by Nic Saint
“Please.”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “Damon. And it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now will you join me for a round of golf?”
“I’m sorry, Damon,” said Chase. “We’re just here to ask you a couple of quick questions.”
“At the very least join me at the Legends Lounge. It’s where I hang out most of the time anyway,” he confessed. “Best part about golf is the socializing. Now come.”
It was more of an order than an invitation, but so charmingly delivered it was impossible to spurn. So they followed the actor through the entrance and into a one-story building that was exquisitely appointed, all lacquered floors and polished wood paneling.
He led the way to the lounge he’d mentioned, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows they had an excellent view of the links, where folks were playing the noble sport.
“I have a terrible handicap, I don’t mind admitting,” said Damon as they took a seat in leather armchairs around a round glass-topped table. The actor held up his hand and a young pimpled waiter came scurrying over, a towel draped on his arm. “Vodka martini,” said Damon, then turned a questioning gaze at Odelia and Chase.
“Just soda,” said Odelia.
“Same here,” said Chase.
“Still that same old gag about not drinking while on duty, eh?” said Damon with a twinkle in his eye. “I believe in starting early and keeping going unstintingly until the preprandial juices start flowing and digestion arrives at its peak.”
“I would have thought vodka martinis were your meals of choice,” said Odelia, who’d read the stories about the actor’s famous binges.
“Oh, now, Odelia, you shouldn’t believe everything you read in that paper of yours,” he chided.
The waiter came over with their drinks and Damon quaffed deeply from his, then held onto it while he bowed his head. “Do your worst, Detectives. I’m ready for you now.”
“Is it true that you and Dick Dickerson didn’t see eye to eye?” asked Chase.
Damon nodded. “That is indeed true. Dickerson was filth, Detective. He was filth and he printed filth. And it didn’t occur to him that the people whose lives he tried to destroy were human beings with feelings and friends and loved ones that could be hurt in his barrage of lies and horribly distorted ‘articles.’ I hated him and never made a secret of that.”
“What did he say about you, exactly?” asked Odelia, who had some idea.
Damon gazed out across the spreading and rolling links. “Oh, this and that. You do know that he was a close friend of President Wilcox? And that he did all he could to secure him his election? In fact he went all out on that—slandering Wilcox’s opponents and burying every single piece of gossip about Wilcox himself. And since I’ve been one of Wilcox’s most vocal opponents from day one, Dickerson directed some of his vitriol at me, too.”
“Do you think he kept some of those stories in his safe?”
“Right. Dickerson’s famous safe. Where he kept Tinseltown’s darkest secrets. Why?”
“His safe was emptied out by whoever killed him,” said Chase.
“I guess that makes sense. Though I can assure you that whatever he had on me, he printed without delay.”
“So he didn’t try to blackmail you? To try and stop you from imitating the President?”
“He tried at first. But when I refused he responded with a barrage of garbage.”
“That must have stung.”
Damon smiled, and took another sip. “I wore Dick Dickerson’s scorn like a badge of honor, Detective. In fact if he would have printed something nice about me it would have worried me more. Though there was one story that caused me to contact a defamation lawyer.” When they both stared at him, he spoke a single word. “Hogs.”
“Hogs?” asked Odelia, struck by the coincidence.
“Dickerson claimed I engaged in coitus with hogs.” He grimaced. “And I have a fairly good idea who put him up to it, too.”
So had Odelia. President Wilcox really did like to get down and dirty.
“Does a picture of a rose mean anything to you?” asked Chase.
“No, it doesn’t. Why?”
“We found it in Dickerson’s safe. We think the killer left it there on purpose.”
“I see. To send a message.” He mused for a moment. “No, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”
“Where were you last night between two and four, Mr. Galpin?”
“Home. Asleep.”
“Alone?”
He grinned widely. “Come on, Detective. Do I look like a man who would kiss and tell?” Chase cocked an eyebrow at the actor and he relented. “Oh, all right. If you must know, I was in bed with Lauralee Gray. I’m sure she’ll corroborate my ‘alibi.’”
“The actress?” asked Odelia, impressed.
Damon nodded once. “I may be old but I haven’t lost my touch, Odelia.” He was wiggling his eyebrows at this, probably thinking it made him look more appealing. In reality it made him look like a lecherous uncle.
“One other thing,” said Chase, who, if his frown was an indication, didn’t seem to like the way Damon was looking at Odelia. “There’s a rumor that President Wilcox and Dickerson fell out over something. Any idea what could have caused that rift?”
Damon’s smile vanished. “I have a pretty good idea, yes. The thing is, Dickerson didn’t own the National Star, Detective. He was merely its editor. The Star is owned by the Gantry family. And reportedly they didn’t appreciate this love affair between their tabloid and Wilcox. There’s a storm brewing for the President, and that fact hasn’t escaped the Gantrys. They wanted to distance themselves from Wilcox before they got dragged down along with him. So they pretty much ordered Dickerson to stand down, and possibly even dip into the treasure trove of dirt he’d collected on Wilcox over the years.”
“Dickerson kept dirt on Wilcox?” asked Odelia.
