Purrfect Revenge

by Nic Saint

  “Hey, this is way cool,” said Dooley.

  “Yeah, like a playhouse for grownups.”

  As we neared the end, the voices became louder, and we saw that we’d arrived at the Spa & Wellness Center. The glass door was a little steamed up, and I pushed it open with my paw. We found ourselves in a darkened space, wall sconces casting a dim light, soft new age music providing a meditative atmosphere. Two men were face down on massage tables while two young ladies in white uniforms worked out the kinks in their shoulders and backs.

  “Now this is what I’m talking about,” I said. “This is the life.”

  “Being kneaded like a hunk of dough? We’re cats, Max, not bread.”

  “It’s a massage parlor,” I said. “This is where they massage your muscles until they’re smooth and flexible.”

  “My muscles are always smooth and flexible.”

  I glanced at the skinny ragamuffin. “That’s because you don’t have any.”

  “That’s not possible, Max,” he said. “Without muscles my skeleton would simply collapse.”

  I keep forgetting that Dooley also watches the Discovery Channel. And it seems that from time to time he even manages to pay attention.

  We ambled over to take a closer look, and I saw that both men had their heads stuffed into some kind of leather donut attached to the table. But even though their faces looked all scrunched-up and funny, they still managed to keep up a conversation. I now recognized them as Dion Dread, Shayonne’s husband, and Alejandro Salanova, the director of the Kenspeckles show. Neither man paid any attention to us, as usual. They were too busy talking.

  “So it’s a done deal, then?” asked Dion.

  “I still have to run it by the network,” said Alejandro.

  “But that’s just a formality, right? As long as the producer’s on board, the network is bound to give us the go-ahead.”

  “Yeah, I think it’s a cinch. We’ve never done a show like this before. What happens after you’ve been dumped by a Kenspeckle. It’s bound to be a hit.”

  “I haven’t been dumped,” Dion protested. “Shayonne and I parted ways amicably. Irreconcilable differences and all of that stuff.”

  “You can’t bullshit me, Dion. I was there when you had your big showdown with Shayonne, remember? Too bad the cameras weren’t rolling, or we wouldn’t have to reshoot those scenes. And at such a bad time, too.”

  “Great time, you mean. All the attention is going to be on us now, with Shana’s body being found and the police sniffing around for the killer.”

  “Well, that’s one way of looking at it, I guess.”

  “Always look for the silver lining, Alejandro. That’s my motto.” He tried to grin, but it was hard with his face squeezed into that funny-looking donut.

  I shared a look with Dooley. So Dion was getting his own show. That wasn’t going to sit well with the Kenspeckles. The only reason he’d risen to fame was because he’d married into the family. Now he was going to try and monetize that fame by establishing his own brand. I could see that this entire breakup with Shayonne and the murder of Shana was going to be benefiting him. If that wasn’t enough motive for murder I didn’t know what was.

  “We have to tell Odelia,” I told Dooley.

  “Tell her what? That two guys are getting a massage in the basement?”

  “That Dion is getting his own show. I’ll bet it’s a big secret.”

  “So? Getting his own show doesn’t make him a murderer, does it?”

  “It sure does. He could have set this all up to launch his new show.”

  Dooley gave me a worried look. “That sounds pretty far-fetched, Max.”

  “No more far-fetched than a giant killer dog biting people’s heads off.”

  He laughed, and then I laughed, and then we both laughed up a storm. It’s fun to laugh at a bully, at least when he’s not around. Until he is.

  “Laugh all you want, bozos,” a gruff voice suddenly announced.

  When we whirled around, we saw Brutus right behind us, looking pissed.

  I gulped a little. “And? Any luck finding your vicious killer dog?”

  Next to me, Dooley tried to suppress a giggle, but failed miserably.

  Brutus fixed us with his best scowl. “I didn’t find a killer dog, but I did just overhear a very interesting conversation. A conversation that will interest Odelia a lot.”

  “Hey. We heard it first,” I said, alarmed.

  “Yeah, and we’re going to tell Odelia,” Dooley added.

