“Yeah, Ziv Riding is a douche.”
“Well, maybe he doesn’t even know his clothes are made in these sweatshops. A lot of times they just hand over production to a company.”
“Then they should make sure those companies don’t use sweatshops.”
She was right, of course. Then again, there wasn’t much she could do about that from where she stood. So she handed the note back to her grandmother, along with the sweater. “Where did Leo buy this?”
“In one of the boutiques on Main Street. So are you going to expose this Ziv Riding? Are you going to write a tell-all expos? about the guy?”
She shook her head.“I can’t, Gran. I can’t accuse him of anything without more information.”
“So gather more information. You’re a reporter. That’s your job.”
“I’m just a small-town reporter. I don’t write stories like this. I write about a new shop opening on Main Street. Or that traffic lights were out again at the intersection. Or about the council meeting. I don’t expose international scandals.”
“Well, I think you should.” Gran held up the note. “This is an outrage. Those poor people wrote this note hoping someone would find it. Someone with the guts to stand up to people like Riding. Someone who’d save them.”
She held up her hands.“Well, that person isn’t me.”
“Wimp,” Gran muttered, dumping the sweater behind the counter.
“Gee, thanks, Gran. I don’t see you climbing the barricades or picketing outside Ziv Riding’s office.”
“Well, maybe I will,” said Gran. “Maybe me and Leo will do just that.”
Sure. That would make Ziv Riding quake in his designer boots. Gran and Leo picketing his office. When they weren’t too busy smooching.
Chapter 9
Dooley and I passed into the offices of the Hampton Cove Gazette. It wasn’t a difficult feat as the editor kept the door unlocked, in case a member of the public decided to step in and regale him with some fresh story or offer comment on an article he’d written. Dan is a fixture in Hampton Cove, and you can’t miss him. He’s a smallish man with a big, white beardand lots of laugh wrinkles around his eyes. These days he mainly takes care of the business side of running a paper and lets Odelia write the articles.
We passed by Dan’s office, where the editor spent most of his days, and on to Odelia’s, smaller office, right next to his. She was at her desk, pounding away at an article, presumably about the murder. In spite of what you might think, murders rarely happen in Hampton Cove, so when one does happen, it’s a big deal.
“Hey, guys,” she said as we rubbed against her leg. She picked me up and put me on her desk. I proceeded to lie down on her keyboard, easily the best spot in the house as it gets most of Odelia’s attention.
She gently gave me a push, and I reluctantly scooted over, idly playing with her mouse until she took it away from me and placed it out of reach. Humans. Never any fun.
“So we discovered a clue,” I said.
“And I discovered that I’m about to die,” Dooley said morosely.
She stared from me to Dooley, clearly not sure where to begin, so I decided to help her out.“Montserrat, the cat that belongs to Erin Coka, told us her friend Fred saw a black Tesla parked in the alley behind the restaurant last night. And she’s sure it doesn’t belong to the owners of the place or anyone who works there.”
“I’m wasting away,” Dooley announced.
“So whoever killed Niklaus Skad drives an obsidian black Tesla,” I said. “Don’t thank us, thank Montserrat. And Fred.”
“It must be cancer,” Dooley continued. “What else could it be?”
“Um…” Odelia said. “First of all, thanks for the Tesla thing? Secondly, why do you think you’re dying, Dooley?”
“It’s Montserrat’s fault,” I told her. “She may be great at ferreting out crucial information like the killer’s ride, but she sucks at social niceties. Like, she told me I was fat? And then she went and said Dooley must be sick he’s so thin. I mean, who does that, right?”
“Montserrat is right. I am freakishly thin,” Dooley said.
“She didn’t say you were freakishly thin,” I said. “She said you looked like a stray and that your human probably doesn’t feed you enough. There’s a difference.”
“How is that different? She thought I was dying.”
“She didn’t think he was dying,” I told Odelia. “just that he’s thin.”
Odelia looked worried now.“Doesn’t Gran feed you enough?”
“Actually Gran doesn’t feed me anything,” Dooley said.
“Omigod, she doesn’t?”
“No, your mom feeds me. Gran forgets, so Marge took over years ago. She feeds Harriet and me, though Harriet gets special treatment, on account of her fur. She gets something that’s guaranteed to put the shine in a Persian’s fur.”
“So why is it this…”
“Montserrat,” I said helpfully.
“This Montserrat thinks you’re too thin?”
“Because she’s flaky,” I said.
“Because she sees a lot of strays, and she said I look like one.”
“You don’t look like a stray, Dooley,” Odelia said softly, picking up Dooley and depositing him right next to me. “You look like a very healthy, very happy cat.”
“You think so?” he asked hesitantly.
“Sure. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. You’re just thin, but that’s body type for you. Just like Max here is full-figured.”
“I prefer the term big-boned,” I said. “I have big bones. It’s in my genes.”
“Maybe I could go see a doctor?” Dooley asked. “I do feel a little weak.”
“Sure,” Odelia said, ignoring my groans of exasperation. “Why don’t we go see Vena? That way you can relax. And we better take you, too, Max.”
I gulped.“Me? Go see Vena? Why? I mean, why? Why Vena? Why?”
“Because when we went to see her last year she said you were too big for your size, and she wanted to put you on a diet, remember?”
I remembered. What a horrible suggestion! I’m not too big. It’s my bones. “But I followed the diet,” I reminded her. “I did everything she told me to.”
“Yes, and she also said we should come back in a year so she could check.”
“But… I don’t want to go. I’m fine. I followed the diet. I—I’m good.”
“We’re going,” she said firmly. “End of discussion.”
I gave Dooley an angry look.“This is all your fault,” I grumbled. “If you hadn’t gone all hypochondriac on us this would never have happened.”
“Max, be nice to Dooley. If he thinks there’s something wrong with him, we better have him looked at. And you, mister, were never going to escape Vena.”
“I wasn’t?”
“Of course not. She has you scheduled for next month. But since we’re taking Dooley anyway, she can take a look at you, too.”
I just knew what she was going to say. She was going to say I hadn’t lost enough weight and she was going to put me on that rotten diet again. Eating nothing but diet kibble for six months. No special treats. No chicken liver. No yummy surprises. “Just so you know, that diet stuff tastes like cardboard,” I said.
“Well, you better hope that you lost enough weight, then,” said Odelia.
No sympathy. No sympathy whatsoever. Humans are cruel. Just plain cruel.
“Oh, and we’re taking Diego, too. He has to get his shots and he has to be neutered.”
I shared a happy look with Dooley. Humans. Aren’t they the best?
Odelia tapped her space bar and a video started playing on her screen.
“This is some raw footage fromKitchen Disasters. Niklaus used to upload snippets for his upcoming show to his website. Now watch this.”
I watched this, and so did Dooley. All I saw was this Niklaus guy yelling and screaming at a chubby guy with a chef hat. The chef just kept on decorating a plate, looking thoroughly uncomfortable, his face a very unhealthy pasty white, until Niklaus snatched the plate out of his hands and dumped its contents into a trash can. The chef looked absolutely horrified after that, as if someone had taken his baby and thrown it away.