Purrfect Sparkle

by Nic Saint

  “Well, if you’re going to be a vet you can’t afford to be squeamish, Dad. So get a grip, will you?”

  “I can’t do this,” said Tex, shaking his head.

  “If you think this is bad, try pulling a calf from a cow with your bare hands,” said Odelia.

  Tex gulped at the picture Odelia’s words conjured up. “I guess I had a more romantic view of the life of a vet. Healing sick birds and dealing with roupy chickens. Maybe a colicky collie.”

  “You know what you should do?” said Harriet. “You should ask Vena if you can assist her for a couple of days at the practice. Then you’ll see what it’s really like to be a vet. And if you still like it, then you can decide.”

  Odelia dutifully translated Harriet’s words for the doctor, and Tex nodded. “She’s right—you’re right. You’re all absolutely right!”

  “I feel all right,” I intimated, still on cloud nine after my accomplishment. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but when cats have had a good poo, they feel on top of the world, and that’s how I felt right now.

  “Anyway, we can discuss your future as a vet tonight,” said Odelia. “Right now we need to take this diamond to Uncle Alec, and also tell him to arrest Loretta Gray for trying to steal it.”

  “Maybe you should hold off on that,” I said. I’d been doing some thinking while I was lying in that backyard waiting for a certain stone to pop from a certain orifice, and I’d come to the conclusion that the situation wasn’t as clear-cut as it looked.

  “What do you mean?” said Odelia with a frown.

  So I proceeded to lay out my most recent brainstorm to the small gathering—except for Tex, who’d returned to the bathroom, presumably to wash his face with bleach.

  30

  Vesta was at the General Store doing some last-minute shopping when she saw Scarlett pass by the store, hand in hand with none other than… Johnny Carew. After she’d sufficiently recovered from the shock, she walked out, her bag of groceries in her hand, and accosted her friend. “Scarlett, why don’t you pick up your phone?”

  “Oh, did you call me?” asked Scarlett, looking radiant and clearly enamored with this big lug.

  “Several times.”

  “Well, I’ve been busy,” said Scarlett with a cheeky grin.

  “And I can see who you’ve been busy with,” said Vesta, directing a curious look at Johnny.

  “Hi, Mrs. Muffin,” said the former criminal. “Scarlett and I are in love.”

  “Of course you are,” said Vesta.

  “Ever since we met I’ve had flies in the pit of my stomach,” said Johnny. “I even told Jerry. ‘Jer,’ I said, ‘I have flies in the pit of my stomach,’ I said. And you know what he said?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “He said I’m crazy, and he’s right, I am crazy—crazy about this lady!”

  He placed a large arm around Scarlett’s shoulders, and the latter gave Vesta a wink, which Vesta returned.

  “So we’re still on for the neighborhood watch?” asked Vesta.

  “Absolutely.”

  “What watch?” asked Johnny.

  “Oh, just a little project Vesta and I got going,” said Scarlett, patting the big man’s chest. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  And as they walked off, Johnny said, “I wasn’t lying, Scarlett. I really do feel flies in the pit of my stomach.”

  “Are you sure it’s not butterflies, Johnny?” asked Scarlett.

  “Pretty sure it’s flies, Scarlett.”

  “All right, honey. If you say it’s flies, it’s flies.”

  Shaking her head, Vesta walked on, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips. Scarlett and her men. She gave Johnny a week—two weeks, tops.

  “Vesta, wait up!” suddenly a voice rang out behind her. She frowned and turned, and saw that Wilbur Vickery wanted a word.

  “Wilbur?”

  “I need your advice,” said the store owner as he licked his lips. Judging from the pink-colored crumbs, he’d been eating a glazed donut. “I met this woman, see?”

  “You met a woman?”

  “Uh-huh. Her name is Loretta Gray and she’s a famous writer or something. So we went out twice, but since our last date she won’t return my calls or my messages and she’s blocked me on Facebook. What do you think that means?”

  Vesta rolled her eyes. “What do you think it means, Wilbur?”

  “That there won’t be a third date?”

  “Bingo! See? You didn’t need my advice after all.”

  “But there was definitely chemistry between us. I could tell.”

  “Don’t tell me. Flies in the pit of your stomach?”

