Howliday Inn

by James Howe

“You have to admit they were behaving strangely today,” he said. “Guilt, Harold. They were consumed with guilt!”

  I said, “I doubt werewolves feel guilty.”

  “The guilt comes from the wire-haired dachshund part of them. It’s common to the breed.”

  “Oh,” I replied. “And what about Harrison and Jill? Do you suspect them, too?”

  “Of course,” said Chester. “They’re both a little on the shady side, if you ask me. Besides, we don’t know the whole story on this Dr. Greenbriar yet. If you want my opinion, it’s more than a little strange that he’s gone off and left us in the care of these two. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they’re acting on his orders.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “I’m not implying anything,” Chester answered innocently. “I’m just thinking out loud. It’s interesting, that’s all, that while the doctor is away, Louise disappears. And neither Harrison nor Jill seemed too concerned about letting him know.”

  “Maybe they want to find Louise first,” I suggested.

  “Or maybe Greenbriar has ordered them to murder her.”

  “Oh, Chester,” I said. This last was too much. “What about Jill? Didn’t you see how upset she was?”

  “Again, like Max, it could be she’s faking. Or”—and here he paused a moment—” perhaps Harrison is in it alone with the not-so-good doctor. That’s a possibility, too.”

  My head was spinning with Chester’s theories. Then I thought of the one suspect he’d left out. “And Taxi?” I asked. “He’s too dumb to concoct a murder like this.” I didn’t like saying it about poor Taxi, but it was true. Chester didn’t agree.

  “You don’t have to be a genius to murder, Harold. No, it isn’t Taxi’s intelligence that troubles me. It’s his strength. He’s a timid little fellow. I can’t imagine him holding Louise down long enough to . . .” Here Chester drifted off into thought. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

  “Unless . . .” he said excitedly. “If we change the method of murder . . . then . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “We know that Taxi is always buttering up to Max, right?”

  “Right,” I agreed.

  “And we know that his feelings were hurt yesterday when Max went off with Georgette instead of spending time with him. We also know he’d do anything to please Max to get back into his good graces.”

  “But murder?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it of Taxi.

  “Sure, why not? I was on the wrong track, don’t you see? If we believe that Louise was drowned, then Taxi is pretty much ruled out. He wouldn’t have the strength. And I doubt that he’d have the guts. But if the method of murder were less direct—if, for instance . . .” and he paused dramatically, “. . . Louise were poisoned—”

  I felt a jolt go through me. “Chester!” I cried.

  “What is it?”

  “I just remembered something Taxi said yesterday. Max had just gotten through telling us how sometimes he thought he’d be better off without women.”

  “Yes?”

  “And Taxi told us about a television program he’d seen where a man, feeling the same way, murdered his wife.”

  “And the method, Harold? What method did he use?”

  “Poison.”

  Chester and I sat very still for a moment. My gaze drifted to where I had seen Taxi sitting a few moments before. He was no longer there.

  Could it be? I asked myself. Could Taxi have murdered Louise to please Max? What kind of warped mind existed within that peculiar little body of his?

  I turned my head then and, much to my surprise, saw that Taxi was sitting a few feet away. He stared at me in such a cold way that I knew he’d heard every word Chester and I had said about him.

  “Taxi!” I said, startled.

  He didn’t respond, but continued to glare at me.

  I swallowed hard and tried to speak again. “I . . . I’m . . .”

  Taxi cut me off with a menacing growl, and before I could get another word past my lips, he turned and walked away.

  “He heard . . .” I said then to Chester.

  “Yes,” was all Chester said in reply. But there was something in the way he said it that sent a shiver down my spine.

  [ six ]

  The Cat Who Knew Too Much

  WITHOUT warning, the sky opened and the rain came down. Lyle and Taxi ran for the shelter of their bungalows. Georgette ran to Max’s, and he made no sign for her to leave. Interesting, I thought. Even more interesting was the fact that I was sitting in the middle of a pouring rain watching everyone else run for cover.

