PURRFECT IDOL

THE MYSTERIES OF MAX 93

NIC SAINT

PURRFECT IDOL

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Raise the Dead!

When the body of famous pop star Polly Parker is discovered at the bottom of a pool, it’s all paws on deck to find out what happened, especially since the murder was a particularly gruesome one. But then Uncle Alec tells Odelia’s cats to stand down and not to get involved in the investigation. Easier said than done, especially since we hit upon a brilliant idea to solve the murder: resurrect Polly Parker!

Unfortunately our attempt at reviving the star hits a snag when our brilliant idea leads to all kinds of unexpected consequences. And when a second murder is committed, things take a turn for the worse.

PROLOGUE

God, how I hate this. People are always crowding me. I can’t even walk into a hotel without the whole thing turning into a circus. I have to be transported from the airport to the hotel in an SUV with blacked-out windows, and even then there’s a crowd waiting for me. I have no idea how they found out I’d be staying at this particular hotel, but they knew. There are easily dozens and dozens of them, and they’re all screaming and shouting.

So the driver announces there’s a change of plan: he’ll go around the back and smuggle me in. But when we arrive, there’s a crowd just as big as the one out front.

It’s impossible to enter the frickin’ hotel!

So we have to get creative. The SUV drives off again, and after a couple of phone calls, we head to a nearby warehouse. A nondescript white van is parked there, and I quickly change vehicles. The van belongs to the hotel’s laundry delivery service. It’s full of fresh sheets, towels and housekeeping uniforms, and I hide in one of the big hampers. My sister places some sheets on top of me, so I’m completely hidden from view.

“How’s that?” she asks.

“How do you think it is?” I grumble.

“You’ll be out of there soon,” she assures me.

“I’d better.” I know it’s not her fault, but she’s the only person I can complain to, so I vent. “Why can’t they just go away and leave me in peace?”

“They’re your fans, Polly,” she says. “They love you.”

They sure have a strange way of showing it—preventing me from walking into my hotel, from leading a normal life. No restaurants for me, no visits to the local McDonald’s, no cinemas or football games. And of course, no shopping trips to the local mall. Normal life was over the moment I scored my first big hit and became an overnight success. It’s been seven years, and the thrill of being famous has worn off. Now it’s just a big drag.

The van arrives at the hotel, the same back entrance. Two burly men carry the laundry hamper from the van inside, nearly dropping me. I’m not heavy—only five foot two and a hundred-and-twenty pounds—but still heavier than a load of clean linen.

They manage to smuggle me inside, and once we reach the laundry room, they free me from my predicament. They lift me out of the hamper like a girl emerging from a cake, and I’m so happy to have made it in one piece that I give them my best smile. Of course, they want autographs, but that’s a small price to pay for escaping a baying mob.

Once I’m upstairs in my suite, I finally relax for the first time since we set out from the airport. I briefly glance out of the window, making sure I’m not seen. The moment they spot me, they won’t stop screaming—day and night. I know the drill, so I keep well back.

There are hundreds of them now, and they all want a piece of me. God, when did my life turn into such a nightmare? Maybe I should just end it and be done with it.

I settle down on the settee, grab my diary, and start writing—entrusting all of my dark thoughts to the page.

Jackie hovers nearby. I wave her away. I don’t need her fussing over me, and I don’t need the nervous energy that comes off her in waves. I have enough of that already.

And so I write: ‘I had the same nightmare again last night. That horrible man was in my room. I know he wants to kill me. But before he gets the chance, I wake up. But you know the worst part? I want him to go through with it. I actually want him to kill me.’

CHAPTER 1

Frankly, I had never felt this good in my entire life. And if you don’t mind me saying so, I think you would probably have felt exactly the same way if you had been in my shoes. Though of course since cats rarely wear shoes if they can help it, that statement isn’t entirely as accurate as it could have been. But I think you catch my drift. Odelia had fed us, cleaned out our litter box, and, to top it all off, she had even decided to groom us by dragging a comb through my wild mane—if my mane can be described as wild. I like to think it’s pretty tame, but then she keeps referring to it as wild and tangled, so I guess she’s either prone to exaggeration or in urgent need of a pair of reading glasses.

I was lying on the deck, having decided to celebrate the happy occasion—that post-grooming moment of bliss—by taking a prolonged nap, when a pigeon flew by overhead, took up its position on the gutter, and did its business... right on top of my head!

And that wasn’t even the worst part. The pigeon then laughed its pigeon-y little head off, as if the whole thing was the most hilarious thing it had ever encountered!

“Hey, you!” I said in response, shaking a fist at the bird in question. “Come down here and laugh in my face, if you dare!”

“Oh, this is just too rich!” the pigeon guffawed, laughing it up. “Right on target! Whammo! I didn’t know I had it in me!”

“Are you trying to tell me you did that on purpose?” I asked, my sense of grievance warring with surprise.

“Of course I did it on purpose!” the bird cried as it practically rolled around in that gutter with laughter. “I saw a big fat target and thought, what are the chances? And turns out the chances were pretty good! Which means this must be my lucky day.”

“My human just groomed me,” I said, not hiding my sense of disappointment at my day being ruined in this way. I have nothing against birds, but at that moment I was prepared to revise my position and consider this particular bird a despicable creature.

“Well, she’ll just have to do it again,” said the pigeon. “Bullseye!” he cackled.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, not at all pleased with being laughed at on top of being used as a bird’s personal litter box.

“You know what you should do?” asked the bird, who still hadn’t done me the honor of revealing its name.

“No, what?” I said, not hiding my rancor.

“You should try and catch me,” said the bird, adding insult to injury. “You know, climb up to the gutter and try to punish me for what I just did to you. I mean, isn’t that what cats usually do? Make sure that no bird behaves this way towards them?”

I momentarily eyed the drainpipe and considered the wisdom of such an endeavor, but finally decided against it. I’d only get even more soiled, even if I made it all the way up to the roof. And besides, birds have wings, so by the time I’d have reached the miscreant to mete out its punishment, it would take off and make even more fun of me.

“I’ll pass, thank you,” I said.

“You’re a chicken, aren’t you?” said the bird. “A fat orange chicken.”

“I’ll have you know I’m blorange,” I said with as much indignation as I could muster under the circumstances. “And I’m not fat, I’m big-boned. It runs in the family.”

“Oh, so all of your relatives are fat orange chickens, are they?” asked the bird, continuing to taunt me.

“Just go away,” I said as I got up to inform Odelia of my misfortune. I hoped she would be able to remedy this tragedy that had befallen me. Maybe she could use a wipe or something. Or—God forbid—a soapy washcloth. What I wasn’t prepared to do was clean myself. The last thing I needed was to get a lot of bird poop in my mouth.

“Yeah, run to mommy!” said the bird as I entered the house. “You chicken!”

I took the abuse in stride, knowing the wise cat is the one who doesn’t let anyone get a rise out of him. Though I have to admit, I came very close to losing my temper at that moment. I may be one of the more placid and peaceable cats on the block, but even I have my limits, and this bird had done everything in its power to make me lose my cool.

When Odelia saw me, she actually clasped a hand to her mouth.

“Max!” she cried. “What happened to you?”

“A bird pooped on me,” I said sadly.

“Oh, dear,” said my human. Much to her credit, she didn’t laugh at me or make fun of me. Instead, she got busy wiping off the detritus, and before long, I was as clean as I had been before my unfortunate run-in with that foul winged creature.

When I left the house again, I fully expected to find the pigeon still perched on the gutter, but instead it had flown the coop, so to speak. I searched around, scanning the tree, the lawn, the fence that lines the backyard, but of my horrible foe there was no trace. And a good thing, too. For even though I had politely declined to take it up on its offer to be chased by yours truly, now that I was feeling thoroughly clean again, I was starting to think maybe I should have done exactly that: given that bird a piece of my mind.

Dooley, who had been using our newly refreshed litter box, joined me on the deck.

“I don’t get it, Max,” he told me.

“What don’t you get?” I asked, still scanning the horizon for a sign of the bird.

“The new litter. It smells so nice, you know. But it’s definitely… weird.”

Odelia, upon the advice of a friend, had recently decided to exchange our usual litter for a new variety. It was made of pine and did indeed smell a lot nicer than the old variety. The principle was that you peed on it, and the compressed pine dissolved and formed sawdust that was easily sifted out. The advantages were myriad: no tracking clumps of clay all around the house—with Chase complaining when he found it on his pillow—no sticky stuff stuck between our paws, and much less waste to dispose of.

“What don’t you understand about it?” I asked.

“Well, it feels funny to my paws, you know. Those little pellets? Are you sure it’s safe, Max?”

“Of course it’s safe, Dooley,” I said.

“No, but what if we get splinters?”

“Impossible. It’s compressed sawdust.”

“But it’s wood, isn’t it? And wood splinters, we all know that. And splinters are very painful, Max. Tex once got a splinter in his finger and he cried like a baby. Marge had to get it out with tweezers and he was whining and whimpering the entire time.”

“Trust me, Dooley. There are no splinters.”

He gave me a curious look. “Are you feeling all right, Max? You seem a little… preoccupied.”

“A bird just pooped on my head,” I told him. “And I guess it’s got me rankled.”

His eyes slid to the top of my head, and I knew what he was thinking: that my head is so big it offers a perfect mark for any bird who likes to engage in some target practice. But instead, he said, “It happened to me, too.”

“A bird pooped on you?”

Dooley nodded sadly. “And then he laughed and said I should come after him. Chase him around, you know. And I did, but in the end I couldn’t catch him. I mean, it’s a bird. They have this big advantage in the form of a pair of wings. It’s not fair, and he knew it.”

I stared at my friend. “When was this?”

“Oh, a couple of days ago, maybe? I would have told you, but I guess I forgot.”

Harriet and Brutus now also joined us. They had been enjoying a leisurely time underneath the rose bushes and seemed relaxed and happy, as they often were after engaging in what is commonly termed as nookie.

“We saw the whole thing,” said Harriet as she and Brutus took up position next to me on the deck.

“If it had been me, I would have chased that bird,” said Brutus, “and I would have caught him. You can be sure about that. No bird takes a dump on my head and gets away with it. No, sirree. The wrath of Brutus would have been upon him—big time!”

“Take a lesson from Brutus, Max,” said Harriet. “Listen to him very carefully, so that next time this happens, you can punish this bird and make him regret his actions.”

I had my doubts that Brutus would have caught the bird, so the last thing I needed was for him to teach me how to respond to being pooped upon. And so I respectfully declined to take his correspondence course.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. “But when it happens again, don’t come crying to me.”

“It won’t happen again,” I assured him.

“Oh, but it will. You let this bird go off unpunished. Now it thinks that you’re a pussy, and it will feel emboldened.”

“I am a pussy,” I reminded him. “I mean, literally.”

“You know what I mean, Maxie baby,” he said with an indulgent smile.

Unfortunately, I did know exactly what he meant. I may be a clever kitty, but I’m not exactly an action hero. I don’t go chasing after bad guys or start beating them up when I have the chance. Then again, I guess that’s more something a dog would do. Or Brutus.

“Look, if you don’t set an example, they will keep doing this to you,” Brutus said, really rubbing it in.

“I went after the bird,” said Dooley, “but I couldn’t catch him. Does that mean he will feel unfolded, too?”

“Emboldened,” I murmured.

“Of course he will!” Harriet cried. “You have to make sure that he learns his lesson. That when he comes after you, he will feel the pain. That’s the only way to handle a rogue element like that bird. So next time this happens,” she added as she fixed us both with a stern look, “you call Brutus, and he will take care of this for you. Understood?”

“Understood,” said Dooley as he regarded Brutus like one would regard a true action hero. “You would do that for us, Brutus? Really?”

“Of course,” said Brutus with a shrug. “It’s the only way to keep this neighborhood clean of the criminal element. A sort of neighborhood watch, if you will.”

“A cat watch?” asked Dooley.

“Hey, that’s a great idea!” said Harriet. “We should totally start a neighborhood watch consisting only of cats. Send a message, you know. No pasaran!”

“Passer-who?” asked Dooley.

“No pasaran. It’s Italian,” said Harriet.

“Spanish,” I interjected.

“Whatever. It means: they shall not pass.”

“I’ll be the first leader,” Brutus suggested as he thrust out his chest. “I mean, I’m the obvious choice, right?”

“Absolutely, pookie,” said Harriet as she sidled up to her mate and rubbed herself against him in an overt display of affection. “Oh, isn’t this exciting? The first-ever cat watch. This is going to make all the difference, don’t you think?”

“We should invite Fifi,” said Dooley. “And Rufus.”

“No,” said Brutus. “Out of the question. I’m putting my paw down on that. No dogs in the cat watch. And that’s non-negotiable,” he added when Dooley opened his mouth to protest. “This is a cat watch. No dogs allowed.”

“But—”

“Cats!” he hissed, thumping his chest.

“Oh, all right,” said Dooley meekly. “Cats, not dogs.”

For a moment, Brutus scanned the skies, possibly looking for the bird who had used both me and Dooley as target practice. He had a sort of resolute look on his face, like the great heroes of yesteryear, and I imagined that the first people to climb Mount Everest or traverse the rainforest had worn much the same look: a look of determination, strength, and courage. That devil-may-care attitude that marks your true action hero.

In other words: we were in for some serious trouble!

CHAPTER 2

Odelia glanced out of the window. When she saw the four cats seated together on the deck, she immediately relaxed. For some reason, this whole business with Max being the target of an attack by a bird had spooked her. It was probably silly of her, but for the last week or so, she had increasingly felt that she was being watched. It manifested as a tingle that raced up and down her spine or the hairs at the back of her neck standing at attention. When she glanced behind her, there was nothing and no one she could see who would be following her around or spying on her, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling.

She hadn’t told her husband, not wanting him to worry on her behalf, but she had mentioned it to her boss, Dan Goory. The aged editor, a fount of wisdom on almost every conceivable topic under the sun, owing to his years-long experience as a seasoned reporter, had told her that it was entirely possible that she was being followed.

“You are very much in the public eye, Odelia,” he had told her. “I mean, you sign your articles with your own name, and so do I, so it’s not hard to imagine that someone out there develops an interest in finding out who the person behind the byline could be.”

“But should I worry?” she asked. “I mean, what if this person has bad intentions? What if it’s someone I wrote negatively about and they want to take revenge?”

Dan had smiled and placed his hands on his desk. “If I had to worry about every single person I painted in an unfavorable light, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. It’s the nature of our profession, isn’t it? And if people can’t take a joke, then that’s on them, not us.” But then he turned serious. “Maybe you should tell Chase. He could organize some kind of discreet surveillance. Make sure you aren’t being followed.”

“I don’t want to worry him,” said Odelia. “He’s got enough on his plate as it is.” She hadn’t mentioned that Chase was going to a conference on policing methods in New York later that month. He was due to deliver a presentation at the conference and had been working hard on it. She didn’t want to spoil his big moment by complaining about some imagined person following her around, which she was fairly convinced this was. She might be a reporter, and she may have written some bad things about some bad people in the past, but in all honesty, it wasn’t as if she was writing for one of the big papers. She was a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, for crying out loud, not the New York Times.

And so she had decided that the whole thing was probably a figment of an overactive imagination and not to get overly alarmed.

Still, she had been incapable of shaking the feeling, and it had persisted all week. Even during her interview with Polly Parker, the pop sensation who was doing a try-out of her new world tour at the Seabreeze Music Center and staying at the Star Hotel, she had felt the same prickly sensation at the back of her neck. Glancing around the bar which she and the pop star had selected for the interview, she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. Yet, it still gave her a sense of unease that she couldn’t shake, and she felt she hadn’t done as good a job on that exclusive interview as her reputation warranted.

Polly must have sensed that the reporter was off her game, as she had asked if everything was all right, displaying a level of concern that was touching.

As Odelia started unloading the dishwasher, she wondered if she should set up a follow-up interview and maybe ask the questions she really wanted to ask. She was just putting the cups in the cupboard over the sink when her phone belted out its tune.

She picked it up and saw that her husband was trying to reach her.

“Hey, babe,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I think you better get down here,” he said.

“And ‘here’ is…?”

“The Star Hotel. There’s been an incident.”

Her heart skipped a beat. If Chase called, that could only mean… “Not… Polly?”

“I’m afraid so. She was found half an hour ago.”

“Oh, God,” she said as she closed her eyes.

“You did an interview with her?”

“I did.”

“How did she seem to you?”

“Perfectly fine,” Odelia said, flashing back to the lively and sparkling pop star who had totally won her over with her easy charm. “Why, you don’t think it was an accident?”

“The medical examiner hasn’t arrived yet, but from what I can tell, it definitely wasn’t an accident. There’s… something very peculiar going on with the body.”

Her heart sank. “What is it?”

“I think you better see for yourself.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she said, grabbing her bag from the dining table. “Should I bring the cats?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “She was found in the pool. They hate pools, don’t they?”

“They do, but they might still be able to glean something we overlook.”

“Bring them,” he said.

She glanced out of the window and saw that the cats were still right where they had been the last time she looked. Once again, she had that strange feeling that something was amiss—the kind of sensation that makes you check and double-check if all of your loved ones are where they should be. She shook it off. She was in her own home, and if someone was watching her, she would have noticed. Not to mention the cats.

She opened the glass sliding door and said, “There’s been an incident at the Star Hotel. You guys wanna join me while I check it out?”

They didn’t need to be told twice, and soon they were all hopping into her old pickup.

CHAPTER 3

We arrived at the Star Hotel, and I got a very powerful sense of déjà vu.

“Why do practically all of the murders that ever take place in Hampton Cove happen here at this hotel, Max?” asked Dooley, taking the words right out of my mind.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Maybe there’s something in the water?”

“This hotel is a death trap,” said Brutus. “And if I were on the tourist board, I’d make sure word never got out about the number of killings this hotel has seen over the years.”

“I think it’s because the hotel staff aren’t always nice to people,” said Harriet.

I stared at her. “How do you figure that?”

“Killers appreciate a five-star service just like any other person, and when they come here and people aren’t very nice to them, they get triggered and go on a killing spree.”

“So it’s actually the fault of the hotel staff that so many murders take place here?”

“It stands to reason, Max. If only the hotel would do something to improve their service levels, things would be different. I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to see that if you advertise yourself as a five-star hotel and deliver one-star service, stuff will happen.”

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” said Brutus. “I think it’s because a lot of the people staying at the Star Hotel are, well, stars. And we all know that stars attract crazy people who want to do them harm. Success breeds envy, and envy often leads to murder.”

“Just because someone is famous doesn’t mean people are out to kill them, Brutus,” I said.

He made an excellent point, though. After all, the Star Hotel did attract a certain clientele, and it couldn’t be good for the hotel’s reputation that so many people had been slain in their rooms or fallen off their balconies. Any regular hotel in any regular town would have had to close its doors by now. But since Hampton Cove wasn’t exactly tourist destination number one along the South Fork, they had been spared that particular fate until now. Unless the death of Polly Parker was the final nail in their coffin, of course.

When we entered the hotel, the hotel manager was the first person to greet us. Since the last time we had been there, they had changed management—the main reason being that the previous manager was now a guest of the state prison system, always a good excuse to leave one’s post.

The new manager was a mousy little fellow with a wisp of a mustache and a thinning mane of sandy hair. He looked panicky, wringing his hands as he met us in the lobby.

“This is a tragedy!” he announced, then glanced down at the four of us and did a sort of double take. “Cats!” he squealed. “Cats in my hotel!”

“They’re mine,” said Odelia.

“But they’re cats!” he cried, bringing his hands to his head and managing to look even more panicked than before. “We don’t allow pets in the hotel.”

“Is this a new rule?” asked Odelia. “There was never any problem before.”

“We’ve had complaints,” said the manager. “Some people don’t like cats—or dogs, for that matter. Allergies, you know,” he added in a quieter tone, glancing around to make sure we weren’t being overheard by any of the people milling about in the lobby. “Can you…” He swallowed with some difficulty, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down like an overactive toddler. “Can you maybe be discreet about the presence of your cats?”

“I’ll head straight down,” Odelia assured him. “Your guests won’t even see them.”

“Oh, thank God,” he said, clasping his hands together and directing a look of relief at the heavens, as if all of his prayers had been answered. As he led us toward the staircase that led down to the pool and spa area, located in the hotel’s basement, he explained, “We’ve had a lot of difficult guests lately. One complaint after another. It doesn’t stop.”

“What kind of complaints?” asked Odelia sympathetically. If there’s one person who understands how upsetting it can be to receive complaints, it’s her. As a reporter and columnist for the Hampton Cove Gazette, she gets her fair share on a daily basis. People who don’t like something she’s written and send a complaint to her editor-in-chief, Dan Goory. Or people who don’t agree with a point of view she’s expressed in one of her columns, even if it’s about something mundane like the weather, and already they’re peppering her with comments. Sometimes I feel for her and the job she’s chosen to do.

“Well, there’s this one person who keeps complaining about noise,” he said as he opened the door to the stairwell. “Even though, as far as we can tell, there is absolutely no noise on her floor—the rooms are very well insulated, you see. And also, she occupies the only suite that’s booked, so she doesn’t even have any neighbors who could possibly be making any of the noise she’s always complaining about. And then there’s Polly.”

“Polly Parker?” asked Odelia. Stories like this are her bread and butter.

“It’s not Polly I have a problem with. That young lady has been a dream to work with. It’s her fans. The moment word got out that Polly would be staying here, they started showing up in droves. Dozens and dozens of them. Staking out the front entrance. Singing and chanting and harassing the other guests. Trying to catch a glimpse of their beloved singer. I had to hire extra security to keep them from squatting in the lobby.”

We had arrived at the spa area, and when I caught a whiff of that typical pool and spa scent, I remembered why I hate pools so much, and wondered if maybe Odelia had done us a disservice by inviting us to join her here. But since essentially we’re peaceable and easygoing cats, I didn’t think it wise to lodge a formal protest at this juncture.

Chase met us in the changing area, where the spa and pool visitors can divest themselves of their clothes, put them in lockers and don their bathing costumes.

“It’s bad,” he announced, his face displaying a grave expression.

We could see that several people were dressed in those typical white outfits that looked like they were about to start excavating an ancient city from underneath the rubble. I could also see Abe Cornwall, the county medical examiner, milling about. His frizzy hair stood on end, as it often does, but even more than usual, which told me that Chase was probably right. The worse the situation is, the happier Abe seems to get.

“I think you better prepare yourself for a big shock,” said Chase, building up the suspense. “I mean…” He shook his head. “Frankly, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You’re scaring me, babe,” said Odelia with a nervous laugh. “I mean, how bad is it, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Eleven,” he said curtly, then gestured in the direction of the door that led to the pool area. He glanced down at the four of us. “Maybe they shouldn’t join us in there.”

“You think we shouldn’t bring the cats?”

He grimaced. “I’m not sure they should see this.”

Odelia hesitated and shared his look of concern as she glanced down at us. “Can you guys wait here? I’ll go and look, and if it’s as bad as Chase is saying it is…”

“But if we don’t look, then how are we supposed to start our investigation?” asked Harriet, who had become quite curious by Chase’s unveiled warnings.

“Just wait here,” said Odelia. “All right? Don’t move from this spot.”

And so we did as we were told. After all, if it really was as bad as all that, I didn’t even want to see. It could only lead to nightmares, and being as sensitive as we are, that was probably not a good thing. Especially Dooley, who’s more sensitive than the rest of us.

Harriet didn’t agree, and made it known by pouting, which is a facial expression she has perfected and turned into an art form. “It’s not fair,” she announced. “I mean, first she drags us all the way out here, and then we can’t even look? What’s that all about?”

“It’s traumatizing,” I explained. “And we don’t want to become traumatized, do we?”

“I guess,” she said with a shrug. “But it’s not as if it’s the first time that we would be looking at a dead body.”

“No, but this dead body probably doesn’t look like most dead bodies we’ve seen,” said Brutus.

“A dead body is a dead body,” said Harriet stubbornly. “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. So I don’t see what the big deal is.” Then her eyes widened. “Oh, you guys! I know what this is!”

“What?” asked Brutus.

“Odelia doesn’t want us to look because this time she wants to solve this case all by herself!”

“Surely that’s not it,” I said.

“Just think about it! Every time we solve a case, it makes Odelia look foolish. So this time, she must have figured that she wants to solve the case all by herself, with no involvement from the four of us whatsoever. I mean, it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?”

I could have told her that it made as much sense as a fly serving as an active detective. But since we actually had a fly helping us out on an investigation on more than one occasion, that explanation probably wouldn’t fly, so I dropped it.

“Okay, so now I’m more determined than ever to take a look at the crime scene,” Harriet said as she took a step in the direction of the pool area.

“Stop!” said Brutus as he held up his paw. But when Harriet gave both the paw and her boyfriend a dirty look, he quickly dropped the paw. “I mean, Odelia told us to stay put, didn’t she?”

“Because she’s trying to hog this investigation!” said Harriet. “And you being the leader of the cat watch shouldn’t allow her to do that, you know.”

It gave Brutus some food for thought, and after a moment he had to admit that Harriet made an excellent point. “I guess you’re right. I mean, I am the leader of the cat watch, so I should be involved in any investigation that takes place on my territory.”

“Absolutely,” said Harriet. “And since we’re all part of the same watch, it’s our duty to look at that crime scene and make sure that we don’t miss any detail that will lead us to the killer of that poor pop star. And since we’re cats, and therefore well-versed in looking at the minutiae of things, we’re best placed to carry this investigation to a satisfying conclusion for all concerned—except, of course, the killer.”

“Of course,” said Brutus. He shrugged. “Okay, so let’s take a look, shall we?”

And so he and Harriet proceeded in the direction of the pool area. When Dooley and I didn’t follow suit, they looked back. “Aren’t you guys coming?” asked Brutus.

I shook my head. “Odelia told us to stay put, so I’m staying put.”

“I don’t think I want to see the dead person,” said Dooley, a look of fear written all over his features. “Especially if it’s as bad as Chase says it is. I might get moisturized.”

“Traumatized,” I corrected him.

“But you’re part of the cat watch, Dooley,” said Brutus. “You have to look at the body.”

“But… what if I don’t want to?”

“Then I guess you’ve officially put yourself outside of the circle of trust of the leader of the watch—which is me. And you no longer are part of my neighborhood watch.”

Dooley glanced up at me. “What do you think, Max?”

“I think we should do what Odelia told us to do.”

Brutus gave us a dirty look. “I should have known. You’re both pussies.”

“Well, that’s a given,” I told him. “But so are you.”

“Smart-ass,” he grumbled, and then followed Harriet’s lead and traipsed where Odelia had told us not to traipse.

Two minutes later, they both returned, looking extremely upset and not as excited as they had before about checking out that crime scene.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dooley. “What did you see?”

Harriet didn’t speak, but merely shook her head. Finally, Brutus was the one to voice what she was probably thinking. “Do not go in there!” he said.

“Is it bad?” I asked.

He nodded fervently. “It’s very bad!”

And to prove that he wasn’t kidding, both he and Harriet threw up on the floor.

Oh dear.

CHAPTER 4

There’s something to be said about a man and a woman going into battle together. Odelia and Chase had recently watched a Tom Cruise movie where Tom and Emily Blunt worked side by side to defeat an enemy. She couldn’t remember the name of the movie, but it had been pretty impressive—both actors loaded up with plenty of battle gear. She was reminded of that movie now as she stood next to her husband while they both oversaw the scene of the crime.

Polly Parker, the affable and kind-hearted pop star she had interviewed the other day and with whom she had felt such a strong kinship, lay dead at the bottom of the empty pool. For some reason the water had been drained from the pool, and the body of the pop star had been laid out on the pool floor. What was more, it almost seemed as if there was something off about the scene. Something… staged.

“She has been cut up into little pieces,” Abe was so kind to fill them in on the details of the crime scene. “And then put back together again. Like a jigsaw puzzle, you know.”

“A… jigsaw puzzle?” asked Odelia as her stomach did a sort of backflip.

“Yeah, see, the killer took his time to chop off her limbs and other body parts and then painstakingly staged everything to make it look as if she was still the way she was—but not quite. I mean, for obvious reasons nothing will ever be the way it was. Once a human body is taken apart, there’s no power on earth that can put it back together again. But see, the killer did something really original here. He put the body back together again, but everything is slightly off.”

Chase stared at the medical examiner. “Are you actually admiring this monster, Abe?”

Abe shrugged. “You have to admit it’s original.”

“That’s one word for it,” Chase grunted.

The roiling in Odelia’s stomach got a little worse. She was used to a lot, but it was the first time she had come across something like this. She now felt grateful to Chase for warning her and also for not allowing her cats to witness this… horror.

“I can’t believe that someone would do something like this,” said Chase. “I mean, what kind of a monster chops a person up into little pieces and then puzzles them back together again? You have to be a real sicko for that.”

“Oh, you can be sure about that,” said Abe. “It was indeed a real sicko who did this.” He glanced at the detective duo. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“So… no water in the pool?” asked Chase.

“No, there’s a crack in the pool bottom, so they decided to drain it so they can repair the damage before filling her up again. The whole process takes time, so the pool has been closed for the past couple of weeks. And will stay closed for a couple more.”

“Poor Polly,” said Odelia. “She was such a lively and vivacious young woman.”

“And so talented,” said Abe. “My granddaughter loves her work,” he explained. “She even went to see one of her shows. They tried to drag me along with them, but I’m afraid this pop music isn’t exactly my cup of tea. So I respectfully demurred.”

“Looks like she gave her last concert,” said Chase, with a sense of the dramatic.

Odelia looked up when she heard a strange noise, and when she saw Harriet and Brutus race out of the pool area, she shook her head. It was to be expected, of course, that those two would disobey a direct order. Then again, if she wanted pets that would be obedient at all times, she would have taken dogs, not cats. Good thing Dooley hadn’t seen this. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep for weeks to come.

“I guess I don’t have to ask you about cause of death,” said Chase.

“Well, you might,” said Abe. “All this was done after she was killed. So I’m not sure what killed her exactly, and I might never be sure,” he added with a puzzled look on his face. It wasn’t a look of annoyance, but rather one of considerable interest. Clearly, Abe would have a great time trying to figure out what exactly had killed the pop star.

“Time of death?” asked Chase.

“I’d say she’s been dead several hours, but again, with the state the body is in, it’s a little hard to be sure.”

“Was she killed here, you think?” asked Odelia.

“Oh, yes,” said Abe as he pointed to a trail of blood that led to the pool drain closest to the body. “They picked the perfect spot. This place is like one big giant bathtub.”

“Well, keep us informed,” said Chase. He glanced around. “I hope one of these cameras works,” he said as he spotted a camera located at the entrance to the pool.

“I’m betting that it doesn’t,” said Odelia.

“Yeah, otherwise this would be a very stupid killer.”

She probably should have asked Max to check the crime scene. But she couldn’t get herself to force the blorange feline to witness what could only be described as butchery. And so she decided that Max and Dooley would be spared the unnecessary trauma.

She looked up when a man walked in. It was the hotel manager, and he looked as nervous and undone as he had before. And that was even before he had witnessed the scene of one of his most esteemed guests being slaughtered like this.

“I’m not sure you should be here, sir,” said Chase.

“Oh, but I’ve seen it,” he assured the detective. “I was the one who called the police, you see. After I’d been informed by the people working on the pool that something very strange was going on.” Odelia could see in the man’s eyes that the scene had made the same impression on him as it had made on her and Chase.

“So who was the person who found her?” asked Chase.

“His name is Enzo, one of the workers.” He took a deep breath and purposefully tried not to look at the body lying on the pool floor. “We had several complaints made these past couple of weeks, you see. About a strange odor and also the water not being clean, even though the entire pool had been redone only five years ago. So we brought in a specialist, and they changed the chlorine mix. When that didn’t provide a solution, they discovered that the water level was dropping, so they figured there might be a leak. They inspected the bottom and also the walls, and found several cracks. And so the only solution was to drain the pool and fix those cracks.” He shook his head. “We’ll sue the previous contractor, of course. No way a pool can deteriorate so badly in five years.”

“These cameras,” said Chase. “Do they work?”

“Well, they did, but with the repairs going on, we had to shut them down.”

“You shut them down?” asked Chase, aghast.

“We had to. The contractor doesn’t want his workers monitored. Union rules.”

“That’s too bad,” said Chase as he rubbed his chin. “Any other cameras?”

“Well, not in the changing area and the shower area, for obvious reasons,” said the manager. “The only camera is in the lobby, but I don’t think it overlooks the door that leads to the staircase. I’d have to check.” He gave them an apologetic look. “I’ve only been manager here for a short couple of weeks, and so I’m still trying to find my way around this place. But I’ll definitely look into the camera situation, detective.”

“Can you show us Miss Parker’s room?” asked Odelia.

“Absolutely,” said the manager, visibly glad for any excuse to get away from there. “Follow me.” He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the bottom of the pool, and immediately all the color drained from his face. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” he muttered.

He led them out of the pool area, and when Odelia saw her four cats, it was clear that Brutus and Harriet hadn’t quite recovered yet from their ordeal. They tried to act as if everything was okay, but they both looked quite dazed.

In spite of the terrible circumstances, she couldn’t hide a smile. Cats will be cats.

CHAPTER 5

“So what was it like?” asked Dooley. “Was it really bad, Harriet? Like, bad bad?”

“It was bad bad,” Harriet confirmed. “In fact it was bad bad bad.”

She was probably right, for even Brutus looked a little undone. The butch black cat hadn’t uttered a single word since he’d left the pool area, and that wasn’t like him.

Odelia and Chase had decided to take the elevator up to look at Polly’s suite, and we now trailed after them as they traversed the hallway in the company of the hotel manager, who looked as if he’d recently been in a close encounter with a ghost.

“But just how bad was it?” Dooley insisted.

“It was very bad, all right?” Harriet snapped. “Happy now?” When he gave her a startled look, she softened. “It’s probably a good thing that you didn’t take a look, Dooley. I should have listened to you guys and done the same.”

“Oh,” said Dooley. His eyes had gone a little wide. He turned to me. “Maybe you should have taken a look, Max. If you don’t investigate the crime scene, how are you ever going to be able to solve the crime? Right?”

I shook my head. “I’m sure I’ll find a way.” I may be a detective, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy looking at dead bodies. In fact, if there’s one thing I dislike more than anything about being Odelia’s sidekick in these investigations of hers, it’s the fact that we spend a great portion of our time traipsing all over crime scenes like the one that Harriet and Brutus had just witnessed. I mean, do I prefer to spend a nice evening at home looking at a fun show on TV? Absolutely! But apparently, that is not the life of a pet detective. Not that I begrudge the way Odelia tries to insert her pet menagerie into her investigations. She takes good care of us, after all, and it’s probably not too much to say she’s just about the best pet parent any cat could ever wish for. And so it’s only right that we should return the favor by assisting her in these inquiries she likes to engage in from time to time. But I draw the line at being involved in any kind of horror scenario.

