dooley smiled. “You’re pink, Max. Underneath all that orange you’re actually pink.”

My cheeks were burning with righteous indignation. “He shaved me. The brute shaved me!”

Dooley’s smile was widening. “Looks like Wilbur Vickery isn’t the only one getting a shave,” he said with a light snicker.

I gave him a foul look. “It’s not funny, Dooley.”

“It’s a little bit funny,” he said.

And he was right. It was a little bit funny. And as I examined my corpus for puncture holes, I decided that it probably wasn’t the end of the world. Fur has a tendency to grow back, and scrapes and scratches can heal. The worst part was that I looked exceedingly foolish, and soon I’d be the laughingstock of the entire town!

“Dooley, not a word about this, you hear me? No one can know this happened.”

“But why, Max? I think it’s a great story.”

“Not a peep!” I said as I got up.

“Peep,” said Dooley, the big joker.

Chapter 16

Odelia was just about to suggest that Chase break down Quintin Gardner’s door when Max and Dooley emerged from behind the house, cool as cucumbers. Though when she looked closer, she saw that Max must have suffered some kind of incident.

“What happened to Max?” asked Chase, who must have noticed the same thing. “Looks like he had a close encounter with a sheep shearer.”

“He looks funny,” said Uncle Alec, his belly shaking with mirth. “He’s so pink!”

Max threw her uncle a look that could kill, but when Odelia asked him what had happened, he merely grunted, “Please don’t ask.”

“Dooley? What’s going on?” she asked.

“It’s a long story that Max doesn’t want me to tell,” said Dooley earnestly.

“Dooley!” said Max. “I said not a single peep!”

“See? He told me not to peep, and even when I’m not peeping, he’s still upset.” The gray Ragamuffin smiled. “I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell anyone.”

“Dooley? I’m warning you!”

“He got stuck in the kitchen door.”

“Dooley, not another word!”

“But then Mr. Gardner saved him by putting his boot against Max’s tushy and giving him a shove.”

“Dooley, I swear to God!”

“Only the window was so narrow it shaved off part of Max’s fur.”

“Dooley—come on!”

“And now he looks like a pink piglet,” Dooley said, snickering.

“Oh, dear,” said Odelia, and picked Max up. “Poor baby,” she said, stroking what was left of his fur. “Did the bad man hurt you?”

“He did,” said Max, moping a little and darting nasty glances at Dooley.

She quickly inspected the big blorange cat for puncture marks but saw that the few scrapes he had were all superficial. “You’ll be fine,” she said, giving him a hug.

“We found a stuffed marmot,” Dooley announced. “So Max had a very lucky escape.”

“I’m sure he didn’t stuff that marmot himself,” said Odelia. “He probably bought it.”

“Bought it!” said Dooley. “Why would anyone want to buy a stuffed marmot?”

She shrugged, tickling Max’s belly until he started to purr with contentment. “Not sure. Some people think it’s nice to own stuffed animals. Like decoration pieces.”

Dooley shivered visibly. “How awful,” he said.

“So did you find out anything else?” she asked, setting Max down again, as her arms were getting tired.

“Nothing,” said Max, a little shamefacedly.

“Except that Mr. Gardner has terrible taste,” said Dooley.

“And he has a housekeeper who likes cats,” said Max, “a maid who smokes too much, and a cook who forgets to put out the trash and who hates cats.”

“And?” asked Chase. “What’s the verdict?”

“Nothing much,” said Odelia as they headed for the cars. “Except that Quintin Gardner doesn’t like cats.” She frowned. “And as a rule I tend to be suspicious of people that don’t like cats.”

And as she glanced back to the house, she thought she saw a shadow move behind the curtains. Then it was gone.

Strange things were going on, she felt, and she was determined to find out what.

Quintin Gardner didn’t like the look of that reporter woman—that Cordelia Powell. Though in all honesty he didn’t like that cop either, that Sergeant Binsley. Or Chief Allen. They were up to something, he could tell. Standing there, blatantly staring at the house like that. And what was up with those cats? Clearly they belonged to the Powell woman. Had she sent them into the house deliberately, to taunt him? What was she playing at?

For all he knew this dead woman didn’t even exist. With Photoshop these days you could do anything. You could turn a dead woman into a living one and vice versa.

He ducked behind the curtains as the Powell woman looked straight at him.

Oh, how he wished they’d just leave and never come back. It all reminded him of when Vicky disappeared. The police had been all over him. Friendly and solicitous at first, then more inquisitive, and finally downright accusing.

Accusing him of doing away with his wife. Murdering her and burying her body.

As if he’d ever harm a hair on Vicky’s head.

He glanced out again. Finally they were leaving. And not a moment too soon.

He’d have to watch it for a couple of days, until this hubbub died down again, just like it had all those years ago.

People always forgot. Life went on and they forgot.

At least that was how it was then. He hoped it would be the same now.

The four members of the neighborhood watch were meeting in town square, seated on one of the benches the town had been so kind to put in the shade of one of the mimosa trees. A cool breeze wafted in from the ocean, and Vesta closed her eyes to enjoy the coolness it extended to her face.

“Let’s make it quick, shall we?” said Wilbur. “I only have half an hour so I wanna make it count.”

“What happened to your beard, Wilbur?” asked Father Reilly.

“Shaved it off,” said Wilbur proudly. “I’m on this dating app and someone told me women don’t like men with beards. So I figured: off with the darn thing!”

“Women do like men with beards,” said Scarlett. “They don’t like you, that’s the problem.”

“Oh, ha ha,” said Wilbur sourly. “Who asked you?”

“No one. It’s a freebie. Yours to do with as you please.”

“Let’s not bicker,” said Vesta. “We’re here to figure out what happened to Vicky Gardner, whose ring was found inside the figurine of a goatherd in my daughter’s kitchen cupboard. So who knows something? Francis?”

“Well, I remember Vicky, of course,” said Father Reilly. “Vicky Freeman as she was called before she married Quintin Gardner. But then I think we all remember Vicky.”

“I don’t remember much about her,” said Vesta. “All I know is that she was pretty, and that she married into money. And then she disappeared.”

“She didn’t just disappear,” said Wilbur, fingering his now naked chin and cheeks. “Rumor had it that Quintin killed her when she failed to produce him an heir.”

“Failed to produce him an heir!” said Scarlett. “Who does he think he is? The King of Hampton Cove?”

“He’s the owner of Garibo, the biggest candy company on Long Island,” said Father Reilly. “Like his father before him, and his father before that. So it stands to reason that he hoped to father an heir who’d take over the family business one day. And when Vicky proved infertile, Quintin was less than amused.”

“Vicky Gardner was infertile?” asked Vesta. “Now that’s news to me.”

“At least that was the rumor back in the day,” said Father Reilly. “This was right before she disappeared, too, so naturally people assumed the two things were connected.”

“So you think Quintin killed her and got rid of the body?” asked Scarlett.

“That’s the story that did the rounds back then.”

“I always found it hard to believe little Vicky Freeman wasn’t able to conceive,” Wilbur mused. “She looked fertile to me.” He licked his lips for good measure, drawing disgusted looks from both Vesta and Scarlett, and a tut-tutting sound from Father Reilly.

“Wilbur, eww!” said Scarlett.

“What—can’t a man appreciate beauty? She was very pretty, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Can you please stop touching your face?” Vesta snapped. “It freaks me out. Yes, I also remember Vicky as a very pretty girl. All the boys were crazy about her. And I never understood what she saw in Quintin Gardner, who’s not exactly a handsome devil.”

“Nasty, too,” said Wilbur. “He once called me an opprobrious name for shortchanging him.”

Vesta was shocked—not because of Wilbur shortchanging a customer, or Quintin Gardner calling him out on it, but for Wilbur to be aware of a big word like opprobrious. “So if Quintin killed his wife, how did her ring end up inside a goatherder in my daughter’s cupboard, that’s what I’d like to know.”

“Who cares?” said Scarlett. “You wanted to investigate this case because you were hoping for a fat reward. But if Quintin killed his wife it stands to reason there won’t be a reward.”

“No,” said Vesta. “But if he did kill her justice still needs to prevail.”

Scarlett gave her friend a look of surprise. “Since when do you care about justice?”

“Why do you think I started the watch? I care about justice, Scarlett. I care about justice a lot!”

Scarlett merely arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. “Look, I gotta go,” said Wilbur, fingering his absent beard once more, until Vesta slapped his hand away. “If you decide what you want to do about this Vicky Gardner thing, let me know. I say we drop it.”

“I agree with Wilbur,” said Father Reilly. “The watch’s purview is not to solve cold cases from two decades ago.”

Reluctantly, Vesta had to admit that her associates had a point. “Okay, okay,” she said, throwing up her hands. “So let’s drop the case. We’ll never solve it anyway. Quintin Gardner, if he did kill his wife, probably hid her body where no one will ever find it.”

After Father Reilly and Wilbur had left, Vesta turned to her friend. “You’re very quiet all of a sudden. What’s eating you?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I’ve never particularly cared about justice and all that. But the idea that Quintin got away with murder somehow doesn’t sit well with me, Vesta.”

“Doesn’t sit well with me either,” Vesta grunted.

Both women shared a look, then smiled. “Let’s nail this sucker,” said Scarlett, voicing a sentiment they were both feeling.

There might not be a reward in it for the watch, but then money wasn’t all that mattered. Putting away a murderer was all the reward they needed.

Chapter 17

When Tex walked in on his wife later that day, he was surprised to find her seated at the kitchen table, busy with superglue and the remnants of the Otto Spiel knockoff.

“What are you doing?” he asked, even though it was pretty obvious what she was doing.

“Gluing the figurine back together,” she said, her tongue between her lips.

“But why? It’s not going to fetch you any money if you try to sell it.”

“I don’t want to sell it. I like it and I want to keep it.”

Tex took a seat at the kitchen table and watched his wife work for a few moments. Then he picked up what used to be the bottom piece of the figurine and studied it for a moment. “I wonder who made it. Probably the Chinese or the Koreans.”

“Yeah, probably,” said Marge.

“I still don’t understand how it got into the kitchen cupboard. I never saw it before, did you?”

“Nope. Never saw it before either.” She stopped working for a moment and frowned. “Did you know that Vicky and I used to be friends? Back in high school?”

“Yeah, I think I do,” said Tex. “Vaguely. Wasn’t she the pretty blonde who called me a doofus for stepping on her toe once during the community dance?”

“Yeah, that sounds like her,” said Marge with a laugh. “She wasn’t exactly the nicest of my friends.”

“Then why were you friends with her?”

Marge shrugged and resumed work on her labor of love. “She was gorgeous and she was popular, and I guess when she chose me as her friend I felt honored, you know. Like being in the big leagues. Though she quickly got bored with me and dumped me for Marcia Baker.”

Tex laughed. “Typical high school drama.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Though at the time I was pretty upset about it.” She halted progress on the figurine once more. “I never thought she’d marry Quintin Gardner, though. He was so much older than her. And not exactly the most handsome or charming guy in the world.”

“Did you know him back then?”

“He was friends with Jock Farnsworth’s dad,” said Marge, giving her husband a strange look.

“Oh,” said Tex, and placed his chin on his hands. He’d never liked Jock Farnsworth, Marge’s boyfriend before she and Tex had gotten together. And in hindsight he’d had good reason to distrust the rich kid, for he’d only recently been sentenced to prison for the attempted murder of his wife. “So… do you think Quintin had something to do with Vicky’s disappearance?”

“I doubt it. Though to be sure you’d have to ask him, of course.”

“I’m not going anywhere near the guy,” Tex said, alarmed. “And I hope you won’t either.”

“Oh, no,” said Marge. “Of course not. I’m not getting involved.”

Reassured by her words, Tex pushed a piece of goatherd around the table until Marge snapped it up and tried to fit it within the three-dimensional puzzle she was solving.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be,” she said after a while.

“Here, let me give you a hand.”

“Please don’t,” said Marge.

“Honey, as a doctor I have the steadiest hands imaginable. Here, let me show you.” And he carefully picked the piece under construction from his wife’s hands. He must have applied too much pressure, though, for it suddenly imploded under his grip with a plopping sound, and collapsed onto the table.

“Oh, Tex,” said Marge with a sigh.

“Oops,” said Tex as he placed the shapeless mass of glued-together pieces back down.

Marge gently hit what was left on the head with her fist and they both laughed at the remnants of her great work of art.

“I guess we better put it in the trash,” she said.

“No, wait,” he said, suddenly noticing something. He picked up a piece and studied it for a moment, before handing it to Marge.

“What is it?” she asked, then saw what he was pointing at.

She gasped, and looked up at her husband.

“That’s impossible,” she said.

“And yet it’s right there.”

Written on the back of one of the pieces was a single word: ‘Help!’

And when they both frantically started turning over more pieces, suddenly Tex found another piece of the puzzle. This one read: ‘Vicky Gardner, October 9, 2000.’

“When did Vicky disappear?” asked Marge.

“Let’s find out, shall we,” said Tex, and got out his phone. After a moment’s delay, he said, “November 10 is when Quintin reported his wife missing.”

They shared a look. “So why did she write ‘Help!’ on the back of this goatherd figurine one month before she disappearance?” asked Marge.

“And how did her cry for help end up inside the figurine, along with her ring?”

“We need a detective,” said Marge. “Pronto.”

Just then, the door of the kitchen flew open and Odelia walked in, followed by Max and Dooley. “Hey, you guys,” said Odelia. “What are you doing?”

Marge and Tex shared a smile. “Ask, and you shall receive,” said Tex.

Chapter 18

It felt really weird to be without fur around my midsection. Even though Odelia had assured me she hardly noticed I wasn’t sure she wasn’t just saying that to make me feel better. My nice shiny coat had always been my pride and joy. Maybe not as much as Harriet prides herself in her good looks, but still. That blorange sheen always gives me a nice fuzzy feeling when I spot it from the corner of my eye, or when I pass a mirror or a shop window on the street. Yes, I’m vain, but then to some extent aren’t we all?

And now when I looked down at myself and saw my pink tummy I could have cried.

“It’s not that bad, Max,” said Dooley when he noticed my discomfort. “And soon the first bits of fuzz will start appearing and before you know it you’ll have your glow back.”

I beamed at my friend. These were exactly the words I needed to hear right now. The words to inspire and uplift and generally make me feel that all would be—

“What happened to you!” suddenly a voice cried out. The voice belonged to Harriet, and as she stood gaping at me, I could see the corners of her lips already curling up, and soon she was laughing uncontrollably. It would probably be too much to say she was rolling on the floor laughing, but the suggestion was clearly there.

“Did you get a trim, Max?” asked Brutus with a grin. “A new fashion statement?”

“Max had an accident,” said Dooley. “And he feels very bad about it, so please be kind.”

“Please be kind!” said Harriet, bursting into another bout of laughter. “I’ll be kind if you stop looking so ridiculous!”

“I think Odelia put him in the wash but forgot that his clothes aren’t shrink-resistant,” quipped Brutus.

“It’s un-belly-vable,” roared Harriet.

“It’s called a six-pack, Max,” said Brutus. “Not a sixteen-pack!”

“Come on, Max,” said Dooley with an angry glance at our two friends. “Let’s get out of here.” And to Harriet and Brutus he said, “You’re both big fat meanies, you know that?”

That didn’t stop them from laughing, though, but I appreciated Dooley’s attempt to make them think about their behavior.

“Maybe I should wear a belly toupee for the time being,” I said to Dooley, feeling a little dejected after the treatment I’d just been awarded. “Or a scarf or a little cat vest?”

“I don’t think that would make much of a difference,” said Dooley, as he guided me out into the backyard and into Odelia’s backyard and past the inflatable pool of shame.

It had been a really interesting day, what with the inflatable pool disaster, the pooping pigeon and now this. How much humiliation can a cat take before it becomes too much? And I was about to find but, for just at that moment Moses was back, and performing a fly-bombing maneuver that would have elicited cries of admiration from my lips if his bombs hadn’t been squarely aimed at my head and Dooley’s!

“Duck, Dooley!” I yelled, and we both ran for cover as fast as our legs would carry us.

“Almost got you there!” bellowed Moses as he took another aim at us. But this time we were too quick for his attack, and as we sailed in through the pet flap, we could hear him scream, “I’ll get you next time, suckers!”

“Whatever did we do to deserve this?” I asked.

“Next time we have to ask him,” said Dooley.

“I sincerely hope there won’t be a next time,” I said as I took a breather in the kitchen, then gobbled up a few bits of kibble, then a few more, and ended up emptying my entire bowl of wet food.

Look, I know stress-eating is not a good way to cope, and I know I probably shouldn’t have eaten two bowls in a single sitting, but I needed the comfort, okay? I was feeling low, and eating my fill always has a positive effect on me. Besides, my brain needed the nutrients, as I was being confronted with a tough case.

“So Vicky Gardner wrote a cry for help on the inside of a little figurine—”

“Which turned out to be a cheap knockoff,” Dooley pointed out.

“—one month before she officially went missing. So why didn’t Quintin report her missing before?”

“Because he was the one she needed help against?” Dooley ventured.

Marge and Tex had told Odelia all about the startling discovery they’d made, and it had certainly made my head spin thinking about the implications, and Dooley’s, too.

So I lay down on the couch and allowed my little gray cells to work with the information we had at our disposal. “So a woman who looks exactly like Vicky Gardner was found dead today, having been murdered two or three days ago,” I said, closing my eyes and giving myself up to contemplation. “Vicky disappeared twenty years ago, after writing a message of distress on a figurine, that also contained her wedding ring, and that somehow made its way into Marge’s cupboard.”

“Along with a spider,” said Dooley. “Don’t forget about the spider, Max. I have a feeling it plays a very important role.”

“Fine. A spider and a figurine of a goatherd. Then there’s Quintin Gardner, who hates cats but loves stuffed animals, and says the dead girl is a dead ringer for his wife—birthmark under her left eye and everything. What else do we know about that man?”

“Only that he’s very, very rich.”

“And that he probably killed his wife because she couldn’t give him an heir,” suddenly a voice intruded upon my reverie. When I opened my eyes I saw that Gran had joined us. She smiled at me. “Playing detective again, Max?” Then she noticed the state my tummy was in and she gasped in shock. “Your belly! What happened!”

“I was in an accident,” I said tersely, and gave Dooley mental signals to keep quiet about the exact details of said accident.

I should have known that mere mental signaling isn’t sufficient to make Dooley keep his mouth shut. Happily he proceeded to lay it all out for Gran, in every gruesome detail recounting my tale of shame.

To Gran’s credit, she didn’t even crack a smile. On the contrary, she gave me a comforting pat on the head. “It’ll grow back,” she said finally, when Dooley had finished shooting his mouth off. “You’ll be your old furry self again in no time. Just you wait and see.”

“In the meantime I think I’ll stay here,” I said.

“What, no cat choir?” asked Dooley.

“No cat choir for the foreseeable future,” I said. “I don’t want to go through what Harriet and Brutus just put me through.”

“What did they put you through?” asked Gran, her eyes narrowing.

“They laughed at me,” I said sadly. “And cracked a lot of very unpleasant and inappropriate jokes at my expense.”

Gran’s face turned grim. “Don’t you worry about those two,” she said. “I’ll deal with them. In the meantime, get a load of this. Vicky married Quintin for his money, right? And Quintin married her to give him an heir. Only she got what she wanted but he didn’t. So talk in town back in the day had it that he killed her and got rid of the body. Case closed.”

“Did he remarry?” asked Dooley immediately.

“Not as far as I know. Why?”

“If he married Vicky for a baby, and she couldn’t give him one, wouldn’t he find himself another wife so he could have that baby?”

It was an excellent observation, and I wished I’d thought of it first.

“Very clever of you, Dooley,” said Gran. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. If Quintin killed her, why didn’t he find himself another baby mama right after?”

“So maybe he didn’t kill her?” I ventured.

“Yeah, maybe he didn’t. Anyway, something to think about. I gotta go,” she said, and got up. “We’re staking out Gardner’s house tonight, Scarlett and me. Wanna come?”

It was a tempting offer, I had to confess, but I’d vowed never to come near the Gardner house ever again. I didn’t want to lose the bit of hair that I had left, you see.

“Maybe some other time,” I said therefore.

“Pussy,” said Gran with a smile, and walked out.

Chapter 19

Quintin Gardner heard a car door slam and peered out through the curtains of his sitting room—his favorite room in the house. When he saw that his sister had arrived in her beefed-up BMW the corners of his mouth sagged.

For a brief moment he considered not opening the door but then decided against it. Marcia wasn’t the kind of woman who took kindly to a brother who refused to let her in. It was, after all, as much her house as his, as it had been the ancestral home for the past century, and the house where all the Gardners had lived ever since Grandpa Gardner had made his fortune with his first gummy bear.

So he shuffled out of his sitting room, dropping his newspaper on his favorite easy chair as he did, shuffled into the hallway, and went to open the door for his sibling.

“What do you want?” were his first words, not exactly dripping with brotherly love.

Marcia, if she was offended, didn’t show it. Instead she stuck her nose in the air and pranced in.

“I heard about that girl that was found,” she announced. “Is it true the police were here to interrogate you?”

“They were here to interview me,” he said, experiencing his usual pang of regret that his father hadn’t stopped conceiving after he’d had a son, and had insisted on bringing his sister into this world. How much sweeter life would have been if he’d been an only child.

“So?” said Marcia, who was a rail-thin, bony woman with coarse features about fifteen years Quintin’s junior. She hadn’t always been this unattractive. Once upon a time she’d had the entire male population of Hampton Cove clamoring to court her—though the extreme wealth of her family may have had something to do with that of course.

“So what?” he asked as he led her into the sitting room where he liked to entertain his guests, few though they usually were in number, and fewer every year.

“So who is this girl? Is it true she’s the spitting image of Vicky?”

He winced, as he usually did at the mention of the name of his beloved wife. “I saw the pictures,” he said as he sank into a fauteuil. “I think it’s her. Though of course that’s quite impossible.” He gave himself up to the same worried thought processes that had held him in their grip since the police contingent’s visit: could it be that Vicky had somehow managed to stay young forever? She’d always been obsessed with her good looks, and had hated every wrinkle or blemish that marred her perfect alabaster skin.

“What did the police say?” asked Marcia. “Do they know who she is, this girl?”

He shook his head. “That’s what they were here to find out. They don’t have a name, and they have no idea what happened to her, and were hoping I could enlighten them.” He scoffed, “They actually seem to think I had something to do with her murder. Can you imagine? Me! I hardly ever leave the house these days, let alone wander around murdering innocent young women and dumping them in ditches.”

“So she was found in a ditch? Where?”

He waved a hand. “Somewhere outside Hampton Cove. Farmer Giles or something.”

“Giles Turner,” said Marcia, nodding. “He always was smitten with Vicky, wasn’t he?”

Quintin narrowed his eyes. “You’re not saying that this Giles person kept Vicky all these years and suddenly decided to kill her?”

Marcia shrugged. “I’m saying anything is possible.” She gave her brother a searching look. “So you really think it’s Vicky, Quintin? Is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure the police will be able to tell us in a couple of days.”

Marcia threw up her hands. “How you can remain so calm about all this is absolutely beyond me! If it really is Vicky, where has she been all this time? And why did she disappear so suddenly twenty years ago? Don’t you want answers, Quintin?”

“Of course I want answers,” he said a little irately. “But I’m not going to get them by stomping around like Godzilla and needling the police until they give me those answers, am I? Besides, I’m sure that if it really is Vicky, that I’ll be suspect number one. Again.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous. Everyone knows how crazy you always were about that girl.”

Her lips pressed together in an expression of disapproval, as they usually did when mention of Vicky was made. Marcia had never been fond of her brother’s young wife, and had never made a secret of her sentiments toward her. Not that Vicky cared. She was too self-absorbed to care what anyone thought of her, not even Quintin. It was an aspect of her that had fascinated Quintin: the way Vicky’s life revolved around herself to a great degree, and to hell with everyone who didn’t give her what she felt she deserved.

“How are things at the factory?” he asked.

“Fine, fine,” said Marcia dismissively. “Bobby is on top of everything as usual.” She gave her brother a penetrating look, and he knew exactly what was coming next. “When are you finally going to make it official? You know how hard that boy works, and how much he’s invested in the business. Don’t you think he deserves a little assurance?”

“I’m not dead yet, Marcia,” he snapped.

“You’re not going to live forever, you know,” she said, in that direct way of hers. She got up. “Anyway, I expect the police will show up on my doorstep next. What do you want me to tell them?”

“Tell them whatever you want,” he growled. “I don’t care.”

“Fine,” she said. “Be that way. But make up your mind about Garibo, will you? Bobby isn’t going to wait forever. He’s had a very tempting offer from Unilever, and he’s seriously considering taking them up on it.”

Quintin looked up at this. “Bobby is thinking about leaving Garibo?”

“What do you expect! You’re practically pushing him out the door! Your own flesh and blood!” And with these words, she stalked off, and moments later slammed the door.

He heard the engine of her lime-green BMW gun and her tires spray gravel as she took off.

A grim set had come about Quintin’s mouth. Marcia was being pushy, as usual. Pushy and obnoxious. But maybe she had a point. He wasn’t going to live forever, and this whole business with Vicky being found dead had rattled him to a great degree.

And as he got up and picked up a portrait of his beloved wife, he sighed deeply.

Maybe it was finally time to let go…

Chapter 20

“Did you see that? Did you take a picture?”

“Yes, I saw that and yes, I took her picture,” said Scarlett as she studied said picture on her phone. She frowned. “Look at that dress, and that hair!” She zoomed in. “Oh, and those pores. They look like craters! She definitely needs a facial scrub and maybe a seaweed mask. And her hairdresser should be arrested and shot—look at those roots!”

“Oh, who cares what she looks like,” said Vesta as she craned her neck to follow the BMW as it raced off. “Did you get a shot of her license plate? I’ll have Alec run a check.”

“Can he do that? Is that allowed?”

Both women were seated in Marge’s little red Peugeot, conveniently parked across the street from the Gardner residence, where they had an excellent view of the front door.

“Of course he can do that. I’m his mother. He’ll do whatever the hell I tell him to do.”

“She reminds me of someone,” said Scarlett slowly, and then it hit her. “I got it! Marcia Gardner—Quintin’s younger sister!”

Vesta drew up her eyebrows in surprise. “Are you sure? I thought she moved to Switzerland. Or France—or some other European place.”

“No, it’s definitely her. I’d recognize those bushy brows anywhere.”

Vesta grinned. “Only you would recognize a person by their eyebrows.”

“Eyebrows are my specialty,” said Scarlett proudly. “They’re the windows into a person’s soul.”

“Pretty sure that’s the eyes,” grunted Vesta as she took out her own phone and dialed her son’s number.

“No, it’s the eyebrows,” said Scarlett with a nod. “Everybody knows that.”

“Alec? I want you to run a check on a license plate number. GAR130. What? Not allowed? Oh, don’t give me that crap. Just run the number already, will you? Why else have I got a cop son for?” She glanced over to her friend and nodded. “Marcia Gardner. Thanks. Oh, and when you see Charlene, tell her not to overdo it on the plastic surgery, will you? Would be a shame to ruin that lovely face on a whim.” And without saying goodbye, she disconnected, as was her habit. “You were right,” she said. “It was Quintin’s sister.” She tapped her dentures with her phone. “Can’t be a coincidence, for her to show up here so soon after the discovery of that dead body.”

“Do they know who it is yet?”

“Nah. Alec gave me some lame excuse about the coroner having to do an autopsy. Cops are even worse than politicians. All that bureaucratic claptrap. Who’s that?”

Scarlett had called up a picture on her phone of a young man with aquiline features and a widow’s peak, his jet-black hair in a ponytail.

“Bobby Garibaldi. Marcia’s son. He runs the family business these days.”

“Huh.” Vesta’s eyes twinkled, which in Scarlett’s experience was never a good sign.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m suddenly in the mood for candy.”

“I’m sure the factory’s closed by now.”

“Exactly,” said Vesta, and started up the engine.

“One thing I gotta give you,” said Scarlett.

“What?”

“There’s never a dull moment with you around.”

I’d actually been looking forward to a nice evening at home. You know: put your paws up, do some channel-surfing or Netflixing, and generally take a load off. But unfortunately that wasn’t to be. For exactly at ten o’clock, usually the time I’m starting to get ready for cat choir, the mailwoman dropped something through the mail slot. I could tell from the telltale clattering sound.

“Odelia, you’ve got mail,” I announced, for sometimes humans don’t hear the kinds of sounds that us cats do.

Odelia and Chase, who were happily snacking on a big bag of potato chips (the pickles variety, if you’re interested) and watching The Bachelorette, didn’t even stir.

“You’ve got mail!” I repeated, a little louder.

“What is Max meowing about?” asked Chase lazily.

“He says we’ve got mail,” she said as she deposited another chip into her mouth.

“Advertising, probably,” said Chase, and continued watching the mind-numbingly boring tribulations of one woman having the pick of two dozen exceedingly handsome and charming men and suffering choice overload as a consequence.

And since I needed a bathroom break anyway, I decided to get up and do the honors for my humans. I jumped down from the couch, waddled over into the hallway, and glanced down at the piece of mail that had just been delivered. It wasn’t advertising as Chase had surmised but a pristine white envelope with two words written on it in very nice handwriting, I might add: ‘Odelia Poole.’

So I took the letter between my teeth, and carried it into the family room, then deposited it onto Odelia’s lap and went off for my bathroom break.

By the time I’d done my business, the scene in the family room had completely changed: The Bachelorette was still talking, unsure of who to pick as her mate for life, but the sound was muted. And Odelia and Chase, instead of lounging lazily on the couch, were both sitting bolt upright, and fervently studying a document.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Something just arrived in the mail,” said Dooley.

“I know,” I said.

“It came in a white envelope with the words ‘Odelia Poole’ on it,” Dooley continued.

“I know!”

“And inside was a piece of paper,” Dooley further announced.

I heaved the sigh of a cat seriously put upon, then said, “And what was on this document, pray tell?”

“I don’t know,” said Dooley. “But they seem to think it’s more interesting than The Bachelorette so it must be very important.”

“Many things are more interesting than the Bachelorette,” I said. “In fact I think practically everything is.”

“Max, I want you to think hard,” said Odelia suddenly, fixing me with an intent look.

“Okay,” I said, and thought hard. Then I realized something was missing, and I said, “Think hard about what, exactly?”

She waved the envelope in my face. “Who delivered this?”

“Um… Bambi?” I ventured a guess. Bambi Wiggins is our mailwoman, you see.

But Odelia was having none of this guesswork. “This is not the time for jokes, Max. You must have some idea who dropped this through the mail slot just now.”

Both Odelia and Chase were staring hard at me, making me distinctly nervous. “Um… I’m sure I don’t know,” I said. “I was watching The Bachelorette, remember? So I didn’t really pay attention.”

“But you heard the mail slot?”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to miss. It makes a lot of noise when it clatters.” Which is probably the point of those mail slots, I guess. That people know when the mail has arrived and can send their dog—or, as in this case, their cat—to fetch it.

Odelia looked disappointed, an expression I’m unfamiliar with. And since I could see this was important, I threw my mind back and did as she said: I thought hard. “I did hear a car stop,” I said finally, “right before the letter was dumped through the slot.”

“What kind of car?” she immediately asked.

“Um… the kind of car that drives?” I suggested, and saw that this was the wrong answer.

“Oh, Max,” she sighed.

“No dice?” asked Chase.

“He remembers a car stopping right before the letter arrived, but nothing more.”

“So what’s in the letter?” I finally asked, my curiosity seriously piqued now.

Odelia showed it to me. Its contents only consisted of a single line of text: ‘A good sleuth has a sweet tooth.’

I would have laughed, if Odelia hadn’t looked deathly serious.

“A good sleuth has a sweet tooth?” I said. “What does that even mean?”

“Someone is playing a game, Max,” said Odelia. “And I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with Vicky Gardner’s disappearance and the death of that young woman.”

And then I remembered something. “Isn’t Quintin Gardner called the Candy King?”

“He is. He owns Garibo, one of the biggest candy makers in the country.” She shared a look with her boyfriend. “I think we better take a closer look at Garibo tomorrow.”

Just then, Chase’s phone chimed and he picked it up from the coffee table. “It’s your uncle,” he said after checking the display. “Chief? What’s up?” He listened for a moment, then closed his eyes. “I’m on my way.” He disconnected with a grimace. “Your grandmother and Scarlett were caught trespassing.”

Odelia looked stunned. “Trespassing? Where?”

Chase cocked an eyebrow. “At Garibo’s.”

Chapter 21

“They tried to cut a hole through the fence, Chief,” said the security guard. He was a burly specimen, even bigger than Alec himself, and the latter was no lightweight by any stretch of the imagination.

The police chief now directed a reproachful look at his mother and her friend.

“What have you got to say for yourself, Ma?”

“We never even managed to get through the fence!” said the Chief’s mother.

“I tried filing but it didn’t work,” Scarlett explained, holding up the nail file she’d used. “And then I tried my nail clippers but they broke.” She gave the security guard a nasty glance. “And those were my best nail clippers.”

The guard shrugged his massive shoulders and walked back to his guard station to raise the barrier for a visitor.

“I can’t even begin to imagine why you would do such a thing,” said Alec as he tapped the ground with an impatient foot.

“Because this is where it all leads, Alec, can’t you see?” said his aged mother. “This is where the mystery will be solved.”

“What mystery?” he asked, mystified.

“Vicky Gardner’s disappearance, and her death twenty years later!”

“First off, I’m pretty sure that the woman we found this morning is not Vicky Gardner.”

“Says you.”

“Unless she found a miracle cure against aging it cannot possibly be her,” said the chief, pinching the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb.

“Too bad she’s dead,” said Scarlett. “Just imagine what secrets she could tell. Ooh! I know what happened! She probably found the Rosetta Stone that gives eternal youth!”

“Pretty sure the Rosetta Stone got nothing to do with eternal youth,” said the Chief. “And why did you ask me about Marcia Gardner’s license plate number earlier? You’re not going to break into her place as well, are you?”

“Marcia visited her brother,” said Vesta triumphantly, as if spilling some big secret.

“So? He’s her brother. She’s bound to visit him from time to time.”

“Yeah, but on the same day the body of Vicky turns up? Ya gotta admit, Alec—verrrry suspicious.”

He flung up his arms. “How many times do I have to tell you: it wasn’t Vicky!”

“Yeah, yeah. You keep telling yourself that.”

“If she really did discover the secret of eternal youth,” said Scarlett, “all kinds of bad people were probably after her. One of ‘em must have caught up with her and killed her.”

“So her Rosetta Stone didn’t really work?” asked Vesta.

“Yeah, that’s a conundrum,” Scarlett admitted. Then she directed a beaming smile at Alec. “You’re not going to arrest us, are you, sweetie? You can’t arrest your own mother and her best friend. What are people going to think?” And out of sheer habit, she wiggled her décolletage, making Alec’s blood pressure spike even higher.

“Don’t do that,” said Vesta, placing a hand on her friend’s arm.

“Why not?”

“Cause he’s my son, that’s why. It’s inappropriate.”

“He’s also a man, and we’re fighting for our freedom here, Vesta, so I say anything goes.”

“It all depends whether Garibo’s owners decide to press charges or not,” said Alec, tearing his eyes away from Scarlett’s provocative jiggling. The woman was seventy-five years old but wouldn’t have looked out of place in a louche bordello.

“You told the Gardners about our innocent little excursion?” asked Vesta, horrified.

“The security guard who caught you did.” He glanced up, expecting the big boss of Garibo to turn up at any moment. It wasn’t his finest hour as a small-town cop, he had to admit. When you’re forced to arrest your own mother it’s never a fun time. And he’d been looking forward to a nice quiet evening at home with Charlene, too.

“Did you tell Charlene about the plastic surgery?” asked his mother, as if she’d read his mind, which was entirely possible.

“Yeah, about that—I don’t even understand what you’re talking about. Plastic surgery? Charlene?”

Vesta shrugged. “Someone told me that she was in Fido’s barbershop yesterday and mention was made about a complete makeover. New hair, new clothes… new face.”

“Look, Charlene is my girlfriend now, all right? So I don’t want you to go around spreading your brand of nasty gossip like you usually do.”

Vesta looked shocked, and so did Scarlett. “Nasty gossip? Me?” the old lady gasped. “I would never—”

“Ever!” Scarlett said, leaning forward with intensified jiggling.

“—never, ever, ever—”

“Never!”

“—ever say a bad word about Charlene, who’s a lovely lady.”

“Absolutely lovely!”

“—with a pretty face she’d do well to save from those plastic surgery vultures.”

“Vultures!” Scarlett darted a quick look at her friend. “Though she could do with a bit of Botox wouldn’t you agree? You’re never too young to try Botox is what I always say.”

“She’s got this nasty groove between her brows,” said Vesta, nodding.

“Botox will clear that right up. Just like that.” Scarlett snapped her fingers to show Alec what she meant.

“Dear Lord,” muttered Alec, and stepped away from the terrible twosome for a moment. And as he did, he saw that his niece and Chase had arrived, and so had a second car, containing Charlene, who’d probably come to see what was taking her boyfriend so long.

They soon joined Alec, giving him looks of commiseration that were a balm to his tortured soul.

“They tried to cut through the fence,” he announced the moment the trio was within earshot. “Armed with a nail file and a pair of clippers. They didn’t get far.”

“But why?” asked Odelia.

“They seem to think that the factory contains some kind of secret that will reveal what happened to Vicky Gardner. Don’t ask.”

Charlene, whose blond curls were glowing in the glare from those halogen lights often used to light up parking lots, gave him a commiserating smile. “Your mother is getting older, honey. Her mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be. That’s just the way it is.”

“My mother isn’t senile,” he grunted. “If anything her mind is sharper than mine.”

“Oh,” said Charlene, frowning. “So how do you explain this, then?”

He saw that Scarlett was right: Charlene did have a groove between her brows.

“I think I might be able to shed some light on Gran’s strange behavior,” said Odelia, and produced an envelope and handed it to her uncle. “Someone delivered this to the house just now.”

Alec opened the envelope and extracted a sheet of paper. On it, there was a single sentence. “A good sleuth has a sweet tooth,” he read, then glanced up at his niece. “I don’t get it,” he admitted.

“I think someone wants to direct us to this factory,” said Chase. “Garibo somehow figures into this mystery surrounding Vicky Gardner’s disappearance, and the death of that young woman.”

“So have you figured out who she is yet?” asked Charlene.

“Nope. But I can tell you one thing with absolute certainty: it’s not Vicky Gardner. That would be physically impossible.”

“Why?” asked Charlene. “If she took great care of herself she could have preserved her youthful good looks.”

He shook his head decidedly. “Vicky Gardner, if she were still alive today, would be Marge’s age.”

“And my age,” said Charlene.

“No one, and I mean no one, looks that good at forty-eight,” said Alec, and immediately saw that he’d probably said the wrong thing, for Charlene’s face fell.

“You mean I don’t look good at forty-eight? I’m too old, is that it?”

“No, that’s not what I meant, darling,” he said immediately, but the damage was done, for Charlene got a cold look in her eyes that he didn’t like to see there. It spelled doom.

“Some people say I haven’t changed a bit,” she argued. “And some even say I look better now than I did twenty years ago.”

“You look great, Charlene,” said Alec. “But not…” He saw the warning look his niece shot him but ignored it. “Not like a twenty-eight-year-old. And that’s only to be expected.”

“Oh,” said Charlene curtly, then closed her mouth with a click, opened it again to say something else, but changed her mind and abruptly turned on her heel and strode off.

“Charlene?” he said. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she snapped, then added, “My home.”

“But… weren’t you going to stay over at mine tonight?”

She held up a hand. “Not tonight. Or any other night,” she added for good measure.

He watched as she got into her car, and drove off without acknowledging his presence. That groove had deepened, he saw, and that was probably not a good sign.

“What–what just happened?” he finally asked.

“I think you just told your girlfriend that she’s ugly,” said Odelia.

“But I never said that!”

“No, but that’s what she heard.”

He buried his face in his hands. “Can this day be any worse?”

And then, out of the blue, suddenly a large pigeon materialized in the sky and dropped a goodish dollop of doo-doo on his head. And as it flew off, it laughed hysterically.

Yep. He just had to ask, hadn’t he?

Chapter 22

I watched as Moses homed in on me, dropped his load, and then flew off. I could have told Uncle Alec that I’d been the bird’s intended victim, not him, but what difference would that have made? He’d still have been covered in bird poo, and might even have been upset with me.

So I decided to keep quiet, while the Chief wiped his practically bald pate with a napkin helpfully provided by his niece.

“So they make candy in there, Max?” asked Dooley as we stared at the large building located on the other side of the parking lot.

“Yeah, some of the best candy in the country, or so I’ve heard.”

“I don’t understand why humans like candy so much,” he now revealed. “It’s basically sugar and pigskin, isn’t it?”

I smiled at that. “Pigskin?”

“I saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel once, that explained how candy is made. It’s just sugar, flavorings, coloring and gelatin. And gelatin is made from animals.”

“Yuck.”

“It’s the skin, ligaments, tendons and bone shavings of pigs and cows and chickens.”

“Yuck, yuck.”

“And the weird thing is that Gran saw that documentary, too, and she was snacking on Garibo gummy bears all the while, and even afterward she didn’t stop eating them.”

“Did you explain to her she was eating sugared pigskin?”

“I did! And you know what she said?”

“What?”

“If you knew what they put in your kibble you’d probably never eat another bowl.”

I was afraid to ask but still felt compelled to. “Why? What do they put in cat kibble?”

“Meat leftovers,” said Dooley. “The skin, the fat, basically all the yucky stuff no one else wants.”

“Yuck.”

“Yeah, yuck.”

We were both silent for a moment, then I felt compelled to ask the inevitable question: “So if you know all this, why haven’t you stopped eating kibble?”

Dooley shrugged. “It tastes so good!”

Well, the same probably goes for sugared pigskin, aka gummy bears. These Garibo people make it taste so good that people eat it, no matter what’s in it.

“Why did Charlene just walk off in a huff?” asked Dooley.

“I think she thinks Uncle Alec insulted her,” I said.

“Oh? What did he say?”

“He said she doesn’t look as good now as she did twenty years ago. Or, more specifically, no one looks as good at forty-eight as they did when they were twenty-eight.”

“I think Charlene looks great.”

“I think so, too.”

“And she smells so nice.”

“She smells divine.”

I don’t know what perfume Charlene likes to wear, but it’s very refined and very nice.

“I don’t really care whether a human is twenty-eight or forty-eight or eighty-eight,” said Dooley. “As long as they treat me well I love them all the same.”

“Me, too,” I agreed.

“And as long as they keep the kibble coming.”

“That goes without saying.”

If only people were more like cats, the world would probably be a better place.

The security guard who’d caught Gran and Scarlett now came strutting up to us. “Mr. Gardner isn’t going to join us tonight,” he announced. “And neither is Mr. Garibaldi, his nephew. But they’re not going to press charges against your mother. Mr. Gardner did ask me to tell you that next time he won’t be so lenient. So please, sir,” he added, giving the Chief a pleading look, “put your mother and her friend on a tight leash?”

“I will,” said Uncle Alec, but I could see how he was crossing his fingers behind his back. And rightly so, I thought. If anyone told you they could keep Vesta Muffin on a tight leash, you can rest assured they would be lying through their teeth.

Odelia now approached the security guard. “Mr. Gardner’s nephew is the CEO, right?”

“He is,” said the guard a little guardedly.

“If I wanted to talk to him, how would I go about it?”

“You call his secretary and she’ll set up an interview,” said the man. “I gotta warn you, though, Miss Poole. Mr. Garibaldi is a hard man to reach. He doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll talk to me,” said Odelia.

“I don’t think so. He avoids the limelight, Mr. Garibaldi does. Doesn’t give interviews.”

“Then maybe he’ll speak to me,” said Chase, stepping to the fore.

The guard studied Chase for a moment, and I could see he saw in him a kindred muscled spirit, for a smile briefly creased his face. “He doesn’t talk to cops either.”

“And why is that?”

“Mr. Garibaldi was very attached to his aunt. And when she disappeared, and the police couldn’t bring her back, he took it very hard, sir. He blames the police—and the media,” he added with a glance in Odelia’s direction. “For the salacious stories published at the time.”

Chase nodded. “I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” said the guard, who seemed to be the strong talkative type. “He hates reporters, and he hates the police.”

Gran, who’d joined us, now piped up. “Then he’ll want to talk to me. I don’t like reporters either, or cops, so at least we’ve got that in common.”

This seemed to amuse the guard. “But your son is a cop, Mrs. Muffin. And your niece is a reporter.”

“So? They may be family, but I don’t have to like them, do I?”

The guard could see her point, for he grinned. “Just like Mr. Gardner and his sister. They may be brother and sister but they hate each other’s guts like nobody’s business.” And feeling that he’d said enough, he bid us all good night, and returned to his guard hut, presumably hoping to catch more senior citizens armed with nail files and clippers.

Chapter 23

When we arrived home, and I ventured outside into the backyard for a nice few moments stretched out on the cool lawn, under the stars, to contemplate my fate and the day that had been, I saw to my horror that the inflatable pool, which had been expertly demolished by yours truly and Dooley, had been filled up with water once more.

Chase, walking out after me, saw me staring at the pool and must have misinterpreted my expression for one of admiration, for he said proudly, “Yeah, I did that. Pretty simple, really. Just like fixing a bicycle tire. And this time please be careful with the nails, will you? I don’t want to have to patch that thing up again.” He grinned at me. “Go on, Max. I can see you can’t wait to jump in and practice your floating technique. Do you want me to give you a hand?”

And then, showing me that he knew absolutely nothing about cats and their habits, he actually picked me up and deposited me squarely into the middle of the inflatable pool!

I squealed in shock when the cold water hit my newly shaved belly, but Chase merely laughed.

“I love it when you do that, Maxie,” he said. “Tell me when you’ve had enough, will you? I’ll be inside.” And much to my dismay, he returned indoors, and simply left me there!

No, Chase clearly wasn’t Jesus. Jesus would never have dumped me in a pool of cold water. And Jesus would most certainly not have turned his back on me in my hour of need!

“Heeeeelp”! I cried therefore, because once again I found myself incapable of navigating that slippery plastic pool bottom for fear of going under for the first and final time. “Heeeeelp meeeeee!”

But the only one answering my call of distress was an owl, and all he said was: “Ooooh-ooooh.”

Fat lot of good that did me.

So for a moment I just stood there, frozen in place, and then my brain rebooted and I started thinking up ways and means of escaping my terrible predicament. Harriet and Brutus had gone out, presumably to attend cat choir in the park, and Dooley was still inside, probably stretched out on the couch and taking a well-deserved nap after the trying times at the Garibo plant.

Basically all I had to do was wait for a human to appear on the scene—any human would do: Odelia, Marge, Gran, or even Tex or Chase. And they’d fish me out of the pool and that would be the end of my renewed acquaintance with that terrible contraption.

Only no human was showing their face. Used to be the streets of Hampton Cove were teeming with them, but these days they all preferred to stay indoors, close to their air-conditioning units and glued to their televisions.

“Heeeeelp!” I said therefore, with renewed fervor. “Heeeeelp meeeeee!”

A cat’s meow can be quite loud and persuasive, but so far I wasn’t having any luck. And then suddenly help came from an unexpected corner when Fifi appeared on the scene. “Max? What’s going on?” the little Yorkshire Terrier asked as she stuck her head through the tiny hole in the fence.

Fifi belongs to Kurt Mayfield, who’s Odelia’s next-door neighbor and not a great friend of cats. Kurt, I mean, not Fifi, who’s just the sweetest little ball of fluff around.

“I’m stuck in this pool,” I explained. “Can you help me?”

“Oh, sure,” said Fifi, and darted through the hole and into our backyard. She tripped up and studied the situation from every angle, which is to say she circled the pool three times in one direction, then repeated the procedure in the other direction before finally coming to a full stop and staring at me excitedly, panting all the while.

“Why don’t you just come out, Max?” she asked, which wasn’t helpful, I can tell you.

“Because this pool floor is slippery,” I explained, “and if I move I’m going to trip and fall and then I’m going to drown.”

She stared at me, then at the water, then back up at me. “I don’t understand,” she said.

Of course she didn’t. Dogs are excellent swimmers. Like human babies they can probably swim the moment they are born. So I sighed deeply, and revealed a big secret no cat likes to admit to a dog—ever. “Cats don’t swim, Fifi. We just don’t. We hate the water, and fear it.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand,” she repeated.

“Look, I can’t swim, all right?”

“But there’s hardly any water in there,” she said. “You can’t drown in a foot of water, Max. It’s impossible.”

“Oh, trust me, I can and I will drown in a foot of water. In half a foot of water, even.”

“No, you won’t. Trust me. All you have to do is swim to me and you’ll be fine.”

“I’m telling you, Fifi: I cannot swim. No cat can.”

“I’m sure that’s all in your head, Max. I’m sure you can swim if you want to. Now just close your eyes and visualize yourself swimming and then open your eyes and do it!”

If there’s one thing I hate it’s these kinds of motivational hacks. Visualize yourself rich and you’ll win the lottery. Visualize yourself thin and you’ll lose a hundred pounds in a day. It just doesn’t work like that! And I was about to tell Fifi when I hit upon the solution for my predicament. “You can swim, right?”

“Of course I can swim,” she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, which to her it probably was!

“So maybe you can wade in and come and get me?” I suggested.

She cocked her head to one side as she considered this, and then smiled and said, “Sure. Here I come, Max.” And with these simple words she stepped into the pool and made her way over to where I was stuck in the middle. “Take my paw and let go,” she said encouragingly when I stiffened. I tentatively took her paw and allowed myself to be dunked into the water. There was a momentary sense of panic when the water threatened to close over my head, but Fifi had me covered and she easily lifted me onto her back.

“How do you do that?” I asked in wonder.

“Water makes you float, Max,” she said. “So even if you’re not the world’s, um, thinnest cat, in the water it doesn’t matter.” And to prove her point she bucked her hips and I floated up and down a little, and I have to confess the sensation wasn’t all that bad!

“Hey, this is pretty fun,” I said. The water was cool, and after a day spent in the sun, that was pretty… cool.

“Let’s wade around a little,” she said, and took me by the paws and started dragging me through the pool.

“Um… maybe we better get to shore now,” I said after a while.

“Just trust me, Max,” she said, and so we waded a little while longer, and since I’d lost a goodish deal of fur around the midsection I wasn’t weighted down by the water as much as I would have been under normal circumstances. In fact I felt light as a feather, and I have to tell you that this was a pretty good feeling for a big-boned cat like me!

“And?” said Fifi after a while. “Had enough?”

“Yeah,” I said with a grunt of satisfaction. “I think that’ll do for now.”

When she’d led me to shore, and I’d scrabbled out over the edge of the inflatable pool, she shook herself like only dogs can, and so I mimicked her movement and found that it was a pretty effective way of losing all that excess water in next to no time.

“And that concludes your first swimming lesson,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks, Fifi,” I said. “I actually enjoyed that.” And I meant it, too. I mean, I’ll probably never be the new Michael Phelps, but it wasn’t half as bad as I’d expected.

“You’re welcome,” said Fifi, then glanced over to her own backyard, where Kurt had started yelling, “Fifi? Fifi, where are you, sweet girl?”

“I better get back,” she said.

“Thanks for saving my life,” I said, and gave her a heartfelt pat on the back.

“No sweat,” she said. “Neighbors have to be there for each other, right?”

I watched her trip off into her backyard, and I heard Kurt say, “Where were you, sweetheart? I was looking all over for you,” and smiled.

And as I stepped back, I accidentally hit the inflatable pool with my hind paw. And out of sheer habit, I kicked out, extending my nails as I did. There was a slight hissing sound, and as I turned around, I watched the inflatable pool collapse like a soufflé, the water pouring out and flooding Odelia’s nice little lawn.

Oops…

Chapter 24

The following morning Chase decided to take his morning exercises outside. And as he stepped out into the backyard, his bare feet encountered a splashy sensation and he found himself standing in an inch of water.

He frowned and glanced down. Huh. How strange. He then looked up at the sky, wondering if it had rained that night.

Nope. The sky was as clear a blue as ever.

And he’d just begun with his jumping jacks when he saw it: the inflatable pool had collapsed into a heap of plastic.

“Oh, darn,” he muttered. Apparently his inflatable pool repair skills weren’t as good as he thought after all. The stickers he’d glued in place must have come unstuck again.

Tex, who’d stepped outside to take in some of that bracing cool morning air, came over for a chat. “Hey, buddy,” said the doctor. “Is it true that Vesta was caught last night trying to break into the Garibo factory?”

“Yeah, we had to go and bail her out,” said Chase, performing his jumping jacks while trying to maintain a conversation with his future father-in-law, which was always a challenge.

Tex gave him a censorious look. “You should be careful not to overexert yourself there, bud. In this kind of weather physical activity isn’t advised.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Chase, a little breathless now.

“I’m a doctor, Chase,” said Tex sternly. Like most doctors he didn’t like his well-meant medical advice to be brushed aside this casually. “So I think I know what I’m talking about.”

“Thanks, Dad,” said Chase, causing the other man to wince. “The day is still early, so I’ll be fine.”

“Mh,” said Tex skeptically, and disappeared again.

Moments later, Marge appeared. “Tex tells me you’re putting yourself at risk, Chase,” she said as she watched him touch the toes of his feet with the tips of his fingers. “Maybe you should listen to him. He’s a doctor, you know, so he knows what he’s talking about.”

“It’s fine, Mom,” said Chase, causing his future mother-in-law to wince. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Mh,” said Marge, clearly not convinced, and withdrew.

And Chase had just performed his third standing high jump when Vesta ambled up and said, “You shouldn’t be doing that in this hot weather, Chase. You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you keep this up.”

“I’m okay, Grandma,” he said, watching Vesta cringe at these words.

“Tex tells me you’re putting yourself in danger,” Vesta insisted. “And he’s a doctor, so he knows.”

“It’s still early,” he said, doing some trunk rotations now. “So I’ll be just fine.”

“Mh,” said Vesta, unconvinced, and disappeared through the hole in the hedge.

“Honey, don’t overdo it,” suddenly a voice said through the bedroom window. He looked up, and saw that the love of his life was leaning out, only dressed in a T-shirt and rubbing sleepy eyes.

“You look adorable, babe,” he said as he threw in a couple of squats.

“My dad just called. He says you shouldn’t be out doing these kinds of strenuous activities in this heatwave we’ve been having.”

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. He didn’t like to admit it but the Poole family was seriously wearing him down. “I’ve been doing this kind of thing for a long time so I know what I’m doing, all right?”

“No need to get snippy,” she said, and retracted her head and closed the window.

“I’m not being sni—” he began, and then groaned.

And as he was doing some side stretches, suddenly Max stole into his field of vision and started mewing plaintively.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” he said. “Not you, too, Max!”

He couldn’t understand a word the cat said but somehow he felt he was repeating the new Poole family mantra: you shouldn’t be out here exercising in this hot weather.

A head suddenly popped up over the fence and Kurt Mayfield appeared. “Are you sure that’s wise, neighbor?” asked the retired music teacher.

“Yes, it’s wise, Kurt,” he growled, starting to feel a little homicidal. “In fact it’s very wise and very healthy to do morning exercises and limber up your limbs before starting your day.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would be true, but in this weather? Can’t be healthy.”

More cats had appeared on the scene, in the form of Harriet, Brutus and Dooley, and now he was being observed by no less than four cats, one fluffy white dog and one neighbor.

“Chase!” suddenly Odelia shouted from the upstairs window again. “My dad just called again. He says he’ll wait until you’re finished before he leaves for work, in case you collapse. So he can revive you and make sure you’re fine. He’s very worried about you.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” said Chase.

“And also, Max just confessed that he accidentally destroyed your inflatable pool last night. He swears it was an accident, and he promises it will never happen again!”

“Max?” said Chase, and watched as the large orange cat gave him a sheepish look. “Why?”

Max meowed something, and Odelia translated, “He says it was self-defense, whatever that means.”

Odelia disappeared again, and Chase continued his morning exercises, now segueing into a light yoga routine.

There was a tsk-tsking sound, and when he glanced over, he saw that Kurt was shaking his head and giving him weary glances.

In spite of the fact that his blood was slowly coming to a boil, he continued doggedly with his Downward Facing Dog.

