by Nic Saint
I did know that, but I also knew things looked bad for Brutus. Very bad.
“You gotta help me, Max,” he said now, a pleading note in his voice. “You gotta explain to Harriet. Make things right. I can’t lose her. I’m nothing without that cat. Nothing!”
“I don’t know, Brutus. I know Harriet, and she’s not the forgiving kind.”
“Oh, man,” he moaned. “I’ve really done it this time, haven’t I?”
And with these words, he slunk off in the direction of the pond. For a moment I expected to hear a plunge and was already bracing myself to jump in after him to save his life. No plunging sound came, though, and the moment passed. I should have known. Even in the depths of despair, Brutus wasn’t the kind of cat to take his own life. Probably because he knows he’d have to repeat the procedure nine times, and who wants to be bothered?
“What are we going to do, Max?” asked Dooley.
“First we’re going to give Harriet a little time to cool off,” I said.
“And then we’re going to talk to her? Convince her Brutus wasn’t really cheating on her? That he was doing exactly what Odelia was doing: playing make-believe?”
I smiled at Dooley’s quick insight. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. We’re going to play Cupid, Dooley.”
“It’s going to be tough.”
“Yes, it is. But when have we ever turned away from a challenge?”
“Never.”
I eyed him appreciatively. “Any other cat would have jumped at the chance to use this opportunity to seduce Harriet—become her shoulder to cry on and move in on her.”
Dooley looked sincerely shocked. “No way! Harriet loves Brutus and he loves her. I would never do that to two of my best friends.”
“You know what, Dooley? You just might be one of the most chivalrous cats around.”
He looked confused. “What’s chivalrous, Max?”
“You, Dooley. You are chivalrous. A regular knight of old.” These words didn’t seem to mean a thing to my friend, so I added, “You’re a true friend. Now let’s go and check out this hullaballoo. I do believe Odelia just may have stumbled upon yet another murder.”
“She should probably stop doing that. It’s a very bad habit.”
Chapter 6
“Who was she?” asked Uncle Alec.
Odelia was seated on a bench, still experiencing the kind of dread that accompanies the discovery of a fellow human being whose life has been snuffed out prematurely.
“Her name was Dany Cooper.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen her around,” said Alec, glancing in the direction of the crime scene, which his officers had cordoned off and where the coroner was now conducting his investigations.
“She’s not from around here. We haven’t exchanged more than a few words but I think she’s from Albany, though she’s been living in New York for the past couple of months, with aspirations of becoming an actress on the stage.”
And now someone had murdered her. Just like that. In broad daylight, with dozens of witnesses around. Odelia shook her head. “I don’t get it. Someone must have seen something, right? This kind of thing can’t just... happen.”
“We’re still talking to anyone who was in the vicinity,” the Chief assured her.
And now he was talking to her. Not in his capacity as her uncle, but as the chief of police. She was a witness, after all. It felt a little weird being in this position. Usually she was the one asking the questions. This time, tragedy had struck close to home. She watched as her cats came trotting up. Careful, as if not wanting to disturb her. She didn’t see Brutus or Harriet, though. Just Max and Dooley. She smiled down at them as they took up their position underneath the bench, eavesdropping on her the way they eavesdropped on all humans. Cats were the ultimate detectives: nobody ever noticed them, or if they did, they didn’t care. So they heard stuff—stuff that wasn’t intended for anyone’s ears. This way Odelia had solved quite a few mysteries. She hoped she’d be able to solve this one, too.
“So what was her role, exactly?” asked Alec.
“She was supposed to learn my part, in case anything happened to me, so she could take over and allow the production to go on.”
“Do you think the production will go on now? I mean, this is a pretty tragic event.”
“I haven’t talked to Wolf yet.”
“Wolf?”
“Wolf Langdon. He’s the director. He’s been running these Bard in the Park productions for years, setting them up all across the state. He’s a big name on Broadway, but his summers are spent showcasing Shakespeare in small towns like Hampton Cove. His way of introducing the bard—and theater—to the masses.” And discovering local talent.
