Odelia was going to ask her parents what the heck was going on, but Mom shushed her and turned up the volume on the TV set. As they watched, the host announced with breathless relish that shots had been fired at Charlie Dieber as he exited the studio. Visibly disappointed, the radio jockey clarified that Charlie was unharmed and that his bodyguard had sustained the brunt of the attack and had been pronounced dead at the scene.
“Sweet Jesus!” Mom cried, pressing her hands to the sides of her head. “Thank God Charlie lives!”
“Poor bodyguard, though,” Odelia said, shaking her head.
“Yeah, imagine having to take a bullet for Charlie Dieber,” Dad quipped.
Mom shut him up with a pointed look.“The man died so Charlie could live. He’s a hero and a saint and should be praised for his brave and selfless act.”
Dang. Mom was an even bigger Bedieber than Odelia would have guessed.
She promptly got up.“This is big,” she announced. “I have to get over there and break this story.”
“And while you’re at it don’t forget to ask for Charlie’s autograph, honey,” Mom said as she moved to the door.
“If I get within ten feet of Charlie I’m not going to nag him about autographs, Mom.”
“You promised!” she called out after her.
“That was before someone tried to drill a hole in him!”
Chapter 3
We were seated in Odelia’s backyard, me, Dooley and Brutus, for an emergency meeting. Hidden behind the gardenias, from time to time ducking our heads up to see if the coast was clear and we weren’t being overheard, we conducted our meeting with the stealth and solemnity the situation demanded. We were at war, and it was all paws on deck.
“He ate all your food?” asked Dooley. The gray Ragamuffin looked shocked.
“Everything. Every last morsel,” I confirmed.
“That’s not very nice.”
“Not nice?! It’s downright criminal!”
“You can have some of my food,” Dooley magnanimously offered. “There’s plenty.”
“Yeah, have some of mine, too,” said Brutus, a powerfully built black cat who’d been my mortal enemy until not all that long ago. In fact the arrival of Diego had created a bond between us that had wiped out our former enmity and turned us into unlikely allies instead.
“Will you look at that?” Dooley asked, a somber note in his voice.
We peeked through the gardenias and Brutus drew in a sharp breath when he saw Diego seated on the terrace with Harriet, pressing their paws together in a cloying picture of loved-up cuteness. Any moment Celine Dion could burst into theTitanic theme song.
“Don’t look, Brutus. Just don’t look,” I advised the cat, who’d been Harriet’s beau before Diego’s fateful return.
But Brutus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the train wreck even if he wanted to. Nor could I, actually, or Dooley, who’d also been one of Harriet’s admirers. In fact it was safe to say I was probably the only male feline for miles around who’d never been into the white Persian. No idea why that was. Probably the fact that she was one of those haughty specimens, who enjoyed lording it over other cats, a quality that set my teeth on edge.
“This is too much,” growled Brutus. “Stealing your food. Stealing my girlfriend—”
“Stealing my litter box and my morning cuddle with Odelia,” I said somberly.
They gawked at me.“He uses your litter box?” asked Brutus. “Say it isn’t so, Max!”
I nodded in confirmation.“Sadly, yes. I’ve been forced to do my business in Odelia’s rhododendrons ever since Diego’s return. No way am I going to suffer the indignation of relieving myself in a place that reeks of Diego. Talk about suffering the ultimate humiliation.”
Brutus and Dooley sat in stunned silence, as they imagined having to share a litter box with Diego. This was bad, their silence seemed to indicate. This was extremely bad.
“Did you say he stole your morning cuddle with Odelia?” asked Dooley.
“He did.” I proceeded to describe my shock and dismay when I discovered Diego snuggling up to Odelia that morning. How he didn’t even bat an eye when I confronted him.
“Oh, the horror,” muttered Brutus. “The heartbreak. The infuriating gall of the cat!”
“We have to do something about this, you guys,” I said. “I feel like he’s slowly but surely trying to get rid of me. Before I know it, Odelia will vote Diego Most Valuable Cat.”
“Odelia would never do that,” said Dooley, eyes wide. “Would she?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Diego is trying to poison Odelia’s mind,” said Brutus.
I stared at him.“Poison Odelia? But why?”
“Poison her mind—set her against you.”
“No way,” Dooley gasped. “There’s just no way!”
“Oh, yes, there is,” Brutus assured him. “He’ll feed her all kinds of lies. Start with something innocuous, like the fact that Max left some poop on the floor, for instance.”
Dooley turned to me.“Max! Did you poop on the floor?”
“Of course I didn’t poop on the floor! He’s talking about Diego.”
“Diego pooped on the floor?!”
“Oh, Dooley,” I said. “Try to pay attention.”
“Diego could poop on the floor,” Brutus explained, “and then tell OdeliaMax did it.”
The pure deviousness of the scheme seemed to shock Dooley, for he audibly gasped.
“And when she’s finally had enough, she’ll get rid of Max,” Brutus continued.
“Get rid of me!”
Brutus nodded somberly.“The animal shelter, Max. Where all cats go to die.”
“Noooo!”
“Oh, yes. Mark my words. Before you know it, you’ll be locked up in a cage the size of a shoebox, waiting to be gassed or whatever it is that they do at these establishments.”
I sank back on my haunches, the terrible fate that awaited me suddenly looming large and ominous.“I don’t want to go to the shelter, you guys. I don’t want to be gassed!”
“You might get an injection,” Brutus said. “I’ve heard some even offer electrocution.”
His words provided no comfort. I’d suffered injections from Vena Aleman, Odelia’s go-to veterinarian. And I’d seenThe Green Mile.No electrocution for me, thank you very much.
“We have to stop him,” I said, a tremor in my voice. “We have to do something.”
“Before Diego poops on the floor,” Dooley added, his mind stuck on that image.
“Then let’s get rid of this pest,” said Brutus, pointing a resolute claw at Diego.
“But how? We tried to get rid of him before, remember? He’s hard to dislodge.”
“There’s only one cat in this town who’s ever managed to get rid of Diego,” said Brutus, “and that’s Clarice. We have to find her and convince her to repeat the procedure.”
“I remember,” I said, cheering up a little. Clarice is a feral cat, Hampton Cove’s very own dumpster-diving feline superhero, swatting away lesser cats with a flick of her paw and putting the fear of God into everyone she meets. Even though I’m scared stiff of her—and so are Dooley and Brutus—she’s helped us out on more than one occasion, and even received a standing invitation from Odelia to raid her supply of cat food any time she wants. Not that she ever shows her whiskers around here. She prefers to traipse through the woods that surround our small hamlet, roaming around unfettered like the maverick cat that she is.
“Brutus is right, Max,” said Dooley. “Clarice is our only hope.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Last time she drove him away he quickly returned. What’s to make him stay away now? And who’s to say Clarice will want to do our dirty work for us?”
“Max is right, Brutus,” said Dooley. “Clarice takes orders from no one.”
“We’re not going to order her around,” said Brutus. “We’ll ask her nicely. In exchange for a lifetime supply of Cat Snax I’m sure even she can be persuaded to do the right thing.”
“Brutus is right, Max,” said Dooley. “No one says no to a lifetime supply of Cat Snax.”