“Your blood is rushing to your head, neighbor,” said Kurt, giving a running commentary. “That can’t be good.”

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“Ever heard of thrombosis?”

“I’m telling you I’m—”

Just then, as he came up to salute the sun, a bird swooped down and deposited a large helping of sticky muck onto his upturned face, then flew off, laughing like a hyena.

“That’s it!” he cried, shaking his fist at the sky. “You win! I give up!”

And with these words, he stalked off. And as he went, he could just hear Kurt say, “See? I told you, Fifi. This heat makes them all go berserk. Especially the musclebound ones. Too much blood rushing to their muscles and not enough going to their brains.”

And as Chase pounded up the stairs and slammed the door of the bathroom, Odelia yelled, “Oh, babe? I forgot to tell you. The heater is broken. I called the plumber already.”

A cold stream of ice-cold water hit the cop’s head, making him shiver. And so he echoed his boss’s words from the night before: “Can this day be any worse?”

Chapter 25

“Max, Brutus and I want to apologize for the way we spoke to you yesterday,” said Harriet, looking as contrite as I’d ever seen her look. Brutus, too, gave me apologetic glances, and the couple’s performance warmed the cockles of my heart.

“That’s all right, you guys,” I said therefore. “No bad feelings.”

When I looked up, though, I noticed how Gran was standing nearby, arms crossed in front of her and impatiently tapping her foot.

“And what else did we discuss?” she asked now. “Harriet? Brutus?”

“Oh, Gran, do we have to?” said Harriet, and that warm fuzzy feeling I’d been experiencing dissipated to some extent. It was obvious now that those apologies weren’t exactly heartfelt but had more to do with Gran’s gentle—or not so gentle—coercion.

“Max, we’re going to offer you…” Gran prompted.

Harriet rolled her eyes, then said, reluctantly, “Max, we’re going to offer you half of our kibble for the next two weeks to show you how sorry we are for the way we treated you.”

“And now say it like you mean it,” said Gran, who was a tough taskmaster.

“That’s all right,” I said. “I don’t want your kibble—and frankly speaking I don’t want your apologies either. At least not like this.”

“Not like what?” asked Harriet, looking surprised.

“It’s obvious that you’re not really sorry,” I said.

“But I am sorry,” said Harriet.

“Yeah, especially since Gran threatened to ground us for a month if we didn’t apologize,” grunted Brutus.

“Oh, God,” I said, and started to walk away. With friends like Harriet and Brutus, I meant to say, who needs enemies, right?

“No, Max, but I really do mean it,” said Harriet quickly. “I never should have laughed at your… accident.”

“And I shouldn’t have made that crack about your sixteen-pack,” said Brutus, though judging from the gleam in his eyes he still thought it was a pretty good joke.

“Look, if you guys want to make fun of me, that’s fine,” I said. “But don’t pretend that we’re friends, because friends don’t say nasty things about each other, and they certainly don’t make fun of a friend’s misfortune.”

And with these words, I was off. Having terminated our friendship once and for all, I felt a lot better, actually. I now realized I only had one true friend and that was Dooley.

“I told you that actions have consequences,” I heard Gran admonish my former friends.

Inside, Odelia and Chase were having breakfast, and Dooley was lounging on the windowsill, enjoying a bit of sunshine before the day turned into another scorcher.

“Hey, Max,” said Odelia, and inspected my belly. “Looks like your fur is coming in already.” She patted me on the head. “Pretty soon now you’ll be back to your old self.”

I nodded a little morosely. It’s never a lot of fun to break up with one’s friends, and I was smarting a little I have to admit.

Odelia must have noticed I was in a bit of a funk, for she said, “Chase and I are going to try to talk to Bobby Garibaldi today. Wanna come?”

I perked up a little at that. “Oh, sure,” I said. Then I recollected the security guard’s words from last night. “But I thought he didn’t talk to reporters or cops?”

“That’s why Chase and I will pretend to be investors in his company instead,” she said with a wink.

“We’re off to visit Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, Max,” said Chase, who clearly wasn’t harboring any resentment for the inflatable pool episode. “Are you up for it?”

“You bet I am,” I said, then remembered my less than presentable form, and wavered.

But Odelia, proving once again that she’s the perfect cat lady, suddenly spirited what looked like a miniature jacket into her hands. “Look what I got for you, Max,” she said, and proceeded to put the thing on me. It really was a little jacket: my front paws went into the sleeves, and my hind legs into the trouser legs and the moment Odelia had zipped up the front I was looking as snazzy and cool as I’d ever looked.

Dooley, who’d come tripping up to see what all the fuss was about, eyed me with a mixture of consternation and excitement.

“Max, you look awesome!” he cried. “And that mauve and topaz really becomes you.”

Yeah, I wasn’t exactly sure about the colors, or the check motif, but then beggars can’t be choosers and at least I looked less ridiculous than before, with half my body hair missing in action.

“Thanks, Odelia,” I said warmly. “It’s a lovely gift.”

“Anything for my sweet baby,” she said, and made some minor adjustments then took a couple of snaps for her Facebook page.

“I think he looks amazing,” said Chase as he put down his phone and joined the chorus of admirers.

And when Harriet and Brutus came sneaking in a little trepidatiously moments later, and saw my new outfit, even they looked appropriately impressed.

“You remind of something,” said Brutus, then snapped his claws. “I got it. You look like Sherlock Holmes.”

And when I looked down I saw what he meant: the check motif indeed did look like the kind of coat the great detective usually favored—at least in the TV shows and the movies.

“Now you really are a professional sleuth,” said Odelia.

“And what about me?” asked Dooley. “Don’t I get to wear a coat, too?”

“Of course,” said Odelia, and spirited three more little vests into her hands: one for each of her cats. And when she was through, Dooley looked a lot like Dr. Watson, Harriet was dressed up with a turquoise kaftan that became her well, and Brutus’s formidable form had been squeezed into a burgundy sleeveless vest that made him look even more butch than he already was.

Chase scratched his scalp as he surveyed the scene. “People will either think we’re nuts or eccentric or both.”

“Which is exactly the kind of image the future investors in Garibo Enterprises want to project,” Odelia said.

And only now did I notice that Odelia was wearing a very sexy outfit indeed, that showed more bust than was her habit, and that Chase was dressed in a very snazzy costume and was wearing a faux chin curtain type beard, much favored by Russian oligarchs.

Odelia then made a little curtsy and said, “Countess Anastasia Kuranova and Sergei Abromavich at your service.”

Oh, boy. This was going to be interesting.

Chapter 26

Odelia pushed up her push-up bra and checked her assets. She’d stuffed the bra with a pair of panties to fill it out, as her natural bust was a modest one.

“You look great, babe,” said Chase, who looked more like a Russian mobster now than the honest cop that he was.

“You think so?” she asked a little uncertainly.

“Absolutely,” he assured her.

They were waiting in the lobby of the Garibo building, where their arrival had been announced ten minutes before. Four cats sat at their feet, all of them dressed to the nines, and clearly a little ill at ease. There had been some kind of fight between the cats, and now Max and Dooley weren’t talking to Harriet and Brutus. The exact details of the rift escaped her but it had something to do with Max’s hairless new look.

“So I’ll do the talking, all right?” said Chase. He sat a little straighter on the plastic bench that was molded in the shape of one of Garibo’s typical colorful candies.

“Yes, Sergei,” said Odelia, adopting the Russian accent she’d been practicing. “You do ze talking and I do ze looking sexy.”

“Exactly,” said Chase with a slight grin. He fingered his stick-on beard. “I hope this thing stays glued on. If it starts to fall off please tell me.”

“Oh, I vill tell you, Sergei, darlink,” said Odelia, laying the accent on thick now. “When can ve go back to ze yacht?” she asked in a slightly whiny voice. “I vant to go yachting and spend time in Saint-Tropez vid my many super-rich girlfriends and zeir hunky huzbands.”

“Ve vill go yachting soon, my pet,” Chase assured her. “I just bought a bery beeg yacht—ze beegest yacht in ze vorld. Beeger zan Yuri’s yacht—zat stoopid loser.”

“Good for you, zveetheart.”

They both grinned now, and Odelia noticed how four cats were all staring up at them, mouths agape. They clearly were wondering what had gotten into them.

Just then, the receptionist announced, “Mr. Garibaldi will see you now, Countess and Mr. Abromavich.”

“Go time, babe,” Chase grunted, and led the procession of humans and cats in the direction indicated by the receptionist.

A smallish man with his black hair in a ponytail awaited them with a wide smile. He had the kind of sharp incisors that reminded Odelia of a vampire, and his face was as tan as cowhide.

“Welcome, welcome!” he caroled as they stepped into his office. “Can I offer you some refreshments?”

“Na, ve are fine,” said Chase with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Unless you ave ze vodka?”

“Um…” said Bobby Garibaldi hesitantly.

“Just yoking,” said Chase, and produced a deep booming laugh that reverberated around the room, then clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, making him buckle at the knees. “Russian humor. Very funny.”

“Very funny,” said Mr. Garibaldi, smiling a little uncertainly. “Ha ha. Please take a seat.” It was only then that he spotted the four cats, all dressed up as if ready to join the Moscow State Circus. “I see you brought your…”

“Cats,” said Odelia. “Ve love our precious vur babies. Ve take zem everywhere. Isn’t that so, Sergei?”

“Zat ees so,” Sergei confirmed. “My vife loves ze cats more than she loves me sometimes I think. Ha ha ha!”

“Ha ha,” said Garibaldi nervously. He didn’t look like the kind of person who liked cats—or any pet for that matter.

The collected company took a seat in a corner of the office which had clearly been designed as the place where Garibaldi hosted his business guests and conducted his negotiations. The table was shaped like another one of his candies, and the chairs were all vividly colored molded plastic.

Odelia took a seat, making sure that her artificially enhanced bust was on full display. She felt a little awkward playing out her assets like this, but when Garibaldi’s eyes almost popped from their native sockets it was clear the gambit was working.

“So you want to invest in Garibo Enterprises, is that correct?” asked Garibaldi, getting down to business without further ado.

“Zat ees so,” Chase confirmed. “Ve vant to expand into ze candy beeznees—a bery good and lucrative beeznees am I right?”

“Oh, you’re absolutely right,” said Garibaldi, rubbing his little hands gleefully at the prospect of getting a nice big influx of cash. “And how much were you thinking of investing, if I may be so bold?”

“You may be so bold,” Chase confirmed. “Ow much?” He made an airy gesture as he blew out some air. “Forty millions? Fifty? Just a small sum to establish good faith, you understand.”

Now Garibaldi’s eyes popped out even further. “F-fifty million dollars?”

“Dollars, yes,” Chase confirmed. “Chump change for me, and a nice vay of getting zees beeznees relationsheep off to a good start, yes?”

“Y-yes, indeed.” Garibaldi licked his lips eagerly. “What business are you in right now, Mr. Abromavich?”

“Oh, a leetle beet of zis and a leetle beet of zat. But we like the candy, isn’t that so, sweet puss?”

“Ve like ze candy very much,” Odelia agreed with a purr.

“Everybody likes the candy,” said Garibaldi, his eyes now taking in Odelia’s form. “I like the candy, you like the candy—they like the candy.” He gestured to the four cats, who were all staring at the scene, as if having a hard time grasping what was going on.

“So I vanted to ask you,” said Chase, settling back and adjusting his tie. “Zertain rumors ave reached my eers.”

“What rumors?” asked Garibaldi, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from Odelia.

“Ze dead voman–she vas your aunt?”

Garibaldi swallowed. “Not my aunt,” he said, shaking his head.

“Zen oo ees she?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” said the CEO. “But I can assure you her unfortunate death has nothing to do with Garibo whatsoever. No matter what you’ve been told—”

“I’ve been told your aunt disappeared tventy years ago and now she turn up dead.”

“No, no, no,” said Garibaldi, shaking his head in quick motions. “No, she isn’t my aunt. My aunt disappeared, that’s true, but the woman that was found—she shares a vague resemblance to my aunt. But apart from that—”

“You are zure, Mr. Garibaldi?” asked Chase, arching an inquisitive brow.

“Yes, absolutely. No connection to Garibo Enterprises whatsoever. You have my word on that.”

Odelia noticed how the little guy was getting more and more nervous, perspiration beading on his brow as he spoke.

“I ave another qvestion for you.”

“Shoot,” said the manager.

“Your uncle—he owns Garibo Enterprises does he not?”

“Yes—Uncle Quintin is the company’s owner.”

“And he’s retiring soon? Leaving you in charge?”

“No, well, yes.” The little guy cleared his throat and flashed a nervous smile. “The thing is, Uncle Quintin has a hard time letting go. So even though I’ve been running the business for the last twenty years or so, technically he’s still in charge. But since he’s pushing eighty, he obviously realizes a transition is the best thing for the future of the company.”

“And has dees transition taken place?” asked Chase, giving the manager a hard stare.

The man wilted a little under the onslaught. “Um, well, I can tell you in confidence that a transition is indeed in the works, and that you are looking at the future owner of Garibo Enterprises.”

“Beecause if you are not ze boss, and Quintin Gardner ees ze boss, you understand ve vould like to speak to ze real boss instead of you.”

“Oh, no, I understand—absolutely. But rest assured, I am the man in charge. So if you’re ready to invest, I’m the guy to talk to—one hundred percent your guy.”

“Very good,” said Chase, satisfied.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the door, and the receptionist came in, followed by two ladies. “I’m sorry, sir. They insisted to speak to you.”

“Ve are two Russian investors and ve vould like to invest in your company!” the first lady bellowed. Odelia was surprised to discover it was her own grandmother, dressed up like a model, complete with fishnet stockings, a tight dress and about an inch of makeup.

Next was Scarlett Canyon, teetering on the highest heels Odelia had ever seen.

“Ve vould like to invest money in your candy,” Scarlett announced. Her top was cut even lower than usual, her bust practically spilling out and causing Garibaldi to make a whimpering sound as he caught sight of it.

And then Gran suddenly noticed Odelia and Chase and her smile vanished. She pointed at them. “Vat are zey doing ere?”

“What?” asked Garibaldi feebly.

“Zey are thieves, Mr. Garibo,” said Gran. “Zey vork for KGB. Zey are spies—here to steal your candy-making secrets!”

Garibaldi’s head turned so fast it actually creaked. “Is this true?” he asked, his voice a squeak now.

“Of course not,” Chase assured him. “Ve are honest investors, here to invest our meelions of dollars.”

“Lies!” Gran cried. “Zey ave no munney. No munney at all. Only lies and cheating!”

Scarlett, who must have sensed things were getting out of hand, came teetering up to Garibaldi, then actually fell down on top of the man. “Oopsie poopsie,” she said as she clung to him. “I vant to know all about you, Gari. Vill you tell Svetlana all about candy?”

“Y-yes,” said Garibaldi. “O-of course.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” muttered Chase, suddenly not sounding like a Russian oligarch at all.

And things would presumably have gone downhill even further, if the burly security guard from last night hadn’t walked in at that moment. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked, then caught sight of Gran and Scarlett and his expression darkened.

“Didn’t I tell you two to get lost and stay lost?”

“Wait, you know these people?” asked Garibaldi.

“They tried to breach the perimeter last night, sir,” said the guard. Then he noticed Odelia and Chase, even though they’d been trying to make themselves inconspicuous. “Detective—I hope this time you’ll make an arrest, sir.”

Garibaldi gaped. “Detective? What the hell is going on here?”

“I zink eet ees time to go, zweetheart,” said Odelia, getting up.

The security guard arched an eyebrow and displayed a slight smile of surprise. “Yes, I think maybe that’s the best course of action, Miss Poole.”

“Miss Poole?” asked Garibaldi? “Wait, so your name isn’t Anastasia Kuranova?”

“May I introduce you to Miss Odelia Poole,” said the security guard. “She’s a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and this is Chase Kingsley, detective with the Hampton Cove Police Department.” That amused little smile was playing about his lips. “We met last night when they came to pick up miss Poole’s grandmother over there, and her friend Miss Canyon.”

Garibaldi’s face had taken on a reddish tinge. “Out,” he now said, surprisingly quietly. “All of you, out!”

And so out they all went.

“Does this mean we’re not going to get a tour of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Yes, this means exactly that, Dooley,” said Max.

“And no million-dollar investment either,” murmured Brutus.

“Bruno—how could you allow these people to walk into my office like this!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Bruno. “It will never happen again. Will it, Detective Kingsley?”

Chase, much chastened, shook his head.

And thus ended their Russian adventure.

Chapter 27

While the humans were all being escorted off the premises, as was probably to be expected, and loudly bickering about whose fault it was that they’d been discovered, we cats took a detour. And since no security guards ever pay much attention to pets, no one even noticed that suddenly we’d disappeared.

“Let’s split up,” said Brutus curtly, after we’d split off from the main group.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” I said just as curtly.

“You go that way and we’ll go this way,” he added, his obnoxious side asserting itself once more.

“Or you go this way and we’ll go that way,” I countered.

“Fine,” he grunted.

“Fine,” I said.

For a moment, we stood toe to toe and nose to nose, then Harriet said with a sigh, “Come on, Brutus. We haven’t got all day.”

And then we were off, Dooley and I heading deeper into the bowels of the candy-making facility that was Garibo Enterprises, and Harriet and Brutus disappearing around a corner.

“Visiting Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory isn’t really the same without Willy Wonka,” said Dooley as we traipsed along a carpeted corridor.

“No, it’s not,” I agreed. “Still, if there’s something to be found that even remotely looks like a clue, it’s our duty to find it, Dooley.”

“Oh, all right,” he said, and was silent for a beat. Then: “Do you think they make cat kibble, too?”

I smiled. “I think there’s every chance that they do, Dooley.” And why not? After all, the same company that produces the Mars bars also produces pet food, right? Though I doubt whether the ingredients are the same.

We turned a corner and suddenly were greeted by a sight to behold: a large plate-glass window offering a view of what I suspected was the main factory floor, and we could see, from the second floor where we were located, the entire production line.

“See, Dooley,” I said. “On one side of this giant machinery the ingredients are fed into the machines, and on the other side the candy comes rolling out, ready to be shipped.”

We both stared at the people who were handling the long conveyor belts, all of Bobby Garibaldi’s workers outfitted with funny-looking hairnets, lab coats and even face masks.

“Why do they all look like doctors and nurses, Max?” asked Dooley finally.

“For hygienic reasons,” I explained. “To prevent hair from ending up in the candy.”

He nodded sagely. “I guess it wouldn’t be nice to find a hair in your lollipop.”

“Or nose droppings in your jelly beans.”

He laughed. “Yuck!”

We moved along, and soon found ourselves back where we started: outside Garibaldi’s office. This was where we needed to be. This was where a possible clue could be found.

And so we silently slipped back into the CEO’s office. He was at his desk, still quietly fuming after encountering not one but two of his favorite foes: a reporter and a cop.

We snuck in unseen, and crept underneath his desk, so we could spy on the man undetected.

“Yeah, Odelia Poole,” he was saying into his phone as he swiveled around on his swivel chair. “Pretending to be a Russian investor. Yeah, and Chase Kingsley. A cop, Mom. A cop! What’s a cop doing snooping around?”

He pressed a button and switched to speakerphone as he got up and started pacing the room.

“It’s fine, darling,” a woman’s voice spoke. “This has got nothing to do with us, so let’s not get rattled.”

“Rattled?” spat the guy. “Who is this dead woman? And why does she look exactly like Aunt Vicky?”

“I don’t know, darling. And I’m sure the police don’t have a clue, either. Otherwise they wouldn’t have barged in on you like that.”

“I don’t understand,” said Garibaldi, shaking his head as he glanced out through the window at the parking lot. “If they wanted to ask me a bunch of questions, why didn’t they make an appointment? Why this cockamamie story about Russian investors?”

“I’ve read up on Miss Poole,” said the man’s mother. “Her uncle is the chief of police, and she fashions herself to be something of an amateur sleuth, assisting the police in their investigations. This was probably her idea. Catch you off guard. Make you say things you’d later regret.”

“What things? I don’t know anything about this murder business.”

“I’ll bet they were wearing a wire,” the woman continued. “And they simply tried to catch you in some incriminating statement.”

“And who were those other two? One looked like Estelle Getty and the other like a prostitute.”

“Vesta Muffin is Odelia Poole’s grandmother. She runs the local neighborhood watch. She’s a total fruitcake.”

“And the other one?” asked Garibaldi. I could see from my hiding place that he was looking a little wistful. Clearly this ‘prostitute’ had struck a chord with him.

“Scarlett Canyon. She’s a nobody. Likes to think she’s God’s gift to men but she’s simply an old Jezebel—a painted tart.”

Next to me, Dooley chuckled lightly. “We better not tell Scarlett. She’s not going to like this,” he whispered.

“Or Gran,” I whispered back.

Whoever Garibaldi’s mom was, she was one tough baby.

“Look, son, you have got to relax.”

“Relax! How can I relax when I’m being hounded by cops, reporters and the local gang of Looney Tunes?” He grabbed for his ponytail. “Have you talked to Uncle Quintin?”

“Yeah, I talked to him last night.”

“And? Is he budging?”

“Nah. Your uncle is a stubborn old fool. But I think this whole thing with the dead girl has got him rattled. I think he might come around to our point of view this time.”

“Well, he’d better. I didn’t spend my entire adult life churning out sugary goo for fun.”

“I’m sure it won’t be long now, darling. Just hang in there, and make sure the Poole woman and that detective stay away from you. We’ve come too far to back down now.”

The conversation over, I shared a look of concern with Dooley. I had a feeling that these were very deep waters we were plumbing. Very deep waters indeed.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” suddenly a voice tootled in our ear.

It was Garibaldi, and he was peeking under the desk, looking straight at us.

Chapter 28

Charlene was standing in line at the General Store, feeling a little down in the dumps. She’d never believed it possible, but her sweet police chief boyfriend had actually called her old and ugly.

‘Time to call it quits,’ the little demon on her left shoulder whispered. ‘He’s obviously a big jerk and you should cut your losses now.’

The little angel on her right shoulder countered this by saying, ‘He’s a sweet guy and probably didn’t mean what he said. And besides, isn’t that kind of behavior typical of most men? That they put their foot in their mouth without meaning any harm?’

‘All the more reason to dump his ass,’ said the little demon.

‘But remember how good you are together, Charlene. How kind and loving he’s been.’

‘He called you ugly. Do you really want to stay with a guy who thinks you’re ugly?’

‘Just call him. Talk things through.’

‘Block his calls. Never speak to him again.’

“Aargh,” muttered Charlene, and swept her newly curly tresses over her shoulder.

“What did you say, Madam Mayor?” asked Wilbur Vickery, who was manning the cash register as usual.

“Nothing,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Had a fight with the boyfriend, huh?” said Wilbur.

She’d been in the process of taking out her wallet and paused. “How do you know?”

Wilbur tapped his nose and grinned, showing a row of uneven teeth, decayed from too much smoking and too much snacking on his own store-sold candy. “Wilbur always knows, Madam Mayor. Wilbur makes it his job to know about his favorite customers.”

Charlene, who hated people who talked about themselves in the third person, was in one of those moods where one feels compelled to confide in another human being, even if that human being is Wilbur Vickery, the last man on earth anyone would ever want to confide in.

“My boyfriend called me old,” she said with a deep sigh. “And ugly. Said I wasn’t as pretty as I used to be twenty years ago, and I should simply accept the fact.”

“Alec is a moron,” said Wilbur knowingly. “He doesn’t know how to treat a lovely lady such as yourself.”

Charlene glanced around, and noticed she was all alone in the store. She wasn’t feeling particularly at ease being all alone with Wilbur Vickery, who was grinning even more now, his smile calling up visions of old tombstones—remnants of death and decay.

He’d recently shaved off his beard, she saw, which should have been an improvement over the ratty look he’d sported before. Unfortunately his skin was mottled and pockmarked, and the beard had actually been a boon to the man’s appearance.

“Not all men are like him, though, Charlene,” said Wilbur, getting up from behind the register and semi-casually leaning against the conveyor belt. “There are still men in this world who appreciate beauty.” He gave her a fat wink, not exactly being coy about his intentions.

“That’s great, Wilbur,” she said. “So how much do I owe you?”

“I know the perfect solution,” the shopkeeper said, “to get back at that boyfriend of yours.” He winked at her again and she shivered slightly. “You gotta make ‘em jealous. If for instance you’d go out with another fella, and really work that romance—I’m talking kissing and stuff—right under Chief Alec’s nose, I’ll bet he’ll be sorry he called you ugly.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right,” she murmured.

“Take me, for instance,” he said, tapping his puny chest with a puny fist. “I wouldn’t mind going out with you. Parading under the Chief’s nose. Don’t get me wrong, I respect Alec as a man and an officer of the law. But I’m one of those men that can’t see a lady suffer. And I can see you’re suffering, Charlene,” he added, eyes shiny as he leaned in.

He was puckering up those lips, she now saw, and she recoiled in horror.

“Um, you know what?” she said. “I just remembered I’ve got an urgent appointment.”

“But—”

“Sorry, Wilbur. I’ll have my secretary pick this stuff up, okay? Thanks!”

And with these words, she hurriedly fled the store, leaving a disappointed wannabe Romeo behind. Out in front, she encountered Wilbur’s fat cat, and for a fleeting moment thought she detected a smile on the cat’s broad face. Which of course was impossible.

And as she hurried in the direction of Town Hall, she vowed never to be caught alone with Wilbur again. The man was delusional if he thought he could be her rebound guy.

And as she passed the station, she saw Alec get out of his squad car, looking dejected.

So she held her head up high, and stalked right past the man, without saying a word.

“Charlene,” he bleated feebly. “Hold up—I need to talk to you.”

In response, she tilted her head even higher, hiked her purse up her shoulder, and charged past the man at full speed.

Old and ugly. Huh!

Still, even as she put some distance between herself and her now ex-boyfriend, she felt a pang of pity.

‘Why did you do that, Charlene?’ asked her little angel. ‘You know he’s a good man, with good intentions. Not to mention a great kisser.’

‘Good for you, Charlene,’ said her little demon. ‘Next time you hit him with your purse. That’ll teach him.’

“Oh, go to hell,” she muttered, and stormed into Town Hall.

Chapter 29

“Are you sure this is the right way?” asked Brutus.

“Of course I’m sure,” said Harriet. “Don’t you trust me, sugar pumpkin?”

“Um…” Brutus couldn’t really come out and say what he really thought about Harriet’s sense of direction so he prevaricated. “Max seemed to know where he was going. Maybe we should have gone with him.”

“Well, it was you who decided to go our separate ways,” Harriet pointed out.

“Only because Max gave me such a nasty look. Almost as if he doesn’t like me anymore.”

“You probably shouldn’t have made fun of his sixteen-pack. You know how sensitive Max is about his weight.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. He didn’t like to admit it, but this situation with Max was kinda weighing on him. He liked Max, and he liked Dooley, and he hated being in a fight with them. “I apologized, and you apologized. What more does he want?”

“I don’t know, Brutus. Can you please stop thinking about Max and focus on the mission? We’re here to find out what happened to Vicky Gardner, remember?”

“Yeah, of course,” he muttered, and slouched behind his mate, hoping she knew where she was going, in this maze of corridors, where one door looked exactly the same as the next.

“I’m sure that if we simply trust our instincts, we’ll arrive exactly where we’re supposed to…. A-ha! What do we have here?”

They’d arrived at an open-space office, where dozens of desks had been arranged like office islands, and where dozens of people were busily working on computers.

“Looks like an office,” he said. He didn’t like to admit it but Max usually had better instincts when it came to sleuthing than either he or Harriet had.

“I’ll bet we’ll be able to find out everything there is to know about Garibo Enterprises and its nefarious business practices,” said Harriet. “Including but not limited to the kidnapping of innocent women like Vicky Gardner, and her subsequent murder twenty years later.”

“So you think that dead girl was Vicky, do you?” he asked, not surprised. He thought that the coincidence of a dead woman looking exactly like a missing woman was probably too big to ignore.

“Of course they’re one and the same,” said Harriet. “Haven’t you been paying attention? Vicky was probably murdered twenty years ago, soon after she was kidnapped, and kept on ice all these years.”

“On ice?” he asked, intrigued by this novel theory.

“On ice,” said Harriet decidedly. “That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it. Now all we need to find out is who ordered the abduction and the murder, and how come they decided to dump her body two decades later.”

“Probably because they forgot to pay the electric bill,” ventured Brutus.

Harriet gave him a curious look. “You know, Brutus, that’s not such a crazy idea. The freezer they kept the body in must have lost power and so the body thawed out. And instead of burying her, they simply decided to get rid of her.”

All around them, people were busily gibbering into their phones, or tapping the keys of their computers, and as Brutus listened for a moment, he thought he knew what this was: the nerve center of Garibo Enterprises, or in other words the sales division, where customers could place large orders of the kind of candy Garibo excelled in, and that were shipped across the country.

“Your shipment will be arriving in two days, Mr. Franklin,” a young woman announced in an exaggeratedly chipper tone of voice. “Yes, that’s right! Two hundred boxes of Garibo Candy Mix to place in your store display. You’re welcome, sir!”

Unless Vicky Gardner’s body had been kept in the company freezer, and shipped out by the company dispatchers, Brutus didn’t really see the point of hanging around there.

“Let’s go,” he said therefore. “We’re never going to find out what happened to Vicky by hanging around this place.”

“But, sugar bear,” Harriet protested. “I’m sure we’ll find the vital clue soon!”

“Nah,” he said morosely. “We should have stuck close to Max. Max knows. I don’t know how he does it, but he always does.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” said Harriet finally, after watching a man draw a line with a Sharpie on a sales number board and screaming, “People, I just shifted my three-hundredth shipment this month. Huzzah!”

“Huzzah!” his colleagues all yodeled, then immediately hunched over their phones again, eager to break the man’s record by shifting their three-hundred-and-first shipment for the month.

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” said Harriet finally, and the two cats shuffled out of there without much pep in their step, this time in search of another clue: where was the exit?

And as they passed the water cooler, a young man and a young woman were chatting.

“So you think old man Gardner will finally hand the reins of this place to Garibaldi?” asked the young guy.

“Nah, I think he’ll hang on until they pry them from his cold, dead hands,” said the young lady.

“I heard Quintin is planning a coup.”

“A coup?”

“Yeah, bringing in a new guy.”

“To replace Garibaldi? He wouldn’t dare.”

“He’s never liked Garibaldi. Thinks he’s too soft to run a million-dollar business.”

“Garibaldi’s done a great job so far—even the old man can’t deny that,” said the woman, who was gripping a plastic cup and taking sporadic sips.

“No, I guess he can’t. But you know what Quintin is like. Stubborn to the core.”

“If he tries to dump Garibaldi there will be hell to pay. Marcia will never allow it.”

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall when those two get together,” chuckled the young man. “I’ll bet there’ll be blood in the water.”

Harriet’s eyes were gleaming, Brutus noticed, and he smiled. “Looks like we found our clue after all, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, looks like,” said Harriet with a note of triumph in her voice. “See, Brutus,” she said as they walked on. “It’s not just Max who’s a super sleuth. We’re not so bad ourselves.”

“Blood in the water,” he said. “Interesting turn of phrase.”

“Very interesting indeed…”

Chapter 30

We all met up in the parking lot: Gran and Scarlett were arguing with Odelia and Chase, and it took Dooley and myself a while to get a word in edgeways.

“If only you’d told us you were coming we could have coordinated our approach—that’s all I’m saying,” Odelia was saying.

“And if only you weren’t so secretive,” Gran said, “and didn’t make it your number one priority to shut out the watch, this could have been a great success and not the sorry mess it turned into.”

“I’m shutting out the watch? That’s rich, coming from you!” said Odelia. “You’re the one who keeps shutting me out!”

“Why are the veins in Odelia’s neck standing out like that, Max?” asked Dooley.

“It’s because she’s upset,” I said. “Which causes her blood pressure to spike, which probably isn’t a good thing.”

He gave me a look of consternation. “You mean her head is going to explode if she keeps shouting like this?”

“Well…” I said. I’m not a doctor, of course, but all this shouting couldn’t be healthy, especially for an older lady like Gran, or even a young one like Odelia. Scarlett, meanwhile, kept well out of things, and intently studied her fingernails while Gran did most of the shouting. Chase, too, had decided to be a random bystander as he randomly stood by and watched.

“Odelia, you have to stop shouting!” Dooley suddenly shouted. “Your head is going to explode and that’s very bad for you!”

His words had the effect of shutting both Gran and Odelia up for a moment. Then they glanced at each other and… suddenly burst out laughing!

“Why are they laughing, Max?” asked Dooley, nervously monitoring Odelia’s head as if it was the top of a volcano.

“I think it’s because they just realized how silly they were being.”

“I’m sorry, Gran,” said Odelia finally. “I should have told you I was planning this visit.”

“And I’m sorry, too, honey,” said Gran. “I should have told you about what I was up to.”

“Phew, finally,” said Scarlett. “Now kiss and make up and let’s get out of here, shall we? This place gives me the creeps.”

“We overheard something that might be important,” I now revealed. And so I conveyed the conversation we’d overheard between Bobby Garibaldi and his mother.

“Interesting,” said Odelia.

“Yeah, looks like this Marcia person is someone we should pay a visit,” Gran agreed.

“You guys!” suddenly a voice cried out from across the parking lot. It belonged to Harriet, and as she and Brutus came tripping up, it was clear they had important news to share. Panting a little, she announced, when she’d finally joined us, “There will be blood in the water.”

“Blood in the water?” asked Gran. “What are you talking about, Harriet?”

“That’s what one of the people working for Bobby Garibaldi said,” she explained. “There’s going to be a big fight between Marcia and Quintin Gardner about the succession.”

Odelia and Gran shared a look, then Scarlett and Chase shared a similar look, only this one was filled with confusion.

“Can anyone please explain what the cats are saying?” cried Scarlett. “It’s driving me nuts that y’all understand what they say and we’re just standing around like idiots!”

“What Scarlett said,” Chase grunted with a nod.

So Odelia and Gran dutifully relayed our words to the only non-feline language speaking members of the team, and soon we were all up to date.

“I think this succession business needs looking into,” said Chase as he leaned against the hood of his squad car. “Why don’t I pay a visit to Marcia Gardner and ask her point-blank what’s going on?”

“Good idea,” said Odelia. “I’ll go with you.”

“Can we come, too?” asked Harriet. “We found the clue, after all.”

“We found a clue, too,” I argued.

“Yeah, but our clue was bigger than yours,” said Harriet.

“Not true,” I cried. “Our clue was bigger and better than yours.”

“Oh, please can you not fight?” suddenly Dooley yelled. “I hate it when you fight. Max, please apologize to Harriet, and Harriet please apologize to Max, and then we can all be friends again, okay?”

Harriet and I shared a look of surprise. It wasn’t like Dooley to have an outburst like this, and it told us he was frankly fed up.

“All right,” I said. “Harriet, your clue is very important, and if you want to join us, please be my guest. And I’m sorry for calling your clue less important than mine.”

Harriet sighed. “And I’m really sorry for laughing at your mishap, Max. I shouldn’t have done that. Friends don’t make fun of their friends, and I apologize.”

“Me, too,” grunted Brutus. “That crack about your sixteen-pack was uncalled for and frankly plain rude.”

I smiled. “It’s all right, Brutus. Actually I thought it was kinda funny, to be honest.”

The big black cat’s face lit up. “See?” he cried. “I knew it was funny when I said it.”

“Sixteen-pack,” I chuckled. “Well done, Brutus.”

“Thanks, Max. I have my moments.”

“I know you do, buddy.”

“For the love of God can someone please tell me what they’re saying?!” Scarlett screamed.

“They’re resolving their differences,” said Odelia.

“Wait, cats fight, too?” asked Scarlett.

“Oh, sure,” said Gran. “They fight all the time. And then they make up. Cats are just like humans. They just love the drama.”

Harriet grinned a little shamefacedly. “Busted,” she murmured.

Bruno the security guard who’d chucked us out twice in two days, now came legging up to us. “What are you folks still doing here? I thought I told you to clear out?”

“You can’t tell a cop to clear out, you bozo,” said Gran, assuming fighting position, which in her case was balling her fists and drawing back her bony shoulders.

The burly guard grinned as he watched the old lady square off against him. “Hold your horses, Mrs. Muffin,” he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just saying you folks probably shouldn’t go around impersonating Russian billionaires if you want to get anywhere with your investigation.”

“What do you know about our investigation?” asked Scarlett, stepping forward.

The big guy shrugged. “The dead girl? Word is she might be the big boss’s wife?”

“Is that what people are saying?” asked Odelia.

“Yeah, It’s what everyone is saying.” He darted a glance in Chase’s direction. “So is it true? Is it really her?”

“The results of the autopsy aren’t in yet,” said Chase. “But I doubt it’s actually her.”

“So then who is she?”

“Could be anyone,” said Chase with a shrug. As usual he was playing his cards close to his vest and not letting on what he thought was going on.

“What’s all this about a succession fight?” asked Odelia, ever the reporter.

Bruno the guard grinned. “So now I’m the one being grilled, huh?” He scratched his scalp. “They don’t tell us much, but rumor has it that old Mr. Gardner is trying to set up a new management team, and getting rid of his nephew and his sister. Something Marcia and Bobby aren’t happy with. If it’s true, there’s going to be a big fight, I can tell you.”

“Blood in the water,” Harriet repeated.

“And what about Vicky Gardner?” asked Odelia. “What are people saying about her disappearance?”

“Well, the old-timers, the ones who knew her, say she just vanished one day without a trace. Mr. Gardner was still in charge back then. The moment she disappeared he was just devastated. And in the course of the next couple of weeks, while the police searched high and low, the guy just went completely to pieces. Stopped coming in. And that’s when his nephew took over, and he’s been here ever since.” He gave them a curt nod. “And now will you please get lost before I get in trouble?”

And so we all got lost, as requested.

Chapter 31

“I can’t get a hold of her,” Chase complained as they were driving over to where Marcia Gardner lived.

“Can’t we simply show up on her doorstep?” Odelia suggested.

“Yeah, but what if she refuses to let us in? I don’t have a warrant.”

Odelia shrugged. “We’ll figure something out.”

Chase smiled. “You should have been a cop, babe.”

“Which is what my uncle keeps telling me,” she said as Chase steered his car in the direction of the neighborhood where both Maria Gardner and her brother lived. Called Greenleaf, it was home to many statuesque villas and mansions and was where some of the town’s old guard lived—dotted with some stylish but very expensive real estate.

“How are you guys holding up back there?” asked Odelia, glancing back at her contingent of cats.

All four of them were seated in a row, uncharacteristically quiet for a change.

“We’re fine,” said Max, holding up two paws in lieu of his non-existent thumbs.

“What did he say?” asked Chase, as usual fascinated with her ability to talk to her pets.

“That they’re fine,” she said as Chase took a turn and checked his GPS for a moment.

“I hope that pigeon isn’t out there,” said Max, as he glanced through the window and up at the sky.

“Yeah, what’s the story with that bird?” asked Odelia. “Why is it coming after you?”

“I have absolutely no idea, except that it seems to hate me for some reason.”

“The pigeon?” asked Chase, inadvertently touching his face where the bird’s droppings had landed that morning.

She nodded. “It seems Max has made himself an enemy.”

“Maybe you tried to eat its little pigeons?” Harriet suggested.

“I would never—ever—try to eat a bird’s babies!” said Max, thrusting out his chest indignantly.

The four cats looked pretty funny, still dressed in their funky little jackets. Odelia smiled as she surveyed them. “Maybe you should keep those from now on,” she suggested. “You look really nice.”

“Really lame, you mean,” said Brutus as he helplessly tugged at his own specimen.

“Cats don’t like to be dressed up,” said Chase. “Contrary to dogs, who love that kind of stuff.”

She glanced over to her boyfriend with a measure of pleasant surprise. “You’ve been reading up on cats, haven’t you?”

“Of course I’ve been reading up! I’m dating the world’s biggest cat lady, so I have to keep up.”

“Good for you, babe.”

“Are you still going through with your plan to teach us how to swim, Odelia?” asked Harriet now.

“Sure. It’s important that you can save yourselves when you fall in. Don’t you agree?”

Four cats silently nodded with extreme reluctance and she grinned. If Chase thought they hated those outfits, he didn’t know how much more they hated his inflatable pool.

They’d finally arrived at the address Uncle Alec had given them for Marcia Gardner, and he parked across the street. Marcia lived in a three-story brownstone with a wrought-iron black fence in front, and three granite stairs leading up to the front door.

“My uncle sounded really dejected when I called him just now. Any idea why?” she asked as she unbuckled her seatbelt and turned back to offer the same courtesy to her cats.

“Must have something to do with Charlene,” said Chase. “She’s not talking to him, and he’s taking it pretty hard.”

“Such a shame,” she said. “I thought they were great together.”

“Yeah, me, too. I hope they can resolve their differences.”

“Uncle Alec and Charlene broke up?” Dooley cried. “But why?”

“Charlene thinks Uncle Alec called her old and ugly,” said Odelia, “even though I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. And now she’s refusing to talk to him.”

“Oh, no!” cried Dooley. “They have to make up.”

“It’s all right, Dooley,” said Max. “I’m sure they’ll find a way to get past this.”

“Dooley hates it when people don’t get along,” Odelia explained when Chase cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at the small cat’s sad mewls.

They all got out of the car and walked up to the brownstone. Chase took a deep breath and said, “Let’s do this, shall we?”

And then he was opening the wrought-iron little gate and climbing the stairs to the front door, one reporter and four cats in tow.

The door opened and an older lady appeared, well-dressed, well-coiffed and soft-spoken. “Yes?” she asked, surprised at the intrusion.

“Detective Chase Kingsley, ma’am,” said Chase, introducing his badge. “And this is Odelia Poole, the police department’s civilian consultant.”

Marcia Gardner glanced down. “And the cats? Are they also civilian consultants?”

A little embarrassed, Chase nodded. “Um… Yeah, they’re Miss Poole’s.”

Mrs. Gardner seemed amused by this. “Unusual,” she determined. “And am I supposed to let you all in now or what?”

“If we could have a moment of your time, then yes, please,” said Chase, ever the gentleman. “It’s in connection to the death of a young woman who was found yesterday. We talked to your brother last night, and we would like to have a word with you, too, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” said the refined lady. “Come in. I have to warn you, though, I have dogs—and they don’t take as kindly to unexpected visitors as I do—especially when they’re cats.”

“Better stay out here,” Odelia murmured under her breath, and four cats shrank back as one cat at the mention of the word ‘dogs’ and made themselves scarce.

“I thought as much,” said Mrs. Gardner with a self-satisfied little smile, and stepped aside to let the cop and his civilian consultant in. She led them into a sitting room off a narrow and dark hallway, and Odelia saw that Mrs. Gardner’s taste mimicked her brother’s: plenty of antiques and old paintings adorned the walls. And not much light was allowed to penetrate the stained-glass windows.

The two dogs she’d mentioned lay on the floor, and didn’t even look up when they walked in. They were of the German Bulldog variety, and Odelia felt relieved she’d told her cats to skedaddle. The dogs might look sedate now, but faced with four cats they would almost certainly have sprung to life and chased them all over the house.

“So what’s this all about?” asked Marcia as she took a seat on a nice settee and bade them to take a seat on a second one.

Chase took out his phone and showed Marcia a picture of the dead girl. “Do you recognize her, Mrs. Gardner?”

The lady pressed her lips together as she studied the picture. “She resembles my sister-in-law. When was this taken?”

“Yesterday morning,” said Chase, taking the lead as usual.

“It can’t be Vicky, of course,” said Marcia. “She’d be pushing fifty if she were still alive.”

“You think your sister-in-law is dead?” asked Odelia.

“I have absolutely no idea, Miss Poole. All I know is that my brother paid a reputable detective agency a frankly exorbitant amount of money to find her and they never did. So either she died or fled the country.”

“What do you think happened to her?” asked Chase.

Marcia shrugged her shoulders and glanced out through the window, which depicted a troupe of angels fighting a dragon, and didn’t let in much light. “If you want my opinion, I think Vicky ran off with someone. She was much younger than my brother, you see. By almost forty years. It stood to reason she only married him for his money, and got out the first chance she got. You know that a large sum of money went missing from my brother’s bank account the day Vicky went missing? Half a million dollars, to be exact. It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to know who took it. Though my brother hotly denied the charge, of course. He was crazy about the gold-digging little wench.”

“You think she stole the money and ran off? But where?” asked Odelia.

“Who knows? Mexico, Europe, the Bahamas. Half a million dollars buys you a lot of opportunities to live a great life somewhere far away.”

“So this girl…” said Odelia, gesturing to his phone.

“Is just a nobody who happens to share a passing resemblance to my brother’s wife.” She shifted in her seat. “I can tell that the whole business has my brother rattled, though. It brings it all back: Vicky disappearing, the search for her whereabouts… After Vicky left I’m sad to say my brother was never the same again. The terrible business broke his spirits and he turned into the recluse that he is to this day.” She shook her head. “Vicky Freeman has a lot to answer for. She broke a proud man’s spirit, that foolish girl did.”

“We were at the factory earlier,” said Odelia. “To talk to your son.”

A hint of a smile played about the woman’s lips, and Odelia remembered Max’s report about Bobby’s conversation with his mother. She’d called Gran a fruitcake and Scarlett an old Jezebel. And she hadn’t been very complimentary about Odelia either.

“Yes?” asked the woman.

“Rumor has it your brother is thinking about bringing in a new management team to replace your son and the current board of directors. What can you tell us about that?”

A steely look appeared in the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid those are private family matters. Even if I wanted to discuss them with you, I’d need to talk to my lawyers first.” And promptly she got up and said, “If there’s nothing further, I think I’ve answered enough of your questions.”

The interview was at an end, and they’d learned precious little. Except that this succession battle was real, and that according to Marcia, Vicky Gardner’s disappearance hadn’t involved foul play after all.

Moments later they were back out on the street, a little dazed after being chucked out so proficiently and without much fuss.

“One thing’s for sure,” said Chase as he glanced up at the brownstone. “Marcia Gardner didn’t like her sister-in-law one bit.”

“Nope. I think she made that very clear.”

She glanced around for her cats, and saw that they were patiently waiting for her, seated in front of Chase’s squad car—four in a row.

She gave them a little wave, and as they emerged from underneath the vehicle, suddenly a loud screech sounded, and a big bird came diving down, and moments later a salvo of white bird poo rained down, and spattered all four cats in equal measure!

The bird screamed something Odelia couldn’t understand, as she didn’t speak its language. But she had the distinct impression it sounded a lot like, ‘Gotcha, suckers!’

Chapter 32

It was the inflatable pool horror all over again, only this time Odelia had decided to wash that bird poop out of our hides, and forgo the swimming lessons for a change.

Chase had obviously eked out time from his busy schedule to glue the little pool back together again—judging from the big pieces of plastic glued to the sides it had taken him a lot of effort this time—and now there we sat, four cats, all soaking our behinds in a foot of water and not particularly happy about it.

“Thanks, Odelia,” I nevertheless murmured when she’d managed to wash out the poo.

I may not like water all that much, but I like poo even less, and I didn’t feel exactly rapturous about the prospect of having to lick my fur clean again. Nobody likes to eat bird poo, me least of all.

“Thanks, Odelia,” Dooley said dutifully, and so did Harriet and Brutus when Odelia repeated the procedure on them.

The moment she’d lifted us out of the pool, she placed us on the lawn in the sun so we could air-dry—after she’d towel-dried us to remove most of the water.

And there we sat, all of us brooding on what cruel fate had in store for us next.

“I don’t get it,” said Harriet. “Why would a bird—one very nasty bird—have it in for us so much? I’ve never even seen this bird before.” She darted a quick look at the sky, making sure the bird in question wasn’t within earshot, and ready to perform another dive-bombing expedition, maybe this time assisted by a squadron of his buddies.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never seen this Moses character before in my life either. And yet he seems to know us, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe he simply hates cats in general,” Brutus suggested. “And has picked us because we’re easy targets. Most cats don’t go out in this heat. They’re smart and stick close to the AC. Only we are so dumb to walk around all the time.”

“I think he probably means well,” said Dooley, offering a different opinion.

We all turned to him. “Means well?” asked Harriet. “Have you seen what he did?”

“I think he’s simply seeing us as fellow pigeons, that’s all,” said Dooley. “I once saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel,” he began, eliciting exasperated groans from both Brutus and Harriet, “and it showed that ducklings, when they’re born, will consider the first animal they see as their mother and follow it wherever it goes. So if ducklings see a human, they will follow that human. And when they see a chicken, they’ll think that chicken is their mother. It’s really cute, too.” He chuckled lightly. “You should have seen those ducklings, following that chicken all across the barnyard, tweeting all the while.”

No one else was laughing, though, and instead Harriet said, “You know, Dooley, if you weren’t my friend I’d say you’re an idiot. But since you are my friend, I’ll simply say that you’re not making any sense. What do ducklings following a chicken have to do with this shitting pigeon?”

“I was coming to that,” said Dooley helpfully. “So what if this pigeon, when it was born, attached itself to a feline mother figure? Or even a feline father figure? And now whenever it sees a cat it thinks that it’s part of his clan and decides to give it a baptism?”

“A baptism of poo!” cried Brutus. “That’s rich!”

Dooley pondered this. “I don’t know if I’d call a pigeon rich. As far as I can tell pigeons don’t carry wallets. But it is very nice of him, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t,” said Harriet, a little acidly, I thought.

“Well, I think next time we see the pigeon we should simply invite it down for a chat. If only we can make it clear that we’re cats and not pigeons, and that we’re not his honorary mother, I’m sure he’ll realize his mistake and stop showering us with his affection.”

“Sure, Dooley,” said Harriet. “You do that.”

I thought Dooley made an excellent case, but Harriet was in a real mood again, and since I didn’t want to jeopardize our newfound friendship I kept my tongue. We’d only recently resolved our differences—no sense in tearing open those old wounds again.

My fur had sufficiently dried, and I was ready to head indoors again, out of the heat, and onto my favorite couch for a nice little nap, when Gran and Scarlett came crashing through the hedge and joined us in the backyard. They were still dressed like aged hookers and were in search of Odelia and Chase, who were both lounging on lawn chairs under a big umbrella, both busy on their respective phones.

“Odelia!” Gran snapped. “I think I’ve cracked the case. Tell her, Scarlett.”

“I’ve got one word for you,” said Scarlett, her hands painting a marquee in the sky. “Plastic surgery.”

“That’s two words,” Odelia pointed out.

“Now don’t start with your negativity, young lady,” Gran snapped. “Go on, Scarlett.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Vicky Gardner disappeared twenty years ago, and turned up yesterday looking exactly the same—not having aged a day. So my guess is that she probably went off to Mexico, just like Quintin Gardner’s sister told you guys, and has been spending that half a million dollars on regular nips and tucks!”

“Brilliant!” said Gran, placing her hands together for an impromptu applause. When her granddaughter and Chase didn’t join in, she scowled at them. “What’s wrong? Can’t take it when someone else cracks a case for a change?”

“I just got a message from your son,” said Chase, holding up his phone. “The dead girl’s name is Joanne Whittler, and she disappeared three days ago. She was twenty-four, worked as a fitness instructor in Hampton Keys, and had no connection to Vicky Gardner whatsoever.”

Gran and Scarlett shared a look of disappointment. “So… it wasn’t Vicky?” asked Scarlett, making sure she’d heard right.

Chase shook his head. “Nope. As far as we know Vicky Gardner is still missing.”

“Joanne Whittler worked at Hope Fitness as an instructor,” said Odelia, who’d clearly been doing some research while my friends and I were working on our collective tans. “She was reported missing by her boyfriend Chad Klein.” She put down her phone. “I think we’ve been barking up the wrong tree going after the Gardners, people.”

“So you think it’s just a coincidence, your mom finding that goatherd and Vicky’s message, and this…”

“Joanne Whittler,” Odelia supplied helpfully.

“… girl being found?” asked Scarlett.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” said Gran, shaking her head. “I think there must be a connection.”

“Let’s face it, “ said Odelia. “There is no connection. Except for the fact that Joanne resembled Vicky. But apart from that, we’ve taken this investigation in the completely wrong direction, and troubled the Gardner family for no reason whatsoever, except to satisfy our curiosity about Vicky’s disappearance.”

“So let’s leave the Gardners alone from now on, shall we?” Chase suggested. “We’re starting this investigation from scratch. Or, better yet, we’re leaving this investigation to the Hampton Keys PD from now on.”

“Huh,” said Gran, clearly not satisfied with this turn of events. “So no investigation?”

“No investigation,” Chase confirmed. “You can go back to hunting down jaywalkers and pooper scooper felons and leaving the real detective work to the professionals.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that, and I think Chase realized his faux pas the moment the words had passed his lips.

But too late. Gran’s brow was already furrowing, and Scarlett’s filler-filled lips were already setting in a look of grim determination.

“You just crossed a line, detective,” said Gran, pointing a finger at the cop.

“I’m sorry,” said Chase, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, yes, you did.” Gran narrowed her eyes. “You want war with the watch, you got it, sonny boy.” And then she was off, her loyal acolyte in her wake.

“Oh, boy,” said Odelia. “We just resolved one feud, and already we’ve got another one on our hands.”

“Me and my big mouth,” said Chase ruefully. He darted an anxious glance at the hedge through which Gran and Scarlett had just disappeared. “She’s not going to try and murder me in my sleep, is she?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Chase,” said Odelia. “She might. Or she might sneak up on you from behind when you least expect it and give you a wedgie in front of your colleagues.” She grinned. “Good luck, babe. You’re going to need it. And whatever you do—never, ever let your guard down. Ever.”

Chase closed his eyes and hung his head. “Just what I needed. War with the Watch.”

Chapter 33

After spending a long day at the office, Charlene was walking back to her car when she noticed the lone figure leaning against her vehicle. Her jaw set, she continued walking, vowing to ignore the figure and the giant bouquet of flowers he was holding in his meaty hands.

Earlier that day more flowers had been delivered at her office than probably during any time in the history of Town Hall, and even Charlene’s secretary Imelda had been charmed and told her boss that maybe, just maybe, she should lighten up and give this guy another chance.

But Charlene was of the opinion that when a man shows his true colors, it doesn’t matter how many chances you give him, the end result will always be the same: tragedy. And she didn’t need that kind of drama in her life. Not now, not ever.

“Go away, Alec,” she said. “I don’t want your flowers and I don’t want your apologies. Just leave me alone.”

“But Charlene,” said Alec, his voice a little husky. He looked sweaty, and Charlene momentarily weakened when she realized he must have been out there for ages, waiting for her to finish the kind of long days she liked to keep.

“That’s Madam Mayor to you, Chief Lip,” she said, and pressed her key fob to open her car door.

“I just want to say I never meant to say you’re old, Charlene. To me you’ll always be a young blossom, and as far as looks are concerned, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I just meant that we all grow older, and there’s no point in wishing we were ten years younger, or twenty years younger, because we can’t turn back time—that’s just the way it is. And it doesn’t even matter because you’ll always be beautiful to me, now, and twenty years from now, or even forty. I love you, Charlene, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

‘Aww,’ said the little angel on her right shoulder. ‘Isn’t that just the sweetest, kindest, loveliest thing anyone has ever said to you, Charlene?’

‘Don’t listen to this bozo, Charlene,’ said her little demon. ‘He obviously doesn’t mean a word he says. He’s just trying to get under your skin so he can make you feel bad. He’s a big jerk, that’s what he is. Just tell him to take a hike.’

‘Oh, go on,’ said the little angel. ‘Kiss and make up already, before you lose this fella.’

‘Tell him to go and boil his head. Charlene, no, don’t you dare. Don’t you—Charlene!’

But Charlene had made up her mind. It was those puppy-dog eyes. She had always been a sucker for puppy-dog eyes. And that cute face, of course. Her big teddy bear…

So she brushed the little demon from her shoulder, patted her little angel on the head and said, “Do you really mean that, Alec?”

“Every single word,” he said, and she could tell that he did, the big softie.

“Oh, Alec,” she said. “I’m sorry. I think I may have overreacted.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?” he asked, panting a little, like an overweight puppy.

“C’mere,” she said, and melted into the big man’s arms. Temperatures were still soaring, even this late in the day, but the warmth she felt wasn’t from the sun, but the relief she felt that things were all right again with the world, and with her big man.

“I’m sorry, Charlene,” he said croakily.

