by Nic Saint
Dad shook his head and chuckled. “Unbelievable. Those cats have saved the day so many times now they should be made honorary police officers.”
He gave Odelia a wink and she grinned. Her dad was Hampton Cove’s resident doctor. He had his doctor’s office right across the street from the Hampton Cove Gazette. He was a jovial fifty-something physician with a shock of white hair. He was also one of the only people who knew that his mother-in-law, his wife and his daughter could communicate with felines.
“Yeah, we should probably give them a medal,” Uncle Alec agreed. He sat back in his chair and patted his sizable paunch. He was a large man, and a well-respected chief of police. He’d finally returned from his fishing trip, only to discover he shouldn’t have bothered, as the killer was in jail. “The mayor was very happy,” he said. “He was practically on the phone with the FBI when you arrested Dion Dread. Good thing you nabbed him when you did.”
“It still remains to be seen if we’ve got the right guy,” said Chase. “But all the evidence so far points in his direction.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest, Chase,” said Mom. “You nailed the perp.”
Mom had been reading Lincoln Rhyme novels. The lingo rubbed off.
“Thank you, ma’am. I mean, Marge,” said Chase.
He seemed more relaxed now that the killer was behind bars.
“I just knew that Dion was the perp,” said Gran. The wizened old lady was polishing off her second plate of pasta. She claimed she was on the paleo diet, but Odelia doubted cavemen had ever been into spaghetti bolognese.
“Why is that?” asked Odelia. Gran watched the Kenspeckles religiously.
“Oh, I hate the guy. Even when he was an Olympic swimmer. That man’s got more tattoos than Ed Sheeran. He’s like a walking adult coloring book.”
“I take it you’re not a fan of the Kenspeckles?” asked Chase.
“Of course I’m a fan. I’m a big fan of the Kenspeckles. I’m their number one fan. Where else are you gonna find that much drama? It’s better than General Hospital. And why is that? Because the Kenspeckles are the real deal. They’re not something some Hollywood screenwriter with spectacles, pimples and stinky ramen noodle breath cooked up. It’s all real.”
“Except for Shayonne Kenspeckle’s boobs,” said Mom. “Those can’t be real. They’re lumpy and square. Real boobs aren’t lumpy and square.”
“You’re right about the boobs. You got me on the boobs. They are square. But apart from that, what you see is what you get. All real, all the time.”
“Or Shalonda’s butt. I’ll bet she got herself some of those butt implants.”
“I’ll throw in Shalonda’s butt. Butt and boobs? Fake. The rest? All real.”
“And Shantel’s lips. I’m guessing lip injections. Lots of lip injections.”
“Butt, boobs, lips, check,” said Gran. “And don’t forget about the botox. They all got the botox. Even Steel Kenspeckle got the botox, and he’s a guy.”
“Steel Kenspeckle’s the dad,” I explained, for Chase’s sake.
“I know,” he said. “I read Wikipedia.”
“And what about Camille’s rhinoplasty?” asked Mom.
“Camille’s the—”
“Mother. Yes, I know,” said Chase.
“And then there’s Starr’s laser hair removal. The kid’s got no hair left.”
“Starr is the son,” Gran said as an aside to Chase, who groaned.
“And don’t tell me Shayonne’s eyebrows are real. Those are microbladed.”
Dad grinned. “I’m starting to think I got into the wrong profession.”
“Yeah, Dad,” said Odelia. “You should have gone into plastic surgery. There’s money in plastic surgery. You could have been the Kenspeckles’ personal plastic surgeon if you’d played your cards right. We could all be living in Beverly Hills right now, and I could be writing for the LA Times.”
“It’s not too late,” said Gran, perking up. “I could use a nip and tuck.”
No amount of nip and tuck could ever turn Gran into a babe, but Dad gracefully said, “You don’t need surgery, Vesta. You’re a natural beauty.”
“I know I don’t need surgery, but I could use a lift. At my age stuff starts sagging so much only heavy-duty scaffolding can keep it up. I’ll bet if I had Camille Kenspeckle’s surgeon he could strip off a decade. Can you believe that woman’s as old as Cher and Dolly Parton? She looks like a teenager.”
