by Nic Saint
“Everybody neuters their cats! It’s the law.”
“Who cares about the law? You should never have gone ahead and done it without their express consent in writing—in triplicate, preferably witnessed by the mayor and the governor. What if they sue? Have you thought about that?”
“Just get them back, will you? And tell them we did it for their own good.”
“Fat lot of good that’s going to do you now,” Gran grumbled.
She disconnected again and started for the door.
“Wait—what’s going on?” asked Marge.
“The cats are pissed off because they were neutralized,” said Gran.
“Neutralized? Oh, you mean neutered.”
“Whatever. They feel like we trampled all over their feline rights and they’re probably going to the United Nations to file a class-action lawsuit and sue us for a billion bucks. So it’s vital we get them back ASAP and make sure they can’t get in touch with any louche or lawyerly types.”
“Cats can’t sue humans,” said Marge. “That’s ridiculous.”
“We’ll see how ridiculous it is when they slam you with a subpoena and haul your ass to jail,” Gran growled, and headed into her room to put on some clothes. The search party was on. “Oh, and one other thing—I’m going out to Emerald Rhone’s house. There’s been a murder.”
“A murder!”
“Well, officially they’re calling it a suicide, but you know how those Hollywood types are. They probably pumped the poor woman full of cyanide and made it look like a suicide. And if I don’t get there fast, the next dead body just might be Odelia!”
Chapter 17
Dooley and I were still ensconced on our favorite bench, while the two lovebirds—or rather lovecats—were still loving it up in some nearby tree. Foot traffic had picked up on this side of the park, with people starting to emerge from their houses, carrying briefcases and purses and getting into cars to start their working day. Dooley and I watched the steady stream of people and Dooley sighed, “Where are they all going, Max?”
“To work, and school, and shopping—who knows. Humans are very busy people. They always got something going on.”
“That’s probably why they get all kinds of diseases and need to go to the doctor all the time,” he said wisely.
It’s true. Humans go the doctor, like, all the time. Us cats don’t want to be seen dead at the doctor—okay, so maybe that’s a weird way of putting it but you catch my drift, right? We live far healthier, peaceful lives. When we want to sleep, we sleep. When we want to eat, we eat. And apart from that, and a few bathroom breaks and some grooming, we just relax and have a good time.
“Of course there’s the fact that humans have to build all of those big houses and have to pay to keep them up,” I said. “And big houses cost money.”
“And clothes,” Dooley said. “Humans wear all these different clothes.”
“And shampoo and soap and all kinds of cosmetics,” I added. “Don’t forget about cosmetics.”
Nope. Cats don’t need to take showers or wear clothes or use hair gel. We don’t even wear shoes or anything. Just a lick and a flick and we’re good to go.
“Still,” said Dooley. “It’s nice to share those houses with our humans—those big houses they pay so much money and work so hard for.”
“Yeah, sure is nice to have a place to call home,” I agreed.
Which brought us right back to the reason we were languishing out there in the first place: what was taking our humans so long to organize a search and rescue party? By now they should have alerted the National Guard, or maybe the army or FBI, and launched a nationwide dragnet. Instead, crickets.
Talking about crickets, two cats deftly came walking up and joined us on the bench.
“And? All differences settled?” I asked when Brutus and Harriet huddled close together, loving smiles on their respective faces.
“I’ve decided to stay male,” said Brutus proudly. “It kinda suits me, being male, and Harriet agrees. Isn’t that right, lemon drop?”
“Exactly right, love nugget. And since I kinda like being a female, I think it works out nicely for both of us.”
“Now all I need to do is convince Odelia to remove this knot from my tubes and I’ll be right as rain.”
“And then when she removes the knot from my tubes, we can finally start that family we’ve been yearning for so much,” said Harriet, giving her mate a loving nudge with her head.
In actual fact Harriet had only started yearning for a family since Brutus started having doubts about his inner male or female, but I wasn’t one to quibble—or start a fight with Harriet.
