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

“So did the skeleton belong to Boyd Baker?”

“Uh-huh,” said Chase. “Dental records confirmed it.”

“And the brooch?”

“Still haven’t been able to figure out who it belonged to.”

“Are you coming or what?!” Uncle Alec shouted from inside, holding the door.

“I better not keep the big guy waiting,” said Chase. “He might pop a vessel.”

I’d been lounging out on that deck for what felt like an eternity when Dooley finally returned from his expedition.

“And?” I said, though I could see from the look on his face that his mission had been for naught.

“No, Odelia isn’t home,” he said, confirming my suspicions. “And neither is Chase. In fact there isn’t any human activity in the house.”

“No human activity? You mean there is…”

“Yes, there is feline activity, though I’m not sure what it’s all about. I thought I heard voices so I went in search of their source and discovered they came from the basement. But when I put my ear against the door I heard Harriet shouting, ‘Push harder. Harder!’ ‘I’m pushing as hard as I can!’ Brutus replied. ‘Now pull! Pull as hard as you can! Harder!’ ‘I’m pulling as hard as I can,’ Brutus responded. And then Harriet said ‘Push! Push as hard as you can. Yes, yes, that’s it! That’s it! Oh, that’s the spot, Brutus!’”

I cleared my throat. It was obvious to me what was going on here. Brutus and Harriet had decided to take advantage of this lull in the proceedings—a house devoid of humans and pets—to take their relationship to the next level. Though why they’d chosen an inhabitable place like the basement was momentarily beyond me. But then I saw what must have happened. They’d gone down there to chase away those mice, and having done that must have decided to stick around, Harriet falling for Brutus’s fatal attraction, and Brutus falling for hers, and the rest, as they say, was history.

“What do you think they’re doing, Max?” asked Dooley, looking worried.

I cleared my throat again. It was imperative to protect Dooley’s innocence in these times, when unbridled sensuality seems to be all the rage. “Oh, nothing special,” I said.

“Is that what they call hanky panky?” asked Dooley, and I stared at him.

“How do you know about hanky panky?”

“Someone from cat choir told me last week. Brutus and Harriet were in the bushes during a break and when I asked Missy what they were doing, she said they were doing hanky panky. But when I asked what hanky panky was, she refused to explain it to me, and said I had to ask someone else.”

“So did you?” I asked nervously. “Ask somebody else?”

“Well, I asked Shanille, and she said it is a form of entertainment grownups like to engage in. She was a little fuzzy on the details, though. So then I asked Milo, because Milo always knows his stuff, and he said hanky panky is when two people, or two cats like in this case, are in love and pull each other’s tails. So Brutus pulls Harriet’s tail and then Harriet pulls Brutus’s tail. He said it’s a game they like to play and they derive a lot of pleasure from it. But when I asked Misty to pull my tail she slapped me. So then I told her all I wanted to do was some hanky panky with her and she slapped me again.”

“You can’t just walk up to a cat and ask to do hanky panky with them, Dooley.”

“No, I guess I learned that the hard way.”

“It’s like Milo said, you have to be in love.”

“So is that what Brutus and Harriet are doing down there?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what they’re doing,” I said. “Brutus and Harriet love hanky panky, and I think we better leave them to it and make sure we don’t disturb them when they’re in the middle of… pulling each other’s tails.”

“That’s what I thought. And that’s why I didn’t even bother knocking or asking if they were all right down there.”

“You did the right thing, Dooley. Never disturb two cats when they’re in the middle of hanky panky. Simply stay away and leave them to it.”

“Do you think they managed to chase those mice away, though?”

“Well, if they’re having fun they must have gotten the job done. Responsible adults always finish the job first, and then engage in some light entertainment.”

Dooley smiled. “Good. I wouldn’t have slept tonight knowing there were all these mice traipsing all over the house. Not that I have something against mice, but this is our house, Max, and mice have no business here.”

“Exactly right, Dooley,” I agreed. “It’s our house and anyone who dares to enter is what we call an intruder. So when you see a mouse—even though I’m sure Brutus and Harriet managed to convince them to move out—simply yell stranger danger as loud as you can. Then me, Odelia or Chase will come running and we’ll chase the intruder away.”

He smiled a happy smile and we both lay down and stared out at the rain lashing the backyard. The grass was completely wet, with puddles forming everywhere, and the sky was a nice pitch black. The only lights we could see were those of the neighboring houses, and I could even see smoke wafting from the chimney of the house next door.

Somehow it gave me a cozy feeling, though it would have been even better if we’d been inside, nice and warm and dry, looking out through the window. Then again, beggars can’t be choosers, and cats with a little extra volume around the midsection can’t hope to fit through the pet flap without losing a couple of pounds.

“Do you think you’ll ever fit through that pet flap again, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Oh, I’m sure I will. In fact I have devised a plan that doesn’t involve dieting.”

“You have?”

“From now on I’m going to take more frequent strolls around the block. More exercise will burn those extra calories, and before you know it I’ll be as slim as you.”

“That sounds like a great plan, Max. So you won’t have to diet?”

“Nope. I can keep on eating exactly what I’m eating now, or maybe even a little bit more, and all the activity will burn those calories right off.”

“I like it. Only problem is, if I go on these walks with you, won’t I become too slim?”

“That’s why you need to eat more, buddy. Tuck in and don’t stop eating until you feel completely and utterly stuffed. Like a Thanksgiving turkey, right before the slaughter.”

Oops. I should probably not have said that.

He gave me a look of confusion. “Slaughter? What do you mean?”

“Um, nothing. Forget I said that.”

“Do they slaughter those nice turkeys?”

“No, they don’t,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “In fact what they do is bring the old turkeys—the ones that are very old and tired—to Vena and then Vena gives them a pill that makes them go to sleep, and then they simply never wake up.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, looking slightly disturbed by my slip of the tongue. “And that’s what Odelia told me happened, and Marge, and Gran. Those poor turkeys are very, very old and so they decide to make the ultimate sacrifice by giving us the opportunity to live even as they go to heaven. Isn’t that right, Max?”

“That’s exactly right.”

“Well, I just hope that next time we visit Vena she won’t give us one of those pills by accident. I don’t think I want to end up on Marge and Tex’s Thanksgiving dinner table with a lot of stuffing in my belly and gravy poured all over me, if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean, Dooley. And I’m here to tell you this will never, ever happen.”

Odelia had returned to her car, wondering about her next step. She needed to talk to the people Boyd Baker used to work for, if the company still existed, and get a feel for the man’s personality and habits. She realized this was probably the hardest case she’d ever worked on. A case that dated back fifty-five years. How would she ever figure out what happened to the man? When all the witnesses and the people who were around that time were probably all dead and buried?