“Sorry,” my enemy was saying. “I’m a bit tense at the moment. But … but hi, babe. It’s good to see you.”
The door closed. Then came the sound of what I believe is called a smooch. Not a long one.
After that the woman said, “No need to be so tense, Marlon. Everything’s going as planned.”
Marlon. Aha. My enemy had a name. I heard him take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re so good for me. You calm me down.”
“The only thing I don’t understand is how you got Cuthbert to cooperate,” she said.
“I told you—I paid him off.”
“I know. It’s just that he’s so loyal to her.”
“Loyal or not, Cuthbert’s gone away on a well-earned vacation,” said Marlon. “Everyone has a price—a tired old saying but it happens to be true.”
“Oh?” said the woman. “What’s yours?”
Marlon’s voice got a bit prickly. In fact, there was always prickliness in it, sometimes well hidden, sometimes not. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said.
“Just what it says—what’s your price?”
“Know something? You’re a hard woman.”
“That’s what you love about me,” she said.
He laughed, a short, barking sort of laugh. The barking part didn’t resemble Arthur’s bark. It was much harsher. Arthur’s bark isn’t harsh at all. I came quite close to having a positive thought about him.
“There’s more to it than that,” Marlon said.
“I look forward to hearing the whole list,” said the woman. “But right now we need to … get our guest ready.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I told you—Dr. Park isn’t satisfied with the photo. The gold tip is the whole point, the diamond in the mine. That’s what he’s paying for.”
“What are you saying?” Marlon said.
“We’re FaceTiming him tonight at ten—you, me, and the diamond in the mine.”
“But … but that could be trackable.”
“Trackable?”
“In an investigation.”
“Buck up, Marlon. There isn’t going to be any investigation. We’re talking about a missing cat.”
“It’s way more than that.”
“But that’s what it boils down to. A two- or three-day story and then everyone moves on. Unless … unless there’s something I don’t know.”
“Like what?” said Marlon.
“You tell me.”
“I have no secrets from you, babe.”
“Then let’s get started,” the woman said.
“Doing what?” said Marlon.
“Restoring that gold-tipped tail to its natural state.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“Here—I’ve brought supplies. I’ll hold our little friend while you remove that paint.”
“Our little friend, as you put it, is not so easy to hold. She’s got a nasty streak—which I hope isn’t in her DNA, by the way.”
“Dr. Park doesn’t care about her temperament. He cares about that tail, period.”
“Fine, but I’m not going to let you hold her,” Marlon said. “I’ll handle it myself.”
“How?”
“Mild sedation.”
“We don’t want her looking all droopy during the call.”
“Why not, if all that matters is the tail?”
There was a long pause. What was mild sedation? I had no idea, but I didn’t like the sound of it. But I did know one thing: Their nasty little friend would be extra nasty to them if only she got the chance.
At last the woman spoke. “Are we fighting?”
“Of course not. I just don’t want you to get scratched again, that’s all. I care about you—isn’t that obvious by now?”
“Because you’ve given up your share of the business for me?” she said.
“No! First of all, that fight is far from over. And with the money we’ve got coming from Dr. Park I’ll be able to keep fighting till Randa Bea says uncle. We’re going to end up with the business, you and I.”
Another silence. When the woman spoke again, her voice had softened. “I like the way you think,” she said. “Mild sedation it is. See you tonight.”
Then came another smooch. The door opened and closed. I heard the woman’s footsteps crunching on gravel, getting fainter and fainter. A car started up and drove away. Inside this house, or whatever it was, Marlon groaned, like he was very worried about something. I didn’t mind hearing that at all.
After that, still feeling more like myself, I explored my whole closet, top to bottom. There was no way out. I gazed at the tip of my tail and had some deep thoughts.
