by James Howe
When I looked up from my food dish, I saw that Jill was going back into the office. I knew it was risky, but I had to find out why Chester wasn’t talking to me. I pushed up the latch to my door with my nose and cautiously crept over to Chester’s bungalow.
A shadow fell across his door, making it hard to see inside.
“Chester?” I whispered. I strained my ears to pick up a sound. Any sound. I thought maybe he was still asleep and I’d hear his breathing. Or a rustle of movement.
“Chester!” I snapped impatiently. “Wake up!”
But then my eyes adjusted to the shadowy scene before me. I held my breath as I realized the truth.
Chester was gone!
Immediately my mind began searching for a logical explanation. He was out investigating, I told myself. He was . . . he was . . . But what I saw next stunned me into the realization that not only was Chester gone, he might not be coming back.
The bungalow was entirely empty. No food dish. No water dish. No rug on the floor. Only a rag of a mouse hanging limply by its neck suggested that the place had once been inhabited.
I didn’t know what to think then. I stood there, useless as a fire hydrant in a town without dogs, and felt the tears welling up in my eyes. Oh Chester, I thought, why didn’t I listen to you? You told me to stay awake all night, and I didn’t. I was so tired I fell asleep right away. And then this happened. It was all my fault.
Feeling thoroughly miserable, I turned my head away. And then I saw them. All the guests of Chateau Bow-Wow, their noses pressed against the fronts of their bungalows, were watching me. Their silent vigil reminded me of the scene the night before. I saw in their eyes the same look I’d seen when they’d stared at Chester, accusing him wordlessly of ... of what? Of knowing too much, I realized. Yes, Chester had paid a price for his curiosity. And for his big mouth.
The sounds of Jill’s renewed crying within the office shook me from my thoughts. Maybe Chester is sick, I thought, and they’ve taken him indoors. I decided to find out what I could by listening at the office window. As I crossed the compound, I thought of our eavesdropping on Max and Georgette yesterday, and a smile came to my lips. It was funny thinking of Chester’s tail tickling my nose, of our falling into the mud puddle, of his saying to me—
And then I felt a lump in my throat, and I thought no more about it.
Placing my front paws on the windowsill and standing on my back legs, I was able to see inside the office. Harrison, his back to me, stood by the examining table. Jill sat in an old beat-up chair next to him. She kept dabbing her red eyes with a handkerchief. Chester, I observed, was nowhere in sight. I strained to hear as best I could.
“I can’t believe it,” Jill was saying, between sobs. “I just can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I,” Harrison replied. “But it’s the only explanation.”
“How did it happen?” Jill asked. “That’s what I don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sometimes life is like that,” Harrison said, waxing philosophical. “Sometimes life just doesn’t make sense.”
“We’re not talking about life, Harrison. We’re talking about—”
“Yes, I know.”
Jill stopped crying and heaved a huge sigh. After a moment of silence between them, she looked up at Harrison. “It’s all my fault, you know. I did it.”
“Of course you didn’t, Jill,” Harrison answered calmly. “You’ve got to stop talking like that. These things happen, that’s all. It could have happened to anyone. Look, I make mistakes, too, you know.”
“Maybe, but / was the one who cleaned out that part of the storage shed. I remember carrying that stuff out to the street for pickup. I just don’t understand how it got inside the compound.”
“Uh . . . well . . .” Harrison said.
Jill looked up at him. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Harrison answered quickly. His eyes flitted nervously from side to side.
“What were you going to say?”
“Nothing, really. I just—”
“Harrison . . .”
“Never mind, I don’t want to upset you.”
“I’m upset already. Tell me what you were going to say.”
“Okay, if you insist. I was just remembering that when you came inside the compound, you were carrying that bag of garbage . . .”
“When Louise was barking, yes,” said Jill, with a worried look. “And the bag broke. That’s how it got there.” They both fell silent. “Harrison?” Jill said then.
“Yes?”
