by Nic Saint
Unfortunately, I was so much in the swing of my rehearsal thing, that inadvertently I’d started doing those runs again. “Lar lar lar lar lar lar laaaaaaaaaar!” I sang quietly. Or at least I thought I was being quiet. Apparently I was mistaken, for the reporter glanced over as if stung.
When he spotted us, he growled, “I don’t believe this—stupid cats!”
It would appear the man was not a cat person, for he picked up a dead branch from the ground and came charging in our direction—yelling some very unpleasant and rude words in the process!
Harriet zipped into the shrubbery, along with Dooley, but Brutus and I weren’t that smart. Instead, we scooted up a tree and soon were ensconced on the highest branch, where the reporter couldn’t reach us.
“And stay there!” he yelled, then walked away, shaking his head and muttering dark oaths under his breath.
It was only then that I realized the predicament we were in: we were thirty feet up from the ground, with no way to backtrack and get down again! And no friendly human in sight who could lend us a helping hand—or a pole!
“Um, Max,” said Brutus, anxiously looking down at the ground below. “We’re in trouble here, buddy.”
“You don’t say!” I said.
“Well, I did say. Just now.”
“I know!”
“So why did you say ‘You don’t say?’”
“It’s an expression!”
“Great. We’re stuck in a tree and you have to go all grammar Nazi on me.”
“Look, we’re fine,” I said as much for my own reassurance as his. “We’re perfectly fine.”
“Define fine.”
“Harriet and Dooley will go and fetch Odelia and she will figure this out.”
Brutus glanced down again. Harriet and Dooley were nowhere in sight.
“If Dooley lays one paw on my girl,” he growled, “I’ll rip his throat out.”
“This is not the time to entertain your petty jealousies, Brutus,” I said.
“It’s not petty when it’s real. They’re in those bushes down there, and they’re not coming out. I’ll bet he’s holding her, lending aid and comfort.”
“So what’s wrong with lending aid and comfort?”
“When I’m ripping his throat out he’ll know what’s wrong.”
“Please control those primitive urges of yours, Brutus. What are we? Animals?”
“It’s feline nature, Max! Cats thrown together tend to develop certain… feelings.”
“Nonsense.”
“Is it? What about Tom Hanks and his friend Wilson?”
“That was a volleyball.”
“It still proves my point.”
“Well, we’ve been thrown together in a dangerous situation,” I told him. “And we’re not developing certain feelings, are we?” Except extreme irritation.
“We’re not a male and a female, Max. We can be cool with each other.”
“Look, Dooley would never—”
“Oh, Dooley would most definitely jump at the chance to put his paws on Harriet. He’s been praying for an opportunity to be alone with her in a situation where she’s vulnerable and prone to errors of judgment! And all because of some dumb reporter who likes stalking innocent women and children!”
“Well, if you put it that way,” I murmured.
We sat there for a moment, contemplating ways and means of getting out of the tree without risking our necks, but I couldn’t come up with anything other than that our fate rested in the hands of Dooley and Harriet who still hadn’t—at the time of writing—left those darn bushes!
“If I survive this I’m going to kill Dooley,” said Brutus.
I didn’t respond. I was starting to wonder how long the feline body can survive without taking nourishment and drink. Not long, I imagined.
And as the thought entered my mind, already my stomach was rumbling.
Yep, we were two dead cats, and all because of one cat-hating reporter and Dooley’s out-of-control libido.
Chapter 32
Gran wasn’t having a lot of fun. She’d come on this trip hoping it would be a blast, but so far it was more of a bust than a blast. The investigation was one of those weird ones, where you just kept going around in circles, and frankly she’d lost interest in the case the moment Odelia and Chase had taken the lead, making it clear they did not need a little old lady cramping their style.
