by Nic Saint
“But that’s my spot!” said Shanille. “I always sit out in front during Mass. Everybody knows that that spot is reserved for Father Reilly’s cat, and I’m Father Reilly’s cat. Not you,” she added, pressing a paw into Harriet’s chest. “Me!”
“Please take your paws off me,” said Harriet, who’s very particular when it comes to her precious fur being soiled by the paws of other cats—or human hands for that matter. Well, she has a point, of course. Who knows where those paws or hands have been, right?
“You’re lying,” said Shanille.
“No, I’m not. Vesta said we could sit right next to the altar.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Yes, she did!”
“No, she. Did. Not,” said Shanille, accentuating every word with another jab in Harriet’s chest.
Harriet pressed her lips together, and I could see that something was bubbling underneath the surface. Like a volcano, this particular cat was about to explode. I would have warned Shanille, but something told me she was beyond being reasoned with.
“If you touch me one more time…” Harriet began.
“Then what?”
“I will scratch you,” said Harriet simply.
Shanille laughed a throaty laugh. “You’ll do no such thing. I’m the leader of cat choir. If you scratch me, you’re out for good.”
“I swear to God, Shanille, you do not want to see me angry,” said Harriet, in the tone she likes to adopt when she’s about to skin a person alive and boil their remains.
“I’ll do whatever I want,” said Shanille, and gave my friend a shove that landed her on her tush.
“Oh, no, you didn’t,” said Harriet, and then, with a low growl, she hauled off and… actually gave Shanille’s snoot a light tap!
“Hey!” said Shanille, looking stunned.
“I warned you. You do not put your filthy paws on me.”
“Dooley,” I said, “I think I just saw that stork.”
“You did? Where?!” he said excitedly.
“Come, I’ll show you,” I told him curtly, and walked off with my friend. And even as we removed ourselves from the scene, I could hear the telltale sounds of a cat fight breaking out: the caterwauling, the screeching, and the fur being ripped to shreds.
“Poor Shanille,” said Dooley. “She was really looking forward to that wedding, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, I guess she was,” I said.
“So where’s the stork?” he said happily as he glanced around, then up at the trees and the night sky above, regarding those twinkling stars and that full moon with an expectant look in his eyes.
“Well…” I said as we paused at a nearby tree and I gave it a pointed look. “This is just the darndest thing. I’m sure I saw it sitting in this very tree just moments ago.”
“But… it’s not there anymore, Max.”
“No, I can see that. Why, shoot. Looks like we missed it.”
“Oh, darn,” said Dooley. “Now Odelia will have to wait a little longer for her firstborn.”
“Yeah, I guess she will,” I said. And as we walked on, I decided that cat choir was probably a bust, so we decided to head on home instead. And as we exited the park, and found ourselves out on the sidewalk, suddenly a familiar car drew to a stop at the curb, and the window rolled down.
“I caught a killer you guys!” Gran yelled from the car. “I caught my very first killer—all by my lonesome!”
“Not by your lonesome,” Scarlett corrected her friend’s rash statement. “I was right there with you, remember? We both caught him.”
“You caught a killer, Gran?” asked Dooley, admiration dripping from his words. “How did you do that?”
“Well, we just happened to be parked outside a known crack house, and we were about to go in and make a bust when this guy comes out, looking suspicious.”
“Very suspicious” Scarlett confirmed.
“He hopped into his car, and I managed to take a picture of the guy and the car.” She glanced down at a little notebook she always keeps handy when she’s on her nightly patrols. “Guy by the name of Joshua Curtis. Dolores looked up the license plate for me.”
“Joshua Curtis!” said Dooley. “But that’s Odelia’s client!”
“Odelia’s what?” asked Gran, much surprised.
“Odelia took on a client this morning,” I explained. “Unofficially, of course. Something about an infidelity case he wanted her to check out.”
Gran blinked and shared a look of consternation with her friend. “Well, looks like Odelia’s client just went and killed three people.”
Chapter 8
When the calls came in Odelia and Chase were seated side by side on the couch, Netflixing a romcom and enjoying this time together in post-wedding bliss. She still wasn’t completely used to the fact that she was now Mrs. Chase Kingsley, and that she was a married woman.
“Do you want another home-baked muffin, husband?” she asked.
“I would love one, wife,” said Chase with a grin. “Though to be absolutely honest, if I eat another one I’ll probably burst.”
“Me too,” Odelia admitted. “Though they did come out pretty great, husband.”
“I know, right?”
She settled herself against Chase, and purred, “When I married you I didn’t know I was marrying a baking prodigy… husband.”
“Beginner’s luck. I bet that when I try that second batch they’ll probably come out horrible.”
“Now, don’t say that. Don’t disabuse me of my sweet illusions that the man I married could, any time he wanted to, start a career as a baker.”
“Do you want to be married to a baker?”
“Nah, I love the fact that you’re a cop.”
And that’s when the phone rang—both their phones. Chase’s correspondent was Odelia’s Uncle Alec, and her own was her grandmother, who sounded a little breathless.
