by Nic Saint
He laughed again. “That’s ridiculous. They’re cats. There’s no question of liking each other. They just act on instinct.” It was obvious he’d never given a moment’s thought to the fact that cats might have feelings, too. Just like humans. And that maybe some of us were nicer than others.
“Cats are a lot more like humans than you might think,” Odelia said. “They have likes and dislikes, just like we do.”
“Nonsense. This has got nothing to do with ‘feelings.’ This is about territory. Max is probably upset that a new cat has arrived and he’s going to have to share his space, his food and his litter box.”
I goggled at the man. I hadn’t thought about that. Share my food? And, even worse, share my litter box? No way! “Odelia! I can’t share my litter box! That’s my litter box! Diego can’t go doo-doo in my litter box! That’s just… wrong!”
She ignored me, and asked Chase, “What do you know about Diego?”
He shrugged. “He’s a cat, Odelia. What’s there to know?”
“I mean, about his past, his parentage, his medical history?”
“I’d have to ask Mom, but as far as I know she got him off the street.”
“So he’s a street cat. Did she give him his shots? Is he fixed?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
She nodded. “I’ll take him to the vet tomorrow. Have him checked.”
“Of course. And I’ll pay for it. Look, I’m sure Max and Diego will get along fine. They just have to get used to each other. I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.”
“Well, I do worry about it. If I’m going to take Diego into my home, I need to know who I’m dealing with.”
Well spoken, I thought, and I was cheering for her. Maybe this Diego had a violent past, or some other deep, dark secret that he was hiding. Maybe he was like those adopted kids that turn out to be horrible serial killers. I’d seen the movies. I knew it was a thing.
“Look, if you don’t want him, I can always take him back,” Chase offered.
I was practically yipping now, hoping Odelia would take him up on this wonderful offer. This was her chance to get rid of the pest!
“No, that’s all right,” she said, much to my horrified surprise. She stroked my back. “Max will just have to get used to having a new friend. I know it took him a while to get used to having Brutus around, and now look at them. They’re like buddies.”
Odelia and Chase looked down at Brutus and me, sitting side by side, like a couple of chumps. “I think they’re talking about us, Max,” Brutus said.
“Yeah, they seem to think we’re best buds or something.”
Brutus snorted. “As if.”
“Yeah—how ridiculous, huh? Humans are clueless.”
We shared a quick look, then Brutus said, “I liked how you stood up to Diego, by the way. That took guts, Max. I’ve got to hand it to you. You defended hearth and home from that intruder—just like you used to do with me.”
“I know, right? I felt like I had to take a firm line with the cat. And you were great, too. The way you put him in his place? Way to go, Brutus.”
“Thanks. I mean, it’s not my home to defend, but still. He was way out of line.”
“Well, it is your home now, in a way,” I said.
“You really mean that, Max?”
“Sure. Mi casa es su casa and all that, right?”
“Aww. That’s awfully nice of you.”
“Don’t mention it. I feel like we have to stick together and make a stand.”
“Yeah. Let’s put our differences aside and get rid of the new cat.”
“What about me?” Dooley asked. “Is su casa mi casa too, Max?”
“Of course, buddy! You’re my best friend.”
“Thanks, Max. I love you, too.”
Brutus eyed us with a strange look on his face. Then he held out his paw. “Put it there, pals.”
I put it there, and so did Dooley.
“Buds?” asked Brutus.
“Buds,” I said.
“I think they’re actually talking to each other,” Chase said. “It’s way cute.”
“They are talking to each other,” Odelia assured him. “Cats can communicate.”
“So, do you have any idea what they’re saying?” he asked.
“Not a clue,” she said, and gave us a wink.
Chapter 6
Just when their order arrived—an espresso for Chase and a latte for Odelia—Chase got a call from Chief Alec.
“Uh-oh,” he said, disconnecting. “Looks like I gotta run. The Chief managed to locate Serarols.”
