by Nic Saint
The scene, apart from the shock effect it had on those who’d become used to seeing Odelia linked in body and soul to Chase Kingsley, was otherwise a peaceful and idyllic one: there was a picnic basket present, a picnic table, and even a dog lying at the lovers’ feet.
I did a double take. Wait, what? A dog? Where did this mutt come from? Odelia didn’t have a dog. Or did she?
Dooley had spotted the dog, too, for he produced a sound like a kettle boiling.
“Looks like Odelia is moving on,” said Harriet, voicing the thought that had occurred to me as well.
“She’s getting rid of us and getting... a dog?” I said, now shocked to the core.
“Looks like,” Harriet confirmed. “She was petting him before, and he seemed to like it.”
I was speechless. Kissing strange men was one thing, but getting a dog to replace her loyal brace of cats? That was too much. No, really! After everything we’d done for her she was getting a dog? This was treason of the highest order. Worse. This was a travesty.
I decided enough was enough, and set paw for the despicable scene.
“Max, no!” Dooley and Harriet cried out, but I paid them no heed. Odelia had gone too far, and I was going to speak my mind and tell her what was what, even at the price of having to be within twenty yards of a canine, which was the limit I usually set myself.
When I approached the picnic scene, Odelia was frowning, listening intently to the second, non-kissing male, a man with a fashionable red beard that curled up at the end, as was the current trend. Meanwhile the kisser was munching on a sandwich, not a care in the world.
The dog was the first one to become aware of my impending arrival, for he lifted first his head, then his upper lip in a vicious snarl.
I hesitated, but decided this mission was too important to be derailed by the pathetic snarls of a cat’s mortal enemy.
“Odelia!” I said, deciding to come in strong and pitch my sentiments before she had a chance to become distracted by her lover and the bearded hipster dude.
Odelia looked up, that frown still furrowing her forehead.
“A word, please?” I said, keeping a keen eye on the canine, whose upper lip was trembling now, his eyes shooting menace and all manner of mayhem in my direction.
“Max!” said Odelia, clearly surprised to see me. She quickly shut up. It’s not a fact widely known, but Odelia belongs to a long line of women who talk to cats. From generation to generation, this gift is passed, and a good thing, too. For far too long, humans have turned a deaf ear to a cat’s desires. Now, with Odelia and her mother and gran to listen to our plea, our voice is no longer ignored. Who also wasn’t ignoring my voice was the dog.
“What do you want, cat?” he snarled, his hind legs tensing as he got ready to pounce.
“This doesn’t concern you, Lassie,” I said, holding up my paw. “So back off.”
“This is my terrain, cat,” he shot back, tail wagging dangerously. “Get lost or else.”
“Or else what?” I asked, sounding a lot braver than I was feeling. Those fangs did not look appealing. Saliva was dripping from them, and already thoughts of rabies and front-page articles about a blorange cat being mauled to death started popping into my mind.
“You don’t want to find out,” he said with a low growl that seemed to rise up straight from his foul innards.
Odelia, who’d followed the tense interaction, crouched down next to me. “Max,” she said quietly, so the kisser and the hipster couldn’t overhear. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said, as haughtily as I could. “I saw you,” I added. “Canoodling with that... that... man.”
Odelia frowned, as if not comprehending what I was saying. Then, suddenly, she laughed! Actually burst out laughing! “Oh, Max,” she said, giving my head a patronizing pet. “That’s just acting!”
“Whatever it is, it’s despicable,” I said. Then I frowned. “What do you mean, acting?”
She gestured with her head to the kisser, who now stood chatting with the weird red beard. “That’s Don Stryker. He’s a New York stage actor. And the man with the beard is Wolf Langdon—he’s our director.”
And then I remembered. Odelia had mentioned something about performing in something called Bard in the Park, and had even mentioned snagging an important role.
I stared her. “You mean this is all... acting?”
“All of it,” she assured me, then took an apple from the picnic basket and took a bite, plunking down next to me. She lowered her voice. “And let me tell you, it’s no picnic so far. This guy’s breath... “She rolled her eyes and waved a hand in front of her face. “Hoo-wee.”
In spite of myself I laughed. “Garlic. I can smell it a mile away. I thought you liked it.”
“No, Max. Women don’t like it when men chew a clove of garlic before a big kissing scene. Allegedly that’s how Clark Gable annoyed Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind.”
I decided to skip the small talk. I hadn’t forgotten about my real beef. “What about that,” I said, pointing at the rabid dog, still snarling and softly growling in my direction.
