by Nic Saint
“And what? It booted up?”
“It sure did. Just goes to show those cheap Korean laptops are a lot sturdier than you’d give them credit for. Reminds me never to spend two thousand bucks on a computer ever again.”
“And that’s how she discovered it was Paulo Frey’s laptop.”
“Yes, sir. None other than the elusive Mr. Frey.”
“The missing writer.”
“The missing writer,” the chief agreed.
I almost fell off the sill at this point. Paulo Frey was a famous novelist who’d gone missing some time last year. He’d been in the habit of renting the Writer’s Lodge once a year, a fixed-up old cabin in the woods on the edge of Hampton Cove. It was popular with writers, as there were no distractions out there, and they could work on their masterpieces undisturbed. There was even an old-fashioned outhouse, which for some reason seemed to appeal to the writing classes. Many a writer confessed they got their best ideas while seated on the john and allowing nature to run its course. Weird but true.
Paulo Frey had been one of those writers who felt they could only write a decent novel while ensconced at the Writer’s Lodge, pecking away at his laptop. Until he’d mysteriously vanished. The owner of the lodge—Hetta Fried—a patron of the arts—had assumed he’d simply skipped town, but when he hadn’t shown up in New York, his relatives had sounded the alarm.
The cabin had been thoroughly searched, but Paulo hadn’t left a trace, so no foul play was assumed. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t pulled a stunt like this before. Once he’d upped and left and had shown up six months later in Zimbabwe, living quietly in a hut in the jungle, trying to cure a severe case of writer’s block. He was one of those eccentric writers, the ones they make movies about with Johnny Depp in the lead.
“So Adele notified the police,” said Chase.
“She notified me,” the chief acknowledged. “At which point we decided to take a closer look at that outhouse.”
Chase shook his head. “That must be the last outhouse on Long Island.”
“It may very well be,” the chief agreed. “It’s garnered a lot of praise from writers. Supposed to give them ideas. Kinda like a wishing well. You drop in a nickel and you get to make a wish. Only here you drop in something else.”
“So when did you get the idea to dredge the well?”
“Well, at first we figured Frey had simply hurled his laptop into the pit in a fit of rage or something. Which would fit with the writer’s block theory.” The chief shifted his bulk, making his chair creak dangerously. “But after poking around in there for a bit, something else came bobbing up.” He fixed Chase with a knowing glance. “An arm.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. So we called in a cesspool pumping service and found—”
“Paulo Frey.”
“Along with all of his stuff, stuffed into three Louis Vuitton suitcases. All packed and ready to go… nowhere. Looks like whoever killed him wanted to make it look like he skipped town, while he was stuffed down there all along.”
“I wouldn’t like to be the ME on this one,” said Chase, wrinkling his nose.
“You said it,” said the chief, shaking his head. “This is one messy business.”
“When will you know more?”
The chief checked the clock over the door. It was one of those clocks that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a classroom. “Shouldn’t be long now. We don’t get a lot of homicides here, so they’ve given this their highest priority. I’m expecting a call before lunch.” He patted the desk. “So what about it, Chase? Are you ready to work your first Hampton Cove homicide case?”
Chase grinned. “Throwing me in at the deep end, huh, Chief?”
“Best way to learn, buddy.”
“What better way indeed?”
At this point in the conversation, I hopped down from the windowsill and landed gracefully on all fours on the flagged floor. I’d heard enough. A genuine homicide! In Hampton Cove! This was a scoop that needed to be on the front page of the next edition of the Hampton Cove Gazette. Pronto! And who better to break the story to our loyal readership than star reporter Odelia Poole herself? This would cement her reputation as the town’s best-informed reporter. Wait till I told her about this. She’d be over the moon.
And wait was exactly what I had to do, for as I made my way to the street, I found my passage blocked by a stocky, burly black cat with evil green eyes. Brutus!
“Snooping around, are we, Max?” he asked in a sneering manner. At that moment he suddenly reminded me of Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter’s nemesis.
