“I know, Brutus,” said Milo magnanimously. “I know.”
“You are my savior. My hero. My messiah.”
Milo sighed.“It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it, Brutus.”
“Is that why you left that pound—that paradise—to save the rest of us?”
“Yes, indeed. I could have stayed there forever—basking in the kind of life only the richest cats on earth ever get to experience. Instead I chose to take up the noble quest to free my fellow cat. To be a beacon of light and hope for the downtrodden and the oppressed. Cats like you, Brutus, andHarriet. Even Dooley,” he added after a pause.
“Thank you,” said Brutus, from the bottom of his heart. A tear stole across his furry cheek. He was deeply moved.
“Don’t cry for me, Brutus,” said Milo, touched.
“They are tears of joy, Milo. Tears of gratitude. Tears for you.”
“Thank you, Brutus,” said Milo with a gentle wave of the hand. “Now go forth and spread the word, my child.”
Chapter 34
Once again, Odelia’s cats were awfully quiet on the ride back into town. She didn’t mind. She had a lot to think about after the interview with the former secretary. Obviously Dick Dickerson hadn’t exactly been a choir boy. He’d made a lot of people very angry over the course of his career as a tabloid publisher. Chase was thinking, too, judging from the thought wrinkle creasing his brow, and so were the cats. A whole lot of thinking going on.
Max hadn’t discovered anything of significance, so that was a disappointment.
As they rode into town, Max piped up,“Can you drop us off here, Odelia?”
She directed Chase to stop the car, and Max and Dooley hopped out. Harriet and Brutus and Milo preferred to ride along with her and Chase for some reason. So they dropped the three cats off at the house and Chase took her to the office before he cruised off in the direction of the police station to write up a report on the Brenda Berish interview.
And as she stepped into theGazette office, ready to write up some of her notes, she saw that a visitor was in Dan’s office. It was a man she’d never seen before, but then that wasn’t so unusual. Dan knew pretty much everyone who was anyone and a lot of someones who were no ones, so he was bound to know people Odelia didn’t.
She popped her head into his office. The aged editor was puffing from a nice cigar and sipping from what looked like a glass of port, his white beard waggling happily and his short frame relaxing on the wingback chair he’d installed in his office for when he needed a think.
His guest was a stocky man with a shiny round face and an equally shiny bald dome. He looked like a cartoon of a Wall Street banker, complete with stubby cigar and beady little eyes.
“Hey, there, Odelia,” said Dan jovially. His cheeks were red and this was obviously not his first glass of port. “I want you to meet an old friend of mine. This is Olaf Brettin. Olaf runs theDaily Inquirer. Just about the nastiest tabloid on the East Coast.”
“Notthe nastiest,” said the tabloid editor good-naturedly.
“No, theNational Star got you licked in that department.”
“TheNational Star got us licked in every department,” said Brettin. “Not just nastiness but political clout, too. Not to mention circulation, of course.” He didn’t seem bothered by this fact too much, though, judging from his indulgent smile.
“That will probably all change now that Dickerson is dead,” said Dan.
“I don’t think so,” said Brettin. “Except maybe for the political thing. TheStar’s owners never liked the direction Dickerson took the paper. They’ll probably hire an editor who’ll return to its core business: digging up dirt on celebrities and exposing scandals.”
“Did you know Dickerson well, Mr. Brettin?” asked Odelia.
“We met occasionally. Dinner parties, galas, conferences, industry events, that sort of thing. We didn’t socialize, though. We weren’t exactly chummy.” His face sagged. “Dick Dickerson had a ruthless streak, Miss Poole. I know you’ll probably say that we were like peas in a pod—publishing the same sort of tabloid muck—but I never set out to damage anyone’s reputation or even use blackmail to further my own ends.”
“And he did.”
“And he did,” Brettin confirmed.
“It probably got him killed, too,” said Dan. “People will only take so much abuse.”
“Did he ever try to damage your reputation?” asked Odelia.
Brettin pursed his lips.“Oh, he tried. There was a time our publications were neck and neck, and he used his full barrage of dirty trickery on me. But then he pulled ahead of theDaily Inquirer and he stopped bothering. Didn’t think I was worth the trouble.”
Dan’s eyes were gleaming. “Odelia works with the police, Olaf. So you probably should be careful what you tell her.”
“You work with the police?” asked Brettin, surprised.
“Occasionally,” she said. “My uncle is Chief of Police.”
“And her boyfriend is a detective,” Dan added, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So if you confess now, you wouldn’t merely give me the biggest scoop in my career, Odelia would probably bring out the handcuffs and arrest you on the spot—isn’t that right, Odelia?”
“I’m not a cop, Dan,” she said. “I’m not allowed to arrest anyone, I’m afraid.”
“I didn’t kill Dickerson, if that’s what you think, Miss Poole,” said Brettin. “There was no love lost between us but what we had was a professional enmity, not a personal one. Besides, it’s not as if losing an editor is going to cost theNational Star its readership. A new editor will come in and take over. The Gantrys won’t kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.”
“Have they asked you to be the new editor by any chance?” asked Odelia.
“Oh, she’s smart,” Dan said cheekily. “Watch what you say now, Brettin.”
“You trained her well,” said Brettin indulgently. “No, Miss Poole. They haven’t asked me. And even if they did, I would turn them down. I like my position at theDaily Inquirer. That tabloid is my life and I wouldn’t trade running it for anything in the world.”
Odelia started to leave. She had her own articles to write. And she was sure Chase or one of her uncle’s officers would interview Brettin soon enough anyway, asking him about his alibi and stuff like that. But then she thought of something. “Does the picture of a rose mean anything to you, Mr. Brettin?”
“A rose?”
“There was a picture of a rose left in Dickerson’s safe. Left there as a message, I presume.”
He shook his head slowly.“I’m sorry. That doesn’t ring a bell, Miss Poole.”
She gave him a smile.“Thanks. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brettin.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” the tabloid editor said graciously.
Chapter 35
“Brutus was awfully quiet, Max,” said Dooley.
I’d noticed the same thing, and it worried me. “Milo must have been filling his head with nonsense again,” I said.
“What kind of nonsense?”
“Nonsense about me, probably. And maybe Harriet.”
“What about me? What nonsense would Milo say about me?”
I had a feeling Milo’s arrows weren’t exactly aimed at Dooley, but I decided not to mention this. “I don’t know, buddy. But it won’t be good.”
We were walking along Main Street, hoping to meet someone who knew something about this Dickerson business. We arrived at the barber shop, but no cats were in sight. The door was slightly ajar, though, so we snuck in anyway. You’d be amazed how much you can learn at the barber’s. People waiting for their turn tend to gossip about the people having their hair cut, and the people having their hair cut tend to gossip about the people waiting for their turn. It’s one big gossip machine, and from time to time some of that gossip is interesting enough to make it into print—in Odelia’s numerous articles for theGazette.