“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m not used to men being nice to me. So when you say something like that thing you said last night, I just assume it’s a nasty crack.”

“It wasn’t a nasty crack,” he said softly.

“I see that now.”

“This is new for me, too, you know,” he spoke into her hair, as he drew slow circles on her back. “I think it’s new for us both. And it’ll probably take some getting used to.”

“It’ll take a little time for me to learn to trust you,” she murmured, and then they kissed.

And Wilbur Vickery, who chose that moment to walk by, scoffed, “I’m a much better kisser than that,” spat a wad of spit on the hot asphalt, which slightly sizzled, and walked on, muttering dark oaths under his breath about oafish dudes and unreliable dudettes.

“Oh, we finally identified that unfortunate woman,” said Alec as they both got into her car and she turned the AC up high.

“You did? And? Was it Vicky Gardner?”

“Nah. Joanne Whittler, a fitness instructor from Hampton Keys. Went missing three days ago.”

“No idea how she got here?”

“Not yet. It’s up to the Hampton Keys police now.”

“Good,” said Charlene, and gave her man a warm smile. “I’m cooking for you tonight. Anything you like.”

“Anything?” he said, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree.

She laughed. If there was anything she knew about her boyfriend it was that he loved to eat. “Anything at all.”

“How about a light meal and then straight to bed?” he suggested, his eyes dancing playfully.

“How about no food and straight to bed?” she countered.

“Deal,” he said, and put on his seatbelt quick as a flash. And then she was driving home, butterflies dancing in her belly.

Chapter 34

That evening found me staring at the little inflatable pool. I’m the kind of cat who never says no to a challenge. Or let me rephrase that. I’m the kind of cat who rarely says no to a challenge, and the challenge of these swimming lessons was really bugging me.

Last night Fifi had saved my life, but now I vowed to learn how to swim without the assistance of a small Yorkshire Terrier. I mean, how humiliating would it be if word got out that a dog had saved me, a cat, from certain death? It didn’t bear thinking about.

The inflatable pool was still full of water, and before I could change my mind, I made the great leap into the middle of the pool, planning to make it back to shore by inflatable.

Only once I was standing up to my neck in that pretty cold water, suddenly that familiar fear gripped me, and I couldn’t move an inch.

“Max?” asked Dooley, who’d ambled up to see what I was up to. “What are you doing?”

“I… thought it would be a good idea to learn how to swim,” I said, realizing as I said it that my big plan was fraught with a measure of rashness I probably should have considered before I leapt in.

“But you can’t swim, Max,” Dooley pointed out. “And now you’re stuck… again.”

“Yes, I know that, Dooley,” I said, panic making me irritable. “So how do I get back?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“Maybe ask Odelia?”

“She and Chase just left. They went out for a pizza.”

“Gran?”

“I don’t think she’s home.”

“Marge or Tex?”

“At the library. Marge asked Tex to help her put up some new decorations for the children’s book section. She said the new theme is sea, seashells and fishes.”

“How appropriate,” I murmured, and realized I’d put myself in a bit of a situation. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until one of them gets home,” I said. Though already I was shivering. You would think that a inflatable pool in the middle of summer would be nice and warm, but Chase had only refilled it hours before, when the sun was already going down, and the water was pretty chilly.

“I know what I’ll do,” said Dooley. “I’ll ask Fifi to come. She told me just before how she helped you last night, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to do it again.”

“No, wait!” I said, but too late, as Dooley was already hopping away in search of Fifi.

To be saved by a dog, two nights in a row, was simply too much. Word would get out, and on top of my furry mishap, this was going to turn me into the local laughingstock. My name would soon be a byword for ridicule and mockery to such an extent I’d have to spend the rest of my days stuck at home.

“Oh, no,” I groaned as I longingly cast anxious looks at the shoreline. You’ll tell me I should simply have made the jump, the same way I’d jumped in, and I’ll tell you that a waterlogged body is much harder to propel upwards and away than a dry one. Also, the water simply sucks you in, and prevents you from making the kinds of powerful jumps cats usually have no issue with.

Struck down by the laws of physics—and water. Just my rotten luck.

“In trouble again, Max?” suddenly Brutus’s voice sounded from the hedge. And as the big cat came walking up, I expected to see him sneering, or hear him make searing comments designed to cut and wound. But instead his expression was soft and solicitous. And as Harriet followed in his wake, she, too, looked worried.

“How can we help, Max?” she asked immediately.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want to move, as I’m going to fall on this slippery floor.”

“Can’t you dig in your claws and make your way over here?” Brutus suggested.

It was an idea I’d oddly enough never considered before, so I now applied it: I simply dug my claws in nice and deep, and started making my way over. It meant ripping up Chase’s pool again, but that couldn’t be helped. And I was making good progress when suddenly I had the misfortune to trip and fall, and I went under!

When I emerged again, gulping for air, I faintly heard Brutus and Harriet’s cries. But then I went under again, my legs having tired from standing for so long, and my muscles stiff from the cold. And as I went under for the third time, suddenly I felt myself coming up for air again, only I wasn’t even making an effort!

And then I noticed it wasn’t me coming up—it was the water level going down!

And as I glanced over, I saw both Brutus and Harriet at the edge of the pool, gleaming claws out, having slashed the puffed-up edge of Chase’s nice inflatable pool to smithereens.

Only strips of colorful plastic remained, all the water having drained from the pool.

“Come on, Max,” said Harriet as she joined me. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Yeah, Max,” Brutus said, as he placed a paw under my elbow and hoisted me up with some effort. “Let’s get you to dry land.”

And together they managed to drag me from the now empty pool.

“I can… walk, you guys,” I muttered, much weakened. “You… don’t have to… help… me…”

I must have passed out, then, for when I came to, I thought I was in heaven, as I only saw disembodied heads floating over me: Harriet was there, and Brutus, but also Dooley, and Fifi, and even Rufus, the big sheepdog belonging to the Trappers.

“Max!” Dooley cried. “You’re not dead!”

“No, I guess not,” I said as I tried to sit up.

“Oh, Max,” he said, jumping on top of me and pressing me down again. “I thought you were dead for sure!”

“No, not dead,” I said, and spat out some water.

“Give him some space, Dooley,” said Brutus.

“Yeah, gimme some space… Dooley,” I murmured, and shook my head. I felt a little weak, but otherwise fine.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, Max,” said Dooley, a tightness to his voice that betrayed his anxiety. “Don’t you ever die on me again.”

“I didn’t… die,” I said. “I just… took a little catnap.”

They all laughed at that, and seemed glad that I was fine.

“I think you established one thing, Max,” said Rufus. “Cats and bodies of water, large or small, don’t mix.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” I said, and spat out some more water. I had a feeling my belly was full of the stuff. I then glanced up at Harriet and Brutus’s beaming faces. “Thanks for saving my life, you guys.”

“That’s all right, Max,” said Brutus. “That’s what friends are for.”

“If you ever pull a stunt like that again, though,” said Harriet, “I’ll kill you, all right?”

“Fair enough,” I said with a weak smile.

And as we all sat there, rejoicing in the happy end, suddenly a loud scream rent the air. We all looked up in alarm, and saw that the scream had emanated from Chase, who must have arrived home. He was looking down at his inflatable pool, one side having been reduced to a mere bundle of ripped-up strips of plastic.

“My pool!” he cried. “M-my poor pool!”

Oops…

“Odeliaaaa!” he bellowed. “Your grandma took revenge—she destroyed my pool!”

Chapter 35

I was relaxing on the couch, recovering from my harrowing adventure in the inflatable pool, when the mail slot clattered, a sure sign a letter had been delivered. And since it was late at night at that point, and I’d recently learned from Odelia that the postal services rarely if ever deliver letters at such an ungodly hour, I immediately pricked up my ears.

I’m not one of those pets that lay in wait for the mailman or mailwoman to arrive, hoping to bite their ankles or generally cause grievous bodily harm—that’s dogs, not cats. But after the previous message about a ‘real sleuth’ possessing a ‘sweet tooth’ I’d secretly been hoping this mystery letter deliverer would keep up the good work and deliver another sample of his or her rhyming prowess.

So I ambled into the hallway and lo and behold: another pristinely white letter lay on the doormat, right across the words, ‘Welcome Home!’

Odelia and Chase had already gone to bed, and Dooley was sleeping soundly, so it was just me and the letter, and for a few moments we faced off. Then I could no longer curb my curiosity and pounced on the thing: I neatly sliced it open with a single nail and expertly extracted the missive that was concealed inside.

And as I placed it on the floor, I frowned when I scanned its contents.

‘Follow the herder,’ the epistle read.

“Follow the herder,” I murmured. “Shouldn’t it be ‘Follow the herd?’”

But then I suddenly remembered how this whole adventure had begun: with that little figurine of the goatherder. Could it be that our unknown letter writer was referring to that little gem that Harriet had so expertly destroyed with a single flick of her tail?

I sat back on my haunches and gave myself up to thought for a few moments. As far as I could tell Marge had all but forgotten about the figurine, and the pieces had probably been swept into the dustbin by now. Or had they? I remembered she’d carefully tried to glue it back together, with Tex sabotaging her efforts by accidentally demolishing the thing. So maybe it was time to pay some closer attention to that infamous goatherd once more? At least according to our anonymous and highly mysterious letter writer, it just might hold the solution to the mystery of the disappearance of Vicky Gardner…

I briefly considered picking up the letter between my teeth and taking it upstairs to bring to Odelia’s attention, but then decided against it.

First of all, I’m not a dog, so unless I have to, I prefer not to pick up assorted items (for instance newspapers and slippers) and deliver them to my master, and secondly: once Odelia is fast asleep not even a cannon-shot has the power to wake her up.

So I simply decided to leave the letter where it lay, and where Odelia would no doubt find it in the morning, to do with as she saw fit.

I wandered back into the living room, and saw that my friend was awake and yawning widely.

“Dooley, I suddenly feel a certain need.”

“A need for speed?” he suggested.

“Not exactly,” I said. “But I do feel the need to go out and join cat choir.”

“But I thought you said you weren’t going to show your face there again until all of your fur had grown back?”

“I know what I said, but it has grown back a little bit already, and besides, I miss our friends and I’m sure they won’t laugh at me, right?”

Dooley wasn’t as relaxed about my prospects of being laughed at as me, but he, too, said he missed socializing with our friends, so moments later saw two cats flit through the pet flap—well, flit perhaps isn’t the right word for a cat weighing in at twenty pounds moving through an opening designed for a much slimmer cat, but please bear with me.

So Dooley flitted through the pet flap, I wormed my way through, and then we were zipping along the sidewalk, and soon swept into the park to join our friends for cat choir.

Harriet and Brutus were already there, of course, and so was Kingman, holding court near the jungle gym as usual. Shanille, Father Reilly’s cat and also cat choir’s conductor, was frowning before herself, probably deciding what musical pieces she was going to teach us this time, and plenty of other friends were milling about shooting the breeze.

As you may have guessed by now cat choir is basically just an excuse for us cats to get together of an evening and socialize.

“Max! What happened to you!” Buster cried when he caught sight of me.

“I had a close shave with danger,” I quipped, having decided to make light of my predicament.

“More like a close shave with a razor blade,” said Buster, who is intimately familiar with all things sharp. He inspected my midsection more closely. “Pretty rough work,” he said. “At a glance I’d say they used a blunt blade. Definitely not Fido’s work. I’d recognize his signature style anywhere. So where did you go?”

“Max didn’t go the hairdresser’s,” said Dooley. “He got stuck in a window and was shoved through by an angry homeowner who doesn’t like cats.”

“Oh,” said Buster, taken aback by this, then made a face. “Brrr. You were lucky to make it out of there alive, Max. Those cat haters can be brutal when allowed to go unchecked.”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“So who was this cat butcher?”

“Quintin Gardner,” I said. “We were trying to figure out what happened to his wife Vicky, who disappeared twenty years ago.”

“Oh, I remember hearing the story,” said Buster, nodding. “Didn’t she go out for a pack of cigarettes one night and never came back?”

“You’re probably thinking of someone else,” I said.

“Right, right,” said Buster vaguely, then patted my bare belly. “Next time use some aftershave, Max. Takes the edge off.” And with these words, straight from an expert’s lips, he strolled off.

I glanced down at my belly, and saw that Buster was right: there was still a certain measure of razor burn, or, to be more exact, the scratch marks where I’d been shoved through that window. I sighed. The last couple of days had been really tough: I’d been booted through a window, almost drowned—thrice—been shat on by a crazy pigeon, and kicked out of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory by its managing director or CEO.

“I hope Odelia disinfected those wounds, Max,” said Dooley now. “Wounds like that can get infected, and you can get sepsis and die.” He studied me carefully. “How are you feeling? Any headache or nausea? Dizziness? Feeling faint?”

“None of the above, Dooley,” I said with a laugh. “In fact I feel fine.”

“Mh,” he said dubiously, clearly not inclined to take my word for it. “I think you should go and see Vena,” he said finally.

“Vena!”

“You’ve been through a lot. You may have residual trauma. Even brain damage, for all we know. Just to be on the safe side Vena will have to do a CAT scan and make sure.”

“I’m not going to see Vena and I’m not having a CAT scan, Dooley. I promise you that I feel perfectly fine.”

“Mh,” he repeated, then placed his paw against my forehead. “You’re running a fever, Max,” he determined. “If I were you—”

“Look, I’m fine, buddy,” I said, shaking off his probing paw. “I promise you.” I glanced around and caught Brutus’s eye. He was looking at me intently, and now wandered over.

“How are you feeling, Max?” he asked solicitously.

“I’m fine,” I said.

His gaze dropped down to my midsection, only this time, instead of making fun of my sixteen-pack, he shook his head. “I don’t like the look of you, Max. Are you sure you’re fine? Sometimes these traumatic experiences tend to linger, and make their full impact felt much, much later. And I’m not just talking about the door incident—you practically drowned tonight, buddy.”

He placed a paw against my brow, earning himself a nod from Dooley.

I closed my eyes. This was starting to get a little ridiculous.

“You’re hot,” said Brutus. “I don’t like it, Max. I think you should go and see Vena.”

“I’m not going to see Vena!” I cried. “I’m fine, I’m telling you—fine!”

“Delirium,” said Dooley with a knowing nod. “I see it in trauma patients all the time.”

“How would you know anything about trauma patients!” I said, quickly losing my customary equanimity.

“You forget I’m an expert, Max,” said Dooley.

“Yeah, Dooley watches General Hospital,” Brutus chimed in. “He knows his stuff.”

Dooley was glancing around. “I just wish cats carried mobile phones. We really should call 911. Get you to a hospital.”

“I don’t want to go to a hospital! I don’t need to go to a hospital! I’m fine, I’m telling you—I feel just great!”

Harriet had now joined us, and was giving me the kind of look one gives a terminal patient who’s about to expire. And then she placed a paw to my brow. “A little hot,” she determined. “You’re running a fever, Max.”

“I am not running a fever!” I cried. “If I were running a fever would I do this?” And I performed a little jig in place, kicking up my paws and generally making a spectacle of myself. “Or this?” And I actually did a high jump combined with a high kick—Jackie Chan style—landing on my tush as I did. “Ouch,” I murmured.

More cats had gathered around to watch my little show, and all of them were murmuring words of concern about my health and well-being. The words ‘Vena’ and ‘death wish’ hummed through the air, and I was starting to feel more and more that I probably shouldn’t have come to cat choir after all.

Cats, in case you didn’t know, can be drama queens—even the males of the species—and it was clear to me now that they were loving this piece of real-life drama playing out right in front of their eyes. And the more I tried to convince them I was fine, the more they thought I was on the verge of death.

“Let’s take you home, Max,” said Dooley, gently placing his paw on my arm, like one would a recalcitrant patient in a mental hospital. “Nice and easy now. That’s it.”

“Get well soon, Max,” a voice rang out, and soon more cries of “Please don’t die, Max,” and “Hang in there, buddy,” echoed through the air.

And when Shanille came up to me, placed a paw on my shoulder, gave me a sad look, and said, “If you want cat choir to sing at your memorial service, Max, you’ve got it. And I’ll be sure to give you those last rites whenever you feel ready.” And then she clapped Harriet on the arm. “And Harriet here will sing a nice requiem. Won’t you, darling?”

“Absolutely,” said Harriet solemnly. “And Brutus can deliver the eulogy.”

And then they both gave me such a sad look that it kinda broke my spirit. It’s very hard to convince people you’re not dying when they’re all convinced that you are.

So I allowed Dooley to lead me away, and soon the hubbub of cat choir died away and it was just the two of us, walking side by side.

“Do you really think I’m dying, Dooley?” I finally asked.

“Try to stay positive, Max,” he said in response. “And trust Vena. She’s our last hope.”

“But—”

“Shush, Max. You need to save your strength.”

And so we walked on, and as we approached Harrington Street, all of a sudden there was a loud screeching sound overhead, and the next moment Moses had materialized out of the blue—or I should probably say the black, as it was a dark night—and attacked!

“Please don’t!” Dooley cried. “My friend here is sick and dying!”

“Good!” Moses yelled and came rocketing down at us at break-neck speed.

So we did what we usually do when large birds attack us from the sky: we ran for cover.

Lucky for us there were some hedgerows nearby, so we ducked underneath them, neatly thwarting Moses’s line of attack.

“Get out of there, you pussies!” the bird yelled. “Get out here where I can get you!”

“Fat chance!” I yelled back.

“Go away!” said Dooley. “I need to get my friend to a doctor. He’s dying, I tell you!”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week!” said Moses, and did something I hadn’t expected: he landed right in front of us, and came trotting up to where we were hiding.

And then he started picking at us with his big sharp beak!

“Ouch!” I said when he got me in the shoulder.

“You can’t do that!” said Dooley. “You can’t attack a dying cat!”

“Watch me,” said Moses, and gave me another peck on the head.

“Leave me alone!” I wailed, and suddenly remembered that I was actually a cat, and Moses was a bird, and that usually cats attack birds, not the other way around.

So I got out my claws and when next Moses lunged at me, I swiped at him and hit him on the beak!

“Hey, you can’t do that, cat!” he said. “No fair!”

“Be careful, Max!” said Dooley. “Don’t overexert yourself!”

But I suddenly didn’t feel weak at all. And instead of cowering underneath that hedge like a coward, I decided to fight back. The events of the past couple of days suddenly made me go a little berserk, and so I walked up to the bird, who must have seen that I meant business, and he actually reeled back!

“Come here, you big bird bully,” I growled. “Let me give you a lesson in humility.”

“Too late, Frank,” said Moses. “You ate my mother—you ate my brother—you ate my father—now you’re going to have to deal with me!” And he attacked!

“Wait—what did you just call me?”

“By your name, Frank,” said Moses. “Now taste my vengeance!”

“But… my name is Max,” I said. “Not Frank.”

The bird halted in his tracks. “What are you talking about? You’re Frank. I’d recognize that chubby orange form anywhere.”

“For your information, I’m not orange, I’m blorange,” I said. “And I’m not chubby, I’m big-boned. And my name is Max, not Frank.”

“Huh,” said the bird, sinking down on its tush from sheer bewilderment. “So you’re not the fat cat who likes to climb trees and attack birds near Harrington Street 58?”

“No, I’m the big-boned cat who likes to lie around the backyard of Harrington Street 44,” I said. “Though I think I know this Frank you’re referring to. He’s a bit of a rogue element, isn’t he? Very tough on birds.”

“You can say that again. He ate my mother, ate my brother, ate my father, and he was about to eat me when I decided to fight back!”

“Well, you fought back against the wrong cat,” I pointed out.

The bird cocked his head. “Oops,” he muttered. “Look, cat. I, um, I’m sorry for the nuisance. Um…” He gave me a sheepish look. “Anything I can do it make it up to you?”

I thought for a moment, then smiled. “Actually, there is something. Have you been hanging around here long?”

“All night,” he said. “Waiting for you to show your chubby—your big-boned face.”

“Did you happen to see a person deliver a letter to number 44 about two hours ago?”

“Oh, sure,” said the bird. “I was wondering already why you’d suddenly moved from number 58 to number 44, but then figured you were trying to escape my vengeance.”

“Can you describe that person to me?”

And when Moses gave me the description, a few pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

Chapter 36

“This is boring,” said Scarlett with a yawn.

“Stakeouts are always boring,” said Vesta as she mimicked the yawn and added some yawnage of her own.

Both women were sitting in Vesta’s daughter’s little red Peugeot and watching the house of Quintin Gardner’s sister. Vesta had a hunch that the woman was somehow involved in all of this, and wanted to find out more about her.

So far she’d found out zilch, as there had been no movement in or outside the house all night.

“You see why we need a new car?” said Vesta. “A decent stakeout needs a nice set of wheels. Like a van, maybe. Then at least you can conduct your stakeout in comfort.”

“A stakeout in style,” chimed in Scarlett.

“Sure. You can have dinner in your van while your partner keeps watch, or even a nap in the back of the van. And no one will ever be the wiser, as they’ll simply think it’s a van belonging to the gas company, or whatever.”

“What we should do is bug that house,” said Scarlett, gesturing with her chin to Marcia Gardner’s brownstone. “We should break in, hang those little cameras everywhere, and then we can watch the screens in our van, like they do in the movies.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be something?” said Vesta with a grin. “Now that would be the kind of watch I always wanted to be a part of.”

“Me, too. A watch to watch out for.”

“Or we could always send in the cats,” said Vesta. “They could be our eyes and ears.”

“Why didn’t your cats join us tonight?”

“Ah, politics,” said Vesta with a wave of the hand. “They’re mostly loyal to Odelia, and since Chase declared war on the watch, they were obviously forced to take sides, and since I didn’t want to make the situation any harder for them, I decided not to bother.”

“Your cats are phenomenal,” said Scarlett as she flipped down the visor and checked her look in the mirror. “They’re the best little detectives I’ve ever seen. A force to be reckoned with.”

“Down!” suddenly said Vesta. “Here she comes!”

The door to the brownstone had opened and Marcia Gardner had appeared.

She was wearing a trench coat and sunglasses, even though it was not the shank of the afternoon—more like the middle of the night.

“Where is she going, I wonder,” Scarlett whispered, as if afraid Marcia would hear her, even though they were parked across the street, and well out of earshot.

“No idea, but I’m on her like a cockroach on a tasty meatball,” said Vesta, turning the ignition and getting ready to rock and roll.

Marcia had gotten into her car and now took off, immediately followed by Vesta, who had to perform a U-turn and did so by clipping a couple of garbage bins, sending them tumbling down the road.

“Careful!” said Scarlett.

“I know what I’m doing,” hissed Vesta, almost hitting a tree.

“Keep your distance—she’ll make us!”

“I am keeping my distance!”

She was practically on the woman’s tail fender, almost rear-ending her.

“Where did you learn how to drive?”

“For your information I was self-taught.”

“And it shows. Watch it—you’re going to hit her!”

“Do you want to drive, wise-ass?”

“I think I’d probably do a better job than you, Steve McQueen.”

“She’s getting away!” said Vesta, as Marcia was increasing her lead by two whole inches.

“Oh, will you relax already? You must be the worst car chaser in the history of car chasing.”

Marcia took a corner and so did Vesta, clipping a couple more garbage cans and sending them skipping across the intersection.

Scarlett closed her eyes. “Tell me when it’s over, will you? I can’t watch this.”

But Vesta, who didn’t want to get caught any more than Scarlett, eased up on the accelerator and soon was following the other woman at a more sedate pace, through the quiet streets of Hampton Cove, and suddenly she said, “I know where she’s going!”

Scarlett opened her eyes again. “The cops? To report she’s being followed by a crazy old lady?”

“Who are you calling old, you dinosaur?”

“So where is she going, smart-ass?”

“Her brother’s house!” And lo and behold: Marcia pulled her car to a stop right in front of Quintin Gardner’s house and soon was getting out, glancing left and right as she did, then crossing the street.

Vesta, who’d had the sense to park far enough so as not to be conspicuous, said, “Let’s go!”

“Let’s go where?!”

“Let’s go snoop!”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” muttered Scarlett, and both women got out and hurried over to the house of their target, keeping low and hunched over like they’d seen a million times in cop shows and the movies.

“What are you going to do? Ring the bell and ask what the hell she’s doing there?”

“Don’t be silly. We’re going to do this the old-fashioned way: we’re going to put our ears to the window and eavesdrop!”

And as she tripped up to the house, Scarlett saw what her friend meant: they could conveniently hide out in front of the house, and peek in through the window.

Marcia had disappeared inside, and the lights had come on in one of the front rooms, where presumably brother and sister were now gathered for their midnight meeting.

Both women emerged from the bushes, synchronized like a pair of Esther Williamses rising from the pool, and glanced in through the window.

And sure enough: inside they could see Quintin Gardner, his back to them, and Marcia Gardner, who was pacing the floor while she talked a mile a minute.

“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Scarlett lamented.

“We should have those listening devices,” said Vesta. “I think they sell them online. Like suction cups. You put them against the window and you can hear everything as if you’re in the room.”

She put her ear to the window, pretending for a moment it was just such a suction cup, and listened intently, then shook her head. “Nah. I got nothing.”

Scarlett now attempted the same but likewise had to admit defeat. “Double glazing,” she said. “Whoever invented double glazing must have been a moron.”

And as she raised her eyes to the glass once more, suddenly she saw that Marcia was staring straight at her!

She immediately ducked down, but too late. Moments later the window was yanked open and Marcia appeared. “Hey, you!” she said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Walking my dog?” Scarlett tried, and glanced down at her friend, who gave Marcia a sheepish grin.

Chapter 37

Alec Lip, who’d been sleeping peacefully and spooning with his one true love, was rudely awakened from the wonderful dream he’d been having by an insistent ringtone.

“What the…” he muttered, a little disoriented as he groped for his phone.

“Who is it?” asked Charlene next to him.

“No idea,” he murmured as he grabbed the phone and looked. Then, cursing under his breath, he picked up. “Dolores? You know what time it is?”

“Oh, I know what time it is, Chief, but does your mother know?”

The Chief frowned. Dolores’s words vaguely reminded him of a song he’d once heard, then he said, “What are you talking about?”

“Your mother was just arrested, Chief. So I figured I’d better give you a call.”

He closed his eyes again. “Oh, God.”

“No, still Dolores,” said Dolores with a hoarse chuckle. “And next time Vesta decides to go snooping around in the middle of the night I’m just going to tell the duty officer to lock her up and throw away the key. This is the second night in a row, Chief. What is she playing at?”

Alec knew exactly what his mother was playing. Neighborhood watch. Though now it looked as if she was playing midnight watch instead. “Where?” he asked curtly.

“Quintin Gardner’s place. You want the address?”

“I know where it is,” he grunted. “Be there in five.”

“Your mother again?” asked Charlene, who’d heard snatches of the conversation, as Dolores was just about the loudest dispatcher on record, especially when she was obliged to do the night shift, which she hated and which made her even crankier than usual.

He nodded and swung his feet from the bed, then rubbed his eyes.

“Want me to come?”

“No, you go back to sleep, honey. It’s my mother—my burden to carry.”

Charlene smiled and placed a comforting hand on his back. “I’m sorry. She is a handful, isn’t she?”

“A handful? More like a truckful.”

When he arrived at the scene, it was almost as if he was experiencing déjà-vu from the night before: there they were, Vesta and Scarlett, seated in the back of the squad car, the irate homeowner who’d called the cops arguing loudly with the arresting officer.

And when he arrived, of course Quintin Gardner turned to him to repeat his lament.

“These two were sneaking around my house,” said Mr. Gardner, pointing to the two senior citizens. “And looking in through my window, spying on me and my sister. I hope you’ll arrest them and throw them in jail, Chief.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said the Chief, who wasn’t in the mood for community policing. “Go back to bed, sir. I’ll take care of this.”

“I hope you do, Chief. I mean, I’m the one who pays your wages with my taxes, after all, so I expect a little service in return.”

The Chief halted in his tracks and turned back to the candy tycoon. “What did you just say, sir?”

If there was one thing he hated it was people treating him like their servant.

“I said that with the amount of taxes I pay I expect you to make sure this kind of thing doesn’t happen.”

He narrowed his eyes at the man. “As it happens, sir, Mrs. Muffin over there, and Miss Canyon, were working under my instructions. They’re members of the neighborhood watch, and as such tasked with keeping the peace. So are you sure that what you were doing was entirely on the up and up? Sir?”

“Why, of course,” said Mr. Gardner, taken aback by all this backtalk.

“What were you and your sister doing in the middle of the night, if I may ask, sir?”

“Just… discussing some private matters.”

Alec glanced over to his mother and her friend, and thought there was probably more to this case than met the eye. He then turned back to the factory owner and stabbed a finger in the man’s chest. “My instinct tells me something is going on here, sir. And I will tell you right now that I’m not going to rest until I find out what it is. Good night, sir.”

And with these words he left the man staring after him, clearly aghast at the gall of this civil servant to use this tone with him.

Alec then walked up to his mother, planted his hands on his hips and said, “Now what the hell are you playing at, Ma? And don’t give me this watch crap again,” he added.

Chapter 38

“Follow the herder,” said Odelia with a frown as she read from the letter that had been dropped in her mailbox the night before.

“And who did you say posted that letter?” asked her mother as she poured more coffee for all those present.

No official invitations had gone out, but it had clearly been everyone’s opinion that a family meeting was in order, so everyone had gathered in Odelia’s mom and dad’s backyard for a family breakfast.

First Odelia had dropped by, holding up the letter, followed by Chase, once the latter had finished his morning gymnastics routine. Gran had been there of course, still grumpy after having been arrested the night before while on a stakeout at Quintin Gardner’s house, and then Uncle Alec and Charlene had also come round, eager to discuss that exact stakeout with the rest of the family.

So now they were all seated around the garden table that usually served as the backdrop for Dad’s famous barbecues, enjoying breakfast and discussing the state of affairs.

“According to… a witness,” said Odelia with a quick glance in Charlene’s direction, “it was that security guard who works for Bobby Garibaldi, of all people. His name is Bruno.”

“What witness was this?” asked Charlene as she took a sip of coffee.

Odelia glanced in the direction of her mother. Charlene was now the only person around the table who wasn’t aware of their big secret: that the women in the Poole family had the unique ability to be able to communicate with their cats.

“That’s not important,” said Mom, with an airy wave. “What’s important is this letter, and what it means.”

“You could always go and talk to the guy,” Chase suggested. “And ask him straight out what he’s playing at.”

“He’ll probably deny the whole thing, though,” said Uncle Alec.

“Follow the herders,” Gran mused. “Usually it’s follow the herd, right? It has got to have something to do with that goatherd you smashed,” she added, addressing Dad.

“I didn’t smash that thing,” said Dad, indignant. “Your cats did.”

“My cats did no such thing,” said Gran snippily.

“What were you doing snooping around Mr. Gardner’s house last night, Gran?” asked Odelia, curious.

“For the umpteenth time, I wasn’t snooping,” said Gran. “I was on a stakeout with Scarlett.”

“Staking out who?” asked Charlene.

“Marcia Gardner. I got this hunch she’s involved in this whole thing somehow, so—”

“Didn’t Chase specifically tell you that you were to leave the Gardner family alone from now on?” asked Uncle Alec.

Gran shrugged. “If I have to listen to your neighborhood-watch-hating deputy every time he gets a bee in his bonnet…”

“I don’t hate the watch, Grandma,” said Chase, causing the old lady’s face to pucker up even more.

“Look, the only reason I went on that stakeout was to show you once and for all that the watch is a force to be reckoned with. Not just a bunch of old kooks messing around.”

“I never said—”

“The girl that was found—there’s absolutely no connection to the Gardners?” asked Charlene, who was looking very pretty this morning, Odelia thought, with her curly blond tresses and a prim blush on her cheeks.

She was happy to see that the couple had resolved their differences and were back together again.

“I interviewed the manager of that fitness club yesterday,” said Uncle Alec, applying a thick layer of butter to his bagel, “and showed him pictures of the entire Gardner family. No dice. And none of the Gardners are members at the club either. I also talked to the girl’s mother, and here is where it gets interesting.” He shifted in his chair. “She claims that her daughter supplemented her income by giving private lessons to select clients. Unfortunately she didn’t know who these clients were—nothing was official.”

“What I find curious is what Marcia Gardner was doing at her brother’s house in the middle of the night,” said Chase.

“Probably discussing this succession business we’ve been hearing so much about,” said Uncle Alec.

“What did you do with that goatherd, Mom?” asked Odelia now.

“I didn’t throw it away if that’s what you think,” said Mom. “It’s in your father’s old office, waiting for him to glue it back together.” She gave her husband a pointed look, causing the latter to slightly wilt.

“I was going to do it this weekend,” he murmured.

“So the security guard for Garibo Enterprises keeps sending you mysterious letters,” said Charlene, summing things up, “the Gardners are locked in a succession battle, a girl was found dead who bears a striking resemblance to a woman who went missing twenty years ago… I really can’t make heads nor tails of this whole business.”

“All I know is that a murder was committed, and I’m going to find out who did it,” said Uncle Alec. “All the rest… is just noise as far as I’m concerned. Stuff designed to distract us.”

But this noise, Odelia thought, was what made the whole thing so fascinating—and so difficult to figure out.

She glanced down at her cats, who were lazily lounging underneath her chair.

“Max,” she whispered when Charlene wasn’t looking, “how would you feel about an assignment?”

“Sure,” said the large blorange cat. “What do you want me to do?”

She quickly glanced in Charlene’s direction, but the Mayor was too busy talking to Uncle Alec, giving her opinion on the case.

“I want to pay another visit to Bobby Garibaldi—this time without subterfuge. And I want you and Dooley to join me.”

“Sure thing,” said Max, and she tickled his fuzzy neck in gratitude.

She rejoined the conversation, and discovered that the atmosphere had turned a little acrimonious.

“You disparaged my watch!” Gran was saying, pointing an accusatory finger at Chase.

“I did no such thing!” said Chase.

“I said it was war, and I meant it. Which is why Scarlett and I will do whatever it takes to find Vicky Gardner, and prove to you once and for all that the watch can run rings around your police department. Rings, I tell you!”

Chase let out a curt bark of laughter and shook his head.

“And now he’s laughing in my face!” said Gran, throwing up her arms.

“I think Chase is simply relieved that you’re not actually waging war against him, Gran,” said Odelia.

“What do you mean?” asked the old lady with a frown.

“When you said it was war, he thought you might sneak into our bedroom at night and murder him in his bed.”

Now it was Gran’s turn to laugh an incredulous laugh. “Me? Murder your fiancé? Are you nuts? I’m the most peace-loving woman on the planet. I abhor violence. I detest it. I’m the kindest, sweetest soul on the face of the earth!”

Now they were all laughing, much to Gran’s indignation. Even Max and Dooley were giggling, and Brutus and Harriet, who’d been sleeping under Gran’s chair.

“Ma, you’re a sweetheart, don’t get me wrong,” said Uncle Alec, “but peace-loving and non-violent? I don’t think so.”

“This is too much,” said Gran, and got up and threw down her napkin. She darted angry glances at all those present. “You mark my words—my watch is going to solve this case. And you’ll all eat crow!”

And then she was off.

“Just promise me you won’t get yourself arrested again!” Uncle Alec yelled after her.

“Oh, go to hell!” Gran yelled back.

And then the most peace-loving woman on the planet slammed the screen door—hard.

Chapter 39

Bobby Garibaldi lived in a pretty sweet condo in a new apartment complex near his factory. As Odelia had correctly surmised he was still home when we rang his bell at ten o’clock on the dot. And when he appeared in the door, he was toweling his hair, only dressed in aquamarine boxers with a pink elephant motif.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, not sounding overjoyed. “Anastasia Kuranova, was it?”

“My apologies again for the ruse, Mr. Garibaldi,” said Odelia as she walked into the apartment, Dooley and I right on her heel. “It’s just that someone told us that you don’t talk to reporters or cops, so we had to find some other way of approaching you.”

“Who told you I don’t talk to reporters?” he asked with a frown as he walked up the stairs, presumably to put on some more clothes.

“One of your security guards,” said Odelia.

“I talk to reporters all the time,” Garibaldi called down from the landing, then disappeared for a moment, before returning, this time wearing a nice powder-blue shirt that he was buttoning up. “As the CEO of a candy factory, I give press conferences. I give interviews. I even organize press junkets every time we launch a new product.”

“The story was that you hate reporters for the stories they wrote about your aunt,” Odelia explained. “And the police because you accuse them of botching the investigation.”

Garibaldi was finally dressed, and sat down in a small salon near the window, which offered a nice view at the courtyard of the apartment complex, complete with rock garden and landscaped greenery. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t like the way you people wrote about my aunt. That she’d run off with my uncle’s money and some lover and had disappeared to Mexico or the Bahamas or wherever. There was never any proof of that. And the police seemed to believe the same lies, so…” He shrugged. “But I was a cocky kid back then, and as far as I’m concerned it’s all water under the bridge now.”

“What do you think happened to your aunt?” asked Odelia, taking out her notebook and a pencil.

Garibaldi placed his hands behind his still wet head. “I think she was kidnapped and murdered. Or maybe sold into slavery by human traffickers. My aunt was a very beautiful woman, only a couple years older than I was at the time, and I can see how she would have attracted the attention of some very wrong people.” He got up swiftly and walked over to a cabinet adorned with knickknacks and picture frames and picked one up, then carried it over to Odelia and handed it to her. “This was taken three months before she disappeared.”

I glanced up at the portrait, and had to admit that Bobby Garibaldi had a point: his aunt had indeed been a very attractive woman.

“Do you think she’s still alive?” asked Odelia.

“I doubt it,” said the man, placing the picture on the coffee table, where also a very large coffee table book lay devoted to ‘Candy through the ages.’ “If she were still alive, she would probably have been found by now.”

“Your uncle… he really suffered, didn’t he?”

“He still does. I don’t think he ever got over it. He hired a bunch of private detectives over the years, but they all came up empty-handed. I think he pretty much gave up.”

“Do you and him… get along?”

Bobby Garibaldi smiled. “What are you implying, Miss Poole?”

“There’s rumors of a succession war.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard those rumors myself. But I can assure you that we are a very united family, and that the succession war, as you call it, has been fought and dealt with years ago. I’m in charge of the company, and as soon as my uncle decides the time has come, he’ll step down as chairman, assign his shares to me, and then I’ll be fully in control.”

Dooley had wandered off, and I followed him. He was looking up at that cabinet full of knickknacks, and gestured to one in particular. “That looks an awful lot like the figurine Harriet broke, doesn’t it, Max?”

I stared at the thing. In fact it didn’t just look like Marge’s goatherd. It was the exact same goatherd, only this one hadn’t been smashed to pieces. “I wonder where Garibaldi got it,” I said.

“And if there’s a message inside,” said Dooley, as if he’d read my mind.

We shared a glance, and then I was jumping up and swiping that goatherd from the cabinet. It hit the ground and smashed into pieces, and even as Garibaldi flew up out of his chair with a shouted, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing!” I’d already noticed that there was indeed some kind of writing inside. And when Garibaldi picked up the pieces, he saw it, too.

“What the…” he muttered, and studied the message. To read it completely, he had to break off another piece, but then he slowly read, “Help me—Vicky Gardner—October 11, 2000.” He looked up at Odelia. “I don’t understand.”

“Where did you get this figurine?” asked Odelia.

He paused for a moment, confusion written all over his features. “My… my mother gave it to me as a present.”

Chapter 40

“Don’t push!” Scarlett said.

“Then get a move on!” Vesta returned.

“It’s too tight!”

“No, it’s not. Lemme try.”

Scarlett wiggled, then Vesta gave her a final shove against her rear end and suddenly she was gone, having dropped down into the basement through the little window.

“See?” said Vesta. “I knew you could do it.”

“It’s filthy in here,” Scarlett’s voice came back. It sounded hollow. “So are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” said Vesta, as she lowered herself through the little window and moments later was jumping down into the basement, joining her friend and fellow watch member. She glanced around. It looked just like all basements: cement floor, cement walls, cement ceiling, a big heater in the corner, and that pervasive, musty smell.

“I hope there are no rats,” said Scarlett, as she studied one of her shoes. “I knew it. I’ve got a scuff mark.” She gave Vesta a dirty look. “You’re buying me a new pair, buddy.”

“Didn’t I tell you to wear sneakers?”

“Sneakers! Never in my life!”

As usual Scarlett was dressed very inappropriately for neighborhood watch duty: frayed Daisy Dukes, a crop top, and of course a pair of shiny red stilettos.

“So now what?” said Scarlett as she inspected the scuff mark.

Now we investigate,” said Vesta. “Which is what Chase should be doing, and my son, only they’re too busy with who knows what to conduct some real good old-fashioned police work.”

The basement consisted of several rooms. One was set up as a wine cellar, one was used as storage space, and one was some kind of atelier. And as Vesta took a closer look at a trestle table that was placed near the wall, she saw to her excitement that it was loaded with the same goatherd figurines Marge had discovered in her kitchen cupboard.

“Look, Scarlett!” she said, lifting one up for closer inspection. “Look at this!”

“Ugh. That is one ugly-ass thing,” said Scarlett.

“It’s the exact same one my daughter found!”

“So?”

“So it’s gotta mean something, right?”

“Sure,” said Scarlett doubtfully. She’d tripped over to a couch in the corner of the basement and was giving it a closer look, preparatory to taking a seat. “Thing is filthy,” she murmured, then let out a little squeak. “Vesta!”

“Yah?”

“There’s shackles here!”

“Shackles? What do you mean, shackles?”

“You know, shackles!”

Vesta went to take a closer look, and found that Scarlett was right: someone had installed a pair of shackles, bolted into the wall. “Like a medieval dungeon,” she said as she gave the things a good rattle.

“Now what did I tell you about staying away from me?” suddenly a voice called out behind them.

When Vesta looked up, she saw they’d been joined by Marcia Gardner, and the woman wasn’t looking very happy about this surprise visit.

“Vesta, she’s got a gun!” Scarlett hissed.

“Your powers of observation are excellent, Miss Canyon,” said Marcia, who was indeed holding a gun, and pointing it at her two intruders. She glanced over to the table with the figurines. “Why the sudden interest in my hobby, Mrs. Muffin?”

“Oh, no particular reason,” said Vesta. “I just happen to like this sort of thing. Otto Spiel, am I right?”

“Very good,” said Marcia. “You know your classics, Mrs. Muffin. I’m impressed. Now please join your friend on the sofa over there while I call the police. Again.”

“There’s a stack of magazines here,” suddenly Scarlett said, and picked one up.

“Don’t,” said Marcia, but too late.

“Pregnancy magazines,” said Scarlett. “Dating back twenty years.”

Both women stared at Marcia, whose face didn’t betray a single emotion.

“Twenty years ago you were, what, forty-something?” said Vesta. “So I’ll bet these aren’t yours. So could it be…”

Scarlett gave the shackles a little kick and they rattled ghoulishly.

Vesta’s frown deepened, as Marcia still watched them both with a stony-faced expression on her face, her phone in her hand, ready to call the police.

Something bubbled in Vesta’s brain, and then suddenly she got it and her face lit up. “You kidnapped your sister-in-law, didn’t you?”

“She was pregnant,” Scarlett gasped. “Vicky was pregnant and you kept her here, shackled to the wall like the man in the iron mask!”

Marcia smiled an icy smile, and put away her phone. “I see you’re a lot smarter than you look.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Vesta, stung to the quick.

“That means that you walked into the wrong house this morning. Now sit down!”

So Vesta and Scarlett sat down on the stuffy couch, and both coughed when a cloud of dust wafted up from the old fabric.

“This isn’t healthy,” said Scarlett. “Bad for the lungs.”

“You know what else is bad for the lungs?” asked Marcia as she took a step closer. “Gunshot wounds to the chest.”

“You’re not going to shoot us, are you?” said Vesta. “My son won’t like it.”

“Your son will never know what happened,” said Marcia, “and neither will anyone else.”

“Is that what happened with Vicky?” asked Vesta, figuring she’d better keep this looney-tunes talking until she figured out a plan to get out of there. “Did you end her?”

“Vicky ended herself,” said Marcia with a shrug. “When she decided to get pregnant and bump my son from the succession order by giving Quintin what he always wanted: an heir.”

“So that’s what this is all about?” asked Scarlett. “Money? How disappointing.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Canyon, but I’m not just talking about money, but about making sure that the Gardner family inheritance is kept in the right hands.”

“Your son’s,” said Vesta.

“Exactly. I’ve been grooming my boy since birth to follow in my brother’s footsteps. So when Quintin found himself a wife against all expectations I wasn’t worried because I knew my brother to be infertile. So imagine my surprise when Vicky announced she was pregnant, and made me promise not to tell my brother—she wanted it to be a surprise.”

“If your brother was infertile, then how did Vicky get pregnant?” asked Scarlett.

“What a dumb question,” said Vesta. “She two-timed the old boy, of course.”

“Actually she didn’t,” said Marcia. “Turns out Quintin had found a fertility clinic where they’d managed to snatch a few of his supposedly sedate swimmers and managed to put the little suckers to work.” She made a face. “Sordid business, if you ask me. But it worked, and Vicky ended up pregnant.”

“So your carefully crafted plans of succession suddenly fell through.”

Marcia nodded. “So you see, there was only one thing to do. One course of action to guarantee the future of Garibo Enterprises.”

“You kidnapped Vicky.”

“I invited her over for tea. She never even knew what happened. When she woke up in here, shackled to the wall, she asked me what was going on, the naive little bimbo.”

“So… you killed her?” asked Scarlett, gulping a little.

“I didn’t have to. I discovered she was willing to do whatever it took to regain her freedom, so I removed the shackles and fixed up the basement to make it more homey.”

Vesta looked around. The place didn’t look very homey to her.

A sudden noise had them all look up, and Vesta picked that moment to take a good grip on the figurine, then aim it straight at the woman’s head. It hit its mark beautifully, causing the other woman to utter a sharp cry of surprise, then drop to the floor.

Quick as a flash, both Vesta and Scarlett were on her, one wresting the gun from her hand, the other taking a seat on top of the woman.

The door to the basement suddenly burst open, and Alec came charging down, followed by Chase, and what looked like the entire Hampton Cove police department.

“Finally,” said Vesta, panting a little from the exertion. “What took you so long?”

Epilogue

“So the cats saved the day,” said Marge as she put a big bowl of potato salad on the table.

“No, the watch saved the day,” said her mother.

“But the cats found the solution.”

“No, the watch found the solution. The watch caught the killer.”

“More like the killer caught you,” said Uncle Alec with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, when are you going to admit that the watch beat you fair and square? We won, Alec, and the police lost!”

“I seem to remember it was us who came barging in to save your ass,” growled the Chief.

“My ass didn’t need saving! I’d already saved my own ass, thank you very much!”

“Are they going to argue like that all day, Max?” asked Dooley.

“All week, I imagine,” I said.

We were in the backyard of Tex and Marge’s house, where Tex was manning the grill, whipping up some prime beef, sausages, steaks and ribs for anyone with an appetite, which apparently was everyone present: Odelia and Chase, of course, Marge, Gran and Scarlett, Tex the grillmeister himself, and Uncle Alec and Charlene.

We cats, meanwhile, patiently waited for those tasty slivers of meat that Odelia usually likes to dole out on these occasions.

The only one who wasn’t present and accounted for was Vicky Gardner, but I had a feeling that very soon now we’d be making her acquaintance. Though these days she wasn’t called Vicky Gardner but Erna Potch, having married a man named Walter Potch.

“I still can’t believe Vicky is alive,” said Brutus. “I thought for sure she’d be dead by now.”

“I thought so, too,” said Harriet.

Marcia Gardner might be an abductor of women, but apparently she was no murderer. One day, while trying to escape, Vicky had tumbled down the stairs and hit her noggin against that cement floor. It had not only created a dilemma for Marcia, who couldn’t just call an ambulance, it had also caused Vicky to develop a serious case of amnesia. It had given Marcia a great idea, though, and she’d decided to get rid of her brother’s wife once and for all, by shipping her to a friend in Belize, where Vicky was still living to this day, being under the impression that her name was Erna, and that she was born and raised in Illinois and happily married to a local expat, who hadn’t even been aware that she’d been abducted—Marcia had said Vicky had fled an abusive husband, something Walter Potch had happily accepted as the truth. When Vicky had recovered from her fall, love had blossomed, and Vicky, unbeknownst to herself, had soon become a bigamist. She’d had her baby over there, and the couple had lived a happy life.

“So what about this fitness instructor?” asked Brutus. “How does she fit into the story?”

“Well, Marcia had hoped that the loss of his wife would make her brother hand over the company to Bobby, who was fresh out of college twenty years ago. But Quintin refused to accept that Vicky was dead, and kept looking for her all these years. So when Marcia met Joanne Whittler, and saw the striking resemblance to her sister-in-law, she figured she might use her to drive her brother over the edge.”

“By killing her and making her brother think it was Vicky?” asked Harriet.

“Again, no,” I said. “Marcia hired Joanne as a private fitness instructor, and was wondering how she could use the young woman’s resemblance to Vicky to her advantage somehow. And then one day last week Joanne was showing Marcia a particular routine when she tripped and fell… and broke her neck in a freak accident. So Marcia found herself staring down at the dead body, and suddenly got a great idea.”

“How to drive her brother crazy,” said Harriet, nodding.

“And it worked—more or less. Quintin really did think the dead woman was his wife—after Marcia had judiciously applied a beauty spot on the girl’s face with permanent marker—and it really did put him in a serious funk. And when Marcia pushed him to finally hand over control of the business to her son, Quintin relented. That was the midnight meeting Gran and Scarlett interrupted.”

“And Bobby himself? How was he involved?” asked Brutus.

“He wasn’t. His mother never told him any of this. Not about Vicky’s disappearance, not about the half a million dollars she took from her brother’s account to make it look as if Vicky had run away, and certainly not about Joanne Whittler’s death. She did it all for him, but carefully kept him out of it, just in case the truth was ever revealed.”

“That smells delicious, Tex,” said Charlene. “Your skills as a grill master are improving with leaps and bounds.”

“I’ve been taking this online course,” said Tex, well pleased with this rare compliment. “And I think it’s taught me a couple of really good pointers. Like did you know you have to baste your meat before you grill it? Go figure!”

“Yeah, go figure,” murmured Uncle Alec as he stared at the piece of leathery meat his brother-in-law had just dumped on his plate. It resembled a well-baked shoe sole.

“At least now the meat is finally cooked to perfection,” said Tex proudly.

Marge, as she tried to saw through her steak, said, “I think you may have overdone it just a little bit, sweetie.” The tip of the knife suddenly broke off, and she blinked.

Odelia, as she tried to chew through a piece of sausage, said, “Are you sure this course you took is kosher, Dad?”

“Of course it’s kosher. It’s got five thousand views.” He sat down at the table with his family, picked up his steak knife and his fork and beamed at those around him. “This is my favorite time of the week. Sitting down with you guys—enjoying a nice meal.”

They all watched as he stuck his fork into his piece of steak, then started to saw—and saw—and saw…

Odelia hadn’t brought us a piece of meat yet, as she usually did, and I was starting to see why.

“I think Tex cooked up a stinker again,” said Brutus.

“Yeah, I guess he took the wrong course,” I said.

“How to turn your meat into charcoal,” said Harriet, much to our amusement.

“I don’t understand,” said Tex, perspiration appearing on his brow as he tried to cut his meat. “I followed the instructions in that video to the letter. It had so many likes.”

Marge spirited a smile of faux cheer onto her face and got up. “Anyone want spaghetti? I have some in the freezer. I’ll have it heated up in no time.” And with these words, she disappeared into the house, shaking her head at her husband’s lack of cooking skills.

“It looked so good in the video,” murmured Tex as the knife went TWOOOING! and suddenly soared through the air, and barely missed Uncle Alec’s head. “Sorry about that.”

“Welcome to the family, Charlene,” said Vesta sweetly. “Where the men can’t cook, the cops need the assistance of cats and senior citizens to catch the bad guys, and the women are in charge.”

Charlene laughed. “Thanks, Vesta. Exactly my kind of family.”

“So no food?” asked Brutus.

“No food,” I said.

“I think it’s all for the best,” said Dooley. “Max still isn’t completely recovered, and sometimes fasting is a recommended cure in such cases.”

“I’m fine, Dooley!” I said. “I’m absolutely fine!”

But he placed his paw against my brow again and tsk-tsked lightly. “Mh,” he said.

Suddenly Harriet spotted the now distinctly lopsided goatherd figurine on the garden table. Marge had put it there to show to Charlene. Tex had glued it back together again—more or less. “So how does that figurine figure into the story?” Harriet asked.

“Well, Marcia figured Vicky needed a hobby. Something to occupy her time while she languished in that basement.”

“Was Marcia going to keep her there forever?” asked Brutus.

“Well, no. But she hadn’t figured out what to do with her. She’d dumped those sleeping pills into Vicky’s tea on a whim, after Vicky told her about the pregnancy, and now she was stuck. She couldn’t let her go, and she couldn’t keep her forever either.”

“That wasn’t very clever of her.”

“So she let Vicky work on those figurines. Marcia was a big fan of Otto Spiel, and had always made her own versions, trying to make them look like the original. But when Marcia wasn’t looking, Vicky wrote a distress call inside, hoping that someone would break one of those things and find the message.”

“She also put her ring inside,” said Harriet, staring at the now deformed figurine.

“Yeah, that was an accident,” I said. “It must have slipped off her finger when she was working on one. And since she couldn’t very well tell Marcia, she kept her tongue.”

“And how about the security guard?” asked Brutus. “Why the mysterious letters?”

“Marcia liked to give those figurines away as presents. And since her son had plenty, amassed over the years, he, in turn, had gotten into the habit of handing them out to his factory workers—people he felt deserved a little token of his appreciation. Like Bruno the security guard. And when Bruno accidentally broke it, he discovered the message inside. He wasn’t sure what to do, and when we came snooping around, he figured he might as well give us a nudge in the right direction, thinking there was something fishy about his employers—and the mystery surrounding Vicky’s disappearance.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Harriet. “Why did Quintin wait a whole month before going to the police when his wife disappeared?”

“Quintin and Vicky made an arrangement when they married. He knew she’d mostly married him for his money, and not his good looks, so they agreed she could keep her freedom and fool around if she wanted to, on one condition: that she’d never tell anyone, or publicly cause him any embarrassment. And so she’d gone missing before. The first time she spent two weeks in Vegas with her friends, and the second time she was gone for three whole weeks—a trip to the Bahamas with the same ‘girl crew’ she liked to hang out with. So when she disappeared again, he wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t worried either. It was only when he bumped into one of her friends and asked when she’d be back, that he discovered that this time she’d actually gone missing for real.”

“What’s going to happen to Marcia?” asked Brutus.

I slapped Dooley’s paw away, as he was trying to measure my temperature yet again. “She’s going to prison for the abduction of her sister-in-law. Her son will take over from Quintin. And Vicky… is probably going to stay in Belize, where she’s built up a pretty good life over the past twenty years. But not before paying a visit to her old husband. And maybe coming back here will jog her memory to some extent.”

“Or maybe not,” said Dooley. “Just like you shouldn’t be too sure you’re fine, Max. You’re not fine, and I think you should lie down now.”

“Dooley, quit fussing!”

“Oh, he’s only watching out for you, Max,” said Harriet. “So if I were you I’d let him.”

She was right. Dooley was only showing me how much he cared. But it was annoying to a degree!

Suddenly the doorbell rang, and we all looked up.

“Visitors?” asked Harriet, surprised.

“It’s Vena,” Dooley announced.

“Vena!” I said, staring at my friend.

He nodded sagely. “I asked Odelia to give her a call. Now I know you think you’re fine, Max, but I’m worried about you, and so is Odelia. So just let Vena take a look at you, and then we can all relax, all right?”

I gritted my teeth a little, but finally relented. “Fine,” I said. “I don’t need to see a doctor, but fine.”

“Good,” said Dooley. “I knew you’d see the light, Max.” He’d placed his paw against my forehead again and was shaking his head. “Still running a temperature,” he murmured.

Vena walked out through the sliding glass door and greeted us all heartily, as is her way. Hampton Cove’s premier veterinarian looks like a powerlifter, which is not a bad look for a vet, as dragging foals from horses probably requires a lot of physical strength.

“So where is the patient?!” she boomed now, and then her eyes swiveled in my direction and she smiled her broad and infectious smile. “There he is!”