“Scoochie?” she said. “He’s in the scene. He’s an actor, too.”
“The dog is an actor?”
“Sure. Dogs can be actors. Pretty much any animal can be an actor.”
This was news to me. Slightly mollified, I asked the most important question of all: “So... He’s not going to live with us?”
Odelia laughed again and patted my head. “Silly Max. Of course not. He’s going home with his trainer once rehearsals are over. And right now he lives with the rest of the troupe at Whitmore Manor. In his own room. Did you think I’d adopt a dog and not tell you guys?”
“No, of course not,” I said, “Don’t be silly.” But behind her back I gave Harriet and Dooley, who still sat watching from a safe distance, two thumbs up. Or rather, since cats don’t have those nifty and very handy opposable thumbs, two claws up at any rate.
“Hey, what’s wrong with adopting a dog?” growled the dog.
“Nothing,” Odelia was quick to say.
That’s how my human is: kind to animals, children and even dogs.
“I thought so,” grumbled the mutt.
The man Odelia had identified as the director now turned to her. “I liked what you did there, dahling,” he said, “but could you give it a little more—I don’t know—oomph?”
“Oh, sure,” said Odelia, getting up. “What sort of oomph are we talking about here?”
She began discussing the ins and outs of the oomphs of acting in detail, and I soon lost interest. Instead, I glanced around and saw that a small film crew sat hiding behind a nearby tree. They’d filmed the whole thing! Probably to learn from and correct later.
I just hoped they hadn’t filmed Odelia and me chatting. Because that would definitely not be good!
Chapter Three
Odelia watched Max stalk off, his tail in the air, his rear end wagging slightly, and couldn’t help but smile. She could only imagine what he must have thought when he saw her kissing Wolf Langdon like that. In the distance, she saw Dooley and Harriet, anxiously awaiting Max’s return with news from the front line. Cats were sensitive creatures, who hated change. Kissing a strange man must have spooked them a great deal. Just then, her real-life boyfriend appeared, crossing the plain to where she stood. Don, who’d been snacking on the contents of the picnic basket, saw him coming and a dark cloud seemed to descend over him. “Don’t tell me Captain America is going to cause trouble,” he said.
“Chase isn’t here to cause trouble,” Odelia said. She didn’t much care for her co-star. Apart from his garlic antics, he was arrogant and not much fun to be around. And he had a habit of sticking his tongue down her throat, even though it wasn’t part of the script.
Chase had joined them and gave Odelia a quick peck on the lips. “Hey, babe,” he said in that low rumbling voice of his. He held out a hand to shake Don’s, but the
actor simply ignored him and walked away, a dirty look on his otherwise handsome face.
“See ya around, Poole,” Don muttered, and was off.
Chase retracted the hand. “What was that all about?”
“Oh, nothing. Don has this thing about the boyfriends of his leading ladies.”
Chase quirked an eyebrow. “A thing? What thing?”
“He was once on the receiving end of a punch thrown by an actress’s spouse. His nose has never been the same.”
“He must have given him reason,” said Chase, looking on as Don made his way over to the makeup table for a touch-up and a flirtatious chat with the makeup ladies.
“I’d say he did,” said Odelia. “Don Stryker has a reputation as a ladies’ man, and he likes to make sure that reputation stays earned.”
Chase quirked his other eyebrow. “Should I worry about this Stryker guy?”
She smiled. “No, of course not.” She draped her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. “Nothing to worry about at all.”
“That’s more like it,” he rumbled, then lifted her up into a full-body hug. If Don was watching, the hug might be interpreted as a gesture of possessiveness but Odelia didn’t care. There was only one man in her life and that was Chase, and no arrogant Broadway star could change that.
“So I was thinking,” said Chase now.
“Yes?”
“I was thinking we haven’t gone out on a date in a while—just you and me.”
She liked where this was going. “So what do you suggest?”
“I suggest dinner and a movie? There’s a new place in Happy Bays we haven’t tried. It’s called The Dusty Tavern and they’re rumored to serve some damn fine clam chowder.”
“The Dusty Tavern it is, then.”
“I have some stuff to finish up at the precinct. Pick you up at the house at seven?”
“Sounds great. See you later, Chase.”
“See you, babe,” he said with a happy grin, then was off, but not before giving Don the kind of look that would remind him of the punch that had given his nose that tweak.