She watched as Chase interviewed Don Stryker. She could have told him he was wasting his time. Don was notoriously self-absorbed. He wouldn’t have noticed someone as low on the totem pole as Dany Cooper. Not important enough to cozy up to, and not attractive enough for a quick roll in the hay, and therefore negligible. Besides, he had a perfect alibi: he’d been over by the craft services table, chatting up one of the interns.
“Was she killed at that exact spot?” asked Odelia. “Under that tree?”
“Looks like,” said Alec.
“But how is that even possible? She was in full view of everyone.”
“Not really. From what I can gather they were all so focused on you and this Stryker guy they didn’t bother to turn around. Otherwise they would have noticed how one of their own was being murdered right behind them.”
“But we were taking a break. Don was over by the craft services table and I was…” She lowered her voice. “… talking to Max.”
Uncle Alec shrugged. It was obvious how he felt about the crew’s powers of observation.
Odelia gestured to one of the cameramen. “They’re filming this whole thing. Not just the rehearsals but the entire process. Wolf hopes to turn it into a documentary. Maybe they caught the killer on tape?”
“We’re going to sift through every inch of film,” said Alec, making a note in his little notebook.
“Maybe someone else saw something?” She pointed to a mother pushing a stroller on a pathway that curved around a grassy slope that stretched between their rehearsal spot and the duck pond. “That path over there offers a perfect vantage point to see the tree.”
Uncle Alec let his reading glasses dangle from his neck and fixed her with his mellow brown eyes. They were slightly hooded, which gave him a hangdog look. “We’re working on it, honey. I’ve got all my people combing through the park. Don’t you worry. We’ll get whoever did this. They won’t get away with it.”
She nodded. His words offered a measure of comfort, though she couldn’t help but fret over the whole thing. “Somehow I have the feeling I’m responsible,” she said suddenly.
“That doesn’t make any sense. How are you responsible for what happened to Dany?”
“Because she was my understudy. If not for me…”
“If not for you, she would have been someone else’s understudy. This has nothing to do with you,” he said, and he was right. It didn’t stop her from feeling terrible about the whole thing.
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “Somehow this feels... personal.”
“How so?” asked Uncle Alec with a frown.
“I don’t know—but it just does.”
“Trust me when I tell you this wasn’t personal, Odelia. So don’t you go blaming yourself now, you hear?” She nodded, and looked up when her uncle suddenly muttered, “Holy crap.”
“What is it?”
He was looking at his phone, then held it up so she could see. “Picture of the murdered girl. Notice anything?”
She stared at the picture of Dany Cooper and smiled a wan smile. “She was beautiful.”
“She was,” Uncle Alec confirmed. “She was also the spitting image… of you.”
Chapter 7
I didn’t like all this talk about peo
ple resembling Odelia being murdered. I mean, if humans want to kill each other, that’s perfectly fine with me, but please don’t touch MY human. She’s off-limits. And so are the members of my human’s family, for that matter.
“I don’t like this, Dooley,” I said therefore.
Dooley stared at me dumbly. This was his line, and I’d just blatantly stolen it.
“I don’t get it,” he said.
Now that was a line I wasn’t ready to steal, as I got it just fine. “A woman has just been murdered and she was the spitting image of Odelia,” I explained.
“Oh, I don’t like that, Max,” he said. Then he thought about this some more and said, “I still don’t get it. Why would anyone murder a woman just because she looks like Odelia?”
I hitched up my shoulders in a shrug. “That, I don’t know,” I admitted. I mean, we all know humans are weird, and there’s often no rhyme or reason to what they do. This seemed like another case in point.
“Are you saying there’s someone going around murdering Odelia’s lookalikes?” Dooley pressed on.
“We won’t know for sure until he kills his second Odelia lookalike,” I said. The moment I spoke the words, I realized how this sounded.
