“I know he does, Uncle Alec,” said Odelia. “But he also has a job to do, so I can’t ask him to find Addie. And besides, like I said, Edward tells me he already talked to the police, and they couldn’t help him.”
“He didn’t talk to me, that’s for sure. If he had, I’d remember.”
“I think he talked to Randal. Who told him that Addie probably decided to go off the grid for a while. Kids do that kind of stuff all the time. He told him not to worry.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Randal, all right,” said the Chief with a grimace. “So why didn’t he bring his case to me? I would have organized a search. Clearly if this girl has gone missing, we need to find her.”
“He doesn’t want to involve too many people,” Odelia explained. “He’s afraid that the media will get hold of the story, and then all hell will break loose.”
“Yeah, I can see his point,” the Chief admitted reluctantly. “If word got out that Edward Dexter’s daughter went missing in Hampton Cove, every nut in the country would descend on this town, hoping to collect whatever reward money they can get.” He arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “There is a reward, isn’t there?”
“There is, but obviously I’m not going to collect it if I find Addie. I told him to donate the money to a charity of his choice. But first I have to find the girl.”
“Mh, I’ll bet he’ll give you some other reward, too,” the Chief muttered, earning himself an odd glance from his niece.
“Look, I understand that you don’t like Edward,” said the latter. “Most people don’t. And I admit he’s an acquired taste. But once you get to know him, he’s a wonderful man. Sensitive, intelligent, and very, very worried about his daughter.”
“Of course, of course,” said the Chief, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Talk to Randal. Ask him what he discovered, if anything. And then tell me.”
“Okay, fine,” said the Chief, getting up. But before he reached the door, he turned, and gave his niece an earnest look, placing both hands on her shoulders. “I just… I hope you know what you’re doing, honey.”
“Of course,” said Odelia, surprised by the man’s heartfelt look and the moistness of his eyes. “And thank you for taking this to heart, Uncle Alec.”
“How could I not,” said the Chief, choking up.
CHAPTER 13
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“Look, Fifi, Harriet didn’t mean what she said. Of course you’re a great candidate. I bet you can even win this whole thing.”
Fifi gave Brutus a look that was devoid of those warm sentiments the little dog usually reserved for her friends and neighbors.
“I heard what I heard, Brutus,” she said. “And besides, if Harriet wants to apologize, why doesn’t she do it herself? Why send you?”
“I told you already. Because she’s so busy training Rufus. Getting him ready for the big show.” Brutus would have wiped away a bead of sweat, if he could have without Fifi noticing. This apologizing thing was harder than he thought. And besides, Fifi was right: it should have been Harriet pouring apologetic phrases into the little Yorkie’s ear, not him.
“Look, don’t you want to train together with Rufus? Work as a team?”
“There’s no I in team, Brutus,” said Fifi haughtily. “And since a dog show isn’t a team effort, it’s every dog for himself from now on. And that goes for Rufus, too!”
“But he’s floundering, Fifi! Rufus is suffering. His head isn’t in the game, and if only you would join him, I just know he’d be over the moon.”
“He should have thought of that before he hired Harriet as his personal trainer.”
“But…”
“No means no, Brutus. Rufus and I go our separate ways, and that’s my final word.”
And then she stalked off in the direction of her own backyard, presumably to continue her training. Brutus watched her leave, and a distinct sense of doom and gloom settled over him. But only for a moment. He was, after all, a cat not particularly prone to experiencing the finer emotions, and so he quickly shrugged off Fifi’s refusal. If she wanted to go it alone, so be it. It was her funeral. And if Rufus didn’t want to put his back into it, then that was his business.
And as he set paw in the direction of the Trappers’ backyard, where most of the action was taking place, he suddenly caught sight of a peculiar creature. If his eyes didn’t deceive him, it was one of those creatures that carry their own house on their back. Which had always struck him as very inconvenient. Imagine he would carry an entire house on his back. He’d never get anywhere. Which was probably why these snails, as they were called, moved so infernally slow.
“Pssst!” the snail was saying.
It was located on the leaf of his favorite rose bush, the one he and Harriet liked to single out when they were feeling frisky.
He toddled over, wondering what this snail wanted from him. Maybe to help carry its load?
“Hey, cat!” the snail said, indicating that it really did want speech with him.
So he approached the creature, took a tentative sniff, and said,“What do you want?” He wasn’t feeling in a particularly bonhomous mood. He might not care that Fifi was out of the race, but he did care about Harriet’s opinion, and he knew that when he returned empty-pawed, so to speak, she would be none too happy.
“I talked to one of your lot this morning,” the snail announced, “and after he saved me from that bird, I promised I’d make it worth his while.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” said Brutus.
“It wasn’t you. It was some orange fatty,” said the snail.
Brutus grinned.“Yeah, that’s Max. He’s pretty fat, and pretty orange. But don’t tell him I said that. He doesn’t like it when you call him—”
“Fat?”
“Orange. So Max saved your life, did he? Typical. He’s always saving someone from something.”
“Okay, so now I’m confused. Is this Max a friend of yours or what?”
“I guess you could say that,” Brutus admitted. He and Max might not always see eye to eye, but he did consider him one of his best pals.
“Could you give him a message from me? I would tell him myself, but I gotta run.”
Brutus laughed. A running snail. Now there was something he’d never seen before. But the snail seemed dead serious.
“Just tell him that this blue moon business we talked about this morning is happening tonight. I can smell it.”
“That’s it?” asked Brutus.
“Yeah, he’ll know what I mean,” said the snail. “So you’ll deliver the message?”
“Of course. Blue moon happening tonight. Got it.”
“Thanks, buddy,” said the snail, and started moving down the flower’s stem, at a snail’s pace.
“What’s your name, by the way?” asked Brutus, watching the snail’s progress with fascination.
“Rupert,” said the snail. “You?”
“Brutus.”
“Well, see you around, Brutus,” said Rupert. “And don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
“What bed bugs? What are you talking about?”
But Rupert had disappeared into the rose bush’s inner workings, and so their discussion was at an end.
Brutus shrugged and went on his way. He hated being the bearer of bad news, especially when the recipient was Harriet. But that couldn’t be helped.
Moments later he was lumbering through the hole in the hedge, and when he came face to face with his beloved, and she saw he was alone, she tsk-tsked freely.
“She doesn’t want our help!” he cried. “And I couldn’t make her, could I?”
“Fifi isn’t coming?” asked Rufus in his big, booming voice.
“Nah. She wants to go it alone,” said Brutus.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Rufus, and promptly plunked down on the grass and proceeded to stare off into space, looking sad and despondent.