by Nic Saint
“I don’t have a drinking problem,” Brutus said indignantly. “Teetotaler all the way.”
“It’s so funny the way your cats talk, Odelia,” said Vena with a smile.
“Yeah, they’re real talkative,” said Gran. “Blabbermouths, the lot of them.”
“I wonder where they get it from,” Marge murmured.
“Let’s check those nasty spots, shall we?” Vena said, and parted Brutus’s fur like Moses the Red Sea.
Brutus giggled. “You’re tickling me,” he laughed.
“Mh,” said Vena finally. “Myes. I see what you mean. Spots. Red ones.”
Brutus stopped giggling. Instead, a look of panic came over his face. “Oh, no!” he cried. “It’s cancer! She’s going to put me down! Please don’t let her put me down! Save me! I’m too young to die! Don’t let me dieeeeee!”
Odelia smiled indulgently but didn’t respond. Long experience has taught her it’s unwise to be seen talking feline in front of other people. Even veterinarians. Especially veterinarians. They might put her down instead. “So what do you think?” she asked.
“Pollen!” Vena boomed.
“Pollen?”
“Pollen! Nothing to worry about.”
“But I thought pollen affected the eyes and nose?”
“Not with cats it doesn’t. Pollen leads to atopic dermatitis, also known as skin allergy.” She gave Brutus a pat on the head. “Which is what this fellow is suffering from. Usually the rash will appear on the outside of the ears, on the head, face or paws. In this big fella’s case it manifested on the chest. Nothing that some medication won’t take care of.”
“That’s great,” said Odelia, clearly greatly relieved.
“Wait, I’m not going to die?” asked Brutus.
“No, you’re not,” I said. “Just an allergy. To pollen.”
“What’s pollen?” asked Dooley.
“It’s the yellow powdery stuff you find inside flowers,” I said.
“Huh,” said Brutus. He looked down at Harriet. “Babe! I’m not going to die!”
“Of course you’re not going to die,” said Harriet, looking peeved. “Making a big fuss about nothing.” And she stalked off, her tail high. But when she passed me, she gave me a wink. She might not have shown it, but I knew she’d been worried about her mate, too.
And while Vena discussed Brutus’s treatment with Odelia, I happened to glance up at a shelf that was littered with Thank You cards from grateful pet owners, boxes of medicine samples, plush cats and dogs and all manner of pet toys. It also contained a mock-up of a hamburger—the popular dog toy. It was one of those plastic hamburgers, looking pretty realistic, too, and instantly reminded me of Big Mac. And as I stared at the hamburger, I was suddenly struck with an idea so novel and riveting that I momentarily forgot where I was. Only when Odelia told me it was time to go did I become aware of my surroundings again.
All the way home I found myself lost in thought, and by the time we arrived at Casa Odelia I’d made up my mind about the course of action to take. I could have told Odelia but I thought it was probably better to check out a few things first. And I knew exactly who to ask.
Chapter 38
That night, a soothing blanket of darkness and silence had draped itself across the happy little town of Hampton Cove, that jewel in the Hamptons crown. Revelers were enjoying the nightlife in places like Southampton, East Hampton or Montauk, but here locals slept the sleep of the peaceful. So did Odelia who, after a long and strenuous day, enjoyed the warmth of her comfy bed and would have enjoyed it even more if not a strange voice had suddenly started competing with the sweet dreams she was entertaining.
She frowned, the blanket of sleep rudely ripped apart, and opened her eyes.
“I found a love,” the voice was whining. “Darling just dive right in.”
She instantly recognized it as Ed Sheeran’s Perfect, only this obviously wasn’t Ed Sheeran straining his vocal cords but some amateur caroler. Or it might have been a cat undergoing a thoroughly painful castration.
She winced as the unknown singer transitioned into the second verse, effectively massacring poor Ed’s beautiful ode to love.
