by Nic Saint
So we moved to the garden shed and walked in. And as Harriet had indicated, there was a nice big tub of motor oil waiting for me to apply a liberal helping to my corpus.
“Do you want us to do it?” asked Brutus. “Cause we will, isn’t that right, you guys?”
“Of course,” said Harriet, though she glanced at the black motor oil with a horrified expression. Her nice white paw would no longer be as pristinely white as it was now.
“I’ll do it,” said Dooley. “I’m gray, so no one will notice a few smudges.”
“No, I should do it,” said Brutus. “I’m black, so it will blend right in.”
“I’ll do it myself, thank you very much,” I said, and after a short hesitation in which I had to overcome a certain hesitation, I stuck my paw into the black slurry and applied a nice helping to my blorange coat. It looked horrible, and it smelled even worse, but I had the support of my friends, so what could possibly go wrong?
“More,” said Harriet when I paused after the first pawful. “You need to rub this stuff on your entire torso, Max, or it won’t work.”
I grimaced as I applied more of the gunk on my gorgeous fur. Yuck. But finally I was done, and wiped my paws on a patch of grass outside the garden shed. Then, accompanied by my friends, I walked back to the house. I stood there, poised and ready like an Olympian, as I stared down that flap.
“You’re mine,” I growled, psyching myself up. “I’m going to take you down, you flap.”
And then I planted my paws firmly on the ground and took a running leap and then I was zooming—flying!—towards that pet flap like a chunky cruise missile.
And as I zipped in and zipped through, suddenly my progress was abruptly halted.
Yep. I was stuck again.
I had fought the flap and the flap had won.
Chapter 29
When the doorbell jangled and Rita Baker saw Odelia Poole’s face on her intercom, along with those of Detective Kingsley and Chief Lip, she knew this wasn’t a social call.
For a moment, her heart sank, but then she decided to buck up and not postpone the inevitable. So she pressed the buzzer and opened the door.
Moments later, Odelia, Chase and the Chief walked into her modest but nicely furnished apartment. Odelia was the first to speak. “Rita, something has come to our attention so we decided to have a little chat, if that’s all right with you.”
She was friendly, Rita had to admit, and even the two cops were eyeing her with something akin to compassion, something that wasn’t what she’d experienced before. It all brought her back to those stirring events fifty-five years ago, when her dad had gone missing, and the police had also dropped by. They hadn’t been friendly then, practically accusing him of running off with the proceeds of the loot he stole from that woman.
She took a seat and invited the trio to join her. “Tea?” she asked, her voice slightly tremulous, but Odelia shook her head, then placed an object on the coffee table that she hadn’t set eyes on since the night her dad had disappeared.
“Do you recognize this?” asked Odelia, who was taking the lead.
She nodded, and swallowed away a lump of uneasiness. So they knew.
“Yes, that’s my old diary. Where did you find it?” She’d looked for that thing all over the place, and when she hadn’t been able to find it her mom had vaguely thought she might have thrown it out with the trash.
“It was bricked inside the wall of my mother’s basement, not that far from where your father was bricked in,” said Odelia.
She nodded nervously. “Have you… read it?”
“Yes, we have, especially those glued-together pages.”
She swallowed again. “Isn’t there a law against reading other people’s diaries?”
“I don’t think so,” said Chase. “But there is definitely a law against killing your father and burying him in your basement.”
“I didn’t kill my father,” she said. “None of us did. It was an accident, I swear.”
Odelia had picked up the diary. “My mom found it, and when she told me what you wrote in here I wasn’t even surprised. Your father was not a nice man, was he, Rita?”
“No, he wasn’t. He was horrible, and treated us like crap. Especially my mother.”
“Did he beat her?”
She nodded, as tears trickled down her cheeks. “He almost killed her that night, and when we dragged him off her and he hit the edge of the kitchen table I knew he was dead before he hit the floor.” She straightened. “And you know what? I’m not ashamed to admit it. My dad was a monster, and he deserved exactly what he got. So we thought it over, and decided unanimously to make sure his body was never found, and that the brooch he stole disappeared along with him, so people would come to the only logical conclusion: he’d sold the brooch and had run off with the money, never to be seen again. And good riddance, too.”
“You told me you lived a happy life. That you had a warm and loving father. None of that was true, was it?”
“My father was a thief and a bully and a wife beater. He even raised his hand against me and my brother, but at twenty-one I wasn’t prepared to take it anymore, and at sixteen neither was my brother. We made a pact. If he hit Mom one more time, we’d…”
“Kill him?” asked Chase.
“No, not kill him. But we’d make sure he never hit her again. We’d kick him out of the house and make Mom file for divorce, whether she liked it or not. So when Tom dragged him off Mom that night, and I shoved him, the combination of those movements made him hit his head. So basically, if you want to be accurate about it, we both killed him.”
For a moment, no one spoke, then Odelia said, “I talked to a couple of people who knew your father back then. And they all agreed he was a pretty horrible person. In fact I haven’t met anyone who had a kind word to say about him.”
“We’re returning the brooch to Nate Clifford, by the way,” said Chase. “He’s the great-grandson of Aurelia Clifford, the woman your father stole from.”
