by Nic Saint
“Hey!” she yelled, slapping his paw away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I just wanted to change your frown into a smile,” he said sheepishly.
Harriet’s frown only deepened, debunking Dooley’s magical paws theory.
Meanwhile, Brutus had also put his big paw on the screen. Nothing happened and he growled with annoyance. “Stupid screen,” he grumbled.
“I think it’s one of those touchscreens,” I said, a memory stirring in the back of my mind. The computer Odelia had set up for us was her old work computer, and I seemed to remember her once telling me something about it being one of the first models with a touchscreen. Since I had no idea at the time what a touchscreen was, I hadn’t really paid any attention to her words, but now it dawned on me. You touch the screen, and something happens!
“Touch that kitty,” I told Brutus.
“You’re not touching that kitty,” Harriet said when Brutus made to follow my instructions.
“But it’s not a real kitty,” he said now.
“I don’t care. You are not touching that kitty, Brutus, and that’s my final word!”
“So you touch that kitty,” I suggested.
“What? Eww! I’m not that kind of cat, Max.”
I groaned. “Okay, so I’ll touch the kitty.”
“Can I touch the kitty?” Dooley asked. “I like touching kitties.”
That much was obvious. Dooley placed his ‘magical’ paw on the kitty’s face and suddenly it morphed into a ‘bio’ page, which told us the kitty’s name was Susan and she possessed a sweet and disarming personality. She also liked taking long naps on the couch and chasing her own tail.
“I like chasing my own tail!” Dooley exclaimed. “Looks like me and Susan are a match made in heaven.” And since he was having so much fun, he kept on putting his paw on the screen, scrolling down the page to read more about Susan’s daring and exciting habits.
We watched the phenomenon with fascination, and for the next five minutes found out everything there was to know about Susan, including her love of belly rubs. Only when Harriet had finally wrested back control over the computer, she managed to steer the Internet search in the right direction again. Half an hour later we were up to date on Donna Bruce, thanks to the power of the touchscreen and the tendency of the Internet to remember everything about everyone. Turned out Donna used to have a boyfriend, something even Odelia probably didn’t know. His name was Dexter Valdès and he was the spitting image of Ricky Martin, only about two decades younger. For some strange reason, all the pictures we could find featured Dexter with naked torso, though that could have been Harriet, of course.
“It says here they broke up,” she said, having found a site called TMZ. “It also says Dexter felt emasculated in his boy toy role, especially after Donna wrote a blog post on donna.vip about him and his tiny wiener.” She looked up. “What is a wiener?”
“It’s a kind of sausage,” I said knowingly. “Some people really like it.”
“I like sausage,” Brutus grunted.
“Me too,” Dooley chimed in.
“Me too,” I said with a wistful sigh. No more wieners for me in the near future, though. Odelia had already tucked my usual kibble away in a safe place where I couldn’t find it, and replaced it with the special diet kind that tasted like cardboard. From now on, and until the scale dipped below what Vena had determined was my ideal body weight, it was the only food I was going to get, and no more than one bowl of the filthy stuff either.
Brutus gave me a smirk. “No more wieners for you, huh, Max?”
I scowled at him. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
“I believe I will,” he said. “You always told me your bulk was all muscle. Well, as it turns out that was a big, fat lie. It’s all flab, just like I thought.”
“It’s not flab. It is muscle. I just have too much of it is all.”
“You can’t have too much muscle,” he said, flexing his shoulder muscles. “No, just admit it, Max. You are one flabby tabby.”
Dooley laughed at this, but when I turned my scowl on him, he quickly stopped.
“Guys,” said Harriet urgently. “I don’t think Donna was referring to Dexter’s sausage after all. Her blog post was all about his… performance.”
I noticed her ears had taken on a reddish tinge, and her eyes were glittering brightly. “Performance? What performance?” I asked. Anything was better than to have to listen to Brutus’s taunts about my ‘bulk.’