Still, it behooved me to know the state of the body, so I whispered to Brutus, “What did you find?”

He winced. “She was in pieces.”

“In pieces?”

“Yeah, many pieces. I heard Abe say her body was like a jigsaw puzzle.”

Yikes. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad,” I agreed.

We had arrived at the door to Polly’s suite, and the manager let us in with his key. He stepped aside. “I better make myself scarce,” he said, and left us to it. We watched him hurry off as fast as his legs could carry him. Clearly, he had somewhere he needed to be.

The suite was nice, as suites go, and also very clean—which is not always a given. But Polly clearly hadn’t been the kind of girl who liked to smash up her hotel room and leave a trail of wet towels, drug paraphernalia, and other signs of debauchery in her wake.

“It’s almost as if she was never here,” said Chase as he glanced around the bedroom.

The bed had been slept in, though, that much was obvious. And there was a nice summer dress laid out at the foot of the bed, possibly the one that Polly had decided to wear that day, and music was softly playing in the room.

“I wonder why she went down to the pool,” said Odelia. “Unless nobody told her it was closed?”

“The killer must have lured her there,” said Chase. “Got her to meet him there.”

I felt a pressing need to insert a question of my own into the conversation, so I cleared my throat. “Where was the young lady killed, Odelia? In that empty pool, you think?”

“She was,” said Odelia. “Though I have a feeling we won’t find a lot of incriminating evidence that might lead us to the killer. Apart from the body the scene was pretty clean.”

Chase glanced around the room. “And I have a feeling we won’t find a lot of interesting information here either.” He sighed. “Looks like the killer knew what he was doing. No cameras in the pool area, pool closed for repairs, no possible witnesses…”

As I pictured the scene, I had to suppress a shiver of discomfort. That poor young woman, ending up down there with her killer lurking, ready to strike…

The detective had discovered the girl’s phone and was checking it. He held it up. “Locked, of course,” he said. “We’ll have to get the tech guys to take a closer look.”

“Do you think the killer sent her a message?” asked Odelia. “Suggesting to meet?”

“It’s possible,” said Chase as he picked up a notebook lying on Polly’s nightstand. It had flowers pasted along the front and looked like it might be a diary of some kind. He leafed through it and stopped to read a passage. “This is interesting,” he said with a frown. “‘He’s stalking me, even though I’ve told him over and over again to leave me alone. He doesn’t seem to get the message and it’s driving me crazy.’”

“Who do you think she’s referring to?” asked Odelia.

“No idea,” said Chase as he continued leafing through the notebook. “She doesn’t mention a name.”

A knock sounded at the door, and a young woman stood eyeing us with a strange look on her face. “Excuse me,” she said. “What are you doing here?” She wore horn-rimmed glasses and her hair was tied back from her face in a ponytail. She reminded me of Polly.

“Chase Kingsley,” said Chase, holding up his badge. “Hampton Cove Police. And you are…”

“Um… Jackie Parker,” said the young woman as she glanced down at the four of us, a look of confusion on her face. “I’m Polly’s sister—and also her manager. What are the police doing here? Where’s Polly?”

Odelia and Chase shared a look, then Odelia stepped forward to intercept the woman before she ventured deeper into the room. “My name is Odelia Kingsley,” she said. “And I work with the police as a civilian consultant. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Miss Parker.” She led the woman out of the room and into the hallway.

“This is terrible,” said Harriet. “To have to find out like this that your sister has died.”

“Hopefully Odelia will be able to cushion the blow,” said Brutus. “By her tactful approach and her empathy.”

“What?!” suddenly a voice burst into the room. “You are crazy, lady!”

“I’m so sorry,” we heard Odelia say.

“You’re lying! You’re lying!”

As we looked on, we saw the young woman stomp off, clearly incensed by what Odelia had told her. Our human re-entered the room, looking perturbed. “She didn’t believe me,” she said, a look of surprise on her face. “I told her that her sister had died, but she said I was lying.”

“I heard,” said Chase. He placed the diary in a plastic evidence bag along with the phone, and Polly’s wallet with her ID and credit cards. “We need to talk to the sister.”

“Well, she ran off,” said Odelia.

“Better get her back.”

The crime scene team that assisted the medical examiner had also arrived and started going through Polly’s personal effects and the suite with a fine-tooth comb. Which meant that it was time for us to make ourselves scarce. For some reason, these crime scene experts don’t like the fact that we are present at the scene. Possibly because of the hair we sometimes shed. Though it could be that they simply don’t like cats. Allergies, maybe?

I took one final look around the room, wondering if it held possible clues to what had happened to Polly, but if it did, the crime scene people would undoubtedly find them.

As we walked back to the elevator, Harriet said, “Strange that she didn’t own a dog.”

“Why?” asked Brutus. “Not all pop stars own a dog. Some of them don’t even like pets.”

“But most of them do, right?” said Harriet. “I mean, if only for the publicity. Like for their Instagram and all of that? They don’t necessarily have to like dogs, but it still looks good on their Instagram profile. Makes them look cool in the eyes of their fans. Though, of course, a cat would be better, but then cats don’t enjoy traveling the way these stars do—with all the concerts they are obliged to give. A dog is more suited to their needs.”

Harriet was right, of course. Most of these stars do have a dog that accompanies them on the road. So where was Polly’s dog? Did she even have one? I hadn’t noticed the presence of a dog in that suite, so chances were that she didn’t. The sister would know. Now if only we could find her and convince her to cooperate with the police…

CHAPTER 6

Odelia found Jackie Parker in the hotel lobby. She was at the reception desk, making a complaint about the police searching her sister’s room and telling her some nonsense story about Polly being dead while demanding to know where her sister was.

When Odelia walked up to her, Jackie pointed at Odelia. “That’s her! That’s the woman pretending to be a cop and breaking into our suite! You have to call the police!”

“But… Odelia works for the police,” said the receptionist. “She and her husband.”

Jackie’s jaw dropped. Odelia half-expected her to demand to speak with the manager because obviously the receptionist was also lying to her, but she must have realized that this scenario was unlikely to say the least, and so she finally piped down. “But… but that means…” She brought a hand to her mouth, and suddenly tears sprang to her eyes. She focused on Odelia. “That means… that you were telling me the truth?”

Odelia nodded. “I’m afraid so, Miss Parker.”

“My sister… is dead?”

“Let’s find a place where we can talk,” Odelia suggested. Chase was downstairs with the CSI team, so it was just her. She glanced around and realized that her cats had left, and wondered where they had gone off to. But right now, it was more important to talk to Jackie.

They found an empty conference room, and Jackie sank down onto a chair. “I don’t believe this,” she said. “What happened?”

“We’re not entirely sure,” Odelia said. “But it looks like foul play was involved.”

Jackie raised a shocked face to her. “You mean… she was murdered?”

“That’s what it looks like. Though as I said, we’re not entirely sure exactly what happened yet. Chase—my husband—will be running the investigation, and I’m sure he’ll be able to provide you with some answers soon. He’s a great detective,” she added.

She took a seat across from the woman and dragged a tissue from a box on the table. They were in one of the smaller conference rooms, where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

“When was the last time you saw Polly?” she asked.

“Last night before I went to bed.”

“What time was this?”

“Um… around midnight? Something like that.”

“You didn’t notice she was gone when you woke up this morning?”

Jackie shook her head, touching the tissue paper to her nose. “I didn’t. I have this habit of going for a run first thing when I wake up. And so that’s what I did.”

“You and Polly didn’t share the same suite?”

“Yeah, we did, but I didn’t go into her room this morning. I snuck out and went for my run. I only got back just now. I did my ten miles and then did my morning yoga routine on the beach.” She gave her an apologetic look. “It’s a habit I’ve developed. With the kind of stress that working with Polly has brought, I needed to make sure that I scheduled in personal time for myself, and my morning ritual is sacred to me.”

“No, I understand,” said Odelia. “So you have no idea if your sister was still in the suite when you left?”

“No, I guess not. I mean, she should have been. Polly has always been a sound sleeper, and she loves to sleep in. I’m always up and about long before she gets up. Usually, by the time I get back from my run, she’s in the bathroom, and we both go down for breakfast together—though lately she preferred to have breakfast brought up to the suite. Tough to have breakfast when you’re constantly being hounded for selfies.”

“I actually talked to Polly the other day,” said Odelia. “For an interview with my paper. She told me you guys were in town for a week?”

“Yeah, we arrived three days ago, and we were planning to leave after the weekend. She was doing three concerts and a couple of interviews. We were due to go on tour in the fall, and we wanted to try out the new show. Work out the kinks and see how the fans reacted to some of the material from Polly’s upcoming album. All in all, a busy schedule.”

“We found a diary in your sister’s room, Jackie,” said Odelia. “And she wrote about a person who was stalking her? Any idea who she was referring to?”

Jackie frowned. “Maybe her ex-boyfriend? She’d been dating this guy on and off for a couple of months, but in the end things didn’t work out so she called it quits. He couldn’t live with the fact that she spent so much time on the road. He was a lot older than she was and wanted her to settle down. But she felt it was too soon, so she ended things.”

“What was the name of this boyfriend?” asked Odelia, getting out her notebook.

“Um… Jeffrey,” said Jackie. “Jeffrey Davies. He owns a football team.”

“And how did he take the breakup?”

“Not well. He kept sending her messages. Wouldn’t give up. Said they were made for each other and wanted her to give him another chance.”

“Where is he right now?”

“In LA, probably. That’s where he lives.”

“Okay,” said Odelia. They’d have to check if this was indeed the case. “Anyone else you can think of who would want to cause harm to your sister, Jackie?”

“Oh, my God,” she said, burying her face in her hands before looking up with tear-filled eyes. “This is real, isn’t it? Polly really is dead. I just can’t believe it. Last night she was fine. We watched some slasher movie together. We both are into horror movies big time. She thought it would calm her down. She was really nervous about the shows.”

“But why? I mean, she’s been doing this for a while, hasn’t she?”

“She has, but we were planning a major shake-up. We were taking her career in a new direction, both musically and image-wise. We were in talks with a rock producer, and he made a couple of suggestions, and had contracted a couple of songwriters for the new album, going for a different sound from what people know her for. And so she was going to try out some of the new songs during the concert, to gauge the fan response.”

“And she was afraid her fans wouldn’t like it?”

“Yeah, Polly’s fans can be pretty fanatic. They follow everything she does. So if they didn’t like her new music and style, that would have presented a major problem.”

“Why did she want to change her style, exactly?” asked Odelia, wondering why the singer hadn’t mentioned this during their interview.

“I guess she’d matured. Felt that she was too old for the bubblegum songs that made her famous. Her personal taste had changed, and she wanted her music to reflect that—which I don’t have to tell you, is a big risk. If the fans hated it, that would have crushed her.”

“So do you think that someone knew about the change and didn’t like it?”

“It’s possible,” said Jackie. “Though we kept the new songs pretty tightly under wraps. Only a couple of selected fans have heard them—and only in the acoustic version. But it’s still possible that some of the stuff had leaked online.” But then she shook her head adamantly. “No, that’s crazy. Her fans adore Polly. They would never hurt her.” She glanced up at Odelia. “How… how did she die, exactly?”

“I’m afraid we’re not quite sure yet. Her body was found at the bottom of the pool.”

“Wait, are you saying she drowned?”

“There’s no water in the pool,” said Odelia. “It’s under repair at the moment.”

“So… she was pushed in?”

“Like I said, at this moment we don’t know exactly what happened. But we’re doing everything we can to find out,” she assured the woman. She knew how important it was that the relatives of a murder victim knew the exact circumstances of the death of their loved ones. But she couldn’t in good conscience tell Jackie how they had found her sister. That would have to wait for a later date, when she wasn’t quite as bowled over.

“So apart from this ex-boyfriend and possibly a disappointed fan,” she said, “can you think of anyone else who could have done this to her?”

“There… there’s always our mom,” said Jackie hesitantly.

“Your mother?”

“Yeah. The thing is, Dad left us when we were little—I don’t even remember him. So it was always just the three of us: me, Polly, and Mom. And then when Polly started having some success with her singing, Mom jumped at the chance to turn her into the next Taylor Swift or something. She had visions of the three of us moving into some fancy Bel Air mansion and living like the Kardashians and maybe even having a reality show based on our lives. But that wasn’t what Polly wanted—or me, for that matter. The truth is that Mom became a little obsessed. She was Polly’s manager, only she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. And so after a while, we started getting complaints from producers and collaborators and record label executives. They all said that Mom was impossible to work with, that she was making crazy demands and so they threatened to break all ties with us if we didn’t get rid of her. In the end, we had to fire her, and I took over.”

Odelia got the picture. “And she took it badly?”

“You can say that again. She went nuts. Decided to go full Nurse Ratched on us. We had to file a restraining order against her, so she’s not allowed to come within ten miles of us.” A frown of concern cut a groove between her brows. She pushed her large glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. “The thing is… when we did a rehearsal with the entire team at the Seabreeze Music Center yesterday, I could have sworn I saw her.”

“Your mom is here? In spite of the restraining order?”

Jackie nodded. “I’m not sure. I only saw her for a second, but I thought it was her. I didn’t tell Polly. She didn’t need the extra stress.”

“What’s your mother’s name?” asked Odelia.

“Karin Conway. And let me tell you, she’s a real piece of work.”

CHAPTER 7

Somehow we had managed to lose Odelia after we walked off the elevator. She had made a beeline for the reception counter, where Jackie Parker had been making quite the scene. Since we didn’t want to give the woman any more reasons to be cross with Odelia, we decided to hang back. When we looked again, though, our human was gone, and so was Jackie, so we assumed that they had found a quiet place to have a chat. Chase had disappeared into the basement again, and the last thing we wanted was to follow him down there. With Odelia gone as well, for a moment we were at a loss how to proceed.

“I think we should probably wait here,” said Harriet, here being the lobby. “Odelia will return,” she said, as if Odelia were James Bond. “And so we should be here when she does. Otherwise, she will worry, and we don’t want that.”

“No, we don’t want Odelia to worry,” Dooley confirmed. “But I’m worried about her. What if she met the killer and now they’re cutting her up into little pieces?”

“She didn’t meet the killer,” I said. “She met Jackie, and she’s probably interviewing the woman.”

“But what if Jackie is the killer? She looked very cross, Max. She could be the killer, and she could still have some of that rage left in her, and Odelia could be her next victim.”

“I doubt it,” I said, though of course you can never be absolutely certain about these things. Stranger things have happened than a sister who murders her sister. Sibling rivalry is a thing, so Dooley might have a point.

“Maybe we should go look for Odelia,” said Harriet finally. “Just in case this Jackie person is the killer.”

“Harriet is right,” said Brutus. “We don’t want Odelia to be chopped up into little pieces. Abe told us that once a human body is cut up, it’s very hard to put it back together again.”

“He didn’t say that, snuggle pooh,” said Harriet. “He said that once a human body is chopped up into little pieces, it’s impossible to put it back together again.”

“Yeah, I guess once life is extinct,” I said, “it never comes back.”

“I wonder why that is,” said Dooley. “Where does that spark of life go, Max?”

“That, my friend,” I said, “is the great mystery of life. And I’m sure that even the biggest scientists wouldn’t be able to answer that particular question.”

“It’s a religious thing, isn’t it?” said Brutus with a touch of uncertainty. Religion is not a topic cats are particularly well-versed in. “Where does the spark go?” he mused as his eyes drifted heavenward of their own volition. “Does it go up there? And if it does, why is it a one-way street? Why does it never drift down again?”

“But it does drift down,” I said. “When a baby is born, it does drift down, doesn’t it?”

“I guess. The mechanics of the thing are a little unclear. I mean, how does it work, exactly? And who up there is in charge of the process? That, I would like to know.”

“There’s one person who might be able to answer that,” said Dooley. “And that’s Shanille.”

“Shanille!” Harriet scoffed. “Shanille is the last person who would know how to answer such an important question.”

“No, but Shanille lives with Father Reilly,” Brutus said. “And if there’s anyone who knows all about the soul and the spark of life and all of that stuff, it’s Father Reilly.”

We all thought for a moment about that aged priest, and I wondered if there was any truth to what Brutus was saying. “Anyway,” I said finally. “We should probably check up on Odelia. Make sure that Jackie Parker isn’t cutting her up into little pieces as we speak.”

And so we went in search of our human. Cats may not be as loyal and faithful as dogs, but we’re still very much attached to our humans. We found Odelia in a small conference room and could see through the glass door—which was closed to offer her and her interviewee some privacy—that she was alive and well. We also didn’t see a knife or hatchet in Jackie’s hand, so we relaxed, safe in the knowledge that our human’s demise wasn’t imminent.

“We should really talk to Shanille,” said Brutus as we patiently waited for Odelia to finish her interview and come out of that room unscathed. “I mean, don’t you want to know the secret of life?”

“I want to know the secret of life,” Dooley told us. “It’s very important. And I think that Odelia also wants to know, and so does Jackie Parker.”

We all watched Jackie as she cried bitter tears over the death of her beloved sister—I’m assuming that Polly was a beloved sister and not her mortal enemy who she’d murdered—and I could see that she would want to know where her sister’s soul was right now, and why it couldn’t be enticed to return to Polly’s body posthaste, once the medical examiner had managed to sew her back together again, just in time for the open-casket funeral.

“So let’s ask her,” said Harriet. “And then maybe when we are in touch with Polly’s soul, we can ask her to confide in us as to who killed her. Now wouldn’t that be something?”

“That would indeed be something,” I agreed.

“Imagine never having to conduct a murder investigation again,” said Brutus. “But simply getting in touch with the murder victim’s soul and getting them to tell us who done it. That would make Odelia’s work a lot easier, wouldn’t it?”

“It sure would,” said Harriet. “But it also would make Chase’s job superfluous, and our family would lose a breadwinner. So we need to tread carefully here, you guys.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Brutus confessed. “You’re absolutely right, smoochie poo. We need to be very careful who we share this information with.”

“But what if Polly’s soul tells us who the killer is?” asked Dooley. “And we can’t tell Odelia because her husband will lose his job? That’s a mighty big enema, isn’t it?”

“Dilemma,” I corrected him.

“Yes, that is a dilemma,” Harriet agreed. But to prove that her mind was as agile as her body, she quickly hit upon the solution. “We’ll just have to send her an anonymous tip, won’t we? To the paper,” she added when we all stared at her. “You know, a letter that reveals the identity of the killer. And then it’s up to her and Chase to make the arrest. That way they won’t lose their jobs.”

“Excellent thinking, snookums,” said Brutus.

“I know,” she said without a hint of humility.

The interview was at an end, for the door opened and Odelia and Jackie walked out. Jackie seemed startled for a moment when she saw us, but then Odelia told her that we belonged to her, and she nodded, still looking a little confused. I could see what she was thinking. Why did Odelia have to drag four cats around with her? But then Jackie probably had other things to worry about, for she took off with Odelia by her side, and the two of them headed for the elevators, possibly to return to the suite.

Which meant that we had plenty of time on our hands to engage in our secret mission: to talk to Shanille and find out if she could put us in touch with Polly’s soul.

CHAPTER 8

“Idon’t know about this, honey,” said Scarlett.

“Well, I do,” said Vesta as she picked up her purse. There had been rumblings about something dreadful happening at the Star Hotel, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. “We’re the neighborhood watch. If we don’t get involved, who will, right?”

“Yeah, but the police are already investigating, and you know what your son is like.”

Vesta’s son Alec hated the neighborhood watch and its nosiness, that much was true.

“I don’t care,” said Vesta. “If Alec knew what was good for him and Hampton Cove, he’d embrace our involvement. But I guess his ego is about as big as that head of his.”

She’d seen plenty of people milling about, and they all looked pretty weird. Most of them were kids, and they were all wearing T-shirts of that pop star, Polly Parker. Some of them were also carrying posters with the star’s face on them, announcing a series of concerts to be held at the Seabreeze Music Center. It was a great honor that the pop star had selected Hampton Cove for the first concerts of her upcoming world tour. She had been trying to keep it under wraps and had only promised tickets to her biggest fans. But of course, the word had spread, and now half the civilized world and part of the uncivilized one were descending on Hampton Cove to get a glimpse of the famous star.

“Look, I just want to know what’s going on,” said Vesta. “Is that so bad?”

“I guess not,” said Scarlett.

“I’ll bet it’s got something to do with Polly.” She watched as her friend’s expression of doubtfulness quickly morphed into one of excitement. She’d known this would happen, as Scarlett was a fan, even though she was probably too old to be part of Polly’s fan base.

“You think?”

“I’ve got a hunch.”

“Well, what are we waiting for!” Scarlett cried, and grabbed her purse from the table.

Together, the two ladies made their way inside. They had been enjoying their usual drinks in the outdoor dining area of the Star Hotel when the hullabaloo had started—kids wearing Polly T-shirts trying to get into the hotel and failing. But that hadn’t stopped them, and slowly but surely the lobby was filling up, as evidenced by the difficulty Vesta and Scarlett faced trying to get through the crowd that had gathered there. Some of them were sitting on the floor singing songs of the pop star, while others were harassing the hotel receptionist for information about the star.

It didn’t take long before hotel security showed up en masse and started removing the fans from the lobby.

“I wonder where the fire is,” said Vesta as she glanced around the lobby. Security had also posted themselves in front of the elevators and even the staircase, and only registered guests of the hotel were allowed up, which was probably a good thing if they didn’t want the hotel being overrun with Polly fans.

And that’s when she saw Chase. He had emerged from the basement and looked troubled. She immediately retreated behind a column, dragging Scarlett along with her.

“What’s wrong?” asked Scarlett, a little breathless. She probably felt right at home among all those Polly fans.

“It’s Chase,” she hissed. “Don’t let him see us. He’ll probably kick us out. You know what he’s like.”

Chase might be a wonderful detective, an amazing husband to Odelia and a great dad to Grace, but as far as the neighborhood watch was concerned, he toed the same line as his boss.

The cop passed them by, busy talking to a colleague, and the moment he was safely past them, she and Scarlett tiptoed in the direction of the door he had emerged from.

“It’s down there,” said Vesta. “Probably something happened at the pool.”

“Or the spa,” said Scarlett with glittering eyes. She loved the spa and spent hours there on a weekly basis—massages, sauna baths, and whatever else took her fancy. Which was probably why she looked about two decades younger than her friend, which often irked Vesta to no end.

“Okay, the coast is clear,” said Vesta as she snuck a look behind the door that led to the spa and pool area. Just when they were heading down the stairs, another cop came up, and since they didn’t have time to retreat, she flashed him a smile. “Randal!” she said.

“Vesta. What are you doing here?” he asked with a frown.

“Mission from Alec,” she said blithely.

“Oh, right,” said the cop, blanching slightly. Everyone on the force was familiar with the boss’s mother.

“I’ll tell him what a great job you’re doing here,” she assured the officer.

“Thanks,” he murmured, and quickly went on his way.

“What if he tells Alec?” asked Scarlett.

“He won’t. Scared of his own shadow, that one.”

They continued down the stairs, and it wasn’t long before they arrived in the changing area. Another cop was milling about, and since she didn’t want to repeat the same trick twice, she decided to wait him out. So she and Scarlett hid behind a clothes rack. It wasn’t long before the officer took a call and was momentarily distracted.

Time to investigate!

They entered the pool area, and much to her surprise, the pool was completely devoid of water—one of the essential ingredients of a pool, last time she looked.

“No water?” she asked.

“They found some cracks,” said Scarlett, who, of course, knew all about this as a regular spa visitor and swimmer. “So they drained the pool and they’re repairing the cracks.” She then emitted a strange noise as she pointed to a spot behind Vesta.

She turned to see where her friend was pointing, and that’s when she saw it: a body lying at the bottom of the pool—the empty pool. And if she wasn’t mistaken, and she didn’t think she was—it was Polly Parker!

“Oh no!” Scarlett cried. “It can’t be!”

“Quiet,” she urged. She spotted several CSI people, and the last thing they needed was to be kicked out. Alec would be furious if he found out they had been snooping.

“But it’s Polly!” said Scarlett as she clutched her face. “And she’s… she’s dead!”

“No shit,” Vesta murmured as she took a good long look at the body. Not only was Polly dead, but there was something wrong with her body—something she couldn’t immediately put her finger on. And then she saw it: parts of her anatomy weren’t exactly where they were supposed to be. Her arms and legs, for instance, had been rearranged in awkward and unnatural positions. And her head also didn’t look entirely right.

“Oh my God,” Scarlett breathed. She turned to Vesta. “You have to promise me that we will get the monster that did this, Vesta. You have to promise me right now!”

“I promise,” she said. “But first we need to get out of here before they catch us.”

“Fine,” said Scarlett, lightly sniffling now. “Oh, this is so bad,” she said. “So, so bad. That poor girl. What monster would do this to her?”

“We’ll find out,” she promised. And as they returned to where they came from, they suddenly came face to face with Chase, who was talking into his phone.

“Well, well, well,” he said, a smile sliding up his face. He pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Boss? Guess who’s here, snooping around our crime scene?”

Busted!

CHAPTER 9

Reyna Gravity had taken the service elevator down to the basement, her cleaning trolley positioned next to her. She knew she wasn’t supposed to go down there, as the entire area had been declared off-limits to the hotel staff. But she just couldn’t help herself. She simply had to see what was going on.

Rumors had been swirling that Polly Parker’s body had been found, and so she couldn’t possibly stay away. She just hoped that she wouldn’t get caught.

As she carefully opened the elevator door, she glanced around. When she didn’t see any police officers, she proceeded to push the cleaning trolley ahead of her—a cleaning lady on a mission. She could always say that she hadn’t heard anything about staff not being allowed access to the basement. She paused when she heard some kind of altercation on the staircase. She glanced up and saw that a burly cop was chewing out two old ladies for trespassing. She hurried past the trio and entered the changing room. A cop was positioned in the doorway to the pool area, and she knew she had to get past him if she wanted to stand a chance of taking a peek at whatever was going on.

Someone called out from the other side, and the cop responded and walked over. Reyna knew that she only had a brief window of opportunity, so she took it. Hurrying through with her cleaning trolley still rolling in front of her—her excuse for being there—she entered the pool area. It only took one glance to see that the reports were true: there, at the bottom of the pool, a body lay.

It was Polly. Too shocked to remember that she was supposed to be inconspicuous, not to mention invisible, she let out an involuntary yelp of shock and surprise.

The cop, who had been chatting with a colleague, immediately swung around, and when he spotted her, came hurrying over. “Hey, lady! You’re not supposed to be here. This area is strictly off-limits!”

“I… I just wanted to… to clean up,” she managed, even as she couldn’t drag her eyes away from Polly’s body, sprawled out like a lifeless and life-size doll.

“No cleaning necessary,” said the cop as he gestured for her to return from where she came. “Now get lost, will you? And take that mop and bucket with you.”

“Yes, officer,” she said automatically. Finally, she managed to tear herself away from the dreadful scene, assisted by the cop, who gave her a gentle shove in the right direction.

“Go clean someplace else,” he suggested. “Or come back some other time, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” she said and hurried off again. This was way worse than she had feared. When Janice had told her that the body of Polly had been found, she couldn’t believe it, especially since she knew Janice as an inveterate gossip. But now it turned out to be true. As her entire world collapsed, she staggered back to the elevator.

The tears only came once the door had closed and the elevator was taking her back upstairs. Tears for lost opportunities and wrong choices. But even more than that, tears for Polly Parker and for the things that could have been but would now never be.

It didn’t take us long to arrive at St. John’s Church. Getting inside was usually a different matter altogether, as the church has one of those big oak doors that are practically impossible to push open unless you are a human—and a very strong human at that. But as luck would have it, the door was ajar, and so we simply slipped in. Shanille can usually be found inside the church, or else in the rectory located next to it, where she lives with her human, Father Reilly.

“I hope she’s here,” said Harriet as she glanced around the cavernous space.

Brutus looked a little intimidated, and when I looked at him, I could tell he was feeling exactly the same thing I was feeling: not at ease.

“I don’t like churches,” he now confessed in a low tone as he nervously glanced around. “Too big and spooky.”

“Yeah, you always have this feeling of being watched in a church, don’t you?” I said.

“Something lurking behind every pillar,” he confirmed. There was the sound of a footfall, and we both jumped. But when we looked over, we saw that it was just an old lady doing something with the candles. For some reason, there’s always an old lady doing something with candles in a church. No idea what that is all about, but I guess it adds to the general sense of ominousness.

“I don’t like this, Max,” said Brutus. “I don’t like this at all.”

“I thought you were going to protect me from harm from now on?” I said, but my teeth were slightly clattering, and my body was shaking.

“I said I was going to protect you from that pooping pigeon. I never said anything about protecting you from powers greater than either of us, buddy.”

I could feel the oppressive sensation pressing in on us from every side, and so when suddenly a voice sounded behind us, we both jumped and were ready to make a beeline for the exit when we saw that it wasn’t some scary being from the netherworld but Shanille herself.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Brutus, and pressed a paw to his beating heart.

“Who else would it be?” she asked. “Do you know of any other cat who lives with her priest human?”

“No, I don’t,” said Brutus, and I got the impression he was glad for it—and so was his ticker.

Dooley and Harriet, who had gone exploring deeper into the church, now came hurrying back. “There’s a strange old lady doing something with candles,” Dooley announced.

“That’s Eulalia Sleek,” said Shanille. “She likes to help out. Get rid of the old candles and make sure everything is nice and clean. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

The cat choir conductor looked quite at ease, and that was only to be expected, as she had the home advantage. The people who visit the church all know her, and she’s something of a local legend by now. Some cats even call it St. Shanille’s Church.

“Well, we just saw a dead body,” said Harriet, deciding to grab the bull by the horns, so to speak, and dive right in.

“Not unusual for you guys,” said Shanille with a touch of censure. “You’re always messing around with dead people, aren’t you? Makes my skin crawl, to be honest. I mean, I don’t think it’s exactly Christian to be involved with murder and mayhem to such an extent. But then I guess my human is also one of those true crime nuts these days. Ever since he got involved with that nutty neighborhood watch of yours.”

“It’s not our neighborhood watch,” said Harriet with a touch of annoyance. “It’s Gran and Scarlett’s watch. Anyway, we didn’t come here to discuss the watch with you,” she added, tilting her chin. “We’re here to talk to you about life after death.”

“And more importantly, why life can’t be brought back when it’s become extinct,” Brutus added.

For possibly the first time since I met Shanille, she was speechless. Finally, she managed, “What the hell are you talking about?” She quickly raised her eyes heavenward and murmured an apology to the great and mighty God for this blasphemy in His House. “I mean, what have you been smoking, Brutus?”

Brutus frowned. “I haven’t been smoking anything.”

“The thing is,” I said, feeling that some clarification was in order, “that Harriet and Brutus just saw a person who met a violent death, and now we were wondering if it’s possible to breathe life back into a person once they’ve met their maker—so to speak.”

Shanille actually plunked her tush down on the cold stone floor. “This is a question I never thought I’d ever be required to contemplate,” she said, looking a little flustered.

“We thought that you might know the answer,” said Dooley, “seeing as how you live with a priest, and priests have a direct line to God, don’t they?”

“They sure do,” said Shanille, nodding.

“And since you have a direct line to Father Reilly,” said Harriet, “we figured you were the person to ask.”

“Well, I guess the simple answer is that only God can breathe life into an inanimate object. So once a person has expired, that’s it. No power on Earth can ever bring them back from the dead.”

“But why doesn’t God bring that person back?” asked Dooley. “Take Polly Parker, for instance. A lot of people like her music, so they’ll be very sad to learn that she has died.”

“Wait, Polly Parker is dead?” asked Shanille, her eyes widening to the fullest extent of their circumference.

“Yeah, she was found dead this morning,” I said. “Murdered in the empty pool of the Star Hotel.”

“Oh my God, this is terrible,” said Shanille, bringing a distraught paw to her face. “Polly was such an amazing talent. I just loved her to pieces.”

I winced, and so did Harriet and Brutus, which, considering how they had found Polly, was probably understandable. “So do you think that maybe you could put in a good word with Father Reilly?” asked Harriet. “And he can put in a good word with God, and, you know, bring Polly back from the dead?”

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible,” said Shanille, shaking her head.

“But why? If He did it once, surely He can do it again?” said Harriet. “I mean, He brought her into this world once, so maybe He can supply the service a second time?”

“It doesn’t work like that, Harriet,” said Shanille. “Like I said, you only get one shot at this. If you screw it up, or if someone does it for you, that’s it. Game over, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” said Harriet, looking extremely disappointed.

“Yeah, them’s the rules of the game,” said Shanille. She looked thoroughly stricken. Polly really had been one of her idols. Which wasn’t strange, as Shanille’s life is all about music. Well, music and religion. “There is something we could try, though,” she said now. “I mean, it’s not exactly kosher, but in this case we might make an exception. Just this once.” She thought for a moment, then finally nodded. “There’s this person that Father Reilly knows who claims she can bring people back from the dead. Father Reilly doesn’t believe her, of course, and he even uses the word blasphemy when referring to this lady, but maybe we could ask her to use her powers and try to bring Polly back to life?”

We all shared a look of excitement.

Now wouldn’t that be something?

CHAPTER 10

Odelia met up with her husband in the lobby, and she probably shouldn’t have been surprised to see that Chase had been joined by her grandmother and Scarlett Canyon.

“Look who I found,” said Chase.

“Oh, don’t be a jerk, Chase,” said Gran. “As members of the neighborhood watch we have every right to be here.”

“And as Polly’s biggest fans,” Scarlett added for good measure. She seemed sad, Odelia thought, but then a lot of people would be sad when they heard the news about the pop singer’s death.

“The neighborhood watch is supposed to watch the neighborhood, Vesta,” Chase pointed out. “Not snoop around random crime scenes.”

“Well, this is my neighborhood,” Gran insisted adamantly. “And so when something happens, it’s my sacred duty to investigate—however you and Alec may feel about it.”

Chase had attached himself to Gran’s arm, and the old lady didn’t seem to enjoy the experience, for she now yanked herself free.

“So are we under arrest here or what?” she demanded heatedly. “No? Then I guess we’ll skedaddle.”

And with these words, she and Scarlett took off toward the hotel exit. But when they saw that an entire crowd had gathered there, they thought better of it and decided to use the side exit, where they hoped to leave without running into Polly’s army of rabid fans.

“It’s turning into a proper vigil,” said Chase, a worried frown on his face. “If this keeps up, we’ll have to do something to disperse them.”

The hotel manager seemed to share his concern, for he now came hurrying up, wringing his hands as usual. “This is just terrific!” he cried. “Will you look at that? There are thousands of them, and more arriving every second! Pretty soon the whole town will be overrun with these people.”

