by Nic Saint
I nodded once more. “Traps,” I said, even more quietly than before.
“Humane traps, of course, but traps all the same.”
“I tried to talk to them,” I said. “But they’re not listening. They feel they’re actually doing us a favor.”
“By plundering the fridge and cupboards?”
“They feel their presence keeps the real pests out, like beetles and, um, roaches.”
Now that I was repeating the mouse’s words I could hear how lame it all sounded.
Odelia made a face. “Look, this has got to stop. So either you make them behave, or I’m going to have to get rid of them.”
“Where will you take them once you’ve caught them in your traps?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that. But far enough so they won’t come back.”
“They’re not going to like it,” I murmured.
“Well, too bad. No one believes me when I tell them I’m dealing with a mouse infestation. ‘Don’t you have four cats?’ they ask me. ‘Yes,’ I tell them. ‘Four cats and a mouse colony in my basement.’” She rubbed my back and I heaved another deep sigh.
See what I mean? Humans simply don’t understand that not all cats are natural-born killers. Some of us are more the peaceable kind. Still, she had a point. Something clearly needed to be done, and the onus was on me to come up with a plan of campaign.
A plan that involved making a colony of mice behave, not like squatters, but like perfectly decent house guests.
Talk about a tough proposition!
3
As Odelia walked to work, putting some pep in her step, she thought about the look on Max’s face when she gently scolded him about the mouse issue. She felt sorry for her precious blorange feline, but she also felt strongly that it was his job to keep the house free of mice or, in case they decided to stay, to make them behave.
God had given her the rare gift of being able to talk to cats, but that gift unfortunately didn’t extend to other species of animals. Max, on the other hand, could talk to anyone, and so she’d relegated the task of disciplining the mice to his capable care.
She’d hate to have to put the mice out of the house, as she was a feeling young woman, and loved all creatures great or small. Still, she had to draw the line somewhere.
In her mind, she went over the tasks that lay ahead. Dan, her editor, had assigned her the unenviable task of covering the upcoming pigfest, where the biggest porker and its keeper would fetch a nice prize, and of course there was the summer ball to think about.
Dan himself had been engrossed in the Maria Power retrospective at the Seabreeze Music Center. Maria Power was one of Hampton Cove’s most famous residents, but also its most elusive one.
The world-renowned actress, now in her seventh decade, had been a star of the silver screen for decades, until her retirement ten years before, at which point she’d disappeared from the public eye. She steadfastly refused to be interviewed, even by Dan, one of her biggest fans and the head of one of the two fan clubs Hampton Cove boasted, but now that she was turning seventy, and Hampton Cove was the scene of an elaborate celebration of her illustrious movie career, Dan had been doing everything in his power to land that exclusive interview with the grande dame of American cinema.
Now that was the sort of article Odelia would have liked to write, instead of pigfest.
She arrived at the office and walked in. She passed Dan’s office and called out her usual morning greeting. When her greeting wasn’t returned with a hale and hearty ‘And a good morning to you, sunshine!’ she retraced her steps and glanced into his office. And that’s when she saw it. Or rather… her.
On the floor, in the middle of Dan’s office, the body of a woman lay spread-eagle.
Odelia swallowed, and squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if she was seeing things. Spend enough time investigating murders and that kind of thing is bound to happen.
But as she opened her eyes again, the body was still there, lying prone on the floor, a halo of blond hair spread out around her head, a spot of crimson at the center of that glossy blond mane. Next to the woman, a garden gnome of sizable proportions lay.
Odelia felt nauseous for a moment, then took out her phone and called the police station switchboard.
Dolores picked up at the first ring.
“Dolores, it’s Odelia. You’re not going to believe this, but I just found a dead woman in Dan’s office.”
“Oh, I believe it, sweetheart,” Dolores rasped in her characteristic smoker’s voice. She sounded completely unfazed by this development. “I’ll send in the cavalry, shall I?”
Odelia nodded, her eyes transfixed on that awful spot of crimson. It was still glistening, which told her that whoever had murdered the woman had done so recently.
Just then, the outer door to the office opened and Dan walked in. “Someone yanked off my windshield wipers,” he grumbled. “Can you believe it? Vandalism, if you ask—” He halted when he came upon Odelia, standing over the dead woman. “What the…” he began, then exclaimed, “Oh, dear Lord!” when he took in the shocking scene.
“I called the police already,” said Odelia. “Do you know her?”
“She must be my eight thirty,” said Dan, his white beard waggling distractedly.
“Your eight thirty?”
“Yeah, some woman called me yesterday. Said she wanted to see me about something. So I told her to come in at eight thirty. If that’s her, she must have been early.”
“Who is she?”
“She said her name was Heather Gallop. That’s all I know.”
“So you stepped out before she came in, is that what you’re saying?”
“Uh-huh. I got a call just after eight that someone was vandalizing my car, so I hurried out to go check. And sure enough both windshield wipers had been yanked off.”
Odelia checked her phone. It was eight fifteen. “So whoever killed her must have done it in the past ten minutes, right after you walked out and just before I walked in.”
“You didn’t see anyone?” Dan was licking his lips, looking distinctly ill at ease.