“I hope that doesn’t happen, Max,” said Dooley, echoing my thoughts exactly.
And judging from the shocked look on Odelia’s face, who was being interviewed on the bench right above our heads by Uncle Alec, she was thinking the exact same thing.
“Chances are this is just a coincidence,” Alec was saying.
Odelia nodded numbly. “I’m sure you’re right. Just a horrible coincidence.” She stared at her uncle’s phone some more. “I never realized before how closely she resembled me. Or how closely I resembled her. We could have been sisters.” She frowned. “So that’s why Wolf chose her. Not just because she was a great actress but because we’re like twins.”
“At any rate,” said Uncle Alec, tucking away his little notebook and heaving his bulk from the bench with a groan, “I can assure you we’ll get to the bottom of this. And you better take the rest of the day off.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I still have an article to write for the Gazette.”
“Not about the murder, surely,” said Alec, incredulous.
“The moment Dan found out about it, he reserved space on tomorrow’s front page. I need to get my piece in by six tonight so he can still make his edits.”
“Can’t he write the piece himself? You’re in no state of mind to write about this. Too close to home,” he explained.
“I’ll be fine, Uncle Alec,” she said, giving him a brave smile. “I’ve handled worse. Remember when Mom was a murder suspect?”
“This is different,” Alec said, and he was right. “I think you better sit this one out, honey. I’ll tell Chase not to involve you, either.”
“But...”
He held up a meaty paw. “No buts about it. I have a bad feeling about this, and I wouldn’t be much of a cop if I didn’t follow my gut from time to time.” He slapped his voluminous belly. “God knows it’s big enough not to ignore. You’re not to get involved in this case and that’s my final word.”
Odelia looked mutinous, but knew better than to argue with her uncle. They’re both cut from the same cloth and if there was ever a competition for obstinate mules, it would be a photo finish.
“Fine,” she said finally, but without much enthusiasm.
Dooley pointed to Odelia’s back. “Why is she crossing her fingers, Max?”
“That’s what humans do when they say one thing but plan to do the exact opposite.”
Dooley shook his head. “Humans are so weird.”
“Tell me about it.”
Uncle Alec left to join his people and Odelia turned to us. “Listen, you guys. We need to figure out who killed Dany. You’re going to be my eyes and ears on this one, all right?”
“All right,” I said, nodding earnestly.
“I’ll be your ears and Max can be your eyes,” said Dooley happily.
“Um.... fine,” said Odelia.
“And Brutus can be your nose and Harriet can be your tongue,” Dooley continued.
“Dooley,” I said warningly.
“And Kingman can be your…” Dooley frowned. “Um, what other sense is there?”
“Touch—but that’s not important,” I said. I turned to Odelia. “We’ll all be your eyes and ears and whatever else you need. Rest assured, we’ll nab this nasty killer for you.”
“Oh, and make sure Uncle Alec doesn’t find out,” she added. “I’m not supposed to participate in this particular investigation.”
I tapped my nose with my paw. “Don’t worry. Mum’s the word.”
Odelia went off in the direction of the park exit, and I realized Dooley was staring at me. “Why did you do that thing with your nose, Max? And why is mom the word?”
“It’s an expression,” I said, already plotting our next course of action. Detection work is a highly specialized business, and by now I was getting to be an old hand at the thing.
“But why mom?” Dooley insisted. “Why not dad’s the word? Or grandma’s the word? They’re nice words. Definitely as nice as mom.”
“It’s not mom—it’s mum. Mum’s the word.”
“What’s a mum?”
“A British mom.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know, Dooley. It’s just one of those things.”
“Why not grandpa or uncle or aunt or cousin or nephew or—”
“We need to talk to the ducks,” I said, cutting off Dooley’s stream of eloquence.
“Ducks?” he asked, looking up in alarm. “Why ducks?”
