by Nic Saint
Her uncle held up his hand. “Now hear me out, honey. No one would blame you if you picked up that club and used it in self-defense. And if you tell me the truth right now I’ll make sure that the judge is lenient when he hears your plea.”
“The judge!”
“Did he attack you? Is that what happened? Did you arrive there and did he try any funny business?”
“Look, I already told you that when I arrived he was unconscious on the floor. I never even got a chance to talk to the guy. I was the one who found his body. If it hadn’t been for me he’d probably be dead right now, since those Hampton Heisters sure as heck weren’t going to call the emergency services after breaking into the man’s house.”
“I can think of one other motive why you would attack Carl Strauss,” her uncle inexorably went on, as if he hadn’t even heard her outburst. “You took on Erica Barn’s case yesterday, and I know for a fact that you’re a very sensitive young woman, and how sometimes you simply feel too much and too intensely. So I can imagine how Erica’s plight caused you to see her husband as a threat to her continued happiness.”
“No, I did not!”
He held up his hand. “And when you visited him last night you vowed to give it one more try: to convince him that he needed to grant his wife a divorce. Carl got belligerent and called Erica a few choice names, and so you took up her defense, for that’s exactly the kind of person that you are. Things got heated, arguments flew back and forth, and at some point Carl attacked you—physically attacked you—and so you grabbed the first thing you found and whacked him across the head.”
“I did not.”
“Or maybe he came at you with the club and you managed to wrestle it from his hands and hit him before he could hit you. Look, I don’t know how it all went down,” the police chief said as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, “which is exactly why you need to tell me right now what happened, and then we can deal with it.” He placed his hands flat on the table and gave her a look of concern. “You’re my favorite niece—you know that.”
“I’m your only niece,” she muttered.
“So I know you’re a good person through and through, and whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. And I’m willing to go to bat for you here, you understand? But first you need to tell me what happened. Did he attack you? Is that how it started?”
“No! I told you, when I arrived he was already unconscious on the floor.”
Uncle Alec’s face took on a cold expression. “No need to lie to me. I’m on your side.”
“I know you are. Which is why you need to believe me when I tell you that I had nothing to do with this. I got there, found Carl on the floor, caught the Hampton Heisters and chased them and grabbed one of them—Emma Hudson. That’s what happened.”
“So you’re sticking to that story, are you?”
“It’s not a story. It’s the truth.”
“Mh,” the police chief said dubiously.
“It’s the truth! I swear on the heads of—”
“Careful now,” said her uncle, holding up a warning finger.
“I swear on heads of my cats that I told you the God’s honest truth.”
“You swear on the heads of Max and Dooley?”
“I swear on the heads of Max and Dooley.”
Her uncle gave her one of his penetrating looks, then finally his features relaxed into a smile. “Okay. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t lying.”
“Uncle Alec, you scared me!”
“A police chief needs to be scary sometimes.”
She realized she was sweating. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Well, now you know. So what do you think happened last night? Did Emma Hudson or one of her colleagues try to kill Carl, or do you think Erica is involved somehow?”
“Erica? Why would you think that?”
“Because she wanted a divorce and Carl wasn’t willing to give her one, so maybe she figured the only way out of that marriage was to get rid of Carl once and for all.”
“Did you talk to her? Does she have an alibi for last night?”
He tapped the table. “I did talk to her, and she doesn’t have an alibi. Well, at least not one to speak of. She was home alone last night, with no one to corroborate that. So I’m adding her to my list of suspects if you don’t mind.”
“As long as you take me off your list of suspects.”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “My instincts tell me you’re in the clear. But I had to make sure. Those fingerprints on that club don’t lie, and no judge is going to look kindly on a police chief who doesn’t investigate a suspect simply because she happens to be family.”
“I still don’t understand how my prints came to be on that club.”
“You went golfing with Carl yesterday?”
“Yeah, I did. But I didn’t use his clubs. I used my own clubs—well, the ones I rented from the club.”
“Mh,” said her uncle musingly as he rubbed his chin. “The only explanation I can think of is that you somehow handled that club while you were out golfing with Carl yesterday. But if you tell me that you never touched his clubs…”
“I didn’t. I swear. I don’t think he’d let anyone near his personal clubs, either.”
“Then I’m afraid, honey, I can’t take you off my list of suspects. Officially, at least.”
20
“Look, Charlene,” said Vesta as she gave the little white ball a good whack, making it zoom across the fairway and hit a nearby tree. “I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse, okay?”
“And what offer would that be?” asked Charlene with a bemused smile as she watched the spectacle unfold.
“I want to build three extra floors on top of the original two, see?”
“Okay.”
“So I’ve been told I need some kind of permit to do that. Not that I understand why the government should stick their big nose into my private affairs, but fine. I’m a law-abiding citizen just like the next person, so I’m not going to start building those floors without permission.”
“That’s good to know,” said Charlene. She’d accepted her boyfriend’s mother’s invitation wondering what the old lady could possibly have to talk to her about, and now she was starting to regret having come out here to the Riviera Country Club already.