And then there was the whole debacle with the Queen. Gran had hoped the Queen would become her BFF. That they’d exchange phone numbers and chat for hours and hours about their lives and how much they had in common. Instead, the Queen had been out of there like a flash the moment her precious corgis were returned, and she hadn’t seen or heard from the woman since.
Not exactly the behavior of a true BFF.
She also hated the whole lockdown scenario they’d been living. She’d hoped to visit London and take in some of the sights—preferably with her new BFF by her side—but being locked in the cottage had put a stop to that.
So no trips to London. No invitations for a slumber party at Buckingham Palace where she could have pillow fights with the Queen and drink hot cocoa while they swapped war stories from their long and eventful lives.
And now it seemed as if the whole thing was over before it even got started, with this maid being arrested. Talk about an anticlimax. The cops had dropped by and escorted the hate-spewing online troll into a car and had carted her off to prison and that was that. The end of the investigation and the end of their English sojourn. Soon it would be bye-bye and back to America.
She needed some air, that’s what she needed. So she headed for the door and walked out. Some security guy was lounging out there, looking all threatening and bearded, but she just said, “I’m going for a walk,” in a tone that allowed no backchat, and he merely nodded and watched her walk off.
He’d probably received instructions to protect Tessa, Dante and the baby, and those American tourists were all expendable. So if someone kidnapped them, who cared? Not Tessa—and most definitely not the Queen!
“Dumbasses,” she muttered as she kicked a rock that had the gall to traverse her path.
She headed along a dirt road, and as she walked, soon her mood started improving considerably. It was a beautiful day, with the sun streaming through the canopy of leaves overhead and lovingly dappling the path ahead. Soon she was wondering if maybe they couldn’t extend their trip for a couple of days. They’d probably only be in England this one time, and they needed to take advantage of the opportunity.
And she’d walked about half a mile when she was greeted by a surprising sight: Dooley and Harriet were hurrying down the road, and when they saw her, they practically yipped with joy.
“Thank God!” said Harriet. “Max and Brutus are in trouble, Gran!”
“What trouble?” she asked as she bent down, ignoring the ache in her back and the twin crackling sounds emanating from her creaky knees.
“They were chased up a tree by that nasty reporter and now they can’t get down!” said Dooley, panting freely.
“Oh, heck,” she said, straightening. “Show me the way, will ya?”
They showed her the way, and soon she found herself in a clearing, a faint whiff of cigarette smoke lingering in the air, probably from that nasty reporter, and when she looked up, she saw two cats, hugging a tree branch, and looking down at her with visible joy.
“Gran! Are we glad to see you!” Max shouted.
“Did you do hanky-panky with my girlfriend?!” Brutus demanded.
“Hanky-panky with your girlfriend? Are you nuts? There’s only one person I’d do hanky-panky with and that’s a prince. Unfortunately they’re all taken, as far as I can tell. I’d settle for a duke or a count, but same story.”
“I’m talking to Dooley,” said Brutus, clearly delusional from being up in that tree.
“Brutus, you’re an idiot!” Harriet shouted.
“Tell me the truth! Did he jump your bones when you were in
those bushes?”
“Of course he didn’t jump my bones!”
“You were in there an awfully long time!”
“We were hiding from that nutjob reporter!”
“That nutjob reporter is long gone!”
“Dooley kept saying we should hide out a little longer.”
“A-ha! I knew it!”
“I thought he was still out there!” Dooley explained. “I could hear him. Breathing heavy and uttering threatening curses.”
“That was Brutus you heard, Dooley,” said Max.
“You jumped Harriet’s bones, admit it!” Brutus shouted.
“No, I didn’t!” Dooley shouted back.
“Oh, you’re almost as bad as my boyfriends,” said Gran. “Dumb as rocks.”
“Can you please get us out of this tree, Gran?” asked Max.
“Do you want me to break my neck? Lemme go get some hero to fish you out of that damn tree. And next time use your heads before you pull a stunt like that.”
“Don’t leave us!” Brutus yelled, his plight suddenly more pressing than his petty jealousies.