“I’m fine,” I repeated for all who would listen. “Absolutely fine.”

“Let’s take his temperature,” said Vesta as she took a seat on the porch swing next to me, and got out her signature bag of goodies. “Now relax those rectal muscles, Max!”

Rectal mu… “No way!” I cried.

And before she could stop me, I jumped down from the swing and was making for the hedge.

“Max! Come back here!” Odelia cried.

“Yes, you’re a sick cat, Max!” Dooley added.

“Never!” I yelled, and was waddling off at a respectable rate of speed. And I think I would have made it, if I hadn’t stumbled upon the new inflatable pool that Chase had purchased, and set up in Odelia’s backyard.

I hit that pool head-on, bopped over the edge, and landed right in the middle. And I would have gone under, if Chase hadn’t fished me out by my neck, and held me up.

“I keep having to save you, don’t I?” said the burly copper.

I gave him my best smile. “I think I love you, Chase,” I said. And then spat out a modest stream of water, hitting him right in the face.

“Cats,” he muttered as he carried me back into the next backyard. “You gotta love ‘em.”

At least I hadn’t destroyed his pool again. And doesn’t it say a lot about a man’s character when he keeps repairing and replacing his inflatable pool, even though his girlfriend’s cats keep destroying it? I think it says that man is a cat friend through and through.

And I love a man who loves a cat.

So I underwent Vena’s probings with a certain measure of equanimity, and when finally she’d given me a clean bill of health, Marge had finished warming up her spaghetti, and soon the only sounds that could be heard were nine humans—Vena had kindly accepted Marge’s invitation to stay for dinner—and four cats munching away to their heart’s content.

I hadn’t escaped this latest adventure of mine fully unscathed, but fur has a habit of growing back, and so does wounded pride. So I think in all fairness I really was fine.

And so when Dooley’s paw surreptitiously stole out and touched my forehead again, I resisted the urge to slap it away. Harriet was right. My friend was only looking out for me, annoying as his ministrations were, and so I endured his attentions with fortitude.

A certain kind of peace descended upon the backyard, and for a while everything was nice and quiet. Then, suddenly, there was the loud screeching sound of a bird swooping down, and as everyone looked up, fully expecting things to turn into a scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds, Moses’s loud voice could be heard screaming, “Take that, Frank—and that and that and that!” followed by the loud lamenting voice of what I imagined was a large orange cat named Frank, bellowing, “Hey, whaddya think you’re doing, bird!”

Dooley giggled, and so did Harriet, Brutus and myself. Even Odelia was smiling.

It’s not often that bird poo brings about what can only be termed poetic justice, but when it does, I can tell you that it is extremely satisfying for all concerned.

Then again, Hampton Cove is perhaps not a town like most others. I mean, where else can you find four cats quietly applauding a bird’s defecatory act of vengeance against one of their own?

Moments later, Moses swept down upon our backyard, and gave us a flyby salute.

“I got him, you guys,” he said with marked satisfaction. “I got him good.”

“Great job, Moses,” I said.

“Yeah, great job, buddy,” said Dooley.

“He won’t do that again,” Brutus grunted.

“No, he’ll think twice next time,” Harriet added.

And with a cheerful, “Adios,” the large pigeon flew off.

Charlene, who’d watched the back-and-forth with open-mouthed surprise, turned to her boyfriend, and said, “There’s something going on with your family’s cats, Alec. I almost can’t believe I’m saying this, but it seems to me as if… they can talk to birds.”

Uncle Alec swallowed uncomfortably. “I’m sure you’re just imagining things, honey.”

“No, I’m serious. They were talking to that pigeon just now—and you know what’s even stranger? The pigeon was talking back to them! Isn’t that just the weirdest thing?”

“Oh, Charlene, Charlene,” said Harriet with a purr. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Uncle Alec, looking for a way to distract his girlfriend, suddenly pointed to the haphazardly glued-together goatherd. “Hey, what did you do with my present?”

All those around the table looked at him. “Your present?” asked Marge.

“Sure. I got you that thing for your tenth wedding anniversary, remember? Cost me a pretty penny, too.” He frowned. “Don’t tell me you broke it. You told me when I gave that to you that you’d put it somewhere you could look at it every day—to remind you of your favorite big brother.”

Marge looked a little shamefaced. “Well, I did give it a great spot in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, a real top spot,” said Gran with a little grin.

“Good,” said Uncle Alec, leaning back. “The guy who sold it to me said it was a real Otto Spiel. Pretty valuable, too.”

“But, honey,” said Charlene, “that’s one of the figurines Vicky Gardner was forced to make when she was being kept a prisoner by her sister-in-law, remember?”

Uncle Alec stared at her. “Oh, right.” He thunked his head. “How could I forget?”

The meal continued, and Charlene seemed to have forgotten all about the Poole cats’ strange behavior. Soon I noticed how Dooley was eyeing Uncle Alec with concern.

“What is it, Dooley?” I asked.

“Do you think Uncle Alec is losing his mind, Max?” he asked. “He completely forgot about that figurine.”

“I’m sure he was just trying to distract Charlene,” I said. “I think she’s starting to suspect there’s something strange going on with us.”

“Oh?”

“I think she’s starting to suspect that we can talk to our humans.”

“Which is a good thing, right?”

“Not exactly. You never know how she’ll react. She might completely freak out.”

So now Dooley switched his attention from Uncle Alec to Charlene, and eyed her very closely indeed—to such an extent that Charlene started to become a little uncomfortable.

“Alec?” she whispered.

“Mh?”

“That cat is staring at me.”

“What cat?”

“The small gray one.”

“Oh, that’s Dooley. Don’t mind him. He’s a sweet little fella.”

“Dooley?” I said. “Can you please stop staring at Charlene?”

“I think you were right, Max,” he said, intensifying his gimlet stare. “I think she knows. And if she knows, she might file a complaint and put us in her new pound.”

“If you don’t stop staring at her like that she certainly will—you’re right about that.”

“Dooley, can you please stop staring at Charlene,” suddenly said Odelia, who’d become aware of this new development.

“Oh, all right,” said Dooley.

“Thank you,” said Odelia, then looked up when everyone was staring… at her. “What?” she said.

“Odelia!” said Charlene, slowly rising from her chair. “You-you-you talk to your cats!”

“No, I don’t,” said Odelia.

“I just saw you—you talked to that Dooley!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did! You talked to him and he talked back to you and you said ‘Thank you!’”

“Nope.”

Charlene suddenly put her hands to her face. “What’s going on? Am I going crazy?”

“No, you’re not.”

But then Charlene uttered a blood-curdling scream that chilled us all to the bone.

“Oh, boy,” muttered Vesta, and threw down her napkin. “And here we go again.”

Purrfect Son

The Mysteries of Max - Book 27

Chapter 1

Marge had recently bought herself a new couch to replace the one she’d used for the past fifteen years, and of course it hadn’t taken long for us cats to explore its many advantages, such as there were: softness, firmness, and the many other characteristics that potentially turned it into our new favorite spot to lounge on and take those precious catnaps that we enjoy so much.

Marge had, of course, put down a blanket to prevent us from ruining her new couch—as if we could ever ruin a couch simply by our mere presence—and when we’d communicated our disfavor of the new blanket, she’d put down a protective sheet. All in all I think we’d used the couch more than she or Tex ever had, or Gran, and I don’t think that was exactly what she’d had in mind at the time of purchase.

Then again, if you’re going to be a cat lady, you have to be prepared for the consequences is what I always say.

And so it was that four cats were lounging happily on Marge’s new acquisition, sleeping peacefully and generally spending a lazy morning at home.

Marge was at the library, Tex was at the doctor’s office, and so was Gran, and next door the house was empty, too, as Odelia had gone to work, and so had her boyfriend.

I have to admit I thoroughly enjoy these lazy mornings, when the house is quiet and it’s just us cats, with no humans to disturb us or to trouble us with their dramas.

“Max?” suddenly asked Dooley, rousing me from my slumber.

“Mh?” I said with some reluctance, for I’d just been dreaming of the largest and tastiest chicken nugget I’d ever encountered. That chicken nugget was mine, and now it simply vanished as I opened my eyes. Bummer.

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

I noticed how my friend had tensed up, and he looked as much like a pointing dog as a pointing dog could look if he were a smallish gray cat.

Dooley has these moments when he starts seeing things that aren’t really there, like mysterious diseases that suddenly afflict him, or the sky falling on top of our heads when the sky is still firmly attached to whatever the sky is attached to.

But this time I had to admit he wasn’t hallucinating, or getting all worked up for no reason whatsoever. There was indeed a noise where no noise should have been. It sounded like… scratching.

“Do you think it’s burglars?” asked Dooley, eyes wide and fearful.

“I hope it’s not mice,” said Harriet, who’d also woken up.

“Or rats,” grunted Brutus, located right next to his girlfriend.

I pricked up my ears a little more, and surmised that the sound seemed to emanate from upstairs, which was of course quite impossible, as the house was empty.

“It seems to come from upstairs,” now also determined Harriet, whose hearing is on par with that of the rest of us.

“Let’s go and have a look,” said Brutus with a yawn, and made to get up.

“Are you crazy?” said Harriet. “For all we know it could be burglars, like Dooley says, and then where would that leave us?”

“Um, heroes when we catch these burglars?”

“Yeah, dead heroes,” said Harriet. “I say we stay right here and pretend we didn’t hear a thing.”

“How can we pretend not to hear a thing when burglars are cleaning out the house?” said Brutus. It’s at times like these that you can see that Brutus used to belong to Chase before ownership was transferred to the Poole family. He still thinks like a cop’s cat.

“Look, it can’t hurt to take a little look-see,” I said now. “We simply sneak up on the burglars and then we sneak away again and go and warn our humans. Easy-peasy.”

“I don’t know,” said Harriet doubtfully. “I’m too young to die, you guys.”

“Nobody’s going to die,” I said. “We’ll just pop upstairs and then pop down again—no harm done.”

“All of us?” Brutus grunted. “I think we should probably send one cat up there to check—doesn’t seem right for all of us to risk our lives.”

“Brutus is right,” said Harriet. “If we all go we’re going to attract a lot of unwanted attention for sure. So who’s volunteering for the mission? Please raise your paw.”

I glanced around, and when I didn’t see any paws going up, not even Brutus’s, I decided to stick mine up. I mean, I’m not the bravest cat in the world—anything but—but when it comes to protecting my turf I can usually be relied upon to go the extra mile.

“I’ll come, too,” said Brutus.

“And me,” said Dooley.

“Oh, maybe I’ll join you guys,” said Harriet with an eyeroll. “It just wouldn’t feel right for me to stay behind while you all go into battle,” she explained.

And so it was decided: we’d all go in search of this intrepid intruder, and make sure we got his or her features committed to memory so we could offer our humans a nice description.

And as one cat, we all slid down from our new favorite couch, and set paw for the staircase. And we’d just reached the bottom of the stairs when the curious sounds intensified.

“That’s clearly not a mouse,” said Harriet.

“Or a rat,” grunted Brutus.

“Oh, you guys,” said Dooley with a slight whimper. “I’m getting really scared now.”

“Don’t be scared, Dooley,” I said. “We’re cats. Whoever these intruders are, we can easily outrun them—if they even happen to notice us in the first place.”

Humans, as a rule, usually fail to pay attention to pets wandering about the home—and that goes double for intruders, who watch out for dogs, and neglect to see the danger in cats—at their own peril, I might add.

So we all snuck up the stairs, not making a single sound, listening carefully all the while. The sound seemed to come from… the attic. And once we were upstairs, I saw that indeed the attic ladder had been pulled down, and it now became clear to me that someone was rummaging around up there.

“Who wants to go first?” asked Harriet, as she darted nervous glances at the hole in the ceiling that led up to the attic.

“I’ll go,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t mind.” I’d already figured out how this was going to go down, too: I’d simply sneak up that ladder, and then take a quick peek around the attic and see what was going on. I wasn’t entirely without a sense of approaching danger, but frankly my curiosity trumped my sense of self-preservation at that moment, behavior I’ve been told is typical for cats.

“I’ll be right behind you,” said Brutus, who didn’t want to look weak in front of his lady.

“And me,” said Dooley, whose curiosity seemed to have been piqued, too.

“And me,” said Harriet after a moment’s hesitation.

And so it was decided: I carefully navigated that folding wooden ladder first, then Brutus, then Dooley, and finally Harriet brought up the rear.

And as I raised my head and took a peek, I saw that a person wearing a motorcycle helmet was opening and closing drawers in a dresser located on the other side of the attic. The person looked pretty buff, and was dressed in a black leather jacket, black jeans and heavy work boots. He looked like a man to me, and definitely not a member of the Poole family.

“What do you see?” asked Brutus.

“A man!” I whispered. “He’s opening and closing drawers!”

“What’s going on?” asked Harriet from lower on the ladder.

“Max says that it’s a man!” Brutus loud-whispered.

“It’s a man!” said Dooley, sounding panicky.

“A man!” Harriet cried. “What man?”

“Harriet is asking for the man!” said Dooley.

“Harriet wants to know about that man!” Brutus said.

“You don’t have to shout!” I said. “I can hear Harriet perfectly fine. He’s wearing a motorcycle helmet, so I can’t see his face.”

“He’s wearing a motorcycle helmet so Max can’t see his face!” said Brutus.

“Max is wearing a motorcycle helmet so he can’t see the man’s face!” Dooley translated the message.

“Why is Max wearing a motorcycle helmet?” asked Harriet, confused.

The man, meanwhile, must have become aware that he was being watched, for he now looked up, and I saw that he was staring intently in my direction. I ducked down. It’s never a fun prospect to be attacked by a man wearing a motorcycle helmet. And this motorcycle man looked like he might very well eat cats for breakfast—literally!

“Lemme see,” now said Harriet, and shoved Dooley aside, then squeezed past Brutus, and finally joined me on the top step.

“I think he saw me!” I said. “He was looking straight at me just now.”

“Oh, nonsense,” said Harriet. “Humans never pay attention to cats.” And with these words, she popped her head up. Moments later, she popped down again. “Max?” she said.

“Yes?”

“I think you’re right. I think he saw us.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because he’s right here, staring at me!”

And as I slowly glanced up, I saw that Harriet wasn’t lying: the man was now face to face with me, and so I yelped in fear.

“Cats!” the man growled, not sounding all that fond of our species. “I should have known.”

And with these words, he grabbed both me and Harriet by the scruff of our necks, and hoisted us up and into the attic proper, then proceeded to carry us away.

Now I know I should have put up a fight at this point, but I was so startled by this unexpected development that the thought didn’t even cross my mind, and clearly it didn’t cross Harriet’s mind either!

And so before we knew it, we suddenly found ourselves thrown into a large chest, and when the lid slammed down on top of us, I suddenly realized our predicament.

“Max!” Harriet cried as darkness descended upon us. “He caught us!”

And when suddenly the chest was opened once more and two more cats were deposited inside, it was clear that our strategy had backfired to a substantial degree.

We were, for all intents and purposes, in quite the pickle!

Chapter 2

“It’s dark in here, Max.”

“I know, Dooley.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Me neither.”

“Oh, could you please stop talking, the both of you,” said Harriet. “I’m trying to figure out a way to get us out of here and all this babble is making it hard for me to think.”

“Why don’t we simply put our backs into it?” Brutus suggested. “I mean, the lid on this thing can’t be that heavy, can it?”

“Good idea, snuggle bear,” said Harriet. “Max, Dooley, up,” she instructed, our unexpected captivity making her a little more snappish than usual.

So Dooley and I dutifully did as we were told and arched our backs so we could raise the lid on our makeshift prison. Unfortunately the thing didn’t budge. Not even an inch.

“I think he locked it,” I said.

“How do you know it was a he, Max?” asked Dooley. “Couldn’t it have been a she?”

“It could have been a she,” I allowed. After all, it was hard to make out who our assailant was underneath that motorcycle helmet.

“So now what, Brutus?” asked Harriet, who was still focused on the task at hand, and much to her credit, too, I might add.

“Now we wait,” Brutus suggested.

“Wait for what? Santa Claus?”

“Now we wait for someone to come and save us,” he said. “Sooner or later Marge or Gran or Odelia will realize we’ve gone missing, and that’s when they’ll come looking.”

“They’ll never find us in here,” said Harriet, offering the pessimistic view. “Unless…”

I could almost hear her brain working—it was even starting to radiate heat as it did.

“It’s getting very hot in here,” announced Dooley, who’d noticed the same thing.

“That’s because this is a very small space and we’re four cats in here,” I said, not wanting to cast aspersions on Harriet’s brain.

“No, but it’s getting very, very hot in here,” my friend said.

And I have to admit that he was right. It was getting extremely hot in that chest.

And then I saw it: a glow was lighting up our new unfavorite spot, to such an extent it couldn’t possibly be caused by Harriet’s brain. She’s a smart cat, but not that smart.

“We’re on fire!” suddenly Harriet cried out. “The attic must be on fire!”

“Oh, no!” cried Dooley. “I don’t like fire. Fires are very dangerous. The Discovery Channel warns against fires all the time! Fires, like, kill things.”

I swallowed a little. This wasn’t good. I mean, the likes of Houdini would probably have uttered a careless little laugh at a predicament such as the one we now found ourselves in: he’d even have added a few more obstacles to make it really interesting. Like shackles. Or a harness. But for me this was already more than bad enough, to be honest!

“Oh, Max, we’re going to die,” Dooley announced. He gulped a little, then said, “I think you guys are the best friends a cat could ever have had the pleasure to meet, and I want you to know that it’s been an honor. And a pleasure. In fact an honor and a pleasure.”

“Oh, Dooley, shut up for a second, will you?” said Harriet. “Maybe this fire is the best thing that could have happened to us. This chest is made of wood, right? And what is one of the basic characteristics of wood?”

“That it feels nice and warm under the paws, especially in the wintertime?” Brutus suggested.

“That it burns!”

“Oh, right. Of course.” He paused, then: “So, um, how does that help us?”

“This fire is going to burn right through this wood in the next couple of minutes, and when that happens, we should be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to die!” said Dooley. “I have a confession to make. Last month, I accidentally peed in your litter box, Brutus. I was in a hurry and I accidentally went into your box by mistake. And by the time I realized, I’d already tinkled in your litter box. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Look, let’s all focus for a moment,” I said. “Harriet made a very valid point: wood burns, and so this fire is going to eat through this chest soon, and when it does we have to be ready to make a run for it.”

“But if the chest is on fire, won’t the entire attic be on fire?” Brutus said. “And isn’t that going to make it a little hard to make a run for it? My paws are not made of Teflon, you know.”

“And then two weeks ago I accidentally did number two in your litter box, Harriet,” Dooley continued his timely confession. “I couldn’t hold it up long enough to reach my own so I went into yours instead! I’m so sorry!”

“We don’t know what the situation is outside of this chest,” said Harriet. “But we have to stay positive and hope for the best.”

“When people are faced with a big fire like this, they sometimes douse themselves in water,” said Brutus. “Pity we don’t have a bucket of water at our disposal now.”

“No, but we do have something else,” said Harriet.

“What’s that?” I asked, intrigued what could possibly replace a convenient bucket of water.

And then she spat me in the face!

“Hey, what did you do that for?” I asked, horrified.

But instead of responding, she simply did it again!

“Cut it out, Harriet!” I cried. Getting burned to a crisp is bad enough without being spat on, I mean to say.

“But don’t you see, Max!” she cried. “We don’t have water but we have our saliva!”

“Brilliant!” said Brutus. “We simply lick ourselves until we’re well and truly soaked and by the time that fire eats through this chest, we’ll be ready to face the inferno!”

I didn’t want to rain on their parade—or even spit—but I still felt I needed to say something. “By the time that fire burns down this chest, it’s going to get so hot in here we’re going to expire from the sheer heat, not to mention smoke inhalation, and besides, a little bit of spittle isn’t going to protect us from those flames. Only a heat-resistant suit like firemen like to wear is going to accomplish that.”

“Oh, why always with all the negatives, Max!” said Harriet. “I’m trying to stay positive here, you know.”

“All right, all right,” I said, trying to think of something positive to add to the conversation.

“And then last week I accidentally peed in your water bowl, Max,” said Dooley now. “It was an accident, I swear!”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet with a sigh.

That orange glow that had been getting stronger, and that heat that had been intensifying, told us that the moment had finally come. Our do or die moment, if you will. We’d all been busy licking ourselves, just in case it made a difference, and I have to say my nice blorange coat of fur was pretty slick by now.

The flames were crackling, and Harriet said, “This is it. The moment of truth!”

“The truth is it just happened,” Dooley said. “I guess I was still sleepy from my nap. I saw the bowl, and the next moment I was taking a tinkle, even before I realized it wasn’t my litter box. And I meant to tell you, Max, I really did, but then I forgot. I’m so, so sorry!”

“This is it, folks!” said Harriet. “Get ready to run!”

The wood creaked and groaned, and I tensed all my muscles, ready to make a desperate run for it, when suddenly there was a loud swooshing sound, then voices could be heard, and the next moment the chest was opened and the face of Chase Kingsley appeared, followed by the face of Odelia, our very own human!

“Am I dreaming?” asked Dooley. “Or did I die and go to heaven?”

Chapter 3

“I don’t get it,” said Chase, as he looked around the attic at the devastation. “If they wanted to burn the house down wouldn’t they have set fire to other parts of the house?”

Odelia, who’d been hugging her cats, nodded. “I think this was a targeted attack.”

“An attack on what?”

She was reluctant to say it out loud in front of her fur babies, who’d already been through a great ordeal, but it was important that they, too, realized what was going on here. “I think the culprit wanted to set fire to… our cats,” she said finally.

Max looked up at this. He’d been inspecting their makeshift prison for the past five minutes, and nodded sagely at these words. “He specifically set fire to this wooden chest,” he said. “Or trunk, or whatever you call this thing.”

“It used to belong to my dad,” said Odelia. “And to his dad before him. Dad used it when he was in college. It contained all of his stuff and he kept it in his dorm all those years before shipping it back here.”

The only part of the attic that had burned was that particular chest belonging to her dad, and it stood to reason that the attacker must have used some kind of accelerant or maybe even simple lighter fluid to make sure the chest would burn well.

“But why would anyone target the cats?” asked Chase.

“He was snooping around over there,” said Max, pointing to an old dresser in the corner of the attic. “He was opening and closing the drawers, and seemed to be looking for something. And then when he caught us spying on him, he didn’t seem surprised. He said, ‘Cats! I should have known.’ As if he was expecting us.”

“And then he caught us and locked us up and set us on fire,” said Brutus, summing up the state of affairs to a T.

Odelia set Dooley down on the floor and walked over to the dresser Max had indicated. She opened the top drawer, and saw that it contained photo albums belonging to her mom and dad. She picked one up and leafed through it. The photos were all familiar: Mom and Dad in their younger years, trekking through Europe, and seeing the sights. A second album contained their wedding photos, and showed them happy and excited to finally tie the knot. Odelia smiled, and wondered why anyone would be interested in these particular photos. And why anyone would want to set her cats on fire.

“Your uncle is here,” said Chase as he glanced down the attic ladder.

The shuffling of feet could be heard, and the next moment the head of her uncle Alec cleared the attic opening. He was panting slightly from the exertion. “So what’s the verdict?” he asked as he took a breather.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a burglar who dabbles in animal cruelty,” said Chase, and told the chief in a few words what had transpired.

“If we hadn’t shown up when we did, my cats would have died,” said Odelia.

She tried to hide her distress, but it mustn’t have worked well, for Uncle Alec walked over and gave her a comforting pat on the back. “We’ll get the bastard, honey. Just you wait and see. And then we’ll throw the book at him.”

“How did you get here?” asked Max now. “I thought you were both at work?”

“We were,” said Odelia. “But Mom called and said she thought she’d left the stove on and asked me to come and check.”

“Happens to me all the time,” said Uncle Alec. “Sometimes I have to go back twice, just to be sure. Must be old age.”

“Or just having a lot of things on your mind,” said Odelia.

“I was passing Odelia’s office when I saw her walking out,” said Chase. “And since criminals have been taking it easy lately, I just figured I’d join her and have an early lunch at the house. Beats the police station canteen.”

“So it’s actually Marge we have to thank for saving our lives,” said Harriet.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” said Odelia with a smile. “If she hadn’t called…” She didn’t want to finish the sentence, or the thought, as it was too horrible to contemplate.

“Harriet had a solution,” said Max. “So I like to think we would have made it out safe and sound, even if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

It didn’t look to Odelia as if Harriet’s solution would have done much to alleviate the danger that flaming chest had posed, but this time she decided to keep her tongue.

“The important thing is that you made it out alive,” she said. “And maybe,” she added with a glance at her boyfriend, “we should keep an eye on you guys from now on. At least until this maniac is caught.”

Chase nodded, though she could tell that arranging a bodyguard for her cats wasn’t exactly the solution he’d had in mind for this new situation.

“I’ll see if I can’t install some kind of an alarm system,” said the cop now. “Cameras and stuff, so that if this guy comes back, God forbid, we can catch him in the act.”

“I really thought I was going to die,” said Dooley now. “And so I said some things that maybe I shouldn’t have said.”

“What kind of things?” asked Odelia as she crouched down next to the Ragamuffin.

“Like… that I accidentally did wee-wee in Brutus’s litter box, and doo-doo in Harriet’s litter box, and that I even did wee-wee in Max’s water bowl.”

She had to suppress a grin, but patted the cat on the head instead. “I don’t think your friends will hold it against you, Dooley,” she said. “If I had to count the number of times I used Mom and Dad’s bathroom instead of my own, I would need more than ten fingers.”

“Yes, but for humans it’s different,” he said. “You only have one bathroom in the house and you all use it. We like to use our own bathroom, and not share it with others.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m sure Harriet and Brutus don’t mind if you use their litter box from time to time.”

“And Max?” He darted a surreptitious glance at his friend. “Won’t he be mad at me?”

“Why don’t we ask him? Max!” she called out. “Come over here a minute, will you?”

Dooley gave his friend a worried look.

“What is it?” asked Max.

“Dooley is worried that you’re angry with him now that he confessed his little… accident.”

Max smiled. “I’d completely forgotten about that already.”

“So you aren’t mad at me, Max?” asked Dooley.

Max shrugged. “It can happen to the best of us, Dooley. You’re sleepy, stumbling around in the dark, and so you do your business… elsewhere. It’s totally fine.”

“But… it’s not hygienic, Max,” Dooley insisted, apparently a glutton for punishment.

Max winced a little at the thought that he’d actually drunk water with a little… extra. “It’s okay. I’m still here, aren’t I? So clearly drinking that water didn’t have any adverse effect on me.”

Dooley nodded, but didn’t look totally convinced. “I won’t do it again, Max, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m just thinking that I’d like to know who locked us up in that chest.”

“Yeah, there’s that,” said Dooley softly. Oddly enough the peeing incident seemed to be troubling him more than the being-set-on-fire incident. Then again, every cat has his or her hang-ups, and clearly Dooley’s hang-up was losing the respect and affection of his peers, and Odelia could absolutely relate with that.

Suddenly there was a loud rumbling on the attic ladder, an anguished cry, and then Mom appeared, followed by Dad and Gran, in that order, and even… Charlene Butterwick, Mayor of Hampton Cove and Uncle Alec’s girlfriend.

And so the Poole family was now complete, and as Charlene looked from the burned-out chest to the four cats seated in front of it, she said, “Oh, the poor darlings!”

“It’s fine,” said Max with a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, we survived,” said Harriet with a nod.

“We were saved by Odelia and Chase,” intimated Brutus.

“And I’ll never pee in Max’s bowl again,” promised Dooley.

Charlene stared at the cats and uttered a startled laugh. “I keep telling myself that this is impossible—that no cats can talk to their humans—but then I see these guys and…” She shook her head. “At least they’re safe. That’s the main thing.”

Chapter 4

It was really weird for Charlene to watch Odelia, her mom and her grandma talk to their cats. She watched on, wide-eyed and with not a small sense of wonder, and when her boyfriend sidled up to her and asked, a little worriedly, “Everything all right?” she nodded wordlessly, then went on studying the interactions between man and beast, or, as in this case, woman and beast, feeling as if she’d suddenly landed in a Disney movie.

“Has it always been like this?” she asked. “I mean, has your sister always been able to talk to her cats, or…”

“Or did my mother drop her on her head as a baby and suddenly she became Chatty Cat Cathy? No, she’s always been like this,” said Alec with a smile. “Unfortunately only the women in our family have the gift.”

“Oh. So you don’t…”

“No, I don’t talk to cats, or dogs, or any other pets.”

She flashed him a quick smile. “I’m sorry, Alec. This is all pretty new for me, so….”

He scratched his scalp. “Yeah, I can imagine. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you at first. I was afraid you’d freak out and—”

“Run for the hills?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’m still here, aren’t I? Though I have to admit it’s going to take some getting used to.” She studied the fat orange cat named Max for a moment. He was busy chatting with his human, and Charlene shook her head. “How does it work, exactly? I mean, to me it just sounds like he’s meowing, but to Odelia it all makes sense somehow?”

“Yeah, I don’t know how it works,” said Alec with a shrug. “I just know it does.”

“No, but I mean, something inside her brain must be able to compute the sounds her cats make, right? Have you ever had it looked at? By a doctor or a brain specialist or something?” Or a linguist, she wanted to add, then realized that no specialist would be able to figure this out even if they’d believe it in the first place. She hardly believed it herself, still harboring the faint suspicion the entire Poole family was simply performing some kind of elaborate joke at her expense. But since that was even more ridiculous than the simple truth, she placed a hand on Alec’s arm and said, “It’s just a little weird, is all.”

“I know it is, honey,” said her big teddy bear of a police chief. “But trust me, you’ll get used to it.”

“Yeah, I guess I will.”

She finally dragged her eyes away from the strange spectacle, and said, “So do you have any idea who did this?”

“Not yet,” said Alec, a resolute look stealing over his face, the policeman replacing the boyfriend for a moment. “I’ve got officers canvassing the neighborhood as we speak, so it won’t be long before we start getting some useful information. Whoever this guy is, he must have been seen by someone.”

“I hope so. This is going to make a lot of people very nervous. A break-in in broad daylight, and attempted arson on top of that. Maybe we should give a joint statement—before all kinds of wild stories start going around and people really start to panic.”

“Good idea,” he said. “Though I’d prefer to wait until we know some more.”

“Deal,” she said, patting him on the beefy arm. “I have to get back. I’ve got a land development application on my desk right now that needs looking at.”

“A land development application? For…”

She grimaced. “A new shopping mall.”

Alec’s face fell. “A shopping mall—but Charlene!”

“I know what you’re going to say, and I hear you, but we still have to do this by the book, and look at it from every angle. A new mall doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, you know.” When he raised an eyebrow, she added, “Just trust me, all right?”

“All right,” he said, but it was obvious he wasn’t exactly bowled over by the idea of adding a shopping mall to the town landscape.

She waved to the rest of Alec’s family, and then took her leave. She hadn’t told her boyfriend, but the people pitching the plan for the new mall were actually coming in for a personal chat, and she couldn’t afford to be late for the meeting.

Alec watched his girlfriend carefully navigate the attic ladder, disappearing from view, and he must have been frowning, for when his sister wandered over, the first question she asked was, “And? Do you still have a girlfriend or did she dump you?”

He smiled. “She’s sticking around… for now. Though the whole cat-talking thing really freaked her out.”

“I’m sorry she had to find out like this,” said Marge.

“It’s fine. She had to find out sooner or later, and maybe better sooner than later.”

“I hope you told her to keep this between ourselves?”

“Of course. Charlene isn’t going to talk—you don’t have to worry about that.”

Marge glanced up at her big brother. “Something else bothering you? I mean, apart from the burglary, the attempted catslaughter and the fact that your girlfriend just discovered that your sister, niece and mother can talk to cats?”

“There’s talk of a new shopping mall,” he said. “She’s looking at the application.”

“But we already have a mall.”

The next town over, Hampton Keys, had a great mall, which was only a twenty-minute drive away. It had been servicing the neighboring towns of Hampton Cove and Happy Bays for years, with no one asking for a second shopping center to be built.

“Yeah, I know.”

“A mall is going to destroy Main Street.”

“I know.”

“It’s going to attract a massive amount of traffic, all rolling through town.”

“I know, I know.”

“And tourists.”

“Marge—”

“Tourists that are going to run roughshod over our peaceful little town.”

“Look, I know all that, all right? But it’s not my decision to make. Charlene is mayor, and it’s her responsibility to weigh the pros and cons and make a measured decision.”

“You can always give her a nudge in this or that direction, though, right?” asked Marge, giving her brother a nudge with her elbow.

“Oh, I’ll nudge her plenty. Question is, is she going to listen?”

And that’s what worried him: if she chose to go full steam ahead with this new mall development, and he was dead set against it, it might create a rift between them that could be hard to bridge. Plus, he didn’t want to see their lovely little town fall into the hands of the kinds of developers who only had quick—and big—profits on their minds.

“I’m sure it’ll all work out for the best,” said Marge now, always the picture of optimism. “So what are we going to do about the cats? They need protecting, Alec. In case this person comes back.”

“I’m not sure,” he said, rubbing his face thoughtfully. “It’s not as if I can ask a couple of uniforms to sit outside and guard the house twenty-four-seven.”

“Why not?”

“Honey, if I tell my people to guard four cats they’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“Mh,” said Marge. “Yeah, I can see how that would cause you all kinds of trouble.” Then her face lit up. “I’ve got it. Why don’t you ask Chase?”

“Chase?” he said with a twinge of alarm.

“Sure! He knows how much Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus mean to this family, right? And he’s a cop. And he lives right next door. It’s the perfect solution!”

“I don’t know if…”

“Chase!” Marge bellowed. “Come here a second, will you?”

Chase dutifully came striding over. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Tell him, Alec,” said Marge, hooking her arm through her brother’s.

“Tell me what?” asked Chase.

Alec cleared his throat. “The thing is, Chase, that this madman—well, it’s not entirely inconceivable that he could come back.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And we don’t want that, do we?”

“Oh, no, of course not.”

“So we need someone to be stationed at the house… to watch… the cats.”

“Great idea.”

“So we were thinking about you, Chase,” said Marge, patting the cop on the broad chest. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“Me?” asked Chase, darting an anxious look at his superior officer.

But Alec held up his hands. “Look, someone’s gotta do it, buddy. And it might as well be you.”

“But, Chief!”

“You don’t want your girlfriend’s cats to be harmed, do you?”

“No, but…”

“Well, then.”

“But, Chief—what are the colleagues going to say?”

Chase’s colleagues would have a field day laughing their asses off, thought Alec, but instead he said, “We’ll simply tell them you’re staking out the house in case this arsonist comes back. No mention of the cats will be made.”

“But they’ll know, Chief. I don’t know how, but they’ll know that you’ve turned me into a glorified catsitter!”

He was definitely right about that. “Nah, I’m sure they won’t.”

“Yeah, they will!” said Chase. “I’ll be the joke of the force!”

“No, you won’t.”

“I think it’s mighty nice of you to volunteer for this task, Chase,” said Marge. “And I’m sure Odelia will be overjoyed, too, knowing you’re here to watch out for our babies.”

With these words, Marge walked off to check out that dresser the burglar-slash-arsonist-slash-cat killer had been so interested in.

“Chief?” said Chase, his voice a little tremulous. “Please?”

“It’s out of my hands, buddy,” said Alec. “And for it’s worth, I think you’ll do great.”

And then he walked off, too, leaving his deputy to stare after him looking crushed.

A man had to be made of stone not to feel sorry for the poor schmuck, but then sometimes you had to take one for the team, even though this particular team would probably start creating memes and post them on Facebook before the day was through.

Chapter 5

I found Dooley in the kitchen, staring at my water bowl for some reason.

“Everything okay, Dooley?” I asked.

“Have you ever peed in someone else’s water bowl, Max?” my friend asked, showing me that not everything was A-okay in the world of Dooley.

“Um, no, I don’t think I have,” I admitted.

“I’ll bet plenty of cats have,” he said. “And even though I confessed, I’m not sure many others would. And if that’s true, how do we know that the water we drink is clean, Max?”

“I guess we never know for sure,” I said, even though I could already see that my answer was potentially going to cause me no end of trouble.

“There’s only one solution. I think we should ask Odelia to get rid of our bowls.”

“I’m sure there are other solutions.”

“Nope. Only one solution. No more water bowls.”

“But Dooley, we have to drink. It’s very important we stay hydrated, especially with all the dry food we eat.”

“No, I know that, Max.” He trounced up to one of Odelia’s high kitchen stools, and effortlessly jumped up. “Look at this,” he said, and so I followed his example, though with slightly more effort required.

“What is it?” I asked once I’d arrived at my destination.

On the kitchen table was the tablet computer that Odelia got for us, in case we wanted to look up something on the internet. Dooley expertly flicked the thing to life, and I saw that he’d already looked up a page, for the browser depicted an intricate-looking device.

“This is a water dispenser,” he said proudly. “It dispenses water.”

“Oh-kay.”

“There’s a video.” He started a video on the sales site, and it showed me exactly what a water dispenser does. Dooley was right: it dispensed water, which was to be expected.

“Pretty cool,” I said, earning myself a proud smile from my friend.

“They have one for kibble, too. It dispenses kibble, not water.”

“Okay,” I said, seeing his point. “So let’s ask Odelia to get us one of these, shall we? That way we can always be sure that the water we drink is fresh and not tampered with.”

“Oh, Max, I’m so glad you agree. I thought you were going to give me all kinds of objections.”

“Why would I give you all kinds of objections? This is the perfect solution for a household with four cats: instead of four bowls that Odelia constantly has to fill, she can now fill this baby up and there will always be plenty of water for all of us.”

Dooley stared at me. “You mean you want her to buy one… for the four of us?”

“Of course.”

“No, Max,” he said, shaking his head. “She has to buy four of these water dispensers. I can’t possibly drink from your water dispenser, and you can’t drink from mine.”

I wanted to heave a deep sigh, but refrained from doing so. When Dooley has something on his mind, it’s very hard to get him to let go of the idea.

“Fine. Let’s run it by Odelia, and see what she says,” I said, and made to jump down again.

“Wait, Max. There’s something else I wanted to show you.” And with a flick of the paw, he swiped to another page, this one depicting that famous TV show Paw Patrol. “Look, Max,” he said. “It’s a dog… that is also a cop!”

“It’s a TV show for kids, Dooley,” I pointed out. “In real life dogs can’t be cops.”

“No, but they can. Some dogs are trained as police dogs, you see. They go through this whole training program.” And once again he was swiping away, and this time he landed on a website that showcased how some dogs are indeed trained as police dogs, and how they’re very proficient at helping out their human colleagues. “See? They can sniff out drugs, and they can chase suspects… They’re indi… spensable,” he said, reading from one of the promo banners on the page.

I eyed the page for a moment, then shrugged. “So?”

“So maybe we should ask Odelia to hire one of these Paw Patrol dogs. So the dog can protect us in case the man who locked us in that chest comes back.”

I frowned. “You want Odelia to hire a dog to protect her cats?”

“Exactly! These dogs catch bad men all the time, so why not our bad man?”

“Cause we’re cats, Dooley. Cats take care of themselves. They don’t need dogs.”

“But—”

I held up my paw. “Cats don’t need dogs to save them, Dooley. That’s rule number one of being a cat.”

“But we almost died up there, Max. So maybe we’re not as good at taking care of ourselves as we think?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. He had a point, of course, but hiring a dog to watch over us? That was simply too ludicrous to consider.

“Or we could always join this training program,” he said, clicking on a video. “So we’re ready when this person attacks us again.”

We both watched as a few snippets from the dog training program were shown. It frankly made my stomach turn. Dogs were forced to jump through hoops—literally—and scale large obstacles, and even cross small streams. It all looked extremely exhausting.

“I don’t think I want to do that, Dooley,” I said when the video had run its course and so had the dogs. “I mean, I really, really don’t want to do that.”

“I think it would be good for you, Max.”

“No, it won’t.”

“It will make you strong.”

“I am strong already.”

“It will make you fit.”

“I’m perfectly fit.”

“Then I suggest we hire a guard dog.”

Faced with these two options, I have to admit neither one looked very appealing to me. I didn’t want to be protected by a dog, and I didn’t want to be trained as a member of Paw Patrol either. But on the other hand Dooley was right: we had to do something, for it had been proved beyond a reasonable doubt that we weren’t ready in case of an attack.

“Fine,” I said finally. “So maybe we should go ahead with your scheme.”

He perked right up. “Do you really mean that, Max?”

“Yes, I do,” I said, though not wholeheartedly, as you can imagine.

“Great!” he said. “I’ll go and tell Odelia right away!”

And happy as a Paw Patrol puppy, he jumped down from the stool and pranced off.

Sometimes, I thought, Dooley’s excitement was really tiring. Then again, maybe that just proved he was right: I was unfit, untrained, and as such the perfect target.

So… time to get some police cat training in?

Ugh.

Chapter 6

“Bad business, Scarlett,” said Vesta. “Bad business, this.”

“You can say that again,” Vesta’s friend Scarlett agreed.

The two women were seated in the outdoor dining area of the Hampton Cove Star, their small town’s boutique hotel, and sipping from their respective favorite beverages: a hot chocolate with extra cream in Vesta’s case, and a flat white for Scarlett. Both women might be the same age, but they couldn’t have looked more different, and if an innocent bystander were asked to guess their ages, they’d have pegged Scarlett to be in her late fifties to early sixties, and Vesta in her late seventies to early eighties. Vesta, dressed in her usual tracksuit and sensible white shoes, had that whole Golden Girls look down pat, while Scarlett wouldn’t have looked out of place in the best little whorehouse in Texas, with her thick russet curls, her inflated chest, and her face not revealing a single line.

“You simply don’t expect this kind of violence in a small town like ours,” Vesta continued. “Breaking and entering alone is a rare thing, and this attempted murder of four innocent pets? That’s just wicked.”

“Wicked,” Scarlett agreed wholeheartedly. “Probably some uptown lowlife deciding to hit the suburbs for a change. But he’ll soon discover we’re not as soft on crime down here as he might have supposed.”

“I don’t know, Scarlett,” said Vesta musingly. “I mean, you would expect my son to assemble his troops and hunt this animal down, but instead all he can think about is his girlfriend.”

“Charlene Butterwick? Is that still a thing?”

“Oh, yes. Very much so, in fact.”

“I would have thought that after finding out about your cat-talking trick she’d have run for the hills.”

“No, she’s a keeper, that one. Sticking it out. Which may or may not be a good thing.”

“She’s got your son distracted.”

“Exactly. And a distracted chief of police is the last thing we need right now.”

Scarlett shared a keen look with her friend. “I smell an opportunity for the watch, Vesta.”

“I’m way ahead of you, darling. I’ve already told Father Reilly and Wilbur, and we’re going on our first-ever patrol tonight.”

“This night?”

“This night.”

“Woo-hoo!”

“We’re going to patrol this neighborhood to within an inch of its life. And I’d like to see this heartless animal try and strike again. He’s going to have us to contend with.”

“We’re taking that sucker down!” Both women smiled before themselves, thinking pleasant thoughts about the neighborhood watch’s watchful prowess, then Scarlett said, “We’re not going to patrol the neighborhood in that little red Peugeot of yours, are we?”

“I thought maybe we could ask Alec to borrow one of his squad cars. Seeing as he’s not using them anyway.”

“I like your thinking,” said Scarlett, her eyes lighting up. “Ooh—and maybe we should get us some snazzy neighborhood watch outfits, too!”

“Again, way ahead of you.” And Vesta reached into the shopping bag dangling from her chair and took out what at first glance looked like a beige jumpsuit.

“What is that?” asked Scarlett, giving the thing a look of abject disgust.

“The new neighborhood watch uniform,” said Vesta proudly, and unfolded the thing to show it to Scarlett in all its splendor—or horror.

It was a jumpsuit, or at least that’s what it looked like to Scarlett. “I’m not wearing that,” she said decidedly after giving the monstrosity a glance. “Nuh-uh. No way.”

“But why? It’s got a logo and everything. See?” Vesta pointed to the little logo sewn onto the jumpsuit’s chest. It depicted a stern-looking figure pointing at the innocent observer and saying, ‘I’ve got my eye on you!’ The figure looked a little too much like Vesta to be a coincidence, Scarlett thought. The whole thing was tacky to a degree.

“You can wear that thing, but I’m not wearing it,” she repeated.

Vesta stared at her creation. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it? We’re going to look like a couple of morons, that’s what. Have you even tried it on?”

“Sure. I tried it on this morning after the UPS man dropped it off. I ordered them online—I even designed the logo myself.”

“Of course you did.”

Vesta’s look of confusion was replaced with one of censure. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s you!”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s clearly you, Vesta.”

“Well, I had to use a model, and so I figured I might as well use myself. Here. Is that better?” And she ripped off the logo and handed the outfit to Scarlett, who immediately dumped it on the next chair, her face showing her extreme contempt for the thing. “I’ve got one for Wilbur, one for you, and one for Father Reilly, too,” said Vesta, as she emptied the bag and placed them all on the table, next to the plate of pretty little pastries.

“No way in hell is Wilbur going to wear that thing—or Francis, for that matter.”

“Of course they will. And look, I even got these for the cats, in case they want to ride along with us.” And she held up four miniature beige outfits, perfect for cats.

Scarlett had to admit they were cute. “Look, I appreciate all the work you put into this, but I’m not wearing that—ever.”

“But—”

“You can look like a ghostbuster if you want, Vesta. I prefer to look like Sigourney Weaver instead. How about that? Three ghostbusters and one hot crime-fighting mama.”

“Ghostbuster?” asked Vesta, frowning. “What’s a ghostbuster?”

“Wear that outfit and you’ll know. Now let’s talk guns. We can’t go out there unarmed—especially if big-city crime has suddenly decided to sweep into town.”

“I’ve got that covered,” said Vesta, her smile returning, and she placed two futuristic-looking gadgets on the table, on top of the ghostbusters jumpsuits.

“What’s that? asked Scarlett. “Water pistols?”

“Stun guns,” said Vesta. “Perfectly legal, too, and they pack a lot of juice.”

“Stun guns,” said Scarlett doubtfully.

“Zap the bad guys with these things and they won’t know what hit them.”

“They’ll know they haven’t been hit with a real gun, that’s for sure,” said Scarlett, picking one up and turning it this way and that. Then she shrugged. “I guess it’s better than nothing. What else have you got?”

“Pepper spray,” said Vesta, “and this.” And she placed something on the table that looked like a cane.

“What’s this?” asked Scarlett. “Is your hip acting up again?”

“It’s a club,” said Vesta proudly.

“It’s a cane.”

“It’s a club! The website said so.”

“Oh, Vesta,” murmured Scarlett. If she sounded disappointed, it was because she was. “I don’t know about this,” she said finally after swinging the club and almost hitting a passing waiter. “If we’re going up against big-city crime, I just think we need big-city firepower.”

“No can do, I’m afraid,” said Vesta. “For one thing, I don’t have a license, and neither do you, and for another, my son would never allow us to carry weapons in his town.”

“Who cares what Alec thinks? We can’t fight crime with our hands tied behind our backs, Vesta.”

“Well, I do have Jack’s shotgun,” said Vesta, musingly. “I keep it in the garden shed.”

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“Don’t tell Alec, though, or he’ll confiscate it.”

“I don’t get it. Since when are you so afraid of what your son thinks?”

Vesta sighed. “It’s not just Alec. It’s all of them.” She ticked them off on her fingers: “Chase is a cop, Alec is a cop, Odelia is a private dick, and Charlene is the Mayor. And sometimes I’ve got the feeling they’re all conspiring against me. It’s tough being a weak old lady having to fight off an entire army of law enforcement.”

Scarlett smirked. “Honey, you’ve faced off against bigger enemies. Remember how we used to tussle all the time?”

“Oh, do I?” said Vesta with a wistful gleam in her eye. “Those were the good old days.”

“The Vesta I knew didn’t take prisoners, and she never, ever backed down from a fight.”

Vesta nodded, her shoulders sagging. “The Vesta you’re talking about is long gone. I don’t know what’s going on, but when I woke up this morning I felt old. Old and tired.”

“You probably forgot to take your vitamins.”

“It’s not that. It’s having no allies in my own home. Always having to fight alone.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve got me now, hun. And the rest of the watch. We’re your allies.”

Vesta perked up at that. “You mean that?”

“Sure I mean that. I’m in your corner now, Vesta. And I can assure you I’ve got plenty of fight left in me. Enough fight for the both of us.”

Vesta smiled, and that holy fire was back, Scarlett saw to her satisfaction. “Thanks, Scarlett. I guess I needed to hear that.”

“But being in your corner doesn’t mean I’m wearing that ass-ugly outfit—no way.”

Vesta laughed “Fine. You can wear whatever the hell you want. And tonight? We’re going to kick some ass!”

Chapter 7

Dooley glanced at his friend Max and wasn’t happy with what he saw. Max looked preoccupied, he thought. Worried. And he was pretty sure it had something to do with this whole peeing-in-the-water-bowl episode.

Max was a kind cat—sometimes too kind for his own good. And Dooley was absolutely sure that Max had taken the incident very badly indeed, but was too nice to say it.

Dooley couldn’t imagine what it would be like for your best friend to abuse your trust like that. To do something so heinous and so gross, and then to come right out and just… blurt it out like that.

It was something that had been preying on his mind for the past couple of days now, ever since it happened, and he’d been thinking about telling Max the whole time but had been afraid to. And then with the fire, and death suddenly staring them right in the face, he’d just blurted it out, and now he’d have to live with the consequences: Max’s trust in him was obviously completely and utterly shattered, that was only to be expected, and it would take him a long time to learn how to trust again—if he ever would.

Dooley hopped down from his spot on the couch and walked over to the window again, to see if Odelia had arrived home yet. He wanted those water dispensers in place as soon as possible, to alleviate some of the damage he’d done.

He glanced over to Max again, and thought he caught his friend looking over to the kitchen, where his water bowl was placed, and Dooley knew exactly what he was thinking: if Dooley peed in my water bowl once, what’s going to stop him from doing it again? And how will I know?

Oh, the shame! The shame!

Dooley heaved a long and tremulous sigh. Replacing that water bowl with a dispenser wasn’t enough to make Max trust him again. Bigger and more drastic measures needed to be taken, and so he vowed to take them right this minute.

And then he was walking up to Max, and solemnly announced, “Max, I’m going to stop drinking.”

“Mh?” said Max, looking up.

“I said I’m going to stop drinking from now on.”

“And why would you do a silly thing like that?” asked Max, his glance frosty and his tone cold as ice. Clearly Max hated him right now. As well he should!

“Because when I don’t drink, I won’t have to pee, and when I don’t have to pee, I won’t accidentally pee in your bowl again.”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Max, annoyance making his eyes shoot javelins at his former friend.

“Just letting you know, Max,” said Dooley, walking away again. “Just letting you know.”

“Dooley!” said Max, but Dooley was already slouching off. He simply couldn’t bear the look in his former friend’s eyes: a look of sheer contempt and extreme loathing. And who could blame him? Not Dooley!

I stared after my friend, wondering what had gotten into him this time. Dooley sometimes has a habit of seeing trouble where there’s no trouble at all, but stop drinking? That was extremely unhealthy, as far as I could tell. But since I was too busy trying to figure out why this assailant who’d attacked us in Marge and Tex’s attic had done what he did, I soon found my mind returning to this most baffling question.

Odelia must have wondered the same thing, for when she breezed in through the sliding glass doors a few minutes later, the first thing she said was, “I don’t get it, Max. Do you?”

“No, I don’t get it either,” I confessed.

“If he was a burglar, why didn’t he take anything? And if he was a pet killer, why did he use such a roundabout way? Unless he simply panicked when he saw you guys?”

“Usually people panic when they see a dog,” I pointed out. “Cats are not often considered a threat to your run-of-the-mill burglar.”

Odelia had walked up to the fridge and took out a bottle of cold water and poured herself a glass. “My uncle assigned Chase guard duty tonight,” she announced with a twinkle in her eye.

“Guard duty? Who is he guarding?”

“You guys!” said Odelia with a laugh. “And he’s not happy about it.”

“So… he’s going to sit out there in his car and guard us?”

“I think he’d prefer to sit in here and guard you,” said Odelia. “And since he can’t be on guard twenty-four hours, Uncle Alec will have to find a second person.”

“Dooley had a great idea,” I began.

“Oh, I know. He told me all about it. I was skeptical at first, but I’m starting to see his point. I’ll have to talk to my uncle, but I think it can probably be arranged.”

“Great,” I said, though I wasn’t really feeling all that great about the prospect of having to go into cat police academy training. Then again, sometimes the circumstances are such that you simply have no other option than to take the least desirable one.

“Dooley also said something about water and kibble dispensers?”

“Yeah, he feels bad about having done his business in my water bowl. And it got him thinking about who else might be doing the same thing.”

“I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about, Max,” said Odelia. “I change your water every day, so…”

“Oh, I know. And I’m sure that if someone did pee in my bowl, I’d smell it and tell you.” And the fact that I hadn’t, at any point in the last couple of weeks, smelled anything funny about my water, led me to think that Dooley might have made a mistake, and hadn’t, in fact, peed in my water bowl, but one of the other bowls instead, possibly Harriet’s, or Brutus’s, and since they often drank next door, where we also had an array of bowls, they never even found out. And since Odelia changed the water every day, Dooley’s little tinkle had simply been chucked down the sink, no harm done.

I’d meant to tell him, but I’d been so preoccupied with this whole burglary business that it had slipped my mind.

“So does your uncle think this man will be back?” I asked now.

“No idea. But if he does come back, he’ll have Chase to contend with this time. And I can assure you that is a prospect any would-be burglar or pet killer would be wise to avoid.”

Chapter 8

Chase walked into the police station thinking hard thoughts about his superior officer throwing him under the bus like that. He was a detective, for crying out loud—not a glorified catsitter.

Dolores, the station dispatcher and receptionist, saw him come in and said, “Is it true what they’re saying, Chase? That you’re guarding your girlfriend’s cats from now on?”

“Oh, don’t you start, too,” he grumbled as he joined Dolores for a chat. The red-haired middle-aged receptionist was a garrulous woman, and liked nothing better than to shoot the breeze with anyone who passed through her vestibule or happened to call in with some urgent or less urgent complaint.

“That’s what you get from being henpecked, Detective,” said Dolores in her trademark rasp. Then she gave him a wink. “Or I should probably say catpecked, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, idly leafing through her logbook. “Apparently the Chief thinks I’m the best man for the job, and who am I to question the big guy’s judgment?”

“Oh, I think you’re perfect for the job,” said Dolores. “And I’m sure with you around those cat killers won’t stand a chance.”

“It is a particularly heinous kind of crime,” he mused. “I mean, who in their right mind would lock up a couple of innocent pets and set them on fire? You have to be a really evil person to do a thing like that.” The whole episode had upset him to a degree. He hated violence against the innocent and the harmless, and pets were about the most innocent and harmless you could find. “When I get my hands on that piece of…”

“And I’m sure you will, Detective,” said Dolores knowingly. “So what was that guy doing in Marge’s attic is what I would like to know.”

“No idea. Apparently looking at some old photo albums. Marge and Tex’s wedding pictures. Though what anyone would want with those is frankly beyond me.”

“A mystery most baffling,” said Dolores. “So have you two set a date yet?”

“Oh, sure. September the fifth is the big day. Haven’t you gotten your invitation yet?”

“No, sir, I have not.” She shrugged. “I just figured you’d want to celebrate with friends and family only, and throw a separate party for colleagues at a later date or something.”

“No, I want you there, Dolores. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Gee, thanks,” said Dolores, clearly tickled pink at these words.

“I’ll ask Odelia. She’s been handling that kind of stuff, together with her mom and grandma.”

Dolores’s smile disappeared. “Well, that explains it, then.”

“What?”

“If Vesta is involved in the wedding preparations she’ll probably have vetoed me. Me and her don’t exactly get along.”

“And why doesn’t that surprise me?” said Chase with a smile. Vesta was an acquired taste, and more often than not rubbed people the wrong way.

“Is she still going ahead with this neighborhood watch thing of hers?”

“Yeah, that’s still going strong.”

“Bad idea, if you ask me. The Chief should never have allowed his mom to play amateur cop like that. She’ll create more trouble than she’s worth, her and Scarlett Canyon.”