“May I take the rest of the day off?”
Harrison paused uncertainly. Then he said, “Of course you can. Why not? Maybe the rest will do you good.”
“Yes,” was all Jill said in response, and then she stood. She took off her smock and started toward the door to the front of the building. Turning back to look at Harrison (I could see her face clearly now and had to duck down so she wouldn’t see me), she said, “How could it have gotten into Chester’s food? Just tell me that.”
This was the first I’d heard Chester’s name, and I felt my stomach tighten. How could what have gotten into Chester’s food? I listened carefully.
“I don’t know,” Harrison replied. “All I know is that I found the container near his bungalow, and when I tested his food—”
“Poison?”
“Poison.”
Poison. The word went through me like an arrow.
Jill spoke again. “And now he’s ...”
“Gone. Yes,” Harrison said.
“May I see him?” Jill asked.
Harrison stepped toward her. He put his arms out to take her by the shoulders. “Why upset yourself anymore?” he asked. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“And Dr. Greenbriar?”
“I’ll call him. Don’t worry. Just go home and rest.”
What happened then I don’t know. I dropped down from the windowsill, no longer caring about anything more I might hear or see. I’d heard quite enough. Slowly, I stumbled back to my bungalow. Everyone may have been watching me still, but I have no recollection of anything except the lump in my throat growing larger with every step I took. And the thought that my best friend in the whole world was gone. Poisoned. And all because he knew too much.
Back inside my bungalow, I curled up as tight as I could and fell into a deep sleep.
[ EIGHT ]
Harold X, Private Eye
I AWAKENED to the sound of cloth being torn. From the low growls that followed, I surmised that a game of Rip-the-Rag was in progress. Slowly, I opened my eyes and stared out into the bright sunlight. At last, the storm had passed, and from the sight of animals at play before me, it appeared that all was well with the world. Max, Georgette and Taxi tugged at what looked like an old towel. Heather sat sunning herself, while Howard dug at the earth in the far corner of the compound. Lyle was wrapped around a ball of some kind, kicking at it with his hind feet. The scene was so inviting that for one brief moment, I wanted to run outside and join in the play.
And then I remembered Chester. My heart sank. And the thought occurred to me: someone out there, some seemingly innocent frolicker, was really a cold-blooded killer. How could I play with a murderer? I asked myself. And who could it be? Who could it be?
I cast my eye over each in turn.
Georgette let go of the towel and, merrily darting back and forth, nipped at Max’s ankles. Sure, I thought, she has reason to be happy. With Louise out of the picture, she’s got Max all to herself now. He didn’t seem so miserable either, I noticed. How quickly his grief had spent itself. Well, why not? After all, if he had bumped Louise off, no one but Chester knew. A little poison in Chester’s food, and there was no more need to pretend. Soon he and Georgette would run away together. Everything was going according to plan. Why shouldn’t he be happy?
And Taxi? I watched as he collided with Max’s shoulder. He fell back onto the grass and rolled around, scratching his bac
k. Max ran off with the rag, waving it in the air. Suddenly, Taxi lurched to his feet and, picking up the challenge, grabbed one end of the rag from Max. They tugged in opposite directions. How pleased Taxi must be, I thought, if he were the culprit. After all, he’d wanted so badly to impress Max, to be his best friend. And now, it appeared, he had given Max everything he could ask for . . . and more. And, in return, he’d gotten everything he’d wanted, too. It was not easy to forget Taxi’s interest in murder by poison. How excited he’d been when he first mentioned it to Max and me. No, he might appear on the surface to be a little dumb, but Taxi was no dumb dog.
The sound of scratching drew my eyes to Howard. What was he doing, anyway? He seemed to be digging a hole. To bury a bone, I thought. Or perhaps something else. He kept looking furtively over his shoulder, as if he were afraid of being caught. My glance fell on Heather. How strange the two of them were. Perhaps Chester had been right, maybe they were werewolves. I vowed to keep my eye on them.