Oh, God. This was exactly what I needed right now. Not!
“Step aside, Brutus,” I told the cat. “This is none of your business.”
But Brutus didn’t make a move to let me pass. Instead, he walked right up to me and got in my face. “If anyone is getting involved in stuff that isn’t his business, it’s you, Max. I saw you, you know, spying on Chief Alec and Chase. So that’s how you do things in this town, huh? You’re Odelia Poole’s personal spy. I knew there was a reason she was always getting the best scoops. And now I know her secret. Wait till I tell Chase all about this!”
A chill suddenly settled around the base of my spine. “How are you going to do that, Brutus? You can’t talk to your human like I can talk to mine.”
Oh, crap. Had I just said that? Bad Max!
He grinned evilly, like Bruce the shark from that fish movie Odelia likes to watch when she’s babysitting one of her cousins.
“So you can talk to humans,” he said slowly. “I thought as much. I only arrived yesterday, but already I’ve heard the rumors this Odelia Poole person is a little… shall we say weird? And now you’ve confirmed my suspicions.”
“Well, you still can’t do anything with that information,” I challenged him. My claws were itching to get a piece of his fur, but I restrained myself. I may be big, but that doesn’t mean I’m all lean muscle like Brutus and Chase. My bulk mainly consists of, um, well, love handles. Lots and lots of love handles.
“Maybe I can’t talk to my human,” he conceded, “but I can make your life a lot more difficult. I can prevent you from snooping around and listening to conversations that aren’t intended for your spying ears.”
Horrified, I cried, “You can’t do that!”
“Oh, yes, I can,” he said, that nasty grin still firmly in place. He reared up to his full height, puffing up his chest like the nasty bully he was. “Listen up, Max. From now on the police station is off limits to you and your buddies.”
“What?! You have no right!”
“Oh, yes, I do. Chase Kingsley is the law in this town now, which, by extension, makes me the law, too. So I can do whatever I want and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
“It doesn’t work like that! It’s not because your human is a cop that you’re also one. That’s just crazy talk!”
“I can assure you that’s exactly how it works, Max,” he grunted.
“No, it’s not. Harriet’s human is a doctor. That doesn’t make her capable of performing brain surgery, does it? And, and…” I cast around wildly. “Dooley’s human is this town’s biggest gossip. That doesn’t mean he’s a gossip, too. Oh, wait, actually it does. Dooley is a pretty big gossip. But that’s neither here nor there. You’re not a cop, Brutus. Cats simply can’t be cops!”
“Well, you can’t, obviously,” he scoffed. “You’re not trained to uphold the law. I, on the other hand, am. Chase used to be the NYPD’s biggest and baddest detective, and I learned a lot from watching him in action.”
“That’s just a load of—”
“Hey!” Brutus yelled, holding up a warning paw, claws extended. “Watch it, pal. You want me to arrest you for contempt of cop? No? Didn’t think so!”
“Contempt of cop? That’s not even a thing!”
“I’m sure it is,” he assured me, giving his nose a lick.
“Well, I’m sure it’s not. You’re simply making this up on the
spot.”
I tried to sidestep the overbearing cat, but he got in my face again, and hissed, “You’re not trespassing again, Max. This is your final warning.”
“Oh? And what are you going to do about it?” I challenged him, my tail rearing up and puffing up while I arched my back menacingly.
“Don’t make me fight you, Max,” he said in a low, menacing voice. “You don’t want me to hurt you. I’m warning you.”
I backed down. What? Have you ever stared into the slitted eyes of the meanest, biggest, nastiest cat you’ve ever seen? Let me tell you, it’s scary!
“This was your final warning, Max,” he growled, and casually displayed three sets of razor-sharp claws and gave me a mock punch on the shoulder.
I gulped. Those claws looked very sharp indeed. So I decided not to get into a fight with this cat. I needed to figure out how to deal with him, but brute force wasn’t exactly my forte. That was obviously his department.