“We should probably do something to ease the pressure on your hotel,” said Chase as he took out his phone. Moments later, he was in touch with his boss.

“Can’t they organize their vigil somewhere else?” the manager moaned. “I’ve got a business to run here. Already, the guests are complaining that they can’t come and go for fear of being mobbed.”

“I’m sure they won’t get mobbed,” said Odelia. “Poppy’s fans just want to express their grief over the untimely passing of their favorite singer, that’s all.”

“I’ve been getting calls from all the big news stations,” said the manager. “They all want to know exactly what happened and if I can send them pictures of the body.” He threw up his hands. “Pictures of the body! As if I don’t have anything better to do than take pictures of dead people and send them to these disrespectful reporters.”

“That is a little sick,” Odelia agreed. She just hoped that no one had gotten it into their head to do exactly that: take a picture of Polly as she lay there, and then sell it to the highest bidder. “Look, I’m sure my uncle will be able to get this crowd to disperse.”

“I hope so.” He gave Odelia a nervous look. “When do you think they’re going to remove the body? Not that I want to interfere with the police investigation. But the longer it’s down there, the higher the chance that someone will find a way to get access.”

“As soon as the crime scene investigators are done, the body will be taken away,” she assured the nervous man.

“That’s good,” he said, nodding. “That’s very good. Not,” he added as he held up a hand, “that I want to be disrespectful or anything. But I think it’s better if she’s moved away from here. For her to be lying there like that is just… I mean, it doesn’t bear thinking.”

He was right. The sooner they got Polly out of there, the better. But she could also see that this posed a serious problem for the crime scene investigators. After all, according to Abe, the body had been meticulously positioned—staged, almost. And to remove her and take her to the mortuary in that state was going to prove tricky—to say the least.

As the hotel manager took a call and hurried off again with long strides, she was suddenly reminded of her cats. But when she looked around, she didn’t see any sign of them. She wondered where they could have gotten off to. She could have asked Chase, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t have kept an eye on them either, being too busy with his investigation.

But since she knew that her cats could take care of themselves, she decided not to worry too much.

Chase returned and said that Uncle Alec was working with Charlene to get things under control. Lots more people were arriving, all having heard the terrible news of the death of their beloved singer. It looked like things were about to get even more heated than they already were.

Just then, a message popped up on Chase’s phone. He cursed when he saw it.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Apparently someone managed to take a picture of Polly’s body and post it online.”

“But who? The scene was secured.”

“Curtis just told me that he caught a cleaning lady snooping around downstairs. And then there was that grandmother of yours.”

“Surely Gran wouldn’t do such a thing,” said Odelia. But when Chase gave her an ‘are you kidding me’ look, she had to concede that, for reasons entirely her own, Gran was probably capable of just about anything.

“What’s done is done,” said Chase. “All that remains is for us to carry on talking to people. And speaking of which, I’ve got the phone number of that ex-boyfriend you mentioned—this Jeffrey Davies? Turns out he is in LA, just as Jackie thought. So that rules him out.”

“What about Polly and Jackie’s mom?”

“Haven’t been able to get a hold of her yet. But chances are she’s also in LA. At least that’s where she’s officially registered.” He checked his notebook. “And then there are these disgruntled fans Jackie mentioned? That’s a little harder to pin down, as there seem to be plenty of them. They’ve even formed a coalition.”

“A coalition?”

“Yeah, they’re calling themselves the Polly Coalition. They wanted Polly to keep doing what she does best—in their mind, at least—and keep making the kind of songs that she used to make. The bubblegum ones. The ringleader is a lady called Kiki Kelsey.”

“We need to get in touch with her.”

“Way ahead of you, babe. I’ve set up a meeting with Miss Kelsey, who happens to be in town right now for the Seabreeze Music Center concerts. And guess what?”

“What?”

“She’s staying right here at the Star.”

CHAPTER 11

In spite of the fact that Reyna had the shock of her life when she came across the body of Polly Parker, it wasn’t as if she could have a lie-down to recover. If her boss caught her, she could kiss her job goodbye. And since she had her personal reasons to hang on to her position at the Star, she wasn’t going to do that. So there she was, cleaning the bathroom of one of the suites located very close to where Polly had been staying. As she scrubbed particularly hard to get a spot out of the shower stall, she couldn’t stop her mind from running through all the different scenarios of what could have happened to Polly.

Who could possibly have done this to the girl? The only person that came to mind was Jackie. It wasn’t a big secret that the two of them had gone through phases of sibling rivalry where they had frequently been at loggerheads. At one time, Jackie had even broken a mirror on top of her sister’s head, necessitating five stitches and resulting in a slight concussion that had kept Polly home from school for two weeks.

Was it possible that the sisters had come to blows again, only this time Jackie had gone too far and killed her sister?

She wondered if she should let the police know about Polly and Jackie’s past, but then figured it was common knowledge. Stories about their checkered past had appeared in all the tabloids at one time or another, and even though the sisters had always shrugged it off as utter nonsense, those who knew them were convinced it was true.

Like a former teacher of the girls who had once given an interview to People Magazine and recalled, much to the reporter’s delight, that Jackie used to catch grasshoppers and dump them down her sister’s collar, freaking her out. Or collect big hairy spiders in a jar and then, when she had lots of them, dump them in Polly’s bed so that when Polly stuck her feet under the covers, the first thing she would encounter were those wriggly spiders.

By all accounts, Jackie had issues—not to mention a violent and dangerous streak.

After she was done, she left the suite. As she did, she almost bumped into Jackie! The young woman sailed right past her without offering her so much as a glance—arrogant as always. She hesitated for a moment, but when she saw a cop positioned in front of the sisters’ suite, she decided maybe she should share the information she had on Jackie.

So she walked up to the officer.

The female cop wasn’t all that interested in what she had to say at first, figuring she was just another attention seeker. But when she showed her the article that she had saved on her phone where the teacher had been interviewed, she finally took notice.

“So that’s the sister?” asked the cop.

“That’s right. There are plenty of other articles that describe the way Jackie did all kinds of cruel things to Polly. So if I were you, I’d take a closer look at her.”

“Interesting,” said the cop. “And you are?”

“Reyna Gravity,” she said. “I work here. And I’m also a big fan of Polly, which is why I know all this stuff.”

“You sure do know your stuff,” said the cop appreciatively. “I’ll be sure to pass it on, Reyna.”

As she walked away, she was glowing with pride. Hopefully, the investigation would focus on Jackie now.

She sure deserved to be punished for what she did.

Vesta and Scarlett had a hard time escaping from the hotel, which seemed to be surrounded on all sides by a crowd of kids and teens demanding to know what happened to their favorite singer.

“They’re nuts!” she said as they finally managed to worm their way through the crowd. “I didn’t even know the girl was this popular.”

“Oh, she’s good,” Scarlett assured her. “The best. I listen to her all the time. Don’t you?”

“Honey, if I listen to pop music, my brain will turn to mush. It’s so insipid I just can’t stand it. The exact same song every time, sung by a different teenager, and none of them can actually sing. Give me a real singer every time.”

“I like it,” said Scarlett stubbornly. “I think it’s very upbeat. Puts me in a great mood.” But then her face fell. “Though now that Polly is dead, I probably won’t be able to listen to her anymore without seeing her lying there—in that swimming pool. That was probably the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Pretty gruesome stuff,” Vesta agreed. Almost as gruesome as the girl’s songs, she wanted to add, but didn’t, out of respect for her friend’s taste—or lack thereof. “Okay, so we need to start thinking about who could have done this. This is our investigation now, so we’d better get a hold of the cats—they’ll be our eyes and ears, since Alec and Chase aren’t going to want us anywhere near the case.”

“Do you think I should ask Clarice to participate?” asked Scarlett.

“Absolutely. The more the merrier. I have a feeling this is going to be a pretty tough case to crack, honey. A star of Polly’s caliber knows a ton of people, all of whom may have had a motive to get rid of her. The crooked manager, the evil sister, the greedy mom, the crazed fan. You name it, I’m sure we’ll find them present and accounted for.”

“How do you know all of that?” asked Scarlett, giving her a look of surprise.

“I was just spitballing. Why? What do you know that I don’t?”

“Well, rumor has it that Polly and Jackie—that’s her sister—never really got along. And also, the two sisters fell out with their mother when Polly’s career took off. As far as crazy fans is concerned—there have been plenty of stories of unhinged fans.”

“Okay, so that’s plenty of suspects already. Not bad for a start. Now let’s try and find the cats, and make sure they clue us in on this investigation.”

And since there was only one cat in all of Hampton Cove who could safely be compared to a local oracle, they set off for the General Store, hoping to find the owner Wilbur Vickery’s cat Kingman in residence.

CHAPTER 12

When we arrived on Main Street, we discovered that we had left the Star Hotel just in time. The street was full of people, and they seemed to be surrounding the hotel, making it practically impossible for anyone to come or go.

“Poor people,” said Dooley. “They’re all very sad that Polly is dead, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they do seem very sad,” I agreed, as we watched two teenage girls sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the street. Traffic had ground to a halt, and it was pretty much chaos out there.

We barely managed to make it to the General Store, where Wilbur Vickery stood in front of his shop, his fists planted on his hips and offering dirty looks to anyone he suspected of being a Polly fan.

As luck would have it, Gran and Scarlett were also there. They seemed eager to have a chat with Kingman, but all they got was an earful from the shopkeeper.

“It’s terrorism,” Wilbur was saying. “Keeping a small business owner from making a living. It’s pure terrorism, and I’ve already given Mayor Butterwick an earful. And if she doesn’t do something real fast to make sure that my customers can reach my store, I’ll be calling the governor next. And if that doesn’t work, the President!”

He balled his fist and shook it at whoever was making it impossible for him to earn an ‘honest living!’

“I’m sure these people will disperse soon,” said Scarlett. “They can’t stick around forever.”

“Yeah, they need to go to the bathroom at some point,” said Gran. “Or have a bite to eat and a bottle of water to drink. And they won’t get any of that out here on the street.”

Wilbur snapped his head around so fast I heard a definite crick. “What did you just say?”

“Well, they’ll have to eat and drink and go to the bathroom at some point, so there’s no way they’re going to stick around indefinitely.”

“Not to mention they all look like kids,” said Scarlett. “And their parents will want them to come home.”

“Kids…” said Wilbur as he narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin like a supervillain in a movie. “Kids with disposable incomes… who need to drink, eat, and use the bathroom… Interesting. Very interesting.” And as if operated by a puppeteer, he promptly turned on his heel and disappeared into his store.

“Wilbur is acting really weird,” said Harriet.

“He’s been like this for the past couple of weeks,” said Kingman. “Ever since he’s been losing more hair on top of his head and getting strange red spots on his chest, he’s been complaining that he’s dying. So maybe this is all part of that.”

“Is Wilbur dying?” cried Dooley. “Oh no! Do you think it’s cancer, Kingman?”

Kingman grinned. “Oh, it’s a pretty nasty disease, all right. But it’s not cancer—it’s middle age.”

Dooley nodded sagely. “I’ve heard about these Middle Ages. A very dangerous time. Full of torture and stuff.”

“Middle age, not the Middle Ages,” I corrected him.

“Look,” said Gran as she scanned the street. “I’m not going to beat around the bush here, Kingman. I want you to tell me everything you know about this pop star. This… whatsherface.”

“Polly Parker,” Harriet supplied helpfully.

“Exactly.”

“What do you want to know?” asked Kingman.

“Anything. Everything! Whatever you can tell us that might shed light on her murder. See, the thing is, Scarlett and I are investigating, but as usual, the cops don’t want us anywhere near the case.”

“Gee, this is so great, Gran,” said Dooley. “The four of us are also going to solve the case. But we’re doing it by bringing Polly back from the dead.”

“Can you do that?” asked Kingman, surprised.

“Absolutely,” said Shanille, who had been listening quietly but felt it was time to pipe up. “Father Reilly knows a woman who can bring anyone back from the dead, and we’re going to ask her to do the honors. Only…” She glanced up at Gran. “Seeing as she can talk to the dead but not to cats, we need you to contact her for us.”

“I’d be delighted,” said Gran immediately. She turned to Scarlett. “The cats know a woman who can bring Peppy Pimple⁠—”

“Polly Parker.”

“—back from the dead. That way, we’ll kill two birds with one stone: we’ll find out who killed her, and she’ll be able to give that concert after all, making all these idiots stop fussing and clear the road.” She spread her arms. “In other words: everybody happy!”

“I didn’t know you could bring a person back from the dead,” said Kingman.

“Isn’t that great, Kingman?” asked Dooley. “You should tell Wilbur. That way, when he dies from his Middle Ages, we’ll be able to bring him back.”

“He’ll love that,” said Kingman. “Though I don’t think he’ll die just yet. He complains too much. Mostly the people who complain the most are the ones who outlive us all.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Gran grunted. “Okay, so who is this person, and where can I find her?”

And as Shanille did the honors, telling Gran all about this miracle worker, Kingman thought about any interesting tidbits he could find that might shed light on what had happened to Polly Parker. Just in case Shanille’s person couldn’t bring her back from the dead.

“I didn’t see much of her,” he said. “She was out on the balcony once, and a group of people stood right there on the street, waving at her and showing her some kind of banner they’d made. They also sang a song, which I assume was one of hers. But apart from that…” Then he brightened. “I do remember she wasn’t alone on that balcony. After a while, a second woman appeared. She seemed to be cross with her and told her to get back inside. I guess it’s not a good look for a pop star to be standing on balconies and waving at people in the street. It might attract even more people, and then you end up in this situation,” he concluded, referring to the traffic mess.

“That must have been Polly’s sister,” said Brutus. “She was acting as her manager and also took care of all her personal needs.”

“Odd that a star of Polly’s caliber didn’t have a team,” said Harriet. “Usually they travel with an entourage and rent an entire floor.”

“Maybe she didn’t want an entourage?” I ventured. “It probably costs a lot of money. These people all have to be paid, after all. And booking an entire hotel floor must also cost a fortune.”

Shanille laughed. “Oh, Max. You don’t know the first thing about Polly Parker, do you? That girl is loaded. Money is no object for people like that. She probably even has her own private plane.”

“Odelia will tell us all about it,” I said. “She was talking to this Jackie person earlier.”

“Are we going to involve Odelia in this bringing-Polly-back-from-the-dead business?” asked Shanille. “Only, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Odelia being a reporter and all? She’ll want to write an article about it, and Velda might not like the publicity.”

“Is that her name?” asked Kingman.

“That’s right. Velda Ruonala. Although she prefers to be called Madame Velda.”

“In my experience, people like this Madame Velda love free publicity,” said Harriet. “But you’re probably right. We should ask her if she wants Odelia present.”

Gran, who had been on the phone with the medium and miracle worker, looked deeply impressed. She was staring at her phone. “She’s amazing,” she told us. “Do you know she knew all about me, even though we’ve never met?”

“What did she know?” asked Harriet.

“Well, she knew that there are some very annoying people in my life. Family members who don’t appreciate me.” She sighed. “I think I’m going to enjoy this séance tonight.”

We looked up at her in alarm. “Tonight?” asked Shanille. “This is happening tonight?”

“Absolutely,” said Gran. “The only problem is…”

“What?” asked Harriet.

“Well, Madame Velda says she needs to feel the energy of the recently deceased. So she wants the session to take place in the exact location where Pinky Pepple died.”

“Polly Parker,” Dooley corrected her with a laugh. “You keep getting it wrong, Gran. Her name was Polly.”

“Right you are,” said Gran with a smile.

“So… we need to go down to the pool area?” asked Harriet, who had turned a little white around the nostrils—at least that’s how I imagined it. With all that hair, it’s hard to tell sometimes.

Gran nodded. “Exactly. Which means that somehow we will have to sneak into the hotel tonight—all of us.”

And as we were still reeling from the shock of this announcement, Wilbur returned carrying a placard that he placed in front of his store.

We all glanced up at the placard, and Dooley read, “Soda $5. Pizza $20. Bathroom $5 unless you buy soda or pizza, in which case it’s free. What does this mean, Max?”

“It means that, in spite of his age, Wilbur’s instincts as a businessman are still very much intact.”

“He’s going to make a killing,” Brutus muttered.

And as if to prove him right, Wilbur opened his pipes. “Drinks over here! Best soda in town! Great pizza for everyone! Bathroom with very soft toilet paper!”

It soon transpired that in spite of the fact that their favorite idol had died—or perhaps because of it—all the kids gathered in front of the Star Hotel were very hungry, very thirsty, and in urgent need of a bathroom break. Soon they converged en masse on the General Store.

In other words: time for us to flee!

CHAPTER 13

Chase was looking at his computer screen when Odelia walked into his office. He shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why do people do such a thing?”

She glanced over at his monitor. It showed the now-famous picture of Polly’s dead body that had been floating around in cyberspace. By now, it was everywhere.

“Still no clue who took the picture?” she asked.

“Not a clue. We checked the phones of the workers who were there when Polly was found, but none of them had the picture on their phones.”

“Unless they deleted it.”

“Unless they deleted it,” he agreed. He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “Anyway, we have bigger fish to fry. I’ve been trying to locate Polly’s mom, but so far, no luck. She’s not answering her phone, so I’ve asked my colleagues in LA to pay her a visit. One way or another, she needs to be told about her daughter’s death, and I would also like to ask her a couple of questions.”

“Any luck with the rabid fan?”

Her husband’s eyes lit up. “Yes! We’ve managed to get a hold of her, and she’s agreed to come in for an interview.” He checked his watch. “In fact, she should be here soon. She’s Polly’s biggest fan. Or so she kept telling me.”

“Do you want me to sit in?”

“Yeah, that would be nice. Seeing as you knew Polly personally, you might come up with a question I wouldn’t think of.”

“I didn’t actually know her, babe,” she said. “I mean, I spoke to her once.”

“Well, that’s one time more than me. She was nice, yeah?”

“Yeah, very nice. Very personable. Though now I regret that I was distracted during the…” Oops. She definitely shouldn’t have said that.

Chase pricked up his ears. “You were distracted during your interview?”

“Yeah, I was just…” She considered coming up with a fib. But since she was never a good liar, and she felt she shouldn’t start now, she decided to tell him the truth. She took a deep breath. “I have this feeling I’m being watched.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You’re being watched?”

“I said I feel like I’m being watched. No idea if someone is actually watching me. So far, I haven’t been able to catch anyone, so there’s every chance I’m simply imagining things.” Though she didn’t think so. She had a sixth sense about this stuff, and every previous time she felt like this, she had been right on the money.

“Any idea who’s watching you?” he asked, immediately taking her seriously, as she had expected him to.

“No idea. Like I said, I haven’t noticed anyone following me around. It’s just this feeling I have—not sure if it’s real or not.”

“Oh, it’s real,” he assured her. He frowned. “Maybe I should take a closer look at this. Follow you around, you know. Very discreetly,” he quickly added when she opened her mouth to protest. “I’ll follow you, and hopefully catch the person who’s doing this.”

“Yes, well, I’m not sure⁠—”

“It’s important, babe. With your job, all types of weirdos come crawling out of the woodwork.”

“Huh. That’s exactly what Dan told me when I mentioned it.”

“Who does he think is behind this?”

“Oh, possibly someone who didn’t like what I wrote about them in one of my articles.”

“He’s probably right,” Chase agreed. “People are easily offended. So maybe you wrote something they didn’t like, and now they’re trying to get back at you somehow.” He scrunched up his eyebrows. “We’re doing this, babe. I’ll catch this person—don’t you worry.”

She gave him a grateful smile. With Chase around, she always felt safe. And when he said he’d catch this person, there was no question in her mind that he would.

“Did you get to talk to Polly’s boyfriend?” she asked. “Jeffrey Davies?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Chase specified. “Yeah, we spoke on the phone.”

“Does he have any idea who did this to his ex-girlfriend? Or who this mystery person is that’s mentioned in Polly’s diary?”

“Well, he said that after they broke up, he heard rumors of a new boyfriend in her life. She was extremely reticent about it, though. Didn’t want word to get out this time. Apparently, whoever it is didn’t want his name out there either.”

“Jackie didn’t mention a new boyfriend.”

“Maybe Polly kept it a secret even from her sister?”

“Doubtful,” she said. “I get the impression those two were close. Not to mention they shared a suite. Difficult to hide a relationship when you’re living together.”

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe the ex-boyfriend was mistaken. Or upset that Polly broke up with him and looking for someone to blame it on. A new love in this case.” He got up from behind his desk. “Anyway, let’s go and have a chat with our self-proclaimed biggest Polly fan ever.”

What struck Odelia the most when they sat down with Kiki Kelsey was how young she was. Her best guess was that she was sixteen or less, and Chase must have thought the same thing, for he asked the girl if she had brought her mom or dad.

Kiki laughed. “You don’t think I’m old enough to be questioned by the cops? I’m nineteen, detective.”

“Well, that’s fine then,” said Odelia. They weren’t in one of the interview rooms, as they were a little on the gloomy side, and Kiki wasn’t being questioned or accused of committing a crime. Instead, they had selected a small room next to Odelia’s uncle’s office. It used to be the smoking room, but ever since smoking laws had changed and smoking inside public buildings wasn’t allowed anymore, it had been turned into a cozy room where witnesses could be interviewed. Dolores had done her best to make it look pleasant and cozy, with comfortable cream-colored couches, some Disney prints on the walls, and even a potted plant that offered some color and made it almost feel homey.

“Okay, so let’s talk about your relationship with Polly,” said Chase as he made himself comfortable on the second couch. Odelia had selected the armchair and leaned forward, giving the interview her full attention and studying the girl for any sign of subterfuge.

Kiki laughed again. “My relationship with Polly? I’m afraid you received some wrong information, detective. Polly and I weren’t in a relationship at all.”

Odelia noticed that as she said these words, she seemed tense.

“I didn’t mean relationship in that sense,” Chase clarified. “I was referring to you being one of Polly’s biggest fans.”

“Oh, but I think there’s no doubt that I am her number-one fan,” said Kiki. “Polly said so. Every time something newsworthy came out, I was always the first one to hear about it. Like with this new concert tour. I was even invited to an exclusive try-out of her new songs. At her own home, no less,” she added proudly. “There were only about twenty of us present, from all across the world, and Polly played all of her songs on her acoustic guitar.” She sighed. “It was magical. Probably the best night of my life.”

“According to Jackie, Polly’s sister, a lot of fans weren’t very happy about the new direction she was taking her career,” stated Odelia.

Kiki turned to look her in the eye. Her expression had darkened. “Well, I can assure you that I wasn’t one of those fans. I love everything that Polly did, and that includes her new album, which I think is absolutely brilliant. And I told her so.”

“But aren’t you the leader of the Polly Coalition?” asked Chase. “Protesting against the new direction Polly wanted to take her career?”

Kiki shook her head vehemently. “That’s a vicious lie. And in fact the exact opposite is true. The Polly Coalition has pledged its full support to Polly. We are behind her one hundred percent.” She gave Chase a dark look. “Don’t believe everything you see on TikTok, detective. There’s some bad actors out there trying to smear our good name.”

Chase, who had probably never watched a TikTok video in his life, looked amused.

“So who are these people that didn’t like her new music?” asked Odelia.

“Beats me,” said Kiki with a shrug. “I only associate with fans, not haters. I feel that if you’re a fan of an artist, you’re there for every concert and every event. So when Polly announced she was trying a different style of music, I was on board from the start.”

“This new style—that’s what she was going to perform during these concerts?” asked Chase.

“Yeah, she was planning a new world tour, but before she did, she wanted to test the waters, and so this small-venue try-out was a way for her to do that. Then, if the new music wasn’t received as well as she hoped, she could still make changes before she took her tour on the road.”

“What prompted this change of style?” asked Odelia. “Wasn’t she happy with the way things were before?”

Kiki gave her an indulgent smile. “Polly was an artist,” she stressed. “And artists need to keep evolving. Art is a living, breathing thing. You don’t want to end up in a situation where you’re singing the same song night after night, like some kind of human jukebox. It’s important to keep things fresh. Polly was out there every night, sometimes for one or two or even three hours. It’s grueling. If she’s burned out on her catalog, chances are that her fans are, too. Not me, obviously. I could listen to ‘Roses’ a million times and I’ll never get bored. But then I don’t have to sing it a million times. That’s the big difference.”

“Okay, so can you think of a fan who was so upset with the new direction Polly was taking her career that they would hurt her?” asked Chase.

Kiki shook her head decidedly. “No true fan would ever hurt the artist they love and adore. So whoever did this is definitely not a fan, whatever they decide to call themselves. In fact…” She hesitated.

“Yes?” Chase prompted.

Kiki made an ineffectual gesture with her hand. “This probably isn’t important, but… Well, rumor had it that Jackie wasn’t fully on board with the changes Polly was making. Jackie has been Polly’s manager ever since they fired their mom. And if she didn’t like the new songs, that could have led to arguments between the sisters. Especially since Jackie gave up her career as an interior designer to become Polly’s manager.” She darted a glance from Chase to Odelia. “I have to warn you, though. We’re entering the realm of pure gossip now. I’m only repeating what I’ve heard. It may just be a bunch of lies.”

“So you think Polly’s new material wasn’t met with the approval of her sister,” said Chase as he rubbed his chin. “Interesting.” He glanced over to Odelia. “She didn’t mention that, did she?”

“No, she certainly did not,” Odelia confirmed.

“Okay, so please don’t tell her I said that,” said Kiki, suddenly looking nervous. “I mean, the last thing I need is for Jackie to start blackballing me.”

“Has she done something like that before?” asked Odelia.

“Oh, yes, she has. There was this group of fans. They called themselves the Doves—after the distinctive birthmark of a dove that Polly has on her neck. They were very active on TikTok, and once they posted a snippet from Polly’s new record. Only a couple of seconds, mind you. They got told by Jackie personally that they had forfeited their right to be included in future events—permanently.” She shook her head. “Jackie held the keys to the kingdom. She was Polly’s gatekeeper. To get to Polly, you had to go through her. And so it was in all of our best interests not to upset her.”

“There’s something else we wanted to ask you, Kiki,” said Odelia. “Rumor has it that Polly was seeing someone.”

“A new boyfriend?” Chase added.

Kiki smiled. “I’ve heard those rumors, too. But try as we might, we couldn’t get confirmation about this from anyone. So I consider this highly unlikely. Especially since Polly worked a pretty grueling schedule this past year. She recorded the new record in the spring, shot a bunch of new videos, and spent all summer rehearsing the new tour. Honestly, how she would have managed to slip in a new boyfriend would have greatly surprised me.”

“And then there’s Polly and Jackie’s mom,” said Chase, deciding that now they had a fount of information on Polly with them, he should go for broke.

“What about her?”

“Well, is it true that she took the news that Polly was replacing her as her manager hard?”

“Oh, yes, she did. That woman’s entire life revolved around her daughter. When Polly told her she was firing her as her manager, she was absolutely destroyed. Rumor has it that she’s even been following her daughter around.”

“How do you mean?” asked Odelia.

“Well, she was seen on several occasions, wearing a disguise. And we have evidence,” she added proudly. She took out her phone and showed it to Chase and Odelia. “Look, here she is dressed as a waitress in one of the restaurants Polly and Jackie frequented last month. See?” She blew up the picture to focus on a waitress lurking behind the two sisters. She seemed to be giving Polly the stink eye. Possibly because she hadn’t left a tip? Contrary to Kiki, Odelia wasn’t convinced this was Karin Conway.

“It’s her!” Kiki assured them. “And this is two months ago, when Polly was staying in Monterey—taking a vacation. She posted this picture on her own Instagram. And look who’s lurking in the background, this time dressed as a massage therapist?”

Once again, a blurry image of a woman appeared when Kiki zoomed in.

“I guess it could be her,” Odelia said.

“Oh, that’s her,” Kiki said. “We’ve done a lot of research, and we are all convinced that she’s been following the sisters around, making sure she’s not recognized. Only she obviously stinks at wearing a disguise, because we can spot her every time.”

“Jackie didn’t mention anything about that either,” said Chase.

“Well, she wouldn’t, would she? They filed a restraining order against the woman after she kept badgering them and interfering in their lives. But the last thing they want is for their mother to be arrested. The scandal would also tarnish their own reputation.”

She sat back, a triumphant look on her face. And Odelia had to admit that the super-fan had given them a lot of food for thought.

“Oh, one last thing,” said Chase. “Do you have any idea who may have posted the picture of Polly’s body this morning? It’s all over the internet.”

Kiki’s face fell. “That was a terrible thing to do. I can’t even look at that picture.”

“You haven’t seen it?” asked Odelia.

“No, I haven’t. Every time it pops up, I close my eyes and scroll on. Whoever took that picture should be ashamed of themselves. I hope you catch them. It’s a crime, isn’t it?”

“It’s a gray area,” Chase said. “At the very least, it’s in poor taste, not to mention indicative of an egregious lack of respect for Polly’s family.”

“If I ever find out who did this,” said Kiki, “I will…” Chase’s eyebrow rose dangerously. “Come to you immediately, detective,” she concluded sweetly.

“Excellent,” said Chase.

“Thank you for coming in, Kiki,” said Odelia. “And if you can think of anything else that might be important, please let us know, all right?”

The girl seemed eager to prove her worth and assist in the investigation. “I just can’t believe she’s dead, you know,” she said as she got up. “I’m still finding it very hard not to think I’m dreaming. It’s just so terrible. She was so young and so talented. I just can’t understand who would do such a thing. I hope you catch the bastard.”

“We will,” Chase assured her. “That’s a promise.”

CHAPTER 14

We seemed to have more or less lost sight of Odelia, but then I guess she didn’t need us. Otherwise, she would have made more of an effort to find us. Then again, she and Chase formed such a well-oiled team that they would crack this case in record time. In the meantime, we would do what we could to bring Polly back from the dead, which was possibly the biggest enterprise I’d ever been involved in.

“Do you really believe that we will be able to pull it off, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I don’t know, buddy,” I said. “I mean, as far as I can tell, no one has ever been brought back from the dead before. But then I guess if they had, they wouldn’t advertise the fact, as it would attract too much attention.”

“Gran seems to believe it, and so does Scarlett,” said my friend.

The two of us were enjoying a moment of leisure in our backyard. When you’re racing through life at one hundred miles an hour, as we often do, you start to appreciate those quiet moments even more. And since there was nobody home, the house was perfectly quiet. Or at least it should have been. That’s why it came as something of a surprise to us when we suddenly saw a person sneaking around in the living room.

“Max?” asked Dooley after a moment.

“Mm?”

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“There is a man in our living room,” I said.

“Is he supposed to be there?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe he’s a plumber?”

He had a point. Stuff does have a tendency to break down, and it’s a blessing that there are professionals willing and able to put them back together again—for a price.

“Maybe we should take a look?” Dooley suggested.

But Brutus and Harriet, who had popped over to Marge and Tex’s house for a moment to visit their litter boxes, had now returned. “I really love that pine litter,” said Brutus, looking as pleased as any cat can be after having relieved himself of some of that excess fluid accumulating in his bladder. “It smells so nice, even after a tinkle.” He frowned when he saw both me and Dooley staring at him. “What’s gotten into you guys?”

“There is a man in the house,” Dooley whispered.

Both Brutus and Harriet turned to look in through the sliding glass door. “Who’s he?” asked Harriet.

“I have absolutely no idea,” I said.

“Could be a plumber?” Dooley repeated his suggestion. “Or an electrician?”

“He doesn’t look like a plumber or an electrician,” said Brutus. “And besides, no one in their right mind lets a plumber or an electrician into their home when they’re at work. You need to supervise these people. Make sure they’re not taking a nap in your bed.”

“I don’t think plumbers take naps in people’s beds, Brutus,” I told him. “I’m sure they’re too professional to indulge in such frivolous pastimes.”

“And how would you know? Have you ever dealt with a plumber?”

“Well… no,” I admitted.

“Oh, my God!” said Dooley. “It’s an intruder!”

“That’s my best bet,” said Brutus. “A sneak thief.”

“We better take a closer look at what this guy is up to,” said Harriet. “You do the honors, kit kat?”

Brutus gave her a look of perfect astonishment. “Me? It’s not even my house!”

“It is, too.”

“It is not!”

“Just go and take a look,” said Harriet. “And don’t be such a wimp.”

Brutus looked extremely upset at being called a wimp, but still didn’t budge. “If anyone should be taking a closer look, it’s Max,” he argued. “After all, it’s his home.”

“You’re the leader of the cat watch! Remember?”

“I guess,” said Brutus, with a lot less excitement than he had displayed when he had sworn to protect me from that annoying pigeon.

“Okay, why don’t we all go?” I suggested. “There is strength in numbers, after all. If this thief sees four cats homing in on him, maybe he will call it quits and leave.”

“There’s something in that,” Brutus admitted. “I mean, I don’t mind going in all by myself, but since this is not my home…”

“Brutus!” Harriet said. “Stop dawdling and start moving!”

“Yes, Harriet,” he said obediently, and moved off to slide in through the pet flap and do as she said.

We watched him go, and I have to admit I wasn’t at all sanguine about this whole business. “Maybe we shouldn’t let him go off on his own,” I said. “Who knows what this person will do to him.”

Harriet laughed a light laugh. “This is Brutus we’re talking about, Max. He’s a true hero. A tough cat. A hunter. An action star.” But as she was listing all the attributes that made Brutus such a stand-up cat, suddenly the black cat came whizzing out of the pet flap again and actually hid behind my—admittedly broad—back!

“Brutus!” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a cannibal!” said Brutus. “The guy tried to eat me!”

“Cannibals eat their own species, Brutus,” I pointed out. “If this guy tried to eat you, he’s not a cannibal but a cat-eater.” Which admittedly is just as bad as feasting on the flesh of one’s own species.

“Did he really try to eat you, Brutus?” asked Dooley.

“He did! The moment he saw me, he took a fork and knife from the kitchen drawer and held them up in a menacing way. Then he made a slicing motion across his neck and started walking toward me—very slowly—while licking his lips!”

“Yeah, definitely a cannibal,” Dooley determined. “He saw Brutus and figured he was the perfect snack to tide him over until dinner time. Cannibals are like that. They get these sudden ravenous cravings for fresh meat and simply can’t stop themselves.”

“Okay, apart from the fact that he’s a cannibal, we still don’t know a whole lot about this guy,” said Harriet. “Or why he broke into Odelia’s home in the first place.”

“I’m sure he’s not a cannibal,” I said.

“Well, he is to me,” said Brutus, and there was no arguing with that.

The man must have discovered that the four of us were watching him intently, for his face contorted into an expression of vicious glee. He was holding that same fork and knife and actually pointed at me, then at his stomach, and rubbed it in a meaningful way.

I gulped. “You guys, now he wants to eat me!”