Neighbors left and right had also caught on, and voices now competed with the singer, shouting such encouragements as, ‘Shut up!’ and ‘We’re trying to sleep here!’
Finally, Odelia couldn’t suppress her curiosity any longer, so she got out of bed and padded over to the window. She peeked through the curtains and when her eyes landed on the lanky male figure standing under her window, singing his heart out, she gasped in shock.
The Ed Sheeran wannabe was none other than… Chase!
She threw the curtains wide and opened the window.
When Chase saw her appear, he smiled and redoubled his efforts to butcher the song. And then the first boot landed. It landed at Chase’s feet and he stared down at it for a moment, not comprehending. The second boot hit him against the shin but only when a third projectile hit him in the face did he finally get the message.
“You better come in,” Odelia said quickly, not wanting her boyfriend to be pummeled with a waffle iron or Crockpot next.
Chase looked a little dazed but staunchly refused to back down. Going into the song’s final stretch, he belted out those last few notes with a zeal and a fervor possibly better reserved for a nobler cause. Still, it touched Odelia’s heart that he would do such a thing for her—expose himself to bodily harm to serenade her like an old-world troubadour.
The final note died away, Chase smiling up at her.
And then he was hit with a skillet and went down hard.
“Oh, crap!” Odelia cried and hurried down the stairs. Racing out into the backyard, she knelt down next to her knight in shining armor—which he could have used at this point—and saw that he was shaken but conscious.
“Odelia,” he said, a smile curling up his lips. “You look perfect tonight.”
“Oh, Chase,” she said. “Thank you so much. That was… lovely.”
It was, after all, the thought that counted, not the execution.
From next door, Marge and Tex’s faces had appeared in their bedroom window.
“Way to go, Chase!” Tex yelled, giving the singing cop two thumbs up.
“Wonderful song choice, Chase,” Marge said, wrapping her nightgown around herself.
“Thanks, Marge,” he said. “And I’ve got your husband to thank for it.”
“Who threw the skillet?” asked Gran, her head stealing out from her bedroom, like a turtle out of its shell. She’d probably waited until the sky stopped raining kitchen paraphernalia.
“Never mind the critics. You did great, son!” Tex cried.
“Give the kids some privacy, Tex,” said Marge.
Three heads retracted back into their homely shell and then it was just Odelia and Chase and the big canopy of stars in that great expanse of sky overhead.
“Do you want to come inside?” she asked.
“I thought you’d never ask,” said Chase with a grin.
As he got up, he rubbed the spot on his noggin where the skillet had impacted.
Once inside, Odelia sat the wannabe Ed Sheeran down on a kitchen stool and inspected his head. “You’ll have a nice bump,” she said after a cursory check.
“It’s worth it,” he growled and dragged her onto his lap, then planted a kiss on her lips. When she came up for air, she was feeling dizzy. He might be a lousy singer but he was a great kisser.
“So my dad put you up to this, did he?” she asked.
He became serious. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about ever since your grandmother moved out. I just wasn’t sure how to launch into it. And since our dinner date was interrupted by this Chris Ackerman business…” He shrugged. “I just figured your dad might have a few tips for me.”
“Tips for what?” she asked.
“Odelia Poole,” he began, his gold-flecked eyes turning molten. “I’m not a man who minces words so here
goes.” He’d clasped her hands in his and she discovered she was holding her breath. “There’s not a doubt in my mind that you’re the one for me—the woman I love. And I’ve been thinking it’s time for us to take the next step. To take this to another level. So what do you say we officially move in together? Technically I’d be the one moving in with you, as the alternative would mean you moving in with me and your uncle.”
She smiled. This was a no-brainer. “Yes, I would love to move in together, Chase.”
He grinned and then they kissed and little angels popped out all around and blew their little trumpets and sang their little hearts out. And not a single skillet zoomed through the air.
Finally, they let go and Odelia looked around. Something was missing from this scene and she suddenly realized what it was. Her cats. They were nowhere to be found.
