by Nic Saint
He gave her a warm smile. “You do that, and I trust that you will uncover the truth, like you always do. In the meantime… I hope this business between you and Chase won’t cause any awkwardness over dinner tonight?”
“I’ll behave,” she promised him. “Though I can’t vouch for Chase. The guy seems to hate me.”
“He doesn’t hate you, honey,” her father assured her. “He’s simply bitter and lashing out, that’s all. Once you break bread together all will be fine.”
Somehow Odelia doubted that.
Chapter 12
Odelia’s next stop was the expansive villa of famous movie star Gabby Cleret. And as she drove there in her old Ford pickup, the one she’d bought with her first salary, she couldn’t help musing on her recent talk with her dad. If it was really true that Chase had been wrongfully accused of a crime it wasn’t enough to spread the rumor around town. He needed to be officially exonerated. Get a chance to get his job back and get an apology from the commissioner. If—and it was a big if, she had to admit—he was right, and she found proof of this so-called affair, she wasn’t going to limit herself to simply spreading a few rumors. She was going to expose the commissioner.
The longer she thought about it, the more she became convinced that perhaps there was truth to the story. She had the highest respect for both her father and Uncle Alec, and knew both of them to be excellent judges of character. If they both trusted Chase, maybe he was telling the truth after all. Which meant he’d been the victim of a terrible crime, and justice had to be done. She’d always abhorred injustice, and now started to see her story taking a completely different direction. Instead of exposing Chase, perhaps she needed to expose the ones who’d got him kicked off the force?
She arrived at the oceanfront property of Gabby Cleret, just outside of Hampton Cove, located on one of those pieces of prime real estate that had long ago been snapped up by the more wealthy residents of the Hamptons.
Like Chase, Gabby had moved to Hampton Cove in a bid to escape the fallout of a scandal that had cost her her career. The details were a little fuzzy, but she seemed to remember she’d starred in a remake of Raiders of the Lost Ark, only with a female lead this time to take over Harrison Ford’s iconic role. It hadn’t gone down well with fanboys the world over, who’d viciously attacked both her and the picture, and had managed to destroy them both.
Apparently so-called fans hadn’t taken too kindly to their favorite movie being recast with a woman this time, and had been quite vocal about it, bombarding the movie and its star with all manner of vile abuse, with Gabby bearing the brunt of the attack. The actress had taken it badly, especially after the movie had tanked spectacularly, and had lost the studio millions of dollars, causing her career to stall. She hadn’t made another movie since, hiding from the storm out here in the Hamptons, and licking her wounds.
Odelia had met Gabby once, and had even interviewed her for the Hampton Cove Gazette. They’d gotten along great, and Odelia hoped she’d remember her and would be willing to talk about the Paulo Frey business.
Ten minutes after she’d rung the bell, she was sipping from a cup of tea out on the deck, while Gabby sniffed from a bouquet of roses a fan and admirer had apparently left on the porch. They were looking out across the pool area, which was now covered with a tarp, and the ocean beyond.
“Nice place you got here, Gabby,” she said appreciatively.
“Yeah, it’s my own little piece of paradise,” Gabby confirmed with a tired smile. She looked a little under the weather, Odelia thought, and more subdued than the boisterous woman she remembered, both from the movie and her personal experience when they’d spent a fun afternoon together.
Gabby Cleret was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties, with an expressive face and long black hair that she’d pulled up high into a bun. A long, loose-fitting robe hid her cuddly figure. She wasn’t one of those skinny stars, and had never made excuses for her more womanly curves. It was one more reason the fanboys had singled her out for abuse, as apparently a woman wasn’t allowed to have curves and had to look like a stick figure.
“I actually came here to ask you about Paulo Frey,” Odelia finally said.
She saw how Gabby visibly stiffened. “What about him?” she asked, her smile quickly evaporating.
“Well, I don’t know if anyone told you this, but his body was found yesterday, buried out at the Writer’s Lodge. He was murdered.”
Gabby’s eyebrows shot up. “Murdered? Are you sure?”
