by Nic Saint
Milo turned those placid eyes on me. “And what nonsense would that be, Max?”
“The worms! The scooting! The smearing poop on the walls!”
“Scooting is a very effective remedy for a life-threatening condition, Max.”
“See?!” Dooley cried, the color draining from his nose. “I’ve got worms!”
And instantly he ran for the nearest tree and started rubbing his butt against it.
“I can see right through you, you know,” I told Milo coldly.
He lifted one corner of his mouth. “Can you now?”
“And I’m going to expose you. The game is up, Milo.”
He yawned. “If you say so. Now I’m very sorry, Max, but I have choir practice. And you, I guess, don’t.” And with a supercilious little grin, he stalked off, leaving me fuming.
Chapter 29
The next morning, Odelia was awakened by the smell of duck dung. She grimaced as she blinked against the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. The first thing she saw were five pairs of cat’s eyes staring back at her. It appeared that overnight a regular clowder of cats had convened at the foot of her bed, and gradually, as dawn approached, they’d moved up in the direction of her pillow and now they were practically surrounding her.
Max had placed his paws on her chest, and was breathing heavily. Dooley was still at the foot of the bed, and seemed puzzled why he was the one left behind. Harriet had draped herself across the pillow Chase used when he slept over. Brutus was scowling at her from under her armpit. And Milo had somehow managed to squeeze himself between the headboard and the pillow and was like an oversized pair of earmuffs now, or a hat.
“Hey, you guys,” she said as she yawned and tried to stretch. “Could you… move over a scooch? I need to get up.”
But the cats weren’t budging. If anything, she had the impression they were eyeing each other as much as they were eyeing her. Like the showdown at the O.K. Corral.
“I’ve got a question for you, Odelia,” said Brutus now.
“Shoot,” she said, hoping they’d get this over with soon.
“Who’s your favorite?”
Uh-oh. “My favorite what? Movie? I really like Frozen.”
But he was not to be distracted. “Who’s your favorite cat?”
“I don’t have a favorite, Brutus. I love all you guys the same.”
“That’s scientifically impossible,” said Milo. “The human mind likes to make sense of the world by turning it into a perfectly ordered set of lists. Favorite foods. Favorite socks. Best boyfriends. Best kisses. You get the drift. So you must have a favorite cat, Odelia.”
“Well, I don’t, Milo. Now can you move? I want to get up.”
“Max is your favorite, isn’t he?” Brutus insisted.
“Oh, Brutus,” Harriet snapped. “Not again with this nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense when it’s true! Nobody blames you, Odelia,” Brutus continued. “Max is, after all, your cat. Dooley is Grandma’s, Harriet is Marge’s, I’m Chase’s, and Milo is this Aloisia person’s. So it stands to reason you would like Max the mostest.”
“That’s not even a word,” said Max.
“Yes, it is! And you be quiet, Max. I don’t want you to influence Odelia.”
They were all staring at her so intently it was slightly disconcerting. Something was going on here—she could feel it—but she couldn’t exactly put her finger on it. She had to admit that there was some truth to what Brutus was saying. She did like Max the most. And this probably was because he was hers and had been with her the longest. But that didn’t mean she didn’t love the others. She loved all of her cats, though right now they were scaring her a little. “Look, the human mind may work like you say it does, Milo, but my mind doesn’t.”
“It has to,” said Milo. “You’re human, so you have a human mind.”
“I don’t care, all right?” she said, now dislodging the cats. “I like all of you guys. I don’t have a favorite and that’s that.” A little white lie but she didn’t think cats could read minds. Or could they? Brutus was trying his best to do just that. But finally he relented.
“I believe you,” he announced seriously.
She laughed. “I’m glad you do. Now are you going to help me catch a killer today or are you going to poop all over the house like you did yesterday?”
“That was Dooley,” said Brutus immediately.
“But only because I’ve got worms!” Dooley cried.