  “Well, no,” he said, looking confused. Wilbur’s face was not one of your handsome faces. He had skin like the surface of the moon, and his teeth had seen better days—a couple of decades ago. But what he lacked in outward appearance, he made up for in sheer tenacity when pursuing the object of his affection.

  “How many messages did you send this lady?”

  “Oh, hundreds, probably?”

  “That’s your mistake right there, Wilbur. No woman likes to be harassed.”

  “But I thought women liked to be pursued?”

  “There’s a fine line between being pursued and being harassed, and from what you just told me you’re on the wrong side of it. So back off already, will you, before she calls the cops on you for stalking.”

  “You think?”

  “Of course.” He was staring at her like a lost puppy now, and she took pity on the guy. “Look, if you want I’ll talk to the woman. Is she local?”

  “She’s staying at the Star hotel. Room two-fourteen. I’ve thought about serenading her but her window is at the back. And I’ve left messages at the desk but no dice.”

  “Okay, I’ll go over there right now and see what’s going on. But don’t get your hopes up, buddy.”

  “Oh, thank you, Vesta. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, Casanova. She’ll probably tell me to take a hike, and if she does, I can’t say I blame her.”

  31

  The meeting had been arranged and took place in the suite of the Star hotel. Present were four cats, Marge, Odelia and Chase, and two people I’d never met before: the Sheikh was there, of course, and a guy named Sharif Maroun, whose job description wasn’t exactly clear to me but who I assumed was some kind of advisor. There were also plenty of security people hovering around, but upon a word from the Sheikh they’d left the suite and now it was just us and the ruler of Khemed. I had expected at least a couple of the man’s wives to be present, but apparently they had better things to do. The only woman present, apart from Marge and Odelia, was in fact Loretta Gray, though it was obvious from her expression that she wasn’t exactly happy to be there.

  “So you have managed to retrieve the Pink Lady?” said Sheikh Bab El Ghat. “That is very good news indeed, Mrs. Poole.”

  He glanced between Odelia and Marge, since they had both nodded in acknowledgment.

  “I’m Mrs. Poole since my husband is Mr. Poole,” Marge explained. “And my daughter is Mrs. Poole since her dad is my husband.”

  “Oh, this is ridiculous,” said Odelia. “Just call me Mrs. Kingsley, because my husband is Mr. Kingsley.”

  Chase, who was standing next to her, looked up in surprise, and a happy smile flitted across his face, then disappeared again, replaced by his standard cop-on-duty expression.

  The Sheikh, who was younger than I thought, smiled and extended his hands. “Well, when can I feast my eyes on this precious stone? Or do you want to keep me in suspense?”

  “Here she is,” said Marge, and handed the stone to the Sheikh. She’d placed it back in its box, and when the Sheikh opened the box, he blinked at the stone’s sheer splendor.

  “Oh, my,” he said. “This certainly is a gorgeous specimen, isn’t it, Sharif?”

  He held it up so his advisor could take a peek, but the man didn’t look particularly im
pressed.

  “Very nice,” were his only words, spoken without much excitement.

  “I thought this stone was lost forever, and now all of a sudden here it is,” said the Sheikh as he stared at the diamond, mesmerized.

  “It was a lucky coincidence that it was found on our shores, your highness,” Odelia agreed.

  “Please, just call me Bab,” said the young Sheikh with a wave of the hand. He was a handsome ruler, with slicked-back dark hair and eyes the color of amber. He was dressed in designer jeans, a pink polo shirt and sneakers, unlike his advisor Sharif, who was dressed in a gray suit and sporting sunglasses, even though we were indoors. They both looked pretty hip and cool, I thought.

  “So what are you going to do with the stone… Bab?” asked Chase.

  “I think I’ll put it on display in our national museum,” said the Sheikh with a little nod of satisfaction as he clicked the jewel box closed and pocketed it.

  “Sir?” said Sharif.

  “Yes, I don’t want to lock it up in a vault. I want the people of Khemed to be able to admire its beauty. So the museum is the best place.”

  “You’re not going to give it to one of your wives?” asked Marge.

  “One of my wives?” said the Sheikh with a curt laugh. “As far as I’m aware I only have one wife.”