“I told you. This guy is up to all kinds of no good,” said Brutus. “And if we don’t get out of here real quick, we’re all going to die!”

And since the last thing I wanted was to die—even though we now had almost incontrovertible proof that there is life after death and that Madame Velda could bring us back from the dead if she wanted to—we decided not to take any chances and ran away as fast as our legs could carry us.

Cowardly? I guess. But I’m willing to bet no one likes to be eaten alive!

CHAPTER 15

Odelia and Chase walked out of the latter’s office when they almost bumped into Odelia’s uncle. The chief crooked his finger. “Step into my office, you two,” he said.

“Yes, boss,” said Chase as he gave Odelia a curious look.

“What’s this about?” she whispered.

“No idea!” he whispered back.

“And close the door,” Uncle Alec grunted as he took a seat behind his desk. Dutifully, Odelia closed the door behind her. The moment they had taken up position in front of her uncle’s desk, he leaned forward. “Now, what’s all this about a pop star being murdered at the Star Hotel? It’s creating a mob scene in my town, blocking traffic on Main Street.”

“Her name is Polly Parker,” said Odelia, “and she was one of the biggest pop stars on the planet. Wildly popular the world over.”

“Never heard of her,” said the chief, shaking his head.

“Don’t feel bad, boss,” said Chase. “I had never heard of her either.”

“The only thing I feel bad about is that Main Street is blocked, and I’m getting complaints from just about everyone. So was it murder? Or did she take her own life?”

“No, it was definitely murder,” said Odelia.

“She was cut up pretty badly, boss,” said Chase. “Whoever did this is a real animal.”

“Hmm,” said Uncle Alec as he frowned before him. “Any clues as to who’s responsible? This might go a long way toward convincing those organizing some kind of vigil to clear the streets.”

“We’re working on it,” said Chase.

“Which means you’ve got zip.”

“Pretty much,” Chase admitted.

“Well, that’s not good enough, son. If this girl really was this big pop star, I can just imagine the number of people who are going to flock here. Every fan in the country is probably booking their ticket right now. Destination: Hampton Cove. This place will turn into some kind of pilgrimage for all of the dead girl’s fans.”

“Yeah, that’s certainly what it looks like,” said Odelia, remembering what Kiki had told them. “Already there’s this huge pile of flowers in front of the Star Hotel.”

Uncle Alec rubbed his face. “I’d clear the streets, but Charlene tells me that would probably be interpreted as a lack of respect. So for now, she has asked me to keep things as they are—to allow the fans to grieve. She’s even organizing porta-potties and setting up catering.”

“We are making steady progress in our investigation, boss,” said Chase, even though Odelia knew full well that wasn’t true. But when her uncle looked up and gave them a look of hope, she didn’t have the heart to disagree.

“Is this true?” asked the chief. “Odelia?”

She hesitated for just a moment. “Yeah, we’re definitely making progress,” she said.

“So. Talk suspects to me,” said the chief, making a ‘come hither’ motion with his hand.

“Well, there’s Polly and Jackie’s mom,” said Chase, shuffling a little in his chair. “Um… she and her two daughters were estranged after they fell out and fired her as Polly’s manager. We haven’t been able to ascertain her whereabouts at the time of the murder yet.”

“I like her,” said the chief, nodding. “I like her a lot. Who else?”

“Polly had a boyfriend she broke up with recently,” said Odelia.

“Jilted lover,” said Uncle Alec. “Put him on the list.”

“She also had a secret new boyfriend,” said Chase.

“Mystery lover,” Uncle Alec grunted. “Always a safe bet. What else?”

“We found some disturbing messages on her phone. Threatening her with repercussions if she didn’t drop her plans to change.”

“Let met guess—sent from a burner phone?”

“There’s a rumor that a disgruntled fan may have targeted Polly,” said Chase. “She had recently decided to change musical styles—from pop to rock. And that didn’t sit well with some of her fans. We also found some very disturbing messages on her phone. Threatening. We haven’t been able to trace the sender but they could be from this fan.”

“Crazed fan,” said the chief, pointing in the detective’s direction. “I’d go with that one. These pop stars attract all kinds of weirdos. I’ll bet one of them decided she was the second coming of the Antichrist and got rid of her in the most gruesome way possible.”

“The problem is,” said Chase, scratching his scalp, “that there’s a couple thousand fans currently gathering in front of the hotel, and a lot of them were already in town for the concerts Polly was giving at the Seabreeze Music Center. So do you think we should interview all of them, boss?”

Uncle Alec chewed on this for a moment. Then finally, he shook his head. “Can’t be done. Unless we call in the state police, we don’t have the manpower to interview a thousand people—much less establish their alibis at the time of the murder.” He gave Chase a look of annoyance. “I thought you said you had this thing wrapped up?”

“I didn’t say we had it wrapped up, boss,” said Chase. “All I said was that we were following several interesting lines of inquiry.”

The chief leaned back in his chair and rotated it for a few moments as he regarded both Chase and Odelia intently. “Do you think we should call in the state police? I’m starting to get the feeling this case is bigger than our small department can handle.”

“I’d hold off on that for now,” said Chase. “We can crack this case, boss. I promise.”

Big words, Odelia thought, and she wasn’t convinced they could back them up. But maybe her husband was right. Just a little more time, and they might get a promising lead. After all, they had only just begun their investigation. It was early days.

“Okay, you’ve got forty-eight hours,” said Uncle Alec. “If you don’t have something solid by then, I’m calling in the big guns. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Chase dutifully.

“I may have to call them in anyway,” Uncle Alec grumbled unhappily. “If these nutcases are going to keep blocking my streets, Charlene might decide that we have to take back control and get rid of them somehow.”

“Can’t you set up some location where they can hold their vigil?” asked Odelia. “Like the park or something?”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea,” her uncle agreed. He picked up his phone. “I’ll talk to Charlene. See what she says.” He waved in their direction. “And now go and get me some results, all right? Forty-eight hours. I’m not kidding. Oh, and Odelia?”

Odelia, who had been on the verge of leaving the office, turned around.

“Don’t involve your cats this time?” her uncle asked, a pained expression on his face. “It’s not a good look. Not when the eyes of the world are fixed on Hampton Cove. We don’t want to look like the Keystone Kops, with a troupe of cats leading the charge.”

“You don’t want Max to work on the case?”

“No, I don’t. Just tell him to stand down.”

Odelia had a feeling this wouldn’t sit well with the blorange sleuth, but nodded. “You got it, Uncle Alec. No Max this time.”

CHAPTER 16

Okay, so this wasn’t easy for me. And I know it can’t have been easy for Brutus—the self-confessed leader of the cat watch. But the first thing we did when that creepy guy threatened to chop us into little pieces and eat us was to run for help into the nearest backyard, which happened to be our next-door neighbor Kurt Mayfield’s, to look for canine support.

Now I know I have said on numerous occasions that cats are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. But this was an exceptional situation, and it demanded an exceptional response. And as a rule, I know that humans are a lot more afraid of dogs than they are of cats.

“Fifi!” Dooley cried the moment we burst into our neighbor’s backyard. “You have to help us!”

“There’s a cannibal who’s trying to eat us!” Harriet added.

“And he’s broken into our home!” Brutus said.

“Hold your horses, you guys,” said the tiny Yorkshire Terrier as she gave us a look of concern. “A cannibal has broken into your home? And he’s threatening to eat you?”

“He is!” Dooley cried. “And he looks really scary!”

“Okay, so first things first,” said Fifi, taking control of the situation. “We need to establish who this guy is and what he’s doing in your house. Are you sure he’s not a guest of Odelia or Chase?”

We gave her a strange look. “He’s a cannibal trying to eat us!” Brutus exclaimed. “In what universe would he be a guest of Odelia or Chase?”

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” said Fifi thoughtfully. “Okay, so there’s only one way to deal with this: we need to get this guy out of there before he does any damage—or steals a lot of your stuff.”

We exchanged a look. “Fifi is right,” I said. “This guy is probably a thief. And he’s simply trying to get us out of the house so he and his thieving friends can empty the place.”

“The problem is,” Fifi continued, “that I’m fairly small for a dog. Now I have a pretty decent bark, but because of my small size, people aren’t as afraid of me as they probably should be. In fact,” she added with a smile, “just the other day Kurt told me that even when I’m angry, I still look pretty cute.” She laughed, but when we didn’t join in, she quickly stopped. “What I’m trying to say is that we probably should enlist Rufus. He may not be as fierce as me, but what he lacks in ferociousness, he makes up for in sheer size. That intruder will take one good look at him and run off with his tail between his legs.”

“But… humans don’t have a tail, Fifi,” said Dooley. “Didn’t you know?”

She gave him an indulgent smile. “They used to have one, Dooley. You of all cats should know this from all the hours you spend watching the Discovery Channel.”

Dooley gawked at our friend. “Odelia used to have a tail? Nobody told me!”

“It was a long time ago,” I said. “Like, several million years ago, probably.”

His eyes widened. “Odelia is several million years old? But… how is that even possible?”

“Look, are we going to scare off that cannibal or not?” asked Brutus, who was quickly tiring of this discussion about tails. “I mean, if we wait too long, he’ll have cleared out the entire house, and Odelia and Chase will not be happy.”

“Yeah, we have a duty of care towards the house,” Harriet said.

“Okay, let’s go and get Rufus,” Fifi said and made her way to the opening in the hedge. We followed her with a certain trepidation, and as we did, we all glanced in the direction of the house, to make sure that this cannibal couldn’t get at us. I couldn’t spot him, though, which told me that maybe Brutus was right, and the thief had already emptied the place of all of its valuables. Which wouldn’t sit well with Odelia and Chase. Then again, what are a few material items compared to the lives of the four of us?

We crossed one more backyard and soon found ourselves in the company of Rufus, Ted and Marcie Trapper’s sheepdog. He was happily surprised to see us and got up from his perch on the lawn. “Oh, hey, you guys,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“There’s a cannibal squatting in Odelia’s home,” said Fifi, deciding to launch into the nub of the matter without preamble. “And we need you to get him out of there.”

Rufus gave her a look of confusion. “A cannibal? In Odelia’s home?”

“Let’s not waste any time,” said Brutus, clearly afraid another long explanation would follow, with possibly more speculation on whether Odelia had a tail or not. “Can you chase this cannibal away for us, Rufus, yes or no?”

“Um…” The big sheepdog looked dubious. “I don’t have a lot of experience with cannibals, as a rule.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Harriet, also eager to speed things along. “Please follow us and we’ll show you the cannibal. Then all you have to do is… well, whatever dogs do.” When Rufus seemed confused, she rolled her eyes. “You know, bark and growl and show your teeth and all of that. And if you can add some spittle to the mix, that would be great.”

“Spittle?” asked Rufus.

Harriet became a little exasperated. “Give him your best Cujo impersonation, all right? Scare the bejeesus out of him.”

“Who’s Cujo?” asked Rufus.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Harriet said. “Just pretend he’s an intruder and he’s about to eat Ted and Marcie. Now, how would you react if that happened?”

“Um… I’d probably tell him to cease and desist?”

“And when he doesn’t? When he takes out a big butcher’s knife and is about to go to town on your humans?”

Rufus frowned. “I’d… encourage him to reconsider?”

Brutus sagged a little, and I think we all got the same impression: in spite of Fifi building him up as some kind of giant menace, Rufus was clearly a spent force when it came to doing what was necessary to protect home and hearth from this intruder.

“What would you do if someone came after me with a knife, Rufus?” asked Fifi.

Suddenly, a low growl sounded. At first, I couldn’t quite place it, but then I discovered it was emanating from Rufus. And as we all looked on, the transformation was remarkable. Gone was the good-natured, slightly dumb expression. In its stead, there now sat a vicious beast, brows furrowed, teeth bared, with a bark as if from some evil creature.

“That’s it!” said Brutus. “That’s how you deal with a cannibal!”

“Now take it next door,” I suggested. “And scare off that intruder, Rufus.”

“Simply pretend he wants to hurt me,” Fifi added as a final suggestion.

“I won’t let anyone harm you, Fifi,” said Rufus. “Not on my watch.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Rufus,” said Fifi with a smile. “Now let’s get rid of this cannibal, shall we?”

Only by the time we arrived next door, ready to confront the man, he had already left. It was certainly a disappointing outcome, but then again, maybe it was all for the best. The last thing we needed was for Rufus to go all gung-ho on the guy, only for him to pull a knife and turn our beloved friend into sushi.

Which suddenly reminded me of the way Polly Parker had died. And as we traversed the house in search of the intruder and found him mercifully absent from the scene, I couldn’t help but wonder if this cannibal and Polly’s killer were one and the same person.

Which begged the question: what did he want from us? And since to most people cats are mostly a negligible species, what did he want from Odelia and Chase?

It certainly gave us some food for thought.

CHAPTER 17

“What did he look like?” asked Odelia.

“Ask them if they can give us a description,” said Chase.

It took a while, but Chase and Odelia had finally arrived home, so now the time had come for us to tell them all about our hair-raising adventure at the hands of this ‘cannibal,’ as Brutus insisted on referring to him.

Marge had arrived first, and so we told her. She immediately started looking through the entire house, trying to discover what this intruder might have taken. She couldn’t find anything of note, so she called her daughter. And it was a testament to Odelia’s concern that she arrived within ten minutes of her mother’s call.

“God, I’m so glad he didn’t hurt you guys,” she said, giving us all a big hug.

“It was Rufus who saved us,” said Dooley.

“Well, technically he didn’t,” said Brutus, “since the cannibal had already left by then.” But when Harriet gave him a look, he amended his statement. “He would have saved us if the cannibal hadn’t left, though.”

“It’s the least I could do,” said Rufus modestly.

“You channeled your inner beast, buddy,” said Fifi, giving the big sheepdog an appreciative nudge.

“Anything for you, Fifi,” said Rufus shyly.

“Love is in the air,” Harriet whispered to me.

I’d noticed before that Rufus and Fifi were very close, and it was one of those things that warmed the cockles of my heart.

“Descriptions, people!” Odelia cried as she flapped her arms. “What did this cannibal look like?”

“He wasn’t a cannibal,” I argued.

“He was, too,” said Brutus. “He was going to eat us.”

I could have explained again why that didn’t make the man a cannibal, but Odelia was giving me a look, so I refrained from launching myself into an argument with Brutus. Instead, we all did our utmost to give her the description she so sorely wanted from us.

“Height?” she asked.

“Average,” said Brutus.

“Build?”

“Average,” said Harriet.

“Eye color?”

“Average,” said Dooley.

“Average isn’t a color, Dooley.”

“Oh? Well, his eyes looked very average to me.”

Odelia groaned. She wasn’t getting anywhere. “How about you, Harriet?” she asked. “How would you describe this guy’s eyes?”

“I didn’t see his eyes,” said Harriet. “I’m sorry. I was focusing on his teeth.”

“He had cannibal teeth,” Brutus specified. “Pointy and ready to devour us.”

“Okay, so what about his hair?” Odelia asked. “And don’t say average.”

“Um… brown, I guess,” said Brutus. “Right, Max?”

“Yeah, brownish,” I confirmed.

“Any distinguishing features?”

We all thought for a moment. “What is a distinguishing feature?” asked Dooley.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “A scar maybe? Or a crooked nose? Something that makes him stand out?”

Once again, we all spent some time considering this question. But finally, we had to admit defeat. “He looked… very average,” I said.

“That’s exactly what I was going to say!” said Dooley.

“So the cannibal is Mr. Average,” said Odelia, and as she got up out of her crouch and relayed this to Chase, I could tell that the cop was as disappointed as she was.

I could understand why, of course. It’s very difficult to identify a person who looks average all the way, from his hair to his build to… “He was wearing a jean jacket,” I said, suddenly remembering this telling detail.

Odelia glanced down at me. “A jean jacket?”

“Yeah. And also jeans.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Dooley. “I remember thinking he looked really cool for a cannibal. A cool cannibal.”

“Good grief,” Odelia murmured.

“Let’s talk to the neighbors,” Chase suggested. “See if they saw this guy lurking around the house.”

“I don’t understand what he was doing here,” said Odelia. “Why us? And why didn’t he take anything?”

“Beats me,” said Chase. He gave her a look of concern. “Are you all right, babe?”

She shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Considering that a man was traipsing all over our home less than an hour ago. And that he threatened to kill my cats.”

He gave her a hug, and she pressed her face into his shoulder. It warmed my heart to watch the two of them, as much in love now as they were when they first met. Though in all honesty, they weren’t such great friends at their first meeting. More like enemies. But then I guess the same could be said about me and Brutus. And look at us now. Besties.

“You’ll get to the bottom of this,” said Marge. “And when you do, there will be a very simple explanation. Like… maybe this man is sleeping rough and was hungry, and so he decided to go look for something to eat.”

“I guess,” said Odelia as she wiped her nose. Her eyes were suspiciously red, I thought, and I wondered if she was suffering from some kind of allergy.

“Have you checked the fridge?” asked Marge. “I’ll bet this guy raided the fridge.”

Together, the two women disappeared into the house, while Chase got out his phone and organized a neighborhood canvass to figure out who this guy was. He’s good at that stuff. And so I was convinced that before long he’d get to the bottom of this mystery.

It was probably as Marge had suggested: this guy was homeless, and hunger had driven him to raid our fridge.

So when Odelia came out of the house five minutes later and told us that nothing was missing from the fridge as far as she could tell, or from the pantry, for that matter, it gave me chills. And so I decided to tell her about my theory—that this guy just might be Polly’s killer.

She didn’t take it well, I have to say, and neither did Chase. And when she asked what evidence I had, all I could go with was my gut—my sizable gut.

She looked scared, I thought, and that’s when she confessed that for the past several days she had this feeling that she was being watched.

We all stared her, astonished by this revelation. Brutus wanted to know why she hadn’t told us.

“Because I thought it was just my imagination,” she said helplessly. “And I didn’t want you guys to worry.”

“Well, color us officially worried now,” I said.

“Also, when I looked behind me, or searched for who could be watching me, I never saw anyone.”

“That doesn’t mean that no one was there,” Harriet argued. She didn’t look happy, and I could understand why. First Odelia felt someone watching her, and now her home was broken into? Possibly this was the same person who had been following her around.

“What does he want from you?” asked Brutus.

“I wish I knew,” said Odelia. “I really do.”

“Okay, that’s it,” said Brutus. “From now on, we’re not leaving you out of our sight.”

She gave him a weak smile. “That’s very sweet of you, Brutus. But I’m afraid it’s not feasible. Chase and I have the Polly Parker case to deal with, so you won’t be able to keep an eye on me.”

“But we are keeping an eye on you,” I argued. “Since we’re also on the Polly Parker case.”

Odelia hesitated for a moment, then seemed to steel herself. “My uncle doesn’t want you guys on this case.”

We all stared at her. “What?” I asked weakly.

“He doesn’t want you on the case. He says that with the eyes of the world on Hampton Cove, we can’t risk any slip-ups. If a reporter finds out that the local police department is working with a troupe of cat detectives, our reputation will be shot.”

“But… we always work on your cases with you, Odelia,” said Dooley.

“Not this time, Dooley. I’m afraid you’ll have to sit this one out, all right?”

Before we had a chance to thresh this thing out with her, Marge came walking out of the house, carrying a half-eaten piece of cheese. “Was this like this?” she asked.

Odelia frowned as she studied the cheese. “No, it wasn’t. I only bought it yesterday. Unless you ate it, babe?”

“You know I don’t like Emmental cheese,” said Chase.

“So cannibals like cheese,” said Dooley. “Who knew?”

CHAPTER 18

When Gran finally arrived home, the first thing we did was tell her all about our fateful encounter with the cheese-eating cannibal. It irked her greatly that this man would have illegally gained access to her granddaughter’s home.

“He’s got some nerve, this fella,” she said. “Breaking into the home of the watch leader’s granddaughter. If Chase doesn’t catch him, I feel like we should, you guys. And make sure he never sets foot in this neighborhood ever again.”

“Is tonight’s séance still on, Gran?” asked Brutus.

“You bet it is.” She gave us a look of concern. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

We dutifully shook our heads.

“Not Odelia?”

“Nope,” said Harriet. “Our lips are sealed, Gran.”

“Though maybe we should tell Odelia?” asked Dooley. “She told us that her investigation is going very badly.”

“She also told us that we can’t participate in the investigation,” I said. I was still a little sore about the whole thing. But then I should have expected Uncle Alec to take us off the case. He’s always going on about Odelia’s cats and our interfering ways.

“You’re off the case?” asked Gran, raising an eyebrow.

We all nodded. “Uncle Alec wants us to sit on the case,” said Dooley.

“He wants us to sit out the case,” I corrected him.Gran was frowning. “Of all the rotten…” She patted me on the head. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Max. You may have been kicked off the case, but you’re part of the neighborhood watch now. And we’re a lot more effective than Alec’s stupid police.”

“He shouldn’t have kicked us,” said Dooley. “Because Odelia only has forty-eight hours to find Polly’s killer and then Uncle Alec is calling in the army.”

“Not the army,” I said. “The state police.”

“Oh, and also,” said Brutus, “Uncle Alec wants to sweep the streets of all of Polly’s fans. He says they’re bad for business.”

“They’re definitely good for Wilbur’s business,” said Gran. “He’s making a killing right now.”

“They’re going to move all of the fans to the park,” said Dooley. “And Shanille probably won’t like it, because that means we can’t have cat choir tonight.”

“Or any night,” said Harriet, “as long as those fans are camping out there.”

“They won’t take over the entire park, will they?” I asked. “I mean, it’s a pretty big park. Surely there’s enough space for all of us?”

“I doubt it,” said Harriet. “Have you seen how many fans there are? Probably hundreds, or maybe even thousands. And Odelia said that more are arriving all the time. Pretty soon there might be a million Polly fans.”

“A million fans!” said Dooley. “But where are they all going to stay?”

“Well, in the park,” said Harriet. “Which is why we’ll probably have to cancel cat choir for the time being. Until this whole thing blows over, which I’m sure it will.”

“Okay, so tonight we will resurrect Polly,” said Gran. “Then she can give a concert at the park and send all those people home. Problem solved.”

Somehow, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy. I had been looking online and hadn’t been able to find a single case of anyone ever being successfully resurrected. Then again, if Shanille said this woman was the real deal, who was I to argue with her? She was Father Reilly’s cat, after all, and Father Reilly had a direct line to the Big Creator.

“Okay, so we’re meeting at the General Store,” said Gran. “You guys, me, and Scarlett. I’ve also asked Francis along, and Wilbur, to make sure that no funny business happens.” She didn’t specify what funny business this could possibly be, but then I guess when you’re dealing with matters of life and death, anything can happen.

“Do you think this is safe, Gran?” asked Dooley.

“Absolutely,” she said. “As safe as can be. And then once we get Polly back from the dead, we can expect a private concert, which will make Scarlett very happy, as she is a big fan of that girl.”

“Gran?” asked Dooley, raising a paw.

“Mm-hmm?”

“To raise a person from the dead, don’t you need their body?”

She stared at our friend, her mouth slightly agape. Then finally, she smacked her brow for some reason. “Gah!” she said. “Dooley, you genius!”

I had never heard anyone refer to Dooley as a genius, but then I guess there has to be a first time for everything. “Where is the body?” asked Harriet.

“At the morgue,” said Gran. “Which means…”

I closed my eyes. Oh no.

“Okay, change of plan,” said Gran. “First, we go and get Polly’s body from the morgue, then we take it to the hotel, where the séance will be held, and she will be revived.”

“How are we going to get Polly’s body into the hotel?” asked Brutus. “Past all of those crazy fans?”

“Easy,” said Gran. “There’s a separate access to the basement area. They created it because of the pool being renovated, so the workers can come and go without bothering the guests.”

“Is that how the killer got into the hotel, you think, Gran?” asked Brutus.

“Beats me,” said Gran. “I’m not on top of that particular investigation at the moment. But when Polly wakes up, I’m sure she will tell us who killed her.”

Listening to Gran, it all seemed so easy. Somehow, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be quite as simple as she made it out to be. But then with her it never is.

“The most important thing,” she said, “is that you do not breathe a word about this to anyone. Is that understood? Not a single person, all right? Mum’s the word.”

“Yes, Gran,” we all repeated.

“Ooh, I feel like James Bond now,” said Harriet. “With all this cloak-and-dagger stuff? Like a supernatural James Bond.”

“So how are we going to get Polly’s body out of the morgue, Gran?” I asked. “Aren’t those places secured to the hilt?”

“Leave that to me,” she assured us. “I have a plan.”

Oh boy.

CHAPTER 19

That night, Odelia had a hard time getting to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about this guy who had been crawling all over her precious little home. He had even eaten her cheese. Was it the same person who had been following her around these past couple of days? What did he want from her?

This and other questions kept going through her head as she brushed her teeth and got ready for bed. And long after her head hit the pillow, she was still thinking about it. So much so that she finally decided to get up and read a little. She often felt that it helped when she couldn’t get to sleep.

And so she quietly snuck from underneath the covers, checked on Grace, who was sound asleep in her bed, and tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room. She flicked on the reading lamp and settled into the armchair, her feet tucked underneath her. She picked up the book she had been reading, but try as she might, she couldn’t get into the story. Her eyes kept scanning the same passage, but nothing registered.

So she switched off the light again and just sat there in the darkness. The backyard was illuminated by the light of a full moon, and she wondered where her cats could be. Normally they were at the park for cat choir, but with the park being overrun by Polly’s fans, they’d probably have a hard time organizing their usual rehearsal tonight.

In the past, they had once relocated to the backyard for their gathering, which hadn’t sat well with some of the neighbors, especially Kurt Mayfield, who had complained about all the caterwauling going on. If she remembered correctly, voices had been raised and shoes had been thrown.

She smiled at the recollection. And as she sat there in absolute silence, all of a sudden she thought she heard a sound. It was a kind of creaky sound. She intently focused on the stairs, her eyes trying to penetrate the shroud of darkness. Suddenly a figure emerged, and she would have let out a scream if the person hadn’t spoken up.

“What are you doing here, babe?”

Her heart was beating like a jackhammer, but now it quickly settled down again to its normal rhythm.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said as Chase dropped down beside her.

“Yeah, me neither,” he said. “Keep thinking about that case.”

“I keep thinking about the guy who was in our home.”

“That too.”

“Do you think he’ll be back?”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t,” said Chase. He glanced around. “Maybe we should consider installing an alarm system? Make sure something like this never happens again?”

“But what about the cats? They come and go all the time.”

“Or we could install cameras?” he suggested. “That way at least we’ll know if anyone has been here, and we’ll have the guy’s face on tape.”

“I guess that’s a possible solution,” she admitted.

“I’ll get on it tomorrow,” he promised. He was studying the room, as if already planning out in his head where he would hang the cameras.

Just then, the television set turned itself on, as if by magic.

“Did you do that?” she asked.

“No, I did not,” said Chase, sounding as perplexed as she was.

They were even more surprised when the image that suddenly appeared on the TV was… the two of them!

“What the heck?” said Chase as he jumped up.

On the screen, the same footage appeared of Chase walking over to the television set to check out what was going on.

“There must be a camera here,” she said, her heart rate going through the roof again.

Chase looked around, then walked straight to where he thought the camera was.

She joined him, and together they stared at a picture frame of Chase, Odelia, and Grace. He picked it up and studied it. That’s when they saw it: someone had outfitted the frame with a very small clip-on camera that was filming everything.

“My God,” said Odelia.

Chase held up the camera, a frown cutting a groove between his brows. “I’d better get the tech people in,” he said. “If there’s one, there’s bound to be more.”

“Someone has been filming us—in our own home!”

“Maybe that’s what our cheese-loving intruder was doing,” said Chase. “Installing these cameras.”

She gave her husband a scared look. “What’s going on?”

Half an hour later, her uncle had arrived, a team of tech people right on his heels. It didn’t take long for them to find a dozen more cameras hidden all over their home. There was even one in the bedroom! And all of them had audio as well as video capabilities. Which meant that they weren’t just being watched but also bugged.

“Better check the car,” Uncle Alec told one of the techies.

“Do you think they bugged the car too?” asked Odelia nervously.

“Best not to take any chances,” said the police chief. He looked particularly grave. “This is a violation of your privacy I don’t take lightly. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Do you think this is related to my work as a reporter?” she asked.

“No idea, honey,” said Uncle Alec. “Has something like this ever happened before?”

“Never!” she assured him. “I mean, I’m a small-time reporter for a small-town paper. Not exactly working on earth-shattering stories of global importance. Unless you want to count an outbreak of bovine pneumonia at Farmer Giles’s farm as breaking news.”

They had told Odelia’s uncle all about the man who had broken into their home that afternoon, as well as her persistent feeling that she was being watched. He certainly was taking it very seriously, which gave her a sense that they’d catch whoever was behind this soon.

“I can’t help but feel this is somehow connected to the murder of Polly Parker,” said Uncle Alec. “She is a big star—or was a big star. At least that’s what Charlene told me. And you know that people always go a little crazy about anything involving major celebrities. So what if one of these tabloids decided to try and get a scoop on the investigation?”

“You mean… these devices were targeting me?” asked Chase.

Uncle Alec nodded. “You are the detective in charge of the investigation, buddy boy. So if a tabloid wanted to get the scoop, you’d be the person to bug, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re right,” said Chase, looking sobered.

“Big celebrity, big story, big stakes,” said Uncle Alec. He clapped the detective on the shoulder. “Better watch your back, son. You, too, honey. These people, whoever they are, clearly will stop at nothing to get a story.”

The person in charge of the tech department now joined them. He was a grizzled man with a head the shape of a bean. He placed a few of the bugs they had found on the table. “It’s not exactly state-of-the-art stuff,” he said. “More like something you can find online. Where they went wrong was that these devices are designed to transmit over the home Wi-Fi system. And since your television is part of that same network, it picked up the signal.”

“Wait,” said Chase. “These gizmos transmit a signal over Wi-Fi?”

“That’s right.”

“But don’t they need our password or something?”

The techie shook his head. “Not necessary. It piggybacks on the local network. Quite clever, actually.”

“So… whoever this person is, he doesn’t need to be in the immediate vicinity of the house?” asked Odelia.

“No, he can be anywhere, and he will still be able to monitor everything.”

“And also listen in on our conversations?” asked Chase.

“That’s correct. But like I said, they weren’t installed by a professional. Otherwise, you would never have found them so easily.”

“So this isn’t the work of a… government agency or something like that?” asked Uncle Alec with a frown.

The techie smiled indulgently. “No, sir. This is clearly the work of a hobbyist. Definitely not a government agency.”

“You… you didn’t find any of these devices in the bathroom, did you?” asked Odelia.

The man gave her an apologetic look. “I’m afraid we did. There were two, in fact. And one was aimed squarely at the shower.”

“God,” said Odelia. This was simply horrible.

She could tell that Chase was quietly seething, and even Uncle Alec looked properly disturbed by the techie’s update.

“Is there any way to trace this guy?” asked the police chief. “Through these devices, I mean?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the techie.

Just then, one of his colleagues walked in, holding yet another device in his hands. “Found this behind the steering wheel,” he said.

“My squad car?” asked Chase.

“No, the lady’s pickup,” said the man. “The detective’s squad car was clean.”

Uncle Alec heaved a deep sigh. “Looks like I was wrong, Odelia. They’re not targeting Chase. They’re after you.”

As that horrible truth sank in, Odelia suddenly felt a little weak at the knees. She had never been the target of a surveillance operation before, and it felt downright scary.

Most of all, she was scared for Grace—and the cats.

This was when she realized that maybe she shouldn’t have allowed them to wander off that night.

This guy had threatened the cats once—he might do it again.

And this time he might make good on his threat!

“Grab your coat,” she said.

“Why? Where are we going?” asked Chase.

“Can you look after Grace, Uncle Alec?”

“Sure thing, honey. What’s going on?”

“We’re going to the park. To pick up my cats.”

No way was she going to allow them to wander around on their own, with this maniac out there!

CHAPTER 20

Even though Polly’s fans had been asked by the police to take their vigil to the park and clear Main Street, there were still plenty of people left. So when we arrived at the General Store, we discovered that, in spite of the late hour, it was still open, with plenty of people making use of the facilities that Wilbur had so graciously provided.

“Aren’t you joining us tonight?” asked Gran.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Wilbur reluctantly. “You won’t believe how much soda I’ve sold today, or pizza slices. I’m making a killing here.”

“Shame on you, Wilbur,” said Scarlett. “Profiting off the death of a young star.”

“Ah, less with the shame,” said Wilbur as he rang up another couple of cans of Red Bull. “Strike while the iron is hot is my motto.”

“He’s not lying, you know,” said Kingman. “It’s been crazy all day. It doesn’t hurt that the hotel is right across the street.” He gave me a strange look. “So this is happening, is it?”

“Yeah, looks like it,” I said.

“They’re really going to try and revive Polly?”

“I guess.”

“But first we have to retrieve Polly’s body,” said Harriet. She made a face. “And that means we have to drop by the morgue and somehow get a hold of the star’s body.”

“It can’t be done,” said Brutus. “I’m telling you, it’s impossible. Those places are guarded, aren’t they? Otherwise, anyone could steal the body of a dead person and take off with it. So no way this is actually happening.”

“We’ll see,” I said. When it came to sheer persistence and inventiveness, there was probably nothing that Gran wouldn’t do. “Never underestimate Gran, is my advice.”

“And my advice would be to go home,” said Clarice, who had accompanied Scarlett. “Nothing good can come of this.”

“You think?” asked Dooley nervously.

“Messing with life and death? Stealing the body of a famous pop star? This night will end with all of our humans in jail—that’s a given.”

“Oh, dear,” said Dooley. “I don’t think I would like to go to prison.”

“Not you, silly,” said Clarice, softening. “They don’t throw cats in prison—only humans.”

“Oh, good,” said Dooley, relaxing.

“They throw cats in the pound,” Clarice added.

“Oh, no!” Dooley cried. “I don’t want to go to the pound!”

“They won’t throw us in the pound,” I said. “But they probably will arrest the neighborhood watch if they try to go anywhere near the body of Polly Parker.”

“I just hope they have arranged for transport of the body,” said Harriet. “The last thing I need is to ride in a car with a dead body.” She shivered visibly. “Imagine being an undertaker and riding in cars with dead bodies all the time. I could never do it. No way.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly my favorite pastime either,” said Clarice. “And I have a lot more experience with dead bodies than any of you guys.”

“But not dead humans, surely?” said Kingman.

“There was this one time,” said Clarice with a light laugh. “This is a funny story, you guys. It was one of those tough winters. Everything frozen, you know? No food to be found anywhere. And I happened to find myself hiding from a storm in an empty house. At least I thought it was empty. Turns out a person had died in that house. And since this storm was raging outside, and I was starving…” She wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully.