Yep. Something was going on with her cats, but right now she had a killer to catch—and a grandmother and a father to reconcile—and an article on President Wilcox to write.
When she got downstairs, Gran was digging holes in the backyard with such a fervor she reminded Odelia of a gang of moles. She walked to the door. “Gran? What’s going on?”
Gran looked up with a resolute expression on her face. “I’m building a mausoleum.”
“A what?”
“Your father has decided to send me to an early grave so I’m building a mausoleum. And I hope he’ll spend the rest of his life staring at my tomb and remembering he was the one who put me there!”
And with these words, she dug her spade into the ground and returned to her grim endeavor.
Shaking her head, Odelia set foot for the kitchen. She needed coffee. Lots of it.
Chapter 30
Odelia and Chase were on the road again, only this time five cats rode in the back, much to Chase’s amusement.
“You’re the only one who treats her cats like dogs,” he said.
“That’s because they are almost like dogs,” she retorted. She cast a quick glance in the rearview mirror and saw that the cold war still hadn’t thawed. Usually her cats kept up a pleasant chatter but today there hung a silence like the tomb between them. She didn’t know who was fighting with whom but it looked to her like they all had some kind of beef.
At least they’d come back last night with some valuable information. “So what have you got on those two men? One short, one tall—”
“Strawberry nose and mustache. I got it. So far nothing. It’s not exactly a very detailed description. Can’t you bring your source in and let them work with a sketch artist?”
She glanced back at Max, who shook his head. “Rabbits won’t like it,” he intimated.
No, the rabbits wouldn’t like to come in and talk to the sketch artist. “Nope,” she said therefore. “They won’t come forward, I’m afraid.”
“They? There’s more than one?”
“One rabbit is called Alfie, the other Victorine,” said Dooley helpfully.
“Odelia?” Chase prompted.
She shook her head resolutely. “I already said too much.”
“But why? Have you explained to them they could be helping to solve a murder?”
“They know but they still won’t come in. They—”
“Hate cats,” said Dooley.
“Have an issue with the police,” she said.
Chase was frowning. “I see. So they’re implicated somehow. Did they sell information to the killers? Give up the location of Dickerson’s safe? Are they members of his staff? No, I got it.” He nodded grimly. “They’re members of the Potbelly farm staff, aren’t they?”
“Bingo,” said Dooley. “He’s good, Odelia.”
“The rabbits aren’t staff, though,” said Max.
“But they work hard. Did you see that tunnel? Must have taken them ages.”
“It’s called a burrow,” said Milo. “Rabbits are master architects. Like ants.”
“Ants aren’t rabbits,” said Max.
“And how would you know, Max?” asked Brutus. “You’re not a scientist.”
“Max watches a lot of Discovery Channel documentaries,” said Dooley.
“I watch a lot of WWE. That doesn’t make me Hulk Hogan.”
“Oh, shut up, Brutus,” said Max.
“No, you shut up, Max!”
“Guys, guys,” said Milo. “Enough with
the violence. There are ladies present.”
Odelia realized Chase was waiting for her to respond. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t reveal my source. But you’re right. They work at the Potbelly farm. They just happened to see the burglars. They never sold them any information, though. And they don’t have any connection to them or Dickerson or the murder. They just—”
“Don’t want to get involved,” he said. “I get it.”
“They don’t want to risk their position on the farm”, Odelia confirmed.
“They could always create another burrow,” said Milo. “Rabbits are pack animals. They could simply up and leave and find some other place to live and hunt.”
“Rabbits aren’t pack animals,” said Max heatedly. “And ducks aren’t smarter than humans. You’re so full of—”
“Max!” said Brutus, gesturing to Harriet. “Lady present!”
“—dung! I was going to say he’s full of dung!”
“What’s going on with your cats?” asked Chase, darting a quick look over his shoulder. “They’re so feisty today. Meowing up a storm. Is it the weather, you think?”