“I think she was referring to his… sexual performance,” she said. She then turned to us, eyes wide. “I think a wiener is… a pee-pee.”
Now we were all staring at the screen, eagerly drinking in the details of Donna Bruce’s blog post. I’m not a great reader, but it soon became clear to me that the article was a lot more revealing than any human male would have appreciated. Not only was there a lot of talk about Dexter’s pee-pee and its lack of size and performance, there was also a long bit about his endurance or lack thereof. All in all, the piece wasn’t entirely flattering to Donna’s boy toy, and I could understand why the two of them hadn’t been a couple at the time of Donna’s untimely demise.
“But why would she write all that?” I asked. “That’s just a lot of very private stuff.”
“Some people are like that,” said Harriet knowingly. “They just enjoy sharing all of their private things with the world.”
“Judging from that TMZ article Dexter didn’t agree.”
“No, it must have hurt his chances with other females,” said Brutus. “No woman likes a guy with a small pee-pee.” When I frowned at him, he quickly added, “At least that’s what I’m guessing. Personally I have no problem in that department.”
Harriet gave him a small smile. “No, you definitely don’t.”
“Size matters,” said Dooley knowingly, and we all turned to him. “It does,” he said defensively. “The bigger the sausage the more meat. And we all like meat, don’t we?”
I slapped my brow. “Dooley, do you still think Donna was writing about meat?”
“Of course she was. A wiener is a kind of sausage. That’s what you just said.”
“It’s also a pee-pee,” I said. “Which is what Harriet just said.”
“What is a pee-pee?” asked Dooley with a frown.
Harriet groaned. “Oh, Dooley.”
Chapter 14
Odelia and Chase found Tad Rip, the illustrious ex-husband of whom they’d heard so much by now, presiding over lunch while a nanny had a hard time keeping his two boys in check. Sweetums and Honeychild turned out to be six-year-old twins, and quite a handful. Mr. Rip himself appeared distraught when Odelia and Chase were led out onto the patio by an assistant. The house where he lived was still under construction, as bare bulbs dangled from the concrete ceiling and boxes stood piled up all over the place.
“Don’t mind the mess,” said Tad, who looked like a million bucks in a power suit and a stylish pair of expensive sunglasses. “I just moved in last week.” He gave them an apologetic grimace. “Great timing, as it turns out.”
“Our condolences for your loss,” said Odelia as she took the proffered seat at the table.
“Thanks. Donna and I were divorced but she was still the mother of my boys. Cut it out, will you!” he hollered at the two rascals, who were hitting their nanny with super soakers. The girl screamed, trying to evade the twin beams of water.
“I didn’t know the kids were with you,” said Chase, looking out across the immaculately landscaped garden. At least that part of the house was ready. “It was my understanding that Mrs. Bruce had sole custody and denied you visitation rights?”
“She did,” said Tad as he removed his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. “But lately we’d become civil with each other again. We were even on speaking terms—we just talked last night, actually, mainly about the boys’ future. Our divorce might have been acrimonious but for the sake of Sweetums and Honeychild we decided to put our differences aside
and work things out. Which is why I moved back out here—to be closer to the boys. I was going to have them every weekend while they spent the week with their mother.”
“What’s going to happen now?” asked Odelia.
The man shrugged, and she noticed the bags under his eyes. “No idea. I guess I’ll have them full-time from now on. Not what I was counting on but I’ll manage. I’ll have to.”
They stared out at the kids, who were now chasing the nanny around the yard. “They seem to have taken the news pretty well,” said Chase.
“It hasn’t sunk in yet. I told them this morning what happened—that their mommy now lives with the angels in heaven, looking down on them from up above. They thought that was pretty cool. Like Superwoman. I guess it’ll take them some time to come to terms with the whole thing.”
“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Mr. Rip,” said Odelia, “but where were you this morning between seven and eight?”
