“I found a love,” the voice was whining. “Darling just dive right in.”
She instantly recognized it as Ed Sheeran’s Perfect, only this obviously wasn’t Ed Sheeran straining his vocal cords but some amateur caroler. Or it might have been a cat undergoing a thoroughly painful castration.
She winced as the unknown singer transitioned into the second verse, effectively massacring poor Ed’s beautiful ode to love.
Neighbors left and right had also caught on, and voices now competed with the singer, shouting such encouragements as, ‘Shut up!’ and ‘We’re trying to sleep here!’
Finally, Odelia couldn’t suppress her curiosity any longer, so she got out of bed and padded over to the window. She peeked through the curtains and when her eyes landed on the lanky male figure standing under her window, singing his heart out, she gasped in shock.
The Ed Sheeran wannabe was none other than… Chase!
She threw the curtains wide and opened the window.
When Chase saw her appear, he smiled and redoubled his efforts to butcher the song. And then the first boot landed. It landed at Chase’s feet and he stared down at it for a moment, not comprehending. The second boot hit him against the shin but only when a third projectile hit him in the face did he finally get the message.
“You better come in,” Odelia said quickly, not wanting her boyfriend to be pummeled with a waffle iron or Crockpot next.
Chase looked a little dazed but staunchly refused to back down. Going into the song’s final stretch, he belted out those last few notes with a zeal and a fervor possibly better reserved for a nobler cause. Still, it touched Odelia’s heart that he would do such a thing for her—expose himself to bodily harm to serenade her like an old-world troubadour.
The final note died away, Chase smiling up at her.
And then he was hit with a skillet and went down hard.
“Oh, crap!” Odelia cried and hurried down the stairs. Racing out into the backyard, she knelt down next to her knight in shining armor—which he could have used at this point—and saw that he was shaken but conscious.
“Odelia,” he said, a smile curling up his lips. “You look perfect tonight.”
“Oh, Chase,” she said. “Thank you so much. That was… lovely.”
It was, after all, the thought that counted, not the execution.
From next door, Marge and Tex’s faces had appeared in their bedroom window.
“Way to go, Chase!” Tex yelled, giving the singing cop two thumbs up.
“Wonderful song choice, Chase,” Marge said, wrapping her nightgown around herself.
“Thanks, Marge,” he said. “And I’ve got your husband to thank for it.”
“Who threw the skillet?” asked Gran, her head stealing out from her bedroom, like a turtle out of its shell. She’d probably waited until the sky stopped raining kitchen paraphernalia.
“Never mind the critics. You did great, son!” Tex cried.
“Give the kids some privacy, Tex,” said Marge.
Three heads retracted back into their homely shell and then it was just Odelia and Chase and the big canopy of stars in that great expanse of sky overhead.
“Do you want to come inside?” she asked.
“I thought you’d never ask,” said Chase with a grin.
As he got up, he rubbed the spot on his noggin where the skillet had impacted.
Once inside, Odelia sat the wannabe Ed Sheeran down on a kitchen stool and inspected his head. “You’ll have a nice bump,” she said after a cursory check.
“It’s worth it,” he growled and dragged her onto his lap, then planted a kiss on her lips. When she came up for air, she was feeling dizzy. He might be a lousy singer but he was a great kisser.
“So my dad put you up to this, did he?” she asked.
He became serious. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about ever since your grandmother moved out. I just wasn’t sure how to launch into it. And since our dinner date was interrupted by this Chris Ackerman business…” He shrugged. “I just figured your dad might have a few tips for me.”
“Tips for what?” she asked.
“Odelia Poole,” he began, his gold-flecked eyes turning molten. “I’m not a man who minces words so here goes.” He’d clasped her hands in his and she discovered she was holding her breath. “There’s not a doubt in my mind that you’re the one for me—the woman I love. And I’ve been thinking it’s time for us to take the next step. To take this to another level. So what do you say we officially move in together? Technically I’d be the one moving in with you, as the alternative would mean you moving in with me and your uncle.”
She smiled. This was a no-brainer. “Yes, I would love to move in together, Chase.”
He grinned and then they kissed and little angels popped out all around and blew their little trumpets and sang their little hearts out. And not a single skillet zoomed through the air.
Finally, they let go and Odelia looked around. Something was missing from this scene and she suddenly realized what it was. Her cats. They were nowhere to be found.
Probably wandering about in the park. She couldn’t wait to tell them. Judging from the way Max and Dooley had taken a shine to the burly cop, they’d be over the moon.
She took Chase’s hand in hers and gave him a coy look. “Wanna check out your new digs, Detective Kingsley?”
“Don’t mind if I do, Miss Poole,” said Chase.
And as they headed up the stairs, she imagined the look on Max and Dooley’s faces when they finally arrived home and found Chase in Odelia’s bed. She smiled at the thought.
Chapter 39
Not for the first time I decided to engage cat choir in my sleuthing efforts. So Dooley and I—along with Brutus and Harriet—headed down to the park to enlist our friends in the scheme I’d worked out while driving home from Vena’s. As I’d expected, they were all game, and so the search began. I just hoped that not too much time had passed since the fateful events at the library. By now two whole days had passed, and Hampton Cove’s council had strict rules about garbage collection so our window of opportunity just might have closed.
Dooley and I had decided to search in the immediate vicinity of the library, while the other cat choir members looked along ever-widening circles. If my hunch was right, before this night was through we should be able to come up with something.
Brutus, who seemed reborn after Vena’s diagnosis, was our most enthusiastic searcher, along with Harriet, who, in spite of her initial grumblings, was happy as a clam.
“So you think Brutus will be all right?” asked Dooley as he tentatively checked the dumpster closest to the library.
“I think Brutus will be just fine,” I returned. “Especially with Vena’s treatment.”
“You know? I’m starting to think that Vena may not be our enemy, Max.”
I’d been thinking the same thing. Our visit had been distinctly painless and even—to some extent—enjoyable.
“Maybe she’s not out to hurt us,” Dooley continued.
“Only the future will tell,” I said, jumping down from the dumpster. I didn’t enjoy this consequence of my crazy theory. And if I was wrong a lot of cats were going to hate my guts.
Dooley had caught on, too. “What if we don’t find anything, Max?”
“Then we’ll probably get kicked out of cat choir.” Again.
“I don’t mind. You’re my friend and I will always stand by you,” said Dooley.
The unexpected statement gave me pause. “Aw, Dooley. You’re my friend, too.”
“You know—when the apocalypse finally comes, I hope we won’t be ripped apart by the tsunami’s massive waves and terrifying mayhem. Or by the hot lava that will push up through the earth’s cracked crust. When finally the end comes, I hope we’ll die in a blaze of fire and destruction together. Wouldn’t that be just great?”