by Nic Saint
27
We were on a beach in Willemstad enjoying some leisurely time. Well, if I say ‘we’ were on the beach I’d like to emphasize that Dooley and I were in the shade of a nearby palm tree while Odelia and Chase were camped out on a pair of chaises longues closer to the ocean, sipping from their umbrella drinks. And why wouldn’t they? The sand was the color of cane sugar, the water was a clear turquoise, the sun was high in the sky and there was not a single cloud to be discerned. In other words: paradise.
Still, I like to stay in the shade as much as I can. Cats don’t take well to sunscreen, you see. It plays havoc with our fur, and doesn’t easily come out, especially since we like to wash ourselves with the assistance of our tongues. Can you imagine licking up half a tube of sunscreen? Well, I certainly can, and the prospect doesn’t excite me.
“So how did you find out, Max?” asked Dooley now.
“Yeah, how did you find out?” Harriet chimed in.
In spite of the fact that we were two thousand miles from home, we were still connected with the home front, thanks to the miracle of modern technology. Or more specifically Odelia’s tablet.
“Well, I think the first inkling I got were those wet footsteps on the balcony next to ours,” I said, launching into my spiel.
“What wet footsteps? What balcony?” Brutus grunted.
“Bertha and David Biles were staying next to us during the trip,” I said, “so their balcony was located right next to ours. And yesterday, when the entire company had gone ashore to visit St. George’s, I happened to see wet footsteps on the balcony, as if after a shower. It didn’t really register until much later, but it showed that one member of that party hadn’t gone ashore, and as it later turned out, that member was Bertha, who’d stayed in her cabin since she wasn’t feeling well.”
“But Bertha was in a wheelchair, right?” said Harriet. “So how could her footsteps be on the balcony?”
“Exactly what I wondered myself. And the only possible explanation was that she wasn’t as wheelchair-bound as she made out to be.”
“So she faked it?” asked Dooley.
“Yeah, she did. To an extent.”
“But why?”
“Because she didn’t want to lose the love of a good man, and she figured that if it turned out she wasn’t as disabled as she made out to be, David would leave her for her daughter.”
“She knew they were having an affair?” asked Harriet.
“Of course she did. She knew from the start, but as long as she was in that wheelchair, David would never dream of leaving her. And Laura would never have allowed him to leave her mother either. So she kept on pretending she was unable to use her legs—until this morning, when she was pressured into making a run for freedom, knowing that the jig was up.”
“You couldn’t prove anything,” said Harriet, nodding, “until she actually did make a run for it. Which proved she was guilty.”
“Exactly,” I said as I rearranged my tail to keep it out of the sun. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed but the sun has this annoying habit of sneaking across the sky, and every time you think you’ve found the perfect spot of shade, it proves you wrong.
“So now we come to the most important question of all,” said Harriet. “Why? Why would Bertha Biles murder a rapper she had never even heard of before?”
“Because she had heard of him. In fact she used to be married to the man, and she still harbored a very powerful grudge against him.”
“Married?” asked Dooley. “But I thought Bertha used to be married to Laura’s dad. The man who fell overboard and died?”
“He fell overboard, but he didn’t die. At least not in the literal sense. He did change his identity and adopted the stage name of Lil Thug, made some radical changes in appearance, and started a new life as a rap artist, eventually rising to great fame.”
“But why?”
“Because he knocked his head and lost his marbles? Or because he felt he needed to make a change?”
“But… did Bertha know that Lil Thug was her husband?” asked Brutus.
“No, she didn’t. She wasn’t really into rap, and it only dawned on her that this man was her husband when she met him face to face on the day we sailed.” I turned to Dooley. “Remember how we all met in the corridor, Dooley? And how Bertha let out a scream? She blamed it on a muscle spasm while in fact what happened was that she suddenly saw Lil Thug’s profile and recognized her husband Tony Matz. And when he spoke, that’s what clinched it for her. A person can change a lot about themselves with the assistance of a skilled plastic surgeon, but it’s not that easy to change your voice, or your cadence or speech patterns. So she knew—and he knew that she knew.”
“And so she killed him out of revenge?” asked Harriet, who was listening intently.
“Well, no. She didn’t want to kill him. But she did want him to pay. So she planned to steal that diamond, and get some of her own back—she’d fallen on hard times since he left all those years ago, and she figured he owed her.”
“So if she only wanted to steal the diamond, then how did the man end up dead?” asked Brutus—a most appropriate question.
“That was an accident, actually,” I said. “She broke into his cabin, along with Adele.”
“Adele knew?” asked Dooley.
I nodded. “Adele had always known. She was Bertha’s carer, but also her best friend and confidante. They actually planned this together, and were in it from start to finish. They broke into his cabin, and Adele injected the sleeping rapper with a strong sedative, which was part of her toolkit. Bertha may have faked not being able to walk, but it’s true that she is a sick woman, and suffered a lot of pain. The moment her ex-husband was out for the count, they set out to remove the diamond. Only Adele must have miscalculated the dosage, for suddenly Lil Thug jerked up, and impaled himself on Adele’s knife.”
