Georgette delicately sucked in a tear that had rolled from her eye to the corner of her mouth.
“Oh, it’s not your fault,” Hamlet told her. “I knew I was on borrowed time. I was just hoping to get an extension on the loan.”
“And the secret of Chateau Bow-Wow?” Georgette gently asked.
Hamlet just shook his head. “There is no secret, of course.”
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Howie looked at Hamlet, confused. “What was going to happen to you once there wasn’t a place for you to stay?” he asked.
Hamlet closed his eyes and nodded his head slowly. “I’m afraid I was destined for … the Big Sleep,” he said.
A hush fell over the room. We all knew he wasn’t talking about a long nap.
He opened his eyes and continued. “I think Dr. Greenbriar likes me,” he said. “He’s been keeping me here in his study instead of in one of the kennels down in the basement. But I know it’s only a matter of time now.”
“Unless,” said Chester.
All eyes turned to him.
“Unless we can find Archie.”
“But how?” Hamlet asked.
“I’m going to check out your file,” Chester answered. “I know my way around the office. I’ve been inside before. Your file should tell us where Archie is.”
“But if he’s in Europe—,” Hamlet said.
“I doubt that. No, my guess is that he’s much closer to home.”
And with that Chester exited.
Hamlet regarded us all with sad eyes. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” he said.
“My goodness,” said Georgette, “it seems to me you put yourself through a lot more trouble making
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up stories about secrets and talking bones than any kind of trouble you could put us through.”
“That’s what I don’t get,” said Bob. “Why didn’t you just ask us to help you?”
Hamlet sighed. “I’m a useless old mutt,” he said. “Nobody wants me anymore. Not Archie. Not his cousin. I couldn’t ask, don’t you see? What if you had all said no?”
No one had an answer to that. All I could think about was how lucky I was to have the Monroes— and how I couldn’t wait to get back home and roll around the living room floor with Toby.
I heard sniffling. Bob said, “There, there, dear, it’s all right.”
I turned. Linda shook her head sadly as she looked at us looking at her. “It’s the kids,” she explained. “We haven’t heard from them in over a week. It’s so unlike them. They said they would write every day. Bob was trying to break out of here in order to find them. What if … what if something’s happened to them? What if … they’ve left us here and they’re never coming back?”
She began to cry. Georgette ran over to her and licked away her tears.
Felony turned to Miss Demeanor. “It’s a regular weeporama around here,” she said. The fat cat nodded.
“If you don’t mind my interruptin’ group therapy,” Felony said to the rest of us, “I got a question
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for Hamlet. It’s about Rosebud. We all heard her speak. So’s what I wanna know is—”
“Oh, that,” said Hamlet. If dogs could blush, he would have been blushing. He opened his mouth to explain, but didn’t get a word out because Chester suddenly burst into the room.
“I’ve found Archie!” he cried. “There’s only one problem—he’s got two addresses. One is here in town. The other’s in London.”
“London!” Hamlet exclaimed. “I knew it, I knew it! He’s playing the palace, sipping tea with the queen, watching the changing of the guard—”
“Excuse me,” Chester said. “London is the name of the next town. It’s only a couple of miles from Centerville.”
“Really?” said Hamlet. He seemed relieved but disappointed at the same time. “Archie always wanted to sip tea with the queen. Ah, well, another time perhaps.”
“What’re we waiting for?” asked The Weasel. “I’ve already used the code to disarm the security system here. I’ll bet the same code’ll work on the gate.”
“Now yer talkin’ like a weasel!” Felony exclaimed, and I couldn’t help noticing The Weasel puff up with pride.
“It’ll be daylight soon,” Chester remarked as he moved us through the office and out the back door. “Let’s get a head start before Dr. Greenbriar and
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his assistants show up for work and find us missing.”
We were all so excited that no one noticed Ditto watch us file past. No one thought to cover her cage or to tell her not to repeat anything she’d heard.
We were just out the door when Howie said, “Gee, Uncle Harold, this is a real adventure. Hamlet and Archie, together again!”
No one paid attention to the voice that echoed behind us: “Together again … Together again! Hamlet and Archie, together again!”
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CHAPTER NINE
‘Where Is Archie?
IF there was a chill in the early morning air, we didn’t notice or mind. All that mattered as we moved single file along the edge of Highway 101 was the importance of our mission. It isn’t every day, after all, that six dogs, three cats, and a weasel have the opportunity not only to save one of their own from the Big Sleep, but to bring loved ones together again.
Not that there weren’t distractions, mind you.
Dippy Donuts. Bugsy Burgers. Ye Olde Clam-on-a-Roll. Tex-Mex Multiplex. Little Pizza Paradise. It wasn’t easy passing one fine dining establishment after another without stopping for breakfast. It’s true the restaurants were all closed, but the dumps-ters were open. Chester, however, insisted that we keep going, pointing out that we had only a short
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time before the sun came up. When that happened, we would have to be much more careful about being seen. And being caught.
I knew he was right. But leaving the House of Pies dumpster untouched just about did me in.
“I’ll make it up to you, Harold,” Hamlet said sympathetically as he limped along beside me. “If we can just find Archie, I’ll see to it that he sends you a pie every week for a year. He’s rich, you know.”
“I didn’t know,” I said. Not that I was planning on holding Hamlet to his promise, but I will admit just the thought of it helped me get through the next couple of miles.
Luckily for us, Felony and Miss Demeanor knew Centerville like the pads of their filching little paws. As we marched along to the accompaniment of The Weasel’s hymn humming, the two cat burglars proudly pointed out their favorite scenes of the crime. They were practically overcome with nostalgia when they realized that the address we were seeking was on the same street as the location of their very first criminal act.
“It was a pastrami sandwich,” Felony recalled, her eyes misting over. “Belonged to a guy paintin’ a house. Remember, Miss D.?”
“How could I forget?” said the fat, fuzzy one. The way she gazed off into the distance, I expected violins to start playing. “We was practically kittens.
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A coupla amateurs. But even then we knew we was destined for great things.”
“The way we work is Miss D.’s the good cat, I’m the bad cat,” Felony informed us. “She goes in, see, wraps herself around the unsuspecting victim’s legs, and purrs up a storm. It don’t take long. They pick her up, she nuzzles ‘em, and I go in fer the kill.”
Miss Demeanor picked up the story. “That’s what we did with that painter. He never even knew his pastrami was missin’ till he put me down and laid his mitts on a coupla pieces o’ rye with mustard and no meat.”
They chuckled. “Someday we oughta write a book, Miss D.,” said Felony. “What a life we’ve had.”
“You could call it A Tale of Two Kitties,” Howie suggested.
“That’s not bad,” said Miss Demeanor. “Let’s see, it could start like this: ‘The best of crimes, the worst of crimes…’ “
Howie yipped enthusiastically while the rest of us shook our heads and Bob and Linda sighed.