“I know,” she said. “I remember the story.”
“You found the brooch on him?” asked Chief Lip.
“We did, but we figured we’d better bury it along with his body. It was the price to be paid for our freedom. For our mother’s freedom.”
“That brooch wasn’t yours to bury, though,” said Chase.
She nodded. “I know. And I’m sorry,” she said softly. “But if you compare the value of that brooch to the value of three lives, I’m not sure the brooch is worth more, are you?”
Odelia smiled. “We’re not here to arrest you, Rita.”
She looked up. “I don’t understand. I just confessed that I killed my father.”
“An accident,” said Chase. “You said it yourself.”
“I think the truth of what happened to Boyd Baker will probably never be fully known,” said Odelia. “Though in the article I’m writing about the case I offer the suggestion that his associates and Boyd had a falling-out, and that they killed him in the struggle that ensued when they came to his house demanding he share the proceeds of the Clifford brooch sale. They killed him and in a panic buried him, never even going through his pockets and finding the brooch they’d made such a big fuss about.”
She blinked. “You’re not… going to arrest me? Or my brother?”
“No, we’re not,” said the Chief with a kindly smile. “I think you’ve suffered enough, Rita. You and your brother both, and your mother, of course.”
“I think it’s time to bury the dead past,” said Odelia, “and that includes your father. And then you and your brother can finally be free.”
“But… are you sure you can do this? Are you sure this is… legal?”
“We’ve discussed it,” said Odelia.
“We held a family meeting just now,” Chase explained.
“My mom and dad were there, and so was my grandmother, and we all agreed.”
“It may not strictly be lawful,” said the Chief, “but under the ci
rcumstances I think it’s the right thing to do. It is certainly in line with what my conscience is telling me to do.”
“It’s time to move on, Rita,” said Odelia. “I know you as a warm, wonderful person, but I also know there’s always been a darkness inside you. The secret you’ve carried all these years has eaten away at you, and now it’s time for you to finally let go and heal.”
As her three visitors got up and filed out of the apartment, she and Odelia hugged for a long time. The moment they were gone, she called her brother, and the first thing she said was, “It’s over, Tom. It’s finally over.”
Epilogue
The Poole family was gathered once again in the Poole backyard, and this time there was even meat on the menu. The Pooles had recently become vegetarians for a brief while, but that hadn’t lasted very long, and now Tex was flipping burgers again, and the sizzling meat spread its intoxicating aroma across the backyard and into the neighboring yards. Next to Marge and Tex live Marcie and Ted Trapper, who’ve been their neighbors since both families bought their respective houses. Marcie waved at us across the hedge, then disappeared into the house, while Ted sat with his feet in the tiny pool he’d installed a couple of summers ago. It was more a birdbath than a pool, but he didn’t care.
“So that’s it?” asked Gran. “The case is officially closed?”
“Yes, the investigation has been concluded,” said Odelia. “And the conclusion is that we’ll probably never know what happened to Boyd Baker, as all those involved have passed away by now, so crucial witnesses will never be able to tell their story.”
“Some cold cases need to stay cold,” said Uncle Alec as he raised a cold brewski.
“A toast,” said Chase. “To Rita and Tom Baker, and the brave and selfless act they performed to protect their mom. An act that has hung like a shadow over their lives all this time, and now has finally been lifted.”
“So have you decided what to do about the basement?” asked Uncle Alec with a twinkle in his eye.
Gran grumbled something under her breath that didn’t sound very nice, and directed a searing glare at her son-in-law.
“We’re turning it into a rehearsal space for Tex,” said Marge.
“Yeah. We’re going to put in a stage and a music installation,” said Tex with the happy smile of a kid on Easter morning. “And when we have friends over I’ll be able to entertain them without bothering the neighbors.”
“If you didn’t want to bother the neighbors you wouldn’t take up singing,” said Gran.
“So what about the nuclear holocaust?” asked Chase. “Aren’t you going to prepare, Vesta?”
“Oh, I’m done with that nonsense,” said Gran. “I read an article explaining how all this disaster stuff is just a bunch of hooey. Did you know that half the stuff they put on the YouTube or those social media is just a bunch of made-up baloney? Hard to imagine.”
“Yeah, who knew?” said Uncle Alec with a grin.
“A second toast,” said Chase now, as he held up his glass. “To Odelia, who had the courage to convince me and her uncle to drop the investigation into Rita and Tom Baker.”
“It took some convincing,” she said. “But it was worth it.”
“Technically you broke the law,” said Tex. “Didn’t you, Alec?”
“Technically I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Tex.”
“Boyd Baker?”
“I don’t remember no Boyd Baker.”
“The skeleton in the basement?”
“Never happened. And if it did, I’m sure no one is going to insist we drop all of our other work and focus on a fifty-five-year-old murder case.”
“Does that other work include writing up tickets for every traffic violation within the town limits?” asked Tex, who wasn’t happy that he’d recently been fined when he went to visit a patient, in spite of the fact he was a physician and had an MD license plate.
“You’ll have to take that up with the new mayor, Tex.”
“I’m taking it up with you, Alec.”
