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Purrfect Fool. Purrfect Fitness. Purrfect Setup

The Mysteries of Max Mysteries of Max Box Set 10

Nic Saint

Puss in Print Publications

Contents

The Mysteries of Max Box Set 10

Purrfect Fool

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

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Epilogue

Purrfect Fitness

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

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Epilogue

Purrfect Setup

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

Epilogue

Excerpt from Purrfect Sidekick (The Mysteries of Max 31)

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The Mysteries of Max Box Set 10

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Purrfect Fool (The Mysteries of Max 28)

I’ve never been one to complain about my lack of good fortune, figuring I lead a pretty blessed life, but when suddenly people all around us started having their greatest wishes come true, I couldn’t help but wonder when this would happen to me. As it was, life had other surprises in store for us. Namely to be given away as wedding presents.

Indeed—a wedding had been announced and would soon be taking place between Mayor Charlene Butterwick and Chief of Police Alec Lip… if only the future groom hadn’t been kidnapped, causing much distress to all concerned.

Meanwhile a circus had set up shop in Hampton Cove, which soon proved very popular, especially when a fortune teller started telling everyone’s fortunes… and granting their every wish. Odelia felt things were too good to be true, and recruited us cats to do some snooping around. And so snoop around we did—at least until Grandma Muffin gave us away as wedding gifts. Oh, she meant well, of course—but then she always does… before all hell breaks loose.

Purrfect Fitness (The Mysteries of Max 29)

I don’t know if you’ve ever shared your home with a fitness fanatic. I have, and it’s a disturbing experience. Both my humans are fitness nuts, you see, and like nothing more than to contort themselves into strange positions, or jump up and down while sweating profusely. Things didn’t improve when fitness celebrity Randy Hancock came to stay with us. He told us he’d recently been injected with a slow-acting toxin and only had four days to live. So he asked Odelia to save him. It was the beginning of a troubling time, more so because he’d brought along his dog Little Randy.

Meanwhile Brutus had struck up an unlikely friendship with a turtle, and Gran an even unlikelier one with Wilbur Vickery, going so far as to actually start dating the man. Soon rumors of an upcoming wedding were doing the rounds, prompting Dooley to fear he’d have to move out along with Gran to go and live with her new husband and Wilbur’s cat Kingman. And then of course there was The Affair: Marge being caught in the arms of Randy, creating a second rumor mill that predicted divorce. It was all cause for great concern, and one of my most perspiratory mysteries yet.

Purrfect Setup (The Mysteries of Max 30)

When we were called to the home of a banker who’d taken his own life, little did I suspect this would lead to an actual case. But then the banker’s daughter asked Odelia to investigate, convinced her father had been murdered. And so we set out to prove the impossible. The police were satisfied with a verdict of suicide, and we had nothing to go on except the girl’s plea. Meanwhile Dooley had his own theories about the case, and then there was his quest to become a cub scout. His good deeds soon began to give me great cause for concern, especially when they started to put lives at risk.

Purrfect Fool

The Mysteries of Max - Book 28

Chapter 1

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 2

“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 3

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.

Chapter 4

Marge looked at her watch, then up and down the street. Her husband was late. They’d arranged to go shopping together and so far Tex was a no-show. She frowned as she thought about the article she’d just read on the Gazette website. Breaking news, it said. The Chief of Police was getting married to the Mayor, it said. A thousand comments had already been posted, and almost all of them heralded the news and wished the future husband and wife all the happiness in the world.

Marge had tried to call her brother, wanting to ask him what he thought he was doing, letting her find out about his upcoming wedding from the Gazette. But he wasn’t picking up, and nor was her daughter Odelia, who’d written the article in the first place.

What was going on here?

Finally Tex came hurrying up, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry!” he said as he joined her on the sidewalk. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Ten minutes,” she said. “What took you so long?”

“Ida Baumgartner,” he said ruefully, and she smiled. It was just Tex’s luck to get his most faithful patient to pay him a visit just before he needed to be somewhere.

“What did she suffer from this time?” she asked. “Probably some disease that hasn’t been invented yet?”

“Actually this time she was suffering from something real,” said her husband as they walked into Darling’s Dress Code. “A rash. On her face.”

“Probably an allergy.”

“I don’t think so. She did mention she was using a new face cream so—”

But Marge was already making a beeline for the shoe department and forgot all about Ida Baumgartner and her long string of real or imagined illnesses. The store was organizing a big sale today, and she wanted to get two pairs of shoes for Tex, and a pair for her as well. Initially she’d wanted to buy them for their daughter’s wedding, but now that it looked like her brother was getting hitched, too, they’d have to do double duty.

“Read this and tell me what you think,” she said once her husband’s shoe needs had been taken care of and she entered the frantic fray to find a nice pair for herself.

When she returned with a pair of elegant pink pumps—not exactly ideal for a wedding but the price was so right!—he handed her back her phone, looking stumped.

“I don’t get it,” he announced. “Your brother is getting married?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“And you didn’t know about this?”

“Nope. He didn’t tell me a thing.” In fact she’d talked to her brother the night before, and he hadn’t given any indication that he was about to tie the knot again—fifteen years after becoming a widower.

Tex looked as flummoxed as she was feeling. “I tried to call him,” she said, “but he’s not picking up. And then I tried calling Odelia, but she’s not picking up either.”

“So… maybe the article is a hoax?”

“Odelia wrote it,” she pointed out.

“Oh.” Her husband shook his head. “Then I don’t get it.” He answered in the affirmative when she paraded in front of him with a pair of black strappy heels, though his mind seemed elsewhere, and presumably not with Ida Baumgartner’s peculiar rash. “He could have told us,” he said. “If he’s going to get married at the same time as Odelia we should probably organize a double wedding. Two weddings in a row seems silly.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. We’d better make it a double wedding.” Though preferably she would have liked her brother to postpone his wedding. He was totally going to steal his niece’s thunder now, which seemed like a really selfish thing to do.

Unless there was something she didn’t know? Some reason her brother suddenly felt the need to get married?

“Maybe Charlene is pregnant?” Tex suggested, clearly thinking along the same lines as she was.

“Can I help you?” suddenly the salesgirl said, materializing next to her.

“Do you have these in a bigger size?” she asked. She liked the shoes, but they were a little tight.

The girl disappeared, in search of the shoes, and Marge took a seat next to her husband. “How old is Charlene?”

“Your age, right?”

“That’s what I thought. Is it even possible to be pregnant at forty-eight?”

“It’s possible,” said her husband the doctor. “Unlikely but possible. Though I didn’t know they were trying for a baby.”

“No, me neither. Unless…” They shared a look of consternation.

“Unless it was an accident?”

“Could be,” she said. “Though nowadays people don’t get married just because they’re expecting a baby, do they?”

“Not usually,” Tex allowed. “Unless they’ve decided it’s best for the baby if the parents are married before it arrives into this world.”

“But if she is pregnant, wouldn’t she have told you? You are her doctor, right?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen her in a while. Ever since she got involved with Alec she’s been seeing a doctor in Hampton Keys.”

“She probably feels weird about seeing you now that you’re practically family.” They let the notion of Alec becoming a father hang in the air for a moment, then Marge nudged her husband. “You could find out though, couldn’t you? I mean, from one doctor to another, and Charlene technically still being your patient and all?”

“I could find out,” said Tex, nodding. “But it wouldn’t exactly be ethical for me to—”

“Call him,” said Marge. “Call him now.”

“But honey!”

“He’s my brother, Tex. I have a right to know. So either you call him or I’ll do it.”

Tex sighed, hesitated for a moment, then took out his phone and placed the call. The conversation was short and to the point, and when Tex hung up the phone he said, “Nope. She’s definitely not pregnant.”

“So then why? Why the sudden haste?”

Chapter 5

Odelia arrived home feeling a little dejected. She didn’t begrudge her uncle his future happiness with his new bride, but she just wished he’d told her the news in person instead of having the Mayor send an email to her boss, who had then forwarded her the email and asked her to write a short article announcing the happy occasion.

She took a bottle of cold water from the fridge and poured herself a glass of the cooling liquid. And as she leaned against the kitchen counter, she saw that four cats were all staring at her expectantly. She smiled.

“Let me guess. Your bowls are empty?”

But when she glanced over she saw that her darlings still had plenty of kibble.

“So tell us already, Odelia!” said Harriet, who had the least patience of all of her cats. “Is it really true that Uncle Alec is getting married? And if so why?”

“And is he pregnant or is Charlene pregnant or are they both pregnant?” asked Brutus.

“Or are they both pregnant and dying?” asked Dooley.

In spite of herself, she laughed. It was just like her cats to come up with these crazy stories. “Frankly I have no idea,” she said.

“But you wrote the story!” said Harriet. “Gran said so herself!”

“Yeah, I wrote the story, but only because my editor asked me to. He received an email from the Mayor’s Office, announcing the wedding, and that’s all I know.”

“The Mayor’s Office?” asked Max with a frown. “You mean Uncle Alec didn’t personally tell you the news?”

She swallowed. “No, he didn’t. And when I tried to call him he didn’t pick up. So at this point I know just as much as you guys. Which is exactly nothing.”

“But… he’s your uncle,” Dooley pointed out.

“Thanks, Dooley,” she said. “I didn’t know that.”

Dooley stared at her. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course I know, silly!”

“So… he has to talk to you, right?”

She shrugged. The whole thing had surprised her, but she wasn’t the kind of person to fret, so she just told herself there was probably a perfectly good reason why her uncle hadn’t told her the news in person, and why he was refusing to take her calls.

And just as she took another sip of water, the doorbell chimed and she placed down the glass and went to answer the door. She was surprised to find Charlene Butterwick on the mat, looking distraught. Her hair was a mess, and she had dark rings under her eyes. “Can I come in?” the Mayor asked, and walked in without waiting for Odelia’s reply.

“What’s going on?” asked Odelia when Charlene quickly glanced over her shoulder before closing the door.

“It’s your uncle,” said Charlene, then suddenly burst into tears. “He-he’s been taken, Odelia.”

“What?!” Odelia cried. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been kidnapped. By some very bad people. And now I don’t know what to do.”

“Sit down,” said Odelia as she led the highly distraught mayor to the couch in the family room and sat her down. “Now tell me exactly what happened.”

Charlene nodded, and gratefully accepted the glass of water and took a sip. “It happened last night. We were at my place watching TV when suddenly the doorbell rang. Since it was almost midnight I was reluctant to open the door, so Alec went to go look instead. And before I knew what was happening, suddenly three men forced their way inside. They were holding a gun on Alec and then on me, too, and told us to sit down. They proceeded to gag us and tie us up and then started ransacking the house, looking for who knows what. Money, probably, though I could have told them they were in for a disappointment, since I’m not exactly a rich woman. Next thing I knew they grabbed Alec and forced him up from the couch…” She gave Odelia a teary look. “And that’s the last time I saw him. They led him out of the house, I heard a door slam, and a car drive off.”

“My God,” said Odelia, clutching a hand to her face. “And this was last night?”

Charlene nodded. “Before they left they made me swear not to call the police. They said if I did, I’d never see Alec again. And I believe them.” She shook her head. “And then they said the weirdest thing. They told me to contact the press, and announce my upcoming wedding to your uncle. They even gave me a document with detailed instructions I had to follow to the letter. So I did. I sent out the email immediately after they left. I was afraid if I didn’t, they’d…” She swallowed with difficulty. “They’d kill him.”

“Charlene, but that’s terrible!”

“I know. I went to work today, also as instructed, but I couldn’t help think about what happened. I was a total mess. Still am.”

“And they haven’t contacted you since last night?”

The Mayor shook her head. “I haven’t heard from them or your uncle. And now I fear the worst.”

The front door opened and closed and Chase walked in. When he caught sight of Charlene and the state she was in, he immediately came over. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is this about the wedding?”

Charlene glanced at Odelia, then up at Chase, and Odelia understood her meaning. “You can trust Chase, Charlene,” she said. “He won’t tell anyone.”

Charlene nodded, then said, in a choked voice, “Alec’s been kidnapped, Chase. They took him last night and…” She broke into tears. “I think he just might be dead!”

Chapter 6

“What’s going on, Max?” asked Dooley. “I don’t understand.”

“Charlene just told Odelia that Uncle Alec has been kidnapped,” I said.

“I know, but that can’t be right, right?”

“Why not?” I said. “Everyone can be kidnapped.”

“Yes,” said Brutus. “Uncle Alec has just as much right to be kidnapped as anyone else.”

“But… Uncle Alec is the chief of police,” said Dooley. “And police chiefs don’t just get kidnapped. There are rules against that sort of thing.”

“I’m sure there are rules against anyone being kidnapped,” I pointed out, “but that doesn’t prevent kidnappers from still taking people.”

“But… why?”

It was the exact same question Chase now asked the stricken mayor of our town, even as Odelia handed her a box of Kleenex.

“I don’t know,” said Charlene. “All I know is that they said I wasn’t to call the police and tell them what happened.” She glanced up at Chase. “Please don’t tell anyone? I don’t want anything to happen to Alec.” She closed her eyes. “If it’s not too late already.”

“Can you give me a description of the kidnappers?” asked Chase, taking a seat next to the Mayor and taking out his notebook. “Or the make and model of their car?”

Charlene shook her head. “All three of them were pretty big guys, but since they were wearing masks I can’t really tell you what they looked like.”

“Clothes? Shoes? Anything that stands out?”

Charlene thought for a moment, then said, “The one who seemed to be in charge was wearing red Converse shoes. I remember looking down at them and thinking they looked really nice. They looked new, too.”

Chase wrote this down in his little notebook, but I didn’t see how this would help him in any way. I’ll bet many people wear those kinds of shoes.

“Anything else?” he prompted gently.

“I–I think he spoke with an accent. I couldn’t really place it at the time, but now I think it might have sounded as if he was from… Boston?”

“Boston,” Chase repeated, and jotted this down, too.

“I don’t get it,” said Odelia. “Why would anyone kidnap my uncle? He’s not rich, he doesn’t own any property, and as far as I can tell he doesn’t have any enemies.”

“Are you sure about that?” asked Chase. “As a policeman he must have made some enemies over the course of his career.”

“Well, sure,” said Odelia. “But so have you. So has any cop on the force. So why him?”

Just then, the big fly who’d been annoying me to no end came buzzing in through the open window, and settled down on the couch seat next to me. “Max, I have some excellent pieces of intelligence for you,” the fly announced.

“That’s great,” I said, and if I was a little distracted it was because I was more interested in what Odelia and Chase were discussing with the Mayor than anything this fat fly had to offer.

“Don’t you want to know what I discovered?” asked the fly, sounding disappointed.

“Yeah, the thing is—my human’s uncle has just been kidnapped,” I explained. “So we’re a little busy right now, Mr.… what’s your name exactly?”

“Norm,” said the fly.

“Great. Now if maybe you could come back a little later, that would be—”

“They’re going to try and stop the wedding!” Norm blurted out.

“What wedding? What are you talking about?” I said, and it was a testament to my distress that I’d completely forgotten about the upcoming wedding, spectacularly revealed in that morning’s Gazette.

“Your Uncle Alec and the Mayor,” said Norm. “Grandma Muffin and her friend Scarlett are going to stop the wedding any way they can. But first they’re going to spy on Charlene—bug her house, her office, her car… Looks like they’ll bug the works. And can I just say I object to this word ‘bug?’ It just seems unnecessarily derogatory and offensive.”

I stared at the fly, and so did my friends.

“Who is your new buddy, Max?” asked Brutus.

“Oh, this is Norm,” I said. “Norm, meet Harriet, Brutus and Dooley, my friends and housemates.”

“Hi, Norm,” said Brutus. “I didn’t even know flies could talk.”

“Oh, we can talk all right,” said Norm. “Now if you still want me to carry on with my mission I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you for some form of remuneration, Max. I can’t keep working gratis, you know. I may just be a fly, but I still have my standards.”

“Remuneration?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“Food, Max!” said the large fly. “Nourishment!”

“Oh-kay,” I said, a little reluctantly. “So what do you want?”

The fly hovered up and down, then said, “A sample of your stool would be nice.”

“Deal,” I said quickly. It seemed like a small sacrifice to make to ask Odelia not to clean out our litter box until Norm had done his sampling.

“Did you just say you want our stool, Norm?” asked Dooley.

“Sure. Like it or not, but it’s one of my main sources of nourishment, little buddy. Now what do you want me to do, Max? In other words: what’s my next assignment?”

“But… stool is dirty!” said Dooley. “Stool is not to be sampled but thrown out!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, buddy,” said the fly. “As the saying goes: one man’s stool is another man’s gourmet meal.”

I was pretty sure the saying didn’t exactly go like that, but I was already happy we could avail of Norm’s compound eyes and his sharp ears, especially now that we were suddenly faced with a family crisis of epic proportions.

“Look, Uncle Alec has been kidnapped,” I told the fly. “So whatever you can find out that will lead us to the kidnappers, that would be wonderful, Norm. Anything at all.”

“Gotcha, Max!” said the fly excitedly. “I’m on it!” And promptly he buzzed off again.

I noticed how Harriet was staring at me, her mouth slightly agape. “Did you just conduct an entire conversation… with a dung fly, Max?” she asked.

“I’m not sure he’s a dung fly,” I said, staring after Norm. “He could just be a housefly.”

“Answer the question!”

“Why, yes, I guess I did,” I admitted. “Norm is good people, Harriet. And I’m sure he’ll find out what we need to know about this kidnapping business. Plus, he’s cheap. Who else will investigate a case in exchange for a little bit of poo, if you see what I mean.”

“I don’t believe this,” said Harriet. “Just when you think you’ve seen it all…”

Chapter 7

“My poor brother!” said Mom. “We have to call in the FBI, the army—the National Guard!”

“We’re not calling anyone,” said Odelia decidedly. “We don’t want to endanger my uncle’s life.”

“But—”

“It’s best if we do as the kidnappers say, honey,” said Dad, placing a soothing hand on his wife’s arm.

They were all seated around the living room table, a table rarely used, as Odelia and Chase liked to eat their meals at the kitchen counter. Odelia and Chase were there, of course, and so were Odelia’s mom and dad, and also Charlene. Gran wasn’t present, nor did they want her to be. They’d immediately decided that given the old lady’s age and attachment to her son it was best not to tell her what had happened to her dear Alec.

“So what do we do now?” asked Dad, directing his question at Charlene. “Did they give you any more instructions, apart from that wedding announcement?”

“They said they’d be in touch,” said Charlene, whose eyes were red and so was her nose. “I really wish I knew what they’re up to. What this is all about.”

“All I can think is that this is some kind of revenge,” said Mom. “Someone my brother arrested and put behind bars who now wants to take revenge.” She directed a questioning look at Chase. “Maybe you can find out if anyone that Alec arrested has been released from prison recently? Someone bearing a grudge?”

“Good idea,” said Chase, nodding. “I’ll look into it.”

“But be discreet about it,” Charlene implored. “I don’t want these kidnappers to find out I’ve been talking to you—a cop.”

“I’m not here as a cop now, Charlene,” said Chase. “I’m here as a family member.”

“And Uncle Alec’s godson,” said Odelia, who hadn’t forgotten the reason Chase had come to town in the first place, when his high-flying NYPD career had tanked and he’d needed a place to lick his wounds and start over again.

“Alec gave me a fresh start,” said Chase now. “He helped me out when I was at the end of my rope. Gave me a place to stay and a job. I’d do anything for that man. So if you don’t mind I’m going to ghost your phone, Charlene.”

“Ghost my phone?” asked Charlene.

“It means he’ll know when the kidnappers call you, and he’ll be able to see what they say when they send you a message,” Odelia explained.

“Oh, right,” said Charlene, nodding distractedly. “Honestly, I’m supposed to go into work tomorrow, but I don’t feel like I can. People will know something is wrong, and they’ll ask me all kinds of questions about the wedding and I simply don’t know what to tell them.”

“They’ll simply think you’re still bowled over with Alec’s wedding proposal,” said Mom. “And if you lock yourself up in your office they’ll leave you alone. Unless you have a meeting scheduled?”

“No, nothing special,” said Charlene. She rubbed her face. “Oh, this is just a nightmare, isn’t it?”

It absolutely was, Odelia thought, and glanced over to her cats. She hoped they would be able to help find her uncle. In fact they were probably her only hope, as the family couldn’t use police resources, and Chase would have to be very discreet lest he alert the kidnappers.

She looked down at her phone and wondered now if they were being watched—or overheard?

And if they were, how were they to find out?

“Did… did these kidnapers do something with your phone?” she asked Charlene.

But the Mayor shook her head. “I don’t think so. Though they did take your uncle’s phone when they marched him out.”

Which just stood to reason, of course. And which explained why all of Odelia’s calls had gone straight to voicemail. Then she got an idea. “Can you trace my uncle’s phone somehow?” she asked Chase.

“I already did,” said the cop. “But no dice. Looks like they switched it off and removed the battery. So no way to trace him through his phone, I’m afraid.”

These crooks seemed to have thought of everything, which just proved that Mom’s theory was probably correct: most likely these were gangsters her uncle had put away at some point in his long career, and who were now out to take revenge on him.

But then why the wedding announcement?

What were they up to?

Just then, Gran came breezing into the room, and when she found all of them seated around the table looking glum, she frowned. “What’s going on?” she asked. Then when she saw Charlene’s teary face, her frown deepened. “Is the wedding off? Is that it?”

“No, the wedding isn’t off,” said Charlene, and wiped away a tear.

“So where is he? Where is that son of mine, who didn’t even have the decency to tell his sweet old mother in person about his upcoming nuptials?”

“Alec is… at work,” said Charlene, casting a quick glance at Odelia. For a politician she wasn’t very adept at lying, the latter thought.

“Yeah, he’s working late,” she said.

“Hrmph,” said Gran. “So why the shotgun wedding is what I’d like to know.” When they all stared at her, she added, “Well? Is it true what they’re saying?”

“What are they saying?” asked Mom.

“That Madam Mayor got a bun in the oven!” said Gran, who never beat about the bush and wasn’t beating about the bush now.

Charlene barked a curt laugh. “Me! Pregnant! As if!”

“No baby?” asked Gran, looking slightly disappointed. “Then why? Why the rush? And why this weird-ass announcement?”

Charlene shrugged. “I’m Mayor, Vesta, and Alec is Chief of Police. When two public figures such as ourselves decide to tie the knot the public has a right to be informed.”

“Oh, I’m sure they do, but what about me? Don’t you think the mother of the groom has a right to be informed?” She gestured to Odelia’s mom. “Or the man’s own sister?”

“Ma,” said Mom warningly.

“No, I’m just curious,” said Gran. “My own son is getting married, and he doesn’t even tell me in person? I have to read about it in the newspaper, same as everyone else?”

“I’m truly sorry,” said Charlene. “It’s just that…”

“Alec was going to tell you, but it slipped his mind,” said Mom. “Isn’t that right, Charlene?”

Charlene nodded. “Yeah, we discussed it last night, and I told him: you better call your mom and tell her. But he must have forgotten.”

“Hrmph,” said Gran, but looked slightly mollified as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Typical Alec. Always forgetting his dear old mother.” She directed a pointed look at her daughter. “So when did you find out?”

“Same as you,” said Mom. “When I read about it in the paper.”

“When I get my hands on that son of mine, he’s going to wish he was never born,” vowed Gran, and took out her phone. But when she placed it to her ear, she announced, “Damn voicemail again.” Then, speaking into her phone: “Pick up, Alec. It’s your mother.” She listened for a moment, then said, “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh? Well, you’re dead to me, too! And don’t even bother inviting me to your wedding, cause I’m not coming!”

And with these words, she disconnected and stalked out.

Chapter 8

“There’s something they’re not telling me, Scarlett,” Vesta spoke into her phone as she got into her car. “You should have seen the look on Charlene’s face. She’d clearly been crying her eyes out. And my son isn’t picking up his phone.”

“That’s bad,” said Scarlett. “So what are you going to do?”

“We’re going full steam ahead with our plans, that’s what. Did you get the stuff?”

“I did. Though the guy at the store gave me a strange look when I asked for half a dozen of those listening bugs. So I told him I’m going to use them to spy on my boyfriend figuring he’s been two-timing me with my best friend. He thought that was hilarious.”

“Quick thinking. Good. We don’t need any nosy parkers sticking their noses where they don’t belong. So I’ll meet you there, all right?”

“Are you sure about this, Vesta? Technically we are breaking the law.”

“We’re the neighborhood watch, honey. We are the law.”

And as she ended the call and started up the engine she got another idea. A real doozie. Bugging Charlene’s home and office wasn’t enough. She needed something more to really lay bare the woman’s deceitfulness and treachery. And she knew exactly what.

So she shut down the car again and stalked into the house, only to find the meeting still in full swing. And as she’d suspected, the conversation immediately died down the moment she entered the house. They were all in it together! Her own family—all of them conspiring against her!

“Dooley!” she snapped. “Come!”

“Why?” asked Dooley.

“No questions,” she said curtly. “Come with me. Right now.”

“But…” He cast a worried look at his friend and Gran rolled her eyes.

“All right—fine! Max, you come, too.”

“Where are you taking my cats?” asked Odelia suspiciously.

“None of your business,” Vesta barked.

Two could play this game, she thought. If they were going to start keeping secrets from her, she would simply turn the tables on them. See how they liked them apples!

Max and Dooley followed her out into the corridor, then out of the house.

The moment they were safely ensconced in the car, she turned and said, a gleam in her eye, “have I got the mission for you guys!”

I don’t know about you, but every time Gran gets that strange slightly feverish gleam in her eyes it’s time for me to start worrying about her sanity and about my safety.

“What is it, Gran?” asked Dooley, who seemed as worried about this strange behavior of Odelia’s grandmother as I was. “Where are you taking us?”

“You know about that wedding announcement that went out this morning, right? My son getting married to Charlene Butterwick?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, nodding.

“Well, for some reason or another he and Charlene are being extremely secretive about the whole sordid affair, and I’m on a mission to find out what’s going on.”

I could have told her what was going on, but I was under strict instructions not to reveal anything to Grandma Muffin, for fear her poor heart wouldn’t be able to take the strain. I wasn’t so sure her heart was as weak as all that, though. But I wasn’t going to go against Odelia’s wishes, so I merely nodded obediently. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’m going to bug Charlene’s apartment, her office, her phone, her car, in fact I’m going to bug that woman’s entire life, and then I’m going to follow her around wherever she goes, and find out once and for all how she’s managed to force my son into this shotgun wedding. Cause if I know Alec, and I think I do, it’s pretty obvious he would never jump into this thing without being coerced.”

“You think Charlene is forcing Uncle Alec to get married?” asked Dooley.

“Of course she is! Isn’t it obvious! The conniving little trollop is manipulating my son into a marriage he doesn’t want! And it’s my job as his mother to get him out of this predicament if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Okay,” I said, a little uncertainly. Rarely had I ever known a human to be so completely wrong about something. “So what do you want us to do?”

“I’m going to insert you into Charlene’s life and you’re going to feed me information. A bug can’t pick up everything, but two feline spies can.” She gave us a beaming smile, as if expecting a warm round of applause.

“So… you want us to go live with Charlene?” I asked, still not seeing the full picture.

“Bingo! You’re my wedding present to that treacherous woman, but secretly you’ll report to me the whole time. And to that end…” And before I knew what was going on, she was suddenly strapping a collar around my neck. A collar, if you please!

“Hey!” I said, shocked and not a little bit surprised. “What are you doing?!”

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Max,” she growled. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m giving you a collar. And Scarlett is going to put a bug inside that collar.”

“A bug!” said Dooley. “But I don’t like bugs. Bugs can kill you!”

“Not that kind of bug,” said Gran as she placed a collar around Dooley’s neck, too. “There. That should do the trick. Now all we need to do is to make sure the connection is A-Okay and we’re ready to get this show on the road.”

I didn’t know what show she was referring to, or even what road, exactly, but I was already pretty sure I wasn’t going to like either show or road. And as she drove off, practically taking out Kurt Mayfield’s mailbox as she did, I shared a look of extreme distress with Dooley. Suddenly we’d been thrust in the middle of an adventure we hadn’t bargained for.

And the worst part? We were going to be introduced into the home of the woman who’d just been the victim of a home invasion!

Yikes!

Chapter 9

“I wonder what Gran is planning to do with Max and Dooley,” said Harriet as she watched Gran take off.

“Probably run some errands,” said Brutus.

“I doubt it. You know what I think? I think Gran knows what’s going on, and she’s just recruited Max and Dooley to help her find her son.”

“Sounds plausible.”

“Well, it’s not fair. Why is she recruiting Max and Dooley and leaving us behind?”

“Because… Dooley is hers?” Brutus suggested.

“Yeah, I know, but Max isn’t. So why does he get to go and not us? And have you noticed how Odelia hasn’t even told us to help her find her uncle? We’re being railroaded here, Brutus. Simply put out to pasture. And I’m not standing for it.”

“Standing for what?” asked Brutus, who seemed content just to lie there on the couch and do nothing whatsoever. The whole situation frankly infuriated the prissy Persian.

“Come on,” she said now.

“Come where? “asked Brutus, alarmed.

“We’re going to find Uncle Alec before Max and Dooley do, and prove once and for all that we’re the premier sleuths here, and not them.”

But… nobody asked us,” said Brutus, causing Harriet to give him a furious look.

“I’m asking you, Brutus. In fact I’m telling you. Let’s go and find Uncle Alec before he’s delivered back to his family in lots of little pieces.”

“Little pieces!” Brutus cried, horrified by the word picture she was painting.

“Didn’t you hear what Odelia said? Uncle Alec has been kidnapped by professional criminals. The kind that like to outfit their victims with shoes made of concrete and dump them in the nearest river. Or dissolve their bodies in a bath filled with acid. Or, and here I want you to follow me carefully, cut them into little pieces and mail them back to their family! Now do you want that to happen to your favorite police chief or not?”

“No, I don’t,” said Brutus, sobered by this horrifying prospect, which seemed to come straight from the pages of a James Patterson novel.

“Well, then,” she said. “Let’s go. And make it snappy.”

“But…”

“Do you want Uncle Alec to die a gruesome death? His body fed to the fishes?”

“Um, is this a trick question?” Brutus asked after a pregnant pause.

“Oh, for crying out loud. Up!” said Harriet, and gave her mate a shove against the rear.

“Easy, easy,” said Brutus, as he defied gravity and raised himself up from the couch. “So where are we doing?”

“Out there into the world,” said Harriet, vaguely gesturing to the great outdoors. “We’re going to find traces and snoop clues, and we’re going to find Uncle Alec and save him from certain death and a very painful and humiliating disfiguration.”

And to show her cohort how it was done, she stuck her nose in the air and started sniffing.

Gran had parked her car in front of Scarlett’s apartment, and the latter now came hurrying out, carrying a bulky canvas shopping bag. She got into the car and dumped the bag on the backseat, right next to the two cats who, for some reason, were also present.

“What’s with the cats?” she asked.

“They’re going to help us find out what’s going on,” Vesta announced.

If Scarlett was surprised that cats were a fixture whenever Vesta was about to go on one of her adventures she didn’t show it. It was part and parcel of being friends with the surprisingly spry septuagenarian. Wherever Vesta was, cats were never far away.

“So is that the stuff?” asked Vesta as she put the car in gear.

“Yeah, that’s all of it. The guy at the store said it’s pretty simple. All we need to do is conceal the bugs where Charlene won’t find them, and they’ll start transmitting their signal immediately. He did say we’d have to stay pretty close to pick up the signal.”

“How close?”

“Within a hundred-foot radius.”

“Bummer,” said Vesta. “I don’t feel like staying awake twenty-four-seven to tail this woman until she gives up her many, many secrets.”

“Which is why we should involve Wilbur and Francis,” said Scarlett.

“No can do,” said Vesta. “We’ve already got the cats involved, and I don’t want Wilbur and Francis to know about my big secret.”

Vesta’s big secret was also her Achilles’ heel. No one was supposed to know she could talk to her cats, and so far only Charlene and Scarlett knew about it, apart from Vesta’s own family, of course.

“Why don’t you simply tell them?” Scarlett suggested. “It would make life a lot easier.”

“Yeah, tell Wilbur I can talk to cats. Before I finish telling him the whole town will know. You know what a gossip Wilbur Vickery is. The guy simply can’t keep a secret.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Scarlett admitted. It was one of their fellow watch member’s flaws. But also one of his strengths, since he was always au courant with the latest gossip.

“Besides, I don’t want Charlene to know we’re onto her. So Wilbur is out for Operation Mongoose.”

“Operation Mongoose?” asked Scarlett with a laugh.

“It’s as good a name as any,” said Vesta with a shrug. “Now where do we go first?”

“Better start at the house,” Scarlett suggested. “Then once we’ve got that bugged, we can take care of her office.” How they were going to get access to the woman’s phone was beyond her, though. They were no professional spies, after all. But somehow she figured Vesta would find a way around that minor disadvantage. She always did. “Does Charlene have an alarm system?”

“Nope. Alec told me he’s been arguing with her to put one in and she turned him down flat. She says the moment she needs an alarm is the moment she’s failed as a mayor and he’s failed as chief of police. She still believes Hampton Cove is the kind of town where people should be able to leave their doors unlocked at all times.”

“I’d love for things to be that way,” said Scarlett wistfully.

“Me, too. Would make breaking in a lot easier for us.”

Chapter 10

I didn’t mind assisting Gran and Scarlett on their quest to figure out why Gran’s son was getting married to Charlene, but clearly she was laboring under a misapprehension that could very well impede the real investigation into Uncle Alec’s disappearance.

So now Dooley and I were faced with what is commonly termed a dilemma: should we or shouldn’t we tell these two what was really going on? Or follow Odelia’s instructions and keep her grandmother in the dark?

“I think we should tell her,” said Dooley. “She’s Uncle Alec’s mom. Mothers shouldn’t be kept in the dark about their sons being kidnapped. To do so is morally ambiguous.”

I smiled at my friend for using such a big word. I doubted whether he knew what it meant. “I think before we tell her we should probably ask Odelia. She clearly has her reasons and we don’t want to go against her wishes.”

Dooley made a face, showing me he was struggling with this as much as I was.

“And look at it this way: at least we’ll be right at the heart of the investigation if we’re going to be living with Charlene from now on.”

“But what if these bad men come back? I’m not built for close-quarters combat, Max.”

“Me, neither, Dooley,” I admitted. “None of us are. So let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“I just wish Odelia didn’t have to return Rambo to his owner,” said Dooley now.

Rambo was a sizable Bulldog and a retired police dog, and had been instrumental in keeping us safe in a previous adventure. Odelia had wanted to adopt him, but Rambo already had an owner, who wasn’t so keen to hand his aged dog over to someone else.

“If worse comes to worst, I’m sure Rambo’s owner won’t mind lending us his dog and his very particular skillset again,” I said.

But until then? We were on our own, with only our smarts, wit and resourcefulness to carry us through. And the knowledge that the neighborhood watch was watching, of course. Though I wasn’t exactly feeling reassured by that aspect of our mission.

Gran had pulled up outside Charlene Butterwick’s home, and let us out of the car. The Mayor of Hampton Cove lived in a nice little home, though frankly I’d expected her to live in some villa or mansion. Then again, civil servants probably don’t make the big bucks.

In front of her house plenty of flowers bloomed in a lovely little apron of green.

“Looks like your son’s new wife got a green thumb,” said Scarlett appreciatively.

“Mh,” said Gran, regarding the floral display with a critical eye. “Not enough perennials. Her garden will look terrible come wintertime.”

“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss,” said Scarlett. “She’s not the worst possible daughter-in-law, is she now? In fact I think I remember you telling me not all that long ago how lucky Alec was to have found himself such a lovely lady as his new life partner.”

“You must have misheard,” said Gran, sticking her nose in the air and traipsing up to the door. She pressed her finger on the buzzer and inside the clanging echoed through the house. Patiently we waited on the doorstep, not exactly eager to start our mission, but not all that un-eager either, as we looked forward to launching into our investigation.

“Great,” said Gran. “Nobody home. Let’s do this, buddy.”

And Dooley and I watched in confusion how our law-abiding human suddenly morphed into some kind of criminal mastermind and hopped it round the back, Dooley and myself in her wake, and then started messing around with the backdoor, applying what surely were illegal methods of gaining access!

“What is Gran doing, Max?” asked Dooley, as he watched on with surprise etched on his features.

“I think she’s trying to break into Charlene’s house,” I replied, equally surprised.

It wasn’t exactly the kind of scene a cat owner would want to subject their innocent pet to: Scarlett was holding up her phone, where a YouTube video was playing titled ‘Breaking and Entering for Dummies,’ while Vesta, her tongue sticking out of her mouth, was doing something with what looked like a toothpick and her Visa card.

“I can’t watch this, Max,” said Dooley, shaking his head.

“I know how you feel, Dooley,” I said, though I was experiencing exactly the opposite: I simply couldn’t look away from the scene!

“Can you play that last bit again?” asked Gran. “I think I missed something.”

“Here, let me try,” said Scarlett.

“No, it’s fine,” said Gran. “I can do this. I practiced at home and it worked just fine.”

“Every lock is different, though, isn’t it? I’m pretty sure your lock is different than this one.”

“It’s fine I’m telling you. I can do this. Just scroll back a couple of seconds.”

With a sigh, Scarlett returned to an earlier moment in the video where the man, who looked like an ex-con, had shown what a lock looked like if you possessed X-ray vision.

“Why don’t they just wait until Charlene gets home?” asked Dooley.

“I think they’re going to plant those bugs now,” I said. “They want to bug Charlene’s entire house, remember? And her office, her phone and her car, too.”

“This is not going to end well, Max.”

“I have a feeling you’re absolutely right, Dooley.” Though who was going to arrest two old ladies when the Chief of Police himself had been kidnapped? The police force was effectively leaderless right now, even if it didn’t know it yet.

“I think I heard a click,” said Gran, pressing her ear against the lock.

“What kind of click?” asked Scarlett.

“How should I know? A click. Didn’t he say something about a click?”

“Just let me try. You’re doing it all wrong.”

“No, I’m doing it exactly right!”

“He says first to insert that little metal thingy and then the other little metal thingy and wriggle!”

“I’m sure it’s just the other way around.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong, Vesta, I’m telling you!”

“Get your hands away from me,” said Vesta, slapping Scarlett’s eager hands away.

“You have to put that there and that thing over there and then wiggle!”

“I’m wiggling my ass off here, all right? So if you just let me—”

And just when things were about to get physical, suddenly the door was opened and Charlene Butterwick appeared, looking at the two older ladies with a look of surprise.

“What’s going on?” asked the Mayor, visibly taken aback by this surprising scene.

“We were just trying to ascertain if your security measures are on point,” said Gran quickly, holding the tools of her burglarious trade behind her back where Scarlett equally quickly took them from her and dumped them into her purse. “Just one of the services your neighborhood watch likes to offer,” she added with a beaming smile.

“It’s what we do,” Scarlett added. “We burglar-proof people’s houses. Make sure they’re safe.”

Charlene still looked mildly suspicious, but finally nodded. “Thanks,” she said. “So I guess your daughter and granddaughter decided to tell you what happened, huh?”

“Oh, sure,” Gran lied. “They told us everything.”

“If only I’d asked you to do this sooner,” said Charlene as she stepped aside to invite both women into her home. “This could all probably have been prevented.”

“Sure, sure,” said Gran, and gestured for me and Dooley to follow her into the house. “And speaking of burglar-proofing your place, I’ve got the perfect gift for you, Charlene.”

“What is it?” asked Charlene, who still looked extremely pale and drawn.

“I’m offering you my two cats,” said Gran proudly, and pointed to Dooley and me, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.

Charlene frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Max and Dooley!” said Gran. “You can have them from now on. They’re two wonderful cats, house-trained and sweet-natured, and you can consider them an early wedding gift from me—”

“—and me!” Scarlett chimed in, displaying a wide smile that looked just a little unnatural, I thought. Or it could be that Scarlett never smiles, figuring it only adds to collagen loss and possible skin damage she can’t afford at her age.

Charlene still wasn’t fully on board, I could tell. “So… you’re offering me your cats. Why, exactly?”

“Because… I want to welcome you into the family, honey,” said Gran. “And what better way of welcoming you into the family than by offering you these two sweet fellas?”

“It’s a Poole family tradition,” Scarlett intimated, seeing how Gran was struggling and deciding to step in. “Whenever one of the Pooles gets married, cats exchange hands. It’s the way things have always been done—isn’t that right, Vesta?”

“Absolutely.”

Charlene glanced down at Dooley and me, who just sat there looking as sweet as we could. And house-trained, of course, which was a given.

“But… I’ve never owned a cat in my life,” said Charlene with a nervous little laugh. “I’m more of a dog person, really.”

“That’s all right,” said Gran, waving a magnanimous hand. “We all make mistakes. Now are you just going to stand there or are you going to give them a big welcome? I don’t hand my cats over to just anyone, you know. This is a big thing for me, Charlene.”

“Oh, no, of course, of course,” said Charlene, and crouched down next to me, then seemed at a loss at how exactly to proceed.

“Giving them a tickle behind the ears would be a good start,” said Gran censoriously.

So Charlene gave me a tickle behind the ears and I dutifully purred. It wasn’t a great tickle, mind you, but then cats can be great actors, so I just hammed it up a little: I dropped on the floor, rolled over like a dog, and even let her tickle my tummy.

Charlene smiled. “He’s pretty sweet, isn’t he?”

“Of course he is,” said Gran. “Now do the other one. Get a feel for them.”

And so Charlene repeated the procedure with Dooley, who mimicked my movements, and soon we were both lying on our backs for a tummy rub.

“I don’t know about you, Max,” said Dooley after a moment. “But I feel very silly.”

“I know, Dooley,” I said. “I feel very silly, too.”

“Thanks, Vesta,” said Charlene a little awkwardly. “Thank you so much.”

And suddenly she burst into tears!

Chapter 11

“So sweet of her to get so emotional over your gift,” said Scarlett once they were back in the car.

“Yeah, I hadn’t expected her to start blubbering like a baby,” Vesta said. “But don’t let that distract you from the mission, honey. She could very well have been playing us.”

“Her tears looked real to me. And trust me, I know fake tears when I see them.”

Vesta smiled. Scarlett knew what fake tears looked like because she’d probably employed the method herself on more than one occasion in the past, and knew how effective it was. “Did you manage to plant those bugs?”

“Yeah, I put one behind the bed, one behind the toilet and one in her home office.”

“I distributed the rest around the living room,” said Vesta. “So we should be good.”

“Let’s give it a test run,” said Scarlett, sounding upbeat and happy after a successful mission pulled off without a hitch.

And as Vesta steered the car in the direction of Town Hall, Scarlett fiddled with her tablet for a moment, then suddenly Charlene’s voice sounded through the car loud and clear.

“I don’t have cat kibble for you guys,” the Mayor was saying, “but I do have some turkey. Do you eat turkey?”

“Does a fish swim in the ocean?” grunted Vesta. “She really doesn’t know the first thing about cats, does she?”

“What are you going to tell her when you take Max and Dooley out of there again?”

“I’ll make something up. Maybe tell her I miss my babies too much and I underestimated how important they are to me.”

“I think we did a pretty good job back there, pardner,” said Scarlett, and held up her hand for a high-five.

“Damn near perfect job, pardner,” said Vesta, and reciprocated the high-five with a high-five of her own. “Except for the lock picking. I feel like we should practice some more.”

“And here is the perfect opportunity,” said Scarlett as they entered the Town Hall parking lot and found themselves staring up at the modest one-story building.

“We better wait until it’s dark,” said Vesta. “Breaking into Charlene’s house is one thing, but breaking into Town Hall is a different kettle of fish entirely.” Especially since Town Hall, contrary to Charlene’s home, was probably equipped with an alarm. Too bad her son wasn’t answering his phone, or she could have asked him for the combination.

Charlene stared down at the two cats, who were both staring up at her intently, as if expecting her to do something, or to say something, or whatever.

“Um… so do you want me to take you guys for a walk?” she asked now. She was unsure of how to proceed. She hadn’t lied when she’d told Vesta that she was a dog person. She and Alec had recently even opened a dog kennel in town, though in actual fact it was an animal shelter where all pets were welcome, whether great or small, canine or otherwise inclined. She wondered if she should call the manager of the shelter and ask her for some tips and tricks on how to deal with cats, but then decided against it.

How hard could it be to care for these cuddly creatures? And they were so sweet, too.

Though the way they were staring at her, their gaze unwavering, their eyes never moving away from hers for even a second, was frankly making her feel a little uneasy.

“So, um… how do you guys feel about suddenly being donated to a new human? A little weird, right, this Poole family ritual?” She’d known that the Pooles had this thing about cats, but this whole thing about giving away cats to new partners entering the family was something she’d never heard of before. Alec hadn’t mentioned it either.

“Look, if you guys expect me to talk to you, I’m very sorry but I can’t. I don’t speak your language, I’m afraid,” she said when they just kept staring at her, not moving a muscle and not saying a single thing.

“So, um… just make yourselves comfortable, and I’ll go and get you some food and, um…” And as the biggest of the twosome, the cat named Max, smacked his lips a little, she swallowed uncomfortably and quickly turned away. Oh, how she wished Alec was there.

“She seems nice enough,” said Dooley.

“Yeah, she’s great,” I said.

“Nervous, though. And unhappy.”

“What do you expect, Dooley? Her boyfriend just got kidnapped before her eyes and who knows what these maniacs are up to next?” I sighed and glanced around. I already missed my favorite spot on Odelia’s couch, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep as soundly as I usually did. Not to mention the fact that Charlene probably had never heard of the words ‘litter box,’ something Gran conveniently forgot to mention.

“I think we’ll have to do doo-doo and wee-wee in the backyard, Max,” said Dooley, who’d noticed the same thing.

“Yeah, looks like it,” I said. Which posed another problem: no pet flap!

Grandma Muffin had definitely done it this time. Giving us away? That hadn’t been part of the deal. Did this mean we’d have to stay with Charlene forever? I didn’t think I liked that. She was nice enough, sure, but even cats get attached to their own humans.

“Do you think we’ll have to stay here forever now, Max?” asked Dooley as he glanced around. The living room was minimalistically furnished, all black and white, the entire house constructed in plenty of steel and glass. Not exactly the coziest environment I’d ever encountered, as it lent the place more of an office feel than a real home.

“I hope not,” I said.

“I think Odelia won’t be happy when she finds out that Gran has given us away to Charlene,” Dooley surmised.

“And it’s not as if she can take us back either,” I said. “It’s hard to take a gift back once you’ve given it. Especially a wedding gift.”

“I never thought I’d be a wedding gift, Max.”

“Me neither, Dooley.”

But when Charlene returned from the kitchen carrying two porcelain plates heaped high with pieces of turkey, I quickly perked up. So maybe this new human of ours wasn’t so bad after all? We’d just have to break her in, like cats do with all of their humans.

Chapter 12

Odelia glanced around and frowned. “Have you seen the cats?” she asked.

“Didn’t your grandmother take them?” said Chase. He was on the couch surfing on his laptop, busily going through a list of convicts Uncle Alec had collared. It was a long list.

“Yeah, but they should have been back by now,” she said. “Unless she took them along on one of her neighborhood watch patrols.”

“Then that must be it. You know how she loves those patrols.”

Odelia hadn’t seen any sign of Harriet and Brutus either, but then they spent most of their time next door, at her parents’ place.

She decided to wander over there. She needed to talk to her mother anyway. But when she entered her parents’ kitchen, neither her mother or her father were in evidence, and of the cats there was no trace either.

Weird. People just kept disappearing, though of course the case of her uncle being kidnapped had everyone on edge, so things weren’t exactly normal right now.

And as she walked out again, she noticed a flyer her mom or dad had put up on the fridge with magnets. She read it with a rising sense of surprise.

‘Madame Solange will tell you everything you need to know about your future. Schedule a consult now, and find out what the future holds in store for you and your nearest and dearest.’

There was a phone number, and someone had circled it twice, adding a few exclamation marks for good measure.

And just as she was about to walk out of the house, her dad came walking in, his hands laden with bags of groceries, followed by Odelia’s mom, likewise occupied.

“I’m sorry, honey,” said Mom. “Did you want us to get something for you?”

“No, we’re fine,” said Odelia, who’d forgotten it was grocery run day. In spite of her uncle having gone missing, life still went on, of course, and people still had to eat.

“What’s with this Madame Solange thing?” she asked as she idly checked the bags. She’d skipped dinner, as the emergency meeting with Charlene had run late, and then she hadn’t felt like eating and neither had Chase.

“Oh, just something I picked up at the supermarket,” said her mother, waving a dismissive hand.

“So did you call the number?” she asked.

“Mh? Oh, no, of course not. You know I don’t believe in that kind of stuff, honey. And neither does your father.”

“What stuff?” asked her dad, breezing into the kitchen again.

“Fortune telling stuff,” said Mom with a careless laugh that sounded a little forced.

“Baloney,” said her dad sternly. “Every last one of those people should be sued for taking advantage of the naivety of their victims.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as that,” protested her mother as she put the groceries in the fridge, while Dad offered the same courtesy to the pantry. “I’ll bet some of them are the real deal—the genuine article. Though I still have to meet the first one who can actually predict the future,” she hurriedly added.

“So this Solange, where can I find her?” asked Odelia, her mom’s behavior making her curious to find out more. It was the reporter in her. She could never leave well enough alone.

Mom swallowed. “I’m not sure. I don’t think she’s from around here.”

“I thought you said you hadn’t called her?”

“Oh, but I didn’t! I would never spend money on that sort of thing.”

“So how do you know she’s not from around here?”

Her mom shrugged. “Just a wild guess. If she were from around here, we’d have heard of her by now, don’t you think? Or you would have written an article about her.”

“Maybe I will,” said Odelia, and studied her mother’s reaction carefully.

Mom didn’t disappoint her. She looked up in alarm. “You’re going to talk to her?”

“I might,” said Odelia, now absolutely sure her mom was hiding something, which made her want to pursue the matter even more. “I’ll bet there’s a great story there.”

“Oh, no!” said her mother quickly. “I’m sure nobody wants to read about fortune tellers. That kind of thing is so passé.”

“I’ll bet she’s down at the fair,” said her dad now.

“There’s a fair in town?” asked Odelia.

“Oh, sure. They’ve been setting up for the past couple of days. I think they’ll do a big parade through town any day now, though I’m afraid carnivals and fairgrounds and circuses are becoming a thing of the past. People aren’t into that kind of thing anymore nowadays. They prefer their entertainment more… hip and cool.” He grinned at his daughter as he said it, indicating he was anything but hip or cool.

“Look, who cares about this fair, or Madame Solange?” said Mom, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “What are we going to do about my brother? What do you propose?”

“Chase is working on it,” said Odelia, sobering. “He’s looking through a list of the people Uncle Alec put behind bars and who recently were released, as you suggested.”

“So the police are going to handle it? Even though these kidnappers specifically warned Charlene not to get them involved?”

“Chase is not working the case as a cop. He’s working it as a member of this family,” said Odelia. “Though frankly I think we actually should involve the police. I think that’s what Uncle Alec would want.”

“I hope they don’t hurt him,” said Mom. “And why did they make Charlene announce their wedding? That just doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’ll bet it’s some kind of psychological thing,” said Dad as he leaned against the kitchen wall, looking pensive. “Psychological warfare. To make Charlene crack.”

“How is announcing her wedding going to make Charlene crack?” asked Mom pointedly.

“I don’t know,” said her dad with a shrug. “But it smells a lot like psychological warfare to me.” And he disappeared into the living room.

“Oh, your father with his nonsense explanations,” said Mom. “I didn’t even want to go shopping. How can we pretend life is normal when my brother is somewhere out there, suffering who knows what kinds of torments?” Tears had formed in her eyes, and Odelia took her mother’s hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

“We’ll find him, Mom,” she said. “Chase is the best at what he does, and I’m not too shabby either.”

“And what happened to our cats?” asked Mom. “I haven’t seen them anywhere—I just hope they haven’t been taken, too.”

Chapter 13

“So, um, you guys?” said Charlene.

Dooley and I looked up. We’d eaten our fill in exquisitely tasty turkey, and our new owner had made us a cozy little spot on the couch by placing down an actual down blanket for us to lie on, and had turned the TV to a channel that showed plenty of cat food commercials. So when she called us, we knew we were in for more treats.

“Let’s go,”’ said Charlene now. She looked and sounded a little subdued, I thought, but then that was to be expected, since her future husband had been rudely taken from her.

“She’s holding something in her hand, Max,” said Dooley. “Are those… dog leashes?”

“I think so,” I said, wincing a little.

“Let’s take you guys for a walk,” said Charlene. Bless her heart, she was trying hard to turn herself into a proper cat lady, but dog leashes? And taking us for a walk? Clearly she had no idea what she was doing.

“Let’s just humor her,” I said with a shrug.

“But I don’t like a leash, Max. It makes me feel so… like a dog.”

“I know, Dooley, but clearly Charlene isn’t herself today, and I think we should indulge her.”

So we both jumped down from the couch and walked up to our new human.

“Let’s try these on for size,” said the Mayor. “I think they should fit you just fine.”

And they did. They fit exactly right, but that didn’t mean I liked the sensation of a leash being attached to my collar.

At least she hadn’t removed our collars, though thus far there wasn’t all that much for Gran and Scarlett to learn from keeping tabs on Charlene.

“You know the drill,” said Charlene. “We’ll go for a walk around the block, and if you feel the need to do your business, please do it against a tree.” She quickly inspected the pockets of her cardigan. “Poo baggies—check. Tissue paper—check. I think I’m ready to take my new cats for a walk for the very first time. Are you guys ready?”

“Yes, Charlene,” I said dutifully.

“Yes, Charlene,” Dooley chimed in.

Charlene smiled. “So weird,” she muttered, and then walked out of the house, but not before taking a quick glance through the window to see if there weren’t any more of those home invasion people lurking about. “I probably should hire myself some protection,” she said now, talking to herself more than to us. “I’ll call a security company first thing in the morning. I don’t even feel safe in my own home, that’s the worst part. And I can’t stop thinking about poor Alec. He must be going through hell right now.”

“I’m sure Uncle Alec will be fine, Charlene,” I assured her as we walked down the gravel path that split her front yard and through the little gate and out onto the sidewalk. “He’s a police chief, after all, so he’s probably used to dealing with the scum of the earth.”

“Maybe he’s managed to escape already,” said Dooley, “and he’s on his way home as we speak.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Dooley is right,” I said. “Uncle Alec will probably be home soon, and then he’ll put all of those nasty home invasion people in prison where they belong.”

But of course Charlene couldn’t understand a word we said, poor thing, so our comforting speech fell on deaf ears.

We walked around the block, and I have to admit it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Of course cats aren’t used to being walked like a dog, but that bit of fresh air was doing me the world of good after having been cooped up inside the house all evening, and frankly I did feel the need to do a little doo-doo and a little wee-wee, and so did Dooley.

And so we gave Charlene quite a bit of work cleaning up after us. I would have done it myself, but it’s tough digging a hole in the sidewalk, just as it was tough for me to have to deposit it there. Then again, I didn’t have a choice in the matter, and neither did Dooley.

And we’d walked probably half a block when suddenly we saw a parade of some kind heading our way. There were a lot of cars and trailers, fancifully painted in bright colors, and I could even see an elephant walking along, and a cage containing an actual lion!

“Hey, look. It’s one of our relatives,” I told Dooley.

More people had come out of their houses, leaving their televisions to watch the spectacle that was being announced by a sort of carnival barker riding on top of the elephant.

“Hey, cousin!” I said, waving at the lion. But he either couldn’t hear me, or wasn’t interested in making my acquaintance, for he totally ignored me.

Clowns were also there, and jugglers, and what looked like trapeze artists, judging from their Spandex outfits, though they’d left their nice and trusty trapezes at home.

“Alec and I went there yesterday,” said Charlene now. “It was wonderful.” She gave a wistful sigh, clearly thinking about those halcyon days of yore. “The fair will be there for another two weeks or so and then they’ll move on to the next town.”

“Charlene talks to herself a lot, doesn’t she?” said Dooley.

“I think it soothes her,” I said. “It makes her feel less anxious about what happened to Uncle Alec.”

So maybe it had been a good idea for Gran to give us to Charlene as a present, even though her intentions had been less therapeutic and more born from deep suspicion.

One of the final trailers in the parade had the words ‘Madame Solange’ painted across the side, and up in front sat a woman dressed in a sort of flowing robe. She looked to be in her early thirties, had long fair hair with two small braids, and was really pretty.

And oddly enough, next to the woman sat a man, who looked like the spitting image of… Uncle Alec!

Charlene must have seen it, too, for she did a double take, then said, “Isn’t that Alec over there?” And then without awaiting our response—and why would she?—she started frantically waving at the man, who sat stoically staring before him.

Madame Solange, who must have thought Charlene was waving at her, returned the wave with a vague smile on her pretty face.

But then Charlene was yanking us forward and in the direction of the trailer.

“Alec!” she yelled. “Alec, it’s me!”

But this Alec lookalike didn’t even look up at the sudden commotion.

And then, before Charlene could reach Madame Solange’s trailer, suddenly a couple of burly men showed up, and physically held her back. They must have been parade security, protecting the fair and circus people from overzealous fans like Charlene.

And as Charlene kept jogging alongside the trailer, dragging us along with her, I noticed something else. Cameras! Everywhere I looked I saw cameras filming the parade, and now also filming the crazy woman dragging two poor cats and yelling ‘Alec’ all the while.

“Please, ma’am,” said one of the security people. “For your own safety, please stay behind the barrier.”

“But that’s my boyfriend up there!” said Charlene.

“Where?” asked the burly man, giving her a look of confusion.

“Up there with that woman. His name is Alec and he’s my boyfriend.”

“That’s impossible, ma’am,” said the security guy. “That’s Wolf, Madame Solange’s husband. And now I’m going to have to ask you to please return behind the barrier.”

So Charlene did as she was told, even though clearly she wasn’t happy about it.

And it has to be said, the guy only shared a vague resemblance to Uncle Alec. For one thing, this Wolf sported a funky rust-colored mustache. And for another, he had a full head of hair, something Uncle Alec hadn’t been able to claim for many, many years.

“Poor Charlene,” said Dooley. “Now she’s starting to see things.”

“It’s normal,” I said. “She’ll start seeing Uncle Alec everywhere she goes from now on. It’s the strain from the kidnapping that’s starting to make itself felt now.”

“I really thought it was him,” our new human now murmured softly. “Sweet Alec…”

And then she started the trek home, and frankly not a moment too soon, too. People were starting to point at her, and those camera crews that had captured her frantic intervention would probably be transmitting that footage of a mayor gone berserk.

If Charlene wasn’t careful, soon she would be mayor of Hampton Cove no more.

Chapter 14

Marge compared the numbers on her lottery ticket with the ones on the television screen and had to admit they didn’t match—not one single number had she gotten right.

Disappointed, she crumpled up the ticket and thought dark thoughts of that woman—that Madame Solange, who’d promised she’d win the lottery in the next couple of days.

Three days had gone by since she and Tex visited the fortune teller at the fair and still nothing. So far she’d only lost money, not gained a single cent, and Tex’s prediction hadn’t materialized either.

“Better luck next time, hon,” said her husband, rubbing her back consolingly.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” she said.

“If Madame Solange said you’re going to win, you’re going to win. I’m sure about it.”

“I think Odelia is on to us,” said Marge as she darted a quick look at the family room door. Odelia had a habit of dropping by unannounced. That was the disadvantage of having a professional reporter for a daughter: snooping around and listening at keyholes came naturally to this breed of nosy parkers, even when it concerned their own family.

“I think I made a convincing case though, didn’t I?” Tex said.

“Oh, yeah, I thought you were great, honey. She’d never think you were as keen on Madame Solange as I am.” Though her excitement was waning fast.

Just then, there was a rattle of the mailbox, and she frowned. The postwoman never came by this late. But since her favorite show was about to start, it was up to Tex to take a look. When he returned, he just stood there, frowning at a piece of paper in his hand.

“What were those winning lottery numbers again, honey?” he asked.

“Um… Five, four, and the rest I don’t remember.”

His shoulders sagged. “Nope. I thought for a moment…” And he walked over to place a lottery ticket into her hands.

She stared at it, then frowned as recognition dawned. “I think those are the winning numbers from two days ago,” she said slowly. She locked eyes with her husband, and then they were both frantically grabbing for their phones to look up the numbers.

“You’re right!” said Tex, a little quicker off the mark than her. “You’re absolutely right!”

“How much?” she asked. “How much did we win?”

“Fifty thousand, it says here,” said her husband, slowly looking up at her, then down at the ticket lying in her lap.

“Fifty thousand? But…”

“I don’t get it,” he said, taking a closer look at the envelope the ticket had arrived in. It was just a blank envelope, with nothing written on it. “How can this be?”

“Who cares?” said Marge, a smile slowly lighting up her face. “Madame Solange was right: we won the lottery, Tex! We won!”

“Yoo-hoo! Finally!”

And then they were both getting up and hugging it out before Marge realized being happy and celebrating their lottery success, no matter how strangely it had come about, was inappropriate with her brother still missing.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, and they first looked at each other, then in the direction of the door. This time they both walked the short distance to open it, and they found a thickset cameraman standing before them, and an excited-looking young reporter with purple-framed glasses and a yellow goatee sticking a microphone under their noses.

“WLBC-9—your best source of local news! Tex and Marge Poole?”

Tex and Marge nodded dumbly.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” said the guy, “but I believe you’re both familiar with a person named Madame Solange?”

Once more, Tex and Marge nodded dumbly.

“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions. But first, the most important one: did you or didn’t you recently win the lottery?”

“We did,” said Marge, finally finding her voice.

“We just found out,” added Tex.

“Wonderful! Amazing! Great! You will remember that your visit to Madame Solange a couple of days ago was being taped, right?”

Vaguely Marge remembered that Madame Solange had warned them the consult was being recorded. She hadn’t minded, figuring it was probably some security thing.

“We’ve been following Madame Solange around for the past six months, all part of a series on fortune tellers and paranormal phenomena, and as a follow-up we also like to talk to the people whose fortunes she predicted. People like you, Marge and Tex Poole.”

“Okay,” said Marge, understanding dawning. “So you want to see how accurate Madame Solange’s predications are, is that it?”

“Exactly! So tell us, Marge Poole, how much did Madame Solange predict you’d win?”

“She didn’t give us a specific number, but she did say it would be a hefty sum.”

“And how much did you win?”

“Fifty thousand,” said Tex with a big smile, and showed the camera crew the winning lottery ticket in question.

“And as far as your prediction goes, Tex Poole, what did Madame Solange tell you?”

“She said I’d go on a Caribbean cruise,” said Tex, his smile fading a little.

“And have you made plans in that direction?” asked the reporter.

“Not yet,” said Tex, then glanced down at the lottery ticket, then at his wife, and his smile returned in full force. “But I guess now we can finally take that cruise we’ve been talking about, honey!”

“Oh, my God!” said Marge. “Of course!”

“Oo-wee!” said the reporter. “Looks like Madame Solange was right on the… money!”

Marge would have told the guy that the ticket had magically appeared in their mailbox, but in the face of their big win that seemed like such a minor detail now. And since it would only detract from the bigger picture, which was that they’d won a big bundle of cash, and were finally going on that cruise, she decided not to bother.

Madame Solange had been right. Twice! That was the main takeaway here.

Chapter 15

Harriet and Brutus had been wandering through town, and had finally arrived at their destination: the house where Charlene Butterwick lived.

“So this is the place, huh?” said Brutus, panting a little. It had been a long walk, and his paws were hurting.

“Yep, this is it,” said Harriet. “So let’s start hunting around for clues, snuggle pooh. I’m pretty sure these kidnappers must have left some.”

Brutus would have reminded Harriet that clues weren’t like breadcrumbs: you couldn’t just strew them around here and there, but felt that Harriet was right in another regard: surely these kidnappers had been seen by someone? So what they needed to do now was find these someones and grill them for information until they cracked.

“Let’s go talk to that big guy over there,” Harriet suggested, and pointed to a very large canine who stood barking at them from behind a fence.

Brutus, who disliked dogs as much as the next cat, wasn’t all that keen on making this particular dog’s acquaintance, but then again, a clue was a clue, and they needed to find Uncle Alec, didn’t they?

So they both traipsed across the street and joined the large dog, who was yapping even louder now that two cats looked like they were about to invade his territory.

“Cool it, buddy,” said Harriet. “All we want is some information.”

“No way are you setting paw in here,” said the dog in response. He was a big brown dog, and if Brutus wasn’t mistaken belonged to the Danish Dog variety.

“What makes you think we’re even remotely interested in setting paw in there?” asked Harriet. “We have our own homes, dog, so you can keep yours, all right?”

“Oh,” said the dog, not expecting this comeback. “So what do you want, exactly?”

“A crime was committed across the street,” said Harriet. “A man was kidnapped, and we were wondering if you saw something.”

“Yeah, I saw something,” said the dog, giving Harriet a curious look. It probably wasn’t every day that cats came inquiring after kidnapped people. “So what’s it to you?”

“That man is our human’s brother,” said Brutus, “and she would like to get him back before these bad men hurt him beyond repair.”

“Well said, Brutus,” said Harriet. “So how about it? What can you tell us?”

The dog sank down on his haunches and gave them a sly look. “What’s in it for me?”

“The satisfaction of having solved a crime, that’s what,” said Harriet, and it was immediately clear the dog wasn’t all that happy with her answer, for he made a face.

“I’m not into solving crime, cat, so I don’t really care if you find your human or not.”

Harriet cocked her head. “You don’t care if Alec Lip is found? Chief of police and the person in charge of the police station?”

“Nope. I don’t care one bit,” said the dog, and yawned cavernously to show them exactly how little he cared about Uncle Alec’s fate.

“You do know that the chief of police in this town is also in charge of the rules and regulations governing the use of our parks and sidewalks, don’t you? And so far I think Chief Alec has been very lenient when it comes to dogs being able to do their business both on those same sidewalks and in those same parks. But what if I tell you his second-in-command, Chase Kingsley, who now stands to take over, takes a much harder line?”

“He does?” asked the dog, showing signs of concern.

“Oh, sure. Chase Kingsley hates dogs with a vengeance. He was once bitten by a dog, you see, and he’s made it his mission in life to make your lives as miserable as he can.”

The dog glanced at Brutus, who nodded solemnly. “You’re in for a very bumpy ride, buddy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m talking about the new ordinance forbidding dogs to be walked,” said Harriet. “Forcing their owners to make them do their business in litter boxes from now on. So no more walks in the park for you, sir. No more refreshing rambles along the sidewalks and the roads of our town. And most importantly no more walks along the beach.”

“No more walks along the beach!”

“Oh, for sure. You’ll be cooped up inside for the rest of your natural life, Mr…”

“Buddy,” said Buddy sadly.

“No more running wild and free. No more doing your business al fresco. No more—”

“All right, all right! I get your point! What do you want?”

“If we can find Chief Alec, and he’s reinstated as Chief of Police, Kingsley won’t be able to carry through his frankly apocalyptic plans, and your life will go on the way it always has. So are you going to help us find Chief Alec or do you prefer Kingsley to be the new chief?”

“No! Please not Chief Kingsley! I like to run along the beach, and I love to do my business al fresco! I’ll tell you everything I know!”

Harriet gave her friend and partner a cheeky wink and he grinned. Harriet would have made a great police cat.

“So tell us what you saw.”

“Three guys, heavily built, all wearing masks when they came out of the house. But then one took off his mask, and he had a shaven head, cause it reflected the light from that lamplight over there. He looked like a real tough guy, with a crooked nose and a jutting chin. He also had cauliflower ears.”

“Excellent powers of observation, Buddy,” said Brutus appreciatively.

“Thanks. The nights get pretty lonely out here, so I like to spend them people watching.”

“Anything else?” asked Harriet.

“Well, they came out with a fourth guy, who didn’t seem to like what was going on, for he kept struggling. He had a hood over his head, and his hands were tied behind his back.”

“That was Chief Alec,” said Brutus.

“They put him in a panel van and drove off, and that’s all I know.”

“Did you catch the license plate?” asked Harriet.

“Lady, I’m not a cop, all right? I don’t care about license plates, unless my owner gives me one I can chew on. All I know is that the van was the same type of van my owner’s got. An old Ford van. Looks like a big box on wheels?”

“Color?”

“Dark green. And did I say it was an old model? You should have heard the racket that thing was making, and the fumes spewing from that exhaust!” He shook his head. “They should probably have that looked at.”

“I’ll tell them when I see them,” said Harriet laconically. “Well, Buddy,” she said, holding out a paw. “Thank you so much for the information.”

Buddy tapped her paw, then tapped Brutus’s paw, and said, “For a pair of cats you guys ain’t half bad.”

“And for a dog you ain’t so bad either,” Harriet said with a smile.

Buddy laughed. “Wait till I tell the boys that I saved their lives by helping out a couple of cats! They’ll never believe me!”

And as they turned away from Buddy, they almost bumped into… Max and Dooley, tied to leashes, and being walked by… Charlene Butterwick!

Chapter 16

I was more than a little surprised when we returned from our walk and saw none other than Harriet and Brutus suddenly showing up.

“What are you doing here?” asked Harriet.

“What are you doing here?” I countered.

“Hey, aren’t you the rest of Odelia’s cats?” asked Charlene, who’d also spotted the new arrivals.

“Gran gave us to Charlene as a present,” said Dooley sadly. “We belong to Charlene now, me and Max.”

“Are those… leashes?” asked Brutus, staring at the strange contraptions.

“And… collars?” asked Harriet.

I could have sunk through the pavement from sheer embarrassment. It’s never a pleasant experience for a cat to be seen wearing a collar, or, God forbid, a dog leash, and so I reluctantly acknowledged the fact. “Charlene isn’t familiar with cats,” I said. “She thinks we have to be walked two or three times a day, like dogs, hence the leashes.”

“And Gran has given us these collars,” Dooley explained. “She put bugs in them, though they don’t bite.”

“Bugs as in electronic listening devices,” I clarified. “She wants to listen in on Charlene, still thinking she somehow tricked Uncle Alec into marriage.”

“She put the house full of bugs, too,” said Dooley, “but she assured us they’re not the kind of bugs that will multiply like crazy and make us sick.”

“Wow,” said Harriet. “And here we thought Gran had chosen you for some cushy job. And all the while you’re more to be pitied than envied, I must say.”

“Yeah, but at least we got fed turkey,” I said a little defensively. “So there’s that.”

“And there’s plenty more where that came from,” added Dooley.

Harriet and Brutus shared a look. “I like turkey,” said Harriet.

“I love turkey,” said Brutus.

And both directed a very obvious but very effective pleading look at Charlene, who now smiled and said, “I think I’ll take you guys inside with me. You missed your friends, didn’t you? Of course you did.”

I could have told her that cats are solitary creatures who only very rarely miss their friends, but I had to admit she had a point. I had thought about what life would be like without Harriet and Brutus from now on, and it had seemed a little bleak, to be honest.

So the four of us followed the Mayor into her home, and before long we were all snacking on that delicious turkey meat, that must have cost her an arm and a leg.

“I think I know what happened to Uncle Alec,” said Harriet between two bites of the delicacy. “Buddy from across the street saw the men that took him. He says one of them had a shaven head and cauliflower ears, and they were driving an old dark green Ford van with a busted exhaust pipe. He didn’t catch the license plate but now I’m thinking: how many dark green Ford vans can there possibly be driving on these streets, right?”

“We have to tell Chase,” I said.

Only problem was: how were we ever going to talk to Chase now that we were pretty much locked up inside Charlene’s home?

“Oh, and Charlene thinks she saw Uncle Alec,” said Dooley. “Only it wasn’t Uncle Alec but someone who looked just like him but with more hair. His real name is Wolf and he was riding on a trailer next to his wife, a woman named Madame Solange.”

“Marge and Tex visited someone called Madame Solange a couple of days ago,” said Harriet. “They were pretty excited when they got home. Couldn’t stop talking about it.”

“This Solange promised they’d win the lottery,” said Brutus.

“And a Caribbean cruise,” said Harriet.

“So she’s a fortune teller,” I said with a shrug.

“What’s a fortune teller, Max?” asked Dooley.

“It’s a woman who can tell you about your future,” I said. “Though I’m not sure it’s not just a trick.”

“This Madame Solange can tell us about our future?” he asked, looking up from his close inspection of the substance on his porcelain plate.

“That’s what she claims, anyway.”

“Maybe we should go and talk to her. I would like to know about my future.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Brutus. “What if she predicts something bad? I don’t want to know something bad is going to happen to me.”

“I think I’d want to know if something bad will happen,” Harriet mused. “That way I can make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“Oh, it will happen,” said Brutus, “and not much you can do about it.”

“No, but what if she predicts, like, that I’ll be run over by a truck on April the 14th at three o’clock in the afternoon? All I have to do is stay home that day, and I’ll be fine.”

“It’ll happen some other day,” Brutus said. “You can’t cheat death, Harriet. It’ll find a way to make that prediction come true. So it’s better not to know, so you don’t worry.”

“I still say we pay a visit to this Madame Solange,” said Harriet stubbornly.

“So I’ve made the bed in the guest room for you guys,” said Charlene. “I hope that suits you. I’m sorry, but I have no idea how to take care of four cats,” she added, and then abruptly disappeared again.

“She seems a little frazzled,” said Harriet.

“Completely out of it,” said Brutus, shaking his head.

“That’s only to be expected after what she went through,” I said. “I think she should probably go and see a shrink.”

“What does a shrink do, Max?” asked Dooley.

“They shrink people’s heads,” said Brutus with a grin. “So their heads don’t bother them so much anymore.”

Dooley stared at him. “Shrink their heads! But how?”

“Well, shrinks have special machines that turn people’s heads the size of a peanut.”

“Oh, no!”

“Don’t listen to him, Dooley,” I said. “A shrink is a person who digs deep into a person’s psyche and tries to help them come to terms with certain traumatic experiences, like their boyfriends being snatched right from under their noses.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, nodding, and gave Brutus a slightly offended look, which the latter totally ignored.

“That was great, you guys,” said Harriet. “But now I’m afraid Brutus and I have to get going. We need to tell Chase what we discovered, so he can find Uncle Alec.”

And so she and Brutus walked over to the front door, only to discover that it missed one very important addition: a pet flap.

So they moved over to the back door, which was a sliding glass door, just like the one Odelia has, but of course there was no pet flap there either. And when they both started whining, and then started scratching the glass to be let out, Charlene merely said, “Oh, how cute!” and went about her business without bothering to open the door.

She probably thought this was normal behavior for cats.

And so we were all locked in there with a slightly loopy Mayor—possibly for eternity!

Chapter 17

“So what do you hear?” asked Scarlett.

Vesta, who was frowning and listening intently, said, “Shush!” then listened some more. “I hear exactly nothing! Nothing!” she said finally, and took off her earphones. “Are you sure this stuff works?”

“The guy at the store said it works just fine. You plant the bugs, then you download the app, and you listen! How hard can it be?”

“Huh,” said Vesta, and picked up the brochure Scarlett had gotten when she bought the surveillance equipment. She leafed through it. “So… you put the batteries in, right?”

“Oh, sure. The guy at the store put in all the batteries.”

“So did you turn them on?” When Scarlett didn’t respond, Vesta glanced over to her friend. “You did turn on the bugs, right?”

“Um…” said Scarlett, studying a long fingernail.

“Oh, Scarlett!”

“I forgot, okay!”

“I turned on mine, and we know they work, because we got a clear signal from them before, which means we can only hear Charlene when she’s downstairs in the living room.” She gave her friend a hard look. “So no feed from the bedroom, the bathroom, or Charlene’s home office—that’s just great!”

“Look, I’m not a professional bug person, okay? If you wanted a professional bug person you should have asked your granddaughter to tag along.”

“Odelia probably doesn’t know the first thing about bugs either,” Vesta grunted.

“Who does?!”

“Okay, so this is not a problem. We simply go back in there tomorrow and turn on all of the bugs you planted.” She hadn’t mentioned this to Scarlett, but unfortunately she herself had completely forgotten to turn on the bugs she planted on the cats, too! Aargh!

“And what are you going to tell Charlene? We forgot to turn on our listening devices so just give us a minute and we’ll go and do that now?”

“No, you just lure her into the backyard with some excuse while I check on the bugs. And at least now we know we need to double-check the bugs we plant at Town Hall.”

“Fine. So when do you want to do this?”

“We better do it now. I’m getting tired of sitting in this damn car.”

They’d returned from Town Hall to sit in front of Charlene’s house for a while, hoping to get the goods on the Mayor, but the bug fiasco had thrown a spanner in the works. First they’d heard the woman loud and clear, but probably she’d retired to bed, and since Scarlett hadn’t turned on the bugs upstairs—end of broadcast! The two elderly wannabe spies had already ordered pizza, delivered to the car by a pizza delivery kid who gave them funny looks, and they’d also ordered a big meal from a Chinese food delivery guy, who’d given them even funnier looks. Their sanitary needs had been taken care of by using a local park, where they’d ducked behind some bushes to do their business.

All in all this whole spy business was a lot less glamorous than it was on TV!

And since there was nothing more to be gleaned from staking out Charlene’s house, Vesta drove them across town and parked in front of Town Hall once more. This time all was dark inside, and so the time for some action-packed shenanigans had finally arrived!

“Okay, let’s do this!” said Scarlett, and when Vesta didn’t move, she frowned. “What is it? Having second thoughts?”

“No, I’m just wondering why my son still hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

They’d even walked over to the police station before to catch him in his office but he hadn’t been behind his desk, and when they’d asked Dolores where the Chief was, the dispatcher-slash-receptionist had said she had no clue, which was pretty weird.

Almost as if Alec had simply… disappeared.

“You don’t think Charlene killed him, do you?” asked Scarlett now.

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s like one of those Praying Mantises: the ones that kill their mate once they’ve squeezed all the juice out of them.”

“Ugh. Please don’t talk about your son’s juice, Vesta. It’s gross.”

“It’s just a metaphor!”

“Even so, it’s gross.” They both sat there for a moment, then Scarlett said, “When we pay another visit to Charlene tomorrow we need to search that place top to bottom. If she did kill your son, we need to find him so we have proof.”

“I know,” said Vesta, the thought of her son having been murdered by this Praying Mantis Mayor weighing heavy on her.

“Because if we don’t have proof, she’ll simply pretend nothing happened, and we’ll never be able to pin his murder on her.”

“I know.”

“She’s a politician, and she’ll get away with it.”

“I know, okay?”

“I don’t think you do, Vesta,” said Scarlett, turning to her friend. “If she killed your son, and we find out, she’ll come for us, too!”

Vesta gulped a little. “I knew she was bad news the minute I laid eyes on her.”

“I thought you said she was the best thing that ever could have happened to Alec?”

“I never said that!”

“Fine. So let’s go already, shall we? And let’s search her office, too. She may have killed him in there and stashed his body underneath the floorboards.”

“Oh, Christ,” said Vesta, and they both got out of the car and quickly made their way over to Town hall, which was cloaked in darkness, only the front lit up by halogen lights.

They circled around to the back, and took a concrete staircase down into a recessed area that led to a metal door which gave access to a basement few people knew existed.

The metal door was locked tight, of course, but they’d anticipated this, and as Scarlett put on her protective mask, and so did Vesta, the latter took out the blowtorch Scarlett had bought earlier that day and started burning a big hole in that metal door.

So when five minutes later the night guard did his second tour of the night, and found two old ladies using a blowtorch to break into Town Hall, he immediately called for backup, then proceeded to point a very large gun at the two ladies before yelling, “Put your weapons down now! And put your hands where I can see them!”

And so it was that Scarlett Canyon and Vesta Muffin were being arrested for breaking and entering… again.

Chapter 18

I was starting to get a little worried that we might never be able to escape Charlene’s abode, but luckily I suddenly remembered that I needn’t have worried: we were, after all, in contact with Gran at all times, through the bugs hidden in our collars!

So I simply said, “Gran, if you can hear me, I think now might be a good time to come and get us. Charlene is acting a little weird, and now Harriet and Brutus are also here with us, and they’ve found a great clue as to Uncle Alec’s whereabouts.”

Look, I know I said I wasn’t going to tell Gran what had happened to her son, but necessity knows no law, and we couldn’t simply keep this vital clue to ourselves when Uncle Alec’s life was in danger and the clue could lead us to his kidnappers, could we?

“Gran?” said Dooley, also speaking into his collar. “Are you there?”

“This isn’t a two-way bug, Dooley,” I said. “Gran can hear us, but she can’t talk to us.”

“Oh,” he said, looking disappointed. “But then how do we know if she’s listening?”

“Of course she’s listening,” I said. “You don’t think Gran would send us in here and leave us to our own devices, do you? She’s listening right now, and hearing every word we say.”

“Gran, we just want you to know that Brutus and I found the clue,” said Harriet, speaking into my collar. “We did—not Max or Dooley. Just making that very clear.”

“Yeah, we talked to Buddy and Buddy told us what happened,” Brutus added for good measure. “And by us I obviously mean Harriet and myself—not Max and not Dooley.”

“Okay, you don’t have to rub it in,” I said. “You found the clue, and so all the credit goes to you guys.”

“Gran, did you get all that?” said Harriet. “Max has just admitted that Brutus and I are much, much smarter than he is.”

“I didn’t say that!” I cried.

“No, but you implied it.”

“I did no such thing!”

“It did sound like that to me, Max,” said Brutus, giving me an impish grin. “And I’m pretty sure it sounded like that to Gran, too. Isn’t that right, Gran?!” he practically yelled into my collar.

“She’s not deaf, Brutus,” I said. “These bugs are highly sensitive gadgets and they pick up the minutest sound.”

“I hope she’s recording this. I want it on the record that Max said we’re smarter than him,” said Harriet.

“Oh, God,” I groaned.

“So when is she going to come and get us, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Soon, Dooley,” I said. “Very soon now.”

Harriet checked the big clock over the kitchen counter. “So she’s only a couple of minutes away, right? And if she’s hearing this now, she should be here in… ten?”

“Oh, that’s great,” said Dooley. “I didn’t want to say this before? But I kinda miss home, you know. And I miss my own humans.”

“Yeah, me, too, Dooley,” I admitted. Charlene was nice and all, and she served us up some delicious food, on gorgeous plates, but life is about more than just food and a soft couch, or even a cozy guest bedroom. It’s also about the humans you decide to share your life with, and Charlene was a great human, but she wasn’t our human.

“Are you guys still up?” the Mayor said, popping her head from the bedroom to see what we were up to. “Don’t you like the space I prepared for you?”

So we followed her into the spare bedroom and when we saw the nice bed she’d made for us, I felt bad that soon Gran would ring the front door and announce that she was taking us home again.

“Okay, so maybe we can stay a little while longer,” I now announced to my collar. “Charlene looks like she could use the company. So please come and get us in the morning, Gran. But wait until we’ve had breakfast. This turkey really is something else.”

And besides, we’d told Gran all about the great clues Harriet and Brutus had found, so it didn’t really matter now if she came to find us or not.

And then Charlene looked so sad that instead of spending the night in the guest bedroom, we followed her into her own bedroom instead, and before long we were fast asleep on the Mayoral bed, the first time I’d ever slept in the presence of a VIP, I have to say.

Odelia frowned and shook her head. “I don’t get it. They never take off like this. Never.”

“I know, babe. Have you tried your Gran’s phone?”

“Yeah, she’s not picking up.”

They were in the bedroom, but Odelia couldn’t sleep, as she hadn’t seen her cats all day. She’d even gone over to her mom and dad’s, and had found her parental unit looking decidedly happy for some reason, but of their four felines there was not a single trace.

“Maybe they’ve gone to the park?” Chase suggested. “They go there every night.”

“Yeah, but not without saying goodbye, and not before they’ve eaten their fill.”

Max and Dooley hadn’t touched their bowls, and neither had Harriet or Brutus.

No, something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones. Something was very wrong.

She turned on the television, to take her mind off her cats for a moment, and her uncle’s abduction, and great was her surprise when suddenly her mom and dad’s faces appeared right there on the screen!

“What the….” she said as she sat up with a jerk and turned up the volume. And both she and Chase watched with rising indignation as her mom and dad were interviewed by a reporter from WLBC-9, about some money they’d apparently won in the lottery!

“So that’s why Mom and Dad were acting so weird! They saw Madame Solange and now they’ve gone and won the lottery!”

“But why didn’t they tell us?”

“I don’t know!” She swung her feet from the bed. “But I’m going to find out!”

“But, honey, they’re probably asleep.”

“I don’t care! They lied to me!”

“They didn’t exactly lie to you. They just didn’t tell you what they were up to.”

“Withholding information is the same thing as lying!”

“Come on, babe. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it can’t!” she said, and was thundering down the stairs before he could stop her.

Moments later she was charging into her parents’ house, stomping up the stairs, and bursting into their bedroom, where they, too, were watching the same broadcast!

Judging from the sheepish looks they gave her, they knew very well they did something they shouldn’t have.

“Honey, we can explain,” said her mother.

“You hate those fortune tellers, and so you should!” Dad added.

“So when Madame Solange said we’d win the lottery, we decided not to tell you because—”

“—you would have been upset—”

“—and we didn’t want to jinx things.”

“And now we won!” said Dad. “So yay!”

“I don’t believe you played the lottery,” said Odelia, “while Uncle Alec is languishing in some hellhole somewhere, hoping we’re working around the clock to save his life!”

“But, honey, what can we do?” asked her mom.

“Yeah, we’re not cops!” said her dad.

“No, but you’re family,” she countered. Both her mom and dad hung their heads, and suddenly she felt sorry for them, and embarrassed by her outburst. “Look, I’m sorry, all right,” she said, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. “How much did you win?”

Both heads came up again, and a gleam appeared in her parents’ eyes. “Fifty thousand smackeroos!” said her dad.

“And we’re going to spend it on a cruise!” her mom added.

“And your wedding, of course,” said her dad.

“Oh, Dad,” said Odelia with a sigh. She glanced over to the television. “So Madame Solange is the real deal, huh? Maybe she can tell us where Uncle Alec is?”

“Hey, that’s a great idea!” said Mom. “We’ll go tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll be able to tell us where Alec is in a heartbeat.” She thunked her head. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?”

Just then, Chase entered the room, looking a little trepidatious. “Um, I just got a call from Dolores,” he said, holding up his phone. “Your grandmother and Scarlett have just been arrested for trespassing. They tried to break into Town Hall for some reason.”

Now three members of the Poole family thunked their heads.

“Oh, and also?” the cop continued, clearly nervous to be standing in the bedroom of his future in-laws. “They claim Charlene killed Alec, so that’s an interesting development.”

Chapter 19

Look, Charlene Butterwick is a perfectly nice person, don’t get me wrong, but spending the night at the foot of her bed wasn’t exactly the same thing as spending the night at the foot of my own human’s bed.

I’m not saying that in due course I wouldn’t have grown to love and appreciate Charlene, especially since she kept feeding us morsels of the tastiest food I’d eaten in quite a while, but as of this moment I was starting to feel that Gran hadn’t done us a great service by giving us away to her future daughter-in-law.

“I don’t know how much longer I can take this, Max,” said Harriet, clearly of the same opinion. “I mean, Charlene is a great person and all, and the food is just to die for, but honestly? I’d much rather be home right now and eating some of our regular kibble.”

“Me, too,” Brutus grunted. “And the first chance I get I’m staging an escape.”

“Oh, can I come, too, Brutus?” asked Dooley. “I miss my usual spot on the couch.”

“Sure. I think if we’re going to do this, we should all work together.”

“But what is Gran going to say?” I said, still feeling under the obligation to the woman who’d put us there. “She’s not going to like it when Dooley and I blow this assignment simply because we feel homesick.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” said Harriet. “After all, she couldn’t possibly have been serious when she handed over ownership to Charlene—or could she?”

We shared a speculative look, then cut a glance to Charlene, who was tossing and turning in her sleep and clearly not having a great night.

“Poor Charlene,” said Harriet. “She’s clearly suffering.”

“We really should be out there looking for Uncle Alec, not in here,” said Brutus.

“All right,” I said finally, having come to a decision. “Gran won’t like it, but that can’t be helped.” I spoke into my collar again. “Gran, if you’re still listening, we’re getting out of here. So no need to come and get us in the morning because we won’t be here. We want to keep looking for Uncle Alec, and we can’t do that being cooped up in here with Charlene.”

“But won’t Charlene be upset if she wakes up in the morning and finds us all gone?” asked Dooley, showing what a considerate cat he really is: even in this, not our finest hour, his thoughts went out to Charlene Butterwick, who wasn’t even our own human.

“I think she’ll understand,” I said.

And so it was decided: we were going to stage the great escape, and bust out of this benign prison cell. Like the proverbial bird in the gilded cage, it was time to find our freedom.

So we tripped down the stairs and into the spacious living room, then started searching for an avenue of escape. We soon discovered it wasn’t going to be as easy as we’d anticipated: as I’ve already indicated Charlene doesn’t believe in the concept of the pet flap, and all the doors and windows were tightly sealed.

“This place is locked up tighter than Fort Knox,” Brutus had to admit after a cursory inspection of the modes of access and egress. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to get out.”

Just then, a fly came buzzing past, and I recognized him as Norm, my airborne buddy.

“Hey, Norm,” I said. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Max!” said Norm, panting a little. “You’re a hard cat to find! I’ve been looking all over the place!”

“Yeah, we got transferred here this morning, and have been pretty much stuck.”

“Um, Mr. Norm?” said Dooley. “Can I ask you a question, please, sir? Is it true that you spread a lot of germs and bacteria and make a lot of people and pets very sick?”

“Now don’t start with that, young cat,” said Norm censoriously. “I can assure you that’s all fake news.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, nodding. “Okay.”

“Flies only spread happiness and good cheer. Now have I got news for you guys!”

“Pray tell,” I said. I frankly could use all the happiness and good cheer I could find.

“So first I followed your Grandma Muffin around for a while. She and Scarlett Canyon are on a mission to prove that Charlene Butterwick is trying to blackmail your Uncle Alec into wedlock.”

“Old news,” said Harriet. “Uncle Alec was kidnapped, and the wedding was announced because the kidnappers demanded it.”

“Oh,” said the fly, slightly taken aback. “Okay. Well, so then I buzzed back to the house and one of your other humans has just won the lottery—only there’s something really strange going on, as they received the winning ticket in the mail.”

“The mail?” I asked with a frown. “You’re right. That is weird.”

“I thought so, too,” said Norm, clearly happy that at least this bit of news was news to us, too. “So then suddenly a television crew showed up on their doorstep, and seemed to know all about their big win, and claimed Madame Solange had predicted it.”

“See?” said Harriet. “We need to pay a visit to Madame Solange. Maybe she’ll help us win the lottery, too.”

“And that’s not all,” said Norm, who was turning out to be a regular fine little sleuth. “Just before I left, Chase got a phone call from a woman named Dolores, claiming that Gran has been arrested, along with Scarlett, for trying to break into Town Hall.”

“What?!” I said, greatly surprised.

“Yeah,” said Norm with satisfaction. “And also, Gran and Scarlett now think that Charlene killed Uncle Alec.”

“Oh, my God,” Harriet muttered.

“That sounds so like Gran,” said Brutus with a chuckle.

“But if Gran and Scarlett are in jail,” said Dooley, his eyes wide and fearful, “that means they won’t be able to hear us through our bugs. Which means…”

“That we’re stuck in here forever,” I finished his sentence.

“Oh, nonsense,” said Norm. “I managed to sneak in just fine, so you guys will be able to sneak out of here, too.”

We all perked up at this. “Where?” I asked. “Where did you sneak in, Norm?”

And Norm, proud as a peacock, buzzed off and led the way. Soon he took us into the kitchen, and before our very eyes, he flew straight into a ventilation grid located right above the kitchen window. Its holes were a perfect fit for a half-an-inch fly. Not such a good fit for a twenty-pound cat, though.

And so we were back to square one—and still stuck in our gilded cage!

I was starting to feel like one of those contestants on Big Brother, only we couldn’t even get voted out of the house!

Chapter 20

“What were you thinking, Ma?” said Marge, not very pleased with her mother’s latest stunt. They’d managed to bail both her and Scarlett out of jail, but that didn’t mean they were out of the woods yet.

“I was thinking that Charlene Butterwick is blackmailing Alec, that’s what I was thinking,” said Gran as she rubbed her back, sore from spending the past hour in the slammer.

“You should really invest in some nicer accommodations,” said Scarlett, addressing the duty sergeant who was busy drawing up the release papers. “Maybe a nice sofa, and a television. This is the twenty-first century, you know, not the middle ages.”

They were still at the police station, waiting for the final hurdles to be passed before Gran and her friend were free again. “You should be glad they’re releasing you now,” said Odelia, like her mother very unhappy with her grandmother’s shenanigans. Not least of all because she hated spending the night at the police station and not in her warm bed at home. “They could have easily kept you here until you appeared in front of the judge.”

“Oh, nonsense,” said Gran, waving an irritable hand. “All we did was try to make sure my son doesn’t get caught in a loveless marriage with a manipulative bride. And since when is that a crime?”

“It’s a crime when it involves breaking into Town Hall in the middle of the night,” said Chase, not unreasonably. He’d been most instrumental in securing the two elderly ladies’ early release, but so far they hadn’t exactly shown him any gratitude, only a lot of lip.

“Look, it’s pretty obvious that Charlene’s got something on my son,” said Gran now. “Or else he wouldn’t rush into this marriage without bothering to tell his mother first.”

Odelia shared a look with her own mother, and her dad, too. “I think we better tell her,” she said now. “Before she gets into any more trouble.”

“Tell me what?” said Gran. Then stomped an irritable foot. “I knew it! I knew there was something you weren’t telling me! She’s pregnant, isn’t she? And that’s why they’re going ahead with this shotgun wedding!”

“Ma, you better sit down,” said Odelia’s mother as she led her mom to a nearby bench.

“Oh, it’s that bad, huh?” said Gran, giving her daughter a worried look. “What is it? Did Alec kill someone and Charlene found out about it and now she’s blackmailing him?”

“No!” said Mom, rolling her eyes. “Why do you always have to assume the worst?”

“Because I know my son, and I know he’s probably got a lot of bodies buried all over the place. Buried them and threw away the keys.”

“What keys? What bodies!” Mom cried.

“Ask him—he knows,” said Gran, giving Chase a pointed look.

“Lord give me strength,” said Chase, closing his eyes and rubbing his face.

“The thing is, Ma,” said Mom, “that Alec was abducted. He and Charlene were home last night when suddenly three men forced their way in and took Alec.”

“What?” said Gran, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“Uncle Alec was taken, Gran,” said Odelia, crouching down in front of her grandmother and taking her hands in hers. “But we’re doing everything in our power to get him back, so please don’t worry, all right?”

“My son? Taken?” asked Gran, looking distinctly startled. “I don’t get it. What’s this gotta do with this wedding thing?”

“Well, one of the demands the kidnappers made was that Charlene had to announce the wedding in the local paper,” Mom explained.

“That makes no sense whatsoever,” said Scarlett, who’d also taken a seat and was rubbing her calves now. “Who are these kidnappers? Huey, Dewey and Louie?”

“It is a little unorthodox,” Odelia admitted.

