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

“Of course, Odelia,” said Max, and both cats trotted off up the stairs.

“Amazing,” said Scarlett, shaking her head. “I didn’t understand a word you just said.”

Chapter 8

“We should have brought Harriet,” said Dooley. “She and Jasmine could have had a chat. Persian to Persian, I mean. She would probably have been able to drag the truth out of her a lot better than we ever could.”

I had to admit my friend made a valid point. Persians are notoriously difficult, and have a tendency toward feeling superior to any other species of cat, or pet for that matter. And I wasn’t sure if she would listen to us, or even deem us worthy of a response when we asked her a question. But we owed it to Odelia to try our best.

So it was with a sense of slight trepidation that I entered Jasmine’s lair, which apparently was the room belonging to the girl called Mia, and scanned it for the presence of the white-haired feline.

She saw us before we saw her, though, and asked, a little haughtily, I thought, “And what are you two doing here? This is my room, my house, and trespassers are advised to keep out or face grievous bodily harm.”

“Um, we’re here with Odelia Poole,” I said, as I glanced around, trying to locate the source of Jasmin’s voice. “She’s been called in to investigate the murder of Kirk Weaver, and to clear the reputation of your human. My name is Max, by the way, and this is Dooley.”

“You don’t look like detectives,” the voice shot back, and I glanced over to the window and finally saw the curtain move. I smiled.

“And what is a detective supposed to look like?” I asked as I approached the window.

“Not one step closer!” suddenly the cat’s voice cut through the room, and immediately I froze. “When I think of a detective I picture them as distinguished, debonair, and devilishly clever. You two look like a comedy duo. Like Laurel and Hardy.”

I rolled my eyes. I could already imagine which one of the comedy pair I was. “Look, I don’t care what you think detectives are supposed to look like. I’ll have you know that we’ve solved our fair share of crimes in this town, and if you let us we’ll solve this one, too, and make sure your human isn’t sent to prison. She didn’t kill Kirk Weaver, did she?”

“That’s what I told the old lady and I stand by my words,” said Jasmine. She emerged from behind the curtains, and next to me Dooley emitted an involuntary gasp.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice suddenly husky.

Jasmine didn’t even crack a smile. “I know,” she said simply. “Now if there’s nothing else, I’d like you to leave this room. I don’t like other cats to shed in my personal space, and I can already see that you two are shedding like crazy. Especially you, Hardy, spreading a thick carpet of red fur all over my perfectly polished hardwood floor.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I always shed when I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t,” she advised, and took a tentative sniff in our direction, then frowned. “Are you by any chance cohabiting with a Persian?”

“Yes, we are,” said Dooley. “Her name is Harriet and she looks a lot like you. Gorgeous and with beautiful white fur, I mean.”

“Mh,” said Jasmine. “Harriet. Strange name for a Persian. Then again, we can’t all be Jasmine. Well, what are you two still doing here? Didn’t I tell you to leave immediately?”

“There’s just a couple of questions I’d like to ask,” I said.

“That’s what detectives do,” Dooley pointed out with a lame chuckle.

“Oh, all right,” said Jasmine. “Go on. Ask your silly questions.”

“So you and Mia were in here when Kirk was killed, right?”

“If you’re going to make me repeat everything twice—”

“Just confirming,” I said quickly. “Now you say you heard a scream? How sure are you that it was Kirk screaming?”

“One hundred percent,” said Jasmine tersely. “I have perfect hearing, something which you two don’t seem to possess, in my opinion a serious failing for a pair of so-called detectives, though not unheard of in a comedy duo.”

“Why does she keep calling us a comedy duo, Max?” asked Dooley, but I decided to ignore him for now. Time was of the essence, before Jasmine got bored and kicked us out.

“Did you hear anything else? Voices or anything that might lead us to identify the real killer?” I asked.

Jasmine glanced up at the ceiling as she expelled a sigh. “No. Anything else?”

“So you have no idea who could have done this to Kirk?”

She was silent for a beat, then said, “My best guess would be Allison.”

“Mia’s aunt? But why?”

Jasmine leveled a long look at me, then said, “First off, I know there’s such a thing as a bond that pets share with their humans, and I personally have the greatest respect for this sacred covenant, all right?”

“Okay,” I said, wondering where this was going.

“Second, I’m not a liar. I pride myself in always telling the truth, no matter how inconvenient.”

“An admirable trait, I’m sure.”

“Oh, don’t patronize me, Hardy,” she said with a frown. “The thing is, if someone goes down for this murder, I’d prefer if it isn’t Mia, as I like her. Even though Allison is my human, I actually like Mia a lot more. She’s always been kind to me, whereas Allison only took me in because she needed another ornament to beautify her personal space. To her I’m like a piece of furniture, or a fancy dress that she can showcase to her friends. So at the risk of betraying the treasured bond that connects all cats and their humans…” She heaved a deep sigh. “Look, Mia was having an affair with this Kirk Weaver fellow. But she wasn’t the only one. At the same time he was also having an affair with Allison.”

“What?” I said, a little shocked.

“Yeah, color me surprised when I walked in on the two of them doing it in the kitchen one night when Mia was out with her friends.”

“What were they doing?” asked Dooley, interested.

Jasmine gave him a critical look. “What do you think they were doing, Laurel?”

“Um… cooking dinner?” Dooley suggested.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” I said quickly. “He’s very young and not always familiar with the strange and wonderful habits of humans in love.”

“In love? In lust, you mean. The way they were going at it—”

“Yes, I can see what you mean,” I said, before she painted a vivid and colorful word picture of the kinds of actions Allison and the late Mr. Weaver had been up to that night.

“Well, anyway, it’s not entirely inconceivable that Allison was jealous of Mia and decided she wanted Kirk for herself. And when Kirk didn’t comply, is it so hard to believe that a woman scorned resorted to violence?”

“You mean… a crime passionnel ?” I said delicately.

“Bingo, Hardy. And then she made sure that Mia took the blame.”

“But… she did everything she could to make sure the police didn’t get involved.”

“Of course. She doesn’t want the cops to come snooping around and discover she’s the real killer.”

I thought about this. “Mia said she was feeling woozy, and doesn’t remember kneeling next to the body,” I said. “What kinds of pills was she taking that she was so out of it?”

Jasmine smiled. “Now you’re talking, Puss Detective. The kind of pills a person would give her niece to make sure she wouldn’t overhear her aunt murdering her boyfriend, but not powerful enough to prevent her from waking up and stumbling, half asleep, into the next room and come upon the murder scene and implicate herself in the crime.”

“Has your fur always been this white, Jasmine?” asked Dooley now.