by Nic Saint
“In my experience the most obvious answer is usually the right one,” said Uncle Alec. “Dan was there, and so was the victim, and his fingerprints are all over the murder weapon, which, by the way, also belonged to him.”
“What about the UPS guy?” asked Chase, helping himself to a helping of mashed potatoes.
“What about him?”
“UPS claims they never sent anyone, so it stands to reason he could be the killer.”
Uncle Alec grumbled something, clearly not convinced.
“Are you sure this Heather Gallop person was murdered?” asked Charlene. “Maybe she simply tripped and fell and hit her head?”
“She was murdered, all right,” said Alec. “With a garden gnome, if you please.”
At the mention of the word ‘gnome’ Tex looked up sharply, rising from the gloom in which he’d been cloaked for the past twenty minutes. “Did you say gnome?” he asked.
“Tex is very upset,” Marge explained for the benefit of the rest of the company. “He discovered today that our neighbor Ted Trapper stole his gnomes.”
“And had the gall to deny the whole thing!” said Tex, his faith in humanity clearly severely shaken.
“Are you absolutely sure that Ted took your gnomes?” asked Gran.
“I picked them out of his garden myself,” said Tex. “Here, let me show you.” Animation had returned to his limbs and he got up and disappeared into the house.
“He keeps his collection of gnomes under lock and key now,” said Marge. “Afraid they’ll be stolen again.”
“Father Reilly’s gnomes were stolen,” said Scarlett as she frowned at a pea, pronged on a tine of her fork. Scarlett isn’t a big eater, and the amount of butter Marge likes to use when preparing her dishes had probably thrown her. You can’t maintain a figure like Scarlett’s on buttered spuds, veggies and steak. “We think it’s a gang of international gnome thieves, isn’t that right, Vesta?”
“Yeah, definitely a gang,” Gran confirmed. “We talked to several more people and so far three of them have had their gnomes snatched.”
“Surely Ted Trapper didn’t steal them all,” said Charlene. Charlene is one of those mayors who always sees the best in people, and it was clearly hard for her to believe that Ted Trapper would be an international gnome thief, or even a national one.
Tex had returned with a gnome clutched in his arms, darting nervous glances in the direction of the fence that divides his garden from Ted’s, as if afraid the man would suddenly pop up and snatch his gnome. “Look here,” said the doctor, and he turned the gnome upside down. “See this?”
We all craned our necks to see. On the bottom of the gnome a big red letter T had been written in permanent red marker.
“This is how I proved that Ted is a common thief.” He turned to his brother-in-law. “I’d like to file charges, Alec. Can I file charges? I feel very strongly I should file charges.”
“Sure you can file charges, Tex,” said Alec, as he ladled a second—or it could have been a third or even a fourth—helping of extra-buttery mashed potatoes onto his plate.
“Easy now, darling,” said Charlene, placing a hand on the Chief’s arm. “Your diet, remember?”
Alec gave her a look of alarm, then reluctantly returned the potatoes to the glass bowl and set down his plate—now completely devoid of food, buttery or otherwise.
“Um, come into the police station tomorrow,” he said. “Dolores will take your statement.”
“Are you sure about this, Tex?” asked Marge. “We don’t want to create trouble with the neighbors now do we?”
“I didn’t create the trouble,” said Tex. “He did,” he added, pointing the gnome’s pointy red hat in the Trappers’ direction.
Just then, Ted’s head appeared over the fence, caught sight of Tex viciously waving his gnome, gulped, and sank out of view again.
Clearly things weren’t hunky-dory in pleasant suburbia.
“So what’s going to happen next?” asked Charlene, who likes to stay on top of things in her town. She’d addressed her question at Odelia. “With the murder case, I mean?”
“Well, we interviewed Jack Warner today. He runs the Maria Power Society, one of two official Maria Power fan clubs in town, and he thinks Dan is the culprit.”
“Ha!” said Uncle Alec, clearly feeling justified by Jack Warner’s words.