“Oh, no, you didn’t!” Harriet cried.

“Let’s just say that the body was found with several pieces of its anatomy missing. Only the yummy pieces, mind.”

We all refrained from inquiring what exactly the yummy pieces of a human being are, even though Clarice seemed eager to share this information. Luckily for us, at that moment Shanille arrived, with her human, Father Reilly, in tow. The priest didn’t look happy to be there.

“Are we really doing this, Vesta?” he asked nervously.

“Of course we’re doing this.”

“But it’s sacrilege,” he said.

“We’re saving a life today, Francis,” she said. “What can possibly be sacrilegious about that?”

“Only God can decide whether a person should live or die,” he said. “Not us mortal humans.”

“Well, then let’s hope that God is in a good mood tonight and gives us a helping hand,” she said. She glanced around. “Now, where is this woman?”

The person she was referring to was, of course, the medium who had promised to return life to the frozen limbs of Polly Parker—and the rest of her body as well.

“Maybe she won’t turn up?” said Father Reilly hopefully.

“She will,” Gran assured him.

“But if she doesn’t, we abort the plan, right?”

“She will show up, so the plan will go ahead.”

The priest looked deeply uncomfortable, and I had the impression he was fighting some inner struggle. Priests in movies often are like that. They fight a lot of inner demons of some kind or another. Possibly it goes with the territory. Though I had to admit that this time I was also fighting an inner battle, as I was starting to have plenty of reservations about the crazy plan that Gran had concocted—even though to some extent I had been instrumental in launching the plan in the first place.

“It’s going to be all right, Max,” Shanille assured me. “This person is a miracle worker. Just you wait and see.”

“We were almost killed by a cannibal,” Dooley blurted out. “So I hope she can also revive cats like us.”

Shanille, Clarice, and Kingman turned to him. “You were almost killed by a cannibal?” asked Kingman.

Dooley nodded fervently. “He threatened us. And he was going to kill us and eat us.”

“Death by cannibal,” said Clarice as she rolled the words around her tongue with relish. “It could be a horror movie. What did he look like, this cannibal? Details, Dooley. We want details.”

“We don’t,” I murmured.

But Dooley obligingly told our audience all about our close encounter with a cannibal. In the end, the story failed to grip, as it became clear that the man wasn’t a real cannibal and that no one had actually been harmed or hurt in any way. Not even Fifi or Rufus. Though the story of Rufus coming to our assistance caused some hilarity.

“Asking a dog to save you!” Clarice said, tears of laughter rolling down her furry cheeks. “Classic!”

Just then, a large woman suddenly materialized in front of us. She reminded me of some formidable dame of the British Empire—of a kind we had encountered when we had been invited to spend an afternoon at Buckingham Palace in the not-so-distant past. She was a hefty woman with a square face wearing an inscrutable expression. She was also wearing a multi-colored carpet in lieu of a dress, which struck me as odd.

“Vesta Muffin!” she said with a powerful voice.

Gran turned to face her. “I’m Vesta Muffin.”

The woman scrutinized Gran for a moment and must have liked what she saw, for a tight smile lit up her stoic features. “I am Madame Velda.” She glanced around. “So where is the dead body?” Then her eyes landed on Wilbur, who stood gaping at her, eyes bulging and lower jaw drooping.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, possibly suspecting that this was the dead body that needed reviving. But then Wilbur found his voice and croaked, “I’m so happy to finally meet you, Madame Velda!”

She flashed him a smile. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

“We’ll have the body in our possession shortly,” said Gran as she placed a hand on the woman’s arm. “So how do you want to do this?”

“We need to take the body to where it divested itself of its soul,” said the woman. “And I do mean the exact location—down to the last square inch.”

“We can arrange that,” said Gran, nodding. “Absolutely.” She then gestured to her cohorts of the watch. “Okay, people. Let’s do this.”

And with these words, we were mobile. If I had wondered how we were going to fit into Gran’s car, I shouldn’t have. For instead of getting into the tiny Peugeot, Gran headed straight for a strange vehicle that stood parked at the curb. It was a hearse, of the kind that is often used by undertakers to transport dead bodies around.

Moments later we were all filing into the odd-looking vehicle.

Mission Revive Polly was a go!

CHAPTER 21

When Odelia and Chase arrived at the park, she wasn’t surprised to find it teeming with Polly fans. They had erected tents and started a big campfire, where a lot of them sat and sang songs of their beloved pop star. There were many tears being shed, and while the mood was sad, she could tell the fans were happy to be surrounded by like-minded people with whom they could share their grief and mourn Polly’s death together.

“I’d be very surprised if the cats decided to come here,” said Chase as they traversed the park in the direction of the playground where cat choir usually held its rehearsals. “Too many people. They hate that.”

That was true enough. Not only her own cats, but all of their friends hated being surrounded by a crowd of people when they engaged in their favorite practice of singing together. “They must be here,” she insisted. “Otherwise, where could they have gone off to?” She didn’t want to dwell on the obvious answer: that this maniac had somehow managed to capture her cats and taken them to an unknown location to hold them hostage.

They arrived at the playground, and her heart lifted when she saw that it was full of cats. They were all over the climbing frame, the swing, the merry-go-round, the slide, the seesaw… But then she discovered that her cats weren’t among those present.

She approached Buster, the cat belonging to Fido Siniawski, the hairdresser. “Have you seen my cats?” she asked as she crouched down next to the Maine Coon.

Buster gave her an odd look. “Don’t you know? They’re on a mission.”

“What mission?” she asked, trying not to panic.

“One of your grandmother’s missions. The neighborhood watch is organizing something very special tonight, and I wasn’t invited,” he added with a sad look. “But then I guess they didn’t have room for one more, as the hearse was pretty full already.”

“A hearse? What are you talking about?” she asked, tamping down her rising sense of annoyance. It was just like Gran to go off on some mission without telling her or Chase.

“I saw them. They met up in front of the General Store, and took off in a hearse.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Why, all the members of the neighborhood watch, of course. And also some weird lady wearing a kaftan that I’ve never seen before. And Max and the others. The hearse was pretty full, which is why I didn’t even bother to suggest I join them. And besides, Gran’s missions can get pretty hairy from time to time for all involved.”

She sighed. “Any idea what the mission was about?” she asked as she took out her phone.

Buster shook his head. “All I know is what Kingman told me this afternoon. That it had something to do with resurrecting Polly Parker.”

She stared at the Maine Coon. “They want to resurrect Polly Parker?”

“Yeah, that’s what Kingman told me. He wasn’t clear on the specifics, though, and I got the impression that he hadn’t been clued in—even though he would never admit it. Kingman always likes to pretend he knows everything. But he doesn’t. I wasn’t going to point that out to him, of course. I value our friendship way too much.”

“Okay. Thanks, Buster,” she said as she rose to her feet. As she did, she noticed that a couple was standing nearby, staring at her in wonder. She gave them a tight smile and quickly walked away to join her husband, who had been patiently waiting on a nearby bench. She took a seat next to him. “The cats are on a mission,” she said. “With my grandmother and the neighborhood watch. They want to resurrect Polly Parker.”

He goggled at her for a moment. “Re… resurrect Polly?”

“Yeah, bring her back from the dead somehow.”

Chase cursed under his breath. “Your uncle will have a field day when he finds out.”

She had put her phone to her ear, but, as she should have expected, her grandmother wasn’t picking up her phone. “Great. Now she’s ignoring my calls,” she said, and she started tapping out a message.

“I wonder how they’ll go about it,” said Chase. “How do you resurrect a person?”

“Buster said there was a weird-looking woman along with them. Probably some kind of voodoo priestess who will try to bring Polly back from the other realm.” She stared at her phone, willing her grandmother to respond to her urgent message. But even though the message had been read, Gran failed to respond. “She’s ignoring me.”

“Of course she is. If she picked up, she’d have to explain herself, and that’s the last thing she wants to do.”

“I wonder where she could have taken the cats. Buster mentioned a hearse.”

“Christ.”

She tucked away her phone. “At least I know the cats are safe. If they’re with Gran and the rest of the watch, no way this so-called cannibal is going to come anywhere near them. Gran may be a lot of things, but she loves the cats and is very protective of them.”

“Yeah, she won’t let any harm come to them,” Chase agreed.

Thank God for small mercies.

The members of cat choir were slowly dispersing, feeling the pressure of so many people who had selected the park as their temporary home. She also noticed that Shanille was absent, and so was Kingman. So it was probably a safe bet that Gran had also added them to her posse. Looked like tonight’s mission was a big one.

Now if only she wouldn’t get herself and the rest of her crew arrested. As she tried to put herself in her grandmother’s shoes, a disturbing thought occurred to her. “My God!”

“What is it?” asked Chase.

“What is the most important ingredient of a successful resurrection?”

“Um… a gullible mind?”

“How about the body of the deceased?”

Her husband gave her a ‘get out of here’ look, but then blanched. “You don’t think…”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“But surely not even Vesta would be crazy enough to actually…”

They shared a look, and shot up from the bench. They’d both come to the same conclusion: there was only one place Gran could be—the morgue, trying to steal a body!

CHAPTER 22

If the idea of breaking into the morgue to steal a body had seemed a little iffy to me before, it seemed downright ludicrous by the time Gran parked the large and rather conspicuous hearse in front of the building. It had been a pretty long drive, as the medical examiner’s office for the county of Suffolk is located in Hauppauge and not in Hampton Cove, which would have been more convenient for our purposes. But I guess medical examiners don’t grow on trees, and they have to put them somewhere.

“Okay, so how are we doing this?” asked Wilbur. “I mean, do we simply walk in and ask for the body, or what?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Wilbur,” said Father Reilly. “They probably won’t give us the body if we ask for it.”

That was definitely an understatement, and Gran seemed to recognize the wisdom of the priest’s words, for she had that frown etched on her brow that often appears when she’s making her little gray cells work overtime, like an elderly, female and less talented Hercule Poirot.

“Scarlett?” she finally said. “Any ideas?”

Scarlett raised an expressive eyebrow. “Do I know how to smuggle a body out of a morgue? Not exactly my area of expertise, Vesta.”

“Maybe Francis can do the honors?” Wilbur suggested. “He is a priest, after all, and he will be organizing the funeral service. Won’t you, Francis?”

“I very much doubt it, Wilbur,” said the priest. “The family hasn’t contacted me yet, and besides, Polly wasn’t a resident of Hampton Cove, so she will probably be buried in her hometown, wherever that is.”

“But they don’t know that, do they?” said Gran, presumably referring to the people who work at the morgue. “So why don’t we go with Wilbur’s idea? Francis, you tell these people that you’re here to pick up the body for the funeral, and they’ll have no choice but to comply. Right?”

“And when they give you any trouble,” said Wilbur, “you simply point to the hearse. That’ll make them change their mind.” He gave Gran a wink. “Great idea, by the way, to rent a hearse.”

“I just figured we should travel in style,” said Gran. “And a hearse is the appropriate vehicle for transporting a body without attracting a lot of unwanted attention.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t think this through,” said Madame Velda, who hadn’t said a word throughout the drive, keeping her eyes closed after announcing that she was starting the preliminary process of contacting Polly’s spirit. “You’re going to get me in so much trouble. What if we’re caught by the cops?”

“You’re the one who told me we needed the actual body,” said Gran.

“Of course we need the actual body,” said the medium. “How else can I revive it?”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Scarlett.

“What doesn’t make sense is that you’re not even representing the family.”

“We’re representing law and order,” said Gran. “Which is way more important than family.”

“Yeah, we’re trying to get to the bottom of Polly’s murder,” said Scarlett. “And the only way to do it is by asking her who her killer was.”

“All right, fine,” said the medium as she placed a tired hand to her brow. “Get on with it, then. You don’t want to be caught by the cops. From my experience, law enforcement doesn’t usually appreciate my work. When they do show up, they won’t be swayed by your arguments. They’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, missy,” said Gran. “My son happens to be the chief of police, and the last thing he wants is to lock up his dear old mother. So I wouldn’t worry too much about the cops if I were you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

After a pause, Wilbur said, “So are we doing this?”

“We are doing this,” said Gran.

All attention turned to Father Reilly, who had gone very pale. “You mean I have to…”

“Yes, you do,” said Gran.

“I have to walk up to the people in there and… convince them to… let me have the body of Polly?”

“Oh, stop dithering already, Francis,” said Gran. “Go and get that body for us, will you? Well, go on!”

Father Reilly gulped once or twice. Clearly, he wasn’t fully on board with Gran’s grand plan, but he still did as he was told, like any loyal member of the watch should. But as he opened the hearse door and got out, he still didn’t seem fully convinced. “Maybe… you can come with me?” he suggested. “For moral support, you know.”

Gran smiled. “Of course I’ll come with you. We’ll all come with you.”

“Oh, good,” he said, much relieved.

And so it was that the entire gang walked up to the entrance to the morgue. Our mission, which we had accepted, was to remove the body of Polly from her temporary resting place and take it to Hampton Cove with us.

But even though Gran’s plan sounded pretty sound, I couldn’t help but experience a niggle of doubt. But then I guess that often happens when Gran formulates a plan. For some reason, her plans have a tendency to go horribly wrong.

And somehow I was afraid this would be the case now.

CHAPTER 23

It hadn’t occurred to us that a morgue might be closed at night. It certainly hadn’t occurred to Gran, for after trying to move past the closed door and pressing her finger on the bell, she expressed her surprise by saying, “Morgues close for the night. Who knew?”

“Oh, dear God,” said Madame Velda, clearly starting to have regrets about this job.

“Well, that only leaves one solution,” said Gran, taking out a small pouch.

Scarlett’s eyes widened. “Oh, goodie. You brought your burglary set!”

“You’re not going to break in, are you?” said the medium.

“Maybe you should wait in the car,” Gran suggested.

“I will not wait in the car,” said the medium as she folded her arms across her chest. But then a police siren pierced the night’s silence, and she had a sudden change of heart. “On second thought, maybe I will wait in the car.” As she hurried off, we all perked up our ears, but the sound of the police car grew faint as it moved away from us.

“Okay, let’s do this,” said Gran, inserting a strange object into the door lock. She fiddled with it for a few moments, then tried the door handle again. Nothing.

“Here, let me try,” said Wilbur.

“Oh, and you know how to break into a place, do you?” said Gran.

“I’ve seen YouTube videos,” he argued.

“I’ve seen YouTube videos. And this is how it’s done. So why this stupid door won’t budge…”

Just as she tried a different approach, the door suddenly clicked open.

“You did it!” said Scarlett. “You actually did it, Vesta!”

“I did?” said Gran, very surprised.

But as the door swung open, her joy was short-lived, for a man appeared in the doorway. He gave us a suspicious look. “Yes?” he asked. “What do you want?”

“Do you work here, sir?” asked Gran, quickly recovering from the surprise of seeing this man.

“I’m the night watchman,” he said. “If you want to deliver a dead body, you can simply shove it into the depository over there.”

We all looked over to where he was pointing, and I saw that there was a kind of small metal door located right next to the entrance, with a sturdy handle.

Wilbur tried the handle and discovered a metal shelf that slid out and was big enough to accommodate an entire human body.

“Just dump it in there, and they’ll pick it up in the morning,” the watchman explained.

“Actually, we’re not here to deliver a body but to pick one up,” said Gran.

The watchman fingered the small goatee that decorated his chin. “Picking up a body, huh? You’re a little late for that, toots. Office hours are between nine and five. Or you could make an appointment.”

“But we need to pick up this body now,” she insisted.

“We’ve come a long way,” Wilbur added. “So if you would be so kind to let us in?”

The man shook his head. “No can do, I’m afraid. I’m just the night watchman, and I can’t be letting a bunch of strangers into the morgue. They’d fire my ass if I did.”

Father Reilly stepped forward, pressing his hands together as if in prayer and giving the man his most avuncular smile. “My name is Francis Reilly,” he said. “Father Francis Reilly. And we’re here to pick up the body of Polly Parker for the funeral. So you see, it’s very important for her family that we’re allowed to take Polly without delay.”

The watchman stared at Father Reilly for a moment. “You jokers wanna bury a body? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, my son,” said Father Reilly, only slightly unnerved by the man’s obvious lack of respect for a man of the cloth.

The watchman thought for a moment, then finally seemed to make up his mind. “Call the medical examiner,” he suggested. “He won’t mind being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, I’m sure.” He displayed a row of crooked teeth in what was probably his attempt at cracking a joke.

“But…” Father Reilly began, but the door was already closing in our faces and moments later slammed shut.

We all stood staring at the closed door, and Gran summed it up best when she fumed, “What a jerk!”

“No respect for the recently bereaved,” Father Reilly murmured as he shook his gray head sadly. “No respect at all.”

“Okay, in you get,” Gran told me.

I stared up at her. “What?” I asked.

“Into the depository. And then open the door from the other side, will you? And be quick about it, Max. We’ve wasted enough time already. Chop, chop.”

“But…” I looked from her to the depository and back. “I won’t even fit in there.”

“Of course you will fit in there. You’re not bigger than a human body, are you?”

“Maybe Brutus should do it,” Harriet suggested. “He’s a real hero, and he’s also the leader of the cat watch.”

“I’m not sure I’d fit in there either,” said Brutus, giving Harriet a nervous look.

“Oh, I will do it,” said Clarice, and before we could stop her, she was already jumping up onto the shelf that Scarlett had pulled out and disappearing inside.

“Now that’s a real hero,” said Harriet, giving her boyfriend an accusing look.

“She’s a lot smaller than me!” he argued.

In response, Harriet merely rolled her eyes.

It didn’t take Clarice long to open the door. Don’t ask me how she did it, but somehow she managed. I guess she really is a hero. And so as the door clicked open for the second time that night, this time it was Clarice’s face that greeted us instead of the watchman.

“Clarice, you’re a lifesaver,” said Gran, much relieved that our mission wasn’t going to be a bust after all—or that she didn’t have to call Abe and drag him out of bed. I had a feeling he wouldn’t have complied and would have placed a call to Uncle Alec instead.

The entire gang walked into the morgue, and since Dooley and I had been there on an earlier occasion, when Chickie Hay, another well-known pop star, had been murdered a little while back, we took the lead.

“I never thought we’d be back here, Max,” said Dooley as we carefully navigated the dark and deserted hallways. He sounded spooked, which was only to be expected. Wandering around a deserted morgue at night is not the kind of thing I would have ever volunteered for.

“If only we had known what Gran was up to,” I whispered. “I don’t think I would have signed up for this!”

“Me neither,” he whispered back.

It wasn’t long before we led the watch members—both human and feline—to the area where the coolers are located, and consequently where the dead bodies are stored.

It looked just as spooky and creepy as the last time we had been there, and after we pointed Gran and the others in the right direction, we respectfully retreated to the far corner of the large storage area. The last thing we needed was to come face to face with these dead people!

Clarice, on the other hand, was right next to Gran as she started checking all the different coolers. She seemed particularly interested.

Father Reilly also hung back, and he seemed to be saying a silent prayer. Possibly he was praying for the immortal souls of his fellow watch members as they looked for Polly’s body.

Harriet and Brutus kept Dooley and me company. “I don’t like this, Max,” said Brutus. “All these dead people?” He shivered. “What if one of them suddenly jumps out of their designated refrigerator and starts chasing us?”

“You’ve seen too many horror movies, gummy bear,” said Harriet. “Nobody is going to be chasing us.”

“It’s still pretty spooky here,” said Dooley.

“You’re right about that,” said Harriet. “I don’t think I’d want to work in a place like this.”

“I don’t understand how Abe loves it so much,” I said.

Just then, there was the sound of shuffling feet nearby, and as we looked up, we suddenly found ourselves face to face with the watchman. When he saw Gran and her friends opening and closing coolers willy-nilly, he seemed too shocked to respond for a few moments. But then he yelled, “Hey! What do you idiots think you’re doing!”

CHAPTER 24

Okay, so this was perhaps not the best way to start our mission, but knowing Gran, I was sure that she would find some way to deal with this emergency. Instead, she gave Father Reilly a shove in the rear that propelled him forward. It looked like he had been selected as the spokesperson for the watch.

“I’m afraid this is one of those times of great urgency, my son,” he said. “A time when we all have to come together and work for the greater good.”

“You don’t want Polly’s family to have to bury her without being able to say goodbye, do you?” Wilbur piped up, joining his friend.

“Can you imagine?” said Father Reilly. “Polly’s grieving mother? Her grief-stricken father? Her sister? All of them having to be told the terrible news that due to some administrative error, their beloved daughter and sister can’t receive a proper burial?”

“They’ll blame you,” said Wilbur, pointing an accusing finger at the hapless watchman, who looked thoroughly discombobulated by the accusations being leveled against him.

“But… I didn’t know!” he cried. “I had no idea!”

“Then tell us where Polly is,” said Wilbur. “And save her family the heartbreak of having to call off the funeral.”

“They’ve got a system here,” said the watchman, Wilbur’s words prompting him to spring into action. “They’ve got it in their computer, but there’s also a printout.” He hurried over to a clipboard dangling from the wall. “Here it is. A list of all the bodies in storage at the moment, and their designated coolers. What did you say the name was?”

“Polly Parker,” said Scarlett as she joined the man.

“Here she is. Cooler number five.” He hurried over to the cooler in question and pulled it open.

“Thank you, son,” said Father Reilly as he made the sign of the cross. “My blessings to you and your family.”

“We’ll take it from here,” said Gran.

“I’m so sorry for the administrative errors,” said the watchman. “Bureaucracy sucks.”

“It sure does,” said Gran. “Now get lost, will you?”

“Don’t you want me to help you carry the body?” said the guy, who had really changed his tune.

“I’m sure we can manage,” said Gran, and watched the watchman walk off.

The four members of the watch all gathered around the drawer that had been pulled open and stared down at the sturdy black body bag Polly’s remains had been placed in.

“Okay, let’s do this,” said Gran.

They grabbed the body bag and hoisted it out of the cooler. Even though Polly had been a smallish young woman, she still weighed enough to make the four pensioners break out into a sweat. But then Gran got a great idea. “Why don’t we put her on one of those stretchers?

And so it was decided. It was much easier going, as the stretcher was equipped with wheels, and so all they had to do was wheel the late pop star through the morgue, en route to the exit. Through the dark and deserted hallways and corridors of the morgue we all went. The wheels of the stretcher made a weird squeaky sound on the tile floor, and the atmosphere was so disturbing that no one spoke—not even Gran.

Finally, we reached the front door, and even though it took some effort to wheel the contraption to the hearse parked in front, the foursome succeeded in bringing their mission to a successful conclusion by carefully placing the body bag inside the hearse.

Once we were safely inside the vehicle, Gran let out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t think we’d be able to pull it off, you guys, but we did!”

“A great success,” Wilbur agreed.

“God was on our side,” said Father Reilly.

I turned to my friends to celebrate this win and was surprised to discover that they were all present and accounted for… except Dooley!

“Where is Dooley?” I asked.

They looked around and had to conclude that Dooley was not amongst those present. “He must still be inside the morgue,” said Brutus.

We all turned to the creepy low-slung brick building and shivered. “Oh, dear—not Dooley!” said Shanille.

“Gran, Dooley is missing!” Harriet cried.

Gran turned her head around so fast it almost spun three hundred and sixty degrees. “What?!!”

“He must still be inside,” I said.

“Well, go get him! Get him now!”

And so we all hopped out of the hearse again as fast as we could to go in search of our friend.

“I don’t understand what happened,” said Shanille. “He was right next to me.”

“He must have gotten separated from the group,” said Brutus. “Maybe he got distracted.”

“Distracted by what?” Kingman asked.

“Maybe he saw a mouse?” Clarice suggested.

“Dooley isn’t a big fan of mice,” I said. “Not to eat and not to play with.”

“Nuts,” was Clarice’s comment.

Of course, the door to the morgue was closed, so we had to rely on Clarice’s skill once again to traverse the repository. Only this time, to avoid losing too much time, we all jumped into the small enclosure and made our way inside. It was imperative we find Dooley as soon as possible. The longer he spent in that dark and horrible place, the more traumatized he might become.

“We should never have let him out of our sight,” I lamented.

“It’s my fault!” said Shanille. “He was behind me the whole time until I totally forgot to check on him in the final stretch.”

“It’s nobody’s fault, Shanille,” said Brutus. “He probably took a wrong turn somewhere and got lost.”

“We’ll find him,” said Clarice, putting her nose to the ground. “Don’t you worry. We’ll find him soon enough.”

Her reassurance didn’t stop me from worrying about my friend, though. All alone out there in that spooky building. Poor Dooley!

CHAPTER 25

He didn’t know how it happened, but somehow it did. Dooley got separated from his friends, and couldn’t even find the exit. It was absolutely the last place he wanted to be, and as he hurried along the corridors, he had a feeling he was going around in circles all the time. One long corridor led into another long corridor, and it just seemed endless. Finally, he arrived right back where he had started: that room full of dead people neatly tucked away in a wall of coolers.

“Max?” he said quietly. “Max, where are you?”

But of course, Max couldn’t hear him. He was probably long gone—on his way back to Hampton Cove along with Gran and the others. And Dooley was stuck there in that awful place, with all those dead people!

Suddenly, as he sat there trying to figure out what to do, he heard a strange noise. It came from somewhere close by. It sounded like someone dragging something. There was a click, and then this creepy dragging sound.

Click and drag. Click and drag.

And the worst part was: it seemed to be heading in his direction—coming closer!

Oh, no!

He looked around for a place to hide, but the only place he saw was an operating table set up in the middle of the room. And so he hid underneath that table, hoping that whatever was coming wouldn’t find him there.

Click and drag. Click and drag.

Closer and closer.

He didn’t even dare to take a peek from behind the table and instead tried to make himself as flat and invisible as he possibly could.

Was it a ghost? But Max had once told him that ghosts don’t exist. So was it the night watchman? But he hadn’t noticed that he made such a strange sound. He had seemed like a normal person. Maybe after Gran and the rest of the watch had left, he had suddenly morphed into his true self: an undead version of himself. Maybe he was a ghost!

It stood to reason. Why would a watchman be present at a morgue at night? That simply didn’t seem logical. Unless he was a dead person who haunted these hallways when everyone was gone.

And now he was coming for him!

The sound was now so close it was probably right next to him. He had closed his eyes shut, though, and tried to wish this wasn’t happening.

Then suddenly the sound stopped, and silence reigned.

After a few moments, he willed himself to open his eyes. And then he saw it: he was face to face with… a dog!

He screamed, and the dog screamed, and they both jumped back.

As he scurried away as fast as he could, he couldn’t help but notice that the dog had its hind leg in a cast, and as the dog hurried away from him, the cast bumped against the ground and then slid. So that was the origin of the sound! But even though he was relieved that it wasn’t a ghost haunting the morgue, a dog was possibly even worse.

Ghosts can’t hurt you, but dogs can.

Dogs bite!

But as he hurried away from the room with all the coolers and darted a look behind him, he stopped paying attention to where he was going, and all of a sudden found himself bumping into a solid object.

As he bounced back and landed on his tush, he saw, to his horror, that he had hit the same dog he had been fleeing from. The dog had also landed on his tushy and was looking at him much the same way Dooley was looking at him.

“Don’t bite me, cat!” the dog cried out.

“Don’t bite me, dog!” Dooley retorted.

And as they both stared at one another, squaring off, he noticed another thing about this dog: he was a lot smaller than he had thought. In fact, he wasn’t much bigger than Dooley himself was, and he knew himself to be a pretty small specimen, as cats go.

Could it be that the dog wasn’t dangerous at all?

He certainly seemed as scared of him as Dooley was.

“I won’t bite you if you don’t bite me,” he said tentatively.

For a few moments, the dog didn’t reply. Then he said, “What are you doing here?”

“My human is picking up a body,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “What about you?”

“My human is also picking up a body,” he said.

“Oh,” Dooley said. “Do you… do you like it here?”

“Not exactly. It’s a pretty creepy place.”

“I also think it’s very creepy.”

“So you’re here to pick up a body, huh?”

“Yeah, the body of a pop star. We’re going to bring her back from the dead so she can tell us who killed her.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” said the dog wistfully.

“So… what’s your name?” he asked. “Mine is Dooley.”

“I’m Marcus,” he said. “And my human is called Mark.”

“Mark and Marcus. You make a pretty good team.”

“He’s all right,” said Marcus. “Only I broke my leg the other day, and now it’s a little hard for me to get around.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “How did it happen?”

The dog seemed to relax, and Dooley was also starting to relax after his mad dash and collision. “Oh, you know,” said Marcus. “The usual thing. Mark didn’t look where he was going, so he stepped on my leg. It broke, and so he took me to the vet.”

“Ouch. That must have hurt.”

“It did, yeah.”

“Does he often step where he shouldn’t?”

“Nah. Mostly he’s very careful. It was just a stupid accident.” He sighed. “Mark has been pretty preoccupied lately.”

“But apart from that he’s all right?”

“Oh, sure. He treats me like a prince. Except when he’s stepping on me, of course.”

They both smiled, and Dooley thought that Marcus wasn’t the worst dog he had ever met. In fact, he was pretty nice.

“So how are you going to revive this pop star?” Marcus asked.

“We have a medium who will do that for us. She’s very talented. She can bring anyone back from the dead.”

“Wow, that’s really cool.”

“It is pretty cool.”

“Do you think I can watch?”

Dooley’s face fell. “Well, that’s the thing. They’re gone. I got left behind.”

“How did that happen?”

“I guess I got distracted, and when I turned to look, they were gone. And I couldn’t find them anymore. And then I got lost in all these empty corridors.”

“It is pretty confusing,” he agreed. “Big place—like a maze.” He was quiet for a moment, then he said, “It’s such a coincidence, us meeting like this. And your human picking up the body of a pop star. My human is also picking up the body of a pop star.”

“He is?”

“Yeah, her name is Polly Parker. Major star.”

Dooley stared at the dog.

“He’s absolutely crazy about her. So he built this shrine at home dedicated to her, you know. Pictures everywhere, and he listens to her music, like, all the time. Day and night.”

“But…”

“So he’s going to take her home with him and transfer her to his shrine.”

Dooley’s jaw had dropped. “How… how is he going to do that?”

“I’m not sure. I think he mentioned something about a taxi?”

Dooley felt a trickle of unease. “Taxidermy?”

“That’s it! He’s been checking websites, and he’s going to make sure that Polly will be preserved forever.”

Dooley swallowed a lump. “He’s going to stuff Polly and keep her in his shrine?”

“Absolutely. It’s a pretty weird thing to do, right? But then I guess that’s humans for you: a pretty weird species.”

Just then, the night watchman entered the room. When he saw Marcus, a frown of annoyance stole over him. “Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“That’s Mark,” said Marcus proudly. “That’s my human.”

Dooley stared at the dog. “But… he’s the night watchman.”

“No, he’s not,” said Marcus with a laugh. “He’s the janitor at our local school, that’s what he is. But since this is where they keep Polly, he decided to break in and take her.”

Dooley gaped at the dog. “But… are you telling me he’s also trying to steal Polly?”

Marcus shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it stealing, exactly. I mean, she’s dead, right? So as I see it she’s no good to anyone anymore. And so we might as well put her in our shrine.”

And with these words, he toddled off after his human, Dooley gawking after him.

He was still recovering from the shock that his new friend was after the same body Gran was, when suddenly Max came hurrying around the corner. When he spotted Dooley, he ran right up to him. “Dooley! We found you!”

Dooley was so happy to see his friend that for a moment he forgot all about Marcus’s story. But after all the hugging was over and done with, he glanced in the direction of his new canine friend and his freaky owner… and found that they were both gone!

CHAPTER 26

“Max, Mark wants to stuff Polly’s body!”

I stared at my friend. “What do you mean?”

“Who’s Mark?” asked Brutus.

“He’s Marcus’s human,” said Dooley.

“Who’s Marcus?” asked Harriet.

Clarice smelled the floor, then made a face. “Let me guess. A dog?”

“He’s Mark’s dog,” said Dooley. “And he told me that Mark isn’t a watchman here at all. He’s a janitor at a school and he broke in here the same way we did and he has built a shrine at home for Polly, and now he wants to add her stuffed body to the shrine.”

“But… we have Polly’s body,” said Kingman. “Right?”

“Unless Mark gave us the wrong body,” I said.

Shanille sighed. “This night just keeps getting better and better.”

Together, the seven of us made our way to the cooler room. I paused underneath the clipboard that Mark had consulted. It was too high up for us to read, but Clarice quickly fixed this by performing a standing high jump and using her paw to dislodge the clipboard, making it tumble to the floor.

Harriet quickly scanned the list and nodded. “Max is right. Mark gave us the wrong body. The name of the body in cooler number five is Ernest Gibbins and not Polly Parker. Polly is in cooler number eleven.”

“Um… you guys?” said Kingman.

We all looked up, and I wasn’t surprised to find that Mark had entered the room, wheeling a stretcher. He then opened Polly’s locker, slid her body out onto the stretcher, and started wheeling her away.

“Not so fast, bozo!” Clarice cried, and hurried after the guy, then jumped right on top of Polly’s body.

“Hey!” said the fake watchman. “What do you think you’re doing, you stupid cat!”

“You leave that body here, or else,” Clarice growled.

“Get lost,” said the man, as he struck out in Clarice’s direction. He probably shouldn’t have done that, for Clarice didn’t hesitate to scratch his hand with those ferocious claws of hers.

“Ow!” Mark yelled.

For a moment, he let go of the stretcher to inspect his injured appendage. As he did, the stretcher started rolling away.

“What is happening?” asked Clarice. “Why are we moving?”

“The floor,” said Shanille. “It’s not level.”

She was right. The floor was slanting down, and as the stretcher zoomed along, it gradually picked up speed.

Mark had also become aware that he had lost control of the stretcher, and he hurried to catch up with the runaway body of the famous pop star, Clarice still riding on top, like a master surfer riding a wave.

“How do you stop this thing?” she yelled.

“Jump off!” Kingman yelled. “Before you crash!”

But instead, Clarice chose to cling to the body bag containing Polly’s body, her claws digging in for purchase, giving the pop star a free acupuncture session—not that she needed it.

The six of us raced after Mark, who was running full tilt after the stretcher.

“Stop that stretcher!” he yelled to no one in particular.

Finally, the end of the road was in sight, as the hallway ended abruptly with a wall marking the end. The wall had a window in it, and as the stretcher crashed into the wall, Polly’s body was carried on by the momentum and crashed straight through the window, Clarice still hanging on for dear life!

“Noooooo!” Mark yelled. “My Polly!”

Vesta was losing her patience. First, the trouble with the night watchman, then Dooley going missing, and now her cats had also disappeared. She checked her watch. “What’s taking them so long? They should have been back already,” she lamented.

“They are probably having a hard time finding Dooley,” said Scarlett.

