by Nic Saint
“We’re visitors,” I said in measured tones, as I didn’t want to pick a fight with this mouse simply because of its species.
“Looking for food, I presume,” said the mouse, still in that same hale and hearty manner, which for some reason got my back up even more.
“Well, we wouldn’t mind having a bite to eat, Mr. Mouse,” said Dooley. “We haven’t eaten since this morning, and we’re both very hungry, I don’t mind telling you.”
The mouse chuckled—actually chuckled!
“Look, mice have stolen our food, and as a consequence we didn’t enjoy a full breakfast,” I said, a little frostily. “So your cheerfulness is highly out of place.”
“Mice have stolen your food, huh? Is that a fact now?”
“Yes, that is a fact, so you’ll forgive me for not being a big fan of your kind, sir.”
“First off, I’m not a sir, I’m a lady. Secondly, you can’t go around blaming the behavior of a few rogue elements on the entire species, now can you?”
“Yes, you’re right, of course,” I said, slightly taken aback. I’d never heard a female mouse speak with such forcefulness before, and it struck me that as far as mice went, I was still pretty much a novice.
“Look, if you want to eat, I can offer you a variety of dishes,” said the mouse, much to my surprise. She pointed to various foodstuffs on the shelves. “We also have a nice assortment of cheeses in the fridge. You have your Cheddar, your Gouda, your Parmesan. Or if you prefer the softer cheeses, I’ve got you covered too. Humboldt Fog, Bergenost, Red Hawk, Monterey Jack… Oh, and cream cheese, of course. Always a favorite.”
When I told the mouse I wasn’t into cheese all that much, and neither was Dooley, she registered surprise. “Then you haven’t tasted these cheeses yet. They are to die for.”
And she tripped out of the pantry and into the kitchen, neatly avoiding being stepped on by the cook, and resolutely making her way to yet another room. After a moment, her head popped out again, and she shouted, “Well, what are you waiting for, cats?!”
So we followed her, and found ourselves in a room with no less than three fridges and two freezers.
“Now this is where you guys come in,” said the mouse. “I could open these myself, but it’s hard going, what with that suction thingy, which is really annoying, if you ask me. Whoever designed these fridges clearly didn’t think of us poor mice. So pop this one open and let’s have a look-see, shall we?”
I did as she said, and before long I was sampling some of the best cheese I’d eaten my entire life.
“I have to admit you were absolutely right,” I said. “This is some pretty good stuff.”
“Right?” she said proudly, then stuck out a paw. “My name is Elsa, by the way, and I’m pleased to meet you, cat.”
“Max,” I said. “And this is Dooley.”
Just then, Elsa hissed, “Hide!” And promptly scooted behind a stack of boxes, quickly followed by Dooley and me. I could see the cook opening the fridge and then closing it again.
“Phew. That was close,” said Elsa, as she wiped the perspiration from her brow. “She’s never caught me once, and it would be too bad if she caught me now, since I have the pleasure of two guests.”
“Why are you being so nice to us?” asked Dooley. “You don’t even know us.”
Elsa gave another one of her hearty laughs. “You just say whatever comes into your head, don’t you? Why wouldn’t I be nice? There’s plenty of food for the three of us, and I enjoy the company for a change. It’s not much fun being the only mouse in the house.”
“You’re the only mouse here?” I asked.
“Yep. Never found the right one, I suppose, to start a little family and settle down.”
“There’s two hundred mice living in our basement,” said Dooley. “And they eat all of our food, and all of our human’s food, too.”
“Two hundred. Now that’s what I call a nice big family. Your humans must be really hospitable people.”
“Well, they are,” I said. “But even they think it’s a little much.”
“Yeah, I suppose two hundred can be taxing for your regular homeowner,” said Elsa, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.
“We’ve been trying to negotiate with them,” I explained. “Ask them to move out. Or if they decide to stay, at least not to eat all of the food. But they refuse. They figure they have just as much right to stay as we do. So they’re not budging. And now my human is upset with me, figuring since I’m a cat I should be able to keep the house mouse-free, if you see what I mean.”