“I think it’s all pretty harmless,” he said, tapping the counter and turning to go. “And as long as she’s out there patrolling the streets, she can’t cause trouble someplace else.”

“Hm,” said Dolores doubtfully. “Leave it to Vesta to cause trouble all over the place. Mark my words, Chase. The Chief will rue the day he set that woman loose on these fine streets of ours.”

And as Chase walked on, he wondered if Dolores was right. But then he figured the boss knew what he was doing. He had, after all, more experience dealing with his mother than anyone else in the precinct.

Charlene smiled at her guests. The two men could have been twins if she hadn’t known better: both were wearing identical charcoal suits, their hair perfectly coiffed by what looked like the same hairdresser, and they were even wearing the same glasses. The only difference between Mark Dawson and James Blatch, as far as she could determine, was that one was in charge of the proceedings, and the other was merely along for the ride.

“So you see, Madam Mayor,” said Mr. Blatch as he indicated the tablet on her desk. “Construction on the mall will provide plenty of jobs, and once the mall is operational, that will increase even more. Of course we’d prefer to recruit our workforce locally.”

“You did your homework, Mr. Blatch,” she said, leaning back. “But what you haven’t taken into consideration is the economic impact on the heart of our town. With so many new stores opening, don’t you think the town center will lose its appeal?”

“I can assure you that this whole ‘death of Main Street’ is simply a myth, Madam Mayor,” said the extremely tanned businessman with an indulgent smile. “The truth is that more shops means more shoppers, and those shoppers will also want to visit Main Street, and spend their hard-earned money on the local stores. Your town will thrive!”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Charlene. “Do you have hard evidence that this is the case? Projections, studies, things like that?”

“Oh, absolutely. And I’ll be more than happy to share them with you.”

The guy was a smooth talker, but then that was probably a given, as he was trying to sell her on an entire mall. She glanced up when the phone on her desk started ringing. She pressed a button. “I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed, Imelda,” she began.

“It’s Chief Alec, Ma’am,” said her secretary, her voice betraying her distress. “He says it’s urgent.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she picked up the phone and threw her guests a reassuring glance and held up her finger. “Chief?” she said, listening intently.

“Charlene—it’s your uncle. He’s been in an accident.”

“My uncle? How…”

“Charlene, honey.” The Chief’s voice turned sorrowful. “I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”

Chapter 9

Tex wasn’t in a particularly good mood. When a man’s house is being burgled, and his cats are being attacked in his very own home, it’s enough to put any person off his game, and it was with this recent tragedy in mind that he now invited his next patient into his office. Usually this was Vesta’s job, but as usual his mother-in-law had decided to renege on her duties and instead gallivant all over town and play amateur cop instead.

It was one more thing to set the seal on his gloom, and as he tried to spirit a welcoming smile on his face so as not to scare off this new patient of his, he mentally wished for this long day to end already so he could go home and ascertain whether the security company his daughter’s future husband had promised he’d get in touch with, had secured his home to such an extent that it was now burglar-proof.

“Take a seat, please, Mr…” he said. It rarely happened that he saw a new patient these days, most of his patients were regulars who’d found their way to his office years ago.

The young man didn’t speak, and accepted his invitation to take a seat in silence. He was a clean-cut young man, and wouldn’t have looked out of place in a recruitment video for Mormon elders. His white shirt was crisp, his slacks perfectly creased, and he was wearing a nice paisley tie. Even his hair looked cut from the same mold Barbie’s Ken was cut from. The only thing that detracted from the picture of what could have been absolute male perfection were his ears, which stood out from his head a little.

“So what can I do for you?” asked Tex as he took a seat behind his desk and rested his elbows on his blotter, his fingers interlaced, projecting the image of the capable doctor.

“This may surprise you, Dr. Poole,” said the young man, “but I’m actually not here as a patient.”

“Oh?” said Tex. But then he got it. He pointed at the man. “I know who you are.”

“You do?”

“Sure. Sales rep for a pharmaceutical company. Am I right or am I right?” And he smiled the kind of smile that said, ‘Give me your best shot, salesman person, and please make sure to add the words Ten-day Cruise and Five-star Hotel to your sales pitch.’

But much to his surprise the young man shook his head. “I’m actually here for personal reasons,” he said, causing Tex to frown.

“Personal reasons?”

“Yes. You are Doctor Tex Poole, right?”

“That’s me.”

The young man smiled an engaging smile, and it was as if the sun suddenly broke through the cloud deck. He thrust out a hand. “My name is Dudley Checkers, Dr. Poole. But you probably know me as Jaqlyn’s son.”

“I do?”

“My mom told me all about you.”

“Jaqlyn… Checkers you say?” Tex threw his mind back… and a vague recollection stirred of a mousy brown-haired girl with freckles, braces and a lisp.

“She told me how you met, and how you were the love of her life.”

Tex gulped a little at this. “Love of her life, eh?”

“Sure. Don’t you remember? The only reason she broke up with you is because her parents made her. They were Western Baptists, and didn’t take kindly to their daughter dating a person who wasn’t a member of their church. It broke her heart, Dr. Poole.”

“Is that so?” he said, still trying to remember who this Jaqlyn person was exactly.

“And then when she discovered she was pregnant, of course there was hell to pay.”

“Pregnant!” he said. The plot was thickening—in fact it was thickening so fast Tex’s head was spinning.

“Her folks wanted her to have the baby, of course, and I can tell you, Dr. Poole, that I never stinted for love and affection. Oh, no, sir, I did not.” The young man’s smile turned positively Hollywoodian now—wide and toothy. “Mom told me the whole story last month. She died, you see, and didn’t want to leave this world without laying it all out for me—a tearful moment, I can tell you. She told me to go and meet my dad… and gave me his name.” The kid then stuck out his hand. “I’m so happy to finally meet you… Daddy!”

“How did it happen?” asked Charlene as she stared down into the empty pool.

“He must have lost his balance,” said Alec. “If it’s any consolation, he never knew what happened. Simply fell in and… well, died.”

She nodded. She’d always been fond of this uncle of hers, even though they hadn’t been in touch all that much lately. Since becoming mayor of Hampton Cove her schedule had been pretty crammed, and then with romance suddenly sweeping into her life…

She placed a hand on her boyfriend’s arm, and he hugged her close. “We’re still asking around, but so far the story checks out: he was out here, inspecting the work when it happened. No one else around.”

“He’d always been fond of his job. Said building pools was the best job in the world. And he was good at it, too. Best pool builder in the county.”

“I know. If I was in the market for a pool I’d have hired your uncle. He was the best.”

They were in the backyard of a villa that was still under construction. The owners had decided to go all in and had hired Frank Butterwick to put in a pool.

“If only he’d fallen in at the shallow end,” said Charlene as she wiped away a tear.

Abe Cornwall, the county coroner, looked up from his inspection of the body. “Not much I can tell you that you don’t already know,” he said, addressing the Chief. “Contusions consistent with a fall from this height. Death was instantaneous, I’d say.”

“Thanks, Abe,” said Alec, and gently led Charlene away from the grisly scene. “I’ve already called your mom and dad. They’ll be here soon.”

She glanced up when she saw a couple of her uncle’s workers, talking animatedly amongst each other. “Did you talk to them?” she asked. “What did they say?”

“They weren’t here when it happened. None of them were. Your uncle had a habit of being the first to arrive in the morning, and work out the day’s schedule.”

“Who found him?”

“That fellow over there,” said Alec, pointing to a gangly guy with an overbite. “Name is Grant Folkman. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Yeah, I’d like to,” she said, so they walked over to where her uncle’s men were standing around, and Alec nodded a greeting.

“This is Frank’s niece,” he introduced Charlene. “And this here is Grant. You found Charlene’s uncle, isn’t that right, Grant?”

“Yeah—big shock it was, too,” said Grant, dropping down the stub of his cigarette and crushing it under his heel. “He was a great guy, Mrs. Butterwick.”

“Miss,” said Charlene, more out of habit than anything else. “How long have you worked for my uncle, Grant?”

“Oh, about three years now, I think? There wasn’t a lot of turnover, which probably says something about Frank. He wasn’t just a great guy, but a great boss, too.”

“He could yell up a storm, though, couldn’t he?” said one of Grant’s colleagues.

“Yeah, Frank was definitely a yeller,” said Grant with a smile. “But you knew he didn’t mean it. He yelled but not in a nasty way, if you know what I mean.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Grant gave her a shifty-eyed glance. “Do you—do you know what’s going to happen now, Miss? I mean, with Frank gone and all?”

“No, I’m sorry but I wasn’t involved in my uncle’s business. Didn’t he have a business partner?”

“Yeah, but he kinda disappeared,” said Grant with a shrug.

“Disappeared? What do you mean?”

“Just that. He was here one day and gone the next. Frank wasn’t happy about it, but what could he do?”

“And who was this business partner?” asked Alec.

“Um… well, personally I never met him, but I think his name was Pollard? He was what you might call a silent partner?”

“Oh, he sure was silent, all right,” said the other worker. “So silent we never saw him.”

Charlene nodded. “I’m sure my family will sort it all out. My parents will be here soon, and my dad—he helped set up my uncle’s business. I’m sure he knows all about it.”

“Thanks, Miss Butterwick,” said the young man with a nod.

And as Charlene and Alec walked off, she heard him say to his buddy, “Good-looking woman, that Miss Butterwick,” and she smiled.

“I’ll try to get in touch with this business partner,” said Alec.

“No, don’t bother. My dad will sort it all out. He’s in charge now. He’ll decide what to do with the business.”

“Fair enough,” said Alec, and gave her a look of concern. “Will you be all right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” she said with a wave of the hand. “I’ll be just fine. I’ll wait until my parents are here and then I have to get back.”

“The mall meeting?”

“I canceled it. For now.”

“Good,” he said, making perfectly clear what he thought of the project.

Chapter 10

I was sipping from my bowl of water when I noticed Dooley intently looking at me from the sidelines. It was a little disconcerting, to be honest. I’m one of those cats that don’t like it when people look at them when they’re eating or drinking. I don’t know why, but it simply makes me nervous. Even when it’s a close friend like Dooley doing the staring, it makes me a little giggly. And it made me more than a little giggly now.

“What?” I asked finally, when he wouldn’t stop looking.

“How can you do that, Max?” he asked, shaking his head.

“Do what?” I asked as I licked the few drops of water dangling from my mustache.

“Drink without making sure if the water is clean.”

I frowned at him. “I’m pretty sure that Odelia wouldn’t give us bad water to drink,” I said. “And besides, I also like to think that my sense of smell and my sense of taste are capable enough to make sure that this water is fine for feline consumption.”

“But how can you be sure, Max?” he insisted. “How can you be absolutely sure?”

“Um… Well, I guess one can never be one hundred percent sure, but that’s where trust features into the thing. I trust Odelia not to poison me, so there’s that.”

He shook his head sadly, then said, “Are you absolutely sure the water was fine?”

I glanced at my bowl, then back at my friend. “What do you mean?”

He suddenly gestured to a carton of grapefruit juice lying next to him. I recognized it as belonging to Chase, who likes all forms of fruit juice, and likes to switch things up, too.

“Are you sure the water didn’t taste like… grape?” asked Dooley with a meaningful look in his eyes.

“I…” Giving the water another lick, I determined that yes, it did indeed taste a little bit like grapefruit juice. But just a hint, you know. I smiled at my friend. “You tricked me!”

“I did,” he said gravely. “Just to show you that you can never be too careful.”

And then understanding dawned. “Is this still about the peeing in my bowl thing?”

“Oh, Max! You say you would have noticed if I peed in your bowl. That Odelia must have changed the water before you had a chance to drink from that contaminated bowl. But I think what happened is you simply didn’t pay attention and you drank that entire bowl. Just like you did now.” His voice broke, and that mournful expression was back.

“Look, even if I did, no harm done, right? A little bit of pee won’t kill me.”

He gave me a look of profound shock. “Max, how can you say that! I tried to poison you and you’re treating the whole thing so—so flippantly!”

“Because it’s not a big deal,” I said, and patted my friend on the back. “Hey, now. Don’t feel bad, Dooley. We all make mistakes, and that’s fine. No harm done, right?”

“Oh, Max,” he said. “I don’t deserve a friend like you. I really don’t.” And with these words, he shuffled off, looking even more dejected than before.

And I would have gone after him to get it through that thick skull of his that it really wasn’t a big deal, but then Gran waltzed in and made a beeline for me. “Max! Great news, buddy. The watch will be patrolling the streets of this neighborhood tonight, and if we see any sign of this cat killer, we’ll nab him and nab him good!”

“Great,” I said without much excitement.

“Aren’t you thrilled?” she asked censoriously. “You should be thrilled. The watch is here to protect you. You and every other member of our neighborhood.”

“No, it’s just that… Dooley is acting really weird, and I don’t know how to get him out of his funk.”

“The watch can’t help you there… but I can,” she finished on a triumphant note. “I’ll talk to that young whippersnapper, shall I? What seems to be the problem this time?”

“He peed in my water bowl and now he blames himself and figures I’m angry with him—which I’m not.”

“Peed in your water bowl,” said Gran, committing this to memory as she tapped her temple. “Got it. I’ll get on it right away. Anything else?”

“No, that’s it.”

She picked me up and gave me a closer scrutiny. “No lingering effects from the fire?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? Cause I can get you a pet shrink if you want. Or a trauma specialist.”

“No need,” I said. “And with you patrolling the streets I feel so much safer already.”

Her smile was infectious, and touching. “That’s what I’m doing this for, Max. For people like you.” And with these words, she put me down again and was off with a spring in her step. “The watch is watching!” she announced as she passed through the door and out into the backyard. “So watch out!”

I couldn’t help but grin at this. And if she could make Dooley see the light, so much the better. And it was with a heart filled with hope that I set paw for the great outdoors myself. The sun was out in full force, and frankly I could do with a bit of fresh air. And I was just passing through the hole in the hedge and going in search of Brutus and Harriet when suddenly Tex came walking out of the house, a clean-cut young man in tow.

Marge, who’d been hanging up the laundry, looked up.

“Marge, honey,” said Tex. “I want you to meet someone. Dudley, this is Marge, my wife. Marge, this is Dudley Checkers. Dudley is… my son.”

Chapter 11

“He doesn’t look like Tex,” said Brutus.

“It’s the ears,” said Harriet. “Try to picture him without those floppy ears and I think he looks just like Tex.”

“I think he looks like Marge,” said Dooley.

“He can’t look like Marge, Dooley,” I said. “Marge isn’t his mother.”

The four of us were on the porch swing, intently watching the scene as it played out in the backyard. Tex had introduced his new son to his wife, and Marge was so taken aback she’d almost fallen on her tushy.

“I don’t understand,” said Dooley. “If Tex is Dudley’s father, then Marge must be his mother, right?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “As I understand it Tex had a girlfriend before he met Marge and he and this girlfriend had, um, relations, and that’s where this kid comes from.”

Dooley chewed on that for a long moment. Judging from the thought wrinkle that appeared on his furry brow, it was tough going for a while, but finally he said, “So if he’s Tex’s son but not Marge’s… what does that make him?”

“It makes him Marge’s… stepson, I guess?” said Harriet. “And Odelia’s stepbrother.”

Dooley’s eyes went a little wider. “Odelia has a brother?”

“Yeah, this guy we’re looking at right now,” said Brutus.

“But… he doesn’t look like Odelia at all, so how can he be her brother?”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet with an eyeroll.

“What’s going on?” asked Gran, who’d come out of the house munching on a cream cheese bagel and now took a seat next to us on the swing, her short legs dangling.

“Tex just found out he has a son,” I said. “And he told Marge but I don’t think she’s happy about it.”

Gran almost dropped her bagel. “Tex? A son? What the hell are you talking about?”

“This kid just introduced himself and said he’s Tex’s son,” said Harriet with a shrug. “That’s all I know.”

“That’s all any of us know,” I said, with just a touch of chagrin. Usually we’re the best-informed cats in Hampton Cove and now it appeared as if there was a very big secret that we hadn’t been clued into, and it had hit very close to home, too.

“I don’t believe this,” said Gran, gawking at this Dudley character, who now stood beaming at Marge. “Tex has a son.” She narrowed her eyes at the kid. “How old is he?”

“Um… probably in his late twenties?” I guessed.

“Huh,” said Gran, and started munching her bagel again, though judging from the mechanical movements of her jaw she was thinking hard—almost as hard as Dooley.

“I don’t know if I like this, Max,” Dooley confessed. “A brother for Odelia. What does it mean?”

“What do you mean what does it mean? It means what it means,” I said, becoming philosophical for a change.

“I mean is he going to move in with us? Or move in with Marge and Tex?”

“I doubt that very much,” I said. “He probably has a place of his own. So why would he move in with us?”

“Great news, you guys!” Tex suddenly announced, including us in the conversation. “Dudley is moving in with us!”

“Oh, for God’s sakes,” said Gran, not sounding all that excited at the prospect of welcoming this new grandson of hers into the family.

“Tex!” said Marge suddenly. “Can I have a word? In private?” she added pointedly.

“Oh, sure. Make yourself at home, Dudley. Mi casa es su casa and all that, right?”

“Thanks, Dad,” said Dudley. He looked as fresh-faced and excited to meet his dad as any son who’s just met his long-lost dad for the first time.

Marge and Tex charged into the house and Marge slammed the kitchen door for good measure.

“Uh-oh,” said Gran. “Looks like trouble in the family.”

“Do you think Marge is unhappy about having a son?” asked Dooley.

“You can bet she is,” said Gran, then muttered, “I’m going to have to shut up now, you guys. He’s coming over to talk to me.” And then she plastered the fakest smile on her face I’d ever seen outside of a soap opera finale, and said, “So nice to meet you… Dudley, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Dudley, and held out a hand, which Gran shook after a moment’s hesitation. And since her hand was smeared with cream cheese, Dudley’s hand was now also smeared with cream cheese, which he didn’t seem all that happy about.

“See, Max?” said Dooley. “That’s how easy contamination can happen. And before you know it you’re eating or drinking someone else’s contaminants.”

“Has Gran talked to you yet?” I asked.

“No, why?” he said. Then, alarmed, added, “She’s not sick or dying, is she?”

“Gran is fine. It’s you that’s not fine. Harping on this pee incident the whole time.”

“But it’s important, Max!”

“Oh, will you please give it a rest already,” said Harriet. “What’s done is done, Dooley, so drop the subject, will you?”

“But—”

“It’s happened to me many, many times, Dooley,” said Brutus, placing a brotherly paw on my friend’s shoulder. “And do you see me fretting? Do you see me making a big fuss?”

“It happened to you many times?” said Harriet with a laugh. “What do you mean?”

“Well, sometimes I have to pee so bad that I don’t reach my litter box in time, and since I don’t want to pee on the floor, or, God forbid, in a flowerpot, I often pick the first suitable receptacle I see, and in many cases that’s one of the water bowls.”

We all stared at the cat now. “What water bowls?” asked Harriet.

“Well, I try to be fair and square about it, so if I pick Max’s bowl one day, I always try to pick Dooley’s the next, or… yours…”

Harriet’s eyes were shooting sheets of flame in the direction of her one and true love. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been peeing in my water bowl all this time?”

He gave her a guarded look. “Well, not all the time, if you see what I mean—just some of the time.”

“Why don’t you pee in your own bowl, Brutus?” I asked. “Why pee in ours?”

He stared at me thoughtfully. “Huh. I guess the thought has never occurred to me to pee in my own bowl. Though now that you mention it, maybe that’s what I should have done from the beginning,” he added when he caught Harriet’s furious look amidships and rocked back a little.

“I can’t believe you’ve been peeing in our bowls!” Harriet cried.

“Just a tinkle,” he said. “The pre-pee, if you catch my drift. To tide me over until I can reach my litter box without having an accident. Just those first few drops, you know.”

“Oh, I do know, and now I understand why my water sometimes tastes a little off.”

“See, Max?” said Dooley. “You’ve been drinking Brutus’s pee all this time and you didn’t even notice.”

“Well, so have you, Dooley,” I pointed out, and watched my friend’s face fall.

“Ewww!” he said. “I’m never drinking from my bowl again!”

Suddenly those water dispensers sounded like a great idea.

At least Brutus wouldn’t be able to take a tinkle in those. Or would he?

Chapter 12

Odelia was hard at work on her article about the attack on her cats that morning when her uncle waltzed into her office. She was surprised to see him, for he was usually not in the habit of visiting her at the Gazette offices.

“Hey, Uncle Alec,” she said. And when she noticed the careworn expression on her uncle’s face when he took a seat, she immediately feared the worst. “Did Charlene break up with you again?”

Immediately he gave her a look of indignation. “No, she did not. What makes you think that?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “Just… you have that look.”

“Charlene did not break up with me,” he said emphatically. “Whatever people say.” He eyed her intently. “Have people been saying that about us? Is that it?”

“No, I haven’t picked up any gossip about you and Charlene lately.”

Often people in Hampton Cove, when they had nothing better to do, enjoyed spending their time gossiping about anyone and everyone, and even when they didn’t have time they still considered it their most beloved pastime for some reason.

“Charlene’s uncle died this morning,” he said, glancing around her office for a moment before settling his gaze on her again. “Looks like an accident. He installed pools for a living,” he explained, “and he fell in at the deep end of an empty pool. Died on impact, according to Abe.”

“That’s terrible,” said Odelia. “Was Charlene close with her uncle?”

“Not particularly, but she was fond of him. Well, you know how it is. You’re close to all of your relatives when you’re little, then you go off to college and start your career and those once close family bonds tend to fall by the wayside as you build your own life.”

“Except for us,” she said with a smile.

Her uncle reciprocated with a goofy smile of his own. “Yeah, except for our family. But anyway, I was thinking that if you don’t have too much work on your hands right now that maybe you could look into this guy’s death for me?”

She arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “You mean his accident?”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“You think he was murdered?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Honestly? No idea. Call it a hunch, but I have the feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

“Sure, I’ll look into it if you want. But is there a particular reason you’re asking me and not one of your officers?”

“If the police get involved it will be in the context of an official police inquiry, and that’s exactly what I don’t want. I want everyone to think it’s a simple accident.”

“You don’t want to alarm the murderer.”

“If there is a murderer,” he said.

“Gotcha.”

“Oh, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Charlene.”

“You don’t want her to know her uncle may have been murdered?”

“No, I don’t. She’s got enough on her plate as it is. And if I’m wrong about this, I don’t want her to get all worked up about it for no reason.”

“Sure. I’ll be super-discreet.” When her uncle didn’t make any indication of getting up, she frowned. “Is there more?”

He scratched his nose. “Well, um… your grandmother just sent me a text. Looks like there’s going to be a family extension.”

“A family extension? What do you mean?”

“Yeah, a kid just came forward claiming he’s your dad’s son.”

Odelia blinked. Whatever she’d been expecting, it most definitely wasn’t this. “My dad’s son? You mean…”

“Looks like your dad dated the kid’s mom at some point and she ended up pregnant and had his baby.” He held up his hands. “That’s all I know.”

“My dad… has a son,” she said, highly taken aback by this unexpected piece of news. “I wonder how Mom is taking this.”

“Knowing my sister, not well,” said her uncle, who was still making no indication of having said his bit. “And in other news, your grandmother is going to start patrolling the streets at night, looking for that so-called cat killer.”

“That’s great,” said Odelia, nodding. “I hope she catches the guy.”

“Yeah, well, all I know is that when Vesta is out and about, trouble usually follows her around like a newborn pup.” He got up. “Oh, and that dog you were asking about? I think I found just the one.”

“You did? Hey, that’s great!”

“Yeah, he’s a bit long in the tooth maybe, but by all accounts he used to be a fine police dog when he was still on active duty.”

Her face fell. “You’re getting me a retired dog?”

“Of course. What did you expect? That you were getting an active dog? Those are all spoken for, honey. But Rambo is a mighty fine specimen, so your cats will be absolutely safe.” Her uncle flashed her a quick grin. “And he’s had all his shots, too.”

And with these words, he left the office, giving the doorframe a rap as he went.

A retired police dog to guard her cats, Grandma Muffin patrolling the streets and, most importantly, a stepbrother. No wonder her uncle felt the need to drop by in person.

She picked up her phone and called her mom but the call went straight to voicemail. So instead she called her grandmother, who picked up at the first ring.

“What do you want?” growled the older lady.

“Is it true that I have a stepbrother?” she asked.

Gran chuckled loudly. “Yeah, you do. And he’s something else, too.”

“That bad, huh?”

“No, that good. The perfect son! Very polite, very nice, and not too bad-looking either. Though he should probably do something about his ears, and that’s exactly what I told him.”

“His ears?”

“Yeah, you’ll see. When are you coming home to meet your new brother?”

Her heart sank. “How is Mom taking it?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m guessing… not good?”

“You’re guessing right. If I were in your father’s shoes right now I’d want to be zapped up by Captain Kirk and taken aboard the Starship Enterprise to the far side of the galaxy.”

“That bad, huh.”

“Better get over here before she commits involuntary manslaughter is all I’m saying.”

And as she disconnected, Odelia wondered where this new brother of hers had suddenly sprung from. Mom’s worst nightmare, probably.

Chapter 13

When Charlene returned to her office she was surprised that the two businessmen trying to sell her on the idea of a new shopping mall for Hampton Cove were still there.

She’d thought for sure they would have left by now.

Imelda, her secretary, made her aware of their presence when she said, in an exaggerated whisper, “They refused to leave! Said they preferred to await your return rather than reschedule!”

If she hadn’t been in the mood to discuss the development of a shopping mall project before, she certainly wasn’t now, after learning about the tragic death of her uncle. But she’d long ago accepted that a public servant wasn’t always in control of their agenda, and that compromises would have to be made along the way.

So she waltzed into her office to find the same two gentlemen still seated at her desk, as if they hadn’t moved a muscle. The only difference was that they’d brought out their model, and had placed it right on top of her desk.

She stared at the thing now, and had to admit that it looked pretty neat indeed.

“Ah, Madam Mayor,” said Mr. Blatch, still rocking that incredible tan of his, and those shiny white teeth. “We were hoping you’d come back.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” she said. “A family emergency.”

“We absolutely understand,” said Mr. Dawson, who was the more soft-spoken and reticent of the twosome. “I hope the news wasn’t too bad?”

“My uncle died,” she blurted out. “Fell into an empty pool and cracked his skull.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Mr. Blatch, his smile faltering.

“Terrible tragedy, I’m sure,” said his colleague, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

There was a moment’s silence after that—a respectable silence, Charlene liked to think, but the moment she opened her mouth to speak, both men’s smiles returned and they proudly pointed to the model. “This is what she will look like,” said Mr. Blatch.

“A gem, don’t you think?” said Mr. Dawson.

“A jewel in Hampton Cove’s crown.”

“It looks pretty… impressive,” she had to admit. And then she noticed the name written above the mall entrance: The Butterwick Mall.

“Do you like the name? We can always change it,” said Mr. Dawson.

“How about the Charlene Shopping Center?” said Mr. Blatch.

“Or the Butterwick Galleria.”

“Has a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you agree, Madam Mayor?”

She smiled. She’d been in politics long enough to know when she was being played. “Look, I don’t care about the name. I just want what’s best for this town,” she said.

“Oh, we absolutely agree,” said Mr. Blatch.

“Absolutely,” said Mr. Dawson. “Which is why we’ve gone to the trouble of acquiring the land the mall will be built on—just in case.”

“Just in case,” mimicked his fellow real estate developer.

“You already bought up all the land?” she asked.

“All except one plot,” said Mr. Blatch.

“One teensy tiny plot of land.”

“Unfortunately it’s also the most important plot, as it’s located right… there,” said Mr. Blatch, and pointed to the center of the mall, where a very nice fountain stood.

“And who owns that land?” she asked, curious in spite of herself.

Mr. Blatch ceremoniously got out his phone and tapped it, then announced, “One Tex Poole, who acquired the land back in 1995 but then never developed it.”

“It just sits there,” said his colleague, shaking his head and tut-tutting slightly.

“Isn’t that just sad? To buy a piece of land, ripe for building, and then never build?”

“Did you just say… Tex Poole?” asked Charlene, taken aback.

Both men nodded. “Yep. Tex Poole,” said Mr. Blatch. “I have it right here on my phone so it must be right.”

“We contacted Mr. Poole, and so far he’s refusing to sell, unfortunately.”

“Which is why we were hoping for the council’s approval, so we can fast-track the process of buying him out.”

“Or finding some other solution,” said Mr. Dawson, giving her a knowing wink.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said.

Both men looked taken aback. “Oh, no, we don’t what?” asked Mr. Blatch.

“You do know that Tex Poole is my boyfriend’s brother-in-law, of course.”

“Your brother-in-law?” asked Mr. Dawson, looking genuinely surprised.

“I can assure you that we didn’t know, Madam Mayor,” said Mr. Blatch.

“Absolutely no idea.”

“None whatsoever.”

They looked earnest enough, but then you never knew with these business types, Charlene thought. They could simply be using her to get to Tex, if he really did own that piece of land, and was refusing to sell.

“Look, we’ll leave this here with you, how about that?” said Mr. Blatch, lovingly placing both hands on the model and giving it a gentle tap.

“And we’ll let you discuss it with the members of the town council,” said Mr. Dawson.

“And when you’ve made up your mind, please let us know at your earliest convenience.”

“Because if we’re going to pursue this, we need to move fast.”

“Other towns are clamoring for this highly unique and promising project, and so we’re not going to be able to leave this on the table for much longer.”

“Another… five days, perhaps?”

“Let’s make it seven,” said his partner.

And then both men got up swiftly and held out their hands. She shook them and watched them leave, then returned her gaze to the model right under her nose.

It did look pretty darn impressive. A mall for Hampton Cove, and a mall carrying her name at that. Mom and Dad would be really proud if she would be able to pull this off.

But then she shook herself. She wasn’t going to be tempted by vanity. She needed to figure out if this was a good thing for the town or not, and not be swayed by ulterior motives.

Then again. The Butterwick Mall? It sounded pretty cool.

Chapter 14

Dinner was a family affair, as everyone wanted to meet Tex’s new son in person. Even Uncle Alec and Charlene were there, and so was Scarlett, who’s Gran’s best friend.

We were all seated in Tex and Marge’s backyard, though if the guests had expected Marge to lay out a nice big spread they were sadly mistaken. In fact Tex had had to order pizza because his wife made it clear that she would never, under any circumstances, cook for this son of his he hadn’t told her about in the twenty-five years they’d been married.

I think it was safe to say that Marge was livid, and Tex looked distinctly ill at ease.

“So how did you find out that Tex was your dad?” asked Scarlett, who’s never shy to ask the really tough questions. She would have made a great reporter, I reckoned.

“My mama told me before she died,” said the kid, whose ears really were quite large.

“On her death bed, huh? How romantic,” said Scarlett, with a distinct lack of tact.

“Yeah, she would have told me sooner but she was always afraid to,” said Dudley. “But when she got the diagnosis she knew she had to make a choice: take her secret into the grave, or tell me. And I’m glad she opted for the latter,” he added, directing a proud glance at his father. “In fact I’m happy things turned out the way they did. Not with my mother dying, I mean, but with me finally finding my dad. Can you pass me the ketchup, Daddy?”

“Sure… son,” said Tex awkwardly.

“So is it true that Dad offered for you to stay here?” asked Odelia now.

“Yeah, I’m in between homes right now? I was living with my mom the last couple of months, taking care of her. But since she died her sister, my Auntie Ellen, put the house on the market, and so I don’t have anywhere to stay right now.”

“You can stay in the attic,” said Marge, earning herself a startled look from her husband.

“Honey, I thought he could take the spare bedroom.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, we don’t have a spare bedroom anymore, Tex,” said Marge icily. “We turned it into a storage space,” she explained for the sake of Dudley.

“Oh, but the attic is perfectly fine,” said Dudley, squirting a big helping of ketchup on his pizza and then taking a big bite. “In fact any room will do. I’m used to living rough.”

“Didn’t your mother ever marry?” asked Gran, who is just as curious as Scarlett and just as shameless in her questions.

Dudley’s face darkened. “I did have a stepdad for a while, but he wasn’t the kindest man in the world.” He shrugged. “What can I say? In between the beatings and the verbal abuse he was okay, I guess. But I was still happy when Mom finally kicked him out.”

“That sounds pretty terrible,” said Odelia with feeling.

“Yeah, it wasn’t the best time of my life.” The kid’s face creased into a big smile. “But things are finally looking up now that I finally found my daddy.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” said Gran, giving her daughter a curious look, which Marge pointedly chose to ignore.

“What do you think about Tex’s new son, Max?” asked Dooley.

The four of us were lying a little ways away on the cooling lawn, observing the humans’ interactions with a distinct sense of astonishment. It’s not every day that suddenly your humans’ number is expanded with the arrival on the scene of a new son.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “He sure seems nice enough. But I don’t like that he’s causing this rift between Marge and Tex.”

“He’s causing a rift?!” asked Dooley, giving me a look of surprise.

“Oh, Dooley, can’t you see yourself how hard Marge is taking this whole situation?” said Harriet. “She’s obviously suffering.”

Dooley studied Marge for a moment, then shook his head. “She looks all right to me.”

“That’s because you’re a guy,” said Harriet. “Guys always have a hard time putting themselves in the shoes of a girl.”

“Why would I want to wear Marge’s shoes?” asked Dooley. “I never wear shoes.”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet with a sigh.

“I like him,” said Brutus. “I think he looks just like Odelia. And if he would do something about those ears of his, I think I would probably like him even more.”

“Which just goes to show what a superficial cat you really are,” snapped Harriet. She’d obviously not forgiven her boyfriend for peeing in our bowls yet. “I just hope for your sake, Brutus, that you haven’t been doing number two in our kibble bowls,” she added, causing both Dooley and I to give her a look of horror.

“Number two in our kibble bowls!” Dooley cried.

“For the record,” said Brutus stoically, “I did not—I repeat, I did not—do number two in your kibble bowls.”

“Oh? And why would I believe you?”

“Look, I just didn’t, all right? There’s a big difference between doing number one and doing number two in someone’s bowl, is what I mean to say.”

“The only difference is in your head, Brutus,” said Harriet. “And you know why? Because you have no respect for me, that’s why.”

“I have all the respect in the world for you, sugar plum. Absolutely. I just never thought—”

“I’d find out?”

“—I’d suffer an accident like that.”

“And how many times did you suffer this ‘accident?’” she asked, making air quotes.

“Um…” He shot a quick glance in my direction and I held up a single digit. “Um…” I stressed the digit with a pointed look in his direction. “Um… maybe like… six times?”

“Six times!”

Oh, dear. Now he’d gone and done it.

“You peed in my bowl six times?”

“Well, no. Like I said, I always tried to be fair and share the, um…”

“Fruits of your labor. I see. So you peed in my bowl twice, in Dooley’s bowl twice and in Max’s bowl also twice, is that it?”

“It could have been less… or more. I didn’t exactly keep count.”

Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.

“Right!” Harriet got up and walked off. And when Brutus made to follow her, she said, “No, Brutus. You’re in the doghouse from now on. So please stay right where you are.”

“But—”

But Harriet held up her paw. “Talk to the paw, Brutus. Talk to the paw.” And then she was gone, presumably to take a long hard long sniff at her water bowl and her kibble bowl, to determine whether Brutus had or had not relieved himself there.

“I told you specifically to tell her you only had that mishap once!” I told Brutus.

“Oh, is that why you held up one claw?”

“Yes, Brutus. That was why I held up one claw. One, as in: one lapse of judgment on your part—not six!”

“I only did it once,” said Dooley. “And look where it got me.”

“Dooley, did Gran have the talk with you yet?” I asked.

“What talk?”

“You’ll see.” I turned back to Brutus. “Look, buddy, you have to tell Harriet it only happened once, and even then you peed in your own bowl, not hers. It’s important.”

“Why? You think she’ll stay mad at me if I don’t?”

“Oh, yes, she will. She’ll stay mad at you pretty much for the rest of your natural life, and possibly even long after that—haunting you in the afterlife.”

“Oh, boy,” he said with a sigh as he placed his head on his paws. “I should have known it was a bad idea. I just figured a little pre-tinkle wouldn’t hurt anyone, you know. Seeing as there are so many people that drink their own pee and seem to like it.”

This had Dooley look up in surprise. “People drink their own pee?”

“Oh, sure. Some guy called Gandhi used to drink his own pee all the time, or so I’m told. He swore by it. And plenty of others, too, and they think it’s just the greatest thing.”

“But why?” asked Dooley. Clearly this wasn’t something he’d seen on the Discovery Channel yet.

“They claim numerous health benefits—too numerous for me to name them.”

“You mean you didn’t pay attention,” I said.

“Yeah there’s that,” he admitted. “Look, I can’t just tell Harriet that I made a mistake and in fact only peed once, and in my own bowl at that. She’ll never believe me now.”

“Then I’ll tell her.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “She’ll just think you’re trying to cover for me.”

“Brilliant, Brutus! That’s brilliant!” I said.

“What is?”

“Never mind. I know exactly what to say to make this whole thing go away.”

And with these words, I trotted off in Harriet’s wake, leaving Brutus and Dooley to stare after me in wonder.

Chapter 15

“Look, I promise you that’s how it went down,” I told Harriet. “Don’t you believe me?” I added with an incredulous little laugh.

“So you expect me to believe that you’re actually the one who peed in my bowl, and when you told Brutus he decided to take the rap for your mishap and fessed up instead?”

“That’s how it happened,” I said with a shrug. “Brutus immediately understood you’d be very upset, and since he didn’t want two of his best friends to be mad at each other, he told me he’d tell you he’d done it instead.”

“Oh, Max. It’s very sweet of you to try and get Brutus off the hook and all, but—”

“I’m not trying to get Brutus off the hook!” I cried. “I accidentally peed in your bowl, and when I told him he said, ‘I’ll take care of it, Max,’ and that’s the God’s honest truth!”

She studied me for a moment. “Either you’re a much better liar than I always thought you were, or this really happened.”

“Trust me, it happened,” I said, and projected my most honest face. It was important I healed this rift between the two partners, as I could sense that Harriet, who is just about the most prissy cat I know, would never tolerate this kind of abuse of her personal hygiene by her partner. From me she might—just might—accept it. Maybe.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “I find it hard to believe you would have an ‘accident’ on your way to your litter box and decide to relieve yourself in my bowl—my bowl!”

“Look, I already explained to you how I thought it was my bowl, and I only saw it was yours after I’d already done the deed. And I promise you that as soon as I realized what had happened, I told Marge, and she threw out the contaminated water and replaced it with fresh water from the tap.”

“So you promise me I never drank from your…” She made a disgusted face. “… whatever?”

“I promise you that the stuff never touched your lips, Harriet.”

“Mh.” She thought for a moment, then said, “Pinky swear?”

“Pinkie swear,” I said with a smile, and as soon as I held up my pinkie, I felt a giant load fall from my back.

Just then, Brutus and Dooley walked in, and Brutus said, “Dooley has something he wants to confess, Harriet.”

“It was me,” said Dooley mournfully. “I peed in your bowl, not Brutus. And when I told him what I’d done he said he’d take the blame.”

Have you ever watched a volcano right before it erupts? It’s not a pretty sight. Steam rises up from its innards, and you just know it’s going to explode any moment, and you’re going to get pummeled with pieces of hot lava and rocks and that famous pyroclastic cloud that moves at 400 miles an hour and destroys everything in its wake.

Well, just such a moment had now arrived, only the volcano was Harriet, and even though the warning signs were all there, Brutus gave her a look of such inanity that he reminded me of how the inhabitants of Pompeii must have looked just before they got the boiling contents of Mount Vesuvius dumped in their unsuspecting necks.

So I decided I’d better run for cover, and as I passed Dooley, I grabbed his paw and steered him in the direction of the pet flap.

And we’d only just left Marge and Tex’s kitchen when the eruption began.

I can promise you it wasn’t pretty.

“Why did you go and do that for?” I asked as soon as we were out of earshot.

“Do what for?” asked Dooley innocently.

“Take the blame for Brutus’s mistake.”

“Well, he asked me to. He suddenly got the idea and asked me to tell Harriet what I just told her.”

“Oh, dear,” I said. I probably should have included Brutus and Dooley in my plans, and laid it all out for them in the minutest detail for the meanest intelligence to understand. But I’d wanted to catch Harriet before she disappeared, and that was my fatal mistake.

Now she wouldn’t merely be upset with Brutus, but with me and Dooley, too, for trying to deceive her.

“Dooley?” suddenly asked Gran as we passed the table of adults. “A word, please?”

So I left Dooley in Grandma’s care, while I went off in search of some peace and quiet. I needed to think up a new strategy on how to deal with Harriet’s latest eruption. The future of our friendly foursome depended on it.

And I’d just entered the house when I came upon Dudley Checkers, wandering around Odelia’s living room, and looking at picture frames and generally making himself right at home—in a house that technically wasn’t his.

“Oh, hi there,” he said when he saw me. “Max, is it?” He crouched down and tickled me under the chin. “Why, aren’t you a chunky kitty?”

I frowned at the guy. I don’t like to be called chunky. I mean, can I help it that I was born with big bones?

“So where are your friends, Max?” he asked. “Oh, that’s right. You divide your time between Odelia’s place and her parents’. Yeah, she told me all about you and your little buddies. She also told me you had a big scare this morning. Some crazy person tried to set you on fire.” He shook his head. “Personally I think crimes against pets are the worst crimes imaginable. Right up there with crimes against kids. But then that’s me. I’m a big pet fan myself.” He then gave me a big smile and tickled me behind the ears and got up.

I don’t know why, but I was already starting to like this kid. I mean, anyone who loves cats is all right in my book, you know.

Odelia then walked in, followed by Chase. “Oh, I see you’ve met Max,” said Odelia.

“Yeah, he’s a big cutie, isn’t he?” said Dudley.

“Yeah, we think so,” said Odelia.

For a moment an awkward silence ensued, the kind of awkward silence that tends to exist between a brother and a sister who’ve never met before and didn’t even know the other one existed until now. Then Odelia laughed an awkward little laugh, and so did Dudley, and then Chase said, “I have to tell you, Dudley, that the story you told us at dinner really got me, man. Your mom dying and you finding your dad and all? Heavy.”

“Thanks, Chase. I’m just glad I finally got to meet you guys. It’s just… I grew up thinking I was an only child, you know. And now suddenly… I’ve got a sister!”

Chase tapped his chest with his fist for some reason, and said, “And a brother, too, buddy,” then clasped the other guy in a tight embrace. There was a lot of back-slapping, and Odelia, wiping away a tear, watched the emotional scene, sniffling all the while.

And then she joined the group hug. And since I didn’t want to be left behind, I joined in, too.

What can I say? It’s one thing to see this stuff in a Lifetime movie, but something else to be suddenly right in the middle of it. And I may even have shed a happy tear, too.

Chapter 16

“Look, Dooley,” said Gran. “Sometimes people make mistakes, and that’s only natural. And sometimes cats make mistakes, and that’s okay, too. If they own up to those mistakes, and are honest about them and apologize, you will generally discover that your friends and your loved ones will find it in their hearts to forgive and forget.”

Dooley looked up at Gran, and said, “But what if the mistake is so big that they can’t forgive and forget, Gran?”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Gran, placing a hand on the small cat’s head. “Your mistake was a very small one, darling. In fact I don’t even think it can be called a mistake at all. I’d call it an accident. And who can blame you for an accident, right?”

“You mean… Max will be able to forgive and forget?”

“I talked to Max, and he’s already forgiven you, and he probably would have forgotten about it, too, if you didn’t keep reminding him.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, taking all this in. It was some really heady stuff, he thought, all this talk of forgiving and forgetting. “You know, Gran, I think that maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Have you ever known me not to be right?”

He preferred not to answer that, but instead said, “You see, Brutus did the exact same thing as me. He also had an accident. Or in fact he had six accidents.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he just confessed that he peed in all of our bowls on six separate occasions, and now Harriet is very angry with him, because Brutus asked me to tell Harriet that it had in fact been me who’d been peeing in her bowl, but since Max had already told her it had been him, now she’s even more angry than before.”

Gran chuckled at this for a reason that Dooley couldn’t quite comprehend, but then he already knew from extensive experience that sometimes humans laughed at different things than cats, and that was all right with him.

“Looks like I’ll have to have a word with Harriet too,” she said. “Though I think I’ll wait until she’s cooled down some.”

“So you think Max isn’t angry with me anymore?”

“Sweetie, Max was never angry with you to begin with.”

“Oh,” he said, and a warm glow suddenly expanded right across his chest. “That’s a big relief, Gran. That means I can probably start drinking water again.”

“What do you mean, you silly cat?” she cried. “You haven’t stopped drinking because of this thing, have you?” He gave her a sheepish look, and she laughed again. “Here, take this,” she said, and handed him her glass of water. “And I want to see you drink, you hear?”

So he drank, and then drank some more, and when the glass was half empty, Gran urged him to drink even more, and so he did.

It tasted good. And he was almost sure there was no pee involved this time. At least that’s what he hoped.

I was just about to head on out to cat choir when Odelia stopped me in my tracks. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Where are you going?”

“Cat choir.”

“There’s a dangerous cat killer out there, Max, so I want you to stay inside tonight—and every other night until this guy is caught.”

“But it’s cat choir. I have to go.”

“No, you don’t.”

And then I gave her the kind of look only cats can muster. It requires a lot of practice, but I think I must have nailed it, for she said, “Oh, don’t give me that puss-in-boots look, you.”

“But it’s cat choir,” I said imploringly. “I want to go see my friends.”

“All right,” she said finally. “But on one condition and one condition only.”

“Anything,” I said.

Oh, boy. I probably shouldn’t have said that.

“Is he really going to follow us around everywhere we go from now on?” asked Harriet annoyedly.

“Yeah, that’s the condition,” I said.

We all glanced back at Chase, who was following us from a safe distance. He looked as annoyed as Harriet, or maybe even more so.

Odelia had told us not to engage with Chase, as he was going to try and catch this cat killer in the act, and so we had to lure the killer out so Chase could catch him unawares.

“I’m not sure Shanille will like this,” said Brutus. “She usually doesn’t allow humans.”

He was right. Cats usually don’t allow humans at their secret gatherings, and so Chase was in for a surprise: he would be the first human ever to attend cat choir. Not that the cop was looking forward to it, judging from the sour expression on his face.

“Why is he keeping his head down like that?” asked Dooley.

“Because he doesn’t want to be seen by the cat killer,” said Brutus.

“Or his colleagues,” I ventured. Odelia had told me Chase felt very nervous about being spotted by his colleagues whilst on cat guard duty. He apparently found it beneath himself, a homicide cop, to have to guard his girlfriend’s four cats. And he was afraid that if his colleagues caught him at it, they would start rolling around on the floor laughing.

He probably had a point.

“I think it’s going to be fun,” said Brutus. “Chase could even join in with the singing.”

“If you think this is going to be fun you’ve got another thing coming, Brutus,” said Harriet, who clearly hadn’t forgiven her mate. “Or you, Max. Or even you, Dooley.”

“What did I do?” asked Dooley, surprised.

“You lied to me—Brutus asked you to lie and so you did. And now I’m never going to be able to trust you again. Ever.”

“But why?” asked Dooley.

“Because you lied!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You said it was you who peed in my bowl and it wasn’t.”

“But I was only trying to help Brutus.”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet with a sigh. “Okay, so maybe I can forgive you. After all, you are a very naive cat, and I can see you meant no harm. But you, Max, I will never forgive.”

“I was only trying to stop you guys from breaking up,” I argued. “I hate it when you fight, and so I figured I might as well give it a shot.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have. In fact I want you to promise me you’ll never interfere in my love life again. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Harriet,” I said dutifully.

“Fine. Okay, so I can forgive you, too, Max, for you were only trying to help. But you, Brutus, I will never, ever be able to forgive you—ever! Is that understood?”

“But it was an accident,” argued the butch black cat.

“Six times is no accident, Brutus. In fact I’m starting to think you did it on purpose.”

“Why would I pee in your bowl on purpose?”

“I don’t know—because you’re weird like that?”

“I’m not weird like that!”

“Well, obviously you are, or else you wouldn’t have peed in my bowl—six times!”

I decided to leave Harriet and Brutus at it. Frankly I wasn’t all that keen on being in the middle of this lovers’ tiff anymore, and I already regretted having interfered.

And as Harriet and Brutus went this way, I decided to take the long way to the park, Dooley in my wake.

But that obviously didn’t sit well with Chase, who immediately came jogging up behind us and bodily picked us both up, then set us down again next to Harriet and Brutus, who hadn’t stopped arguing and hadn’t even noticed we’d briefly left.

“You guys have to stay together,” growled Chase. “Odelia’s orders.”

Oh, darn it. And to think I thought having a human bodyguard would be fun. Clearly I’d been mistaken. And the worst part? We couldn’t even talk to the guy!

Chapter 17

When Chase had accepted the assignment he’d known it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, and now that he was walking in the park, trailing four cats on their way to something called ‘cat choir,’ he was already feeling the strain.

As a rule he was more of a dog person, though he’d come to like and appreciate his girlfriend’s cats in the time he’d spent with them. But still. Having to spend the night looking after four felines while they gathered with dozens of other felines in a park?

Not exactly his idea of a good time!

And so when he finally reached the playground, he was surprised to find that there were so many more cats than he’d anticipated. There were cats all over that jungle gym, cats in the sandbox, cats on the swing, cats on the seesaw and cats on the slide. In fact there were cats everywhere he looked, and they all seemed to be looking at him, too.

And then there was the meowing. Oh, dear Lord, there was so much meowing going on, and mewling, and mewing, and even caterwauling.

It was frankly a little disconcerting to realize that there existed this entire cat population in Hampton Cove that he hadn’t fully been aware of until now.

Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus seemed a lot more relaxed about the prospect of encountering this many felines than he was: they mingled with the others, and soon he couldn’t even make out where they’d gone off to. They’d disappeared in a sea of fur.

So he simply took a seat on one of the benches placed there for the moms and dads watching their kids play, and thought that any would-be cat killer would have to be seriously suicidal to try and attack the cats on their own turf, where they were clearly in the majority, and would stand no nonsense.

His phone chimed and he picked it out of his pocket. “Hey, babe,” he said.

“And? How are you holding up, Mr. Catsitter?”

“Frankly, babe? I don’t think your cats need a catsitter at all. There’s so many cats here this cat killer would have to be absolutely crazy to try and attack them.”

“I still appreciate you watching out for them. Oh, and watch out for the…”

Just at that moment the caterwauling had reached a crescendo, and he couldn’t make out what Odelia was saying. It sounded a lot like ‘shoes,’ which of course was just nuts.

But just then, completely out of the blue, a shoe struck him in the head, and he grunted with dismay. The shoe dropped into his lap and he saw that it was an old shoe, and a sturdy one, too.

“What the…” he muttered as he picked it up and studied it. And that’s when a second shoe hit him in the chest. “Oh, for crying out loud!” he said, and got up, glancing around. And then he saw it: in one of the houses facing the park the lights had come on, and an irate citizen was screaming, “Damn cats with your damn screaming every damn night!”

Yep. This was going to be a looooong night.

Poor Chase was being pummeled by one of our regulars. There are people in this world who appreciate art, and then there are the cultural barbarians, who hate it. And it was just our rotten luck that the park where we like to practice our art is surrounded by these cultural barbarians, who choose to express their disapproval of our nocturnal activities by throwing shoes and other objects in our direction.

I’ve long since passed the moment where I truly care about this peculiar human habit, but obviously Chase, being subjected to this abuse for the very first time, was shocked to be on the receiving end of several items of footwear.

Although in actual fact it had happened before, and in our own backyard, no less, where our next-door neighbor Kurt Mayfield is also a very avid shoe thrower.

Chase now stood shaking his fist at the irate homeowners who stood shaking their fists at us. All in all, the cop wasn’t having a good time, I could tell. And I felt for him.

“Maybe we should tell Odelia to call off this guard duty thing,” I suggested now.

“But what if the cat killer strikes again?” said Dooley. “I feel much safer knowing Chase is right there keeping an eye on us, Max.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I felt much safer, too.

“I think Chase should do this all the time,” said Harriet. “I’ve always wanted my own bodyguard. Makes me feel like a real star. Like Kim Kardashian or Gwyneth Paltrow.”

I’m not sure Chase would enjoy the prospect of being reduced to mere guard duty, on the same level as Kim or Gwyneth’s bodyguards, but then the man couldn’t understand what we said, so it wasn’t as if he’d ever know.

“I think it’s great,” said Brutus. “And in fact I think this guard duty should probably be expanded. No man can guard us twenty-four-seven hours all by his lonesome. It takes at least two guards to do the job the way it’s supposed to be done. Or maybe even four, as no guard worth his or her salt likes to do this alone. Two teams of two guards is what this job requires, and so I’m going to tell Odelia she should recruit three more cops.”

“I doubt whether Uncle Alec will agree,” I said. “His cops probably have more important things to do than to guard Odelia’s cats all the time.”

“What could be more important than making sure that we’re safe?” asked Harriet, and I had the impression the question was a rhetorical one, so I didn’t answer.

Kingman, who’s one of our best friends and also our local cat population’s unofficial mayor, came waddling over. He’s a very large cat, and contrary to myself doesn’t have his big bones to blame for his sizable form.

“What’s your human doing here?” he asked, casting curious glances at Chase, who’d taken a seat on his bench again, but was eyeing the shoe thrower with a kindling eye.

“We were in the attic this morning and then we were locked up inside a box and then the box was set on fire with us still in it, and even though we did a lot of spitting and licking that didn’t help,” said Dooley, causing Kingman to frown and turn to me.

“What is he talking about?”

“A cat killer attacked us this morning,” I said. “He tried to set us on fire.”

“Oh, my God. And how did you survive?”

I told him the whole story, and Kingman was properly impressed.

“So Odelia assigned us a bodyguard,” said Harriet proudly. “And soon she’ll probably assign us a couple more. We are VICs, after all.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but what is a VIC?” asked Kingman.

“A Very Important Cat,” said Harriet, then walked off to socialize with her friends.

“Odelia is also going to organize training for us,” I said. “Like dog training?”

Kingman made a face. “That doesn’t sound like a lot of fun. Better you than me, Max.”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly looking forward to it either,” I confessed.

“You know what you should do? Hire a watchcat instead of this human of yours.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dooley.

“You know, like a watchdog, but a feline one.”

“I didn’t even know watchcats existed.”

“Oh, sure.” He glanced at Chase again. “You better give it some thought. I mean, it’s really awkward for a cat to be guarded by a human. Not dignified.”

I saw what he meant. Cats are the kind of pets that are known far and wide for being able to take care of themselves. We’ve never needed a human to take care of us before, and it frankly was humiliating to have Chase tagging along wherever we went.

“That’s so kind of you, Kingman,” said Dooley. “You would really be our watchcat? Guard us with your life?”

“Me? Are you nuts? I was thinking of Clarice. She’s easily Hampton Cove’s toughest cat—her reputation precedes her. I’ll bet that if she took you under her paw, no cat killer would dare to come near you again.”

“Clarice would never take the job,” said Brutus.

“Why not? Everyone can be bought, Brutus, even Clarice.”

But Brutus was shaking his head. “Not Clarice. She’s a free cat, and would never accept payment in exchange for her services.”

“Look, my human has just managed to land himself a date with the most gorgeous female I’ve ever seen. And why do you think that is? Because Wilbur owns a business, and even gorgeous females are susceptible to the siren song of the good old moolah.”

We all stared at the big cat in shock. Wilbur Vickery isn’t exactly Hampton Cove’s most eligible bachelor. In fact he’s probably our town most ineligible bachelor. And to think that he managed to snag a date with a woman was… surprising, to say the least.

“Just ask her,” Kingman suggested. “I’m sure you’ll be able to come to some sort of an understanding.”

It was an avenue worth pursuing I had to agree. Clarice is a feral cat, and as such probably the most intimidating cat in all of Hampton Cove. If she were to guard us around the clock, no wannabe cat killer would get close to us ever again.

“All right,” I said therefore. “It’s worth a shot.”

“She’ll never do it,” Brutus insisted. “Never.”

“Maybe if we ask her nicely?” Dooley suggested.

“Mark my words,” said Brutus. “She’ll laugh in your face, Max.”

Just then, Chase came wandering over, clearly bored after having spent the past half hour on that hard wooden bench. “Just out of curiosity, Max,” said the cop. “How long do these recitals usually go on for?”

