“Oh, you silly cat. Here. Give me that mouse.”
“Harriet knows her way around a mouse,” said Brutus proudly.
“Yeah, I like mice,” said Harriet. “They’re easy to handle if you know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t like mice,” said Dooley. “Mice scare me.”
I wasn’t sure whether he meant real mice or computer mice, but we were too busy to delve deeper into the matter.
Harriet expertly showed us how to handle the computer and tame the program called Google Maps.
“There,” she said, pointing at the screen. “There it is.”
We all stared at the map she’d drawn up, mesmerized.
“Is that where they keep our original selves?” asked Dooley.
“Yes, it is,” I said. “At least, if we were cloned.”
“Cryogenically frozen,” Brutus said.
“Cryo what?” asked Dooley.
“Cryogenically frozen. Basically means they pop you into a freezer.”
“Like popsicles?”
“Yeah, exactly like popsicles.”
We all let that sink in for a moment. It’s a strange feeling to know that your original self is stuck in a freezer somewhere in the middle of LA, frozen solid like a popsicle.
“I don’t think I like being a popsicle, Max,” Dooley confessed.
“I don’t like it either,” I said.
“Me, neither,” Brutus grunted.
“Oh, well. It could be worse,” said Harriet.
“How could it be worse?”
“Odelia could have let us die and buried us in the backyard. At least this shows she cares.”
“How so?”
“Well, this cloning business costs a lot of money. This shows that Odelia spent all of that money to have us cloned, which means she must love us a great deal.”
“We already knew that, though, didn’t we?” I said.
“Yes, but this…” said Harriet, scrolling down the document to the last page and tapping a number, “… definitively proves it.”
We all gulped when we saw the price Opal had paid to have her beloved cat cloned.
“Odelia must love us very, very, very, very much,” said Dooley.
“Yes,” I said. “To the tune of fifty thousand smackeroos.”
Chapter 21
“Hank! Hank, where are you!”
“What is your mother doing?” asked Tex.
“I think she’s calling for Hank,” said Marge.
They’d had a wonderful day being chauffeured around LA by Opal’s driver. They’d seen the Hollywood Walk of Fame, Rodeo Drive, The Getty… And of course Santa Monica Pier, the Venice Boardwalk and the Venice Canals. Though she hadn’t seen Matthew Perry, as she’d hoped. Marge was a big Matthew Perry fan, and had followed the actor since his Friends days. In fact they hadn’t seen any famous actors or actresses at all, even though they’d taken the Celebrity Home Tour, leaving the limo at the starting point.
“Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen Hank for a while,” said Tex.
“Me neither. He wasn’t at dinner, and I don’t remember seeing him when we got back.”
“I’ll bet he went into town and won’t be back until he’s seen all the sights.”
“Hank!” Vesta was still yelling, as if calling her dog. “Hank, come back here!”
“Did Odelia tell you about what happened today?” asked Marge.
“Yeah, she did. Absolutely horrifying. I mean, who would want to try and kill a nice lady like Opal? Just look at all the good she does with her show, and all the charities she supports.”
“She is a nice lady,” Marge agreed. She had been watching Opal’s show for so long it had become part of her life. “Probably someone who’s jealous of her success.”
“Or someone who’s not all there,” Tex said as he took a seat on the edge of the bed and bounced up and down on the thick box spring mattress. “I love this mattress, don’t you? Almost as if we’re staying at some posh five-star hotel.”
“This is better than a five-star hotel,” said Marge. “More like a six-star hotel.”
“The Opal,” said Tex, spreading his hands as if indicating a marquee. “An experience that will last you a lifetime.”
“She could rent out this guesthouse and make a small fortune,” Marge agreed as she placed her smartphone on the nightstand. She’d quickly checked TMZ, one of her favorite sites. She liked a bit of light reading before going to bed.
“She doesn’t need to make a fortune. I’ll bet she’s a millionaire—or a billionaire.”
“I think she’s a billionaire. At least that’s what the magazines are saying.”
“And the magazines never lie,” said Tex with a wink.
They both got under the covers and grinned like a couple of teenagers.
“So comfy,” said Marge.
“So cozy,” said Tex.
He reached for his copy of Field & Stream and she grabbed her copy of Star Magazine, and moments later they were both engrossed in their bedtime literature.
“Hank!” Gran hollered somewhere outside. “Get your ass back here!”
In the next room, Odelia was reading through her notes. Her cats were all ensconced at the foot of the bed, and had been suspiciously quiet ever since they’d gotten back to the guesthouse. But since she was so engrossed in her notes she hardly paid attention.
So far they’d ruled out three suspects—well, four, if George was to be counted. Serge Brimley, Hector and Helga and George. And Opal said she vouched for her driver, whom they’d also briefly talked to after dinner.
In a thick Irish brogue he’d explained to them how the car had clearly been tampered with. The brake lines had been cut, and as they’d been rolling down the Hollywood Hills on that fateful day, he’d pumped and pumped the brakes to no avail, and had figured his final hour had struck. With dumb luck, and a screaming and panicking Opal in the back, he’d managed to steer the car up an incline that forked off the main road and it had come to a full stop without a hitch.
There must have been someone upstairs looking after him and his employer, for how else could they have survived such a harrowing incident? Later he’d confirmed that the brake lines had, indeed, been cleanly cut, but nothing that a good mechanic like himself hadn’t been able to fix, and now the limo ran as nice and smooth as before.
He hadn’t seen anyone lurking around the garage that day or the days before, and he would have noticed, as he kept a close eye on Opal and Harlan’s collection of cars.
And an impressive collection it was, Odelia had been able to ascertain for herself: old-timers but also brand-new cars like Maseratis and Bugattis and Ferraris. Harlan had a penchant for expensive Italian cars, and Opal indulged his hobby with a generous hand.
Odelia had come to the end of her notes and realized she wasn’t any the wiser.
“Hank!” she could hear her grandmother scream. “I’m not telling you again!”
Hank hadn’t been at dinner, and when Gran tried to call him her call had gone straight to voicemail. The guy had effectively disappeared. She hoped it wasn’t related to the case, but had a feeling it wasn’t. If Hank was a gigolo, maybe he’d found a better-paying client out here in LA who wouldn’t be such a tough proposition as Gran.
It was hard on Gran, of course, for now she’d lost her companion.
“Has Gran lost her boy toy?” asked Harriet now.
“I’m afraid so,” said Odelia.
“Too bad. I liked him,” said Brutus. “He had a way with words.”
Odelia raised her eyebrows. A way with words? Hank? She hardly remembered the sound of his voice.
“He told me I was butch,” said Brutus proudly. “Said he wouldn’t mind owning a cat just like me one day. That I complimented his tan and the chicks would really dig me.”
So that was why Brutus liked him so much. She smiled. “So how have you guys been holding up?” she asked, realizing she’d been neglecting her cats.
“Oh, we’re fine,” said Harriet.
“Prunella has been acting a little weird, though,” said Max.