Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Cover. Purrfect Patsy. Purrfect Son

After Francis had walked out carrying his two bottles of wine and a nice block of Brie cheese, Wilbur took his phone and called Vesta. He didn’t like being accused of gross negligence, but what he liked even less were criminals taking what didn’t belong to them. And as he waited for Vesta to pick up, suddenly he saw that some teenager was grabbing a can of Red Bull and tucking it into the waistband of his cargo pants, then pulling down his Bugs Bunny sweater over it. “I saw that, Bart Stupes!” he yelled, and disconnected again, just when Vesta’s voice called out, “Wilbur? What do you want?”

But the store owner was already stalking down the aisles en route to catching a sneak thief in the act.

Chapter 8

“And what did they take, exactly?” asked Tex as he studied his patient with a measure of exasperation.

He’d known, when becoming a doctor, that he’d have to deal with his fair share of annoying patients from time to time, but never in his wildest dreams had he expected to encounter a hypochondriac stalker who’d walk into his office on a daily basis. Ida Baumgartner was every doctor’s worst nightmare. She scoured the internet for new and fascinating diseases she was absolutely sure she suffered from, and even though Tex explained to her time and time again that, apart from a slight tendency to suffer from hypertension, she was as healthy as a young oxen, she wouldn’t take his word for it, and demand he examine her for whatever new disease she’d discovered online.

This morning, however, Ida had other things on her mind apart from the precarious state of her health. Someone had broken into her home the night before, and she was anxious to tell anyone who would listen all about it, and even those who wouldn’t listen, too. Or those who had a waiting room full of patients, like Dr. Tex Poole.

“They took my painting,” she declared now, with a sense of importance that had put a blush on her cheeks. “My priceless painting, if you please.”

“What painting would this be?” asked Tex, casting a sad glance at his monitor that fed him a live image of his waiting room, where six patients were more or less patiently waiting for Ida to finish her tale of woe and damnation.

“My late husband got it at an auction in Auckland,” Idea explained as she clasped her purse a little tighter, as if afraid those same thieves would suddenly spring from under the desk and abscond with her faux crocodile Louis Vuitton. “It’s a Picasso, if you please.”

“A real Picasso?” asked Tex, trying his darndest to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

“That’s right. My Burt knew his art.”

“Wasn’t your husband a traveling salesman for Crockpot?”

“He was—and a damn fine one at that. Burt was a man of the world, and if he said it was a real Picasso, you can bet your bottom dollar it was. Worth a small fortune, too.”

“And someone stole it,” said Tex, wondering how much of the story was true, and how much Ida had picked up from the Lifetime movie she’d been watching the night before.

“It must have happened while I was home, too,” said the eternal patient. She shivered visibly. “Can you imagine? Being home in bed with a burglar prowling through your apartment. I can only imagine what might have happened if I’d been suffering through one of my insomniac episodes you told me I didn’t suffer from.” She gave Tex a look of reproach. “Good thing you decided to give me those pills anyway, or else I might have woken up and run straight into that burglar. And who knows what would have happened. He’d have probably knocked me out cold—or worse!”

Tex couldn’t imagine what fate worse than being knocked on the head could have befallen Ida, but kept his tongue. He’d learned a long time ago to simply let Ida do all the talking, at the end write her a prescription for a harmless potion or draught, and send her on her way, happy that yet another lethal disease had been nipped in the bud.

“I probably should have sold the painting a long time ago,” said Ida with pretty regret. “Burt told me it’d probably net us a million. But I simply couldn’t bring myself to part with something that was a gift from my dearest late husband—God rest his soul.”

“So did you tell the police?” asked Tex, in spite of himself gripped by this tale.

Ida pressed her lips together. “Of course I did. And do you want to know what she said, that horrible Dolores Peltz? That it was probably a fake, and to buy myself another copy at the dime store. Can you believe the gall of the woman? The impertinence?”

Tex made the appropriate noises of commiseration, while he mentally commended Dolores for her good sense.

“I’m sure Chief Alec will take the matter in hand,” he said. “If there really is a gang of thieves going house to house as you suggest, he’ll be on top of it—don’t you worry.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Ida with a disparaging shake of the head. “Our chief of police is too busy with other, more important matters, to bother about a silly little thing like a crime wave upsetting his fair town.”

“You mean…”

Mrs. Baumgartner nodded primly and scooted a little closer to the desk. “The Chief is carrying on with the Mayor, if you please. Acting like a couple of teenage lovebirds, too. I saw them walking out of the police station, hand in hand, giggling and behaving like a couple of silly kids.” She produced a loud snort of disapproval. “The safety of Hampton Covians be damned—as long as the Mayor and the chief of police can have their little carnal fun, who cares about ordinary tax-paying citizens like myself?”

“I’m sure Alec is on top of things,” said Tex as he got up from behind his desk, the clearest indication he could give that as far as he was concerned, the consultation was at an end. Ida Baumgartner didn’t take the hint, though, and remained firmly seated.

“I’m telling you, Dr. Poole, when both the Mayor and the chief of police take their eye off the ball, we’re in for a very bad time indeed. You know what they say. When the cat’s away, the mice will play. And this is the exact same scenario playing out right now, only with potentially devastating consequences for us little people.” And with a final loud snort, she got up and walked out. “You tell that brother-in-law of yours to get his act together fast, or else this town will become like the Wild West. Lawlessness will reign, and Hampton Cove will go down in flames and so will his career and the Mayor’s.”

Chapter 9

Long after Marge had left, along with her contraption of doom, we all stayed safely hidden in Odelia’s bed. Finally I decided to brave all and venture out into the world again. Much to my delight, of Marge there was no trace, and neither of her Hoover.

“You can come out now, you guys,” I said therefore. “The coast is clear.”

Harriet, who was the first to follow my lead, blew out a sigh of intense relief. “When I talked to Marge and implored her to do something about the lack of hygiene in this place I didn’t think she’d be this quick to give service,” she said, looking slightly mussed. She immediately started rectifying the situation by applying raspy tongue to fur.

Brutus, who was next to emerge from under the bed covers, glanced left and right, then lifted his head and walked out into our midst as if nothing had happened. He stretched and yawned. “Nice nap, you guys,” he said. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t as afraid as the rest of us of that vacuum cleaner,” I said.

“Afraid? Moi? ” he asked, assuming a careless stance. He laughed a light little laugh. “What a silly idea. Me, afraid of a vacuum cleaner. Of course I’m not afraid. I simply saw that you were afraid and decided you needed a strong paw to guide you through this dark time, that’s all.”