by Nic Saint
Though at first reluctant to touch the food, Angel’s stomach decided otherwise, and even though she’d half expected to pass out on the bed after ingesting the admittedly copious meal, half an hour after finishing her plate she was still conscious and frankly feeling a lot better already. Her headache was slowly dissipating, and now that she’d eaten, she found herself wondering with even more fervor what was going on. So she pounded the door in the hope the masked man would return and shed some light on the strange circumstances in which she suddenly found herself.
Moments later she heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock and the door opened. “Good girl,” the man said as he saw the empty plate.
“What’s going on?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips. “I’ve been abducted, haven’t I? Or is this some kind of joke you’re playing on me?”
“No joke,” the man growled as he collected the tray and placed a carafe of water in its stead, along with a glass.
“So what is it then? Why am I here?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the man said as he kept a safe distance, then quickly made for the door again. And when she turned to follow him, suddenly she found her passage blocked by a second man, also masked, and even bigger than the first one.
“Nice try, honey,” said this second man, and then the door was slammed in her face.
She gave it a good pounding. “Let me out!” she cried. “Let me out of here right now!” When no response came, she yelled, “If it’s money you want, you won’t get any—my mom is as poor as a church mouse!”
But clearly her words fell on deaf ears. So she sank down on the bed again, and buried her head in her hands. Why was this happening? She didn’t understand. Her mom worked as a housekeeper for Father Reilly, and neither of them had any money to spare.
She now thought back to the big fight she and the priest had the previous day. She’d complained to him that he made her mom work all hours of the day and night, and he responded that this was her own choice. She’d even accused him of slave labor, after she discovered that her mom had been at the rectory on a Sunday night. What could possibly be so important that he needed her services in the middle of the night? And when she’d told her mom she thought she should quit her job and find another one with more regular hours, her mom had said that she liked her job just fine. It was maddening!
But now that she thought more about the whole situation, suddenly she found herself wondering if perhaps Father Reilly could somehow be involved.
Of course he didn’t want to lose such an obedient little slave like her mom—who worked for practically no pay and hopped it down to the rectory whenever he snapped his fingers. So maybe her words had made him anxious that she’d manage to convince her mom to quit her job, and he probably knew he would never find a replacement.
So could he have arranged to have her abducted? But if so, what was his end game? Would he simply keep her locked up forever? Father Reilly might be a slave driver but he was no monster. Or was he? Frankly she’d long had the feeling there were things about him she wasn’t aware of. Secrets the man kept. Once she’d heard her mom and the priest fight, and when she’d put her ear against the door he’d said, ‘I don’t think you understand my position, Marigold.’ To which her mom had replied, ‘Oh, I know your position all too well, Francis. You’re a selfish, selfish man, and all you can think of is what is good for you!’
She closed her eyes, and soon she was sleeping soundly. Being up all night, and then being knocked over the head with a sizable club has a certain soporific effect on a person.
We’d just decided that our next port of call should be the Gazette, when our human came walking out of her office, closing the door behind her.
“Oh, there you are,” she said. “I was just going over to the police station. Care to join me?”
We didn’t need to be asked twice. If there’s new information to be gleaned, we’re always ready to glean it.
“Have you discovered anything new?” I asked as we fell into step beside our human.
“Nothing much. Except that Blake Carrington is in the hospital after suffering a heart attack. He’ll live,” she assured us before we could express our concern. “Oh, and also that the skeleton that was found behind the house didn’t belong to his son Steven after all.”
“Then who did it belong to?” I asked.
“Well, that’s what I’m hoping to find out. Uncle Alec was acting a little secretive when I called him just now.”
“It’s because he’s a cop,” I said. “Being secretive is in the job description.”
Odelia had to smile at this, and she was still smiling when we entered the police station, which is only a short walk away from the Gazette offices, and moments later we were in Uncle Alec’s office, the Chief behind his desk, and Odelia and Chase in front of it. Dooley and myself had been relegated to the floor, since Uncle Alec doesn’t believe in offering his feline visitors a seat. I guess we should feel grateful he allows us to be present at all.
