by Nic Saint
Mrs. Flake stared at the pig with a horrified expression on her face. Unfortunately the pig mistook the look she gave her for a cry for help, and so put her lips to Mrs. Flake’s again, and blew some more hot air into her lungs.
“Blech!” the woman uttered curtly, and frantically wiped her lips. And then she threw up some more pond scum, showing us how alive she really was.
“A success story, you guys,” said the cow happily.
“A miracle,” said one of the sheep, and bleated its delight.
“Teamwork!” said Francis the donkey.
“Is there anyone else in the water?” asked Streaker. “A man? A girl? A boy? I can get them for you! I can do it—I swear! I can do it!”
“You saved me?” Mrs. Flake asked, glancing around at the nativity scene.
“Yup, we sure did,” said a goat, who’d only now joined the gang.
Two rabbits came hopping up. “What’s going on? Did we miss the party?”
“If you like I’ll jump in and save you all over again!” Streaker cried excitedly.
“It’s all right, Streaker,” said Francis. “You did good.”
“I know I did—and I can do it again in a flash!”
Mrs. Flake now stared at the four of us, seated in a neat row: Dooley, yours truly, Harriet and Brutus.
“You saved me?” she asked again. “After everything I did to you?”
“Oh, well,” I said. “We don’t like to hold a grudge.”
“Yeah, we’re all human, after all,” said Dooley.
“Forgive and forget and all that,” added Brutus.
And then, to my surprise, Leo’s mother actually burst into tears!
“She’s probably just realized she lost her wheelchair,” said Dooley.
“A wheelchair?” asked Streaker. “Where is it? Where! Tell me!”
“Still in the pond,” I said. “Must have sunk to the bottom by now.”
“Hop in, Streak. Fetch,” said Francis with an indulgent smile.
“I’m on it!” Streaker cried, and jumped into the pond. Moments later she came out with the wheelchair clasped between her teeth. “Here you go, ma’am!” she said as she deposited the contraption next to the old lady.
The wheelchair was covered in muck and looked a little worse for wear.
“Some love from the high-pressure hose and it’s as good as new,” said Francis, who’d noticed the same.
“Oh, I’m such a horrible person,” said Mrs. Flake, shaking her head mournfully. “I killed my own son!”
“You did?” I said, surprised at this impromptu confession.
“He was doing such a lousy job with the company and I had a feeling he was dragging us all down and if I didn’t get rid of him I’d go down with the ship. I own thirty percent of the company, and my shares were going to be worthless if Leo kept this up—or at least that’s what my advisors told me.”
“Killing your own son, huh? That wasn’t very nice of you,” grunted Francis.
“Can she understand what we’re saying?” asked Harriet.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “But I guess she feels like confessing.”
“She almost died,” said Francis. “It’s a pivotal moment for her.”
“I didn’t kill him myself, of course,” Leonora said now. “I told my nurse to do it for me. I could never have held the knife that took my son’s life. Besides, I was persona non grata at the chateau. But Helga wasn’t. She simply swapped shifts with one of Leo’s nurses and gave Gabe a sedative. She then planted the knife in his hands and made sure he was at the scene just as the maid walked in. The whole thing was arranged like clockwork. Helga is German, you see,” she said, as if this explained everything. “She’s been with me for so long she’s like a daughter to me. She’d do everything for me. So when I told her I needed to get rid of my boy, she immediately understood and arranged the whole thing with impeccable precision and efficiency.”
“So she was the one who plunged the knife into your son’s chest?” I asked.
“It was a little hard to juggle all the different elements, of course,” Mrs. Flake went on. “But I knew for a fact that my son is a stickler for punctuality, and liked his maid to wake him up every morning at seven o’clock on the dot. So all Helga had to do was make sure that Gabe was standing there, knife in hand, at seven o’clock sharp, and the deal was done. It wasn’t hard. The hard part, she later told me, was to drive that knife into his heart. She hit bone, you see, and since she only had a very short window of time, she got a little nervous at some point. Especially since my son woke up at that moment and started to scream. She managed in the end, though. It all worked out fine.”