“Odelia!” she practically yelled into the phone, causing the latter’s offended ear to give a little lurch. “I’m so sorry, honey. If I’d known he was your client, I’d have kept my mouth shut, I swear!”
“What are you talking about?”
“The guy—your client—Joshua Curtis. How was I supposed to know!”
She sat up a little straighter. “What happened?”
“He came running out of that crack house that was on fire, acting all suspicious, so naturally I took a picture of the guy, and his car, and I sent it to Dolores. And now they’re on the lookout for him. Turns out he killed three people!”
“What?!” she cried, jerking up with a start.
It wasn’t long before she and Chase were out of their cozy jammies and into their regular street clothes and hurrying out the door.
“Triple homicide?” asked Chase as he slammed the car door shut and so did Odelia.
She nodded. “Turns out the guy they want for the murders is my so-called client.”
“The one who wanted to stop his best friend’s wife from having an affair?”
“Yup,” she said. “Better step on it.”
“I fully intend to,” he said, and did indeed do as he’d promised. They made record time and within ten minutes were parking across the street from the place that Joshua Curtis allegedly had tried to burn down to the ground—three people still inside.
The fire department was present, rolling up their hoses, and the street was a regular beehive of activity, firemen walking in and out of the building, as well as police officers.
Inside, they quickly met up with Odelia’s uncle, who looked a little sleepy, as if the phone call had roused him from a deep slumber. Charlene Butterwick was also there. As the mayor of Hampton Cove it was probably her duty to be present at these tragic events. She, too, looked a little sleepy, and an image flashed through Odelia’s mind of Uncle Alec and Charlene having been in the same position as Odelia and Chase just before, with both of them having fallen asleep next to one another on the couch.
“So what happened?” asked
Chase.
“Three squatters, all of them dead. Two badly burned—pretty much beyond recognition, one died from smoke inhalation in the next room, but still recognizable.” Uncle Alec raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “You’ll never guess who it is.”
“Just tell us,” said Odelia. She wasn’t in the mood for guessing games, to be honest.
“Franklin Harrison.”
“The son of Herbert Harrison?” said Chase. “The real estate king?”
“One and the same.”
“Wasn’t he in some kind of trouble?” asked Odelia.
“You can say that again. Picked up several times the last couple of months. Some DWI, minor drug charges, contempt of cop…”
“So what was the son of one of the richest men in Hampton Cove doing in a squat?” asked Chase.
“Beats me. Maybe he was trying to score some drugs? This place has a bad reputation in that department.”
“Gran tells me you’ve got a suspect?” said Odelia, deciding not to mention that said suspect was sort of a client of hers.
“Yeah. Probably the first time that neighborhood watch of hers does something right. Guy by the name of Joshua Curtis was seen exiting the premises shortly before midnight. He hurried to his car, talking into his phone, then took off like a bat out of hell.”
“Here to score a fix, you think?” asked Chase.
“Possibly. Though from what I know of him he’s as straight-laced as they come. Clerks at a notary public’s office. One of those guys who would tell on his grandmother if he caught her jaywalking.”
“Clean record?” asked Chase.
“As clean as a whistle. But we’re still going to pick him up for questioning.” He checked his watch. “In fact the officers I sent are on their way to lift him off his bed as we speak.” He shrugged. “At the very least he’s a witness, and if we’re lucky, we got our guy.”
Odelia excused herself. She’d just seen a little red Peugeot drive up, and knew exactly who was behind the wheel. She flagged down the car, and even before it had fully come to a standstill, she was already jerking open the rear passenger door and getting in.
“Step on it,” she said. “We have to beat the cops.”
“Oh, goodie,” said Gran, and stomped down on the accelerator.
Scarlett grinned. “We’re seeing more action in a single night than all of last month!”
“Odelia?” said Dooley, who she discovered was seated next to her, along with Max. “We missed the stork. Max saw him, but by the time we got there, he was gone.”
She patted his head distractedly. “That’s all right, Dooley. I’m sure I’ll live.”
Chapter 9
Odelia was clearly in a big hurry, and it took us some little time before she revealed to us why this was, exactly.
“Joshua Curtis is about to be picked up for questioning,” she revealed, looking tense, “and before that happens I want to talk to him first. Find out what’s going on.”
“It’s not very nice of Joshua to murder those people,” said Dooley. “He shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m not so sure he did do that, Dooley.”
“You think he’s innocent?” I asked, interested in this novel theory.
“I don’t know. But I intend to find out before he’s locked up in my uncle’s slammer.”
It didn’t take us long to arrive at our destination, and judging from the light that was blazing in the window the man was still up. Which just goes to show: not all killers are the stone-cold kind, and some do get rattled when they’ve just murdered three people in cold blood.
We all got out of the car, and hurried up the drive. Odelia applied her finger to the buzzer, and when the door was yanked open, and Joshua Curtis appeared, he looked as tense as Odelia did. “Miss Poole!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He then stared at Gran and Scarlett, clearly expecting an explanation, which Odelia declined to supply.
“The cops are on their way to pick you up,” she said, “so you better start talking, Joshua. What were you doing on Parker Street tonight?”
“Oh,” said the man, his face falling.
