by Nic Saint
“Emma and what else?”
“Emma Hudson.”
“Well, Emma Hudson, it looks like you’re in a great deal of trouble.”
“I could say the same about you… Odelia.”
“What do you mean?”
“I caught you, didn’t I? And I could tell the police that you hit Carl over the head.”
“When I got here Carl was already down.”
Emma shrugged. “It’s your word against mine.”
Odelia rooted through the girl’s backpack, and found several trophies, three Rolex watches and several other items of considerable value. She held them up. “Now I wonder who the police are going to believe? A thief? Or a reporter who had an appointment for a meeting with Carl.”
Emma made a face, then glanced in the direction of the golf pro’s inert body. “Is he dead?”
“No, he’s not. No thanks to you, by the way. Why didn’t you call an ambulance when you found him like this?”
She shrugged. “I told the others we should, but they told me to wait.”
“They wanted to clean the place out first,” said Odelia, nodding.
“To be honest we found him just before you caught us. I didn’t even think anybody was home.”
“Even though the TV was blaring away in the living room?”
“Plenty of people leave the TV on—to scare away potential burglars.”
The sound of a police siren suddenly rent the air, and Odelia was glad that help was on the way. Judging from Carl’s chalk-white appearance, it was going to be touch and go.
15
Cat choir wasn’t a pleasant affair that night. Brutus and Harriet’s recent behavior had given rise to plenty of commentary, and since Dooley and myself were still considered their closest friends and housemates, we were also looked at askance. The term cats were bandying about was ‘anti-cat behavior’ and they seemed to feel that this was a charge serious enough to warrant a very serious discussion.
Harriet and Brutus, who were also present, but were keeping to the sidelines out of a cat’s natural sense of self-preservation, watched the scene with slight trepidation.
“I think they should both be expelled,” said Shanille, cat choir’s director. “We can’t have this kind of behavior in cat choir, and I feel we need to set an example: make it absolutely clear that this cannot and will not be condoned.”
“But what are you actually accusing them of?” I asked. “What constitutes anti-cat behavior?”
“They’re trying to become dogs, Max! And everybody knows that dogs are a cat’s natural enemy, so basically they’re colluding with the enemy. In other words: treason.”
“They’re not actually trying to become dogs,” I argued. “All they want is to fit into their new environment, and so what if they try to humor their new human?”
“This goes way behind humoring their new human. Did they or did they not go to the dog park today—twice?”
“Well, they did,” I admitted.
“And did or didn’t Brutus play fetch with Ted Trapper?”
“Well, sure, but…”
“And did or didn’t he assume the position and pee and poo like a dog!” She cast a very irate look in the culprit’s direction. “Answer me!”
“Well, he did,” I said, “but…”
“I rest my case,” said Shanille.
“Kingman,” I said, turning to Hampton Cove’s unofficial feline mayor. “You don’t really think their behavior constitutes treason, do you?”
“I don’t know, Max,” said Kingman, a very large cat who all cats look to for the deciding vote in such matters. “You’ve got to admit it looks pretty bad. Peeing like a dog, pooping like a dog… playing fetch, for crying out loud. This is not the kind of behavior we like to see in an upstanding member of the feline community.”
“But he was only doing it to humor his human!”
“The exact definition of treason,” said Shanille, who wasn’t beating about the bush.
More cats had gathered around, and all of them seemed to consider Brutus’s behavior especially as the kind of thing that simply could not be condoned.
“Look, I have nothing against dogs, personally,” said Buster, the hairdresser’s Maine Coon, “but you have to admit that there’s a vast difference between the two species, and once you start trying to blur those lines, or try to erase them, that way lies disaster.”
“But surely you don’t believe Brutus would actually try to be a dog,” I said. “That’s crazy. Or Harriet, for that matter. Harriet is without a doubt the most catty cat cat choir has ever been proud to call a member. And Brutus? We all know that Brutus is a cat’s cat.”