“Yeah, I think I do,” said Elsa. “Though of course I used to live with a dog, and I never had any problems. We respected one another and had a great time.”
“What happened to the dog?” asked Dooley.
“Oh, he died. Last month. Great tragedy it was, too. Maria was crazy about Boomer.”
“What kind of dog was he?” I asked.
“Maltese. Very clever, and a real gentledog, too. Always let me share his food, and let me tell you, if you like this food you should have seen what Maria gave Boomer to eat. Only the very best of the very best. Gourmet stuff.” She shook her head sadly. “Yeah, it hasn’t been much fun with Boomer gone.”
“You should come and live with us,” said Dooley. “I mean,” he added, with a glance in my direction, “what’s one more mouse?”
“Dooley!” I hissed. “We’re trying to get rid of the mice, not add more to the pack!”
“But Elsa is not like the other mice,” he said. “She’s one of the nice mice.”
“You know what?” said Elsa. “I could join you guys and have a word with this Hector and Helga, if you like. I’m sure I could come to some sort of arrangement if you let me. Mice, after all, don’t listen to cats, but they might listen to a fellow mouse.”
I had to admit there was something to be said for this. And if things didn’t work out, she could always come back to live at Maria’s place.
“All right,” I said finally. “You can come. But only if you promise to behave.”
She laughed again. “Behave! Max, I’m the best-behaved mouse you know!”
And with this, we shook paws on it.
25
“Are you sure?” asked Fifi. The little Yorkie didn’t look entirely convinced.
“Yes, of course I’m sure,” said Harriet.
“But what am I going to tell them?”
Brutus and Harriet and Fifi were in conference in Odelia’s backyard, Fifi having absconded from her own backyard through one of the holes she liked to dig. Her human, Kurt Mayfield, a retired music teacher, always patched up the holes, only for Fifi simply to dig another one. She didn’t like to be confined to her own backyard, and liked to socialize with the cats next door, much to Kurt’s dismay, as he was a lot less fond of those same cats, especially when they broke into song, which he often responded to by throwing his shoes in their direction as a way of showing his lack of appreciation.
Brutus thought they should probably leave Fifi in peace. He didn’t see how a small dog would succeed where a big dog had failed. Then again, once Harriet had an idea in her head, it was very hard to get it out again, at least until she’d brought it to fruition, often with disastrous consequences.
“You simply tell them they have to leave,” said Harriet. “I’m sure they’ll listen to you.”
“When?” asked Fifi. “When do you want to do this?” She still wasn’t fully on board, Brutus could tell.
“No time like the present,” said Harriet cheerfully.
“What, you want to do this now?!” asked Fifi, looking horrified by the prospect of having to use her powers of persuasion to dislodge two hundred mice from the house.
“Yes, why not? Better get it over with,” said Harriet. “Like a band-aid,” she added.
“A band-aid?” asked the little doggie dubiously.
“Yeah, you have to pull it off quickly. That way it’s not so bad.”
Fifi, who probably never in h
er life had had a band-aid applied to her corpus, gave Harriet a look that spoke volumes about what she thought of her plan. Still, she followed them into the house when invited, and in the direction of the basement when suggested. She paused on the top step, though, now clearly suffering from a bout of stage fright.
“They’re not… violent, are they?” she asked.
“Oh, no,” said Harriet. “They’re quite peaceful. Very friendly. You’ll see.”
How a dog who was afraid of mice was going to scare them into leaving Odelia’s home was obviously not a thought that occurred to Harriet, and it wasn’t a question Brutus was prepared to raise. Still, as he watched Fifi walk down the stairs, one careful step at a time, the thought ‘dead dog walking’ suddenly came to mind.
“Stop!” suddenly another voice yelled, this one not in Brutus’s head but coming from behind him.
He turned, and so did Harriet and Fifi.
Much to Brutus’s surprise, it was none other than Shanille who’d graced them with her presence.
