by Nic Saint
“So this wife,” Dad said. “This… Bryony…”
“Pistol,” Mom supplied.
“A real pistol,” Gran murmured inexplicably, munching on a meatball.
“This Bryony Pistol,” Dad continued. “Have you talked to her? Maybe she’s got what you detectives call, um, means, motive and opportunity?” He smiled apologetically. “You can tell I’m not the sleuth in this family.”
“We’re going to interview her first thing tomorrow morning,” said the Chief. He gave Chase a quick glance. “That is to say, I’m going to talk to her.”
Odelia frowned at this. “Why not Chase?”
“There’s a hitch,” Chase said. “Turns out Bryony Pistol has a daughter—”
“Veronica George,” the Chief said.
“—who filed a restraining order against me some time ago.”
They all stared at him, stunned. “What do you mean?” asked Odelia.
Uncle Alec cleared his throat. “Talk about a small world, huh? Turns out Johnny’s little girl, who’s not so little anymore, used to date the scumbag you arrested today. Orville Haggis. Orville isn’t his real name, though. He goes by the name Rubb. Donovan Rubb.”
Gran, whose eyes had drooped closed, sat up with a start. “Rub? Rub who?”
The Chief stared at her for a moment, then continued, “Turns out Donovan Rubb and Veronica George are the ones that caused so much trouble for Chase. They’re not an item anymore, but she’s the one that filed those charges against Chase, and got him kicked off the force.”
They all exchanged startled glances. “So you can’t talk to her?” asked Mom. “That’s just crazy.”
Chase nodded. “I can’t come within three hundred feet of the woman.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Dad, and his words spoke for all of them.
For a moment, a pregnant silence descended upon the company, until Gran croaked, “More meatballs anyone? Take ‘em while they’re hot.”
“Why don’t I go with you tomorrow, Uncle Alec?” Odelia suggested. “I mean, I have to talk to the widow anyway, for my article, so we might as well go together. Especially now that Chase can’t come near the daughter.”
“That’s a great idea,” said the Chief.
“That’s a terrible idea,” said Chase. “Come on, Chief. Odelia is not a cop. You can’t bring her into this investigation.”
“She’s already front and center,” said the Chief. “Or have you forgotten she’s the one that nailed those two drug dealers? Besides, she’s a great interviewer, that niece of mine. Aren’t you, honey?”
“But this goes against every rule in the book,” Chase protested.
“We’re not big on rules down here,” Gran piped up.
“Yeah, you’ll find that we tend to do things different in Hampton Cove,” said Dad, clapping the burly cop on the back. “And Odelia has a knack for solving mysteries.”
“She used to try and solve mysteries when she was just a little girl,” said Mom. “Tell Chase about that time you solved the teddy bear mystery, honey.”
In spite of himself, Chase’s lips quirked up into a grin. “Teddy bear mystery?”
“Not now, Mom,” Odelia said, embarrassed.
“Odelia’s favorite teddy bear went missing one day, and she wouldn’t let it go,” Mom said with a smile at the memory. “I just figured she’d lost it somewhere, you know, but she was adamant someone had kidnapped it.”
“I remember that,” said Dad, also smiling now.
“Turned out she was right. Billy Bob Turner, whose family used to live right across the street, had gotten it into his nut to collect all the bears from all the houses on the block and hide them under his bed. Turns out his folks were into some kind of religious cult and he thought the world was going to come to an end soon and he needed to save all the teddies of all the kids.”
“Aw, that’s actually kinda sweet,” said Chase.
“So Odelia stomps over there one day and accuses Billy Bob of kidnapping her teddy and holding him hostage, and lo and behold, she was right. She’d found a small footprint right outside her window, and had tracked it all the way to the Turner place.”
“Well, as much as I hate to tell you this, Marge, there’s a difference between finding Mr. Teddy and catching a killer,” said Chase. “This is some seriously dangerous stuff, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to involve untrained and unarmed civilians. And I’m only telling you this for her safety.”
