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

“I can’t believe Harriet and Brutus negotiated the mice retreat,” I said as we walked along and soon found ourselves on familiar ground once more.

“Yeah, they did a great job,” said Dooley.

“No, but I mean, it should have been us, Dooley, to create such a heroic moment, not Harriet and Brutus.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because we’re the heroes.”

“We are? I didn’t even know this.”

“Haven’t you noticed how we always come up with the missing clue, that oh-so-important piece of evidence that nails the perpetrator? Or how we are the ones to save Odelia from harm?”

“I hadn’t noticed, actually,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “I always thought we did this together. As a foursome, I mean. That it didn’t matter who got the credit.”

“Well, if you look at it that way…” Now I felt like a cad, of course. An egotistical cad. But Dooley was right. It didn’t matter who got the credit, as long as whatever we were working on got resolved, whether it be chasing a colony of mice from the basement, or solving an old crime.

“I think Harriet and Brutus are very clever,” said Dooley, rubbing it in some more.

“I think so, too,” I said. “But are they clever enough?”

He gave me a strange look. “Max? You’re acting a little weird.”

I licked my lips. “It’s because I don’t feel I’ve done anything substantial on this case. We talked to one witness, and struck out, we didn’t chase away the mice, and I can’t even fit through the pet flap.”

He smiled. “This is about the pet flap, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is,” I said with a sigh.

“You’ll fit through the pet flap again, Max,” he promised. “Just keep doing your daily exercises and before you know it you won’t get stuck when you try to come and go.”

His words warmed my heart. It was exactly what I needed to hear. “Thanks, Dooley,” I said. “You’re a true friend.”

“And so are Harriet and Brutus,” he reminded me, “and it doesn’t matter who solves what crime, or who finds what clue. We’re all in this together, Max, as a family. A team.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, a little shame-faced. Sometimes Dooley surprises me with his wisdom. And it’s in moments like this that I am reminded that we should never judge a book by its cover. Dooley’s cover might not be all that much to look at, but he has a big heart, and a keen intelligence when he decides to use it, and that’s what matters.

We’d arrived in Morley Street, and we both took a deep breath.

“This is it, Dooley,” I said. “We need to extract a confession now, you understand?”

“No, Max,” he said. “We just need to have a chat with a friend, and if she tells us something important, great. And if not, also fine.”

Damn, I thought as I stared at my friend. Who’d abducted Dooley and replaced him with Tony Robbins?

We moved between the houses and into the backyard and arrived at the same verandah we’d visited the day before.

Camilla was perched on the same spot, and when she saw us poking our heads through the window, she shouted, “Stranger danger! Stranger danger!”

“Hey, that’s what I’m supposed to say,” said Dooley.

“We’re not strangers,” I told the parrot. “We were here yesterday, remember?”

“Yes, we come in peace, good bird,” said Dooley. “We’re kindred spirits, all creatures of the Lord, and we wish you no harm whatsoever.”

The bird eyed us with its head cocked to one side, but at least she’d stopped mimicking a fire alarm.

“Remember we asked you about a skeleton buried in the wall of our basement?” I said. “Well, we know his name now. Boyd Baker. And we also know when he died and how.”

“Someone knocked him on the head and he didn’t recover,” said Dooley. “So they must have hit him pretty hard, and then they decided to bury him in the wall.”

“This happened fifty-five years ago,” I said. “So does that ring any bells? Any stories you might have heard about this guy?”

“Anything you can tell us will help us a great deal,” said Dooley. “We want to bring the murderer to justice, because that is what we do.”

“Yeah, well, the killer will probably be dead by now, but the relatives want closure,” I said. “His son and daughter are still alive, and they’ve wondered all these years what happened to their dad.”

Camilla was silent for a moment, then she spoke, and this time it wasn’t to address Alexa and ask her how dangerous cats were. “I remember the Bakers,” she said. “We used to live just down the street, and the Baker kids used to play with my family’s kids.”

“What was your family called?” I asked, wanting to get all the deets before she lapsed into silence again or, worse, turned foghorn on us.

“The Haddocks,” she said. “This is a long time ago. I was a young macaw then, and had only just arrived in town. But the Haddocks treated me well, and even allowed me to fly around the house. The kids especially were very affectionate, and used to talk up a storm, asking me all kinds of questions. I loved it. I still see them from time to time, even though they gave me to their niece—my current human,” she explained.

“Oh, so you don’t live with these Haddocks anymore?”

“No, I don’t. The kids grew up, and Mr. and Mrs. Haddock moved into an apartment and unfortunately couldn’t keep me. And since the kids all live on the other side of the country, and one even overseas, they decided to give me to Laura Haddock. A wonderful person,” she said warmly, “and I couldn’t be happier.”

“That’s great,” I said, genuinely happy for the parrot. “So… about Boyd Baker?”

“Boyd Baker was a horrible person. He used to yell at his wife all the time. Screaming and shouting. Flaming rows. There was even a rumor he was an alcoholic and came home reeking of liquor most nights.”

“Is that a fact?” I said, giving Dooley a knowing look. “Rita Baker told our human that her father was a warm and loving man, and that her childhood was a happy one.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Camilla. “All I know is that those were the stories I heard. And the number of times the police had to come and intervene were numerous.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “So not such a happy home after all.”

“No, not a happy home at all,” the macaw said. “Or at least not in my recollection. Of course we all remember things differently, and you can’t always believe everything you hear. Take the Haddocks for instance. Rumor had it Mr. Haddock liked to play with toy trains. But that wasn’t true at all. He didn’t even collect trains. What he did like were toy soldiers. You see? Toy soldiers, truth. Toy trains. Lie. Very easy to believe in the lie and dismiss the truth.”

“Yes, well, I don’t think there’s such a big difference between toy soldiers and toy trains, though,” I said.

The bird’s eyes went wide. “Are you kidding me? There’s a world of difference, and you wouldn’t believe the number of times I intervened on Mr. Haddock’s behalf and told the pets in our neighborhood the truth. But do you think they believed me? Of course not. Kept spreading foul lies. Especially the cats, of course, because cats are vicious.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “That’s where you’re mistaken. Cats are not vicious. In fact only last night a dear friend of ours negotiated a truce with an entire colony of mice and managed to get them to evacuate the premises, all without a single hair on their heads harmed. So don’t you go spreading foul lies about cats, you hear?”

The bird was gloating, I could tell, but I couldn’t stop. It’s tough to have to listen to a bunch of lies.