“How did you know I was out there this morning?”
“I saw you. On the news. They were interviewing your son and I caught a glimpse of you and your cats rummaging around those potatoes.”
“For your information, I wasn’t rummaging. I was trying to find out if there were more dead people hiding in that cargo. One of the onlookers had the bright idea there was a load of illegal aliens hiding in the truck.”
“To do what? Cross the border? Mexico is two thousand miles away.”
She grinned. “I think you better get off the phone now, honey. I’m sure there are people who need to call in—actual patients?”
“See you at the usual place?”
“At the usual time,” she confirmed, and hung up. After she’d replaced the phone on the charger, she sat there thinking. What was the guy doing in that truck anyway? Hitching a ride? The more she thought about it, the more she smelled a rat. A smelly one.
Chapter 7
“Evelina must be very proud to have a pet like Mr. Ed,” Dooley said as we traversed the sidewalk on our way into town. “Not many pets would have their human’s back like Mr. Ed does. Don’t you think so, Max?”
“No, you’re absolutely right, Dooley. Mr. Ed is a credit to his owner. In fact he’s probably a better pet than most pets I know.”
We’d walked the distance to Main Street, and I had a vague plan in mind to talk to Odelia first. She is, after all, the real sleuth in our modest little outfit of amateur sleuths. Now I know what you’re thinking. Shouldn’t we head on down to the police station and inform the proper authorities about these new and frankly sensational developments? Unfortunately our local law enforcement personnel has but one flaw, and it is a doozy: they don’t talk to cats. And you can see how that would hamper a conversation. It would get awfully one-sided, and presumably cut very short indeed. Uncle Alec would smile affectionately while I tried to educate him on the finer points of Bob Rector’s recent past, and offer me a dish of milk. Chase would probably frown intelligently and nod equally intelligently and would give us a pat on the back and a ‘That’s just swell, you guys. Now run along and go and catch a mouse or something.’
Sherlock Holmes probably never had to put up with stuff like that when he talked to Inspector Lestrade. Then again, Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a cat, of course.
“What are you going to tell Odelia?” asked Dooley.
“I was thinking we tell her everything,” I said. “After all, she’s the one who should lead this investigation, not us.”
“But why? We’re the ones Mr. Ed hired to take on the case. He’s our client and we’re the detectives officially assigned to the case.”
“I know, but sometimes it helps when you’re human,” I explained. “Especially when dealing with other humans.” I shrugged. “It’s just easier this way. Trust me.”
“I don’t think it’s fair,” said Dooley, giving me some lip. “We should be in charge of the case and Odelia should be our loyal sidekick. The one who does all the legwork. Like Archie Bunker did for Mr. Nero Wolf.”
“I think the person you’re thinking of is Archie Goodwin. But you’re absolutely right, Dooley. We should be the ones running point on this case. But unfortunately this is still a man’s world, and so it’s man, not beast, who’s mostly in charge.” I gave him a wink. “Though we all know that behind every great woman is a great cat, right?”
We’d arrived at the offices of the Hampton Cove Gazette, the place Odelia calls home—when she’s not home, at least. We entered through the front door, which is always ajar, as Dan Goory, Odelia’s editor, adheres to a strict open-door policy, just in case a member of the public drops by with some killer scoop or front-page breaking-news story.
We walked straight through to Odelia’s office and found our human hard at work, bent over her laptop, eyes focused on the screen, looking the epitome of the hard-working newshound.
“Stop the press,” I announced. “We have some breaking news for you.” It was something I’d always wanted to say, even though nowadays the Gazette is mostly an online affair, and as far as I know the internet isn’t powered by a printing press.
Odelia looked up and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, hey, you guys. What’s going on?”
“A snail asked us to investigate the abduction of his human’s boyfriend,” Dooley explained, getting down to brass tacks without delay—a practice that he probably learned at our human’s knee. Reporters like to get to the juicy stuff ASAP.
Odelia frowned. “A snail asked you to do what now?”
I decided to take over from my friend. “Mr. Ed, who is a snail—”
“One of those creatures that like to carry their homes on their backs,” Dooley added helpfully.
“—has asked us to look into the kidnapping and death of his human’s boyfriend.”
“Oh, so it went from a kidnapping to a death in less than five seconds now, did it? That’s fast work, Max.”
“First he was kidnapped and then he was killed,” Dooley said. “Not the other way around. At least I don’t think so,” he said, giving me a questioning look.
“Usually people get kidnapped before they’re killed,” I confirmed. Though of course there are always kidnappers who abduct dead bodies, for whatever reason. But I didn’t think we were looking at such a case here.
“So… a snail’s human’s boyfriend was kidnapped then murdered? Am I getting this right?” asked Odelia, blinking a little now.
“His name was Bob Rector,” Dooley went on. “Though she liked to call him Bobby. They met on a dating site. They hit it off but then he was taken and the kidnappers wanted seventy-five thousand dollars for him. She paid the money but he wasn’t released.”
“Well, he was probably released,” I said. “Only by that time he was already dead.”
“Death by potato,” said Dooley, nodding. “Very sad.”
Odelia’s face betrayed a sudden animation. “Wait, you’re not telling me that this Bob, this guy who was kidnapped, is the same guy who was found this morning?”
“One and the same,” I confirmed cheerfully. I quickly tamped down on my cheerfulness, though. It doesn’t suit a serious-minded detective like me to be flippant when dealing with death. So it was in grave tones that I continued, “Mr. Ed thinks there’s something fishy about Bob’s death. In fact he thinks Bob was in on the whole thing. That the only reason he got involved with Evelina was to get his hands on her money.”
“So Mr. Ed—your snail—thinks Bob Rector set up his own kidnapping?”
“Mr. Ed isn’t our snail, Odelia,” said Dooley with a laugh. “He’s Evelina’s snail.”
“Uh-huh,” said Odelia pensively. I could see her little gray cells were working hard now, trying to grasp the salient facts. “So this Bob Rector sets up his own kidnapping, he collects the money, and then he disappears… only to turn up dead on a potato truck.”
“That is a very succinct and accurate summary,” I said admiringly.
“Oh, and Brutus and Harriet don’t believe Mr. Ed’s story,” said Dooley. “But Max and I do. Just so you know. In case they try to convince you that Mr. Ed is full of manure.”
“Full of crap,” I corrected automatically.
“I think maybe we should go and have a chat with Evelina,” I suggested. “And Evelina’s sister, too. Because as far as I understand, it was the sister who set things in motion. So she’s the one who could possibly tell us more about Bob and his motives.”
Odelia was still assuming the position of Rodin’s Thinker, though without taking off her clothes, of course. “I think I’ll go and talk to my uncle first,” she said, immediately countering my suggestion with a suggestion of her own.
That’s the trouble when you work with humans: they always have their own opinions—and more often than not what they say goes. What can I say? That’s the life of a cat.