Odelia felt it was time to give her grandmother a reality check. “Nothing on that show is real, Gran. Everything is fake, and I’m not just talking about the boobs and the butts and the thighs and the noses. I’m talking about the fights and the dramas and the tantrums and the crying. It’s all scripted.”
“Nonsense. Nobody can fake all those feelz. Like when Shantel and Sandy were on vacay in Cabo and they got into this huge fight over who got to bag the cabana boy? You can’t fake that kind of heartfelt emotion. We’ll never know who did the cabana boy but I think it was Shantel. BCheeks cheated on her with the dog walker so she decided to get back at him.”
Chase leaned in, and whispered, “I’m afraid to ask, but who’s BCheeks?”
“Some rapper Shantel dated last year. A total tool.”
He grinned. “I’m surprised you even know the name.”
“Mom and Gran keep me in the loop.”
“You really are into that show, aren’t you, Mom?” asked Uncle Alec.
“I told you. It’s nice to get a slice of real life for a change.”
“What did you think of Shana Kenspeckle, Mrs. Poole?” asked Chase.
“She was a doll. Misguided, of course. Marrying that loser Damien LeWood was a dumb move. The guy is certifiable and should be locked up.”
“She deserved better,” Mom agreed. “That girl was a saint. An angel.”
“She definitely deserved better than to be murdered by that asshat Dion Dread,” Gran agreed. “The show won’t be the same without her.”
“Do you think they’ll cancel the show?” asked Mom, eyes wide.
“They said they wouldn’t,” said Odelia. “Shayonne and Shalonda want to keep it going, and they seem to think this murder will give the show a boost.”
“Yeah, but when all the hubbub dies down it’s going to drop like a stone,” said Gran, the self-professed Kenspeckle expert. “Those sisters can’t hold a candle to Shana, and neither can Shantel or Sandy. And don’t even get me started on Steel and Camille, or that moron Starr.” She shook her head. “No, they’ve gone and killed the goose that laid the golden eggs.”
“So they are going to cancel the show,” said Mom with a sigh.
“No big loss there,” said Chase. “I doubt a lot of people are going to shed a tear about the end of the Kenspeckles.”
“I will,” said Gran. “Now I’ll have to go back to watching Jeopardy. I can only imagine how boring that’s going to be after my weekly fix of real-life drama and wholesome family entertainment.”
“I’m sure there are other shows,” said Mom soothingly.
“Yeah, but none of them are as much fun as the Kenspeckles.”
“There’s Mama June and Honey Boo Boo,” said Dad with a grin.
“Oh, please,” said Gran. “I have my standards, Tex.”
This elicited a snort from Chase. Gran cut her eyes to him.
“So when are you going to start dating Odelia, Chase?” she asked.
“Mother!” Mom cried.
“What? I’m just looking out for my only grandchild.”
“I could do dinner,” said Chase, nodding. “I could definitely do dinner.”
“Oh, curb your enthusiasm,” said Gran. “You two have a thing or two to learn from the Kenspeckles. When Shana and Damien met they hit the sack the minute they laid eyes on each other. Same thing with Shayonne and Dion. Or Shalonda. The woman’s had more anaconda than any self-respecting ho.”
“Mom! We have guests!”
Chase just sat grinning, and when he briefly l
ocked eyes with Odelia, she thought she detected a mischievous glint. As if he wouldn’t mind going all anaconda on her. The prospect made her knees go weak, while other parts of her anatomy tightened up considerably.
“So you’ve decided to stop pursuing Chase, Mom?” asked Chief Alec.
Gran waved a hand. “I’m all about family, honey. Odelia needs a man a lot more than I do, so I’ve decided to sacrifice my own needs for hers.”
“That’s very generous of you, Gran,” said Odelia.
“Ugh. It’s the least I can do. Before I die I’d like to dandle my great-grandchildren on my knee. Have a four generation picture in the Gazette. Is that too much to ask?”
“I think Odelia and Chase are old enough to decide for themselves, Vesta,” said Dad. “Without anyone else interfering.”
