by Nic Saint
“What’s going on?” asked Brutus. He’d only been away for an hour but it felt more like a day. He’d popped around the corner to have a sniff at his favorite tree, only to discover three tomcats and two queens had tried to claim it as their own. To trump them all, he’d given the tree a rub and then, to finish things off, had sprayed it for good measure.
“It’s a sad story, isn’t it?” said Milo.
“What is?” asked Brutus.
“Harriet. She’s gone full nympho.”
He stared at Milo, goggle-eyed. “Full nympho? What are you talking about?”
“You do know what a nymphomaniac is, don’t you, Brutus?” asked Milo kindly.
“Um… a female who likes… nookie?”
“A female who has an uncontrollable or excessive sexual desire.”
He frowned at the cat. “And you’re telling me Harriet is… that?”
Milo nodded mournfully. “Alas. She’s always had a touch of nymphomania but lately she’s gone full nympho, I’m afraid. She craves, Brutus—and it would appear you no longer have what it takes to satisfy those powerful cravings.”
He looked back to Harriet, who was indeed looking at Max with the kind of fervor he hadn’t noticed in her before. Almost like a mixture of repulsion and… rapt fascination.
“She can’t possibly be in love with Max!” he said, thinking the idea laughable.
“She’s not in love with Max. She craves him—like she craves any male. Look at her. See how she’s yearning? How she’s gobbling him up with her eyes? Devouring him?”
He did see, and he didn’t like it. Time to put a stop to this nonsense. But then he noticed he’d stepped into a poop smear. Yuck! “What’s up with this crap?!” he cried.
“I’m afraid Dooley’s gone mad. It was bound to happen sooner or later. His is a mind that was going to become unhinged at some point in time. Soon he’ll start covering himself in feces and it’s only a matter of time before he becomes violent.”
“Violent?”
“Out of control. He’ll start attacking cats willy-nilly. Scratching, biting, trying to gouge out the eyes of any cat he considers a threat. When that happens there will be no alternative but to have him put down, I’m afraid.”
Brutus shivered. No cat likes to contemplate having to be put down. In fact each time Odelia took them to the vet, Brutus couldn’t help feeling this could very well be the last time. And when Vena took out those syringes she seemed to like so much, that liquid she filled them with could very well be some sort of little-known poison designed to euthanize.
“So Harriet wants to jump Max’s bones and Dooley has lost his marbles and is about to turn rabid. Anything else I should know about?” he asked, shaking his head.
“I’m afraid there is, Brutus. Have you seen the look on Max’s face?”
He had. The otherwise tame feline looked pissed off. “He looks… angry.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Milo. “Max has just gotten the results back from that test.”
“What test?”
“The test Odelia had Vena run on him.”
“Oh.” He didn’t know nothing about no test but wasn’t prepared to admit it. Sometimes stuff happened around here that nobody bothered to tell him about. Probably because he was the last acquisition—the last one to join Odelia’s merry band of pets. With the exception of Milo, of course, but then he wasn’t a fixture but a drifter passing through.
“I’m afraid the results of the test were conclusive.”
“What did the results say?”
Milo took a deep breath. “Max is your brother, Brutus.”
“What?!”
“I’m afraid so. The test doesn’t lie. And not only that, Harriet is your aunt.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me? How did this happen?”
Milo placed a paw on Brutus’s shoulder. “And—are you ready for this?”
“Ready for what?” What could be worse than what this cat had already told him?
“Dooley… is your son.”
From the shock, Brutus sank through his paws and dropped heavily onto the floor. For a moment, he merely stared mutely before him, then he finally managed to drag his head up and say, “Tell me all, Milo. Don’t hold anything back.”
And Milo did, and happily so. “See, the thing is that when your and Max’s mother was very young, she had an affair with Harriet’s brother, which resulted in the litter that contained you and which was subsequently rejected by the cat your mother had been seeing before the affair. Your mother went on to have Max, who ended up growing up in a warm nest, while you, the illegitimate spawn of a doomed affair, were rejected and left to die.”
