by Nic Saint
“They took my painting,” she declared now, with a sense of importance that had put a blush on her cheeks. “My priceless painting, if you please.”
“What painting would this be?” asked Tex, casting a sad glance at his monitor that fed him a live image of his waiting room, where six patients were more or less patiently waiting for Ida to finish her tale of woe and damnation.
“My late husband got it at an auction in Auckland,” Idea explained as she clasped her purse a little tighter, as if afraid those same thieves would suddenly spring from under the desk and abscond with her faux crocodile Louis Vuitton. “It’s a Picasso, if you please.”
“A real Picasso?” asked Tex, trying his darndest to keep the skepticism out of his voice.
“That’s right. My Burt knew his art.”
“Wasn’t your husband a traveling salesman for Crockpot?”
“He was—and a damn fine one at that. Burt was a man of the world, and if he said it was a real Picasso, you can bet your bottom dollar it was. Worth a small fortune, too.”
“And someone stole it,” said Tex, wondering how much of the story was true, and how much Ida had picked up from the Lifetime movie she’d been watching the night before.
“It must have happened while I was home, too,” said the eternal patient. She shivered visibly. “Can you imagine? Being home in bed with a burglar prowling through your apartment. I can only imagine what might have happened if I’d been suffering through one of my insomniac episodes you told me I didn’t suffer from.” She gave Tex a look of reproach. “Good thing you decided to give me those pills anyway, or else I might have woken up and run straight into that burglar. And who knows what would have happened. He’d have probably knocked me out cold—or worse!”
Tex couldn’t imagine what fate worse than being knocked on the head could have befallen Ida, but kept his tongue. He’d learned a long time ago to simply let Ida do all the talking, at the end write her a prescription for a harmless potion or draught, and send her on her way, happy that yet another lethal disease had been nipped in the bud.
“I probably should have sold the painting a long time ago,” said Ida with pretty regret. “Burt told me it’d probably net us a million. But I simply couldn’t bring myself to part with something that was a gift from my dearest late husband—God rest his soul.”
“So did you tell the police?” asked Tex, in spite of himself gripped by this tale.
Ida pressed her lips together. “Of course I did. And do you want to know what she said, that horrible Dolores Peltz? That it was probably a fake, and to buy myself another copy at the dime store. Can you believe the gall of the woman? The impertinence?”
Tex made the appropriate noises of commiseration, while he mentally commended Dolores for her good sense.
“I’m sure Chief Alec will take the matter in hand,” he said. “If there really is a gang of thieves going house to house as you suggest, he’ll be on top of it—don’t you worry.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Ida with a disparaging shake of the head. “Our chief of police is too busy with other, more important matters, to bother about a silly little thing like a crime wave upsetting his fair town.”
“You mean…”
Mrs. Baumgartner nodded primly and scooted a little closer to the desk. “The Chief is carrying on with the Mayor, if you please. Acting like a couple of teenage lovebirds, too. I saw them walking out of the police station, hand in hand, giggling and behaving like a couple of silly kids.” She produced a loud snort of disapproval. “The safety of Hampton Covians be damned—as long as the Mayor and the chief of police can have their little carnal fun, who cares about ordinary tax-paying citizens like myself?”
“I’m sure Alec is on top of things,” said Tex as he got up from behind his desk, the clearest indication he could give that as far as he was concerned, the consultation was at an end. Ida Baumgartner didn’t take the hint, though, and remained firmly seated.
“I’m telling you, Dr. Poole, when both the Mayor and the chief of police take their eye off the ball, we’re in for a very bad time indeed. You know what they say. When the cat’s away, the mice will play. And this is the exact same scenario playing out right now, only with potentially devastating consequences for us little people.” And with a final loud snort, she got up and walked out. “You tell that brother-in-law of yours to get his act together fast, or else this town will become like the Wild West. Lawlessness will reign, and Hampton Cove will go down in flames and so will his career and the Mayor’s.”