“What’s all this about knots in tubes?” asked Dooley, interested.
“Oh, we just met Milo,” said Harriet. “Remember Milo?”
How could I forget. Our neighbor’s cat had lived with us for a while, and I still shivered at the recollection.
“So we got to talking about this neutering and spaying thing. And Milo told us the procedure can easily be reversed. See, they tie a knot in certain reproductive tubes—I’m not going to bore you with the details—but the important thing is that they can always untie these knots and get everything back on track. It’s a simple procedure and will put us both back in business.” She chuckled in a low, husky voice, indicating what she meant by business.
It went right over Dooley’s head. “Reproductive tubes?” he asked. “What are reproductive tubes?”
“Oh, it’s how babies are made,” said Harriet. Too late she saw me gesturing wildly. Dooley hadn’t yet reached the age where he’d learned about the birds and the bees, and I wasn’t prepared to be the one to have to explain it to him.
“Babies?” Dooley asked, confused. “But I thought big birds brought babies into this world? What are they called? Storks?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Big storks live in a stork colony in the sky and they bring all the babies into this world. Isn’t that right, Harriet?”
“But what about the knots and the tubes and stuff?” asked Dooley, who might look like a fool some of the time but wasn’t fooled all of the time.
“Don’t listen to Harriet,” I said. “She’s getting certain things completely mixed up. Right? Harriet?”
“Yeah, I’m so sorry, Dooley,” she said, thunking her head in an exaggerated fashion. “I was talking about plumbing, not babies. When tubes get clogged humans send for a plumber, so that’s what I was talking about. Babies are obviously brought by those nice and friendly storks. Our dear, dear friends.”
“No, they’re not,” said Brutus, who wasn’t aware of our policy to protect Dooley from some of the more graphic facts of life. “Babies are made when a male and female mate, which is why we need our tubes untied, and quick, too.”
Dooley looked from Brutus to me, unsure who to believe.
“Now you’ve done it,” said Harriet, giving her boyfriend a shove.
“Now I’ve done what?”
“Dooley hasn’t had the talk,” she hissed.
“What talk?”
“About the birds and the bees!”
“What birds? What bees?” asked Dooley.
“Well, the birds are obviously the storks I was telling you about,” I said.
“And the bees? How do they feature into the thing?” asked Brutus, who was also interested. Apparently he hadn’t had this particular talk yet either.
But before I could get into the matter in more detail, a sight for sore eyes suddenly materialized before us. It was Gran, and she was smiling down on us with all the benevolence of a nurturing little mother.
“Well, there you are,” she said, taking a seat on the bench. “I was wondering where you went off to. There’s been an emergency, my sweet and precious darlings. Your human needs you. But first tell me all about why you decided to run off and scare me half to death.”
Chapter 18
We were in grandma’s Peugeot. Well, actually not grandma’s but Tex and Marge’s old r
ed Peugeot. How she ever induced them to let her drive it I do not know, for Gran is a terrible driver. Fortunately for my peace of mind I’d rarely had to endure her driving style, as usually Odelia is the one driving us around, but this time there was no escape.
“So tell me the whole story,” she said as she sat hunched over the wheel, intensely scowling at the windshield as if it had personally offended her.
The car was swerving across the road, as Gran has trouble driving in a straight line, but that wasn’t even the worst of it. From time to time, as I told my story and told it well, she glanced over in my direction, and took her eyes off the road. Luckily people in Hampton Cove are familiar with the Chief of Police’s mother’s driving, and know to jump out of the way when they see her coming. Problem is the tourists. They are innocents likely to be mowed down, like corn before Gran’s sickle, and how she’s managed to live this long without committing vehicular manslaughter is actually quite beyond me.
“It all began when Brutus decided he wanted to be a woman,” I said.
“I have changed my mind since then,” Brutus said, instigated by a poke in the ribs from a grateful Harriet.