“So it was actually Adele who killed him?”
“Yes, it was—though both women share equal blame, of course.”
“So what about the earring they found?” asked Harriet.
“That belonged to Adele. She lost it in their haste to leave. After ascertaining that Bertha’s ex-husband was dead, and realizing they were in a big heap of trouble.”
“They would have been in a big heap of trouble if Lil Thug had woken up with his diamond missing.”
“Yes, but they were counting on the fact that he wouldn’t go to the police, since he wanted to keep his real identity a secret.”
“Quite the gamble. For twenty million I’m willing to bet Lil Thug wouldn’t have cared about keeping his identity a secret.”
“So who planted that earring in Ruby’s room?” asked Brutus.
“That was Bertha. She took a big risk that day, but lucky for her no one saw her. She broke into Garth’s office, took the earring, then broke into the Ketterings’ cabin and placed the earring in Ruby’s bed, knowing she’d be the first one to come under suspicion, and maybe even act as the fall girl for the murder. They didn’t know at this point that Lil Thug’s assistant had been arrested. Otherwise she’d never have taken the chance of being caught. She wore a disguise, of course,” I added when three pairs of eyes stared at me intently. “Scarf and sunglasses—and of course no one would expect Bertha, who was never seen out of her wheelchair, to be traipsing about. It helped that most of the passengers were ashore that day as well.”
“But how did she manage to break into Garth’s office and into the Ketterings’ cabin,” asked Brutus. “What is she? Some kind of master burglar?”
“She didn’t have to be. Adele had stolen a master key card from one of the cleaners the first day, and they discovered it worked like a charm. I think Garth will want to revise his security procedures after this incident.”
“So have they found the diamond?” asked Harriet.
“Yes, they have. It was concealed inside Bertha’s wheelchair—a place no one had thought to look.”
“I don’t believe this,” said
Brutus. “You’re supposed to be on vacation, Max! Not catch killers!”
“I know,” I said. “But can I help it that people keep murdering other people, even on holiday?”
“So how did you find out that Lil Thug was Bertha’s ex-husband?” asked Dooley.
“The pictures,” I said. “Remember how we were scrolling through some of Bertha’s old pictures? Well, one of them featured Bertha and her ex-husband. And when put next to a picture of Lil Thug, I was struck by the resemblance. So I dug a little deeper, and soon became convinced they were one and the same person.”
“If you know what to look for, it jumps out at you,” said Harriet, nodding.
“Yes, it does,” I agreed.
A wet spray suddenly made me look up, and I saw that Odelia had joined us. She was wet from a dip in the ocean, and was wringing the brine out of her long hair. “So how are things in Hampton Cove?” she asked as she crouched down. “Gran behaving herself?”
“Not more than usual,” said Harriet with a sigh. “Now she wants to build a greenhouse where she can grow flowers. Marge says no way, and Tex is ready to strangle her.”
“Sounds familiar,” said Odelia with a grin. “And how are you guys holding up? Probably can’t wait till the house is ready?”
“We’re okay,” said Brutus. “Now that Marge and Tex are sleeping in your room, and Gran has the guest room to herself, things have calmed down. And no more shouting in the morning since Gran shortened her bathroom time.”
“Well, I’m glad,” said Odelia.
“When are you back?” asked Harriet.
“One more week,” said Odelia, “and our dream vacation is over.”
“You enjoy yourself, Odelia, and have the time of your life.”
“Oh, I certainly intend to,” said Odelia with a smile. “And now that Max has solved another murder case, things are bound to become a lot quieter.” She gave me a grateful pat on the head.
Harriet and Brutus signed off, and Odelia returned to join her husband, who was now standing near the water, getting his feet wet.
“Maybe we should take a dip in the water?” Dooley suggested.
“I don’t think so, Dooley,” I said. “I’ve had plenty of ocean for one trip, thank you very much.”
“Not swimming, but just to get our paws wet,” my friend suggested. “It will cool us off.”
The notion of cooling off sounded very appealing, I must confess, and so when he got up and tripped off in the direction of the waterfront, I quickly followed. The disadvantage of having a lot of fur is that when it gets hot out, it also gets hot inside! Like a sweater you can’t take off. And so when we finally reached the water and dipped our paws in, I had to admit it felt really nice—very cooling!
And I would have ventured in a little further if not suddenly two familiar large and winged creatures swept down on us with loud screeches of terror: Frank and Jack were back!
“Gotcha, suckers!” Jack screamed as he homed in on me, claws outstretched, while his friend adhered to the same flight path, but with Dooley as his designated target.
“Max!” cried Dooley helplessly as he tried to trudge out of the water. But since he was a little waterlogged, and the water hampered his movements, he was never going to be able to outrun that foul bird, and neither was I.
“Jump in, Dooley!” I yelled.
It was the only thing I could think of, and probably not the smartest avenue of escape, as seagulls can grab a fish from underneath the water’s surface just as easily as I can pick a piece of kibble from my bowl.
And as both Dooley and I submerged ourselves as best we could—a tough proposition in half a foot of water, I can tell you—I knew that this was it. We were goners.
