by Nic Saint
Like I said, time spent with Clarice is always a joy to the heart and balm to the soul.
Chapter 24
The interview with the four remaining most interesting men concluded, Odelia decided to swing by the house for a bite to eat. Chase dropped her off and continued on to the station house, wanting to discuss the case with Uncle Alec. And she’d just inserted her key in the door and stepped inside when she became aware that she wasn’t alone.
Someone else was in there with her, and it wasn’t Max or Dooley.
“Who’s there?” she called out, afraid some burglar had decided to go for her meager belongings. They wouldn’t find much to satisfy their thieving tastes. Unless they were fellow cat owners and excited by the prospect of getting their kibble in bulk at the local Walmart or Costco, they’d be sorely disappointed by their sad little haul.
She took a firm hold on the baseball bat she liked to keep next to the front door—one of Chase’s contributions to interior decorating—and took a tentative step. Her house was a smallish affair, and from her position in the hallway she had a good view of the living room, the kitchen, and even the backyard through the sliding glass doors. Just then, the stairs creaked, and she gasped. Someone was in here! Score one for the Poole survival instinct.
“Show yourself!” she yelled. “I’m armed and extremely dangerous!”
She lifted the baseball bat, wondering if she was holding it right and also wondering if she’d have both the time and the gumption to take a swing at this daytime intruder.
Just then, a person came stomping down the stairs and she raised the bat over her head. “I’m—I’m not kidding!” she cried. “I’ve got a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it!”
“Where do you keep the sheets?” asked Grandma, stepping out from the stairwell and giving her a look of annoyance. She frowned when she saw Odelia’s Babe Ruth imitation. “So this is what you get up to when I’m not looking. Having fun and playing games. And they wonder why this generation is so soft.” She shook her head and headed into the kitchen, opening the fridge. “And nothing to eat, of course. Sad. Very sad.”
“Gran,” Odelia cried, lowering her deadly weapon. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m moving in,” announced her grandmother, extracting a carton of eggs from the fridge and a tomato. “Don’t you have bacon? I need bacon if I’m gonna get through this. Bacon has always been my comfort food of choice.”
“But-but-but,” she sputtered.
Grandma plunked her bony frame down on a high kitchen stool and planted her elbows on the counter. “I got canned,” she said. “Got called out as a fraud and a cheat.”
Odelia stared at her grandmother. “I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I. Things were going great. Philippe was really taking to me, I could tell. Calling me Granny Goldsmith and stuff, and showing me pictures from when he was a baby. He didn’t even mention Scarlett Canyon anymore—having seen right through the woman I’ll bet.” She puckered up her face. “And then she showed up and ruined the whole thing.”
“She?” asked Odelia, also taking a seat at the kitchen counter.
“Sure. She. Amelia Goldsmith she calls herself. Burt’s wife. Turns out Burt may have played the part of the player, cutting a neat swath through a pack of blond bimbos over the years, but all this time the guy was married, can you believe it? Married! And to the same woman, no less. Claims she’s the mother of Burt’s boy Hunter and Philippe is her grandson.”
“But what about the DNA test?”
“Results came back. Neither me nor Scarlett made the cut. Nope,” she said, heaving an unhappy sigh. “Looks like that ship has sailed. Burt and I may have done the horizontal mambo back in the day, but ne’er a son was born from our union. And the same goes for the Canyon menace, though I could have told you this without some stupid darned DNA test.”
“So… that means you’re staying put?”
“Sure.” Gran slapped the counter and got up. “So where are those sheets? And you know I like them light and fluffy. None of that flannel stuff. I’ve got sensitive skin.”
She gave her grandparent a look of confusion. “What do you need sheets for? Don’t you have plenty of sheets at your own place?”
Gran’s face darkened. “I don’t have a place. Marge and Tex are dead to me. No way am I going back to those two backstabbers. After the way they treated me? Not one ounce of support for my bid to become Granny Goldsmith and rake in the millions.” She shook her head decidedly. “Nah-uh. I’m moving in with you.” She spread her arms. “Granny’s home!”
