by Nic Saint
“What? I loved that song,” said Chase.
“I had you pegged as a country and western kind of guy. Not a JPG fan.”
“Hey, I was young once.”
“Hard to imagine,” she muttered. She saw that her uncle was checking the glass vials on the poolside table. “What do you think those are?”
“If I had to venture a guess I’d say GHB,” he said.
“Liquid G? The date rape drug?”
He nodded. “It’s supposed to supply a great high. Used by ravers.”
She imagined her uncle saw these drugs all the time during the summer, when teenagers descended upon the Hamptons in droves to party all night.
Chase walked over and eyed the vials closely. He put on plastic evidence gloves and carefully picked one up and sniffed it. “You could be right, Chief.”
Uncle Alec nodded. “It’s no secret that JPG was a heavy user of the stuff. It’s been rumored for years he got his stash of GHB right here in town, but I’ve never been able to pinpoint who exactly his dealer was.”
“If it is Liquid G,” said Chase, “it might be what killed him.”
More people arrived now, and Odelia recognized one of them as the medical examiner, a scruffy-looking paunchy man with electric gray hair. Under his instructions they carefully dragged the body of the late singer to the side, then hoisted him up out of the water and placed him on a plastic tarp. The sight was disconcerting to say the least, and Odelia uttered an involuntary gasp. She hadn’t seen any pictures of the singer in years, and since he was completely naked, she now got to see all of him and it wasn’t flattering. The man was bloated, and it wasn’t because he’d been in the water all night either, she guessed. JPG had obviously let himself go, and looked nothing like his trim and sexy self. Of course that had been thirty years ago.
The medical examiner quickly and expertly checked the body, while Chase and Uncle Alec went over the crime scene, along with the other officers. Odelia, meanwhile, stood back. She might be there in a non-official capacity because her uncle allowed it, but that didn’t mean she could actively participate in the investigation.
“Did you check the boyfriend at the gate?” she asked when Uncle Alec wandered over.
“Yes, we did. Apparently they had some kind of a fight last night, and he drove off, only to return and spend the night in his car. From what I can tell, it wasn’t the first time. There have been complaints from neighbors about screaming fights the last couple of months. They were not a happy couple.”
“Poor guy. He had to sit back and watch his boyfriend invite over these…” She gestured at the bottles of champagne and the vials. “Friends.”
“Male escorts is the word,” said Uncle Alec. “You don’t have to pay friends to have sex and party all night. You have to pay these guys, though.”
“Kinda sad for a man like JPG to lead a life like this, don’t you think?”
“Yes, well, if this was the life he chose, that was entirely his business,” said the Chief, who believed in the age-old adage of live and let live, as long you didn’t hurt others. It was a credo that helped him cope with the celebrities that lived in these beachfront properties, and sometimes liked to do stuff that no clean-living, well-meaning Hampton Covian would.
“What do you think happened?” she asked now.
He scratched his scalp. “I think Johnny had himself a great party here last night, lots of booze and dope, he overdosed and drowned.”
“So you think it was an accident?”
He raised his eyebrows, and wandered over to the coroner. “Abe?”
“Well, he didn’t drown, that’s for certain,” said the coroner.
Both Odelia and her uncle looked at him in surprise.
“No water in the lungs as far as I can tell,” the coroner explained. “Though I’ll have to get him on my slab to know for sure.”
“Overdose?” the chief asked.
The coroner looked up at them from his position next to the body. “If it was an overdose it wasn’t from GHB, if that’s what you’re thinking. This man died of a seizure of some kind. But like I said, I’ll know more later on.”
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 dil
ated, 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.”
Chapter 4
While Odelia and Chase were otherwise engaged, Dooley and I hadn’t given up on our mission to talk to George, JPG’s First Cat, as the others apparently called him. We followed the ancient feline into an enormous kitchen, all gleaming surfaces and expansive kitchen block, and watched him waddle up to a nice row of bowls, all lined up against the window like soldiers on parade. There was a bowl for each cat in Johnny’s menagerie, and they were jumbo-sized and filled to the brim. Whatever his faults, the man certainly knew how to take care of his felines. Eagerly, we approached the bowls. It wasn’t kibble, like we got at home. It was something much better. Something squishy and tender. Something that smelled a lot like…
“Pâté!” Dooley cried enthusiastically. “I love John Paul George!”