“Who says she’s unarmed?” Gran now piped up.
“Gran, not now,” Odelia hissed.
“Yes, Mom, not now,” Chief Alec said, looking decidedly ill at ease.
“What do you mean, she’s not unarmed?” asked Chase. “I checked the registry when I first arrived in town and your niece doesn’t have a license.”
“Of course she’s got a gun,” Gran insisted. “And she’s a great shot, too.”
“You checked my license?” asked Odelia, incensed.
“When I keep bumping into someone, I want to be sure they’re not carrying,” Chase said. “Call it my innate sense of self-preservation.”
“You had no right,” she began, but then realized he did have the right.
“Anyone want more meatballs?” Mom asked in a faux-chipper voice.
“She keeps it in her purse,” said Gran now, “just like any girl should.”
“So you’re carrying a gun without a license. Why am I not surprised?”
“Chase,” said Uncle Alec warningly.
“I can’t believe you’d let your niece carry an illegal gun!”
“It’s not her fault she lost her license!” Gran cried. “So back off, tightass.”
“Lost her license? Why? Did she shoot somebody?” he asked. When she refused to look him in the eye, he cried, “You actually shot someone?!”
“He was a nobody,” Gran supplied. “One of those no-good boyfriends of hers. And good riddance, too. The guy was too old for her anyhoo.”
Chase’s eyebrows rose. “You killed him?!”
“Nah, she missed,” said Gran.
“I didn’t miss,” she snapped. “If I wanted to kill him he’d be dead right now.”
“Would have been better if you had,” said Gran. “Piece of no-good scum.”
“He was one of her boyfriends,” Mom said when Odelia clamped her lips together. How had this conversation gotten away from her so fast?
“One of her no-good boyfriends,” Gran said, rubbing it in.
“Odelia always had horrible taste in men,” Mom said, quite unnecessarily.
“This one was even worse than the others, though,” said Gran. “Talk about a loser.”
Chase, shaking his head, asked, “Who was he? The bank robber? Or the crook wanted in six states?”
“Twelve states,” Uncle Alec muttered. “But who’s counting?”
Odelia looked up at Chase, and saw that a twinkle had appeared in his eyes. “If you have to know, he was a rookie cop,” she finally said. “I was eighteen and he said that if I showed him mine he’d show me his. So I did, and accidentally shot his… package. Hey! He said he wanted to do it with the safety off!”
“Talk about unsafe sex,” said Dad with an eyeroll.
Chapter 15
That night, Dooley and I decided to go out to the house of John Paul George for a recital of the cat choir in honor of our now orphaned brethren and sisters. It was the right thing to do, we felt, as a treat to the cats who were now going to be pâté-less for the rest of their lives, and who, if Jasper was convicted of his boyfriend’s murder, might never see each other again.
“It makes you think about your own mortality, doesn’t it?” I asked as we trotted along in a slow procession to Johnny’s expansive mansion.
“It sure does,” said Dooley with a sigh.
Perhaps a dozen cats had decided to make the trek, which just went to show how popular JPG had been with Hampton Bay’s cat population, and how legendary his pâté. Not that we would
get any of that tonight. Or at least I didn’t think so. Father Reilly’s tabby Shanille was there, Stacy Brown’s cat, and Kingman, of course, Wilbur Vickery’s cat. Conspicuously absent were Brutus and Harriet, but then they hadn’t been invited.
We’d started the choir purely for our own amusement, and to give vent to the artistic talents of its members, but now, with this tragedy, we’d found a new purpose: to honor the cats of recently departed humans. In most cases they were taken in by relatives, though in rare cases they ended up at the animal shelter. Not that they were to be pitied. The Hampton Cove animal shelter was a well-funded operation, its animals well taken care of.
“I wonder what would happen to us if anything ever happened to Odelia or her mom,” said Dooley now, striking the morbid note.
“I’m sure nothing will happen to Odelia,” I told him. “She’s perfectly healthy and perfectly capable of taking care of herself. And us.”