“So what’s the big news?” asked Odelia.
“Okay, so Abe managed to identify the skeleton that you found.”
“That Fifi and the cats found,” Odelia corrected her uncle.
“Fine—the skeleton that the pets found.” He cocked an eyebrow for added suspense.
“Okay, so who is it?” asked Chase.
“Serena Kahl. A college student who disappeared five years ago.”
“The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell,” said Odelia with a frown.
“The Kahls are originally from Great Neck, on the North Shore, but moved here around ten years ago. Serena went to college in New York.”
“Huh,” said Odelia, as she processed this information.
“So she was abducted, ran away from home—what?” asked Chase.
“Your guess is as good as mine, buddy,” said Uncle Alec as he patted his man boobs with both hands—clearly a sign he was baffled. “She simply disappeared one day, after having gone to a party with some friends.”
“Sounds familiar,” said Chase.
“And this was five years ago?” asked Odelia.
“Yeah, she disappeared on a Friday. The party she went to was in New York, but she commuted every weekend, and as far as I can tell from the police report she was supposed to take the Jitney on Saturday morning but never made it.”
“Did they talk to the people at the party?”
“They did. The last person to see her was her roommate, who saw her get into a cab and drive off. The roommate stayed with her boyfriend, so she had no idea if Serena made it home that night or not. The first sign of trouble was when Serena’s mom called the roommate to ask if Serena had missed the bus. That’s when she went to the cops.”
“And the cab driver…”
“Says he dropped her off in Morningside Heights, where she lived. No one saw her after that—until now.”
“What a strange story,” said Chase.
“Okay, so was there any sign of violence that Abe could find?” asked Odelia.
“It’s very hard to know what happened to a person when all you have to work with are bones,” said Uncle Alec. “So frankly he has no idea.”
“So it’s possible that she made it to Hampton Cove somehow,” said Chase, “was murdered and buried in that field. But how did her remains suddenly surface?” He turned to Odelia. “You’re sure the dogs had nothing to do with that?”
“Fifi claims she found the remains the way we saw them.”
“And they hadn’t been there before?”
Odelia shook her head. “No, this morning was when she saw them for the first time.”
“Could be other dogs,” Uncle Alec suggested. “That neighborhood is infested with dogs.”
“So it could be that she was buried elsewhere, and either the killer or someone else dug her back up and placed her remains in Blake Carrington’s field.”
“To play a prank on Carrington?” asked Chase.
&nb
sp; “Could be—though if it’s a prank it’s in very bad taste.”
“Mocking a man who lost his son is not a prank,” Uncle Alec grumbled. “That’s criminal—especially if the person who pulled that prank was Serena Kahl’s killer.” He lifted his hands and dropped them on his desk again. “And then there’s Angel Church. Officers have checked the woods where Angel disappeared and have found exactly nothing—zilch.”
“That’s not encouraging,” said Chase.
“It’s discouraging,” the Chief said, looking annoyed that his investigations—both of them—were going exactly nowhere at the moment.
“Okay, so I talked to Gran,” said Odelia, “and she told me something I think we should take into consideration.”
“What is it?” asked Uncle Alec, looking up with interest.
“Well, Father Reilly came to see her this morning, and he was in a real state. He told her that he and Angel had a big argument yesterday. He didn’t want to say what it was about, but he thought that maybe she’d run away from home, and felt pretty bad about the whole thing.”
Uncle Alec nodded. “You want to talk to Francis, and find out what they argued about.”
“Do you think we should treat him as a suspect?” asked Chase.
“I don’t think so,” said Odelia. “But since we don’t have anything else to go on at this moment, I think we need to pursue any lead we have.”
“I agree. Let’s go and have a chat with Francis. See what he has to say.”
