“Of course it won’t happen again! Shana is dead. It’s physically impossible for that to happen again. That don’t mean he won’t do it with some other skank.”
“He’s a good person,” Shayonne insisted. “And it’s not because he tripped up once that he should be punished for the rest of his life. He deserves a second chance and I am possibly willing to give him one. Maybe. I’m still thinking.”
“Think again! Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
“That’s not true. He promised he wouldn’t do it again and I believe him.”
Shalonda raised her eyes to the rafters, as if to draw strength from the honeysuckle. “I’m telling Camille,” she finally declared. “I’m so telling her.”
Odelia noticed how the cameraman had snuck up on them, and was so caught up in the dramatic scene that he'd dropped all pretenses and was openly filming. This was going to be another cliffhanger, she thought.
"So you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, apart from the fact that you were both feeling nauseous this morning?" asked Chase, in a heroic effort to take back control of the interview.
“No, Detective,” said Shayonne. “I was out like a light all night.”
“Me too.”
“You are going to catch the killer, right?” asked Shayonne.
“We’re going to do everything in our power to find him, ma’am,” said Chase. Then he caught sight of the cameraman and cursed loudly.
The cameraman eyed him sheepishly. “Just doing my job, bub.”
“Get out of my face,” Chase said. “I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
“Better get used to it,” Odelia whispered. “You’re a TV detective now.”
“Thanks, ladies,” he said, ignoring her remark. “That’s all for now.”
“And it’s a wrap,” Shayonne cried. “Tell me you got all that?”
The cameraman gave her a toothy grin and a thumbs-up.
“You did great, Detective,” Shalonda said. “You’re a natural.”
“I don’t care,” he said wearily. “I just want to catch your sister’s killer.”
“Oh, but so do we,” said Shayonne.
“Yeah, that’s all we care about,” said Shalonda. “Now do you think we could do this again, Detective? Only this time I’ll sit there and you sit here.”
Chase sighed. “Just… shoot me already. Not you,” he said when the cameraman pointed his camera at him. “You shoot me and I’ll shoot you.”
Yep, this was shaping up to be a pretty interesting murder investigation.
Chapter 11
While Odelia and Chase went off to interview the two leading ladies of Cirque du Kenspeckle, Dooley and I decided to abandon our perch and do some more snooping around. Earn our kibble, if you know what I mean.
The big advantage of being a cat is that we’re pretty much invisible. We can stalk around and people will simply pat our heads and go on discussing their latest killing spree or plot a fresh massacre without a care in the world. That’s why we’re the world’s best spies. Well, flies would make even better spies, I suppose, as they can, you know, buzz around from suspect to suspect. But I’ve never heard of a fly living long enough to tell its tale to its human owner. Even supposing flies have human owners, of course, which I don’t think they have. Flies don’t provide as much warmth and affection as cats do.
We wandered about the house, and our first port of call was the kitchen. I think we were both curious to see what kind of food Kane was being fed.
The kitchen was an all-white, very spacious affair, with a gigantic butcher block in the center, and all the usual gleaming appliances occupying the enormous space. You could film a cooking show here. Maybe they did. We followed our noses, and padded into what looked like a mudroom, with coats on racks and boots neatly placed beneath them. And there it was: a placemat with two large bowls. We eagerly trotted up, and I have to say I was disappointed to find both bowls empty. Fortunately for Kane the Kenspeckles had invested in a Drinkwell. I wasn’t thirsty, though, and neither was Dooley.
“No food?” he asked.
“Looks like.”
“How is that even possible?!”
I was starting to feel sorry for the annoying little yapper. First his human was murdered by some maniac with a meat cleaver, then he'd been attacked by a feral cat, and chased around the pool by a violent intruder, and now, to add insult to injury, the Kenspeckles had forgotten to feed him.
“Looks like Kane has a lot to complain about,” said Dooley.
“Yeah, a thing like this would never happen in our home.”
We shared a look of understanding. Odelia’s place might not be the palatial house the Kenspeckles could afford, but at least she’d never forgotten to feed us, and neither had her mom or Gran. In that sense, we had it made.
“Come to gloat?” suddenly a raspy voice asked.
We turned in surprise, and saw that Kane sat glaring at us.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Far from it. Just curious to see how the other half lives.”
“The other half lives rottenly,” he said, and I noticed he spoke with a lisp, as if he had a speech impediment. Or maybe all dogs spoke like that. I wouldn’t know. I rarely move in canine circles. I’m strictly a feline person.
“Yeah, I can see that,” I said. “They forgot to feed you, didn’t they?”
He plunked down on his haunches and stared at us a little wearily.
“Shana used to feed me, but I guess that’s over now. She died, you know.”
“Yeah, we know,” said Dooley.
“That’s why we’re here,” I said. “We’re investigating her murder.”
“Trying to figure out whodunnit,” Dooley added, in case it wasn’t clear.
Kane nodded forlornly. “She was a good human. Always bought me the best food and allowed me to sleep on the bed. Took me everywhere, she did. Hong Kong, the Bahamas, Europe… We traveled the world together.”
"That's nice," I said, for lack of a better response. I didn't care a hoot about traveling. I'm something of a homebody. Traveling gives me the willies.
“So what happened to your friend?” he asked. “The one that’s been chasing me all over the place?”
“Oh, he’s not our friend,” I hastened to say. “More an acquaintance.”
“Brutus has this theory,” Dooley said. “He wants you to confirm it.”
“Theory? What theory?”
“Well, that your human was killed by a huge, ferocious dog.”
“A dog that bit her head off,” I added helpfully.
“He thinks the Kenspeckles are hiding this dog in the basement, afraid the police will find out and accuse them of being assassins to murder.”
“Accessories,” I corrected him. “Accessories to murder.”
Kane stared at us for a moment, then frowned. He looked even sadder than usual, and bulldogs have a pretty sad face to begin with. "I always knew cats were nuts," he said. "But now I finally have proof. You two are cuckoo."
“Oh, no. We don’t believe any of Brutus’s ideas either,” said Dooley.
“You don’t?” This seemed to surprise the bulldog.
“No, we think he’s cuckoo, too,” I said. “I mean, no dog can produce a bite force of enough pounds of pressure to sever the human spinal cord.” I laughed. “They’d need jaws of steel to accomplish such a feat.” Dooley and Kane were staring at me, so I was quick to add, “I watch the Discovery Channel. MythBusters? Such a great show. If you’re into that kind of thing, of course.” Which Dooley and my new canine friend obviously weren’t.
“I still don’t get what that’s got to do with me,” said Kane.
“Brutus figures you and this nonexistent Jaws of Steel are buddies, seeing as you’re both dogs and all, and he hopes you’ll squeal on your chum.”
The bulldog’s frown deepened, and now he actually looked like Tommy Lee Jones having a bad day. “He’s crazy,” he said curtly.
“Pretty much our opinion as well,” I said.
“He is crazy,” Dooley confirmed.