“And I think they need all the interfering they can get. It’s obvious it’s going to take them forever to bust a move, and I’m not getting any younger.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, Mrs. Poole,” said Chase. He tipped back his root beer. Judging from the grin he gave Odelia he was enjoying the conversation.
“So have you found a place of your own yet, Chase?” asked Mom.
“Actually, I haven’t.”
“Still looking, huh?”
“Yep.”
“You can always move in with Odelia,” said Gran.
“Mom,” said Mom warningly.
“Just throwing out a few suggestions. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”
Uncle Alec clapped Chase on the shoulder. “You can stay with me as long as you want, buddy. Heck, I enjoy the company.”
“Thanks, Chief. But Marge is right. Sooner or later I’m going to have to find a place of my own.”
“Well, if it’s up to me it’s later rather than sooner.”
“Once the Kenspeckles return to LA, Merl Berkenstein’s place will be up for rent,” said Dad with a humorous glint in his eye.
Chase laughed, twin dimples creasing his cheeks. “Yeah, that’ll happen.”
“You could always get your own reality show,” said Gran. “Just make sure there’s lots and lots of sex. It’s the sex that makes these shows so popular. That and the catfighting, of course. You got to have catfighting.”
“Speaking of the Kenspeckles, here’s to a successful solving of this case,” said Chief Alec, raising his glass.
They all drank to the successful conclusion of the murder investigation, and Chase said, “To Odelia, whose clever pussy managed to solve the case.”
He gave her a meaningful glance. Her pussy obviously intrigued him.
“So what happens now?” asked Mom.
“Now we process the evidence,” said Uncle Alec. “The cleaver and the robe. Check them for DNA of the victim and, hopefully, the killer. And while we wait for the results, we interrogate Dread. Try to get a confession out of him.”
“That’ll be easier said than done,” Chase grunted. “The guy insists he’s innocent and that someone planted that cleaver and that robe in his room.”
“Once we get his DNA on the robe he’ll sing like a canary,” said Alec.
Odelia wasn’t so sure. “What if he’s right and he didn’t do it?”
“Then we’re back to square one,” said Chase. “Why? You think he’s innocent?”
She chewed her lip. “Why would he keep the murder weapon in his closet for us to find? That just seems like a dumb move.”
“But we didn’t find it. At least not when we searched his room the first time. He probably hid it somewhere else, then when his room was cleared he moved it, waiting for us to leave so he could dispose of it permanently.”
“Yeah, that’s what I think happened, too,” said Uncle Alec with a nod.
“He always was a dumbass,” said Gran. “I’m glad he got caught.”
“We’re all glad he got caught,” said Mom. “Who’s ready for dessert?”
And while Mom brought out the key lime pie, Odelia figured Chase was probably right. Dion had simply put the cleaver in his closet so he could get rid of it as soon as possible. And if Max and Dooley hadn’t ended up tripping over it, he would have gotten away with murder. Which reminded her that Max and Dooley deserved a treat for the role they’d played. And Harriet and Brutus, too. She was glad the foursome were finally on the road to friendship. Especially Max and Brutus. She had a feeling they were going to be besties.
And then it was time for key lime pie. And more Kenspeckle gossip.
Chapter 15
The killer was caught so we could finally relax. That night, while the Pooles were sleeping peacefully, Dooley, Harriet and I snuck out. After all that hard work, it was time to have some fun. Odelia had given us some extra-special treats, and we were ready to sing our hearts out. You may think it’s weird that cats would join a choir, but to be honest it’s just an excuse to shoot the breeze. Hampton Cove Park is pretty quiet at night, which makes it perfect to do a little hunting, a little tittle-tattling and a little partying.
“Do you think Brutus will be nicer after Odelia’s speech?” asked Dooley.
“I think Brutus will be super-nice,” said Harriet. “We’re all friends now.”
She was in a great mood. The four of us being friends had been her dream all along, and now it was finally happening. I wasn’t so confident that Brutus was my friend now. Especially after what he told me: you’re going down. That didn’t sound like something a friend would say. At least I didn’t think so.
“It’s so great we caught the killer,” said Harriet, prancing gaily.