“Well spoken, Max!” Harriet called out.
“Max, I appreciate that you’re rooting for your friends,” said Kingman, “but I think it’s time we put this matter to a vote. All those in favor of expulsion, raise your paws, please.”
Plenty of paws went up.
“All those against?”
Exactly two paws were raised, and those were mine and Dooley’s.
“I think this makes matters perfectly clear,” said Shanille, who seemed to find particular pleasure in these proceedings. Then again, Shanille has never been a big fan of Harriet, and this was her chance to get even. “Harriet and Brutus—you are hereby expelled from cat choir. This decision is permanent, or at least until you have proven yourselves worthy of being called members of the cat community again, and have vowed never to run with the dogs!”
“I don’t even want to be a member of cat choir anymore!” said Brutus. “Dogs have more fun!” And with these words, he was off, and I just had a feeling I knew exactly where he was going, too.
And since I didn’t really feel like sticking around, I decided to follow my friends, and so did Dooley.
“Where are we going, Max?” asked Dooley.
“To the other side of the park, Dooley.”
“What’s on the other side of the park?”
“Dog choir,” I said with a smile.
“Oh, I remember! Nice!”
“Just for tonight, mind you. We can’t abandon cat choir forever. Also, we need to keep on pleading Brutus and Harriet’s case. Make them let our friends back into cat choir.”
“Do you think they’ll let them come back?”
“I think so,” I said. “Harriet is the best soprano cat choir has ever had, and Brutus has a very serviceable baritone. Without them, cat choir simply isn’t the same.”
We’d arrived on the other side of the park, and lo and behold: our friends Fifi and Rufus were there waiting for us, and so was Lil Ran, a large Irish Setter we met during a previous adventure. The three of them had initiated dog choir, figuring that it shouldn’t just be cats who get to hang out at night and have fun. Since dog choir’s inception they’d been joined by several more dogs, most of whom I didn’t know, since I don’t usually run in canine circles, and so now Harriet and Brutus were also going to join up.
“I’m officially requesting permission to join dog choir,” Brutus announced.
“What’s your name, friend?” asked Lil Ran.
“Rambo,” said Brutus.
“But, um… you’re a cat, Rambo.”
“I may look like a cat,” said Brutus, tilting his chin in a proud gesture, “but in my heart of hearts I’m really a dog, and have always been a dog.”
“Uh-huh,” said Lil Ran, clearly confused about this. “And how about you, sweetheart? Are you also a dog in a cat’s body?”
“No, I’m a cat,” said Harriet. “And proud to be one. But I’m also a cat who stands by her man. And if my precious angel decides he wants to be a dog, he has my full support.”
“Oh-kay,” said Lil Ran, looking even more confused. “Oh, hey, Max and Dooley,” he said, recognizing us. “Are you two also dogs now?”
“No, we’re still cats,” I said. “But we decided to keep an eye on Brutus. He’s going through a difficult time so he’s very vulnerable right now, and we do
n’t like leaving him alone.”
“No, I see your point. Brutus seems… confused.”
“So where do I sign up?” asked Brutus-slash-Rambo excitedly.
“You don’t really sign up,” said Rufus.
“We’re a very relaxed operation,” said Fifi. “We just hang out and shoot the breeze.”
“So who’s your conductor?” asked Harriet.
The dogs all shared glances. “Um… we don’t really have a conductor,” said Rufus.
“No conductor?” said Harriet, her eyes gleaming and her ears pricking up excitedly. “How about I’ll be your conductor from now on?”
“Um… well, sure. Why not?”
“Okay, gather round, you guys. The basses over there, the sopranos here, altos right here in front of me, and the tenors on the left. Now what kind of material have you been working with? Which compositions do you like to tackle? Which composers?”
