by Nic Saint
Both Uncle Alec and Odelia’s eyes flashed to the pile of vials on the table.
The coroner nodded. “I’ll have them examined. See what they contain.”
Chase, who’d been checking around the pool area, returned with two items dangling from his gloved fingers. One was a bright red Mankini, the other looked like a used condom. He gave the chief a grim-faced look. “Plenty more where this came from,” he grunted. “At least five more.”
“Some party,” muttered the Chief. “Why don’t you interview the boyfriend?” he suggested to Chase. “I’ll have a look around the house.” He turned to Odelia. “And you… why don’t you do what you do best?”
She nodded her understanding. Uncle Alec was one of the few people in the world who knew about her ability to talk to cats, and with so many cats on the premises, there was a good chance one of them had seen something.
“And what is that, exactly?” asked Chase. “Snooping around?”
She gave him a thin-lipped smile. “That’s right. I’m an ace snooper.”
He shook his head, and muttered, “Unbelievable.”
It was safe to say he wasn’t a big fan of Uncle Alec’s policy of including his niece in his investigations. But since he wasn’t in charge, there was nothing he could do but grumble.
She passed into the house, in search of the cats, and found about a dozen of them looking glum and occupying couches and every other available surface in the family room. She took a seat to talk to them, but they merely stared at her with their sad eyes, and refused to acknowledge her presence.
Finally, she wandered on, hoping that Max and Dooley had had better luck. The house was just what you’d expect from a famous singer. At first glance, she saw a vintage guitar in a glass display case, and knew it was the guitar that had been on the cover of his first hit record. Huge portraits of the man were everywhere, looking as he did in his prime. This wasn’t the house of a mere mortal, but a genuine star.
She arrived in the hallway, with its sweeping staircase, and wondered where Max and Dooley could be. The house was so big it was easy to get lost. She decided to venture upstairs and see if her cats were there. Ascending the stairs, she was careful not to touch anything, knowing the crime scene people would want to check the entire place for fingerprints.
Arriving on the landing, she saw several doors leading off the central hallway, and wondered how many rooms there could possibly be in this place. Every door sported an enlarged laminated reproduction of one of his album covers. For a moment, she stood poised, wondering where to start. Then, suddenly, she thought she heard a noise. It seemed to be coming from one of the rooms behind her so she turned and walked over. The door was ajar so she gently pushed it open with her elbow, and peered inside.
The first thing she saw was a huge multi-colored cockatoo, staring back at her from its perch in front of the window. So that explained the sound. And as she entered the room, she saw this was probably the master bedroom, as it was easily as large as a single floor of her own house. At the center of the room stood a large heart-shaped bed, with mirrored ceiling, and on this bed, she saw, rested the naked form of a very well-endowed young man.
He was fast asleep, in spite of the mutterings of the cockatoo, but then the large parrot reared up, spread its wings and took flight, screaming, “Come here, pretty boy! Come to Papa! Come to Papa right now, pretty boy!”
The young man suddenly jerked up, caught sight of Odelia, and started screaming, scrambling back against the wall, where a giant portrait of John Paul George had been placed, completely in the nude and looking buff.
“It’s all right!” Odelia yelled, holding up her hands. “I’m a friend!”
But this didn’t seem to console the young man, who looked like a male model, and was absolutely out of it. Probably still high from last night, she guessed, for his pupils were extremely dilated, and he seemed berserk.
He was probably one of last night’s guests, and perhaps the last person to see the singer alive. His screams, meanwhile, carried through the open window and down to the pool area, and already she could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs. Moments later, Chase burst into the room, his eyes flying to the naked man on the bed. Then he caught sight of Odelia and shook his head. “I leave you alone for five minutes…”
The guy, taking a good look at Chase, now stopped screaming. “Hey!” he shouted, suddenly looking disgruntled. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I…” Chase began, but didn’t get the chance to continue.
“Were you with Johnny just now? Don’t you know the rules, man?”
“What rules?” Chase asked with a frown. “What are you talking about?”
“The rules, man! The one selected by Johnny stays.” He then slapped his sculpted chest. “I was selected, buddy. I get to stay. Not you. Me! I’m the one who gets paid the big bucks. So why don’t you get the hell out of here?!”
“Wowowow,” said Chase, finally grasping the man’s meaning.
“He thinks you’re an escort, Chase,” said Odelia helpfully.
“Hey!” cried Chase. “I’m not… No way can you even think that I’m…”
“You’re a pretty boy,” said the escort. “But I’m prettier. Now beat it.”
“Yes, pretty boy Chase,” Odelia said. “You weren’t chosen, so beat it.”
“You, too, lady,” said the escort. “Johnny’s not into bony bitches, or any bitches, for that matter, so get the hell out of here or I’ll tell the agency.”
Now it was Odelia’s turn to glare at the guy. “I’m not bony!”
“You’re practically a stick figure,” said the escort. He was right about one thing, though, and so was the cockatoo. He really was a very pretty boy.
“Look, I’m not an escort, all right?” said Chase. “I’m a cop.”
“That’s great. Who cares? Cops, firemen, construction workers. Johnny’s tastes run the gamut. But this time he chose a college professor. Me!”
“You’re a college professor?” asked Odelia.
The guy planted his hands on his narrow hips. “Don’t I look like a college professor to you?”
“Not like any college professors I’ve ever seen,” she said, remembering her own college days. The professors had all been woolly-headed hobbits. Maybe if they’d looked more like this guy she’d have paid attention.
“I don’t care! I was chosen! Johnny chose me! Me! Me! Me!”
At this point, Chase must have had enough, for he suddenly pulled his gun, and pointed it at the self-declared college professor. “Hands up!”
“Oh, now you’re talking,” said the guy, still pretty hyped-up. “Are you gonna shoot me, cop? Are you going to take a shot at me?! Catch me if you can!”
And with these words, he hopped from the bed and before either Odelia or Chase could stop him, jumped out the window!
They both hurried over and stared down. The naked college professor lay sprawled on what had been JPG’s terrace table, which had collapsed when he’d taken a running leap at it. Two uniformed officers leaned over him.
“Is he dead?” yelled Chase.
One of them looked up. “Nope.”
“Too bad,” grunted Chase, holstering his weapon.
And as both he and Odelia headed down, she said, “You could be an escort, you know, pretty boy.”
He gave her a grin, which was the first time today. “Good to know I’ve got a backup career plan in case my days as a cop are over.” Then he gave her a quick once-over. “And for your information, you’re not bony at all.”
“Thanks,” she said, and felt a blush creep up her cheeks.
Just then, the cockatoo decided to join them. Shouting, “Come here, pretty boy!” he swung down and landed on Chase’s shoulder. “Come to Papa!”
“Christ,” growled Chase. “I hate this case already.”
Start Reading Purrfectly Deadly Now
Also by Nic Saint
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)
The Mysteries of Max
Purrfect Murder
Purrfectly Deadly
Ghosts of London
Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place
Public Ghost Number One
Ghost Save the Queen
Witchy Fingers
Witchy Trouble
Witchy Hexations
Witchy Possessions
Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)
Witchy Riches
Ghosts vs. Spies
The Ghost Who Came in from the Cold
Tate-à-Tate
Enemy of the Tates
Standalone Novels
When in Bruges
Once Upon a Spy
The Whiskered Spy
About Nic
Nic Saint is the pen name for writing couple Nick and Nicole Saint. They’ve penned 50+ 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.
@nicsaintauthor
nicsaintauthor
www.nicsaint.com
Copyright © 2017 by Nic Saint. All rights reserved.
Published by Puss in Print Publications.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, 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.