Odelia nodded. More proof that the stories of Jeb’s substance abuse were true.
“Honestly, Odelia, this is a guy who went all Charles Manson on that poor woman. She never stood a chance. The moment she walked into this lodge she was a dead woman.”
Chapter 6
Dooley and I idly inspected the terrain that surrounded the lodge. It mainly consisted of ferns, wild geraniums and different types of grasses. It all looked very inviting for a nap.
“I don’t like it, Max,” said Dooley, using one of his favorite phrases.
“I don’t like it either,” I intimated. “This Jeb guy is a terrific actor. I thought he was great inCaptain Blood and those westerns. I never get tired of watching his movies.”
“I don’t mean Jeb,” said Dooley. “It’s the kittens. I don’t think I like them very much.”
“Which is only natural,” I assured him. “Nobody likes kittens, Dooley. Except humans, of course.”
“Odelia likes them.”
“Case in point. That’s because kittens have a tendency to play on humans’ heartstrings. They tug those strings so hard they leave those poor humans giddy with affection and a distinct sense of dubious attachment to the furry little creatures.”
“They’re very rude,” said Dooley. “And they don’t respect us older cats.”
“No, they don’t.”
Even before we’d left the house to go on this fact-finding mission with Odelia, the threesome had used my water bowl to dunk a paper ball into and had emptied out my bowl of Cat Snax. And when Odelia had refilled my bowl, and had placed three smaller bowls, one for each kitten, they’d finished their own bowls then mine in one fell swoop!
“No respect at all,” I agreed with my buddy.
“They’re taking over the house, Max. They’re even peeing in the corners, marking off their territory—our territory!”
“I know,” I sighed. “But what can we do? Odelia loves them to death—even though she only met them this morning.”
“We need to teach them some manners, Max. Teach them to respect their elders.”
“I know, but Odelia strictly forbade me to do exactly that.”
“But we can’t just let them walk all over us!” he cried, indicating just how riled up he was. Dooley is usually a very peaceable cat, and this proved how he was being pushed to the brink and beyond by our unexpected guests, just like I was. “Maybe we should send in Brutus to deal with the three little brutes,” Dooley said now. “Or Harriet—or both!”
I gave this some thought. There was no doubt Dooley had made a valid point. Neither Harriet or Brutus had been cautioned by Odelia. Yet. So they were officially in the clear, able to admonish to their heart’s content. And frankly speaking Brutus could be very severe if he wanted to be, and so could Harriet. If I were a kitten and I saw Harriet or Brutus coming—or both—I’d be afraid. I’d be very, very afraid.
Bucked up by these uplifting thoughts, I discovered we’d reached the back of the small lodge. A pile of discarded and empty glass bottles was lying there, testament to the preference for alcoholic beverages of the lodge’s current occupant. Beyond the pile of bottles an ashtray rested on a bench, overflowing with weirdly shaped cigarette butts.
“Why do humans smoke and drink so much, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Beats me,” I said.
“They possess a tendency towards self-destruction, don’t they?”
“You can say that again.”
“They possess a tendency towards self-destruction, don’t they?”
“I didn’t mean literally repeat—oh, never mind,” I said. I’d spotted a tiny birdie sitting and singing in a nearby tree and padded over to take a closer look at this fluffy little friend.
On the whole, the relationship between cats and birds is fraught with a certain tension. Birds, as a rule, don’t like cats. Probably because cats, as a species, tend to eat birds. Not that I’m one of those cats, per se. Odelia taught us a long time ago that sometimes we need to sink the savage feline into the civilized feline, and has strictly forbidden us from ever taking a feathered life.
“Yoo-hoo, birdie,” I said now.
The bird glanced down in our direction, did a visible double take, blanched to the root of its downy gray feathers, and fluttered off as fast as its tiny wings could carry it.
“Too bad,” I said.
“What is, Max?”
“That birds take this instant dislike to us just because we’re cats.”
“It’s anti-cat bias,” Dooley agreed.
As far as I could tell, no other feathered creatures were anywhere nearby, and I was about to give up this fact-finding mission as a dud when I saw that a young woman came walking in our direction through a small patch of gray birch trees. There was a path there that led straight from the house to this lodge, and she was bouncing down it at a brisk pace. She vaguely resembled Jeb, and I wondered if she was in any way related to the actor.
When she came upon us, she smiled prettily.“Oh, hey, you two cuties. I’ve never seen you here before.” She crouched down next to us, and tickled me behind the ear, then rubbed Dooley’s head, then scratched me under the chin. In response, we both closed our eyes and started purring up a storm. Now here was a human to whom I took an instant shine. Pro-human bias, I guess. And we were still purring when Odelia rounded the lodge and came into view. When she saw us fraternizing with another human, she smiled.
“I see you’ve met my cats.”
“Oh, are these two sweeties yours? They’re so cute!” the girl said. Then she seemed to sober and rose to her feet. “You’re Odelia Poole, aren’t you?”
Odelia seemed surprised to be recognized.“Yes, I am. Have we met?”
“Not in person. I love your articles for the Gazette, and I’ve seen your picture.” She glanced around. “Um, I need to ask you a favor, Miss Poole.”
“Odelia. And you are…”
“Oh, sorry. How rude of me.” The girl thrust out a slender hand that was attached to a slim arm, which was connected to a willowy body. “My name is Fae. I’m Jeb’s daughter.”
“Oh, of course,” said Odelia, shaking the girl’s hand.
She was probably all of seventeen, or maybe even sixteen, and looked very young and very pretty. Striking large eyes and a pale heart-shaped face with high cheekbones.
“I know what you must be thinking,” said Fae. “My father did the most unspeakable thing. But I can assure you that he didn’t do what they’re accusing him of, Odelia.”
“He didn’t?”
The girl shook her head decidedly.“My daddy would never murder anyone. He couldn’t hurt a fly.” She took a deep breath. “Which is why I want you to find out who’s framing him for murder. I want you to find out and then I want you to tell the police who the real murderer is.” She took out her wallet before Odelia could reply, and pressed a small wad of green bills into her hand. “Consider this an advance for future services rendered. I’ll pay you whatever you want, but please, Miss Poole,” she said, and clasped Odelia’s arm, fixing her with a pleading look. “Please please please clear my father’s name?”
Chapter 7
Odelia didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know if…” she began.
“Oh, I know you’re not a private detective—not a licensed one, anyway. But I also know that you’ve helped the police solve countless murders, and that you’re very good at what you do. If there’s one person who can clear my daddy’s name it’s you, Miss Poo—I mean Odelia. So please, please, please, please, please take me on as your client?”
“Like you said, I’m not a detective, Fae,” said Odelia. “I’m a reporter, so…”
“But youhave to find out what really happened. You justhave to. My daddy—hecan’t be in jail. He’s not going to last a week—even a day. He’s a sensitive soul—a poet and a tender-hearted man. He simply won’tsurvive if he’s locked up in that dreadful place.”