“And why does he think that?” asked Charlene, as she directed a critical glance at the sizable piece of chocolate pie Uncle Alec had scooped onto his dessert plate.
“There seems to exist a great degree of rivalry between the Maria Power Society and the Gnomeos,” Chase explained. “Both are dedicated to keeping the memory of Maria Power alive, and their leaders have had it in for one another for years.”
“Is she still alive, this Maria Power?” asked Scarlett.
“Oh, yes,” said Marge. “In fact she lives right here in Hampton Cove. Though no one has seen her in years. She likes to keep herself to herself. Our very own Greta Garbo.”
“I think we should probably go and have a chat with her,” said Odelia. “See what she has to say about this fan club business—and the murder, of course.”
I detected now, through the hole in the fence, that Rufus was trying to attract our attention.
“Rufus is ready to join us,” said Harriet, who’d noticed the same thing. “Are you guys ready?”
I sighed a deep sigh. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said. I didn’t want to admit it in front of the others, but I found the prospect of four cats having to enlist the services of a dog to help us chase a flock of mice from our basement humiliating to a degree. I mean, if word got out, the four of us would be the laughing stock of all of Hampton Cove.
Then again, what else could we do? Rufus, as I saw it, was our last hope. And lucky for us, cats and dogs don’t usually seek out each other’s company, so chances of Rufus blabbing to our friends about this were minimal to non-existent.
And as we made our way into Odelia’s backyard, Rufus in tow, Dooley remarked, “You’re looking so unhappy, Max. Do you want me to tell you another joke?”
“No, Dooley. That won’t be necessary.”
I glanced over to Rufus, who gave me a goofy grin. Clearly the joke was on me.
15
I have to admit I found it touching that Harriet would try to help me deal with the mouse issue. Though I wasn’t entirely happy with her solution, it was nice of her to cross over into enemy camp and recruit a dog to do my dirty work.
We entered the house through the pet flap, as is our habit, before I realized Rufus would never fit—in fact I sometimes have a hard time fitting through the darn thing myself.
Lucky for us Odelia had left the sliding glass door open and Rufus could easily enter the house that way.
“Nice place you got here,” said Rufus, admiring Odelia’s living room and kitchen. I caught him casting a curious glance in the direction of the four kibble bowls Odelia likes to set out for our enjoyment, and figured when this was all over, we’d probably have to pay the big fluffy dog in kibble. Mounds and mounds of kibble.
It was a sacrifice I was willing to make, though.
We passed through the basement door and paused on the first step. The peace treaty I’d negotiated with the mouse colony divides the house into different zones, not unlike Berlin at the end of World War II: the living room and the upstairs are ours, and the basement is reserved for Hector and Helga, which means it’s a no-go zone for us cats.
But since the mice have been trespassing into our zones so often recently I just figured the treaty was null and void.
“Let’s do this,” I said therefore, and trotted down the stairs, three cats and one sheepdog in my wake.
Arriving in the basement I sniffed and had to admit that Hector and Helga ran a tight ship. Feces-wise, I mean. I didn’t detect even a hint of mouse droppings.
“Hey, what are you doing here!” immediately a voice cried out. It belonged to Hector, the paterf
amilias, and when he became aware of the presence of Rufus, I thought I could detect a hint of fear in his beady little eyes.
His little nose rose up into the air and he sniffed and wiggled his tail freely.
“Hector,” I said. “I’m afraid this cannot go on. Your offspring has been invading our space and absconding with our food supply so often now Odelia’s household budget has taken a serious dent. When she decided to adopt us, she allowed for four extra mouths to feed, and did so happily, as she loves cats and that’s what cat people do. But she never budgeted for one hundred extra little mouths to feed, if you see what I mean.”
“Two hundred,” Hector said as he eyed Rufus suspiciously.
“Two hundred!” I cried. “This situation is simply unsustainable, Hector. And it’s not fair. You promised me you wouldn’t steal the food from our table. You gave me your solemn word that you would forage outside. That you would live on the seeds and the bugs that are reaped aplenty in the gardens of our neighborhood. But instead you simply steal our kibble and raid Odelia’s fridge, pantry and cupboards. It’s simply not fair.”