“Define fine,” mumbled Brutus.
“We should probably call the police,” said Dooley.
“Take out your phone, Dooley,” said Harriet. “I forgot mine at the house.”
Dooley actually reached around, before realizing Harriet was playing a little joke on him. “Oh, ha ha,” he said. “You don’t have a phone, do you?”
“No, I don’t. And neither do you.”
“Oh, no,” said Leonora, burying her face in her hands. “What have I done?”
All the animals were quiet as they listened to the woman unburdening her soul. It wasn’t a pleasant tale to hear, and I’m sorry to say I didn’t feel a lot of compassion for Mrs. Flake. The only thing I was sorry about was that we didn’t have anyone to witness her confession, for as you may or may not know, the word of a cat, or a cow, a pig, a horse, a donkey or even a sheep, goat or rabbit, for that matter, doesn’t carry a lot of weight in a court of law.
And for a moment I feared that this whole exercise was in vain, when suddenly two people popped up from a nearby bush, one of them holding a camera, the other a microphone, and abruptly descended on the scene.
“Are you sorry now, Mrs. Flake, that you gave the order to murder your son?” asked the woman, whose eyes were glittering with excitement.
Leo’s mom stared at the woman, then at the camera, then broke down into a flood of tears again.
Yep. The jig was up.
Chapter 26
A week had passed since the stirring events at Chateau Leonidas and we’d all had a little time to reflect on the incidents that had transpired at the house of that celebrated and now mourned couturier. We were in Marge and Tex’s backyard, where Tex was working away at the grill, preparing us one of his excellent meals. I must say that in all the years I’ve been with the Pooles, I’d never seen him more excited. Marge had recently bought him a new grill, some state-of-the-art contraption, ostensibly for his birthday, but we all knew her secret hope was that it would magically turn him into a better grill master.
Unfortunately there were still a few kinks to work out, and the upshot was that the patties Tex threw on the grill, or the steaks and ribs, for that matter, were instantly turned to ash and not the culinary feast Marge had anticipated when she forked over the money for the Webber Master-Touch 2010102b.
Good thing Uncle Alec had the presence of mind to call his buddy Bud Bouchard over in the neighboring town of Happy Bays, and have that stalwart butcher whip up a nice spread. If Tex was embarrassed by this fiasco, he didn’t show it. And it was my impression he had every intention to keep grilling away at his new cool toy until there was no more meat left in the world.
Alec was seated at the table, along with Marge, Tex, Odelia, Chase and Gran, while the cat population was relegated to the kids’ table, or in our case, the porch, where we occupied the swing. One extra plate had been set out—or rather a bowl—for Pussy, who was our guest of honor. And at the table for the grownups a human guest was seated: it was none other than Gabriel Crier, who’d been invited by Uncle Alec and Chase, to make up for the gross miscarriage of justice which had almost taken place under their auspices.
“Amazing flavor,” said Pussy as she dug her teeth into a nugget of meat.
“Tastes a damn sight better than Tex’s ash flavor,” Brutus chimed in.
/> “It’s the gesture that counts,” said Dooley.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Tex has his heart in the right place, even though he’s not exactly the world’s best grill master.”
Odelia came over to check on us, and when she saw we were all tucking in with relish, crouched down next to me, and whispered, “Can you ever forgive me, buddy?”
“Oh, but I forgave you a long time ago, Odelia,” I said, and I meant it. Moments after those reporters had come springing from the bushes, the sound of a police siren had told us they hadn’t merely filmed Leonora’s confession but had also done the right thing by calling in the cavalry.
Soon cops were crawling all over the petting zoo, accompanied by Odelia and Chase and Gran, who’d scooped us up into their arms and had hugged us and kissed us and held us as if they’d missed us for days and days. And when Dooley and I had told them our adventures, Odelia had actually cried. Her distress was short-lived, though, when Pussy joined us, and had related the tale of our heroic escape attempt and how Dooley had been the hero of the hour. And when I related how Dooley had actually saved Mrs. Flake’s life by calling for help, Odelia had hugged him so close his ribs had actually creaked.
