“Your uncle,” said Chase as he picked his phone from the nightstand.
“My uncle,” Odelia echoed as she did the same.
Grace, meanwhile, was wailing in distress, and demanding to be picked up and fed, and since it was now obvious that no more nap time would be enjoyed, Dooley and I jumped off the bed, ready to start our day.
We were working cats now, you see, with a commute to look forward to.
But that was before we heard Chase cry,“What?!”
We both turned, and watched the big guy hop out of bed, and hurry down the stairs, still only dressed in a pair of boxers.
“What’s going on?” asked Dooley.
“I have no idea,” said Odelia. “Chase was first to pick up.”
The ringing turned out to be the front doorbell, and when we heard Uncle Alec’s baritone, it soon became clear something terrible had happened. Uncle Alec might be a fun uncle to Odelia, but he’s also chief of police, and so when he shows up unannounced at some ungodly hour, he doesn’t come bearing gifts.
“Michael Madison is dead,” Chase announced the moment Odelia arrived downstairs.
“What?!” our human cried, echoing her husband’s earlier sentiments upon hearing this piece of unexpected news.
“I’m afraid so,” said Uncle Alec, looking more rumpled than ever. He was also rubbing his back and making painful grimaces as he did. “The janitor found him early this morning. Apparently he either fell or jumped out of a window.”
Harriet and Brutus had walked in through the pet flap, quickly followed by Gran—the latter entering not through the pet flap but the door—and when Gran saw her granddaughter’s consternation, instantly knew something was wrong.
“Who died?” she asked.
“Michael Madison,” said Uncle Alec, still rubbing his back.
“What?!” Gran cried. It seemed like the responsedu jour.
“Fell out of his window,” Chase supplied.
“Or jumped,” Odelia added. She’d been studying her uncle with a look of concern. “Back trouble?”
“Yeah,” said Uncle Alec. “I sprained something last night.” And when we all lifted an inquisitive eyebrow, he elucidated, “I was, um, doing some weeding.”
“Is what you kids call it nowadays?” asked Gran with a grin.
“Well, it’s all your fault, isn’t it!” her son suddenly burst out.
Gran held up her hands.“Easy, tiger. What’s my fault this time?”
“You and that magazine of yours.Glimmer, or whatever it’s called.”
“Not my magazine, but whatever,” said Gran.
“When Charlene heard you were an intern at Advantage, she took a subscription, just out of solidarity. And read an article by a guy called Tom Mitchell. 15 Ways to Spice up Your Love Life. So she’s got us going through the tips one by one, which is how we both ended up almost crippling ourselves.”
“Tom Mitchell didn’t write that article,” said Gran. “Scarlett did.”
Uncle Alec groaned.“I should have known.”
“And let me tell you that the response has been very positive,” Gran continued. “Hundreds of comments on the website, and plenty of likes and shares.”
“I’m writing a strongly-worded comment today, and I can promise you it won’t be positive,” the police chief grumbled as he hobbled in the direction of the door. “And you better get your ass over to that crime scene, Chase!”
“I thought it was an accident?” said Chase as he scratched his bare chest.
“Doesn’t matter what it was. It’s still a suspicious death, so there needs to be an investigation.” And he muttered, “I’ll bet Michael Madison read Tom Mitchell’s article and killed himself trying out those fifteen tips.”
While Chase and Odelia returned upstairs to take a shower and get ready, Harriet drew me aside.“Michael Madison isCat Life’s publisher, isn’t he?”
“Was,” I said.
“Oh, dear. Do you think my shoot will still happen? I mean, publishers get killed all the time, don’t they? And replaced by other people?”
“I’m sure your shoot will happen,” I said. “Madison’s death isn’t going to affect that. Advantage Publishing is bigger than one CEO who falls from a window.”
“Oh, phew,” said Harriet. She laughed. “Talk about a load off my mind!”
“But who’s going to take care of Natalie’s baby now?” asked Dooley. “Her baby is going to be born without a father.”
“Madison wasn’t prepared to be that baby’s father anyway,” I told my friend. “So his death isn’t going to make a lot of difference.” Though Natalie would probably be devastated, considering how hung up she still was on that man.
Odelia and Chase came hurrying down the stairs, grabbed a bite to eat from the fridge, and then we were off in Chase’s squad car. For the occasion, Harriet and Brutus also joined us, since Harriet wanted to make sure her shoot would go off without a hitch. And also Gran was in the car with us, for in spite of this tragic event, today was just another working day for her, same way it was for us.
When we arrived at the Advantage Publishing building, plenty of people stood gathered outside, and they weren’t enjoying a smoking break either. The area underneath Michael Madison’s window had been cordoned off, and I could see Abe Cornwall’s car parked nearby. The county coroner was already busy examining the body, and when we joined him, he looked up.
“So what’s the verdict, Abe?” asked Chase.
“He’s dead,” deadpanned the wiry-haired medical examiner, and got up with a slight creaking sound of the knees. “Wounds consistent with a drop from that window up there,” he said, pointing to a window on the third floor. “Death would have been instantaneous.”
“So what do you think happened? Was he pushed? Did he jump?”
“No defensive wounds as far as I can tell. He just fell on his head and died.” He shrugged. “Nothing more to tell, really, unless you want me to get technical.”
“Time of death?”
“Between two and five last night.”
“I wonder if there’s a camera,” said Chase as he glanced around.
“There’s a camera covering the parking area,” said Gran. “But that’s on the other side of the building. I doubt there’s any cameras out here.”
“No, I don’t see any either,” said Chase. “I’ll talk to security to make sure.”
And since there was nothing more for us to do out there, we moved indoors. The actual scene of the crime—if a crime had been committed, that is—was Michael Madison’s office. So the small gang gathered once more there. The window was still open, but there were no signs of a struggle as far as I could tell. Crime scene people were checking the office, and one of them beckoned Chase over and showed him something on a laptop.
Chase’s face hardened. “Suicide note,” he told us, and read from the screen, “‘I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. Goodbye, cruel world, goodbye.’ Looks like we’ve got a suicide on our hands, people.”
“He was under a lot of pressure,” Gran confirmed. “Trouble with his wife, with his mistress, personnel problems, numerous scandals.” She shook her head. “It must have all gotten too much for the poor guy, so he saw no other solution.”
“It’s a great drop,” said Harriet, who’d jumped up on that window.
“Can you please get down from there?” said Odelia, when she saw several of Abe’s CSI people freaking out at the sight of a cat jumping all over their crime scene.
“Too bad Michael Madison wasn’t a cat,” said Harriet as she jumped down again and joined us. “He would have landed on his feet and been just fine.”
“I guess that could be said about all humans,” said Brutus, the philosopher.
“When was the note written?” asked Odelia.
Chase checked the laptop.“Three o’clock.”
“Consistent with Abe’s time frame.”
Chase nodded.“Looks like a cut-and-dried case of suicide.”
An officer escorted a man into the office who was dressed in a uniform. I’d seen him hanging around the lobby the day before, keeping an eye on things.