“I was left to die?” asked Brutus, dazed. This was the first he ever heard of this.
“You grew up without a mother, without a father, unloved, unwanted, and forced to fend for yourself on the mean streets of New York, where a cat’s life is worth nothing.”
Odd. He couldn’t remember these mean streets. He liked the story, though. It held a strange kind of fascination. Almost like the soap operas Granny liked to watch. “Go on.”
“You became strong—because you had to be strong to survive. You became… Brutus.”
“You mean I wasn’t always Brutus?”
“Your mother christened you Whiskers.”
Ugh. “What a dumb-ass name.”
“Right? You’re a self-made cat, Brutus. You even adopted a new name. To better indicate the kind of cat you’d become. Tough. Butch. A real cat’s cat. Top of the heap.”
He liked this story better and better. He was tough. And he was a cat’s cat. The only thing he didn’t like was the part about him being Dooley’s dad. He watched as Dooley sniffed his own poop now and shook his head. No way was he that sad dude’s dad. Milo must have sensed his discomfort, for he said, “If it’s any consolation, Dooley’s mother passed on a long time ago, Brutus.” He quickly crossed himself. “May she rest in peace.”
“Who was she?”
“Oh, just some bimbo you met on those mean streets of New York. You wouldn’t remember her. Just one of the many, many—many—notches on your collar.”
It was true. He’d had a few conquests in his time—and Milo was right. He didn’t remember any cat he ever met and knocked up on those mean streets—he didn’t even remember those mean streets. Or New York. “So how did Dooley end up in Hampton Cove?”
“That’s a very interesting story.”
But the story would have to wait for another time, for at that exact moment Harriet suddenly made a pass at Max and that was something Brutus could not allow to happen!
Chapter 18
I’d been brooding for the longest time, and by the time I reached the good old homestead again, my mood had plummeted to the darkest depths of the feline mind. Which is why the scene as I encountered it upon my return didn’t strike me as odd at first.
The fact that Dooley was chomping down pawfuls of Cat Snax was a little weird, especially since he and I had an understanding: he knew how much I loved Cat Snax, and how I considered them a special treat, only to be devoured at the end of the day, and only in small portions. The fact that he’d eaten all of them and must have induced Gran to open up another packet and had scarfed that down, too, irked me a little. No, make that a lot.
But since I wasn’t on speaking terms with Dooley I found myself a little hamstrung. I made a mental note to tell Odelia later on, though. No more Cat Snax for Dooley.
And then there was the horrible habit he’d developed of pooping on the rug and then wiping his butt on that same rug. By the time I got home he must have been at it to a considerable extent, for the rug, which had once been off-white, was now off white completely. In fact it had turned completely brown. And smelly. And frankly disgusting. Not only that, but even as I watched Dooley was meticulously wiping his tush on Odelia’s wall! Right underneath the intercom, in full view of everyone, and where it wouldn’t be missed.
If I were Dooley,
and faced with this sudden defecatory urge, at the very least I would pick a spot that was a little more discreet. Then again, it really wasn’t my problem.
Still, it was odd. And you know what was even odder? The fact that Harriet had been staring at me ever since I’d arrived home. In fact she was looking at me the way one stares at a bug. The kind of bug one has never seen before. Bugs so ugly they fascinate and amuse.
I didn’t want to acknowledge her, though, in light of what Milo had told me she thought of me. That I was too dumb and too ugly and too boring to spend time with. That’s probably what this was. She thought I was so ugly she couldn’t look away. Like a car crash.
And that was my life in a nutshell: an ex-friend who’d regressed to the scatological stage, and another ex-friend who reveled in my hideousness. And things would probably have stayed that way if Harriet hadn’t suddenly approached, presumably to ascertain whether I was as ugly from up close as from afar, and Brutus hadn’t come roaring onto the scene, claws extended, tail distended, back arched, and hissing like a rattlesnake!