  Brutus gave us an evil grin. “Not if I tell her first, you’re not.”

  And then he slammed the door to the Spa & Wellness Center in our faces.

  Chapter 12

  The interview concluded, Odelia and Chase crossed the lawn back to the house. They’d briefly talked to the cameraman. His name was Burr Newberry and he’d been out partying all night. He met a nice girl in a beach bar and they’d spent the night together. Since Odelia happened to know the girl, she’d called her and she’d confirmed Burr’s alibi. He was in the clear.

  Shayonne and Shalonda had decided to go for a walk along the beach to clear their heads, though judging from the fact they’d asked Burr to tag along with his camera, not much head-clearing was going to get done. It made Odelia wonder if there was any part of the girls’ lives that wasn’t an act.

  “I don’t understand how people can live like that,” she said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like this,” she exclaimed, gesturing at the house and the grounds.

  “In blatant luxury? I think it’s pretty sweet,” Chase said with a grin.

  “You know what I mean. To live your whole life in the public eye.”

  “I’m sure those cameras aren’t always rolling, and the sisters aren’t always on. They’re actors, and this is their show. Once the shoot is over, they go back to their regular lives. Driving their hundred-thousand-dollar cars, wearing their hundred-thousand-dollar dresses and sleeping on their hundred-thousand-dollar mattresses. You know, just like the rest of us.”

  “I still think it’s weird.”

  “I actually think you’d be perfect for a reality show. You and your family.”

  “Me? We’re pretty much the most boring family in the world.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. A reporter who just happens to be a sleuth? A mother who singlehandedly teaches Hampton Cove kids the love of reading? A doctor who’s the best physician in town—and a great guy to boot. An ace police chief for an uncle. And a grandmother who’s…” He grimaced. “Well, I’ll admit she’s a little out there.”

  “And don’t forget Max, Dooley and Harriet. They’d be a big hit, too.”

  He stared down at her ‘Crazy Cat Lady’ shirt. “I bet they would.”

  “So what about you? The top detective allowing a small town to take advantage of his detecting talents? Now that’s the kind of story that inspires.”

  “You know what? We should do a show together, Poole.”

  “Now there’s an idea.” A special of Say Yes to the Dress. She could be the bride and he could be the groom. A hot flush lit up her cheeks. Jiminy Christmas. What was wrong with her? “So who’s next on your list?”

  “I thought first we’d do Dion and Damien, then focus on the TV crew.”

  “We should also check into Robin Masters, Shana’s ex-boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, I’ll look into that.”

  They found Damien upstairs, in his recording studio. As many of Merl Berkenstein’s clients were recording artists, they liked to have a studio on the premises in case they suddenly got inspired and decided to record a song. The studio occupied half of the second floor, a private movie theater the rest.

  They took a seat at the mixing console while Damien, headphones perched on his head, was bleating into a sizable microphone inside the vocal booth. He was a shortish guy in his middle thirties, with a smoothly shaved head, a ginger goatee and his trademark sunglasses he could never be seen without. His voice, blasting
through the speakers in the control room, sounded remarkably anemic without the background music giving it some oomph. He also sounded pretty pitchy. Nothing that Auto-Tune couldn’t fix though.

  “Is it just me or is he singing awfully out of tune?” asked Chase.

  “It’s not just you. Damien isn’t exactly the world’s most gifted vocalist.”

  “I’ll say. My cat sings better than this guy.” Damien squeaked some more and Chase shook his head. “Give me Garth Brooks any day over that clown.”

  She was surprised. “You’re a country and western fan?”

  “Yes, I am. At least those guys can sing. And write a decent song.”

  “Don’t tell him that. Or the interview will be over before it’s started.”

  He leaned in. “That’s the beauty of being a cop. You can ask whatever the hell you want, and they have to answer, whether they like it or not.”

  He was right. As a reporter she was always treading a fine line, especially with these big ego stars. Cops didn’t have to worry about that. In fact it was probably good tactics to rattle a suspect’s cage a little. Get them to confess.

