“Brutus was singing for us,” said Max. “It was very nice.”
“I always sing when I’m scared,” said Brutus. “It helps.”
“You were scared, too?” asked Dooley, much surprised.
“Of course.”
“I didn’t think you ever got scared,” said Dooley.
“Every cat gets scared sometimes, Dooley. No matter what they tell you.”
“You have a nice singing voice, Brutus,” said Max. “Very soothing.”
“Thanks, buddy,” said Brutus.
Arriving home, they ushered the cats inside, and she rubbed them dry with big, coarse towels until they practically glowed, then she planted them in front of an electric heater, and she and Chase went upstairs to take a hot shower.
By the time the whole family was back in bed, it was two o’clock.
And while the storm raged outside, soon they were all out like a light.
Chapter 27
Sergio Sorbet didn’t mind the rain, or the wind or even the thunder and lightning. In fact he reveled in it! He was, after all, used to playing Zeus, and after seven years and four movies, he’d almost started believing that he was, in fact, the famous Greek god.
So he stood in the rain on top of the flat roof of the house, and screamed into the wind, holding his powerful arms aloft and defying the elements.
It invigorated him. He drew strength from it—he loved it!
He roared again, raising his face to the sky. Above him, the weather gods raged and rampaged but the more they castigated the earth, the louder he screamed back.
“I am Zeus!” he boomed, his voice drowned out by the wind.
From somewhere up there, he thought he heard the sound of laughter.
So he let out a loud roar and pummeled his chest.
“I AM ZEUS!”
Suddenly, he felt a stinging pain against his left temple, and briefly wondered if he’d been hit by a pellet of hail. He shook his head like a dog, then experienced another hit, harder this time, and momentarily lost his balance and sank down to his knees, his hands hitting the water that stood, ankle deep, all across the roof, the gutters and drainpipes unable to handle the sheer volume.
When the third hit came, this time to the back of his head, he went down hard.
And didn’t come up again.
[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_2]
Jasmine Muchari had been in the Sorbet family’s employ as a housekeeper for going on thirty years now. She’d been there in the good days, the bad days, and everything in between. Lately the Sorbets had only experienced good days, though, especially since their son had become a global superstar, his movies grossing billions. In fact ever since he’d been cast as Zeus, Sergio had gone through an impressive transformation. Gone were the boozy weekends with his dubious friends, or the late-night dates with questionable women. These days all he did was spend hours in the gym, sculpting a physique that could only be called godly.
So when she entered the man’s bedroom, she fully expected him to be up already, and slaving away in the home gym he’d built. It wasn’t unusual for Sergio to get up at five o’clock or even four, to start on the first of several workouts spread throughout the day.
Jasmine had always thought that the life of an actor consisted of studying their lines and declamating them in front of a mirror. But apparently the life of the modern actor was dominated by protein drinks and energy drinks and grueling workouts and lots and lots of selfies taken of bulging muscles and sweaty brows and shared with millions of fans.
When she didn’t see a sign of Sergio in the bedroom, she smiled with satisfaction. But when she saw that his bed hadn’t been slept in, that smile disappeared. Her employer needed his sleep. Many was the time he’d demanded no one disturb him so he could get his eight hours in. Those huge muscles only bulked up when granted sufficient rest.
She walked out of the bedroom and almost bumped into that horrible little man who called himself a PA. Luke Grimsby was wearing those red-framed glasses again, which gave him the look of a pompous art gallery owner. He had his nose glued to his tablet, as usual. It was where he kept track of Sergio’s training schedule, and also his nutrition schedule, both equally important, apparently.
“Where’s Sergio?” she asked.
“No idea,” Luke muttered as he adjusted his glasses and peered at her as if seeing her for the first time. He did this every time, the supercilious fool. “In the gym, probably.”
“He didn’t go to bed last night.”
The PA wrinkled his nose, causing his glasses to shift up.“What do you mean?”
“I mean he didn’t go to bed.”
“Impossible. Sergio knows how important it is to—”
“Look for yourself, Luke. His bed hasn’t been slept in.”
Luke hurried into the room.“But… I saw him go up last night.”
“Up where?”
“The roof. He wanted to experience the storm firsthand. Said it inspired him. And also, he wanted to take a selfie for his Insta.” He locked eyes with Jasmine. “You don’t think…”
The words hung between them. Then, as one person, they both turned on their heel and quickly made their way to the staircase that ran to the roof.
“How could you let him go out there!” Jasmine cried.
“You know Sergio. The man loves a good storm!”
They arrived on the roof, and Jasmine glanced around. The chimney stack was there, the parapet lining the roof, the antenna as it pointed straight up into the sky, and as her eyes drifted past the antenna and back to the chimney stack, scanning the tar roof floor, suddenly something clicked in her brain. She’d registered some anomaly. Something that wasn’t as it should be.
Slowly her eyes swiveled back to the antenna.
And that’s when she saw it: strapped to the antenna was a large object. Dark and bulky, with strips of material flapping in the light breeze that had followed last night’s fierce storm. And as she took in more details, suddenly she heard a cry. She didn’t realize at first that it was she who’d uttered it, just as it took her mind a few seconds to come to terms with the information her eyes were sending it.
It was Sergio Sorbet.
Strapped to the antenna.
And fully burned to a crisp.
Chapter 28
It seemed like it was only yesterday that we were out at Sergio Sorbet’s house, talking to the man, and that’s because it was indeed only yesterday that we were out there.
Now we were back, and this time we were on the roof of Sergio’s property, staring at the actor, who looked a little bit less like a superhero today than he had yesterday.
“What happened to him?” asked Dooley.
“Looks like he was hit by lightning,” I said. “More than once.”
“Why would he do a thing like that?” asked my friend.
“I don’t think he did it on purpose, Dooley. I think he was strapped to that antenna and left there to die.”
“But didn’t he know it’s very dangerous to be struck by lightning? Not to mention unhealthy?”
“I think he was murdered.”
“Murdered!”
“Yep. Murdered by lightning.” I had to think back to Shanille’s words last night: how God was punishing all those bachelors for their sin of refusing to get married. But this was taking that punishment up to a whole new level.
“So what do you think, Abe?” asked Chase.
The paunchy coroner looked down from his lofty position next to the fallen action star.“I’m thinking this has got to stop, Kingsley. This is, what, the fourth murder in four days?”
“Tell that to the killer. He was killed, right?”
“Oh, absolutely. Received a series of nasty blows to the head which would almost certainly have rendered him unconscious, then tied to the antenna in the hope he’d be struck by lightning. And since we experienced one of the worst storms in a decade last night, I think the murderer would have been pleased. Poor guy was hit repeatedly, I’d say.”
“So he was killed by lightning.”
“Yeah, pretty much killed him immediately, I reckon. And then was struck a number of times more after that.” He gestured for his people to take the body of the unfortunate actor down, as he clambered down with some difficulty himself.