by Nic Saint
“You can always drop by my place,” said Dooley magnanimously. “Gran makes sure there’s always something to eat, day or night, and we don’t have any mice to deal with.”
“Oh, just you wait and see,” I said. “Pretty soon they’ll expand their hunting ground to Marge and Tex’s place, and then spread out from there. And before you know it they’ll start in on Fifi’s dog chow, and Rufus’s too. Which is all the more reason we have to stick together and deal with them once and for all.”
For a moment, no one spoke, as I contemplated ways and means of ‘fixing’ Hector and Helga’s expanding offspring. After a moment, I felt that Dooley was watching me intently. I turned to him and asked, “What?”
“You don’t look so good,” Max,” he said. “In fact you look even worse than you did yesterday.”
“Why, thanks, Dooley. That’s very nice to hear,” I said, not hiding the hint of sarcasm in my voice. Though I doubt whether Dooley picked up on it.
“I’ll tell you another joke,” he announced, and before I could stop him, he said, “A duck, a shuck and a chuck walk into a bar…”
I held up my paw to stop him in his tracks. “Shucks don’t walk into bars. They have no feet.”
“Just listen,” he said. “You’ll laugh very much, and that’s exactly what you need. So a duck, a shuck and a chuck walk into a bar. ‘Say, listen,’ says the chuck. ‘I sold a truck for a buck to a cluck. What does that make me?’ Both the duck and the shuck shrug. Then the bartender says, ‘You sold a truck to a cluck for a buck? You know what that makes you?’ ‘What?’ ‘A shmuck.’” My friend laughed loudly, presumably to show me how it was done.
I, on the other hand, didn’t laugh at all. Frankly I didn’t get the joke, which is what I told Dooley.
“That’s because you’re not in the right frame of mind,” he said. “Oh, Max. I worry about you. I worry a lot. And worrying is not good. We should be laughing, and having fun. It’s the only way to make sure that we don’t get—”
And I was sure he would have said a great deal more, but the car had arrived at its destination, and Chase leaned out of the window to address the unknown person in charge of opening the gate. It was one of those very tall and eerie gates, with the pointy spikes on top, to keep unwanted visitors out at all cost. It reminded me of that Hitchcock movie Rebecca, and the words ‘Last night I dreamt I went to Manderlay again,’ popped into my head and I shivered slightly.
Chase’s bona fides satisfactorily established, the gate crept open with a creaking sound, and soon Chase’s squad car was moving along a long and winding drive, crunching gravel as it did.
We pulled up to a large mansion that looked just as creepy as the front gate, with turrets on either side of the structure, and tall windows deeply set in gray stone that had blackened with age.
“Creepy,” Dooley said, and that was exactly the word to describe Miss Power’s home.
We got out of the car, and as we did suddenly a figure appeared in the tall entry doors. She was slim and gray-haired and looked sixty-ish. Presumably the housekeeper, I thought, but as we set paw in her direction, it was Uncle Alec, who’d parked right behind us, who corrected my mistake when he exclaimed, a distinct tremor of emotion in his voice, “Miss Power. An honor, ma’am. An absolute honor.”
The former actress nodded once, a tight smile on her lips, and stepped back to welcome us inside.
It only took me two seconds to ascertain that she was one of those rare people who didn’t own a cat, and three seconds to determine that what she did own was a dog, which filled me with joy and apprehension in equal measure. Joy because I don’t mind having a stab at a nice bowl of dog kibble from time to time, and apprehension because I had the distinct impression it was one of those big and scary dogs. The kind that can eat a cat whole and will do so without batting an eye.
“Please step through,” said the actress, who was dressed in simple garb: a long dark skirt and a gray blouse with a nice big brooch. She was also wearing a scarf around her neck, flat black shoes and looked just about as unglamorous as humanly possible.
“She doesn’t look like a famous actress,” Dooley whispered.
“I thought she was the housekeeper,” I confessed.
“I thought she was a lady butler.”
