There, on the floor of the small room, lay Toby Mulvaney, his eyes open and staring unseeingly up at them. In his hand, a small-caliber gun. And in his temple, a nice round hole.
Chapter 22
Brutus, Dooley and I were watching as Tex and Uncle Alec worked on the pet door. It was a fascinating sight. Like watching a train wreck in slow motion. The two men had had some trouble removing the door from its hinges, but had finally managed to place it on top of a workbench Tex had dragged over from his garden shed. They’d hemmed and hawed for a while, scratching their heads and trying to decide how to do this thing, and had then both decided to take a break and had gone inside for a cup of coffee and a chocolate donut.
When they came out again, the door was still there, the pet door was still too small, and so they went straight back to dilly-dallying and drawing up a plan of campaign.
They kept darting furtive glances in my direction, and at one point Tex came over with a tape measure, wrapped it around my belly, then returned to the door and scratched his head some more.
“He’s measuring you for your coffin, Max,” said Brutus, who’d become very morbid since he’d begun his transition into Bruna. “Soon they’ll lay you to rest in the backyard.”
Dooley’s eyes went wide. “They’re going to bury Max? But why? Are you sick, Max? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I’m not sick, I’m not dying, and nobody is going to bury me,” I assured him with a reproachful look at Brutus, who merely lifted his shoulders. “They’re simply trying to make the pet door fit to my particular… size.”
“Which is considerable,” Brutus commented nastily.
“Which is normal for the type of cat I am,” I corrected him haughtily.
“A fat cat.”
“A big-boned cat. I simply share more of my DNA with the big cats of the jungle than most,” I told him, reciting something I’d seen on the Discovery Channel. “Your tigers, your lions, your leopards, your jaguars…” I shrugged. “I guess you could say I’m part domestic cat, part member of the Panthera genus—the big cats that roam wild and free on the Serengeti.”
Brutus rolled his eyes. He was clearly not in the mood for a lesson in biology. Dooley was staring at me, though, clearly impressed. “Wow, Max. I never knew you were a tiger.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, flicking a speck of sawdust from my fur. “Scientia potential est. Knowledge is power.”
“Michael Jackson?”
“Francis Bacon.”
“Is he the one who invented bacon and eggs?”
“He could very well be, Dooley. He could very well be.”
Just then, Grandma came strolling through the hole in the hedge that divides our two gardens. She was frowning, and talking animatedly into her phone. “Of course, Mr. President. I know, Mr. President. You’re absolutely right, Mr. President. Yes, I’ll get on it right away, Mr. President. Yes, I agree with you that world peace is what we should all be striving for, but at what cost, Mr. President? At what cost?!”
She disappeared through the hedge again, and Uncle Alec directed a puzzled look at his brother-in-law. “Is she talking to the President?”
Tex sighed. “Yeah, looks like. I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately, but she’s been consulting with world leaders all week. Some guy called Ban Ki-moon, the Pope, of course, and now the President… She even talked to Bill Gates the other day.”
“But why? And how come they even listen to her?”
“Beats me, Alec. What I’ve learned over the years is to simply let Vesta be Vesta. If these world leaders want to take advice from your mother, they have my blessing.”
“And mine,” said Alec, looking slightly taken aback. It’s not every day that your mother becomes the go-to person for the top leaders of the world.
Just then, my cat ears pricked up, and so did Dooley’s and Brutus’s. We exchanged a look of understanding, and simultaneously said, “Odelia!”
Then Brutus sniffed, and his face lit up. “And Harriet!”
Moments later, Odelia came walking through the kitchen door opening—now without door—and smiled when she saw her dad and uncle hard at work—or at least thinking hard about work. “Hey, you guys. Am I glad to see you.”
In her arms she was holding Harriet, who meowed plaintively, and only relaxed when Odelia had placed her on the ground. Immediately Brutus ran up to her. “Harriet, I…”
She gave him a supercilious look. “Please don’t talk to me, Brutus.”
I would have told her it was Bruta now, but I had the impression Brutus had had another change of heart, and had decided to give Harriet another shot at breaking it.
“Where’s Diego?” asked Brutus.
“At Charlie Dieber’s house.”
“What?!” Brutus cried. “But… how?”
Harriet, who looked troubled, shook her beautiful white fluffy head. “Charlie grabbed me and Diego off the street early this morning. Told us he was adopting us. We decided to play along—just for the fun of it. But then Odelia showed up and blew a gasket. She took me and Shanille and wanted to take Diego, too, but by then he’d disappeared.”
“Disappeared,” repeated Brutus, looking like a cat who’s seen Jesus.
“Yeah. He told me he was going for a bite to eat—the Dieber offers a nice spread of cat treats—but when Odelia went looking he wasn’t in the kitchen. He must have slunk off.”
“Slunk off,” Brutus said, rolling the words around his tongue with relish. “Gone.”
Harriet cut him a nasty glance. “Don’t say it as if it’s the best thing that ever happened to you, Brutus. I like that cat. I miss him.”
Brutus grinned. “Trust me, sugar plum. You’re better off without him.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Diego knows how to treat a girl. He’s… gentle.”
Brutus’s smile vanished. “Please don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Oh, leave me alone,” she said irritably, and stalked off in the direction of the hedge.
“I’m not leaving you, Harriet,” said Brutus decidedly, as he trotted after her.
“Can’t you see I’m in mourning?”
“You’re in mourning? I’m in mourning!”
“I’m pining, Brutus. Pining for Diego.”
“And I’m pining for you, sweetcheeks!”
We watched them disappear into the next garden, arguing all the while.
“Good news about the disappearance of Diego,” Dooley said.
“Yeah, great news,” I agreed. “Let’s hope he stays away this time.”
“Not so great, you guys,” said Odelia, who’d been listening while her dad and uncle messed with the door.
“Diego vanishing into thin air is the best news I’ve ever heard,” I told her decidedly.
“Not that. Another bodyguard died. Shot to death in his room. The bodyguard Shanille thought killed Ray Cooper. Looks like suicide but…” She grimaced. “I’m not sure.”
“Oh,” I said, my exuberance waning. Rejoicing in the face of tragedy just wasn’t right. “You’re right. That is pretty bad. So you think he didn’t do it?”
“Like I said, I’m not sure. He told us he didn’t kill Ray, and I actually believed him, so…” She frowned. “The thing is, he was involved with Regan. They both were, Ray and Toby. Like a love triangle thing? Chase believes in the suicide theory, though. He’s closed the case.”
She was talking more to herself than to us, I saw. Humans often do that. They talk to themselves on the street, in the shower, in the car, thinking nobody can hear them. It’s a peculiar habit. Then again, I think we can all agree humans are a peculiar breed.
“You want us to talk to Shanille again?” I asked. “Dig a little deeper?”
She looked up. “Mh? Oh, no. That’s not necessary. Before I dropped her off at Father Reilly’s I asked her to repeat to me what she told you. She said she couldn’t be sure Toby actually shot Ray. All she saw was this strange exchange between them—which is understandable in the context of a quarrel between two love rivals. Which reminds me…”