by Nic Saint
“Who cares what dogs? We don’t know, and nor will they. Any dog can sneak in here and clean out those bowls.”
“It would have to be a small dog,” he said as he eyed the pet flap with a critical eye. “No way Rufus, for instance, would ever be able to sneak in here through that pet flap.”
Rufus was Ted and Marcie Trapper’s sheepdog, who lived right next door. And judging from his size he had inherited some DNA from the woolly mammoth.
“So it was Fifi, then,” said Harriet, referring to their neighbor Kurt Mayfield’s Yorkie.
“Fifi would never come in here and steal our food,” said Brutus. “She’s too straight-laced. Besides, I’m sure she gets plenty of food at home. Kurt spoils her rotten.”
“So it was some other dog,” said Harriet. “It doesn’t matter what dog it was, Brutus,” she stressed. “In fact the less we know the better. Any dog could have snuck in from the street. All we need to do is pretend that we got home, saw that our bowls were all empty and keep a straight face! Now this is very important. Show me your poker face.”
Brutus blinked. “My what face?”
“That’s just about the worst poker face I’ve ever seen. Try again.”
Brutus frowned. “Um…”
“Big fail! Brutus, if you don’t get your act together you’re going to get us both caught. Okay, so I’ll pretend to be Max.” She lowered her voice an entire octave. “Oh, dear goodness me, Brutus, will you look at that. Someone cleaned out our bowls. Now I wonder who that could have been—why are you laughing?”
“Max doesn’t sound like that!”
“It doesn’t matter! So what are you going to say?”
“Um… I don’t know what dogs were in here and besides, it doesn’t matter?”
“No! Just repeat after me, ‘I know nothing.’”
“I know nothing.”
“I know nothing.”
“I know nothing.”
“Now keep repeating that to yourself so that by the time Max and Dooley come home it will roll from your tongue like the most natural thing in the world.”
Brutus nodded. These were simple instructions. In fact they were so simple he figured even he could commit them to memory. He was terrible at lying. It was one of the areas of improvement he needed to work on. “I know nothing,” he murmured.
“Exactly. And whatever they say, you just keep repeating the same thing over and over again, like a mantra. Is that clear?”
“Uh-huh. I know nothing.”
“Which dog stole our food, Brutus?”
“I know nothing.”
“Was it Fifi, you think? Or Rufus?”
“I know nothing.”
“Or maybe it could have been some neighboring cat?”
“I know nothing.”
She smiled and patted her mate on the back. “Excellent, my snickerdoodle. I think we’re just about ready to face the firing squad.”
Brutus gulped. “The firing squad! Y-y-you don’t think—”
“Just a manner of speech, sugar bear. Cats can’t handle a firearm. Everybody knows that. But they will grill us to within an inch of our lives, so we need to be ready.”
“I know nothing,” he murmured.
“Make that your life’s motto from now on,” Harriet advised, “and I will do the same. Now let’s get going. I don’t want to miss the social event of the season, just because our humans are too lazy to drop by to feed us—or to pick us up.”
“You mean Odelia’s wedding? But I thought that was next Saturday?”
“Not Odelia’s wedding, doodle bug. Lord Hilbourne being handed the keys to the city.”
And so they set off on their journey into town. Max and Dooley might have bought into some delusional snail’s crazy ramblings, but Harriet and Brutus were going to collect those precious few nuggets of information that have your star reporter yipping with delight: not a snail’s folly, but actionable intel, straight from the horse’s mouth.
In other words: they were going to mingle at the reception Mayor Butterwick was throwing in honor of her distinguished guest and keep their eyes open and their ears peeled. Harriet, who’d always had a competitive streak, had vowed that they’d be the ones to deliver Odelia a few tasty morsels of gossip and that was exactly what they were going to accomplish, blowing Max’s silly Potato Man story straight out of the water.
Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to be on Odelia’s good side, considering that as soon as the Poole family arrived home and discovered someone had emptied all of their cats’ bowls, all hell would break loose.