“Yeah, but it’s still a possibility, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” I admitted. I didn’t want to dwell on such a ghoulish and depressing topic, even though we were about to organize what was essentially a wake. “I think Odelia will have a long and prosperous life.”
Dooley heaved a deep sigh. “I sure hope so.”
We finally arrived at Johnny’s mansion and gathered in a circle outside the wrought-iron gate where fans and townsfolk had placed dozens, perhaps even hundreds of floral tributes. They were piled up high against the fence, accompanied by candles and cards and all manner of commemorative gifts people had left behind. The outpouring of grief and love was impressive, and reminded us how beloved the singer had really been, and not just by cats.
We stepped through the gate’s bars, and proceeded to the house, walked around back until we reached the pool area, and took a moment to gaze at the place where the great man had breathed his final breath. George, Princess and the other cats were all seated on pool chairs, and joined us in this silent tribute. Father Reilly’s Shanille then spoke a few words in honor of the singer while we all stood there, heads bowed, listening to the brief sermon, which centered on the topics of ephemerality and the importance of enjoying every moment life so graciously gave, for you never knew what the future held.
And then we all broke into song, choosing for this opportunity a song of John Paul George himself, the rather apt ‘Queen in a King-Size Bed,’ one of his biggest hits. We massacred the popular hymn with glee, Kingman leading the choir and the rest of us meowing, yowling and caterwauling up a storm. Johnny’s twelve cats, after listening with rapt attention for a while, soon joined in, and for the next twenty minutes or so, nothing could be heard but the sweet sound of two dozen cats screeching at the top of their lungs.
I don’t know if the neighbors could hear our very special midnight concert and frankly I didn’t care. But if they had, I’m sure they would have appreciated it as much as I did. At one point a window was thrown open upstairs and a curler-covered woman’s head appeared, shouting something and throwing a shoe. It made a nice splash as it landed in the pool, and the head disappeared again, grumbling some choice curse words under its breath.
All in all, the tribute went well, and I was truly moved, and even had to wipe away a tear, as did most of the other cats. A few of them were even wailing and crying their eyes out, and even George, probably the oldest cat in our small feline gathering, was sniffling softly into his whiskers.
When the concert was over, Johnny’s cats thanked us, and then led us all inside to sample some of Johnny’s special pâté. It was a testament to the special moment that they all shared their bowls with us, and I was happy to see they were filled to the brim, which told me that even in Johnny’s and Jasper’s absence, their feline friends were well looked after. Possibly by the woman in curlers who’d just thrown her shoe at us.
After everyone had eaten their fill, we walked out again, and we all sat around carefully licking our paws and cleaning our faces. Dooley and I took this opportunity to chat with Princess. The Siamese was more subdued than before, which wasn’t hard to understand.
“That was very sweet of you,” she said with a little sniffle.
“Just showing our appreciation for what Johnny meant to the world,” I said.
“I’m sure he would have loved it. Too bad he isn’t here to enjoy it.” She glanced up at the sky. “Or maybe he is.”
Dooley and I also looked up at the twinkling stars. “Yeah,” I said with a smile. “I’m sure he’s up there looking down at us right now.”
Just at that moment, a star sparkled, and Princess gasped, clutching at her heart. “I’m sure that was Johnny, letting us know how much he cares.”
We stared up for a while longer, but I decided to strike the business note again. We weren’t just here for the tribute and the pâté, after all, but also to solve a murder. “Our human is having a chat with Johnny’s wife tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said vaguely, not showing the least bit of interest.
“Did you know he was still married?” I tried again.
She nodded. “Mh-mh. Though the last couple of years she rarely came out here. She wasn’t very fond of Jasper, as you can imagine.”
“She wasn’t, huh?” I asked, with a meaningful glance at Dooley, who was staring at Princess now, who was still staring up at the stars.
“He was writing again, you know,” she said dreamily.
“Writing? You mean songs?”
