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

“The thing is, Max,” said Mr. Ed, “that the man was a crook. And not just any crook either. He’s the crook that ripped off my human to the tune of no less than seventy-five thousand smackeroos last week.”

Now this was news to me, and I stared at the snail, trying to figure out where his eyes were. “Your human? What do you mean, your human? You’re a snail. Snails don’t have humans. You guys roam wild and free, not a care in the world except where to find some delicious leaves to munch on.”

“That’s what you think,” said the snail, making a gentle scoffing sound as he shook his tiny little head. “It’s not just cats and dogs that have humans that care for them and love them, Max. Snails are lovable creatures, too, you know. Or don’t you think we deserve to be loved as much as some of the bigger pets do?”

“Oh, sure,” I said quickly, now rolling onto my tummy and giving the snail an apologetic look. “Of course you do. I think you’re absolutely worthy of love… Mr. Ed.”

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” he said with a shrug, which involved hoisting his entire shell into the air and then lowering it again. “You think I’m hideous, don’t you? Disgusting. Just a slimy, weird-looking creature who for some reason drags his cozy little home along with him wherever he goes, leaving nothing but a trail of gooey goo behind.”

“No, no,” I assured Mr. Ed. “That’s not what I was thinking at all, Mr. Ed.”

“Oh, yes, that’s exactly what you were thinking. But that’s all right, Max. It’s not often cats and snails mix in a social setting, and I for one felt hesitant to approach you like this. Out of the blue, I mean. But I figured I owe it to my human to get the word out, and I can’t do it on my own. For some reason my human is reluctant to involve the cops.”

“But why? What happened?” I asked, now thoroughly intrigued by this unusual tale.

“Max!” suddenly Dooley’s voice sounded in my rear. “I can’t find Odelia anywhere! I hope she hasn’t touched those poisoned potatoes! Who are you?” This last question wasn’t directed at me but at Mr. Ed. “Hey, you’re a snail.”

“Excellent powers of observation, cat,” said Mr. Ed.

“Dooley, meet Mr. Ed,” I said. “Mr. Ed, this is Dooley, my best friend.”

“I know who you are,” said Mr. Ed. “You and Max work together, don’t you? You’re like a team. Well, I’m glad you decided to drop by, Dooley, since I only intend to tell this once. So listen carefully.” And then he took a deep breath and said, “It all started two weeks ago…”

Chapter 5

Harriet and Brutus had also joined us, and after making the necessary introductions, and getting Brutus to stop grinning at the notion of a snail regaling a couple of cats with the woes that had befallen his human, Mr. Ed resumed his tale. And a tall tale it was, too.

“Evelina is one of those humans who has a hard time bonding with another human of the opposite sex,” the snail explained, his tentacles waving in the air to emphasize his words. “She’s forty-two now and has never married. Oh, she’s been in relationships, but never one that lasted more than a couple of weeks. Lately her sister Emma expressed concern that she will never find a man to settle down with, and experience the joys of having a family of her own. And so Emma made it her mission to get Evelina hooked up with a significant other. She arranged a number of dates, keeping a close eye on her progress. Unfortunately the first ones were all duds, and Evelina was frankly prepared to give up when one day Emma hit upon Mr. Right.”

“I thought your name was Ed?” said Brutus, still grinning.

Mr. Ed ignored our friend’s barb, and continued. “This man, his name was Bob Rector, though she liked to call him Bobby, scored a fulsome ten on Evelina’s scorecard.”

“Evelina kept a scorecard?” I asked.

“Well, actually this was Emma’s idea. She’d read somewhere that it is advisable to score your dates, and so every time Evelina had gone out on a date they made it a point to sit down for a moment of reflection. You know, like a performance review? Evelina owns her own business, and so does Emma, so I guess the idea appealed to them.”

Brutus’s grin was widening, and I could tell he had to tamp down the urge to utter some ill-advised crack. A glance from Harriet shut him up, though. I think she was as eager as the rest of us to get to the heart of this curious little story.

“So Evelina and Bob went on a second date, and then a third, and by the time their fourth date rolled around Evelina was already talking wedding plans and had selected a list of potential names for their firstborn. Marie if it was a girl, Perry if it was a boy.”

“What a coincidence,” said Dooley. “Our human is about to get married, too. But we’re not invited,” he added with a touch of sadness.

“Well, anyway,” said Mr. Ed, “things were going really well, and everyone said that Evelina looked twenty years younger, and that she’d never seemed happier. Even her work colleagues all said she was one lucky lady to have met such a fine gentleman.”

“What does she do for a living?” asked Harriet.

“She owns a very successful party supply store. She sells everything from costumes to cakes and decorations—the works.”

“So she’s rich,” I said.

“Oh, yes. Evelina is loaded.”

“Oh, boy,” I said. “I think I can guess the rest.”

“You can?” said Dooley. “But how, Max?”

“Look, do you want me to tell the story or not?” asked Mr. Ed, who was getting a little annoyed by all these interruptions.

“I want you to tell the story,” said Dooley, sobered.

“Well, so one day disaster struck. Evelina and Bob had planned to meet, when all of a sudden she received a message announcing he’d been taken.”

“Taken?” asked Dooley. “Taken where?”

“Who cares!” said Mr. Ed, growing a little hot under his collar—if snails have collars, that is. Hard to tell. As it was, his face took on a slightly darker tinge of green, and he spat, “I’m starting to think the stories of Max and Dooley, phenomenal sleuthing team, are highly overrated.”

Brutus cleared his throat. “You probably meant to say ‘Harriet and Brutus, phenomenal sleuthing team. Or maybe HARRIET & BRUTUS (WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF MAX & DOOLEY).”

Mr. Ed gave him a stoic look—by this time I’d located his eyes—they’re on stalks—and went on. “So turns out Bob had been kidnapped, and the ransom fee was a cool seventy-five thousand dollars,” he said, keeping Brutus under close observation lest he shot off his mouth again.

“So did she pay?” I asked.

“Yes, she did. The scheduled ransom drop was last night. Seventy-five thousand in unmarked bills, to be delivered by her, without the involvement of the police. So she did as instructed and dropped the money in a trash container located at the canal lock near McMillan Street and then waited in vain for news from the kidnappers. They were supposed to let Bob go as soon as they got their hands on the money. But much to my dismay I discovered that Bob’s body has been found, having fallen off a potato truck.”

“So the kidnappers killed Bob!” said Dooley. “The potatoes are innocent!”

“And you think Bob was behind his own kidnapping,” I said, “and something went wrong and he ended up dead instead?”

Mr. Ed nodded, his tentacles dangling freely as he did. “I never trusted this Bob fellow. Too good to be true. Plus, he almost stepped on me when he came over for dinner one night. And even though he later claimed it was an accident, I could see the look in his eyes after he almost crushed me.” He paused for effect. “It was the look of a killer.”