“Are you trying to make me drop your ticket? That’s against the law, Tex.”
“I’m simply appealing to your sense of fairness, Alec. I have MD license plates.”
“I could be persuaded to think about it, in exchange for another couple of sausages.”
At the mention of the word sausage, all the adults in the backyard turned a little green. And as the conversation turned from murder laws to traffic laws to food safety laws, the four of us were seated on the porch swing and enjoying a lazy evening. Even though it was hot enough for Ted Trapper to sit with his feet in his birdbath, it was getting a little nippier, and soon summer would be over and autumn would roll in. Already it had been raining a lot, and there was a definite chill in the air.
“So how many pounds have you lost, Max?” asked Brutus now.
“Three, which is just enough to allow me free passage through the pet flap.”
They all cheered for me, which frankly felt good. After my debacle with the motor oil, and Odelia having to use paper towels to get that junk off of me, I’d decided to get serious about my diet. So I’d been eating less, and I’d been taking regular walks around the block, and it had paid off. I was now slimmer than ever before, and I felt better, too.
“So how do you feel about this decision to let the Bakers off the hook?” asked Brutus.
“I think they did the right thing. It was an accident, and I don’t think Rita and Tom should be punished for what were, in a sense, the crimes of their father.”
“I think he’s right,” Harriet agreed. “And I, for one, think that Uncle Alec definitely made the right call.”
“I agree,” said Brutus.
Dooley was the only one who hadn’t spoken. “So what do you think, Dooley?” asked Harriet.
“I’m not so sure,” he said, much to my surprise. “I think Uncle Alec is making a big mistake. He should arrest Rita and Tom and punish them to the fullest extent of the law.”
“Dooley?” I asked. “Are you feeling all right?”
My friend had a strange glint in his eyes. “Oh, I’m fine, Max. Absolutely fine.” When we all stared at him, he suddenly burst into a giggle. “You should see your faces!”
“Is this supposed to be a joke?” asked Harriet.
“Yes, it is!” he cried, still giggling.
“Well, it’s not funny.”
His face fell. “Not funny?”
“Not funny at all.”
“But… the documentary I saw on the Discovery Channel on stand-up comedy said that the trick to humor is to shock your audience. And hit them with your punchline.”
“Whoever made that documentary obviously doesn’t know the first thing about comedy,” said Harriet, shaking her head.
“Not a clue,” Brutus agreed.
“But, you guys! Gran asked me to be Tex’s opening act once he launches his basement rehearsal space. She said I’m the best way to warm up the crowd for her son-in-law.”
“Does Tex know about this?” I asked.
“No, Gran told me not to mention it to anyone. She wants to surprise him.”
“Oh, he’ll be surprised,” said Harriet, and now she actually was laughing.
“Listen. I’ve prepared a couple of jokes,” said Dooley, wetting his lips. “Um… a giraffe, a penguin and an elephant walk into a bar. Says the elephant to the giraffe, ‘So how is the view from up there?’ ‘I guess not as good as the view from down there,’ says the giraffe, and plucks the penguin from beneath his tush.”
We were all silent, then I said, and I think I spoke for everyone, “Dooley, please don’t become a comedian.”
But Dooley wasn’t going to be deterred. “I have to. For Tex. So how about this one? A priest, a nun and a basketball player walk into a bar. Asks the nun of the basketball player, ‘How high do I have to jump to become a professional like you?’”
We all waited expectantly, but when nothing more seemed forthcoming, I asked, “
So? What’s the punchline?”
“I’m still working on it,” said Dooley. “But how do you like it so far? Funny, right?”
We all groaned, and would have given Dooley a more thorough criticism if not suddenly the sound of our neighbor Marcie Trapper screaming caught our attention. And as I pricked up my ears, I could clearly hear the sound of four hundred mice clamoring.
Apparently Molly and Rupert had simply moved their colony into the Trappers’ basement.
When we all looked to Harriet, now our official mouse whisperer, she cried, “No way! I did it once but I’m not doing it again!”
Marcie kept on screaming, and soon the Pooles had all passed through the little gate in the hedge and were moving into the house next door, along with Ted, wet feet and all.
“Don’t you think we should go over there?” asked Brutus. “We are cats, after all. We’re supposed to take care of this mouse issue for our humans.”
“I’m not going anywhere near them,” said Harriet with a shiver. “Those mice are vicious.”
“Oh, listen, you guys, I’ve got another one,” said Dooley. “A mouse, a moose and a macaw walk into a bar.”
“Okay,” I said.
“That’s all I’ve got. Hilarious, right?”
“Yeah, a real hoot, Dooley,” I said.
There’s probably a reason there are no famous cat comedians. We’re not that funny.
Just then, Gran popped her head over the hedge and hissed, “Don’t listen to those party poopers, Dooley. You’re doing great. You’ll have Tex’s buddies rolling in the aisles. They’ll keep coming back for more and more!” And then she disappeared again.
“See?” said Dooley. “Tex will be so happy with his surprise. So what do you call Prika’s dad? Paprika. I can do this all night, so stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”
I think that’s the moment we all yelled, “Stop!”
THE END
