by Nic Saint
Dooley and I exchanged a puzzled glance. “What is he talking about?” I said.
“I think he’s saying he can swim like a duck.”
“That’s what it sounded like to me. Doesn’t he know that cats don’t swim?”
“Maybe nobody ever told him?”
We both looked on, the spectacle taking on the entertainment value of a major car crash. You know how it is. It’s hard to look away.
The ducks were moving about restlessly. They might not have deigned to respond to Brutus’s ramblings, but they’d certainly understood every last word of what he was saying. And the part about being able to swim was clearly causing them considerable concern.
Brutus looked over to where Dooley and I were still officiating the role of his ringside audience, and gave us another paw up. I gave him a paw up back.
“He’s going to drown,” said Dooley.
“Better get ready to call for help,” I said.
Brutus put one paw into the pond, then the next, and soon he was up to his chest in the murky water. A nearby frog gave him a weird look, then hopped off. Probably to get his buddies. This they had to see.
“See?” Brutus shouted to the ducks. “I’m a real duck! I can swim!”
He must have stepped into a hole, though, for suddenly he disappeared, only to return spluttering and sputtering above the surface.
“Help!” he screamed. “I can’t swim!”
“I knew it,” said Dooley. “Are you going to save him or am I?”
Only trouble was, neither of us could swim either.
Meanwhile Brutus was going under for the third time...
Chapter 9
Chase, who was interviewing witnesses, suddenly found his attention snagged by a disturbance taking place near the duck pond. A frown marred his handsome and exceedingly masculine face, and he looked over. The sight that met his eyes surprised him, to say the least. Two cats were seated on the side of the pond, mewling at the top of their lungs. Meanwhile a third cat had stumbled into the water and was in a situation of clear and present danger. Chase, who instantly recognized the cats as—reading from left to right—Max, Dooley and Brutus, wasted no time pondering hows and whys, immediately dropped his notebook, and broke into a 100-meter dash that would have made Usain Bolt proud.
Without a second’s hesitation, he jumped headfirst into the pond and disappeared beneath the water’s surface. With a few powerful strokes of his arms he reached the spot where he’d last seen Brutus, and then he was diving down into the murky depths. This was Odelia’s cat, and if it drowned she’d be devastated. He could not allow that to happen.
He opened his eyes and frantically searched about. But apart from a few reeds and other dwellers of the deep, he saw no sign of a black cat. He rose to the surface, took a big deep gulp of breath, then went under again, this time scanning closer to the edge of the pond. And then he saw the little bugger: Brutus was floating near the sandy bottom.
He grabbed the poor animal and pushed himself off towards the surface, holding him up like that weird painted monkey holding up the lion cub in The Lion King. Elton John didn’t break into song when he finally emerged, but Max and Dooley did. Or at least they broke into jubilant praise.
Chase carefully placed Brutus on the bank of the pond and to his elation the black cat, who now looked more like a drowned rat than his usual debonair self, coughed up about a gallon of water, then piteously meowed something only cats were equipped to understand. His two little friends were still meowing up a storm, and not for the first time Chase found himself thinking how great it would be if he could actually understand them.
Odelia, who must have been alerted to the drama that was unfolding, came running. “Oh, my sweet, sweet Brutus!” she cried, concern lacing her voice. “What happened?”
“Beats me,” said Chase. “I guess he accidentally fell into the water.”
To his surprise, her words apparently hadn’t been directed at him but at Max and Dooley, who meowed something in response.
Weird. Almost as if they could understand what she was talking about.
Onlookers had arrived, and were all rubbernecking to their heart’s content. It wasn’t murder this time but a cat in peril but that didn’t stop them from taking out their damn smartphones and filming the heck out of the scene.
Chase ground his teeth. “Put those phones away!” he bellowed, getting up.
He hated this habit of people to film any disaster scene they encountered. Used to be that people actually showed up at the scene of an accident to help out. Now they just wanted to film the whole thing so they could post it on their social media.
“I swear to God,” he grumbled. “I’m going to bust some heads.”