Shanille, leader of cat choir and Father Reilly’s cat, seldom paid house calls.
It also surprised Harriet, and not in a good way. “What are you doing here?” she growled.
Harriet and Shanille rarely saw eye to eye. Shanille often found fault with Harriet’s nightly solo performances she insisted on giving, and Harriet, who hated criticism of her God-given talents, didn’t like the comments her choir leader habitually directed at her.
“Kingman told me about your predicament,” said Shanille, a little stiffly. “He told me you’ve been suffering from a mice infestation and suggested I pay you a visit. See what I can do.”
“What you can do! Excuse me, Shanille, but we don’t need your help. We have everything under control.”
Shanille directed a critical look at the mess the mice had made of the kitchen, with pieces of cheese having dropped by the industrious mice, forming a trail all the way from the kitchen to the basement door. “Yeah, I can see you do,” she said, then pressed her lips together primly.
“We have our secret weapon right here,” said Harriet, gesturing to Fifi, who’d retraced her steps and was now among them once more, and looking suspiciously relieved at this stay of execution.
“A dog?” asked Shanille. “You’re going to send a dog to do a cat’s job? Oh, dear. This is so much worse than I thought. No wonder Kingman asked for my help.”
“Kingman should mind his own business,” Harriet snapped. “And frankly so should you, Shanille. Fifi, go ahead.”
But the little Yorkie gave them such a look of anguish Brutus decided to intervene. “Why don’t we give Shanille a chance to see what she can do?” he suggested. “She is, after all, Father Reilly’s cat.”
“And what does that have to do with anything?” asked Harriet.
“I have religion on my side,” Shanille said, giving Harriet a supercilious look. “And that’s a lot more than I can say about you.”
And with these words, she passed by a furious-looking Harriet and stepped into the basement.
Brutus followed from a distance, and Harriet brought up the rear, with Fifi deciding to occupy the top step, giving her a fighting chance to make a run for it in case things turned ugly.
“What are they called again?” asked Shanille once they were down in the basement.
“Helga and Hector,” Brutus supplied helpfully.
“Hector? Helga? A word, please?” said Shanille briskly.
Immediately the mouse couple appeared, as did about a hundred of their offspring, taking Shanille by surprise.
“Oh, my,” she said as she saw the sea of mice surrounding them.
“Who are you?” asked Hector, nibbling from a piece of cheese Brutus was pretty sure had been in the fridge only an hour ago.
“My name is Shanille, and I wanted to have a little chat with you. From one of God’s creatures to another, and with the blessing of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, who loves us all unconditionally and in equal measure.”
Hector frowned and turned to Brutus. “What is she talking about?”
“Shanille is Father Reilly’s cat,” Brutus explained. “And she has an important message for you.”
“Well, speak up,” said Helga. “I don’t have all day.”
“I have a proposition for you all,” said Shanille, taking a seat and carefully draping her tail around her buttocks. She didn’t look completely at ease, Brutus thought, and he could see why. More mice had appeared and Hector and Helga’s family was now all present and accounted for, filling the basement. In fact he couldn’t see the floor through the ocean of gray.
“What proposition?” asked Helga suspiciously.
“A way for all of you to live together in perfect harmony,” said Shanille pleasantly. “As you know, this home belongs to Odelia, and she has been so kind as to invite a number of cats to live with her. What she didn’t do is invite you lovely mice to share her home. But being the wonderful, God-fearing woman that she is, she was so gracious to let you stay here regardless. But through no fault of your own, this arrangement isn’t, um, convenient for her anymore. She appreciates you, and wants you to know she loves all creatures, great and small, just like the good Lord does, but she now suggests you and your family relocate to another, more suitable location, and leave her and my fellow felines the house.”
There was a moment of silence, then raucous laughter filled the air, as it rose up from two hundred throats.
“You must be crazy!” cried Hector loudly, slapping his tiny thighs with mirth.