“Um…”
“Oh, you guys!” She turned to me, eyes sparkling, and I could see what was happening. So I shook my head, but the train had already left the station. She clapped her paws. “You’re so lucky! I’m gonna turn dog choir into the best choir this town has ever seen! And then we’re going to compete with cat choir and we’re going to show Shanille what a real choir should sound like. Now for our first song I would like to suggest a simple thing—to warm up those vocal cords. It’s called Who let the dogs out!”
“Oh, dear,” I said. And judging from the looks on Rufus and Fifi’s faces, this sudden takeover of dog choir by an ambitious cat like Harriet and a wannabe dog like Brutus wasn’t going down well. Who let the dogs out? Harriet did.
I decided to take a backseat, as I wasn’t really in the mood for any more trouble tonight, and when I glanced over my shoulder, who should I see but… Chase!
“Max, come over here,” said the cop. I saw that his squad car stood idling at the curb. “Odelia needs you,” he declared shortly, and then held the door for me.
“Dooley!” I called out. “Odelia needs us!”
We both only needed one word, and moments later we were cruising along the road with the burly cop, on our way to Odelia’s rescue.
16
Odelia watched as Chase placed Emma under arrest. The girl was still swearing up and down that she hadn’t touched Carl. That she hadn’t even known he was home.
Carl, meanwhile, had been taken away in an ambulance to the nearest hospital. He’d suffered a vicious blow to the head, presumably with the golf club that was found next to his body. His skull had been fractured and it was a miracle he was still breathing.
“You better give me the names of your associates,” said Chase as he addressed Emma.
The girl was already a lot less cocky, but refused to give up her colleagues.
“I already told Miss Poole,” she said. “I’m not a snitch.”
They were still in Carl’s office, seated in the small nook he presumably reserved for his meetings. Emma sat sagged on the Chesterfield, with Chase towering over her, while Odelia stood by to take notes. Uncle Alec, meanwhile, was coordinating his team to comb through the house for clues, and to look for possible members of Emma’s squad.
“Look, if you don’t give me those names you’ll go down for this, Emma,” said Chase. “You’ll be the only one who gets charged and convicted while your friends all get off. Now is that fair? Is that right? I don’t think so.”
“I’m not going to name names, detective. These people are my friends.”
“Nice friends,” said Odelia.” To leave you behind like that.”
“They had no choice,” said Emma, giving Odelia a dirty look.
“And what if Carl doesn’t make it?” Chase asked, “and this turns into a murder inquiry?”
“We had nothing to do with that, I swear. If you’re looking for Carl’s attacker, why don’t you look at Miss Poole? She was right there when it happened. She could have picked up that golf club and hit Carl over the head with it.”
“If this is your line of defense it isn’t doing you any good, Emma.”
But Emma wasn’t impressed. Instead, she clammed up completely, and refused to talk until she’d been provided with a lawyer who could advise her of her rights.
And so she was duly escorted away by two officers and taken to the precinct.
“I don’t get it,” said Chase once Emma had been carted off. “The Hampton Heisters have never been involved with this kind of violence before. They’re thieves, not murderers. Why would they suddenly change their MO?”
“Maybe Carl caught them and they panicked?” Odelia suggested. “Emma said they didn’t think he was home.”
“I don’t know,” said Chase. “The girl doesn’t strike me as a killer. You?”
“No, she doesn’t,” Odelia admitted. “But that doesn’t mean anything. We don’t know who her friends are. They could be a lot more dangerous than her.”
“So you saw four of them take off, right?”
“Yeah, four.”
“So that means they’re a five-person crew. We’ll need to dig through Emma’s list of friends and known associates, and see if we can’t nail them that way. Cause I have a feeling she’s not going to give them up. Especially now that she’s decided to lawyer up.” He glanced in the direction of Abe Cornwell’s team, the county coroner, who were dusting the office for prints, and had placed the golf club on the desk. “Let’s hope we can lift a couple of good prints off that thing. Maybe we’ll know more when we do.”