“Unorthodox?” said Gran. “Unorthodox is when Father Reilly invites Morris dancers to liven up his service. This is just plain nuts.”

“How long have you known about this?” asked Scarlett.

“Well, since it happened,” said Mom, a little ruefully.

“And you didn’t think to tell us?” asked Gran.

“We didn’t want you to worry,” said Dad. “Your heart—”

“My heart is fine—better than yours!” Gran made to get up, but Mom sat her down again.

“Now promise me you won’t do anything stupid, Ma. Promise.”

“I never do anything stupid,” Gran growled. “It’s you that does all the stupid stuff, like not telling me my son has been kidnapped by Donald Duck’s nephews. Let’s get out of here, Scarlett. We’ve got a police chief to find.”

“Wait a minute,” said Odelia. “Have you seen the cats? I can’t seem to find them anywhere.”

“I gave them to Charlene as a wedding present,” said Gran, before walking out of the police station, leaving the rest of her family to stare after her.

“So much for not doing anything stupid,” murmured Odelia’s dad.

Wolf Moonblood stared out across his domain. Standing in the trailer he shared with his one true love Solange Moonblood, he’d built himself an empire: the biggest and most popular circus on the East Coast. The fact that he now saw the big top of Circus Moonblood rise above the rest of the fairground, dwarfing the many other stalls and trailers and attractions filled him with a distinct sense of pride.

He’d done all that. He’d made Circus Moonblood the success story it was today.

“Wolf?” asked a sleepy voice from the bed. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t sleep,” grunted the tall and imposing circus director.

“Come back to bed, sweetheart,” said Solange, patting the space beside her.

Wolf gazed out at the fairground, its lights twinkling invitingly in spite of the late hour, and drained the last of his herbal tea, then stomped through the trailer he and Solange shared and sat down on the edge of the bunk.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Solange, rubbing his broad back.

“Strange dreams,” he grunted. “Dreams of a life I didn’t even know existed.”

“What kind of life?” asked Solange, a tinge of worry in her melodious voice. With her long fair hair and her striking green eyes she was a remarkable appearance.

“I can’t recall,” said the circus owner. “Something about… cats.”

“That’s not so bad, is it? Cats are important.” Circus Moonblood prided itself in its collection of big cats: they had tigers, lions, and even a puma, whose roar could often be heard in the middle of the night.

Wolf nodded, and rubbed his rust-colored mustache. His rugged features and sizable bulk never failed to impress. He was a father figure to the group of entertainers the circus traveled with, but also a force to be reckoned with—a giant of a man.

“Go back to sleep,” said Solange. “Did you drink the tea my sister made you?”

“I did.”

“It’ll help you sleep. Just lie down and soon those dreams will be a thing of the past.”

“I hope so,” he said, stretching himself out on the bunk. “I don’t like these dreams, Solange. They make me feel… uneasy in my mind.”

Solange smiled and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. “It’s this town,” she said. “I’ve told you from the beginning there’s something very strange about this town. Soon we’ll move on, and those dreams will disappear.”

“Good,” he growled, and soon was asleep once more.

Solange stared down at her partner, and as soon as he’d tumbled into a restless sleep, her smile disappeared and a frown appeared on her alabaster brow. The tea was working, but still she wasn’t satisfied. These dreams Wolf kept having troubled her. She vowed to talk to her sister again tomorrow, to see if nothing further could be done.

The circus depended on Wolf’s good health and untroubled state of mind, and frankly her own personal happiness depended on him, too.

She hated seeing him like this. And as she lay down next to her husband, she considered moving along before their time in Hampton Cove was up. Clearly this town was having a detrimental influence, and the sooner they left it in their rearview mirror, the better.

Chapter 21

Charlene had slept but fitfully. She was, of course, used to dealing with stress and the pressures that came with being mayor of a small town, but she’d never been the victim of a home invasion before, and she didn’t really think she was handling things very well.

And as she opened her eyes, she became aware of four cats’ eyes staring at her intently from the foot of the bed, and groaned.

Just what she needed right now: the added responsibility of four pets.

At least two of them she could hand back to their owners, but the others? How had she ever allowed herself to be convinced it was a good idea to suddenly adopt two cats?

And as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the plaintive meows of the biggest cat of the bunch made itself heard. It was a sound that cut through her like a knife, and was not to be ignored.

So maybe this was a good thing? At least now she’d have to get out of bed and deal with her newly acquired pets’ bathroom needs.

The second cat added its voice to the choir, and soon all four cats were meowing and creating quite the spectacle. A private concert, in her own bedroom!

“All right, all right,” she said, and threw off the comforter and got up. “Let’s get you outside first, before you do your business all over my carpets.”

The cats looked at her as if she’d just personally insulted them, and she now wished she was just like Odelia Poole and her mom and grandma: they could talk to these strange creatures, and probably understand everything they said.

She slipped her feet into her slippers and tied the sash of her dressing gown around her and then slouched out of the room, her hair a mess, and her eyes puffy.

She didn’t care. If her neighbors wanted to snap pictures of her and post them on their Instagram or Facebook, they could go right ahead and do it.

She noticed how two of the cats didn’t have collars, so she took a couple of dog collars from her closet, part of a shipment destined for the animal shelter, and tied them to the cats’ necks. If they weren’t totally at ease with the procedure, she decided to ignore them. She couldn’t risk them running off. The Pooles would kill her if they did.

And so it was that ten minutes later Charlene Butterwick, Mayor of Hampton Cove, could be seen wandering around the neighborhood, walking four cats, who were plaintively meowing all the while, looking like something the cats dragged in—or out.

“Look,” said Mom, pointing in the direction of a pink-clad figure on the sidewalk. “It’s Charlene. Oh, and she’s walking our cats!”

Odelia stared at the lonely figure. “She looks terrible,” she said, and that was an understatement. Charlene’s hair was a mess, and she was wearing a pink housecoat that had seen better days, her feet stuck in a pair of old slippers, her eyes half closed.

The cats, meanwhile, looked distinctly unhappy and were tugging at their leashes.

“I don’t think she’s a cat person,” said Mom with a shake of the head.

“No, definitely not,” Odelia agreed.

She quickly parked the car and both women got out. They’d waited until now to go and fetch their cats, even though Odelia had wanted to drop by Charlene’s house the moment she’d learned Gran had ‘given away’ their cats to the Mayor. But Mom had convinced her that showing up on the woman’s doorstep in the middle of the night was a bad idea, so she’d decided to wait until morning.

At the crack of dawn she’d gotten up, met her mom in front of the house, and they’d set off on their cat rescue mission.

“I can’t believe Gran would give away our cats,” said Odelia for the umpteenth time.

“Yeah, of all the stunts she’s ever pulled this one takes the cake,” said Mom. “Charlene! Hi!” she said, waving at the Mayor.

“Oh, hiya, Marge,” said Charlene. “Odelia. Any news?” she asked eagerly.

“Nothing yet,” said Odelia. “But we’re working on it.” Or rather Chase was working on it. “Um, so I see you’ve got our cats there?”

Charlene glanced down, as if seeing the cats for the first time. “Oh, that’s right. Vesta dropped them off yesterday. She said they were a wedding gift, and the other two I found wandering in the street last night so I took them in.”

“The thing is, Charlene,” said Mom, “that my mother has an eccentric streak.”

“What she means is that Gran didn’t ask our permission to give away the cats,” Odelia specified.

“Oh,” said Charlene, and frowned as she processed this.

“Are you all right, honey?” asked Mom, her voice laced with concern. “You don’t look so hot.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” said Charlene, shaking her head as if trying to clear it. “I’ve been feeling really weird ever since Alec was taken. Not myself, if you know what I mean. Foggy in my mind.”

“Yeah, I can see you’re not yourself,” said Odelia. “Do you want us to take you to see my dad?”

“Your dad?” asked Charlene vaguely, her eyes glazing over and swaying like a reed in the breeze.

“We better put you in the car,” said Mom, and supported the Mayor before she toppled over. “Take her other arm, honey. That’s it. Nice and easy. There we go.”

And together both women escorted Charlene into Odelia’s pickup. The moment they had, the woman simply keeled over on the backseat and became unresponsive.

“Oh, dear,” said Mom. “I think she lost consciousness, honey.”

“Let’s take her to see Dad,” said Odelia, then gestured for her cats to jump into the car, and they didn’t hesitate one moment but all eagerly did as she suggested.

“Shouldn’t we lock up Charlene’s house or something?” asked Mom, darting a quick look at the Mayor’s residence.

“She locked it before she set out for our morning walk,” said Max.

“Yeah, she locked it up tight,” said Harriet, sounding distinctly unhappy.

A fly had managed to sneak into the car, and Odelia swatted at it now, before Max said, “Please don’t kill my friend. That’s Norm,” he explained to the stunned women. “Norm has been helping us find Uncle Alec.”

And as Odelia started the engine, she shared a look of concern with her mother. Talking cats was one thing, but a fly? Life was quickly becoming very interesting indeed.

Chapter 22

I was so happy to see my human again I would have jumped into her arms if she hadn’t been trying to steer her car through morning traffic.

“We thought we’d never escape,” I said eagerly.

“Yeah, Charlene is a nice person and all,” said Harriet, “but that house of hers is like a fortress. No way in or out!”

“She does have some nice meat to offer,” said Brutus, stressing one of the Mayor’s many positive points.

“She’s no Odelia, though,” said Dooley, pointing out the main negative aspect of the matter.

Odelia shot us a look of concern through the rearview mirror. “If I’d known Gran was going to give you away I would have stopped her. You know that, right?”

“Problem is that my mother never announces her crazy ideas before she sets them in motion,” Marge explained in an apologetic tone. “So I’m truly sorry you guys had to go through this, and I wish I could promise you it will never happen again, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

“But we are going to have a long talk with Gran and explain to her that our cats are not chattel. You’re part of the family, and you simply don’t give away family members as if they were a mere toy or gadget.”

Odelia sounded upset, and so did Marge, and I shouldn’t wonder. I did have one minor point to add to the conversation, though. “I don’t think she actually meant to give us away for good, though,” I said. “It’s entirely possible this was just a ruse on her part to smuggle us into Charlene’s house, along with the rest of the bugs.”

“Bugs? What bugs?” asked Marge, turning to face me. She was riding shotgun while her daughter gunned the engine and practically flew along the road.

“Gran planted a lot of bugs in Charlene’s house,” Dooley explained. “And she said she was going to plant more bugs in Charlene’s car and in her office, too.” He paused. “I asked if these bugs were dangerous but Gran said they weren’t.”

“But why?” asked Marge. “Why bug Charlene’s home and office?”

“And her car,” said Dooley. “Don’t forget about the car.”

Marge smiled as she patted my friend on the head. “I’m not forgetting, honey.”

“The thing is that Gran thinks that Charlene is somehow blackmailing Uncle Alec into marrying her,” I explained. “Which is why she felt the need to smuggle Dooley and myself into the house, and plant all of those bugs.”

Marge turned to face the front again, a set look on her face. “Can I kill her, Odelia?”

“If you want to risk life in prison,” said Odelia.

“Oh, I’m starting to think it’s worth it.”

For a moment, we rode on in silence, and then Norm said, “I think this is so cool, the way you guys can talk to your humans. I wish I could talk to my human.” He paused, then added, “If I had a human, that is.”

“Don’t flies have an owner?” asked Dooley, interested.

“No, I’m afraid we don’t,” said Norm. “We’re free as the proverbial bird.”

“Who are you talking to, Dooley?” asked Odelia.

“Norm,” said Dooley. “He’s a fly who’s as free as a bird.”

“Crazy,” Odelia muttered. “Absolutely nuts.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I said. “Norm told us about the lottery win, Marge. So how much did you win?”

“Um, fifty thousand,” said Marge, darting a quick look at her daughter, whose face had taken on the same set look her mom had displayed before.

Harriet cleared her throat. “I have a little bit of news to share, too,” she said.

“Go ahead, honey,” said Marge. “What is it?”

“Well, Brutus and I took a witness statement last night from a witness who witnessed the kidnapping of Uncle Alec, and this witness witnessed three men taking Uncle Alec out of Charlene’s house. Our witness also had a very good description to offer.”

And she proceeded to fill Marge and Odelia in on all the details pertaining to the case. She didn’t mention that her witness was a dog, but then that was probably a given.

Odelia was tickled pink by this development, and promised to tell her boyfriend straight away. Harriet looked extremely happy, and gave me a look that spoke volumes. “So you see, Max, Brutus and I are really coming into our own as detectives,” she said, rubbing it in as much as she could.

“I know,” I said, not begrudging her this success.

“Pretty soon we’ll be Hampton Cove’s premier feline sleuths,” she continued with an airy glance out the window.

“That’s great,” I said.

“Overtaking you and Dooley,” she added.

“This is not a competition, sweetie,” said Marge from the front seat. “Though you did really good there, I must say. You and Brutus both.”

“For your information, Marge,” said Harriet decidedly, “life is a competition.”

“No, it’s not,” said Marge. “Cooperation is what we need to find my brother, and I hope you don’t forget that.”

Harriet gave her human a look of confusion. “You mean…”

“I mean that the best results are often achieved when we all work together, not try to best one another. So try to work as a team, Harriet, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Oh,” said Harriet, taken aback by this strange advice. “Work as a team?”

“Yep. Cooperation, not competition, that’s the secret of success. Park right there, honey,” she told her daughter, and soon Odelia had parked behind a very large SUV and we were getting out. Charlene, who’d been dozing, was gently awakened by Odelia, and assisted out of the car and across the street, then marched into Tex’s doctor’s office.

“Teamwork,” said Harriet, still ruminating on Marge’s words as we all waited patiently on the sidewalk for our humans’ return. “Cooperation, not competition,” she murmured, as if the concept was completely alien to her. Then she glanced up at me. “Do you think Marge was joking, Max?”

“No, I think she was absolutely serious when she said that,” I intimated. “We’re much better when we all work together as a team, Harriet. And you know that.”

“Huh,” she said, then shrugged. “Okay, fine. So let’s join forces from now on, shall we? You and Dooley go this way, and Brutus and I will go that way. And may the best team win.” And with these words, she was off in the direction of Hampton Cove’s Main Street.

Dooley and I stared after her, and then Dooley said, “I don’t think Harriet has entirely grasped the meaning of the word teamwork yet, Max.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think she has.”

Chapter 23

“Whatcha doing, Chief?”

Chase looked up from his computer to see that Dolores Peltz, the police station dispatcher, was standing next to his desk. She was holding a steaming mug of coffee in her hands that said, ‘World’s Greatest Cop,’ and was taking occasional sips.

“Oh, just looking at mug shots,” he said, and gestured to his screen, where a gallery of the world’s skeeviest-looking criminals was on display.

“Who ya looking for?” asked Dolores, narrowing her eyes at the screen.

“All I’ve got is a description,” said Chase, and read from his notebook, “Heavy build, crooked nose, shaven head, cauliflower ears, Boston accent. Oh, and drives an old dark-green Ford van.”

“I’d start with the van,” said Dolores. “What case is this?”

“Um…” He couldn’t very well tell her it was actually the case of their missing Chief, so he said, “Burglary. On Grover Street.”

“Burglary? I don’t know anything about no burglary. Who’s the victim?”

“Um…” He closed his computer. “You know, Dolores, I was going through the calendar and I saw that your birthday is coming up soon.”

Dolores grimaced. “Don’t remind me. Once you get to be my age any birthday is a birthday too much. Why, are you and the guys cooking me up a surprise?”

“Aren’t we always? I was just wondering if there’s something special you would like.”

“Oh, there’s plenty,” said the dispatcher. “Where do I start?”

“Maybe make a list? And then we can get you something you really want, instead of some corny gift you don’t need.”

“Like last year, you mean. I could have done without that balloon ride, buddy. You know I hate heights.”

“I know now,” Chase said. When Dolores had discovered she’d been gifted a free ride in a balloon, she’d screamed the entire precinct down, until they’d agreed to exchange the gift for a day at the spa instead.

And as Chase watched Dolores stalk off, he breathed a sigh of relief. If Dolores found out what was going on, so would the rest of town. And he didn’t want to endanger his superior officer’s life by blabbing about his kidnapping.

Suddenly a cry rang out through the police station main office, and Chase quickly walked out of his own office to see what was going on. When he got there, he saw that all of his officers stood gathered around Officer Sarah Flunk, who was… crying!

“What’s going on?” he asked, joining the throng. “Sarah? Are you all right?”

“Better than all right, boss,” said the copper-haired officer, wiping her freckled face. “I’m getting married!”

“Oh,” he said, not expecting this. “And you’re not happy about it, is that it?”

“I’m very happy! Very, very happy!” said the young officer. “I never thought Barry would propose. I kept hoping, and wishing, and now, all of a sudden, he sent me a text. Here.” And she pressed her phone into his hands. On the screen the message read, ‘I know I should have done this a lot sooner, but… will you please marry me? Barry.’

“It couldn’t be happening to a nicer person,” Dolores grunted.

“I’m going to marry Barry!” Sarah squealed, and drew cheers from her colleagues.

Chase smiled, and joined the others in congratulating his young colleague.

Which is why he was so surprised when he returned to his own office and found Barry Billong sitting in front of his desk, looking distinctly unhappy.

“Barry, I believe congratulations are in order!” said Chase, and extended his hand to the moon-faced young man, who took it limply, and shook it without much enthusiasm.

“Please close the door, Detective Kingsley,” said Barry, darting nervous glances at the door.

Chase, wondering what was going on, closed the door and took a seat behind his desk.

“I managed to slip in unseen,” said Barry, now chewing his fingernails and looking like a man hunted by a posse of bounty hunters. “But I’m not sure I’ll be able to get out without being noticed. And that’s okay. But first I wanted to talk to you, sir.”

“Okay,” said Chase, smiling at the guy. “What’s going on, Barry? Why aren’t you happy? You’re getting married to a lovely girl.”

“That’s just it,” said Barry, leaning forward and swallowing nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a jack-in-the-box. “I don’t want to get married to Sarah. You see, I’m engaged to be married to… another girl. You don’t know her, but I already met her parents and everything. So now I’m engaged to two girls, and it’s simply too much.”

Chase would have agreed that being engaged to two girls was probably one too many, but since he liked and respected Sarah Flunk tremendously, the overwhelming emotion he now felt was one of anger. “You’ve been two-timing Sarah all this time? Stringing her along? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Don’t look at me like that, Detective,” said Barry in a whiny voice, holding up his hands in a gesture of defense. “I fell in love with Francine around the same time I met Sarah, and one thing led to another and… I never thought things with Sarah would actually develop into… whatever it is we have. But every time I tried to break up with her, she seemed so heartbroken, and so I could never actually go through with it. I tried to, but…” He hung his head. “I guess I’m just a coward.”

“But if you didn’t want to get married to Sarah, why did you propose to her?”

“That’s just it—I never wanted to propose. It’s just that these two guys… They said if I didn’t send that message they’d break my legs, and I like my legs, Detective. I like them the way they are. So they watched as I typed, and even gave me suggestions as to the exact wording of the message. They were very… insistent.”

Chase frowned. “What guys? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know who they are. I never met them before! They showed up at the dealership this morning and asked if they could take the new Toyota Yaris for a spin, and so they did, and then they parked along the road and said that if I didn’t propose to Sarah right there and then they’d break my legs, and then they’d break my arms, and maybe my neck, too—they hadn’t decided.”

“Can you describe these men?” asked Chase, thinking this was one hell of a story Barry was telling him.

“Well, they were very big, both of them, and very hairy, too, and one of them had a tattoo of a skull and crossbones on the side of his neck. Um… Oh, yeah, and they said that if I told anyone about this they’d break my legs, and my arms, and maybe my neck, too.” He sighed. “I had the impression they’d done this sort of thing before.”

“Organized crime?” Chase suggested.

Barry nodded. “It was a very stressful experience, Detective, and they didn’t even buy the Yaris, so I’ve got nothing to show for my trouble, which caused my boss to yell at me.”

“I think you better come clean to Sarah, Barry,” said Chase. “You can’t keep stringing her along, and now you’ve gone and made things worse with this bogus proposal.”

“But if I tell her they’ll break my legs and my arms… and my neck!”

“They’ll never know, Barry. Just tell Sarah the whole story, and leave nothing out.” He leaned forward. “Because if you don’t? I’ll be the one breaking your legs, and your arms, and your neck—is that understood?”

The car salesman inadvertently touched his neck and nodded furiously, then got up.

The moment the guy had left his office, Chase thought for a moment, gazing out the window of his office at the parking lot right outside the station, and then at Town Hall beyond it. Strange things were happening in this town of his, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He certainly wished the Chief was there to help him figure it out, though.

Chapter 24

Tex looked up in surprise when his wife and daughter entered the room, a dazed-looking Charlene Butterwick supported between them.

“You better take a look at her, honey,” said Marge. “I think something is very wrong.”

“She collapsed in the middle of the street just now,” Odelia added.

Immediately he instructed the Mayor to be laid down on his consultation table and as he shone a light into her eyes, he immediately saw that Marge was right: Charlene’s pupil response was not what it should be.

“It looks like she’s been drugged,” he said after a moment. “Charlene? Charlene, honey, did you take any pills in the last twenty-four hours? Sleeping pills maybe?”

But Charlene shook her head. “I hate sleeping pills,” she said sleepily, slurring her words a little. “They make me feel so… sssleepy.”

“I think we should take her to the hospital,” said Tex. “Do a blood test to find out what she’s taken. She’s clearly under the influence of something, that much I can tell you.”

“Do you think the same people who took Uncle Alec gave her something?” asked Odelia. “Maybe injected her with something?”

“Could be,” said Tex, as he sat Charlene upright again and did a few more tests to ascertain if the Mayor needed an ambulance or if she would be able to make it to the hospital under her own steam. “Her vital signs are good,” he murmured after checking her pulse and having a listen to her heart. “I don’t think she’s in any immediate danger. But I’d like to have her admitted just in case.”

“We’ll take her,” said Odelia. “Charlene? Can you walk?” she asked, and the Mayor nodded.

“Oh, sure,” she said. “I’m a big walker. You should see me walking. I’m great at walking.” And as she got up off the table, she immediately went down and fell flat on the floor.

When they got out of her dad’s doctor’s office, Odelia noticed to her dismay that her cats had all skedaddled. At least this time they probably hadn’t been kidnapped and given away as a wedding present—she hoped!

They drove Charlene to the hospital, where they promised them they’d take really good care of her, and then Odelia dropped her mom off at the library so she could finally start her working day, before heading into the office herself.

Dan Goory, when she arrived, was waiting for her, looking distinctly concerned.

“You didn’t have to come in, honey,” he said when he saw her. “I would have understood. What with your uncle having gone missing and all.”

Dan was the only person outside of the family Odelia had confided in, knowing he wouldn’t blab about it.

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “I better keep working. Otherwise I just keep running through the whole sequence of events in my mind over and over again, and there’s nothing I can do anyway.”

“Is Chase making any progress?” asked her boss, caressing his long white beard, a look of concern in his lively eyes.

“There have been some developments,” she said, “but nothing concrete, I’m afraid.”

Dan nodded. “I don’t know what this town is coming to, when the chief of police himself gets kidnapped. Maybe you should arrange for some extra security for your family?”

“I’m sure that Chase will protect us,” she said, taking a seat behind her desk.

“I saw your mom and dad on TV last night,” said her editor, a smile making his beard waggle. “Did they really win the lottery?”

“Yeah, they did,” she said, also smiling a tired smile now. “Though they didn’t exactly win it fair and square,” she added, her frown returning. And she told the Gazette editor about what happened.

“So the winning ticket arrived in the mail? That’s odd.”

“Yeah, clearly someone wanted them to win.”

“But who?”

She shrugged. “A well-wisher? One of Dad’s patients, expressing their gratitude?”

“Something peculiar happened to me, too,” said Dan as he took a seat on the edge of her desk. “You know how I’ve always wanted to complete my train set, right? The one I started years ago?”

Odelia remembered he’d built an elaborate train set in his attic. He’d once shown it to her, and it was pretty amazing. It took up half the space, and consisted of an entire town built around the train set now, complete with hills, bridges, tunnels and small houses and cars and people. He’d spent the best part of a decade building it.

“Well, the key part of my collection had been missing until now: the D-4560 locomotive.”

“Only three remaining models exist,” she said, nodding. He’d told her the story many times, how he’d tried to buy it but failed, since the price of the coveted model locomotive was upwards of a hundred grand now.

“Last night I got a delivery,” said the aged newspaper chief, his face splitting into a smile, “and lo and behold, it contained the D-4560! And in pristine condition, too!”

“But… how is that possible?”

“I don’t know, but it looks like some secret admirer must have sent it to me.”

“No address on the package?”

“None. But I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Odelia. I’m keeping it and sending my silent thanks to whoever shipped it to me.”

“Well, that’s great,” she said. He looked as happy as a kid on Christmas morning, and she thought it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.

“And the strange thing is,” said Dan as he got up, “that that woman predicted this would happen, and then it did!”

“What woman?”

“Well, Madame Solange, of course. Didn’t I tell you I went to see her a couple of days ago? I told her about this hobby of mine, and she said I was going to come into possession of the locomotive very soon now. I didn’t believe her at the time, of course,” he said, patting the doorjamb as he walked out. “But now I definitely do!”

Odelia stared after her boss as he turned into his own office, whistling a merry tune as he did, and blinked. Madame Solange. First she predicted Mom and Dad’s lottery win, and now Dan’s locomotive. Maybe it was time she paid a visit to this mysterious fortune teller, and asked her if she knew where Uncle Alec was. She wasn’t a big believer in that sort of thing, but frankly she was willing to try anything to get her beloved uncle back.

Chapter 25

“I like this espionage business, Max,” said Norm as he buzzed along over our heads. “I think maybe I missed my calling in life. I should have been a spy.”

“That’s great, Norm,” I said as we pranced along the sidewalk in search of a potential witness who could tell us what had happened to Odelia’s uncle.

“So is it true that flies feed on the kind of stuff that us cats think is a little gross?” asked Dooley.

“What do you mean, gross?” asked Norm.

“Well, things like garbage, and, um, horse manure?”

“And pig shit,” I said. “And cow dung.”

“Oh, sure. I love me a good helping of cow dung,” said Norm, showing no shame at his choice of nourishment whatsoever, and nor he should, as far as I was concerned. “Though what I like most, of course, is a good, thick pile of elephant dung.”

“Elephant dung?” I asked with a laugh. “Where do you find elephants around here?” And then I remembered the parade from the day before. “Oh, you mean the fairground?”

“Sure. I’ve been spending a lot of time over there, and the food they’ve got at that place is simply to die for. Yum-my!”

“Better you than me, Norm,” I said, the thought of elephant dung not exactly filling me with relish.

We’d arrived at the General Store, where one of our main sources of information was lazily lounging on his owner’s checkout counter, not a care in the world.

Wilbur Vickery, meanwhile, sat ringing up the wares his customers were dumping on the conveyor belt. He was looking pretty chipper, I thought.

Kingman opened a lazy eye when we approached and then closed it again. “Come back later, fellas,” he said. “I’m just having the best dream of my life and you’re ruining it.” Then, moments later, he opened his eyes again with a sigh. “Yeah, it’s gone. What do you want? And can you please get rid of this horrible fly?”

“Oh, this is Norm, Kingman,” said Dooley. “He’s our friend.”

Kingman gave Dooley a critical look. “I think I must have misheard you, buddy. For a moment there I thought you said you’re friends with a fly. But that’s impossible, because as we all know flies are the harbingers of death and decay. They feed on crap and then carry that same crap onto our shiny coats of fur, which is a very rude thing to do indeed.”

“I promise I’ll never carry any dung onto your fur, good sir,” said Norm now.

“And it speaks,” said Kingman with a sigh. “Of course it does.”

“Our human has gone missing, Kingman,” I said, deciding to cut right to the chase and develop the theme I’d come to discuss. “Uncle Alec? He was taken from the home of his girlfriend two nights ago and hasn’t been seen since.”

“I thought he was getting married? Wasn’t there something in the paper yesterday? It’s gotten a big buzz all around town. Even Wilbur couldn’t shut up about it. I think he’s got a thing for the Mayor himself, so the announcement hit him pretty hard.”

“Yeah, that announcement was bogus,” I said. “One of the demands the kidnappers made was to print it in the Gazette. We have no idea why.”

“The weirdest thing,” Kingman agreed. “But then things have gotten a little weird around here lately. Did you know that Wilbur received a wedding proposal from an English princess? Girl named Frances. She’s supposed to be Prince Charles’s third child, though as far as I’m aware Prince Charles only has two kids, both boys. But this Princess Frances wrote a long letter, saying how she saw Wilbur’s picture on his Facebook page and immediately fell head over heels in love with him and now she wants to marry him.”

We glanced up at Wilbur, whose stubbled jaw was working furiously as he watched a Droopy cartoon on the small television he keeps next to his cash register, and abruptly burst into raucous laughter, spitting out a piece of beef jerky he’d been chewing on.

“Why anyone would want to marry that guy is beyond me,” said Norm, and I think he spoke for all of us.

“An English princess?” I said, figuring I hadn’t heard right.

“Yah,” said Kingman.

“The only daughter of the future king of England.”

“Yah.”

“Has fallen head over heels in love with Wilbur?”

“Yah. Pretty damn weird, huh? And even weirder? Just before this letter arrived, carrying the official letterhead of Buckingham Palace and everything, Wilbur had gone to see this psychic at the fair? And she’d told him he would meet a genuine blue blood soon and would marry into one of the most famous royal families in the world. So now Wilbur figures it was all meant to be.” The spreading cat sighed and placed his head on his paws. “I just hope I’ll get along with these Corgis. I hear they’re pretty tough little buggers.”

I’d met the Queen’s corgis, and I could confirm that they were, indeed, pretty tough, but since I didn’t think Wilbur stood a snowball’s chance in hell of getting hitched with the non-existent daughter of Prince Charles, I didn’t even want to waste my breath telling him about this. Instead, I said, “So no news on Uncle Alec, I presume?”

“Nope. Haven’t seen the guy, and haven’t heard anything about this mysterious disappearance either, I’m afraid.” He glanced at Norm, who’d taken a seat on a loaf of bread placed behind the counter. “Don’t you dare, Norm,” he said warningly.

“Oh, hold your horses, big cat,” said Norm, taking flight again. “I wasn’t going to relieve myself if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know what you flies are like,” grunted Kingman.

“Well, I happen to be a clean fly,” said Norm. “And so I don’t simply relieve myself on any old object I come across.”

“Good for you,” said Kingman, and closed his eyes again, indicating our audience was at an end.

So we took our leave, and as we walked along, Dooley said, “Do you really think Wilbur will be moving to England soon, Max? And maybe become the next king?”

“No, I don’t, Dooley,” I said. “I think someone is playing a cruel trick on Wilbur, and I’d very much like to find out who is behind this letter from this so-called Princess Frances.”

“It’s true, you know,” said Norm. “I pick the places I do my business in or on very carefully. I have strict rules about that—rules I learned dandling on my mother’s knee.”

“Do flies dandle on their mother’s knee?” I asked, surprised.

“Oh, sure. And she never failed to tell me that the best way to earn the respect of my peers is to do my business where no one will notice. Like on black toilet seats. Or in people’s stews, or in a baker’s freshly prepared dough. Or on the hood of dark sedans. Or even in a cup of coffee. People never notice when I take a tiny dump in their cup of coffee, and I like to think it adds that little bit of extra flavor a nice cup of coffee needs.”

I swallowed away a lump of uneasiness. Somehow I had a feeling that our newly formed friendship with Norm the fly was akin to dancing with the devil. Or worse!

Chapter 26

Vesta Muffin and Scarlett Canyon were seated in the outdoor dining area of the Hampton Cove Star again, their usual haunt when they weren’t trying to break into Town Hall, or planting bugs in mayoral homes.

“I think Charlene did it,” said Vesta now as she took a sip from her hot chocolate, a layer of foamy cream taking residence on her upper lip.

Scarlett stared at the phenomenon, then said, “Have you thought about shaving off that mustache of yours? If you want I can do it for you.”

“What mustache? I don’t have a mustache.”

“Yeah, you do. I would have a mustache, if I didn’t kill the sucker every week or so.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vesta grumbled as she licked the foam from her upper lip and inadvertently touched a finger to the spot under discussion.

“Waxing is best, of course,” said Scarlett, taking a sip from her own flat white, to which she’d added a small helping of liquor from a flask she kept in her purse. After the events of last night she needed a pick-me-up. “Though you could try shaving, of course.”

“Let’s not get distracted here,” said Vesta. “Did you hear what I just said or not?”

“Yeah, now you’re peddling the theory that Charlene kidnapped your son. But why in heaven’s name would she do that?”

“Because she’s that kind of woman! Some women are nurturers, and others are kidnappers, and Charlene clearly belongs in the latter category. I think she wants my son to marry her, and Alec, who’s no fool, said no way in hell, and so she’s got him locked up in her basement until he cracks and in the meantime she printed the announcement in the papers to add pressure.”

Scarlett cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her friend. “You think Charlene is keeping your son locked up in her basement.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Like a serial killer.”

“Absolutely. She’s got that look in her eye.”

“I think you’ve got that look in your eye, honey. The look that says you’re going bananas. And I’m blaming it on that mustache. Those hairs have probably penetrated your brain and are doing some serious damage up there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yank those suckers out, Vesta, before they make you go completely cuckoo! It’s a proven fact that ingrown hair is making people lose their minds. Dementia? Alzheimer’s? It’s all because of those nasty little hairs. So if you just let me,” she said, and leaned forward with a pair of tweezers in her hand.

“Where did those come from?” asked Vesta, recoiling.

“Let me just yank one of those suckers out and tell me how it feels.”

“Don’t come near me with that thing!”

“Just one, and if you don’t feel an immediate relief on the brain my name isn’t Scarlett Marie Gracie Canyon.”

“If you touch me I’m going to smack you in the face, Scarlett—I mean it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I would.”

Scarlett retracted the tweezers and tucked them into her purse. “Suit yourself. But if your brain suddenly starts going soft don’t come crying to me.”

“I won’t. Now are you with me on this or what?”

“With you on what?”

“That’s what I just said.” Vesta stared at her chocolate and then took a sniff. “Did you add that filthy liquor of yours to my hot cocoa?”

“Sure,” said Scarlett, slurring her words a little. “I figured you needed it, and so do I.”

“You’re trying to get me drunk!”

“I’m not!”

“You’re the worst friend in the world, Scarlett, you know that?”

“I am not. Would the worst friend in the world try to save you from dementia, Alzheimer’s and that nasty mustache?”

“Good God,” said Vesta, shaking her head.

“Close, but no cigar,” said Scarlett, and drained the rest of her coffee, then smacked her lips. “You know what? I think I’ll have another.”

Just then a camera crew suddenly materialized in front of them, and both women stared at the cameraman and the reporter who was holding his microphone aloft. The guy was wearing the most ridiculous glasses, and the most ridiculous goatee. “Do you ladies know by any chance where we can find Wilbur Vickery?” he asked chipperly.

“Over there,” said Vesta automatically, pointing in the direction of the General Store located right across the street.

“Thanks,” said the guy, flashed her a toothpaste smile, and started in the direction indicated.

“Hey, aren’t you going to tell us what’s going on?” asked Scarlett, liquor always making her a little belligerent.

“Tune into WLBC-9, darling,” said the reporter.

“Or check our website,” said the camera guy with a bored expression on his face as he trudged along behind the reporter.

So Scarlett and Vesta both got out their phones and checked the local TV station’s website, and sure enough Wilbur Vickery was the lead article.

They both stared at their phones for a moment, then Vesta read, in a thick voice, “Hot-blooded local shopkeeper to marry blue-blooded English rose—Madame Solange strikes it out of the park again.” She glanced up at her friend. “What the hell?”

“I think it’s time we go and see this Madame Solange,” said Scarlett. “I want to marry a hot-blooded blue blood, too, dammit!”

“And you will, Scarlett, honey,” said Vesta, patting her friend gingerly on the arm, then accidentally missing her approach shot and almost falling out of her chair. “But first we need to save my son,” she added, wagging a finger in Scarlett’s face and almost poking her eye out. “It’s important to me. I’m all that poor boy’s got, you know.”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” said Scarlett, “but only if you let me yank out that big sucker right under your nose!” And she got out those damn tweezers again!

When the waiter in charge of the Star’s outside dining area came to see if his customers were satisfied, he found Scarlett chasing her friend around, armed with some kind of weapon, and screaming, “It’s for your own good, Vesta! Let me save your life!”

Chapter 27

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Odelia as she watched a couple of kids come skipping out of a trailer, giggling all the while.

“Yes, honey. Trust me,” said her mom. “Now let’s do this.”

It had been Odelia’s idea to visit this Madame Solange and enlist her in the quest to find her uncle and Mom’s brother. She hadn’t told Chase, as the cop would probably think that enlisting psychics or whatever Madame Solange was, probably was taking things too far. But at this point Odelia felt that any help would be appreciated, as neither her cats nor Chase had been able to locate the missing police chief so far.

“Okay, let’s just get it over with,” she said and set foot for the trailer.

A burly male suddenly materialized in the doorway and gave them a look that wasn’t exactly inducive to repeat customership.

“We would like to see Madame Solange,” said Odelia primly. “We can pay her,” she added, indicating her purse.

“Step inside,” said the man. “Madame Solange will see you now.”

“Thanks,” said Odelia, and negotiated the three steps that led into the trailer. It was one of those brightly colored contraptions, made out of wood, painted a cheerful green, yellow and blue, and once inside she discovered it was a lot roomier than she’d expected. “This looks nice,” she said. “I wonder who Madame Solange’s interior decorator is.”

There was a modest little waiting area, where a few chairs had been placed, and a curtained-off area where she assumed the fortune teller conducted her business.

“Um, I guess we’re supposed to wait here,” she said, and took a seat.

“Oh, darn,” said her mom. “I forgot to bring cash. I hope she takes Visa.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” said Odelia, glancing around. All along the wall testimonials had been framed, and she read a couple of them. ‘Madame Solange predicted I’d become a millionaire before my nineteenth birthday, and I did!’ one read. ‘Madame Solange said I’d marry my childhood sweetheart, and guess what? I’m getting married next month!’ another excited testimonial read. “This Madame Solange sure has a high success rate,” she said as she read a few more messages.

“Do you think she’ll take a check?” Mom murmured as she rummaged around in her purse. “Looks like I forgot to bring my credit cards, too.”

Odelia placed a hand on her mom’s arm. “Relax, Mom. You were here before, weren’t you? So you know the drill.”

“Yeah, but your dad took care of everything. We should have asked him to come along.”

“It’ll be fine,” Odelia repeated, though she was feeling a little nervous herself. She’d never been to one of these fortune tellers before, and didn’t know what to expect. “So does she work with cards or a crystal ball or what?” she asked.

“Crystal ball,” said Mom with a nod. “Though she hardly even looked at the thing.”

Just then, the curtain was shoved aside, and Madame Solange appeared. She was younger than Odelia had expected, and prettier. Somehow she’d thought a fortune teller should be an old crone, with a hook nose, a big fat wart, and looking like an evil witch.

“Come in,” said Madame Solange, giving both women a warm smile, and so Odelia took a deep breath and walked into the inner sanctum of the teller of all fortunes.

They took a seat at a small round table, and Madame Solange adjusted her robe, which was a nice brocade with gold thread, and must have cost her a pretty penny.

All around, the walls were papered with an expensive velvet wallpaper with the same gold thread, and on the floor a thick carpet lay. Subdued lighting lent the small room an intimate atmosphere, and the lack of windows made Odelia feel slightly claustrophobic, which was probably intentional. They’d clearly entered a completely different world.

“Now what can I do for you?” asked Solange, still that faint smile playing about her lips. “Oh, and before we begin, I have to warn you that this session is being filmed.” She gestured to a camera that was mounted against the wall behind her, and which Odelia only now saw. “I’m being followed for a whole year,” Solange explained, “as part of a documentary. They’re doing a six-part series on me and the fairground in general—but me in particular,” she said with a touch of pride. “So I hope you have no objections?”

“No, that’s fine,” said Odelia, who didn’t care. “My uncle has gone missing,” she said. “And I was wondering—my mom and I were wondering if you could help us find him.”

“Your uncle…” said Solange, nodding, and revealed a neat crystal ball by pulling away an intricately stitched doily. She touched the ball with her hands and closed her eyes. “Name?”

“Alec Lip,” said Odelia. “He’s our chief of police, and he went missing two nights ago.”

“Kidnapped,” said Mom, glancing intently at Solange and drinking in the woman’s every move.

“Yeah, three men took him,” Odelia explained, “from the home of his girlfriend, Hampton Cove’s mayor Charlene Butterwick.”

Solange nodded imperceptibly, her eyes still closed, then murmured, “I see him… large man, imposing… humble and well-liked in the local community…”

“Yeah, my uncle is pretty popu—”

“He’s gone,” said Solange abruptly, opening her eyes and adopting a more prosaic tone as she covered up her crystal ball again.

“Gone?” asked Odelia, surprised by this sudden change of demeanor. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Just that. He’s gone. And he doesn’t want to be found. Your uncle,” said Solange with a sigh, “wasn’t happy with the life he lived, so he decided he needed a break and took off.”

“Took off?” asked Mom, alarmed. “Where to?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Solange. “Your brother doesn’t want me to.”

“But… you know where he is?” asked Odelia.

“Oh, sure. Madame Solange knows all. But I have to respect your uncle’s wishes, so I can’t tell you where he is. That’ll be fifty bucks,” she added, holding out her hand.

The moment they were ushered out of Madame Solange’s camper, Odelia shared a look of shock with her mother. “He took off?” she said.

“I don’t believe this,” said Mom.

“Something’s not right,” said Odelia. “Obviously Solange doesn’t have a clue what happened to Uncle Alec and she’s inventing some crazy story about him taking off.”

“But she was right about the lottery,” Mom pointed out.

Odelia was shaking her head, directing annoyed glances at the van where Solange now sat counting her money. That big burly guy was back, standing in the entrance and pointedly ignoring them. He was some kind of security person, she reckoned, making sure Madame Solange’s unhappy customers couldn’t lodge a complaint with the fortune teller, or demand their money back.

Just then, Odelia thought she saw a familiar figure. It was a man, built like her uncle, only this particular person had a full head of hair and a thick, red mustache. “Look at that guy over there, Mom,” she said.

“Hey, he looks just like Alec,” said Mom. “Only with more hair. A lot more hair.”

He was dressed differently, too, with black leather pants, black leather vest, and cowboy boots. His hair was also black and slicked back with gel. And he was the possessor of a pair of impressive sideburns, and generally rocking a rockabilly style.

“Sir!” said Odelia, calling out to the man. “Can we have a word, please, sir!”

But the man, if he’d heard them, wasn’t heeding her call. Instead he kept on walking.

“Sir, Hold up, sir!” Odelia yelled, and made to follow the man. But soon he’d disappeared in the maze of trailers and stalls and the mass of people milling about.

Weird, she thought. He must have heard her.

Then she shrugged. Probably just a coincidence. So she returned to her mom.

Only when she got back to Solange’s trailer… Mom was nowhere to be found.

Chapter 28

Norm was happy. In fact the busily buzzing fly was ecstatic. Not only had he found himself a couple of great new friends but he’d also discovered his purpose in life: to be the bug equivalent of James Bond. A spy fly. Handsome and debonair. In other words a pretty fly fly. And so he’d been practicing his line all morning: ‘My name is Fly. Norm the Fly.’

It was a catchy line, and he was pretty sure it would attract a great deal of attention from lady flies. And in fact his wandering eye—all 4500 facets of it—had already spotted just such a deserving lady fly sitting on a shop window, busily cleaning her wings.

She was a shapely fly, he thought—one of those green flies that like to sit on a nice slice of steak, then sit on a pile of cow dung, then sit on a nice piece of cheese, and so on and so forth. Flies like to change things up, and have some variety in their diet, after all.

So Norm now flew in the direction of this lady fly, keen to make her acquaintance, and he was already practicing his line when suddenly he saw a familiar face appear on one of the many television screens lined up behind the shop window: it was none other than Tex Poole, the father of his new friends’ human.

“Hey, you guys,” he said therefore, for the moment neglecting his role as the new Lothario amongst flies and putting his duty to his newfound friends before carnal desire.

Max and Dooley came trotting up, and were as surprised as he was to see Tex Poole’s face reflected in two dozen televisions. Of course Tex Poole’s face was also being reflected in Norm’s multi-faceted compound eyes but that was neither here nor there.

“Hey, look, Max,” said Dooley, the large orange cat’s not-so-smart sidekick. “It’s Tex.”

“Yeah, and Marge,” said Max.

And indeed the chunky orange cat wasn’t lying: Marge Poole now also featured on the televisions, being interviewed alongside her husband.

“Let’s find out what’s going on,” said Max, and hurried in through the open shop door, followed by Dooley and of course Norm, buzzing right in.

For a moment they sat and watched the interview. It seemed to revolve around a lottery the couple had won, and a cruise they were going to take. Not all that earth-shattering, Norm would have thought, as he wasn’t particularly interested in cruises—much too windy for his taste, but Max and Dooley drank it all in. And when next a man was featured named Barry, announcing his upcoming nuptials with a cop named Sarah Flunk, the cats’ excitement increased. The interview with the happy couple—though Norm thought the man looked distinctly nervous indeed—was followed by an interview with Wilbur Vickery, the guy whose cat they’d just talked to. Wilbur announced he was now engaged to be married to an actual live princess and would just as soon like to be addressed from now on as Prince Wilbur if it was all the same to his clientele, whom he unfortunately would have to leave soon to take up residence at a castle in England.

Finally the series of interviews concluded with a man named Dan Goory, who looked like Father Time with his long white beard, and whose sole joy in life seemed to be to play with his trains, and especially a very fancy new locomotive he’d just come into the possession of.

By then Norm was already glancing in the direction of that lady fly again, but unfortunately for him she’d taken off, presumably to go sit on some dog poo.

And as they walked out of the shop again, Dooley excitedly said to his friend, “This Madame Solange is amazing, Max. Maybe we should go and pay her a visit. She seems to make everyone’s wishes come true!”

“Yeah, she does seem to be some kind of wonder woman,” said Max, though he seemed a smidgen less excited than his comrade.

“You don’t have a secret wish you would like to see fulfilled, Max?” asked Norm.

“Oh, sure. Lots of wishes. But I’m of the principle that when something looks too good to be true, it generally is. And this Madame Solange looks like such a miracle worker I’m starting to think there’s something not completely on the up and up.”

“That’s because you’re a cynic, Max,” said Dooley. “And being a cynic is not good for you, you know. You should be open to what life has to offer, and not look a gift cow in the mouth.”

“I think the animal you’re referring to is a horse, Dooley,” said Max.

Dooley thought about this for a moment, then said, “No, definitely a cow, Max.”

“I do think maybe we should pay a visit to this Madame Solange,” said Max, “but not to ask her to make our wishes come true but to see what’s going on. Her name keeps popping up, and I would like to know why.”

“Because she’s a miracle worker, Max,” said Dooley. “Just like you said. And miracle workers should be cherished, not looked upon with suspicion.”

“All right, Dooley,” said Max. “I promise I’ll go in with an open mind, all right?”

“An open mind and an open heart, Max.”

“Fine. An open mind and an open heart.”

“And let’s not forget to keep an open stomach, too,” said Norm, who liked to have his priorities straight at all times.

And so it was decided: they’d pay a visit to the fair and learn about the wonders Madame Solange could work for two cats and a fly. At the very least there would be some nice elephant dung to be sampled.

Chapter 29

Marge woke up feeling nauseous and wondering where she was. The room was small but cozily furnished, the couch she was lying on soft and comfortable, but one thing was for sure: she wasn’t home. Then she heard a noise and made to get up, only to sink back down again, a dizzy spell forcing her to take it easy.

Finally, when the dizziness subsided, she slowly got into an upright position and glanced out through the window and saw that she was still at the fair: people were walking around outside, and she now figured she’d probably fainted for some reason and some nice folks had put her here to recover.

So where was her daughter? Probably gone to get some professional help, she figured, and so she got to her feet.

And she was just testing her ability to stand upright without toppling over when a dark-haired woman entered the small space and gave her a radiant smile. She closely resembled Madame Solange, only a little older, her face more weathered than Solange’s.

“I see you’ve regained consciousness?” said the woman in a silky voice that sounded very pleasant to Marge’s ears.

“What happened?”

“Oh, you passed out,” said the woman. “So they brought you here.”

“Where is my daughter?”

“She’ll be here soon,” the woman assured her, and invited her to take a seat again, “before you hurt yourself falling down.”

“Thank you so much for this,” said Marge, taking a seat as indicated.

“Oh, nonsense,” said the woman. “I’m here to help, Marge. So where is your husband? Didn’t he join you today?”

Marge wondered how this woman knew she had a husband, but then figured Solange must have told her. “He’s at work,” she said. “Tex is a doctor,” she added for good measure.

“That’s nice,” said the woman vaguely, and added, “Now let me take a closer look at you, dear. Yes, just look into my eyes for a moment. That’s it. There we go…”

Marge didn’t know why, but as she gazed into the woman’s dark green eyes, she suddenly started feeling very hot indeed, and then before she knew what was happening, she was tumbling down into that same abyss she’d just woken up from. Tumbling and tumbling and tumbling…

“Have you seen my mom?” Odelia asked the guard standing outside Madame Solange’s trailer. “She was right there just now, and now she’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” said the guy, a little gruffly.

“But… did she go off somewhere?”

The bulky man shrugged, and it was obvious he either didn’t know or didn’t care.

So Odelia decided her mom must have gotten bored waiting for her daughter to return, and must have walked off somewhere to look at some of the other stalls—and there certainly were many of them—dozens or maybe even hundreds—and all of them well-frequented by Hampton Covians having come out in droves for this festive occasion.

Especially kids seemed to be having a ball with the shooting galleries, and the bumper cars and the merry-go-round or even the big Ferris wheel.

So Odelia wandered around a little aimlessly, hoping to bump into her mom again, but when she didn’t, took out her phone and tried her mom’s cell instead. There was no response, and after a moment Mom’s voice invited her to leave a message after the beep.

Weird, she thought with a frown. Mom never neglected to pick up her phone when her daughter called. Could be, of course, that she simply wasn’t hearing the ringtone over the din. And soon Odelia found her thoughts returning to the strange events surrounding her uncle’s disappearance. First the man was kidnapped from Charlene’s home, and now Madame Solange claimed he’d simply taken off to start a new life?

It just didn’t make any sense, though of course Solange would say something like that. Odelia wasn’t a big believer in fortune tellers, and so she didn’t for one minute think Solange was right.

Uncle Alec would never take off like this. Not without talking things through with his nearest and dearest first. Besides, he loved his job, and he loved his new life with Charlene. And though that wedding announcement had been bogus, Odelia wouldn’t put it past the couple to tie the knot at some point in the future.

And just when she figured she’d better call it a day and go home, she suddenly thought she saw her uncle’s lookalike again: the man was walking not fifty feet in front of her, licking from an ice cream cone and taking in the sights. So this time she decided to play it cool and stalk the man before he skedaddled again.

She didn’t think the man’s appearance was related to her uncle’s disappearance at all, but the resemblance was so uncanny she felt the need to have a little chat with him.

So she carefully trailed the man and soon discovered he was wending his way back to where Madame Solange’s trailer was parked. And before she had the chance to talk to him, he’d set foot for a trailer right next to Solange’s, and disappeared inside.

For a moment Odelia wavered, then she steeled herself and walked up to the trailer and knocked on the door.

Moments later, the door opened and the man appeared, looking at her a little dumbly.

“Yes?” he said finally.

“Hi, sir,”’ said Odelia. “I know this must sound strange to you, but you look so very much like my uncle that I was wondering if perhaps—”

“Your uncle? Who’s your uncle?” asked the man, speaking bluntly.

“Alec Lip. He disappeared two days ago, and I’ve been looking for him, and when I saw you earlier, I just thought…”

“Yes?” said the man, not very invitingly.

She suddenly felt very silly. Plenty of people resembled other people, and just because this man shared a certain resemblance to her uncle didn’t mean anything.

“What’s your name, sir, if you don’t mind my asking?” she said finally.

“Wolf Moonblood,” said the man, “and I’m afraid I’ve never seen you before, miss…”

“Poole,” she said, holding out her hand. “Odelia Poole.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Poole,” said the man, taking her hand and giving it a quick and unenthusiastic shake. “But I don’t think I’ve ever met this uncle of yours—this Alec Lip. And you say he’s gone missing?”

“Yes, he was kidnapped.”

“That’s too bad,” said the man, not displaying much sympathy. “Well, if there’s nothing more…”

“No, I’m sorry for taking up your time,” said Odelia, feeling exceedingly stupid now and taking a step back.

“Goodbye, Miss Poole,” said the man, and withdrew inside the trailer once more.

Odelia stared at the closed door for a moment, and marveled at the striking resemblance both men shared. Though Uncle Alec would never want to be seen dead looking like an aged and much heavier version of John Travolta in Grease.

Then she decided she was wasting her time, and walked away.

Wherever her uncle was, it definitely wasn’t here.

Chapter 30

“Come on, Brutus,” said Harriet. “There has to be someone in this town who knows something.”

“I know, but how do we find them?” asked Brutus miserably.

They’d been paying visits to all of their usual haunts but so far had found no one who could shed some light on Uncle Alec’s disappearance, or the man with the crooked nose and the cauliflower ears. Usually the modest size of Hampton Cove worked against these crooks and gangsters, as there was always some dog walker or pensioner who’d caught sight of their misdeeds. But not this time.

“We haven’t talked to Buster yet,” Harriet pointed out. “If anyone can help us, it’s him.”

Buster was the cat belonging to Fido Siniawski, the hairdresser, and as such usually very well-informed indeed.

Harriet and Brutus walked into Fido’s shop, where already plenty of people were waiting to have their hair removed. Harriet had always thought this human habit of allowing other people to mess with their hairdo was one of that particular breed’s stranger quirks. She’d never want anyone to touch her nice and perfect fur. Then again, no human could ever hope to have fur as nice and shiny as hers.

“Hey, guys,” said Buster when they glanced around to see where the Main Coon was hanging out. “Did you hear the latest? Fido is selling his business and moving to Florida.”

“Florida?” asked Harriet, shocked. Fido was such a fixture in Hampton Cove it would be weird to see him leave.

“Yeah, he went to see some woman yesterday, some fortune teller? And she said he’d inherit a winery soon and would go and live in Florida. Now I have to add it’s always been Fido’s dream to inherit a winery and move to Florida. I think he got it from some movie he once saw, or a book he read. And even though I could have told him that we’ve got a pretty sweet life up here, of course he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Probably because he can’t understand a word you say,” Brutus pointed out.

“Yeah, there’s that, too,” Buster admitted. “So this morning, picture my surprise when Fido got a letter in the mail announcing the recent death of some uncle or whatever in Florida, leaving him his winery!”

“Amazing,” Harriet marveled.

“This Solange keeps getting it right,” said Brutus, equally impressed.

“Yeah, so it looks like it’s adieu from me, you guys.” Buster sighed. “I’d much rather stay here, though. I like Hampton Cove. And who knows if I’ll find friends as nice as you down there in Florida.”

“I hear they’ve got very nice alligators,” said Brutus with a grin.

“Yeah, that’s not exactly the same.”

“Oh, I’ll bet they’ve got cats, too,” said Harriet. “There’s cats everywhere, Buster. Even in Florida.”

“I hope so,” said Buster, but he didn’t look happy. “You know the weirdest thing, though? Fido didn’t even know he had an uncle in Florida.”

“Huh. That is weird,” said Harriet.

“So the reason we’re here,” said Brutus, “is to find out what happened to Chief Alec. He’s been kidnapped, and we can’t seem to find him.”

“Kidnapped! You don’t say.”

“Yeah, I do say,” said Brutus. “So do you have any idea where he might be? Anything you might have overheard or seen?”

The Main Coon thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. In fact this is the first I’ve heard of this kidnapping business. Fido hasn’t mentioned it either, that’s for sure.”

“Ok, thanks, buddy,” said Brutus.

“If you do hear something, let us know,” Harriet added, feeling a little dispirited now that even Buster was a bust.

“Oh, sure,” said Buster. “And let’s get together before I take off for Florida.” He smiled a wistful smile. “I don’t want to leave before saying goodbye to all of my friends.”

“Buster didn’t seem happy about the big move, did he?” said Harriet once they’d left the barbershop.

“I don’t blame him,” said Brutus. “If Odelia suddenly decides to move to Florida I wouldn’t be happy either. Leaving all our friends behind.”

“Yeah, but that’s life, isn’t it? Sometimes you just have to go with the flow. And a winery in Florida? I think that would be a great new adventure.”

Brutus gave her a curious look. “You’re not secretly hoping Odelia wins a winery in Florida, are you?”

“I’m just saying if it did happen, I’d happily go along with it.”

“So what now?” asked Brutus, sinking down on his haunches. They were sitting on the corner of Main Street and Downing Street, and wondering where to go from there.

“I don’t know,” said Harriet. “I’ve run out of ideas, snow pea.”

“Me, too,” said Brutus, glancing around.

Suddenly Harriet saw a man with a funny-looking straw hat across the street and thought he looked familiar. “Hey,” she said. “Isn’t that Ted Trapper?”

“He looks… happy,” said Brutus, referring to their neighbor, the mild-mannered accountant Mr. Trapper.

Ted was coming their way, and as he passed was halted in his tracks by a bald man with bulbous eyes. “Trapper!” said the bald man. “I came to see you at the office and they said you weren’t there! What gives, man?”

“I just resigned, Matt,” said Ted, a big happy grin on his face. “I quit my job!”

“Quit your job? Are you crazy? A nice steady job like that?”

“We just won the Powerball! One hundred million dollars if you please! We’re rich!”

“Well, congratulations,” said Matt, shaking the ecstatic ex-accountant’s pudgy hand. “Say, could I perhaps trouble you for a small loan?” he asked as both men walked on. “How about a hundred thousand? Or better yet, make that two hundred.”

Harriet and Brutus shared a look of surprise. “It’s raining lottery winners these days,” said Brutus.

“Yeah, looks like,” said Harriet. “Hey, watch it!” she yelled when a woman practically stepped on her tail.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” said the woman, speaking into her phone while she waited for the lights to turn green. “I just talked to Madame Solange yesterday and today I got word that the adoption papers will be filed next week. We’ve been waiting two years, Maggie, and all of a sudden it’s happening next week!”

The lights did turn green then and the woman walked on, still excitedly chattering into her phone.

Harriet and Brutus shared a look, then nodded. “Let’s pay a visit to this Madame Solange,” said Harriet, saying what they were both thinking. “We could use a bit of luck.”

Chapter 31

“Max?”

“Yes, Dooley?”

“If Madame Solange is so smart, maybe she’ll be able to talk to us.”

“I doubt it, Dooley. It takes a very special skill to talk to cats, and I very much doubt whether Madame Solange possesses that particular skill.”

“We can always ask her,” Dooley suggested.

Sometimes Max was a little conservative in his views, he thought, and he liked to think it was his task to make him a little more open-minded.

They were staring up at the trailer that appeared to be the home of Madame Solange. A very large man stood sentry in front of the trailer, and looked like the kind of person who brooked no nonsense. As usual, though, he wasn’t paying any attention to them, and why would he? Two cats and a fly probably didn’t pose a threat to the instructions he was dutifully carrying out.

“I’ll bet she can talk to flies,” said Norm. “So what say if I go in first and start asking questions?”

Flies had such an easy time, Dooley thought. They could just come and go undetected, whereas cats, because of their size, were usually noticed right away.

“Let’s stick together,” Max now suggested. “It wouldn’t do to split up the team now.”

“Fair enough,” said Norm a little begrudgingly. “So how do you want to play this, Max?”

“We simply slip through the legs of that big man over there, and go and talk to Solange.”

“Great idea!” said Dooley, who hadn’t thought of that. But then that was why Max was in charge, of course: he always got the best ideas. A kernel of doubt suddenly entered Dooley’s mind, though. “What if this big man catches us, Max?”

“Yeah, he looks like the kind of guy who wouldn’t mind wringing your necks,” said Norm, carefully studying the man, “and stuffing you in his stew.”

“Stuff us in his stew!” said Dooley. “He wouldn’t!”

“Oh, yeah, he would,” said Norm. “Humans eat everything, Dooley, haven’t you learned that by now? If it lives and breathes, they don’t mind killing it and putting it in their stew.”

“But they’d never put us in their stew!” said Dooley, absolutely horrified at the prospect of ending up in the big man’s stew tonight. “Besides, we’re too hairy. Humans don’t like hairy things.” He’d witnessed this strange aversion of all things hairy only a couple of days ago, when Odelia had screamed the house down when she caught a hairy spider in the shower. Chase had had to catch it and put it outside.

“I didn’t say he’d eat you with hide and hair now did I?” said Norm. “First they skin you and then they put you in the stew.”

“Oh, no!” said Dooley, starting to panic. “Max! Let’s get out of here! I don’t want to lose my skin and end up in that big man’s stew!”

“Relax, Dooley,” said Max, as usual the epitome of chill. “No one is ending up in anyone’s stew. Not you, not me, and not Norm.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” said Norm. “Humans don’t eat the likes of me. On the contrary, they can’t wait to get rid of us when they find us floating in their soup.”

He was right, Dooley thought. He’d heard the expression ‘A fly in the soup’ before, and always it was spoken with a certain distaste. As if flies in the soup were a bad thing.

“Look, I’m sure Madame Solange doesn’t eat cats,” said Max, “and neither does her bodyguard, or whatever this guy is to her. So let’s just keep our cool and follow the mission plan, shall we?”

Dooley nodded, but his mind wasn’t at ease as he closely watched the big muscular man for any signs of cat-eating behavior. If there was one thing he’d learned about humans after associating with the species for all of his life, it was that they were highly unpredictable.

So as they approached the trailer now, and got ready to slip between the man’s legs, Dooley had to really screw up his courage to the sticking point, and follow Max’s lead lest he chickened out and ran for his life.

But as luck would have it, just then the man was distracted by a passerby saying hi, and as he was smiling at the woman, who was very pretty indeed—at least by human standards—Dooley and Max easily slipped into the trailer and then they were inside!

“We did it!” said Dooley. “And we didn’t get eaten!”

“Or maybe he let you pass, and now you’re stuck in here,” said Norm, ruining the moment with his pessimistic views.

“Let’s just go and find this Solange person,” Max suggested, “and we’ll worry about the rest later, shall we?”

“Good idea, Max,” said Dooley, casting a dark look at Norm, who was already buzzing off to inspect every nook and cranny of the trailer.

They were in some sort of waiting area, where several chairs had been placed. One woman sat waiting there, along with what looked like her daughter, both staring at their phones, and a curtain was hung where presumably Madame Solange held forth.

So they simply slipped through the curtain and then they were in the presence of greatness—or at least the now famous Madame Solange.

From up close and personal she looked even younger than from afar, and not like the kind of fortune tellers Dooley had seen on TV. For one thing she didn’t have a hook nose or a wart on the tip of that nose. And she didn’t smell of sulfur and camphor either.

“Are you sure this is Madame Solange?” he whispered.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Max as they both studied the fortune teller.

She was staring into a crystal ball, and sitting across from an older woman whom they both recognized as Ida Baumgartner, one of Tex Poole’s most loyal patients. Ida was intently studying a pot of cream, turning it over in her hands.

“Are you sure this will get rid of my rash?”

“Absolutely,” said Solange in melodious tones.

“Mh,” said Ida, clearly not convinced. “So can you tell my husband that his Picasso was stolen but then retrieved? Oh, and also tell him that my sciatica is much improved, no thanks to Dr. Poole, who sometimes seems to think I make up these many medical maladies I’ve been suffering from these last couple of years.” She’d opened the little pot of cream, dabbed a stubby finger in and applied some of it to her face, which was indeed very ruddy-looking, Dooley thought. “It doesn’t smell very nice,” she said critically.

Madame Solange darted a look at Ida that wasn’t all that friendly, Dooley thought, but then maybe that was simply her way.

“So if I understand you correctly your greatest wish in life would be for your husband to return from the dead?” said Solange now.

“Of course I know this is quite impossible,” said Ida primly, rubbing the cream all over her face now. “Though to be quite honest I don’t see why. I mean, they have people frozen and kept on ice until such time as their diseases can be cured, so I keep thinking I should have done the same with my dear, dear Burt.”

“I thought you said he died in a car crash?” asked Solange.

“Yes, he did. But still. Future scientists probably will be able to save his life—not the incompetent fools that worked on him at the hospital.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Well, at least I can talk to him now, through you, Madame Solange, for which I’m eternally grateful to be sure.” She leaned forward. “So has he told you already where he hid that diamond ring he always said he’d buy me?”

Madame Solange’s eyes suddenly glittered—a little mischievously, Dooley thought. “What if I tell you that your husband wants to come back to you, Ida? And what if I tell you that maybe—just maybe—he has found a way to do just that?”

Ida seemed taken aback by this. “Burt? Come back to me? But how?”

“Let’s just wait and see, shall we?” said the fortune teller, and abruptly placed the doily on top of her crystal ball. “That’ll be fifty dollars. And another fifty for the cream.”

And as Ida walked out, looking a little discombobulated, Max took this opportunity to jump up onto the chair the woman had vacated and said, “Can I please have a word with you, Madame Solange?”

Dooley held his breath as he watched Madame Solange slowly glance up at Max, then suddenly she frowned and said, “How did you get in here, you filthy creature? Out!”

And to show them that she meant what she said, she got up and made a sweeping motion in Max’s direction. “Out, I tell you!” she screamed. “I hate cats—hate them!”

And so Dooley and Max took their leave, hurrying out the same way they’d arrived: by slipping through the legs of that burly guard, who still stood chatting to the pretty young woman.

“I don’t think she could understand you, Max,” said Dooley once they’d put some distance between themselves and Madame Solange’s trailer.

“No, I don’t think so either,” said Max, panting from both the exertion and the emotion.

Then they both glanced around. “Um…” said Dooley, “so where is Norm?”

Oh, no! They’d left Norm behind! In the hands of that awful Madame Solange!

Chapter 32

“We can’t just break into her house in broad daylight,” said Scarlett.

“Of course we can,” said Vesta as she glanced across the street at the house in question.

“You seriously want to break into the Mayor’s house right now? When we’ve only just been released from prison for breaking into Town Hall?”

“Look, you don’t have kids, Scarlett, so you don’t understand,” said Vesta. “But I’d do anything to find my son, even if I find him chopped up and stuffed in Charlene’s freezer.”

Scarlett pursed her lips. “Well, if you put it that way…”

They were in Vesta’s little red Peugeot, parked across the street from the Mayor’s house, thinking up ways and means of doing exactly what the neighborhood watch tried to prevent: breaking and entering a house that wasn’t theirs.

“Okay, so why don’t we simply break a window?” Scarlett suggested now.

Vesta slowly turned to her. “Now you’re talking! I like this new and improved Scarlett Canyon.”

Scarlett simpered a little. “I just thought of it. I mean, why make things complicated, right?”

“Exactly! And if we get caught we’ll simply say we’re the neighborhood watch and we were informed burglars were burglarizing Charlene’s house and we got there too late to catch the culprits.”

“Brilliant!”

“I know,” said Vesta, feeling pretty good about her idea herself.

Why she hadn’t thought of that last night when they were caught breaking into Town Hall she didn’t know. But at least she’d thought of it now. Not that there would be cops around. Not with her son having been ‘kidnapped’ by kidnappers only Charlene had seen, which told her all she needed to know: the whole story was completely bogus.

“Let’s go,” she said, and then she and her fellow watch member were darting across the street and making a beeline for the back of Charlene’s house. Vesta had brought along the club she’d acquired for watch patrol purposes, and as they arrived on Charlene’s terrace, they discovered a wealth of glass they could easily break: there was the sliding glass door, there was the glass kitchen door, and there even was another window that offered a good view of the living room. A regular embarras de richesses!

“So which one do you want to break?” asked Scarlett, eagerly glancing at the large window that led into the living room.

But then Vesta noticed that a window had been left open on the second floor, and she figured that maybe they could manage without causing too much damage for a change.

“If you give me a boost, I think I might be able to reach there,” she said, indicating the window.

“Or if you give me a boost, I might be able to reach there,” Scarlett countered.

“I thought of it first, so you’re boosting me.”

“Yeah, but I’m taller so I’ll be able to reach that window a lot easier than you.”

“Exactly because you’re taller you’ll be able to give me a boost much quicker.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s toss a coin,” said Scarlett.

“Fine. Let’s,” said Vesta, and took a coin from her purse, then tossed it. The moment it landed, she said, “Heads.”

“Hey, no fair—you can’t call it after it lands!”

“Who cares! I won so you’re boosting me. Let’s go!”

“You’re impossible, you know that, right?”

“Stop yapping and start boosting already.”

So Scarlett got into position and moments later Vesta was reaching for the window.

“You’re much heavier than you look!” said Scarlett, groaning under the strain.

“I’m not. You’re weak, that’s the problem. Now lift me higher, will you?”

“Are you nuts? Do I look like a frickin’ weightlifter to you?”

“Higher!”

“Oh, screw this,” said Scarlett, and gave one last mighty push. Unfortunately Vesta had just positioned her head underneath the open window and now bumped it against the unyielding object, causing her to let out a sharp cry of pain, then topple down to earth, crashing into Scarlett, and causing the latter to topple over, too.

So when Officer Sarah Flunk rounded the corner ten seconds later, responding to a call from a concerned neighbor who’d witnessed the scene from his balcony window, she found two cursing old ladies trying to extricate themselves from a tangle of limbs.

“Oh, Vesta, Vesta,” said Officer Flunk, who was in a great mood because of her upcoming marriage to Barry Billong, “what is your son going to say when he sees this?”

Norm, after his friends Max and Dooley had been kicked out of Solange’s trailer, felt it was his duty to stick around, endangering life and limb, to try and complete the mission. It was, after all, what James Bond would have done. Of course James Bond would have tried to seduce Madame Solange and would probably have succeeded, eating up precious minutes of the movie’s runtime, but Norm didn’t think this was in the cards for him. Women rarely fall for fat flies, except maybe when they look like Jeff Goldblum.

“What did I tell you?” the fortune teller was saying to the muscular guard. “No cats!”

“I’m sorry, Solange,” said the security guard. “I didn’t see them.”

“What am I paying you for, Maxim? To always keep an eye out—even for cats!”

“It won’t happen again, Solange,” said Maxim ruefully, hanging his head, as far as a neckless man can hang his head, of course. Having been thoroughly chewed out, the guard took his leave and Norm took advantage of this lull in the proceedings to move into another curtained-off area and discover this was Madame Solange’s private space.

There was a dresser with a large mirror, and the paraphernalia of a woman’s beautifying processes strewn about. He saw several wigs, indicating that Madame Solange liked to change things up as far as her personal appearance was concerned, and also, and most importantly, there were portraits of a certain male bedecking every available surface: the walls, of course, but also framed pictures festooning the dresser and the little gateleg table next to the small couch and even the TV set where Solange presumably liked to watch some television in between predicting her clients’ future.

The male on display wasn’t a handsome male but he definitely had Solange’s affection: he was a pretty beefy sort of guy, with sideburns and that weird slicked-back coif so popular in the fifties. He sported the same black leather jacket in all the pictures, making Norm suspect he didn’t have enough money to buy himself more than one outfit.

Presumably Solange’s husband, he thought. He then shrugged and decided to skedaddle. James Bond would have interpreted the fascination of a woman for her own husband as a challenge and would have redoubled his efforts of seduction. James would also have discovered a secret lair underneath the trailer, with a hidden access panel, and he would most probably have been attacked by a one-armed assassin with a gold tooth and a pronounced limp protecting said lair, but then Norm’s life was a lot less exciting.

All he’d found were myriad pictures of a rockabilly dude with a weird haircut.

And as he buzzed out through an open window, he hovered over the fairground, gaining some altitude, before buzzing down again when he spotted Max and Dooley.

When he related his recent adventures they were as disappointed as he was.

This investigation wasn’t going anywhere fast, that much was obvious. But at least they’d all escaped with their lives, and that was something to be thankful for.

Chapter 33

As we left the fairground, both Dooley and I feeling a little dejected, we were soon joined by Norm, and as we walked on and he filled us in on what he’d discovered—nothing—we came across two familiar figures in the form of Harriet and Brutus.

“Are you going to see Madame Solange?” I asked. “If so, don’t bother.” And I told them what we’d found—a cat-hating fortune teller and plenty of pictures of Rockabilly Dude—also known as Wolf, Solange’s husband.

Harriet and Brutus both looked a little disappointed by this, and so we soon started our long trek home, to report to Odelia what we’d found—a big, fat nothingburger!

And we would have had only this disappointing news to share if we hadn’t suddenly come across a disheveled woman wandering about in the fields that separated the fairground from the first houses of Hampton Cove. For this woman was none other than Marge!

“Marge!” said Dooley.

Marge looked up in surprise. “Oh, hey, Dooley,” she said, giving us a slightly bewildered look. She was missing her shoes, for some reason, and her hair was a mess.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” said Dooley, observant as usual.

Marge glanced down at her feet as if seeing them for the first time. “You’re right,” she said after a moment, “and they were new shoes, too.” She directed a confused look back at the fairground, whose Ferris wheel and rollercoaster could easily be seen. We could even hear the merry screams of fun of people being jerked around and loving every minute of it. “Um, where am I?” she asked then, a clear sign not everything was as it should be in the world of Marge Poole.

“Did you visit the fair?” I asked, gesturing to the Ferris wheel going round and round.

My human’s mom frowned and said, “I think so—I’m not sure.” She touched her head, and rubbed it. “My head hurts,” she announced.

“So did you lose them?” asked Harriet. “Your shoes?”

“Um… yeah—looks like I did.” She frowned some more. “I wonder what happened.”

“Let’s get you home,” Harriet suggested, and started to lead the way in the direction of home and hearth. Marge followed, looking as dazed as I’d ever seen her.

“You know, I think I was going to do something, and then I didn’t… I think,” she said vaguely, and we all shared a look of concern. Marge clearly wasn’t well.

“Did you visit the fairground?” I asked again, hoping to stir a memory.

“Uh-huh. Probably.”

“Oh, dear,” said Harriet.

And we’d walked a while on a nice asphalt road, which Marge must have enjoyed, for a bare-footed human isn’t exactly used to traversing the rough undergrowth us cats are used to navigating, when suddenly a car pulled over and rolled down its window and Odelia’s head popped out and she yelled, “Mom! Where have you been!”

And so moments later we were all inside Odelia’s pickup, four cats lounging relaxedly in the backseat while Marge took up the front seat, still gazing before her with that slightly dazed look in her eyes.

“What happened?” asked Odelia once she’d put the car in gear and we were tootling along the road into town.

“I… don’t know, exactly,” said Marge. “I can’t seem to recall.”

“You remember we went to see Madame Solange, though, right?” said Odelia, looking extremely concerned at the state her mom was in.

“Um… no, I don’t think I do.” But then Marge’s face cleared. “Though now that you mention it… I did visit Madame Solange and she told us we’d win the lottery soon, and go on that nice cruise that Tex is always talking about.”

“That was when you and Dad saw Solange, Mom. But you and I paid her visit just now, remember? To ask her about Uncle Alec?”

But Marge slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t think I remember that.” She glanced over to her daughter. “Are you quite sure that’s what happened, honey?”

“Of course I’m sure. We walked out of Solange’s trailer and I thought I saw a man who looked like Uncle Alec so I followed him, and then when I got back you were gone!”

“No, I don’t think that’s what happened,” said Marge. “I’m sure I’d remember.”

“Marge seems to be completely out of it,” said Brutus.

“Yeah, she must have hit her head and is suffering from amnesia,” Harriet said.

“Amnesia?” asked Dooley. “Is that lethal?”

“No, amnesia isn’t lethal, Dooley,” said Harriet. “It’s just very annoying.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, casting a worried glance at Marge, possibly wondering if she was going to die soon now that she was suffering from amnesia.

“Strange things keep happening, don’t they?” I said. “With the lottery thing and Marge disappearing and then returning, having lost a chunk of her memory, and Uncle Alec’s kidnapping.”

“Oh, and you don’t even know the best part,” said Harriet. “Buster is moving to Florida. Fido inherited his uncle’s winery down there.”

“And Ted Trapper won a hundred million dollars in the Powerball,” said Brutus.

“So weird,” I said. “As if a cloud of good fortune has suddenly descended upon Hampton Cove.” Or Santa Claus arriving early this year, handing out gifts all over. Only Santa had taken on the form of a woman this time, and her name was Madame Solange.

Just then, Odelia’s phone started belting out its ringtone. “Can you pick that up, Mom?” Odelia asked.

Marge took her daughter’s phone and picked up, sounding a little hesitant as she said, “This is Marge Poole speaking?” She listened for a moment, then said, “Thank you, sir. I’ll tell her,” and hung up again.

For a moment, no one spoke, then Odelia asked, “Who was it?”

“Oh, um, a gentleman named Chase Kingsley,” said Mom.

“Mom?” said Odelia, glancing over. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“Why, honey?”

“You honestly don’t remember who Chase is?”

“No. Am I supposed to know him?”

“Mom!”

“He said your grandmother has been arrested,” said Marge, flicking a piece of fluff from her blouse. “She and Scarlett Canyon were caught trying to break into Charlene’s house just now.”

“What is happening!” Odelia cried.

I knew just how she felt.

Chapter 34

Charlene glanced around and for a moment had no idea where she was. Then she remembered. The hospital. Of course. But why? She was feeling fine. In fact she was full of vim and vigor, her energy levels off the charts and ready to hit the road running!

So she practically hopped out of bed and found her clothes neatly folded on a chair in the corner of her hospital room and started getting dressed, humming a tune as she did.

Moments later a nurse walked in and said, alarmed, “Madam Mayor! What do you think you’re doing!”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting out of here,” she said good-naturedly.

“But you’re not well!” said the nurse.

“Says who?”

“But—”

“Look, I’ve wasted enough time already, don’t you think?” said the Mayor, placing her hands on the nurse’s shoulders and giving the woman a reassuring smile. “I have work to do, places to see, people to meet!” And with these words, she walked out, leaving the slack-jawed nurse to stare after her.

Stalking through the squeaky-clean corridors of the hospital, she smiled before herself. She’d never felt this good in her life—what was that silly nurse talking about? And when she fished her phone from her purse and got in touch with her secretary, she barked, “Can you send a car to pick me up at the hospital, Imelda? Thanks!” She was already envisioning great things for Hampton Cove. She would boost the local economy with new projects and a plethora of happenings and festivities. She’d tackle the local housing issue, she’d build a new childcare center—she’d put this town on the map!

She only had to wait five minutes before a car arrived and took her straight to Town Hall, the place where it was all happening! And as she stalked into her office, Imelda got up, a startled look on her face. “Madam Mayor!” she said. “Are you all right? I heard about the hospital and I thought—”

“I’m fine,” said Charlene, waving away her secretary’s concerns. “Now let’s schedule another council meeting, shall we? I have a lot of announcements to make. A lot!”

“But, Madam Mayor…”

“What?” she said, halting in her tracks to shoot her secretary a bewildered look. She didn’t understand the woman’s reticence. It was almost as if… Imelda had something on her mind. Which of course was impossible. If you worked for a can-do mayor like Charlene Butterwick, only a can-do attitude would do! “Well? Spit it out, woman!”

“I heard about Chief Alec,” said Imelda, giving her boss a look of uncertainty. “Is it true? Did the Chief get… taken?”

Charlene frowned. “The Chief? What Chief? What are you talking about?”

“Chief Alec, ma’am. Your… boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend, woman. Don’t talk nonsense!” And with these words, she walked into her office and slammed the door. What she really needed, she thought as she took a seat behind her desk, was a new secretary!

Vesta and Scarlett didn’t have to languish in jail for too long. In fact they didn’t have to languish in jail any time at all. Barely had Officer Flunk brought both women in for questioning before Detective Kingsley had taken them off her hands.

“Good luck,” said Sarah with a wink, and Chase returned the wink with an eyeroll.

“So what’s all this about you two breaking into Charlene’s house?” he asked once the two women were seated in front of his desk.

“We weren’t breaking in,” said Vesta, tilting her chin. “We were merely responding to a report about a man breaking in and so we decided this was just the kind of job the neighborhood watch is designed for.”

“Exactly!” said Scarlett.

Chase arched an eyebrow. “You were caught trying to break into a second-story window,” he reminded the twosome.

“We were just trying to ascertain whether the burglars had gained access to the property that way,” said Vesta stiffly.

“It’s what the neighborhood watch does,” said Scarlett. “Rescue the helpless! Raise the hopeless!”

“I think that’s Captain America, hon,” said Vesta.

Chase cleared his throat and placed his phone on the desk, then pressed play on a video displaying the entire scene from the moment Vesta and Scarlett had arrived carrying a large stick, to the moment they’d been arrested and carted off in handcuffs.

For a moment, silence reigned, then Vesta grumbled, “Damn nosy parkers with their damn smartphones. What happened to privacy?”

“Yeah, and the right not to be filmed?” asked Scarlett.

“I think you should sue the person that shot this video,” said Vesta, tapping the desk.

“Yeah, I think we should file charges, Vesta.”

“Look,” said Chase, leaning back. “I get that you’re worried about the Chief,” he said, “and trust me, I am, too. But this is not the way to find him, all right?”

“But Chase—Charlene’s got him!” Vesta cried. “I’m sure of it. She invented this whole home invasion story and in the meantime she’s got my son locked up in the basement!”

“Unless she cut him up into little pieces and stuffed him in her freezer,” said Scarlett.

“Impossible,” said Chase. “And you know why? Because Odelia’s cats spent the night at that house, and they didn’t find anything. Not a trace of your son.”

“Cats aren’t infallible,” said Vesta. “They could have missed something.”

“Also, Harriet and Brutus talked to a dog that lives across the street, and he distinctly remembers three men taking Alec out of the house at the time Charlene says they did. He also offered a very good description of one of the men and of the van they were driving.”

This had Vesta and Scarlett stumped for a moment, then Vesta frowned and said, “These men were probably working for Charlene.”

“Oh, my God!” said Chase, and dragged his hands through his hair. “Look, Charlene is the victim here, okay? She had nothing to do with this. And if you would just stop barking up the wrong tree, maybe you could actually do something useful for a change and actually help me find your son!”

Vesta gave him a rueful look, and so did Scarlett. “Okay, fine,” Vesta said finally. “So what do you think happened?”

“I don’t know, but something really weird is going on. I talked to Barry Billong, and he claims a couple of heavies cornered him at work and threatened to break his legs if he didn’t propose to Sarah—and Barry had already proposed marriage to another girl.”

“I know. He’s been cheating on Francine with Sarah for months now,” said Scarlett.

“And vice versa,” Vesta pointed out.

“So maybe these men did both Sarah and Francine a favor.”

“Maybe,” said Chase. “But Barry’s story unfortunately isn’t unique, and I’m not just talking about Alec’s kidnapping. People left and right have been winning stuff, or seeing their wildest dreams come true, and it just doesn’t add up. Also, I just got a report from the Bridgeport Chief of Police that a valuable model train was stolen from a local collector. He called me because the collector saw that very locomotive appear in a news story.” He showed Vesta and Scarlett pictures of the locomotive in question.

“I don’t get it,” said Vesta. “What are you babbling about, Chase? Just spit it out.”

“The same locomotive that was stolen a couple of nights ago turned up last night in the possession of Dan Goory. He claims it arrived on his doorstep. And now I have the unfortunate task of telling him he’ll have to hand it back, as it concerns a stolen item.”

“So a model train got stolen and turns up in Dan Goory’s hands, and Barry Billong was threatened to have his legs broken if he doesn’t propose to your officer Sarah Flunk,” Vesta summed up the state of affairs. “What has all that got to do with my son?”

“Probably nothing,” said Chase, “only your son and Charlene paid a visit to Madame Solange a couple of days before he got snatched, and so did Dan and so did Sarah.”

“Huh,” said Vesta. “Yeah, looks like you’re onto something there, Chase.”

“I know,” said the cop. “But what?”

Just then, Chase’s phone chimed and he saw that Odelia was trying to reach him. “Hey, babe,” he said. “If you’re worried about your grandmother, I’ve got her right here.”

“That’s great. Listen, there’s something going on with my mom. I lost her for a while back at the fair, after we paid a visit together to Madame Solange, and the cats found her wandering in the fields and now she’s acting really weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“For one thing, she doesn’t remember who you are.”

Chapter 35

“She looks all right to me,” said Tex. He’d briefly examined his wife and now gave her a clean bill of health.

“So why doesn’t she remember Chase?” asked Odelia.

We were all in Tex and Marge’s kitchen, the entire family having gathered around the kitchen table—minus Uncle Alec, for obvious reasons.

“I’m not sure,” said Tex. Then, addressing his wife, “This man over here, honey. You remember him, don’t you?”

Marge glanced over to Chase, then smiled and stuck out her hand. “So nice to meet you, sir. What was your name again?”

“Chase,” said Chase, a little startled. “Chase Kingsley.”

“And you’re a cop, Chase?” asked Marge.

“Yes, ma’am, that I am.”

“He’s also my boyfriend,” said Odelia. “Oh, mom, why don’t you remember?”

But Marge gave her daughter a curious look. “Remember what, honey?”

Odelia threw up her hands in frustration.

“Do you think Marge remembers us?” asked Dooley.

“Yeah, if she hadn’t she would have said so,” I pointed out.

“She seems to have lost part of her memory,” said Tex. “Though I examined her head and I don’t see any evidence of a contusion—no abrasions, bruising or swelling… Could be she suffered a ministroke, but I’d have to take her to the hospital to know for sure.”

“She’ll get her memory back, though, right?” asked Odelia.

“Hard to say,” said Tex. “She might and she mightn’t. Memory is a tricky thing.”

“Is there other stuff she’s forgotten, you think?” asked Vesta. She waved at her daughter. “Marge!” she yelled. “Do you remember me?!”

“She’s not deaf,” said Tex censoriously.

Marge laughed a careless little laugh. “Of course I remember you, Ma. Don’t be silly.”

“That’s fine,” said Vesta, looking satisfied that at least her daughter hadn’t forgotten all about her, too.

“She’s also completely forgotten about our visit to Madame Solange,” Odelia said. “Though not about your visit, Dad.”

“Yes, well, like I said, memory loss is a tricky thing, and extremely unpredictable. She might forget something that happened yesterday, and remember something that happened thirty years ago with incredible clarity, or the other way around.”

“Listen, honey,” said Vesta, patting her granddaughter’s knee. “There’s something we need to discuss. You better tell them what you told me, Chase,” she said.

Chase cleared his throat and opened his notebook. “I would like to read you a brief overview of a number of reports I’ve received in the last twenty-four hours,” he said. “Your boss, Dan Goory, went on television claiming he received a model train, a rare locomotive, in the mail. A train he’d been wanting to lay his hands on for years, right?”

“Yeah, he told me all about it,” said Odelia, nodding.

“That particular locomotive was reported stolen from a collector in Bridgeport.”

“Dan won’t like that,” said Odelia.

“There’s more,” said Vesta. “While Scarlett and I were in Chase’s office the reports kept coming in.”

“Sarah Flunk went on television announcing her engagement to Barry Billong. Only problem was that Barry has already proposed marriage to another girl, and he was coerced into this second proposal by two men showing up at the dealership and threatening him with physical violence. Wilbur Vickery claims he received a wedding proposal from the daughter of Prince Charles, future king of England. Only problem is that Prince Charles doesn’t have a daughter, and the British ambassador, who caught the transmission, has filed an official complaint against Wilbur for making false claims.”

“Oh, God,” said Odelia.

“Ted Trapper claimed in front of the cameras of an WLBC-9 television crew that he won the Powerball. One hundred million dollars. Only the ticket he received was a fake, and the Powerball has filed charges against Ted for fraudulent claims. Fido Siniawski has testified live on WLBC-9 that he inherited a winery in Florida from his deceased uncle Renny Swaitniki. Only problem is that Renny Swaitniki is alive and well, and not related to Fido, and has now filed charges against Fido for false and hurtful claims. Oh, and a woman named Luella Pear testified in front of WLBC-9’s camera that she’d finally been granted adoption of the baby boy she and her husband have been trying to adopt for the past two years. Only the adoption agency have no knowledge about this particular adoption whatsoever and have filed charges against the Pears for false and fraudulent claims.” He put down his notebook. “There’s more but I think you get the gist.”

“And all of these people made these claims after they’d paid a visit to Madame Solange,” said Vesta, nodding to Chase.

“Which leads me to think that this Solange just might be behind the whole thing,” Chase concluded.

“I like Madame Solange,” Marge said chipperly. “She’s the kindest, sweetest, most lovely woman I’ve ever met. And the most generous, too. I think we should invite her.”

“Oh, I’m going to invite her,” said Chase. “To the police station for an interview.”

“I don’t like Madame Solange,” said Dooley. “She wasn’t very nice to us.”

“Yeah, she hates cats,” I said, taking in what Chase had just said. Clearly Madame Solange was at the heart of some kind of fraud, but what I couldn’t figure out was how the whole thing worked, exactly.

Marge patted Chase’s knee affectionately. “Are you married, Officer Kingsley?”

“Um, no, ma’am, I’m not,” said Chase.

“Why don’t I introduce you to Solange? She’s a very nice young woman, and I’m sure you and her will get along famously. Do you want me to set it up?”

“Mom!” said Odelia.

“What? I’m just trying to be nice to your friend, honey,” said Marge with a shrug. “Spread a little sweetness and light, just like Madame Solange does.”

Looked like Solange was spreading more than just sweetness and light, though. She was also spreading a few tactics of wish fulfillment. And I sincerely hoped Chase would get to the bottom of the whole affair.

At least if Marge didn’t marry him off to Solange first.

Chapter 36

“I say we go in there and demand that she give us Uncle Alec back,” said Brutus, who’s the kind of cat who prefers the heavy-handed approach.

“We can’t just go in there and make her do anything,” I said. “We’re just cats, Brutus. And Solange is a lot bigger and a lot stronger than we are.” And if she wasn’t, her burly associate definitely was. “Besides, nothing in this whole story tells me that Solange is involved in Uncle Alec’s kidnapping.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, Max. Of course she’s involved!”

“And how do you figure that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would a fortune teller abduct a local police chief? Give me one good reason.”

“Um…”

“See?”

“I think Chase is wrong,” said Harriet. “I think Solange is perfectly innocent of all these crimes he’s accusing her of. All I see is a woman who likes to spread a little happiness wherever she goes.”

“So how do you explain that a couple of heavies leaned on Barry Billong to make him propose to Officer Flunk?” asked Brutus.

“Probably Sarah’s cousins getting sick and tired of her waiting around for this no-good Barry to finally leave his other girlfriend,” said Harriet with a shrug.

“And Dan’s stolen toy train? And Ted Trapper’s fake lottery ticket?”

“I’ll bet that Dan Goory arranged the theft of that locomotive himself,” said Harriet. “He’s been wanting to lay his hands on that thing for so long. You know what collectors are like. Sometimes they go a little berserk.”

“And Ted’s Powerball ticket?”

“Oh, honey plum. Don’t you know by now that people will go to any lengths to get their hands on a little bit of money?”

“Even nice Ted Trapper?”

“Of course! Human nature is what is. They simply can’t help themselves, the poor dears.”

“Do you think Fido also arranged his so-called inheritance himself?” I asked.

“Of course! Can you imagine having to cut people’s hair all your life! I think Fido is probably ready to tear his own hair out by now, and so he made up this entire inheritance story to give himself an excuse to start a new life without people asking him a lot of annoying questions.”

“And Wilbur and his princess?”

“Oh, Maxie,” she said with a smile. “You know Wilbur. Of course he made the whole thing up. It’s just the kind of thing he would do. The man can’t get a woman to give him the time of day so now he invents an actual princess to save face in front of his friends and customers.” She shrugged. “Like I said, it’s all a simple case of human nature. And if you’re a keen study of humans, like I am, this is all very easily explained.”

“I don’t know,” I said, not entirely convinced.

“I think you’ll find that these people all want something so badly that they’ll go to any lengths to get it—even lying and cheating and stealing.”

“People are weird,” said Dooley, nodding.

“I just wish we could be there when Chase interviews Madame Solange,” I said.

“Oh, if you want I’ll do the honors,” said Norm. “I can be your fly on the wall,” he added with a sly little grin.

“Would you, Norm?” I asked. “I’m really curious what she’s going to say.”

“She’ll say the exact same thing I just told you,” said Harriet. “Just you wait and see.”

Harriet’s theory sounded very plausible, but it still didn’t explain why Marge had suddenly lost all recollection of who Chase was, or why Uncle Alec was still missing. But of course my friend could be right, and Madame Solange could be absolutely uninvolved in all of these strange occurrences.

I guess we’d soon find out—or at least our resident spy fly Norm would.

Norm the fly was on a mission again, and this time the mission was even more hairy than his previous ones. He’d been given the order straight from the head of the secret service himself: Max, or, as Norm liked to call him: M.

M had tasked him with a mission to eavesdrop on Chase as he interviewed Solange, and come hell or high water, Norm was going to see this dangerous mission through.

Dangerous because any mission involving humans was fraught with a certain measure of peril, as humans don’t like flies, and enjoy swatting them at any occasion.

But Chase looked like the kind of guy who would stand a fellow a chance, even when that fellow was a fly. And besides, the cop was so preoccupied with his do-or-die interview that he presumably wouldn’t even notice the fly observing the proceedings.

So Norm flew on down to the local police station like a bat out of hell, then straight in through the window and took up position in a corner of Chase’s office, ready for action.

And he didn’t have to wait long, for he’d only just arrived when the suspect was led in. Madame Solange, or Caprice Cooper as her real name apparently was, much to Norm’s disappointment, looked almost like a regular person. Gone were the flowing robes, and the low voice, even the smoky makeup. She now looked like any other young woman, one Norm wouldn’t give a second glance if he passed her on the street.

Not that he ever gave any human a second glance, unless they came after him with a fly swatter.

“Please take a seat, Miss Cooper,” said Chase.

“Mrs. Cooper,” the woman corrected him.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Chase, consulting a file on his desk. “Your husband is Geoff Cooper? Likes to call himself Wolf Moonblood?”

“Yes.”

“The owner of Circus Moonblood.”

Mrs. Cooper nodded, and glanced around a little uncomfortably. “So why am I here?”

“The thing is, Mrs. Cooper, that a number of complaints have been made.”

“Complaints? About me?”

“I’ll just run down the list, shall I? And you can tell me what you think.” And Chase read out the entire list of strange occurrences that had taken place of late, and stressed that each time the people it happened to had previously visited Madame Solange.

Solange shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that, Detective. Basically I just tell people what they want to hear, and they pay me very handsomely for the privilege.”

Chase sat back. “So you tell the people what they want to hear…”

“Yep. That’s my big trade secret. I hope you won’t blab about it,” she added with a half-smile.

“But… so how do you explain that people actually get what they want… but in evidently fraudulent ways?”

“No idea. I guess you’d have to ask them.”