Odelia sank down on the blanket and took the script she’d tucked underneath the basket and opened it to a well-thumbed page. This was the first time she was playing a part in a play, or any performance, for that matter. She had no acting experience whatsoever, but she didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if this production would be seen by more than a few people.
Bard in the Park was a strictly local setup, designed to entertain natives and tourists alike. Not exactly the start of a great career in acting. More like a fun way to while away the time and do something different for a change. Also, Dan Goory, her editor at the Hampton Cove Gazette, had instructed her to write a piece on the acting troupe, and the recurrent phenomenon of summer public theater, and what better way to write about Shakespeare in the Park than to immerse herself in its world and even play a small part?
She frowned as she read through her lines. The hardest part about this acting thing was memorizing those big chunks of text. She was constantly in fear she would drop a line and get absolutely, completely stuck, with people all staring at her. Which was why she was determined to study hard and nail her dialogues until she could recite them in her sleep.
And she was still muttering William Shakespeare’s memorable and immemorial lines to herself when a loud scream suddenly pierced the air. She looked up, startled, and was even more surprised when she saw a small group of people standing around nearby, the director and some of the other troupe members among them.
She got up and hurried over, afraid someone had become unwell and had collapsed.
When she reached the small throng Wolf Langdon, his face white as a sheet, was already clutching his phone to his ear and barking, “She’s dead. She’s dead, I’m telling you!”
Finally Odelia reached the commotion. On the ground, her face frozen in a mask of shock, a young woman lay motionless, her eyes staring unseeingly up at the people all crowding around her. It wasn’t hard to figure out she was, indeed, dead, what with the big knife sticking out of her chest. Odelia recognized her as Dany Cooper. Her understudy.
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About Nic
Nic Saint is the pen name for writing couple Nick and Nicole Saint. They’ve penned novels in the romance, cat sleuth, middle grade, suspense, comedy and cozy mystery genres. Nicole has a background in accounting and Nick in political science and before being struck by the writing bug the Saints worked odd jobs around the world (including massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).
When they’re not writing they enjoy Christmas-themed Hallmark movies (whether it’s Christmas or not), all manner of pastry, comic books, a daily dose of yoga (to limber up those limbs), and spoiling their big red tomcat Tommy.
www.nicsaint.com
Also by Nic Saint
The Mysteries of Max
Purrfect Murder
Purrfectly Deadly
Purrfect Revenge
Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)
Purrfect Heat
Purrfect Crime
Purrfect Rivalry
Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)
Purrfect Peril
Purrfect Secret
Purrfect Alibi
Box Set 3 (Books 7-9)
Purrfect Obsession
Nora Steel
Murder Retreat
The Kellys
Murder Motel
Death in Suburbia
Emily Stone
Murder at the Art Class
Washington & Jefferson
First Shot
Alice Whitehouse
Spooky Times
Spooky Trills
Spooky End
Spooky Spells
Ghosts of London
Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place
Public Ghost Number One
Ghost Save the Queen
Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)
A Tale of Two Harrys
Ghost of Girlband Past
Ghostlier Things
Charleneland
Deadly Ride
Final Ride
Neighborhood Witch Committee
Witchy Start
Witchy Worries
Witchy Wishes
Saffron Diffley
Crime and Retribution
Vice and Verdict
The B-Team
Once Upon a Spy
Tate-à-Tate
Enemy of the Tates
Ghosts vs. Spies
The Ghost Who Came in from the Cold
Witchy Fingers
Witchy Trouble
Witchy Hexations
Witchy Possessions
Witchy Riches
Box Set 1 (Books 1-4)
The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse
One Spoonful of Trouble
Two Scoops of Murder
Three Shots of Disaster
Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)
A Twist of Wraith
A Touch of Ghost
A Clash of Spooks
Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)
The Stuffing of Nightmares
A Breath of Dead Air
An Act of Hodd
Box Set 3 (Books 7-9)
Standalone Novels
When in Bruges
The Whiskered Spy
ThrillFix
Homejacking
The Eighth Billionaire
The Wrong Woman
Short Stories
Felonies and Penalties (Saffron Diffley Short 1)
Purrfect Santa (Mysteries of Max Short 1)
Purrfect Christmas Mystery (Mysteries of Max Short 2)
Purrfect Christmas Miracle (Mysteries of Max Short 3)
Purrfectly Flealess (Mysteries of Max Short 4)
Copyright © 2018, 2019 by Nic Saint. All rights reserved.
Published by Puss in Print Publications.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, char
acters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Editor: Chereese Graves.