And sniff they did—sniffing all around the sidewalk in front of the club as if their lives depended on it. But first Rufus, then Fifi came up empty. “It’s no good,” said Fifi.
“Yeah, we’re going about this backward,” Rufus agreed. “First we need to smell something that belongs to Angel, so we can know what she smells like, see?”
I glanced over to Shanille.“Do you have something that belongs to Angel?”
“I do, but we have to take a detour.” And she proceeded to lead the way. I surmised we were heading to St. John’s Church, where Angel’s mom spends a great deal of her time.
“Where are we going?” asked Marcie.
“I have absolutely no idea,” said Ted. “But it’s a great adventure, don’t you think?”
“Does it also strike you as odd, Ted, that the cats are leading, and Rufus is following?”
“And even more odd: we’re following them!”
“You know, rumor has it that Odelia’s cats actually talk to her. And to Marge and Vesta.”
“I’m sure that’s exactly what it is: a rumor.”
“No, but Ida Baumgartner told me, and Marina Swath, and also Blanche Captor and even Rory Suds from the pharmacy. With so many people saying the same thing, there has to be some truth to it, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, honey. Odelia and her mom and grandma may be crazy about those cats, but that doesn’t mean they can actually talk to them. No, I think it’s just gossip. You know what people are like. They’ll say anything.”
“If you say so,” said Marcie, but she didn’t look entirely convinced.
We’d arrived at the church and now entered the impressive building, with Shanille still in the lead, and the rest of the small company following in her wake. She made a beeline for the sacristy, which is the small room at the back of the church where Father Reilly likes to take a moment to gather his thoughts—and also to put on those snazzy garments—before he steps behind the altar, and it was here that she now entered.
“What are we doing here?” asked Marcie, her voice having dropped to a whisper.
“You’re asking me?” Ted whispered back.
“I’ve never been in here before. You?”
“No, me neither. I feel like I’m trespassing or something.”
“Look,” said Shanille, as she stopped in front of a small desk. “This used to belong to Angel when she was little. It was her desk. After she outgrew it, Marigold put it here.” She gave Rufus and Fifi an uncertain look. “Do you think you’ll be able to pick up her scent?”
“Let’s give it a shot,” said Fifi as she shared a look with her friend.
And so both dogs set to sniffing around the small desk, and finally Fifi nodded.
“I do pick up something,” she said. “But it’s pretty vague.”
But then Rufus said,“Over here, Fifi. There’s something shoved under there.” He dragged it out with his teeth, and when he put it on the floor, it turned out to be a drawing, clearly made with a child’s hand, of Santa Claus and his reindeer. Underneath that same hand had scrawled ‘Angel, nine years old.’
When Ted and Marcie saw it, Marcie said,“Now will you look at that.”
“My, my,” said Ted, then patted their dog on the head. “Good boy,” he said.
“Too old,” was my opinion. “Nine years old? How old is Angel now?”
“Nineteen,” said Shanille.
“We need something more recent.”
“How about this?” said Harriet, and gestured to a pink jeans jacket that definitely wasn’t Father Reilly’s.
“Oh, that’s right. Angel left that here the other day,” said Shanille, “when she came to help her mom clean the sacristy.”
And so both dogs set to sniffing that jacket intently, and finally declared that they were ready. Ready to follow the trail—wherever it might lead!
We started to walk away when suddenly we were waylaid by none other than Father Reilly himself.
“Ted? Marcie?” the priest said, his voice betraying his consternation at seeing two of his parishioners in his inner sanctum.
“We—that is they—that is…” Ted began.
“I think our dog has gotten it into his nut that he wants to find that missing girl,” Marcie took over explanatory duties from her husband.
“Angel?” The good priest glanced down at Rufus and Fifi, who looked ready for business, and must have exuded enough confidence for the priest to give them his blessing. Though of course it could also be that Shanille was there, and that she’d bunted her head against his shin. “It’s a terrible thing,” said the priest. “Marigold and I are sick with worry, I don’t mind telling you.”
“When did she disappear—and what do the police say?” asked Marcie.
“Well, that’s just it. Marigold refuses to involve them. She and Alec Lip don’t exactly see eye to eye, and she wants to find Angel herself, without Alec’s assistance.” He shrugged. “I keep telling her they should put aside their differences, but she’s stubborn.”
“Has she tried that ‘Find my phone’ app?” asked Ted.
“Oh, absolutely. But it looks as if Angel switched off her phone.”
“Could it be that she ran off with some boy?” Marcie asked.
“I don’t think so, Marcie. Angel is a very serious-minded young woman. She’d never take off like that. No, something is wrong, and frankly I’ve been thinking of asking Alec to get involved—but if I go behind Marigold’s back she will be furious, so I’ve held off on that option for now.But if Angel isn’t back this time tomorrow, I am going to call the police.”
“And I say we stay away from the police,” suddenly a voice rang out in the hollow space of the church, echoing off the walls. It was the girl’s mother herself, and she looked absolutely steadfast in her determination not to talk to Uncle Alec.
“Look, this is ridiculous,” said Marcie. “Whatever your beef is with Alec Lip, this is your daughter we’re talking about, Marigold—not some lost pet or something.”
This produced perturbed looks from all pets present, and even Rufus didn’t look as if he agreed with his human in this assessment that the lives of pets aren’t as important as the lives of humans.
“If you knew Alec the way I know him, you wouldn’t be saying this,” said Marigold. She was a formidable woman, with a groove between heavy bristling brows that seemed to have been cut there with a box cutter. She had a square sort of face, and had planted her fists on her hips. Judging both from her stance and her expression, Alec Lip was the devil incarnate in this woman’s view.
“What happened between you and Alec, if I may ask?” said Ted, whose curiosity was obviously piqued, as was the rest of us.
“I’m not going to drag all that up now,” said Marigold. “But if you want to help me, the best thing you can do is to look for my daughter along the route she must have taken home last night.” And she proceeded to describe this route in detail.
“Why don’t you join us?” said Marcie. “We have two dogs and five cats ready to look for your daughter, so our chances are pretty good.”
Marigold darted a quick look at Father Reilly, her employer, and the latter said,“Oh, by all means. You do whatever you need to do to find Angel. I’ll manage here by myself.”
And so our small company had suddenly been expanded with another human, and we set out to the road Marigold said her daughter must have taken. When I glanced back to the church, I saw that Father Reilly was waving us off. And the moment he thought nobody was looking, he took out his phone, and I had an idea that he might be getting in touch with Uncle Alec after all—swearing him to secrecy, not wanting to draw Marigold’s ire.
8
Vesta didn’t much care that her son-in-law tagged along on her lunch hour, though she could guess why he suddenly opted to join her and Scarlett and not spend that hour eating his sandwiches outside on his small patch of city garden as he usually did, accompanied by nothing but a newspaper and his idle thoughts.