Chapter 25
We met up with Brutus and Harriet on the corner of Main Street and Franklin Avenue. Brutus and Harriet had formed a second team to look for Shadow. It was obvious from their expressions that they hadn’t found what they were looking for either, though.
“Did you find her?” asked Brutus.
“No, did you?” asked Dooley, who had a hard time reading faces.
“We did find Clarice,” I told the others. “She said she saw Shadow and that if we don’t hurry it might be too late.”
Brutus frowned. “You mean she might have left town?”
“She might have left the planet.”
“As in… flown off into space?”
“As in being dead and buried.”
“Look, all this talk about Shadow is all well and good,” said Harriet, “but shouldn’t we focus on the more important issue here?”
We all stared at her. “What more important issue?” I asked.
She tapped her collar. “These, of course! When are we going to be allowed to get rid of these horrible collars? Cats are staring at us, in case you hadn’t noticed. Mocking us.”
I looked around. Every single cat I saw was also wearing a collar, and they weren’t staring, either, too busy wallowing in self-pity, just like Harriet was. Cats are notoriously self-absorbed, and Harriet is a prime example. It’s one of our less attractive qualities, I’m afraid.
“I guess once the fleas are gone the collar can come off,” I said.
“Duh. In case you hadn’t noticed, the fleas are gone,” said Harriet. “So you better talk to Odelia and get her to remove these terrible things ASAP, Max. And better do it now.”
“I saw a flea,” Dooley piped up. “It jumped from me to Clarice but then she ate it.”
Harriet ignored this outburst from one she considered a mere cypher in our small cat universe. “Talk to Odelia, Max. I’m serious.”
“Why don’t you talk to her?” I asked.
“Because she only listens to you. Everyone knows that.”
“That’s not true.” They all looked at me. “Is it?”
“It is kinda true, Max,” Dooley said. “You seem to be her favorite.”
“Odelia doesn’t have favorites. She loves us all equally.”
“Yeah, right,” Brutus grunted. “You know that ain’t true, Max.”
And as we walked on, idly looking left and right for Shadow, I thought about this. Was I Odelia’s favorite? I didn’t think so. I was her cat, of course. Harriet was Marge’s. Dooley was Grandma’s, and Brutus was Chase’s mom’s. But that didn’t mean anything. No, I was pretty sure they were mistaken. Odelia loved us all to bits. And we’d just crossed into yet another back alley, when we came upon a strange sight: a man and a woman in a police cruiser were also loving each other to bits. Literally. And they had the steamed-up windows to prove it.
And as we stood watching, mouths agape, I suddenly noticed the guy inside the police cruiser looked awfully familiar. He was portly, with a big head and red sideburns.
Brutus had noticed, too. “Isn’t that… Uncle Alec?” he asked.
“No way,” said Dooley. “Uncle Alec would never do… what is he doing, exactly?”
A hand suddenly slapped against the window, as the woman appeared to straddle Uncle Alec. And then the car began moving in a curious rhythm, tires squeaking audibly.
I gulped a little, and felt comp
elled to place my paw over Dooley’s eyes, just like one would when suddenly an adult scene pops up in an otherwise family-friendly movie on TV.
“What is she doing to him, Max?” asked Dooley, panicky. “She’s choking him!”
“No, she’s not.”
“But she’s on top of him!”
“Brutus, tell him,” I said. “Explain to him what’s going on. Brutus?”
I glanced around and saw that Brutus and Harriet had moved away and were now ensconced behind a dumpster, engaged in a similar activity as Uncle Alec and the mystery woman inside the car. Probably inspired by the moment. It was hard to make out the woman’s features, because of the steamed-up windows, but I could tell she had red hair and was a lot prettier than Uncle Alec. She also seemed to be enjoying herself tremendously, as she was yelling, “Oh, yes, sheriff! Oh, yes, sheriff! Oh, yessss! Sheriff!” It was a little repetitive but Alec didn’t seem to mind.
