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

And the end wasn’t even in sight, as Gran had one more stop to make: right in front of the General Store, where Wilbur Vickery stood waiting.

He peered into the vehicle and grunted, “You couldn’t have picked a bigger car? Hello, Francis.”

“Wilbur,” said Father Reilly with a nod.

Wilbur filed into the car, relegating the cat contingent to the footwell, and if we thought we’d come to the end of our troubles, of course Kingman chose that moment to jump right on top of his human’s lap and give us a little wave.

“All right down there, fellas?” he asked, and had the gall to laugh!

“I don’t like this neighborhood watch, Max,” said Dooley, and I think he spoke for all of us at that point.

Luckily we didn’t have far to drive, and soon the car pulled to a stop and we all got out.

“So what’s the plan?” asked Father Reilly, frowning at the house across the road.

“Isn’t that Vince Damsel’s place?” asked Wilbur.

“Yes, but what I meant was, what are we doing here?”

“Let me fill you in,” said Gran, taking charge of the proceedings like a natural-born neighborhood watch leader. “Vince Damsel is the owner of one of the biggest collections of garden gnomes in town. And so far he’s been able to keep the thieves at bay. But I got a hunch his troubles are about to start.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Father Reilly.

“Well, all the other gnome collectors have been hit already. So Vince is the last holdout, and one of the fattest targets yet.”

“So we think,” Scarlett continued, “that sooner or later Vince’s gnomes are going to prove a target that’s too attractive to resist.”

“Sooner or later?” said Wilbur, plucking at his beard. “You mean we gotta camp out here night after night hoping these rascals will turn up?”

“It does seem a little haphazard if you ask me, Vesta,” said Father Reilly.

“No one asked you, Francis,” Vesta snapped. “You said you wanted to be a part of the watch, and now you are. So shut up and do as you’re told for a change, will you?”

“Gran is in her element, isn’t she?” Dooley said.

“She is,” I said. “This neighborhood watch business brings out the best in her.” Or the worst, depending how you looked at it.

“Look, we’re all here because we want the same thing,” Scarlett said now, trying to smooth Father Reilly’s ruffled feathers. “We all want to live in a safe and pleasant neighborhood. Right?”

“I guess,” said Father Reilly, who didn’t look happy.

“So let’s make sure we catch those thieves and put them behind bars, all right?”

Father Reilly muttered something I couldn’t quite catch. It sounded a lot like, ‘Vincit qui se vincit.’

“And what do you want us to do?” asked Shanille now.

But Gran, for obvious reasons, couldn’t exactly talk to us in front of her fellow watch members. So instead she pointed in the direction of Vince Damsel’s house.

I got the message loud and clear. While the neighborhood watch’s human contingent took up its vigil on this side of the street, us cats were expected to move closer to the scene, and actually guard the gnomes at close range.

So we did as Gran implied, and crossed the street at a trot. And soon we were in Vince’s front yard, and had all selected a couple of gnomes for close protection detail.

Now I knew what Kevin Costner must have felt like in that movie The Bodyguard. Though of course Whitney Houston was much lovelier than any of the foul gnomes that glared at me in the light of a lone streetlamp.

I sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 34

“So is this what the neighborhood watch is all about?” asked Dooley. He was lying next to me, neatly hidden underneath a rhododendron bush.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “It’s called a stakeout, and basically it means you just stick around until something happens.”

“Which might be never,” said Harriet from her position underneath the next bush.

“So do you guys do this often?” asked Kingman. He was even further down the line, and had found Shanille next to him as his stakeout-mate.

“Actually, no,” I said.

“Oh, but I thought you and Odelia did this kind of thing all the time?”

“Mostly she talks to people,” I said. “And we talk to those same people’s pets. Staking out a place is not something we do on a daily basis.”

“I like it,” Shanille announced. “It think it’s soothing. Just lying here in this cool grass. The stars… the moon… the silence of the night. I think it’s very… romantic.”

“Is that a fact?” said Kingman, and I could hear the grin in his voice.

“I thought you had cat choir,” said Harriet. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll miss you?”

“Not really,” said Shanille. “I asked Buster to take over. Aren’t you afraid they’re going to miss your solo?”

“Not really,” said Harriet. “I could be mistaken, but sometimes I have the impression no one appreciates my solos. And it’s at moments like that that I wonder what I’m doing it for, you know?”

Dooley and I shared a look of concern. I’d never heard Harriet turn philosophical like this. Must be the stars… the moon… the silence of the night.

Or it could be the silent stares of the gnomes, their beady little eyes boring into ours. They looked like they were alive, which was ridiculous, of course.

“I think I speak for every member of cat choir when I tell you that we all like your solos, Harriet,” said Shanille. “Isn’t that right, Kingman?”

“Mh? What? Oh, yeah, sure. Absolutely. Lovely solos. Just lovely.”

“You have a wonderful singing voice,” said Shanille. “And you should be proud of it.”

“Thanks, Shanille,” said Harriet, sounding surprised. “That’s… very nice of you to say.”

“I mean it. Have you tried the stage?”

“Yes, I have,” said Harriet. “It wasn’t a great success.”

“You should try again. I think you’ll find that with practice you’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” said Harriet, clearly moved.

“That gnome is staring at me, Max,” said Dooley, pointing to a fat gnome in front of us.

“That gnome is just a piece of painted plaster, Dooley,” I said. Though my friend was right. The gnome was, indeed, staring at us. With a flicker of malice in its eyes. Creepy!

“I heard Dan Goory is still in jail?” said Kingman.

“Yeah, it looks like he just might be the killer after all,” I said.

“Odelia isn’t happy about it,” Brutus grunted. “It probably will cost her her job.”

“It’s not because of her job that she’s unhappy,” said Harriet. “It’s because Dan is a friend, and she finds it hard to believe one of her friends could be a killer.”

“I find it hard to believe, too,” said Shanille. “Father Reilly was saying just the other day how Dan is one of the most upstanding citizens in this town, and now this. It’s terrible—simply terrible.”

“Wilbur said just the opposite,” said Kingman. “I heard him tell several of his customers how he’s always thought there was something fishy about Dan. Something evil.”

“You shouldn’t listen to Wilbur, Kingman,” said Shanille. “He is what Father Reilly likes to call a fallible human.”

“All humans are fallible, though,” said Harriet. “Well, they are,” she insisted when Kingman groaned. “They all make mistakes, but most of them try to learn from their mistakes, which makes them admirable in my book.”

See? What did I tell you? These stakeouts bring out the philosopher in all of us.

“I hope Elsa has managed to get rid of the mice,” said Brutus. “Otherwise this night will have been a complete waste of time.”