NO ONE WAS HAPPY AT THE BLACKBERRY Hill Inn. Well, the guests seemed happy, although maybe not Mr. Ware in the Daffodil Room. Come to think of it, was he still here? It’s hard to keep up with all the comings and goings. And also not my job, which was to … to …
What was my job? Making sure I ate all my kibble—that was part of it. And not just kibble. Eating all the food that came my way was also part of my job. I’d always tried my hardest when it came to leaving nothing in my bowl, even licking it clean every single time. What a hard worker I was!
But was that my whole job? As I went upstairs to check out the Daffodil Room, I thought and thought. What’s your job, Arthur?
The answer still had not come to me when I arrived at the door with the painted daffodil on the front. I stuck my nose right into the crack under the door. Mr. Ware’s scent was in the air, but not in the way it would have been if he’d been inside. Please don’t ask me to explain this. You don’t have the nose to understand.
I went downstairs, sipped from my water bowl in the kitchen, found a scrap on the floor by the counter where Bertha does her chopping—a good spot for scrap hunting if you’re into that sort of thing, which I am. But it turned out to be onion skin, so I gave it a pass, took another sip from the water bowl, and was considering lying down by the big fridge, the coolest part of the kitchen, when I realized I was feeling a bit lonesome. I wandered into the front hall, and there was Mom at the desk and Harmony watering the tall plant that stood by the door.
I was so happy to see them! In fact, was kind of out of my mind. I ran up to Mom, so busy writing in the big book—called the guest book if I had things right—that she didn’t seem to notice me. No problem! I ran over to Harmony, who turned out to be so busy watering the plant that she didn’t notice me, either. Both of them had faraway looks in their eyes. Why would that be? I had no idea. But all at once I understood my job. It was to keep on running between them, faster and faster and faster and—
“Arthur!” said Harmony. “What’s with you?”
Mom looked up. “I think he’s reliving his moment of glory.”
My moment of glory? I was a bit confused. And then it hit me: the Frisbee contest! I won, I won, I won! I started racing around and around the front hall. Me, Arthur, the winner!
Mom started laughing, and Harmony, too. Then came something unexpected. Harmony’s laughter turned to tears. Mom hurried over, drew Harmony into her arms.
“It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.”
“We don’t know that, Mom. Something terrible is going on.”
Mom opened her mouth to say something, maybe even something that would put me in the picture, but she never got to say it because that was when the front door opened. In walked a man in uniform.
He glanced around, saw Mom and Harmony, and took off his hat. They didn’t see him. Was this a good time to bark? I was wondering about that when the uniformed man cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me.”
There are a lot of human voices in this world, some more pleasant than others. This dude’s voice was the most pleasant adult voice I’d ever heard—next to Mom’s, of course. Kids’ voices are the best, in my opinion. But back to the voice of this uniformed dude. How to describe it? Strong? Friendly? Polite? Cheerful? Yes, all those things
and more, but I got stuck on cheerful. Whoever he was, the man in our front hall was enjoying life.
Mom and Harmony turned to him. They separated, Harmony wiping away her tears. I barked, maybe a little late in the game.
The uniformed man shot me a real quick look. He had a brief flash of something like amusement in his eyes, but it was gone by the time he turned back to them.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I’m looking for Yvette Reddy.”
“That’s me,” Mom said. “This is my daughter, Harmony.”
“Nice to meet you. My name’s McKnight—Vern McKnight.” He smiled. “I’m the new sheriff in town.”
“I heard we had a new sheriff,” said Mom. “I didn’t realize you’d started already.”
“Today is day one,” said Sheriff McKnight. “I was hoping—foolishly—to ease into it, but that doesn’t seem to be happening.”
“Can I help you in some way?” Mom said.
“I got your name from Randa Bea Pruitt,” the sheriff said. “She filed a report with us that a clown who worked for her over at the fair has gone missing. Cuthbert’s his name—his legal name, first and last, which is all Ms. Pruitt has ever known him by. From what she told me, he was last seen taking photos at a cat beauty contest run by the fair, a contest won by your cat …” He flipped open a notebook. “Queenie—have I got the name right?”
“Yes,” said Mom.