“Take your paws off my lady!” he thundered.
“Brutus!” Harriet cried, as shocked as I was at this sudden outburst. “Stop it!”
The sound of his lady love’s voice had an immediate effect on Brutus. His claws retracted, his tail returned to its normal size, and for a moment he seemed irresolute.
“Brutus, boogie bear,” said Harriet, putting her paw on the berserk cat’s paw.
But the moment she touched him, he jerked back, as if stung.
“Don’t touch me!” he yelled.
“What’s the matter?” Harriet asked. “Are you in pain, care bear?”
Brutus opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and stalked off.
“Brutus! Honey lamb!” Harriet called out, but Brutus was gone.
Harriet turned to me, then seemed to think better of it, and turned away.
What the huckleberry was going on? For a moment I locked eyes with Dooley, but he turned away, too, and moved off, his tail between his legs, disappearing into the backyard.
Milo then joined me, shaking his head commiseratingly. “I think Brutus has finally gone off the deep end, buddy. Did you see what happened just now?”
“Yeah, I was there, Milo,” I said, still reeling from the turn of events.
“He was going to slug you, slugger. He was going to do you harm. Good thing he didn’t, huh? Or you’d be dead meat.”
“But why? Why would he suddenly turn on me like that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Brutus is your long-lost son, buddy.”
“What?!”
“Sure. He’s just had the results back from that test Vena ran. Turns out you fathered a son and Brutus is that son. He must have suspected this for a long, long time, which is why he came to Hampton Cove in the first place, hoping to meet the father who deserted him.”
“But… that’s impossible! I’m… neutered,” I added, my voice dropping, for I wasn’t proud of the fact.
“You think you’re neutered but you’re not, Maxie,” said Milo earnestly. “They lied to you, buddy. You’re a fully functional tomcat.”
“But… why would they lie about something like that?!”
“Because that’s what they do! Humans, I mean. They lie and they cheat and they think it’s one big hoot. We’re dumb animals to them, Max. They’re just having a bit of fun at our expense.”
“I don’t get it,” I said, shaking my head. In fact my head was hurting. “So… Brutus is my son? So who is the mother?”
Milo gave me a cheeky grin. “Do you have to ask?”
“Yes, I do.” I couldn’t remember ever having been… intimate with any cat. Another big secret I wasn’t willing to share with anyone. Except that one time behind that big cedar in the church parking lot. I was young and foolish and she was pretty and game and… Well, we sniffed each other’s butts for the better part of an hour but nothing more came of it.
Milo was watching me intently, then nodded.
“I think you know, Max, don’t you?”
I didn’t know you could get pregnant from a kiss but there it was.
“So Brutus is my son?”
“Brutus is your son. Isn’t this a blessed moment? You get to press your long-lost child to your bosom, Max!”
I didn’t know about that. Seemed to me that Brutus was a little resentful towards dear old dad. Besides, he was a lot bigger and meaner than me, so maybe this teary reunion shouldn’t proceed unsupervised. Oh, where was Oprah when I needed her? Or Jerry Springer?
Milo started to walk away, then turned back. “Oh, and before I forget. Harriet?”
“What about her?”
He shrugged. “Just thought you’d want to know. She’s your sister.”
Chapter 19
“That was quite possibly the weirdest interview I’ve ever been involved in,” Odelia said once they’d put some distance between themselves and Lago-a-Oceano.
“He does have a point, though,” said Chase.
“About what?”
“The hogs? I’ll bet hog wrestling is as good a preparation to go into politics as any.”
Odelia smiled. “He seems to love those hogs, too. And they genuinely like him.”
“What’s not to like? He’s a lovable guy.”
“Well, at least those rumors about eating journos for breakfast aren’t true.”
They were headed to their third interview of the day, the famous actor Damon Galpin, hoping to inch their way closer to solving this dreadful murder case.