“Take Dan Goory for instance,” said Chase. “He wants a certain model train, he tells you he wants this model train, you tell him he’ll get his model train, and a couple of days later it arrives on his doorstep… stolen from a collector in Bridgeport. How do you explain that?”

“Simple. Mr. Goory wanted that train so badly he stole it. And now he’s blaming me.”

“Have you been to Bridgeport lately, Mrs. Cooper?”

“Nope. I’ve been right here in Hampton Cove since I arrived in town a week ago.”

“Where were you on the evening of the fifteenth at ten o’clock?”

“Like I said, I haven’t left town since I arrived—me and my husband.”

“Mr. Russ Mulling, the collector of this very valuable locomotive, claims to have been the victim of a burglary on that particular night. He even got a snapshot of one of the thieves.” The cop placed a picture in front of Madame Solange, who glanced at it without much interest.

Norm, who liked to do things properly, buzzed down from his hiding place, and did a quick flyby to get a closer look. M would want him to memorize all the details.

Madame Solange, or Caprice Cooper, frowned at him and even made to swat him! Luckily he was a trained spy fly, and managed to escape unscathed. The man in the picture was very large, had a crooked nose and cauliflower ears, and looked like a boxer. He also looked exactly like one of the three men who’d abducted Uncle Alec!

“I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” now said Solange.

“Or what about this man?” said Chase, and placed another picture next to the first one. “He was caught on CCTV leaving the Toyota dealership where Barry Billong works, after threatening Barry that he’d break his legs, arms and neck if he didn’t propose marriage to my colleague Officer Sarah Flunk.”

Once again Norm did a flyby, and this time he saw that this second man was the same man as the first man, the knowledge of which would have saved him a dangerous stunt, as once again Solange tried to slay him with a swatting motion of her hand!

“Like I said, I don’t know this man, have never seen this man, and have no idea why he would do such a thing,” said the fortune teller.

“Look, I’ll be blunt with you, Mrs. Cooper,” said Chase.

“I thought you already were being blunt, Detective Kingsley,” said the woman with a smile. She was charming, Norm thought. Very charming—and potentially deadly!

“You promise people the world, and then all of a sudden, and seemingly out of the blue, people get exactly what they asked for. Only it’s not the hand of Lady Luck making their dreams come true but this man and his associates. So that leads me to think—”

“That I run some kind of wish-fulfillment racket? Why would I do that, Detective? Why would I risk going to prison just to collect a measly fifty bucks from my clients? You’ll have to admit that doesn’t make any sense.”

Chase stared her down for a moment, but Solange easily held his gaze.

“All right,” said Chase finally. “You can go. But I’ll be watching you, Mrs. Cooper. And if I find that you do know these people, I will find you.”

“Oh, please do, Detective,” said Solange, her voice almost a purr. “In fact I hope you do drop by sometime. I’m sure there are things you wish for that I could easily make come true.” And with these words, which practically amounted to a gauntlet being thrown down, wrapped in flirtatiousness, she walked out.

The moment she had, Chase glanced up at Norm. “Did you get all that, buddy?”

“Oh, yes, Chase, thank you,” said Norm, pleasantly surprised at this acknowledgment.

The cop shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m talking to a fly. I must be losing it.”

Chapter 37

The four of us had decided to stick close to Marge. Obviously the poor woman wasn’t well, and it behooved us, as the family pets, to keep an eye on her.

She was seated on the couch, watching the Kardashians, and laughing loudly in all the wrong places, while her husband kept darting anxious glances in his wife’s direction.

Vesta was also there, though she seemed less worried about the whole thing. But then Gran is a tough old bird, and probably has been through a lot worse than her daughter forgetting a few minor details about her life, such as the entire existence of Odelia’s boyfriend.

And it was as we were watching the shenanigans of Calabasas’s first family that Norm came buzzing in, and we all turned to him, eager for some news from the front lines.

“She didn’t do it,” he said immediately. “No motive.”

“Oh,” I said, deflating a little.

“Yeah, Chase grilled her pretty hard, but she didn’t crack. Did you know, by the way, that Solange isn’t her real name? She’s really called Caprice Cooper, and she’s a lot plainer-looking without all that makeup and those funky witch’s robes.”

“Great,” said Brutus. “So now we have a crime but no suspect. What are we going to do?”

“I have no idea,” I said.

“Honey?” said Marge all of a sudden.

“Yes, sweetheart?” said her husband.

“Did we always have this many cats?”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” said Gran. “Don’t tell me now you can’t remember our cats!”

“Oh, I remember we had one—but four? That seems like an awful lot of cats, don’t you think?”

“Which one do you remember?” asked Tex.

“Well, that pretty white one, of course. Her name is Princess, right?” She waved at Harriet. “Hi, Princess. You’re a real cutie pie, aren’t you? Sweet, sweet Princess.”

Dooley turned to me with a look of alarm. “Max, Marge has forgotten us—she’s totally forgotten we even exist!”

“Yeah, it certainly looks that way,” I agreed, studying the forgetful woman closely. She was looking far too chipper, I thought. As if she was high on some unknown substance.

“Marge, that pretty white cat’s name isn’t Princess, it’s Harriet,” said Tex slowly.

“Are you sure?” said Marge. “I could have sworn her name was Princess. She certainly looks like a Princess to me.”

“No, definitely Harriet,” said Tex.

“Though I like the name Princess, too,” said Harriet now, preening a little.

Marge stared at Harriet. “So sweet.” She patted ‘Princess’ on the head, then returned her attention to the reality show blaring away on TV.

Gran gave her daughter a look of alarm. “Marge? Don’t tell me you can’t understand what Harriet just said.”

Marge looked up with a sweet smile. “Mh?”

“Harriet, say something,” Gran instructed.

“What do you want me to say?” asked Harriet.

“Ask Marge to name the capital of China.”

“I don’t even know what the capital of China is.”

“Just do it, will you?”

Harriet sighed. “Marge, what is the capital of China?”

But from Marge there was no response. Gran groaned. “I knew this would happen.”

“Honey, did you hear what Harriet just said?” said Tex.

Marge laughed. “But, sweetie, how can I understand Princess? You know cats can’t talk. And now please let me watch the show. I like it. It’s very entertaining.”

Now we all shared a look of alarm. “She was able to understand us before,” I told Gran. “I mean, when we found her wandering in the fields she talked to us just fine.”

“It’s her mustache,” said Gran. “Scarlett warned me that if you let those hairs grow unrestrained they will affect your brain.”

And then she abruptly rose from the couch and stalked out of the room. Moments later we heard her stomp up the stairs.

“Gran is clearly upset,” said Dooley. “She’s probably gone off to cry in her room.”

“Yeah, can you blame her?” asked Brutus. “Marge doesn’t remember us—and she can’t talk to us anymore either. This is a nightmare.”

“Can a ministroke do so much damage?” asked Dooley.

“Yeah, looks like,” I said.

“So maybe she should have another ministroke?” Brutus suggested. “That way she’ll snap out of it. We could knock her on the head, for instance. I’ll bet that would do it.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” I said. “Brain trauma and memory loss are very tricky things. Tex said so himself.”

We all stared at Tex, who sat staring dumbly at his wife, who sat staring gleefully at Khloé Kardashian complaining about her complexion.

It was a surreal scene, to say the least.

Moments later Odelia walked in, followed by Chase, and they both had that glum look on their faces that spoke of an investigation stuck in the doldrums.

“And?” said Tex hopefully. “Did you make an arrest?”

“Nope,” said Chase. “No motive to speak of, and nothing that directly links her to the string of fraudulent claims. I am going back to the fair tomorrow. Dig a little deeper.”

“I’m also going, and so are you guys,” said Odelia, addressing us.

“Can I come, too?” asked Norm excitedly. “I feel like I’m on a real streak here.”

“Sure you can come,” I said. “In fact we couldn’t do this without you, Norm.”

Norm glowed with pride, as far as a fly who’s not a firefly can glow, of course.

“So there’s been a complication,” said Tex. “Your mother doesn’t seem to remember the cats, except for Harriet, who she thinks is called Princess. She’s also forgotten she can talk to her cats, which is a bad sign.”

“Oh, dear,” said Odelia, sinking down next to her mom and rubbing her back.

Marge gave her daughter a radiant smile. “I like these Kardashians,” she said. “Is this a new show? I hope they keep it going. It’s very funny.”

“It’s been on TV for years, Mom,” said Odelia. “And what is this about you not being able to talk to our cats?”

“Talk to our cats!” said Marge with a tinkling laugh. “Honey, you really have to stop pulling my leg. You know I’m not well—or at least your father seems to think so.”

“Oh, Mom,” said Odelia, casting a look of concern at her boyfriend.

“Oh, hi, dear,” said Marge, noticing Chase. “So did you and Solange go on a date?”

“Yeah,” said Chase after a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“And did sparks fly?” asked Marge with a cheeky smile.

“Oh, sparks flew, all right,” said the cop.

“Good. That girl deserves to be happy. She lost her husband, you know. Sad case.”

“Did Solange lose her husband?” asked Odelia.

“No, she assured me her husband is alive and well,” said Chase.

“I met him,” said Odelia, nodding. “Though I didn’t know he was her husband.”

“Yeah, he runs the circus. According to what I could find out they’ve been married for years. Though it’s hard to be sure, as records are a little sketchy on both Mr. and Mrs. Cooper—seeing as how they travel around a lot.”

Just then, Gran came stomping down the stairs again, holding some mysterious object in her hand. And before we knew what was happening, she’d glued a strip of something under her daughter’s nose, then said, “This hurts me more than it hurts you, honey, but it’s for your own good!”

And then she yanked the strip off, causing Marge to screech out a loud cry, and Tex yelling, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Waxing her mustache!” Gran held up the strip, now containing lots of minuscule hairs, while Marge sat rubbing her upper lip and giving her mom a look of horror. “Your memory will start coming back now, honey,” said Gran, patting her daughter’s head. “It’s the hairs, you see. They grow straight into your brain and make you forget stuff.”

“Oh, I’ll make you forget stuff!” said Marge, and lunged for her dear old mother, who expertly managed to dodge this attack.

And soon Marge was chasing her mom around the family room, with Gran waving that strip of waxing paper like a banner.

“This is fun,” said Norm. “Is this the way you guys spend all your evenings?”

Chapter 38

Tex wasn’t exactly feeling on top of the world when he walked into the New York Lottery Customer Service Center the next morning. There was a line of people waiting as he settled in at the back, holding his winning ticket in his hand. His plan was to cash in and head straight to the travel agent to book that Caribbean cruise for him and Marge.

Marge might be suffering from severe memory loss now, but once she was aboard that fine and luxurious vessel and cruising along the Caribbean, he hoped that bracing ocean air would do her good, as well as being away from Hampton Cove for a while.

The door opened again and a familiar figure walked in and joined the line.

“Oh, hi, Charlene,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

The Mayor frowned and sized him up as if she’d never seen him before in her life, then said, “Tex Poole, isn’t it? Doctor Tex Poole? I never forget a face.”

Tex laughed a light laugh. “Very funny, Charlene.”

“Why do you keep calling me Charlene? It’s Madam Mayor to you, Dr. Poole.”

“But…”

“Look, I know there’s this tendency nowadays to call public servants by their Christian name, probably exacerbated by social media and its pernicious influence, but I for one am absolutely against that sort of familiarity. I worked hard to become Mayor of this town, and I think I deserve the respect that comes with the job, Dr. Poole.”

“Oh, sure,” said Tex, wondering if the whole world had gone stark raving mad.

“Now please tell me, Doctor. Is this where I can buy tickets for the Bruce Springsteen concert?”

“Bruce Springsteen?”

“I’m a big fan of Bruce Springsteen, and I just have to get tickets for his next show.”

“This is the claim center for the New York Lottery,” said Tex, choosing his words carefully, lest Mayor Butterwick suddenly stage an attack on his person—she looked a little manic, he thought.

“Lottery?”

“Yep,” he said, pointing to a large banner that said, ‘New York Lottery—We Always Go For Your Win!’

“Oh,” said Charlene, then seemed to give herself a little shake. “Then I guess I made a boo-boo,” she said, and promptly walked out again.

And Tex was still thinking about this strange conversation with Charlene when it was his turn to turn in his ticket. The woman behind the counter gave him a welcoming smile, indicating she was there to go for his win, and scanned his ticket in her little scanning gizmo. Her smile faltered when the results of the scan appeared on her screen.

“Is something wrong?” asked Tex.

“Where did you get this ticket, sir?” she asked.

“I bought it at the General Store,” he lied through his teeth.

The woman gave him a quick glance, then seemed to press a button underneath her desk. “I’m afraid there’s been some kind of mistake, sir. This ticket is a forgery.”

“A what?” he asked, aghast.

The woman nodded, then darted a look behind Tex. And when he turned, he saw they’d been joined by two very buff-looking gentlemen, who didn’t look like they were going to do whatever it took for Tex to get his win.

Chase was on his way to the station when he got the call. “Yeah, Dolores,” he said, after pressing a button to activate his wireless headphones so he didn’t have to take his hands off the steering wheel. “Shoot. But not with live ammo, please.”

And he was still smiling at his corny joke when Dolores’s raspy voice announced, “Just got a call from the lottery office, sweetie. Looks like your future father-in-law was just caught trying to cash in on a forged lottery ticket.”

“Oh, God,” he said, and promptly made a U-turn.

“No, still Dolores,” said the station dispatcher, now chuckling at her own corny joke. “Maybe it would save us time if you just went and arrested your entire family, Chase,” she added. “We already booked Vesta yesterday, now it’s Tex’s turn, so I’m just wondering when we’ll have to haul in Odelia and her mom.”

“Very funny, Dolores,” he grunted, squeezing that accelerator closer to the metal.

“I knew I should have become a standup comedian,” she said and disconnected.

Moments later he was parked in front of the lottery office and heading inside. After introducing himself to the lady at the desk, he was buzzed into the office behind her, and the scene he found next was a little disconcerting: there Tex Poole sat, two very large security guys hovering over him, the good doctor looking very embarrassed indeed.

“I didn’t do it, Chase!” said Tex. “I didn’t doctor a fake lottery ticket!”

“I’ll take it from here, shall I?” Chase suggested, and escorted the doctor out of the office.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” said Tex once they were outside. “First Alec is abducted, then Marge loses her marbles, and now I’m arrested—am I under arrest, Chase?”

“No, you’re not,” said Chase. “Though the New York Lottery might press charges so it wouldn’t be a bad idea to call your lawyer.”

“Word will spread,” said Tex miserably, “and my patients will think I’m a cheat and a fraud. How am I ever going to face them?”

“Just tell them what you told me. That you’re not a fraud. Do you still have the envelope the ticket came in?”

“No, I threw it away.”

“Can I see the ticket?”

Tex handed him the ticket in question.

“Looks genuine,” said Chase, studying the winning lottery ticket that should have netted Tex fifty thousand smackeroos but had instead landed him in hot water—and not the Caribbean kind either.

“It’s a fake,” said Tex. “Those guys in there? They told me it’s not even a good fake. They say people try to defraud the lottery all the time, and as far as fakes go, they’ve seen it all, and this one looks like it was made by a ten-year-old.” He sighed. “So even as a fraud I’m a total failure.”

Chase placed his hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, Dad. I’m going to get to the bottom of this thing, and when I do, we’ll be able to clear your name, all right?”

Tex nodded. “These are strange times we live in, Chase. I just saw Charlene in there, and she didn’t even know who I was. Can you believe it? Looks like she lost her memory, too—just like Marge did.”

And as Chase watched the doctor walk down the street, on his way to his office, his shoulders stooped and looking distinctly dejected, the cop figured now was as good a time as ever to follow up with the Mayor.

Chapter 39

Charlene Butterwick was busy at her desk when Chase walked in.

“Yes, yes, YES!” the mayor practically screamed, which caused the cop to raise one eyebrow incrementally and wonder if perhaps the doctors at the hospital had discharged the burgomaster a little early.

“Hi, Charlene,” he said warmly. “Just thought I’d drop by to give you an update on the investigation.”

“What investigation?” said the Mayor, turning a feverish eye on him. “WHAT INVESTIGATION!”

“Um, the one about the home invasion?”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “WHAT HOME INVASION!” she screamed, and suddenly picked up a small bust of the previous mayor and threw it at his head!

Chase expertly ducked the bust, and watched it crash against the wall behind him.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Charlene?” he asked. “You look a little… stressed.”

“What’s with people calling me Charlene!” she said. “It’s MADAM MAYOR to you, sir. MADAM MAYOR to all! And who are you?”

“Chase… Kingsley?” he said, starting to recognize the same signs Odelia’s mom was displaying. “Detective Kingsley,” he added, figuring that maybe using his official title would protect him from more busts being aimed at his noggin.

“DETECTIVE Kingsley,” said Charlene between gritted teeth. “Look at me. I’m a professional woman with a very, VERY busy schedule. So why did you think it was a good idea to BOTHER ME WITH THIS NONSENSE!”

“But—”

“GET OUT!”

“But Madam Mayor!”

“OUT!” she screamed, and lifted up a slightly heavier version of the first bust. Before she could throw it, though, he’d already followed her advice and hurried out of the office.

There was a dull clunking sound when the bust hit the closed door behind him, and a loud scream of frustration and then all was quiet again.

Chase cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at Charlene’s secretary Imelda, who gave him a distraught look.

“She’s not herself, Detective,” said the woman, stating the obvious. “I don’t think she even remembers who I am anymore. One moment she calls me Mildred, the other Deirdre. And she keeps telling me to gather the troops for an emergency meeting. I figured she meant the council members, but I really can’t expose her to their scrutiny when she’s behaving like this. They’ll have her carted off to the nearest loony bin!”

“I think she probably needs to see a professional,” Chase agreed. “She never should have been discharged so quickly.”

“Oh, but physically she’s perfectly fine,” said Imelda. “She’s got the strength of an ox. Only this morning she threw a bust of Mayor Moss through the window that must have weighed at least thirty pounds. It narrowly missed the head of one of the gardeners.”

“She threw a bust at me, too,” said Chase. “Two, even.”

“Maybe she should pursue a career in basketball when politics doesn’t pan out,” Charlene’s loyal secretary said, darting a worried look at the door of her employer.

Father Reilly gave the cord attached to one of the bells in the church bell tower an extra vigorous pull, making it spread its sound far and wide and inviting parishioners to join the priest for mass. Very soon now the church would not only have the new roof he’d been pestering anyone who would listen about, but a brand-new set of bells, too!

So it was with a swing in his step that the white-haired priest now set foot for his office, where he’d been working on a jubilant sermon to rival the Pope’s Easter homily.

Father Reilly wasn’t usually the kind of person to believe in fortune tellers or psychics or tarot readers or people of that ilk, but he’d been seduced to the dark side when one of his parishioners had returned from a visit to Madame Solange and had sang that talented woman’s praises. This particular parishioner had suffered from a very stubborn form of toe fungus and Madame Solange had told him that very soon now he’d come into the possession of a cream that would clear up that fungus once and for all.

And lo and behold, the very next day just such a cream had found its way into his possession in the form of a UPS delivery, and the first results were promising indeed.

So Father Reilly had momentarily suspended his disbelief and had paid a visit to the wondrous world of Madame Solange. The woman, after gazing intently at her crystal ball, had told him a new church roof would soon materialize, as well as a new set of bells for his bell tower, and so it was with a sense of anticipatory glee that the priest now opened his laptop and added a few more phrases to his latest sermon—a real scorcher!

“Jesus wants the best for each of us, and so nothing but the best is what each of us should expect,” he murmured as he deftly stabbed at the keyboard in his usual hunt-and-peck approach to typing.

Just then, a messenger suddenly appeared in the door, looking bored. “Package for Francis Reilly—please sign here,” the messenger intoned in a monotone, and held out a stylus for Father Reilly to use. After having jotted down a scribbled affirmation that he was, indeed, Francis Reilly, the priest eagerly began unwrapping the package. It couldn’t be a new church roof, as usually church roofs are a little bigger than the five-pound package that was now on his desk. But it could be a bundle of cash, or a sheaf of checks.

But when finally he’d opened the package, he found that it contained a set of bells—very, very small ones.

He sank back on his chair as he stared at them.

But before he could wonder who was playing this cruel joke on him, suddenly two more people appeared in his office, this duo hoisting a microphone and a camera.

And as he glanced up, still struggling to contain his disappointment, the one with the microphone asked, “So did your wish come true, Father Reilly? Did Madame Solange work her miracles again?”

He would have thrown them out on their ear, or given them a piece of his mind, but a good Christian doesn’t let his anger get the better of him, and so he said, in measured tones, “I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”

Chapter 40

Usually when people announce that they’re going to spend a fun day at the fair, this is greeted with loud cheers and happy faces all around. When Odelia had told us last night that she wanted us to join her at the fair, only grim faces set with resolute looks of determination greeted her announcement.

It had, after all, been one of those weeks, where tragedy meets misery, and bumps shoulders with terrible misfortune.

For a short rundown I’d like to remind you that this was the week Uncle Alec had been kidnapped, Marge Poole had lost her mind, Tex Poole had been accused of lottery fraud, Charlene Butterwick had gone cuckoo, Gran had been arrested numerous times, Dan Goory had been accused of theft, Sarah Flunk had been proposed marriage by a car salesman and wannabe bigamist under duress, Wilbur Vickery had been accused of lies and deceit by the British royal family, Fido Siniawski had been accused of deceit by an uncle who wasn’t even his uncle, and I’m probably forgetting a host of other stuff.

All in all, it had been a pretty eventful couple of days for Hampton Covians, and it all seemed to be connected to the fair in some way that Odelia vowed to figure out before the day was through.

Lucky for us, we had a powerful ally in Norm, or Buzzing Bond as he was now calling himself. So it wasn’t without a certain sense of hope that we piled into Odelia’s aged pickup, and made the trip down to the fair.

“So you guys spread out and try to pick up some of the chatter, all right?” said Odelia, giving us some of those last-minute instructions any good coach knows mean the difference between winning or losing.

“Yes, Odelia,” said Dooley dutifully.

“Meanwhile I’ll go and have another word with Madame Solange. There simply has to be a connection between what she claims to see in that crystal ball of hers and what’s been happening to the people of this town.”

“Do you think she’s a witch?” asked Harriet now, introducing an interesting new theory.

“I’m sorry, Harriet, but witches don’t exist,” said Odelia with a smile.

“But… how about Harry Potter?” asked Dooley, looking disappointed. “Doesn’t Harry Potter exist?”

“Harry Potter is fiction, Dooley,” said Odelia. “He’s not real, and neither is the world of wizardry described in those books.”

“Are you sure?” my friend asked, looking stricken by this revelation.

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Odelia. Her smile then was replaced with the look of determination that had been there before. This was clearly a woman on a mission—a mission to find her missing uncle, and her mother’s missing memory.

“I just hope that we won’t lose our memory, too,” said Brutus, striking the morbid note. He turned to Harriet. “If I forget who you are, honey bunny, I just want you to know that the last couple of months have been the best years of my life.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you, honey plum,” said Harriet. “But don’t worry about losing your mind. If you forget who I am I’ll simply hit you over the head until you remember.”

Brutus gulped a little at this, and I think it was safe to say he swore a solemn oath right then and there never to lose his memory.

“Chase just called,” said Odelia as she cruised along the small roads that traverse the fields surrounding Hampton Cove. “My dad tried to cash in his fifty-thousand-dollar lottery ticket and was almost arrested for fraud. Turns out the ticket was a fake, and now they’re considering pressing charges against him. And Chase was chased out of Charlene’s office—he says she doesn’t remember who he is.” She sighed. “Things just keep getting worse and worse, don’t they?”

“You’ll figure it out,” I assured my human. “And we’ll help you as much as we can.” I was drawing the line at entering Madame Solange’s trailer, though. The woman was a cat hater, and there was no telling what she might do when she laid eyes on us again.

“So what is my mission, M?” asked Norm.

“Your mission, if you choose to accept it,” I said with a smile at the industrious fly, “is to sneak into Solange’s trailer once more and try to find out as much as you can about her operation. There must be something we’re missing, Norm. There just has to be.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the fly. “One more question if I may, sir?”

“Shoot, Norm,” I said, perhaps a little injudiciously.

He dropped his voice an octave, to indicate the gravity of his request. “Do I have a license to kill?”

“Yes, you do,” I said, just as gravely. Extreme situations demand extreme measures, and even though I didn’t believe in executive force, as far as I was concerned we needed to go to any lengths now to find Uncle Alec and restore law and order in our small town.

“So what are you going to do, Norm?” asked Brutus. “Kill your target by buzzing them?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, Brutus,” said Norm, swelling up a little from sheer self-importance. “Agent Buzzing Bond always hits his target.”

“Oh, boy,” said Harriet, shaking her head. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve landed in the middle of a vaudeville act. And a pretty lame one, too.”

“I think it’s great that Norm is offering to help us,” said Dooley. “We need all the help we can get on this one.”

“Rightly spoken, Dooley,” I said.

“I feel like we’re up against a formidable enemy,” my friend continued. “An enemy whose name just might begin with Volde and end with Mort, if you see what I mean.”

“Oh, Lord,” Harriet groaned. “Please kill me now.”

“I could, if I wanted to,” said Norm seriously. “But even though I now have a license to kill, I like to use it with extreme caution, so you’re off the hook, Harriet.”

For a moment I thought Harriet would use her license to kill to swat Norm, but she restrained herself with an extreme effort, restricting herself to giving me a very dirty look indeed. It was obvious what this look said: when this is over, that fly’s ass is grass.

Chapter 41

Solange, when she entered her trailer, was surprised to find her husband of fifteen years gazing steadily out the window, staring at nothing in particular.

“Wolf, honey,” she said. “Are you all right?”

Wolf turned. “Mh?” he said. “Oh, sure. Fine, fine.” Then he frowned. “It’s just that…”

“More strange dreams?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I dreamt last night that I was a cop.” He chuckled at this. “Can you imagine? Me! A cop!”

Solange gave her partner a look of concern. “You know what you should do? Go and have a long talk with Selena. Like you promised you would.”

“I don’t want to talk to your sister,” said Wolf, his smile vanishing. “Every time I talk to her I end up with a splitting headache.”

“That’s because you fight her,” said Solange. “If you’d simply go along with her and do what she says, you would be just fine.”

Wolf’s face had taken on the mulish look she’d seen there so often these last couple of days. “I don’t think I like your sister. She always looks at me funny.”

“Funny, how?”

“Like… she thinks I’m not firing on all cylinders or something.”

“No, she doesn’t. She’s just concerned about you, that’s all. Like we all are.”

“Are you concerned about me?” asked her husband, now turning away from the window and giving her a quizzical look.

“Of course I am. You’ve been behaving really strangely, honey. You know you have.”

“It’s these dreams,” he muttered, and patted his gelled hair, which soon looked like a bundle of porcupine quills sticking in every direction. “These dreams I’ve been having.”

“Stop touching your hair,” she said, annoyed.

“I like touching my hair. It makes me feel good.”

“I just wish you’d stop. You’ll ruin your perfect coif.”

He nodded obediently and heaved a deep sigh. “I’ll go and see your sister.”

“Thank you,” said Solange, much relieved. “You’ll feel much better once you do.”

“I wonder, though…” said Wolf with a frown.

“Yes?”

He stared at her for a moment. “A woman came to see me yesterday. She said her name was Odelia Poole. She’s a reporter.”

Solange’s expression darkened. “Yes, and?”

“Somehow she looked… familiar. Though for the life of me I can’t seem to place her.”

“Then don’t. She’s just a nosy parker—snooping around and asking a lot of annoying questions.” Not for the first time Solange felt they probably should shake Hampton Cove’s dust off their feet. In their line of work overstaying their welcome usually led to trouble. “If she comes back, just let the boys handle her, all right?”

“All right,” said Wolf vaguely.

She walked up to her husband and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. “Promise me,” she said, fixing him with an intent look.

“She’s just a reporter, sweetie. I can handle reporters.”

“Promise me,” she insisted when he tried to avoid her gaze.

“Okay, okay, I promise. I don’t see what the big deal is anyway.”

“Trust me, it’s important,” she said, placing her hands on his sideburns. “You’re going to need another touch-up soon,” she announced with a smile. “After you’ve talked to Selena,” she quickly added.

“Oh, all right,” said her reluctant husband.

Odelia met Chase in the fairground parking lot. The cop had brought a couple of colleagues, and they’d already drawn up their plan of campaign: Chase had finally decided that there was no use hiding the truth from his fellow officers any longer, and had gathered them together in the police precinct main office that morning after returning from his visit to Charlene, and told them that Alec Lip, their beloved boss and chief, had been abducted.

Since the kidnappers hadn’t been in touch since the abduction, it was safe to assume that their demand that the news of his abduction remain a secret was now null and void.

So this had officially become a rescue mission, and the main investigation Chase and the rest of the Hampton Cove Police Department would pursue from now on.

“Do you really think Uncle Alec is being held here somewhere?” asked Odelia.

“I have no idea, babe,” said Chase. “But I’m willing to bet my badge that he is. And if we find this guy,” he added, holding up a picture of the man with the crooked nose and the cauliflower ears, “we’ll be much closer to the truth.” He’d distributed the picture among his officers, and he’d vowed to leave no stone unturned to find the guy today.

“I want to have another word with Solange,” said Odelia. “Though I doubt whether she knows anything. I’m starting to think someone is using her to set up some kind of scam operation.”

“Which begs the question: what do they hope to gain from making people’s wishes come true? Solange was right: for a measly fifty bucks she promises people all kinds of things, so where is the benefit?”

She patted her boyfriend’s chest. “I’m sure you’ll find out, Detective.”

“All right, people!” Chase yelled to his collected colleagues. “Let’s do this!”

And thus Operation Save Chief Alec was finally underway—officially this time.

The fairground was buzzing with activity. It wasn’t just a fair, but also a circus, and since Madame Solange and her cohorts were part of the circus setup, and circuses, as far as I’d ascertained from extensive research—all the hours spent watching movies and television shows—employ at any given time any number of heavily built men, possibly outfitted with crooked noses and cauliflower ears, I decided this should be our focus.

So it was with a certain measure of resolve that Dooley and I headed that way, while Brutus and Harriet, who had other opinions on how to run an investigation, went the other way, vowing to take a closer look at some of the other attractions, such as there were a hot dog stand, a funnel cake stand, a cotton candy stand, a deep-fried Twinkie stand, an ice cream stand, a jalapeno popper stand, a fried chicken stand, a lobster corn dog stand… In other words: Brutus was probably hungry, and so was Harriet.

“Do you know I’ve never been to the circus, Max,” said Dooley as we approached the area where the large and potentially dangerous circus animals were kept—the man with the cauliflower ears hopefully one of them—all of them preferably behind lock and key.

“No, me neither,” I admitted.

“Circuses really aren’t that popular anymore, are they?”

“No, I guess people nowadays favor other forms of entertainment,” I said.

“Such a pity,” he said. “Circuses are a lot of fun. With the trapeze artists and the clowns, and all the wild animals.”

We’d now arrived at the spot where the cages containing these wild animals were located, and as we walked past them, I felt pity for the poor creatures. “Lions really shouldn’t spend their time traveling around in circuses, though,” I said. “They probably would be much happier in their natural habitat.”

A particularly sleepy-looking lion now stared back at us from his cage, and opened his mouth to yawn.

“Hi, there,” I said. “My name is Max and this is Dooley. Could we perhaps have a moment of your time, good sir?”

“Sure,” said the lion. “What do you want?”

“Well, we’re actually looking for one of our humans who’s gone missing.”

The lion laughed at this. “You misplaced your human, huh? Now there’s something you don’t hear every day.”

“Yeah, he’s gone and got himself kidnapped,” I said. “So now we’re trying to find him.”

“And what does this human of yours look like may I ask?”

“Oh, he’s big and a little heavyset, with a paunch and not much hair on top of his head.”

“You’ve just described pretty much every single male over fifty that walks around this place all day,” said the lion. “So I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be more specific, cat.”

“Max,” I said. “The name is Max.”

“Uncle Alec is a cop,” Dooley specified. “He’s chief of police and is usually dressed in his police uniform, complete with a holster where he likes to keep his gun safely tucked away, and his badge on his chest, and a cap on his head, and he drives a police car, too.”

The lion smiled. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen him, fellas. But maybe ask Bella over there. She gets around more than I do.” He gestured to an elephant who was getting a nice scrub from one of her carers.

“Thanks, Mr. Lion,” I said.

“Leo,” the lion said. “And I hope you find your human. I wouldn’t like losing my own human, to be honest.”

I gave the lion a look of concern. “Do they–do they treat you well here, Leo?”

“Oh, sure,” said Leo. “Can’t complain. Plenty of food and plenty of exercise if that’s what you mean. And the people taking care of me are nice enough. And if I promise not to chomp their heads off when they stick it between my teeth I get an extra snack in the evening, so life is pretty sweet as far as I’m concerned.”

I gulped a little. I wouldn’t want to be the person sticking my head between this big lion’s teeth, but then humans are a little weird, as I think I’ve reiterated more than once.

“I wonder what life must be like for a lion like Leo,” said Dooley as we walked on. “To have to do all kinds of tricks for food, I mean.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be in his place,” I said.

“Though in a sense Odelia expects us to perform tricks in exchange for food, too, right?”

I hadn’t looked at it that way, but Dooley was right. We were playing detective in exchange for board and lodging. “I guess so,” I said therefore. “Though at least she doesn’t lock us up in a cage.”

We’d arrived at Bella’s dwelling, and I recognized her from the parade we’d seen the day we spent in the company of Charlene.

“Hi, Bella!” I said, raising my voice a little, as Bella was towering over us. She was an impressive animal, and now sat in a large tub, her back being scrubbed with a big brush.

Bella looked down at us with a curious look. “Hi, cats,” she said finally.

“Leo told us you might be able to help us,” said Dooley. “Our human has gone missing. He’s a police chief who wears a police chief’s uniform, a police chief’s cap and drives a police chief’s car. He’s also very large and has no hair on his head. So have you seen him maybe, Miss Bella?”

The elephant laughed. “I’m sorry, you guys, but I don’t think I’ve seen anyone answering to that description, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, visibly disappointed.

“The thing is, strange things have been happening, Miss Bella,” I said. “People have been going to see Madame Solange and their wishes have all been granted, but then it turns out it’s all bogus. Fake lottery tickets, stolen items, and cases of outright fraud. And it all started when the fair set up in Hampton Cove. So now we’re thinking there might be a connection.”

“Oh, and our human doesn’t remember us,” said Dooley, deciding to reveal all to this elephant.

“Sounds like you guys are in a real pickle,” said Bella. “Lucky for me my human hasn’t forgotten me yet. For if he did, there would be hell to pay.” And to show us what she meant, she lightly patted her carer on the head.

I gulped, thinking I wouldn’t want to risk the wrath of this particular elephant. “So you can’t help us, then?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not, cat,” said Bella, “though if you want to talk about strange happenings taking place, I can absolutely relate. For one thing, the circus director disappeared a few months back, only to suddenly turn up again a couple of days ago. So go figure.”

“And who’s the director of the circus?” I asked, though of course I already knew this.

“Solange’s husband. Guy called Wolf Moonblood,” said the elephant. “Solange was really sad when he disappeared, and she’s been very happy since his triumphant return, so at least that story has a happy ending.” She smiled down at us. “I hope your story will have a happy ending, too.” And to show us she had her big heart in the right place, she suddenly showered us with a spray of soapy water.

So we quickly skedaddled, but not before trying to shake off this impromptu shower!

Chapter 42

When Odelia walked into Madame Solange’s lair for the second time in two days, she didn’t exactly know what to expect. At the very least she wanted to dig a little deeper into the mystery of her mom losing part of her memory the day before, after their joint consultation.

As she walked in, the guard gave her the same unfriendly glare he’d awarded her the day before, and she saw that a sign had been hung up in the waiting room, a disclosure that the consults were being filmed and if you didn’t want your consult to be filmed you had to tell Madame Solange before the session began.

Moments later the curtain shifted and the fortune teller beckoned her in.

“Back again, huh?” said Solange with a smile. “Couldn’t get enough of my predictions?”

“Not exactly,” said Odelia as she took a seat, and watched how Solange removed the doily from her crystal ball. “Look, something happened to my mom after we came to see you yesterday. She’s been acting very strange.”

“Strange, how?”

“Well, she doesn’t remember my boyfriend, for one thing, and now she insists he goes out on a date with you instead.”

Solange grinned at this. “I’m sorry, hon, but I’m a happily married woman, so…” Then she turned serious. “Has she suffered memory loss before?”

“No, but I lost track of her yesterday for a while, and when we finally found her she was wandering around in the fields near here, barefoot and obviously confused. She also doesn’t remember what happened.”

“So maybe she took a stumble and hit her head?” Solange shrugged. “I don’t think you can hold me responsible, Miss…”

“Poole,” said Odelia. “Odelia Poole. And I’m not holding you responsible, but lots of strange things have been happening since you set up shop in my town, so…”

“So now you’re blaming me for… what exactly?” asked Solange, her smile having been replaced by a slight look of annoyance.

“I’m not blaming you for anything. Just saying it’s an awfully strange coincidence, that’s all.”

Both women faced off for a moment, then the fortune teller said, “Fine. Wait here a moment, will you? I think I might be able to help you.” And abruptly she took off through another curtain and into a part of the trailer Odelia assumed were her private quarters. She heard Solange talking on the phone, and moments later the curtains through which Odelia had entered moved and a woman walked in. She looked a little like Solange, but was older and her face sported a hard look.

“Hi, I’m Solange’s sister Selena,” said the woman. “She told me you have some kind of complaint?”

“I have no complaint,” said Odelia as Solange joined them and now both women stared down at her, none too friendly. Suddenly she didn’t feel entirely safe anymore, and wished she hadn’t come.

Selena took a seat on Solange’s chair and said, “Now look here, Miss Poole…”

“Yes?” said Odelia, and made the mistake of looking straight into the woman’s eyes. They were a very dark green, she saw. And all of a sudden she was feeling a little weak. And before long a sense of nausea and dizziness started washing over her.

She was vaguely aware that the woman was talking to her, though for the life of her she couldn’t tell what she was saying.

And then the floor was racing up to her and darkness closed in from all sides…

Dooley and I were more or less aimlessly wandering around the fairground. Our interviews with the animals making up the wild animal contingent of Circus Moonblood hadn’t exactly given us much to go on—if anything. And since we didn’t want to set paw inside Madame Solange’s trailer again, we decided to take a look around, hoping to stumble upon the kind of clue leading to the unraveling of this deepening mystery.

“Do you think Marge will get her memory back, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I hope so. It wouldn’t be nice if she didn’t.”

“She can’t even talk to us anymore. Which is really strange, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What if Odelia also loses her memory? Or Gran? Then none of our humans would be able to talk to us.”

“That wouldn’t be good,” I agreed. “Though the chance of Odelia forgetting who we are is very slim, Dooley. Non-existent, even.”

Just then, I suddenly thought I saw Odelia being ushered out of Madame Solange’s trailer, and so we both quickly made our way over to report—though really there wasn’t all that much to say.

“Odelia!” I said as we trailed after her. She was acting a little strange, I thought, not at all steady on her feet and staggering around like a drunken sailor.

She was leaning against another trailer, this one announcing it sold the most delicious caramel apples in the Western hemisphere, and the moment we caught up with her, Dooley happily said, “So did you get your fortune told, Odelia?”

Odelia stared at us for a moment, then said, “Oh, hi, cats. I like cats,” she announced, then promptly threw up right then and there!

“Looks like she ate a bad caramel apple,” Dooley said.

“So we talked to the lion and the elephant,” I said, “and they both say they haven’t seen Uncle Alec. They’re also not aware that anything out of the ordinary is going on.”

“I gotta get out of here,” Odelia muttered, wiping her lips. “Bye, cats.”

“Bye, Odelia,” I said, confused. Then, on a hunch, I added, “You can still understand us though, can’t you?”

But instead of responding, she just walked off!

So I quickly followed her and said, “Odelia? Talk to us, please?”

But she continued to simply ignore us!

“Odelia?” I said, concern making me a little anxious. “Is everything all right?”

Then, suddenly, she said, “What’s with all the meowing, cat? Can’t you see I have no food for you? Now get lost. Go back to your owner—if you have an owner.”

And with these words, she stumbled off.

Dooley and I shared a look of shock.

“She forgot about us, Max!” said Dooley, summing up the state of affairs very succinctly. “She’s completely forgotten that we exist!”

Chapter 43

Chase was starting to feel like an automaton after having shown the picture of that boxer type fellow to anyone he saw. All of the people working at the fair gave him the same reply: ‘Never seen the guy before, Detective.’

They did it with a certain shifty-eyed cautiousness that made him think that they knew perfectly well who the guy was but were either too intimidated to tell him the truth or were simply circling the wagons and giving this nosy cop the runaround.

And he’d just walked away from an awkward encounter with a juggler who gave him a very unfriendly stare in response to his question when suddenly he found himself coming face to face with… Chief Alec!

“Chief!” he cried, surprise making him a little squeaky-voiced. “Hey, there, buddy!”

But Alec wasn’t responding with the same joyful surprise at this happy reunion. On the contrary, he simply stared at Chase as if he were a bug he’d just discovered in his potato salad. He didn’t look like the Alec he knew, either: he was sporting some sort of ridiculous outfit: black leather jacket and black leather pants, and on top of his head was a wig of some kind and his face had been festooned with sideburns and a mustache.

“Do I know you?” asked the Chief coldly.

“Alec, it’s me—Chase!” he said, patting his own chest, then holding out a welcoming hand, which the other pointedly ignored.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaking me with someone else,” said Alec. “My name is Wolf Moonblood, not… what did you call me?”

“Alec Lip,” said Chase, sobered to some extent. He was pretty sure he wasn’t mistaken, so he approached the guy and grabbed his ridiculous hair and yanked it off.

As he’d surmised, it was just a wig.

“Hey!” said Alec, grabbing at his now hairless head. “What do you think you’re doing!”

“What’s going on, Alec?” asked Chase. “Don’t you remember me?”

“Give me back my hair,” said Alec coldly.

Chase frowned, then decided to take things a little further still, and took a good grip on the man’s mustache and gave it a yank. It easily came off, and now he was holding both the man’s hair and his mustache. Only those ridiculous sideburns were left.

“Hey! This is assault!” said the Chief. “I’ll have your badge for this, you ridiculous…”

“Alec, buddy!” said Chase. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you gotta snap out of it!” And for good measure he snapped his fingers in the man’s face a couple times.

Alec blinked, then frowned. “I would like to have my hair and mustache back now.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” said Chase, and took a firm grip on the man’s sideburns and pulled. There was a slight ripping sound, and both came off in his hands, too!

And there he stood: Chief Alec Lip, large as life, and looking decidedly dazed after having been divested of all of his facial hair.

But before Chase could slap the man on the back and invite him for a drink to tell him what had happened, suddenly three burly men arrived on the scene and attached themselves to his arms and started to drag him off instead!

“Let go of me!” he bellowed, and fought them off as well as he could. Now Chase was a powerfully built man, but he was no match for three brutes like this, and before long he was being muscled off the premises and deposited squarely at the entrance to the fair.

“And stay away!” warned the biggest and toughest of the trio.

“I’m a cop!” he said, and showed them his badge. “And you’re holding a man prisoner!”

“Oh, buzz off, cop,” said one of the goons with a shrug.

“I’ll be back,” he warned.

“Promises, promises,” said the guy, who had a cleanly shaven head, was wearing red Converse shoes, had a crooked nose, cauliflower ears, a tattoo of a skull and crossbones on his neck and spoke with a Boston accent. And only then Chase realized that this man resembled that man very closely indeed—the man he was looking for!

He now took the picture he’d been showing around out of his pocket.

“This is you,” he said.

The man glanced at the picture, then at Chase, and said, “No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is!”

The man looked over to his musclebound colleagues, and they must have exchanged some sort of secret silent code, for moments later they had attached themselves to Chase’s arms again, and this time proceeded to drag him in the opposite direction!

“Hey, you can’t do this to me!” said Chase.

“Oh, shut up already,” grunted Cauliflower Ear. “Why is it you people always have to come and ruin things for us.”

“Heeeeelp!” Chase yelled, feeling a little annoyed he had to ask for help from others while he was usually so capable of taking care of himself. “I’m being abducted!”

But then Cauliflower Ear grunted something, hauled off, and planted a meaty fist on Chase’s jaw, and all of a sudden the lights went out and the world turned dark.

Officer Sarah Flunk was feeling a little blue. Her boyfriend of several months had finally proposed, only for him to tell Detective Kingsley he’d only proposed after being coerced, which made the whole thing leave a very sour taste in the young police officer’s mouth. In fact she wouldn’t mind smacking Barry in the face right now, the bastard.

And as she showed the picture of that unsavory character who’d forced Barry into proposing marriage to her while also having a hand in Chief Alec’s kidnapping to another stallkeeper, she suddenly became aware of a fracas or altercation (or even a skirmish), so she heaved a deep sigh and headed on over to see what was going on.

Great was her surprise when she found none other than her commanding officer Detective Kingsley staggering around, looking as if he’d drunk more than he was used to.

“Detective Kingsley, sir,” she said while bystanders laughed at the drunk cop. “Let’s get you out of here.” And she started leading the inebriated cop away from the scene.

He was leaning heavily on her, which was a little inconvenient as he was almost twice her size, but she still managed to put some distance between themselves and the onlookers. “What happened, sir?” she asked once they were on their way to the parking lot.

“Who are you?” asked Chase, a distinct slur to his speech.

“What do you mean?” Oh, God, he was completely off his face, wasn’t he?

“What do you mean what do I mean? Who are you and who am I?”

“I’m Sarah, sir. Sarah Flunk? And you’re Chase Kingsley. Detective Chase Kingsley with the Hampton Cove Police Department.”

“Who?”

“How much did you have to drink, sir?” she said, shocked at his behavior. Chase usually was so well-behaved, and a stickler for protocol and correct procedure, too.

“Where am I?” the cop asked now.

“At the fair,” said Sarah in clipped tones. She really liked Chase, both as a colleague and a human being, but there were limits to what she could tolerate from anyone, and she drew the line at public drunkenness, and certainly drinking on duty. “We’re looking for Chief Alec, remember?”

“Who’s Chief Alec?” slurred Chase, his eyes swiveling in every direction.

Just then, Sarah saw Odelia Poole. “Odelia!” she called out. “Can you please help me put Chase in a car? He’s completely wasted.”

Odelia gave her a strange look, then said, “Who are you and what are you talking about?”

“Your boyfriend is drunk!” said Sarah emphatically. She didn’t like to be put in this situation.

Odelia looked at her, then looked at Chase, then said, “I’ve never seen this man before in my life. Now leave me alone!”

Chapter 44

To say that we were feeling a little under the weather was an understatement. First one of our humans had lost her mind, and now the second one! If this kept up, Dooley’s fear that all three of the humans who could talk to us would soon be lost to us was going to become a reality!

“It’s this Madame Solange, Max!” said Dooley. “She must have done something to Odelia—she simply must have!”

“I think you’re right, Dooley,” I said. “But how do we prove it?”

We’d taken up position not far from Solange’s trailer, trying to figure out how to proceed. So far we hadn’t come up with a single plan, the emotion of seeing our favorite human in the world looking at us like a dead fish having completely discombobulated us.

Just then, Norm came buzzing over. “Have I got news for you guys!” said the spy fly.

“And we’ve got some news for you,” I said. “Odelia has suddenly developed an acute case of memory loss and now she doesn’t even know who we are!”

“Or is able to understand a word we say!” Dooley added, looking distinctly down in the dumps, as did I, for that matter.

“I think I know what’s going on here, fellas!” said Norm. “I was in there just now, when Odelia was being hypnotized!”

“Hypnotized?” I asked, staring at the fearless fly.

“Hypnotized!” he repeated. “Apparently Solange didn’t like the questions Odelia was asking, so she called her sister, who came over immediately, and proceeded to put some kind of spell on her. Odelia blacked out, and when she came to, they kicked her out!”

“But… how is that even possible!”

“Oh, it’s possible,” said Norm. “I saw them do it, and while Odelia was under, they were saying how she wouldn’t remember a thing—not who Solange was, or why she was there—or even her own name!”

“So that’s how they do it,” I said. “Hypnosis!”

“I’ve seen a documentary on hypnosis,” said Dooley, “on the Discovery Channel. It’s not very nice. They can make people do almost anything. In the documentary they made a man eat worms, after convincing him it wasn’t worms but potato chips. He thought it was delicious but it looked really, really gross!”

Norm stared at Dooley for a moment, then shook his head. “No, they didn’t feed Odelia worms. But they did convince her to forget anything to do with the fair, or Solange or the investigation.”

“Oh, this is so not good,” I said. “Now she’ll never be the same again.”

“They can be cured, though,” said Dooley. “There is some kind of code word they use and when they say it, the person snaps out of it.” He smiled. “You should have seen the look on the man’s face when he realized he’d eaten a whole plate full of worms!”

“Nice, Dooley,” I said, though I was relieved to hear that Odelia could be cured, and so could Marge, who probably had been the victim of the same tactic.

“Oh, and they just did the same thing to Chase,” said Norm. “A couple of really big guys brought him in, completely unconscious, and this sister of Madame Solange, whose name is Selena, by the way, revived him, and then, while they held him down, did the same thing to him she did to Odelia. So I’m afraid now you have two humans who won’t even remember their own names, you guys.”

“Oh, God,” I said. I darted a glance at the trailer of this Solange person, and wondered how we were going to stop her from hypnotizing the entire town of Hampton Cove! Just then, a man hoisting a camera on his shoulder, and another man holding a microphone, downed tools right next to where we were hiding under the trailer. They shook a couple of cigarettes out of a packet and lit them, then took a long drag.

“I hate this job,” confessed the cameraman. “When is it going to be finished?”

“Not until the brass figure we’ve got enough footage,” said the microphone guy.

“And when will that be? I reckon we’ve got plenty of footage already.” He ticked it off on his nicotine-stained fingers. “We’ve got hours and hours of Solange doing her trick, dozens of clients on tape, and we’ve interviewed the entire staff of this stupid circus and everyone else involved. The only ones we haven’t talked to are the animals!”

“Look, we just gotta keep on going,” said his colleague. “We sure get paid enough.”

“You think? Peanuts, man, compared to what Solange and her family are netting.”

“You know something I don’t?”

“A hundred and fifty million bucks!”

Microphone Man whistled through his teeth. “Woo-wee. That’s a lot of dough.”

“You bet it is. Hotflix is clearly betting on a runaway hit, and I’ll bet they’ll get it, too.”

“Another Kardashians, only this time with a slightly more unusual family.”

“Keeping up with the Moonbloods,” said Camera Guy with a grin, then took another long drag from his cancer stick and dumped the butt right next to Dooley and me, stubbing it out with his foot.

“There’s been talk of the miracles all being bogus, though,” said his colleague. “Cops are getting involved.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too. But who cares, right? It’s just a show. And as long as the ratings go through the roof, Solange and company will keep raking in the millions.”

And then he dumped his cigarette butt, too, and both men were off.

We watched them enter Solange’s trailer, presumably to film some more footage of unsuspecting Hampton Covians being promised the moon by Solange and her sister.

Before Dooley and I could discuss what we’d just discovered, a man suddenly came hurrying in the direction of the trailer. It was Wolf Moonblood—only he had a wig haphazardly placed on top of his head, sideburns equally haphazardly pasted to his cheeks, and his mustache was completely askance.

He entered the trailer, crying, “Solange! Solange! Some guy messed up my hair!”

Dooley and I shared a look of understanding.

“Dooley,” I said. “I think we just cracked this case.”

“And me!” said Norm excitedly. “I cracked it, too, right?”

“You did the heavy lifting, Norm,” I said with a smile.

And for a tiny fly that was a real feat.

Chapter 45

Gran was reluctantly ambling along, taking in the sights and sounds of the fair that had graced her town with its presence. Next to her, Scarlett was teetering along on her high heels, and alternately nibbling and sucking at an ice cream cone.

“You have to lick it,” said Vesta, watching the spectacle with distaste.

“What are you talking about?” asked her friend, smacking her lips.

“You lick ice cream, not bite it or suck it—you lick it. With your tongue.”

“Look, it’s my ice cream so I’ll do what I want with it.” Scarlett attacked the thing again, making horrible sucking sounds as she did. “If you don’t like it, get your own.”

“I hate fairs,” Vesta grumbled.

“That’s because you hate everything.”

“No, I don’t. I like TV. And I like…” She paused, trying to think of what else she liked, until she caught Scarlett’s grin and grunted, “Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“But you were thinking it!”

“Oh, so now I can’t even think what I want?”

“You know what I mean.” Her granddaughter had convinced her to tag along while a big police operation was being conducted to find Vesta’s missing son. She didn’t have high hopes. The cops in this town didn’t exactly have a great track record catching the bad guys. Instead they kept arresting Vesta and Scarlett, even when they hadn’t done anything wrong!

So when she caught sight of a couple of officers sticking a piece of paper with a mug shot of the suspect under people’s noses, she sniffed annoyedly.

“What? You don’t think they’ll find your son?” asked Scarlett.

“They couldn’t find my son if he danced in front of them dressed in nothing but a hula skirt,” she said. She frowned as she suddenly saw Sarah Flunk escorting Chase off the scene, the latter looking a little ill-footed for some reason. “Will you look at that? I think Chase just went and got himself in trouble.”

“I like Chase. I think he’s a great cop, and he’s not bad-looking either,” said Scarlett.

“Watch it, you,” said Vesta, wagging a bony finger in her friend’s face.

“What did I say this time?!”

“Chase is spoken for, you know that.”

“I just said—”

“I know what you said, and I know how your mind works, and you’re not going to—holy cow, what’s going on over there?”

She’d suddenly spotted her cats, waving frantically at her from underneath a trailer.

She hurriedly joined them, as did Scarlett, though at a slower pace, due to those damn high heels she always insisted on wearing.

“What’s wrong?” she asked once she’d crouched down, her knees creaking as she did.

“It’s Odelia,” said Max. “She’s been hypnotized.”

“And Chase, too!” said Dooley.

“And so has Uncle Alec!” Max added.

“And he’s lost his hair and his mustache and his sideburns!”

“And can you even understand what we’re saying or have they gotten to you too?!”

She stared down at her cats. “I can understand you loud and clear,” she said. “And what’s all this stuff about hypnotizing?”

“Who’s been hypnotized?” asked Scarlett.

“Will you please be quiet? I’m trying to talk to my cats.”

“In any other universe that sentence would earn you a one-way trip to the nuthouse,” Scarlett announced.

“Madame Solange has a sister,” said Max. “And that sister has been going around hypnotizing people, and making them forget who they are. She hypnotized Odelia just now, and Chase, too, and probably also Marge and Uncle Alec.”

“And now Uncle Alec thinks he’s a man named Wolf and he’s married to Solange!” Dooley finished.

“What are they saying?” asked Scarlett.

“Can you just be quiet for two seconds?”

“We also overheard two men talking,” Max continued, darting anxious glances around, “and the family of Solange has signed a contract with Hotflix for one hundred and fifty million dollars for an exclusive reality show. Which is going to show how she makes people’s every wish come true. Like a modern-day Santa Claus, only the female version. And so Solange and her family have been going around making sure those wishes all come true—only they haven’t. Not really. They’ve been faking the whole thing. But the network doesn’t care. As long as the ratings go through the roof, they just don’t care.”

“Oh, my God,” said Vesta, getting up and rubbing her painful knees. She turned to her friend. “Bad business, honey. Very bad.”

But Scarlett was looking the other way, her arms crossed in front of her chest and pointedly ignoring her.

“Now what?” asked Vesta.

“Do I have permission to speak, General? Are you absolutely sure, Your Highness?”

“Yeah, you have permission to speak.”

“Well, now I don’t wanna—so there.”

“Solange’s sister has been going around hypnotizing people to forget they exist.”

“Who exists?”

“They! Solange and her family! And they’ve been making people’s wishes come true for this big reality show they’re doing—a contract worth nine figures if you please!”

“Nine figures!”

Vesta nodded. “So how do we handle this is what I want to know. This Solange is clearly a very dangerous woman, and her sister even more so.”

Scarlett then slowly turned to her, a smile forming on her lips, and Vesta could just see the thought forming in her friend’s head, and the same smile soon spread across her own features.

“The watch is on this, buddy,” said Scarlett, holding out her hand.

“Yeah, we got this,” Vesta confirmed, and tickled Scarlett’s fingers with her own. She then looked down at Max and Dooley, and the fly that kept buzzing around their heads. “I’ve got a very important assignment for you guys. Are you game?”

“Just don’t forget about us, Gran,” said Dooley. “Please don’t forget who we are!”

“Oh, I can promise you that I won’t, Dooley,” she said.

“That’s what Odelia said,” said the small gray cat sadly. “And look what happened to her.”

Solange had just promised a middle-aged woman that any day now she’d come into the possession of a very large sum of money when suddenly the curtain of her domain was thrown wide and a very irate-looking Ida Baumgartner came charging in, a smallish man in tow.

“You promised me my husband would return to me!” Ida bellowed. “And look what I found on my doorstep this morning. This weird-looking creature!”

“My name is Burt Baumgartner,” the small guy intoned. “And I have returned from the dead to love my wife for all eternity!”

“This is not my husband!” said Ida. “This is Barney Grogan—the butcher!”

“I love you, Ida,” said the little guy, and puckered up his lips for a kiss, earning himself a ringing smack around the head from Ida.

“He doesn’t even look like my husband!” Ida cried.

“I’m very sorry,” said Solange, throwing an apologetic glance at her other client, who stood watching the scene with interest. “For customer complaints I’ll have to refer you to my sister. She’s over in the next trailer. She’ll happily assist you in this matter.”

“I will always love you, Ida, dear,” said the smallish man, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh, go away, Barney,” said Ida, and both of them walked out.

Solange rolled her eyes. Clearly her sister was starting to miss the ball lately. First this whole business with Wolf’s family, and now this? If she kept this up even Hotflix would start doubting the fat check they’d written them.

The client left her trailer, after Solange once more promised her that the money would arrive any day now, and she quickly glanced into the waiting area, and saw she had no more customers. Great. She needed a break.

But before she could withdraw into her private lair, suddenly the sound of a cat mewling made itself heard right outside the trailer door.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” she said, and stalked over. “How many times do I have to tell you not to let—” But the man she’d been scolding for gross negligence wasn’t standing sentry as he usually was. “Maxim?!” she called out. Where the hell was that no-good lazy bum now? So she opened the door to take a look, and suddenly felt a jolt like she’d never felt before. It was as if she’d been struck by lightning. And then she was going down, her face hitting the ground before she knew what had hit her.

And just before she passed out, she thought she caught a glimpse of a little old lady with white hair, holding a very big Taser in her hand, and giving her a big toothy grin.

Epilogue

I lazily opened one eye to take in the scene. Odelia was there, of course, and so was Chase. In fact our human’s entire family was there: Tex and Marge, Uncle Alec and Charlene, and Gran and Scarlett.

All of them were seated around the garden table, with Chase expertly flipping burgers and making sure his (future) family members were all taken care of—food-wise.

Marge and Odelia had had their memories returned to them, and so had Uncle Alec, though the latter still had a tendency from time to time to touch his hair, presumably hoping to find it thick and lush and gelled in place. What he found instead were the few stray wispy strings that had been there for a while—much to his disappointment, too. I didn’t doubt that at some point in the future he’d order himself a nice toupee or wig.

Chase, too, had had his memory restored, and now remembered who he was and where he was and how he’d gotten there. And our humans could talk to us again, imagine that!

It had taken some arm-twisting on Gran’s part to make that miracle happen, but Solange’s sister Selena had finally agreed to reverse the spell she’d put on the Poole family members, and they’d soon snapped out of their hypnotism-induced funk.

Charlene, too, had been saved from the kind of feverish spell she’d been under, and it was safe to say things had mostly returned to normal. In her case it had been a little trickier, as Selena had hypnotized her over one of her goons’ phones. As a consequence the spell had taken longer to take hold, but was more pernicious, and harder to reverse.

“So all this for a little bit of money?” asked Harriet.

“Not a little bit,” I said. “Unless you think one hundred and fifty million is nothing.”

“It is a lot,” she allowed, “but they never would have gotten away with it, would they?”

“I think they might have,” I said. “If they could have just kept on hypnotizing people and sending their goons around to make people’s wishes come true.” Like Santa’s elves, if Santa’s elves had joined the Mob.

“Amazing,” said Brutus, but he was referring to the piece of delicious turkey meat Odelia had handed us, not the case of Solange and Selena.

“I still think it’s a sad story,” said Dooley. “Solange must really have missed her husband to go to such lengths.”

“Yeah, but she shouldn’t have kidnapped Uncle Alec just because she missed her husband,” I said.

As it happened, Solange’s husband Wolf had died six months before, breaking his neck when he fell from the roof of his circus tent. And because he had no insurance, Solange and her sister decided not to tell anyone he’d died. They simply buried the body in the town where Circus Moonblood had been set up at the time, and pretended he’d skedaddled after a fight with his wife. She’d missed her husband, of course, and so had the circus, which had to go on without its leader. There had been some grumblings in the ranks about the leadership the sisters were extending, and it became clear they needed a new boss to firmly take the reins. And then one day Uncle Alec and Charlene dropped by Madame Solange for a session. Solange had immediately noticed the resemblance to her late husband, and so she and her sister decided on a wild scheme: they’d abducted the Chief, dressed him up as Wolf, and with some of Selena’s hypnotic trickery, Chief Alec had actually believed he was Wolf Moonblood and so had everyone else!

“Do you remember anything?” asked Scarlett now. “Anything at all?”

The Chief gave her a rueful look. “Not much. I do remember I had to feed the elephant one day and he must have smelled that I wasn’t Wolf for he gave me a really weird look and then smacked me in the face with his trunk!”

They all laughed at that, but I thought it was pretty smart of Bella. At least she hadn’t been hoodwinked the way the others had. Of course if Dooley and I had managed to get up close and personal with ‘Wolf’ I’m pretty sure we would have known he was in fact Chef Alec, too.

I placed my head on my paws again. I’d eaten my fill and now it was time for a nap.

“Chase is a much better grill master than Tex,” said Dooley, chewing delightedly.

“Yeah, he certainly is,” I muttered sleepily.

“I thought he and Tex were taking a barbecue cooking class?” asked Brutus.

“Oh, they did,” said Harriet. “But Tex set fire to the kitchen on his first day, so they banned him from the class.”

“Too bad,” said Dooley. “I think Tex really likes to grill—only he has zero talent.”

“Just like I love to act, but I have zero talent, too,” I mumbled.

“So is Hotflix going to air the new show?” asked Brutus.

“Nope,” said Harriet. “And WLBC-9 have cut all ties with them after the whole fiasco.”

Hotflix had struck a deal with the network, filming the whole thing under the local station’s banner and pretending they were creating a documentary, not wanting the new show to be announced before it was in the can. But the two companies had fallen out after Solange and Selena had been arrested. Now only the lawyers would benefit.

“Do you think I should grow a mustache, though?” asked Uncle Alec, thoughtfully rubbing his upper lip.

“No, I don’t,” said Charlene crisply, and promptly slapped his hand away.

The Mayor still hadn’t completely forgiven her boyfriend for spending time in another woman’s bed—even though he claimed to have no recollection whatsoever.

“Burger up!” Chase yelled, and loud cheers rang out all around the table.

The sun was shining, birds were tweeting, our humans were happily prattling, meat was sizzling on the grill, spreading its delicious aroma, and all in all I thought all was well with the world. And I would have dozed off, if Norm hadn’t suddenly buzzed up to me, and announced happily, “Max! Buddy!”

I opened my eyes and heaved a deep sigh. “Norm, hi,” I said. We hadn’t seen the big fly around for a while. “How are things in the world of the flies?”

“Oh, great!” said the indomitable spy fly. “You remember how you told me I’d always have a home in your home?”

“Of course,” I said. “As long as you don’t touch my food you can buzz around as much as you want.” I’d even told Odelia as much, and she’d specifically instructed her family members not to take out the fly swatter if they saw Norm buzzing about.

“So do you remember you also told me I could bring along my family if I wanted to?” Norm now asked, still buzzing in front of my nose.

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“Oh, Max, you didn’t,” said Harriet.

“Oh, yes, I did,” I said. “Norm has done so much for this family that it’s only right for us to give something back.”

“But, Max—”

“It’s done, Harriet.”

“But, Max!”

I held up my paw, to indicate that as far as I was concerned, the discussion was over. She closed her lips with a click of the teeth, and proceeded to give me a furious look. I know I probably should have discussed this with my housemates, but it was the right thing to do!

“Thank you so much, Max,” said Norm, buzzing up and down with obvious glee. “So I’ve brought my family over, and they’re all anxious to meet my benefactor, the great M.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” I said with a tired smile. This case had taken a lot out of me, and I frankly needed to catch up on my sleep. Then again, I didn’t want to be rude, and so I was more than willing to say hi to Norm’s mom and dad, and his siblings, too.

“Come on over, you guys!” Norm yelled. “Meet my best friend Max!”

But before Norm’s family could join us for this happy occasion, suddenly a large cloud blocked out the sun. It was so large that the entire backyard was plunged into darkness, and the Pooles all glanced up in surprise.

“What’s going on?” asked Charlene.

“I didn’t know it was going to rain,” said Uncle Alec, holding out his hand.

“’Sunny,’ it says here,” said Marge, referring to the weather app on her phone.

“It’s because you didn’t let me near the grill,” said Tex moodily. “Nature is feeling my mood.”

“We didn’t let you near the grill, honey,” said Marge, “because we don’t enjoy being poisoned on a weekly basis.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“I still love you, though,” said his wife, and planted a kiss on the sulking doctor’s cheek.

“It’s not a cloud,” said Gran suddenly. “It’s…”

“Flies!” Scarlett yelled. “And I’m wearing my brand-new white dress!”

She was right. Before our very eyes, hundreds of flies suddenly came buzzing over to where we were pleasantly lounging on the porch swing. Did I say hundreds? I meant thousands—maybe even millions!

They were suddenly everywhere: on our fur, on the table, on the potato salad, the coleslaw, the baby carrots, on the nice sausages, the steaks, the ribs, the burgers, swarming around our humans, and generally acting like an invasion army!

“Heeeeelp!” said Scarlett, swatting them away. “They’re in my hair!”

They were in everyone’s hair!

“Well, Max!” said Norm, over the deafening droning noise of the swarming insects. “Now these are my brothers and sisters—and my aunts and uncles—and my cousins and my nieces and nephews… on my mother’s side. My dad’s side got held up when a farmer dumped a truckload of manure on his cornfield and they couldn’t resist a free buffet so they’ll get here a little bit later. Guys, this is Max! Or M as I like to call him!”

“Norm—how many are there!” I yelled, afraid to open my mouth for fear they’d simply swarm in and start buzzing around inside my tummy!

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a smile. “I have a big family, but then that’s flies for you—we love our crazy, big fly families.”

I glanced over and saw that Harriet was eyeing me furiously. “Flies breed like… flies, Max, didn’t you know? There are probably millions! And now they’ll all come and live with us. In our house! Eating our food! And… defecating all over the place!”

Oh, dear. I’d really gone and done it this time, hadn’t I?

“It’s all right, Max,” said Dooley, though it was hard to make out his features through the haze of flies. “You did it out of kindness, and the universe rewards acts of kindness.”

Our humans were frantically clearing the table and escaping inside, and Harriet and Brutus were escaping in the direction of the bushes at the bottom of the garden, and soon it was just me and Dooley and Norm and his million-strong family.

“Ma!” Norm yelled. “Come over here and meet Max!”

A very large fly materialized out of the swarm and greeted me warmly. “Thanks for being such a good friend to my Norm, Max. He’s a good boy, my Norm is. A little rambunctious, maybe, but he’s got his heart in the right place. Now could you please tell him to find himself a nice girl and settle down—maybe he’ll listen to you. He certainly doesn’t listen to me, the little rascal!” And she proceeded to give her son a stern look. At least I think she did. It’s kinda hard to read a fly’s facial expressions, if you know what I mean.

“Oh, Mom. There’s plenty of time for that sort of thing!” Norm said laughingly.

And as Dooley and I watched on, Norm’s family attacked the food our humans had left on the table. I think it’s safe to say this was not my finest hour, but at least, as Dooley had suggested, the universe would probably reward me for my kindness, right?

“Maybe we can ask Solange’s sister to hypnotize them,” said Dooley after a while. “Make them forget we exist, you know. She seems to be really good at that sort of thing.”

I watched as Marge’s nice white table cloth quickly turned a muddy brown.

And then we decided to flee the scene, too. So we hopped down from the swing and hurried inside through the pet flap. But who was I kidding? Flies are hard to keep out, and soon they were following us inside, buzzing around everywhere we looked.

Our humans were all seated around the kitchen table, and giving me hard looks.

“Max,” said Gran suddenly. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

“Um…” I said, prevaricating mightily. But Gran’s stare is something else, so quickly I hung my head. “Yeah, it is,” I admitted. “I told Norm he could bring his family over—and he has.”

“Oh, dear,” said Marge, watching as her clean kitchen window was now speckled with hundreds of tiny dark spots.

But then Gran and Scarlett shared a look, and suddenly Gran brought out a stun gun, and Scarlett what looked like a can of mace. They both got up, and Gran bellowed, “Flies! You have ten seconds to leave this house or we’ll zap you straight back to where you came from! We are the neighborhood watch, and we are not kidding around!”

Norm came buzzing up to me, looking a little nervous. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“New assignment, Norm,” I said, darting an anxious look at Gran and Scarlett, who were now counting down from ten to one. “Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to head on over to the other side of town, and… and…”

“See what Bella and Leo are up to,” Dooley added.

“Yeah,” I said, giving Dooley a grateful smile. “And better take your family with you.”

“My entire family?!” Norm said excitedly.

“Of course. If they’re cut from the same cloth as you are, they’ll prove invaluable to the service. Wonderful spies, one and all.”

“Oh, Max—that’s so generous of you! So what’s the file on Bella and Leo?”

“Um… well, we’ve received credible intel that they might be foreign agents.”

“We’re on it, sir!” said Norm, and before Gran’s countdown had ended, he and the rest of his family had all buzzed off.

“See!” Gran cried as she watched the swarm of flies all disappear. “The watch rules!”

We decided to let her enjoy her moment of triumph. After all, she had saved this family from certain doom, not to mention several family members of eternal memory loss. The watch might not be the success story Gran had envisioned when she started it, but it wasn’t a total failure either.

“What are you going to do when Norm returns from his ‘mission?’” asked Odelia as she gave us a cuddle. Contrary to her grandmother, she knew who’d saved the day.

“We’ll just give him another one,” I said with a smile.

She hugged us close, and we both hugged her right back. We’d almost lost our human to Solange’s shenanigans, and it had made me realize just how lucky we were to have Odelia—and the rest of her family, too. There might not be millions of them, like Norm’s impressive swarm, but when it comes to family I guess it’s not about the quantity, but about the quality. And I can proudly say we had the best family any cat could hope for.

Suddenly Odelia stared at me with a frown. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But do I know you?”

I looked up at her in alarm, and so did Dooley.

“Oh, no!” my friend said. “Max, it’s happening again!”

But then Odelia’s face broke into a wide grin. “Just kidding, you guys!”

Yep. The best human in the world.

And she’s funny, too!

Or at least she thinks she is.

Purrfect Fitness

The Mysteries of Max - Book 29

Chapter 1

There’s a story someone once told me about not judging a person until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. And I remember thinking at the time that this story doesn’t really apply to cats, since we don’t wear shoes. Still, the gist of the thing has always stuck with me, and when I now watched Odelia and Chase sweating and grunting their way through some sort of aerobics routine, I was reminded of this neat little aphorism or idiom.

It’s hard for a cat to feel a lot of sympathy when humans put themselves through the wringer like this. I mean, no cat would willingly subject themselves to such silliness, but then that’s humans for you. They must have some sort of masochistic streak, and like to torment themselves for no good reason whatsoever.

The shoes Odelia and Chase were wearing were sneakers, so I tried hard to picture myself wearing those same sneakers and jumping around like a crazy person, losing about a gallon of sweat in the process. Try as I might, though, I simply couldn’t see it.

“What are they doing?” asked Dooley, who’d been observing the scene with the same stupefied expression on his face as no doubt I was wearing on mine.

“It’s called aerobics,” I explained. “Humans do it to stay in shape.”

“What shape? Square or round or…”

“It doesn’t matter as long as it’s slim. Humans like to be slim.”

“It looks extremely painful,” Dooley said, wincing a little as Odelia practiced a high kick that looked very dangerous indeed.

“Humans like to suffer,” I explained.

“So weird,” Dooley said with a shake of the head.

On the television a man was showing our humans how it was done. He was a man with a big curly head of hair, a pink sweat headband and very bright spandex clothes. Behind the man were five women mimicking his every move, just the way Odelia and Chase were, and the music pumping through our living room speakers accompanying the man’s instructions was loud and energetic. It also made my ears bleed.

Well, maybe not literally, but you know what I mean. Cats have a very sensitive sense of hearing, and the noise from the TV was very unpleasant to say the least.

I liked that Odelia wasn’t alone, though. In case she pulled a muscle, her boyfriend could immediately call for a doctor—and she could do the same for him. Also, they say couples who suffer together, stay together, and judging from the pained grimaces on our humans’ sweat-soaked faces, they were suffering a lot, which boded well for their future.

“You would think that after spending so much time with our humans we would understand what they’re up to,” said Dooley. “But the opposite seems to be true. The longer I’m with them, the less I understand them.”

“You certainly have a point, Dooley,” I said, as I felt exactly the same way.

Suddenly the sliding glass door opened and Grandma Muffin walked in. She cast one look at her profusely sweating and grunting granddaughter and boyfriend, shook her head in dismay, and walked out again. Gran doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and whatever she had to tell us could probably wait.

Suddenly the doorbell chimed, and since Odelia nor Chase reacted, I easily slid down from my perch on the couch and ambled over to see who it was.

Cats can’t open doors, unfortunately, but they can take a peek through the letterbox and ascertain the identity of the person making a house call, which is what I did now.

Much to my surprise, the person standing in front of the door was the same person now working up a sweat on our television screen and shouting a good deal as he did.

For a moment I thought I was seeing things, for he looked exactly the same as he did on TV: that same curly head of hair, that same garishly colorful spandex outfit, and the same sneakers. Only the man at the door had a careworn expression on his face while the man on TV looked like he was about to reach his personal peak of pleasure.

So I padded into the living room again, and tried to attract Odelia’s attention. It took me a while to accomplish this feat, as she was just demonstrating a very complicated routine that involved jumping up and down while waving her arms just so. Finally she dragged her eyes away from the screen and saw I was also waving my paws, only without defying gravity the way she was.

Immediately she turned down the sound. “Yes, Max?” she said, panting heavily while planting her hands on her hips. “What do you want, buddy?”

“There’s a man at the door,” I said. “The same man that’s on TV, in fact.”

“Maybe he’s here to give you some extra instructions,” Dooley suggested.

“Yeah, that could be it,” I said, nodding.

“He probably thinks you did something wrong and he wants to correct you in person,” Dooley added as he placed his head on his front paws.

“What’s going on?” asked Chase, who’d also become aware of this sudden lull in the proceedings.

Just then, the man at the door made his presence known once more by pressing his finger on the bell and this time keeping it here, causing it to jangle freely—usually a sure-fire way of making sure whoever is inside comes to the door post-haste.

Odelia now grabbed a towel and as she dabbed at her face hurried into the small hallway and opened the door. She must have been as surprised as I was to see her television fitness instructor in the flesh, for she stammered, “Mr. H-H-Hancock!”

“Odelia Poole?” asked the man, looking distinctly ill at ease. “The detective?”

“That’s right—I mean, my name is Odelia Poole, but I’m not a detective. I’m a reporter, actually. With the Hampton Cove Gazette.”

“I’m in trouble, Miss Poole. Big trouble. And I’m hoping you can help me.”

“Yes–yes, of course,” said Odelia, still visibly dazed by this strange coincidence.

When mere mortals meet their heroes in the flesh, they usually respond by turning both tongue-tied and weak-kneed, and I could observe this phenomenon up close and personal in my own human, who looked star-struck by this funny-looking fitness man.

“Can I come in?” asked Mr. Hancock after a moment in which Odelia did nothing more than goggle like a lovesick teenager meeting Justin Bieber for the first time.

“Yes! Yes, please do!” said Odelia, snapping out of her momentary stupor.

“Who is it, babe?” asked Chase as he came to see what was going on. When he caught sight of Mr. Hancock his jaw actually dropped and he just stood there, gawking.

Mr. Hancock smiled nervously, and since his onlookers were now both struck dumb, he did the honors himself by walking into our modest little home, closing the door. Then he said, “I only have four more days to live, Miss Poole, and I’m hoping you’ll be able to find out who’s doing this to me… and maybe stop them from murdering me.”

Chapter 2

Harriet gazed before her into the middle distance, a worried look marring her usually smooth brow.

Next to her, Brutus glanced over, and when he caught the look of worry, reciprocated with a pang of concern himself. “The eyes?” he said.

Harriet nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s happening, smoochie poo, but it looks like I don’t see as well as I used to.”

“Maybe we should tell someone?”

“No!” said Harriet immediately. “I don’t want anyone to know. Promise me you won’t tell a soul, Brutus. Not a single soul!”

“All right, all right,” he said.

Harriet opened and closed one eye, then the other, but the object she was staring at didn’t become any clearer. On the contrary, the rose bush on the other side of the backyard only seemed to become more blurred. Finally she shook her head in dismay. “I don’t know what’s happening, tootsie roll, but if this keeps up soon I won’t be able to see a thing.”

“I’m sure it’s just temporary,” said her partner, giving her a sweet little nudge.

Harriet’s eyesight had been diminishing for the past couple of weeks now, and even though it wasn’t something she liked to discuss with anyone—in fact only Brutus was aware of the baffling malady—it did give her great cause for concern.

Harriet prided herself in her twenty-twenty vision, like most cats do, and this sudden deterioration of what she’d always considered a natural ability was frankly worrying her to no slight degree.

“It could be our diet,” she said now. “Maybe I’ll ask Marge to put some more fresh meat in our diet. All that kibble and packaged food probably isn’t very healthy.”

“Yeah, good idea,” said Brutus with a nod. “Or maybe Marge could feed us some of those vegetables humans like so much? Broccoli and, um, tomatoes?”

“Carrots!” said Harriet suddenly. “I’ve always heard carrots are good for the eyes, as they contain beta-carotene, so maybe I should start eating more carrots from now on.”

“Uh-huh,” said Brutus, though he clearly wasn’t a big proponent of this theory.

“You know what? Maybe we can go on a diet together,” she suggested now. “If I’m going to do this, it will be a big sacrifice, snickerdoodle. No more Cat Snax, and no more of those delicious wet food pouches. So let’s do it together. It’ll be much easier for me to keep up with my new dietary regimen if I have you right there doing it along with me.”

Brutus gave her a startled look. “You mean… no more Cat Snax? No more… wet food?”

“That stuff isn’t good for you anyway, sugar lump. And this way you’ll join me on this health kick.” She smiled as she gave her partner a loving nudge. “Thanks, snookums. I owe you one.” And with these words, she disappeared inside to look for Marge and give her the good news.

A turtle was making its way through the undergrowth. She wasn’t in a hurry, and when she came upon a fresh leaf that had recently fallen from an overhanging tree, she ate it at her leisure. It hadn’t been long since she’d escaped her home, and this sojourn through the wide and open spaces was a real pleasure.

So when she came upon a black cat, muscular and built for action and speed, she eyed it with interest. Turtles, as a rule, are built for taking things slow and at their leisure, and coming upon this supreme specimen gave her a moment’s pause, and even caused her to put down the tasty leaf so she could speak.

“Hi, there, sir,” said the turtle. “Could you please tell me where I am? I seem to be lost.”

The butch black cat glanced down and did a double-take. “I hadn’t seen you there, buddy,” said the cat. “You being the exact same color as the lawn and all… What do you want to know?”

“Where I am, exactly,” the turtle repeated. “You see, I seem to have gotten lost.”

“Who do you belong to?” asked the cat.

“I don’t belong to anyone, sir,” said the turtle, slightly offended. “I’m a free turtle.”

“A free turtle?” asked the cat with a frown. “You mean… you’ve walked all the way here from the ocean?”

“The ocean?” asked the turtle, licking her lips delightedly. “You mean to tell me there’s an ocean nearby?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. But then you probably already knew that, seeing as you come from there.”

“Oh, no. I’ve never seen the ocean in my life, cat.”

“Brutus,” said the cat.

“Nice to meet you, Brutus. My name is Pinkie.”

“So if you weren’t born in the ocean, what do you call home?”

“The pond, of course,” said Pinkie, wondering if all cats were as slow on the uptake as this one.

“Pond? What pond?”

“Well, the pond. Is there any other?”

And seeing as this cat named Brutus hadn’t even heard of the pond before, Pinkie figured she might as well return to her slow but sure-footed progress in the direction of wherever it was that her tiny feet were taking her.

“Wait,” said Brutus. “Where are you going?”

“You clearly have no idea where the pond is, Brutus,” said the tiny turtle, “so I’m guessing you don’t know where the ocean is, either.”

“Oh, I know where the ocean is, all right.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

She mulled this over for a moment. “Would you mind taking me there, Brutus?”

“Um… yeah. Yeah, why not?”

Pinkie smiled. She was a sociable turtle, and appreciated all creatures, great and small. “Thank you, Brutus.” She then glanced around and noticed the nice backyard, the nice house, and wondered why a cat would want to leave all that behind to go on a trip with a turtle he barely knew. “Don’t you like it here anymore, Brutus?”

“Oh, I like it, I do. But my girlfriend wants to put me on a diet of carrots, and between you and me I’m not all that crazy about carrots, so I figured I might as well lay low for a little while, until this latest craze of hers passes—they tend to pass pretty quickly.”

“Plenty of food in the ocean,” Pinkie said.

“You think?” said Brutus hopefully.

“Oh, sure. Plankton, seaweed, algae, sponges, worms… A regular all-you-can-eat buffet.”

Brutus gulped a little. He didn’t seem to share Pinkie’s excitement for seeking out the ocean, the source of all life, but Pinkie didn’t mind. She was sure that Brutus would grow to love the ocean as much as she did. First they had to get there, of course. But she wasn’t in any kind of hurry—turtles rarely are. And they’d walked about a foot in ten minutes when Brutus said, “This’ll take forever. Why don’t I ask one of my humans to take us?”

And so it was that Pinkie was safely seated on the front seat of a nice car, a little old lady behind the wheel, Brutus in the back, the three of them on their way to the ocean.

Life, Pinkie thought as she happily hummed a merry tune, was pretty darn fun.

Chapter 3

“What is a fitness guru, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I think this guy is one, Dooley,” I said.

We both sat staring at this new arrival, this star who’d suddenly graced us with his star-studded presence. Odelia and Chase certainly were still in awe, judging from their slack-jawed appearance, and their unusual reluctance to utter a single intelligent word.

“I love your workouts, sir,” said Chase, who couldn’t stop grinning like a kid now that he’d gotten over his initial shocked surprise at meeting his hero in the flesh. “I’ve watched all of your YouTube videos and my mom owns all of your videos on VHS—she used to play them to me as a kid, and I just loved watching her work out to them.”

“Is that so?” said Mr. Hancock, who’d taken a seat at the living room table, and took this hero-worship in stride with the ease of a man who’s been in the limelight for most of his adult life. “They’ve all been transferred to DVD,” he said now. “So you might want to give them to your mom as a birthday present so she can continue her fitness routine.”

“Oh, but Mom doesn’t work out anymore,” said Chase.

“No? And why is that?”

“Her health doesn’t allow her to, so…”

“Yeah, I can see how that would complicate things,” said the fitness guru politely.

Odelia gestured to the television. “We were just doing one of your routines, sir.”

“Just call me Randy, will you?” said the man. “And good for you, Miss Poole.”

“Odelia,” said Odelia quickly. “And this is Chase. We’re your biggest fans, sir—Randy.”

“Yes, this is such an honor,” Chase gushed.

“That’s great,” said Randy with a tired smile, then swallowed with a slight sense of unease. He was probably wondering if he’d done the right thing by ringing Odelia’s bell. Talking about his workout tapes clearly wasn’t what he’d come here for.

“It’s so weird to see a person on TV and then to see them in the flesh, Max,” said Dooley. “I think he looks better on TV, though.”

“That’s probably because he was years younger when he taped that video,” I said.

“He looks gaunt and pale. And not very fit.”

“He just told us he’s about to die, Dooley. You wouldn’t look too hot when you only had four more days to live,” I pointed out.

A look of concern clouded my friend’s face. “Is it cancer, Max? Is Randy Hancock dying from cancer? Or maybe because he did too many of his own workouts and his body simply couldn’t take it anymore?”

“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “But the moment Odelia and Chase stop telling him how great they think he is, I’m sure he’ll tell us all about it.”

Odelia had provided the fitness giant with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and Chase had finally switched off the workout video still playing on the TV, and Randy, who seemed to have calmed down a little, cleared his throat and said, “First off, you have to promise me you won’t write a single word I’m going to tell you, Odelia.”

“Oh, no, sure,” said Odelia, though she looked a little disappointed. The worst thing for a reporter is to have a national celebrity and cultural icon walk into their home and then tell them they can’t write all about it in an article.

“If it’s medical advice you need, Randy,” said Chase, who’d planted one leg firmly on the floor and the other one on a chair, airing his nether regions after the intense workout he’d enjoyed, “just tell us. Odelia’s dad is a doctor, you see, and he’ll be more than happy to give you a free checkup. Isn’t that right, babe?”

“Oh, sure. And I can promise you my dad is very discreet, Randy. Absolutely.”

“My health is fine,” said Randy with a weak smile. “Though thanks for your concern. No, it’s my entourage I’m having trouble with.” He heaved a deep sigh. “It’s like this. A couple of months ago I accidentally fell from a stepladder and broke my pelvis. The whole thing was extremely painful, and very inconvenient. As you can imagine, a fitness instructor who can’t teach his classes anymore, and can’t shoot any instructional videos is not much of a fitness instructor. The situation forced me to take it easy for several months while I convalesced at home.”

“That must have been terrible, Randy,” said Chase with feeling. He looked taken aback that his personal hero proved fallible and had, like all mortals, bones made of, well, bone, and not rubber, as he’d clearly supposed.

“Yeah, well, the incident forced me to take it easy for a while, and it got me thinking. You know, I’m sixty-five years old. I’ve been in this business for over forty years. Taught thousands and thousands of classes, did more workouts than any other human alive, and so I found myself wondering if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t time for me to take a break.”

“A break?” said Chase, looking shocked at this strange conceit. “What do you mean?”

“Retirement, Chase. Hang up my sequin spandex gym shorts and call it quits.”

“But… you can’t quit, Randy,” said Chase. “You’re an icon, a monument, a national treasure. As you always say yourself: we should practice fitness until the day we die!”

“Yeah, and of course it’s important to stay fit, but the kind of life I was leading wasn’t exactly conducive to good health. All this running around, traveling the globe, shooting videos, entertaining people—it’s worn me down, Chase. Anyway,” he said, waving a hand. “That’s not important. What is important is that I told my people that I was quitting. Or at least taking a year or so off to have a think. And that’s when all hell broke loose.”

“What do you mean?” asked Odelia.

“I’m not sure. All I know is that from the moment I said I was taking a well-deserved break, I started getting threatening letters in the mail, weird phone calls in the middle of the night, and a barrage of emails and private messages on my social media pages.”

“Saying what, exactly?” asked Chase.

“Wait, I’ll show you,” said the fitness man, and took out his phone. “Here—read this.”

Chase and Odelia leaned in, and read from Randy’s phone. It must have been a doozy, for I saw two jaws drop, and Odelia even clutch a shocked hand to her face in dismay.

“They’re all like that,” said Randy. “Dozens and dozens of them.”

“Randy Hancock we know where you live and you’re a dead man,” Chase read. “Randy Hancock prepare to die.”

“Nice, huh?” He took his phone and scrolled for a moment. “And then last night this came.” He placed down the phone and once more Chase and Odelia leaned in curiously.

“Randy Hancock better make your final arrangements for you will die in exactly five days,” Odelia read from the man’s phone.

“Look at the video,” said Randy, patting his fluffy frizzy-haired mane.

Odelia tapped the phone, and a video started playing. All I could hear was the sound, which was awful enough. Like the score of a horror movie, which it probably was.

“Oh, my God,” said Odelia.

“No way!” said Chase.

“What’s going on!” cried Dooley.

“So you see?” said Randy. “If you don’t help me I’ll be dead in exactly four days!”

Chapter 4

Vesta was happy for this opportunity to spend some time at the beach. When you live all your life in a beach town you’d think you spend every waking minute enjoying the surf, or lazing about on that same beach. The opposite is true. Vesta could count the number of times she’d been to the beach this year on the fingers of a single hand.

“Are you sure your turtle wants to go to the beach, Brutus?” she asked now as she put her foot down on the accelerator, her little red Peugeot hurtling through town.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” said Brutus. “In fact she can’t wait to take a dip in the ocean. Isn’t that right, Pinkie?”

The turtle probably said something, though it was hard to hear over the noise of the engine whining and complaining about the treatment Vesta was putting it through.

“What did it say?”

“She says she’s never been, but she’s heard a lot of good things!” Brutus shouted over the din.

“Never been? I thought turtles lived in the ocean?”

“She was born in a pond,” said Brutus. “Though I have no idea what pond she’s talking about. None of our neighbors have ponds, have they?”

“Nah, not that I’m aware of,” said Vesta as she overtook a particularly slow driver—a real turtle—then yanked the steering wheel abruptly to the right to get back to the correct lane as one does, almost causing the turtle to crash into her, the doofus. If there was one thing she hated it was bad drivers. “So didn’t Harriet want to come?” she asked. Brutus and Harriet were usually inseparable, and it surprised her to see them apart now.

“No, Harriet is trying out a new diet,” said Brutus.

Vesta darted a keen eye in the rearview mirror. “Had a fight again, huh? Should have known.”

“No fight,” said Brutus. “It’s just…” He sighed and said, “Can you keep a secret, Gran?”

“Does a dog like to lick its own ass? Course I can keep a secret. Come on—out with it.”

“Harriet is having problems with her eyesight.”

“Her eyesight, huh? Join the club!”

Brutus gave her a worried look. “You are wearing the right glasses, aren’t you, Gran? The ones you need to drive?”

“Absolutely,” she lied, having once again forgotten to take off her reading glasses and put on her regular ones. “So what does Harriet having trouble with her eyes have to do with you wanting to take your turtle to the beach?”

“She wants to go on a diet,” said Brutus. “A carrot diet. She figures it will clear up her eyesight once and for all. And she wants me to join her.” He directed a forlorn look at her. “But I don’t like carrots, Gran. I’m not a rabbit. I can’t live on carrots alone.”

“Nor should you,” Vesta grunted. “I’ll take Harriet to Vena tonight, don’t you worry.”

“Vena?” said Brutus as if she’d just told him he was about to die. “Please don’t.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Brutus. I’m taking her to the doctor and that’s all there is to it. Now tell your buddy that we’re nearly there and ask her if she’s got her bathing suit. This is not a nudist colony and they don’t like skinny-dippers around these parts.”

She chuckled lightly as Brutus related her message to the tiny turtle, and laughed loudly when both cat and turtle looked at her in surprise. Oh, how she loved pulling people’s legs—and cats and turtles, too!

Harriet had been searching around for her mate for a while now, and when she couldn’t find him had asked her human Marge Poole if she’d seen Brutus anywhere.

“No, sweetie,” said Marge, a fair-haired forty-something librarian. “Have you looked next door? Maybe he went to pay a visit to your friends.”

So Harriet had passed into the next backyard, the one belonging to Marge’s daughter Odelia, and had come upon a surprising scene: a man she’d never seen before was seated at the living room table with Chase and Odelia, and all three of them were dressed in the same type of outfit, though the unknown male was wearing the most outrageous outfit of all: sequin spandex shorts and a sequined colorful bodice. He also had a thick head of frizzy hair that really stood out from his head and a careworn expression on his face.

Max and Dooley were on the couch, listening to the conversation with rapt attention, so she walked up to them and asked, “What’s going on? Who is that funny-looking guy?”

“Randy Hancock,” said Max.

“He’s a fitness guru,” said Dooley. “And he’s about to die.”

“Oh, Dooley,” she said with an eyeroll. “You really should stop thinking everyone you meet is about to die.”

“No, but he’s really going to die,” said Dooley. “He said so himself. In exactly four days.”

“Of course he is,” she said with a shake of the head. “Have you guys seen Brutus? He seems to have vanished from the face of the earth.”

“Nope,” said Max. “Haven’t seen him.”

“Maybe he’s gone out for a walk?” Dooley said.

“No way,” said Harriet. “Brutus would never leave without telling me.” She frowned as she glanced over to the man talking to her humans. He did look sick, she thought, so maybe Dooley was right for a change. After all, even a broken clock gets it right twice a day. “Why is he here?” she asked. “If he’s dying he should be in hospital, shouldn’t he?”

“He wants Odelia to stop him from dying,” said Dooley.

“I don’t get it,” said Harriet. “Odelia is not a doctor, so why ask her?”

“We don’t get it either,” said Max, looking distinctly frustrated. The big orange cat didn’t like to be kept in the dark, and it was obvious he had no idea what was going on.

“Look, if you see Brutus tell him that I’ve asked Marge to buy us a big bundle of carrots and our diet starts tonight without fail.”

“Carrots?” asked Dooley. “Why do you want to eat carrots? You’re not a rabbit.”

“For your information, carrots are very good for you,” she said prissily, sticking her nose in the air. “Full of vitamins and minerals and everything a healthy cat needs.”

“I think you’re mistaken,” said Max. “A healthy cat needs protein, and plenty of it, and since carrots don’t have protein you’re going to get sick if you go on this diet, Harriet.”

“Look, I know what I’m doing, all right? And if I were you, I’d ask Odelia to put you on the same diet as me.” She poked a paw in Max’s pudgy belly and grinned. “You could do with losing a couple of pounds, Maxie, and eating carrots will get you there.”

Now it was Max’s turn to get prissy. “I just went on a diet, and Odelia says I’m fine.”

“You went on a diet months ago. All those pounds you lost you’ve gained again, and a good few extra, too, so if you’re so worried about your health, why not simply join me and Brutus on our carrot diet?”

“Brutus is going on your diet, too?”

“Of course he is. Because contrary to you, Max, Brutus cares about his waistline.”

And with this parting shot, she stalked out.

She hadn’t told her friends about her deteriorating eyesight and she wasn’t planning to either. A couple of days eating nothing but carrots and she was sure she’d have twenty-twenty vision once more. Now if only she could locate her diet buddy…

Chapter 5

“I’m dying of curiosity,” I said.

Dooley gave me a startled look. “You’re dying?!”

“It’s just an expression, Dooley. I really want to know what’s going on—and no one is telling us anything!”

Odelia and Chase had disappeared upstairs with the fitness guru in tow, and we still had no idea what was happening.

“As far as I understand someone is trying to kill him,” said Dooley.