“It’s so great we caught the killer,” Dooley corrected her. “Max and I caught Dion, remember?”
“Yes, but Brutus helped, and since I’m his muse, I helped too.”
It was the kind of convoluted logic I had a hard time understanding. Taken to its conclusion, you could argue that the whole world had helped catch the killer, while in fact Dooley and I had done all the hard work. Of course you could argue that if Brutus hadn’t locked us up in the spa, we’d never have been forced to climb that pipe and end up in Dion Dread’s closet. Honestly, with that kind of reasoning you could prove pretty much anything.
“And I’m so glad that you and Brutus are going to be besties!” she cried.
Dooley and I shared a glance and shook our heads. Yeah, right.
We’d walked around Odelia’s house to the street and were now traipsing along, heading for the park. The moon was out and it was a beautiful night. One of those nights where humans like to bring out the barbecue set and the air is redolent with the smell of grilled meat, smoke and burned grease. Yum. But since it was way past midnight, the only scent I could pick up was ocean brine, the wind picking up a little. In spite of that, it was still warm out. The perfect night for cat choir. We crossed the street and found the park deserted, which was exactly the way we liked it. Humans tend to cramp our style.
“Brutus is such a great singer,” said Harriet. “I’m so curious to see what songs he’s got in line for us tonight. Don’t you feel that since he took over from Shanille we’ve improved so much? He’s a great conductor but an even greater coach. Sometimes I feel like he should be on The Voice Cats. He’s got Adam Levine’s focus and Blake Shelton’s heart and sense of humor and he’s really concerned about our musical development. I mean, he cares so much.”
On and on she prattled. Dooley and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Not that we tried to. When Harriet gushes about Brutus there’s no stopping her.
We entered the park and made our way to the venue we'd selected for cat choir practice. It was a small clearing with a few benches, which we used to set up the different voice types. You had your sopranos, your altos, your tenors and your basses. Personally I'd always felt I was an alto, but Brutus had dumped me in with the basses. I didn't like it. They didn't have an interesting score. Harriet, of course, was a soprano, and always got to sing the solos. She was our very own Kiri Te Kanawa. The people who lived around the park got to enjoy our nocturnal concerts
, too. Though they didn't seem to appreciate them all that much. At least judging from all the abuse they hurled at us. And the shoes. Everyone's a critic, I guess.
As we padded up to the clearing, I saw Shanille was already there, and so were about a dozen of the regulars, all gabbing away to their heart’s content.
“Oh, there’s Brutus,” said Harriet, and she was about to streak forward when she noticed Brutus wasn’t alone. He was chatting with a gorgeous Siamese and a very red, very fat old cat who sat chewing on something.
“Hey, isn’t that Princess?” Dooley asked. “And look. There’s George.”
I nodded, transfixed. I liked Princess. In fact I liked her a lot. She was John Paul George's cat, the famous eighties pop singer who recently died at his Hamptons home. He'd lived there with his twelve cats, the oldest of which was George. The cats now lived with Johnny's boyfriend Jasper Pruce, who probably took even better care of them than Johnny had.
The fat cat caught sight of us and came waddling over, a big smile on his face. “Hey, you guys,” he said. George must have watched too many Marlon Brando movies, because he sounded like the actor’s character in The Godfather. “Princess told me you’ve got yourselves a genuine cat choir here, so I figured we might check you out. We already met your conductor. Brutus.”
I nodded, still staring at Princess. The moon lit up her white fur, and she looked even more gorgeous than I remembered. God, she was pretty.
“Welcome to the show, George,” Dooley said. “Are you going to join?”
“Nah. I have no singing talent whatsoever. Just thought I’d watch.”
George was a British cat, who’d come over from the old country along with John Paul George, when the latter had tried to make a career in America. He was probably the oldest cat I’d ever met, but he still looked great. Probably all that grade A cat food Jasper fed his menagerie.
While George and Dooley got reacquainted, I trotted over to Princess.
“Hi, Max,” she said in that sultry, smoky voice of hers.
“Hi, Princess,” I breathed. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.
“You two know each other?” Brutus asked, sounding surprised.
