“Fido is losing customers?”
“In droves, Max. The talk in town is that you can’t get a haircut without having Fido trying to fill your head with all kinds of nonsense, and who needs that?”
I certainly didn’t. Then again, I’m not the kind of cat who likes to go to the hair salon, so I can’t really speak from experience. But the Pooles are all very fond of Fido, especially the ladies. Odelia visits him once a month, her mom Marge twice a month and Gran even schedules weekly visits to make sure her little white curls are always in tip-top shape. The men are a different story. Uncle Alec never goes, since one of the requirements of going to a hair salon is that you actually have hair on top of your head, which I’m sorry to say is not so much the case anymore for Odelia’s uncle. His girlfriend Charlene Butterwick, our local mayor, doesn’t seem to mind, though. She herself is an avid Fido fan, and then there are Odelia’s dad Tex, who’s a lukewarm salon goer, as is Chase.
Chase is a cop, you see, and cops, since they are in constant contact with the members of the public, need to look presentable to some extent, so as not to scare them off too much. And Tex Poole is a doctor, and no sick person likes to visit a doctor who looks like a hell’s angel.
“So maybe we’ll drop by the hair salon later,” I told my friend. In spite of myself, this whole Flat Earth Society business had piqued my curiosity, and I wanted to see firsthand what effect Fido’s affiliation was having on the man’s state of mind. If he was scaring off his clientele, maybe Dooley and Buster were right, and something needed to be done. Hair hygiene is a serious business, and if Fido scared away all of his customers, soon Hampton Cove would turn into a hippie town, where the greasy mane ruled supreme.
Though to be perfectly honest I didn’t see how three cats could possibly be instrumental in rectifying this situation. It’s hard to make humans change their minds about something once an idea has taken root in those big noggins they precariously balance on their necks. And I may be a lot of things but I’m not a shrink, so I wouldn’t know how to treat delusional behavior even if I tried.
Still, Buster was our good friend, and so it behooved us to try and find a way to help him in his hour of need.
2
Odelia Poole sat hunched over her small desk, frowning at the screen of her laptop computer. From time to time she glanced up to look out the window, which offered a view of the backyard of her own house and that of the neighboring houses. It had been Chase’s idea to install this modest office for her, so she could work from home when she wanted to. And it certainly was a very pleasant little space, located in the bedroom. Before it had been turned into an office it had been a spacious closet, but since Odelia wasn’t a beauty queen or felt the need to spend her hard-earned cash on fancy outfits, she’d used it as storage space, and a place to store her ironing board. On Chase’s instigation they’d relegated most of the stuff to the attic or Goodwill, and while Chase and Tex put up some shelves, Odelia and her mom had gone shopping for anice desk, a decent office chair and even an armchair where she could think and thresh out ideas—if her cats allowed her to use it, of course, since they’d discovered the space, too—and loved it!
“Diamonds, diamonds, diamonds…” she murmured as she intently gazed at her screen. “Bring me your diamonds, good sir or madam, whether they be white, pink, yellow, orange or black.”
Lately a peculiar story had developed right in the heart of Hampton Cove. A little girl collecting seashells on the beach had picked up what looked like a sparkling piece of glass, and had excitedly handed it to her mommy, who was reading a book nearby. The piece of glass had looked too polished to be part of a broken bottle, and when the woman had studied the item more closely, she’d discovered that it was very nicely cut like a gemstone of some kind.
So she’d taken it into town to a local jeweler to have it looked at, and the jeweler’s jaw had practically dropped to the floor when he indulgently studied what he figured was a piece of colored glass with his loupe, and had discovered that it was a flawless pink diamond of exquisite cut, and probably worth a small fortune.
Of course the news had traveled fast, and plenty of people had soon taken up vigil on the beach, looking for more diamonds where that first one had come from.
The police had gotten involved when the jeweler had declared the stone to be of extreme value, and the hunt was on to find its owner. Oddly enough, no one came forward to claim the stone.
Odelia’s editor, who smelled a great article, had put his star reporter on the story. And since it wasn’t inconceivable that the stone had been accidentally dropped there by thieves, Odelia had been scouring the web in search of stories of people having been robbed of such a valuable gem. She leaned back when she realized that she was suffering from that typical malady of your intrepid journo: she didn’t have enough information to write a decent piece. Yet. An omission that could easily be remedied by going into town and finding out what she needed to know.
And it was with the kind of swiftness and alacrity typical of the dynamic young woman that she was, that she rose from her chair, closed her laptop, tucked it into her shoulder bag, then lightly darted down the stairs and out the door. She paused on the threshold, though, and smiled as she retraced her steps.
Crossing over to the sliding glass door, she opened it and called out,“Max, Dooley—I’m hunting down a story. Wanna join me?”
And it was a testament to her two cats’ spirit of adventure that they didn’t need to be told twice.
Immediately both cats came tripping up to her, looking eager to partake in her latest adventure.
“What is it?” asked Dooley excitedly. “Are you going to try to prove that the earth is round?”
She laughed at that.“Now why would I want to prove something that’s a known fact, honey? No, I want to talk to a jeweler.”
“A jeweler?” asked the small gray cat. “Are you going to buy a ring?”
“Not exactly,” she said as she headed out the door, her two cats in tow. “I need to ask him a couple of questions about a diamond that was found on the beach yesterday.”
“Diamonds!” said Dooley, his eyes shining as brightly as she imagined that diamond had shone.
“Diamond, singular,” she said as she held open the door of her aged pickup truck, to allow both cats to hop up onto the backseat. She closed the door, and assumed her position behind the wheel. ”Though of course where there’s one diamond, there may be others.”
“Cool!” said Dooley, who never stinted for pretty excitement and youthful zeal.
Max, more laidback and assuming the attitude of an elder statesman, said,“Is this the diamond nobody knows the origin of?”
“Yep. They call it the Pink Lady.”
She started up her engine, and soon was tootling along the road into town.
“Why do they call it that, Odelia?” asked Dooley.
“Well, mainly because it’s pink, I guess,” she said, “and also because it looks exactly like a famous diamond called the Pink Lady.”
It had actually been Dolores Peltz, the police station dispatcher, who thought she recognized the gem when Dan had published a picture on the Gazette website. This particular diamond had been set in an engagement ring, offered by Sheikh Bab El Ehr, ruler of Khemed, to his betrothed on the occasion of their marriage. The gem had gone missing thirty-something years ago, never to be found.
“Did the Pink Lady belong to a real pink lady?” asked Dooley.
“I doubt it, Dooley. Besides, chances that this diamond is the actual Pink Lady are very slim.”
“So it could bea pink lady, but notthe Pink Lady?”