by Nic Saint
“Kurt has some late-night visitors,” said Dooley.
“Visitors? Or burglars?” I said with a worried glance in the direction of the odd pair. One was big and tall, the other thin and short, though I couldn’t tell who they were because they were both wearing some type of face coverings. They were also carrying some large and bulky object, and making haste as they picked their way along the hedge.
“Maybe we should tell Odelia,” Dooley suggested. I glanced back at the house. Brutus and Harriet had already disappeared inside, and both Odelia’s and Marge and Tex’s houses were dark and quiet.
“By the time Odelia is out here they’ll be long gone,” I said. “Better to follow them and see what they’re up to instead.”
And so Dooley and I snuck behind the sneaky twosome and followed them as they hit the sidewalk, then hurried along toward a black van. One of the pair opened the side door and placed the bulky package inside, then both got in and soon the engine roared to life.
“Let’s take a closer look at the license plate,” I suggested.
Unfortunately, before we could, a large cloud of black smoke blasted from the exhaust, obscuring said license plate. All I could see as the van peeled away from the curb in a haze of diesel fumes were the letter A and the number 5.
“A5,” I said. “What did you get, Dooley?”
“I got nothing,” he said, coughing. “Except a lungful of smoke.”
“If nothing else, Uncle Alec will probably be able to arrest them for nocturnal pollution,” I said. At least if a law existed against pollution, nocturnal or otherwise.
Coughing, we both returned to the house, and vowed to tell Odelia about these suspicious marauders in the morning.
So we passed along the strip of lawn between Odelia’s house and Marge and Tex’s, and got in through the pet flap, then had a bite to eat and a sip of water before heading upstairs to enjoy a nice nap.
We hopped onto the bed, Chase automatically retracting his long limbs to provide Dooley some space at the foot of the bed while I made myself comfortable at the foot of Odelia’s side of the bed, and very soon we were both snoring along with Odelia and Chase’s snores, the picture of familial bliss.
27
When Odelia opened her eyes the next morning, she found herself staring into a pair of green-golden cat eyes. They were about half a foot removed from her face and gazing steadily at her with an intensity and fixedness only cat owners are accustomed to.
“Hi, Max,” she groaned, not fully awake yet. He’d already walked over her to reach his favorite spot: right in the middle of the bed between her and Chase, where he liked to lie and purr until one of them woke up and proceeded to stroke his fur so he could bury his nose into an armpit or elbow and continue to purr up a storm. His preferred armpit was Odelia’s, but he wasn’t choosy, and if Chase happened to be better positioned he didn’t mind digging his nose into his pit.
Cats didn’t seem bothered by smelly pits, or else Max would have reeled back in horror. And neither did they mind smelly breath, for Max loved to smell her and Chase’s breath in the morning, something she wouldn’t advise anyone—unless they had a death wish.
“Something happened last night,” Max said now.
“Mh?” she said, her brain only now starting to boot up, and even then only to a minor degree.
“I think Kurt was visited by two midnight prowlers. They were both dressed in black and carried a big bulky object tucked in a canvas bag or sack. And then they got into a black van and drove away.”
“In a cloud of black smoke,” Dooley added. He was lying on Odelia’s other side, and so now she was compelled to divide her attention between the two cats.
“Two prowlers dressed in black, carrying a black bag and escaping in a black van. Anything else you want me to know?” She finger-combed her long blond tresses away from her face but got stuck halfway. She really needed to go to the hairdresser soon.
“What’s going on, babe?” asked a sleepy-sounding Chase.
“Max and Dooley caught two suspected burglars last night, walking out of Kurt’s house carrying a large canvas bag with an unknown object inside. They then got into a black van and took off.”
“Description,” Chase muttered, his police brain asserting operational control.
“One was short and thin, the other one big and tall, and the license plate number started with A5,” Max said, his words translated by Odelia for Chase’s benefit.
“Gotcha,” Chase muttered, then rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Don’t you think it’s a strange coincidence that an amateur sleuth like you, and a professional detective like me, have managed to be adopted by two amateur sleuth cats?”