“That’s not completely true,” I said. “Someone says he is going to die, but how—and why?”

“Probably cancer,” said Dooley.

I glanced at the table, where the man’s phone was still lying. Odelia had taught us how to operate a tablet computer, and had even bought us one, but lately Harriet had more or less monopolized the thing, watching her favorite sites and YouTube videos on the gadget. Still, there wasn’t a lot of difference between a tablet and a phone, right?

So when I heard our humans stumble about upstairs, still busy doing whatever it was they were doing up there, I decided to take my chances and satisfy my raging curiosity and hopped down from the couch, waddled over to the living room table, hopped up onto a chair, then onto the table to take a closer look at Randy Hancock’s phone.

Odelia doesn’t like it when we sit on top of the table. She says it’s unhygienic. I have no idea why she would think that, since the table usually looks pretty clean to me.

I’d arrived at my destination and was closing in on the fitness guru’s phone, when the thing suddenly started to ring out a cheerful tune! Something from the disco era.

I jumped up in surprise and promptly toppled from the table and to the floor below. Luckily I managed to—more or less gracefully—turn in midair and land on all fours then scamper off back to my couch, much embarrassed.

Moments later Randy came hurrying down the stairs and when he saw his phone went white as a sheet. He even recoiled at the sight of the thing, as if it had suddenly developed a set of razor-sharp teeth.

“Randy!” said Odelia, who’d followed the fitness man. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s them!” said Randy, gesturing to his phone. “Look at what they sent me!”

And then Odelia did look, and she, too, gasped in shock and reeled.

“What’s going on?!” I cried, beyond frustration now. “What’s the message? What’s in that video? What’s happening!”

But of course Odelia blithely ignored me. She can’t very well go and blab to all and sundry that she belongs to that rare species of humans who can talk to their cats, and Randy, certainly, probably wasn’t in the frame of mind to take this news well. The man was under a great deal of stress already, after all, and didn’t need the added aggravation.

“Probably his doctor,” said Dooley. “Sending him his latest prognosis. The cancer must have spread, Max.” My friend shook his head sadly. “I don’t think he has four days. Four hours, maybe. Or four minutes.”

“Oh, Dooley,” I said with a sigh as I sank back down on my couch. Looked like I’d have to practice the most difficult thing in the world for a cat: patience!

“Vesta! Fancy meeting you here!” cried Scarlett Canyon when she caught sight of her friend Vesta Muffin. Scarlett had just spread out her beach towel and was smearing her bronzed skin with a thick layer of sunscreen. She was the same age as Vesta, but looked a decade younger. Good genes, Vesta liked to say, and not having had to raise two kids.

“I’m taking my cat and his pet turtle to the beach,” Vesta announced as she glanced around.

“Of course you are,” said Scarlett with a grin. Wherever Vesta was, her cats were usually not far behind. She caught Vesta staring at her. “What?”

“You’re not going to sit there dressed like that, are you?”

“Dressed like what?” asked Scarlett, glancing down at herself. She was wearing a minuscule bikini, that barely held her sizable assets in place, and an equally tiny thong.

“You’re practically naked!” said Vesta, who was dressed in her usual tracksuit and sensible white sneakers.

“We’re at the beach, Vesta,” she pointed out. “The whole idea is to get a tan.” She gestured to her friend’s outfit. “You’re not seriously going to keep that on, are you?”

“Of course I’m going to keep my clothes on,” said Vesta. “It’s dangerous to expose your skin to those toxic sun rays, or didn’t you know?”

“Oh, puh-lease. I’m using sunscreen so I’m perfectly fine. It’s you who’s not going to be fine in that outfit. You’ll boil to death!”

“I’m okay,” said Vesta as she took a seat right next to her friend and watched her cat and the turtle in question toddle off toward the ocean.

“Take that off,” said Scarlett, who hated to see her friend dressed as if she was ready to fly to the North Pole, and started tugging at Vesta’s vest.

“Leave it!” said Vesta, slapping her hands away.

“Give that skin of yours some air, woman!”

“My skin is fine! It’s your skin you should be worried about. You look like a crocodile with that leathery skin of yours!”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do. You’re too tan.”

“There’s no such thing as too tan.”

“You’ll get skin cancer if you’re not careful.”

“And you’ll get vitamin D deficiency.”

For a moment, both women sat side by side, a companionable silence hanging between them. They might have turned bickering into an Olympic sport, but they’d been best friends for a long time, except for the fifteen years they fought tooth and nail after Vesta caught Scarlett doing the horizontal mambo on her kitchen table with Vesta’s husband.

“So are we on for patrol night?” asked Scarlett, having finally finished lathering up her right boob and now starting on her left one. She’d probably need a second bottle soon.

“Oh, yeah,” said Vesta. “Ready and raring to go.”

“Good. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“It’s about Wilbur.”

“What about him?”

“I think he’s got the hots for you, Vesta.”

Her friend glanced over, her eyebrows shooting up into her white fringe. “What?!”

“The man can’t stop talking about you. Says he’s got butterflies in his tummy every time he lays eyes on you. I’m telling you, the man is in love.”

Vesta’s jaw had dropped and her dentures would have fallen out if Scarlett hadn’t gently placed a finger on said jaw and pushed it back into position.

“Wilbur Vickery in love with me. Well, what do you know?”

“I told him to make a move on you, but he’s too chicken.”

Vesta smiled before herself for a moment, then said, “Wilbur might be something of a jackass sometimes, but he does own his own business so he’s got that going for him.” But then she shook her head. “Nah. I’m too old for that kind of tomfoolery.”

“You’re my age!”

“You’re too old, too!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Scarlett, I’m not getting involved with Wilbur, or any man for that matter. Men of Wilbur’s age aren’t looking for a wife, they’re looking for a nurse, and I’m not doing it.”

“Oh, just give him a chance. Wilbur might not look like much, but I’ll bet he’ll surprise you.”

“Oh, he’ll surprise me, all right.”

“Pleasantly!”

“Mh,” said Vesta, her face having taken on that mulish look that Scarlett knew so well.

She smiled. “He says he thinks you’re one of the smartest women he knows.”

Vesta looked up with a frown. “He said that?”

“Sure! Men confide in me, Vesta. They always have. I don’t know what it is about me, but they like to tell me all of their secrets. Or in Wilbur’s case his heart’s desires.”

“I don’t know,” said Vesta, wavering.

“Oh, go on. One date. And if you don’t like it, you tell him and that’s it.”

“Mh.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Maybe.”

“Yesss!” she said, pumping the air with her fist.

Just then, two elderly men walked over, and one of them proceeded to produce a wolf whistle.

Scarlett simpered a little, but Vesta’s dark scowl quickly sent them skedaddling.

“Now that’s exactly what you shouldn’t do,” said Scarlett.

“What?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Come on. Take off that jacket.”

“I don’t wanna!”

“You’re boiling!”

“I’m not! In fact I’m cold.”

But Scarlett had already taken hold of the zipper and was yanking it down. Moments later she managed to divest her friend not only of her tracksuit jacket but also of the pants, and lo and behold: Vesta was wearing a bathing suit underneath. Scarlett grinned.

“I knew it!”

“Oh, shut up,” Vesta grumbled, but she was smiling when she said it, and when the same two guys came by again, this time licking ice cream cones, she didn’t even glower.

Yep. There was hope for Vesta still.

Chapter 6

Brutus stood gazing out across the vast expanse of water, and wondered where it all came from. So much water—who had put it there? But instead of bothering his new friend with these existential questions, he simply said, “Well, it was sure nice to meet you, Pinkie. I guess this is goodbye, huh?”

For a moment, Pinkie didn’t speak, then she said, “The thing is, Brutus, that there are many more of my friends in the exact same situation I was.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll bet this ocean is full of turtles. And you’re about to meet them all.”

“No, I mean back at the pond. I wasn’t the only turtle in that pond, if that’s what you thought.”

Brutus hadn’t thought anything about the pond. Now that he did, he pictured a nice duck pond with ducks and fishes and nice little turtles like Pinkie. “Yeah, I’ll bet that must have been nice,” he said vaguely. To be honest he wasn’t a big fan of ponds. He’d once fallen into one and had had to be fished out by Chase. Not his finest hour.

“It was nice, in a way,” Pinkie agreed, “but not nice in another sense.”

Brutus blinked. These philosophical discussions were a little too deep for him. “Uh-huh,” he said therefore, wondering what was taking so long. If he were a turtle he’d have jumped into that ocean the moment he’d taken his first sniff of that briny ocean air. Then again, he was a cat, and not all that fond of water, so what did he know?

“I left my friends behind, Brutus, when I escaped that pond, and now I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I should go back and save them, too.”

“Oh, you do, do you? Very noble of you, Pinkie.”

Brutus glanced behind him, and saw that Gran and Scarlett were still there. Gran had taken off her clothes for some reason, and so had Scarlett. Humans. So unpredictable.

“Do you want to help me, Brutus?” now asked Pinkie, giving him a hopeful look with those beady little eyes of hers.

He stared at the tiny turtle. “Help you? Help you with what?” He thought he had helped the turtle, by taking her to the beach. Apparently it wasn’t enough. Maybe she wanted to go to the country club next? Or skiing in Aspen? Brutus didn’t know much about turtles, and what they did or didn’t like to do.

“Free my friends, of course,” said Pinkie. “I’ll never really be free while my friends are still stuck back there, prisoners of that awful pond.”

Brutus frowned. “I don’t get it. One minute the pond was nice and now all of a sudden it’s awful? Make up your mind, Pinkie, and stick to it is my advice.”

“It was nice because my friends were there, but it was an awful experience to be locked up in there.”

“Locked up? In a pond?”

“You’ll see what I mean once we get there. So will you help me, Brutus? I’ve got no one else I can ask, and you’re so big and strong…”

Brutus swelled a little. “I guess when you put it that way, maybe I will help you.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You won’t regret it, Brutus. The joy you feel when you do a good deed will make you forget all about that carrot diet your girlfriend put you on.”

And… Brutus’s good mood went straight out the window again. The thought of eating carrots had that effect on him. He sighed. “Let’s just get your buddies out of that pond, shall we?” And hopefully Vena would be able to talk some sense into Harriet. Though when she found out her boyfriend had been blabbing about her eye thing, there would probably be hell to pay.

Fifi was sniffing at a tree, wondering when Rufus, her owner’s neighbor’s sheepdog, had last dropped by, when she suddenly saw a man with a lot of frizzy hair grab a bulky suitcase from his car, quickly look left and right, then hurry into Odelia Poole’s house.

She knew exactly who the man was, as Dooley had told her all about him, and she was excited now to catch her first glimpse of Odelia’s celebrity guest. But then she picked up the scent of Marcus, the German Shepherd from down the street, and she forgot all about the incident. And when moments later Kurt Mayfield, her human, gave her leash a little yank, she obediently tripped along.

They were on their way to the local park, where Kurt liked to take his Yorkshire Terrier for her daily walks. Kurt didn’t mind. In fact he loved it. The retired music teacher didn’t get out much, and this gave him an excuse to interact with other dog owners.

“Hey, Jackie,” he said as they met one of his neighbors walking her Chihuahua.

Jackie gave him a smile. A widow, she and Kurt had developed a warm friendship, and never failed to find a topic of conversation: the behavior of their little balls of fur.

Kurt let Fifi off her leash, and the tiny white doggie now sprinted along, happily panting and taking in the sights and sounds and, especially, the smells of the dog park.

Fifi had spotted Rufus, and saw that the big sheepdog’s owner Ted Trapper stood chatting with an old lady who owned a Dalmatian.

“Hey, Rufus,” said Fifi. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Rufus laughed his big, booming laugh. “Very funny, Fifi.”

The joke never got old.

“So did you hear about Brutus going missing?” asked Fifi, who loved gossiping about their neighbors as much as Rufus did.

“Missing? What do you mean, missing?”

“Harriet came over to ask me if I’d seen him, and when I told her I hadn’t, and asked her if she’d mislaid her boyfriend, she gave me a dirty look and took off. So what I think,” she said, continuing her exciting tale, “is that they had a fight, and now he’s gone and left her!”

“Impossible. Brutus would never leave Harriet. Those two are in love, Fifi.”

“If that is so, why did he take off? Tell me that, Rufus.”

“I have no idea,” said Rufus with a good-natured smile, “but I’m sure you’ll find out.”

“And then there’s the celebrity guest staying at Max’s place.”

“What celebrity guest?”

“Randy Hancock!”

“The fitness guy?”

“One and the same! He dropped by this morning, all atwitter, and now it looks like he’s going to be staying with them for a while. At least I saw him carry in a big suitcase just now, and Dooley told me that Odelia made an extra bed upstairs in the guest room.” She lowered her voice. “Dooley also told me that Randy Hancock is dying, Rufus. Dying!”

“Dying of what?”

“He doesn’t know! And neither does Max! So it must be pretty bad, and mysterious, if even Max hasn’t been able to find out what’s going on!” Her tail was wagging excitedly. So much news to share, and so little time! “Oh, and I saw a turtle this morning.”

“A turtle?”

“A turtle! Walking through the backyard. And when I asked what it thought it was doing, walking in MY backyard, eating MY grass, and breathing MY fresh morning air, it said it was just passing through. Passing through! Cheeky little bugger.”

“You lead a pretty exciting life, Fifi,” said Rufus with a smile.

“That, I certainly do, Rufus! So how about you? Any news to share?”

“Nothing much,” said Rufus, glancing over to his human, who still stood chatting with the old lady. “Ted got rehired by the same company where he used to work before.”

“Oh, that’s right. He quit his job, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he thought he’d won the lottery, but then it turned out that he didn’t, and so he had to beg his boss to get his old job back. Very humiliating.”

“Listen, I had this idea,” Fifi began, and paused when Rufus barked a booming laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“Every time you get an idea, I know there’s trouble ahead.”

“What trouble? What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Just tell me. What’s your big idea?”

“Well, you know how the cats always get together for cat choir, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Even though Rufus had never attended cat choir, he’d heard a lot about it. In fact all of Hampton Cove had. “So?”

“So why don’t we launch a new tradition and start a choir for dogs? Dogs like to sing, too, right? And we sure love to socialize.”

“But… how are we ever going to be able to get away?”

“Easy. We dig a hole under the fence. I’ve already dug my hole.” In fact Fifi had dug many holes. Kurt kept filling them up again, but that didn’t stop his dog from digging another one.

“Dig a hole,” Rufus said doubtfully.

“Sure! It’s easy! You know how to dig a hole, don’t you?”

“Of course I know how to dig a hole,” said Rufus. “What do you take me for? Every dog knows how to dig a hole. It’s what we do. But what if Ted or Marcie find out I’m gone?”

“They won’t find out. They’re asleep, and so is Kurt. And by the time we get back they’ll still be asleep—no harm done. So how about it?”

“I don’t know,” said Rufus. “Where would we meet?”

“At the park, where else?”

“But isn’t that where cat choir meets?”

“Who cares! The park is big enough, Rufus. We’ll simply gather at the other side of the park, far away from the cats.”

“You think?” asked Rufus, giving Fifi a look of uncertainty.

“Look, we have a right to sing as much as cats do, don’t you agree? Or do you want to be your human’s sweet pet all your life, and never set paw outside Harrington Street?”

Fifi could tell that the prospect of seeing something of the wide, wide world beyond Harrington Street clearly appealed to the big woolly dog, then finally Rufus’s furry face displayed a set look. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it. What time?”

“How about midnight?”

“Midnight it is,” said Rufus, and held up a big paw. Fifi placed her own tiny paw against it.

“Tonight’s the night,” she said. “The night we bust loose!”

Chapter 7

Odelia wasn’t entirely sure that inviting Randy Hancock to stay with them for the time being was a good idea, but she could hardly turn the man out again after what he’d told them now could she?

While Randy unpacked, she and Chase returned downstairs to discuss the matter.

“Did you see that video?” she said quietly. “Terrible, isn’t it? Who would do such a thing?”

“Yeah, pretty brutal stuff,” Chase agreed, also keeping his voice down lest Randy overhear them talking about his terrifying predicament.

“What do you think we should do?”

“I’ll get on his case straightaway.” He glanced down at the man’s phone. “I’m pretty sure there are ways to find out who’s been sending him these messages. Do you think Randy would mind if I take his phone?”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to be rid of the thing, at least until this is all over.”

“I’ll head into town tomorrow,” said Chase thoughtfully.

“NYPD?”

“Yeah. An old colleague of mine will know what to do with this.” The burly cop glanced up at the staircase. “Though I wonder why Randy didn’t go to them and came to us instead.” He directed a pointed look at his girlfriend. “Or you, to be specific.”

“I have no idea.” Odelia wasn’t exactly the world’s biggest expert on stalkers. But she hadn’t wanted to ask Randy more questions, as the man looked absolutely knackered. “Let’s give him some space,” she suggested. “We can talk again when he feels up to it.”

She suddenly became aware of a strange noise. It sounded like a kettle going on the boil, but when she looked over, she saw it wasn’t a kettle but Max!

“Hey, buddy,” she said. “Everything all right?”

“What. Was. On. That. VIDEO!” Max practically bellowed.

“Inquiring minds want to know,” Dooley added.

Oh, dear. Of course. Cats being the curious creatures that they are they must have been dying to find out what was going on, exactly.

“Can you access Randy’s phone?” she asked her boyfriend.

“Sure. I asked for his password—wait a minute… here we are. Why?” He followed her gaze and saw two pairs of cat’s eyes eagerly following their every move and smiled. “Of course.” Then his smile disappeared. “Are you sure you want to show them? This is not the kind of stuff they might like to see.”

“Oh, they’ve seen worse,” she assured her boyfriend.

“Yeah, but this is pretty gruesome.”

“You think? So maybe I shouldn’t—”

“SHOW US!” Max cried, and hopped up onto the chair, then onto the table, and practically slapped that phone from her hand!

“Okay, okay,” she said, and started the video that had given Randy such a fright.

The video started innocuous enough with an image of the front of a house. Though to call it a house was probably doing it a disservice, as it was a pretty fancy mansion with two white columns supporting a portico and a white wrought-iron gate out in front.

The person holding the camera panned along the house, and they could see that the lights inside were out. A gloved hand appeared into view and easily and expertly picked the front door lock with a lock picking instrument. It only took the person five seconds, according to the little timer appearing in the left bottom corner of the screen. A message flashed on the screen: ‘I can get at you whenever and wherever I want, Randy!’

“Chilling,” Max murmured, intently watching the video.

“That person is definitely a better burglar than Gran, isn’t he, Odelia?” said Dooley.

“Yeah, he or she certainly is,” said Odelia with a smile. Her grandmother was probably the worst lock picker in the world.

The video showed a person’s shoes now, treading a soft carpet, and mounting a staircase. Moments later a large portrait came into view of Randy Hancock himself, dressed in his customary outfit, sitting on a throne and wearing a crown on his head.

“He seems to be very popular, doesn’t he, when people have posters of him on their walls,” Dooley remarked.

Odelia didn’t say anything, for she knew what was coming. A door was opened, once more by the same gloved hand, and suddenly they were in a bedroom. The camera panned the room, and then zoomed in on the bed… where Randy lay sleeping soundly.

‘See?’ a message flashed across the screen. ‘I can get at you any time, Randy!’

“Is that Randy?” asked Dooley, staring at the screen.

“Yes, it is,” said Odelia.

“But… why is that burglar in his bedroom?” The small gray cat’s voice had turned a little panicky. “What is he going to do with him?”

“You’ll see.”

“He’s not going to murder him, is he?” asked Dooley.

“If he had, Randy would be dead,” Max pointed out.

“Oh. Right.”

That same gloved hand now came out with what looked like a syringe, and suddenly, and before their eyes, plunged that syringe into Randy’s arm, then pressed down on the plunger. A liquid was injected into the sleeping man’s body.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” asked Dooley. “He must have felt that prick, right?”

“Randy thinks someone must have put something in his drink before he went to bed. He thinks a member of his staff might be in cahoots with whoever is doing this to him.”

“That’s not very nice,” said Dooley.

The syringe now appeared in closeup, and a line ran across the screen: ‘This deadly toxin will kill you, Randy. You will be dead in five days. Unless you do as we tell you. Watch this space…’

And then the video abruptly cut out.

“Wow,” said Max. “So they injected him with a slow-acting poison and unless he cooperates it will kill him?”

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like,” said Odelia. “There is an antidote, that much is clear from the messages they’ve sent him, but they won’t give it to him unless…”

“Unless what?” asked Max.

She shrugged. “That, he doesn’t know. Yet.”

“They will probably be in touch again,” said Chase. “Probably with some kind of financial demand. And if he doesn’t pay, they won’t give him the antidote and Randy Hancock… will die.” He spoke in somber tones, as Randy was one of Chase’s heroes, and had always been, ever since he was a little boy.

“I don’t like this, Max,” Dooley said. “These are some very bad people.” He glanced up at the staircase. “And what if they come to our house now, and inject us with the same poison? Then we’ll all be dead in five days.”

“They won’t come here,” said Odelia. “Randy didn’t tell anyone he was coming to see us, and no one in his regular circle even knows we exist, or that Randy knows us.”

“We have to help him,” said Max. “The poor man is clearly scared, and at the end of his rope.”

“He looked better on the video you were watching before,” Dooley agreed.

“He hasn’t been feeling well,” said Odelia. “First he broke his pelvis and now this. It’s taken a great toll on him.”

“So what are you going to do?” asked Max, never one to sit around twiddling his paws.

“I’m not sure what I can do. Chase will have that video and those messages examined by an old colleague of his at the NYPD.”

“What do you want us to do?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. First we need to find out more about what’s going on.”

He nodded. “If you need us, just let us know, Odelia. Whatever we can do to help Mr. Hancock.”

“Thanks,” she said warmly, patting her cats on the head. “And sorry you had to see that video. Was it too disturbing for you guys?”

“No, it’s fine,” said Max. “It must have given him quite a shock. Knowing that a person was in your house, and injected you with poison.” He shivered. “Terrible business.”

It was, and the worst part was that she had no idea how to help Randy. She was a local reporter and amateur sleuth, but this stuff was way above her pay grade.

At least Chase would know what to do. And hopefully find these people and get Randy that antidote.

Randy now came down the stairs, still looking dazed. “I totally forgot,” he said, “but can Little Randy stay here, too? I should have asked before, but that video shook me.”

“Little Randy?” asked Odelia.

Randy pointed in the direction of the front door. “I left him in the car. Shall I go and get him?”

“Oh… sure,” she said.

Max and Dooley gave her a look of confusion. “Is he bringing another person to stay with us?” asked Dooley.

“Yeah, probably his son,” she said. “Now I know you guys aren’t used to having kids around, but there’s no need to be scared. I’m sure Little Randy is a well-behaved little boy and…”

“And here he is,” said Randy as he walked back in followed by a very large… dog.

Chapter 8

“Hiya fellas,” said the dog, who was probably three times my size. “How are things?”

“Things are… fine,” I said, looking up at the dog and wondering in what universe this Randy would be considered ‘little.’

“Are you sure that you’re a dog, Little Randy?” asked Dooley.

“Yeah, pretty sure,” said Little Randy. “Well, my mom is a dog, and my dad is a dog, and all my brothers and sisters are dogs, so odds are that I’m a dog, too, little buddy. So what’s your name?”

“Dooley,” said Dooley.

“Max,” I said.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Max and Dooley,” said Little Randy and glanced around. “Nice place you’ve got here. So this is my new home away from home, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” I said, glancing up at Odelia. She was giving Little Randy a look of uncertainty. Clearly she hadn’t expected this either.

We shifted our attention to Chase, and I saw that the cop had an expression on his face of absolute and pure rapture. He was staring at Little Randy, and I could tell that this was love at first sight. A smidgen annoyed, for he’d never looked at me or Dooley like that, I said, “Looks like Chase has already fallen head over heels in love with our new housemate.”

“Chase has always been a dog person,” Dooley said. “And now he’s finally got what he always wanted. A big dog.”

Some men love small dogs, like Kurt Mayfield, our next-door neighbor, and others love big dogs. Chase definitely is in the latter category, and it didn’t take long for him to approach our new friend and start patting his head and making his acquaintance.

“He’s amazing,” he gushed. “How long have you had him?”

“Just three years,” said Randy. “I mainly got him for security reasons, but we’ve become very close. He’s my constant companion. I don’t go anywhere without my Little Randy.”

“What kind of dog is he?” asked Chase, taking in the big mutt with a doe-eyed look in his eyes.

“Irish Setter. Real family dog. Very affectionate.”

“This is a very small place you got here,” said Little Randy. “Are you sure this is all there is?”

“We have some more rooms upstairs,” I said, “and there’s the backyard, of course.”

“Oh, great. I need my space,” said the dog, and tripped over in the direction indicated. When he caught sight of the modest patch of green we like to call the backyard, he frowned. “So where is this backyard? Is it behind those bushes over there?”

“No, those bushes is where Odelia’s backyard ends and the field begins.”

“Please tell me the field belongs to your Odelia,” said Little Randy, looking disappointed.

“No, it belongs to someone else. I’m afraid this is it.”

“This is your backyard? But it’s so tiny!”

“Yeah, it’s not much but we like it,” I said a little defensively.

“Okay,” said the dog, and seemed to have to make some minor adjustments to his expectations. “So you all live in this tiny house and this tiny backyard… and you never get claustrophobic?”

“No, as a matter of fact we don’t,” I said.

“Do you have a very big house, Little Randy?” asked Dooley. “And a very big backyard?”

“Yeah, Randy’s house is 23,000 square feet, and is surrounded by forty acres of land. When I go for a walk I never leave the property, and it takes me a while to get around.”

“Nice,” I said.

“Don’t you ever get lost?” asked Dooley, fascinated. “I think I’d get lost all the time, if Odelia lived in a house that big.”

“No, I don’t get lost, Dooley,” said Little Randy with a smile. “And nor would you, since you’re a cat, and you have an innate sense of direction, same way dogs have.” He sighed and stretched out on the carpet that Odelia placed in front of the window for Dooley and me to lie on. “This will take some adjusting on my part, you guys. Which is not to say that your Odelia doesn’t have a lovely, lovely place, because she has—but tiny. Very, very tiny.”

I’d never actually given the size of our home a lot of thought. It suited me just fine, but probably Little Randy was right: we do live in a modest home, with a modest backyard. Then again, I’d seen bigger places, when Odelia worked a case for one of the many celebrities that live in the big mansions spread out in these parts, or along the ocean, and frankly I preferred our cozy little house to those giant dwellings, to be honest.

“So were you there when your human was attacked?” I now wanted to know.

“They drugged me,” said Little Randy, a sad look stealing over his face. “Can you believe that? They actually drugged me and I didn’t even notice.”

“How did they drug you?” asked Dooley. “Did they put something in your food?”

“I don’t think so. I think they probably spiked my water bowl. Though I can’t be sure. And by the time Randy found out what happened—when they started sending him those messages—it was too late.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“My water bowl had already been rinsed and so had my food bowl.”

“Who did the rinsing?” I asked.

“Randy’s housekeeper.”

“Do you think she’s in on this plot?”

“Floralba is on the list of possible suspects,” the dog agreed. “Though why she would do it is beyond me. She’s been with Randy for thirty years, and has always treated him well, so…” He placed his head on his paws. “I guess with humans you just never know.”

Dooley and I retreated, deciding to give Little Randy some space. “He seems very sad,” Dooley whispered once we were out of earshot of the big dog. “Poor Little Randy.”

“I think he feels he let his human down,” I said. “By not protecting him against these people.”

“But he couldn’t protect Randy. The evil housekeeper drugged him!”

“We don’t know that, Dooley, so let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“I think she did it, Max. Who else could it be?”

“Let’s just wait and see,” I said. I was pretty sure Odelia would ask us to come along to Randy’s house the following day, to start her investigation, and I liked to keep an open mind.

I glanced over to the sizable dog, and felt for him. And then I got an idea. “Why don’t we introduce Little Randy to Fifi and Rufus?” I suggested. “That way he won’t feel so alone.”

“Great idea, Max,” said Dooley enthusiastically.

It’s hard for a dog to make friends with a pair of cats, and if things gelled between our canine guest and our neighboring dogs, they could get him out of this funk.

Just then, Harriet waltzed in and said, “Still no sign of Brutus? Nothing?”

Dooley turned to me, looking aghast. “It’s the poisoners, Max! They took Brutus and poisoned him, too!”

Chapter 9

Dooley wasn’t entirely happy with this situation. He didn’t mind when Odelia solved her mysteries and asked her cats to tag along, but now she was actually courting danger. A man who was going to die in five days, and his dog who’d been poisoned… Who was to say the people behind this terrible, terrible crime wouldn’t find them and seek them out, too? And then they’d poison the entire household and they’d all die a gruesome death!

He knew how these poisoners operated. They didn’t mind if innocent bystanders like the Pooles or their cats got hit, too. And to die by poison just seemed like such an unpleasant way to go.

He shivered when he thought about it, and so when Harriet kept rambling on about Brutus who’d suddenly disappeared, he could clearly envision their friend lying in a ditch somewhere, alone and dying!

“I think we should tell Odelia we don’t want Randy here,” he now said. “It’s very nice of her to want to help her big fitness idol, but I don’t think it’s safe.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harriet. “What fitness idol?”

“Randy Hancock, of course,” said Dooley, “and he brought his dog, too, and once those poisoners get wind that he’s holed up here, they’ll come looking, and then they’ll poison all of us and then we’ll be dead and where will that leave us? Not in a good place!”

“Randy’s poisoners won’t be able to find us, Dooley,” said Max. “He made sure he wasn’t followed, and he didn’t tell anyone where he was going, so we’re perfectly safe.”

“I still don’t get it,” said Harriet, frowning in frustration. “Who is Randy and what…” She did a double take when she caught sight of Little Randy taking up an awful lot of space on the carpet by the window. “What… is… that!”

“That is Little Randy,” said Dooley. “He’s Randy’s dog, though he’s not very little, so I don’t know why he’s called that. He’s going to stay here for a while, even though he’s very sad because he couldn’t protect his human against the poison because the housekeeper spiked his water but then replaced it with fresh water before Randy could take it to the police.”

Harriet was staring from Dooley to Little Randy and back. “Dooley, you keep talking and I keep wondering when you will finally start making sense! What poison?!”

“The same poison that Brutus was fed,” said Dooley sadly, “and now he’s probably dying in some ditch somewhere, and by the time we find him he’ll be dead.”

This time Harriet was too horrified to allow for speech, which maybe was a good thing, as the prissy white Persian had a habit of talking a lot. Like, a whole lot.

“Randy Hancock is a fitness instructor,” said Max.

“He’s Odelia’s fitness instructor,” said Dooley. “Only not really—just on TV.”

“And someone injected him with poison and sent him a bunch of messages telling him he only has five days to live.”

“Four now,” said Dooley helpfully.

“They also sent him a video just now showing him how they did it.”

“A very scary video, with very scary music, and scary words written on it.”

“And now he wants Odelia to help him find out who’s behind this, and in the meantime he’ll be staying here and so will his dog.”

“Oh, God,” said Harriet. “Why does this keep happening to us!”

“Because our human is an amateur sleuth,” Dooley said. “And she likes to take on these hopeless cases.”

“Hopeless?” asked Harriet. “What makes you say that?”

“Because it’s clear that whoever gave Randy the poison wants him to die, and wants Little Randy to die, and wants us to die, too!”

“That’s not true, Dooley,” said Max. “If they wanted Randy to die, they’d have killed him when they had the chance. No, what they really want is money, most probably. In exchange for the antidote.”

“So why doesn’t Randy Hancock go to the police?” asked Harriet. “They’re the ones who should be chasing after these dangerous people, not Odelia—or us, for that matter.”

“Because the people that injected the poison told him not to go to the police,” said Max.

“They’re criminals!” said Harriet. “Of course they don’t want Randy to go to the police—but that’s no reason for him to drag us into his mess.”

Dooley thought Harriet was being a little bit selfish. It was true that Randy had landed them all in the soup, but he was also a nice person, and a good fitness guru, and his big dog Little Randy was very nice, too, and helping people and their pets was what Odelia liked to do. In fact she had made it her mission in life to help people. A little bit like Mother Teresa, but without the headscarf.

“I don’t like it either, Harriet,” he said now. “But maybe helping people is a good thing. Even though Odelia should probably have told Randy and Little Randy to go and stay in a hotel instead of here. But she has a big heart, and that’s why we all like her so much.”

Harriet stared at him. “You know, Dooley, just when I think you’re probably the dumbest cat alive, you say things that actually make sense.”

“Thanks, Harriet,” he said, grateful for the nice compliment. Though the thing about him being the dumbest cat alive somehow detracted a little from the rest of her words.

“So let me ask you again. Have you seen Brutus? And don’t give me this ‘Dying in a ditch somewhere’ nonsense, because I don’t buy that for one minute. Brutus is not the kind of cat who’d allow himself to be poisoned, and even if he were, he wouldn’t go and lie in some awful ditch but scream bloody murder and bring the whole house down.”

“Brutus is at the beach,” said Odelia, who just happened to be passing by just then, and overheard Harriet’s words. “Gran took him and his pet turtle to look at the ocean.”

“Pet turtle?” said Harriet. “What pet turtle!”

Odelia shrugged. “That’s all I know. I’m sorry, sweetie. Now do you want me to introduce you to Little Randy? I’m sure you’ll get along famously.”

“This is a nightmare,” Harriet grumbled, but allowed herself to be led to Little Randy, and dutifully said hi to the dog.

“This is going to be an interesting four days,” said Max.

“Three days and one night,” Dooley corrected him. But Max was right. Things looked to be hotting up at the Poole household. But then when were they ever not?

Chapter 10

Brutus, as Gran started on the drive home from the beach, felt a renewed sense of purpose now that he’d taken Pinkie under his wing. Of course he felt responsible for Harriet’s well-being, and to a lesser extent Max and Dooley, but he’d never had a living creature being so dependent on him as this turtle. She was looking at him with those tiny eyes of hers, filled with gratitude and awe at the selfless way he’d taken on her case.

It took a lot for a tough cat like Brutus to experience those mellow feelings often associated with heroes like firefighters or even doctors and medical professionals fighting for people’s lives on a daily basis, but the look on Pinkie’s face definitely did it for him. It totally melted the heart of this tough cat, and oddly enough, he liked it!

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Pinkie,” he said now, patting the tiny turtle on the back. “We’ll find those friends of yours and we’ll save them—or my name isn’t Brutus.”

“Your name isn’t Brutus?” asked Pinkie surprised.

“No, it is. What I meant to say was that—”

“What are you guys talking about?” asked Gran as she steered them through traffic.

“Well, Pinkie here says that her friends are having an awful time at the pond, and now she wants me to help them escape.”

“Escape the pond? What pond? What are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I told Pinkie I’d help her, and so I will.”

“Better you than me, pal,” Gran grunted. “So where is this pond?”

“I’m sure Pinkie will take me there in due course, isn’t that right, Pinkie?”

“We better wait until dark,” said Pinkie. “There are always less people around when it’s dark.”

“People?” he asked. “What people?”

“Well, the pond guards, of course.”

For some reason, as he listened to Pinkie talk about pond guards, he had the distinct impression he’d managed to get himself involved in something he probably shouldn’t have gotten involved in.

Too late to back out now, though.

“Oh, before I forget, Odelia just texted me. She and Chase have a guest,” Gran said. “And her guest is none other than… Randy Hancock!”

“Who?”

“Randy Hancock. The fitness guy?”

“Never heard of him,” Brutus intimated.

“He’s been poisoned, and now Odelia wants to find out who did it, and how to get the poison out of his system before it kills him. Oh, and he’s brought his dog along, so it looks like you’ve got company, buddy.”

First a turtle, then a fitness guy and his dog? What was next? Edgar Allan Poe and his pet raven? “So will you help Odelia save this man’s life?” he asked.

“Nah. Got other fish to fry,” said Gran, much to Brutus’s surprise.

“What fish?” And why fry a fish when you could simply eat it raw?

“Scarlett just told me Wilbur Vickery is sweet on me, and I’ve decided to go out on a date with him.” Gran was grinning a little strangely, Brutus thought. In fact she was a lot more chipper than she usually was.

“A date?” he asked. “You’re going on a date?”

“Yeah, go figure, right? Last time I dated a guy he turned out to be a real dud. And even though Wilbur isn’t exactly a catch, it never hurts to see what happens. Hey, maybe we’ll hit it off. If my son can find love at his age, maybe I can, too, huh?”

“Oh, sure,” said Brutus. “Go for it, Gran.”

“Yep. I’ll give it my best shot. And if it turns out Wilbur is a dud, too, no harm done.”

And then she actually started singing! Brutus, who’d never heard Gran sing before, looked at her a little uncertainly. This was a Gran he didn’t know. A pleasant and cheerful Gran. A Gran, in other words, who wasn’t like Gran at all.

Tex had just said goodbye to his final patient for the day, and wondered now, not for the first time, where his receptionist could have gone off to.

When he’d decided to give his mother-in-law Vesta a chance to earn a little extra working for his doctor’s office as a receptionist, he hadn’t exactly banked on her playing hooky half the time—or all of the time. He’d agreed with his wife that Vesta could use something to keep her hands and her mind busy and out of trouble. But the last time she’d actually spent time greeting his patients and picking up the phone and taking care of his appointment book was probably a fortnight ago now.

So maybe, he thought as he closed the door of his office, it was time to hire a real receptionist, and replace the unreliable one he had now with an actual pro.

It sure would make his life a lot easier. First off, it would lessen his load, and secondly, he would never again have to look at Vesta’s grumpy face staring back at him from behind her desk, if she decided to look up from her game of Solitaire, that is.

And as he started on his short trek home, the thought of getting rid of Vesta once and for all cheered him up to such an extent that he was smiling widely before him by the time he turned the corner and entered the last stretch. The road home took him past the dog park, and he saw now that both of his neighbors were walking their respective dogs.

So he waved, like any neighborly neighbor would, to Kurt and Ted, who both blithely ignored him, Kurt because he was Kurt, and Ted because the accountant was probably legally blind after spending an entire career looking at numbers on a computer screen.

Tex’s cheerfulness diminished only to a slight extent, then increased again when he saw that Marge had arrived home before him.

Marge, who worked at the local library, would probably not be all that happy when she heard the news about her mom being out of a job at the age of seventy-five, but she would understand. Of that Tex was sure.

“Honey, I’m home!” he hollered as he entered the house. It was a lame joke, but never failed to put a smile on his face.

“I’m in the kitchen!” Marge yelled back.

He joined her there, and kissed her on the temple. Marge stood staring into the fridge, probably wondering when all those stories about a smart fridge ordering food all by itself would finally come true.

“Vesta didn’t show up again today,” he said, deciding to launch into his story straight off the bat. “So I’m thinking, honey, that it’s time to finally let her go and hire a real receptionist for the office. What do you think?”

“Did you know that Randy Hancock is staying next door?” asked his wife. “I mean, Randy Hancock, Tex—the Randy Hancock!”

“Oh?” he said, not all that interested in the fitness guru. “I didn’t know he gave private lessons.”

“He doesn’t. He’s been poisoned, and now he wants Odelia to try and save his life. Can you believe that? Randy Hancock!”

“Poisoned? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know all the details, but it looks like someone is blackmailing him. They told him he only has a couple of days to live, and if he doesn’t do what they tell him, they won’t give him the antidote.”

Marge was looking much too bright and cheerful to be telling such a gruesome story, but then she’d always had a thing for Randy Hancock. Tex, on the other hand, could take Randy Hancock or he could leave him. “Did you hear what I just said about your mother? She didn’t show up again.”

But Marge was clearly not listening. Instead she was staring out the kitchen window with a strange look on her face. “Odelia has invited us over. What do you think I should wear? Something sporty, or completely the opposite? Something really fancy?” She turned to him and fluffed up her hair. “How do I look?”

“Great,” he said.

“I was thinking maybe to have my hair done. Do you think Fido would be able to squeeze me in?”

Fido Siniawski was their local hairdresser, and a miracle worker when it came to all things hair-related.

“Um, I guess so,” he said, not exactly up to date on Fido’s schedule. “Though if what you’re saying is true, and Mr. Hancock only has a couple more days to live, I’m not sure he’ll be all that interested in what your hair looks like, Marge.”

His wife gave him a look of disappointment. “I want to look good for Randy, Tex. Is that so hard to understand? He’s a celebrity!”

An almost-dead celebrity, he wanted to point out, but didn’t. “So isn’t this whole setup extremely dangerous for Odelia and Chase?”

“Nobody knows Randy is staying next door,” said Marge. “So it’s all perfectly safe.”

“What poison did they use?” he asked, his professional interest piqued.

“I don’t know.” Then her eyes went wide. “Oh, Tex—you could examine him! You could find out what poison is being used and you could save Randy Hancock’s life!”

“I’m not sure…”

“Oh, please do it for me, honey! Please!”

“I could take a look,” said Tex. “Though what he needs to do is go to the nearest hospital where he can be thoroughly checked out—blood work, tissue samples, the whole enchilada.”

“Can’t you do all that?”

“I don’t have the equipment, honey.” And he wasn’t exactly qualified to look for little-known poisons having been injected into this fitness star’s bloodstream. But when Marge’s face fell, he said, “I could have a look, though. But only if Randy wants me to.”

“Oh, Tex! Thank you! Of course Randy will want you to. Why wouldn’t he?”

And then she disappeared upstairs, presumably to look for something to wear for this special occasion. Looked like the story of Vesta’s imminent dismissal would have to wait.

Chapter 11

I know that Odelia had told us Brutus had gone walkabout with his pet turtle, but I was still happy to see him arrive home safe and sound… with the pet turtle in question.

“Brutus!” Harriet cried the moment she laid eyes on him. “I’m so happy you’re all right!”

“Of course I’m all right,” said the black cat. “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” He looked genuinely surprised that anyone would think that he wasn’t all right.

“Oh, honey bunny,” said Harriet, and nudged up against him, purring up a storm. But then she caught sight of that turtle, and her purrs immediately stopped as if turned off at the tap. “What is that!” she cried, aghast.

“You guys, this is Pinkie,” said Brutus proudly. “Pinkie, meet the rest of the gang: Harriet, Max and Dooley.”

“Hi, guys,” said the tiny turtle, and I could have sworn she gave us a little wave of the leg, or the hand, or whatever turtles use to get around.

Harriet gawked at the tiny green thing, and then at Brutus, and her look wasn’t at all dripping with the milk of feline kindness I can tell you. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Why would you take a pet, Brutus—you are a pet!”

“I’m not Brutus’s pet, Harriet,” Pinkie pointed out. “I’m his friend, and he’s promised me to help save my other friends.”

“Pinkie used to live in a pond,” Brutus explained. “But that was before she escaped. And now she wants me to help her secure the escape of all the other turtles.”

“I don’t get it,” Harriet repeated, and quite frankly neither did I.

“Why did you want to escape your pond, Pinkie?” asked Dooley. “Didn’t you like it there?”

“Like I already told Brutus, I liked the company,” said Pinkie. “But I didn’t like the place, or the people running the pond.”

“How do you run a pond?” asked Dooley, mystified.

“Badly,” said Pinkie. “At least the people running it now are up to no good, which is why I want to free my friends. That way we can all go to the ocean and finally be free!”

“Oh, all right,” said Dooley, but it was clear from the look on his face he still didn’t understand a thing.

Brutus had spotted Little Randy, still lounging in the same spot where he’d dropped upon his arrival. “So is that Little Randy?” he asked. “Gran told me all about what happened,” he explained. “Something about a fitness star who’s been poisoned and decided to come and stay with us until Odelia can find him his antidote.”

Gran had explained things well, and I wondered where the white-haired old lady herself was. “Where is Gran?” I asked.

“She’s probably getting ready for her date,” said Brutus casually, earning himself three gasps of shock from yours truly, Dooley, and Harriet. Pinkie wasn’t gasping, in shock or otherwise, but then she hadn’t known Gran all that long.

“A date?” asked Harriet. “What date?”

“A date with Wilbur Vickery,” said Brutus, who seemed to enjoy being at the center of attention for once.

“This is terrible news,” said Harriet. “Wilbur Vickery is the worst possible match for Gran—the absolute worst!”

“I don’t know,” said Brutus. “He’s younger than Gran, which is probably a good thing.”

“They call younger men who date older women toy boys,” said Dooley. “Or boy toys.”

“Please let’s not go there again,” said Harriet, holding up a paw.

Once upon a not so long ago Gran had dated a boy toy—or toy boy—or at least pretended she had, and he’d dumped her. Besides, Wilbur didn’t look like a boy toy to me. He actually looked older than Gran, even though he was younger. Wilbur Vickery runs the General Store, and is also a member of the neighborhood watch Gran operates. I guess sitting in cars together for their regular stakeouts, and going on patrols together must have lit the spark that had led to this unexpected romance.

“If Gran dates Wilbur, and the two of them hit it off, it’s not inconceivable that they’ll want to move in together,” said Harriet. “And when they do, it means she’ll move out.”

That hadn’t occurred to me, or Brutus—or Dooley. “Gran move out? But why!” Dooley cried. Gran is his human, you see, which means if she moves out—he moves out, too!

“It’s only natural that when two people are in love, they want to live together,” Harriet explained with a shrug.

“But can’t they move in next door?” asked Brutus.

“Do you really think Wilbur would want to live under the same roof as Tex and Marge? He’s got his own place, Brutus. And he’ll want to live there with Gran. Have some privacy—like any young couple would.”

“They’re not exactly what I would call a young couple,” I said. “Gran is seventy-five, and Wilbur is probably sixty-eight or so. Not exactly two spring chickens!

“Look, all I’m saying is that things are about to change around here,” said Harriet. “And I think it’s only sensible to be prepared. So when the announcement is made we’re not caught by surprise.” She eyed my friend closely. “And Dooley is ready to move out.”

“But I don’t want to move out!” said Dooley. “I like it here. I don’t want to go and live with Wilbur… and Kingman.”

Kingman is Wilbur’s piebald. He’s very large and very nice, but maybe not the best housemate to have around, especially since he’s something of a ladies’ cat. And ladies’ cats are only interested in finding themselves a wingcat so they can go and chase lady cats together. And let me just say that Dooley is not exactly wingcat material.

“Max, I don’t want to go,” said my friend now, giving me a panicky look. “They can’t make me, can they?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said. “Gran hasn’t even gone out with Wilbur once. And chances are they won’t hit it off, let alone decide to move in together.”

“If I know humans, though,” said Harriet, “and I think I do, things can move very quickly. First date today, marriage tomorrow, and buying a place of their own the next day.” She cocked an eyebrow at Dooley. “So better start packing up, little buddy. Cause your human might be moving house in exactly three days.”

“Well, she can’t,” said Dooley. “Because in three days Randy will die, and a wedding and a funeral can’t happen on the same day. There’s rules about that kind of thing.”

Little Randy, who’d pricked up his ears at the mention of the word funeral, now came trotting over. “What’s all this about a funeral?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Dooley quickly.

“Your human will do whatever she can to save my human, right?”

“Oh, sure,” said Dooley. “Odelia is the best at what she does. The very best.”

“He’s right,” I said. “If anyone can save your human’s life it’s our human.”

“Good,” said Little Randy. “Cause if Randy dies, I’m sure he’ll ask your human to adopt me. Which means I’d be sticking around indefinitely.” And with these words, he trotted off again, then plunked himself down in the exact same spot he’d vacated.

Dooley gave me a look of alarm. “You know, Max,” he now whispered, “maybe when Gran moves out, and I move out, you can move out, too. That way we’ll still be together—but not here!”

“I heard that!” said Little Randy. “And if you want to get rid of me, cat, all you have to do is save my human from certain death!”

Oh, boy. Suddenly things were getting very complicated, weren’t they?

Chapter 12

Tex found himself in a bit of a pickle. How do you fire your mother-in-law, even if she never shows up for work, and you have every reason in the world to send her packing?

And as he sat down for dinner, along with his wife and Vesta, he was brooding on how to broach the subject all through the degustation of his meatloaf, his fried potatoes, and his onion rings with mustard sauce. To the extent that Marge said at a certain point, “It’s that bad, huh?”

He looked up. “Mh?”

“You’ve said nothing all through dinner, honey. So it must be worse than I thought.”

“Well, that depends,” he said cautiously. For him it would be wonderful not having to work with his unreliable and crusty mother-in-law anymore. For Vesta it would mean taking a pay cut. “But I think it’s all for the best, don’t you?”

“For the best! Don’t you think it’s horrible to have to go at such a young age?”

“Some people go a lot sooner, honey.” In fact he didn’t know anyone who still worked at the age of seventy-five—if you could call what Vesta did work, of course.

“Still,” said Marge, idly pushing a piece of meatloaf around her plate with a fork. “A lot of people will be very sad. I will be very sad. Though I will always have the videos, of course. They’re putting them all on YouTube now, which is great.”

He stared at his wife, then remembered that Vesta had once launched her own YouTube channel. Though nothing much had come of it, as with most projects she started and promptly deserted. “Yeah, you’ll always have the videos,” he agreed, with as much tact as he could muster.

“What are you talking about?” suddenly asked Vesta.

“Oh, nothing special,” said Tex, not feeling ready to launch into a discussion about Vesta’s lack of work ethic right now.

“I don’t know what this world is coming to,” said Marge, shaking her head sadly. “When people can simply plant a knife in another person’s back like that. Especially a person as well liked and popular as—”

“What knife? What back? Will you talk straight for once?” said Vesta.

“I don’t think we need to go into all this right now,” said Tex. “Let’s enjoy a nice dinner, and we can get into all of that stuff later.” He smiled. “Bad for the digestion to talk business during dinner.”

“You’re absolutely right, honey,” said Marge. “It’s just that I find it hard to forget about what happened. It’s all so incredibly sad.”

Tex gulped a little. When you’re about to fire your mother-in-law from her position and your wife starts talking about knives planted in backs and how sad the whole thing is, it’s tough for a sensitive man to enjoy his meatloaf. Moreover, Vesta was eyeing him with suspicion now.

“You’re not thinking about getting rid of me again, are you, Tex? You tried it once and it didn’t work, so I hope you learned your lesson.”

Marge laughed. “Oh, Ma. Of course Tex doesn’t want to get rid of you. He values your input too much. Besides, how is he going to run his office without you? It’s impossible.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Vesta, slightly mollified. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t come in today, Tex. I had something going on.”

“That’s all right,” said Tex solemnly. “I managed.”

“You always do, don’t you,” said Marge, casting him a loving glance. “He’s such a wonder man, my Dr. Poole. So when do you want to do this, honey? Right after dinner?”

“Yeah… Yeah, that sounds like a plan,” he said, starting to feel a little hot under his collar now.

“What’s going on?” asked Vesta. “What are these after-dinner plans you’re talking about?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” said Marge.

“No, you didn’t,” said Vesta, a little acerbically. “And for your information, I’ve got plans, too, so whatever it is you’ve got planned, you can count me out.”

“Plans? What plans?”

“I’m going out tonight. On a hot date.”

“A date!” Marge shot a quick glance to her husband, who merely shrugged. Your mom is a grown woman, that shrug said. She can do whatever she wants with whomever she wants.

“So who is it?” asked Marge.

“Wilbur Vickery. Scarlett said he’s sweet on me, can you imagine?”

Tex could not, in any universe, imagine any man being sweet on Vesta. It was one of those things that boggled the mind. Then again, Wilbur Vickery wasn’t exactly the world’s most eligible bachelor. On the contrary—women probably ran a mile when he went down on one knee, and the producers of either The Bachelor or The Bachelorette would never ask him to feature on their show.

“He’s taking me to the movies. He suggested dinner at No Spring Chicks but I told him maybe for our second date. I need to get the lay of the land first. Feel him out.”

“Fancy,” said Marge, looking distinctly unhappy about the prospect of her mom entering the dating world again at her age.

“Yeah, he owns his own business so he’s probably loaded. So he can afford to splurge on the love of his life.”

“The love of his life!” said Marge, laughing nervously. “You’re not serious.”

“And what if I am?” said Vesta censoriously. “Someone has to be the love of that man’s life, and it might just as well be me. Look, I know he’s a good deal younger, and I know plenty of people will take offense, but some men prefer riper women, and Wilbur is one of those men.” She smiled before her, a dreamy look in her eye. “The things I can teach that boy…”

“Ma!” said Marge, horrified at the implication that her mother planned to go beyond first base on her first date.

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Marge. I was talking about the neighborhood watch. After the movie we’re going patrolling together. It’ll be so much fun.”

Only Vesta would take a man patrolling on their first date, Tex thought. Then again, hope was starting to surge at this unexpected development. If things worked out between the two young lovers, they might want to move in together, which meant he’d finally, after all these long years, have his home to himself again.

He cleared his throat. “So… you like Wilbur, huh?”

Vesta shrugged. “I guess he’s all right. At my age you can’t be picky, so I’m going to give it a shot and see what happens.” She got up from the table and wiped her lips with her napkin then threw it down. “Don’t wait up. I’ll probably be pretty late.” And with a slight grin, she disappeared upstairs.

Marge and Tex shared a look of surprise. “So Vesta is dating again,” said Tex finally.

“I don’t know what to think of it,” said his wife. “Wilbur is not exactly the guy I thought she’d fall for.”

“She hasn’t exactly fallen for him, though, has she? Sounds more like a marriage of convenience to me.”

“Marriage?” asked Marge, her eyes wide. “Do you really think they’ll get married?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? If they really fancy each other, anything could happen.” And hopefully it would. Also, if Wilbur and Vesta got hitched, Vesta would probably want to help her new husband out at his store. Which would make it unnecessary for Tex to get rid of her now—saving him the aggravation. In other words: a real win-win.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” said Marge. “First Odelia is getting married, then my brother, and now Vesta! Three weddings in one year! It’s too much, Tex!”

“We don’t know if your brother wants to get married,” said Tex soothingly. Alec and Charlene’s marriage had been announced in the Gazette, but that had merely been a ruse. And since neither the Chief of Police or the Mayor had mentioned the M word since, Tex didn’t think they’d go through with it.

“Everybody’s getting married and we’re staying behind, Tex,” said Marge sadly.

“That’s because we’re already married,” he pointed out.

“You know what I mean.”

Actually he didn’t, but by that time Vesta was stomping down the stairs again, and this time she was wearing an actual dress, something Tex hadn’t seen her in since… probably ever!

“How do I look?” asked Vesta, twirling around and looking as prim and happy as a blushing bride.

“You look great,” said Marge.

“Try not to sound so surprised, Marge,” said Vesta. “See you later. Oh, and don’t forget to tape my show, Tex.”

“I won’t forget,” he said, and watched the bane of his existence practically skip out of the house—and very soon, he hoped, out of his life!

Chapter 13

Randy Hancock looked in the full-length mirror and thought he looked pretty decent for his age. At sixty-five most men had lost their youthful good looks, but he was still as slim and trim as he’d ever been. And in spite of the fact that he hadn’t worked out in a long time, he felt pretty healthy, too. Plus, and this was a big plus, he still had all his hair!

Then again, he had devoted his entire life to staying in shape and probably his body was still enjoying the residual effects of having worked out for several decades.

And he was just standing on one leg and raising the other one as high as he could when his phone chimed. He sat down on the bed in this, his new home away from home, and frowned at the message. It was from the same number the video had come from, and read: ‘Time to get real, Randy. Transfer ten million dollars into the following account and I’ll deliver the antidote. Failure to comply will result in certain death. Do or die time, booby!’

“Oh, dear,” he muttered. He immediately got up and bellowed, “Chase! Chase, honey, I just got another one of those horrible messages!” He found the cop in his bedroom, folding laundry and neatly placing it in a drawer. He smiled at the sight of the amazing glutes the man had. “You work out a lot, don’t you?” he said, a soft purr in his voice now.

Chase looked up, surprised that he was no longer alone. “Oh, hi, Randy,” he said.

“You can call me Ran-Ran, big boy,” said the fitness legend as he leaned against the doorframe. “So is it true what they say about cops?”

“What?”

“That you always carry a concealed weapon between your thighs? No, don’t answer that,” he said, closing his eyes. He shouldn’t give in to temptation when circumstances were as dire as they were. “I got another message,” he said, holding out his phone.

Chase took the phone and glanced at the message, then whistled through his teeth. “Ten million dollars. Have you got that kind of money… Ran-Ran?”

“Well, yeah, I’ve got the money, but I don’t want to give it to these horrible people. I worked for that money. It’s my money, and they’re trying to steal it from me. So what do I do, Chase?” He’d sidled up to the cop and now read along with him on the phone, taking in the muscular cop’s body odor, which was musky and really, really nice. “What do you recommend?”

“I talked to one of my former colleagues,” said Chase, “and sent her the video and the messages. She’s promised to take a look and hopefully she’ll be able to tell me who sent them.”

“Oh, that would be so nice,” he said, reaching out a tentative finger to touch the man’s bulging bicep then thinking better of it. “And when do you think you’ll be able to make an arrest? Cause I don’t know if you’ve been following along but I only have three days left to live, Chase—is that what your friends call you? Or is it Chasey?”

“No, Chase is fine,” said the cop, glancing at his celebrity guest a little uncertainly.

Randy got the hint and stepped back, holding up his hands. “I’m invading your personal space, aren’t I? Apologies, Chase. Force of habit. When you teach an aerobics class you get into people’s personal space all the time. You need to get down and dirty if you want to improve people’s… posture.” My, the cop had amazing posture. Ramrod straight, extremely developed musculature, the works. A perfect specimen in every respect. “You know, when this is all over, would you mind taping a video with me?”

Chase cocked a curious eyebrow. “A video.”

“Not that kind of video, you naughty boy!” said Randy with a laugh. “A fitness video! I think you’d make an excellent model. Seeing as my own body has decided to fail me, I was thinking of assuming a role behind the scenes from now on. Direct fitness models. Like you!”

“I thought you wanted to retire?”

“Oh, sure. This would just be a passion project.”

“I don’t know, Ran-Ran,” said Chase. “I’m a cop, not a model.”

“So what? You could be a cop and a model!”

Just then, Odelia breezed into the room, and Randy took another step back. Somehow the cop’s animal magnetism kept pulling him in—like a homing pigeon!

“I heard shouting,” said the reporter. “Is everything all right?” She glanced from Randy to Chase and frowned. Of course, thought Randy. She probably felt the sexual tension, all that sweet testosterone going through the roof!

He felt a little embarrassed. There he was, asking for this lovely young couple’s help, and all he could think about was what a handsome hunk Chase Kingsley was!

“Randy got another message,” said Chase, handing the phone to his girlfriend. “This time they’ve actually shown their hand: they want money. A lot of money.”

“Ten million!” said Odelia, and turned to the fitness star. “How do they know you have this kind of money?”

“I don’t know how they know, but they do,” he said simply, studying one of the many rings on his fingers. He looked up. “Oh, you mean that they must be someone I know?”

“Could be your accountant, manager, a business partner…” She thought for a moment. “Could you maybe make a list for me of all the people who know how much you’re worth—financially I mean? Tomorrow first thing I’ll start investigating these people.”

“I can tell you right now,” he said. “My manager Saul Garter, of course, my accountant Peggy Brook. I don’t have a business partner. And, um… Well, there’s my sister Anne. We’re very close so she knows a lot about my business and private affairs.”

“Can you write down their names and numbers?”

“Of course,” he said, giving her a look of admiration. “Will you look at you, going all amateur sleuth on me.”

“That’s why you came to me, isn’t it?”

“Why, yes, but I never thought…” He closed his mouth. He’d almost said too much. It was the presence of hunky Mr. McHunky. He made his mind get all scrambled up.

“How did you arrive on my doorstep if I may ask?” said Odelia. “Did someone give you my name?”

“Well, I was a huge fan of Passion Island,” said Randy. “And I followed what happened with those disappearances very closely.”

Odelia nodded. “That case got a lot of publicity.”

“It did! And you did such a good job finding those women, and exposing that abduction ring. So when I got that video, I just figured Odelia Poole is the person I need to find. She’s the only one who can help me—discreetly!”

“Don’t worry, Ran-Ran,” said Chase, placing his large and very warm hands on the fitness icon’s shoulders and giving them a tight squeeze. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this thing and we’re going to get you that antidote or my name isn’t Chase Kingsley.”

“Chase Kingsley,” he muttered in unison with the cop’s words, shivering a little.

“You’re shivering,” said Chase with a frown.

“Yeah, you look a little feverish,” Odelia chimed in.

He couldn’t tell them he was feeling feverish from that amazing man’s touch, now could he. So instead he said, “I guess I probably need to lie down. This ransom demand business has hit me harder than I thought.” And with a weak smile, he excused himself and returned to his room. Oh, he needed to lie down, all right. But not from the message but from Chase’s impromptu massage!

Chapter 14

Dooley was not himself as we traversed the streets of Hampton Cove on our way to the park for cat choir. He was looking a little dazed, and I thought I knew why.

“I’m sure Gran and Wilbur won’t get married,” I said now, in an effort to cheer him up. “You know Gran. She’s an independent woman, and not the marrying kind at all.”

“You really think so, Max?” said Dooley, hope visibly surging as he eyed me excitedly. “You really think they will go on one date and that’s it?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Gran has been on many dates, if you recall, and she’s never once mentioned the word marriage.”

“She was with this Leo guy,” said Dooley, nodding furiously. “And this Dick guy, and this Rock guy. And she never said she’d marry any of them. Not even once.”

Gran had gone out with many eligible bachelors over the years, but always found something about them she didn’t like. And knowing Wilbur, Gran would soon find fault with him, too.

“I think Gran is after Wilbur for his money,” said Brutus. “Wilbur is probably loaded. And Gran loves money. Remember how she claimed the inheritance of the Most Fascinating Man in the World? She was even going to live in his mansion in Colorado.”

I remembered. It hadn’t been Gran’s finest hour, and even less so when she’d started quarreling with Scarlett, who’d made the exact same claim against the dead man’s fortune.

“I think Gran just wants some company,” said Harriet, striking the romantic note. “She is, after all, a woman all by herself. Even though she has a loving family and four loving cats, she probably wants a man to hold her close at night, and to talk about what her day has been like.” She sighed. “I’m just afraid she won’t find that kind of companionship with Wilbur.”

We’d arrived at the park, and I could see that cat choir was going to be a crowded affair. Officially the gathering is designed to give us an opportunity to practice our singing skills, and maybe even take our show on the road—though Shanille, cat choir’s conductor, feels we’re not ready yet to sing in front of an audience. I happen to agree.

I saw how Dooley made a beeline for Kingman, Wilbur Vickery’s piebald. “Kingman!” said Dooley anxiously. “My human and your human are dating. Did you know?”

Kingman looked slightly taken aback by this piece of news. “Dating? What are you talking about?”

“Gran and Wilbur—they’re dating! And there’s even talk of marriage! Which means that you and I…” He swallowed. “You and I… might be brothers in the near future!”

Kingman darted a curious glance at me, and I shrugged. “They are dating,” I confirmed, “but I haven’t heard anything about a wedding being planned.”

“Are you sure?” said Kingman. “Cause Wilbur usually doesn’t date anyone over the age of fifty. I even heard him tell Mayor Butterwick once that if she wanted to snag him she needed to hurry up. She’s forty-eight, see, and he told her she only has two years left before she reaches the cutoff point.”

“What did she say?” I asked, curious.

“She slapped him across the face,” said Kingman with a grin. “Which happens a lot, actually. Wilbur isn’t what you might call a ladies’ man. In fact you might call him an anti-ladies’ man. Not a chick magnet, if you see what I mean, but a chick repellent.”

“Yeah, I don’t really see this whole affair going anywhere,” I confided in Kingman. I glanced around, and saw that Harriet and Brutus were chatting with Shanille, possibly arranging Gran’s wedding, as Shanille is Father Reilly’s cat. “As far as I understand, Scarlett set the whole thing up. And she’s not exactly the world’s best matchmaker.”

“Scarlett set this up?” said Kingman, his smile widening. “This will not end well, boys. I see another slap in the face in Wilbur’s future. Two slaps, probably, as Vesta Muffin has two good hands on her.”

And it was with this takeaway that we assumed our positions, and moments later choir practice began. Dooley, who seemed more or less reassured by Kingman’s words, sang his little heart out, and so did I. And when it finally came time for Harriet’s big solo, she opted to sing the tune from Titanic for some reason. Possibly she had romance on her mind—a word no one has ever associated with Gran, except apparently Harriet.

When rehearsals were over, Shanille approached me, a serious look on her face. “Max, we need to talk,” she said, and led me away from the throng for a private word. “Harriet tells me Gran and Wilbur are getting married. Is this true?”

“I think it’s a little early to start ringing the wedding bells,” I said with a smile. “They’re going on their first date, that much is true, but beyond that who knows what will happen.”

Shanille nodded seriously. “I think it behooves us to start taking some preliminary steps,” she said. “You know what humans are like. Today the love light appears in their eyes, and tomorrow they’re already talking to Father Reilly and setting a date for the wedding. So I was thinking that you and Dooley and Harriet and Brutus could act as flower cats, and so can Kingman. You know,” she added when I merely stared at her. “You walk behind the bride and groom, festooned with flowers. It’ll look lovely, trust me. And one of you will have to carry the veil—which might prove a little hard,” she said, more to herself than to me, “as you can’t actually carry the veil. Unless… Oh, I’ve got it! You can carry the veil between your teeth. So do you want to do the honors, or Dooley? Probably Dooley, right? He’s Gran’s cat, after all. Dooley!” she bellowed before I could stop her.

“What is it?” asked Dooley as he came tripping up anxiously.

“Here, hold this,” said Shanille, and promptly stuck a piece of paper she’d found on the ground between Dooley’s teeth. “Now walk for me,” she instructed.

Dooley stared at me, but then did as Shanille had instructed and walked.

“Very cute,” said Shanille, nodding. “Though you need practice. Why don’t we meet tomorrow at the church and we can discuss this in detail.” And before I could protest, she’d already turned on her heel and was stalking off, looking every inch the busy choir leader that she was.

Dooley stared at me, then dropped the piece of paper, which was a flyer for one of Randy Hancock’s fitness videos I now saw.

“What was all that about, Max?” asked my friend.

“Um…” I didn’t really want to get into it, as I was pretty sure it would only serve to upset him. But then Shanille suddenly returned and said, “Practice at home if you can, Dooley. If you’re going to be Vesta and Wilbur’s flower cat and official veil carrier at the wedding, you need to practice, practice, practice!” And then she was off again.

Dooley slowly turned to me, his face falling. “Max!” he cried. “Gran is getting married!”

Chapter 15

If Odelia thought their new guest’s behavior was a little strange, she decided not to show it. The man was probably under such a great deal of pressure he wasn’t acting normal.

She’d arrived downstairs to surf on her laptop and prepare for tomorrow’s interviews. Before she could dig into her interviewee’s profiles, though, her mom and dad dropped by, with Mom carrying a boxy VHS tape that looked really ancient.

“Is he here?” asked Mom, keeping her voice down as one does when visiting a sickly patient laid up in bed. “I thought Tex could take a look at Randy and maybe find out what kind of poison they used on him.”

“I already told you, honey,” said Dad. “If he wants to know what poison was administered he needs to go to the hospital so they can run the appropriate tests.”

“All I’m asking is for you to take a look, Tex,” said Mom, sounding a little irritable. “You are a doctor, aren’t you?”

“That, I am,” said Dad with a slight sigh.

“So where is he?” asked Mom, more insistent. She held up the VHS tape. “I thought I’d ask him to sign my tape.”

“He’s upstairs resting,” said Odelia. “He received another message, this time asking for money in exchange for the antidote.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mom, clutching a hand to her face. “How much do they want?”

“Ten million dollars.”

“Ten million dollars!” said Mom, her eyes sparkling. “You know what? If you don’t mind I’ll go and see him. The poor man is probably feeling blue.” And before Odelia could stop her, she was already on her way upstairs.

“She hasn’t stopped talking about Randy,” said Dad morosely. “It’s Randy this and Randy that. She’s obsessed with that man.”

“Do you think you can help him?” asked Odelia. “With the poisoning I mean?”

“I can take a look,” said Dad reluctantly. “Why did he come to you?”

“He saw me on the news when I helped solve the Passion Island case.”

“You’re really making a name for yourself as a detective, honey,” said her dad, sounding proud. “Maybe you should quit the paper and go into business for yourself?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said Odelia with a smile. “I’m not a detective, Dad. I’m a reporter, and if from time to time I can do my bit to help solve a case, that’s gravy. But I’m not going to start a detective agency so I can lurk in bushes trying to catch unfaithful spouses.”

“Yeah, I guess most detective work comes down to that, doesn’t it?”

“That and corporate espionage. And I’m not interested.”

“Listen—I wanted to ask your advice. I was thinking about hiring a receptionist. A real receptionist this time.”

“And fire Gran?”

“Yes. What do you think?”

“I think you should probably do what you think is right, Dad.”

“Your grandmother is the worst receptionist in the world, honey. And I think it’s time I replaced her with a professional.” He dropped his voice. “Though now that she’s dating Wilbur, maybe I won’t have to actually tell her she’s fired. Maybe she’ll go and assist him at the store—God help the poor schmuck.”

Odelia’s eyes went wide. “Gran? Dating Wilbur? Are you serious?”

“Oh, absolutely. You should have seen her just now. She even put on makeup and a dress. I don’t think I’ve seen your grandmother in a dress since… well, ever.”

“Oh, my,” said Odelia, taken aback by this bit of news. “And do you think it’s serious?”

Dad shrugged. “With Vesta you never know. Though I’m hopeful. For the first time in a long time I’m actually hopeful.”

Odelia grinned at her dad. “You’re secretly hoping she’ll move out, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” said Dad, returning her grin.

She patted her dad on the back. Poor Dad, she thought. Not only did he have to tolerate Gran living with him, but working at his place of business, too. No wonder he was suddenly looking so happy.

“Tex! You can come up now!” Mom yelled from upstairs. “Randy is ready for you!”

“Here we go,” said Dad, and heeded his wife’s call with the kind of alacrity all women like to see in her devoted husband.

Marge, when she’d arrived upstairs, had expected to find the patient sickly and pale, looking as if he was at death’s door. Instead, she’d found Randy Hancock preening in front of the mirror, only dressed in very short boxer’s shorts, and flexing his muscles.

When she pushed open the door, after the most cursory of knocks, she gasped at the sight of the fitness guru whose workout routines she’d religiously followed for the last thirty years, ever since he’d burst onto the scene like a pint-sized human spark plug.

“Oh, Randy,” she breathed in a hoarse whisper, clutching a hand to a heart practically beating through her heaving chest. “It’s an honor—a pleasure—I’m your biggest fan!”

Randy, who looked startled at this unexpected invasion of his privacy, quickly recovered. He was probably used to fans walking in on him by now. So he plastered a smile onto his face and said, “And you must be Odelia’s mom—the resemblance is striking, sweetheart. And can I just say you could be mistaken for her sister? Absolutely!”

“Oh, thank you, Randy,” Marge said, simpering a little as she proceeded further into the room—this holiest of holy places now that Randy had taken up sojourn there.

Chase’s fitness equipment occupied one corner of the room, a desk the other, and Odelia had now turned the couch into a bed, and somehow the combination of home gym and guest bedroom was fitting for the fitness megastar.

“I’m so sorry to hear about your predicament,” she said breathlessly as she clutched the tattered videotape in her sweaty hand. “My husband is a doctor, Randy, so if you want him to take a look at you—maybe he can find out what’s going on.”

“That would be lovely,” said Randy courteously. He gestured to the video. “And what do you have there? A gift for me?”

“Oh, no. I thought… if you want… and only if you want… if you could maybe… sign it for me?” She handed him the tape. “It’s the very first exercise tape I ever bought. I must have done these exercises hundreds of times… thousands… probably more!”

“I remember this one,” said Randy, fondly tapping the tape with his index finger. “Do you know this is still the best-sold exercise tape in the world? Sold millions and millions of copies. It’s out on DVD now, and available for free on my YouTube channel if you like.”

“I still prefer my old VHS tape,” said Marge, drinking in the fitness guru’s presence with her eyes. He looked exactly like he did on the cover of the tape. Only his hair was a little less dark, and his face a little more lined, but that lean physique was still there, and that sparkle in his eyes. “You look wonderful, Randy. I hope you don’t mind if I say this?”

“Oh, no. You can tell me I look wonderful all day long and I still wouldn’t get tired of it,” he quipped.

“How do you do it?” she asked. “How do you stay so fit and healthy?”

He held up the tape and tilted his head. “The secret is right here. I said it thirty years ago and I keep saying it now: you have got to keep moving, baby—keep grooving!”

She nodded, suddenly getting emotional from being in the presence of greatness.

“Are you all right?” he asked when she swayed a little, like a sapling in the breeze.

She nodded, furiously fighting to keep her tears at bay. “It’s just that…” She halted, then tried again. “Do you ever feel like you could use a little more… sparkle in your life, Randy?” Immediately she knew she’d crossed a line, and held up her hand. “Please forgive me. You don’t need to hear all this. You’ve got enough problems of your own.”

“No, it’s all right,” he said, and took a seat on the edge of the bed, then patted the spot beside him. “Tell me all about it, sweetheart. Pour out your heart to your friend Randy.”

“Oh, Randy,” she said, a tear now rolling down her cheek. “People all around me are getting married, you see, and it’s made me feel… It’s just making me feel so… so…”

“Left out?” he said.

She stared at him. “How did you know?”

He placed a hand to his heart and regarded her with so much compassion it almost made her weep like a newborn. “I’m in love, too, Marge. With a person I can’t have. I can relate. We all need romance in our lives, and sometimes it simply eludes us, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, it does! I mean, I’m a happily married woman, and I really shouldn’t feel like this, but sometimes I just want… more, you know? More romance, more of that… spark.”

“I hear you, Marge. One hundred percent.” He gave her a big smile—just like he did in his videos—then opened his arms wide. “Come here,” he said. “Let me give you hug.”

And then they hugged, and Marge thought it felt so good. “Oh, Randy,” she murmured.

And when Chase walked in ten seconds later that’s how he found them: Randy naked from the waist up, and both of them sitting on the bed locked into a tight embrace.

So he discreetly backtracked and closed the door. They hadn’t even noticed him.

Chapter 16

Little Randy wasn’t exactly feeling on top of the world. To be more precise he felt on the bottom of the world, or even below it, underneath the world, if that was even possible. He’d failed in his principal duty: to protect his human, and still Randy had decided to stick with him. Any other human would have simply dumped him—maybe taken him back to the breeder—or left him at the local pound—but not Randy Hancock. The man was so kind-hearted, so loving and generous he had seemingly forgiven Little Randy his trespasses and allowed him to tag along to this, his new home.

The Irish Setter had spent the entire afternoon in front of the window feeling sorry for himself, and now he was lying outside on the cool lawn, still feeling sorry for himself but also wondering where the cats he’d met earlier had gone off to.

And he was just hoping they’d return soon, as he was starting to feel a little lonely all by his lonesome, when suddenly he became aware of a pssting sound near where he lay.

He glanced up, and saw that a smallish dog was looking at him through a hole in the fence. If he wasn’t mistaken the dog was of the Yorkshire Terrier breed, and really tiny.

“Psst!” the doggie repeated. “Hey, big guy! Who are you?”

“My name is Little Randy,” he said, well pleased to discover that it wasn’t just cats who infested this part of the world but dogs, too. “And what is your name, tiny dog?”

“Fifi,” said the fluffy white thing. “So Odelia finally took a dog, huh? Tired of spending her life surrounded only by cats?”

“I’m not Odelia’s dog if that’s what you’re thinking, Fifi. I belong to Randy Hancock. The fitness star? He’s staying with Odelia for a couple of days and was so good to let me tag along, even though I failed him in every way.” He hung his head. “I allowed him to be poisoned, you see, and now he will die soon and I will be to blame.” He normally didn’t allow himself to confide in strangers, even if they were dogs, but he was feeling a little down in the dumps and it felt good to unburden his soul.

“Your human is about to die?” asked Fifi.

“Yeah, that poison will kill him in exactly three days and one night.”

“What will happen to you when he goes?”

“I don’t know. I assume I will go and live with one of Randy’s relatives. I’m sure he will have added a clause to his will stipulating my fate in great detail.” Another nail to the coffin of Little Randy’s conscience: even though he’d neglected to protect Randy, Randy was doing everything in his power to protect his precious dog—what a guy! What a pal!

“You know what I think you need?” asked Fifi now, as she glanced up at him shyly.

“A dose of the same poison that is going to kill my master?”

“You need to sing, Little Randy. Sing your heart out!”

“Sing?” he asked, eyeing Fifi as if she’d lost her tiny little mind. “What do you mean, sing?”

“Me and a buddy of mine have just launched dog choir, and we’re inviting all of our friends—and now I guess I’m inviting you, Little Randy. If you’re interested, of course.”

“Dog choir?” he said, making a face. He’d never heard of dogs singing before, except maybe in Saturday morning cartoons. “Dogs don’t sing, Fifi. Everybody knows that.”

“Cats don’t sing either, and yet this town has a very popular cat choir. They gather at the park every night, and sing their hearts out. So I figured why should it just be cats who get to sing, right? Why can’t dogs have some fun, too? And so Rufus and I are heading out there right now, so if you want to come, let’s get going, Little Randy.”

“But…”

She flashed him a shy but sweet smile. “What do you have to lose, my friend?”

This was absolutely true. He didn’t have anything to lose, except his dignity, and frankly he was beyond the point where that kind of stuff mattered. So he finally shrugged. “Okay. So where is this park of yours?”

“Follow me,” said Fifi, and popped through the hole in the fence, then tripped over to the hedge that separated Odelia’s backyard from her parents’ and said, “Rufus! Rufus, let’s go!”

Moments later a big sheepdog appeared on the scene, and gave Little Randy a good-natured nod. “Hi, there, buddy. Ready for dog choir?”

“Um…” said Little Randy, then smiled. “Sure. Why not?”

And so the unlikely trio set off along the strip of lawn that lined Odelia’s house, and moments later they were out in the street, and on their way to the park.

Tex entered the room where his patient was holed up with a slight sense of trepidation. He was of course used to treating people who were sick or even dying, but rarely it happened to him that he treated a person as famous as Randy Hancock.

“Come in!” said Randy. The first thing Tex thought when he caught sight of the fitness guru was that he didn’t look very sick—or dying, for that matter. In fact he looked like a real live wire.

“Well, there he is!” said Randy. “The man of the hour. Are you ready to do this, Tex—can I call you Tex?—I’m not sure what you need from me. Do you want me to lie down? Sit up? Stick out my tongue? Drop my pants and bend over? Though if it’s blood you need I’ll tell you right now I’m squeamish, Tex. Extremely squeamish. I just hate needles!”

“Oh, Randy,” said Marge with a schoolgirl giggle.

Much to Tex’s surprise, his wife of twenty-five years had taken off her sweater and was sitting on the bed next to Randy, looking flustered and grinning like a teenager at her first dorm party.

“Okay, big boy,” said Randy as he held out his arm. “Just stick it in before I change my mind.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “But don’t expect me to watch! I’ll start to scream!”

“Randy, you’re such a hoot!” Marge giggled.

“It’s the entertainer in me, Marge,” said Randy. “I may be dying but I’ll make you laugh until the day I die!”

“Um, I’m not going to draw blood now,” said Tex.

“Well, that’s a relief!”

“I mean, I could, if you wanted to, but I’d have to get my stuff.”

“He didn’t bring his stuff!” said Randy.

“Oh, Tex,” said Marge. “I told you to bring your doctor’s bag.”

Tex frowned. He had a feeling something was going on. He didn’t know what, exactly, but he was pretty sure he didn’t like it. “If you want me to give you a complete physical I suggest you come to my office tomorrow,” he said, a little stiffly. “I have all of my equipment there, and I can even arrange for your blood work to be examined at the lab—normally I would suggest you go to the hospital, but I promise you I’ll do my best to—”

“I can’t leave the house, Tex. People might recognize me, and I know this will sound a little weird but my enemies can’t know I’m staying here. So….” Then his face lit up. “What I could do is wear a disguise. Do you have a wig, Marge? Any old wig will do.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m sure we’ve got something lying around.” She giggled again. “You really want to walk the streets wearing a wig, Randy? You will look funny.”

“Haven’t you figured it out by now, Marge? Funny is my middle name!”

Tex cleared his throat. “So are you coming in tomorrow or…”

“You betcha, Doc!” said Randy, clapping him on the shoulder like an old friend. “I’ll come and see you first thing tomorrow. And I want to thank you for doing this. You don’t know how much it means to me to be welcomed into your family like such an honored guest. No, not like a guest—like a member of the family.” He gave the doc a warm smile.

“That’s all right,” said Tex. “So… see you tomorrow then?”

“See you tomorrow, Tex.”

And as Tex walked out, he waited by the door for his wife to follow him. When she didn’t move from the bed but stayed right where she was, he felt a little shocked.

Strange things were happening. And as he descended the stairs, he could have sworn he heard Marge giggle again. Giggle like a naughty girl up to doing naughty things!

Chapter 17

We were on our way back from cat choir when we unwittingly witnessed a strange scene: very near to our rehearsal space—the playground at the park—a couple of dogs were howling at the moon. Usually it’s wolves that engage in this sort of behavior but it was definitely dogs this time, since as far as I know we don’t have any wolves in Hampton Cove.

And as we quickly walked past, putting some pep in our step to leave this disturbing scene in our rearview mirror, suddenly Dooley said, “Isn’t that Fifi?”

We now all glanced over, something we’d neglected to do before, and much to my surprise I saw that one of the dogs was, indeed, our neighbor Fifi. The Yorkshire Terrier was howling up a storm, and creating quite the ruckus I must say.

“Hey, that’s Rufus!” said Harriet.

“And Little Randy,” said Brutus, sounding as surprised as I was feeling.

We now stared at the scene, and I felt as if I was in the upside-down version of my usual world.

“I don’t get it,” I finally said. “What do they think they’re doing?”

“Sounds like they’re howling at the moon,” said Dooley.

“I know what it sounds like, Dooley,” I said, “but what I want to know is why they’re behaving in this ludicrous way.”

“Why ludicrous?” asked Harriet.

“Because they’re not wolves!”

The dogs must have spotted us, for they suddenly halted their howling and came trotting over.

“Hey, you guys,” said Fifi. “So what do you think?”

“Think of what?” I asked.

“Our performance. Is it as good as or even better than yours?”

“Better than what?”

“Cat choir! Is dog choir as good as cat choir, better than cat choir, or worse. It’s a multiple-choice question,” she added when we just stared at her.

“Do you mean to say you’re starting a… dog choir?” asked Harriet with an incredulous laugh.

“That’s right. We just figured if cats can do it, so can dogs. Maybe even better.”

“I like it,” said Rufus. “I like the singing. Though I think we’re going to need a conductor. It doesn’t feel right without a conductor.”

“I like it, too,” said Little Randy. “I’m not a natural-born singer, and I don’t think I have an ounce of talent, but I really had fun tonight, guys. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lil Ran,” said Rufus.

“Lil Ran?” I said, aghast.

“The fellas decided Little Randy was a real mouthful so they’ve baptized me Lil Ran.”

“It was my idea,” said Fifi. “It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think? And once we take dog choir to the next level, you need a name for when we talk to the press.”

“Talk to the press!” I said. “Dogs don’t talk to anyone, and certainly not the press!”

“But… you talk to the press, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“So what do you call it when you talk to Odelia?”

“She’s got you there, Max,” said Brutus with a grin.

“Look, for me this is just a way to while away the time,” said Lil Ran. “And to take my mind off things.”

“Lil Ran is feeling blue,” said Rufus. “On account of the fact that his human is dying.”

“I’m sorry, Lil Ran,” said Dooley. “If my human was dying I’d feel bad, too. And even when she’s not dying,” he added, “but getting married instead.” He sighed deeply. “Today is a sad, sad day.”

“Maybe sing some more, Dooley,” said Fifi with a smile. “It will cheer you right up—you’ll see.” And to show us what she meant, she raised her face to the moon and started howling—and very loudly, too!

Moments later a shoe came flying in her direction and knocked her off her perch. When she’d recovered enough to join us again, she stared at the shoe, then at us, and said, “What just happened?”

“Welcome to cat choir,” I said.

Chapter 18

In spite of the fact that Wilbur Vickery wasn’t anyone’s dream date—most certainly not Vesta’s—she had been fully prepared to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

They’d gone to see a movie, one Wilbur had picked. It had been one of those violent movies, with plenty of action and shooting and a body count that went through the roof. And throughout the movie Wilbur had been laughing his ass off, clearly having a ball.

Vesta, meanwhile, had been so bored she’d surfed on her phone the entire time, chatting with Scarlett, giving her a live report of the evening as it progressed.

‘Nine fifteen—Wilbur almost choked in his extra-large popcorn.’

‘Nine thirty—Wilbur almost choked in his extra-large Coke.’

‘Nine forty—Wilbur almost choked laughing when one of the bad guys got smushed.’

And she’d just started to figure the evening was a bust when suddenly Wilbur had placed an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. It was at a moment in the movie when the hero was locked up in a bank vault with a pretty girl and noxious gas was being pumped in by the bad guys and instead of trying to get himself and the girl out of trouble he started kissing the girl instead. Go figure. That’s what you get when Hollywood movies are all made by men for men: they make absolutely no sense!

And so when the hero started feeling up the scantily-clad leading lady, who was thirty years his junior, Wilbur started leaning in and had actually tried to kiss her!

She responded by grabbing his left nipple and giving it a tight squeeze.

Wilbur had squealed like a pig and for the rest of the movie had kept his hands—and his lizard tongue—to himself.

‘Ten twenty—Wilbur has stopped talking to me.’

“So where do you wanna go?” Vesta asked as they walked out of the movie theater, three hundred dead bad guys, one molested leading lady, and a smirking hero later.

By this point Wilbur’s face was a thundercloud, and he grunted, “Dunno.”

“Maybe we could go for a walk? There’s a full moon out tonight. And then we can go patrolling, like we said.”

“Hrmph,” Wilbur said, which Vesta took as a yes. So she took hold of the shopkeeper’s arm and together they walked through downtown Hampton Cove, then proceeded in the direction of the waterfront.

“This is nice,” said Vesta as they reached the boardwalk and joined the many couples leisurely strolling along and having a good time.

“Hrmph,” Wilbur repeated. He’d recently shaved off his beard and mustache, but was growing them back. The beard didn’t become him, and neither did the mustache. The beard was white and made him look like Father Time, and the mustache was the color of urine and gave him the aspect of a derelict. Along with his bushy brows and skeletal build, he looked more like a bum than the owner of one of Hampton Cove’s most popular stores.

“So I’ve been thinking,” she said now as she gazed out across the ocean, which reflected the light of the full moon.

“What?” he said, openly gawking at a pretty young thing strolling past on the arm of her boyfriend.

“About the watch. What if we recruited a couple of new members? That way we could cover more ground.”

“What would you want to do a silly thing like that for?” asked Wilbur, his jaw moving lasciviously as he ogled another young girl moving by on roller skates.

“Because one neighborhood watch isn’t enough, Wilbur. If we want Hampton Cove to be the safest town on the East Coast we need a watch in every neighborhood. And that means recruiting people from all over the place. Responsible citizens.”

“You go ahead if you want. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is, without being responsible for the safety of an entire town.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I suggest you leave well enough alone. If those other neighborhoods want to start a block watch, then let them. It’s none of our business.” He glanced at a tall blonde with a deeply cut cleavage. “Frankly I don’t see why you even bother.”

“I bother because I care about this town of ours. I want people to feel safe when they’re out on the street. And I want them to feel safe when they’re at home. Don’t you?”

But the shopkeeper shrugged. “As long as I’m safe, that’s good enough for me,” he said, causing Vesta to raise her eyebrows and cast a censorious look at her date.

“You know, Wilbur, when Scarlett suggested we go out on a date, I’ll admit I was skeptical.”

“Oh?”

“But now that we’re out and about, I think she was right. This was a great idea.”

“It was?” he said, giving her a look of surprise.

“Why don’t we take a seat on that bench over there,” Vesta suggested. “I’d like to hear some more of your ideas about the watch.”

“Okay,” said Wilbur as he walked her over to the bench and took a seat. One bench over a young couple sat, locked in a tight embrace, their lips also locked and clearly in their own world. Wilbur glanced at the young couple, then at Vesta, and he grinned a suggestive grin that showed all of his crooked, yellowing teeth.

“So what do you want to ‘talk’ about?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully.

“How you see the future of the watch?”

He frowned. “Um… Well, we drive around some, like we’ve been doing, and if we see something that ain’t right, we call the cops.” He was leaning in again, an arm slowly sneaking around her back.

She glanced down at her nice dress, which she’d worn especially for this occasion. She hadn’t worn it in a while, and she was starting to feel a little silly wearing it now. “So you’d call the cops if you saw something suspicious. Not go in there and deal with it yourself?”

“Are you nuts? What if these people are armed? We don’t want to get our heads blown off, do we? No, we let the cops take the heat. They know what to do.”

“Cops are people, too, Wilbur. With families and lives they’d like to keep.”

“They get paid to do this shit, Vesta. With our tax money. So I say let ‘em go in first.”

“And if they get shot?”

Wilbur shrugged. “They knew what they were getting into when they signed up for the job.” He pulled her in a little closer. “Aren’t you cold? You look cold.”

She half expected him to offer his jacket, but instead he wrapped his arms around her, and suddenly she felt as if she’d been snagged by an octopus. And since he’d pinned her arms to her body, she couldn’t even pinch his other nipple!

So when he lowered his mouth to hers, instead she bit his tongue—hard!

“Ouch!” he cried, and released her from his grip. “What did you do that for?”

“Wilbur,” she said with a smile, “I think this date has been very illuminating.”

“What are you talking about, you crazy woman?” he said, touching his mouth.

“I’ve made up my mind. From now on you will no longer be part of my watch.”

“What?!”

She got up swiftly. “You’re fired, Wilbur.” And she started walking away before turning. “Oh, and this will be our one and only date. Goodbye.”

‘Eleven ten—Wilbur almost choked again. This time in his own arrogance and bad behavior and terrible opinions. Lucky for him I performed CPR. He didn’t seem to like it.’

Chapter 19

Dooley hadn’t stopped talking about the upcoming wedding of Gran and Wilbur Vickery since we left the park. It was clearly bugging him a great deal.

So finally instead of going to bed, I decided to suggest something else.

“Why don’t we go and spy on Gran’s date with Wilbur?” I said. “And then maybe you’ll see that there isn’t all that much to worry about.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” he said. “Gran won’t like it when we spy on her.”

“She’ll never know, Dooley. We’ll simply make sure she doesn’t see us.”

He looked in equal measure excited and terrified at the prospect of spying on our human, but finally his fear of becoming Kingman’s brother and having to go and live with Wilbur decided him.

“All right,” he said. “But only if you promise me that Gran won’t see us.”

“I promise, Dooley,” I said, even though it wasn’t really a promise I could make. Gran has eagle eyes, in spite of her age, and sometimes I think she even has eyes in the back of her head. Still, I wasn’t prepared to listen to Dooley go on and on all night about Gran’s wedding, and this seemed like a good plan to put his mind at ease once and for all.

So we left the others and set a course to downtown Hampton Cove, where we figured Wilbur would have taken Gran.

“I know they were going to see a movie,” said Dooley.

“So that’s where we’ll go first,” I said. “And we’ll see where they went next.”

And so it was arranged: we headed to the Happy Flix movie theater in town, and got there just in time to see people pouring out of the entrance, one of them Gran, and the other her date for the night, silver fox Wilbur Vickery. Though he looked more like a silver dog to me, but then I’m not a woman so what do I know.

We followed the couple as they strolled along the sidewalk, keeping our distance so as not to be noticed, and soon they plotted a course to the boardwalk, where all loved-up couples go when the moon is full and the night is young.

“I don’t like this, Max,” said Dooley. “This looks very romantic. Too romantic!”

He was right. All the couples I saw were holding hands, or seated on wooden benches overlooking the ocean and hugging and kissing and whatnot.

So maybe this wasn’t a good idea at all!

“They’re sitting down, Max!” said Dooley, pointing in the direction of the couple. They now looked as loved-up as the other couples in their vicinity, and I could sense that love was in the air, and soon sparks would fly and morals would get a little loosey-goosey!

“Maybe we should get going,” I said. “Nothing much to see here, just like I told you.”

“I think there’s plenty to see!” said Dooley. “Look, Max, they’re going to kiss!”

And indeed they were. Wilbur had his hands all over Dooley’s human, and was moving in for a kiss. And just as I was ready to cover my friend’s eyes so he wouldn’t have to witness this particularly sordid scene, suddenly Wilbur jerked back with a loud cry of pain, and touched his fingers to his lips for some reason.

The next moment Gran had gotten up from that bench and said something. Then she walked away!

“What’s happening, Max!” Dooley cried. “What’s going on?!”

“Time to find out,” I said, and hurried in the direction of Gran. I caught up with her just as she was starting down the wooden stairs to take a stroll along the beach.

“Gran!” I said. “What happened?!”

“Oh, hey, Max,” she said, and didn’t even look surprised. “I just had the lousiest date in the history of dating, though I did learn a very valuable lesson.”

“And what is that?” I asked, as Dooley joined us.

“That Wilbur is a despicable human being and that maybe, just maybe, I’m too old to date.” Then she sighed and took off her shoes. “Wanna join me for a little stroll?”

Now normally cats aren’t really into the whole strolling thing. That’s more for dogs. And humans, of course. But before I could say ‘Thank you but I’m fine,’ Dooley was already hurrying forward, clearly wanting to be wherever Gran was going tonight.

So I decided to tag along.

“So… when are you and Wilbur getting married, Gran?” asked Dooley nervously as we trudged through the loose sand.

Gran laughed. “Getting married! Oh, Dooley, Dooley. I made that mistake once—I’m not making it again. And definitely not with a turd like Wilbur.”

“A turd?” asked Dooley, glancing back at Wilbur, who was still sitting on his bench, checking his tongue in a pocket mirror for some reason. “He doesn’t look like a turd.”

“Well, he is, Dooley. Some humans may look like humans, but underneath they’re really turds. Another lesson learned.”

“So… Kingman isn’t going to be my brother? And I’m not moving into his house?”

Gran grinned. “Not while I’m around, Dooley, and I can tell you I plan to stick around for a very long time to come.”

Dooley let out a curt yelp, then his lip started trembling, and the next moment… he was bawling like a baby!

“Oh, honey,” said Gran, and picked up my friend for a hug. “You should have told me you were so worried.”

“I don’t want to move away from home, Gran,” said Dooley between sniffs. “I like my home. And my friends. And my family.”

“I do, too, honey. And I’m never moving out. Whatever that crazy son-in-law of mine says.” She cut a quick look to me and I smiled. Apparently Tex wasn’t as good at hiding his intentions as he thought. He’d be disappointed when the news came that Gran wasn’t getting married after all.

And so we walked along that beach, Gran carrying Dooley, and softly singing a little song for my friend. Soon his sniffles subsided, and he was himself again.

And I must say, it was pretty soothing to walk along with the two of them. I’ve never seen the benefit of taking a walk, but there’s definitely something in it, I have to admit.

“What did you do to Wilbur, Gran?” asked Dooley.

“I bit his tongue.”

“But why?”