  “Oh, I just assumed…”

  “One of our traditions I decided to dispense with,” the Sheikh explained. “And now please tell me all about the Pink Lady, and how it ended up in Hampton Cove of all places.”

  “I think the person best placed to tell you that story,” said Odelia, “is this lady over here. Loretta? Will you do the honors?”

  “Loretta wrote a very interesting book about the Pink Lady and its history,” Marge explained. “Which is why we asked her to be present when we handed you the diamond.”

  Loretta looked a little uncomfortable as she took a short curtsy, then said, “Your highness… Bab.”

  “So you wrote a book about the Pink Lady? I haven’t read it yet, but now I can’t wait.”

  “I think you’ll find it very interesting,” said Marge. “It’s based on a real story.”

  Loretta gave Marge an icy glance. “Marge is flattering me. I’m afraid the book is a figment of my imagination. Inspired by the true story of the Pink Lady, but only in a very limited way.”

  “Oh,” said the Sheikh, slightly disappointed, then turned to Marge, clearly expecting an explanation.

  “Loretta looks very uncomfortable, Max,” said Dooley.

  “Yes, she does,” I agreed.

  When we’d arrived at the hotel, and had knocked on Loretta’s door for the second time that day, she’d been most surprised to see us. She also looked very flustered, presumably because she’d been looking everywhere for that diamond that had gone missing. Which is probably also why she gave us a look of extreme suspicion. So when Odelia had invited her to be present at the official handing over of the famous diamond to its rightful owner, her eyes had gone wide, but since she couldn’t very well come out and say that she had taken the stone, and especially with Chase right there, she reluctantly decided to play along, no doubt all the while wondering how we’d managed to take the stone, and why she hadn’t been arrested yet.

  “You’re being too modest, Loretta,” said Marge now. “The story of the Pink Lady did a lot more than inspire you, didn’t it? In fact I think it’s safe to say that you lived part of that story yourself.”

  Loretta’s eyes were blazing, as she looked from Odelia to Marge, clearly wondering what they were playing at.

  “I don’t understand,” said the young Sheikh. “You lived part of the story?”

  “Mrs. Poole is speaking figuratively,” said Loretta. “Writers live in their imagination, and my imagination is what inspired me, loosely based on an article I read about the Pink Lady.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” said Marge.

  Loretta, who clearly wanted to be anywhere but there, plastered a polite smile on her face. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Marge.”

  “And I think that you do.”

  The Sheikh had followed the back and forth with marked interest, like a spectator at a tennis match. “What’s going on? Can anyone explain? You, Mrs. Kingsley?”

  “What’s going on here is that the real story of the Pink Lady has been shrouded in mystery for far too long, Bab. And I think that the time has come to reveal the truth.”

  “The truth? The truth about what, exactly?”

  “For that we have to go back thirty-five years, to an auspicious moment in your father’s life—and that of Laura Burns, his ninety-ninth bride and the recipient of the Pink Lady.”

  “Yes, Laura Burns,” said the Sheikh. “She died shortly after giving birth to a child, then that child also died. A very sad day for my father, and for the people of my country.”

  “Laura died,” said Marge,” but her daughter didn’t. Instead she was smuggled out of the country the day her mother died, along with the Pink Lady.”

  The young Sheikh frowned. “What are you talking about? Smuggled out of the country? By who?”

  “I think perhaps Loretta is best placed to tell you all about it,” said Odelia.

  “Loretta? Why?”

  “Because her real name is Bab El Ahs, your highness. And she’s your sister.”

  32

  The moment Odelia had uttered these words, a couple of things happened: the Sheikh’s jaw dropped, Sharif’s head jerked round to direct an astonished look at Loretta, and the latter rushed out the door. Unfortunately for her, just at that moment Gran tried to walk in, and as a consequence the two ladies collided.

  “Oh, there you all are,” said Gran as she tried to glance past Loretta, who tried to get past Gran. “I’m looking for Loretta Gray, and the two heavies watching the door told me she’s in here.”

  “That’s Loretta,” I said, pointing to the author who was still trying to get past Gran but was failing to do so. Gran is a hard person to dislodge if she doesn’t want to be dislodged, which she usually doesn’t.