But Odelia’s slender fingers enveloped his bicep and she said, “Thank you so much, Chase. You’re my hero.”
His anger melted like snow before a blistering sun and when she hugged him to show her gratitude, his mind went momentarily blank. When she pulled back, he said, “Oh, Christ. I’ve made you all wet.” Her blouse, her jeans... She was almost as soaking wet as he was.
“I don’t mind,” she said, a smile lighting up her face.
He knew those cats of hers meant the world to her, and he was glad he’d been there to save Brutus. If he’d been even one minute late in responding...
Oddly enough, a small flock of ducks now came floating up, quacking softly. They waddled onto the shore and approached Brutus, first hesitantly, then with more gusto. And then the weirdest thing happened: the ducks quacked, and Brutus meowed. Almost as if they were communicating! Crazy, of course, but then such was life down here in Hampton Cove. As close to a regular Garden of Eden as humanly possible, complete with talking animals. He shook off the thought. Murder and mayhem didn’t happen in the Garden of Eden, but they sure happened in this adopted town of his too often to be dismissed.
“You better go change,” said Alec, who’d also joined them. “Or else you’ll catch a cold. Here.” He shrugged off his light sports jacket and handed it to Chase. “Remove your shirt and put this on.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“That’s an order, Detective Kingsley,” said the Chief, warningly raising an eyebrow.
Grudgingly, he removed his shirt. As he did, there were gasps from their small audience, and women all along the shoreline gripped their smartphones even more intently than before.
Odelia grinned. “Careful, Chase. You don’t want to cause a scene.”
“Yeah, Chase,” Alec echoed. “Disturbing the peace. I’ll have to caution you.”
“You don’t caution the town hero who just saved a cat from drowning, boss,” said Chase, shrugging into his superior officer’s jacket. It was several sizes too big but it was warm and dry. “If you do, then you’ll cause a disturbance.”
Alec took in the swooning women. “I guess you’re right. At least take the man’s picture, Odelia.”
“Why?” asked Odelia, puzzled.
“For your story! For God’s sakes, woman. Are you a reporter or not? I can see the headline now. Hero Cop Saves Drowning Cat.” He clapped Chase on the shoulder. “This is the stuff of legend, son. You’re in the town annals now.”
“I’m just glad the little fellow is all right,” said Chase, giving Brutus a gentle stroke along his fur. Odelia had wrapped him up in her own sweater but he was still shivering violently. “Better take him to the vet,” he suggested, and he could have sworn that at the mention of the word ‘vet,’ all three cats started screaming bloody murder.
Chapter 10
While Chase was showing off his manly humps and bumps to an adoring crowd of ladies, I was recovering from the shock of watching one of my best friends almost end up in a watery grave.
“How are you, Brutus?” I asked.
He looked dazed, and nor did I wonder. If I’d been in his paws, I’d have looked dazed, too.
“I don’t think I’m an honorary duck,” he said finally.
“No, I could se
e that.”
“Good thing Chase was there to save you,” said Dooley.
We all looked up at the hero savior with admiration written all over our features. This wasn’t the first time Chase had had to save one of us. The last time it had been me, and Chase had rescued me from a ledge. I’d had an epiphany, then. Chase, with his long hair and masculine features, was nothing short of a come-again Jesus. Dooley actually believed he really was Jesus. The only thing missing was his sheep, but Chase had probably ditched his trusty barnyard animal for a Ford pickup truck. Even Jesus has to keep up with the times.
“The man is a miracle worker,” said Brutus reverently. “I didn’t believe you that time when you said he was Jesus, Dooley, but now I see you were right. He’s an amazing human.”
“And he’s your human,” I reminded Brutus.
“Not really. My real human is Chase’s mom, though now I consider your human my human.”
I know. It gets complicated. That’s because humans have a habit of passing their pets around like candy. A bad habit. Lucky for us Odelia is not like that. She’s already told us more than once that she’s our human for life, and I believe her. She’s one of those rare humans who keep their word, and who truly love their pets.
