“Uh-huh. So?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking there was something I missed. So when I got home I surfed the web. Did you know that Brettin had a daughter?”
“Yeah. I think I read something about that. Didn’t she die?”
“Suicide. Three years ago. So I just happened to watch the video of the eulogy her father gave at her funeral.”
“As one does,” said Chase laconically.
“He called her ‘his rose!’” she said excitedly.
“His rose.”
“His rose! Give me your phone. I’ll show you.”
“Why don’t you show me yours?” he asked with a grin.
“I forgot mine at home,” she said, not in the mood for banter.
He handed her his phone and she quickly found the YouTube video, then scrolled to the moment Olaf Brettin had spoken the fateful words. The man was clearly undone as he stood at the church lectern. ‘This tragedy would never have happened if I’d paid more attention,’ the tabloid editor said, a crack in his voice, his speech interspersed with sobs. ‘You should have come to me, my sweet Lavinia. But like an absent father, I was so busy, so immersed in my own world, that I never even noticed the cries for help you posted. Until it was too late. My sweet, darling Lavinia,’ he said, turning to the lily-covered coffin, ‘my rose.’
“See?!” Odelia exclaimed. “Rose! I’ll bet that’s what he used to call his daughter.”
Chase wasn’t impressed. “A lot of fathers call their daughters their rose, their flower, their whatever. This doesn’t mean he killed Dickerson. Unless Dickerson killed this… Lavinia.”
“He might as well have,” said Odelia, taking a seat at her uncle’s dinner table. She noticed the room looked a lot nicer than before. Her uncle’s house used to be a pigsty. Ever since Chase moved in it had improved significantly. “Lavinia Brettin killed herself, right?”
“Okay.”
“Rumor has it that there was a sex tape involved.”
“Christ.”
“Yeah. So what if Dickerson got a hold of this tape and threatened to publish excerpts in the National Star?”
“What would be the purpose of that? It’s not as if Lavinia Brettin was a celebrity.”
“No, but what if he used it to blackmail her father?”
Chase narrowed his eyes. “Why would one tabloid editor blackmail another tabloid editor? What did Dickerson have to gain?”
“Only one way to find out,” she said, getting up.
“You want to go there now?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
He shook his head. “Look, we’ve got our killers, and we’ve got the guy who paid them, and we know why he did it. So we’ve got motive, opportunity, means—the works.”
“It doesn’t hurt to follow up a secondary lead, does it?”
It seemed to hurt Chase, though, for he threw a quick glance at the television. She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me. There’s some silly game on tonight?”
He looked insulted. “The Red Sox are playing the Yankees. Biggest game of the season.”
“Don’t you usually watch these things with Uncle Alec?”
A smile spread across Chase’s features. “He’s coming home tonight. Just in time for the game.”
“Look, if you’re not interested in catching this killer, I’ll just do it myself,” she said, and made for the door.
“Wait up,” he said, grabbing his coat. “I’ll come with.”
“You just might make it home in time for the game,” she said.
“Promises, promises.”
With Odelia gone, and Gran glued to the television, and Harriet and Brutus and Milo nowhere to be found, I had time to revise the plan I’d made to get rid of the lying intruder. My original plan had been to take a mental note of all of his lies and contradictions and to present them in a nice orderly fashion to Odelia, as proof of our guest’s duplicity.
Problem was that Milo had told so many lies that it had proven impossible to keep up. Frankly I couldn’t even remember all the lies he’d told and probably neither could he.
But then I caught sight of Odelia’s phone, which she’d apparently decided to leave behind, and a new plan formed in my mind. A plan that wouldn’t involve expending valuable mental energy keeping up with Milo’s lies. I would simply record them on Odelia’s phone!
And before you tell me that cats don’t use phones, let me cure you of that misconception. Ever since Steve Jobs introduced the world to the power of the touchscreen, life has become so much easier for us cats. All we need to do is swipe left or right or whatever, and apply paw to screen and voila! Instant access to the magical world of the Internet.
Around nine o’clock Odelia still hadn’t returned, and Gran was starting to yawn. Bedtime for the old lady, I knew. Or at least the start of bedtime prep.
“Why are you looking like the cat that swallowed the canary?” asked Dooley. Then his jaw dropped. “You swallowed a canary, didn’t you?!”
“No, I did not swallow a canary, Dooley. Where would I get a canary?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you found one out in the backyard.”
“For your information canaries don’t inhabit our backyard, so no, I didn’t swallow one. The reason I look so pleased is because I think I finally landed on a great scheme to get rid of Milo once and for all.”
Dooley nodded knowingly. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not going to kill him, and I resent the implication. I’m not a killer, Dooley.”
“Too bad. If there’s one cat that needs a good killing it’s Milo.”
“I’m going to record him saying bad things about Odelia, and then I’m going to play them back to her and then she’s finally going to know what kind of cat he really is!”
If Dooley was excited about my crackerjack idea he didn’t show it. “I don’t get it,” he said. “How are you going to record him? Did you call James Bond and ask him to loan you one of those recording devices?”
“Who needs James Bond when you have that?” I said, pointing to Odelia’s phone.
He eyed it curiously. “You’re going to call James Bond on the phone?”
“No! Every modern phone has a recording device built in.”
Now he was impressed. “Hey, that’s cool. You mean we’re going to spy on Milo?”
“Exactly! We are going James Bond on his ass.”
Just then, the cat I’d been hoping to see came waltzing in, cool as a cucumber.
“Hey, you guys,” he said. “How’s it hanging?”
“How is what hanging?” asked Dooley.
“It.”
“What’s it?”
Milo grinned. “If you have to ask, I won’t tell you.”
Dooley blinked. He wasn’t good at this kind of wordplay and it showed. I sidled up to Odelia’s phone while Milo wasn’t looking, and with a few swipes and taps of my paw pads fired up the recording function. “Oh, Milo,” I said sweetly.
“Mh?” said the cat, who was languidly stretched out on the couch, watching America’s Got Talent. Two kids were trying to induce three cats to play the Star-Spangled Banner on the xylophone. They weren’t doing a good job.
“You never told us how you really feel about Odelia,” I said, taking a seat next to him.
“I love her,” said Milo without missing a beat. “You should be proud to have landed a human like Odelia, Max. You, too, Dooley. Best human ever. My human will always be number one, of course, but Odelia is a close second.”
I was disappointed. “Isn’t there anything you don’t like about her?”
“Nothing,” he said decidedly. “She’s simply perfect. Best human any cat could wish for.”
“Don’t you think it’s disappointing that she plays favorites?” I asked.
“She doesn’t. She loves all of you guys equally. Just like a good parent should.” He smiled. “Not that she’s your mother, Max. I know she’s your human. But she’s as near to a mother as you can get. Don’t you agree, Dooley?”