9
Long after Marge had left, along with her contraption of doom, we all stayed safely hidden in Odelia’s bed. Finally I decided to brave all and venture out into the world again. Much to my delight, of Marge there was no trace, and neither of her Hoover.
“You can come out now, you guys,” I said therefore. “The coast is clear.”
Harriet, who was the first to follow my lead, blew out a sigh of intense relief. “When I talked to Marge and implored her to do something about the lack of hygiene in this place I didn’t think she’d be this quick to give service,” she said, looking slightly mussed. She immediately started rectifying the situation by applying raspy tongue to fur.
Brutus, who was next to emerge from under the bed covers, glanced left and right, then lifted his head and walked out into our midst as if nothing had happened. He stretched and yawned. “Nice nap, you guys,” he said. “We should do this again sometime.”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t as afraid as the rest of us of that vacuum cleaner,” I said.
“Afraid? Moi?” he asked, assuming a careless stance. He laughed a light little laugh. “What a silly idea. Me, afraid of a vacuum cleaner. Of course I’m not afraid. I simply saw that you were afraid and decided you needed a strong paw to guide you through this dark time, that’s all.”
“You’re as afraid of vacuum cleaners as the rest of us, Brutus,” I said. “Just admit it.”
“I will do no such thing,” he grunted, and lifted a paw as if to strike me, then used it to smooth his ruffled brow instead. I flinched and he flashed me a triumphant grin.
Even though Brutus has mellowed out a lot in the time he’s been with us, he can still be his old obnoxious self if he wants to be.
The final cat to emerge from the safety of the makeshift burrow was Dooley. “Are you sure she’s gone?” he asked, giving me a piteous look.
“Yeah, she’s gone. She said the coast was clear, and then the doorbell rang and then I heard her talking up a storm with whoever was at the door, so we’re perfectly safe.”
“For now,” Harriet muttered as she inspected herself in the mirror Odelia likes to use when getting ready to go out and Chase likes to use to see if his left bicep is the exact same size as his right bicep.
“At least there are no more health hazards lurking around every corner,” I said. “No more bacteria, fungi or germs in evidence.”
“Yeah, at least there’s that,” said Harriet with the sigh of a long-suffering health fanatic.
“I wonder who was at the door just now,” I said, my natural curiosity asserting itself once again.
“Probably the mailwoman,” said Brutus as he licked his paw then applied it to his brow, smoothing out a few errant hairs located there.
“So did Max tell you about my great idea?” asked Dooley now.
“What great idea?” asked Harriet, striking a pose in front of the mirror.
“Max! You didn’t tell them?”
“When would I have told them? You only told me an hour ago or so.”
“I’ll tell you now,” said Dooley, “shall I?”
Harriet didn’t seem particularly excited by the prospect, and neither did Brutus, but that didn’t bother Dooley, for he launched into his pitch for his cat quiz show with marked glee. When it was all over, Harriet was frowning, and so was Brutus.
“So you want Gran to reveal her big cat-talking secret to the world so you can win a house, while you alre
ady have a perfectly nice set of houses to live in?” asked Harriet. “I’m sorry, Dooley, but that doesn’t make any sense at all. None whatsoever.”
Of course Dooley had neglected to add one crucial detail: that he wanted the new house so he could get away from Harriet’s overbearing ways. I wasn’t going to supply this information either, so Harriet naturally remained mystified.
“I think it’s a great idea,” said Brutus. “Cats from all over the world will love it. Humans won’t, though, unless you provide subtitles.”
“Subtitles! What a great idea, Brutus!” Dooley cried. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“I think it’s a disastrously ill-conceived idea, but who listens to me? No one,” said Harriet as she studied her paw with interest. “Is it just me or did my paw pads look pinker yesterday?”
“You probably shouldn’t involve Gran, though,” said Brutus. “She might get in trouble. What you need is a seasoned show host. A cat who exudes natural charm and that air of debonair flair you want to see.” He tapped his chest. “And as it so happens I’m between engagements right now so I’ll gladly pick up the baton and fill the position.”