From their perch behind the dumpster, meanwhile, Harriet was yelling, “Oh, yes, Brutus! Oh, yes, Brutus! Oh, yesssss! Brutus!” Obvious plagiarism, of course, but who cared?
“What’s happening, Max?” cried Dooley, perfectly disoriented.
I led him away from the scene, my paw still over his eyes. “Nothing special,” I told him. “Let’s go. I think I saw Shadow.”
“Is that Harriet? What is she yelling about? Is she in pain?”
I glanced back at Harriet, whose face was contorted in rapture. “I don’t think so.”
“Because she sounds like she’s in pain.”
“I’m sure she’s fine, Dooley. Brutus will take care of her.”
And Brutus was taking care of her. And finding the time to give me two paws up. Guess Vena’s vitamin pills had worked their magic after all. I held up one paw in greeting, my other paw protecting Dooley’s innocence, and then we were out on the street, where life was lived at a less strenuous pace and public displays of indecency were not as prevalent.
Like I said, sometimes being a cat is tough. Not as tough as Clarice seems to believe, but not something for pussies, either.
We hadn’t found Shadow, but Brutus had found his catliness, Uncle Alec had found a woman who didn’t seem to mind that he was overweight and out of shape, and I had found that sometimes helping friends was all about chomping down pills that aren’t necessarily good for you, and helping other friends by pretending a couple in heat is just another feature of small-town life. Nothing to see here, folks. Just move along. Which is exactly what we did.
Chapter 26
Odelia listened to the ringing tone once, twice, three times—and wondered why her uncle wasn’t picking up his phone. This was the third time she tried to call him and each time she got his voicemail. Normally he picked up on the first ring so where was he?
She tried Chase instead, who did pick up on the first ring.
“Hey, babe,” he said, his new favorite word for her. She could get used to it.
“Have you seen my uncle? He’s not picking up his phone.”
“Nope. Isn’t at the station, either. No idea where he is, actually. Why?”
“I have a situation here. With his mother.”
“Uh-oh. What has she gone and done now?”
“She’s moved in with me.”
Silence. Then: “I think I misheard. Did you say she moved in?”
“Yup. The Goldsmith gambit backfired and since Mom and Dad didn’t support her claim to fame and fortune she decided to move out of their house and into mine.”
“Um…”
“I know we said you’d move in, but considering this new situation, maybe we should reconsider?”
“I can wait. How long before she moves back out?”
“A week. Tops.”
“Don’t tell me. This isn’t the first time.”
“Last time she moved out was because Dad made her wash the dishes. She told him she wasn’t his flunky and Dad told her he wasn’t her houseboy and things kind of escalated from there. Took them a week to make nice again and for things to return to normal.”
“I can wait a week.”
“You can still sleep over.”
“With Granny breathing heavily in the next room? I don’t think so.”
“I thought nothing could turn you off?”
“Honey, the thing that can turn me off still has to be born or invented, but I draw the line at getting hot and heavy with my girlfriend while her grandmother hovers over the bed with a curious expression on her face. Call me a prude but exhibitionism isn’t my thing.”
As she disconnected the thought occurred to her that this would put a serious crimp in her love life. Then her mind returned to Tracy Sting, the woman who was now their prime suspect in the Burt Goldsmith murder. From what the four most interesting men had told them the woman could hold her own as a gunslinger as well as possessing a black belt in all the known martial arts forms as well as a few she’d never even heard about. Armed and dangerous, Chase had called her, and had told his fellow officers to keep a lookout for the woman. Chances were that Burt’s killer had been right under their noses all along.
She moved upstairs to help her grandmother settle in—or convince her to move out. When she found the old lady bouncing up and down on the bed in the guest bedroom, she abandoned that particular hope. Granny Muffin looked like she was ready to make her granddaughter’s home her new permanent home away from home.