I felt a strong urge to dig in and take what wasn’t necessarily mine, but Odelia had raised me better than that. I would have liked to say the same thing about Dooley, but unfortunately I was wrong. The moment I turned my back, I heard distinct gobbling sounds, and when I looked back at my partner, I saw he was eagerly digging into a bowl that wasn’t his. According to the name printed on the bowl in gold lettering, it belonged to Princess.
“Dooley!” I hissed.
“Wha?” he mumbled between two bites.
“You can’t do that!”
“Oh, God, this is so good,” he muttered, and simply kept on eating.
Shaking my head at so much foolishness, I trotted over to the far end of the long line of bowls, and joined George, who’d plunked down in front of his own bowl, and was feasting on his own portion with leisurely licks of his pink tongue. As the resident Methuselah, George was easily twice my size, and I’m not a small cat myself. His own bowl, aptly labeled ‘George,’ was also bigger than the others, and the one closest to the fridge. It was obvious that George was the primus inter pares in this small feline community.
I cleared my throat to announce my arrival. George looked up lazily, gave me a quick scrutiny, then dug his face into his bowl again and gobbled on.
“Hi, there,” I said, as chipper as I could muster. It’s hard to be cheerful when everyone is eating pâté and you’re the only one left out, due to some personal moral code that I was now seriously starting to question.
This time he looked up long enough to utter a few words. He sounded like The Godfather, speaking as if he had cotton balls in his mouth. “And who are you then, brother?”
“The name is Max. I’m with Odelia Poole? She’s the one who found…”
He shook his head, his chins quivering. “Sad state of affairs. Very sad.”
“So you heard?”
“I did more than that. I actually saw how he died.”
Bingo! “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.
“Thanks.” He heaved a rattling sigh and plunked down on his haunches. “It’s a sad day for all of us here at Xanadu.”
“Xanadu?”
“That’s how Johnny called this place. He was a big Olivia Newton-John fan. And Gene Kelly, of course.”
The reference completely went over my head, but then I wasn’t as old as George, of course. “So what happened? How did he die?” I asked.
“Too much happy juice,” he said, producing a tiny burp.
“Happy juice?”
“Oh, did he love the stuff. Took it all the time. I think it’s safe to say he couldn’t live without it, much to Jasper’s chagrin. He hated the stuff.”
“So too much happy juice, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s like catnip to us cats, but for humans, and, unlike catnip, it’s odorless. I should know. I once took a sniff of the stuff. No smell at all.”
My mind flashed back to the vials. Of course. Happy juice. It must be the stuff that was in those vials. Some kind of drug, apparently.
“What a meal,” sighed Dooley, sauntering over, still licking his lips.
I took one look at Princess’s bowl and saw that Dooley had eaten the lot. Uh-oh. If Princess discovered her bowl empty, there
would be hell to pay.
“So you think Johnny drank too much happy juice and that’s how he died?” I asked, the exact order of events still a little fuzzy.
George nodded. “Like I said, I saw the whole thing. He was taking a breather after doing the horizontal mambo with one of those young hounds.”
I wondered why a human would dance the mambo with a dog, but then stranger things have happened, so I let it slide. “And then what happened?”
“Well, the whippersnapper decided to go to bed and Johnny said he’d join him in just a minute. And that’s when he took another one of his happy juice potions. He needed those to keep up with the young ‘uns, see?” The recollection seemed to affect the big cat powerfully, for suddenly his whiskers started trembling violently. “He knocked back that juice, standing at the edge of the pool, and looking as happy as I’d ever seen him.”
“Hence the name ‘happy juice,’” I supplied.
“Exactly. But then, suddenly, he gasped and clutched for his heart.”
“And then what happened?” asked Dooley, his own eyes also widening.
George shrugged. “He stiffened and pitched over into the pool.”
“That must have been a real shock,” said Dooley, hanging on the big cat’s every word.
“You can bet your whiskers it was. And I would have gone in after him, but I can’t swim. And I hate water. So I started screaming for help, but no one ever came. And that’s when I knew Johnny was a goner.”
“He drank his final happy juice,” Dooley supplied, quite unnecessarily.
George sighed. “Yes, he certainly did.”
“What about the boyfriend?” I asked. “Was he there when it happened?”
I already knew the answer to that one, of course, but it never hurt to double-check with an actual eyewitness.
“No, Jasper left in a huff after he made a fuss about the happy juice. And about those young hounds Johnny insisted on having over night after night.”
I could definitely relate. I didn’t like young hounds either, or any kind of hounds, for that matter. Dumb mutts. What surprised me was that I hadn’t seen a trace of these young hounds anywhere. Looked like they’d all fled.