“Looks like. I’m doing a piece for the Gazette, and I was talking to Aissa Spring just now, who told me you had some kind of run-in with the guy?”
Gabby nodded, gazing out across the ocean for a moment, then fixing her dark eyes back on Odelia. “He was a mean man, Odelia. A real mean man.”
“I gathered that from Aissa’s story.”
“He tried to destroy her restaurant, just because she was a woman in love with another woman. He tried to destroy me, because I was a woman playing a man’s part, and because I was too ugly to be in movies, as he put it.”
“Too ugly? He said that?”
“He didn’t say it, but he wrote it, in a bombardment of tweets aimed at me, enthusiastically retweeted by his posse of followers. It turned into this toxic thing,” she said, shaking her head, “and caused the story to move away from the movie to my personal appearance.” She sniffed one of the roses again, and seemed to take comfort in the sweet fragrance.
“That must have been horrible,” Odelia said commiseratingly. The more she heard about Paulo Frey, the more it appeared the man was a monster.
“His followers didn’t just attack me, they attacked the movie, too. They launched so many one-star reviews on the movie’s IMDb page that it had an actual effect on attendance figures, greatly exacerbated by their boycott.”
“But why? Why go to all that trouble just for a stupid movie?” asked Odelia. “I mean, no offense. I saw the movie and I loved it, especially your performance. I think you did a great job and you were perfect for the part.”
“Thanks,” said Gabby with a smile. “I didn’t get it either. Not then, not now. All I can think is that Paulo Frey hated women. Period. He thought that the studio should never have replaced Harrison Ford with a woman and seemed to consider it a personal insult and so did a lot of men his age. Indiana Jones is this iconic male character, and in their mind replacing him with a woman was simply blasphemy. Underneath all that was simple misogyny, though, I’m sure of it, and he singled me out for destruction, as he put it.”
“He did a pretty good job by the looks of it.”
“He did. Not only did he singlehandedly manage to destroy the movie, losing the studio millions, and sink a potential franchise, he also destroyed my career. There were supposed to be two more films, but those will never be made, and I haven’t received a decent script since.” She produced a mirthless laugh. “He got exactly what he wanted: he destroyed my career and my life.”
“But you can’t let one guy do that to you, Gabby,” Odelia said. “You’re a talented, beautiful woman. You can’t let this horrible event define your life. I’m sure that if you go back out there you’ll see that there are plenty of people who adore you and your work. You have brought so much joy to the world.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, Odelia,” said Gabby gratefully, “but I don’t know if you’re right. It wasn’t much fun going through such an experience and frankly I’m afraid that it will happen again and destroy me.”
“Well,” she said, “the ringleader is dead, so there’s that. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Which reminded her. “Um, I have to ask you this, Gabby, but do you have any idea where you were on the night of September the sixteenth?”
Gabby barked out a laugh. “You’re asking me for my alibi, huh? Why? Do you think I killed Paulo Frey? I didn’t even know he was in town. If I had, I’d never have bought a house here.”
“Yeah, he stayed at the Writer’s Lodge every year, to writ
e his books.”
“Good thing we never bumped into each other. I might have killed him.”
She eyed the other woman uncertainly. “But you didn’t, right?”
“Of course not! Do I look like a murderer? The only thing I’ve killed is a production company, and even that wasn’t my fault but Paulo Frey’s.”
“The company went belly up?” She made a quick note of that.
“Yes, it did. Look, I’m not going to lie to you and tell you I’m not happy that the monster is dead, but I can promise you I wasn’t the one that did it. Now where’s my phone?” She searched around until she’d located her smartphone and snatched it from the side table that held, amongst other things, a voluminous tome that appeared to be Lord of the Rings. Odelia saw that the screensaver on her phone was the movie poster for the Indiana Jones movie. The actress slipped a pair of half-moon glasses onto her nose and checked the phone, her long-nailed fingers clicking on the glass. She called up the calendar app and squinted at the screen. “I was in LA that weekend,” she finally said. “Ironically enough to be told the news that the sequel to Raiders of the Lost Ark had been canceled after the picture sank like a stone at the box office. So there,” she said, placing down the phone. “I didn’t kill Frey but I heartily commend whoever did. They rid the world of a great evil.”
