As usual, we dropped by Kingman first. As the cat who saw all and knew all, it only made sense he’d be the one to deliver us that telling clue—the one clue that rules them all.
Unfortunately, for once Kingman had decided to let us down. In fact all he could talk about was… Chloe.
“I’m in love, you guys,” he said. “In love with Chloe, if you please.”
“Chloe? You mean Shanille?”
“Yeah. Probably. Maybe. I mean, look, intellectually I know that Chloe is Shanille, but emotionally I don’t, if you see what I mean.”
“No, actually I don’t.”
“Look, I read Chloe’s words and they just make me feel so close to her, you know. And they make my heart beat faster. Here, feel this.” And he grabbed my paw and placed it against his sizable and decidedly soft belly. I felt a rumbling sensation.
“I think your heart is located a little higher, Kingman,” I said.
“Yeah, whatever,” said Kingman. “It’s just that every time I read these words, I just know she’s talking to me. Listen to this.” His owner, Wilbur Vickery, had dropped a copy of the Gazette on the floor and Kingman now took a seat on top of it and started reading from Chloe’s latest column. “Dear Furry Heart. Don’t despair. Just look around. Love is everywhere. In the faces of the cats you meet, in the birds singing in the trees, in the butterflies flitting in the breeze, and even in the clouds drifting languidly in the blue sky. Love, love, love.” He looked up with a stupid grin on his wide mug. “See what I mean? She loves me, and I love her. We’re meant to be together. I just know it. I can feel it!”
“Um, I’m not sure that’s what it says, Kingman,” I said.
“That’s just because you don’t have a romantic bone in your body, Max. Of course it says that! She’s sending me messages in every single thing she writes. She’s talking to me with every word, every line, every response.”
“So you wrote her?” asked Dooley. “You’re Furry Heart?”
Kingman shrugged. “Not necessarily. But I just know this was meant for me. Me!”
And with a happy sigh he curled up on top of the newspaper, until Wilbur yelled, “Hey, Kingman! Get off that newspaper, will ya? I still gotta sell that thing.”
But Kingman wasn’t deterred. Still smiling beatifically, he got up and allowed Wilbur to pick up the newspaper and replace it on the rack, after wiping off Kingman’s drool.
“So what was the question you wanted to ask me, fellas?” Kingman finally said.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s fine. We’ll just leave you to it, shall we?”
“Yeah, you do that, and if you see Shanille, tell her I feel the same way.”
And as Dooley and I walked away, Dooley said, “Kingman doesn’t seem entirely okay, Max. I worry about him. In fact he looks a little sickly. Did you see the weird expression on his face? I’m sure he’s coming down with something.”
“Kingman is in love, Dooley,” I said.
“In love? But he looks like he’s sick.”
“Infatuation can be like an affliction,” I explained. “The person feels faint, feverish, experiences strange sensations, and is prone to start giggling inanely at inopportune moments. And when the object of his affection doesn’t reciprocate that affection, he can even feel downright depressed.”
“I hope I never fall in love,” said Dooley earnestly. “It sounds pretty painful.”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as all that,” I hastened to say, and dispel the notion that love was a bad thing. “If the person you love does love you back, you’ll feel like you’re floating on air, and you will have butterflies flying around in your tummy.”
Dooley looked horrified. “Butterflies in my tummy! But how did they get in there, Max? And how do I get them out?!”
I decided not to elucidate. I’d only get myself into more trouble than it was worth. We bumped into Harriet and Brutus, then, in front of The Velvet Box, the jewelry store, and I could see Samantha’s shapely form as she sat in the window display, keeping an eye on things.
“What did Samantha say?” I asked.
“I think we’ve got a winner, Max,” said Harriet. “Samantha said she saw a man fitting Kirk’s description walk into the store a couple of days ago, arm in arm with a blond woman.”
“That sounds promising,” I agreed. “And?”
“Well, she wanted him to buy her a ring, and they looked at a couple, but he was undecided and said he’d come back and then they left. The woman didn’t look happy, Samantha said.”
“Any idea who this woman might be?”
Brutus nodded. “All she knows is that the woman is staying at the Hampton Cove Star, or at least she assumes she does, as they walked out of the store and then walked into the Star and she thinks she saw the woman stroll down Main Street yesterday, arm in arm with another woman.”
“So this woman is blond and… any other distinguishing features?” I asked.
“Nothing special. She was very pretty,” said Harriet. “Her friend had a tattoo, though. A small dolphin on the side of her neck.”
“So now we’re looking for a woman with blond hair, who’s staying at the Star, and who’s friends with a woman with a tattoo of a dolphin,” I summed up this latest haul. “Well done, Harriet and Brutus,” I said warmly. “This might just be the clue we need to catch this killer.”
Harriet and Brutus were both beaming, and suddenly Harriet blurted out, “I’m Chloe, by the way. I’m the one who’s been writing the pet advice column, not Shanille.”
I blinked at this unexpected admission, then smiled. “Thanks for telling us, Harriet. So it was you who called me obnoxious.”
“And me dumb,” said Dooley.
“Yeah, that wasn’t a very nice thing to say. But I misunderstood the question! I thought you were making fun of me. And you, too, Dooley. And that’s why I lashed out. It’s only when you explained to me what you both meant that I repented, and wrote those new answers. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Of course,” I said. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re a wonderful advice columnist. In fact I think you’re even better than Gabi.”
“I read all your answers,” said Dooley, “and I think they’re simply wonderful—every last one of them.”
“Thanks, you guys,” she said. “I know I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid of what you would say.”
“Is that what you asked Gabi? The secret question you wouldn’t tell us?” I asked, recollecting her early response to Gabi’s column.
“Yeah. I asked her if cats can write advice columns, too, and she said of course they can, and so I figured why not give it a try, you know? Be the first cat in history that enters the advice column world.”
“I would have told you but Harriet told me not to,” said Brutus.
“Well, now that you know, I want to ask you not to tell a soul, all right?” said Harriet. “Only you guys know, and Odelia, and no one else, please.”
“Of course,” I said. “My lips are sealed.”
Dooley stared at me. “No, they’re not. They’re still moving.”
“Just an expression, Dooley,” I said with a smile. “Just an expression.”
And as we went in search of Odelia, to tell her the good news about Kirk’s latest girlfriend, Dooley said, “Kingman is in love with you, Harriet. Or at least he’s in love with Chloe, who he still thinks is Shanille. And he thinks that everything you write is actually written for him, and filled with secret or not-so-secret messages.”
“Well, let him think so,” said Harriet. “Maybe a new romance will come out of this. Which is what Chloe is all about, isn’t it? Spreading sweetness and light?”
“And love,” added Brutus. “Don’t forget about love.”
“How could I forget, my love muffin,” said Harriet, and pressed a kiss to Brutus’s lips.
“Oh, snuggle pooh,” said Brutus.
“Oh, wuggle bear.”