Odelia smiled. “No, I don’t think that’s a coincidence at all. We’re a family of sleuths, after all. And Max and Dooley are probably even better at this stuff than we are.”
“Oh, that’s for sure,” said Chase as he leaned over and gave Odelia a peck on the lips.
She kept her mouth tightly closed. Cats might not mind her morning breath, but she sure as heck wasn’t going to allow her boyfriend to smell it. At least not until after the wedding.
“I’ll check on Kurt later,” said Chase.
“What will you tell him?”
“That one of the neighbors happened to walk his dog last night and thought he saw a couple of unsavory types snoop around the house.”
“What I find strange is that Fifi didn’t warn her human,” said Max now. “She might not be much of a watchdog but I’m sure that if a couple of burglars burgled the house she would bark up a storm.”
“Yeah, that is strange,” Odelia agreed.
“What’s strange, babe?” asked Chase, yawning and stretching his lanky frame, causing the bed to creak dangerously.
“That Fifi didn’t bark.”
“I’ll tell you all about it once I’ve talked to Kurt. Don’t get your hopes up, though, you guys,” he added with a wink in the direction of Max and Dooley. “Chances are it’s a false alarm. But nevertheless: great job, cat sleuths one and two.”
“I wonder which of us is cat sleuth number one and which is number two,” Dooley said as Chase got out of bed and in the process dislodged Max from the blanket he’d claimed for his own.
“I’m sure it’s not important,” said Max as he walked across Odelia again, causing the latter to huff out a surprised ‘Oof!’ as he dug his paws into her stomach.
Cats. You had to love them. Especially early in the morning.
She followed Chase’s cue and got up, too, slipping her feet into her pink Hello Kitty slippers and dragging her sleepy frame down the stairs and into the kitchen where she proceeded to put on a fresh pot of coffee.
She wondered if Max and Dooley’s story was true. If it was, could it be that Uncle Alec had arrested the wrong people in Johnny and Jerry, just as they steadfastly claimed? Or maybe there was more than one gang of burglars active in their small town.
She thought it odd that Kurt would be the target of a burglary, though. He wasn’t exactly the kind of person brimming with unknown riches and chests full of gold and diamonds. Then again, Ida Baumgartner wasn’t known as a rich woman either, and still the thieves had found out about her Picasso.
Chase came ambling down the stairs, his muscular frame clad in stretchy lycra.
“Going for a run?” asked Odelia.
“Yeah, just a quick one. Wanna come?”
She hesitated. She knew she should join him on his morning run, but the temptation of a fresh cup of coffee and breakfast was too strong, so she shook her head. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “I wouldn’t go for a run either, but I kinda need it, knowing the kind of day I’m heading into.”
“More insurance fraud hunting?”
“If your uncle wanted to punish me he couldn’t have done a better job than to hand me this particular assignment. I know white-collar crime is on the rise and all, but going through piles and piles of documents look
ing for traces of fraud is not my idea of fun.”
She smiled. “Who ever said being a detective was all fun and games?”
“No one, but I’d kinda hoped it was,” he said with a grin. He pointed to the coffee. “Save some for me, will you?”
And then he was out the door, braving the elements to keep himself in shape.
And as Odelia took her first cup of coffee of the day, she glanced out the window and saw Kurt Mayfield step into his backyard and call out for his dog. Usually Fifi immediately responded and came jumping and skipping up to her owner. This morning, though, there was no happy yapping and no equally happy Kurt playing around with his little Yorkie.
Frowning, Odelia opened the sliding glass door, then stepped out into her own backyard to take a closer look. And as she glanced across the fence and into her neighbor’s backyard, she was shocked to find Kurt leaning over the inert body of Fifi. The big guy, usually so aloof and grumpy, was sobbing like a small child. And when he looked up and saw Odelia, he cried, “She’s dead! My sweet baby is dead!”
28
Attracted by sounds of anguish, Dooley and I stepped out of the house and found the door that led from our backyard into Kurt Mayfield’s backyard wide open.