“A woman? Why would you want to be a woman?” asked Gran, glancing back at Brutus.
“Use the rearview mirror, Gran,” I suggested.
“He saw a documentary,” Harriet explained.
“Yeah, that’ll do it,” grunted Gran. “I remember this one time I saw a documentary on drag queens. And wouldn’t you know it, next day I found myself dressing up like a drag queen and parading along Main Street before I happened to catch my reflection in the barber store window and came to my senses.”
“Aren’t drag queens men who dress up like women?” I asked, confused.
“So? Why should men have all the fun?” Gran demanded heatedly.
“Anyway,” I said, “since Brutus seemed confused about his male identity, I thought he should probably see a shrink. Seek professional help, you know.”
“I get it,” said Gran. “You called RuPaul.”
“Who’s RuPaul?”
“He’s probably the cat shrink we’ve been looking for,” said Dooley.
“But since we didn’t have RuPaul’s number,” I continued, trying to get back to my story, “we talked to Kingman instead.”
“Is he a shrink?” asked Gran, interested.
“No, but he knows every cat in Hampton Cove and probably a few in the surrounding towns, too. In the course of our conversation, Harriet revealed her main objection against Brutus becoming a female: she wants to start a family, a dream she’s always harbored.” Though in secret, apparently.
“A dream I’ve always harbored,” Harriet echoed, cuddling up to Brutus, who purred contentedly. “And now it’s finally happening, papa bear.”
“Finally, mama bear.”
“But then Kingman said no way could Harriet and Brutus start a family, as we’ve all been neutered—or spayed—or whatever the correct vernacular.”
“Yeah, I’m with you so far,” said Gran. “And that’s when you rushed home and woke me up from my beauty sleep. So what made you run off and go into hiding?”
I straightened. The job of being spokesperson for an entire crew of cats is a responsible one, and I wanted to get this exactly right.
“You shouldn’t have done it, Gran,” said Harriet, interrupting my carefully prepared speech. “You had no right!”
“Which is exactly what I told Odelia,” said Gran, nodding. She cut me a quick sideways glance. “So have you lawyered up yet?”
“Lawyered up?” I asked.
“Good. A load off my mind. Don’t,” she said. “Lawyer up, I mean. This is not a case you’re likely to win. I mean, I know this is against your feline rights and all that jazz, but humans have rights too, or at least that’s what Marge told me. And one of them is the right not to have your entire house urinated on.”
“We don’t urinate indoors!” I said, utterly shocked.
“No, we are civilized cats, Gran,” said Dooley. “We only urinate in the designated spot, which just so happens to be covered in nice-smelling, dust-free, clumping, non-tracking, hypoallergenic cat litter for our convenience.”
“I know, I know, but allegedly non-neutered cats urinate all over the damn place, which is probably what Odelia was trying to avoid—hence the snip.”
“At any rate, we want you to take us to Vena and have the procedure reversed,” said Harriet. “Brutus and I are in love, and we want to start a family together to celebrate that love. Isn’t that right, my cuddly lion?”
“Absolutely, sugar cookie.”
Gran darted a quick look in the rearview mirror. “Start a family, huh?”
“We were thinking, maybe two or three?”
“I could go for four or five,” Brutus indicated proudly.
“Oh, Super Cat.”
“Oh, Wonder Cat.”
“Oh, hell,” Dooley muttered.
“Reverse the procedure, huh? Yeah, well, let’s talk to Odelia first,” said Gran, who was shuffling uncomfortably in her seat.
“Don’t tell me, the procedure can’t be reversed, right?” I said, feeling the way the wind was blowing.
“I didn’t say that. Did I say that? I’m not a vet, so how the hell should I know? Let’s talk to Odelia and that’s my final word on the matter.”
“So what’s this about Odelia needing our help?” I asked.
“Yeah, some ditzy dame got whacked, and Odelia needs you to do that thing that you do so well.”