“Who else do you have lined up?” asked Odelia.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of this Yasir Bellinowksy guy.”
“The mobster?”
“Alleged mobster. So far his lawyer has been stalling. But I’ll get him eventually. And then there’s the break-in at Potbelly’s.”
“Anything new?”
“Uniforms are canvassing the area. Maybe a neighbor saw something.”
She settled back. It was at times like these that she missed her cats. If only she’d taken Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus along, they could have gleaned something from the pets of the people they interviewed. Max would have loved to have a chat with President Wilcox’s pigs. Or maybe they could have dropped them off at the duck farm and one of the ducks could have given them a description of the thieves. She sat up a little straighter.
Now that was a great idea! Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner?
Chase looked over. “Everything all right?”
“Peachy,” she said, commending herself on a brilliant idea. As soon as she got home she’d get right on it: drive Max and the gang over to the Potbelly farm and set them loose. They’d have a field day chatting up those ducks. One of them was bound to have seen something. Or one of the dogs. Max was great with dogs. In spite of cats’ reputation as being afraid of canines he had no qualms about chewing the fat with any dog, big or small.
Just then, her phone sang out Dua Lipa’s tune again, and she picked it out. When she saw that it was Otto Paunch, she groaned. “Yes,” she said into the phone, not all that friendly this time.
“Oh, hi, Miss Poole. Just following up on that rich list business.”
“I told you, I’m on a case right now. I don’t have time to deal with—”
“About that. I think you should probably mention in your article that President Wilcox was Dick Dickerson’s best friend. They were chums. Mates. Bosom buddies. Dick was Van’s homeboy. His homie. His dawg. His—”
“Yes, yes. They were friends. I get it. So what about this rumor they had a fight?”
“Fake news!” suddenly yelled Mr. Paunch. “I swear if you print that garbage I’ll—”
That voice. It sounded so familiar. But why? “Don’t worry. I won’t print any of it. I just want to find out who killed Dickerson. As a great friend of the President, who was a great friend of Dickerson, surely you must have some idea.”
“I have. Two words. Brenda
Berish.”
“The former foreign secretary? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Dickerson had a lot of dirt on her. You know about the safe?”
“I do. It was emptied out.”
“Whoever took it didn’t want their secrets to come out. And that person is Secretary Berish. Just ask her. You’ll see. She’s the one who killed Dickerson. Oh, and don’t tell her I was your source. She’ll deny everything.”
And with these words, Paunch disconnected. Odelia tucked her phone away.
“What did he say?” asked Chase.
“He says we should take a closer look at Brenda Berish.”
“Secretary Berish?”
“Dickerson collected a lot of dirt on her. Paunch says she killed him over it.”
They’d arrived at a residential neighborhood just outside Hampton Cove. A lot of the houses here were pretty sizable, with a few smaller ones to even things out. They passed the entrance to the Marina Golf Course and Chase slowed down. “He should be out here somewhere—ah, there he is.”
A handsome man with perfectly sculpted blond hair, the even features of a Hollywood actor, dressed in white slacks and a green polo shirt and white golf shoes, stood waving at them from next to the golf course entrance.
“He looks younger than on television,” said Odelia.
“They put a ton of makeup on him for when he plays the President.”
Chase wedged his pickup between a Jaguar and a Porsche and they got out.
“Detective Chase!” Damon Galpin hollered, walking up, hand extended.
Chase shook it and then the actor turned to Odelia, took her hand and pressed a kiss on it, all the while fixing her with a pair of remarkable blue eyes.
“Miss Poole. Even lovelier in person than in your byline picture.”
“You saw my byline picture?” she asked, oddly pleased.
“I read every single one of your articles. The Hampton Cove Gazette is a local treasure.”
“I thought you actors only read Variety and The Hollywood Reporter.”
He tipped his head back and roared with laughter. “That’s a common misconception. Not all of us are dummies, Miss Poole—can I call you Odelia?”