“Because he wouldn’t bite his own tongue and stop himself from saying all kinds of stupid things, so I did it for him.”

“That was very nice of you, Gran.”

“Well, I’m a nice person, Dooley.”

That, she most certainly was, even though not many people got to see that side of her.

Chapter 20

Brutus had just laid down his head after an interesting night spent at both cat choir and dog choir, when he suddenly remembered he’d totally forgotten about… Pinkie!

So instead of spending a leisurely night at the foot of his humans’ bed, he hopped down again, made his way downstairs, then through the pet flap and into the backyard.

It didn’t take him long to find Pinkie, who was lounging on a large flat stone next to the garden shed. Tex had once had the idea to place a fountain there, but hadn’t had time to bring it about. The flat stone was there, but no fountain, which was just as well, as fountains have a tendency to spew water all over the place, a habit cats are not all that fond of.

“Hey, there, buddy,” said Brutus. “I’m sorry but I completely forgot about you.”

“You’re refreshingly honest, Brutus,” said Pinkie. “Which is something I like about you. So how was cat choir?”

“Oh, so so,” said Brutus. “We discovered that a couple of dogs have launched dog choir, so looks like we’ve got competition.”

“So shall we get going?” asked Pinkie.

“Sure, sure,” said Brutus. “So where is this pond, exactly?”

“You’ll see,” said the little turtle. “Um, so maybe I can hop on your back? It’s going to take us a really long time to get there otherwise.”

“Good idea. Hop on.”

The turtle didn’t so much hop on as crawl on, and took her time to do so. But once she was firmly in position, they took off, with Pinkie directing the black cat’s steps.

Moments later they were on the sidewalk, with Brutus telling Pinkie all about Gran’s upcoming wedding, which would cause Dooley to have to go and live with Wilbur and Kingman, and how they were all going to miss him but how that couldn’t be helped, and how humans were so darn unpredictable. And before he knew it, they had arrived.

They were still on the street, staring up at a storefront, which announced that this was where people could find anything their growing pets needed. In other words, they’d arrived at a pet shop, aptly named ‘Pete’s Pet Paradise.’

“This is it,” said Pinkie, her voice a little hushed.

“This is the pond?” said Brutus. “This is where you escaped from?”

“Yes. The pond is inside, and heavily guarded, so we’re going to have to come up with a plan, Brutus.”

“But… you expect me to break into this place and free your turtle friends? How do you propose I do that? I’m not a teenage mutant ninja turtle, Pinkie.”

“I don’t know what you just said,” said Pinkie. “Look, all you have to do is follow my lead.” And with these words, the tiny turtle made her way down from his back, and proceeded to move in the direction of a protective metal grille that had been placed over a basement recess. Beneath it he could see a window, leading into the store basement.

Brutus stared at Pinkie for a moment, unsure how to proceed, but then the turtle turned and said, “So are you coming or not?”

Brutus watched how Pinkie slipped between the grille then hopped down into the recess, and then through the open window. So he gave the grille a tentative nudge, and discovered it could easily be dislodged. After a moment’s pause, he squeezed through the grille and the wall, gracefully jumped down and proceeded into the darkness.

Brutus had never been much of an adventurer. He liked to watch other adventurers at work, like Bear Grylls or his fictional counterpart Indiana Jones, but personally the black cat preferred to sit on his couch and experience his adventures vicariously while enjoying the comfort of his home, the presence of his friends, and a big bowl of kibble.

None of these were present in the basement he now found himself in. There were no friendly faces anywhere in sight, and an appalling dearth of kibble—at least the cat kind.

What there was were mountains of turtle food: some kind of fish food Brutus had taken one sniff at and had immediately discarded as not fit for feline consumption.

The basement of the pet shop was large, with a low ceiling, and not much light. It was also pretty hot down there, and when he looked around, all he could see were large plastic tanks filled with water and… turtles. Hundreds of them—possibly even thousands. And it soon dawned on him that quite possibly he’d discovered a breeding site for turtles, located underneath this innocuous-looking pet shop.

The water tanks—there were five of them—were easily five feet high and twenty feet wide, and spread out along the basement. The bags of fish food were stacked high along one wall, and tubes led from the tanks to a machine presumably designed to make sure the water was fit for turtle habitation. From his high perch in the only window the basement sported, he had a good overview of the tanks, and saw that the turtles ranged from tiny to a little larger—though still reasonably small—and wondered how they were possibly going to free all of these turtles—or even if that was such a good idea.

“So now what?” he said once he’d taken all this in, and had determined that the ‘pond’ Pinkie kept mentioning was in fact these tanks her friends were kept in.

“Now we liberate my friends,” Pinkie said.

“You really expect all of these turtles to escape this place?” said Brutus, balking at the sheer enormity of the task. “Pinkie, there must be hundreds of turtles—thousands.”

“Oh, you bet. Maybe more,” said Pinkie. “So let’s get them out of here, shall we?”

Brutus had jumped down from the window and glanced up at one of the tanks, and saw that a small stepladder had been placed against the side, presumably for whoever operated this breeding farm to feed the animals. He mounted the steps and found himself looking down at the mass of turtles. The sides of the tank were smooth and straight—impossible to scale.

“How did you get out, Pinkie? How did you manage?”

“One of the guards left this fishing net in the pond,” said Pinkie, “and so I walked across it and then onto this ladder and out through the same window we got in.”

“It could probably be done,” Brutus had to admit. Though it would take a long time—a very, very, very long time—for the entire basement to be cleared. And in the meantime whoever was in charge probably wouldn’t stand idly by while their precious turtles escaped from right under their noses. “Look, it’s late already,” he said. “We better come back tomorrow. I’ll ask Odelia and Chase to help us, and together we might be able to pull this off.”

“No way!” said Pinkie. “Your humans will never agree to help. They’re humans, Brutus. And it’s humans who’ve been keeping us all prisoner down here in this pond.”

“My humans are not like that, Pinkie,” Brutus assured the tiny turtle. “They’ll do what’s right. In fact,” he said as he gave the matter some more thought, “Chase might be able to look into this operation, and when he finds that these turtles are being kept or bred here illegally, he’ll close down the store and the animal welfare people will come in and take you all away to safety.”

“I don’t know,” said Pinkie, wavering. “I don’t really trust humans, Brutus. They’re mostly mean, as far as I can tell.”

“I promise you that my humans aren’t mean at all. In fact they’re very nice. And they love animals.”

“Even turtles?” asked Pinkie dubiously.

“Even turtles,” Brutus said with a smile.

“Okay,” said Pinkie finally. “If you think this is for the best, I trust you.”

“You’ll see,” said Brutus. “Everything will be all right, Pinkie.”

And just as they were moving in the direction of the window again, suddenly the lights in the basement came on, and a loud voice said, “How many times do I have to tell you to close that window, Johnny!”

And before Brutus and Pinkie could skedaddle, the basement window was slammed shut.

Oh, boy, he thought as he contemplated his options.

He sure was in a real pickle now, wasn’t he!

Chapter 21

“Babe?”

“Mh.”

“Are you asleep?”

“I was asleep,” said Odelia, digging her face deeper into her pillow.

“I just saw the weirdest thing.”

“What?”

“Your mom and Randy. Hugging. And Randy was naked and your mom was crying.”

Odelia lifted her head from her pillow to take in her partner. His profile was illuminated by the light of the moon filtering in through the curtains, but she could see that he was staring at the ceiling, his hands behind his head, and he had a look of profound shock on his face. Presumably the same look of shock she herself was now displaying.

“My mom and Randy? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Well, she’s always been a big fan of his routines, but this?” They were both silent for a moment, then she said, “Do you think they’re having an affair? Behind my dad’s back?”

“I don’t know. But it sure looked like that to me.”

“Oh, dear. Dad will be devastated.”

“Hopefully he’ll never find out.”

“Don’t you think we should tell him?”

“Absolutely not. Like you said, it will destroy him.”

“The affair will probably be short-lived,” Odelia admitted. “Did they see you?”

“I don’t think so. They were too busy… doing whatever it was they were doing.”

She squeezed her eyes closed. She could just picture her mom with Randy and it wasn’t the kind of image she wanted in her head. “You know? I always thought Randy was… you know, batting for the other team.”

“From what I saw, he’s definitely batting for Marge’s team. Things were heating up in there. In a big way. What I don’t get, though, is why she was crying.”

She turned to face him in the semi-darkness. “Sometimes when a man does… certain things to a woman, it causes her to get emotional. I cried my eyes out my first time. And it wasn’t because I was sad, I can tell you that.”

“Oh,” said Chase.

“Yeah.”

“So… do you still think it’s a good idea for your dad to examine Randy in the morning? If he gets wind that his wife is having an affair with the guy, he might want to inject him with a deadly poison himself.”

“I’ll try to feel him out over breakfast. See how much he knows, or suspects. But if I know my dad, he doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Poor guy. Hard to compete with a fitness legend and global celebrity like Ran-Ran.”

“Ran-Ran?”

“He told me to call him Ran-Ran.”

She grinned. “You haven’t by any chance been crying in his arms too, have you, babe?”

She could see that he was smiling now. “No. Not exactly. Though I had the impression he wouldn’t have minded crying in my arms. How wrong I was, huh?”

“I don’t get it, Max. We came home together last night, and went to sleep as usual, at the foot of Marge and Tex’s bed, only this morning when I woke up—he was gone!”

Harriet looked in quite a state as she told Dooley and me her tale of woe. We were in Odelia’s backyard, enjoying those early rays the sun likes to dispense to early birds catching early worms—though I’d never want to be seen catching a worm, mind you.

“Did you look everywhere?” I asked.

“I did. I looked all over the place. He simply disappeared. I don’t get it. He’s never done a thing like this before. Ever. Well, except yesterday, when he went for a walk.”

“What about his pet turtle?” I asked. “Maybe she knows where Brutus is.”

“That’s the thing: his turtle is gone, too. Looks like they went off together again, and this time Gran didn’t take them to the beach.” She looked distraught, and I felt for her.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” I assured her. “He probably woke up early and went for a walk again.”

“He did say something strange yesterday, remember? He said he wanted to help Pinkie free her friends from the pond they were being kept in. I dismissed it at the time, figuring it was just something he said to make this Pinkie creature feel better. But now I’m not so sure.” She gave me a thoughtful look. “What if he really did go off with Pinkie, to help her free her friends? And what if he got himself in trouble in the process?”

“How do you free a turtle from a pond?” asked Dooley. “Don’t they like it at the pond?”

“Yeah, that’s what I don’t understand either,” Harriet intimated. “Turtles live in ponds, don’t they? So why would they need to be freed? And it’s not as if ponds have doors and locks and stuff. It’s more an open-door kind of deal I would think.” She sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on here lately. First Gran getting married and taking Dooley along with her to go and live with that awful Wilbur Vickery, and now Brutus going on some weird turtle rescue operation. Not to mention this fitness guy about to die in Odelia’s home—and Marge having an affair with the man on top of everything else!”

We both stared at our friend.

“Is Marge having an affair with Randy Hancock?” I asked, more than a little surprised.

“I overheard Chase and Odelia talk about it just now. They were talking quietly, and Odelia sounded upset about the whole thing. Apparently Chase caught them last night, naked in Randy’s bed.”

“Oh, my God!” I said.

“Oh, no!” said Dooley.

“I guess Randy must have seduced her with his fatal charm,” said Harriet. “You know what celebrities are like. If George Clooney suddenly turned up at the house, saying he only had three more days to live, Marge would probably throw herself into his arms, too. Or Brad Pitt, or Chris Hemsworth. An ordinary guy like Tex doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Poor Marge,” said Dooley. “Seduced by a dying fitness guru.”

“Poor Tex!” I said. “They’ll probably get a divorce now, and Marge will go and live with Randy in his celebrity mansion.”

“If he lives,” Dooley said.

We shared a meaningful look, the three of us. “So what if Randy doesn’t live?” said Harriet, putting into words what we were all thinking. “It would save Marge’s marriage. Sure, she’d be sad for a while, and mourn the death of her hot lover. But in time she’d get over him, and her marriage would be saved.”

“We can’t wish for Randy to die, though,” I said. “It’s not ethical, you guys. He’s a human being, and deserves to live.”

“Marge deserves to be saved from his fatal charm!” said Harriet.

“That’s true,” I admitted.

“So… if Marge moves out, does that mean you move out, too, Harriet?” asked Dooley.

Harriet gave him a startled look. “I hadn’t even thought of that! You guys, I don’t want to move out and go and live with Randy Hancock! I really, really don’t!”

“What’s all this about you coming to live with me?” suddenly spoke the deep, booming voice of Lil Ran. I hadn’t seen him there, sunning behind a nearby tree, but clearly he had seen us—and heard us, too!

“How much have you heard?” I asked.

“Enough,” said the sharp-eared dog with a smile. “And if it’s any consolation: my human would never conduct an affair with your human.”

“Why not?” asked Harriet, narrowing her eyes at the big dog. “Isn’t my human good enough for your human?”

“Oh, she’s definitely good enough. But Randy isn’t into women, that much I can tell you.”

We all stared at the dog. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “If he’s not into women, what is he into? Apple trees?”

Lil Ran displayed a slight smile. “He’s into men, of course. What did you think?”

“Into men!” said Dooley. “But… I don’t understand.” He turned to me. “What is he talking about, Max? What does he mean?!”

Oh, boy. As if trying to explain about the birds and the bees wasn’t complicated enough, Lil Ran had just added an extra layer of complication.

Chapter 22

“Look, some human men like women, and other human men like men. And the same goes for human women,” I said.

Dooley stared at me. “I don’t understand.”

“Um…”

Harriet decided to take over. “See here, Dooley. Brutus and I are a couple, right?”

“Uh-huh. You love each other.”

“That, we do,” she said with a smile. “Now suppose for a moment that Brutus doesn’t love me, but loves you, for instance, or Max. See what I mean?”

Dooley frowned. “But… Brutus does love me, and he does love Max.”

“Yeah, as a friend. But not as a, um, as a partner, see?”

“No, I don’t see.”

“Look here, Dooley,” said Lil Ran. “You know where babies come from, don’t you?”

“Oh, sure. Max explained all that to me. A bird loves another bird and then she lays an egg, and then an ostrich drops by and delivers a baby boy bird or baby girl bird. And the same goes for bees, though it’s still not completely clear to me how an ostrich would carry a baby bee.” He paused. “Pollen is involved, though. Pollen and, um, flowers.”

Lil Ran gave me a pointed look. “The birds and the bees, Max? Really?”

I shrugged. “Dooley is still young, Lil Ran. So we like to explain things to him at a level he can understand.”

“Fine,” said Lil Ran, then turned to Dooley. “So a male bee and another male bee—they like each other, see? They like each other a lot!”

“Oh, sure,” said Dooley, nodding. “Like me and Max. We like each other a lot, don’t we, Max?”

“Yes, Dooley. We like each other heaps.”

“So the male bee… um… carries the pollen to the… um…”

“Flower,” Dooley said helpfully. “Because flowers like pollen.”

“Oh, forget about it,” said Lil Ran with a gesture of his paw. “You’re on your own here, pal. All I wanted to say is that Randy and Marge having an affair? It’s not possible.”

“But… Chase saw them,” said Harriet. “In Randy’s bed last night, hugging—naked! And Marge was crying!”

“Crying,” I said, nodding.

“Why was Marge crying, Max?” asked Dooley. “Did Randy hurt her?”

“Um…” I’d heard about women crying after they’d done the ‘deed’ and some men, too, but I wasn’t going to tell Dooley about that—no way! It just cinched it for me, though. In spite of what Lil Ran thought his human did or didn’t like, it was obvious that the tiny fitness giant and Marge were having an affair. And an extremely torrid one at that!

“Poor Tex,” Harriet reiterated, having come to the same conclusion. “He’ll be crushed.”

“But I’m telling you guys,” Lil Ran insisted. “No way is Randy having an affair with Marge, unless…” He frowned before himself for a moment. “Unless this whole ‘I’m about to die in three days’ business has fundamentally changed him somehow.”

“Changed him how?” I asked, interested.

“I don’t know. Made him want to… experiment. One last fling before he leaves this mortal coil. In which case… your human, Harriet, is in a singularly unique position. She will be the last person to have shared Randy’s bed.”

“Look, I’m sure Odelia and Chase will catch whoever is behind this whole poisoning thing,” I said. “And they’ll make sure Randy gets his antidote and survives this ordeal.”

“Which means Marge and Randy well get married,” Dooley intoned sadly, “and Harriet will move in with you, Lil Ran.”

Lil Ran’s eyes went wide. “Move in with me!”

“Yes, Lil Ran,” said Harriet sweetly. “We’ll be brother and sister. How about that?”

“But… we have to stop this!” said Lil Ran, who apparently wasn’t a big fan of Harriet. “We have to put a stop to this affair right now!”

“But how? How do you stop two people falling in love? It can’t be done.”

We all gave this some thought, then Dooley said, “Remember how I thought Gran was about to get married to Wilbur, and I’d have to move out and go and live with Kingman? So what did Wilbur do to make Gran change her mind?”

“Wilbur was being his usual obnoxious self,” I said. “And Gran didn’t like it.”

“So maybe we have to convince Marge that Randy is just as obnoxious as Wilbur?”

“Randy isn’t obnoxious,” said Lil Ran, immediately going to bat for his master. “In fact he’s the sweetest guy in the world.”

“I know that, and you know that,” I said. “But Marge doesn’t. She has no idea who Randy really is. All she knows is the man she’s seen on those videos for the past thirty years. So how do we convince her that the real Randy is a terrible person and make her fall out of love with him?”

Lil Ran gave me a slow nod. “I like what you’re saying, Max. And it just might work.”

“Or we could simply tell Odelia to let Randy die,” said Harriet. “Problem solved.”

“We can’t do that,” I said, even as Lil Ran gave his future sister a look of abject horror. “It wouldn’t be ethical.”

“Ethical schmethical,” Harriet murmured. “Look, you guys figure it out. I’m going to try and find Brutus—and his damn pet turtle.”

And with these words, she turned on her heel and was off.

“I think it’s very easy to convince Marge that Randy is a horrible person, Max,” Dooley said now. “We simply tell her that he is, and she’ll believe us, because she trusts us.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Dooley,” I said. “Love is blind. She might not believe us whatever we say.”

“We still have to give it a try,” my friend said. “We can’t let Harriet become Lil Ran’s sister. She’s our sister, and this is her home.”

“Absolutely,” said Lil Ran with fervor. “We have to stop this wedding, whatever it takes.”

And so a new alliance was formed, and a very strange alliance, too: an alliance between three cats and a dog. But with the stakes this high, I was prepared for anything.

Chapter 23

“I want to file a missing persons report,” said Odelia when she’d taken a seat in front of her uncle’s desk. “Brutus is missing.”

“A missing persons report for a cat?” said her uncle. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Brutus wouldn’t just go off, Uncle Alec. Something must have happened, so if you could ask your officers to be on the lookout for my cat, I’d appreciate it.”

Alec Lip, Hampton Cove’s Chief of Police and also Odelia’s uncle, moved in his chair, which groaned tiredly under his sizable bulk. Even though the Chief’s girlfriend Charlene had told him numerous times to go on a diet, the big man was reluctant, as he liked to eat, and apparently dieting and eating your fill doesn’t usually go hand in hand.

He rubbed his practically bald scalp and sighed. “Look, honey, I can’t really tell my people to go look for your cat. They’ve got other stuff to do, if you see what I mean.”

“What other stuff? What could be more important than finding Brutus? He’s never gone missing before and he must be terrified—wherever he is. In fact I think he’s probably been taken.”

“Taken,” said her uncle, his voice dripping with skepticism. “No offense, but who would want to take Brutus? He’s not exactly a show cat.”

“Brutus is a gorgeous cat,” said Odelia, finding her uncle’s behavior repulsive to the extreme. “So you’re actually going to sit there and tell me there’s nothing you can do?”

“You could put up flyers,” he suggested. “It’s what most people do when their cats go missing. And have you tried asking your neighbors?”

“Yes, I have,” she said. “They haven’t seen him. And Harriet says he must have slipped out of the house somewhere between midnight and early this morning, for they arrived home together last night, after cat choir, and he wasn’t there when she woke up.”

Her uncle shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll be back. Cats are like that. They just wander off from time to time, and they show up again when they’re tired or hungry or both.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’ll turn up soon, honey. Just you wait and see.”

“Hopeless,” she said, throwing up her hands. “Why do we have a police force if they’re not going to help find people when they go missing?”

“The key word being people,” said her uncle. “When people go missing, we turn out in force. Cats? Not so much.”

“And why is that may I ask?”

“Probably because cats don’t pay taxes?”

“Oh, Uncle Alec!”

“Okay, all right! I’ll see what I can do. But have you considered asking your grandmother? This seems like a perfect job for that neighborhood watch of hers.”

“Yes, I’ve asked her, and she’s already going door to door, doing whatever she can to find Brutus.” She got up and raised her voice. “Because she knows how important that cat is to me—to us—contrary to some people I know!”

“Honey, don’t be like that,” said her uncle, holding up his hands in a gesture of supplication. “If every time a cat goes missing I have to mobilize the entire police force nothing would ever get done!”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” she said, and opened the door, then added, “I’m very disappointed in you, Uncle Alec. Very, VERY disappointed!”

“Honey!”

“Good-bye!”

And she left his office, slamming the door as she went. He made a pretty good case, she thought in spite of herself, but her cats meant so much to her that however specious her uncle’s arguments might be, she simply couldn’t imagine him just sitting there and blithely telling her not to worry. If he fed the same line to parents whose kids had gone missing… Frankly it was a miracle he’d been chief of police for so long!

She walked out of the police station and wondered how to proceed. She had interviews to conduct with Randy’s staff, and also the man’s sister. She really didn’t have time to go look for Brutus. At least her grandmother was on the case, and her mom had promised to print up flyers they could use to paper the entire neighborhood.

Her stomach turned as she thought of poor Brutus, out there, alone and scared.

She got back into her car, and when Max and Dooley and Harriet gave her hopeful looks, she felt horrible having to tell them her uncle was going to do exactly nothing to help find their friend.

“He says the police are there to find people, not pets,” she said as she started the car.

“He’s not going to help us find Brutus?” asked Dooley.

“He’ll see what he can do. Which, as we all know, means he’ll do diddly.” She backed up the car and left the parking lot. “At least Gran is on the case. And maybe you guys should be out there, too. Looking for Brutus.”

“But we want to help you, Odelia,” said Max. “Otherwise Randy will die, and that’s not good.”

“No, I guess not,” she said, though ever since Chase had made his shocking discovery that Mom and Randy were having an affair, she’d started to see the fitness guru in a completely different light—an extremely unfavorable one!

She drove the short distance to the apartment building where the man’s manager lived, and parked the car out in front. “Are you sure you want to come?” she asked. “I don’t think there’s a lot you can do here.”

“No, we want to come,” said Max. “We need to save Randy, Odelia. It’s very important.”

She frowned at her cat. Max wasn’t usually this adamant, but apparently he and the others had taken a liking to Randy, and were now prepared to do whatever it took to save the man’s life.

“All right,” she said, holding open the door for her cats. “Let’s go, then. The sooner we finish these interviews, the sooner we can go back to finding Brutus.”

She walked up to the apartment block, hiking her purse higher up her shoulder, and glanced up. It was a newly built block of flats, and looked very expensive. Randy’s manager had done well for himself. Then again, if he took ten or fifteen percent of everything the fitness guru made, and had been with the man for the bulk of his career, he’d have amassed a pretty sizable pile of money.

She pressed her finger to the bell announcing that here lived Saul Garter, and moments later was buzzed in.

Riding the elevator up to the upper floor, she hoped that the man had pets, or otherwise Max and the others would really have come along for nothing.

The door to the manager’s apartment opened, and a short man appeared, with a shifty-eyed demeanor, and one of those faces only a mother could love. It took her a while to determine what animal he reminded her of, but she finally settled on a rodent. With his prominent nose, his overbite, his shifty dark eyes and his pronounced stoop, he’d have felt right at home at a rat colony.

“Hi, Mr. Garter,” she said. “My name is Odelia Poole and I’m a reporter with the Hampton Cove Gazette. We talked on the phone last night. I was hoping we could have a chat about one of your clients—Mr. Hancock?”

“Of course,” he said, and ushered her in. “Ever since you called I’ve been trying to get a hold of Randy. In vain, I might add. Do you know where he is?”

“He contacted me via email,” said Odelia, reiterating the story she and Randy and Chase had agreed upon for these interviews with the man’s staff. “He told me he’s gone into hiding after certain threats had been made against his life, and has asked me to look into the origin of these threats.”

“Death threats?” asked the manager, looking much surprised by this startling bit of news.

Odelia nodded, and glanced around. The flat was as modern on the inside as it was on the outside: plenty of glass and chrome, beige decorative epoxy flooring, a cassette-style wood stove providing heat, and a glass-enclosed balcony offering sunlight in all seasons.

“Nice place you’ve got,” she said.

“Yeah, I got it on the cheap,” said Mr. Garter. “The guy who built it is a former client. Used to run a chain of fitness clubs before he went into real estate. So how can I help you, Miss Poole?” He glanced down at the three cats who sat obediently awaiting further instructions. “I see you brought your cats?” he said, looking startled.

“I couldn’t find a cat sitter,” she explained, “so I had to bring them along. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no, sure,” he said vaguely, though he didn’t look all that happy about the feline contingent setting paw into his neat home. “Please take a seat.” He gestured to the leather couch in the living area.

“Randy wrote that you’ve been his manager for the past thirty years? Is that correct?” she said as she took out her writing tablet and stylus. They replaced her trusty notebook. That way she could save her notes to the cloud.

“Yeah, I’ve been Randy’s manager from the very beginning,” said the man as he nervously licked his lips. His eyes kept darting to the liquor cabinet, and it was obvious he was in need of a stiff one but afraid to take it in front of this reporter hired by his client. “He was just a fitness club owner back then, but had plans to make it big, and eventually he did. Videos first, instruction videos, and then his own TV show, and over the years he built himself a regular fitness empire. A chain of gyms, books, magazines… He’s done cameos on numerous movies and shows, and is one of the most recognizable faces of the fitness culture as it exploded onto the scene in the eighties. Only Jane Fonda is probably more famous than Randy Hancock.”

“And does your client have enemies, Mr. Garter?”

“Oh, sure. What celebrity hasn’t? Jealous competitors, disgruntled customers, the inevitable nutjobs. You name it, Randy’s got it.”

“Anyone in particular you can think of who could be behind this recent campaign of threats?”

The man shifted on the leather couch, making it squeak a little and causing him to blush. “Um, what form did these threats come in? I mean, did he get letters with the words cut out of newspapers, like in the old days?”

“He received a video that contained the threat,” said Odelia, who didn’t want to go into detail.

“A video, huh?” The man licked his lips again, and once more his eyes shot to those liquor bottles safely tucked away in the glass liquor cabinet. “I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me. I mean, he just disappeared. Doesn’t pick up his phone, left his house—even his housekeeper doesn’t know where he is.”

“In the email he said he was going off the grid for a while. At least until the person threatening him is caught.”

“Has he gone to the cops?”

“No, he prefers not to involve the police.”

“Weird,” muttered the guy. “Usually Randy loves to go the cops. A couple of months ago a pigeon shat on his Ferrari and he immediately called the cops, claiming the pigeon probably belonged to one of his neighbors. So he filed an official complaint against person or persons unknown and against the offending pigeon in particular.”

“A shitting pigeon is a different kettle of fish than a death threat,” she pointed out.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. Well, anyway, if he gets in touch with you again, please tell him to call me, will you? I’ve been worried sick.”

“You have a close relationship with Randy?”

“Oh, sure. I consider Randy more a friend than a client. If you’ve been in the trenches together for as long as we have, and came up together, it creates a bond, Miss Poole. Which is why I’m a little disappointed he hasn’t been in touch.” He shrugged. “This death threat business must have really spooked him.” Then he swallowed. “Unless…” He gave her a keen look—his shifty little eyes studying her closely. “Unless Randy thinks I’m the one behind the whole thing. That’s it, isn’t it? He thinks I’m the one threatening him.”

“Are you?” she asked.

“Are you kidding me? I just told you Randy is my friend. I would never… Besides, what’s the upshot? What…” He narrowed his eyes at her, looking more like a rat now than ever. “This is all about money, isn’t it? These people sending this video, they want money.”

Odelia smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss—”

“Look, if it’s money they want, they’re barking up the wrong tree. Randy is broke. Flat broke. So they’re targeting the wrong guy.”

Odelia stared at the man. “Flat broke? Randy Hancock, the fitness millionaire?”

Mr. Garter laughed. “Millionaire! That’s a good one, Miss Poole. Once upon a time, maybe. In the nineties. Since then he’s squandered his entire fortune. All of it. Gone!”

“But… how?”

The fitness guru’s manager tapped his nose. “Drugs. Randy has snorted more nose candy than anyone I know. And that’s saying something, as I know a lot of people.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am. Dead serious. He’s been in and out of rehab countless times—not that the general public knows anything about this, of course. We carefully kept his addiction problems a secret. It wouldn’t do for the man known to the general public as the propounder of the fitness revolution to be a coke addict. Lately he’s gotten his disease under control, more or less. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s completely broke.”

“But his videos—his fitness clubs…”

“He sold his chain of clubs years ago. They still carry his name but they’re run by a group of investors. He gets some money for the use of his name and image, but less than you’d expect. And his videos stopped selling in the late nineties, earlies noughties. The home video market collapsed with the advent of the internet, and Randy completely missed the boat on that one. Too busy doing drugs to bother. Oh, he’s on YouTube now, but he was late to the party—too late. Other fitness gurus are riding that wave, not him. And also, he’s been down in the dumps these last couple of months, because of his pelvis operation.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell him I said this, but Randy Hancock, the fitness legend, hasn’t done a fitness routine or fitness class… in years.”

Chapter 24

We’d only just entered the apartment of Randy Hancock’s manager when a smallish Siamese cat came stalking up to us and started hissing noisily.

“It’s all right!” I said. “We’re not here to stay. Just to pay a visit to your human and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Literally,” said Harriet, who regarded a bit of fluff the Siamese had lost with a critical eye.

“This is my home, cats,” said the Siamese. “So if you like your faces free of scratches I’d get out while you still can. I won’t be held responsible for the consequences!”

“Oh, cool it, cat,” said Harriet. “We don’t want to be here either, but our human dragged us along on this investigation so here we are. Now what can you tell us about Randy Hancock? And please don’t hold back on the dirt you can dish on the guy. He’s sweet on our human and we don’t like it one bit.”

The cat immediately stopped hissing, her interest piqued. “Randy Hancock? The fitness guy?”

“One and the same,” I said, glancing around. We’d left the living room, where Odelia was conducting her interview, and had followed our noses until we found ourselves in the man’s bedroom, where we’d encountered this very hostile Siamese. Then again, hostility is often par for the course with the Siamese of the species.

“How do you know Randy?” asked the cat, still continuing to be suspicious.

“He’s moved in with us,” I said.

“And having an affair with one of our humans,” Harriet added.

“He’s going to marry her unless we can stop the wedding,” Dooley finished.

“Marry your human!” said the cat. “Fat chance! Randy isn’t the marrying kind, cats.”

“Max,” I said, holding out my paw. “And this is Dooley and Harriet.”

“Freya,” said the Siamese reluctantly and eyed my paw with suspicion. “Look, Randy Hancock is the kind of guy who has affairs, but doesn’t want to be tied down. So if he’s managed to seduce your human, there will not be a marriage in his future.”

“His future? Her future, you mean.”

“Her? You mean your human is a woman?”

“Sure. Marge Poole. She’s actually my human’s mom,” I explained.

“Randy dating a woman,” said Freya with a slight grin, the first time she’d displayed any other emotion than sheer hostility. “Now I know you’re pulling my paw, Max. Randy Hancock might have become the go-to person for middle-aged ladies to lose some of that flab, but he’d never marry one of them, let alone try to seduce them.”

“Why?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

“Because Randy Hancock is gay, of course!” said Freya. “He has flings, not with women, but young men. Pool boys, waiters, masseurs, assistants—you name it, and he’s tried to make out with them. But women? Never. So your human is quite safe,” she concluded with that same grin still firmly attached to her furry features.

“I don’t understand, Max,” said Dooley. “What is she talking about?”

“Randy Hancock is gay, Dooley,” said Harriet. “Just like Lil Ran told us.”

“Oh, okay,” said Dooley, surprising me by not asking a bunch of follow-up questions.

“Do you know anything about a death threat Randy received?” I asked now, deciding to tackle the meat of our investigation.

“Death threat? Why would Randy receive a death threat? He’s the sweetest guy I know.”

“And the gayest,” Dooley added.

“Yeah, that, too,” said Freya with a curious glance at my friend.

“He received a video of someone injecting him with a lethal poison,” I explained. “And if he doesn’t pay this person ten million dollars, he won’t receive the antidote and he will die in three days,” I added, putting all the facts pertaining to the case in the Siamese cat’s possession, to do with as she pleased.

“Wow, that’s terrible,” said the cat. “Three days to live, huh? And Randy not having any money to pay off these people. Not a dime.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “I thought he was rich.”

“Randy isn’t rich. He’s broke. My human has been working for him for free for the last couple of months, hoping he’ll go back to being his biggest moneymaker, but I think we can all agree that’s not going to happen. Not at his age, at least, and in his condition.”

“What condition?” asked Harriet. “He looks fine to me.”

“He’s not. He hasn’t performed a workout routine in years. Busted hips, and then he broke his pelvis a couple of months ago on top of that. It’s pretty tough to move like a panther when your hips are shot, let me tell you. And I can speak from experience.” She pointed at her own hips. “I’ve been having some issues and it’s not a barrel of laughs.”

“But how did Randy’s hips get busted?” asked Dooley. “Did he do too much fitness?”

Freya laughed. “Too much fitness, yeah right. Too much nookie, that’s what he did!”

“Nookie?” asked Dooley, giving me a look of confusion.

“Too much exercise,” I said quickly, earning myself a strange look from Freya.

“And drugs, of course,” said the Siamese, who seemed to know an awful lot about our celebrity guest. “The man has managed to spend his entire fortune on nose candy, which is why there’s nothing left to pay off these blackmailers.”

“Nose candy?” asked Dooley.

“Candy you put in your nose,” I said. A little lamely, I admit, but I had to think fast.

“Okay,” said my friend, but still had that puzzled look on his face that told me he’d be asking me a lot of questions later on.

“Look, if I were you, I’d simply tell Randy to get his act together, and go to the police,” said Freya. “He’s not doing your humans any favors by hiding away there. If people are really after him it’s probably the dealers he forgot to pay, or the people he borrowed money from and didn’t pay back. And let me tell you, these people play hardball.”

“I like my balls soft,” said Dooley. “Soft and squishy.”

“Yeah, me, too,” said Freya with an amused expression on her face. It was a nice change from before, when she’d treated us like intruders in her home. “I like you, Dooley,” she said. “You’re very funny.”

“Thanks,” said Dooley happily. “You’re pretty funny, too, Freya.”

The Siamese cat laughed. “It’s the first time anyone has ever called me funny!”

There has to be a first time for everything, and at least now we had enough dirt on Randy to convince Marge not to divorce Tex and marry the fitness guru. Though, like I said, love is blind, and we probably could use a lot more!

Chapter 25

Tex went through the motions of giving his celebrity patient a full physical, though frankly he still thought it was a much better idea for the man to go to the hospital and get himself checked out properly. If he had been injected with some unknown toxin, Tex wouldn’t be able to help him anyway.

“You know, Tex,” said Randy now, as Tex tapped the man’s knee with a little hammer and watched his leg bob up prettily, “you are a very lucky man.”

“In what sense?” asked the doctor as he tapped the man’s other knee and noticed the same reaction.

“Your wife,” said Randy with a smile. “You have a wonderful little lady there, Tex. Marge is something else.”

The doctor directed a look of censure at the man. He didn’t like it when other men spoke of Marge this way. Overly familiar, he thought. “I know,” he said curtly.

“No, I don’t think you do,” Randy continued. “How long have you been married, Tex?”

“Twenty-five years,” said Tex automatically as he now shone a light into the man’s eye and observed his pupil response.

“Long time for a couple to be married.”

“Yeah, and happily married, too, in case you were wondering.”

“Do you mind if I speak frankly, Tex?”

He did, but instead said, “No, go ahead.”

“I see a lot of couples in my line of work, as you can imagine. In fact I must have taught classes to thousands of people, men and women alike, but mostly women, and a lot of them are unhappy, Tex, and do you know why?”

“I have no idea,” he said, as he wrapped an inflatable cuff around the man’s arm and started pumping.

“Because their husbands take them for granted. These women sweat through countless hours of my fitness routines, all so they can look good to their husbands, and do you know how those husbands respond? By totally ignoring them! Can you imagine?”

“Real shame,” Tex murmured, wondering when this guy was going to shut up. For a man who was about to die he was pretty darn lively.

“When was the last time you took Marge out on a date, Tex?”

“A date? Um…”

“That long, huh?” said Randy with a sad smile. “Let me give you a piece of advice, Tex. Don’t take your wife for granted. One day you will come home and she won’t be there.”

He gave his patient a look of alarm. “What do you mean? Has she said something to you about leaving?”

“No, but I can see it in her eyes. Marge is unhappy, Tex. She misses the spark.”

“Spark? What spark? What are you talking about?”

“The spark! When a man meets a woman and there’s that spark—that moment when they look into each other’s eyes and sparks fly. You know what I mean. But after twenty-five years of marriage that spark is long gone, and your wife, Doctor Poole, misses it.”

“She does, does she?”

“Of course she does! Here, look me in the eye, Tex.”

Reluctantly Tex looked the man in the eye.

“Now take my hands.”

He took the fitness legend’s hands, which were surprisingly soft and tender.

Randy smiled as he gazed softly into Tex’s eyes, then said. “Now pay attention.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the way this scene was playing out.

“Do you feel it, Tex?”

“Feel what?”

“The connection. Do you feel the connection?”

“Um…”

Randy dropped Tex’s hands and sighed in an exaggerated fashion. “Oh, Tex. No wonder Marge is thinking about leaving you! You gotta make an effort, Doc. You gotta make an effort to make this marriage of yours work—to recapture that spark!”

“But…” He was so shocked to hear that Marge was thinking about leaving him that his knees suddenly went a little weak, and a shiver ran down his spine. “Are you serious, Randy?”

“Just call me Ran-Ran. Yeah, I’m serious. She practically threw herself into my arms last night, Doc. Lucky for you I don’t swing that way, but imagine if I did.”

Tex imagined, and shivered some more. In fact he was quaking so much now he felt like a blancmange. “You’re kidding, right? Pulling my leg?” he asked hopefully.

“I’m dead serious here, Tex. So my advice to you is to find that spark before you find your bed not slept in, and your wife’s suitcase packed in the corridor. It’s not too late, you know. She still loves you. Now please let go before you reduce my fingers to a pulp.”

Tex, who’d been squeezing the fitness guru’s fingers tightly, let go, swaying a little in the breeze.

“Come here, Doc,” said Randy, and took the doctor in a close embrace, rubbing his back as he did. “That’s it. Just let it all out.”

“I didn’t know,” he said shakily.

“I know. Men never do.”

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Oh, heck.”

“I know.” There was more rubbing, and it felt kinda soothing. And so the two men stood there for a while, until Randy said, “Chase Kingsley and your daughter. Are they the real deal, you think? Or do I have a shot?”

Immediately Tex let go and eyed the man with a look of censure. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Randy with a shrug, then climbed onto the exam table again. “Keep going, Doc. You’ve got great hands. I’ve almost forgotten I’m about to die in three days.”

Immediately Tex felt bad about his attitude toward this poor guy. “I’m sorry,” he said ruefully. “It’s just that…”

“I know, I know. Say, do you give back rubs, Doc? With hands like yours I’ll bet you give a great massage.” And with these words, he abruptly stripped and plunked himself down on the exam table. “Start from the bottom,” he instructed. “And you can be as rough as you like. I get ticklish when massage therapists are too gentle.”

And so for the first time in his life Tex found himself being reduced to masseur, wondering how in heaven’s name he was going to get the ‘spark’ back into his marriage.

Chapter 26

Vesta Muffin was enjoying a hot cocoa with lots of cream and chocolate sprinkles on top. She and Scarlett were in the outside dining area of the Hampton Cove Star hotel.

“I don’t know, Scarlett,” she said as she took a sip from her delicious drink, “but I think from now on it’s just you and me.”

“Are you sure?” said her friend, who was sipping from her own drink, a flat white, then taking a bite of the mini pastries the waiter had been so kind to provide.

As usual Scarlett was dressed to impress in a tight dress, her assets squeezed so tightly together it gave Vesta a headache to look at them. Men passing by cricked their necks turning to stare at her, and the local chiropractor would soon have a field day.

“Yeah, Wilbur was a washout, and I don’t want him in the watch anymore. And Father Reilly is pretty useless as a watch member too, you gotta admit.”

“Yeah, I guess he is,” said Scarlett. She sighed. “So it’s just you and me, huh?”

“Yep. That’s the way it looks.”

“Too bad things didn’t work out with Wilbur,” said Scarlett. “Maybe you caught him on a bad night?”

“More like a bad decade. He’s always been an idiot, but never more so than last night. Do you know he kept ogling other women while he was supposed to be out on a date with me? I hate when men do that.”

“Yeah, Wilbur fashions himself something of a ladies’ man, but there’s not many ladies who want a man like that.”

“So why did you set me up on a date with the guy, may I ask?”

“Well, frankly there’s not many men who want to go out on a date with you either, Vesta! You are a little… rough around the edges, you know.”

Vesta knew perfectly well that she wasn’t everyone’s taste, but to hear it from the lips of her best friend… “So maybe you should stop trying to set me up, all right?”

“I was only trying to do you a favor!”

“Well, don’t! I don’t need any favors. Least of all from you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You look like a painted hussy!”

“At least this painted hussy gets plenty of action thank you very much!”

Both women were silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry I called you a painted hussy,” said Vesta, offering an apologetic smile.

“And I’m sorry I called you a dried-up old prune,” said Scarlett.

Vesta’s smile vanished. “A dried-up old prune?”

“Did I just say that out loud? I’m sorry.” When her friend didn’t respond, but merely gave her a sour look, she sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? I know you’re worried about your cat, and about your daughter falling head over heels in love with that fitness clown.”

“Would you call Randy Hancock a clown?”

“Yeah, I would. I never liked the guy. He doesn’t even look like a fitness instructor.”

“Not all fitness instructors look like Chris Hemsworth, Scarlett.”

“Well, they should, all right? Just like all bakers should be round and jolly, and all butchers should look like they’re ready to chop you up into little pieces. It’s part of the deal. If you’re going around promising to make people fit and muscular, you should look like a hunk and not like a vertically challenged clown.”

“Okay, fine. Point taken. So how do we go about this? How do we get my cat back? And how do we make sure Marge doesn’t dump my son-in-law for the fitness dude?”

“I think what Tex needs is that virility women fall for in a man. I’m sorry to tell you this but Tex looks like a wuss. And women don’t like a wuss. They like a caveman.”

“So you suggest we turn Tex into a caveman, is that it?”

“Of course! No woman can resist a caveman, Vesta. It’s built into our DNA ever since we lived together in caves.” She gave her friend a curious look. “Are you sure you want to keep Tex around, though? You’re always on the guy’s case.”

“I’m always on the guy’s case because I like him.”

Scarlett chuckled. “You’re a strange one, Vesta.”

“And still you like me.”

“Oh, sure. Life is never boring when you’re around. So let’s start with your cat. Where could he have gone off to?”

“No idea. But seeing as we gotta start somewhere, I suggest we ask his friends.” And she darted a look across the street, where Wilbur Vickery’s General Store was located. In front of that store sat Kingman, Wilbur’s piebald, best-informed cat in Hampton Cove. Behind the counter, though, sat the guy she dumped last night. But since finding Brutus was more important than her own wounded pride—or Wilbur’s, she drained her hot cocoa and got up. “Let’s go,” she said. “We’ve got a bruised male ego to massage.”

Chapter 27

The house where Randy Hancock lived was pretty impressive I had to admit. Just like in the video we’d seen, there was the white wrought-iron access gate, the white columns supporting the portico like a Greek temple, and the house itself, done in pink stucco.

Once inside, the same sweeping marble staircase as in the video led upstairs, presumably to the same bedroom, where an unknowing Randy had been injected with a mysterious and deadly toxin.

Randy’s housekeeper Floralba was a lady in her sixties, with dark curly hair and a round face. She looked at us sternly, her dark brows stuck in a frown.

“I not understand,” she said when Odelia asked her what she knew of the death threats made against her boss.

“Well, Randy asked me to conduct an investigation into these death threats,” Odelia repeated, “and so now I’m talking to all the people who know him, trying to find out who could have sent that video. It wasn’t you by any chance, was it?” she asked, eyeing the woman closely.

It’s a technique detectives often use: they drop a bomb like that and then look closely for a reaction. Most people aren’t trained actors, and their emotions are reflected on their faces for everyone to see.

Floralba, though, merely looked amused. “Me! Try to kill Mr. Randy! You must be mad woman, Miss Poole. I love Mr. Randy. I work for Mr. Randy thirty years! Mr. Randy and I are like this!” And she squeezed her index finger and thumb together, presumably to show how much she liked her boss.

“So you have no idea who could have sent him that video?” asked Odelia.

“No idea,” said Floralba.

We were still in the entrance, an atrium that was as impressive as the front of the house: it was two stories high, and contained a very large portrait of Randy Hancock, dressed in his token sequined outfit and looking very fit indeed. There was also a large lion to our right—luckily not a real one but a marble representation of the lord of the jungle, and another large statue of a puma to our left.

“Mr. Randy is beloved, Miss Poole—beloved by all. Everybody love him. His clients. His family. His people. Even the pool boy love Mr. Randy. And Mr. Randy love pool boy, too. Very much. And gardener, and masseur, and—”

“Did Mr. Hancock ever talk to you about this video?”

“No, he did not. He does not like me to worry. Mr. Randy like me too much and hate me to worry about him. Like with his hips. He in a lot of pain. Lot of pain. And I see it in his face. I say Mr. Randy you so much pain, you poor thing. Let me take you to my daughter—my daughter she doctor but use traditional Colombian medicine to heal people. Mr. Randy go to my daughter one time, and she treat him with smoky leaves. Mr. Randy like smoky leaves little too much. Sing songs for two days and no more pain! But Mr. Randy doctor says no good for Mr. Randy. He in the AA and can’t smoke. Too bad.”

“He’s AA?” asked Odelia, curious.

“Oh, yes. Ten years and counting. Mr. Randy very strong. He never touch drop of alcohol in all this time in AA. Very, very strong man. Will of steel!”

“But… he did use other things, right?”

The housekeeper sighed deeply. “Mr. Randy very, very weak man. Mr. Randy like white powder. Take white powder all the time through nose. Better than bottle but not good. I throw away white powder but Mr. Randy not happy with me. Hide his white powder where I can’t find it.”

“Is it also true that he hasn’t made much money these last couple of years?”

“Yes, unfortunately hip problem make Mr. Randy can’t work out. No more sessions. No more videos. No more classes for Mr. Randy. Mr. Randy very, very sad. I sad, too.”

“So… where does the money come from to pay you?” asked Odelia. “And to pay for the pool boy?” she added with a smile.

“I not know!” said Floralba, throwing up her arms. “Mr. Randy say he get lots of money. Lots and lots of money. He like to pay me and gardeners and chef and pool boy and cleaners no problem.” She cast a worried look at Odelia. “Where is Mr. Randy, Miss Poole? When Mr. Randy come home?”

“I’m not sure, Floralba,” said Odelia. “But he assured me he’s doing fine, and he’ll be home soon.”

“Poor Floralba,” said Dooley. “She really worries about her boss.”

“And about her job,” Harriet added. She cast a nervous glance at Odelia. “When is she going to stop asking all these questions? It’s clear these people have no idea where the threats are coming from, and meanwhile Brutus is still out there, waiting for us to save him.”

I didn’t want to tell her this, but maybe, just maybe, Brutus had simply decided to take a break from his girlfriend for a little while. Harriet could be a smidgen overbearing sometimes, and Brutus could have gone for a walk in the country, along with his new friend Pinkie. That, and he probably wanted to escape the carrot diet Harriet was on.

In fact I had high hopes that by the time we got back, Brutus would have returned from his wanderings and would greet us from under his favorite rose bush.

Odelia thanked the housekeeper for her time, and went off in search of more people to interview, leaving us to roam the garden, which was very nicely kept indeed.

“If Randy is broke,” I said, “he certainly has been hiding it well. This place must cost a fortune in upkeep.”

“Maybe he’s making his money some other way,” said Harriet. “Or maybe he has a secret benefactor who’s been helping him out financially these past couple of years while he recovers from his pelvis operation and his addiction to illegal substances.”

“So what is this candy Randy likes to put in his nose, Max?” Dooley asked now. “And is that the reason he’s always so happy and so gay?”

“Um, yeah, I guess so, Dooley,” I said.

“I never heard of this habit of putting candy up your nose,” said my friend. “Do you think it’s jellybeans?

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” I said after a pause.

“But doesn’t it hurt, Max? Putting jellybeans up your nose? And doesn’t it make it hard to breathe? Unless he only puts one jellybean up his nose at a time, of course.”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet with a sigh.

Chapter 28

Brutus had been trying to come up with a plan of escape but so far had failed miserably. As far as he could see, the window through which he’d entered the basement was the only way out, except for the staircase, and that’s where Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale were waiting for him—ready to catch him as he tried to make his escape.

So the staircase was out, and the window was now shut tight, and so it looked like he was stuck for the moment, with no way to get out of there.

“I think we’re stuck, Brutus,” said Pinkie, having come to the same conclusion.

“Yeah, I figured that,” said the black cat. “Though maybe they’ll open that window again at some point, wanting to let some air in.”

Speaking of air, he directed a look at the ventilation system. It was the usual kind: aluminum tubes suspended from the ceiling on metal rods and outfitted with vents every few feet. No way to get up there, though, and even if he could reach those vents, he had no way of removing the screws keeping them in place.

“I’m so sorry for putting you in this position, Brutus,” said Pinkie. “I should have left well enough alone and swum away in the ocean when I had the chance.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “We’ll think of a way to get out of here.” He glanced at the large bags filled with fish food. They smelled horrible, but since beggars can’t be choosers… “At least we have plenty of food, so we’re not going to starve to death.”

“Do you like fish food?” asked Pinkie.

“Um… it’s not that bad,” he said. If it was good enough for turtles…

“Your friends will be so worried about you,” said Pinkie, shaking her head sadly.

“Yeah, I guess they will,” he said. He’d been giving a lot of thought to Harriet, and Max and Dooley, and all of his other friends out there, and his humans, too, of course, secretly hoping they were looking for him, and maybe would be able to find him, too. “Look, we’re getting out of here one way or another,” he said, as much to convince himself as to reassure his little friend, “so there’s really no sense in panicking.”

“And my friends?” she said. “Do you think we’ll be able to take them with us?”

“Oh, sure,” he said. “As soon as we escape, we’ll tell people what’s going on here, and they’ll come and save your friends.”

Though he wondered what exactly was going on there. Apparently Johnny and Jerry, two career criminals, had set up a new way of getting rich quick. This time by breeding turtles. How they hoped to make money was a mystery to him, though. The only way he thought you could monetize turtles was to turn them into… turtle soup.

But he didn’t have the heart to tell Pinkie about that. The little turtle would probably be horrified. And rightly so. If someone told him they were breeding cats to turn them into cat soup, he’d be horrified, too.

So he put his head down on his front paws and closed his eyes, hoping to catch some sleep, and try not to worry.

Odelia had talked to Randy’s manager, his housekeeper, his pool boy, his cleaner, his gardener, his chef, his accountant, and his sister, and the picture was getting a little clearer: Randy Hancock was broke. He was also an addict. And had become an addict shortly after his double hip operation, first being addicted to the pain killers the doctors had prescribed, and then other, more recreational drugs. Also: Randy, in spite of being known all over the world as a fitness icon and sports legend, hadn’t given a single class in years, nor had he shot a video. All of the stuff online dated back at least fifteen years, and so now she wondered how the man had managed to stay afloat financially.

She drove back to the office, planning to think things through, before confronting Randy with the conclusions of her interviews, and also to drop off her cats in town, so they could start looking for Brutus.

They’d become increasingly anxious as the day wore on, and she could no longer justify them tagging along with her on what was starting to feel like a wild-goose chase.

The people she’d talked to had been highly surprised by the death threat story, and couldn’t imagine who’d want to hurt Randy.

She walked into the Gazette, and knocked on the doorjamb of her editor’s office.

Dan looked up from reading his newspaper, his beard waggling as he laughed at a joke he himself had written. His eyes were lively and sparkling with the light of intelligence as usual, and she hoped he’d be able to point her in the right direction. Often when she was stuck with a story, a conversation with Dan got her right back on track.

“Odelia! I was just wondering who wrote this outstanding piece and then discovered it was me! I keep surprising myself with how funny I am.” When he saw the frown on her face, he put down the paper, let his reading glasses dangle from his neck and folded his hands on his desk. “Tell me what’s wrong. I can see you’re struggling with something.”

“I told you I’m looking into this mysterious poisoning case, remember?”

“Randy Hancock. The fitness tycoon.”

“Only turns out he’s more of a fitness pauper,” she said. And as she took a seat in front of the editor’s desk she proceeded to give him a brief account of that morning’s interviews.

“So the picture that emerges is of a man who had it all, then squandered it on flings with pool boys and recreational drugs,” said Dan, sniffing loudly as if to draw extra oxygen into his brain. “So whoever is extorting him for ten million either doesn’t know him very well, or knows him better than his nearest and dearest and seems to believe that Randy, contrary to what his manager or accountant think, isn’t broke but loaded.”

“So either it’s someone who knows him even better than his manager, or someone who only knows the popular picture of Randy as the multi-millionaire fitness star.”

“Has Chase heard back from his NYPD source yet?”

“No, he hasn’t. I hope they’ll be able to trace the source of that video.”

“And the nature of that toxin.”

“That, too.” Her dad had sent her a cryptic text saying he’d learned a great deal from Randy, but nothing that would interest her. “So how do you think I should proceed?” she asked now. Usually when she was absolutely stuck Dan had some last-minute idea up his sleeve, and she sincerely hoped he did so now.

“I think the answer lies with the man himself,” said Dan slowly. “I think he probably knows more than he thinks he knows.”

“I talked to Randy. He says he has no idea who could be doing this to him.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s what he thinks. But very often in a case of blackmail or extortion, the target knows more than they realize.” He tapped his desk. “Schedule another interview with your fallen fitness star. Only this time make it a casual affair. Maybe take him out for dinner and a chat. Loosen him up a little. Get him to talk to you. Open up.”

“I can’t. He doesn’t want to be seen. Even when he went into Dad’s office this morning he put on a wig and some of my mom’s clothes and kept his head down.”

“So maybe organize a nice barbecue and invite him as your star guest. Just make the atmosphere nice and mellow. Family vibe. And pour him a couple of glasses of wine—”

“He’s AA.”

Dan sighed. “Fine, so don’t liquor him up. Fill him with delicious food instead. People always talk more on a full stomach. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll tell you something that will lead you to the perpetrators of this most heinous of crimes.” He winked. “And then of course I expect you to write a nice fat juicy front-page article when this is all over.”

Chapter 29

“Come on, Max,” said Harriet. “Hurry up!”

I hurried as much as I could, but for a big-boned cat like me physical exertion is not always a good idea. I need to take it easy. Take plenty of naps. Make sure I take enough nourishment. And these sprints across town were frankly biting into my nap time big time.

“I should be home right now,” I panted. “I should be sleeping on my couch.”

“What you should have done,” said Harriet censoriously, “is remembered our appointment with Shanille. How could you forget, Max!”

“You forgot too,” I reminded her.

“I’m not the one this wedding will affect. It’s Dooley, and the consequences to him.”

I should probably turn back the clock a little here. If you remember, Dooley was worried that Gran and Wilbur Vickery were about to tie the knot, which would mean that Dooley would have to go and live with Wilbur, and share the man’s home with Kingman, his new brother from another mother.

But then we heard from the horse’s mouth—in this case Gran herself—that her date had been a bad one—just like that date in Indiana Jones’s first movie. And so the danger seemed to have been averted. Phew!

But then Odelia dropped us in town so we could start our search for Brutus, and who did we see? Gran and Scarlett, stalking across the street in the direction of Wilbur Vickery’s General Store. And moments later Gran and Wilbur were engaged in a very lively discussion, which ended in Gran and Wilbur… hugging it out!

Dooley freaked out, and so did I, and Harriet merely said, “See? I told you this would happen,” which of course she hadn’t, but then Harriet just likes to say ‘I told you so’ at every possible occasion because she’s just that kind of cat.

And all of a sudden I remembered the date Shanille had set with us to start preparing for the wedding, and we’d totally blown her off!

Now Shanille is not the kind of cat you blow off. For one thing, as cat choir’s conductor she has the power to kick cats out of her choir, which she has done on more than one occasion, one of those occasions being me, kicked out for singing out of tune!

So that’s why you now find us hurrying along in the direction of St. John’s Church, where Shanille likes to hang out when she’s not in the park for cat choir rehearsals.

We slammed into the church and glanced around the cavernous and half-dark space, hoping to find Shanille still there, patiently waiting for the three of us—well, the four of us, but it was obvious Brutus wouldn’t be keeping his appointment, since he’d disappeared with his pet turtle.

“Shanille?” I said cautiously, my voice echoing through the large space. “Shanille, are you here?”

We trod along the nave to the front of the church, took a left at the altar to where the baptismal font is located, and beyond that to the inner sanctum, where Father Reilly has his office, and where he likes to mentally prepare before Mass, or take the occasional sip of altar wine to screw up his courage before addressing his flock.

“You’ve really gone and done it this time, Max,” Harriet hissed.” You pissed off Shanille, and probably got us all kicked out of cat choir. Thank you very much. And just when things were going so well with my solos!”

“We’ve got a great excuse,” I reminded her. “Trying to save a man who’s about to die is probably the best excuse for missing an appointment, and I’m sure Shanille will agree.”

“What would I agree with, Max?” asked a cold voice speaking to my rear. I whirled around, and found myself face to face with cat choir’s conductor.

“Oh, hi, Shanille,” I said, plastering a pleasant smile onto my face, even though I wasn’t really feeling it. “Um, I’m sorry we’re late, but—”

“Late is when you arrive five minutes past the agreed-upon time, Max,” she said, still proceeding frostily. “You’re exactly four hours late. That simply tells me you don’t care about my time. It’s a kick in the teeth—a knock on the head—a slap in the face!”

“But—”

“I’m disappointed in you, Max. Very disappointed!”

“We were out helping Odelia,” said Harriet. “She’s on a very important case and—”

“Oh? So you’re saying my time isn’t important? Is that it?”

“No, of course it is, but a man is about to die, Shanille,” said Harriet, now also adopting a markedly chilly tone. “And tell me I’m wrong but if a life or death situation crops up I think this wedding prep stuff of yours takes a backseat wouldn’t you agree?”

“Life or death situation? What are you talking about?”

“Randy Hancock,” I said. “He only has three more days to live.”

“Two and a half,” Dooley said blithely.

“And we’re trying to figure out who wants to kill him and get him the antidote he needs.”

“Antidote? This sounds like one of those silly Hollywood blockbusters, Max. Are you sure you’re not making this up as you go along?”

“No, I’m not! Randy is staying at our place, and he is going to die unless we save him.”

“Mh,” said Shanille doubtfully. She clearly wasn’t believing a word I said. “Okay, fine. So do you want to prepare for the wedding ceremony or not?”

“I do,” said Dooley, a little shakily.

“Though what we’d much rather do is stop that wedding,” said Harriet. “Wilbur obviously isn’t the right person for Gran, and our focus should be on stopping the wedding.”

“We have a lot of weddings to stop,” said Dooley. “There’s Marge and Randy’s wedding, and now Gran and Wilbur’s wedding. And meanwhile Brutus is still missing.” He hung his head. “It’s all getting a little bit much, don’t you think, you guys?”

“It’s all right, Dooley,” said Shanille, patting my friend on the head. “Weddings are joyful occasions. They shouldn’t be stopped but encouraged and celebrated. Now let’s practice, shall we? You’re going to be the first flower cat, of course, since the bride is your human, and I was thinking Harriet and Brutus could go next. As for you, Max,” she said, eyeing me critically, “I was actually thinking that you better sit this one out.”

“What do you mean?”

“We want people to enjoy the wedding. It should be a feast for the eyes and a pleasure for the soul. Dooley is simply adorable, and Harriet and Brutus are both gorgeous specimens. But as far as you’re concerned…” She tsk-tsked lightly. “Let’s just say you wouldn’t win any prizes at a cat show, Max.”

“But… why?”

She shrugged. “You’re what us professional wedding planners call too chunky for your own good. And chunky, even though it may have been fashionable in the seventies, along with weird facial hair, is out. And so are you, I’m afraid. Out of the picture.”

“But…”

“Stay out of sight would be my advice. Maybe don’t even bother to show up.”

She turned to my friends, and her smile returned. “Now for you, Dooley, I was thinking daffodils. Maybe a lace bodice? And Harriet, how does the word ‘tiara’ sound?”

And as the wedding preparations continued, I decided to follow Shanille’s advice and take a backseat. In fact I decided not to attend the wedding prep at all, and slouched out of the church. She was right. Nobody likes to see a chunky cat when they’re attending a wedding. People expect beauty and grace, not a flabby tabby waddling along.

I sighed deeply when I exited the church. The only consolation was that Kingman, too, would probably get vetoed by Shanille for being too fat. In fact Wilbur’s cat is even more voluminous than me.

And as my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the day, I suddenly thought I saw two familiar figures driving past the church.

They were Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale. The career criminals were driving a van with a decal that read, ‘Pete’s Pet Paradise. We have a heart for pets.’

Chapter 30

Randy Hancock was strolling through town, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling little town. He liked Hampton Cove, and was glad even after all these years that he’d left the big city and had moved there. It wasn’t exactly where the action was, but people were friendly and life was lived at a slower pace, which suited him just fine, after having lived life in the fast lane for far too many years.

He was dressed in a dark wig, and makeup, and a pink pantsuit, and even though people gave him the occasional curious glance, he was satisfied that no one recognized him and that’s what mattered.

He’d perfected this look over the years, dodging paps and his most fanatic fans, and had never been recognized before and didn’t expect to be recognized now.

He was glad he’d had the idea to knock on Odelia’s door and ask her to take on his case. It gave him some respite from his hectic life, which had become even more hectic of late. And poking his nose into the lives of the Poole family certainly agreed with him.

Maybe he should have become a family therapist instead of a fitness instructor!

He passed by a pet shop and glanced in the window, admiring the large fish tank on display there, the colorful fishes flitting around and strutting their stuff for all to see. He smiled, and for the first time in months felt that maybe, just maybe, his future was safe.

Vesta and Scarlett had a plan: Scarlett would distract Wilbur, while Vesta talked to the guy’s cat, and ask Kingman if he’d seen Brutus around. The last thing she expected, though, was for Wilbur to get up from behind his checkout counter, walk over to where she was standing on the sidewalk, and turn a teary face to her and say, “Vesta, I’m so so sorry about last night. I behaved appallingly. Like a real jackass!”

“Yeah, you did,” she said crustily, glancing down at Kingman and trying to signal to the fat cat not to move an inch from where he was lying for she wanted a word with him.

Kingman nodded lazily, indicating he wouldn’t be dislodged from his position come hell or high water.

“I don’t know what came over me,” said the shopkeeper. “I guess I was nervous about our date, and so I started acting out. It’s the only way I can explain what happened.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Wilbur,” said Vesta. “You were simply being yourself.”

“No, I wasn’t! I can be nice, and well-behaved. And I can show you a good time.”

“You tried to fondle me, and kiss me.”

“I was nervous, all right! You’re an impressive woman, Vesta, and I guess I felt intimidated!”

“Yeah, right,” she grunted. “So intimidated you couldn’t stop checking out every single woman who walked past?”

“I didn’t check them out—I was simply too nervous to look at you!”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. But Scarlett has something she needs to ask.”

“Can I at least hug you? Just hug it out? To show me there’s no hard feelings.”

And before she could refuse, he’d already grabbed her in an iron grip and was squeezing her like he liked to squeeze one of his tomatoes before putting them on sale.

“All right, fine!” she said once she managed to get out of his grip. “You’re forgiven. Now will you listen to what Scarlett has to tell you?”

“I’m still in the watch, though, right?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said grudgingly.

“I love the watch, Vesta. I think it’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Keeping people safe. Making sure the criminal element is rooted out permanently.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said.

Finally the shop owner returned behind his counter, and Scarlett formulated her question, which concerned the design of a website for the watch, since Wilbur had set up a website for his store a couple of years ago. It was a bogus question, as Vesta had no intention of setting up a website for the watch at all. But it gave her an opportunity to talk to Kingman. So while she pretended to look at the magazine stand, she whispered, “Kingman!”

“Yah!” Kingman whispered back with a conspiratorial grin on his face.

“Have you seen Brutus? He’s gone missing!”

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Kingman studied her for a moment, then shook his head. “I can never tell with you humans.”

“I’m not joking, okay! He’s disappeared.”

“Can’t help you, I’m afraid,” said Kingman. “I haven’t seen him, and he hasn’t told me he was going someplace either. Though he did mention something about freeing turtles last night during cat choir. He was standing next to me—us both being in the baritone section and all—and he seemed really into this whole turtle theme.”

“Turtles?”

“Yah. I’m afraid I didn’t pay a lot of attention. Not being into turtles myself.”

“Who is?” said Vesta, thinking hard. She’d taken Brutus to the beach yesterday—him and his turtle, which was weird enough. “So where did he say these turtles were?”

“At the pond,” said Kingman. “Don’t ask me what pond, though.”

“There’s only one pond in town.”

“At the park,” Kingman said with a nod. “But as far as I know there’s no turtles in that pond, only ducks.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Vesta. Mysteriouser and mysteriouser.

“Vesta! Wilbur wants to know about the color scheme for the website!” Scarlett yelled.

“Gotta go,” Vesta whispered. “If you hear anything…”

“I’ll tell your cats,” Kingman assured her with a wink. “Though if you ask me, this turtle business is just a ruse. I’ll bet Brutus has gone off on a toot. Celebrate the wedding.”

“What wedding?”

“You and Wilbur, of course! Congrats, by the way. And welcome to your new home.”

“Ugh,” said Vesta, and got up. Cats. They were worse at spreading gossip than a bunch of old ladies at the hairdresser.

Chapter 31

Odelia stood staring out the kitchen window in her parents’ house. She had a lot on her mind. First there was the fact that Randy Hancock only had two and a half more days to live, and that the people responsible hadn’t been in touch since sending in their demand for ten million dollars, which according to her investigations the man simply didn’t have. And then there was the fact that her own mother was having an affair with Randy, even though the man’s sexual inclination apparently didn’t lean to the fairer sex.

On top of that Brutus had gone missing, and Gran was dating what was without a doubt the most ineligible bachelor in all of Hampton Cove. What was she even thinking!

Behind her, Mom entered the kitchen. “Hey, honey. You look pensive. Everything all right?”

“Mom, we need to talk,” she said, and took a seat at the table. “Look, I know it’s probably none of my business, but Chase saw you and Randy last night. You were on his bed and he was naked and… well, we’re both grown-ups so we don’t need to go into any graphic details. All I want to say is that I hope this is just a fling, because I think Dad is one of the most wonderful husbands and fathers any woman could ever hope to—”

“Let me stop you right there,” said Mom, holding up a hand. She looked incredulous. “Are you seriously suggesting I’m having an affair with Randy Hancock?”

“Well, Chase saw you, so…” She frowned. “You mean you’re not having an affair?”

“Of course not! All I did was confide in Randy about certain… stuff, and he was so kind to offer me advice and a much-appreciated hug.”

“But…”

“Look, honey. I know how blessed I am with your father, but sometimes even the best husband in the world can suddenly seem like… not enough.” She sighed and fiddled with the salt shaker. “The thing is, with all that’s been going on—your upcoming wedding, and my brother and Charlene getting together, and Ma dating Wilbur—I just feel very keenly how little romance there is in my own life. How the fire has gone out of my relationship with your dad. And it’s made me feel sad, and a little lonely, and… well, Randy suddenly showing up here, and being so nice to me… It just made me think, you know.”

“Mom, you do want an affair with Randy, don’t you?”

“So what if I do? He’s a very handsome man, and very virile, and ever so sweet.”

“You do know that Randy is, um, batting for the other team, don’t you?”

Mom frowned. “What are you talking about? Randy is most certainly not gay. If he were I would have noticed a long time ago.”

“I talked to his manager today, and his accountant, and his housekeeper, and a bunch of other people who’ve known him for years, and they all told me the same thing: Randy is as gay as they come, and his favorite thing in the world is to engage in flings with young men ranging from pool boys to gardeners to masseurs to cleaners to plumbers…”

Her mother looked startled by this. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, dear.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to give Dad another chance, Mom? You’re not seriously thinking about leaving him, are you?” The last thing she wanted was for her parents to split up. She really couldn’t imagine a thing like that. Though judging from the expression on her mother’s face it was exactly what she was contemplating.

“I honestly don’t know, honey,” said Mom. “It’s just that being around Randy has made me reevaluate my whole life, and now I simply don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, Mom…” She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Look, if you like Randy so much, and obviously he likes you, maybe you can do me a favor.”

“What is it?”

“Dan suggested I talk to Randy about what’s going on with him—with the poisoning and all. He suggests Randy probably knows more than he realizes. And if only I can get him to open up…”

Mom smiled. “You want me to talk to him, is that it? Make him open up to me?”

“You two seem very close.”

“There is a real bond between us,” Marge said. “A romantic bond, I thought, but obviously that isn’t the case.” She made a decision. “I’ll invite him over for dinner.”

“Maybe better do it at my place. Dad won’t like it when you and Randy have a cozy tête-à-tête in his own home.”

“Good idea,” said Marge. “So maybe you and Chase can conveniently get out of the house tonight, so it will just be me and Randy. A candlelight dinner will probably do the trick.”

Her mother seemed excited about the idea. A little bit too excited, Odelia thought. But if what his associates said about Randy was true, there was no danger of a romantic entanglement whatsoever. And if Mom could get Randy to open up, maybe they could finally get at the heart of what was going on.

Deep down, he probably knew exactly who was targeting him and why. They just needed to give him a gentle nudge in the right direction, and if anyone could provide that nudge, it was Mom—with the sweet way she had about her and her kind demeanor.

She got up. “Have you heard from Gran? Is she going to keep dating Wilbur?”

“Oh, I certainly hope not,” said her mom immediately. “That man is the worst possible candidate for your grandmother.”

“Dooley is very worried. He thinks they’re going to get married and that he’ll have to go live with Wilbur from now on.”

“Yes, Tex is salivating at the thought of Ma striking out on her own. He’s also giving serious thought about replacing your grandmother as his receptionist. And I can’t blame him. She’s hardly ever there.”

“I know,” said Odelia. “Oh, have you seen Brutus? He seems to have disappeared.”

“No, I haven’t. Are you sure he’s not at your place?”

“No, and the cats haven’t seen him since last night. Harriet is frantic with worry.”

“Oh, dear. So many things happening right now.”

“And all since Randy has come to stay with us, have you noticed?”

Mom’s expression hardened. “I’m sure your grandmother dating the wrong man and Brutus going missing has nothing to do with Randy, honey. You can’t blame the poor man for everything. Let’s not forget he’s a victim in this—an innocent victim of his success.”

Clearly Mom was completely under the fitness guru’s spell, Odelia thought as she set foot for her own little home.

Chapter 32

Lil Ran wasn’t feeling happy—not with himself but also not with these new humans he and his own human were staying with. Instead of helping Randy save his life all they seemed to care about was that weird old grandmother’s dating life, or Marge Poole’s dating life, or even Randy’s dating life.

They should be out there looking for the killer, but instead they were looking for one of the cats who’d gone missing.

Now Lil Ran wasn’t going to say anything bad about those cats. They were nice enough, but all they did was spend time singing in some choir in the park, and even though he’d enjoyed singing with Fifi and Rufus, compared with Randy’s life being in danger these idle pursuits simply weren’t important right now.

And now the cats had been gone all day, and they hadn’t even asked him to tag along, even though by rights he should have been asked, since he was a dog, and not just any dog but Randy’s dog, and that reporter woman, Odelia Poole, had interviewed a bunch of Randy’s people, and had discovered exactly nothing if he’d heard her right.

So with barely more than two days before Randy was about to die a painful and miserable death, she had nothing—and was no closer to saving his precious human’s life!

All day Lil Ran had spent in that backyard going a little loopy, so he decided the time had come for action. If these humans and their cats weren’t going to save Randy, he would. And to that end, he decided to rope in the assistance of his new friends Fifi and Rufus.

Fifi, when he approached her with the idea, didn’t seem overly excited.

“But I’m not a detective, Lil Ran,” she said from her side of the fence.

“Neither am I, Fifi, but I have to do something, and I can’t do it alone. So won’t you please help me?”

“I don’t know, Lil Ran…”

“Imagine if this was your human. Would you want Kurt to die from some strange and mysterious poison administered while he slept?”

“Is that a trick question?” asked the little doggie.

“You’d do whatever you could to save his life, wouldn’t you?”

“Um, I guess I would,” said Fifi, though she didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“Look, all I’m saying is we go out there and hunt for clues. How hard can it be?”

“Very hard,” said Fifi. “Maybe we better wait for Max. He’s a very good detective. He’ll know what to do.”

“Max is just a cat, Fifi. How can a cat be a good detective?”

“Oh, but he is. He’s solved a lot of cases for his human. He has a knack for it.”

Lil Ran didn’t mind the large orange cat. He even thought he was pretty nice. But a detective? No way. Cats weren’t cut out to be detectives. They lacked the instinct. Dogs, on the other hand, were born detectives. “Okay, so what’s holding you back?” he asked.

“If Kurt finds out I’m gone, he’ll worry,” said Fifi. “He even worries when I take off to play with the other dogs at the dog park.”

“He won’t even know you’re gone,” said the large Irish Setter. “We’ll leave once it’s dark, and Kurt will be fast asleep by then.”

Fifi thought about this for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it. But on one condition.”

“Anything,” said Lil Ran, who didn’t know the lay of the land as well as Fifi.

“Like I said, we wait for Max to return, and we ask his advice first.”

Lil Ran rolled his eyes. “All right, fine. So we’ll ask the big orange cat.”

“Blorange,” said Fifi.

“What?”

“Blorange. Max is very specific about that.”

“Are you sure blorange is even a real color?”

“Absolutely. Now let’s ask Rufus,” said Fifi, and tripped through the hole in the fence and led the way through Odelia’s backyard, into Marge and Tex’s backyard, and up to where Rufus lived. The big sheepdog barked happily when he saw them coming.

“Hey, buddies. So are we on for dog choir tonight?”

“Lil Ran has an even better idea,” said Fifi. “We’re going sleuthing.”

“Sleuthing?” asked Rufus. “What do you mean?”

“We’re going to save my human’s life,” said Lil Ran proudly. He might have fumbled the ball when he’d allowed those dastardly poisoners to enter the house undetected and injected his human with a life-ending toxin, but he was going to make up for that now.

“What do you say, Rufus?” said Fifi. “Do you want to solve a crime tonight? Walk in the footsteps of the great detectives?”

“But I’m not a detective, you guys,” said the big fluffy dog. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Exactly what I said!” said Fifi. “Which is why we’ll consult with Max first, and he’ll tell us what to do.”

“Oh,” said Rufus, nodding. “Yeah, I think that might be a good idea. If Max says it’s fine, of course I’ll come with you.”

Lil Ran rolled his eyes and suppressed a groan of exasperation. What was all this business about Max? These two mutts seemed to have more respect for a stupid cat than for one of their own!

At least he had secured himself the assistance of two sidekicks. And if things went according to plan, very soon now they’d be out there, chasing the bad guys.

He frankly couldn’t wait!

Chapter 33

I wasn’t exactly feeling on top of the world, and I think you’ll excuse me for feeling like that. Imagine you were kicked out of the wedding of one of your own humans because you were deemed not aesthetically pleasing enough to be allowed to parade in front of the wedding guests. I’d bet you wouldn’t feel so hot either, right?

And I’d been idly wandering through town, my mind a jumble of thoughts, when once again I came upon that van I’d seen before, the one driven by Johnny and Jerry. This time it was parked right outside the same pet shop depicted on the decal: Pete’s Pet Paradise.

Johnny and Jerry are two crooks who’ve been on their way to being reformed for so long it’s hard to imagine they’ll ever get there. They’ve been stumbling back onto the path of crime more than once, but then probably every addict has a hard time staying on the straight and narrow path to sobriety the first time out—or at least so I’ve been told.

And since I’m always curious to know what those two crooks are up to, I decided to take a closer look at this pet shop.

It was of course possible that they’d finally found gainful employ, and were now two law-abiding citizens, but somehow I doubted it.

On the other hand, pet shops aren’t usually associated with the life of crime, and I didn’t see what they could possibly hope to gain by breeding and selling pets to unsuspecting customers.

I glanced through the window and saw Johnny acting the part of a salesman, a hamster in a small cage placed on the counter, the ex-con talking to a man with a small child and presumably extolling the virtues of owning and caring for that hamster.

I then noticed a basement window, set low in a recess. The window had a half-busted metal grille in front of it, and I now wondered what they might be hiding down there.

Call it my natural feline curiosity. Some people say that it has the power to kill, but so far I’d always escaped my nosy parker tendencies with my life, so I was prepared to take my chances.

So I hopped down into that recess, and took a peek through the window. All I could see were very large tanks. They were blue in color, made of some kind of plastic, and reminded me of the inflatable pool Chase had once bought us so Odelia could teach us how to swim. It hadn’t been Chase’s finest hour—or mine for that matter.

Inside those large tanks I could see a mass of writhing forms. They could be fishes, or they could be… turtles. Yes, they were unmistakably turtles, and plenty of them, too.

I frowned at the strange sight. What would a pet shop need this many turtles for? The market for pet turtles might be larger than I thought—I will readily admit I’m not exactly an expert on turtles kept as pets—but surely not to this extent.

And then I saw the other half of the criminal duo: Jerry was walking along the tanks, dumping in fish food from large bags placed against the basement wall. He was strewing the fish food with a generous hand, like a farmer sowing seeds onto fertile soil.

The little turtles all scrambled to gobble up the tiny nuggets of food, and I watched the spectacle with a curious eye.

I now remembered how Brutus’s turtle had recently escaped a pond, and had roped Brutus into finding this pond and freeing her friends from that selfsame pond.

The turtle theme seemed prevalent lately, and as I hopped up from my perch, back to street level, I wondered once more where Brutus could possibly be.

There is only one pond in Hampton Cove, located at our local park, and since I didn’t have much else to do, I decided to wend my way there, and hopefully find my friend. I needed to tell my tale of woe to someone, and Brutus would do as well as the next cat.

And as I set paw in the direction of the park, a loud voice alerted me someone wanted speech with me. When I looked back, I saw that it was Dooley, and it honestly warmed the cockles of my heart to see him.

“Max!” he said as he drew level with me. “Why did you leave all of a sudden?”

“I didn’t think I was needed anymore,” I said. “Shanille made it clear she didn’t want me to attend the wedding, so I just figured I’d leave you guys to it.”

“But I don’t want to be in that wedding either, Max. I don’t want to walk behind Gran and Wilbur with flowers in my hair.”

“You don’t?”

“Of course not! I want to be in Odelia’s wedding, and in Uncle Alec’s wedding, if he ever decides to go ahead and propose to Charlene, but I don’t want Gran to marry Wilbur Vickery, and I told Shanille.”

“And what did she say?”

“That it’s not up to us cats to say who can or can’t get married, and if Gran and Wilbur have decided to engage in the holy sacrament of matrimony, no power on earth can or should come between them, and most definitely not a silly little cat like me.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I said that if Gran decides to get married, I’m going to ask Odelia to adopt me, and Gran can go and live with Wilbur without me.”

I smiled at my friend. “That’s very brave of you, Dooley.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course. Gran won’t be happy her cat decides not to follow her to her new home.”

“Well, that can’t be helped,” said Dooley with a look of determination in his eyes I’d rarely seen there before. “I’m going to stay with you, Max, and with Brutus and Harriet. We’re the fearsome foursome, and no one is going to separate us—certainly not Wilbur.”

I laughed at the fierceness with which he spoke. “Looks like your mind is made up.”

“Yes, it is. I don’t want to wear flowers in my hair, Max—no way!”

“What about Harriet? She’ll want that tiara, I’m sure.”

“Well, she can have her tiara. And if she wants she can go and live with Wilbur and call Kingman her brother from now on—but not me!”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t,” I said. I didn’t want to break up the band either. And even though Harriet can be a handful sometimes, I would miss her dearly.

“What were you doing outside that shop just now, Max?” asked my friend.

“Oh, just looking. I saw Johnny and Jerry messing about in there, so I just figured I’d see what they were up to.”

“Pete’s Pet Paradise,” he read from the sign on the window. “Are they selling pets?”

“Yeah, looks like. Turtles, mainly, it would seem.” And I told him about the thousands of little turtles in the basement of the shop. “Could be that they’re breeding them and selling them to local seafood restaurants.”

He gave me a look of shock. “Eat turtles! But why, Max?”

I shrugged. “I guess some people like that sort of thing.”

And as we set paw for the park, Dooley reiterated the need for us to break up the upcoming wedding of Gran and Wilbur, and also of Marge and Randy. In other words: we had our work cut out for us.

Chapter 34

As Harriet walked back home, she was experiencing a welter of emotions. On the plus side, she was undoubtedly going to be the star of Gran and Wilbur’s wedding. And with any luck she might be able to pull off the same hat trick at Marge and Randy Hancock’s wedding—and Odelia and Chase’s matrimonial endeavor.

On the minus side of the equation, if Gran did indeed get married, Dooley would have to go and live with her and Wilbur, and even though Dooley annoyed her sometimes, she also loved the silly cat to bits.

Also on the minus side was the fact that Brutus was still missing, and now Max and Dooley had walked out on her, leaving her and Shanille alone to handle the wedding preparations. Then again, wasn’t it always that way: when it came down to it, it was always the women who had to deal with these matters, while the men went down to the bar to have a drink with their buddies.

Though she doubted whether Max and Dooley were at the bar, and neither was Brutus.

She arrived home just in time to see Gran park her car at the curb and get out.

“Gran!” she said. “I’m going to be wearing the nicest, cutest little tiara for your wedding. I’m going to look like the belle of the ball—though I won’t steal your thunder, of course. The bride should always be the center of attention—even I know that.”

Gran looked down at her, a look of confusion on her face. “What are you talking about? What wedding?”

“Why your wedding with Wilbur, of course. It’s going to be just grand. Shanille has a lot of ideas and so have I. So we should definitely get together to discuss them. I’m thinking a nice tux for Wilbur, and white for you. Now I know that white isn’t the obvious choice for one who’s been married before, and has two adult children of her own, but—”

“Harriet, hold on. I specifically told Max and Dooley last night that I’m not getting married—I mean, me? Getting married to that lecherous pipsqueak? Never in my life!”

“But we saw you. We saw you and Wilbur hugging at the store.”

“Yeah, he took me by surprise,” Gran grunted annoyedly. “But I can promise you right now it’ll never happen again. He can apologize until he’s blue in the face, but I’m never going out on a date with that man again, and if he thinks he still has a place in the neighborhood watch he can think again. He’s out.”

“But—”

“Look,” said Gran. “I’m never getting married again, Harriet. I did it once and it didn’t become me. Married life may suit some people, but I’m too attached to my freedom to go and hitch my wagon to a deserving or undeserving male ever again. Got that?”

“But what about my tiara?”

Gran laughed. “You can wear your tiara as much as you want, darling, but it won’t be at my wedding.”

“So maybe I can wear it at Marge and Randy’s wedding?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Chase saw them together. They were buck naked and hugging and Marge was crying tears of joy.”

“Oh, God,” said Vesta with a groan. “I’m too old for this nonsense.”

“We’re going to try and stop the wedding, though,” said Harriet. “So there’s still hope. And Lil Ran said he’s going to help us, even though he seems to think his human is not into women but into men instead. But clearly he’s mistaken, as Randy is interested in Marge, and Marge is a woman, right?”

“Last time I checked she was,” said Gran with a bemused smile. “So you’re going to try and stop this wedding, huh? And how are you going to do that?”

“We haven’t really come up with a plan yet,” said Harriet. “First we wanted to sabotage your wedding, but then I liked my tiara so much I was starting to have second thoughts about my commitment to the plan. Now I’m thinking that the opportunity to wear a tiara isn’t worth having to go and live with Randy at his mansion, and for Dooley to have to go and live with Wilbur above the store.”

“I told you, Harriet. No way in hell am I getting married to that man.”

“Oh, right,” said Harriet, who had a hard time following the plot. People were getting married, then they weren’t getting married, then they were getting married again. Who could blame a poor cat for getting all confused! “So you’re not getting married but Marge is,” she said, nodding to herself. “Got it.”

“The only reason I was over at Wilbur’s is I wanted to talk to Kingman,” said Gran, leaning against the car and folding her arms. “I thought he might be able to tell me where Brutus was. But no such luck, I’m afraid. He says Brutus went off to look for turtles in a pond and free them. Though he secretly thinks Brutus went off on a toot because of the wedding.” She shook her head. “So many weird stories doing the rounds. I think it’s time for Odelia to set the record straight. Print an article in the Gazette before this whole thing gets out of hand.”

“So… did you find Brutus?” asked Harriet, trying to decode Gran’s stream of words.

“Nah. I checked the pond. No Brutus anywhere in sight—or turtles for that matter. I even asked the park ranger and he says there have never been turtles and there never will be turtles at the park. The ducks would eat them, and they can’t have that.” She sighed deeply. “I really don’t know what that cat is up to, honey.” She glanced down at Harriet. “Did you have better luck?”

“No, like I said I was down at the church for wedding prep,” said Harriet, a little shamefaced now.

Gran smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll find Brutus. He can’t have gotten far, and at some point someone must have seen him, right?”

Harriet nodded.

“Okay, let’s go,” said Gran now, and opened the car door for Harriet to hop in.

“Go where?” asked Harriet as she did as instructed. Probably to go look for Brutus.

“To the vet, of course,” said Gran. “I haven’t forgotten about your eyes, honey, and Vena is expecting us.”

“Gran—noooo!” said Harriet, but too late. The door was already closed. And locked!

Chapter 35

Tex had been brooding all day about the stuff Randy had told him that morning, and as he got ready to leave his office, he thought he’d finally hit upon the way to proceed.

Marge was feeling there was a distinct lack of spark in their marriage—a lack of romance. So he’d simply reinstate a tradition they’d dropped years before: the tradition of their weekly date night. They used to go out on a date once a week when Odelia was little. Sometimes they’d have dinner, other times they’d go for a walk along the beach.

But the tradition, as so many things, had slowly been forgotten when life became more hectic, and now was probably a good time to get back on track.

So he’d called the Hampton Cove Star and booked a table for two, and on his way home had dropped by the flower shop to pick up a bouquet of long-stemmed white roses, and as he prepared a speech in his head, he was starting to perk up a little.

Randy’s words had come as a shock to him. It’s not much fun to hear that your wife is harboring second doubts about her marriage—especially when she’s decided to confide in another man, even though that other man wasn’t interested in Marge at all—or so he’d assured Tex.

But when the doctor arrived home, and didn’t find Marge at the house, or in the backyard, he took a firmer grip on his bouquet and figured she was probably next door.

So he set foot for his daughter’s place. And when he arrived there, he was more than a little bit surprised when he found not only his wife, dressed to the nines in a gorgeous low-necked dress, her hair done up and her face made up to perfection, but also Randy—and they were clearly having a very cozy early dinner—just the two of them!

“What’s going on?” he asked, though it was pretty obvious what was going on!

“Oh, Marge invited me to dinner,” said Randy with a smile as he unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap. “I hope you don’t mind?”

He realized he was gawking, and made a conscious effort of reeling in his lower jaw, then cut a hurt look at his wife.

“I just figured Randy has been through so much these last couple of days, he could use a nice dinner,” said Marge, looking a little uncomfortable under her husband’s gaze. She took in the flowers. “Are those… for me?”

He glanced at the flowers, then back at the scene, and realized Randy had been playing him for a fool: he’d assured him he had no designs on Marge when all the while he was preparing to wine and dine her to within an inch of her life, and make her his!

And worst of all, they were doing it in Odelia’s house, and of his daughter and her boyfriend there was no sign, which meant they were both in on it, too!

And suddenly the mild-mannered doctor, who never raised his voice even when his most obnoxious patients made his life hell, suddenly felt his blood going on the boil.

But since words failed to adequately express how he was feeling just then, he merely threw down the flowers, then jumped up and down on top of them a couple of times, then stalked off, even as Marge yelled, “Tex, wait!”

But he wasn’t waiting for no one. His family had decided to indulge—no, encourage this romance behind his back, and as far as betrayals go, that was probably the worst kind of betrayal a family man like Tex could have imagined in his worst nightmare.

And then he was grabbing his car keys and stalking out of the house. He didn’t know where he was going, but it was most probably going to be very, very far away from here!

“Oh, dear,” said Marge as she saw her husband stomp off like Bruce Banner after having morphed into his alter ego The Incredible Hulk for the first time that episode. “He doesn’t seem happy about this, Randy.”

“Just leave him be. He’ll get over it,” said Randy as he sipped from his glass of wine.

Marge looked down at the trampled roses—long-stemmed white ones, her favorite—and felt bad about not telling her husband about this impromptu date with Randy. She probably should have warned him, but had completely forgotten about it once Randy had told her he’d be delighted to sit down for dinner.

She still wasn’t over her schoolgirl crush on the man, even though she was starting to realize that maybe, just maybe Odelia was right, and the man wasn’t into women at all.

The sequined shirts and shorts should have given her a clue.

“So has your daughter gotten any closer to solving this mystery of my poisoning?” asked Randy now.

“No, not really. She talked to your associates, your staff, and your family, but they all basically told her the same thing: you lost your millions years ago, and there is simply nothing to gain from blackmailing you.”

“Oops,” said Randy with a grimace. “Looks like my big secret is out then, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” said Marge with a warm smile at the man. “Is it also true that you have spent a fortune on pool boys, gardeners, masseurs and other assorted eye candy?”

“Guilty as charged,” said Randy as he looked down with a touch of shame.

“And another fortune on nose candy?”

“Yeah, I’m not without my vices, Marge,” said Randy. “But then you probably already knew that about me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” she said with a sigh. “Though I decided to turn a blind eye, you being my hero and all.”

“I’m not much of a hero, sweetie,” said Randy now, patting her hand. “You know who’s the real hero? Your husband Tex. As a doctor he’s done so much for people.”

“You’ve done a lot for people, too,” she argued. “You’ve been instrumental in helping people stay fit and healthy, and that’s nothing to be scoffed at, Randy.”

“No, I guess I have done my share for the common good,” he admitted. “Look, I’m not a saint, Marge. I have pretty much wasted my entire fortune, and there isn’t much left in the once overflowing Hancock coffers. To the extent I can’t possibly pay the ten million these people are demanding from me. In fact I should probably look upon this demand as a compliment. They seem to think I’m good for that kind of money, but I’m not.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m still hoping your daughter will come through for me.”

“Chase told me the blood work revealed nothing. No poison was found in your blood, which means it must be a very sophisticated toxin, if even the NYPD lab wasn’t able to find any trace of it. Which also means they can’t come up with an antidote, I’m afraid.”

“This was supposed to be a nice dinner to cheer me up, Marge,” the fitness star said with a rueful smile. “But so far all you’ve managed is to dampen my mood even more than it already was.”

“I’m sorry. But there’s no sense beating about the bush, is there? My daughter has come up empty-handed, and so has Chase.”

“Has his NYPD contact discovered nothing about the people who sent me that video?”

“That’s the weirdest thing,” said Marge. “They did, but the IP address simply reveals that it was sent from your home computer. Which led them to suggest that either a member of your staff is behind this, or that these are some highly skilled criminals, who’ve managed to hack your network and mask their own IP address by rerouting all of their communications through yours.” She shrugged. “I’m just repeating what Odelia and Chase told me. I’m not a computer expert, and it all sounds pretty out there for me.”

“No, I understand what you’re saying. Perfectly. It just tells me these are some very clever crooks, and it’s going to prove extremely hard to nail them.” He held up his glass. “But I have faith in your daughter’s detecting skills, Marge. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked her to look into this for me—effectively placing my life in her hands.”

“I hope she won’t disappoint you,” said Marge, though she was starting to feel that time was running out for the poor fitness star. She raised her glass and clinked it against his, then both took a sip.

“So tell me,” he said, “how did you and Tex meet?”

And just like that, he’d turned the tables on her, and was steering the conversation back to her private life, and away from his.

Chapter 36

Jerry Vale surveyed his domain and saw that everything was as it should be. Thousands of little turtles were swimming in very large tanks containing enough water to fill a semi-large pond. Never in his life had he thought he’d become the custodian of a turtle farm, but there he was, at the heart of just such an endeavor.

Johnny Carew, his slightly bone-headed associate, came stomping down the basement stairs. The thickset no-neck crook announced, “I closed the shop, Jer. The last customer was a little girl looking to buy a goldfish for her brother. I said goldfishes shouldn’t be kept in tanks but swim in the ocean, and she agreed and I sold her a gerbil instead.”

“You shouldn’t argue with the customers,” Jerry grunted. With his ferrety features and his slim build he looked exactly the opposite of his partner in crime, but then he had always been the brains of the partnership, whereas Johnny was the dumb brawn. “If a customer wants a goldfish you sell them a goldfish. The customer is always right.”

“Someone asked me if we sell crocodiles yesterday,” said Johnny as he stood there, the tips of his fingers practically grazing the concrete floor. “Should I have sold him a crocodile, Jerry? Because last time I checked we don’t sell no crocodiles.”

“You can only sell them what we’ve got,” said Jerry. “So if some idiot wants to buy a crocodile you tell them to take a hike.”

“Oh, okay, Jer,” said Johnny, nodding as he took this in. “Take a hike. I can do that.” He glanced around at the five large tanks filled with turtles. “So how are our little babies?”

“They’re not our babies, idiot. Don’t get attached to them. They’ll be out of here soon, and I don’t want you blubbering all over me, crying about how they took our babies.”

“But I like them, Jer. They’re so sweet, don’t you think? With their little feet and their little heads and their little eyes.” He smiled a goofy smile as he spoke these words.

This was exactly what Jerry was afraid would happen. That the big lug would get all emotional about this new business of theirs. The same thing had happened when they worked for Chazz Falcone, that well-known New York real estate tycoon. When Chazz told them to put the squeeze on some of the tenants of a building he wanted razed to the ground, Johnny, instead of using his bulk to put the fear of God into them, had wept big tears when they told them their sob stories of woe and misfortune. The guy might look like a grizzly, but unfortunately had a heart of gold and a brain the size of a peanut.