“You can ask me anything you want. I just hope you catch whoever did this before they strike again. I was trying to wake up the kids. We were going to church and I needed them to get ready.”
“Is there anyone who can vouch for you?” asked Chase.
“Sure. Elsie was here—that’s the nanny. And Germaine—the housekeeper. Oh, and you just met Herman—he’s my executive assistant. And then there’s the executive protection detail—Franz and Hans. They guard the boys twenty-four seven.”
“They all live here?” asked Odelia.
“Yeah, they do. There’s also Arnold—the driver—but he doesn’t live on-site.”
“And they were all here with you when Mrs. Bruce was killed,” Chase said, just to make sure.
“Yeah, they were. A man in my position is rarely alone. I can’t afford to be. I’ve got a billion-dollar company to run and now I’ve got a family to think about as well. A lot of moving parts so any helping hand is more than welcome.”
“Do you have any idea who might be behind the murder of your ex-wife, sir?” asked Odelia.
The man frowned and rubbed his jaw. “Well, if I had to venture a guess, I’d take a long, hard look at Dexter. That’s Dexter Valdès. He was Donna’s boyfriend for a couple of years, though they broke up not so long ago. Dexter has had a few bad things to say about Donna, especially after she wrote that article about him on her site. I guess he didn’t take it too well.”
“Why? What happened?”
The business tycoon smiled. “Donna liked to live her life out in the open—for the world to see. She held nothing back, which was one of the reasons our marriage failed. I can’t afford to have every minute of every day shared with the rest of the world. If you’re a businessman you can’t operate like that. My competitors would have a field day if they could anticipate my next move. But Donna was a relentless marketer of her own life. She turned oversharing into a form of art. So when she decided to share with the world what happened between the sheets with Dexter, the guy wasn’t too happy about it, especially since he didn’t come out smelling of roses.”
“What do you mean?”
The man’s smile widened. “I don’t remember all the details, but there was a piece about the man’s tiny wiener that went viral, inspiring lots of memes, if that’s the term. Suffice it to say Dexter left in a huff, claiming she’d caused irreparable damage to his reputation. Which she probably had. Not that she cared one bit. Donna was self-centered that way. She didn’t care who she hurt in her relentless pursuit of fame and fortune.”
“You sound bitter,” Odelia remarked.
“I do? Well, maybe I was bitter—for a long time.” He glanced at Sweetums and Honeychild, who’d now resorted to turning the super soakers on each other and were screeching up a storm. “But when I look at what she gave me, my bitterness fades. Donna Bruce was a complicated woman, detectives, but she did at least one thing right: she was a loving mother.”
“Did she also share every minute of every day of the twins’ lives online?” asked Chase.
“No, she did not. Oddly enough that’s where she drew the line. Said the boys got to decide for themselves if they wanted to lead the kind of life she did, and as long as they were underage, she would protect their privacy with the fierceness of a lioness. Which she did.”
Chapter 15
Frankly I was growing a little tired of Harriet’s Internet search as the be-all and end-all of sleuthing, so when she started getting engrossed in an article about Blac Chyna, claiming it was giving her valuable insight into the celebrity mindset, I decided to bail out. Dooley, who’d grown as bored with the whole Internet sleuthing thing as I had, tagged along. Harriet may have been in charge of this investigation, but so far she hadn’t really uncovered all that much. We now knew Beyoncé’s twins Rumi and Sir Carter were teething, the Real Housewives of New York really didn’t get along, and the Duck Dynasty men had shaved their beards for some charity event. What we still didn’t know was the identity of Donna Bruce’s murderer.
And as we ambled along the street, we decided to go old school on this thing again: visit our usual haunts and interrogate every cat in town about what they knew and what they’d seen and heard. We wouldn’t get the latest intel on Justin Bieber, Duck Dynasty, or Blac Chyna, whoever they might be, but we might finally solve this murder case.
