“Oh, we will,” he said. “I’m always careful when I’m traveling with precious cargo.” He gave her a wink, then practically raced to the other side of his pickup, a skip in his step, and hopped in, limber as a foal. “Ready, Tracy?”
“Ready when you are, Alec,” Tracy said, and gracefully placed her shapely legs in the footwell of the truck before closing the door. She cranked down the window a few inches. “I’ll take good care of your uncle, Odelia,” she said with a purr to her voice. “Don’t you worry.” Then she gave her a wink and a smile and the odd couple were off at a healthy clip, Uncle Alec gunning the engine a few times for good measure. Like a young Bruce Willis.
Odelia stood staring after them, conscious of her head moving from side to side of its own accord. Moments later, she became aware of the presence of Chase next to her.
“We had to let her go,” the cop announced somberly. “Alec insists she’s innocent.”
“He might be biased.”
“You think?” He shook his head. “The woman has cast a spell on him.”
“And he fell for it.”
“Hook, line and sinker.”
They stared after the chief’s car as it disappeared around a corner with squealing tires and smoke pouring from the muffler. This wasn’t good. “What if she blows him up?”
“She won’t.”
“She might.”
“He’s a grown man, Odelia. What do you want me to do? Tell him he can’t go out with that girl? Tell him he’s grounded and take away his phone and internet privileges?”
“Maybe we should tail them? Make sure she’s not up to more funny business?”
“He’d spot us five minutes in. The man is a seasoned cop.”
“I don’t like it, Chase.”
“I don’t like it either, Odelia, but there’s nothing we can do.”
He was right. Just then, the cop’s phone chimed. He put it to his ear, listened for a moment, then locked eyes with Odelia. He disconnected and put his phone away. A grin spread across his face. “I think we just caught a break, babe.”
“What?”
“Crime scene people pulled a partial print from a bottle retrieved at the scene.”
“And?”
“Curt Pigott.”
Chapter 31
Turns out Vena wasn’t The Re-Animator, nor was she The Exterminator or The Terminator or some other dastardly creature. Instead she was worried we wouldn’t sleep well, what with being forced to spend the night in an unfamiliar environment, and had given us a mild sedative to make us relax and rest while Dooley recuperated from his ordeal.
And I might add that it worked. Soon after the terrible moment had passed—I hate shots, don’t you?—I’d fallen into a deep and healing sleep and so had Dooley. When I woke up again it was because some altercation had occurred somewhere in the small clinic.
Vena’s clinic is a modest affair. Two rooms and that’s it. Dooley and I had gotten a nice comfy microfleece-lined perch to rest and recuperate on, accompanied by some of her other patients. I counted at least six: a puppy with mumps, a hamster with tendinitis of the elbow—those hamster wheels are a health hazard, I’m telling you—a parrot suffering a vocal issue, a parakeet with a beak sprain, a rabbit with toothache, and a pet mouse with pink-eye. Not that I could see the difference. As far as I know all mice have pink eyes. But I digress.
As I said, I was resting peacefully when all of a sudden I was awakened by the arrival of Vena with a fresh patient. It was another cat, this one of a more raggedy appearance. For a moment I thought it was Clarice, but when Vena finally left her modest ward, I saw it was a ginger cat, smaller and more diminutive than Clarice. When she caught me glancing over, she said, “Oh, hi. So nice to make your acquaintance. My name is Shadow. What is yours?”
I won’t deny that I was stunned. For what felt like days we’d been searching high and low for this elusive Shadow, and now, through some strange twist of fate, here she was!
“Do you by any chance go by the moniker Most Fascinating Cat in the World?” I asked, holding my breath.
“I do, sir, yes. That’s me. I’m the Most Fascinating Cat in the World. At least,” she added, sagging a little in the soft and plush bed Vena had put her in, “I used to be. Before my human was blown to bits. Sad story, sir. Very sad story, indeed. Shall I tell it to you?”
“I think I know the story,” I said. “Burt Goldsmith, right?”
“Best human a cat could ever hope to adopt. Bar none. Though I have to admit I also spent a lot of time with his grandson. Philippe Goldsmith. Have you made his acquaintance?”
“I have—though we were never formally introduced.”
Next to me, another patient stirred. “Who is she, Max?” Dooley asked sleepily.
“Dooley, meet Shadow. Shadow, this is Dooley, my friend and housemate.”
“And what is your name, friend?” asked Shadow.
“Max. Not the most original name, perhaps, but better than Princess at any rate.”
“I used to know a Princess,” said Shadow musingly. “Most Compelling Cat in the World. Though not a very nice one, I’m afraid. If you ever do meet her, try to steer clear.”
“We met,” I said, “and I have the scratches and bites to prove it.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Shadow,” said Dooley. “We’ve been trying to solve your human’s murder, but so far we haven’t been able to.”
“We got sidetracked,” I admitted. “Some family drama that cropped up.”
“Family drama will always crop up,” Shadow agreed. “It did in my family, too. Like the time Philippe accused his grandfather of hogging all the attention and blocking his own rise to fame as the next Most Fascinating Man in the World. Or the time when Burt threatened to cut Philippe out of his will if he didn’t stop annoying him with his constant nagging about taking retirement and allowing his grandson to take over his crown.” She smiled. “Burt used to tease Philippe about being the Most Annoying Man in the World. Philippe didn’t think it was funny. These things happen in every family,” she assured us. “Best not to linger on it too much.” She sighed. “Remember the golden nuggets and forget the darker moments is my advice. Before you know it your human is gone. Blown to bits by an exploding bottle of beer.”
“You know about that?” I asked, surprised.
“I heard about it. You’d be surprised by the things one picks up when sleeping rough.”
“You’ve been living on the street all this time?”
“I have. After what happened I was afraid to return to the hotel. When people start blowing up your human it’s best to stay away. I don’t enjoy the prospect of suffering the same fate, you see. I have this phobia about being blown up.” She shuddered visibly.
“I think we all have a phobia about being blown up. Unpleasant experience.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Where were you when it happened?”
“Sleeping peacefully underneath the bed. Normally I sleep on top of the bed, but I like to change things up from time to time and that morning I’d opted to sleep underneath it. And a good thing I did. Suddenly the whole world seemed to come apart at the seams.”
“How did you get out?”
“The connecting door had been blown off its hinges. I hid in there for a while, then out into the corridor the moment Philippe returned, and out through the fire escape.”
“Philippe and his grandfather occupied connecting rooms?”
“Yes, they did. Philippe insisted on it. Said his grandfather was so old he needed to be nearby. In case something happened with his ticker. Not that Burt was fond of the idea. Said it cramped his style. Told his grandson that if he wanted to bring a couple of birds up to his room it was none of Philippe’s damn business. Not that he ever did invite a couple of birds up to his room mind you,” she added with the air of one harboring a secret regret.
“I think when he said birds he probably meant girls,” I said.