But then, suddenly, a man came running over, waving his arms, and screaming at the top of this voice, kicking up sand and water like a madman.
Jack and Frank, who hadn’t counted on this, were visibly and audibly displeased, but immediately gave up the hunt, as this madman looked as if he was going to physically attack them and turn them into minced meat.
And when I looked up, at first I couldn’t make out who our savior was, for the sun was in my eyes, and all I could see was this brave hero’s outline—a very buff and beefy outline!
But then he swooped down and lifted me up with what can only be described as superhuman strength, and with one fluid motion did the same with Dooley, and then he was carrying us out of the surf and back to safety.
It felt good to be in his strong arms, and as he joined Odelia, and handed Dooley to her while he ever so gently held me, I purred up a storm. For this superman was Chase—the best husband a cat lady could ever have chosen!
“Chase, I love you,” I purred.
“Chase, you’re amazing,” purred Dooley.
Yep, I guess we love us some Chase!
“Oh, you guys,” said Odelia. “You really should be more careful.”
“It’s not their fault, babe,” said our knight in shining armor. “They just wanted to cool off when those horrible birds swept in.”
“I know, but still.”
Chase knelt down, scooped up some of that cooling liquid that was sloshing along the sandy beach, and started sprinkling it ever so carefully on top of my head, then repeated the procedure with Dooley.
Okay, so I think I told you that cats don’t care about cruises, right? Or beach vacations. Or sand and surf. Well, I can now officially announce that cruises are great, and so are beach vacations and even sand and surf, but only on one condition: that they come with a supplementary dose of Chase Kingsley as a package deal.
And you know what? I think Odelia feels exactly the same way. In fact I know she does.
And thus ended another adventure. Not the cruise, though, or the honeymoon. We had another week to go, and we all know that a week can seem like an eternity when you’re having fun. Or is that when you’re not having fun?
Just to be on the safe side, we returned to our little patch underneath those palm trees to recover from our ordeal. And as we watched our humans take another dip in the ocean, my eyes slowly drifted closed once more.
“So how about a parrot, Max?”
“A parrot?”
“As a friend for Salvatore. Parrots are nice.”
“Salvatore said he doesn’t want a friend, Dooley.”
“But that was before his human was sent to prison. I’ll bet he needs a friend now.”
“He has Laura. And David.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
For a moment all was quiet. I rolled over on my back and lazily gazed up at those gently swaying palm fronds. In the distance children were playing, people were laughing, and Odelia and Chase were happily cavorting in the surf.
Aaah.
Blissss.
“Or how about a hamster?”
“Dooley!”
THE END
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Excerpt from Murder at the Art Class (Emily Stone)
Chapter One
“Did you see the new guy?”
Clara’s voice was barely above a whisper, clearly awed to be sharing the same space with this ‘new guy’.
“Yes, I’ve seen him,” said Emily. “In fact I was the one who suggested this position.”
Clara’s eyes turned to her friend and colleague. “You know him?”
Em shrugged while she turned off the heaving and coughing coffee machine and placed two cups of espresso macchiato on a tray and added spoons and spiced gingerbread muffins with salted caramel frosting. “He’s in my life drawing class.”
“No way!” said Clara, a robust ginger-haired young woman. “Don’t tell me this is one of those nude life drawing classes?”
Emily nodded, suppressing a tiny smile as she watched Clara’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Yup. Buck-nekk
id.”
“Oh. My. God! Where is this class? I totally have to sign up!”
“I told you about my class before, remember? And you told me you didn’t have a single artistic bone in your body and therefore weren’t eligible.”
“That was before I knew there were nekkid men prancing about.”
“They don’t prance about. They just… lie there.”
“I’ll bet there’s lots and lots of women in your class,” said Clara, dreamily following the new guy’s every movement as he wended his way through the room, serving customers of the Roast Bean with a deft flourish.
“Lots and lots,” Emily confirmed dryly. In fact this season they’d seen record attendance at the Community Arts School where she’d been a volunteer for the past two years. The school offered adult classes in dance, music, theater and drawing, apart from its daytime high school curriculum. It wasn’t the school she’d attended, being a transplant from Pennsylvania, but it was the school located just around the corner from where she lived in Bushwick, Brooklyn and the school where her roommate Ansel spent his formative years.
“He’s coming,” said Clara in urgent tones. She pushed at her ginger curls. “How do I look?”
Emily gave her friend a once-over. “You look fine, Clara. Though I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I have a feeling John’s roving eye has already landed elsewhere.”
Clara’s own eye flicked back to the new barista and her face crumpled. “Who?!”
It didn’t take her long to figure it out for herself, though. John Sunderland, the young man who’d recently joined the Roast Bean’s employ, was chatting up a young waitress who’d also just joined their ranks. The young woman in question was stunning, no doubt about it, and seemed to enjoy the attention John was lavishing on her with visible relish.
“Of course,” grunted Clara. “Ken would fall for Barbie’s charm, wouldn’t he?” She threw up her hands. “It’s just not fair! Why can’t us mere mortals ever catch a break?”
“I wouldn’t be too disappointed if I were you,” said Emily.