“We’ll see about that,” I muttered. “Thanks, Miss…”
“Johnny always called me Princess,” she said, and sighed. “I’ll miss him.”
I could very well imagine. If my human died one day, I’d miss her, too. Us cats might have the reputation we’re selfish and we don’t care about humans, but that’s a filthy lie. We do care about our humans. We just don’t care to show it as much as dogs do, with their exaggerated slobbering and posturing.
Dooley and I left the distraught Princess and made our way back to the family room, where the other cats were still looking glum. I wondered what was going to happen to them. I imagined JPG must have made provisions in his will for his beloved felines, and they would all be taken good care of.
“This makes me sad,” said Dooley, gesturing at the sad-looking cats.
“Yeah, it’s not a barrel of laughs,” I agreed.
We both stared up at a life-sized portrait of the pop singer. It depicted him in his prime, with naked torso, looking like a young god. At his feet a large red cat sat perched, staring haughtily at the viewer.
I pointed at the cat. “I’ll bet that’s George.”
“You want to have a chat with George? Or check out that pâté first?”
It was a tough choice. We’d come here for the pâté, obviously, but we also had an obligation to Odelia to find out as much as we could from the feline population about what had happened here last night. Finally, I said, “That pâté isn’t going away, so we better talk to George first.”
“Didn’t you hear Princess? George has been here for years. He’s the one who’s not going away. That pâté might be gone by the time we find it.” He shook his head. “A distressed cat eats, Max. It’s called stress-eating.”
He was right, of course. Still… “Look, this talk with George won’t take long, and I’ll bet there’s plenty of pâté. JPG didn’t stint on anything.”
“Why don’t we split up? I’ll look for the pâté and you look for George.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “So you can eat all the pâté? I don’t think so.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Max. I’m not a glutton. I’d simply sample the stuff. Just to see if it’s as good as advertised. And if it is, I’ll leave some for you.”
“That’s very generous. You know what? I’ll look for that pâté. You find George.”
“You’re a much better interrogator, Max. Cats open up to you.”
“Why don’t we find that pâté together,” I finally suggested, “before it’s all gone.”
“Now you’re talking. Hey, look,” he said, gesturing at a lone ginger cat that shuffled out of the family room. It was the fattest cat I’d ever seen.
“That must be George,” I said.
“Let’s ask him where the pâté is,” Dooley said happily.
“Good call,” I grunted, a low rumble in my tummy deciding me.
Hey, we’re cats. We’re willing to do whatever it takes to help out our humans. As long as you keep us properly fed and hydrated.
Chapter 3
Odelia got up to meet her uncle and Chase. She’d been seated on one of the pool chairs, thinking deep thoughts about the fleetingness of life.
She gestured at the man floating in the pool. “This is how I found him.”
“And what were you doing here, exactly?” asked Chase, none too friendly as usual. Ever since the burly cop had moved to Hampton Cove, he and Odelia had locked horns over his idea that the citizenry had no place in police investigations, whereas she felt she was simply doing her duty to the Hampton Cove population by reporting on any crime that was committed here.
“I had an interview with him, and when he didn’t answer the door…”
“You decided to break in,” Chase supplied.
“I was worried when he didn’t answer the door,” she said with some heat. Why did this guy insist on rubbing her the wrong way? “So, yes, I decided to walk round the back and see what was going on. What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t believe you have to ask,” he grumbled, shaking his head.
Uncle Alec knelt next to the pool. “That’s Johnny, all right,” he said.
“How do you know?” asked Chase, joining him.
The Chief pointed. “See those tattoos? Johnny was famous for those. They were on one of his best-selling albums. Unicorns and Rainbows.”
“I remember,” said Chase, nodding, and started singing softly. “Unicorns and rainbows. That’s the way the wind blows. Loved you in those funky cornrows…”
Now it was Odelia’s turn to give him a curious look.
“What? I loved that song,” said Chase.
“I had you pegged as a country and western kind of guy. Not a JPG fan.”
“Hey, I was young once.”
“Hard to imagine,” she muttered. She saw that her uncle was checking the glass vials on the poolside table. “What do you think those are?”
“If I had to venture a guess I’d say GHB,” he said.
“Liquid G? The date rape drug?”
He nodded. “It’s supposed to supply a great high. Used by ravers.”
She imagined her uncle saw these drugs all the time during the summer, when teenagers descended upon the Hamptons in droves to party all night.
Chase walked over and eyed the vials closely. He put on plastic evidence gloves and carefully picked one up and sniffed it. “You could be right, Chief.”
Uncle Alec nodded. “It’s no secret that JPG was a heavy user of the stuff. It’s been rumored for years he got his stash of GHB right here in town, but I’ve never been able to pinpoint who exactly his dealer was.”
“If it is Liquid G,” said Chase, “it might be what killed him.”
More people arrived now, and Odelia recognized one of them as the medical examiner, a scruffy-looking paunchy man with electric gray hair. Under his instructions they carefully dragged the body of the late singer to the side, then hoisted him up out of the water and placed him on a plastic tarp. The sight was disconcerting to say the least, and Odelia uttered an involuntary gasp. She hadn’t seen any pictures of the singer in years, and since he was completely naked, she now got to see all of him and it wasn’t flattering. The man was bloated, and it wasn’t because he’d been in the water all night either, she guessed. JPG had obviously let himself go, and looked nothing like his trim and sexy self. Of course that had been thirty years ago.
The medical examiner quickly and expertly checked the body, while Chase and Uncle Alec went over the crime scene, along with the other officers. Odelia, meanwhile, stood back. She might be there in a non-official capacity because her uncle allowed it, but that didn’t mean she could actively participate in the investigation.
“Did you check the boyfriend at the gate?” she asked when Uncle Alec wandered over.
“Yes, we did. Apparently they had some kind of a fight last night, and he drove off, only to return and spend the night in his car. From what I can tell, it wasn’t the first time. There have been complaints from neighbors about screaming fights the last couple of months. They were not a happy couple.”
“Poor guy. He had to sit back and watch his boyfriend invite over these…” She gestured at the bottles of champagne and the vials. “Friends.”
“Male escorts is the word,” said Uncle Alec. “You don’t have to pay friends to have sex and party all night. You have to pay these guys, though.”
“Kinda sad for a man like JPG to lead a life like this, don’t you think?”
“Yes, well, if this was the life he chose, that was entirely his business,” said the Chief, who believed in the age-old adage of live and let live, as long you didn’t hurt others. It was a credo that helped him cope with the celebrities that lived in these beachfront properties, and sometimes liked to do stuff that no clean-living, well-meaning Hampton Covian would.
“What do you think happened?” she asked now.
He scratched his scalp. “I think Johnny had himself a great party here last night, lots of booze and dope, he overdosed and drowned.”