I smiled up at the cop, and held up three digits.

He groaned. “Three hours? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I shook my head. Nope. I wasn’t kidding.

“See?” said Kingman. “You need a cat to watch your back. Only a cat can endure cat choir without wanting to jump off a bridge.”

And with a loud guffaw, he waddled off again.

“Poor Chase,” said Dooley. “He looks very unhappy, doesn’t he, Max?”

“Yeah, he does. Maybe Kingman is right. Guarding cats is not a human’s job.”

We all watched as Chase slouched back to his bench, looking distinctly unhappy with the fate life had dealt him.

And so I swore that tomorrow I’d look up Clarice and offer her a deal. Free kibble for life and free fresh water.

And now I just had to convince Brutus not to pee in Clarice’s bowl.

Or any bowl, for that matter.

Chapter 18

“This is pretty pointless if you ask me,” said Scarlett.

“Nobody asked you so be quiet,” riposted Vesta.

“I think Scarlett is right,” said Father Reilly. “Just driving around like this doesn’t seem to make any sense.”

“Driving around like this keeps the bad guys away,” said Vesta.

“I don’t see any bad guys,” said Wilbur Vickery. “Do you see any bad guys, Francis?”

“No, I don’t,” said Father Reilly, craning his neck as he glanced around.

“That’s because we’re patrolling,” said Vesta. “If we weren’t patrolling these streets they’d be crawling with bad guys. It’s just like the light in the fridge, see.”

“The light in the fridge?” asked Scarlett, looking at her as if she’d just lost her mind.

“You don’t see the light going out in the fridge, do you? Because the light only goes out when you close the door, and when you open the door to look, it flashes on again. And then when you close the door, it goes out—BUT YOU DON’T KNOW IT GOES OUT!”

Vesta’s fellow watch members were quiet for a moment, as they considered this intriguing piece of information, then Father Reilly said, “So in this comparison, the bad guys are the light in the fridge? Or the bad guys are the lack of light in the fridge?”

“Oh, who cares!” said Vesta as she took a turn. They were cruising along the quiet and deserted streets of their neighborhood in her little red Peugeot, and she suddenly wished she’d be able to buy the watch a proper car, just like she’d already told Scarlett about a million times. A nice big car. A van or maybe even one of them fancy Escalades. A car that made the bad guys quake in their boots when they saw them coming.

Father Reilly yawned. “How long do you want to keep doing this, Vesta? I need to get up early. I have a sermon to write.”

“So you actually write your own sermons?” asked Scarlett. “I always thought you made those up on the spot.”

“No, I write all of my sermons,” said the priest, a little stung by this comment. “And it’s hard work, too, as I have to insert small passages from the Scriptures.”

“Just download that stuff from the internet,” grunted Wilbur. “Plenty of sermons there.”

“I am not going to download my sermons off the internet,” said Father Reilly. “My parishioners—”

“Your parishioners would never know the difference,” argued the shopkeeper.

“Well, I beg to differ,” said the father a little haughtily.

“Look,” said Vesta suddenly as she pointed at a nearby shrub.

“Buxus Semptervirens,” said Father Reilly, nodding appreciatively. “Also known as Boxwood. I instructed the church gardener to plant it in our church garden. A very hardy plant. It likes its soil to be kept moist but—”

“I’m not talking about the plant, you old fool,” said Vesta. “I’m talking about the guy hiding behind it!”

They all stared intently at the Boxwood now, and lo and behold, suddenly a face emerged from behind the shapely shrub, lit up by the high beam of Vesta’s aged little car.

“Let’s go get him!” Scarlett cried excitedly.

So the members of the watch all got out of the car and descended upon the scene, eager to bag their first bad guy for the night.

Vesta had taken her deceased ex-husband’s old shotgun from the garden shed, Scarlett was carrying a stun gun, Father Reilly had brought a billy club, and Wilbur? He’d brought along the baseball bat he liked to keep next to the cash register at the store.

The hoodlum, when they approached him, didn’t even attempt to make a run for it. Instead he simply cowered in fear and cried, “Please don’t hurt me. You can take everything I have but please don’t hurt me—I have a wife and kids—and a dog!”

Vesta frowned at the man. “Ted? What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

For it was indeed Ted Trapper, her very own neighbor.

“Vesta? Is that you?” the mild-mannered accountant asked, his voice betraying his extreme elation. “I thought you were a couple of gangsters eager to hit on me.”

“We’re not gangsters, Ted,” said Scarlett. “We’re your neighborhood watch, here to protect you from harm. Make sure you feel safe at all times.”

Ted, who didn’t look like he felt safe at all, nodded a few times in quick succession. “Oh, hello, Father Reilly—I hadn’t seen you there. Wilbur.”

“Hello, Ted,” said Father Reilly warmly. “We’re very sorry for scaring you like that.”

“It’s fine,” said Ted, getting up with a little help from the good priest. “I couldn’t sleep so I figured I might as well take Rufus for a walk.” He gestured to the shrub, where his big sheepdog Rufus now came peeping out—he looked as terrified as his owner.

“Great watchdog you’ve got there, Ted,” said Wilbur with a grin.

“Yeah, Rufus isn’t exactly the world’s greatest hero,” said Ted as he called his dog to him and Rufus now reluctantly appeared. He sniffed Vesta’s hand, then in turn sniffed Father Reilly, Wilbur and Scarlett, before sinking down onto his haunches, his tail happily wagging and giving an excited bark. The watch had been vetted and approved.

“What a waste of time,” said Vesta once they were back inside the vehicle and cruising those Hampton Cove mean streets once more. “That’s what I mean about getting ourselves some designated wheels for the watch. Then when people see us coming they’ll know it’s us and wouldn’t feel the need to go and hide in the bushes.”

“And who’s going to pay for this designated set of wheels?” asked Scarlett.

“Not me,” said Wilbur. As a Main Street shopkeeper he was being solicited for all kinds of projects all the time, and he’d long ago learned always to say no, lest his meager profit margins were eroded even more.

“And not me, either,” said Father Reilly when all eyes turned to him. “Contrary to what you might think being a local church leader isn’t the road to riches.”

“Yeah, and my pension doesn’t stretch that far either,” said Scarlett.

“I thought you were going to ask your son for one of his squad cars?” said Wilbur.

“I asked and he said no,” said Vesta. “Says cop cars are for cops only. Silly rule.”

They were silent for a moment, as the Peugeot’s ancient engine cozily prattled on.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea!” Vesta suddenly exclaimed as she slapped the steering wheel.

“Uh-oh,” said Scarlett, earning herself a nasty glance from her friend.

“Why don’t we ask my son’s new girlfriend?”

“Charlene? And why would the Mayor buy us a new car?”

“Because we’re doing her a big favor, that’s why. We’re keeping her streets safe.”

“Local government nowadays doesn’t have any money to spare, I’m afraid,” said Father Reilly with a sad shake of the head. “I asked the Mayor for money for a new church roof and she turned me down. Said I should ask my parishioners to chip in.”

“That’s it!” Vesta cried. “We’ll start one of ‘em online collections! Gofungus!”

“I think it’s called Gofundus,” said the priest with an indulgent smile.

“Go Fund Me,” Wilbur corrected him. “We did one last year for my mom’s new hip. We got enough for three hips, so my sister used the money for a new boob job instead.”

“Do you really think people are going to give money for a new car for the watch?” asked Scarlett dubiously.

“Of course! Who doesn’t like to live in a safe neighborhood? I’ll get on it tomorrow morning first thing. And if we’re not driving around in a fancy big Escalade this time next week I’ll eat my hat.”

“You don’t have a hat,” Wilbur pointed out.

“Then I’ll eat your hat! Or Father Reilly’s!”

“You can eat my hat,” said Scarlett. “I was thinking of buying myself a new one anyway.”

“Wise-ass,” said Vesta with a grin, and suddenly the mood in the car was uplifted to such a degree that for the rest of their patrol, a pleasant atmosphere reigned, and Father Reilly didn’t even bring up the delicate and intricate art of sermon-writing again.

Chapter 19

“Look, I don’t want him here, all right?”

“But, honey!”

“No, you listen to me. How do you even know he’s yours?”

A smile appeared on Marge’s husband’s face. “I just know he is. Besides, he looks exactly like me, doesn’t he? He’s my spitting image.”

“No, he doesn’t. He looks nothing like you.”

They were in their bedroom, conducting a whispered conversation, which was outrageous enough if you thought about it: there they were, in their own house, having to whisper because suddenly Tex had gotten it into his nut to invite a complete stranger into their home—a complete stranger who claimed, without evidence, that he was his son!

“I didn’t even know you dated Jaqlyn Checkers. You never told me!”

“I’ve been trying to remember. Before Dudley showed up I hadn’t thought about Jaqlyn for over thirty years. I even had to look up her picture. And as far as I can remember we never really dated. We went out a couple of times, before she dumped me for Timothy Gass, who had really nice hair back in the day. And of course he had a car.”

“But you do remember getting her pregnant,” Marge said acerbically.

“No! I didn’t think we ever got… that far.” He blushed a little as he said it. “And she definitely never said anything about being pregnant. Though I seem to remember now that she dropped out of school the last semester of high school. The story back then was that her dad had gotten a post as ambassador to Italy. I hadn’t even been aware he was a diplomat. Then again, I guess anyone can be an ambassador if they know the right people.”

“She never told you about the baby?”

Tex shook his head. On his lap were their old photo albums, which he’d taken into his son’s room so he could show him a little more about the family he’d suddenly found himself to be a member of.

“I find it very hard to believe you made this girl pregnant and you can’t even remember, Tex. You weren’t exactly the school Adonis back in the day.”

“All I remember is that we fumbled around a little on the backseat of her dad’s Volvo one night. Like I said, I don’t remember going that far, but apparently we must have.”

“Oh, Tex,” said Marge. “For a doctor you’re hopelessly clueless sometimes.”

“Obviously I must have had relations with the woman, otherwise Dudley wouldn’t have been born.” He smiled. “I always wanted a son. I love Odelia, but a son is… special.”

She gave him a dirty look which he totally didn’t catch and folded her arms across her chest, giving herself up to dark thoughts about her husband and men in general. Why was it they all considered a son their highest goal?

“Dudley wants to be a doctor, you know,” said Tex, with a beatific smile on his face. “Or at least he always wanted to be a doctor but his mom couldn’t afford the tuition so he never pursued his dream. Maybe he still can. With a little help from his dear old dad.”

“Oh, Tex!” Marge cried, and swung her feet from the bed. She couldn’t stand to be in the same room with this man anymore.

“What did I say?” asked her husband dumbly.

But she was already stalking out of the room and then she was stomping down the stairs and into the kitchen. And she’d just taken the milk from the fridge so she could warm up a glass, when suddenly she became aware of a noise nearby and slammed the fridge door shut, only to be faced with… Dudley, staring at her intently!

“D-Dudley,” she stuttered, much surprised. “You startled me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Poole,” said Dudley in that obsequious and overly polite way of his. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just had one of those midnight cravings, you know.” He smiled and gestured to the bottle of milk in her hand. “Like you, I guess.”

“Yeah, I-I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I might as well have a glass of warm milk.”

“My mom used to drink warm milk before going to bed,” said Dudley as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “With a spoon of honey and some nutmeg. Always did the trick. Even when she was sick, she used to ask me for a glass of warm milk.” His smile faltered and Marge suddenly felt bad for talking about the kid behind his back. He clearly had been through a terrible time with his mother dying from cancer.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “That must have been really hard on you. To lose your mom like that.”

“It was,” he said, then his smile returned. “That’s why I’m so happy to have found Tex—and you, Mrs. Poole. A new start for me. A new chance at happiness.”

She nodded, and poured some milk in a pan and put it on the stove then pressed the designated spot on the ceramic cooktop to turn up the heat. The cooktop instantly glowed hot.

“I can’t wait to get to know you better, Mrs. Poole,” said Dudley as he dragged a casual hand through his neat blond do. “You, my dad, Vesta… and Odelia, of course—my sister.”

“You can call me Marge, Dudley,” she said as she took two cups from the cupboard.

“Thanks, Marge.”

“Did your mother never mention Tex before?”

Dudley shook his head. “No, and she was very sorry that she hadn’t. At the end she said she wished she’d been more honest with me. I could have had a real father in my life much sooner. Which is why I’m so happy that you invited me to stay. This way I can make up for lost time.”

“That’s nice,” Marge muttered vaguely.

“You know what? Maybe we can all do something together tomorrow. Like… going to the beach? Or see a movie together as a family?”

Marge made a noncommittal noise. She wasn’t really ready for family trips with this kid yet, but couldn’t exactly come right out and tell him so.

She poured the milk into the cups and handed him one.

“If the death of my mother taught me one thing, it’s that you have to enjoy every day as if it’s the last one. Spend time with your family while you can, for you never know when it will be over. And it can all be over like that.” He snapped his fingers, startling her.

She put a hand on her heart and laughed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little on edge.”

“And why is that, Marge?” he asked, leaning closer until they were almost face to face. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No–no, of course not.”

“I mean, I can see how this might look to you: your husband inviting a stranger into your home. Who knows where I’ve been—what I’ve been up to, you know?”

She stared at him. There was a strange glow in the kid’s eyes. A glow she didn’t know how to interpret. It was almost… menacing.

But then he flashed that engaging smile again, and said, “I’m off to bed, Marge. I hope you have a nice evening.”

“Yeah. You, too,” she said, and returned his smile. But as soon as he was gone, her smile faltered, and she wondered who this kid was.

Chapter 20

“I find that very hard to believe, honey. Tex? Owner of a plot of land on Grover’s Point?”

“That’s what those developers told me. And if he doesn’t sell them his little piece of land they can’t proceed with their plans to build that mall.”

“The Charlene Butterwick Mall,” Alec said with a grin.

“The Butterwick Mall,” she corrected him, and playfully tapped him on the nose. They were in bed, the television softly playing in a corner of the room, and talking about how their day had been.

Both Charlene and Alec had a habit of going to bed late, and getting up early. Hard-working professionals, both of them, they didn’t get a lot of sleep during the week.

“I’ll have to ask him,” said Alec. “But it would surprise me that my sister and her husband would have bought a piece of land without telling me.”

“Maybe it belonged to Tex’s parents?” Charlene suggested.

“Could be,” he allowed. “But that still doesn’t explain why he doesn’t want to sell. Unless they’re not offering him enough.”

“Oh, they’re offering him plenty. In fact he can pretty much ask what he wants at this stage.”

“So you’ve decided then? The mall is happening?”

“It’s not up to me,” she said, lying back against her fluffed-up pillow. “I’ve asked for a special council meeting to discuss the matter. I hope the other council members will offer some good feedback. And of course all kinds of studies will need to be done. Environmental impact report, social assessment… Then the Planning and Zoning Commission will take a whack at it, we’ll set up meetings with the local community…”

“But the final decision is up to you?”

“As the Mayor my opinion carries a certain weight, sure.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. Tough decision to make. If you say yes to the mall, shopkeepers and small business owners will be up in arms, and if you say no, plenty of locals will claim you’re standing in the way of progress.”

“Yeah, I know. Either way it won’t be easy.” She patted his big belly. “But let’s not talk about work, shall we? I get enough of that at the office. When I’m home with you I want to do other things.” And she wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully.

Alec grinned. “Oh, honey, I thought you’d never ask.”

We were returning from cat choir, Chase in tow, when suddenly the burly cop grunted, “Hang on a moment,” and strode out in front of us, taking on a vigilant stance and glancing this way and that, as if he’d suddenly become aware of nefarious activities.

“What is it, Max?” asked Dooley, concern lacing his voice.

“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “But it looks like Chase has seen or heard something.”

Which would frankly surprise me, as the ears of a cat are usually a lot better at picking up signs of danger than human ears. Then again, Chase is no ordinary human. He’s a cop who used to be in the NYPD, one of the country’s better-trained police forces.

“I think it’s the cat killer,” said Brutus as we all anxiously followed Chase’s every move. He was rooting through the bushes lining the sidewalk now, as if trying to catch whoever was lurking there, intent on causing us harm.

“I’m so glad Odelia asked Chase to be our bodyguard,” said Harriet. “Life is so much harder without your own personal bodyguard. In fact I think I’ll ask her to put Chase in charge of my bodyguard detail on a full-time basis from now on.”

“Chase has a day job, Harriet,” I pointed out. “You can’t expect him to guard us day and night.”

“Oh, yes, I can. And I’m sure he’d do it, too. He’s Odelia’s boyfriend, after all, so he has to do what she says.”

“Um… it’s not the job of a boyfriend to do everything his girlfriend says,” I pointed out.

“Yes, it is,” said Harriet, wide-eyed at my lack of understanding. “Of course it is.”

“No, it isn’t. Being a boyfriend isn’t like being at someone’s every beck and call, Harriet.”

“Yes, it is,” she said. “Isn’t that right, twinkle toes?”

“Um…” said Brutus. Clearly he hadn’t read the fine print when he’d signed up for boyfriend duty, for he looked a little stunned at Harriet’s interpretation of the tasks of a boyfriend.

“Look, I’m a princess, Max,” said Harriet, deciding to put me straight once and for all. “And every princess has a prince to look after her. And it’s the prince’s duty, but also his honor and his pleasure, to take care of his princess. Simple.”

“I very much doubt whether Chase would agree with you,” I said. “Or Odelia, for that matter.”

“Oh, of course they agree with me. Everybody knows this, Max, except you, of course. Which is probably why you’ve never been able to find yourself a girlfriend.”

I let the words hang in the air for a moment before replying. “I don’t have a girlfriend because I haven’t met the right one yet,” I said. “Not because I’m not willing to enter into indentured servitude, like you seem to expect from your boyfriends.”

“Oh, Max,” she said with a little sigh. “You just don’t get it, do you? And I’m starting to believe that you never will. Please explain it to him, Brutus. Or you know what? Maybe don’t bother. He won’t understand. Some cats never do.”

And with these words, she turned away from me, as if the mere act of talking to me had drained her.

Well, it certainly made me tired arguing with her, let me tell you. But luckily at that moment Chase returned from his sojourn in the bushes, and said, “All clear! Move out!”

And so move out we did, like the obedient little platoon we were.

This time Chase led the way, Brutus and Harriet right behind him, and Dooley and I picking up the rear.

“Do you think Harriet is right, Max?” asked Dooley. “That the reason we don’t have a girlfriend is because we don’t understand girls and we never will?”

“No, I don’t think Harriet is right at all, Dooley. The purpose of a boyfriend is not to cater to his girlfriend’s every whim. At its core a relationship should be built on friendship, love and trust, not servitude, like Harriet seems to think.”

“Okay,” said Dooley, thinking hard about my words. “But when you love someone, you’re willing to do everything for them, right?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“So maybe that’s what Harriet means?”

I hadn’t looked at it that way, but it seemed highly unlikely. Then again, I frankly had enough on my mind with this cat killer hanging around, and since I didn’t want to get drawn into another fight with Harriet, I decided simply to drop the whole thing, and pretend the discussion had never even taken place.

Chapter 21

When we finally arrived home we were met by Odelia, standing in the door. Next to her was… a dog.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“That, my friend,” said Brutus with a grin, “is what is commonly known as a dog. And in case you don’t know what a dog is—a dog is a member of the canine species and…”

“I know what a dog is, Brutus. But what is it doing here?”

When we approached, Odelia waved at us and said, “I’m so glad you guys are all right.”

“Of course they’re all right, babe,” said Chase, planting a quick kiss on her lips. “They’ve got the best cat bodyguard for miles around. Also the only cat bodyguard for miles around,” he added a little ruefully.

“How did it go?” asked Odelia.

“Fine—if you can call a bunch of cats caterwauling all night fine.”

She now crouched down and petted the big dog on the head. He was a dog of the Bulldog variety and was big and round and had one of those smushed-up faces that made it hard to know what he was thinking. His eyes were hooded, and saliva was dripping from twin pouches next to what I assumed was his mouth. He looked like someone had attempted to create a dog but hadn’t entirely succeeded.

“Look, you guys,” said Odelia. “Your knight in shining armor has arrived.”

We all stared at her, then at the dog, not quite catching her drift.

“Rambo will be your guard dog from now on,” she said. “I’ve got him on loan from the K9 squad. He’s actually retired now, but still does odd jobs for them from time to time. In fact he’s pretty much the K9 unit’s mascot, so please be nice to him, all right?”

The dog, who hadn’t spoken, now opened his mouth for the first time. I half expected more saliva to come pouring out, having been pooling up inside his mouth, but instead he said, in a deep rumbling voice, “Hi, cats.”

“Hi… you,” I said by way of greeting.

This was too much. A dog? Guarding cats? No way!

“Hi, Rambo,” said Dooley, stepping to the fore. “Welcome to our humble home.”

“Thanks, bud,” said Rambo, not exactly conveying a wealth of emotion.

“This was my idea, you know,” said Dooley proudly, and I gawked at him.

“Your idea!”

“Yeah, I thought a guard dog would make sure we don’t get locked up and set on fire again.”

“But… I thought you said we were going to get trained,” I said to Odelia. “Like dogs!”

“No, I said I was going to get you a trained dog to look after you. And here he is. Yay!”

“Oh, dear Lord,” I said. As if it wasn’t enough to be guarded by a human, now Odelia had to add a dog to the mix?

“I’m a great guard dog,” said the dog. “I used to guard the president when he was in town.”

“The president was in town?” I asked. “When was this? I must have missed it.”

“What did he say?” asked Odelia, who can talk to cats, but unfortunately her abilities don’t extend to dogs.

“He says he used to guard the president when he was in town.”

“Oh, he probably means one of the former presidents,” said Odelia.

“A former president!” I said. “How old are you!”

“Old,” said the dog. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve lost my bark.” And to show us he meant what he said, he barked. Once.

Oh, dear. This was a disaster, wasn’t it?

We all filed into the house, and soon Harriet and Brutus made themselves scarce, disappearing into the house next door. Dooley and I moved up the stairs and hopped onto the bed, waiting for Chase and Odelia to join us, and before I knew what was happening, suddenly a minor earthquake made the bed tremble and shake!

It was Rambo, making the great leap and following in our pawsteps.

And so when Odelia and Chase finally emerged, they found their bed bedecked not with holly, but with two members of the feline species and one, very large, drooling dog.

“I think we’re going to need a bigger bed,” said Chase, surveying the scene.

Somehow they managed to squeeze in, and soon Rambo was snoring away, showing us what a great guard dog he really was.

“I hope it wasn’t too horrible?” said Odelia, addressing her boyfriend, not us.

“It was okay. I got hit with shoes all night, but apart from that it was all good.”

“Oh, no. My poor baby.”

“Poor cats. They have to go through this kind of thing all the time, I imagine.”

“So many people out there who don’t appreciate cats. I don’t know what’s going on with the world.”

I could have told her: a distinct lack of aesthetic refinement. But I was on the verge of falling asleep, so I didn’t bother.

“So now you have a brother, huh?” said Chase. “How does that feel?”

“I’m not sure. I guess it will take some getting used to.”

“He seems like a great kid.”

“Yeah, he seems really nice.”

“Do you think he’ll move in next door permanently?”

“I don’t know. Mom doesn’t seem all that happy with this new arrangement.”

“I can imagine. It must have come as a great shock to her to discover that her husband fathered a son with another woman.”

“Yeah, I better have a talk with her tomorrow. See how she’s holding up.”

They both lapsed into silence, then, and soon only soft snores could be heard—the snores of one woman (cute little snores), one male (as if he were trying to cut through a tree trunk), one canine (wet slobbering snores), and two felines (I can’t tell you how that sounded because that’s when I fell asleep).

Chapter 22

“Max?”

“Mh?”

“Are you sure you told Rambo not to use our water bowls?”

We were staring at our water bowls, which were now absolutely devoid of water, but consisted instead of a generous helping of slobber. The same could be said for our kibble bowls, which had expertly been relieved of their contents, only traces of slop left. In fact all of the bowls were now empty, and the copious amounts of slop and slobber left no doubt as to the identity of the midnight marauder who’d performed this impressive feat.

“Odelia!” I bellowed. If there’s one thing I’m very sensitive about it’s of other pets eating my portion of kibble.

Odelia came staggering down the stairs, wearing an oversized sweater that clearly belonged to Chase, as it said ‘I-heart-NYPD’ and was rubbing her eyes. “What is it?” she murmured as she took a right turn into the kitchen, and almost slipped on a pool of drool. “Eek!” she said, lifting one bare foot to see what had attached itself there.

“It’s Rambo,” I announced. “He’s eaten all of our food.”

“And drunk all of our water,” Dooley added helpfully.

“And replaced same with a goodish pile of goo.”

“Rambo!” said Odelia, then thunked her brow. “I totally forgot. Chase took him out for his morning walk.”

“His morning walk?” I said. You must forgive me for not being better acquainted with the ways of the canine species. I’ve never lived with a dog before, you see, so this was definitely a first in every sense.

“Dogs go for a walk in the morning, Max,” she explained. “That’s how they get rid of their morning… doo-doo and wee-wee.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling silly. “Of course. I knew that.”

Odelia stared down at the mess the old dog had made on the kitchen floor—and our neat row of bowls. “I gave him his own bowl of dog kibble,” she said, pointing to a giant bowl that was, of course, empty. “Clearly it wasn’t enough.”

“He’s a very large dog,” I said. “He probably eats a lot.”

“Maybe we should have a talk with him,” Dooley suggested. “Teach him about the difference between mine and thine.”

“Excellent idea, Dooley,” I said. “I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding that made him eat all of our food, and drink all of our water, too.”

And since Odelia was going to be busy washing out our bowls—and scrubbing the kitchen floor—Dooley suggested we move next door for our first meal of the day.

We ambled into the backyard, then through the hedge and then in through the pet flap and into Marge and Tex’s kitchen. When we arrived there we found Brutus and Harriet staring at their respective bowls, a look of distress on their faces.

“Someone ate all of our food,” said Brutus.

“And drank all of our water,” said Harriet.

“And left some kind of slime behind.”

“I think it might have been aliens.”

“Or ghosts,” Brutus ventured. “Ghosts are always leaving some kind of slimy residue behind. It’s called ectoplasm. That’s how you can tell you’ve got ghosts.”

“I can assure you it wasn’t ghosts, and it wasn’t aliens,” I said.

“It was Rambo,” Dooley said as he inspected his own bowl and sadly had to come to the conclusion that here, too, Rambo had eaten his fill, and had left nothing for us.

“Rambo did all this?” asked Harriet. “But that’s impossible. No dog can possibly eat this much.”

“He ate all the food next door, too,” I said. “And if he’d had a third home to sneak into, I’m sure he’d have emptied the bowls there, too.”

“This is too much!” said Harriet. “First Odelia hires a dog—a dog!—to guard us, and then the silly mutt eats all of our food!”

“At least he didn’t pee in our bowls,” I said with a pointed glance at Brutus. I still hadn’t fully forgiven him for his midnight indiscretions.

“We’re going to talk to him as soon as he gets back,” Dooley announced.

“Wait, where is he?” asked Harriet.

“Out. Chase took him for a walk,” I said.

“Out! So you’re telling me both our canine and our human bodyguards left us all alone—exposed to who knows what kinds of dangers!”

“I’m sure this cat killer won’t attack us when there’s people around,” I said.

“A bodyguard should be present at all times to guard your body,” said Harriet decidedly. “What else are they there for?”

She had a point, I had to admit.

“He does have to do his business twice or three times a day,” I said. “That’s how it works for dogs. And he can only do his business when he goes for a walk.”

“Well, I for one don’t feel safe,” said Harriet. “And I want a different bodyguard. I want a human bodyguard. And I want him to be around twenty-four-seven. Who’s with me?” And she held up her paw to indicate she wanted to put the matter to a vote.

Brutus immediately held up his paw, but I was reluctant to follow his example. “I don’t know,” I said. “I was going to talk to Clarice, and ask her to help us out, but we all know that will be a tough ask. And since we don’t have any other options here… I say we keep Chase and we keep Rambo, at least if we can get him house-trained.”

“Dooley? What say you?” Harriet snapped, giving me a fiery look that meant trouble.

“I’m with Max,” said my friend.

“Of course you are,” said Harriet. “Well, fine! I’ll deal with this on my own. Come on, Brutus. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” asked Brutus.

“Out!” said Harriet, and stalked off.

Brutus gave us an apologetic grimace, then followed his girlfriend out through the pet flap.

“I wonder what she’s going to do,” said Dooley, as he thoughtfully studied his bowl, as if hoping that cat kibble would magically appear out of thin air. “Did you know that dogs could slobber this much, Max?”

“No, I didn’t, Dooley.”

He touched the goo with a look of distaste. “It feels like… the stuff they put on pies.”

“I’m sure they don’t put dog goo on pies.”

And as we discussed the ins and outs of dog goo, suddenly Dudley came bounding down the stairs, looking distinctly cheerful. And why wouldn’t he? He’d just found his long-lost dad—that he hadn’t even known existed. Jerry Springer, if he’d been present, would have handed him a fat contract on the spot.

“Hey, fellas,” said the prodigal son when he spotted us. “What a lovely, lovely day this is, huh?”

And he opened the fridge and started rooting around as if this was his home—which I suppose now it was.

Next to come down the stairs, though she wasn’t bounding but shuffling, was Gran. When she saw Dudley, she frowned. “So you’re still here, huh?” she said, not sounding overly welcoming.

“Yup,” said Dudley. “And can I just say, Mrs. Muffin, how very glad I am to meet you. My own grandmother died when I was three, and I always wanted to have a sweet old lady just like yourself to spend time with.”

“For your information, sonny boy, I’m not an old lady. I’m only seventy-five. And secondly, if you think I’m going to spend time with you, you’re delusional. I’m out of here.” And to show Dudley she meant what she said, she promptly skedaddled.

“Not exactly the sweetest granny in the world, is she?” said Dudley, addressing us, I assumed, even though he wasn’t looking at us but at Gran’s disappearing back.

“Oh, Gran can be very sweet when she wants to be,” I said. “But she can also be extremely testy.”

“I guess I’ll just have to win her over,” said Dudley with a shrug, then took the box of cereal out of the cupboard and dumped a goodish helping into his mouth.

Chapter 23

“Yeah, we bought that piece of land years ago, didn’t we, hon? And for a bargain, too,” said Tex as he poured some coffee for his guests—Charlene Butterwick and Alec.

“We bought this house before Odelia was born,” said Marge. “And back then we were still thinking about building our own home, figuring this one would soon be too small.”

“Initially we wanted two or three kids,” Tex explained as he took a seat. They were out in the backyard, and he’d already raised the parasol since the sun was really turning up the heat. “But then after Odelia was born we kinda dropped the idea, didn’t we?”

“We did. But we never sold the land, figuring it might bring us some money down the road. Or maybe at some point Odelia would want to build herself a home there.”

“Well, it’s certainly going to bring you some very good money,” said Charlene as she took a nibble from her piece of toast.

“How much?” suddenly asked Dudley.

“I thought the developers had been in touch?” asked Charlene. “Didn’t they make an offer?”

Tex frowned. “I think someone called me a couple of weeks ago, but I just figured it was one of them cold callers trying to sell life insurance so I hung up on them.”

“We did get a letter in the mail not so long ago,” said Marge. “But since we’d more or less decided to let Odelia have the land I didn’t pay attention. It didn’t mention a mall.”

“How much did they offer?” asked Dudley eagerly.

“No price was mentioned as far as I know,” said Marge. She wasn’t happy that Dudley was inserting himself into the conversation, but Tex had insisted, figuring he was part of the family now. Odelia, unfortunately, had already left for work, and so had Chase, otherwise they could have weighed in, too.

“So the mall is happening?” asked Tex.

“It’s still early days,” said Charlene. “Which is why if you’re going to sell you better do it now. Because if nothing comes of this, they’ll immediately rescind their offer.”

“Thanks for letting us know,” said Marge, and she meant it. They could always use the extra money, now that they apparently had an extra mouth to feed in the form of Dudley.

“I think you should hold off on accepting their offer, Daddy,” said the kid now. “Let them come back with a higher offer, and see how high you can get them to go before accepting.” He leaned back. “I’ll bet you can get them to offer you millions for that plot.”

“Millions!” said Tex with a laugh. “In your dreams, buddy.”

“No, I’m serious, Daddy! They need that land. Without it they can’t build their precious mall. So I’ll bet they’re willing to pay you whatever it takes to get rid of you.”

“Dudley isn’t lying, Tex,” said Charlene. “They seem very willing to make you a great offer. Their exact words were: whatever it takes.”

“Oh, my,” said Tex, a blush of excitement mantling his cheeks. “Do you hear that, honey? We could be rich.”

“Let’s wait and see,” said Marge, who didn’t like the way Dudley kept interfering in what she considered a private family matter.

“Okay, I gotta go,” said Alec, getting up. “Marge—can I have a quick word?”

She got up and followed her brother into the house. The moment they entered the kitchen he turned and said, with a frown, “What’s that kid up to?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “but I don’t trust him—do you?”

“I’m not sure.” He glanced out through the window at Dudley, who was talking a mile a minute, with Tex smiling all the while. “Do you want me to check him out for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—how do you know he really is who he says he is? He could be anyone.”

“I know. I was thinking the exact same thing. But Tex doesn’t want to hear it. He’s convinced Dudley is his son—end of discussion.”

Alec nodded, and glanced around. “Got anything that belongs to Dudley?”

“Um…” She picked up a sweater the kid had dropped on one of the kitchen chairs. “You mean something like this?”

The police chief quickly extracted a few hairs and tucked them into a small plastic baggie. “And now I’m going to need something of your husband.”

“DNA?” she said, understanding dawning.

“I hope he won’t mind that we’re going behind his back on this,” said Alec as he watched Marge rifle through the laundry hamper in the laundry room off the kitchen until she found one of Tex’s shirts. Alec repeated the procedure and tucked both baggies away.

“Oh, he won’t be happy about it,” she said. “But that can’t be helped.” She folded her arms across her chest. “What if he isn’t Tex’s son? What do we do then?”

“You let me worry about that,” he said with a smile as he placed a kiss on her brow.

She gratefully put a hand on his broad chest. In moments like these she was happy that her big brother was a cop.

As soon as Alec had left, she returned to the breakfast table, where the topic under discussion was still the same as before: the millions of dollars that would be flowing into the Poole coffers now that this mall development was underway. And as Marge studied Dudley, she found herself thinking once again that she didn’t trust this kid.

But how was she going to convince her husband?

Now there was an interesting problem.

Chapter 24

The moment Chase had returned from walking Rambo, Odelia had swept us all into her car and rushed off. Perhaps swept is too strong a word, as it’s probably hard for any human to sweep a two hundred pound dog into a car. Cajole is perhaps the better description, and so there we were, on our way to a destination unknown, four cats in the backseat, while Rambo took up space in the trunk of the car.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“My uncle gave me a secret assignment yesterday,” Odelia announced, sounding happy and excited in equal measure. “You remember Charlene’s uncle who died?”

“Yeah, he fell into his own pool, right?”

“Right. Well, Uncle Alec isn’t the kind of cop who likes to accept the most obvious explanation about anything, and so he wants me to look into this death a little closer. Make sure there’s nothing suspicious about it.”

“You think Charlene’s uncle was murdered?” asked Harriet.

“I don’t know. But I’m sure I’ll find out.”

“I like this,” grunted the dog who was breathing down my neck. “Just like the old days: out on patrol, catching the bad guys.”

“Did you go out on patrol a lot when you were on active duty?” asked Brutus, who, technically at least, was also a police animal, as he’d once belonged to a cop.

“Oh, yeah. All the time. Until they figured I was too old for the job, and they retired me. I’m too young to retire, so I didn’t like that,” he said. And then he sneezed, causing big gobs of goo to hit the back of my neck and even the back of Odelia’s head.

Even if Rambo was too old to chase the bad guys, he could always hit them with his goo and make them surrender, I figured as I extracted the worst of the sticky goo from my precious blorange fur.

“Eww,” Harriet whispered. “Eww, eww, eww!”

“Oh, can you have that talk now, Max?” said Odelia. “About the bowl situation, I mean?”

“What bowel situation?” said Rambo. “My bowels are just fine, in case you were wondering.”

“Not the bowel situation—the bowl situation,” I clarified.

“What about my bowls?” he grunted, looking annoyed.

“The thing is, Rambo,” said Harriet, turning to face the large dog, “that in our household we each have our own designated bowl—two, in fact. One for water and one for kibble. And at night usually a third bowl comes out when Odelia doles out the wet food. And you can multiply that number by two, since we occupy two homes.”

“Ooh, wet food,” said the big dog, licking his lips with an extremely long tongue. “Rambo likes himself some wet food.”

“Yes, well, so the whole point of this setup is that we only eat from our own bowl, you see? And for convenience’s sake our bowls even have our names on them. So Max has his bowls, I have my bowls, Dooley has his bowls, and so does Brutus and so do you!” She gave him a beaming smile, but the dog shook his head, causing some of his saliva to sprinkle around.

“I don’t get it,” he announced in that deep gravelly voice of his.

“You can only eat from the bowl that has your name on it,” I said. “You can’t touch any other bowl.”

The dog frowned. “Oh.” Then he frowned some more, causing his eyes to disappear into the folds of his face. “I see…”

“And?” said Odelia. “Do you understand the rules, Rambo? I’m sorry to have to be this strict, but with five pets in the house we need to have some house rules, you see.”

“But… what if I’m hungry?” asked Rambo.

“What is he saying, Max?” asked Odelia, glancing back through the rearview mirror.

“He wants to know what he should do when he’s hungry,” I translated Rambo’s words.

“I’ll make sure to keep his bowl filled at all times,” she said with a smile. “Just like I do with all you guys. Except Max, because Max has to watch his weight.”

I made a face.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Maxie,” said Odelia. “You know you tend to gorge.”

“I don’t ‘gorge,’” I said stiffishly. “I simply have a very healthy appetite.”

“I hear you, Max,” said Rambo. “I’m exactly the same. I have the kind of appetite that makes me very cranky when I don’t have anything to eat.” He stared at me. “Very cranky.”

I gulped a little. I had the distinct impression that Rambo wouldn’t mind eating me if he ever found his bowl empty and couldn’t touch my food or the others’.

“Odelia, did you stock up on dog food?” I asked, my voice a little squeaky.

“I asked Chase to pick up some more after work,” she said. “I hope he doesn’t forget.”

“I hope so, too,” grumbled Rambo, still giving me that penetrating look.

“He won’t,” I said in a strangled voice. “And if he does, you can always eat some of my food.”

“I thought you said I can only eat from my own bowl?”

“No, but just in case of an emergency I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Only if you’re sure, Max,” said Rambo, his hooded eyes boring into mine. “Cause if not, I won’t touch your bowl. I’ll just find something else to eat…” And then he gave me a toothy grin, and I could see he had some very sharp incisors. Sharp and very, very big.

Gulp!

Chapter 25

They’d arrived at the address Odelia’s uncle had sent her. The bungalow-style house was a modest one, in a quiet neighborhood that had been built about thirty years before. It had a front yard that was well-kept, but the house itself looked a little rundown.

She set foot for the front door, four cats and one dog looking on from the sidewalk.

There was no bell to ring, but there was a sturdy brass knocker, so she used it deftly. Moments later she could hear stumbling inside, and the shuffling of feet. And when the door opened and a large man appeared, puffing from a cigarette, and only dressed in boxers and a tank top, she gave him her best smile. “Mr. Pollard? Jerry Pollard? My name is Odelia Poole, and—”

“I know who you are,” he said, and stepped aside. “Come on in. Your uncle told me you were coming.”

“Thanks,” she said, and glanced back at her pets. She didn’t think she could take them inside this time, so she gestured that they should go around the back. Who knows, maybe they could listen in on the conversation, and even save her life if Mr. Pollard turned out to be a serial killer who liked to dismember his visitors and stuff them into his freezer.

“Take a seat,” he mumbled, and started dumping pizza boxes and fast food wrappers to the floor. “Don’t mind the mess.”

She glanced around. Apart from the obvious mess, and the telltale signs that Mr. Pollard liked to eat his dinners—and presumably his other meals, too—in front of this TV, the place was reasonably clean. She could see pictures of kids and several pictures of Jerry Pollard in better days, his arm casually slung around a woman with red hair, three red-haired grinning kids also present and accounted for.

He followed her gaze. “She lives in Florida now. Married a real estate broker. Took the kids, too.”

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Pollard,” she said.

He smiled and rubbed his eyes. “So Frank Butterwick died, huh? Fell into his pool.” He shook his head. “Sad affair. I liked Frank. Great guy—wonderful friend.”

“You were the silent partner in his company?”

“Yeah, he needed capital to start his own business, and back then I was loaded, so I didn’t mind setting him up in business for himself. He used to work for me, you know. I’ve been in construction my whole life, and Frank was that rare person: great at his job, and honest to a T. I was sad to see him go, but when he offered me a partnership, I jumped at the chance. Guy like that was going to make it big, I could tell. And he did. Heck, half the homes in Hampton Cove now have a pool that he installed. Or I should probably say we, though I just provided the capital and he did all the work.”

“My uncle seems to think there might have been foul play involved. What do you think?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that, sweetie. Frank and I didn’t get in touch much. He dropped by from time to time, but from what I could see he was doing just fine—didn’t need my help.”

“Are you still in business, Mr. Pollard?”

“Nah—the divorce pretty much blindsided me. Took me a while to get back on my feet, and by then the business had folded. This is not a line of work you can run from behind your computer. You have to be right there, on site, all the time, keeping an eye on things. If you don’t, it all goes belly-up before you know it. But I’m not complaining. Financially I’m doing okay—mostly thanks to Frank.”

“So you’re not aware of anyone who would have carried a grudge against him? Anyone who would want to kill him?”

Jerry Pollard hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “Frank wasn’t the kind of guy to create enemies. He was well-liked. A real people person.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you hesitated before answering my question, though.”

He laughed. “Your uncle told me you’re a pretty sharp cookie, Miss Poole. Yeah, there was one incident Frank told me about. Not that I think it matters, but…” He grimaced. “It just didn’t sit well with him, you know. And I could tell it bothered him.”

“What incident was that?”

“Frank started out with one guy—one builder. He pretty much took him under his wing, before hiring more people and slowly building up his company, like you do.”

“And? Something happened with this builder?”

“Yeah, I guess you can say that. See, this boy didn’t have any parents.”

“An orphan.”

Mr. Pollard nodded. “So Frank being the kind of guy he was, pretty much treated him like a son. There was a vague understanding that one day when Frank retired he’d leave the business to this kid. Which wasn’t a bad offer, as the company was doing really well.”

“And then what happened?”

Mr. Pollard shrugged. “I’m not sure. One day the kid simply up and left without a word. Just… walked out. Gave Frank quite a shock, I can tell you. Shook him to the core.”

“Do you have a name for this person?”

“Yeah, Brett Cragg. Last I heard he lived on Grover Street, though that information dates back six months.”

“When he left the company,” said Odelia, nodding.

“Yup. Which just goes to show: be careful who you trust, and never, ever, hand the keys of your company to just any old fella walking in from the street.”

“Do you think this Brett Cragg could be responsible for Frank’s death?”

“I don’t know, sweetie, but if I were you, I’d definitely talk to him.”

Chapter 26

“So this is what you do?” asked Rambo. “Sitting around waiting for your human?”

“Not always,” I said. “Sometimes we spring into action and actually catch killers, too.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, right. Looks to me like you guys have a real cushy job. Your human takes care of everything while you simply sit around and wait. In my day at the K9 unit I had to do all the work. I chased the suspects, I apprehended them, I breathed down their necks if they so much as moved a muscle.”

He was certainly breathing down my neck, and I can tell you that his breath wasn’t exactly like a summer breeze.

The five of us were seated in the backyard of the man Odelia had come to interview. There wasn’t a lot we could do, as the back door was closed shut, and I could see no sign of any pets to talk to, so we just hunkered down for the time being, and glanced around at the world in general and the backyard in particular. It wasn’t a bad backyard, as backyards go: it was about the size of a postage stamp, but what there was of it was well-maintained, with a little bit of lawn and some nice decorations in the form of a windmill and even a slide, which told me the backyard was visited by kids from time to time. There was also the obligatory grill, which would have pleased Odelia’s dad to no end.

“Look, not all pets just gallivant around and are all action, action, action,” said Harriet now. “Some of us use our brains before we act. Maybe you should try the same, Rambo.”

I was expecting Rambo to pounce on Harriet and wait for a cop to put the cuffs on her the way he used to do when he was still an active member of the force, but much to my surprise he actually smiled, then burst into a rumbling laugh. “I like you,” he said finally. “You’ve got spunk, little missy.”

“Thanks, I guess,” said Harriet doubtfully.

“So you’re from the ‘Think before you act’ school of policing, are you? Good for you. I was always more into the ‘Act first, think later’ class. But then I guess I’m just built that way, whereas cats are perhaps the smarter creatures when compared to us dogs.”

“Thank you, Rambo,” said Harriet emphatically. She turned to us. “What have I been telling you guys all along? That cats are the brains and dogs are the brawn, right?”

I’d never even once heard Harriet say that, but before I could point this out to her, she was already moving on.

“I think we would make a great team, Rambo,” she said. “You’re the muscle and I’m the finesse. So maybe you should join us.”

“Us? What’s this us you’re talking about?”

“We’re the proud members of Odelia’s posse,” said Harriet. “She’s an amateur sleuth, you see, and we’re her secret weapon. Like… she’s Charlie and we’re her angels?”

“So you solve crime, huh? Catch killers and such?”

“That’s right,” said Harriet, tilting her head proudly. “You’re looking at Hampton Cove’s premier feline crime fighters.”

“So if you’re so good at what you do, then why do you need a guard dog is what I’m wondering.”

“Um…”

I smiled, for Rambo had performed the ultimate feat: he’d managed to shut Harriet up. I’d never managed this myself, so it was with a certain measure of admiration that I regarded the big old dog now.

“Look, this killer took us by surprise, all right?” said Harriet, never one to be stumped for long. “The last thing you suspect is for a cat killer to show up in your own home, and grab you before you know what’s happening.”

“You have to remain vigilant, Harriet,” said Rambo, speaking like one who knows. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all my years on the force it’s that you can never let your guard down, no matter what.”

“Do you ever let your guard down?” I asked.

“Me? Never! I mean, you probably think I’m some lumbering, drooling, smelly has-been, right?”

“Oh, no,” I said, though that was exactly what I’d been thinking.

“Wrong! I’m always alert. Always looking, always listening,” he said, as his eyes swiveled this way and that. “That’s why I’m so good at what I do. You never see me coming.”

I could definitely smell him coming, though.

“The bad guys underestimate me, and that’s my secret weapon. They laugh at me—oh, look at that stupid mutt. Ha ha ha. And BOOM! I pounce and that’s the end of them.”

“Good for you,” I said without much conviction. Talk is cheap, after all, and this big dog could most certainly talk.

He suddenly cut his eyes to me, and said, “I see a lot of me in you, Max.”

“Oh?” I said, surprised.

“Yeah, you’re also fat, out of shape, ugly… a mouth-breather. But underneath all that flab and blubber beats the heart of a true warrior.”

I didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed. It’s always tough when they wrap the compliments in a thick layer of insults. “Um, thanks, I guess,” I said.

“Or you, Dooley. You look like a weakling. A dumbass. But you’re a lot smarter than you look, am I right?”

“I… think so?” said Dooley uncertainly.

“Or look at Brutus. Underneath all that bluster and posturing lurks a sly dog. And then there’s Harriet, of course. She may look like a drama queen, a prissy princess, a gigglepuss, but she’s smart as a whip, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh?” said Harriet with a frown.

“So yeah, I guess we make a great team, just like you said,” he said with a yawn, then placed his head on his front paws and closed his eyes. And soon he was snoring away again, making the air tremble with the volume of his snores.

“Do you think he’s asleep, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I think there’s a good chance of that, Dooley,” I said.

“But he said he’s always vigilant, always alert—sees all, hears all, knows all…”

I waved a hand in front of the dog’s closed eyes, then poked him in the squishy nose.

“Nope,” I said. “He’s definitely fast asle—”

“Gotcha!” suddenly roared Rambo, and placed his big paw on top of my head!

“Aaargh!” I screamed, much surprised.

And then he burst into a booming laugh, and soon Harriet, Brutus and Dooley were all laughing along.

“The look on your face, Max!” Harriet squealed. “Priceless!”

“Yeah, you should have seen yourself, Max!” said Brutus. “You looked absolutely terrified!”

“He is always alert, Max!” said Dooley. “Amazing, Mr. Rambo.”

“Thanks, Dooley. Just a small demonstration of my secret power. And now I’m going to take a nap for real. If this cat killer shows his ugly face, wake me up, all right?”

And then he went right back to snoring like a lumberjack. And this time I wasn’t going anywhere near him. Once bitten and all that.

And when half an hour later Odelia rounded the bungalow to fetch us, we were still sitting motionless, while our guard dog was sleeping the sleep of the dead.

So much for unwavering vigilance…

Chapter 27

When Odelia saw her four cats, guarded by a dog that was fast asleep, the sight didn’t do much to quell her fears for their safety. She’d known that her uncle wouldn’t be able to supply her with the best dog the K9 unit had to offer, but this Rambo wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she’d asked for a guard dog.

Then again, she couldn’t very well ask Chase to keep an eye on them all the time. So it was imperative that whoever had attacked them at home was found and found fast.

So when she was back in her car, and had buckled her seatbelt, she called her uncle.

“Hey, Uncle Alec,” she said. “I was just calling in for an update on this cat killer?”

“Nothing new, honey,” said her uncle. “I have some of my people asking around, but whoever this guy was, he was careful not to be seen entering or leaving the house.”

“Okay… So maybe fingerprints? Anything?”

“Nothing so far. Why? Aren’t your cats happy with their new friend?”

“Not exactly,” she said, though she didn’t want to say more, for Rambo was in the back of the car, and he definitely wasn’t sleeping now.

“Don’t let his appearance deceive you,” said her uncle. “He’s one of the best we’ve got. Or at least he used to be when he was a full-fledged member of the team. He may be retired now, but I’m sure he’s still got that killer instinct you want to see in a guard dog.”

She glanced back, and saw that Rambo had placed his voluminous head on the top of the backseat, slobbering all over the upholstery. He was certainly killing her car.

“So did you get anything from this guy Jerry Pollard?”

“Maybe.” And she told her uncle about the builder who’d run away.

“Interesting,” he said. “Maybe I’ll run it by Charlene. She might remember something. She and her uncle had a good connection.”

“I’ll try to find out where he lives, and see if I can’t track him down,” she said.

“You do that, honey. Um…”

“What is it?”

“I’m running a check on Dudley. I took a strand of his hair and one from your dad.”

“You want to see if he’s really Dad’s son.”

“Yup. According to Marge your dad is really taken in with the kid. She’s not so sure, though.”

“He seems nice enough.”

“Yeah, I know, but I guess Marge feels it pays to be careful. After all, what do we know about him? Nothing.”

“No, sure. But I think the DNA test will come back a positive match. He even looks like Dad—minus the ears.”

“Yeah, well, I’m of the same opinion as my sister. You can never be too careful these days. Oh, and did you know about the plot of land your mom and dad own and that now may be worth a great deal of money?”

“What?”

“Ask your mom. She’ll tell you all about it.” And with a light chuckle, he disconnected.

“Plot of land?” she said, staring before her.

“What’s going on?” asked Max.

“It looks like my parents are going to be rich,” she said. “And my uncle is running a DNA test on Dudley, to see if he really is who he says he is.”

“Very prudent,” growled Rambo. “You can’t trust anyone these days. The world is full of cheaters and swindlers and thieves and con artists. Not to mention murderers, backstabbers and other scum of the earth.”

And on that cheerful note, he put down his head again.

Odelia started the engine and drove off, in search of this mysterious young man who’d joined then left Frank Butterwick’s company.

It didn’t take her long to find out where he lived: she simply asked around in the neighborhood Jerry Pollard had indicated. When she showed up on his doorstep, though, he didn’t answer the bell, and when she knocked on the door, no one came.

His next-door-neighbor, who was pruning her hedge, saw her peeking in through the window, and announced, “That won’t do you any good, honey. He moved out last month.”

“Where to?” she asked.

But the woman shrugged. “He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask.” And continued her pruning.

“Great,” Odelia muttered. And as she walked back to her car, her phone dinged, and when she looked she saw she’d received a message from her mom. It contained a link, and when she clicked on the link, it took her to a Gofundme page, set up by… Vesta Muffin!

“Oh, dear,” she murmured. As she got back into her car, she showed the cats the page. “Looks like Gran is collecting money for a new car,” she announced.

“Nice,” said Brutus. “I like the look of that Escalade.”

“Yeah, I like it, too,” she said. “But the way Gran drives I pity the people who get in her way.”

In fact it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to get Gran to take her driving test again. But that probably wasn’t in the cards.

“Why don’t you get a new car?” asked Harriet. “You could set up one of these Gofundme pages, too, and get rid of this piece of junk.”

She smiled. “It may be a piece of junk, Harriet, but I’m attached to my car.”

Her clunky but precious pickup was the first car she’d ever bought, with money she’d earned herself, and she didn’t want to get rid of it until she had to.

“As long as it keeps on rolling, I will keep on driving it,” she announced, and as she said the words, suddenly there was a loud crunching sound, and the engine… died!

Chapter 28

Harriet wasn’t feeling particularly happy. This was not an unusual state of affairs for the gorgeous white Persian, but this time she could attribute her unhappiness to a very specific incident: her boyfriend admitting that he had a habit of peeing in her bowl. The fact that he also liked to pee in Max and Dooley’s bowls didn’t much interest her, but he shouldn’t have peed in hers—that was obvious.

So she was upset, and when she was upset she liked to make it known to everyone around her, and most specifically to the person she was upset with, in this case Brutus.

Problem was that this cat killer was still around, and now Odelia had more or less corralled them all together with either Chase as their protector, or Rambo. So she couldn’t even walk off on a huff and ignore Brutus the way he should be ignored after what he’d put her through. She was forced to stick together with the offender, and act as if nothing happened, which was agony for a cat as proficient at expressing her anger as she was.

Lucky for her she was also a very clever kitten, so the moment Odelia had called Triple-A and was patiently waiting for the tow truck to show up, she sidled up to her human and said, ever so sweetly, “I had a great idea, Odelia, and I wanted to run it by you if you’ve got a moment.”

“Oh, sure, Harriet,” said Odelia. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, you know how Rambo and Chase are supposed to protect us?”

“Uh-huh?”

“The thing is, I’m pretty sure that cat killer was in fact targeting me, not the others. So I think it only stands to reason that Chase and Rambo should protect me, and let the others go about their business the way they usually do.” She gave Odelia a mournful look. “You know the burden us females have to carry, always being targeted by some nasty element of the male species? Max, Dooley and Brutus simply don’t have that kind of experience, nor do I feel they should be punished because I’m the one under attack.”

“You think the attacker was gunning for you, is that what you’re saying?”

“Absolutely. And isn’t that always the case? So if you could ask Chase to guard my back from now on, and Rambo, too, I’d be very much obliged, Odelia, sweetie.”

Odelia, who wasn’t in the best of moods, after her car had broken down, eyed her a little strangely, Harriet thought. “You and Brutus have been fighting again, haven’t you?”

“Just one of those lovers’ tiffs,” said Harriet airily. “You know how it goes. I’ll bet you and Chase go through that sort of thing all the time.”

“No, actually we don’t,” said Odelia. “So what have you been fighting about this time?”

She sighed. “I really don’t want to bother you with my petty problems, Odelia. You have so much on your mind already.”

“Indulge me,” said Odelia.

“Well…” She glanced over to where Brutus stood chatting with Max and Dooley and Rambo, and frowned. “Brutus confessed that sometimes he pees in our bowls. Not a full tinkle, you see, but just a pre-pee or pre-tinkle, as he calls it, when he feels he won’t be able to reach his litter box in time. So he unleashes a few drops into the first bowl he sees, which just so happens to be either mine or Dooley’s or Max’s and not his own if you please, and then he proceeds to his box for the main course, as it were. And when I asked him why he doesn’t pee in his own bowl, he didn’t really have an answer for me.”

Odelia smiled, which struck Harriet as highly inappropriate indeed. “Maybe I should ask Mom to put a small plastic tub in the bedroom, just for these kinds of midnight emergencies,” she said. “In the old days people actually put a chamber pot in their bedrooms, so maybe we should dust off that old custom for you guys.”