Chapter 15
Dooley had his own thoughts about the investigation he and Max had recently become involved in. If others thought it was unusual for two cats to accept an assignment from a snail, he most certainly didn’t. After all, if Odelia accepted assignments from all sorts of people, why couldn’t he and Max do the same thing? Not many people were aware of this—in fact as far as Dooley knew only the members of the Poole family were in this unique position—but Max had a rare talent for spotting clues and making those complicated conclusions that left others—not least of which Dooley himself—baffled and speechless with abject admiration.
Dooley thought it was an honor that Max had chosen him as his loyal sidekick, and not a day went by that he didn’t have to pinch himself for being in this position. Some cats said he was the perfect sidekick, too: after all, Captain Hastings usually was the most dimwitted part of the Poirot stories. The comic relief. Likewise Doctor Watson fulfilled that role to perfection as Sherlock Holmes’s peabrained stooge. What this said about Dooley, Dooley did not know, but he figured it was probably some kind of compliment, and that was how he had decided to treat these remarks, which often were accompanied by a good deal of suppressed snickering for some mysterious reason.
And so it was that he and Max were on the trail again, like bloodhounds, but without the hound part. And probably without the blood part, too, as they usually preferred to figure things out intellectually rather than by following a trail of blood left by the killer.
“Where are we going, Max?” he asked when they’d left the barbershop and were on their way to a destination or destinations unknown.
“I’m not sure,” said the great detective named Max. “We should probably catch up with Odelia, though. She was going to interview Evelina Pytel, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Absolutely,” said Dooley, who knew from experience and close association with Max that the stout blorange cat was never mistaken.
And just as he’d expected, suddenly Odelia hove into view, accompanied by Gran and Scarlett, as the trio walked out of the Hampton Cove Star hotel.
Dooley, even though he was used to these flashes of deductive brilliance from his friend, still gasped in amazement. “Max, how did you know Odelia would suddenly show up like this?” he asked, always ready to learn from the master sleuth.
“I didn’t,” said Max curtly, and set paw for the three humans.
Odelia, when she spotted her two cats, smiled and crouched down to tickle them behind the ears. Max purred, and so did Dooley. Max might perhaps be the greatest cat detective that had ever lived, and Dooley his loyal sidekick, but they were still cats, and enjoyed these expressions of affection from their human as much as the next feline.
“We just talked to Buster,” Max announced, “but unfortunately he couldn’t shed any light on the death of Bob Rector, and neither could Kingman.”
“We better go and have that chat with Evelina Pytel now,” Odelia said. She glanced up at her grandmother and Scarlett, who stood convening on the sidewalk, presumably also very busy trying to solve this most baffling case of the potato truck victim, and said, “Do you guys want to join me? I’m going to interview Evelina Pytel. The victim’s girlfriend.”
“No, you go ahead,” said Gran, quite surprisingly, Dooley thought. “Scarlett and I are following a different trail. Isn’t that right, Scarlett?”
“Absolutely,” said Scarlett, who was dressed ve
ry nicely, Dooley thought, in an outfit that left plenty of opportunity for air to reach all the different parts of her body. Like cats, she seemed averse to the wearing of clothes, and Dooley had the distinct impression that if given the opportunity she would prefer not to wear any clothes at all. A very wise choice, Dooley felt. After all, clothes were nothing but a hindrance.
“What trail?” asked Odelia, getting up again and in doing so halting her tickling activities, which Dooley felt could have gone on just a little bit longer. Like maybe for another hour—or four.
“Look, I think it’s best if we split up into two teams,” said Gran. “You go and interview Evelina, and Scarlett and I will… follow a different avenue.”
“What avenue? What are you talking about?”
“I think it’s best if we keep this information under our hats for now, wouldn’t you agree, Scarlett?”
“Absolutely,” Scarlett said.