“Yeah, you’re one big crazy cat if you think we’re going to accept such an arrangement,” chimed in his wife.
“I have a better idea,” said Hector, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Why don’t you move to a more suitable location and we’ll take the entire house. How about that, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s our proposition,” said Helga.
“Take it or leave it!”
“Why you little brutes,” Shanille growled, suddenly a lot less kindly than before. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. You barge in here and think you can simply take over the house? Shame on you!”
“Oh, get lost,” said Hector, making a throwaway gesture with his paw.
“Yeah, take a hike, sister,” said Helga, and in a matter of seconds the basement was empty again, the mice flowing into those little holes with unparalleled speed and coordination.
Shanille was gently fuming, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Of all the impertinent, annoying, disgraceful…” she began.
“See what we’re up against?” asked Brutus.
Harriet gently placed an arm around Shanille’s shoulder. “You know what you should do, Shanille?” she asked.
“What?” grunted the choir director.
“Say a little prayer,” said Harriet sweetly. “I’m sure it’ll make all the difference.”
“Oh, go to hell,” growled Shanille, and was off.
26
Three people were sitting in Chief Alec’s office and none of them looked particularly happy. There was Alec himself, of course, his deputy Chase Kingsley, and also Alec’s niece Odelia, who was pretty much part of the team.
“Let’s review the facts as we know them,” said Alec as he dragged a weary hand through what few hairs remained on his scalp.
Odelia’s uncle had called the meeting because of his dissatisfaction with the investigation, as he called it. He had a very good suspect in jail, who looked perfect for the two murders, but there were several small things that made him uneasy in his mind.
“First off, the murder of Heather Gallop. No phone was found, either on her person, or in her hotel room, and yet she’d called Dan and set up an appointment.”
“Unless Dan stole her phone,” Odelia offered.
“We would have found it,” said Alec. “We searched both his office and his house from top to bottom and found nothing out of the ordinary, except a ridiculous number of gnomes, too many for a grown man
to feel comfortable collecting, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“My dad collects gnomes,” Odelia pointed out. “And he’s not afraid to admit it.”
“The UPS guy, who wasn’t a UPS guy,” Alec continued. “Highly suspicious if you ask me, as was the phone call to lure Dan out of his office.”
“Presumably to give the killer, dressed as a UPS guy, enough time to sneak into his office and murder Heather,” said Chase.
“Two. Jack Warner’s murder. Jack told me only last night that he had important information to share, and wanted me to meet him today. Only he never made it, because he was killed. What information? And was he killed because of it? Also, we haven’t found Jack’s phone yet, which his wife says he always carried on his person.”
“And Dan didn’t have this phone either,” said Odelia.
“Unless he dumped it,” Chase said. “On his way out of the hotel.”
Police had searched high and low for that phone, though, and hadn’t found it. So either Dan was the most cunning killer they’d ever met, or he wasn’t Jack’s killer at all, and had been framed. Again. Odelia was inclined to believe the latter, while her uncle and Chase were inclined to believe Dan wasn’t as innocent as he made out to be.
Uncle Alec leaned forward. “Look, “ he said, addressing his niece, “the only evidence about this UPS guy is a cat. A cat who could be mistaken.”
“I don’t think Buster is mistaken,” said Odelia.
Uncle Alec heaved a sigh. “I don’t believe I’m asking this, but what do you know about this Buster? In your opinion, is he a reliable witness?”
“He’s one of Max’s main sources of information. Buster belongs to Fido Siniawski, and as a barber Fido manages to extract more confessions, confidences and gossip from people than any other person in town. And Buster is right there to listen to all of it. So you might say he’s one of the best-informed cats in Hampton Cove. So yes, if Buster says he saw a UPS man enter the office, you can bet that he did.”
Uncle Alec sat back in his chair, which creaked as he shifted his weight. In spite of the diet his new girlfriend had put him on, he still had a long way to go. “You’re putting me in a very tough spot here, honey,” he said finally. “I have everything I need to finger your boss as the killer, except for these loose ends.”