The two friends were leaning against the hood of the hearse, while Wilbur sat in the passenger seat, his feet on the dash, happily snacking on a bag of Crunchy Cheetos. Francis was intently listening to Madame Velda, who was entertaining the priest with stories from her checkered past and the clients she had brought back from the dead.

Vesta glanced up at the morgue, the dark hulking structure looking ominous and spooky. “If they’re not back in five minutes, we’ll have to go and get them.”

“They’ll be back,” said Scarlett. “Clarice is with them, and she’s great at finding things—and cats.”

Vesta relaxed. “You’re right. Clarice is great.” She darted a look at her friend. “What’s wrong? You look concerned.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Scarlett. “Just…”

“Just what?”

“Well, Polly doesn’t exactly look her best, does she? This killer really went to town on her. Chopped her up into little pieces. So… do you think her body is still habitable? I mean, even if her soul makes it back here under Madame Velda’s guidance, I’m not sure it’ll want to stick around. Maybe it will want to find a new body to inhabit, figuring this body is too far gone.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Vesta admitted. “Clearly this body is beyond being salvaged, so maybe we should find a new body for Polly’s spirit to inhabit.”

“But where are we going to find a new body?”

Both of their gazes simultaneously moved to the morgue as an idea struck Vesta. “There are plenty of bodies in there,” she suggested.

“And nobody will notice if one is switched with another,” Scarlett said.

“Then we’re in agreement?”

“Absolutely. On one condition.”

“What?”

“The body we pick for Polly has to be a good one. I mean, not some old wino who collapsed and died in a dumpster last night. It has to look fresh and young and vital.”

“I’m sure one of the bodies in there will meet your exacting qualifications,” Vesta quipped.

They both pushed themselves off the vehicle and were just about to suggest to Francis and Wilbur to take another quick look inside the morgue so they could fetch a body when, all of a sudden, there was a loud crash overhead and a body bag came zooming out through the window.

And the strangest thing: Clarice was holding on to that body bag for dear life, screaming bloody murder all the while!

“This is Polly!” she yelled as the body bag landed right on top of the hearse. “The real Polly!”

The body bag bounced off the top of the hearse, then landed right next to Vesta’s feet, with Clarice being propelled straight into Scarlett’s arms.

“What a ride!” the feral cat cried. “What a rush!”

Above them, the night watchman looked down with a horrified expression on his face. “My Polly!” he cried. “Give me back my Polly!”

Behind him, six cats appeared. Reading from left to right, they were Max, Dooley, Harriet, Brutus, Shanille, and Kingman. “The real Polly is in that bag!” Max yelled. “This guy gave us the wrong body!”

“He wants to stuff her!” Dooley added.

“And add her to his shrine!” said Brutus.

“He’s crazy!” Harriet said.

Vesta turned a keen eye on the body bag, and as she carefully slid the zipper down, she found herself looking at the mutilated features of the famous pop star.

“Wait,” said Scarlett. “If this is Polly, who’s the other stiff?”

They quickly opened the hearse’s back door and slid out the body. Opening the body bag, they discovered to their surprise a very old bearded man. He had a big red nose and a sort of beatific expression on his face. He also looked as if all the soot and dirt of the world had stuck to his features. In other words: he was probably an old wino who had collapsed and died in a dumpster.

More importantly: he did not look like Polly at all!

CHAPTER 27

By the time Odelia and Chase arrived at the Hauppauge morgue, the birds had flown—and so had the cats. Much to their surprise, what they did find were several police cars that had converged on the sidewalk. When they made their way there, after showing their respective badges, the strangest scene met their eyes: a man was sitting on the sidewalk, his back against the building. Next to him was a body bag, with the head of a dead old man sticking out. The person seated next to the body had been trussed up like a turkey and looked extremely uncomfortable. To top it all off, he was accompanied by a smallish dog, whose head rested on the man’s lap, looking at them with mournful eyes.

“What’s going on here?” asked Chase.

“Beats me, detective,” said one of the officers at the scene. His name was Moe Goodwin, and he seemed to be the officer in charge. “We got an anonymous phone call about twenty minutes ago that someone was trying to steal a body from the morgue. When we arrived, we found this guy. There’s a note,” he added, pointing to a note attached to the trussed-up man’s chest. “Though it doesn’t make things a lot clearer.”

Odelia read the note: ‘I’m a fake night watchman and body snatcher.’

Chase addressed the man. “What’s your name, buddy?”

But the man pressed his lips together, clearly not eager to explain himself.

“His name is Mark Dawson,” said Officer Goodwin. “And he lives nearby. The person who called it in mentioned that Mr. Dawson has built himself a shrine dedicated to Polly Parker and wanted to steal her body to stuff it.”

“Stuff it?” asked Chase.

“Yeah, you know. Stuff it. Like a stuffed bird?”

“Boss, you gotta see this,” said one of his colleagues. The officer joined us and held out his phone. “We’re conducting a search of this guy’s place,” he explained.

The officers conducting the search were transmitting live footage of what did indeed look like a shrine dedicated to the late pop star. At the center of the display—featuring pictures, posters, and all kinds of mementos—was a life-sized doll that looked exactly like Polly, with her picture taped to the doll’s head.

“Jeez,” said Officer Goodwin. “Talk about a deranged fan.”

“And that’s not all,” said the officer holding up the phone. He leaned forward and spoke into the device. “Show us the shed, Curly.”

“Will do, Larry,” said Curly.

Moments later, Curly was walking through the house, holding up his phone. He stepped outside, through a backyard, and a shed came into view. He entered the shed and pointed the camera at a workbench loaded with strange implements and jars filled with mysterious liquids. Several stuffed birds, mice, and rats were on display.

“Looks like the guy’s been practicing,” Larry explained. A book lay on the workbench titled Taxidermy for Dummies. There were also lots of pictures of Polly, but one of them stood out—a detailed anatomical diagram of the star’s body, with comments written in the margins. It looked like a guide to performing taxidermy on the late singer.

“Christ,” said Officer Goodwin.

They all glanced down at the so-called night watchman, who was looking extremely uncomfortable.

“So you were going to snatch Polly’s body and stuff her, is that right?” asked Officer Goodwin.

Mark Dawson hung his head, which was as good as a confession.

The big question was: did he also kill her? Was he one of the obsessed fans Jackie had referred to? The ones who couldn’t tolerate Polly changing her musical style?

One of Officer Goodwin’s men walked out of the morgue, accompanied by none other than Abe Cornwall. The medical examiner’s hair looked even more frizzy than usual, his clothes were rumpled, as if he had slept in them, and there were bags under his eyes.

“They called me out of bed,” he explained. As he studied the man trussed up on the sidewalk, he looked puzzled and confused. “I don’t get it,” he confessed. “We don’t even have a night watchman. So what was this guy doing here?”

“He was trying to steal the late pop star’s body,” Officer Goodwin explained. “And then he was going to stuff her and add her to his collection of Polly Parker memorabilia.”

Abe crouched down next to the body of the old man. “So… what is Mr. Gibbins doing out on the sidewalk?” He directed the question at the fake night watchman, who still refused to speak or explain his actions.

“So he didn’t take Polly Parker’s body?” asked Officer Goodwin.

Abe cursed lightly as he rose to his feet with some effort. “Let me have a look. She should be safe and snug in the cooler.”

He returned inside as Chase and Odelia continued trying to sort out the mess.

“The person who called it in, was it a man or a woman?” she asked.

“Um… a woman,” said Officer Goodwin. “Here. I’ll play you the 911 call. The dispatcher sent it through to me.” Now it was his turn to hold up his phone for the benefit of his colleagues. The moment the caller started to speak, Odelia inadvertently produced a groan—and so did Chase.

“I should have known,” said Chase.

“You recognize the voice?” asked Officer Goodwin.

“I do,” Odelia said. “It’s my grandmother.”

The officer’s eyes widened slightly. “Your…”

“Don’t ask,” said Chase. “She’s a real pistol.”

Odelia was already expecting the worst, and when Abe came hurrying out of the morgue, his face ashen and his expression that of a man who knows he’s in a lot of trouble, her suspicions were confirmed.

“She’s gone!” the medical examiner lamented. “Polly Parker’s body’s been taken!”

Oh dear.

“It’s those witches,” the fake night watchman suddenly blurted out. “They took her. And they destroyed a window while they were at it.” He pointed his chin toward the building, and as they all looked up, they saw that a window had indeed been shattered, with glass covering the sidewalk.

“I was wondering what happened there,” Officer Goodwin admitted.

“Who are these witches?” asked his colleague. “The ones who stole Polly Parker’s body?”

“They never gave me their names,” said Mr. Dawson. “But three of them were old women, and the others were two old men. Oh, and they had cats—lots and lots of cats. Like, an entire clowder of them. One of them attacked me! Then it rode Polly through the window before she crash-landed on top of the hearse.”

They all shared a look, and Odelia could read full-on skepticism on the face of Officer Goodwin. Only Chase and she weren’t surprised, and neither was Abe. This sounded exactly like the kind of stunt Gran and her neighborhood watch cronies would pull.

“Okay, fella,” said Officer Goodwin, taking a wide-legged stance in front of the body snatcher. “What did you do with Polly Parker’s body? And don’t give me this nonsense about witches and cats attacking you and riding Polly through a window, all right?”

“But it’s true! That’s what happened. There was a fat red cat, and he was the ringleader. And a raggedy one that chased me. And an old dame who looked like Estelle Getty who was in charge of the operation. They tied me up and took off in their hearse.”

“Witches and cats,” the officer scoffed. “What else? Did they fly off on their brooms?”

“Look, man, everything I’m telling you is true. Just ask my dog. He’ll tell you. He saw the whole thing.”

They all turned to the dog, who produced a long, plaintive howl, then placed his head back in his master’s lap.

Odelia had always regretted that her talent for talking to pets was strictly limited to cats, but never more than at that moment. If only she could understand this dog. But then she didn’t need to, because she knew that every word this man was saying was true.

Unfortunately, no one would ever believe him.

Except, of course, for she and Chase.

Which meant that Gran and her watch posse had taken possession of Polly Parker’s body. And if they didn’t get the pop star back posthaste, they were in a world of trouble.

CHAPTER 28

It had taken a lot of effort, but finally we were on our way to the Star Hotel with our precious cargo safely tucked away inside the hearse. Gran was driving at a sedate pace—for her, at least—since the last thing we needed was to be pulled over by the traffic police.

Madame Velda had been sitting with her eyes closed the entire time, mentally preparing herself for the monumental task of convincing Polly’s spirit to return to her body.

“What if Polly doesn’t want to return to her body, Max?” asked Dooley. “Maybe she’s much happier where she is now. Have you thought about that?”

“I have,” I told him. “And even if she doesn’t want to return to her body, at the very least, we should ask her who killed her. That way, she can find eternal peace.”

“Max is right,” said Shanille. “It’s very difficult for the soul of a person who has been brutally snatched from this world and propelled into the afterlife to find peace. So even if she doesn’t want to stage a comeback, she will be extremely grateful that we’re going after her killer.”

Clarice had been licking her claws, which had become a little soiled after all the heroics she had been engaged in. “I still feel we should have done more to punish that guy,” she said now. “Stealing bodies and making us think he was an actual night watchman. The treachery!”

After Polly’s body had crashed through that window and landed on the hearse, the ‘night watchman’ had been beside himself with concern that his beloved Polly’s remains would have been damaged in the crash. He needn’t have worried, for the landing had been relatively smooth. And so when he came racing out of the morgue to check on the body, the members of the neighborhood watch had performed a citizen’s arrest and tied him up to make sure he didn’t escape. It was then that he confessed he wasn’t actually a watchman and that his only purpose for being there was the same as ours: to steal Polly’s body. Only whereas we wanted to bring Polly back to life, his goal was to try and turn her into a stuffed version of herself so he could add her to his precious memorabilia collection.

Though when Gran suggested he had killed the star for that very same reason, he vehemently denied the charge and said he’d never harm a hair on Polly’s head.

And since we didn’t have much time, Gran called 911 and left the man on the sidewalk, in the company of Marcus and the body he had tried to foist off on us.

“Do you think that the watchman killed Polly?” asked Dooley.

“Well, it’s certainly possible,” I said. “He seemed to have developed a very unhealthy obsession with the star.”

“I think he did it,” said Brutus. “I think he killed her so he could have her in his possession forever.”

“Clearly, the man is a psychopath,” said Harriet.

“And to think he almost succeeded in sending us off with the wrong body,” said Kingman. “We would have looked very foolish when we opened the body bag and found that old boozer inside.”

“He did it, I’m sure of it,” said Shanille. “All these stars have crazy fans, but this one tops them all. They don’t come any crazier than that.”

“If you hadn’t gotten lost, Dooley,” said Brutus, placing an appreciative paw on our friend’s shoulder, “our mission would have been a complete bust.”

“I didn’t get lost on purpose, you know,” said Dooley.

Brutus smiled. “I know you didn’t, buddy.”

Clarice paused mid-lick and frowned. “That’s odd,” she said.

“What is?” I asked.

“The taste.”

“What taste?” asked Brutus.

“Well, Polly’s taste, I guess. It was her body I was clinging to, after all, when I was jettisoned out of that window.” She gave her paw another lick and made a face. “She tastes… weird. Like… bleach or something.”

“Medical examiners probably use all kinds of cleaning products to wash the body,” I ventured. “And those products contain bleach.”

“You mean that Abe used bleach on Polly?” asked Harriet, making a face.

“After they perform the autopsy, they wash the body,” Kingman explained. “They use a detergent and an antiseptic. I saw it on a cop show once.”

“Yuck,” Clarice muttered.

We passed the Hampton Cove sign, and my heart leaped in my chest. There’s no place like home, after all. And even though I’ve traveled far and wide, I always experience a sense of joy when I return home after a long trip.

“So explain to me again how we are going to get into the hotel?” asked Kingman nervously.

“We’re going to slip in the back,” I said. “The workers have their own entrance to the basement, and we’re going to use that.”

“Let’s hope nobody catches us,” said Shanille. “The last thing we need is to be arrested for body snatching.”

Dooley looked up at this. “Is snatching bodies a crime?”

Shanille laughed. “Of course it is. Imagine if everyone started stealing bodies left and right. The world would be a pretty scary place.”

“So…” Dooley gulped. “We can all be arrested if they catch us?”

“Absolutely. Which is why it’s so important that we’re not caught. At least not until Polly has been revived. By then, she will be able to explain that what we did was a good thing, and since she will be alive, we won’t be arrested but heaped with praise.”

Dooley still didn’t look entirely convinced, and I had to admit that I wasn’t either. Even though Madame Velda looked like she knew what she was doing, the proof is in the pudding, as the saying goes. And as long as Polly hadn’t been brought back from the dead, I’d take a wait-and-see approach.

“Okay, this is it,” said Gran as she carefully steered the hearse along the street parallel to Main Street, giving us a view of the back of the Star Hotel. “The entrance should be somewhere over there in that alleyway.”

“I know that alleyway like the back of my hand,” Clarice assured us. “Pretty good rats to be had there. Very tasty.”

“We’re not looking for rats, Clarice,” said Shanille. “We’re looking for the entrance to the basement so we can revive Polly.”

“I know that. But just in case one of us wants a midnight snack, there are plenty of juicy rats. Big, fat ones.”

Shanille grimaced, and I got the impression that the prospect of having rat on the menu as a midnight snack didn’t appeal to her a great deal.

“Okay, I’ll park right over there,” said Gran, pointing to a porta-potty.

“This is it,” said Wilbur, sharing a look with Father Reilly.

“I will, of course, first bless the body,” said the priest. “Before we proceed with the ceremony.”

“There’s no need for that,” said Madame Velda.

“I would still like to do a blessing,” the priest insisted.

The medium didn’t seem convinced but merely jangled her bracelets as a sign of approval. The priest closed his eyes, folded his hands, and murmured a quiet prayer for the soul of the dearly departed pop star. When he opened his eyes again, he found seven cats staring intently at him and grimaced. In our defense, it’s a rare thing for us to see a man commune directly with God, and I guess we were waiting to see some fireworks.

“I didn’t see anything, Max,” Dooley confessed.

“I didn’t see anything either,” said Brutus, sounding disappointed.

“I really thought his head would light up,” said Kingman.

“I knew it was all a bunch of baloney,” said Clarice.

Shanille was the only one who didn’t seem surprised that no strange lights had appeared or spirits started flying around the priest’s head. “It’s a discreet phenomenon,” she explained. “God is not a Marvel movie, you guys. He’s subtle and understated.”

We all got out of the hearse, Gran keenly glancing around to make sure we weren’t being observed. When she was satisfied that the coast was clear, she gave the signal that the body could be removed from the hearse. Moments later, the four members of the neighborhood watch were carrying Polly’s body into the basement. A ramp had been created there for building materials to be brought down to the pool area, and very slowly, the procession proceeded, with the seven of us bringing up the rear—or at least six of us, as Clarice had suddenly vanished.

“Where is Clarice?” asked Shanille.

“No idea,” I said. “She was right behind me, and now she’s gone.”

“Maybe she saw someone,” said Brutus. “You know, a dog walker or a nosy parker who might ruin things for us?”

“Dog walkers probably don’t walk their dogs in back alleys like this one,” said Harriet. “No, she’s probably hunting for rats.”

She had a point. Clarice is one of those cats who are always hungry and who will never miss an opportunity for a snack. If she saw a big, juicy rat, she wouldn’t let it pass her by—that’s just how she is.

We proceeded into the basement, and moments later, the procession arrived at the pool area.

“Okay, now we have to get her down there,” said Gran. ‘Down there’ was the bottom of the pool, which was easier said than done. After all, Polly might not have been a big girl in life, but she was still heavy. And since the neighborhood watch essentially is run by four pensioners, none of whom are built like The Rock, this was a tricky proposition.

They had placed Polly on the edge of the pool and were looking around for a way to lower her into it, which, even at the shallow end, was still three to four feet deep.

“Why don’t Wilbur and I get into the pool,” Father Reilly suggested, “and the ladies can hand Polly over to us?”

While they executed their plan, I glanced around. I have to say I found the whole set-up a little scary. A pool, even an empty one, has never been my favorite place. First off, I don’t like water, and an empty pool is simply a safety hazard. At the deep end, it’s a death pit in my personal opinion, and I was determined to stay far away from it and watch the procedure from the sidelines. But as I looked, I thought I saw the strangest thing: at the bottom of the pool, I thought I saw a body.

This wasn’t possible, of course, as Polly’s body was still being transferred into the pool by the concerted efforts of the watch.

I decided to take a closer look, figuring it was probably a bundle of clothes left behind by the workers. But as I approached, the bundle of clothes looked very much like a human being lying there.

Dooley had also joined me.

“Maybe someone taking a nap?” he suggested.

“Strange place to take a nap,” I said.

“Maybe a bum?”

“Could be.”

As we stared down at the figure, we saw that Polly had finally been lowered to the bottom of the pool and was being carried over to where she had met her maker that morning. It was all a little weird, I have to admit.

As we watched, the four members of the watch took their positions around the body, with Madame Velda taking a seat at the head of the congregation. She then gave the signal, and Gran did the honors by unzipping the bag to reveal Polly’s body.

What followed next was a lot of chanting in a language I had never heard before, but that Dooley was sure was Sanskrit, claiming he had seen a documentary about it once. The chanting went on for what felt like half an hour, but was probably a lot less.

From the corner of my eye, I thought I detected movement, and when I glanced down into the pool, I saw that Brutus was down there, along with Kingman. They were checking out that bundle of clothes.

“Hey, you guys,” said Kingman. “There’s a body down here.”

“Is it a sleeping bum?” asked Dooley.

“It’s a woman,” said Kingman.

“She’s dressed like a cleaning lady,” said Brutus.

And since I’ve always been a pretty curious kitty, I decided to get down there as well. So Dooley and I walked to the shallow end of the pool, and after a moment’s hesitation, jumped down, then made our way over to where Brutus and Kingman were inspecting the body.

Harriet and Shanille had also caught up and followed in our wake. And so before long, the six of us were examining the body of this cleaning lady.

“She looks dead,” said Dooley.

“I’m sure she’s sleeping,” said Shanille.

“Then why does she look so pale?” asked Brutus.

“Sleeping humans often look pale,” I said. “Odelia looks pale when she’s asleep.”

“I think she’s dead,” said Kingman.

“How would you know?” asked Shanille.

“Oh, I know these things,” Kingman assured her. “I have a sixth sense about this stuff. Also, look at all the blood.”

I walked around the body to where he was sitting and had to admit he had a point. “You’re right,” I said. “There is a lot of blood.” It had pooled around the woman’s head, which is never a good sign. Alive people don’t have blood gushing out of their heads in copious amounts. It doesn’t bode well for their life expectancy.

For a moment, we stared at the body. Then, all of a sudden, a voice sounded nearby, and I jumped about a foot in the air.

“Hey, help me out here,” said Clarice, for it was her. She was enunciating a little unclearly, and as we looked over, I saw there was a perfectly good reason for this: she was carrying a very large rat between her jaws.

“Yikes!” said Kingman. “That’s a rat!”

Clarice dropped the rat and grinned. “Great powers of observation, Kingman. I brought this one especially for you guys. Figured you could use the protein after what we’ve all been through at the morgue.” When none of us made any attempt to devour the rat, she frowned. “It’s all right. I already had one. I caught this one for you.”

“Is it… dead?” asked Dooley.

“Of course it’s dead,” said Clarice. “I wouldn’t bring you a live rat. Dig in, little Dooley. It’s freshly caught. Doesn’t get any fresher than this.” Then she glanced past us and saw the body lying on the pool floor. “What is that dead person doing there?”

“So you also think it’s dead, do you?” asked Kingman, giving Shanille a look of triumph.

“Of course it’s dead. Can’t you tell?”

“Oh, I can,” said Kingman. “But Shanille thinks it’s alive.”

“Oh, please,” said Clarice. “Of course it’s dead. Been this way for a while, too. Probably a couple of hours.” She heaved a sad sigh. “Pity we’re not allowed to eat humans. She looks pretty tasty.”

“Clarice!” Shanille cried.

“What? Dead meat is dead meat.”

“So you would eat Scarlett if you found her dead on the living room floor, would you?” asked Brutus.

“Of course I wouldn’t eat Scarlett!” said Clarice.

“Not even if you were locked up with her and there was nothing else to eat?” asked Shanille.

Clarice took a second too long to respond, and we all cried out in horror. “Okay, so maybe under those circumstances I might take a nibble,” Clarice admitted. “But only to make sure I didn’t starve, all right? And I wouldn’t touch the face. I know how much Scarlett cares about the way she looks, so I’d stick to her legs. Maybe an arm. Or two.”

“I would never be able to eat Odelia,” said Dooley. “Not even if I was starving.”

“I don’t know,” said Brutus. “It’s the survival instinct that kicks in, isn’t it? And considering she’d be dead already, and that nothing will bring her back, we might not have a choice but to have a nibble, like Clarice says.”

“Madame Velda will bring her back,” said Dooley determinedly. “And she will bring us back also. So there’s absolutely no need to eat our humans, even if we’re starving.”

We all glanced over to where the medium was still trying to bring Polly back from the dead. The chanting had stopped, and now there was only silence.

“Is she back yet?” asked Brutus. “Because if she is, Madame Velda can start on this one.”

“And she can bring back this rat,” said Dooley, who’s one of those cats with a heart of gold—even for rats.

So many dead people, I thought. And rats. Madame Velda had found a gap in the market.

And since I felt it incumbent on myself to let Gran know that another client awaited Madame Velda’s services, I trotted over to where the ceremony was in full swing to see if I couldn’t tear her attention away from Polly for a moment. But when I got there, I saw that Polly still showed no signs of life whatsoever. The body emanated a powerful odor of antiseptic and detergent, just as Clarice had noticed, but the color hadn’t returned to the chalky cheeks of her severed head, and she looked quite reluctant to draw a breath.

“How is she?” I asked quietly.

“Nothing doing,” Gran replied.

“Shush!” Madame Velda said. “The soul needs to find its way back home, and that takes time.”

“There’s another dead body over there,” I told Gran.

She jerked her head in the direction I was indicating. “What?” she said.

“Looks like a cleaning lady. Clarice says she’s been dead a couple of hours, and Clarice knows these things. She’s an expert on all things dead and dying.”

“My God,” said Gran. “What’s going on here?”

“What’s happening?” asked Scarlett.

“There’s another dead body over there.”

“Quiet!” said Madame Velda. “Polly’s spirit will be scared off if you keep making so much noise.”

“I know, but there’s another dead body over there,” said Gran.

“This is too much,” said Father Reilly. “We’re being inundated with dead bodies.” Which I found a strange thing to say for a priest, as they’re always organizing funerals, so he should be used to being surrounded by dead people.

“Will you all be quiet!” Madame Velda demanded. “Polly’s spirit is almost home, but not if you keep yapping like a flock of chickens!”

For a moment, no one spoke, and they all meekly stared at the body lying in their midst, hoping for a sign of life. But then, all of a sudden, it was as if all hell broke loose when a dozen cops burst on the scene. They seemed to be everywhere, and all of them were pointing guns at us and shouting for us to raise our hands and not to move.

So I froze and stuck my paws in the air.

The last thing I needed was to get shot.

Especially now that I was starting to doubt whether Madame Velda’s outlandish claims had any basis in reality.

CHAPTER 29

Odelia was in the small meeting room located next to her uncle’s office, and so were the four members of the neighborhood watch—or the four horsemen of the apocalypse, as Uncle Alec had called them. Chase was also present, and even though Odelia hadn’t been there when Gran and friends were arrested, she did play a minor role. In the sense that she was the one who called her uncle to tell him that Gran had stolen Polly’s body.

Understandably, Uncle Alec was upset, and she could tell that Charlene was also disturbed by the whole thing. “If anyone finds out, Hampton Cove is ruined!” Charlene had shouted. “We’ll be the laughing stock of the entire country! This is the end!”

“We’ll get Polly’s body back, honey,” Uncle Alec assured his wife.

And so the events had been set in motion, with Uncle Alec gathering a small group of trusted officers to ‘take down’ this group of suspected body snatchers.

“What were you thinking?” Uncle Alec now asked, and not for the first time either. He was visibly upset, his face having taken on the color of a ripe tomato. Odelia was worried about the man’s blood pressure reaching record levels. Even though Charlene had been trying to put the police chief on a diet, he still didn’t look as healthy as he should, and Odelia blamed the police station vending machine, which had found an eager customer in her uncle—especially the Mars bars, a particular favorite of his, but also the Snickers.

“I was thinking that we need to catch the person who killed Polly,” said Gran, who hadn’t shown an ounce of remorse or contrition over her crazy stunt. “Madame Velda⁠—”

“Oh, God,” said Uncle Alec as he rolled his head back to stare pointedly at the ceiling.

“Madame Velda,” Gran repeated, raising her voice, “is a bona fide miracle worker. If she says she can bring Polly back from the dead, then she will bring Polly back from the dead. It’s only because of your goons suddenly showing up that the connection was severed. And now Polly’s spirit is floating up there, too scared to land!”

She made it sound as if Polly’s spirit was a scared bird, frightened off by a loud noise.

“Look, this is all a bunch of nonsense,” said Uncle Alec. “I’ve looked into this Madame Velda of yours, Ma, and she’s nothing but a cheat—a bona fide fraudster. She’s got plenty of convictions for swindling people out of their money—especially people who have suffered a recent death. She’s a despicable person—despicable!”

“She was almost there!” Gran cried. Then she turned to her partners in crime. “Tell him. Polly’s spirit was close. I could feel her. Like a little butterfly hovering around our heads. Just a cute little butterfly, flitting its delicate wings. Flit-flit. Flit-flit. Flit-flit.”

She stopped talking when her son gave her a look that could kill.

“Polly was close,” Scarlett confirmed. “A few minutes more, and she would have landed, and we would know who killed her. She was ready to tell us the whole story.”

“I don’t believe this!” said Uncle Alec, burying his face in his hands.

“Okay, so tell us about this second body,” said Chase, placing a hand on his boss’s back. “Was it there when you arrived? Did you see anything?”

“We never noticed,” Father Reilly admitted. “We were so busy with Polly that we didn’t look around.” Contrary to Gran, the priest was the picture of repentance. In fact he was so contrite he was sweating bullets, gratefully wiping his brow with the tissues Odelia had set out on the table. “Who was the poor woman?”

“Her name is Reyna,” said Odelia. “And she worked at the hotel as a cleaner.”

“So no idea how she got there?” asked Chase.

Four heads moved from side to side. “No idea,” Wilbur murmured. He, too, looked sorry for what he did. In fact, Gran was the only one who was still defending her actions. Even Scarlett’s protestations lacked the ring of true conviction. It looked like they all went along for the ride and Gran was the ringleader—just like that watchman said.

The four had given their account of what happened at the morgue and had admitted to tying up Mark Dawson and calling 911 so he could be picked up by the cops.

“Do you think that Mark Dawson could be Polly’s killer?” Odelia asked. “I mean, the guy had an entire shrine at his home, and he was going to stuff Polly and add her to his collection. Clearly, he’s not okay.”

“I have no idea if he killed Polly or not,” said Gran, “but what I do know is that he tried to foist the wrong body on us.”

“And he lied to us when he said he worked at the morgue,” Scarlett added. “And he doesn’t like cats.”

“Who cares!” Uncle Alec cried. “He’s crazy!” He turned to his niece. “Do you think that he could have killed Polly?”

Odelia shrugged. “It’s possible. He certainly had motive. He could be one of the crazed fans that Jackie referred to.”

“I think he’s our guy,” said Chase. “Definitely.”

“Okay, then at least one good thing came of this,” the police chief said. He was eyeing his mother with a distinct lack of love and affection.

“Are you…” Father Reilly swallowed. “Are you going to charge us, Chief Lip?”

The police chief shook his head. “There’s nothing that would give me greater pleasure than to charge the four of you, lock you up, and throw away the key. But unfortunately, the powers that be are staying my hand.”

“What does that mean?” asked Wilbur eagerly.

“It means that this entire episode is going to be buried so deep that no one will ever find out about it. If they did, Hampton Cove would become a joke. A byword for hicksville nuttiness, and that’s in no one’s best interests. And so Polly’s body will quietly be returned to the morgue, and this whole thing never happened. Is that understood? That means you’re not to talk about this to anyone. Your mission never took place.”

“Understood, Chief Lip,” said Father Reilly, licking his dry, chapped lips. The relief was palpable, also among the other members of the watch.

Only Gran didn’t look happy. “We have to finish our mission,” she insisted. “We have to bring Polly back from the dead. That poor girl’s spirit⁠—”

“Enough!” Uncle Alec thundered.

“But her spirit is flitting⁠—”

“Not another word out of you, Ma,” said the police chief as he wagged a finger in his mom’s face. “Or I swear to God I’ll…” He clamped his teeth shut, but from the way his hands were balled into fists, it was obvious that Gran had taken things too far this time.

“Fine,” said Gran. “But if Polly’s ghost haunts you, don’t come crying to me.”

“Her ghost will not haunt me,” said the chief. “Because ghosts don’t exist. And now get lost—all of you. Out of my sight!”

The four members of the watch filed out of the room, meekly following the chief’s instructions. But when she was at the door, Gran turned around. “For your information, I still think we did the right thing. And if your goons hadn’t interrupted⁠—”

“Out!” the chief thundered.

And out she went.

CHAPTER 30

It had been a long night, and the four of us were back home. Shanille had also returned home with her human, and so had Kingman and Clarice. In spite of the stunning events, it looked like no one would be punished. Charlene, in her wisdom and capacity as our mayor, had decided to cover up the whole thing: the taking of Polly’s body and the whole business with Madame Velda. It wouldn’t do Hampton Cove’s reputation a lot of good, and so the neighborhood watch members were off the hook.

“Do you think that Madame Velda would have been able to bring Polly back from the dead if she’d had more time?” asked Dooley.

The two of us were resting peacefully on the couch in the living room. I was glad to be home and far removed from all things dead and buried—or even simply dead.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I mean, it seems to me she had plenty of time. But then of course I don’t know how these things work. Maybe it takes hours or even days for the spirit to be guided back into the body?”

“I feel sorry for Gran,” said Dooley. “She did her best, and if the police hadn’t interfered, maybe Polly would be with us now.”

“I guess we’ll never know,” I said.

I closed my eyes, eager to have a long nap, but Dooley wasn’t finished. “Do you think that cleaning lady accidentally fell into the pool, like Chase seems to think?”

“It’s possible,” I said.

Abe Cornwall had arrived, looking even more disheveled and rumpled than usual, and had determined that the woman had most likely died from a fall into the pool. No other signs of injury had been found on the body, and there were no defensive wounds on her hands or signs of a struggle. So her death would probably be labeled accidental.

“But what would a cleaning lady be doing in an empty pool in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, that part is a little weird,” I admitted. “Unless she was there to have a smoke?”

It was a theory Uncle Alec had suggested. The hotel was a no-smoking area, but a pack of cigarettes had been found on the woman. Also, Chase and Odelia’s investigation had determined that the staff had been using the pool as a smoking area while it was under construction, with several members frequenting it for their smoking breaks.

For a moment, Dooley was quiet, and once again I closed my eyes, looking forward to a refreshing nap. But once more he had more thoughts he wanted to share with me. “We should bring her back from the dead also. Then she can tell us what actually happened.”

“I have a feeling that Madame Velda’s days as a medium are at an end, Dooley. At least in Hampton Cove.”

Uncle Alec had made a deal with the woman. In exchange for her discretion about the events of the night, he wouldn’t arrest her and put her in jail for the fraud she perpetrated on her innocent victims, and she would never show her face in his town again. Madame Velda had seized on the deal and had already left town.

“Well, at least we have a suspect in jail,” I said, hoping this would satisfy my critical friend. “The night watchman?” I added when he gave me a curious look.

“Do you really think he did it?” asked Dooley.

“That’s what Chase seems to think, and also Odelia.”

“I don’t know, Max. He seemed like such a nice man, and he really adored Polly. No fan would ever hurt their idol like that.” He shook his head determinedly. “No, I don’t think he did it. I think the killer is still out there, and you have to catch him, Max.”

“Me!” I said. “How am I supposed to catch this killer?”

“With your big brain, of course. You have to work it, Max. You have to work that big brain of yours hard. Muscles that aren’t worked don’t get a trophy, you know.”

“Atrophy,” I corrected him. “The brain isn’t a muscle, Dooley. It’s an organ.”

“But you have to solve this case. For Polly’s sake, and her family. And her fans.”

“I don’t know, buddy. Remember what Odelia told us? Uncle Alec doesn’t want us anywhere near this case. He’s afraid that it will attract attention and turn his town into a freak show.” He was probably right. Cats investigating murders? It wasn’t done.