“Look, these aren’t our turtles, Johnny,” he said. “Just get that through that thick skull of yours, will you? We’re just the help, hired to do a job. As soon as the job’s done, we’re out of here.”

“But what will happen to the turtles, Jer? They’re not going to hurt them, are they?”

“Who cares?”

“I do, Jer. Will you just look at them. So cute.” He’d picked up one of the turtles who’d apparently escaped its tank and tickled it behind its head as it crawled around on his ham-sized hand.

“Will you put that thing back,” growled Jerry.

“It’s not a thing, Jer. It’s a living, breathing creature. A miracle of nature.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Jerry, and headed for the stairs. “Just put it back before it escapes,” he said. “And clean up in here, will you? It stinks!”

Johnny watched his associate storm up the stairs and sighed. “He didn’t mean all that,” he told the little turtle on his hand. The turtle was looking up at him with its teeny tiny eyes, listening intently. “Jerry’s not a bad person,” he explained. “But he’s been associating with bad people all his life. And also his wife left him, and it’s made him cranky.” He tickled the little turtle behind the ears and smiled. “Cute,” he said, and placed it back into one of the tanks. “Now go play with your friends, little fella,” he said encouragingly and watched as it swam deftly to the nearest bit of flotsam and jetsam that Johnny recognized as a piece of fish food, and gobbled it up eagerly. “Way to go,” he said fondly, and took a sniff.

Jerry was right. There was a pervasive smell down there, and it couldn’t possibly be the turtles, as they’d installed state-of-the art filtering systems to keep those tanks clean.

And as he sniffed the air, walking around and trying to determine the source of the smell, he thought it smelled a little bit like… cat poo.

Which was impossible, of course. No cats were down there.

He did remember that the basement window had been open before. He’d closed it, not wanting his precious turtles to catch a cold from the draft. Had a cat managed to sneak in? But that would mean the poor creature was stuck there, without food or water.

He followed his nose and soon arrived at a pile of old fish tanks the previous owner of the pet store had placed there. The stench was getting stronger the closer he got to the pile of junk. And when he got down on hands and knees to look under the rubble, he suddenly found a pair of cat eyes intently staring back at him.

“Oh, hey, there, kitty,” he said good-naturedly. “Got stuck down here, did you? Come on out, cutie pie. Johnny will take care of you.”

The cat didn’t respond, but merely kept staring right back at him, brazen as dammit.

And that’s when Johnny thought he recognized the cat.

It looked like one of Marge Poole’s cats, the librarian he and Jerry had once done community service for.

“Aren’t you one of Marge’s cats?” he asked now. “So what are you doing down here, buddy?”

And as he reached out to grab the cat, it suddenly hissed then raised a claw at him.

Oops. Better let the creature be. And maybe give Marge a call. She was probably worried sick about her cat.

And as he took out his phone, he was careful to keep his voice down. Jerry wouldn’t like it that he called Marge. In fact his associate had given him strict instructions never under any circumstances to allow anyone to set foot down there in that basement.

Jerry always with his silly rules.

And then the call connected and he said, “Marge? Marge Poole? It’s Johnny!”

Chapter 37

“Does she spend a lot of time looking at the television?” asked Vena as she shone a bright light into Harriet’s right eye.

“Not really,” said Vesta as she watched the proceedings closely. “She does spend an awful lot of time on her tablet, though.”

Vena looked up. “Tablet? Your cats have their own tablet?”

“Oh, sure. They love it. Spend all their time playing games. You know the kind: where they have to follow a ball across the screen and try and catch it.” She didn’t want to tell Vena that her cats were a lot smarter than that, and actually spent their time surfing the internet, Harriet most of all.

“I don’t spend that much time on my tablet, Gran,” said Harriet, who was in a bad mood, feeling that she’d been tricked into going to Vena, even though it was for her own good. “Besides, my eyes will be fine once I get used to my carrot diet.”

“Carrot diet?” said Vesta, and when Vena frowned, added, “Yeah, she’s been eating a lot of carrots lately. My granddaughter thought it was a good idea. For the eyes?”

“You’ve been feeding your cats carrots? Not very smart, Vesta,” said Vena, who was a forceful woman, built like an oxen and with a hale and hearty manner. “Cats aren’t rabbits, you know. No, I think she’s been spending far too much time on that tablet of yours and you should probably hide it in the closet for a while where she can’t get at it.”

“No more tablet!” Harriet cried, extremely dismayed. “But I need that tablet, Gran! It’s got all my favorite sites. Like Goop and US Weekly and Cosmo and TMZ!”

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t spend another minute on that tablet,” said Vesta decidedly.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with her,” said Vena, having concluded her examination. “So let’s hope that does the trick. Even though cats have superior eyesight compared to humans their eyes can deteriorate with age or because of disease. So I’m going to prescribe her some eye drops and please please please put her on her regular diet again. You can give her the odd carrot—but only if she absolutely loves them.”

“I hate carrots,” Harriet announced morosely. “I hate the taste and I hate the texture. It’s like eating a piece of cardboard.”

“So why did you eat them then?” asked Vesta, before realizing she wasn’t supposed to talk to her cats. She gave the vet a smile—the smile of a confused old lady who doesn’t know what she’s doing half the time.

“I ate them because I’d read—on my tablet—that carrots are good for the eyes.”

Vesta rolled her own eyes, then patted her cat on the back. “She’s a sweetheart, but sometimes when she gets something in her head, it’s very hard to get it out again.”

“She’s not the only one,” said Vena, who’d taken place behind her desk and was writing out a prescription. “In fact I think Harriet takes after you, Vesta.”

Vesta frowned and caressed Harriet’s fur. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Father Reilly told me you and Wilbur are about to tie the knot. Even though you’ve been stubbornly denying the news. So let me be the first one to congratulate you.”

“I’m not getting married!”

Vena cocked an eyebrow. “See? Stubborn, just like you, sweet Harriet.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes,” said Vesta, and gathered up her cat, her prescription, and stalked out.

Marge cursed under her breath when her phone chimed. She’d totally forgotten to switch it off. “I’m so sorry,” she said as she fumbled for the device.

“That’s all right,” said Randy. “It’s probably your husband.”

She picked up and said, “Tex, where are you?”

“Marge? Marge Poole? It’s Johnny. I think I’ve got one of your cats here. A black one?”

She placed a hand on her phone then said, “It’s about Brutus. Someone seems to have found him.”

“Oh, great,” said Randy, though he didn’t seem all that excited by this development.

“Hi, Johnny,” she said, well pleased. “Yes, this is Marge. Where did you find Brutus?”

“He managed to sneak into the basement. If you want I can come over and drop him off.”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll come and get him. Where are you?”

He gave her the address and she hung up after assuring him she’d be there in five minutes. But that was before she realized Odelia had gone out with Chase, taking her car, Vesta had gone out taking her car, and Tex had just left, presumably taking his car.

“Do you have transport by any chance?” she asked. “I need to go and pick up my cat. I’m so sorry for cutting our dinner short.” In fact she wasn’t all that sorry. Randy had been asking a lot of personal questions and she still hadn’t discovered anything of note about the man himself. Almost as if he didn’t want to talk about his personal life. On top of that she was worried about Tex, which put a damper on their nice dinner.

“Oh, sure, I’ll drive you,” said Randy. “Where is it?”

“Pete’s Pet Paradise,” she said. “Apparently Brutus slipped in through the basement window and now he can’t get out.”

She thought she saw a strange gleam come into the man’s eyes, but then it was gone. He offered her one of his trademark warm smiles. “So what are we waiting for? Let’s go and get your cat!”

Moments later they were cruising along the street, on their way to the pet store. Randy had once again donned a convincing disguise: this time he was wearing sunglasses and a ball cap.

“You look virtually unrecognizable,” said Marge admiringly.

“Years of experience evading the paps,” said Randy.

He parked across the street from the pet store, and she got out, followed by Randy.

“Oh, you don’t have to come,” she said. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

“No, it’s fine,” he assured her. “We are still on our date, aren’t we? So let’s pretend this is all part of the lovely evening you had in store for me.”

“An evening at the pet shop,” she said with a smile, and they both crossed the street at a little trot, avoiding incoming traffic.

The door to the pet store was open, so she pushed her way inside. The first part of the store consisted of plenty of fish tanks, just like the big one in the front window, and as they headed deeper, in search of Johnny Carew, Marge saw plenty of rabbits, gerbils, birds and even a snake slithering about in its cage.

She’d never actually set foot in there since the shop had changed owners. She hadn’t even been aware that it had reopened, nor that Johnny was now working there.

“Johnny?” she called out when she didn’t see any sign of life apart from the many pets. “Johnny, where are you?”

“Down here, Marge!” Johnny’s voice rang out.

She glanced back at Randy and gave him an apologetic smile. They set foot for the staircase that led into what looked like the basement, and she called down, “Johnny?”

“Yeah, just on come down, Marge. I’ve got your cat right here.”

She hurried down the stairs, eager to see her sweet fur baby again, and was surprised when not Johnny greeted her but Jerry, along with five giant tanks filled with water and… turtles. There must have been thousands of them.

“Hi, Jerry,” she said. “Where’s Johnny?”

“I’m right here, Marge,” said Johnny as he ducked up to her right, holding Brutus in his arms. “Look who’s here, kitty,” he said with a purr in his voice. “It’s your mama. Yeah, that’s right. Mama is here to come and get you, sweetheart.”

“Oh, Brutus,” said Marge, relief flooding through her. “Did you get stuck, sweetie?”

She moved to take Brutus from Johnny, but suddenly Jerry growled, “Not so fast.”

And when she glanced at the ferret-faced ex-con, she saw he was holding a gun, and pointing it straight at her!

Chapter 38

Dooley and I had arrived at the park and found ourselves looking out across the duck pond. As far as I could tell there was no sign of Brutus… or turtles, big or small.

“I don’t see any turtles, Max,” said Dooley, who’d noticed the same unmistakable absence of turtles. “Unless they’re very, very small, and they’re hiding in the water, in which case we can’t see them.”

“So let’s ask one of the ducks, shall we?” I suggested, and proceeded to address a nearby duck.

“Mr. Duck!” I said. “Any turtles around these parts that you know of, sir?”

“Or cats?” Dooley added.

The duck stared at us. “You have got to be kidding, right?”

“No, I can assure you that I am not kidding,” I said.

“Me neither,” said Dooley.

“This is a duck pond, cat,” said the duck. “No cats allowed.”

“I can see that,” I said. “And a very nice duck pond it is. So how about turtles?”

“Now why would you think that a duck pond would contain turtles?” asked the duck, who clearly wasn’t the avuncular type of duck.

“A friend of ours recently met a turtle,” I said, deciding to reveal all and leave nothing out. “And this turtle said she’d escaped from a pond where plenty of other turtles were also kept prisoner.”

The duck smiled, as far as a duck can smile. It’s a tough proposition since beaks are not all that conducive to displaying facial expressions. “Do you see any armed guards, cat?”

I looked around. “Um, no.”

“Any fencing? Preventing a stray turtle from escaping this apparent hellhole?”

“No, no fencing,” I said, starting to see what the duck was getting at. “So I assume there are no turtles being kept in this pond against their will?”

“You assume right, cat. There are no turtles in this pond, and even if there were, they would be free to leave, and I’d encourage them to do so at their earliest convenience.”

“Weird,” said Dooley as we walked on. “So no turtles and no Brutus. So where could he have found a second pond in Hampton Cove?”

“I don’t know about a pond, Dooley,” I said, suddenly remembering something, “but I know exactly where we can find turtles. And plenty of them, too.”

Now I know that we as a society should give the criminal element every chance to rehabilitate, but sometimes it is simply not feasible for these hardened folk to do that. Take Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale for instance. They keep getting caught for various crimes committed, and they keep promising the judge that they will change their ways and be good and law-abiding citizens from now on. Only to turn around and once more embrace a life of crime the moment they’ve changed their prison attire for their civvies.

I’m not saying it wasn’t possible for Johnny and Jerry to have opened a pet shop, but I’m saying the odds against such a contingency were staggering. And what pet shop sells thousands of turtles? There simply isn’t a market for a mass offering of the short and stubby species, am I right?

“I think I know where Brutus went off to,” I said therefore.

“To stop another wedding?” Dooley suggested.

“To try and be a hero to turtles.” Brutus had presumably decided to become the Nelson Mandela of turtle liberators, and had gotten himself in trouble as a consequence.

“You know, I was thinking that to stop Marge and Randy’s wedding all we have to do is paint Randy in an unfavorable light,” said Dooley as we hurried out of the park and in the direction of the pet shop I’d seen. “So all we need to do is ask ourselves what Marge doesn’t like in a man.” He glanced at me. “What doesn’t Marge like in a man, Max?”

“Um… she doesn’t like it when a man makes noises when he eats,” I said as a for instance. On more than one occasion I’d seen her give Tex a dirty look when the latter slurped his soup. “Or doesn’t pick up his laundry from the bathroom floor. Or leaves the toilet seat up. Or forgets to put out the garbage. Or forgets her birthday, or wedding anniversary.”

“That’s a lot of stuff. I think we can work with that,” said my friend. “So tomorrow we make sure the toilet seat is always up when Randy has visited the bathroom, that his clothes are left all over the bathroom floor after he’s taken a shower, and, um… I’m not so sure about the slurping sounds, Max. Though we could make slurping sounds and hopefully Marge will think it’s Randy making them. What do you say?”

“Look, Dooley—all these things are minor points of irritation. If Marge really loves Randy Hancock, no amount of dirty laundry on the floor or soup slurping will make her change her mind if she wants to marry the guy. But as we all know by now Randy is gay, so Marge can pursue the man as much as she likes, it won’t make much of a difference.”

“But… I’m gay, too, Max.”

I glanced at my buddy, wondering what he was going on about.

“In fact I think of the four of us I’m probably the gayest. But that would never stop me from marrying Marge—if I were a human or if Marge were a cat.”

“I…” Didn’t know what to say to that. “So you’re… gay, Dooley?”

“Oh, sure. You’re gay, too, Max, but not as gay as me. Harriet is not gay at all and Brutus is too serious to be gay. Though if he loosened up he’d probably be gay, too.”

I smiled. “I think you’re confused about the meaning of the word gay.” And I was about to explain to my friend that he might indeed be gay—except when he thought the sky was about to cave in and fall on his head—but he wasn’t… gay, when three dogs suddenly blocked our passage. They were, reading from left to right: Fifi, Rufus and Lil Ran.

“Oh, hiya fellas,” said Dooley. “Max and I were just discussing which one of us is the gayest, him or me. I think I’m more gay. What do you think?”

“Um…” said Fifi, eyeing my friend a little strangely.

“Max, we’ve been waiting for you for ages, buddy,” said Rufus, “and then we decided we couldn’t wait any more, so here we are. Now please tell us how to proceed in catching the people trying to kill Lil Ran’s human.”

“Yeah, your humans haven’t gotten any closer to the killers, so I’ve decided to take matters into my own paws and find them myself,” said Lil Ran. He gave me a sad smile. “It’s the least I can do for him.”

“Well, as a matter of fact we were just on our way to find Brutus,” I said. “So maybe you can join us and I can try to think of a way to help Randy, Lil Ran. How about that?”

“That sounds great, Max,” said Lil Ran. “Thanks.”

“Where is Brutus?” asked Fifi.

“I’m pretty sure he managed to get himself into trouble trying to free a colony of turtles from a pet store run by two crooks,” I said.

“And while we’re on the subject,” said Dooley, “maybe you can tell us how to stop Marge’s wedding to your human, Lil Ran. Now that you’ve had time to think about it, maybe you’ve come up with a couple of ideas? We were thinking of throwing his dirty laundry on the floor and leave the toilet seat up, but Max isn’t convinced that will be enough. So what do you think?”

And as Dooley explained his ideas on how to stop this wedding, we’d arrived on the street where Pete’s Pet Paradise was located. And even as we drew nearer, I saw Marge and Randy cross the street and moments later disappear inside the store.

Chapter 39

“Jerry! What’s going on? Why the gun?”

“I’m sorry, Marge,” said Jerry. “But I’m afraid you’ve seen too much.”

“Too much?” asked Marge. “What are you talking about?” Then her eyes darted to the five tanks filled with turtles and understanding dawned. “Oh, Jerry. You haven’t gone down the path of crime again, have you? I thought you and Johnny had found religion?”

“Oh, please,” said Jerry, appropriately raising his eyes heavenward. “They kicked us out after our first month.”

“We hadn’t managed to convert enough people,” said Johnny sadly. “They have a system of monthly targets, and we hadn’t managed to reach our targets for the month.”

“How many people did you convert?”

“None. Which wasn’t enough.”

“But… what’s with the turtles? Are you going to turn them into turtle soup or what?”

“Not exactly,” said Jerry, and cut a short glance to Randy, who still hadn’t said a word.

“Randy, say something,” said Marge. “Don’t just stand there. Speak up. Make them see the error of their ways.”

“I’m sorry, Marge,” said the famous fitness coach. “But I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“What?” She turned to the man. “What are you talking about?”

“Johnny and Jerry… well, they work for me, you see.” He sighed. “Jerry, put down that gun, will you? You’re making me nervous.”

“I don’t understand,” said Marge.

“Look, it’s like this—I’m broke, all right?”

“Yeah, I think we established that over dinner.”

“Did you have dinner with the boss, Marge?” asked Johnny, shooting her a radiant smile. “Gee, that’s sweet. So did you and Tex split up?”

“No, we didn’t split up,” said Marge. “And don’t squeeze my cat like that. He doesn’t like it when you hold him too tight.”

“Sure thing, Marge,” said Johnny, and let go of Brutus, who immediately skedaddled.

“You really shouldn’t talk to Marge, boss,” said Jerry. “Her daughter is a detective, and her brother is a cop, and so is her daughter’s fiancé.”

“Shut up, Jerry,” said Randy.

“Yes, boss,” said Jerry meekly.

“So is there money in turtles?” asked Marge, still mystified.

“Lots and lots of money,” said Randy. “These aren’t your regular turtles, Marge. These are exotic turtles that we managed to smuggle into the country from India. See, there are laws against importing exotic animals, and when you can circumvent those laws, the sky is pretty much the limit, as there are always people who will want to pay outrageous sums for those animals. This is just the first step in a bigger plan to supply the connoisseur of the rare and the exotic with all the species they need.”

“But… turtles, Randy? Really?”

“I’m telling you, Marge—these five tanks contain a fortune. Millions!”

She cast an eye over the tanks and the turtles contained therein.

Her face must have betrayed her skepticism, for Randy took his phone from his pocket and showed it to her. “Look, this is one bid for one single turtle.”

She looked, and when she saw the price her eyes widened considerably. “Oh, my.”

“Yeah. Big business.”

“But what about your career, Randy? You’re a hero to so many people. People like me.”

“Fat lot of good that’s doing me now,” he scoffed. “My career is over, Marge. I can’t give classes, I can’t tape any new videos, I can’t do nothing. In this game you’re only as good as your last video, and at my age, and with my wonky hips and my busted pelvis, I’ll never shoot another video ever again—or teach a class.”

“So… are you doing all this to pay the people trying to kill you?” she asked.

Jerry frowned. “Is someone trying to kill you, boss? Cause if they are, just tell us and we’ll—”

“Shut up, Jerry.”

“Yes, boss.”

Johnny giggled, and Jerry said, “Shut up, Johnny.”

“Yes, Jerry.”

“Look, I’ve got a confession to make, Marge,” said Randy, dragging a hand through his trademark curly hair. “There never was a threat. There never was a demand for ten million dollars. I made that all up.”

She stared at the man. “But… the video!”

“Yeah, I shot that video myself. Or at least I asked Floralba to shoot it.”

“But I saw them inject you with the toxin.”

“Toxin, boss!” said Jerry.

“Shut up, Jerry. Just an innocent saline solution. Look, I’m not proud of what I did, but I needed to get away for a while. Lay low. There’s people out to get me, all right, but not anonymous poisoners. Loan sharks, and drug dealers, and other people I owe a lot of money to. And since I’m famous I can’t go anywhere without being recognized.”

“You could have escaped to Mexico, boss,” said Jerry.

“Sure, if I had the money,” said Randy. “But I’m broke. I spent my last dime setting up this turtle farm, but it takes time for these fellas to grow so I can sell them. So I needed to lay low for a little while. And that’s when I saw that interview with Odelia.”

“And so you decided to use my daughter to hide from your creditors? Is that it?” Marge was starting to see the whole picture, and it wasn’t pretty. “Oh, Randy. That wasn’t a very nice thing to do.”

“I know, all right? But I had no other choice. I just figured—small-town amateur sleuth—nice ordinary family—I’ll hide away there for a couple of weeks—”

“Weeks! You said days!”

“I was going to send myself another video when the deadline was up, extending it.” He shrugged. “Buy myself some time.”

“Oh, Randy. You disappoint me.” Which was an understatement.

“I know,” he said. “And I’m going to have to disappoint you even more. Because now that you know my secret I can’t possibly let you go home and blab about it to Odelia.”

“I won’t,” she said immediately, suddenly realizing the predicament she was in. “I won’t tell her—I won’t tell anyone!”

“Yeah, you will.” He gestured to Jerry. “Lock her up, Jer.”

“Lock her up? But boss!”

“Just until I figure out what to do with her.”

“Randy, you don’t have to do this,” said Marge, retreating in the direction of the basement stairs.

“I’m sorry, Marge. I like you. I really do. But this is business. My only way out of the hole I’ve dug myself into. You understand.”

And just when she turned to try and make her getaway, she bumped into a large unmovable object in the form of Johnny.

“I’m sorry, too, Marge,” said Johnny, and pointed to the back of the basement, where a small room was located, crudely constructed from large cinder blocks. Moments later she was locked up inside, and as she sank down onto the stone floor, she wondered how she’d managed to get herself into this mess.

Chapter 40

“So… you’re telling me that the NYPD lab couldn’t find any trace of a toxin in the man’s blood,” said Alec.

“Nope. Not a single trace,” said Chase Kingsley, his deputy.

Both men were in Alec’s office at the police station, the Chief behind his desk, and Chase in front of it.

“Mh,” said the Chief. “Weird.”

“And they also checked out that video, and the conclusion was that it was sent from Randy’s computer. Now to be absolutely sure they’d need access to his PC, which they didn’t have, but I think it’s safe to say that either these are some ingenious hackers, or…”

“Or the person sending that video sent it from the man’s own computer.” Alec thought for a moment. “You know, in my experience sometimes the most straightforward answer is the right answer. So either we decide that these are extremely clever assailants, so clever they can inject a toxin into Randy Hancock’s blood that is undetectable even to the smartest minds at the NYPD, or…”

“Or no poison was ever injected.”

The cops shared a look pregnant with meaning, then Alec said, “I think it’s time we took a closer look at this Hancock character. What exactly do we know about him?”

“We know he’s broke,” said Chase, consulting his notebook. “We also know he’s an addict, and has wasted his entire fortune on drugs and a series of flings. And we know he’s up to his eyeballs in debt—and not to the banks but to some very nasty loan sharks.”

“So it would probably be a lot safer for him at your place than at his own house right now,” said the Chief.

“You don’t think he set this whole thing up, do you? To get away from the people he owes money to?”

“Could be,” said Alec. “I mean, these loan sharks don’t kid around. They’re into the moneylending business, but also in the breaking-your-arm business if you don’t pay up. So rather than having his arm busted, I guess he figured he’d lie low for a while.”

“Not having to pay a dime in hotel bills or food bills,” said Chase, starting to get a little hot under the collar when he thought about the deviousness of the man’s scheme.

“Look, we don’t know for sure that this is the case, but I think it’s high time I had a little chat with the guy. He’s still at your place, right?”

“Yep. And he’s told us that he doesn’t want to talk to the police, cause these bad people injecting that nonexistent poison wouldn’t like it.”

“Clever guy,” said Alec with a grin, and got up. “Let’s go over there now,” he suggested. “The sooner we get this thing sorted out the better. I don’t like the idea of a character like Hancock staying with you guys.”

“Or seducing your sister,” said Chase with a meaningful glance at his boss.

“What?!”

“Yeah, I caught the two of them last night. Not a pretty picture, Chief.”

“Let’s get the bastard,” said the Chief, gritting his teeth.

Gran was just returning from Vena with an irate Harriet neatly strapped in the front seat of the car when she happened to pass by the newly opened pet shop on O’Sullivan Street and saw Max and Dooley and no less than three dogs staring at the store window.

“Look,” she said. “It’s Max and Dooley and Randy’s dog. Wonder what they’re up to.”

And since she was just as curious sometimes as her cats were, she decided to park the car and take a closer look at what was going on.

By the time she arrived there, though, both cats and dogs were gone, and so she tried the door—as one does—and found it unlocked. So she darted a glance at Harriet, who shrugged, and they pushed inside the store.

Tex Poole, having driven around a little aimlessly for the past hour, found himself wondering where to go next. He couldn’t go home and face his wife having an intimate dinner with Randy, but he didn’t know where else to go. He’d never really had a serious fight with Marge—not serious enough at least that he’d have to go and stay at a hotel—but that was what it now looked like.

And he was just wondering if maybe he should sleep at his office instead, while he thought things through, when he happened to pass by that new pet shop on O’Sullivan Street, and saw Vesta and Harriet walk into the store. Wondering what the hell she was up to, and deciding that maybe now was a good time to tell her she was fired from her job as receptionist, he parked his car behind his mother-in-law’s, and got out.

Walking up to the store, he soon discovered the door was unlocked, so he pushed right on in. Under normal circumstances he would never confront Vesta like this, but he was in the frame of mind of a man scorned, and frankly he needed to unload, and Vesta seemed as good a person to unload on as any.

Chase and Alec were driving in Alec’s squad car on their way to the house, ready to give Randy Hancock the kind of grilling he’d probably never before received in his life. Alec especially was particularly incensed that this lowlife fitness trainer would dare to lay his hands on his sister, and was simmering gently all through the drive.

And they were just passing by that new pet store on O’Sullivan Street when he happened to see none other than Tex walk into the store.

“Look, it’s Tex,” he said. “I wonder what he’s up to.”

“Probably buying a gift for Marge,” said Chase. “Hoping to win her back from Ran-Ran.”

“You know what? I think we need to talk to Tex,” said Alec, and wrenched the wheel to park right behind the Doc’s car. It was only then that he saw Vesta’s car parked in front of Tex’s, and was starting to wonder if some kind of convention was happening.

“Talk to him about what?” asked Chase.

“I think it’s time Tex knew what’s going on between Marge and Randy,” Alec grunted and got out of the car. And then both cops were hurrying across the road, and moments later found themselves inside the pet shop, wondering where Tex had gone off to.

Chapter 41

When we entered that pet shop I thought for a moment we’d walked into a  different world: there were pets all around us—which probably is a given since we were in a pet shop—and all of them were staring at us in dismay, as if surprised to see pets walk into their midst… without being inside a cage or (in the case of the goldfish) a fish tank.

“What are you guys doing here?” asked a gerbil.

“Oh, just looking around,” I said. “A friend of ours has gone missing, and we have reason to believe he might be in here somewhere.”

“What does he look like, this friend of yours?” asked the gerbil.

“Well, he’s black and built pretty butch,” I said.

“And he’s a cat,” Lil Ran added helpfully.

The gerbil visibly stiffened. “We don’t have any cats around here, I’m afraid. Or dogs. This is a store where only small pets are sold, not big guys like you.”

“I’m not a big guy,” said Fifi. “I’m small and I’m a girl.”

“You know what I mean,” said the gerbil with a shrug.

A  parrot piped up, “We don’t like cats in here, cat. Because cats always cause all kinds of trouble. And we like things nice and quiet. So if I were you I’d beat it.”

“Not very friendly, are they?” said Dooley quietly.

“Cats aren’t always welcome everywhere,” I told him.

“If you’ve come to see the turtles,” said a snake, making a slight hissing sound as she spoke, “they’re downstairs. But be prepared, there are a lot of them. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, I saw the turtles,” I said. “But why are there so many of them?”

“That I can’t tell you,” said the snake.

“Oh, I know!” said a sad-looking bird with some very nice plumage. “The guy who owns the store is looking to sell them. Claims he can net millions for them. Millions!”

“And who owns the store?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer: Jerry and Johnny.

“I don’t know his name. The two guys who work at the store always call him boss. He’s downstairs now, though, if you want to say hi. Short guy with a lot of frizzy hair on top of his head. He just arrived with some blond babe.”

We all stared at the bird. “You’re not referring to Randy Hancock, surely?” I said.

“Like I said, I don’t know his name, but I recognized his voice. He’s been on the phone about a million times since I arrived, and he’s always asking about the turtles, and how they’re doing, and how big they are and how many orders they got for them.”

“He’s probably mistaken,” I told Lil Ran, who was starting to look a little anxious.

“I heard that, cat,” said the bird, “and I can assure you I’m not mistaken. Johnny always puts his boss on speakerphone, and I’d recognize his voice out of a thousand.”

We decided to ignore the bird’s strange conceit that Randy Hancock would own a pet shop. It didn’t seem credible. And Johnny and Jerry calling him boss? Impossible.

So we moved in the direction of the basement stairs, and made our way down. We soon found ourselves in that cavernous space where those large tanks were set up. The temperature was a balmy eighty degrees, presumably so the turtles would be nice and warm in their tanks, and immediately I glanced around in search of Brutus.

“Brutus?” I called out. “Brutus, buddy—are you down here?”

“Max?” a voice suddenly called out. “Max, is that you?”

“Brutus!” I said, and immediately made my way over to where our friend was holed up: underneath a pile of rubble and a collection of discarded old fish tanks.

“Max!” he said, sounding extremely relieved. “How did you find me?”

“Deduction, my dear Watson,” I said with a grin.

“Dooley, Fifi, Rufus, Little Randy!” said Brutus. “Am I glad to see you guys!”

“It’s Lil Ran now,” said the large dog with a smile, “but I’m also very glad to see you, Brutus. We thought you’d gone off on some adventure.”

“I did go off on an adventure,” said the black cat, “but I guess I bit off more than I could chew.” He gestured to the tanks. “My friend Pinkie is in there somewhere, and so are her friends. She asked me to help her free them, but then I got locked in here when Johnny Carew closed and locked the window and I didn’t know how to get out again.”

“So is it true what the pets upstairs said?” asked Rufus. “That they’re going to sell these turtles for millions?”

“Yeah, it’s true,” said Brutus. “And prepare yourselves for a nasty surprise. The guy in charge of this whole operation is—”

“Randy!” suddenly Lil Ran cried. He’d caught sight of his human, and was now streaking over to meet him.

Randy, whom I hadn’t noticed until now, came walking up to us from the far corner of the basement, followed by Johnny and Jerry. The fitness star looked as surprised to see his dog as Lil Ran was happy to see him.

“Hey there, buddy,” said Randy, then saw the five of us and his brow furrowed. “And I see you brought your friends with you.”

“Yeah, we were looking for Brutus, and Max found him,” said Lil Ran, even though his human couldn’t understand a word he said.

“He’s the guy in charge,” said Brutus, “and he’s just locked Marge in that room over there.”

We all gawked at Brutus now. “Wait, what?” I said. This, I hadn’t expected.

“Yeah, he explained how he lost his entire fortune and how he now owes so much money to some very dangerous people that he needed to lay low for a while as he set up this turtle farm. He hopes to make millions selling these turtles, and in the meantime he figured he could stay at Odelia’s place for free, where no one would find him.”

“Oh, the bad man!” said Dooley.

We all turned to Randy, even Lil Ran.

“Is this true, Randy?” asked the Irish Setter. “Did you lock up Marge and did you set up this turtle farm to get out of debt?”

But of course Randy hadn’t learned how to speak the canine language in the ten seconds that had elapsed. Instead, he patted his dog’s head and said “Good boy. Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

“What do you want us to do with Marge?” asked Jerry, who was holding a gun, I now saw.

“I haven’t decided yet,” said Randy.

“We can’t let her go,” said Jerry. “She’ll blab to her brother the cop. Or her daughter the cop. Or her son-in-law the cop.”

“I really know how to pick ‘em, don’t I?” said Randy. “When they interviewed Odelia on TV they never mentioned her entire family consisted of the entire local police force.”

“We could always keep her here until everything is over,” said Jerry.

“And then what? The minute we let her out she’ll go running to the cops. No, we can’t risk that. I suggest we, um, make her go away.” He gestured to Johnny. “You take care of that for me, will you? You look like the kind of guy who’s done that sort of thing before.”

Johnny stared at Randy, then said, “Oh, are you talking to me, boss?”

“Who do you think I’m talking to, numbnuts? The walls? You get rid of Marge. And please don’t tell me how you’ll do it. I don’t want to know. Just do it quietly, and make sure the body is never found, all right?”

“But, boss. I like Marge. She’s good people.”

“And now she’s dead people. Just do it.”

And with these words, he started to walk away. Unfortunately his exit was blocked by Grandma Muffin, who had chosen this exact moment to show up, Harriet right behind her.

Chapter 42

“What’s going on here?” asked Gran. “And why are you holding a gun, Mr. Vale?”

“Lock her up with the other one,” said Randy.

“But, boss!” said Johnny.

“Lock her up I said! And get rid of her.”

“But boss!”

“Oh, do I really have to do everything myself around here?” He grabbed Jerry’s gun and held it on Gran, who looked a little startled.

“In there,” barked the fitness star.

“He’s a bad one, Gran,” said Dooley.

“Oh, I can see that,” said Gran.

Harriet, who’d joined us, said, “What’s going on? Why is Randy pointing a gun at Gran?”

“Because he’s a bad guy,” said Dooley. “He’s already locked up Marge and now he’s doing the same with Gran.”

“We have to attack him,” I said, eyeing that gun with a keen eye. Guns and cats don’t really mix. We’re not impervious to the odd bullet making a hole through our precious bods, and just like humans usually don’t respond well. So it more or less kept me from jumping on top of that frizzy-haired maniac and digging my claws in the way I wanted to.

Gran followed the instructions of the fitness guru and reluctantly entered the small room. “I’m going to tell my son,” she warned. “And he won’t be happy.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Randy, who was losing all the hallmarks of his usually sunny persona more and more. He slammed the door shut in Gran’s face then locked it. “So your instructions still stand,” he told his two associates. “Get rid of them and make sure the bodies are never found. Best way to deal with this.” Once more he was making for the staircase and he probably would have walked out if not Tex Poole had walked in.

“You!” Tex said the moment he caught sight of Randy. “I want a word with you—you rat!”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” said Randy, and since he was still holding that gun, he now pointed it at the doctor. “I’m sorry, Doc, but you caught me at a bad time.”

“Is that a gun?” asked Tex, his eyes going wide as saucers.

“Excellent powers of observation. Get in there,” he said, gesturing to the small room that was really filling up now.

“I don’t understand,” said Tex.

“Who cares? In there, and be quick about it.”

“But… is this the toxin? Has it started to affect your brain? You’re not well, Randy. You don’t look well.”

“And why do you think that is? Your family keep showing up—get in there, Doc!”

And since it is rarely a good idea to argue with a man holding a gun, Tex did as he was told, and got in there. Under normal circumstances it probably would have been a happy reunion in that small room, but I very much doubt whether this was the case now.

“Is that it?” said Randy, starting to look a little frazzled. “Did we get all of them?”

“We got three of them, boss,” said Jerry. “Do you want us to—”

“Yes! Kill them all and make sure the bodies—”

“Are never found. Gotcha.”

“This is too much,” said Fifi. “This man is some kind of mass murderer!”

“And here I thought he was a nice guy,” said Rufus. “My humans always work out to his videos. They think he’s goofy and funny. He’s not so goofy and funny now.”

“Must be the drugs,” said Harriet. “If you take so many drugs for so many years, it affects your brain. It starts to go soft.”

“I don’t recognize my own human anymore,” said Lil Ran sadly. “It’s as if he’s been replaced by his own evil twin.”

“Randy has an evil twin?” asked Dooley. “I didn’t know that.”

“No, he doesn’t have a twin. I said it’s almost as if he’s been replaced—”

“What’s all this!” suddenly a voice boomed through the cavernous space.

And when we looked up, I saw that Uncle Alec and Chase had arrived on the scene.

“Oh, happy days!” said Randy, and pointed his gun at the new arrivals. “So glad you could you join us, gentlemen. Now if you care to follow me to your new accommodations.”

“He’s got a gun, Chief,” said Chase.

“I can see that, Chase,” said the Chief.

“We better do as he says.”

“I know.”

“Excellent advice!” said Randy, and gestured with his gun to the small room. “In there,” he barked curtly. “Hop to it. In you go.”

“Why are you doing this, Randy?” asked Chase. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“Let’s just say it’s stress-related,” said Randy.

“But…”

“In there—now!”

Once the door was locked, Johnny gave his boss a pained look. “You don’t really expect us to—”

“Kill them all? Yes, I do. I’ll even give you a group rate. Five for the price of four!”

“That doesn’t sound like a good deal,” Jerry murmured. He didn’t look happy either.

Johnny and Jerry may be crooks, but they’re not killers, and to suddenly be forced to become mass murderers clearly didn’t sit well with them.

“Okay, well, if there’s nothing further…” said Randy. Droplets of sweat were trickling down his face, and his gun hand was shaking. “Here,” he said. “Have your gun back.” And he handed the thing back to Jerry.

“Let’s attack him,” said Brutus.

“Jerry’s got a gun,” I pointed out.

“He’d never shoot us,” said Harriet.

“I really don’t want to find out,” I said.

“And risk him shooting our entire family?”

It was one of those moments fraught with indecision. And while we worked out the odds we watched Randy Hancock walk away.

Chapter 43

Odelia had spent the entire afternoon at her office, trying to puzzle together the pieces that made up the Randy Hancock conundrum. She’d called around to gather more information on Randy’s background, and had discovered he’d recently bought an old pet shop and had hired two familiar people to run it for him: Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale.

And so now she was on her way to the shop, to find out why a man like Randy would get into the pet shop business.

And she’d just arrived there when the man himself came walking out of the store, looking extremely flustered, and sweating profusely. She almost bumped into him before he looked up and eyed her with befuddlement.

“Oh, hi, Randy,” she said. “I was just on my way over to talk to your employees.”

“Oh, you were, were you?” he said, mopping his brow with his sleeve.

She glanced beyond him, and now noticed three familiar cars parked across the street: one belonging to her grandmother, her Dad’s car, and her uncle’s squad car. Odd.

“So I guess you’ve decided to start a new career?” she said. “Pet shop owner?”

He smiled nervously. “Um, yeah. Since my other career is pretty much done for, I might as well try something completely different, you know.” He swallowed, then said, “I’m afraid I must be off, Odelia. Maybe we could do this later?”

“You hired Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale?”

“Yeah—yeah, I did. Why, you know them?”

“Oh, yes. Two reformed criminals. Very noble of you to give them a second chance.”

She was now completely certain something very fishy was going on here. But what? And how was Randy implicated?

“I-I really must be going,” said Randy. “So I’ll see you back at the house, okay?”

“Have you seen my uncle?” she asked, gesturing to the squad car. “Or my grandmother?”

“No–no I haven’t,” he said, starting to walk away.

“Something isn’t right, Randy!” she called out, but he was already starting to move away from her faster and faster, those short legs surprisingly quick off the mark.

And since she’d never been one to ignore her instincts before, she decided to follow the guy. And as she did, he glanced over his shoulders, and promptly broke into a run!

A man whose hips have recently been replaced with a pair of new ones, and whose pelvis suffered a nasty fracture, should never try to run away from a person less than half his age, with two healthy hips and ditto pelvis.

So it didn’t take long for Odelia to overtake the guy, and then she was launching herself at him, tackling him like a pro.

“Hey!” he said. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re going to tell me what’s going on,” she spoke in his ear, even as he darted anxious looks at her. “Why did you run away from me, Randy?”

“I wasn’t. I just felt like going for a run!”

“Bullshit!”

“No, it’s the truth, I swear! My doctor told me I need to stay fit. Every day like clockwork I go for a run, and you caught me just when I was going well. You really should get off me now. It’s not good for my hips—or my busted pelvis.”

“Tell me the truth, Randy.”

But instead of telling her the truth, Randy suddenly started squealing, “Heeelp!” Heeeeelp! Mugger! This woman is trying to mug me!”

Unfortunately for him Odelia was something of a local celebrity, and the people who stopped to help, instead of helping him get rid of Odelia, helped her pin the man down to the pavement, figuring that if she was making a citizen’s arrest, which is what it looked like, she had damn good reasons to do so.

“You can’t do this!” he squealed. “Let me go!”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” said Odelia. “And I think we better take this inside now. To the police station.”

Scarlett Canyon came hurrying up. “I saw what happened!” she said. “I saw the whole thing! He tried to get away from you, didn’t he, this scummy little man.”

“This scummy little man is Randy Hancock,” Odelia said with a grim expression. “And I’m pretty sure he’s up to no good—though he’s refusing to tell me what it is.”

“Oh, I know exactly what it is,” said Scarlett. “He’s been carrying on with your mother, that’s what! Behind your dad’s back. Confess, you filthy little worm of a man!”

“I’m not carrying on with no one!” said Randy, still flat on the pavement.

Odelia had taken out her phone and was calling her uncle. Oddly enough he wasn’t picking up. So she called the station switchboard, and got through to Dolores on the first ring.

“Hampton Cove Police Department,” said the raspy-voiced dispatcher. “How may I help you?”

“Can you send someone to pick up Randy Hancock?” she said.

“What’s he done?”

“I don’t know. That’s what you need to find out.”

“Apart from making some pretty weird and funky videos in the eighties and nineties I can’t see what he could have done, sweetie.”

“I think he’s involved with a pet shop,” said Odelia, casting around hopelessly.

“No crime in that as far as I know. Unless he’s doing something to the animals? Though frankly if he is I don’t think I want to know.”

“Just… arrest him already, will you?”

“No can do, hon. We don’t go around arresting people just because a member of the public asks us to.”

“He tried to get away! He was behaving very suspiciously.”

Dolores sighed. “Tell you what—I’ll get your uncle on the horn and ask him what he thinks we should do.”

“I just tried to call him. He’s not picking up.”

“Oh, he’ll pick up when I call him,” said Dolores. Moments later she came back on the line. “He’s not picking up, and neither is Chase.”

“My uncle’s car is parked across the street from the pet shop,” said Odelia, “and so is my grandmother’s car. And my dad’s car.”

“Some family meeting they didn’t tell you about?”

“Just send someone, will you?!”

“All right, all right. No need to get testy. I’ll send a car.” And she promptly disconnected.

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Randy squealed. “Let go of me, you two-bit rent-a-cop!”

“You tried to screw over my best friend’s son-in-law by screwing his wife!” Scarlett yelled. “So don’t tell me you didn’t do anything, you… louse!”

“I did no such thing! I’m not even into women!”

“That’s what they all say.”

Chapter 44

“We need to get out of here,” said Vesta as she rattled the door handle to no avail. “If we stay here we’ll all get shot and our bodies dumped in a lake.”

“What lake?” said Marge.

“Who cares what lake!”

“No, but it could be a small lake or a big lake.”

“We’ll be dead, so it won’t make a difference,” Vesta grunted. “Alec. Do something.”

“Why me?”

“You’re a cop!”

“Yes, Alec,” said Marge. “You have to do something before they kill us and throw our bodies in a lake. Though they could throw us in a pond, of course. Much easier.”

“They took my phone,” said Alec sadly. “And my gun, too.”

“Just put your shoulder against this door and bust out,” Vesta suggested. “How hard can it be?”

“That’s steel, Vesta,” Chase pointed out. “Steel is pretty hard.”

“He might hurt his shoulder,” said Marge.

“When they shoot him it will hurt a lot more!”

“All right,” said Alec, and took a running leap, then hit the door with his shoulder acting like a battering ram. Only the door was made of sterner stuff, and didn’t budge. “Ouch!” said the Chief. “I’ve hurt my shoulder!”

“See?” said Marge. “What did I tell you?”

“Oh, you’re such a sissy,” said Vesta. “You give it a shot, Chase. You’re a lot tougher than my son. Just put your foot against that door and bust us out of here.”

“I’m not sure…” said Chase.

“Oh, come on!” So she proceeded to give the door a hefty kick. “Ouch!” she squeaked, and sat down on an overturned wooden crate to massage her injured toes.

“I’ll give it a try,” said Chase finally, and placed his foot against the door, as instructed. Only the door, which had at this point thwarted the joint attempts of a police chief and his aged mother, wasn’t giving in so easily, and stood firm against this latest onslaught.

“No joy,” said Chase sadly.

“I don’t understand,” said Marge. “Johnny and Jerry are crooks, but they’re not killers. I’d never have believed it if you told me they were about to make us dead.”

“Make us dead? Kill us, you mean,” said Vesta. She turned to Tex. “Can’t you do something?”

“What do you want me to do?” asked Tex, who’d said nothing throughout these proceedings. He was looking a little morose, Vesta thought, and she didn’t blame him. First he’d discovered his wife was having an affair with a fitness dude, and now this fitness dude was going to get them all killed. A man would turn morose for a lot less.

“You’re a doctor,” Vesta pointed out. “Can’t you pick that lock and get us out of here? I mean, you operate on people, don’t you? So why should a door be any different?”

Tex barked a curt humorless laugh. “For one thing, I didn’t bring my instruments, and for another, a door is not the same thing as a human, Vesta.”

“Why don’t you pick that lock?” Alec suggested. “You’re supposed to be a pro at lock picking, you and your neighborhood watch.”

“There’s a learning curve,” said Vesta. “And besides, like Tex I didn’t bring the instruments of my trade.”

She had watched a whole lot of YouTube videos on lock picking and burglarizing, along with Scarlett, but so far hadn’t been able to pick a single lock. It was very annoying.

“What I don’t get is why Randy would suddenly have turned homicidal,” said Chase. “He used to be a fitness guru, and now he’s suddenly decided to become a serial killer instead? That’s a major leap.”

“Yeah, talk about a career change,” said Alec.

“As I understand it,” said Marge, “he spent all of his money on drugs and boyfriends, and now he’s broke and has gone into selling exotic turtles instead. Only there are so many loan sharks gunning for him he had to lie low for a while, until his fortunes turned, so he picked Odelia as the last place anyone would find him, not expecting her to be good at what she does, and now we’ve managed to figure out the truth of who and what he is, and since he can’t have any witnesses running around he needs us all dead.” She sighed a disappointed sigh. “And to think I thought he was the cat’s pajamas. The bee’s knees. The kipper’s knickers. The clam’s cuticles. He really fooled me.”

“I want a divorce,” said Tex now.

Marge looked up in surprise. “What?! What are you talking about?”

“It’s clear to me that you and Randy are having an affair.”

“We are not having an affair!” said Marge.

“Yes, you are,” said Vesta. “Admit it, Marge. Harriet told me what Chase saw.”

Tex turned to Chase. “What did you see?”

“Well…” said the burly cop.

“Chase saw Marge and Randy,” said Vesta, “naked in his bed, hugging and canoodling, and Marge was crying tears of pure joy. Pure joy, Marge!”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” said Marge.

“Exactly! You cried—loudly!”

“Naked and canoodling in Randy’s bed!” Tex yelled.

“I wasn’t canoodling!”

“But you were crying tears of joy,” said Vesta.

“Look, I wasn’t naked—only Randy was…”

“Oh, my God!” said Tex.

“From the waist up! He’d been admiring himself in the mirror. And we weren’t canoodling—he was merely… comforting me.”

“And you were crying,” Vesta said.

“Tears of ecstasy!” said Tex.

“They were most definitely not tears of ecstasy!” said Marge. “In fact they were tears of regret—regret that after twenty-five years of marriage the spark has gone out of our relationship. You don’t bring me flowers anymore, you don’t take me out to dinner anymore—you simply take me for granted and I’ve frankly had enough!”

“But… I bought you flowers today, and when I wanted to give them to you I find you having a romantic candlelight dinner with Randy!”

“Marge!” said Vesta, looking shocked.

“There were no candles involved,” said Marge, “and the only reason I was having dinner with Randy was because Odelia asked me to.”

“I knew it!”

“She wanted me to try and find out more about him—make him open up to me. So she suggested dinner, and I said why not. At least Randy appreciated me as a woman, whereas you just think of me as a cleaner, a cook, and the person who does your laundry!”

“But, Marge!”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. You want a divorce? Fine. I want a divorce, too.”

“Children, children,” said Vesta soothingly. “This is not the time or the place to talk about getting a divorce. Besides, we’ll all be dead soon, so who cares about divorce?”

“I’m sure the cats will think of something,” said Alec. “They always do, don’t they?”

Her son was right, but somehow Vesta didn’t see what the cats could do against two men and a loaded gun. Things looked pretty bleak, she had to admit, and for the first time in a long while she figured saying a little prayer might not be a bad thing right now.

Chapter 45

“What do we do, Max?” asked Dooley anxiously. “I don’t want our humans to die.”

“No, I don’t want them to die either, Dooley,” I said. But what could we possibly do? Jerry was holding a gun, waving it around a little haphazardly, pointing it this direction and that while he paced the floor like a madman. And Johnny, even though he didn’t have a gun, was far too large for us to attack and do some real damage. Besides, I didn’t really want to do him any damage. He’s a crook, but a likable one. Plus, he likes cats.

“We have to do something, Max,” said Harriet. “They’re going to shoot all of our humans and there will be no one left.”

“Odelia will still be there,” said Brutus. “She’s out there somewhere, so she’ll survive.”

“Oh, Brutus,” said Harriet. “You can’t be serious. You don’t mind if the entire Poole family is wiped out because at least there will be one Poole left standing? How can you say a thing like that?”

“No, I mean she’s still out there so she might be able to save the rest of her family.”

“Doubtful,” said Lil Ran. “How would she even know they’re in there, and how will she overpower these two criminals singlehandedly?”

“I’m very disappointed in your human, Lil Ran,” said Harriet now. “I always thought he was a little weird but generally a good person, but now it looks like he’s some kind of serial killer. How did you not see this coming?”

Lil Ran hung his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” he said quietly. “He wasn’t like this before. I mean, he was always a little eccentric, but not homicidal.”

“I think it’s the lure of the turtle money,” said Fifi. “Some humans are very susceptible to the desire for money and wealth. Makes them do silly things.”

“Like murdering an entire family,” said Rufus, casting a weary eye in the direction of the door to the little room where practically all of our humans were now locked up.

“What seems to be the trouble?” suddenly asked a small voice from nearby.

When we looked in the direction of the voice, I saw that it belonged to a tiny turtle.

“Pinkie!” said Brutus happily. “I thought you’d disappeared!”

“They threw me back into the tank with the others,” said Pinkie with a smile. “Took me ages to get out again. The life of a turtle is one that requires a lot of patience.”

Suddenly Brutus’s eyes went wide. “Pinkie!”

“Brutus?”

“Maybe you can help us free our humans!”

“Oh, sure. What do you want me to do?”

“Can you maybe crawl underneath that door over there and, um…”

“Yes?”

Brutus was frowning before him. “Um…”

“Yes?”

He shook his head in frustration. “I thought I had an idea, but now it’s gone.” He turned to me. “Max? You have a big head. Maybe you can come up with something?”

I glanced from Pinkie to the door to the water tanks and thought hard. Then I had it. “Do you think you can get your friends to help us out?” I asked the tiny turtle.

“Oh, sure. They’d love to help. Anything to get out of this nasty pond and back to the ocean where they belong.”

“So… maybe you can ask them to move that thick plank over there and squeeze it into that hole over there between those cinder blocks? And place that piece of wood underneath.” And as I explained to Pinkie what I thought might be a good plan to free our humans, she keenly followed along, then returned to the large basin she’d escaped from, and moments later we watched with interest how thousands of tiny turtles started moving out of the tank across the fishing net Johnny must have left there again, and then down the little stepladder placed against the tank and in the direction of the room where all of our humans were locked up.

It was a long shot, as our workforce was numerous but also very, very, very slow…

“I don’t know, Jer. I’ve never killed anyone before, and I really don’t want to start now. And besides, Marge is good people, and so are the others in there—even those cops.”

“I know,” said Jerry as he nervously paced the floor. “Don’t you think I know? I’m not a killer, Johnny, whatever people say.”

“So what do we do, Jer? We can’t let them go, cause that would make Randy get all upset with us, and maybe kick us out, and we can’t kill them either.”

“I know—just let me think, all right? Just let me think!”

Johnny watched as his friend thought hard. In fact he thought so hard the veins in his temples were standing out, and he was starting to worry Jerry might suffer an aneurysm soon. And all for a measly paycheck. They weren’t even going to get paid in percentages but in one lump sum for their trouble.

“I don’t think I like Randy anymore, Jer,” he now confessed. “I think he’s gone a little loopy. Must be all those drugs. They must have addled his brain.”

“Will you just shut up?” said Jerry. “I’m trying to think here!”

“Oh, sure, Jer.” And he was quiet for a couple of seconds, until he thought of something else. “If we get caught this time the judge won’t be happy, Jer. We told him last time, we said, Mr. Judge, we said, we won’t never do it again, sir. This time we’ll be good. So I can tell you right now that when he sees us again he’s going to be very upset.”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

“Just saying, Jer.” He glanced over to the cats, and his heart wept. “Poor cats,” he said. “And poor dogs. Just look at them. They look so sad. What are they gonna do without their humans to take care of them? Who’s gonna feed them, who’s gonna need them? We can’t do this, Jer. It just don’t feel good.”

“Will you just shut up for one second?”

“Sure, Jer. I’ll shut up now.” And so he was quiet for another couple of seconds, then said, “And what about Odelia? How is she going to feel without a mother and a father and a grandmother and an uncle and a boyfriend? She’s going to be sad, Jer. And I like Odelia. I like her a lot. She’s got spunk, and I don’t want to make her an orphan, Jer. It’s just not right.”

“Shut up, Johnny!”

“Yes, Jer.” He thought about how they could get out of this mess, and even though he wasn’t used to thinking hard—he usually left that to Jerry, who had a head for that kind of thing—he suddenly thought he’d come up with an idea. “So what if we simply give ourselves up, Jer? I mean, if we rat out Randy now the cops will probably tell the judge not to be too hard on us, right? Lenient, as that nice judge always likes to say. And they’ll probably be happy that we didn’t kill anyone so they might just let us go and call it quits.”

“I don’t think they’ll do that, Johnny.”

“No, but maybe they will. That judge likes us—I could tell last time we were in court. He said to me, Johnny, he said, I like you, Johnny. I like your face, so I’m gonna be lenient, he said.”

“He didn’t say no such thing.”

“No, but he was thinking it. I could see it in his eyes.”

“Oh, Johnny,” said Jerry with a sigh, then finally shrugged and said, “You know what? I think you’re right, buddy. We can’t kill them so we just gotta let them go. It’s for the best.” And then he threw his gun to the floor. “I hate that I’m not a killer!”

But Johnny placed his large arm around his associate’s shoulder and said, “For what it’s worth, I like that you’re not a killer, Jer. And I’m sure Marlene likes it, too.”

Jerry looked up with a hopeful look. “You think so?”

“Oh, sure. In fact I think this whole episode might bring you and Marlene back together. When she hears what a good thing you did here today, I’m sure she’ll take you back in a heartbeat, Jer. And if she doesn’t, she’s a fool.”

“Don’t call my wife a fool, Johnny.”

“I’m sorry, Jer. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t.”

And they both sighed with relief. They might be crooks, but they weren’t killers, and even though they’d miss a nice payday (not as nice as Johnny would have wanted) and would probably get into a heap of trouble with the law again, it was all for the best.

And just when Johnny was walking over to the little room to free their prisoners and give himself up, he saw that a very large number of turtles had managed to stick a plank into a hole in the wall of that little room, and were using it as a lever to make that wall crumble, just like the walls of Jericho that one time.

He watched the scene with surprise. “Way to go, little buddies!” he said. “Way to go!”

And since he didn’t want to spoil the fun, he stood back and watched things unfold.

Soon the wall did crumble, and the face of Grandma Muffin came peeping through the hole.

“Hey, Vesta,” he said good-naturedly. “Jerry and I have decided to let you go. We’re not cut out for this killing stuff. So what do you think?”

“I think that’s very smart of you, Johnny.”

“I knew you’d like it,” he said, well pleased, and proceeded to open the door.

Chapter 46

“Great plan, Max,” said Harriet. “Too bad those two crooks got cold feet and let everyone go.”

“Too bad? I think it’s great,” said Lil Ran. “Even though it will probably mean that my human will be in big trouble now.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Fifi. “Your human will have time to think about the things he’s done when he’s in prison.”

“And those people who were after him won’t be able to get at him,” said Rufus.

I walked up to the little room now, and watched as Uncle Alec came walking out, followed by Chase and Gran. The only people who were still in there were Marge and Tex, and they didn’t seem to be interested in joining the others in their quest for freedom.

The turtles, on the other hand, had tasted freedom and were now redirecting their efforts towards the staircase, and moving up those stairs en masse. Soon they’d all be out in the street, and presumably start making their way back to the ocean, where they belonged. And a good thing, too, I thought.

But what was going on with Marge and Tex?

“You’re both under arrest,” said Uncle Alec as he patted his few stray wisps of hair, “for, um, robbing me of my freedom and, um…”

“It’s all right, Chief,” said Johnny. “I want you to arrest us, and I want you to tell the judge that we didn’t kill you when we had the chance.”

“Yeah, here’s that gun Randy got us,” said Jerry, and handed the thing over to Uncle Alec. “I’m very sorry but I couldn’t go through with it, Chief. I guess I’m not cut out for it.”

“I’m not cut out for it either,” said Johnny. “It’s just not something I see myself doing.”

“All right,” said Uncle Alec, looking a little surprised. “That’s really nice of you fellas. That you decided not to kill us, I mean. Very nice indeed.”

“I like you, Chief,” said Johnny. “You may be a cop and I may be a crook but that doesn’t mean I can’t like you, right?”

“And I like you,” said Uncle Alec. “So, um…”

“What’s going on with Marge?” asked Johnny, darting anxious glances at the little room, where the sounds of an arguing couple could be heard now.

“Oh, they’re going through a rough patch,” said Uncle Alec. “Chase saw Marge in Randy’s arms the other night, and Tex found out and now he wants to divorce her. But then Marge came back and told him she wants to divorce him for neglecting her needs all these years. So I guess things aren’t looking too good for them at the moment.”

They all turned to the little room, and Johnny said, “But that’s not good, Chief.”

“No,” said Uncle Alec. “But what can you do?”

“I should never have said anything,” said Chase. “I should have simply kept my trap shut. And this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Oh, it would have happened,” said Gran. “Didn’t you hear what Tex said? He caught Marge having a romantic candlelight dinner with Randy. So something was definitely going on between those two.”

“But… Randy is not a good match for Marge,” said Johnny. “No, he’s not,” he insisted when Jerry placed a hand on his arm. “I’m going to fix this,” he said decidedly, and before anyone could stop him, he had stalked up to that little room and disappeared inside.

And because cats will be cats, all of us joined him for this showdown, and even the dogs couldn’t stay away for once.

“But, Marge, what do you expect me to say?” Tex was saying.

“There’s nothing you can say, Tex. Nothing at all,” said Marge sadly.

It all reminded me of one of those Hollywood divorce dramas, invariably featuring Meryl Streep. It was all very sad, and I could already see a tear glisten in Dooley’s eye.

“Marge, you can’t do this!” said Johnny, entering the scene like a bull in a China shop. “You love Tex and he loves you. You have to work things out!”

“Too late, Johnny,” said Tex. “Marge has been having an affair with Randy Hancock behind my back. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive her.”

“I was not having an affair!”

“But you wanted to have an affair!”

“I wanted to feel that spark again, Tex—that feeling you get when you’re young and in love! That’s what I wanted!”

Suddenly Johnny lit his lighter. “Here’s a spark from me, Marge. Is that okay?”

Marge smiled at the big oaf. “That’s very sweet of you, Johnny, but it’s not exactly what I was talking about. It’s just that… Sometimes I feel Tex takes me for granted. That he doesn’t really appreciate me. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“I’m sorry, Marge,” said Tex. “I’m sorry for taking you for granted. I know how lucky I am that you’re in my life—and I know that the best day of my life is every day I get to spend with you. And it all started the day you said yes, and it still amazes me.”

“It does?”

“Of course it does.”

“Look, I wasn’t having an affair, honey. I just… was attracted to the idea of feeling in love again, I guess. Though clearly Randy isn’t the man I thought he was.”

“Clearly,” said Tex.

“Just take her hand, Tex,” said Johnny. “And apologize.”

“I just did,” Tex pointed out.

“Oh, that’s right. So maybe you can apologize, Marge.”

“Why should I apologize?” said Marge.

“Cause in my experience you can never apologize enough,” said the big lug.

“He’s got a point,” said Lil Ran.

“Yeah, I think he’s right,” said Harriet, and turned to her mate. “I want to apologize to you, sweetie pie.”

“What for?” asked a surprised Brutus.

“I take you for granted, too, sometimes. And I want you to know how happy I am that you’re in my life.”

“Oh, sweet pea,” said Brutus. “I’m very happy that you’re in my life. And I want to apologize for being a jerk sometimes. And taking you for granted.”

“Max, why are they all making me cry!” said Dooley.

Yeah, I was starting to get a little misty-eyed myself, actually.

“Marge, I’m so sorry,” said Tex, taking his wife’s hands in his. “Let’s start our weekly date night tradition again. Bring back that spark.”

“I’d like that,” said Marge.

“Now hug her!” Johnny loud-whispered as he gave Tex a light nudge. And since he was such a strong fella, Tex was propelled into his wife’s arms, and then they were hugging it out—and there was even some kissing, too, at which point I placed my paw over Dooley’s eyes, which probably wasn’t even necessary, as he was crying buckets now, and couldn’t see a thing.

“Now all we need to do is stop Gran’s wedding,” said my friend.

“Gran’s wedding?” asked Brutus. “Is that still happening?”

“It is,” I said. “Which means Dooley will have to go and live with her and Wilbur.”

“No way!” said Brutus. “She can’t do that!”

In the doorway, Gran had appeared. “How many time do I have to tell you? I am not getting married! Not to Wilbur—not to anyone! And if you all don’t get out of here right now I won’t be responsible for the consequences when I get really and truly pissed off!”

And as we walked out of that little room, Johnny wiping away a tear, and Marge and Tex in a tight embrace, suddenly Odelia came thundering down the stairs, followed by Scarlett, and followed by a small police contingent.

“Hands where I can see them!” one of the cops shouted. “Release the prisoners!”

Luckily the prisoners had all been released, thanks to two crooks having had a change of heart and the joint effort of thousands of little turtles.

Thus ended another eventful episode—and Randy Hancock’s career.

And as we emerged from that basement into the store, and then out into the sunlight, we all watched in awe how all of those turtles slowly made their way along the street, led by Pinkie, heading for the ocean.

Our humans acted as traffic wardens, and stopped traffic to allow the turtles to make the big trek, and Brutus waved to Pinkie, who waved back and said, “Thanks for everything, Brutus.”

“You’re welcome, Pinkie!” Brutus yelled.

“You can always go and visit,” Dooley said as Brutus teared up at the departure of his tiny friend.

“She lives in the ocean, Dooley,” said Brutus. “I can’t go and visit.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I’m sure she’ll come back when she’s fully grown,” said Harriet, giving her mate a gentle head bump, “to pay you a visit.”

“I hope so,” said Brutus. “We became friends, being locked up down there in that basement.” He then swallowed and added, “Thanks for coming to save me, you guys. It means a lot.”

“Of course, Brutus,” I said. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Thanks, Max,” he sniffed.

Life in Hampton Cove came to a full stop for a moment, as Pinkie’s family moved through town, kindly assisted by Hampton Covians.

It was a sight for sore eyes, and when the final turtle had moved beyond the horizon, Odelia returned to give us a ride home.

Epilogue

We were all gathered in the backyard of Marge and Tex’s home, the latter manning the grill, this time with the assistance of Chase, thus ensuring that the meat we ate wasn’t charred beyond recognition and unfit for human or feline or canine consumption.

The number of people and pets was pretty impressive: the entire Poole family was present and accounted for, of course, and their respective love interests in the form of Chase and Charlene. Gran’s friend Scarlett was there, and the pet contingent was represented by Rufus, Fifi and Lil Ran, alongside us four cats on the porch.

“So are you looking forward to going home?” asked Harriet.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” said Lil Ran. He was still a little sad that his human had been arrested, and would spend a considerable time behind bars, since dogs love their humans, regardless of whether they’re on the straight and narrow or as crooked as a corkscrew.

“And you’re sure this housekeeper will take good care of you?” Harriet insisted. Like us, she’d come to like and appreciate the smart and sensitive Irish Setter.

“Oh, sure. In fact she was the one who mostly took care of me before, while Randy was either out and about for his career, or out and about partying and getting wasted. She was the one who took me on my daily walks, provided my food, and generally was my constant companion—or I hers, depending how you look at it.”

“But… I thought she was a criminal, too?” said Brutus. “Wasn’t she the one who drugged you and shot that video of her employer being ‘poisoned’ and sent all those messages to Randy’s phone?”

“She did, but only because Randy convinced her it was the only way for him to stay out of trouble with the men he’d borrowed so much money from. She had no idea what he was really up to. She’s basically a good person, and did it out of loyalty.”

“I’ll miss you, Lil Ran,” said Fifi. “Dog choir won’t be the same without you.”

“What are you talking about? I still live in town, Fifi. I’ll still attend dog choir.”

The Yorkie’s face lit up. “You will? That’s the best news I’ve heard all week!”

“I think the best news I’ve heard all week is that Gran and Wilbur aren’t getting married and I can keep on living here,” said Dooley, snacking, like the rest of us, on some prime burger patties, courtesy of Chase Kingsley, who’d managed to keep his future father-in-law from ruining our meal—a heroic and much-appreciated effort.

“And I’m glad Marge isn’t going to marry Randy,” said Brutus. “I like Tex. He may not be the perfect husband, but he’s a damn sight better than Randy—no offense, Lil Ran.”

“None taken,” said the large canine. “You’re right. Randy will have to make a big effort to make amends. What he did to this family is terrible, and I’m glad he’s gone.”

He still looked a little sad when he said this, and I could understand why. If Odelia suddenly snapped and went nuts, I’d still love her, even if she had to go away for a while and become a ward of the state’s penitentiary system. I didn’t think that would happen any time soon, though.

She came walking over to us now, to dole out some more goodies. “So how are you holding up, Brutus?” she asked, giving the butch black cat a stroke of the fur. “Not missing your little turtle buddy too much?”

“It’s all right,” said Brutus. “I know Pinkie is happier where she is now, and that makes me happy, too. And maybe one day she’ll pay me a visit—when she’s bigger and stronger.”

“Let’s hope she does,” said Odelia with a smile.

And as we sat there, gazing out across the backyard, with our humans chattering and enjoying themselves, I once again realized how lucky we all were with the Pooles—and our friends. And how nice it was that we all got along so well. Cats and dogs. Cats and humans. Humans and dogs…

“Of course cat choir is superior, you silly mutt,” said Harriet with a laugh. “Dogs can’t sing, everybody knows that.”

“I beg to differ,” said Rufus. “I think dogs can sing much better than cats. At least when we sing humans sit up and listen, whereas when you guys sing, they start rooting around their closets for any old shoe they can throw.”

“That’s not true—you take that back, dog!”

“I can’t take back the truth, Harriet.”

“Guys, guys,” said Odelia, trying to interfene. “Let’s keep it civilized, okay?”

“But he insulted me!” said Harriet.

“Only after she insulted me!” said Rufus.

“So you decide, Odelia: who are the better singers: cats or dogs?”

“I’m not going to say,” said Odelia, getting up. “I’m not going to get drawn into this argument.”

“But you have to have an opinion, right? Just tell us!”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Cats,” said Gran, wandering over, carrying her plate. “Cats are the better singers. Of course they are. They’re much more melodious.”

“Oh, you silly woman,” said Fifi.

“What did she say?” asked Gran with a frown.

“She called you a silly woman,” Harriet eagerly translated.

“You stupid mutt!” said Gran.

“Hey, that’s my dog!” Kurt Mayfield yelled over the fence. “Are you seriously calling my dog names, you silly old bag?”

“Who are you calling an old bag, you old coot!”

“Humans are the better singers,” said Odelia. “There. I said it. That’s my opinion. Take it or leave it.”

“Odelia! How can you say that!” said Harriet.

Okay, so maybe we don’t always get along—cats and dogs and humans, but at least we all love each other, right?

“I hate you!” Gran yelled, shaking her fist at our neighbor.

“Not as much as I hate you!” Kurt yelled back.

Okay, well, at least we don’t get physical when we don’t get along.

“Ouch!” said Gran when a nut hit her against the side of the head. “Are you really throwing my own nuts at me now?”

“A nut for a nut!” said Kurt, and threw another one and missed.

“What are you doing in my backyard, Kurt?” said Odelia, taking her grandmother’s side. “Get back to your own backyard.”

“I’m only looking out for my dog, since you kidnapped her!” said our neighbor.

“She came here of her own volition!” Gran screamed, and picked up one of Tex’s lesser experiments and threw it at Kurt’s head. It was a patty that had been cooked to the consistency of a rock, and hit the man in the face with a dull thunk.

“Max?” said Dooley as we now watched nuts and burger patties flying back and forth as the fight turned hostile.

“Yes, Dooley?”

“I think maybe it’s time to get out of here, before we become collective damage.”

“Collateral damage,” I corrected him, but agreed wholeheartedly with his assessment. And so we quickly skedaddled.

“Who do you think are the better singers, Max?” he asked as we walked into the house through the pet flap and took a seat on the couch. “Dogs or cats or humans?”

“I think they all have their merits, Dooley.”

“Very diplomatic of you, Max.”

“I mean it. And if we all sing together, I think we can create a beautiful harmony.”

He smiled. “You’re very smart, Max.”

“I don’t know about that, Dooley, but I do like a nice piece of music.”

And as we listened to the shouts and screams going on outside, we shared a grin.

“Not that kind of music!” my friend laughed.

He punched a button on the remote and the TV switched on. One of Randy Hancock’s old fitness shows was on, and after watching for a while, Dooley changed the channel. And as a cat food commercial started playing, we both settled in for the duration.

I hadn’t lied when I told Dooley I like all voices: dogs, cats, birds, bees, humans, dolphins, whales… turtles. We all have our own unique voice—and all of them precious. And when one voice falls away, it detracts from the harmony of the concert of life.

Or, um, something.

Hey, I’m just a cat—not a philosopher!

Purrfect Setup

The Mysteries of Max - Book 30

Chapter 1

Odelia Poole had just entered the gym changing room after a satisfying marathon session on the stationary bike when a young woman, a teenager really, called out her name.

“Odelia? Odelia Poole?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re the reporter, right? The one who also works as a private detective?”

Odelia smiled. “Reporter will do. I’m not much of a detective, except by accident.”

“There’s something I need to ask, Miss Poole,” said the teenager, and glanced behind her, as if to ascertain whether they weren’t being overheard. She was probably around eighteen, maybe even younger, with fair hair and a light complexion. Her eyes were large and blue as she gave Odelia a searching look.

“What’s your name?” asked Odelia, who could sense that the girl was in some kind of trouble.

“Rose,” said the girl. “Rose Wimmer.”

“How can I help you, Rose?”

“I’ve been getting these messages, Miss Poole,” said Rose, taking out her phone.

“Odelia, please. What messages?”

Rose held up her phone and swiped it to life. “I have no idea who’s sending them but they’re very annoying. My boyfriend saw them and he says I should go to the police. But I really don’t want to get them involved.” She shook her head. “This is so embarrassing.”

Odelia, whose curiosity was now well and truly piqued, said, “Can you show me the messages?”

“Here’s one,” said Rose, and held out her phone for Odelia to see. “This is the one I got just now. They were sent to my Messenger. I was doing the Pilates class and I heard my phone buzz and I knew it was him. Don’t ask me how but I just knew.”

Odelia stared at the message. It took her but a short moment to realize what it was she was looking at. “Is this…” she began.

Rose nodded and bit her bottom lip nervously. “I’ve been getting at least one a day. It’s horrible.”

The picture showed a man’s undercarriage in all its dubious glory. “Um…” said Odelia, unsure of how to respond. “So who are they from?”

“That’s the thing. I have absolutely no idea. At first I thought Cole was sending them–that’s my boyfriend—Cole Donalds. But he swears up and down it’s not him.” Rose shook her head. “It must be some jerk I know from school. Has to be.”

“Can’t you block this person?”

“I did! Blocked and reported. He just creates a new account and starts sending again.”

“There’s no name? No other messages?”

“No, nothing. It’s disgusting, isn’t it?”

“Pretty gross,” Odelia agreed, who’d never been on the receiving end of these kinds of obscene messages herself, thank God.

Rose raised her eyes to Odelia’s. Her expression had taken on a pleading aspect. “Can you please find out who’s sending these, Miss Poole—Odelia? Please? I have to know.”

“I think I have to agree with your boyfriend, Rose. I think it’s best if you take these to the police. If you file a complaint they can trace these back to the person who sent them.”

“No police,” said Rose with a note of finality in her voice. “I’ve never been involved with the police and I don’t want to start now.” She clasped her hands together. “Oh, please help me, Odelia. I’ve heard so many good things about you. How you’re an ace detective and how you can solve a mystery even when the police are completely stuck?”

That pleading look was affecting Odelia deeply. And even though she had no idea how to help Rose, she found her resolve weakening under the onslaught of the teenager’s insistence. “Oh, all right,” she said finally. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” said Rose, and promptly slung her arms around Odelia’s sweaty neck and gave her a bone-crushing hug. When she released her, the young girl’s eyes were sparkling. “Cole thinks I’m cheating on him, you see. He thinks I have another boyfriend and it’s him that’s been sending me these messages. If I can just prove to him that it’s just some weird creep…”

Just then, Jared Zmuda stuck his head in. The gym owner was dressed in his usual attire: Iron Man tank top and fluorescent shorts. “Just to let you girls know we’ve been having some issues with the plumbing,” he said. “So if you want to take a hot shower, better do it now, before the plumber gets here.” He gave them both a toothy grin and then retreated again.

“We better take that shower,” said Odelia as she opened her locker and took out her gym bag.

“So how do you want to do this?” asked the girl. “Do you need my phone or do I forward you these messages?”

“I think you better give me your phone so I can take a closer look,” said Odelia.

Rose handed her the phone with obvious reluctance. As was the way with many people, especially teenagers, obviously the girl’s world revolved around that small device.

“I’ll give it back to you as soon as I can,” Odelia promised.

“But how will you reach me?”

“Do you have a second phone? Or a regular home phone?”

The girl nodded, and gave Odelia her home address, phone number and the number of her boyfriend. “Best to call Cole, though. I don’t want my dad to know about this, or Daphne.”

“Who’s Daphne?”

Rose grimaced. “My stepmom. We don’t exactly get along. Not that I get along with my dad either. He’s a banker and obsessed with his job. But not too obsessed that he’s not always on my case.” She sighed an exaggerated sigh. “He doesn’t like Cole, you see. Thinks he’s not right for me.”

Jared stuck his head in the door again. “Final warning,” he said. “ETA on the plumber is ten minutes. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And he gave the doorjamb a pat before retracting his head again.

Odelia placed Rose’s phone in her gym bag. The girl had opened her locker but hesitated then turned to face Odelia. “How… how much is your fee, Odelia? It’s just that… my dad may be loaded, but he’s really stingy. I do work weekends at Denny’s, and—”

“No fee,” Odelia cut into the girl’s explanations about her impecuniousness.

“Oh, but you have to let me pay you.”

“Look, I wouldn’t want to receive these kinds of horrible pictures myself, nor do I think anyone should send them to someone as young as you. So frankly I want to catch the bastard as badly as you do.” She smiled. “In short: I’ll be happy do this for free.”

Rose’s smile lit up her face and warmed Odelia’s heart. “Thank you,” she said, and clasped the reporter’s hands. “I knew you were the right person to ask. I just knew it.”

Chapter 2

“Max?”

“Mh?”

“What is a dick pic?”

I’d just been taking a liberal swig of water from my water bowl when Dooley hit me with this frankly shocking question. As a consequence I almost choked on my intake of my usual H2O and slowly turned to my friend, who was looking at me with that innocent look in his eyes which is so typical for him.

But before I could formulate a response, he went on, “I mean, I know it’s a picture of a man named Dick, but we don’t know any men named Dick, do we? So why is Odelia showing his picture to Chase right now, and why are they whispering?”

I glanced over to where our humans were conducting a whispered conversation at the kitchen counter, both intently looking down at something positioned on the counter.

Harriet, who’d overheard the conversation, gave me a cheeky wink. “Yes, Max, please tell us what picture of Dick Odelia and Chase are studying. Inquiring minds want to know.”

Harriet had until now been licking her precious white fur, but Dooley’s question clearly held enough intrigue to make her halt this favored pastime. Her green eyes were sparkling with mischievous mirth, and I gave her a hopeless look.

“I think you’re absolutely right, Dooley,” I said. “A dick pic is obviously a picture of a man named Dick, and if I’d hazard a guess this Dick person is probably someone related to either Odelia’s job or Chase’s.”

Dooley nodded sagely. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “I heard Chase use a curse word, Max, when Odelia showed him this Dick person’s picture, so Dick must be a man who did a very bad thing.”

“A very bad thing indeed,” said Harriet with a slight grin, and without further ado resumed her interrupted grooming session.

Her boyfriend Brutus, the fourth member of Odelia’s feline household, now came tripping up through the pet flap. Brutus is a butch black cat, and now looked slightly bored when he joined us. “Gran is watching Jeopardy again,” he announced. “And she’s yelling out all the questions. Much to Tex’s annoyance.”

Now that Dooley’s curiosity was satisfied, at least temporarily, it was time to satisfy mine. And as I directed a curious glance at my humans, still in whispered conference, I decided to hop up onto one of the kitchen stools and find out what they were up to.

The moment I did, the whispered conversation abruptly halted, and two pairs of human eyes quickly swiveled to the intruder in their midst: me.

“What do you want, Max?” asked Odelia, a little curtly I thought.

“Dooley says that you received a dick pic, and he wants to know all about it,” I said.

“Oh, dear,” said Odelia with an expressive eye roll. “I should have known not to bring Rose’s phone home.”

“Who’s Rose?” I asked.

“Rose is a girl I met at the gym,” she said. “And she’s been receiving these very offensive pictures… of a man’s undercarriage. She neither asked for these pictures to be sent to her, nor does she enjoy the experience of receiving them.”

“Who does?” Chase muttered. The lanky cop was staring intently at something on a smartphone that didn’t belong either to him or to Odelia. I could tell from the pictures of flowers pasted on the pink phone cover and the glitter with which it had been encrusted.

“And now Rose wants me to find out who’s been sending her these pictures,” Odelia went on. “She thinks it’s probably some kid at her school.”

“If I get my hands on the little jerk,” Chase grumbled as he flexed and unflexed a fist.

“So… have you found out?” I asked, darting a glance in the direction of the phone in question. But Chase was carefully shielding it from view, and probably that was a good thing, too. Frankly I’d never witnessed a human male’s undercarriage up close and personal and I honestly liked to keep it that way. Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.

“It’s not so easy,” said Odelia, as she took what was left of the pepperoni pizza she and Chase had enjoyed and deposited it into her mouth.

“Well, it is easy,” said Chase, “but it’s not something you or I can accomplish. But if I take this phone into the station tomorrow, and hand it over to one of our techies—”

“No way,” said Odelia. “I promised Rose I wouldn’t involve the police, and I intend to keep my promise.”

“She doesn’t have to know I took it,” Chase argued. “Heck, your uncle doesn’t even have to know.”

“You would keep this from my uncle?” asked Odelia with an amused look at her boyfriend.

“If all Rose wants is to know who’s sending her these pictures, and she doesn’t want to file a complaint or to press charges, I see no reason for Alec to get involved,” said Chase, referring to Alec Lip, Hampton Cove’s chief of police and also Odelia’s uncle.

“Mh,” said Odelia, considering this. “And you’re sure you’ll be able to find out?”

“Absolutely,” said Chase. “These guys are incredible. You hand them this phone and they’ll pinpoint the source of this creep’s nasty messages in a heartbeat.”

Odelia thought for a moment, then finally sighed. “It’s not as if I’ll ever be able to find out this guy’s identity. And the longer I stare at these pictures…” She shivered visibly. “I just wish I’d never laid eyes on them.”

Chase, in the heat of his argument, had placed the phone down on the counter, and I got my first good look at the object under discussion, namely Dick’s picture. I blinked as I stared at the thing. It was… a little disconcerting to be honest. And just then Dooley joined us on the only stool left, and immediately got an eyeful of Rose’s phone.

He frowned as he took in the picture in its full splendor. “Is that a sausage?” he asked.

Odelia, who suddenly noticed both her cats were intently staring down at the offensive image, quickly snatched the phone and turned it upside down. “Please tell me you didn’t see that,” she said with a groan.

“I saw a sausage,” Dooley announced.

Odelia smiled with relief. “And that’s exactly what it was, Dooley. A sausage.”

“So Dick sent your friend a picture of a sausage?” asked my friend.

Odelia swallowed. “Yep. That’s exactly what he did. Which is why we call him… Dick the Sausage.”

“So is this a game or something? For the newspaper?”

“Absolutely,” said Odelia, whose face was glowing crimson now as she tried her hardest to contain a peal of laughter bubbling to the surface. “Find the sausage. A new game Dan invented.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, and promptly lost all interest. After all, we all know humans are a strange breed, sending pictures of sausages to unsuspecting people. And as Chase pocketed the girl Rose’s phone, I decided to put the entire matter out of my mind.

It was much harder than I thought. The picture of this particular sausage was one of those things that once seen, it’s impossible to unsee, and I now truly wished I’d never hopped up onto that stool and stuck my nose in.

Chapter 3

I’d been dozing peacefully, not even a hint of sausages in my dreams I can proudly say, when suddenly Odelia’s phone started belting out its usual tone indicating someone wanted to have speech with her.

This is one of the disadvantages of being a reporter: anyone can call you up in the middle of the night with some important piece of information to impart. The same goes for Chase, of course. Since criminals rarely have the decency to commit their crimes during waking hours and instead like to do so under the cloak of darkness, it frequently happens that he’s called out of bed at some ungodly hour to investigate some crime.

“Is that Odelia’s phone?” asked Dooley who, like me, had been peacefully sleeping at the foot of our humans’ bed.

“I think so,” I said.

“Maybe she won the competition,” he said. And when I stared at him, he added, “The sausage competition? Maybe she won first prize.”

“Oh, right,” I said.

Odelia had already picked her phone from the nightstand where it had been blaring away and pressed it to her ear. With a muffled, sleepy voice she said, “Odelia Poole speaking.”

Chase was stirring, and Dooley and I were staring, and when suddenly Odelia sat bolt upright in bed, the cop flicked on the light and I could see that my human’s eyes were wide and her face wore an expression of profound shock. “I’ll be there right away,” she spoke into the phone, her voice suddenly a lot more crisp and snappy. “Have you called the police?” She glanced over to Chase, who was frowning and mouthing, ‘What’s going on?’ “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell them to hurry. Yes, just sit tight, Rose, and whatever you do—don’t touch anything, you understand? Bye.” She disconnected and turned to Chase, dragging a careworn hand through her tousled mane of fair hair. “That was Rose Wimmer. Her dad died. She just found him sitting at his desk—dead. Looks like suicide.”

“Oh, my God,” said Chase.

And then suddenly both of them sprang into action. Like the well-oiled sleuthing team that they were, they swung their feet from underneath the covers, and moments later were getting dressed.

“Do you want us to tag along?” I asked.

“Sure,” said Odelia. “Let’s go.”

And then we were on our way, hurrying down the stairs, and out to Chase’s squad car. And before long we were racing along deserted streets, Chase keeping up a good pace.

“Do you think this has something to do with Dick’s sausage?” asked Dooley.

“I don’t think so, Dooley,” I said.

“Because it was the girl Rose’s phone that picture was on, right?”

I hadn’t thought that far. It was indeed the same girl whose phone had been inundated with obscene photographs whose dad now apparently had taken his own life. Somehow I doubted whether there was a connection between these two phenomena, though. Then again, you never know.

It only took Chase ten minutes to arrive at the house where Odelia’s friend lived. It was a nice big mansion, located in one of the leafy suburbs our small town boasts. And when we drove up to the front door, Chase parking his car in the paved courtyard, a young girl came hurrying out. Her face was teary, and she looked visibly distraught.

“Oh, Odelia,” she sobbed, and Odelia quickly enveloped her in a comforting embrace.

Chase, meanwhile, wasted no time entering the house. In the distance an ambulance siren could be heard, the one Odelia had called the moment we’d stepped in the car and set off on our nocturnal journey across town.

Dooley and I joined the cop and traced him through several well-lit rooms until finally we arrived in what was obviously Rose’s dad’s home office. Slumped in his chair behind a desk sat a large man, his chin resting on his chest. A desk lamp cast its light on his face, which had an eerie grayish tinge. His eyes were closed, and he looked peaceful. Too peaceful.

“Is he dead?” asked Dooley.

“I think so,” I said as we watched Chase carefully pressing his finger into the man’s neck.

“He looks like he’s sleeping,” Dooley said.

But Chase shook his head. “He’s dead, all right,” he murmured as his experienced cop eyes started taking in the scene.

“Poor man,” said Dooley. “He probably worked too hard. Working too hard will kill you.”

Odelia had entered the room, and joined her boyfriend in examining the banker’s office.

“There’s a note,” said Chase, drawing Odelia’s attention to a document on the desk.

Odelia leaned in, careful not to touch anything, and quickly scanned the document.

“What does it say?” I asked.

“It’s a suicide note,” said Odelia. “He says he’s sorry but that he can’t go on living like this. That he made a mess of things etcetera etcetera.”

“Poor guy,” I said. “Looks like you were right, Dooley. He worked too hard and couldn’t take the strain anymore.”

Just then, Rose came streaking into the room, still looking highly distraught. “The ambulance is here. Do you think they’ll be able to save him?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Odelia softly. She walked over to the girl, who stood staring at the inert figure of her dad with a strained expression on her face. Odelia placed her hands on the girl’s arms and said, “I’m afraid he’s gone, Rose. Your father is gone.”

She nodded, and tears slid down her cheeks. “Did you read the note?”

“I did,” said Odelia.

“I don’t believe it,” said Rose. “He would never do that to me—never.”

“I know,” said Odelia, and hugged the girl close again.

But Rose shook off Odelia’s embrace and said, with emphasis, “I mean it. Daddy would never kill himself. Never.” She then swept up two large tear-filled eyes to Odelia and said, emphatically, “He was murdered, Odelia. Murdered!”

Chapter 4

Odelia glanced around the office where Rose’s father had taken his own life. She could see nothing that would indicate murder. Next to the note the man had left stood an empty pill bottle.

“Sleeping tablets,” Chase said, following her gaze. Next to the pill bottle was a glass, also empty.

Odelia glanced up at Rose, who’d taken a seat in the corner of her dad’s office. “Does this house have an alarm system, Rose?”

“It does,” said Rose.

“Was it on?”

Rose nodded. “Daddy always made sure the alarm was on.”

“The front door? It was locked?”

“Yes. I know what you’re thinking. If the door was locked and the alarm was on, how can anyone have entered the house and murdered my dad. But I’m telling you that’s what must have happened. It just must have.”

“All right,” said Odelia. “We don’t have to talk about that now.” She crossed the room and joined the young woman just as Odelia’s uncle walked in, along with the coroner Abe Cornwall. “We better go and sit in the kitchen,” said Odelia as she escorted Rose out of the room. “So it’s just you and your dad, right? No one else in the house?”

They’d arrived in a large and well-appointed kitchen and Odelia opened the fridge to see if she could find something to heat up and give to the highly distraught Rose.

“Daphne is doing one of her party weekends,” said Rose, staring before her with unseeing eyes. “She left yesterday morning and is staying with a friend of hers—also an Avon lady.”

“Did you call her? To tell her what happened?”

Rose looked up at her with those big blue eyes. “No. You think I should?”

Odelia gave the girl a level look.

“Oh, all right, I’ll call her,” said Rose, and left the kitchen.

Odelia looked around. The kitchen was sparkling clean. Daphne definitely ran a tight ship. She opened the dishwasher and saw that a large blender beaker had been placed there, along with the other paraphernalia of smoothie-making delight. Everything had been washed. She looked up when Max and Dooley came padding into the kitchen.

“No pets,” Max announced. “Not even a goldfish. So no way of knowing what happened here tonight.”

“Poor girl,” said Odelia as she took a plate from the cupboard and started preparing a cheese sandwich for Rose. “Imagine walking in on your dad like that. Dead at his desk.”

“So did he commit suicide, you think?” asked Max as he idly walked the perimeter of the kitchen, clearly hoping against hope to find a bowl filled to the brim with kibble.

“It definitely looks that way,” she said. “Though I’m sure Abe will be able to tell us.”

“Rose seems to think her dad was murdered?”

“Murdered!” said Dooley.

“I’m sure that’s just her first emotions talking,” said Odelia. “She told me herself that the door was locked and the alarm switched on. Unless Chase or my uncle find traces of a break-in, it’s doubtful that the man was murdered.”

“It could be the sausage,” said Dooley knowingly.

“Sausage? What sausage?”

“The sausage on his daughter’s phone? Max told me all about how someone sent Rose a picture of that sausage and how Chase is going to find out who sent it.”

Max gave her an uneasy look. “I had to tell him. He kept asking me questions.”

“No, it’s all right. Dooley has a right to know.” She crouched down next to the small gray cat. “Look, I only told you that fib about the sausage competition so you wouldn’t worry, Dooley. But you’re right. Someone sent a picture of a sausage to Rose’s phone, and we need to find out who did it. But between you and me? That probably has nothing to do with her father’s death. Nothing whatsoever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Dooley. “I think when you examine Rose’s father you’ll find that a piece of sausage got stuck in his windpipe and that’s what killed him.”

Odelia grinned and gave her cat an affectionate pat on the head. “Sure, Dooley. You called it, buddy.”

“I did?” he said, blinking excitedly. He turned to his friend. “Max, I solved the case!”

“Well done, Dooley,” Max grunted, though he didn’t look entirely convinced.

Uncle Alec came waddling into the kitchen. The few remaining hairs on his head were standing in all directions, as if he’d stuck his fingers in a wall socket, and his shirt was buttoned up the wrong way, but otherwise he looked as keen and alert as ever.

“Terrible business,” he grumbled. “At least the girl still has her mom to take care of her.”

“Her stepmom,” Odelia corrected him. “Did you know Dino Wimmer?”

“Oh, sure. I didn’t bank with him but I met him a couple of times. Decent fellow. Runs the local branch of First Financial Crest over on Downing Street.” He shook his head. “Killing himself with his kid in the house—knowing she’d be the one to find him. What was he thinking?”

“Clearly he wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Tell him about the sausage, Odelia,” said Dooley. “Tell him to look in the man’s throat.”

Uncle Alec smiled as he listened to Dooley’s meows. He bent down to tickle the Ragamuffin under the chin. “What are you all worked about, little fella?” he said.

“He thinks Dino’s death was an accident. That he choked on a piece of sausage.”

Uncle Alec frowned. “Choked on a piece of sausage? That’s very specific. How does he figure that?”

Odelia smiled. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Rose walked in and took a seat at the kitchen table. “I called Daphne. She’s coming home immediately. She totally freaked out when I told her what happened.”

“Who’s Daphne?” asked Uncle Alec.

“My stepmom,” said Rose.

“Oh, right.”

“What’s going to happen now?” asked Rose. “Are you going to look for my dad’s killer?”

“Well…” said Uncle Alec, placing his hands on his voluminous belly and giving the young girl a slightly sheepish look.

“You don’t believe me, do you? I should have known.” She turned to Odelia. “You believe me, don’t you? You believe my dad would never take his own life.”

“Of course,” said Odelia. “Of course I believe you.”

“Then I’ll hire you. I’ll hire you to look for his killer.”

“Well, I don’t know if—”

“I’ll hire you right now. How much do you need? I’ve got savings. I’ve been working weekends at Denny’s for two years now, ever since I turned sixteen. I’ve got money.”

“Look, sweetie, I’m not a private detective. I’m a reporter. And right now the best thing would be for us to wait and see what the police investigation uncovers. I can assure you that my uncle and his team are very professional and dedicated to finding the truth of what happened here tonight.”

“No, they’re not,” said Rose, an edge to her voice. “I know they won’t look for the truth. They’ll say he killed himself and that’s it. I want you to find out who murdered him, Odelia. Just like you’re looking into those pictures.”

Uncle Alec looked up with a frown. “What pictures?”

“Some creep has been sending me pictures of his—”

“Private parts,” Odelia quickly cut in, glancing down at Dooley and Max. “And I promised I’d find out who.”

Uncle Alec shook his grizzled head. “The times we live in, huh?”

“Please, Odelia. I trust you,” said Rose. “You’ll find my dad’s killer, won’t you?”

Lucky for her, Odelia was saved from having to answer the young woman’s passionate but frankly impossible request by a platinum-haired woman of indefinite age storming into the kitchen.

“Rose, oh my God—Rose, honey, what happened?!”

And before Rose could stop her, the woman had grabbed hold of her and wrapped her into her arms.

“This,” said Rose with a smothered voice and a resigned look on her face, “is Daphne.”

Chapter 5

Rose had finally gone to bed. In the kitchen now sat Odelia, Chase, Uncle Alec and Daphne Wimmer. Daphne had supplied the small company with herbal tea, which everyone except Uncle Alec had gratefully accepted—he preferred his hot beverages a lot less healthy—and Daphne now recounted how her husband had been on a downward slope for quite some time.

In a corner of the kitchen two cats sat, having been supplied by a considerate hostess with enough slices of turkey to satisfy their immediate needs and then some.

They were both quietly happy, munching on their treats and listening to the humans discuss recent tragic events.

“I should have known it might come to this,” said Daphne, who was a woman with some heft, both in the physical sense and in the forcefulness of her personality. Odelia knew she was an Avon lady, and she could just picture her holding one of her sales parties, regaling her audience with great success on the many advantages of her wares.

“Your husband was depressed?” asked Chase.

Daphne nodded as she took a sip from her tea. “He’d been having trouble at work. Some financial dispute between him and his partner and co-manager, Romney Knight. I’m not sure what it was all about. He wouldn’t tell me. Said he didn’t want to burden me with company politics as he called it. But I could tell it was more than that. He was stressed and annoyed and hadn’t been able to sleep a decent night’s sleep for weeks.”

“Is that what those pills were for?” asked Uncle Alec. “We found an empty bottle of Zolpidem on his desk,” he explained.

Daphne closed her eyes. “I should never have allowed him to take those. But he said he couldn’t sleep without them.”

“You’re Dino’s second wife?” asked Chase.

“Yes. His first wife Trudy died eleven years ago. Cancer. I met Dino five years ago through one of my sales evenings.” She smiled. “Not that he was in the market for cosmetics or anything like that, but he wanted to surprise Rose and had no idea what to buy a teenage girl for her birthday, so his secretary had dragged him to an Avon party and that’s how we met. He bought half of my supply that night, and we got to talking about Rose, and how hard he found it to raise a daughter on his own. One thing led to another and two weeks later we were on our third date and he was introducing me to Rose. We got married a year later.”

