“I don’t know about you, Dooley, but I can’t possibly jump that high.”
“Do you want me to give it a try?” And without waiting for my response, he performed a nice standing high jump. He reached about halfway to the handle, which was outfitted with one of those panels you hold your badge against for easy access.
“Close but no cigar,” I told him encouragingly.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I don’t smoke.” He made a second attempt, but reached even less high than before. Cats are great jumpers, but we’re not rabbits or kangaroos.
I listened carefully for that telltale clicking sound that indicates the badge has done what it’s supposed to do but no luck so far. No clicking sound and no access for us.
“Can’t you hover in the air a little longer?” I asked. “I think the little gizmo needs time to figure out a badge is near. And try to hold up the badge. Hold it as high as you can.”
So Dooley kept on jumping, trying to hold up the badge with his paws. If the selection committee for the Olympic Games had seen him, they’d definitely have given him points for effort. Unfortunately even cats as fit and healthy as Dooley reach the end of their tether, and as Dooley sat on the floor, panting heavily, the door was still as closed as ever.
And as Dooley got some air into his lungs, I spotted a cart at the end of the hallway. It was one of those carts used by room service people, and I could spot a couple of empty glasses on top of it, as well as a bucket with a champagne bottle peeping out at the top. “Maybe we could roll that cart over here and jump on top of it?” I now suggested.
“Good… (pant pant) idea… (pant pant) Max. Let’s… (pant pant) give… (pant pant) it… (pant pant) a shot (closing pant).”
So we gamboled along the corridor—that is to say, I gamboled and Dooley dragged his weary body along as fast as he could—and when we reached the cart I saw that, indeed, it was equipped with nifty little wheels. So we both pushed, and soon the cart was rolling along nicely at a brisk pace. Unfortunately I think we must have put a little too much push into the thing, or maybe the carpet wasn’t as thick and plush as I’d anticipated, for we overshot the room and still the cart kept on zipping along. It proceeded to pick up speed, until it slammed against the wall at the end. For a moment, bucket and glasses waggled precariously, then, like lemmings, collectively made the jump. The first glass was fine, but when the second one fell on top of it, it gave up the fight and broke, and so did the third, and the fourth, and when the bucket tipped over and dropped down on top of all of them, it crushed what remained of the glassware.
“I’m not going near that,” announced Dooley.
This may be a good time to remind you that cats do not wear shoes. So we try to steer clear of sharp objects on the floor, be they glass or other items that cut our tender paws.
To my elation I immediately spotted a second cart. So we decided to repeat the procedure, only this time Dooley pushed and I walked in front of the cart to provide a measure of stoppage. We managed to maneuver the cart where it needed to be. Dooley made one final jump, and landed squarely on top of the cart, held out his badge, and there was that delicious, much-sought-after clicking sound: open Sesame!
Once inside, we quickly spread out. I headed into the kitchen, hoping the Weskits had pets and had left the pet food out, and Dooley moved into the bedroom for a brief nap.
I quickly discovered that the Weskits did not have pets, and the only food I could find in the kitchen was leftover pizza. I’m not choosy when I’m hungry, though, so I took a tentative bite. And as I digested this first nibble, I decided the pizza was fit for feline consumption and quickly devoured a large slice, leaving a smaller slice for Dooley. Feeling fortified, I went in search of that all-telling clue that Odelia had mentioned. She had no idea what it might look like, but had assured us that if we found it, we’d recognize it for what it was: The One Clue That Rules All Other Clues (or TOCTRAOC).
And I’d just wended my way in the general direction of the bedroom to see what Dooley was up to, when I was startled to come across two large eyes glowing in the dark, staring back at me. I immediately recognized them as belonging to the Felis catus species.
In other words, the Weskits did have a pet, and that pet was a cat.
Chapter 22
Odelia, along with her mom, Uncle Alec and Chase, sat one table removed from the Mayor’s table, so she was able to keep a close eye on the Weskits, Laron and Shannon. So far the couple hadn’t moved from their seats, so Max and Dooley were in the clear.
“That was terrible,” said her mother as she distractedly picked from a cheese platter.
“I thought Dad was pretty good. Not exactly his crowd, but still a solid performance.”
“Your dad was fantastic, but your grandmother!” Marge shook her head. “What was she thinking!”
Odelia grinned. “It was a little weird. She was probably thinking she was fifty years younger.”
“I should have stayed for rehearsals. I would never have allowed her on stage dressed like that.”
“To be fair, Marge,” said Uncle Alec as he swirled the remnants of a nice burgundy in his glass, “even if you’d told her not to perform she’d gone ahead and done it anyway.”
“I know, Alec—she never listens to anyone, that’s the problem. And that poor Harriet and Brutus. What an awful, humiliating spectacle. Where are they, anyway?”
Odelia leaned in and whispered into her mom’s ear, “They’re upstairs, checking out Charlie and Jamie’s room, while Max and Dooley are going through the Weskits’ stuff.”
“Well, I hope they find something.”
“And I hope they don’t get caught,” said Chase, who looked worried.
“They won’t get caught, and even if they are, hotel staff will simply throw them out.”
“What are you hoping they’ll find?” asked Uncle Alec, accepting a refill from a waiter.
“Anything, something. I don’t know. It’s frustrating not being able to interview them.”
“Tomorrow,” said the Chief. “Tomorrow we can interview them all we want.”
“And do you seriously expect them to stick around for us to do that? I’ll bet their flights are booked and they’ll be gone at first light.”
“Possibly, but that would simply make them more suspect. And wherever they go, there’s police there, too, and a simple request from me will see them interrogated.”
“Still, I feel more relaxed knowing our cats are going through their things with a fine-tooth comb.”
“Or a fine-claw paw,” Chase quipped.
Just then, Gran joined them at their table, accompanied by Tex. A scarlet blush mantled Gran’s cheeks, but at least she’d covered up her Madonna-style lingerie.
“And?” Gran asked as she took a seat. “What did you think of the show?”
Chase murmured something noncommittal, while Uncle Alec stared at the ceiling.
“It was terrible!” Marge cried, unable to restrain herself. “What the hell were you thinking? You turned us into the town’s laughingstock! How am I ever going to face people now? And have you considered Alec’s reputation? Or Tex’s? Or Odelia’s?”
The corners of Gran’s lips dropped. “Is that a way to encourage the only star in your family? I’ll have you know I got a lot of compliments backstage. Charlie Dieber knocked on my dressing room door and personally told me how rad he thought I was.”
“He was watching?” asked Odelia.
“Of course. Charlie, Jamie, they both watched from the wings. And now that I’ve got some buzz going, I just know I’ll be able to take this thing into the stratosphere.”
“Do you honestly think your performance was good?” asked Marge. “You sang completely out of tune, you looked like a hoary harlot, and those men! They should be ashamed of themselves, the way they behaved—salivating over you like… like… johns!”