It was a conversation fraught with mystery, as so many human conversations are. For one thing, as far as Dooley could tell neither Gran nor Scarlett were wearing a hat, so how could they keep any information under this non-existent head adornment? Also, how do you keep information under a hat? It seemed like a tough proposition. Then again, humans are often capable of amazing feats, and perhaps this was one of them.
“Okay, have it your way,” said Odelia, sounding a little peeved. “Max, Dooley, let’s go.”
And then they were off, Odelia walking so briskly that Max and Dooley were forced to break into a mild trot to keep up. Cats’ legs are, after all, a lot shorter than human legs, a fact which Odelia seemed momentarily to have forgotten.
“Why is she hurrying so much, Max?” asked Dooley, panting.
“I think she’s upset with Gran,” said Max, who had, of course, managed to grasp the significance of the conversation perfectly, reading Odelia’s mood with a single glance.
“Upset? Why is she upset?”
“Because Gran is refusing to share information about the case with her. Vital information, from what I could gather. And that kind of thing goes against everything Odelia believes in when it comes to handling an investigation.”
“She doesn’t like it when Gran refuses to share information?”
“She hates it. The only way to solve a case, in Odelia’s view, is to share information, not keep it hidden from your fellow sleuths.”
“But why wouldn’t Gran want to share this vital information, Max? Is she angry with Odelia?”
“I don’t know, Dooley. She must have her reasons. And I’m sure we’ll soon find out.”
They’d arrived at Odelia’s car, which was still parked in front of the Gazette offices, and Odelia ushered them both into the backseat before taking her position behind the wheel.
“I don’t understand,” she was grumbling as she inserted her key into the ignition and turned it clockwise, drawing a smoker’s cough from the engine before it wheezed to life. “Gran being so secretive, I mean. Almost as if she doesn’t want me to solve this case.”
“I think Gran has a secret,” Dooley piped up. “And if you want I can find out for you what that secret is.”
Odelia smiled. “Thanks, Dooley. That’s very sweet of you.”
After all, Gran and Dooley habitually sat on the couch at night to watch a number of television programs, and invariably Gran liked to blab about her day while they were watching. The old lady simply couldn’t help it. Often when there was a lull in the programming, like a commercial break or a moment when there wasn’t much happening on the screen, she would talk incessantly about every single thing she’d been up to that day. Dooley liked to think that Gran used to do the same thing when her husband was alive, and now that he had passed she talked to Dooley instead. Dooley didn’t mind. He cherished those moments with Gran on the couch, and told her all about his day, too.
“Before the day is through,” he said therefore, “I’ll know exactly what Gran is up to. Just you wait and see.”
He might just be the silly Doctor Watson or Captain Hastings to Max’s brilliant Sherlock or Hercule Poirot, but he also had a part to play, and he enjoyed playing it.
But then Odelia stomped on the accelerator and the car gave one more wheezy cough then reluctantly lurched forward and so did Dooley’s stomach.
No matter how many times he’d spent in this car, he never could get used to the terrible noise the engine made, or the weird motions of the car. It was unnatural for cats to ride in cars. And so he closed his eyes and started to count pieces of kibble until the moment the car came to a stop again and he could finally leave this monstrous machine.
Hopefully still in one piece.
Chapter 16
We arrived at Evelina Pytel’s house just in time—or just too late, depending on how you look at it. Evelina had just closed the front door and was walking to her car, car keys in hand, and clearly was on the point of getting into her vehicle and taking off somewhere.
Odelia had slowed down her car and when she saw that Evelina was about to take off, immediately braked her aged pickup, cranked down the window and yelled, “Miss Pytel! Miss Evelina Pytel? Hi! I’m sorry to trouble you like this, but could I have a quick word?”
And to show Miss Pytel she meant what she said, she pulled up the handbrake and got out. Dooley and I also hopped down from the trusty old vehicle, Dooley a little queasy and unsteady on his paws, and then we hurried after our human, not wanting to miss this most important interview, of which I must confess I had high expectations.