It was a sight to behold, to be honest, for as far as I could tell that squeaky iron door had never been opened. It must have taken a strong hand to open it even now, as it was pretty rusty and covered with weeds on Kurt’s side—purposely so, I would have thought, to prevent nosy neighbors from entering his yard unannounced and uninvited.
We moved into Kurt’s domain with some trepidation, as Kurt is not exactly a friend of cats in general, or Dooley and myself in particular. He mostly disapproves of the impromptu singing sessions we sometimes engage in in the backyard in the middle of the night, when, having only just returned from cat choir, the muse strikes and we decide to sing a couple of bars.
Kurt is a retired music teacher, you see, and his musical sense is quite refined.
What we saw, though, when we passed across the threshold and into Kurt’s backyard, drove all thought of Kurt as some kind of ogre from our minds, as we watched the pensioner hunched over Fifi, thick tears sliding down his cheeks, as the little doggie lay motionless at his feet.
“Fifi!” I cried, and hurried to the scene.
“I’ve called Vena,” said Odelia. She’d placed a hand on her neighbor’s shaking back. “I’m sure she’ll know what to do.”
Normally the thought of Vena Aleman paying a house call fills me with dread. She’s our veterinarian, and in that capacity not exactly our favorite person in the world, armed as she usually comes with needles and poking fingers, but this time I hoped she would fly like the wind to save Fifi’s life.
“Is she… dead?” asked Dooley.
“She’s not dead,” said Odelia. “I think she was drugged, but that’s for Vena to decide.”
Just then, Chase returned from his morning run and came to see what all the fuss was about.
“I think the same people that your anonymous witness saw prowling around Kurt’s house last night must have drugged Fifi,” Odelia told her boyfriend.
“My Jackson Pollock,” sniffed Kurt. “It’s gone. When I woke up this morning I noticed it immediately. I’ve put it on my bedroom wall, behind the door. I saw this documentary once about a couple that stole a famous painting and kept it behind their bedroom door for years. So I figured I would do the same. Only this morning when I opened my eyes it was gone!” He gestured at Fifi. “But I don’t care about the painting. All I care about is my sweet baby. The sweetest dog in the world, and now look what they did. They killed her!”
“She’s still breathing, Kurt,” Odelia reminded him. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
She grimaced when she looked in our direction, though, so I knew she was just saying this to make Kurt feel better.
“Is it cancer, Max?” asked Dooley. “Is that what killed her?”
“She’s not dead, Dooley,” I said. “Probably the people who robbed Kurt’s house last night gave her something to drug her and keep her quiet. Which is why she didn’t bark.”
“Oh, that’s not very nice,” he said, eyes wide.
“No, that’s not very nice,” I agreed.
Fifi is our friend, and if there’s anything I dislike it is people hurting our friends.
Just then, Ted Trapper stuck his head over the fence—our fence. When he saw the commotion, he joined us in Kurt’s backyard. “What’s happened?” he asked. “I heard all the hullabaloo and I thought—ooh, my God the poor thing. Is she dead?”
Suddenly, Kurt reared up and roared, “You did this, you two-bit bean counter! You stole my painting and you killed my dog!”
Ted reeled back at this. “Wa-what?” he stuttered.
“I talked to you yesterday about Ida’s Picasso and Tex’s Metzgall and now my painting is gone. Admit it, Ted—you’re behind this whole thing!”
“But—no! I’m not a thief, Kurt. No way, José!”
“And here we go again,” I muttered. It wasn’t the first time that Ted was being accused of being a thief. Last time it was actually Tex who accused him, after a number of garden gnomes had mysteriously found their way into Ted’s possession—garden gnomes that had hitherto been in Tex’s possession. The entire thing turned out to be a big misunderstanding, and Ted was cleared of all suspicion.
“I don’t think Ted has anything to do with this, Kurt,” said Odelia, coming to her neighbor’s defense.
“And I’m sure he’s guilty. Just look at that face. It’s the face of a guilty person. And will you look at that smile? He’s proud of himself—proud that he got away with it!”
