“Dave James is dead?” asked Gran. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Dave James is dead?!” Scarlett cried.
“Yeah, Tex found him this morning,” I said.
“Tex found him,” Gran translated my words for Scarlett, who is one of those rare people who can’t communicate with cats.
“Tex found him?!” Scarlett cried, adamant to keep repeating everything that was being said like some kind of parrot.
“So now we have to find out who did it,” I said, watching anxiously as Chase and Odelia impatiently waited in the car for Dooley and me to join them so we could be on our way.
“Look, I didn’t want to do this, since I don’t think you and Dooley should have a place in my new cartoon,” said Harriet, “but Gran convinced me that for comedic purposes it’s good to have sidekicks. Like in those Garfield cartoons sometimes you have that spider? Well, Max can be the spider. And you, Dooley, you can be like Odie.”
“Odie is a dog,” I pointed out.
“Let’s not split hairs, Max. You should be glad you’re in my cartoon at all.”
“You’re going to kick me?” asked Dooley with slight trepidation.
“Harriet won’t kick you but I might,” said Brutus with a wicked grin.
“Okay, so if Harriet is Garfield, and I’m the spider and Dooley is Odie,” I said, “then who are you, Brutus?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m the love interest.”
“Does Garfield have a love interest?”
“Sure. And she’s an integral part of the story.”
“And so who’s going to be Garfield’s Jon?” I asked.
“That would be me,” said Gran proudly. “I’ll be the Jon of Harriet the Cat.”
“But because Scarlett can’t draw,” Harriet explained, “we’ve decided to turn it into a photo comic instead. And I’ve already worked out the first episode, and now all we need to do is snap the pictures. And since you’ll feature in it, we need to take a couple of pictures of you against a neutral background, Max. You, too, Dooley.”
“Oh,” I said, all this information coming a little too fast for my taste.
But before I could change my mind, Gran had instructed me to position myself against the police station outer wall, and Scarlett proceeded to snap a couple of shots of me.
“Don’t you want me to look a certain way?” I asked Gran, who was supervising this impromptu photoshoot.
“No, that’s fine,” said Harriet. “In fact the more bland you look, the better.”
“I look bland?”
“And when Harriet says bland she actually means dumb,” Brutus added.
“Now you, Dooley,” said Harriet. “Pose against that wall and look… well, like you normally look.”
“Is this okay?” asked Dooley, pulling a happy face.
“Yeah,” said Harriet after a pause. “Yeah, that’s actually perfect.”
“Dumb and dumber,” said Brutus, his grin widening.
“Hey, are you guys coming or not?” Odelia yelled, leaning out of the car.
“Coming!” I yelled back.
“Dismissed,” Harriet snapped, and added, “It’s in the can!” Then she drew a paw through her perfectly white mane of fur, and declared, “Now it’s time for my closeup.”
And as Dooley and I hurried over to the car, my friend said,“What just happened, Max?”
“I’m not sure, Dooley, but I think we’ve both been sidelined from Harriet’s comic.”
“You don’t look like a spider, Max.”
“And you don’t look like Odie, Dooley.”
But then Odelia opened the car door and we both piled in, and as Chase hit the accelerator and the car peeled away from the curb, my mind immediately turned back to the case at hand. Insofar I’d almost forgotten about the small contribution I was making to Harriet the Cat by the time we left Hampton Cove and were well underway to Dave James’s place.
Chapter 9
In due order we arrived at the house, and judging from the police activity, it was clear that something very bad had happened there, which of course we already knew. A van from the coroner’s office was parked outside, next to several police cars, indicating that the crime had only recently been discovered, and that Abe Cornwall, who is the county coroner, was still going over the crime scene, or perhaps even the body of the victim.
We walked in, and secretly I hoped that Dave had pets, since it’s always easier for Dooley and myself to talk to any pets on the premises and find out what they know.
You see, killers might take the utmost care not to be seen by their fellow humans when committing a crime, but they never bother about pets as potential witnesses, figuring they won’t be able to tell what they saw. But of course they’ll tell us, and we’ll tell Odelia, and she’ll find a way to make good use of this information. That’s how we’ve worked together very successfully in the past, and that’s the way I hoped we’d be able to solve this case now.
But the moment we walked in I immediately knew that Dave James might have been famous for creating a cartoon about a pet, but he himself had no furry companions.
“What a nice house, Max,” said Dooley as we entered the hallway and glanced around. There was plenty of marble and plenty of artwork on the walls, none of which was by Dave’s hand, and none of which featured his famous creation Tollie the Turtle.
We walked past the milling cops, some of whom just stood shooting the breeze, talking animatedly about last weekend’s football game, and finally we arrived in the living room, where a very distraught-looking woman of indeterminate age sat sobbing into a handkerchief, consoled by a female officer. The officer glanced up when we entered the room, and seemed very happy to see us.
“Detective Kingsley,” she said, getting up. “This is Mara Brae, Dave’s housekeeper.”
“Do you think you’re up to answering a couple of questions, Mrs. Brae?” asked Chase, adopting his warmest, most kindly tone.
Mrs. Brae nodded, tears still rolling down her cheeks. She was a woman of squat build, and had done her hair up in a bun.
“It’s so terrible, detective,” she said. “So, so terrible what happened to Dave.”
“I know,” said Chase, taking a seat on the sofa next to the woman, with Odelia flanking her on the other side, and Dooley and myself taking a seat at our human’s feet, discreetly listening in. I would have gone in search of kibble, but since there were no dogs or cats in the house, it was safe to assume there wouldn’t be any kibble either, so sitting in on this interview was just about all that seemed prudent at the moment.
“You were here when it happened?” asked Chase as he took out pencil and notebook.
The woman shook her head as she touched the handkerchief to her eyes to stem the waterworks.“No, I was out. If I had been here, maybe they’d have killed me too!” She lifted a tearful face to Chase and said, “Is it true that they killed him… with an ax?”
“I’m afraid we don’t know much at this point, Mrs. Brae,” said Chase, not wanting to get into those gruesome details. “All we know is that he was found in his studio by his doctor.”
“His doctor, yes. Tex Poole. Very nice man. He told me what to do about my heel spurs, and I followed his advice and they’re much better now.”
“That’s great,” said Chase. “Now could you please look at a picture and tell me if you’ve ever seen this person?” He held up his phone and showed the housekeeper a picture of Jayme. But Mara shook her head.
“Never seen her before,” she said. “She looks pretty, though. Who is she?”
“Jayme Ziccardi, the recipient of one of Dave’s scholarships.”
“Oh,” said Mara, nodding. The information clearly didn’t mean anything to her.
“Okay, now I know how this might sound, but can you please describe to me how the relationship was between Dave and his wife? Were they on good terms, would you say?”
“Oh, no, detective,” said Mara, shaking her head adamantly. “They didn’t get along at all. They were still living under the same roof, but they were practically separated. They avoided each other as much as possible. And then of course there’s that horrible boy.”