We both grinned a little, and as we followed the humans into what I figured was a drawing or sitting room, suddenly Maria Power directed a critical look at both Dooley and me and said, “Cats! How did they get in!”
“Oh, they’re mine,” Odelia was quick to say. “I hope you don’t mind. They more or less go everywhere I go.” When Miss Power gave her a penetrating look that said she minded a great deal, she quickly added, “If you don’t want them in the house I can leave them outside.”
“I would indeed prefer if they didn’t come in,” said Miss Power. “I’m quite allergic to cats.” And to show us what she meant, she sneezed.
Moments later we were relegated to the great outdoors, the door closed in our faces, and my affection for Maria Power, not great to begin with, dropped to an even lower level.
“I don’t think I like her very much,” Dooley said.
“No, me neither,” I said. As a rule I don’t like anyone who doesn’t like me. It seems fair that way. Though I probably should have made an exception for Miss Power, as she couldn’t help being allergic to cats. Then again, for a woman who owned a dog it was very strange that she would be allergic to us, and not her silly mutt. Although someone had once told me that there are dog breeds that don’t trigger an allergic reaction in humans who are otherwise allergic to anything with four legs and plenty of fur on top.
“Let’s go around the back,” I suggested. “Check out this place.” And of course report back to Odelia when we were through.
And maybe, just maybe, find that elusive bite to eat.
23
Odelia was properly impressed as she took a seat in the opulently appointed sitting room, where Maria Power had taken her guests. She could tell from their demeanor that both Chase and Uncle Alec were equally intimidated by being in the presence of greatness, as they were uncharacteristically quiet.
“So… what did you want to talk to me about?” asked the actress, adopting a formal tone, her face displaying no emotion whatsoever.
She looked very well preserved for her age, Odelia thought as she studied the woman. She was seventy now, having retired when she was in her late fifties, after an illustrious career, but she could hardly detect any wrinkles on her smooth brow, and only a few crow’s feet around the eyes and a certain thinness of skin that revealed her age. And the gray hair, of course, which she wore in a short bob.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, Miss Power,” said Chase, taking charge of the interview, as Uncle Alec seemed too tongue-tied to proceed, “but there has been a series of dramatic incidents in town. First a woman was found murdered in Dan Goory’s office—Dan is the editor of the Hampton Cove Gazette, and also, and probably more importantly, the president of the Gnomeos, a fan club dedicated to your work. Then this morning Jack Warner was murdered. Jack was the president of the Maria Power Society. Both Heather Gallop and Jack Warner were bludgeoned to death with a garden gnome, and in both instances the most likely suspect seems to be Dan Goory.”
“So the head of one of my fan clubs killed the head of another club. How strange,” said Miss Power, tilting her head to one side a little and displaying a slight smile.
“Well, we have reason to believe the case is more complicated than that,” Chase continued. “You see, the murder of Jack Warner was witnessed by a hotel cleaner, and soon after she made a statement to that effect she was found dead.”
Miss Power lifted one eyebrow fractionally. “Also murdered by Mr. Goory, I presume?”
“Well, no. She fell down the stairs and broke her neck.”
“An accident. How unfortunate.” She paused. “I still don’t see what all this has to do with me.”
“Well, we have reason to be
lieve that Mr. Goory may be innocent.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“I’ve known Dan a long time,” said Odelia. “You see I work for him, and I find it hard to believe he would suddenly have turned into a serial killer overnight.”
“Most people have hidden depths and I’m sure your Mr. Goory is no different.” The actress turned to Uncle Alec. “Do you also believe that Mr. Goory is innocent of these crimes, Chief Lip?”
Uncle Alec hemmed and hawed for a moment, clearing his throat noisily, then finally confessed, “All the evidence seems to point to him as the culprit, Miss Power.” He darted a quick glance in Odelia’s direction. “But if my niece believes in his innocence…”
“Odelia has always had an unfailing intuition for these things,” Chase explained.