Dooley, who’d been listening intently to this speech, seemed to have missed the point. “So you want to win a house, too, Brutus?”
“I want to host your show,” Brutus corrected him. “But only if you call it something appropriate. Like The Brutus Show.”
“Oh, no,” said Harriet. “If anyone is going to host Dooley’s new show it’s me. I’ll be a regular ratings hit.”
“It’s a YouTube show,” I pointed out, “so there won’t be any ratings, only views.”
“Well, rack up the views for here I come,” said Harriet, tilting her head and looking every bit the quiz show queen of the new era.
“I don’t know,” said Dooley, taken aback a little.
“Of course you don’t. A quiz of this caliber needs a firm paw to navigate the rocky cliffs of the interwebs,” said Brutus, and tapped his chest again. “Me, myself and I will do the job. And no one else.” But when Harriet gave him one of her trademark icy looks, his self-assurance wavered, and soon he mumbled, “Or it could be you, sweet pea.”
“Of course it’s me,” said Harriet. “But you can hold the camera,” she allowed.
Dooley cast me a look of confusion, and I shot him back a look of commiseration. With Brutus and Harriet on board his little quiz show had just entered a new, more challenging era. That’s what you get when you hire talent as capricious and prone to temper tantrums and diva behavior as Harriet and Brutus.
Things get complicated. Very complicated indeed.
10
Odelia had just started typing up the story of the latest farmer’s market to spring up in Hampton Cove, when her editor Dan Goory walked in, his white beard waggling excitedly and his eyes sparkling the way they always did when he was onto a good story.
“Stop the press,” he cried as he took a seat on the edge of her desk. “I’ve got tomorrow’s cover right here.”
He was holding his phone, and now handed it to her.
She frowned as her eyes adjusted to the small screen, then frowned even more when she recognized the people depicted in the picture on the screen. They were none other than her uncle Alec Lip, chief of police, and his girlfriend Charlene Butterwick, town mayor. They were locked in a tight embrace, gazing into each other’s eyes intently, the epitome of the loved-up couple.
Dan swiped through to the next picture, which showed the same couple, only now their eyes were closed and their lips were touching in a touching display of public affection—at least Odelia thought it was a public place.
“Where were these taken?” she asked immediately.
Dan didn’t respond, but merely swiped again. The next shot showed the couple’s surroundings: Café Baron, right in the heart of town, with patrons to the left of them and patrons to the right, all doing their darndest not to look too closely at the couple in their midst and failing miserably.
“I think it’s beautiful,” said Odelia. “They’re clearly very much in love, and I think it’s wonderful that they’re not afraid to show it to the world.”
“Yeah, but as the sender of these pictures rightly states, aren’t they supposed to be at work? These were taken yesterday afternoon at two o’clock, when by all accounts both the Mayor and the chief of police should have been at the office, doing whatever it is that a mayor and a chief of police are supposed to be doing at that time.”
Odelia leaned back and shook her head. “Don’t these people have anything better to do than to take pictures of my uncle and his girlfriend and send them to you?”
“It’s news, Odelia, and like it or not news is the business we’re in.”
“You’re not seriously considering printing these on the cover of the Gazette, are you?” she asked, horrified.
The editor shrugged his bony shoulders. “Like I said, it’s news, and people have a right to know what their civil servants are up to when they’re supposed to be working, earning their paycheck, paid for by your taxes and mine.”
“Oh, come on, Dan. It’s sweet! It’s romantic!”
“And I’m sure the majority of our readers will think so, too,” he said with a grin.
“Oh, no, they won’t. They’ll think my uncle and the mayor are playing hooky.”
“Then maybe they should be more careful next time,” said Dan as he got up, taking his phone from Odelia’s hands. “Look,” he added when he saw her expression, “I’m all for romance, and personally I think it’s pretty sweet, too. But you have to admit that when the mayor and the chief of police of a town like ours hook up, and don’t bother to hide their affection, it’s news. And if we don’t carry this story, I’m sure plenty of others will.”
