by Nic Saint
“You seem to forget that if you die, I’m dying along with you, Dooley.”
This seemed to give him pause. “Oh, right,” he said. “I forgot about that. So to whom can I dictate my last will and testament?” He turned to Pussy. “Pussy, I’ve always admired you from afar, and I want you to know—”
“You didn’t even know me before today,” said Pussy. “And besides, once you two are dead I might as well be dead, too. They’re never going to let me out of this room. This is going to be my prison until the day I die, which might be sooner than I want. Cats in captivity rarely live to a ripe old age.”
“How old are you now?” asked Dooley, interested.
“Four.”
“Oh? You look a lot older.”
“Um, thanks, I guess.”
I’d already checked the windows, but they were all locked solid, the door was one of those rusty steel doors that Leo seemed to have favored, so no dice either, and there were no nooks and crannies that could assist us in our escape. Unless…
I glanced up and noticed that the ventilation system in the room was of an odd design. In line with the rest of the house it had an industrial look: the pipes led straight into the room and hung suspended from the ceiling with a series of rings and bolts and iron wiring. If only we could get up there, and pry loose one of those grates, we might have a shot at getting out of the room.
“No, really,” Dooley was saying. “I thought you were six, or maybe seven.”
“Uh-huh,” said Pussy. “Is that a fact?”
“Pussy?” I said. “Is there a way we can get up there?” I indicated the high-wire act above our heads.
“If we put all my plush toys in a big pile in the corner we might reach there,” said Pussy. “But even if we could, we’d still have to remove the grate.”
“I know. But we have to give it a try. It might be our only shot before they come back.”
So for the next couple of minutes we created a big pile out of Pussy’s plush animals. To our delight there were a lot of them. Like, a great big lot. Finally the pile reached about three quarters to the ceiling, and we took a break to think up the next part of our grand plan.
“I think Dooley should go,” said Pussy. “He’s the lightest and might reach the highest.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“You think?” said Dooley. “I think Pussy should try. She’s very light on her paws, and will simply whizz through the air like a trapeze artist.”
“Why, thank you, Dooley,” Pussy said, pleasantly surprised.
“No, I mean it. You could be a ballet dancer for all your grace and beauty.”
“Well, I could give it a shot, of course,” she said, “but it’s really you who should get out of here. I’m not to the one they’re going to try and murder.”
“Touché,” said Dooley, grinning awkwardly for some reason.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I said and gave my friend a nudge in the direction of the pile of plush. “Jump high and aim for that grate over there.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” said Dooley, licking his lips nervously. He retreated all the way to the opposite corner of the room, then took a long approach and at high speed raced to the pile, hopped up in a few jumps to the top, then took a flying leap in the direction of the grate, and… managed to hang on by his nails!
Unfortunately, two things happened simultaneously: the grate didn’t budge, sturdily fastened as it apparently was, and the pile of plush animals, as a consequence of Dooley’s ministrations, collapsed and tumbled down.
“Help!” Dooley now bleated, dangling from the ceiling by his nails. “Help me, Max!”
“Oh, hang on, Dooley!” Pussy shouted. “Max will figure something out!”
They both looked at me for aid and comfort, but frankly I drew a complete blank. I mean, I’m not Bruce Willis traipsing all over Nakatomi Plaza!
The only thing I could think of was: “Just let go, Dooley. I’ll break your fall.”
Just then, two more things happened: the grate finally decided to give up the struggle and dropped out. Dooley, in a supreme demonstration of nimbleness, managed to grab onto the vent opening. And then the door to the room opened and Chris walked in.
The grate fell on top of the man’s head, and he went down like a sack of potatoes. And Dooley, up above, quickly disappeared into the vent the moment he heard the door opening and immediately scrabbled out of sight.
“Go, Max!” Pussy shouted. “Now’s your chance. Go, go, go!”
And like a speed racer who’s been given the all-clear, I bolted for the door. And just when I reached there an obstacle appeared in my path: it was Tank. But since I was going fast and speeding up as I went, I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. Cats don’t have inbuilt brakes, so I bumped into Tank at full speed, and since I am easily twice his size it was like a bowling ball hitting a pin: Tank was flung to the side and I still kept going, momentum propelling me through the door.
I was free, and nothing could stop me now!
Except for the maze that was Chateau Leonidas.
Before long I was lost in the warren of corridors, but all the while I kept on running at full tilt, for right behind me was a cat in hot pursuit, and I knew it was Tank, pissed that he’d been bowled over by a mere mongrel like myself.
Chapter 22
Odelia and Chase had been driving along, en route back to town, when suddenly they passed a familiar-looking red car, speeding in the opposite direction, a little old white-haired lady behind the wheel, her face practically plastered against the windshield, a look of determination on her face.
They turned to one another and said in chorus, “Gran.”
Odelia performed her second U-turn of the day and moments later was following Gran who, for some reason, was on her way to the Flake house.
The old lady was making good time, though, and no matter how deeply Odelia punched in the accelerator, she wasn’t making any headway.
“Where did she go?” cried Chase.
“Gran is in a different category than the rest of the traffic participants,” said Odelia through gritted teeth. “She thinks the traffic code is just a suggestion.”