Also, I hadn’t been feeling on top of my game lately. Ever since that bird had selected me as its target, and then that cannibal had threatened to slice my throat and eat me, I wasn’t all that eager to launch myself into this investigation the way I used to.

“Maybe this time Chase and Odelia will close the case without me. I mean, that is their job, right? I’m just a cat. What do I know about murder and all of that stuff?”

He stared at me, aghast. “Max! What’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, you know. All this business about dead people. And Uncle Alec kicking up a fuss about Odelia’s cats interfering in his investigations. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s time for us to do what we do best: nap and eat—eat and nap. That’s what cats do, right?”

“But not you, Max. Not you!”

“Oh, well. Maybe I’m past my prime,” I said and closed my eyes.

It was a testament to Dooley’s sense of concern that he didn’t launch into any more questions but simply let me sleep. It had been a long night, filled with stirring events, and I felt like I could sleep for days.

CHAPTER 31

Dooley was extremely concerned now that Max had declared he wasn’t going to actively engage in the investigation into the death of Polly Parker. It wasn’t like the Max he knew and loved. The feline detective loved nothing more than to investigate murder mystery cases, and now all of a sudden he was going to recuse himself? No way.

It was that bird, he knew. The bird that had used his friend for target practice. The same bird that Brutus had said he would protect Max from.

As luck would have it, the bird hadn’t shown its face again. But Dooley knew it was only a matter of time before it did. Pests and bullies are like that: they lie low, and then they strike when you least expect it. Out of the blue.

And so as the sun rose in the sky and Max was still fast asleep, he slipped off the couch and snuck out through the pet flap and into the backyard next door. He was looking for Brutus, and it wasn’t long before he found him: upstairs, asleep on the foot of Tex and Marge’s bed.

He gave the big black cat a slight shove. Brutus opened his eyes reluctantly. “What do you want?” he asked.

“It’s Max,” he said. “There’s something wrong with him.”

“What do you mean, wrong with him?” asked Brutus, yawning vigorously.

Harriet, who had been asleep next to Brutus, also opened her eyes. They were a vivid green, and when they settled on Dooley, he felt something stir in his insides, as often happened. He shook it off. “What’s wrong with Max?” she asked.

“He doesn’t want to investigate the case of Polly’s murder anymore. Says he’s just a cat and it’s not his business.”

“Wise words,” said Brutus. “He should have realized this a long time ago. It would have saved him a lot of trouble.”

“But Max is the best detective there is, Brutus. He can’t just stop doing what he loves.”

“Clearly, he doesn’t love it anymore, does he?”

“I think it’s that bird,” said Dooley, deciding to put all his cards on the table. “I think that bird scared him so much that he’s feeling traumatized. And also that cannibal.”

“Yeah, I didn’t like that cannibal either,” Brutus admitted. “That was one scary dude.”

“Did Max really say he doesn’t want to be a detective anymore?” asked Harriet, a look of concern on her face.

Dooley nodded fervently. “He says that from now on, all he wants to do is sleep and eat and eat and sleep.”

“Excellent advice,” said Brutus approvingly. “I think I’ll take a leaf from Max’s page and do the same thing.”

“Sugar plum!” Harriet cried as she gave her mate a poke in the ribs. “How can you say that? As if there’s nothing more to life than sleeping and eating!”

“Oh, right,” said Brutus with a grin. “And nookie, of course.”

“Brutus!”

“What? Maybe Max is right, and all this detective stuff is nothing for us. We’re cats, not humans. So why should we care when they decide to kill each other? Not our business.”

“Then we’ll make it our business,” said Harriet. “The way we’ve always done. You know as well as I do that Odelia and Chase can’t do this alone. They need our help. And so we need to convince Max not to drop the case.”

“And how are we going to do that? If the cat wants to take a break, let him. He deserves it.”

That was true enough. Max had assisted Odelia on so many investigations Dooley had frankly lost count. Maybe he was simply tired after all this time? It was possible. Or maybe he was suffering from something called burnout? He’d seen a documentary about it, and it was pretty bad. Even though people didn’t actually start burning, as he had thought. They kind of burned on the inside. Like an invisible fire. Or something.

“Okay, so you need to make good on your promise,” said Harriet.

“What promise?” asked Brutus.

“That you were going to protect Max from that horrible bird. You know, the cat watch?”

“Oh, that,” said Brutus. “I’m sure that bird won’t show its face here again. Birds are afraid of cats—not the other way around. Knowing that there’s four of us, he’ll stay away. Trust me.”

Brutus seemed very convinced of what he was saying, and Dooley was inclined to believe him. After all, what can one bird do against four cats? It didn’t seem like the odds were in the pigeon’s favor. But as he left the house, suddenly he felt something wet and squishy on top of his head. When he looked up, he saw that the same bird that had pestered Max was perched on the gutter and sneering at him.

“Gotcha in one!” said the bird. “So where’s that fat orange friend of yours? Haven’t seen him for a while.”

“My friend isn’t fat,” said Dooley. “And he’s not orange. He’s blorange.”

“Whatever you say, little buddy.”

Just then, Brutus and Harriet emerged from the pet flap, and when they saw Dooley, they blinked.

“Dooley, what’s that on your head?” asked Brutus.

But he hadn’t even finished formulating the question when bird poo dropped on his head, too, and then also on Harriet.

“Okay, that’s it for now,” said the bird. “I’d better save the rest for that orange fatso. Cheerio!”

And with those words, he flew off!

“Come back here, you menace!” Brutus cried. “Come back here right now!”

“Pookie loo!” Harriet whined. “That bird pooped on me! I’m full of poo!”

“It pooped on me, too, pookie poo,” said Brutus.

“And on me,” Dooley cried.

At that moment, Max came toddling up, looking mighty refreshed. “Hey, you guys! What a wonderful morning, isn’t it? The sun… the air… the birds… What’s that stuff on your heads? Is that…”

“Boo!” Suddenly, a voice yelled overhead, and an entire salvo of poo was launched at Max. It practically drenched the big cat. As the bird flew off, it laughed uproariously. “Gotcha, Max! Got you in one! Ha ha ha!”

Max gave Brutus a sad look. “I thought you were going to put a stop to this bird’s shenanigans?”

“I was,” said Brutus, still looking stunned that he had let his guard down to such an extent. “I mean, I am.” He shook his fist at the bird. “I’ll get you for this, bird!”

“You and whose army?” the bird yelled back and quickly disappeared from view.

That’s the thing about birds, Dooley thought. They don’t play fair. They can fly, so you can never catch them.

CHAPTER 32

Awindow opened upstairs, and Gran’s head poked out. “What happened? You guys look terrible!”

“A bird used us for target practice,” Brutus revealed.

Much to her credit, Gran didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, she said, “Poor sweeties. Don’t try to clean yourselves. Bird poop is full of parasites. Give me a second, and I’ll be right down to do the honors.”

True to her word, it didn’t take more than a few minutes before Gran appeared, a bucket with soapy water in one hand and a sponge in the other.

“Who’s first?” she asked, and I reluctantly volunteered. I mean, do I enjoy being washed with soapy water? Absolutely not. But the thought of licking myself clean and getting a load of bird poop in my system was even less appealing. So I obediently lay down while Gran cleaned off all of the yucky muck. “There you go,” she said as she used a fresh towel to dry my fur. “As good as new. Who’s next?”

One by one, she cleaned the four of us, and to show our gratitude, we didn’t even kick up a fuss but instead told her all about our close encounter with this nasty bird.

“Next time I’ll get out my shotgun,” she promised. “Let’s see him use my cats for target practice then.”

“You wouldn’t do that, would you, Gran?” asked Dooley, who was the last to go through Gran’s ‘cat wash’ service. “You wouldn’t go around shooting birds, would you?”

“I might,” she said. “Though since I don’t have a shotgun, I guess it’ll be kinda hard.”

“You could use a slingshot,” Dooley suggested, to which Gran had to laugh.

“Now there’s an idea. I was pretty good with a slingshot when I was a kid, you know. I once pelted Wilbur with a marshmallow. Got him right on the schnozz.”

“You knew Wilbur as a kid?” asked Dooley, much surprised.

“Of course I knew him. He was in my class at school. And so was Francis. I guess you could say that the neighborhood watch was formed a long time ago.”

“What about Scarlett?” asked Harriet. “How long have you known her?”

“Oh, we go way back,” said Gran. “Not kindergarten. We only met in high school.”

“That’s still a long time ago,” said Brutus.

“I guess time flies when you’re having fun. There,” she said, studying her handiwork. “That should do it. Now don’t let this bird poop on you again, all right?”

“But how can we avoid it?” asked Dooley. “It has a big advantage over us, Gran. It can fly, and we can’t.”

“That’s true,” Gran admitted. She thought for a moment, then seemed to get an idea. “Okay, so a shotgun is out of the question. Tex would never allow it—and neither would the rest of the family. But how about I use the hose on this bird? Wouldn’t that make him think twice?” When we all agreed that it sounded like a neat idea, she nodded. “Next time you see it, just holler, and I’ll come running with my hose. Give him a bird bath.”

Brutus didn’t seem fully on board with the idea, but then he probably felt that, as the leader of the cat watch, he should have been the one to protect us from this flying menace. But needs must, and we all knew that Gran wasn’t the kind of person to formulate idle threats. If she said she was going to rid us of this bird, she would.

“Are you going to try and bring Polly back from the dead again, Gran?” asked Dooley. “Seeing that it didn’t work the first time?”

“I would love to,” said Gran. “But I’m sure they’ve got her body locked up tight. No way are they ever going to allow us anywhere near her again. And also, Madame Velda seems to have done a runner. I’ve been trying to contact her, but she’s not responding to any of my messages. So looks like Polly will stay dead.”

“Too bad,” said Dooley. “Her death made a lot of people very sad.”

He was right. The park was full of those people, who were hanging out there and making it impossible for us to do what we usually do: sing our little hearts out. Then again, maybe it wasn’t bad to take a break from cat choir. We had been doing it for a long time, and lately I was finding it more fulfilling to stay in and watch a movie with my family rather than traipse all over town. Besides, I’ve never been a great singer. Shanille even kicked me out of the choir once because my singing is so bad the other cats get distracted. The only one who absolutely adores cat choir is Harriet, star of the show.

“Gran, can I talk to you for a moment in private?” asked Dooley now.

We all looked up at this, and so did Gran.

“Sure thing, little buddy.” And so she and Dooley walked off to have a little chat in private.

“What’s going on?” asked Harriet. “What does he want to talk about with Gran?”

Brutus shrugged. “Beats me.” But then he and Harriet shared a look of understanding, and suddenly I had a feeling they knew exactly what Dooley wanted to discuss with Gran. Not that I minded. Dooley often worries. He’s a big worrywart, after all, and if Gran could put his mind at ease about something that was troubling him, I was all for it.

I glanced over in the direction of the opening in the hedge and saw that Odelia was on her way over. I sighed. The last thing I needed was to be dragged into another investigation.

“You guys, Uncle Alec wants a word with us in his office,” she announced. “Are you game?”

As she said this, she looked at me, as I knew she would. For some reason, she has this idea that I’m some kind of master sleuth. But I’m not. I’m just a cat who sometimes gets an idea about how a case might be resolved. And more often than not, my hunches have panned out. But that doesn’t mean I want to keep doing it for the rest of my life. Like I said, if my future consisted of nothing but eating and napping from now on, that’d be great.

But Odelia didn’t look as if she was prepared to take no for an answer, so I reluctantly followed her next door. I was dragging my paws, because her uncle had specifically told her that he didn’t want me anywhere near his investigation this time. He was probably right. He is a trained cop and I’m just a cat. So what had made him change his mind?

“What does Uncle Alec want to see us about?” I asked therefore. I felt duty-bound to help Odelia as much as I could, even though my assistance wasn’t valued by her uncle.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “But I think it’s got something to do with the death of that cleaning lady last night.”

“She fell in while she was having a smoke, right?”

“That’s what I thought. But maybe something has come up that points to a different explanation.” She gave me a look of concern. “Are you all right, Max? You look a little peaky.”

“Oh, I’m fine. We just got pooped on by a bird, and Gran had to clean us with water and soap. But we’re all clean again now, so it’s all good.”

She didn’t look convinced but refrained from asking any follow-up questions. Knowing her, she would get back to it, though. When she’s concerned about her cats, she’s like a dog with a bone: she never lets go.

Behind me, Harriet and Brutus also came hurrying up, with Dooley bringing up the rear. When he fell into step next to me, I asked, “So, has Gran been able to put your mind at ease, buddy?”

“She has,” said my friend. “Very much so.”

“Good,” I said.

He gave me an odd look. “Don’t you want to know what we talked about?”

Probably something he saw on television. “Sure.”

“We talked about you, Max.”

“Me!”

“We’re worried about you.”

I stared at him. “But… there’s nothing to be worried about.”

“There is,” he said. “You’re listless, Max.”

“Listless!”

“You’re not even interested in solving cases anymore.”

I sighed. He was right, of course. “Look, buddy. It’s not natural for a cat to involve himself in this kind of stuff. You can see that, right? I mean, we’ve been doing this for so long now that you might be confused into thinking it’s the most natural thing in the world. But it just isn’t.”

“But you’re so good at it, Max. You’re a natural.”

“That’s just the thing. I’m not. I’m just a cat, and I think it’s about time that I start behaving like a cat again. You know, eating and sleeping and enjoying myself.”

“But you are enjoying yourself when you solve a case.”

“Dooley is right, Max,” said Brutus. “You’re at your best when you’re involved in a case and trying to find the solution.”

“I very much doubt that, Brutus,” I said.

“But you are, Max,” Harriet insisted.

I rolled my eyes. “Not you, too.”

“Look, just like I’m a natural entertainer and superstar, you’re a natural detective,” said Harriet. And when I made a scoffing sound, she doubled down. “This is what you were born to do, Max. And you can’t give up.”

“What made you give up, Max?” asked Brutus.

“I haven’t given up! I just… don’t want to do it anymore.” I shrugged. “I guess I want to retire.”

They all stared at me, and even Odelia, who had been walking ahead of us and must have been listening in, turned around and gave me a look of shock and surprise.

“You want to retire as a detective?” she asked.

I thought about this for a moment, but then I smiled.

Retirement sounded pretty good.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

CHAPTER 33

My friends had left, and so had Odelia. In fact, the house was pretty quiet, and that’s the way I liked it. Peace and quiet. Plenty of food in my bowl. Fresh pine pellets in my litter box. The couch all to myself. I mean, what’s not to like? This was a cat’s paradise. Now if only that bird didn’t show its ugly face again, this was going to be a great day. And most importantly: no murderers to catch!

Look, it’s not the investigative stuff that I had come to dislike. I still enjoyed a good puzzle to solve. But it was the lack of appreciation that didn’t sit well with me. Now, I know there’s this notion that whatever you do, you shouldn’t do it for the sake of getting a pat on the back, but for the intrinsic pleasure of doing the thing. But let’s not kid ourselves. When you’re constantly being criticized by the likes of Uncle Alec, it takes the fun out of it.

And so I didn’t want to do it anymore.

Retired. I was retired. I rolled the word around on my tongue. It sounded pretty great. Never having to look at Uncle Alec’s face again, frowning that disapproving frown he gets whenever he learns of my involvement in one of his cases. From now on, he’d have to solve all of his own cases without any involvement whatsoever from me. I was sure he’d be much happier that way. I know I was. Super happy.

After I had been lying on the deck for about ten minutes, I found my mind returning to the case, though. I guess it was going to take some time before my brain had adapted to my new way of life: the life of a retired cat detective.

I wondered what the big news was that Uncle Alec felt he needed to share. So important he even asked Odelia to bring me along—probably a first for the police chief.

All I knew was that it had something to do with that cleaning lady who was found last night—who we had found last night. And as I closed my eyes, figuring I might as well take a nice long nap now, I heard the sound of flapping wings, and when I opened my eyes again, I found myself staring straight at that annoying bird—the pooper.

“God,” I said.

“Happy to see you too, Max,” said the bird.

“Will you just get lost?” I said. “Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

The bird looked disappointed. “And here I thought you had more spunk, you know. I mean, is that any way for the greatest cat detective that ever lived to respond to his tormentor? ‘Get lost?’ Where’s your fighting spirit, Max?”

“What do you want from me, bird?”

“Zeke,” said the bird. “The name is Zeke.”

“Well, get lost, Zeke. Go and harass some other target.”

“God, you’re really letting the side down, aren’t you, Max?” the bird said. “When I heard about you, I figured you’d make the perfect foil. The perfect nemesis. And instead, you’re just another wimp. Well, boo, Max. Boo!”

“Boo you, too,” I murmured, closing my eyes again.

“I mean, Sherlock had Moriarty. But what do I have? A giver-upper?”

“What’s a giver-upper?” I asked.

“I just came up with that term. Pretty neat, huh? A giver-upper is someone who gives up at the first hurdle.”

“Whatever,” I said, waving my paw. “Now go away.”

“I figured you’d fight me, you know,” the bird said, not giving up so easily. “To the death!”

I gave him a weak smile. “Then I guess you got the wrong cat. I don’t fight birds to the death.”

“No, I guess you don’t, you weakling.” He waited to see if he could get a rise out of me, but when I didn’t take the bait, he sighed deeply and stepped up to me. “Look, Max. Maybe you should see a shrink or something. You don’t look so hot. And you definitely don’t look like an ace detective. For one thing, your eyes don’t sparkle with the light of pure intelligence.”

“I’m retired,” I explained. “So my sparkling days are over.”

“Didn’t you get the memo? A true detective never retires. He keeps fighting the good fight. The fight for justice. So if you really are retired, as you say, that tells me that you were never a true detective to begin with. You were just a big, fat orange fake.”

I frowned at the bird. Of all the slings and arrows he had been throwing my way, this one hit home. “Like I told you before, I’m not fat. I’m big-boned. It runs in the family. And I’m not orange. I’m blorange.”

“Of course you are,” said the bird indulgently. He eyed me closely, then seemed to resign himself to the fact that I wasn’t going to try and fight him or chase him around the backyard. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll leave you in peace from now on. Pity. I thought we were going to have fun.”

“We are having fun,” I said.

He laughed. “You call this fun?”

“Sure. We’re shooting the breeze, aren’t we? Doing some verbal sparring?”

“I guess so,” he said, but he didn’t look convinced. Clearly, he was more of an action bird than a cerebral one.

“Look, I’ve solved so many cases in my time,” I told Zeke. “And frankly, I’m a little tired. Especially since there’s this cop who keeps giving me a hard time. Every time I get involved in a case, he starts moaning and complaining that cats are taking over his investigation and how disgraceful that is to him as a professional.”

The bird stared at me. “And you’re letting this guy get under your skin? Sounds to me like he’s just jealous.”

“I don’t think he’s jealous. More that he feels it’s not appropriate for pets to get involved in his cases.”

“Then he’s an idiot,” said Zeke, not mincing words. He took up a spot next to me. “A real detective wouldn’t mind, you know, Max. In fact, it would give him fuel.”

“Fuel?”

“Sure! Every great detective encounters a terrible police officer who doesn’t fully appreciate his extraordinary talents. Sherlock Holmes had Lestrade. Poirot had Japp. And every cop show ever has a chief with a short fuse who gives his detectives hell. It’s practically a requirement—a cliché! So count yourself lucky, buddy.”

I stared at the bird. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“Like I said, use this clown’s reaction as fuel, Max. Prove to him that he’s wrong and you’re right.” He cocked his head. “I can’t believe I’m acting as your shrink now.”

“You would have made a great shrink, Zeke.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. But I know cats. I know what makes you tick. And that’s because you’re my mortal enemy, so I’ve made it my business to know you inside and out. So are you going to take me seriously from now on and be my perfect nemesis?”

“I’m sorry, Zeke, but even before I retired, I never chased birds or tried to catch them. I appreciate you guys too much.”

“Can’t you make one exception?”

I cocked a whisker at him. “Well…”

And so it was that I found myself chasing Zeke around the backyard, with him flying off every time I came too close, and me doing my utmost to try and catch him. Once, I did catch him, but of course I let him go immediately and even asked him if he was all right. Zeke assured me he was made of sterner stuff and that I shouldn’t be such a softie.

And not even once did he poop on my head.

I guess you might call that progress.

CHAPTER 34

“I’m worried about Max, Odelia,” Dooley said in the car. They were en route to the police station, and he couldn’t help but think about his best friend—all alone back home with no one to talk to and probably bored out of his mind.

“Yeah, I’m also worried,” said Brutus. “It’s not like Max to talk retirement. He’s too young to retire.”

“He’s probably just tired,” said Harriet. “He has been doing this for a long time. And last night’s events probably took a lot out of him.”

“I’ll talk to him when we get back,” Odelia promised. “And I’ll get to the bottom of what is really troubling him.”

She parked in her designated spot in front of the police station, and moments later they were walking into the vestibule. Dolores Peltz gave them a wave, and Dooley gave her a smile in return. He wasn’t sure if she caught it, though—it’s hard to notice when a cat is smiling. But he hoped she caught his intention.

When they arrived in Odelia’s uncle’s office, the chief swung the door wide and didn’t even seem annoyed to see her cats the way he often was. His face fell. “Where is Max?”

“He didn’t want to come,” said Odelia. “He says he’s retired.”

“Retired! But he can’t retire! We need him!”

Odelia gave her uncle a strange look. “I thought you said that you didn’t like the cats’ involvement in these cases?”

“I don’t, but this case is particularly important—not to mention extremely sensitive.” He closed the door and took a seat behind his desk. “Remember when I told you and Chase that you had forty-eight hours before the state police would take over? I wasn’t lying. Only now it’s looking more and more likely that the FBI will get involved instead of the state police.”

Dooley knew how much Uncle Alec disliked the FBI taking over his cases, since they usually ended up sidelining the entire local police department.

“Look, I’ll be blunt,” said Odelia’s uncle. “If we don’t solve this case real soon, we’re all in a world of trouble. Not only will the feds take over, but we might all lose our jobs.”

“Lose our jobs? But why?” asked Odelia.

“Charlene tells me that the attention this case is getting is out of this world. It’s all people can talk about. Polly was one of the biggest stars in the country, and all eyes are on Hampton Cove right now. The press is flocking here, and we’re featured on every major national network and plenty of local ones as well. And all of them are calling me incompetent and a joke as a police chief. So if we don’t start getting some results soon, that’s it for me. They’ll kick me out, and the same goes for Chase.”

“We can’t let that happen, Uncle Alec. We need to find out what’s going on.”

“There’s been a development,” said her uncle. “That lady we found dead last night?”

“The cleaner?” asked Odelia.

“Turns out she wasn’t a cleaner at all. She was Polly and Jackie’s mom Karin Conway.”

Odelia gaped at her uncle. “Their mom!”

“Yep. Turns out she used a false name and changed her appearance so she could be hired as a cleaner. Chase already talked to Jackie Parker, and she says she had absolutely no idea that her mom was staying at the hotel.”

“She was staying at the hotel?”

“Yeah, that’s another big surprise she’s dropped on us. You remember there’s a floor where a couple of rooms are being renovated? Well, turns out Karin Conway had been squatting there. Probably so she could keep an eye on her daughters. We found her stuff in one of the rooms. That’s why there were all those noise complaints on that floor. The staff figured the complaining guest was imagining things, but it must have been Karin.”

“That’s why we couldn’t reach her.”

“Yeah, she was here all along, right under our noses.”

“And now she’s dead. That can’t be a coincidence, Uncle Alec.”

“You’re right. Abe tells me she didn’t die from injuries sustained in the fall. She was hit over the head, possibly with a hammer. Abe claims that’s what killed her, not the fall into the pool. If it had just been the fall, she probably would have survived, as the pool isn’t that deep at that point. But the blow to the head cracked her skull wide open.”

“But I thought he said it was an accident?”

“He had a closer look this morning, and the wound that killed her couldn’t have come from the fall. It could only have been caused by something like a hammer.”

“So… she was murdered—just like her daughter.”

The chief wrung his hands. “Now do you see why we need Max? I need him to perform some of his magic for me. Otherwise…” He gestured at his office. “This is all gone. I’ll be gone—and so will Chase, and plenty of other people. It’ll be a clean sweep.”

“Can’t Charlene protect you?”

“Can’t you see? She’ll be gone as well!”

It was definitely something to be worried about, and since Dooley was a natural worrier—or at least that’s what Max always said—he did a lot of that. Especially since Max had officially retired and wasn’t going to reconsider. He could be stubborn that way.

“What about us?” asked Brutus. “We can run this investigation just as well as Max can, right?”

Odelia gave the black cat a look that spoke volumes, and Brutus quickly piped down. There was only one ace detective among the four of them, and that was Max.

“Why did he retire?” asked Uncle Alec. “I mean, I don’t begrudge him wanting to take it easy. But why now, when we need him the most?”

Odelia shook her head. “I don’t know, Uncle Alec.”

“Oh, I know why he doesn’t want to be a detective anymore,” said Dooley, glad there was at least one mystery he could solve. “He was unhappy that Uncle Alec said he couldn’t be part of this case. And also, a bird pooped on him and he didn’t like it.”

Odelia seemed surprised by this but relayed Dooley’s words to her uncle. The police chief’s brows rose. “No, really? Is that why he doesn’t want to do this anymore?”

“I think you probably owe him an apology,” said Odelia. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” said Uncle Alec. “I mean, it’s true that I’ve often complained about Max practically taking over my cases—but in the end, I’m always grateful. It doesn’t matter who solves a case, as long as it gets solved. And this precinct’s clearance rate has always been second to none—and that’s all due to Max’s genius.”

“Max’s genius?” asked Brutus. “Wow, he’s singing a different tune now, isn’t he?”

“He sure is,” said Harriet, tapping Odelia’s leg. “He should tell that to Max. Then maybe he might reconsider.”

“Harriet is right,” said Odelia.

“About what?” asked Uncle Alec.

“You need to tell Max how much you appreciate what he’s done for this town. Then maybe he’ll change his mind about taking early retirement.”

Uncle Alec placed his hands flat on the desk, then pushed himself up out of his chair with a resolute look on his face. “Where is he? Home? Let’s go there right now. I’ll grovel, I’ll beg—anything to get that cat of yours back in the game.”

CHAPTER 35

Fooling around in the backyard with Zeke had tired me out, and I was resting peacefully on the deck, with Zeke asleep in the top of a nearby tree, when my slumber was rudely interrupted by the arrival of Uncle Alec. He was accompanied by Odelia and my three friends.

For some reason, Uncle Alec had folded his hands and was giving me a pleading look.

I had been thinking about what Zeke had told me: that it is good to have a natural foil. That a nemesis can drive you on and provide fuel. That’s why he had sought me out, because he knew how much fun we would have together. And that’s why he had tried to provoke me. He was probably right. We did end up having a lot of fun.

So maybe I needed to see Uncle Alec as my natural foil? My nemesis, whose comments spurred me on to accomplish ever greater things? It certainly was a different way to think about things than I usually did. I always felt that when I did something, I needed to be rewarded. That Odelia should give me compliments and some tasty treats and Uncle Alec should pat me on the back and tell me how great I was.

And now there he was, giving me a strange look.

“Max,” he said in a strangled voice. “Max, please forgive me.”

Zeke must have noticed that something was going down and had flown down from the tree to take up position on a nearby garden chair. “What’s happening, Max? Who is this clown?”

“This is Odelia’s uncle. The one who always says I shouldn’t interfere in his investigations.”

Zeke’s eyes flashed. “So he’s your nemesis?”

“Yeah, I guess so. My archenemy. My foil.”

“Use his nasty comments as fuel, Max. Just like I taught you. Take it in and transform it into energy!”

“Max,” said Uncle Alec. “Please don’t give up being a sleuth. You’re the best detective on my team. I can’t do this without you. I know I haven’t always been kind to you in the past. In fact I’ve been downright critical, but know this: I appreciate you.”

“Huh?” I said.

“Huh?” said Zeke.

“I appreciate everything you have done for this town. I think you’re probably the greatest detective I’ve ever worked with. The way you find your guy every time is just… I’ve never seen anything like it in all of my years on the force.”

“He doesn’t sound like your biggest enemy, Max,” said Zeke. “More like your biggest fan.” He frowned. “Tough to turn his ridicule into fuel when all he’s giving you are a bunch of compliments. Or is he making fun of you? You know, being satirical and stuff?”

“No, I think he’s for real,” I said.

“What my uncle is trying to say, Max,” Odelia said, “is that he was wrong to criticize you or your involvement in his cases. And he would very much like you to reconsider taking early retirement. The case we’re dealing with right now is complex and challenging. And if we don’t get to the bottom of it very soon, we’re all going to lose our jobs. Uncle Alec, Chase—maybe even me.”

“Well, not you,” said Harriet. “A good reporter never loses her job—and definitely not when she’s the last person who talked to the murder victim.”

“Okay, so maybe not me,” Odelia admitted. “But Chase might lose his job, and also Uncle Alec and Charlene.”

“The bottom line,” said Brutus, “is that Uncle Alec is sorry for taking you for granted, Max. And he wants you to solve this case for him. Basically, he needs you.”

He was right, for Uncle Alec was now on his knees. “Max, I’m begging you!” he said. “Please don’t retire! Help me! Help me, little buddy! I need you—we all need you!”

“Well…” I said, feeling a little confused. I glanced over to Zeke. “I don’t think he’s messing with me, Zeke.”

“No, he looks sincere,” said the bird. Then he shrugged. “I guess you can turn admiration into fuel as well. I mean, plenty of politicians thrive on admiration, and so do sports stars, singers, and actors. The more admiration they get, the better they perform. So maybe you can take a leaf from their page?”

Just then, there was a sort of howl that seemed to come from over to my right. When I looked up, I saw that it was Gran. She was clutching the garden hose and was yelling something. It sounded a lot like “Duck!”

And so I ducked, Zeke flew off, and Odelia, Harriet, Brutus, and Dooley also ducked. The only one who didn’t duck was Uncle Alec, and so when Gran pointed the business end of the hose in our direction, he was the only one who was hit by the spray that emanated from the nozzle. It was so powerful that it knocked him sideways, and as the cold water hit him, he screamed so loud the entire block must have heard.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Stop that!”

Gran took just a moment too long to stop spraying her son with the icy water. She then squinted at us. “Where’s that damn bird? Did I get him?”

“No, you didn’t get him,” I said.

“But you got Uncle Alec,” said Brutus.

Uncle Alec, who was soaking wet, managed to crawl to his feet again. “What did you do that for?!” he cried.

“I thought you were a bird,” said Gran, adjusting her glasses.

“Do I look like a bird to you?”

“Yeah, a very strange one,” she said with a grin.

We all laughed at that, and even Odelia couldn’t suppress a big, wide grin. The only one who wasn’t laughing was Uncle Alec. Since I felt for the man, I finally walked up to him and held up my paw.

He stared at it. “What…”

“I’ll take the job,” I said.

Odelia translated my words, and a big smile transformed her uncle’s features.

And so he took my paw and shook it.

“The game is afoot, Max!” Zeke yelled.

And wasn’t it just?

CHAPTER 36

Odelia was glad that Max had decided to get back on board. She hadn’t appreciated how annoying it must have been for him to be faced with her uncle’s comments and criticisms and general lack of appreciation. This proved something she had always known: that her cats were very sensitive creatures and didn’t enjoy being subjected to disparagement. Uncle Alec also understood this now, and hopefully would treat them with the respect they were owed—especially Max, with his unique set of skills.

They were back at the Star Hotel to check the room where Reyna Gravity had been staying—or Karin Conway, as her real name turned out to be. The crime scene people had checked for fingerprints and DNA, and hopefully that would yield some kind of clue as to the woman’s attacker. A murder weapon hadn’t been found at the scene, and it was unlikely that it would be found, as this killer was clearly a very cunning individual.

“Do you think the two cases are connected?” asked Chase as they went through Karin’s personal items.

“It seems likely,” she said as she picked up a brassiere that looked very expensive. All of the woman’s clothes were of the best and finest quality that money could buy. Clearly she had been living in the lap of luxury until she fell out with her daughters. Though possibly she was still the beneficiary of some of Polly’s royalties in a roundabout way.

“Yeah, I agree,” said Chase. “For a mother and daughter to be murdered within a day of each other and for their bodies to be found in the exact same place—that’s too much of a coincidence. But why? Why murder Polly’s mom?”

“Maybe she saw something?” Odelia suggested. “She was living at the same hotel as her daughters, spying on them. So maybe she caught the killer and had to be silenced?”

“If she saw the killer, she could have come to us.”

That was something that puzzled Odelia. Why hadn’t the woman revealed herself as Polly’s mom after her daughter’s death? She could understand why she wanted to hide her presence from the two girls, in light of the restraining order they had filed against her. But after Polly died, she could have approached Jackie. She was still her mother, after all. Unless the rift was so irrevocable that even after such a tragedy had befallen the family, Jackie still wouldn’t have forgiven her mom.

The four cats were traversing the room, but as far as she could tell, the contents of Karin Conway’s personal possessions wouldn’t yield a lot of clues as to her killer.

They had already asked for any CCTV so they could form a picture of the woman’s final moments. Unfortunately, the staircase that the staff used, as well as the elevator, didn’t have cameras, and so Karin had been able to come and go without being detected by the hotel’s security system.

Somehow she had decided to head down to the pool area, where she had met her killer. But why? Just for a smoke, as Chase had surmised? They had found a pack of cigarettes on the woman, but why would she go down to the place where her daughter had died? Unless she wanted to check something out down there?

Jackie now entered the room and glanced around. “So this is where my mother spent her final days,” she said. She looked sad, Odelia thought. Maybe she regretted the rift. “And to think we must have crossed paths and I didn’t even recognize her.”

“She wore a disguise,” Chase explained. “A wig and lots of makeup. And she would have made sure that she never came face to face with you or your sister.”

“It’s so sad,” said Jackie, and Odelia saw that tears had formed in the young woman’s eyes. “If only she hadn’t gone off the rails, Polly and I would never have been forced to cut her out of our lives.”

“What do you think she was doing here?” asked Odelia.

Jackie lifted a hand. “I’m not sure. Maybe she wanted to be close to us? Or maybe she had some kind of plan.”

“What plan?”

“I have no idea. Just that Mom was a schemer. She was always thinking up ways and means of getting what she wanted. She could be extremely manipulative. So maybe this was another one of her schemes? Though I could have told her that it wasn’t going to work this time. Polly and I were done with her. And we weren’t going to change our minds about that. She’d gone too far.”

Odelia noticed that the woman had a bandage on her neck. “Did you hurt yourself?” she asked.

Jackie gave her a faint smile. “Just a minor surgical procedure. A lesion that had to be removed. The date had already been set, and I didn’t want to change it as it can take months to see this doctor. He’s one of the best.”