“I’m sorry I neglected you guys,” she said now, for the hundredth time. “It was never my intention. It’s just that between work and Chase and things I kinda got distracted.”
“You have to keep your eye on the ball,” said Pussy. “That’s what Leo taught me. Never take your eye off the ball or the whole thing might fall apart.”
“Words to live by,” Dooley said, putting a piece of sausage into his mouth.
“He also told me never to eat sausage because you never know what they put into those things and the skin is made from the bowels of a dead pig.”
Dooley spat out the piece of sausage.
Pussy laughed. “Just kidding!” she said, then grew serious. “Or am I?”
“Fun times,” said Brutus with a grin.
“I’m going to make up for my sins by taking you all out next weekend,” said Odelia now.
“Out? Where?” I asked.
“To Banner’s Farm,” she said with a smile.
We all yipped. Gabe had put Chateau Leonidas up for sale. He didn’t want to keep on living there since it reminded him too much of the happy times with his partner. The animals who’d inhabited the small zoo had been transferred to Banner’s Farm, where visitors could interact with them, and where kids could attend workshops and even help feed the animals.
“Am I also invited?” asked Pussy timidly.
“Of course,” said Odelia. “It wouldn’t be the same without you, Pussy.”
Gabe was now officially Pussy’s guardian, and together they actually ran the company, with a little help from Odelia, who was able via Skype to relay Pussy’s input to Gabe.
Chris had been relegated to jail, with Tank now spending his days in the care of Chris’s mom, who was a strict disciplinarian, and wasn’t taking any nonsense from the nasty little brute. Leonora was also in jail awaiting trial. Her confession had been headline news, and even though she kept screaming fake news, and claiming the whole thing had been created with Photoshop, there wasn’t a person who believed her. Especially since Helga had decided to come clean and confess what she’d done. It ended a particularly sordid history in the annals of Hampton Cove, one we were all glad to leave behind us.
Odelia straightened and joined the humans at their table.
“I still think we should set up a detective agency,” Gran was saying.
“You mean you and me?” said Odelia.
“Of course you and me, and Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus. Whatever that guy Chris Cross was doing we can do, too. Only much, much better.”
“It’s an idea,” said Chase carefully.
“I like it,” said Tex. “The Pet Detective Agency. PDA.”
They all laughed at that, except Tex, who didn’t get the joke.
“It’s going to attract a lot of attention,” said Marge. “And potentially a lot of negative publicity.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Gran,” said Odelia. “We’ll get a ton of crackpots who are drawn in by the publicity. I think we should continue the way we have, out of the limelight, and keeping things as discreet as we can.”
“I guess so,” said Gran grudgingly.
“You don’t want to subject your cats to that kind of scrutiny,” Uncle Alec said. “It will bring in kidnappers and all kinds of weirdos and nutcases who might try to grab the cats and hang them on their walls as trophies.”
I shivered at the word picture Uncle Alec had painted. Not a pretty one.
“What are trophies, Max?” asked Dooley.
“The heads of animals that hunters like to collect so they can show off to their friends how good they are at murdering animals.”
Now Dooley shivered, too. “How terrible!”
How terrible, indeed.
“You know, I can’t thank you guys enough,” said Gabe. “If not for you, I’d still be in prison and the company would have probably been run into the ground by Leonora.”
“Yeah, she was misguided when she thought she would do a better job than you and Leo,” said Odelia.
“Sadly she was misinformed,” said Gabe. “Apparently some of the shareholders had been feeding her the wrong kind of information for years, and she truly believed that Leo and I were destroying the company, and the only way to save it was to get rid of Leo and myself.”
“Sad story,” said Marge as she ladled a large helping of potato salad onto the former hair stylist’s plate.