“Yes?” said Miss Pytel, looking a little confused. “Who are you?”
“My name is Odelia Poole,” said Odelia. “I’m a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and I’m also a civilian consultant with our local police department.”
“Okay.” Miss Pytel clearly was eager to get going, but politeness compelled her to put her plans on hold for just a moment while she heard Odelia out.
“I’m investigating the death of Mr. Bob Rector,” she said, and I watched as Miss Pytel blinked in confusion.
“Death? What do you mean? Are you telling me that Bob… died?”
“Oh, you didn’t know? I’m so sorry, Miss Pytel. I thought…”
There was a momentary lull in the conversation, as Odelia tried to figure out how to overcome this faux-pas on her part, and Miss Evelina Pytel tried to come to terms with this unexpected and frankly shocking development. She was still blinking rapidly, and I could see that tears had formed in her eyes. She was a handsome woman, with striking blue eyes and long flaxen hair. She was dressed in a pink pantsuit and looked every inch the successful businesswoman she reportedly was.
“I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” said Odelia at length. “I thought you knew.”
“No. No, I didn’t. How—how did he die?”
“He was found on a potato truck this morning. He was shot to death.”
“Shot!”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Do you… do you want to go inside for a moment?”
“Yes. Yes, I think I do,” said Evelina, and suddenly staggered. Odelia, quick as a flash, was there to lend her a helping hand, and together both women entered the house, Dooley and I right on their heels.
“She looks genuinely surprised, Max,” said Dooley.
“Yes, she does,” I agreed.
“So she probably didn’t kill her boyfriend,” was my friend’s immediate conclusion. “If she had, she wouldn’t have looked so surprised.”
“Unless she’s an accomplished actress.”
“I don’t think she’s an actress, Max. Mr. Ed said she runs a company in party supplies. People who run companies selling party supplies usually aren’t actors. Or vice versa.”
I smiled. Dooley often applies his unique brand of logic and brings it to bear on the situation, and it’s both refreshing and often extremely apt, as it was now.
We’d entered Miss Pytel’s living room, and I saw that it was both modern and cozy. Plenty of straight surfaces and lots of beige an
d muted pinks and yellows. I liked it immediately. It was all very homely and very pleasant to the eye.
Evelina had collapsed on one of the chairs, and Odelia had disappeared into the kitchen to fill a tall glass of water from the tap. She soon returned and offered it to the stricken woman, who was staring before her, a horrified look on her face.
“Are you all right?” asked Odelia. A silly question, I thought, as Miss Pytel clearly wasn’t all right. Then again, it’s one of those things people say, just to say something. Better than having to proceed in strained silence. “I’m really sorry to spring this on you like this,” Odelia said, as she took a seat next to the woman and gently rubbed her back.
“Bob was… Bob and I were dating, you know,” said Evelina, her voice thick with emotion. “We’d just gone on our fourth date when suddenly he was…” She glanced up at Odelia.
“When he was kidnapped,” said Odelia.
The woman’s eyes widened. “How did you know? I didn’t tell anyone. The kidnappers, they…”
“They didn’t want you to go to the police,” Odelia completed the sentence. “You better tell me everything. It’s all right. The kidnappers can’t harm your boyfriend anymore.”
“Do you think they’re the ones… that killed him?”
“I don’t know,” said Odelia. “Have they been in touch since you made the drop?”
“You know about that, too? But how?”
“Let’s just say I have my sources,” said Odelia.
Evelina took a deep and tremulous breath and gratefully accepted a paper tissue from Odelia. “I should have known something was wrong,” she said. “When I didn’t hear from the kidnappers. I’d just dropped off the money, exactly like they told me to, and I waited for them to call me with instructions on how to get Bob back—and I just waited and waited… And finally it was my sister who told me that Bob had probably stood me up. That he’d probably been the one behind the whole thing. A crook. A gangster. A cheat and a swindler. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but as the days went by, I finally had to agree that she was probably right, and that I’d been taken for a fool.”