“Oh, I don’t have a problem reaching my litter box in time,” Harriet assured her human. “It’s only Brutus who seems to have an acute bladder control issue.”

“Harriet, honey, you can’t really blame Brutus because he has a small bladder. I mean, I agree he shouldn’t have done it, but I think we can all agree that he didn’t do it on purpose. It was just an accident.”

“An accident is when it happens once,” Harriet argued, starting to wonder in whose corner Odelia was: hers or Brutus’s. “But this happened several times—six times, to be exact. And six times doesn’t qualify as an accident but more as something he’s been doing on purpose, just because he can.”

“I’m sure Brutus was simply too embarrassed to talk about his midnight mishaps. It is a little embarrassing for a proud cat like him to have to admit that he can’t hold up his pee. And so instead of being angry with him, I think you should have some compassion.”

“Compassion?” asked Harriet, as if the word was new to her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that this isn’t something Brutus can do much about. It happens to humans, too, you know. When we get older, sometimes we simply lose the ability to control our bladders. And sometimes it leads to these little mishaps.” She patted Harriet’s head. “Just be gentle with Brutus, sweetheart. He’s a good cat, and you should be proud to call him your boyfriend.”

“Mh,” said Harriet, not convinced. “So what are you saying? That you won’t assign Chase and Rambo as my private bodyguards from now on?”

“I’m sure you weren’t the only target,” said Odelia, adding insult to injury with these words. “If you were, he wouldn’t have put you all in that chest and set it on fire, would he?”

She hated this kind of spurious argument, so she gave Odelia an unhappy look and turned away. She’d specifically asked Odelia because she figured women had to stick together in a man’s world, and all Odelia had for her were empty words like ‘compassion’ and ‘mishaps’ and vague promises about ‘chamber pots,’ whatever that was.

Fat lot of good that did her, she meant to say. And when she joined the others again, she vowed to find a different solution to her problem—one that didn’t involve that treacherous Odelia Poole.

What good was it to have a human if she wasn’t in your corner when it mattered?

Chapter 29

“Bellamy Butt Movers and Shakers? Yes, this is Odelia Poole. I’m a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and I’m working on a story about the death of Frank Butterwick. Mr. Butterwick had someone who worked for him that I’d like to speak to. And it is my understanding that you helped move him out of his apartment a couple of months ago.”

She gave the person on the other end of the line the name and address of Brett Cragg, and was gratified to hear that Bellamy Butt’s aptly named moving company had, indeed, moved Mr. Cragg out of his apartment. What she wasn’t happy about was that the address they’d moved him to was located in the great state of Ohio. They did have a phone number on record for the young builder, and she gratefully jotted it down.

Her next call told her that the number had been disconnected, though, which made her investigations into Charlene’s uncle hit another snag. And as she patiently waited for the tow truck to pick up her pickup, she wondered about her next course of action.

So she’d talked to Frank Butterwick’s former associate, the police had already talked to his current workers, and she’d tried to hunt down his very first worker and failed.

Where did that leave her? Exactly nowhere.

And she was just wondering where to go from here when the tow truck finally arrived and for the next ten minutes she watched as her pickup was being hauled away.

She’d already called her grandmother and asked her for a ride, and when the old lady drove up in Odelia’s mom’s ancient Peugeot, she was glad to finally be mobile again.

“You should do like me,” said Gran as she steered the vehicle in the direction of town. “You should start one of them Gofungus things. You’ll have a new car in no time.”

“I don’t think Gofundme is designed to help people buy themselves a new car, Gran,” she said. “Besides, I’m sure my pickup will be fixed soon.”

“That old thing? I’d take it to the junkyard if I were you.”

“The guy who came to pick it up said it was probably a faulty fuel pump. I’ll have the car back tomorrow already.” He’d also said she was extremely lucky that she didn’t end up rolling her stalled pickup straight into oncoming traffic and getting herself killed in a head-on collision, but she wisely kept that bit of information to herself.

“Better get yourself a new set of wheels is what I say. That wreck you call a car is going to cost you an arm and a leg in repairs over the next couple of years.”

“Well, I happen to like that old wreck, and as long as I can keep driving it, I will.”

“You know what? As soon as these Gofunky people have collected enough money so I can buy myself that Escalade, you can have this car. How about that?” She tapped the wheel. “It’s still a pretty decent old thing. Pretty sure you’ll be able to get a couple thousand more miles out of it.”

“Thanks, but I’m sure Mom will be glad to have her car back.”

“Marge doesn’t need a car,” grunted Gran. “Besides, she’ll be a millionaire soon. She’ll be able to buy herself all the cars she needs.”

“Oh, that’s right. I didn’t even know Mom and Dad owned that land.”

“Nobody knew! I think they completely forgot about it themselves, the doofuses.”

“So you think they’ll sell?”

“Of course they’ll sell! They’d be crazy not to! Now I know that Marge has an eccentric streak, and your father isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in God’s big shed, but even they wouldn’t be so dumb as to leave a couple million dollars on the table.”

“Millions? You really think they’ll fetch millions for that piece of land?”

“From what Charlene said this morning? It sure looks like it to me.”

“Yeah, I suppose a deal like that is too good to turn down.”

“Which is exactly what I told them. And they should move fast, too. These developer types are tricky. They’ll pay you millions today and pennies on the dollar tomorrow—for the same land!”

“Do you think that mall will actually be built?”

“Of course that mall will be built. Everybody wants money, honey. And politicians like Charlene most of all. I’m pretty sure she’ll be getting all kinds of kickbacks and backhanders, and so will the other council members.” She tapped her nose. “Take it from me—a lot of people will get filthy rich off this deal, and Hampton Cove will be left with a town center that’s deader than a dodo. But hey, that’s progress for you: some people get rich, and others get poor. Let’s just make sure we’re on the right side of the equation.”

“If you really believe this mall will turn downtown Hampton Cove into a dead zone, don’t you think we should organize some kind of protest? Try to convince Charlene to stop this development?”

Gran shrugged as she sat hunched over the steering wheel, driving through town at breakneck speed as was her habit. “Fat lot of good that’ll do. These two-faced politicians will do whatever they want to do. They’re not going to listen to the likes of you or me.”

“Why not? Your son is Charlene’s boyfriend, which practically makes her your daughter-in-law.”

Gran grinned. “Where have you been, honey? Nobody ever listens to me! And the ones who are least likely to do what I say is my own damn family!”

Odelia smiled. Gran had a point. “I still think that if you hate that mall, you should tell Charlene. You never know—maybe she’ll actually listen.”

“Yeah, right,” muttered Gran, and aggressively bypassed a vehicle, gesticulating widely as she did, then took a hard right and pulled over, stomping on the brakes.

Odelia was propelled forward, saved by her seatbelt, and so were the cats. Who wasn’t so lucky was Rambo, who’d been seated in the trunk of the car, due to his sheer size, and now came rocketing forward and plopped down on top of the cats, burying them in a mountain of dog.

By the time he’d managed to scramble out of the car, four cats were gasping for air, and looking more than a little unhappy.

“When you said you’d hire a guard dog to keep us safe, you didn’t mention that he’d try to kill us!” said Harriet, who was never shy to voice her grievances loud and clear.

“I’m sorry,” said Gran. “Things will get better once Gofunkus buys me my Escalade.”

“Or a whole lot worse,” murmured Max.

They all stood on the sidewalk and watched Gran take off again—like a bat out of hell.

“She should really learn how to drive,” said Brutus.

“Yeah, for the leader of the neighborhood watch she’s this neighborhood’s biggest threat,” said Max. “In fact we probably need a second watch to watch the first watch.”

“I’m never setting foot in a car with Gran again,” Harriet vowed.

“I think she means well,” said Dooley.

“I’m hungry,” said Rambo with a yawn. “When do we eat?”

“Step into my office,” Odelia said. “As long as this cat killer is on the loose, I think it’s best if you guys stick close to me.”

It was with some reluctance that her cats followed her into her office. Then again, she couldn’t very well ask Chase to keep an eye on them again after last night’s eventful shift. And even though they now had their own watchdog in the form of Rambo, she still felt more relaxed when the entire cat troupe stayed where she could see them at all times.

And so once again she was faced with her initial conundrum.

How to proceed with the Frank Butterwick case!

Chapter 30

Gran arrived home in record time and parked her car haphazardly at the curb, then hurried into the house. She’d left her phone in her room that morning and she felt bereft without the little technological wonder.

For one thing, she wanted to know where they stood with the Goflunky campaign. How many thousands of dollars they’d already collected and when she could finally go and buy herself that shiny new Escalade!

She’d already visited the car dealership that morning and had picked out the make and model. Now all she needed was the cash to buy the darn thing and they were in business.

She stormed into her bedroom, picked her phone from the nightstand and then stormed down again. Only she must have missed a step, for suddenly she faltered and before she knew what was happening she was airborne… for just a couple of seconds, unfortunately, and then she was tumbling down the steps—face forward!

She hit the stairs hard, and skidded down the last few steps, and when finally she came to a full stop, she was still holding onto her phone, wondering what in the name of all that was holy had happened!

“Gran!” said Dudley, who was the first to arrive on the crash scene. “Are you all right?”

“First off, I’m not your grandmother,” she grunted. “And what are you doing there gawking at me like a dead fish? Help me up, will you?”

“Are you hurt?” asked Dudley, sounding surprised that she was still talking after taking such a tumble.

“Of course I’m not hurt,” she said annoyedly. “Takes more than an awkward landing to put a dent in this old gal.” She still checked herself for broken bones or sprains or other calamities, but the only thing that hurt was her pride. “Lucky escape,” she muttered as she slapped Dudley’s eager ministrations away.

She glanced back, wondering why she’d taken that sudden tumble. And then she saw it: the carpet runner had come loose somewhere halfway up the stairs. She gave it a closer look, and saw that the screws holding the darn thing in place had come unstuck.

“Weirdest thing,” she said as she vowed to give her son-in-law a piece of her mind.

“I better get that fixed,” said Dudley as he saw what she was looking at.

“Wasn’t like that this morning,” said Vesta. “Pretty sure it was fine then.”

“These screws can be fiddly,” said the kid. “Especially if the runner was screwed down a long time ago.”

“I’ll tell Tex to fix it.”

“Nah, don’t bother,” said Dudley. “I’ll do it.”

“Thanks,” she said grudgingly. She had to admit that the kid was all right. Not only had he been more than helpful just now, but it was obvious he wasn’t one of them lazy kids who liked to lie around on the couch all day, playing with their stupid Playstation.

“You’re welcome,” said Dudley with a big smile.

“Well, I gotta get going,” she announced, and was out the door in a flash. And as she walked back to her car, a sudden ache in her shoulder gave her pause. “Ouch!” she said, as she rubbed the sore spot. So maybe her little accident had put a dent in her.

Tex had been working nonstop all morning, seeing one patient after another. Some days were like that: the whole town population suddenly seemed to have fallen ill. And on other days it was so quiet he practically didn’t see a single patient all day.

So he was glad when suddenly Vesta came sticking her head in the door.

“Am I glad to see you!” he said. “It’s been crazy all morning!”

“I’m not here to work,” she announced. “I’m here because I just fell down the stairs and now my shoulder hurts.”

He probably should have uttered a few words of concern that the aged mother of his wife had suffered a serious accident, but instead he inwardly cursed a receptionist who never came into work, and even when she did it was only to add to his workload instead.

“Take a seat,” he said curtly, as he’d just said goodbye to Ida Baumgartner and Blanche Captor had only just gotten up from her chair in the waiting room but now sat down again with a few muttered curses under her breath when she heard Vesta’s words.

“So what happened?” he asked once Vesta had closed the door and taken a seat.

“Are you deaf? I just told you. I fell down the stairs and now my shoulder hurts.”

“What stairs? The ones at home?”

“Yeah—the runner’s come unstuck. Loose screw. The kid will fix it,” she added.

“Dudley was there when it happened?”

“Yeah. Must have heard me take a tumble and helped me up. Very sweet of him,” she added, a little begrudgingly.

“Oh, he’s a very sweet kid,” Tex agreed. “I’m very lucky with a son like that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now are you going to take a look at my shoulder or are you going to keep flapping your gums about this so-called son of yours?”

Tex walked around his desk and invited his mother-in-law to take a seat on a little stool, then made her take off her tracksuit vest and carefully inspected the bruise on her shoulder.

“Why ‘so-called son?’” he asked. “Don’t you think Dudley is mine?”

“I don’t know, Tex,” she said. “And I’m sure once Alec runs that DNA test we’ll know more. But until we do, I’m not taking Dudley’s word for it.”

He frowned. “DNA test? What DNA test?”

“The one Marge asked Alec to run. So how is it? Am I going to live or what?”

“It’s just a bruise,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.” He was shocked to hear his wife and brother-in-law hadn’t told him about this DNA test—going behind his back like that.

“It’s this tracksuit,” said Vesta proudly. “Scarlett is always making fun of me that I like to wear these tracksuits but if she’d taken that tumble she probably wouldn’t have survived. Now are you going to give me something for the bruise? I haven’t got all day.”

So Tex prescribed his mother-in-law a cream to put on that bruise, but even as he was typing out the prescription, dark thoughts gathered in his mind—such as it was.

Chapter 31

Being locked up inside an office with one cat who seemed annoyed to be in our presence (Harriet), one cat who was anxious to get home and be near his litter box (Brutus) and one dog who had been doing nothing but eat since we got there (Rambo) isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.

And we had this mysterious cat killer to thank for it. He might not have taken our lives, but he’d certainly taken our freedom now that Odelia had decided we should stick close to either her or another member of her family until this attacker was caught.

Odelia had arranged for a large helping of dog kibble to be delivered to her office, and a (slightly less large) helping of cat kibble, and for once we all got to share one big bowl of water, but apart from that, the situation was less than ideal.

“I’d take you home but I have to finish this story,” she said when I gave her a troubled look.

She’d opened the back door, which led out onto a sort of small courtyard where we could do our business if we needed to, in the tiny patch of greenery, and amongst Dan Goory’s roses, of which he was particularly proud, but that was pretty much it.

“Here,” she said when I continued to give her less-than-happy glances, and handed me a tablet computer. “Make yourselves useful and try to figure out where I can find Charlene’s uncle’s former associate, will you? His name is Brett Cragg.”

So we gathered around the tablet computer, Brutus, Dooley and I, and started idly surfing the web, in search of a clue as to where we could find this Brett Cragg person.

He wasn’t on Facebook, though, and not on LinkedIn either, or Twitter or Instagram. In fact we didn’t find a trace of him anywhere, which made me think he was one of those rare individuals who didn’t spend their every waking hour poring over social media.

“Max?” whispered Brutus, darting a surreptitious eye at Odelia. “Maybe we can escape!”

“Escape?” I said. “Why do you want to escape? We’re safe in here. No one can get at us as long as we stay close to Odelia and Rambo.” Trading one’s safety for one’s freedom is a tough bargain, but one I’d grudgingly embraced. Not so, apparently, my friend.

“But we talked about this, Max,” he said. “We were going to recruit Clarice. She can be the one protecting us from now on. And I think she’ll probably do a better job than Rambo.”

We both cast a quick glance at the big dog, who was now snoring loudly, drool bubbling on his lips and dripping onto Odelia’s nice office carpet. He’d already eaten half a bag of dog kibble, and I had the distinct impression that second half wouldn’t last much longer either.

“All he does is sleep and eat,” said Brutus, and not unreasonably either. “I don’t think he’s cut out to be a guard dog.”

“No, he doesn’t seem to be the guard dog Odelia had envisioned when she hired him,” I agreed.

“So why don’t we slip out the back now, and see if we can’t find Clarice?!”

Dooley didn’t seem overly excited by the prospect of this ‘great escape’ either.

“But what is Odelia going to say? She’ll be very upset with us if we run away.”

“Odelia will understand,” said Brutus. “If we explain to her why we did it, she’ll be okay.”

“And what about Harriet?” asked Dooley.

We all looked over to where Harriet was lying on a settee, idly licking her fur and pretending the rest of us didn’t exist.

“Harriet is still very upset with me,” said Brutus sadly. “So I don’t think she’ll exactly sound the alarm if we make a break for it now.”

“And what if Clarice says no?” I asked. “Then what do we do?”

“Then we come back here—chances are Odelia won’t even notice we’re gone.”

This time three pairs of cat’s eyes swiveled to our human, who was typing away at her desk, her focus on her story unwavering.

Brutus was right. Odelia probably wouldn’t notice if we took off for a little while.

“All right,” I finally said. “So let’s go and find Clarice.”

“I would feel a lot safer with Clarice in our corner,” Dooley said, trying to convince himself to go along with Brutus’s daring scheme.

“Of course you would!” said Brutus. “This cat killer is no match for Clarice. So let’s go already, before Rambo wakes up and alerts Odelia.”

And so our adventure began. Ever so quietly we snuck out of the office, down the corridor, then out into the miniature courtyard and then it was a cinch for us to scale the wall that surrounded Dan’s little patch of green and we were out.

“I hope she’s not out in the woods,” I said.

Clarice doesn’t have a fixed abode, like the rest of us do. She can usually be found searching the dumpsters behind the stores on Main Street, but she’s just as likely to hang out in the woods in the hilly area near our town, where Hetta Fried owns the Writer’s Lodge, a cabin she likes to rent out to writers and artists. And since said artists and writers are rich enough to be able to afford Hetta’s cabin in the woods, they’re usually not too stingy to share their copious meals with Clarice.

We quickly crossed the street and then we were traipsing along the sidewalk.

“See?” said Brutus. “This is perfectly safe. Even if this cat killer were still stalking us, which I think is unlikely, he would never abduct us in broad daylight, in front of all these people. There’s safety in numbers, fellas, and so we’ve got nothing to worry about!”

I still wasn’t exactly at ease, in spite of those numbers Brutus found so safe. It only took one maniac to snatch us from the street and deposit us in the back of his van and that would be it. Game over for us!

So when finally we reached the back alley that Clarice considers her own private property, I breathed a sigh of intense relief.

“Clarice?” I called out when we entered the alley. “Are you there?”

The dumpsters were full to the bursting point, as the town’s sanitation services had yet to pick them up, so there was every chance Clarice was around.

“Clarice!” Brutus called out. “We need to talk to you!”

“I don’t think she’s here,” said Dooley as we reached the end of the alley and still there was no sign of our feral friend.

“She could be out by the strip mall,” Brutus said. In lieu of an actual mall we have a modest strip of shops with a parking lot attached to it located on the road that leads into Hampton Cove. Shops that will probably all disappear when the big mall opens its doors.

“What are you yelling about?” suddenly a cranky voice sounded from underneath the dumpster closest to me.

“Clarice!” I said. “Am I glad to see you!”

“I’d love to say the same thing, but I’m not happy to see you,” she said, and yawned. “I was just having a nice nap, until you came along, with all your screaming and shouting. What do you want?”

“We have a proposition for you, Clarice,” said Brutus, plastering a wide smile onto his face.

“If you’re asking me to marry you, you can forget about it. I’m not the marrying type.”

“No, I don’t want to marry you!” said Brutus quickly.

She cocked her head and gave him a sly look. “Why? I’m not good enough for you? Is that it?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then what’s the problem? I’m too outspoken? Too loud? Too fond of my freedom?”

Brutus gave me a helpless look, and so I took over from him.

“We’ve been attacked,” I announced. “A madman shoved us into a sort of trunk or chest and set fire to us. It was only through sheer luck that we escaped with our lives.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Clarice, and casually licked a very sharp-looking claw. “But at the risk of sounding callous, what does that have to do with me?”

“Well, since the incident Odelia has tasked her boyfriend with our protection, and she’s also hired a retired police dog. Neither solution really sits well with us. Chase because he obviously hates the job of babysitting a brace of cats, and because he has his day job to think about, and the dog because, well, he doesn’t really seem to care.”

“So we thought of you, Clarice,” said Brutus fervently.

“That’s very nice of you, Brutus,” she said sweetly. “I always like it when cats think of me. Now just spit it out already, Max. What do you want?”

“We want you to watch over us. To be our bodyguard. To make sure this cat killer doesn’t come near us again.”

For a moment, Clarice simply stared at me, then she burst into a loud side-splitting laugh. “Me!” she cried. “Guard you lot!”

“Yes, that’s the general idea,” I said.

“She’s not going to do it,” said Dooley, shaking his head. “She thinks the idea is stupid.”

“Well, it is a stupid idea, Dooley,” said Clarice, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m not a guard cat—I can look after myself, sure. But to look after a couple of jelly-belly lily-livered pampered house cats like you guys? I’d have to be crazy to take the job!”

“For your information we’re not entirely pampered,” I said stiffly. “In fact I’d say we can take pretty good care of ourselves most of the time. But this cat killer—he just came out of nowhere. Took us by surprise.”

“And it wasn’t a nice surprise,” Dooley pointed out.

“And so another pair of eyes wouldn’t be a luxury.”

“Clarice, please help us,” said Dooley. “You’re the only one we can trust. And the only cat who’s so… so… so tough!”

Her smirk died away as she regarded Dooley. “Oh, Dooley, Dooley,” she said. “That’s very nice of you to say, honey, but I’m just not cut out for this kind of job. I’ve only ever had to take care of myself—and if I take on the responsibility of you guys and something happens to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

“I’m sure nothing is going to happen,” I said. “This cat killer—we haven’t seen a sign of him since it happened. But just to be on the safe side…”

“Yeah, just as a precaution, see,” said Brutus.

“I don’t want to die, Clarice,” said Dooley, directing a pleading look at the tough street cat. “I’m too young to die, and so are my friends. Won’t you please help us—please?”

She gave him a little smile, then finally screwed up her face. “Aah! I’m so going to regret this! Okay—fine! I’ll take the job! But if you go and die on me, I swear I’ll kill you!”

Chapter 32

Odelia had been working steadily, typing up her article about the attack on her cats, then an article about the mall development plans, and an article about her dad finding his son after all these years. And when finally she leaned back and stretched, she glanced around and was surprised to find that instead of four cats and one dog, suddenly she was in the presence of five cats and one dog.

“Clarice?” she said, blinking as she regarded the scrawny cat, who looked as if she’d been run over by a car. “What are you doing here?”

“Your cats hired me as their bodyguard,” Clarice growled. “What can I say? It’s hard to say no to Dooley.”

“I convinced her,” said Dooley, beaming.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Clarice. “Don’t rub it in. So what’s the plan?” she asked. “And what can you tell me about this so-called cat killer?”

“Nothing so-called about it,” said Brutus. “That guy did try to kill us.”

“He hasn’t killed you yet, has he? So he’s not a cat killer but a wannabe killer.”

“The plan is for my cats not to leave the house if they don’t have to, and if they do, always to be accompanied by either Rambo or Chase, who’s their official bodyguard.”

“Well, so now I’m their official bodyguard, so Chase is off the hook, and so is fatso over there,” she added with a gesture of the head in the direction of the sleeping dog.

“Are you sure you can handle this threat?” asked Odelia. She admired Clarice for her survival instinct and the gumption with which she went through life, but didn’t think she was a match against her cats’ attacker.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, toots,” said Clarice. “It’s the would-be killer you should feel sorry for.” And to show Odelia she meant business, she unsheathed a particularly sharp-looking long claw.

Odelia had to gulp at the sight of it. “All right,” she said. “So I’ll tell Chase he’s relieved of his duties. I am still going to ask you to never go anywhere without Rambo. My uncle vouches for him. Says he’s the best of the best, and I’d feel much easier in my mind knowing he’s keeping an eye on you.”

“All right,” said Clarice after a particularly scathing glance at the big dog. “We’ll let him tag along. For now.”

“Have you discovered anything new about this cat killer?” asked Max.

“Not yet,” she said. “And my uncle tells me he has no clue as to his identity or what he was doing in Mom and Dad’s house either.”

“Too bad,” said Max.

“So whatever you do, and wherever you go—please be careful, you guys, all right?”

She watched her cats walk out of the office with mixed emotions. She didn’t want to see them harmed, but she didn’t want to keep them locked inside all the time either—something they clearly hated.

But then Clarice turned and gave her a wink. “I’ll take good care of your babies, honey. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“Me, too,” said Rambo with a yawn, and waddled off.

Marge had arrived home from work early, and decided to make herself a nice cup of tea before she got started on the backyard. The back part of the garden had become an eyesore, with roses that needed deadheading, and weeds that needed pulling.

Usually her mom took care of that kind of stuff, or even her husband, but lately both had been too busy to bother, and Marge didn’t mind a bit of gardening from time to time.

She didn’t exactly possess a green thumb, but she wasn’t certain death to plants either.

And she’d just popped a capsule into her coffee maker and poured water into the reservoir when suddenly she got the shock of a lifetime—literally! It was as if she’d touched a live wire, and her teeth clattered and she thought she smelled burnt rubber.

Moments later she was on the floor, and wondering what had happened. And when Dudley came running into the kitchen, exclaiming, “Marge! What happened—oh, my God!” she realized she’d been in one of those household accidents you always read so much about. The kind that allegedly, and according to insurance company statistics, kill no less than 120.000 people per annum in the United States alone.

“I-I think I electrocuted myself,” she said as she got up off the floor with Dudley’s assistance.

“Your hair!” he said, glancing up at her do.

She touched her hands to her hair, and it was indeed feeling a little frizzier than usual.

“How did this happen?” she asked, still feeling a little dizzy.

“I don’t know,” said Dudley. “I heard what sounded like a loud popping sound, and when I came running in I saw smoke coming out of the coffee maker—and your hair!”

Together they inspected the coffee maker, and indeed: it was completely fried.

“Must be faulty wiring,” said Dudley as he took a towel and pulled the plug from the wall socket. He held up the wire: it was blackened, the plastic having melted away. “You’re lucky to be alive, Marge,” he said earnestly. “Electrocution is no joke.”

“No, I don’t think it’s very funny,” she murmured as she staggered a bit, until Dudley helpfully led her to a chair and gently set her down.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear,” said the young man. “This is the second accident in one day. First Grandma Muffin and now you.”

“My mom?” she asked, alarmed. “What happened to my mom?”

“Didn’t she tell you? She fell down the stairs. She’s all right,” he quickly added when Marge made to get up. “She’s one tough old bird, that one.”

“She is very tough,” Marge agreed, but still didn’t like to hear she’d taken a tumble. Even tough old birds could break their necks falling down the stairs. “How did it happen?”

“The runner came unstuck,” said Dudley. “I already screwed it back in place again, don’t worry. This thing, though,” he added, glancing at the coffee maker, “is a total loss I’m afraid.”

“Thanks, Dudley,” she said, bringing a distraught hand to her head.

“That’s all right,” said Dudley. “I mean, I know you’re not particularly fond of me and all, and I totally understand that,” he hastened to add when she opened her mouth to protest. “To discover that your husband fathered a son once upon a time—that would be a hard pill to swallow for anyone. And I wanted to tell you that if you really don’t want me to be here—or to be part of your husband’s life—I’ll be gone, Marge. Absolutely.”

She studied the young man for a moment. He seemed genuinely concerned about her, and serious when he spoke these words. So she nodded. “You can stay,” she said. “For now,” she added when a big smile appeared on his face.

“Thanks, Marge,” he said. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Now let’s hope there are no more accidents,” she said as she got up and tested her legs.

“Yeah,” said Dudley. “I’d really hate for anyone else in my new family to get hurt.”

Chapter 33

Harriet had been thinking hard. Odelia’s words, even though she’d dismissed them at first, had returned to her when suddenly Max, Dooley and Brutus had gone missing for half an hour, only to return with Clarice in tow.

For a moment there, she’d actually panicked. She wasn’t used to her boyfriend abandoning her like that—usually it was she who did the abandoning, not the other way around, and to see Brutus take off like that, without telling her what he was up to, had given her a big shock.

And so in his absence she’d started ruminating on Odelia’s words. What had she said? Something about compassion? And how humans and pets who lost control over their bladders were basically more to be pitied than censored?

And so suddenly she’d seen this entire incident in a different light: Brutus and Dooley weren’t the bad guys here—they were the victims! Victims… of their wonky bladders.

And so as they walked along the sidewalk, Clarice out in front, scanning left and right and generally taking her bodyguarding duties very seriously, and Rambo behind them, generally looking extremely bored and wishing he were anywhere but there, she suddenly said, “Brutus, I think I owe you an apology.”

“What?” said Brutus, visibly surprised.

“Yeah, I talked to Odelia about your condition, and I see now that I judged you too harshly. You, too, by the way, Dooley.”

“Oh-kay,” said Brutus cautiously, clearly wondering what the catch was.

“So now I’m thinking you two should probably get some professional help.”

“Pro-professional… help?”

“I’m sure if you talk to Vena she’ll be able to give you something for that dodgy bladder of yours. You’re too young to let this kind of problem control your life, smoochie poo. And I know that Odelia suggested placing a plastic tub in the bedroom so you won’t have this kind of… accident in the middle of the night, but just know there is a more permanent solution. One that will make your bladder behave again—just like it used to.” And she proceeded to give her boyfriend a big smile of support.

“But… my bladder is just fine,” said Brutus.

“My bladder is fine, too,” said Dooley.

“I don’t need to go to the doctor.”

“Me, neither,” said Dooley.

“Now Brutus, I know you like to act tough and all, but there really is no shame in this. There are many, many people, and plenty of pets, who suffer the same thing you two do.”

“Suffer… what, exactly?” asked Brutus, wide-eyed now.

“Well, incontinence, of course. And I’m sure that if you just talk to Vena—”

“Incontinence!”

“What is incontinence, Max?” asked Dooley.

“It’s when you have no control over your bladder. Or your bowels.”

“But… I’m not incontinent!” Brutus cried.

“Now, now, pookie bear,” said Harriet, contriving a look of compassion. “There’s no sense denying the obvious. And no shame, you hear me? No shame whatsoever.”

“I’m not ashamed—my bladder works perfectly fine, and so does everything else!”

“Oh, munchkin,” said Harriet with a sigh. “I knew you’d react this way. Look, you don’t have to act tough for my sake. I’ll talk to Odelia and set up an appointment with Vena.”

“What?!!!”

“And I want you to know you have my full support, my precious angel. My love muffin. My cuddle bear. I’ll be right by your side throughout the whole procedure.”

“But I’m not—”

“Oh, I know, chickadee. I know.”

“But my bladder is perfectly—”

“Of course it is. Absolutely.”

“But, Harriet!”

“It’s all right, handsome. And I love you all the same—my incontinent honey bear.”

“Can you please cut down on the blather?” asked Clarice annoyedly. “I can’t focus.”

“Yes, Clarice,” said Harriet dutifully.

She wasn’t entirely happy about this new situation, but it was better than being attacked by some pyromaniacal cat killer. And since she’d try to be more compassionate from now on, she could see that even though Clarice was all bluster and snide comments, underneath all that was a scared little pussy. At least she thought there was.

So she sidled up to Clarice now, and said, “Clarice, honey, you don’t have to act tough on my account, you know. I mean, it’s perfectly fine to be yourself when I’m around.”

“What are you talking about, toots?” asked Clarice, her eyes flitting all over the place, like one of those Secret Service agents running along the car with their president. All that was missing now were a pair of snazzy sunglasses and a wrist mic to mumble into.

“What I mean is that we’re just girls together, you and I, and you can’t fool me.”

“Still don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“You can drop the act, Clarice. Underneath that tough exterior you’re a sweet soul. I know that. And it’s all right to let it out.”

Clarice cut her a look that was anything but sweet. “I think you better get back in line now, before I give you a piece of my soul you won’t like.”

Doubts started to creep in when Harriet looked deeply into the wild cat’s eyes and saw not a hint of sweetness there—only an interior that was as tough or even tougher than the exterior. “I just want you to know,” she said, placing a paw on Clarice’s shoulder, “that I care. I care about you, Clarice, I really do.”

Clarice glanced down at the paw, then up at Harriet, and her expression darkened. “If you don’t remove that paw right now you’re going to lose it.”

“W-what?”

“I’m going to cut you, Harriet. I’m going to cut you so bad you’ll wish you were never born.”

“But… you’re supposed to protect me!” she cried, removing her paw as if from a burning stove, then quickly rejoined the others. “Clarice isn’t nice,” she announced with a pout. “I tried to be compassionate and she threatened me—actually threatened me!”

“I know,” said Brutus. “And that’s why she’s the best bodyguard in Hampton Cove. No offense, Rambo.”

“None taken,” said the big dog, lumbering along. “Hey, where can we find some food around here? I’m starving.”

Chapter 34

We’d finally arrived at Wilbur Vickery’s General Store, where our friend Kingman usually presides over the proceedings, and I was frankly eager to have a word with the voluminous cat. Often when we’re starved for information Kingman is the one who can provide that telling clue.

And as luck would have it there seemed to be some kind of impromptu cat choir meeting taking place outside Wilbur’s store: Kingman was there, of course, but also Buster, the barber’s Main Coon, Tigger, the plumber’s cat, Shanille, cat choir’s conductor, Misty, the electrician’s cat, Tom, the butcher’s cat, Shadow, who belongs to Franklin Beaver, the guy who runs the hardware store, and Missy, the landscaper’s tabby.

“Oh, hey, fellas,” said Kingman when we joined the meeting. “Shanille here has some exciting news to share.”

Shanille was positively glowing as she turned to us. “The mall is happening—it’s actually happening! Father Reilly has been asked to bless the first stone and he said yes!”

“So is that good news or bad news?” I asked.

“Good news for me,” said Clarice. “It means the downtown area of Hampton Cove will turn into a ghost town and the streets will be littered with garbage and there will be more rats than people around.” She smiled an icy smile. “And I do love me a juicy rat.”

“You love rats?” asked Buster.

“To eat, I mean,” said Clarice with a distinctly cruel grin.

Buster shivered, and so did the rest of the small company.

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating, Clarice,” said Shanille. “The mall will attract plenty of tourists, and the downtown area will thrive and local businesses will boom!”

“Boom as in go bust, you mean,” said Clarice.

“Oh, don’t listen to this Gloomy Gus,” said Shanille. “Father Reilly says it’s going to be just great. A brand-new future for our town!”

“It also means that Tex is going to be rich,” said Brutus. “He’s got a plot of land the mall developers want to buy,” he explained to the others.

“Ooh, so you’re going to be loaded soon,” said Kingman. “I wish Wilbur had thought of getting himself a piece of land when he had the chance. Then he could probably retire and we could move to Florida or some other place nice and warm.”

“I thought you didn’t like the heat?” I asked.

“I don’t mind the heat as long as there are plenty of great-looking females around,” said Kingman with a shrug. “And something tells me that Florida’s got some of the finest females in the country.”

“Oh, don’t be so vulgar, Kingman,” said Shanille reproachfully. “Besides, your human will be making a fortune soon, when all those tourists start coming into town.”

“You think?” said Kingman, his face lighting up.

“Of course! This mall is going to put Hampton Cove on the map. We’re all going to be rich—not just Marge and Tex—everyone!”

“I want to be rich,” said Tigger with a wistful smile. “Being rich sounds nice.”

“The only one who’s going to be rich is me,” said Clarice. “Rich in rats!”

“Oh, Clarice, just go away,” said Shanille, clearly not all that fond of the feral cat.

“I can’t go away—I’m guarding this quartet of bozos.”

Kingman turned to me. “So you took my advice? That’s great, buddy!”

But Shanille appeared less than impressed, judging from the way the corners of her mouth had turned down. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Max?”

“Of course it’s a good idea!” said Kingman. “It was my idea!”

“So… you’ve got a cat… guarding another cat?” asked Missy, who seemed confused.

“It sure beats a human having to guard a cat,” said Kingman.

“That’s true,” Shadow agreed with a curious glance at Clarice.

“So how does this work, exactly?” asked Buster, giving his fur a lick.

“Well,” I said, a little shamefacedly, “since we were attacked in our own attic Odelia has hired Rambo over there and then we ourselves have retained Clarice’s services.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Shanille. “First you got Chase to guard you—a human. Then a dog, and now Clarice? How many bodyguards does a cat need?!”

“Oh, you’re just jealous, Shanille,” said Harriet snippily.

“Jealous! I’m stunned, that’s what I am! Stunned! Since when does a cat ask a human to be their bodyguard—or a dog, for that matter? That’s just… wrong on so many levels!”

“It is a little weird,” Misty agreed.

“You know I can hear you, right?” said Rambo now, waddling up. “And for your information, this is just as awkward for me as it is for these guys. What do you think the Dog Guild is gonna say when they find out I’m guarding cats—cats, for crying out loud!”

I was making myself as small as I could. Clearly my reputation was hanging by a thread, and so was the reputation of my housemates. Shanille was probably right. No cat allowed themselves to be guarded by a human or a dog—or another cat. It wasn’t done.

“Look, what we’re actually here for,” I said, deciding to change the subject before things got completely out of hand, “is to find out more about the death of Charlene Butterwick’s uncle. He died yesterday morning, and Odelia wants to know if anyone of you might have seen something, or heard something?”

But my friends weren’t so easily distracted. “Even if my life were in danger, the last thing I’d do was to entrust my life and safety to a dog,” said Shanille, still harping on the same theme. “No offense, Mr. Rambo.”

“None taken, Miss Shanille,” said the big dog good-naturedly. I saw that he was staring intently at the bags of dog kibble Wilbur Vickery had on sale this week.

“So no one knows anything about Charlene’s uncle?” I asked. “Nothing?”

“Come on, guys,” said Clarice. “Let’s get out of here. First rule of bodyguarding: never allow your charge to stay in the same place for too long. Gotta stay mobile!”

Frankly I didn’t mind skedaddling, as Shanille and the others had now fully embraced the bodyguarding theme and were running with it. Even Kingman was starting to see the error of his ways when he suggested retaining Clarice’s services as our protection detail.

And as we set paw for home, I felt slightly deflated. Not only weren’t we getting anywhere with our investigation, but our assailant was still out there, and our reputations, such as they were, were now thoroughly being reduced to less than nothing.

“Don’t worry, Max,” said Rambo, as he waddled up next to me, leaving a trail of goo on the sidewalk. “They’ll come around to this whole guard dog thing. A new concept always takes a while to catch on. But before you know it this will become the new craze, and then every cat in Hampton Cove will want a dog to guard them.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, sure. It’s always like that. Just look at the pogo stick. First people think it’s weird, and then they embrace it and everybody wants one. Thing starts flying off the shelves.”

I didn’t want to tell him that comparing a dog to a pogo stick was probably not doing his species justice, but his words definitely sounded like music to my ears.

When you live in a small town like Hampton Cove, your reputation is everything, you see. And so I very much cared what other cats thought of me.

“Just you wait and see,” said Rambo. “This time next month they’ll all come knocking on my door, offering me purses of gold if I’ll be their bodyguard.” And to emphasize his words, he dropped a big glob of blubbery goo onto the sidewalk.

Somehow the gesture seemed to detract from the confidence he was exuding. Then again, I’m not well-versed in analyzing trends, and I’ve never used a pogo stick in my life, so what did I know?

“So are we there yet?” asked Rambo, his breathing a little labored, I thought.

“No, I’m afraid we’re not an inch closer to figuring out who might have killed Charlene’s uncle—or even if he was killed,” I said.

“I mean—are we home yet? I’m hungry.”

And so I learned another valuable truth about dogs: some of them have a one-track mind. And that’s not me being critical of my canine brethren. Merely stating a fact.

But lucky for Rambo we’d finally arrived home, and as we walked along the narrow stretch between the two houses belonging to our humans, suddenly I heard a loud scream. And when we raced to track the source of the scream, we came upon a grisly scene: Tex was lying on his back, and blood was streaming down his face.

“I’m hit!” he said. “Help me, I’m hit!”

Chapter 35

“Oh, Dad—Daddy! What happened?”

Tex groggily glanced around, and as if through a haze saw his son come running out of the house. Dudley knelt down next to him.

“I’ve been hit,” he repeated. “Someone shot me. Right… here…” He gestured vaguely in the direction of his head, then started feeling even woozier than before.

“Oh, Daddy, Daddy, please don’t die,” said Dudley. “We just found each other—please don’t die on me now.” He was sniffling and tears now flowed from Tex’s own eyes, too.

“I’m sorry, Dudders,” he croaked. “But they-they got me good this time. I think it’s the end for me. Tell Marge… tell her I love her, will you? Tell her… I’m sorry.”

And as if summoned by some unseen hand—or possibly the cats having told her about what had happened—his wife now came hurrying up to them.

“Tex!” she screamed. “Tex, no!”

“Goodbye, Marge,” he said weakly. “This is the end for me. Tell Odelia… I love her…”

Just then, Odelia materialized, looking as stricken as the others were all feeling.

“Dad!” she said, her voice distinctly wobbly. “Daddy, no!”

“I’ll always be up there… watching over you,” he said, pointing heavenward with his final remaining ounce of strength. “Good… bye.”

“Oh, will you stop whining, you sissy,” suddenly a loud voice intruded upon his most tragic death scene. He frowned as he recognized his mother-in-law’s voice.

“Vesta,” he croaked. “Take care of… my family… will you?” He would have told her he loved her, but since he didn’t, he didn’t.

“It’s just a flesh wound, you idiot!” And to show him she meant what she said, she pressed something very stinging to his ear.

“Ouch!” he said, jumping up. “What are you doing, you silly woman!”

“I’m disinfecting the tiny cut on your ear, you wimp,” said Vesta, then held up a piece of metal and brought it in for his close inspection. “A piece of your lawnmower,” she said. “How many times have I told you to buy yourself a new one? This piece of junk was always going to come apart sooner or later.”

“Tex! She’s right!” said Marge. “It’s only a tiny flesh wound where the blade of that lawnmower hit you!”

He frowned as he took a closer look at that piece of blade Vesta had shoved under his nose. It looked very sharp indeed. “That thing cut me?” he asked.

“Yes, it did,” said Vesta. “You’re one lucky dude. This could have been your noggin,” she added, pressing an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball to his ear and making him wince.

He scrambled into a sitting position and surveyed the scene: there the lawnmower was, now minus a part of its blade, and there the cat contingent sat, all eyeing him piteously. And next to him, his family: Marge, Vesta, Odelia and… his son Dudley.

“So I’m not going to die?” he asked finally.

“No, you’re not!” said Odelia, and threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, you silly, silly man,” said Vesta, but she was smiling as she said it.

“I don’t get it,” said Marge. “It’s been one accident after another. First Ma falling down the stairs, then me electrocuting myself, and now this. What’s going on?”

“And don’t forget about my car breaking down,” said Odelia. “Or the cats almost being burned alive yesterday.”

“That was no accident,” said Vesta.

“It’s my fault,” said Dudley suddenly, looking rueful. “Since I arrived in this family accidents started to happen.”

“Oh, nonsense,” said Tex, now pressing the cotton ball to his own ear. “Like Vesta said, that lawnmower was going to break down sooner or later, and that coffeemaker has seen better days, too, as has that old pickup of yours, Odelia. And as far as that runner is concerned, I screwed that thing into place myself… fifteen years ago!”

“We probably should replace it,” said Marge, giving her mother an apologetic look.

“I’m just glad you guys are fine,” said Odelia. “And accidents happen, Dudley,” she added. “It’s not your fault.” She smiled at her brother, and it warmed Tex’s heart to see both of his kids getting along so well. It’s just the kind of thing a loving father likes to see.

“Let’s just hope this was the last of the accidents,” said Vesta. “I’m a tough old girl, but even I didn’t enjoy tumbling down those stairs.”

They all laughed at that, relief making them a little giddy, and even Tex was laughing along. And then Dudley suddenly said, “Is it just my imagination or is the number of cats growing in number? I thought you had four cats and now I see… five and a dog?”

“Oh, that’s Clarice,” said Odelia. “She’s a street cat and she’ll be keeping an eye on the others. And that’s Rambo—he’s a retired police dog and he’ll be their guard dog for a while. At least until this cat killer is finally caught.”

“I don’t know what this place is coming to,” said Marge. “Cat killers, if you please. Now who would try and kill our cats? You really have to be a sicko to try and do that.”

“Yeah, only a real sicko would do that,” Dudley agreed as he cast a curious look at Clarice, who stared right back at him, brazen as dammit, as was her habit.

Rambo, meanwhile, was already disappearing into the house, probably eager to get his nutrients in. Good thing that Tex was about to become a millionaire, he thought, because that dog was going to cost him an arm and a leg in dog chow if he kept this up.

“Where is Chase?” he asked, getting up from the freshly mown lawn with a groan.

“Still at work. He’ll be here soon,” said Odelia, supporting him.

“I’ll do that,” said Dudley, and took over from his sister. Tex proudly leaned on his son’s arm. It felt good to have a son, he thought. And as they walked into the house he thought this was probably one of the proudest days of his life. Well, except that he’d just made a total fool of himself over that lawnmower accident, of course. Or that his wife had almost died by electrocution, or his mother-in-law had practically broken her neck falling down the stairs. Or that his daughter had almost died in a head-on collision.

But apart from that? Proudest day of his life. And then he suddenly stumbled, and hit his head against the kitchen table and the world as he knew it instantly turned dark.

Chapter 36

“I don’t trust that guy,” said Clarice the moment Dudley and Tex were out of sight.

But since moments later Tex went down again and everyone convened in the kitchen to try and revive him, I momentarily forgot about her words.

Tex turned out to be all right, though, and when five minutes later he came to, he said he’d clumsily got tangled up in his own feet and hit his head against the kitchen table.

Against Tex’s protestations Marge called a doctor, just to make sure he was all right and no permanent damage had been done, and by the time we all returned next door, Tex lay tucked into bed, sleeping the sleep of the dead—though hopefully not too dead!

“He’s a bad one, that,” said Clarice once we were all installed on the couch, with Odelia moving around in the kitchen preparing dinner.

“Who are you talking about, Clarice?” asked Harriet.

“That Dudley, of course. Who else? I can see it in his eyes. He’s up to no good.”

“He seems like a great kid,” I said.

“He’s very nice,” Harriet chimed in. “Last night he even gave me some of that special pâté Marge likes to keep for special occasions.”

“And he cleaned out our litter boxes and put some extra litter inside—the nice-smelling kind,” said Brutus.

“He gave me a boost when I had trouble jumping on top of the couch,” said Dooley.

“I don’t care if he’s the perfect boy scout,” said Clarice. “I’m telling you now that he’s bad news. Also, I’m pretty sure he tripped up Tex just now, causing him to hit his head.”

“He did? I didn’t see that,” I said.

“That’s because your eyes aren’t as sharp as mine,” said Clarice, making me bristle a little.

“My eyes are perfectly fine,” I said.

“Your eyes may be fine, but Dudley’s got you all bamboozled. And now you only see what he wants you to see. And that goes for the entire Poole family.”

We let those words sink in for a moment, and just then Dudley walked in and said, “Need a hand, sis?”

He got a radiant smile in return from Odelia.

“No, that’s all right, Dudley,” she said. “Chase will be here any minute. It’s his turn to cook tonight. I’m just making sure we’ve got all the ingredients for spaghetti.”

“Chase only cooks spaghetti?” asked Dudley with a laugh.

Odelia made a comical face. “Don’t laugh. It’s his specialty.”

“I like spaghetti. So if what you’re saying is true, Chase is just my kind of guy.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner?”

“You don’t mind?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then sure,” said Dudley, and took a seat at the kitchen counter.

And as he and his sister continued to shoot the breeze, I saw Clarice study him all the while, never taking her eyes off him. And when Dudley glanced in her direction once or twice, her eyes narrowed, and her upper lip pulled back in a snarl. If Dudley was worried about this obvious display of enmity, he didn’t show it.

Until suddenly he got up and walked over to Clarice. “So this one isn’t yours?” he asked.

“No, Clarice doesn’t belong to anyone,” said Odelia. “But she drops by from time to time, so you might say I’ve half-adopted her.”

“She’s not very clean, is she?” he said, inspecting our friend more closely.

“That’s what living on the street will do.”

“Are you sure it’s safe for your own cats? I mean, she’s bound to be teeming with all kinds of parasites and other vermin. Fleas and lice and who knows what else.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” said Odelia, considering Clarice for a moment.

“Fleas and lice have a tendency to jump from one carrier to the next, sis. It only takes them a fraction of a second to contaminate Max and the others, not to mention your home. Do you really want to wake up tomorrow morning with your head full of lice?”

“Pet fleas or lice don’t jump over to humans,” said Odelia, but I could see that Dudley’s comments had given her pause.

“If I were you I’d get rid of her,” he said now, then shrugged. “Just my opinion. You do what you want, of course. Your cats, your decision.”

Chase arrived home, then, and as the trio ate their dinner, I could see that this time it was Odelia who kept darting anxious glances at Clarice from time to time, no doubt wondering about all those fleas and lice and other parasites jumping all over her couches now, and all over her four cats.

“You have to watch out for this guy,” Clarice repeated at a certain point.

“But why do you say that?” asked Harriet. “He looks perfectly nice to me.”

“Because he reminds of my own human, that’s why,” said Clarice. “He has the exact same look in his eyes. And my own human was a sweetheart, or at least I thought he was, until one day he drove me into the woods, tied me to a tree, and left me to die.”

“How did you escape, Clarice?” asked Dooley, interested, even though he’d heard the story many times before. “Is it true you had to gnaw off your own paw to get away?”

Clarice held up two perfectly fine paws. “No, Dooley. I don’t know who invented that story, but that’s definitely not what happened. Who’d want to gnaw off their own paw?”

“Oh,” said Dooley, looking slightly disappointed.

“No, a kind-hearted couple happened to pass by the spot where my human left me, and rescued me. I would have stayed with them, but by then I was frankly over humans, so I ate my fill, said thank you very much, and I’ve been on my own ever since.”

“Good for you,” said Brutus with a nod.

Rambo, who’d been fast asleep, now woke up and yawned, causing a very foul smell to waft in our direction.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“Clarice was just telling us how her human abandoned her and tied her to a tree,” said Dooley excitedly. “But then a couple of very kind humans came by and saved her from certain death! Isn’t that the most beautiful story you’ve ever heard, Rambo? I think I like it even better than the one about you gnawing off your own paw, Clarice.”

“Oh, brother,” Clarice muttered.

“I was once tied to a tree,” said Rambo. “So I yanked that sucker out of the ground and ran off with it.”

“You yanked a whole tree out of the ground?” asked Harriet.

“Yes, ma’am. Big tree, too. Just gave it a yank and that was it for Mr. Tree. Game over.”

“I don’t believe this,” said Clarice, shaking her head.

“Well, you better believe it, cause that’s what happened. And now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll have a bite to eat. I’m starting to feel faint. Hunger has that effect on me.”

And he waddled off, leaving a trail of goo on Odelia’s nice hardwood floor. It glistened.

Chapter 37

“Look, I like her, too, Max, but Dudley is right. Who knows where Clarice has been—and I would never forgive myself if you guys came down with some bug that she’s transmitted to you.”

“I’m pretty sure no bug would dare to attach itself to Clarice,” I said. “Or a parasite.”

“It’s all right, Max,” said Clarice. “You don’t have to defend me. If they want me gone, I’ll go.”

“I’m sorry, Clarice,” said Odelia. “But you must understand that—”

“All humans are the same? No, yeah, I absolutely understand.”

“Oh, please don’t take it like that,” said Odelia.

“Just forget about it,” said Clarice, and walked out the pet flap and was gone.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” I told my human.

“I’m sorry, Max,” she said. “But I’m just doing it to protect you.”

“Right,” I said, and then followed in Clarice’s wake, hoping I could still catch her. “Clarice! Hold up!” I yelled when I caught up with her at the end of our street. She turned and I could tell that Odelia’s unexpected betrayal didn’t sit well with the tough cat. “I’m so sorry,” I said. We were sitting under a streetlamp, and its diffuse light lit up Clarice’s mottled fur. I didn’t see any sign of any parasites, though, or fleas or whatever.

“I knew this was going to happen,” she said. “This Dudley kid sees me as a threat. Cause I’m on to him, and you’re not. So he got rid of me—plain and simple. And Odelia, that gullible fool, allowed herself to be played for a sucker.”

“But I don’t understand. What could Dudley possibly have to gain by getting rid of you. What does he want?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Max? He wants to destroy you.”

“Destroy us? What do you mean?”

“The accidents, dummy! I’ll bet that’s all him.”

I shook my head. “But that can’t be. He’s been nothing but kind to us. And Tex is so happy that he finally has a son.”

“Oh, Max,” said Clarice with a sigh. “Look, this really is none of my business, but I care about you, so I’m going to tell you this once, and then I’m out of here.” She fixed me with an intense look. “Watch out for this Dudley kid. Okay? Watch your back, and watch your humans’ back.”

“But…”

“I gotta go. Take care of yourself, and thanks for sticking your neck out just now.” She smiled. “No one has ever stood up for me like that before. I appreciate it, big buddy.”

“Don’t go, Clarice. I’m sure if I just talk to Odelia—”

“Don’t sweat it, Max. I’m used to being screwed over by humans. See ya around.” And with these words, she walked away.

And as I returned to the house, thinking about everything Clarice had said, I suddenly saw a car pull over in front of Marge and Tex’s home. Dudley then came walking out, talked to whoever was driving the car, and accepted a package from the driver, then the car took off before I reached the house and could see who was behind the wheel.

And by the time I arrived, Dudley had already returned indoors.

Could Clarice be right? Could Dudley be a threat to us and to our humans? But why? What was he playing at?

And so it was a slightly downcast Max who walked in through the pet flap again, and installed myself on my favorite spot on my favorite couch.

“Is she gone?” asked Dooley sadly.

“Yeah, she’s gone,” I said, just as sadly.

“I like Clarice. I like her very much.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I think she’s just great.”

“And I don’t think she’s got parasites, Max.”

“No, I don’t think so either, Dooley.”

Brutus and Harriet had already returned next door, and were probably getting ready to go to bed. With Chase being relieved of guard duty, and Clarice having been dismissed, that only left Rambo as our guard dog, and Odelia didn’t think it was a good idea to entrust the safety of her cats to the old dog, so she’d told us there was to be no cat choir tonight.

It wasn’t fair, I thought, but then I’m just a cat, right? And clearly Odelia wasn’t going to take my advice, as the Clarice incident had clearly shown.

So I simply closed my eyes and decided to take a long nap—preferably until this whole ordeal had somehow sorted itself out—or longer.

And I probably would have made good on my promise if I hadn’t been awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of the pet flap flapping not once but twice. And suddenly Harriet and Brutus materialized in front of me.

“You have to come, Max,” said Harriet, sounding worried. “It’s Marge. She’s fallen into some kind of coma.”

They were words that had the effect of making me jump off that couch and immediately follow my friends, with Dooley right behind me.

Moments later we were in the upstairs bedroom, where Tex was bent over his wife’s prostrate body, trying to revive her. Outside, the sounds of an approaching ambulance could be heard, and Vesta, who’d been hovering nearby, now hurried down the stairs to open the front door for the paramedics.

“Marge!” said Tex, extremely distraught. “Please, Marge, wake up!”

But Marge didn’t respond. What was more, she was white as a sheet, and looked as if she’d already passed on to meet her maker.

“Oh, dear,” said Harriet in hushed tones. “This is bad, isn’t it? This is very, very bad.”

And immediately Clarice’s words came back to me, and when I turned and saw Dudley hovering in the doorway, looking on, I thought I saw a small smile flit across his handsome face. Then, when he saw me looking at him, he gave me a wink, and put his finger to his lips in the universal gesture of ‘Keep quiet…’

Oh, dear. So Clarice had been right all along!

Chapter 38

It was only when the ambulance siren stopped right outside the house that Odelia woke up with a start. She swung her feet from between the covers and hurried to the spare bedroom, which had a window looking out onto the street. When she saw that the ambulance was parked right outside her parents’ house, her heart skipped a beat.

And then she was crying, “Chase! Wake up!” and was thundering down the stairs, hurrying next door. As she flitted through the kitchen door, she almost fell over Harriet.

“I was just coming to get you,” said the Persian. “It’s your mom. I think she’s… dead.”

“Oh, God, no!” she said, and arrived upstairs just in time to see the paramedics strap her mother onto a stretcher and then carry her downstairs.

“What happened?” she asked her dad, who looked as white as her mom did, maybe even whiter.

“I don’t know,” said Dad. “She… started convulsing—woke me up. And then suddenly she breathed a long rattling sigh and… was gone.”