  “Oh, hi there,” said Gran, and held out her hand for Loretta to shake. “I’m a friend of Wilbur Vickery’s, and he’s asked me to have a little chat. Turns out you had a bad reaction to your second date with him—don’t worry, it happens all the time—in fact it happened on my first date with him—and now he’s worried that he said something wrong, which, knowing him, he did, and wants to see if there’s anything he can do to fix it, which I’m sure he can’t, but anyway, just thought I’d look in on you and see if there’s any lasting damage, if you know what I mean.” But then she must have noticed that Loretta was on the verge of tears, and her face fell. “Oh, dear. He’s done it again, hasn’t he? Wilbur can be a boor, but deep down he’s all right, you know. Harmless, I mean.”

  “It’s not that,” said Loretta, then glanced back. And when her eyes met the Sheikh’s, she produced a faint smile. “I guess I owe you an explanation, don’t I?”

  “Yes, I guess you do,” said the Sheikh, still looking flabbergasted.

  At this point Gran must have come to the conclusion that something entirely different was going on, so she frowned and said, “What’s going on?”

  “Come in, Gran, and close the door,” said Odelia, and then Loretta returned on her steps, Gran did as she was told, and we all listened as the author of The Sheikh’s Passion told her story.

  “Thirty-five years ago my mother realized that she was in trouble,” Loretta began. We’d all accepted the Sheikh’s invitation to take a seat in the suite’s salon, and had made ourselves comfortable. Tea had been served, and sweet cookies, and Marge had taken out a tissue, just in case Loretta’s story was as touching as the book she’d read.

  “I think I know the kind of trouble you mean,” said Gran as she nibbled from a cookie. “She met a nice boy and got herself pregnant, huh?”

  “More or less,” said Loretta.

  “Just let the woman ta
lk, Ma,” said Marge, who sat poised on her chair as if at a library reading.

  “My mother had married Sheikh Bab El Ehr out of love, and at first things between them were great. But the trouble began soon after their wedding ceremony. You see, my mother had been raised in the traditions of the West, and she wasn’t used to the way things were done in Khemed, even though she’d lived there most of her life, except the years she spent in New York. Her parents had raised her a free spirit, and were very much surprised when she fell in love with the Sheikh and accepted his proposal. They warned her that this might not be a good idea. That an entire structure had been put in place around the Sheikh that would make it impossible for her to live the kind of life she wanted to live. But she was young and in love, and the Sheikh made her all kinds of promises, so she threw caution and the advice of her parents to the wind and decided to marry anyway. The Sheikh had told her before they married that he’d instigate a process of modernization, and that he’d send his other wives back to their families and she would be his only wife. He’d promised her they’d have children, and they’d be the only heirs to the throne. He’d also given her the Pink Lady as a token of his love and affection, and said it was hers to keep, whatever happened, even though the stone had been part of the country’s set of royal jewels until then.”

  “I like the story, Max,” said Dooley. “It’s almost like a novel, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I said. “Though unlike a novel, it actually happened.”

  “Which makes it even better,” he said. Dooley is a big fan of soap operas, and there was a touch of the outlandish about the story Loretta was telling. No wonder Gran was also listening with rapt attention, as she, too, is a soap aficionado.

  “So shortly before their one-year wedding anniversary, things came to a head. By this time it had become clear to my mother that her husband had no intention of keeping the promises he made. Those ninety-eight other wives were still very much established at the palace, and weren’t going anywhere. Quite the contrary, in fact. The palace was abuzz with rumors of a coup mother wanted to stage against the Sheikh, rumors designed to drive a wedge between the couple. The Sheikh spent less and less time in my mother’s quarters, and slept less and less in the spousal bed, opting to spend his nights with his other wives, in other parts of the palace, where she wasn’t even allowed to go. She was slowly being sidelined, and that wasn’t the life she’d chosen for herself, or the baby she was carrying. Worse, her passport had been taken away by palace officials, and she’d been forbidden to leave, allegedly for her own safety, but it was clear she was now a prisoner rather than the person in charge of the royal household. She wasn’t even allowed to talk to her parents anymore, who’d returned to the States, or her old friends, and things looked more and more dire.”