“It looked so good in the video,” murmured Tex as the knife went TWOOOING! and suddenly soared through the air, and barely missed Uncle Alec’s head. “Sorry about that.”
“Welcome to the family, Charlene,” said Vesta sweetly. “Where the men can’t cook, the cops need the assistance of cats and senior citizens to catch the bad guys, and the women are in charge.”
Charlene laughed. “Thanks, Vesta. Exactly my kind of family.”
“So no food?” asked Brutus.
“No food,” I said.
“I think it’s all for the best,” said Dooley. “Max still isn’t completely recovered, and sometimes fasting is a recommended cure in such cases.”
“I’m fine, Dooley!” I said. “I’m absolutely fine!”
But he placed his paw against my brow again and tsk-tsked lightly. “Mh,” he said.
Suddenly Harriet spotted the now distinctly lopsided goatherd figurine on the garden table. Marge had put it there to show to Charlene. Tex had glued it back together again—more or less. “So how does that figurine figure into the story?” Harriet asked.
“Well, Marcia figured Vicky needed a hobby. Something to occupy her time while she languished in that basement.”
“Was Marcia going to keep her there forever?” asked Brutus.
“Well, no. But she hadn’t figured out what to do with her. She’d dumped those sleeping pills into Vicky’s tea on a whim, after Vicky told her about the pregnancy, and now she was stuck. She couldn’t let her go, and she couldn’t keep her forever either.”
“That wasn’t very clever of her.”
“So she let Vicky work on those figurines. Marcia was a big fan of Otto Spiel, and had always made her own versions, trying to make them look like the original. But when Marcia wasn’t looking, Vicky wrote a distress call inside, hoping that someone would break one of those things and find the message.”
“She also put her ring inside,” said Harriet, staring at the now deformed figurine.
“Yeah, that was an accident,” I said. “It must have slipped off her finger when she was working on one. And since she couldn’t very well tell Marcia, she kept her tongue.”
“And how about the security guard?” asked Brutus. “Why the mysterious letters?”
“Marcia liked to give those figurines away as presents. And since her son had plenty, amassed over the years, he, in turn, had gotten into the habit of handing them out to his factory workers—people he felt deserved a little token of his appreciation. Like Bruno the security guard. And when Bruno accidentally broke it, he discovered the message inside. He wasn’t sure what to do, and when we came snooping around, he figured he might as well give us a nudge in the right direction, thinking there was something fishy about his employers—and the mystery surrounding Vicky’s disappearance.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Harriet. “Why did Quintin wait a whole month before going to the police when his wife disappeared?”
“Quintin and Vicky made an arrangement when they married. He knew she’d mostly married him for his money, and not his good looks, so they agreed she could keep her freedom and fool around if she wanted to, on one condition: that she’d never tell anyone, or publicly cause him any embarrassment. And so she’d gone missing before. The first time she spent two weeks in Vegas with her friends, and the second time she was gone for three whole weeks—a trip to the Bahamas with the same ‘girl crew’ she liked to hang out with. So when she disappeared again, he wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t worried either. It was only when he bumped into one of her friends and asked when she’d be back, that he discovered that this time she’d actually gone missing for real.”
“What’s going to happen to Marcia?” asked Brutus.
I slapped Dooley’s paw away, as he was trying to measure my temperature yet again. “She’s going to prison for the abduction of her sister-in-law. Her son will take over from Quintin. And Vicky… is probably going to stay in Belize, where she’s built up a pretty good life over the past twenty years. But not before paying a visit to her old husband. And maybe coming back here will jog her memory to some extent.”
“Or maybe not,” said Dooley. “Just like you shouldn’t be too sure you’re fine, Max. You’re not fine, and I think you should lie down now.”
“Dooley, quit fussing!”
“Oh, he’s only watching out for you, Max,” said Harriet. “So if I were you I’d let him.”
She was right. Dooley was only showing me how much he cared. But it was annoying to a degree!
Suddenly the doorbell rang, and we all looked up.
“Visitors?” asked Harriet, surprised.
“It’s Vena,” Dooley announced.
“Vena!” I said, staring at my friend.
He nodded sagely. “I asked Odelia to give her a call. Now I know you think you’re fine, Max, but I’m worried about you, and so is Odelia. So just let Vena take a look at you, and then we can all relax, all right?”
I gritted my teeth a little, but finally relented. “Fine,” I said. “I don’t need to see a doctor, but fine.”
“Good,” said Dooley. “I knew you’d see the light, Max.” He’d placed his paw against my forehead again and was shaking his head. “Still running a temperature,” he murmured.
Vena walked out through the sliding glass door and greeted us all heartily, as is her way. Hampton Cove’s premier veterinarian looks like a powerlifter, which is not a bad look for a vet, as dragging foals from horses probably requires a lot of physical strength.
“So where is the patient?!” she boomed now, and then her eyes swiveled in my direction and she smiled her broad and infectious smile. “There he is!”
“I’m fine,” I repeated for all who would listen. “Absolutely fine.”
“Let’s take his temperature,” said Vesta as she took a seat on the porch swing next to me, and got out her signature bag of goodies. “Now relax those rectal muscles, Max!”
Rectal mu… “No way!” I cried.
And before she could stop me, I jumped down from the swing and was making for the hedge.
“Max! Come back here!” Odelia cried.
“Yes, you’re a sick cat, Max!” Dooley added.
“Never!” I yelled, and was waddling off at a respectable rate of speed. And I think I would have made it, if I hadn’t stumbled upon the new inflatable pool that Chase had purchased, and set up in Odelia’s backyard.
I hit that pool head-on, bopped over the edge, and landed right in the middle. And I would have gone under, if Chase hadn’t fished me out by my neck, and held me up.
“I keep having to save you, don’t I?” said the burly copper.
I gave him my best smile. “I think I love you, Chase,” I said. And then spat out a modest stream of water, hitting him right in the face.
“Cats,” he muttered as he carried me back into the next backyard. “You gotta love ‘em.”
At least I hadn’t destroyed his pool again. And doesn’t it say a lot about a man’s character when he keeps repairing and replacing his inflatable pool, even though his girlfriend’s cats keep destroying it? I think it says that man is a cat friend through and through.
And I love a man who loves a cat.
So I underwent Vena’s probings with a certain measure of equanimity, and when finally she’d given me a clean bill of health, Marge had finished warming up her spaghetti, and soon the only sounds that could be heard were nine humans—Vena had kindly accepted Marge’s invitation to stay for dinner—and four cats munching away to their heart’s content.
I hadn’t escaped this latest adventure of mine fully unscathed, but fur has a habit of growing back, and so does wounded pride. So I think in all fairness I really was fine.
And so when Dooley’s paw surreptitiously stole out and touched my forehead again, I resisted the urge to slap it away. Harriet was right. My friend was only looking out for me, annoying as his ministrations were, and so I endured his attentions with fortitude.