  “Come on, Chester,” I called out, “let’s go.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he shouted back. “Now is the perfect time for us to investigate.”

  “Perfect time?” I asked. “Investigate? Are you crazy? It’s pouring.”

  “I know, I know. But Max and Georgette are together, and if we’re clever about it, we can eavesdrop on them without their noticing. Follow me.” I didn’t budge. I couldn’t believe Chester wanted to play detective in the middle of a storm. I was all set to return to my bungalow, but the next words he spoke got me.

  “If not for me,” he said, “do it for Louise.”

  As we approached Max’s bungalow, Chester stopped and beckoned for me to bend down. He whispered, “If we could get up on the roof, we could lean over and hear everything. Give me a boost.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” I asked. But Chester had already jumped up on my shoulders and from there to the top of the bungalow. “Oh,” I said in answer to my own question. Seeing that I had no one’s shoulders to assist me, I had little choice but to take a running leap.

  “Softly!” Chester commanded as I landed next to him with a crash. “Nice move,” he commented.

  “I’m not as quiet as you are, Chester,” I said. “I can’t help it. I’m big.”

  “And clumsy! Well, never mind. If they heard us, I’ll just go ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ and tell them Christmas is early this year.”

  We hung over the front of the bungalow, listening as best we could. The rain was coming down even harder now, making it almost impossible to hear what was being said inside. We couldn’t see anything either because the door was just a little lower than either of us could reach with our heads.

  “Listen,” Chester said in a low voice, “I’ve got to get closer. If you hold me with your front legs, I’ll be able to hang down to the top of the door and hear and see what’s going on inside.”

  Well, I wasn’t sure this was such a good idea, but as you may have figured out for yourself by now, once Chester has a notion in his head, there’s no arguing him out of it. I held onto his back legs with my paws and lowered him to the front door. His tail brushed against my nose. It tickled.

  “Chester,” I whispered as loudly as I could, “move your tail.”

  “What?” he whispered back.

  “Move your tail. It’s tickling my nose.”

  “I can’t hear you, Harold. Now be quiet. I think I can make out what they’re saying in there. Lower me a little more.”

  I pushed myself forward an inch or two in order to lower Chester. With the rain coming down the way it was, the roof was getting pretty slippery and I didn’t dare go much further.

  “How’s that?” I called out.

  Chester couldn’t hear me, so he didn’t answer. Apparently it had worked though because I could see that his ears were standing up sharply, a good sign that he was able to hear something. Whatever he was hearing must have been good because his tail started twitching like crazy. Unfortunately, it was twitching like crazy all over my nose.

  “Stop it!” I cried, as the tears started rolling down my face. Boy, did that tickle. “Chester! Chester!” I called out. But by now the rain was really coming down, and he couldn’t hear a word I said. No matter which way I turned my head, Chester’s tail found my nose. “Chester, you’re making me laugh,” I cried out desperately. I could feel myself starting to slip off the r
oof.

  Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. Without realizing what I was doing, I let go of Chester’s legs and grabbed his tail. He plunged downward, pulling me with him. Off the slippery roof I tumbled, holding Chester tightly by the tail. Together we landed in a jumble right in front of the door to the bungalow. Max and Georgette turned to discover us lying in a puddle at their doorstep.

  “Look, Max,” Georgette said, “it’s rainin’ cats and dogs.” She seemed to get quite a chuckle out of that, but Max hushed her immediately.

  “Georgette, how can you laugh at a time like this?”

  “But, sugar—”

  “Enough now,” he said emphatically. “Be still.”

  Chester glanced at me knowingly.

  “So,” Max said, turning to us, “to what do we owe the pleasure of your—shall we say, unexpected—company?

  “We were just in the neighborhood, so we thought we’d drop in,” Chester replied smartly. I was impressed by the quickness of his wit. I tried to think of a quick comeback, too, but it takes me a while to think of quick comebacks. By the time I was ready, Chester had already strolled into the bungalow, casually shaking out the rain from his hair as he went. I followed his lead, but when I shook the rain out of my hair, there was nothing casual about it.

