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.”
“Or the Mafia,” Chase muttered.
“So? Maybe Dion Dread used to temp at a butcher shop?”
“I checked. He didn’t. What’s worse, Abe is convinced the killer is right-handed.” He eyed her intently. “Dion is a southpaw.”
“Maybe he switched hands? To throw us off the scent?”
Her uncle shook his head.“According to Abe that’s an impossibility. The blow was administered with such precision and skill that there’s no question. The killer was right-handed, and he or she knew what they were doing. Which rules out Mr. Dread. I cut him loose half an hour ago.” He placed his hands on the desk, palms down. “I’m afraid you’re up to bat again, team. Shana Kenspeckle’s killer is still out there. Maybe planning his next kill.”
Chase gave a shake of the head.“Always the optimist, aren’t you, Chief?”
The chief shrugged.“Just facing the facts, buddy.”
Chase cut his eyes to Odelia.“Ready for another day at the Kenspeckles, Poole?”
She nodded automatically.“Well, heck. I really thought we had our guy.”
“Well, we didn’t, so he’s off the hook.”
“Can’t you arrest him for something else?”
Uncle Alec grinned.“Cheating on your wife is not a punishable offense, Odelia. At least not in this country. And neither is being a conceited ass.”
Chase got up.“We’ll interview the film crew. They might know something. Besides.” He gestured to the window. “It’s a beautiful day. Who doesn’t want to spend it with America’s first family?”
She groaned, and Uncle Alec gave her a commiserating look.“Better get moving, honey. Camille Kenspeckle is on her way over here. She’s convinced it’s terrorists that killed her daughter, and she wants the FBI involved.”
She nodded and got to her feet.“We’ll solve this case,” she said, trying to project more confidence than she was feeling right then.
“By the way, how is Max?” Uncle Alec asked. “Not too traumatized after that tree incident this morning?” He had a twinkle in his eye. Her uncle was one of the few people who knew all Poole women could talk to their cats.
“Max is fine,” she said. “A little shaken but fine.”
“Brutus is fine, too, Chief,” said Chase. “Thanks for asking.”
The Chief leaned back in his chair.“Oh, but I know Brutus is fine. That cat is built like a tank. It’s Max I’m worried about. He’s such a snowflake.”