“Do you and Rose get along?” asked Odelia.

“Like gangbusters,” said Daphne. “I divorced my first husband because he didn’t want kids, but then never found a partner to start a family with, and by the time I met Dino I was too old to have them and had already accepted that I’d never have a family.” She gave Odelia a level look. “I love Rose, Miss Poole. I consider her my own flesh and blood. Even though she was thirteen when I came into her life, and by all accounts thirteen is a difficult age for a girl to have a new mom foisted on her, we got along from the get-go. We simply decided to make it work—mainly for Dino’s sake, at first, because he wanted it so much, and then because we wanted it for ourselves, too.”

“Rose has a boyfriend,” said Odelia. “A boyfriend her dad wasn’t too crazy about.”

Daphne smiled. “Dino was very protective. So when Rose showed up one day with Cole in tow, he freaked out. Cole is a musician, you see. An artist. A wonderfully talented artist. But listening to Dino you would have thought she’d brought home some kind of terrible monster. True, Cole is a couple of years older than Rose, but as I pointed out to Dino it’s obvious that he loves and respects our daughter, and that’s what matters.”

“It’s just going to be you and Rose from now on,” said Odelia. “How do you feel about that?”

“I won’t lie to you, it’s going to be tough, but I think in the end we’re going to be fine.” She glanced down at the table, and a tear glistened on her cheek. “Oh, sweet, sweet Dino—why couldn’t he have talked to me before…” Her voice broke off, and soon Odelia found herself rubbing the woman’s back as she dissolved into sobs.

“I think they should get a pet,” said Dooley as we watched the sad scene.

“A pet isn’t going to replace Rose’s dad, or Daphne’s husband,” I pointed out.

“No, but it’s going to make them feel better,” said Dooley. “I’m not saying they should get a cat, though of course that would be the smart thing to do. They can get a dog, if that’s what they want. But they should definitely get a pet—either a cat or a dog.”

“I think it’s all very very sad,” I said with a sigh. “And all this could probably have been avoided if only this man Dino would have opened up to his wife. Why is it, Dooley, that men are such lousy communicators sometimes? Why is it that when they get in trouble they put on a brave face and suck it up?”

“Is this a rhetorical question, Max, or are you really asking me?”

“I’m really asking you, Dooley.”

“Well, I think it’s because the human male is flawed. Deeply flawed. I saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel about ants last week. Did you know that in an ant colony the most important ant is the queen? The males just run around building the colony and making sure the queen is comfortable and taken care of at all times. But humans seem to have everything backward. The human male seems to think he’s the number one—the star of the show. And that females are put on earth to serve him.”

“I’m sure not all males feel that way, Dooley,” I said, wondering if it wasn’t time to remove the Discovery Channel from Dooley’s viewing schedule.

But my friend wasn’t done yet. “So people like Dino Wimmer think they’re the star, and they act accordingly—heaping lots of pressure onto their shoulders. Until they collapse under the strain.” He shook his head. “Sad business, Max—extremely sad.”

“Well, at least no crime was committed,” I said as I placed my head on my front paws. Usually when Odelia has us come out on these outings it’s because some murder has been committed, and she relies on us to dig out precious clues and whatnot.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Max,” said Dooley. “Rose says her father was murdered, remember?”

“Yeah, but that’s just the emotion talking,” I pointed out. “I’m sure this was a suicide—plain and simple.”

“I still think it was the sausage that did it,” Dooley said.

I sighed and said, “Oh, Dooley.” And then I gobbled up another piece of turkey.

Chapter 6

The next morning Odelia arrived at the office bright and early. She’d already been outlining a piece about Dino Wimmer’s suicide to put up on the Gazette website when she walked in and was surprised to be greeted by a new face seated at the reception desk—a reception desk that hadn’t been occupied for God knows how long.

“Hi!” said the young woman, giving Odelia a cheery welcome. She was slim and trim and sported blue-rimmed glasses and generally looked like a secretary, not a reporter.

“Hi,” said Odelia. “I’m sorry but… who are you?”

“I’m Kimberly,” said the woman, and got up to shake Odelia’s hand. “And you must be Odelia. I’ve heard so much about you—couldn’t wait to meet you in person.”

“Oh, hey, Odelia,” said Dan Goory, joining them at the desk. “I see you’ve met Kimberly. Kimberly Moraga, this is Odelia Poole. Odelia, meet Kimberly Moraga, our new colleague.” The aged editor grinned behind his long white beard and said, “Step into my office a moment?”

So Odelia stepped into her editor’s office, wondering why he hadn’t told her he was hiring a receptionist, and took a seat in front of his desk.

“Look, if you needed a receptionist I could have done the job for you,” she said. “I mean, it’s not as if we get a lot of visitors, and it would have saved you money.”

“I didn’t hire Kimberly as a receptionist, Odelia,” said Dan as he turned this way and that in his swivel chair. “I hired her as a reporter.”

“A reporter? But…”

“I know, I know,” said Dan, holding up his hands in an appeasing gesture. “I said I wasn’t going to expand. I was going to slowly ease myself into early retirement so you could take over. Well, the thing is, Odelia, that I’ve finally seen the flaw in my reasoning.”

“The flaw?”

“Yes! Look at me!”

She looked at him and blinked.

“I’m not old, am I?”

“Um…”

“I’m only sixty-nine, Odelia. People live to be a hundred these days. And live well! Doctors, it’s amazing what they can do. I take my vitamins. I eat my vegetables. I can do this for at least another twenty or thirty years. So instead of winding down, I’m expanding!”

“Expanding,” she said, as she wondered if the man had lost his mind.

“Exactly! I’m going to distribute the Gazette all along the coast. I’m going to rename it the Hamptons Gazette. I’m going to hire more reporters, and correspondents, and salespeople, and I’m not going to stop until we’re the number-one selling paper on the South Shore!”

“Oh-kay,” she said cautiously. Yep, definitely gone completely bananas.

“So Kimberly is my first hire—straight out of journalism school, I might add. A bright and clever young lady with a promising future ahead of her. And she’s just the first of many, many more. Oh, and we’re moving into a new office.”

“A new office!” she cried.

“Yes! You know that new office tower they’re planning to build behind Town Hall?”

“Corinthian Tower?”

“That’s the one. We’re going to occupy an entire floor.” He rubbed his hands. “Oh, Odelia, I feel so energized I could jump for joy! Can you feel it?”

She could feel it, all right. Madness. “What?”

He took a deep breath, a big smile creasing his face, his beard waggling excitedly. “It’s a new era rolling in, baby. The Era of Dan!”

Odelia staggered out of the editor’s office, not exactly feeling energized as much as sandbagged. Before she could reach her own office—which soon wouldn’t be her office anymore—she was waylaid by the still chipper-looking Kimberly. The woman grabbed her hand and pumped it energetically

“Can I just say it’s an honor, Odelia?” said Kimberly. “A tremendous honor to be working alongside a reporter of your stature.”

“Uh-huh,” said Odelia, who didn’t exactly know what to say to that. “Thanks, Kimberly.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to learn a ton from watching you in action,” said Kimberly with a slightly frantic gleam in her eye. “Oh, and if you need anything, just holler. Anything for the great Odelia Poole!”

“Sure thing,” said Odelia, awarding the overly excited junior reporter a strained smile.

As soon as she was alone, she let herself drop down into her chair and wondered what her role in the future Hamptons Gazette would look like. Not that she begrudged Dan another twenty or thirty years of productive activity, but if he was going to fill up the office with an army of new recruits, what was her professional life going to be like from now on? Would she still be able to come and go as she pleased? Or would she get an ID swipe card or have to punch a clock from now on in this new ‘Era of Dan’?

And as she booted up her computer, she didn’t even look up when someone strode into her office and took a seat in the chair across from her desk.

“Just leave it there, Kimberly,” she said, assuming the hyper-active and no doubt hyper-efficient new colleague had decided to bring the great Odelia Poole a cup of coffee.

“Leave what there?” asked a familiar voice. And when she looked up, she saw it wasn’t Kimberly seated at her desk, but Rose Wimmer.

“Rose!” she said. “How are you?”

The young woman shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Under the circumstances. I dropped by to pick up my phone.”

Odelia made a face. “Um, I don’t have it with me at the moment, but if you could come back later this after—”

“Forget about the phone,” said Rose, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Did you think about my proposal from last night?”

“What proposal?” said Odelia with a frown of confusion.

“The job! I want to hire you to find my dad’s killer, remember?”

“Oh, that,” she said, sitting back as she studied the young woman’s eager face.

“Don’t tell me you won’t take my case, Odelia,” said Rose. “I know for a fact that my father didn’t kill himself, and I’m also sure that if you take a closer look you’ll absolutely agree with me that he wasn’t the kind of man to commit suicide. He just wasn’t!”

“Okay, all right,” said Odelia. “Look, the thing is—the police are still investigating. And if they decide that your dad’s death was suicide, I don’t see what I can do to dispute it.”

“But he didn’t do it, I’m telling you!”

“What makes you so sure? Apart from the fact that he was your father and you obviously loved him very much and you simply can’t wrap you head around the fact that he did what he did.”

Rose stared at her for a moment, a little taken aback, then said, “Just look into what happened, all right? That’s all I’m asking. Just take a closer look.” She abruptly got up. “Have you found out who sent me those horrible pictures?”

“Not yet,” said Odelia, who keenly felt she was letting Rose down. That couldn’t be helped, though. She wasn’t going to investigate a murder that had never taken place.

Suddenly Rose dumped several rolls of cash on the desk. They were held together with multi-colored elastic bands. “This is all I have,” she said. “My entire savings. Do you think it’s enough?”

Odelia shook her head as she picked up the money and handed it back to the girl. “It’s not about the money, Rose. I just don’t think—”

“Keep it, all right?” said Rose, suddenly sounding desperate. “Just… keep it.” And she turned to leave. Before she walked out, though, she turned and said, “He didn’t do it, Odelia. He just didn’t.”

And then she was gone.

Chapter 7

As Odelia left the office, she didn’t notice that someone was watching her closely. The moment Odelia slammed the door behind her, Kimberly emerged from the shadows in the corridor that housed the offices of both Odelia, the Gazette’s star reporter, and Dan, its editor. The junior reporter was frowning before herself. She hesitated for a moment, then entered the office of the wizened editor.

Dan looked up. He’d been chuckling to himself and now said, “I keep forgetting what a great writer I am. This latest editorial is a real pippin. Did you read it?”

“Yes, I did. It’s great,” said Kimberly, quickly plastering an ingratiating smile onto her face. “You know, I couldn’t help but overhear Odelia talking to this girl just now.”

“Girl? What girl?”

“Rose something. She was asking Odelia to investigate her father’s murder.”

“Rose Wimmer? Her father wasn’t murdered. He committed suicide last night.”

“Well, his daughter seems to think he was murdered. And she asked Odelia to investigate the murder. Offered her money and everything.”

“Well, that’s her prerogative, I guess,” said Dan with a shrug. “Odelia has been known to dabble in some amateur sleuthing from time to time. Guess the apple doesn’t fall from the tree. You do know her uncle is—”

“Chief of police. Yes, I know.” She grimaced. “It’s just that…”

The editor eyed her keenly. “Spit it out, young lady. I can see you’ve got something on your chest. What is it?”

“Well, isn’t all this amateur sleuthing as you call it bound to interfere with Odelia’s work for the paper? I mean, I don’t want to pry or anything, but she just left, presumably to investigate this murder business.”

Dan smiled. “I guess they teach you at journalism school that being a reporter is like being a regular employee, right? Put in your eight hours? Well let me tell you right now, honey, that that isn’t the case. If a story develops and requires you to hunt down some witness or lead, you will have to go above and beyond for the sake of your story.”

“But Odelia—”

“Just let Odelia be. She knows what she’s doing. Now did you arrange that interview with Mayor Butterwick for me?”

“Yes, I did, Mr. Goory,” said Kimberly, sobered by this rebuke.

“Dan, please,” said Dan. “Well, don’t let me keep you,” he added, a clear sign that the meeting was over.

“Thank you, Dan,” she said, and returned to her desk. She sat there for a moment, thinking things through, then got up again, and surreptitiously moved past Dan’s office—the editor was reading his own work again, judging from his fruity chuckle, and didn’t notice her—and quickly moved into Odelia’s office.

She sat down behind the reporter’s desk, opened her laptop, and started to read.

It was one of those lazy days where nothing much seems to happen, and Dooley and I were walking along the sidewalk, with no particular destination in mind, when we saw Odelia come stepping out of her office and hurrying off in the direction of Town Hall.

“Must be tough to be a reporter,” said Dooley, who’d observed the same phenomenon. “Always chasing some story or following up some lead. Stressful.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. Oftentimes Odelia will be working on a case and insisting Dooley and I tag along, but since she didn’t have a case to work on right now, we were off the hook and I didn’t mind one bit, I have to admit.

“It’s not good for her blood pressure, you know,” said Dooley. “Or her general wellbeing.”

“She’s fine,” I assured my friend. “Odelia is young and in great shape, thanks to all those workout sessions she puts in at the gym.”

“Still,” said Dooley.

“Still,” I agreed.

“It would probably be better for her health if she’d quit that stressful job and found some other, more relaxing job.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Zookeeper,” Dooley said immediately. “It’s very relaxing, spending all your time surrounded by animals. You feed the lion, then you clean out the lion’s cage, then you feed the elephant, you clean out the elephant’s cage. All that repetition is soothing.”

“Entering a lion’s cage doesn’t sound like a very soothing thing to do,” I said. “It sounds really dangerous. And therefore stressful.”

“Oh, no. These zookeepers are professionals,” said Dooley, who’d clearly been watching another Discovery Channel documentary. “They know how to handle these animals. And since Odelia is already familiar with handling her pets, I think she’d be perfect for the job.”

“You better tell her that,” I suggested with a slight grin. “In fact you better tell her tonight. She could apply as a zookeeper tomorrow, and leave the stress and strife of being a small-town reporter and writing articles on pumpkin patch hayrides behind.”

Dooley’s face lit up with a smile. “I will, Max. Thanks. I thought you’d be skeptical.”

“Oh, I’m not. And I’m sure Odelia will be thrilled.”

Just then, an old lady was trying to cross the road, but couldn’t because cars kept zooming past her at a high rate of speed, ignoring her feeble attempts to attract their attention and let her pass.

“Will you look at that,” I said, shaking my head. But I was speaking to thin air, as my friend had suddenly skedaddled. Skedaddled in the direction of the old lady. He was meowing loudly, and as she looked down, suddenly Dooley started to cross the street, putting himself in harm’s way before I could stop him!

“Dooley!” I cried. “Dooley, no!”

Car drivers, as a rule, pay little to no attention to certain other occupants of the road, such as there are: children, old ladies, cyclists, pets… In fact anyone who isn’t driving a car. So when Dooley started crossing the road, instead of halting their progress they simply kept on driving. And as I watched, a large truck came rumbling down the road.

“Dooley!” I screamed as the truck made no attempt to stop.

Dooley was holding up one paw, like a traffic cop. Unfortunately he’s so small and that truck was so big he simply didn’t stand a chance.

I closed my eyes as the truck simply drove right over my bestest friend in all the world!

“You beast!” suddenly Dooley’s voice rang out, and when I opened my eyes again, I saw that he was shaking his fist at the truck who was now rumbling around the bend and soon disappeared out of sight. “You inconsiderate beast!” Dooley was saying.

“Dooley! I snapped. “Come back here now!”

Dooley came back here, and said, “He didn’t stop, Max. Did you see that? He didn’t stop!”

“Of course he didn’t stop. He probably didn’t even see you!”

“But how could he not see me? I was right there, motioning for him to stop!”

“What were you thinking!” I practically screamed. “You could have gotten yourself killed!”

And then I got it. Last night. The suicide. I’d once heard that suicides can be contagious. That when a celebrity dies, plenty of his or her fans jump off that same cliff, like lemmings—if lemmings jump off cliffs. I could be thinking of some other species. “Dooley, that man last night. He was very unhappy. That’s why he did what he did. You don’t have to do what he did.”

He was staring at me, confusion written all over his features. “What are you talking about, Max?”

“That banker from last night. Dino Wimmer. Please don’t jump off the same cliff, Dooley. Just because he did what he did, you don’t have to, see? You’re not him. You’re not a lemming!”

“I know I’m not a lemming, Max,” he said, giving me a curious look. “I’m a cat. And I was just trying to help that little old lady cross the road.”

Now it was my turn to stare at him in confusion. “Help her cross the road? But why?”

“Because I haven’t done my good deed of the day yet,” he explained. “Gran said that if I want to be a good cub scout I should do one good deed a day, like helping little old ladies cross the road. And when I saw this little old lady—where did she go?”

We both looked around, and indeed the little old lady was gone. And then I saw her: she’d safely reached the other shore and was now shuffling on to wherever she was heading.

“Please don’t ever do that again, Dooley,” I said. I held up my paw. “See this?”

“See what?”

“I’m shaking all over!”

“Why are you shaking, Max?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, no. Is that what you’ve been trying to tell me? That you’re dying, just like Dino Wimmer? Is it cancer, Max?”

“No, I’m not dying, Dooley, but if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I just might. Of heart failure!”

“But I have to do a good deed, Max,” he said as we walked on. “It’s important.”

“But why? I don’t get it.”

“Gran and I watched this documentary last night. It was all about the Cub Scouts of America, and how they do good deeds all the time.”

“I think it’s Boy Scouts of America, Dooley. Not Cub Scouts.”

“Pretty sure it’s Cub Scouts. And I told Gran how nice it is that these kids—they call themselves cubs on account of the fact that they’re cute and cuddly, just like real cubs—”

“Pretty sure that’s not the reason they’re called cubs.”

“Pretty sure it is. So they do these things for their fellow man, see? And Gran said why don’t you follow their lead? You’re a real cub, not a fake one like these kids. So that’s when she made me take a pledge.”

“Gran made you take a pledge,” I said, not concealing my surprise.

“Sure. And you can, too. It’s very simple. You just promise to be a good cub from now on, and be kind to people and pets alike, and you’re on your way to making this world a better place. And isn’t that what we all want, Max? To make the world a better place?”

“Yes, Dooley,” I said, touched by his words of sincerity. “You’re absolutely right.”

“Look, there’s another old lady,” he said, pointing in the direction of Ida Baumgartner, one of Odelia’s dad’s most loyal patients. “Let’s help her cross the road.”

“Let’s not,” I said. “Instead, let’s help Odelia solve some case—next time she has a case to solve, that is.”

“You mean like finding out who’s sending pictures of sausages to her friend Rose’s phone?”

“Exactly,” I said with a smile.

Chapter 8

Odelia walked into her uncle’s office and found the big man seated behind his desk and scratching his nose, looking a little discombobulated. He glanced up when his niece entered and said, “I thought you’d be dropping by.”

“Have you got more news about Dino Wimmer’s death?”

“I have, but you’re not going to like it.”

“So it was murder,” she said as she took a seat.

“No, it wasn’t. He’d swallowed down those pills and that’s what killed him.”

“Oh,” she said, and frowned at her uncle.

“Yeah. Stomach contents reveal the remnants of what probably was a so-called smoothie, and enough sleeping pills to kill an elephant. The glass on his desk contained traces of the same smoothie and those same pills. Fingerprints on the glass are his. Fingerprints on the suicide note are his. So that’s it, Odelia. Case closed.”

“Okay.”

“See? I told you you wouldn’t like it.”

“The thing is, Rose just came to see me.”

“And?”

“And she’s still convinced her dad didn’t commit suicide. She seems convinced he was murdered. And now she wants me to catch his killer.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Problem is, there’s absolutely no evidence to back up her claim.”

“Do you want my opinion?”

“I do,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Uncle Alec grinned and patted his practically bald head, making sure those few remaining wisps of hair remained in the right place. “I think it’s only natural for a girl like Rose to be convinced her dad was murdered. I mean, what’s the alternative? That he killed himself and left her all alone? That’s very hard to stomach for anyone, and definitely for a girl as young as she is—practically a child.”

“I know. So what do you suggest I do?”

“You could tell her the truth: that her dad wasn’t the victim of a crime, and no matter how much you want to help her, you can’t take a case that’s only going to lead nowhere.”

“Or I could take her case, and prove once and for all that her dad wasn’t killed,” said Odelia.

“What’s the point, honey? You’re going to waste a lot of time proving something that’s already obvious from the evidence.”

She scooted forward in her chair. “So he died from the same pills that were in that pill bottle on his desk, right?”

“Yep, that’s what the coroner said.”

“What about the note? Did you check the handwriting?”

Uncle Alec hesitated.

“See? That’s what we need to ascertain so we can put Rose’s mind at ease. Make sure that all the facts align and that there is no room for doubt.”

Uncle Alec tapped the desk. “So you’re going ahead? You’re going to take this case?”

Odelia shrugged. “I feel like I have to. She’s so devastated by the loss of her dad. If only to put her mind at ease, I feel like I can’t just tell her to get lost.”

“No, I see what you mean,” said her uncle, then shrugged. “Fine. You do what you have to do, and if there’s anything you need, just tell me and I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s great. Thanks, Uncle Alec.”

“Sure thing, honey.” He glanced out the window, and frowned. “Why is it that every time I look out this window I see those two cats of yours lounging on the windowsill listening in on all of my private conversations?”

Odelia glanced over to where her uncle was looking, and found Max and Dooley intently staring back at her, the way only cats can.

She laughed. “Oh, you guys,” she said as she walked over to the window. “So now you’re spying on me, too?”

She opened the window a crack and let them into her uncle’s office.

“Honey, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said her uncle, but before he could stop her, Max and Dooley had already jumped down to the floor and were padding around, sniffing here and there, and generally making sure they were well acquainted with their new surroundings.

“Please tell me they’re not going to become fixtures here,” said Uncle Alec. “I’ll be the laughingstock of the precinct. They’ll call me the cat chief from now on.”

“Just for a little while,” said Odelia. “They like to get a feel for the place, and then they’ll be out of your hair.”

At the mention of hair, Uncle Alec sneezed.

“I didn’t know you were allergic,” said his niece with a grin.

“I’m not—at least I wasn’t. But maybe now I am?”

“So are you going to take the case?” asked Max, once he’d completed his examination of the office and found it to his liking.

“Yes, I am,” said Odelia. “There may not have been a murder, but clearly Rose thinks there’s something fishy about her dad’s death. And if only I can convince her that it was suicide and not murder, she’ll be able to move on.”

“I think he was murdered,” said Dooley, who’d jumped on top of Uncle Alec’s desk and was now sniffing at the Chief’s framed portrait of Mayor Butterwick, his girlfriend.

“You do?” asked Odelia. “How so?”

“I think he was murdered by the same man who sent that picture of a sausage to his daughter,” said Dooley. “I think we should be looking for Dick, Odelia. Dick is our guy.”

“There was no piece of sausage in his throat, Dooley,” said Odelia. “He didn’t choke.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, processing this.

“What is he saying?” asked her uncle, watching with a worried eye as Dooley placed his tush on top of his files and started licking himself.

“Dooley thinks we should be looking for Dick,” she said.

“Dick?”

“The man who sent Rose pictures of his sausage,” said Odelia with a wink to her uncle.

“Oh, right,” he said. “If I catch the bastard who sent those…”

“Any clues on his identity?” asked Odelia.

“Nothing. Chase handed over Rose’s phone to the brainiacs at the cybercrime unit. They’ll work their magic and hopefully come up with a name and address.” He grimaced. “At which point we’ll come down on this Dick like a ton of bricks.”

“Yes, nail this sausage man,” said Dooley sagely. “That’s my advice, Odelia.”

“Oh, brother,” Max muttered.

Dooley had taken a sip from Uncle Alec’s coffee, and suddenly sneezed—into the Chief’s cup. “Better don’t drink this, Uncle Alec,” he said, making a face. “This stuff will kill you.” And then he smiled at Max. “Another good deed done!”

Chapter 9

We finally had a case to work on—exactly what I needed right now, what with Dooley’s string of good deeds making me antsy and worried about his safety—not everyone responds with Uncle Alec’s equanimity at having their morning coffee spoiled.

“So where do we go next?” I asked when we’d walked out of the police station.

“Well, seeing as I need to disprove that Rose’s dad was murdered,” said Odelia, “and the only way to disprove a murder is to try to prove it and fail, I thought we might go and see a specialist.”

“An eye specialist?” asked Dooley, interested.

Odelia smiled. “I thought we’d go and see my dad. He was, after all, Dino Wimmer’s doctor, and might be able to tell me more about the man’s state of mind when he died.”

“Oh, right,” said Dooley, who was clearly firing on all cylinders today.

So we set paw for Odelia’s dad Tex, who has his doctor’s office nearby, and soon walked in to find Odelia’s gran seated behind the reception desk, busily enjoying a game of scrabble. It was a nice change of pace from her usual game of Solitaire, I must say.

“What are you doing here?” Gran snapped in her customary pleasant welcoming way.

“I need to talk to Dad,” said Odelia. She directed a curious look at the door to the inner office. “Is he busy?”

“He’s always busy. You’ll have to make an appointment.”

“Oh,” said Odelia, clearly disappointed.

“Why do you need to see him?” asked the old lady. “Are you dying? Do you have a disease you haven’t told me about? Is it cancer?”

“Cancer!” said Dooley. “You’re not dying, are you, Odelia?”

“No, I’m not dying, Dooley,” said Odelia, directing a censorious look at her grandmother, silently scolding her lack of tact. “If you must now, I’m working on a case.”

“A case? And you didn’t tell me? You didn’t tell your loyal sidekick? The Dr. Watson to your Sherlock Holmes? The Captain Hastings to your Hercule Poirot? And why, may I ask, is it that all these famous detectives are men, and their sidekicks, too? It’s not fair!”

She was right, of course, though in our case our main detective was clearly a woman, in the form of Odelia, and her sidekicks—plural—were cats, which was definitely a departure from the norm.

“Well, it’s not really a case,” said Odelia. “Well, it is and it isn’t.”

“Oh, please make up your mind,” Gran grunted irritably. “Is it a case or isn’t it a case?”

“A man committed suicide last night.”

“I heard about that. Dino Wimmer. The banker.”

“And now his daughter Rose thinks it wasn’t suicide but murder and she wants me to investigate and bring the alleged killer to justice. Only I’m not so sure she’s right. And so I’m going to try to prove that he was murdered and thereby prove that he wasn’t, see?”

Gran blinked a couple of times, then frowned. “You’re nuts,” was her opinion, and then hollered, “Tex! Your daughter is here to see you!” And then she sat back down behind her desk, watching with satisfaction how the door to the inner office was yanked open and a distraught-looking Tex appeared. His shock of white hair was tousled, and his face flushed.

“Odelia, honey. What ’s wrong? Are you all right?”

“She’s working on a case and needs your opinion,” Gran explained. “In other words she needs you to dish the dirt on one of your patients. Dino Wimmer—remember him?”

“Sure, Dino.”

“He died last night. Offed himself by popping a bunch of pills.” She gestured with her head to her granddaughter. “In you go. And make it snappy. We don’t have all day, you know.”

Odelia, if she was annoyed by her grandmother’s remarks, didn’t show it. Then again, if you’ve lived as long as she had in the company of the woman, probably nothing she said or did had the power to surprise her. So we all filed into Tex’s office and as Odelia took a seat and Tex rounded his desk and did the same, Dooley and I glanced around, sniffing here and there and generally getting a good feel for the place. It had been a while since we’d been in there and it needed careful examination.

“So Dino Wimmer,” said Tex, folding his hands as if in prayer and resting them on his desk. “What do you want to know?”

“The thing is Dad, his daughter seems to think he’d never kill himself. She thinks her dad was murdered. Any thoughts?”

The good doctor frowned. “Thoughts…” he murmured. “Thoughts…”

“You know—what was his state of mind? Do you think he was in such a bad way that he wanted to end his life?”

Tex studied the ceiling for a moment, as if to draw inspiration from the dead fly that was stuck there, dangling from a single leg, the poor thing. “Um…”

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to tell me,” said Odelia. “Doctor-patient privilege and all that. But I just need to know if there’s even the slightest possibility that the man wasn’t responsible for his own death and that the suicide was staged. “

“Well, all I can tell you is that Dino Wimmer was probably the last person in the world to want to take his own life,” said Tex, finally having accessed that part of his brain where his patient files were stored. “Because he’d told me just last week that he’d made an important decision. He hadn’t told his wife yet but he was finally ready to take early retirement and move down to Florida to start a second, more leisurely stage of his life.”

“Florida?” asked Odelia, visibly surprised. “That doesn’t sound like a man who’d kill himself, does it?”

“No, it most certainly doesn’t,” said her dad.

“He didn’t have a recent health crisis or something? Some terminal illness?”

“Nothing of the kind,” said Tex. “The man was under a great deal of stress, owing to his line of work. But apart from a minor cholesterol issue and that stress—which he planned to resolve by taking early retirement and moving his family down to Florida—he had nothing to worry about. He was, all things considered, as healthy as an ox. Healthier, probably.” He smiled before himself, then eyed the cross trainer located in a corner of his office with fondness. “His wife sold me on this wonderful piece of machinery.” He gestured to the device. “Said I looked a little peaked lately, and told me I should be more active—work out more. So I bought this thing on her instigation and have been faithfully putting in my daily minutes in between patients ever since.”

Odelia smiled. “Dad, don’t tell me you’ve been working out?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I have,” he said proudly. “And my resting heart rate has returned to the safe zone. It’s a miracle machine, and I can recommend it to anyone.”

I noticed a small television set had been placed on top of one of the metal cabinets in Tex’s office, and was displaying an episode of Diagnosis: Murder. Looked like we’d disturbed Tex in the middle of a workout, which explained his flushed appearance.

“Look, Dino Wimmer was happy, healthy, and full of zest and zeal. The only thing that seemed to trouble him was the fact that his daughter was dating some weirdo, as he called him, and some minor trouble at the office, which he said he’d deal with forthwith. So if you’re asking me if the man committed suicide or was murdered, I’d go for the latter.”

“But who would want to murder him?”

“That,” said Tex as he spread his arms, “I cannot tell you, honey. That’s your department.”

On the small television screen Dick Van Dyke was staring intently at a knife which had been removed from a dead man’s back. It seemed like an ominous sign of things to come: if Dino really was murdered, this case had just turned into a murder inquiry.

Chapter 10

Odelia walked out of her dad’s office feeling a little heady. So it was entirely possible that Rose had been right after all. How surprising. But that also meant that she would now in earnest have to start looking for the killer.

She still found it hard to wrap her head around the fact that Dino Wimmer had indeed been killed. It changed her entire outlook on the case. And as she was still thinking through the ramifications of this discovery, she caught sight of her grandmother’s face. The old lady looked bored. Bored and unhappy. And so in a flash of inspiration she said, “I need your help, Gran.”

Gran immediately perked up. She even sat up straighter, as she’d been slumped in her chair, working out some scrabble dilemma. “You do? What do you need?”

“I think this case has just officially turned into a murder inquiry. And I’m going to need all the help I can get to bring the killer to justice—if indeed there has been a murder—the jury is still out on that one, so to speak.”

“You need my help catching a killer? Yes!” said Gran, actually pumping the air with her fist. “Tell me what you need and I’ll get it done. If you need me to squeeze some witness for information, I’ll squeeze him like a lemon. If you need me to lean on some heavy to give me the lowdown on the victim’s financial situation, consider it done.”

“I’m going to need to talk to all the people involved in the case,” she explained, “and to save time I think it’s best if we split up in teams. Could you and Scarlett maybe talk to Dino Wimmer’s neighbors? Ask them if they saw something last night?”

“Suspicious activities,” said Gran, nodding seriously. “I like your thinking, honey. And I’m way ahead of you. I’ll call Scarlett right away and we’ll start canvassing that neighborhood like it’s never been canvassed before. Consider it done!”

And without further ado, she grabbed her coat and was out of there, even before Odelia could supply her with some more details about the case.

And so when Dad stuck his head out of his office again moments later, and saw that the reception desk was unmanned—or unwomanned—he asked, “Where is your grandmother?”

“Um, I’m afraid I may have done something to deprive you of your receptionist, Dad,” she said sheepishly.

Dad shrugged. “What else is new?”

And as she walked out of the office, her mind was already whirring with possibilities. In fact she was thinking so hard she hadn’t even noticed Max and Dooley were still following in her trail, deftly trying to keep up as she took long strides in the direction of… She suddenly halted, and both cats bumped into the back of her legs.

“What’s going on?” asked Max.

“Why did you stop?” asked Dooley.

But since she couldn’t very well start talking to her cats in the middle of the street, lest someone call the loony bin, instead she gestured with her head in the direction of Main Street, and it was a testament to her furry friends’ perspicacity that they immediately caught her drift, and crossed the street on a trot in the direction of the General Store, where they could talk to one of their fellow feline spies.

Odelia, meanwhile, set foot for the local branch of First Financial Crest, where until yesterday Dino Wimmer had spent his days catering to his clients’ financial needs.

Once inside, she introduced herself to the young man at the desk and asked if she could talk to Dino’s partner, one Mr. Romney Knight. It only took five minutes in a comfortable waiting room, accompanied by a nice-looking fern who clearly was the strong silent type, and then she was ushered into Dino’s partner’s office.

“Yes, what can I do for you, Miss Poole?” asked Romney Knight. He was an imposing man in his late forties, impeccably dressed in a navy blue suit and sporting a Wolf Blitzer type beard. Odelia had never seen a banker with a beard before and she found herself staring at the hirsute appendage a few seconds longer than was appropriate. “Writing an article on Dino’s passing, I presume? All I can say is that we’re all deeply saddened. Saddened and grieving, as you can imagine. Dino was a remarkable human being, but above all a wonderful colleague with great business acumen and excellent standing in the local community. A pillar of our chamber of commerce, as you probably well know.”

“The thing is, Mr. Knight,” said Odelia as she took out her tablet and stylus, “that Rose Wimmer, that’s Dino’s daughter, seems to think her dad might not have taken his own life but might have been the victim of foul play.”

It took the banker all of five seconds to process this information, and then he frowned. “Foul play? You’re telling me Rose thinks her dad… was murdered?”

“She does. And she’s asked me to look into this possibility for her.”

The banker’s frown deepened. “Dino murdered. Are you sure, Miss Poole? I thought he’d taken a bunch of pills and… Though of course Rose will probably know better. She was there when…”

“Yes, she was in the house,” Odelia confirmed. “So do you think there’s a possibility that Rose is right? That someone killed Mr. Wimmer?”

“Murdered…” said Mr. Knight, clearly having to wrap his head around this possibility, the same way Odelia had had to do earlier. “Well, if he was murdered, I can’t think of anyone who’d have wanted him dead. The man was universally liked. His staff adored him, his clients—his wife and daughter obviously loved him very much…”

“No trouble with a client? No threats made against his life?” she prompted.

The bank manager hesitated, then said, “One thing comes to mind. Not that I think it has any bearing on the case, but since you’ll hear it from a member of staff sooner or later, you better get the story from me. A client of ours recently applied for a loan—a sizable sum—to invest in a real estate project. A new office tower behind Town Hall.”

“Corinthian Tower?”

“Indeed. Now this man is a seasoned investor, with a long-standing relationship with our institution, so he came to us first. Offered us the opportunity to become a partner in this ambitious project. And Dino turned him down.”

“Who is this developer?”

“Leo Kemp.”

“I think I’ve heard of him.”

“Well, he is a respected member of our local business community.”

“Why did Mr. Wimmer turn him down?”

“He said it was too risky. There had been some… irregularities, and Dino was nothing if not a stickler for procedure and so these irregularities irked him to a great degree.”

“What irregularities were those?” asked Odelia as she jotted down the name of Leo Kemp on her tablet and underlined it three times with bold strokes of her stylus.

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that. You see, the loan application has been filed again this morning, and is being reviewed as we speak.”

She stared at the manager. “And what are the chances of it being approved this time?”

The manager smiled an unctuous smile. “I’d say the chances are good. Very good indeed.”

Chapter 11

Just as Odelia left Mr. Knight’s office, she almost bumped into a familiar figure.

“Odelia Poole!” said the man, who was none other than Jared Zmuda, owner and proprietor of the Triple Platinum Gym—her very own club. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hey, Jared,” she said.

“Gone to see the big guy, have you?” he said, pointing to the door of the office she’d just left.

“Yeah, I needed to see him about… something.” Even though she’d known the fitness club owner for a long time, she didn’t feel comfortable discussing her personal business with the guy.

He didn’t seem to have any such qualms, though, for he said, “I’m going to take out a loan. I’m going to expand the club. Build a second club and then possibly a third and a fourth.”

“Expanding, huh? That’s great news, Jared,” she said, and meant it, too. If business was going well that meant that the club was in Hampton Cove to stay, which was good for everybody.

“Yeah, I figured why not start a chain of clubs, you know? Maybe even a franchise. Put my name on the marquee.” He opened the file folder he was carrying and showed her a design for a logo. It was a stylized version of his face. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Nice,” she said. “I hope they approve your application.”

“I’m sure they will,” he said. “The guy who went over the loans is gone, you know. Offed himself. And the one who’s taken over is much more lenient. Or so I’ve been told.”

The door to Mr. Knight’s office opened and the same secretary who’d ushered Odelia in before now gestured for Jared to step in.

“See you, Odelia,” the club manager said with a grin, then took a deep breath, and entered the inner sanctum of the First Financial Crest’s man up top.

Vesta and Scarlett were eyeing the house where Dino Wimmer had died the night before. Standing on the sidewalk across the street, Vesta felt it was a good idea first to get a feel for the neighborhood before they started their canvassing.

“Fancy place,” said her friend. Scarlett was dressed in her usual attire: ultra-short jeans skirt, high heels, and a crop top that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Vesta, on the other hand, was dressed in her regular tracksuit, this one of the blue variety with pink stripe.

She pressed her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose and nodded. “Bankers,” she said, spitting out the word as if it had personally insulted her. “They’re swimming in money. Don’t know what to do with it. Meanwhile the rest of us are working our asses off to keep a roof over our heads.”

“I think Tex is working his ass off to keep a roof over your head,” Scarlett pointed out.

“Smart-ass,” Vesta grumbled, but the smile on her lips indicated she took her friend’s comment in stride.

“So how do you want to do this?” asked Scarlett.

“We’ll ask the neighbors if they saw something last night,” said Vesta. “This killer, whoever he is, must have come and gone, and it stands to reason he’s not the invisible man, so someone is bound to have seen something.”

And they were just crossing the street preparatory to ringing the bell of Baldwin Street number 46 when her phone chimed. She took it out and glared at the display for a moment before barking into the gadget, “We’re in position and are about to launch into our investigation—over!”

“You don’t have to say over, Gran,” Odelia said. “This isn’t a walkie-talkie.”

“I know that,” she said as she nodded a greeting to a woman walking out of number 46 and giving Scarlett a startled look.

“I think I just found our first suspect,” said Odelia.

“Oh? Who is it?”

“Dino Wimmer had recently turned down the loan application of a guy named Leo Kemp, local real estate mogul. I just talked to Dino’s business partner at the bank, and there’s every chance the loan is going through now that Dino’s gone.”

“Great motive for murder,” said Vesta approvingly.

“I’m sending you two pictures. One is Leo Kemp, the other Romney Knight—the business partner. So if you can show these pictures to the neighbors? Ask them if they’ve seen either of these guys hanging around the house in the last couple of days. I’m sending you the pictures now.”

“Will do,” said Vesta, and disconnected. “We’ve got our first suspect,” she said. “Fat cat who wanted to become even richer and found Dino standing in his way.” She quickly checked the pictures Odelia had sent her and showed them to Scarlett. Romney Knight looked like a taller, square-faced Wolf Blitzer and Leo Kemp was a big, burly individual with white hair and thick-framed glasses. He looked like Cary Grant had looked in the eighties.

“Handsome devil,” said Scarlett.

“Money and good looks. Some guys have all the luck,” Vesta muttered, and set foot for their first target of the day.

Chapter 12

Following Odelia’s instructions we were on our way to talk to one of our main sources of information: Kingman was seated right next to his owner Wilbur Vickery, proud owner of the General Store, right in the heart of town. Kingman is one of those garrulous cats and a collector of gossip. So if anyone would have the lowdown on what had happened to Dino Wimmer it would be him.

“Hey, fellas,” he said when we came walking up to him. He was enjoying a few rays of sunshine warming his voluminous body and clearly was in excellent spirits.

“A sausage man murdered Odelia’s friend’s father and she’s asked us to investigate,” Dooley blurted out, immediately getting to the heart of the matter without delay.

Kingman stared at him. “A sausage man did what now?” he asked finally.

Dooley took a deep breath. “A sausage—”

“A man was killed last night,” I said, deciding to take over the narrative thrust of the conversation before Kingman got all muddled up. As muddled up as Dooley obviously was. “He’s a banker and his daughter asked Odelia to investigate, since she doesn’t believe the official story that he took his own life. Dino Wimmer. That name ring a bell, Kingman?”

“Rings many bells,” said Kingman, nodding. “I think he’s the one who built that big monstrosity across the street, and made sure that we only get sunshine in the summer months these days, and are shivering in the shadows come fall and winter.”

We all glanced across the street where the Hampton Cove Star stands proud and erect, our town’s most prestigious and popular boutique hotel.

“So he killed himself, huh?” Kingman went on. “He probably couldn’t live with the shame of plunking that pile of junk across the street. Did you know that before that horrible hotel opened its doors a perfectly nice little grocery store stood in its place? The owner was an old lady who used to smile at me every morning as she opened her doors, and was known to tickle me under my chin when she dropped by for a chat with Wilbur.”

I glanced briefly at Kingman’s three chins and wondered which chin this old lady used to tickle him under, but decided to refrain from plumbing the matter more deeply. “So do you have any idea why a man like that would be the victim of a vile murder?” I asked instead.

Kingman frowned. “Oh, that’s right. You’re now claiming he didn’t kill himself but was killed.” His frown deepened. “Well, I can only point to one suspect, and he had plenty of reasons to do the deed, if you ask me.”

“And who might this suspect be?” I asked, my interest piqued.

Kingman gestured to his owner, who was ringing up the wares his customers had deposited on the conveyor belt with a kindly smile. Who wouldn’t smile kindly when money was flowing into the till at a rapid pace, due to that mysterious phenomenon called inflation?

“Wilbur?” I said. “You think your human killed Dino Wimmer?”

“No, I’m not saying he killed him—in fact I doubt whether Wilbur would ever raise a hand against anyone, whether man or beast. But you asked me for potential suspects and that’s the only potential suspect I can think of.”

“And why would Wilbur of all people kill Dino?”

“Because of what he did to Emily, of course.”

“Emily?”

“The old lady who owned the grocery store? I think between you and me that those two were sweet on each other, but then Dino came along and convinced Emily’s son to sell the store, and the son more or less arm-wrestled his mother into selling up and moving away. She’s in a nursing home now, I think, paid for with the profits from the sale of her store, as far as I can tell. And Wilbur lost the one great love of his life.”

“I thought you once told me Wilbur only dates women under the age of fifty?”

“Now he does, ever since the trauma Emily’s departure inflicted on his tender soul.”

We all looked up at Wilbur, who was now serving a young woman dressed in a crop top and ripped jeans. He was ogling her in quite an overtly fashion, and saying, “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the movies with me? I’ll make it worth your while.” He wiggled his bushy brows for emphasis, and even though the girl rolled her eyes at so much lasciviousness, Wilbur obviously wasn’t deterred, for he slipped her his card and said, with a fat wink, “Call me any time. Day or night. Though nights are better for me.”

“Yeah, why is that?” she asked, in spite of herself.

“Cause at night I turn into a love-crazed animal,” he said, and uttered a growl and clawed the air for emphasis.

“Oh, my God,” the girl muttered, and hurried off.

Yep. Wilbur definitely has a tender soul. No doubt about it.

Chapter 13

“So did you see anyone last night?” asked Vesta. She had a feeling they were about to strike pay dirt. Just a feeling, mind you, but she put great stock in her intuition, like any detective worth his or her salt would. Though so far she had nothing to show for it: the woman hadn’t recognized either Leo Kemp or Romney Knight. Still, hope springs eternal.

“Well, now that you mention it I did see a car drive away last night,” said the woman. She was the same neighbor who’d looked a little startled when she’d caught sight of Scarlett. She was still eyeing Scarlett with a look of consternation on her face, as if she couldn’t believe a bird of such peculiar plumage had suddenly wandered into her ken.

“A car? What car?” asked Vesta.

“Well, it was a big car,” said the woman, who was gray-haired and obviously in possession of all of her faculties. “Not a lot of traffic passes through this street at night, which is why I remember.”

“A big car? What make?” asked Vesta, urging the woman to dig deep into her memory for those salient facts that make all the difference in a murder case.

“Um, a fancy car?” the woman tried.

“American, European, Japanese? Ford, Mercedes, BMW? Sedan, hatchback, SUV?”

The woman blinked. “I’m not sure,” she said. “All I know is that I was thinking well look at that nice car driving away. And I remember telling Earl that Dino was having over some fancy visitors again. But then that’s been par for the course ever since he moved in next door. Bankers do have a very busy social life, of course, what with all of their banker friends, and most of them drive those nice and fancy cars.”

Vesta sighed. It was obvious here was one of those witnesses that were trying to be helpful but really weren’t. “What color was this car? And did you see the driver?”

“No, I don’t think I did.”

“The color?” Scarlett prompted.

“Um, dark, I guess. I didn’t really pay all that much attention. Matlock was on, and I do like myself a nice episode of Matlock. He’s so clever and so funny. He’s on every day now, and I haven’t missed an episode. It was only because Earl complained about a dog barking in the street that I got up to take a look. And that’s when I saw that car.”

“What time was this?” asked Vesta.

“Well, Matlock starts at ten, so this would have been during the first commercial break. Ten fifteen? Ten twenty? Something like that.”

“Okay, great,” said Vesta. “Did you get all that?” she asked, as she watched her friend taking all this down by typing it into her phone.

“How you can type with those long nails is beyond me,” said the woman as she stared at Scarlett’s admittedly very long nails. “Are those real?”

Scarlett glanced down at her chest, misinterpreting the woman’s look. “Oh, sure. They’re one hundred percent real.” And for good measure she jiggled her frontage for a moment, causing the woman to clasp a hand to her face and shake her head.

“If Earl saw that he’d go nuts. He likes jiggly things, you see, Earl does. Likes to squeeze them between his jaws. And let me tell you, once he catches a jiggly thing he won’t let go.”

“Strange husband you’ve got,” said Scarlett with a laugh.

“Husband?” Now it was the woman’s turn to laugh. “Oh, Earl isn’t my husband, dear. He’s my sweetheart.” And then she called out, “Earl! Come out here a minute, sweetie.”

And there he came running up to them: a smallish dog with plenty of fluffy beige fur.

“Oh, what a cutie pie!” said Scarlett as she bent down to pet the little doggie’s head.

Earl must have noticed her décolletage, though, for instantly he stopped panting and produced a single bark, then promptly shot up into the air and would have fastened his tiny white teeth into Scarlett’s assets if Dino Wimmer’s neighbor hadn’t intervened and snapped him up before he could.

“I think you better go now,” said the woman, as she had trouble restraining the tiny doggie, and keeping him from accosting a startled-looking Scarlett.

“Well, I never,” said Scarlett. “He’s a feisty little devil, isn’t he?”

“He sure is,” said the woman, and carried her precious sweetheart back into the house.

“What are you grinning at?” asked Scarlett.

“You!” Vesta cried. “Even dogs get all horny around you.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? It’s a blessing and a curse to be blessed with curves like mine. So what do we do now?”

“Now we talk to that woman over there,” said Vesta, and hollered, “Hey, lady! Over here!” She hurried in the direction of a homey-looking woman who’d just come walking out of the house of the late Dino Wimmer. “If I’m not mistaken,” she told Scarlett, as the latter tried to keep up, which was tough going on those high heels of hers, “this is the Wimmers’ housekeeper. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from being an amateur sleuth it’s that housekeepers are always the best sources of information. Can I ask you something!” she yelled as they approached the woman, who was frowning at them and looking none too friendly.

“Yes?” said the woman cautiously.

“Do you work for the Wimmers?”

“I’m their housekeeper. And who are you?”

“My name is Vesta Muffin, and this is Scarlett Canyon. Rose Wimmer asked us to look into the death of her father, Dino Wimmer? She thinks he was murdered.”

The housekeeper looked taken aback by this. “Well, isn’t that clever of her. Or dumb, depending on how you look at it, of course.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Scarlett.

“Because Mr. Wimmer killed himself,” said the woman. “And so it’s not smart to tell people that he didn’t.”

“So you believe he killed himself?” said Vesta.

“Of course. That’s what Mrs. Wimmer told me this morning when I arrived, and I don’t know why she would lie about a thing like that.”

“Were you here yesterday?” asked Vesta.

“Yes, I was. I come in every day. But I usually leave around this time.”

“So you weren’t here last night?”

“No, I wasn’t. If I had been here, I would have stopped Mr. Wimmer from doing a stupid thing like that.” She sighed deeply. “Such a nice man. With such a wonderful family. It’s a tragedy, Mrs. Muffin. A real tragedy.”

“They were a happy family, the Wimmers?”

“Oh, absolutely. Mrs. Wimmer and her husband were both devoted to Rose—one hundred percent.”

“I heard there was some trouble over Rose having a boyfriend her dad didn’t approve of?” said Scarlett, reiterating something Odelia had told Vesta over the phone.

The housekeeper pursed her lips. “Who told you that?”

“Rose herself did, and so did her mother,” Vesta intimated.

“Well, Rose has been seeing a young man who’s hardly suitable company for a girl as young as her,” said the housekeeper, darting a quick glance back at the house she’d just left. “He’s fully five years her senior, you know. A man, and she’s only a girl. And he’s an artist. An artist! And he’s got these…” She gestured with her arms. “Tattoos. And these…” She pointed to her face. “Piercings. Terrible.”

“Did they have arguments?” asked Vesta. “Dino and this young man, I mean?”

“Oh, no. Dino never lost his temper in front of the young man.”

“So he has been to the house?”

The woman nodded. “Rose brought him home last week. Introduced him to her parents and he stayed for dinner. Rose had even asked me to cook them her favorite dish: chicken pot pie. So I did. I made them a wonderful chicken pot pie and they all enjoyed it very much. Rose even thanked me later. And she added that not a cross word was said. But later on, when the young man had left, there was a lot of arguing. A lot of shouting. I was in the kitchen cleaning up and I could hear them yelling at each other.”

“Father and daughter?”

“Yes, father and daughter. Mrs. Wimmer preferred to stay out of it—she usually did. She isn’t the girl’s real mother, you know. So she has to tread carefully. But Mr. Wimmer and Rose really screamed the house down. Well, especially Rose. Mr. Wimmer wasn’t the kind of man who liked to raise his voice. He was always very distinguished.”

“Did he… get violent?” asked Vesta.

“Oh, no!” said the woman, raising her eyebrows in consternation. “Mr. Wimmer would never have resorted to violence. He wouldn’t have raised his hand against his daughter. Never, never, never. But that day, he did yell. Very loud. It wasn’t a good day. Such a pity. They usually got along so well, those two. I always said they were birds of a feather. Whenever Daphne went on one of her Avon weekends they liked to order takeout and watch movies together—all weekend long. By the time I arrived on Monday morning the house was usually a mess—a real pigsty! But I never complained. Oh, no.”

“So this big blowout was last week?” asked Scarlett, who was once again tapping all this into her phone.

“Wednesday,” said the woman. She glanced back at the house where Vesta now saw that the curtains were moving. “And now I must go,” said the housekeeper abruptly, as she must have noticed the same thing. “Goodbye and good luck with your investigation.”

And then she was off, hurrying along the sidewalk to her car—a tiny blue Peugeot—got in and moments later was zooming off.

Scarlett watched her leave. “Not the car the neighbor saw, presumably?”

“No, definitely not.”

Both women shared a glance. “Interesting thing,” said Scarlett. “This big fight.”

“Very interesting,” Vesta agreed.

And then they both glanced over to the house again. The curtains shifted slightly, but then the person who’d been watching them moved away and they were still again.

“I think maybe—just maybe—we should have a word with Mrs. Wimmer,” said Vesta.

“Absolutely,” said Scarlett, and licked her lips, clearly relishing the idea of tackling the widow of the late Dino Wimmer.

Chapter 14

We’d been walking along a little aimlessly, wondering who we could talk to next, when two familiar figures suddenly materialized in front of us. Reading from left to right they were Harriet and Brutus.

The first words out of Harriet’s mouth told me she wasn’t a happy camper. “What’s all this about an investigation?” she demanded, her eyes blazing and her demeanor more than a little hostile.

“We’re looking into the sausage owner who killed the banker,” Dooley announced happily. “So far all we’ve managed to discover is that it’s got something to do with an old lady who used to live across the street from the General Store who was sweet on Wilbur Vickery.”

Harriet stared at Dooley for a moment, then dismissed him out of paw. “I talked to Buster just now and he told me—”

“We talked to Buster,” Brutus gently corrected her.

“Whatever,” she said. “He told us that this dead banker Odelia and Chase discovered last night was actually murdered? And now Odelia is trying to figure out who did it? Is this true? And if it is, why wasn’t I informed?”

“Why weren’t we informed,” Brutus interjected.

“Whatever! I want some answers and I want them now!”

“Well, Odelia is investigating the murder of Dino Wimmer,” I said, “and she has asked us to tag along and find out what we can. And the reason she hasn’t asked you is probably because she didn’t happen to bump into you the way she bumped into us.”

“You mean she didn’t purposely neglect to inform me?” asked Harriet, only slightly appeased by my explanation.

“No, she most certainly didn’t set out to exclude you from her investigation,” I said. “In fact I’m sure she’ll be very happy if you could join us in finding out what happened. From what I understand she can use all the help she can get, as the police are treating the death of Dino Wimmer as a suicide, and are not going to investigate.”

“I don’t get it,” said Harriet with a frown. “The police aren’t investigating a murder?”

“They are satisfied that Dino killed himself,” I said. “The only reason Odelia is investigating this is because Dino’s daughter Rose asked her to. If not for Rose nobody would be looking into the death of her dad.”

“What a mess,” said Harriet, nicely summing things up. “So what have you discovered so far, Max?”

“Nothing much,” I had to admit. “Apart from some strange theory suggested by Kingman, and Tex indicating that the man was happy and unlikely to have taken his own life. Oh, and Odelia recruited Gran and Scarlett to assist her in the investigation.”

“Gran and Scarlett!” said Harriet, her indignation over being excluded once again rearing its ugly head. “Why this is simply too much. When I see Odelia I’m going to give her a piece of my mind.”

“Of my mind, too,” Brutus added.

“Where is she?”

“Gran?”

“Odelia!”

“She went off in that direction,” I said, gesturing down the street, “and Gran was going to canvass the neighborhood where Dino Wimmer lived.”

“Come on, Brutus,” said Harriet. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” asked her boyfriend.

“Wherever!” Harriet said, and stalked off in high dudgeon.

Brutus heaved the sigh of a much-put-upon boyfriend, then turned on his heel and went off in pursuit of the wannabe cat sleuth Persian.

“You forgot to tell them about Dick’s sausage,” said Dooley as we stared after the duo.

“I don’t think that’s relevant right now, Dooley,” I said.

“Oh, I think it’s very relevant,” said my friend. “In fact I think the clue to this whole mystery lies with that sausage.”

“Of course it does,” I said, and then we, too, set off to investigate this matter further.

“Could we have a word, please, Mrs. Wimmer?” said Scarlett.

The woman eyed them a little annoyedly. “I’m sorry, but I’m not a religious person. You’ll have to excuse me.” And she made to close the door on them.

Luckily Vesta had the good sense to place her foot in the door and block it from closing.

Mrs. Wimmer stared from that foot to Vesta’s face and looked on the verge of giving Vesta a piece of her mind, and not in a good way, when Vesta said, “I’m Odelia Poole’s grandmother. She’s asked us to look into the death of your husband, Dino Wimmer?”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Wimmer, and frowned. “I don’t understand. Why is Miss Poole looking into the death of my husband?”

“Your daughter asked her to,” said Vesta simply.

A look of concern came over the woman’s face. “Rose asked her to investigate Dino’s death? But why?”

“She thinks your husband was murdered, Mrs. Wimmer. In fact she’s so sure of herself that she’s willing to pay top dollar for Odelia’s services.”

“But… I thought Miss Poole was a reporter?”

“She is, but she dabbles in crime solving from time to time.”

“With great success, too,” added Scarlett.

“She does, does she? Well, I guess you better come in. We can’t very well discuss this standing out here in the middle of the street.” She glanced over to where her neighbor was intently looking in their direction, holding an equally fascinated Earl in her arms.

Once inside, Mrs. Wimmer took them straight through to the living room, which was cozily appointed in hues of beige and lime green, with plenty of light streaming in through a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto a sizable backyard. A swing stood erect but a little weathered, testament to a time when Rose had been much younger.

“Rose isn’t home,” Mrs. Wimmer said. “She’s at school. So if you came to talk to her, I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later.”

“No, we actually wanted to talk to you,” said Vesta.

“This is all very unusual,” said Mrs. Wimmer with a nervous little laugh. “My daughter hiring private detectives. I really don’t know where she gets this idea. I can assure you the police have looked into the matter and they’re satisfied that his death was a suicide. I even received a telephone call from the chief of police confirming this.”

“My son is a moron,” said Vesta. “So I’d advise you not to pay attention to what he says.”

“Your son?”

“The chief of police is her son,” Scarlett explained.

Mrs. Wimmer looked surprised. “Your son…”

“Is a moron,” Vesta reiterated. “But don’t you worry, Mrs. Wimmer. We’re going to get to the bottom of this thing. Odelia is very good at what she does, and so are we. In fact you’re in the presence of the entire neighborhood watch committee for Hampton Cove. I’m the chairwoman and founder of the watch and Scarlett here is vice-president and director of public relations. Isn’t that right, hon?”

“Absolutely, “said Scarlett, who seemed notably pleased with her new title.

“So what can you tell me about your husband, Mrs. Wimmer? Enemies, strangers lurking around outside the last couple of weeks, things that struck you as odd…”

“I discussed all this with your granddaughter last night,” said Mrs. Wimmer, shuffling a little nervously in her seat. “I already told her everything I know.”

Vesta shared a quick glance with her second-in-command. ‘Evasive techniques’ that look said. ‘Suspicious,’ Scarlett’s narrowing of the eyes said. ‘I think we’ve got our killer,’ Vesta’s return look indicated.

“Where were you last night, Mrs. Wimmer?” asked Vesta, deciding to go for the jugular.

“I was at an Avon party. I’m what you might call an Avon lady. I had several events planned in Happy Bays over the weekend, and so decided to stay with a friend and colleague. Grace Ojala. I was with her all weekend. You can ask her if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you, Mrs. Wimmer. Of course I do. But you understand that us professionals need to make sure that what you tell us is entirely on the up and up. So if you could give us the name of your friend again, and her phone and address.”

Mrs. Wimmer dutifully provided Scarlett with same, and added, “I really don’t understand why Rose would do this. I mean, I understand she has a hard time accepting what happened with Dino, but murder? That’s simply preposterous. Don’t you think that if my husband had been murdered Rose would have noticed? She was home last night, even though she’d told me she’d spend the night with her boyfriend.”

“She was allowed to spend the night with her boyfriend? I thought you and your husband didn’t approve of her relationship with this… Cole Donalds—that’s his name, yes?”

Mrs. Wimmer nodded. She looked down at the carpet, wringing her hands nervously. “It’s true that we didn’t wholeheartedly approve of Cole. At least not at first. You see, Cole is twenty-three. Too old for Rose, Dino and I felt.”

“And an artist,” Scarlett added.

“No, that had nothing whatsoever to do with it,” said Mrs. Wimmer. “I didn’t mind about that and neither did Dino. But Rose is eighteen and the age difference is… the thing is, we both, Dino and I, had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she was dating at all, and then she showed up with Cole… well, Dino was very upset.”

“They fought? Rose and her dad?”

“Yes, they did. Dino wasn’t happy, and when he told Rose how he felt about her seeing Cole, she exploded. Said she was old enough to decide for herself who she was going to date.” She shrugged and gave a weary little smile. “Well, you know how it is when you have teenagers in the house. Things can get tense. But Dino loved his daughter to bits, and she loved her dad, too. Things just got a little heated, that’s all. I’m sure they’d have cooled off just as quickly, if only Dino hadn’t… done what he did.” She swallowed. “If you want to know what I think, I think Rose feels guilty about the fight. She never really got to make up with her dad.”

“The fight was last week?”

Mrs. Wimmer nodded. “Rose refused to talk to Dino. Said she had nothing more to say to him. And now she never will. And she simply can’t accept that Dino took his own life.”

“Do you think he killed himself because of that fight with your daughter?” asked Scarlett, going way off base, Vesta thought, and not towing the party line which said they were there to investigate a murder, not a suicide. Still she was curious to hear Mrs. Wimmer’s answer.

“I don’t think so,” said the woman. “It may have been a contributing factor, but I’m sure Dino knew that sooner or later things would get patched up again between him and Rose. They were simply much too close to let something like this come between them. No, I think Dino was completely stressed out over something that happened at work.” She directed a pointed look at Vesta. “If you really want to investigate his death, that’s what you should look into. I’m sure that whatever drove him to do what he did is related to the First Financial Crest.”

Once they were out on the sidewalk again, Vesta turned to her friend. “What do you think? Maybe she’s right and Rose is wrong and the guy really did kill himself?”

“It sounds plausible to me,” said Scarlett. “A lot more plausible than that someone managed to kill him while his daughter was in the house and made it look like suicide.”

Just then, a loud meowing sound had them both look up in alarm.

“What do you mean by going off on an investigation without telling me!” a sharp voice demanded.

It was Harriet, and she did not look happy.

Chapter 15

We met up with Odelia again when she came walking out of the First Financial Crest, as I thought she would, and when I saw the puzzled look on her face, I knew she’d hit upon some important clue.

“What happened?” I asked therefore.

“Looks like I just stumbled on a motive for Dino’s murder,” she said. “But let’s not talk now. People might think I’m nuts.”

“We talked to Kingman,” Dooley announced, “and he said the lady who used to have a shop across the street was in love with Wilbur, and Dino convinced her son to sell and now she’s in a nursing home and the hotel was built where the shop used to be, and Wilbur probably killed Dino because he wanted to take revenge for losing the love of his life.”

Odelia frowned as she processed this.

“I really don’t think this is a valid theory,” I told her. “For one thing I’m sure that Wilbur never had a love of his life. He’s had hundreds, and they flicker out the moment they’re out of sight. And second, this is all ancient history. If Wilbur wanted to take revenge on Dino Wimmer he would have done so a long time ago.” Odelia nodded, to indicate she’d heard what I said, and when I asked, “Where are we going?” she held her hand in front of her mouth and said quietly, “Talk to the boyfriend.”

“Oh, we’re going to visit Chase?” said Dooley. “Cool.”

“Not my boyfriend. Rose’s boyfriend. He works at the Seabreeze Music Center.”

Which seemed like the logical place for a musician to work, of course, as the Seabreeze Music Center is our local art center and concert venue. The future Mr. Rose Wimmer was probably rehearsing for a concert he was going to stage there.

When we walked in, though, and Odelia asked at the reception desk where she could find Cole Donalds, she pointed to the concession stand right across from her desk. And when we approached the stand, a guy with a funny little paper hat greeted us and asked if we preferred our popcorn salty or sweet.

“Cole Donalds?” asked Odelia.

“Yep, that’s me,” said the guy.

Odelia held out a hand and said, “My name is Odelia Poole, and your girlfriend asked me to look into the death of her dad.”

“Oh,” he said, and blinked.

He was one of those guys who like to wear their hair a little too long, and he also seemed to have a penchant for hair gel. He had thick dark brows that met in the middle, and I could see he normally wore a piercing in his nose and one through his lip but he’d taken them out—presumably because it might scare off the children.

“Why is his hair so shiny, Max?” asked Dooley. “Do you think he’s forgotten to wash it this morning?”

“It’s a certain look,” I said. “Guys sometimes like their hair to look like that. They think it makes them more attractive to girls.”

“I think it makes him more attractive to shampoo salespeople.”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” asked Odelia.

“Um, actually I’m working right now,” said the kid, who came across much younger than his age. He glanced around. “We could sit over there,” he suggested, indicating a small lounge area where people could sit and wait for the concert or show to start.

“So this is a concert hall,” said Dooley, as he glanced up at the many posters that adorned the walls of the cavernous entrance area.

“And a cinema,” I said.

“So maybe Odelia could take us to see a movie here once? I think it would be nice to look at a movie on the big screen.”

“If you want we can sneak in and take a peek now,” I suggested.

“Are you sure? Don’t you think we should stick around and help Odelia with her interview?”

“I’m sure Odelia will be fine without us,” I said, and so we were off, sneaking past the ticket guy and into the venue proper, then ducking through the first doors we could find and suddenly we were in a very large darkened room, where rows of chairs had been placed, and a movie was playing on the big screen in front.

“Oh, wow,” said Dooley as he craned his neck to take it all in. “This is something else, Max.”

“Yeah, very different from watching a movie at home,” I agreed.

“Oh, wow,” he repeated as we took a seat underneath two nearby seats and watched the screen intently. It was one of those action movies, where people shoot a lot at other people, and chase each other around across the roofs of houses and jump from one roof to the next and from time to time almost but not quite fall into the abyss.

“Amazing,” Dooley murmured as we hunkered down and tried to figure out who the bad guy was and who the good guy was.

Not everyone was as engrossed in the movie as we were, though, for suddenly I became aware that the people occupying the chairs we had selected to use as an impromptu hiding place were discussing the death of Dino Wimmer.

“I think the daughter did it,” one person was saying.

“The daughter? But why?”

“Because she was the only one who was in the house, duh.”

“I think it was an intruder,” said the other person. “Probably some disgruntled client at the bank. Or maybe one of those botched home invasions. Where they take the banker hostage and he has to accompany them to the bank early in the morning to open the vault. Only he didn’t want to play ball so they killed him.”

“A home invasion while the daughter was asleep upstairs? How do you figure that?”

“She probably was taken hostage along with the dad and saw him get killed and blocked the whole thing out of her memory. It happens!”

“Oh, for crying out loud. You’ve been watching too many movies, Jim.”

“Well, Sheryl, so have you. The daughter killing her own father and making it look like a suicide. That’s so unrealistic.”

But then the guy on the screen miscalculated his next jump and was sent plummeting off the roof. So he hadn’t been the good guy after all. Go figure.

Odelia saw that Cole was exceedingly ill at ease. His leg was jumping, and he was chewing his fingernails.

“So Rose hired you, huh?”

“She didn’t exactly hire me. I’m not a detective, Cole. But she did ask me to look into her father’s death.”

“She thinks he was murdered,” said the kid. He displayed a nervous smile. “Murdered, if you please.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think she’s grieving, and this is all part of the process. Denial,” he added for good measure. “So no, I don’t think he was murdered. I think the guy was in trouble. Big trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Financial trouble, of course. What else. He probably bet on the wrong horse and now his entire business was going down the tubes and when he realized that any day now the cops would come knocking on his door and ask what happened to the money his clients entrusted him with, he decided to bail out.”

“You think his bank was in trouble?”

“Sure. Aren’t banks always going belly up? It’s nothing but a glorified poker game, Miss Poole. They shuffle money around like nobody’s business, and at the end of the day they’re in the hole for billions of dollars and it’s game over.”

“Did you tell Rose about your theory?”

“Sure.” He’d finished chewing all the fingers of his left hand and now started on his right hand. “She got mad. Like, real mad. Said I was an idiot. That her dad was much too clever to get in trouble. That his bank was in great shape, and that he was murdered. Murdered!” He grinned. “She almost convinced me. But from what she told me, the guy swallowed an entire box of pills. That ain’t murder, Miss Poole. That’s finding yourself at the end of your rope and bailing out.”

Odelia nodded. “I understand that Rose’s dad wasn’t entirely happy with your relationship with his daughter?”

“The guy blew his top when she first introduced us. He was nice enough during dinner, though there was this weird silence, you know. This heavy kind of atmosphere—that you can almost cut with a knife? And the moment I left the guy started screaming and shouting. Crazy stuff. Rose called me later that night, crying on the phone. She’d locked herself in her room and said she wanted me to come and get her. Said she was running away from home. That she never wanted to see her dad again—ever.”

“And what did you do?”

“I told her she was nuts. Imagine us running away together. And then what? I’d probably end up in jail for abduction, and she’d be hauled back to her folks, who’d be even madder than before. No way I was gonna pull a crazy stunt like that. But we talked all night, and finally she agreed that if we were going to be together, we needed to do this the proper way. Wait until she graduated, and then find a place and move in together. You know, like regular people. Smart people.”

“That was a very grown-up thing to do,” said Odelia with a smile.

“Her dad got me all wrong, Miss Poole. And I would have told him if I’d been given a chance. As it was, Rose felt I probably shouldn’t drop by the house again until things had cooled off, and so I didn’t. And now he’s gone.” He shrugged. “Bailed out. Like a coward. Taken the easy way out.”

Suddenly an alarm started blaring, and Cole looked up in alarm.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “Looks like we’ve got fire in the hole.”

Chapter 16

“What were you thinking, Dooley?” asked Odelia as we sat in the car on our way home.

“I was thinking that the little girl wanted to push that button and needed help,” said Dooley.

We’d hurriedly left the Seabreeze Music Center after ascertaining that no fire had actually been started, and that Dooley had simply tripped the fire alarm for some reason.

“She was reaching for the little red button,” Dooley went on to explain, looking a little sheepish as he did, “and she looked so sad that she couldn’t reach it, so I decided to give her a paw and do my good deed for the day and make her happy.”

“I don’t believe this,” said Odelia, shaking her head as she steered the car through evening traffic. “Please don’t ever pull a stunt like that again, Dooley.”

“How was I to know that button was connected to the fire alarm?” said my friend.

“Maybe because of the words ‘Fire Alarm’ printed right next to the button?” Odelia suggested, still looking a little irate. And I didn’t wonder. The entire venue had quickly emptied out, and the owner hadn’t been too happy when he’d discovered from studying the CCTV images that Dooley had been the one to trip the alarm. He’d of course recognized Dooley as being Odelia’s—by now all of Hampton Cove probably knew that Dooley and myself belonged to the town’s number-one reporter—and had told Odelia in no uncertain terms what he thought of this stunt.

“I just wanted to make that little girl happy,” Dooley said. “So I jumped. I hit it on the first try, too.”

“Well, you made one little girl happy and about a thousand people who couldn’t finish watching their movie very unhappy,” said Odelia, “so what do you think about your little stunt now, Dooley? Was it worth it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” he said quietly.

“So please don’t ever do it again, all right?”

“I won’t do it again, Odelia.”

“What’s the deal with these good deeds anyway?”

“Dooley saw a documentary about the Boy Scouts of America,” I explained.

“The Cub Scouts of America,” Dooley interjected.

“The Boy Scouts of America,” I insisted, “and it inspired him to try and do good deeds so he can become a boy scout himself. Gran encouraged him. Made him take a pledge.”

“If everybody would do a good deed a day the world would be a better place,” Dooley said.

In spite of herself Odelia had to smile at this, though she quickly suppressed the smile lest she appear too lenient in the face of this stunt having backfired to a great degree. “Though I admire the sentiment, you need to think before you act, Dooley,” she said.

For a few moments, silence reigned, then Dooley said, “Do you think I should stop doing good deeds?”

“No, I don’t think you should stop doing good deeds. I think you should use your head next time you see an opportunity to do a good deed. Or better yet, ask Max.”

“Ask Max?”

“Ask Max, and if he says it’s all right you can go ahead and do whatever good deed you like. Do we have an understanding, Dooley?”

“Yes, Odelia,” he said meekly.

“What did Rose’s boyfriend tell you?” I asked, deciding that perhaps changing the subject was the best way to leave this embarrassing episode behind us.

“He thinks that Dino Wimmer killed himself and that Rose is kidding herself when she thinks he didn’t. He thinks the First Financial Crest was in financial trouble and when Dino realized he couldn’t salvage the bank he took the easy way out.”

“A lot of people seem to think that Dino Wimmer killed himself,” I pointed out. “Dino’s wife, Dino’s former business partner, Uncle Alec…”

“Yeah, so far only Rose seems to believe a different story,” said Odelia with a frown. “And my dad. But unfortunately I haven’t discovered any evidence to the contrary.”

“There does seem to be an issue with the loan Dino refused to give this real estate mogul,” I pointed out, referring to Odelia’s talk with Romney Knight she’d just now told us all about. “So at least we’ve got one man with a motive to get rid of Mr. Wimmer.”

“Two,” said Odelia. “Romney Knight seemed very eager to do business with Leo Kemp. In fact he could hardly wait to approve the guy’s loan application.”

“Have you found out who sent that picture of a sausage to Rose?” asked Dooley, a little timidly because of the dressing-down he’d just received.

“No, I haven’t,” said Odelia with a smile. “Uncle Alec sent it to some cybercrime people to look at. Though I think that’s probably the least of Rose’s worries right now.”

We’d arrived home and got out of the car. Walking into the house, I made a beeline for my food bowl. Being out and about all morning had really made me famished, and it was only after I’d sufficiently restored my strength that I was ready to devote my attention to other, more cerebral things once more. Like listening in on the conversation Odelia was having with Gran, who’d dutifully filed into the house to deliver her report.

“… and so it looks like this car is the only lead we have at the moment,” Gran was saying.

“But no details on the car,” Odelia said, nodding.

“Just that it was a fancy car, whatever that means,” said Gran.

Chase had also arrived home, and was following the impromptu meeting with rapt attention. “If you want I can look into that for you,” he said. “There are some traffic cameras set up at the intersection near the Wimmer home. If you can tell me when that car is supposed to have left, it’s not hard to figure out when it should have arrived at that traffic light and should have been picked up by those cameras.”

Odelia’s face lit up with the light of hope. “You can do that?”

“Oh, sure. No sweat.”

“Thanks, Chase.”

“It’s a long shot,” said Gran, “but as the saying goes, it’s all we’ve got right now.”

Harriet and Brutus walked in through the pet flap, and it didn’t escape my attention that Harriet still looked a little annoyed.

“Can you believe that they tried to cut us out of this investigation?” she lamented. “By the time we got there the show was over.”

“Nothing you could do?” I asked.

“Oh, there was plenty we could do, and did. Brutus and I talked to any pet in the vicinity we could find, but of course they all had exactly nothing to contribute.”

“We did talk to one dog,” said Brutus, “who claimed to have heard the Wimmers fight so loud he could hear it all the way to the backyard of his own home. Nice doggie, too. His name is Earl. Very perceptive.”

“Yeah, Earl was most helpful,” Harriet admitted, “though he was of the opinion that Dino Wimmer must have done this to himself. Earl thought he was looking a little ragged lately when he arrived home from work. Careworn, you know. Looking very much like death warmed over. Especially after that big fight he and Rose had last week.”

“That’s right,” Gran chimed in, having listened in on our conversation. “Father and daughter engaged in some kind of screaming match, after Rose invited her boyfriend round to meet her parents. Suffice it to say things did not go well.”

“The boyfriend told me the same thing,” said Odelia.

“So we’re still leaning toward the suicide theory?” asked Chase.

“A man like Dino Wimmer would never take his own life,” Scarlett now posited. “He wouldn’t!” she added when Gran and Odelia and Chase all looked at her. “The man had it all: a lovely wife, a great kid, a successful business, a nice house in a great neighborhood… Okay, so he quarreled with his teenage daughter over her choice of boyfriend. What father doesn’t? And so maybe he was having some issues with an unhappy investor he refused to bail out. So far I see absolutely no reason for the man to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills and go gentle into that good night, if you ask me.”

“So we can’t prove he killed himself, for lack of a trigger incident,” said Odelia, summing things up succinctly, “and we can’t prove that someone killed him either. So where does that leave us?”

“With plenty more sleuthing to do,” said Gran. “Which is exactly what we’ll do—tomorrow.” She glanced at the clock over the sink. “Now it’s time for more important things.”

“Dinner?” Chase hazarded a guess.

“Jeopardy,” she snapped.

Chapter 17

That night cat choir was a languid affair. Usually when we’re in the throes of a murder investigation I like to take the opportunity to ask around and see if none of my cat choir colleagues might be able to make a significant contribution to the case. Now, though, since we didn’t have much of a case yet, it was a little harder.

“I really like this concept of doing good deeds, Dooley,” said Shanille, cat choir’s conductor and Father Reilly’s cat. “You have to tell me more about it.”

“Well, it’s very simple,” said Dooley. “You have to be really attentive all the time, and then when you see an opportunity, you strike.”

“I heard you set the Seabreeze Center on fire today?” said Brutus with a slight smirk. “Is that what you call striking? Cause if it is, you did good.”

“I didn’t set the Seabreeze Center on fire,” said Dooley, a little indignantly. “I just tripped the fire alarm.”

“You mean there was a fire at the Seabreeze Center?” asked Shanille. “And you tripped the fire alarm? Well done, Dooley. That’s the kind of decisive action we need more cats to adopt. If more cats were like you—”

“There was no fire,” said Dooley, now looking a little uncomfortable.

Shanille frowned. “No fire? But then why did you trip the alarm?”

“I saw a girl looking at the alarm and she couldn’t reach it and so I decided to give her a paw. She was very happy. She clapped her hands and laughed. It was wonderful.”

“And then all hell broke loose,” I murmured.

“Well, your heart was in the right place,” said Shanille. “That’s the main thing.”

“The main thing is that now we’re all cats non gratae at the Seabreeze Center,” I said. “Which means we’ll never be able to go and see a movie or concert there ever again.”

“Who wants to go and see a movie at the Seabreeze Center?” said Harriet. “Or a concert? I certainly don’t. It’s too dark and there are way too many people willing to trample all over your tail or step on your paws and those places always smell funny.”

“Besides, I don’t think pets are allowed in those kinds of places anyway,” said Brutus, “and I have made it a cardinal rule never to set paw inside a place where pets are not allowed.”

“You can’t set paw in a place where pets are not allowed,” I pointed out to him. “That’s the whole point.”

“I know!” he said. “That’s why I refuse to set paw in those places.”

“But you can’t set paw in there—it’s not allowed.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t want to go there, Maxie, baby,” said Brutus, moving closer to me and staring me down.

Brutus is a dear friend and a much-beloved housemate, but if he has one flaw in his character it is that he has a tendency to let his inner bully break through the thin veneer of civility he has acquired over the years. So I wisely decided not to press the issue.

“You’re absolutely right, Brutus,” I said therefore. “I wouldn’t set paw in a place like that either.”

“Good,” he said, and gave me a lingering look of suspicion, then turned to pursue other, more important matters. Such as there were: to follow his girlfriend to the edge of the playground that serves as a rehearsal spot for cat choir, and listen to her practice tonight’s solo performance. Harriet likes to practice those arias that have made her so popular amongst cat choir aficionados and Brutus is her chosen pre-performance critic.

“So how is your investigation going?” asked Shanille.

I stared at her in wonder. “How did you know we’re investigating something?”

“Aren’t you always?” she said. “What is it this time? No, don’t tell me. A murder? A robbery? A home invasion? A kidnapping?”

“An apparent suicide,” I said.

“A banker killed himself and now his daughter thinks he was murdered,” Dooley supplied. “And she’s asked Odelia to investigate. Oh, and there’s a sausage involved.”

“Oh, dear,” said Shanille. “I heard about that. Dino Wimmer, right? Isn’t he the guy who was instrumental in building the Hampton Cove Star hotel?”

“He is,” I confirmed.

“Kingman seems to think Wilbur Vickery might be involved,” Shanille said, as she cast a quick glance at the voluminous cat, who held court for at least half a dozen females nearby. “Though I very much doubt whether Wilbur is capable of murder.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a lead we’re actively pursuing at this time,” I agreed.

“Do you want to know what I think?” asked Dooley.

Shanille gave him an amused smile. “Of course, Dooley. I always want to know what you think.”

Dooley seemed surprised by this, but proceeded to regale the choir director with his latest brain wave nevertheless. “I think he was murdered by the same person who sent that picture of a sausage to his daughter.”

“Picture of a sausage? What are you talking about?”

“Someone called Dick sent a picture of his sausage to Rose Wimmer, and I have a hunch it’s all part of one big conspiracy,” said Dooley. “I’m sure if Odelia would care to look at Mr. Wimmer’s phone she would find similar pictures of similar sausages. I think those sausages were sent as a warning, and now Rose’s life is in danger—in danger from the same man named Dick. If only we could figure out who that sausage belongs to, I’m sure we’ll be able to crack this case.”

“Dooley, that… sausage and the murder or suicide of Dino Wimmer are not in fact related,” I said, deciding to settle this matter once and for all. “In fact the person who sent that picture to Rose is probably one of her school friends. Just one of those adolescent jokes, you know. A prank, if you will.”

He frowned at this. “I don’t think so, Max. I mean, I respect your judgment, you know I do, but for once I have to disagree with you. That sausage is a major clue in this investigation—just you mark my words.”

Shanille patted my friend’s back. “You keep chasing that sausage, Dooley,” she said as she gave me a wink.

“Oh, but I will,” said Dooley. “That sausage isn’t getting away with this. Not on my watch.”

Chapter 18

The next day Dooley and I were riding in the car again, with Odelia steering it in the direction of Happy Bays, our neighboring town. I know what you’re thinking: isn’t it odd for a pair of cats to spend so much time riding in cars? Isn’t that something more often associated with the canine species? And you would be absolutely right. Dogs have cornered the market on cute pictures taken with their tongues dangling out of car windows, spreading their slobber to the far corners of the globe as the wind makes their flabby features flop to and fro. But that doesn’t mean cats can’t enjoy the occasional car ride too, right?

Though I have to admit I’d much rather have both feet on terra firma than in some metal box hurtling along the road on rubber wheels. It is unnatural, and even though it’s necessary, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“So where are we going?” asked Dooley, probably eager to resume his spreading of good deeds as soon as possible.

“We’re going to talk to Daphne Wimmer’s friend,” said Odelia. “Grace Ojala. She’s the woman who provided Daphne with an alibi for the night her husband died.”

“You think Daphne is somehow involved in her husband’s death?” I asked, surprised by this development.

“No, but I have to make sure she was where she said she was,” intimated Odelia. “That way I can eliminate her from the investigation and move on to other, more likely suspects.” Her face took on a grim note when she added, “Like Dino Wimmer’s business partner, or his client.”

“You really think that’s where the answer to this mystery lies, do you?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Max, but it certainly looks like the most plausible avenue to pursue at this moment.”

“What about Rose?” I asked. “She and her dad fought a lot, as several witnesses have now confirmed. And she was the only one home that night with her dad. She could have dumped those pills in his drink.”

“Possible,” Odelia allowed, “but unlikely. Why would Rose kill her father and then cry wolf? The police have accepted his death as a suicide, so if she’s the killer she would have kept her mouth shut and wouldn’t have asked me to investigate.”

“Or it could be that because she’s guilty she hired you as a way of throwing the suspicion off herself,” I countered. “She didn’t know that night that the police were going to treat her father’s death as a suicide. She could have been hedging her bets.”

“Yeah, but then why did she visit me this morning? By that time it was clear my uncle wasn’t going to investigate further.”

“I still don’t think we should exclude Rose as a potential suspect,” I said. “She had motive, opportunity and means, so there’s that.”

“All right,” said Odelia with a smile and a glance at me through the rearview mirror. “I’ll put her on my list of suspects, Detective Max.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” I said, returning her smile.

“And what about Dick?” asked Dooley. “Is he on the list of suspects, too?”

“Who’s Dick?” asked Odelia, puzzled.

“Dick—the man who sent the picture of his sausage to Rose.”

“Oh, him,” she said with a grin. “Yes, Dooley. I’ll be sure to put him on my suspect list, too.”

We’d arrived at our destination, and I glanced up at the house whose owner had been instrumental in supplying Daphne Wimmer with a solid alibi. I liked Mrs. Wimmer. It’s hard enough for a woman to enter a new relationship where one of the partners has a kid from a previous marriage, but having to face a rebellious teenager who likes to dump a boyfriend like Cole Donalds on the mat and then duke it out with her dad isn’t much fun. And now she’d have to raise the recalcitrant teen all on her own.

The home where Daphne’s friend lived was a nice big house, with a cute little apron of green out in front, behind a picket fence. The mailbox had one of those flags that indicate mail has arrived, and I could see several garden gnomes standing at attention. Tex, an avid garden gnome aficionado, would have yipped at the sight.

Odelia rang the doorbell and soon the lady of the manor opened the door. She was a smallish woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a kindly face. She was wiping her hands on her apron, and I could smell the delicious scent of freshly baked cake wafting from inside the house.

“Come on in,” said the woman. “You must be Odelia Poole. And are these your darlings?”

“Yeah, these are Max and Dooley,” said Odelia. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought them along? They like to go where I go.”

“Oh, no problem at all,” said the woman, and already I was warming to her to a great degree. An Avon lady and a cat lady. Definitely a woman after my own heart.

“Take a seat,” said the woman as she gestured to a cozy sofa in the bright and airy living room. “I have to take this cake out of the oven but I’ll be with you in a second. Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee will be fine,” said Odelia, who’s something of a coffee addict.

Unfortunately she didn’t offer us any refreshments, but I decided to overlook this minor faux-pas. I was sure that soon she would rectify this oversight by presenting us with a nice bowl filled with goodies.

This is one of the reasons I enjoy accompanying Odelia on these interviews: you get to see how the other half eats. And join in.

“So what can I do for you?” said our hostess as she placed a tray with two cups of coffee on the coffee table and took a seat.

“Well, as I told you over the phone I was asked by Rose Wimmer to look into the sudden death of her father two nights ago,” Odelia began, “and now I’m trying to establish a timeline of events, and trying to figure out where everyone was at the time of Mr. Wimmer’s death.”

“Daphne told me all about it. Terrible, isn’t it? Such a tragedy for the family. He wasn’t even fifty yet. And a young daughter. Terrible—just terrible.”

“So you and Daphne are friends? Or colleagues?”

“Friends and colleagues,” said Mrs. Ojala with a nod. “We’ve known each other since we both worked as secretaries for Jackson Securities, an investment company that went belly-up a couple of years ago. By the time the company failed Daphne had already moved on, having just gotten married to Dino Wimmer. I stayed, but could see that things weren’t going well. So when Daphne suggested I join her in selling Avon products, I decided after long consideration to take the leap. And we’ve been proud Avon representatives ever since—and with great success, I might add.”

“And you and Daphne had one of your Avon events two nights ago?”

“Yes, we had back-to-back events all weekend. So Daphne decided to stay over. It’s something we’ve gotten into the habit of doing. We like to call it our bi-weekly slumber parties.” She smiled. “Mixing business with pleasure. We have dinner, catch up—it’s always fun when it’s just us girls, without our husbands. Mike, that’s my husband, was out of town this weekend so it was just me and Daphne.”

“So you can confirm that Daphne was here with you all weekend—and more specifically that particular night?”

“Yes. She was staying in the guest room, and we’d just gone to bed when the call came in that something had happened. She left immediately.”

“And what time was this?”

“Oh, I don’t know—two o’clock in the morning? We’d stayed up late talking, and I’d just fallen asleep when she woke me up and said Rose had called and said something terrible had happened and she had to leave immediately.” She frowned. “I don’t understand why you’re asking all these questions, though. Dino committed suicide, right? So what does it matter where Daphne was when it happened?”

“Rose doesn’t believe her father killed himself. She thinks he was murdered, so it’s important to determine where everybody was at the time he died.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Ojala looked perturbed. “So you think—or Rose thinks that… Daphne killed her husband? Is that it?”

“These are just routine questions, Mrs. Ojala,” said Odelia with a smile. “At this point in the investigation I’m just trying to collect as much information as I can.”

“Right,” said the woman, who didn’t look convinced. “Well, I can honestly tell you that I’m greatly surprised. Daphne said Dino committed suicide, so I don’t really understand…”

“I’m not saying Dino was murdered,” said Odelia. “All I’m saying is that we want to find out what happened. And if Mr. Wimmer really killed himself, that’s what my investigation will bear out. And if he didn’t…” She let the words hang in the air, and Grace Ojala’s eyes widened.

“Murder,” she said. “Do you really think so?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”

“Well, I can assure you that if Dino was murdered, Daphne had nothing to do with it. In the first place she was right here when it happened, and in the second—Daphne isn’t a killer. She adored her husband. She would never do anything to harm him, or Rose.”

“Well, thank you for your time, Mrs. Ojala,” said Odelia as she got up. “You’ve been very helpful.”

All I could think was: where was that bowl of kibble?

Chapter 19

Odelia was seated in her editor’s office, going through her notes while Dan stared off into space and digested what she’d just told him. She liked to bounce her ideas off the experienced editor, and not just her story ideas but the results of her sleuthing efforts, too. Oftentimes Dan could come up with something she hadn’t thought of, or point her in an entirely new direction.

The editor had been playing around with some new gimmick on his phone when she walked in. It was a video from one of Dwayne Johnson’s movies, with Dan’s head transposed over that of the actor. It was done in such a neat way it looked amazingly real. It was called a deepfake video, and was the work of Dan’s computer geek nephew.

“So the wife was out of town,” said Dan now, “the daughter was the only one in the house and she noticed nothing of this so-called murder, and the alarm was on and the door locked and bolted.”

“Yep, that seems to be about the gist of it,” said Odelia.

“I’d say the girl is way off base saying her dad is the victim of murder,” said Dan. “Unless she killed him, which seems very unlikely.”

“Yeah, I don’t think she’d ask me to investigate if she killed her dad.”

“What about physical evidence? Fingerprints, footprints, DNA evidence, that kind of thing?”

“The only fingerprints found on the pill bottle belonged to Dino Wimmer, and the prints on the glass on his desk, too. No evidence of a break-in at the house was found, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. Dino could have opened the door to his killer himself.”

“You’re thinking about this business partner—this…”

“Romney Knight. Yeah, he seems the most likely candidate. If he was heavily invested in the idea of lending money to Leo Kemp, and if he thought Dino was standing in the way, he may have figured it was in his best interest to get rid of the man.”

“I know Leo Kemp. Well, superficially, at least. He’s what you might call a shark. Has been known to dabble in some unsavory business dealings. So Wimmer was taking the right course of action when he decided not to get in bed with the guy.”

“You think Kemp might be involved?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. He needs the money and he needs this deal. Without the profits he stands to make when this project goes through the future of his company hangs in the balance.”

“That bad, huh?”

“That bad,” Dan confirmed. “So if I were you I’d take a closer look at Mr. Kemp—but be careful. This man likes to play dirty.”

“Including murder?”

Dan raised a meaningful eyebrow. It spoke volumes.

Once Odelia had left the office, Kimberly entered Dan’s lair. “Odelia still working on that Dino Wimmer case?” she asked.

“Yep. Still trying to figure out whodunit,” said the editor.

“Look, I know it’s probably not my place to tell you this, Dan,” said the junior reporter, “but are you sure this is a good idea?”

“What do you mean?” asked Dan, now giving his latest hire the benefit of his full attention.

“I mean—she’s doing all this investigating on company time, effectively on your dime. Shouldn’t she be conducting her investigations on her own time? Just a thought.”

Dan smiled. “You think she’s taking advantage of me? Playing me for a sucker?”

Kimberly held up her hands. “I’m just wondering how this all works, Chief. I’ve only been here two days, so I have no idea what the procedure is, but I see Odelia, your star reporter, spending all of her time doing something that’s not connected with the paper, so naturally I’m wondering…”

“Look, Odelia’s investigations invariably lead to front-page articles that are read by lots and lots of people,” said Dan. “So even though it may look as if she’s off doing her own stuff on the company dime and on company time, in the end it translates to good copy and even better circulation numbers.”

“Okay,” said Kimberly with a shrug. “Just thought I’d ask, that’s all.”

“No, that’s all right,” said Dan. “I can see how this must look to you. But I can assure you that I know what I’m doing, Kimberly, and so does Odelia.”

“Hey, it’s your paper,” said Kimberly, and returned to her spot at the reception desk. Dan had given her an article to write on the theft of ten chickens from a man named Farmer Giles, and as she reread her copy she wondered how foolish Dan could be to let his only reporter run around chasing some non-existent killer while he let prime talent like her languish on chicken theft stories.

It just didn’t seem fair somehow.

Odelia waved when she caught sight of Rose. The girl looked happy to see her, and immediately came running over. School was out and dozens of students were streaming through the school gates. Odelia had parked herself right next to it, along with a small throng of waiting parents, and when Rose joined her they decided to go for a short walk to the nearby park.

“So what have you found out?” asked Rose, whose cheeks were red and who looked better now than when Odelia had seen her last.

“Not much,” said Odelia as they took a seat on a park bench and watched the never-ending flow of human traffic. Kids playing in the playground with their moms and dads keeping an eye nearby. People walking their dogs. Joggers keeping up the pace. “Oh, before I forget, I’ve got something for you.” She handed Rose back her phone and the girl grabbed it like a lifeline.

“Thanks. I missed this.”

“I thought you would have.”

“Any news on who sent me those creepy messages?”

“Not yet.”

Rose nodded, and immediately checked what texts she’d missed.

“I just talked to Daphne’s friend Grace Ojala,” said Odelia. “To see if Daphne was where she said she was.”

“And? Was she?”

“Yeah, looks like she was.”

“Daphne would never do anything to hurt my dad,” said Rose as she shoved her phone into the pocket of her jeans jacket. “Whatever her faults, she was devoted to him.”

“I also talked to your dad’s business partner at the bank. His co-manager.”

“Mr. Knight.”

“Yeah. Looks like they were in the middle of some big dispute. Mr. Knight wanted to invest in a particular business deal, but your dad was dead set against it. Now that your dad is gone the deal is likely to go through.”

“That’s suspicious, isn’t it?”

“It depends. In this case I think it is, especially since the person profiting from the deal is a shady businessman. So now we have two people who stood to gain from your father’s death.”

“So are you going to tell the police to arrest them?”

Odelia smiled. “It’s not that simple, Rose. It’s not enough that you have a suspicion about a person. You have to prove that they actually did something wrong.”

“So can’t you go out and prove it? That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” she said. “I’m a reporter dabbling in crime detection. I’m not a professional detective and I’m not a police officer. So I don’t have access to a lot of the stuff that the police have. Though I am working on another angle. The night your dad was killed a car pulled out from in front of your house—at least according to your neighbor.”

“Mrs. Bird. She’s a weirdo. I wouldn’t listen to her if I were you.”

“She seems pretty sure in this case. Couldn’t give us a lot of detail but we’re checking traffic cameras at a nearby intersection to see if we can’t figure out who was driving that car.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have access to that kind of stuff?”

“I don’t, but my boyfriend does.”

Rose glanced over. “It must be fun to have a cop boyfriend. And especially one as handsome as yours.”

“It is a lot of fun,” she confirmed. She patted the girl’s knee. “I also talked to your boyfriend, by the way.”

“Oh, God,” Rose muttered, and looked away. “What did he have to say?”

“Well, he seems to think that your dad was under a lot of pressure.”