“Only we can’t say that we got it from Gran,” Odelia hastened to add. “He told her all this in confidence.”
“So we simply tell him we heard it from one of his parishioners. People are always looking and listening at keyholes, so let him think we found out that way.”
“Good enough for me,” said Uncle Alec.
“Oh, one more thing,” said Odelia. “And it’s a little delicate. Shanille told Max and the others that Father Reilly is actually Angel’s dad, and that he and Marigold have been a couple for the past twenty years.”
The Chief shrugged. “Tell me something I don’t know, honey.”
Odelia’s eyes went wide. “You knew?”
“Of course! This is a small town, and I’ve been chief of police longer than you’ve been alive.” He gestured to the door. “Now get out of here, you two. Find me this missing girl!”
20
When Marge got home from the library, she discovered that her husband had already arrived. She heard him pottering about upstairs and called out, “You’re home early!” No response came, so she proceeded into the kitchen and started transferring the groceries to their respective cupboards and fridge compartments. “I’ve picked up a few things!” she said, and when still no reply came from Tex, she figured he hadn’t heard, and decided to surprise him.
So she tiptoed up the stairs, and listened for a moment as she arrived on the landing. The sounds seemed to come from the bathroom, and she smiled to herself. He was probably taking a hot bath—he did that often when he wanted to relax after a long day.
So she carefully nudged open the door, and when she entered the bathroom was much surprised to find her husband in the bath, scooping a big helping of mayonnaise from a large jar and rubbing it on his head. Next to the bath, a box full of similar jars stood.
Mayonnaise was dripping down his face, and the doctor was simply covered in the stuff.
At the foot of the bath, Brutus and Harriet were sitting, staring at Tex with wide-eyed concentration.
“What are you doing?” Marge asked.
“Oh, hey, honey,” said her husband of twenty-five years. “I’m rubbing mayonnaise on my head,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world!
“He’s been at it for an hour,” Harriet said, not taking her eye off Tex for even a second.
“So far he’s used up two pots of mayonnaise,” said Brutus. “And I think he’s ready for a third.”
“But… why?” asked Marge, and for a moment that ancient fear crossed her mind: that her husband had gone stark-raving mad!
“Well, you’ll remember I asked you about my hair loss this morning?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And your mom was so kind to offer me some advice?”
“Oh, no.”
“She told me how Dick Bernstein and Rock Horowitz, her good friends from the senior center, both still have full heads of hair, in spite of the fact that they’re both a good deal older than she is. So I went over there this afternoon, to ask them what their secret is.”
“And what did they say?”
“Well, I only talked to Dick, but he assured me that this is the big secret.” He held up the empty jar of mayonnaise. “Mayonnaise contains all the nutrients your healthy scalp needs. And you don’t even have to go to the pharmacy to pick it up—you can find it in any supermarket! Both Dick and Rock have been applying this remarkable miracle cure for years. Oh, and Dick says mayonnaise has plenty of other advantages, too. When ingested, it invigorates. Mayonnaise has it all—the original wonder potion.” He licked his lips. “It even tastes good.” He gave his wife a cheerful smile, somewhat hampered by the fact that his face was covered in the sticky dressing. “You should have seen Dick’s hair, Marge. Thick and shiny and luxuriant. Not a bald spot in sight! I think it’s the eggs,” he now said as he scooped another large helping from the jar and splotched it on his head.
“Okay,” said Marge. She felt compelled to sit—her legs had gone a little wobbly—as if the world had suddenly turned into a carnival ride that shifts and shimmies underfoot and is designed to make you lose your balance.
“Dick literally said to me: have you ever seen a bald chicken? And you know, I’ve thought about this, and I can’t say that I have. Have you ever seen a bald chicken, Marge?”
“No, honey,” she said. “I’ve never seen a bald chicken.”
“Well, then. That proves it.” And he started massaging the mayonnaise into his scalp with vigorous movements.