Probably wandering about in the park. She couldn’t wait to tell them. Judging from the way Max and Dooley had taken a shine to the burly cop, they’d be over the moon.
She took Chase’s hand in hers and gave him a coy look. “Wanna check out your new digs, Detective Kingsley?”
“Don’t mind if I do, Miss Poole,” said Chase.
And as they headed up the stairs, she imagined the look on Max and Dooley’s faces when they finally arrived home and found Chase in Odelia’s bed. She smiled at the thought.
Chapter 39
Not for the first time I decided to engage cat choir in my sleuthing efforts. So Dooley and I—along with Brutus and Harriet—headed down to the park to enlist our friends in the scheme I’d worked out while driving home from Vena’s. As I’d expected, they were all game, and so the search began. I just hoped that not too much time had passed since the fateful events at the library. By now two whole days had passed, and Hampton Cove’s council had strict rules about garbage collection so our window of opportunity just might have closed.
Dooley and I had decided to search in the immediate vicinity of the library, while the other cat choir members looked along ever-widening circles. If my hunch was right, before this night was through we should be able to come up with something.
Brutus, who seemed reborn after Vena’s diagnosis, was our most enthusiastic searcher, along with Harriet, who, in spite of her initial grumblings, was happy as a clam.
“So you think Brutus will be all right?” asked Dooley as he tentatively checked the dumpster closest to the library.
“I think Brutus will be just fine,” I returned. “Especially with Vena’s treatment.”
“You know? I’m starting to think that Vena may not be our enemy, Max.”
I’d been thinking the same thing. Our visit had been distinctly painless and even—to some extent—enjoyable.
“Maybe she’s not out to hurt us,” Dooley continued.
“Only the future will tell,” I said, jumping down from the dumpster. I didn’t enjoy this consequence of my crazy theory. And if I was wrong a lot of cats were going to hate my guts.
Dooley had caught on, too. “What if we don’t find anything, Max?”
“Then we’ll probably get kicked out of cat choir.” Again.
“I don’t mind. You’re my friend and I will always stand by you,” said Dooley.
The unexpected statement gave me pause. “Aw, Dooley. You’re my friend, too.”
“You know—when the apocalypse finally comes, I hope we won’t be ripped apart by the tsunami’s massive waves and terrifying mayhem. Or by the hot lava that will push up through the earth’s cracked crust. When finally the end comes, I hope we’ll die in a blaze of fire and destruction together. Wouldn’t that be just great?”
Great wasn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe Dooley’s predictions. I decided to try one more time to change his mind. “Look, the apocalypse may never happen, Dooley.”
“Oh, I know,” he said to my surprise. “But you don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Actually, I do. I think everything is going to be just fine, buddy.”
Dooley smiled. “Oh, Max, I love you but you’re so naive. You believe everything you see on the internet. All these disinformation campaigns. All that fake news. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. No, you have to start checking out some of this real news. Like the fact that a comet is on its way to earth right now and will hit us in exactly three days.”
I shook my head. Absolutely hopeless. Just like our search in Hampton Cove’s dumpsters. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. And now Shanille would be upset that she’d skipped a cat choir rehearsal to prove my crazy theory.
Just then, a familiar cat trotted up to us. It was Clarice.
“Dumpster-diving, Max?” she asked.
“Um, not exactly,” I said.
She directed an icy look at me. “You do know that this is my territory, right?”
“I… thought this was Big Mac’s domain?”
“Not exactly. I allow Big Mac to scavenge here. First he asked me for permission, though—and agreed to pay me my usual fee. Fifty percent.”
“Fifty percent…”
“Of his haul.”
“We’re not looking for food,” said Dooley. “We’re looking for clues!”
Clarice narrowed her eyes. “Clues.”
“We could give you fifty percent of our clues,” Dooley suggested, “but first we have to give our clues to the police. They’re going to need them to put the bad guys away, see?”
