It was true. No matter how many times I’d cordoned off my territory, this ugly-looking brute always managed to trespass and pee all over my scent. And I’m sorry to say his pee smelled much stronger than my paltry glandular secretion. Moppett must feed him something truly awful like human bones. My whiskers shivered at his insolence.“Once and for all. That tree is mine.”
“Fat chance, fattie.”
“That’s it,” I said, holding up my paws, claws extended. “Let’s take this outside.”
He grinned.“We are outside, poop.”
“I know that. I mean, let’s settle this like gentlecats.”
Brutus chuckled.“Look, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I eat pudgy wimps like you for breakfast. No offense.” And he walked away, chortling freely.
I don’t know what’s worse, being pounded to a pulp by a big, beefy Persian, or having a big, beefy Persian deem you unworthy of the time and trouble to pound you to a pulp. I sighed as I watched him waddle off and disappear into the shrubbery, no doubt with a view of attaching his own additions to the Brookridge Park murder tale. By the time the night was through, I had no doubt the story going around the Brookridge rooftops and alleyways would be that a dozen vicious vampires had swooped down and viciously attacked a dozen innocent virgins with the intent of feasting on their blood and decorating the park’s rustic benches and quaint old bridges with their entrails.
When I finally arrived home a couple of minutes later, I was so happy to see Zack, that I actually jumped up and licked his hands. The big guy was so touched, he cooked up some chicken liver he’d bought, and presented me the gourmet meal on a platter. I sighed a happy sigh. Now, this was the life. This was the highlight of my day. Well, this and chasing birds in the park, of course. And catching flies after dark. And cuddling on my soft blanket next to Zack when he’s watching one of his silly action flicks. And… Oh, well, I’ll admit it. I’m one lucky cat.
Unfortunately, the night was still young and at that moment I had no inkling of events yet to unfold. For the Brookridge Park horror had only just begun.
5
Bluebell
Zack Zapp is a beefy fellow, built according to the blueprints laid out by the person or persons responsible for the first armored vehicle, aka, the tank. Tank was also the nickname some not-too-original schoolmate assigned to Zack at one time, and though he’s the gentlest soul imaginable and wouldn’t hurt a fly if it bit him on the ass, he went through high school carrying this dubious moniker, and carried it with a certain pride.
For Zack is not the brightest bulb in the bulb shop and though, as I’ve expressed earlier, I’m extremely fond of the big guy, there’s no denying the fact that my cat brain, though probably ten times smaller in size than his, fires on more cylinders than his oversized pumpkin.
To give you an instance, I had just finished my chopped chicken liver and was licking my lips as an afterthought, when the doorbell rang and Terrell McCrady, a young artist living two doors down, stood on the porch, requesting speech.
We hadn’t seen Terrell for a bit, due to the fact that he’d been out of town—staying at some posh hotel in the big city of Brussels—and Zack welcomed him with open arms, fond as he’s always been of the shaggy-looking goofball.
Terrell, who’s the son of Brookridge’s mayor, Solomon McCrady, said he could only stay for a bit. “I’m doing the round of the neighborhood,” he said as he stepped into the hallway. He had a silly smile on his face that spoke of the pleasant mood he was in. “I’ve got great news, Zack.”
“That’s great,” said Zack rather lamely.
“I’m getting married.”
Zack frowned.“Are you sure?”
Terrell seemed taken aback. Often, when one announces a wedding the response one expects is a little more… encouraging. “Sure I’m sure. Why, did Lexie tell you otherwise?” All of a sudden he seemed less sure of himself.
“Who,” said Zack, “is Lexie?”
“Lexie Moonstone,” said Terrell. “My fianc?e.”
“Oh, that’s all right, then,” said Zack.
“What’s all right?”