“Has he finally gone mad, Marge?” asked Harriet.
“I’m not sure,” said Marge.
“He actually makes a valid point,” said Brutus. “I’ve never seen a bald chicken either.”
“No, me neither,” Harriet admitted.
“So maybe he’s onto something here, sugar buns.”
“Oh, and Marge?” said her husband as she made to leave.
“Yes, Tex?” she said.
“Could you ask the cats what their secret is?”
“Their secret?”
“For not losing their hair. I’d be very interested to find out.”
“Yes, dear,” she said, then tottered out of the bathroom, followed by Harriet and Brutus.
“The secret is that we don’t worry,” said Harriet.
“Yeah, we don’t worry,” said Brutus, “and humans do, that’s why they lose their hair and we don’t, see?”
“Tell me honestly, Harriet,” said Marge now, “did you think that was weird?”
Harriet thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Not weirder than other stuff humans do. You have to admit that you’re a very peculiar species, Marge.”
“Yeah, you guys are pretty weird,” Brutus chimed in.
“Oh, dear,” said Marge as she returned to the kitchen. But when she opened the fridge and didn’t find the mayonnaise, she closed her eyes for a moment, then said to herself, “Breathe, Marge. Just breathe.”
“Yeah, and don’t worry too much,” said Brutus, “or you will lose your hair, too.”
21
I have to say that this business with the missing Angel had piqued my curiosity to such an extent that I wanted to know what was going on, so it was with a certain measure of anticipatory excitement that I looked forward to the interview with Father Reilly. Chase, if you didn’t know, is a formidable interviewer, always able to extract the necessary information from his interviewees, and he doesn’t even need thumbscrews or a rack or an iron maiden. I think it’s all those years working
for the NYPD that made him the formidable detective that he is today. He probably learned some highly advanced investigative techniques looking over the shoulder of the top cops in that particular police force. And Odelia, of course, has a lot of investigative experience she can bring to bear on a case, having been a reporter for a number of years now.
So when Father Reilly let us into his modest little home—also a called the rectory—nestled in the shadows of St. John’s Church, I knew this was going to be good. My humans were going to ask a lot of tough questions, and Francis Reilly would try to dodge all of them, but finally he’d have to give up. He’d break down and would submit a tearful apology and then do a full confession—not unlike the celebrities who appear on Oprah. Yes, I must admit I did think that the aged priest had something to do with his daughter’s disappearance. A fight, followed by some kind of physical altercation was my best guest. A shove and a bad fall and there you have it: all the elements for involuntary manslaughter.
“I still think it’s aliens,” said Dooley now, striking the discordant note as usual.
“And I think it’s Father Reilly,” I said.
He gave me a thoughtful look. “Father Reilly is an alien? I didn’t know that.”
“No, Father Reilly is not an alien, Dooley. He accidentally killed his daughter, that’s what I think. And I’m sure that Odelia and Chase are going to elicit a confession from the man right now—just you wait and see.”
We’d entered what looked like a cozy study, with an ornate mahogany desk standing in front of the window, a computer placed on that desk, showing us that Father Reilly might be old, but he wasn’t that old. There were plenty of bookcases lining the walls, and all of them were chockablock with books. A nice rug on the carpeted floor provided that warm softness your average feline is so fond of, and there was even a small fireplace, to offer that comfortable heat on those cold winter nights.
I just imagined the priest sitting at his desk, poring over the Gospel according to John, Paul, George, Ringo or what have you, and sweating over a sermon on brotherly love, while the fire crackled in the hearth, his housekeeper cable knitting a Christmas sweater with reindeer motif for her one true love, seated in one of the two armchairs in front of the fire, while Angel played with a Ken doll on the floor. Okay, so this scene probably hadn’t played out for at least a dozen years, since Angel was of an age now where girls no longer play with Ken dolls but with actual real-life Kens—or Barbies if so compelled.