Clarice didn’t appear particularly interested in fifty percent of our clues, though. She made a dismissive sound. “You can keep your clues, city slicker.”
“You could help us,” I said as she started to walk away.
She threw me a skeptical look over her shoulder. “Me? Help you?”
“There’s fresh pizza in it for you,” said Dooley. “Barbecue chicken pizza.”
Her upper lip rose in a snarl. “Do I look like the kind of cat who eats junk food?”
To be honest she looked like a cat who gobbled down rats and other vermin whole.
“We can get you anything you like,” I said, sweetening the deal. “Anything at all.”
“I already have everything I like.” She gestured around. “All the food I need. Fresh air. My freedom. So what could you possibly offer that I’d be even remotely interested in?”
“How about your own bowl, your own cat bed, your own nook in our house?”
Clarice eyed me suspiciously. “Your human already offered me free passage into your home. To come and go as I please. Unlimited access to her food supply.”
“Yes, but now you would get your very own space in your very own home.”
It was a grand offer, but I wasn’t at all sure she would go for it. Then again, Clarice was an unpredictable cat, so there was no way to know how she would react.
Finally, that inscrutable expression seemed to thaw. “Home,” she muttered.
“Uh-huh.”
“My own bowl.”
“Yup. And your own bed.”
The silence stretched on for a moment while she pondered this. She gave me a skeptical look. “You’re not pulling my paw, are you, cat? Because you know what I can do with even one paw tied behind my back. Or three.”
“Oh, no! I would never pull your paw.”
“Fine,” she growled. “I’ll take it.”
“Great!” I cried, much relieved.
“Not that it matters much,” Dooley decided to put in his two cents. “Since the world is ending in a couple of days you won’t have much time to enjoy your new home anyway.”
Clarice decided to ignore this outburst. “Follow me,” she snarled.
We followed her. She took us around the corner to a row of large round trash cans with lids. She walked up to the third can in the row and reached up to give the lid a shove. It clattered to the ground. Then she stood to the side and casually started to lick her paw.
“Look inside,” she said.
I looked inside. And there it was. The holy grail. The clue I’d been looking f
or.
Chapter 40
Odelia woke up and wondered why it was still dark out. She blinked confusedly and looked around with a heavy heart. Realizing it wasn’t her heart that was heavy but that something was pushing down on her chest, she realized it was Max sitting on top of her.
“Odelia!” he was saying, trying to keep his voice down. “Wake up! We found it!”
“Found what?” she muttered, still sleep drunk.
“The proof we need to take down Chris Ackerman’s killer!”
At these words, she was suddenly wide awake. “What?”
“We found it!” he repeated. “In a trash can!”
“In a trash can,” Dooley echoed from the floor next to the bed.
Odelia sniffed. There was something rancid about the air in her room.
“Do you smell that?” she asked.
“Oh, that’s us,” said Harriet, seated next to Dooley.
“We’ve been dumpster diving,” explained Brutus, also part of the small troupe.
“It was Max’s idea,” said Dooley.
“But I showed them where to find the thing,” said a fifth cat.
Odelia stared at this newcomer. She was small, she was scruffy-looking, and she looked vaguely familiar in the moonlight streaming in through the window.
“You remember Clarice,” said Max. “I said she could stay here if she wanted to.”
“Only as a last resort,” said Clarice. “And only in case I run out of fresh rats.”
Odelia wrinkled her nose. “Um… Guys? Could you tell me what’s going on exactly?”
Next to her, Chase stirred, then murmured, “What’s going on with your cats, babe?”
There was a momentary silence, then Max asked, “What is Chase doing in your bed?”
“Yes, what is Jesus doing in your bed?” asked Dooley.
“We decided to move in together,” she said.
“Are you talking to your cats?” asked Chase. “Cause it sounds to me like you are.”
“Go back to sleep, honey,” she said soothingly. “I’ll go and give them some… milk.”
“You do that. And tell them to shut up and let us sleep,” Chase mumbled.