by Nic Saint
“I think that was just a ruse,” said Scarlett, studying her fingernails. “If they’d really found religion they wouldn’t have knocked out their elders and stolen their clothes.”
“Yeah, I know, but even if they’re pretending to have found religion, they won’t say no to Father Reilly visiting them in jail, will they? And when he offers to take their confession, do you think they’ll refuse? Of course not. And if Father Reilly can make them confess, and tell him where they stashed the loot, it’ll be another win for the watch.”
Scarlett laughed. “Vesta, you are a genius!”
Vesta shrugged and contrived to look modest, failing miserably. “Oh, well. You just have to think like a crook to beat a crook. And I guess I’m just one of those people who can think like a crook more easily than others.”
“That’s because you have the mind of a crook,” said Scarlett with a slight grin, and Vesta didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.
32
Dooley and I were hiding under the sheets, just like the last time we were under attack. Only this time our attacker was human, not some wannabe terminator, so it only took Blanche five minutes to discover our hiding place and root us out.
“Cats in the bed! Not on my watch!” she grunted, and actually kicked us out! From our own bed and our own home!
“Out! Out, I said!” she yelled as she first drove us down the stairs with a broom, then out the door. “And stay out!” she added for good measure.
Panting, we sat staring at the closed door with a measure of confusion, then I had the bad idea to try the pet flap, only to be confronted once more with the irritable Miss Blanche, who wielded her vicious broom again to drive me out and this time flipped the little lock on the pet flap so I wouldn’t stage a surprise return!
“This is too much!” I cried. “We have to get rid of the woman!”
“I think she’s probably right, though,” said Dooley, much to my surprise. “We do cause a lot of trouble for her. Because of us she has to clean extra hard.” He gave me a sad look. “It’s the shedding, Max. If only we wouldn’t shed so much, I’m sure she would be nicer.”
I had to concede he had a point. Then again, if Odelia hadn’t wanted pets that shed she wouldn’t have taken us in, would she?
“I just hope Blanche won’t be able to convince Odelia that cats belong outside and not in the house,” I said.
“Do you really think she’d do that?”
“I don’t know. If she threatens to quit her job if Odelia doesn’t comply, maybe.”
“But… I can’t be outside all the time, Max,” said Dooley, a sense of panic making his voice quiver. “Imagine having to sleep outside when it’s freezing—or snowing!”
“Yeah, not a fun prospect,” I agreed.
But then Dooley’s face cleared. “We can always stay at Marge and Tex’s. They won’t kick us out, will they?”
“No way,” I said. “Marge would never do that. Or Gran.”
And it was with uplifted spirits that we set paw for our second home—well, technically Dooley’s first home, as his official human is Gran, though he spends more time at Odelia’s than at Gran’s.
And we’d just arrived in the next-door backyard when Harriet and Brutus met us, both looking a little rattled.
“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.
But Harriet merely shook her head, clearly too emotional for speech.
“Come,” said Brutus. “There’s something I need to show you.”
So we came, and followed Brutus in through the pet flap, and through the kitchen into the living room. There we saw Marge, talking to someone, and when I ventured a little further, suddenly I saw that it was… Blanche! Or not exactly Blanche but someone who resembled her in facial features. Only this woman was taller and slimmer, though looking just as stony-faced and no-nonsense as our own dour cleaning lady.
“More cats,” growled the woman as she caught sight of us. “Where do they keep coming from?”
“Oh, this is Max and Dooley,” said Marge. “They belong to my daughter, who lives next door. But then you knew that already, didn’t you?”
The woman grunted. “My sister and I don’t condone cats in the home. We believe that the home is for humans, and cats should be outside, catching mice and keeping themselves to themselves.”
“Oh, but our cats are perfectly house-trained, Mrs. Trainor,” said Marge.
