“As I understand it now,” said Dooley, “Uncle Alec is pregnant, and his future wife Charlene is also pregnant, and dying, which is why they’re tying the knot in a hurry.”
Harriet’s eye went a little wider. “Uncle Alec and Charlene are getting married?”
“Yeah, looks like it,” I said. At least that part of the story was undoubtedly true.
“But… he can’t get married!” said Harriet. “Odelia and Chase are getting married. Uncle Alec can’t steal her thunder—it’s just not fair!”
“Exactly what Gran said,” I agreed, nodding. I watched that fat fly flit hither and thither, and was already yearning for the good old days when it had been just me and it.
“We have to do something about this, you guys!” said Harriet, getting all worked up now. “We can’t let this wedding take place!”
“It has to take place,” said Dooley. “Because Charlene and Uncle Alec are both dying, and they’re both pregnant, too, so they have to get married before it’s too late.”
“Dooley!” said Harriet. “Are you serious?!”
I felt it was time to intervene before things got completely out of hand. “Look, the only thing we know for sure is that a wedding has been announced and will be taking place between Uncle Alec and Charlene,” I said. “The rest is just idle speculation.”
“But—” said Dooley.
“Idle speculation,” I repeated emphatically.
As I’d expected, my words acted like oil on the raging waters of Harriet’s indignation and Dooley’s rampant imagination, and for a few moments a pleasant silence reigned.
Then Dooley said, “Maybe Odelia is pregnant, too, and very soon she’ll kick us all out, because everybody knows that cats and babies don’t mix, so there’s that to consider.”
“Oh, Dooley,” I said, and that big fly, which had taken advantage of me being distracted by landing on the tip of my nose, said, “If you want, I can go and find out for you, cat.”
And I said, “Wait, what?”
The fly shrugged and said, “Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘Fly on the wall’ before? Well, I can be that fly for you, cat.”
So I said, “Sure. Why not?”
Anything to get rid of this fly. Now if only I could get rid of my housemates, but somehow I had a feeling this wasn’t in the cards.
Chapter Three
The life of a fly is often a pretty lonely life—and a short one, too. So Norm, as he buzzed off on his mission, was actually happy with this change of scenery. His brethren and sistren might content themselves by eating dirt, but Norm was that rare fly who had, from the moment he was born, entertained higher aspirations. He’d always envisioned himself as that rare breed of fly: the adventurous type. And overhearing those cats speculating about their humans, Norm had smelled an opportunity and grabbed it.
So first he buzzed off in the direction of the house next door, where that old woman had disappeared to, and decided to pick up some little tidbits of raw intelligence there, just like James Bond would, if James Bond was about half an inch in diameter and consisted of an exceedingly hairy body, six hairy legs, two compound eyes and some extra-sensitive antennae. Though in all honesty all that Norm had in common with James Bond was a hairy chest and that can-do attitude your average British spy has in spades.
And he was in luck, as Grandma Muffin had just grabbed her purse and was on her way out the door, so he simply followed in her wake, hoping it would lead to something.
He landed on top of her head, before being rudely swatted away—the life of a fly consists mainly of being swatted away—and ducked into her car just as she did.
“Stupid fly,” Grandma Muffin muttered as she gave Norm one of her trademark dark looks, then started up the engine, and floored the accelerator, causing the car to lurch away from the curb at a much higher rate of speed than traffic cops like to see.
Moments later, it seemed, they were already cruising through downtown Hampton Cove, and when the older lady steered her car into an underground parking garage, Norm was buzzing with anticipatory glee. Looked like he was in for a real treat!
Maybe a meeting with some Deep Throat type informant? A showdown in the bowels of what looked like a boutique hotel? He didn’t know what would follow, but had a feeling it was going to be good. So it was with a slight sense of disappointment that he watched Grandma Muffin simply park her car, get out and slam the door then walk off.
They took the elevator up to the hotel lobby, and once again Norm’s hopes soared: a secret meeting in one of the hotel rooms with a foreign spy? A dead drop in one of the hotel’s garbage bins of some secret documents? So when the old lady Max called ‘Gran’ met up with a gorgeous redhead with plunging décolletage in the hotel lobby, and the both of them walked into the dining area, he knew this was it. The redhead was probably a Russian spy, here to hand over the secrets to the Russian rocket program, or maybe even spike Grandma’s drink with a little-known nerve agent or truth serum!
So when both women took a seat in the outside dining area and ordered drinks from a suspicious-looking waiter— a Korean spy? A Chinese double agent?—he was on the lookout for the little vial containing the deadly nerve agent, and ready to warn Gran!
“We gotta do something, Scarlett,” said Gran. “We have got to stop this wedding.”
“But why?” said the woman named Scarlett, tossing her red curls across her shoulders. She was dressed in a provocatively cleavaged red dress and red high heels, her lips a very bright Scarlett and looking every bit the sexy Russian secret agent.
“Why? Are you kidding me? They’re going to ruin Odelia’s wedding!”
“I think it’s pretty cute. And you can always make it a double wedding,” said Scarlett, taking a sip from her drink—a flat white, if Norm had followed the proceedings closely. So far no little vials with deadly nerve agents were in evidence but that could happen any moment now.
“Trust me on this, Scarlett. Alec wouldn’t be getting married if he wasn’t being coerced—if Charlene wasn’t putting a knife to his throat.” She slapped the table, causing her own drink—hot cocoa with plenty of cream, from the looks of it—to dance up and down. “That woman’s got something on my son and I want to know what it is.”
“Isn’t it possible that they simply love each other and want to celebrate that love by tying the knot?” asked Scarlett, who was clearly a romantically inclined Russian spy.
“Oh, Scarlett, Scarlett,” said Gran. “I see she’s gotten to you, too.”
“Nobody’s ‘gotten’ to me, Vesta. I just think they make a damn fine couple, and I wish them all the future happiness in the world, and frankly I think you should, too.”
“He’s too old to get married!”
“He’s only, what, fifty-something?”
“I’m telling you Alec would never get married if he wasn’t being hoodwinked. And I want to know what that woman is holding over him.”
Scarlett shrugged. “Can only be one thing.”
Vesta gave her a scathing look. “You’ve got a one-track mind, Scarlett.”
“What? I’m telling you—in my experience there’s only one thing that would make a man want to propose marriage to a woman and that’s—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.”
“Sex! What else?”
“I’m the man’s mother, Scarlett!”
“So? There are certain realities you just have to face, Vesta. Charlene is an attractive woman, and I’m sure she’s got assets that would make any man happy to explore them.”
Gran buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God.”
“It’s human nature!”
“Just because you’re obsessed with sex doesn’t mean we all are.”
“Just saying,” said Scarlett with a shrug.
Norm was losing his patience. So far nothing was happening that would make James Bond bother to get out of bed in the morning, and he was starting to wonder if Max had sent him on a fool’s errand. He wouldn’t put it past the cat to try and get rid of him.