by Nic Saint
I, for one, was with Dooley on this. And I had an excuse: I was an outpatient, still recovering from a surgical procedure, so I needed all the proteins, vitamins and essential minerals I could get. But I was also conscious of one salient fact: this was all my fault. If only I’d taken better care of my snappers, this would never have happened. And as the cat carrying sole responsibility, I couldn’t very well go against Harriet’s orders, so I abstained from tucking in, too, hard as it was when I saw Dooley eat with such relish.
“You, Dooley, are a traitor,” said Harriet. “You are a strikebreaker and a rat.”
“I’m just eating,” Dooley pointed out. “How can I be a traitor for eating?”
“Aaargh!” Harriet screamed in response, and stalked off and out of the house.
Brutus gave me an apologetic look. “It’s because she hasn’t eaten. She always gets cranky when she hasn’t taken nourishment.”
“You mean she’ll only get crankier the longer this hunger strike lasts?” asked Dooley.
“Afraid so,” said Brutus, not looking too happy at the prospect of a berserk Harriet.
Then, after exchanging a quick look of understanding, both Brutus and I moved over to our respective bowls, and dug in. Harriet might be willing to forego a square meal or two but I wasn’t, even if that made me a traitor, a strikebreaker and a rat.
“You know what we should do?” said Brutus in between two mouthfuls.
“No, what?” I said.
“We should go and visit one of those celebrity cats we met over the course of our investigations. I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to fix us up with some prime grub.”
“Yeah, what happened to Pussy?” I asked Dooley.
He gave me a mournful look. “Pussy moved to Paris with Gabriel.”
Pussy was the cat of famous fashion designer Leonidas Flake. After he died, Pussy was adopted by Leo’s boyfriend Gabriel, who loved her as much or even more than Leo.
“Paris?” I asked as I moved the weirdly textured food around my mouth.
“She told me to visit her any time I want, but how can I?”
He was right. Cats, as a rule, don’t simply hop on planes and fly off to Paris.
“I’m sorry, Dooley,” I said. “I know how much you liked her.”
“Yeah, she was a lot of fun to play with,” he said. He didn’t seem particularly lovesick.
“Fun to play with?” said Brutus. “So you played with her a lot, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. Board games, mostly. She loves Scrabble, and so do I. We played Monopoly once, and she was very good at that. Of course she would be, being one of the richest cats in the world.”
Brutus and I shared another look. “So you played… Monopoly?” I asked.
“Yeah, are you sure you didn’t play another kind of game?” asked Brutus with a grin.
“Um, oh, that’s right, we played some online games, too,” said Dooley after some thought. “We played Tetris, of course, and Minecraft, and Battleship. But she kept winning so we dropped it. We were more evenly matched with Scrabble, so that’s what we played the most.”
“You mean to say you never… um… did anything… more?” asked Brutus with a wink.
“No, I think that’s it,” said Dooley. “Of course we didn’t have that many games at our disposal. And we didn’t see each other much, either, only when Gabe came over for a visit.”
Brutus shook his head. “Unbelievable. And here I thought you two… Well, it just goes to show that youth is wasted on the young.” And with these words, he left the kitchen.
Dooley stared after him, a puzzled look on his face. “What is he talking about, Max?”
“Oh, nothing special,” I said. “You know Brutus. He gets these weird ideas.” I wasn’t keen on explaining to Dooley about the birds and the bees. Again. I’d already explained it to him once, but apparently it hadn’t really sunk in yet. Which was fine, of course.
“She was nice, though, right?” he said. “Pussy?”
“Very nice,” I agreed.
“If only she could FaceTime we could play some more Scrabble. Online, I mean.”
“Yeah, so why doesn’t she? FaceTime?”
“It’s a little hard,” he said. “She would have to use Gabe’s phone and I would have to use Odelia’s phone and it would be a lot of trouble to set up, so… we decided to cherish the memories of what we had instead. Her words, not mine.”
“And what did you have, Dooley?” I asked.
He sighed a happy sigh. “A wonderful friendship with a wonderful friend.”
I smiled. “Good for you, little buddy. Good for you.”
We both ate some more, then Dooley said, “You know what we should do?”
“What?”
“Talk to Clarice. I’ll bet she knows where we can find some tasty nibbles.”
I shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
After eating some more of Gran’s weird concoction I was ready to try anything.
So we walked out of the kitchen, out of the house, and set a course for the heart of town, where usually Clarice can be found, scouring the dumpsters of Hampton Cove.
“How is your tooth, Max?” asked Dooley as we were walking along, side by side.
“Much better, thanks.”
“You know, you don’t really need teeth, Max.”
“I don’t?”
“Not with this kind of food.”
“Right,” I said, feeling oddly disheartened.
Chapter 12
Alec woke up and the first thing he realized was that he had an enormous headache.
