by Nic Saint
“I don’t understand. How can you do something wrong and not know what it was?”
I gave him a smile. “If I walked up to you and said, ‘Dooley, look what you did!’ wouldn’t you feel anxious, even though for the life of you, you can’t remember what it was that you’re supposed to have done?”
He thought about that for a brief moment, then shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t.”
He was the wrong cat to ask, of course. Dooley would never do anything wrong. He’s just not that kind of cat. His conscience is clear, and so he doesn’t have anything to worry about, even if the police suddenly do show up on his doorstep, and flash a badge in his face. But humans are different. They live in a world with so many rules it’s inevitable that by lunchtime they will have broken a couple of them, even inadvertently. Maybe they started to cross the street before the light changed, or maybe they forgot to pay their car insurance, or inadvertently jumped the line at their local Starbucks.
“I just want to verify that Janette Bittiner was in here earlier,” said Chase, trying his best to put the young pet shop employee at ease by offering her a disarming smile.
“Janette? Yeah, she was in here,” said the girl, visibly glad Chase wasn’t there for her.
“Could you tell us what time? Just part of a routine inquiry,” he hastened to add.
And while the young woman searched her memory, Dooley and I inspected the place. They did indeed have everything your pampered pet needs: a nail clipping station, a grooming station, a place where pets could be deloused, if they so chose, and even a small assortment of toys and clothes for your proud pet to wear!
We studied the clothes long and hard, but couldn’t for the life of us imagine ever wearing anything like that.
“I always thought it was just humans who liked to wear clothes and shoes, Max,” Dooley said as he intently studied a pink tutu.
“Dogs, too,” I said.
“Sugar, you mean.”
I nodded, and silently thanked that little blue coat the Shih Tzu had been wearing. If he hadn’t, it’s not inconceivable that he’d shaved off a couple of milliseconds from his time, and would have been able to nab me before I reached the safety of Janette’s curtains.
“I don’t think I’d feel comfortable in this, Max,” said Dooley, finally having come to a decision in regards to the tutu.
“No, me neither,” I said.
“Oh, look at you sweethearts,” suddenly a woman tooted in our ears. She was a woman with a very deep tan, very thin, and her breath smelled like an ashtray. She’d bent down and snapped up the tutu. “Here, let me give you guys a hand,” she said, and before I knew what was happening, suddenly she’d outfitted me with the tutu!
“Um, I don’t want to wear this, ma’am,” I said as politely as I could.
“Look in that mirror over there,” she said, and as I did as instructed, I had to blink when I caught sight of myself. “Looks lovely, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” said the woman. “Though I’m not sure about the size. You are a hefty fella, aren’t you? Let me see if I can find something in your size—a little less snug around that chubby tummy of yours!”
“Dooley,” I said as I slowly turned to my friend, who was quietly snickering next to me as he took in the scene. “If you breathe a word about this to anyone, I swear I’ll… I’ll…”
“You look great, Max,” said my friend, still grinning from ear to ear. “I think Odelia should snap a couple of pictures.” And before I could stop him, he’d already skedaddled.
And try as I might, I simply couldn’t get out of that terrible outfit! I wiggled and I squirmed but it was all to no avail!
“Easy there, big fella,” said the woman, who’d returned with a similar tutu, only a few sizes bigger. “Let me help you out of that.” And much to my delight, she removed the terrible tutu from my corpus, only to immediately slip the new one on! I have no idea how she did it. It almost looked like sleight of hand!
There,” she said, regarding me with professional pride. “Much better, isn’t it?”
I blinked at her, then glanced in the mirror again. This tutu was even worse than the last one: this one had a lace collar and came with little pink-and-lace booties!
“Please get it off!” I cried, but of course she couldn’t understand me.
Just then, Odelia and Chase finally arrived. But instead of helping me in my hour of need, they both laughed and raised their phones and started snapping pictures of me!
Ugh.
