Walking over to his squad car, she greeted him with a smile and a chipper, “Hey, Uncle Alec. I was just about to call you about the council’s new fuel emission rules.”
But Alec looked grim. He tapped the side of the door. “Get in, Odelia.”
“Why? What happened?”
“You better sit down for this.”
With a puzzled frown, she got in and slammed the door closed. “What’s going on?”
“Do you know this lady?” he asked, gesturing to the radio, where a song of Chickie Hay was playing.
“Sure. Who doesn’t? She’s only one of the most famous pop stars of the last decade.”
“Well, now she’s one of the most famous dead pop stars of the last decade,” he said with a set look.
Odelia did a double take. “Chickie Hay died?”
“This morning. Her housekeeper found her. Strangled.”
“Strangled!”
Uncle Alec nodded, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “I called Chase and he’s going to meet us there. I want you on this one, Odelia, cause I have a feeling it’s not going to be one of our easiest cases. And since she is what you just said she is, there’s going to be a lot of scrutiny and a lot of pressure, you understand?”
Odelia nodded, still stunned by the terrible news. “Strangled,” she repeated softly.
“Yeah, what a shame, right? I actually liked her music.”
He stomped on the accelerator and the car peeled away from the curb. Soon they were zooming along the road. Odelia picked out her phone and decided to call her editor first. She had a feeling he wouldn’t mind if she didn’t show up for work, as long as she landed him the big scoop on who the murderer of Chickie Hay could possibly be.
“Maybe pick up your cats?” Uncle Alec suggested. “It’s all paws on deck for this one.”
She nodded as she waited for her call to connect.
Moments later she was back at the house, and she hopped out. “Yeah, hey, Dan. There’s been a murder. Yeah, Chickie Hay. I’m heading over there now with my uncle.” She opened the front door and yelled, “Max, Dooley, Harriet, Brutus! Got a job for you!”
As expected, Dan was over the moon, not exactly the kind of response a feeling fan or loving relative would like to see, but understandable from one who sells papers for a living.
Four cats came tripping into the hallway, all looking up at her expectantly. She crouched down. “There’s been a murder,” she said, without preamble, “and I need your help. Are you up for it?” They all nodded staunchly, and she smiled, doling out pets for her four pets. “Come on, then,” she said. “Uncle Alec is taking us over there now.”
Four cats hopped into the back of the pickup, and then they were mobile again, en route to Chickie Hay’s no doubt humble abode.
The house was located in Hampton Cove itself, and not near the beach as most of these celebrity homes usually were. It wasn’t a manor either, but a house that sat hidden behind a fence atop a modest hill. The only thing indicating this was no ordinary home was the gate you had to pass through. Uncle Alec pressed the intercom with a pudgy finger and held up his badge. The gate swung open and Odelia saw that the drive angled steeply up. Moments later they were surrounded by a perfectly manicured garden, and soon the car crested the hill and the house appeared. It was a large structure, painted a pastel pink and looking modern and cozy at the same time. Chase stood waiting for them, leaning against his pickup, and pushed himself off the hood when he saw them.
“Bad business,” he said, giving Alec a clap on the shoulder and Odelia a quick kiss.
The four cats exited the car, then disappeared from view to do what they did best: interviewing pet witnesses and scoping out the place from their own, unique angle.
“Where is she?” asked Uncle Alec.
“Upstairs,” said Chase, gesturing with his head to a large plate-glass window right over their heads. “She was rehearsing for her upcoming tour when it happened.”
“No one saw anything?”
“I only got here five minutes ago so I figured I’d wait for you guys.”
The woman who greeted them at the door was red-faced and very emotional. Judging from the way she was dressed she was perhaps the housekeeper who’d found Chickie, Odelia thought, and when she asked her the question, the woman nodded affirmatively.
“Yes, I found Miss Hay,” she said. She was short and round, with a kind face and a lot of curly brown hair piled on top of her head. Her name was Hortense Harvey.
“Please show us,” said Uncle Alec, adopting a fatherly tone.
“Did anyone come near the body?” asked Chase. When the woman uttered a quiet sob, he quickly apologized and corrected himself. “Did anyone come near Miss Hay?”
“No, detective. You told me over the phone not to allow anyone in so I locked the door—well, me and Tyson Wanicki, Miss Hay’s bodyguard.”
“Where was Mr. Wanicki when this happened?” asked Odelia.
“You will have to ask him yourself, I’m afraid,” said Hortense. “I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about what happened. I’ve been upstairs in my room crying.”
Odelia decided to postpone the questions for later, when they had a chance to properly sit down with the woman. For now they needed to see what had happened.
Hortense led them up a staircase and into the upstairs hallway, then to the last door on the left, where a large man stood sentry. When they arrived, he nodded. With his bald pate, horn-rimmed glasses and white walrus mustache he looked more like a kindly uncle than a hardened security man. He definitely did not look like Kevin Costner.
The bodyguard answered in the affirmative when Uncle Alec asked if he was Tyson, and stepped aside so the trio could enter the room. It was a large room, one wall consisting of a giant mirror, not unlike the workout rooms in fitness clubs. Speakers were still blaring and on a giant screen a woman was going through some dance moves.
“You told me not to touch a thing so I didn’t touch a thing,” said Tyson. He darted a sad look at the lifeless body in front of the mirror, and a lone tear stole from his eye.
Uncle Alec placed an arm around his broad shoulders. “You better get out of here, Mr. Wanicki. But don’t go too far. We want to have a word with you.”
“Yes, Chief,” said the man deferentially as he swiped at his teary face.
At the door, Hortense still stood, reluctant to enter. “You, too, Miss Harvey,” said Alec.
“Yes, Chief Lip,” said the woman, and the Chief closed the door behind them.
Once they were alone, he crouched down next to the body of the singer, shaking his head in dismay. “What a waste,” he muttered.
Odelia’s sneakered feet made a squeaking sound as she crossed the floor. The first thing that struck her was how small Chickie Hay looked. She also noticed the bruising on the famous singer’s neck and the bulging eyes, a clear indication of how she’d died.
“You a fan?” asked Chase.
“Not a big fan, but I like her music, yeah,” said Odelia.
“Me, too,” said Chase, a little surprisingly. He was strictly a country and western guy, but then again, Chickie Hay had country roots, and her first albums had been all country.
Odelia glanced up at the video screen where the choreographer still stood showcasing complicated and exhausting-looking moves, and Odelia remembered she’d been going through a similar routine herself only an hour before.
“Abe will be here soon,” said Uncle Alec, “but if you want you can start the interviews now. No sense in all of us waiting around for the big guy to show up, right?”
After one last look at Chickie, Odelia and Chase filed out of the room and saw that the bodyguard and the housekeeper had decided to wait outside. And as Hortense led them to a room where they could set up the interviews, Odelia wondered if Chickie had pets for her cats to interview. She hoped so, and she hoped they’d seen what had happened to their mistress.