“Three men are dead, Joshua. And the police think you had something to do with it.”
He gaped at her. “Me!”
“You were seen leaving the scene of the crime. In fact you were walking out of the house just as smoke started to appear. What do you have to say for yourself? And better talk quick. Like I said, the police will be here any second now.”
He grimaced, as if her words didn’t come as a great surprise to him. “Look, I wasn’t—I had nothing to do with whatever happened there. I just… happened to pass by that place when I suddenly saw smoke coming out. So I did what any decent citizen would: I checked if there was a fire, and when I saw that there was, I immediately called 911.”
“You called 911?”
“Of course. It’s my civic duty to inform the emergency services whenever I become aware of an emergency in progress,” he said, sounding very much like the law-abiding citizen and stickler for upholding the law he appeared to be.
Odelia seemed much sobered by this, and more at ease than she was when she’d hurried over there lickety-split. “So… what were you doing out there, exactly? It’s not your neck of the woods now is it?”
“I… I was walking my dog,” he said, and unfortunately didn’t sound very truthful as he said it.
“I didn’t see no dog,” Gran said, putting in her two cents.
“I didn’t see no dog either,” Scarlett confirmed.
“These two ladies saw you,” Odelia explained.
He blinked, then said, “My dog must have been back in the car by the time they saw me. His… his paws get cold.”
Now there are people who are very adept at lying, and then there are others who are not so adept. And Joshua Curtis belonged in the last category, I’m afraid.
“His paws get cold,” said Odelia, sounding skeptical.
“He’s very sensitive. He gets cold paws.”
“Do you even have a dog, sonny boy?” asked Gran, narrowing her eyes.
“Of course I do. Boomer!” he called out. “Boomer, come here, boy.” He listened for a moment, then shrugged. “He’s probably asleep. Boomer is very old,” he added as if entrusting us with a confidence.
“Look, I hope for your sake, Joshua,” said Odelia, “that your story is true. Because the police…” She paused as the sound of a police siren could be heard, piercing the nocturnal silence that descends over most small towns the moment night falls.
“Here they are now,” she announced. She wagged a finger in her client’s face. “Better tell them the truth, Joshua. No lies, you hear me?”
He smiled. “I’ll tell them exactly the same thing I just told you.”
“He’s lying, Max,” Dooley said as we returned to the car, just as a police car pulled up to the curb and two officers got out.
“Yeah, I had that same impression,” I said.
“I mean, if he had a dog, it was the unsmelliest dog that I’ve ever not smelled.”
“You didn’t smell a dog?” asked Odelia.
“Nope,” Dooley confirmed. “The man doesn’t own a dog and has never owned a dog. If he had, we would have smelled him, wouldn’t we, Max?”
“Absolutely.”
“What are they saying?” asked Scarlett, as usual tickled pink by our chattering.
“They’re saying they smelled a rat,” Gran grunted.
“A rat!”
“Not a real one. The guy is lying through his teeth. He doesn’t have a dog.”
“So if he wasn’t walking his dog, then what was he doing out there?”
“Scoring dope? Murdering three people in their beds? Who knows?”
“Oh, dear,” said Odelia as we all got back into Gran’s little car. Across the street two officers had now entered Joshua’s house. “Gran?”
“Yah.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see a dog?”
“She doubts us, Max,” Dooley whispered.
“A good detective always double-checks,” I whispered back.
“Nah. Not a dog in sight.”
“Darn it.”
“Look, I’m sorry, honey,” said Gran. “If I’d known he was your client, I wouldn’t have gabbed.”
“It’s not your fault, Gran. It’s Joshua’s fault that he got himself into a world of trouble. Can you bear with me for just five more minutes?”
And with these words, she got out of the car again, and hurried across the street.
“What’s she up to now?” asked Gran.
“Trying to get her client off the hook?” Scarlett suggested.
“He’s not really her client,” I said. “He’s just a guy who asked her to do a thing.”
But the finer nuances were lost on Gran, as she intently watched her granddaughter engage one of the officers in conversation. “Gee, he’s for it now,” she suddenly said. And as I looked where she was pointing, I saw that the other officer was escorting Joshua out of the house, equipped with a shiny pair of handcuffs.
“Looks like Boomer isn’t just an old dog,” said Scarlett. “He’s an invisible one, too.”
And as one officer deposited Joshua into the squad car, Odelia came jogging back and let herself fall into the seat next to us with a deep sigh. “They’ve got something on Joshua but they won’t say what it is. Clearly his story about walking his dog and just happening to be in the vicinity of that house is nonsense.”
“Of course it is,” said Gran. “I thought we’d established that already.”
“So what was he doing there?” asked Scarlett. “And why is he lying about it?”
“Beats me,” said Odelia.
“It’s not nice when clients lie to you,” Dooley said. “They should always be telling you the truth because you’re the best friend they have when they’re in a pickle.”
In spite of her irritation at her lying client, Odelia smiled, and so did Gran. “You’re absolutely right, Dooley. Now why don’t you tell Joshua Curtis that?”
“Do you think I should? Can he understand what I’m saying?”
“No, honey, I don’t think he can,” said Odelia.