“Don’t worry!” she yelled. “I’ll be back!”
She hurried back to the cottage, where the same burly guard cocked an eyebrow. “Had a nice walk, Ma’am?”
“My cats are stuck in a tree. Can you get them down?”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I can’t leave my post.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” she said, and headed into the house.
“My cats are stuck in a tree,” she told Dante, who was pacing the living room. “Can you get them out?”
“What are you talking about?” he said, none too friendly, she thought.
Oh, had everyone lost their damn minds? “My cats!” she yelled, figuring all that inbreeding had turned the moron deaf. “They’re stuck! In a tree!”
When he simply stared at her, she threw up her arms. She was starting to see that being queen wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The woman’s grandson was obviously a brainless boob, her other grandson an even bigger numbskull, and the rest of the family probably wasn’t any better. No wonder she preferred the company of a bunch of dogs over her nearest and dearest.
There was only man who could help her. One man in the whole universe. And it wasn’t Superman, or Batman, or Spiderman or any of those chumps.
“Chase!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Chase Kingsley!”
The man of the hour arrived, looking cool as a cucumber as usual.
“Gran?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Max and Brutus,” she said. “They’re stuck in a tree. Can you…”
He held up a hand. “Say no more.”
Odelia now also came walking in from her bedroom. “What’s going on?”
“The cats need saving,” said Chase.
A resolute look stole over Odelia’s face. “Lead the way,” she said.
And Gran led the way. On the walk over, she explained the predicament, including the horrible role played by that vile reporter. When they arrived in the clearing, Max and Brutus were now clinging to each other, looking scared.
Chase put his hands to his mouth to form a makeshift megaphone and shouted, “Max! Brutus! Hang on! I’m coming to get you!”
“Yes, please, Chase!” Max yelled, a quiver in his voice.
“Oh, please, Chase!” Brutus said, a similar quiver in his voice.
Obviously the black cat had been chastened by his stay in the tree.
And before Gran and Odelia’s eyes, not to mention Harriet and Dooley, Chase climbed that tree as if he’d never done anything else in his life.
“Be careful, honey,” said Odelia, nervously biting her lip.
“Be back in a jiffy,” the hero cop announced.
And he was. He climbed that tree as if it was the boardwalk, transferred the two cats onto his broad shoulders, and then came climbing down again.
“Damn,” said Gran when he placed Brutus in her arms and Max in Odelia’s. “You are something else, Chase, and I don’t say that lightly.”
“Oh, honey, you’re a hero,” said Odelia.
Max and Brutus, who were staring at the man adoringly, were too emotional for speech, but Dooley said it best when he spoke those historic words: “Chase is the greatest thing to hit this family since sliced bread.”
Chapter 33
That night, after everyone retired for the night, Gran was the only one still up. She looked a little sad, I thought, which worried me. She was on the sofa, channel-surfing and sipping from a glass of sherry, the sound of the TV muted so as not to disturb the rest of the house, with only Dooley and I to keep her company. Harriet and Brutus had had a reconciliation, and were somewhere outside, frolicking like a couple of frolicking honeymooners.
“What’s wrong, Gran?” I asked after she’d been watching a man with big ears trying to teach a cat to jump through hoops. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“If you must know, I’m sad, Max,” she said.
“Sad? But why? Suzy’s been caught. Tessa is safe, and all’s well that ends well.”
“That’s just it. All’s well that ends well but no thanks to me—as usual. It seems to me that other people are always the hero and I’m the wild card.”
“The wild card?”
“The fool. The silly sidekick who gets the funniest lines but plays a minor part. I thought coming to England I could be the hero for once, you know.”
“I thought you wanted to be queen?”
“That was just an idea. I should have known it wasn’t gonna fly. Oh, why do I get these crazy ideas and then create trouble for everyone around me?”