“Yup. Weather is about to change,” she confirmed.
Dua Lipa broke into song and she picked out her phone. “Yes, Mr. Paunch.”
“Otto, please. Mr. Paunch is my dad. So have I got the scoop for you, Odelia.”
“Yes?”
“Van Wilcox just got a call from the mayor of New York. They want to erect a statue in his honor. In the middle of Times Square if you please! And lemme tell you that it’s going to be the biggest, grandest statue ever erected for any President anywhere in the world.”
“The biggest? You mean bigger than the six hundred feet Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel statue in India?”
“Sure! Much bigger. This will be the greatest thing ever built. It’s gonna be huge! And tall. Really tall. Incredibly tall. Like I said, the biggest statue in the world. In history!”
“That’s quite an achievement, Mr. Paunch—Otto. The President must be excited.” She glanced over to Chase, who was listening intently.
“Oh, he is. He’s over the moon. He can’t wait to pose for the thing.”
“He’s going to pose?”
“Sure! Only the best pose ever, in front of the best artist ever.”
“Who’s the artist?”
“I’d have to get back to you on that, but it’s the best artist in the world. The greatest.”
And promptly Paunch disconnected again and left Odelia pensively staring at her phone. “Have you ever had that feeling where you’re sure you’ve heard a voice before but you just can’t place it? I’m getting that all the time with this Paunch guy.”
“What did he want?”
“Oh, New York is building a statue for President Wilcox in Times Square. He wanted me to have the scoop.”
“Great,” said Chase, shaking his head. “Another eyesore. Just what the city needs.”
“Oh, you don’t know that. If it’s really the tallest statue ever built, it will attract a lot of tourists, and tourists bring in the big bucks, right?”
“Right,” said Chase dubiously. “Well, here we are.” He directed his car up to a tall gate, a guard approaching them from a guard booth. He showed the man his badge, got a nod, and the gate swung open.
Moments later they were driving up to the house, which looked almost as majestic as President Wilcox’s Lago-a-Oceano, only smaller in size and painted a pale orange, resembling the setting sun, with the roof tiled in pink tiles and the gutters a bright blue.
“I like the color scheme,” said Chase as he parked the car next to a stone fountain. They got out and Odelia opened the door so the cats could jump out, too.
“You weren’t kidding,” said Chase. “You’re going to let them sniff around, huh?”
“They love to discover new… stuff,” she said, and watched as the five cats pranced off. As usual, they’d formed pairs: Max and Dooley, Harriet and… Wait. Harriet was going off alone, and Brutus and Milo had paired up. Weird. Maybe they were making new friends?
Chapter 31
“Did you see that?” asked Dooley.
“What?” I asked.
“Brutus and Milo. They went off together!”
He was right. And Harriet was staring after her mate, an annoyed look on her face.
“The loser,” she said as she joined us. “I told him not to listen to that guy but he insists Milo makes a lot of sense.”
“I guess Brutus is more susceptible to Milo’s manipulations than most,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Harriet,” said Dooley. “He’ll come around. I saw through Milo’s lies, too, you know. Like the stuff he told me about the worms? Max convinced me those were all lies.”
Even though Dooley had had a relapse, I’d finally managed to convince him he had no worms. Otherwise Vena would have found them during our last checkup.
“We have to get that cat out of our lives,” said Harriet now. “When are we going to put your plan into action, Max?”
“As soon as we lay the groundwork,” I said.
“You better do it soon, all right? I’m starting to lose it.”
“Lose what?” asked Dooley.
“It!” I could tell from Dooley’s expression that he wanted to ask what ‘it’ was but Harriet’s outburst gave him pause. “So what’s the plan, Max?” asked Harriet.
“We chat with anyone who’ll talk to us,” I said. “Find out what they know.”
“Fine,” said Harriet, who didn’t seem particularly motivated for this mission.