  “Harold, sugar,” Georgette cried, “you’re makin’ it rain indoors.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, sheepishly.

  “Well, it was nice of you to stop by, anyway,” she said then. “I guess.” She looked with uncertainty at Max, who glowered at Chester and said nothing.

  After an awkward silence, Chester spoke. “We were sorry to hear about Louise. If there’s anything we can do . . .”

  “Aw, shucks,” Max said, his face softening. “That’s really big of you.”

  “I mean, if we can help you out in any way,” Chester added with emphasis. He looked meaningfully at Max. Max averted his eyes and pawed at the ground.

  “Oh, I doubt there’s anything anyone can do,” he mumbled. “We’ll just hope she comes back soon, that’s all. Meanwhile, I’ll just have to bear my sorrow alone.”

  Chester nodded sympathetically at Max. “Of course,” he said, “we understand.” And then, under his breath, he muttered, “Save it for the judge.”

  “What about me?” Georgette asked. “I’ll bear it with you, Maxy.”

  “Gee, thanks, Georgette.”

  I noticed Chester’s face out of the corner of one eye. He was taking it all in.

  “Well, I suppose you’re right,” he said. “There really isn’t anything we can do. Just wanted to let you know—” He paused dramatically and spoke with great intensity, “—that we’re here if you need us.”

  “Right,” Max said, sticking out his jaw. I gathered that for a bulldog, a stiff lower jaw was the equivalent of a stiff upper lip for the rest of us.

  The rain was letting up, a perfect excuse for us to take our leave. We raced back to Chester’s bungalow.

  “Well, I couldn’t hear everything,” Chester said, as soon as we were inside, “but what I did hear was pretty incriminating.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means it’s not the kind of stuff you’d want your mother to know.”

  “Oh.”

  Chester bathed himself as he continued. “It seems,” he said between licks, “that our friends Max and Georgette are planning to escape.”

  “Really?” I asked. I could feel my eyebrows take on a life of their own.

  “Really,” Chester replied. “The first voice I heard was Georgette’s. She was saying something like ‘We have to stick together and everything will be all right.’”

  “Wow!”

  “That’s what I thought. Then Max said, ‘But what if we’re caught?’ and Georgette said, ‘That’s why we have to be very careful. We’ll go when it’s dark. First we have to find a way out And that’s all I heard.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said.

  “Yes, it is,” Chester agreed. “Unfortunately, a certain party who shall remain nameless dropped me right at that moment.”

  “Oh,” I said, swallowing. I decided not to respond further. “Well,” I went on, “obviously Max and Georgette are the guilty ones. They murdered Louise and now they’re planning their getaway. Gee, it’s hard to believe it’s really happening. It’s like something you’d read in a detective story.”

  “Not so fast,” Chester cautioned. “It doesn’t look good for them. But I’m still not convinced they did it.”

  “You’re not?” I asked in surprise.

  “Not at all,” Chester replied. “They’re not the only ones with a motive. And there’s still a big piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit. Until it does, I won’t know for sure who the murderer is.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Well, Harold, I don’t know about you, but I had a lot of trouble sleeping last night. Howard and Heather were howling so much, I don’t think I slept at all. If anyone had walked across the compound, much less dragged a body across it, I would have known. But I didn’t see or hear anything. All night long. Doesn’t that seem odd?”

  I had to admit that it did. “What do you make of it?” I asked Chester.

  “I don’t know what to make of it,” he confessed.

  “Maybe whoever did it didn’t want to get wet, so they waited for the rain to let up,” I suggested.

  “But that would mean early this morning, when it was light already. Nope. It would have been too risky.”

  “Then it had to be last night.”

  Chester was deep in thought. “Yes,” he murmured softly. “Yes, last night.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up. I was aware that at that moment the rain stopped. It was very still when Chester uttered his next words.

