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

“It’s a person,” suddenly Chase announced.

“A person!” Dooley cried. He looked at me, as if wanting answers and wanting them now. I couldn’t give him any, of course, apart from an equally stunned look in return.

“I’ve got feet,” Odelia announced.

“And I’ve got a head,” Chase grunted, and suddenly as the full picture became clear, I discovered that they were right: a person was buried there, not a cat.

“Do you think it’s a dead person, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Um… I think so, Dooley,” I said. “I’m not an expert but usually when people have been buried underground for a while, that means they’re dead. Goes with the territory.”

“Oh, dear,” said Dooley, taking the words right out of Odelia’s mouth.

We looked on as Chase removed some of the dirt from the person’s face, and we now saw that it was a bearded person.

“I think it’s a man, Max,” said Dooley in a breathless whisper.

“Unless it’s a bearded woman,” I suggested, trying to keep the atmosphere light and pleasant. We were, after all, in the middle of the woods, and a murderer had apparently engaged not only in the kidnapping of cats, but also in the unlawful snuffing out of the life of another human being. Not exactly the best circumstances to find ourselves in!

“Does he look familiar?” asked Odelia as they both studied the person’s face.

“Not… exactly,” said Chase as he shot a couple of pictures, perhaps to post on his Facebook.

“He looks like a bum,” said Dooley after a moment’s consideration.

And I could see why he would think that. The man was raggedly dressed, and had a soiled face, though that could be because of the being buried thing, of course.

“He does look like a homeless person,” Odelia agreed.

“I better call it in,” said Chase, and stepped back to place a phone call to the precinct.

“How about that?” said Odelia as she placed her spade against a nearby tree, and cut a questioning look in our direction. “You do realize people will want to know how I came to find this guy out here,” she said.

“You could tell them you followed your cats’ trail into the woods, where not only did you find Chouchou and the other missing cats, but also this dead person,” I told her.

“And here I thought this was going to be one of those uneventful days.”

“Think again.”

“So… why would a person kidnap five cats and then bury a body in the woods, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Now that,” said Odelia, “is exactly what I’d like to know.”

“We’re not sure this is the same person,” I said. “Could be just a coincidence.”

Within a reasonably short time of Chase ‘calling it in,’ the place was crawling with cops and crime scene people, and Dooley and I were forced to take a backseat. When Odelia finally turned to join us, she announced, “Yeah, he’s definitely been murdered. Shot through the head with what looks like a .38 caliber firearm if you please.”

“Shot!” I cried. I don’t know why I was surprised. If a person takes the time to bury a body in the woods, it’s highly unlikely that the victim died of natural causes.

Odelia nodded as she took in the strenuous activity surrounding the burial site of the dead man.

“And who is he?” asked Dooley.

“We don’t know, Dooley,” said Odelia. “He had no ID on him. No wallet, no phone, not a slip of paper. They’ll take his fingerprints, of course, and see if he’s in the system.”

“What system is that?”

“The police database.”

“Is everybody in the police database?”

“Only if you’ve ever had a brush with the law,” Odelia explained.

“And if he hasn’t?”

Odelia shrugged. “Then it looks like we’re dealing with a John Doe.”

“Oh, so you do know his name.”

“A John Doe is just a name for a person whose identity is unknown,” I explained for my friend’s information.

“So his name isn’t really Mr. Doe?”

“No,” said Odelia. “His name isn’t really John Doe. One thing we do know. This is a man who’s lived rough for a long time. He definitely shows signs of having lived life on the street for at least a number of years.”

“So he is a bum?” asked Dooley.

Odelia smiled a tight smile. “Yes, Dooley. Looks like our John Doe is a bum.”

Chapter 8

While the police handled the investigation into the mysterious death of a homeless person, it was back to our regular lives for us cats. Important things had been happening at the home of Marge and Tex, Odelia’s parents, and it was time we pulled our attention from recent events as they’d unfolded, and returned it to what was really important, namely the picking of the right kitchen design for Tex and Marge’s new kitchen.

The old kitchen had been there since Odelia’s folks had bought that house many years ago, and Gran had felt for a long time that it was time to retire it and put in a new one, and that she had to have the last word when it came to picking the new design. Marge, of course, felt differently, and so did Tex, and that was where matters now stood.

Our humans had at least agreed on one thing: where to buy the kitchen, and so we found ourselves in the showroom of Kramer Kitchen Kreation, the company owned by Fred Kramer, also known as the Kitchen King, faced with an impossible choice.

“So many kitchens, Max!” Dooley said with words of hushed awe.

He was right. I don’t think I’d ever seen so many kitchens in the same room, and a big room it was, too. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to reconstruct dozens of different kitchens in one big showroom, and plenty of people were milling about, potential customers all in the same position as our own humans: faced with the near impossible task of picking just one of these gorgeous kitchens.

“Look, it’s very simple,” said Gran. “Just give me carte blanche and I’ll pick the right kitchen for us. In fact I’ve picked the right kitchen already, so you really don’t have to bother anymore.” She smiled, and added the magic words: “Trust me!”

Magic in the sense that they worked on Tex like a red rag on a bull.

“And how much is this going to cost me?” asked the good doctor as he eyed his mother-in-law with an expression that betrayed his lack of trust in her judgment.

“Oh, not that much,” said Gran. “In fact it’s a real bargain, if you ask me.”

“This is my kitchen as well as yours, Ma,” said Marge, glancing around and looking for a salesperson. “So excuse me if I’m going to have the final say in this.”

“And since I’m the one who’ll have to pay,” said Tex, “excuse me for having final say.”

A salesperson had come charging to, and he must have realized he had a couple of real buyers before him, and not just window shoppers, for he displayed the wide smile your real salesman likes to display when he’s about to make a killing. “Excellent choice,” he said, as he nodded at the kitchen we just happened to be standing in. It was all dark wood and gleaming new appliances, and wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Nancy Meyers movie, preferably starring either Diane Keaton or Meryl Streep.

“We’re not buying this,” said Tex immediately. He’d taken a gander at the price tag which was displayed on a stand near the entrance, and there was a finality to his voice that told of his reluctance to pay through the nose for what he considered an exercise in futility. Tex had long argued that they didn’t need a new kitchen, that the old one was perfectly fine, that it had at least another fifteen years left in the tank, and he wasn’t budging from this point of view, juxtaposed with that of his wife and mother-in-law.