Chapter 24
The interview with the four remaining most interesting men concluded, Odelia decided to swing by the house for a bite to eat. Chase dropped her off and continued on to the station house, wanting to discuss the case with Uncle Alec. And she’d just inserted her key in the door and stepped inside when she became aware that she wasn’t alone.
Someone else was in there with her, and it wasn’t Max or Dooley.
“Who’s there?” she called out, afraid some burglar had decided to go for her meager belongings. They wouldn’t find much to satisfy their thieving tastes. Unless they were fellow cat owners and excited by the prospect of getting their kibble in bulk at the local Walmart or Costco, they’d be sorely disappointed by their sad little haul.
She took a firm hold on the baseball bat she liked to keep next to the front door—one of Chase’s contributions to interior decorating—and took a tentative step. Her house was a smallish affair, and from her position in the hallway she had a good view of the living room, the kitchen, and even the backyard through the sliding glass doors. Just then, the stairs creaked, and she gasped. Someone was in here! Score one for the Poole survival instinct.
“Show yourself!” she yelled. “I’m armed and extremely dangerous!”
She lifted the baseball bat, wondering if she was holding it right and also wondering if she’d have both the time and the gumption to take a swing at this daytime intruder.
Just then, a person came stomping down the stairs and she raised the bat over her head. “I’m—I’m not kidding!” she cried. “I’ve got a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it!”
“Where do you keep the sheets?” asked Grandma, stepping out from the stairwell and giving her a look of annoyance. She frowned when she saw Odelia’s Babe Ruth imitation. “So this is what you get up to when I’m not looking. Having fun and playing games. And they wonder why this generation is so soft.” She shook her head and headed into the kitchen, opening the fridge. “And nothing to eat, of course. Sad. Very sad.”
“Gran,” Odelia cried, lowering her deadly weapon. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m moving in,” announced her grandmother, extracting a carton of eggs from the fridge and a tomato. “Don’t you have bacon? I need bacon if I’m gonna get through this. Bacon has always been my comfort food of choice.”
“But-but-but,” she sputtered.
Grandma plunked her bony frame down on a high kitchen stool and planted her elbows on the counter. “I got canned,” she said. “Got called out as a fraud and a cheat.”
Odelia stared at her grandmother. “I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I. Things were going great. Philippe was really taking to me, I could tell. Calling me Granny Goldsmith and stuff, and showing me pictures from when he was a baby. He didn’t even mention Scarlett Canyon anymore—having seen right through the woman I’ll bet.” She puckered up her face. “And then she showed up and ruined the whole thing.”
“She?” asked Odelia, also taking a seat at the kitchen counter.
“Sure. She. Amelia Goldsmith she calls herself. Burt’s wife. Turns out Burt may have played the part of the player, cutting a neat swath through a pack of blond bimbos over the years, but all this time the guy was married, can you believe it? Married! And to the same woman, no less. Claims she’s the mother of Burt’s boy Hunter and Philippe is her grandson.”
“But what about the DNA test?”
“Results came back. Neither me nor Scarlett made the cut. Nope,” she said, heaving an unhappy sigh. “Looks like that ship has sailed. Burt and I may have done the horizontal mambo back in the day, but ne’er a son was born from our union. And the same goes for the Canyon menace, though I could have told you this without some stupid darned DNA test.”
“So… that means you’re staying put?”
“Sure.” Gran slapped the counter and got up. “So where are those sheets? And you know I like them light and fluffy. None of that flannel stuff. I’ve got sensitive skin.”
She gave her grandparent a look of confusion. “What do you need sheets for? Don’t you have plenty of sheets at your own place?”
Gran’s face darkened. “I don’t have a place. Marge and Tex are dead to me. No way am I going back to those two backstabbers. After the way they treated me? Not one ounce of support for my bid to become Granny Goldsmith and rake in the millions.” She shook her head decidedly. “Nah-uh. I’m moving in with you.” She spread her arms. “Granny’s home!”
Chapter 25
We met up with Brutus and Harriet on the corner of Main Street and Franklin Avenue. Brutus and Harriet had formed a second team to look for Shadow. It was obvious from their expressions that they hadn’t found what they were looking for either, though.
“Did you find her?” asked Brutus.
“No, did you?” asked Dooley, who had a hard time reading faces.
“We did find Clarice,” I told the others. “She said she saw Shadow and that if we don’t hurry it might be too late.”
Brutus frowned. “You mean she might have left town?”
“She might have left the planet.”
“As in… flown off into space?”
“As in being dead and buried.”
“Look, all this talk about Shadow is all well and good,” said Harriet, “but shouldn’t we focus on the more important issue here?”
We all stared at her. “What more important issue?” I asked.
She tapped her collar. “These, of course! When are we going to be allowed to get rid of these horrible collars? Cats are staring at us, in case you hadn’t noticed. Mocking us.”
I looked around. Every single cat I saw was also wearing a collar, and they weren’t staring, either, too busy wallowing in self-pity, just like Harriet was. Cats are notoriously self-absorbed, and Harriet is a prime example. It’s one of our less attractive qualities, I’m afraid.
“I guess once the fleas are gone the collar can come off,” I said.
“Duh. In case you hadn’t noticed, the fleas are gone,” said Harriet. “So you better talk to Odelia and get her to remove these terrible things ASAP, Max. And better do it now.”
“I saw a flea,” Dooley piped up. “It jumped from me to Clarice but then she ate it.”
Harriet ignored this outburst from one she considered a mere cypher in our small cat universe. “Talk to Odelia, Max. I’m serious.”
“Why don’t you talk to her?” I asked.
“Because she only listens to you. Everyone knows that.”
“That’s not true.” They all looked at me. “Is it?”
“It is kinda true, Max,” Dooley said. “You seem to be her favorite.”
“Odelia doesn’t have favorites. She loves us all equally.”
“Yeah, right,” Brutus grunted. “You know that ain’t true, Max.”
And as we walked on, idly looking left and right for Shadow, I thought about this. Was I Odelia’s favorite? I didn’t think so. I was her cat, of course. Harriet was Marge’s. Dooley was Grandma’s, and Brutus was Chase’s mom’s. But that didn’t mean anything. No, I was pretty sure they were mistaken. Odelia loved us all to bits. And we’d just crossed into yet another back alley, when we came upon a strange sight: a man and a woman in a police cruiser were also loving each other to bits. Literally. And they had the steamed-up windows to prove it.
And as we stood watching, mouths agape, I suddenly noticed the guy inside the police cruiser looked awfully familiar. He was portly, with a big head and red sideburns.
Brutus had noticed, too. “Isn’t that… Uncle Alec?” he asked.
“No way,” said Dooley. “Uncle Alec would never do… what is he doing, exactly?”
A hand suddenly slapped against the window, as the woman appeared to straddle Uncle Alec. And then the car began moving in a curious rhythm, tires squeaking audibly.