“Have it your way, Brutus,” I finally said.
“Always,” he said with a smug smile. “That’s something you will learn soon, Max. You and those other furballs that inhabit this stupid town.”
“Hampton Cove is not a stupid town!”
He merely grinned, and stalked off in the direction of the police station, presumably to find out what I’d found out.
Still shaking from the adrenaline rushing through my veins, I started heading for the Hampton Cove Gazette. Boy, did I have news for Odelia.
Chapter 4
Before going to the office, Odelia decided to pass by her dad’s practice first. She wanted to check on Gran, who’d been feeling a little under the weather lately. She passed into the waiting room. As usual, there were already half a dozen patients patiently waiting to be called into her father’s examination room. Tex Poole had been Hampton Cove’s one and only doctor for over thirty years, and was well-respected and well-liked by all.
She nodded a greeting to the small crowd, and quickly walked up to the reception desk, and was relieved to find the wizened old woman seated behind it, reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she deftly handled the phone and the appointments book.
“Gran,” she said happily. “I’m so glad to see you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” asked the white-haired old lady crustily.
“Well, I heard you were feeling a little under the weather last night.”
The old lady lifted her chin. “Who told you that? That kind of information is strictly confidential. That’s between my physician and me.”
“Well, your physician is my dad,” she said. “So…”
“That doesn’t give him the right to go blabbing about my private affairs,” Gran grumbled. “I’ll have a word with that man.”
Odelia laughed. “He didn’t blab about anything, Gran. Mom told me last night you weren’t feeling well after dinner, so you went to bed early.”
“Nonsense. I’ve never felt better and don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“I’m just glad to see you’re fine.” The last thing she wanted was to get into a fight with the feisty old lady, especially in front of half a dozen townies.
“I just had an upset tummy, that’s all. Nothing to get all worked up about.”
Odelia stared at her. “You don’t think it was my dessert, do you?”
She was the one who’d made dessert last night. Even though she lived alone, she still went home for dinner with her family most nights. It didn’t make much sense to cook for herself when she was just one person. She and Mom took turns cooking, with Gran chipping in from time to time. Last night had been Mom’s turn. She’d made grilled tuna, Odelia providing dessert.
But Gran waved her hand. “Don’t even think about it. That dessert was perfectly fine. I simply love chocolate pudding. Now state your business.”
She smiled. “Just checking up on you, Gran.”
“This is a doctor’s office, young lady, and we’ve got a lot of sick people waiting, so if you’re not sick or dying, please move along. No dillydallying.”
“Sure thing, Gran,” she said with a laugh. “Have a nice day.”
“Oh, I most definitely will,” Gran said, then hollered, “Next!”
She passed into the street feeling better already. The old lady might be feisty, but she was also vulnerable at her age, and she was glad to know she was fine. Next stop was the newspaper, and she’d just walked into her own small office when Max came tripping up.
“It’s about time,” he grumbled. “I thought you’d never show up.”
“And a good day to you too, Max,” she said as she took a seat.
“Oh, boy,” said Max, hopping onto the desk. “Have I got news for you!”
This morning ritual of theirs wasn’t unusual. Max might get most of his information from other cats, whom he met on his nocturnal excursions, but he often made a quick trip around town during the daytime as well, to see if he couldn’t pick up some nice tidbits of news here or there. The police station, especially, often rewarded them both with some great stories fit to print.
She needed to vet them, of course, and run them by the editor, Dan Goory, who’d been running this paper since before Odelia was born, but he trusted her, and never pressed her for her sources, knowing she wouldn’t reveal them anyway. And even if she did, she knew he wouldn’t believe her.
