Now it was Vesta’s turn to look stunned. “Are you sure about that?”
“Of course I’m sure! Would I make up a story like that?”
“You could, to protect your human.”
“Mia isn’t even my human. Allison is. And besides, are you calling me a liar?” Her eyes were blazing, and she suddenly reminded Vesta a lot of Harriet.
“No, but… Mia says she doesn’t remember a thing. She only remembers waking up and sitting next to Kirk’s body, his blood on her hands.”
“That’s because Mia took a sleeping pill last night and only woke up just now. She must not have been fully awake when she went into the next room and found Kirk.”
“And the blood on her hands?”
“You’d have to ask her, but my best guess is that she touched the man. There’s a lot of blood, if you hadn’t noticed. I myself happened to step into it.” She made a face.
“Well, this sure changes everything,” said Vesta as she darted a curious glance at the door. “So who do you think killed Kirk?”
“No idea. Like I said, I was in here with Mia when it happened.”
Suddenly Scarlett popped her head in. “Who are you talking to?” she asked.
“No one,” said Vesta. “But I think maybe you were right. We shouldn’t be too hasty to call the cops.”
“Of course I’m right!” said Scarlett. “Haven’t you noticed I’m always right?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I think we need to call Odelia.”
“Your granddaughter? Why?”
“She’s going to have to help me figure out what happened here, exactly.”
“But we already know what happened here, exactly. Mia killed Kirk and she’s sorry.”
“I have reason to believe that Mia is actually innocent, and I intend to prove it.”
Scarlett darted a quick look at Jasmine, who’d returned to her grooming ritual. “Uh-huh,” she said finally. “You know what? You don’t need Odelia to figure this out. You’ve got me.”
Vesta emitted a scathing laugh. “You’re not a detective, Scarlett.”
“No, but I just heard you talking to a cat. And if you don’t want me to spread that little tidbit of embarrassing information all over town, you’re going to have to deputize me.”
Vesta stared at the woman. “You wouldn’t.”
Scarlett arched a perfectly penciled eyebrow. “Watch me.”
Both women squared off for a moment, then Vesta decided it wasn’t worth it and gave up. “Fine, you win. But I still want Odelia. She knows what she’s doing.”
“Isn’t she, like, about to get married to a cop?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“She’ll blab.”
“No, she won’t.”
“I’m telling you, she’s a blabber.”
“No, she’s not. Now do you want to investigate this murder with me or not? Cause if you do, I’m the one who’ll be calling the shots. And I say we bring in my granddaughter.”
Scarlett eyed her opponent for a moment, then finally smiled. “Let’s do this, pardner,” and held up her hand for a high five.
“God give me strength,” said Vesta.
Chapter 5
I was still pondering the nature of Harriet’s question to the Gazette’s advice columnist when Odelia swept into the room and announced, shockingly, “Gran is in trouble. She found a dead body.”
“What?!” I cried, instantly up and ready for action. Well, maybe not instantly. There are laws of nature governing large bodies and preventing them from responding with the kind of alacrity other, smaller cats can muster at the proverbial drop of a hat.
Though Dooley, too, was a little slow getting out of the gate, mostly because he’d been developing his theory about life originating from static electricity.
“Let’s go,” said Odelia.
“Where, who, how?” I asked as I jumped down from the couch and made to follow my human.
“I’ll tell you all about it in the car.”
Moments later Dooley and I were both ensconced on the backseat of Odelia’s aged pickup truck, as it trundled out of Harrington Street and quickly rounded the corner.
“Oh, shoot,” she said, thunking the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. “I should have brought Harriet and Brutus along.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “Harriet is busy working on some kind of master plan and has roped in Brutus to help her.
“What master plan?” asked Dooley.
“I have no idea. She wouldn’t tell us, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. She asked Gabi a question and she wouldn’t tell us what it was.”
“That’s a coincidence,” said Odelia as she navigated the streets of Hampton Cove. “The murder took place at Allison Gray’s house, who used to be Dan’s original Gabi. She writes for Cosmo now.”
“Who’s Cosmo?” asked Dooley dutifully.
“She’s also the head of the American AAA,” Odelia continued, “The Agony Aunt Association. But what Gran was doing there I don’t know. And she mentioned that Scarlett was with her and they’re working the investigation together if you please.”
Now that was a surprise. Gran and Scarlett have never liked each other. The fact that Scarlett once had relations with Gran’s husband probably had something to do with that.
“So who died?” I asked.
“Kirk Weaver,” said Odelia.
“No way. The cat whisperer?”
“Who’s Kirk Weaver?” asked Dooley. “Is he Cosmo’s husband?”
“Kirk is the host of a famous television show,” Odelia explained. “He visits people at home and helps them with their cats’ behavioral problems.”
“You mean he can talk to cats?”
“I doubt it,” said Odelia. “But he does have a good reputation as a cat whisperer.”
“He whispers to cats? Why? Does he have problems with his voice?”
“It’s just a way of describing a person who’s really good with animals,” I said. “Like a horse whisperer is great with horses, a dog whisperer is good with dogs, etcetera.”
“Is there also a mouse whisperer?” asked Dooley. “Because I think we might have mice again.”
Odelia groaned. “Not again.”
I confirmed Dooley’s suspicions. “I heard them last night. And I think it might be the same family as last time.”
“I thought they had all moved on to Marcie and Ted’s?” Odelia asked.
“Maybe they like a change of scene from time to time?”
“Well, looks like you guys have got your work cut out for you,” said Odelia blithely.
Now it was my turn to groan. For some reason humans always assume all cats are natural mousers. Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t enjoy the prospect of catching a lovable little furry creature and then eating it alive, like some cats are rumored to do. In fact I’d rather coexist in peace and harmony than resort to such acts of barbarism.
“Maybe we can ask Gabi,” Dooley suggested. “She seems to have all the answers.”
This made Odelia laugh, which was a good thing, for investigating murder is a tough job, and Odelia could use all the levity she could get before things got serious.
We’d arrived at the front gate of one of those big mansions the Hamptons are littered with, and I saw Gran’s car parked right outside the gate. Well, technically the little red Peugeot is Marge’s car, but more often than not it’s Gran who drives it. Badly, I might add.
We got out and Odelia pressed her finger to the buzzer. After she’d announced her arrival, the gate clicked open and she drove us down a short driveway leading to the house.
“Why did Gran park her car on the street?” asked Dooley. A very sensible question.
“She probably didn’t know she could park up at the house,” said Odelia. Gran isn’t as used to navigating the homes of the rich and famous as Odelia, who’s conducted her fair share of murder inquiries, often involving those same glitterati.
The house, squat and red-brick, was a modest one, compared to some of the ones I’d seen in my time.