“You didn’t hear it from me, but the body of a woman was found in the park just now. I thought perhaps she was your fianc?e. In which case I would imagine the wedding was off. Hard to marry a dead person, if you know what I mean.” He gave Terrell the pleasant smile of one who is relieved thewedding bells will ring out after all. And I deduced from his demeanor that he’d come to the conclusion that when neighbors go to all the trouble of making house calls announcing weddings, there most probably is free food and drink on the horizon.
“What!” exclaimed Terrell, rightly perturbed.
Zack nodded.“Yep. Stabbed to death and left floating in the pond. Such a shame.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant the dead woman or the pond. Zack is awfully fond of feeding the ducks in the park and when dead women start floating in ponds, ducks more often than not flee the scene of the crime.
“Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes,” corrected Zack the other’s statement. “And the odd thing is: she was wearing some sort of a wedding dress, as if she was on her way to a wedding, possibly her own. Luckily for you, her name isn’t Lexie or even Moonstone. Say, haven’t I seen that girl of yours around here?”
“What was her name?” said Terrell, ignoring the question.
“Why, Lexie Moonstone of course. You just told me so yourself,” said Zack, confused.
“Not my fianc?e, the murder victim,” said Terrell, anxious. And I could see why he would be. Even though the dead woman wasn’t his Lexie, as a long-standing Brookridge citizen, it might be someone else he knew.
“Oh.” Zack’s brow furrowed as he attempted to recall this tidbit of information. “Um, I think Milton said her name was Zoe something. Zoe Huckleberry, I think he said. He heard it from Barbara Vale, who heard it from Fisk Grackle, who heard it from Bart Ganglion. So it must be true,” he concluded a little breathlessly, for a brain the size of Zack’s takes a lot of energy when taxed to its limits.
Now this is usually the part of the story where the narrator—in this case yours truly—gives a brief overview of all the persons named, as there are Milton, Barbara Vale, Fisk Grackle and Bart Ganglion. Unfortunately, adding footnotes to spine-chilling thrillers such as this story is turning out to be, is simply not done.
The reader, already on the edge of his seat and frantically biting his nails, would bludgeon the narrator with a blunt object if he were to suspend his blood-curdling tale to do so. Suffice it to say Milton Burdass-Nuttall is Zack’s best friend and cohort. Barbara Vale works in City Hall as a secretary for Fisk Grackle—and is Dana’s human by the way. Fisk Grackle is assistant to the mayor. And Bart Ganglion is the local copper. The real copper, if you catch my drift, as opposed to Frank the Poodle, who only likes to think he is. Frank, by the way, is Ganglion’s dog, so perhaps that’s where the fluffy onegets his delusions of grandeur.
“Zoe Huckleberry,” repeated Terrell thoughtfully. “Don’t think I know her.”
“Me, neither,” said Zack. “But I do know your little squeeze, McCrady. Isn’t she the redhead photographer?”
Terrell frowned unhappily.“Do you have to call her my little squeeze?”
“I’d call her your wife but since you said yourself you aren’t married yet…”
“Myes, I see your point,” said Terrell, and deftly changed the subject. “Well, I hope they catch whoever did it.”
“Oh, I’m sure they won’t,” said Zack. “You know what a bungler Bart Ganglion is.”
“Bart’s all right once you get to know him,” said Terrell. “Granted, he’s no Lt. Columbo, but he’s dedicated and tenacious.”
“I’ll say,” said Zack, who had on more than one occasion been on the receiving end of Ganglion’s tenaciousness.
The conversation went on for a while longer but my couch blanket was beckoning me so I returned to the living room to take a well-deserved nap before heading out once again into the night. I was closely familiar with the Terrell and Lexie story, for I had been something of the catalyst that had brought them together in the first place. Not to put too fine a point on it, I was actually present when they first met, what with me sitting in Terrell’s tree trying to induce that affable young man to save me, and Lexie just happened to pass by, looking for some typical Brookridge scene for a photo shoot. To make a long story short, Terrell managed to fall, from the roof and in love with Lexie, his administering nurse, and I, after a lot of dillydallying, had finally been saved.