“I’m Elon Pope. I’m one of the youngest lottery winners in the country. I won three hundred million dollars and change.”
“Nice to meet you, Elon.”
“Likewise, Bertie. I’m sorry about your wife.”
“So what do you think will happen to us, chief?” asked Bertie.
“I have no idea, Bertie. All I know is that someone will come looking for us.”
“When?”
“Soon. With the three of us missing, search parties will be organized, and it won’t be long before they arrive at the conclusion that we’re right here under their noses.”
“And then they’ll come busting through the door?” said Elon with youthful enthusiasm.
“You bet,” said Alec.
“Unless they knock them out, too,” said Bertie, “and lock them down here with the rest of us.”
“No way,” said Alec. “My people are smarter than that.”
“Smarter than you, you mean?” said Bertie, and Alec had to admit he had a point.
“It’s probably a serial killer,” said Elon.
“What makes you say that?” asked Alec.
“I’ve seen it in a movie once. A serial killer collected women, and treated them really well, until he killed them. But then one of the women managed to escape, and led the cops to the guy’s hideout in the middle of the woods, and the rest of the women were all rescued, too. Except for the ones he had stuffed in his freezer, of course.”
“At least they found them,” said Bertie. “They may never find us down here.”
“Yeah, I sure hope they do before this big bearded guy stuffs us into his freezer.”
“Everything will be fine,” Alec felt compelled to say. “My deputy is a great detective, and his girlfriend, my niece, is also a fine sleuth.” As are her cats, he wanted to add, but he managed to stop himself before he did. It wouldn’t add to their faith in him if he indicated that his ownhope of being found rested almost entirely in the paws of a fat red cat with a knack for figuring out clues and hunting down obscure leads. And yet he found himself fervently praying that Max was in fine fettle, and already on the trail.
Chapter 13
Dooley and I had been scouring all of Clarice’s usual haunts but so far we hadn’t been able to track her down.
“Odd,” I said. “Usually she’s either at her favorite dumpsters, or out in the woods.”
“I don’t feel like going all the way out to the woods, though, Max,” said Dooley. “I don’t think I have the strength.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “We just ate a very nutritious and filling meal.”
“Still,” he said.
And he was right, of course. Even though we had both eaten our fill, I felt a hollow sensation in my stomach. Almost as if I had eaten a generous helping of nothing at all.
“I wonder what they put in that meat,” I said as we walked out of the back alley where Clarice can usually be found and returned to Hampton Cove’s main thoroughfare.
“I wonder what they put in any meat,” said Dooley, becoming philosophical.
We decided to pay a visit to our old friend Kingman, whose owner is also the owner of Vickery’s General Store, and who is usually well informed about the goings-on in our small town.
Kingman, a sizable piebald, was holding forth on the sidewalk, a crowd of fans and well-wishers hanging on his every word. And as usual most of those fans were female cats. Kingman is a very popular tomcat, if you hadn’t noticed. Not because of his looks, because he isn’t all that much to look at, but he has the gift of the gab, and never tires from spinning tall tales and dissing out yarns, often featuring himself in a star turn.
“Hey, Kingman,” I said now as we joined his group of groupies. At the sight of us, the hangers-on quickly dispersed. I guess our fatal attraction is no match for Kingman’s.
“Hey, guys,” he said. “So what’s new?”
“Max lost three teeth,” said Dooley. “And now he can only eat sludge for three weeks, until his gums are all healed up and he can chew solid food again.”
“Is that so?” said Kingman, carefully tucking away this little piece of information for later use. Very soon the story of my dental mishap would be all over town. I just knew it.
“Lost three teeth, huh? And how did that happen?”
“It just happened,” I said curtly. “Look, we’re looking for Clarice. You haven’t seen her around by any chance, have you?”
“Can’t say that I have. Last time I saw her was yesterday, when she came walking out of that alley over there. Haven’t seen her since, though.”
“Probably up in the woods,” I said, heaving a sigh of disappointment.
“We’re hungry, since Odelia and Marge and Gran only allow us to eat the same sludge they feed Max,” said Dooley. “So now we’re looking for something nutritious to eat.”
“Can’t blame you,” said Kingman. “If I were forced to eat sludge, I’d be looking for some prime grub myself.”
“You don’t happen to…” I began, but already Kingman was shaking his head, no.
“No can do, guys. If I were to feed every cat that passes my store, I’d go broke.”
“It’s not your store, though, is it, Kingman?” I said, a little peeved.
“Technically maybe it isn’t, but through the law of attachment it actually is.”
“And what law might that be?”
“Well, since I’m attached to Wilbur, and Wilbur is attached to the store that carries his name, logic dictates that his store is also my store. If you see what I mean.”
All I saw was a bullshit artist inventing excuses not to share his primo grub with some of his oldest friends in town, but I didn’t feel like getting into an argument with the cat, so I simply shrugged off his pathetic and transparent excuses and wished him adieu.
“You weren’t very nice to Kingman, Max,” Dooley said as we walked on.
“Correction. Kingman wasn’t very nice to us,” I said.
“I thought he was very nice. And maybe he has a point. If he has to share his meals with every cat that walks down Main Street, he’d be even hungrier than we are.”
“It’s not the fact that he refuses to share his food with us. It’s the way he said it. We’re supposed to be Kingman’s oldest friends, and when we show up at his doorstep in our hour of need, this is how he chooses to treat us? Not nice, Dooley. Not Christian.”
We still had no idea where Clarice could be. And on top of that, my gums were aching again. I remembered now that Vena had given Odelia a little box of medication for me. A painkiller of some kind. She probably should have given me some of that this morning.
“Should cats brush their teeth, Max?” asked Dooley now.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “At least I’ve never heard of cats brushing their teeth. Dogs, yes. But then we all know what dogs are like.”
Dooley gave me a look that said: no, I don’t. Please tell me what dogs are like.
“Well, dogs are obviously not the smartest tools in God’s big shed, so when a human decides to brush their teeth, they happily allow them to. By the same token, dogs also allow their humans to give them a bath, and run after a stick or try to eat a rubber duck or a slipper. And that’s becausedogs are known to have a very low IQ. Whereas cats…”
“Allow their teeth to rot and decay because they’re so smart?”
“Um…”
“I wouldn’t mind brushing my teeth. But Odelia should probably give me a hand, because I don’t know how to do it myself. She could use her electric toothbrush. I think I would like that. Though I don’t know about the sound. They make a very weird sound.”
“Dogs like electric toothbrushes,” I pointed out.
“So maybe dogs aren’t so dumb after all?”
“Well…” I said, admitting that Dooley was giving me a lot of food for thought.
“I just hope I don’t have to have my teeth pulled, Max. It must be very painful to have your teeth pulled with a sharp knife and a pair of pliers the way Vena likes to do.”
I winced.“Good thing I was sedated,” I murmured.