“So I’m going to ask you straight out: are you going to give me permission to build those extra floors and make my family some extra money or not? It’s a simple question.”
“No, I’m not going to do that,” said Charlene curtly. “And for a good reason.”
“I don’t want to know about your reasons,” said Vesta, holding up her hand.
“You don’t?”
“No, cause like I said, I’m here to make you an offer. I’m going to give you ten thousand dollars, cash in hand, if you give me that permit.”
Charlene stared at the old woman. “For your sake as well as mine I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear what you just said, Vesta.”
“Okay, so how about twenty?”
“Vesta Muffin!”
“Thirty thousand smackeroos and that’s my final offer!”
“You have got to be kidding me,” said Charlene, shaking her head and starting to walk back to the club house.
“You drive a hard bargain, lady!” Vesta called after her. “Thirty-five thousand!”
“You’re out of your mind!”
“Forty! I can’t go any higher than that or my daughter will kill me, and so will my son-in-law!”
“I suggest you save your money—and your breath!”
She took out her phone and dialed the number at the top of the list. Alec picked up on the first ring. “Alec, do you know what your mother just did?”
Her boyfriend heaved a sigh that seemed to come from very deep. “Do I? Do I really?”
“She just tried to bribe me into giving her permission to erect a couple of extra floors on top of her house.”
“She did what?”
“She offered me forty thousand in cash!”
“She’s nuts—did you tell her she’s nuts?”
“I told her she should shut up, but she kept on going, raising the offer from ten thousand to forty thousand.”
“Fifty thousand!” suddenly a voice sounded in Charlene’s rear, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that Vesta was chasing her, golf club in hand!
“She’s chasing me, Alec, and she’s got a weapon!” Charlene cried, and started running—running for her life!
“Come back here!” Vesta yelled. “I’m not done with you!”
“But I’m done with you!” Charlene bellowed.
And so it was that the people enjoying a drink in the outdoor bar witnessed a strange scene that day: the Mayor of Hampton Cove, being chased around the fairway by a little old lady waving a golf club and screaming a choice series of profanities at her.
About twenty minutes into this rare and highly entertaining spectacle, a police car arrived, and a large chief of police crawled out, then commandeered a golf cart and started steering it in the direction of the little old lady and started chasing her. The little old lady abruptly changed course, and for the next few minutes the chase was reversed: now the Mayor, who’d hopped onto the golf cart, was chasing the old lady, who kept up a nice lead, which was remarkable at her age. She was still waving the golf club, though, and still making disparaging remarks at the twosome who were now giving chase.
Moments later they finally caught up with her. The old lady gave the golf cart a serious whack across the front, and consequently the police chief wrested the club from her hands and managed to overpower her and place her in the golf cart. And as the gobsmacked audience watched on, the old lady was duly placed under arrest and unceremoniously bundled into the police car.
“Show is over, folks!” Madam Mayor shouted, waving her hands. “Nothing to see!”
And then Charlene Butterwick got into the police car, next to her boyfriend Alec Lip, and moments later the police car took off with screaming siren and flashing blue light.
“What were you thinking, offering the Mayor a bribe!” Alec shouted at his aged mother, who was seated in the same spot where only an hour before his niece had sat.
“I was thinking she was a reasonable woman, but clearly she’s not. And for your information, I wasn’t bribing her, I was merely offering her a business proposition.”
“A business proposition? You realize what you did, don’t you? You offered money to the Mayor in exchange for a building permit. Are you out of your mind?”
“She’s the one that’s out of her mind. She turned me down, can you believe that? Who turns down fifty thousand smackers?”
“Charlene does, that’s who, and I commend her for it. Besides, what do you need a building permit for? I don’t get it.”
“I want to build extra floors, just a couple—is that so wrong?”
“It’s wrong when the people who own the house have clearly told you that they don’t want these extra floors.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about them. They’ll come around when they realize what a perfect business opportunity I got for them.”
“Oh, Ma,” said Alec, shaking his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Help me to convince that stubborn girlfriend of yours to take my money!”
“And what’s this I hear about you crashing Marge’s car last night?”
“That was nothing,” said Vesta, suddenly remarkably subdued.
“Is it true that you purposelessly ran your car into Wilbur Vickery’s car?”
“I thought he was a Hampton Heister.”
“You thought what?”
“He was acting suspicious, all right!”
“Oh, Ma.”
“Wilbur and Francis think they can start a neighborhood watch—just like that!”
Alec stared at his mother. “Wilbur and Francis Reilly are starting a neighborhood watch?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, dear Lord. Just what I need. Another couple of loonies running amok in my town.”
“This isn’t just your town, Alec,” his mother reminded him. “This is my town, too, and I have every right to run amok if I want to. I mean… Well, I don’t know what I mean, but the point I’m trying to make is that if you don’t tell Wilbur and Francis that this town isn’t big enough for the both of us, then I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”
“What consequences?”