To my surprise, a small flock of ducks now waddled up onto shore and approached us. One duck hesitantly drew away from the pack. “When you said you could swim, I thought you were kidding,” said this duck. Judging from her feathers she was not only the spokesperson but also the leader of the pack. Though truth be told, I’m not an expert on ducks. “But you weren’t. You’re an amazing swimmer,” the duck continued.
“I am?” Brutus asked, surprised.
“Sure. The way you dove right to the hidden depths of this here pond of ours, and went in search of those tasty water bugs that like to lurk in the muck below…” She raised her eyes heavenward. “Amazing. How did you know that was where the best snacks were located?”
“I, um…”
“And you managed to snag two and haven’t even consumed them yet,” she said, gesturing with her beak to two water beetles happily frolicking on Brutus’s belly.
“Aargh!” he said, then quickly brushed them off with a flick of his paw.
They landed right in front of the duck, who stared from the beetles to Brutus. “May I, sir?” she asked, almost reverently.
“Sure. Go ahead. I, um, I’m not hungry.”
The duck gobbled up the beetles with a crunching sound—a horrible sight. “Thanks,” she said, after heaving a soft burp. “I appreciate it, Duck Burt.”
“Brutus,” Brutus corrected her.
“On behalf of our community,” said the duck, “I want to bid you welcome in our home, Duck Burt. Our pond is your pond. Our bugs are your bugs.” She then glanced at Dooley and I. “Are these your friends?”
“Yep. Max and Dooley. My best friends in all the world.”
The duck nodded in our direction. “You’re most welcome, too. Though the fat one should probably restrain himself. This is a small pond, and there are only so many bugs to go around.”
It took me a moment to realize she was referring to me. And I was just about to launch into a very vocal protest when I caught Brutus’s eye. ‘Don’t ruin this, Max,’ his expression said. ‘Just play along. Nice and easy.’
Grudgingly I buried a few choice comments about fat shaming.
“So did you happen to see what happened out there?” Brutus asked, now that the ice was broken and he’d officially been installed as an honorary duck.
“You mean the slaying? Yes, I did happen to see what happened,” said the duck, much to my surprise and not inconsiderable excitement.
“So?” asked Dooley, who couldn’t contain his glee. “Who did it?”
“Who did what?” asked the duck, looking Dooley up and down. She must have liked what she saw, for she smiled. Then again, nobody could ever accuse scrawny Dooley of eating more than his fill.
“Who murdered the girl?” I asked.
Her smile vanished. “Please tell the fat one to be more precise,” she said, much to Brutus’s glee, for he was trying in vain to suppress a giggle.
“A girl was murdered just now,” I said icily. “Her name was Dany Cooper. You said you saw what happened. So who was it? Who killed her?” I must have allowed some of my not inconsiderable resentment to suffuse my words, for she visibly stiffened.
“Duck Burt, perhaps you could tell your fat friend that ducks don’t respond well to mockery.”
“Mockery?” I cried, flapping my paws. “I’m not mocking you.”
“You are, sir,” said the duck haughtily. “I find your tone offensive.”
I clamped my jaws shut. I was starting to dislike this duck.
Brutus said, “Please forgive Max. He hasn’t had his breakfast this morning and he gets grumpy. So what can you tell us about the girl being murdered? Did you see the killer?”
The duck pursed her beak. “I did. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but it was definitely a human male. He was wearing a yellow parka and sunglasses and a Knicks cap. Then again, you know what it’s like. All humans look the same to us.”
I could have told her this was not the case, but I wasn’t talking to this duck again.
“Anything else you can tell us?” asked Duck Burt.
The duck smiled a sweet smile. “I like your technique. All that splashing around? How did you know it would stir up so many of those delicious snails, slugs and worms? And could you teach us this amazing technique? There is much we can learn from you, Duck Burt.”
Brutus opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment Chase spoke those fateful words that send shivers down the spine of every cat the world over: ‘Take him to the vet.’
We all wailed in horror and in shock, our honorary duck-hood suddenly forgotten.
Chapter 11
“So how exactly did you end up in the water?” asked Odelia.