“Oh, Dad! Don’t tell me she’s…”

“I managed to bring her back, but she’s practically unresponsive.” He shook his head. “Looks like catatonic shock to me.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know, honey. Could be something she ate that she responded badly to, or something she drank…”

“But you both ate the same thing, right?”

“We all ate the same thing,” said her grandmother. “And drank the same thing, too.”

“Mom does get up sometimes, in the middle of the night,” said Odelia. “And she usually makes herself a glass of warm milk, right? Could that be…”

“I don’t know,” said her dad, and then he was following the paramedics. He turned, and said, “I’m going to the hospital. If you want to come, better come now.”

Chase, who’d arrived at the bottom of the stairs, raked his fingers through his shaggy mane. “What’s going—Marge? What the hell!”

“Drive my daughter to the hospital, will you, son? “said Tex, placing a hand on Chase’s shoulder, then hurrying off so he could ride along in the ambulance.

Chase glanced up at Odelia, and she must have looked extremely distraught, for his face fell.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Gran, and gave Chase a pointed look. “You drive. I’ll call Alec and tell him to meet us at the hospital.”

“If you want, I can drive,” said Dudley.

Gran gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Dudley. That’s very kind of you. Now let’s go, people. And don’t forget to lock up the house. There will be no neighborhood watch tonight.”

“I think they may have forgotten about us, Max,” said Dooley as we watched the car drive off, Dudley behind the wheel and the rest all strapped in tight.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” I said.

We’d thought they would surely take us along to the hospital, but now it looked like they’d totally forgotten about us.

“It’s only natural,” said Harriet. “They’re not thinking straight—none of them are.”

“I hope Marge is all right,” said Brutus. “I like Marge. In fact I think she’s probably the best of them.”

“Yeah, she is,” I agreed.

I wondered if I should tell the others about what I saw, then figured it was my duty to. So I told them about what Clarice had said, and also about the scene I’d witnessed when I got back from saying goodbye to Clarice, and even Dudley’s eerie little smile.

“Maybe Clarice is right,” said Harriet now. “If she says she saw Dudley trip up Tex, that’s what must have happened. I mean, why would she lie about a thing like that?”

“And you say this person gave something to Dudley?” asked Brutus.

“Yeah, I was too far away to see what it was, but it looked like a small parcel.”

“Does Amazon Prime do midnight deliveries?” asked Harriet.

“I doubt it,” I said.

“But… why would Dudley try to kill Marge?” said Dooley, and we all looked at him, as he’d said what we’d all been thinking, and now the words hung heavy in the air.

“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “But it’s too much of a coincidence for this to happen the day after he moved in.”

“Too much of a coincidence for all these accidents to happen all of a sudden,” said Harriet. “Odelia’s car, Vesta falling down the stairs, Tex almost slicing off his ear, Marge getting electrocuted…”

“What is this guy playing at?” asked Brutus the million-dollar question. “What does he want?”

Suddenly Rambo came waddling through the hole in the dividing hedge, looking sleepy.

“What’s going on?” he asked in his big, booming voice. “Did I miss something?”

“Rambo, you’re a police dog, right?” I said.

“And you better believe it,” he said with a yawn as he sank down on his haunches and started licking his ass.

“What do you make of Dudley?”

He shrugged. “Looks like a nice kid.”

“What if we told you that he might have just killed Marge?” said Brutus.

He frowned at this. “Killed Marge? You mean Marge is dead?”

“Not yet, but it’s not looking good,” I said.

“Oh, Max,” said Dooley. “I don’t want Marge to die. She’s so nice!”

“I know, Dooley. I know.”

Rambo frowned some more, which caused his eyes to disappear into the swaths of skin that formed his face. “Well, if he did try to kill Marge, he probably did it when he dumped those drops into her milk.”

We all stared at the big dog. “What?!” I asked, once I’d recovered from the shock.

“Yeah, I saw him through the kitchen window. Dumping some kind of drops in a glass of milk, then turn around and offer it to Marge. They were laughing and talking so nice I just figured he’d given her something to help her sleep.”

“Maybe that was the parcel he received,” said Harriet, turning to me.

“Must be,” I said.

So there you had it. Dudley had tried to kill Marge. But why? And, most importantly, how were we ever going to convince our humans that Dudley was the bad guy?

Chapter 39

The ambulance raced along the deserted streets, Dudley driving the car that carried Odelia, Chase and Gran, following right in the ambulance’s wake.

It didn’t take them long to arrive at the hospital, which was located one town over, in Happy Bays. As luck would have it, Tex’s friend and colleague Denby Jennsen was the duty doctor, and immediately he and his team started working on Odelia’s mom.

Meanwhile, the rest of the family were left nervously pacing the waiting room, anxious for some news.

Dudley made himself useful by fetching coffee and sugary snacks. He seemed to be least affected by the terrible events as they unfolded. A rock amid all of the turmoil.

Odelia felt grateful that he was there, providing some much-needed support for her dad, who looked devastated by his wife’s sudden collapse and brush with death.

Suddenly a familiar figure dropped by in the form of Uncle Alec, followed by Charlene. They’d both clearly been fast asleep, as Uncle Alec’s few remaining hairs stood akimbo, and Charlene’s own curly blond tresses were plastered to the side of her face.

“Any news on my sister?” asked Uncle Alec the moment they swept into the room.

Odelia shook her head sadly. No news. Not yet.

“How did this happen?” asked her uncle as he took a seat next to her and Chase.

“I have no idea,” she said. “Maybe something she ate—food poisoning?”

“Oh, honey,” said Charlene, as she took Odelia’s hands in hers and squeezed.

And so they sat for a while, trying to keep their nerves under control.

“Where are the cats?” suddenly asked Gran.

“I-I totally forgot about them,” said Odelia.

“So they’re all home alone?”

“They’ve got Rambo to keep an eye on them,” she said, understanding her grandmother’s meaning perfectly. With this cat killer on the loose, even the house wasn’t safe for them.

“I’m sure your cats will be fine,” said Dudley, proving himself to be a real pillar of strength to the family in this, their darkest hour.

“I shouldn’t have kicked out Clarice,” said Odelia now.

“Wait, you kicked out Clarice?” asked Gran. “Why?”

Odelia shrugged. “Dudley made a valid point about Clarice bringing all kinds of parasites and vermin into the house, and even infesting our own cats. So I put her out.”

Gran directed a not-so-friendly look at Dudley, who pretended not to notice. “That was probably the worst kind of advice he could have given you,” said the old lady.

“I know, I know,” said Odelia, rubbing her eyes. It hadn’t been her best decision ever, and she now felt thoroughly bad about asking Clarice to leave. She felt even worse about forgetting to bring along her cats now. But in the commotion after finding her mother unresponsive, she’d completely lost her head.

“Clarice will be fine,” said Chase now, patting her hand. “And so will your cats.”

“What’s taking them so long?” Dad said. “This is a bad sign, right? It can’t be good.”

“You tell me,” said Uncle Alec. “You’re the doctor, Tex, so you should know.”

“Okay,” said Dad, nodding. “So let’s just assume it’s a good sign. A very good sign.” And he went right on pacing, this time taking a turn along the hospital corridor.

“So how’s the project?” asked Odelia. She had zero interest in the mall project, but anything would do to take her mind off her mom’s condition. “Is the mall happening?”

But Charlene shook her head. “The developers called me this afternoon. The results came back from a feasibility study they ordered six months ago and it wasn’t good. According to the study, building and operating a second mall in the area simply isn’t economically viable so close to the Hampton Keys mall, so they’ve taken a radical decision and they’re going to drop the project entirely. Cut their losses while they can.”

“What, no mall?” asked Chase.

“No mall,” said Charlene, then shrugged. “Maybe it’s for the best. I wasn’t a big proponent of the project, and I don’t think I would have gotten a majority in the council.”

“The mall isn’t happening?” suddenly asked Dudley, looking stunned.

“No, it’s been shelved by the developers,” said Charlene. “Not economically viable.”

“But… so Tex’s plot of land…”

“Oh, Tex will definitely be able to sell,” said Charlene. “But not at the inflated prices the developers were willing to offer. I think we’ll go back to our housing development idea. Turn the area into a great neighborhood for young families. Much better that way.”

“But… no!” said Dudley, looking stricken. He’d gone red in the face and was striking the palm of his hand with his fist.

“It’s all right, Dudley,” said Odelia. “Mom and Dad didn’t really need that money.”

“Though it would have been nice,” said Gran.

It didn’t matter anyway—not if Mom wouldn’t make it. Immediately Odelia tamped down on the thought. Mom had to make it. She just had to.

And just then, Denby Jennsen appeared, looking tired but radiant. “It’s all right,” he announced happily. “Marge will be fine.” They all got up and crowded around the doctor. “Looks like a case of food poisoning to me,” he said. “Though we’ll have to wait for the lab results to know for sure. But she’s doing great—if you want you can go and see her now.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, and immediately were off in the direction indicated.

“Mom!” said Odelia the moment they set foot in her mother’s room. “Oh, Mom!” And then she was hugging her mom, who looked as if she’d been put through the wringer.

“I’m okay,” said Odelia’s mother, her voice a little weak.

“What happened?” asked Uncle Alec.

“I don’t know,” said Mom. “I woke up in the middle of the night with a tummy ache that just seemed to get worse and worse. And then suddenly I must have lost consciousness. And when I woke up I was right here, in the hospital.” She smiled. “So it’s me who should be asking you guys what happened.”

“Oh, honey,” said Tex, his face teary. “I knew you’d pull through. I just knew it.”

“Of course I pulled through. I’m a doctor’s wife, aren’t I? I’m in good hands.”

Tex nodded, and then he was blubbering like a baby.

The scene was a happy one, but it made Odelia wonder what was going on. First this long string of accidents they’d been subjected to and now this? What was happening?

And that’s when she noticed that Dudley… was gone.

Chapter 40

“We have to warn them!” said Harriet.

“But how?” I said. “They’ll never believe us. They think Dudley is the greatest thing since apple pie.”

“Then we go on a hunger strike,” said Harriet decidedly. “They’ll have to listen to us if we simply stop eating.”

“A hunger strike!” said Brutus, who likes his three square meals a day.

“It’s the only way, twinkle toes. People don’t like it when their cats stop eating. It makes them go nuts.”

“I’ll go nuts if I can’t eat.”

“It’s a small sacrifice to make, sweet cheeks.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Rambo. “You go on your hunger strike, and in the meantime I’ll make sure this Dudley character doesn’t come anywhere near you.” And as he said this, I saw he was eyeing our respective bowls eagerly.

“Oh, no,” I said. “If we’re going on a hunger strike you’re going on a hunger strike, too.”

“But I’m not even part of the family!” said Rambo.

“You’re part of this family now, Rambo. So you’re striking right along with the rest of us.”

“So how do we do this?” asked Brutus reluctantly.

“Simple,” said Harriet. “We stop eating.”

“But aren’t we going to die if we stop eating?” asked Dooley. “Cats need to take regular nourishment or else they die,” he explained.

“We can do without food for a couple of days,” said Harriet. “Besides, I’m sure that our humans will cave pretty quickly. They wouldn’t want to have our deaths on their conscience.”

“So maybe we should stop drinking, too?” said Dooley. “I already did it once, and it was fine.”

“You only stopped drinking for a couple of hours,” I pointed out. “Now we’d stop drinking for possibly days, and I don’t think that’s a good idea. No food for a couple of days is fine, but no water? That’s bad.”

“You mean we’d die?”

“Yes, Dooley. If we don’t drink, we’ll die for sure, from dehydration.”

“But I don’t want to die, you guys.”

“Look, we’re not going to die, all right?” said Harriet, who wasn’t a big fan of all this backtalk. “We’re simply going to tell them that we’re on a hunger strike, and that’s it.”

Brutus’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I get it! So we tell them we’re not eating, but secretly we’ll keep on eating right along!”

“No, Brutus,” said Harriet primly. “We’re not going to touch our bowls.”

“But… for how long?”

She threw up her paws. “How should I know? For as long as it takes!”

“Gandhi used to go on hunger strikes,” said Dooley, clearly having done some research into the guy since Brutus had mentioned him. “Gandhi liked to go on hunger strikes all the time. And he never died.”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet with a heavy sigh.

Brutus swallowed away a lump. He still seemed uncomfortable with the whole prospect. “Dooley?” he asked quietly, nudging my friend. “Is there nourishment in pee? I mean, you said this Gandhi fellow doesn’t eat, and I know for a fact he likes to drink his own pee, so the guy must be onto something, right? Does he live around here? Maybe we should go talk to him?”

“Oh, Brutus,” said Harriet with an expressive eyeroll.

And just when we’d finally decided on our next course of action, suddenly a car pulled over outside, and we all hurried into Marge and Tex’s front room to see if our humans had arrived home already.

Much to our surprise, though, it wasn’t our humans but… Dudley, arriving in a cab.

He seemed in a hurry, too, for he came stalking up the little footpath to the house, and let himself in with the latchkey Tex had proudly given this newly acquired son of his.

“What do we do!” Brutus said as we heard the key turn in the lock.

“I don’t know!” I said, and then we all turned to Rambo, our resident police dog, but the latter simply shrugged.

“Don’t look at me, fellas. I’m retired.”

“Oh, Rambo!” said Harriet with a loud groan.

But then Dudley was already entering the house, and running up the stairs.

“What is going on?” asked Brutus as we listened to the kid stomping around upstairs. “What is he up to?”

It didn’t take long for us to realize what was going on, for moments later Dudley reappeared, this time carrying a duffel bag, and making for the front door again. And he probably would have left if he hadn’t changed his mind at the sight of the small, slightly dilapidated goatherd figurine Tex and Marge like to keep in the front room.

Dudley glanced at the thing, then up at the painting of a gnome Tex has got hanging over the mantel, and changed course.

He stepped into the room, grabbed the figurine and dumped it into his suitcase. Then he took the painting from the wall and was about to abscond with it when Rambo sneezed.

Yes, dogs can sneeze, and so can cats.

Dudley looked up, startled, and it didn’t take him long to discover our presence behind the couch.

“Well, look at you,” he said, and I saw he had a very nasty expression on his face as he said it. “Four cats and one stupid old dog.” And as he stared down at us, suddenly he got a certain gleam in his eyes that I didn’t like to see there. It was the kind of gleam that spells doom. Probably the same kind of gleam that often comes into Dracula’s eyes just before he decides to sink his teeth into the neck of another innocent young maiden.

“Max?” said Dooley.

“Yes, Dooley?”

“I don’t like the way Dudley is looking at us!”

“Me, neither!”

“You know what?” said the floppy-eared young man, “I think it’s time for me to finish what I started.” And he kicked the door to the room closed with his foot. He then expertly picked me up by the scruff of the neck, the procedure giving me a distinct sense of déjà-vu, and dumped me into the couch. I probably should explain that Marge and Tex’s couch is one of those couches with a hidden compartment inside, where they like to store stuff they don’t need, such as: doilies, old curtains… And now yours truly, too!

In short order, he rounded up Harriet, Dooley and Brutus, and dumped us all in the couch, then slammed the thing shut, the couch springs and hinges squeaking creepily!

“You know? This reminds me of something,” said Brutus suddenly.

“Yeah, me too,” I said.

And when suddenly I smelled smoke, I knew exactly what it reminded me of. Yesterday morning in the attic, when Motorcycle Man had tried to set us on fire!

Chapter 41

“I’d dump you in there, too, but you’re too big and stupid, you old mutt,” we heard Dudley say, presumably addressing our mighty guard dog.

“Max! Why did you let him catch you?” said Harriet, indignation clear in her voice.

“Why did you let him catch you!” I returned.

“Because it all happened so fast! And besides, he’s Tex’s son.”

“But we already decided he’s up to no good,” I said. “So why did we let ourselves be duped like this?”

“I think because deep down we find it hard to believe that Tex’s son would do a thing like this,” said Dooley. “I think deep down we all want to believe that Dudley is a good person. That deep down he loves us just like the others do, and that deep down he means well. I think deep down—”

“Oh, will you stop it with your ‘deep down’ already!” Harriet cried. “We’re in deep doo-doo right now, if you hadn’t noticed!”

She was right. The flames were licking at the couch that was our new home, and if I know anything about couches it is that they are not flame-resistant. In fact you could probably argue that the modern couch is a fire accelerant, with all the synthetic materials it’s made of.

“Let’s put our backs into it, you guys,” I said. “On the count of three, and push!”

And push we did, but the couch wasn’t budging—not a single inch!

“Again! Push!” I said, feeling like a football coach leading his team to victory.

But no dice. Obviously Dudley had put some heavy object on top of the couch, preventing our escape.

“Maybe we can scratch our way out?” Brutus suggested.

And so we hurriedly started looking for the couch’s weak spots. Unfortunately a couch, in case you didn’t know, consists of particleboard, covered with polyurethane foam, covered with upholstery. Polyurethane and upholstery are no match for four highly motivated cats with very sharp claws and teeth, but particleboard is. So we could scratch all we wanted to, but we’d never manage to make it through. At least not in time to save our lives.

“So we just wait,” said Harriet. “We wait until the fire does the work for us, and then we escape.”

It sounded a lot like her plan from the day before, when we were locked inside that old chest in the attic. If her idea had sounded too good to be true then, it certainly sounded like the lousiest idea I’d ever heard now. But since I didn’t want to undermine morale, I kept quiet. After all, what was the alternative: to announce to my friends that we would all soon be burnt to a crisp?

The smoke was coming in through the cracks already, and that orange glow was intensifying, as was the heat surrounding us.

“Max?” said Dooley.

“Mh?”

“I just want to say that you’re the best friend a cat could ever hope to find. And if we don’t make it—”

“Don’t talk like that, Dooley.”

“If we don’t make it, I just want to say that it was an honor to be your friend.”

“It was an honor for me, too, buddy.”

“I have a confession to make,” suddenly said Harriet.

Oh, no—not again with the confessions!

“I peed in all of your bowls last night,” she said, sounding contrite.

“Peed in our bowls?” asked Brutus. “But why?”

“Because you peed in mine, okay?! So I peed in yours. And now I realize it was childish of me, and petty, and I’m sorry.”

“I accidentally peed in your bowl,” said Brutus. “And so did Dooley.”

“And I did it on purpose, so there. Now can we put this whole peeing episode behind us already and move on?”

“You mean to say I actually drank your—”

“I said let’s move on!”

“Look, if it’s good enough for Gandhi,” Dooley began, but the rest of his words were lost when suddenly the entire couch seemed to explode in a roar of fire and smoke!

On closer inspection, the roar hadn’t been produced by the couch but by… Rambo!

And as we all stared into the face of the old bulldog, suddenly another familiar face hove into view: Clarice!

“What are you waiting for?” she said. “The bus? Get out of there already, will you? Move it!”

We didn’t need to be told twice, and jumped out of the burning couch as fast as our legs could carry us!

And as we looked back, we saw that it wasn’t just the couch that was on fire, but the carpet, too, and even one of those nice piecrust tables Marge is so fond of.

“Now let’s put out this fire,” said Clarice, proving herself a great fire chief.

“And how are we supposed to do that?” asked Harriet.

“Just follow my lead,” said Clarice, and started to pee on the flames!

“I can do that,” said Brutus, and took up position next to Clarice and started relieving himself.

Now I can tell you that cats are smallish animals, and our bladders are equally limited in size, as is the contents they can hold. So our urinary contributions didn’t do much to fight those flames. It actually took that big bulldog Rambo to really make a difference. Whereas our little trickles had merely made that fire laugh in our faces, once Rambo opened the floodgates, those same belligerent flames didn’t stand a chance!

And so by the time a car pulled up outside, and moments later the entire family Poole came charging in, what they found were the smoldering remnants of a couch, a carpet and a piecrust table and five cats and a dog performing a victory lap.

“What’s that smell?” asked Gran. “Like a combination of smoke and… cat pee.”

“And dog pee!” I cried. “Don’t forget about all that beautiful, beautiful dog pee!”

And I reciprocated Rambo’s high five with an even higher five of my own.

Chapter 42

“Wha-what happened?” Tex said as he took in the devastation of his once immaculate front room.

“Dudley did this,” said Max. “He tried to set us on fire—again. But not before he stole your goatherd figurine—the one you glued back together—and your gnome painting.”

Odelia dutifully translated Max’s words for those unable to understand him, drawing gasps of shock from Uncle Alec, Charlene and of course her dad.

“My son did this?” asked Dad, flabbergasted.

“Um, Tex,” said Uncle Alec, placing a large hand on Odelia’s dad’s shoulder. “I just got a text from Abe Cornwall. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I had the lab run a DNA test and the result came back negative. Which means that Dudley… he isn’t yours, buddy.”

“About that,” said Dad, giving his brother-in-law a very stern look. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I mean, doing a DNA test behind my back— Wait, what did you just say?”

“Dudley Checkers? He’s not yours.”

“Dudley isn’t my son?!” Dad cried, staggering a little.

“I knew it!” said Gran.

“But… he looks just like me! My spitting image!”

“No, he doesn’t,” said Mom, who was recovering fast from her attack of food poisoning.

“Oh, and one other thing,” said Max. “Rambo saw Dudley put something in Marge’s milk. And I saw him receive a suspicious package just before. So I think it’s safe to say that Dudley tried to kill Marge.”

“What?!” Marge cried. She turned to her husband. “Your son tried to poison me!”

“He’s not my son,” said Dad defensively.

“I knew it!” Gran repeated.

“And Clarice saw how Dudley tripped up Tex and made him knock his head against the kitchen table,” Harriet said now.

“And I’m pretty sure he probably was to blame for those other accidents, too,” said Max.

“We put out the fire with our pee,” Dooley announced happily. “Though Rambo peed the most.”

“This is too much,” said Gran, shaking her head. “And all under the nose of my watch.” She pointed a finger at her son-in-law. “Your son tricked my watch, Tex! He tricked us!”

“He’s not my son!” said Dad.

“So where is he?” asked Uncle Alec. “We need to stop him before he leaves town.”

“I don’t know,” said Max. “He set us on fire and then he skedaddled.”

Odelia faithfully played translator again, causing her uncle and her boyfriend to share a look of concern.

And then they both sprang into action, grabbing their respective phones and hurrying out of the house to see if they couldn’t catch up with Dudley.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” said Gran, and took out her phone, too. “The watch will catch him!” And then she was off, too.

Odelia cast a glance at her cats and their guard dog and they all gave her a nod of agreement.

“We’ll catch him,” Max announced.

Odelia then crouched down next to Clarice. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said. “I guess I allowed myself to be bamboozled by Dudley, too. Can you ever forgive me?”

Clarice gave her a cold look. “Forgive you? Maybe. But I’ll never forget.” But then she grinned, and said, “Of course I’ll forgive you, Odelia. And now let’s get the bastard!”

So while Mom and Dad surveyed the devastation that Dudley’s actions had caused to the house, three teams started what is commonly termed a dragnet: the police department, led by Uncle Alec and Chase, the local neighborhood watch, led by Gran, and a troupe of cats, led by… no one in particular.

“He can’t have gotten far,” said Odelia as she glanced up and down the street.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Max. “He arrived in a cab, and I’m pretty sure he kept the cab waiting, so he’s probably on his way to New York by now, or wherever he’s going.”

Odelia nodded, and got busy calling the different cab companies that covered Hampton Cove. She got lucky with the third one, but unlucky in that she didn’t have her pickup, but lucky again when her grandmother came driving up, Scarlett riding shotgun. Gran rolled down the window and yelled, “Wanna ride with the watch, honey?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” said Odelia, and soon she was filing into the car, followed by five cats and one dog, causing Scarlett to screw up her face and yell, “So smelly!”

But then Gran put her foot down on the accelerator and they were all thrown back against the seats.

“Where are we going?” asked Gran after a moment.

“He’s heading to New York,” Odelia said. “In a cab. And I’ve got the cab’s number.”

“Better tell your uncle,” said Gran. “So he can call the cab company and tell the cab driver that he’s got a fugitive in the back of his cab.”

So Odelia did as she was told, and as they took the on-ramp to I-495, the Long Island Expressway, suddenly two squad cars joined them: one was Chase’s, the other one Uncle Alec’s, and so now the three teams were organizing a joint pursuit.

“I like this,” said Brutus. “Almost like being in an action movie.”

“My money is on your grandmother,” said Clarice. “She clearly got the skills.”

Odelia didn’t think her gran had the skills, but what she certainly had was a lack of respect for the rules and regulations covering road safety, which gave her the edge.

And as they were zooming along the road, Odelia did some quick thinking. “So if Dudley tried to kill Mom, and Dad, and you, Gran—and me, with that car crash… he must have had a reason, right? And seeing as he left the hospital and packed his bags the moment Charlene announced that the mall project was scrapped, I’m assuming it must have had something do with those millions he thought Mom and Dad were coming into.”

“So he sweet-talked his way into our family,” said Gran. “And tried to get rid of us one by one, hoping to lay his hands on that money?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“The bastard,” said Scarlett. “Wait till I get my hands on that rotten kid.”

“No, wait till I get my hands on that no-good kid,” growled Gran.

“Let’s just try to catch him first, shall we?” Odelia suggested. “And not get ourselves killed in the process—Gran, watch it!” she added when Gran practically rear-ended a truck she apparently felt should get out of her flight path.

Odelia had Clarice on her lap, and was tickling the cat behind the ears, causing her to purr happily.

“You know?” said Clarice. “When you kicked me out I just figured it was par for the course—just another nasty human. But you’re not like most humans, Odelia. You and your family? You’re all right. And I just hate that kid for what he put you through.”

“I’m the one to blame,” said Odelia. “I should have done my due diligence. Who lets a person into their home, into their life, believing the stories they tell, without seeing if they really are who they say they are? I really dropped the ball on this one. Big time.”

“I didn’t like him from the start,” said Gran, shaking her head as she sat hunched over the wheel, her foot all the way down to the metal, the engine a high whine.

“That’s because you don’t like anyone,” said Scarlett as she checked her lipstick in the little visor mirror.

“Not true. I like you!”

“That’s what you say.”

“No, I really do!”

“Well, I don’t like you.” When Gran’s jaw fell, Scarlett laughed. “I’m kidding! You’re my buddy, buddy. And now will you please keep your eyes at the road, for Christ’s sakes?”

“I wonder how Dudley knew about Mom and Dad’s piece of land, though, and the mall development,” said Odelia.

“We’re about to find out,” said Gran, and gestured with her head to a cab that had shown up in front of them—its taillights glowing in the darkness, the Taxi sign on the roof drawing them in like a homing beacon.

And before Odelia could tell her grandmother to play this cool, Gran was already leaning on the horn.

“Just rear-end him,” said Scarlett.

“No, don’t rear-end him!” said Odelia.

“Just hit him, Vesta—hit him!”

“Don’t hit him!”

“She’s going to kill us, Max,” said Dooley sadly. “And we’re not going to be able to pee our way out of this one.”

“I’ll just give him a little nudge, shall I?” said Gran, her tongue between her lips in utter concentration. “Bend that fender?”

“Get the sucker!” said Scarlett, clearly not the good influence on Gran that Odelia had thought she was.

Gran had sped up, and was now alongside the cab. The driver was glancing over, and making circular motions with his finger against his temple, and yelling something Odelia couldn’t hear. And then she saw Dudley, and her so-called brother did not look pleased to see her.

“Just hit him!” said Scarlett. “Do it the watch way!”

But luckily for them, a police siren suddenly sounded behind them, as Uncle Alec and Chase had finally caught up with them after the crazy chase. And the cab driver quickly pulled over to the shoulder of the road.

“Oh, bummer!” said Gran, who’d just yanked the wheel to force the other car off the road. So instead she just parked in front of the cab, then backed up so their fenders touched, making sure the cab driver couldn’t pull a fast one on her and get away.

“Why does your son always have to go and spoil the fun?!” Scarlett cried.

Odelia, though, heaved a sigh of relief, and so did five cats and one dog.

And as they got out of the car, Odelia saw to her surprise that Dudley was making a run for it!

And soon five humans, five cats and one dog were in hot pursuit of the prodigal son.

Scarlett soon dropped out of the impromptu race, as her high heels weren’t exactly conducive to this kind of frenetic activity. And then Gran had to give up, too.

“Stitch in my side!” the old lady yelled. “Go get him, hun!”

Uncle Alec was the next one to give up, and then it was just Chase and Odelia, and of course the entire pet contingent.

Dudley kept darting anxious glances over his shoulder.

“Give it up, Dudley!” Chase shouted.

“Get away from me!” Dudley screamed.

“Just stop!” said Odelia. “There’s nowhere for you to go!”

“Leave me alone!”

Suddenly Rambo, of all pets, seemed to have found his second wind, for he came bounding up from the rear, and as Odelia watched on, he raced up to the fugitive, and before Dudley knew what was happening, the giant Bulldog tackled him from behind!

And then five cats were upon the kid, with Clarice, especially, digging her claws in.

And by the time Odelia and Chase arrived, their hot pursuit had turned into a rescue mission, as Odelia’s pets clearly weren’t holding back now that they’d got their guy.

“Help!” said Dudley as he tried to fend off the cat frenzy. “Heeeeelp meeeeeee!”

“I told you to stop,” said Odelia, and had to physically drag Clarice off the guy. “That’s enough,” she said, and her cats all downed weapons. Rambo, still sitting on the man’s back, had made himself comfortable, and produced a sonorous but happy bark.

“He’s asking permission to bite,” said Max.

“No—no biting!” said Odelia.

Rambo barked some more.

“And now he’s asking permission to drool.”

“Drool?”

And without further ado, Rambo started drooling all over the back of Dudley’s head. Soon the kid was looking like a drowning victim. And as he spat out the drool, he cried, “Yuck! It’s in my mouth!”

“Serves you right,” said Chase, and got out a pair of nice shiny handcuffs, then launched into his arrest procedure with visible satisfaction.

And as Dudley was hauled off, Odelia asked, “Why did you do it, Dudley?”

Dudley shrugged. “The money, what else? Millions and millions, or so I’d been told.”

“Told by who?”

He was still spitting out goo. “Frank Butterwick. I used to work for him, and he knew everything about this mall project. They’d asked him to install a pool on the roof.”

Odelia narrowed her eyes at the kid. “So you’re Brett? Brett Cragg?”

He grinned. “Now aren’t you the clever one… sis.”

Odelia glanced at Chase. “Better add one more charge to Brett’s charge sheet.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“The murder of Frank Butterwick.”

“Oh, the old fool had it coming,” said Dudley, proving himself to be anything but the son of Odelia’s dad.

And when she thought about all he’d done, Odelia suddenly found herself hauling off and slapping the kid across the face.

Dudley moved his jaw. “I guess I deserved that.”

Epilogue

“This stuff is great,” said Brutus.

“Yeah, amazing,” Harriet agreed.

“When did Tex get so good?” asked Dooley.

“One word,” I said with a smile. “Catering.”

Since Tex wasn’t always to be trusted when performing his feats of culinary mastery behind the grill, Marge had decided not to take any chances this time, and had hired a caterer to organize the family’s next barbecue.

It wasn’t every day, after all, that you survive an attempt on your life, and she wanted to celebrate her new lease on life in style, and without Tex’s regular grilling mishaps.

We were all in the backyard, Tex looking a little sad now that he didn’t have a pivotal role to play, and the rest of the family looking ecstatic at the quality of the food they were able to sample.

“You know what, Tex?” said Chase as he clapped his future father-in-law on the back. “Why don’t you and I take a barbecue course together? That way we can tackle this problem once and for all.”

The doctor’s face lit up. “You mean that? You would do that for me?”

“Of course! Anything for my dad,” said the cop, causing the older man to wince.

“So Dudley confessed, huh?” said Charlene as she sampled some of the dumplings and closed her eyes at the exquisite taste.

“Yeah, he confessed everything,” said Uncle Alec, who was tackling a very large steak with relish. “The murder of your uncle, the attempted murders of my entire family, the attack on the cats—the whole enchilada.”

“And all for a little bit of money,” said Scarlett. “So sad, right?”

“Not a little bit,” Charlene corrected her. “Last time I talked to the developers they mentioned some pretty big numbers. Too bad the deal fell through.”

“Maybe it’s all for the best,” said Marge, who looked happy and healthy again. “Money seems to bring out the worst in people, as we have all been able to witness firsthand.”

“Money would have bought me a nice new car,” grumbled Gran, who was picking at a piece of fish filet. “A nice Escalade for the watch.”

“How is your Gofundme going, Gran?” asked Odelia.

“Oh, don’t ask,” said Gran. “So far we only got one donation. Ten bucks. Ten bucks won’t buy me a new car.”

“If you want I can get you a good deal on a secondhand police cruiser,” said Uncle Alec.

“No, thanks,” said Gran. “The watch isn’t going to drive around in an old cop car. We’re going to stand on our own two feet, showing everyone we’re just as good at catching criminals as you cops are.”

“Suit yourself,” said Uncle Alec with a shrug, and squirted a goodish helping of tartar sauce on his steak.

Clarice, who was also lying on the porch swing, now yawned and said, “I think I’ll get going, you guys. All this hominess and coziness is making me antsy.”

“See ya, Clarice,” I said.

“Thanks again for saving our lives,” said Harriet.

Clarice held up a paw in response, then wandered off.

Rambo, who was lying at our feet, opened a lazy eye. “Oh, is Clarice going already?”

“Yeah, she’s got things to do and cats to see,” I said with a smile.

“If it hadn’t been for her instructions, I would never have gotten you out of that couch,” said Rambo.

Clarice had said she returned when she got a bad feeling about this whole Dudley business, and figured she might as well give Odelia another chance—which was very nice of her. And very… compassionate, which had become Harriet’s favorite new word.

“Look, I think we should suggest to Odelia that she adopt Clarice,” said Harriet now. “I mean, it’s the compassionate thing to do, right?”

See what I mean?

“Clarice will never do it,” said Brutus. “She’s an independent soul and doesn’t want to be tied down.”

“Maybe if we ask her nicely?”

“She won’t do it, I’m telling you.”

“Maybe if you ask her?”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because she likes you, Brutus. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

“I’m sure that’s all in your head, sweet peach.”

“No, it’s not. A cat knows these things.”

“Just your imagination.”

“Oh, Brutus, don’t you deny that you like her, too. I’ve seen how you look at her.”

“I don’t look at Clarice!” said Brutus with a light laugh.

“Yes, you do. Just admit it!”

“I’m not admitting anything!”

“Because it’s true!”

And as Harriet and Brutus jumped off the swing, to pursue their ‘compassionate’ conversation elsewhere, I heaved a sigh of relief. I like Harriet and Brutus, I really do, but sometimes a cat just wants to have a little peace and quiet.

And I’d just closed my eyes for a nap, when Dooley said, “Max?”

“Mh?”

“So Dudley wasn’t really Tex’s son, right?”

“No, he wasn’t. Just pretending to be his son so he could pocket those mall millions.”

“So… why did Tex believe he was his son?”

“Because Dudley claimed that one of Tex’s old girlfriends was his mother.” This was the reason Dudley had been going through Tex’s old photo albums: looking for an old girlfriend he could believably cast in the role of his mother. And the reason he tried to kill us was because Frank Butterwick had mentioned some of the rumors surrounding Odelia’s cats: that we acted as our human’s unofficial guards. So he figured he’d better get rid of us before we could cause him any trouble, just the way he tried to get rid of the entire Poole family, figuring those millions would end up in his pocket that way.

Okay, so Dudley was a killer—I never said he was a clever killer, though.

And of course he’d gotten rid of Charlene’s uncle because he was the only person in town who knew him under his real name. And he would have spoiled his big plan.

“So… maybe this so-called mom of Dudley—this Jaqlyn Checkers—really did get pregnant? And maybe she really did have a son or daughter whose dad is Tex?”

I looked up at this. “You really think so?”

Dooley shrugged. “Tex believed it. So something must have happened back then to make Dudley’s story so plausible.”

We both looked out across the backyard at Odelia’s dad, who now sat chatting happily with Chase about the barbecue course they were going to take together.

I shook my head. “I really hope no more kids come crawling out of the woodwork.”

“I’m just saying, Max.”

“I know, buddy. And maybe you’re right.”

“Humans are always full of surprises, aren’t they?”

“Oh, yes, they are.”

And as we both glanced at Odelia, we wondered how she would react if Tex’s real son suddenly showed up on our doorstep. I had a feeling she’d welcome him with open arms, because that’s the kind of person she is. That’s the kind of people all the Pooles are. And that’s probably why I like them so much.

They’re good people, and sometimes bad people try to take advantage of them. But that’s what they’ve got us for, right?

To keep an eye on them.

To be their watchcats.

Because watching out for our humans is what we do.

“Max?” asked Rambo.

“Mh?”

“I’m hungry.”

I smiled. “Of course you are.”

“Can you ask Odelia for more food?”

“Absolutely, buddy.”

In fact we don’t just watch out for our humans, we even watch out for our humans’ dogs. Now how weird is that?

“Thanks,” said Rambo when Odelia dropped a pork chop between his front paws.

She patted his head. “You know?” she said. “Maybe we’ll adopt you.”

Wait… “What?!”

“Chase is always going on about having a dog, so let’s adopt Rambo,” she said.

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Rambo with a casual shrug. “As long as the food’s good? Sure.”

Odelia must have noticed how Dooley and I were staring at her, absolutely flabbergasted, and she grinned. “Don’t look at me like that, you guys. It’ll be fun. And you like Rambo, don’t you? Sure you do.”

And with these words, she returned to her family, still grinning, and proving once and for all that humans don’t understand the first thing about cats. Nothing!

“Max?” said Dooley.

“Yes, Dooley?”

“Let’s elope.”

“Why not?” I said, and hopped down from that swing.

“We can live off our urine,” said Dooley as we walked off and left that treacherous and very uncompassionate Poole family behind. “Just like Gandhi. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy: you drink the pee, then you pee, then you drink the pee, then you pee, and then you drink the pee, and so on and so on.”

“That’s not a self-fulfilling prophecy, Dooley.”

“A pee-petuum mobile, then?”

“Oh, Dooley,” I said.

THE END

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Excerpt from Purrfect Fool (The Mysteries of Max 28)

Chapter One

It could have been the perfect nap. The nap to end all naps. Unfortunately there was one thing that detracted from absolute perfection. Or I should probably say one bug: a big, fat fly kept buzzing around my head, making it impossible to enjoy the full benefit of my slumber.

I’d already given this fly the evil eye, but the darn thing didn’t seem to be all that quick on the uptake, and just kept at it. Giving it the cold shoulder didn’t help either, and so finally I saw no other recourse than to swat at the annoying thing, making my displeasure known not only in word but also in deed.

“Hey, cool your jets, bro!” said the fly, and buzzed off to rob some other pet of sleep.

And so I finally closed my eyes to pick up where I left off when something else intruded upon my much-yearned-for peace and quiet.

Gran came stalking in through the sliding glass door and slammed a newspaper down right next to me, then proceeded to take a seat—unbidden, I might add.

“Will you look at that!” she exclaimed, causing me to suppress a groan of annoyance and direct a casual glance at said newspaper.

“What is it?” I asked, not in the mood for reading an entire newspaper article and preferring to get the gist straight from the horse’s mouth—in this case my human’s gran.

“It’s that no-good son of mine,” the old lady announced, clearly not all that happy with whatever that son of hers had been up to this time. For those of you not in the know, Gran’s son is none other than Alec Lip, chief of police in our neck of the woods.

“What did he do?” I asked, more out of politeness and the faint but diminishing hope that this would speed up the process of getting Gran to take her leave and leave me to my hopes and dreams of that catnap I’d been looking so forward to.

“He says he’s going to get married! Married, if you please!”

I yawned. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not in the same year my granddaughter is tying the knot it isn’t!” said Gran. She poked a finger at the newspaper, causing it to crumple. “He’s stealing Odelia’s thunder, that’s what he’s doing! How dare he!”

“So maybe you can organize a double wedding? Would save you time and money.”

“A double wedding!” Gran cried, clearly aghast at the prospect. “Never in my life will I attend this wedding. Never, you hear me!”

“I hear you,” I said, wincing a little, for Gran was even more voluble than usual.

Dooley, who’d been attracted by all the hullabaloo, came prancing over from the pantry, where he’d done his business in his litter box. I could tell he’d done number two, for he had that distinct spring in his step and that merry gleam in his eye he gets when successfully managing to exorcise the product of his mastication and digestion process.

“What’s going on?” he asked when he saw Gran’s unhappy face. “Did someone die?”

“No, but someone soon will,” said Gran with a dark frown at the newspaper.

“Oh, no!” said Dooley, his face falling. “I didn’t even know you were sick, Gran. Is it cancer? Or old age?”

Gran gave my best friend a withering look that would have made a more discerning cat wince. “I’m not dying. And for your information, I’m not old. It’s my son.”

“Oh, no! Does Uncle Alec have cancer?”

“Nobody has cancer!” she cried. “He’s getting married!”

Dooley gave me a look of confusion. Usually when humans get married it’s cause for cheer, the prospect of a party making everyone happy. But Gran seemed to liken the occasion to a funeral, which was a novel way of looking at the sacred institution.

“Oh, I get it,” said Dooley. “Uncle Alec is sick and dying and he wants to get married before he dies.” He shook his head sadly. “I liked Uncle Alec. I’ll be sad when he’s gone.”

“Please talk some sense into your friend, Max,” said Gran. “I don’t have the patience.”

“Uncle Alec isn’t dying, Dooley,” I explained. “He’s getting married, and Gran isn’t happy about it.”

“But why?” asked Dooley, an understandable question. But then his face cleared. “Oh, I know! Charlene is pregnant! And Uncle Alec doesn’t want her to have the baby out of wedlock. Just like in that Lifetime movie we saw last week, when Derek the company boss had to marry his secretary Francine when she announced she was pregnant, only she wasn’t pregnant, and only said she was so he would marry her. And then when he found out she wasn’t pregnant after all, he immediately had the wedding annulled.”

Gran gave Dooley a pointed look. “You know, Dooley, that’s something that hadn’t occurred to me. But you’re right. It’s the only possible explanation. Charlene must be expecting a baby. Why else would they suddenly announce their wedding plans?”

“Or it could be that Charlene is dying of cancer,” Dooley suggested. “And Uncle Alec wants her to die as his wife.”

The prospect of her son’s betrothed dying a slow and painful death seemed to please Gran, but then she shook her head. “Nah. He would have told me if she was sick.” She shrugged. “Which means I’m going to be a grandma soon.”

“But… aren’t you a grandma already, Gran?” asked Dooley.

“I hope it’s a boy,” said Gran, ignoring Dooley. “Or twins. A boy and a girl, maybe.”

Dooley gave me a look of supreme worry. For some reason he has this idea that if a newborn enters our family, they’ll get rid of all the cats. And no matter how many times I’ve assured him this is simply not the case, he keeps coming back to the horrifying notion.

“Anyway,” said Gran, getting up and grabbing her newspaper. “Just thought I’d let you know. I can’t tell the rest of the family how I feel about this wedding nonsense, so I hope you’ll keep your mouths shut. Not a word to Alec, you hear? Or the others, for that matter.”

“My lips are sealed, Gran,” I said.

“Your lips look fine to me, Max,” said Dooley, studying my lips intently.

“It’s just an expression, Dooley,” I said. “It means I won’t tell anyone what Gran just told us.”

“That goes for you, too, Dooley,” said Gran. “If word gets out that the groom’s mom opposes the wedding, there will be hell to pay.”

And with these words, she stomped off again, her face a thundercloud.

Somehow I had the feeling it wouldn’t be long before the entire town of Hampton Cove would know exactly how Gran felt about the wedding. We might be able to keep our mouths shut, but would Gran?

Chapter Two

“So… let me get this straight,” said Dooley. “Uncle Alec is getting married to his girlfriend because she’s dying? Or because he’s dying? Or because she’s pregnant?”

“I have no idea, Dooley,” I said, still holding out a faint hope to have that nap.

“Or maybe Charlene is dying and she’s pregnant!” His furry face fell. “I hope she’ll be able to deliver the baby before she dies, Max.”

“I’m sure that Uncle Alec and Charlene are simply getting married because they love each other,” I said. “And that there is no pregnancy and that no one is dying.”

“Or it could be that Uncle Alec is pregnant,” said Dooley, my reassurances landing on deaf ears as usual. “He looks like he’s pregnant, with that very big belly of his.”

“Uncle Alec is pregnant?!” suddenly a cry sounded from the kitchen. I looked up and saw that Harriet and Brutus had arrived, the other two cats that make up our household.

Brutus is a butch black cat, and also Harriet’s boyfriend, who’s a white Persian. They both looked flabbergasted by this piece of news.

“Uncle Alec can’t be pregnant,” I said with a laugh. “Men don’t get pregnant, you guys.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Max,” said Brutus. “Nowadays everybody can get pregnant.”

“He’s right,” said Dooley. “I saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel the other night about a man who delivered a healthy baby boy.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Harriet. “Uncle Alec is pregnant… with a boy?”

I heaved a deep sigh. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get any naptime anytime soon with this lot launching into a discussion on my human’s uncle being pregnant.

“As I understand it now,” said Dooley, “Uncle Alec is pregnant, and his future wife Charlene is also pregnant, and dying, which is why they’re tying the knot in a hurry.”

Harriet’s eye went a little wider. “Uncle Alec and Charlene are getting married?”

“Yeah, looks like it,” I said. At least that part of the story was undoubtedly true.

“But… he can’t get married!” said Harriet. “Odelia and Chase are getting married. Uncle Alec can’t steal her thunder—it’s just not fair!”

“Exactly what Gran said,” I agreed, nodding. I watched that fat fly flit hither and thither, and was already yearning for the good old days when it had been just me and it.

“We have to do something about this, you guys!” said Harriet, getting all worked up now. “We can’t let this wedding take place!”

“It has to take place,” said Dooley. “Because Charlene and Uncle Alec are both dying, and they’re both pregnant, too, so they have to get married before it’s too late.”

“Dooley!” said Harriet. “Are you serious?!”

I felt it was time to intervene before things got completely out of hand. “Look, the only thing we know for sure is that a wedding has been announced and will be taking place between Uncle Alec and Charlene,” I said. “The rest is just idle speculation.”

“But—” said Dooley.

“Idle speculation,” I repeated emphatically.

As I’d expected, my words acted like oil on the raging waters of Harriet’s indignation and Dooley’s rampant imagination, and for a few moments a pleasant silence reigned.

Then Dooley said, “Maybe Odelia is pregnant, too, and very soon she’ll kick us all out, because everybody knows that cats and babies don’t mix, so there’s that to consider.”

“Oh, Dooley,” I said, and that big fly, which had taken advantage of me being distracted by landing on the tip of my nose, said, “If you want, I can go and find out for you, cat.”

And I said, “Wait, what?”

The fly shrugged and said, “Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘Fly on the wall’ before? Well, I can be that fly for you, cat.”

So I said, “Sure. Why not?”

Anything to get rid of this fly. Now if only I could get rid of my housemates, but somehow I had a feeling this wasn’t in the cards.

Chapter Three

The life of a fly is often a pretty lonely life—and a short one, too. So Norm, as he buzzed off on his mission, was actually happy with this change of scenery. His brethren and sistren might content themselves by eating dirt, but Norm was that rare fly who had, from the moment he was born, entertained higher aspirations. He’d always envisioned himself as that rare breed of fly: the adventurous type. And overhearing those cats speculating about their humans, Norm had smelled an opportunity and grabbed it.

So first he buzzed off in the direction of the house next door, where that old woman had disappeared to, and decided to pick up some little tidbits of raw intelligence there, just like James Bond would, if James Bond was about half an inch in diameter and consisted of an exceedingly hairy body, six hairy legs, two compound eyes and some extra-sensitive antennae. Though in all honesty all that Norm had in common with James Bond was a hairy chest and that can-do attitude your average British spy has in spades.

And he was in luck, as Grandma Muffin had just grabbed her purse and was on her way out the door, so he simply followed in her wake, hoping it would lead to something.

He landed on top of her head, before being rudely swatted away—the life of a fly consists mainly of being swatted away—and ducked into her car just as she did.

“Stupid fly,” Grandma Muffin muttered as she gave Norm one of her trademark dark looks, then started up the engine, and floored the accelerator, causing the car to lurch away from the curb at a much higher rate of speed than traffic cops like to see.

Moments later, it seemed, they were already cruising through downtown Hampton Cove, and when the older lady steered her car into an underground parking garage, Norm was buzzing with anticipatory glee. Looked like he was in for a real treat!

Maybe a meeting with some Deep Throat type informant? A showdown in the bowels of what looked like a boutique hotel? He didn’t know what would follow, but had a feeling it was going to be good. So it was with a slight sense of disappointment that he watched Grandma Muffin simply park her car, get out and slam the door then walk off.

They took the elevator up to the hotel lobby, and once again Norm’s hopes soared: a secret meeting in one of the hotel rooms with a foreign spy? A dead drop in one of the hotel’s garbage bins of some secret documents? So when the old lady Max called ‘Gran’ met up with a gorgeous redhead with plunging décolletage in the hotel lobby, and the both of them walked into the dining area, he knew this was it. The redhead was probably a Russian spy, here to hand over the secrets to the Russian rocket program, or maybe even spike Grandma’s drink with a little-known nerve agent or truth serum!

So when both women took a seat in the outside dining area and ordered drinks from a suspicious-looking waiter— a Korean spy? A Chinese double agent?—he was on the lookout for the little vial containing the deadly nerve agent, and ready to warn Gran!

“We gotta do something, Scarlett,” said Gran. “We have got to stop this wedding.”

“But why?” said the woman named Scarlett, tossing her red curls across her shoulders. She was dressed in a provocatively cleavaged red dress and red high heels, her lips a very bright Scarlett and looking every bit the sexy Russian secret agent.

“Why? Are you kidding me? They’re going to ruin Odelia’s wedding!”

“I think it’s pretty cute. And you can always make it a double wedding,” said Scarlett, taking a sip from her drink—a flat white, if Norm had followed the proceedings closely. So far no little vials with deadly nerve agents were in evidence but that could happen any moment now.

“Trust me on this, Scarlett. Alec wouldn’t be getting married if he wasn’t being coerced—if Charlene wasn’t putting a knife to his throat.” She slapped the table, causing her own drink—hot cocoa with plenty of cream, from the looks of it—to dance up and down. “That woman’s got something on my son and I want to know what it is.”

“Isn’t it possible that they simply love each other and want to celebrate that love by tying the knot?” asked Scarlett, who was clearly a romantically inclined Russian spy.

“Oh, Scarlett, Scarlett,” said Gran. “I see she’s gotten to you, too.”

“Nobody’s ‘gotten’ to me, Vesta. I just think they make a damn fine couple, and I wish them all the future happiness in the world, and frankly I think you should, too.”

“He’s too old to get married!”

“He’s only, what, fifty-something?”

“I’m telling you Alec would never get married if he wasn’t being hoodwinked. And I want to know what that woman is holding over him.”

Scarlett shrugged. “Can only be one thing.”

Vesta gave her a scathing look. “You’ve got a one-track mind, Scarlett.”

“What? I’m telling you—in my experience there’s only one thing that would make a man want to propose marriage to a woman and that’s—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.”

“Sex! What else?”

“I’m the man’s mother, Scarlett!”

“So? There are certain realities you just have to face, Vesta. Charlene is an attractive woman, and I’m sure she’s got assets that would make any man happy to explore them.”

Gran buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God.”

“It’s human nature!”

“Just because you’re obsessed with sex doesn’t mean we all are.”

“Just saying,” said Scarlett with a shrug.

Norm was losing his patience. So far nothing was happening that would make James Bond bother to get out of bed in the morning, and he was starting to wonder if Max had sent him on a fool’s errand. He wouldn’t put it past the cat to try and get rid of him.

“Look, I want to find out what Charlene’s got on my son, and then I want to stop that wedding from happening. Are you with me or not, that’s all I need to know right now.”

“Well…” said Scarlett, wavering.

“It’s going to break my granddaughter’s heart, Scarlett! And I happen to love my granddaughter—more than anything in the world!”

“Aww,” said Scarlett, regarding her friend with interest.

“What’s the look for?”

“So you do have a heart.”

“Of course I have a heart!” She then wagged a finger in her friend’s face. “But don’t you go and blab about it. It would ruin my reputation.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll help you. What do you want me to do?”

“First we need to find out Charlene’s secret.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“Easy. We spy on her.”

“What do you mean?”

“We bug her phone, her house, her office, we put a tracker on her car…”

“Isn’t that, like, extremely illegal?”

“Who cares? I’m trying to protect my family here, Scarlett!”

“Fine! But aren’t you forgetting one thing?”

“What?”

“We’re not exactly professional spies, you and me. So how do you propose we pull this off?”

Grandma Muffin smiled. “Leave that to me. I’ve got it all figured out.”

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the high-profile spy bonanza Norm had anticipated, but he still felt, as he started the long flight back to Harrington Street to report to Max, that he’d gleaned some interesting intelligence. And he was starting to see that he’d landed himself in exactly the kind of spy story Mr. Bond would have appreciated.

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About Nic

Nic has a background in political science and before being struck by the writing bug worked odd jobs around the world (including but not limited to massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).

When he’s not writing he enjoys curling up with a good (comic) book, watching British crime dramas, French comedies or Nancy Meyers movies, sampling pastry (apple cake!), pasta and chocolate (preferably the dark variety), twisting himself into a pretzel doing morning yoga, going for a run, and spoiling his big red tomcat Tommy.

He lives with his wife (and aforementioned cat) in a small village smack dab in the middle of absolutely nowhere and is probably writing his next ‘Mysteries of Max’ book right now.

www.nicsaint.com

Also by Nic Saint

The Mysteries of Max

Purrfect Murder

Purrfectly Deadly

Purrfect Revenge

Purrfect Heat

Purrfect Crime

Purrfect Rivalry

Purrfect Peril

Purrfect Secret

Purrfect Alibi

Purrfect Obsession

Purrfect Betrayal

Purrfectly Clueless

Purrfectly Royal

Purrfect Cut

Purrfect Trap

Purrfectly Hidden

Purrfect Kill

Purrfect Boy Toy

Purrfectly Dogged

Purrfectly Dead

Purrfect Saint

Purrfect Advice

Purrfect Cover

Purrfect Patsy

Purrfect Son

Purrfect Fool

Purrfect Fitness

Purrfect Setup

Purrfect Sidekick

Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)

Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)

Box Set 3 (Books 7-9)

Box Set 4 (Books 10-12)

Box Set 5 (Books 13-15)

Box Set 6 (Books 16-18)

Box Set 7 (Books 19-21)

Box Set 8 (Books 22-24)

Box Set 9 (Books 25-27)

Box Set 10 (Books 28-30)

Purrfect Santa

Purrfectly Flealess

Purrfect Wedding

Nora Steel

Murder Retreat

The Kellys

Murder Motel

Death in Suburbia

Emily Stone

Murder at the Art Class

Washington & Jefferson

First Shot

Alice Whitehouse

Spooky Times

Spooky Trills

Spooky End

Spooky Spells

Ghosts of London

Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place

Public Ghost Number One

Ghost Save the Queen

Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)

A Tale of Two Harrys

Ghost of Girlband Past

Ghostlier Things

Charleneland

Deadly Ride

Final Ride

Neighborhood Witch Committee

Witchy Start

Witchy Worries

Witchy Wishes

Saffron Diffley

Crime and Retribution

Vice and Verdict

Felonies and Penalties (Saffron Diffley Short 1)

The B-Team

Once Upon a Spy

Tate-à-Tate

Enemy of the Tates

Ghosts vs. Spies

The Ghost Who Came in from the Cold

Witchy Fingers

Witchy Trouble

Witchy Hexations

Witchy Possessions

Witchy Riches

Box Set 1 (Books 1-4)

The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse

One Spoonful of Trouble

Two Scoops of Murder

Three Shots of Disaster

Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)

A Twist of Wraith

A Touch of Ghost

A Clash of Spooks

Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)

The Stuffing of Nightmares

A Breath of Dead Air

An Act of Hodd

Box Set 3 (Books 7-9)

A Game of Dons

Standalone Novels

When in Bruges

The Whiskered Spy

ThrillFix

Homejacking

The Eighth Billionaire

The Wrong Woman

Copyright © 2020 by Nic Saint. All rights reserved.

Published by Puss in Print Publications.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Editor: Chereese Graves.

Content

Ник Сайнт Purrfect Cover. Purrfect Patsy. Purrfect Son