“The chef?”
“He’s down at the station now, and he’s asked me to be there when he questions him.”
“Just go. I’ll take care of your espresso.”
He grinned. “I’m sure you will.” He took the espresso and downed it in one gulp. “Just so happens I love espressos, though, so tough luck.”
“You’ll keep me in the loop, right?”
“Sure.” He got up and threw a few bills on the table. “Thanks for the chat—and the update on the world of cats. It was fun—and instructional.”
“See you later, Chase.”
She watched him leave, and noticed not for the first time that he moved with a catlike grace. Like a tiger. Or a panther. It also occurred to her he was a lot more dangerous than she thought when he first just moved into town. She’d never figured she’d ever fall for the cop, and now she found that he was on her mind a lot more than she knew how to handle.
She looked down, and saw that Max, Dooley and Brutus had left. She hated to disappoint them, but she’d already agreed to take Diego in, and she couldn’t go back on her word now. She was pretty sure it would be fine. When Brutus just arrived, Max and Dooley had been equally distraught. And look at them now. They were like buddies these days.
She took a sip of her latte and thought about the case. With so many suspects, it was going to be a matter of deciding who had most to gain from the celebrity chef’s murder. And who’d been in the position to carry out the murder. She imagined it would have had to be a person with considerable physical strength, as it was a tough feat to hoist the chef into the oven.
She looked out across the street at the restaurant, and saw a woman sashay in her direction. She recognized her from several covers of Star Magazine. Cybil Truscott, the soon-to-be ex-wife of Niklaus Skad. And as luck would have it, she was heading straight for the coffee shop.
The woman, large sunglasses on her nose, her hair a lustrous shiny red, her skin a milky white and dressed in designer threads, was carrying three shopping bags in each hand, all from luxury boutiques. It was obvious she’d just gone on a shopping spree. To celebrate the death of her husband?
Cybil took a seat at the next table, and Odelia leaned over. “Excuse me, but aren’t you Cybil Truscott?”
The woman smiled, and took off her sunglasses, shaking out her gorgeous mane of red curls. “Yes, I am. And you are?”
“Odelia Poole. I’m a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette.”
The woman’s smile widened. “Ooh, I love reporters. And they love me.”
Of course they did. Ever since Cybil got married to Niklaus Skad, she’d been tabloid fodder, her pictures appearing on more covers than any other starlet or socialite or celebrity wannabe. She’d been a cocktail waitress before she met Niklaus, and now she wasn’t just famous, she stood to gain a substantial fortune after the death of her husband.
“My condolences,” she said now. “I just heard about your husband.”
“Yes, shocking, isn’t it?” She glanced across the street. “And that’s where it happened. Such a sad ending for such a brilliant man. Then again, there is a certain poetic justice in the fact that he would die in the oven of one of the restaurants he was singling out for his notorious brand of abuse.”
“I didn’t know you were in town,” Odelia said.
“Yes, I’m on vacation. I’m staying at the Hampton Springs H
otel.”
“Did you know your husband would be in town?”
“I had no idea! Of course we hadn’t been in touch lately. We only communicated through our lawyers. Ever since I filed for divorce Niklaus broke off all relations.”
Which stood to reason. She had accused him in several TV interviews of domestic violence and of assaulting her. There were even rumors of him forcing her into accepting a trio with the housekeeper. Odelia had the impression a lot of the stories Cybil had dished were simply a way to get as much out of the divorce as possible. Hoping her famous husband would pay her a large sum of money just to shut her up.
“So you didn’t see him last night?” she asked innocently.
The woman threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, honey, I have to hand it to you. You may be writing for some local rag, but you’re good at what you do. You’re trying to figure out if I killed my husband, aren’t you?”
“Well, you do have a solid motive,” she admitted.