“I’m not smiling!” said Ted.
It was true. Ted just has one of those rosy smiley faces—he can’t help it.
“One of your neighbors says he saw two people get away with your painting,” said Chase, inserting his formidable frame between the two men. “They got into a black van and raced off. Now why would Ted make his getaway in a black van if he lives two doors down?”
“I don’t know. Probably to hide the loot in a warehouse somewhere, along with the other stuff he stole.”
“And what about his accomplice?” asked Odelia. “Just think, Kurt.”
“I am thinking, Odelia!” said Kurt, his customary belligerence reasserting itself in the wake of the tragedy that had befallen him. “And what I’m thinking is that Marcie must be the second burglar. Probably she poisoned my sweet Fifi.”
“Oh, come on, Kurt,” said Odelia, but suddenly the irate neighbor turned on her.
“Or maybe you did it. Maybe you and he-man here stole my Jackson Pollock. You’re about to get married, aren’t you? And we all know weddings cost money. A lot of money. So you probably figured you could use some extra cash and stole my painting!”
“Kurt, if I were you I’d be very careful what I say next,” said Chase, also getting a little hot under the collar now, even though he looked very cool in his lycra. Cool and imposing. In fact he was towering over his neighbor, and Kurt, taking in the hunk of male prowess that is Chase Kingsley, quickly piped down. He probably didn’t want to be knocked out cold like his dog.
His doorbell rang, and he went into the house to answer it.
“That will be Vena,” said Odelia.
“Look, you have to believe me,” said Ted. “I didn’t do this. I would never steal from my neighbors—no, scratch that, I would never steal, period. I’m not a thief, Detective Kingsley—Chase. I’m just not.”
“I believe you, Ted,” said Chase, placing a large comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “And you’ll have to forgive Kurt. He’s very upset right now, and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“I could sue, you know,” Ted said. “I could sue for slander and, and, and defamation of character.”
“Let’s all keep our cool,” said Chase. “The important thing right now is to make sure Fifi is all right, and that Kurt’s painting is retriev
ed and the thieves caught. You didn’t happen to be out and about last night, walking Rufus?”
“No, I walked him at eleven, then went straight to bed.”
“Mh. We have a partial license plate—I’ll get to work on that right away.”
Vena stepped onto the scene, looking competent and completely in charge, just the way a pet owner whose pet is out cold likes to see. Kurt was sniffling again, tears having formed in his eyes.
“It’s amazing how people can change when they are worried about their pets,” I told Dooley. “One minute he’s accusing Ted of all kinds of horrible things, and the next he’s weeping like a baby.”
“I think it’s cancer,” said Dooley. “I thought she looked very thin lately. Emaciated. It’s probably a tumor. Sometimes they hit you when you least expect it.”
Vena had examined the little doggie, and smiled a reassuring smile at Kurt. “She’ll be fine,” she said. “I’d say she was drugged. Did she eat something she shouldn’t have?”
“Kurt was burgled last night,” said Odelia. “And the burglars probably gave Fifi something to keep her quiet.”
Vena glanced around, then spotted a piece of meat lying a couple of feet away from where Fifi’s prostrate form lay. She picked up the piece of meat and sniffed then pulled a face. “This would have done the trick,” she said, then handed the meat to Chase. “I’m guessing you’ll need this as evidence, detective?”
Chase nodded, then automatically reached for a plastic evidence baggie, only to find that his lycra running outfit didn’t have pockets for such a contingency.
“Just put it back,” he said. “I’ll get something to take it into the lab.” He jogged off, and Vena worked on Fifi for a moment, and suddenly, like a miracle, the Yorkie opened her eyes, looked around a little groggily, then emitted a happy bark.
“Oh, Fifi!” said Kurt, picking up his doggie and pressing her to his bosom. “You’re alive!”
“Must have gone into remission,” Dooley said knowingly. “Happens all the time. She’ll have to watch out, though. Cancers this aggressive can come back when you least expect them to.”