Dan had a point, of course. Even if he didn’t print the story, it would still wend its way across the digital landscape and arrive in inboxes and social media pages around town.
“I better tell my uncle to be more careful next time,” she said, picking up her own phone.
“Yeah, you do that. And I’ll think up a nice headline to go with these pictures,” said her editor. “Something like… CHIEF OF MY HEART. Or… CAN I HAVE SOME MAYOR!”
Her uncle picked up at the first ring. “Odelia, honey, just the person I need. Your dad just called me and said Ida Baumgartner was robbed last night. Something about a Picasso. Could you go over there and talk to her?”
“Sure. But isn’t that something your officers should be doing?” She didn’t mind doing a bit of legwork for the local police department from time to time, but the citizenry didn’t always appreciate it when she did.
“I’m, um… a little busy right now,” said her uncle.
“Busy doing what?”
“Um… well, it’s a long story, but, um… Please be a dear and do this for me, will you?”
“But how about Sarah or Randal?” she asked, referring to two of her uncle’s officers.
“Both on holiday.”
“Or Chase?”
“Working a case.”
“Okay. Um, so what do I tell her?”
“Just tell her I sent you. I’m sure it’s just a storm in a teacup. You know what Ida is like. A lot of fuss about nothing. Thanks, honey. I owe you one.” And before Odelia could say more, he’d already hung up. And when she rang him back a couple of seconds later, her call went straight to voicemail. “Listen, Uncle Alec, there’s something you should know,” she spoke into the machine. “You and Charlene are going to be in tomorrow’s—” And she would have said more, but the beep of her uncle’s answering service cut her off. So instead she typed out a message and hit send, biting her lip and wondering what could be so important her uncle didn’t have time to look into a simple burglary.
11
We’d only just emerged from the relative safety of the bedroom and trepidatiously set paw into the living room—practicing extreme caution lest that terrible vacuum cleaner was waiting for us around the c
orner to jump us and tear us into little dust-sized pieces—when both the front door slammed open and so did the kitchen door. Odelia came homing in on us from the front, while Gran performed the same maneuver from the back. We were cornered, and awaited further developments with bated breath.
Odelia was the first to speak. “Are you guys up for a new adventure? I’m heading out to talk to Ida Baumgartner, who’s been the victim of a burglary.”
“They can’t come with you, Odelia,” said Gran. “I need them to come with me. I’ve set up an interview with Mort and Megan Hodge, whose house has just been burgled.”
For a moment, both amateur detectives faced off, the four of us stuck in the middle, our fate being sealed without our say-so. Now I know how the lesser countries in the UN must feel, when the Permanent Members decide the fate of the world over their heads.
“Fine,” finally said Odelia. “Why don’t I take Max and Dooley, and you take Harriet and Brutus? That way we both get what we want.”
“Fine,” said Gran, in the same measured tones as her granddaughter. “Harriet. Brutus. You’re with me. On the double!”
Harriet and Brutus trotted off in the direction of the kitchen door, and soon it slammed shut and the threesome was gone.
“Thanks for picking us,” I told my human. “It’s not that I don’t like Gran, but she looked a little… worked up.”
“She’s got a lot on her plate right now,” said Odelia, crouching down to give me a scratch behind the ears. “What with this neighborhood watch thing she started. People are relying on her, and it’s making her a little antsy.”
“Berserk is the word I’d go for,” I intimated, earning myself a smile from my human, and a cuddle. Dooley emitted a plaintive meow, and Odelia laughed and included him in the cuddle.
Group cuddle over, we set out for Odelia’s car, an aged pickup that nevertheless refuses to break down, and soon we were hurtling away from the curb, leaving the house on Harrington Street behind. And as we rounded the corner, and our home disappeared from view, I wondered briefly if it was safe to head out like this. “Don’t you think you should install an alarm?” I asked. “I mean, with this plague of burglaries maybe you should take some extra precautions, and so should Marge and Tex.”