“You’ll see.”
“Ma!”
“Alec!”
They both sat there staring each other down for a few moments, then Vesta softened and touched her son’s cheek. “Look, it’s a good thing that you’re dating Charlene. In fact it’s probably the best decision you ever made. I have no idea what she sees in you…”
“Ma…”
“But the least she can do for her boyfriend’s mother is to give her this permit. Is that so much to ask?”
Alec uttered a strangled sound, then abruptly got up and said, “You better get out of here…”
“And about time, too. I’ve got better things to do than to sit here talking to you.”
“… before I strangle you with my bare hands. Now go and if I hear one more word about this permit business—”
“But, Alec!”
“One more word! I swear to God, Ma!”
“What good is it to have a son who’s chief of police and a daughter-in-law who’s the mayor, if they won’t do an old woman a teensy weensy little favor!”
“Out of my sight! Now!”
And thus ended the strange incident of the attempted bribe. Charlene decided not to pursue the matter, and neither did Alec. Frankly it wouldn’t have looked good for either of them to put the Chief’s mother and the Mayor’s future mother-in-law in jail… again!
21
We decided to pay a visit to Kingman, hoping he could shed some light on some of the recent happenings in town. The voluminous cat was lounging on the doorstep of his owner’s General Store, busily chatting up a couple of feline females and being his usual garrulous and avuncular self. By the time we joined him, the two females had left, and Kingman had a hard time focusing on us and not on their retreating rear ends as they sashayed down the street.
“So Kingman,” I said. “We need to talk.”
“Mh?” he said.
“Kingman!” I said, and the big cat practically jumped to attention, insofar as a cat as large as Kingman can actually jump.
“Oh, hey, Max—Dooley. How’s things in dog world?” He grinned at his own little joke, which I didn’t think was even remotely funny, to be honest.
“Things in dog world are fine, as far as I know. But since I’m not a dog, I really have no idea,” I said curtly. “So what was the big idea expelling Harriet and Brutus last night?”
“Yes, that wasn’t a nice thing to do, Kingman,” said Dooley.
“Look, it wasn’t my decision, okay? It was Shanille’s. I just backed her up.”
“But why? Harriet has been an indispensable member of cat choir since its inception, and Brutus has been one of our most valued members. And now all of a sudden they’re not welcome anymore? What’s up with that?”
“It’s out of my paws, Max,” he said with a shrug. “They did this to themselves when they decided to run with the dogs. It’s still cat choir, not dog choir. Dogs aren’t welcome.”
“Brutus is not a dog,” I said, “and as far as I’m concerned he’ll never be a dog, whatever he says. He’s moderately confused right now, but I can assure you that this is a phase. A phase that will pass.”
“I’m not so sure about that. He’s pretty determined about turning himself into a dog.”
“Listen to yourself, Kingman! How can a cat possibly turn himself into a dog? It can’t be done!”
“Well, he’s doing it, and as far as I’m concerned he’s out, and so is Harriet if she insists on standing by her dog.”
“Brutus does seem
pretty serious about wanting to become a dog, Max,” said Dooley. “Just this morning I saw him play fetch again with Ted, and he’s getting better at catching that ball. And now they’ve even graduated to playing fetch with a stick. And even though he can’t jump as high as Rufus, he can still jump pretty high.”
I closed my eyes. This was a nightmare. My entire life was going to the dogs!
“Is it true that your human was arrested this morning?” asked Kingman with a frown.
“Odelia wasn’t arrested,” I said. “She was invited in for questioning, and her explanation satisfied Uncle Alec to such an extent that there will be no further consequences. She is innocent—of course she is.”
“Well, from what I’m hearing your family is in some real trouble, Max. First Brutus and Harriet deciding to turn themselves into dogs—a cat’s natural enemy—then Odelia getting arrested for that attack on Carl Strauss, and your Grandma Muffin trying to bribe Mayor Butterwick with large and frankly outrageous sums of money. It’s enough to look into your personal status as a member of cat choir.”
I stared at the cat. “You want to expel me, too?”
“I think you dropped the ball, Max.”
“Not funny, Kingman.”
“You know how it is. If you don’t keep your eye on that ball…”
“Still not funny!”
“Look, Shanille is looking into things. You see, cat choir has a reputation to uphold. We can’t have cats that drag us down through an association with humans of ill repute.”
“My humans are beyond reproach, Kingman. Well beyond reproach!”
“Vesta has always been a source of trouble, and if she continues to go down this road, you shouldn’t be surprised that there are going to be consequences is all I’m saying.”
“But Kingman—I’m not my humans’ keeper!”
“You should be,” he said. “Just like I’m my human’s keeper. If Wilbur tries any funny business, I make it my business to make sure he gets back on the straight and narrow. It’s the sacred oath all cats swear when they decide to adopt a human.”
This was simply too much. Wilbur’s behavior often gave rise to a lot of questions, and I’d never even once known Kingman to interfere in the man’s outrageous behavior.
