“Wasn’t she Sherlock’s girlfriend?” asked Odelia.
“She was Sherlock’s femme fatale,” I corrected her.
“She fell for Sherlock, just like Harriet fell for Brutus,” said Dooley sadly.
“So actually Brutus is Sherlock,” said Odelia teasingly.
“Brutus obviously is Professor Moriarty,” I countered. “The evil genius who was Sherlock’s greatest foe. Which makes me Sherlock.”
“Fat chance,” Dooley scoffed.
“Look, Brutus is my biggest foe,” I said.
“Our biggest foe,” he corrected. “And he stole Irene Adler from us.”
“Brutus is going to solve this case,” I told Odelia now. “And then he’s going to tell Chase.”
“Oh? And how does he think he’s going to do that?” asked Odelia. “As far as I know Chase doesn’t talk cat.”
I shrugged. “He says he’ll find a way.”
Odelia smiled. “I’d like to see him try.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Dooley. “I don’t think it’ll work. And when he fails miserably, like he’s bound to, Harriet will finally discover that the elephant in her room has feet of clay and isn’t wearing any clothes.”
“Um, I think you’ve got your metaphors mixed up, buddy,” I said. “Either we’re talking about the elephant in the room, or Brutus has feet of clay or the emperor has no clothes. You can’t have all three.”
“Why not? It’s not like Brutus has any clothes. He’s a cat. Cats don’t wear clothes. And neither do elephants.”
“Sure,” I said, not wanting to get into another argument. Dooley was obviously feeling a little fragile right now. “You have to solve this murder before Brutus does,” I told Odelia. “If he finds the killer he’s going to get so cocky life with him will simply be unbearable. And Harriet will continue to put him on a pedestal, which means we’ll have lost our best friend forever.”
“Yeah, we’ve got to put that cat in his place by showing him how things are done around here,” said Dooley. “We have to catch that killer.”
But Odelia shook her head. “I’d like to help you, guys, but so far I have no clue. And I’m starting to think we haven’t scratched the surface yet.”
“The surface of what?” asked Dooley.
“Of the elephant,” I muttered. Then, louder, I said, “Just follow the money. Isn’t that how you solve a murder in the first place?”
“Care to explain yourself, Sherlock?” asked Odelia, amused.
“I mean, why do humans kill humans? It’s not like with us cats, to eat them, right?”
“Not unless your name is Hannibal Lecter,” she admitted.
“They kill for revenge, or love, or money,” I quickly summed up. “And people like Johnny, who are loaded to the eyeballs, are obvious targets. So who stood to gain most from his death? Who’s getting the Benjamins, baby?”
“Who’s Benjamin?” asked Dooley, confused.
“It’s a figure of speech,” I told him. “I mean, who gets the money?”
Odelia gave me an appreciative look. “You know, you’d make a pretty good cop, Max. You, too, Dooley. And because you guys worked so hard today, I got you a special treat.”
I exchanged an excited glance with Dooley. We were all for treats, especially after traipsing around town all day. So we both hopped down to the floor, and next thing we knew she’d set down a plate with two chicken wings and we found ourselves staring at them, a little disappointed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “I thought you loved chicken wings?”
“Oh, we do,” I assured her.
“It’s just that…” Dooley began.
“We tasted some of Johnny’s food this morning.”
“And it was so good, you wouldn’t believe.”
“Yeah, just about the best stuff I’ve ever tasted.”
Odelia frowned. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What was it?”
“Pâté,” we said in unison, and Odelia laughed.
“You guys,” she said, “you know I can’t afford that stuff on my measly salary. If you want to have pâté every day you’re going to have to find yourselves another human. One who’s as rich as John Paul George.”
Dooley and I exchanged a glance again, and we both shrugged.
“Nah, that’s all right,” I said.
“Yeah, I think we’ll stick around,” said Dooley.
“Pâté is great,” I explained.
“But a great human like you is better,” Dooley finished the sentence.
She laughed again. “What a relief. I almost thought I’d have to look for other cats.” She checked on her cake again and shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m baking a cake for Chase Kingsley of all people.”
“Love is in the air,” I sang.
“Everywhere you look around,” Dooley chimed in.
We’d been rehearsing the song during our nocturnal cat choir practice sessions, and it almost sounded like the original. Only a lot more howly.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t rub it in,” she grumbled.
She leaned against the counter, frown firmly in place again. “Follow the money, huh? Who gets to benefit the most from Johnny’s death?”
“Johnny’s family,” I suggested.
“And Jasper,” said Dooley.
“And Bryony Pistol,” said Odelia.
“Huh? Who?” I asked.
“Johnny’s wife. Apparently Johnny never divorced her.”
“I didn’t know Johnny had a wife,” I said.
“Nobody did. Though I’m pretty sure by now my uncle does.”
“We better ask Brutus what he knows,” I said. “He’s been glued to the police station all day. Maybe he picked up something we missed.”
“Let’s ask Harriet,” Dooley suggested. “Brutus won’t tell us a thing.”
“Well, he’s probably right. We wouldn’t tell him anything either.”
“You guys, why don’t you kiss and make up with Brutus already?” asked Odelia. “Hasn’t this feud between you gone on long enough?”
“Why don’t you and Chase kiss and make up?” I threw back.
She blinked. “It’s complicated,” she admitted.
“Well, our relationship with Brutus is complicated too.”
“Very complicated,” Dooley said somberly.
“Why don’t I talk to Chase about Brutus again?” Odelia suggested.
“That would be great,” I said. “Just tell him to get rid of the brute. I’m sure there’s plenty of room at the animal shelter.”
“Or just donate him to charity,” said Dooley, perking up slightly.
She laughed. “I doubt Chase will go for it. But I will talk to him.”
Dooley put his head on his paws again. It was obvious that ‘talking to Chase’ wasn’t going to cut it. The guy obviously held no sway over his cat.
Fifteen minutes later, the cake was ready, and Odelia took it out of the oven and walked it across the yard to her parents’ yard. We followed her, even though we should probably have that nap now. But duty called.
Over at Marge and Tex’s, everything was set for dinner, and Uncle Alec and Chase were already chatting up a storm with their hosts. They were all seated out on the deck, where dinner was going to be served. No sense in being cooped up inside when the weather was this nice. Two other guests that had arrived were Brutus and Harriet, who were lying on the porch swing Odelia’s dad had installed a couple of weeks ago. They looked like two lovers in heat, and Dooley muttered, “Max, I can’t do this. I’m going home.”
“No, you’re not,” I said, stopping him with my paw. “The worst thing we can do right now is show Brutus that he’s won. We need to stand firm, Dooley. We need to show he’s just a guest, and we’re masters of our home.”
He sighed. “Why do I have the impression he’s not buying any of that?”
“Because he’s hard of hearing,” I said. “All we need to do is yell harder.”
I walked up to Brutus and Harriet, and jumped up to join them on the love seat. Dooley, meanwhile, decided to remain on the ground, staring up at the three of us gloomily.
“Hey, Brutus,” I said, trying to sound like a master of my own home. “So have you cracked this case yet?”