“And I guess we owe it to Dan to conduct a thorough investigation,” Uncle Alec continued. “To make absolutely certain there’s not a shadow of a doubt as far as his guilt is concerned.”
Miss Power shifted in her seat. “You still haven’t told me what brought you here.”
“Well, this entire case seems to revolve around your person, Miss Power,” said Uncle Alec. “First Dan was approached by a woman who claimed to have something very interesting to share, and used the word ‘Gnomeo’ to describe what she had to offer, then Jack Warner arranged a meeting with Dan, presumably to bury the hatchet, as he and Dan have been at each other’s throats since their respective clubs’ inception, and finally, the cleaner who’s the only witness to Dan’s crime turns out to have been an avid fan of yours as well. She had an entire room dedicated to you, with a hat you once wore as the highlight of her collection, so…”
“So you wanted to know what I thought of this whole thing,” Miss Power said, nodding. “Well, as you may or may not know I’ve retired from the movie business many years ago, and have kept myself to myself ever since. I don’t go out, I don’t meet people, so unfortunately I never had the pleasure of meeting either Mr. Goory or Mr. Warner or this young woman who died. If I had I could perhaps have offered you my opinion. What I can say is that for some reason or other my work has always inspired a great deal of excitement—rightly or wrongly, I leave that to others to decide. Men have fought over me, especially when I was younger, women have fought with me, especially the women who were married to these same men.” She smiled. “I find it hard to believe that now, a little over a decade after I retired, people are still capable of getting worked up over my legacy—the modest body of work I left behind.”
“So you think that’s what this is?” asked Odelia. “People getting all worked up and even going so far as to resort to murder?”
Miss Power lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know how else to explain it. One woman presumably had some objects to sell, and the president of the Gnomeos—silly name, if you ask me, by the way—killed her, presumably because he didn’t want to pay what she was asking. And then the president of one fan club killed the president of another fan club, possibly because of some argument over who was my most devoted fan. Frankly it doesn’t surprise me. I’ve seen people act even more viciously over my perceived talents.”
She gazed out through the window for a moment, and Odelia had the impression she was thinking of one particular incident. As she remembered herself, Maria Power’s third husband had once struck a man he thought was her lover, and had rendered him unconscious in the process. There had even been a much-hyped trial at the time, damages demanded and awarded. Maybe the actress was right. Her presence had whipped people, both men and women, into a frenzy over the course of her long and illustrious career, and apparently her memory still possessed this power to this day.
“Do you keep up to date on the events organized to commemorate your career?” Odelia asked. “Like the retrospective at the Seabreeze Music Center?”
“No, I certainly don’t,” said Miss Power, returning to the present, her pale blue eyes losing that dreamlike quality and turning flinty. This was clearly a woman who’d been through a lot, and had had quite enough. So much so that she’d decided to turn her back on the world and lock herself up in her own home. Odelia wondered what kind of life she must have led to inspire such an ignoble finale. Probably no one would ever know.
“I was there last night,” Uncle Alec revealed. “Me and my girlfriend, both dressed up as gnomes.” He smiled at the memory.
Miss Power didn’t. “I really don’t understand this Gnomeo business,” she said. “I certainly never did anything to encourage being associated with that dreadful movie.”
“Oh, but by all accounts it must have been a great movie,” said Uncle Alec. “Rupert Finkelstein’s final film. Not a single copy having survived. It’s probably the most sought-after film in the history of cinema.”
“I can tell you there was nothing special about it,” said Miss Power, now looking thoroughly annoyed. “It was probably for the best that Rupert destroyed it. It was a terrible ordeal to make the movie and the result was in keeping with the experience.”
“It did establish you as a star,” Chase pointed out. He’d clearly been reading up on Miss Power’s career.
“Yes, that’s about the only positive aspect of the matter. Apart from that, I’d much rather forget about the whole thing—only those damned Gnomeos will never let me. I suppose I should be grateful, but I fail to see the point. Now if there’s nothing further…”
She got up, a clear indication the interview was over, as far as she was concerned.