“Oh, tush,” said Hector. “I never made any such promises.”
“Yes, you did!”
“You did, Hector,” Dooley confirmed. “I was there when you and Helga told us.”
“That’s the problem with you cats,” said Hector. “You only hear what you want to hear. I never said anything about living on seeds and bugs alone. You try to raise two hundred kids on seeds and bugs. I’d like to see you try.”
“What’s going on here?” asked a second voice. Helga came crawling out of a tiny hole in the wall and seemed startled when she saw the collected gathering. “Hey, you’re not supposed to be down here,” she said immediately.
“Max has brought a canine associate,” said Hector. “I didn’t catch your name, buddy,” he added, addressing Rufus.
“I’m Rufus,” said Rufus. “And I’m here to negotiate with you guys.”
“Well, negotiate away,” said Helga, crossing two tiny arms over her tiny chest. Her tiny little nose was waggling excitedly, but her face spelled storm.
“Max claims he never promised to share his food with us,” said Hector.
“Oh, yes, you did,” said Helga. “And you’re not going to backtrack now. You said we could eat whatever we wanted. That we were your treasured guests.”
“I never said any such thing!” I cried, getting more and more indignant.
“That’s cats for you,” said Hector, shaking his head. “You simply can’t trust them.”
“Devious creatures,” his wife agreed.
“Look, I would advise you to take a hike,” said Hector. “This is our basement and you have no business coming down here and stinking up the place with your cat stink.”
“Yeah, this cat and dog smell is the last thing we need,” said Helga.
“You’re telling us we stink?” asked Harriet, also getting worked up now.
“Let’s just say this particular ‘odor’ you guys spread is the last thing a growing mouse needs,” said Hector.
More mice had crawled out of different holes in the wall, and we were now surrounded by dozens and dozens of the tiny creatures. And all of them were throwing us less-than-friendly glances. It was a strange experience, to be treated as hostiles in our own home.
“Look, you guys have got to move out,” said Rufus now, finally remembering the reason for his visit. “This is not your home and I think it’s time for you to move along.”
“We’re not going anywhere, fleabag,” said Hector. “Who are you anyway?”
“I’m Ted and Marcie’s dog,” Rufus explained. “We live next door to Tex and Marge.”
Helga narrowed her eyes. “I know you. You scared the living daylights out of our cousins Molly and Rupert, didn’t you? Not nice of you, dog. Not nice at all.”
Molly and Rupert had once lived in Odelia’s basement, before moving one basement over into Tex and Marge’s basement, and making a final move to Ted and Marcie’s.
“What happened to Molly and Rupert?” I asked now.
“They moved on,” said Rufus. “When Marcie put out mouse traps they figured it better to find some other place to infest.”
“Hey, that’s a very nasty thing to say, dog!” said Hector.
“Yeah, we’re clean mice, and we have every right to be here, same as you,” Helga added.
It was clear we weren’t getting anywhere. If I’d hoped the presence of Rufus would make a difference, it clearly hadn’t. These mice weren’t scared of anyone, even a big dog.
Harriet gave Rufus a poke in the rear. “Do something,” she hissed.
Rufus, not exactly the fiercest dog in the universe, was clearly at a loss.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Scare them!” said Harriet.
“Scare them?” The concept seemed alien to the good-natured mutt.
“Yeah. Scare the bejeesus out of them.”
Rufus gave me a questioning look, and I shrugged. I didn’t know how to be scary any more than he did, so he was on his own there.
“Bark,” said Brutus. “Isn’t that what dogs do?”
Rufus did as he was told: he opened his mouth and emitted a short bark.
Hector and Helga shared a look of confusion, then started laughing.
Rufus tried again, this time putting more pep into his performance. He barked a couple of times, and even snarled. The result was two hundred mice rolling on the floor laughing.