“Thanks, Gabby,” she said, getting up. “And think about what I said.” She placed her hand on her heart. “Your fans miss you. I miss you. Your place is out there, amongst your true fans, of which you have many, I promise you.”
Gabby gave her a grateful smile and they shared a quick hug. “Thanks, honey,” she said. “Maybe now that the monster is dead, I can show my face again. And maybe even make movies again.”
They both laughed as Gabby escorted her through the house and into a marble atrium. She opened the front door and was surprised to find a tall man standing before her, his finger poised over the bell button.
“Detective Kingsley,” she said sweetly. “I was just going.” She gestured to Gabby. “She’s all yours, but I can tell you already that she didn’t do it, and that her alibi is rock solid.” And with these words, she slipped past the cop, who looked absolutely dumbfounded, and gave Gabby a pinky wave before sashaying down the front steps and making her way to her truck, parked in the circular driveway. In the battle between the Hampton Cove Gazette and the Hampton Cove Police Department, it was obvious she was way ahead.
Chapter 13
“You know, one good thing about Harriet hooking up with Brutus is that he’ll be so busy showing off to her he won’t bother us,” I told Dooley as we sat on the back porch of the Gazette, grooming and basking in the sun.
Dooley and I might not be the most handsome cats around, but that didn’t mean we didn’t take our grooming seriously. Every cat worth his or her salt likes to preen, and we were no exceptions.
We weren’t alone, as the Gazette’s owner, Dan Goory, was rocking in his rocking chair, going over the proofs of one of his articles. The old man liked to sit here and take a load off his feet, and occasionally smoke a cigarette. We always made sure we sat upwind from him, as we weren’t too keen on the smell. Sometimes Dan and Odelia would sit here together and discuss the next day’s edition of the Gazette. It was better than being cooped up inside.
“I don’t know,” said Dooley morosely between two licks. “I’m sure he’ll manage to fit bullying us into his busy schedule.”
“I don’t think so. In fact I’m pretty sure that as long as those two are an item, he’ll leave us in peace,” I said, trying to lift Dooley’s mood. He’d been feeling downcast after making the discovery that the cat he’d been sweet on for years had fallen for the new cat on the block.
“Let’s hope you’re right,” said Dooley, giving his tail a tentative lick and then, deciding it was clean enough, leaving it for another time. “Let’s hope that as long as that Nazi furball is prancing around with Harriet we’re safe.”
“Which means we can do whatever we want. Go wherever we like and generally be masters of our own fate again without that brute interfering.”
“So what do you want to do?”
I thought for a moment. What did I want to do? I wanted to solve this murder, that’s what I wanted to do. And make sure Odelia got the scoop. I liked this small town, and I didn’t like it when people started killing each other. It wasn’t nice. And since violence led to more violence someone had to put a stop to it before things got out of hand. At least that’s how I saw it.
“We could hang out at the barbershop,” Dooley suggested.
It was one of our favorite haunts. You’d be surprised what kind of secrets people tell their barber. Almost as many as they divulge to their doctor.
“Why don’t we head out to the lodge and see if we can’t pick up the scent of the killer?” I suggested instead. The barbershop could wait. We were born hunters, after all, and perhaps we could pick up the scent of the murderer.
Dooley brightened, and I saw this would be good for him. It would keep his mind off Brutus and Harriet strutting their stuff along Main Street.
“I think that’s a great idea, Max,” he said enthusiastically. “Maybe we can sniff out the killer and then all Odelia has to do is make them confess.”
“Let’s do this,” I said, and we bumped fists.
It’s called teamwork, people, and it’s not just humans that do it. Dooley and I have been living together for so many years we make a pretty great team. What’s more, we’ve grown attached to our humans, and like to help them out. When it suits us, of course. We’re not a couple of dumb dogs.