“And Queenie’s missing, too!” said Harmony.
“Ms. Pruitt mentioned that,” the sheriff said. “Which I was sorry to hear. Who knows the kind of anxiety that must be in a cat’s mind at a time like this?”
Mom’s eyes shifted slightly. When they returned to the sheriff, they had a different look, the look Mom has when she’s paying full attention.
“Ms. Pruitt also said something about cats being switched,” the sheriff went on. “Can you fill me in on that part?”
That question started up a long and very complicated back-and-forth. It was all about Queenie, Princess, that Edna woman, Cuthbert, Pamela Vance, gold paint on a white tail, and a bunch of stuff I already knew. But I hadn’t known it like this! I suddenly understood the whole story. And to prove that to myself I decided to go over it all in my mind, from beginning to end. So, here goes!
Um.
Funny. The story didn’t seem to be unreeling. One icy morning Mom’s car wouldn’t start. This was like that, just before she got to work with the jumper cables. Would jumper cables be good for cranking up my brain? I backed quickly away from that idea. Jumper cables had these sharp grippers on the ends, called alligator clips, if I’d heard Mom right. I’d seen alligators on Animal Planet, Elrod’s favorite TV channel. I didn’t want anything alligatorish anywhere near my brain.
Meanwhile, Sheriff McKnight was saying, “Have you got a photo of Queenie?”
“Oh, lots,” said Harmony. “I’ll get them.” She took off, through the doorway that led to the family quarters. I heard her running up the stairs, making the very distinctive sound that two-stairs-at-a-time running makes. With my newfound speed I could have zipped right by her, taking those stairs even three or four at a time. The thought alone made me feel very good about myself.
That left me, Mom, and Sheriff McKnight in the front hall. It was one of those moments where you expect a human to say something, but neither of them did. Instead Mom went over to the plant Harmony had been watering, picked up the watering can, and put it back down in a slightly different position. Sheriff McKnight looked all around the front hall, then did it again. Were they both behaving a bit strangely? I thought so, but couldn’t have said how or why or any of those other explaining things.
And then, after this strange silence, they both started speaking at once.
Sheriff McKnight said, “Nice place you’ve—”
Mom said, “Where were you working before—”
They both stopped speaking at the same time, and both laughed uncomfortable little laughs.
“Go ahead,” Mom said.
“You first,” said the sheriff.
Good grief. This was going nowhere, so it was a real relief when Harmony came running in with her phone.
“Here’s a whole photo gallery I put together on Queenie.” The three of them gathered at the desk, Mom looking over one of Harmony’s shoulders and Sheriff McKnight over the other.
The sheriff’s mouth opened. Now would come, “Oh, what a beauty,” or “I’ve never seen such a good-looking kitty cat,” or some other irritating remark. But no. Instead the sheriff said, “That’s a pretty distinctive tail. The … what would you call it?”
“Tuft,” said Mom.
“Yes,” the sheriff said. “That tuft at the end—same color as her eyes. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He glanced at Harmony. “When was the last time you had Queenie in your possession?”
“It was just after she won the contest,” Harmony said.
“Where were you, exactly?” Sheriff McKnight said. “Could you draw me a diagram?”
Harmony nodded. Mom opened a drawer, took out a sheet of paper, laid it on the desk. Harmony picked up a pencil.
“Here’s the circle of stools where the cats were. We followed the judge, that lady from the cat magazine—”
“Pamela Vance?” said the sheriff.
“Yeah. She led us over to the photo booth, right here. It had a black curtain, like so.” The tip of the pencil made real quick movements on the paper. “Then Edna handed Princess to Pamela Vance, and I gave her Queenie. Cuthbert came through the curtain with a sort of plastic box and Ms. Vance put the two cats in it. Cuthbert took the box and went back inside for the picture taking. The curtain closed.”
“And then?” said the sheriff.
“Ms. Vance took us over to the snack bar, right about here. She gave us some coupons.”
“Us being?”
“Me, Edna, and my brother, Bro.”
