This was news to Shadow. “Oh? Why? There’s not even a remote resemblance.”
“Humans,” I said, and she nodded knowingly. So did every other animal in the room.
“Humans,” they all echoed, and gave themselves up to silent reflection on the utter strangeness of the creatures that had adopted them as their pets.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand, though,” said Shadow.
“Oh?”
“I saw that bottle of beer. I was there when it was brought in. And it smelled like beer. Being around Burt all those years I know what beer smells like, you see.”
“I thought Burt didn’t like beer? At least that’s what my human said.”
“He didn’t. But you can’t be the most famous beer salesman in the world and not sample your fair share of the brew over the course of all those years. And the beer that was brought in that day was beer. I remember peeping my head out from under the bed and taking a sniff, then retreating again. Moments later the door opened again and a powerful whiff of something else pervaded the room. It smelled like…” She wrinkled up her nose in distaste. “Burned sugar.”
“Burned sugar?”
“I remember thinking, why would Burt burn sugar?”
“That must have been the nitroglycerin. You said someone else came in?”
“Yes. Unfortunately I didn’t take a peek that time. And then Burt came walking in from the bathroom, mumbled something and that’s when my whole world collapsed.”
“And to think we thought we had it bad,” said Dooley commiseratingly.
“Why don’t you go back to Philippe?” I suggested. “He seems like a nice person, and I’m sure he’s been looking for you everywhere. I know Odelia would if we went missing.”
“Oh, Philippe is nice enough,” Shadow admitted. “But he’s not Burt. I liked Burt. Burt was fun. He always made me laugh by tickling my tummy and making funny faces.” She smiled at the memory. “Philippe is different. He’s a little grumpy. He doesn’t make me laugh. I think it’s because of all those headaches.”
“Headaches?”
“He suffers from terrible migraines. Says it comes from his job as a teacher.”
“He’s a teacher?”
“A chemistry teacher. He loves his job but all those fumes he’s inhaled over the years must have affected him adversely.”
Shadow’s words gave me pause. They seemed to stir a memory, but I couldn’t quite catch it. Someone in the recent past had told me something about headaches. But who? And what? I shrugged it off. If it was important, it would come to me. For now I was content shooting the breeze with Shadow, who was possibly the most fascinating cat I’d ever met.
Chapter 32
The movie had gone down big with both Alec and his date. The Rock was a cop invited by accident to join the maiden flight of a billionaire’s space ship because his ex-wife—The Rock’s, not the billionaire’s—now worked for him—the billionaire, not The Rock. But then a group of terrorists had interrupted the fun and killed the billionaire and taken his guests and the ex-wife hostage so The Rock had to fight his way through at least a dozen terrorists with a funny accent—the terrorists, not The Rock—before a sleazy reporter had exposed his wife—The Rock’s, not the reporter’s—to the terrorists and things had sort of deteriorated from there. Explosions, fist fights, gunfire, a lot of dead terrorists and of course the happy reunion. Alec was feeling on top of the world, and Tracy Sting evidently was, too, judging from the way she’d returned his heated kisses while the credits finally rolled.
“Wanna go back to my room for a nightcap?” she croakily asked when they walked out of the cineplex, fingers entangled.
“I sure do,” he said just as croakily, though his croak was from emotion, not genes.
And they’d just stepped into her room and he’d pressed her up against the door, clothes magically dropping to the floor as if repelled by their heaving and grinding bodies when a knock on the door elicited annoyed groans from the both of them.
“Room service,” a youthful voice announced.
Tracy yanked open the door. “What?!” she growled.
The pimply youth stared at her, and stammered, “N-n-nuts.”
“Nuts?”
He thrust out a small glass dish of nuts. “N-n-nuts.”
Tracy took it. “I didn’t order no nuts.”
“To go with the b-b-beer,” the youth managed, before quickly retreating into the safety of the corridor.
Tracy slammed the door shut and stared at the nuts. “Weird. Did you order these?”
“Nope. Probably the same person who ordered those bottles of beer did,” said Alec, gesturing at the amber bottles placed on a side table. They’d been there a little while, as they’d created a puddle on the table, condensation still producing droplets on the glass.
They both stepped up to the bottles and Tracy picked up the note that lay next to them. “Enjoy some real beer for a change,” she read. “Taste the world’s best brand. Signed Curt Pigott.” Her brow furrowed. “Horrible little man,” she grunted. “Can’t stop taunting me.” She picked up the bottles by the neck and prepared to dump them into a nearby trashcan.
“Hold on a minute,” said Alec. “Let me take a whiff of those.”
She handed him the bottles and he sniffed. “Doesn’t smell like beer,” he said finally.
Tracy, too, took a sniff. “More like… burned sugar,” she said.
Their eyes met and Tracy carefully replaced the bottles on the table, then they were both backing away slowly towards the door.
Curt Pigott had just sent them two bottles of nitroglycerin!
Chase pounded Pigott’s door. “Police! Open up!”
Moments later, the World’s Most Compelling Man appeared, his hair sticking up, his sleep mask askance on his brow, and one ear plug still sticking out of his ear, the other in his hand. He was looking slightly disheveled, trying to hold his robe gathered around his frame. “What’s going on? Has there been another attack? I must have slept through it.”
“There’s been a breakthrough in the case,” Chase announced.
“Oh, that’s great! Have you caught the guy?”
“We have now,” Chase said gruffly, and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Curt Pigott, you’re under arrest for the murder of Burt Goldsmith.” And as Chase read the startled actor his rights, Odelia looked sideways and then looked again, surprised when she saw her uncle, in a state of undress, accompanied by Tracy, also half-dressed, stalking towards her.
“Now, Uncle,” she admonished him, “you can’t keep doing this. The mayor won’t like it when his principle crime fighter keeps showing up all over the place without his clothes.”
“This man tried to murder us,” Alec announced, pointing an accusing finger at Curt Pigott. “You sent two bottles of exploding beer to Miss Sting’s room just now. Don’t try to deny it, you little shit!”
“They weren’t bottles of beer,” said Tracy, covering her modesty with her arms. “They were bottles of nitroglycerin.”
Curt looked absolutely befuddled. “I didn’t—I never—I wouldn’t!”
“And yet you did!” Alec bellowed. “You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of a police chief and his—his—his…” He glanced at Tracy, who crooked an amused brow. “His girlfriend!” he finished finally, and Tracy cast down her eyes, a smile playing about her lips.
“I never sent you any bottles!” Curt protested. “I’m innocent—innocent, I tell you!”
“Tell it to the judge,” said Chase, who proceeded to cuff the compelling man.
“Good riddance,” a voice spoke behind them. When Odelia turned she saw that they’d attracted quite the audience: Bobbie Hawe, Jasper Hanson, Nestor Greco and Dale Parson all stood watching as their colleague and competitor was led away by Chase and Alec. “I’ve always known there was something fishy about him,” said Nestor.