I nodded, and silently thanked that little blue coat the Shih Tzu had been wearing. If he hadn’t, it’s not inconceivable that he’d shaved off a couple of milliseconds from his time, and would have been able to nab me before I reached the safety of Janette’s curtains.
“I don’t think I’d feel comfortable in this, Max,” said Dooley, finally having come to a decision in regards to the tutu.
“No, me neither,” I said.
“Oh, look at you sweethearts,” suddenly a woman tooted in our ears. She was a woman with a very deep tan, very thin, and her breath smelled like an ashtray. She’d bent down and snapped up the tutu. “Here, let me give you guys a hand,” she said, and before I knew what was happening, suddenly she’d outfitted me with the tutu!
“Um, I don’t want to wear this, ma’am,” I said as politely as I could.
“Look in that mirror over there,” she said, and as I did as instructed, I had to blink when I caught sight of myself. “Looks lovely, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” said the woman. “Though I’m not sure about the size. You are a hefty fella, aren’t you? Let me see if I can find something inyour size—a little less snug around that chubby tummy of yours!”
“Dooley,” I said as I slowly turned to my friend, who was quietly snickering next to me as he took in the scene. “If you breathe a word about this to anyone, I swear I’ll… I’ll…”
“You look great, Max,” said my friend, still grinning from ear to ear. “I think Odelia should snap a couple of pictures.” And before I could stop him, he’d already skedaddled.
And try as I might, I simply couldn’t get out of that terrible outfit! I wiggled and I squirmed but it was all to no avail!
“Easy there, big fella,” said the woman, who’d returned with a similar tutu, only a few sizes bigger. “Let me help you out of that.” And much to my delight, she removed the terrible tutu from my corpus, only to immediately slip the new one on! I have no idea how she did it. It almost looked like sleight of hand!
There,” she said, regarding me with professional pride. “Much better, isn’t it?”
I blinked at her, then glanced in the mirror again. This tutu was even worse than the last one: this one had a lace collar and came with little pink-and-lace booties!
“Please get it off!” I cried, but of course she couldn’t understand me.
Just then, Odelia and Chase finally arrived. But instead of helping me in my hour of need, they both laughed and raised their phones and started snapping pictures of me!
Ugh.
7
I must confess that once I was out of that tutu, and out of that pet salon, the desire to find out who’d murdered Neda Hoeppner had left me. The only desire I now felt was to head on home and remove myself from circulation for a while, but not before imbibing a healthy dose of cat kibble. But since that would involve a long trek home, I decided to go for the nearest thing, which was a visit to Kingman, at the General Store.
Kingman, Hampton Cove’s unofficial feline mayor, is a cat as well-fed and pampered as any, and he never stints for kibble. So it was with the hope of stealing a few bits from his bowl that I now set paw in that direction, deciding to leave Odelia and Chase to it.
Kingman was on the sidewalk, having a nice nap, and when we trotted up, he opened one lazy eye, then closed it again.“Not now, fellas,” he said. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“You don’t look busy, Kingman,” said Dooley.
“I’m thinking. Thinking hard.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“The meaning of life.” He opened that lazy eye again. “Wilbur gave me a new type of wet food last night—I think it was a sample from one of his new pet food suppliers—using me as a guinea pig, you know—and I didn’t like it. So I didn’t eat it, and made my displeasure known by loudlycomplaining. But do you think he understood and gave me my usual tasty snack? No way. He doubled down and this morning gave me the same yucky crap, only this time mixed with some even yuckier stuff. Thought he could fool me!”
“And did you eat it?” I asked.
“What do you think? Of course not!” He sighed. “Though I have a feeling he’ll try feeding me this garbage until I cave. But I’m not budging, Max. I’m standing my ground.”
“Good for you, Kingman.”
“Do you want us to tell Odelia so she can tell Gran so she can tell Wilbur that you don’t like this particular wet food?” Dooley suggested.
But Kingman raised a lazy paw.“Don’t bother. I’ll simply refuse to eat the junk. Eventually he’ll get the message and throw it in the trash.”
“Why do humans insist on feeding us things we don’t like?” I said, the tutu incident still fresh in my mind. Yes, I know that a tutu isn’t food, but it’s the same principle.
“Because they’re stubborn, and they always think they’re right,” said Kingman. “Take Wilbur for instance. He knows women hate his beard, and still he insists on wearing it.”
We all looked up at Wilbur, who was sitting at his counter as usual, picking items from the conveyor belt and scanning them.
“What’s that on his face?” asked Dooley. “Is that a rash?”
“It’s the new beard,” said Kingman.
“It looks like a rash.”
“It’s beard dye.”
“It’s red.”
“Light red brown it said on the label.”
“It’s fire-engine red, Kingman. And why is it in splotches?”
Wilbur’s beard was one of those intricate ones, which take hours to sculpt with a sophisticated trimmer. He’d also decided to paint it a vivid red, which gave the impression as if the lower half of his face was on fire, or dipped in Mae Ploy sweet chili sauce.
“He saw an action movie the other night where the hero had a beard like that, and now he thinks this will make all the difference with the ladies. I could have told him not to bother, but I’m just a cat, so what do I know? He never listens to a meow I say.”
“I think it’s time Wilbur found himself a nice girlfriend,” I said, “and settled down.”
“Yeah, but what woman is going to date that?” he asked, gesturing to his human.
We all looked up at Wilbur again, who was leering at a young lady, his crooked teeth on full display. The woman seemed to gulp in horror, then quickly skedaddled.
“Max was fitted a tutu at the pet parlor just now,” Dooley announced, even though I’d told him never to mention the tutu incident to anyone—ever.
“A tutu?” asked Kingman, a sly smile creeping up his face. “Why, Max, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I don’t have it in me,” I said, annoyed. “Look, what can you tell us about Neda Hoeppner? She was found dead this morning, her safe ransacked, and according to her gardener Janette Bittiner might be involved.”
“Janette Bittiner?”
“Yeah, she claims she’s one of Neda’s best friends, but according to the woman’s own dog she hated her guts. Something about a dispute over who got to lead the church choir.”
“I think the dog was right,” said Kingman.
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent. Look over there.”
We both looked where Kingman was pointing, and I suddenly noticed a flyer, which had been stuck to a lamppost in front of the General Store. It showed a picture of Neda, and above it the words‘Neda Hoeppner is a Jezebel’ had been written. Huh.
“What’s a Jezebel, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Um, a woman whose morals are a little loosey-goosey, Dooley,” I said.
“Loosey-goosey? What do you mean?”
“A woman who likes the men a little too much, okay?” said Kingman.
“Who put that there?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.
“Why, Janette Bittiner, of course,” said Kingman with a grin. “I saw her at it when I got back from cat choir last night. Must have been three in the morning. She was going from pole to pole, putting up those flyers, looking left and right as she did.”
“Janette Bittiner did that?” I asked.