“Snoop around for possible clues, you mean?”
“That’s the one. Meanwhile I’m going to network.” She sneezed, and almost ran down two old ladies who were crossing the road arm in arm.
“Network?” I asked.
“I never told anyone this, but I always wanted to be an actress,” she said now, a wistful look coming over her face.
We all sat stunned. This was the first we’d ever heard of Gran’s ambition.
She straightened her shoulders. “So I’m going to ask this Emerald person to give me a part in her next movie. That should launch me in the biz, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, that should do it,” I agreed.
Though I had a feeling Emerald might not be open to the idea as much as Gran seemed to think. The thing is, Gran is a woman with a million different projects and ideas, and as soon as she’s failed at one, she immediately adopts another. I have to hand it to her, though, what she lacks in talent, she makes up for in sheer tenacity. Even though she doesn’t have any discernible skill other than to create trouble for those around her, she’s determined and will do whatever it takes to fulfill her ambitions, as harebrained as they might be.
“I think you’ll do great, Gran,” said Harriet, who was in great spirits now that her own dream of being a mom was within her grasp.
“Of course I’ll do great. I see myself in the same pantheon as some of the greats of old. Greta Garbo. Bette Davis. Katharine Hepburn. Classic beauties bursting with talent. Trust me, kids, nothing in this world is free. So when you have a dream, you gotta grab it and hold on tight and never let go!”
And with this piece of advice she sneezed again, and practically ran over Father Reilly, who shook his fist and hurled a stream of classic obscenities our way.
Chapter 19
All the guests had been gathered in the library, where they would be interviewed by the police officers Uncle Alec had brought in. It was just a routine thing, and yet everyone was on edge and nerves were stretched taut.
Alina, especially, looked as if she was about to have a nervous breakdown. Her face had gone deathly pale, and she was visibly shaking. Odelia, who’d opted to remain with the other guests, wondered if she should tell Alina this was merely a routine investigation, as Kimberlee’s death was very obviously a suicide and would soon be deemed just that.
She approached the woman. “Are you all right?” she asked now.
Alina shook her head. “I did this,” she wh
ispered. “I did this to her. If I hadn’t said those horrible things—or tried to whack her over the head with a croquet mallet, she might still be alive.”
“You don’t know that,” said Odelia. “No one carries cyanide around unless it’s for a good reason. Kimberlee must have been planning this long before she came here.”
Alina seemed to awake from her stupor at these words. “Cyanide. That’s right. Reinhart said the same thing.” She brought her slender fingers to her suspiciously wrinkle-free forehead. “Oh, my God. I can’t even begin to contemplate what must have been going through that poor woman’s mind.”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that myself,” said Odelia. “So you see? There’s no need to blame yourself. This had nothing to do with that fight.”
Alina lowered her hand and fixed those remarkable green eyes on Odelia. They were now lined with tiny red veins. “Are you quite sure, Miss Poole?”
“I am. Like I said, she must have planned this a long time ago. Cyanide is not an easy substance to get your hands on, and—”
“Would you say she suffered a painful death?”
“Very painful, and very quick. Cyanide is what Cold War spies used to take when they were captured on enemy soil. They had it tucked into a tooth or hidden in a capsule. Then they’d bite down on the capsule or the tooth and the cyanide would do its deadly work. Hitler used one to kill himself.”
Alina had been listening attentively throughout, and now displayed a tiny smile. “Amazing how much you know about the subject, Miss Poole. But then I guess reporters must have extensive knowledge of a variety of topics, right?”
“I just read about it on Wikipedia just now,” said Odelia modestly.
Alina’s expression hardened. “Why is it, you think, that the police are keeping us in here? Or do they think Kimberlee was murdered?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s just routine—they want to find out as much as they can about the circumstances of the poor woman’s death. Once they’ve wrapped up the investigation, they’ll remove the body and—”