“Ouch,” he muttered as he brought a hand to his aching head. There was a sizable bump where the pain seemed to originate, and as he bit down on his bottom lip to fight the sudden nausea that accompanied the pain, he gingerly opened his eyes. Had he taken a bad tumble and hit his head? But one look at his surroundings told him a different story: he was in a cell that wasn’t much bigger than a prison cell, only the floor was dirty and the walls looked ancient, as did the iron bars that formed the fourth wall of his new home. He took hold of the bars and shook them, but in spite of the fact that they looked old and rusty, they didn’t budge. He frowned as he tried to recollect what had happened and how he’d ended up in there—wherever ‘there’ was.
And then it all came back to him: he’d gone in search of the missing August kid.
And as his eyes adjusted to the relative obscurity of his surroundings, he thought he saw a human form lying on the floor of the cell directly across from him.
“Hey,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Hey, you!”
The form moved, then a head lifted, and two eyes stared back at him. They belonged to a red-haired young man, and suddenly Alec recognized him.
“Hey, aren’t you that lottery kid?” he asked.
“Chief Alec?” said the young man. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, I’m Chief Alec.”
“Elon Pope,” said the guy. “How-how long have you been here?”
“I have no idea, buddy. All I know is that I came looking for some missing kid, and someone hit me over the head with a brick or something and dragged me in here.”
“The same thing happened to me,” said the guy, sitting up. “I passed the old Buschmann place on my bike the night before last, and suddenly someone hit me over the head and when I came to I was locked up in this weird old dungeon.”
“So you think we’re still in the Buschmann house?”
“Pretty sure we are. Where else could we be?”
“Did you see who knocked you out?” asked the chief.
“No, I didn’t. Did you?”
“Some bearded guy,” grumbled the chief. “Big, bearded guy.”
“A big guy comes in here to bring us food, but he always wears a mask.”
“Us? There’s more people down here?”
Elon gestured with his head to the next prison cell, and Alec tried to look over. He didn’t see a thing, though.
“Chief?”
asked Elon.
“Alec,” he said. “Just call me Alec.”
“Are you—are the police going to come find us?”
Alec swallowed. That was a tough one. “I’m sure they will,” he said. As soon as they figured out he’d gone missing. But how long could that be? A day? Two days? And who knows where they would look for him. At least Nicky August’s parents would go back to the police station and tell Dolores he never showed. And then maybe Dolores would put two and two together and send some officers to come looking. He just hoped that by the time they did, whoever had taken them wouldn’t have done anything else to them.
“Why do you think they locked us up in here, Alec?” asked Elon.
“I don’t know, son.”
Just then, a groaning sound came from the next cell, and when Alec craned his neck, he thought he could see a nicely-clad foot and a pair of Burlington socks.
“Hey,” he said. “Hey, you there. Can you hear me?”
“Where am I?” asked the voice.
“Locked up in the basement of the Buschmann house,” said Alec. “Or at least that’s what I think.”
“Who are you?” asked the voice, sounding distraught and annoyed at the same time.
“Alec Lip. Chief Alec Lip. Hampton Cove PD.”
“Oh, my God. They got you, too?”
“Yeah, looks like,” grumbled the chief, who wasn’t proud of being captured that easily. “What’s your name, buddy?”
“Albert Balk, but everybody calls me Bertie. My wife cheated on me with a traveling salesman for Berghoff. She sent me to buy the latest Cosmo and when I walked into the house, there she was. On the couch, buck-naked, doing the horizontal mambo with Hank.”
“Who’s Hank?” asked Elon, interested.
“The traveling salesman for Berghoff. My wife assures me the quality is top-notch.”
“I have Berghoff. I bought it for my mom when I won the lottery. Your wife is right. They’re really top-notch. My mom threw out all her old pots and pans. Only Berghoff from now on, she said. Which is all right by me.”
“Uh-huh,” said Bertie. “That’s great. So who are you?”
“I’m Elon Pope. I’m one of the youngest lottery winners in the country. I won three hundred million dollars and change.”
“Nice to meet you, Elon.”
“Likewise, Bertie. I’m sorry about your wife.”
“So what do you think will happen to us, chief?” asked Bertie.
“I have no idea, Bertie. All I know is that someone will come looking for us.”
“When?”
“Soon. With the three of us missing, search parties will be organized, and it won’t be long before they arrive at the conclusion that we’re right here under their noses.”
“And then they’ll come busting through the door?” said Elon with youthful enthusiasm.
“You bet,” said Alec.
“Unless they knock them out, too,” said Bertie, “and lock them down here with the rest of us.”
“No way,” said Alec. “My people are smarter than that.”
“Smarter than you, you mean?” said Bertie, and Alec had to admit he had a point.
“It’s probably a serial killer,” said Elon.
“What makes you say that?” asked Alec.
“I’ve seen it in a movie once. A serial killer collected women, and treated them really well, until he killed them. But then one of the women managed to escape, and led the cops to the guy’s hideout in the middle of the woods, and the rest of the women were all rescued, too. Except for the ones he had stuffed in his freezer, of course.”
“At least they found them,” said Bertie. “They may never find us down here.”
“Yeah, I sure hope they do before this big bearded guy stuffs us into his freezer.”