7
I must confess that once I was out of that tutu, and out of that pet salon, the desire to find out who’d murdered Neda Hoeppner had left me. The only desire I now felt was to head on home and remove myself from circulation for a while, but not before imbibing a healthy dose of cat kibble. But since that would involve a long trek home, I decided to go for the nearest thing, which was a visit to Kingman, at the General Store.
Kingman, Hampton Cove’s unofficial feline mayor, is a cat as well-fed and pampered as any, and he never stints for kibble. So it was with the hope of stealing a few bits from his bowl that I now set paw in that direction, deciding to leave Odelia and Chase to it.
Kingman was on the sidewalk, having a nice nap, and when we trotted up, he opened one lazy eye, then closed it again. “Not now, fellas,” he said. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“You don’t look busy, Kingman,” said Dooley.
“I’m thinking. Thinking hard.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“The meaning of life.” He opened that lazy eye again. “Wilbur gave me a new type of wet food last night—I think it was a sample from one of his new pet food suppliers—using me as a guinea pig, you know—and I didn’t like it. So I didn’t eat it, and made my displeasure known by loudly complaining. But do you think he understood and gave me my usual tasty snack? No way. He doubled down and this morning gave me the same yucky crap, only this time mixed with some even yuckier stuff. Thought he could fool me!”
“And did you eat it?” I asked.
“What do you think? Of course not!” He sighed. “Though I have a feeling he’ll try feeding me this garbage until I cave. But I’m not budging, Max. I’m standing my ground.”
“Good for you, Kingman.”
“Do you want us to tell Odelia so she can tell Gran so she can tell Wilbur that you don’t like this particular wet food?” Dooley suggested.
But Kingman raised a lazy paw. “Don’t bother. I’ll simply refuse to eat the junk. Eventually he’ll get the message and throw it in the trash.”
“Why do humans insist on feeding us things we don’t like?” I said, the tutu incident still fresh in my mind. Yes, I know that a tutu isn’t food, but it’s the same principle.
“Because they’re stubborn, and they always think they’re right,” said Kingman. “Take Wilbur for instance. He knows women hate his beard, and still he insists on wearing it.”
We all looked up at Wilbur, who was sitting at his counter as usual, picking items from the conveyor belt and scanning them.
“What’s that on his face?” asked Dooley. “Is that a rash?”
“It’s the new beard,” said Kingman.
“It looks like a rash.”
“It’s beard dye.”
“It’s red.”
“Light red brown it said on the label.”
“It’s fire-engine red, Kingman. And why is it in splotches?”
Wilbur’s beard was one of those intricate ones, which take hours to sculpt with a sophisticated trimmer. He’d also decided to paint it a vivid red, which gave the impression as if the lower half of his face was on fire, or dipped in Mae Ploy sweet chili sauce.
“He saw an action movie the other night where the hero had a beard like that, and now he thinks this will make all the difference with the ladies. I could have told him not to bother, but I’m just a cat, so what do I know? He never listens to a meow I say.”
“I think it’s time Wilbur found himself a nice girlfriend
,” I said, “and settled down.”
“Yeah, but what woman is going to date that?” he asked, gesturing to his human.
We all looked up at Wilbur again, who was leering at a young lady, his crooked teeth on full display. The woman seemed to gulp in horror, then quickly skedaddled.
“Max was fitted a tutu at the pet parlor just now,” Dooley announced, even though I’d told him never to mention the tutu incident to anyone—ever.
“A tutu?” asked Kingman, a sly smile creeping up his face. “Why, Max, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I don’t have it in me,” I said, annoyed. “Look, what can you tell us about Neda Hoeppner? She was found dead this morning, her safe ransacked, and according to her gardener Janette Bittiner might be involved.”
“Janette Bittiner?”
“Yeah, she claims she’s one of Neda’s best friends, but according to the woman’s own dog she hated her guts. Something about a dispute over who got to lead the church choir.”
“I think the dog was right,” said Kingman.
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent. Look over there.”