  “I’m starting to like this police stuff,” she said. “It beats being a reporter.”

  “Oh? And why’s that?”

  “Well, I get to ask all the tough questions and I don’t have to worry about the interviewee walking out on me or threatening with a defamation suit.”

  Chase grinned. “We’ll make a cop out of you yet, Poole.”

  A sudden thrill of happiness shot through her. It actually felt pretty great to be partnered with Chase. They made a great team. Like Cagney and Lacey. Okay, so maybe they were more like Lady and the Tramp. She could imagine sharing a plate of spaghetti with Chase. Or some meatballs.

  Damien had finished recording his new song, if that’s what it was, and exited the soundproof booth. The door made a soft hissing sound as he did.

  “Mind if we ask you a few questions, Mr. LeWood?” asked Chase.

  “That was one of my best takes yet. Did you appreciate the exclusive?”

  “Oh, yes, Damien,” said Odelia. “That was… just great.”

  “The track’s going to be on my next album. I’m dedicating it to Shana.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d record a song for her while I’m still feeling the pain, you know. Throw all my agony into that one song. Make it count.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” she said blithely. No, she didn’t.

  “Fire away, detectives,” said Damien, straddling the mixing console.

  “Oh, but I’m not a detective,” said Odelia.

  “She’s a consultant, which amounts to the same thing,” Chase said.

  Damien spread his arms. “Like I said, fire away. I’m an open book.”

  “Is it true you and Mrs. Kenspeckle were facing some marital issues?”

  She saw what Chase meant by not having to tread lightly. As a reporter this type of question would have been on the publicist’s list of taboo topics.

  Damien nodded. “It’s not a great secret Shana and I were seeing a marriage counselor. It was on season seven, and again on season nine. And front and center in the new season. You a fan of the show, Detective?”

  “Can’t say that I am,” Chase confessed.

  “Too bad. There’s a lot you could pick up. As a cop, I mean. It’s all about the human condition and the different ways living in close proximity with other human beings can affect you as a person. A fascinating experiment.”

  “I’m sure it is. So what about those marriage problems? We spoke to your sisters-in-law and they told us Shana was having an affair with Dion Dread?”

  Damien’s lips tightened. “That scumbag. Bagging one Kenspeckle wasn’t enough for him, he had to bag two. But we were getting over that. She was finished with Dion, and we were working hard to resolve our issues.” He played with his wedding ring, an ornate gold band with a gigantic rock. “We were fighting for our marriage, and I can tell you that we were winning.”

  “What about you, Mr. LeWood? Any affairs we should know about?”

  There was a flash of anger in the singer’s eyes, but it quickly disappeared. “I can assure you there are no skeletons in my closet. I was devoted to my wife and my marriage. I’m a family man, and I was dying to start a family.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would hurt your wife?” asked Odelia.

  He shook his head. “Shana was the sweetest, loveliest person in the world. She was loved by everyone. I can’t think of anyone who’d hurt her.”

  “She must have made some enemies over the years,” said Chase. “People she rubbed the wrong way. You don’t get to her level of success without stepping on a few toes along the way.”

  The singer fixed Chase with an intent look. “There will always be haters, Detective, but we were keeping them far away from us. It’s important to keep negativity at bay. To focus on the positive. We shielded ourselves from all of that negative energy and didn’t allow it inside this bubble we’d created.” He gestured around himself. “We created our own reality, and anyone who tried to tear us down was placed firmly outside of the bubble. It’s a simple matter of choice. And we chose life and happiness. That’s all I can say about that.”

  He had a lot more to say, but nothing that shed any light on the murder of his wife. When Damien offered to play his song again, so they ‘could look deeply into his soul, and find the purity within,’ they kindly declined.

  The interview over, Odelia’s impression was that Damien LeWood was a nutcase. Still, he didn’t seem dangerous, and she couldn’t imagine him killing his wife. He might be a little weird, but he came across as a devoted husband.

  As she and Chase descended the stairs, he said, “Oh, I got a text from the coroner. Turns out we were right. The killer did drug everyone in the house.”