“Did you find the sheets?” she asked, then saw that Gran had. Her finest pink ones, no less. The ones with the Hello Kitty theme. The ones she’d put away when Chase started staying over. Nothing acts as a natural testosterone repellent like Hello Kitty pink does.
“I found a male toothbrush in the bathroom,” Gran announced sternly.
How she would distinguish a male toothbrush from a female one Odelia did not know. As far as she knew toothbrushes were genderless. Nevertheless she blushed.
“It’s possible Chase has been staying over once or twice.”
Gran cocked her head. “Honey, I don’t want to interfere with your love life.”
Hope surged.
“So whenever you guys feel horny just tell me and I’ll put in my earplugs.”
Hope crashed.
“How long will you be staying?” she asked, braving Granny’s ire.
“Forever by the looks of things.” She glanced around at the guest bedroom, a small affair in comparison to Gran’s own room next door. “I like it here. I think I’ll be very happy. Do you have a VCR? I don’t want to miss my favorite shows. I like to tape them just in case.”
“VCR went out the window when the world went digital, Gran.”
Gran’s eyes went wide. “I’m gonna miss my shows? I can’t miss my shows!”
“Relax. I’ve got DVR, and so has Dad.”
“Yeah, ask for instructions. He’s got all the deets. He’s been taping my stuff forever.” A cloud momentarily passed over her face, and her dentures dug into her lower lip at the mention of her son-in-law. The moment passed and then she was strong again. “Better yet, ask Alec. He’ll know what to do. At least Alec never kicked me out of his home.”
“You never lived in Alec’s home, Gran.”
“That’s what I meant,” she said vaguely, then bounced up from the bed. “Now show me how to work the shower. I like it not too hot, not too cold, and Tex never moves the mixer tap. I hate it when people move the mixer tap. Pisses me off big time.”
And as Odelia followed her grandmother into the bathroom, she discovered a newfound appreciation for her mother and father’s predicament. She’d lived with her grandmother for all of half an hour and already she was contemplating geronticide.
Chapter 27
We were finally on our way home, having struck out in our mission to find Burt’s Shadow. Dooley kept harping on about Uncle Alec and Harriet and Brutus for a while but then fell into a contemplative silence. Which suited me just fine. I had my own thoughts to contend with. It might surprise you but cats are deep thinkers. And
so it was that when Dooley finally spoke again, it was to launch into a train of thought that took me by surprise.
“Maybe we should get girlfriends, Max.”
I was slightly taken aback. “Girlfriends? What do you mean?”
“Like Uncle Alec and that mystery woman in the car. Or Brutus and Harriet.” He shrugged. “Everybody has a girlfriend. Even Uncle Alec has a girlfriend. What about Shanille? You like Shanille, don’t you? And she can sing. Who doesn’t want a girlfriend who can sing?”
The thought of Father Reilly’s homely tabby didn’t stir any of those finer feelings in me that one associates with eternal love and affection and I told Dooley in no uncertain terms that never in my life would I want to find myself in a passionate embrace with Shanille.
“Then who, Max? There has to be a Molly out there for us somewhere, right?”
Frankly I hadn’t given the matter as much thought as Dooley obviously had. Which just goes to show. Still waters sometimes do run deep. Or is it shallow waters? No matter.
“Look, if the right one is out there for us, one day we’ll find her. Or she’ll find us.”
He gave me a look of hope. “You think so?”
“I know so.” Actually I didn’t, but the topic of conversation was not one on which I cared to dwell at the moment.
“What about Clarice?”
“What about her?”
“Doesn’t she make your heart go pitter-patter?”
Clarice did make my heart go pitter-patter, but that was probably because she scared the living daylights out of me. “Not really. Why? Do you like her?”
He gave this serious consideration. “I admire her. I think she’s great. But I don’t see her in a romantic light. Not like Richard Gere saw Julia at the end of Pretty Woman. Or all those couples in Love Actually. Though I do think that one day Clarice will find love again.”