We both looked where Kingman was pointing, and I suddenly noticed a flyer, which had been stuck to a lamppost in front of the General Store. It showed a picture of Neda, and above it the words ‘Neda Hoeppner is a Jezebel’ had been written. Huh.
“What’s a Jezebel, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Um, a woman whose morals are a little loosey-goosey, Dooley,” I said.
“Loosey-goosey? What do you mean?”
“A woman who likes the men a little too much, okay?” said Kingman.
“Who put that there?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.
“Why, Janette Bittiner, of course,” said Kingman with a grin. “I saw her at it when I got back from cat choir last night. Must have been three in the morning. She was going from pole to pole, putting up those flyers, looking left and right as she did.”
“Janette Bittiner did that?” I asked.
“Sure. So not such a dear friend after all, huh?”
“Mh,” I said as I thought this through. “So Janette hates Neda’s guts, ever since Neda took her spot as the choir director, and so she decides to attack her in this way.”
“Not just this way,” Kingman added. “She was in here this morning, bright and early, and told Wilbur that Neda and Father Reilly…” He darted a quick look at Dooley, then nodded in my direction. “You know.”
“Know what?” asked Dooley.
“Father Reilly and Neda were… special friends.”
“Oh, that’s sweet.”
“Yeah, very sweet,” said Kingman, with a wink in my direction.
“So that’s what she meant by the Jezebel thing,” I said. “Do you really think Neda was having an affair with Father Reilly?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me one bit. Neda was a widow, and she spent an awful lot of time with Francis, her being the new choir director and all. Wilbur certainly believed it. You should have seen him this morning. He couldn’t shut up about it after Janette left.”
“But I thought Wilbur and Father Reilly were friends?” said Dooley. “Why would Wilbur gossip about his friend?”
Kingman shrugged. “Why doesn’t he give me the food I like? And why does he insist on wearing that ridiculous beard? He’s a weirdo, Dooley, and I’m saying that with the utmost love and respect. Now have you given any consideration to Harriet’s new idea?”
“What new idea?” I asked, still thinking hard about Janette’s feud with Neda, and wondering if she would go so far as to actually murder the woman.
“Oh, here she comes now,” said Kingman. “She can tell you herself.”
And indeed Harriet and Brutus had wandered up, and now parked themselves next to us. “Tell you what?” asked Harriet.
“Well, about the choir thing you mentioned earlier,” said Kingman.
“Oh, right,” said Harriet, and gave me a slightly nervous look. “Max, before you say anything, I want you to hear me out, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“Max wore a tutu just now,” said Dooley happily, “and Odelia took pictures.”
“Dooley!” I cried.
“But you looked so nice, Max! You should wear it more often. It really brings out your eyes. Oh, and also, Max was almost killed by a vicious dog, but he managed to escape.”
“Killed by a dog!” Harriet cried.
“Had a narrow escape there, buddy?” asked Brutus with a grin.
“Yeah, well, it was only a small dog, but he was vicious,” I said, not wanting to shine a light on what hadn’t exactly been my finest hour.
“It was a Shit Sue,” said Dooley.
“Shih Tzu,” I corrected him.
“That’s what I said. A Shit Sue.”
“Oh, one of them big and dangerous dogs, huh, Max?” said Brutus, his grin widening.
“Size doesn’t matter, Brutus,” I pointed out. “It’s the personality that matters, and this particular dog’s personality stinks. He tried to bite me, and would have succeeded if I hadn’t been able to escape up the curtains.”
“Not the waterspout?” Brutus asked quasi-innocently.
“No, Brutus. The curtains.” Which unfortunately, and unlike myself, hadn’t made it out alive.
“Classic,” said Brutus with a low chuckle.
“He ripped them to shreds!” said Dooley gleefully, as he relived the terrifying event.
“Way to go, Max!” said Brutus, and clapped me on the back. “Welcome to the club.”
“You have destroyed curtains?” I asked, much surprised.
