Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Sidekick. Purrfect Deseit. Purrfect Ruse [calibre 5.14.0]

That was the disadvantage of being married to a doctor, Marge thought: patients sometimes thought doctors didn’t need sleep and should be on call at all hours.

She waited a moment, a smile on her lips, as she fully expected Tex to return and tell her that it had indeed been Ida Baumgartner and that she did have some urgent concerns about the size of her legs that couldn’t wait until the morning. Instead, suddenly her husband’s voice called out. “Honey? Can you come here a moment?”

So now it was Marge’s turn to put on her slippers and her night robe and stomp down the stairs. Fully expecting to see the apple-cheeked apparition that was Ida, she was more than a little surprised when she saw Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale instead.

“Hi, Marge,” said Johnny cheerfully. “We thought we’d pay you a little visit.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” said Jerry, also smiling, though it didn’t really become him. Jerry’s ferrety face wasn’t designed for smiling, and his smile came across as a sickly grimace instead.

“We brought a guest,” said Johnny. “I think you probably know him.”

And both men stepped aside to reveal a man’s prostrate body lying on the porch.

“Lord Hilbourne!” Marge cried.

“Bingo!” said Johnny. “See, Jer? I told you she’d get it right the first time.”

Chapter 32

After all the commotion at the hotel, none of us felt particularly in the mood for cat choir. So instead of dropping by the park, we decided to go home instead. Gran and Scarlett were too busy talking to the guests occupying the rooms to the left and right of Lord Hilbourne’s suite, and so we could forget about hitching a ride with them. Odelia and Chase had vanished, presumably on the trail of Johnny and Jerry and halfway to the Adirondacks by now, and Uncle Alec was downstairs, talking to the hotel’s receptionist.

So it was a long hike home for us, which wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Us cats do like a nice long stroll in the moonlight. That’s what being a cat sleuth is all about: you just go with the flow, even if that flow involves a midnight trek through a deserted town.

“I still can’t believe Johnny and Jerry would do such a thing,” said Dooley. “I really thought they’d changed their ways.”

“Not likely,” said Brutus, who’d suddenly revealed himself as something of an amateur criminologist. “The recidivism rate amongst former jailbirds is high. Very high, in fact. So the likelihood of those two walking the straight and narrow after the kind of life they’ve lived is negligible.”

“I think it’s got something to do with the adrenaline rush criminals feel when they commit a crime,” said Harriet, joining her boyfriend in the ranks of feline criminologists. “You simply don’t get that same kind of experience in civilian life, sitting behind a desk and entering numbers into a computer.”

“No, but they could pick a job that provides more of a challenge,” I said.

“Like what? Nothing compares to the rush you feel holding a person at gunpoint,” said Brutus, as if all he did all day was hold people at gunpoint.

“They could always try for police academy,” Dooley suggested.

“Police academy! Those two? You must be crazy!”

“No, but I mean… they would make great cops,” said Dooley. “The fox that becomes the rabbit. Or is it the rabbit that becomes the fox? It’s a thing. I saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel once about a reformed crook who now spends his time putting his former colleagues behind bars.”

“You mean like that Leonardo DiCaprio movie?” I said.

“Catch me if you can!” Harriet suddenly blurted out.

Dooley stared at her with interest. “If you want to play that game you have to make a run for it first, Harriet.”

“No, it’s a movie, silly. Catch Me If You Can. About a guy who used to do all kinds of bad stuff and now he helps the FBI catch the people who used to be in his line of work. It’s based on a real story of a person who really did all of that stuff.”

“I didn’t know Leonardo DiCaprio used to be crook,” said Dooley, interested in this peculiar piece of news.

“Leonardo DiCaprio was just playing the criminal. As an actor?”

“Oh, right,” said Dooley, understanding dawning.

“And the cop who was chasing him was played by Tom Hanks,” said Brutus. “We saw that movie together, didn’t we, sugar lips?”

“Yeah, Marge was saying when we watched it how funny it would be if Johnny and Jerry would become cops one day, and work for her brother.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” said Brutus. “Like I said, recidivism is a tough proposition. Very hard for these people to leave behind that life of crime.”

We’d finally arrived home, and as we walked past a Fiat that stood parked in front of Marge and Tex’s house, I happened to pick up a familiar scent. “Hey, you guys,” I said. “Come over here a minute. Do you smell that?”

My friends all joined me, and took a good sniff around the little car. “It smells like… Johnny and Jerry,” said Brutus.

“Yes, it does,” said Harriet. “What are the odds they’d be hiding out here someplace?”

And as I sniffed a little more, and followed the trail, not unlike a police dog would, I found myself moving up the path to the front door of Odelia’s parents’ house, with the scent growing stronger by the second.

I turned to my friends. “You know what? I think they’re here.”

“Impossible,” said Brutus. “Those crooks would never come here.”

“Why not?” I said. “They like and respect Marge. They used to work for her at the library, remember? And they got along terrifically.”

“But don’t they know that she’s the sister of the Chief of Police? The man who’s searching high and low for their whereabouts?”

“You’ve got to admit,” said Harriet, “that thinking has never been their strong suit. In fact their lack of brains is what keeps leading them into trouble over and over again.”

We all sat there, staring at the closed door, then decided to move around the back and take a look for ourselves, to ascertain whether this wild and crazy theory could possibly have a basis in fact.

So we rounded the house, then snuck in through the pet flap, and soon found ourselves in the kitchen.

“Nothing,” said Brutus. “What did I tell you? They would never dare to show their faces here.”

But then we heard noises upstairs, and the shuffling of feet.

“I think we better go and have a look,” I said. “Marge and Tex are supposed to be asleep, not dancing the Viennese waltz.”

So we moved up the stairs, single file, and as we crept into the bedroom were surprised to find the lights ablaze, but of Tex and Marge there was no sign.

“Johnny and Jerry took them hostage, too!” said Harriet.

“I think this is a bad idea,” suddenly we heard Tex exclaim.

We proceeded in the direction of the sound, and, arriving in the guest bedroom, found ourselves witnessing an unusual sight: Marge and Tex were there, which was to be expected as this was their home, but also Johnny and Jerry, standing next to the guest bed. On that bed, looking pale and motionless, lay Lord Hilbourne—currently the most famous man in Hampton Cove—and also the most sought-after.

Chapter 33

“See?” said Brutus, a note of triumph in his voice. “I told you that these bozos would never be able to get rehabilitated. Once a crook, always a crook.”

“You really shouldn’t have come here,” said Tex, addressing Jerry, whom he seemed to have singled out as the intelligent one.

“I know, I know,” said Jerry. “But Johnny figured you were our best option. Better tell them the story, Johnny. And leave no detail out, no matter how insignificant.”