She pressed a hand to her throat and winced a little. “Okay, I’ll just leave you to it. When you’re done, let me know. The hotel has asked me to take care of Mom’s stuff.”

“What do you plan to do with all of this?”

“Oh, I’ll just have it shipped back to the house. I’m putting it on the market, along with all of its contents. I don’t want to have anything to do with the woman.”

And then she turned on her heel.

“Harsh,” was Chase’s comment.

“Yeah, she must have hurt them really badly,” said Odelia. “For the two sisters to be so determined not to have their mother in their lives anymore.”

“Karin probably knew that this was the only way she could still be close to her daughters. That’s why she was staying under an assumed name.” He held up a passport. “She even had a fake passport as Reyna Gravity. And a fake resume and references.”

“She went to a lot of trouble to stay in touch.”

She noticed now that Max was studying a magazine. When she joined him, she saw that it was a copy of People Magazine that featured Polly and Jackie on the cover. They’d done a piece on the relationship between the two sisters—one the star, one the person behind the scenes.

“Something interesting?” she asked.

Max looked up at her, and he had a glint in his eye that she recognized all too well.

“You found something, haven’t you?” she asked.

He nodded. “You’re not going to like it.”

She sighed and sank down next to him.

“Try me.”

CHAPTER 37

“You can’t be serious!” Jackie cried.

The person she was talking to at the morgue had just told her that she wouldn’t be able to take her sister home for another two weeks.

“Look, all I want is to bury her,” she said.

“You will be able to bury her soon, Miss Parker,” said the person. Even though they tried to fob her off with some lowly office drone, she had insisted on talking to the medical examiner himself, a man named Abe Cornwall. He was the one insisting that they needed to do further tests on her sister’s body.

“What tests? I don’t understand!”

“Just… tests,” the man said, quite infuriatingly.

She disconnected the call and silently fumed for a few moments. She wanted to bury her sister in LA. But as long as the police weren’t releasing her body, she couldn’t go home. She was forced to stick around at the hotel until the investigation was done. She had a feeling that it would never be done. These local yokels were obviously dragging their feet and trying to make this as hard and painful for her as possible.

The general opinion amongst Polly’s fans was that the cops in Hampton Cove were incompetent. There was talk of the FBI taking over the investigation. She had talked to the investigators, and they hadn’t struck her as incompetent. They even told her that they had arrested a man. He had tried to steal Polly’s body from the morgue and stuff it.

When that detective, Chase, told her the story, she thought she was going to be sick. Stuff a body and put it in a shrine! That was just sick and proof of how far these so-called fans were willing to go.

She grabbed her bag and walked out of the suite. Even though she had been staying there with her sister, and some people had told her that she probably should request a different suite, quite frankly she couldn’t be bothered. Especially as she had no intention of sticking around longer than she had to. This hotel had turned into a prison, with fans organizing some kind of vigil outside. Most of them had been relocated to the park, but some were persistent and refused to leave. They were on the sidewalk, where a mountain of flowers had appeared. Candles were everywhere, along with drawings and plush doves that were left by the fans as presents—the kind that Polly loved. People were singing Polly’s songs all day long and all night. It was enough to drive anyone crazy.

She stepped out of the hotel, her sunglasses on and her hoodie drawn deep over her face. In her baggy jeans and with her extra-wide sweater, she wouldn’t be recognized. Not even by the most fervent Polly fans.

She walked the couple of blocks to the clinic where she’d had her procedure and stepped in off the street without an appointment. She walked right up to the desk and took off her sunglasses and lowered the hoodie. “Hi. I had a small procedure here last night.” She gestured to the bandage on her neck. “But it’s very itchy and hurts a little. So I was wondering if maybe the doctor could take a look for me?”

The last thing she needed was for the wound to become infected. She’d heard stories about a wound getting so bad flaps of skin started to come loose. She didn’t need a scar.

“Please take a seat,” said the receptionist. “I’ll tell the doctor that you’re here.”

She did as she was told and picked up a copy of Cosmopolitan that was lying on the table. There was a feature article about plastic surgery gone wrong, and she read it with fascination. She shivered and put it down again. Probably the last thing she needed was to read horror stories about botched procedures. Lucky for her, she had picked the absolute best plastic surgeon. As she selected a different magazine, suddenly that Detective Kingsley walked into the clinic and approached the desk.

She strained her ears to listen to what he had to say and was horrified when she heard her name being mentioned.

What the heck?

It didn’t take long before the detective was being led into the inner office. Jackie had put her hoodie back up and lowered her head, hoping not to be recognized. Once the cop was gone, she quickly got up and headed for the exit.

The receptionist yelled something, but she was already pulling the door closed.

She hurried back to the hotel and slipped inside past the vigil. As she did, a light flashed, and when she looked up, she saw that a reporter had snapped her picture.

The vultures were out in full force, as more reporters now came hurrying up to her, like some kind of zombie horde, pressing cameras and microphones in her face.

She waved her arms, refusing to make a comment, and hurried into the hotel, where hopefully she would be safe.

As she rode the elevator up to her suite, her mind was racing. What did Detective Kingsley want at the clinic? Why did he want to speak to the doctor? Could it be…

Not willing to take any chances, the moment she entered her room, she started packing her bags. Normally she had people for something mundane like this—assistants up the wazoo. But after Polly’s death, she had decided to fire them all. Maybe she shouldn’t have done that. Maybe she should have hung on to at least the security people. But she couldn’t wait to get rid of the circus, and so she had.

As she was packing up as quickly as she could, suddenly there was a discreet knock on the door.

“Who is it!” she yelled.

“Detective Kingsley, Miss Parker.”

She froze and glanced at the balcony. Was there a fire escape? Could she jump from this balcony to the next? Make her way down to the street somehow?

She hurried over to check.

“Miss Parker? Can you open the door, please?”

No fire escape. She opened the window and poked her head out. No way to jump from this balcony to the next, unless she wanted to risk breaking her neck.

Resigned, she returned inside, where the knocking had grown more persistent.

“One moment!” she yelled. “Let me put something on!”

The pounding stopped, and she looked around, trying to get her nerves under control. She took a deep, steadying breath and opened the door.

It was the same cop who was at the clinic. He was accompanied by that woman—Odelia, the reporter who moonlighted as a consultant for her uncle, the police chief.

“Yes?” she said. “Is there any news?”

“May we come in for a moment?” asked the detective.

She saw that Odelia’s cats were also present, patiently waiting on her doorstep. Christ. What was this? A zoo?

“Yes, of course,” she said, stepping aside to let the congregation in. No wonder these cops couldn’t crack the case. They were so inept it beggared belief. She wouldn’t be surprised if they owned a pig farm and this police business was just a side hustle.

She took a seat on the bed, hoping to project a sense of calm and peace, even though inside she was a ball of nerves.

“That procedure you had, Miss Parker,” said the detective, gesturing to her neck. “What was that for?”

She remembered that this guy had talked to her doctor. Good thing that doctors weren’t required to give personal information to the cops. Doctor-patient privilege. She had even asked Doctor Mira about that.

So it was with a certain measure of confidence that she said, “Like I told your wife, just a small lesion that I had removed. A minor thing.”

The cop’s eyebrows shot up. “Doctor Mira told me a different story.”

“He did?”

No way!

“He told me that you had a birthmark removed. A very distinctive birthmark. He even showed me pictures.”

The wretch!

“I don’t believe you.” She gave him a smile. “In this country, there’s something called doctor-patient privilege, detective. So Doctor Mira is not required to tell you anything.”

The detective mirrored her smile. “This is Hampton Cove, Miss Parker. We do things differently. And as it happens, Doctor Mira is a close personal friend of my father-in-law, who’s also a doctor.”

“I see.” She blinks. “So what did Doctor Mira tell you?”

“That your birthmark was shaped like a dove.”

“Huh. Is that so?”

The detective was smiling again, but it wasn’t a kind smile. More like the smile of a hunter who has managed to corner his prey.

“So, is there something you would like to tell me about that birthmark… Polly?”

She closed her eyes.

Looked like it was game over.

CHAPTER 38

We were watching through the one-way mirror as Chase and Odelia took a seat across from Polly in the interview room. The pop star didn’t look so hot now that she had been caught. In fact, she looked downright dejected. I guess when you realize you’re going to prison for a very long time, the prospect is pretty scary.

“Okay, so tell us what happened, Miss Parker,” said Chase as he placed a file on the table in front of him. The file contained pictures provided by the plastic surgeon—before and after shots of Polly’s famous birthmark. “Why did you kill your sister?”

Polly shrugged. “I think you probably know the answer. You seem to know everything else. So why don’t you tell me?”

“I think you were tired of life in the fast lane,” said Odelia, “and you wanted out. But you didn’t want to lose all the perks that come with the job—only the disadvantages, like never being able to go anywhere without being followed or having your picture taken.”

“Go on,” said the pop star. “You’re doing great.”

“You could have retired and led a quiet life on a farm in one of the Dakota’s or Montana, but you knew that after a while your star would start to wane and the royalties from your albums would dry up and dwindle down to nothing. You needed to keep the dream alive. The legend that was Polly. And the best way to do that was to… well, to die.”

“Dead artists are the best,” said Polly with a lopsided smile. “Their albums keep getting reissued, and their work stays relevant. It’s only living artists who fade away until everyone has forgotten about them. The dead ones continue to flourish and thrive. So I had to die—but in such a way that I wouldn’t have to hide away for the rest of my life.”

“And what better way to do it than to substitute your sister for yourself? Kill her and pass her off as Polly.”

“Well, it worked,” said the star with a shrug. “Me and Jackie have always looked very much alike, except she wore those unsightly glasses and resembled a junior accountant more than a star. So all I had to do was dress like her, wear the same glasses⁠—”

“And get rid of that very famous birthmark.”

“That’s right,” said Polly, jutting out her chin. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“You and your sister hadn’t seen eye to eye for a while, had you?”

Polly sighed. “Jackie didn’t have a life. At some point, she decided she was going to devote herself to my success and my career, and that was starting to really annoy me. She was always following me around and trying to manage my life. If I thought Mom was bad, Jackie was even worse. She wouldn’t let me go anywhere, didn’t want me to date, and kept me on a very short leash. Frankly, I was sick and tired of the whole thing. And so when the plan occurred to me, it was too good not to go through with it—especially if it involved getting rid of that meddling sister of mine once and for all.”

“And your mother as well,” said Chase.

Polly blinked. “Yeah, I guess that was a nice bonus.”

“She was the only one who could recognize you,” said Odelia. “Even with the disguise.”

“She’s my mother. She would always be able to tell me and Jackie apart. Not like those so-called fans,” she scoffed. “They think they know me, but they don’t.”

“When did you become aware that your mother was staying at the hotel?” asked Chase.

“I’d seen her around. She thought she was oh-so-clever, but even Jackie had recognized her. We used to make fun of her—make a mess in the suite and then asked her to clean it up. It was our way to pay her back for what she did to us. She had it coming.”

“Did she know what was going on?” asked Odelia. “Is that why you killed her?”

“I think she had her doubts,” said the pop star. “I simply couldn’t risk it. So I asked her to meet me in the pool area. When we finally were face to face, she immediately recognized me and accused me of killing my sister. And so I hit her over the head with a hammer that I found lying around. Then I shoved her into the pool.”

“What did you do with the hammer?”

“I threw it in a sewer grate in the back alley.”

“She’s showing absolutely no signs of remorse, Max,” said Dooley. “Is she a psychopath, you think?”

“That might very well be the case, Dooley,” I said. He was right. The girl was showing absolutely no remorse for having killed her sister and her mother.

“You have to understand that both my mother and my sister would never have allowed me to retire from the music business,” said Polly. “They were both so invested in my career that the thought of me voluntarily stepping out of the limelight was simply unthinkable. Jackie would never have allowed it, and neither would Mom. I wouldn’t have had a moment’s peace with them in my life. They were riding the gravy train and wouldn’t let me get off. Not in a million years. And so they both had to go.”

“Those entries in your diary,” said Odelia, placing the diary on the table. “About a man stalking you and you being afraid of him. What was that all about?”

“There was no man,” said Polly. “I made that all up to convince you that someone out there wanted to hurt me. Though you could say that there was something trying to harm me.” She gestured to herself. “Polly. The monster that I had created and that I had allowed to run my life. So I killed her, and now I’m free.”

“You took that picture of Jackie’s body and posted it online, didn’t you?” said Chase.

“Of course I did. A dead celebrity is great for business, but only if you satisfy people’s taste for the ghoulish and the macabre. Sales of my backlist have shot through the roof.”

“Those threatening messages on your phone,” said Chase. “Who sent those to you?”

“I sent them,” said Polly. She smirked at the look of confusion on Chase’s face. “It wasn’t difficult. All I had to do was buy an unregistered phone and send a few messages to myself. I figured they would come in handy once my body had been discovered.”

“When your sister’s body had been discovered,” Odelia corrected her.

Polly mused on this for a moment. “I guess you could say that Jackie really was like an extension of me. She had no life of her own after she decided to devote herself to my career, attaching herself to me like some kind of parasitic limpet. So, in a sense, she had given me permission to do with her as I pleased. Placed her life in my hands.”

“Your sister did everything for you,” said Chase, getting a little worked up. “And you rewarded her by murdering her.”

“She made the ultimate sacrifice,” said Polly thoughtfully. “Gave her own life so I could have one.” She gave the detective an innocent look. “I think she would have approved wholeheartedly, don’t you?”

CHAPTER 39

The interrogation of Polly had finished, and I think it’s safe to say that we all felt a little shocked at the outcome. So as we walked out of the police station, en route to pay our friend Kingman a visit and update him on Polly’s arrest, for a few moments none of us spoke, too dazed to initiate a conversation about what we had just witnessed.

Dooley was the first to speak. “So… the person we tried to re-animate last night, that wasn’t Polly?”

“No, that was Jackie,” said Brutus. “Polly is in jail, Dooley. She’s alive and well and is in jail right now.”

“But… how come nobody noticed that the dead Polly… wasn’t the dead Polly?”

“I guess because they look so similar?” said Harriet.

“It didn’t help that Polly was the one who identified her sister,” I said. “I mean, she formally identified Jackie as Polly, so there was no reason for anyone to question that.”

“Very clever,” said Harriet. She frowned. “I mean, I still don’t understand why she did it, but it was clever.”

“She did it because she didn’t want to be a star anymore,” said Brutus. “She was tired of being recognized everywhere she went and being in the spotlight all the time.”

Harriet seemed stunned by this. “But… why? I mean, so many people want to become a star. And Polly is a star, and she wanted to stop being one? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It made sense to her,” I said. “The drawbacks were greater than the rewards, so she wanted out. And since she didn’t see a way out, she designed this elaborate plan.”

“It was very mean of her,” said Dooley. “To murder her own sister like that, and also her mother? That wasn’t nice, Max.”

“No, it certainly wasn’t nice,” I agreed with a smile.

“I think being a star is great,” said Harriet stubbornly. “If I were a star, I would never murder my sister. Not that I have a sister. But if I did, I wouldn’t murder her.”

“I don’t think Polly and Jackie looked alike, do you, Max?” asked Dooley. “They looked very different.”

“I think you’ll find that the difference wasn’t all that big, Dooley,” I said. “Which is why it was so easy for Polly to pull off her plan.”

“I think the difference was in their psychological makeup,” said Brutus. “They were very different people.”

“Yeah, one of them was a psychopath and the other one wasn’t,” said Harriet. “That’s the difference.”

We passed a small restaurant that had put some chairs and tables on the sidewalk. People were enjoying their meals in the presence of their friends and taking advantage of the sunny day to get a tan. One of them had a table all to himself. I directed a casual glance at the man, and couldn’t help but notice that he had pronged a big piece of Emmental cheese, easily recognizable by the distinctive large holes, and was relishing in the taste of the delicacy. It reminded me of a certain someone, and so I took a closer look at the person. I clocked his jean jacket, the cheese, and that’s when the penny dropped.

“You guys!” I hissed. “Look! It’s the Cannibal!”

I think all of our gawking must have scared the man off, because when he saw the four of us staring intently in his direction, he cursed loudly and got up so fast from his chair that he almost upended the table in his haste to get away.

Of course we couldn’t let that happen, so we followed him. He was pretty quick off the mark, but since he had to contend with a sidewalk teeming with people, he couldn’t get a lot of mileage out of his advantage of being a human with longer legs.

“Don’t lose him!” Brutus yelled. “This is the guy that threatened to eat us!”

“He broke into Odelia’s house and stole her cheese,” said Dooley. “And for that, he deserves to be punished!”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Harriet suggested. “Just keep on him!”

It was probably a peculiar sight for the people doing their shopping on Main Street: a man being chased by no less than four cats. Not something you see every day!

It wasn’t long before the Cannibal shot onto a side street, and we did the same. Only the strangest thing was that by the time we rounded the corner, he was gone!

“Where is he?” asked Harriet. “I don’t see him!”

She wasn’t the only one. Somehow, the Cannibal had managed to shake us off and was nowhere to be found.

Then my eye was drawn to a car engine that had just started up. Moments later, the car pulled out from the row of parked cars and took off with screeching tires.

“There he goes,” said Brutus sadly.

I made a note of the license plate, even though I had little hope it was actually registered to the Cannibal himself. Quite possibly, he had stolen the car.

“Let’s go and tell Odelia and Chase,” Harriet suggested.

“What? That we almost caught the Cannibal?” asked Brutus. He shook his head. “We need to find this guy, tootsie roll. Only then can we show our faces to Odelia.”

He was right. We needed to find this guy ourselves.

Just then, a car pulled to a stop next to us. The window rolled down, and a familiar voice yelled, “Hop in!”

It was Gran, and she was driving her trusty old red Peugeot. We didn’t waste any time and did as she suggested.

“We just saw the Cannibal, Gran,” said Dooley.

“I know,” said Gran. “I saw you chasing that guy, then popping into this street. So I figured you probably had a good reason to go after him.” She took hold of the steering wheel, a determined look creeping over her face. “Now, let’s get this guy!”

We dug our claws into the back seat, for we knew exactly what was about to happen. Like a bullet from a gun, the car jerked forward, and we were off to the races.

I would like to say that Gran is an excellent driver, but unfortunately that has never been the case. What she is, though, is a purposeful driver. She always gets her man, even if she has to break a few rules to do it. Next to her sat Scarlett, clutching the dashboard as Gran punched the accelerator all the way to the floorboard.

“Let’s try not to get us killed, Vesta,” Scarlett suggested. “I just had my nails done this morning, and I’d hate to die right now.”

“Why? Saves time for the undertaker,” said Gran. “He won’t have to do your nails.”

Scarlett didn’t seem to know if this was a joke or not, so she gave Gran a strange look, then resigned herself to her fate. She was buckled in, so what more could she do?

“What do you want this guy for anyway?” asked Scarlett.

“He’s the fella that threatened to eat my cats.”

“Eat your cats?!”

“Yeah, he broke into my granddaughter’s place, hung it full of cameras—even in the shower, if you please—and then threatened the cats. He’s a real sicko.”

Scarlett’s lips formed a thin line. “Get him,” she said curtly. Her love for cats may not have been all that great to begin with, but ever since she had taken in Clarice, it had grown by leaps and bounds. Someone should have warned her: once you get a cat in the house, you never want to be without it. We’re more addictive than a drug—hard or soft.

“Oh, I’ll get him all right,” said Gran.

Just then, a large and burly cop stepped right in front of her, holding up his hand. But instead of stopping, Gran simply jerked the wheel and swerved around the guy with screeching tires, with the cop only barely managing to jump clear of the vehicle.

“What did he do that for?” she asked.

Scarlett looked back. “I think you ran a red light, hun.”

“I did? I didn’t even notice.”

The upshot of all this was that we were steadily gaining on the Cannibal, who was only half a block ahead of us. “I’m getting him,” said Gran determinedly, gripping the wheel so tight her knuckles turned white.

A police siren sounded behind us, and when we looked back, we saw that we were being chased by a police car.

“Oh, look,” said Dooley. “They’re also trying to get the Cannibal.”

“No, I think they’re trying to get us,” said Brutus.

“But why?” asked Dooley. “They should go after the Cannibal, not us.”

The police car was gradually gaining on us, and soon it was right on our tail. Gran didn’t seem to mind. She didn’t pull over or even slow down. Instead, she pushed the little old car to its limits, and as we finally caught up with the Cannibal, she went bumper-to-bumper and gave the man a light nudge.

“Ram him!” said Brutus. “Just ram him, Gran!”

“I’m not going to ram him,” said Gran. “That’s very dangerous.”

“Don’t ram him,” said Scarlett nervously. “He’ll spin around, and we’ll get into a huge collision.”

“I just said I’m not going to ram him!”

“But you are ramming him!”

Scarlett was right. Gran’s front fender was inadvertently nudging the Cannibal’s rear.

“Oh, right,” said Gran. “I guess I am ramming him.”

Suddenly, the car in front of us began driving a little erratically, swerving across the road. This was probably not a great idea since we were still in midtown, and the street had parked cars on both sides. If the Cannibal lost control, things could end very badly.

“Stop ramming him!” said Scarlett.

“Okay, I’ll brake now,” said Gran, but she must have made a miscalculation because instead of slowing down, we shot forward and plowed right into the Cannibal’s car!

“Yikes!” Harriet cried.

Yikes was right. The Cannibal finally lost control of his vehicle and veered to the right, where a large flatbed truck was parked, the kind that transports cars. The Cannibal’s car shot up the truck’s ramp, flew right over the driver’s cabin, and landed straight into a large container filled with debris. Gran, who had finally sorted out the difference between the brake pedal and the gas, stomped on the brake. The car screeched to a halt, and moments later, we were rear-ended by the police vehicle that had been in hot pursuit. A second police vehicle joined in, crashing into the first, with several more vehicles behind it, all colliding into the stalled squad cars.

All in all, it was a nice little pile-up. But as we looked over to the container, we saw a man clambering out of it.

It was the Cannibal!

“You guys!” I said. “Look, it’s him! He’s escaping!”

“Oh no, he isn’t!” said Gran. She was shaken but not broken, and quickly crawled out of the car, around the front, and went after the Cannibal, Scarlett right behind her, and the four of us following close behind.

When I looked back, I saw that we were being pursued by not one but a small contingent of police officers!

The Cannibal must have lost a lot of his pep in the crash, for he was limping, and so even though he was a couple of decades younger than Gran and Scarlett, they still easily caught up with him.

The neighborhood watch team had an original way of catching him: Gran threw herself on top of the guy, and so did Scarlett. By the time the cops caught up with us, they found a man squirming with two old ladies seated on top of him, and the four of us standing by, ready to give the man a taste of our sharp claws.

“Arrest this man!” Gran cried. “He’s a cannibal!”

The cops stared at the guy, and the officer in charge scratched his head. “Vesta Muffin? Is that you?”

“Just arrest this guy already,” she said. “He broke into my granddaughter’s house and installed a bunch of cameras in her bathroom. He’s a sick pervert.”

“And he tried to eat Vesta’s cats,” Scarlett added. “So not only is he a pervert who likes to look at ladies in showers, but he’s also a nasty cat eater!”

“I’m not a pervert!” the man protested. “And I don’t eat cats. Are you nuts? Why would I eat cats?”

“You threatened my cats,” Gran growled.

“I did no such thing!” the man said. “I love cats!”

“You sure have a strange way of showing it, buddy,” said Gran. “And what about those cameras in my granddaughter’s bathroom, huh? You pervert!”

“I want a lawyer!” said the man.

She gave him a slap across the back of the head. “Talk, you pervert! Why did you put cameras in Odelia’s house?”

“I did it to keep an eye on her, all right!” said the guy. “Now get off me—I can’t breathe!”

“Better get off him, Vesta,” said the cop.

“I’ll get off him when I’m good and ready,” said Gran.

“Tell us why you wanted to keep an eye on Odelia,” said Scarlett. She had grabbed hold of the man’s left leg and was yanking it into an awkward position. It looked very painful—like something you’d see on WWE.

“Ouch!” said the guy.

“Talk!” Gran yelled.

“All right! I’m Polly Parker’s dad, and she told me to keep an eye on the investigation, all right? She said to tell her when the cops were getting too close to the truth.”

Even Gran hadn’t been prepared for this. She looked flabbergasted. For a moment, she relaxed her grip, and the guy tried to wriggle out from under her. He didn’t stand a chance, though, for Harriet got right in his face, hissing and holding up her paw. He instantly behaved.

“So… you’re Polly’s dad?” asked Gran. “But I thought you and she were estranged?”

“We were, but she got in touch with me a couple of months ago. Said she needed my help. And who was I to say no to my baby girl?”

“You know what she did, though, right?” said Gran.

“Yeah, I heard about the arrest,” said the guy. “She called me from jail. Told me to get her the best lawyer I could get.”

“Okay, I guess you can go and keep her company in jail,” said Gran as she was helped up by the cop. “Arrest this man, officer,” she said.

“Oh, I will,” said the officer, fiddling with a pair of handcuffs.

And then he proceeded to place the Cannibal under arrest.

CHAPTER 40

It was barbecue time at the Poole place, with Tex manning the grill while being assisted by his brother-in-law and his son-in-law. Gran and Marge were setting the table, assisted by the latter’s daughter and sister-in-law, and if the smell emanating from the grill was anything to go by, it was going to be one good old-fashioned righteous feast.

Scarlett had brought Clarice along with her, and so the five of us were seated on the porch swing, getting into the swing of things and looking forward to having a nibble of those delicious goodies the good doctor and his assistant-chefs were cooking up.

Unlike the rest of us, though, Dooley was looking around anxiously.

“Max?” he said finally.

“Yes, buddy,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“The Cannibal, do you think he’s going to show up again? Maybe try and eat us?”

“The Cannibal is in jail,” said Brutus. “He’s been arrested and will serve time for aiding and abetting his daughter in committing a crime. And also for breaking into Odelia’s home and planting those devices.”

“And threatening to eat us,” Harriet added.

“I doubt he’ll be charged with that, Harriet,” I said. “After all, he does claim that he never intended to actually eat us.”

“He can say whatever he wants to say. But you could tell that he was threatening us.”

“Yeah, he’s one sick puppy,” said Brutus.

“I still don’t understand why he would assist one of his daughters in murdering the other one,” said Harriet. “That’s not the kind of thing a loving father does, is it?”

“Lenny Parker wasn’t exactly a loving father,” I said. “He had deserted his family after the girls were born and hadn’t been in their lives for a long time. The only reason he decided to help Polly was because she had promised him a big payday.”

“So he was doing it for the money?” asked Harriet. “And not because he loved his daughter so much?”

“I don’t think that man is capable of loving anyone but himself,” I said. “No, he only did it because he was being paid.”

“Did he also assist in the murder of his ex-wife?” asked Brutus.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Though he probably knew about it. Polly must have told him, and he didn’t care.”

“What a terrible person!” said Dooley with feeling. “Good thing he didn’t catch us and eat us!”

“If he had, I would have eaten him,” Clarice assured him.

“You would?” asked Dooley. “That’s so kind of you.”

“Anything for my friends,” said Clarice.

“He was a big man,” said Brutus, giving Clarice a strange look. “Would you really have eaten all of him?”

“Maybe not all of him,” Clarice admitted. “I probably would have ended up sharing him with some of my friends. Not you guys, obviously, since you’d have been dead.”

We all shuffled uneasily in our spots, as the thought of eating an actual human being didn’t exactly sit well with us. Then again, you can take a cat from the street, but you can’t take the street out of the cat.

Just then, a pigeon flew down and settled next to us. It was Zeke, and he gave me a wink. “What’s all this about a man you want to eat?”

“Nobody is eating anyone,” I assured the bird. “We were just talking about possible and fully imaginary scenarios.”

“Too bad,” said Zeke. “I wouldn’t mind taking a nibble out of a person. Plenty of meat on those bones.”

I noticed that he was eyeing Uncle Alec intently, and I had to admit that Odelia’s uncle had a lot of meat on his bones—probably too much for his own good.

“Don’t eat Uncle Alec, Zeke,” Dooley pleaded. “He’s a good man and we need him.”

“Oh, I’m not going to eat him,” said Zeke. “I’m not a killer. Not like that singer that you guys caught, right?”

“And to think that we tried to revive her,” said Brutus. “We would have revived the wrong sister.”

“If we had managed to revive her,” said Harriet “she would have told us all about her sister being her killer. And that would have saved us a lot of time.”

“Why did Polly kill Jackie in such a gruesome way, though?” asked Brutus. “That was overkill, wasn’t it? Or did she hate her sister so much she simply couldn’t help herself?”

“Mainly she wanted to hide the one big difference between the two sisters,” I said. “That birthmark of a dove. So she cut off Jackie’s head. And while she and her dad were at it, they decided to make it look as if we were dealing with some kind of maniac.”

“Well, she succeeded,” said Harriet fervently. “Everyone is convinced she is a maniac.”

The food was being served, and as we had been instrumental in catching the killer, we were the first ones to partake in the feast. Much to my surprise, Uncle Alec personally brought the plates over to us and served me first!

“Max,” he said. “You saved our bacon again, buddy.”

Dooley frowned. “That doesn’t look like bacon, Max. It looks like chicken to me.”

“So I wanted to thank you personally,” said the police chief. “For catching us this nasty killer—or killers, plural.”

“You’re very welcome, Uncle Alec,” I said magnanimously. When you’re being presented with a plate full of delicious goodies, it’s not hard to be forgiving.

“So you’re not retiring?” asked Brutus with a grin.

“Not yet,” I said as I dug in happily.

How could I retire? When I was being feted by one and all, and waited on hand and foot by the police chief himself? I may be just a cat, but I’m as susceptible to flattery as the next person.

For a few moments, no one spoke, and the entire family enjoyed the feast that Tex had cooked up.

“And?” asked the doctor. “How is it? Not too overdone?”

“It’s absolutely perfect, honey,” said Marge. “I swear to God, you’re getting better all the time.”

“I’ve been watching YouTube videos,” the good doctor declared proudly. “And I picked up a lot of pointers. There’s this guy who has the best YouTube channel on grilling you can find.”

“Oh?” asked Chase. “What’s his name?”

“Um… Lenny Parker,” said Tex. “You should look him up. He’s a superstar.”

Chase and Odelia shared a look. “Lenny Parker?” asked Odelia. “Not as in Polly Parker’s dad?”

“That’s him,” said Tex. “He’s a master griller. Absolutely aces.”

I swallowed my piece of meat with some difficulty.

“Max?” said Dooley.

“Mh?” I said.

“Does this mean that this food was prepared by the guy who wanted to eat us?”

I nodded wordlessly.

We all stopped eating. It’s one thing to be threatened with imminent death by an intruder, but another thing entirely to eat his food. We all stared down at our plates.

“Is there… cat meat in this?” asked Harriet. It was the question we were all thinking.

When Uncle Alec also stopped eating, and even Chase and Odelia, Tex looked puzzled. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“This food was made according to the instructions of Lenny Parker?” asked Uncle Alec.

Tex nodded. “Yup. Like I said, best griller on YouTube.”

“He’s also the man who threatened to eat the cats,” Odelia said. “And the guy who assisted his daughter in murdering her sister.”

Tex blinked. “Oh,” he said.

“Oh, stop fussing,” said Gran, who was one of the only ones who hadn’t put down her utensils. “This stuff is great! So what if the guy who taught Tex how to make it is a pervert and a cat killer? That doesn’t make it any less tasty, does it?”

“But… what if he uses cat meat?” asked Odelia.

Tex uttered a surprised laugh. “Cat meat! Of course there’s no cat meat, honey. It’s chicken and beef. I swear!”

One by one, they all picked up their knives and forks and dug in again. But I could tell that the initial fervor was gone.

“If you’re not going to eat that,” said Zeke, gesturing to my plate, “I’ll happily polish it off for you.”

“You go ahead,” I said. “My appetite is gone.”

“Does that mean there won’t be any more videos?” asked Tex.

“Yes, Dad,” said Chase. “The guy is in jail, so he won’t be making any more videos.”

“Too bad,” said Tex, which was a little insensitive, I thought. But then I guess he really loved his grill guru.

The meal had been resumed, and since Marge must have noticed that we weren’t eating, she got us some wet food pouches and squeezed them out for us. It wasn’t the feast we had been anticipating, but it was better than nothing. In the meantime, Zeke was happily polishing off our plates—except for Clarice’s portion. She hadn’t stopped eating. I guess you don’t survive out in the wild if you’re put off your feed by some idle gossip.

In that sense, we could all learn a thing or two from her. And so when Zeke got ready to take care of Harriet’s plate, he and Clarice ended up in competition with each other, for she had also taken it upon herself to assist us in squaring away our discarded rations.

“Buzz off, bird,” Clarice growled. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“Get lost, cat,” said Zeke. “If you know what’s good for you.”

For a few tense moments, they just sat there, locked in a staring match. But finally, Zeke blinked first and sighed. “Oh, have it your own way, cat.”

“Clarice,” said Clarice. She hesitated. “Wanna go halfsies?”

Zeke perked up. “For real?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, I’ve always seen birds as a food group, but you seem nice, so I won’t eat you.”

“Gee, thanks, Clarice,” said Zeke. “That’s very kind of you.”

And so they both shared Harriet’s plate.

It certainly was a sight that I had never thought I’d ever witness: Clarice sharing a meal with a bird.

“Clarice is getting soft in her old age,” Brutus whispered to Harriet.

Clarice looked up sharply. “Don’t talk smack, Brutus. Or I’ll smack you in the teeth. Is that what you want?”

“No, no!” Brutus hastened to assure her.

“Clarice is nice,” said Dooley. “She doesn’t want anyone to know it, but she is.”

Clarice shot him a dirty look. But as she gobbled up a morsel, a smile lit up her face.

We all change, and Clarice is no exception—whatever she wants us to believe.

Our meals having been squared away, we all settled down for a nap, and that’s how Odelia found us when she came to clear away our plates five minutes later.

Five cats and one pigeon, all occupying the same porch.

The best part: no one was trying to eat anyone else.

In other words a pretty good place to be!

THE END

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ABOUT NIC

Nic has a background in political science and before being struck by the writing bug worked odd jobs around the world (including but not limited to massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).

When he’s not writing he enjoys curling up with a good (comic) book, watching British crime dramas, French comedies or Nancy Meyers movies, sampling pastry (apple cake!), pasta and chocolate (preferably the dark variety), twisting himself into a pretzel doing morning yoga, going for a brisk walk, and spoiling his feline assistants Lily and Ricky.

He lives with his wife (and aforementioned cats) in a small village smack dab in the middle of absolutely nowhere and is probably writing his next ‘Mysteries of Max’ book right now.

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Copyright © 2024 by Nic Saint. All rights reserved.

Published by Puss in Books.

Edited by Chereese Graves.

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