Ник Сайнт - Purrfectly Hidden. Purrfect Kill. Purrfect Boy Toy

“Rich people,” Brutus muttered.

“She shouldn’t go out there all by herself,” said Harriet. “It’s not safe.”

“No, that guy has tried to kill her three times already,” I said. “He won’t hesitate to try again.”

“Guy? I thought Opal’s assailant was a woman?” asked Brutus.

“I thought so, too, but Odelia said the voice on the phone sounded male.”

“He probably changed his voice when he called the salon yesterday,” Brutus said.

“Or maybe she altered her voice when she called Opal today,” said Harriet.

Both were distinct possibilities, and it was hard to know which one was correct.

“So what’s the plan?” asked Brutus.

“Opal will drive out there alone, to deliver the money,” I said.

“But she won’t be alone, will she?” said Prunella. “I—we’ll all be in the car with her. And if something happens, we’ll pounce on the assailant and rip him—”

“Or her,” I interjected.

“—to shreds.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Brutus agreed.

“And of course Odelia and the others will all be close by, keeping their distance so as not to spook the kidnapper, but close enough so that they can get there in seconds.”

“Minutes,” I corrected her.

“Minutes isn’t good enough,” said Brutus. “It only takes a second to fire a fatal shot.”

“Oh, dear,” said Prunella. “I knew she should have had those cloning people take a sample of her living tissue.”

The night crept on, with the clock seemingly ticking slower as midnight drew near.

“Oh, this is horrible!” Opal exclaimed as she traced a pattern on her nice Oriental rug. “This waiting around—it’s enough to drive me crazy!”

“That’s probably the idea,” said her boyfriend. “It’s a form of psychological warfare. They know this is driving you crazy, and that’s exactly what they want.”

“At least now we know for sure it isn’t Suzy doing this,” said Opal.

“Unless she’s working in cahoots with a second party,” said Gran, who still hadn’t given up on Suzy as the mastermind behind all of this.

“I think we can safely exclude Suzy from our list of suspects,” said Odelia.

The door opened and the hundred-year-old butler shuffled in. He was carrying a tray with a teapot, cups and saucers, and biscuits. “Tea and cookies, ma’am,” he announced in a reedy voice.

His hands were shaking, and I was nine-ninety percent sure he’d soon drop the entire tray on the floor. Much to my surprise, though, he kept on shuffling until he’d reached a little gate-leg table and managed to deposit the tray on top of it unscathed.

“Thank you, Barkley,” said Opal.

“Will there be anything else, ma’am?” asked the ancient retainer.

“No, you go to bed now.”

“Thank you, ma’am—sir.” And he shuffled out again, closing the door as he went.

“We never thought to put him on our list of suspects,” said Gran, annoyed at this oversight on her part.

“Barkley? He’s been with us for years,” said Harlan.

“Yeah, Barkley wouldn’t do such a thing,” said Opal.

“I think we can exclude the centenarian,” was Chase’s opinion. “You really don’t want me to hide in the backseat of the car, Opal?” he asked, reiterating an idea he’d launched earlier in the evening.

“No, if the kidnapper sees even a glimpse of you, they’re likely to open fire.”

“I could hide in the trunk,” Chase amended his original plan.

“And what good would that do? By the time you’re out of that trunk, the transaction will have either been concluded, or gone horribly awry. No, I have to do this myself. This is my mess. I put Marilyn in this position and I have to get her out.”

“I hope she’ll be all right,” said Marge, who was clutching her neck.

“If that bastard has harmed even a single hair on the poor woman’s head,” Harlan began, reddening beneath his tan, “I’ll… I’ll… Well, I don’t know what I’ll do but I’ll do something!”

“I know you will, darling,” said Opal, pressing her boyfriend’s hand. “I know. But we need to stay positive here. We need to think good thoughts and hope for the best.”

Soon it was time to leave, and Opal grabbed hold of the bulky bag with cash and walked out, followed by a procession of well-wishers and fellow positive thinkers. Except for Gran, who probably never read a positive thinking book in her life.

“We’re all gonna die,” she said now, earning herself a scowl from Opal.

We followed them into the hallway and then outside, where four cars were parked.

For the occasion Opal had decided not to use the limo—or her driver—but to use a less conspicuous mode of transportation instead. She was going to drive a bright red Mini Cooper, Harlan got behind the wheels of one of his Ferraris, while Odelia had been granted the rare privilege of selecting a car from Harlan’s extensive collection. She’d opted for a nice Fiat 500, with Gran riding shotgun, and Marge and Tex squeezing into the backseat. Alec and Chase, finally, were in the rental Toyota they’d gotten at the Grand Continental.

We cats all filed into Opal’s Mini Cooper, and then the fleet drove out of the gates and set a course for Bluff Point, where Marilyn’s fate would soon be decided.<>

Chapter 31

“It’s a real pity your human doesn’t speak our language,” I said, “or else we could have given her some instructions.”

“What instructions? She knows how to spend money,” said Prunella. “Even a million.”

“Not about spending the money,” I said, “but how to deal with this kidnapper.”

“And what would you advise her? To attack him and make sure she doesn’t get shot?”

“Not exactly. I’d advise her to stay calm and under no circumstances to provoke him.”

“Or her,” said Harriet, still adamant that Opal’s assailant was a woman.

“Why do you insist the kidnapper is a guy, Max?” asked Brutus.

“I told you. Odelia said the voice of the kidnapper sounded like a male voice.”

“Plus, only men do stupid things like try to kill a person or kidnap their best friend,” said Prunella.

“No, they don’t. There are plenty of women killers,” said Harriet, who apparently had very pronounced views on the matter.

“Just look at the statistics, Harriet,” said Prunella. “Ninety percent of the people convicted of homicide are men. Very few lady killers out there.”

“Plenty of ladykillers, though,” Brutus muttered.

“Well, I think you’re wrong,” said Harriet stubbornly. “Women can do crime just as well as men, and to think otherwise suggests a world view that’s outdated and, frankly, bigoted, Prunella. Anything men do, women can do better—even crime. So there.”

“They can, but they don’t, because as a rule women are much smarter than men.”

“No, they’re not!” said Harriet, then gulped.

“Ha! Gotcha!” said Prunella, and laughed loudly.

“Oh, my darlings,” said Opal, holding on to the steering wheel with an iron grip. “I know you’re scared, but please don’t be. This will all be over soon.”

“She thinks we’re scared,” said Dooley. “Why is that, Max?”

“Because she can’t make the distinction between cats arguing and cats yowling in anguish,” I said.

“Look, just hide in the back,” said Opal. “From the moment we arrive, just stay low and don’t show yourselves. I’m not going to give this bad person an excuse to shoot you.”

Just then, her phone sang out Chickie Hay’s biggest hit. ‘Wake me up,’ Chickie sang, and Opal woke up her phone by pressing the Connect button.

“Phoning and driving is very dangerous,” said Dooley.