“Dickerson kept dirt on everyone. He was like the J. Edgar Hoover of the tabloid world. Only he published some of the stuff he collected, used some of it to put pressure on people, and buried the rest to incur favors from his friends. He was a very dangerous man.”
“Do you think his murder is related to his habit of blackmailing people?” asked Chase.
“I’m sure it is.” He gave a slight smile. “Now all you need to ask yourselves is this: who amongst the people he blackmailed finally decided they had enough and struck back?”
Chapter 20
Tex Poole was generally a happy man. He’d married the woman of his dreams, had the most amazing daughter any doting father could ever have wished for, who’d recently become involved with a great guy and a fine cop, and he worked in a noble profession that fulfilled his every expectation and more. He even still had all of his hair and his own teeth.
The only thing that occasionally marred this blessed life he led was a little old lady who was a far cry from the sweet and loving mother-in-law he’d envisioned when he first met Marge Lip. He’d known from the moment Marge introduced him to her mother that this might not be the kind of easygoing relationship one often sees in Hallmark movies. Vesta Muffin adhered more to the cliché of the monster-in-law than the loving mom-in-law.
The first time he saw Vesta—when picking up Marge to go to the prom—she’d hit him over the head with a broomstick. Asked to explain herself by a horrified Marge, she said Tex had a face like a serial killer and she thought he was there to slaughter her daughter.
Things had gone downhill from that point. And Marge’s dad, who at that point had already left his family to fend for itself, hadn’t helped. He had an aversion to doctors that stemmed from a badly digested experience in the armed forces, when the barracks physician had given him a pill that had given him an itchy rash that had lasted weeks.
He’d never forgiven the medical profession—or any of its practitioners, whom he steadfastly referred to as voodoo priests.
Daddy Poole had died soon after Tex had started dating his daughter,
though, which only left Marge’s testy mother. And since Tex had taken an oath to save lives, he couldn’t very well act on the impulse he sometimes felt to simply smother the woman in her sleep.
And it was with great reluctance that he had accepted his wife’s suggestion to allow Vesta to move in with them—seeing as how she was increasingly having trouble taking care of herself. Forgetting to turn off the stove. Putting fresh laundry into the oven. Stuff like that.
So now, as a token of her gratitude, Vesta had set out to turn her son-in-law’s life into a living hell every chance she had. Or at least that’s the way it sometimes felt to Tex.
He’d just seen his last patient of the day when he walked out of his office and into the waiting room and was surprised to find it chock-full of people, all expectantly looking up at him.
He blinked and turned to Scarlett. “Scarlett?” he asked.
She smiled sweetly, then jiggled her boobage, as was her habit. “Dr. Tex?”
He approached the desk. “What are these people doing here?” he whispered.
Scarlet leaned in, in the process offering Tex a scintillating view of her cleavage. He fought against the sudden spell of vertigo. “I don’t know what happened, Dr. Tex,” she whispered back. “They started coming in twenty minutes ago. When I asked if they had an appointment they said yes. But I can’t find them in your appointment book.”
“So why didn’t you tell them to make an appointment and come back? Are these even my patients? I’ve never seen any of them before.”
“They said they arranged things with you, Dr. Tex,” said Scarlett. “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just kick them out. Some of them look really sick.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the dozen or so patients. They did look sick. All of them. And unwashed. And when he looked closer, he saw they’d brought their raggedy bags with them. Almost as if they were…” He frowned, then turned back to Scarlett. “Did you get their names and addresses?”
“No, Dr. Tex,” said Scarlett sheepishly.
“Insurance information?”
“I don’t think they have any, Dr. Tex.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered.
The door swung open and five more ‘patients’ stumbled in from the street. They all looked as grimy as their dozen colleagues. As soon as the door had closed, it opened again and five more walked in. This place was starting to look like Grand Central Terminal.
“Are you Dr. Tex?” asked one of the newcomers, a toothless older man.
“I am.”
“Oh, great. I have a pain in my nose, doctor.”
Tex studied the man’s nose. It was one of those narrow, veiny noses. It also had a safety pin stuck through the fleshy part. “Maybe you should take out that pin,” he suggested.
“What pin?” said the old-timer, feeling for his nose. “Oh, there’s a pin in my nose!”
“Oh, for Pete’s sakes.” He addressed the small crowd. “How did you all get here? Who told you to come and see me?”
“Scarlett O’Hara,” said the man with the pin in his nose.
“No, Scarlett Cannon,” said an old lady with a glass eye. “She said you would treat us for free. Day or night. Any time.”
Tex locked eyes with Scarlett, who was shaking her head. “I didn’t say nothing, Dr. Tex! I swear! I don’t even know these people!”
He had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly who this ‘Scarlett Cannon’ was.
“What did the person who invited you look like?” he asked.
“A nice old lady,” said one man. “Little white curls. Looks like Estelle Getty. I met her at the bus station. I like to hang out at the bus station. It’s always nice and warm out there.”
“I met her at the train station,” said another man. “She even gave me your card.”
“Lemme see that,” grumbled Tex, and took the card from the man. It read, ‘Scarlett Canyon, Unlicensed Receptionist, Dr. Tex Poole,’ and even mentioned Tex’s home address and phone number. “Vesta,” he muttered under his breath, crumpling up the card.