Nor could I blame her. Now that Brutus had fallen for Milo’s deceit, there was no telling what that cat was up to next. Short of outfitting Brutus with an explosive belt and sending him on a suicide mission to take out all of Milo’s enemies or incite a revolution amongst Hampton Cove’s ant population, I figured we could expect anything from him.
We walked around the drive, which was covered with butter-yellow gravel and looked like the kind of sugar Odelia likes to put on her pancakes, and arrived at the back. No swimming pool here, or even a Jacuzzi. Secretary Berish did have a nice patch of lawn that stretched all the way to the ocean, where two deck chairs were set out and a nice parasol.
A chilly breeze wafted in from the ocean. It was too early in the year to go for a swim. Springtime in the Hamptons might be occasionally sunny, but it’s not exactly warm. Still, it was probably nice to sit and gaze out across the vast expanse of the North Atlantic.
“I don’t see any cats,” said Dooley. “Or dogs. Or ducks. Or even rabbits.”
“Me neither,” I confessed. I did see Brutus and Milo, who’d hopped up on those deck chairs and were now lazing about, probably talking deep philosophy.
“I hate them,” said Harriet, who’d noticed the same. “I hate them both.”
And she stalked off in the direction of the house. Dooley and I followed suit. There wasn’t a lot for us to do out here. At least the patio door was open, a man smoking a cigarette and standing in the doorway holding it open for us. If he was surprised to see three cats slip into the house, he didn’t show it. He had a cook’s hat placed on top of his head, and wore one of those white smocks, so I figured he was probably part of the kitchen staff.
Once inside, we traipsed through the house, in search of pets, but found no sign of them. No cat bowls, or dog bowls, or any bowls for that matter. Could this place be petless?
“Looks like Odelia managed to find the one person who doesn’t keep pets,” I said.
“Bummer,” Dooley agreed, as it also meant there was no food for us to steal.
We’d arrived in a large office, and saw that Harriet was staring intently at a stuffed animal mounted on the wall. It was a stuffed fox, and the sight of the thing gave me the willies. People who stuff animals should probably get stuffed themselves, as I can’t think of a more cruel hobby.
“Yikes,” I said. The three of us were staring up at the fox now, wondering what the poor creature had
done to deserve such a terrible fate.
Just then, a voice rang out through the room. “What are you three doing here?”
We turned around as one cat, and saw that the voice belonged to an odd-looking reptilian creature in a glass terrarium, which had been placed on a table near the window.
“What are you?!” Dooley exclaimed, forgetting his sense of propriety. We were guests here, after all. Well, not guests so much as intruders.
“I, sir, am a bearded dragon,” said the creature superciliously.
“You’re very small for a dragon,” said Dooley.
“I’m not a dragon. I’m a bearded dragon,” said the lizard.
“And I’m a tiger,” said Dooley, happily prancing up for a closer look.
As he did, the dragon’s beard suddenly extended and the creature hissed.
Dooley shot about two feet into the air, then scooted off with the speed of light and disappeared underneath the desk.
“It’s all right, Dooley,” I said. “He’s inside a cage. He can’t hurt you.”
But Dooley wasn’t taking any chances. He was under that desk and he was staying put.
“We’re here to conduct an official police investigation,” I told the dragon, who by now had stopped hissing and whose beard had morphed back to its normal size. At least now I understood why he called himself a bearded dragon. He actually had an actual beard! “A man was murdered. His name was Dick Dickerson and he was the editor of a tabloid named the National Star. Apparently he printed a lot of bad things about your human—at least I assume Brenda Berish is your human—and what we’re trying to discover is if she had something to do with Dickerson’s death or if she knows of someone who did.”
It was a long speech and I patiently waited for the bearded dragon to take it all in. I had no idea if this creature was intelligent or not but judging from the way he’d reacted to Dooley I assumed he was.
“This is a waste of time, Max,” said Harriet finally. “Let’s get out of here and see what kinds of lies Milo is filling Brutus’s head with this time.”