“If this was a crime committed in a panic, there’s a good chance that we’ll find those prints,” Odelia agreed.
Chase was scrolling through Carl’s phone, which had been found on the floor. “Now this is odd,” he said after a moment.
“What?”
“You’re not in his calendar. Some woman named Zoe is. A meeting at nine-thirty.”
“Maybe Zoe was his code name for me?” That didn’t sound very plausible, though.
Uncle Alec walked in, accompanied by a very large man with a shaven head. He looked as if he spent most of his time at the gym. “This is Gustav,” said Uncle Alec. “Gustav is in charge of Carl’s security. Tell my detective what you just told me, Gustav.”
“Well, Carl told us he had a date tonight, and so he gave us all the night off,” said Gustav, looking a little shamefaced—presumably because he’d failed at his task of keeping his boss safe.
“I had an appointment with your boss,” said Odelia. “But that was a business meeting, not a date.”
Gustav shrugged his broad shoulders. “He didn’t say anything about a business meeting. He just told me he had a hot date and to make the usual arrangements.”
“And what were the usual arrangements?” asked Chase.
“Each time Carl had a date he wanted us to clear out so he had the house to himself. He also liked us to leave the front door unlocked, and the alarm turned off as well as all the cameras. He didn’t want us to know who was coming, most of the time, and didn’t want to be filmed either, having had a bad experience with a previous security team.”
“What bad experience?” asked Odelia, though she could already imagine.
“The team leader filmed one of his dates and the footage ended up on TMZ. Since then he likes to have the system turned off whenever he entertains a woman at the house, and for the staff to clear out. Not even the chef is allowed to stay on.”
“So that’s why the front door was unlocked and the front gate, too,” said Odelia. “But I don’t understand why he would call his meeting with me a hot date.”
“I told you,” said Chase with a shrug. “He probably had other ideas in mind when he invited you over.”
“But why would he call me Zoe? He knew perfectly well what my name was.”
“Maybe a code name?” Uncle Alec suggested. “Used for reasons of privacy?”
“I don’t know,” said Odelia. “This afternoon we didn’t exactly hit it off, and now suddenly he expected to have a hot d
ate with me? Can I see that phone for a moment?”
She took the phone from Chase and frowned when she called up Carl’s outgoing messages. “There’s no message to me here,” she said. Then she checked the man’s number. “And this is not the number that sent me that message either.” She handed the phone back. “Does Carl have more than one phone?” she asked the burly guard.
Gustav nodded. “One for official business and one for personal one.”
Odelia took out her own phone. “Do you recognize this number?” she asked, calling up the message she got from Carl. “Is this the number he uses to text his girlfriends?”
Gustav glanced down at the message and shook his head. “I’ve never seen this number before.”
“Are you saying it wasn’t Carl who messaged me?”
“I’m saying that I know both his numbers and this isn’t one of them.”
“So if Carl didn’t invite me up here,” said Odelia. “Then who did?”
“Is it possible he’s got a third phone?” asked Chase.
“As far as I know he only has the two numbers: one official and one private.”
Uncle Alec scratched his scalp. “So if you’re not Zoe,” he said, “then who is?”
Gustav shrugged. “Frankly Carl has so many girlfriends it’s impossible to keep track.”
“You never heard of this Zoe before?”
“No. But then that’s not so unusual. Carl has what you might call an addiction, Chief. The guy has a voracious appetite for women. I’ve worked for him for only six months and in that time I’ve never known him to spend the night with the same woman twice.”
“How does his wife feel about that?” asked Chase.
Gustav grinned. “She’s away a lot.”
“How often could she possibly be away?”
“Well… she doesn’t like it out here all that much, so she spends most of her time either in Carl’s Park Avenue apartment, or in San Francisco, or she takes the private jet to go shopping in Paris or London… And then there’s St. Bart’s, of course, to work on her tan.” His grin widened. “I’d say Mr. Strauss entertains three or four girls a week here.”