“Miss Trainor,” said the woman. “But you can call me Bella. And it doesn’t matter if they’re house-trained. Cats are messy. They shed, and they rub themselves against walls and furniture, leaving spots. They scratch the couches, causing marks. And they dig their claws into sheets and blankets, tearing holes. Also, they are covered in parasites, dragging them into your home and even into your bed. No, if you want my advice, Mrs. Poole, you’ll do well to remove that pet flap and disallow your cats from using the house from now on. Much better that way. Much healthier.” And with a stern glance in our direction, she proceeded to survey the house, and listen to Marge’s instructions.
And as Dooley and I followed Brutus out again, through a pet flap that pretty soon might be removed, I was reeling. Actually reeling!
“She’s Blanche’s sister?” I cried.
Harriet wordlessly nodded. “They’re a package deal, apparently. Clean houses together as a team. So Blanche might clean Odelia’s house today, and Marge’s tomorrow, and the same goes for Bella. And they both hate cats.”
“They both hate cats,” I repeated in a whisper.
“She wants Marge to remove the pet flap,” said Brutus in somber tones, sounding like one bringing bad news from the front line. “And judging from Marge’s face I think she just might do it.”
Dooley gawped from Brutus to Harriet to me, and finally burst out, “We have to get rid of them, Max! Before they get rid of us!”
“They’d never go that far,” I said. “Marge and Odelia would never allow it. Would they?”
We all shared worried glances. It was obvious that our future was suddenly hanging in the balance. And that pretty soon now we’d be joining Clarice, our feral friend, having to spend the rest of our lives outside.
“No more naps on the bed,” I said sadly.
“Or the couch,” said Brutus.
“Or watching television with our humans,” said Dooley.
Harriet heaved the biggest sigh of all. “And no quiz show,” she said. “If we can’t even enter the house, no way is Gran going to film my quiz.”
Dooley gave me a look that spoke volumes: suddenly HIS quiz had become Harriet’s quiz.
And it will surprise you that the Trainor sisters had soured my mood to such an extent that I didn’t even care about that silly quiz.
We were in danger of being chucked out of our homes.
Out into the cold, dark night.
Yikes!
33
As Father Reilly set foot inside the police station, he felt less than sanguine about this latest assignment Vesta Muffin had given him. ‘Talk to the crooks, take their confessions and find out where they stashed the loot.’ It all sounded so simple, so easy, until you actually sat face to face with the miscreants and had to look them in the eye.
Frankly he didn’t know if he could do it. He was a man of God, of course, and accepted that all men are children of the same God. Then again, in his years as a humble servant of the Lord he’d often thought that some children of God were just that little bit nastier than others, and it just seemed to him that these Vale and Carew fellas were the sort of tough guys he didn’t like to associate with if he could help it.
If only he’d never accepted Vesta’s offer to become part of her neighborhood watch. Living in a clean crime-free town was all well and good, but that’s why they had cops.
He greeted Dolores Peltz with a warm smile.
“What brings you here, Father?” asked the receptionist. “Mugged, were you? Wallet stolen?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’
s going on these days. Crime is growing with leaps and bounds. Some call it a crime wave, and I’m starting to think they’re right.”
“I’m here to talk to Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale,” said Father Reilly, not really in the mood for small talk. The sooner this was over with the better.
But Dolores wasn’t one to let go of her prey so easily. She sat back and rasped in her gravelly voice, “And I can tell you exactly when it started. When Chief Lip got involved with the Mayor, that’s when. The big guy is blinded by love, or whatever they call it, and criminals are crawling out of the woodwork, sensing the cops are distracted and busy with other stuff. Mark my words—it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”
Intrigued in spite of himself, Father Reilly leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Is it true they spend every afternoon in some love nest in town, their phones off the hook?”
He might be a man of the cloth, but he wasn’t immune to some idle gossip when the mood struck, and the mood struck often.
Dolores grinned. “Absolutely. He arrives at the office, and spends all morning on the phone with her. Then it’s off to lunch, and we don’t see him again until the next day!”