“Well, speed up before she wraps her car around a tree.”
“Oh, she’ll never go and do a silly thing like that,” said Odelia. “She’s got the luck of the drunk, even though she doesn’t drink.”
Finally they were back where they started: at Casa Flake, and to Odelia’s elation Gran’s car was idling in front of the gate. In spite of her words she’d worried that Chase’s predictions might have come true and that she’d find Gran’s car wrapped around some indignant tree.
They parked right behind Gran and got out. The old lady was already yelling into the intercom. “Open this gate right now, you shit-for-brains, or I’ll come down there and personally rearrange your face!” she was shouting. “Oh, and my cop grandson just arrived and he’s going to arrest you and kick your sorry ass into his deepest, darkest dungeon and throw away the key!” she added when she caught sight of Odelia and Chase bearing down on her.
“Don’t bother,” said Odelia. “They won’t let you in.”
“They have to, or by golly I’ll smite this gate and bring it down!” she said, shaking an irate fist.
And then, suddenly, as if her threats had worked, the gate swung open!
“Glad to see you’re back, Kingsley!” a cheerful voice sounded from the intercom. “Forget something, did you?”
“Thanks, buddy!” Chase shouted back.
Apparently whoever had been manning the booth before had now been replaced by Chase’s friend, the head of security at the place.
Gran directed her car along the long and winding drive, followed by Odelia and Chase.
“Why are we back here?” asked Chase.
“Um, I have no idea,” Odelia confessed. She probably should have asked her grandmother that exact question. Only the moment the gate had swung open Gran had jumped into her car and hared off a
t the speed of light.
Now she screeched to a halt in front of the house and hopped out, followed by none other than Harriet and Brutus!
“What’s the big plan here, Gran?” asked Odelia, also getting out.
“The big plan is to look for Max,” said Gran, “and to find out what really happened to this fashion bozo.”
“We already looked for Max,” said Odelia. “He’s not here. And as far as the big fashion bozo is concerned, the guy who killed him is in jail right now.”
“Yeah, you don’t really think that poor guy had anything to do with this, do you?”
“Actually, I do,” said Chase. “Not only did he kill his partner, but he practically confessed, and that’s good enough for me, good enough for your son, and I’m willing to bet it’s good enough for a judge and a jury of the guy’s peers.”
“Well, I don’t buy it,” said Gran.
“Why am I not surprised?” said Chase, throwing up his hands.
“We’ll stay here and look for Max, shall we?” Harriet suggested, but Gran was already marching up to the house.
“Yeah, you do that,” said Odelia, and went after her grandmother before she got shot or, worse, punched someone in the face and accused them of murder.
“Odelia, we shouldn’t be out here,” said Chase. “We’re trespassing on private property.”
“We were invited, remember?” she said.
“Yeah, but that’s only because the guard likes your face.”
“Likes your face, you mean.”
“Also a possibility,” Chase admitted. “Still, we’re not supposed to be here, and…”
But whatever he’d been about to say would have to wait, for the front door flew open and the lady of the house appeared, seated in her wheelchair, and accompanied by a sturdily-built female nurse with an expressionless face.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mrs. Flake asked.
“You’re hiding something, and I’m here to find out what it is,” said Gran, throwing down the gauntlet.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the old lady who, if she was shocked by this accusation, didn’t show it.
“Oh, I know you tried to take over your son’s company,” said Gran. “And each time he managed to get you off his back. But you wouldn’t give up, would you? And now you finally achieved what you set out to do. You’re in charge now, and you’re going to run it straight into the ground!”
“Who are you?” asked the woman.
“My name is Vesta Muffin and I’m a private dick!” said Gran, planting both feet on the ground and her hands on her hips.
“She’s not a private detective, Leonora,” spoke a voice behind the woman. Chris Cross had arrived on the scene. Oddly enough he was rubbing his head, as if he’d bumped it against something, and of his cat there was no sign.
“I am, too,” Gran insisted.
“No, you’re not. You’re a receptionist at your son-in-law’s doctor’s office and that’s all you are. Even your granddaughter is not a private detective but a reporter, though sometimes she likes to pretend that she’s a PI.”
“At any rate I’m a cop,” said Chase, displaying his badge, “and if you don’t mind, can you please answer Mrs. Muffin’s questions?”
Cross closed his mouth with a click of the teeth, then said, “You don’t have to do this, Leonora. You don’t have to say a word to these people.”
“It’s all right, Chris. I have nothing to hide from this old woman.”
“Look who’s talking, Mother Time,” said Gran.
“The only reason I tried to take over my son’s business was because he managed it in a shoddy way and I wanted to save it from his incompetence.”
“Odd,” said Gran. “It’s been highly profitable for the past thirty years.”
“And how would you know? My son did a very good job at hiding the real numbers from his board of directors and his shareholders. I know the real picture and it wasn’t pretty. I was doing him a favor by taking over. You see, my son was an artist, a genius, but he had no head for business. And that’s where I came in. I ran several companies in my time, and all very successful ones. Together, we would have taken over the world of haute couture.”