Weird thing about her uncanny knack was that it only seemed to work on cats. She’d tried talking to dogs, but they simply stared at her dumbly, then continued licking their butts or chasing their tails as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Tell me,” she said happily as she took her notebook and sat with pencil poised while Max spilled the latest news straight from the chief of police’s mouth. But when he’d finished his tale, she still hadn’t jotted down a word, too shocked at what he’d told her. “Paulo Frey? Murdered?” she gasped.
“Yep, and found at the bottom of the Writer’s Lodge cesspit. The Medical Examiner is trying to figure out what killed him and Chief Alec is expecting his report sometime this morning. Only trouble is…”
“What?” she asked anxiously as she feverishly started taking notes. She needed to confirm all of this with the chief, but this was one hell of a story.
“I’ve been told not to go near the police station again.”
She looked up, startled. “What? Who told you?”
“Brutus,” he said bitterly. “That big brute that belongs to Chase Kingsley. He’s been throwing his weight around ever since he arrived in town. He says the police station is off-limits to me and my buddies from now on.”
She immediately recognized this for what it was: a clear and present danger to her job. If Max wasn’t allowed to sneak up to Chief Alec’s window and snap up any and all snippets of information, she was out of a very valuable news source. Not that her uncle Alec was secretive, or unwilling to share, but his niece wasn’t the first person he ran to when he had important information to share. Though he’d gotten used to her finding out anyway.
“Listen, Max,” she said earnestly. “Don’t let this cat boss you around. Tell him he’s got no business telling other cats where they can and can’t go.”
“That’s what I told him! But he threatened me with violence if I didn’t do what he said.” He sighed. “I told you. That cat’s a genuine bully.”
“This is an outrage!” she spat, jumping to her feet. “Who does he think he is, bossing others around like that?!”
“He thinks he’s the new cop in town, that’s who he thinks he is.”
“We’ll see about that,” grunted Odelia, and strode out of the office.
“Where are you going, Odelia?” asked Dan from his own office.
“The police station!” she yelled back. “I’ve got a scoop!” She quickly stuck her head into the old man’s office and grinned at him. Then she spoke the words she’d wanted to speak for a very long time. “Stop the presses, Dan. And hold the front page. I’
ve got the scoop to end all scoops.”
“Oh? Whaddya got?”
Her eyes glittered with excitement. “A murder.”
“Murder in Hampton Cove!” cried the old editor, his glasses almost falling from his face as he shot up from behind his desk. “No way!”
“Yes, way,” she confirmed. “I’ll be back in a jiffy so hold that front page.”
“I sure will,” he said, a look of sheer happiness on his kindly hobbit face. The news that a murder had taken place might appall regular folk, but then reporters aren’t like regular folk, of course. To them, murder and mayhem are like music to their ears.
Odelia purposefully set foot for the police station, and thought about what Max had said about this Brutus character. It was time that Chase Kingsley taught his cat a few lessons in common courtesy. You didn’t just waltz into town and start bossing people around. That simply wasn’t done!
The police station was only half a block away from the Gazette, and it didn’t take her more than a few minutes to get there and waltz into the vestibule. Dolores gave her a little wave as she marched past the woman’s desk and through the short corridor to Chief Alec’s office.
She and the chief had developed a kind of working relationship over the years. He knew how important it was that the public be informed about the goings-on in this town, and that Odelia had a unique skill set that made her well-placed to report on anything going on in Hampton Cove. She knew stuff before anyone else did, and he helped her fill in the gaps and occasionally even enlisted her to help him on any small investigation he had running.
It also helped that he was her uncle, of course, and often sat down to dinner with them. Odelia’s mom had more or less taken him under her wing after his wife died, and he was now pretty much a fixture at the house, and enjoyed their cooking almost more than Dr. Poole himself.
So she simply barged into his office without knocking and said, “Hey, Uncle Alec. What’s all this I’m hearing about Paulo Frey being found at the bottom of a cesspit?”
Only now did she notice that there was a third person in the office, seated across from the chief. He was tall and lanky, with chiseled features and clear blue eyes. Those eyes now swiveled to her and took her in with a sharp look.