Even though Tex had accepted Jaqlyn’s offered olive branch, he probably would never be the other doctor’s biggest or most vocal fan.
The only one who’d decided to sit this one out was Gran, who was still recovering from the humiliation at Soul Science and didn’t feel like facing the same people so soon.
Dooley and I had accepted Odelia’s suggestion to sniff around and see what we could discover. I didn’t expect much, except maybe a few tasty morsels falling from a tray of one of the waiters hired by the Joneses to officiate the social event of the season.
This was Jaqlyn and Francine’s official introduction to the Hampton Cove social scene, a little belatedly, as half of Hampton Cove had already passed through his office by now, and so the backyard of Casa Jones was buzzing with activity. There was a clown, magician and bouncy castle for the kids, and plenty of food and drinks for the grownups.
For the pets, unfortunately, no provisions had been made, but I tried not to let that get me down.
“Do you think Master Omar will show up, and Master Sharif?” asked Dooley.
We were strategically positioned near the food table, inveterate optimists that we both are, and eyeing the humans closely. My money was on an elderly lady who seemed to have trouble guiding hors d’oeuvres into her mouth, and kept dropping them. The moment her husband gave up picking them up I was ready to pounce on those remnants.
“I don’t think so,” I said, never taking my eyes off the lady. “He’d face too much scrutiny coming to an event like this.”
“I bet he’ll show up,” said Dooley. “He’s still building his church, and needs all the followers he can get.”
“He has all the followers he can get,” I argued. “Didn’t you see the size of that meeting? The place was packed to capacity. Not an empty seat in the house.”
“He can always use more,” said Dooley, not unreasonably.
He was right, of course. No self-respecting leader of a church will thumb his nose at a few more followers, especially when he’s an up-and-coming guru like Omar Carter.
Brutus and Harriet now joined us, and I could detect several more cats roaming the grounds, clearly eager to get in on some of the action, too.
“So how was the meeting last night?” I asked.
Harriet looked as if she hadn’t slept much, so it was safe to assume she’d joined Sharif’s most recent meeting. Dooley and I had decided to skip this one, as we’d both had just about all the soul science we could stomach. Plus, with resistance building throughout the local cat community, as evidenced by Kingman’s opposition, we’d decided we were going to be Switzerland and remain strictly neutral. Though Dooley did mention he thought Master Sharif was a wonderful and most skillful sleep inducer.
Odelia, likewise, had decided not to attend her second meeting in two nights, being supportive of her grandmother, who was now completely over her newfound religion. And even Marge had said the previous meeting hadn’t given her what she’d expected and she wasn’t going back for a refill.
“It was… nice,” said Harriet, which surprised me, because before she’d only ever spoken about Sharif in superlatives.
“Nice?” I said. “Not earth-shattering or life-changing or revolutionary?”
“Oh, don’t you start, Max,” she said, a little grumpily. “Where’s the food? I didn’t have breakfast.” And off she went, in search of something edible.
Dooley and I both turned to Brutus, looking for an explanation of Harriet’s sudden lack of religious fervor and spiritual prowess.
He gave us a wide grin in return. “I think she’s over Soul Science, you guys,” he said, not trying to hide his elation. “Last night she had another run-in with Shanille, and this time Sharif took Shanille’s side. I think Harriet is ready to tear up her Soul Science membership card.”
“What did they argue about?” I asked, like any good sleuth digging for the telling clue.
“Shanille said that we should all focus our attention solely on developing our spiritual sides from now on—taking care of our souls and completely ignoring our attachments to the material world. Which means weekly fasts, no more daily grooming, and most definitely no pet salons, manicures, pedicures, hair styling or even… nookie.”
“Nookie?” asked Dooley, confused. “Is that like a cookie?”
“Yes, Dooley,” I said. “A nookie is a kind of cookie.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “But why? Doesn’t Shanille like cookies?”
Brutus shrugged. “Shanille is determined to go to extremes to show Master Sharif that she’s completely on board with Soul Science’s mission to make all cats everywhere more spiritual. She’s trying to outfollow even its most fanatic followers.”
“And Harriet didn’t agree?” I asked.
“Harriet didn’t agree,” he agreed. “She felt that Shanille was specifically targeting her with that crack about no more pet salons and no more nookie. She knows how much Harriet likes her regular visits to the salon and her, um…” He darted a quick glance at Dooley. “And her… nookies.”
“So that’s it for Soul Science,” I said. “Gran is out, and now Harriet is out, too. I’ll bet it won’t be long before the rest of cat choir follows suit, and only Shanille will be left.”
“Which means we need a new conductor for cat choir,” said Brutus. “And guess who’s decided to put in his candidacy?”
It was a tough question to answer. “Um… Missy?” I said.
“No.”
“Misty?”
“No!”
“Tigger?”
“Max, it’s me!” said Brutus. “I’m going to be cat choir’s new conductor. With Shanille gone, someone needs to step up and take responsibility, and I’ve decided that I’m the right cat for the job.”
“But you don’t know the first thing about conducting,” I pointed out.
“How hard can it be! You just wave your paw and the choir does the rest. I talked it over with Harriet last night, and she agreed wholeheartedly. ‘Go for it, Brutus,’ were her exact words. ‘You can do it, sugar plum.’”
“Don’t tell me. She made you promise to let her sing a solo every single night.”
“Well, duh. She is cat choir’s most gifted singer.”
I wouldn’t go as far as that. In fact there wasn’t a single cat in cat choir who could actually sing. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard cats caterwauling in the middle of the night, but they rarely follow a pre-conceived script or musical score. Andrew Lloyd Webber himself could write a catchy tune and personally hand them the pages of sheet music and they’d simply toss it in the trash and go off script. I wasn’t going to spoil Brutus’s big moment, though, for he looked happier than I’d seen him in days.
“I don’t expect every member of cat choir to be there tonight,” said Brutus, showing he’d given the matter a measure of thought, “but eventually they’ll all come back.”
“And what if Shanille returns and demands her old job back?” I asked.
“Then we’ll put the matter to a vote. Cat choir is a democracy, not a dictatorship.”
I thought Brutus was courting trouble with his bold move, but as I said, he looked so happy I didn’t want to rain on his parade.
So instead I clapped him on the back and said, “Well, congratulations, my friend. I will watch your future career with great interest.”
And I probably would have said a lot more on the subject if not Francine Jones had suddenly burst onto the scene and bellowed, “Has anyone seen my husband? Has anyone seen Jaqlyn? He’s gone!”
Chapter 25
Odelia had been looking for Jaqlyn everywhere. She wanted a word with the man. But thus far he’d proved a tough guy to pin down. She’d caught glimpses of him throughout the afternoon, smiling and joking with some of his guests, then carrying a tray of champagne glasses, then assisting his wife in placing extra chairs for some of the elderly.
But each time she’d made a beeline for him, he’d vanished again in the proverbial puff of smoke.