Unfortunately when we walked in through the glass sliding door, Harriet and Brutus were still there, like a couple of unwanted guests you just can’t seem to get rid of.
“And? What did you find?” I asked, jumping up onto the couch and settling down in my usual spot.
Harriet merely frowned, as if I’d asked her the wrong question.
“Nothing,” Brutus replied in her stead. “Bupkis. Diddly squat. Jack shit.”
“Brutus!” Harriet snapped. “Language.”
“It’s true though, isn’t it?” asked Brutus, whose long surfing session seemed to have galvanized him. “I know everything about Justin Bieber’s tattoos and even which kidney Selena Gomez had implanted but I still know precious little about who offed Donna Bruce.”
Harriet lifted her chin. “We just have to keep on looking. It’s only a matter of time before we hit on the telling clue.”
“Not by surfing that darned Interweb we won’t. How many times can you read about Kim’s Paris attack? Seriously, I’m done.” And to show us he meant business, he hopped down from the computer table and stretched and yawned.
“Brutus! We’re not finished yet.”
“I’m sorry, toots. I would tell you I cared about how much weight Mama June lost but I don’t.”
Harriet’s ears colored. “I’ve been looking at other stuff, too.”
“Right. What Honey Boo Boo looks like these days. I’m a cat, honey munch. I don’t care about that stuff. What I do care about is treating myself to a nice piece of meat at regular intervals, lounging on the couch with my precious—which is you, by the way—and sneaking around the neighborhood after dark, chasing critters and fighting off trespassers. So if you care to join me—which I sincerely hope you do—you’re welcome. If you prefer to find out what the Real Housewives of Nowhereville are up to, that’s fine, too. But don’t expect me to stick around, cause I won’t.”
Harriet looked shocked after this unexpected harangue. “Brutus,” she muttered brokenly.
“Now what’s it gonna be, sugar puss?”
Her blush had deepened. “Brutus, you’re suddenly so… dominant.”
“A tom’s gotta do what a tom’s gotta do. Now are you with me or not?”
“Brutus,” she breathed, deserting the world of reality TV and dropping down from the computer table. She stalked up to her beau, her tail trembling wildly. “Oh, Brutus…”
Brutus grinned at me and gave me a wink. “Watch and learn, fatso. Watch and learn.”
I responded with an eyeroll. So the old Brutus was back, huh? Of course he was. He’d just been suffering from a temporary weakness, as was to be expected.
“We’re hitting the town, boys,” Brutus announced when Harriet had sidled up to him and was rubbing herself provocatively against his flank. “Don’t wait up for us.”
And with these words, the revolting couple was off, leaving Dooley and me reeling. Well, Dooley was reeling. I wasn’t.
“Why can’t I be more like Brutus, Max?” Dooley lamented. “If I could be more like Brutus maybe Harriet would like me too. And then I’d be the one who took her out on the town.”
“Do you really want to take Harriet out on the town?”
“Of course I do! She’s so…” He sighed forlornly. “… wonderful.”
“Oh, Dooley,” I muttered, and closed my eyes. I only woke up when something was poking me in the side. I tried to slap it away but the poking only intensified.
“Max! Max, wake up!”
“I’m a cat, Dooley. I’m always awake,” I reminded him. Though as a matter of fact I’d actually been sleeping soundly, dreaming of that nice piece of steak Dooley had stolen from me. “What is it?” I finally asked, reluctantly abandoning my dream. If I couldn’t eat steak, at least I could dream about it. As far as I know, dreams aren’t fattening. Or are they?
“I think I found something,” Dooley announced.
“If it’s not meat I don’t want to know,” I muttered, and closed my eyes again.
“It’s about Hillary.”
“I don’t care about politics, Dooley.”
When he didn’t respond, I opened my eyes again and found him staring at me. “What do you mean you don’t care about politics?”
“Hillary Clinton. Donald Trump. I just don’t care.”
“Who are Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump?”
“My sentiments exactly. Now leave me be. I have to conserve my strength. I’m on a diet.”
“Poor Hillary Davies lost her daughter a couple of years ago.”
“She did, huh? That’s terrible,” I muttered, trying to go back to sleep.
“I was surfing the web, typing in the names of all the suspects in the Donna Bruce murder case and that’s what came up.”
“Terrible tragedy,” I murmured.
“Oh, and they’re doing a remake of Star Cars, only without Zelda Yoke this time.”
“Too bad.”
“And Dexter Valdès is writing his autobiography. It’s called Life with a Tiny Wiener.”
“Very tempting.”
“And Ransom Montlló is setting up a new version of A Star is Born, only this time it’s an indie production, made with local talent and featuring Ransom himself and his dog Flea in the lead.”
“That’s just great. Now if you could just let me—”
“Hey, you guys!” Odelia cried, walking in. “I’m home.”
I groaned in agony. Why was it suddenly so hard to get some sleep around here?
“Hey, Odelia,” Dooley said with a smile. “I’ve just discovered a whole new bunch of clues.”
Odelia was immediately interested, which just told me how desperate she was. Obviously her investigation was going nowhere, same way ours was. Odelia listened patiently as Dooley rattled off his list of ‘clues’ while I tried to drown out the droning sound of his voice. Then, suddenly, he must have said something interesting, for Odelia uttered a startled cry and jumped up from the couch like a rocketing pheasant, grabbed her purse and was out the door in a flash. She briefly returned to shout, “You guys just solved this case!” and then she was gone again.
I stared at Dooley, who seemed ecstatic.
“We just solved the case, Max! We solved the case!”
“We did?”
“Didn’t you hear Odelia? We found Donna’s murderer!”
“So who is it?”
Dooley’s exuberance waned. “Um… I don’t know.”
I shrugged, and went right back to sleep. Humans. They’re all nuts.
Chapter 30
Odelia pressed her lips together in a grim expression. She had a pretty good idea what had happened and who was responsible for the murder of Donna Bruce, and as usual her cats had provided her with the telling clue. And as she drove over to Donna’s house, the old pickup hurtling along the road and kicking up spray, she pushed the engine to the max. It whined and rattled in protest but she didn’t care. She had to reach the house before it was too late and the bird had flown.
A snippet of conversation had drifted back into her memory. Donna’s house was going to be put up for sale, her uncle had told her. Tad had no use for it as he was moving back west with the boys after the funeral. The house was going to be emptied out, the most valuable stuff shipped to LA and the rest sold locally or simply thrown away. When she and Chase had found Zelda Yoke asleep in Donna’s bed she’d already noticed a lot of stuff was missing, which meant cleanup was well underway. And she knew exactly who was in charge.
When she arrived at the house she saw that the gate was wide open so she didn’t hesitate and drove her pickup up the driveway and parked next to the red Fiat that stood with its rear end backed up to the front door, its trunk open.
She walked up to the house, the thought of calling Chase briefly flitting through her mind. But she wasn’t entirely sure her hunch was right, and if it wasn’t she didn’t want to inconvenience Chase.
She moved into the foyer and called out, “Hello? Anybody here?”