Suddenly, Lyle sprang up and attacked a leaf that happened to blow by in the passing breeze. “Gotcha, you little devil,” he cried. “You thought you could escape the long arm of the law, eh? Well, take that. And that.” And he bludgeoned the poor leaf into a fine powder. He was an oddball, no question about it. I remembered his threat to Louise. And then his words from the night before popped into my head. “Let’s string him up!” he had exclaimed as he ran off. Lyle was just crazy enough, I concluded, to carry out his threats. Murder would be as natural to him as playing with a ball of yarn was to most cats.
Just then, the door to the office opened, and Harrison stepped outside, coming in my direction. “Hey, Harold,” he called out cheerily, “it’s about time you were up. You going to sleep all day?”
“Woof,” I answered.
“Oh, yeah? What kind of thing is that to say?”
Frankly, I wasn’t sure myself what I meant by it.
He opened my door. “Come on,” he said, “it’s almost time for dinner. How about getting a little exercise?”
Leaving my bungalow, I observed Harrison out of the corner of my eye. He was whistling now. His cheeks were puffed out and red from the force with which he blew the melody (such as it was) through his lips. Gee, he seemed happy, I thought. There was a twinkle in his eye as he patted my head and said, “Good boy, Harold.” From anybody else, such good cheer would have been normal behavior. From Harrison, it was definitely suspect.
What if he’s the one? I thought. Maybe he’s in cahoots with Dr. Greenbriar, as Chester once suspected. Maybe they’re doing some kind of awful experiment in their laboratory and ... A shudder went through me as I thought of poor Louise and Chester in the laboratory of a mad doctor. I didn’t let myself think about it any longer.
Harrison went back inside, and I surveyed the scene before me. Georgette and Max had gone off by themselves, and Taxi was rolling on the ground playing alone with the remains of the towel. It was at that moment I decided to take matters into my own paws.
I remembered something Chester had once said to me when I had refused to go along with him to investigate another of his little hunches. I’d promised him I’d stay home and think about it.
“Sure, sure,” he’d said, “you may think about it, Harold, but I’m the one who will do something about it.”
“What do you mean by that?” I’d asked.
“Cats are doers. Dogs are not. That’s what I mean.”
“I think you may be overstating your case.”
“Think what you will,” he’d said as he’d walked away. “The fact is that / am the one who’s trying to do something. While you, O passive pooch, wrap yourself around your food dish and do nothing.”
Once more I felt the sting of Chester’s accusation. Do nothing! I thought. I’ll show him he’s not the only one with a brain. And so, with gritted teeth and a sense of great determination, I set out to unearth the truth.
I decided to start with Taxi, and I figured I’d catch him off guard with a direct assault.
“What do you know, Taxi?” I queried.
Taxi looked at me blankly. Perhaps that had been the wrong approach. I tried again.
“How are you, Taxi?”
“Oh hello, Harold,” Taxi said, as if seeing me for the first time.
“Some storm we’ve been having, eh?” I asked him.
“Oh, I’m all right, I guess.”
“What?”
“Fine, thanks.” There was a pause as Taxi and I looked at each other. “You asked how I am, and I’m telling you I’m fine.”
“Oh. Yes. I see.”
“How are you?”
“I’m okay, I guess.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were going to say ‘thank you.’”
“For what?”
“For asking how you are.”
“Oh,” I said, “I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I looked at Taxi a long time. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember what I had wanted to ask him, or why. Knowing Taxi, I decided, was definitely one of life’s more confusing experiences.
“You’re probably wondering how I got the name Taxi,’” Taxi mumbled so softly that at first I thought he was talking to himself.
“Well, no, I wasn’t really, I—”
“Then I’ll tell you, Harold.”
“Thank you,” I said, wondering when the dinner bell would ring.