“Isn’t it true that you simply wanted to turn back the clock and make Leonidas Flake all about haute couture again, with no prêt-à-porter collections and no collaborations with the Gap or even Walmart or Costco?” asked Gran.
“Of course I wanted us out of Gap and Costco! Leo was diminishing the value of the brand by selling out. He had to be stopped before the name Leonidas Flake was mud, like so many other formerly great brands.”
“I think what happened was that your son was the genius designer, just like you say, and that he indeed didn’t have the head for business that you have, but he had a partner who had a feel for the market and who gave Leo the love and affection he needed to soar. And the two of them created magic. “
“Gabriel was the one who got the idea to sell out, if that’s what you mean,” said Leonora. “He’s the one who heralded in the downturn of the once-iconic Leonidas Flake name. It was obvious to me and my advisers that he had to go.”
“You got some bad advice, Leonora,” said Gran. “Your son’s business was flourishing, and Gabe was integral to that success. Instead of saving the company you killed the goose that laid the golden eggs. Just you wait and see.”
The corners of the woman’s lips turned down. “Are you accusing me of murder, Mrs. Muffin?”
“I’m accusing you of bad judgment. And of being a bad mother.”
Leonora’s eyes narrowed. “I want you off the premises. All of you.” She turned to Chase. “Unless you have a warrant, Detective Kingsley, I want you gone, and please take this raving lunatic with you.”
“I’ll show you a raving lunatic,” said Gran, and actually leaped at the woman! Just before she could land a punch, though, Chase intercepted her.
“Let’s go, Vesta,” said Chase, leading Gran away with a firm hand.
“She’s responsible for her son’s death!” said Gran. “I know she is!”
“I wasn’t even here when it happened!” the woman shouted. “Ask anyone!”
“She’s right,” said Chase. “She was at the Hampton Cove Star when her son died. Now let’s get out of here before you land us in a big ol’ heap of doo-doo.”
“What is she going to do?” scoffed Gran. “Call the cops?”
“She might, and I’d probably lose my badge. Now unless you have solid evidence linking her to the death of her son, I suggest we retreat and regroup.”
Gran uttered a low growl, but still complied. She shook herself free of Chase’s grasp and set foot for the car. “This isn’t over, Flake!” she shouted, shaking her fist in the direction of the old woman. “Mark my words!”
“Oh, go away, you crazy old bat,” said Leonora, and slammed the door.
Gran got into the car and drove off, kicking up a spray of dust and gravel as she did, and as Odelia and Chase followed her at a more leisurely pace, suddenly Odelia remembered Harriet and Brutus.
“Dang it,” she said.
“What’s wrong?” asked Chase, who was driving this time.
“Harriet and Brutus. We left them at the house.”
“They’ll find their way home,” said Chase.
And so they would, Odelia thought. And hopefully they’d find Max and Dooley and manage to snap them out of their ‘strike.’
Chapter 23
I was racing along, trying to find my way out of the maze that Leonidas had built, still persecuted by the sound of a cat in hot pursuit—I could hear his nails scrabbling as he raced along behind me—when suddenly I reached a dead end and almost slammed into a wall. And then the wall slammed into me, or at least that’s what it felt like when a solid object and I collided.
The solid object soon turned out not to be all that solid. It was a cat, and before I knew what was happening, I was putting up a fight
with the furry fiend, knowing that it was Tank who’d taken a shortcut and who’d managed to intercept my progress. I knew I had to watch out for his claw going for my jugular, and it was only when Tank uttered a loud cry of distress that something registered in my brain and gave me pause.
That cry hadn’t sounded like Tank at all.
It had sounded more like Dooley’s bleats.
So I halted the proceedings and lo and behold: I was actually fighting my best friend and not, as I had supposed, my mortal enemy!
“Dooley!” I cried.
“Max!” he yelped. “I thought you were Tank!”
“I thought you were Tank!”
We fell into each other’s arms and before long were laughing at the strange coincidence of both of us thinking we were engaged in the fight of a lifetime against a formidable foe.
“I dropped down from up there,” he said, indicating the open vent that gaped overhead and then the grate that had buckled under his weight.
“I thought Tank was chasing me. So that was you?”
“And I thought Tank was chasing me!”
How funny it was, if only our situation hadn’t been so dire.
“We still need to get out of here,” I said. “Tank probably is chasing us.”
“Which way is the exit?” asked Dooley, glancing back nervously for a sign of the murderous Siamese.
We both searched around, and suddenly a growling sound came rumbling out of the darkness. There was no doubt this time that it was Tank, and he did not sound happy.
He suddenly stepped into the light, and his eyes glowed red and menacing, his teeth sharp and deadly. His tail was distended and his back was arched and he looked ready to move in for the kill!
“Frankly I’ve just about had it with this guy,” said Dooley, much to my surprise. And before I could stop him, he was charging in the direction of the fearful cat, screaming at the top of his lungs!
“Dooley, no!” I yelled, and then I was racing after my buddy, ready for any fate.
Tank, instead of putting up a fight, saw the two of us storming towards him, gulped a little, then let out a high squeal, and turned around and ran!