Father Reilly shook his head. “Dereliction of duty,” he said.
“You know what they say about old flames, Father. They burn the hottest.”
Father Reilly, who was about the same age as Alec Lip, gave Dolores a feeble smile. It was all fine and dandy to gossip, provided the gossip didn’t hit too close to home. “Is it true that they bribed Dan Goory so he wouldn’t write about their affair?”
Dolores nodded emphatically. “They were seen having lunch together: Alec, Charlene and Dan. Probably paying him off so he wouldn’t print any negative stories about the two lovebirds. A fat lot of good it will do them. You should read the comments online.”
“Where?” he asked immediately. “I mean, what website?”
“Facebook. Just join the Hampton Cove Facebook page and you’ll see that our beloved Chief and Mayor are the center of attention. Most of the comments are pretty hot, too!”
Father Reilly, as he walked on, wondered if he should talk to Alec. The Chief was, after all, a good friend of his, and if his reputation was hanging by a thread he probably should be told before it was too late.
He now arrived at the precinct proper, and saw that there were very few cops present. One of them noticed him and got up. “Father Reilly! They’re expecting you.”
“That’s wonderful,” he murmured, without much conviction.
He was led along a corridor, then to the cell block, where only a single cell was occupied. If Hampton Cove was in the grip of a crime wave, it didn’t show in cell occupancy, he thought.
Two men got up from their metal bunks when Father Reilly was led inside. He greeted them with a kind smile, and the distinct hope that the guard wouldn’t stray too far in case the convicts turned belligerent.
“Am I glad to see you, Father!” cried the biggest of the two, a real grizzly. “I wanted to tell you that I didn’t hit him very hard. Only a light tap on the head. And I also want it stated for the record that I won’t do it again. But we’re innocent, see, so it’s only fair that we would try to escape, see?”
“Of course, of course,” he said, blinking at the man’s intensity and peculiar cadence.
“I want to talk to you, Father,” said the smallest of the two, and led him to his bunk and bade him to sit down. “My wife, or I should probably say ex-wife, she won’t return my calls. Can you call her and tell her she has got to come and visit. I’m innocent, and she has to understand that and, most importantly, she has to accept my apologies. I know I’ve been a lousy husband, and I also know I should do better. And I will do better, Father. You gotta believe me and tell her. If she decides to get back together with me, I can promise her now that I will be the best husband I can be.” He raised his eyes heavenward and folded his hands in a gesture of prayer. “With the good Lord as my witness, I’ll be a wonderful husband to Marlene. The best. Tell her that, will you?”
“Um… of course, my son, if you want. But I think your wife—or ex-wife—will be more amenable and convinced of your good intentions if you finally decide to cooperate with the police. For instance by telling them where you hid the proceeds of your crimes.”
“Huh?” said Jerry, giving him a look of confusion.
“The painting? The gold coins?”
“The loot, Jer,” said Johnny helpfully. “He wants to know where we stashed the loot.”
Jerry gave the priest a not-so-friendly look. “What did I just tell you? I’m innocent, Father. I didn’t steal no fricking painting, or no fricking gold coins. If I had don’t you think the cops would have found them by now? It’s not as if I’m some kind of fricking Houdini, capable of making gold coins and paintings disappear into thin air, am I?”
“No, of course, of course,” said father Reilly, adopting an appeasing tone of voice. “It’s just that the people that painting and those coins and those original works of art belong to, they’re suffering, Mr. Vale. They want to know what happened to their possessions.”
Jerry abruptly got up. “I don’t have their fricking paintings or works of fricking art! I’m innocent. Innocent, I tell you!” He poked a finger into the priest’s chest and dug in hard. “And you can tell Marlene that if she doesn’t believe me she can go to hell! Is that understood?”
“Jerry, I don’t think that’s the way to win your wife back,” said Johnny, interrupting the one-on-one between confessor and confessant once more.