“Brutus was awfully quiet just now,” said Dooley. “Do you think he’s sick?”
“He’s henpecked is what he is,” I said.
“Henpecked? But he’s not a hen.”
“It’s just an expression. It means Harriet is now firmly in charge of his life.”
“Oh.” Dooley thought about this for a moment. “So that’s a good thing, right?”
“I guess so.” It hadn’t stopped him from bullyragging me about my diet, though, so the extent of his henpeckedness was still an open question. My money was definitely on Harriet, though. If anyone could get Brutus to toe the line, it was her.
Our first stop was the doctor’s office, where I hoped to exchange a few words with Gran. By now she was probably ensconced behind her trusty front desk, encouraging patients waiting for a medical tête-à-tête with Odelia’s dad to sit down and be quiet, so now might be a good time to ask her what she thought about Donna and what the word on the street was.
We waltzed into the waiting room, which was empty, and headed straight for Gran. She was deeply engrossed in Donna Magazine, probably picking out what else she could buy from the site. She started when we showed up behind her, and Dooley caroled out a blithe, “Hey, Gran!”
Pressing a hand to her heart, she cried, “You scared me! Creeping up on me like that.”
“Sorry about that,” said Dooley. “We just thought we’d pay you a visit.”
“Actually we wanted to find out if you’d heard anything about the Donna Bruce case,” I said. “You know. Some new scuttlebutt or something.”
“Yeah, Odelia put Harriet in charge of the investigation but all she does is read stories about Justin Bieber on the Internet,” Dooley explained.
“I haven’t heard anything, to be honest,” said Gran thoughtfully. “People don’t really seem to be tuned into the whole Donna Bruce drama.” She shrugged her bony shoulders. “I guess Donna was an acquired taste—more for the discerning cognoscenti like me.” She tapped her glossy magazine, which was open on an article extolling the healing power of crystals. Gran leaned down and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Has another package arrived by any chance?”
We both shook our heads. “Nope,” I said.
Gran’s lips tightened into an expression of disapproval. “They promised me it would arrive today.”
“But you already had two packages today,” I reminded her.
“So? Three’s the charm. This third package is the bee’s knees. The absolute cream of the crop. It’s a…” She hesitated, taking in our curious expressions. Then she shook her head. “I’d better not tell you. This is for adults only.”
“But we are adults,” said Dooley. “I’m four, w
hich in human years is…” He thought hard, but finally had to give up.
“You’re still too young,” said Gran. “I don’t want to spoil your innocence. Odelia would never forgive me. Which reminds me—when a new package arrives, can you let me know right away? Odelia doesn’t even have to know about it.”
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll be your eyes and ears, Gran.”
She smiled. “I will make it worth your while.” She opened a desk drawer and took out a small packet of Cat Snax, tore it open and distributed its contents on the floor.
“Oh, gee, Gran!” I cried, digging in with relish. “How did you know these are my favorite?!”
Her smile widened. “Grandmothers know these things, Max. And if you keep me informed about the UPS guy arriving, there’s a lot more where this came from.”
“But he’s not supposed to,” said Dooley. “Max, you’re not supposed to. You’re on a diet.”
“Diet schmiet,” said Gran. “You only live once, Max. So you better enjoy it while you can.”
“My kind of woman,” I said, swallowing down some more of the tasty treats.
“But he’s too fat!” Dooley cried. “Vena said he’s going to get heart ar—arithmetic.”
“Arrhythmia?” asked Gran. “Don’t listen to doctors, Dooley. They’ll only try to scare you into giving up the best things in life. Take me for example. Tex has been telling me for years I shouldn’t drink coffee. That it’s bad for me. Well, no doctor in the world is going to make me give up coffee.” And to show us she meant business, she took a sip from her cup of coffee, slurping loudly and smacking her lips with relish. “You just enjoy your Cat Snax, Max,” she said, “and don’t let that nasty Vena take them away from you.”