“Have I destroyed curtains? Yards of them! Back when I was still living in New York, you know, that rough-and-tumble existence before I joined your laid-back life out here in the leafy suburbs, I was having to fight my way out of a tight spot all the time, and many a curtain has experienced my wrath!” He laughed loudly, thinking back to those halcyon days of yore, when New York’s no doubt many curtains weren’t safe from his claws.
“So the choir,” said Harriet, giving her mate a censorious glance, which quickly shut him up. “I was thinking, why is it always the human choirs that get all the attention?” She gestured to a flyer stuck up on the General Store’s bulletin board, which announced an upcoming concert of St. Theresa Choir. “Why can’t cat choir receive that kind of attention for a change? We’re easily as good as these human choirs.”
I was going to beg to differ, but then I caught Brutus’s warning look, and so I shut up. Cat choir is one of Harriet’s pet projects, since she’s its main soprano, and gets to sing all the solos.
“So that’s why I thought, why don’t we schedule a joint performance? Cat choir and St. Theresa Choir—double bill. That will draw in the crowds, don’t you think?”
I was quiet for a moment, waiting for the punchline. If this was a joke, it wasn’t a very good one, but I was still prepared to laugh heartily. So when it finally dawned on me that this wasn’t a joke, and that Harriet was dead serious, I gulped a little. “You want… cat choir… to sing together… with Father Reilly’s church choir?”
“Absolutely! And why I didn’t think of it sooner, I don’t know. It’s the best idea I’ve ever had.”
“Um…” Once more Brutus gave me an intent look, then slowly shook his head, as if to warn me not to laugh, and most definitely not to deny Harriet this triumph.
“Oh, for sure,” I said finally. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.” And completely bananas.
8
“I didn’t know Janette Bittiner was a flower girl, Max,” said Dooley.
“She’s not a flower girl, Dooley. She runs a flower shop, that’s not the same as being a flower girl.”
We were in Bittiner Petals, Janette’s flower shop, where Odelia and Chase were asking the woman a couple more questions, after I’d told Odelia what Kingman had told me. I’d dutifully reported the large cat’s words to Odelia at her of
fice, and immediately she’d set out on this interview.
“Who saw me, exactly?” Janette demanded. She was standing behind the counter of her shop, snipping the stems from flowers before sticking them in nice vases.
“That doesn’t matter,” said Chase. “What matters is that you were seen putting up this flyer,” he said, and slammed one of the flyers in question down on the counter.
Janette jumped a little at the sudden change in the cop’s demeanor and glanced at the object in question. “Okay, yes, so I did put those up. But I had every reason to.”
“A reason to suggest that Neda and Father Reilly were having an affair?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re saying they were having an affair?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Francis and Neda? Of course not.”
“But then why would you suggest it? And make Wilbur Vickery spread this rumor?”
“Oh, so that’s who saw me, huh? He could have said something when I talked to him.”
“Answer the question, Janette,” said Chase. “Why did you spread this rumor about your so-called best friend? And what’s all this nonsense about a church choir feud?”
“It’s not nonsense,” Janette snapped as she put the vase aside and placed both hands on the counter. “Look, that role of choir director was mine. Samuel Smalls trained me—everyone knew I’d been preparing to take over from him for years, and Samuel had even promised me as much. ‘When I retire,’ he told me more than once, ‘I’m going to present you as my successor. You have the skills, Janette, and you should be the one to lead St. Theresa Choir when I’m gone.’ Only Sam died before he could name me his successor, and then of course Neda had to add her name to the list of candidates.”
“You weren’t the only one up for the role,” said Odelia.
“Apparently not. Even though Neda knew perfectly well that I’d had my heart set on that position. And then of course Father Reilly twisted the knife by picking her over me!”
“You were hurt.”
“Of course I was hurt! Wouldn’t you be? She was supposed to be my friend, and then she stabbed me in the back when she had the chance. And so did Francis, by the way—he’s also to blame for this fiasco. He told me he wanted to be fair. That he couldn’t very well appoint me out of the blue. Out of the blue! I’d been waiting for this for years!”