“I told you,” said Chase. “They’re buddies.”
She tried to hand Brutus over to Chase. He refused to let go.
“Look at that, Poole. He likes you.”
She gave Chase a frown.“You’re not secretly a cat hater, are you?”
“Me? I love cats. Well, maybe not love them, but I don’t hate them.”
“Brutus is not Chase’s cat,” Max explained. “He belonged to Chase’s mother, but she had to go live someplace where they don’t like cats so he ended up with Chase. He never even hugs him, Odelia. He doesn’t care.”
“I’m all right,” said Brutus. “Chase feeds me meat.”
“Yeah, but you can’t live on meat alone,” said Max.
Chase laughed.“For a minute there I thought they were talking to you.”
Her frown deepened.“How many times a day do you cuddle your cat?”
He looked at her as if she’d sprouted wings. “Cuddle my cat? Um…”
Her lips tightened. She hated cat haters.“Adopting a cat is accepting a sacred responsibility, Chase. Cats need to be loved and lavished with TLC.”
He stared at her.“TLC. Okay. And what’s that got to do with me?”
“Brutus spends more time at my place than yours. Which tells me you’re not taking particularly good care of him.”
“Me? Not taking care of him? I love the little bugger.” He gingerly patted Brutus. “Besides, cats are solitary creatures. They don’t need TLC.”
She raised an eyebrow. Both cats were still clinging to her like crazy and weren’t letting go. “Do they look like solitary creatures to you?”
“Yeah, but that’s because they just went through this ordeal. I’m sure they’ll be fine once you put them down. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me if they went scooting up the nearest tree the moment you do.”
She shook her head.“You have to start taking better care of your cat.”
“Look, he’s not even my cat, all right? He belongs to my mom. In fact I’ve never had a cat in my life. I had a goldfish once, but that didn’t end well.”
“Well, now that you have a cat, you better learn how to take care of him.”
He gave her a goofy look.“Maybe you can teach me?”
She blinked.“Teach you?”
“Sure. You’re crazy cat lady, right? Teach me what you know.”
She handed Brutus to him and he held him up so he was dangling. Cat and human stared at each other, sizing each other up. Neither looked happy.“Oh, for Christ’s sakes,” she muttered, and showed him how to hold a cat, with his left arm providing support for Brutus’s backside and his right hand holding him steady. “Now just caress him. Cats love to be stroked.”
With his big hand he patted the cat’s head, practically squishing him.
“Not like that. Gently.”
He stroked along Brutus’s head. The cat had one eye closed and looked like he was ready to escape. “Like this?”
“Yeah, that’s better.”
Brutus seemed surprised. He turned to her.“Gee, thanks, Odelia.”
She gave him a wink.“We’ll make a crazy cat man out of you yet, Detective.”
He grimaced.“Anything to keep this little sucker from waking me up at five in the morning.”
Her eyes went wide.“Five? I thought it was after seven.”
He scooted up Brutus’s butt and checked his watch. “Nope. Five thirty.”
She gave Dooley a hard stare. He shrugged sheepishly.“I was worried about Max.”
“Thanks, buddy,” said Max.
“It’s so funny,” said Chase, still stroking Brutus’s head. “It’s as if they’re talking.”
“Of course they’re talking. Cats are intelligent creatures. They talk.”
“I’ll be damned.” Brutus had closed his eyes, and was softly purring. Chase gave her a look of surprise. “Do you hear that? I think he likes me.”
She grinned.“Congratulations. That’s the sound of a happy cat.”
Yep. She’d turn this tough NYPD detective into a cat lover yet.
Chapter 17
After tossing and turning for half an hour, Odelia finally gave up trying to get back to sleep. She dragged herself out of bed for the second time that morning, and headed into the bathroom. The moment she caught sight of her face, she yelped. Gah! Was this what she’d looked like that morning in the park? She looked like a contestant on one of those survival shows. The ones where they have to eat bugs and wash themselves in a stream. She quickly did the shower and getting dressed thing and headed down for breakfast.
Max, Harriet and Dooley followed her. They were uncharacteristically quiet. Max was still recovering from his tree adventure. Harriet was in mourning over the end of her affair with Brutus. And Dooley looked like he was trying to come up with a way to win over Harriet. Now that Brutus was out of the picture he thought he had a shot. Poor, misguided creature.
“I have to run, you guys,” she said after munching down on a piece of toast smothered with butter and jam. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, all right? Like climb trees and get stuck. I’m looking at you, Max.”
“Can we tag along?” Harriet asked. “I need something to distract me.”
“Sure. You can help me write a killer article about Dion. And about Max’s adventure.” She gave him a wink. “You can give me the inside view.”
“Please don’t,” Max groaned. “I feel like such a sucker for getting stuck.”
“Cheer up. Cats don’t read newspapers so they won’t make fun of you.”
“They don’t read the paper but they look at the pictures. When they see me, clutching Brutus and that fireman, they’ll never let me live it down.”
“Well, it’s news. So I have to write about it. If I don’t, Dan will.”
“Oh, all right,” he grumbled. “I’ll give you my exclusive story.”
She poured the contents of her coffee pot into the stainless steel travel mug her mom had bought her for her birthday and headed out. She opened the door to her old Ford pickup and her feline brood hopped up onto the backseat and made themselves comfortable. She’d put their favorite blanket back there and always had a plastic bowl and a few pouches of cat food lying around in case they got hungry. She flung her purse on the passenger seat, placed her coffee mug on the dash, and peeled away from the curb.
First stop: the police station. Charging Dion was a formality, so it should be over pretty quick. Next stop: the Gazette. Make Dan a happy editor by finally writing the definitive article on the Shana Kenspeckle murder.
She parked in the designated spot in front of the police station and hopped out, the three cats right behind her. While they went in search of the latest tidbit from the gossip mill in town, she waltzed into the station house.
As usual, Dolores was at her desk in the vestibule, ready to welcome the latest complaints from the citizenry, ranging from parking tickets, lost wallets and kids playing ding dong dash. She gave Dolores a finger wave and sailed right on past the display case showcasing Uncle Alec’s fishing trophies. She entered his office at the end of the hall without knocking, and saw that Chase was already seated in front of her uncle. Both men looked pretty despondent.
“Good morning,” she said cheerily, and placed her coffee mug on the Chief’s desk. “Someone die?” she asked when she didn’t get a response.
Her uncle flung a report in her direction and she snatched it up. It was the coroner’s report. She quickly flipped through it, until she reached the section about the murder weapon. There was a lot of text and medical jargon and her eyes glazed over. “Just give me the short version.”
“Dion Dread didn’t do it,” her uncle said.
Her jaw dropped. She looked at Chase but he nodded somberly.
“No way,” she finally managed.
“Way,” her uncle rasped. “Abe studied the wound and said he’d never seen anything like it, except maybe at the butcher shop. He said that whoever killed Shana chopped off her head in a single stroke. Which leads him to believe that the killer most likely works in the meat industry.”