Cybil gave her a shrewd look. “I know what you’re thinking. Niklaus was never going to allow me the divorce settlement I was aiming for. Why not kill the man instead and take it all? And you’re right. With him gone, I stand to inherit his entire fortune. The houses in New York, Vail, Los Angeles, Paris, London and Antibes. The business empire he built. The royalties to his bestselling books. The cars, the yachts, the private jet… You name it, I will get it now. But did I kill him? Of course not. I may be a money-grubbing social climber, like the papers will undoubtedly point out—and Niklaus’s friends and ex-wives have done for years—but I’m not a murderer. Besides, I have one of those things you need when someone is killed. What’s it called? An amoeba?”
“An alibi?”
She snapped her fingers. “That’s it. I’ve got me one of those. Ironclad one, too.”
“And would you care to share your alibi with me?”
She laughed again. “Oh, darling. You’re good, but not that good. I think I’ll keep that for the police. If or when they decide to haul me in for questioning.”
“I work with the police, actually. My uncle is Chief of Police.”
“I see. So that’s why you’re so nosy. And here I thought you were going to write a nice big front-page article about me.” She pouted.
“I will write a nice big article about you,” Odelia promised.
“But only if I tell you about my alibi, right?”
She smiled. “I’ll find out soon enough anyway.”
“From your uncle. I see.” She waved an airy hand. “Just ask the pool boy at the Hampton Springs Hotel. He’ll tell you all you need to know. With all the saucy details you gossip hounds are so crazy about.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I will talk to him.”
Cybil winked. “There’s even pictures. Lots and lots of them. And video.” Then she looked across the street at the yellow-and-black crime scene tape and sobered. “I did like him once upon a time, you know. Niklaus? He was a vulgar man with a cruel streak, but he had passion. Lots of passion, if you know what I mean.”
Odelia had an idea she knew exactly what the woman meant. She didn’t want to know, though. She wasn’t that kind of reporter.
“When we first got together we went at it like bunny rabbits.” She seemed to shake herself, and gave a slight shrug. “But passion fades, and money doesn’t, so…”
“So you decided to cash in your chips before he did?”
“You are smart. What did you say your name was?”
“Odelia Poole.”
The woman took out her smartphone, and before Odelia could stop her had snapped a selfie of the two of them together. She then flicked her long fingernails across the screen for a few seconds and gave a tiny smile. “Done and done,” she said, holding up her phone for Odelia to read.
“Chatting with Odelia Poole, who’s no fool!” she read. “Nice.”
“You don’t have to thank me when the endorsement deals start rolling in, darling. Call it giving something back to the community. After all, I can afford it.”
Odelia left the coffee shop feeling a little queasy. She didn’t know whether Cybil Truscott was a murderer or not, but she was sure she was not a very nice person.
Chapter 7
Brutus went home to check up on Harriet. He’d decided that the best way to deal with this upstart was to cramp his style—make sure Harriet was never alone with him. It was a great idea. Problem was, Harriet had promised to show Diego the town, so by now they could be anywhere.
Dooley and I decided to check out the restaurant. Even though we were a little bit annoyed with Odelia right now, for saddling us up with Diego, we couldn’t let her down. She relied on us to gather valuable information about this murder and we felt we had to help her get it.
“You know, if we catch the killer we could tell Odelia we’re only going to reveal the name if she promises to show Diego the door,” Dooley suggested.
“We can’t do that, Dooley,” I said. “That wouldn’t be right.”
“Is it right she foisted that orange cat on us? I mean—just saying.”
“We have to make it clear to her what kind of cat Diego really is. The moment she knows him like we do, she won’t hesitate to kick him out.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
“Well, I am sure. I trust Odelia. She’s always come through for us, and I’m sure she will come through for us now.”
We’d arrived in the back alley behind the restaurant, hoping to meet a kindred spirit—a fellow feline. We strode over to the dumpster that was parked next to the kitchen entrance and saw that we were right on the money: someone had placed a bowl of milk next to the dumpster, and another bowl with what looked like chicken nuggets.