“He thinks I’m full of crap,” said Rose.

“He didn’t say that.”

“No, he told me. He literally said I’m full of crap. But I’m not. I know my dad, and he would never do this.”

“What about the note he left?”

“He didn’t write that—it’s not even his handwriting. Well, it looks like his handwriting, only it’s not. Someone forged that note to make it look like he killed himself.” Abruptly she got up. “Look, if you’re going to try to convince me I’m wrong, I’ll go and find another detective, Miss Poole.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Odelia quickly. “But you understand that I might find that your dad did kill himself, right?”

“You won’t, because he didn’t,” said Rose curtly, then promptly stalked off. She turned and said, “You have to try harder, Miss Poole. And don’t listen to my idiot boyfriend!”

And then she was gone.

Chapter 20

Dooley and I had been wandering through the park, discussing the case and Dooley’s fascination with Sausage Man as he now referred to his chosen killer, when we suddenly saw a familiar figure seated on a park bench. It was none other than Odelia, and judging from the way Rose Wimmer was walking away from her, hiking her backpack higher up her slender form, she’d just been in conference with her client—if a non-paying teenager can be called a client.

“Hey, you guys,” our human said when we joined her on that bench and took a seat right next to her. “I just talked to Rose. She doesn’t seem very happy with the progress I’ve made—or the lack of progress.”

“What did she say?” I asked, as I stared after the teenager as she walked off.

“She said not to believe a word her idiot boyfriend says for one thing,” said Odelia as she rubbed her eyes. “And she’s still adamant her dad was murdered, that much was obvious.”

“This is a weird case,” I ventured. “A case that isn’t much of a case, with not much to go on. A case without a real client.”

“I know. I’m not even sure there’s even a crime to investigate.” She sighed. “Why am I doing this, you guys? Please tell me.”

“Because you have a hunch,” I told her. “And a good reporter—or amateur sleuth—always follows those hunches, wherever they may lead.”

She smiled and patted my head. “You know you’re the best sidekick a detective could ever hope to find?”

“Or you’re the best sidekick a feline dick could ever hope to find,” I countered.

At the mention of the word dick Dooley looked up. “Have you found him?” he asked. “Sausage Man? Have you discovered his identity?”

“Not yet,” said Odelia. “Chase is still looking into that.”

“Maybe you should call him?” Dooley suggested.

“He would have called me if he’d discovered something. It’s not so easy. As I understand it they have to get in touch with Facebook and ask them to supply the information connected with this particular Messenger account. Also, I don’t want to bother Chase while he’s at work. Not with something that has no bearing on the case.”

“No bearing on the case!” said Dooley. “It’s only the most important piece of evidence! In fact it’s the only piece of evidence you have so far.”

“There’s also the car,” I told him. “The car the neighbor saw? That could also prove very important.” I turned to our human. “No news on that traffic camera footage?”

“Nope,” said Odelia. “Nothing so far.”

“You’re right,” I said. “This is one frustrating case.”

And so we just sat there for a moment, enjoying the day, which was shaping up to be a really nice autumn day. The leaves in the park had turned yellow and gold and had been starting to fall, and there was a definite crispness in the air that was very pleasant. Don’t get me wrong, I like it when the weather is nice and balmy, and when the sun is out, but temperatures don’t need to get too high for me to start getting a little uncomfortable. It’s this coat of fur, you see. It’s not that I can go and take it off if I get too hot. One of the less enjoyable aspects of being a cat. No zipper!

Odelia finally got up and stretched. “I better get back to the office, or Dan will wonder what happened to me.” She grimaced. “I need to go and talk to the winner of the hog wrestling competition that took place last weekend.”

I grinned. “What a fascinating life you lead, Odelia.”

She gave me a mock flick on the ear, and then we were heading into town again. And we’d just arrived at her office when suddenly the door of a car parked in front of the Gazette swung open and a man came out, looking positively annoyed. He was big and burly and had one of those battering rams for chins that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a boxing ring. He was also wearing a nice suit, but that didn’t detract from the menace he exuded.

“Miss Poole!” he said, striding up to us with purposeful stride. “I want a word with you.”

“Mr. Kemp, isn’t it?” she said. “Leo Kemp?”

“That’s right. You have got to stop spreading these nasty rumors about me, Miss Poole,” said the man, and took an intimidating stance right in front of our human. So intimidating in fact that I eyed the man with a heightened sense of alarm.

“What rumors?” asked Odelia, clearly taken aback by this sudden intervention.

“You have been telling people that I murdered my banker, haven’t you? And spreading all kinds of lies about the deal Dino Wimmer and I were working on. Well, I’m telling you now that this has got to stop or I’m filing charges—is that understood?”

Odelia frowned. “I didn’t spread any rumors, Mr. Kemp. I haven’t written a single word about Mr. Wimmer’s death. Yet.”

“And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t,” he said, and was stabbing a finger in her direction. “I’ll sue you and your two-bit newspaper for slander and defamation of character. I’ll put you out of business! You’ll never work in this town again!”

Odelia was so taken aback by this that she didn’t say a word, but merely watched the man get back into his car and drive off. Then she took out her phone and started snapping pictures of the car as it made a U-turn then drove off with tires screeching.

“Well, I never,” she said.

“Who was that horrible man?” asked Dooley.

“Leo Kemp. Real estate developer involved in a deal with First Financial Crest,” she said as she checked if the pictures she’d taken had come out all right. “I just changed my mind, you guys. The winner of the hog wrestling competition will have to wait. First I’m going to show these pictures to Rose’s neighbor and ask her if she recognizes this car.”

And as she took off in the direction of her own car, Dooley and I hot on her trail, I noticed how a young woman with green-rimmed glasses had just stepped out of the Gazette office and was intently staring after us. It was Kimberly, Odelia’s new colleague.

Chapter 21

We arrived at the home of Rose Wimmer and her mother Daphne soon after and Odelia immediately walked up to the house right next door and rang the bell. When an older woman appeared, a puzzled look on her face, Odelia said, “Mrs. Bird?”

“Uh-huh.”

“My grandmother was here yesterday,” Odelia explained, “and you told her about a car you saw the night Mr. Wimmer died, remember?”

“Oh, sure,” said the woman, and directed a curious glance down at Dooley and me. “These your cats?” she asked.

“Yeah, they’re with me,” Odelia confirmed. “So I would like you to look at a picture of a car now and tell me if you recognize it as the car that you saw that night.”

“I have a fur baby myself, you know,” said Mrs. Bird. “I don’t know if your grandma told you this but I have a precious baby named Earl.” And to show us she meant what she said and intended to prove it she half-turned and bellowed, “Earl! Come over here a minute, will you!”

Immediately a small furball came tripping up to the door and halted in his tracks the moment his beady little eyes landed on us.

“Hey, Earl,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“More cats,” he said.

“Oh, that’s right. You talked to Harriet and Brutus yesterday, didn’t you?” I said.

“Will you look at that,” said Mrs. Bird. “They’re communicating. Getting to know each other. How sweet.” She smiled at Odelia. “They tell you that cats and dogs don’t get along but that’s just a load of rubbish. My Earl loves cats. Isn’t that right, Earl?”

Earl grunted, “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I love cats, but I don’t mind them.”

“So about this car,” said Odelia, holding up her phone. “Could you just take a quick look and tell me—”

“I used to have a cat, you know,” said Mrs. Bird. “But her and Earl didn’t get along for some reason. She kept clawing at him and hissing and hitting him. Once she scratched his nose so hard it bled.”

“Right,” said Odelia, who clearly wasn’t all that gripped by this fascinating story as she should have been. She was still holding up her phone in a fruitless attempt to interest Mrs. Bird in the picture of Leo Kemp’s automobile.

“So I had a choice to make, didn’t I? So I got rid of the cat for Earl’s sake.”

“You got rid of the cat?” I said, highly perturbed by this denouement.

“I didn’t have her put down if that’s what you’re thinking,” Mrs. Bird hastened to clarify as if she’d noticed my surprise. “I gave her to my niece, who just loves cats.” She shrugged. “Ever since then Earl has been a little gun shy around cats. Isn’t that right, Earl?”

“What do you expect when you’re suddenly attacked without warning?” Earl grunted.

“So about this car,” Odelia prompted, still holding onto a glimmer of hope that the conversation would wend its way to a more productive stage, more specifically the identification of Leo Kemp’s car.

“I’m not going to scratch you,” I assured Earl. “In fact I don’t think I’ve ever scratched a dog in my life.”

“We’ve scratched plenty of humans, though,” said Dooley.

“All of them bad guys,” I hastened to clarify when Earl lifted an eyebrow.

Mrs. Bird was finally glancing at the phone Odelia held out for her. “Could be,” she allowed. “You know, cars all look the same to me. It could have been this car or it could have been a different one. Whose is it?”

“Leo Kemp. A businessman.”

“Well, like I said it’s possible. Some people know their cars. My husband was like that. He could recognize any car. Make and model and even the year they were built and what engine and all of that nonsense. For me a car is a car.” She smiled. “But that doesn’t help you much, does it, sweetie?”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Odelia, looking slightly disappointed.

“So you still think Dino Wimmer was murdered, do you?”

“It’s a possibility,” said Odelia cautiously.

“No neighbor of ours has ever been murdered before,” said Earl, and gave me a look that seemed to indicate it was entirely my fault that now someone had.

“You didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, did you?” I asked.

“I already told those friends of yours,” said the dog. “I didn’t notice nothing, except a big to-do when the police arrived and that ambulance.”

“But before that…”

“Nothing,” he said. “And believe you me, I would have barked the house down if anyone so much had dared enter Mr. Wimmer’s house to murder him.” And then he thrust out his puny chest. “I may not look like much of a guard dog but I will protect my human at all cost, and if a killer had been sneaking around next door, I would have noticed. And you can quote me on that.”

“One more question, Earl,” said Dooley.

“Shoot,” said the little dog.

“Has your human by any chance been getting pictures of a sausage on her phone?”

The conversation more or less wound down after that, and I could tell that our surprise visit hadn’t altered Earl’s view on cats as a nose-scratching species to be watched out for. Only now he seemed to think we were all slightly loony, too.

Chapter 22

Rose Wimmer had decided to walk home instead of taking the bus. She could use the fresh air. She needed to clear her head and consider her options. It was obvious now that Odelia Poole, in spite of her promises, wasn’t going to be able to deliver. So far she hadn’t unearthed anything in the nature of conclusive evidence of her dad’s murder, and Rose had the sneaking suspicion that secretly Miss Poole agreed with the cops that Dad’s death was suicide and not murder.

It was starting to dawn on Rose that she was the only person in the world who believed that her dad had been killed—even Daphne kept giving her a look of pity every time Rose broached the subject.

But she was still absolutely convinced of her case. Dad would never kill himself. He just wouldn’t. No matter what anyone believed, she just knew.

And she’d just kicked an inoffensive pebble when suddenly her phone chimed and she took it out. She frowned as she read the message. It was from an unknown number and it read: ‘I know who killed your dad. Come to the Triple Platinum Gym. Alone.’

Her heart lifted. Finally. A clue. A witness, probably. Or an accomplice of the killer who’d suddenly had a change of heart and was ready to confess. And it was with a spring in her step that she turned on her heel and started walking back to town.

She’d show them. Daphne, the cops, Odelia Poole. She’d show all of them how she’d been right all along and they were wrong.

Vesta was staring before herself into space, thinking dark thoughts about this so-called investigation Odelia had gotten her involved in. “I don’t get it,” she said. “First she gets all hot and bothered about this case and then she just drops it like a hot brick. What gives?”

Next to her, Scarlett was sipping from a hot beverage which could have been herbal tea. It certainly smelled like herbal tea, the sweet fumes tickling Vesta’s nostrils and provoking a gag reflex. She was one of those people who are allergic to herbal tea of any type or persuasion. “When you say she dropped it you mean she solved the case? So who’s the killer?”

“She didn’t solve it as far as I know, but she hasn’t said a word about it since last night, when we delivered our report.”

“Maybe she’s thinking about the next steps she needs to take,” Scarlett suggested.

“I think we’ve just gotten dumped, Scarlett. That’s what I think is going on here. And I can tell you right now that this is the last time I’m getting sucked into one of Odelia’s investigations. We’re not even getting paid for this stuff.”

“Odelia isn’t getting paid,” Scarlett pointed out.

“Oh, she’s getting paid all right. Getting paid by Dan Goory. So she’s got her bases covered. It’s us who’ve been working our asses off for nothing.” She slammed the table. “But no more. When she asks us to do legwork for her again I’ll tell her she can do it herself.”

“I quite enjoy doing legwork for your grandkid,” said Scarlett. “I’ve never been a detective before and I have to say it’s a lot of fun. You get to talk to people who’d otherwise never give you the time of day, and you get to go places you wouldn’t otherwise be allowed to visit. People let you into their homes—I love it.”

“Well, I don’t.” Vesta glanced across the street and happened to see Rose Wimmer, the girl who’d set this whole thing in motion. “I wonder what she’s up to.”

Scarlett followed her gaze and frowned. “Poor girl. Not only did she lose her dad but now it’s just her and that stepmom of hers. Must be pretty tough.”

“Well, I don’t care how tough it is,” said Vesta. “I’m done working for free. If I ever take a case again I’m asking top dollar. Paid in advance.”

“You can’t expect that girl to pay top dollar for us to find her daddy’s killer, Vesta. That just wouldn’t be right.”

Vesta took a swig from her cup of hot chocolate, trying to drown out the foul smell of Scarlett’s herbal tea with the sweet aroma of her chocolate delight. “We’re not even sure her dad was killed,” she reiterated. “As far as I’m concerned this whole thing’s been nothing but a wild goose chase. And you know what else I think?”

“No, what?”

“That girl has been playing us for a bunch of fools. I’ll bet she knows exactly what happened that night. And this whole thing…” She made a vague all-encompassing gesture. “Is nothing but a smokescreen.”

“A smokescreen? What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Vesta admitted. “But whatever it is, I don’t like it. We’ve been used, Scarlett. Used and abused.”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“And I’m sure I’m not. Just you mark my words. This isn’t over. Not by a mile.”

Rose had arrived at the gym and discovered that a closed sign hung on the door. She placed her hands against the glass and peered inside. If the person who sent her that text was inside, she didn’t see them. And as she tried the door handle, she discovered it was unlocked. After a moment’s hesitation, she pushed inside and found herself in the club’s reception area. The lights were out, and it was a little dark inside. She swallowed away a feeling of uneasiness and said, in a small voice, “Hello? Anybody here?”

When no response came, she ventured deeper into the club, past the turnstile that easily yielded to pressure and now found herself in the club proper, where a host of workout machines stood deserted, the place devoid of its usual hustle and bustle of people groaning and sweating and of loud music pumping from the speakers.

Once more she called out, “Hello?” and when no reply came, she decided that maybe she better wait outside.

And that’s when she saw it. Her first glimpse was through the large mirror that covered an entire section of wall. A man was lying on his back on one of the benches placed under a weightlifting machine.

“Oh, hi,” she said, as she quickened her step to join the man. “Did you send me that message, sir?”

It was only when she’d crossed the floor and reached the man that she saw that it was none other than the club’s manager, Jared Zmuda, dressed in his usual fluorescent shorts and Iron Man tank top. His eyes were wide, his features contorted into an expression of surprise. His surprise may well have been related to the heavy metal bar that was pressing down onto his throat.

It took only one look at the man’s face to know that he was dead.

Chapter 23

“Max?”

“Mh?”

“Do you have any ideas for good deeds?”

“Why? Have you run out of ideas?”

“Kinda. The day is almost over and I haven’t done my good deed of the day yet. And now I’m starting to worry.”

“Why? What do you think will happen when you don’t do a good deed today?”

“I’m not sure, but it probably won’t be good.”

I gave my friend a reassuring smile. “Look, Dooley,” I said, “this good deed thing is something you choose. Nobody is forcing you to do it. So when you skip a day nobody is going to be upset with you.”

He gave this some thought, then said, “Are you sure, cause it feels like someone will.”

“Nobody is holding you accountable, Dooley. If you don’t do a good today you can do one tomorrow, or not.”

“Or I could do two good deeds tomorrow. One for today and one for tomorrow.”

“Sure. You can do whatever you want.”

He looked absolutely relieved at this, and frankly so was I. This good deed stuff had begun to give me cause for concern. If he was going to keep running in front of cars and clear out movie theaters we were in for a rough ride.

We were stretched out on the rug, having a relaxing time. Odelia and Chase were in the kitchen preparing dinner, and next to us Harriet and Brutus were also lying on the new rug Odelia had bought. It was a nice rug, one of those high-pile ones that are just heaven to dig your claws into. Which is probably why Odelia had forbidden us to do just that. She hadn’t said anything about not lying on the rug, though, even though I could see a rug ban in our near future, seeing as how cat hair has a tendency to stick and is hard to get out of those high-pile rugs, even with the best vacuum cleaner on the market.

But for now we were all enjoying this leisurely time.

“What’s all this about good deeds?” asked Harriet now.

“Oh, Dooley saw this thing on television about boy scouts being required to do a good deed a day and he figured he wants to become a cub scout and try the same.”

“A cub scout, huh?” said Brutus. “And what, may I ask, is a cub scout, Dooley?”

“Well, a cub scout is a member of the Cub Scouts of America,” he said, “and he gets together with other cub scouts to go camping and generally have a good time. Oh, and somehow there are cookies involved, though that part is still a little fuzzy to me.”

“You’re going to sell cookies door to door?” asked Harriet with a smirk.

“And go camping? I didn’t know you liked camping,” said Brutus, with an equally sneering quality to his voice.

“Well, if I’m going to be a full-fledged member of the Cub Scouts of America I don’t mind the camping bit and the cookies bit,” said Dooley. “I just think it will be nice to meet other cubs and get to know them.”

“You do know that the cub scouts aren’t actually cubs, right?” said Brutus.

“Of course I know,” said Dooley. “They’re kids that are cute and cuddly—like cubs.”

“Just checking.”

“And I’m sure they’ll be happy to have a real cub join up—me.”

“You’re not a cub, Dooley,” said Harriet. “Cubs are the young of big cats or bears or foxes. Ours are called kittens—and you, my friend, are not a kitten.”

“But…”

“Dooley could be a member of the Kitten Scouts of America,” Brutus suggested.

“But I…”

“If he was a kitten, which he’s not,” said Harriet.

“Cat Scouts of America, then?”

“But I want to be a cub scout,” said Dooley.

“Impossible,” said Brutus. “You’re not a cub.”

“Max? I can be a cub scout if I want to, right?”

“Um…” I said. I hated to rain on my friend’s parade, but Brutus and Harriet had put me on the spot here. If I said cub scouts were for cats, I would be lying, and if I said they weren’t for cats, I’d be dashing Dooley’s hopes of joining this particular organization Cub Scouts of America—which didn’t exist, as I’d been trying to point out to him, to no avail.

Lucky for me I was saved by the bell. Or in actual fact Odelia’s phone as it started belting out a Dua Lipa song.

“Oh, it’s Rose,” she said as she dried her hands on the kitchen towel and picked up. “Hi, Rose.” She listened for a moment, then her face creased into a frown. “Hold up—calm down. What’s wrong?” Then her eyes went wide and she glanced over to Chase, who was holding a pot of spaghetti, ready to pour it into the strainer Odelia was still holding and looking a little foolish as he did. “I’ll be right there, Rose. Don’t touch anything. Five minutes, all right?” She disconnected then said, “Jared Zmuda is dead. Rose just found him.”

Chase looked at the pot of spaghetti, the pan of spaghetti sauce gently sizzling on the stove, and I could tell he was momentarily struggling to get his priorities straight. Then, finally, he set down the spaghetti, turned off the heat on the stove, and said, “I’ll drive.”

Moments later we were speeding along the road. Odelia was on the phone again, this time with her uncle, and before long we’d arrived at the gym and alighted from the car. Chase and Odelia hurried inside, and so did the rest of us. And true enough: there he was. Jared Zmuda, lying flat on his back on one of those fitness benches. The guy was dead as a dodo, his throat crushed by the weight of the weightlifting apparatus he’d been hoping would improve his general health and wellbeing but had instead—and quite ironically I might add—ended his life.

Chapter 24

It didn’t take long for the police to arrive—well, Uncle Alec and a few of his officers at any rate. Chase, since he was already at the scene, assumed control, and immediately started doing what police detectives like to do in cases like these: looking here and there, searching all around for possible clues. What seemed uncertain at this point was if this had been a terrible accident or… murder.

Frankly I leaned towards the former. Jared Zmuda had probably underestimated the weight he’d pulled and overestimated his capacity for lifting it. A comment Chase made convinced me of the probability of this theory.

“He shouldn’t have tried to lift such a weight without a spotter,” he told Odelia.

“A spotter?” I asked. “What’s a spotter?”

It was Odelia who responded, as Chase unfortunately is one of those rare humans who can’t understand what cats are saying.

“A spotter is a person who stands next to the person lifting a weight and makes sure that if the person is incapable of making that final push and replace the weight on the stand, assists him. Otherwise he might be in trouble when he can’t.”

“Just like Mr. Zmuda,” I said.

“Just like Jared Zmuda,” she agreed.

But then Uncle Alec came rushing in, followed by Abe Cornwall, the county coroner, and so we all had to take a backseat while the police and the coroner went about their business.

“I’m taking you home with me if that’s all right,” Odelia told Rose as she placed an arm around the shocked girl’s shoulders.

Rose nodded, her eyes teary and her demeanor downcast.

“Poor girl,” I said. “Two dead bodies in two days. It would be enough for anyone to be completely discombobulated.”

“A strange coincidence, though, don’t you think?” said Harriet as she eyed the girl with a touch of suspicion. “First she finds her dad’s body and now this Jared Zmuda guy? What are the odds?”

“Slim,” I agreed.

“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” said Brutus.

“And I’m sure it’s not,” Harriet snapped.

We followed Odelia and Rose out of the club and to the car. And soon we were on our way back to the house. Arriving there, Odelia proceeded to finish preparing the spaghetti and even though the girl said she wasn’t hungry, Odelia insisted she eat a little. And as soon as she took a first bite, she was wolfing down the entire plate.

“Looks like shock has stimulated her appetite,” said Harriet, still suspicious of the young woman.

“He sent me a message, you know,” said Rose as she pushed her plate away.

“Who sent you a message?” asked Odelia, who’d also managed to empty her plate in record time—a clear sign that shock can act as a stimulant with some people, and an appetite suppressant with others. Both these women clearly were in the first category.

“Jared. Or at least I think it was him. He said to meet him at the club. That he knew who killed my dad. That’s why I was there. And then when I arrived he was dead.”

“Can I see the message?” asked Odelia. Rose handed over her phone. “Unknown number…” she muttered.

“He was murdered, Odelia,” said Rose adamantly. “By the same person who murdered my dad. Jared knew who the murderer was and they killed him before he had the chance to talk.”

“Are you sure it was him that sent this message?”

“Who else could it be? He was the only one there—who else but the person sending that message knew I was meeting him?” When she saw that Odelia wasn’t immediately agreeing with her, her eyes blazed. “You don’t believe me, do you? Again.”

“The thing is that I’m not convinced it was murder, Rose. It could have been an accident. Jared trying to lift a weight that was too great for him, and being crushed to death.”

“It was murder!” Rose said, and shoved her chair back and got up. “I’m going home,” she announced, and grabbed her backpack from the floor. “You never believe me!”

“No, I want to believe you, Rose,” Odelia said. “But the evidence just isn’t there.” Just then, Odelia’s phone belted out its tune again, and she quickly picked up with a curt, “Yes, Chase?” She listened for a moment, then her eyes slid up Rose’s face.

“What is it?” asked the girl, looking tense.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll tell her.”

“Tell me what?”

Odelia disconnected and said, “You were right, Rose. It was murder.”

“See? I told you!”

“The weightlifting machine was sabotaged. When Jared unhooked the safety, the cable stabilizing the weight snapped and the entire thing came crashing down on him.”

“Oh, my God,” said Rose, bringing a distraught hand to her face.

“They found a pair of wire cutters on the floor near the machine. They’re dusting them for prints right now.” She hesitated. “They want you to come down to the police station, Rose. They want to take your fingerprints.”

“My fingerprints! But why?”

“Just a routine thing,” Odelia assured the girl. “So they can eliminate you from their inquiries.”

“They don’t think… I did it?”

“No, of course not. They just want to make sure the prints on the wire cutters aren’t yours. You didn’t touch anything while you were there, right?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Rose. “I didn’t touch a thing. I saw Jared lying there, dead, and the first thing I did was call you.”

“Good. You did good, Rose.” She placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Everything will be just fine. You’ll see.”

“Murder,” said Rose. “Which means the killer must have known Jared wanted to talk to me.” She shivered. “Which means he might have still been there—watching me.”

They were both silent for a moment, then the doorbell rang and Odelia crossed the living room to let the officer in.

“So it was murder,” I said quietly.

“Yeah,” said Harriet, “and I think we all know who did it, don’t we?”

And she directed a hard look at Rose Wimmer.

Chapter 25

“Do you think Mr. Knight did it, Max?” asked Dooley as we rode in Odelia’s car to the police station. Rose was quiet in the passenger seat, looking subdued and a little scared, and Dooley and I were in the back. Harriet and Brutus had decided to stay home. Gran had arrived and had lured them next door with the prospect of some delicious snacks to be had.

“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “Why would a banker kill one of his clients? Especially a client who’s in the process of borrowing a great deal of money so he can launch a chain of fitness clubs? It’s not exactly a sound business tactic. I’m sure business schools everywhere advise against that type of practice.”

“He probably killed Rose’s dad and somehow Jared Zmuda found out and threatened to tell Rose,” said my friend.

The same thought had occurred to me. I still found it hard to credit that the man would go to such lengths. And besides, how did Jared Zmuda know the identity of the killer? What was his involvement? It all made little sense to me, I must admit.

We’d arrived at the police station and Odelia took Rose inside to be fingerprinted.

“I feel like a criminal,” said the girl.

“It’s just routine,” Odelia assured her. “Nobody is accusing you of anything, Rose.”

“Still, I feel as if they are,” she said.

While Rose was being processed, Dooley and I sat in the waiting area out in front of the police station. And that’s why we were soon treated to a rare and fascinating sight: a small procession of police officers arriving, Uncle Alec and Chase Kingsley at the head of the throng, and then proceeding into the precinct, talking animatedly as they did, and all wearing very grave expressions on their faces.

“I think it’s time to go spying again, Dooley,” I announced, and hopped down from the chair I’d been occupying.

“Spying?” he asked. “Where?”

“I have a feeling Uncle Alec discovered something, and he’s going to spill the beans in his office, so that’s where you and I are going to be.”

We hurried out of the building, and soon found ourselves hopping onto the windowsill outside the police chief’s office, putting our inconspicuous ears to the pane. Unfortunately the window was double-paned. But lucky for us cats have superior hearing, so we could still hear everything that was being said. And sure enough, Chase and Uncle Alec were in conference inside, and clearly had important information to share.

“Same guy?” asked Uncle Alec, seated behind his desk and tapping the desk blotter with his stubby fingertips.

“Same guy,” Chase confirmed.

“What guy?” asked Dooley next to me.

“Shh,” I said quietly.

“So it was Jared Zmuda who sent those pictures of his willy to Rose?”

“Yep.”

“Better go and see if those prints have been processed yet,” the Chief grunted. “If it was her we’ve got a clear motive.”

Chase hurried out of the office and I shared a worried look with my friend.

“They think it was Rose,” I said.

“That’s not good.”

“Not good at all.”

“So it was Mr. Zmuda who sent the picture of that sausage?”

“Looks like.”

“But I thought his name was Jared and not Dick?”

“He was probably using a fake name,” I said after a pause.

“And who’s this Willy they’re talking about?”

“Another alias,” I said after another short pause.

“Jared, Dick and Willy. The guy sure gets around,” said Dooley, shaking his head.

But before we could thresh this thing out some more, our attention was attracted by developments inside the office. Chase had returned, and was looking both excited and grim-faced.

“It’s her,” he announced in grave tones.

“Son of a gun,” the Chief said, slapping his desk. “Better get a warrant for her arrest.” And before Chase could comply, he added, “And better add a warrant to search the house. Who knows what we’ll find there.”

Chase locked eyes with his superior officer. “You think she killed her dad, too?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. Remember the big fight she had with her dad about the boyfriend? Sounds like a grade-A motive for murder to me.”

“What do we tell Odelia?”

“Don’t tell her anything just yet. She seems to have grown fond of the girl.” But then Chase’s eyes swiveled to the window, followed by Chief Alec’s. “Scratch that,” the Chief grunted. “Looks like my niece’s spies are hard at work already.” He sighed. “Better get her in here. I’ll bring her up to speed. You take Miss Wimmer into custody and get busy on that house search.” Uncle Alec gave us a reproachful look. “Is there nothing in this town that you guys don’t know about?”

I just shrugged and gave him a sheepish look.

Moments later Odelia entered the office after a cursory knock on the door and said, “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah, close the door and take a seat.”

Odelia did as she was told, and when she glanced over to where we were still eavesdropping to our hearts’ content, gave us a quick grin and a wave.

“Look, we’re going to have to arrest Rose,” said the Chief, not wasting time getting down to business.

“Arrest Rose! But why?”

“Her fingerprints were on the wire cutters found underneath that bench press machine. So she cut those wires and sent that four-hundred-pound stack of weights crashing down on Jared Zmuda’s throat the moment he activated the machine.”

“But why? Rose is no killer.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that if I were you. It was Zmuda who sent her those pictures of his willy, and presumably it wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that.”

“Jared sent those pictures?”

Uncle Alec nodded. “I know it’s a thin excuse for a motive but those fingerprints put her at the scene, and are as good as an admission of guilt, Odelia.”

“But what about that message?”

“What message?”

“The one telling her to come to the club. Did you find out who sent that message?”

“I did. It was sent from Jared’s phone. And I’m gonna go out on a limb here and posit that she sent that message to herself, using the victim’s phone.”

“But why?”

“To give her an excuse to be at the scene of the crime, of course.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If she wanted to kill Jared she could have easily snuck out of the club after he died. She didn’t have to bother with a message or calling me.”

The Chief threw up his hands. “Look, it’s early days, and there’s a lot we don’t know yet, but I’m not taking any chances, and with the evidence we have now, I’m taking my responsibility and having her arrested. We’ll search her room, dig some more into her phone, talk to the boyfriend, and hopefully that will give us a better picture of what we’re dealing with. But I can tell you right now that I have a good feeling about Rose as a suspect. And I think we’ll find that she not only killed Jared Zmuda but her dad, too.”

But Odelia was shaking her head. “You’re making a mistake. Rose isn’t a killer.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” said the Chief, a stubborn expression stealing over his face. “And now you better get those cats out of my face before I arrest them, too.”

“Looks like we’ve worn out our welcome,” I told Dooley, and before Uncle Alec could carry out his threat, we decided to skedaddle.

“Do you think Rose is guilty, Max?” asked Dooley as we made our way back to Odelia’s car.

“I don’t know, Dooley. But things are not looking good for her, that’s for sure.”

And just as we passed the front door of the precinct, I saw that Odelia’s colleague Kimberly was walking in. She had a pep in her step and looked like a reporter on a mission.

Chapter 26

Once we were back at the house it’s safe to say that Odelia’s mood wasn’t good. She kept checking her phone, hoping for an update from Chase or her uncle Alec, and when none seemed forthcoming, plunked down on the couch and sat chewing her nails and watching CNN with the sound off—which in my mind doesn’t really have the same effect. It’s odd watching all these people talking and having no idea what they’re saying.

Dooley and I tried to console her by pointing out that Uncle Alec was great at what he did and so was Chase, and that if Rose indeed was innocent they would prove it beyond a reasonable doubt.

“Yeah, but what if she’s guilty? Then I’ve taken on a client who not only is a double murderer but tricked me into antagonizing a bunch of innocent people.”

“Well, only two innocent people,” I pointed out. “The banker guy and the real estate mogul. And judging from Mr. Kemp’s performance earlier he doesn’t seem like a nice person anyway.”

“No, but you can see now where he was coming from. Rumors like that could conceivably cause a lot of trouble for his business. And all because a teenager managed to convince me he might be guilty of murder.”

“He still might be,” I said.

“Oh, Max,” she said with a groan, and buried her head in her hands.

“What’s going on here?” asked Gran as she walked in through the sliding glass door, Harriet and Brutus right on her heels. Our fellow cats managed to look both well-fed and complacent, which told me that they’d been snacking on some fine food supplied by Gran while we were looking out for our human’s client’s interests.

“Rose has been arrested on suspicion of murder,” Odelia said.

“Murder? What murder? Her dad?”

“No. Well, yes.”

“Make up your mind. Is it yes or no?”

“There’s been a second murder—or a first one, if Dino’s death was a suicide.”

“A second murder?”

“Or a first one.”

“You’re making me really confused here, Odelia!”

“Jared Zmuda was murdered. He’s the—”

“Gym guy. Yeah, I know who Jared Zmuda is. And Rose killed him?”

“Maybe. Uncle Alec seems to think so. Her fingerprints were found on the murder weapon—which wasn’t actually the murder weapon.”

“Odelia!”

“Okay, so her prints were found on wire cutters that were used to sabotage the weightlifting machine that killed him.”

“He was killed with a weightlifting machine?”

“A bench press machine. He was crushed to death by a weight that smashed down on him when he tried to lift it.”

“Ouch. Sounds painful.” Gran wagged a finger in her granddaughter’s face. “See? I told you those fitness clubs are death traps.”

“You never told me that.”

“I’m telling you now. So what happens next?”

“We wait for your son and my boyfriend to figure out what happened.”

Gran made a scoffing noise. “Then you’re gonna have to wait a long time.” Clearly she didn’t have a high opinion of her son’s detecting skills. She took a seat next to Odelia. “What are you watching this crap for?”

Promptly she used the remote to switch to the Discovery Channel. She turned up the sound. A bird was tweeting, and a soothing voice spoke, “The male Scarlet Macaw boasts a wonderfully colorful plumage. It is designed to attract the female of the species…”

“I like this show,” said Dooley, perking up at the sound of the narrator, who seemed intent on lulling his audience to sleep. Which maybe was a good thing. Odelia at least stopped worrying her fingernails and her shoulders, which she’d almost pulled up to her ears, relaxed a little.

“My main suspect is dead,” Dooley told Gran.

“Oh? And who was your main suspect?” she asked with a smile.

“A man named Dick. Or Willy. But actually his name was Jared. And he liked to send people pictures of his sausage.”

Gran burst into laughter, and even Odelia was grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s so funny?” asked Dooley.

“Nothing, buddy,” said Gran, patting my friend on the head.

“I can’t believe you watch this stuff,” Harriet said, referring to the nature show, where the vividly-colored bird had now flown to a different tree to continue his singing. “It’s so boring,” she complained.

“It’s interesting,” Gran said. “You learn something about life. A damn sight better than those terrible reality shows you like to watch.”

“At least those reality shows are real,” Harriet countered.

“Yeah, right,” said Gran.

“I like it,” Brutus announced. “I like to watch birds. It relaxes me.”

“It is relaxing,” said Gran. “And great for your blood pressure. Better than pills.”

“What’s better than pills?” asked Tex as he came walking in the same way Gran had done. He was accompanied by Marge.

“The Discovery Channel,” said Gran. “Half an hour of this stuff and my blood pressure is almost back to normal.”

“Is it true what they’re saying?” asked Marge, darting a worried look at her daughter.

“What are they saying, Mom?” asked Odelia.

“That Rose Wimmer has been arrested for murder? Apparently she killed both her dad and Jared Zmuda.”

Odelia stared at her mom. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody. It’s on the website.”

“What website?”

“The Gazette. I assumed you wrote it?”

“No, I didn’t. In fact nobody is supposed to know Rose was arrested. We’re still hoping she’s innocent.”

“Well, the news is all over the Gazette,” said Marge and took out her phone.

Suddenly all the humans in the room took out their respective phones, and after a moment of frantic surfing, Odelia cried, “Oh, no, she didn’t!”

“Who did what now?” asked Gran, who was always a little slower operating her phone than the younger generation.

“Kimberly! She wrote an article accusing Rose of murder!” Odelia seemed terribly incensed, for her face had turned red and she was gripping that phone so hard I was afraid it would fold under the pressure. “That’s my story! She had absolutely no right to…”

“Police sources,” said Gran, who’d managed to pull up the story and was intently staring at her phone. “What police sources?”

“Someone must have blabbed,” said Odelia. “And it sure wasn’t Chase or my uncle.” Her face had taken on a mutinous look. “I’m going to talk to Dan. This is outrageous.” But before she could call her editor, her phone sang out a tune and she immediately picked up. “Yes, Chase? Any news?”

“Put it on speaker, will you?!” Gran loud-whispered.

Odelia complied, and suddenly Chase’s voice sounded from Odelia’s phone. “I’m afraid we found some very damning evidence in Rose’s room, babe,” the cop said.

“What damning evidence?”

“A quick look at her computer reveals she’s been googling ‘Ways to make a murder look like a suicide’ and ‘How many sleeping pills does it take to kill a person.’”

“Oh, dear,” said Odelia, closing her eyes.

“Also your uncle discovered a police report filed three years ago. Turns out Rose stabbed her dad with a kitchen knife. Police were called for a domestic disturbance incident, but no charges were ever brought against her.”

“This isn’t good,” said Odelia, probably the understatement of the evening.

“So I’m afraid the Chief has placed her under arrest for the murder of her dad and the murder of Jared Zmuda. I’m sorry, babe.”

“I don’t understand. Why would she ask me to investigate her dad’s murder if she was guilty? And why kill Jared and then leave those wire cutters lying around, covered in her fingerprints?”

“She’s not a professional killer, Odelia. She’s just a girl who’s very disturbed. Look, I gotta go. Rose’s mom just arrived with a lawyer and we’re going to do the first interview.”

“Keep me informed, will you?”

“Will do,” he said, and signed off.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the room, then that man on TV said, still in those same unctuous tones, “And there is the female of the species now, answering the male’s mating call. His colorful plumage has sealed the deal again.”

And Rose Wimmer’s amateurism had sealed her fate.

Chapter 27

That night Odelia slept a little fitfully. Chase hadn’t come home—he was probably still working on the case—and finally our human had decided to go to bed. And instead of going to cat choir, as we usually do, we decided to stay home and keep her company.

“Sad, isn’t it, Max?” said Dooley quietly.

We were both lying at the foot of the bed and didn’t want to disturb Odelia by talking too loudly.

“Yeah, terrible business,” I said commiseratively.

“Do you think that second male bird, the one whose feathers weren’t as colorful, will also find a female? Or do you think he will die alone, never having enjoyed true love?”

“I thought you were talking about Rose,” I said.

“Oh, no. I was talking about those birds.”

“Yeah, Dooley,” I said. “I’m sure that second male bird will have found a mate for life, too. And if he didn’t it’s not as big a deal as Rose Wimmer having to go to prison for life.”

He thought about that for a moment, then conceded, “Yeah, that’s not a good prospect for Rose, is it?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“So you think she’s guilty, do you?”

“Chase seems to think so, and he has the proof to back it up.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right,” he said. “It’s a pity. She seems like such a nice girl.” He shrugged. “Oh, well. At least that nice housekeeper Gran mentioned won’t have to clean up after Rose and her dad anymore.”

I stared at him. “Say that again?”

“What?”

“What you just said.”

“That the housekeeper won’t have to clean up after Rose and her dad?”

I nodded thoughtfully. “You know, Dooley. I’m not sure if you’re a genius or an idiot savant, but you just gave me an entirely new perspective on this case.”

“I’m not an idiot, Max,” my friend said softly.

“I didn’t say you were an idiot. I said you were possibly an idiot savant.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes, it is,” I said with a grin. “Now let me think, Dooley. I have the impression I’ve been very complacent about this whole case. Very complacent indeed.”

“I have no idea what you just said but I’ll be quiet from now on.” And he promptly dozed off.

The sun was already rising over the horizon when I finally managed to put the entire puzzle together—or at least I thought I had.

Odelia woke up with a groan and patted the empty spot next to her. “Chase didn’t come home?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said.

Just then, the front door opened and moments later heavy steps on the stairs announced the lanky cop’s arrival. When he appeared at the door he looked exhausted.

“I’m bushed,” he announced and dropped into bed without removing his clothes, and pressed a quick kiss on Odelia’s cheek.

“So what’s the verdict?” she asked.

“Guilty,” he said. “Though she’s not admitting a thing. Says we’ve got it all wrong and someone is framing her.”

“Framing her!”

“Yeah. Your uncle accused her of watching too many crime shows but she stuck to her guns. Says someone is trying to make it look as if she’s a killer and she swears up and down she’s not. She also said you’re looking into the case and she’s sure you’ll be able to prove that she’s innocent.” He yawned.

“I’m not sure her confidence is entirely justified,” said Odelia ruefully.

“Yeah, well, she fooled us all.”

“Though me most of all,” said Odelia.

“Do you mind if I take a quick nap?” said Chase, and before Odelia could respond, his head was lolling to the side and he was fast asleep.

She carefully slipped from beneath the covers, placed a blanket on top of the cop, and tiptoed from the room.

“Odelia?” I said. “If you have time could I bounce some ideas off you?”

“Sure thing, Max,” she said. “I’ll take a quick shower and then you can bounce all you want.” But then she caught sight of the clock on the nightstand and said, “Shoot. I had no idea it was this late. We’ll have to do this later, Max. I should have been in the office twenty minutes ago.”

Dooley, who’d only now woken up, yawned and said, “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” I said. “I had a brainwave last night, but apart from that…”

His eyes had widened considerably. “A brainwave! Max, we have to go to the doctor immediately! Are you in any pain?”

“I’m fine, Dooley!” I said with a laugh.

“But your brain! It’s waving!”

“I just had an idea, okay? One of those bright ideas that suddenly come over you.”

He stared at me, clearly having no idea what I was talking about.

“I’m absolutely fine, Dooley. Just that I may have just solved this murder.”

“But… wasn’t it solved already?”

“I don’t think so. I think Chase and Uncle Alec arrested the wrong person.”

“You have to tell them. You have to tell them all about that wave in your brain.”

“It won’t do Rose much good,” I said. “You see, I don’t have any proof. And without proof they won’t be convinced.”

“Well, then let’s get us some proof,” he said simply.

“All right. Let’s get us some proof,” I said with a smile.

Chapter 28

Odelia was in and out of the shower in a flash. Foregoing her usual morning coffee, instead she grabbed a bagel, sliced it and smeared it with cream cheese, stuffed it into her mouth and was off at a trot. Dan didn’t mind her arriving late but she’d hoped to arrive before Kimberly so she could discuss her new colleague’s stunt with the editor.

When she arrived at the office, though, Kimberly was already seated at her desk. The junior reporter greeted her with a chipper smile and a hearty, “Good morning, Odelia. Sleep well?”

Instead of returning the smile and greeting, Odelia walked straight on through to Dan’s office and closed the door. “We need to talk,” she said.

Dan, who must have been admiring more of his nephew’s deepfake videos for he was looking at his phone and chuckling softly before himself, took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. “What is it?”

“The article about Rose Wimmer. Did you approve it?”

“What article? What are you talking about?”

“It’s on the website, Dan!”

“Is it?” When she practically shoved her phone in the man’s face, and after he’d put his glasses back on and peered at it for a moment, his face cleared. “Oh, now I remember. Great piece of writing, Odelia. Excellent stuff. Who would have thought the daughter did it, eh?”

She gritted her teeth, having to fight back the urge to hit her editor over the head with her phone. “I didn’t write this, Dan. Kimberley did.”

A look of confusion mantled the man’s features. “She did? Well, I’ll be damned.”

“This was my story, Dan. My case and my story. So why did Kimberly—”

“I wrote the story because you wouldn’t,” suddenly a voice spoke in Odelia’s ear. Her junior colleague had silently opened the door and walked in.

Odelia whirled around. “What are you talking about?”

“It was obvious to me that you were protecting Rose Wimmer, and when I heard what happened I decided to write the story you wouldn’t.” When Odelia just stared at her, Kimberly passed by Odelia, placed both hands on Dan’s desk and said, “I told you this would happen, Dan. I warned you. That’s what you get when a reporter starts taking on clients. Her priorities get scrambled, her allegiances blurred. Instead of writing a killer piece on this girl’s murderous tendencies she wasn’t going to write a single thing. Instead she’d probably have written a piece to defend the murderous wench.”

“You snuck behind my back!” said Odelia. “Talked to cops who had no business divulging this kind of information. Rose Wimmer may very well be innocent—or not—but it’s not up to us to give her a trial by media. She is still innocent until proven guilty, or didn’t they teach you that in college?”

But Kimberly stuck her chin in the air and faced off against Odelia. “I think you should decide once and for all if you’re a reporter or a private detective, Odelia. Because it’s obvious to me that you can’t be both. What do you think, Dan?”

“Yeah, what do you think, Dan!” said Odelia, who’d crossed her arms in front of her chest and had raised her voice.

The aged editor scratched his scalp with a pencil. “Ladies, ladies,” he said, trying to defuse the situation.

“Look, I can’t work like this,” said Odelia. “This is not the kind of behavior I expected from a colleague.”

“At least I’ve got my priorities straight,” said Kimberly. “The paper always comes first.”

“Oh, please,” said Odelia. “You have no idea what’s going on here—no idea at all.”

“I think you’re the one who’s floating around in space, completely untethered from reality,” her young colleague countered. “You still think Rose Wimmer is innocent, don’t you? Pretty little innocent Rose. Well let me break the news to you, Odelia. She’s not. Your little friend is a cold-blooded vicious killer who’s murdered twice now, and we owe it to the public to make sure that they know all about it.”

“Dan?” said Odelia. “Say something.”

“Um…” said Dan, clearly out of his depth.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Odelia, and said, “You know what? It’s obvious to me that you want my job. Well, you can have it.”

“No, but…” said Kimberly, frowning.

Odelia then turned to Dan. “I quit!”

“Wait, what?” said Dan, his eyes widening.

“Odelia, I didn’t mean to…” Kimberly began.

“Yes, you did,” said Odelia, and stalked out, then slammed the door—hard.

It was only when she’d stepped out of the office and was out on the street that she realized what she’d just done.

She’d quit her job!

Chapter 29

It took us a while to find Odelia but we finally found her in the park, sitting on a bench, and looking a little shell-shocked.

“What happened?” I asked. “We dropped by the office but you weren’t there. Dan looked like a bomb had just dropped on his head.”

“I quit,” she said. “I quit my job, you guys, and now I don’t know what to do.”

“But why?” I asked. “I thought you liked that job.”

“I do. But Kimberly stole my article, and then she accused me of neglecting my duties to the Gazette and instead going off gallivanting around town trying to save Rose, even though she’s obviously guilty. And Dan, instead of standing up for me, seemed to take Kimberley’s side, so I told him I quit.”

“Kimberly stole your scoop?”

“She did. She knew I was working on that article on Dino Wimmer’s death and she purposely went into the precinct to interview officers connected to the case and wrote the story. And Dan hadn’t even noticed! Or seemed to care,” she added with a touch of bitterness.

“I’m sure that if you just talk things through with Dan…”

“I’m never speaking to that man again,” she said. “He’s chosen his side. He’s got Kimberly now. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

I smiled. She looked so much like a kicked puppy I would have stroked her head if I’d been a little taller.

“So who’s going to pay the bills from now on?” asked Dooley.

“I’ll pay the bills,” said Odelia. “I’ll find another job.” She sighed. “Though frankly I’m not sure what job that would be. The Gazette is the only paper in town, and I don’t feel like moving away from Hampton Cove.”

“You can always become a cop,” Dooley suggested. “Chase is a cop, and your uncle is a cop, so I’m sure they’ll give you a job if you ask nicely.”

“It’s not that simple, Dooley. To be a cop you have to pass through police academy, and even then it’s not guaranteed I’d be able to get a job in town. As far as I know they’ve got a full roster here and aren’t looking for new recruits.”

“You could be a private detective,” he suggested next. “You’re very good at that, and I’m sure plenty of people would love to hire you. And maybe they’ll even pay you.”

“Well, I don’t know…”

“Look, I’ve got something important to tell you,” I said, deciding that the topic of Odelia’s recent unemployment was perhaps best put on the back burner for now. There were more important and especially more urgent matters to take into consideration right now. “I think I may have figured out who killed Dino Wimmer,” I said. “It came to me in a flash last night. And I think I just might be right about this.”

Odelia stared at me in surprise. “You know who killed Dino Wimmer?”

“Well, I have a theory. It probably needs testing, though.”

“Tell me all about it,” she said, and so I did.

When I’d finished laying it all out to her, she was nodding thoughtfully. “I see what you mean about testing your theory, Max. And I think I know just how to go about that. The only problem is that it would require the assistance of a man I’ve just antagonized.”

I gave her a questioning look, but before she could tell me more, a sudden scream rent the air, and when we both looked in the direction of the scream, I saw that it had originated from a little girl, who now stood crying as she pointed an accusing finger at… Dooley!

Odelia and I hurried over, and soon we were joined by the girl’s mom. She picked up a plastic ball from the ground and examined it. Then she said, with a dark look at Odelia, “Is this cat yours?”

“Yes, he is,” said Odelia. “What did he do?”

The woman held out the ball, which was a nice shiny pink. “He punctured my daughter’s ball. See? It’s full of holes!”

“Oh, Dooley,” I said. “What did you do now?”

“I just wanted to help, Max!” said my friend. “That little girl’s ball had rolled underneath that bench over there so I decided to get it for her.” He gave me a shamefaced look. “I must have dug in my nails a little too deep when I grabbed it.”

“What are you going to do about this?” asked the woman, still brandishing the ball.

“I’ll pay for it, of course,” said Odelia dutifully. “Unless it can be fixed?”

“I don’t think so,” said the woman, still irate while her daughter was crying her heart out and screaming, “My ball! That pussycat broke my ball!”

“Oh, Dooley, Dooley,” I said as we let Odelia deal with the case of the punctured ball and retreated back to the relative safety of our bench.

“I just wanted to do my good deed of the day, Max,” he said. “I haven’t done my good deed yet and I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to do any more good deeds without asking me first?”

“I know, but you were so busy talking to Odelia and here was this great opportunity to put my good for the day in so…” He looked really crushed, and I took heart.

“It’s all right, Dooley. It’s just a ball. It’s not the end of the world.”

“But look at that little girl, Max. She’s so sad. I wanted to make her happy and I made her unhappy. Instead of doing a good deed I did a bad deed. Now I’ll have to do two good deeds today. One to make up for this bad deed, and my regular good deed of the day.” He paused. “Or maybe I need to do more than one good deed to make up for this bad deed.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Dooley,” I said, slightly alarmed.

“Maybe I need to do ten good deeds to make up for one bad deed,” he said with spurious logic. “Oh, I really did it now, didn’t I, Max?”

“Please don’t do ten good deeds, Dooley,” I implored.

“Eleven,” he said. “Ten to make up for what I did to that ball and my regular good deed of the day.”

“You know what? Maybe you don’t have to be a cub scout. Maybe you can join some other club,” I suggested, seeing a future stretching before me littered with disaster after disaster. Because if all of Dooley’s good deeds kept backfiring like this soon he’d have to do hundreds of good deeds to compensate for the dozens he bungled. And there simply weren’t enough hours in the day.

“What other club were you thinking of, Max?” he asked, curious.

“Well, Odelia’s detective club, for one thing. If she’s out of a job, and takes your advice to start a detective agency, she’s going to need assistants who help her become the best detective Hampton Cove has ever seen. And that means you and I are going to be very busy indeed.”

His furry face lit up. “You really think so? She would hire us as her assistants?”

“Well, not hire us, per se,” I prevaricated. “But she would need our help for sure.”

“You know, Max, catching killers and making sure that they’re put behind bars is the best deed possible.”

“Oh, absolutely. In fact I think catching a single killer probably earns you brownie points commensurate with at least a hundred good deeds, so there’s that to consider.”

“I have no idea what you just said, Max, but it sounds good,” he said, having cheered up considerably. He glanced over to where Odelia was still negotiating with the little girl’s mother about compensation for the ball Dooley inadvertently destroyed. “Now all we have to do is convince Odelia to launch a detective agency.”

Chapter 30

It’s always tough for anyone to have to swallow their pride, and it was especially tough for our human now to swallow hers. Unfortunately that couldn’t be helped, at least not if Odelia wanted to keep her client from being sent to prison for a crime—or in fact two crimes at the last count—she didn’t commit. Rose was eighteen, so if convicted she would go to a regular prison as far as I knew, and not to some juvenile detention center, though I doubt whether those are any less disagreeable than a regular penitentiary.

And so it was that Odelia placed the call, and much to my relief I quickly saw a smile spread across her features, and by the time she ended the call, she was actually glowing.

“He’ll be here soon,” she announced. “And he apologized. Said things suddenly moved so quickly back there that he had a hard time keeping up.”

Soon wasn’t an understatement, as a mere two minutes after Odelia had placed the call, Dan Goory came hurrying up. His long white beard was flapping in the wind, and his eyes were darting to and fro trying to detect his former star reporter. When he spotted her, his face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he quickly wended his way over to where we were all sitting.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Odelia suggested, and that’s what we did.

“I’m so sorry,” were the first words out of Dan’s mouth. “I didn’t realize Kimberly had hogged your scoop. Frankly it’s a little shocking to me that she would do such a thing, which is what I was still coming to terms with when you told me what happened and which made me respond inadequately.”

“It’s fine,” said Odelia warmly. “Her actions took me by surprise, too. I’d never have expected anyone to behave in such an unprofessional and disrespectful way so I was a little shocked when I read that article under her byline.”

“She’s gone, you know,” said Dan.

“Gone? You mean…”

“She quit on me just now. Looks like she’s been playing us both for fools, Odelia. Though me most of all, I guess. She’s got an uncle who works for the New York Post, and she’d been trying to get him to usher her in but he was stalling, probably figuring she was a little wet behind the ears. So this piece she wrote—the scoop she stole from you—is what finally convinced the uncle to give her a shot at the Post. The only reason she took the job at the Gazette was to make an impression on her uncle. Basically I paid for her job application. She never had any intention to stick around.”

“I’m sorry, Dan.”

“Yeah, so am I. I should have known it was too good to be true. Looks like my plans to expand the Gazette across the region will have to be postponed for the time being.” He placed an arm around Odelia’s shoulder. “It’s just you and me, kiddo—like it’s always been.” He gave her an uncertain look. “Unless your resignation still stands. Cause in that case I think I might just have to fold. I can’t possibly run the Gazette all by my lonesome. I may be a sprightly old geezer, but I’m not as sprightly as all that.”

“Of course I’ll stay,” said Odelia.

Dan pumped the air with his fist. “Yesss,” he said, earning himself a smile from Odelia.

“Max!” said Dooley. “She’s not going to open a detective agency!”

“Doesn’t matter, Dooley,” I said. “She’ll still need us to be her eyes and ears, detective or no detective.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. Odelia needs us just like Dan needs her.”

“You mean like a sympathetic relationship?”

“I think you mean a symbiotic relationship, and yeah, something like that.”

“Look, Dan, I think we may have just solved Dino Wimmer’s murder,” Odelia said now. “And Jared Zmuda’s.”

“We?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

We’d reached the boardwalk and were now enjoying a brisk stroll along the beach. The sun was out in full force, and warmed the world below to such an extent people were actually removing their sweaters and rolling up their shirtsleeves.

“I think you know what I mean,” said Odelia.

“Yeah, I do,” said Dan with a quick glance down at Dooley and me. He even gave us a wink.

“Max!” said Dooley. “I think he knows!”

“I think Dan has always known, Dooley,” I said. “Just one of those things that’s never talked about but quietly understood.”

“So what do you want me to do?” asked Dan.

“Is your nephew still in town?”

“Yeah. Trudy and Jasper are staying at my place. They’re leaving on Monday.”

“I’m going to need Jasper to do me a big favor.”

“Anything.”

And as Odelia explained the nature of this favor, I could tell that her plan was going to work out beautifully. And this time there would be no Kimberly to steal her scoop, or ruin her carefully laid-out plans.

Chapter 31

“I don’t get it,” Harriet said not for the first time. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“Just you wait and see,” I told her.

“This better be good,” Brutus grumbled. “I skipped a meal for this nonsense.”

“Oh, it will be good,” I said. Or at least I hoped it would be.

“It’s going to be a very big good deed,” Dooley announced. “In fact it will be a good deed so big it will be the equivalent of a thousand small good deeds, which would make me the winner of the Good Deed of the Year contest.”

“Is there a Good Deed of the Year contest?” I asked, surprised.

“I’m sure there is. It’s awarded at the same time as the Cub Scout of the Year award. And I’m sure that this year I’m going to win both awards.”

“Like we’ve all explained to you about a million times already, Dooley,” said Harriet, “only humans can be cub scouts.”

“But why would they call them cubs?” Dooley asked. “A human can’t possibly be a cub. It’s a contradiction of worms.”

“It might be a contradiction in terms but that doesn’t mean it isn’t so,” I said. “And now could you all please be quiet. The show is about to start.”

“This better be good,” Brutus grumbled again.

We were all seated in the backyard of Grace Ojala, Daphne Wimmer’s good friend and fellow Avon lady, staring intently through the window into the woman’s living room. You would have thought that Grace would have noticed four cats staring into the house but we made sure only our heads were visible, and even then were ready to duck back down in case she glanced in our direction.

As it was, though, she appeared far too busy checking her phone to notice the feline contingency watching her every move.

Suddenly we could hear the sound of the doorbell and Mrs. Ojala practically jumped a foot in the air.

“Jumpy, isn’t she?” said Harriet, darting a curious look in my direction.

“Yeah, she is,” I confirmed.

The woman quickly got up and hurried to open the door, and moments later we watched as Daphne Wimmer walked in, looking visibly perturbed. Her face was flushed and her hair looked as if she’d been dragging her hands through it.

“You can’t do this, Grace,” said Daphne without preamble. “You’re supposed to be my friend!”

“Can’t do what?” asked Grace, clearly surprised by this outburst.

“This!” said Daphne, and brandished her phone in her friend’s face.

“I don’t understand,” said Grace.

“Your so-called confession! Why are you doing this to me, Grace? You know I was with Jared that night—I told you. I wasn’t anywhere near the house.”

“What are you talking about? What confession?”

“Oh, don’t act dumb with me!” Daphne cried, rounding on her friend. “I understand you want to have a clear conscience, but not at my expense!”

“But… I don’t understand!” Grace said.

“The video! The one you’ve sent to the cops—unless you haven’t sent it yet?” she added hopefully.

“What video? I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“This video!” said Daphne, and started playing a video on her phone.

Grace stared at it, then said, “But… that isn’t me.”

“Oh, don’t bullshit me, Grace!” Daphne burst out. “Have you sent this video to the cops or not—it’s a simple question and I want a straight answer. Yes or no?”

“No! Of course I didn’t send any video to the police.”

Daphne seemed to relax a little at this. She planted her hands on her hips and said, “Really, Grace—I can understand your conscience suddenly acting up. What with Rose being arrested. But there’s no reason for you to talk to the police. Besides, you know what they’ll do to you, right? You lied to them. You falsely supplied me with an alibi for the night of Dino’s murder. You do know that lying to the police is a punishable offense, don’t you? You’ll go to prison.”

“But… I just told them what you told me to say,” said Grace, still staring at the video on her friend’s phone. “You said you spent the night with Jared, and I believed you. You asked me to say that you were here and I did. To protect your reputation and your relationship with Rose.”

“Good. Fine. Then we understand each other.” Daphne wagged a menacing finger in Grace’s face. “So not a word from you. Not a peep. And no more video confessions!”

“I don’t understand this,” Grace lamented, gesturing with the phone. “I never made this video. I swear, Daphne. I didn’t!”

Daphne gave her friend a strange look. “You know, it just dawned on me that you’re the only person in the world who can still make trouble for me. The only one.”

Grace simply looked at her friend, her mouth opening and closing.

“You haven’t been very happy lately, have you, Grace? In fact when the police ask me I’d have to say you’ve been feeling really low.”

“But, Daphne!”

Suddenly Mrs. Wimmer spirited a small gun into her hand. We all stared at it in horror and shock, and so did Grace. She stumbled back and her legs hit the couch and she fell backward, still staring at that gun, a horrified expression on her face.

“You and I are going upstairs,” said Daphne, a dreadful coldness having come into her voice. “You’re going to take a bath now. A nice warm bath. Soothing to the nerves.”

“What are you doing?” said Grace, still staring at her friend as if not believing what was happening.

“Don’t worry, honey. This won’t be painful. Not painful at all. I’ll handle the razor.”

Grace’s eyes went wide. “Razor?! What—why are you doing this, Daphne?!”

“Because I can’t risk your conscience having any more of these lapses,” said Daphne, holding up her phone.

“But I’m telling you—that wasn’t me!”

Daphne gave her friend a wintry smile. “Oh, Grace. You’re just making this easier for me. If you’d simply told me the truth, I might have let you off the hook. But you leave me no choice. It’s obvious I can’t trust you anymore. And now up you go. Up!”

But before Grace could respond, suddenly the door to the living room burst open, and both Chase and Uncle Alec appeared.

“Put the gun down, Daphne!” Chase boomed, covering the woman with a gun of his own, which was a great deal larger than the small handgun the woman was holding.

Daphne yelped in surprise, and promptly dropped the gun to the floor.

Moments later it was all over. Daphne had been duly read her rights and arrested, and Uncle Alec was patting Grace’s hand and consoling the visibly stricken woman.

“That didn’t exactly go as planned,” I said, and only now noticed I’d been holding my breath for those last extremely tense moments.

“And now you’re going to tell me everything, Max,” said Harriet.

“And me,” said Brutus.

“Well, it all started with a smoothie,” I said.

Epilogue

“So… Daphne Wimmer killed her husband?” asked Harriet.

“And Jared Zmuda,” I said.

“Who would have thought?” said Brutus.

“Max would,” said Dooley proudly.

The four of us were seated on the porch swing, while our humans were enjoying a nice barbecue in Marge and Tex’s backyard. Uncle Alec was manning the grill for a change. The big guy likes to eat, and has in the past been frustrated by his brother-in-law Tex’s poor performance as a grill master to such an extent that he’d finally decided to take the process of food prep into his own hands.

And I must say he was doing a pretty good job. So far I’d only eaten a piece of steak, but it had been both firm and tender, tasty but not overcooked, spicy but not overly so. In other words, exactly the way I like it.

“Oh, don’t keep me in suspense,” said Harriet. “Just tell me how you figured out it was Daphne.”

“Tell us,” Brutus said.

“Whatever!”

“Well, it was the smoothie that finally decided me,” I revealed.

“Smoothie? Max, will you just speak plain language for a change?” Harriet lamented. She obviously wasn’t happy I’d cracked the case before she did, and even now, when Daphne was languishing in a holding cell awaiting processing by the justice system, she hadn’t figured it out yet, which clearly irked her to a great degree.

“You’ll remember that when we first arrived at the house the kitchen was immaculate,” I said, launching into my spiel.

“No, I wouldn’t remember because I wasn’t there,” said Harriet, sounding peeved, “because Odelia didn’t bother to involve us.”

“Well, the kitchen was squeaky clean, all the dishes washed, and when Odelia opened the dishwasher she found a blender beaker and the rest of the smoothie-making paraphernalia all nicely washed. And then later when Gran and Scarlett talked with the housekeeper she happened to mention how father and daughter were both cut from the same cloth, namely that they both adored takeout and also that they were slobs, and that whenever Daphne was away for the weekend on one of her Avon things the house was always a mess. This time the place was immaculate, though. Obviously somebody had cleaned that kitchen.”

“You mean Dino and Rose had ordered takeout and watched a movie like they always did?” asked Dooley.

“No, because father and daughter weren’t on speaking terms, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“Rose had locked herself up in her room, while Dino spent the evening in his office downstairs. The thing is—would a man who loves takeout prepare himself a smoothie if he can avoid it? I don’t think so.”

“Uh-huh,” said Harriet. “Go on.”

“And then another thing that struck me was that Daphne expressed surprise that Rose was home. You’ll remember that when she came home after being called by her stepdaughter she said she’d figured Rose would spend the night with her boyfriend Cole. She was genuinely surprised, and now we know why.”

“Because Rose could have easily walked in on her that night,” said Harriet, nodding.

“Exactly.”

“So Daphne didn’t stay with her friend Grace?” asked Brutus.

“Oh, yes, she did, but she left at some point, telling Grace she had a hot date with Jared Zmuda.”

“A hot date!” Brutus exclaimed.

“Daphne was having an affair with the fitness club owner, which was one of the reasons she wanted to get rid of her husband. The other reason was money. She and Dino had signed a prenup when they got married. It stipulated that in case of divorce both parties would leave with just the assets they brought into the marriage. In case one of them died, however, the other party inherited everything. So that night she hurried home, parked her car—”

“Where it was seen by Mrs. Bird,” Harriet supplied helpfully.

“But what if Mrs. Bird had seen her enter the house?” asked Brutus.

“Or leave it?” Harriet added.

“Daphne was careful to park two doors down. And she didn’t go in through the front door but snuck around the back for this exact reason: because she knew Mrs. Bird was a nosy parker. Daphne had also put on a scarf, and borrowed one of Grace’s coats.”

“How did she kill her husband?” asked Brutus.

“She made him a smoothie. Daphne was the health freak in the family, which is why she started going to the fitness club where she met Jared. Her husband wasn’t into smoothies but he reluctantly drank them when she made them. But this time he would have done well to stay away from the concoction, as it was loaded with crushed-up sleeping pills. He must have immediately fallen into a coma, then died at some point while his wife was cleaning the kitchen, removing any trace she’d prepared the toxic brew, then setting the scene in Dino’s office and placing the suicide note she’d written.”

“So Rose could have walked in on her at any point during this?” asked Harriet.

“Which is why Daphne was so shocked when she discovered Rose had been home all the time. Rose and her boyfriend had had another one of their occasional lovers’ tiffs, and even though she was supposed to stay the night she’d decided to stay home instead.”

“So what about Jared Zmuda?” asked Brutus.

“Jared knew all about the murder, and Jared was also very ambitious. He wanted to open a chain of clubs. And he needed money. A lot of money. So at some point he decided to squeeze Daphne for a big chunk of change. Now that she was going to inherit he wanted his cut. Daphne realized he’d become a liability so she decided to get rid of him.”

“And blame her stepdaughter?” asked Harriet, horrified.

I nodded. “Daphne may have faked affection for Dino’s daughter but she’d never been all that fond of the teenager. So she decided to kill two birds with one stone: get rid of Jared and Rose. So she fabricated those Google searches on Rose’s computer, and used a pair of wire cutters Rose had used for a school project to sabotage Jared’s weightlifting equipment then sent a text from Jared’s phone to Rose to meet him.”

“How did she know what machine Jared was going to use?” asked Harriet.

“She was there,” I said. “She picked the machine and asked Jared to demonstrate it for her. And since Jared was something of a macho he immediately accepted the challenge.”

“And in doing so signed his death warrant,” said Harriet, nodding.

“What a cold-blooded killer,” said Brutus.

“She’s going to have to do a lot of good deeds to make up for what she did,” said Dooley. He then offered Brutus a piece of fish. “Do you want this, Brutus?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Brutus with a look of surprise. “Now this is the kind of good deed you can do as much as you want, Dooley,” he added as he gobbled up the tasty treat.

“I know,” said Dooley. “Max has told me to limit my good deeds to feeding others so from now on I’ll do just that. Do you want some more fish, Harriet?” he asked.

“That’s very kind of you, Dooley,” said Harriet as she accepted the offer with a smile.

Immediately, though, both Brutus and Harriet started choking. “You didn’t remove the bones!” said Brutus as he upchucked his piece of fish, soon followed by Harriet.

Dooley slapped his brow. “I knew I’d forgotten something!”

“Oh, Dooley,” I said, shaking my head.

“So are you still a reporter now?” asked Marge as she ladled some more potato salad onto her mom’s plate.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll always be a reporter. It’s the job I know and like best, after all.”

“And this girl, this Kimberly? She’s gone for good?”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’ll ever see her around again,” Odelia said.

“Good riddance,” Gran grunted as she cut into a fat sausage and took a tentative nibble then gave her son two thumbs up. “You gotta try these sausages,” she told her friend Scarlett. “They’re to die for.”

Scarlett shivered. “Don’t talk like that, Vesta. You’ll jinx the sausages.”

“I’m not jinxing anything. Just telling you they’re really good.”

“How is Rose?” asked Marge.

“Remarkably well, actually,” said Odelia. “She took the death of her dad pretty hard.”

“And the fact that her stepmom was the killer,” Chase added.

“But last time I spoke to her she sounded okay. Her boyfriend moved in with her.”

“Is that still happening?” asked Gran.

“Yeah, looks like the events of the past couple of days have brought those two closer together. I think they’ll be fine.”

“Tastes pretty great, huh, Tex?” said Gran, really rubbing it in now.

“I’ve tasted better,” said Tex tersely.

“No, you haven’t.”

Tex shrugged and sat back, refusing to touch his food. If he wasn’t going to be allowed near his own grill anymore, he wasn’t eating.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” said Gran. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

But Tex shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, honey, just take a bite,” said Marge. “Go on. It really is pretty tasty.” She placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “I mean, obviously not as tasty as when you make it, but it’s not so bad. Isn’t that right, Alec?”

The Chief magnanimously said, “I’m not a grill master like Tex but I do my best.”

“In that case,” said Tex, slightly mollified as he scooted forward again in his chair, “maybe I will take a tiny nibble. Just a taste, mind you.”

And before our very eyes, he wolfed down an entire plate in record time.

“Looks like Tex was really hungry,” said Dooley.

“Yeah, looks like,” I agreed.

“You really outdid yourself this time, Max,” said Harriet, extending a rare compliment. “You solved this case and in doing so saved Rose’s life.”

“The only thing I didn’t bargain for was that Daphne would try to kill her friend. Good thing Chase and Uncle Alec were listening in.”

“They’d bugged her house,” Dooley explained. “Which doesn’t mean that they put a lot of bugs in Grace’s house but that they put it full of very small listening devices.”

“Yeah, they were right outside, listening in the whole time,” I said.

“Amazing work, Odelia,” said Scarlett. “But you have to explain how this deepfake technology works, exactly. I mean, can they really use anyone’s likeness and make them do what they want?”

“Pretty much,” said Odelia. “Dan’s nephew told us he once made a video where his mom was holding a drunken speech and sent it to his dad. He thought it was real and was ready to launch into a long diatribe about the dangers of alcohol.” She grinned. “So when we made that video of Grace confessing that Daphne had left the house that night, Daphne accepted it as real.”

“And walked straight into your trap,” said Chase. “Nicely done, babe.” The cop looked a little rueful. “If only I’d known sooner we would never have arrested Rose—poor kid.”

“Yeah, first her dad is murdered and then she’s falsely arrested,” said Gran, directing an accusatory look at her son.

Uncle Alec shrugged. “Cops have to follow the evidence, Ma. That’s just the way it is.”

“Cops also have to use their brains,” she admonished him.

“Good thing Max has a good brain on him, then,” said Scarlett, and raised her glass in a salute… to me!

And before I realized what was happening, all the humans were raising their glasses, and Odelia said, “Great job, Max. Well done.”

“Oh, you guys,” I said, and I think I was blushing, though of course nobody could tell. Underneath that nice blorange fur of mine, though, I had a feeling I was red as a tomato.

“You won this round, Maxie, baby,” said Brutus.

“Yeah, you solved this case, Max,” said Harriet, “but the next one is for us. Isn’t that right, snookums?”

“Absolutely, snuggle pooh,” Brutus grunted.

Just then, Charlene Butterwick came hurrying up. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, panting a little. Mayor Butterwick was dressed in a nice pantsuit, and looked like she’d come down straight from her office. “Some idiot glued a bunch of leaves to my car’s windshield. Took me ages to peel them off!”

“I thought it was soap,” Dooley muttered next to me.

“Oh, Dooley, not again!” Harriet cried.

“It looked like soap.”

“Probably tree sap,” I said. “Charlene’s car is usually parked underneath those elm trees, isn’t it? Those trees have been losing a lot of sap, dripping all over those cars.”

Dooley nodded. “I know how I promised to do no more good deeds, but when I saw her car standing there, the windshield covered with leaves, I simply couldn’t resist. So I started wiping them away, then figured I might as well use those leaves to clean her windshield, but then they all got stuck on there.” He heaved a deep sigh. “I’m not cut out to be a cub scout, Max. I’m really not.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” said Harriet. “Cubs scouts are for humans only!”

Brutus, though, was laughing—in fact he was laughing so hard his belly was shaking.

Dooley smiled. “At least Brutus seems to enjoy my good deeds,” he said.

“It’s just too funny!” said Brutus, tears running down his furry cheeks.

Dooley’s face suddenly lit up. “I’ve got it! That’s what I should be! A comedian!”

“No, Dooley,” I said, shaking my head.

“Making people laugh is my thing!”

“No, no,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes, Max. I’ll be the greatest cat comedian that ever lived. I’ll have them rolling in the aisles!”

“Oh, please stop,” said Brutus, laughing and clutching his stomach.

“I’ll do standup!”

“Oh, God!” said Brutus.

“And stand-down!”

“Please!”

Even I had to laugh at this point, and Harriet cracked a smile. Before long, we were a rollicking, frolicking foursome, the porch swing rocking to and fro as we slapped our thighs. Dooley might make a terrible cub scout, but I had to hand it to him: he did have a talent for making us laugh. And as a wise cat once said: laughter is the best medicine.

But the best part? No more good deeds from now on. Yesss!

THE END

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Excerpt from Purrfect Sidekick (The Mysteries of Max 31)

Chapter One

The day started like most days, namely with me waking up from a well-deserved and refreshing nap. The difference was that I woke up on the couch. I’d relocated there as a consequence of Odelia’s habit of lashing out with her feet. I don’t know why she’d gotten into this habit, as it was extremely annoying to say the least. Just imagine dreaming one of those nice dreams us cats like to indulge in, for instance about a lifetime supply of Cat Snax being delivered on your doorstep, or being the star of cat choir and being lauded and applauded by your peers, when all of a sudden you’re rudely awakened by a kick or shove from your human’s leg to one of the more sensitive and vulnerable parts of your anatomy. It’s not a barrel of laughs, let me assure you, especially when as a consequence of this intervention you are sent plummeting to the floor in a jumble of flailing limbs.

Lucky for us we always land on our feet, and so far Odelia’s strange new habit had not caused me any physical harm. But it can’t be healthy, these interruptions of the natural process of sleep. Not unlike a computer suddenly losing connection with an external hard drive. If this keeps happening something has to give, and that hard drive will eventually break down. And so it was that I decided, after the third night in a row where I’d been thusly treated by my erstwhile favorite human, to beat a strategic retreat to the couch downstairs. Like a husband being relegated to the couch after having misbehaved, with the main difference that I hadn’t misbehaved in the slightest, or that I am Odelia’s significant other. That honor is reserved for Chase Kingsley, a local cop.

Chase Kingsley isn’t merely Odelia’s boyfriend, he’s also her fiancé, and since the day of their nuptials was almost upon us, I surmised that this was presumably the reason she kept lashing out in the middle of the night, perhaps in the throes of some nervous spasm.

I awoke when Dooley joined me. It was still dark out, so dawn hadn’t yet arrived. My friend, a smallish gray ragamuffin, looked a little frazzled, and when I asked him about it, he said, “She kicked me! Odelia kicked me off the bed, Max. Can you imagine?”

I said I could imagine. In fact I could do more than that. I could commiserate, and so I did, to my heart’s content. “I think it’s this upcoming wedding,” I said with a yawn.

“The wedding?” said Dooley, glancing back to the staircase where presumably he expected Odelia to come rushing down after him. Belying her nocturnal exercise regimen, though, Odelia was fast asleep, and so was her future husband.

“The wedding of Odelia and Chase?”

“Oh, that wedding,” he said, as if multiple weddings were about to take place. He was, of course, still flabbergasted by recent happenings, nor could I blame him. My friend shook his head. “Why would a wedding make her kick me off the bed, Max? I don’t get it.”

“I think the whole wedding thing is making her extremely nervous,” I explained, “and so she’s been having a tough time getting her regular eight hours in.”

“But why? Isn’t a wedding supposed to be fun? Joy and laughter and all that stuff?”

“It is, but it’s also a huge undertaking. A lot of arrangements have to be made. We’re not talking about a modest affair here, Dooley. This wedding is the mother of all weddings. A monster matrimony future generations will talk about in hushed tones.”

If you think I’m exaggerating, I can assure you that I am not. Odelia and Chase had set out to organize a smallish affair, just a couple of friends and family, but gradually the thing had blown up to epic proportions, and the guest list now included the entire population of Hampton Cove—or so it seemed. You know how it is. You invite an uncle, but then you also have to invite his wife and all of your cousins. You invite a friend, and she decides to put all of her friends on the list, lest they feel slighted and she gets lonely. And you can’t invite just one colleague—you have to invite them all, kids and partners included. And since Odelia and her family are pretty much fixtures in Hampton Cove, they probably know everybody who’s somebody and a whole bunch of nobodies, too.

Dooley placed his head on his front paws, still keeping an eye on that staircase, just in case Odelia came stomping down to mete out some more kicks to an unsuspecting pair of felines. “I wish this wedding was over already, Max. I thought it was going to be a lot of fun, but if it makes Odelia kick us off the bed, I don’t mind telling you that I just wish it was all over with already.”

“That’s all right, Dooley,” I said. “I’m sure Odelia will relax once the fateful day is finally upon us and she’s standing in front of her future husband and saying, ‘I do.’”

“Do you think we’ll be invited, too?” asked my friend.

“Oh, sure. What kind of wedding would it be if we weren’t? I’m sure she’ll give us the best seats in the house.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” suddenly a voice sounded from the kitchen. It was Harriet, and she was licking her mustache, a clear sign she’d just eaten her fill. I hadn’t even heard her enter, but then that’s cats for you: they tread ever so lightly on feet of fur.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Surely Odelia wants us to be there on her big day.”

“Look, personally I wouldn’t mind being invited,” said the white Persian as she trotted up and joined us on the couch. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if I wasn’t, either, but just suppose she does invite us, it’s going to be a nightmare, you guys.”

“A nightmare?” said Dooley, darting another quick look at the staircase. “You mean, like what Odelia’s been having for the last couple of nights?”

“Exactly. I was talking to Shanille last night and she said it’s going to be one of those occasions best avoided. Can you imagine all of Hampton Cove crowding into that church and creating a big pileup? There’s going to be trampling, there’s going to be stomping, and gnashing of impatient teeth while they all fight to file in. And whose tails do you think are going to be crushed and mangled?” To show us she meant what she said, she carefully folded her tail around her buttocks and gave us a meaningful look.

Both Dooley and I winced at the word picture she was painting. Our tails may look like useless appendages merely added to increase our cuteness factor times ten, but they are sensitive and dislike being indiscriminately trampled on by big and clumsy feet. It was a potential disaster that gave me pause. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate humans as much as the next cat, but they do have a tendency not to look where they step, especially when fighting for a good spot—like at Macy’s when they organize an end-of-season sale.

Or Odelia’s upcoming wedding.

“So you think we better steer clear,” I said, nodding in full comprehension and agreement. I had entertained the same thought myself, to be honest. Wherever hundreds of humans get together, it’s best for cats to go into hiding, as it can only lead to trouble.

“And the other thing—I didn’t want to bring this up, as I don’t want to heap more pressure onto Odelia—but you guys, we haven’t even been invited yet! So I think it’s safe to say we’re not going to.”

“Not going to what?” asked Brutus, the fourth member of our fearsome foursome as he walked in through the kitchen pet flap.

“Harriet just said we’re not going to be invited to the wedding,” said Dooley. “And how that’s probably a good thing?”

“Oh, right,” said Brutus, who’s a big, butch black cat and also Harriet’s mate. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said as he inspected his food bowl and then hunkered down to gobble up a few random nuggets.

“Why do you say that?” I asked. “I thought we were definitely going to be included in the festivities. We are Odelia’s pets, so why wouldn’t she invite us to share the most beautiful day of her life?”

“About that,” said Dooley. “Why does everyone keep saying that, Max?”

“Saying what?”

“The most beautiful day in Odelia’s life? I thought the most beautiful day in her life was the day she was born. If she hadn’t been born, she wouldn’t even be here, right?”

“It’s just something people say,” I explained. “It means that Odelia finally gets to tie the knot with the person she loves the most in all the world.”

“But… doesn’t Odelia love her mom and dad the most in all the world?” asked Dooley, still in the habit of asking those tough questions, like he usually does.

“Well, yes,” I admitted. “But, once again, it’s just something people say.”

“But why do they say things that aren’t true? Isn’t that the same thing as lying?”

“Look, Dooley, it doesn’t matter,” said Harriet, clearly tiring of Dooley’s interruptions. “We’re not invited, so it doesn’t matter if it’s the most beautiful day of her life, or the second-most beautiful or whatever. We’re not a part of it, see? We don’t feature into the thing at. At all.”

Dooley blinked. “But surely—”

“Surely we should consider this a lucky escape. And that’s all there is to it. Now why are you guys sleeping on the couch and not upstairs on the bed where you belong?”

Dooley made a face. “Odelia kicked us off. First she kicked Max in the tush, and then when I took his place she kicked me off as well. Also in the tush. My tush, not Max’s.”

“She did what?” said Harriet, clearly shocked at this egregious example of gross misconduct on the part of one who’d always professed to be an animal person.

“She didn’t mean to kick us off,” I hastened to say. “She was having a bad dream and inadvertently happened to lash out with her feet. Both feet, I should probably add.”

“Hitting us where it hurts,” Dooley added sadly, and rubbed his tush for good measure.

“This is too much,” said Harriet. “First she neglects to invite us to her wedding, and now she’s causing you grievous bodily harm? What’s wrong with the woman?”

“Nothing is wrong,” I said. “She’s just nervous about the wedding, that’s all.”

“Well, she shouldn’t be,” said Harriet. “It’s the most beautiful day of her life. She doesn’t have anything to be nervous about. She should just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“I think she would like to be uninvited,” said Brutus. “Just like us.”

Dooley smiled at this. “Imagine if Odelia decides to skip her own wedding. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“If Odelia skipped her own wedding there wouldn’t be a wedding, Dooley,” said Harriet.

“What do you mean?”

Harriet gave an exasperated groan. “How can there be a wedding when the bride is missing? Think, Dooley,” she added, tapping my friend on the noggin. “Think hard!”

Dooley gave himself up to thought, and judging from the frown that appeared on his brow, and the steam that gently started pouring from his ears, he was indeed thinking very hard. Finally he gave up. “No,” he said. “I don’t get it.”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet, and Brutus grinned, thinking the whole thing hilarious.

Just then, the sliding glass door that offers such a nice view from the living room straight into the backyard, opened and closed and Gran walked in. Odelia’s grandmother is one of those early risers. In fact she often gets up before we do, which is saying something, as we’re usually up at the crack of dawn. Though in our defense by that time we’ve usually been up half the night. She looked her usual energetic self: blue tracksuit lined with pink, little white curls topping her head like cotton candy and a cheeky grin.

“Heya, fellas,” she said. “Wanna hear the latest?”

“The latest what, Gran?” asked Dooley.

“The latest news, Dooley. Some truck just lost its cargo on the road into town. Ten tons of grade-A potatoes, if you please. Wanna go and have a look-see?”

“What’s there to see about a bunch of potatoes lying in the road?” asked Harriet, who clearly wasn’t in the mood for the introduction of this agricultural theme.

Gran shrugged. “Nothing much, except this.” And she spirited a large canvas bag from behind her back. It was the kind of canvas bag that can easily hold a very large quantity of grade-A potatoes. A slow smile spread across her features when she saw the light of understanding appear in three pairs of cat’s eyes: mine, Harriet’s, and Brutus’s.

“You’re going to steal a bunch of potatoes,” I said, nodding.

Gran’s smile disappeared. “Who’s talking about stealing? I’m just going to help that poor truck driver clean up the road. And if a couple of spuds end up in the trunk of my car, then so be it. My reward for being a good Samaritan, right?”

And so we set out for this kind intervention. Nothing too exciting, mind you, simply four cats helping out their human, and getting away from Odelia’s new kicking habit.

And as we made to follow Gran out the door, Dooley said, “I don’t get it. Where are we going, Max?”

“We’re going to help Gran help a potato truck driver,” I explained.

“Oh, okay,” he said, though he didn’t look convinced.

He had a point, of course. Potatoes aren’t exactly a staple of a cat’s healthy diet. Then again, they are a staple of our humans’ diet, and cats might not have a reputation for being charitable, some of us do have an altruistic streak. Besides, if we helped Gran bag a couple of nice potatoes, I’m pretty sure she’d fill our bowls to the brim come dinnertime.

How does that saying go? You scratch my back and I scratch yours?

Though I’m not sure Gran would like it if we scratched her back. Oh, well.

Chapter Two

Odelia wasn’t having a good time. She knew she should be ecstatic, over the moon, delirious with happiness at the prospect of finally tying the knot and engaging in matrimony with the man currently snoring away to his heart’s content right next to her. But as she lay there, wide awake, even though it was still dark outside, she couldn’t help experiencing a powerful twinge of concern. The worst part was that she had no idea why. When she thought things through logically there was nothing to be concerned about: the wedding had been arranged and would soon be taking place at St. John’s Church, officiated by Father Reilly. The invitations had all been sent out, the reception nailed down, as well as the wedding dinner and party, the caterer and the DJ booked and paid for, and the jamboree promised to be a big hit with those guests lucky enough to have snagged an invitation to what promised to be the social event of the season.

So maybe that was what was troubling her: she hadn’t planned for her wedding to become an event. Somehow, though, it had quickly ballooned into this big thing and now she had a hard time reconciling the shindig as planned with the one she’d had in mind.

Chase, too, was a little overwhelmed with the response. He hadn’t planned to invite his entire precinct but that was what had happened, and the poor guy even had all of his former NYPD colleagues busing in on the day, eager to put their feet under the table. They viewed the wedding of their ex-colleague as an opportunity to organize a reunion of sorts, and even though Odelia was happy for the opportunity to have a meet and greet with all of his brothers and sisters in blue—all one hundred and fifty-four of them—she wasn’t sure this was what Chase had in mind when he told her, only two weeks ago, that he was looking forward to their nice little wedding, just them and a couple of guests.

She closed her eyes, eager to catch a few more winks before dawn, but unfortunately sleep refused to come. So it was with a slight sigh that she finally decided it was no use and got up. Careful not to wake her snoring future better half, she tiptoed into the bathroom for a quick bathroom break, then tiptoed down the stairs to get some work done on an article for the newspaper. Much to her surprise, of her cats there was no sign. But figuring they were probably out and about, she took a seat at the kitchen counter, opened her laptop, and was soon typing away. It wasn’t exactly a Pulitzer-winning article she’d been handed by her editor, having been given the dubious honor of chronicling the upcoming ceremony awarding the keys to the city to Lord Hilbourne, but it effectively took her mind off the wedding, which was exactly what she needed right now.

Vesta parked her car across the street from where the terrible accident had occurred. As it turned out she wasn’t the only one who’d heeded the call and had decided to lend a helping hand. The truck driver was talking to a familiar figure, and as Vesta walked up, this familiar figure rolled his eyes and said: “I should have known you’d show up.”

“Is that the way to greet your beloved little mother?”

For it was indeed Alec Lip, her son, and coincidentally also Hampton Cove’s chief of police, who stood, notebook in hand, chatting to the driver. A driver who’d taken off his ball cap and stood scratching his scalp as he watched the entire contents of his truck now spread out across the road. In both directions traffic was blocked, and long lines of cars had formed. Luckily it was still early, and not that many people were out and about.

“So you say you saw a deer and you swerved and…” Alec reiterated.

“Yeah, the deer, it just jumped right in front of me, stared at me for a moment, then took off again. So I stomped on the brakes and in a reflex action turned the wheel and…” He gestured to the tons of spuds on the tarmac. “And then this happened.”

“At least you’re fine,” said Alec, patting the dazed driver on the back.

“Yeah, and so is the deer.”

“You didn’t hit it?”

“No, it made a clean break. Walked off cool as dammit, the white-tailed rascal.”

“As soon as the road is cleared of your cargo, we can lift your truck and assess the damage,” said Alec.

“Think it’ll still run?” asked the driver with a hopeful look at his capsized vehicle. It lay on its side like a wounded animal, smoke wafting from under the hood.

“Let’s wait and see,” said the Chief. “And if not, you are insured, right?”

“Oh, sure,” said the guy. “But I’m supposed to take these taters to Philadelphia by noon.” He checked his watch. “I guess I could still make it. If my truck is fine.”

“And if it’s not, I’m sure the good people of Philadelphia will find some other way to satisfy their tater appetite,” Alec concluded, ending the interview on a cheerful note.

Vesta, even though she’d hoped to collect a few potatoes for her personal consumption, now felt sorry for the driver, and decided against her initial plan of campaign. And so as she joined the rescue workers who were busily removing the potatoes from the road and placing them on large tarpaulins a helpful hand had placed on the road’s shoulder, she suddenly saw that a member of the public had decided to take a nap. Presumably the prospect of spending the next hour picking up potatoes had become too overwhelming, and he’d chosen the exact spot Vesta had selected to showcase her skilled spud-saving activities to have a lie-down.

The man was dressed in a nice powder-blue suit, and was on his back. And as the sun shimmered across the horizon, pulling up its pants and spitting into its hands to start another day on the job, Vesta suddenly noticed, as a stray ray flickered across the man’s visage, that he looked very pale indeed. Also, when she stepped a little closer, she saw that his eyes were wide open and that there was a smudge of blood on his chest.

And that’s when she realized this wasn’t a rough sleeper or tired rescue worker.

This man… was dead!

Chapter Three

“There’s something sticking out of the potatoes, Max,” said Dooley suddenly.

I hadn’t really paid attention to the potatoes, to be honest. Potatoes, as I’ve already indicated, aren’t designed to inspire excitement in a feline, and on top of that, these particular potatoes, having spent a considerable amount of time lying on the tarmac and thus having had the dubious benefit of being thoroughly marinated in a sauce of exhaust fumes, oil, road paint, tire remnants and asphalt that exists wherever thousands of cars travel across a stretch of road on a daily basis, didn’t look all that appetizing to me.

But Dooley was right. There was, indeed, something sticking out amongst the sea of potatoes that didn’t look very potato-like to me. And judging from the way Vesta was staring at the object in question, and loudly calling her son to come and take a look, it was clear something was amiss.

“Do you think it’s the driver of the potato truck?” asked Dooley.

“The driver is standing over there,” said Harriet, gesturing with her tail to an unhappy-looking man who stood tapping away on his smartphone, presumably giving either his boss or his significant other an update on his (lack of) progress.

“Probably the person responsible for the accident,” Brutus suggested. “Guy standing in the middle of the road for some reason, or a pedestrian trying to cross the road and not realizing he should have waited until the light turned green. Ouch!” he added.

This last part of his contribution followed the smack on the head Harriet gave him.

“There are no traffic lights out here, Brutus,” she said. “Besides, the reason the truck driver had the accident is because a deer crossed the road, not a person.”

Clearly while the rest of us were wondering why this potato rescue mission had sounded like a good idea when Gran had suggested it, Harriet had been busy collecting the facts pertaining to the case and getting up to date on what had actually happened.

“I think that man is dead,” Dooley suddenly announced.

“Are you sure?” said Brutus. “He could just be taking a nap.”

“Gran just told Uncle Alec the man is dead,” Dooley explained.

It seemed to cinch things, and the four of us, as one cat, moved forward in the direction of what could now only be described as a crime scene. And as we approached the person lying flat on his back on the road, surrounded by a sea of potatoes, it soon became clear that Dooley was right: this man, whoever he was, was most definitely dead.

“Poor guy,” Gran was saying. “He must have been hiding between the potatoes, and when the truck flipped over he must have hit his noggin on the tarmac. Freak accident.”

“Do you think it’s one of them asylum seekers?” asked one of the other potato collectors, who’d joined the small throng that had gathered around the dead man.

“Pretty sure he is,” said a man. “Like the old lady says, must have been hiding in the back of that truck, hitching a ride to who knows where.”

“Please stay back,” said Uncle Alec, gesturing to the chattering crowd. He was gripping his phone in one hand and gesturing to the potato pickers with the other, presumably calling in backup for what had escalated from a mere traffic accident to a mysterious death.

“He looks like a nice person,” said Dooley.

“And what makes you say that?” asked Harriet with a touch of skepticism.

“He has a nice face,” Dooley explained.

He was right. It’s hard to determine what makes a face fall into this particular category, but this man’s face most definitely did. It was one of those round faces, which in life I would imagine had been pink and jolly. Even in death there was a touch of cherubic pleasantness about it.

“If he’s an asylum seeker,” said Brutus, “then why is he wearing a blue suit?”

“Why can’t an asylum seeker wear a blue suit?” Harriet challenged her boyfriend. “As far as I know there isn’t a dress code for asylum seekers, now is there?”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” Brutus allowed. “Still. It’s a very ugly suit.”

“What do you find ugly about it?” I asked.

“The color. A suit should be dark gray or black. Gray and black are forgiving colors. You can wear them for a long time without noticing all of those smudges. Not blue.”

“Oh, you’re such a snob,” said Harriet, shaking her head. “If this man wants to wear a blue suit, he can wear a blue suit. It’s a free country.”

“But look at those smudges. That wouldn’t have happened if he’d worn black.”

“I don’t think he cares about the smudges, Brutus,” Harriet said. “He’s dead.”

“Maybe he comes from a country where people are persecuted for wearing blue suits,” was Dooley’s suggestion. “So he came to America, where people can wear whatever they want.”

Brutus had a point, though. If this man was hiding in the back of a truck filled with potatoes, which, as a rule, aren’t exactly the cleanest vegetable to hide amongst, his choice of outfit was ill-advised. Now if he’d picked a truck carrying a load of bell peppers, a suit would have been fine, and the blue would go well with the red, yellow and green.

Moments later, the sound of a police siren cut through the early morning air, followed by that of an ambulance, and soon both arrived on the scene.

“Looks like it will take a little longer before the road is cleared,” I said.

“Poor Gran,” said Dooley. “She was hoping to steal a couple of potatoes and instead she ended up being a witness to murder.”

“Murder!” I said, surprised. “What makes you think this was murder?”

“Well, the man probably didn’t kill himself, did he?” said Dooley. “So if he didn’t kill himself, he must have been murdered.”

Harriet scoffed a little at this. “And who do you think killed him? A potato?”

“I think Gran called it,” said Brutus. “The guy must have hit his head on the asphalt when he tumbled from the truck. So it’s not murder, Dooley. It’s an accident.”

We looked on as the paramedics muscled a path to the dead man, the throng of rubberneckers splitting like the Red Sea. But since there was nothing the medical boys and girls could do, they quickly gave way to the police officers, who proceeded to cordon off the area. And by the time the coroner arrived, and started doing his thing, Gran took us back to her car, and soon we were once again homeward bound—without potatoes.

Start Reading Purrfect Sidekick Now

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 Fool. Purrfect Fitness. Purrfect Setup