“Everything will be fine,” Alec felt compelled to say. “My deputy is a great detective, and his girlfriend, my niece, is also a fine sleuth.” As are her cats, he wanted to add, but he managed to stop himself before he did. It wouldn’t add to their faith in him if he indicated that his own hope of being found rested almost entirely in the paws of a fat red cat with a knack for figuring out clues and hunting down obscure leads. And yet he found himself fervently praying that Max was in fine fettle, and already on the trail.
Chapter 13
Dooley and I had been scouring all of Clarice’s usual haunts but so far we hadn’t been able to track her down.
“Odd,” I said. “Usually she’s either at her favorite dumpsters, or out in the woods.”
“I don’t feel like going all the way out to the woods, though, Max,” said Dooley. “I don’t think I have the strength.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “We just ate a very nutritious and filling meal.”
“Still,” he said.
And he was right, of course. Even though we had both eaten our fill, I felt a hollow sensation in my stomach. Almost as if I had eaten a generous helping of nothing at all.
“I wonder what they put in that meat,” I said as we walked out of the back alley where Clarice can usually be found and returned to Hampton Cove’s main thoroughfare.
“I wonder what they put in any meat,” said Dooley, becoming philosophical.
We decided to pay a visit to our old friend Kingman, whose owner is also the owner of Vickery’s General Store, and who is usually well informed about the goings-on in our small town.
Kingman, a sizable piebald, was holding forth on the sidewalk, a crowd of fans and well-wishers hanging on his every word. And as usual most of those fans were female cats. Kingman is a very popular tomcat, if you hadn’t noticed. Not because of his looks, because he isn’t all that much to look at, but he has the gift of the gab, and never tires from spinning tall tales and dissing out yarns, often featuring himself in a star turn.
“Hey, Kingman,” I said now as we joined his group of groupies. At the sight of us, the hangers-on quickly dispersed. I guess our fatal attraction is no match for Kingman’s.
“Hey, guys,” he said. “So what’s new?”
“Max lost three teeth,” said Dooley. “And now he can only eat sludge for three weeks, until his gums are all healed up and he can chew solid food again.”
“Is that so?” said Kingman, carefully tucking away this little piece of information for later use. Very soon the story of my dental mishap would be all over town. I just knew it.
“Lost three teeth, huh? And how did that happen?”
“It just happened,” I said curtly. “Look, we’re looking for Clarice. You haven’t seen her around by any chance, have you?”
“Can’t say that I have. Last time I saw her was yesterday, when she came walking out of that alley over there. Haven’t seen her since, though.”
“Probably up in the woods,” I said, heaving a sigh of disappointment.
“We’re hungry, since Odelia and Marge and Gran only allow us to eat the same sludge they feed Max,” said Dooley. “So now we’re looking for something nutritious to eat.”
“Can’t blame you,” said Kingman. “If I were forced to eat sludge, I’d be looking for some prime grub myself.”
“You don’t happen to…” I began, but already Kingman was shaking his head, no.
“No can do, guys. If I were to feed every cat that passes my store, I’d go broke.”
“It’s not your store, though, is it, Kingman?” I said, a little peeved.
“Technically maybe it isn’t, but through the law of attachment it actually is.”
“And what law might that be?”
“Well, since I’m attached to Wilbur, and Wilbur is attached to the store that carries his name, logic dictates that his store is also my store. If you see what I mean.”
All I saw was a bullshit artist inventing excuses not to share his primo grub with some of his oldest friends in town, but I didn’t feel like getting into an argument with the cat, so I simply shrugged off his pathetic and transparent excuses and wished him adieu.
“You weren�
��t very nice to Kingman, Max,” Dooley said as we walked on.
“Correction. Kingman wasn’t very nice to us,” I said.
“I thought he was very nice. And maybe he has a point. If he has to share his meals with every cat that walks down Main Street, he’d be even hungrier than we are.”
“It’s not the fact that he refuses to share his food with us. It’s the way he said it. We’re supposed to be Kingman’s oldest friends, and when we show up at his doorstep in our hour of need, this is how he chooses to treat us? Not nice, Dooley. Not Christian.”
We still had no idea where Clarice could be. And on top of that, my gums were aching again. I remembered now that Vena had given Odelia a little box of medication for me. A painkiller of some kind. She probably should have given me some of that this morning.
“Should cats brush their teeth, Max?” asked Dooley now.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “At least I’ve never heard of cats brushing their teeth. Dogs, yes. But then we all know what dogs are like.”
Dooley gave me a look that said: no, I don’t. Please tell me what dogs are like.
“Well, dogs are obviously not the smartest tools in God’s big shed, so when a human decides to brush their teeth, they happily allow them to. By the same token, dogs also allow their humans to give them a bath, and run after a stick or try to eat a rubber duck or a slipper. And that’s because dogs are known to have a very low IQ. Whereas cats…”
“Allow their teeth to rot and decay because they’re so smart?”
“Um…”
“I wouldn’t mind brushing my teeth. But Odelia should probably give me a hand, because I don’t know how to do it myself. She could use her electric toothbrush. I think I would like that. Though I don’t know about the sound. They make a very weird sound.”
“Dogs like electric toothbrushes,” I pointed out.
“So maybe dogs aren’t so dumb after all?”
“Well…” I said, admitting that Dooley was giving me a lot of food for thought.