“Yum,” Dooley said, licking his lips. How that cat manages to stay so thin, I don’t know. He never stops eating.
“Don’t touch that, Dooley,” I told him. “That’s not yours.”
“It’s on public property, which makes it everyone’s, including mine.”
“You can’t just go digging into another cat’s bowl. That would make you just as bad as Diego.”
Dooley started. “Are you comparing me to Diego? That’s mean, Max.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s true. This bowl belongs to someone, and that someone isn’t you.”
We stared around, hoping to find this mysterious someone. As far as I could see, there was no one around. “Do you think Harriet is going to fall for Diego?” Dooley wanted to know.
“I don’t think so. She’s smarter than that.”
“She wasn’t smart enough not to fall for Brutus.”
“Well, Brutus isn’t Diego. Diego seems to be way worse than Brutus.”
“They’re pretty much the same, Max. Brutus is just being nice to us now that he needs us. The moment Diego is gone, he’ll be back to his mean old ways.”
That was a scenario I hadn’t considered. “Do you think so?”
“I know so. They’re exactly the same, Brutus and Diego. Big bad bullies.”
“Don’t you think Brutus has changed?”
“No way. Bullies don’t change. If anything they just get meaner and nastier as they get older. I’m telling you, Brutus is just acting like he likes us. Deep down he still hates us.”
“What are you guys talking about?”
I turned around, and saw we’d been joined by a smallish black cat, who sat licking her fur while keeping a keen eye on us and the two bowls. I had no idea where she’d come from. One moment she wasn’t there, the next she was. Like magic.
“Um, hi,” I said. “I’m Max, and this is Dooley.”
“We were talking about another cat,” Dooley said. “A bully.”
“Two bullies, actually,” I said.
The black cat nodded sagely. “Trust me, I know all about bullies. We had one in here this past week. Nastiest bully I’ve ever seen. Drove everyone to tears.”
“You mean Niklaus Skad? The celebrity chef?” I asked.
“That’s the one. Yelling and screaming all day long. Nasty brute.”
“You do know that he was murdered, right?” asked Dooley.
“Oh, sure. It’s the talk of the neighborhood. We were all rooting for this Skad guy to leave soon and take his brand of foul abuse along with him.”
“So do you have any idea who killed him?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No idea. I wasn’t here last night. A buddy of mine was, though. He said there was a car parked out back, right next to that dumpster. A very expensive car.”
“What kind of car?” I asked.
She laughed. “You have to excuse me. I don’t know anything about cars. My buddy said it was a Tesla?” She laughed again. “He said it looked just like my fur. Obsidian black, he calls it. Whatever that is.”
“A Tesla is an electric car,” I said. “There aren’t that many of those around. Did your buddy get a license plate number?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. In fact Fred was just passing by the restaurant—that’s his name: Fred—though I have a sneaking suspicion he was looking for me. He doesn’t want to admit it but I think Fred likes me.”
“That’s nice,” I said, not interested in the cat’s romantic proclivities. “So about that Tesla—did Fred see a driver? Anyone hanging around?”
“Nope. When he told me I figured it probably belonged to Niklaus Skad. He was always arriving in fancy rides. Though he seemed to have a penchant for sports cars.” She pointed to a BMW Roadster that was parked halfway down the alley. “That’s his car right there. He must have arrived and never left.”
Dooley and I stared blankly at the BMW, then my mind turned back to the Tesla. It was significant, and I vowed to tell Odelia first chance I got.
“Oh, my name is Montserrat, by the way,” the black cat said.
“Is that your food, Montserrat?” Dooley asked, pointing at the bowl.
“Dooley!” I hissed.
“What? Just asking.”
Montserrat giggled. “No, that’s not my food, silly. Erin put that out here for the strays. I have my bowl inside. Erin’s taken a liking to me. She works here and makes sure all my needs are met.” She sighed. “I’m sure lucky with her. Do you guys have humans or are you just a couple of strays?”