“I like your ideas,” said Dooley. “I think they’re great. And how boring would life be if you weren’t around to lend it some color and some fun?”
Gran smiled at these words and stroked Dooley’s fur. “Sweet, sweet Dooley. What would I do without you guys?”
“I think Dooley is right,” I said. “You’re the heart of this family, Gran. You’re its center. You’re the glue that keeps the whole thing together.”
“That’s very kind of you to say, Max, but you know that’s not true. I’m the fool. The court jester. Someone to make people laugh. The only reason they tolerate me is because I’m old and they can’t get rid of me that easy.”
“Everybody loves you, Gran,” I said. “You’re a real hoot.”
“A real hoot,” she repeated. “Yeah, that wasn’t exactly my goal in life.” She’d switched the channel again, and now a reporter was launching into some diatribe about Tessa. He was behind a desk and looked very serious and very angry. I sat up a little straighter when I recognized him. It was that same reporter again. The one who’d chased us up that tree that afternoon.
“Nasty piece of journalist,” said Gran, shaking her head.
“He’s not really a journalist,” said Dooley. “He’s a hatemonger and a troublemaker. At least that’s what Dante said.”
Gran smiled. “Hatemonger. That’s a big word for you, Dooley.”
“Thanks, Gran.” He grinned, happy with the compliment.
I was listening intently to the reporter. His voice sounded familiar, though I couldn’t place it. Of course I’d heard him before, so that was probably it.
Next to Gran, a phone started singing out a tune. She frowned and picked it up. “The Duchess of Essex’s phone. Who dis?”
When the voice on the other end replied something, her brow unfurrowed and shot into her curly white fringe. She sat up with a jerk.
“Your Royal Highness!” she cried.
“It’s the Queen!” said Dooley.
“No, Tessa’s gone to bed. Dante, too. The corgis? What about the corgis?”
She messed with the phone for a moment, and then suddenly we could both hear and see the Queen. Apparently she was using an app.
“Oh, Vesta. I’m so glad it’s you,” said the Queen. “I felt ever so silly calling Tessa, but I didn’t know who else to call.
But I’m so happy you picked up. I’m not sure she would have understood. It’s the corgis, you see. They’ve been acting up. I think they saw something on the telly just now and they’re suddenly all excited and yapping up a storm!”
“Put them on,” said Gran firmly.
“Put them—what do you—”
“Trust me—just put them on,” repeated Gran.
The corgis came into view, all three of them, seated on the couch, just like we were, and yapping excitedly when they caught sight of us.
“It’s the guy!” said Sweetie.
“What guy?” I asked.
“The kidnapper!”
“They’re saying it’s the guy,” I told Gran.
“Can you direct the camera at the TV, Your Majesty?” asked Gran.
“Oh, do call me Lizzie, please.”
“Show us what’s on TV, Lizzie.”
“Will do,” said Lizzie. She directed the camera at the TV and there he was: Otis Robbins. The reporter who was also on our TV, lamenting the sad state of affairs when an American was allowed to marry into the British royal family.
“He’s the one who gave the kidnap order?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, yes!” cried Sweetie. “How many times do I have to repeat myself?”
“I would recognize that guy everywhere,” said Molly.
“But you said he was blond,” I said.
“Well, he is,” said Sweetie. “Sort of.”
“He’s dark-haired,” said Fräulein decidedly. “With gray streaks. Just as I said.”
“Oh, why do you always have to be right?” Molly grumbled.
“Because I am?”
“Gran, he’s the one,” I said. “He’s the one who had us kidnapped. And I’ll bet he’s also the one who’s been trying to kill Tessa.”
“But he wasn’t anywhere near the house when that poisoned tea was served,” said Gran.
“So he must be working with someone on the inside,” I said. “That’s why he was hanging around the cottage. He was meeting his associate.”
“Suzy,” said Gran.
And that’s when we heard a noise.
“What was that?” asked the Queen, visibly perturbed.