So we left Dan on the back porch marking up his articles with a deep frown on his face, and trotted off, setting paw for the Writer’s Lodge. One disadvantage of being a cat is that we don’t get to drive a car. Or a bike. Which means we have to go everywhere on paw. But, like I said, we’re natural born hunters, and what are a couple of miles for your friendly neighborhood predator? Chicken feed. Still, after we’d been on the move for a while, I was starting to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.
“Are we there yet?” asked Dooley, panting slightly.
“No idea, buddy, but I hope so. My paws are killing me.”
“And mine. What’s more, I’m getting tired, Max.”
“I’m sure it won’t be much further.”
We walked on in silence for a couple of minutes. We’d left the heart of town behind, and were now traipsing through the woods. This piece of the trail was all uphill, and I wondered who would voluntarily go and live in the middle of nowhere just so they could write a book. Nuts.
“You know? When this is all over and we’ve caught the killer, maybe we’ll get a nice treat,” said Dooley. “Like that raw meat Brutus gets from Chase?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “All we ever get are leftovers, and they’re cooked.”
“Maybe when Brutus comes to live with us he’ll share his meals?”
“Dream on, buddy. Brutus doesn’t strike me as the sharing type.”
“You’re probably right. And if he shares, it’ll be with Harriet, not us.”
We scaled a small hill, and passed beneath some brambles, to come out on the other side looking like pincushions. We shed the prickles and trudged on.
“You know?” Dooley asked suddenly. “What does Brutus have that we don’t?”
I sighed. “Is this about Harriet again?”
“No, it’s about Brutus being treated like royalty.”
“Well, Brutus is a pedigree cat, Dooley. They’re like the royalty of cats. While we’re just your average alley cats that got picked out of the litter by an indiscriminate hand. I’m sure that when Chase got Brutus, he paid good money for that cat, while we’re lucky we didn’t get flushed down the toilet.”
“So he’s a prize-winning cat and we’re just a bunch of ugly mongrels,” Dooley said bitterly. Maybe this hike wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Instead of taking his mind off Brutus and Harriet, it had the oppo
site effect.
“Pretty much,” I agreed. “Though I wouldn’t call you a mongrel, Dooley.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it? That cat has probably won a ton of cat shows.”
I shuddered at the thought of having to compete in a cat show. “It’s only natural that after paying top dollar for Brutus, Chase would want to show him off,” I speculated. “Which is probably why he feeds him a diet of raw meat.”
“Hey, maybe we should enter a cat show,” said Dooley. “Show Odelia that we’re special, too. Maybe then she’ll start feeding us raw meat.”
“I doubt whether we’ll stand a chance,” I said, shaking my head at so much naiveté. As if we could ever compete with the likes of Brutus.
“Why not?” he asked stubbornly. “It worked for Babe, didn’t it?”
I frowned. “Babe? Who’s Babe?”
“Don’t you remember that movie we saw the other night? About a piglet that grows up on a farm, and the farmer trains him to be a sheepdog? And since he was so nice and polite all the sheep loved him and did exactly what he told them to do at the animal show? He didn’t even have to bark at them or bite them or any of that horrible stuff. So if Babe can do it, so can we.”
“Do what, exactly? Become sheepdogs?”
“Not sheepdogs,” he said with a laugh. “Perform at a cat show!”
Become a cat model? Never! “I really don’t think so, Dooley.”
“But we’re special, Max, just like Babe. I just know we are.”
“Look, that was a Hollywood movie. In Hollywood movies animals are always special. Penguins have happy feet and pigs can corral sheep and cats eat lasagna and sound like Bill Murray. In real life? Not so much.”
“But we can talk. We can talk to Odelia. And to Marge. And Gran.” He gave me a grin. “I’m sure that Brutus can’t talk to Chase Kingsley.”
Well, that was true enough. Brutus might get prime chops, but I doubted whether he could chat with his human. Dooley and I might not be pedigree cats, or have the appeal of a sheepherding pig or silly dancing penguins, but we could help Odelia solve this murder, and that definitely made us special.