  “That last piece of the puzzle, Harold?”

  “Yes?”

  “It just fell into place,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “I just figured it out, Harold.” His voice became louder and more excited. “I don’t know why, and I don’t completely understand how, but I know who did it. Without a doubt, I know who did it.”

  “You know who did what?” Taxi’s voice said sharply.

  Surprised, I turned to see Taxi, Lyle, Georgette and Max gathered at the door of Chester’s bungalow. It was Max who spoke next.

  “Taxi tells us you and Harold are saying he murdered Louise,” he said.

  “Nonsense,” Chester replied immediately. Nothing seemed to faze him.

  “He said he overheard you talking.”

  “He may have overheard us talking, but he never heard us say he murdered Louise.”

  “You believe that Louise was murdered?” Georgette asked, her eyes growing wide. “How can you say such a thing?”

  “I say it because it’s true,” Chester replied matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, come on, mate,” Max retorted. “You have an overstimulated imagination, if you ask me. Just like Lyle. I’ve always said that about cats.”

  Lyle was outraged. “Don’t put me in the same camp as Chester,” he cried. “I may be crazy, but I’m not that crazy! I never accused anybody of murder. He’s a troublemaker. String him up! That’s what I say. Let’s string him up!” Hysterical, he dashed off, I presumed in search of rope.

  Chester stared coolly at the three who remained. “Yes,” he said, “I know who murdered Louise. I need just a little more information, and when I have it, I’ll prove my case.”

  Max began to laugh.

  “Go ahead and laugh,” Chester snapped, cutting him off mid-chortle. “Yes, my friend, laugh today, for tomorrow you’ll know the truth. And then, perhaps, you’ll never laugh again.”

  I noticed that Howard and Heather had come up behind Taxi and were listening to what Chester had to say. I felt myself trembling as I beheld the five pairs of eyes staring penetratingly at Chester. It was so quiet you could have heard a doggie-pop drop.

  And then, all at once, Heather threw back her head and l
et out an ear-splitting howl.

  “Aaaah-ooooooooooooooooooo!” she cried. Gasps of shock went out from us all. She looked about her, an expression of great surprise on her face.

  “So sorry,” she said softly. “Just not myself. Oh, how embarrassing. I think I’d best—”

  “—rest,” Howard continued. “Yes, dear, I do think that’s best.” And off they went, their heads bobbing all the way back to their bungalows. We watched them go.

  Then, without a word, Max, Georgette and Taxi followed, leaving Chester and me alone with each other and our thoughts.

  I looked at Chester. A cool smile sat on his lips.

  “How can you smile like that?” I asked. “Don’t you realize what a dangerous thing you’ve done? Exposing yourself like that? Now the murderer knows you’ve found him out.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ve done such a dangerous thing,” Chester answered smoothly. He was quiet then, and I remember looking at him, hoping that he was right and feeling somewhere deep in my bones that he wasn’t.

  He was lost in thought for the rest of the day. In fact, the only time he spoke to me again was shortly before dinner.

  “Just one word of warning,” he said. “Keep awake tonight. The murderer may strike again. Remember: do not sleep. If you do, you may never wake again.”

  How it chills me to recall those words. Particularly when I think of them as Chester’s last.

  [ SEVEN ]

  Good Night, Sweet Chester

  I SHOULD have known something was wrong when tears fell on my breakfast. I looked up and saw that Jill was crying. She didn’t say a word, but when she caught me looking at her, she burst into a fresh bout of sobbing. Shaking her head as if to deny something she knew to be true, she closed my door and moved on to feed the others.

  I heard her move past Chester’s bungalow and then I called out, “Chester, Chester.” There was only silence.

  “Chester,” I called again. “Why is Jill crying?” Silence. “Answer me, will you? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Heh, heh, heh.”

  Again, no response. I was beginning to worry. But not so much that I let it stand in the way of breakfast.