“I’d like to thank you for your time,” said Uncle Alec, also getting up. “It’s been an honor. I’m a big fan,” he added, then took out his phone. “A selfie, maybe?”
But the look of disapproval on Miss Power’s face and the curt shake of the head soon made it clear there would be no selfies taken today—or any other day.
Five minutes later they’d all been ushered out, slightly reeling from the speed with which they’d been shown the door. It was clear that Maria Power was done with her own past, and she didn’t appreciate being dragged back to it.
“I don’t think she’s a fan of her own fan clubs,” said Chase, stating the obvious.
“No, she made that pretty clear,” said Odelia.
“Pity,” said Uncle Alec. “It would have been nice to welcome her as the guest of honor at the retrospective. It would be a big boost for the town. Charlene asked me specifically to pose the question, but I guess I’ll have to disappoint her.”
The prospect of Maria Power showing her famous face at a retrospective of her own work was an exciting one, but also, it now seemed, highly unlikely.
Odelia glanced around, wondering where her cats were. Too bad she hadn’t been able to take them inside. Then again, since the interview had been an absolute bust, there probably wasn’t much they could have learned either.
“Max!” she called out. “Dooley! Where are you guys!”
When after a couple of minutes they still hadn’t answered her call, she was starting to get a little worried. And when Miss Power appeared in the window and made an angry sign for them to leave already, her heart sank. She hated leaving without Max and Dooley. Then again, they couldn’t very well stick around against the actress’s wishes.
So it was with a heavy heart that she got into the car, and Chase drove off.
She hoped her cats would be fine… and find their way home all right.
24
It didn’t take us long to discover that Maria Power was a movie star unlike other movie stars. For one thing we found no trace of a pool behind the house, or a Jacuzzi or sauna. The gardens were also pretty straightforward for a member of the Hollywood elite. No private zoo, no exotic animals lurking anywhere, and no tigers or anything of the kind.
“It doesn’t look like the home of a film star,” Dooley remarked. “It looks more like the house of a retired CEO of a multinational corporation.”
“Yeah, looks like Maria likes to keep things pretty simple,” I agreed. I looked around for a way to
enter the house from the back, preferably the kitchen, where usually food can be found, all the while making sure I kept an eye out for the dog I’d sniffed before.
I wanted to have a bite to eat, but that didn’t mean I wanted to become dog food.
Suddenly a door was opened and I said, “Dooley! Let’s go!”
It was one of the servants who’d popped out for a smoke, and left the door open. So we quickly scooted inside and found, to our extreme elation, that we were in the kitchen.
There was nothing sober or simple about the kitchen, though. On the contrary, it was big and loaded with gleaming appliances, two kitchen islands, modern equipment, wall-to-wall cupboards and enough pots and pans dangling from hooks to feed a small army. All in all, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Nancy Meyers movie, and just as I was wondering when Meryl Streep or Diane Keaton were going to come walking in, a woman entered who looked so much like a cook she could have starred in a movie as one.
She started chopping veggies on one of the kitchen islands, and before she noticed our presence, we decided to skedaddle. Next to the kitchen was a second, smaller space, where usually, in most households of this caliber, the pets are fed. Not here, though, as we found ourselves in a pantry, full of shelves laden with foodstuffs. No dog or cat food was in evidence, though, much to our disappointment.
And we probably would have walked out again, if I hadn’t detected a strange odor that I nevertheless immediately recognized.
“Mice,” I said, a grim expression creeping up my face.
“See, Max?” said Dooley. “Even the rich and famous have mice.”
If his statement was designed to soothe and comfort, its effect was lost on me. Instead it served to increase my antipathy toward the critters.
And as if reading my mind suddenly a tiny nose came peeping from underneath the shelves, soon followed by a tiny body. But when the mouse spoke, it didn’t do so in an equally tiny voice. Instead, it boomed, “Why, if it ain’t cats! What are you fellas doing here?!”