“Yeah, if only I’d known what she was up to,” said Gabe. “I might have been able to stop her.”
“You can’t think that way, Gabe,” said Marge.
“Marge is right,” said Tex. “Thinking like that will drive you nuts.”
Alec clapped the other man on the back, almost making him choke on a piece of potato salad. “I knew you didn’t do it, buddy. Call it a cop’s hunch.”
“You seemed pretty convinced, Alec,” said Chase.
“Oh, in my heart of hearts I knew all along Gabe wasn’t our guy.”
“Good to know!” said Gabe laconically, eliciting a grin from Chase and a frown from Alec.
“So this is the second time our lack of swimming skills has hampered us,” I said.
“Wasn’t Odelia going to teach us how to swim?” asked Brutus.
“She was, but I’m not exactly looking forward to it,” said Harriet. “Imagine this fur, wet. It’s going to be a tragedy.”
“It’s not a joke,” said Pussy when Dooley laughed. “If I get wet my fur soaks up water like a sponge and I turn into a balloon. Drags me right down.”
“Only short-haired cats should swim,” said Brutus. “Like you and me, Dooley.”
“I’m not sure,” said Dooley, not all that keen on becoming a swimmer.
“By the way,” I said, “when are we going to be able to congratulate you two?”
Harriet frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The kittens,” said Dooley, catching my drift. “You were going to adopt.”
Harriet and Brutus shared a quick look, then Harriet shook her head. “We’ve thought about it and we’ve decided to wait.”
“Wait?” asked Dooley. “Wait for what?”
“For later, all right? And now can you please shut up about kittens already?!”
Dooley shut up. I could have told him that Harriet was the kind of cat who, once she got an idea into her head, could drive everyone crazy harping on about it, but just as soon forgot all about it when a new idea entered her head. I had the impression she’d forgotten about those kittens the moment she’d mentioned them, and didn’t enjoy being reminded of her impetuousness.
“I like kittens,” said Pussy dreamily.
“Hey, I like kittens!” said Dooley.
“What a coincidence!” Pussy cried.
“I like kibble,” said Dooley.
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br /> “Me, too!”
The two stared at each other for a moment, then Pussy giggled, and so did Dooley, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he actually blushed beneath his fur.
Oh, dear. This could only mean one thing. Dooley was in love.
“Let’s give these two lovebirds some space, Max,” said Brutus with all the delicacy and diplomacy of an elephant stomping on someone’s toes.
But he was probably right. Still, it was with some reluctance that I followed Harriet and Brutus and left Dooley and Pussy to explore what else they had in common, aside from their self-professed love of kittens and kibble.
And as I walked away I could see the love light shining brightly in Dooley’s eyes.
“Let’s slip next door, snuggle bunny,” said Harriet, on whom young love always had an aphrodisiacal effect.
“Great idea, angel face,” grunted Brutus.
And before I knew what was happening, I suddenly found myself all by myself. And as I wandered into the fallow piece of land lining Odelia’s backyard, I was feeling slightly dejected. If my best friend was going to hook up with the richest cat in the world, what was going to happen to me? And as I aimlessly drifted here and there, I suddenly noticed a pair of cat’s eyes following my every movement. When I looked over, I saw they belonged to a cat I knew very well indeed.
“Hey, Clarice,” I said. “How are things?”
“Things could literally not be better,” she said.
Clarice is a feral cat who likes to live wild and free. She roams the fields and forests surrounding Hampton Cove, and is the best dumpster diver I know. She’s also something of an acquired taste. And she has a standing invitation, extended by Odelia, to consider our house her home.
“Care for a piece of succulent meat?” I asked.
“Is Tex manning the grill?”
“No. They hired a caterer.”
“Then I don’t mind if I do,” she said, and followed me into the backyard.
She watched as Dooley and Pussy got cozy, and clicked her tongue. “Young love,” she said. “It disgusts me.”
I laughed. “Most people wouldn’t agree with that particular view.”