Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Advice. Purrfect Passion. A Purrfect Gnomeful

“Oh-kay,” I said. I didn’t want to point out to Elsa that cats can’t write, and that it would be a little hard for us to draw up a letter of attorney just like that, but I was frankly prey to that strange awkwardness that comes upon a person—or cat—when they feel indebted to another person—or mouse. “Um…”

“Though in your case,” Elsa went on with a little frown, “it would probably be best if Odelia signed the papers, absolving me of all responsibility if something goes wrong. She is, after all, the homeowner, and you’re merely guests in this house, am I right?”

“Um, I guess so,” I said. I’d never looked at it that way before, but Elsa made a valid point. Cats, as a rule, can’t actually own a property, since they don’t exactly earn a living, and banks are therefore often reluctant to set them up with a mortgage.

“So you want us to ask Odelia to sign a paper absolving you of all responsibility?” asked Harriet, in an attempt to make things clear.

“Yeah, I think that would be for the best,” said Elsa, settling back with a contented sigh. “Now if you could give me some of that cream cheese I saw in the fridge, that would be just swell.”

While Dooley went in search of the cream cheese, I asked the question I was sure was on everyone’s lips: “Do you think something could possibly go wrong?”

“I’m pretty sure it won’t,” said Elsa. “But you never know. And my mama always said better to be safe than sorry. So it’s best if we do this by the book, don’t you agree, Max?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” I said quickly. “Yeah, I’m all for doing things by the book.” It did strike me that if we needed Odelia to sign a power of attorney it would push back the event we’d all been looking forward to with so much anticipation: the great evacuation. Then again, Elsa was absolutely right. If you’re going to do something, better do it right.

So while Elsa enjoyed her cream cheese, I went in search of Odelia, whose signature had suddenly become very important indeed.

Chapter 31

Vesta was scribbling something in her little notebook. “So what did they look like, these thieves?” she asked, directing a penetrating glance at Ted Trapper, who was rubbing his tummy for some reason.

“Like I already told you, I never saw them. I only heard them.”

“Mh,” said Vesta censoriously. She liked her witnesses more helpful than this, but then beggars can’t be choosers and Ted, even though he was a lousy witness, was also one of her only witnesses. “So what did they sound like?” she asked.

“They giggled,” he said, directing a pained look at his wife Marcie, who stood, arms crossed in front of her chest, and staring down at the pile of gnomes with a distinctly unhappy look on her face. No fastidious homeowner likes to see piles of gnomes suddenly turn up where they’re not invited, and Marcie clearly wondered if she’d have to put them in regular trash or put them out with the recyclables. Or even hazardous waste.

“Giggled?” asked Scarlett, who was also scribbling in a little notebook. She giggled. “Did you just say ‘giggled?’”

“Yeah, they giggled.”

Vesta pounced on this. “They? So there was more than one giggler?”

“I think so,” said Ted.

“So you’re not sure?” asked Vesta, who was getting fed up with this unreliable witness.

“No, I guess I’m not. But I had the impression there was more than one?”

“How many more?” asked Scarlett. “Two, three, a dozen?”

Ted grimaced and shook his head. He helplessly glanced over to Tex and Marge, who’d also joined them in the garden, but who were not much help either.

“I’m pretty sure there was more than one, too,” said Tex.

“Two?” asked Scarlett. “There were two?”

“No, I said I’m pretty sure there was more than one, too.”

Scarlett looked confused. “So is it one or is it two? Be clear, Tex.”

“Oh, what does it matter?” Marge said, throwing up her hands. “We should call the police.”

“No,” said Ted quickly. “No police.”

He’d already expressed his desire to deal with this between neighbors, seeing as he didn’t want it to be widely known that his backyard had become a landfill for gnomes.

“My brother is very discreet,” Marge said. “If you tell him you want this handled on the down-low, he’ll handle it on the down-low.”

“Down. Low,” Scarlett muttered as she wrote this down in her neat handwriting.

“Look, I know how these big organizations work, all right,” said Ted. “I used to work for PriceWaterhouseCoopers. It’s simply impossible to keep anything on the down-low.”

Marge’s face took on a dark look. She didn’t like it when people cast aspersions on her brother, of whom she was exceedingly fond.

“Look, how hard can it be to catch two gnome thieves?” asked Ted, exasperated. “They must have left a trace. How about footprints? Fingerprints?”

“Don’t let’s get ahead of ourselves here,” said Vesta. “First we take the witness statements, then we search for clues. There is a method to this madness, Ted.”

She’d downloaded a copy of Sleuthing for Dummies, and even though she’d only read the introduction, she had a feeling she was already getting a good grip on the material. Besides, she was a natural. And she’d helped her granddaughter on so many cases she had experience up the wazoo.

“Why don’t we ask Odelia?” Tex suggested.

“No!” Ted cried. “She’s a reporter,” he explained. “She’ll turn this into a big story.”

“She will not turn this into a big story if we ask her not to,” said Marge, gritting her teeth a little.

Vesta had the feeling that if Ted continued down this road he’d soon make a mortal enemy out of Marge.

“These gnomes,” she said, pointing to the biggest and fattest of the bunch. “You’re telling me they belong to Kinnard Daym?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Tex. “Kinnard’s been bragging about his gnomes for months. In our weekly meetings he can’t stop talking about how he snagged them at an online auction dedicated to gnomes for more money than any of us can afford.”

“We staked out Kinnard’s house last night,” Scarlett said. “And we almost caught the thieves.”

“Must be other collectors,” said Tex. “Gotta be.”

“Yeah, collectors can get very jealous,” Ted agreed. “They must have seen Kinnard’s gnomes on his Facebook or even his Instagram, and listened to his bragging, and decided to teach him a lesson.” His face sagged. “But why they would dump the pride of Kinnard’s collection in my backyard is frankly beyond me.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Marcie. “They wanted to blame you for the theft. They knew that some people would believe you were guilty.” She cut a vicious glance in Tex’s direction, and the latter, much to his credit, affected to look appropriately contrite.

“I’m sorry,” said Tex. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that, Ted.”

“And called him names,” Marcie added.

“And called you names,” Tex agreed shamefacedly.

“Okay, I think that concludes this part of the investigation,” said Vesta, tucking her notebook in the pocket of her tracksuit. “Come on, Scarlett. Let’s go find ourselves some clues.”

“Ooh, clues!” Scarlett, said, tripping after Vesta. “I love clues.”

Vesta studied the fence. She was so short her head didn’t even reach the top. “So how are we going to do this?” she murmured.

“Oh, I know,” said Scarlett. “We simply go around the block and come in from the other side.”

“Barbed wire,” Vesta said curtly.

“I don’t like barbed wire,” said Scarlett.