“Hey, that’s my card!” said the guy.
“You’re going to treat us, aren’t you, Doc?” asked a cross-eyed woman.
“Yeah, a promise is a promise,” said another woman, who looked like a hobo.
In truth, they all looked like hobos. Probably because they were all hobos.
Scarlett was eyeing Tex with a knowing look. ‘I told you,’ that look said. And she had. And even if she hadn’t, he should have known Vesta wouldn’t leave well enough alone.
“All right,” he said resignedly. “The first one come with me.”
And he returned to his office, determined to murder Vesta the moment he saw her.
Chapter 21
I was in Odelia’s bedroom when she finally arrived home that night. I had no idea where the others were nor did I care. After the bombshell Milo had dropped on me—the second one that day—I had a feeling I’d never really known these cats. They were like strangers to me. Except for Harriet, who apparently was my sister, even if she looked nothing like me, and Brutus, who was my son, and, again, looked nothing like me.
I had a hard time processing all these revelations, so for the rest of the afternoon I’d been hiding in Odelia’s bedroom, behind the bed, my only companions the dust bunnies Odelia had missed when she’d last vacuumed there. Or maybe she didn’t like vacuuming behind the bed, which was entirely possible, and those bunnies had been there forever.
Milo had come looking for me, but I’d managed to outsmart him by holding my breath. Tough, too, with those dust bunnies tickling my nose.
Finally, a familiar voice sounded. “Max? Where are you, baby?”
In spite of the sneaking suspicion I had that Odelia was prepared to get rid of me and exchange me for Milo, a big smile lit up my face and a warm tingle spread inside my chest.
My human was home, and she would help me make sense of a senseless world.
“Odelia?”
It was Milo’s voice.
“Yes, honey?”
“Can I have a quick word before the others arrive?”
“Sure. What’s wrong?”
“A lot. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through today.”
“Oh, my God. What happened?”
“It’s Max and the others, though mainly Max. He hates me.”
“Hates you? What do you mean?”
“He’s been torturing me all day! Denying me food and water, telling me I should probably jump under a truck and rid the world of the ugliest feline it has ever known. It’s been awful. Awful!”
The bed shifted, and the box spring groaned. Odelia had taken a seat. “Jump up. Tell me all about it. This is not the Max I know, Milo. I don’t know what could have happened.”
I was too stunned to move an inch—or even to utter a single word. Instead, I just lay there, my ears pricked up, and listening to every horrible utterance from Milo.
“It all started when they held a meeting—Max, Dooley, Brutus and Harriet—and decided that from now on they won’t be helping you out anymore.”
“They won’t? But why?”
“Frankly they hate it. They never wanted to tell you this but they hate this whole sleuthing thing.”
“But I thought they loved it!”
“Trust me—they hate it. The only reason they went along with the scheme is because they got extra kibble when they caught a killer or provided you with a clue.”
“I didn’t know,” said Odelia, and she sounded distraught.
“So I asked them about it, but they said I should butt out. That I was an intruder and I’d be gone soon enough if not sooner and they didn’t want me here—they never wanted me here and yadda yadda yadda. And that’s when Max really went to town on me. First he told me I was too fat and that all I did was lounge about and steal his food and his milk and he wasn’t having it anymore. So no more food for me. Then he said his human didn’t want me here, either, but was too nice to s
ay no to my stupid human which is why I should do everyone a favor and jump under a passing UPS truck and make the world a better place.”
At this point, Milo took a breath and Odelia gasped in shock.
This was just too much. This cat was lying through his teeth!
“I’ll talk to Max,” said Odelia. “This kind of behavior is intolerable.”
“I didn’t want to tell you at first,” said Milo. “I figured it would upset you to know what Max is really like.” He sighed dramatically. “In fact I thought you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you. And I’m going to deal with this right now. Where is Max?”
The box spring moved again. Odelia was getting up.
“No idea. I haven’t seen him since he told Dooley to smear his poop all over the carpet and the walls.”
“He did what?!”
“Yeah. Max can be really mean sometimes. He figured you’d punish Dooley and kick him out of the house.”
“But Dooley is his best friend!”
“Not anymore. Dooley’s been digging into Max’s Cat Snax and Max went ballistic when he found out. Told me he hated that stupid cat. That Dooley was even dumber than me and that he was going to make sure you kicked him out once and for all.”
“Oh, I don’t believe this.”
“I knew you wouldn’t, Odelia.”
“Oh, no. I do believe you, Milo. And I’m glad you’re telling me all this.”
“You should probably talk to Brutus and Harriet, too.”
“What have they done?”
“They hate Max, and they hate each other, and Max hates all of them, too. In fact if I were you I’d separate them. Make sure they don’t kill each other, I mean.”
“I can’t separate them. They all live under the same roof.”
“Then I guess there’s only one solution.”
“You’re not asking me to…”
“I know the pound has a bad rep but it’s really not such a nasty place as they say. Aloisia got me from the pound, and a wonderful time I had there, too. Made lots and lots of great friends. Just look at it as a place where cats can find a new and happy home.”