“I wouldn’t go so far as that,” he protested. “I merely wanted to point out that—”
“No, you’re absolutely right,” she said. “I am the perfect suspect. Which means I’ll have to convince you that you’re wrong about me. What about dinner and a movie?”
Alec’s brows shot up. Now this was a first. First time a woman asked him out on a date. And first time since his Ginny died that he was actually considering saying yes. Before he could think things through, Tracy Sting gave him a knowing nod. “Pick me up at eight. Room 433. And don’t be late, Chief. If there’s anything that turns me off it’s tardiness.” And then she was off, swinging those hips and turning the head of every guy in the establishment.
Alec shook his own head, feeling dizzy and dazed. What had just happened? And then he was getting up from his chair and moving after her. “Wait up, Miss Sting—Tracy!”
Chapter 23
Once again Dooley and I were on the move. Even though the weight of woe pressed down upon us in the form of Dooley’s potential move to Colorado, we’d decided not to let it worry us too much. Cats are a notoriously resilient species. Not only because of the fact that we have nine lives instead of the measly single one humans have been allotted, but also because we always tend to land on our paws. What was more, Dooley had been blessed with a great idea. If this Most Fascinating Cat in the World had run off and taken to the streets, who better to track him down than Clarice, our feral friend, who owned these very streets?
And so it was that the new day saw us traipsing along the back alleys of Hampton Cove, dumpster diving and searching high and low for the wild cat that was Clarice.
“I hope we find her,” remarked Dooley after we’d scoured our third dumpster that morning. “I don’t feel up to the long hike out into the woods, Max.”
“Me neither,” I admitted.
When Clarice isn’t looking for scrumptious and tasty bits in Hampton Cove’s many dumpsters, she’s scrounging off whatever bestselling scribe is occupying Hetta Fried’s writer’s lodge, which is inconveniently located a goodish bit away from the heart of town.
What with the flea thing and last night’s #pillgate and Dooley’s sad prospects, I wasn’t feeling up to going on a country ramble in the hopes of locating this Shadow feline. I’m prepared to do a lot for my human, but one has to draw the line somewhere, right?
And we were just checking out one of the more dingy back alleys—yes, even a Hamptons haven like Hampton Cove has them—and thumping our paws against the line of dumpsters, caroling, “Clarice, oh, Clari-iece!” like some latter-day Hannibal Lecter wannabes, when suddenly a loud growl sounded and one of the dumpsters spoke back.
“Oh, will you cut it out already?” the dumpster snarled, and I recognized the unmistakable dulcet tones of our favorite wild cat. “You’ll wear out my name. Not to mention scare away the tastiest rats!”
“Rats!” cried Dooley. “I don’t like rats, Max!”
“Relax. She’s just kidding. Aren’t you, Clarice?” I said, louder.
The head of a mangy cat appeared at the top of the dumpster and she jumped down, her fur matted and dotted with bald spots, part of one ear gnawed off and more than a few whiskers missing. Clarice jumped down and started washing her face, giving us nasty glances between licks. “You two look like crap. What have you done to yourselves? Gotten stuck in a wood chipper?” She laughed at her own joke, a series of low and throaty chuckles.
“We need your help, Clarice,” Dooley announced.
“Of course you do.” She then narrowed her eyes at me. “Is that… a collar?”
I cringed. I’d hoped the topic wouldn’t crop up. But of course Clarice’s eagle eyes had immediately spotted the anomaly. “We’ve been suffering from a slight flea issue,” I said.
She laughed a hacking laugh. “Flea issue! That’s why you look so ragged!”
“It’s no laughing matter,” Dooley said. “It’s a terrible ordeal, Clarice. Painful.”
“Painful! You don’t know what pain is, city cat,” she growled, getting in Dooley’s face. “Pain is when you take a punch to the gut from a twenty-pound cat with razors for claws. Pain is when a human steps on your tail and grinds it into the ground. Pain is when your own human throws you off a cliff and leaves you to die!” She was panting from the outburst.
We both stared at her, aghast. “Is that what happened to you?” I asked.
She produced a growling sound at the back of her throat, and for a moment I thought she would lunge at me. Instead, she said, “Never get attached to your human. They will turn their backs on you. And they will leave you to rot and die, alone in the middle of nowhere.”
Cheerful. Life around Clarice is always a feast of careless laughs and cheerfulness.
“Is it true that your human left you tied to a tree trunk and that you had to gnaw off your own paw to free yourself?” asked Dooley in a reverent voice.
Involuntarily we glanced at Clarice’s paws. She seemed to possess all four of them.
“Oh, who cares,” snarled Clarice. “That’s all ancient history anyway.”
Just then, a flea jumped from Dooley in the direction of the feral cat. Clarice snatched it up in midair, then flicked it into her mouth and chomped down. “Not a lot of meat,” she grumbled. “Got any more?”
I gulped. “You’re not afraid they’ll suck your blood?”
She laughed. “A flea suck my blood! I suck their blood! That’s why they never come near me.”
I had noticed she wasn’t wearing a collar. Then again, if her human was the kind of person to throw her off a cliff to leave her to die and rot, he probably wouldn’t take her to Vena’s for flea treatment. “You don’t have fleas?” I asked.
“Do you see a flea on me?” she asked, and I had to admit I didn’t. Fleas were probably more afraid of Clarice than she was of the little parasites. “Now are you gonna tell me what you want or are you gonna stand there yapping about your sad little lives?”
“We’re looking for Shadow,” said Dooley.
“Look behind you. But be quick,” she quipped.
Dooley did look behind him, then back at Clarice. “I don’t get it,” he said.
“Not our shadow,” I clarified. “Shadow. She’s the Most Fascinating Cat in the World, and she’s gone missing. She belonged to the Most Fascinating Man in the World but he got blown up, and if we can find her we want to ask her if she saw who killed her human.”
“Good riddance,” Clarice grunted. “I would blow up my human if I had the chance.”
“Who was your human, Clarice?” asked Dooley, interested.
In response, she merely gave him a dirty look. “I’ve seen Shadow,” she said. “Seen her rooting around my dumpsters, looking for scraps. Sad little creature. Namby-pamby cat. Scurrying away into the shadows like the kind of thing you find when you turn over a rock.”
“Where have you seen her?” I asked, my heart lifting with hope and excitement.
Clarice gestured vaguely. “Around. You’ll have to hurry, though. Cat looked absolutely mangy. Mangy and derelict. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s dead by now.” She nodded knowingly. “It takes a special kind of cat to survive on these mean streets, boys. Trust me when I tell you these streets are unforgiving and they are relentless. No place for sissy cats like you. Or Shadow.” She gave us a stern look. “Just giving it to you straight. No fairy tales. That way you won’t be disappointed when you come upon her emaciated, rat-infested, maggot-crawling carcass in a gutter on the edge of town, nothing but a piece of road kill.”
Like I said, time spent with Clarice is always a joy to the heart and balm to the soul.