“No, I didn’t see anyone,” she said, studying the editor closely. “Looks like they used a gnome as the murder weapon.”
The editor cursed under his breath. “I can’t believe they’d use Gnomeo.”
“Gnomeo?”
“Yeah, it’s named after Romeo and Juliet. A gnome played a big part in the movie.”
“You’re talking about Gnomeo and Juliet? The kids’ movie?”
“Not the kids’ movie. Maria Power’s film debut. She played Juliet and had long and animated conversations with a gnome, her constant companion.” He looked pained.
As he took a step into the room, Odelia stopped him at once. “Better not touch anything,” she advised him.
“No,” he said, startled. “No, of course.”
In spite of her long acquaintance with her boss, or maybe because of it, she couldn’t help but feel he was acting a little strangely. Then again, people all react differently to murder, and in spite of the fact that Dan had been the Hampton Cove Gazette’s editor for forty years, he’d probably never had a dead person lying in the middle of his office.
But before she could ask him any further questions, the door swung open and Chase walked in, followed by Odelia’s uncle Alec, who was also Hampton Cove’s chief of police.
“Holy crap,” was her uncle’s first reaction. “Now why did you go and do that for, Dan?”
“What?” said the editor. “I didn’t kill her, Alec!”
“Then what is she doing in your office, her head bashed in with your pet gnome?” asked Alec sternly.
“I had nothing to do with it, I swear!” said the editor, and somehow Odelia had the feeling Dan’s sufferings had only just begun.
4
“But Vesta, what does a neighborhood watch actually DO?” asked Scarlett.
Scarlett Canyon was looking her usual outlandish self: short-sh
ort skirt, sexy top that revealed far too much of her provocative cleavage, and stiletto heels that would have given Vesta vertigo had she chosen to wear something similar, which she hadn’t. On the contrary, she was wearing her usual blue tracksuit and her sensible white sneakers.
There had been a time, not all that long ago, when the mere sight of Scarlett would have made Vesta’s blood pressure spike to dangerous heights, and made her break out into a stream of vituperative a gangster rapper could learn something from, but those days were over. She and Scarlett had reconciled, and had become, much to everyone’s surprise, close friends.
No one in Hampton Cove would have believed it possible for two women as different as these two to become friends, but there they were, standing in line at the pharmacy on Downing Street and not even pelting one another with pots of moisturizer or tubes of hemorrhoid cream the way they used to in the old days.
“Well, a neighborhood watch fights crime,” Vesta explained. “But most importantly they make people feel safe. Make them feel as if someone is watching out for them.”
“But… isn’t that what the police do?” asked Scarlett. “Isn’t that exactly the sort of thing we pay them for?”
“Now see, that’s the beauty of it. The police can only do so much, so while they focus on your real hardened criminals, we patrol the streets and watch out for the small stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like people not cleaning up after their dogs, or littering, or young punks spraying graffiti or keying cars. You know, stuff like that. Plus…” Her eyes glittered as she said this. “Being in a neighborhood watch gives you permission to do what we do best, darling.”
Scarlett’s face lit up, and her cat-like eyes flashed. “Flirting with the hot guys!”
“Even better. Snooping around!”
“I like to snoop,” said Scarlett, nodding and pursing her plumped-up lips. “In fact I live to snoop. Not in a bad way, though. Strictly in a good way.”
Though Scarlett didn’t define what a good way of snooping could possibly be, Vesta understood. She, too, felt that only a community where people looked out for one another was a community where life was worth living. And how else can you look out for one another if not by knowing all there is to know about everyone?
“Do we need some kind of permission to launch this neighborhood watch?” asked Scarlett.
“Yeah, you have to be registered with the local police, but I’m sure my son will arrange all of that.”
“It must be so easy to have a son who’s a cop,” said Scarlett admiringly.
“Sometimes,” said Vesta, “it is and sometimes it isn’t.”
The line had moved and it was Vesta’s turn. Rory Suds, the grizzled pharmacist who looked like a stick figure, eyed her expectantly. “Vesta? What can I do for you?”
“It’s not about what you can do for me, Rory,” she said, “but what I can do for you.” She gave him her most engaging smile, which made her cheeks hurt. She wasn’t used to smiling, and it didn’t exactly come natural. “Scarlett and I are launching Hampton Cove’s first neighborhood watch, and we’d like you to be one of our informers.”
Rory blinked. “Is that so?” he said cautiously.
“Yeah, that is so,” said Vesta, losing the smile. She liked to see nothing but excitement about her new endeavor, and the pharmacist’s guarded expression told her he was anything but excited. “Look, it’s pretty simple. If you see or hear anything that strikes you as odd, you tell us. We all want Hampton Cove to be a safe and pleasant place.”
“Oh, sure, sure,” said Rory, nodding as his eyes shifted between Vesta and Scarlett, as if unsure of what he was seeing and hearing right then. “So it’s true, then, is it?” he asked.
“What is true?” asked Vesta, massaging her cheeks and slightly displacing her dentures.
“You two are friends now?”
“Yeah, we’re friends,” said Scarlett. “In fact Vesta and I are best friends.”
