“And we’ll see it three times more if that’s what it takes,” I said stubbornly.
“The Bachelor is on,” said Harriet. “I loveThe Bachelor. Can’t we watch that instead?”
I gave her a stern-faced look.“No, we can’t.The Bachelor won’t teach us the things we need to know as cat sleuths. Aurora Teagarden will.”
Unfortunately Odelia had only taped one Aurora Teagarden movie, even though I’d asked her to tape all of them if she had the chance. Instead, she’d taped a movie calledI’ll Be Home for Christmas. Which featured a dog, and as everyone knows, no cat wants to be seen dead watching dogs on TV—or in real life, for that matter—so that was a definite no-no. Besides, there was no mystery, only a silly romance plot and a lot of tinsel.
I watched the screen intently, then paused the movie just when Aurora opened her mouth to say something, her face a mask of concentration.“See? This is the moment she realizes who the killer is. See the way her forehead crinkles? How her eyebrows draw up?”
“She looks constipated,” said Harriet, tapping her paw against Odelia’s leather couch.
“Do I look like that when I get an idea, Max?” asked Dooley.
“You would if you ever got an idea,” said Brutus with a grin.
“I get ideas,” said Dooley. “I get ideas all the time. Just now I got the idea that Odelia’s been gone a long time, and that I hope she’ll be home soon.”
“That’s great, Dooley,” I said. “But that’s not the kind of idea we’re talking about.”
“So tell us exactly what we are talking about, Max,” said Brutus as he suppressed a yawn. Even though he, unlike Harriet, wasn’t a big fan ofThe Bachelor, it was obvious he wasn’t remotely interested in my lecture on modern sleuthing techniques either.
“We’re talking about being perceptive,” I said. “About not missing even the teensiest, tiniest clue. For all we know a cigarette butt can lead us to the killer. Or, as in this case…” I pointed to the screen. “Pizza boxes tucked underneath the kitchen sink.”
“Are the pizza boxes a very important clue, Max?” asked Dooley eagerly.
“They are,” said Brutus before I could respond. “They’re a clue to this couple’s eating habits. It tells us that they like pizza.” He was grinning again, clearly enjoying himself.
“The pizza boxes tell us that these people took the missing students hostage,” I said, directing a censorious look at Brutus. “It tells Aurora—and the viewer—that the missing students are, in fact, somewhere in the house. So yes, Dooley, the pizza boxes are a very important clue. They’re that all-important, telling a-ha type of clue you want to find.”
“Pizza boxes,” Dooley repeated reverently, as if memorizing the words.
“They’re an important clue inthis particular case,” I hastened to add. “In any other case they’re probably completely irrelevant.”
Dooley looked confused.“So… pizza boxes aren’talways a clue?”
“No, they’re not. It all depends on the circumstances. In this case the pizza boxes—”
“Oh, enough about the pizza boxes already!” Harriet cried, lifting her paws in a gesture of despair. “Can we watchThe Bachelor now? I’ll bet Jock’s dinner with LaRue is still in full swing. We just might catch dessert if you turn off this Aurora nonsense right now.”
“I think I need to see it one more time,” said Dooley. “I think I missed something.”
Harriet looked as if she was ready to pounce on Dooley, but restrained herself with a supreme effort.“What don’t you get, Dooley?” she asked instead in clipped tones.
Dooley was shaking his head confusedly.“Well, it’s those pizza boxes. I don’t see how Aurora goes from seeing the empty pizza boxes to finding those missing students.”
“God give me strength,” Harriet muttered, very expressively rolling her eyes.
“Why don’t you let us do the thinking from now on, Dooley?” Brutus suggested.
“You think so?” said Dooley.
“Yes, unlike you I do think. In fact I think so much I don’t mind doing a little thinking for you, too, so that you can…” He gave Dooley a dubious look. “Do whatever it is you do.”
“I could… help you search for those pizza boxes,” said Dooley hopefully.
“You do that,” said Brutus, patting the other cat on the shoulder. “You do that.”
I now realize I may have committed the ultimate faux-pas. I’ve neglected to introduce you to my merry band of felines. Let me rectify that right now, by introducing myself first. My name is Max, and I’m Odelia Poole’s feisty feline sidekick. I’m strapping, I’m blorange, and I’m proud to be of assistance to my human, who’s probably one of the finest humans a cat could ever hope to be associated with. She also stems from a long line of females who can converse with felines, which makes her an honorary feline in my book.
The three cats lounging on the couch are (reading from left to right) Dooley, who’s a gray Ragamuffin and my sidekick (yes, he’s a sidekick’s sidekick), Brutus, a black musclehead who likes to think he’s the bee’s knees (or more appropriately the cat’s whiskers) and finally we have Harriet, who’s by way of being Brutus’s mate. She’s also a pretty, prissy Persian but don’t tell her I said that because she can be quite catty. And she has some very sharp claws.
“I think I saw a pizza box yesterday, Max,” Dooley said now, showing the kind of zeal and initiative a feline sleuth worth their salt should strive for. “If you want I can show you.”
“That’s all right, Dooley,” I said. “We can go into that when we start the practical part of this introductory training.”
“Practical part?” asked Harriet. “There’s a practical part?”
“Of course there is,” I said. “First we learn the basics, then we apply them to a real-world situation.”
“I still don’t get why you get to teach this course, Max,” said Brutus. “What makes you think you’re qualified?”
“I’ll have you know I’ve solved quite a number of high-profile cases,” I told him.
“You couldn’t have pulled those off without me and you know it. In fact before I arrived in town you hadn’t solved a single case. Not a one. Admit it, Max.”
I was puffing out my chest to give him a proper rebuke when all of a sudden there was a commotion at the door. It flew open and Odelia burst in.
“I need you guys to come with me,” she said, panting as if she’d just run a marathon. “There’s been a murder.” She fixed us with a meaningful look. “My mom is implicated.”
Chapter 3
“So what happened?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” said Odelia.
“So who did it?” asked Dooley.
“I have no idea.”
“So who’s the victim?” asked Harriet.
“I have no idea!”
After this rare outburst, we all sat silent for a moment. Not for very long, though. We are cats, after all, not church mice. You can’t keep a good cat down. Or quiet.
“So what do you want us to do?” I asked.
Odelia, who was visibly overwrought at the thought of her mother being involved in some dreadful murder business, heaved a deep sigh and rolled her shoulders in a bid to relax them. She’d been sitting hunched over the steering wheel, which I could have told her was the kind of posture that could lead to some serious neck trouble. “I want you to talk to any animal you can find within a mile radius of the library. If anyone out there saw something I want to know about it. If someone out there heard something I want to know about it. And if someone out there so much as smelled something, I want—”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You want to know about it.”
She didn’t smile. “This is my mother we’re talking about, Max.”
“I understand,” I said. “And we’ll do everything in our power to—”
“So did Marge kill someone?” asked Dooley.
It wasn’t the right question to ask, so when Odelia’s head snapped around, for a moment I thought she was going to bite Dooley’s head straight off. Instead, she merely snapped, “Of course she didn’t kill someone. My mother is the sweetest, kindest woman I know. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone the bestselling thriller writer on the planet.”