“No, the great American novel,” she said. “Of course songs, silly. I told you last time that he had hundreds of songs tucked away, but lately he’d been having trouble focusing and he’d stopped recording altogether for the past year or so. Until he decided to get into the groove again. He wanted to keep it a secret from Jasper, though. A special surprise for their anniversary. They would have been together fifteen years next month, and he wanted to surprise him by presenting him with an entire album of brand new songs.”
“I thought he’d stopped recording altogether. That he had trouble with his voice. At least that’s what Jasper told the police.”
“Well, he had, but he was working with a voice coach, and things were progressing nicely. His voice had a different timbre,” she said softly. “More mature, but still very much Johnny. And his songs were different, too. More reflective, and completely acoustic. Just Johnny and his guitar.” She sighed wistfully. “I thought they were some of his very best work. Pity the world will never get to hear them.”
“Why not?” I asked. “If Jasper finds those recordings he might release them as a treat to Johnny’s fans.”
“I doubt it,” she said sadly. “With Jasper in prison, the care of Johnny’s estate will probably fall on his wife now, and since Jasper is the only one with access to Johnny’s computers, she won’t even know about the music.”
“Unless we tell Jasper and he tells the wife,” I said.
She eyed me strangely. “How can you tell Jasper? You don’t speak human.”
“No, I don’t, but my human speaks cat, so there’s that.”
She smiled, obviously not believing a word I’d just said.
“It’s true,” Dooley chimed in. “We can talk to our human.”
“Sure,” she said. “Whatever you say, guys.”
“Princess?” George asked from the house. “Are you coming?”
“Yes, George,” she said, then turned to us. “Time for my beauty sleep. Thanks for the tribute concert. It was wonderful.”
“Thanks for the pâté,” said Dooley with a dumb grin on his face.
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
We watched as she sashayed in the direction of the house.
“Wow,” said Dooley finally. “What a cat.”
“Yeah,” I managed, though a little huskily. “What a cat.”
Chapter 16
Odelia had a hard time finding sleep. Long after she should have drifted off into a refreshing slumber, she was still tossing and turning. She couldn’t stop thinkin
g about the murder case, and how her uncle was sure he got the right man in jail. Even though he’d agreed to interview the widow, he considered it a mere courtesy call. She was convinced that Jasper was innocent, and not just because her father thought so, too. There was something fundamentally wrong about this whole case.
For one thing, the fingerprints on the vial were too convenient. If Jasper had gone to all the trouble of collecting the venom of a rare species of spider, would he really be so dumb to leave his fingerprints behind? She didn’t think so. Those prints had to have been planted there. And where had Jasper found that venom? It wasn’t as if they sold that stuff at Walmart or Target.
The chief assumed he’d gotten it online, or from a friend, but so far he had to admit they hadn’t tracked down either this friend or the site where Jasper could have bought it, and Odelia was pretty sure he never would.
When finally she’d drifted off into a restless sleep, she was awakened by the familiar weight of Max finding his space at the foot of the bed. She smiled. He’d been off half the night, as usual, and she was glad he was back.
“How was your evening, Max?” she whispered, raising her head from the pillow to look at the familiar form of the big, ginger cat. He stared back at her with his remarkable cat’s eyes, lit up by a sliver of moon slanting in through the curtains.
“We did a memorial concert for Johnny,” he whispered back. “His cats were all deeply touched.”
“Why are you whispering?” she whispered.
“Because you are whispering!”
“Oh. Right. Well, that was very sweet of you.”
“Did you know that Johnny was recording again?”
“He was? I thought Jasper said he’d lost his voice?”
“Well, he had, but he was practicing with a voice coach and was writing new songs. He’d recorded a bunch of acoustic songs for Jasper, as a surprise for their fifteenth anniversary. He was going to give it to him next week.”
She thought about this. If Johnny was recording songs for Jasper, he wasn’t going to leave him, was he? And that put that particular motive to rest once and for all.