“I’m sorry, uncle. You know as well as I do it’s hard to stay away from a case like this—especially when it involves someone I knew personally.”
He nodded.“I guess I shouldn’t have warned you off. I should have known you’d ignore me. But what the hell were you and Chase doing in the man’s bedroom?”
“Following a lead,” she said. She explained about the message she’d seen on Wolf’s phone, and how she’d decided to follow up on it.
“And a good thing you did.” He scratched his scalp. “Now how am I going to explain your presence at the manor? You didn’t happen to have a search warrant, did you?”
“Um…”
“Didn’t think so,” he muttered, then walked off after Chase, shaking his head and muttering something about meddling nieces under his breath.
Odelia just hoped the evidence wouldn’t be thrown out of court because of this search warrant thingie.
At her feet, Max and Dooley had arrived, along with Brutus. Of Harriet no trace.
She squatted down and scratched her cats behind the ears.“You did well, guys. We caught the killer. This must be some kind of new record. Dany was killed this afternoon, and less than twelve hours later her killer is in police custody.”
“I don’t think he did it, though,” said Max, surprising Odelia.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Not what, who. We talked to Ringo.”
“Who?”
“Ringo? Wolf’s Chihuahua?”
“And a very nice doggie he is,” Dooley added. “Just like you said.”
“He told us Wolf was right by his side when Dany was killed.”
“He witnessed the murder?”
“He did. He didn’t see the killer’s face, though.”
“He did tell us to talk to Mr. Owl,” said Dooley.
“Mr. Owl,” she said dubiously.
“It’s an owl that lives in the tree Dany was killed under,” Max explained. “He must have seen the whole thing. We’re hoping he’ll give us a description of the killer.”
“Can you take us to the park?” Dooley asked. “Owls are nocturnal creatures. Tomorrow he’ll probably be asleep.”
She threw up her hands.“I guess so.” Sometimes she felt more like a taxi service for her cats than anything else. Then again, if Ringo was right, Wolf couldn’t be the killer.
“But we found the yellow parka hanging in his closet. It still had Dany’s blood all over it.”
“The killer could have put it there,” said Max.
“Or maybe Ringo is lying,” she offered. “Have you considered that? He could be lying to protect Wolf.” Max and Dooley surprised her by bursting out laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“If you knew Ringo like we know him, you’d know he’s incapable of lying.”
“He’s very naive,” said Dooley. “Unlike us cats, dogs are very naive, trusting creatures.”
Odelia turned to Brutus, who looked shell-shocked.“What’s wrong with him?”
“Brutus had a near-death experience again,” said Max. “The third in a row.”
“I told him it’s just like thoseFinal Destination movies,” said Dooley.
“Dooley,” said Max warningly. “Not now.”
“But it’s true!”
“I fell to my death again,” said Brutus, as if waking up from a stupor. “I was falling and falling and then I landed on something soft and squishy.”
“A fat human,” Dooley said.
“We don’t call people fat, Dooley,” said Odelia. “It’s not a nice word.”
“So what do we call them then?”
“Big-boned,” said Odelia with a mischievous glance at Max.
Max frowned.“I’m big-boned. But would you call me fat?”
“You do tend to overindulge from time to time, Max,” she said.
“Just like the guy who saved my life, and a good thing he does,” said Brutus. He glanced around. “Um, where’s Harriet?”
“I think she left,” said Dooley.
“I saw her before she took off,” said Max. “She said she was going for a walk. She needed to think and put some things into perspective.”
“Perspective?” said Brutus. “Is that the word she used?”
Max nodded.
“Huh.”
“Okay, you guys,” said Odelia. “Let’s go and see this Mr. Owl. It’s late and I really need to catch some Z’s.”
Chapter 27
Odelia parked her car near the entrance to the park, we all hopped out, and then were on our way to the notorious tree for our interview with an owl. I’d never talked to an owl before, and I was really looking forward to a t?te-?-t?te with one of these wise old birds.
There’s just something about owls that tickles my imagination. They’re fascinating creatures. Apart from that, they’re also birds, of course, and for some reason cats are intrigued by birds as a rule. Not to eat them, mind you—though there are those amongst my species who will do anything to gettheir claws on a feathered friend—but to watch as they flit to and fro. In fact I can watch birds twitter and frolic in a tree for hours. I guess where humans love to people-watch, cats love to bird-watch. And we don’t even need binoculars.
I’d told Odelia not to wait—that we’d find our own way home, and judging from the rattling sound her muffler made as she took off, she’d taken this advice to heart.
Parks, and perhaps other public places too, are quite different at night than during the day. Apart from the fact that lovers seem to flock to parks in the middle of the night—I’m referring to Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts inNotting Hill—there’s a preternatural quiet that descends over a park once the sun decides to call it a night. A hush that lies over the area like a blanket. In jungles, nocturnal animals crawl out of their hiding places and create a symphony of sound. In parks? Nothing. Not even the hiss of a snake or the chirp of a cricket.
It’s almost as if all of nature sleeps. Except cats, of course. We gather in the park for cat choir. And already, as we set paw for the tree where only hours before a young woman had met her tragic end, meows and screeches rent the air, and it was obvious that Shanille, cat choir’s director, had gathered her troops and they were all giving of their best.
“Too bad we’re missing cat choir because of this murder investigation,” said Dooley, voicing my own thoughts exactly.
“That can’t be a coincidence, can it?” said Brutus.
“What are you talking about, Brutus?” I asked.
“Perspective! She said she needed to get a little perspective. And all this time I’ve been telling her this whole thing is a matter of perspective. One big misunderstanding. Maybe she’s finally starting to see things my way?”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I said dryly. “Harriet sees things strictly her own way.”
“But why would she use that particular word? Perspective?”
“Because that’s what people do when they’re faced with a personal crisis: they take a walk to get some perspective.”
“Mh,” said Brutus, not convinced.
It was obvious he’d started to hope against hope that Harriet would take him back. I could have told him this was a waste of time. Harriet was not one to be convinced by an argument. If Brutus wanted to win her back, he’d have to make a grand gesture. And since this was essentially the biggest crisis their relationship had faced since its inception, the grander the gesture the better. What gesture he should perform? I had no idea. I’m not an expert on feline love. And frankly I had other things on my mind. Like finding this owl.
We’d arrived at the old oak tree and stood gazing up at its majestic branches.
“Yoo-hoo,” I hooted. “Mr. Owl? Could we please have a word? It’s important.”
No response. Not even a hoo-hoo-hoooooooo.
“I don’t think he’s home,” said Dooley after we’d waited some more.
Cats have pretty sharp eyes, and I was inclined to agree with Dooley. I didn’t detect any owl in this particular tree. It was, in other words, an owl-less tree.
“But where can he be? Ringo said he was sitting in this tree this afternoon—that this tree was his home.”