I wasn’t following this closely, but whoa! Hadn’t I been there, too? I had a very clear memory of a pretzel morsel coming my way.
“What about Ms. Vance?” the sheriff said.
The pencil started moving again. “She went over to this table here and got busy with her phone. After a while she came over and said she was going to check on how the photo session was going. When she came back, she brought the cats. I put Queenie in the backpack and … but it wasn’t Queenie, was it?” Harmony’s face … hardened. Just for no time at all, but I’d never seen her face like that. “Then we went to watch the Frisbee contest.”
Won by me! I waited for someone to point that out, but no one did.
“How much time went by from when the cats went behind the curtain to when Ms. Vance brought them back?” the sheriff said.
Harmony shook her head. “I’d only be guessing.”
“Guess,” said the sheriff.
“Twelve minutes,” Harmony said.
The sheriff gave Harmony a quick look, very direct. She gave him the same look back.
“How was Queenie behaving when you got her back?” he said.
“She was—well, I don’t know, do I? Because I was paying attention to the cat I thought was Queenie. And she—Princess—seemed sleepy.”
The sheriff motioned to the sheet of paper. “May I take that?”
“Sure,” said Harmony.
He folded the sheet carefully and tucked it in the chest pocket of his uniform shirt.
“How old are you, Harmony?”
“Eleven.”
“I’m not around kids much, but are they all like you these days?”
“In what way?” said Harmony.
The sheriff laughed. “That way, right there. And I mean it as a compliment.”
“Thanks,” said Harmony. “But what’s going on? Are you going to find Queenie?”
Mom’s eyebrows rose, like Harmony had surprised her, but Sheriff McKnight didn’t seem surprised at all. “I promise to give it all I’ve got, Harmony.” He took out his phone. “In the meantime, send me a photo or
two of Queenie.”
“Okay,” said Harmony, and she was turning to her own phone when the door opened and Mr. Ware walked in. By Mr. Ware I mean old Mr. Ware, the slow-moving guy with the wild white hair. But he could move fast, as I knew very well. I’m the type who recalls the details about any human who tried to kick me—an easy thing to do since he was the only one—and there’d been nothing slow about that kick.
Mr. Ware saw us and paused. For a moment I thought he was going to back right out through the doorway, but he did not. Instead he came forward, moving in a creaky old man way. A low sort of growl started up in our front hall.
“Arthur?” Mom said.
I turned to her. When Mom talks, Arthur listens.
“What are you doing?” she said.
Me? Nothing. Except maybe … was that growling mine? It did have a catchy rumble rumble to it. How nice to have a growl like that in your back pocket! What would happen if I amped it up a bit? Couldn’t hurt to try.
“Arthur!”
I put a stop to any possible growling at once.
“Sorry about that, Mr. Ware,” Mom said.
“No problem,” said Mr. Ware, in his old man voice, thinner and shakier than ever. “I’m a big dog lover. Arthur’s going to realize that eventually.”
“Thanks for being so understanding,” Mom said. “Sheriff, this is our guest Mr. Ware. Mr. Ware, meet Sheriff McKnight.”
Mr. Ware shook hands with the sheriff. “Thanks for all you do,” he said, his eyes glittering behind those shaggy brows.
“Haven’t done anything yet,” said the sheriff. “It’s my first day on the job.”
“Then let me wish you the best of luck.” I noticed that Mr. Ware had a Band-Aid on his chin, the kind guys use to cover up shaving cuts. He slowly made his way across the hall and up the stairs to the guest room floor. Sheriff McKnight watched him until he was out of sight.
“Arthur seems like a friendly soul,” he said.
“Oh, yes,” said Harmony.
“So why doesn’t he like Mr. Ware?”
“I have no idea,” Mom said. “He’s a perfectly behaved guest. Quiet, keeps to himself—you wouldn’t even know he’s around.”
The sheriff knelt down to my level, scratched between my ears in the exact way I like. “What’s on your mind, buddy?”
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