I had to concede he had a point. Then again, if Odelia hadn’t wanted pets that shed she wouldn’t have taken us in, would she?
“I just hope Blanche won’t be able to convince Odelia that cats belong outside and not in the house,” I said.
“Do you really think she’d do that?”
“I don’t know. If she threatens to quit her job if Odelia doesn’t comply, maybe.”
“But… I can’t be outside all the time, Max,” said Dooley, a sense of panic making his voice quiver. “Imagine having to sleep outside when it’s freezing—or snowing!”
“Yeah, not a fun prospect,” I agreed.
But then Dooley’s face cleared. “We can always stay at Marge and Tex’s. They won’t kick us out, will they?”
“No way,” I said. “Marge would never do that. Or Gran.”
And it was with uplifted spirits that we set paw for our second home—well, technically Dooley’s first home, as his official human is Gran, though he spends more time at Odelia’s than at Gran’s.
And we’d just arrived in the next-door backyard when Harriet and Brutus met us, both looking a little rattled.
“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.
But Harriet merely shook her head, clearly too emotional for speech.
“Come,” said Brutus. “There’s something I need to show you.”
So we came, and followed Brutus in through the pet flap, and through the kitchen into the living room. There we saw Marge, talking to someone, and when I ventured a little further, suddenly I saw that it was… Blanche! Or not exactly Blanche but someone who resembled her in facial features. Only this woman was taller and slimmer, though looking just as stony-faced and no-nonsense as our own dour cleaning lady.
“More cats,” growled the woman as she caught sight of us. “Where do they keep coming from?”
“Oh, this is Max and Dooley,” said Marge. “They belong to my daughter, who lives next door. But then you knew that already, didn’t you?”
The woman grunted. “My sister and I don’t condone cats in the home. We believe that the home is for humans, and cats should be outside, catching mice and keeping themselves to themselves.”
“Oh, but our cats are perfectly house-trained, Mrs. Trainor,” said Marge.
“Miss Trainor,” said the woman. “But you can call me Bella. And it doesn’t matter if they’re house-trained. Cats are messy. They shed, and they rub themselves against walls and furniture, leaving spots. They scratch the couches, causing marks. And they dig their claws into sheets and blankets, tearing holes. Also, they are covered in parasites, dragging them into your home and even into your bed. No, if you want my advice, Mrs. Poole, you’ll do well to remove that pet flap and disallow your cats from using the house from now on. Much better that way. Much healthier.” And with a stern glance in our direction, she proceeded to survey the house, and listen to Marge’s instructions.
And as Dooley and I followed Brutus out again, through a pet flap that pretty soon might be removed, I was reeling. Actually reeling!
“She’s Blanche’s sister?” I cried.
Harriet wordlessly nodded. “They’re a package deal, apparently. Clean houses together as a team. So Blanche might clean Odelia’s house today, and Marge’s tomorrow, and the same goes for Bella. And they both hate cats.”
“They both hate cats,” I repeated in a whisper.
“She wants Marge to remove the pet flap,” said Brutus in somber tones, sounding like one bringing bad news from the front line. “And judging from Marge’s face I think she just might do it.”
Dooley gawped from Brutus to Harriet to me, and finally burst out, “We have to get rid of them, Max! Before they get rid of us!”
“They’d never go that far,” I said. “Marge and Odelia would never allow it. Would they?”
We all shared worried glances. It was obvious that our future was suddenly hanging in the balance. And that pretty soon now we’d be joining Clarice, our feral friend, having to spend the rest of our lives outside.
“No more naps on the bed,” I said sadly.
“Or the couch,” said Brutus.
“Or watching television with our humans,” said Dooley.
Harriet heaved the biggest sigh of all. “And no quiz show,” she said. “If we can’t even enter the house, no way is Gran going to film my quiz.”
Dooley gave me a look that spoke volumes: suddenly HIS quiz had become Harriet’s quiz.
And it will surprise you that the Trainor sisters had soured my mood to such an extent that I didn’t even care about that silly quiz.
We were in danger of being chucked out of our homes.
Out into the cold, dark night.
Yikes!
Chapter 33
As Father Reilly set foot inside the police station, he felt less than sanguine about this latest assignment Vesta Muffin had given him. ‘Talk to the crooks, take their confessions and find out where they stashed the loot.’ It all sounded so simple, so easy, until you actually sat face to face with the miscreants and had to look them in the eye.
Frankly he didn’t know if he could do it. He was a man of God, of course, and accepted that all men are children of the same God. Then again, in his years as a humble servant of the Lord he’d often thought that some children of God were just that little bit nastier than others, and it just seemed to him that these Vale and Carew fellas were the sort of tough guys he didn’t like to associate with if he could help it.
If only he’d never accepted Vesta’s offer to become part of her neighborhood watch. Living in a clean crime-free town was all well and good, but that’s why they had cops.
He greeted Dolores Peltz with a warm smile.
“What brings you here, Father?” asked the receptionist. “Mugged, were you? Wallet stolen?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s going on these days. Crime is growing with leaps and bounds. Some call it a crime wave, and I’m starting to think they’re right.”
“I’m here to talk to Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale,” said Father Reilly, not really in the mood for small talk. The sooner this was over with the better.
But Dolores wasn’t one to let go of her prey so easily. She sat back and rasped in her gravelly voice, “And I can tell you exactly when it started. When Chief Lip got involved with the Mayor, that’s when. The big guy is blinded by love, or whatever they call it, and criminals are crawling out of the woodwork, sensing the cops are distracted and busy with other stuff. Mark my words—it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”
Intrigued in spite of himself, Father Reilly leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Is it true they spend every afternoon in some love nest in town, their phones off the hook?”
He might be a man of the cloth, but he wasn’t immune to some idle gossip when the mood struck, and the mood struck often.
Dolores grinned. “Absolutely. He arrives at the office, and spends all morning on the phone with her. Then it’s off to lunch, and we don’t see him again until the next day!”
Father Reilly shook his head. “Dereliction of duty,” he said.
“You know what they say about old flames, Father. They burn the hottest.”
Father Reilly, who was about the same age as Alec Lip, gave Dolores a feeble smile. It was all fine and dandy to gossip, provided the gossip didn’t hit too close to home. “Is it true that they bribed Dan Goory so he wouldn’t write about their affair?”
Dolores nodded emphatically. “They were seen having lunch together: Alec, Charlene and Dan. Probably paying him off so he wouldn’t print any negative stories about the two lovebirds. A fat lot of good it will do them. You should read the comments online.”
“Where?” he asked immediately. “I mean, what website?”
“Facebook. Just join the Hampton Cove Facebook page and you’ll see that our beloved Chief and Mayor are the center of attention. Most of the comments are pretty hot, too!”