Dooley and I might not be the most handsome cats around, but that didn’t mean we didn’t take our grooming seriously. Every cat worth his or her salt likes to preen, and we were no exceptions.
We weren’t alone, as the Gazette’s owner, Dan Goory, was rocking in his rocking chair, going over the proofs of one of his articles. The old man liked to sit here and take a load off his feet, and occasionally smoke a cigarette. We always made sure we sat upwind from him, as we weren’t too keen on the smell. Sometimes Dan and Odelia would sit here together and discuss the next day’s edition of the Gazette. It was better than being cooped up inside.
“I don’t know,” said Dooley morosely between two licks. “I’m sure he’ll manage to fit bullying us into his busy schedule.”
“I don’t think so. In fact I’m pretty sure that as long as those two are an item, he’ll leave us in peace,” I said, trying to lift Dooley’s mood. He’d been feeling downcast after making the discovery that the cat he’d been sweet on for years had fallen for the new cat on the block.
“Let’s hope you’re right,” said Dooley, giving his tail a tentative lick and then, deciding it was clean enough, leaving it for another time. “Let’s hope that as long as that Nazi furball is prancing around with Harriet we’re safe.”
“Which means we can do whatever we want. Go wherever we like and generally be masters of our own fate again without that brute interfering.”
“So what do you want to do?”
I thought for a moment. What did I want to do? I wanted to solve this murder, that’s what I wanted to do. And make sure Odelia got the scoop. I liked this small town, and I didn’t like it when people started killing each other. It wasn’t nice. And since violence led to more violence someone had to put a stop to it before things got out of hand. At least that’s how I saw it.
“We could hang out at the barbershop,” Dooley suggested.
It was one of our favorite haunts. You’d be surprised what kind of secrets people tell their barber. Almost as many as they divulge to their doctor.
“Why don’t we head out to the lodge and see if we can’t pick up the scent of the killer?” I suggested instead. The barbershop could wait. We were born hunters, after all, and perhaps we could pick up the scent of the murderer.
Dooley brightened, and I saw this would be good for him. It would keep his mind off Brutus and Harriet strutting their stuff along Main Street.
“I think that’s a great idea, Max,” he said enthusiastically. “Maybe we can sniff out the killer and then all Odelia has to do is make them confess.”
“Let’s do this,” I said, and we bumped fists.
It’s called teamwork, people, and it’s not just humans that do it. Dooley and I have been living together for so many years we make a pretty great team. What’s more, we’ve grown attached to our humans, and like to help them out. When it suits us, of course. We’re not a couple of dumb dogs.
So we left Dan on the back porch marking up his articles with a deep frown on his face, and trotted off, setting paw for the Writer’s Lodge. One disadvantage of being a cat is that we don’t get to drive a car. Or a bike. Which means we have to go everywhere on paw. But, like I said, we’re natural born hunters, and what are a couple of miles for your friendly neighborhood predator? Chicken feed. Still, after we’d been on the move for a while, I was starting to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.
“Are we there yet?” asked Dooley, panting slightly.
“No idea, buddy, but I hope so. My paws are killing me.”
“And mine. What’s more, I’m getting tired, Max.”
“I’m sure it won’t be much further.”
We walked on in silence for a couple of minutes. We’d left the heart of town behind, and were now traipsing through the woods. This piece of the trail was all uphill, and I wondered who would voluntarily go and live in the middle of nowhere just so they could write a book. Nuts.
“You know? When this is all over and we’ve caught the killer, maybe we’ll get a nice treat,” said Dooley. “Like that raw meat Brutus gets from Chase?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “All we ever get are leftovers, and they’re cooked.”
“Maybe when Brutus comes to live with us he’ll share his meals?”
“Dream on, buddy. Brutus doesn’t strike me as the sharing type.”
“You’re probably right. And if he shares, it’ll be with Harriet, not us.”
We scaled a small hill, and passed beneath some brambles, to come out on the other side looking like pincushions. We shed the prickles and trudged on.
“You know?” Dooley asked suddenly. “What does Brutus have that we don’t?”
I sighed. “Is this about Harriet again?”
“No, it’s about Brutus being treated like royalty.”
“Well, Brutus is a pedigree cat, Dooley. They’re like the royalty of cats. While we’re just your average alley cats that got picked out of the litter by an indiscriminate hand. I’m sure that when Chase got Brutus, he paid good money for that cat, while we’re lucky we didn’t get flushed down the toilet.”
“So he’s a prize-winning cat and we’re just a bunch of ugly mongrels,” Dooley said bitterly. Maybe this hike wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Instead of taking his mind off Brutus and Harriet, it had the opposite effect.
“Pretty much,” I agreed. “Though I wouldn’t call you a mongrel, Dooley.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it? That cat has probably won a ton of cat shows.”
I shuddered at the thought of having to compete in a cat show. “It’s only natural that after paying top dollar for Brutus, Chase would want to show him off,” I speculated. “Which is probably why he feeds him a diet of raw meat.”
“Hey, maybe we should enter a cat show,” said Dooley. “Show Odelia that we’re special, too. Maybe then she’ll start feeding us raw meat.”
“I doubt whether we’ll stand a chance,” I said, shaking my head at so much naiveté. As if we could ever compete with the likes of Brutus.
“Why not?” he asked stubbornly. “It worked for Babe, didn’t it?”
I frowned. “Babe? Who’s Babe?”
“Don’t you remember that movie we saw the other night? About a piglet that grows up on a farm, and the farmer trains him to be a sheepdog? And since he was so nice and polite all the sheep loved him and did exactly what he told them to do at the animal show? He didn’t even have to bark at them or bite them or any of that horrible stuff. So if Babe can do it, so can we.”
“Do what, exactly? Become sheepdogs?”
“Not sheepdogs,” he said with a laugh. “Perform at a cat show!”
Become a cat model? Never! “I really don’t think so, Dooley.”
“But we’re special, Max, just like Babe. I just know we are.”
“Look, that was a Hollywood movie. In Hollywood movies animals are always special. Penguins have happy feet and pigs can corral sheep and cats eat lasagna and sound like Bill Murray. In real life? Not so much.”
“But we can talk. We can talk to Odelia. And to Marge. And Gran.” He gave me a grin. “I’m sure that Brutus can’t talk to Chase Kingsley.”
Well, that was true enough. Brutus might get prime chops, but I doubted whether he could chat with his human. Dooley and I might not be pedigree cats, or have the appeal of a sheepherding pig or silly dancing penguins, but we could help Odelia solve this murder, and that definitely made us special.
We’d arrived at the Writer’s Lodge, and saw that the place was completely cordoned off with crime scene tape, the yellow kind.
“Come on,” I said as I followed the scent of human excrement. “Over there.”
We hurried to the place where the crime had been committed and stopped at the demolished structure that had formerly been the outhouse. The entire thing had been taken apart, the boards piled up high next to a sizable hole dug into the earth. A small crane stood parked next to it, which had probably been used to get the body of Paulo Frey out of the hole. When we took a tentative peek into the abyss, I saw it was pretty deep. And smelled horrible.