“You see, I was owned by these people in New York City who thought that when they took me out for a walk, it would be cute to call Taxi!’ People who live in New York City think things like that are cute. It’s the air pollution that does it to them, I think. Anyway, for a long time, whenever they called Taxi’ I thought they were really calling a taxi, so I wouldn’t come. And the taxi drivers thought they were calling a taxi, too, so they’d pull up. So all the time they were getting all these taxis they didn’t want and taxi drivers were getting mad at them and meanwhile I was wandering off down the street ’cause I didn’t know they were calling me . . .”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Oh, eventually I figured out that Taxi’ was my name, but by then I think they’d gotten bored with the whole thing. They bought roller skates and gave me to their cousin who lives in town here.”
“Air pollution is a terrible thing,” I commented.
“Mmmm,” Taxi murmured, as he rolled over on his back. Just then, I remembered why I’d started this conversation in the first place. Interesting, I thought, how neatly he’d gotten me off the track.
“Taxi, I want to ask you something.”
“Oh, hello, Harold.”
“Where were you on the night of . . . uh . . . um . . . uh . . . last night?” I asked forthrightly.
“Huh?”
“Your whereabouts last night, Taxi.”
“My what, Harold?”
“Your whereabouts!” Taxi looked up at me as if his brain had just gone out to lunch. “Where. . . were. . . you. . . last. . . night?”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so?” He paused for a moment. Now, I had him! I could feel it. “In my bungalow, of course. Just like everyone else. Why do you ask?”
Oh, he was a slippery devil. But I wasn’t going to be fooled so easily. I thought how proud Chester would have been of my investigatory skills.
“The truth now, Taxi!” I said. “Tell me the truth.”
“Okay,” he said.
“That’s better,” I replied encouragingly.
“I was in my bungalow.”
“You said that already.”
“I know.”
“Why are you telling me the same story?”
“Because it’s true. And you asked me to tell you the truth, didn’t you, Harold?”
“Yes, I did . . .” I could feel myself beginning to falter.
“I’m sorry about Chester,” Taxi s
aid then in a voice full of sympathy.
“Me, too,” I said, completing my falter.
“Want to play Rip-the-Rag?” he offered.
Downhearted, I began to walk away. “No thanks,” I called back over my shoulder. “Maybe another time.”
“Okay,” Taxi called out lightly. “’Bye, Harold.” And he returned to his tug-of-war with himself.
Not feeling particularly encouraged by the results of my investigation thus far, I was almost ready to give up and go home when I saw that Howard had stopped digging and was now sitting next to Heather in front of their adjoining bungalows. As I approached, I watched their heads move up and down and couldn’t help thinking how terrific they’d look on the back window ledge of an old Chevy.
“Good afternoon,” I said.
They stopped talking immediately and stared at me as if they’d been caught chewing on a leg of the dining room table. Neither said a word.
I cleared my throat. “Uh . . . good afternoon,” I repeated.
They glanced into each other’s eyes. No one spoke for what felt like a very long time. In a tiny voice, Howard finally said, “Good afternoon.”
There was a pause. I decided to plunge in.
“Where were you last night?” I asked.
“Not much in the mood for conversation at the moment, Harold old chap. Frightfully sorry. It’s just that we’re—”
“Now, now, now,” Heather interjected crisply, cutting Howard off from saying another word.
I had no choice but to plunge right back out again. “Well, another time perhaps,” I said.
“Yes, yes,” Howard said with a crooked little smile.
“Another time,” Heather said firmly. And then just to make certain I got the message, she added, “Goodbye, Harold.”
“Goodbye,” I said, walking away and muttering under my breath, “It was nice talking with you.”
Fortunately, I had no time to brood further over my lack of success, for I saw that Max and Georgette were coming toward me. I felt a little nervous. After all, they were prime suspects, and I didn’t want to blow my examination. I considered how best to approach them. Clearly, they were too smart not to recognize a direct attack. No, with them, I reasoned, I would have to be subtle. I would work my way into it slowly, craftily, never letting them suspect what I was up to.