“I don’t care!” yelled Jerry, gesticulating wildly. “If she doesn’t like it, she can lump it. You, too, Johnny,” he added. “And you, Father. You can all go to hell for all I care!”
“Now, Mr. Vale…”
“Get out—out of my sight!”
“Don’t you think a nice confession…”
“Out!”
And so out Father Reilly went. All in all, he felt, as he hurried along the corridor, preceded by a grinning cop, it hadn’t gone too badly. At least he’d escaped with his life, for that short crook had looked like a mass murderer, and the big one, too.
And so he exited the building with a sigh of relief. He hadn’t discovered the whereabouts of Ida’s Picasso, or Mort Hodge’s artwork, or even Charlene’s gold coins, but he was still breathing, and that was something to be thankful for.
34
“We should probably stop meeting like this,” Charlene said as she stepped into Alec’s squad car.
“Yeah, people are starting to talk,” Alec agreed as he planted a kiss on the Mayor’s lips.
“We’ll have to tell them, Alec.”
“Not now,” he said. “It’s too soon.”
“If we don’t tell them now I might not have a career left, and neither will you.”
“Let’s keep it to ourselves just a little while longer,” he said. “You know what people are like. The moment they start sticking their noses in, the thing might go belly-up.”
“I know, but still…”
“Just a couple more days. Until the whole thing is in the bag.”
She sighed. “All right. But at least tell your family. They’ll start to think you’re up to no good.”
The Chief smiled a mischievous smile. “And maybe they’re right.”
“Oh, no,” said the Mayor. “You’re up to something good—a lot of good, in fact. Too bad we have to keep it a secret.”
The Chief started up the car and drove off at a slow clip. “Just a while longer, my sweet. And then this will all be over…”
Since the house was now under different command—in fact both of our houses were—we decided to relocate to Hampton Cove, and go for our usual morning walk and take in some of the sights and sounds. Most importantly, though, we felt the need to share our tragedy with our friends. Misery loves company, after all, and since our misery was so great, we needed a lot of company.
We passed by Kingman, the unofficial felin
e mayor of our town, and poured our heart out to the big cat.
“I hear you,” he said, casting a casual glance at two pretty felines passing by his store. “Lucky for me Wilbur isn’t big on hygiene, personal or otherwise. He does his own cleaning, which pretty much consists of him applying a broom to the floor once every two weeks, the vacuum cleaner once a month and a mop twice a year and that’s it.”
“You’re a very lucky cat, Kingman,” said Dooley, and he meant it, too.
“I’m sure this cleaning double act will simmer down soon,” said Kingman. “After all, Odelia is the paying client, and if Odelia wants her cats to have the run of the house, there’s nothing these Trainor twins can do about it.”
“But what if they convince Odelia that she should kick us out?” I asked. “They sounded very convincing. And Odelia and Marge seem determined to keep them on.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that either. Plenty of cleaners in the sea, I mean. Two can play that game, fellas. If you complain long and loud enough to your human about Blanche and Bella, she’ll kick them out instead of you—just you wait and see!”
The prospect of kicking Blanche and Bella out bucked me up to no end, and I could tell that Dooley, too, seemed elated at the prospect.
“I think you should relax. Who’s more important to Odelia, the cats she’s owned and loved since just about forever, or a cleaner she just met?” He gave us a wink. “If you ask me, it’s a no-brainer. Now where is lovely Harriet and why didn’t she join you?”
“Lovely Harriet is scheming with Brutus and trying to come up with a way of entering her own home.” Harriet had thrown a hissy fit when she found the pet flap locked.
“If I were Bella I’d watch my back,” said Kingman after I’d explained to him what had happened. “Harriet has some very sharp claws on her, and she can bear a grudge like no one else can.”
He was right. If I were a betting cat, and I can assure you that I am not, my money was on Harriet if things got physical.