Rory grinned. “It’s just that… frankly I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Well, you saw the day,” Vesta snapped. “Now are you going to help us or not?”
Rory’s smile disappeared and he swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”
As Vesta and Scarlett exited the pharmacy, Scarlett said, “That went well.”
“I was expecting more excitement,” Vesta grumbled. “He didn’t look excited.”
“Not everyone has a penchant for fighting crime,” said Scarlett. “They’re not all cut from the same cloth as you and me.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. So who’s next?”
Scarlett pointed in the direction of Main Street. “Wilbur Vickery. Nothing happens in this town that Wilbur doesn’t know about.”
“I swear to God, if he starts hemming and hawing I’m gonna smack him in the snoot.”
“Better not,” said Scarlett. “People don’t like it when you smack them in the snoot, even if you’re doing it for all the right reasons.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Vesta grumbled.
They passed the offices of the Gazette, and Vesta was surprised to see an ambulance parked out in front and a stretcher being carted in by two paramedics at a gallop. Immediately her attention was snagged. Galloping paramedics had that effect on her.
“Now what the hell is going on over here?” she asked.
“Let’s find out,” said Scarlett, as chipper as a newly self-appointed crime fighter could be.
“Hey, you!” Vesta yelled to the driver of the ambulance. “What’s going on?”
“Lady was killed,” he said, only too eager to spill the beans. Now that kind of behavior was what Vesta liked to see. Not Rory Suds’s annoying reticence. “Head bashed in with a garden gnome if you please,” the guy added with a wide smile. “Ain’t that something?”
“Head bashed in with a garden gnome?” asked Scarlett. “Isn’t that the kind of thing the neighborhood watch should get involved with?”
“Nah, we don’t do murder and mayhem. That’s for my son and granddaughter.”
They both watched as Alec and Odelia walked out, along with Chase Kingsley. The three of them looked appropriately concerned, and when finally Dan Goory joined them on the sidewalk, it was obvious something had rattled the editor to the bones. He looked even more gaunt than usual, and his face had taken on the same pallor as his beard.
“What happened?” asked Vesta, unable to restrain herself. She might only be in the habit of fighting the softer types of crime, but couldn’t resist finding out about the tougher stuff as well.
“Yeah, what happened?” asked Scarlett, tripping up on her high heels. “As neighborhood watchers we have a right to know what’s going on in our town.”
“A woman was murdered,” said Odelia. “And that’s pretty much all we know right now.”
“So you don’t know anything,” Vesta said. “You disappoint me, honey.”
The paramedics came galloping out again, this time carrying the victim on their stretcher. Vesta caught a glimpse of some hot young blonde, looking decidedly dead.
“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” asked Alec a little gruffly. “Like at the doctor’s office?”
Vesta made a dismissive gesture of the hand. “Tex doesn’t need me. Besides, making sure Hampton Cove is crime-free is more important than playing receptionist. So do you want my professional opinion?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’re going to give it anyway,” said Alec with a sigh.
“Crime of passion,” said Vesta, gesturing with her head to Dan, who stood talking into his phone now, presumably to secure himself a good lawyer.
“What are you talking about?” asked Odelia.
“Old guy like Dan and a hot young bimbo like that? She probably dropped by the office to tell him she was finished with him on account of the fact that she found someone better than that old fart.”
“A young fart,” Scarlett added, nodding.
“So Dan flew i
nto a rage and whacked her over the head with his gnome. End of story. Lean on him hard enough and I’m sure he’ll confess. Now if there’s nothing else, we’ve got people to see and crime to fight so adios.”
And with these words, she and Scarlett took off.
“Are you sure Dan killed her?” asked Scarlett.
“Of course. Old guys like Dan fly off the handle when they get dumped. Can’t take the rejection. If I’ve seen it happen once I’ve seen it a hundred times.”
“Oh, sure,” said Scarlett, nodding. “Remember that time I dumped Leo’s ass? His face got all red and splotchy and for a moment there I thought he was gonna have a stroke.”
“You dated Leo?”
“I thought you knew. Why? You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Maybe a little,” she admitted.
“No need to be jealous, sweetie. I only dated him to spite you. But that’s all in the past now.”
“All in the past,” Vesta echoed.
“I’m so glad we’re friends again. Aren’t you?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, though sometimes she wished Scarlett was a little less… Scarlett.
5
Dooley was seriously worried about his best friend Max. Max had been behaving strangely all morning. For one thing, he wasn’t his usual self. Perhaps it was too much to say that Max was a cheerful cat, but he wasn’t uncheerful either. Dooley thought Max was probably semi-cheerful. But all that morning Max had been looking distinctly down.
He claimed it was because of the mice. That he didn’t know what to do about them. But Hector and Helga and their little ones had been there for weeks, and during all this time Max hadn’t been particularly worried. He was worried now, though. Very worried.
And so Dooley was worried, too.
Dooley loved his friend. He figured he was the luckiest cat in the world for having a friend like Max. Honorable, wise, very smart and very brave, and extremely kind, too.
And as he and Max ambled along the sidewalk heading into town as they did most mornings, to talk to their friends and snoop around, Dooley couldn’t help but think that Max was hiding something.