Brutus, who was riding shotgun because of the fact that he was the patient today, looked sheepish. “I, um, wanted to take down a witness statement from the ducks, and... I guess I must have ventured out too far. Before I knew it, in my enthusiasm, I was sinking.”
Odelia gave him a quick sideways glance. “You’re a real hero, do you know that, Brutus? You actually risked life and limb to find out who killed poor Dany.”
“Thanks,” said Brutus, then sneezed not once but five times in quick succession.
Odelia gave him a look of concern. She didn’t like the sneezing. But at least he was alive. For a moment, after Chase had fished him out of the pond, she’d feared he was gone, and it had been like a knife through the heart. If anything ever happened to any of her cats... “Good thing Chase was there,” she said now. “If not for him...”
“We should have jumped in,” said Max ruefully. “I wanted to, but...”
“You can’t swim either. I know. If you’d jumped in, Chase would have had to save the both of you.”
“Maybe Chase should teach us how to swim,” Dooley now piped up. He’d been awfully quiet. Watching his friend almost drown had clearly made a big impression.
Odelia laughed. “I’ll have to tell him that. It’ll give him a big laugh.”
“No, but I mean it,” Dooley insisted. “If Brutus had known how to swim, this would never have happened.”
“Dooley is right,” Max said, nodding. “What if Chase isn’t around next time? What if no one is around and we accidentally stumble into the pond?”
“Accidentally being the key word here,” Brutus said.
“If we know how to swim, we can save ourselves.”
Odelia frowned. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.” She’d never realized just how dangerous that park could be. Certainly at night. She knew about cat’s eyes being a lot more powerful than a human’s. But they weren’t infallible. On a moonless night, things got so dark that even cats wouldn’t be able to see where they were going. They might inadvertently stumble into the pond and... Sh
e shivered just thinking about it. With the swiftness that is the hallmark of your top reporter, she made a decision. “Let’s do it. Let’s teach you guys how to swim. Only I don’t think Chase is the right person for the job. For one thing, he won’t be able to understand you. No, I’ll do it. Or, better yet, Mom, Gran and I will do it. Only we’ll have to do it someplace where we won’t be overheard, or even seen.”
“Maybe we could go down to the beach one morning, very early?” Max suggested.
“Better not. Even when there’s no wind, those waves will be tough to negotiate for a beginning swimmer. And I don’t want you swept out into deeper waters. It has to be a pool. A shallow one.” Maybe a bathtub? Her own was too small, though, and so was her mom’s.
“There must be private pools we could sneak into,” said Max. “The Hamptons is teeming with pools.”
That was true. In the course of her work as a reporter for the Gazette she’d seen pools that would have made Esther Williams salivate. “I’ll figure it out,” she said. “Now tell me again what that funny little duck said.”
“Yellow parka—Knicks ball cap—sunglasses,” said Brutus dutifully.
“And she’s sure it was a man?”
“Pretty sure. Though she wouldn’t recognize his face if she saw it.”
“Mh. Too bad. Do you think we should take her to a sketch artist?”
Max, Dooley and Brutus shared a glance in the rearview mirror, then shook their heads in unison. “She’s not your most reliable witness,” said Max.
“What makes you say that? She volunteered the information, didn’t she?”
“She also declared Brutus an honorary duck on account of his unique bug-gathering skills,” said Max.
“And she called Max fat,” Dooley added.
Those were all proof she was an excellent eyewitness. Then again, it was one thing to take a cat to a sketch artist, and pretend Gran or Odelia were actually supplying the witness statement—like they’d done recently—and quite another to take a duck. Although the duck could talk to Max, and Max could join Odelia at the sketch artist. Or they could even take the sketch artist to the pond, and Max could translate the duck’s quackings to Odelia, who could relate them to the artist. She sighed. It all seemed fairly unfeasible. Not to mention the sketch artist would probably think she was nuts. Not that this would be a new thing. Many people in Hampton Cove thought she and her mom and grandma were a little... weird. The reputation of the Poole women as crazy cat ladies was well-established amongst the locals.