My long harangue was met with a soft snore. She’d fallen asleep in the middle of my exposé! Dang. I’ll bet a thing like that never happened to Hercule Poirot when he delivered his closing statement, neatly wrapping up another case. Or Sherlock Holmes, for that matter.
I jumped down from the bed, and then trotted down the stairs.
I found Dooley and Shadow staring at a lumpy form on the couch.
“You guys, Odelia is out like a light. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Max? There’s a strange woman on our couch,” said Dooley.
I checked the lumpy form and discovered that Dooley was right. There was a strange woman on our couch.
“It’s Tracy,” said Shadow. “Tracy Sting. She was my human’s handler.”
“Handler? You mean like a dog handler?” asked Dooley.
“Something like that. When Tracy said jump Burt asked ‘how high?’ Or at least that’s the joke he liked to make. He was very fond of her. She’s good people, Tracy is.”
“But what is she doing in our house?” I asked.
“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” said Dooley with a yawn. “Let’s sleep. I’m tired.”
Just then, Brutus and Harriet walked in through the pet door. “Who’s that?” Brutus asked, gesturing in the general direction of the couch.
“Burt Goldsmith’s handler,” I said.
“No, I mean the cat, not the dame.”
“My name is Shadow,” said Shadow courteously. “I was Burt’s cat. Which means now I’m nobody’s cat.”
“Oh,” said Harriet. “That’s so sad.” She turned to us. “Where have you guys been?”
“Long story. Dooley ate some of Brutus’s pills and passed out.”
“Brutus’s pills?” asked Harriet. “What pills?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Brutus hastened to say. “Listen, they finally caught this Burt guy’s killer. Turns out some compelling dude killed him. And listen, listen,” he said when I made to interrupt him, “someone tried to kill Uncle Alec by sending him an exploding bottle. Him and some babe he’s seeing.” He snapped his claws, or at least tried to. “Um, name escapes me.”
“Tracy Sting,” said Harriet. “That’s her over there, sleeping on that couch.”
“Right,” said Brutus.
I thought about this. “Now why would Philippe try to kill Uncle Alec?”
“Philippe? Who’s Philippe?” asked Brutus.
I was starting to feel a little tired. It’s exhausting to be the most intelligent cat in the room. “Philippe is Burt’s grandson. He killed his grandfather and now he’s trying to kill Uncle Alec and…” My eyes narrowed. “You said Tracy Sting and Uncle Alec are an item?”
“An item?”
“A thing. A couple. Like Rose and Jack from Titanic,” I said impatiently.
“I like Rose from Titanic,” Dooley murmured wistfully.
“I don’t know about that,” said Brutus. “All I know is they were caught with their pants down steaming up the windows of Uncle Alec’s car—we saw them, remember?”
I gave Tracy Sting’s inert form a closer inspection. Brutus was right. This was the redheaded woman Uncle Alec was making out with in his squad car. And then I got it. “Philippe is taking out the competition.”
They all stared at me. “Huh?” said Brutus.
“Don’t you see? First Burt, now Alec, all the while making sure everyone thinks the Most Compelling Man in the World is responsible?”
“Curt Pigott,” said Shadow helpfully. “He’s the Most Compelling Man in the World.”
So it wasn’t a nursery rhyme. The police had actually arrested Curt Pigott for a crime he didn’t commit.
“Why Alec?” asked Harriet. “That makes no sense to me whatsoever.”
“It doesn’t. It only makes sense to a mind as warped as Philippe’s. He must have seen Uncle Alec and Tracy Sting and figured she was grooming him as the next Fascinating Man.”
They all burst out laughing. All except Shadow. “Uncle Alec! Most Fascinating Man!” said Harriet. “You’re joking!”
“It may sound like a joke to us, but it’s not a joke to Philippe. Alec represents his competition, and he won’t stop until he’s dead. You guys,” I said urgently. “We have to stop him!”
“Stop who from doing what?” asked Dooley, still experiencing the effects of Vena’s treatment.
“Stop whom,” Shadow corrected helpfully.
“Huh?”
“Not huh. Whom.”
“Philippe,” I said, my head starting to swim a little. “Stop Philippe.”
“You all heard Max,” said Shadow cheerfully. “Let’s stop Philippe.”
“Stop what?” asked Dooley.
“And why?” added Harriet.
“And who?” said Brutus.
“Whom,” said Shadow. “Whommmmmm.”
Ugh. I’ll bet Hercule Poirot or Sherlock Holmes never had to deal with this crap.
Chapter 34
Odelia was dreaming of her grandmother joining her and Chase in the middle of the night and getting in bed between them, effectively erecting a physical barrier between the couple, peevishly telling them they needed to behave and stop all this annoying cuddling.
She awoke with a start and for a moment felt disoriented, the world a strange place.
She patted the space next to her. No Chase. She checked the foot of the bed. No cats.
Odd. Where was everyone? Then the events of the past few hours came back to her. Dooley in hospital. The attempt on her uncle’s life. The arrest of the Most Compelling Man. Max telling her something—whispering in her ear.
Had that been a dream? She could have sworn it was. Max was at Vena’s. With Dooley. Spending the night.
So how come she vividly remembered him telling her that they’d arrested the wrong man? That it was in fact Philippe Goldsmith who was the real culprit? The one who killed his grandfather and tried to kill Alec and put the blame on Curt Pigott?
The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. She wasn’t convinced, though. She needed more proof than the whispered words of a cat in the middle of the night. She was certain now she’d imagined Max. Dreamed him. Which meant that this was her subconscious at work—whispering in her sleep—warning her—wanting her to act now.
If Pigott was innocent, then whoever had tried to bomb Alec and Tracy was still out there—and could strike again at any moment. Which told her time was of the essence.
She rubbed her eyes, and checked her phone. Three o’clock. Probably too late to call her uncle and ask him about Pigott’s interrogation. But not too late to call Chase. So she did.
His sleepy voice told her he wasn’t at the police station interviewing Pigott.
“Is Granny bothering you again?” he asked. “Do you need saving?”
“Granny is probably sound asleep. I do need saving, though. From a hunch.”
“A hunch.”
“How did things go with Pigott?”
“Denies everything. Lawyered up.”
“Struck out, huh?”
“We’ll get him to confess. Lean on him a little harder tomorrow.”
She bit her lip. “I’m starting to think you can lean on him all you want, he’ll never break. Because he’s not the guy we want.”
“I know, babe. I’m the guy you want,” he said, a smile in his voice.
“And I’m thinking we need to look a little closer at Philippe.”
“Your granny’s grandson? The Most Perfect Boy in the World? What makes you think so?”
“A hunch.”