“Because this place is full of ducks,” I said, pointing to a piece of particularly smelly duck poop park cleaners had overlooked. “So one of them is bound to have seen something.”
“I don’t like ducks,” Dooley intimated.
Trouble was, ducks didn’t like us, either. So how were we going to win their trust—enough for them to give us their undivided attention—not to mention critical information?
There was only one way: we’d have to be subtle.
Good thing subtle is a cat’s middle name.
Chapter 8
Oddly enough, Brutus was still where we’d left him: seated near the thicket of beech trees that were now the silent witnesses to his crime of adultery—or, in Brutus’s reading, the crime of wanting to see if his fatal attraction still held sway. When we arrived, he looked up, a gleam of hope in his eyes. “And? What did she say?” he asked.
“That the murdered girl looks just like her, and not to tell Uncle Alec,” Dooley returned promptly, causing Brutus to shoot him a look of confusion.
“Huh?” he said.
“I think Brutus was referring to Harriet, not Odelia,” I said. And for the sake of our suffering friend, I added, “We haven’t talked to Harriet yet. There’s been a murder in the park, and Odelia wants us to find out who did it.”
“Oh,” said Brutus, deflating. It was obvious he didn’t care about murder now that his love life was in a shambles.
“We’re going to talk to the ducks,” Dooley announced. “Even though we don’t like ducks, we’re going to suck it up for Odelia’s sake. And we’re going to be subtle about it.”
“Well put,” I complimented my friend. “First we need a plan of campaign…”
“I’ll do it,” said Brutus, still sounding morose. “Ducks like me. They know I’m a kindred spirit.”
I highly doubted this, but who was I to rain on Brutus’s parade? He was down in the dumps, and this could buck him up. Besides, he was as much a feline sleuth as the rest of us.
“But only on one condition,” Brutus said, pushing himself up from the spot where he’d dropped after watching Harriet shove off in a huff.
“What’s that?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t my entire week’s supply of Cat Snax. I was willing to do a lot for my human, but I drew the line at sacrificing my favor
ite snack.
“You’re going to talk to Harriet the first chance you get, and you’re going to make her forgive me for my mistake.”
“I don’t know if I can guarantee the last part,” I said. “But I’m definitely going to talk to Harriet on your behalf.” Once she’d had a minute to simmer down. Or a couple of weeks.
“Deal,” said Brutus, then drew himself up to his full height and walked out of the protective cover provided by the thicket and out into the open.
I have to admit I was curious to find out what he meant by the phrase, ‘Ducks know I’m a kindred spirit.’ Cats and ducks don’t have all that much in common. Apart from the fact that we are about the same size—or at least most cats. I’m a little bigger. In fact two ducks can easily fit into my frame. But that’s because I have big bones—something we’ve already discussed—and I’m okay with that. It’s a blessing and a curse, as Mr. Monk would say.
Brutus, meanwhile, was making a beeline for a group of ducks, lazing about on the edge of the pond. The ducks, now aware of the arrival of a feline, were making soft quacking sounds, then, when Brutus made no sign of changing course, they all plunged into the pond as one duck, and quickly paddled to a part where Brutus couldn’t possibly reach them.
“Ducks!” Brutus yelled from the shoreline. “I come in peace!”
But they weren’t having it. They kept darting annoyed and frankly hostile glances at the black cat, and made no attempts to enter into communication with him.
“I know some of my people have in the past behaved atrociously towards some of your people!” he bellowed. “But I’m not like that! I may look like a dangerous predator to you, but I’m also just a cat, standing in front of a duck, asking him to help him!”
Nothing doing, though. As moving as his speech was—with some parts sounding awfully familiar somehow—the ducks weren’t budging.
“Tell them about the kindred spirit thing!” I shouted.
Brutus held up his paw in response. “Ducks. I know I’m a cat, but it may surprise you to know that I’m also an honorary duck. That’s right. I can swim like a duck! Yes, I can!”