  “So both sisters, Dion, Damien…”

  "And Shana. The film crew was fine."

  She thought about this. It provided all the Kenspeckles with an alibi. Unless… “The killer could have drugged himself, then disposed of the chloroform in the morning.”

  “Good thinking, Poole. You’re right. This doesn’t mean anything.”

  They’d arrived on the ground floor, and decided to check Dion’s room, to see if he was holed up in there. He was next in line for an interview.

  Very conveniently, all the rooms sported a hand-painted sign indicating whose room it was. The signs were all inspired by Disney movies. Shana and Damien were Cinderella and the Prince. Dion and Shayonne were Belle and the Beast from Beauty and the Beast, their faces nicely rendered by the artist.

  “I wonder if they change these out every time someone rents this place,” said Odelia, as she let her fingers trail across the sign. It had been enameled.

  “I hope they do. I wouldn’t want to sleep in a room with that on the door,” Chase grunted, pointing at the portrait of Dion Dread as the Beast.

  An image of her and Chase’s faces superimposed over the portrait flashed before her eye. She’d be Belle, of course, and he’d be the Beast. Yum.

  She made to knock, but Chase simply pushed open the door. “Another benefit of being a cop,” he said. “You can just barge in and nobody minds.”

  Well, that remained to be seen.

  “Hampton Cove PD,” he announced. “We would like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Dread.”

  Dion Dread stood in the middle of the room, completely naked, droplets of water clinging to his body. It was obvious he’d just stepped out of the shower. He didn’t seem to mind being caught au naturel. “Oh, hi, detectives. Come on in. Excuse the state of undress. I’m a big fan of air-drying.”

  Chase’s jaw tightened. It was obvious he wasn’t a big fan of Dion. “What can you tell us about your affair with Shana Kenspeckle, Mr. Dread?”

  Dion languidly reached over, picked up a towel from the bed and draped it around his waist. He was built like an athlete, with sculpted muscles and great abs. He also had enough tattoos to
keep a tattoo artist on a retainer.

  “That was all ancient history, Detective. Shana had decided to end the affair and come clean to her husband and her sister, which she recently did.”

  “And how did you feel about that?” asked Odelia.

  Dion walked to the window and gazed out, looking thoughtful. “I wasn’t happy about it, I can tell you that. I liked Shana. She was very sweet and sexy. Her sudden conscience issues placed me in a very awkward position.”

  “Did she confide in you before she came clean to her husband and sister?”

  “No, she did not. One day we were an item, the next I was confronted by my wife and told she was getting a divorce. You can imagine how I felt.”

  “I can imagine you were furious,” said Chase. “A divorce meant the end of your cushy life as a Kenspeckle.”

  Dion turned and smiled. Backlit by the sun, he looked like a Greek god. Before becoming a reality star, he'd been a swimmer, winning multiple Olympic medals. "Look, I won't lie to you, Detective. I was extremely upset. On the other hand, the whole affair led Shayonne and me to do a lot of soul-searching. After the first shock had worn off, she agreed with me that our marriage the last couple of months had been a sham. Shayonne had been, shall we say, sexually unavailable to me for a long time, due to some personal issues she was facing." He shrugged. "Hey, I'm a guy. I have a guy's needs. When I couldn't satisfy those needs with my wife, I went looking elsewhere."

  Yeah, this guy was a real prince, Odelia thought.

  “And your wife was okay with that?” asked Chase gruffly.

  “No, she wasn’t okay with it, but she understood. Coming out here was a blessing. We spent the last couple of nights taking long walks along the beach, and talked like we hadn’t talked in a very long time. I like to think that we rediscovered the spark that had been extinguished through disuse.”

  “And how did Shana feel about you remaining a part of the family?”

  “She was fine with it. Like I said, she was a very sweet person.”

  “Wasn’t it uncomfortable for her? To see her former lover all the time?”

  “Before we were lovers we were friends. So we went straight back to being friends. I loved Shana a lot. I would never harm her. Or kill her.”