And it was with our tails between our legs that we finally emerged from the basement.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been laughed out of your own basement by a nest of mice. Well, let me tell you it’s not a pleasant experience. In fact it’s quite humiliating.
“I’m sorry, you guys,” Rufus said ruefully. “They’re a tough crowd, these mice of yours.”
And that, they most certainly were.
16
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t look so sad,” said Charlene. “It’s for your own good.”
Alec muttered something under his breath. Charlene had taken away his slice of chocolate pie and returned it to the platter for someone else to enjoy. He’d watched its departure with a sinking feeling. He liked chocolate pie. In fact he loved the darn stuff.
“You know what the doctor said. If you don’t lose weight now you’re putting yourself at risk. Obesity is no laughing matter.”
“I’m not obese,” he grumbled.
“Yet. But you’re getting there.”
They were walking down the street, on their way to the Seabreeze Music Center, where the Maria Power retrospective was taking place.
Both of them were dressed as garden gnomes: Charlene as a pretty female gnome, Alec as a jolly and more bulbous male gnome. Their cheeks were red, their heads were adorned with white pointy caps, and they were dressed in yards of red and green felt.
More gnomes were also heading in the direction of the center, and as they drew closer, they were surrounded by gnomes of all shapes and sizes. It was a festive occasion, and a sight to behold. But Alec couldn’t enjoy it the way he would have liked. Not after the chairman of one of the two fan clubs had possibly murdered a woman, and not after Charlene had taken away a good-looking piece of chocolate pie he’d marked for his own.
“Look, I’ll bake you a cake tonight if you stop sulking,” said Charlene.
His face lit up. “You mean that?”
“Of course. Only my cake will be the low-fat, low-sugar, dairy-free, gluten-free healthy variety.”
He cut her a dubious look. “It’s going to taste horrible, is it?”
“It’s going to taste just as delicious as your sister’s high-fat, high-sugar, high-dairy, high-gluten variety. You won’t even taste the difference.”
Somehow he doubted it. But he was willing to overlook that. “You would really do that for me?” he asked, deeply touched. As a widower of fifteen years, he wasn’t used to a woman being this nice to
him, and it touched his heart.
“Of course, sweetheart,” she said with a smile. “I care about you, my sugar bear.” She’d linked her arm through his and he suddenly felt all warm and fuzzy inside.
“There’s something else I’ll do for you tonight,” she said with a wink. “But only if you’re a good boy and have fun with me tonight.”
Now the warm and fuzzy feeling was extending to his nether regions and he even produced a goofy smile. After the kind of day he’d had, with gnome thefts he hadn’t been able to give his proper attention, and a murder case he hadn’t been able to solve, Charlene was really going all out to lift his mood.
“I’d like that,” he growled, and gave her a quick peck on the rouge-covered cheek.
She smiled. “And there’s that lovely smile again.”
They’d arrived at the center and lined up to go in. People greeted them excitedly. It isn’t every day that the mayor and chief of police become a couple, and Alec and Charlene’s story had inspired a certain tenderness in the townsfolk. Tickled their romantic bone.
“Look, Alec,” said Charlene, after she’d shaken several people’s hands and accepted their congratulations for landing such a catch. “It’s Dan.”
“Surprised he’d show his face,” Alec grumbled.
“He is still the chairman of the Gnomeos,” said Charlene. “And you did release him.”
Dan was also dressed as a gnome, only a very weathered one—a gnome that’s seen too many seasons, neglected by its owner. Out there braving the elements for too many years. He certainly didn’t look as happy and carefree as he usually did.
When he saw Alec he gave him a feeble smile, then immediately disappeared in the opposite direction.
“I still think he did it,” said Alec.
“You’re going to have to prove it,” Charlene pointed out. “Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”
“I know, I know,” he said, none too pleased.
The chairman of the Maria Power Society, Jack Warner, stepped up to them with a wide grin on his face, and pumped first Alec’s hand, then pressed a kiss on Charlene’s.